A Great, Big, Beautiful Tomorrow

Forty-five years ago, the World's Fair came to New York City. As a ten-year-old, I remember well the bubbling excitement and anticipation that the promise of the Fair held for us. This was stoked primarily by my Dad, who remembered his own excitement as a ten-year-old at the 1939 World's Fair.

It was clear that my Father was still in awe over his Fair ('39), and wanted earnestly to share that experience, or a reasonable facsimile, with us kids here in '64. I remember him talking about stuff like the Heinz Pickle pins they gave out in '39, and the iconic symbols of that Fair, which he referred to as the Ball and Spear (actually called the Trylon and Perisphere). the '64 Fair lived up to its promise and more. A multi-acre tribute to American ingenuity (and, admittedly, American arrogance), the World's Fair was an exilharating triumph. I remember distinctly feeling that anything was possible when we walked through those gates (which we did as a family about a dozen times over the Fair's two-year run).

It's ironic that many of the most dramatic attractions--like General Motors' Futurama--were sponsored by behemoth companies whose fortunes have faded so over these last four decades (no one saw that coming at Futurama). But dramatic they were--depicting vacation paradises under the sea, and communities on the Moon, or even life before humans existed in the age of the dinosaur. I remember waiting for what seemed like hours to catch a glimpse of Michael Angelo's Pieta, and my Mother reacting as though she'd seen Christ himself. And Abraham Lincoln brought back to life by the animatronic magic of Walt Disney. And getting copies of newspaper front pages commemorating our birthdays at the New York Times pavilion.

For me, and I'm sure others like me at time, the Fair was particularly meaningful because it allowed you to believe that your imagination, ingeniuty and resourcefulness alone could be applied to create an incredible future.

It's amazing to realize how powerful a force that is--that no matter what you understand intellectually, at the root of your being you believe that anything is possible to a willing heart. It's sheer luck that we had the World's Fair to nourish us young, optimistic entrepreneurs.
We can only hope our children get to experience such a tremendous cultural catalyst.

Tropical Paradise

Watching the Mets on SNY with my oldest (9-year-old) daughter (who's not really interested in baseball). A pitching change is made and they cut to commercials. Now, my kids rarely watch anything but Disney Channel and so rarely see commercials, much less commercials designed expressly for adults, or for that matter older adults.

Then one of the new series of Viagra commercials comes on...the ones where the middle-aged couple is eating breakfast together, reading on the couch together, basically going through life in parallel and clearly unconnected private worlds. Suddenly the old guy sees a an ad on a bus for an exotic, tropical vacation spot and his eyebrow arches. The music swells and the singers croon "Viva Viagra!" We see the couple, now very energized and reconnected, on their secluded tropical island getting ready to adjourn to their bungalow in the middle of a sweltering Caribbean day. I look at my daugher, not sure how she's going to react to all of this.

"Daddy, let's go there...Let's go to Viagra," she says emphatically. "But not like those guys...all they want to do is stay in the house."

While I was somewhat flummoxed, I was grateful that she was distracted from the part of the commercial where the announcer mentions erections lasting more than four hours.

Of course, I've told this story a bunch of times, and it always gets laughs. But after further analysis, I recognized that the scene gets right at the heart of what advertising is all about--selling possibilities, selling state-of-mind, selling sizzle. My daughter got it, even though she didn't know what the literal product was.

That's what good marketing does.

Disney

Wake up! Wake up! Mommy, Daddy. It's time, It's time! Ugh...coffee? No time, gotta get car service to airport. Jesus, a 6am flight! C'mon, c'mon get on line. now go through security. No! you can't carry your DS through the machine...Don't worry they won't steal it.  Okay, now you sit by the window...Well you both can't sit by the window so someone's going to have to...Now, stop it!  Be nice!  People are trying to sleep...Play your DS.  I know you're bored...I'm bored.  We'll be there soon...C'mon, c'mon off the plane.  Okay, you wait on line for the Disney Magic tickets and I'll watch these two...Please do not lay down on the dirty airport carpet!  Okay...get on the bus...She sat by the window on the plane, you sit by the window on the bus.  YOU CAN'T BOTH SIT BY THE WINDOW!  Let's check into the hotel first...yes, we'll go to the park after we check in.  After we check in!!  AFTER WE CHECK IN!!! We can't go to the pool AND the park...You've got to choose.  No, I'm not going to the pool with you while Mommy goes to the park with her.  First we'll do what she wants, then we'll do what you want...Because she's older, that's why.  Tomorrow is Younger gets First Pick Day...Please, we've got to go somewhere--let's make a choice!  Good...no, we've got to take the bus...There it is!  The Magic Kingdom.  We'll do Hollywood Studios tomorrow.  I said tomorrow! BECAUSE THE BUS ONLY GOES TO THE MAGIC KINGDOM!!  C'mon, off the bus...Yeah, there's Mickey.  You don't like Mickey anymore? Or the princesses?  No, iCarly is another TV Network.  Because it's not a Disney Show, that's why.  Wait!  Wait!  Don't run all over the place...We'll get there.  Mom wants to go to It's a Small World.  Yeah, yeah we'll go on the better rides after that. We're buying one thing for each of you so you have to make your choice well....Please get out of that store...No, one thing each.  ONE THING EACH!  BECAUSE IT'S ALL JUNK ANYWAY!!!   Can you believe we have to wait 40 minutes for It's a Small World?  The thing's been around for 50 years--what's the appeal?  Yes, I know you enjoy it...we're going for you, right?  Yes, I'm sure they'll enjoy it too.  Splash Mountain?  Okay...but remember, we get wet.  Jesus, another 40 minute wait...and we thought it wasn't going to be crowded this week.  Yes, I'm getting hot too.  So put your hat on!  If you want to go on this ride, we have to wait...Well, we didn't get a FastPass, sorry.  Okay, okay...hold tight now...there are a couple of drrrrrrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooppppppppppppppppppps! Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!  I'm totally soaked...even my underwear is wet!  No, I don't wanna do it again.  Haunted Mansion?  Yeah, at least it's not a water ride...Oy!  Now look at this line...at least we're under this awning. Okay, you come with me and you go with Mom.  Nooo, it's really not scary, more silly than anything else.  Ooooh, Ghosts!  Ya gotta hand it to that Disney, he knew how to make a buck.  Is it a coincidence that every ride lets you out in a gift shop?  Yes, yes, I'm tired too.  It's been a long day and we'll have many, many more.  I just hope this vacation doesn't kill me.

Crap & Junk

A couple weeks ago, I returned from one of our industry's major trade shows around dinner time on a Sunday night. I sat at the table, somewhat wiped out, but still a bit exhilarated by the events of the previous three days. As I started to relate the events of trade show '09, I noticed that my oldest daughter (soon to be nine), was truly interested. She kept asking questions about different employees, different clients, the overall tenor of the show, etc. I was really impressed, and with a small tear in my eye, asked, "Would you like to run Daddy's business someday?"

"Oh, no," she said. It could have easily been "Shit! No!" After a short beat for emphasis, she said, "I'm gonna open a store called Crap & Junk."

My wife and I laughed like hell. Who would expect a nine-year-old kid to come up with that in such short order? But the unfunny part of this interlude is that she was serious. "So what are you going to sell at Crap & Junk?" I asked. "What difference does it make," she answered. "It's a really good name...I'll think of something."

And she was right. It really doesn't matter what you sell anymore; it only matters how you market it. When I returned to work the following day, I told this story to every employee in my company (that's the great thing about owning a business, you can indulge yourself that way.)

To a person, everybody said that they not only agreed with my daughter's choice (Crap & Junk vs. Dad's Company), they said they'd be very willing customers. "But she doesn't even know what she's going to sell," I protested. "So what," they collectively replied. "It's a great name and she'll probably come up with some swell crap and junk."

Which brings me to a Carrie Bradshawesque question: Does it matter what you sell as long as your marketing and branding is really good? Or is it really just about branding and marketing anyway?

Where was the Internet When I was a Kid?

When I was attending college back a century or so ago, and my high school friends were scattered hither and yon at other temples of higher learning, we communicated largely by letters and postcards. Long distance phone calls were too expensive.

Then one of us got the bright idea to send audio cassettes back and forth so that we could, at least, hear each others' voices. Swell! Quickly, this form of communication within our small, closed audience became something of an art form, as one or the other of us would try for more audio "special effects," surprises, clips from songs, etc. It became commonplace to receive a tape back with snippets of your own previously sent tape included, juxtaposed with music clips, Cheech & Chong or Firesign Theatre excerpts and other such silliness.

It was great fun, and became almost a hobby for some of us. The process, when done right, could take hours (or even days) as one crafted a tape using nothing more than a little cassette recorder, a microphone and a record player with a some sort of pause mechanism. A lotta work!
While we were doing all this, I thought there must be a business opportunity here somewhere (the same instinct that I apply to most everything today). However, there was never enough time, or focus, to pursue it.

The other day, I came across ijustine.com, which is piloted by a young lady name Justine Ezarik out on the West Coast. I must be the last person on the planet to have tripped over her stuff, because she's prolific. she twitters, blogs, makes cute movies that she shows on YouTube...also apparently she does some modeling (and with good reason as she's very pretty). The point of all this is that a creative 24-year-old woman has been able to nuture an enterprise through her own self-generated entertainment. And it ain't hard....anybody with the ability to learn and the drive can do the same thing and garner Andy Warhol's 15 minutes of fame. And all we had were tape recorders and the U.S. mail.

Oh, where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?

Why are we here?

Hello all...I started this blog to express ideas about business and creativity that I felt I couldn't do in the context of my current business.

My Egore. The name came from an important childhood event--the creation of Egore--a cardboard robot I built in 1965 out of old supermarket boxes, random toy parts, and my imagination. Egore himself wasn't much to look at. He basically just sat there. But I was able to create a living character out of him, and wrote about his adventures in our elementary school paper (including illustrations). It was great! It was 1965 and I was 11 years old.

Egore went back in time in one episode; he was an "007" spy in another...he always "got the girl," if you will. Kids liked to read about Egore, and I enjoyed giving them what they wanted. As Egore became more popular, his franchise grew and we needed to construct new venues to accomodate his popularity (Disneyesque, you say?) Egore actually got to participate in a school Halloween pageant! We dressed him like the Great Pumpkin. He was a media sensation.

Then we (my friend, David, and I) got the idea to hold "Egore Fairs" where kids could come and spend money to see Egore, take a picture with him, yadayada.... We set up an Egore gift shoppe, sold treats (Egore cookies) from mobile carts (red wagons, as this all took place in David's backyard). We employed our siblings to run the various concessions. It was grand! I think we made anywhere from $5-$6 per fair, and paid our sibilings about fifty cents each.

As with Huck Finn, Egore came to an inauspicious end. David's mother threw him out one miserable February afternoon when she'd simply had enough of this sagging, cardboard toy lying around the house.

Years later, I was talking about Egore to a college friend (under the right circumstances, conversations could go that way back in the 70s). She said, "Do you think the name Egore really represented EGO?" Believe or not, I hadn't.

Everything I've done since--with the exception of following the dictates of sundry employers--has sprung from the place that made Egore.

I now run a business-to-business communications company that I started in 2000, and I enjoy it enormously. I've started this blog to explore these two variables--creativity and small business--and would appreciate sharing ideas with others who can identify with what I'm saying here.

Gimme a call and tell me about Your Egore....Frank G.