Bated/Baited Breathing
For all you folks out there who fancy yourselves marketers, advertisers or are otherwise involved in the tangled web (not Web) of consumerism, commerce and capitalism, I have some cool and intruiging news about Seth Godin's next big thing. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, you should probably read his books, for a couple of reasons.
First, because they're full of some cool, reasonable theories about how marketing does work, should work, and will work. And he addresses the many ways traditional media marketing is broken -- how most of us, as creators and users of these channels, are stupid and overstimulated and blind and generally too lazy to find new ways to make people care again. (Namely, by selling something that's remarkable and doesn't rely on clever, creative, useless advertising space in the middle of a prime-time sitcom or the Superbowl. Because that just doesn't sell stuff anymore.)
Second, you should read his books because word on the street is that he's not gonna be doing many more. The inventor of the Purple Cow Himself has apparently recognized his cow is beginning to look more brown than purple and that he'd better take his own advice and get on with something new... and cool... and purple again. It looks to me like it will be found here.
First, because they're full of some cool, reasonable theories about how marketing does work, should work, and will work. And he addresses the many ways traditional media marketing is broken -- how most of us, as creators and users of these channels, are stupid and overstimulated and blind and generally too lazy to find new ways to make people care again. (Namely, by selling something that's remarkable and doesn't rely on clever, creative, useless advertising space in the middle of a prime-time sitcom or the Superbowl. Because that just doesn't sell stuff anymore.)
Second, you should read his books because word on the street is that he's not gonna be doing many more. The inventor of the Purple Cow Himself has apparently recognized his cow is beginning to look more brown than purple and that he'd better take his own advice and get on with something new... and cool... and purple again. It looks to me like it will be found here.
In other news, a robot in Chile found buried treasure on the island that inspired Robinson Crusoe. And we're not screwing around, here.
We're talking treasure like you imagined when you were playing pirates with that cool pirate ship-themed lego set while in your bathtub with your cousin at the tender age of 4 and a half. Or maybe that was just me. But anyway, billions of dollars in booty. By which I mean gold coin and jewels and a couple papal rings and stuff.
Reuters posted an article on the find some odd fourteen hours ago, and I guess the goodies haven't even been dug up yet because now Wagner (the group who own the robot who found the treasure) and the Chilean government are in the throes of a passionate debate about who, besides the long-gone Incas from which they were originally pillaged, the goods now belong to, after being buried for 5 centuries. Hmmm...
I hear People Under the Stairs are going to be in Seattle soon. Like, maybe exactly October 19 at Chop Suey. God, I love those guys. If they don't play Mid City Fiesta, though, I might be that one white girl that freaks out and starts screaming requests at a hip hop event like it's TRL. Here's to hoping I can keep my cool. Anyway, I'm waiting for the 19th with bated breath.
:: After typing that phrase -- "bated breath" -- I spent probably thirty full seconds thinking about what a weird phrase that is. Then, I googled it. ::
[Thanks, World Wide Words!]
If I started a band, I think I'd call us The Cruel Clever Cats. Or maybe The Band. That might be really good. Like when people name bars "The Office" or "The Bookstore" or call strip clubs "The Lumberyard" or "A Bowling Tournament".
(They might not do that, but they should. Just think how few women would be interested in accompanying their husband/boyfriend to "A Bowling Tournament".)
I'm a genius.
We're talking treasure like you imagined when you were playing pirates with that cool pirate ship-themed lego set while in your bathtub with your cousin at the tender age of 4 and a half. Or maybe that was just me. But anyway, billions of dollars in booty. By which I mean gold coin and jewels and a couple papal rings and stuff.
Reuters posted an article on the find some odd fourteen hours ago, and I guess the goodies haven't even been dug up yet because now Wagner (the group who own the robot who found the treasure) and the Chilean government are in the throes of a passionate debate about who, besides the long-gone Incas from which they were originally pillaged, the goods now belong to, after being buried for 5 centuries. Hmmm...
I hear People Under the Stairs are going to be in Seattle soon. Like, maybe exactly October 19 at Chop Suey. God, I love those guys. If they don't play Mid City Fiesta, though, I might be that one white girl that freaks out and starts screaming requests at a hip hop event like it's TRL. Here's to hoping I can keep my cool. Anyway, I'm waiting for the 19th with bated breath.
:: After typing that phrase -- "bated breath" -- I spent probably thirty full seconds thinking about what a weird phrase that is. Then, I googled it. ::
"...bated breath refers to a state in which you almost stop breathing
through terror, awe, extreme anticipation, or anxiety. Shakespeare is the first
writer known to use it, in The Merchant of Venice:
"Shall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key, / With bated breath and
whisp’ring humbleness, / Say this ...”
Nearly three centuries
later, Mark Twain employed it in Tom Sawyer:
“Every
eye fixed itself upon him; with parted lips and bated breath the audience hung
upon his words, taking no note of time, rapt in the ghastly fascinations of the
tale”.
For those who know the older spelling or who stop to
consider the matter, baited breath evokes an incongruous image, which Geoffrey
Taylor humorously (and consciously) captured in verse in his poem Cruel Clever
Cat:
Sally, having swallowed cheese/ Directs down
holes the scented breeze/ Enticing thus with baited breath/ Nice mice to an
untimely death."
[Thanks, World Wide Words!]
If I started a band, I think I'd call us The Cruel Clever Cats. Or maybe The Band. That might be really good. Like when people name bars "The Office" or "The Bookstore" or call strip clubs "The Lumberyard" or "A Bowling Tournament".
(They might not do that, but they should. Just think how few women would be interested in accompanying their husband/boyfriend to "A Bowling Tournament".)
I'm a genius.
I'm also single.
Call me!
Call me!
::wink::
2 comments:
I don't know what's up with my sidebar. It displays perfectly when using Firefox, but in IE it goes nuts. Also, "The Band" is totally already taken ("The Weight"? you know it.) Sorry dude!
Well, with a name like that, it's no wonder they're the greatest band in history. And it's about time for another...
rrzgbz.
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