The Taylor Group Blog - Musings

Looking Back To The Future

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 14:24:00 -0400

I grew up in the "Back to the Future" era. I was promised flying cars and hoverboards and holographic billboards -- all by 2015. You know the line: "Where we're going, we don't need roads." Cue dramatic music and roll credits! I'm a sucker for it all. As 2009 comes to a close, with five years left before we catch up with Robert Zemeckis's vision of 2015, I wondered: How close are we? Well, flying cars are probably out of the question. I can only imagine what their carbon emissions would be, never mind fuel efficiency. Plus, I'm not too keen on the idea of getting in a fender bender a mile up and possibly plummeting to my death when the flying mechanism fails. It would be neat to zoom around the sky, sure, but I think we can safely rule that out. Hoverboards probably aren't happening, either, which may be for the best; everyone knows hoverboards don't work on water anyway. Maybe the "Back to the Future" future was just way off. Then I came across a link to AT&T's 1993 set of ads known as the "You Will" campaign, which is remarkably on target for predicting our technological advances. If you don't remember the spots, take a look here. Pretty close, huh? They got a few details wrong (Fax? Phonebooth? What the heck are those?), but they're remarkably on-the-money for almost everything else: "Borrowed a book from thousands of miles away" -- Amazon Kindle.
"Crossed the country without stopping for directions" -- how did we live without GPS?
"Paid a toll without slowing down" -- ah, the magic of E-ZPass. I'd love to see AT&T revisit this concept. Where will we be 15 to 20 years from now? What gadgets will have fallen the way of the fax machine? What do you predict?

I Feel Like I Might Have Been Born For This

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 11:06:00 -0400

I feel like I might have been born for this. I am just now going through a set of tabs from a recently completed quantitative survey, and working in my head on what the story is for the report. Over the past several years I haven't done as much quantitative work as I once did, and that's a bit weird because the fact is that my background is entirely quantitative. I studied and taught quantitative research methods for many years, and my subsequent professional "commercial research" training with Lou Harris was entirely quantitative. But my interest began way before all this. It actually all started when I was 5 or 6 years old. I would roll bunches of marbles on the hardwood floor in the living room of our upstairs apartment, along the narrow four-inch or so channel between the area rug and the wall, and watch the marbles hit the far wall and roll back. I would set aside the top three finishers, grab another bunch, and repeat the process over and over, setting up a series of heats that led ultimately to a champion marble. I would do it for hours at a time, and I get a little adrenaline rush, even now, just thinking about it. Quantitative research, at its core, involves precisely this same process. It's all about counting, sorting, developing a compelling story along the way, and coming to a conclusion. I love this stuff. And I do believe that I might have been born for it. That's not boastful. As the great Dizzy Dean used to say, "If you done it, it ain't braggin'."

The More Things Change . . .

Wed, 06 May 2009 16:49:00 -0400

Monday marked the 22nd anniversary of The Taylor Group, which you may know (and if you're a frequent reader of this blog, you probably do know) started as a three-person company working out of Scott Taylor's basement in the spring of 1987. I've been here for about half of that time, and I've seen some changes. Recently we've rekindled a relationship with a company for which we did a lot of work in the late '80s and '90s but lost touch with when some key contacts there moved on to other organizations. And so last week I found myself digging through six large storage boxes full of documents from our pre-internal-server days. What kind of documents, you ask? Seventy-five-page, single-spaced reports. Pamphlets for "new shows for the upcoming television season" -- shows which were on the air for 10 years and have been off for the last five. And my favorite: transparencies of presentations! And how un-green it all was! It was a different time, for sure. But within these antiquated documents, not everything was unfamiliar. The handwriting, for example, is recognizable. Scott's is still the same as it always was; Peter's is still mostly illegible. And there are the familiar comments in the margins of report drafts, with suggestions for deeper analysis or observations for consideration. But what really struck me were some of the findings that hold true even today. For example, from a 1992 report: "It is harder than ever to hold viewers' attention. People have less time, more choices, and shorter attention spans." This was 1992! Before the age of cellphones, PDAs, and (for most people) the Internet. We always think we're getting busier and busier, yet we still find ways to manage our lives -- and, as researchers, we're always searching for innovative ways to help our clients "break through the clutter" as technology changes. Lots can change in two decades, but I guess some things remain constant.

It?s the End of the World as We Know It?And I?ve Got Mail

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 11:34:00 -0400

Last year I went through a brief period of panic about the world coming to an end. Seriously. I think it was the residual memory of Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth, combined with the imminent collapse of our financial system, mixed in with election mudslinging and scare tactics. The massive California wildfires (whose effects I witnessed firsthand) and 10-foot-deep snow in New Hampshire may also have had something to do with it. And, what the heck, let's add increased outbreaks of Lyme Disease, Triple E, and Avian Flu to the mix. With the end-of-days obviously approaching (well, in my mind, at least), I decided to go beyond recycling and reusable grocery bags. I did what any left-leaning twenty-something without too much money would do: I put my name on a few conservation group lists. I gave the minimum donation required to join (I think Nature Conservancy was free and Sierra Club was around $25) and sat back contentedly, knowing my staggering contribution would set the world back on a course toward harmony and balance. Fast-forward six months. My knee-jerk environmentalist stint has brought me one thing: a permanent spot on a nonprofit mailing list. You name the cause, I get the mailings: clean air, clean water, endangered species protection, the League of Women Voters, anti-coal, anti-clean coal, tightening emissions standards, and so on, and so on, and so on. Usually these groups send something with their donation-request letters to make me feel like I'm truly valued by them: address labels, a poster-sized world map, etc. Of course, what I'm really getting is more and more paper waste. I signed up for these organizations with the ultimate goal of reducing waste and environmental destruction, not creating more garbage. The mailings also often contain "urgent" surveys that ask me to voice my opinion. But really, I think they're just a mask to make me feel empowered so I'll send a check to the nonprofit group. I don't mean to sound harsh or jaded here, but the surveys often contain questions like, "Do you believe the public should have an active voice in government?" or, "Do you think we are doing enough to preserve our drinking water sources, even though X% of Americans don't have access to clean water?" or, "The Bush Administration moved X number of species off the endangered list, despite decreased populations. Do you think we should do more to save these animals?" You'd have to have a heart of stone to honestly say "no." So what purpose does it serve for me to fill out and return the survey -- especially if I'm not going to send a donation with it? So I've ended up with two questions. First, as an environmentalist, I wonder: Have my efforts to help the earth truly become counterproductive? And as a researcher, I wonder: Do mailings like these give a bad name to companies like us, who conduct legitimate surveys?

Unrelenting? That sounds right.

Thu, 12 Mar 2009 15:45:00 -0400

Unrelenting is right. We've all heard it: "Don't like the weather in New England? Wait five minutes!" And it's not grossly exaggerated: Both Saturday and Sunday delivered 50-degree, spring-like weather; Monday, we shoveled six inches of wet, heavy snow. The way I feel about this winter is pretty much the way I feel about the economy -- just keep my head down and power through it. We're buried in snow and we're buried in negative news reports -- and I'm just trying to shovel out a path. The other day I was (get ready for a confession of nerdiness) listening to "This American Life" on NPR, which has been doing a handful of really informative programs to explain the giant mess we're in. "TAL" did a show on the mortgage crisis, a follow-up on the credit crisis, and, most recently, a show on the banking industry crisis. They break it down into plain language that anyone can understand, and after listening to these shows, I feel like I have a better sense of what's actually going on. And that's been the key thing for me: finding out what is happening. Not what Bill O'Reilly thinks is happening, not what Jon Stewart thinks is happening, not what Katie Couric thinks is happening. I mean, how long does it take to explain -- in plain language -- what's going on and what the proposed solutions are? If you listen to "This American Life," it takes about an hour. But the 24-hour cable networks have, well, 24 hours to fill, and an unrelenting storm of apocalyptic news is just not what I'm in the mood for. I can't really sit this one out. None of us can. But I'm trying to keep in perspective what I can and can't control. I can't control the Dow. I can't control whether the government nationalizes banks or buys up toxic mortgages. To some extent, I can't even control my employment status. But I can work harder than ever. I can go to the gym and sweat it out. (I take a kickboxing-type class in which the instructor always says, "Bring something to class that you don't want to leave with." I love it.) I can make dinner at home instead of going out, which is probably healthier for me anyway. I've got a great excuse for turning down invitations to things (concerts, movies, restaurants) I didn't really want to do anyway -- I just say I have to conserve. And we all do. But I'm hoping all this will, sooner than later, relent.

Word of the Day

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 15:13:00 -0400

We don't have a "word of the day" feature on Praxis. But if we did, I'd nominate the following: Unrelenting. 1. Having or exhibiting uncompromising determination; unyielding. 2. Not diminishing in intensity, pace, or effort. (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language: Fourth Edition. 2000) While I'm at it, I'd also like to nominate unrelenting as the word of the month . . . and of this winter . . . and, what the hell, of this year so far. Let me explain. I read a story in The Boston Globe last week, the day after yet another "weather system" dumped a foot of snow on Boston (not to mention snow in the south and much of the eastern portion of the country). I began reading, fully expecting standard post-snowstorm pseudo-journalistic fare -- quotes from people unhappy with the snow but chalking it up to "life in New England," the obligatory quote from someone jogging outside in gym shorts, claiming to be beguiled by the "winter wonderland" and wishing winter would last into June (excuse me one second . . . "gag" . . . ), etc., etc. But this piece wasn't like that at all. Everyone featured came across as weary at best, or angry at worst. They all offered some variation of the same theme: I'm sick of this winter. One person called this the "worst ever winter I've been through." There was nary a peep from any purported winter-lovers. Although I haven't looked it up, I'd be willing to bet that statistically, this has not been the "worst ever" winter in New England. I don't think we've gotten as much snow as in other winters, nor do I think it's been the coldest winter, average-temperature-wise. But I'm with the people in the Globe story. It sure feels like the worst winter ever. Why? Well, the cold and snow have been, yes, unrelenting. During most winters, we usually enjoy at least some respite--three of four days in a row of temperatures in the 50s, the occasional freakish 70-degree day. Something to break up the sheer monotony of it all. That hasn't happened this year. This year has been dismally monotonous. Each day, it seems, is either freezing, or snowy, or ice is raining down, or all of the above. Day in, day out. It's been like Chinese water torture, with the water freezing as soon as it hits your forehead. So if you happen to live in the Northeast, I think you'll agree that unrelenting pretty much sums up what this winter's been like. On the other hand, I'm not so provincial as to nominate a word solely on the basis of our own local weather conditions. No -- if there were a national (or even international) word of the day/week/month/year, unrelenting would still get my vote. And I say that on the basis of certain other phenomena, phenomena that have also been unyielding, not diminishing in intensity, pace, or effort . . . I read a story in the newspaper last week, one day after yet another [stock market drop], [corporate layoff announcement], [unfavorable economic report] . . . Drip, drip, drip . . .

I?ll Miss You, Lieutenant Columbo (a brief treatise on report writing)

Tue, 16 Dec 2008 15:19:00 -0400

I read today that Peter Falk's daughter has filed a court document seeking approval for conservatorship of her 81-year-old father, who suffers from Alzheimer's disease. The daughter claims her father no longer recognizes people. Peter Falk is perhaps best known as the Emmy award-winning star of the TV series "Columbo." I was a big fan of "Columbo," and for me it is both sad and ironic that the disheveled, absent-minded detective Lieutenant Columbo, who immediately, instinctively, with few clues, always recognized the evil perpetrator, no longer recognizes anyone at all. When I taught "Research Methods for Political Scientists" to undergraduates and graduate students in the 1970s, I found myself using what I called the "Columbo Method" to describe one of two ways to approach the research report writing process -- the other being the "Agatha Christie Method." I continue to use this distinction with my colleagues here at The Taylor Group (most of whom weren't even born in the heyday of the great "Columbo" TV series -- and so have no idea, typically, what I'm talking about). In Agatha Christie murder mysteries, I explain, the audience never finds out "whodunit" until the very end. The viewer is given little clues along the way, building up to the climax where the murderer is finally identified--and all the clues along the way finally come together. On the contrary, in every episode of "Columbo" the audience knows early on "whodunit," through the wily instincts of old, trench-coated, hunched-over, perpetually perplexed Lieutenant Columbo. And then the rest of the episode is taken up with just how Columbo figured it out so quickly and ultimately nabs the perpetrator. The research report writing process can follow either the Columbo Method or the Agatha Christie Method. You either build a series of findings toward a grand conclusion for the reader, or you begin the report with the grand conclusion and spend the rest of the time presenting findings that explain to the reader how you got there. I'll miss you Lieutenant Columbo, but I'll never forget you; and I'll bet from the raised eyebrows and "here-he-goes-again" expressions on my colleagues' faces when I describe the report writing process, neither will they.

The Value of a Dollar

Fri, 31 Oct 2008 09:33:00 -0400

Maybe it's because I work in research, or maybe it's because I know how it feels to cold call someone, or maybe I just like giving my opinion. But whenever I'm asked to take a survey, I do it. This past summer I bought a new car, and about a month ago I received a follow-up mail survey. It asked me to rate things like vehicle features, comfort, performance, etc. And enclosed with the survey materials, as an incentive, was the newest, crispest dollar bill I'd ever seen in my life. This thing was so perfect, so untouched by gritty human hands, that I still haven't even put it in my wallet. It was so crisp that, as it sat on our coffee table for a few days, multiple people (friends, my mom) who'd come over actually commented on it: "Look at this dollar! Where did you get this?" "This is the newest-looking dollar I've ever seen!" A one-dollar bill had become the biggest conversation piece in my apartment. And for some reason, while I probably would have answered the questions anyway, this lovely piece of currency really was an incentive for me to take and mail that survey. If it had been old, torn, crumpled, or wrinkled, there's no way it would have had the same effect; in fact, I likely would have had the opposite reaction: "Wow, they want my opinion so badly, they sent me a whole chewed-up dollar." It's a neat little piece of irony that in this down-the-crapper economy, a single dollar bill bought 15 minutes of my time. And perhaps it's even more ironic that we pay some of our hardest-to-get recruits upwards of $100, and I was willing to settle for a buck.

Back Here, Out There

Fri, 19 Sep 2008 09:27:00 -0400

I realize there's a lot to like about the West Coast, but one of the small things I love about it is the way just about everyone there refers to the eastern part of the country. Back east. "I took a trip back east last month." "I have to go back east on business." Not, "I took a trip to the East Coast," or to the "eastern part of the country," or even just "east." Back east. Okay, maybe "love" is a strong word for how I feel about an expression. But back east is just so evocative. Why do people consider traveling to the East Coast going back? To where are they going back? Back to where they once lived? Back to where they grew up? Back to where their family is from originally? Maybe, but how does all that explain the fact that even West Coast natives refer to the east as back east, natives who have never ventured east of the Mississippi and have no family in the region? It's fascinating. In our collective unconscious, is the East Coast somehow considered the cradle of American civilization, the U.S. version of Athens, Rome, Egypt, Africa? Does a trip to the East Coast mean going back to one's roots? To the country's roots? If these seem like odd musings, consider this: Would you ever use the expression back west? It just sounds completely wrong, doesn't it? You go out west. And how about this: you'd never say out east, would you? What explains it -- back east, but out west? Fascinating. While we're on the subject, here's an expression I outright despise -- "my bad." In my book, if you've done something wrong, if you've acted in a way that harms or inconveniences someone, you say "I'm sorry." Just "sorry" by itself is acceptable, I suppose, but to me that sounds more theoretical than personal -- as if you were just throwing out the concept of remorse, and leaving it up to the aggrieved to attach it to you personally. "My bad" is in another league entirely. It implies no remorse or bad feeling whatsoever, just an acknowledgment of fact. "You caught me, I screwed up. Now go away so I can get back to 'Halo.'" (Maybe I'm a little too close to this one.) And finally, one last term . . . genius. I know I'm not alone in feeling the term is applied too freely these days. But in my humble opinion, David Foster Wallace was unquestionably a genius.¹ I've always had mixed feelings about his fiction (even though I recognize his enormous influence on writers I enjoy, like Dave Eggers). But his essays are pure, unadulterated, footnote-frenzied brilliance. ² I'm still having difficulty getting past the shock of opening up Monday's newspaper and seeing his picture on the obituary page -- dead at 46, an apparent suicide. I suppose I have to accept the fact that someone so keenly observant -- someone whose writing regularly made me laugh out loud -- could also lead an unbearably tortured inner life. But I don't want to. "He was . . . as sweet a person as I've ever known and as tormented a person as I've ever known." ³ RIP, DFW.

¹ Heck, he even won the so-called "genius" award from the MacArthur Foundation -- so I guess my statement goes beyond MHO.
²If you don't believe me, read "Authority and American Usage," in Consider the Lobster.
³Jonathan Franzen, as quoted in The New York Times, September 14, 2008.

I Just Hate Self-Indulgent, Confessional Blogs

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 12:09:00 -0400

But then again, I felt such great pride when I read in the September issue of Radar Magazine that the school ranked No. 1 (for the second year in a row) on their list of the 50 Worst Colleges in America is . . . the University of Bridgeport! Here are the first two sentences from the Radar Magazine profile:

"We scoured the country for a more deserving dishonoree, we really did. But once again the University of Bridgeport has swept the competition in every category, not only for its meager academics, postapocalyptic campus, and downright shady administration, but because we simply can't imagine a more terrifying place to spend four years."

I speak of great pride because I entered UB in the fall of 1966 as a freshman. Truth be told, I left New Hampshire for Bridgeport, CT, to be close to my girlfriend, who lived just over the border in NY. Not that she was my girlfriend at the time, mind you; she had dumped me the previous winter. But the greatest fools have the highest hopes.

I lasted four semesters at UB before flunking out in the spring of 1968. (My girlfriend failed to see the error of her ways in that time, despite my lapdog efforts.) University officials allowed me to take two summer classes in the hopes I would get back over the flunkee hump. One course was a do-nothing English poetry class; I got a B. The other was a Japanese history course taught by a visiting Japanese professor who spoke little English. I did nothing in the class, except tell him at the end that I needed an A to stay in school. He gave me the A.

Back in the UB fold for the fall of 1968, I promptly flunked out again at the end of that semester. University officials thought better of any future matriculation on my part.

My 2-S student deferment status immediately in jeopardy (this was the Vietnam era), I enrolled back home in NH at the New Hampshire College of Accounting and Commerce. But seeing how I never went to a class and never paid my first tuition bill, my 2-S deferment immediately became 1-A (draft eligible -- Vietnam bound). Called by the military for my physical, I cut my hair so as not to stand out, tried my damnedest not to pass, but passed anyway and vacantly awaited the call to duty. Fortune intervened, however, and the first military draft lottery picked me a very high number, and so I was pretty much assured of not being drafted. Life, however, thought better of this good fortune when I totaled (having failed to purchase auto insurance -- then not required in NH) my one-month-old, two-tone purple 1960 Austin Healy 3000, bought for $800 -- the car of my dreams, still today. Fortune intervened problematically yet a third time that summer when my new, old girlfriend (that girlfriend, after a three-year hiatus, was back) called to tell me she was pregnant and wondered what we were going to do about it. We got married -- that's what we did about it. She was 19 and a high school drop-out; I was 20 and a college flunk-out. And that's when everything began changing, and continued changing. Everything except one thing: 39 years later -- same girlfriend.

Reality Bites?

Wed, 13 Aug 2008 16:17:00 -0400

In our work here at Taylor, we do a fair amount of TV program pilot testing. And a fair number of those pilots are reality shows -- or "real-life shows," as some of our clients call them. "Real-life shows" seems to have a much nicer ring to it. Since the barrage of reality TV shows began sometime in the late 90s, I think it can be safely argued that they've gotten steadily . . . well, trashier. (Anyone remember "The Littlest Groom" or "Temptation Island"?) "Reality show" has a certain connotation -- and it's not a good one. "Real-life," on the other hand . . . We recently conducted focus groups on some raw footage that our client may turn into a series, a documentary, or a TV special -- based on real people. And prior to the groups, we watched and discussed the footage internally. We reached a consensus that our focus group participants later mirrored: that real people on TV are interesting only to the extent that they feel like real people. I'm not into the shows that follow B-list celebrities trying to boost their careers. I could care less about "Living Lohan," "House of Carters," "Keeping Up With the Kardashians," or -- especially -- "Denise Richards: It's Complicated." (Thanks for spelling it out for us, Denise.) These celebrities are already known -- and I know their lives are not like mine. They're so far removed from my world that watching them is just a little piece of fluff, cotton candy. Then there are the shows that, for me, cut to the bone of "real life." These shows are different from those listed above because they involve people who could be me -- or could be my neighbors, my friends, my coworkers. They are regular people made famous by an extraordinary quirk or quality. I see three categories under this umbrella: 1) Shows featuring an extraordinary family:
"Jon and Kate Plus Eight" -- a couple with eight children: twins and sextuplets.
"Little People, Big World" -- a couple who are little people and their four children -- three of whom are of average height, one of whom is little.

2) Shows featuring people with extraordinary jobs:
"Ice Road Truckers" -- drivers of big rigs over the Arctic ice.
"Deadliest Catch" -- crab fishermen in the treacherous Pacific waters off Alaska.

3) Shows featuring people facing an extraordinary obstacle:
"Intervention" -- people dealing with various addictions whose families attempt to stage an intervention.

To me, these shows all have one thing in common -- people who are willing to expose their flaws, even it makes them look overbearing, strung out, scared, gritty, or ugly. Kate Gosselin is no Denise Richards -- and she certainly isn't always wearing make up. Then again, if she was, we wouldn't buy that she was successfully parenting eight children without a full-time staff. "Intervention" is so emotionally raw that I often can't even watch it. I once saw an episode about a woman battling anorexia (her addiction was control), and I couldn't stop thinking about it for days afterwards. I even searched for information about her online -- was she okay? Did she recover? Did she die? The harshness of this reality is what draws us to these shows -- and what creates a successful connection with a viewer. Do you agree? Do you wonder how the crab season will go on "Deadliest Catch," or are "The Girls Next Door" your guilty pleasure? What makes you connect with reality shows -- and do you believe any of them actually portray reality?

Breakfast (And Lunch) At Wimbledon

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 10:13:00 -0400

It was nine minutes past nine o'clock in London yesterday evening when, deep into the fifth set of the Wimbledon gentlemen's final, Roger Federer eyed a short ball and prepared to hit his forehand, the sport's most dominant shot. Instead of drilling it into the corner for a winner, as he's done countless times before, he went straight up the middle, directly at Rafael Nadal, his shot landing six inches beyond the baseline. Out. Nadal had secured a break and would hold his serve the next game to win the title, 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7, in four hours and forty-eight minutes of spectacular tennis. It was Federer's first loss at Wimbledon since 2002, and many have claimed this match marks a permanent change atop men's tennis. Personally, I'm not so sure: Nadal has yet to prove his body can take the pounding of a full year of tennis, and he normally breaks down at some point during the summer hardcourt or fall indoor seasons. I expect Federer to remain No. 1 for the rest of this year. Nevertheless, the match was fascinating, suspenseful, exhilarating. It was so engaging to watch that, as a tennis fan, I was surprised when I had an odd feeling early in the fifth set, as night began to fall on London and clouds crept toward Centre Court. I wanted it to rain, and I wanted the completion of the match to be pushed to Monday. You should know that Monday finals are a disaster for everybody associated with tennis tournaments: the tournaments, the sponsors, the fans, the television partners. Nobody likes them. The last Monday Wimbledon final was broadcast on MSNBC, apparently because they couldn't possibly find a lower-rated news network on which to show the finals of an elite sporting event. And yet, with the match moving toward conclusion, I started rooting for anything to stand in the way of that happening. And as the match reached 7-7 in the fifth set, I had a real chance: darkness wasn't far away, and just a couple more service holds (there hadn't been a break since the second set) would get us to Monday. Come on! I should explain myself: We do work for the United States Tennis Association, and I'm always especially excited when we land a new USTA project. I've played tennis almost my entire life and have always loved the game. You may have heard that tennis in America has seen better days: not only have other countries caught up (and in some cases passed) the U.S. on the court, but overall tennis interest isn't what it could be. While there are some positive signs, the conventional wisdom that is parroted so often in the media is that ratings are bad, the game has become too fast, and there are no compelling rivalries. Even ESPN.com's Bill Simmons recently stopped writing about himself long enough to critique tennis, making a series of suggestions for improvement that ranged from the thoughtful (shorter sets, but more of them, thus increasing the number of important points) to the absurd (just about everything else in the column). So here I was, watching one of the most exciting matches of my lifetime, hoping they'd stop playing and come back on Monday, when half of the country (including myself) would be at work. Why? Because I find myself constantly rooting for anything to make tennis more popular, to move it toward the front pages, to stand out among the entertainment options available to the average American. Once people are exposed to tennis, they'll love it, I reason. I pictured Wimbledon being the No. 1 media story throughout Sunday evening and into Monday. And I thought of anxious coworkers huddling around the office TV early Monday morning, finding themselves caring about tennis for the first time in a long time. This, I thought, could be great for tennis. But it wasn't to be. The greatest player of his generation couldn't find the court with his best shot, the sport's best shot, and the match ended with about 10 minutes of playable daylight remaining. And I'm left hoping that the overnight ratings were strong, so today's story isn't about how two great tennis players played an historic match but not enough people watched. Such is the life of a tennis fan.

How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Embrace the Present

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 16:42:00 -0400

Late last year about a dozen of us formed an office movie group. Every month we meet to discuss the current selection over pizza or sandwiches. (I suspect some joined just for the food, but that's not the point of this entry.) Aside from a noted fondness for Patricia Clarkson (back-to-back months of "The Station Agent" and "Pieces of April"), the collection of movies we've discussed has been eclectic. And while most of them were made within the last decade, June's selection was "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb," a 1964 black comedy directed by Stanley Kubrick. The movie was met with very mixed reactions, with some ranking it toward the top of their all-time favorite movie list and others noting that it was hard to get through the entire 90 minutes. (Full disclosure: I found the film okay; I wouldn't recommend it to my friends.) Like in much of our focus group research, reactions were divided mainly along demographic lines -- in this case, the split was based on age. Those old enough to have seen the film when it premiered liked it, while those of us who weren't expressed a more negative view. I may have forgotten, but I can't recall a single exception to this rule. Someone wondered, aloud, whether movies with themes relevant to the day (in this case, the Cold War) could possibly be evaluated fairly by today's audiences. I don't think so. There's no substitute for being there. One group member recalled what it was like to duck and cover as a class in elementary school. I couldn't fully relate. I barely remember "The Day After." So in this respect, older period pieces definitely get short shrift. But I'm convinced there's more at play here. At the risk of taking an immature view on the subject, I believe that entertainment today, for all its faults, is better than it has ever been -- that goes for movies, music, and even everyone's favorite punching bag: TV. I believe today's entertainment offers more selection and higher quality than at any time in the past -- that acting has evolved, writing is more creative, directing is sharper, and that there's more good entertainment out there if people are willing to search for it. What do you think?

Take My Brand Image . . . Please!

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 16:49:00 -0400

Has anyone noticed how often age comes up in these Praxis entries? Starting with Jason's "It's a Young Person's World" piece, we've had entries making the case that young professionals aren't taken seriously, entries on the different ways younger and older people consume media, and entries on the younger generation's difficulties with boredom. Vive le generation gap! Oh, and for those of you who worry that the older people don't show you the respect you deserve, indulge me for just a moment while I place yourselves in my shoes. Ahem . . .
- "Peter likes Radiohead?????" (Jessica, April 9, extra question marks added)
- "But then I thought to myself, 'Karma Police'????? . . . Radiohead????? . . . Peter? No way." (Scott, February 27, question marks untouched)

Nothing like putting yourself out there on a blog to find out how people really perceive you. Apparently, the key brand attributes for me are "old" and "unhip." Remember that little exchange about projective exercises we had a while back? Well, now I'm really hesitant to use them. Hazy dissolve to . . . PF: So, if this brand were a person, what kind of person would it be?
Respondent 1: Really old . . . like ancient.
Respondent 2: Yeah, drives an old station wagon . . .
Respondent 3: With wood on the sides!
Respondent 4: Plaid pants and striped shirt . . .
Respondent 5: Would NEVER listen to Radiohead . . . more like Journey . . . or Air Supply.
All: Yeah, sort of like . . . YOU!
So the next time an older person is looking askance at you, consider the indignity we suffer every day. How would you feel opening your mailbox to find yet another invitation to join AARP? Or when you're filing out of an airplane: "Thanks for flying, thanks a lot, have a great day, take care . . . thank you, SIR!" On behalf of all mature Taylorites, I bid you . . . twenty-three skidoo. And Jessica, after reading through your latest entry, I invite you to join our group. You may be in your late 20s, but you already sound a lot like us. :)

No Surprises, No Boredom, No Problem?

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 11:32:00 -0400

After reading Peter's last entry about how searching for a song led him into a philosophical thought process about prix fixe and a la carte, I was left with several questions:
1. Peter likes Radiohead?
2. Who is Thom Yorke?
3. Where can I buy Yaks Recipes Illustrated?

His entry led me to write about my own thoughts on music consumption and how our technologically advanced society has permanently altered the way we think and behave. MY MUSIC CONSUMPTION BEHAVIOR SEEMS TO BELONG MORE TO PETER'S GENERATION THAN MY OWN.
First, I'm in my late 20's, and I'm guessing Peter is . . . well . . . older than that. I am certainly not an early adopter when it comes to new technology. Just a couple of years ago, I waited for my birthday month to roll around and asked for an MP3 player. I didn't want an iPod -- just something that had radio capabilities and held enough songs to distract me when I'm exercising. Two years later, I'm still amazed: It's so tiny and holds so many songs. The days of walking with a big, bulky Walkman are over. I borrowed CDs and used my own to fill my MP3 player when I first got it, and I haven't added songs since. Sure, there are songs on new CDs I have bought since then that I would like to add, but it just hasn't been worth adding this task to my "to do" list. I do, however, see myself regularly adding new songs to it in the near future. When I say "regularly," I mean maybe twice a year. What's more, unlike Peter, my unit of music will probably never change from a CD to an individual song. I recently celebrated a birthday and got a gift certificate to Amazon "to buy some songs." I immediately thought: Why would I do that? Why would I waste my money on 1) songs that I didn't like enough originally to buy on CD and 2) songs that are constantly on the radio? Which leads me to my second thought . . . TODAY'S SOCIETY DOESN'T LET US EXPERIENCE THE UNKNOWN ANYMORE; FEW SURPRISES REMAIN.
Now follow me here. I'm guessing a lot of the songs people buy MP3s of are those they've heard on the radio. So, based on that assumption, are consumers really telling the music industry what they demand? I can see Peter's argument that consumers are now saying, "I know what's best for me, so you'd better adapt to it." But we can't rule out the influence of the music industry completely. They help determine what is played on the radio, on MTV, on shows like "Grey's Anatomy," etc. I think the music industry is still telling the consumers what to like, simply by having it available in these venues. It seems like consumers think they have all the power, but in fact the industry is still telling them that what they want is what they hear. It's still the horse before the cart. So, what happens to all of the great songs off an album that few people get to hear because they never make it to the radio? It's as if popular radio is just one giant Greatest Hits Station. Part of the reason I don't think I will ever buy individual songs is that every singer/songwriter album tells the story of a point in time for the artist. Each album is an experience, and if you choose to listen only to part of that experience, then what's the point? And when a song hits you at the right time, you can relate to it; it speaks to a point in your life. Now, I don't necessarily see this being the case with many pop albums these days; it seems like every song is written by a different person. It just seems that no one is willing to take that journey anymore -- the journey with the artist. Few come along for the ride because they let the music industry decide what they'll hear on the radio instead. Consumers just seem satisfied with what they're handed over the radio, and I think they're missing out. Some of best songs are the ones that are never even released. This leads me to my other point: There aren't any surprises anymore. People aren't (pleasantly or unpleasantly) surprised by the non-released songs on an album if they never buy them and hear them. How many people do you know pick up the phone without knowing who it is? Everyone has Caller ID now. I admit, it's handy for avoiding telemarketers, but really, would it be that bad if it were like the old days? Fewer and fewer people are willing to experience a drive without a device that tells them exactly where to go. Where's the spontaneity? Does anyone take the road less traveled anymore without a GPS? And finally . . . TODAY'S TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED SOCIETY DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO BE BORED ANYMORE.
Technology consumes so much of our daily thoughts now. As a result, our daily "to-do" lists have gotten astronomically long, and it seems like a lot of the daily frustrations we experience are direct results of having technology that is supposed to make our lives easier: searching everywhere for a song to download, having problems with HD channels on your TV, having a computer program crash while you're working . . . you see where I'm going. Technology has made us a completely multitasking society. This is an extreme example, but some people actually text or e-mail while they're at red lights, or while they drink their morning coffee, and treat the radio presets like they're a remote control. How many times have you been out with friends when their cellphone rings? Rather than ignoring the call and being fully engrossed in where they're at and who they're with, they will answer the phone or at least check to see who is calling. No one, young or old, knows how to focus on one thing anymore, or be bored anymore. And being bored, I think, is a very powerful tool. I remember when I was a kid and my parents would drag my siblings and me to my great grandmother's house to sit for hours on end. We would whine the entire way there and the entire way back, but while we were there, we were the most pleasant, quiet, attentive little things you ever saw. We were bored out of our minds, but my parents made us sit there and just listen and talk. Today's parents don't demand that level of attentiveness from their kids because they don't demand it from themselves. A mother I know didn't bring her young teen kids to visit an old relative because "they would be bored and wouldn't sit there for long." Too damn bad. If it doesn't interest you, you know what? You're going to sit there anyways and pretend like it does. We were told that you accommodate for others, especially elders, not the other way around. At family get-togethers nowadays, kids bring their electronic games so that when the adult conversation bores them, they just whip them out and start playing. They sit there, by themselves, with limited or no interaction with anyone else. Someone else I know brought their toddler camping, and each night by the campfire, the child watched a DVD. I remember thinking that campfires were the coolest things -- that was the entertainment. Now cars have TVs and DVD players in them. I thought the whole point of taking a road trip that was long enough to warrant watching a video was to get away from the kind of stuff that already occupies your house. Oh, but the kids would fight if they weren't able to watch video! Yes, but they would also learn how to sit there and be bored, or maybe talk to their family members. You know what we did as kids in the back of our station wagon? We fought like cats and dogs. But we also played car bingo, the most boring game in the world (by the way, my brother and sister are cheaters), and made up games. I'll refrain from talking (in this entry) about my theory that the computer is Eli Whitney's cotton gin of the 20th century. But the technology that is supposed to be making our lives easier is, I think, actually hurting our future.