What’s a marketing columnist doing writing about politics?

Politics has permeated our nation’s soul and consciousness and drives many of our actions, including purchasing. And since this column started six years ago, I have been preaching a simple message: success in marketing relies on empathy and creativity.

It is through the lens of empathy I will present my case. You can agree or disagree. We still have free speech in America. But know one thing–– without vigilance, our freedoms may be temporary.

September 11, 2001, will forever be known as one of the darkest days in American history. Foreign terrorists hijacked two passenger planes and flew a suicide mission into The World Trade Center’s twin towers. History shows there were warning signs of an impending attack and intelligence agencies’ miscommunications.

But it happened, and we watched in horror. Like the other date in infamy, December 7, 1941, this was a foreign attack on American soil.

And we wanted to go to war.

There was a problem. We did not have a land to declare war on. We were attacked by people who believed the U.S. was evil and threatened their religious beliefs and way of life. Al-Queda, a militant Sunni Islamist group, took responsibility for 9-11, and 15 of the 19 hijackers were from Saudi Arabia, our ally.

Al-Queda members were in many countries, so we declared war on terror.

Following 9-11, there was a surge in patriotism. We came together as a nation. But something disturbing was also happening. Fear was festering. We surrendered our freedoms out of fear.

The Patriot Act was quickly passed (Big Brother could now legally watch us). Homeland Security was established and grew like kudzu on Miracle-Gro. Color-coded threat security levels became a thing.

And, most disturbing of all, political forces began the drumbeat of war on a nation- Iraq. They fanned the flames of fear. We had to battle Iraq’s evil leader Saddam Hussein before he developed “weapons of mass destruction.”

Politicians used fear and rallied our nation into war with Iraq, a country producing none of the hijackers on 9-11. Soon, America was entrenched in a Middle East war. And the death of Saddam Hussein did not atone for the sin of 9-11 or shorten our war.

America began engaging in torture and practices like waterboarding that was against our morals and the Geneva Convention. We were mired in Middle East quicksand and losing our proud identity as the ‘shining city on the hill.’

At the root of 9-11 aftermath was fear. FDR told us fear was the only thing we had to fear, but we didn’t listen. We compromised our American values.

We’re still fighting our war on terror, but now it’s not the foreign terrorists who pose our biggest threat. As the cartoon character Pogo said, “We have met the enemy, and it is us.”

Twenty years after 9-11, we had 1-6, an insurrectionist uprising as a mob of zealots, stormed the Capitol building, trashing the people’s house in their efforts to overturn a free and fair election.

Why did this seditious act happen? Fear.

Fears flamed by President Donald J. Trump, a man many psychiatric professionals believe has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. The symptoms include an excessive need for admiration, disregard for others’ feelings, an inability to handle any criticism, and a sense of entitlement. Does that sound like anyone we know?

Also, a man known for his lack of empathy.

Trump had built his brand on fear. He is a master manipulator who always finds “the other,” a common enemy.

Some of his greatest hits include: the Central Park 5, Obama is a Kenyan President, Mexican rapists are coming to America, Muslims are evil, football players who take a knee in protest should be fired, Black Lives Matter “thugs” were dangerous, radical Democrats hate the country and serve China, the caravan is coming, COVID-19 is a hoax, on and on.

The upshot of all his blather is victimhood: his and his followers. He attracted white supremacists and militias who saw government as the enemy.

For many, he provided the fear that allowed them to wear a shroud of victimhood. People who may have lost their jobs to slave labor overseas or automation and felt politicians had turned their backs on them, forgotten them, and indulged globalism over our country.

Trump was the populist who was going to make America great again and put America First. He started his reign with a lie–– that his inauguration crowd was the largest inaugural crowd ever. Despite photographic evidence disproving this claim, the Trump administration persisted and introduced the concept of “alternate facts.”

We were off and running. Over the next four years, Trump said 30,534 lies, according to The Washington Post.

The Trump playbook incorporates classic fascism techniques that have been used by autocrats throughout history. The press is the enemy of the people. There is a Deep State out to get him. Anything he didn’t agree with was de facto fake news. Those who did not pledge allegiance and loyalty to him are enemies and must pay.

Trump surrounded himself with sycophants and “yes” people, creating a perfect echo chamber.

For those who wonder how someone like Hitler happens, you saw it on display these past four years.

And the culmination of Trump’s efforts came to fruition on January 6, 2021.

Trump’s proud supporters bought his lie that he had won the election in a landslide–– he was the rightful winner of a second term. This was based on allegations with zero evidence. The Trump legal team lost over 60 court cases as they tried to support their wild claims.

The president called on his supporters to come to Washington on January 6 for a rally. He and his son Donald, Jr., and Rudy Giuliani (oh, how America’s Mayor crashed and burned) whipped the angry crowd into a frenzy two weeks ago. The MAGA maniacs believed themselves patriots as their master instructed them to save America by overturning the election–– “the most secure election in U.S. history,” acting Department of Homeland Security Secretary Chad Wolf said, before he was fired.

His people also believed his lie that V.P. Mike Pence could overturn election results and nullify the Electoral College results.

Thus, his believers did his will, battling Capitol police and breaching the Capitol, while their fearless leader watched comfortably from his White House roost.

Five people died in the wake of their insurrection destruction.

Thankfully, the politicians were kept safe from the crowd’s wrath. Gallows with a noose had been constructed in front of the Capitol waiting for the dispensation of crowd justice!

Even after the disgraceful display of anarchy in the halls of democracy, 93% of the Republican representatives refused to acknowledge Biden as the legitimate president-elect. They also backed Trump’s lie. Why?

Out of fear, I suspect.

You see, Trump now owns the Republican Party. 74% of GOP voters believe Trump’s lie about his winning the election. And those politicians who go against the wannabe dictator do so at their political peril.

But now, corporate America is beginning to take notice. Many leading companies have turned off the spigot for political contributions to those politicians who do not accept Biden as our duly elected leader. Expect to see more of this. Including product boycotts (it’s not a good time to invest in My Pillow).

Also, expect to see a surge of patriotic ads from marketers. The idea of unity is good for brands to embrace.

So, how do ordinary patriotic citizens become radicalized to the point of revolution?

Fear. Because the appeal to our reptile brains is more potent than messages to our rational thought. Not for everyone, but for many.

Fear sells. That’s always been true. Rush Limbaugh, Alex Jones, Fox News Channel, Newsmax, and One America News have profited handsomely by amplifying narratives designed to foster fear. These media amplified Trumps lies and propaganda over the years.

And now, here we are, January 20, 2021. A new American president has taken office.

Today we live in two realities, but there can only be one truth. People select the media that confirms their perspectives and prejudices.

How long can that go on? That is the question.

Is there hope for unity? I doubt it, but we’re going to have to muster a way to work and live together.

Because now the terrorists are not just on foreign lands. They are homegrown and dangerous to our democracy and freedoms.

Our Democratic Republic has held. This time. The United States of America is 244 years and running.

But never forget, fear could bring it all down.

I believe America is still a great country, but it is up to every one of us to ensure it stays that way.

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Enjoy PD Scullin’s debut novel “SAWDUST: Love is wilder than a circus,” a humorous romp across America with a circus in the early ’80s. You’re a click away from a helluva fun ride. Buckle up and go.

In my almost forty-year advertising career, I never worked on a political ad campaign. Not that I didn’t want to, I just never had the opportunity.

That said, I think I can spot a winner when I see it.

And this is my armchair political marketeer declaration–– the Biden/Harris commercial “Go From There” is the greatest presidential commercial since 1984’s Ronald Reagan’s “Morning Again in America” spot written by legendary adman Hal Riney.

Riney’s Reagan spot put him and his agency on the map. Following Reagan’s re-election victory, business titans across America told their marketing directors to “get the guy behind that Reagan spot.” And Hal Riney’s fame, fortune, and agency skyrocketed. I was a beneficiary of this boom, I worked at Riney’s San Francisco office in the early ’90s.

These two commercials created thirty-six-years apart share some similar characteristics.

Both spots play on our patriotism and hope for a better future. Both show Americans working together, playing together, being kind to each other. And both are cinematic masterpieces married to beautifully-written tone poems delivered by men whose voices have been tempered by experience and wisdom, cured in finely-aged bourbon.

For the Reagan spot, it’s Hal Riney’s pipes. For Biden, it’s Sam Elliott, The Stranger who dispensed pearls of wisdom from his bowling alley barstool to The Dude in “The Big Lebowski.”

Let’s look at the scripts.

Biden’s “Go From There”–– “There is only one America. No Democratic rivers, no Republican mountains. Just this great land and all that’s possible on it with a fresh start — cures we can find, futures we can shape, work to reward, dignity to protect. There is so much we can do if we choose to take on problems and not each other, and choose a president who brings out our best. Joe Biden doesn’t need everyone in this country to always agree, just to agree we all love this country and go from there.”

Reagan’s “Morning Again in America”–– “It’s morning again in America. Today more men and women will go to work than ever before in our country’s history. With interest rates at about half the record highs of 1980, nearly 2,000 families today will buy new homes, more than at any time in the past four years. This afternoon 6,500 young men and women will be married, and with inflation at less than half of what it was just four years ago, they can look forward with confidence to the future. It’s morning again in America, and under the leadership of President Reagan, our country is prouder and stronger and better. Why would we ever want to return to where we were less than four short years ago?”

Reagan was running for a second term. He was making the case for continuing his presidency, listing accomplishments made under his leadership.

Biden has no presidential track record; he was second banana to Obama for eight-years. What he does have is a stark contrast to the current leadership of President Donald J. Trump, a man who lacks empathy. His term has been rooted in division, disruption, grievance, victimhood, fear-mongering, science denial, and conspiracies. Biden is asking us to lay down our arms and come together again for the sake of our country and our democracy.

The closing argument, presented in the silky baritone of Sam Elliott, is simple: “Joe Biden doesn’t need everyone in this country to always agree, just to agree we all love this country and go from there.”

It’s almost as if The Stranger intones, “The Biden abides.”

The Reagan and Biden spots don’t get in the weeds of policies. Both sell the allure of a brighter future for Americans. And if there were ever a time for us to rally together to make our lives better, this is it.

As Rodney King said, “Can we all get along?”

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Enjoy PD Scullin’s debut novel “SAWDUST: Love is wilder than a circus,” a dark humor romp across America in the early ’80s. You’re a click away from a helluva fun ride. Buckle up and go.

This will be controversial, but then again, isn’t everything these days?

For years, I’ve written about the importance of empathy in marketing. Guess what? It’s also critical in living.

The United States of America is in turmoil. The kindling has been piling up and drying for years. Freddie Gray, Sam DuBose, Philando Castile, Terence Crutcher, Alton Sterling, Jamar Clark, Jeremy McDole, William Chapman II, Walter Scott, Eric Harris, Tamir Rice, Akai Gurley, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and Breonna Taylor were all African-Americans killed by police. There are many more.

Some of the cases of those listed above received national media attention. And in many, justice was not served. Shouldn’t justice be colorblind–– white, black, brown, and those dressed in blue?

Afterward, outrage ensued… until it happened again. And again. And again.

Then there is civilian justice. You recall Trayvon Martin, armed with a bag of Skittles–– a dangerous threat to humanity. He was shot and killed by George Zimmerman, a white citizen who feared a young black man in a hoodie. Because Zimmerman “stood his ground” and shot the kid dead, this killer went free.

Earlier this year, Ahmaud Arbery, an unarmed 25-year-old African-American man, was jogging in the wrong Brunswick, Georgia neighborhood. Two white men, Gregory McMichael, and his son Travis chased him in a pick-up because they suspected Aubrey of burglarizing a home. The truck hit the jogger, Travis got out and shot Arbery dead. The vigilantes were free men for over 74 days until a video of the shooting was released, showing the brutality of Arbery’s slaying.

Next, the world witnessed Amy Cooper use her phone as a weapon against Christian Cooper, an African-American man. Why? Because he requested that she obey park rules and put her dog on a leash. She told him to stop filming her, or she’d “call the cops and tell them there’s an African-American man threatening my life.” He encouraged her to do that and continued filming Amy on his phone as she called the cops and yelled that an African-American man was threatening the lives of her and her dog.

Amy Cooper’s white privilege was on display for all. She wanted to keep Christian Cooper on a short leash and prove that “an African-American man” is the nuclear option in law enforcement alerts.

This brings us to George Floyd–– a 46-year-old black man murdered in broad daylight on the street by someone paid “to protect and serve” Minneapolis residents. Policeman Derek Chauvin knelt on Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, assisted by three fellow cops who looked on or provided added ballast on Floyd’s body. The entire public execution captured on video. Chauvin didn’t care about being filmed. He kept choking a handcuffed man as he gasped his last words, “I can’t breathe.”

When the video was released, the shit finally hit the fan.

Angry protesters took to the streets in cities across America. The crowds were comprised of all ages and races, and they demanded justice. Some people took advantage of the mayhem looting and destroying property. The pent up rage of racial injustice was released. It was prime time for governmental leadership to unite people.

But, as Atlanta Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms so eloquently told CNN, “America is a tinderbox, and Donald Trump’s tongue is a flame right now. Each time he opens his mouth, he throws another match on the fire.”

The president did just that when he announced, “I am mobilizing all available federal resources — civilian and military — to stop the rioting and looting.”

What unfolded next will be recounted by historians as one of the darkest days in American history. Federal forces used rubber bullets, chemical irritants, and flash-bang grenades to clear a crowd of peaceful, lawful protesters from Lafayette Park. Why? So the powerful authoritarian leader could cross the street, with leaders in his cabinet including Army Gen. Mark Milley, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the senior-most officer in the U.S. military dressed in camo. We were now at war against our citizens!

Why did the president cross the street? For a photo-op–– to get a picture of the mighty leader holding a Bible in front of a church.

That will be catnip for evangelicals this election season. Does anything matter to Donald J. Trump besides getting re-elected and maintaining power? Nope.

The Lafayette park scene was disturbing, disgusting, and reprehensible. The kind of thing one sees in countries ruled by dictators.

And now, we learn there is a “secret police force” working under the direction of Attorney General William Barr–– infiltrating “the troublemakers” daring to make the fearless leader look weak.

Can you say, “Gestapo?”

No wonder former Secretary of Defense James Mattis, former Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman Adm. Mike Mullen, retired four-star Marine Gen. Mike Allen, all condemned Trump’s fascist power play.

So, will we forgo our democracy and bow to the will of a would-be dictator? I won’t, and I hope anyone who loves our country doesn’t.

Remember, our troops swear to serve The Constitution, not the president. The president also swears on a Bible to serve The Constitution.

What’s the underpinning of all this turmoil? I believe it’s a lack of empathy. Donald Trump demonstrates narcissistic personality traits, showing no empathy or compassion for others. The result of his personality flaws is the shit storm our democracy faces today.

It is time our society finally faces and addresses our systemic racism and over-policing and incarceration of African-Americans. I know that sounds rich coming from this privileged white male, but I’m serious.

We must stop fighting and listen to each other. Hear African-American stories–– their personal experiences of what they go through daily, and empathize with what’s said.

Feel their pain, fear, anguish, anger, despair, bitterness, and hopelessness. And ask yourself if it’s justified.

Imagine how it feels to see whites waving confederate flags. Didn’t we already fight that war? Try and internalize the pain experienced by black people seeing statues of Civil War generals who committed treason fighting to ensure their ancestors remained the property of their masters. Ask yourself why so many people are trying to erase that history by saying the Civil War wasn’t about slavery.

It was. And still is. And the civil war is still being fought daily in this country.

Open your heart and feel what it’s like to be feared, judged, and discriminated against–– all because of the color of your skin.

Carry the weight of knowing that from 1882-1968, 4,743 lynchings occurred in the United States, 3,446 of them black people. Their crimes were as minor as being “uppity” or looking at white women the wrong way. Many of the lynchings were public events, a grotesque act of cruelty treated as family entertainment. Some lynchings even had postcards and mementos made–– death as a keepsake.

Imagine the pain of living under Jim Crow laws with strictly enforced segregation and hostility toward those brave people with the audacity to think they were equal. Remember, those laws were on the books until 1968.

Empathize with what it feels like to be a parent who must give their children “the talk” at a young age because they know how dangerous it is out there. They know that having black skin is carrying a target on your front and back. No wonder these parents worry for their loved ones every time they leave home.

Comprehend the agony of living in a society with a history of racism that runs through education, professional opportunities, pay, healthcare, voting rights, housing, criminal justice–– on and on and on.

This systemic racism is aimed at people who gave our society so much. Hell, their forefathers built this nation and its economy, literally.

African-Americans fought for their country, only to return home and re-discover the idea of freedom, and “all men are created equal” was a big fat lie. Because of the color of their skin.

Imagine enduring these insults to your very existence, after the incredible richness African-Americans have brought to our history, arts, music, culture, sports, entertainment, and lives.

And in return, they are given knees on their throats, or guns to their heads.

Over 56-years ago, Martin Luther King gave his famous “I have a dream” speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial. And a few days ago, we saw this memorial to the man who freed slaves guarded by a strong military presence. The kind of sight one sees in a dictatorship, not a democracy.

Why? Because MLK’s dream is still a dream.

Now ask yourself one simple question: Would you want to be black in America?

Let’s do something about this. Together, maybe we can finally make MLK’s dream a reality.

(This is something I wrote a few years back, but it is pretty timeless. If you are an adult, you have seen incredible leaps in technology and we know how that’s changed your life. But it’s good to remember what once was and how far we’ve come–– and question if life in a simpler time was perhaps better.)

I am fifty-eight-years-old, and a time traveler.

No, I didn’t invent some magical machine. I was simply born in a magical time when technology enveloped me and transported me into a strange world.

This notion struck me the other day as I was walking and reading the screen on my iPhone. I held all the knowledge of the universe in the palm of my hand and could communicate across the world in nanoseconds. I had instant access to media and could make my media–– taking pictures and videos, making recordings, and writing.

The world had shrunk, and I was the master of the planet. This thought was weird, empowering, and disturbing. How did I get here?

My first job, at age nine, was as a paperboy, a job that’s pretty much obsolete, at least for kids. Soon, printed newspapers will probably slip into oblivion. Why bother? The news is old the moment it’s committed to the page.

As a paperboy, I lugged a canvas sack loaded with newspapers across my shoulder. I walked, folded papers, and tossed them onto front porches.

Back then, almost everyone got the paper. It was essential. Delivering the newspaper was a sacred duty, and if I was late, people complained. If I missed a house, I heard about it and righted my error.

Even though I was a kid, I was an essential link between media and humanity. And for my dedicated service, I earned about ten bucks a week, with tips. I was a small businessman responsible for collecting money and paying the publisher for its products. Imagine a little kid dealing with deadbeats and hustling to find new customers.

That’s a lot of responsibility for a child. Today, most parents wouldn’t think of sending a kid out into the world without adult supervision. They’d fear that their child would encounter molesters, kidnappers, terrorists, sadists, and psychotic killers. They’re everywhere (news shows say so)!

The times they had been a-changin’.

In my youth, phones had rotary dials. We contacted each other by making our fingers go counterclockwise seven times. There were no answering machines. If you didn’t want to be disturbed, you took your phone off the hook. That’s what our family did at suppertime. Dad was a lawyer, and his clients seemed to have legal questions at suppertime that he didn’t want to hear. So, the phone went off the hook, and we ate undisturbed.

There were phone booths–– small closets containing payphones. Local calls cost a dime. Step inside, close the door, and enjoy the privacy of a telecommunication cocoon.

In seventh grade, I squeezed into a drug store phone booth with my friend Kevin, who had a crush on Mary Margaret, a cute brunette in our class at St. Patrick’s Elementary. Kevin was shy, so he had me dial the phone, instructing me that if her mother picked up, I should disguise my voice as a girl so she wouldn’t know a boy was calling. The mother answered, and in my best high-pitched girl’s voice, I asked if Mary Margaret was there. When she came to the phone, I handed it to Kevin, and he nervously talked with her, making fun of me for faking a girl’s voice. My embarrassment made the phone booth’s tight quarters feel as if they were closing in.

Kevin’s relationship with Mary Margaret never materialized, and phone booths eventually vanished.

In my youth, televisions were boxes broadcasting black and white images with washes of gray. One day, a tornado must have uprooted a house and dropped it on a witch, because when we opened the door, color TV was born.

I used to walk down the street to a small store run by an old guy named Larry Brooks, the only person I knew in Hubbard, Ohio, with color television. I went there Sunday evenings to see the dazzling opening credits of The Wonderful World of Disney. The screen projected wild, vivid colors that mesmerized me. Larry Brooks watched as I watched his TV, probably wondering if I was going to buy, or steal, something.

At the first commercial break, I’d purchase a nickel candy bar and be on my way. I was a color TV junkie, and I’d had my fix.

It was the days of transistor radios, and everyone had one, or more. They were inexpensive and stamped with “MADE IN JAPAN.” Back then, things made in Japan were considered junk. That would change.

Radio was king, and DJs had loyal followings.

In Youngstown, Ohio, our closest media market, a disc jockey named Boots Bell, held court with a velvety baritone and his signature catchphrase, “Yes indeedy, doody-daddy!” He played rock and roll records, and the Steel Valley listened with hungry, appreciative ears.

Boots was a god.

Music came on vinyl records–– round, black discs etched with musical grooves that when a diamond stylus dug into them, released recorded sounds. If an album was abused, or the stylus needle manhandled across its surface, the vinyl became scratched. Deep scratches caused skipping, an annoying interruption to the music that said: “THAT’LL TEACH YOU TO DISRESPECT ME, CLUMSY FOOL!”

Most of our family’s records had scratches; with nine children, it was inevitable. We had an innovative solution for scratched records, though–– pocket change.

We placed coins on the turntable tonearm. The added weight forced the stylus to dig deeper into the grooves and my music. It worked, but sometimes it was a losing proposition. When a record required sixty-one cents–– two quarters, two nickels, and a penny–– it was spent.

Time to discard the disc or buy another copy.

Later, music was digitized, and CDs came along with lasers mining zeroes and ones for music reproduction, which begat digital files and the miracle of the iPod, which begat–– I’m getting ahead of myself.

Today, audiophiles prefer analog vinyl to digital music, paying a premium for a record’s warm sound and superior fidelity (they probably don’t use spare change on their tonearms).

Music changed, and mathematics did, too–– or at least, how we worked with it.

In high school and college, math wizards carried plastic sticks with numbers and sliding scales called ‘slide rules,’ using the plastic divining rods for unearthing answers to complex problems.

The device was so powerful; some people carried it in a holster.

Then science invented calculators–– portable adding machines that crunched numbers instantly. Engineering students had calculators with secret scientific languages. These expensive gadgets also had holsters.

Nerds were math gunslingers, squaring off for dueling logarithms.

I was an artsy-fartsy guy who liked writing. I learned to type in high school on an old Royal typewriter with an ink-imbedded cotton fiber ribbon. In college, I bought a 1957 (the year of my birth) electric IBM typewriter that weighed about the same as a baby rhinoceros. When I flicked its power button on, I felt a surge as the machine locked the typing carriage in place and prepared to react to my fingers’ commands.

The ’57 IBM’s font was a classy, beautiful serif. When I struck a key, an arm with the corresponding letter slammed onto the paper, and the roller wall accepted the blow. The sound of repeated knocks on the page was magical and fed my urge to write more.

When I began my career as an advertising copywriter, I worked on an IBM Selectric, the Sherman tank of office equipment. The Selectric had a small plastic ball containing all of a font’s letters and symbols. The ball rotated and gyrated, fulfilling the writer’s commands.

The tap-a-tap-tap sound was seductive, intoxicating.

If I made a mistake, there was Liquid Paper, a miraculous concoction invented by the mother of Michael Nesmith, who played in the pop group The Monkees (I was once a huge fan). Each Liquid Paper bottle had an applicator cap. Dip the small brush, dab the liquid over the mistake, wait for it to dry, and type over your screw-up.

To err is human; to forgive is Liquid Paper.

Then came the technological revolution of the IBM Selectric II, with correction tape. If I made a mistake, I simply hit the correction button, and the error vanished. Covering my sloppy tracks was easy. Bada. Bing.

Technology saved our error-prone asses, and we were on the cusp of a great leap forward–– the personal computer. All my life, I had read and heard about computers, amazing devices that could do incredible things.

In college, some students took programming classes and worked with large computers. They sat at keyboards and punched cards with code–– tiny holes cut into manila cards–– and fed them into a computer. Magically, these coded cards made the hi-tech contraptions do their voodoo.

Computers took us to the moon and back. They assisted scientists and engineers in solving problems that led to astounding technological breakthroughs. Computers were the future. We heard they would make our lives better, and we gladly climbed aboard these tech time machines to better days.

My first interaction with a computer came in late 1984 when my ad agency supplied employees with IBM PC Jr.s. I had just given my two weeks’ notice and used this revolutionary technology to play the game “hangman.”

I was a true technocrat.

Before long, computers were ubiquitous, and we became masters of our publishing worlds. People with machines designed by Steve Jobs and his Apple zealots were on the cutting edge of tech designed to be reasonably idiot-proof. I happily paid a premium for Apple gear, so I didn’t have to learn complicated computerese.

The computer age took us where we’d never been before, but we were just clearing our throats for the roar of technological innovation that would forever change humanity.

We began hearing cryptic phrases like “the information superhighway” and “cyberspace” and “the worldwide web.” Alien language for a strange world that soon devoured us.

Suddenly, America Online discs were everywhere, invading the landscape like kudzu on Miracle-Gro. And once online, we discovered mysterious places called “chat rooms” where people talked with text in real-time, and planets called websites began populating the vastness of cyberspace.

One could download pictures and videos; they took ages to do so, but we patiently waited. By today’s standards, these early efforts were primitive, the bandwidth narrow, wait times ridiculous. But we suffered through the inconvenience. The thrill of seeing something from far, far away brought to our screen, thrilled us.

The wait was worth it.

Naked bodies were prime content. The porn industry brought us many significant technological advances: VHS tapes, digital photography (to avoid photo developers with curious eyes) streaming video, credit card verification sites, and Flash technology minimizing file sizes–– squeezing more nudity through precious bandwidth.

All brought to you by our insatiable demand for watching innocent pizza delivery boys and naive plumbers encounter women who had ravenous, voracious sexual appetites.

Technology freed libidos to run wild. Our massive planet became a global village where today many young people have warped porn star perspectives of what intimacy is, or should be. These individuals have difficulties finding sexual satisfaction with people in three dimensions. A Pew study recently reported almost a third of men under the age of forty to have erectile dysfunction as a result of their steady diets of porn.

Reality cannot beat what we’ve seen, and the seeds it plants for our fertile imaginations.

On to this brave new digital horizon rode perhaps the most insatiable of all human appetites–– our ravenous egos.

Technology-enabled social networks so that we could be as connected to others as we liked. We could broadcast our lives to the world, and anyone could participate in fascinating subjects like our breakfasts, political opinions, reviews on culture, and obsession with ourselves.

The 1998 movie The Truman Show was a fantasy where the mundane activities of ordinary life were made extraordinary by merely being observed. Before long, many people chose to live, Truman Show lives online, directing and starring themselves.

The technology was affecting humanity. Our news was instant, commentary constant, opinions rampant, analysis on-going, and we each became a broadcasting network.

The internet enabled people to self-select belief systems and their version of the truth. Conservatives could graze on a steady diet of conservative views, and liberals, libertarians, terrorists, conspiracy theorists, Nazis, and every flavor belief system could do the same. One could have all his beliefs confirmed and enhanced, affirming his world view.

The galaxy of opinions and information was an endless buffet, but our fragile egos allowed us to gorge on diets of self-sustaining confirmation. With the internet, we were assured of being the smartest person in the room because we designed the room, sharing it with occupants of similar beliefs.

The openness of cyberspace enabled the closing of minds. We could now select our facts, construct our truths.

Technologies like Facebook and other social networking tools allowed each person to build and promote his brand.

We were no longer human beings; we’d become “brands.”

The joke used to be that everyone in Los Angeles was shallow and phony because all they craved was fame. Now, that was true of almost everyone. Social networking made it possible to take your brand and promote it with blogs, updates, Tweets, notifications, pictures, videos, comments, and on and on.

Anyone could become famous. Videos went viral; ordinary people became overnight sensations.

The effect was the celebrification of humanity–– we all wanted that sweet, sweet spotlight.

Me, me, ME!!!

Social networks became our new drug. We craved Facebook “likes”, and when we scored, we got dopamine rushes. We became hooked, obsessed with our screens–– not just televisions, but smartphones, computers, and tablet screens.

Even Dick Tracy-like watch screens.

And many of us became total dicks along the way. We became rude in social settings, ignoring the flesh and blood we were with, instead of participating in the digital activity of our social network. Sure, this behavior is ironic–– social networking making humans less social, but it’s also pathetic. What had we become?

As a time-traveler, I see how our world has changed, and I long for the innocent days of stealing glances of the color TV at Larry Brooks’ store.

I yearn to return to landline phone conversations instead of constant texting.

All the glimpses of my past–– newspapers, color televisions, rotary dial phones, and typewriters–– they are all contained and improved on with my smartphone. All worldly knowledge, and potential for any Earthly delight, are available in the palm of my hand.

I observe how we suffer attention deficit disorders because of our constant distractions. Productivity struggles while we convince ourselves that multi-tasking works.

Sorry, where was I?

Oh, yeah. We are busy bees, but we’re making precious little honey.

Rage and anger seem ever-present as people feast on media feeding a constant diet of fear-inducing narratives. “If it bleeds, it leads.” Sadly, we see monsters in every shadow; we cocoon ourselves for safety and self-preservation.

We are changing and not for the better.

Some of us dream of living off the grid, but that’s a silly fantasy, a romantic delusion. The grid is everywhere; there’s no escaping it.

We live on the edge. Technology has infused our lives, for better and worse, and it will continue catapulting us down the tracks and into the future.

There is still an escape hatch, though. A respite from this manic journey–– and that is exploring the six inches between our ears. There lies a universe where we can perhaps find our peace and tickle the underbelly of our souls.

Until technology improves on that experience, too.

I just released my debut novel, SAWDUST: Love is wilder than a circus. It was many years in the making, time that included four hip surgeries, and 14 editing revisions.

The hip surgeries were not necessary for my writing process–– they were just arthritis trying to muck up my artistic expression.

The editorial revisions, however, were very necessary. The story went from a 124,000-word flabby first draft opus progressively whittled it into a svelt 82,000-word entertaining and compelling novel.

The story is fiction drawn on the knowledge I gathered as I traveled across America in the early ’80s promoting a traveling circus. My title was “marketing director”–– but I was actually what they used to call a circus advance man.

I was the jamoke who went three weeks ahead of the show and lived in cheap motels as I pimped the big top to the local media. I didn’t create the circus ads, I negotiated media and bought ad schedules. I sold promotions, did public relations, and generated publicity.

I also ordered hay for the elephants and performed other critical functions like scheduling for the porta-johns to be cleaned.

As you might imagine, along the way I met some fascinating people, learned about circus operations and history, and did a lot of soul searching and self-discovery.

The novel is filled with unforgettable characters, emotional exploration, and humor. It even has lions and tigers, and clowns, oh my!

I think you’ll love it, but then again, what else would I say?

I’m a marketing guy and ex-circus promoter.

But don’t take my word on it, the early reviews are terrific: “loved this book”… “five stars”… “could not put it down”… “the humanity and humor of Vonnegut”… “great read”… “funny”… you get the drift.

Please grab your copy now on Amazon (an audio version will also soon be available), or order SAWDUST: Love is wilder than a circus from your local bookstore.

You’ll enjoy the ride.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grab your copy of my debut novel, SAWDUST: Love is wilder than a circus. It’s a wild ride across 1982 America, with unforgettable characters, laughs galore, and gobs of fun. Join my mailing list and get cool stuff.

The jukebox was the original Spotify playlist. With a fistful of coins, you became the D.J. and czar of tunes.

To this ex-adman, the jukebox also symbolizes a crutch for creative advertising work. Because when there’s a drought of ideas, a famine of inspiration, advertising turns to hit songs and celebrities.

Why?

Because it’s easier to borrow fame and associate it with your brand than it is trying to build your own brand identity. Success by association.

When you hear a deluge of classic rock and pop songs in commercials, that’s a canary in the coalmine of creativity.

Sadly, in 2019, I don’t think I’ve ever heard so damn many hit songs used in commercials. It’s ridiculous. Ludicrous. Pathetic, even.

Commercials today use classic songs even if the songs have nothing to do with the faint aura of the alleged concept.

Wait, concept–– an advertising concept? What the hell’s that?

Sorry. Concepts these days are as rare as Jimmy Hoffa wearing spats riding a unicorn. (Finally, I’m able to use ‘spats’ in a sentence–– victory.)

But it doesn’t seem to matter. Slap a classic rock track on your limp idea and hope for the best. It’s a time-honored technique for varnishing a turd–– a way of spritzing perfume to mask a silent-but-deadly fart.

In the 80s, there were classics like the Red Baron Pizza campaign. The lyrics of Percy Sledge’s immortal “When A Man Loves A Woman” rewritten into “When A Man Loves A Pizza.”

Clever, right?

But today, it’s not so much about rewriting lyrics–– that would require some creative work. Why bother?

Just buy the rights to the song and slap it on your commercial. Bada bing, bada boom–– creative gold!

As you watch commercials over the next few days, please note how many are using classic rock and pop songs as an adhesive to get people to remember the spot. And the brand.

Does it work?

Yes, according to a study funded by Nielsen Music. It claims spots using popular tracks increase viewers’ attention, emotion, and memory by 20% and deliver a significant rise in effectiveness over multiple viewings.

Like using a celebrity as spokesman, the fame of the track gives the brand a halo of acceptability. And apparently, that traction improves with repeated viewing because people are less likely to burn-out on the spot.

I’m not sure I buy it.

The study used “forced exposure”–– meaning, I suppose, subjects were rigged up like Alex in A Clockwork Orange to view the commercials.

Okay, maybe not that restrictive, but certainly it was an artificial testing environment.

When I hear a popular song, I think about a moment in my life when it was playing. The song is anchored to my memory, not the brand. Yet.

Led Zeppelin’s song “Rock and Roll” reminds me of a college party I attended. There was a vat of grain alcohol-spiked punch, and fights broke out (who’d have thunk?) as that classic Zeppelin track was blasting on the stereo.

But now, after years of seeing Cadillac commercials hundreds of times with “Rock and Roll” as their soundtrack, I also associate the song to the car.

That association means nothing to me. I certainly don’t think of Cadillac as the brand representing shredding Jimmy Page licks, Robert Plant wailing, and bad boy rockin’ ‘tude.

I believe classic songs are personal to your life, not the brands that hijacked them. But, if you throw enough money at it, maybe you can make some of that fame stick to your brand.

Or, if the song enhances a strong advertising concept. (Of course, it also helps when you’re the first to break an iconic band’s work for commercial use.)

This trend of using popular songs in advertising is certainly good for old rockers who considered themselves artists. In their prime, these creative people considered making their music available for commercial use as “selling out.”

Today, selling out is called making a living. It works well for recording artists.

And advertising creatives.

Having been away from the game for a little over a year, I watch with morbid curiosity as the ad agency business continues its downward slide.

The latest? The RFP recently issued by General Mills.

GM, like many clients, are going away from agency-of-record relationships. Now, the big CPG wants to buy its creative ala carte.

Creative tapas, if you will. 

Now, get a load of General Mills’ conditions to play the RFP game: 

• there’s absolutely no compensation for the pitch process (FREE spec work, baby!)
• GM owns all the ideas, all the intellectual property
• payments will be on a 120-day schedule (agencies don’t need cash flow, do they?)
• the briefs are “blind”–– agencies don’t know the brands involved, number of projects up for grabs, how long the contract will last, or what the nature of the assignment will be
• The company will be handling the process by itself, no agency consultants will be involved

It looks like many of the agencies contacted are bellyaching about the restrictive conditions. 

What will they do about it?

Bitch.

And then play the game. You can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket, right?

These agencies deserve the clients they get if they win a project or two. And they deserve to suffer the incredible pain these crappy clients will inflict on them.

What did they expect? General Mills is announcing right up front its rules of engagement–– “heads we win, tails you lose.”

The company respects the agency’s intellectual property so much it will take it away and own it outright. 

Intellectual property is easy to come by, isn’t it? All you need is a roomful of monkeys and some keyboards.

Rest assured the clients will second guess every piece of creative. They’ll play “devil’s advocate” and ensure the idea has no edge and zero potential to offend the gentlest of sensibilities. 

They will improve the agency’s work ensuring it is innocuous and flaccid.

So the result is creative that’s easy to ignore and acts as a consumer repellant.

And for this smooth working relationship of revision-hell, the agency will get the joy of waiting for its payment.

Four months flies by fast when you have fixed expenses, right?

Sadly, there will be countless agencies that will try to get in on this RFP. They want the glory of working for big brand names and the potential to play on the national stage.

These agencies will willingly choose to enter into an abusive relationship, one where they are not valued as anything more than idea providers.

“We didn’t like any of the ideas you showed, so go back to the agency and jiffy up some more! Come back Tuesday and let’s see what you got! And bring some Krispy Kremes and Starbucks…”

This is what the marketing communications world has devolved to. For any agency owner, there is only one defense against it.

Just say, “No.”

If you don’t value what you do, why the hell should anyone else?

Tom Petty wrote, “the waiting is the hardest part.”

True, Tom, but waiting for the good stuff is rewarding.

In the late 1960s and into 1970s, psychologist Walter Mischel, a professor at Stanford University, conducted The Marshmallow Test.

A child was brought into a room and presented with a marshmallow on a plate. The kid was told he could eat the marshmallow now, or, if he waited about fifteen minutes and didn’t eat it, he would get a second marshmallow as a reward.

Temptation is so damn tempting–– hey, Adam and Eve, want to try a tasty apple? How about a Marshmallow Peep?

The researchers observed the kids. Some ate the marshmallows immediately. Some waited for a little and then gobbled it.

But some children practiced self-control and waited for their rewards of second marshmallows.

Years later, the researchers followed up on their test subjects and discovered those kids who didn’t succumb to instant gratification grew up to be healthier, happier, and more successful adults than those kids who surrendered to temptation.

The Marshmallow Test came to mind as I am watching the final season of Game of Thrones on HBO.

GOT has a grip on culture like no other show. While the writing, acting, and production are superlative, I think a big reason for its phenomenal success is that episodes are doled out weekly.

Each episode has time to absorb into our consciousness and zeitgeist–– to be contemplated, discussed, debated, and re-watched. There are hordes of Game groupies who analyze, speculate, postulate, pontificate and theorize what will happen.

Each episode has time to germinate in the imagination, take root, and sprout unsullied fruit.

That doesn’t happen with binge TV presented on Netflix and Hulu. Those shows are consumed like popcorn, we feed ourselves whenever hunger hits.

And many of us have tapeworms.

While GOT is not necessarily appointment television, viewers want to watch episodes in real time or as close to it as possible so they don’t get plot spoilers.

“Tyrion got torched by Rhaegal?! Noooooooooo!“

The traditional weekly broadcast (when done well) is kindling for conversation and societal buzz.

So what does a show on noncommercial TV have to do with marketing in the Twenty-First Century?

Game of Thrones is a testament to the power of planning well, preparing well, and producing meticulously.

To the building of strong narratives with characters we empathize with; ones who engage and captivate with their humanity.

And then, waiting for your audience to participate.

In other words, it’s unlike most marketing today where marketers are looking for instant gratification and results.

In the haste to produce results, many marketers throw a ton of crap on the media wall to see what sticks.

They resort to stunts to get attention and seek instant fame with little thought to a long-term game plan or brand development.

I get that life moves faster and faster, pressure builds from all sides, and the stakes are continually raised, but try to be a voice of reason in the mad world of modern marketing.

Wait for your second marshmallow.

Then, call Rhaegal and get it toasted.

This is my one-hundredth post for this marketing blog, and obviously, my pontifications have been abject failures.

The amount of empathy exhibited in society is awful, as is the quality of marketing work. This isn’t coincidental.

How can anyone create something engaging and worthwhile when one doesn’t understand the audience–– its troubles, needs, and desires?

Here is the story of one of the best quotes I’ve ever heard about empathy. Perhaps it will help you in life or your career.

The story takes place in the winter of 1979, inside Annie’s One Eyed Jack’s Saloon in Akron, Ohio. I was a twenty-two-year-old punk copywriter who befriended a giant of a man in his early fifties named Ed at the bar. He was in radio sales. I was Robin to his Batman (no tights, honest). Ed and I became Monday night regulars for sessions of beer, B.S., and philosopher kinging.

One Monday, Ed told me he had taken his family to a Unitarian church on Sunday. “What’s that,” I asked. “I’ve heard of Unitarians but what do they believe?”

“Unitarians study the teachings of Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Einstein, Newton, Nietzsche–– all the great philosophers and thinkers of history.”

“Yes,” I said. “But what exactly do they believe? I was raised Catholic with lots of dogma, rules, and regulations. What do Unitarians believe? What’s their dogma?”

Ed considered my question, sipped his Miller Lite and took a long drag on his Winston. He exhaled a fog of smoke and turned to me. “Well,” he said, “I guess it boils down to this–– don’t be a shit.”

That was it. “Don’t be a shit.” Four words, one profound behavioral belief system.

‘Don’t be a shit’ is the Golden Rule put on a diet. It assumes you know good from bad (you do, don’t you?). It’s a code of ethics that takes into account you should consider your actions and their effects on others, and act accordingly, responsibly.

Those four words are profound. Crude, yes, but profound.

Imagine what a wonderful world it would be if people weren’t shits. It’s enough to make you want to write Hallmark cards.

‘Don’t be a shit.’ I implore you to remember those four words when you approach any assignment. Remember there is an audience at the other end of your work, and be empathetic to them.

If not, that audience won’t stick around or be swayed. And you’ll feel like shit.

Here’s to you, Ed. Cheers!

The Beatles sang “all you need is love.” Not if you want to win elections.

In politics, hate sells much better than love.

President Trump is in office because he is a masterful entertainer. He knows it’s all about attracting attention for the show, and a great way to do that is by creating a common enemy.

A boogie man gives a marketer an enormous advantage–– it generates fear. No one plays the ginning fear game better than Donald J. Trump.

It’s ironic that a man notorious for having problems with empathy understands humanity well enough to know that fear moves people like nothing else.

From the get-go, Trump was all about appealing to our reptile brains, the fight or flight instinct hard-wired in every human. It’s why we survived and are at the top of the food chain dining on all beneath us.

Trump is a master at creating fear––identifying enemies, stoking the flames of paranoia and instilling a sense of impending doom and victimhood. In some cases he’s right.

China certainly needs to be reigned in, but a trade war was extreme, especially when taxpayers must pay to subsidize those Americans who suffer because of his decision.

Be on the lookout soon for higher prices on consumer goods. Your wallet will be a casualty in this trade war.

But in most cases, Trump’s fearful histrionics are just hyperbole.

The Trump brand was built on lying, or, as he poetically calls it “truthful hyperbole.”

He claimed the Central American “caravan” contains Middle Eastern terrorists. Although this mob of misery escaping their dangerous homes is 1,000 miles away from the U.S., Trump is going to dispatch 800 American troops to the border for our protection.

FEAR!

But when a terrorist sends live pipe bombs through the U.S. postal system to two former presidents and ten other people who Trump regularly derides in speeches and tweets, he shows decisive action. He retweets Mike Pence, says we’ll find the person responsible, and blames the “fake news mainstream media” for dividing us.

Why he even toned down his bombastic dictatorial rhetoric at a political rally in Wisconsin! Give the well-behaved boy a cookie and sticker!

Back to the REAL CRISIS–– Trump dispatched the head of Homeland Security to the Mexican border for the slow-moving existential threat to us.

After all, the dangerous caravan may get here by Thanksgiving.

Speaking of Homeland Security, Americans are still removing our shoes at airport security because a guy once attempted to blow up a plane with a shoe bomb.

Oh, the irony!

Over the years, The Republican-led United States House of Representatives has considered 100 resolutions to repeal, deauthorize, defund, or otherwise destroy Obamacare.

But now, suddenly GOP candidates want to protect pre-existing conditions. Why?

They fear losing support because they oppose something their voters like. It’s the top issue in midterm polls.

Trump paints Democrats as angry mobs, luny radicals out to destroy democracy with open borders, unfettered tax increases, confiscating all guns, legalizing wacky tobacky, declaring war on Christmas, legislating for 24-hour drive-thru late-term abortions, and so on.

Democrats are the enemy.

The con man now openly attests to being a “nationalist.” Hmm, where have we heard that before?

Throughout all this cynical hypocrisy, the Democratic party seems hopelessly lost. Rudderless. Democrats bring throw pillows to a knife fight.

Republicans have talking points. Democrats speak in nuanced political correctness.

Republicans fall in line, always. Democrats inevitably splinter into factions of political philosophy.

The Republican world is always black and white, good versus evil. The Democratic world is a million shades of gray.

Republicans speak in simple, powerful language. Democrats get lost in rational reason, intellectual exploration, and verbose wonkiness.

In short, Republicans understand marketing. They adhere to the KISS formula. The GOP creates enemies, activating reptile brains, and promote salvation from the impending danger looming.

And because Trump is so masterful with his bullshit, people are afraid to call him out on it. He has been playing the refs since day one with his claim of 1.5 million people in his inaugural crowd, despite photos to the contrary.

He deems any criticism of his presidency “fake news,” and he has his state TV (Fox) cheering him on and amplifying his fear-inducing rants and lies.

We live in a dangerous time. People are selecting their reality. Play the game of switching from MSNBC to Fox News; you will wonder if we are living the same existence. The left also plays to high drama.

The fact is, the media loves Trump. This reality TV president is great for ratings and advertisers. As the shamed ex-chairman and CEO of CBS Les Moonves famously said about a Trump presidency, “It may not be good for America, but it’s damn good for CBS.”

Trump never backs down; he only doubles down. He will never acknowledge he was born on third base, hell, born on the third base side of home plate. How many Americans became millionaires at age eight thanks to their daddy?

Vote on November 6. Support the GOP if you like and support Trump, feel great about his leadership style and are counting the money you made from his tax cut that added $1.6 trillion to our deficit. (Remember when the GOP was the party of fiscal responsibility?)

If you’re still waiting for your tax cut money to come trickling down from the fat cats, no worries–– now Donald promises a 10% middle-class tax cut!

We’ll pay for it later when we reign in wasteful entitlement programs like Medicare and Social Security.

But if you believe America works best with checks and balances, vote for the D-team. They are inept marketers, political keystone kops, but they are our only safeguards in these troubling times.

For the record, I am an Independent. An independent who fears the damage Trump is doing to our nation. VOTE!

PS: Should I meet my demise at the business end of a bone saw, it’s been nice knowing you.