Always Coca-Cola - TV Jingle

Here is why I think that marketing gurus of the world are failing. The push to create new opportunities to ensnare potential customers has had the corporations overlook what worked for them in the first place.

I draw your example to two seperate things.

First, the catchy jingle. I was told by a friend the other day that the era of the jingle is over. This confuses me to no end. Sure, a catchy and clever commercial may be become the latest viral video, but no one will walk around humming the hilarious catch-phrase - or in this case, kick to the bear's crotch.
For purposes of contrast, I point out the theme song for Coca-Cola from the early 1990s - "Always Coca-Cola". It's more than a decade since I first heard that, and I heard it as an 11 year old. That song has been responsible for my purchase of Toronto Blue Jays highlight videos (since a modified version is contained there-on) and a number of variations on the Coke theme song sitting on my compy. In fact, I could go for a delicious 'real thing' right now, couldn't you?

Other good exmaples include Home Hardware ("Home of the Handyman"), Tim Horton's ("Always got time for Tim Horton's") and so forth. Instead, now, I get nothing worthy of download and repeat.

Second part.

Why the hell do retailers feel it necessary to drive us to their useless websites in order to win a free 500mL bottle of pop?! Seriously!! What happened to the "look under the cap" days?! Now, instead of simply getting another Coke, and continuing to fuel my hummingbird-like addiction to sugary beverage, there are so many steps - collection of points, giving of a valid email, splitting of soul into 3 equal parts via Horcrux - that I simply can't be bothered.

As a child I used to buy the chips that had the little plastic-wrapped game card in it because there was a one in 13 billion chance I'd get another bag for FREE, but I'd get to unwrap a plastic advertisement in anticipation of the possibility!! Let's face it... kids are about as smart as a tea-kettle. Now? They have to be over 13, get their parents permission, and be subsequently bombarded with "Coke-Mail"- which, frankly, sounds to me like a custom order for some quality Nicaraguan.

So... if there's anyone out there working for Coke: a) bring back the jingle and b) send me little plastic ads that may contain 'free' product within. Please?

Feel it Turn - Great Big Sea

From grade, oh, 11 or so through to pretty well October of 3rd year university, I was on a well-appreciated and recognized good luck streak. Then I had a pretty normal up and down 3rd year and summer. Then, it took a sudden turn down in October. Don't know why. Just did. Things kept piling up and it looked worse and worse. Nothing catastrophic - except for, oh, the concussion and potentially fractured neck (xrays ultimately came back negative though). The rest was just small stuff... a little bit of romantic chaos, a dash of inability to attend Atlantics, a spoonful of having screwed up my law school application and a smidgen of my sister having emergency appendix removal surgery.

The usuals. It all came to a head on Thursday evening, when I snapped and threw my backpack across a classroom, narrowly missing one of the debate novices (and a kid I TA for) by about, oh, four and a half inches.

Apparently, that was what God was waiting for.

Since then, I've managed to organize a last-minute road-trip to Cape Breton with some of my favourite debaters for a tournament with the rest of my faves. It starts with the Buick Allure - nicest car EVER - and carried on. Kipper, Karl, Colin and Chris then rocked the rest of the trip. Colin and I won Top Team, beating two quality teams in the semis and finals. Karl got Top Novice. We spent $40 on a concrete statue of the Virgin Mary... which later disitegrated, before Karl won back what was left. I even continued in my romantic chaos, but at least my view got some focus.

Then - to wrap it all up with the biggest red ribbon ever - 163 on my LSAT. That's the 89% percentile. That's my ticket to law school.

Let's Get Retarded - Black Eyed Peas

It's an old picture, I know.

The one on the right. Colin, the lad who's been fueled by burgers, fries, jello, Coke, beer, rum, pizza and deep-fried chicken for as long as I've known him, has decided that he wants to try to avoid the pre-30 heart attack.

His initial strategy - to avoid having a heart - was quite effective all last year. However, since then, his rise to SRA and decrease in drinking has led to him actually having regular moments of pleasentness, quite the conscience and a decided lack of the political realism that had so defined him before. Now he's on to the more conventional method, of sweating like a horse in August, chasing around a small ball in a concrete room.

Colin has yet to master the finer points of squash. He's got a killer backhand, though. Sadly - the killer part comes from the fact that it routinely finds my bare leg, the back of my head or whizzes through my hair. On one occasion it kicked off my glasses on its way to the side wall. In any case, he's improving in both aerobic fitness AND in cutting his 'hits-to-Rivers-ration' down to one per day or so.

After he'd randomly written me around 10:00 one night, complaining of a burst of energy and a desire to play squash, we got a court and played until 11:00. Upon leaving, Colin got - as the title indicates - stupid.

Colin: "I want to go swimming."
Rivers: "Dude... the pool's closed. It's, like, quarter after 11."
Colin: "Figure something out then."
Rivers: "Umm... there's the resevoir?"

Interjection: the resevoir is about a 3km walk from the gym, completely uphill. The outside temperature is about 8 degrees. Neither Colin nor I have towels, warm clothing, bathing suits or - apparently - sanity.

Up we go, and we go swimming in our squash shorts. This now leaves about a 3.5 km walk BACK to my house, so we can have a drink.

To be fair, I recovered just fine. Colin's body hated him for about a week.

I also made a decision worthy of the title. But that's one for another time.