Prairie Landing
Monday, November 29, 2004
Today I had to go to my client site up in BFE. I was at the visitors center getting a pass and this was the conversation:
#1: Got a puppy this weekend.
#2: Oh yeah? That'll come in handy when you go hunting.
#1: I don't hunt.
#2: [speechless]
You have to drive a long, long way to get to BFE when you live in Chicago. Once you get there, there is absolutely nothing except my client, which consists of countless low brick buildings sprawling across miles of close-cropped prairie, with all the style of municipal back offices. Less, actually, if last year's trip to the Providence building board meeting is any yardstick.
Inside, it's supremely Midwestern in that there is no guard station -- if you've ever been to a drug company HQ you know this is positively "X-Files" -- but there are sans-serif brown signs covering the walls. Every department, room, cube and individual is clearly listed on the wall. So you can find your way anywhere just by following the signs.
Leaving the world of Mulder and Scully, the actual offices are out of "Being John Malkovitch." All of the interior walls are temporary and they're squeezed so close together that you almost have to turn sideways to get down the hall.
There are also lots of signs informing you of ways to "SAVE [client] $$$." Nothing is free except water, toilet paper and parking. Although they look at you funny if you drink too much water, and in the bathrooms other signs urge you to wipe the washbasin as a courtesy to the next colleague. There is art on the walls -- on the ground floor, that is -- but it was clearly painted by some descendant of the founder. Also, they pay me 11 cents a mile to drive up there.
It's a long, long way from the beautiful campuses of my younger days, with dazzling science photos and 270-degree ocean views.
But I guess there are better ways to spend the money you get from desperately ill people. Like paying your shareholders.
#1: Got a puppy this weekend.
#2: Oh yeah? That'll come in handy when you go hunting.
#1: I don't hunt.
#2: [speechless]
You have to drive a long, long way to get to BFE when you live in Chicago. Once you get there, there is absolutely nothing except my client, which consists of countless low brick buildings sprawling across miles of close-cropped prairie, with all the style of municipal back offices. Less, actually, if last year's trip to the Providence building board meeting is any yardstick.
Inside, it's supremely Midwestern in that there is no guard station -- if you've ever been to a drug company HQ you know this is positively "X-Files" -- but there are sans-serif brown signs covering the walls. Every department, room, cube and individual is clearly listed on the wall. So you can find your way anywhere just by following the signs.
Leaving the world of Mulder and Scully, the actual offices are out of "Being John Malkovitch." All of the interior walls are temporary and they're squeezed so close together that you almost have to turn sideways to get down the hall.
There are also lots of signs informing you of ways to "SAVE [client] $$$." Nothing is free except water, toilet paper and parking. Although they look at you funny if you drink too much water, and in the bathrooms other signs urge you to wipe the washbasin as a courtesy to the next colleague. There is art on the walls -- on the ground floor, that is -- but it was clearly painted by some descendant of the founder. Also, they pay me 11 cents a mile to drive up there.
It's a long, long way from the beautiful campuses of my younger days, with dazzling science photos and 270-degree ocean views.
But I guess there are better ways to spend the money you get from desperately ill people. Like paying your shareholders.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Thank you, readers, for your interest in and queries about fistulae. If you were too fearful to look at the pictures, I will simply say that a fistula is a complication of Crohn's disease in which a hole forms in the intestinal wall, often leading to some other body part.
Here's something else that's gross: The Chicago River is the cleanest it's been in decades. However, 60% of its flow consists of treated industrial and sewage wastewater.
I read so much health stuff for work that my brain is overflowing with random facts from clinical studies. Sometimes when I'm trying to sleep all the facts start swarming around in my head, chattering and mating with each other. Last Saturday I was out at Guenther Murphy's, a most excellent bar, and someone mentioned a little girl who was just diagnosed with epilepsy. Despite my many Guinesses, all the facts related to epilepsy swooped down and proclaimed themselves:
OK to swim if supervised . . .Girls should be prescribed lamotrigine or carbamazepine, not valproate or phenytoin, because the latter two cause birth defects and 50% of women with epilepsy (WWE) remain on their first antiepileptic drug (AED) for life. . . but an acne-like skin condition caused by lamotrigine is more likely in children. . . strongly correlated with depression and suicide. . . Certain AEDs can also be used to treat . . .
It goes on and on and on!
Here's something else that's gross: The Chicago River is the cleanest it's been in decades. However, 60% of its flow consists of treated industrial and sewage wastewater.
I read so much health stuff for work that my brain is overflowing with random facts from clinical studies. Sometimes when I'm trying to sleep all the facts start swarming around in my head, chattering and mating with each other. Last Saturday I was out at Guenther Murphy's, a most excellent bar, and someone mentioned a little girl who was just diagnosed with epilepsy. Despite my many Guinesses, all the facts related to epilepsy swooped down and proclaimed themselves:
OK to swim if supervised . . .Girls should be prescribed lamotrigine or carbamazepine, not valproate or phenytoin, because the latter two cause birth defects and 50% of women with epilepsy (WWE) remain on their first antiepileptic drug (AED) for life. . . but an acne-like skin condition caused by lamotrigine is more likely in children. . . strongly correlated with depression and suicide. . . Certain AEDs can also be used to treat . . .
It goes on and on and on!
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
More sunshine and flowers
Class was tedious tonight. People kept asking stupid questions or "sharing" their experiences -- a frequent objection of mine in marketing classes. I used to wonder if the problem was me. But then I noticed nobody at my JOB asks an assload of tiresome questions mainly designed to show off how incredibly perceptive and knowledgable they are, and how we all have something to contribute.
Instead, they all bond over Oprah, the Bachelor, baby pictures and "Under the Tuscan Sun." (There are 7 guys in my department of 44.) And, of course, Big 10 football which knows no gender lines. But soon, they will figure out I'm not a real girl.
I got to spread the Good Word of Saint Etienne today. One of my coworkers really likes Britpop so I copied her a CD. You know you've heard St E from me or Colliculus before! And you know you love their incredible British hyper-sweetness!!
Also I've been learning a lot about fistulae. I was going to post a link to a picture but it is just way too gross.
Instead, they all bond over Oprah, the Bachelor, baby pictures and "Under the Tuscan Sun." (There are 7 guys in my department of 44.) And, of course, Big 10 football which knows no gender lines. But soon, they will figure out I'm not a real girl.
I got to spread the Good Word of Saint Etienne today. One of my coworkers really likes Britpop so I copied her a CD. You know you've heard St E from me or Colliculus before! And you know you love their incredible British hyper-sweetness!!
Also I've been learning a lot about fistulae. I was going to post a link to a picture but it is just way too gross.
Monday, November 08, 2004
School started again, which has slowed my blogging pace even further. The class is on branding. At my previous agency, when someone used the word "branding" I always wanted to pantomime shoveling. Invoking "The Brand" (cue heavenly host music) was usually the precursor to incredible twirling fancies of nonsense. There was one person, "Chucklehead," who was the main twirler. When I'd try and ask questions about what the hell he was talking about, he'd get this benign instructive look on his face and spin 10 times more crap. I finally learned it was easier to nod and look thoughtful for one minute than 10.
I'm not saying all of branding is BS. I mean, if you judged PR by some (most? all?) of its practitioners you'd get the same impression. But I've got the bullshit detector on high and am already wary from the first class, when we learned the term Brand Stewardship. Not! -- our teacher winces -- brand management. I didn't write down the whole definition but it involved the word "nurturing." There's some article, "It takes a village to raise a brand." Vomit sounds . . .
Your first instinct might be to blame all this cutesiness on women, but all the Brand Stewards I've ever known were men. Now, a client of mine has numerous brand managers. They're all women.
I'm not saying all of branding is BS. I mean, if you judged PR by some (most? all?) of its practitioners you'd get the same impression. But I've got the bullshit detector on high and am already wary from the first class, when we learned the term Brand Stewardship. Not! -- our teacher winces -- brand management. I didn't write down the whole definition but it involved the word "nurturing." There's some article, "It takes a village to raise a brand." Vomit sounds . . .
Your first instinct might be to blame all this cutesiness on women, but all the Brand Stewards I've ever known were men. Now, a client of mine has numerous brand managers. They're all women.
