The Budget Life

By JoshPetersel in Josh and the Arts 1 Comment

Moving to Boston has been a bitch.

I come from a place called St. Louis. It’s cheap. If you know your spots, you can drink for $1 a beer on just about any night of the week. The notion of spending $35 (just for the cover!) for a night’s entertainment is staggering—you wouldn’t dream of doing it more than once a month.

But here? Every week. Multiple times a week. $35 for a beach-themed party. $65 for a yacht party. And counting. (So far, I’m pretty sure the only reason that Harvard even bothered giving me a @hbs.edu email address was so that I could receive spam from student clubs selling party tickets.)

Hell—I asked a bartender at last night’s gig for her cheapest beer: she lectured me that I should never say this to a bartender, because it means I’m cheap and not going to tip well (uncorrelated, I’d argue). I ended up with a $6 Bud Light, plus $1 for the tip. NO! This is bullshit! This kind of pricing ought only be acceptable in two places: sports arenas, and strip clubs.

Here’s a few situations I’ve come across, and some tricks I’ve used to cut corners:

1. Dinner time. The waiter has asked us if we’d like anything to drink.

Private Equity Dick: Yeah, I’ll have your tall, fancy, cocktailrita. Bring it to me in a designer glass. The menu item has a star next to it that says “house specialty,” so it must be good. They didn’t bother listing a price; who knows how much it is? Whatever. Bring (and charge me for) a second one when I’m done, too. Even if I didn’t ask for one.

Guy with some Goddamn Sense: Just a water, please. You know, the free one you serve with ice. With free refills. And sometimes a lemon slice. (Editor’s Note: This tip may not apply if you live in a place like Zihuatanejo.)

2. At the bar. The bartender has acknowledged our presence (finally!).

Private Equity Dick: I want the hardest alcohol you’ve got (and the premium crap! nothing on rail!), but mix it with a a ton of fruity shit so that it’s probably watered down enough to serve to minors. Give me eight—one for each of my seven Consulting Dick friends.

Guy with some Goddamn Sense: A Budweiser. Not a Bud Light, a Budweiser. I am drinking efficiently. I’m not giving you the same money for a light beer that some brewing company just watered down. Budweiser’s ABV is 5% to Bud Light’s 4.2%.

When it’s applicable, I’m ordering a Pabst Blue Ribbon (5%) for a dollar less. Or possibly, if I’m feeling adventurous, an IPA (roughly, 6%-10%) for a dollar or two more. And by the way: You should thank me for just asking you to turn on a tap and move on to your next order and tip, rather than forcing you to bust out the crazy mixing glasses, sifters, juices, kitchenette set, and pyrotechnic equipment just for me.

3. At dinner. The waiter is back to take our order.

Private Equity Dick: What’s on special? Wait! Like I give a fuck! Just bring it to me. And a few extra $20’s you’ve got lying around back that I can use for napkins.

Guy with no Goddamn Cents: Just an appetizer. Probably something meat-based.

Why? Because I pre-gamed. You know, that thing everyone does before they go out drinking to try and cut back on their bar tab? Yep. I do it for dinners. I’ll make myself a sandwich or a bowl of pasta before heading out. My pasta at home isn’t all that much worse than anything you can prepare me at your restaurant. I won’t argue that I can’t compete with you in regard to meats, which require heightened practice, timing, seasoning, selection, and attention to detail. So that’s all I’ll order. What’s more, the price difference between a wheat-based and meat-based dish in the restaurant is probably only about 30%. At the supermarket? A pound of pasta is about a dollar. A decent cut of steak is probably eight or nine times that. So I try to allocate the distribution of my food pyramid needs accordingly, to each supplier’s competitive advantage.

Other notes:

  • Cabs in groups of four. You don’t need the extra legroom for $15.
  • Don’t buy drinks for girls. First of all: Everyone knows what you’re trying to do, and it doesn’t work. Save your money. Chivalry isn’t dead, but at the bar, it’s definitely kicked the bucket. Second of all: It’s way funnier to convince girls to buy you drinks instead.
  • Cash. Always. The physical feel of draining your hard-earned money is totally depressing absolutely helps keep track of how much you’ve blown through, puts a natural limit on your spending that you get to set when you’re sober, and eliminates the obnoxious habit of opening a tab at the bar and forgetting it there overnight.

Josh Applies Student Group Logic to the Harbus

By JoshPetersel in Josh on Josh 0 Comment

Hang on.

Before you read this article, I’m going to need $35.

I understand you’ve expressed some mild interest in reading The Harbustoday—you’ve made the fair assumption that it’ll provide you with some passing entertainment, and you can maybe put it on your résumé to make it sort of look like you’d be a smarter, more worldly job candidate. For that, I’ll need $35.

In fact: if you’re planning on reading my next article, too, just go ahead and send me $55 instead. That’s quite a savings. You’re smart with your money, aren’t you? That’s like a 20% better NPV! Think about all you could do with that spare cash you get to keep to yourself instead of buying my second article separately. You can practically buy 1.5 drinks at any of the parties thrown by the Euro Club.

What, you’re still not convinced? Some kind of scrooge? Well, I’ll warn you: You’re certainly not getting any of my e-blasts anymore. And I put a lot of time into those! Have a look at a sample one: can’t you see how long, oddly-formatted, meandering, and confusing it is? And you’re telling me you don’t want a fresh 1,400-word monstrosity clogging up your inbox every week? Man, get your priorities straight!

There are other benefits, too: For the fifty or so people who do end up reading this article—and probably only because they’re friends of mine in my section (hi, wolFpack!)—I’m going to give out 470 different executive positions. 463 of them will be Co-Vice Presidents, too, so you’ll have plenty to brag about to your friends, and ample evidence to prove you’re not worthless to your parents, without actually having to do anything.

And did I mention I’m planning some kind of a crazy, overblown event for later in the year? You bet! It’s going to be great; we’ve done it with mild success at least once before! We’ve had plenty of big-time speakers in the past, so here’s a short list of people you definitely won’t be hearing from: Robert Kraft, Youngme Moon, Abraham Lincoln, William Randolph Hearst, Tomoharu Tanaka, Chuck Testa, Captain Danny Davies, Charles Falcon, Luca Pacioli (for not making it this year, by the way, Luca is furious),Dr. Emmitt Brown, and Mickey Mantle. How could you not be interested by such a diverse crowd?

By the way—and I mean, uh, this is totally irrelevant, but I suppose I should mention it anyway—I actually do still have to charge you to come to my big event. It’s okay, though. I’m only planning on charging you, my special friends, $85. But tickets usually cost $1,655! I’d never charge you that much. That rate is only for those other losers, who, as you know, have already been kicked off my e-mail list and thus won’t have any idea where and when the event is going to be, anyway. But that’s neither here nor there.

So what do you say? Are we all aboard? I promise, I’d never try to guilt you out of your hard-earned money for more or less no reason. This article has big, BIG plans for the upcoming academic season. In fact, here’s one of our top goals for this year: I say it’s time for this article to get with the Joneses, and start its own Facebook page and Twitter feed! Follow me for the one update I ever write, ever, at twitter.com/JoshHarbusSrsly.

And now that you’re finally all squared away, you can get on with reading the following article:

Author Biography

Josh Petersel is an RC in the Class of 2013 at Harvard Business School, and he totally doesn’t get how so many student groups get away with such rampant amounts of fluff, garbage, and hard selling. You can write to him, or if you’re brazen enough, actually send him $35 on PayPal, via his email address peterselj@gmail.com .

[Note: This article appeared in the Harbus at Harvard Business School the week of September 26th, 2011. You can find the online version here, while it lasts.]

Food Fight Foods

By JoshPetersel in Josh and the Arts 1 Comment

A heated debate over a family dinner on a late summer eve: Given an open menu, what might be the best food items to pick in anticipation of a food fight?

Okay, so my family is a little weird.

Anyway, here are the metrics we came up with (in no order):

  • Knockback: You want your artillery to connect with a satisfying *thud*. There’s little joy to be had in successfully landing a single pea across the brow of your foe. Little benefit, too—she’ll easily be able to recover and return volley. Assuming a goal of general messiness and fun, your optimal choice here might be something like a handsomely cut prime rib. (For those seeking a trip to the hospital, by all means consider whole watermelons, thanksgiving turkeys, and other heavyweight options.)
  • Residue: Lacking anything in the way of a stamina bar, body counts, etc., to measure fight success, your effectiveness is primarily measured in how much schlop you can deploy upon your enemy’s hair, face, and clothing. Consequently, your weapon’s ability to leave residue is critical. Most dry foods falter notably in this department. Stickiness may be the most desirable food attribute. Be mindful, however, that residue is a double-edged sword—what’s likely to stick to your opponent’s Sunday best is also likely to stick to your own hands.
  • Range: How far can your food be thrown? The value of this criteria is likely dependent on external environmental factors. Are we in a large restaurant, or your girlfriend’s apartment’s kitchen? Is there cover available? Some food items may not have enough internal cohesion to stick together for a long flight. Shrimp seem to have an ideal weight/size/consistency for long volleys, but be warned: They can also be easily picked up and re-used by the enemy.
  • Sound: Often a side-benefit of weaponry with high knockback or residue, your food’s sound on contact is often highly correlated with your satisfaction. A nice *plop* is good, a *crack* means we might be headed to the infirmary.
  • Miscellaneous Comedy: There’s no other way to describe it. Some foods are just funnier than others. Consider the comparative joy found between throwing a slice of cake at your brother across the room, and throwing a slice of wedding cake. Opt for foods that are widely regarded as gross, especially fancy, or foreign.
Here’s the top 10 I came up with, in reverse order:
10) Mashed Potatoes. A traditional favorite. Gravy always a bonus. Would receive a higher score if the standard color wasn’t so mundane. Opt for sweet potatoes, if available.
9) Fruit salad. Decent knockback for its size. Biggest advantage is that you probably have a high number of rounds.
8) Cake. The variety of frosting colors / residue options is the most significant value factor here.
7) Escargot. A wild card. Snails are incredibly funny and gross. Can you afford the requisite time to dig them each out of their shells?
6) Ice cream. Bonus misc. marks for being a frigid weapon in a field of warm, freshly cooked artillery. Very sticky—your best bet is an ice cream cone, or having a large spoon handy, so that you can avoid the residue on your own hands.
5) Belgian Waffles. Typically topped with gobs of syrup (and nooks with which to store the sticky stuff), yet thick enough that you can likely avoid covering your own hands in the gunk.
4) Creamed Spinach. A classic staple. With top marks in residue, creamed spinach is great bet to adhere to targets, and has a wonderful green color.
3) Foie Gras. (With tips to Annie, and Pete.) The perfect storm. Generally slick or covered in sauce, with some fat, for strong residue and sound points. Solid, for good knockback and range—and you probably wouldn’t want to pick it back up off the ground. But most importantly: It’s foreign, fancy, AND gross. Nobody wants to get hit with a goose liver. High marks across the board.
1&2) Spaghetti & Meatballs. Either would have made it high up on this list on its own merit. A meatball gently covered in sauce will fly long, splotch loudly, and leave a nice mark. The pasta certainly wouldn’t fare well in a long-distance battle, but sticks well when landed, and can have a beautiful drizzle effect on short range infidels. The two complement each other marvelously, and the fact that they’re often delivered together makes the dish a clear-cut winner.

Backing up GMail

By JoshPetersel in Josh surfs the Internet 0 Comment

GMail is widely touted as the best free email client on the web, with a clean, easy interface, and ridiculous amounts (7.6GB, and growing) of storage.

Amazingly, at the beginning of August, I found myself hovering near 94% capacity. Once that caps out, I’d need to (eep!) start deleting my old files. Imagine the prospect—e-blast letters from four and a half years ago, never to be seen again!

Surprisingly, (or rather, unsurprisingly as I’d later find) GMail makes it remarkably difficult to delete old messages and free up space.

“Sort by message size” seems like it’d be a rather intuitive function to include, and yet, it’s entirely nonexistent. Without it, one might have to delete messages individually, or by page/date, rather than simply cherry picking the bundle of emails with Adobe Creative Suite attachments and freeing up inbox space 5% at a time. You’d have to weigh reading every individual email to make sure nothing important is lost, or deleting everything (slowly) and risk losing your mom’s secret family soup recipe to the ether forever.

It’s also difficult to mass-forward your emails to a different account. I don’t have a problem removing everything from immediate reference in my primary account—as long as it’s somewhere to potentially look up later.

You can’t even explicitly bulk-delete your emails. If you’re just working off of the “Delete” button, you’ll have to go one page / 20 messages at a time. I ended up with roughly 26,000 emails, or 1,300 pages of messages in my inbox. Not an option.

Why would a program that’s famed for its ease of use make these processes so startlingly difficult? Well, duh. Buy more storage. This much is incredibly easy. (I’m fascinated, by the way, that the 1 Terabyte option is viable.)

In any event. GMail is great and all, but I’m not about to spend $5 on things. Here’s how I worked around this.

  1. Start a new GMail account (I went with the handle peterselj.backup; this seemed appropriate). It may help to work out of a separate browser, so that you can stay logged in to your primary and backup accounts at the same time.
  2. Go to Mail Settings in your new backup account. There’s an option for “Import Mail and Contacts.” Haha! Google caught that one too. You can’t import your mail from other GMail accounts. (In the future, feel free to skip the second half of this step).
  3. Instead, while in Mail Settings, go for “Check Mail using POP3.” Fill out your junk for your primary account. This will allow Google to check all of your mail—and because it’s Google and wants to know everything in the universe about you, it’ll take the liberty to download all of your old emails too.
  4. Wait a while. Again, I had 26,000 emails. The transfer didn’t happen instantly.
  5. Great! peterselj.backup has everything!
  6. Now, about memory dumping the primary account: Go to Mail Settings in your primary account, and head to the Filters tab. You’re going to need to create (at least) two filters, temporarily. First: make your search criteria “To: peterselj@gmail.com” (with your information instead of mine, of course). Hit “Next Step.” Then, “Delete it.” Although before you hit Create Filter, be sure to check off “Also apply to 13,000 emails below.”
  7. Delete the filter created in step 6. You don’t want any new emails showing up to go directly to the trash.
  8. Repeat step 6, but instead of “To: peterselj@gmail.com,” fill in “From: peterselj@gmail.com” as your filter criteria. Repeat step 7, too.
  9. Repeat steps 6 and 7 again for any other email accounts with which you currently have GMail set up to send/receive emails.
  10. You’re done…but wait. It still says you’re at 93% storage capacity. That’s because all your old junk was only moved to your Trash—which still counts against your storage space. This is okay. You can easily empty your entire trash immediately. Or, better yet, leave everything in your trash. Google will get around to emptying your the folder in about 30 days; meanwhile, in the transition period, everything in your trash will still be searchable. And any email threads you discover that you’d like to save on your primary account can still be recovered.
  11. I don’t know, I just like having things with eleven steps. I guess, start over at step one with “peterselj.backup2@gmail.com” in another half dozen years.
Happy web browsing, yo.

Blueberry Hill Menu

By JoshPetersel in Josh for Business 0 Comment

A-ha! Even the venerable Blueberry Hill (from last week’s post) is susceptible to flaws.

Mathematical!

1) You’ll have to look closely, here. The All-American Platter reads: “choice of three bacon strips, three sausage links, or three sausage patties.” Same price.

Just below, the first Side Order option reads “Four pieces of bacon, three sausage links, or two sausage patties.” Same price.

Which means, given the uneven valuations of bacon and sausage patties, we’ve got an economics problem! Your optimal strategy, when ordering your sides, is to get four strips of bacon—a bonus slice of bacon, according to the All-American Platter equation. When ordering the All-American platter, you do the reverse: order three sausage patties. In a full-on supply & demand economy (including the option to participate as a seller as well as a buyer), you’d have an arbitrage opportunity: buying bacon in the side-order market and selling bacon in the All-American platter market.

This, in the scheme of things, is not that big a deal.

2) More important: For all the work they do to make Blueberry Hill a comfortable place…what the heck is up with the policy of no separate checks?

I mean, places can do separate checks. It’s fairly commonplace. Why wouldn’t you offer it? Why would you automatically build in an inconvenience for any party greater than one or two? Is it worth the extra, say, $0.20 to give your customers a hard time? Or is Blueberry Hill busy enough, and confident enough in its business, that the $0.20 transaction differences add up?

Lessons from Joe Edwards

By JoshPetersel in Josh and the Arts, Josh for Business 2 Comments

"Uncle Joe."

Joe Edwards (above, left, with Chuck Berry, right), is a real, live folk-hero.

If you’re from St. Louis you already know the story, and you’ve already visited and revered his trademark restaurant, Blueberry Hill. If you’re not, you can pick up the story from his Blueberry Hill profile, or his Wikipedia. The jist of it: Joe opened a bar/restaurant in the 70’s, spearheaded a movement that turned a questionable area of town (called “The Loop”) into a nationally-recognized entertainment district and tourist destination, is currently involved in an impossible number of new, vibrant business projects, and is generally a very highly regarded and respected person in the scene.

I was incredibly lucky to have met Joe personally through our professional relationship while I was at Eleven. We didn’t talk much—business, with Joe, never took much negotiating—but I still learned an incredible amount through working with him directly, and in the same city. Here’s a few lessons.

1) Live the story you tell. Joe’s story is Blueberry Hill: A homey, feel-good bar, stuffed with pop-culture memorabilia. There’s a very 50’s feel. Likewise, Joe hasn’t changed much over the years—same pony tail, Hawaiian shirts & khaki shorts, vintage sports car, and cheery attitude as ever (see above, minus the car). You can spot him from down the block. He’s a natural extension of his business—for lack of a better word, a living, breathing mascot. Every voicemail he’s ever [grammar error fixed. Thanks, Pete!] left has started “Hello! This is Joe Edwards from Blueberry Hill!” It feels good to see him, to talk to him, and as a natural extension, it feels good to spend time in his place of business.

I’ve heard stories that, in the 70’s, Joe would from time to time have to physically eject ruffian customers who didn’t fit his image. Bad for business in the short run, as the gangster kids figured out that Blueberry Hill wouldn’t even accept their business. Families figured this out too, and moved their business in soon after the punks took off.

There are countless other factors involved, granted. But it all starts with #1. Joe is Blueberry Hill’s best salesperson. He picked a story and business to match, and totally immersed himself in it. You don’t go to Blueberry Hill because they’re running a good price special (they don’t have any). Nor do you go, for the most part, because it’s the corner bar (even going through Wash U, Blueberry Hill is notorious for having among the hardest-carding bouncers in the city). You go to Blueberry Hill because it’s Blueberry Hill, and because it’s Joe’s place.

2) Have a cohesive, comprehensive vision. Everything—literally, everything—that Joe gets involved in is geared or optimized to serve #1. It’s incredible. Let’s look at some examples:

A) Everything, from the restaurant, to the bowling alley, to the hotel, to the movie theater, has a distinct “Joe Edwards” feel. The 50’s vibe. The penchant for collectibles. I can close my eyes and envision the types of materials I’d expect to see and feel, the fonts and diction used. The hours (open every day of the year, without question, ever). Just distinct enough to be unique, and yet, bring to mind the good feelings drawn from every prior Joe Edwards experience.

The Loop, surrounding Blueberry Hill, has a (possibly unwritten, but verifiably Joe-enforced) rule that no bars are allowed to open on the street. Every liquor-licensed venue in the neighborhood is a restaurant (I suppose, encouraging a family-friendly environment) that happens to also have a bar. Even the places that Joe doesn’t own conform to the Joe feel.

B) Joe’s businesses actually complement each other. Pi and Pappy’s, respectively wildly successful pizza and barbecue places in St. Louis, responded to their good fortunes by opening up new pizza and barbecue places—there’s now five places serving Pi-style pizza, and two serving Pappy’s-quality barbecue. How much of either could you consume in a day (much less a month)?

On the other hand: Joe noticed that his Blueberry Hill bar patrons were still thirsty after the place closes at 1:00am. He then opened Pin-Up Bowl, down the street with a 3:00am liquor license. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve made that 1:02am trek between the former and the latter (because of the frequency, mind you, not my inebriation).

Joe is the city’s biggest proponent for developing and promoting The Loop. Why? The more foot traffic on the street, the more people who are likely to stop in for a burger or a pint.

Joe revitalized the Tivoli Theater on the Loop. Because “dinner and a movie” makes sense, and movie-goers only having to park once for both even more so. Joe built the Moonrise Hotel on the Loop. Where are out-of-towners (who probably don’t have a car, and certainly don’t have a good grasp of the neighborhoods) who stay at a hotel most likely to go eat?

C) Non-business ventures that still ultimately promote #1. Joe founded the St. Louis Walk of Fame, a series of commemorative stars embedded in the sidewalks along (you guessed it) the Loop’s Delmar Boulevard. The organization is billed as a non-profit—but at the end of the day, who do you suppose the increased foot traffic serves?

He had a hand in the Loop Planet Walk, which starts directly in front of his Moonrise Hotel.

Most recently, Joe installed a Chuck Berry Statue across the street from Blueberry Hill. Joe is renowned for being a good friend of Chuck’s, who, by the way, plays St. Louis shows exclusively at Joe-owned venues (a monthly gig at Blueberry Hill, and occasionally, a date at The Pageant down the street).

And finally, there’s Joe’s forthcoming Loop Trolley project. It’s designed to connect the Loop to nearby Forest Park, bridging and enriching two of the city’s best public attractions. Two of the proposed train stops are directly in front of Joe’s Pageant and Tivoli. But forget that—the local stuff is small potatoes. The trolley project has already received $25 Million in federal funding, and is a sure-fire bet to win a ton of nationwide publicity and tourism interest.

I’ll give Pi some credit here: I’d bet it’s no coincidence that they’re widely known for receiving a positive review from Barack Obama and that their first geographic expansion point was Washington DC—let the consumer draw their own fascinating daydream conclusion there. But Joe wrote the book on the subject. Everything he’s done is intertwined in a beautiful, expansive, self-nurturing and ever-growing web.

3) You’re only as busy as you make yourself. Perhaps the most important, and practical, lesson of all.

Even given the towering number of projects and businesses he’s involved in (and I’m sure I’ve only just scratched the surface), Joe is simply not that hard to get a hold of. You can reach him by calling his extension at Blueberry Hill (which anyone at the bar will give out)—on a bad day, he’ll respond to your voicemail and call you back within 36 hours. On a good day, he’ll pick up the phone on the very first ring.

Everything he does he handles without a computer—or at least, an email address.

It seems impossible. Maybe Joe’s simply a step ahead, again—physically avoiding the timesink that we general public succumb to on the internet. I prefer to think that he’s just a model for work ethic. One might conjecture that the biggest hurdle to getting things done is simply worrying about not getting everything done. Joe responds to everything on his plate, swiftly and decisively. He doesn’t leave loose ends or putz around with petty debt or open deals—with all the time and energy I’ve seen some bar owners expend making and further delaying delinquent payments (and my experience, indubitably, being just a minuscule sample), who knows what they might have otherwise accomplished. On the contrary, his abilities to reach decisions, follow through, and get work (big or small) done are the stuff of legend.

Thanks, Joe.

Motor Oil

By JoshPetersel in Josh for Business 2 Comments

Valvoline. Castrol, GTX. Pennzoil. Mobil 1.

Thinking with your dipstick.

I don’t get it.

I don’t mean the whole dipstick thing. I’m talking more about the fact that I’ve probably seen a thousand motor oil commercials in my lifetime, and I’ve never, even once, remotely considered consuming the product category—not even the product, the product category—advertised.

Who’s buying all this motor oil to justify the exorbitant commercial advertising budgets?

I’m guessing that I’ve seen most of the motor oil commercials in my viewing history on sports networks. Certainly got the male demographic down, and I can imagine that the 6am SportsCenter time slot appealed just as much to 30-year old guys on their way to work as it did to 15-year old me on my way to high school.

But let’s think: What percentage subset of american males could be interested in doing their own oil changes? What percentage even have cars? (THE INTERNET suggests 30% change their own oil (“70% rely on others”); my hunch is it’s even lower than this.) Most places recommend an oil change every 7500 miles or 6 months. (I’d guess, meanwhile, that most people just wait for the panic light on their dash to go on.) THE INTERNET also suggests something like 3-4.5 liters per change. You can get six quarts on Amazon for something like $30-50. So we can’t be talking about more than $75 / yr per customer.

…Seriously? That’s what you’ve been pitching me on, for years?

I get the gist of the long sell. Diamond companies probably don’t mind that 15-year-old me gets incidental views—they’re priming me to some day hunker down and spend $XX,000 on what amounts to little more than a worthless pebble. Beer companies don’t mind, because as soon as (my ID says) I’ve turned 21, I’m doomed to be a hopeless addict. But motor oil? Even a lifetime customer who’s loyal for 40 years couldn’t reasonably spend much more than, like, $3,000. (And how high could brand loyalty even be? How loyal are you to Shell, Sunoco, BP, or Mobil gas?)

And it’s not like these commercials are even geared towards expanding the market! The pitch isn’t “Hey, try changing your own oil! It’s easy using this stuff!”, it’s “our brown goop is better than the others! Look at all these chemicals and nutrients and junk!” Pennzoil and Castrol and whoever are simply bickering with each other over what already seems like an astonishingly small target market.

It seems like the marketing efforts of motor oil, on an entire-industry level, are a complete disaster.

What would I do?

1) Screw advertising. No more TV ads, no more “Castrol Presents the Pennzoil Halftime show brought to you by Valvoline.” It really doesn’t seem like product pitching on such a massive, generic level is worthwhile. With exception for, say, NASCAR events. Maybe.

2) Absolutely conquer your biggest customers. These are probably Jiffy Lube, Pep Boys, Midas, and the like. Make sure that every single outlet exclusively carries your product,which, unlike Joe Six Pack watching ESPN, they’re actually probably consuming at a reasonable rate. This should be easier now that you’ve freed up those millions of burdensome TV dollars.

3) Expand the market, and shoot for loyal customers. I’d guess that the best venue for this would be New, and Used Car Dealerships. With new car owners, you’ve established a time-opportunity for a fresh start and a behavioral change (“have you considered taking better, personal care of your new car?”). With used car buyers, you’ve established a group who’s demonstrated a modicum of car savvy, as well as an interest in saving a few extra dollars a year on their transport.

Or am I wrong? Anyone out there with oil changing experience? Anyone ever been swayed by one of these commercial campaigns? Anyone ever thought with their dipstick?

Cell Phone Maps

By JoshPetersel in Josh for Business 0 Comment

You’ve seen this map before. (I just did, a few weeks ago at Lollapalooza in Chicago):

duh, can you hear me now?

…well, what the hell?

This map makes no sense to me as a marketing tool. Why do I care? Why is it important that there will be 145 new markets in 2011? Or that Texas seems about 60% covered compared to Georgia’s 100%?

I use my phone at my house, at the office, and downtown at the bars. With little exception. Verizon, your service sucks on my campus. I don’t care that the folks in Miltonville, Mississippi get five-bar reception at 4G speeds in 3D. And it especially doesn’t matter because even if I wanted to call there, it’s not like I need to be on the same network as the receiving party.

So why are phone companies still using this map in their promotional materials?

You could argue that the lowest common denominator of people seek the aid of infographics to help making decisions. I still say we could do better. Couldn’t we fairly easily make localized maps for each local ad placement? This seems like an easy, effective promotional campaign. Or would that be too damning of cell phone carriers’ spotty coverage?

Satellite TV

By JoshPetersel in Josh for Business 0 Comment

You know the pitch.

DirecTV, now with ten billion channels! All of them are in HD, as well as regular D! Three new movie channels for every day for the rest of your life, guaranteed! Record seven hundred shows at once with the DVR-humbo-jumbo and never miss your, your wife’s, your son’s, your mom’s, your coworkers’, or anyone in greater Salt Lake City’s favorite shows that are all playing at once again! Sports games, from every angle—like the new Jock Cam! Watch the games as they’re seen by your favorite player’s genitals!

I get it. Big numbers are impressive and help sales. I’m not going to waste my time with AT&T’s package that’s only up to nine billion channels (they’ve got the Jock Cam, but not for any of the minor league or high school games. Pfft!).

Who is actually watching all that junk? Really? Even the most devout, relentless TV watchers must have some specialized interests—sports, dramas, movies, etc.—rendering 75% of the channels useless. Is there a version of Dunbar’s Number for TV channels?

And further: What’s the point anymore of putting the news at Channel 2, then the sports at channel 134, and then the movies between channels 7632-48? In the old days, you had different channel numbers to reflect different wave frequencies to be picked up by your TV antenna. And there’s no consistency from carrier to carrier, area to area. When I come home to New York to visit my parents, I can’t find anything on TV. I’m 23—I should have at least 40 more years before I’ve got to toss the remote aside to some young whippersnapper and scoff at this sort of thing.

Who’s winning here? Does DirecTV get an ego boost every time I have to scroll through six dozen channels to find the one I want? Is it a bizarre revenue sharing model to try and generate commercial viewership for lesser-watched channels? Is it some kind of a sales pitch that half the channels I click on while I’m surfing are unavailable because I don’t have the right programming package? You want to watch one of these twelve channels? Too bad! Should’ve gotten the ninety billion channel package, instead of your puny ten billion option.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t make sense.

You know how I’d win the next generation of TV watchers? Keep your eleven trillion channel programming packages, but give me the option to program the channels to whichever number I want. Channels 1-10 that I love, 11-11,000,000,000,000 to sniff through on a rainy day.