Sunday, January 28, 2007

to those of the age...

Post WWII Baby Boomers.
The children of The Greatest Generation.
The Best and the Brightest.
We're going down in History as the greatest, most clearly pre-defined Target Market ever.
Not as the much touted generation that changed the world, rather as the generation that never got over being spoon fed their Pablum.
Stooges, in other words.
I've followed the development of this, 'Boomers as Target' phenomenon, since a short involvement with The Nostradamus of Marketing, Faith Popcorn, in the early 80's.
Faith coined the term Cocooning, to capture the tone of her Future Trend Prognostications.
Basically, she convinced marketeers to prepare for a market she would create...a market of stay at homes, who first wanted, and soon needed everything brought to them, or done for them.
Pretty clever. It worked.
But, like all good ideas turned loose in USofA, it's gotten way out of hand.
Hippie Chicks have evolved into Mall Moms. Grace Slick is Brittany Spears.
Major Dudes wonder how to get ED tablets without embarassing themselves. Moon Doggie died of Hep C.
Well, Kids, I am of the age, and I'm not gonna take it sitting down.
I say, "Rise up from your Barcaloungers, toss the remote, set aside the Ben & Jerry's, and take to the streets."
But, before running off half-cocked, like we did the last time, take a few minutes to casually roam around your home.
Open the closets.
If there's a basement, attic, or garage, take a peek.
Scan whatever yard you may have.
As you look around, do a quick tally of how much $ is sitting around, unused, and forgotten.
I bet you have a lot of useless, expensive stuff, which you really needed when it was purchased.
There it sits, collecting dust.
And, you haven't finished paying for it.
Now you have a reason to take to the streets.

here's your Anthem...

there's a sea change a comin'
comin' for us all
we're bound to get swept up in it
all ridin' on this ball

See you there.
George Bush is going to be History's poster child for us.
If that don't light a fire under your butt, join Moon Doggie.

That's about as frivolous as I get on this topic. Though, there is a certain air of ridiculousness about the whole business.
Don'tcha think?
However, it is a very serious issue.
If you are somewhere, mid to late fifties, very early sixties, you are of the age.
It's insidiously time, and experience specific.
Here's a clue.
Figure how many times you've felt the urge, but suppressed your gut feeling, and done nothing because of all your responsibilities.
Look around at all your stuff, again.
There's your responsibilities.
Psychobabblistas call it baggage.
Even though you no longer give a hoot about most of it, you surrendered many hours of your life to get it.
It's got weight, in your Pablumed outlook.
It's yours.
Take good care of it.
The marauding hordes of unfortunates, about to sweep the planet are going to need toys, tools, and transportation.
Hand it out graciously. You may survive another day.
See...I told you it wasn't all that funny.