Ha Media's Marketing & Advertising Blog

The Ugly Politics of Sameness and Otherness

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 18:08:05 -0500

If James Joyce were writing his Ulysses today, would the hero be an average Jew living an average life on the damp streets of Dublin? Would he fantasize in secret about his wife's affairs, quietly mopping up the messes she makes all the while sniffing mutton steak and hoping the society at large doesn't cast stones at his thoughts and her indiscretions? Would Joyce, if he were alive today, and better yet, if he happened to live in the US be at all inclined to endow average-ness and mediocrity with anything worth reading about?

We all fight our battles differently, I guess, and maybe some day, I will simply learn my lesson and stop altogether, realizing finally the futility of my efforts, but I am not quite there yet. For today, if never again, I'd like to address a few things that have been making me damn near physically sick over the last week. I want to talk about the "otherness" of one of the candidates for the presidency of this country.

Barack Hussein Obama is half black, young, and had the misfortune of being born in the only state we still have a problem spelling, with its exotic landscapes and people. He also has a misfortune of having lived in a largely Muslim country when he was a kid, and, of course, of having a Kenyan Muslim father. All these things are summed up in the name alone. He is no Leopold Bloom - or Joe Six-Pack. We can say it doesn't matter to the average American (whatever that entity might be), but we'd all be lying, because judging by everything that has been brought into question regarding this man, we do care, intensely. The over-riding fear and concern that he might, oh my god I can't believe I am actually gonna say it, have at some point in his life when in elementary school been registered as Indonesian and Muslim... The gaffe about the 57 states that Rush will never get over... The patriotic Americans with Palin/McCain signs screaming "terrorist" and "kill him" at rallies... And some unfortunate kid getting shot at for simply wearing an Obama t-shirt.

Which brings me to the not-so-delicate issue of who we are, as a people, as a nation. Do we still dream in Black and White, only now with hatred for all things Arabic sounding? Are we, indeed, so fundamentally arrogant that we really believe our way is the only way, and to hell with everyone else? What happened to "all men were created equal"?

I wish I could say that it's just a few bigots here and there, but watching the reactions of the audience at those aforementioned rallies squashes that hope. We don't fight our enemies, we fight those we are afraid of, and we are afraid of everything that is unlike us. It seems that now Obama and his supporters are the enemy. Where will we be on November 5^th, regardless of who wins this election?

I sincerely hope that the ugliness of this election serves as a reminder of what this country was founded on, and maybe, just maybe it's time to stare bigotry in the face. Maybe it's time for a civil rights movement, because we are being anything but civil or civilized.

Just an Average John 6-pack - The School Yard Bully

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 13:37:40 -0500

There is certainly comfort to be derived from perception of strength from our leaders, or those who are vying for such a position. Strength of character, strength of one's convictions, strength in the face of adversity. All these are valid considerations, especially given our current predicaments, both in terms of economy and national security, but at what point does the show of strength become an empty shell hiding the monsters of cowardice?

When you encounter a bully, do you view them as ‘strong'? Are bullies natural born leaders?

Because if they are, then McCain definitely proved last night that he was born to lead. The disdain he showed for his opponent by referring to him as "That One" without so much as even looking at him was more revealing about his character as it is now than anything else that transpired so far in this bizarre campaign. The fact that he didn't shake Obama's extended hand when mingling with the crowd afterward was also revealing, to say the least. Or the fact that he chose to ignore screams of "terrorist" and "kill him" aimed at Obama at his rallies... Nope, McCain didn't call Obama a terrorist, but the gloating self-satisfied grin on his face at the reaction of his audience was certainly enough to know that he was pleased with the result of his segue into Bill Ayers connections, such as they are.

Someone posted a blog on how electing a leader is all about character. Issues, policies, legislation matter but not as much as knowing the character of the person, because if we trust the person to be honest, decent and honorable - the rest of the stuff there are advisers for. If this election is, indeed, all about character, McCain's so far has been utterly lacking in that department. He is showing himself to be an average schoolyard bully, who dismisses perspectives and opinions that differ from his own with the same singularity of purpose and conviction as the man occupying the White House at the moment has always done.

They say the big issues will decide this election, like the economy and housing, and healthcare. I think it will go a bit deeper than that. I think that character of a candidate will be judged more from the little details one gleans in public appearances now than any past association on either side. From what I had gleaned so far - John McCain not only lost the battle last night - he lost my respect as a man. Everything else, even his pick of Palin, was a game of politics, albeit a dangerous one. His behavior this past week was all him - none of it worthy of the Office of President of the United States.

A Palin - Putin Ticket...

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 22:10:57 -0500

Right or wrong, but the totality of one's experiences determines, at least in part, whom we choose to associate with. It also influences whom we are comfortable with voting in office, even if it is the highest office in the Country. In the case of impending November elections, by all accounts I should be wishing that Sarah Palin was at the top of the ticket.

I grew up in eerie proximity to the North Pole, and recall distinctly watching the indigenous Chukchi herd deer across the tundra flats. They relied on deer for meat and fur, as well as something they could trade on the Russian bazaars - trinkets, coats, shoes, all made from deer skins. The place was a large and unfortunate collection of coal mines and smallish villages surrounding each mine for easy access. Each area surrounding a mine was probably the size of Wasilla.

Coal dust was something you experienced when taking an educational tour down the mine's shaft, or in late Spring, when the snow finally decided to melt and it ran black and grey into the streets, and icicles were no longer safe to suck on.

This, none of it, is politically relevant, except to say that I know what if feels like to live in a place where no crops, save for the coal, could be procured, due to the climate; where 30 below was considered mild, no matter on whose scale, and where hunting and fishing were both, plentiful and necessary for people who relied on it for centuries before the white people came and built the city around resources that begged to be dug up, processed, and sold.

I left there, for good, less than two decades ago. The city, as I have known it, no longer exists. Most of the mines have been closed down, once everything that could have been mined from them, was. Strip mined, that is, and then people moved where they could. Some, who had no place to go, stayed behind and are not taking any time about dying. Average lifespan, even by meager Russian standards, was way too short, and death almost always came before the first retirement check.

The fact that life there was hard was worn on every face I remember as a kid. The wrinkles burrowed deeper into one's skin, the eyes teared more easily, with or without the wind, and the landscape was all Jack London, sans any semblance of redemption in the end.

From what I have seen on TV and in photos, there is definitely redemption in the wilderness that is Alaska. There is beauty in its richly coloured landscape, in its diverse population, in the pioneering spirit of explorers who made it all the more American, even before the sale and purchase of this vast, frigid landmass. There is a sense of opportunity that seems to imbue people who occupy Alaska now, albeit still sparsely, and a sense of adventure for those travelers who go into the wild in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a predator or prey, largely extinct elsewhere in the world.

There is also the opportunity for a savvy politician to make an indelible mark in a place so vast and yet so small, and so conveniently removed from the rest of the continent, in more ways that geography alone can account for. An opportunity that McCain ceased, seemingly without blinking, to win the election.

In an eerily Putin-like gesture, the barely-vetted VP nominee, is safeguarded from the media, as one sound bite after another is skillfully crafted to appeal to both, our best and basest instincts. If I could close my eyes and pretend for a moment that Palin was, indeed, qualified to be a heartbeat away from the Presidency of the United States, the half-hazard selection process in and of itself should be terrifying enough as the first important, presidential decision on the part of John McCain.

Taking risks in politics is admirable, under most circumstances, but risking one's country for a vote is inexcusable, and anyway you look at it, this is exactly what McCain's pick was. For a man of honor, for a veteran, for a US Senator to treat this election as nothing more than a game of chess, in which Palin is as much of a pawn as the rest of us, is strikingly hot-headed, callous, and quite possibly treasonous.

Are we all ok with being sacrificed for the only trophy McCain has yet to acquire, the White House? If all we knew about this VP pick was that McCain has only spoken to her once, and the team of lawyers and PIs are still ‘vetting' her - that should be enough to know that John McCain, who said a very short time ago that he was "not willing to lose the war to win an election", is now letting us know that he is willing to sacrifice his country, our country, to do the same.

The haunting landscape of the city where I grew up, now deserted by its inhabitants is a stark reminder that God is rarely on the side of convictions alone.

A sentimental journey - a belated Thank You...

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 17:22:17 -0500

Georgia rushed at me almost every summer after an endless four-day journey by train, where we, kids, stuck our heads out the windows and watched the world go by and grow taller with every few hundred miles. We started in the frozen black and white flatlands of the tundra, and slowly the world speeding by the dusty windows of the train acquired yellows and greens, and one morning, exotic trees would tower over the fields, the parapets and the people, and the first faint whiffs of seaweed and oysters would float towards us with a silent welcome. We knew we arrived then, a pack of translucent-skinned kids, longing for the sun, the sea, the adventure. There was no mistaking this place for a part of Russia. We were in a foreign land, and we knew it from everything we saw, heard and smelled. The humongous map in our geography classroom must have been mistaken.

Somewhere, not far from where something or other is currently being blown up, was the house of my great uncle on my dad's side. The house, as I remember it, was somehow uneven any way you looked at it. He built it from scratch, from what I was told. He was a very short stooping old man who would pick up huge boulders in the yard and show me a scattering of scorpions, so I knew what they looked like, and then pluck a few, destined for the jar of olive oil which magically served as antidote against scorpion bites.

The house smelled of cilantro and peppers, which grew in the yard out back, and some spices whose pungent smells could wake up the dead, and make the plainest of grains dance a tango on one's palate. The grapevines, that were covering the trellis of the upstairs terrace with their impossibly elastic thread, produced the most remarkable fruit - their juice turned to wine as soon as the grapes were pressed, and we would get giddy drunk on it. In this house, my dad taught me to tie my shoelaces, so we could keep going for our long walks along the promenade to the place at the end of the boardwalk where we could race bumper cars. It was probably a few miles each way, with the scent of magnolias mingling with that of the sea... I remember looking at the sea at night and knowing suddenly why it was called Black. Years later, I would force myself to jump into it headfirst at night off of a pier, just to prove that I knew the black silky sheet of glass was indeed made of liquid.

In that house I also learned that those purple figs only looked like they had worms in them, and when the wormy-looking veins turned white, it meant the figs were ripe.

Mom and us had Turkish coffee with scoops of vanilla ice cream, served in tiny silver cups in the little sidewalk cafes, as we sat there speaking of mermaids and magic, overlooking the restless sea. Later, mom taught me that the sea would hold me up, if I trusted it enough to do so, unless there was a storm coming, and then I had to watch out for the ninth wave, as those could be deadly.

We didn't always go to the same place on the Black sea, but my guess would be that all these places were somewhere in Georgia. In every one of these we were guests, tourists. We took it all in, the smells, the food, the language, the people. There was nothing even remotely Russian about any of it, and as kids, somehow we knew that a terrible mistake had been made somewhere. We knew that these loud people who haggled at the bazaars just for the fun of it, who made their own wine and made soda out of goats' milk had nothing at all in common with any of us, and we were guests, grateful for the gift of their beautiful cities, their mysterious sea, and the overall sense of restless and exotic that made one want to fall head-over-heels in love. We took back our stories and a trinket or two grudgingly salvaged from some gift shop. We peeled off our half-baked tans, and eventually no longer could smell the sea or the night-blooming flowers of the sub-tropics... Everything else had to remain, such as it had, for all these years.

Its poetry, its mysteries and its mermaids will forever be just out of reach of any power hungry empire, and its will to survive will find a way with or without the help of NATO, or the US... It's just a question of value placed on human life, and if one matters as much as the next... I hope Rousseau was right.

You wanna look for a home? Sign HERE!

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 23:34:33 -0500

It was a fair day, cloudy but not too, and I was off from work. I was still living in Manhattan with the-soon-to-become hubby, and this was my day off. I wanted to shop, which hardly ever happens for me, so it felt oddly invigorating, fresh, weird...

I remember walking into Bloomies (Bloomingdales, for you non-New-Yorkers) in search of something bright and colourful - the Spring was in full bloom, and Central Park never looked prettier. I desperately needed to shed the dull grays and blacks of winter garb and wrap myself and my loved one in colour.

A lanky pretty boy in the mens' department languidly swished my way, looking down at my hands that were cradling a gorgeous bundle of Caribbean-Blue-Silk that I was going to purchase for my loved one. I was lost in thought, imagining his tanned skin and oh that gorgeous body lightly caressed by the fabric as if it were nothing more than a breeze, with night blooming jasmine on its breath...

The lanky, suave male specimen's crisp voice woke me up from my daydream with: "Miss, this shirt is $120.00 - and I just wanted you to be aware of it... We have other merchandise you might be interested in....," - I was no longer listening. I carried my package to the cashier, feeling the lanky's eyes on my unpretentious pair of Levis and a black Tea Shirt, and my little silky gift sat coldly and awkwardly in my hands, no longer wishing to be gift-wrapped...

I may not have bought the shirt after all, with or without the unsolicited ‘advice' my salesperson dished out, but the moment, the day and the daydream would not have been so utterly ruined, had it not been for the callous judgment of my financial worth... Bloomies would have still beckoned me in with promises of pretty spoils, fit for Jay Gatsby and his Daisy or the man I loved.

The American Dream of owning a home will not float on a Spring Breeze with a rustle of a $120.00 piece of silk, and I know that. The mortgage commitment, the repairs, the planting of that necessary garden, the making of the memories - all tremendous considerations, and yet, none of them as imperative on first look as the dream itself.

It seems so many of the Real Estate Professionals here are sadly ok with burying the dream in the all-important demands for a pre-nup an EBA, and proofs of a dowry a pre-qual...

I knew I could afford the $120.00 shirt when I held it for the first time in much the same way I know how much of a house I can afford. Most people I know have a pretty fair idea of what they are looking for and what they can afford or would want to spend. There will be those who are just ‘lookers', but there may be dreamers, too, and some day they will look for a guide to help them make their most important dream materialize in all its beauty and with all its complexities.

Will you be their agent of choice?

Copyright (C) 2008, inna hardison. please, don't steal from the starving artists, it's illegal and well, just plain freakin' wrong!
:-)

Free Country My ASS

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 00:59:00 -0500

For those of you who do not know me intimately - I wasn't born here....

At some point of my growning up, my parents decided to travel from Moscow to New York, with one way tickets, which is how all real traveling should be done. I had to come along, being a minor of sorts.

I finished high school at sixteen, and promptly declared that I liked heavy metal music, perms, boys and i was gonna smoke if it killed me. We had this brand of cigarettes in Moscow called Manhattan, and it came in a gorgeous sky-blue and white packaging, with the skyline of the city being completly white. It looked oh so promising to a sixteen-year-old me - that's where were were 'traveling to'... A city of white skyscrapers where one could say: "With All Due Respect, Fuck You, Mister President," and still be alive in the morning.... That's the country I moved to, cause my parents couldn't say stuff like that and get away with it - they'd be homeless or locked up, but here they could. We all could.

Not that any of us wanted to utter that sentence, but it felt GREAT knowing that it was possible.

So how and why is it that all of us here are basically ignoring the fact that our personal freedoms (all of them) just got trampled on? Why are we ok with it?

See, here is the thing... If the phone company turns in the records of my conversations to the FED, i could care less if I was talking about uncle Joe's liver transplant - the subject matter is and always has been irrelevant. It's my conversation to which they, whoever they may be, have no RIGHT per the Constitution of this country...

It's not about terrorism or freedom of speech... It's not about how afraid we are of anyone with an Arabic sounding name or accent. It's not about our kids' future safety... It's about a much larger monster, that we have bred and raised in the name of Fear, that we've been feeding one Constitutional Amemdment at a time, knowing full well that the beast is insatiable...

I haven't written much in a while, for a reason... We are all pedlling used goods in a used country.

The mermaids will not sing to any of us if we keep silent...

The Last Sandcastles...

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:48:31 -0500

I am always late. It almost doesn't matter what's at stake, or where I am going, chances are I will be late for it. My friends joke that I will, in fact, be late for my own funeral.

The weather report called for late afternoon thunderstorms, which generally means a four in the afternoon cut off time for any outdoor activity involving water. Needless to say by the time I finally got the family and a few friends together to go to the beach, the sun shriveled to the size of a Valencia orange, and was comfortably hiding behind the cloud, whose menacing grays obscured most of the horizon on our drive over.

I was in good company: my two boys, almost 8 and just-turned-16, the teenager's buddy, and my best friend.

With ACDC blasting on the radio, the drive was surprisingly short.

An old man with a bucket of wildly flopping fish was the last man standing on the stretch of orange and pink coquina sand that we were hoping to call home for a few hours. All that was left now were the traces of organized, responsible-enough-to-get-to-the-beach-on-time-families who had come and gone before us, as the eight eyeballs were shooting daggers at me, blaming me for the weather.

A few drops already landed on my back, but I was hoping no one would notice... Little one was already in the water, bodysurfing on the swells. We don't do this often enough, and it would be a shame to leave now. We'll go and wait it out in the car, and see what happens...

Not ten minutes later, the sun came out in all its glory, with a promise of one good hour before dusk.

A few blocks North, right by the Pier, teenagers hang out in droves doing their thing. They flirt, borrow pizza money from their friends, kiss and check out their competition.

The teenagers I was with went swimming towards the pier - and who am I to protest! Heck, at that age, last place I would want to be seen was with my old folks. I opened a Bacardi Mojito and settled on watching my little one enjoy the waves. Just past the first sand bar, the glorious gray of the Atlantic Bottlenose dolphins rhythmically moved in a slow and deliberate chase of a school of fish. The day couldn't possibly have turned out better - a rare sight...

I lay there daydreaming, Arthur Clark's Island of Dolphins, read so long ago, replaying in my head, when I was rather rudely awakened by my 16-year-old spraying me with tiny drops of cold...standing over me and shaking his head...puppy like.

I am surprised - no girls in tow, no flirting.

For the next hour or so the two teens and the little one attacked the sand with the zeal of someone for whom there may not be a tomorrow. Dirty from head to foot, excavating with their hands and feet, very much reminiscent of my puppies they were all joy and giggles building a moat around the most fragile giant structure on the sand, save for the few turtle nests. Much like the nesting loggerheads, burying the memories of their childhoods in this last hurrah before girls carry any significance past the obligatory cursory glances.

I lay there watching in quiet fascination as two very tall beautiful teens were holding on to the few remaining grains of their childhoods, reveling in the murky water of the mud tunnels, oblivious to the laws of engineering or common sense...with no fear of consequence.

Somehow I knew that this would be their last bout of innocence, the last sandcastle which didn't need to be saved... which couldn't be saved.

At 20,000 points and still learning why i am here....:-)

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Sun, 25 May 2008 15:10:07 -0500

If I go over 49 words in this post, I will get the 200 blogging points that I would need to pass 20,000 point milestone. I prefer not to, at this time. Instead, here is a song… Other than that, the answer to why we are here is 42.

Stupid Laws in Florida that are still in Force

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Wed, 14 May 2008 16:20:40 -0500

This is in response to a blog that Simon posted where he showed his disappointment that Florida Legislature did not vote for the bill to make bestiality illegal. You can read his blog here:

Anyhow, in the spirit of addressing various laws that were, are and should and shouldn't be made, I found this neat little collection of current Stupid Florida Laws!!! Enjoy:-)

One may not commit any “unnatural acts” with another person.
Unmarried couples may not commit “lewd acts” and live together in the same residence.
Corrupting the public morals is defined as a nuisance, and is declared a misdemeanor offense.
Doors of all public buildings must open outwards.
It is illegal to sell your children.
Women may be fined for falling asleep under a hair dryer, as can the salon owner.
A special law prohibits unmarried women from parachuting on Sunday or she shall risk arrest, fine, and/or jailing.
If an elephant is left tied to a parking meter, the parking fee has to be paid just as it would for a vehicle.
It is illegal to sing in a public place while attired in a swimsuit.
Men may not be seen publicly in any kind of strapless gown.
Having sexual relations with a porcupine is illegal.
It is illegal to skateboard without a license.
When having sex, only the missionary position is legal.
You may not fart in a public place after 6 P.M.
It is considered an offense to shower naked.
You are not allowed to break more than three dishes per day, or chip the edges of more than four cups and/or saucers.
Oral sex is illegal.
You may not kiss your wife’s breasts.
Penalty for horse theft is death by hanging.

Supporting The ARTS with Awesome Exposure - Your Business Larger Than Life!!!

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 12:33:19 -0500

I have written a bit on how supporting the arts in your community can actually benefit your business, and thre responses have always been somewhat divided. Whether one should do it for altruistic reasons or at all are the normal points of contention. Well, for any real estate agent/firm, developer, mortgage broker or builder in Florida - Here is an AWESOME opportunity to actually get something huge in return for a rather minimal investment.

Please, read and consider supporting the LEGACY Jazz Festival and North East Florida Jazz Association:

Don't miss this remarkable opportunity to show your support for the Arts in the Community, and help contribute to a scholarship fund for deserving Florida music students, and get larger than life exposure on the Diamond Screens for your contribution. All acts on stage are 2:30 - 3:00 hours long, and are all by extraordinarily talented professional jazz musicians: Alex Nguyen Quintet - Friday, May 9th, Doug Carn with Dot Wilder, Thursday, May 8th, and much more on Wednsday and Saturday (details to be announced on www.legacyjazz.com).

This is a last minute reminder that there are still a few sponsorship spots left for the 4 evenings of live jazz concerts slated to take place on stage at the European Village from May 7th- 10th as part of the Legacy Jazz Festival, 08. Each sponsor will get their name/company logo and information in a broadcast quality clip on the giant TV screens during each evening of the performances. Clips can be produced for you.

These concerts are free to the public and will be heavily advertised both locally and regionally.

Each clip is 10-second long, and your ad will be the only one shown during your slot. Each sponsor will get at least 14 exposures per evening for all four nights of the concerts.

The sponsorships are ONLY $200.00

In addition to getting your name on the big screens you will be making and invaluable contribution to the arts, enabling the North East Florida Jazz Association to continue providing scholarships to talented music students enrolled in Florida Universities.

Vendor Space for Four Days of the Free EV Concerts - $300.00 per day or $1000 for all four days.

Showcase your products, services or properties during the entire day of any or all of the four day of these free to the public events: May 7th - 10th. Standard 10 X 10 Spaces for your table or booth are available.

Space reservations for TV and Vending must be recieved today, April 22nd. We can wait on payment for the space until end of this week, but we need to have confirmations from everyone who will participate by the end of this evening.

How to send your donation for this sponsorship:

If you prefer to send a check to using our online donation system, please email us with your commitment to reserve space on or before the above mentioned deadline.

To sponsor these concerts at the European Village, simply click the link below, and use your credit card or your PayPal account to make your contribution. and click donate now button to make your contribution.

Click Here to Sponsor the Concerts at EV

You can also send a check to NEFJA
PO Box 352552, Palm Coast, FL 32135-2552.
Specify EV Concerts in the notes.
All collateral for TV Spots, including any logos, text and images that you would like us to include must be emailed at high resolution to: ads@teamhardison.com

Thank you for your support!

For any questions, please call Inna Hardison: (386) 569-4185

North East Florida Jazz Association, Inc.
P.O. Box 352552, Palm Coast Florida, 32135
www.FlaglerLegacy.com
NEFJA is a 501 (c)(3) non-profit organization

In Support of JAZZ - Update!Oprah, Clinton, Obama, McCain - READ THIS!

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 17:08:31 -0500

I didn't really plan on doing this blog in parts, it just so happened. What started off with a rant on fundraising for the arts during difficult times has since turned into a journey in its own right, - the one i would be willing to take again with all the ups and downs.
For those of you who missed the rant - here it is...

Then, there was an update with a plea to help, of sorts, and that can be found here.

Which brings me to a brief update of sorts:
Having encountered rather obvious problems fundraising locally, we decided that we needed to take some bold steps to garner national attention. The first step was to post our Title Sponsorship on Ebay, and the second was to spread the word. Click here to read about it: That's just one of a few dozen articles and blogs that appeared as a result, and yet, we weren't getting anywhere... So our next, i believe, logical step was to 'create' interesting press - in the hopes that some hungry journalist somewhere would pick it up. With this being the election year, we contacted every politician running for office, including that of our next president, and well, click here to read all about it.

We are keeping our fingers crossed, and hoping that eBay does more than help us spread the word. We are hoping somewhere out there is an individual or a corporation that will contribute to a little known festival in a little known place, - an investment into the future, if you will.

Meanwhile, people from all over, including Active Rain (THANK YOU J-MAC)
have been making contributions in all the ways they could.

Another AR member and a professional musician, Eric Kodner, with fabulous advise(thank you, my friend)

and your very own Amanda Hall - who started this group, and then said something aweful sly and fabulous about sticking Oprah into the blog to get her attention that we have since expanded to include other notables, you rock!!!

As a sidenote, i must say that i had met some of the best people while trying to help

the North East Florida Jazz Association with their Jazz Fest , and that is, indeed, priceless.

In short, while the progress has been slow, we are not ready to give up just yet, and one way or the other, the Festival will go on, and the few lucky talented youngsters will get to go to college to do what they love, inspite of and despite of the state of economy, politics, and their own circumstances. They will make beautiful music that will stay with us and our kids, and they will pass it on to the next generation, because without art and beauty life is dull - no matter when or where we find ourselves...

If anyone out there wants to have a fab vacation from the ordinary, come on out and look me up. It's pretty as sin here in May - Paradise they call it, for a reason, and this time, there will be trumpets in paradise:-)

www.LegacyJazz.com will get you all the updated schedule info, travel and lodging discounts at an awesome resort overlooking the piazza with All That Jazz, and much more.
Thank you for the support, for reading, for taking the time. Sincerely, Thank you!

Stones to Mountains - In Support Of JAZZ

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 09:42:17 -0500

A few things that have happened since I posted on the difficulties of fundraising in these economically stressed times. (see blood out of a stone, for those who missed it).

Some good, some not so good. Flagler County, my home and home to the LEGACY JAZZ fest we've been trying to fundraise for earned a dubious distinction of the highest unemployment rate in the State, never mind those depressing FOR Sale signs that pepper every street in the same way seashells no longer pepper our beaches. Needless to say, the majority of the population are rather down on the whole thing, and everyone is feeling the pinch.

The good news is - people stil walk, talk, breathe, love and listen to music... Potentially good news - somewhere out there in the world, there are companies and people who are not down and out and who appreciate that the Arts canot hibernate through the tough times, the endangered arts can do so even less, and Jazz is endangered. So we are reaching out to the nation to find our knight in shining armor who will ride in on his white horse (first class, of course), and change the course of history - well, maybe not, but for some kid somewhere who just might be the next Miles, the NEFJA scholarship could make all the difference, and then - history it would be.

So we went looking for our knight to the one place large enough and diverse enough - the Global Marketplace, AKA Ebay, and posted our title sponsorship for the Festival last night. Hopefully, someone somewhere will think it worth while to help us hold on to the legacy, to jazz, to the arts through the downturn. We hope no one thinks less of us for considering the Arts a necessity in our lives and the lives of our kids.

So go ahead, and click the icon, and pass it on to anyone you know who just might have the bucks and the passion.

For the other not for profits out there trying to fundraise, Ebay has unique tools specifically for not for profit organizations. Ebay's Giving Works will result in a nifty ribbon next to your listing and your organization's mission statememt appearing in each listing. Creating an account for a nonprofit is a pain in the butt, but doable, and allows your organization to sell on Ebay's Giving Works withought any fees - which is really cool! There are also some 60K organizations currently registered, and anyone can choose to donate a portion of the proceeds of their sale to a specific not for profit - selller's fees for the donated percentage will be "0". Mission Fish handles registrations and disbursement of funds that were donated to the organizations. All in all, takes a bit to get used to - but a great system!

Lastly, we decided that even if all we get is a dollar from each person that we know, even this little grass roots can beat the odds, and can collect enough to have music free to the public, and have enough for the scholarships. So here goes a little pitch to the AR community: click the button and drop a few cents in, or a buck - and pass it on to your friends, you never know whose education you will be contributing to:

"...hell, nobody knows where jazz is going to go. There may be a kid right now in Chitlin Switch, Georgia, who is going to come along and upset everybody." -Quincy Jones

Blood out of a stone - in support of JAZZ

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 16:13:20 -0500

See the update to this blog: Stones to Mountains:-)

I was just reading a local news release, and it appears the unemployment in my home county, Flagler County, Florida is now the highest in the state, and close to the highest in the nation. Two years ago, this was the fastest booming county in the country, full of new jobs, new construction, new shops and plenty of optimism about the future. You could smell it in the air! The grand openings were truly grand, and it seemed that money was plentiful. This was two short years ago...

Why am I writing this, and how is it relevant to the title of this post?

Here goes: I feel like a fish out of water, trying to splash on rock solid ground, not yet realizing that the terrain has changed, or not knowing how to adapt to the new surroundings. I market things for a living - that's all I know, and up until the last few weeks, I thought I was pretty darn good at it. A few months ago, my agency, which consists mostly of my sweet husband and myself, was asked to promote a Jazz Festival for a regional not for profit organization, NEFJA. They have been around for over twenty years, and the festival coming up in the beginning of May would be their 3^rd... How hard could it be, right?

Our oldest plays piano, and, when given a choice of music to play, will always gravitate towards jazz. For most of his childhood, my mom took it upon herself to pay for his music lessons - a gift for him of sorts, and she's been doing it for a decade now, for which I am extremely grateful, as there have been moments when I couldn't have done that. Knowing that all proceeds from the events go towards giving college scholarships to deserving music students who may otherwise not be able to pursue music - made our decision all the more simple.

So for the past two months we have been trying to raise funds to bring Freddy Cole, Eddie Henderson, Vince Gardner etc to play in our own back yard, and it's not cheap. But it's been depressing to say the least! Calling on the same businesses that sponsored it last year only to find out they are in foreclosure or out of business makes it even worse.... There is simply no money here for charity, and with the music programs slashed in schools - very little opportunity for anyone to pursue the arts, which brings me to my point:

The arts and music inject a healthy dose of optimism into any place and its people, always have, but when it is needed the most, no one can afford to foot the bill... So what does one do, especially when it comes to helping preserve an endangered art form? No one here will die if the festival doesn't happen this year; most people's lives will remain essentially the same, except for a handful of kids who are practicing on a used trumpet somewhere in an empty room, and who have dreams of being on the stage at Lincoln Center, or in front of a class full of dreamy eyed idealists. Kids who have yet to learn that the ability to enjoy and create art is also predicated on money... If this was in a metropolitan place with news agencies and millions of people - it would probably not be difficult to get Oprah Winfrey and Big Give to contribute, or Bill Gates or Steve Jobes, or any number of people and corporations who have contributed to great causes in the past. But this place is rather small, and the press no longer cares to talk about it since it's not growing anymore - it's shrinking... But the people haven't changed, and the necessity for love, music, humanity remains stronger than ever...

If anyone has any fundraising ideas we've not yet explored, please shoot me an email.
The web address for the festival is: http://www.legacyjazz.com/ - and contrary to my tone, it will happen, one way or another. It would be great if this optimism and certainty were backed by some green paper coming in.:-) Thanks for listening.

See the update to this blog: Stones to Mountains:-)

Whisper

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 19:58:34 -0600

It's but a whisper that looks back
To trace its steps
To throw the doors wide open
Come what may, but it recoils

A Siamese narrows its eyes
A shadow or a prey
Within its grasp
It's all in jest, in play

The doors, they swing so heavy
After many years
Of not being used, light through the cracks
The creaky floor

The footsteps in the dust,
Used to be snow,
The Siamese, long gone,
Recoils no more

It's but a whisper that looks back
To trace its steps
Searching for home.

Copyright (C) 2008, inna hardison. please, don't steal from the starving artists, it's illegal and well, just plain freakin' wrong!
:-)

An Open Letter To Real Estate Agents... Who is in my home?

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 15:26:41 -0600

Dear Real Estate Professional. Once I sign the listing agreement with you to sell my home, and we both share a moment of this warm and fuzzy, inspired for me by the fact that I have a professional marketing my property, and for you, by the tentative promise of a few grand - let's get something straight.

First, I expect that you will be able to find the time to actually go through my home, and learn its layout. I expect that you will know the exact size of my bedrooms, kitchen, living room. I expect that you will venture out back and actually notice the trees in my back yard, and that my patio is in fact enclosed, and that I do have tile floors in wet areas. I also expect that you will put all of that info into the mls.

Second, and i know this may be asking a bit much, i would love it if you could take some decent pictures of my house, including a few of the inside, cause, well, i think it looks pretty cool, and i think that might help my home's chances of selling.

Finally, I would feel great knowing that you know exactly who is looking at my home, and i don't mean virtually, i mean the people walking around my house. If you must put my home on a combo lock box, I am cool with that, cause i know you have other listings, and can't personally show mine to every buyer's agent wanting to see it... I've been there, and trust me, I understand. But since you, my dear real estate professional, have the code to the lock box that can open my home, I would very much appreciate it if you VERIFIED the information about the RE office and agent calling you for that bit of code... See, the thing is, to sell my home, i had put in all new appliances, and even bought some furniture to make my house look homey! I thought the 12,000 investment would pay off in the end, since the market is tough, and when you are handing the code to anyone calling you on a Saturday morning, without so much as asking them which office they represent, - you could be giving away my 12,000 to someone for no good reason, and since you didn't bother get their name and phone number, we'll never find my antique dining room table, and my Sears appliances...
I hope this won't put too much strain on our newly formed professional relationship, and frankly, if you don't feel comfortable doing these things for me, please tell me that upfront, and I would gladly look for an agent who wouldn't mind taking these steps to insure that my home sells, or at the very least, doesn't get robbed or damaged in the process.
Thank you very much!
A new seller...

Marshmallows Taste Like… Mulch

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 11:39:06 -0600

The stars were out in full force that night, and as the air became tinged with just a hint of winter - our noses longed for the smell of logs burning in the fireplace... It's hard to justify having an indoor fireplace with daytime temps hovering at over 70 around Christmas but we do have a little round fire pit outside, which has been neglected for over a year. This was a perfect night to finally burn the kindling that sat dormant for so long.

Hubby and I dusted off the dew and cobwebs from our camping chairs and dragged them out to the back yard. A lime infused corona in hand, our heads tilted towards the sky, watching for the one we are supposed to wish on, while our teenager was struggling with making tight ropes out of newspapers. In short order, the air filled with the smell of smoke, and the flames danced lithely the lengths of termite eaten branches and were licking the underbellies of fat logs - smelling of pine. It was time to bring out the bamboo skewers and a bag of marshmallows...

Our seven year-old has only had one experience with roasted marshmallows until that night, and didn't remember much of it, so he watched in wonderment as we torched the angelic whites of sugar-clouds you could bounce on, - until the outsides were wrinkly black and the insides ran all gooey... The metamorphoses was so complete that at first, he was afraid to try them, and it took some courage on his part to finally take that first bite... "It,... the black part,... tastes like... mulch," says my little angel, averting his eyes, not wanting to ruin our evening.

So now, we are trying to just pink the skins for him slightly, and are careful not to catch the fluffs on fire, burning the tips of our fingers...losing patience; this, slow roasting takes so much longer; closer to the heat of the flames; afraid to touch the logs - thus for the next hour we feed our little one the goo without the crunch, the whole time trying to figure out exactly when he had tasted ... mulch.

I am restless now, and puzzled. I go on an expedition to his room, in search of anything mulch-like. He has the exacting vocabulary of a scientist - he is always dead on... "Tastes like mulch"... Hmmm. I am on all fours, under the bed, and then I catch a glimpse of something that doesn't belong there, an all-too-familiar cold blue of his homework folder, wedged with surgical precision in the 2 millimeter space between his bed and the wall...

In it, just as neatly, are two sheets of homework due the next morning, unspoiled by the barely black of a number two pencil... Not even the blank line designated for his name at the top of each page was obscured by a speck of charcoal...

What to do, but confront the little bugger... With his mouth full of goo, he tells us that his fifteen year old brother doesn't like him and must have hid it to get him in trouble... He swears by everything sacred to him that he is not lying - he knows that lying is bad, and would never do that... He loves doing his homework, and why would we ever ever suspect him of deliberately hiding something as important as all that, and...

Our firestarter teenager looks gravely at his baby brother - the one he couldn't wait to welcome into this world; the one he held in the skinny hands of an 8-year-old before anyone else did; the one he read "One Fish Two Fish" to so many times that he knows it by heart - the one who just told his first big lie...

The fire is winding down, the little one is long asleep, dreaming of white clouds of marshmallows, unspoiled by the flames...

We sit in silence and roast our marshmallows that taste like...mulch.

Shades of White. A poem for no one specific...

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 18:02:28 -0600

Shades of White

Partly cloudy, basically drizzle

The weather is stuck in routine

Yet another holiday season advertisement

Swoons from the screen

Parenthetical promise of snow

Is thinly felt through the perfume of roasted nuts...

They will light the lamps any minute now

They will go home

They will drink and dance

Through the dusk. They know:

In this city

The nights are grey

But the chestnuts - sweet.

I wish it'd snow

Eclipse , shot in Palm Coast...Florida

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Mon, 17 Dec 2007 18:54:56 -0600

I was going through hubby's local pix to post to localism, and found this one. It's one of my all time favorites, especially since I couldn't bring myself to climb out of bed that moring, and still regret it. This lasted for over 4 hours! Hubby is a very patient man. Yes, it's a time lapse, but for those of you who missed this event a few months ago, that's what it looked like from here!
Enjoy:-)

A Lesson in CSR From Papa (Johns, that is, the Pizza Joint)

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Sat, 08 Dec 2007 21:39:33 -0600

My Fifteen Year-Old, who doubles as a gourmet chef when hubby and I are too busy to cook, is off to theater to do his best as the summoning gongs of a clock in Scrooge, but that's a topic for another blog. So here we are, not a stitch of munchables in the fridge other than some Lean Pockets, and well, that's something we'll hold on to in case of famine or a hurricane.

The hungry seven year-old makes his customary rounds from hubby's office to mine demanding to be fed more or less immediately, or he is going to pass out from hunger, report us to Children and Families, or impose any other punishment he sees fit. I can't take it anymore, so I call up Papa Johns pizza, more in an attempt to shut him up than procure an actual meal. While listening to a rather horrendous rendition of "My Girl" on their hold line, I recall that last week when I ordered from them my chicken wing order got screwed up and I got hot wings instead of barbecue... Now, I don't tend to complain, especially when it comes to franchise pizza joints, but since the kids were really craving the wings last week and I reiterated at least ten times the flavor of said wings to the person on the phone, when I got the wrong ones I was mildly peeved, so I called them back and complained.

A very nice woman offered to give me credit for next time, and apologized in the most sincere way...after a brief speech on corporate policy of making customers happy.

So tonight, after I ordered the pizza, I mentioned to the gentleman on the phone that I had credit for some wings. He immediately assured me that I did not, and he was looking at my account, and was quite confident that there was no way I would have any wing credit whatsoever. I was then asked to produce an employee number or first and last name of the person who had the audacity to promise me said wing credit last week, and he actually ‘hah-hah-ed' when I couldn't recall the name that was never given to me in the first place from my swiftly dimming memory.

At this point I said in the calmest voice I could muster:"well, if it's not too much trouble, could you just add the wings to my order, ... please". Misinterpreting my niceness as sarcasm, the man on the other end of my Papa Johns line says: "Fine, you want your wings, you got it... Your total is $... and it'll be like an hour". I made my voice smile, and gave him my credit card number, and lo and behold, he couldn't run the card. It wasn't going through for whatever reason, so finally, exasperated I hung up and placed a comparable order online, using the same card, which went through no problem.

By now, my seven year-old is not only starving but has his heart set on some bbq wings, so I get a special that comes with free chicken strips, for lack of anything with wings online, and call Papa Johns again, this time a little less nice.

After briefly explaining what happened to a female answering the phone, I get a very confused sounding: "Well, whaddoyah want me to do ‘bout it, maaaam?"

Me: "I want you to substitute the chicken strips for bbq wings, please"

Her: "I'm ‘fraid can't do that, maaaam, you already put it in the computer, and it won't let me change your order or give you credit..."

Me: "I am not asking you to give me credit, though I am paying five bucks more for essentially the same meal, simply because you couldn't run a card... I just want you to...."

Her: "Maaam, you wanna talk to the manager or somethin'?"

Me (getting just a tad annoyed, but keeping real calm...) "I would love to talk to the manager, ... please"

Mr Manager: "Just like the lady told yah, we can't change a pre-paid order, so I don't know what I can do for you, ma-am."

Me: (Very very slowly, and calmly) "you can simply substitute the strips I ordered for bbq wings..."

Mr. Manager: "The computer won't let me do that, ma-am!"

Me: (not so calm at this stage...) "Sir, is the computer cooking my food?"

Mr. Manager "Hah?'

Me: "If there is a human being involved anywhere in the process of my food being made, I would very much like if he or she could locate a set of pizza boxes with my address on them, find the one that is supposed to contain chicken strips and put bbq wings in there instead. Do you think it is possible for someone to do this?"

Mr. Manager: "Hmmmm... I dunno... I never had to do that before, and well, you see the store policy is that......"

By this time I could care less what I served for dinner so long as the 7 year-old didn't mind it too much. I, myself, was getting less and less hungry at this point, and finally just hung up the phone on the guy wanting to be really really mad. But I couldn't be mad, because the stupidity was so overwhelmingly genuine; the recitations of policies and rules, and detailed explanations of what can and cannot be done were so out of the textbook he undoubtedly had to read, that I was simply stumped for an appropriate response...

I figured I could have gone to the store and bought groceries and cooked an actual meal in less time than it took me to order a pizza.. and some wings... In a half hour or so I got the pizza, and, to my utter surprise, some wings, but I still can't get rid of the bad taste in my mouth of how eager everyone was to tell me exactly what it was they couldn't do, and why. Suddenly my hurricane supply of Lean Pockets seemed a more desirable alternative. After all, at least I can yell at these boxed up gooey food-wannabes, but they can't say "No" to me! There is, in fact, nothing they can say to me, and that I can live with.

Can We Please Do better with the MLS Description!!!!

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Sat, 01 Dec 2007 11:35:28 -0600

There are over 2000 homes for sale in my area right now. Over ten percent of those are short sa

les and such. Basically, too many homes and too few buyers,
which I am sure sounds familiar to most of you.

I was looking through the MLS last night to see what was out there and after a going through the few pages of search results, I must say how decidedly UNDESCRIPTIVE those MLS descriptions are. What are the local agents thinking?

Some jarring examples:

Good location, best deal, close to schools, like new, blah blah blah.

It's as if coming up with an actual description with the buyer in mind is more than the commission payment will cover somehow. As a consumer, here is what I see when I read descriptions written like this: an agent who is either dispirited or plain lazy, and who got a listing they didn't deserve. Granted, most of the agents are soliciting buyers, not listings, but for God's sake, if you already got the listing, it is your job to make it something that people want to buy. There has to be more to these
real estate agent's vocabularies than a one-liner describing every other home here.

Lazy descriptions and a bunch of blank fields may have been ok when the homes were selling withing days of popping up on the MLS, though I still think of those agents as doing things half-a**ed, and thus would not hire one of them to represent me, but now, of all times?

Make your listing stand out. You are getting paid to sell it!

Nadine's Awesome Guy, Where are You?

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 12:06:52 -0600

Bill and Barbara Jo's post got me reminiscing for a moment, so here it is... An old memory. Again, there is no advice or anything professionally useful...

In the mid 90s I was going to college in Westchester County and working in Manhattan, so my schedule was bizarre, to say the least, leaving very little time for dating or anything else for that matter. In those days I relied on nutra-something or other shakes in lieu of eating just to save time... And then one day a co-worker introduces me to this beautiful sweet guy whom she recognized as her old high-school classmate. It wasn't a fairy-tale head over hills sort of thing at first...at least not for him. He was the sexiest man alive as far as I was concerned, and I desperately wanted him to like me. So a few of us, busy as we were, made arrangements for every other Saturday to meet up on Bank Street, downtown New York, to go roller-blading. At the end of each of those outings we would stop by this cute little place on the corner called Nadine's.

There were maybe a dozen tables inside, no more, but the food was spectacular, and the place just felt right through and through. There was this guy in his late forties who was always our waiter... I don't know if any of us ever learned his name through our many visits, but he was the sweetest man. He had some sort of an accent and didn't really ever carry himself as most waiters in NY did. There was no pretense. He served our food to us as a friend would, and told us stories when we hit an uncomfortable pause, and let us be when we seemed chatty and happy in that pre-mating ritual sort of way. I fed the one I was seducing raspberries in that place - our first romantic overture....

Anyway, a few months into our coming there for our post-roller-blading lunch, it came out that this man had AIDS, and that he has had it for years, and none of the medication seemed to be working. He still came in to work everyday, and on his good days wouldn't talk about the disease at all. On his bad days, he would smile at our infantile happiness, basking in it, seeming to urge us to not take anything for granted...ever, but without ever needing to say it. You could just see it in his eyes, almost a desperate wish that we don't screw it up; that each day matter to each of us, and that we do something grand with our young lives...

Yes, he was gay, by the way. He was madly in love with his long time partner, who had passed years before we ever got to set foot in Nadine's for the first time. He still celebrated his birthday every year, and missed him terribly. His friends, too, were all gone, and he would tell us about visiting them when they got really sick. That's what scared him the most, - having people who love him standing bedside and looking at him as a dying man...

The man i fed raspberries at Nadine's became my husband after many years of friendship. We'll have been married 8 years in January. We haven't really kept touch with the other youngsters in that old group, but as far as I know, none of them live there anymore. I don't know whether or not the place itself is still there, but I'd like to think that everything is the way it was a decade ago. I'd like to imagine that he is there now serving some arrogant youngsters lunch and through his stories letting them know, in passing, that they are not immortal... That life is fragile...

I hope you are still fighting, somewhere in the Universe, you awesome Nadine's guy!

Have I measured my life in Coffee Spoons...?

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Thu, 29 Nov 2007 14:46:40 -0600

(Caveat: There is no advice in this one; it's just well, personal...)

With due regards to T.S. Elliot, of course...

A friend of mine reminded me today that my birthday is coming up in a couple of days, and it had occured to me that this year has sped by me, without a whimper or a whisper... a sonic boom, and it's over. I don't tend to look back much, there is simply no time with the present crashing around me at all times. Too much to do too little time, though I do know in my heart of hearts that it is entirely deliberate on my part, and that I perform better this way. Better for my clients, that is; better for the organizations that I volunteer to help, and better for my paycheck, but... Today, I am questioning where I went wrong this year...

There were beautiful sunrises over the Atlantic. There were full moons rising over the sea and casting shimmering shadows of the seaoats over the water, all silk and gold and so soft, it begs you to wade in waste deep... There were so many questions my six year-old asked me that i was too busy to answer with anything outside of a yes or no and engage him in an actual coversation. Books that have not left my shelves; that should have been read out loud, that should have made me think about things that will never make me a dime...

I wonder if each smile and a hug that I missed could have been a memory worth keeping; I wonder if I had been reckless with those I love...

This morning there was a woodpecker trying to extract a bug from an old stump of a broken tree in my back yard. I got all giddy and stood there with my morning cup of coffee listening to the measured beat... Turns out he had been here for a few months now, and that's his favorite spot. I just hadn't noticed before... It would be so nice to measure the next year by the beat of my resident woodpecker, and the full moons and sunrises, and the smiles of my kids and loved ones. I just hope that I am wise enough to let it happen...

Vegas: Sorry for Stepping on Your Feet!

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 17:12:24 -0600

Vegas: sorry for stepping on your feet!

Finally a full night's sleep after Vegas! It was my first time in Sin City, and what an overwhelming experience that was. Of course, most of the time was spent at the Expo, with my client, Jennifer Allan. In my rounds on the floor doing my bits of ‘research' I must have stepped on hundreds of feet, all leather bound and with hills if worn by women on the first full day of the expo and then stockings only or flip-flops and tennis shoes. I must have walked a dozen miles every day, or at least if felt like it. Room to elevator - through a casino at MGM, that is a size (and wealth) of a small country,- to the monorail - and finally to Sands. I am actually surprised how happy people at the Expo were, even on the last day of the event. Most looked like they were genuinely enjoying themselves... Hmmm, maybe it's the free drinks so long as you are playing that took the edge off minor and major inconveniences...

A few expo related observations: The NAR's displays and POS stuff was outrageously expensive-looking, like a five hundred dollar chip on a roulette table next to... well... the rest of ‘our' five and ten dollar ones. Most of the exhibitors were pleasant and not at all pushy, but there were a few that decidedly got on my nerves. The drag everything that moves to the booth and sell sell sell tactics were not what I was prepared for. An appalling number of displays that seemed put together last minute with the help of a drape and Staples copy center, then again, maybe their booths were simply lost by the NAR's ‘no-bid' contractor for the event - has happened to quite a few people from what I heard.

Less that, had an absolute blast. I wish I had picked up a guide to the city before going though, as it may have helped locate a restaurant that was less than $120 bucks a person or a casino table where a minimum bet was less than $10.00 bucks. I have heard that those placed exist in Vegas, even on the strip, just did see any with my own eyes.

The buildings are incredible, and would have liked to take some time to look at every one of them, but alas, maybe next time. For what it's worth, I must say thanks for the Expo as I would have probably lost my shirt gambling if I wasn't so busy stepping on people's feet navigating the Expo! If I stepped on yours, I am truly sorry!

Does it Make Sense to Spend Money on Print ADS?

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 01:34:13 -0600

I ran across this blog by Dan Weis: http://activerain.com/blogsview/270551/Are-Your-Print-Ad and figured it would be too long to respond in a form of a comment, hence this brief opinion (translation: you don't have to agree, but if you disagree, you can't sue me:-))

Dan suggests that Print Ads no longer work, with most buyers finding their homes and/or agents on the Net...

In my market (North/Central Florida) there are about a dozen or so real estate mags and news-prints to choose from on any given moment, and they seem to be doing fine; as full of ads as ever. This, of course, is not an indication that they work, but certainly suggests that the publishers of those things believe that they work.

Here is the trend, as I see it: when the market here was extremely hot a few years ago, every RE agent and broker in town wanted to run huge glossy ads all over the place, whether or not it made any sense, because the overwhelming feeling was that one had to APPEAR to be the Biggest Fish in the Pond.

Virtually every magazine ad that RE people ran included a large smiley face of the agent (next to a classic car or a private jet, boat... - fill in the blank). I don't think most of these agents ever thought of the money they were spending on these ads as money they were spending to SELL their listings. They were PROSPECTING. In my humble opinion, that's exactly what those Glossy ads are for.

Classifieds are another story and depends entirely on the market and targets outside that market. There are agents here in Florida who have gotten results by running ads in newspapers all over the North East. You couldn't pay them to run in the local papers, as they don't see any buyers here.

I think it is unwise at best to paint any medium with a broad brush. There are certain rules that are more or less universal when it comes to good advertising practices, and those are hardly ever followed:

Know your goals:these goals have to be specific objectives of each ad campaign, and not how much money you want to generate with advertising over the course of the year type goals.
Know your target audience: what are you selling with each ad and to whom are you most likely going to sell it in the end (ideal buyer of your service).
Find the best venue/medium: to reach that audience with the minimum investment.

It amazes me when a RE chooses to run an ad for an open house in a high-end property in a gated community in a local PennySaver and then proclaims that Print Ads don't work. Meanwhile, there are dozens of old ladies who run ads for the same Saturday about their nifty garage sales and they are selling like as if WalMart went out of business.

Why is it that as consumers we still have some intuition as to what works and what doesn't but once we become business people, we tend to lose all perspective? The rest of the world still sees everything we do through their eyes, not ours. So long as we all remember that, I am sure we'll make better advertising decisions, regardless of the medium we choose.

PLEASE, DON’T SPRAY ME!

Inna Hardison-ha media group Marketing and Advertising Pros (ha media group) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 10:13:38 -0600

First, a confession, in the interest of full disclosure: I hate shopping. I race through grocery stores at record speeds and hope that what I buy lasts at least a week to avoid extra trips. But grocery shopping is a have-to, at least for now, so I suck it up and endure.

Going clothes shopping, however, should be a pleasant experience. It should be a treasure hunt of sorts: you never know what will catch your eye around the corner, you get to play dress-up and all that jazz. For me, it still amounts to torture on some basic level: more like being stuck in a giant closet than a treasure hunt, but that, too, must be endured. Some department stores are more comfy than others, and that is reflected in the price tag of everything you buy.

In a mad search for 2 very minor items for the Vegas trip, I braved the gorgeous 72- degree day outside and drove to one of these ‘high-end' department stores. You know the type: you walk in and over-made up sales people offer assistance at every turn. Well, as luck would have it I had to go through the cosmetics floor to get to where I was going, and lo and behold as I am snaking my way in between the counters a well dressed young man sprays some perfume in front of my nose. I stopped dead in my tracks, deer in the headlights style, too peeved to even yell at the guy, but I was not so taken aback as to ignore the name on the bottle. Now, there is a chance that I would have found the aroma appealing if it was introduced to me in a less offensive way, such as a ‘unfold and sniff' page of a magazine, or sprayed on a card and only given to me with my permission. But leaving me no choice but to soak it in will always leave the name of the perfume on my do-not-buy-under-any-circumstances list.

Sometimes "any exposure or publicity is good for business" adage is flat our wrong. So, a bit of advice: tone down any tactic that might make your consumer uncomfortable, and remember that most people DO value their personal space, whether physical or emotional.