Viral Fun!

Celebs and Media

Thickslab scolds people for creating fake ads for a new SUV via an online make-an-ad campaign.

I understand his distaste as to the method and “success” of the car company getting their name out there by creating an army of ad zombies. However I am certain this kind of viral marketing will return the company very little in the way of sales, which, ultimately is the reason why a company cultivates a name. While Thickslab might find this kind of marketing loathsome, in posting just one word about it, he has ironically added to the meme, so in that sense, the campaign works. But I’m not sure that the means justifies the end.

When a company puts a product out into the world, it’s the acme of that campaign for the name to become the next Xerox or Kleenex. To have people using your name as innocuously as one would for the word “tree” or “boogers” is the height of product recognition and longevity. I don’t find brand name co-opting offensive since it’s part of a capitalist culture and we’re the winners of that last cold war. Why shouldn’t we celebrate?

An online viral campaign that kills a server is every ad exec’s dream. (Bloggers dream of this too, in hopes to move up the Long Tail. Guilty here. I’ve seen bloggers go link crazy with the latest meme so that their traffic shoots up via del.icio.us or Technorati) However in some cases, like the Tahoe site, the result might be detrimental to the product. This SUV is going to be known as “the Tahoe – that car that everyone made fun of, online”. I can’t see how such negative online presence would assist in one sale of this car. The only people looking at these ads are people laughing at the product or people curious about the meme. If it draws in a potential client, that shopper might be dissuaded from their purchase due to the “uncoolness” message that’s being generated. Take Nike’s and PSP’s world wide urban graffiti campaign. They didn’t count on bloggers like BoingBoing to point out the campaign’s poseur status and were forced to watch their campaign burn out of control, harder than a Barbie in a barbecue.

Speaking of Barbie, some companies have dropped the ball hard with viral marketing. Marvel Comics threatened to sue Fenster Film’s hillarious GI Joe PSA mash ups into oblivion (oddly enough, you can still see these at the public domain archive.org). When the site was removed, Marvel released their Joe DVD collection to poor sales. Now they beg for that kind of attention again, letting clips slide, like the morphing Michael Jackson-dancing transformer car. They didn’t understand the medium and it ran away from them. Subaru took a hit when it had the opprotunity to block a news story that claimed that their Outback line of cars were popular with Lesbians. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but religious groups stopped buying Subaru, resulting in a drop in sales.

I think the best way to viral market is to subvert the product to the brink of parody. The Tahoe campaign is riding the negative publicity just to get the name out there, but something like the Subservient Chicken, where a guy in a chicken suit will obey your typed in commands, or even a Jib Jab cartoon, is probably more what they should have been reaching for. Highly tech savvy, Self-deprecating fun and clever, without the ability to cross the line into allowing product mud rucking.

I admit it, I love viral marketing. It’s connective, clever yet extremely dangerous, much like a controlled burning becoming a wild fire. In Pattern Recognition William Gibson wrote about “plants” in the London social scene: people who were paid to go into bars and innoculously start talking to strangers about products, maybe even mention a funny site to visit. Seed planted, that stranger might mention it to someone else in passing. They’d visit the site or see the product and pass on that information to someone else and they tell two friends, and they tell two friends and so on and so on… Whammo, for very little cost, you have an ad campaign. When I first read this I was chilled at the thought of this becoming reality. Then I saw a Futurama where Fry complains that his dreams are being invaded by ads:

LEELA: Didn’t you have ads in the twentieth century?
FRY: Well, sure, but not in our dreams. Only on TV and radio… and in magazines… and movies, and at ballgames, and on buses, and milk cartons, and T-shirts, and bananas, and written in the sky. But not in dreams, no sirree.

Ad subversion is inevitable. How we process that ad is important. You can either never mention shopping again, or selectively only speak of products that you know. Or you can be part of the swarm. Good luck with that.

(Thanks to Trevor for the 10 second research) 

The Love Bug

Personal Bits

Last weekend at the massive dinner provided by Brother Mike (imagine all 5 sister/brothers except one, with all their spouses and one niece, and both parents acting civil to each other!) we’re all mingling and catching up (the family is scattered across two continents and three different time zones so these dinners are a bit concentrated with face-time) when I return to Sharkboy’s side with a refill of wine.

His face is pallid. He’s been talking to Mom.

“I didn’t say anything or do anything or suggest anything…” he sputters, hands up in the universal defensive Don’t Hit Me signal.

“You need a car!” Mom says, directed to me.

I look at Sharkboy with the universal What The Hell Have You Done? facial signal. I get the universal Nothing! shrug.

“You can borrow my car for the summer!” Mom continues.

“Guk!” I respond. Sharkboy repeats the universal symbol for Don’t Hit Me and I Know Nothing! over and over again.

See, we were putting serious pressure on Da to buy his ’92 Bonneville which is still running fine ( the old girl sat 5 years in a heated garage unused, looked after by a professional mechanic at one of his butlering gigs) and Da was being stubborn. “Never sell a car to a relative,” he would repeat, like a mantra. I get the feeling there’s a story in there somewhere, especially when his father was a pack rat of all things combustible engine-y. Grandfather had 14 lawnmowers in his 4 car garage when he passed. Plus he had a wicked cool moose head but I digress.

So I’m listening to Mom’s reasons as to why we should take her car for the summer (“The insurance is paid up until October!”) and Father-implanted alarms are going off. But it’s attractive. It’s there and Mom is offering.

We say yes. But we offer rules and regulations. As I type this I am sure Mom is waiting on the rules and regs from her insurance provider.

Last night, after a massive gas attack (I make a mean guacamole – I mean MEAN!), I’m lying awake in that zone not quite sleep, not quite awake and I realize that Da might be upset that we’re not asking to borrow the car from him again. I wonder if I’ve upset him by saying yes to Mom and making him worry he won’t feel needed or some bizarre parental concept.

Then I think that he’s probably glad to be rid of our constant begging.

So on Easter weekend, Sharkboy and I might be picking up an environmentally destructive 2001 Honda Civic.

Sharkboy is making the universal God I Love Your Dowry hand signal.

Again, My Distaste for Drugs

General

Long time readers of Deadrobot.com might recall that I have very little patience for tweakers and circuit boys who think a little toot every now and then isn’t a bad thing (I’m listed as “anonymous” in the comments, it’s post-B2 database purge).

This story of a man who had taken close to 25 hits of Ecstasy per day for 9 years just confirms for me that the long term effects of mind altering drugs is not a good thing (via boingboing.net).

The doctors discovered that the man was suffering from severe short-term memory problems of a type usually only seen in lifetime alcoholics. But evaluating the full extent of his condition was difficult as his concentration and attention was so impaired he was unable to follow the simple tasks involved in the test.

Apparently he was a cannibis user too, but the paranoia would abate when he stopped smoking up. While the article ends on an almost positive note that short term use is reversable, I’m still at a loss as to how taking recreational drugs is a good thing. Call me bitter, or a prude (I do have the odd drink every so often), but the risks are too great in my mind.

I’m off to my rock climbing base jumping class.

The Ballad of Dogface

Queer stuff, Toronto

Sharkboy and I push open our front door and are face to snout with a slim man standing in our alcove, his miniature Daschund sniffing round the inside of our front door suspiciously.

You must know that in our neighbourhood, our front door alcove is right at a streetcar stop which people use to get out of the rain or wind while waiting for their ride. No problem. However, some use the alcove as a smoking room which stinks up into our apartment. Some use it as a washroom. Nice.

When Sharkboy said “I hope he doesn’t pee here!” he might have been a bit pushy but he was just voicing a valid concern that our doorway refugee might not had realized about our predicament. We walk on. About 10 seconds and a few metres away, we get “YES! Yes he’s going to pee!” tossed at our backs.

Whatever.

As we’re walking along Carlton, we’re passed by a streetcar and the slim man’s face is stuck out the window. Remember kids, its dangerous to stick things out the window of a moving streetcar, but this dolt had a mission. Sharkboy and I are in disagreement as to what he actually yelled, but the highly feminine slur was the same: Sharkboy thought he yelled “(something something)…You two girls!” and I thought I heard “You two Queens!” We both agreed we heard the sibilant long sssssss after.

Why he thought that attacking our sexuality was important because we suspected his dog of urinating on our doorstep is beyond me. People like this just tire me.

Now we’re walking up into Gaytown, Church and Alexander. Where we’re all equal and free and able to live our lives equally with pride and bla bla bla. And you guessed it, there he is, his precious fucking mutt in his arms because he really needed to look like Paris Hilton, sashaying right passed us, his face twisted in hope we don’t recognize him.

Here’s where Sharkboy and I agree on what happened next. Simultaneously we verbally lash out at Dogface:

Sharkboy: “Well, well. It’s HER again.”

Dead Robot: (slow, deliberate, loud) “Sssssssssssssss!!”

And all Dogface could say was “Yeah. Well!”

We laugh as she sticks her haughty nose into the air and continues on with Fluffy tucked in her arms.

Obviously this fucktard didn’t realize that attacking our sexuality was probably not the brightest thing to do, especially if he was so blatantly gay himself. And before you start flooding my comments with “Well how did you know he was gay?” just ask yourself how many times you’ve seen a low slung, buttcrack-showing jeans wearing manboy with Kate and Ashley sized sunglasses pushed up on their “Stupid Girl” face, wandering Church street and said to yourself “Jeepers. That person’s sexuality certainly is in question”. Human brains are pattern recognition machines. We are designed to judge. What we do with our judgment separates the intelligent from the animals.

Cast of Characters

General

“And the dead robot would lend point to his words.”
–Issac Asimov, The Caves of Steel

Dead Robot: The lead. The head honcho. The head. The honcho. Numero uno. The one you want to kill if you want to kill all the zombie vampires. 40-something and a pop culture vulture. Gay, but not in-your-face militant, so that nervous straight guys can read this here blog with little apprehension. Stupid, but not so dumb as to post iPod play lists or memes that are months old off of MySpace. A poor speller.

Shelly: The resident movie critic. Actually a shell stolen from the sand bars off Grand Cayman, she sees movies with a cynical eye and reports them to you with short bursts.

Amy The American Sign Languaging Gorilla: Using a microchip embedded glove over her “talkin’ hand”, Amy speaks to us about the miasmatic political landscape that is Canada. You might remember her from the movie Congo.