With all this fowlness in the air

     Okay, so I’m thinking if he looks like a turkey, and moves herkey-jerky like a turkey, and gobbles like a turkey, he’s not a duck! 

     Regrettably, however, because mixed feather-beds can be confusing when it’s time to get some sleep, the talkative new leader of all the other turkeys has managed to exercise his powerful gobbling to attract some duck followers as well. 

     With all this fowlness in the air, it’s surprising to hear the turkey leader hasn’t been able to find adequate appointees to the upper echelon of turkeys . . . strong active turkeys who get the pecking orders straight. 

     No, instead, the new turkey boss has thusfar selected a scrawny gaggle whose get-things-done qualifications flutter aimlessly around their experiences of having already spent themselves trying to appease the whims of their past leaders.

     This collection of left-limping turkeys he plans to surround his nest with, is, I suppose,  better, in a way, certainly, than the unscrupulous and anti-flying creature contingent of past associations, but not much better. 

     The top turkey’s choices are also hardly satisfying, or instilling of confidence to those who feed them.  Though, alas, the turkey chieftain resolutely declares his choices to be “fresh faces.” 

     This means that all the turkeys in the land –and that bunch of misdirected ducks– will accept the appointee collection on (fresh) face value.  [And turkeys, you may want to remember, are not among those creatures God has blessed with great-looking faces!]    

     Perchance the turkey boss has forgotten these worn out fresh faces were spent years ago accomplishing nothing in the footsteps of their then do-nothing turkey leaders?  Who exactly are we talking about here? what past leaders? you may ask. 

     Oh, please, surely you know.  Remember the one who was preoccupied with the varied uses of Cuban cigars that were –like other similar products– tried but never inhaled?  And still he hangs around like arm-candy under his turkey-wife’s wing.

     Or, then there was the homely peanut farmer who turkeys, ducks (even pigeons) wish would just go back to quietly tending (shelling and salting?).  Surely those products of his would be more appeasing to elephants on the cusp of a stampede than his meddling insistence on beating the bushes to stir up the natives. 

     [Maybe none of the other turkeys have told the ex-turkey boss, or the new one, that elephants can’t “reach across the aisle” when the turkeys on the other side are all swinging machetes?]   halalpiar

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Yep! History In The Making… 

This being a thankful week, I thank you for joining me today.  With anticipation of my blog post #200 coming on Thanksgiving Day, YOU now have the chance to be part of history in the making . . . 

     I am asking all my friends and blog followers to write favorable comments in the window below that I can take with me to Washington. 

     I will print out your comments and hand them over as accompanying support for my request to be granted a real, honest-to-goodness, taxpayer-dollars-paid-for government bailout. 

     This financial relief will enable me to continue writing blog posts that benefit society without putting any compensation burden on me to have to sell advertising banners, or pay myself a salary with money that I’m just not earning right now. 

[Of course the future will be different, and I’ll only need annual bailout money for possibly seven or eight more years until my, ahem, ship comes in!]  

     I don’t think this is asking too much.  After all, I have a great many years under my belt of paying taxes at great personal sacrifice.  It’s probably time to get some of that back, maybe even more than what I’ve paid in. 

     I have also accumulated significant business debt that came about as a result of my focus change to write helpful business and personal growth hints for others instead of to make sales for myself. 

     Being accustomed to a $900,000 a year lifestyle, I imagine it would be awfully hard to get myself under that to qualify for those campaign-promised tax cuts so I wouldn’t have to be paying into the bailout kitty — let’s see, was it a $250,000 level according to one candidate, or $100,000 level promised by his running mate?  Hmmm.  Well, a hundred, two hundred and fifty, not much difference. Whatever. 

     Paying for incompetence with bailouts funded by taxes.  Now that’s a unique idea.  But, hey, that’s what government is for anyway, isn’t it?  I mean, who else could I turn to?  You might find this surprising, but no one I know of has the ability to pump $3,000,000,000,000+ into shoring up sinking businesses.

(Oh, and, don’t kid yourself: considering that absolutely no one on this planet has even the slightest clue about how many billions and trillions are about to get shell-game shifted around, or by whom, and to whom, and what for, and for how long, and where it’s all coming from, it could be the + on top of that three trillion that’s the real kicker!).

     Of course, I’m sure I will need to unionize first to qualify.  It’d be wonderful to add a dozen or so employees to my blog staff (maybe I could write posts twice a day!) just so I could collect. 

     None of the union folks would actually do anything, but what else is new?  They provide qualification clout.  That works.  Why, it’s almost like being able to get more food stamps by adding more kids to the family!       halalpiar     

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Whew!   

Well, let’s see, in just this one single week, for the recap benefit of those who have been kind enough and masochistic enough to visit my bloggerings regularly, we have:

• slept with the boss

• gotten physical, occupational, speech, and psycho therapy

• ordered $100,000 worth of astronaut tools for Christmas

• Read firsthand witness reports of NASCAR-finalist dump truck drivers on the NJ Turnpike, and been outmaneuvered on the road entering downtown Wilmington by two multi-tasking champion bimbettes, and . . . 

• Re-visited the whole outrageous idea of authenticity! 

Whew!  

What more could you ask for? 

And in the middle of it all, we still managed to continue the increasingly infamous 7-word story [See note below the # # # if you’re not familiar with this ongoing challenge to the clever-witted young-at-heart literary community out there, seeking a publishing venue for their talents] 

Now if ever there was an exciting week down in the blogmines (blogmires?), this has to have been it!  I mean where else can you get all that in one fell swoop, so to speak? 

And where does that leave us off for NEXT week?  Well, I could always suggest, for the more automotive-minded among you, to check out the blog site I do for my friends at I.G. Burton car,  truck, and bus Dealerships in Milford and Seaford Delaware. 

It’s http://blog.igburton.com for all the best and latest new and pre-owned Chevrolet, Chrysler, Dodge, Jeep, BMW, Mercedes-Benz, and Blue Bird Busses to be exact.  In fact, the post before tonight’s for them was offering a FREE MERCEDES!  Now sit there and tell me you could pass this up.  Anyway, see y’all tomorrow with new and exciting stuff!  Off to watch “24”!   halalpiar

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Hey, Home Depot!

Hey, Lowes!

Hey ACE Hardware!

Contractors, Repairmen, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ear!  Pack your tools up safe before you drink beer.  Or if today, on the Milky Way, a grease gun floats by . . . SIGH.

You’ve no doubt heard the news by now that one of our space-orbiting Astronauts lost a bagful of tools in the middle of doing a spacewalk repair.  Priceless.  Well, not quite. 

Actually the tool bag contents are estimated at roughly $100,000 worth of stuff, including a high-tech grease gun.  Hmmmm, whatever will space aliens think when they find out that Earthlings have been at war, shooting grease at one another?

There’s an old movie (name escapes me, but please let me know if this rings a bell): It opens in some desolete, remote jungle clearing occupied by a native tribe (Aborigines?) that has never before been exposed to civilization outside its own primative fire and spear devices of living, when suddenly from a rare passing airplane, a Coke bottle falls from the sky into the sand and ends up wreking havoc on the puzzled tribe members who I seem to recall think it came from God, dropped on them with some deep meaning from heaven.

Okay, now fast forward to the week before Thanksgiving, 2008, and a $25,000 (or $50,000?) greasegun crash lands in your front yard snow bank (if you’re in Maine, Alaska, Minnesota, Buffalo, or Canada, or the Swiss Alps or . . .) or your Southern California, Florida or Caribbean swimming pool, or W H E R E ? 

W H E R E ?

Tell me where it lands? 

What’s the situation? 

Has someone just screamed into the sky for help with the annoying garage door squeak? 

Is it in the middle of a major football game? 

How about you, all you Home Depot and Lowes employees?  Where are your voices, Sears Craftsman, and Black & Decker retailers? 

What would YOU do with a $100,000

bagful of high-tech space shuttle tools? 

Send me some ideas Hal@TheWriterWorks.com (“Space Tools” in the subject line.  I’ll publish your response, even your (decent) photo right here for all to see. 

Be creative or not.  Hard-nosed capitalists are also invited.  I’m waiting!  halalpiar        

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Straying off the subject of

business life for tonight . . . 

     A whole lot of driving this week leaves me thinking that — for the first time I can ever remember– it’s time to be prejudiced. 

     First off, if you drive a dump truck and –unlikely though it may be– you are actually reading this, you are not going to like what I have to say. 

     You know the vision most people have when you mention certain careers, like road crew flagger and cone placement professionals? 

     Well, it seems to me after a lifetime of driving every conceivable type of road in thirty different states and dozens of different countries that –generally speaking– dump truck drivers are reckless, power-crazed airheads who harbor secret visions of grandeur imagining themselves as NASCAR champions. 

     Judging by the speeds I often see them traveling, the no-signal lane changing they’re notarious for, they place no value on their lives or anyone elses.  These drivers must have to pass a duh test. 

     Is it possible these people could really be as oblivious to the reality of responsibility that accompanies the operation of relatively inflexible, unstable mega-ton vehicles as they appear to be?

     Well, I know, I shouldn’t pick on dump truck drivers.  They have to make a living too. 

     Okay, let’s move on. 

     Ah, but while I’m on it, there is one worse category of drivers.  I know I should get off of this, but having been the centerpiece of a maniacal four dump truck race on the New Jersey Turnpike earlier today . . . well. 

     So what driver group is worse?  But you shouldn’t need to ask.  Just look around you on the roads.  When’s the last time you saw a 20-35 year-old female driver who wasn’t driving while operating a handheld cellphone (speaking or text-messaging!) and either brushing her hair or smoking a cigarette or picking her teeth (or pimples, eek!) . . . and probably decibelling up her CD player, dancing around, chewing gum (they always chew gum!). 

     Yeah, the same ones with the graduation tassels, dice, baby booties, Native American dream catchers, prisms, and other dangling decorations hanging from the rearview mirrors — you know, those sneaky-peeky little vehicle amenities that make things appear closer than they really are, that are used primarily for guy-watching in the cars and trucks behind them. 

     Yup, lucky me, had one on each side of me this week, champion multitaskers, heading into downtown Wilmington.

     Then there was the double-length Rutgers University bus that nearly ran me off the road tonight as I cruised quietly along at the speed limit on Rt. 1 in New Brunswick.  Probably getting in some last-minute practice for Saturday’s football game traffic.  Ah, well, somehow I managed to survive it all so I can drive some more tomorrow.  Be Safe!     Halalpiar

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When you can offer customers 

a clear differential, do it! 

     I know most men shy away from grocery shopping, but I’ve always enjoyed it.  I like seeing what’s new . . . products, services, promotions, packaging, pricing, fresh offerings (fish, meat, deli, bakery, produce). 

     I am what market researchers refer to as a “high tryer” for new and different items, especially those that never made it to THE list because they were considered too new and different by the List Boss! 

     Besides, when I tag along, I can also see firsthand all the wonderful savings most men only get to hear about (as in, “I saved over $50 on groceries today because I had my coupons and was able to get 437 twenty-four-packs of paper towels that were on sale!”)

     So, anyway, as I walked ten feet inside the front door of GIANT Supermarket, that has purportedly been losing customers to the new more upscale HARRIS TEETER supermarket down the street that caters to Yuppiedom descendents, I was confronted by a display of sorts featuring two shopping carts. 

     One cart was labeled GIANT.  It was filled to the brim with food products and accompanied by an actual GIANT itemized cash register receipt (under a heavy plastic lid covering the cart) for some total amount like $97. 

     Next to that was a second shopping cart labeled HARRIS TEETER that displayed the same products as cart #1, but was accompanied by an actual HARRIS TEETER itemized cash register receipt (same date as the GIANT receipt) for some total amount like $155. The amounts are likely wrong, but the impression was not. 

     When you can offer customers a clear differential, do it! 

     Even though I guess I knew there were significant price differences between the two supermarkets, and often would go to the more expensive one anyway just because I liked the atmosphere there, I must confess I haven’t forgotten this little piece of GIANT supermarket showmanship, and am now forced to question my own sanity for spending so much more for the same products. 

     Now I realize, the display –of necessity– was mostly dry packaged goods.  It would, after all, be a bit hard on both customers and staff, if the carts included week-old fish or ice cream or black bananas and gray hamburger for example, but it didn’t matter.  Like taking a called third strike that’s right down the middle of the plate: you have to accept it and walk away without arguing.  There was no arguing with this display.  It did it’s job. 

     When you show customers a fair and balanced, objective and clear differential, with an emotional trigger (wallet and pocketbook contents!), you win! 

     Oh, in case you forgot, by the way, thinking and acting like a winner is a choice!  Halalpiar

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“STILL CRAZY AFTER

ALL THESE YEARS” 

     Thank you, Paul Simon.  Yes, I may be.  And, yes, you may be too.  But your music is still the best.  And so are my blog posts (for those of you who are reading this, who are marching, even lumbering, along the road to success) if you’re using the posts like pitstops to fill up with sales fuel. 

     Whaaa?  I’m not even a salesperson!  BRRRrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaat!  Wrong!  You ARE a salesperson, even if you’re a ballerina, even if you’re a roofer, even if you’re a brain surgeon, or candy apple maker, or homemaker, or rocket scientist, or truck driver, or school teacher, or priest, or (add your own titles here).  You’ve been selling since birth! 

     ALL OF US are actively engaged in selling and the sales process every waking moment of our lives.  Of course we are.  When we’re not trying to convince others to buy our products and services, we’re attempting to persuade them to buy into our ideas and beliefs and wishes. 

     And when we’re not doing any of the above (like when we’re vegging out in some yoga class or on a nature walk), don’t our minds slip into some self-talk?  Don’t we inevitably tell ourselves to do or feel or say something, or not do or feel or say something? 

     Aw, c’mon, Hal, that’s stretching it a bit don’t you think?  Aha!  And isn’t that little question a mini sales pitch all by itself?  (And that last question as well!)  Probably the longest we succeed at removing our minds from some sales process is when we’re watching some no-commercial-interruptions no-brainer movie, and even then our minds will go slip-slidin’ away (Thanks again, Paul!). 

     How long can you play with a baby or even a pet without thinking about something to buy or sell or convince someone of something related to the baby or pet?

     Here’s what’s important:

To recognize and accept that life is all about sales and that that’s okay! 

     On the opposite end, by the way, it’s estimated that each of us (in the U.S.) is exposed to close to 5,000 sales or advertising or promotional messages every single day.  That’s like a bombardment even if it’s only 2,500. 

     So, what this should tell you is that YOUR sales messages are very easily lost in the clutter, like a sling-shot pellet in the midst of thousands of major explosives (Yes, I too have been anxiously awaiting the 11/23 season preview of the all new “24” TV series, so yes, I am thinking more about edge-of-the-seat firepower than I might ordinarily). 

     Your sales message must stand out, with the right words, the right look, the right feel, the right impact, and the right back-up support (from servicing to warranties and beyond!).  

     And getting to that point requires strong product/service knowledge, strong market and competition knowledge, a burning positive attitude, a contagious sense of humor [See yesterday’s post -HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!- below!], the ability to find a need and fill it, outstanding listening skills, and a willingness (like batters and pitchers) to test and adjust and test and adjust and test and adjust.  Halalpiar    

# # #

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“Where laughter fails

to heal, it never fails

to ease the pain.”

 – A terminal cancer patient

     I am convinced that nothing –nothing– is better medicine or better health food than laughter.  Nothing binds people together like laughter. 

     Laughter is the magic ingredient that’s the single most overwhelming key to success in business, professional practices (I know, it;s hard to imagine laughing lawyers, doctors and accountants, but stay with me here), marriages, families, organizations, and partnerships. 

     I did qualify the professional practice types with the word “success” which may or may not interpret as financial success.  Certainly it’s not in the context of the old medical self-love acknowledgement that “the operation was a success but the patient died.” 

     I’m talking about the success in life success, as in business life, social life, family life, religious life, outdoor life, academic life, you get the idea.  Laughter may not make you a success in any facet of life, but it’s hard as hell to think anyone could get there without it!  Ha! 

     Laughter is a universal symbol of mental and emotional health.  Mental and emotional health is increasingly credited by experts as the central source of physical health.

     Did you get the last laugh when you last laughed?  Or were you simply enjoying the spirit of the moment?  Come to think of it, when did you last laugh?  If you can’t answer this in terms shorter than minutes or hours, you in deep trouble, brother! 

     You better take two aspirin, drink lots of liquids, get to bed, and call me in the morning sounding so hysterical laughing that everyone else in your household thinks you’re sick!  Think you can do that? 

     Oh, and before you make the call, pitter-patter your little bare feet into the bathroom (in all probability, an especially essential trip after drinking lots of fluids anyway), and stick that face of yours in the mirror. 

     Er, maybe take care of the fluids first unless the mirror is, well, you know . . . now SMILE into the mirror!  No, not that dorky make-believe grin you give co-workers when they offer you a bite of their meatball sub or the one you save for the neighbor seconds after stepping backwards in your sneakers onto his Saint Bernard’s fresh deposit in your driveway. 

     I’m talking GENUINE smile here.  Go for it!  What’s the worst thing can happen?  Your significant other asks what you’re doing?  Ha!  “I’m smiling.” is all you have to say. 

     Give it your all.  Teeth.  Cheeks.  Eyes.  Something that will burst into a laugh when you actually realize it’s on your own face!  YOW! 

     Man, what a struggle.  You better start doing a lot more of that.  It’s good for you, uses fewer muscles than a frown, and might even make you some new friends!  Hey, a couple of laughs won’t kill you, y’know.  What’s that commercial?  It’s in you.  Do it.  HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!        

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Hal@Businessworks.US 302.933.0116

Open Minds Open Doors

Many thanks for your visit and God Bless You.

Make today a GREAT day for someone!

These networks,” the doctor continued, “and the borderline-Marxist viewpoint candidates they ushered into the spotlight, have managed to captivate and control your brain!”  

     “I’m sorry to tell you this, my friend, but you,” the doctor leered cynically over the tops of his reading glasses as he shifted his stethoscope from his neck to his shoulders and frowned parentally, “you have a severe case of NMD, and I’m going to recommend you go directly to the hospital for some immediate transfusions.  I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

     “Aaaaah, NMD?  Twenty minutes?” 

     “Well, yes, Network Media Disorder, and, yes, I can squeeze one more patient into my insurance-company-alloted 12-minute maximum-per-patient examination time period, and still have eight minutes to get to the hospital, which is ten minutes away, but I drive fast!”

     “Er, no, Doc!  I’m needing a little bit more explanation from you than that before I go racing over to the ER for this mysterious transfusion that you seem to have prescribed just a little too quick for my liking.  Am I going to die within the next half hour or what?”

     “No, nothing like that.  It’s just that you need immediate attention or –it’s possible within any given hour– you may find that you have allowed yourself to be brainwashed  beyond repair!” 

     The good doctor tugged at his shirtcollar, took a deep breath and proceeded, “You see, by the time the election ended last week, you had already built up a rampaging attachment to CNN, NBC, CBS, ABC, TNT, and MSNBC (and MSNBC all by itself is a rather astonishing attachment considering only seven people in all of America actually watch it!).  

     In the process, your dormant benevalence greeted these screaming liberal radical networks with open arms and you were rapidly transformed into a wild-eyed supporter of electing our nation’s most management-inexperienced, Disneyworld-fantasizing team of candidates in all of history. 

     “These networks,” the doctor continued, “and the borderline-Marxist viewpoint candidates they ushered into the spotlight, have managed to captivate and control your brain.  It was not easy, but with at least $650 million in mysterious campaign donations lining their pockets, they could afford to take some bold and assertive thrusts into your skull, and convince you that change was the answer to the world’s problems, and that the candidates they supported were the second coming of the agents of change.

     “. . . and you, my friend bought into it.  Now you must pay the price of setting yourself up to be thoroughly brainwashed.  It’s either a lobotomy or a transfusion of the fair and balanced FOX network, mixed with some Rush and Sean and Michael and Mark and Laura and Greta, and a few other saviors of society.

     “You need these transfusions before the newly elected dictator attempts to disarm talk radio with his backer’s so-called Fairness Doctrine (it could not possibly be more inappropriately named!) . . . an extraordinarily sick platform if you ask me.  So that, in a nutshell, is why I want you to hurry on over to the ER.  The longer you wait, the more these talking heads will infiltrate your brain, the more you become a sheep, and then we will have some truly major medical challenges to face!”

     “Well, it’s true, Doc, I have become addicted.  I mean Wolfe and Katie and the rest really have welcomed me into their network families and I am afraid of missing even C-Span at this point.  I suppose a little re-balancing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.  I mean, I do rotate my tires, even.”        Halalpiar 

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Take two talkwalks,

                                         

get a good sleep, and 

                                                                          

call me in the morning!

     A very dear old student friend once told me she got more out of a couple of talkwalks than she did an entire semester of classes, readings, and studies. 

     Over the years I have recommended the practice to many business partners, management teams, marriage partners, close friends and relatives.  Typically the feedback has been of positive results. 

     With just a couple more weeks ’til the beginning of D’FIFTH (Dysfunctional Family Invasions For The Holidays), it seemed like good timing to suggest that the best way to work through relationship problems is by taking a walk together, far (even a block away will do) from the madding crowds, and talking out the issues, the conflicts, one at a time, shoulder to shoulder, without yelling, and without interrupting. 

     Now, admittedly, this may be a little harder to do than just reading it here, especially if you’re used to punching, slapping, kicking, biting, screaming, shooting, stabbing, hair-pulling, and ear-twisting.

     It starts with an invitation to step outside.  No, not like in the old cowboy movie saloon scenes, when a fight was imminent and nobody wanted to end up winning and then have to get hit with a huge bill for damages.  It’s more like, Hey, David, you old brother-in-law son-of-a-gun, you, how about we take a walk around the block and try out these two Cuban cigars I got? 

     Or: Let’s have a talk about that old girlfriend of yours? (or motorcycle?  or fishing pole?)  You get the idea.  Next, especially if David agrees, is to take a series of deep breaths [Click Magazine Articles tab above to see “Are You Breathing?” for 4-step guidance on this], and then to not inhale if you’re doing the cigar thing! 

     Have a three or four point agenda in your head — things that will clear the decks so to speak, level the playing field — junk you’d like to square away with this hardass, but don’t want to end up in a stuffing and cranberry sauce fight right after saying grace.  Y’know? 

     You need a little mental bullet list of subjects you can save up and put out there on the sidewalk in front of you as you do this walk.  Oh, and if you only have wooded trails around, maybe just hoof it around the basement a few laps, particularly if David is an outdoorsy type or has a rifle in his pick-up.

     The idea is to: 1) isolate the key points that are troubling you, 2) explain what you’ve been feeling and thinking about, 3) offer some options you can think of, and 4) ask for comments, ideas, and feedback (sometimes it’s best to set up #4 before beginning with #1.)  Be sure if you need to be critical, to criticise behavior, not the person.  Make a point of not interrupting, and of asking David to do the same, as you explain your thoughts.  Keep taking deep breaths.  Keep walking.  Keep talking.  Keep listening.

     Happy talkwalks!  . . .  Halalpiar 

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