From Suein Hwang’s Wall Street Journal column:
Aflac has issued guidelines for every use of its spokesduck. The word “duck,” for instance, is barred from sales agents’ e-mail addresses, as is any mention in company publications not generated by the Columbus, Ga., headquarters. Duck costumes are verboten, as are duck Christmas ornaments (requested by some employees). An edict bars the duck from holding or wearing anything.
The duck “walks around to different places and tries to get people’s attention by shouting ‘Aflac!,’ ” explains (an Aflac) company spokeswoman. “The duck does not have other props.”
Does that crack (or quack) anyone else up? “The duck does not have other props.” What a beautiful sentence. Right there. It is perhaps the most beautiful sentence I’ve encountered in… well, at least eight hours.
From the same article: “If the duck became all things to all people it would dilute his distinctiveness,” she explains. “It wouldn’t be the best thing in the long run for the integrity of the symbol.”
I think I want that job… public relations for a duck. Oh, no wait… it’s not a duck, it’s a symbol. Gah. People are so strange.
Speaking of “Gah”, apparently it’s an infectious word. I can’t claim to have originated it. I’m sure I saw it elsewhere because I’m terribly unoriginal as a rule. However, I’m a proud carrier of the “Gah”. The Gah does not have other props.
It just doesn’t work as well without the word “duck”, non?
In lighter notes, a strange thing last night. I actually wrote a poem, which I haven’t done in months and months. I’m not a poet, really. I am entirely dedicated to prose. I don’t think in poems, the way my classmates in college did. I have to be in a special mood to write that way, but apparently, the mood struck me and I cranked one out yesterday, then kept going back to it throughout the night to reread it, just to make sure that I really did it. Maybe I’ll send it to the notify list people, as one of those strange ambiguous perks of being on the notify list. But I think it’s significant, not in that it was a particularly brilliant poem, which it wasn’t, but in that it is a side effect that I’m beginning to think more like a writer and less like a corporate drone. And I think this diary has a lot to do with it. Even though I rarely allow myself to use a serious tone on this thing, it still exercises the mental muscles. And the feedback is incredible. Sometimes I feel like Sally Field, shouting “You like me, you really like me!”, but it’s hard to express the self-doubt that all writers at one time seem to feel. Hemingway had his alcohol, Fitzgerald had his opiates and I apparently have my diary about boobs and farts. It’s a good thing. Thank you for allowing me that.
Ok, it wasn’t a lighter note. It was a big sappy “I love you guys!” note. Carry on.
Esteban has gone on a business trip to New York. He’ll be there for a big twenty four hours and then back home. Such a jetsetter. I hope he’s going to be ok. I miss him already. He made us prepackaged pizza burgers and oven fries last night for dinner, but then we both declared that the pizza burgers tasted like overly processed pork products and had a decidedly “school lunch” quality. It wasn’t his fault, though, as I purchased them, thinking that it would be an easy meal for a night when we didn’t want to deal with cooking. Tonight, I’m having an Operation Hottie meal of grilled salmon, steamed green beans and leftover risotto (if I can stand it) with a spring green salad because I can eat like an adult when he’s not around. Or I might end up with a bowl of Special K Red Berries. Because, frankly, that is just yum.
Did you watch Buffy last night? Did you? I was giddy… absolutely giddy. I clapped my hands like I needed to ride a special small bus to go to school. James Marsters with curly fluffy N’Sync hair? Not necessary. James Marsters with the little pouchy tummy? Thank god someone has fed that man a cheeseburger. And I think the new principal is grrowwwlll…. even though he might be eeeeeevil. Or just evil. And looks a bit like Tiger Woods. But that goatee….. groowwlll. He can keep me in detention any time. Preferably with handcuffs.
I’d like to announce a new Weetabix contest. It comes to my attention that I have a bunch of banner ads to run. My good friend Chauffi has recently redesigned his diary and is now running his banner ad on Diaryland (if you see it, click it and make him smile!) and now I feel like a slacker.
This is my old banner ad, which utilizes my adorable niece Abigail. I like it a lot but it’s a bit tired, as it’s over a year old.
Thus, a contest, because I am indeed a slacker. I know that I have some incredibly talented and creative readers. Send me a banner ad for my web page by Saturday, Sept 28! I will post the entries, along with links to the creator’s diary (if applicable). I will then solicit opinions from readers, which I may or may not use in my decision of which one to run. However, I will definitely use one of them as a link to my page, and for the duration of the banner’s run (probably something like 20,000 views) I will put the banner ad at the bottom of my page with a link to your diary.
Yeah, I know, kind of a cheesy prize, but it’s a cheesy contest because I’m a lazy slacker tool. But this needn’t be difficult. The duck does not have any other props. It just waddles around shouting Aflac! Brilliant!
