A Trio of Terrible

In my life, there exists a triumvirate of discomfort: cold, wet and far from home. When they're experienced separately, I can deal just fine. But oh man, as a one-two-three punch of awful-ness, is there is nothing more terrible than feeling being cold, wet and far from home at the same time?

Yes, I do realize the above statement was needlessly hyperbolic—plenty of things are more terrible than that, frankly, but let's be honest. I think by now, I've established myself as a little bit of a blogging drama queen, so I'm gonna go with it.

The state of being which I have dubbed "the worst," (as in, "No, I will not be applying for membership in the Louisville Polar Bear Club. I don't want to be the worst.") offends my delicate constitution, and so, I try very hard not to participate in events where there's a distinct possibility that I will end up cold, wet and far from home.

Right now you must be thinking that I hate the snow.

That, sir or madam, would be erroneous.

I enjoy the snow. It's pretty, plus, I don't drive to work so I don't get annoyed at it. Plus, snowball fights are fun. Yes, I enjoy the snow … for approximately 45 minutes. That's the tipping point for me, when little crystallized chunks of snow find their way into that space between my glove and jacket sleeve and start to freeze my skin. My toes curiously lose all feeling, despite the six pairs of socks I'm typically wearing. That's about the time the snow and I need to part ways. And really, I will miss skiing, but the entire sport is designed to keep you busy all day—way longer than me and snow's previously agreed-upon 45-minute grace period. Not to mention the fact that skiing is all about traveling away from a fixed point. Because let me clarify one thing: "Home," in this case, can be anywhere that offers the comforts of home (fireplace, hot chocolate, hair dryer). It doesn't necessarily have to mean my apartment (and actually, my apartment doesn't have any of the aforementioned comfort equipment, aside from the hair dryer).

It's not just snow, either. I feel the same way about water sports. Though they do only take place in the summer, they're usually on fact-moving vehicles that take you far from home (In this case, the beach, where there are towels, umbrellas and sandwiches). Wind whipping by you? Cold. Water-to-me ratio? Wet.
Thanks, but no.

What got me thinking about all this? I blame Promo Marketing's April issue. I was perusing the product selection in order to determine which were superior enough to graduate into the esteemed class of Editor's Picks and I came across the Ozone jacket from Mount Gear Corp. I don't know if it's the image quality or what, but for some reason, I looked at it and thought, "Ah. Warm, dry, home." I can't really explain how a jacket made me think of home, particularly when the guy in the image is clearly not in his home but perhaps there's a campground in his backyard or something? It's the combination of wind- and water-resistance, I think, that is getting me so psyched. Is it bad that I've never owned any apparel with these qualities? In fact, most of my clothing is completely wind-susceptible (along with my hair). And at this point, my jeans are just asking for rain to soak the bottoms.

Anyway, back to the product image—it brings up a major point. How well are you showcasing the goods? When you present product to your clients, are you properly equipped to conjure images of whatever "Warm, dry, home" might mean for your end-buyers? If one tiny image could show enough detail to make me immediately comprehend its quality, that's what you should be going for in every sales pitch.

One last thing: I trust that, because I didn't hear from anyone regarding the big Threads debut two weeks ago, we're rocking it. We're awesome. You love everything about it. You want to compose epic poems dedicated to the wonder that is Threads. If this is not necessarily so, we want to hear about it. Speak now … or I will ask you again two weeks from now.

'Til next time!