The Seinfeld TV sitcom was called a show about nothing. When they pitched the pilot to NBC, here's how they described the concept: “Nothing happens on the show. It's just like life. You know, you eat, you go shopping, you read.” Nothing actually happens.
But I don't really think the show was really about nothing. Instead, I think the subject of the show was the show itself – a self-consciously mindful navel-gazing sitcom that could take place in a restaurant, a parking garage or Jerry's apartment.
Sometimes I think this blog is like that. I write about branding issues and things that I see happening that might be of interest to you – sometimes it's about how to use proven branding practices for small businesses; sometimes it's about current events and their branding implications; and sometimes it's about whatever odd marketing concepts I'm thinking about that I think you might want to think about, too.
But sometimes these posts are more Seinfeld-like and are about the blog itself – a metaphorical version of going to the barbershop and seeing yourself reflected infinite times in the mirrors on opposite walls. I've written about why I blog, what the blog has done for our advertising agency business, what technology we use, what the metrics are, and so on. Usually my goal is to let you know how easy it is to do this and the terrific dividends it pays. After all, this blog has probably been the most powerful new business tool we've launched. But sometimes it's just to amuse me – I'm kind of astounded at the way this weekly essay has taken off and by the number of great people who read it, the opportunities it has afforded us, and the (mostly) wonderful comments I get from all of you.
Last week the blog was titled Nobody Writes Notes Anymore. Do You? and was about personal, handwritten letters. As Ryan Giffen from Premiere Speakers Bureau pointed out, “(I) love the irony… (a) blog post about handwritten notes.” In the post I mentioned how rare it is to receive handwritten notes anymore and cited the U.S. Postal Service's annual survey that showed that the average American home received only one personal letter every seven weeks in 2010, down from once every two weeks in 1987.
As of Tuesday morning, 5/7/13, 28 of you commented directly on the blog. Another 43 of you sent me direct emails. And 16 people retweeted my post.
But even better, 35 of you took the time to grab a pen and a piece of paper and actually sent me an old-school analog note. And I'll bet more will come in the mail today, tomorrow, and throughout the weekend.After seven years of consistent blogging, this post generated more immediate response than any other blog I've written except the one about my father, titled How To Sell The Dream and another called I Have No Idea What I'm Doing.
Now I think that's pretty remarkable. I think it's almost a movement. And having been a child in the 1960s (as opposed to being a child OF the sixties), I get my knowledge of movements from Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant and his comments on the draft board:
“…And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is a study in black and white of my fingerprints. And the only reason I'm singing you this song now is 'cause you may know somebody in a similar situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if you're in a situation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's to walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in say, ‘Shrink, you can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant.' And walk out.
You know, if one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and they won't take him (into the army). And if two people do it… they wont take either one of them. And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in singing a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out? They may think it's an organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day, I said fifty people a day walking in singing a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out? And friends, they may just think it's a movement.”
Well, we've done it you and I. We've started an honest-to-goodness, bona fide Alice's Restaurant-verified movement. So if you've got a stamp lying around, send me a note — or better yet, send it to someone you love whom you haven't reached out to in a while. And if you happen to find yourself up in Great Barrington, Massachusetts anytime soon and you run into Arlo Guthrie, remind him that you can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant.