Did Domino's Pizza Pull a New Coke?

When I let our dog out at night I can see the television at my neighbor's house. I'm not talking about the house across the street. I'm talking about the house behind the house across the street. That's some big television. Not only can I see the glow but I can frequently make out what they're watching. (And it's never anything on one of "those" channels.) What I could make out the other evening was a spot from Domino's. So on Thursday night when we did the usual "what's for dinner" go-round I suggested ordering Domino's new pizza. Understand I have been eating Domino's pizza since I first tasted it at University of Michigan tennis camp in the summer of 1980. So I've grown up on that pizza.

The newly packaged, heavily aromatic pizzas arrived and we dug in. All the research might say it's new-and-improved but I detested it. (My actual comment isn't bloggable.) To me buttery garlic bread ringing a pizza isn't pizza. It's yet another forced "hybrid" product where the original didn't need to be messed with. My wife and daughters thought the pizza was ok. Not exactly a grand endorsement. In fact they said, without my prompting, "let's not order that pizza again."

I hope Domino's wins over more new fans than they lose old ones. Otherwise I go back again to the 1980s, recalling the vaunted introduction of New Coke and ask, "when will we learn not to mess with perfection?"

Don't wait too long to re-tire

I was driving to work the other morning just after we received a few inches of fresh snow. Heading east on Long Lake Road the light at the Lahser intersection turned yellow, and, as I applied my breaks I just kept sliding down the hill. I wasn't stopping and that light was getting very orange. I skidded right into the heart of the intersection and fortunately nobody jumped the light going the other way. Nothing happened other than I was supremely wide awake and extra cautious the rest of the way in to the office.

When I last serviced my car in September my trusty mechanic showed me that I needed new tires. Why, when I always have extra, fresh running shoes on hand did I put off taking care of my tires? I'm not sure.  Maybe I was still reeling from a terrible experience at Sears Automotive three years ago. The one hour promise that turned into three hours in a dank waiting room.

This time I visited our nearby Belle Tire.  The experience was great. It couldn't have been any different from my Sears horror years ago. The manager at Belle had the exact tires I wanted in stock, got them mounted and had the wheels aligned all exactly when promised.

There used to be a rule of thumb about needing new tires around Lincoln's head on a penny, or is it Jefferson's head on a nickel, or Washington's head on a quarter? It doesn't matter now as I'm able to stop on a dime.

I'm an electronic squirrel

The late Richard Jeni did a stand-up comedy routine back in the 90's where he compared himself to a platypus, nature's most confused creature. (I'd link it from You Tube but I date myself!) I don't connect with the platypus, but recently I realized, when it comes to electronics, that I've become a squirrel. What do I mean exactly? Well I get comfort in knowing that I have years worth of songs in my iTunes collection. Decades maybe. It doesn't matter that I can't possibly listen to B.B. King for nine straight days. What matters is knowing the songs are there. Should I want a break from music, thankfully we have whole seasons worth of television programs stockpiled on the upstairs DVR. (The dvr downstairs is where my daughters record hours worth of shows on cake bakers and wedding dress shopping.) As soon as there's not a live sporting event on (never) I'll get around to that viewing. The Entourage episodes, not the dysfunctional dress shoppers. Just in case the power goes out I've got a whole stack of unread books on the nightstand with my battery-powered headlamp in the drawer. Add in the two 64 ounce jars of Jif peanut butter from Costco and I've shamed all squirrels. Now maybe the Wall Street Journal will quit writing about how Americans don't save. (I read that in last Monday's paper I had squirreled away.)

A razor blade business

I hate to use the word "hate." But one universal hate is arriving at the copy machine only to find it out of paper. Anyone I've seen in this situation swears the name of the prior user as "lazy." As much as I abhor filling up the copier I've found a new machine that's a joy to fill. Over the holidays my wife purchased a Keurig single-cup coffee maker at Costco. (Yes, it was actually ON her shopping list.) The coffee tastes great, there's no waste, no mess and it's fun. We've been happily tasting our way through the K-Cup samples. On a day where the Detroit temp might hit a high of 4 degrees I can't underestimate the warming factor. And our house smells great, too.

What to post AND what not to post

I spend my time racking my brain with what's appropriate (appropriately pithy) to post on this blog. Yesterday I got into a conversation with a couple of attorneys (thankfully they weren't charging me by the hour) about what's ok to post. The question was, "does your company have a formal policy?"

We do not have a formal Twitter/Blog policy at SMZ. Although the inquiry inspired addressing the matter. In doing some research (online of course) I came across a two-word policy that says almost all that needs saying: "be professional."

I have had frequent discussions with my daughters reminding them never to post/text/tweet anything about their friends that they wouldn't be comfortable saying face-to-face. Or for that matter that they wouldn't want their parents to see. That advice seems reasonable in business communications, too.

And since my mom is an occasional reader of this blog I'm practicing what I preach.

The Wine Arrives

The traditional gift of a bottle of wine is one of the holiday "joys" in the advertising business. Recently I read a piece in Running Times Magazine that connects wine and running (two of my passions) in a fashion beyond the "a glass a day is good for your heart."

While years of experience can give you great insight into your terroir, one of the dangers is that we become stale, mentally and physically, just as the soil in an agricultural terroir can when used to grow the same thing year after year after year. Change, either small or great, may reinvigorate your running.

Applies to our business, too. Might I suggest thinking about it over a nice glass of merlot.

Good to the last drop

The other day I asked my sister-in-law a trivia question? Who is credited with Maxwell House's famous line, "good to the last drop." She didn't get a chance to answer me yet given that she's been swamped at her new job. That's at Kraft, seller of Maxwell House.

But all that trivia ceased to matter hours later when my wife rang me from the pediatrician's office. Our daughter Brooke, who's 14 years-old had developed a serious infection on her leg. Later that evening we found ourselves rapidly admitted to Huron Valley-Sinai hospital. Within 90 minutes my daughter had received an I/V and started on a course of antibiotics. She was in the hospital for three days receiving wonderful care every second. Those antibiotics may have saved her life and, while contributing to the high cost of health care, they were certainly good to the last drop.

To bring all of this together, our coffee sloganeer made national health insurance one of the major planks of the Progressive party during the 1912 presidential campaign. If you answered Teddy Roosevelt, you're right on both accounts.