What's Wrong With This Country? MBAs.

Since I've come to UChicago...low budgetry abounds...alas. We'd all like to think our ivory towers are high budget...if a bit musty and pretentious, but they are not. But the most disturbing and strange bit of low budgetry is this. Observe, if you will, for a mo:

If you can't read it quite well enough it says "LOOKING FOR INTERN - BIZ MAJOR CALL FOR MORE INFO @..." Well you get the picture. So, I'd like to point out first of all that this kind of advertisment is perfectly cool for like..."we're looking for a drummer for our garage band"...or "Missing: Fluffy the Cat." But really really unacceptable for anyone looking for an intern. Frankly this handwriting and style of pamphlet only says to me "I AM A SERIAL KILLER. LOOKING FOR GULLIBLE COLLEGE STUDENTS TO RAPE AND KILL." Basically. Is what it says to me.

But let's say...for the sake of argument...that this person is not a serial killer and an actual business major. First of all, why could they not spell out business major? "biz major?" That's not a thing. You use biz as short for actual business when you are like...I'm in the entertainment biz...and that's pretty much the only time you do it. And why do you need an intern? You need an unpaid laborer to do your work for you? Um, last time I checked...in academic circles...that's straight up just cheating. Like if they wanted to gain experience at what business school is they should probably go to business school...cuz I'm pretty sure that "I did work for a business school student" doesn't qualify as an internship on your resumé. Sorry.

Possibly Justin is just a really nice guy who just wants someone to be around to prevent him from making crappy flyers. I don't know. But next time Justin...just...don't.

On the Low Budgetry of Nationalistic Tissue Boxes and...I don't even know what that thing is

I started writing this as my latest post to Super Pavs, as indeed, when I had the experience I am about to detail for you, I only felt the deepest of pavsness for everything about this situation. But as I've continued thinking about it days afterward, I cannot stop asking myself WHY key decision makers involved in the product design and purchasing of the goods you see below thought these things were good ideas, when in fact, for reasons I shall explain, they are ultra low budget. But, still, for me, this is also intrinsically pavs (unlike babies, who are also cute, unlike anything seen here), so I'm sharing with you the complexity and duality of my emotions.

We got in a cab going to Carrefour, the crazy Costco-style supermarket here in Cairo (in that it sells pretty much everything, but unlike Costco, you won't end up buying a box of 500 eraser caps or anything). Our old, short, bald cabbie who lacked a good few teeth drove us the best route to Carrefour--the quickest, shortest path there, but incidentally also the rockiest. So, we puttered along the rocky road, and I was trying to take a picture of how well this guy's aged and dusty complexion matched the landscape and the antiquated, rundown charm of old Cairene taxis.

But then, I noticed the decor of this particular cab, featuring a tissue box decorated like an Egyptian license plate whose characters are intended to add up to "25 January," the date of Egypt's Revolution early this year.

Cool, I can understand that. Nationalistic, commemorative, for the everyman. But, friends, herein lies the rub: Egyptian license plates, unlike the Arabic language, are read from left to right. So, despite the best intentions of the revolutionary Kleenex, the text, if accurate to the image it is meant to evoke, would not read "25 yanair," 25 January, but instead something like "riyani 25," rendering this important and hallowed date in recent national history largely meaningless, at least as far as this tissue box is concerned. But also, in order for the characters in sequence to actually mean 25 January, the letters must be linked as يناير, not discrete and fragmented. Can we please think on what it means to FRAGMENT this date, emblazoned everywhere in Cairo as a date to live on in the Egyptian consciousness as a symbol of the power of the collective voice to cast off the bonds of oppression, instead reinforcing divisiveness and meaninglessness? And lastly, of all the possible choices of commemorative memorabilia for one's car-- a sticker, a hood ornament, a rear-view-mirror-dangly--WHY A TISSUE BOX? Why do you want to BLOW YOUR NOSE on what COMES OUT OF THE REVOLUTION? FAIL MEMORABILIA. FAIL TISSUE BOX. Fail.

All this made me somewhat intellectually pavs and angry, but nothing made my face and heart contort into the classic, signature expression that is only pavs more than when that sorry, squished-face, plush mop creature sitting on the dashboard came into view, disarming every defensive layer I acquire when out in the streets of Cairo. Immediately, I was overcome by a slew of questions that made me more pavs, more confused, and more incredulous than any plush toy in a cab has ever wrought upon me: did this mop-thing have a fully articulated face when it was first purchased, or did the purchaser choose it fully cognizant of its facial abnormalities? What cruelty of time could make its facial features disappear if they were there to begin with? Did its manufacturer think that somehow the yellow goatee it sports improved its salability or general level of quality? WHY does this cabbie have this pond scum in his cab? Does he actually appreciate its aesthetics on some deep level? Did it and does it still have nostalgic significance to him? OR has he forgotten to care what his surroundings look like such that he DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW PAVS/LOW BUDGET THIS LOOKS?

I leave you with one final question: given the presence of the patriotically-misguided tissue box, why have ANOTHER TISSUE BOX on the same dashboard, which you can see peeking out from behind the mop-thing? HOW MANY TISSUES DOES ONE NEED?

Well, let me tell you, I did need some tissues after having witnessed all this. And I did buy some tissues from Carrefour. To cry on.

"I'll order the low-budget burger . . ."

The illustrious Greg Kress has brought this particularly resplendent example of low-budgetry to my attention. His explication sums up all the low-budget aspects perfectly:

"Classic coffee shop, but perhaps the ugliest menu ever? Note the orange checker pattern over faux marble background, entirely unnecessary pairing of turkey clipart and fish photo, at least four different fonts and no less than three slogans..."

Amazingly low-budget.

The Inferiority of Kool Kitties

I am a person who loves language and spelling manipulation. If you decide to abbreviate a word in your speech-how do you write it when you translate that to written converstions? One of the former president of Reed college believed in throweing owt awl speling rools and speling ownlee foeneticaly. I love stuff like that! However, there is one form of spelling manipulation that I simply cannot abide. Changing Cs to Ks.

It is something that has always caused me rage, a rage which was rekindled as I walked past the StarKargo warehouse. StarKargo is some low budget delivery company which is only made more low budget by the letters peeling off their van and the fact that they call themselves a "quality" service. (A low budget blog post for another time: don't call yourself quality if you can't even paint your van properly) In any case, if those things weren't enough, I am immediately put off by spelling Cargo, Kargo. Cargo, as a word, is perfectly adequate. Sure, it's not exciting, but who needs exciting in a delivery company?

Everyone wants to stand out, it's true, but if you want to stand out for me, please don't change your Cs to Ks. The only thing it makes me think is that you couldn't think of anything more original to do to make you notice you and you could only use the most clichéd and boring and pathetic way of drawing attention to yourself. There are some things-mullets, those beach t-shirts with sexy cartoons in bikinis on them, driving cars that spew black noxious gas-that do in fact draw attention to you...BUT IT'S NEVER IN A GOOD WAY. ONLY IN A WAY THAT MAKES PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE THE MOST LOW BUDGET.

There is nothing inherently better about Ks. It only makes you seem unsure about your ability to spell. And it definitely makes you seem really unoriginal. It's like your marketing team was phoning it in that day. Or maybe they were playing a prank on you and didn't actually want you to get any business. And, to use some really low budget political scare tactics....turning Cs to Ks is only one of the KKKs favorite pastimes.*

So...please...no more of this. Resist temptation. Keep that C a K. Your customers will thank you!

*It really is! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ku_Klux_Klan#Vocabulary

Crazy Budget SALTY DOG

Please to examine this marketing material. Note, if you'd like, the fact that there is a fugly, enormous interactive whiteboard placed jankily on top of a chalkboard, ill-advised but still workable. Note, too, the startling blankness of the room (where are these kids? In a rented office building? Prison? What kind of a classroom doesn't even have a clock?) The lesson appears to be in Dutch, what with so many extraneous vowels, but does that really excuse the teacher's shoddy fashion sense? Also, can someone please teach these kids to raise their hands properly, please?

But none of this is the epicenter of the low-budgetry of this particular photo. No, that award most definitely goes to the child smack-dab in the center of the photo, the slouchiest of all children, who is wearing a shirt which proclaims, in enormous letters, the only truly legible letters in this whole photo, SALTY DOG. Really, marketing people? Really. How is this acceptable. Did you think it would provide a bit of swashbuckling allure to have this child decked out in nautical sloganry? Did you think it would insinuate that students who get to use your products are well-behaved, engaged, excited? Or uncouth and dastardly? Or maybe just have no concept of, I don't know, English? At least could you have gotten the kid to sit up straight so he didn't look like a dead body you had dressed in an inappropriate article of clothing and propped in a chair for your friggin' photoshoot?

Ah, but obviously something about your product disturbs the mind. Here, for example, we have your concept for what is an acceptable lesson plan for Halloween:



Firstly, why is Halloween in quotes? Are you quoting someone? Secondly, what's with the huge creepy Hello Kitty carrying a pumpkin? Is this your concept of Halloween? Where are you from? Is this the first thing you found when you Googled "Halloween"? Is that why there are quotes? Did you accidentally add "most terrifying costume" to your search field? What is wrong with you?

Aha, here is what is wrong with you:



Obviously, you were traumatized by being taught a hideously distorted version of the Periodic Table (it appears to have been confused with Kabbahlistic goat sacrifice diagrams) far too young by a doltish-looking kid your own age?. (Please note that the caption for this image involves claims to "enlarge the functions of classrooms." What does this even mean. What.)

Honestly, this is so far away from all conceptions of budget that budget doesn't even play into it. We're just talking about crazy here. Crazy budget, marketing people: you have been using only the budget of your crazy. I'm done with this. I can't even be coherent about it.

DUO Advantages: A Study in Low-Budgetry

An amazing example of the low-budget is this curious chart. Clearly so much work and thought has gone into it, at first one is inclined to call it high-budget, or awesome, or any superlative you prefer. However, it does not stand up to closer inspection. This chart is intended to show the many positive attributes of the "DUO," a product which turns your PC into a tablet PC with the wave of a stylus in front of a receiver. Therein lies its low-budgetry.

For, upon perusing it's general layout and categories, one finds that it isn't actually showing me anything good about the DUO. Why is there a darker blue swath inside a lighter blue color? No one knows. Is it trying to tell me something about "Device Coverage" or "Price Competition"? Perhaps. But all I know this that Price Competition is "very high." I know very little.

The eight points of the octagon are all given values of "good"-ness, but they are not comparable values. "Many" and "high" are not comparable, nor do they tell me very much about "Application" or "Writing accuracy." This person has not even gone to the trouble of fixing their spelling mistake in "Function Covera," a fact that is highlighted by the fact that they spelled it correctly in the "Device Coverage" category. How did they know that the four bullet points listed below their chart wouldn't fit into the crazy eight-sided monstrosity. I think if they tried they would have found room. Or manhandled them in even if they didn't quite fit.

Every strange and inaccurate thing (I suspect that Microsoft would be surprised to hear that the DUO was "MS Gesture"-compatible) that the creator of this chart has said about the DUO would have been much better illustrated in a list perhaps? An outline if they were getting really fancy. Why has this marketing person gone to so much trouble to create this crazy chart? Ah, it is all a shambles. Their product is just a low-budget rip-off of other more functional products sold by much less low-budget retailers. In their attempts to create a high-budget chart they have created the most low-budget of marketing infographics. I have seen too much similar marketing low budgetry to have any sympathy for their failure. They are not even pavs in my book. Only low budget. Only the lowest of budgets.

One can peruse this chart in all of its glory and full low-budgt context here: http://www.avecoindia.com/products/interactive-products/duo.php

What is low budget?

There are many ways to refer to things as being less than desirable: crappy, shoddy, janky, broke-ass, crummy, two-bit, shabby, second-rate, etc. The list goes on, of course. But, thanks to Padmini, we have a new way of describing those things that you look at and cringe a little bit, wondering why whoever's job it was to give the final stamp of approval for a product (or something) left their critical thinking skills at home: low budget. Yes, low budget literally means that something has a small amount of funding, which generally is thought to correlate to the quality of the finished product. But, we speak on a more metaphorical level here. When we call something low budget, we're not talking about what its actual budget is. Often there's pretty much no relation between the actual budget of something and how "low budget" it is by our metaphorical standards of low budgetry, by which the only thing that matters is what kind of a budget you think was involved in creating this thing.

I leave you with this example of a delightful logo for Belgaufra, a Belgian waffle stand:



Please note their slogan "probably the best since 1950." I mean, looking at that winky waffle, one doesn't get the sense of such deep humility as their slogan clearly reveals, but I dare say this is why we must not be too hasty to judge, friends. Let me tell you, their marketing efforts definitely got me, if for nothing else, out of the desire to support their obviously excellent sloganeering and translation skills. After having tried their waffles, I can say honestly they are not the best, but they never tried to convince me otherwise! Low budget or high budget?