Commerce Bank = Morris Day

Choosing a bank can be a long and arduous process. One can weigh the strengths and weaknesses of a particular bank, whether that is locations, solubility, profitability, expansion plans, services offered, friendliness of tellers, on-line capabilities, and FDIC accreditation.

Or you can choose the one with the pretty sign.

For those light bankers who do not have thousands and thousands of dollars to utilize a firm’s financial portfolio management team, the simpler the reason for choosing a bank, probably the better. Back in ’98, I opened a small checking account in Williamsburg with a bank called Crestar. Why? Because they had a branch a three minute walk from my dorm. And if I recall, they had a surplus of red lollipops at the counter. Their pens were firmly chained to the transaction desk – that told me that they cared for all their assets, including my 500 bucks. What else could you possibly need in a bank?

Like Monstro to Pinocchio, Crestar was swallowed by SunTrust Banks in 1999.

Ok, so now I’m a SunTrust man. Their existence was fine to me for the remainder of college. Their ATMs were easily accessible, their debit card was aesthetically pleasing, and they had a good name. If you can’t trust the sun to rise each day, well then, who can you trust?But while their name was a strong one, it wasn’t particularly fun to say. This brings us to my present bank of choice.

Wachovia. Wacccchoooooveeeeyahhhhhhh

My reasons for selecting them were far more substantial, you see. Since they had previously gulped up First Union, they had a presence in the Mid-Atlantic states. Therefore, I would never be without cash back in NJ. Also, they hold the naming rights to the Flyers’ stadium. Somehow this means something to me. Throw in free checking and a promise to employ one of my college roommates – Wachovia, you can have my business anytime.

But what about Commerce?

Commerce Bank would be the definition of my hometown bank. Founded in Marlton and headquartered in Cherry Hill, NJ. And hell, they even had a Mr. C before our own Mr. C became Mr. C. A fair part of our readership either works for, has family who works for, has friends who work for Commerce. With their free coin counting and their 7 days a week banking, how can you say no to the home team?

With Commerce looking to expand into the DC Metro area, they are looking to employ the same promotional methodologies that have worked so successfully in the Delaware Valley and elsewhere. Most notably is the TV and radio station breaks, when a short ad for Commerce comes on. Now this ad does nothing to mention their extended hour convenience, nor will they highlight their professional investor relations or their artistic backwall murals in your local branch. No, Commerce would just like to remind you of their existence by allowing their logo to appear while they provide you with non-banking information.

“Local time and temperature, brought to you by Commerce Bank.”

I had no idea you could sponsor time.

Think about this. Commerce is spending ad dollars to sponsor the time. The time that you get for free on your wall clock, DVD player, wrist watch, and cell phone. If they didn’t let me know of what time it was, I would have many other avenues to ascertain how close I am to the hour. We’re talking an intangible commodity here.

In other news, Wachovia has moved to sponsor air.

Walking the Plank

2 years ago, we set out our clubhouse rules for our fantasy baseball team as a result of a former player of ours making a rookie mistake. Yes, for fans of my then-named franchise “Ig League Chew,” we regretted to inform them that starting shortstop Clint Barmes was injured because he was stupid. What was known at the time of publishing is that Barmes had fallen down some stairs carrying groceries up to his first-year pad. What came out later was that by groceries, he meant “large slab of deer meat that he shot and killed over at Todd Helton’s house.” Ah, of course. Sadly, I’ve been pushing our commissioner to add deer meat to our league’s list of banned substances, but I’m making very little head way.

Now, Mr. Deer Meat is as far from my roster as possible. In fact, not only do I not have a spot for him on my squad, his MLB team, the Colorado Rockies, don’t have room for a career .250 hitter with a history of venison miscarriage. Since the end of April, Barmes has been biding his time with his new wife in Colorado Springs. He’s no Rockie; ‘tis a member of the Sky Sox.

What is the singular form of Sky Sox, anyway? Sky Sock?

But just when you thought I had flushed fantasy incompetence from my virtual locker room, I find out that one of my pitchers has been taking careful notes of Deer Meat’s limited tenure here. Now I was proud of Deer Meat, a waiver wire pick-up that was flirting with batting .400 before his “hunting accident.” I, too, had similar aspirations for late-round draft pick Ian Snell. After all, he had a solid spring training, was capable of throwing heat, and as a member of the Pittsburgh Pirates, it was unlikely he was on many people’s radar.

And despite having a dumb name, Snell hasn’t disappointed. He’s got a 2.63 ERA, has 78 strikeouts, and may be flirting with an all-star selection from Steeltown. Sure, he’s not national news, but he’s a strong contributor to my team this year, the 4th place “Dickie Thon in a Box.”

So why was I worried when I heard he’d miss his next start on the radio?

This morning, I was listening to DC101, a non-sports talk station. Once an hour, they run through a news report, which closes out with sports. The sports normally focus on the big things – things that make ESPN.com’s front page, as well as the latest on the DC teams. So when the final story started with, “Pittsburgh Pirates starting pitcher Ian Snell will miss his next start due to a blister on his finger,” I knew I was in for a world of trouble.Why would a non-sports station blindly report that a decent small market team pitcher not in Washington’s division has an injury that isn’t even worthy of the disabled list?

Oh God, there’s going to be a punchline here.

It turns out that the rumor of Snell’s blister is truth. And unlike many other pitchers in the game today, his did not come from pitching too much. Yet again, my fantasy baseball team will suffer on account of a star player trying to feed himself. From the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette,

“Ian Snell will not start tomorrow night against Seattle because of a blister on the index finger of his right hand. The right-hander blistered his finger while cooking in his kitchen. "I was cooking a chicken breast for a salad and burned my finger," Snell said. "I'm all right, but the salad wasn't too good."”

WHAT?

Look, Ian. I’m proud of you. You play a game that has featured perennial fat guys like David Wells, Antonio Alfonseca, and Curt Schilling. You’re trying to maintain that slim figure by eating healthy. We’re very excited to see that your diet is reasonable, yet protein-enriched. But damn it, man. May I introduce you to Perdue Short Cuts? It’s either that, or I’m making you vegan. You’ll be the only vegan in Pittsburgh.

Deer Meat, I’d like you to meet Chicken Salad.
Chicken Salad, this is Deer Meat.

Naming Rights and Wrongs

Sidney Lanier is a man we’ve chosen to remember as famous. How do I know this? The man warrants his own well-written Wikipedia page. Some would say Sidney Lanier, a guy you’ve surely never heard, is not worthy of having his own Wikipedia page. After all, it appears that Sid was nothing more than a Civil War-era musician and poet, which explains why the Confederacy lost. For it is our opinion that musician/poets make terrible soldiers. Especially flutists.

That’s why we invented Fife and Drum Corps a hundred years prior.

But Lanier would go on to greater mediocrity, publishing poetry in low-circulation Southern magazines and finding a chair in the world-acclaimed, um, Baltimore Peabody Orchestra. (The Peabody was no match for the Boston Pops or the new York Philharmonic. So, it was pretty much EXACTLY like the A.L. East division in MLB.)

But apparently being an above-average fish out of water of the past is exactly what it takes for someone in the future with too much free time to pen a Wikipedia page about your life. And what’s more, that is not where the legend of Sidney Lanier stops, no-no.

The man’s got a middle school in Virginia, too.

Yes, after much recent construction, my morning commute vision is no longer obscured and I can now see that Sidney Lanier Middle School is the name of the bastion of learning next to the 7-11 on Jermantown Road. It’s a beautiful facility that will surely do the children of Fairfax Country much good for years to come. How an average musician/poet from Macon, Georgia got his name on a Virginia school is beyond me.

Sonnets make crappy bribes.

As baffling as that is, it gives me hope that my name will someday be arbitrarily plastered on a civic locale of note. The way I see it, there’s tons of things that need random names assigned, and my strong background of alliteration and, well completely awesomeness, should go a long way in securing naming rights. But just because you’ve got your name on something doesn’t mean you’ve reached the holy grail of existence. There are levels of name fame, and here at You’re a Blog, we’ve decided to save you the legwork.

Our following categories will denote how famous you’ve become based on how awesome your memorialized plaque item is. The theme for today if you’ve yet to reach that top tier? Don’t Settle.

TIER 1: middle schools, hurricanes, deadly diseases

TIER 2: a grandchild, elementary schools, high schools, university building/facilities, libraries, your own cable news show, an intergalactic star, hospital wings, production company, mixed beverage

TIER 3: a new species of plant/animal, element on the periodic table, passed federal legislation, a character in a movie, a street in your hometown

TIER 4: a college or university, an internationally-recognized prize of distinction, a professional sports stadium, a professional sports franchise, international airport, Fortune 500 company, France

TIER 5: national monuments, national parks, mountains, major city, a new United State

TIER 6: the Christopher P. Condon Pearly Gates of Heaven

Any other ideas? Let me know in the comments and I’ll let you know where they fall.

The World According to AARP

I can’t say I’ve ever been impressed with the magazine selection you would find in the waiting room of a medical office. Short of Dr. Bisignano’s dental practice – whose array of periodicals has always been strikingly excellent – the reads from which you must choose are always a massive disappointment. The Times and Newsweeks are always torn to shreds by the time you get to them, the only U.S. News and World Report I ever give a damn about is the annual college issue (which people steal), and if one should be so lucky to find a Sports Illustrated lying around, you can join with America in congratulating your Chicago Bulls in becoming the 1997 NBA World Champions. I always knew you had it in ya, Michael.

What’s that? Yes, this is a Ladies Home Journal. I read it for the articles. Honest!

However, that’s all a smorgasbord of glossy literature compared to what I’m currently perusing this morning. I figured it would be a good writing exercise to pick up one of the two choices laid before me and mock it to no end. Now, I don’t feel comfortable picking up “Travel + Leisure,” since my worldly voyages are limited, and I don’t feel I’d benefit from learning where all the “undiscovered French country inns” are. (Note to T+L’s editor: if you’re able to feature said inns, they’re probably no longer undiscovered. No it’s okay, exposing covert locales is always a good idea. Just ask my pal Scooter.)

What does that leave me? Ah, AARP Magazine.

Now a wise man once told me that old men hate everything but Matlock (ooh, it’s on now!), but the writers of AARP Magazine would have you believe otherwise. For those unfamiliar with this civic organization, AARP is the American Association of Retired People, as well as people who receive their membership cards early despite the fact they’ve still got 10 years of grindstone left.

College tuitions these days.

Anyways, here is what YAB has learned about old people by reading a November 2006 edition of AARP Magazine. (Now, in bullet form!!!)

• Ed McMahon is a complete shill. I don’t know if he’s having trouble with his last few mortgage payments in Boca or something, but the dude is a spokesperson for EVERYTHING. God forbid you run into this guy on the street – you many walk away from that conversation with a brand-new Sleep Number bed, bathroom makeover, a case of Boost calcium drink, and of course, AARP Insurance. Johnny, help a brother out.
• This is by far the best piece of exercise equipment. It’s called The Entertainer, and it’s a sadistic bastard of electronics. Long story short, it’s a combo heart rate monitor and universal TV remote. You hang it off a treadmill or whatever it is you use to exercise. If your heart rate drops below a pre-determined rate (say 128 BPM), the TV will drop the volume on you. Take a break? It turns the TV right off. Disclaimer: may not correctly operate for the final episode of Sopranos.
• 19 per cent of women between 35 and 65 can identify with Kirstie Alley’s body. In lesser-reported figured, 0 per cent have a valid explanation as to why there were three Look Who’s Talking movies.
• One of AARP’s 9 Secrets to Better Health? Drink more coffee. While their research shows such an initiative may stave off cavities and colon cancer, not to mention Type 2 diabetes. It should be noted that one of major sponsors in this edition is Maxwell House. Not I’m not declaring conspiracy here, it just warrants mentioning. But I wouldn’t be taken aback if Tip #10, “Eat Woodchips Daily” would have made the final edition had HGTV had an ad in here.
• There’s a infographic called, “Who’s Your Elvis?” Based on the decade of your age, the good folks at AARP have declared the voice of your generation, regardless of musical tastes. Yeah man, nothing says hardworking blogger, husband father of one like the music of Kurt Cobain.
  

Something tells me that isn’t the readership demographic they were looking for, either.

Happy Flag Day!

It’s June 14th, people. Start worshipping thy proudly displayed fabric.

According to Wikipedia, 26 nations around the world have a Flag Day to celebrate, and the United States is part of that sacred brotherhood. No two Flag Days fall on the same date, and probably for good reason. Have you ever seen two flags raised on the same pole simultaneously? Of course you haven’t. Flagpoles aren’t equipped to handle such a heavy workload, and besides, who decides which flag shall fly higher? Seems like a bureaucratic nightmare to me.

I’d like to point out that those nations that celebrate flag day really have little rhyme nor reason to them. It’s not like the 26 best flags in the world are truly represented here. Bhutan is completely sleeping on a prime newsmaking opportunity. Some nations, like Sri Lanka, Curacao, the Faroe Islands, and Aruba celebrate probably on account of them having very little to do the rest of the year. Other nations, like Ukraine and Lithuania, recently celebrated independence from Soviet Russia, and with a clean holiday slate, just started binging on new holiday creation. But hey, my former Russian friends, it’s gotta feel good to raise that flag with nationalistic pride.

After all, in Soviet Russia, flag waves you.

In the U.S., today commemorates the adoption of Old Glory. This happened in 1777, some 172 years prior to its enactment by an Act of Congress. For those 172 years, Americans wandered the streets aimlessly, wondering if there would ever come a day where we could drop everything and revel in the majesty of Betsy Ross’ best work. Sure, everyone knew that on Sundays you went to church to pay homage to the God in which we trust. But we lacked protocol when it came to hoist and huzzah-ing the flag. Whew. Glad Congress cleared that up.

(Note: remember that post a month back about my senioritis learn to golf project? This was Congress’ senioritis resolution. After all the declaring of war in the forties, they needed a cake assignment to regain momentum heading into the fifties.)

Now don’t read this incorrectly; in reality, I’m a flag enthusiast. The display of an organization’s colors, no matter how wretched, is an important part of one’s identity. Here are some things I’ve noticed over the years.

1 – Red, White, and Blue rules. Last week, the G8 nations, or “best nations,” met in Germany to tackle the leading problems our world currently faces – poverty, global warming, steroids in baseball, to name a few. 6 of these 8 nations use the American colors to fill out their flags – Canada, France, UK, Russia, US, and Japan all stay within our patriotic palette of hues. That leaves Italy (oh, so close!) and Germany (no wonder you hosted – out of guilt, yes?) in non-compliance. Since it’s clearly the design of individual symbols of autocracy that make a nation truly great, I say we boot them for their poor artistic vision. Come on in, Australia and Slovakia! Great to have you.

2 – When I was very young, I had this enormous map of the world adorning my wall. At the foot of the map was a selection of the world’s national flags. For some reason, I recall cutting out small rectangles of paper and attempting to draw my own set of the world’s banners. Why? I don’t know. Maybe baseball cards weren’t in season. Anyways, I came across my masterpiece years later. Apparently, the only color paper we had was green. And since white crayons are known to suck, my collection was slightly subpar. Well, except for Libya. Right the hell on.

3 – The official term for one who studies flags is a vexillographer. I find it hard to believe that something like flagology was already spoken for. Way to fancy the place up, dorks.