#104, November 13, 2002
I love milk. With a bowl of Grape Nuts, some
honey and raisins, allowed to sit a few minutes to take the edge off the
crunch, milk is an essential part the poor man’s pre-chewed-cookie desert. I
pitied Richard Brautigan’s “corn flakes junkie”, whose poverty forced him to
wet his flakes with water.
I’m all for eating delicious, nutritious
foods which are naturally produced by local animals that share values I hold
dear, like: their good artistic taste (my landscape painter friend says it’s
the startling contrast of their black and white hides against the electric
green grass); their contribution to open-space conservation; and their
inspiration for The Far Side’s Gary Larson (“Hey, wait a minute! This is grass.
We’ve been eating GRASS!”)
So I’m letting the California Milk Advisory
Board know I’m a candidate for their latest promotional campaign -- asking
North Coast towns to consider renaming themselves ``Got Milk?'' in exchange for
cash and other incentives. So far, no town’s are jumping at the opportunity. It
seems that everyone finds “Got Milk?” to be an amusing label, but no one’s yet
willing to wear it.
I am, if the price is right. Technically, I’m
not a city. However I think there is a city in Germany named Hagen—I’d be
willing to talk to them about it. And I do have a nice garden with a view of
some cattle pasture, plus I’ve already demonstrated my willingness and ability
to plug their product. I envision my new name in the Native American fashion.
“Bruce Got Milk?” How about “Dances With Holsteins”? “Milk Is Sustain-a-Bull”? Right about now I can see
my beloved editor Chris Samson wondering where this is going, if it’s time pick
up the phone.
Corporate sponsorship. I’ll try to write
about this without plunging deeper into post-election cynicism, and spare you
the sorrow (or pleasure) of witness to my angst.
So let’s look at professional sports. The
Giants… sob, sob. Why couldn’t they have saved some of those embarrassingly
abundant Game Five runs for Game Six or Seven? Why? And where did they get the
name “The Giants?” According to factmonster.com: “In the 1880s when the club
was in New York and known as the Gothams, manager Jim Mutrie stood up in the
dugout after a win and referred to the team as ‘my Giants.’"
Okay, how about the hated “Dodgers”? When the
Bums were in Brooklyn, they were the “Trolley Dodgers”, in reference to the
maze of trolley lines around the stadium. It’s ironic that as the auto/oil
industry bought and buried the nation’s rail transit, especially in Los
Angeles, they dropped the “Trolley”, and moved to the city where the car was
now king.
The first sellout to corporate sponsorship
was not the North Carolina Lung Surgeons, but the Green Bay Packers. In 1919,
the Indian Packing Company (beef, I hope) gave the local football team $500
dollars for uniforms and equipment. Which brings up the issue of franchise
portability. Since few remember the dominance of the meat packing industry in
the Chicago area, you could send the Packers packing to Pittsburg and few would
bat an eye. But move the New Orleans Jazz to… Salt Lake City?! It’s a nice
town, but that ain’t Bourbon Street leading up to Temple Square. Could
Pittsburg’s Steelers move to Miami? I suppose, if you were to spell it
“Stealers”, in reference to the 2000 presidential election.
And could Miami’s ocean-dwelling football
mascot take up residence in, say, De Moines? If you are a modern global
corporation following the profit margin, local ties are of secondary
importance. If the local taxpayers will subsidize your stadium, and snack-bar
workers aren’t unionized, it matters not if the Astros are in Anchorage, or the
Mets move to Milpitas.
Back to the milk thing. Considering that our
school boards feel driven to sell Coke-cavity or Peps-obesity in the corridors,
I have an idea. If the Milk Board can’t find a City, maybe they could start
with a few of our local learning institutions. Right here in Petcloluma. If were going to sell out, let’s find a
worthy, respectable buyer.