Barb Sherrill

That Shoe Guy, Part 2

Barb Sherrill — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 18:26:43 -0700

So, I've been doing some more thinking about that Shoe Guy, Blake Mycoskie.

He's the founder of TOMs shoes, where for every pair they sell, they give a pair away to children in need. (I seriously never get tired of seeing his AT&T commercial.) I've been thinking a lot about how I could put into practice this 1-to-1 ratio of giving.

And I ran into something pretty simple just the other day. I had gone shopping with a friend, and I came home with two pairs of shoes, a sweater, and two pairs of pants (we had gone to the big city of Portland to shop, so it was shopping with a purpose!). When I got home and started putting the items away, Blake the Shoe Guy popped into my mind.

And I knew what I could do.

As I put a new pair of shoes into my closet, I found a pair to give away to my local Goodwill store. I did the same with the pants, the sweater, and the other pair of shoes.

And it wasn't hard at all...well, not too hard.

I'm an employed American. Odds are, I'm going to have more than I need in my closet--and I do. But this time I wasn't giving things to Goodwill because they had worn out to where I wasn't going to wear them anymore (but someone else might) or because I had forgotten they were hanging in my closet (and had been since 1997). In the spirit of the 1-to-1 ratio, I gave away clothes I liked (and still wore) and shoes I liked and still wore (I confess, that was harder than the clothes!). After all, TOMs wasn't giving loser shoes to these kids in need, so I shouldn't try to get away with giving loser items either.

Two good things have come of this little exercise.

First, it's good that giving should sometimes cost me more than I might really want to give--especially because of who might receive it. Someone who might never have been able to afford it in a department store is going to find a cool green sweater in Goodwill that's still going to look good this fall. When I look at it this way, it's a lot easier to give away things I love. Someone else can enjoy them too!

Second, I'm going to think long and hard before purchasing new clothes and/or new shoes from here on out--because something in my closet (and something I love) is going to have to go when I do. Slowing down my consumeristic tendencies is always good (don't tell the capitalists!).

So, thanks once again, Shoe Guy. You've shown me a better way.

What's Next? InnBeeSea?

Barb Sherrill — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 18:43:43 -0700

I can't keep quiet about it any longer.

Earlier this month, the SciFi Channel officially changed its name to SyFy.

What the...?

According to Dave Howe, channel president, "We made a commitment to grow into a global lifestyle brand....The new name positions us as having our own attitude and personality, which gives us permission to do a broader range of shows."

So, they link together four letters that mean absolutely nothing and still pronounce it "SciFi"? Hard to think that's going to be that effiective in broadening out the market into a global lifestyle brand.

Before, under SciFi, the target market just looked like a bunch of geeks.

Now, the target market looks like a bunch of geeks who can't spell.

We geeks aren't going to take too kindly to that.

I'm pretty sure SyFy is now the only television channel whose letters stand for absolutely nothing. HBO = Home Box Office. ABC = American Broadcasting Company. HGTV = Home and Garden Television. Oxygen = well, I don't exactly understand that one, but at least it's a real word.

I'm not sure what got their panties in a wad in the first place. So, they're the SciFi Channel. So what? That doesn't mean they can't go beyond scifi in their programming. Other channels certainly haven't let their monikers dictate what they broadcast. Honestly, when was the last time I actually learned something watching TLC? And since when does a reality show focusing on brutal murders, blood spatter patterns, and DNA evidence qualify as either "Arts" or "Entertainment" (Cold Case Files on A&E)?

SyFy, I think all you've done is manage to insult your core audience in this process, which is too bad. I think you've forgotten that science fiction has given us some of the most creative and intelligent (and long-running!) television on record, and it's delivered some of the most hardcore, tv-watching fans you'll ever find (which advertisers and product licensors love). We may be geeky, but we're not a bad demographic.

(SyFy's website is a lot more honest about the change: They could never "own" SciFi, and that was becoming a problem. You know, had their spokespeople said that from the start, we'd feel a little less insulted.)

Ah, well. I'll still watch. And perhaps that's what SyFy has known all along--its core audience of science fiction geeks don't care too much about branding and image (just take a look at the people attending any convention involving the words comic con or Star Trek, and you'll see exactly what I mean). We are who we are, and we're proud of it. Call the channel SciFi, SyFy, SighFi, or SemperFi--we don't care! As long as you're carrying our shows, we'll watch.

But I understand there are those outside the scifi world who wouldn't be caught dead in the scifi world, and, for those people, perhaps "SyFy" becomes more palatable, perhaps they'll give a show a try if they don't feel like they have to wear Spock ears and speak Klingon to be on board--a show they may very well end up loving. If that's the case, I'm for it. I don't want to keep people away from the genre I love--I want to invite them in.

Huh.

I wonder. Have we done the same thing with our Christianity? Kept people out just by how we choose to talk about it?

I'm not talking about changing the essentials of the Christian faith to make it more palatable (SyFy is still going to broadcast Stargate: SG-1 marathons, for example). I'm just wondering if we haven't sometimes made the image, the lingo of Christianity so insider that people would think it couldn't possibly be for them. Or, from what they've seen of Christianity, they wouldn't be caught dead in that world.

You know, I don't want to keep people away from the Jesus I love--I want to invite them in.

No Spock ears or Klingon language required.

Looking for Marshall, Will, and Holly

Barb Sherrill — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 20:34:05 -0700

Will Farrell's Land of the Lost opened this weekend.

I have a confession to make: I was a huge fan of the original Saturday morning tv's Land of the Lost as a kid. A huge fan.

So huge, in fact, that my friends and I would play Land of the Lost with our Barbies. We'd gather the requisite Barbies (usually two Kens and a Skipper), put them in their Barbie-sized raft (I had a Barbie camping set--complete with blow-up raft, tent, and dune buggy...awesome!), and sing "Plunged them down a thousand feet below!" from the theme song as we pushed the Barbies in their raft over the side of the bed.

I loved growing up in the '70s.

The SciFi channel recently ran a Land of the Lost marathon, where you could once again see the adventures of Marshall, Will, and Holly--and Cha-Ka and the Sleestaks and that dinosaur they befriended whose name I can't remember.

I had to tune in.

Let me tell you, though, this is one television show that has not stood the test of time.

I was actually able to watch for all of, like, 90 seconds before I had to turn it off. Between the bad acting, writing, sets, props, and pretty much everything else associated with that show, I couldn't watch.

After having caught a glimpse of my childhood tv fav again, I told a friend that I'm going to hold on to my "younger day" memories of Land of the Lost (when I would sing that theme song over and over and over at the top of my lungs and couldn't wait for Saturday mornings to come) and not let my 21st-century sensibilities sour my feelings about that doomed routine expedition.

You see, there was something clumsy and fun and organic and completely imperfect about that show in the '70s--and we kids loved it. Marshall, Will, and Holly were not telling us how to dress, or how much money we should have, or how cool we should be. I'm not sure kids get the same kind of charming (innocent!) entertainment anymore. I watch tv for the under-12 crowd sometimes, and it all seems very shiny and perfect and polished these days, which doesn't seem to leave much room for kids to be clumsy and fun and organic and completely imperfect.

I'm not one to glorify the good ol' days (good grief, there was a lot going wrong in the '70s too), but I do think we could use a little more organic and imperfect and just plain ol' fun in what we watch.

After all, when was the last time you sang a television theme song at the top of your lungs?

That Shoe Guy

Barb Sherrill — Mon, 11 May 2009 20:25:18 -0700

Have you seen the AT&T commercial with the world-traveling Shoe Guy?

He uses his phone (and the killer AT&T worldwide connection) to do business, which for him is selling shoes and giving shoes away. For every pair of shoes his company sells, his company donates a pair to children in need.

Call me a cynic (I'm in marketing--being suspicious of advertising comes with the territory), but I thought AT&T made up this guy and his shoe company. I did give them props for tapping into the zeitgeist with their good-hearted, world-traveling Shoe Guy.

Turns out, though, the scruffy, good-looking Shoe Guy is for real.

His name is Blake Mycoskie and his shoe company is called TOMS (which, I learned, stands for "Tomorrow"). Blake is a world traveler (he had been a contestant on The Amazing Race at one point) who, on his journeys, discovered kids need shoes. So he founded his shoe company on the principle that for every pair they sell, they give a pair away to kids in need.

How cool is that?

How would my life look if I lived as generously as the Shoe Guy? If for everything I get, for everthing that's "mine," I gave in like kind? That giving--of my money, my time, my resources--wasn't a percentage of my life, but more of a one-to-one ratio?

How cool would that be?

The Shoe Guy gives me something to think about. He's living out the idea that it is more blessed to give than receive. Cool.

This Post Is Not About TV

Barb Sherrill — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 18:53:07 -0700

So, I discovered a few weeks ago that one of my neighbors is putting their garbage in my trashcan.

I happened upon it innocently enough. One Monday morning, before work and before the Sanipac truck came by and picked up our garbage, I took a last trash bag out to my can at the curb. When I opened my trashcan, I noticed (a) my can was full! It had NOT been full when I drug it out to the curb the evening before. And (b) there was a cardboard holder for a Corona six-pack in the top garbage bag (it was a flimsy garbage bag). Now, I enjoy a nice tall one every once in a while, but, first, Corona is not my brewskie of choice and, second, I would have recycled the cardboard!

I thought perhaps it was a fluke, that one of my neighbors had too much garbage for their own can and needed a little help that week. Until I looked the next Monday morning. And again, my can was full and the Corona six-pack cardboard holder was part of the extra garbage.

So, I put on my Nancy Drew, Girl Detective hat and started looking for suspects. Actually, I think it's the two guys who rent the house next door. They're very nice neighbors, always wave "Hi!" when our paths cross in our front yards, no loud or crazy parties or police raids at their location. They do, however, keep very odd hours and are rarely home. And, now that I think about it, I don't believe I've ever seen them put a trash can out for collection on Mondays. Unless they're composting every single bit of trash they're creating (and, here in Eugene, that is entirely possible), that last clue seems like a biggie.

Here's the thing, Dear Neighbors--had you asked me if you could put your garbage in my can, I would have said yes. I would have lectured you sternly on the necessity to recycle something as easy as cardboard, but I would have said yes. I don't fill my trash can most weeks, so if I could help a neighbor out by giving away my unused trash can space, I'd be happy to.

It troubles me, though, Dear Neighbors, that you wouldn't have the courtesy to ask. That you'd rather sneak your garbage in after I'd taken the can to the curb. That you'd rather just use what isn't yours. That you figured I'd probably never notice, so no harm done.

Well, I did notice.

It's pretty easy for us to look all straight arrow when we're around others only to play it fast and loose when we think no one can see us. I'm guilty of it. I"m tempted to think I don't have to bother to show common courtesy because the likelihood of anyone noticing is slim to none. I'm pretty sure, however, that the definition of "courtesy" doesn't include a caveat that the amount of courtesy shown is in direct correlation to who's going to notice.

Don't worry, Dear Neighbors, my garbage can is your garbage can. I'm not going to try to catch you or stop you. If my can has the room, your garbage is most welcome. And I'm going to get over the whole "I wish you would have asked me" whining sooner rather than later, just in case you were wondering. But I do have one request.

Please, for goodness' sake, recycle the cardboard.

Dead Is Not Dead

Barb Sherrill — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 07:30:42 -0700

My friend and I have a saying about science fiction: Dead is not dead.

I wished I had remembered that before I got all tweaked about Derek Reese getting killed off on Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. Guess who showed up alive and well in last night’s season finale, thanks to a time-traveling John Connor?

Uncle Derek! Yeah!

Not all science fiction abides by the “Dead is not dead” concept, but a lot of it does. Sometimes it’s through time travel (as was the case with Terminator—travel to a time where Derek hadn’t been shot and, voila!, there he is). Sometimes it’s through technology (cloning, Replicator technology, and Cylon technology kept dead characters around on both Atlantis and Battlestar Galactica). Sometimes it’s through powers and forces beyond our human comprehension (I lost track of how many times Daniel Jackson came back from the other side on Stargate: SG-1). And sometimes you don’t know exactly why the dead aren’t dead, but you don’t care—you’re just happy they’re not dead (Lost!).

I think that’s partly why I like sci fi so much…because I dislike death so much. I hate the thought of that separation, of someone I’ve known and loved being gone. And, quite frankly, I hate the thought of me being gone someday.

Tomorrow we celebrate the One who was the originator of “Dead is not dead.” Through His resurrection, Jesus “swallowed up death in victory,” the Apostle Paul tells us. “O death,” Paul writes, “where is your victory? Where is your sting?”

The fact that Jesus took care of death is beautiful, miraculous, comforting. And I think it’s partly why I love Him so much.

Happy Easter. He is risen.

He is risen indeed.

RIP, Derek Reese

Barb Sherrill — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 15:57:53 -0700

So, they killed off my favorite character on Friday night on Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

I'm going to miss you, Derek Reese!

It happened suddenly. One moment Derek Reese--brother to Kyle Reese, beloved and revered icon in the Terminator saga, and uncle to John Connor, humankind's only hope against the machines of the future--was there; the next moment he wasn't.

Producers, I'm just going to put it plainly: I think you've made a huge mistake.

The show had been fumbling around in its earlygoings, trying to find some emotional grounding in the midst of the time travel, the death and destruction, the relentless pursuit by killer cyborgs. And the emotional pull wasn't coming from where you might hope it would come from--Sarah Connor. Honestly, Sarah Connor has only managed to look crabby throughout the series. I get it--I suppose if I were pursued by killer machines and my son was in constant jeopardy, I'd be crabby too. It might be reality, but it makes for very dull sci fi.

The best sci fi finds someone to be its emotional center.

And, surprisingly, the Sarah Connor Chronicles found it (finally!) when it time-traveled Derek Reese into the series. He was an interesting combination of battle-ready yet war-weary, tough yet tender. He, for example, as a birthday present for his nephew John took him to see the father he never knew, Kyle, when Kyle was still a kid (you can do those things when you're messing with time travel). It was a poignant and powerful moment--seeing the young man who would save us all smile at the dad he never knew.

Underneath his kick-butt, prison-camp-surviving, man-of-the-future exterior, Derek had a soul.

He went out unceremoniously--a quick shot in the head by a Terminator he didn't see coming. I found that interesting--no heroic sacrifice, no grand gesture. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and in Terminatorworld, that can cost you everything.

At the very end of the episode, they showed a gravedigger placing the box of Derek's ashes in an anonymous grave in a pauper's field, and I thought, That's how we all end up (okay, maybe not in an anonymous grave in a pauper's field, but you know what I mean). Some day there's going to be an end to me, and I might see it coming or I might not. Either way, I'm finite.

And as I thought about my end, I was surprised to find myself glad about things. Really, I was.

I was glad I had called my mom and dad that day and told them I loved them.

I was glad I had gone to dinner with a friend that evening and then went to a concert where another friend was singing in a community choir.

I was glad I volunteered at my church, helping 4th and 5th graders know Jesus better.

I was glad I had gone to Israel, had a dog for 15 years, learned to play the piano.

I was glad I sponsored a girl in Columbia.

I was glad I had read Great Expectations, sung the Hallelujah Chorus in a choir, seen Big Ben.

I was glad I had met Jesus.

I had a begining and I'm going to have an end, and I'd like to keep adding to my list of things to be glad about while I'm still in between the two.

That would make me very glad.

What Is Happening to Me?

Barb Sherrill — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 12:55:30 -0700

I did something for the very first time the other day.

I saw a new book coming out in hardcover and thought, Boy, if I had a Kindle, I would totally download that one.

What is happening to me?

I work at a publishing house! I love the printed page! I love ink on paper! I love books!

And yet, for that particular book (and if you’re curious, it was Michael J. Fox’s Always Looking Up), I was interested enough in the content to want to read it, but not so interested that I wanted a hardcover that was retailing at $25.99.

And, really, it wasn’t so much the price that was stopping me. It was the thing—the hardcover book. Some days, the thought of accumulating even one more thing wears me out.

I have lots of things in my house, including stacks of books I’ve read and stacks of books I’ve yet to read. Some days, it makes me happy to be surrounded by my stacks of books. I see the ones I’ve loved (I usually get rid of the ones I don’t love so much), the ones I’ve read multiple times, the ones I’m so looking forward to read.

And some days, I just see stuff—stuff that’s piling up.

I have this love-hate relationship with other things in my house as well—my music CD collection that pretty much dates back to when CDs were invented, my DVD collection (although I did purge that a couple of weeks ago—and that felt good! To honestly admit to myself that I was never going to watch The Aviator or Season 2 of Magnum P.I. again and thus could remove them from my collection was a watershed moment for me), the pens in my kitchen junk drawer (really, how many pens does one person need?).

The physicality of my possessions is finally making me think long and hard before I add to them. That’s a good thing! And perhaps that’s why a person like myself should probably steer clear of Kindle for the time being. Kindle just puts my thing in a different format—I would still be accumulating something I’d have to deal with, even it didn’t go in a pile on my bedroom floor. If I think the stacks of books I have to read are big now, imagine what would happen if getting those books were as simple as a click of a button and my “stacks” were all tucked away nicely on a handheld device? I shudder to think.

I hope I’m on the path to breaking some pretty deeply ingrained consumer habits (as my CD collection will attest!). I hope I’m truly learning to embrace and enjoy the idea that less is more, that I don’t really need to own so much.

And I hope, someday, I’ll be responsible enough to have a Kindle (or whatever will be the e-reader of choice at that point…this may take a while).

"Thank You for Voting for Contestant 7..."

Barb Sherrill — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 13:21:15 -0700

But I didn’t vote for Contestant 7!

I had hit the redial on my phone to add another vote last night to American Idol’s Contestant 2 (Go, Chris!), but the recorded voice on the other end thanked me for voting for Contestant 7.

Apparently, the American Idol voting system isn’t infallible.

I don’t even know who Contestant 7 was last night. I wasn’t about to give up Lost for the second hour of American Idol, so I only saw Contestants 1 – 5. I was throwing votes at Contestants 1 and 2 (well, I was trying to throw votes at Contestants 1 and 2)—sorry, Scott, Meghan, and Anoop. You just didn’t do it for me last night.

About halfway through Lost, though, I was wondering if I shouldn’t have just watched American Idol. Lost was an all-right episode—we were getting a lot of holes filled in in the storyline—but it certainly wasn’t one of the more jaw-dropping episodes.

Until the last 10 seconds.

Holy cow. I did not see that coming.

It was jaw-dropping.

I’m glad I stuck with Lost, even though I was tempted to switch back to American Idol several times. Lost came through, even though I had my doubts. Turns out, I made the right decision.

I gotta remember that—sometimes I need to make a decision and stick with it because it will pay off. Even if I’m tempted there might be something better elsewhere. Even if I have my doubts. Hang on, because something great just might be coming.

It might even be jaw-dropping.

Dear Jimmy Fallon

Barb Sherrill — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 06:36:17 -0700

Dear Jimmy Fallon,

Dude, I like you.

I really do.

You (and Tina!) anchoring the newsdesk were the only reason I tuned into SNL during that era. And I don't care what anyone says, Fever Pitch was a cute little movie.

So, when I heard you got the Late Night gig, I was thrilled--thrilled you'd be back on TV making us laugh.

Okay, so at the moment you're a nervous bundle of energy and (just maybe) interviewing celebrities isn't exactly your forte, but I have faith. I have faith because you've honestly made me laugh during your first few broadcasts (not a ton, but some). I love it when you make me laugh.

Stay true to yourself--your ever-laughing, self-deprecating, good-spirited, kind-hearted self--and you'll find your way. I know you will.

Thankfully, people seem to be remembering that Conan's Late Night wasn't built in a day, so I think you're going to get what most tv shows don't get anymore--time to work it out. And you appear earnest enough and dedicated enough to take advantage of this rare opportunity.

I don't know who said this, but I believe it's true: "Anything worth having is worth waiting for."

Jimmy, you'll be worth the wait.