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I took a sandwich with me to work today, and noticed when I went to eat it a little before 1:00 that the refridgerator was full of Cherry Coke. Cherry Coke had long been a preferred beverage of mine, particularly in fountain form at Subway. Of course, during my five-year-caffeinated-beverageless run, I was deprived of Cherry Coke, because the Coca-Cola company does not produce caffeine-free Cherry Coke. Hence, when I gave up on the no-caffeine mentality, I was excited to come back to Cherry Coke.
And the return was good. That catchy red-and-black edgy can design was appealing, and the taste sharp and unique. It was definitely Coke, but it wasn't the flagship product with deceptive labeling to pretend it was differently-flavored.
But then, something sinister happened: Coca-Cola company went insane and changed Cherry Coke. Not the flavor mind you. Just the can.
Instead of the edgy, confetti-like red and black coloring with a cool font, the new Cherry Coke isn't Cherry Coke, but Coca-Cola Cherry and it looks utterly ridiculous. I don't know which marketing person thought of this, but it's turning me off big time. I assume some of the motivation behind the ugly fuchsia-pink coloring is to appeal to a "healthier" beverage, with a less-edgy color scheme and the amply presence of eerily-pink cherries. Plus, the addition of the normal script Coca-Color reminds the average buyer that the artist-formerly-known as Cherry Coke is a Coca-Cola brand product.
But pink? Who's the target audience here? I mean, it's great to attract a pink-leaning group, but doesn't anyone else think that the excessively pink coloring might turn off a key demographic, like ME? I wouldn't consider it hip to walk around holding this new Cherry Coke can. In fact, I think it looks decidedly unhip, what with bulbous cherries prancing around the can and that decidedly ugly shade of pink I've been harping on. Whether you agree or not, wouldn't it be a good idea to package a product in a design that appeals to the college-aged male soda drinker? Wouldn't a significant loss in that group more than outweigh a modest gain in another area?
I'm going to only purchase Wild Cherry Pepsi from now on, which isn't as badass as the old Cherry Coke, but at least it ain't fuschia.
I relate the anecdote to myself whenever someone passes on: David Ferber and I were in the library at LCHS when he noticed a small plaque above the copier. We looked at the names, and realized they belonged to the students who died during their time at Laguna. It sent a shiver through both of us, realizing that those small gold labels were the physical "remains" of those LCHS students. David said, before we left, "I hope they never fill that up."
Today, LCHS lost a member of its family, but Elk Grove youth baseball lost the man who one might even call its godfather or CEO. Ted Herrera, a baseball coach at LC, and the guy I know best for running Sac County Baseball, died of an apparent heart attack at home. I had teams in more than a few of Ted's tournaments, often at LCHS itself, where he hosted them himself, always greeted me warmly, and checked in my stuff personally. As Doug Penney said, he always gave Elk Grove Babe Ruth related teams a discount, which he was never obligated to do, and even came over personally to remind me about the discount if I had a group to get in this year when I attended another tournament. Recognizing a guy who enters only 1-2 tournaments each year shows the kind of guy Ted was. When a player on my team broke his wrist and we ran out of subs, his tournament director said it was a forfeit; when we discovered the ruling was errant, he not only apologized but let us finish up the game, at his own expense, to make sure even us--the 7th seed out of 8 in the tourney--got what we signed up for.
The amount of work Ted put into Sac County Baseball (now Norcal Super Series) I have to imagine, changed the way youth baseball worked in Elk Grove and maybe Northern California, making tournament ball a permanent part of the youth sports landscape and drawing players, coaches, and parents to Elk Grove and LCHS to see high-quality baseball. He proved that tournaments could not only be a good business, but that there was a demand for more baseball, and a quality baseball experience. He offered teams needing fundraising outlets the chance to host and make some money, he listened to complaints and acted on them, and made Sac County Baseball tournaments something you looked forward to. I can't even say how many time's I've heard SCB events just called "one of Ted's tournaments," a testament to the esteem and respect held for Mr. Ted Herrera throughout the region.
It's hard to realize that Ted Herrera is gone, and I doubt that tournament baseball in Elk Grove will ever be the same, ever possess that personal, friendly touch Ted brought. I know that I won't ever attend or enter a tournament without thinking about the guy who responded quickly when I first inquired about entering the 2004 NL 14 All-Stars during a Memorial Day tournament, that gave an extra day to get Phillips Goodenough's birth certificate, who helped financially with all the other entries--the 2006 15 All-Stars, the Ripperz, the Longhorns with Doug--and who always recognized me. He was a good guy who left a major mark on Elk Grove and its youth baseball, and who's amiability really gave his work a personal touch. I wish the best to his wife and sons--Teddy was in preschool with me--and I offer my condolences to them.
Ted may be gone, but his mark on that which so many of us love won't soon fade.
R.I.P. Ted Herrera. You're on our plaque forever.
Though my parents know and love all the classic western films, the cowboy genre never really appealed to me. I suppose the separation from my world is part of it, but maybe also the dry, hot Texas plains just made me feel...well, dry and hot.
My first venture into cowboy literature was reading "Brokeback Mountain" by Annie Proulx, which I read out of my choir friend, Joy's, creative writing book. After all, I had penned a short story about a young man scared to death to see the movie with his girlfriend and so, while I grinned at exploiting it without seeing the film, I felt I needed some basis in the story to run with. If there's one thing I remember about Proulx's short story, it was the vivid sensory details, particularly the smells, which was a unique experience in my short reading history. While I still wasn't sure precisely how to react to the story she told, it was told with a sense of detail I hadn't before encountered, capturing the rash, confused nature of the cowboys' relationship.
Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, like Proulx's piece, is a modern western. The novel is set in 1980 Texas, running through deserts and into trailer homes and oasis hotels, following the chain of events set into motion by Llewelyn Moss, a habitually sarcastic war veteran, who chances upon the carnage of a drogas-related-massacre and pockets the suitcase of cash inexplicably left behind. Trying desperately to find him are two men, troubled Sherriff Bell and ghost-like hitman Anton Chigurh.
McCarthy's novel communicates the barren landscape of its setting and characters strongly, but rather than doing so with ample sensory detail--though the author hardly fails there--No Country's presentation suggests this strongly, with traditional syntactical devices hurled to the wayside like a bystander interfering with Chigurh's work. McCarthy uses neither quotation marks nor commas (I counted just one, though in absorbed reading I might have missed some) and this works well, putting description, dialogue, and thought all on the same plane, the same way the three uniquely-equipped characters seem to stay ahead of one another. While the syntax at first makes reading a little cumbersome, as dialogue and thinking look identical, it makes the read unique and really offers a sense of the way each character prioritizes their communication.
While Moss takes up most of the novel, Bell and Chigurh are the characters that make it work. Moss puts himself in one awful situation after another, and although he realizes at each step that his little run will surely end in death, he continues making one mistake after another, and his constant refusal to even listen to a word his grounded wife says frustrates quickly. Bell, the only character McCarthy offers first person insight into, reflects a reluctant version of the classic sherriff: owns a perfect record of solving homicide, exudes an aura of quiet confidence, but always doubts himself as a human being. Bell gives a clear look into the drug-infested wild west of today, and shows a depth of conscience that either Moss lacks, of McCarthy wants the reader to miss.
Chigurh, while the sort of cold blooded killer we cross our fingers doesn't exist, also possesses Bell's deep attachment to morality. At first presentation, Chigurh is almost catlike, toying with a potential victim, demanding he call a coin flip for his life. Though the situation suggests a sort of grim pleasure at the prospect of murder, Chigurh discloses no disappointment when the store owner calls it correctly; indeed, Chigurh is not a monster for his penchant for murder. Rather, Chigurh governs himself by a horrifying set of morals, never above murdering a meddlesome hotel clerk, but also thoughtful enough to use small bullets so as not to spill glass on innocent bystanders. Killing for cash, yes, and with a cold efficiency, but the hit man adheres strictly to his word, "even to a dead man," and turns into as deep a character as Bell (although Chigurh feels none of the guilt that haunts every moment of Bell's existence).
If you're into the classic western, I think McCarthy's novel will offer a nice change of pace, and with the movie on the near horizon (my initial motivation to read it; the trailer was a masterpiece), getting to understand the characters a little bit is surely worth the time. It's definitely a unique read, stylistically and story-wise.
Next up, on Jim's suggestion, another future movie: The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman.
I took a sandwich with me to work today, and noticed when I went to eat it a little before 1:00 that the refridgerator was full of Cherry Coke. Cherry Coke had long been a preferred beverage of mine, particularly in fountain form at Subway. Of course, during my five-year-caffeinated-beverageless run, I was deprived of Cherry Coke, because the Coca-Cola company does not produce caffeine-free Cherry Coke. Hence, when I gave up on the no-caffeine mentality, I was excited to come back to Cherry Coke.
