It takes a lot of work for a brand to make its way into my heart. I think this is the case for any consumer. To win favor, brands have to do a lot of things.
First and foremost, they must be consistent. More than that, they must be consistently cool, consistently quality and consistently distinctive. They have to stand out from the crowd based on merits rather than marketing. Brands have to stand the test of time because no one wants to waste money on junk. None of this is easy, especially in an age of growing commoditization.
But, this year, Logitech pulled it off with me. 
I’ve been using Logitech peripherals off and on for the last five years. For most of that period, they were effective workhorses and while I had no rabid enthusiasm for the devices, they were “decent” in my estimation. The last year, though, something changed.
The keyboard and mouse sets got sexier. Their look and feel became more and more compatible with what I saw as ideal in such devices. When the time came to purchase a replacement speaker set for my Mac, Logitech was a name I was very comfortable including in my considerations.
After checking out some reviews, I not only ordered a 2.1 speaker set for the Mac but also a 5.1 set for my television and console needs. And here’s the crucial part:
Those speakers performed exactly as I expected based on previous experience with Logitech products. Their design was aesthetically pleasing, installation was easy and the quality of construction and workmanship was far in excess of my expectations.
And now, Logitech is in. Next time I have electronics needs, I’m checking in with Logitech first. 
I will do this because despite many opportunities to let me down, Logitech continues to impress me. This is why brand is important. Relationships are the ultimate arbiter of human action. In a world of enormous multinational corporations and fragmented, scattered markets, brands are the bridges that link the ideals of corporate visionaries with the needs and expectations of an ever-growing consumer base.
All that’s needed is that you do your job well. Every single time. A very difficult mandate. But a profitable one if you’ve got the vision to understand its rewards.
It’s gotta suck to be John Lithgow. This man dedicated himself, his life, his career to the craft of acting. No easy or simple task.
The job of an actor is an incredible challenge. In the early days, as you sharpen your skills, build your network and otherwise pay your dues, you toil very much in anonymity. You also toil in near-poverty, because that’s just how it goes. Further, it takes a lot for a man or woman to become entirely another person, to say nothing about becoming another person every week, every month or every season. I can’t imagine the creativity, dedication and passion necessary to hone the blade of acting to the sort of precision that can shred an audience’s uncertainties, their fears, their reserve. The precision that can evoke joy, laughter, tears, compassion, exhilliration. It is an effort of years, of decades, to deliver an unparalleled form of art.
It is through such a crucible that John Lithgow passed. This is a man with two Oscar noms, a lengthy film resume and a theater pedigree. He spent the 90′s riding high with a popular NBC sitcom. He lived the dream and lived it well.
And now he sells fucking soup on television.
Now, don’t get me wrong: When you juxtapose the beginning of the standard actor’s journey — the waiting tables, the living on couches, the praying for a break, just one break! — against the simple work of being paid a few million dollars to do some 30 second spots for Campbell’s, yeah, endorsement seems like a sweet deal.
But the point here is that Lithgow isn’t the starving artist anymore. He has spent a career forging a blade of talent and experience that few young actors will ever have the fortune of matching.
And yet, he squanders it. On a few cans of chicken noodle.
Poor John Lithgow.
You know, I was with all the rest of you when I saw the first ads for Gillette Fusion.
Five blades. What… what could I possibly do with five blades? The entire concept of a five-bladed razor seemed so outlandish as to be comical. Now, I know that we’ve all been living in a Fusion world since the year began, so you may not even remember how ridiculous this idea may have once seemed. The Onion, however, brutally lampooned this very concept not two years ago. Take a look:
We were the fucking vanguard of shaving in this country. The Gillette Mach3 was the razor to own. Then the other guy came out with a three-blade razor. Were we scared? Hell, no. Because we hit back with a little thing called the Mach3Turbo. That’s three blades and an aloe strip. For moisture. But you know what happened next? Shut up, I’m telling you what happened—the bastards went to four blades. Now we’re standing around with our cocks in our hands, selling three blades and a strip. Moisture or no, suddenly we’re the chumps. Well, fuck it. We’re going to five blades.
…
You think it’s crazy? It is crazy. But I don’t give a shit. From now on, we’re the ones who have the edge in the multi-blade game. Are they the best a man can get? Fuck, no. Gillette is the best a man can get.
When I first read this piece, I was laughing uncontrollably. Not just because of the (hilarious) tone of the article, but because five blades just didn’t fit within the realm of what I could hold as realistic.
But in January, the world changed and the future arrived. I was curious, but skeptical. Nonetheless, I decided in August that I would drink from Gillette’s cup and learn what awaited me with a Fusion shave.
It is the finest shave I have yet experienced. The five blades quickly render baby-ass-smoothness to the skin to which they are applied. I experience less irritation because I don’t need as many strokes to get the job done.
And then there’s this little thing. Check this out:
That, there, is what we call a trimmer. Thanks to the trimmer, I can shape my facial hair with unprecedented precision and keep my face tidier than ever. That’s important to me.
And at the price Gillette is asking for refill packs of these cartridges, it had better be important. But you know? Screw it. I’m single. I take care of me.
Go get this razor. Or be damned in the medievalism of your three- or four-bladed hell. The choice is very much yours.
Every man who has ever been in public while in the company of other trusted men has played some variant of the “Accept or Decline†game. This goes for women, too. The game is dead-simple. The first man points out a woman across the room and then asks the second man, “Accept or Decline?â€
While there is significant and varying subtext that will define what function, exactly, the woman would be “accepted†for, it’s always generally assumed to be one of a romantic nature.
The response to the “Accept or Decline?†query is invariably followed by either hearty agreement, when both parties share the same assessment of the subject in question, or indignant surprise when one party’s assessment significantly deviates from the other’s expectations. Once both parties have made their stances clear, there often follow (sometimes lengthy) dissertations expounding upon the reasons for an “Accept†or a “Decline.â€
After running hundreds (perhaps thousands) of these scenarios, I have determined that my own decision making process for this very binary assessment of another human being follows a fairly simple tree:
Why does she have to be a good First Lady?
It turns out that my tastes invariably favor women who possess the sort of poise, intelligence, grace and aesthetic configuration to make excellent President’s wives. However, being possessed of a very human chemistry engine, the lack of those factors can be overridden — at least, initially — by simple hormonal response.
Now that I’ve noticed it, I’m sure I’ll be noting dozens of simple, standard decision trees that determine the course of my life.