Just the other day, I was looking at a box of breakfast cereal. The largest lettering on the box were the three words naming the cereal: Frosted Shredded Wheat. Next in prominence came the tag line: “Contains 6 g. of fiber per serving.”You’re probably thinking, “so what?” Manufacturers of processed food make claims like this so frequently that we’ve all gotten used to them.But it is actually remarkable that marketers have concluded that the best way to sell cereal is by announcing how many grams of fiber it contains. After all, the manufacturer isn’t claiming that the cereal is delicious — just that it contains the dietary cousin of sawdust.Notice something else about this claim: it includes the abbreviation “g.” Evidently the marketers feel confident that supermarket shoppers — the same people who buy oregano and chocolate by the ounce — know that “g.” stands for “gram.” That’s good. It’s evidence that American buyers of breakfast cereal aren’t fazed by the metric system. (Could this mean that consumers will soon be comfortable with joules?)To me, this tag line — “Contains 6 g. of fiber per serving” — seems doomed to failure. But clearly, I have no background in marketing. In spite of my opinion, it is probable that this tag line is successfully moving a lot of cereal.For some strange reason, when consumers go shopping for breakfast cereal, they apparently care more about technical specifications (measured in grams, even) than they care about flavor or delight. But when the same consumers go shopping for a new home, most couldn’t care less about technical specifications. All they want to see is a three-car garage and a Jacuzzi tub.What’s going on here?Frustrated home performance contractors often recount a familiar story: homeowners will tune you… This article is only available to GBA Prime Members Start Free Trial Already a member? Log in Sign up for a free trial and get instant access to this article as well as GBA’s complete library of premium articles and construction details.
By Christina Herron & Kacy Mixon, PhDKastle Books [Why Is Dad So Mad?, March 2015]We’ve discussed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) prevalence and effects on couples in regards to Military Families. This week’s featured resource is one that parents and professionals working the military families can use with younger children struggling with understanding their parents PTSD.Why is Dad So Mad? uses the point of view of a mother and child, with the mother helping her child wrap their mind around his military father’s struggle with PTSD. It illustrates the father’s PTSD symptoms of flashbacks, yelling/anger, lack of sleep and forgetfulness. The book helps explain PTSD to the child and reassures the child that his dad still loves him very much no matter how different he acts.“Just know that both Mom and Dad LOVE YOU and EACH OTHER more than anything. Sometimes life isn’t perfect, but we are a family and we will stick together and LOVE each other forever.”Seth Kastle is a retired Military Veteran with 16 years of service. He wrote the book, Why is Dad So Mad?, to help explain his PTSD to his children. Kastle was motivated to write the book after discovering a lack of resources for servicemen to utilize when explaining their PSTD symptoms to children. He is in the process of writing his second book, Why is Mom So Mad? to help mothers explain service related medical disorders to their children. Kastle lives in Kansas with his wife and children. He is currently a Professor of Leadership at Fort Hays State University.This post was written by Christina Herron & Kacy Mixon, PhD, members of the MFLN Family Development (FD) team which aims to support the development of professionals working with military families. Find out more about the Military Families Learning Network FD concentration on our website, on Facebook, on Twitter, YouTube, and on LinkedIn.
A barefoot symphony in a Cameroonian village with old newspapers tightly tied with string. Tactical rampage down a Sao Paolo beach with two precious socks rolled together. The rattle of a dribbled tin can on the lanes snaking through the Buenos Aires shantytowns.Soccer is sport at its most elemental: Anything,A barefoot symphony in a Cameroonian village with old newspapers tightly tied with string. Tactical rampage down a Sao Paolo beach with two precious socks rolled together. The rattle of a dribbled tin can on the lanes snaking through the Buenos Aires shantytowns.Soccer is sport at its most elemental: Anything can be a ball, anywhere a field of dreams, only passion the mandatory shirt to be pulled on. In this primitiveness of soccer rests its universal appeal; in its intrinsic dance-wingers spinning away from markers,strikers pirouetting in the box, midfielders on spiralling runs-lies its aesthetic value. Holland striker Marco van Basten flew across the field with such sinewy splendour that a Dutch TV documentary compared his movements to a ballet dancer’s. When Brazilian Ronaldo burst like a weaving ox through defences, a Spanish journalist wrote: “He has the constitution of a champion boxer, but the feet of Fred Astaire.Yet greatness has one final measurement. In Yaounde, Cameroon, stands a statue of Roger Milla; in Sao Paolo the faithful explain that when Pele meets the Pope, it is Pele who is granting the audience; in Buenos Aires boys still genuflect at the altar of a factory worker’s son called Diego Maradona. It is the worship accorded to men who danced their finest on the World Cup stage.by Rohit Brijnath