TUFTS UNIVERSITY'S "TAKE AN UNDERGRAD FOR COFFEE" APPEAL

On Tuesday, I received a letter from Lawrence Bacow, president of my alma mater, Tufts University. He asked me to become a participant in the school's Student Ambassador Program - well, me and 93,000 other alumni, but I'm still honored and humbled by the offer.

According to the letter, "Our graduates provide valuable models for Tufts' current students and faculty, who look to them for guidance and inspiration." How do they know I can guide and inspire? Are they tailing me? I thought I saw some guy duck into an alley when I turned around suddenly the other day. He could have some incriminating shots of me spilling mustard on myself at the deli - there's some fine inspiration for the students.

I wish I had known about this sooner; I would have dressed better and shaved more often.

The letter goes on to say, "The Student Ambassador Program connects some of the university's most thoughtful and engaged students with graduates who can share unique perspectives on Tufts." I do recall some unique perspectives from my college days. There's the view of the third-floor bathroom ceiling in Carmichael Hall that I experienced while sprawled on the floor from too much cheap bourbon. And up on the library roof, there was that spectacular scene of Boston at night as it was being stomped into rubble by a giant Richard Nixon (1969 was a bad year for lefties but a great year for acid.)

"In the next few weeks a student ambassador will contact you with an invitation to meet for an hour to hear your thoughts on Tufts...The conversations this program fosters will help us learn how we can best support our alumni on their lifelong professional and personal journeys." Regular cash stipends would be nice, or maybe they could just cover my cable bill.

I think I'll accept the invitation when my student ambassador calls. It might prove useful for him or her to hear about my time on the Medford Campus, and I'm all for the university being more responsive to the needs of its graduates.

I'll start off by imparting all the life lessons I learned at Tufts to my young colleague:

• Don't take girls to Paul Newman or Warren Beatty movies.
• If you mislabel the page numbers in the middle of a ten-page paper, it becomes a fifteen-page paper and professors are none the wiser.
• Dark beer is the perfect complement to a Reuben Sandwich.
• Theater majors are easy.
• A fifteen-page paper becomes a twenty-page paper if you gradually expand the margins and triple-space around quotations.
• Mutton chops are seldom a good look.
• "Adult Entertainment" has nothing to do with age or maturity.
• You can make a pipe out of anything.
• Choose some old disgruntled professor who's being forced into retirement to be your advisor. He'll sign your degree sheet without looking too closely.
• Don't drink cheap bourbon.

For the most part, these precepts hold up well today. It's true that Paul Newman is dead and thus not the box office draw he once was, and Warren Beatty now looks like the villains he played against in Dick Tracy, but you can swap in some new pretty boy and the rule still applies.

When we get around to discussing ways the university might better prepare its graduates for the real world, I'll make a suggestion. No student should be granted a degree of any kind without first becoming a licensed plumber or electrician. Drains will always clog and light fixtures will always short out, but your comprehensive knowledge of Melville won't fix either. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the pipe wrench clobbers them both.

As for improving alumni relations, having collected the equivalent of Latvia's GNP from us for four years, Tufts might show more personal interest in our wellbeing. I'm not asking for much - an occasional phone call or letter, a nice card around the holidays - just a sentimental little something that says, "I'm thinking about you beyond your capacity to fuel our endowment."

And the Student Ambassador Program is a step in the right direction. I have no doubt that it's an altruistic endeavor on the part of the school and not simply another sleazy ploy to bleed the last possible cent out of its former students and sharpen the scythe for the current crop. In our hour together, I'm sure my ambassador and I can cover all the issues raised by the president's letter in a lively give-and-take over lattes at Starbucks...provided, of course, that Bacow picks up the tab.

Selling Coals to Newcastle; Adventures in Pointless Marketing

In recent years, the most popular concept in the advertising world has been viral marketing, the use of social networks and word-of-mouth to increase brand awareness and sales. Lately, I've been besieged by a different form of advertising that I like to call sterile marketing, the targeted promotion of products or services to consumers who haven't the slightest interest in or use for said goods, or the necessary funds to purchase them. I can't understand why companies spend years and fortunes analyzing demographic patterns, economic trends, and sales data to pinpoint their most likely customers, and then decide, "Nah, forget about them. Let's go after this bozo instead."

About a month ago, I received a fancy invitation from Ferrari of New England to test drive the latest model of their California series (see my earlier post "Dear Ferrari of New England...") I had never made inquiries about the car or contacted the local dealership about taking one out for a spin. Furthermore, I'm currently unemployed and as likely to buy a Ferrari as a timeshare at Windsor Castle. Yet not to be outdone, Maserati of New England has recently sent me a similar offer.

Why me? Even when gainfully employed, I was never in the financial stratosphere where such purchases occur, and I've never owned one of those Beryllium or Manganese American Express Cards which entice their holders with high-end promotions. Perhaps these firms discovered my fondness for all things Italian, although in practical terms, it's now limited to Louis Prima and Chef Boyardee. I do like small European cars, but the only way they could know that was if they traced the burned-out clutches from my '85 Rabbit. Whatever the reason, I'm just waiting to hear from Lamborghini and Bugatti before I rate the world's best performing sports cars that I can't afford.

People's exhibit #2 is a catalogue that was sent to my wife by The Pondguy, purveyor of supplies for ponds, lakes, decorative pools, and water gardens. In this one comprehensive volume can be found such useful items as "Faux Boulders", "Cascading Waterfall Kits", and the indispensable MuckAway™ pellets which release "natural bacteria designed to...convert muck into an odorless gas." It's too bad they don't work on the human digestive system.

However aesthetically pleasing or effective these products may be, they are of limited interest to city dwellers. It's the rare condominium apartment that has its own cascading waterfall, and the only "pond" we have to deal with is the sewer overflow during winter storms. There's Jamaica Pond, a small body of water about three miles from our home, but it's cared for by the Boston Department of Parks and Recreation, and I assume they've got their own catalogue.

Across this vast country though, there must be thousands of people who own property with ponds. There are plenty of wealthy folk with fountain-ringed palazzos and golf course grounds keepers who would surely find these products helpful. What breech of commercial sanity drove The Pondguy to hawk his wares to a women's clothing retailer and an out-of-work television editor?

But at least we're alive. My favorite sterile marketing scheme was from the Easter Seals 2010 fundraising drive. Last week, two large identical envelopes came to our house addressed to Mr. Felix Brawer and Mr. Morey Hunter, asking for donations to this worthy cause. The gentlemen in question, my father and father-in-law, passed away several years ago and were thus disinclined to contribute.

Don't think it's so easy to rectify this situation. I have tried for years to get their names off various mailing lists with only limited success. Apparently, companies and charitable organizations don't like to lose potential customers and donors, whether they're breathing or not. I once had the following phone conversation with a certain charity which will remain nameless.

Solicitor: "Could I please speak with Felix Brawer?"

Me: "May I ask what this is in reference to?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm only authorized to speak with him. Is he at home?"

"He's not, but..."

"I'll call back at another time. When would be convenient?"

"There's really no good time because..."

"Is there some other way we can contact him?"

"Possibly. Do you know a good medium?"

"Excuse me?"

"Or perhaps a necromancer?"

"I don't understand."

"Mr. Brawer is deceased. I'd appreciate it if you would take his name off your mailing and phone lists."

"I can't do that without proper documentation."

"I have to provide you with documentation, or you'll keep calling and sending him mail?"

"That's our policy."

"Good luck with the campaign."

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the final frontier of advertising - pitching the dead.