Lost in Space

While on his honeymoon, my father got lost and had to ask a state trooper what state he was in. The trooper was not clever enough to say bliss.

I rarely get lost while driving, or if I do, I have never been shy about asking the locals where I am, but according to a recent study, I may be in the minority. A survey released this week by the Royal Automobile Club Direct Insurance in the UK says that men waste six million hours a year driving around in circles before they ask for help.

The survey says that the average British male will wait 20 minutes before seeking directions, and even endure ten minutes of nagging from their wives or girl friends before admitting they are lost. Apparently, women are more sensible; they will wait only 10 minutes before asking for help.

At first, I thought I had been exposed to a cheap publicity stunt, but RAC Direct Insurance product manager Craig Martin assures us that his organization only has our best interests at heart.

"The anxiety, increased stress levels and road rage that can be caused by getting lost are unnecessary distractions on today's busy roads when motorists need to be alert and able to concentrate," Martin said.

I need to remember that quote the next time my wife nags me about my driving.

Before we place all the blame on male drivers, it might be instructive to spend some time on a web site called Pathetic Motorways, which with traditional British cheekiness, tries to identify all those UK highways that are former, secretive, unbuilt or simply lost.

In other words, sometimes you just can't get there from here.

I won't fault Mr. Martin for channeling the spirit of PR guru Edward Bernays, but doesn't six million hours seem a tad extreme? That figure translates into roughly 685 years of wasted time. This story appears all over the Internet and the British press, and yet I see no evidence of an editor taking a few moments to consider the accuracy of this bold figure.

Rather than worrying about the driving habits of men, we might be better off asking ourselves why editorial judgment seems to get lost from time to time.

Snap, Crackle and Pop

I do a lot of the grocery shopping in the family. In today's monster sized supermarkets, you can lose yourself for a few hours, forget your cares, think deep thoughts and gobble up as many free samples as you can find.

Here I was standing in the cereal aisle, trying to be the good Dad, and pick out something healthy for the kids. General Mills wants to be helpful, too. Last year, as part of a major marketing campaign to its conversion to whole wheat flour, they introduced on their packages a "Goodness Corner" highlighting the health benefits of individual boxes of cereal. I picked up one General Mills product that boasts it is a good source of vitamins, whole grain, and calcium.

Who knew Chocolate Lucky Charms could be so healthy for you? This is in indeed a lucky day for college fraternity brothers everywhere.

Ironically, this renewed focus on health by the producers of "ready to eat" cereal represents a return to the industry's roots. During the later half of the 19th century, health advocates were lamenting the gastrointestinal impact of the hearty, meat-heavy breakfasts that were so common during that era. Let's just say that during the Victorian era, morals weren't the only things that needed a little loosening.

Dr. John Harvey Kellogg ran a sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan dedicated to restoring health (or at least regularity) through a steady diet of whole grains. He and his brother, Will Keith Kellogg, a former door-to-door broom salesman, accidentally discovered a process for making wheat and corn flakes.

Dr. John and WK disputed over how to best capitalize on this discovery. WK focused his attention on producing a steady stream of cash. Dr. John concentrated instead on promoting a steady stream of....well you get the picture.

C.W. Post, one of Dr. John's patients, actually beat WK to the punch, and introduced in 1897 Post Grape Nuts, one of the first nationally marketed 'ready to eat' cereals and the first to feature a manufacturer's coupon designed to get people to try the product. Kellogg's Corn Flakes appeared nine years later, and celebrated its 100th birthday this February.

Ironically, if you visit the home page of the Kellogg commerative site, you are greeted with the image of Tony the Tiger, who represents a much different heritage for the company. Within only a few years after the death of its founder, Kelloggs, like other cereal companies, had shifted its marketing focus to a brand new and rapidly growing audience--children--and with that change came a massive infusion of sugar.

Sugar Smacks, Apple Jacks, Alpha-Bits, and Cap'n Crunch made regular appearances in my cereal bowl when I was growing up, and I have eight fillings in my teeth to prove it. My mom banned all sugar cereals in the house after she got my dental bill.

The baby boomers who grew up on this stuff are the same people pushing cereal companies to shift their focus back to healthier alternatives, both for their own and their children's sake. Concerned by the backlash, especially when it comes to children's advertising, the big cereal makers have formed a lobbying group to protect their ability to promote their products while simultaneously taking steps to make their cereals as healthy as possible, or least for appearance sake.

Kellogg's own version of a Goodness Corner cheerfully notes that Frosted Flakes provides high energy. Buyers should probably heed instead the first words of advice found on the animation that opens the current Frosted Flakes site--Eat Right.