Because if someone approached me at a trade show and asked "Would you like to have your picture taken behind the wheel of the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile?" I mean, that'd totally work with me. Jaded veteran of shows and conferences that I am, I'd be tagging along faithfully and happily agreeing to a forty-minute product briefing.

Now that I've read it, I can see how it could be interpreted that way, but it was written in the same tone as the rest of the piece, which was intentionally a bit snarky/fun, and not to be taken too seriously.

Far more interesting was the story in yesterday's book review about paying for display space.

Some pertinent bits:

"If you walk around any Barnes & Noble or other large bookseller right about now, there's a good chance you will notice prominent stacks of a thick hardcover with an eye-catching jacket and the title ''Running the World: The Inside Story of the National Security Council and the Architects of American Power.'' . . . Like many other customers, you might have thought the book was on display simply because the booksellers believed it was important, particularly relevant now and would practically sell itself.

This is also what Peter Osnos, the chief executive of PublicAffairs, would like to think. But he has been in the publishing business long enough to know that it's never that simple. In order to ensure the book was on display on the front tables, his company had to pay a total of about $11,000 to the large bookstore chains.

[In the last 15 years,] the amount of retail space devoted to selling books has quadrupled -- from superstores like Barnes & Noble and Borders to the growing book sections of big-box stores like Wal-Mart and Costco, and even of supermarkets. And with this expansion the once humble conventions of book display -- the neighborhood bookstore window, the recommended-books table near the cash register -- have also been supersized beyond recognition. In fact, many publishers say that the tables and flashy cardboard displays that crowd the front of chain bookstores have emerged as a marketing force fully as powerful as the traditional ways of trying to bring a book to the public's hard-won attention -- through newspaper and magazine ads, reviews, author tours and radio and television interviews.

But this promotional device, like most others, comes with a cost. It is known, somewhat deceptively, as a cooperative advertising agreement. In plain terms, it means that many of the books on display at the front of a store or placed face out at the end of an aisle are there because the publisher paid for them to be there, not necessarily because anyone at the bookstore thought the book was noteworthy or interesting."

While much in the article ("Cash Up Front") is not new news, it was surprising to see it all laid out for the Book Review's readers. It's worth a read if you've any interest in the business parts of publishing.

good grief, what if the batteries to the pump went dead? What's the backup plan? Is there some failsafe response? Was she escorted by someone with a switchblade who could cut her out of the suit before she suffocated? Gah!

Back to Fiona, Melissa (Broder), and the giant weenie costume: John Scalzi has pertinent commentary here.

As far as placement in bookstores go, I don't know anyone who thinks that displays are there for any other reason than a marketing agreement. Then again, I'm in marketing.

The "Staff Recommends" shelf (when it lists specific staffers) is pretty much the only display I think represents what people in the store think is interesting.

Publicists are a resourceful lot.

She's braver than I am. I'm geting claustrophic and reaching for my inhaler just thinking about it.

Actually, the air pump was to keep the weenie costume inflated as well as to provide air and cooling to the wearer. I saw Melissa B. getting into it--it's not one of those plushie "head character" type-costumes but an inflatable thingie. Without the air pump, it would have been a much smaller weenie, more like the giant Pillsbury doughboy I also saw walking the floor. The air pump gave the weenie a stiffie, basically.

The blase background makes such moments all the more wonderful.

There is a photo here at the BEA blog: http://www.flickr.com/photos/publishersmarketplace/17271095/

The weenie costume had a very heavy battery pack that was strapped around whoever was the weenie at that time. If there had been any problems, I would have gotten Jodi or Melissa out of there very quickly, since the costume simply unzips.

Added to the heat-stroke potential was all the little kids who thought that the best way to determine whether Miss Piggy was real was to pinch me. Hard.

I'm happy to say I have learned my lesson and have never again volunteered to wear a foam head.

MKK

Triangle Man, Triangle Man
Triangle Man hates Doughboy Man
They have a fight, Triangle wins
Triangle Man

Thus proving that life does imitate art.

alas, if only I had known . . . .

BEA had an unusually con-like feeling for me; I kept running into people I knew, which is very strange when you think about the size of the hall, the number of people in attendance, the fact that I was only there for 5 hours (and spent one of them in the booth, shilling for one of my authors).

Still, it was fun, and I got some nice pelf for my kid.

Melissa, I was also there to witness the Dummies/Doughboy altercation.

Fiona, it was nice to see you again, though I'm sorry to have missed your moment of weenie fame.

It was...big...busy...bustling...buzzy...a bookstravaganza. I'm certain it's like that every year, but this was my first, and I was somewhat overwhelmed by the whole thing.

I wonder if the Oscar Meyer vehicle is available. Didn't Little Oscar just pass away in the last twelvemonth? If so, a moment of silence.

Can't you just imagine? The gigantic anthropomorphic weenie bobbing gently above the show floor, waving and smiling beatifically, calling out to passers-by in its squeaky little voice...it would have been magnificent, I tell you.

What?

"Pay attention. These are twin Rolls-Royce 'Petrel' vectored-thrust engines. Rainstorms have been known to develop inside the Javits Centre, so I trust you'll use your customary caution, ha bloody ha. This switch is afterburner. Finally, the moment everyone has been waiting for: the emergency egress system. Once activated, the explosive bolts are on a five-second delay, and once Dame Judi's recorded voice starts counting down, neither God nor Tony Blair can abort the cycle."

Wishing (again) that I lived on the East Coast and could have gone to BEA...

The costume was rented from an outfit in Brooklyn. It was shabby and stained with . . . stains, in the worst place you can find stains, and my Coke-bottle lensed aviator frame glasses didn't quite complement the ensemble.

My appearance was in a Newmark & Lewis store on 45th Street. I demonstrated the computer to customers, and inadvertantly scared away others.

Man, that was bad. But I can still muster some sympathy for the poor bastard who went to a mall in Minnesota dressed as Leif Ericson, complete with horn helmet.

However, nobody has asked the REAL question: How the hell did they find a giant wiener? In the yellow pages?

(I know, I know--this is New York! is the answer everyone will give. But I still want to know.

Jane

(Photo by David G. Hartwell..)

Thanks, Kathryn. :-)

Speaking of glory, did y'all notice the Literary Map in the Sunday NYT Books section? I know this belongs in an open thread, but the last one was days ago.

Why? It's not as if anyone could tell it was you. ;)

--Mary Aileen

If only I'd known, I think we would have contributed to the bribe. It was a public service.

(TNH -- I treasure my "I-look-awfully-short-standing-next-to-Fabio" Polaroid from that same ABA. I kept making him try to stand further away from me, though, because the publisher had a live backdrop of a simply gorgeous bright red Indian motorcycle. I wanted a photo of the cycle, and Fabio was in the way. Poor guy didn't understand why I kept asking him to scoot over and not put an arm around me!)

"I don't know. And I wanted to frank him."

"Seein' Oscar Wilde speak at the Opry House changed you forever, didn't it, Buck?"

As new ambitions go, don't you think it has a certain something?

I'd consider it myself, but I'm still shocked, shocked, that anyone could think Tooth and Claw was a talking animals book.

We found the wiener through our friend Google. The company is based somewhere in the Midwest, the exact location slipping my mind. Of course the Midwest would have giant inflatable weenies sitting around, just waiting for the right promotional opportunity!

Madeleine and Jo, since I was also your publicist on your last books here at Tor, I would like to say that I would be more than happy to dress up as some kind of Regency type chick to promote your next books. As long as you pump me full of tea, I'll be just fine. But a dragon with Trollopian manners would be pushing it. XD

At this point I would also like to point out that I used to live right over Crif Dogs in the East Village. Hanging outside my window was a giant hot dog that said "Eat Me." My friends say that I'm a wee bit obsessed.

"All he left was this silver toothpick."

"He was tall, handsome, famous, rich. He couldn't understand why she only had eyes for a red Indian who hardly spoke a single word!"

Heeeeee. This is going to keep me happy and giggly all day.

Thanks Kathryn!

MKK

You might not be that far off. There's a bratwurst that wanders around downtown here (Madison WI) on a regular basis. When I initially read the description up top, I wondered if they were kin.

Let us not forget the infamous racing sausages at Milwaukee's ballpark, which go well beyond the common frankfurter.

"I love you, you love me,
it's called bestiality"

Absent a firm explanation from the people responsible, I'd point to Kathryn's picture; it looks like there's a piece of thinner material in the center of the weiner, starting at about eye height to the person standing next to it. This is a standard stunt for large costumes; the Pratchett troll that was wandering around Noreascon had something similar.

Oh, I wish I were a Tor publicity weiner!
That is what I'd really like to be-eee-ee. . .

Must . . . resist . . . anatomical snarkery.

--Mary Aileen

"It's better than coating oneself in chunky peanut butter" is setting the bar pretty low.

"30 days hath September,
April, June, and No Wonder;
All the rest have Peanut Butter.
Except my grandmother.
She had a red tricycle.
I stole it."

"is coating oneself in chunky peanut butter better than Saddam though?"

I'd say that coating Saddam in chunky peanut butter is better, but prohibited by the Geneva Convention. Any truth to the rumors that Korans have been coated in peanut butter at Gitmo?

Jonathan,
My understanding is that several Korans have been bottled in some new kind of Cuban tequila (unknown agave). And unlike many other tequilas, these are really good on the rocks.

Mr. Hankey!

"Hiiiiiideee-Hoh, kids!"

He can also tap dance.

And I've also dressed up as Qui-Gon Jinn, doing a rather disturbing imitation that knocked the topic hostess flat for a good ten minutes or so. Granted, timing had something to do with it-- she was at a party explaining that she'd never heard of Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon slash and couldn't imagine such a think, whereby I sidled up to her, placed my arm around her in a sense of camraderie (and as a brace) and said, "Padawan... do you like Sith gladiator movies?"

I saved the followups for later spontaneous examples of narcolepsy: "Do you like the feeling you get when a bantha rubs up and down your leg?" and "Ever been in a Corellian prison?" but Claire Eddy came along and told me to stop tormenting the afflicted.

And even more oddly, I know a guy who drove the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile around for a summer internship. He met a lot of cute girls that way and I believe it (of course, looking like a curly-haired version of Jason Priestly helped.)