Would you like to buy an O? Toward an economic and lexographic analysis of the letter as commodity.

Among the few prized possessions of childhood that I haven’t chucked in a fit of unsentimental aceticism or austerity over the years is my copy of The Muppet Alphabet Album.

I randomly had the song “Would you like to buy an O?” pop into my head this morning. It’s a great song, but I found myself wondering: if it cost Ernie a nickel to buy an O in 1971, what would it cost to buy one in 2008 dollars?

In order to work this out, we have to first determine the value of comparable commodities to Ernie and the other denizens of Sesame Street. This requires that we first make a general determination of Ernie’s. On the one hand, he is old enough that he is able to live independently, or at least cohabit with a roommate. That suggests he has reached his majority. On the other hand, Ernie seems quite childish/childlike.

It is not necessary that Ernie’s age remains constant over time; what matters is his age in 1971, which is when the song appeared on The Muppet Alphabet Album. Beyond that, age isn’t the primary issue; it’s more a question of both buying power and type of products bought.

So, if an O cost a nickel, how does that compare to other things Ernie might have bought? A five-cent O was the equivalent of half a ten-cent soda (or one-sixth of a 30-cent malted) at Mister Hooper’s store.

To put this in some context, let’s consider the comic book as an example of Ernie’s consumer interest. In the real world, Action Comics sold for fifteen cents in early 1971, and shot up to a quarter by the end of the year. Thus, Ernie’s O was worth anywhere from one-third to one fifth of an issue of Action Comics. This makes sense, since there are two Os in the title Action Comics alone.

When you factor in the Approved by the Comics Code Authority, the O in the issue number [No. 400], plus any Os in other cover text ["The Duel of Doom"], it seems likely that DC comics must have negotiated some kind of volume discount, or at least purchased an unlimited use license for the right to use the O. Otherwise, where would Wonder Woman or Doom Patrol have been?

The reader must also remember that when you buy an O, you get not one, but two O sounds (long and short). On reflection, it seems the O purchase must be more of a licensing deal than a straight up purchase.

Back to Ernie, it would seem that even at a nickel, the O was a pretty good bargain, if Hooper’s sodas and comic books are reliable indices. What I have no way of knowing is what the going rate was for other commodities Ernie acquired (delicious pizza and yummy grape juice, as a way of illustrating the concepts of more and less; a mess of modeling clay for making a noseless bust of Bert, the better to steal Bert’s nose; a banana to stick in his ear) might have been, in the micro-economy of Sesame Street.

But, again, if we project based on what we know, we can start to make a pretty good guess. A 15-cent comic book from 1971 would cost $3.00 today, a twentyfold increase. Similarly, while a soda at Hooper’s would have cost 10 cents in 1971, it’s not unheard of for someone to pay $2 for a fountain soda as part of a restaurant meal. Again, twenty times more expensive.

If this comparison holds out, it would seem an O would fetch $1 in today’s market.

But consider that other factors contribute to price. On the one hand, the O is a static commodity. There haven’t been any significant innovations in its production or application over the past three and a half decades. Aside from routine maintenance, the manufacturer has not needed to make any significant capital investments on the production side. Granted, the number and variety of fonts has proliferated over the years, which gives the O a whole range of different looks, but these are aftermarket modifications rather than factory specifications, and should not affect the base cost.

Indeed, inflation notwithstanding, the only significant pressure on the manufacturing cost should be the cost of the raw materials used to produce the O. According to my best estimate; it takes 14 component parts to make an O; for the sake of convenience, let’s refer to these as parts A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, and N. Logically, any price increase among any of these materials (based on either scarcity or increased demand) must get passed on to the consumer. Consider that Apple alone has driven up the market price for I since the introduction of the first iMac, to say nothing of the iPod, iPhone, iTunes, and iMovie. Then there are is the degree to which the personal computing era and the whole internet age has increased demand for E: e-mail, e-commerce, etc. Finally, consider how language has evolved over the years, especially in youth culture; when Ernie bought his O, “lame” as a physical condition, and few people, if any, said “def” or “feh.”

On the other hand, as you rightly note, the O, like most other products, has become increasingly commoditized over the years. Back when Ernie was buying bananas to stick in his ear consumers might get one banana per bunch with a sticker on it.

Today, nearly every piece of loose produce one buys in the market carries a label. Taken by themselves, the marginal cost of these stickers is negligible. The larger issue is the branding and marketing costs that go into designing and developing a promotional campaign. Again, that’s a cost that gets passed on to the consumer.

Then, as you rightly note, the O has become identified with one of the most widely known and wildly successful celebrities around, Oprah Winfrey.

Given how lucrative the celebrity endorsement market is, her use of the O for her magazine, and other trademark ventures, must cost a pretty penny. Does the manufacturer eat this cost? Of course not. They recover the expense by charging the consumer more.

The marketplace of ideas has also evolved significantly since the early 1970s. While newspaper readership continues to fall, it seems like the number of magazines and niche interest publications increases every year. Then there is personal computing, word processing, the internet, blogging and text messaging; each has led to an explosion of content generation, which contributes significantly to the number of Os the average person uses in a given year. At previous licensing rates, the manufacturer must be losing money. Since the goal of business is profit, the only way to stem that loss is to increase the licensing fee.

Materials, marketing, endorsement, and licensing; each of these factors drives up the cost of the O beyond the rate of inflation. When you factor in all of these real and incidental costs, as well as shipping costs and retail markup, the going rate for an O could climb to as much as $2-$3, if not higher.

That said, the retail marketplace has evolved over the years in ways that may be detrimental to the retailer, but which may ultimately benefit the consumer.

The example of superstore retailers like Wal*Mart and Target, as well as wholesale clubs like CostCo and BJs provide economies of scale that result in savings to the consumer. At the same time, if the manufacturer is outsourcing production overseas or over the border, the reduction in labor costs should also put downward pressure on prices.

The unfortunate consequence of these savings is that independent retailers like Lefty the salesman cannot compete on price, and must compete on service if they are to remain in business. Available evidence suggests that by and large Lefty has a keen grasp of a service-oriented sales philosophy. He takes time with his customer. He describes the product in memorable terms (”round and neat;” “tidy and complete;” “circular and sweet.”). He points out key features and functionality (”You can sing a pretty song with it like so;” “you get two sounds for the price of one.”), and makes those features seem appealing by describing them with words like “catchy.”

Indeed, the only potential downside to the Lefty’s technique is that he may come off as too pushy for some customers when he tries to close the deal. As online research makes it possible for customers become increasingly informed consumers, the “Don’t ask any questions. Just buy the O and take it home tonight” approach must necessarily give way to a more persuasive, and less imperative sales strategy.

The author is deeply indebted to the groundbreaking work of Professors Henson, Oz, and Raposo of the Sesame Institute for Humor, Language, Numerical, Quantitative, and Ethical Development in guiding the creation of this presentation. Thanks also to Visiting Lecturer B. Bird, whose lyrical speech “ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ” was an invaluable research resource. Finally, Professor Herbert Birdsfoot, author of the definitive exegesis on folkoric lexography, “The Tale of Tom Tattertall Tuttletut,” served as faculty advisor during the preparation of this work.

This post has been brought to you by the letters O and P, and by the number 12.

Write Stuff

It’s like this: The Writers’ Guild of America (WGA) strike doesn’t affect me directly. We don’t have cable, and have never bothered with an antenna, which means we don’t pull in broadcast channels either. I don’t care from award shows. I have several seasons and series worth of television to catch up on through the miracle of Netflix. My entertainment needs are covered for a good long while yet.

[In the interest of full disclosure, having caught up with the third season last month, I will beg, borrow, steal, or tape while housesitting the next season of LOST when it begins at the end of this month. But otherwise? I'm good.]

While I’m not affected by the strike as a consumer, I support the WGA 100% in this labor action. As many people more articulate and more invested in the issue have said already, the central issue behind the strike is perfectly simple: if someone makes a dollar from a created work, and a writer contributed to that act of creation, a portion of that dollar belongs to the writer. If someone finds a way to distribute that creation in another way, and that distrubution generates another dollar, guess what? A portion of that dollar belongs to the writer. That holds for every dollar, and every distribution channel. There is room for negotiation about the size of the writer’s share, but not about the existence of that share.

With their day jobs on hold, a couple of television writers started a blog for their peers. Why We Write is a forum for working writers, aspiring writers, and others to explain their chosen profession (obsession) to the world. The entries are interesting, and like all writing, some are better than others. The common thread through the entires is that writers write because they can’t not write.

Check it out.

Babylon 5: The Lost Tales

As you continue on your path, you will lose some friends and gain some new ones. The process is painful, but often necessary. They will change and you will change, because life is change. From time to time, they must find their own way and that way may not be yours. Enjoy them for what they are and remember them for what they were.

— John Sheridan, Babylon 5, “Objects at Rest”

Not only is life change, but the passage of time brings change to all things. Not terribly profound, I know, but relevant to Babylon 5: The Lost Tales. This direct to DVD feature includes two short stories set ten years after the founding of the Interstellar Alliance, in the time between “Objects at Rest” and the series finale “Sleeping in Light.”

The first story concerns a case of the apparent demonic possession of a B5 crew member, and station commander Colonel Elizabeth Lochley’s (Tracy Scoggins) summoning of a priest from Earth to perform an exorcism.

The second lost tale recounts President John Sheridan’s (Bruce Boxleitner) return to B5 for a ceremony marking the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the ISA, and the burden of life and death laid on him by the Technomage Galen (Peter Woodward).

The first story is the weaker of the two. The musings on religion — and faith — among the stars feels like an interesting science fiction idea grafted onto the Babylon 5 framework rather than a story native to the established universe. Structurally, it’s divorced from Babylon 5 aside from taking place on the station and featuring the Lochley character, neither of which are essential elements of the story. Beyond that, it’s a largely static story, a conversation between Lochley and the priest, interspersed with confrontations with the “possessed” crewman. The Babylon 5 series features plenty of conversations about a whole range of big ideas, and many of them work. The essential ingredient to making this story effective is a level of energy that’s unfortunately lacking in this case.

The second lost tale turns on the classic conundrum of the morality of killing someone currently blameless if doing so might save countless lives in the future. It’s the “If you could go back in time and kill the infant Adolph Hitler if by doing so you know you would prevent World War Two, would you do it?” thought experiment. To use a different science fiction metaphor, it’s the ol’ Edith Keeler question from the classic Star Trek episode “City on the Edge of Forever.” In the story, Galen shows Sheridan a vision of future destruction, and tells him that killing a young man will prevent the war that gives rise to that destruction. The story turns on Sheridan’s decision.

In this case, the big idea is meatier, and Sheridan’s response draws more directly on what Babylon 5 is all about. At the same time, while the moral question is real, writer, director, and Babylon 5 creator J. Michael Straczynski can’t help stacking the deck in Sheridan’s favor.

This return to the Babylon 5 universe was like a much-anticipated visit from an old friend you haven’t seen in a long time. Initially, it is exciting, and comfortable, and reminds you of the good time you shared. In this case, the familiar music swelled, and the familiar faces flashed across the screen, and I was able to remember how this show grew on me, and how invested I became in these characters. Sure, the faces are showing some age (but whose isn’t?). Seeing the past and the present side by side can be jarring — in this case, I couldn’t help but be thrown by the fact that the computer generated color palette of the Babylon 5 station was off; the blue of the station wasn’t the same blue used in the series. But all in all, it was, initially, a welcome reunion.

Gradually, though (or not so gradually, as this feature only ran for 72 minutes, including credits), time spent with old friends not only reminds you of the things you love about them, but also of the things that drive you up a goddamn tree. In the case of the Babylon 5 universe, this includes things like being too clever by half, being overly verbose, and indulging in an almost treacly sentimentality. Against an epic backdrop, with the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance, or the life of a much beloved character at stake, these…limitations can become assets. In stories as small, and personal, and divorced from everything that came before as these two lost tales, they just serve as reminders that nostlagia tends to idealize.

As with all such reunions, getting together with old friends/characters also points out the empty spaces around you shaped like the friends who aren’t part of the reunion. The Lost Tales stories focus on Sheridan, and Lochley (and Galen, who was part of the Crusade spinoff, and not properly part of the old gang; a friend of a friend crashing the union, to further torture an already well-abused metaphor). While the characters reference other series regulars, these passing mentions largely reminded me that I always found Garibaldi, and Londo, and Vir much more interesting characters than the ostensible series leads.

And then, much as I missed the characters, their absence made me wonder why the actors weren’t part of the stories? Budget constraints? Lack of interest? Too busy? These ruminations interrupted the flow of the narrative and brought me out of the story.

The one place where this storytelling device works for me is in the reference to the characters of G’Kar and Doctor Franklin, played respectively — and always respectably — by the late actors Andreas Katsulas and Richard Biggs. The in-story tribute to the them is touching, despite feeling forced from a script perspective. The bonus feature memorials to the actors are quite nice as well.

And so, while I tried to enjoy Babylon 5: The Lost Tales for what it is, the DVD served as a powerful reminder of what Babylon 5 was, and that change often creates distance, even among old friends.

Billion Dollar Kiss, by Jeffrey Stepakoff

Billion Dollar Kiss recounts Jeffrey Stepakoff’s experiences as a television writer. It’s not exactly a how-to manual so much as a “How I did it” manual. He uses his experiences to explain both the process of writing for television–from breaking in to being an established property–and the evolution of the business of television over the past 20 years.

Haiku Review: The Sopranos — “Made in America”

Pass the onion rings
An ending, but not The End
Don’t stop believin’