Julie Pippert: Using My Words

Valentine's Day -- Oh Yes, the Little Gestures Matter

2012-02-14T08:28:00.013-06:00

Guys (men and women) you have to celebrate this holiday. In some way. Any way. Big. Small. A way that will let the person you love know you love him or her. Old or young, it matters.

It matters for a lot of reasons. The surface one is that it's because our culture celebrates this holiday and all around each of us is this huge message of SHOW YOUR LOVE.

We may say we don't buy into it, or shun "Hallmark" holidays but I am going to call BS on that. Nobody is that cool. Nobody never needs someone to show their love. Nobody ever learns to live perfectly well without love. We all need to feel loved, in some way.

And, on special days, like today, we like to see it in some special way.

I say this as someone who used to think she was too cool, too strong, too modern to need flowery hearts and fake holiday sentiment.

Until I finally admitted I did, said so, and improved my marriage.

When we got married, we had an emotional "pre-nup" in which he made me swear to never surprise him for his birthday (party-wise) or have waiters sing to him in a restaurant. He hated that stuff. We were still in our "cool youth ennui" stage of life. We eschewed artificial trappings and Hallmark holidays and materialism. We were about modernity and independence and keeping it real, man.

See, we met (and married) when we were really, really young. Like wet behind the ears, barely formed frontal lobe young. Sure we thought we were adults: out of college, degree(s) in hand, paying our own way, real professional jobs. HA! I can look back now, nearly 20 years later and say that: HA!

We were young and silly, but the emotional "pre-nup" was a pretty decent idea, except we didn't do a "what to do" part. We only did a "don't ever do this to me" part, which was fine, but only half the story. To tell the truth, I don't think we even knew what we needed, at that time. Or maybe we didn't know how to express it, fully.

I thought, silly girl, that I wasn't worthy and anyway I was a Modern Woman and we did not need that crap. Plus, after my experience growing up, I swore on my own grave I'd never need a man to fulfill me. In fact, we each had our own reasons for having up a pretty solid emotional wall. So we were both stalwart. HA!

But he is a sap and I am a romantic. He's got a better backbone, though. So for years I did all those silly little things: little birthday wishes all over the house, cake with candles after dinner and the occasional party; notes in his briefcase or shoes; special made plans; gifts; poems; even sent him flowers etc. These were all double messages, you know:

Love me love me love me

show me show me show me

see what I love to give and to get I love you

here's how I see love

I tell you this way and

hear it from you this way too

do you see how love looks to me

love me love me love me

show me show me show me

And he, not so much. From the very beginning, I steeled myself and pretended I didn't need it, didn't care. But I was unhappy about it.

I loved him every other day because he is a great guy, except those days. I started really hating holidays and birthdays.

I grew to understand what it was that I needed, and turns out, it is paper hearts and flowers. Or sticky notes with poems. Or a box of chocolates. Or a foot rub. As it turns out, I am not that picky and am pretty easy to please, so long as you try.

See, what I really needed, just sometimes, was for my love to step out of the daily box and do a little something special. I needed my love to know how I saw love, and put effort into speaking my love language for a day. Because that's love.

So I told him this.

He confessed he liked my little things I did, that they mattered to him.

Now he does those little things for me because he learned to value them, to admit he needed them, but mostly, because he values me and our marriage and is willing to do these things for that. That's love.

I don't know what your love is, who it is with or how it looks. It might be roses. It might be a sticky note with special words on it. It might be a lover or a best friend or a child or a parent.

But you...YOU...deserve to get that love today and on other special days. YOU deserve to give that love, too.

I like Hallmark or contrived holidays. I like a cultural tradition of take time, be together, express care. It's easy to take things, people for granted. It's easy to get consumed by the rote and routine of life. Do a love day today. If you just can't bring yourself to buy into it, say I love you along with a why, at least. And make sure you do something romantic, special, loving and passionate on another occasion.

Today I am looking forward to a Valentine from him. He tells me he loves me in many ways every day, and that's nice. I do see that. But getting something special, that's nice too.

In a relationship, it is so important, those expressions of passion and love and romance and sentiment. In fact, it's priceless.

Have a very expressive Valentine's Day, friends!

We Are Unfair to Grief

2012-02-07T07:25:00.004-06:00

A painting from Hope Lodge, NYC, taken during a tour with our ACS BAC group, which included Susan. A painting we admired.

When you are grieving, I told my friend Devra as we talked last night---the last day of our friend Susan's life--when you are grieving, I think you are insane, a little. Devra explained to me that in Judaism the literal translation for grief is "out of your mind," and you must give space to grievers to be out of their minds.

That’s right.

In the face of loss, people deserve space to be out of their minds. And they will get back in their minds in their own time, not when people are tired of their grief and ready for them to move on.

We are unfair to grief, I think, treating it as an enemy or a disease to be fought. We do not succumb to grief. We do not lose to grief. We engage grief. It gives us the time our hearts need for us to be out of our minds.

Right now I am a little out of my mind. A lovely, amazing, inspirational woman is finished. Her body stopped.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

-- WH Auden

I mourn. Oh all the wonderfulness of her, all she was and did in so little time. How much more might she have…but, it is a design, I have faith. Thank you, God, for the time of Susan that we had.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

-- Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam:27, 1850

Cold comfort. Because we mourn. We grieve. We are out of our minds. Thank you grief, for the space to admit the blessing of a person, and the pain of her loss; for the time to know who she was and what she meant to us; for the loss of sanity when we mourn out loud so the world knows the new hole in our sky, the tear in our hearts.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one.

-- W H Auden

And then, one day, our minds will return to us, when our heart retreats, our grief recedes. One day we will know the miracle it has been, the life, and that is the part we’ll think of most of all.

Oh what better thing to finish with for Susan--bright star always, lady of planetary science, answerer of why, belly laugher, sensitive understanding heart, tremendous warrior advocate, bringer of greater good, feet on the ground, 200 watt mind--than another beautiful quote about still being there just because we knew her.

In one of the stars, I shall be living.

In one of them, I shall be laughing.

And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing when you look at the sky at night.

-- Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

Many blessings to Susan’s family. And wishes to you for all that you need during this time.

Are you as courageous as a 7 year old?

2012-01-09T13:03:00.009-06:00

This past weekend my younger daughter waited in a waiting room for "forever" (approximately 45 minutes), then stood in a line in a hall for "even longer" (approximately 20 minutes), and finally heard her number called (not her name). It was her turn. She walked into a room and stood in front of four adults and sang her heart out. All by herself.

She had the boldness and courage to walk into a room and audition for a show. She put herself out there to go for something she really wanted. She had the wisdom to know what she wanted.

She'd had about two days(ish) to prepare. We learned about the opportunity to do this on Thursday. We spent a little time that evening selecting a song. Then, she applied herself for two straight hours learning the melody and lyrics. The next day was a school day but still, under her own motivation, she worked that evening memorizing and getting comfortable. The next morning, thanks to some generous and talented family, we went to her aunt's to practice singing with a piano and sheet music. That was a whole new ball to learn to toss.

She had many what ifs:

• What if I forget to sing?

• What if I forget the words?

• What if I sound bad?

• What if they think I sound bad?

• What if I don't start at the right time in the music?

• What if I wear the wrong thing?

• What if I don't know where to go?

• What if I get nervous?

• What if I am so nervous I can't sing or talk?

Her what-ifs reached a fever pitch shortly before the audition, as her nervousness grew. I debated fiercely inside myself about whether to offer her an out but decided to not offer it. I thought it was more important to respect her ability by believing in her absolutely -- offering an out seemed, somehow, in this case, to be a message that undermined her. She knows she can quit, and I rather expected she'd bring that up. I really wasn't sure what I'd do if she did -- talk with her about it, I suppose, try to encourage her to try anyway, after all the work she did -- but not once did she ever out loud entertain the idea of giving up.

She decided on her own to stay in and when the time came, she walked in to that room alone and pulled what she needed from within herself and did it.

I said she walked in there all by herself but she wasn't ever really alone. She had a lot of supporters there in spirit.

I offered her the chance to do this and supported her through it because I believe in her, absolutely. Her father was the ditto to that. Her uncle told her he feels nervous at auditions too and he's been to tons of them. Her aunt described the process in detail until she could visualize it. Her grandmother printed out the sheet music in two keys to help her figure out which she preferred and told her to use nerves for energy. We all talked with her, talked her through, her what-ifs.

She is rich in this support and encouragement. It gives you the confidence to believe you can try. But in truth, choosing to walk through that door is all her, all her and her alone.

She did mess up. Her knees knocked and her stomach butterflied, she told me. But she did it. She even will have a spot of some sort in the show, nothing lead or key, just a bit of chorus here and there.

When she returned from the audition to meet me in the lobby, I did not ask her how it went, what happened, what they said, or anything like that. I had thought long and hard the entire time she was gone about what mattered, what to ask and how to phrase it.

"What do you think now that you have finished this?" I asked her.

"I think it was hard and a lot of work, and I was really scared," she said.

"I see," I said, listening.

"I'm glad, though and can't wait to do the show!"

She felt proud of herself for working so hard to prepare, for walking in that room, and for taking a chance.

She may just be chorus in the show but she was the lead in her own life.

Are you as courageous as a seven year old?

Killing Them Off -- A New Year's Resolution

2012-01-02T13:13:00.003-06:00

Oh dem bones. I have realized I spent a great deal of time in a state of aggravation due to asking Rhetorical Questions, particularly of the parent variety. So, for 2012, I am pledging to do my best to lay to rest the following:

What were you thinking!?!

Why did you do that?!?

Is that really a good idea?!?

Does this go here?

Why why why?!?

Are you using your head!?!

What did you think I would say?!?

What did you think would happen?

Can anyone else in this house...
...replace toilet paper?

...put things away?

...toss laundry in the hamper?

...close it if you opened it?

And so on.

Largely because these are passive aggressive and not really what I mean.

So I want to say what I mean.

Fill the pitcher when you empty it, please.

Put on a fresh roll of toilet paper when you use the last bit, please.

When you get a flying toy stuck on the roof, come ask us for help solving that problem, please.

Put away those toys where they go, please.

What are your ideas to fix this?

And so on.

More constructive talk.

Less of all the rest.

How about you?

To Card or Not To Card: Perpetuating Holiday Traditions (or Not)

2011-12-08T13:07:00.010-06:00

Recently, there was a discussion about holiday etiquette, which was really just a catchy timely headline for everyday etiquette because it was just about thank you notes.

That same discussion -- with its preference for handwritten notes -- has echoed around my circles lately. In general, I am the minority who think that email is all right for sending a thanks or expression of appreciation.

I'm kind of in the Warm Fuzzy camp, I guess, when it comes to sending good wishes and positive sentiment -- Bring It On!

I have the same philosophy about holiday cards: I really don't care what your reason for the season is, if you want to wish me and mine well, I'll take it! And hopefully, you'll accept my wishes for you and yours, too. But oooh boy have I ever heard some actually rude sentiments around this -- both from the recipient side. I've heard some people say they only accept cards that are specifically Christmas cards. ACK! I've also heard people who do not celebrate Christmas resent any type of good wishes this time of year, even innocuous Peace ones.

"That's just a mask over Christmas; I know which holiday they really mean!" the angry person told me.

For the fourth time that week I replied, "Hmm, well it varies year to year a bit but isn't it Hanukkah about now, with Kwanzaa and Christmas coming up? I think Islam is out for this month but sometimes I think they are in. Isn't it kind of cool to see all the major monotheistic religions sort of coming together in a positive spirit with good wishes across religious borders?"

"No," the person snapped. That person was frustrated because she felt her own personal atheism was being trampled and disrespected.

I can sort of see the perspective. Rick Perry's opinion (or whatever that is) aside, Christmas is sort of crammed down our throats starting earlier and earlier and getting bigger and bigger every year. Also, the ante keeps getting upped. Charities and retailers alike count on The Most Wonderful Time of the Year more and more as the economy keeps hurting, and the desperate stakes messages can slam you hard. It's a barrage by mid-November.

Still. I hope people don't lump their friends who just want to say Happy New Year in with that.

Sometimes my cards are vague: Peace-Love-Joy. Sometimes I just get to the point and don't obfuscate: Merry Christmas. But my message is always the same: I wish you and yours well.

I've tried doing this different times of the year, such as Valentine's Day. But it just doesn't feel the same. Also, it caused me to fall off a lot of card lists. I'm still trying to recover.

I like sending holiday cards this time of year.

I've sent photo cards with a pictorial trip through our family year, a single photo with a short message, a beautiful design card with a typed letter inside regaling friends and family about our exploits, and many other iterations. Right now it's a card with several shots of our family individually and together. I guess this year it's about who we are -- a family -- more than where we've been and what we've done.

Whatever the style, I am so very excited every single time I go to the mailbox and find a new well-wishing card inside. I love sending and receiving holiday cards. I hardly care how they look (although they are always so gorgeous and individual), or what they say (although I breathe in the sentiment). I only care that they are and they are from you and you sent one to me.

I'm passing it on, too. I got the cutest little ornament cards for the kids to give to their teachers and good friends.

The girls, I've noticed, adore everything and anything to do with the Christmas season. Elf on the shelf (and everywhere else in the house), putting up decorations in stages (hey, I'm only human, a little here, a little there), watching holiday shows (wow, film makers were busy this past year -- there is a new one every day, though we stick to classics mainly), and so on. It's a chance for me to say things such as, "This show came out the year I was born and I've watched it every single year since." They don't know who some of the famous characters are -- Burl Ives, Bing Crosby -- and I delight in telling them. When cards arrive, they stare at the photos, sometimes making an observation, sometimes asking a question. I delight in telling them about thoughtful Aunt Dolly in Chicago who sends them handmade ornaments in cards every year, and how most of the ornaments on our tree are from her. They like hearing about far away cousins and family.

It brings us together.

So yeah, put me on Team Card. And Team Holiday Letter.

I know we keep up via Facebook and email and occasional passings by at school or events, but it's nice to know we're friends here, too.

So...to card or to not card?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I've bought cards from a variety of sources -- sometimes charities, sometimes stationary stores, sometimes big box stores. I'm personally a big fan of the photo card, and being able to create it from the comfort of my desk and in my own time.

This year I tried out three different sites and services. I won't name the ones I didn't select because frankly, they were okay, just not a fit for me and what matters most to me.

My 2011 cards -- mine personally and the kids -- came from Tiny Prints. I went there first because I'd gotten cards from them before and was happy, but being a savvy shopper I had to try a few other spots too. I ended up going back to them.

What I liked there over other spots:

lots of designs and styles, definitely a lot I liked
a lot of layouts that can work for whatever you want to do
once you pick a design, you can select among more customizing layouts
you upload and store photos, which you can use over and over
you can edit photos in small ways (zoom in or out, sepia, black and white, shift) that enable you to tweak photos in place and see how it looks
they have customer service available to help (which I've used)

I liked being able to save my designs so I could do them in my own time. Best of all, though, was knowing that staff checked it to ensure it looked good and would do a fix if it needed it.

The card looked great on the screen, but when it arrived, it exceeded my expectations. The paper was very high quality and the right stock (nongloss) that I could use a pen to sign it. The colors were rich and true to what I expected from the screen, and the photos were crisp and perfect. I was really happy with these, and so glad to send them out to friends and family.

I also appreciated the messages letting me know the status.

I did pay for the cards myself and had received them when Tiny Prints contacted me with a promo code. So in fair disclosure, they did end up providing the cards for the kids and gave me a credit. However, they did not ask for this review or demand anything in return, and this post and my review is fully my own opinion. In fact, when they contacted me, I was already a satisfied customer.

It's because it wasn't what we wanted to hear

2011-11-08T12:44:00.005-06:00

My friend Devin shared a site of links to the Jerry Sandusky case, along with a commentary.

If you don't know what is going on with Jerry Sandusky, catch up here. There are a string of articles under Top Stories.

In short, from one article:

Jerry Sandusky, a former defensive coordinator under Paterno, has been charged with sexually abusing eight boys across a 15-year period, and Paterno has been widely criticized for failing to involve the police when he learned of an allegation of one assault of a young boy in 2002.

One more birthday, another year older...HURRAY!

2011-11-03T16:08:00.010-05:00

It's my birthday today.

And I opened the day with this status:

It's my birthday! Hallelujah for another birthday! I am one year closer to my 2 pm glass of wine and nap! One year closer to wearing hats every day (that aren't ball caps). One year closer to being able to say, "I'm old, I've earned the privilege of being irascible, now sod off!" which has a dual purpose of play on words: "take a hike" and "get off my lawn." Also it will force the Autocorrect Generation to go look up a word. HEH!

I am truly grateful to get to celebrate another birthday. My 40s have turned into a time of watching friends with major health crises and losing friends way too young. Each week, it seems, someone else gets struck by cancer. My body has turned into a habitable inn for skin cancer, aches, pains, fat cells, and other things I don't enjoy playing host to, but they are minor inconveniences I can work around. They do not take over my internal space like a garrisoning invading army.

And so I am grateful.

Grateful this birthday is one more for me, one more for my family. A day to celebrate, instead of miss. Lucky. So, so lucky.

A friend sent me a birthday wish with the joke, "28 again I assume!"

It has been many years, more than a baker's dozen, since I've been 28. So I cheekily replied, "I don't mind admitting I am over 40 but I also don't mind admitting I like hearing I look 28 while doing it!"

Birthdays are for fun like that.

For more fun, my husband took off the day from work and we had a leisurely lunch at a lovely bayside restaurant we would not usually go to, with the kids, especially. It was decadent. We had four courses -- appetizer, salad, entree and dessert. (See the above photo for the view.)

I made a pledge this year--a birthday wish if you will. It came from kind over matter and it resonated beautifully with some ideas that had been free forming in my mind. So I wrote this:

You who know me well know I truly believe this: I cannot believe that the purpose of life is to be "happy." I think the purpose of life is to be useful, to be responsible, to be compassionate. It is, above all, to matter and to count, to stand for something, to have made some difference that you lived at all. — Leo C. Rosten

I wanted to find a simple action I could take to fulfill this in a tangible way as well as continuing to work to fulfill it in myriad other ways. I thought of cards.

I have always enjoyed writing, and sending cards with personal messages to friends. Recently, two things reminded me of how important this is: my merciful visit to Chi-Town and this card from my friend Maggie:

I was so pleased to receive something nice like this in the mail. I know how much effort it takes to do a real card, old-fashioned way, and I was overjoyed to have merited just that little extra thought and effort. It made me feel this sense of value and friendship. Combine that with my new commitment to hand writing things to connect better with them as thoughts, and you had a pledge.

I want to take the time--and let's not get crazy with this, so say one a month at least, at the start, maybe on the 1st of the month--to handwrite and mail a card with a friendly message inside to someone.

That takes a good pen (oh yea! an excuse to go pen shopping) and stationary.

Luckily, Tiny Prints came along with a cause that I believe in: More Birthdays...and less cancer.

They are now printing these gorgeous More Birthday cards from the incredible artists who submitted designs. Check them out:

I've already ordered a full set. If you'd like one, email me your address. J pippert at gmail dot com. It doesn't have to be for a birthday, by the way. It can be for any reason, any day.

And in advance...happy birthday.

A few details about this program:

The American Cancer Society believes that every birthday is a victory – another year that cancer has not won. Thanks in part to the Society’s cutting-edge scientific research, patient support, and prevention, education, and advocacy efforts, 11 million cancer survivors will celebrate another birthday this year.

Tiny Prints – an online stationary boutique – is fighting for more birthdays with an exclusive card collection on TinyPrints.com that is inspired by all of the ways the American Cancer Society saves lives.

The card collection features the inspired artwork of the American Cancer Society’s more birthdays artists, such as Am I Collective, Andrew Bannecker and Create More Birthdays Contest winner, Marilyn Brown.

From now until April 30, 2012, the Tiny Prints more birthdays card collection will be available at their site.

This sponsored post was written in conjunction with the American Cancer Society/Tiny Prints card collection launch. All content and opinions expressed here are my own.

A Manifesto of Sorts About Sexism: You don't know from discrimination, sweetheart, and other divisive fallacies

2011-11-02T09:34:00.007-05:00

Consistently I read stories, articles and posts about sexism that divide the women's movement into two distinct, mutually exclusive camps:

1. The system inherently discriminates against women, as do the people within it who continue to subscribe to it, and people must fight to remove this to open up bigger and better opportunities for women; and

2. Women must view themselves as their own change agents and foster their own inner potential, thereby breaking through any perceived glass ceilings through hard work and continual success that stems from belief in themselves as leaders and succeeders.

The problem with this subscription to one or the other camp is that it fosters a high school football team style loyalty to one side, with a competitive disdain for the other.

I read a post that subscribes to Fostering Inner Female Success and the skepticism about an inherently discriminatory system boiled over into outright disgust for the whiny self-described victims. I read a post that subscribes to Fight the Discriminatory System and the aversion to naivete about hard work being the secret to guaranteed success boiled over to antipathy and contempt.

Not all tales are so full of derision, of course, but I just keep seeing this ever-widening, consistently reinforced divide. And I call BS on this -- that these two points are mutually exclusive.

It's naive to subscribe one or the other exclusively.

In general, most women who talk about discrimination are not being whiners; they're trying to reveal that the Emperor has no clothes and they are perplexed and stymied as to why some people keep insisting that he does. In general, most women who talk about teaching women to do for themselves are not oversimplifying and ignoring the real issue; they are seeing that from girlhood, women need to reinforce that despite whatever kind of world there is out there, they have what it takes to accomplish what they need.

I've been in the work force since 1985. That's given me occasion to see plenty of situations in which women did and did not succeed, or where women were able to balance their lives or were forced to choose. We like to think that success is within our control, and that if we do everything right, we can win at this game.

I sincerely hope the current economic situation and the many, many 99% stories floating around the Internet has taught us the fallacy of this line of thinking.

The truth is that there is inherent discrimination -- of all types, but for this discussion, let's focus on women -- in the system. The truth also is that we need to foster belief in women of their ability to climb the ladder as far as they'd like to go and accomplish what they'd like to, in as much as that is reasonably possible and knowing that goals shift.

If we really want to enable women to succeed -- and by virtue of their success, all of us -- then we need to work to improve matters on both fronts, together. United.

Also, we need address the other two elephants in the room:

1. Generational differences in experience and belief

2. The much changed work environment of the 21st century

When I entered the workforce, I was given two pieces of advice by a female attorney friend of the family: never let them know you can type or make a pot of coffee. She also suggested growing nails just long enough to inhibit typing.

As a writer, this would never have worked. But I caught the message, the meaning between the lines. Despite having the same JD from the same school as many lawyers in her firm, she was still grouped with the secretarial pool. That's how things were back then. I learned to discourage men from ever complimenting my appearance, which is how many had been taught to interact with women, because of rampant sexual harassment and the problem of being viewed as "Woman" instead of coworker. I wore shapeless suits and pants.

My experience is different than women entering their 20s and the workforce today, as it is different from women the generation ahead of me. We've experienced change, but I'm not ready to commit yet to calling it progress. Progress is defined as steady improvement of a society. We have not, actually, steadily improved in equality, though we have made advances on a number of fronts. Many have mistaken potential as true opportunity, thus believing in progress for women's quality.

However, one of those changes -- the current economic downturn and recession -- are full of potential to create true progress. Today's technology combined with a heavy opportunity for small, niche businesses can be the way to foster equality and women's success. Smaller business can also better mentor young women.

Flexibility, telecommuting, improved technology and other tools plus an entrepreneurial environment opens up the door for women and men alike to better achieve their personal and professional goals with solid balance.

But we must work together and we must acknowledge that this benefits everyone -- not just women, and it's not a selfish goal -- and it requires improving the system for better true opportunity while fostering girls and boys to realize their own personal potential.

A short merciful trip to Chi-town (not the one in Illinois)

2011-10-18T10:25:00.006-05:00

Photo of lily pond at Ocean Palace Restaurant in Chintatown, Houston. Photo copyrighted by Julie Pippert, 2011. Do not use without permission.

Believe it or not, Houston has a thriving Asian section. Last week, on a school holiday, along with other parents we took the kids from my daughter's World Explorers club on the Asian Heritage Discovery Tour. Here's their general description of the tour (you can customize it somewhat, as needed, for your group and they did a great job of making it very kid-friendly):

The route begins at the Chinese Community Center, 9800 Town Park and continues to Asian market and stores at the Hong Kong City Mall. A dim-sum lunch is provided at Ocean Palace Restaurant, one of the largest Chinese restaurants in Houston, followed by a visit to the Buddhist Temple. A traditional tea ceremony or Chinese calligraphy presentation concludes the tour.

It was an amazing experience and really let the kids see, hear, touch, smell and taste snippets of Asia. They had just finished studying Asia in their club, so it was an opportunity to be a part of things they'd read about, without even leaving town.

In the Asian section of Houston, signs are in Mandarin, including road signs. Businesses are specialized to serve the diverse Asian community. The architecture is modern and typical but also includes flairs from Asia, such as ornate corners and dragons. As we drove, we gawked at strip malls labeled with signs we could not read -- in our own city!

"How does it feel," I asked, "To see signs you can't read? To see things so foreign to you?"

"Weird!" the kids yelled, giggling.

"Imagine arriving in Houston as an Asian immigrant, how weird our city would look, how strange and foreign, maybe even scary," I said.

"I would not even know where to go or what to do!" said one child.

"Everyone would be talking around me and I couldn't understand them!" said another.

"How would you know where to get your cat food?" inquired one pet loving child.

"It would be hard, but maybe also exciting, maybe frightening and exhausting, interesting, and you'd have to figure it out, learn," I said.

It's good to get out of your element and feel foreign. Better yet if it is merely an hour's drive from home. The kids got a sense of what it was like to be an ethnic and cultural minority, just a little, just for a bit. They got to be like fish out of water. Luckily, they had a guide. Plus it was a small, safe taste of being alien.

It was good for me, too. It made me pause and be mindful for a while.

In the Taoist temple, the guide explained a short overview of Buddhism and introduced us to the Gods. We each got a stick of incense and at the end, were asked to choose a God to honor. Which one, I wondered. My younger daughter selected the Monkey King, and I felt glad for that because it seems necessary that she be blessed with the courage needed for an interesting journey. My elder chose the large urn at the front of the temple, a general offering to all Gods. She is good about covering her bases. I decided that I would select Vishnu, because "unimaginable, unthinkable and unbelievable" is a true life theme right now. I know Vishnu is very complex, but truly, that seems the right one for ladies in their 40s. Maybe men, too.

A very pregnant woman paused, knelt, shook sticks, rolled what looked like rocks, and stood, then repeated herself, until finally she went to the wall and pulled out a pice of paper. The guide explained the purpose of this ceremony and how so many elements had to align for you to receive a message back from the god you spoke to. Ritual. Forcing you to pause, seek and find. Forcing focus and mindfulness. I understood this completely.

However, the single moment that has lingered with me daily since our tour is the lesson about calligraphy.

In China, calligraphers are revered as the highest artists. One does not just use a character, one gives thought to the best character choice and then artfully sketches it. Several of us on the tour had the same name; however, we did not all get our names written in Chinese in the same way. It matters who you are, the person. My name included the character for jasmine, and she explained it implied grace and a reliable strength. That's flattering, but it's also something to aspire to. In English, my name merely means youthful appearance. One is about character, the other superficial.

Most importantly, though, was the lesson of chi in calligraphy.

Calligraphers, our gracious guide Ms. Chang told us, tend to live long lives. It is because they practice breath with each brush stroke. Breath, qi, ch'i, life energy. Breath is the base, remembering to breathe and breathe mindfully while doing restores, reinvigorates, balances.

I watched Master Zheng, the talented calligrapher. He was so connected to what he does. The pen flowed from his hand like an extra appendage, and from his pen, graceful and elegant brush strokes glided effortlessly across the page. When my younger daughter got fractious, he deftly drew the hint of a rabbit, with just a few brush strokes.

Be connected. Breathe. Take your time. Let it flow.

Each thing I do has purpose but it is perhaps not always that mindful, and believe it or not, I am horrible at breathing. I tend to pull air in only to the top of my lungs, breathing shallowly and quickly too often.

My fingers may fly across my keyboard but there is not any true connection. This is a tool I pound, not a tool that flows from me.

Since our trip I have wondered how I can work in breath and connection to my work, to everything I do.

I think at first I am going to try to start each workday by closing my eyes, breathing one full breath, and then, using a pen, write as slowly and neatly as I can what I hope to bring to the day.

I went on the field trip because I was curious. I scheduled it because I thought it would be a neat learning experience for the kids. They came home loving jasmine rice, liking jasmine tea, and with a pair of beautiful and ornate chopsticks. I came home with breath. We all got a lot from it.

TV is Getting Dirty (and I'm getting to be an old fogey)

2011-09-24T17:23:00.006-05:00

Soaps are coming to an end. ABC even cancelled All My Children. In its place, a cooking show.

I suppose it's a little silly to feel a bittersweet twinge at the thought. I've never really been in to soaps, never really watched them, not the daytime ones anyway. It wasn't out of snobbery or anything; I was into other things. That didn't mean I was ignorant of them. In one of my early jobs post-college, a producer for the studio where I worked was obsessed with Days of Our Lives, and that's what the lunch room TV was tuned to, end. of. discussion. Layne was this brilliant producer, organized and charismatic, who had gorgeous girl next door looks and a tomboy personality. We had so much fun at that job, the young crew of us. Inside jokes, tons of creative and diverse work, and a really neat end result. I kind of knew at the time it was a good gig, but only now, twenty years later, do I really know how amazing and blessed that time was. It's fun to remember. Those soaps, they make me remember. Days of Our Lives, that one in particular, the theme song comes on and I'm back in the lunchroom arguing over the merits of crackers versus bread, while Layne's eyes crinkle and she wins the argument because that's how it worked there and then. But later we will leave little packets of crackers all over her office, and she'll shriek and laugh and give us the point but then will tell us to clean it up.

It was fun.

There was always a lot of fun around -- and made of -- soap operas. Haven't they been part of our lives? (Punny ha ha.)

Don't we all think of Ridge and Thorn as male soap opera character's names? Don't we joke about someone's mother's sister's husband's cousin who came back from the dead, twice, and a coma, once, only to choke on a fish bone at her 10th wedding? Don't we all use "soap opera" as a common adverb and adjective?

It's really about the end of a way of life, and taste in entertainment.

It's good and bad.

Maybe it's hitting me more because of other losses. Maybe it's my age, and the way time and change has seemed to speed up. It feels as if there is not constant any longer, except--as the saying goes--death and taxes. The point of that is really that certain good or comforting touchpoints are dynamic, not static.

In some corner of my mind, it was comforting to know that Susan Lucci as Erica Kane was still on TV doing the same thing on the same show as ten years, twenty years ago and beyond.

On the one hand, I'm keeping up with the times just fine. I know social media! I have the new Facebook! I have an iPhone! I know how to connect a bluetooth! I'm digital, connected, modernized, and up-to-date. I wear polish on my toe nails that is a color off the red or pink color wheel. I've gone to Mermaid! And Midnight! I'm modern!

On the other hand, I feel what I can't help but call fogeyness creep in. What do you mean iPhone 5, what's wrong with this 3 that I got about 10 seconds ago? What do you mean iPad, what's wrong with this phone or my laptop? Books on electronic devices? Does it come with a "smell the new pages" app? New big chain stores? Forget you, I'm sticking to as many local mom and pop as I can.Upgrade my appliances? No way. I bought this house because it still had a dial A/C control; I hate computer panel controls on appliances. They're designed to break after 9.8 years.

Once upon a time things were designed to last a lifetime: houses, appliances, cars, jobs, communities, families...and now a five year plan is long term.

We used to gauge time on a life line. Now we are in what I call tech time, where two years is long and old. We're off slow paced baseball minutes and in to hockey minutes, dizzy speed. My eyes can barely follow the action.

And I'm becoming reluctant to even try to keep up -- why should I?

Me? I'll schedule in lazy Sunday afternoons where we just sit on the back patio and watch the kids play. Remember kid time? When a week felt like forever? I want to feel time drag again.

Watching the kids, though, reminds me why we live in a neighborhood stuck in 1968 and why it feels so precious: kids running the neighborhood is also a passing way of life. I'm not at all ashamed that my daughter is in late elementary school and is struggling to type on a computer. I'm not worried that she's better at climbing trees than fooling with technology. It doesn't bother her, either, or at least not enough to change her ways. I want her to remember simple days and time that drags. I want her to have a time to look back on, a feeling she can pull up and experience in memory, of when Saturday felt like an age, and you could run 100 different lifetimes of games and play within it. I want her to have that, especially when time feels too short to fit in all that needs doing.

I want her to have something that lasts, and I'd love to provide a touchstone for her to bring it all back, like coming to the home she grew up in. The way you can smell vanilla and sugar and remember your grandmother baking pie crust leftover popovers for you.

That's unlikely, though.

So while I'd like to turn around and find one thing still there tomorrow that was here today--something other than death and taxes--that's unlikely too. It really is the intangibles, in the end. It's just nice to have those tangibles, like a soap opera, to remind us. I'll hear the theme of Days of Our Lives and remember Layne, that job, and that time vividly. So long as that show was on, I could turn it on, see the same characters, and in some way, it felt as if that time was still there. It kept it real.

But that time ended, and so are soaps. Time doesn't drag anymore, but it does seem to drag me these days.

So I tell myself, as I'm dragged: Live life at your own pace. Pay attention to what's wonderful now. Quit missing here for trying to figure out where there is going to be. What matters is this minute, not just what's hot tomorrow. Enjoy this moment, log it into memory, without always planning and worrying for the next thing.

At least sometimes.

Bye soaps, and thanks for all the fun and funny you provided. Without you, TV will be a little dirtier, and we'll archive one more tradition.

A sense of place

2011-09-13T12:44:00.006-05:00

My mother lives in Bastrop. For years my family trekked to Bastrop for vacations and holidays. For years we walked along the Colorado River, either enjoying the Christmas displays or just the pretty scenery. For years we visited her little church and got to know the congregation, her friends. For years we hiked the woods behind her house, and bird watched in the pine trees in her front yard. For years we ate at local hotspots such as Maxine's and got dessert from the soda fountain at the drug store. For years we fell in love with this adorable and quaint little town, whose main downtown street was preserved through the Texas Main Street program, a program my husband learned about back in college and that we admired greatly.

For the last week, we've watched Bastrop burn:

BASTROP, Texas -- The massive wildfire is now 70 percent contained. Tuesday morning, firefighters cleared areas for more residents to return home.

Police removed the barricades at 10 a.m. for the neighborhoods of ColoVista South, Wilderness Ridge, Harmon Road, Cottletown Road, Bastrop State Park, Beuscher State Park and Park Road 1C South.

Inside many of those areas, the ground is burned completely. If feet don't crunch, they sink. The dirt across Bastrop is now like fine sand. Pine trees that once stood full and tall are now bare and charred.

34,000 acres, over $200 million in damages, over 1400 homes, 2 people…gone. One of those homes? My mother's house, the one where we built so many happy memories -- my daughter's second birthday, hurricane evacuations, cousins playing and doing punk hairdos with spray in hair color, our dog casing the yard for errant squirrels while waiting for a hike, Easter egg hunts with plenty of spots to hide eggs under pine needles, sitting on the deck reading, Mother's Day photos framed on my wall taken on the patio, a series of ranunculus photos that were among the first photos I ever sold, maneuvering backwards down her curvy long drive, the feeling of home and holiday we had each time we saw the big white mailbox at the end of her drive that signaled the end of our journey and time for family and fun.

She wasn't living there at the time. She'd leased her home to another family, so it was that couple who lost all their things, a lifetime of photos and music albums the first they named as lost. But we lost that house, that place.

Don't worry, people said, your mother has her other house and she can always rebuild, it's just things.

Oh no, it's not just things, it's a place. It's a place lost, a neighborhood lost, a community lost. Things, yes, they can be replaced, but a place cannot.

Odds are whatever is rebuilt next door will not be the green-trimmed log cabin where two elderly sisters lived, nor will it include their brave, exquisite little garden working to survive under such a canopy of pine trees that dripped daily spiky threats on the fragile flowers.

A canopy of trees now gone, land laid flat and bare for years and years now.

Quirky Tahitian Village, a strange Polynesian paradise themed neighborhood with homes of local stone and brick incongruously resting on streets named Mauna Kea Lane that wind and curve and rise and fall in the hilly country. Gone.

The Spanish hacienda, with full stucco wall around it, that sat arrogantly in a verdant lot surrounded by towering trees rather than dusky mountains and sand. Gone.

"Will they rebuild, do you think?" an older man at a local donation center asked me on Saturday.

Such a question. So many just assume. They think, with sympathy and good-intention, that the phoenix of this small, tight-knit community will rise from the ashes.

"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "My mother won't. A lot of her neighbors were elderly, a lot didn't have insurance. I just don't know. I imagine a lot of people will, if they can. I think a lot will decide this is it, a sign, or something, and they'll move somewhere else, maybe to a retirement home or nearer to kids."

He nodded, "I thought so. Yeah, I thought so. It's too bad, to lose their place."

I nodded too, my eyes stinging, a hot hole in my upper chest. He understood. I understood. It's gone. It will never be the same. The biggest loss of all is the place.

Please donate to American Red Cross, who has been such a help and savior for so many in Bastrop, and beyond. They helped in places of fire, flood, hurricane and storm. All at the same time. Thank you.

The cost of growing (older) kids

2011-08-20T10:48:00.006-05:00

The clerk told me the total and I flinched. Literally. We'd just finished gathering all the school supplies specified on the list for my oldest daughter, now in an upper grade of elementary. The expectations are much higher. And so is the cost.

It's also a lot harder. Her questions are more complex, and her moods more mercurial.

Once upon a time I could have gone to the store and bought the supplies for her. Now, however, she has a vested interest in this and all purchases, as well as many aspects of life…because in her mind, they all reflect on her. She sees herself in a new way. She's becoming self-conscious about the music she listens to, the clothes she wears, how she fixes her hair and accessorizes, the way she talks…everything.

When did all this happen and what do I do? I swear five minutes ago she was just starting to talk!

So, after shopping, I came to Facebook and stated that back to school shopping was a physical pain and added a few melodramatic OUCH comments. What I really wanted to say was, I just go a sock to the gut that my baby girl is growing up, and it is getting to be a higher cost, on all levels.

I got a lot of commiseration about the money aspect -- which added perspective -- but what I really wanted to say was less about the dollars and more about the sense. It's just more taxing the older kids get. That's a statement of fact, by the way. Not a complaint.

It just so happened that my friend Jenn commented on the same day that all these parenting magazines, website, blogs, etc. are so baby-centric. So focused on the tiny people. Once they enter pre-K, it's assumed we're well on our way or something because the supportive and instructive sites fade away. And yet, that's just we need it most. Truly.

If I ever thought the baby years were challenging, it's only because I hadn't yet hit the pre-teen years where you see this amazing journey ahead, with a couple of train wrecks that there is no avoiding (I suppose), and suddenly the stakes, you feel the stakes, and man, are they high. This is another person's life.

I was watching the Millionaire Matchmaker (yeah yeah judge not blah blah blah) and this guy thought it would be cool and unique to do a photo session with the girl on the first date. It was clearly a test, clearly a power play. Such an ass, I thought. You could tell the girl was uncomfortable with the date and idea, but feeling some form of compulsion, she went through and did it anyway. I didn't see her enjoying it at all. But I got the sense she felt as if she had to be game, had to go through with it, had to meet the test, had to play the game.

I flashbacked to college. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend and truly wanted some alone time. I needed to figure out a few things, and heal. But a good friend told me her boyfriend's fraternity brother had wanted to ask me out for a while. She and her boyfriend pressured me fiercely to "be nice" and "give the guy a chance" and on and on. I felt as if my friendship was at stake and so I buckled. I felt as if my self, my identity, was at stake, and so I went out with the guy, who cut up super nasty on me when I made it clear up front this was just a date, just one time. And then I lost the friend anyway. Much later, of course, I realized these weren't friends worth having. They didn't value me. But then again, I didn't value me enough either, to say no.

So while I reeled at the cost of growing up, financially, I started reeling about the cost of growing up, emotionally.

Buying pricey school supplies is the least of the expense I have as a parent.

"How do I raise girls who don't feel they have to subvert themselves and their reasonable boundaries to please someone else, at great personal cost," I asked my husband. That matchmaker is horrific -- telling girls to look some one way to attract a man, as if the most crucial thing is to be attracting men by being hot. But she's just one small voice in a loud chorus.

Folders are "girl" folders and "boy" folders, so are notebooks, some of which now offer stickers and markers so you can write I Luv U! messages on your binders. Those are aimed at girls, of course. Boys don't need to share their feelings.

No wonder there was this photographing ass and uncomfortable girl on this horrific date. It was inevitable that this scenario played out. No wonder there was this dedicated romantic guy and this reluctant girl on an awkward picnic date. It was inevitable this scenario played out. No wonder the reluctant girl lost friends over it; she was supposed to be flattered above all and set all aside to receive this boy's attentions.

In middle school, this girl carried spiral notebooks that her mother bought her for school. They were filled with lists of boy's names because she was supposed to have a boyfriend, and she tried so hard to find likely ones. Some she really, really liked, but they didn't like her back so she thought she had no value. One day, though, she finally built up some spine to decide she had value, in and of herself, period.

Just as composition and spiral notebooks are required, some life lessons are required too, to grow up and get the education you need.

I understand that.

But still, it breaks my mother's heart.

And on some level, I resist. I still want to raise girls who carry folders of whatever color and design they like best. Who have the power and authority to say, "real friends don't pressure friends into dates," and believe it. I want to raise girls who grow up carrying pink folders (which they prefer) and black belts.

I'll fork out the dollars to buy expensive school supplies, that's the easy, albeit it pocket-ly painful, part. If only all the good sense I need in the coming years was as easy to pull out of a wallet and hand over to a clerk to pay the bill.

I have to trust I have a card with enough balance on it in my wallet for that sense. I will trust it. I will also trust my loving friends, who go ahead of me and can advise.

Keeping Stress from Kids

2011-07-19T14:25:00.004-05:00

It's been a little stressful around here lately.

My husband's car, which we just invested a couple grand in back in the Spring with hope it could last a couple more years, went kaput. Both of us are working a lot, and let's just say that while we're glad for employment, the dollar doesn't stretch like it used to. Due to emergencies like the car, some of the less pressing "need to dos" for our house keep getting pushed further down the priority list, which is a bit of an issue. You know, life. Life is a little rough around the edges for a lot of us.

As adults, we're more or less equipped to deal with it. Age brings perspective, and if you're lucky, a good set of tools and community to lean on while dealing with it.

Kids don't have this, though.

It's hard to say no to kids about things you once said yes to. It's hard to cut things from their lives that you all once enjoyed. You know it's a good example, and the right thing to do, but that doesn't make it easy.

It actually adds to the stress, the stress you are trying to keep from them.

Kids can have a natural obliviousness, but they can also have a sharp perception.

What I think I've noticed most of all with our kids, as we navigate through the current choppy waters and "crisis management fire fighting" stage we're in, is that our kids are aware that we're stressed and that there are some challenges, but they remain light-hearted and typical of themselves. When I puzzled over this, I decided the truth is, they have what they need and they trust that we (me and my husband) will manage it. They see us working at solutions, and taking breaks to do things such as build a tent in the playroom for fun or watch a movie while eating ice cream out of the carton -- together.

I don't think you can really keep stress from kids, but I do think you can make it a sort of "not their problem" deal so they don't get stressed out themselves.

Love is king, but is content?

2011-07-13T18:16:00.005-05:00

This image is from Shelly's Pybop "Content strategy Success in 5 Steps." It's a really clear visual of the flow and process that I think is crucial. It's very worth studying.

This week I've been training nonprofit arts groups in the art of social media. In one section, I discussed "worthy content." I flinched a wee bit as I did so. There's plenty of worthy content out there that barely sees the light, and there's plenty of unworthy content that sees way too much light. Who am I to judge?

The consumer of said content.

That said, it's subjective.

But people want a formula.

So there's a book.

Ann Hadley & C.C. Chapman wrote a book, Content Rules. In the words of Beth Kanter,

The book shares the secrets to creating good content on social channels that engages your audiences. They offer principles, how-to steps and tips, and case studies. My favorite chapter is “Reimagine: Don’t Recycle: Anatomy of Content Circle of Life.”

Beth does a fairly detailed review, so you can read that at her site.

I'm more intrigued by the question one of the authors, Ann, asks, "Can you have a social media strategy without a content strategy?"

For what it's worth, here are a few things I've learned after doing this for a few years:

1. We do need to create good and interesting content. It starts with listening though. It's more important to share what your community needs and wants to hear. Just as in any other real conversation.

2. You need an overall communications strategy. Within that, you need a social media strategy and within that, you need a content strategy. These all aim to achieve the ultimate goals of your organization and need to be designed to work together. They should not be niched in silos.

3. Within each strategy, you need well-designed and organized tactics that aim to achieve the strategy.

Are these statements of the obvious? Sure.

But they also answer the question. You do need a plan.

In a training class yesterday, I talked about creating a micro content strategy. Working with arts groups, I talked about looking at your calendar for the year, and deciding which pieces you wanted to do social outreach for, then determine your strategy and within that, design your tactics.

For example, a theater group might do four plays in a regular season, but beyond that they might have an apprentice program for youth. That's a great point of outreach. It offers interesting content, compelling visuals, and a group you can likely reach in social media. It enables the organization to humanize their social media, show ways their community can engage beyond merely viewing shows, and opens up opportunities for interaction, especially if they do a special event such as live improv (opportunity for crowdsourcing in advance, for example).

The point of creating a strategy for the content is to ensure that each action and tactic remain focused on the ultimate objective and work to accomplish this goal as well as the overarching organization goals.

You can have social media with a strategy, and you can have content without a strategy, but how well will it work, and ensure your organization accomplishes your main goals? Not that well, in my experience.

So what do you think? Can you have a social media strategy without a content strategy? To answer and win your copy of Content Rules, please comment on the Zoetica site.

The Curious Case of Delicate Steve (and what it may teach us about PR and pr)

2011-04-26T10:01:00.015-05:00

On All Things Considered, Frannie Kelley told a story about a band she learned about from a press release. Except, it turned out, the story was very little to do with the band and very much about the press release.

The Band

Delicate Steve is a sort of indie instrumental style, based on the clips I've heard. It's mostly upbeat, I think, and reminds me a lot of movie soundtracks. If you like Badly Drawn Boy, I think you'd like this. The band is lead by Steve Marion. Steve is a 23-year old Jersey boy who plays multiple instruments. Steve is currently on tour.

But that's not what the press release said.

The press release was conceived of by Yale Evelev, who runs the label Luaka Bop, and executed by Chuck Klosterman, former Spin writer, and author of two books (Fargo Rock City and Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story).

The Press Release

Yale Evelev thinks band bios are boring. Frannie Kelley quotes him as saying:

"I've watched how writers write about things," Evelev says. "[With instrumental music] they are left with just kind of describing a sound. We thought it would be interesting if we kind of came up with something that they could grab onto a little bit more."

"And I thought, since I'm really tired of bios for bands," he says, "wouldn't it be great just to tell Chuck to write whatever the hell he wanted as a bio for the band? So I wrote him an email and I said, 'Chuck, would you do a bio for Delicate Steve? You don't have to talk to the band and you don't even have to hear the record.' He wrote me back: 'I don't do bios.' And then, 2 minutes later, he wrote back again: 'Wait a minute. Do you mean I don't have to talk to the band or listen to the record? That's AWESOME! OK, I'll do it!'"

The press release uses hyperbole along with random strings of words loosely hung together in a fashion reminiscent of a metaphor. In fact, if I knew Chuck Klosterman, I might know that yes, indeed, he is having a Lewis Carroll phase. For example,

Like a hydro-electric Mothra rising from the ashes of an African village burned to the ground by post-rock minotaurs, the music of Delicate Steve will literally make you the happiest person who has never lived.

and

"They were just sitting around in lawn chairs, dressed like 19th century criminals, casually saying the most remarkable things," recalls Glasspiegel. "It was wild. It was obtuse. One fellow would say, `Oh, I like Led Zeppelin III, but it skews a little dumptruck.' Then another would say, `The problem with those early Prince albums is that he spent too much time shopping.' I really had no idea what they were talking about, but it all somehow made sense. `We'll be a different kind of group," they said. `We will introduce people to themselves. We'll inoculate them from discourse.'

Reading these two examples, you might think, "My 4 year old's cat could grasp this was satire of some sort." You'd think the media would do some due diligence to prevent them from buying it hook, line and sinker. You'd think they'd Google the band at least.

I don't know what each individual outlet did, but if you Google the band, they're real. Also? Quirky.

But then you read a line such as this one from the press release

Those studio sessions led to Wondervisions, the indescribable 12-track instrumental debut that reconstructs influences as diverse as Yes, Vampire Weekend, The Fall, Ravi Shankur, 10 cc, The Orbital, Jann Hammer, the first half of OK Computer, the second act of The Wizard of Oz, and the final pages of Jonathan Franzen's Freedom.

and you think, okay, maybe...it's just a copywriter who really wants to be Franzen and the record label is just quirky enough to let the writer take the facts and write them uber-creatively.

Certainly a lot of media did. Frannie Kelley admits she was nearly hoodwinked, along with others

A lot of music writers ignored it – as they do most press releases. But many of the rock clubs and venues that booked Delicate Steve published the release – in full – on their web sites, no questions asked. And some people that cover music got taken, including NPR. We fell for the 40 instruments line. So were we all just lazy?

The fallout

Kelley ponders whether media is lazy, and asks whether this was a good-natured prank or a lie.

I think Klosterman uses his words really well to answer that:

"The whole idea of public relations is to stop journalism," says Klosterman. "It's to basically give journalists an opportunity to write something without really asking any critical questions or investigating at all. It's really antithetical to journalism. So that's why doing this ... I mean, I wouldn't say it's really a media hoax or something because no one in the media really cared."

Kelley replies:

I care. And I bet all of the other writers and people who buy music and tickets to shows out there who fell for this fiction care too.

Klosterman adds:

"One person asked me, 'Will you feel bad if someone goes to this show or buys this record based on the fact that you wrote this fictional piece? And then you're kind of ripping them off in a way.' I'll be honest — I don't feel bad. Because to me, I've probably helped that person to learn that you should not make consumer decisions based on some random media message that someone just fabricated for no reason. And I'm just not talking about my press release, I'm kind of talking about all press releases."

Oh. So Klosterman's existential disdain of public relations and press releases not only explains but also validates his actions. Never mind that he and the label utterly missed the whole boat and completely failed the client...the band, remember Delicate Steve?

Missed a boat so big it makes caribbean cruise ships look minuscule

It's true that the purpose of press releases is to spin positively. It's also true that, if only facts were cited in a straight up list, stories are often fairly boring, or mundane at least.

Look at two presentations of me, for example:

Julie -- suburban, work from home mom of two with a college degree, some advanced education

versus my Twitter Bio

Julie -- Has words, not afraid to use them, liberally & civilly. Believes in always having fresh pico de gallo at hand, re-lyricing popular music, & potty training cats.

Both are true. One is a litany of facts, with no character to them. The other displays individuality. One is a paper cutout. The other is a real human being, who someone might like to know more about.

And that's the real purpose of a press release: to take what's there -- really there, as in the truth -- and pull out the best bits, then put them together in a really intriguing and attention-getting way. Because that's the number one purpose of a press release: to be so interesting that you capture media attention, who then share their newfound enthusiasm with the masses, thereby introducing your client to the world--hopefully then achieving X goal (such as album sales or club bookings).

It's not that clever to manufacture an utter fiction, designed to be so outlandish that people read it just for the jaw-dropping crazy of it. Any writer worth his or her salt can do that.

I'm not sure what Klosterman, or more Evelev, were going for here other than a self-congratulatory "aren't we clever." What they achieved was a gimmick. Delicate Steve is, in fact, the sort of music NPR might include at the end of a broadcast or in All Music Considered. But I imagine Kelley is going to be very reluctant to give any press releases from Luaka Bop any attention.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

What it should highlight (and what we should learn)

The real issue, the most valid point, is trust and ethics. When I write a blog post, a press release, a story, etc. I am ethically obligated to the truth. I may make a mistake or use a faulty resource. My bad, and I'd correct it. But I'd never betray my readers or media connections by deliberately misleading them. I'd never send out a press release without meeting the client, getting to know who they are and what they do. I am fairly skilled at pulling interesting stories out of people that truly highlight the neat ways in which they are amazing.

Because everyone has something amazing in their lives, in some way.

And as a storyteller, that's my job: to get the amazing story and find the right way to present it to the right people.

When I get a press release, I need to be able to trust that when I dig through the spin, there's truth and accuracy in there. For example, in my last blog post, I cited some statistics about women in tech. I got those from my source. I need to be able to trust that my source is being honest. I do have an obligation to think critically about the information--depending--and figure out if the numbers are the whole story, for example.

But let's be honest, it's a hurry-up world.

I know my responsibility and I don't shirk it, on either side of the press release. It's true that we've gotten to a place in which media is likely to run full throttle with a press release with little to no research, especially about a topic such as a new band. It's also true that resources are stretched thin.

Press releases may look like a good suspect, but they aren't the actual murderer of journalism.

I expect the murder investigation will reveal that the death of journalism was very Orient Express, with a lot of factors taking a stab at it. In this case, Lying dealt the worst blow.

The truth

The truth has fallen to the wayside in pursuit of a larger agenda.

A United States Senator publicly yelled out a completely, not even close to true, statistic to fulfill his own personal agenda. Later, when called on it, he said he didn't intend the statement to be factual.

Are you kidding me?

He sacrificed the truth on the altar of personal agenda, just as Klusterman and Evelev have done.

The world is not a big psychology experiment, in which you can behave any old way just to make or fulfill a point. You can't lie, and lie big, and say it's someone else's fault for buying it.

The person at fault is the liar.

Here's a short recap of what's wrong:

Lying

Blaming the victim

Here's a short recap of what's right:

Being professional

Being accurate

I have only hypotheses about potential ramifications of this fake bio press release, except for one: lost trust.

It's lazy and small-minded to fall back on lies to be persuasive, because you can't think how to make the truth interesting and compelling enough.

Be better than that. Be truthful and compelling.

There are girls in tech...but there can be more (with your support)

2011-04-21T11:06:00.013-05:00

While researching girls in tech topics, I consistently run across these awesome women doing so many things in tech...around the world. For example, while searching Twitter for Girls in Tech (on any given day) I found an international array of people supporting girls in tech in Indonesia, Africa, Asia, Israel and more. I set up Google alerts for the same search and was bombarded. I ran across a great article that explained in Africa, across the continent, young women lead the tech scene. The Silicon Sisters just released a new iOS game, made by women for girls. You've got Girls in Tech with chapters spreading around the US.

But then we see a few other sides to the story, too.

There are good questions and discussions about inequity, and how to balance the scale, such as Allyson Kapin's Where are the women in tech and social media?
There are appalling and bigoted assertions about women being their own worst enemy, with no actual solutions, such as Michael Arrington's Too Few Women In Tech? Stop Blaming The Men.
There are solid perspectives about Why Tech Already Has Women (And Why They’re Better Than Arrington) from leaders such as Danny Brown and Geoff Livingston.

And there are the statistics:

Girls represented just 18 percent of Advanced Placement computer science (CS) exam-takers in 2009; that’s the lowest female representation of any AP exam.
In 2009 women earned only 18 percent of all CS degrees. Back in 1985, women earned 37 percent of CS degrees.
Women hold more than half of all professional occupations in the U.S. but only 25 percent of all computing-related occupations.
Only 11 percent of corporate officer positions at Fortune 500 technology companies are held by women.
A study on U.S. technology patenting reveals that patents created by mixed-gender teams are the most highly cited (an indicator of their innovation and usefulness); yet women were involved in only 9 percent of U.S. tech patents.

(Check out more statistics about Women and IT.)

Is it two steps forward, one step back, or one step forward and two steps back? I think depends upon the day. And how much is talk and how much is walk.

Today is the day I walk instead of just talk. It's time.

I joined the NextGen Tech Women team with Danny Brown, Geoff Livingston and Allyson Kapin, along with Kami Watson Huyse, and a growing number of others, to support girls in technology, specifically, real girls, at the National Center for Women & Information Technology (NCWIT). NCWIT is a coalition of over 250 prominent corporations, academic institutions, government agencies, and non-profits working to increase the participation of girls and women in computing and IT. They offer Aspiration Awards (among others) each year, with a financial prize, for young women who aspire, and are, working in technology (any type, and it is varied!).

And we, through NextGen Tech Women, are supporting them by trying to raise $25,000 to help this next generation of women fulfill their tech dreams. They're incredible. Check out a few of the recent winners:

Amanda is a senior at the prestigious Kansas Academy for Math and Science. She advocates for continued funding for her school at the state legislature, is an engineer on her school robotics team, and is proficient in Photoshop, Indesign, and web design including HTML. In addition to her challenging academic schedule, Amanda works on a college level research project involving researching web and graphic design technologies for the Paola Tourism association. She receives college credit for her work at KAMS and plans to study computer science and information technology when she enters college in the fall.

Arushi joined a lego robotics team at age nine, and has immersed herself in computer science since. She’s participated in science fairs since third grade, her most recent entry using image processing techniques and machine learning to diagnose melanoma cancer. She's working with Intel, and published a paper in 2008 titled, "Using fuzzy Quantum Logic to Learn Facial Gestures of a Schrödinger Cat Puppet for Robot Theatre” at the 17th International workshop on Post-Binary ULSI Systems in Dallas, Texas.

Daria will graduate this year from the Gwinnett School of Mathematics, Science, and Technology. She started her school’s first all-female robotics team — robo chic. She's primarily interested in biomedical engineering, which led her to an internship with dr. Andrew B. Williams and the SpelBots at Spelman college in Atlanta, Georgia, where she is programming an exercising humanoid robot as an intervention method for the childhood obesity epidemic.

I'm impressed and eager to see these young women walk into our future, bringing their incredible creativity, intelligence and drive to benefit us!!

Donate or help out at my Crowdrise fundraiser.

Join me in supporting them -- I'm hoping to get 10 people to give $10, and hoping each of those ten people will ask ten others to give $10 (even $1 helps!). (PS I'm competing against my team for fundraising so every dollar helps me keep my current lead! Check it out: My Team on Crowdrise)

Thank you!

A Great Love Story: The Young and the Chemical

2011-04-13T11:24:00.006-05:00

Driving home from school with my girls is what I think of Quality Catchup Time but they probably think of (or will soon) as Suffer the Mom Inquisition. The latter title comes from an inside family joke about Suffer the Mom Love, which is when I give hugs to children and pets because they want and need them even as they pretend they don't. Trust me, I can tell the difference and respect a sincere no but give a smiling "Oh Moooooooommmmm" a good squeeze.

While in the van, I ask each girl very specific questions so as to avoid potential monosyllabic responses.

My younger daughter has been trying out her storytelling skills and we've been working on the "that's a great story, what a neat imagination" distinction from "that really happened, how interesting."

Sometimes it's hard to tell. Such as in the telling of the story/report from the other day:

Daughter: Today I have a romantic tale! *giggles*

Me: A...romantic tale?

Daughter: Yes! *giggles*

Me: All righty then, let's hear it!

Daughter: At recess Jane* and Jim* had to sit on the bench!

Me: And that's romantic how? Because it's a boy and girl on the bench together? (Wondering if I need to define romance.) (Wondering where she picked up the word.) (Was it home? Valentine's Day? Elsewhere?)

Daughter: Moooooomm, no it's because they were kissing!

Me: They were kissing on the bench?

Daughter: NO! They were on the bench because they were kissing.

Me: Maybe you should start from the beginning. Set the scene, where were you, who was there, what were you all doing, and then what happened...

Daughter: We were playing family outside (names cast of characters and roles) and then Jane said to Jim that they could be the mommy and daddy because they were in love.

Me: Wow, really? She said that? They're in love? How long has this been going on?

Daughter: A long time! All week!

Me: That long! I wonder what the one week anniversary gift is!

Daughter: What? Mom, are you talking to the wall again? (This is what they say when I sotto voce.)

Me: No no just saying go on...

Daughter: And then Jane said they should go to a romantic spot and kiss. So they did.

Me: What? Wait, really? Jane said "go to a romantic spot" just like that?

Daughter: Yes she did!

Older daughter: Oh GAH your class is crazy. What is with all the kissing and romance?

Daughter: We aren't crazy, we're chemical.

Me: Chemistry, baby, you have good chemistry.

Older daughter: Whatever they have I hope it's not catching! What if the whole school went that crazy.

Me: I think you're safe, sweetie. So listen, Jane said go to a romantic spot and then what happened, no, wait, what is a romantic spot?

Older daughter: Mom, you don't know? It's a spot. That's romantic.

Me: Right, I get that, thanks. I meant, what, specifically, is a romantic spot there, like where did they go?

Daughter: To the pirate ship.

Me (impressed): Wow, the pirate ship, that's definitely got romantic potential, pretty good thinking on Jane's part. So what did Jim think.

Daughter: Jim thought it was a pretty good idea and he grabbed her hand and they ran.

Me (choking laughter)

Daughter: Then they thought it was private and romantic so she kissed him and he kissed her but the teacher saw and she said "I have said and said no kissing so to the bench Jane and Jim!"

Me: So that's the end of that I guess.

Daughter: No, they were happy to be on the bench because they were together. Even though they couldn't play. Or kiss.

And I was touched, really, that was sort of sweet. Also, really really awesome because not my kids!

* Names have been changed.

In which Hollywood plays the best April Fool's Day joke ever: Hop

2011-04-02T16:52:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, after an admirably long run of successfully avoiding April Fool's Day pranks, I got punk'd but good by Hollywood. I went to go see the new movie for kids: Hop.

Ha ha Hollywood, you really tricked me with your great cast lineup, all of whom had me totally fooled that they'd never do anything except creative and clever cinema. I was lulled into a false sense of security between that and the Toy Story series. That's the best con, you know: get to know your mark, build a sense of trust and then WHAMMO!

I fell for it! You got me with your con of "worthwhile artistic cinema."

Friday afternoon, I made one of those infamous "it seemed like a great idea at the time" decisions. I joined a group of friends and we took a gaggle (honestly, it was a gaggle -- I lost count at the sheer number; I know I brought four and it seems as if everyone else brought about that many too) of kids to see Hop.

If you have kids, you probably won't be able to avoid this movie. To which I say I am so, so sorry. I felt the compulsion last night to watch The Caller, in an effort to slipcover the empty calorie crap that was the "I Want Candy" scene in Hop. And that might have been the closest to comedic (my apologies to comedy) moment. That's two hours and about $40 I'll never be able to get back. I thought, as mothers like to think, that my children's enjoyment would be enough. Yeah, it wasn't.

My husband later asked, "How was it so bad?"

Me: I don't know, I mean, right? So much talent and creativity, such potential to build a new myth and this is what they come up with!

Him: No, I mean, what I meant was...what was wrong with it?

Me: The easier question to answer is what was right with it.

Him: Okay so...?

Me: The animation was impressive.

Him: And...?

Me: I don't think any real bunnies or chicks were harmed in the making of the movie. Although, they sort of owe the entire animal kingdom an apology, maybe a big donation to an animal rescue organization, sort of "damages for pain and suffering," and maybe also to some parents group, for the same thing, and also for defamation of character.

Him: That bad?

Me: Oh yeah. Thready and pathetic story line, unredeemable and unlikeable characters, and an unapologetic co-opting of the whole Santa myth for the Easter bunny, including the closing line, which was a shameful rip-off of Night Before Christmas. It was the Grey's Anatomy of kids' shows.

Him:

Me: ...and then? Set terrible expectations of Easter, candy, baskets, crap and so forth. Do you know what the six year old said to me? She asked why we have to send donations to Japan, can't Santa and the Easter Bunny just help them out! I feel like a salmon parent here, swimming upstream against a riptide!

Him: Do rivers have riptides?

And that right there pretty much sums it up: no, rivers do not have rip tides, oceans do, but sometimes the mouth of a river causes a rip tide. Looking that up was a way better use of time and far more interesting than Hop. I'm just glad I went with friends. Bonding experience.

The Delicate Steve Press Release in Its Entirety

2011-03-26T12:46:00.000-05:00

THE CRITICS UNILATERALLY CONCUR: DELICATE STEVE IS A BAND WHO CREATES MUSIC

Newton, N.J. – Every 30 or 40 or 500 years, the DNA of culture itself emerges from the translucent blackness of the not-so-shallow underground. You hear a new band, and you think, "This is really something. This is like My Bloody Valentine, minus the guitars." But then you think, "No, that's not true. That's not what this is like at all. Plus, there are lots of guitars here. I'm a goddamn idiot." You want to walk away, but now it's too late; now, you start to wonder what makes this music so deeply arresting. You wonder why you are dancing against your will, and you wonder why every other sound you've ever heard suddenly sounds like the insignificant prologue to a moment you're experiencing in the present tense. You find yourself unable to perform the simplest of activities — a cigarette becomes impossible to light, a mewing kitten cannot be stroked, a liverish lover cannot be ignored. By the album's third track, there is nothing left in your life; everything is gone, crushed into a beatific sonic wasteland you never want to escape. This, more than anything else imaginable, is the manifestation of artistic truth ... a truer kind of truth ... the only kind of truth that cannot lie, even with the cold steel of a .357 revolver jammed inside its wet mouth, truculently demanding a random falsehood.

Welcome to the work-a-day world of Delicate Steve.

Like a hydro-electric Mothra rising from the ashes of an African village burned to the ground by post-rock minotaurs, the music of Delicate Steve will literally make you the happiest person who has never lived. Discovered firsthand by Luaka Bop A & R man Wills Glasspiegel in the parking lot of a Newton, N.J., strip mall, Delicate Steve was signed to the label before anyone at Luaka Bop heard even a moment of their music – all he needed to experience was a random conversation about what they hoped to achieve as a musical five-piece.

"They were just sitting around in lawn chairs, dressed like 19th century criminals, casually saying the most remarkable things," recalls Glasspiegel. "It was wild. It was obtuse. One fellow would say, `Oh, I like Led Zeppelin III, but it skews a little dumptruck.' Then another would say, `The problem with those early Prince albums is that he spent too much time shopping.' I really had no idea what they were talking about, but it all somehow made sense. `We'll be a different kind of group," they said. `We will introduce people to themselves. We'll inoculate them from discourse.' I was immediately intrigued. I asked them if they wanted to have dinner, so we walked to a Chinese restaurant that was right up the road. I suggested we all get different dishes and share everything family style. They agreed. But then they ordered five identical entrees! So we sat there and ate a mountain of General Tso's chicken for three straight hours, talking about music and literature and box kites and dystopias. Twenty-four later, they were signed to Luaka and inside a studio."

Those studio sessions led to Wondervisions, the indescribable 12-track instrumental debut that reconstructs influences as diverse as Yes, Vampire Weekend, The Fall, Ravi Shankur, 10 cc, The Orbital, Jann Hammer, the first half of OK Computer, the second act of The Wizard of Oz, and the final pages of Jonathan Franzen's Freedom. Originally conceived as a radio-friendly concept album about the early life of D.B. Cooper, de facto Delicate Steve leader Steve Marion decided to tear away the lyrics and move everything in a more experimental direction. "We don't need the middlebrow to dig our music," says the soft-spoken Marion. "We write for the fringes – the very, very rich and the very, very poor. That's the audience we relate to, and that's who these songs are about."

THE BAND AT A GLANCE:

Steve Marion, 23 (guitar): A polymath who plays over 40 instruments, Marion recorded his first "bedroom EP" on a four-track as a 12-year-old ("It was sort of a second-rate Slanted and Enchanted," he scoffs today, "and more than a little derivative."). Already a Jersey legendary for his worth-ethic and perfectionism (he once studied a single Jandek guitar riff for an entire summer), Marion's the piston behind Delicate Steve, and — somewhat paradoxically – the group's harshest critic. "I named the band Delicate Steve as a reminder that we've accomplished nothing," he says flatly. "We are as delicate as the wings of a butterfly with AIDS. Anything could crush us. And until we all decide that art is the only thing that makes life livable, we'll just be another instrumental five-piece from New Jersey. Emotionally and intellectually, I'm not sure if the rest of the band is there yet. But I am."

Steve's goal is to create music that lasts "substantially longer than forever."

Mickey Sanchez, 22 (keyboard): A freewheeling hoaxster (and Marion's best friend from Hebrew school), Sanchez provides Delicate Steve with off-kilter music flourishes and a necessary dose of common sense. "Steve can be difficult to work with," says Sanchez, "but I know how to handle that hoss. Sometimes he just needs to look into the mouth of the lion – and I'm the lion." An avid horseback rider and pastry chef, Sanchez also intends to pursue a second-career as a city planner.

Mickey's goal is to make people hate Bruce Springsteen.

Rob Scheuerman, 21 (guitar): Previously featured on axe in the teen-pop power-trio Yesterday's Airport of Tomorrow, Scheuerman is probably better known as the alleged one-time paramour of Gossip Girl star Blake Lively (a rumor he sheepishly denies: "I was too tired to make it. She was too tired to fight about it."). What he adds to the band musically is akin to what he adds personally: cobalt charisma and a hunger for flesh. "Do you remember that old song `I Know What Boys Like' by the Waitresses," he asks. "Well, let's just say the scythe slices both ways."

Rob's goal is to seduce every female journalist he encounters.

Adam Pumilla, 23 (bass): No member of Delicate Steve has taken a more circuitous path than Pumilla. A three-sport athlete who rushed for 1400 yards as a veer option quarterback in high school, Pumilla received scholarship offers from several Big East football powers before opting for a career as a bassist – despite the fact that he'd never played the instrument in his life. "There was always something about the bass," he says today. "Four strings, sublime heaviness, living inside the pocket, locking into the drums. It spoke to me in its own bass language, long before I ever possessed the object itself. I knew that bass guitar was something I could excel at. I am a bassist. I have a bassist's blood." After spending five exploratory years in rural Scotland ("I needed space to invent my bass style"), Pumilla returned to the U.S. and met Marion at Ed Westwick's Halloween party. "I knew he was the man for this band from the moment I met him," recalls Marion. "When he shook my hand to introduce himself, he didn't even say his name. He just said, `Bass.' Just that one word. Nothing else. He was a serious person."

Adam has no defined goal.

Mike Duncan, 21 (percussion): Don't let his boyish looks fool you – Duncan is no choirboy. Raised on a steady diet of Stewart Coupland, Neil Peart and economic desperation, Duncan views drumming as a way to turn his self-described "sociopathic inclinations" into something the world can appreciate. "I love to brawl," he says. "I'll fight anyone, for any reason. I'll fight a dog for no reason. I've seen the inside of juvenile hall. I've tasted blood in my mouth. I've stepped on throats and I've thrown bottles at strangers. But that was all in the past. It's still part of me, but – now – I use that intensity for good. I want to attack people with music the same way I used to attack them with my fists."

Mike's goal is the political liberation of Quebec.

A WARNING:

This is a press release, and press releases are supposed to be wholly positive. That's the shared expectation, both from the writer and the reader. Typically, press releases hide a band's true reality. But not this one. We need to be straight with you, potential rock writer: It's hard to predict what will happen to Delicate Steve. Emotions run high in this band, and most of these songs are both too musical and too insane for the typically dim-witted American consumer. In all likelihood, even you won't understand it, because you're probably a fraud. This music doesn't directly threaten the status quo, but it certainly makes the status quo nervous. It's not on par with hearing the Velvet Underground in the summer of 1965, but it's probably like hearing the Velvet Underground in the winter of 1966. Can Delicate Steve become the wordless New Jersey U2? Sure, maybe. But maybe not. There might be too much at stake (and too many people in the way). Still, one listen to Wondervisions will irrefutably prove the only thing you really need to know: Delicate Steve makes music. And in today's awful world, that's almost all that matters. Right?

You don't really want to teach your kids to start battles, do you?

2011-02-17T13:59:00.006-06:00

Lately, my kids have been competing for the award for Bickeriest Bickerton Ever. I find myself saying, constantly, things such as:

If you start a sentence with No no no no no no, you are probably starting a battle.

If you start a sentence with this sarcastic tooooonnnnnneeee, you are probably starting a battle.

If you accuse someone of something awful -- you lied! you stole! you broke! you're so weird! -- you are probably starting a battle.

I am trying to convince my kids that starting a battle is a bad plan. It takes time, wastes energy, creates an unpleasant environment, leaves everyone feeling bad, and doesn't accomplish a thing. I don't want them growing up feeding off negativity like drama vampires, you see. In point of fact, I don't want them to grow up to be thoughtless or bullies or only able to relate via "telling it like it is" and through harshness and cruelty.

Lately, though, it's getting harder, and I think I realized my tolerance is at an all-time low, and it has little to do with my kids and their completely normal sibling differences of opinion.

I think I might be a little on edge about it, more than I need to be, because it's not my kids, it's the rest of you. Maybe not YOU, but definitely YOU, if you know what I mean. It's the world at large -- we've developed a cultural norm of completely antagonistic speech.

Once upon a time we have really strict cultural rules about how we conducted ourselves in company. When I was growing up, it was loosening up a little, but I was very clear on the fact that I was to say "yes, ma'am" and yes, sir" to adults, who I addressed by their title and last name. Then it got confusing, because this is how my parents raised me, but the world was changing and my "old school manners" didn't float very well in the "new school world."

"Oh don't call me ma'am or Mrs. Smith, that's my mother-in-law, you can call me Sue, sweetie," and then I was lost. It was rude to address adults informally but...it was rude to some individuals to be addressed formally, respectfully? How could you tell who was who?

So I erred on the side of manners. And got bit back a few times because of it. Plenty of folks thought all those manners were just me being fancy, and getting above myself. Plenty of folks thought manners were pointless.

So, somewhere along the way, my smooth edges got roughed up, and I think that goes for all of us. It's not about what name you call a person, it's about namecalling. It's not about showing respect, it's about showing disrespect.

My daughter is studying presidents in school. After my recent trip to DC, she's been very interested in government. It's become personal to her because I was there, and I met with legislators. I brought home kids books about the branches of government. And she's gone to vote with me. Despite my own opinions, I always endeavor to maintain respect for others, even politicians.

To do otherwise is hypocritical, you know?

I can't tell my kids name calling starts a battle and is a harmful way to communicate and then say So and So is AWFUL.

I can't tell my kids, you don't have to like everyone, but you do need to be respectful and courteous, and then turn around and say So and So is too stupid to live.

So why why why do my kids constantly come to me and say So and So said This Person is BAD and wants to hurt us?

I know you. I know you as a good person, a loving parent. I know you do well. And I know little pitchers have big ears and even bigger mouths. I know they can misinterpret things. So we, their parents, have to be super careful because we don't want to confuse them and send mixed messages about growing up to be thoughtful and courteous people.

My kids are learning. I'm learning. I know we are all learning people. I'm thinking, though, it might be time for a remedial lesson.

Yesterday, I shared all the details I knew because I saw it with my own eyes about my friend Erin being beyond bullied, threatened, her life, and those of her children, threatened, with death. Because it has become a cultural norm to talk that way. It's become okay to threaten, direly, with harsh and violent language, those with whom we disagree.

I've heard people I know talk that way, and it is shocking. It's like the fairy tale about the beautiful princess who opened her mouth and all that came out were snakes, and snails and gross things. I know you as a better person than that, why would you talk that way?

We all have strong opinions. I know I do. I endeavor, and I'm stepping up my efforts, to ensure that I separate the idea from the person, as in I discuss and debate the idea, not the person.

Today I had to help my little girl understand why her friend told her someone she's heard me support is a Bad Person. Why would me, her mom, be involved with a Bad Person? Is that person Bad? Am I in danger? Does he want to hurt us? Why?

I had to explain to her that many people might disagree with That Person, but this is a disagreement of ideas. That Person is not Bad, nor does he want to hurt us. He wants to do what he thinks is best.

And I had to reiterate how important it is to say, "I don't prefer that..." instead of "I hate...!!!"

And I had to reiterate how important it is to say "That's not how I feel..." or "I disagree..." or "I would rather..." and use our voices constructively to build something, instead of using insults and worse to tear it down.

Is that so much to ask?

I know you're good people. I know you aren't the ones doing this. But. Let's use our words, respectfully, and call for that.

Please join me in being mindful about how we talk, especially to our children.

Please join me in being civil in our discourse, especially online.

I made a little movie about it--that's how much this means to me, because we need to make the mean stop, just stop, and we need to stop, and mindfully evaluate what we say and how we say it. I think all of us have gotten a little off the diplomatic and circumspect wagon -- we went a little far over-reacting to PC -- and now, too many leaders set a bad example and poor tone. So we need to reel it in, set the good tone and better example.

Loyal hearts are the ones most likely to be broken

2011-02-14T10:21:00.003-06:00

"Let's be friends forever -- LYLAS!" has morphed into "Let's be BFFs!" since I was a girl, but the meaning is still the same: young, open hearts feel a swell of emotional connection and want to extend that warm and lovely sense.

Forever, though, is a really different concept from person to person.

My girls take it pretty literally, and do sincerely mean it. I understand this; it's my way too. I don't understand it as a fleeting metaphor. When my girls encounter this, their hearts break and they sob in my arms, "Why does she not want to be my friend any more?"

For now, it is their buddies. In a few years, though, I know it will be something more.

How can you explain to the broken-hearted that one doesn't love more or less but that some others have more of a plural approach to love and friendship, in counter to their more singular approach?

You hug them, bless their lovely loyal hearts, and help piece back together a heart hopefully left stronger and just as open. Let the heart heal, let the head learn.

I watch them this Valentine's Day, eager to give their love in little paper hearts to class friends who are like siblings to them. And I think of ways to tell them every day what beautiful, sweet hearts they have and how putting that much love into the world will be worth it, always.

Life's Mirror

by Madeline S Bridges

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,

There are souls that are pure and true;

Then give to the world the best that you have,

And the best will come back to you.

Give love, and love to your life will flow,

A strength in your utmost need;

Have faith, and a score of hearts will show

Their faith in your work and deed.

Give truth, and your gift will be paid in kind,

And honor will honor meet;

And the smile which is sweet will surely find

A smile that is just as sweet.

Give sorrow and pity to those who mourn;

You will gather in flowers again

The scattered seeds from your thought outborne

Though the sowing seemed but vain.

For life is the mirror of king and slave,

'Tis just what we are and do;

Then give to the world the best that you have

And the best will come back to you.

Happy Valentine's Day!

The Santa Situation

2010-12-28T08:47:00.006-06:00

"Mom, I must have been really bad this year," my nine year old said.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because Santa brought my friend a bike and all I got was little stuff. Santa must not like me much," she said.

The terrible, horrible, no good Santa Situation aka the Big Dilemma aka the rough moment and what is a mom to do?

Let me back up a bit.

My husband and I decided a while ago to be very conscientious about how we handled the Santa situation and Christmas gift giving. We planned with an eye to the long-term.

Here are key factors we considered:

Both kids have birthdays in December, making it a massive gifting and receiving month, with the rest of the year pretty bone dry.

Santa is a very special part of the holiday, but we didn't want the holiday to revolve around Santa or what Santa brings.

Santa is a great morality tale/myth potential that's gotten way too diluted. The original concept of Saint Nicholas giving to needy and building out a concrete embodiment to help children grasp a truly complex, gnostic and esoteric philosophy makes sense. Until it becomes more of a commercial for consumerism. Which it has.

We both personally believe in Christmas as being a time to reflect on deeper meanings and reasons, a time for ceremony to provide a framework for faith.

So while we want to incorporate the magic of Christmas, Santa, the wonderful myths, the beautiful poetry and songs, touching movies and books and all that so our children have fun and fond memories, we want to do so in a thoughtful and balanced way.

We began with initial requests to limit gift-giving. That failed. And I understand -- family loves to gift little kids with cute stuff. It's just that stuff piles up.

Eventually my husband and I decided a lot of things that could be boiled down to a single concept: spread it out and plan ahead.

Kids are going to want and need new things with each season. So why not anticipate that and allow for that possibility?

We know we can't control how others give gifts, so we made choices that we'd put a cap on spending and quantity. We (mom and dad) would give gifts and Santa would fill stockings.

You'd be amazed how this can simplify things. No need for wrapping paper stress, remembering whether you or Santa was the giver, and so forth. We give one "big" toy (something fun but over budget of what we'd normally spend) and a combination of special, want and need. It worked out this year to about six packages per child to open. Each girl got a special necklace, a keepsake tree ornament, some clothing, the big fun toy (scooters), and a fun educational toy (from Discovery). For my own sanity, I also got them long range walkie talkies. This is so I can have one at home base, they can take one out in the neighborhood, and I can check in. This is the compromise my husband and I reached since we still aren't too keen on cell phones for the kids. Yet.

Santa did a pretty good job, too. Each child got a personalized mailbox filled with candy and a stuffed Santa toy, a personalized water bottle, a name sign, Zhu Zhu pets babies, colored chalk for the new chalkboard, hair accessories, and so forth. Most importantly, he left a personal letter for each child, talking about things he liked and found special about her.

When the wrapping paper cleared, the kids were pretty happy! Within an hour, the walkie talkies were in use as the kids scooted around the neighborhood, and we all dealt with the sound of grinding rocks in the nine year old's new rock tumbler.

Earlier the kids had gotten wonderful gifts from their extended family that hit their main interests. All in all, a nice haul.

I was feeling pretty happy, as well, that we managed to spread out family visits across a week so we got nice quality time in a low-stress way. We incorporated enough thoughtfulness, such as giving to a need (donations) and actively participating in church activities, as well as talking about meaning.

All was well until December 27. When kids started comparing notes.

In our family, we talk about "need-based" giving, and my kids have, until now, accepted that Santa knows which families need more. Our kids are fortunate and get lots from family, so they only "need" stockings filled. Other families need more from Santa. It's also helped explain differences among religious and nonreligious beliefs. Why would Santa visit my kids at their house with gifts but skip their Jewish cousins? Santa respects differences, I said, and he knows that families believe and give differently. It opens up a cool learning opportunity, too, about different beliefs (and nonbeliefs) and true meaning versus overfocus on gifts.

I was stymied to explain, then, how a friend of similar means and beliefs ended up with a big, shiny, new bike.

So I fell back on myth. Santa is a mystery. Something that baffles understanding and cannot be explained. An enigma.

Which might be the truest statement ever made about Santa.

But I did reassure my daughter that it had nothing to do with her naughty or nice status, or being liked less than a friend.

And then I cursed the "bogeyman" Santa side of the myth and my susceptibility to it this year, for the first time, out of impatience with constantly bickering children who have been in rampant boundary (and patience) testing mode lately.

But maybe it's not that bad for her to ponder her behavior, just a bit, in this context...

Last Minute Awesome Gift (and Stocking Stuffer) Ideas: The Hit Parade

2010-12-22T08:19:00.011-06:00

Note: Read all the way to the bottom for the MUST WATCH kids' Christmas show, which will air on Christmas Day.

Okay so here are the things I got this year for gifting that I actually thought were awesome. They meet my "I'd really give this to someone and feel great about it" criteria. Some were things I might never have thought of, but got offered as review. I admit I used a good deal of selectivity in agreeing to receive certain products to review, so there was always a good chance I'd like them, but let's just say some were hits and some were misses. There are also a few things I risked buying online and have since received, whereupon I discovered they were as awesome as I'd hoped. I'll distinguish what I found from what was sent for review.

Here are the hits:

My find -- Lillian Vernon

I used to buy from Lillian Vernon frequently on gift-giving occasions. I'm not sure why I veered away. They have good stuff, you can personalize most of it, it includes things I might not think to buy, and did I mention you can personalize things? I've always been happy with the quality and prices.

So when I was worrying about stocking stuffers for the kids -- so did not want to go the crappy dollar row and candy route -- I turned to Lillian Vernon and found these:

Perfect!

I also found this at Oriental Trading Company:

My kids are a little more sophisticated but still kids, and love things with their names on it.

I also give them each a disposable camera so they can take their own holiday photos. A while back I got them their own photo albums and they have fun adding to that.

However, stuffing my husband's stocking is harder. It's funny to joke about a lump of coal or sack of rocks but he seriously wants the sack of rocks. He's in the middle of paving the area around the pond in the backyard. That's not going to fit into a stocking.

So when I was contacted about reviewing a set of Husky miniature tools, I was game. He's always complaining that he can't find the tool he needs. I got the Husky 48 Piece Tri-Grip Screwdriver Set, which is under $10 and packed neatly, with a lot of pieces. I like how it closes and has a spot for each piece, and it really will fit in the stocking, and be something he'll be glad to get.

Perfect! In fact, when I looked at the Husky site, it was full of cool tools at good deals, mostly under $10. The 45-piece stubby work set looked like another winner.

I believe I've shared stories about how much my youngest likes to draw on walls. I bought a little wall "chalkboard" Princess version from Home Depot. Big miss. Although it attached well to the wall (one of those easy peel and stick that don't mess up paint), it was very small and we ended up with a lot of bleed. It was tough to get clean, too. Frustrated, my daughter went back to doing big art on the regular wall, and I was left with chalk mess on the carpet and wall. (Magic Eraser worked.)

I haven't given up on the idea, though. I did try butcher block paper, but it's hard to attach.

So when WallCandy Arts contacted me about trying their new big peel and stick chalkboard cupcake, I thought maybe this is the one.

It's big. As in, big enough. It's cute, and the theme gives a lot of fun inspiration. The quality of it better so I haven't got the chalk dust as badly as the last one. Also, because of the size, I haven't had the bleed onto the wall issue. I confess I gave it for birthday, but since that's practically the same time...

So I like using it as a tool for to-do and schedule, too. It's in our main hall upstairs, outside the kids' bedrooms. I can make notes and have them check them. It helps the not having to say it 45,000 times. They feel compelled to add notes, too, as well as draw.

Big win.

My find -- Landau Jewelry

I always struggle with what to get the mothers (mother, stepmother, mother-in-law) and this year, while in New York, I whiled away some time (okay, you got me, like a crow, I'm always attracted to shiny objects) in this store, with a coupon and gift card in hand. I got some great gifts (which I will not feature here before giving them on the chance my parents actually read my blog) (I feel safe on the husband and kids front -- they never do).

However, this is top feature there and looks pretty great to me:

It's mostly "fashion" which is code for "costume" in large part but when I asked a lot of questions, it's pretty well-made, and the bracelet I got for myself has held up really well. I personally prefer to get "fashion" jewelry because I'm most likely to change that often.

My find -- Marshalls

I lucked into Marshalls when it was bursting with good buys. My favorite? The beautiful dresses with matching doll dresses (that fit both American Girl doll and bitty twins) for UNDER $30!!!!

My girls are way into the whole American Girl experience and cute as it is, man, the price tags. So I really appreciate good quality off brands.

BONUS: BEST Christmas program for kids -- Curious George: A Very Monkey Christmas

Recalling my youngest is nicknamed Monkey, we're big fans of Curious George (in fact, that's her lovey).

I wasn't sure how it would go for my older daughter.

However, both kids LOVED it, and I admit I did too.

It was entertaining, both kids liked the songs. It was funny, the usual George scrapes and fun. And it had a nice message about how gift giving is really about caring, and the best gift is just being together. Very gently delivered. It's a Christmas we can all relate to: imperfectly perfect!

I'm going to rate it up there with Peanuts.

Here's the synopsis:

A Very Monkey Christmas

Airs Christmas Day, Sat. 12/25 on PBS KIDS! (Check local listings)

A Very Monkey Christmas finds George and The Man with the Yellow Hat preparing for Christmas, when they encounter a dilemma—neither can figure out what to give the other for a present! The Man finds George’s wish list filled with geometric shapes, and George doesn’t have a clue what to get The Man who has everything. The Man suggests that George surprise him with a homemade gift, but George isn’t quite sure what a monkey can make for a man. The suspense builds as Christmas approaches. George and The Man with the Yellow Hat follow each other around town, hoping to discover a clue as to what the other would like to find under the Christmas tree. They enlist the help of Hundley, the Pisghettis, Gnocchi, Bill, Betsy, Steven, and even Professor Wiseman and her computers!

Then The Man has a dream in which he sees what life would be like for George without him; contained in the dream is the answer to George’s Christmas wish list riddle. While The Man is dreaming, George begins his homemade gift — a colossal art project that poignantly explains why getting ready for Christmas is so much fun. In the end, both gift-giving predicaments are simply and beautifully resolved revealing the true spirit of the holidays, and everybody has a very monkey Christmas!

The Slacker Cook Triumphs Once Again With Crock Pot Cooking

2010-12-07T11:31:00.010-06:00

It finally got cool here. I know, highs of 62 barely qualify as cool but there you have it: our average winter low here. It feels like early fall to me, and so that means I am whipping out the crock pot (and anyone who knows me knows how I love my crock pot: it's mass amount cooking, everything and the spice cabinet, tasty, aromatic, slacker cooking -- in other words, all my favorite ways to cook rolled in to one!).

When I pull out the crock pot, I tend to also pull out a vintage cookbook.

My stepmother gave this cookbook to me in 1989 when I moved into my first apartment -- solo living, like a real grownup, with rent, utilities, and everything.

It's like feeling that taste of independence, doing it my way, anew. All while getting old-fashioned comfort cooking.

You know what I mean?

So, of course, my first foray for crock pot hot meal cool weather cooking is...chili.

Hey. It's Texas.

And of course I use a recipe straight out of this cookbook called Chili Con Carne.

Except I don't use it straight because, well, to tell the truth recipes sort of make my eyes cross. I skim them to get the gist and then I wing it. Seriously. I have a pretty good sense of ingredients and how to put them together, and I also have a habit of cooking on the fly which means substitutions. To complicate things further, I often don't like some ingredients called for, so I'll eliminate or substitute. Plus, I prefer lower fat choices. And of course, I'm a Slacker Cook so everything has to be simplified, steps eliminated, corners cut, and so forth. Also, key? LESS DISHES. Means less cleaning up to do.

So how does the Slacker Cook modify an already pretty easy recipe and make it healthier? Here we go:

Substitute: turkey for beef

Substitute: all that complicated and messy dicing and chopping with already diced and seasoned tomatoes and onions

Substitute: green pepper with red pepper, add in a splash of tabasco, and dump in grape tomatoes sliced in half, then about five minutes before serving, blanch some fresh spinach in there

Substitute: kidney beans with black beans

Substitute: all that cooking and browning in another pan with cooking the turkey in the crockpot, prewarmed on high, with some delicious chili sauce

Then dump in everything and cook.

I like to serve it with cornbread. My husband is pure native and puts his chili over Fritos.

Either way, YUM. And easy. And a good chunk of the week is DONE.

Now here's the thing: this is healthy.

Turkey is lower fat and for many of us more easily digested. Also, often cheaper.
Spinach is really good for you, as are black beans. Both of which blend in to the overall dish so the kids hardly even know they are getting this fabulous nutrition.
My kids notice the red pepper a lot less mixed in with the tomatoes than the green pepper, which they tend to pick out.
And tomatoes are really good for you; they bring fiber, Vitamin C and the antioxidant lycopene into your diet. In fact, before you get too worried about me using canned tomatoes, allow me, the Slacker Cook, to reassure you that according to a study reported in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, lycopene absorption is 2-3 times greater in canned tomato products than raw tomatoes. And because I am a label reader with a PhD in Google, I know that Hunt's tomatoes are flash-steamed to help them keep their backyard-garden-fresh taste, are 100 percent natural and contain no artificial preservatives or ingredients. So...my heart thanks me.

You know where I stand on making healthy choices -- I do it for me. I do it to be there for my family, for my kids. To set a good example of healthy eating, even if you are a Slacker Cook like I am.

So...once again, the Slacker Cook, with an eye and heart toward healthy eating, triumphs once again with crock pot cooking.

This post brought to you by ConAgra Foods, specifically Hunt's, who asked people to share recipes they make using their products, namely tomatoes. The recipe is from my own cookbook, the modifications and opinions are my own, and are all true. I really am a Slacker Cook, I really made this dish exactly as described (using Hunt's Tomatoes which I bought on my own and already happened to have on hand in my pantry when themotherhood.com asked me to join in this recipe parade, and my family really is eating it for dinner tonight. You can see other recipes here.

The art of friending (and unfriending)

2010-11-29T13:45:00.007-06:00

Not too long ago, I was reading a New York Times article about why people unfriend other people on Facebook and it got me thinking about a lot of things, truly.

What does Friend mean, anyway? (And when did it get to be a Proper Verb? When did Verbs get Proper, anyway?)
Don't you Friend people you like, and thereby, de facto, accept as they are?
Who are you to deem someone else uninteresting?

Okay let's start at the end.

From the article:

"The rules of Internet friendship seem to differ in other ways from their earthbound equivalents. There is a bluntness to unfriending that would hardly fly in real life: “As soon as you have a baby, you become uninteresting,” noted one survey respondent."

Really? You think maybe, possibly, it could be that it's a case of the other person hasn't become uninteresting but, in fact, developed a new life focus that is just worlds away from your own, and that doesn't make either of you bad...it just means you don't fit the same way together? Could it? Sometimes you can overcome that, and sometimes, not so much. Definitely not at all if you act like an ass and accuse the other person of being a bore and thus unworthy of your friendship.

But you know? I can guarantee that nearly every parent can name or guess at a few or more friends they lost after becoming parents. It's one of those mitigating life changes that not every friendship can weather. Usually, though, it's one of those cases where the friendship fades away.

But most curiously to me the study's author asserts that it's unique to Facebook to have a person decide to unfriend you and you just never know what happened:

“One of the interesting things about unfriending is that most real-world friendships either blow up or fade away,” said Christopher Sibona, who wrote the study with his adviser, Steven Walczak, an associate professor of information systems management. “But on Facebook, users actively make the decision to unfriend, and people often don’t know why or what’s happened in the relationship.”

Really, Christopher Sibona, you have a satisfying known case for the end of every one of your friendships?

I don't.

Do you?

It's true that usually friendships fade away. We get busy, paths no longer cross, and new people and things fill well-enough any void we might notice that it's not a pain point, just an occasional mild twinge of nostalgic missing and hoping the other person is doing well.

Rarely, there will be some mitigating factor. Like a blow-up.

But usually there is just no good reason although you can probably think of a hundred excuses.

Sometimes, though, you just get unfriended, in real life. Not just on Facebook.

I think my most mysteriously lost friend was Bridget, someone I met in my 30s. I met Bridget in a mom's group and I immediately thought she was my kind of people. We had a lot in common and did seem to click. We got together, chatted, had playdates with our babies (and really, when they can't even sit up yet, we all know who that time is for, am I right?). We even discussed nanny-sharing, but couldn't get that quite connected.

One day we had a scheduled playdate at a local baby gym -- by then the babies were mobile. And she didn't show. And she never returned my calls or emails, got in touch, replied, or ever showed up anywhere again.

To this day I don't know why.

She just...unfriended me.

That happens a lot in Facebook, and while a lot of times we might not notice, a lot of friends are like Bridget: people we've invested in and we notice when they vanish.

At least, though, Bridget knew why I wanted to be friends with her -- something she might not have if I'd just sent a friend request to her in Facebook.

I admit I have more than a couple of friendship requests sitting in queue, awaiting response from me. Unfortunately, at this time, I can only accept or ignore.

I wish I could instead have a conversation -- who are you, and why did you want to friend me in Facebook?

Here's what I think:

1. Don't ever send a blank friend request unless you are absolutely positive the person knows who you are, and even then, it's best to include a brief message about why you want to be Facebook friends.

2. Don't hate on people for what they post. Instead, let it expand your horizons, even if only for a laugh (ahem FARMVILLE ahem) or to cause you to think through your own closely held beliefs or political positions. (By the same token, don't post hate. You don't need hate to be critical in your thinking.)

3. Don't hate on someone's status. Unless someone specifically opens a discussion, clearly, and invites debate and disagreement, think about it: posting something hypercritical or worse on someone's wall is walking into their party and dissing them loudly, publicly. I can take discussion and even disagreement as well as the next person, or even better (since I sort of thrive on it) but the time someone posted "COWARD, you're a horrid mom" in reply to one of my blog links was not a good moment. I know it said more about her than about me, but still, I was left with this ugly mean thing in my space, on my wall. It was a quandary: be a big girl and leave it or delete it? I've even been the bad guy. I posted something I intended to be funny and instead it offended. My friend deleted the entire thread, but notified me via private message. It was very civil, and I think a fair enough act. I appreciated being notified, took the chance to apologize, and vowed to be more cautious and thoughtful going forward. You don't have to be a yes man or agreeable at all times, but try disagreeing diplomatically, which might mean privately. And never be afraid to ask: is this open for discussion, even if it includes disagreeing?

4. If someone puts up a new profile photo feel free to tell that person how great they look. Take any opportunity to send some love to people.

5. Let friendships, real ones, and even lightweight Facebook ones, be the measure of your commitment to relating to others. If you make the decision to unfriend, that's an action -- it's not a case of a blow up or fade away. The worst hurts I've ever seen from anyone is when they get dumped by someone they care about and don't know why. Have the courtesy to let the other person know, in a kind way, if you think they'll notice your departure. Don't leave someone hanging at the play gym looking for you for two hours. If you've been a silent lurker, maybe fading away is best. But if it's someone you've interacted with and something causes you to decide to unfriend, talk to the other person first. Maybe it can be salvaged. Maybe not. Either way, you won't just POOF! vanish.

Real friends might last a sprint or a marathon's length of time. The real mark of a friend, though, is someone who make communicating with you something valuable and important.

RIP Ted Sorensen (If You Can)

2010-11-01T17:04:00.006-05:00

After a stroke today, incomparable JFK speechwriter Ted Sorensen died.

He was 82.

Sorensen might be the most quoted speechwriter. He is certainly the man behind JFK's best lines. Sorensen, though, always attributed the famous lines -- such as "Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country" -- to Kennedy.

In an interview with the BBC about a decade ago, Ted Sorensen tried to explain why he and John F Kennedy got along. I think, in fact, it was his way of trying to explain why he always said JFK came up with the best lines, rather than taking the credit.

It's something writers can understand, I think; in essence, to paraphrase, he said he channeled JFK when writing -- he knew him so well, knew what he'd want to say and simply formed the lines that he knew his friend would want.

As someone who has ghostwritten and extensively "developmental edited" books, I know what he means. As someone who has written lines for politicians to say, I never thought of those words as my own. In fact, one day, while cleaning out a file cabinet, I came across a folder with old typewritten copies of the brief radio addresses I had written for a candidate who ran for president. I read the words with a sort of shock -- it still did not seem as if I had written it. Perhaps that's why it remained in a file folder rather than in my portfolio. It hardly seemed my own work.

Of course, I'm no Sorensen.

Sorensen compared himself to Kennedy in that old BBC interview, or rather, he contrasted himself. Kennedy was privileged and Ivy League educated, while Sorensen was a middle class mid-westerner with a state school degree. All totally respectable, but we know cache.

That was all superficial, though, he explained, because they had in common what really mattered: core values and ethics, and at heart both valued public service highly.

It's that factor that made the speeches -- his speeches -- great. "Speeches are great when they reflect great decisions," Sorensen famously said.

What did Sorensen think of modern day speeches.

I know what I think.

I think modern speeches are not great.

I think that's why Barack Obama so captured American attention: his speeches were great. They were great because, in general, they reflected great ideas. The tricky wicket is, of course, the execution of those ideas. That hasn't been so great. It rarely is. But I almost think faith is even more important, and let's be honest: we're missing a lot of faith.

Faith that our leaders are great.

Losing Sorensen the day before Election Day feels a little portentous.

I don't think the time for great speeches is past; and I think anyone who makes great speeches into a negative is perversely mistaken. You know who I mean.

Speeches now focus more on what someone brings and how the other person is defective, less on great ideas. Speeches now are either attacking, defensive, or downright offensive.

Speeches now talk a lot about The People, but oddly enough, I rarely recognize any people in the actual speech. That means it's probably hyperbole, and definitely a personal agenda.

People have now come so far from great that they mistake demagoguery for emotionally compelling and thus great. That's tragic. To me, anyway, Sorensen took a different view -- he was more optimistic, I guess you could say.

Sorensen actually addressed that in his 2008 book, Counselor: A Life at the Edge of History (from the History News Network interview):

"...[the book] reflects his idealism and hope for the future. The book recounts Sorensen’s childhood nurtured by a progressive and idealistic family in Lincoln, Nebraska; his historic JFK years as a senatorial aide and then as special counsel to president with challenges such as the cold war, the civil rights struggle, and the space race; and his subsequent law career advising governments, multinational organizations, and corporations, and meeting with world leaders such as Nelson Mandela, Anwar Sadat, and Fidel Castro."

HNN's Robin Lindley interviewed Sorensen, and I think these two questions and answers explain it all, really (bolding mine):

RL: Both legendary Sen. Henry M. Jackson of Washington State and Sen. John F. Kennedy offered you jobs at about the same time in 1952. How did you decide to serve with Sen. Kennedy rather than Sen. Jackson, whose office later became a breeding ground for neoconservatives?

TS: At the time, I knew nothing of Jackson’s hawkish inclinations or even that he would later be known as “The Senator from Boeing.” Instead, I chose Kennedy because [he asked me] to work on a legislative program to revive the sagging New England economy where unemployment was high and new investment was low. Sen. Jackson said I had a good reputation as a lawyer and he needed somebody like that to get his name in the papers. He also said he liked my Scandinavian name because that would go over big back in Seattle. And I chose Kennedy without much difficulty.

RL: It must have been reassuring to find a job with a humane senator who read books and knew a lot about history.

TS: That’s Jack Kennedy. That’s exactly right. Despite all our surface differences—he was a millionaire’s son, a Roman Catholic, a war hero, a Harvard graduate—and I was at the opposite end of almost all of those. Nevertheless, we found that we wanted this to be a better country, we both believed in public service, we both were interested in public policy, and we both wanted to see a peaceful world.

(You might be interested in reading the rest of the interview -- it's a good one.)

Sorensen chose Kennedy because of his values: revive a sagging economy, make this a better country, believe in public service.

He didn't want to work for Jackson as a "good lawyer who could get his name in the papers."

As a result, Sorensen wrote great speeches (and that was the least of it). Because he had great ideas and worked with someone who had great ideas.

No demagoguery required.

Just a lot of heart.

She Used to be My Girl

2010-10-25T22:23:00.000-05:00

In a time of white wicker, macrame, and ferns...when the pointed collars of polyester shirts brushed the tops of short-sleeved sweaters that bloused gracefully over flat fronted jeans with bottoms like bells...and the most popular Halloween costume included fluffy felt skirts with a black poodle applique and bobby sox...

Sunday nights were devoted to the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys Mystery Hour -- our one television program we got each day -- but Saturday mornings, those were reserved for Casey Kasem.

His smooth, familiar voice announced the country's most popular songs each week, and I listened patiently through the countdown, measuring my favorites against what my fellow countrymen preferred. I adored the inside scoop about the rock stars, such as the story about the guitarist from Jefferson Starship who loved to skateboard. I thought of my own blue board, and felt a kinship.

I also felt a kinship to listeners around the nation, as Casey sang out their radio station's call numbers and town names...KMEN in San Bernardino California...places like me in music but unlike me in so many other ways. I'd wonder about the people there.

Did they, like me, lay on a yellow floral canopy bed listening to their AM/FM radios? Did they see gold cars on the roads to match gold appliances in the kitchen? Did they tune out the mellow hum of suburban lawnmowers, fathers in high dark socks and shorts keeping the well-maintained look of a master planned community?

Or was their life exotically different?

I'd listen to the long distance dedications, new that year of gold and yellow and white wicker, and wonder about the people behind the stories spilled so emotionally in the letter, shared with all of us by our mutual friend, Casey.

What letter might I write? I imagined, each week in my head what I might say to Casey and which song he might match my letter to, or which song I might request.

Thirty-two years ago I lay under broad splashes of bright flowers on a canopy and waited anxiously as Casey counted down the top songs. Back then, there was no choice but to wait. We listened to radio live, had to make time, and watched television when it aired. You answered the phone if you were home, but otherwise people had to be patient, wait, and try again later.

On a hot summer day in 1978, I heard a blur of styles in the top half: classic R&B from the O'Jays, still hot disco from Donna Summer, rock Runaway from Jefferson Starship, hot-blooded hard rock from Foreigner, and finally...finally, the still number one hit from your very, very favorite, poster-on-the-wall spend-allowance-on-Tiger-Beat-magazine-because-he-was-on-the-cover (and usually it was Shaun or Leif) most loved favorite Andy Gibb, and his song Shadow Dancing.

I hid in my bedroom, knowing friends lay outside the door and on the other end of the phone and I listened, singing along quietly. After, if I wanted, and I usually did, I could put the record on the player and listen again...and again.

There was plenty of time, then, to sit and listen. Plenty of time. Plenty of space and chance and possibilities. Plenty of hope to get to see some of those cities Casey mentioned, clothes in a battered avocado and turquoise floral small suitcase.

Going somewhere. Then, it was all a countdown leading somewhere. But it took time. Now, I think all I can do is run after time, hoping to catch it and grab a few minutes.

Because somehow in a bright blinding flash it is not me on that floral bed but my own daughters, listening to iPods and music on demand, with no idea of other music other people like and who those people are or what their lives entail.

It's funny to me, how in a time when the world is smaller than ever, we are more unaware of what lays outside our closed doors.

Restaurant Trauma in Texas: How eating out prompted a really uncomfortable lesson about culture

2010-10-12T14:42:00.014-05:00

WARNING: This is NOT a family-friendly post, aka the warning I WISH I'd gotten yesterday before I walked in.

Yesterday was a Holiday. I hope you heard the scare quotes around that. Yeah, when you are an adult here is how holidays work: you, same workload as always, kids WOO HOO NO SCHOOL FREEDOM. Do the equation. The result is the day I had yesterday.

If math isn't your strong suit I'm pretty sure you can still add that up but just in case let's say the highlight of the afternoon included me dumping out the mismatched sock basket and telling the children to have at it, in a way very reminiscent of Miss Hannigan of Annie.

Anyway luckily I've taught my kids that Chores are Fun! and they had a good time.

Later, I cranked up the fun-o-meter on a bank errand by dropping in the Halloween store to check out costumes, and upped the ante on "Mom needs new running shoes" by tacking on a "Hey let's eat out at a restaurant!"

My husband was able to join us and we decided to try out one of the new restaurants near the store. My elder objected irrationally to Chuy's and so we settled on Twin Peaks, which looked like a pub-style burger place, and reminded us of a restaurant we'd liked near Boston.

Until we walked in -- me, my husband, my nearly 9 and nearly 6 year old and saw this, except with lovely olive skin, dark hair and black eyes:

We all literally froze in our tracks, gaping. My husband took a step back. The kids swiveled to look at me, as if I had a clue.

The picture does not do it justice. We are, unfortunately, somewhat vaccinated against reactions to provocative photos of scantily clad young women. To be in person with this...it's an entirely different, more visceral, experience. It was nearly unbearable, and simply reinforced my objection to this entire practice -- photo and in person -- completely.

What should we have done? Well I've been Monday morning quarterbacking all day.

Here's what I did do and why...

The hostess looked at me quizzically and said, "Hello? Did you want a table? Are you here to eat?"

I looked at this girl -- yes, girl because if she was 20 I'll eat my hat -- and saw a person, a person stuck in a horrific costume that objectified her body in a terribly uncomfortable way and I'll eat my hat again if she felt all right with it, if any of them did.

And I could not do it to her. I could not turn on my heel and march out, no matter how much I wanted to.

I could not shame her.

So I walked up, smiled, said as friendly as I could, "Hello! How are you! Yes, we'd like a table, we're just trying to figure out about inside or out."

I looked her in the eye, mostly because to look anywhere else felt like visual rape and deeply uncomfortable to me, but also because she was a person who deserved the respect of being looked at in the eye. Even if she was still so young she was dewy and ended every sentence with a question mark.

"Well," she said, "There's people smoking outside? Maybe with the kids? You'd rather inside?"

The kids rushed to two tables and started bickering over which.

"It's okay?" the young hostess said, "They can sit anywhere?"

"Thanks," I told her, "We'll work it out!"

When we settled on a table, she handed us menus, including crayons for the kids and told us our waitress would be right over.

Our waitress looked just like the image above. Although her name tag read, "Bambi in Training," she introduced herself as Heather. She was as friendly and sweet as could be...really good with the kids. Like a babysitter. A teenaged babysitter. Dressed like that photo above.

My husband stared at his menu. He'll have to tell you in his own words how he felt, but I can say I felt his discomfort. I can also say he looked at me and said, sotto voce, "I think I get the restaurant name and description about great views now. I thought it was just, you know, some Colorado pub import."

"Me too," I said, "I'd wondered about the view thing, I mean, from here all I can see if the bypass and freeway, but I thought maybe it referenced Mount St. Helens or Colorado."

The kids kept gaping and staring. Finally my older daughter said, "Why are they dressed like that?" My younger said, "I can't stop looking!" Both were dismayed.

It's clear to me that our reactions were clear: we were all pretty horrified to be in this situation, very dismayed, unsure what to do.

So I reminded the children about our Number One Rule: be kind and respectful. And I asked them to not stare or point.

They colored on their menus a bit, and I checked out the rest of the clientele.

"My God, it's like a seedy dive bar sort of place," I whispered to my husband. The clientele were largely male, with poor personal hygiene and a clear love of fatty fried foods and aversion to exercise. A solid mix of middle-aged and early 20s, with not much in between or outside of those age brackets. The restaurant itself was nice, open, airy, neat lodge-like decor.

We happened to be seated at the table closest to the hostess station and front door, so I saw each group of people who entered. A middle-aged couple entered, the woman in front of the man and she stopped short, he slammed in to her, she executed a fast turn and walked back out, the man trailing her sheepishly, with a shrug to the hostess.

Quite a few pairs of young men entered, too. Some looked old enough to drive and that's about it. A few were old enough to be skipping out early from work, and they wore the tell tale uniform of NASA. I imagined a Honda hybrid parked next to the "snowmobile" spots. The young ones were shameless. They walked in, gawked at the waitresses and their brains obviously melted straight to Beavis and Butthead heh heh land. Some even requested the "blonde" or "brunette" section. To them, the waitresses were Girls! Girls! Girls! not actual human beings. That was only made worse when that actual song came on, followed by Warrant's "Cherry Pie."

I groaned out loud. My every notion about this type of "scantily clad waitress" restaurant proved.

"Mom," my youngest said, "Mom you know how we had to clean out our closets and get rid of the clothes that were too small? Maybe these girls need their moms to help them with that."

I died 234 deaths right then. Her innocence. These young women. Their innocence. The fact that they are somebody's daughters. How my baby wanted to help them, wanted someone to help them. How she knew something was wrong but couldn't put her finger on it. How she needed to fix it.

"Honey. Oh honey, that's their waitress outfit and they need to wear it here at work," I said as neutrally as I could.

"Oh," she said.

Then, a minute later, she added, "Well you know sometimes you tell me to put a t-shirt on top of or under something...maybe they could put on a t-shirt."

"What a nice idea," I told her.

My older daughter had been listening with interest. Enough older to get somewhere near it, even if not fully comprehending it, she thought it through a little longer and said, "I don't think they should show so much of their bodies. All those men are staring."

Then I died 546 deaths.

For the record.

My husband, I think, was even worse off.

A couple more men entered, adults. Traffic was picking up. They walked in and transformed from Professional to Heh Heh Dude in under 5 seconds. As they started to trail the waitress, ogling her attributes, one looked up and met my eyes. I must have been one cold bucket of water to his fantasy because the smile slid from his face and he averted his eyes, staring at the floor.

We felt shamed because it was shameful.

Our waitress was super sweet, stopping to chat with us, talking to the kids, getting them -- my reluctant ones -- to talk back to her. I wanted to run to my car, grab a jacket, and bundle her away to work where she'd be respected.

Then it happened -- it got worse. My husband and I worked hard to keep the kids' attention at our table, or on safe objects on the walls (and even that was hard as the walls were decorated with dead and stuffed animals, which further distressed the kids) while we waited for our food. I swear it took eight hours for that food to come.

In the meantime, a middle-aged man walked in with his teenaged son and the son's teenaged friend. I would put them at approximately 17. The man looked like the kind of guy central casting would book for the "creepy pervy middle aged guy" part in a CSI show. The boys looked like extras from High School Musical.

They were seated at the table near to us, practically right next to us, actually, and my Spidey Senses went on full alert with the man. He kept shifting around, acting creepy. He was, for lack of a better word, excited. Clearly. Then he got up with his phone and stood across from the hostess station, acting like he was checking texts...in mid-air. Sneaking photos of the cluster of waitresses there, I figured. He was practically trembling in excitement, and I was shaking with rage and disgust. Then he skipped over to the station, and giggled out a request. The young women hovered for a second, then a couple started to walk over to his table. He shook his head and pointed to two others. There was a pause, as one was clearly reluctant. One of the first girls grabbed one of the second girls and started to walk, but he said something. The first girl dropped the second girl's arm. The second girl took the arm of the reluctant girl and, whispering, they walked over to the man's table, where the teenaged boys were sipping sodas.

The second girl said loudly, "We can sit here," and she and the reluctant girl climbed into the empty chairs across from the boys. Clearly, creating distance. Clearly, knowing he wanted them draped on the boys.

Creepy man asked them to lean in and the girl said again loudly, "Here, like this, go ahead, take the photo."

And I lost my appetite, completely.

What a horrid, horrid creepy man. The boys laughed, like they knew they were supposed to, but I could tell they were a little uncomfortable, too. The young women left the table as fast as possible, and returned to the safety of the hostess station.

What a horrid father. What a horrid example. What a horrid lesson. What a disgusting moment.

All right behind the backs of my little girls.

My husband burst out in a shaky voice, "Girls, you will never, ever work in a place like this. Never. In fact, no waitressing. Ever."

They giggled uncertainly, their eyes round. I changed the subject to how my husband once worked as a waiter and he told them stories. He tried to redirect to my one experience in a restaurant, but I shook my head and changed the subject to why I worked (to earn money to backpack through Europe one summer with friends).

Right then, our food arrived. Served by Heather, forced to go by Bambi, and wear less than a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader. Forced to work as a sex object, doing one of the harder jobs there is (waitressing) while clientele took the suggestive outfits at their word and subjected these young women to shameful disrespect.

I don't care if the girls chose to work in this place. It's wrong. I don't care if they feel hot. I don't care if they are hot. They're on display, badly. It's wrong.

I am disgusted that this is my culture. I'm disgusted by this restaurant. I'm disgusted that these young women either think they must or can go through this.

I admire them for doing it and with professionalism.

But I hate it. I can't even mince words. I hate it.

I hate that I walked into it inadvertently, and with my kids (the worst part). I hate that I sat in it.

I sat, my food in front of me, my fists clenched, and my husband put his hand over mine, "Please don't," he said, reading the martial look in my eyes as I glared at the back of Creepy Man. Somehow, he read my intent to pick up my big red bag and whack the man upside the back of his head with it.

"I wouldn't really," I assured him.

"I know," he said, "But you know that would just make it worse for everyone."

"I know," I said, "That makes me even sicker."

I picked at my food, eating it, eventually. It was good. That just pissed me off worse.

When Heather gave us our bill she said, "This is your first time here, isn't it."

"Yes," I said.

"How did you hear about it?"

"Oh, we haven't, we just needed to go across the way to buy me new running shoes so it was this or Chuy's and someone refused any Tex-Mex. So it was here. But we hadn't heard anything about it," I admitted.

"I thought it was probably your first time in," she said, and I thought rather sadly. She didn't ask how we found out, or whether we liked it. We didn't discuss the food, the weather, or anything like that. Instead, she said, wistfully, "Your kids are so sweet, I just love kids."

And I had to fight down the urge to beg her to quit, to tell her I have a friend who needs a nanny and as much as kids beat down your esteem they do love you and respect you more than any of those girls will find in that job.

Maybe it shows me up badly. Maybe I sound unenlightened. Judgy. I don't care.

It was horrific. Really, really awful.

And I did not even know how to explain it to my kids. They seemed to understand, anyway. So we left it at that. And redirected our attention to the athletic store where we got things for exercise, to care for our bodies. To respect our bodies.

Here is what I know -- the VERY instant any of those women were "on break" they instantly pulled on a large t-shirt, much like dancers might wear, over the uniform. They walked in to work wearing baggy clothes over the top of the uniform. They were ogled, and surely grabbed, by patrons. No doubt they were bugged, too, and subjected to inappropriate comments. All while at work, doing their jobs. They were in a position and outfit that begged for it, unfortunately. And I not for one second thought any of them deserved it. Much less asked for it. Despite the workplace and outfit.

The manager and male employees were allowed to be fully dressed. The manager wore blue jeans and a button down Oxford, his only nod to the workplace was a pink cap with the restaurant name on it. He referred to his employees as girls, and was very specific to them about how and where to stand. They were merchandise.

Maybe it's hyperbole to someone else, but it felt one step from human trafficking to me.

I wanted to make this humorous. My husband assured me I'd find some humor, and could do my usual treatment of the scenario with a light-hearted hand. My hand nor my heart are light, in fact they are heavy, even today. I'm still a seething mass of emotion.

I've never eaten at a Hooters or a Hooters-like restaurant on principle, but that's all it was until now: theoretical principle.

Now? It's knowledge, experience, and personal horror.

From my husband's lips to God's ears: may my girls never know the like of that.

May we do better by our young women.

I feel rambly, not eloquent. And this is a clear sign of how distressing this entire thing was, is.

Heed my warning: Twin Peaks is not a family-friendly restaurant. It's no place for men, women or children.

I stayed, whether it was right or wrong, because it felt worse to walk out. I let my family sit down, order food and eat because it felt worse to walk out. I looked my waitress in the eye, treated her with my best courtesy and respect, and left her a huge tip. I ignored the costumes and addressed the human beings. But I was so very uncomfortable. And appalled.

They Get What They Deserve: Lessons I hope we're learning through social media tragedy

2010-09-30T10:17:00.011-05:00

The other day I listened to one of the most brilliant modern satirists, David Sedaris, talk about his new transition into fictional stories, where the main characters are animals (David Sedaris, Anatomizing Us In 'Squirrel' Tales). These aren't fables nor are they for children. They are instead modern Grimm's Fairy Tales of a sort -- although Sedaris claims they have no moral to them (I think they do, in fact -- any satire of a culture includes a lesson, if you think on it).

Sedaris said:

"Fables have morals, and not all of these do," he tells NPR's Steve Inskeep. "So I wound up calling it a bestiary, which is just a book in which animals do things that people do."

In contrast to classic animal fables like Aesop's "The Tortoise and the Hare," there are few identifiably good characters in Sedaris' stories.

"I don't think our world is as black and white now," says Sedaris, who consciously avoided Aesop and La Fontaine as he put together the new collection. "Sometimes in these stories, you'd kind of be hard-pressed to try to sort of figure out who's the worst."

Has our moral and ethical line become horrifically blurry and dynamic, to the point that we --even those who self-identify as "good people" -- can't tell when we've crossed a boundary into harm?

The article shared an example of a tale that hit particularly close to home for me:

Several of Sedaris' tales were inspired by the unbecoming behavior of others. In "The Sick Rat and the Healthy Rat," a healthy lab rat belittles her dying neighbor by claiming that he brought the illness on himself with his "hatefulness and negative energy."

The inspiration? People Sedaris knew, suggesting that certain sick people deserved what they got.

"I would hear them talking like that, and I would think, 'When did you get crazy like that?' " he says. "So I sort of found pleasure in writing about it in a fictional way. Instead of doing what I would normally do. Which is just condemn them."

It's childlike, this immature concept that people deserve what they get and if they aren't doing well it's a personal failing. It's unevolved, this concept that if I can see you then what you are doing is "public" and I can use it as I will.

From the moment I first logged on to the Internet and began harnessing its power, back in the mid-90s, I've struggled with the proper boundaries. My first foray into social media included reading some of the very first bloggers, but eventually I joined the online conversation at Web sites with chat boards. I was astounded by, and frequently profoundly grateful for, the power and influence social networking carried.

I'll be the first to admit that the Web has changed me. I hope, though, it has never changed my core ethics, including the ones I hold very dear about respecting other people's dignity and humanity.

That's why I am so shocked to see my beloved tools and mediums used for evil, rather than good. That's why I don't understand sites that secretly photograph or film people and hold them up for public mockery.

In shock after hearing about the tragic suicide of Tyler Clementi, and the vicious and abhorrent actions of his roommate that precipitated it, I asked people on Facebook and Twitter what they thought. I got some really intriguing replies.

One, I thought, illuminated a crucial point about the value system that enables people to be cyberbullied and harassed online. Michael Thomas said, "If I end up on the People of Walmart buying a case of beer with my butt crack exposed, and everyone thinks that's really funny, whose fault is that?"

Hmm. Whose fault is it? Excellent question!

Do we really...really?...blame people for ending up in a situation that makes them look silly?

Do we really...really?...think they get what they deserve, deserve what they get?

Is there a fault here? Other than someone disrespecting your dignity by photographing this moment and mocking you online for thousands to see?

My husband answered the question this way, "You are responsible for the way you present yourself in public, but you're not at fault for times when the public uses this for their personal gain. And that's what this really is: stepping on people to get attention, to get perverted traffic, the big numbers."

Maybe I should write my own bestiary. Initially I thought it would be neat to play off the Adam and Eve story, with chipmunks entranced by a snake named Social Media. But then I thought, it's not the tools, it's us.

Maybe my new bumper sticker should read: "Social Media doesn't hurt people; People hurt people."

But then I thought, you know, I'm not of the Tech Native generation, so I asked someone who is. And he verified that people of Gen Y and younger think of social boundaries and privacy very differently, especially for online, than we, the elders who came to this technology as formed adults, do.

"We constantly involve our peers in our decision making, both important or trivial; and we're AWARE of what our peers are doing. I think that we share more both about ourselves and others. It's not anarchy- we still have sense of decency. Just less private," said Bradley Bowen.

On Facebook, my friend Tracee said, "My personal boundaries are that I won't do it if my friends or family don't want me to. With strangers, I try to factor whether they'd be embarrassed and whether they would be identifiable. That said, just the other day I posted a camping trip to FB thinking it would be the simplest way to share photos with the friends I went with, but I didn't think to ask first. It was just automatic. Took me 3 days to think, "Oh, they might not like that. I should ask them."

My friend Andrea combined the two points of view, and I inferred from what she said that it had more to do with generational differences (Tech Native generation versus older) than with age and maturity, although these are clearly factors, "I don't think they (and by "they," I do not refer to all teens any more than I would suggest all teens in my high school were bullies) have any sense that there are public/private issues at stake in posting embarrassing photos. For them, these technologies seem to be a part of their everyday lives to such an extent that they see them as simply "normal" and not related to questions of privacy in the slightest. That, I think, is where the real potential for harm lies."

My generation were instrumental in developing and furthering the Internet and social networks -- as with any user, we formed it, and while it formed us back, too, it was more of an informing versus an ethical shaping. Subsequent generations are being formed by it.

And what does that mean?

I think it means the concept of "just because you can do it doesn't mean you should" is getting lost. In my youth, we could not do it. Now, not only can youths do it, but they are encouraged at every turn to use the tools and their potential to the max, all the time.

Commercials demonstrate how iPads can be your everything, for example. Our world is full of Web sites that make fun of people, very, very popular Web sites. Crotchety bloggers get book, TV and movie deals, and a recent survey found that more kids (42%) today want to be a celebrity's assistant than the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, a president of a college, or a Navy Seal. That stunned me.

Jake Halpern, who cited the study and its results in his book Fame Junkies, said, "That was twice as much as [the percentage who wanted to be] president of Harvard or Yale, three times as much as a U.S. senator, four times as much as the CEO of a Fortune 500 company."

Now I grant not everybody wants to be an academic, a politician, or a CEO. In fact, I doubt any of those would have appealed to me. But in essence, when asked would they rather be powerful, rich and successful or somebody's gofer, the kids chose not even fame itself but proximity to fame, instead. When did our aspirations get so low or askew?

I think it's part and parcel with this strive and drive for attention. And what better way to get attention than to post something that goes viral on the Internet? And what better way to go viral than to post something vulgar, intrusive and/or opprobrious, especially if it entails something easily mocked, and thus, entertaining and humorous.

Adrian Grenier, a truly interesting person, is branching again from acting to producing, with his new documentary Teenage Papparazzo. Grenier launched the project after an experience with a teenage papparazzo, his role on Entourage, and his experiences at the side of Paris Hilton. He thinks the celebrity culture reflects a shift in values.

"For a long time in our culture, there was an emphasis put on working hard [and] contributing to your society," he says. "Now it's not about that anymore. It's about the bling and how quickly you can get it without working."

The Internet, social media, and modern technology allow us all to become papparazzi. Cell phones with cameras and videos let us capture any moment, anywhere, anytime, and instantly upload it to the Web for anyone to see.

How do we know when that's okay and not? It seems quite clear to members of my generation who replied to me on Facebook and Twitter, when I asked.

Candace said, "I don't think it is ethical to photograph portraits of ordinary people without consent and then use those pictures for profit or mockery."

Josette said, "I would never upload photos of other people's kids. I don't know the comfort level of other parents nor their family situations. For instance, I'd feel horrible if I clued-in some crazed non-custodial parent as to a child's whereabouts. And it's not up to me to make decisions or judgments on other people's comfort level."

Josette's final sentence hits the nail on the head, I think, at least when it comes to my core code. And that's the very same code I want to teach my kids. I don't want them growing up thinking it's okay to choose other people's level of public sharing for them. I'm not comfortable with younger people's level of privacy (or what I perceive as lack thereof).

On Twitter I asked, "Are Gen X and older parents out of touch with how they need to teach their kids respect and boundaries within social and new technology media?"

Other than one friend saying she felt she had a good handle on it (she will hopefully share her secret) most said they were intrigued with what I'd learn from this question; in short, it seems we think our kids are more sophisticated with the tools and we're not sure if we're able to counteract the peer and societal messages.

I wonder what lessons and boundaries Dharun Ravi and Molly Wei's parents taught. Or didn't. And why the lessons didn't take on such a tragic level. I don't ask this judgmentally, but in a "is there any thing I can learn from this, do I have any hope of doing any better?" I know good parents raise good kids who do bad things sometimes. Frontal lobe. Science. Bill Cosby's "Brain Damage" comedy sketch.

Supporters and friends of this couple say they are nice, and friends can't believe they'd mean any harm. How can they -- and Dharun and Molly, and their defenders -- not see, not have anticipated, the harm in stealing and sharing such a private moment?

As social media shifts boundaries, and values shift too -- possibly as a result -- we have a tougher job as parents and society ensuring that we teach kids to respect others and always value the humanity in each of us.

More importantly, we have to teach them to take responsibility for their actions, and lay fault where it belongs: on their shoulders for their choices.

Not on their victim, simply for being accessible.

Entertainment, jokes, and fame are not justifiable ends for means that harm another this severely.

I hope David Sedaris does write about this. Maybe it's the very mirror we need.

How the Tooth Fairy Got His Groove Back

2010-09-16T17:16:00.012-05:00

Okay...how many times have I written about the Great Tooth Fairy Conundrum?

Frankly, my husband and I sort of stink at Special and On the Ball. Someone once told me how they have stockpiles of Tooth Fairy prizes, at the ready, just in case. Someone else once said they have gold dollars that come from the Tooth Fairy. Another person has a special treasure chest for teeth. Our Tooth Fairy gets frantic texts messages, "OMG get off tollway NOW!! LOST TOOTH!! Must have WEBKIN, preference PINK and CUTE, nothing from OCEAN!!!!!!!!!!"

Then said Tooth Fairy has Webkin in hand (do not EVEN ask how the Webkin precedent got set, suffice it to say...LESSON LEARNED!) and said Tooth Fairy and his ahem colleague, aka the Assistant Tooth Fairy, are tired from a long day of tooth business and tend to sort of collapse right around Tooth Fairy time.

Then around 2 a.m. the Assistant Tooth Fairy tends to wake up in the middle of a heart attack, pokes the Tooth Fairy hard and hisses, "WE FORGOT! You must CREEP QUIETLY and DO NOT WAKE THE CHILD and GET THAT TOOTH and somehow with God on our side you'll be able to get the Webkin in WITH NO WAKING!"

The Tooth Fairy moans and grunts and hauls himself out of bed by swinging his legs off so the momentum carries the rest of him up and off too. He reaches down, gets the bag with the prize in it, and rustles it out.

The Assistant Tooth Fairy hisses again, "SHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Our next door neighbors can hear you that was so loud!"

The Tooth Fairy grunts, and, with Webkin in hand, slinks down the hallway in an erratic pattern to avoid the creaky spots. The Assistant Tooth Fairy helps by hanging on the door frame and hissing directions with frantic hand signals.

Assistant Tooth Fairy: hand slash across throat

Tooth Fairy, "Wha...?"

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "Shhhhh!!!" slash hand up, curve over to the right

Tooth Fairy, "Wha...?"

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "SHHHHHHHH!!!!" left hand yanks on tooth in mouth, sets fingers into palm of right hand, closes right hand, left hand with big face gestures to indicate lifting something, right hand pokes hard at air under whatever left hand is holding up, big gestures back and right

Tooth Fairy, "Seriously Jules, what the heck?"

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "She tucked it into a tissue and put it way back at the back under the pillow on the right side!!"

Tooth Fairy, "Where her HEAD is?"

Assistant Tooth Fairy: Frantic nodding

Tooth Fairy, "Oh for cra..."

Assistant Tooth Fairy cuts in, "Shhhh, language!"

Tooth Fairy, "She's asleep!"

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "For now!"

Tooth Fairy, "Who came up with this harebrained scheme of sticking teeth under a pillow? I'd like to stick something..."

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "I mean it! Kvetch LATER!"

With a delicacy and patience the Assistant Tooth Fairy envies mightily, the Tooth Fairy gently lifts the corner of the pillow, finds the tooth, and lays the prize in place.

The two skulk back down the hall.

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "This is why you earn the big bucks, Tooth Fairy. Once again! Master of tooth extraction and prize placement."

The Tooth Fairy waves to the cheering crowd.

Tooth Fairy, "But seriously, we have got to remember better next time. I'll never get back to sleep and I have to be up in an hour and a half anyway. Work is going to stink tomorrow."

Assistant Tooth Fairy, "Tell me about it. I'm sure my adrenaline rush will deflate right about kid waking time."

And now? Now we have TWO CHILDREN at Tooth Fairy stage.

And now? I can tell you how I know it's true that Jesus loves me.

Right about the same time my almost six year old tells me her lower front tooth is getting loose and will I please tell the Tooth Fairy she'd prefer the moose (or whatever), I get an email about Tooth Fairy pillows from this lady representing Sorrisi Decor.

Would I be interested in a sample of a tooth fairy pillow? Oh yes I would!

Hey, also, by the way, 50% of the profits go to Medical Teams International to send teams of dental professionals sent to areas around the world in great need (currently Liberia and Mali) to provide better health through dental care.

The Tooth Fairy likes it! Lots and lots.

Okay the pillows are adorable, I mean a.d.o.r.a.b.l.e! I love them, the kids love them, they are rally great quality, and there are styles for every personality (personalizing with names is an option too!). My friend who has a kids' boutique saw them and wants them for her shop. My dentist saw them and wants them for his patients. It's not a matter of are they awesome. They are. It's a matter of how they improve the Tooth Fairy's existence.

The Tooth Fairy and his assistant are altering the whole "tooth under the pillow" scheme. Now, the tooth will go in the pillow's pouch, the pillow will sit outside the bedroom door (visual reminder) and the prize will go in the pillow's pocket.

Life is good. And so are the tooth fairy pillows. See?

A lovely nature one for my nature girl Patience and a sassy Diva one for my little princess Persistence:

You know me, I'm in communications with a heavy emphasis on promotion and so I have all of these standards, ethics, and complex rules I follow about doing promotion and review posts. I usually say "thanks but no thanks" to like 99.8% of pitches I receive. I have to be emotionally fascinated. It has to be good, do good, add good. This product hit that criteria for me. I did receive a free sample of the product (which I require before reviewing) but was under no obligation to write about it or hoof my way around the town, online or offline, rave reviewing this product. All of this is voluntary, and my own words and opinions. All 100% true.

The Texas Women's Conference Winner!

2010-09-13T16:53:00.004-05:00

Every single one of you who stopped to post and discuss where you are in your career really, really moved me. There is so much I want for each of you...and I'm working on that.

In the interim, if you can attend the conference or a networking group or jump into a Twitter chat within your field, I encourage that. Austin has some great entrepreneur groups and a wonderful conference that's pay-as-you-can and Houston has a number of women's business and networking groups above and beyond professional organizations.

And...I entered everyone's name who wanted to win a ticket (some commenters opted out) into Random.org randomizer and the results were:

List Randomizer

There were 15 items in your list. Here they are in random order:

christina 52

There were several Christinas so I had to assign numbers. I contacted this Christina who is able to attend the conference and is very excited!

Congratulations, Christina, and thank you to everyone who commented.

Check back--let's see what we can all do.

One huge kick start to my career and how you can have it too

2010-09-07T11:18:00.003-05:00

Right now, my career is going well. It has been a pretty good run but that's 95% nose to the grindstone and 5% luck. Or thereabouts. I do what I do and have what I have because I've made and seized opportunities, taken risks, sucked it up for a lot of years, and worked hard.

When I moved to Texas five years ago I had to transition my career a bit. Not a huge demand for managing editors at major publishers here, unless you happen to be in educational publishing, which I wasn't (for good reason). So I had to parlay my skills into actual work, and it has been a five year journey.

I hit a point of frustration not too long ago when I'd get some opportunities, but...without the concept of pay attached. For some reason, these people would schedule meetings with me and assume I'd do all this work and promotion for them just have content for my blog. What a joke. Like other bloggers, I do not lack for content on my blog. I lack for time to write up and publish all the content ideas I have, and I lack for money to pay the very real bills that expect US dollars as payment, not a write up on my blog.

It annoyed me mightily. I have a twenty(ish) year career behind me and had never ever hit this mindset of "will work for...nothing." I've freelanced plenty and always, always, both parties understood that one was compensated with pay for work. On rare occasions, I've exchanged or donated services when it was something I was passionate about, such as a cause I cared deeply about or a close friend who I was happy to help. I never donated my expertise to a for profit company.

Why should I?

Was the person asking me to donate my services working for the joy of it? Or was there a regular paycheck attached? I don't care how awesome your product or service is, if you want the benefit of my expertise, it costs. I'd never ask you to work for free.

I began starting business query conversations that I was interested in with a very clear professional, work-for-fee statement. It could vary but in general it was along the lines of, "That sounds like a cool opportunity. I'd definitely be interested in talking with you in more detail to scope the project and determine my fee. I know I'd enjoy working on this."

I thought this was brilliant, a great strategy. Set the professional tone and expectations for pay upfront.

I was shocked with the responses I received. Most were surprised, "Oh, I thought, you know, that you would just, you know, enjoy doing this..." Some were offended, "Oh, but, this is such a great product, and I don't really have a budget..." A few were offensive and retaliated with slurs on my worth and ability. One actually wrote something so rude about my completely reasonable expectation of pay for work that I replied by saying that it was clear we'd never be a good working fit and have a nice life.

I stepped back and took stock. On paper, I thought I was doing it all right. But it wasn't working. Therefore, I needed a new strategy. But what? Should I stick to this self-employed notion? Get a job in an office? Compromise? Or stick to my guns?

I decided to stick to my guns, and also decided to find a way to make that work. I was motivated. And willing to change how I did things. But not willing to work for free.

Plenty of people have written about the corporate expectation that anyone who could be identified as a blogger will work for free. Plenty have advocated for both sides of the story. So I won't rehash.

My profession, however, is communications. It's what I do and have done for a living, and expecting to earn a living from it now is totally reasonable.

So what in the world did I need to do differently in order to achieve that?

Around the time of my peak frustration and maximum motivation, I ran across an advertisement for the Texas Conference for Women.

Why not, I thought. Anyway, the keynote speaker was Isabel Allende! The cost was reasonable, it was only one day, and it promised a lot of career development, including free (included) one-on-one sessions with career advisors.

I carefully selected sessions, and tentatively walked in to the first one. It was hosted by this incredible, dynamic, successful woman in media and she made us practice frame of mind and framing speech to be successful. It felt enlightening, and empowering.

I left her session thinking, I can do this. I skipped the next session in order to take advantage of the one-on-one coaching. I met with a career coach who carefully listened to my dilemma about pay for work.

"You're used to dealing with businesses, have primarily worked with corporations," she said.

"That's right," I said.

"Now you're dealing with individuals, and representatives of businesses. They work differently," she told me.

We discussed who I needed to focus my attentions on -- more businesses -- and how to refine my pitch and responses to these smaller businesses. She also told me to not make it personal.

All of this seemed obvious, but honestly, being able to sit and plan with a coach makes a huge difference. It made me frame out and write down the problem in a very coherent and logical way, problem solve, and write down the solution. I set a goal, and a plan of action. Then I began developing. And since then, I've been working pretty consistently, for pay.

The other sessions were great, too, and at the end of the day I was tired, but inspired and ready to get to work. I gained some great insight and tactics from successful women, networked with local professional women, and most importantly, learned from successful women how to be a successful woman. Not how to do it the man's way, but how to do it my way.

I plan to return this year, too. It's November 10, and is here in Houston, at the George R Brown.

Again, this year there will be a career fair and the mentor sessions. In addition to a great line-up of speakers and timely career-focused sessions. By no means do I think I know it all so I am looking forward to learning more and expanding my skills and knowledge of how to build success.

I was really honored to hear from the conference this year, who asked me to be a part of letting women know, any way I'd like. They also offered me not one but two complimentary tickets.

I'm going to use one -- you bet! -- but I'll happily give away one, too. Just comment here, let me know your career dilemma or goal that you'd like help achieving and I'll select a winner.

For more information about the conference, check out the Web site to see about speakers and sessions.

I know really cool famous people...how about you?

2010-08-25T14:47:00.005-05:00

There are celebrities. And what do they ever do for you?

Entertain you, maybe. Prompt you to spend $8 on a 30 page magazine to read a 500 word article that suggests rather than reports something really pointless about someone you'll never, ever know and yet? Are relentlessly curious about. Get you to hesitate on Fox News which you never ever do because it is in the process of flip flashing between Tiger and Elin's faces and you are wondering, dear goodness, when did this become news and ohmygawd Frank DeFord is right, sports reporters forgot how to report golf without Tiger in it and tennis without Serena Williams in it and football without That Not So Very Next Door After All Guy Who Shall Never Get an SEO Hit From My Blog player.

So all in all, what good have any celebrities done for you lately?

I mean, other than force you into a conversation with your kids about a subject you hoped wouldn't come up for oh, say, the next 200 years.

And then there are CELEBRITIES...people who are famous for a Very Good Reason Indeed and who bring sunshine and joy and good ideas into your life.

Like...Heloise, who has a Web site/book/radio show/magazine column/etc. that includes the answer to every question in the universe you could ever think to ask a life or house hint about and then some you never even considered, yet.

I? Have met Heloise.

I? have taste tested a new cake recipe she was trying out.

I? have spent an afternoon with her and she is all that and then some. Authentically.

And now she is blogging at the Dr. Smith's blog with us, I kid not. How cool is she. How cool is that.

HOW UNBELIEVABLY AWESOMELY USEFUL AND WORTH YOUR TIME is that!

Here's her hello post: Heloise Here...

Here's my Dr. Smith's buddies during our afternoon with Heloise:

Traveling as a Mother

2010-08-15T08:19:00.010-05:00

You know my motto: loved ones deserve the chance to miss one another.

I think it's good to get to miss one another, I think it's good to get some space for a bit in between. I think it makes us see, from a better vantage point, how much we love each other, and how important we are to each other, day to day. I think it helps us strip back a layer of taking one another for granted.

This summer, instead of it being my kids off and about on a busy schedule, it's been me off and about, and it has given my kids the chance to (a) miss me, (b) see how it is with dad primary parenting, and (c) discover they are capable of being quite competent when they need to be.

(Bless my heart, I'm a little overfocused on details and slightly control freakish. Like a Girl Scout Gone Wild, a bit. Everything must be prepared, planned, organized, and completely thought through, every microdetail managed. I keep mental checklists, written checklists, and am a little hypercompetent in managing and preparing. God love my husband, who is so great at so many things, but detail-oriented is not his gift. Last trip I returned home to learn that each day he sent them to camp missing something, and the kids thought the most egregious one was forgetting the thermos. Which, considering it's 114 degrees here, is pretty bad, but you know, camp has contingencies for that lol. So they were fine.)

When I travel, people ask me who cares for the children. This would be a logical question if I was a single mother, but I'm not. I'm married to the children's father, who, by the way, has always been a full partner co-parent. He has done a stint as a stay at home dad, I have done a stint as stay at home mom, and since I'm working full-time, as is he, we have to break parenting responsibilities as much as possible between us as fairly as possible. We usually attend school performances, activities, teacher conferences, etc together.

When I am gone I am fine. I am usually very busy so lack time to ponder absence in a maudlin way, but also, I'm initially overwhelmed by this curious lightness.

When I wake up, it's on my schedule. My only demand is to get myself ready, which I am able to do quickly without interruptions. Breakfast is served to me, cleaned up after me, in a restaurant.

I have thinking time, reading time, can watch TV in bed without bothering anyone, and can even turn it on again if I wake up at 2 a.m., agitated in a bed other than my own.

I can set my toiletries out in my hotel room and nobody gets into them. I leave the bathroom and do not return to find toothpaste coating the counter, my blusher shattered on the floor, or my toothpaste missing. I can leave my work papers on the hotel desk and nobody draws on them.

I do not have to distinguish telling from tattling, implore the children to let it go and stop bickering, beg them to quit torturing the cats (seriously, there is such a thing as too much love, and no, cats are not fashionistas), keep a tight rein on my temper as theirs explode into outbursts of, "You're so mean!" and "I wish I had another family!"

When I deliver my work, the results of my effort, my clients express appreciation and, if more needs to be done, we discuss it reasonably and constructively. They have never snapped at me that it's not good enough, asked why I haven't done more, whined, or made me feel a tidal wave of frustration that what I do never meets expectations, is never enough, no matter what. And if they did, we might opt out of working together again.

When I call home in the evenings, just after bed time, sometimes my husband and I sit and chat in ways we often do not when at home, where so many things call to our attention.

I have come upon mothers crying, missing their kids, when they travel. I have listened to sentimental cravings, understood that powerless sense of missing something vital.

I call my children, to catch up with them, to tell them goodnight.

But I am okay. And so are they.

I don't think this is a measurement of love, that, in our case, falls short.

I do think this is a measure of our strong, independent, personal core, that for me is well-developed, and shows signs of becoming well-developed in my children.

I have a vested interest in my children, who I love, but I am not invested in them so that our identities merge in a way that causes me to feel as if a piece of me is missing when we are apart.

I don't think that the other mothers, the ones who feel sad, are unhealthy in anyway.

I do think that they feel the world differently than I do, and that's okay.

When I travel, people ask me if I miss my children. I do, but not in a painful way. I revel in the time of being myself, unencumbered. It is easy to revel in that time, you see, because it's not my state of being. It's like playing hooky. I know I get to go back, and be surrounded by family. I may feel annoyed when I see my expensive mints strewn up the stairs and down the hall as "breadcrumbs" for the "gingerbread game," but I feel indescribable joy when a warm yawny little body cuddles next to me in the morning to wake.

When I return, my husband is overjoyed to see me, as are the kids, and I feel a sense of importance and validation that often is missing in the every day. Sometimes I think I bear the heaviest household burden, but when I travel and return home and my husband has kept up with the tidying and dishes, I realize how much he does and I feel grateful.

How I Prepare to Be the Official BlogHer StalkHer

2010-07-27T09:30:00.006-05:00

While the rest of you. . .

shine your fancy tickets to BlogHer,
buy new cute yet comfy shoes,
plot wardrobes with the intensity of a brigadier general,
check the mailbox hourly for razzle dazzle cards,
RSVP to parties that overlap,
hack into databases to see who is going to be where and when,
plan escape routes with trusted friends,
bribe city officials for the official blueprints of the Hilton NYC,
create elaborate index card systems of conference tracks and panels,
study Facebook photos and bios like a sorority girl before rush,
set up Google alerts for any blog or Web mention of BlogHer 10 (plus BlogHer 10+your name, just in case),
hound insiders for secret appearance special guest names,
and more. . .

I am in complex and highly technical preparations myself to be the official BlogHer StalkHer.

First, it's necessary that every StalkHer suit up in the appropriate outfit. I'm thinking this looks about right, minus, of course, the strong masculine jawline and five o'clock shadow.

(Frankly, Google has offended me again. Last week I asked about "baby changing tables in men's restrooms" and Google asked me if I meant "baby changing tables in women's restrooms." No GOOGLE, you sexist pig, I mean MEN'S. Some people may call it babysitting when a dad takes charge of the kids, but I call it PARENTING and some fathers do too, such as the ones who will take their baby into the bathroom to change a dirty diaper aka MOST DADS. Now? Google wants to be sure I meant "female bandit." Which, by the way, DO NOT GOOGLE THAT. It's a slew of fetish and playboy and penthouse results. "Bandit costume" provides much better results, albeit all for the men. As usual.)

Anyway, the outfit:

Second, one needs one's tools of the trade. I've been jonesing for an excuse to get this ever since I heard about it:

Micro Ear Gear -- no conversation is safe from me!

Finally, I need a gimmick. This should do the trick:

Everybody clap clap your hands and let's get funky!

Anyway...don't pity me, in my Zorro outfit doing the Cha Cha Slide with a supersonic spy gear hearing piece hanging off my ear.

Just find me and say HI!

(You guys know I'm kidding, right! I've got some spectacular events and plans, and fun with friends lined up. But do not despair! I have, of course, dedicated some time during the day Friday and until my flight on Saturday to StakHer-ing!)

Why I Think Country Songs are Really About...Cats

2010-07-14T13:50:00.004-05:00

Can you hear it? This cat could easily be channeling Hank Williams, Jr., "You'll cry and cry and try to sleep / But sleep won't come the whole night through / Your cheatin' heart will tell on you / When tears come down like falling rain / You'll toss around and call my name..."

Last night I was being kept awake all night by my five year old, who again had a nightmare and needed to climb into bed with me. It's not her presence in the bed on its own, it's the way she kicks, hard, especially in the kidneys and rear end. My husband and I greet each other groaning every morning after she visits. We've started stacking pillows around her, between her and us, to get some protection.

Neither of us are kickers, but we are still happy to blame each other's genetics for this child.

Anyway, so you know how when it's 3 a.m. and you are laying in bed, too alert to sleep, too sleepy to get up and your mind starts running around crazy topics because your eyes are too tired to open, much less focus on something like a book or TV show?

Yeah, so my mind was running, and the soundtrack/ear worm was this really silly country song and I don't even know where I've heard it.

I'm into jazz, blues, Motown, classic 70s rock, and singer/songwriter. Just ask iTunes, it knows. My vocal eight year old, who has lately roped her sister into block voting against me in the new minivan when it comes to music (how a new car has empowered my children I will never know -- I used to own the radio dial. I know what it is. Now that they have their own air conditioner controls and think they have a vote about other amenities in the car!)...anyway, my eight year old is into classical music so I'm forced to leave it on NPR (2 hours of news, classical music, two hours of news) all day. I like classical music, especially classical Spanish guitar, which we were treated to this morning. So don't get me wrong. I like it, especially a lot more than wailing children.

In fact, maybe the wailing children -- and since it is summer, they do wail a lot, and with all our extra summer quality time together, I get to hear more of it -- with their twangy, nasally sad song they sing too often, put me in mind of country music.

And maybe my mind was thinking about my kicking five year old which reminded me of the wailing from earlier that day which made me think of country music. Maybe that's how it happened. That made me think about Rascal Flatts and the time they ere on one of the CSIs and how that was the best part of the show, which really jumped the shark about three years ago. So then I was thinking more and more about country music, and that's when my cat jumped up and butted my hand for some love and affection.

I complied, of course, because the company was welcome, but more importantly, I am well trained. Cats do not take no for an answer. Cats hold all the power in the relationship. Cats keep and give and take at will, all while projecting a magical Zen quality. Cats love you and leave you.

Just like people in country songs! All those sad spurned lovers missing the object of their affection, empty and broken-hearted from pouring their all into a doomed affair, drowning in beer and crying for Jesus...it sort of seemed an apt description of my brain at, check the clock, 3:34 a.m.

In fact, when I thought about it...all of the country songs I could think of could just as easily be about cats as lost loves.

Consider "A Lover Spurned" by Marc Almond:

A passing phase
A week of love
But all at once
You had enough
It pales so soon
Waned with the moon
No deep concern
For a lover spurned
She'll destroy you with her little games

That could totally be my cat!

Or go back to Rascal Flatts, "What Hurts the Most"

What hurts the most
Is being so close
And havin' so much to say
(Much to say)
And watchin' you walk away

And never knowin'
What could've been
And not seein' that lovin' you
Is what I was tryin' to do, oh
Oh yeah

Except for the part that she didn't know that I was loving on her. She knew, that cat knew full well but once she had enough, she hopped off the bed and left! Just left me all alone in the dark at, check the clock, 3:41 a.m.

Just go find a country song, read the lyrics, and think "cat." It works, it really does. Also, it adds a level, just like when you add "in bed" to the end of every fortune cookie fortune.

Why everyone seems so much ruder these days (but probably isn't)

2010-06-19T09:45:00.000-05:00

Grumpy and prickly: or are appearances deceiving?

It started with a tweet I read by an exasperated person who was in proximity with someone chatting on a cell phone. The crux of the comment was that nobody has any boundaries these days and that everyone has simply gotten so horribly rude.

So...is it rude?

Has rudeness truly increased?

I've thought a lot about this lately. It occurred to me that perhaps we aren't ruder as a people -- perhaps we simply have a lot of evolution rapidly entering our society, and our mores haven't had a chance to catch up. More importantly, perhaps we have more overlapping cultural mores than ever.

In other words, there are so very many people living in close proximity, crossing paths daily, and the truth is, we're so mobile now -- but of course, everywhere we go, we take ourselves (and our personal and cultural mores).

That means that all these people we're bumping up against are not likely to be from our village, raised with our same rules, manners, regulations, mores, and ideas.

I remember when I first moved to Massachusetts I was still Friendly+Chatty. In the checkout line in the grocery store I'd say hello to the checkout person, do some idle chitchat, that sort of thing. And the person? Would stare at me as if I'd grown two heads.

I began to understand why New Englanders had a reputation for being unfriendly. The truth is, they are wonderfully kind people, in general, though reserved at first, and plainspoken. This can be misinterpreted as Unfriendly. I ought to know. I'm like that naturally and taught myself out of it. You see, growing up in the South this sort of behavior is cause for sending one to the doctor for diagnosis.

So, in the end, I discovered I could relax and not force friendly chatter, which was a personal relief, but I also found I missed it...more than a little. I also discovered that fluffy chit chat with mostly strangers was not ludicrous and initial reserve wasn't a bad thing. More importantly, though, I realized that these were simply two different styles.

Sometimes, styles clash, at least initially.

The other day at Starbucks two lovers clutched hands and whispered to one another on a purple faux velvet couch. It seemed rather intimate to me, especially in such surroundings, but I ignored it, until they began kissing so passionately that the wet sucking sounds reached me across the space and over the rather loud Bob Marley playing through the overhead speakers.

Ugh, I wrote in Twitter, describing the scene. Most people tweeted agreement that it was horribly rude.

But perhaps someone silently dissented.

I usually silently dissent when people express their vast annoyance of people who talk on cell phones in public. I do so because sometimes I do. I know my sister does, and I know that is usually because grocery shopping while kids are in school is sometimes her only chance to chat on the phone, and that solo time is so limited she has to multi-task. It's just not that big of a deal to me when people talk on cell phones around me. It doesn't get to me any more than two friends talking in person with one another.

So I don't mind it, but someone else does. I do, but someone else would never.

Does that make it rude?

Once upon a time, the social graces were clear, and in a given region, everyone knew those mores. This past Spring, I accompanied my daughter's second grade class to a way back field trip -- we went to a one room school house for a day of living in 1898. I had to have my ankles covered because I was over 12. My hair had to be up. Boys and girls sat on separate sides of the room. Children entered the classroom together, single file line, shortest to tallest, girls first. They lined up by their desks and had to say their names one by one, then curtsy (if a girl) or bow (if a boy) and wait for the teacher to permit them to sit. Students did not lean back in their chairs, and sat up straight, with hands clasped on top of the desk unless the hands were occupied with an assigned task. In 1898, the Nineteenth Amendment hadn't yet passed, and the more of the time was that women weren't to be included or consulted in the running of the very society they lived in. This doesn't mean they lacked influence, but they certainly couldn't back up their talk with votes. Roles were distinct and clear. Rules were well-defined. What was good manners was obvious, as was what was rude.

It's not so clear cut, these days, and society mixes much more than ever before. It's also more complicated in so many respects.

So, in the breach, we make up our own rules for manners, interpret the old ones for modern times, and do our best to decide how to live courteously. There is no mass buy-in on everything.

Do we greet our neighbors? Once upon a time, this was de rigeur. However now, with just as many frequent movers as natives in many places, some would find a welcome wagon intrusive, while others would find its lack horribly rude.

Do we talk on cell phones in public? I suspect in busy New York City people hardly think twice about it (correct me if I'm wrong). New Yorkers are used to creating necessary artificial privacy boundaries and tuning out the people around them. However, in my small town, where people frequently are expected to greet the people around them, or commune with awareness of each other, even if silently, I don't see too many public phone conversations and I think many people would find it unmannerly.

Frequently society and its rules and mores catch up to innovation and rules begin to appear. I should say historically. For example, already society is getting on board with not only creating an unwritten rule against driving while texting, but in many places, drivers face written rule consequences is caught texting while driving.

But talking on a phone in public, such as at a grocery store? I don't imagine there will ever be enough impetus to create any kind of rule, even unwritten, against it. So much of our modern life fits in this same bucket. It's just too hard to create a consensus.

So, perhaps, the best thing to do is to adapt -- be a New Yorker at times and decrease your awareness of those around you through artificial mental privacy barriers, and be a Southerner and commune in a friendly, though sometimes silent, way with those around you.

What if instead of worrying so much about rules we instead understood that so much of what we think of as manners is based on our own personal preferences and personal culture?

What if instead of getting so annoyed by someone else, who may simply be talking on the phone, and deeming them Rude, we instead thought, "I don't prefer that and wouldn't do it, but that's a preference. Tuning out starting now..."

What do you think -- preference or rule? Rude or cultural/stylistic difference?

Mommy Elephant in the room? Not so much.

2010-05-26T09:41:00.012-05:00

A good pitch: the PR agency for Kuhn Rikon KinderKitchen (cooking tools for kids) contacted me after I reviewed a local kids' cooking class. They'd like to send some samples for a review. "Would you mind donating them for a fundraiser?" I asked. They agreed and sent the above amazing basket for a school fundraiser. It was one of the most popular and hotly bid upon items. They got credit in the flyer for the event, and displayed their great products in-person to hundreds of parents. Of course I wrote a blog post about it, too. The winner of the basket was ecstatic, and more word of mouth for the product. I know personally of quite a few sales, just from this one effort. That's some bueno PR and I applaud Katrina of Field & Associates PR who set it up. She represented her client well and beneficially.

I read a disturbing post Monday from a partner at a PR firm, "The Mommy Elephant in the room."

This post was pushback from a PR firm partner angered when a mom blogger pushed back publicly on her blog about a pitch.

I agree with the concept that we need to get things worked out between mom bloggers and promotional agencies. I agree with the idea we need to nail down some general Good Guidelines for people to consider, and communicate the ethics and FTC regulations involved. I agree that good dialogue is necessary.

I prefer to do it more constructively, though. I like how Liz and Susan are opening up the conversation and keeping it going, and I think firms and agencies that have questions could really benefit from reading their main points. I also like to (at times) post really, really good pitches as an example of how to do it.

So where did all of this come from?

Just in case you were sleeping the last couple of years or were otherwise engaged in non-blogging activities or other outside priorities, here's a brief history of the mom blog world:

Moms started blogging
Mom blogs became popular and influential
PR firms (among others) had a lightbulb go on overhead
PR firms (among others) said, "Wow, mom blogs are awesome, what a great way to reach our market!"
PR firms (among others) started reaching out to moms and moms were initially flattered and frequently interested
As is typical with the start of things, this was the start of a beautiful friendship
As is sadly typical of a lot of friendships, this went south
PR firms (among others) were sometimes way less than professional with mom bloggers (I'll get into what this means later in the post)
Some bloggers got very promote-y, to the dismay of their readers. They got push back from unhappy readers who missed true blog content when their blog or blogs in general got overtaken by reviews, promotional editorial content, and similar
Bloggers and readers began discussing openly the ethics involved in promotional posts
Bloggers, some, became inundated with pitches from PR firms and others
Some bloggers began pushing back
The FTC got involved
Some smart bloggers launched Blog With Integrity
A large number of bloggers joined that effort
More discussion ensued
Some moods towards PR forms (among others) turned a little ugly
Pushback got more aggressive
Some firms were publicly chastised
Now, a PR firm has pushed back

In the last year, despite my own profession in communications (or maybe because of it), I've become increasingly annoyed by some pitches I've received. I've kvetched about some bad ones, publicly.

What has annoyed me about pitches (and I don't think I'm unique) (also, this is the "how PR firms have been less than professional with bloggers" comment I alluded to in my history list):

being called the wrong name, especially when my name is also the name of my blog
being pitched something completely inappropriate for my blog or my usual topics
the assumption that "providing me content ideas" is not only fair compensation, but in fact a favor (it's not, I never lack for content, and, as a blog versus a subscription based publication, my readers don't seek promotional editorial content from me. If you offered me time, then that would be talking.)
feeling like a shrimp caught in a net trolling for crab (in other words, just a random name plugged into a mass email outreach) (which totally misses the entire purpose and power of social media)
being asked for a huge time, and sometimes monetary, investment. For example...If you ask me to run a contest, that takes a huge amount of planning, promotion, time, and effort on my part. If you offer me a giveaway, it costs me to go to to a shipping service and send it to a reader. I did this once. It sounded So Fun and the product was a good fit. I had no experience running a contest off my blog four years ago, and got no guidelines or support from the agency. I admit I ran it very badly indeed. I learned a lot from it, so it's not pure regret, but I swore no more contests. Also? The shipping? Cost me over $30. And that wasn't the only cost. I never even got a thanks from the agency.
seeing the assumption that I'm in this for the free stuff, especially if I request a product. In all sincerity, how in the world can anyone expect me to review a product that I've never used or don't have, if it's new, or to expend my time and money to go buy a product and review it. No, a discount coupon is not adequate, especially if it is something I'd probably not buy on my own anyway. I am a small business owner and I understand the cost involved in sending samples. When I published a children's autism book (which cost me $10 per piece to print) I cringed a little each time I sent a free book, but I understood it was the cost involved if I hoped for reviews or promotion. I was therefore very selective in choosing who I sent it to, and made sure it was the right person. Thus, instead of blanketing hundreds of people, I contacted ten. Ten right people. Without spending a dime on advertising, and costing only the per piece cost, I sold out the first print run of the book.
hitting an unrealistic deadline schedule from people asking me to help them promote their client or client's product. I have contacted people who pitch something that interests me and is a good fit. I have on some occasions then encountered daily pings from these folks wondering when I'm going to get that post up.

So what are PR agencies to do? I agree it's a complicated world.

To help out on my end, as many bloggers have done, I posted right in the main sidebar of my blog a policy about how I work. The content of my blog makes it clear quickly the genre I work within. When I receive queries and pitches, I have a standard reply that is often an appropriate response. It states my rates and conditions, as well as what I will do. Other times, I send a special reply. I have only rarely asked to be removed from the list because in my opinion, it's better to keep lines of communication open. Offer A might not be a fit, but Offer B might be. I find no purpose or solution in cutting off the relationship (unless it is truly egregious, and I honestly can't think of a time that has happened off the top of my head).

I have shared my boilerplate policy text with other bloggers freely, encouraging them to use it as is or tweak it to work for them and then post it.

In the end, I've formed positive productive working relationships with quite a few promotion agencies. These places are filled with positive people who work professionally and well. i have a lot of respect for them.

People who commented that the commenters offered no constructive ideas, including the PR partner who originally wrote the post, weren't reading the comments very carefully, in my humble opinion. Many, many commenters offered big nuggets of gold information and ideas.

If you read carefully, you can find out how to best interact, approach and work with bloggers for promotional opportunities. It make require reframing your own thoughts of approaches to working with bloggers, but in my opinion, that's called constructive perspective taking and leads to better interactions and more success.

So what are the golden nuggets?

One of my very favorite people in the world summarized it perfectly in her own comment. Deb Rox, with whom I worked on the amazing Tide Loads of Hope project that she and Meagan set up, wrote (and breaking it up and highlighting portions is all me):

The answer to PR reps’ problems with mommybloggers is so easy it drives me crazy that I see pros making the same mistakes time and time again.

I come from both perspectives. I blog, and I work in PR and marketing and as a liaison between bloggers, brands and PR reps.

The disconnect is that there are many types of bloggers. Not all are akin to newspaper or magazines, and most DO NOT NEED stories, traffic or giveaway items from PR.

That fact undoes the holy trinity of “everybody’s happy” with “free” stories.

The game has changed. However, old style pitching is still useful as some bloggers are indeed publishers akin to newspapers and magazines and are interested in those PR-driven stories or giveaway items. They already by and large identify themselves as PR Friendly either by badge or by text, so I don’t think a new badge is needed, and you can also tell by their content and the way they engage with the blogosphere and their readers.

You can tell by building a relationship. So mistakes are usually made by not researching that blogger first, and by not taking time to build a relationship second. If you are at all in doubt, your employees should absolutely query with a brief email–not a pitch for the client, but a request to see if they are interested in general in the type of pitches you send.

Just as simple as the unsubscribe email you mention. Your employee is the paid pro in this exchange. Did she first research that blogger and then chat with her before pulling your client into the exchange that obviously might not be welcome? Doing less is the type of bad communication that bloggers rightfully are offended by, as it breaks major etiquette, and companies should be offended by, if they knew, because they look bad.

If PR companies are confused by the mommyblogger scene, they can also hire insiders or liaisons to help them understand and cultivate relationships.

The problem I found with the defensive post and replies is the underlying presumption that when PR agencies pitch bloggers, they are doing them a favor and bloggers should be flattered. If they aren't the onus is on the blogger to just hit delete or reply with Unsubscribe.

In fact, as Deb said, the onus is on the paid professional to ensure that they are representing the client to the best of their ability by contacting the right people in the right way.

I concede the point that even in doing that, sometimes, the PR pro might hit the right person with the right pitch in the wrong way. Bloggers do need to remain respectful and professional in response.

One time, representing a client, I contacted a blogger. I contacted her personally, after reading at least three archived pages of her blog and ensuring that she did reviews, etc. My pitch wasn't wrong, contacting her wasn't wrong, but she was upset anyway by the pitch. Why? Well, I asked her and opened up a dialogue. She was tired of receiving offers that asked her to leave her kids. Finding childcare was complicated and expensive. I could really relate to that. Very valid and fair point. I couldn't re-do the client's offer for a variety of reasons, but we did talk back and forth a bit. It was a completely useful discussion. I learned to think long and hard, and even recommend for clients, to include entire families when possible. I learned that she didn't want any more "you only" offers. I deeply appreciated her honest and respectful feedback.

It really can be that easy, that simple.

I'd love to hear from my fellow bloggers: what works well for you? What have pitches got right? What improvement can you suggest?

I'd love to hear from PR agencies: what works well for you? What bloggers responses have really helped you improve?

And to reiterate Deb's final and crucial point: if PR firms (among others) are confused, hire an insider.

Shake Your Groove Thing, Yeah Yeah, And Show Me How to Birthday!

2010-05-24T12:33:00.004-05:00

BEFORE:

AFTER:

The best birthday my dog ever had was one of his early ones, age 2. At the time, my husband and I were both working full-time so our dog, Bo, attended a fantastic local doggie daycare in Beverly (MA) run by a great guy named Joe. Joe loved planning parties. We had Halloween parties (with prizes for best doggie costume), playdates, holidays, and birthdays. The birthday cake was meatloaf with mashed potato frosting. It even had fancy script that read, "Happy Birthday to Our Best Friends!"

Our dog is a best friend, a member of our family. Like other good friends and members of our family, he dealt with cancer. Luckily, we caught it early -- it was an ugly one with a very low (single digit) survival rate. So we've gotten to celebrate more birthdays with him, and that means so, so much to us.

I love birthdays. I love the excuse for a party, a reason to celebrate, getting together with special people, cake (!), giving a gift, and even the singing.

I love getting to celebrate more birthdays. I love less cancer even more. That's why I really, really like American Cancer Society's More Birthdays!

And what's just as fun as a birthday?

Uploading your photo to an app that lets you get your groove on!

Come see me throw down some birthday disco moves, and come on over here to make your own fun birthday dance!!

Triumph over adversity -- a fairy tale, Disney-fied version

2010-05-11T09:58:00.005-05:00

Today on an NPR story, an actor was talking about his challenges getting roles. A common theme perhaps, but his obstacle, he said, was the fact that he uses a wheelchair. He's not bothered by the fact that the actor who plays wheelchair-bound Artie is not actually disabled, "People who have disabilities or who use wheelchairs who could still conceivably play that part should have equal opportunities to audition for those roles. And if it goes both ways, then the best actor should get the part."

Another disabled performer, Alana, said that this doesn't actually happen. She said that it floors her that even open-minded producers and directors envision that disabled actors and performers should only play victims, in roles that revolve around their disability. In fact, the part usually acts out a morality play, by having the characters be charity cases, she said, heroic characters overcoming tragedy.

The disability, then, is the real character, and the actor is merely playing a stereotypical part, is how I read it. And when I thought about it, it seemed true. The reporter, Karen Grigsby Bates, ran a bit from a popular TV show, Private Practice, in which one character asks a disabled character, Dr. Phyfe, about the day he learned he would no longer be able to walk -- she characterized that as the worst day of his life. Dr. Phyfe replied that his life changed dramatically that day, but he questioned why she would assume that it was the worst day of his life.

Alana, said, "How often do you see a strong actor with a disability playing a lead role or a very prominent role?"

Grigsby Bates said, not very often. And it's true.

The theme in drama is heroic characters overcoming adversity, triumphing. It's a powerful literary and dramatic device. I agree with the news report that it would be intriguing to see differently abled people playing characters rather than disabilities, and that by doing this, it can open up audience eyes to perceiving differently abled people as, well, people, more than just their disability.

Isn't it a sort of hubris to assume that a disability is the defining moment of a life, and that by keeping on the person is heroic and triumphing over adversity? Isn't that sort of projecting a fairy tale onto an actual person who is just as human as anyone else, and worse than that, isn't that sort of projecting a Disney-fied fairy tale onto a person?

In the private practice show, the disabled character said, "There's a period of adjustment, but you...deal with it."

The actor from Private Practice is disabled. He lost the use of his legs after a spinal stroke in 2003. Grigsby Bates reports that he said "saccharin stories about how disabled characters nobly conquer their handicaps aren't the answer to onscreen diversity." He said he'd like to see roles about characters without once mentioning the wheelchairs.

In Notting Hill, one of the characters was wheelchair bound, but that wasn't the point of her role. Completely, anyway. It was a dramatic device -- an obvious adversity in a marriage, where typically adversity is not noticeable -- to illustrate couples can get through challenges and remain together. The wheelchair was, in the end, the least of it, and only briefly mentioned. The character was a friend, and I think what she considered her real adversity was the trouble she and her husband were having becoming parents.

I'd never compare or contrast being differently abled, physically, to any other perceived or obvious adversity. I do want to, however, point out that each and every one of us has had some challenge or adversity to overcome.

I'd be shocked to learn that there exists a human who hasn't had to overcome adversity. It's a human condition. Some of the adversity is visible, some not. Some of it we can relate to or empathize with, and some we can't. Some people experience what we think of as the worst thing that could happen. But it's all perspective.

My ongoing thematic challenge with "triumph over adversity" is that often it is mired in this idea that one "gets over it." Perhaps if we all acknowledged that something that is truly adversity is something that one must "learn to deal with" as the character on Private Practice said. It can be an ever-present thing that flares into a challenge at some points, and fades into the background at other times. perhaps then we can all acknowledge that each effort to deal with it, whatever it is, is heroic, and at base, is a person who just feels like a person, like any other person, then maybe we can set aside the fairy tale.

And maybe, just maybe, decent casting of good actors, regardless of physical ability, could help with this. But truly, I think anything could be the catalyst if we let it.

What do you think? More parts for good actors, even if they might be in wheelchairs? Is the fairy tale and heroic depiction of triumphing over adversity useful and right or deleterious?

A great, great Mother's Day starts at a winery in the Hill Country

2010-05-10T16:29:00.008-05:00

For Mother's Day, my husband arranged a weekend away and a luncheon at Driftwood Estates Winery and Vineyard. It was spectacular!

The kids love the open space and beautiful scenery (and trees!) there. The food was great, the wine as good as always, and we met the nicest ladies from Austin -- one is a fantastic photographer and she kindly took photos of our family!

A wonderful Mother's Day. Topped off by adorable drawings, cards and homemade gifts from my fabulous children.

I went to NYC and all I got was...this amazing experience

2010-05-06T11:32:00.006-05:00

If a picture is worth a thousand words, here's a million (in no particular order other than this is how I want it):

I got to have lunch with the fabulous Magpie and see and learn in person right there all about what she does -- it's as awesome as you'd think:
I love that photo (above). It makes me warm, happy and remember how good it felt to be there, with my friend.

After lunch, I decided a 30 block Zen walk was in order. Maggie had told me about these bronze sculptures placed (and perched) around the city. I looked for them and saw a lot of them and other cool and beautiful things so I snapped photos crazily. I also kept grabbing other crazy photo snapping tourists and showing them the statues.

Because Amy is that cool, and because our Choose You ambassador Ellen Pompeo was on the show, we got to go to Jimmy Fallon show. That meant entering 30 Rock. That meant my poor friends had to deal with my constant 30 Rock references, as well as grabbing a page and forcing a photo (no, really, Mike was cool, but Amie was all concerned, "Why do I feel like I just walked into one of your fantasies?" Welcome to the island Amie!) So I touched everything I could, photo'd everything else, and then settled into AWESOME seats for the show, which included Ellen, but also Lea Michele (!!!!!!) and OK-GO (!!!!!!!!!!!). Both are even better in person than you'd expect. It was so fun. We laughed endlessly.

Dear Jimmy, don't let anyone see your warm up act Seth because he is even funnier than you! Love, Julie

The main purpose of the trip was Choose You, of course, the new choose health-prevention campaign from American Cancer Society. ACS generously treated us to the trip and it was worth it. I was pumped before but now I feel so plugged in and even more pumped. We had this incredible launch outside Walgreens (a sponsor) in Times Square. Amie and I even made it on a billboard where we swore to make good choices for our health. That's a for real serious commitment.

I have to say, with no prejudice, that our friend Amy stole the show with the Best Public Speech of the event.

But the real scene stealer was Taylor the NYPD dog, who barked her support of Choose You and gave me her business card (I kid not). She let me pet her and gave me a lick of love.

You can believe after a failed terrorist attack that Times Square was the safest place in the universe. The 10 billion NYPD (that we saw) assured us of that.

We also had this amazing Choose You luncheon at Saks 5th Avenue but Amie got the photos of that so I'll have to beg!

I love NY! It was so amazing -- Choose You, just fantastic!

It's more of a preference, you see, than so much of a more/manners issue

2010-04-20T10:47:00.003-05:00

Every morning I boot up my Twitter stream because, like this guy I know named Ed, I trust human editors who happen to be people I've deliberately chosen to follow, to let me know what I need to know.

In fact, I usually hear on Twitter today the news major media brings me tomorrow. I'm pretty sure journalists are trolling Twitter for inspiration, too. Or trawling. Depending upon the motives.

My motive is definitely to be inspired and informed. I love knowing what has caught people's attention and what has held it. The cultural geographer in me finds Twitter an awesome insight into our culture, mindset, interests, motives, and more.

I have a lot of different intentions behind using Twitter and the Tweets I send out. Mostly I send out links to interesting things I've read or stuff I think you should know, RTs from people I esteem and who said something I found worthwhile, or germane thoughts about twitversations or current events. I've used it for customer service. Chatting. Research. And the occasional outburst about lizards that resemble small alligators in my house. (True story. Yesterday.)

I use it to try to add value to the people in my stream. I use it to find value from the people in my stream. It's an amazing give and take, that Twitter.

What I don't use it for is to diss people.

Quick qualifier: I have dissed specific events -- such as the time Bank of America lost my money and would not give it back, or when FEMA did not respond to my hurricane claim in a timely way. However, I did so purposefully and as it happens, to reach their customer service since I had no luck any other way. These conversations on Twitter ended up bringing a resolution, actually. They also served a secondary purpose: alerted other consumers to my story with this company.

However, a large contingent of Tweeps do use it to diss people and I shudder every time I open Twitter to see "I hate people who..." tweets.

You know what? I hate it when people hate people.

Okay, really. I want a point of clarity here. Language and word choice does matter, and words can hurt.

In point of fact, and clarity, most of the things you hate about someone are really more to do with you. Seriously. Studies say. Studies do not say that you are always right and when you feel annoyed someone else is always wrong.

I'm sort of amazed, actually, by the amount of hubris I see these days. We've got this entitlement issue that "if it bugs me it's horrid and must be stopped."

In point of fact, most of this is more of a personal preference (about you) versus a societal more (about the other person).

Let's take the most frequent call to hate: people who talk on cell phones.

I don't prefer when people talk on their cell phones at the store. I really don't prefer it when they do so loudly.

But I don't hate those people and I acknowledge their right to use the phone as they need, including voice level, just as I hope they extend the same courtesy and understanding to me when I shop oh say with my kids and my Loud Admonishing Mom voice.

I wish folks would say prefer to hate. I wish there was more "I don't prefer it when..." and less "I hate people who..." I'd even be more comfortable with, "I hate it when..." although I really prefer less hate.

It's a real 'love the sinner even if you don't prefer the sin' deal. Dig?

The idea is to discuss the action, not the person. Because truthfully, you don't know the person, or even what's behind the action.

For in-store calls -- I try to imagine this person is shopping for a homebound neighbor and needs to make sure she gets the exact right thing.

For coffeehouse cell chatterers -- I try to imagine this person is having work done on his home and as a work-from-home person, needs space to keep earning a living.

I try to imagine that possibly this is out of character for this person. I try to imagine that although this is a regular behavior, the person doesn't mean harm, and anyway, gave $200 to Walk for the Cure.

I try to imagine something that humanizes the person and so, even while the behavior might annoy me, I can exhale and let it go. More importantly, I can see the other person as a human being with a complicated life that I don't know or understand and I can extend understanding that benefits that person and me. Because now I am over it and not hating anyone, or any group of people.

Also, I just exercised my imagination and who doesn't need to do that more often.

Using porn as a guide for The Talk: criminal, stupid, or brilliant?

2010-04-15T11:50:00.007-05:00

This morning, on my walk, I listened to an NPR story about a father, his two daughters, and Internet pornography.

I'll include a few salient quotes from the article, but I highly suggest you read the entire piece (it's a short easy read).

"[Crystal] Buckner says her daughter had told the counselor that late one night at her father's house, he'd shown his daughters pornography on a computer.

"When he called them over, it was a live webcam of a woman by herself and Daddy was typing to her what to do," Buckner says.

The live webcam action was followed by exhibitions of other online video pornography. The pornography was all adult. The girls reported that their father, Crystal's former husband, Jack A. Buckner II, said he was showing them the pornography because sex was something they needed to know about."

As parents, we can all relate to the general concept of "whew, that was a mistake" along with "not the best approach." We all err as parents, and our children have to deal with the fact that we are mere humans. The idea is to do our best to mitigate and minimize our mistakes, learn from them, and more importantly, think it through especially in big moments like this.

As parents, I seriously doubt we can relate to a father thinking a live Internet porn show, in which he was participating, is a good way to educate two young daughters about sex.

"Jack Buckner II declined to comment about the case. His current wife, Jennifer Buckner, told NPR the exhibition was a one-time occurrence. She said her husband knew the next day he'd made a mistake attempting to educate his young daughters by using computer pornography."

Good.

Still.

It leads to questions: with such a colossal lack of judgement, what else has he done? And what was impairing his judgment on this occasion? Was it an impulse? Was he engaged in Internet porn, and upon being discovered by his daughters, impulsively decided to turn this into a Teaching Moment? Or did he plan it? Was it a cover up? In short, what in the world...?

I have an eight year old. She is very curious, especially about the human body, particularly about differences between male and female human bodies. She has asked questions, but I have learned to ask her what she wants to know before launching into something way beyond what she needs, and past what she can process.

She has also walked in while I am watching a show I consider "not suitable for children." In my case, this means a crime solving television program that contains what I think of as violence or scary parts that could frighten or worry a child. I pause the show. If she asks a question, I try to answer on a practicality, with mention it's a grown-up program and fake.

I believe in honesty with kids, but with that huge, weighty caveat: as is age-appropriate.

Under no circumstances do I think live action Internet porn qualifies.

I realize I am a very Thinky Mom and have probably written an entire script prior to opening my mouth, but I also feel confident most parents will agree with me on this: that was a tremendously stupid thing for that dad to do.

The father, Jack Buckner, has full custody of the girls. The porn incident came to light, though, when their biological mother took them to see a therapist because the eight year old had been acting out.

"Crystal Buckner was waiting in a therapist's office last summer for her 8-year-old daughter to finish a session. The child had been having behavior problems — anger, acting out. At the end of this session, the therapist came in looking grim.

"The counselor put the kids in one room and called me into her office and said, 'Crystal, you need to sit down,' " Buckner recalls. Buckner's other daughters were there for counseling, too.

Buckner says her daughter had told the counselor that late one night at her father's house, he'd shown his daughters pornography on a computer.

. . .

The girls kept it secret for months, but the 8-year-old eventually told her therapist — and after informing Crystal Buckner, that therapist called child protective services in northern Texas."

This is the point at which it gets very tricky.

I strongly believe the therapist was right to call child protective services and ask them to investigate. A father who will show his daughters live Internet porn, in which he was participating, needs to be checked out. That action is too far past reasonable parental judgment.

I confess my perspective is subjective. However, in this case, letting CPS make the call of "okay" or "actionable" was wise and right.

But what do you think, and why?

As it happens, CPS did decide it warranted investigation. They referred it to Randall County District Attorney James Farren.

"It is not illegal to possess adult pornography," he says. "It is not illegal to look at adult pornography regardless of how we may feel about it morally or philosophically."

But Farren wanted to prosecute the father. The Texas penal code allows prosecution of anyone who sells or shows harmful material to a minor. And the law stipulates that pornography is considered harmful. The law was written in 1973, but it came with one important caveat, Farren says: It doesn't allow prosecution when the child was accompanied by a consenting parent or guardian.

In this case, not only was the minor accompanied by a parent during the exhibition, but the parent was the exhibitor. Nevertheless, Farren says he was willing to take his chances with a West Texas jury anyway. But there was a hitch.

"If the judge is made aware of that, I won't even get to a jury," he says. "He'll give me an instructed verdict."

I agree with this: it was stupid, and bad enough to warrant CPS investigation to ensure the three girls were not in danger, but I do not think it was criminally stupid. Buckner needs some education, and support to make a better choice in how to educate his daughters about sexual topics.

However, he does not need to be prosecuted. Far better, I think, to provide access to parenting tips and help. Most importantly, I think the government needs to respect parental decisions and privacy. District attorneys need to understand, as frustrating as it can be, that stupid, poor choices, and even acting like a jerk and creep are not per se against the law. Moreover, that doesn't per se mean the law needs to be changed, as DA Farren would like.

District Attorney Farren knows that in conservative West Texas, people are wary of aggressive government intrusion into matters that could be seen as private.

But he says his constituents are disgusted by the case, and so is he.

I'm disgusted too, but let's be clear: what disgusts me doesn't mean illegal, and it also doesn't mean someone ought to be in jail. Not only is that not always the most constructive response, it may not even be the right one.

George Dix, a law professor at the University of Texas, is less enthusiastic about the state's putting itself in the middle of this situation.

"It may be impossible to define with precision what a parent should be permitted ... to provide to a child in the course of 'the talk,' " he says.

Dix says cases like this one speak to the issue of parental intent: Was the father really trying to educate the girls, or was it sinister? Educational intent is also a defense under Texas law. This can be a tricky area for a prosecutor to wander around in.

I don't think prosecutors need to be wandering around in this quite so much. We need to be cautious about letting moral outrage overtake our comprehension of legally criminal. This was poor judgment, but were the girls in imminent danger, permanent harm?

That's the current question as DA Farren pursues another line of prosecution.

Farren is unhappy with the language in the Texas penal code. So he has charged the father with a different crime — child endangerment, a felony punishable by up to two years in prison. To get a conviction, Farren will have to prove the father put his daughters in "imminent danger of mental impairment" by showing them pornography. It may be a long shot, the D.A. says, but he's going to try.

Does this father belong in jail, with a conviction?

The girls' mother at the least doesn't believe he deserves to be the custodial parent any longer and has sued for a change in custody.

Without knowing either of the parents, more information, how the initial arrangement came to be and why, or any other relevant details, it's hard to say whether a custody change would be best.

It's hard to even know whether there is more to the story, or whether the father has a history of situations like this.

On the merits we do know, though, it seems to me that there is little to support a sinister intent, and therefore, the DA needs to let this one go...and find a more constructive solution.

EDITED TO ADD: Devra of Parentopia just posted a great guide about the hows, whens, whys and whats of reporting to CPS. I highly recommend it.

Erykah Badu and Neal McDonough and Me: Two ends of the media sexuality spectrum and one end of the mom spectrum

2010-04-01T13:12:00.006-05:00

Recently, Erykah Badu, without a permit, stripped completely bare for a video shoot. She traipsed through Dealey Plaza in Dallas dropping articles of clothing as she went. By the time she reached the spot where President Kennedy was assassinated, she was naked. A shot noise sounded, and she crumpled to the ground, with blue letters spelling "groupthink" flowing from her head like blood.

Badu has offered a lot of artistic integrity philosophical explanations for why the video required her to strip in a public place with no warning to the tourists and public there.

Playing the artistic integrity card is supposed to be the quickest end point of any controversy or argument over an artist doing something the general public finds offensive. Boo. Hiss. That's lame logic and doesn't truly address the issue at hand: the artist inflicted something offensive on an unsuspecting and unwelcoming public.

And the general public did find Badu's spontaneous strip act offensive. When news crews interviewed the people who were there, most were appalled. They were troubled that she had done this, with no notice, and largely focused on the fact that children were there and this is a very adult situation that left parents in a challenging and unenviable position.

Tourists came to see the landmark honoring President Kennedy, and in addition got an eyeful of a stripping woman.

Certainly as parents we encounter challenging public situations we have to explain and deal with for our children. My daughters and I have discussed people spanking kids, adults arguing, customers being rude to cashiers, bad drivers, littering, and more that we've seen in public.

But we've never had to discuss why a lady strips naked in a public outdoor venue and I have to confess, I'm more than a little glad because at heart, it makes me very uncomfortable.

I know some artists have as their goal "make people uncomfortable, shake them up, make them open their minds" but I'll be truthful and say I find this BS. When I'm discomfited, I shut down, as, I expect, many people do.

Granted, sometimes, that is the right artistic path. But usually, in my opinion, it's a lazy cop out. Or, worse, deep disrespect.

Badu had many other choices to film her video: there's an excellent film studio in the Dallas area at Las Colinas-she could have used a set; there's amazing things you can do with film editing and overlays-even I can do it on my home Mac; she could have found a more private location, secured a permit, or warned the public.

But she didn't. So, in short, she was discourteous of that space as their space, too.

That's probably what I would have told my kids, actually.

I also would have told them she had other choices.

Neal McDonough is a good example of a successful actor who makes other choices. McDonough, an award winning actor (you may know him as Lt. Hawk from Star Trek First Contact), refuses to have a sexual encounter that is graphic for any acting role, any show. In fact, he has walked away from plum roles exhibiting not his skin, but the courage of his convictions. He says that, by his principles and religion, a graphic sex scene is a betrayal of his vows to his family.

I hear that.

In a world where we think nudity, graphic sex, and violence are a necessary to art -- largely media such as movies and, more and more, television -- I'm concerned about how often we ask others, ourselves, actors, and artists to release their inhibitions, principles, and compromise their ethics. And we make this a condition of success.

I don't intend to imply any form of censorship, and certainly do not think that Badu should be banned from stripping for a video.

I'm just wondering: why is that the norm? the standard?

It may be real life, but so much of it is gratuitous, and thus, artistically unnecessary, a distraction from the true art, even.

At the end of the day, Badu's desire to be graphic and McDonough's desire to remain faithful, even in playacting, are not truly two ends of the spectrum. They are actually both at the same end: being true to themselves within their art.

I can respect that, tremendously.

It becomes an issue for me, however, when it invades my life, in a deliberate attempt to shock my morals. Right away I smell the disrespect -- this is someone who finds my principles ridiculous in some way.

That's why I find Badu's actions reprehensible and McDonough's admirable -- not because one fits my morals better than the other or is a shining example to hold up to my kids, but because one doesn't respect my space. At all. And it doesn't want to.

What do you think?

Why I Don't Mind Potential Employers Scanning My Online Profiles

2010-03-29T14:47:00.006-05:00

When I sit back and think, I realize that I first began working in 1985. I took a job as a cashier at a local family-style restaurant. It was pure nepotism because my aunt knew the owners, but that also meant I had to be an exemplary employee or the family would hear about it and that would not bode well for me. I was always on time, diligent, and polite to customers.

Back then, we were a fairly low tech society compared to now. For example, I had no cell phone with text messaging to distract myself with while I stood idle at the register between rushes of people. Instead, I'd reconcile my register or scrub down the counter.

I also had no camera in my cell phone with which to photograph myself at work, nor did I have an online profile to which I could post that photo and some pithy commentary about how many times I'd had to dodge the pervy manager's grabby hands.

It was more than a decade past that before I joined some rudimentary online sites and began building an online profile and presence. By then I'd worked my way up from plebe to manager level in my career. By then I was in charge of hiring people.

However, I still parsed paper resumes sent by snail mail, and relied exclusively on face-to-face interviews and written recommendations. It still wasn't par for the course to scan the Internet to vet a potential employee.

Now, however, more than a decade past that, it is standard procedure to Google a job applicant. Initially, I pondered whether that was any kind of an invasion of privacy, even if, by definition, posting something to the Internet conveys a total and utter lack of expectation of any kind of privacy.

I did definitely wonder whether it was any kind of discrimination to disqualify a job applicant based on something you found about that person online.

It's one thing to assume a person has a private life, political and religious views, friends, family and so forth -- but what does it mean to a potential employer to see it all on display, online?

It may be that I'm old school (or just older) but my online presence is fairly tame. A potential employer or client scanning my Facebook page will see a woman who is married with children, interested in both improving public education and staying on top of current health care for women news, dedicated to local politics and voting, focused on improving my business skills, in touch with friends, and active in some groups oriented around personal and business development. They'll see now and again my family takes vacations. I have allergies in the spring. They'll find the same on Twitter. Fairly ho hum. The same sort of stuff they'd find out about me near the coffeemaker in the breakroom or in idly chit chat during a meeting to break the ice.

In short, potential colleagues won't find out anything I mind them knowing, and frankly, if any of that makes me a bad fit for the job, I'd rather both of us know upfront. With time and experience comes wisdom, and I've learned it's so much better to be frank and honest about who you are and what your needs and job demands are instead of trying to conform to be chosen.

With honestly comes a better fit and more success and satisfaction.

It does mean I censor some elements I share online, but those are by virtue of my own personal privacy standards. It means using good judgment before I share something through social media. What's my standard of measure?

My own personal brand. Whether it's personally or professionally, I want others to view me as a thoughtful, considerate, mature, intelligent, accomplished, interesting person who cares deeply about her family and doing good in the world.

Before I post, I ask whether what I want to put up -- put out -- there adds to this idea of myself. If it does, then up it goes.

That's why I haven't hidden my profile, used a pseudonym, or otherwise attempted to hide or disguise myself. I feel proud not just of what but also of who I put out through social media.

It's been customary to counsel young people to censor what they post. Judiciousness is a good suggestion, but the new trend -- of hiding profiles and using online disguises of some sort -- is equally valid. Young people may grow up to regret some of what they put out there, but truthfully, that's part of the process. I truly regret some things from my youth, as well. I'm just grateful my youth happened before the Internet and cell phones and camera phones and recorders.

Today, that is all there and in play, and not just for the younger generations. Googling potential colleagues flows both ways: employees and employers. However, both potential employees and employers need to maintain perspective about what they find online, have an honest discourse about it, and discuss each's philosophies of boundaries. A client may not like my liberal leaning politics, but will that truly affect my job? That's a good question for an employer to ask. Perhaps it's an environment that doesn't mind topics such as politics coming in to the office, but if it is a problem, that needs to be out there.

What potential employees and employers find online can actually be a help to one another in figuring out what to ask and how to answer. It can be a better starting point than a simple resume that lists jobs and accomplishments. It provides an insight into the personality of the person. It can help each gauge more deeply how their own elements will match up against the job and workplace.

And at the end of the day, a good fit, which translates into finding someone likable, ends up being a bigger factor to success than ability to do a good job. (See: The Likeability Factor.)

You Ought to Be Ashamed of Yourself

2010-03-16T19:31:00.010-05:00

Last night I told my daughters, "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

I know modern parenting has it that we should never let our kids feel badly, especially about themselves, but the truth was...by our family's morals and ethics my kids should have felt badly about what they did and about themselves.

We had just returned home from a short four-day holiday visiting my mother. A couple of those days I was at the South by Southwest Conference, and to cover my absence -- which nobody seemed to notice much, a good thing -- the family went on the Fun Run: lake, picnic, boating, kite flying, park, and more. It was days of outdoors and good times, which the kids loved.

After an easy and speedy drive, we arrived home shortly before dinner, and that's when the kids launched into bickering and insults that escalated into vicious behavior. My husband and I both tried several times to redirect, direct, intervene, and every other parenting measure in our arsenal, to no avail. I tried getting them to access their emotions, and talk about those instead of fighting and being cruel. I tried to think about their ages. I tried to consider that this was a big transition. I tried to keep in mind likely fatigue. I extended empathy and positive, constructive suggestions to problem solve. I tried leaving them alone. In short, I tried it all. My husband, too.

When they began the kicking and hitting, that was the end of our tolerance.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," I told them. I explained how I understood that they felt badly, were angry, "But that's never a reason to be cruel and hurtful, especially violent."

I reminded them that when they felt temper flare they needed to try counting, try taking a break, ask a parent for guidance, or any of the other measures I've taught my quick-tempered children of a long line of redheads.

"You can tell someone you are angry, and you can feel angry, but you cannot, I repeat, cannot, be mean and hurtful on purpose, you will regret it, and then? Then you will feel really, really ashamed," I said.

You may disagree with my parenting. You may think I'm wrong, but deep inside, I'm pretty convinced I am right. I think I'm right to teach my kids to pay attention to the shame they feel inside and use it to stop themselves. I want them to learn to listen to their internal guides and use them to make good choices in life.

At some point, it seems that we all got this idea that we deserve to be happy, that we are entitled to feel good, and that it's our right to pursue our passion. All the time.

I don't think anyone wakes up and thinks, 'Today is a good day to have a bad day." I don't think anyone is at kindergarten graduation and says, "I want to be a (insert job that must be done but you don't generally aspire to) (like...lowly paid writer or porta-potty cleaner)..."

It just doesn't always turn out the way we planned. Sometimes life -- and our own emotions -- get away from us.

I don't know about you, but I'm okay with the fact that life sucks sometimes. That doesn't mean I enjoy it, it just means I understand that not everything gets to be ideal all the time. It means I know sometimes bad things happen to good people. It means I know I'm going to have to deal with and process bad feelings, such as anger, grief, frustration, and...shame.

Shame gets abused, for sure. We feel shame when we really needn't, and ashamed when we really shouldn't.

Someone pulls a mean girl on you and you take it to heart, think there's something wrong with you, feel ashamed. You try something and it doesn't work out very well, you feel a crushing sense of failure, feel shame. You wake up one day and it seems that while everything is going right for everyone else, it's all going wrong for you, and you flush with shame.

If we let it be a reaction and move past it quickly, work to better the cause, that's one thing. But too often we let this shame define us.

That concerns me, but what concerns me more is this full throttle attempt we so often make to never feel ashamed. "Don't let it get to you," we hear. "Don't be so intense," we're told. "Let it go," we're advised.

At some point, it starts feeling as if...we're asked to not feel, or not feel very much at all. At some point, it feels as if...our fellow humans want us to be automatons.

Maybe I'm missing the point but in general it seems we often have trouble with strong emotion, especially strong bad emotion. I'm here to argue in favor of the very worst of all strong bad emotions: shame.

Shame is a guide. When we use it and tap into it correctly, it reminds us of our moral compass. We should feel shame when we do something hurtful or wrong by our own ethics and morals. It's a touchpoint.

We're so good teaching ourselves to "get over" bad emotions that we can often focus too much on the "get thee behind me, bad feeling" and miss its purpose. When we exercise and a muscle hurts, that's our body telling us something. When we feel and it hurts, that's our mind telling us something. It's telling us that we hurt ourselves. We betrayed something crucial to our core being.

If we teach children to pay attention and understand this bad feeling guide, I think we teach them to be more compassionate both to themselves and to others.

After I told my girls to pay attention to that bad feeling and overcome it rather than feeding it, we hugged, and passed a pleasant rest of the evening. My older daughter even read a story to her little sister.

We don't need to get over bad feelings, we need to get through them. That's how we come out the other side not just feeling better, but being better.

Tell me why

2010-03-11T11:03:00.006-06:00

As my husband and I ponder the best place and path for our oldest daughter...

our beautiful precious Angel,

who feels so deeply and intensely,

thinks so logically,

and who is, apparently, not on the same track as her peers,

completely,

for intelligence or emotional development,

and who is,

allegedly,

according to educators,

just enough ahead to make it slightly challenging and uncomfortable

As we ponder her

amazing empathy

remarkable insight

deeply embedded and held intellectual curiosity

inspiring self-motivated learning and accomplishing

I asked her, off-handedly, for a real reason but no real reason what she thought of the kids in the grade ahead.

The only one I really know, Mom,

she told me,

was really really rude, like mean.

How's that I asked?

Heart pounding in my chest, recognizing that here we go again

I think

In the bathroom, my beautiful precious Angel said,

In the bathroom this girl told me that she hated me.

Hated me

echoed around the deep cavern in my chest created to house the huge love I have for my girls.

Hated me.

In the bathroom, my beautiful precious Angel said,

In the bathroom this girl told me that my classmate who I thought was a friend really, really hated me.

Hated me.

Who I asked, which classmate.

When she told me I was surprised not shocked surprised.

Tell me whyyy

I may be mad
I may be blind
I may be viciously unkind
But I can still read what you're thinking

Do you think, I asked her,

Do you think that maybe she is afraid of your friendship with her friend?

Do you think she was trying to scare you away to protect her friendship with her friend?

As my mind hummed and hate me echoed around my heart, my girl told me

Told me that she asked her friend and her "friend" who always acted so kindly towards her as I could tell

Her "friend" who seemed to be so nice

Her "friend" who plays with her nearly every day on the playground

Her "friend" said

"Yeah I sort of do hate you."

And I thought I sort of do hate this a lot.

I sort of do want to tell your mother on you.

I sort of do want to tell all parents on both of you.

I tried really, really hard

to get over being a mad eight year old and furious mama bear inside

I tried to think what a real grownup would do.

Do you think that, I asked her

Do you think that she meant it?

I don't know, my beautiful, precious Angel said.

I don't know.

I resisted the urge to buy cotton wool for wrapping her in and instead wrapped her in my arms.

But, stoic, she resisted.

In both our eyes something bleak.

Let's go down to the water's edge
And we can cast away those doubts
Some things are better left unsaid

But they still turn me inside out
Turning inside out turning inside out
Tell me...
Why
Tell me...
Why

I tried to not make this me, about me

But I do not know, yet, how to overcome this sense I have of my girls not yet being out of me

In some way, they are more in my heart than ever they were in my womb.

It is how I know loving a child has more to do with being her parent than any part of giving birth.

A baby is born from a womb, but grows forever in a mother's heart, never born out of there.

It is why what she feels I feel and this I cannot stop.

So hate me echoes around that huge cavern that grew to house these girls as they grow in my heart.

And I try to think how to make it better, this hate that has been told to my beautiful precious Angel.

I try to keep my big mouth shut.

I try not to feel turned inside out.

These are the tears...

The tears we shed

This is the fear

This is the dread

These are the contents of my head

I'm sorry, I told her

I've had people be mean to me that way and honestly

truthfully

I told her

Honestly I sort of hate them back and it hurts inside.

It makes me feel a little broken, or wrong somehow.

Like maybe there is a reason in me for them to not like me.

Yeah, she said.

But we can't all like each other, not all of us.

Yeah, she said.

As my husband and I ponder our beautiful, precious Angel and how to do right by her

the strength she has inside

the internal drummer

to whom she marches

her beautiful mind

the mind her teachers always call amazing

her sense of justice

her prevailing sense of how things should be

even though they are so rarely

things

the way they ought to be

and our girl

eyes wide open

and all other senses just as open

knows this

feels it all so keenly

What I know is this...

to survive, you have to shut it down

shut it down enough to survive

I do not need to wrap her in cotton wool

She is wrapping herself.

And these are the years that we have spent

And this is what they represent

And this is how I feel

Do you know how I feel?

How it feels to watch your child wrap herself.

In her head, I can read what she is thinking.

And I've heard it too many times.

I've said it too many times.

Cause I don't think you know how I feel

I don't think you know what I feel

You don't know what I feel

Oh my beautiful precious Angel, heart on two lengthening legs, oh my baby, with my lumpy throat

I know how you feel.

The Mighty Ducks: How new media successes got to be such lucky ducks

2010-03-01T13:45:00.010-06:00

I recently spoke at the Mom 2.0 Summit, a wonderful event where businesses and market influencers converge in Houston to discuss what we're doing, how we're doing it, how it's working for us, and what next. I'm in the interesting position of being on both sides of that fence, and when I was invited to speak, I encountered a framing problem for my topic, "The Macro Impact of Social Media Engagement."

Despite this framing anxiety, I was honored to get a platform to speak, further honored by my amazing panelists (Joanne Bamberger, extraordinary pundit and lawyer; Loralee Choate, whose direct interaction with Valerie Jarrett regarding healthcare caused the entire Web to inhale sharply in admiration; and JJ Lassberg, whose creativity inspires enriched marketing and communication) and rich for choice about what to focus on in my panel. That's nearly as bad as having nothing, you know.

But as I spoke with my panelists -- and by speak I mean I spent a lot of time listening and asking questions first, which was sort of a stall tactic (lol) but largely to gain perspective -- a few things occurred to me:

1. What we seek in business isn't all that different from what we seek in life - we have goals, aspirations, hopes, and dreams and all lead to a sort of success we envision

2. My life and my business intersect, significantly - like many in this area of my field, I gained a beautiful network and community that has blossomed into work I love by connecting personally

3. Diversity can be complementary and intersect in unexpected ways - a DC political expert who talks on CNN, a famous Utah mom blogger, and a Houston-based communications consultant can end up having similar talking points that segue nicely.

In short, we built on the concept that you need to build a major highway of communication, with great rest stops, on the way to a destination:

Create a great blog or Web site, and invite others in as much as you go out to visit them.
Create a place they want to come, because it's valuable for them, and make it a clean, well-lighted space.
Get to know them, all of them, and value each of them, not just the ones who can Do for you. You never know who might become what for you...everyone has value, as Joanne said.
Pay attention to who comes, and in what quantity, but make that a piece of information, not the end all be all.
At the end of the day, content is king, and your mission statement always needs to hint at, "Ask not what my community can do for me, but what I can do for my community."

Our panel received positive press. More importantly, it prompted a lot of spring point discussions throughout the weekend, well after the panel ended.

Bringing us into your space with you

One of the best comments/highest compliments I received was from Leah Peterson, who said, "During your panel...you have this way of bringing us into your space with you."

Mission? Accomplished.

That's always my goal when I communicate, whether on my own behalf or that of a client.

The object is never to trap you or pull a used car salesman trick. Not at all. The point is to be there with you, seriously, honestly present, and to talk and interact.

All of this intersected near the end of the conference when a mom blogger caught me at a table and shared her story. "I just want to ask what it is that I should expect, you know, what else I can do," she said earnestly. She loved blogging and wanted to be successful at it.

"Tell me about it, what you've got, what you do, what you want," I said.

She shared her story about how she'd created a blog, put great content on it, worked really hard to be good, added in SEO, studied all the successful examples, and so forth.

I could tell that It, whatever It was, had not yet happened for her. She was actively pursuing the "what more can I do" angle. I bit my tongue in indecision. Should I tell her I thought she had it backwards? Tell the truth? Or compliment her on all she'd done so far, leave her with a wish of good luck?

Telling it like I think it is, and I bet I'm at least half right, or maybe three-quarters

I went with truth. I felt a bit arrogant, but she had asked, I have been doing this a while and have learned some hard lessons along the way, largely due to lack of mentorship at the time. Back when I began, there were not a 100 articles about how to blog, 200 about how to engage using social media, no conferences about it, and no major successes who were accessible. The rest of us felt our way, some landing it big, and some finding different paths, while others caught a rhythm that satisfied them. I didn't mention any failures because as my friend, the amazing President of Zoetica Kami Huyse quoted during the Ragan-Coca Cola conference, "There is no failure, only a yes or no to a hypothesis."

This young mom blogger reminded me of some mom bloggers friends I'd made along the way, but who had quit blogging when it failed for them. Many were writers who wanted to succeed at writing. We're a large club.

The difference between some and others in this case is the level of commercialization and experience. I've written and edited professionally and learned that the days of getting discovered by a movie producer in a soda shop are long past. You get discovered when you get in front of someone and that happens when you go to where they are.

Think of it as moving to a new house. When you move in, a few neighbors might drop by as part of a welcome wagon, but what are the odds that they will be your new best friends? When you do meet people you like, do they magically appear at your door, or do you need to build a friendship and then invite them over?

Blogging isn't so very different.

I can build a beautiful house, fill it with lovely things or the highest quality, and maintain a rich and vibrant home. That's satisfying if that's all I want from it. But what if I want to constantly filled with people, of all sorts, all of whom are wonderful in some way?

I have to go out and meet them, and it needs to be genuine and sincere. Same goes for blogging.

You can be wonderful and friendly, a marvelously charming and charismatic person, and you will still need to work to build and maintain relationships.

But even good friends don't always know what you want and need. Building the relationship is part of it, but you still have to pursue what you want.

In the end, you have to use your words. You have to tell people what you dream of, what you want, what you need, how you're available (if you are) for work opportunities, and keep your eyes and ears open to figure out when and how you can create an intersection that brings a win-win for you and others.

When you see someone succeeding at something you are interested in, talk to them about it. When you see a job you'd like, find out what qualifications it requires. When you see a job you'd like, sort of, don't be afraid to propose yourself with your modifications to the job.

You never know.

And that's what I told this wondering mom blogger who asked me what I thought she ought to do next.

She stared at me, said hmm, and turned away. I think I know why. I think it's because I used the words work and effort frequently. I think she, like so many others, subscribe to the Kevin Costner Field of Dreams Philosophy: If You Build It, They Will Come.

I confess, I never "got" that movie.

I confess, I don't subscribe to that philosophy.

Maybe it's because I'm a middle-class American born of middle-class Americans, but I believe in putting your best foot forward and your nose to the grindstone. That means trying. That means meeting a lot of No before you find that Yes.

Fielding the no to reach the dream of yes

A lot of people will tell you that things come effortlessly. They'll either say this outright or put on a good facade of ease. You might think you are surrounded by Olympic champion ice skaters who glide about beautifully with no trouble.

The truth is we're all ducks and under the water our legs are churning as fast as they can.

If I were an oversimplifier who loved to continue a good metaphor, I'd say there are two kinds of ducks: the one who sits close to shore and waits for someone to toss her a crumb because she is such a cute duck, and the one who cruises the shore and keeps a sharp eye out for any crumbs to snatch.

If you've ever fed ducks, you know who gets the crumb, even if you try to toss it to the patiently waiting cute duck.

Even so, sometimes neither duck gets a crumb, and sometimes your artfully tossed crumb lands right at the waiting duck's bill.

That keeps us all hopeful, especially when that duck gets a book deal about how to be the great duck who gets the crumb tossed her way. Then we all start thinking, well if I pose prettily alongside the shore and everyone sees what an awesome duck I am, I'll get a crumb.

Then some other duck gets a crumb. "I made sure to be by the shore, kept the water rolling off my back, and lo and behold...a crumb!"

We start thinking, "Wow, there sure are a lot of lucky ducks out there! I want to be a lucky duck."

We see other ducks munching crumbs, sometimes it feels like we see crumb munching ducks everywhere we turn. We start feeling like the Ugly Unlucky Duckling.

What you may not know is what happened during the ellipses. Usually, a lot of work and effort happened during the ellipses. Usually, a lot of no happened during the ellipses.

People don't want to hear about the no, though. People prefer to talk about the yes.

But never assume the no wasn't there because I guarantee you...it was. Just like the baseball game in Field of Dreams -- a lot of bad pitches to get to the good one, and that's the one with the glory. But the bad pitches were worthwhile because they taught us something about the game, ourselves, and the pitcher.

You have to field a lot of no to reach the dream of yes.

(Now I have ducks and baseball all in the same metaphor -- an expansion team of The Mighty Ducks, only baseball. )

I didn't just shake my tailfeathers to land a crumb. I worked my tail feathers off. I still do. It takes just as much effort to maintain the yes as it does to get it in the first place.

It's a big pond but we're all swimming in it

Now, though, there are a lot of ducks on the pond. So how do you get heard above all that quacking? How do you develop yourself or your business?

Feel free to share your ideas here, thoughts, comments, and I'll be back with my answer later.