Last Wednesday night I had one of those experiences that somehow changed my life. Or if it didn't change it, it made me look at it and appreciate it in a very different way.
I went to Denver Wed. to meet a client and visit some friends. While there I also drove past the first house I ever owned. That was an interesting experience. The fence was falling down, and everything seemed really, really small. But it had been our first house back in 1986. At the time, I loved it. Today I wanted to get out of that neighborhood before it got dark. Funny how life changes your perspective a bit. Anyway, that's not the point of this post....
I had arranged to spend the night in Denver at the home of my incredibly beautiful and wonderful friend. We had worked together back in the 80s and early 90s, had lost touch a bit during our "young baby and little kid" years, particularly after I moved to Boulder and later Texas. We did the Christmas card thing for a while, but neither of us is great at that. We both tend to slack off on the contact when things are going bad, and between the two of us we've dealt with our share of cancer, death, bad marriages, the ups and downs of self employment, and divorce. But Jill's one of those kind of friends that you pick up with right where you left off. There is no pretense. It's an honest, caring relationship. Anyway, that's also not the story I want to share either.
What was so incredible about this particular visit, and what I felt was another one of those "rights of passage" that I'm having more and more as I get older, was listening to Jill's 14-year old daughter play the guitar and sing. This young girl is a very talented human being. It was so weird to realize that she had been created by my friend. So weird to realize that, back when we were running around together in our 20s we never could have imagined this young lady or the talent that she has. She sang, or really performed, not like a 14-year old kid, but like a famous artist. Her confidence was engaging, and her voice and skillful use of the guitar delivered a soulful performance full of emotion and, dare I say, angst.
Now this daughter of my friend has some reason for angst, I suppose. Her parents have been through a bitter divorce that continues, despite their best efforts, as a contentious ongoing relationship. My friend says her daughter pours her emotion into her guitar. It was obvious. Beautiful and sad all at once.
When marriages end, there are different outcomes for different situations. The sadness about this marriage ending was that it was a relationship full of love. I distinctly remember my friend being absolutely gaga in love with her husband, who was one of the best looking young guys I'd ever seen at the time. The two of them L-O-V-E-D each other. That love evolved into a family with two gorgeous little girls and more than its share of love. We're talking tons of love. Problems, sure. But love, no doubt. That's what makes it all so sad. That marriage carried a lot of hope and patience, relationship counseling and understanding, but then finally efforts were exhausted, there was a relational explosion, followed by implosion and eventually disintegration.
It's all really powerful material for an artist. And Jill's daughter is the benefactor. This young lady has talent and focus and drive and commitment, and she will be a major star. She is a young Jewel, carrying the pain of her experiences. From the outside looking in, you wouldn't expect so much pain in an upper middle class neighborhood and a house on a cul-de-sac. But it's been there, despite everyone's best efforts.
In this case, the pain has been transformed in different ways. For one little girl it's been transformed into musical talent. It seems like a healthy repository.
Last week I realized by looking in on this family that our lives and the decisions we make day to day really do have meaning. Even if what we're doing at a particular moment seems like it won't have an impact somewhere, everything we do impacts something else.
My friend has a beautiful daughter who just might be a famous singer. It's a result of the decisions and actions that her parents have made -- from buying her a guitar to divorcing. Everything has an impact.
I'm not sure if this young lady would sing with such emotion or talent if she hadn't experienced so much in her young life. It makes me realize that the decisions we make on a daily basis make a difference to more than just us. I have kids, and this has me thinking.
We're all participating in the circle of life. Everything we do has a consequence. Making the best of every situation is our obligation.
Who's to say that this young lady wouldn't be singing with the same emotion if her mom and dad were still married and things were "easier." She may have been just as talented and just as dedicated to her guitar. But maybe not.
I'm looking at every decision I make differently now. I'm watching my own kids a little closer now. And I'm appreciating this circle of life for all it's goods and bads. Life is important. Everything we do today impacts the future. That is the circle of life.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Just another day in the office
I meet a lot of people, and people always say, "Oh, you're a writer, that's interesting. What do you write." When I tell them, or usually when I start to tell them, their eyes tend to gloss over and they quickly lose interest. It's not that my clients aren't interesting, but if you say a writer people expect you to be a more interesting person. I guess.
But I like what I do and I do what I like. Sounds like a Jimmy Buffet song or a Dr. Seuss book, but thankfully, it's my life.
I'm starting to realize that I'm pretty lucky like that. I get to work on things I find interesting and help people improve their business and make money. That's pretty satisfying work. It may not make for interesting cocktail chatter or keep someone from zoning out, but it does keep the lights at my house on and keeps the kids fed. There's a whole lot to be said for that.
Writing isn't very exciting though. If you've ever tried to watch someone write, it's boring. In fact, people (well, my family members and patrons at some of the public wifi spots I visit) are always coming up behind me when I'm writing and they start talking to me, perhaps because they don't see me doing anything. At least I look like I'm not doing anything because I'm staring at the screen, reading, maybe thinking, maybe typing, but not necessarily doing anything active.
These same people have been a little slow to learn that they can come upon me like that and talk to me, even complete entire conversations on their end, and I won't hear a word they've said. Sometimes I don't even know they were there. I usually have a sense that something happened that I missed, but not always. My point is that writing is not a spectator sport, and even if someone looks like they aren't doing anything, if they are a writer, they are working -- sometimes in a faraway place on the right side of their creative brain.
People who come over to my office or who "drop by because they were in the neighborhood" usually find me looking like I'm not working. I guess since a lot of people use their computers and the internet primarily for entertainment, they see me in front of mine and assume I'm on ebay or something.
"What are you doing?" "Writing this release (or story or web page)." "Oh," they say. "I'll just wait." But they never wait quietly. They see I'm not doing anything, or I don't look like I"m doing anything, or I'm just typing something up...so they start talking. I can't work when someone is talking to me, which also explains why (my clients have learned) I don't like to talk on the phone much during the day -- during my productive writing time.
As a writer, I'm never done and never off work. I've got lots of stuff going on all the time -- ideally a dozen clients who are relying on me to help them do something cool with their business. I also have a screenplay and 12 episodes of a sitcom to write, two web businesses I want to create, and I need to do my billing.
I choose not to work sometimes, quite often in fact, but I'm never DONE with my work. Which doesn't mean I don't know when to quit. I know when things aren't going anywhere or when I'm just wasting time, or when I'm avoiding real work I should be doing. Like now. So when I'm rambling, or things aren't gelling, it's time to get off work and do something else -- laundry or exercise or a phone call -- or in the case of me sitting here writing this blog, it's time for me to get to work, make some phone calls, do some billing.
One way or another, I'll crank out some copy today or write a funny scene or name some new product something cool. I'll put out a news release and pitch a story. I'll prepare a report, send some billing, call a client. It's another day in the office. Just a regular day. Cuz I'm a writer, and it's not that exciting. I don't burn a lot of calories doing it. And my hands and eyes get a little sore. But other than that, it's just a regular day in the office doing what I do for people I like. I have no complaints. I'm lucky like that. I hope you are too.
But I like what I do and I do what I like. Sounds like a Jimmy Buffet song or a Dr. Seuss book, but thankfully, it's my life.
I'm starting to realize that I'm pretty lucky like that. I get to work on things I find interesting and help people improve their business and make money. That's pretty satisfying work. It may not make for interesting cocktail chatter or keep someone from zoning out, but it does keep the lights at my house on and keeps the kids fed. There's a whole lot to be said for that.
Writing isn't very exciting though. If you've ever tried to watch someone write, it's boring. In fact, people (well, my family members and patrons at some of the public wifi spots I visit) are always coming up behind me when I'm writing and they start talking to me, perhaps because they don't see me doing anything. At least I look like I'm not doing anything because I'm staring at the screen, reading, maybe thinking, maybe typing, but not necessarily doing anything active.
These same people have been a little slow to learn that they can come upon me like that and talk to me, even complete entire conversations on their end, and I won't hear a word they've said. Sometimes I don't even know they were there. I usually have a sense that something happened that I missed, but not always. My point is that writing is not a spectator sport, and even if someone looks like they aren't doing anything, if they are a writer, they are working -- sometimes in a faraway place on the right side of their creative brain.
People who come over to my office or who "drop by because they were in the neighborhood" usually find me looking like I'm not working. I guess since a lot of people use their computers and the internet primarily for entertainment, they see me in front of mine and assume I'm on ebay or something.
"What are you doing?" "Writing this release (or story or web page)." "Oh," they say. "I'll just wait." But they never wait quietly. They see I'm not doing anything, or I don't look like I"m doing anything, or I'm just typing something up...so they start talking. I can't work when someone is talking to me, which also explains why (my clients have learned) I don't like to talk on the phone much during the day -- during my productive writing time.
As a writer, I'm never done and never off work. I've got lots of stuff going on all the time -- ideally a dozen clients who are relying on me to help them do something cool with their business. I also have a screenplay and 12 episodes of a sitcom to write, two web businesses I want to create, and I need to do my billing.
I choose not to work sometimes, quite often in fact, but I'm never DONE with my work. Which doesn't mean I don't know when to quit. I know when things aren't going anywhere or when I'm just wasting time, or when I'm avoiding real work I should be doing. Like now. So when I'm rambling, or things aren't gelling, it's time to get off work and do something else -- laundry or exercise or a phone call -- or in the case of me sitting here writing this blog, it's time for me to get to work, make some phone calls, do some billing.
One way or another, I'll crank out some copy today or write a funny scene or name some new product something cool. I'll put out a news release and pitch a story. I'll prepare a report, send some billing, call a client. It's another day in the office. Just a regular day. Cuz I'm a writer, and it's not that exciting. I don't burn a lot of calories doing it. And my hands and eyes get a little sore. But other than that, it's just a regular day in the office doing what I do for people I like. I have no complaints. I'm lucky like that. I hope you are too.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Perfection
The older I get the less I care about being perfect.
Now that doesn't apply to typos. I still cringe at the thought of typos and bad grammar, so I'm a stickler for that. But otherwise I'm now old enough to readily admit that I make mistakes. I miss the boat. I sometimes really screw up. Not often, but sometimes.
I used to sweat it when I messed up. "Oh, man, I'm a consultant with a lot of experience and I should have known better." But the reality is that in my business there really is no right or wrong "for sure" answer. Every situation deserves individualized evaluation to ensure that the right path is taken. Most times we figure it out. Sometimes we don't.
Most of the time when things go awry it's because we didn't take the time to think everything through early on. It's that think time that, more often than not, makes the difference between a successful and wildly successful campaign.
Dialing in that precious think time can be hard. In my business it involves research (of media, competitive products, industry leaders), conversations, and then just "think time." Sometimes it's easy, like when I pray about it and the answers just come -- divinely. Sometimes it's hard. But when the time is taken, it helps -- a lot.
Now I'm also not perfect in my personal life. I lose my temper, I say things without thinking them through first, I raise my voice and sometimes slam doors. I'm a bit moody and sometimes demanding. My highs are high and my lows are ...scary. Medication would probably be recommended, but I take pride in not using drugs to alter my moods. Meditation instead of medication is my mantra. It works when I use it.
So it's interesting to write this, sort of stream of consciousness and then realize that the two best tactics I've listed here for getting ideas and improving mood involve similar activities -- praying and meditating. Both can provide the same result -- clarity on the path of action we need to take.
Interesting. Something to think about.
Now that doesn't apply to typos. I still cringe at the thought of typos and bad grammar, so I'm a stickler for that. But otherwise I'm now old enough to readily admit that I make mistakes. I miss the boat. I sometimes really screw up. Not often, but sometimes.
I used to sweat it when I messed up. "Oh, man, I'm a consultant with a lot of experience and I should have known better." But the reality is that in my business there really is no right or wrong "for sure" answer. Every situation deserves individualized evaluation to ensure that the right path is taken. Most times we figure it out. Sometimes we don't.
Most of the time when things go awry it's because we didn't take the time to think everything through early on. It's that think time that, more often than not, makes the difference between a successful and wildly successful campaign.
Dialing in that precious think time can be hard. In my business it involves research (of media, competitive products, industry leaders), conversations, and then just "think time." Sometimes it's easy, like when I pray about it and the answers just come -- divinely. Sometimes it's hard. But when the time is taken, it helps -- a lot.
Now I'm also not perfect in my personal life. I lose my temper, I say things without thinking them through first, I raise my voice and sometimes slam doors. I'm a bit moody and sometimes demanding. My highs are high and my lows are ...scary. Medication would probably be recommended, but I take pride in not using drugs to alter my moods. Meditation instead of medication is my mantra. It works when I use it.
So it's interesting to write this, sort of stream of consciousness and then realize that the two best tactics I've listed here for getting ideas and improving mood involve similar activities -- praying and meditating. Both can provide the same result -- clarity on the path of action we need to take.
Interesting. Something to think about.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Self Promo Phobia, i.e. Help Wanted
The whole reason a job like mine exists is because people want and need promotion and they don't want to do it themselves.
And that is the subject of this post. I am looking for a publicist to promote my business. What do I do? I'm a publicist. It sounds pretty stupid, but at the same time I think it validates what I do. I recognize that I need a professional -- someone other than myself -- to promote me.
Now please don't get me wrong. I'm not an ego-maniac. I don't crave the spotlight or need attention to feel self worth. It's about business. It's about making sure that people who might want to hire a publicist (because they need self promotion or business promotion or product promotion) feel good about hiring me because I'm noted somewhere somehow as being a good publicist.
A good publicist will make you do things you wouldn't do on your own. They'll force you to go to places you don't want to go and smile like you want to be there and say just the right things, because they'll do their homework and know who's there and know what they want to hear and tell you all the right things to say. A good publicist handles everything so you don't have to. That's what I want.
It only gets weird if you think about it too hard (and I obviously have), in that I want to have this publicist tell somebody somewhere that I'm a really good publicist. It's not that I couldn't do it myself, it's just that I don't find that sort of work all that interesting.
So, if you know of a good publicist (not some hack or wanna be, but someone with real clients and real experience), let me know. I need someone forceful enough to boss me around yet diplomatic enough that I don't realize it. I'm not cheap, but I want value. I expect results -- I'm not sure what kind or why, but I expect them. I need someone who makes me a priority like I make my clients priorities.
That's what I need -- soon! I've been putting this off far too long. Applicants can respond to this blog with their qualifications. Please no more than 50 words, and if you don't know how to blog, this is your chance to learn. No whiners. I'm a stickler for perfection, but by no means am I perfect, that's why I need you. No typos, don't pester me, we'll talk dress code if needed, but just get me results. I'll be relying on you for ink -- lots of it, and interviews with editors and writers. Yes, I'll get a new headshot, and yes I'm willing to travel or spend a little money for some design or conferences or whatever...but just don't try to suck me dry. I know your business and I'll have my eyes peeled.
There. It feels great to be taking this off my plate. Well worth every dime. (And I know you're out there.) Good luck. May the best candidate win!
And that is the subject of this post. I am looking for a publicist to promote my business. What do I do? I'm a publicist. It sounds pretty stupid, but at the same time I think it validates what I do. I recognize that I need a professional -- someone other than myself -- to promote me.
Now please don't get me wrong. I'm not an ego-maniac. I don't crave the spotlight or need attention to feel self worth. It's about business. It's about making sure that people who might want to hire a publicist (because they need self promotion or business promotion or product promotion) feel good about hiring me because I'm noted somewhere somehow as being a good publicist.
A good publicist will make you do things you wouldn't do on your own. They'll force you to go to places you don't want to go and smile like you want to be there and say just the right things, because they'll do their homework and know who's there and know what they want to hear and tell you all the right things to say. A good publicist handles everything so you don't have to. That's what I want.
It only gets weird if you think about it too hard (and I obviously have), in that I want to have this publicist tell somebody somewhere that I'm a really good publicist. It's not that I couldn't do it myself, it's just that I don't find that sort of work all that interesting.
So, if you know of a good publicist (not some hack or wanna be, but someone with real clients and real experience), let me know. I need someone forceful enough to boss me around yet diplomatic enough that I don't realize it. I'm not cheap, but I want value. I expect results -- I'm not sure what kind or why, but I expect them. I need someone who makes me a priority like I make my clients priorities.
That's what I need -- soon! I've been putting this off far too long. Applicants can respond to this blog with their qualifications. Please no more than 50 words, and if you don't know how to blog, this is your chance to learn. No whiners. I'm a stickler for perfection, but by no means am I perfect, that's why I need you. No typos, don't pester me, we'll talk dress code if needed, but just get me results. I'll be relying on you for ink -- lots of it, and interviews with editors and writers. Yes, I'll get a new headshot, and yes I'm willing to travel or spend a little money for some design or conferences or whatever...but just don't try to suck me dry. I know your business and I'll have my eyes peeled.
There. It feels great to be taking this off my plate. Well worth every dime. (And I know you're out there.) Good luck. May the best candidate win!
Thursday, September 6, 2007
A Fresh Start
The best part about the week after Labor Day is that it's like everything is new.
I've always thought of this first week of September as the start of the year. It's when people are ready to get back to work. By now we're a little tired of summer, and we're ready to find people at work instead of on vacation. The kids are back in school, it's time to get busy.
This year I moved over Labor Day weekend, so it's even more of a fresh start for me. I'm in a new office, a new house. I have new drives to school and the store. I'm closer to my clients. It's pretty cool.
Life is full of opportunities to clear the air and start anew. It's a real gift that things do change and we have the chance to move on to new neighborhoods and new friends.
I'm doubly blessed that I have the opportunity to start new relationships with clients and with work. I thank God that I have the opportunity to approach each day with an appreciation for the beauty that it offers. I'm thankful for my family and my clients and our friends.
Most of all I'm really thankful that I'm down to less than 20 boxes that need to be opened and dealt with. I'm thankful that my refrigerator arrives today and that my DSL works. And I'm particularly thankful for my friends and family who worked so hard in 100 degree Texas heat to help us move. In particular thanks to Mark,Elian, Bob and Tanner who offered their muscle. Thanks to Robin and Fred for finding us John and Riley for the heavy lifting -- they were life savers when the rest of us were exhausted.
Anyway, it's a fresh start, and with only 120 days or so until Christmas it's time to work for a while. So let's get busy!
I've always thought of this first week of September as the start of the year. It's when people are ready to get back to work. By now we're a little tired of summer, and we're ready to find people at work instead of on vacation. The kids are back in school, it's time to get busy.
This year I moved over Labor Day weekend, so it's even more of a fresh start for me. I'm in a new office, a new house. I have new drives to school and the store. I'm closer to my clients. It's pretty cool.
Life is full of opportunities to clear the air and start anew. It's a real gift that things do change and we have the chance to move on to new neighborhoods and new friends.
I'm doubly blessed that I have the opportunity to start new relationships with clients and with work. I thank God that I have the opportunity to approach each day with an appreciation for the beauty that it offers. I'm thankful for my family and my clients and our friends.
Most of all I'm really thankful that I'm down to less than 20 boxes that need to be opened and dealt with. I'm thankful that my refrigerator arrives today and that my DSL works. And I'm particularly thankful for my friends and family who worked so hard in 100 degree Texas heat to help us move. In particular thanks to Mark,Elian, Bob and Tanner who offered their muscle. Thanks to Robin and Fred for finding us John and Riley for the heavy lifting -- they were life savers when the rest of us were exhausted.
Anyway, it's a fresh start, and with only 120 days or so until Christmas it's time to work for a while. So let's get busy!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Damned if you do, damned if you don't
P.T. Barnum once said there is no such thing as bad publicity. After 20 years in the PR business I know that's not the case.
In the 1990s the utility company I worked for needed to trim some trees in Boulder, particularly around an always contentious and incredibly ugly monstrosity known as the Grape Street Line. The Grape Street Line was part of the original infrastructure in Boulder and it was a huge, ugly power line that ran up Grape Street and on up the mountain to service Nederland, Eldora, and other mountain communities. I'm 99% sure it's still there today.
The neighbors on Grape Street hated the line. Every few years they'd organize in an uproar to request the utility company bury it. The cost of burying the Grape Street Line was phenomenal, and the utility had responded on numerous occasions that they'd be happy to bury it if the residents wanted to join together to pay for it. Stale mate.
So here we were after a particularly glorious spring in the Rockies and the forestry crews were preparing to go samurai on the tress that hid the Grape Street Line. Our quandry was whether to just show up with chain saws (the company's usual modus operandi, always causing a stir) or inform the citizens first.
We decided we wanted to be the kindler, gentler power company, so in addition to a carefully crafted letter "from" our forester, we enlisted his help and his movie star good looks to educate the community (a very tree hugging, berk wearing activist community) about the environmental benefit of this particular form of cutting. The Shigone method, or something like that, which leaves the tree with a giant hole (shaped like a "V") in the middle. It's bizarre, ugly, and supposedly the healthiest thing for trees that live around power lines.
Anyway, the plan sounded good, I personally handled Forest Boy's media training, and booked him on TV shows and with the editorial board at the Daily Camera. With the Dear Resident letters off in the mail and a fresh shirt for the himbo (who in all fairness really knew his stuff when it came to trees), we set off to Boulder, feeling good about what we were about to do -- for the good of the trees in Boulder.
Our campaign was wildly successful from a shear "impressions" standpoint. We made the front page not only in Boulder, but as the story grew we made both dailies in Denver. Then it went national -- Today Show, USA Today -- and foresters nationwide debated with activists in San Francisco and Bend and Vermont on CNN. Thankfully the internet did not yet exist.
But I've blocked out most of the rest of the details at this point, except for the team wide face-to-face with the CEO, who demanded to know whose idea it had been to be proactive about the whole tree cutting thing. I took the blame and learned a valuable lesson which was "never take the blame."
No matter what happened the results were the same. The company got its trees trimmed and the local paper got photos of college kids chained to the trees while bucket trucks loomed in. It was awful, horrible, but it was wildly received "publicity," talked about in every coffee shop in town. People knew about it, and they knew who was behind it. The company's name was on every tongue. There were opinions on it on talk radio and letters to the editor for nearly a week.
It was all packaged up neatly with a bow -- the biggest story ever until the Douglas County sheriff shot somebody's dog because the meter reader couldn't get in the back yard.
In hindsight, it was pretty dumb. Today I would insist on a different path. But I was pretty young back then, and we liked the idea of being open and forthright so much better than the idea of just showing up with chainsaws.
But every year since, residents along Grape Street (and Elm, and Walnut, and, and, and...) are awakened by the sound of chainsaws. No warning. No education. Just Cut and Run. It's the only way to do it. Quick and painless. No newspapers, no TV crews, no neighborhood uproar. No publicity.
Sometimes you can wag the dog, and other times the dog wags you. P.T. Barnum was wrong. There is such a thing as bad publicity.
In the 1990s the utility company I worked for needed to trim some trees in Boulder, particularly around an always contentious and incredibly ugly monstrosity known as the Grape Street Line. The Grape Street Line was part of the original infrastructure in Boulder and it was a huge, ugly power line that ran up Grape Street and on up the mountain to service Nederland, Eldora, and other mountain communities. I'm 99% sure it's still there today.
The neighbors on Grape Street hated the line. Every few years they'd organize in an uproar to request the utility company bury it. The cost of burying the Grape Street Line was phenomenal, and the utility had responded on numerous occasions that they'd be happy to bury it if the residents wanted to join together to pay for it. Stale mate.
So here we were after a particularly glorious spring in the Rockies and the forestry crews were preparing to go samurai on the tress that hid the Grape Street Line. Our quandry was whether to just show up with chain saws (the company's usual modus operandi, always causing a stir) or inform the citizens first.
We decided we wanted to be the kindler, gentler power company, so in addition to a carefully crafted letter "from" our forester, we enlisted his help and his movie star good looks to educate the community (a very tree hugging, berk wearing activist community) about the environmental benefit of this particular form of cutting. The Shigone method, or something like that, which leaves the tree with a giant hole (shaped like a "V") in the middle. It's bizarre, ugly, and supposedly the healthiest thing for trees that live around power lines.
Anyway, the plan sounded good, I personally handled Forest Boy's media training, and booked him on TV shows and with the editorial board at the Daily Camera. With the Dear Resident letters off in the mail and a fresh shirt for the himbo (who in all fairness really knew his stuff when it came to trees), we set off to Boulder, feeling good about what we were about to do -- for the good of the trees in Boulder.
Our campaign was wildly successful from a shear "impressions" standpoint. We made the front page not only in Boulder, but as the story grew we made both dailies in Denver. Then it went national -- Today Show, USA Today -- and foresters nationwide debated with activists in San Francisco and Bend and Vermont on CNN. Thankfully the internet did not yet exist.
But I've blocked out most of the rest of the details at this point, except for the team wide face-to-face with the CEO, who demanded to know whose idea it had been to be proactive about the whole tree cutting thing. I took the blame and learned a valuable lesson which was "never take the blame."
No matter what happened the results were the same. The company got its trees trimmed and the local paper got photos of college kids chained to the trees while bucket trucks loomed in. It was awful, horrible, but it was wildly received "publicity," talked about in every coffee shop in town. People knew about it, and they knew who was behind it. The company's name was on every tongue. There were opinions on it on talk radio and letters to the editor for nearly a week.
It was all packaged up neatly with a bow -- the biggest story ever until the Douglas County sheriff shot somebody's dog because the meter reader couldn't get in the back yard.
In hindsight, it was pretty dumb. Today I would insist on a different path. But I was pretty young back then, and we liked the idea of being open and forthright so much better than the idea of just showing up with chainsaws.
But every year since, residents along Grape Street (and Elm, and Walnut, and, and, and...) are awakened by the sound of chainsaws. No warning. No education. Just Cut and Run. It's the only way to do it. Quick and painless. No newspapers, no TV crews, no neighborhood uproar. No publicity.
Sometimes you can wag the dog, and other times the dog wags you. P.T. Barnum was wrong. There is such a thing as bad publicity.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The girlfriend
Last night a bubbly, giggly, pretty teenage girl was in our house. She was also in our pool, with our son, in the dark, alone. Since it was the first time we'd had a visitor of that nature, it was a bit of a milestone, a right of passage, and a little bit of an "oh no" moment.
I always knew the girls would come. I guess that time has come. And I'm okay with it. From my perspective, at the age of 15, you should be interested in girls. By the time I was 15 I'd probably had half a dozen boyfriends -- some 17 and even 18. I know what I was doing. I like that my son is willing to bring a girl here.
My husband, on the other hand, was a bit more concerned. "They're getting a little huggy huggy out there," he had warned me from his recon post near the kitchen window. "You'd better get out there," he had said, pacing nervously in front of my view of the TV.
But I was horizontal on the couch and couldn't come up with a reason why I needed to move at that moment. I've talked to my son. He's talked to me. He told me about a senior football player at his school whose girlfriend got pregnant and so he wasn't going to college on the scholarship he'd received. "It can ruin your life," he had said. "It will at least change it," I had replied.
We've talked about what boys are feeling and how girls can be, and how it's best to wait for the girl that he really really likes and to date a girl for quite a while before deciding anything about getting really close. I've also more blatantly told him I don't want to be raising grandchildren. We've had our talks.
So as my husband paced nervously next to me and I patted myself silently on the back for my open communication style, the girl came in the house. Her high pitched, peppy entrance made sure we all knew she was there. "Which switch is the light?" she had asked at the door of the bathroom. "I don't know," I had said from my couch, "Try one." "Thanks!" she had said in a cheery squeak, as if my advice on how to solve the dilemma had improved her night, perhaps even her life -- forever!
As I heard the door slide closed, I looked at Mark who had somehow fallen into his chair, perhaps stunned, and laughed. Then I jumped up and walked (okay, I ran -- really fast)through the house to the back door, opened it,and found my son flexing in the pool.
"Hey, what's up?" I had said. "Nothin'" he had said backinng out of the light. "You be careful out here," I said sternly. "I will," he said, then "I'm not..." he said. "I know," I said.
About that time our visitor, who I noticed as she stepped into the moonlight had an ever-so-tiny nose ring, bopped out the door. "Are you coming swimming with us?" she had asked with a huge smile, as if it would make her truly happy if I would. For a split second I considered, then reconsidered. Looking at my son, I said, "Not right now, maybe later." Then I turned, did a quick scan for visible tatoos, seeing none, smiled and said, "When it's time, we'll drive you home," and I walked back in the house.
I knew it was just a matter of time before the girls showed up. That's why I talk to my sons. This one may be the first to be alone in the dark in my pool with my son, but she certainly won't be the last. And I have another son who loves girls, and soon they'll be coming to my house to see him too. I'm okay with all that. But tonight when you lay down to sleep, please, say a prayer for me. I'm the mother of two teenage boys.
I always knew the girls would come. I guess that time has come. And I'm okay with it. From my perspective, at the age of 15, you should be interested in girls. By the time I was 15 I'd probably had half a dozen boyfriends -- some 17 and even 18. I know what I was doing. I like that my son is willing to bring a girl here.
My husband, on the other hand, was a bit more concerned. "They're getting a little huggy huggy out there," he had warned me from his recon post near the kitchen window. "You'd better get out there," he had said, pacing nervously in front of my view of the TV.
But I was horizontal on the couch and couldn't come up with a reason why I needed to move at that moment. I've talked to my son. He's talked to me. He told me about a senior football player at his school whose girlfriend got pregnant and so he wasn't going to college on the scholarship he'd received. "It can ruin your life," he had said. "It will at least change it," I had replied.
We've talked about what boys are feeling and how girls can be, and how it's best to wait for the girl that he really really likes and to date a girl for quite a while before deciding anything about getting really close. I've also more blatantly told him I don't want to be raising grandchildren. We've had our talks.
So as my husband paced nervously next to me and I patted myself silently on the back for my open communication style, the girl came in the house. Her high pitched, peppy entrance made sure we all knew she was there. "Which switch is the light?" she had asked at the door of the bathroom. "I don't know," I had said from my couch, "Try one." "Thanks!" she had said in a cheery squeak, as if my advice on how to solve the dilemma had improved her night, perhaps even her life -- forever!
As I heard the door slide closed, I looked at Mark who had somehow fallen into his chair, perhaps stunned, and laughed. Then I jumped up and walked (okay, I ran -- really fast)through the house to the back door, opened it,and found my son flexing in the pool.
"Hey, what's up?" I had said. "Nothin'" he had said backinng out of the light. "You be careful out here," I said sternly. "I will," he said, then "I'm not..." he said. "I know," I said.
About that time our visitor, who I noticed as she stepped into the moonlight had an ever-so-tiny nose ring, bopped out the door. "Are you coming swimming with us?" she had asked with a huge smile, as if it would make her truly happy if I would. For a split second I considered, then reconsidered. Looking at my son, I said, "Not right now, maybe later." Then I turned, did a quick scan for visible tatoos, seeing none, smiled and said, "When it's time, we'll drive you home," and I walked back in the house.
I knew it was just a matter of time before the girls showed up. That's why I talk to my sons. This one may be the first to be alone in the dark in my pool with my son, but she certainly won't be the last. And I have another son who loves girls, and soon they'll be coming to my house to see him too. I'm okay with all that. But tonight when you lay down to sleep, please, say a prayer for me. I'm the mother of two teenage boys.
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