All I can ever be to you
Is the darkness that we knew
And this regret I got accustomed to -- Amy Winehouse
I was at the gym today, feeling pretty low about my day and myself, when this song came on. It hit me: Hey, now there's a person who knows feeling crummy. At least I'm not Amy Winehouse.
I started to feel better already, moseying to the steam room and contemplating all the ways I am not like Amy Winehouse, at least on the surface. "This works!" I thought to myself. "Who else am I glad not to be? Mark Sanford. Yes! I may be feeling a bit disheartened at work today, or pretty far down on the real estate totem pole for someone my age, or a bit socially adrift right now, but I am not Mark Sanford, and that's a reason to walk around feeling grateful."
I made a little mental list of people I'm glad I'm not. Maybe you have your own list. Feel free to share it here.
Amy Winehouse
Gov. Mark Sanford
This person
Courtney Love
Rick Pitino
The great thing about being human is that no matter how badly you've screwed up, chances are there's someone out there who has screwed up even worse than you have. If you're Courtney Love, it's arguable that you might console yourself by thinking about Amy Winehouse. Rick Pitino might think of Steve McNair. George W. Bush might think of Hitler. We've all messed up pretty seriously at one time or another.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Grudges.
How much professional disdain can you accommodate before it overflows and poisons the personal, and vice versa?
How hard do you try to comprehend a person's motives before you simply write off the individual as a bunghole, even though surely s/he has loved ones who could ably rebut this conclusion, excuse my pun, and might even say that you are the one who is the bunghole? Is it healthier to try to understand/forgive, or to decide that bh is bh and take a persona non grata stance?
Once someone has crossed the line in terms of your own acceptable rules of conduct, how do you deal with that person going forward?
These questions have always been difficult for me, and they have run particularly deep over the last few weeks.
Once, many years ago, I made an edit to a column because it was slanderous. The columnist, with whom I'd been very friendly up until then, screamed at me over the phone after finding out. I stood my ground. The columnist went to my boss. My boss backed me up. More screaming. I've never been talked to like that before by a colleague, and haven't since. It shook me, and shook my estimation of that person.
After a couple of days, all was forgotten -- on the columnist's end. But for me, that relationship was effectively over, and I avoided all but the necessary interactions.
Before the tirade, the columnist had offered to help me get connections outside my company and had already helped me secure one job interview. It would have behooved me to let bygones be bygones and continue to use this person for contacts, but I couldn't ask for any more help from someone who, I felt, had betrayed me.
Similarly, it took me several years to get over a relative's behavior toward my father in the wake of his mother's death and disagreements over her estate. I had to see this relative at holidays, and it took some energy to actively avoid her, to signal that she had done wrong, and that I had not forgotten it.
You see, I've been a grudge-holder for a good part of my life. The grudge is a symbol of principle, of justice, of righteousness, of self-preservation: One so concretely circumscribed by her sense of right and wrong is stronger, less permeable. Debilitating struggles with sympathy or grey areas are averted. Interlopers are swiftly judged and excommunicated.
My brother, unlike me, greeted the offending relative as he always would have. He had no chill in his voice. As far as he was concerned, the shadow was between her and my father. He could never understand why he should get worked up about something that had nothing to do with him. I used to judge this, too. Where was his sense of loyalty? Where was his sense of outrage?
But my father, too, forgave her over time, and I was left with my own righteousness on behalf of no one, slowly sapping my energy during family gatherings even though the original point had been lost. Eventually I had to just forgive and resume normal relations. I did not forget. But the contrast with my brother made me wonder: When is a grudge worth nothing more than the pain it inflicts on its owner?
I'll never be able to adopt my brother's easy approach to things, but I've come to a place of forgiving faster and forgetting sometimes. I come to it only as a white-flag surrender, not as an act of strength. I can no longer grant grudges to everyone. I simply don't have the emotional capital. Only the real bastards can earn it. The rest can languish in the emotional dustbin.
Music: "Running"
and
Music: "Float On"
How hard do you try to comprehend a person's motives before you simply write off the individual as a bunghole, even though surely s/he has loved ones who could ably rebut this conclusion, excuse my pun, and might even say that you are the one who is the bunghole? Is it healthier to try to understand/forgive, or to decide that bh is bh and take a persona non grata stance?
Once someone has crossed the line in terms of your own acceptable rules of conduct, how do you deal with that person going forward?
These questions have always been difficult for me, and they have run particularly deep over the last few weeks.
Once, many years ago, I made an edit to a column because it was slanderous. The columnist, with whom I'd been very friendly up until then, screamed at me over the phone after finding out. I stood my ground. The columnist went to my boss. My boss backed me up. More screaming. I've never been talked to like that before by a colleague, and haven't since. It shook me, and shook my estimation of that person.
After a couple of days, all was forgotten -- on the columnist's end. But for me, that relationship was effectively over, and I avoided all but the necessary interactions.
Before the tirade, the columnist had offered to help me get connections outside my company and had already helped me secure one job interview. It would have behooved me to let bygones be bygones and continue to use this person for contacts, but I couldn't ask for any more help from someone who, I felt, had betrayed me.
Similarly, it took me several years to get over a relative's behavior toward my father in the wake of his mother's death and disagreements over her estate. I had to see this relative at holidays, and it took some energy to actively avoid her, to signal that she had done wrong, and that I had not forgotten it.
You see, I've been a grudge-holder for a good part of my life. The grudge is a symbol of principle, of justice, of righteousness, of self-preservation: One so concretely circumscribed by her sense of right and wrong is stronger, less permeable. Debilitating struggles with sympathy or grey areas are averted. Interlopers are swiftly judged and excommunicated.
My brother, unlike me, greeted the offending relative as he always would have. He had no chill in his voice. As far as he was concerned, the shadow was between her and my father. He could never understand why he should get worked up about something that had nothing to do with him. I used to judge this, too. Where was his sense of loyalty? Where was his sense of outrage?
But my father, too, forgave her over time, and I was left with my own righteousness on behalf of no one, slowly sapping my energy during family gatherings even though the original point had been lost. Eventually I had to just forgive and resume normal relations. I did not forget. But the contrast with my brother made me wonder: When is a grudge worth nothing more than the pain it inflicts on its owner?
I'll never be able to adopt my brother's easy approach to things, but I've come to a place of forgiving faster and forgetting sometimes. I come to it only as a white-flag surrender, not as an act of strength. I can no longer grant grudges to everyone. I simply don't have the emotional capital. Only the real bastards can earn it. The rest can languish in the emotional dustbin.
Music: "Running"
and
Music: "Float On"
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Points of Contention: Copy Challenge.
Dispute 1
The Usage: The use of "troop" as a singular to describe a soldier.
The Correction: An editor let me know that he changed my headline because I referred to a single soldier as a troop. I was confused: Hadn't I seen this all over the place? I searched around. Well.... sort of. CNN, for example, had a headline that referred to "50 troops wounded." So wouldn't that mean troop is being applied to soldiers as individuals, and therefore is interchangeable with "soldier"? I appealed to a former boss of mine whose opinion I trusted (subject line: Help me Obi Wan).
The verdict: He replied, "Troops is a plural term, never singular. The derivation is from World War I (or earlier) and Troupers, which became Troopers, with the plural shortened to troops. But we don’t use Trooper as a singular anymore. Soldier is always better (unless it’s a Marine, which gets capitalized)." I was wrong.
Dispute No. 2
The Usage: Geico, in reference to the insurance company.
The Correction: "Isn't GEICO all caps?" I said during a review. "I don't think so," the writer said. "I think it is," I said. "I can check, but I'm pretty sure it isn't," she said.
The verdict: GEICO technically stands for the Government Employees Insurance Company. It's an acronym and the company uses all caps for it all over their Web site. I was right. (Pretty small victory compared to the gaffe above.)
Also, Uncomfortable Moments is 4 years old this weekend. It's hard to believe that the first post went up that recently. It feels like longer.
The Usage: The use of "troop" as a singular to describe a soldier.
The Correction: An editor let me know that he changed my headline because I referred to a single soldier as a troop. I was confused: Hadn't I seen this all over the place? I searched around. Well.... sort of. CNN, for example, had a headline that referred to "50 troops wounded." So wouldn't that mean troop is being applied to soldiers as individuals, and therefore is interchangeable with "soldier"? I appealed to a former boss of mine whose opinion I trusted (subject line: Help me Obi Wan).
The verdict: He replied, "Troops is a plural term, never singular. The derivation is from World War I (or earlier) and Troupers, which became Troopers, with the plural shortened to troops. But we don’t use Trooper as a singular anymore. Soldier is always better (unless it’s a Marine, which gets capitalized)." I was wrong.
Dispute No. 2
The Usage: Geico, in reference to the insurance company.
The Correction: "Isn't GEICO all caps?" I said during a review. "I don't think so," the writer said. "I think it is," I said. "I can check, but I'm pretty sure it isn't," she said.
The verdict: GEICO technically stands for the Government Employees Insurance Company. It's an acronym and the company uses all caps for it all over their Web site. I was right. (Pretty small victory compared to the gaffe above.)
Also, Uncomfortable Moments is 4 years old this weekend. It's hard to believe that the first post went up that recently. It feels like longer.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Everlasting Cringe.
This Uncomfortable Moment began at 1:48 p.m. EST today. I have uncontrollably relived it in the hours since, and will continue to do so. I submit it here for a) your enjoyment and b) my expiation.
On my team at work, a lot of links to stories get sent around as pitches for things we might want to feature. Today someone sent around a link to a story about a company that offers "birthday boot camps" for kids.
The article featured a picture of a little girl straining to do a push-up in the sun. It also mentioned sweating and jumping jacks. For a birthday party.
I don't usually chime in on stories, but this one amused me and I decided to send around my snarky take on it. We have about 16 people on the team in total, and being relatively new, I haven't really gotten to chat with anyone or joke around very much. I miss having that and was in a good mood, so I replied to all:
"As a kid, would you be psyched to be invited to this party? To me it sounds about as fun as an All-Vegetable Theme Party or a Litter Clean-Up Bash."
I was pretty pleased with myself. Pathetic as it may be, I have secured most of my friendships (and possibly most of my employment) in life by making people laugh. Particularly in a work setting, I can be withdrawn and awkward. Amusing people is a wildly effective way to compensate for this. I discovered that in elementary school, when a little thing like creating an ironic, Barbie-like mermaid character named Sandy Seaweed deflected attention from the fact that I liked to wear plaid skirts with tights when other kids were into Gloria Vanderbilt and Polo.
Two minutes after that e-mail, my world came crashing down.
Coworker reply: not that you had any way of knowing this but the woman in the piece is [sender's name redacted]'s wife, hahaha
It seems that most people on the e-mail knew this fact, except for me, which led to awkward silence all around. Offices present a unique opportunity for discomfort, with everyone in cubes communicating online. Never has so much been said while remaining unspoken. When something disrupts the fabric of the atmosphere, you can sense it: people type at a different rate, there's more giggling, the air is tenser.
I sat there red-faced and nauseous and alone, having caused one of these electrical storms with my unintentionally blatant and rude diss of a coworker's family business. Thus commenced my Hugh Grant apology tour. I wrote to the offended party directly, and then I wrote to everyone, and then I flagellated myself in an in-person meeting.
I mean honestly, what do I know? Now that I think about it, my brother got push-up handles for Christmas and my sister's kids were thrilled to drop and give him 20. Maybe kids across the country are clamoring for a Biggest Loser experience. What do I know?
Watch how people react if and when you ever make a faux pas as dumb as mine. Two people were brave enough to (gently) let me know that I had been a jackass. Two others were kind enough to let me know they sympathized. Otherwise, I was on my own.
When it comes to this particular disaster, I've done everything I can. I'm pretty sure at least one coworker now thoroughly disdains me because of this. Some insults you can't joke your way out of.
On my team at work, a lot of links to stories get sent around as pitches for things we might want to feature. Today someone sent around a link to a story about a company that offers "birthday boot camps" for kids.
The article featured a picture of a little girl straining to do a push-up in the sun. It also mentioned sweating and jumping jacks. For a birthday party.
I don't usually chime in on stories, but this one amused me and I decided to send around my snarky take on it. We have about 16 people on the team in total, and being relatively new, I haven't really gotten to chat with anyone or joke around very much. I miss having that and was in a good mood, so I replied to all:
"As a kid, would you be psyched to be invited to this party? To me it sounds about as fun as an All-Vegetable Theme Party or a Litter Clean-Up Bash."
I was pretty pleased with myself. Pathetic as it may be, I have secured most of my friendships (and possibly most of my employment) in life by making people laugh. Particularly in a work setting, I can be withdrawn and awkward. Amusing people is a wildly effective way to compensate for this. I discovered that in elementary school, when a little thing like creating an ironic, Barbie-like mermaid character named Sandy Seaweed deflected attention from the fact that I liked to wear plaid skirts with tights when other kids were into Gloria Vanderbilt and Polo.
Two minutes after that e-mail, my world came crashing down.
Coworker reply: not that you had any way of knowing this but the woman in the piece is [sender's name redacted]'s wife, hahaha
It seems that most people on the e-mail knew this fact, except for me, which led to awkward silence all around. Offices present a unique opportunity for discomfort, with everyone in cubes communicating online. Never has so much been said while remaining unspoken. When something disrupts the fabric of the atmosphere, you can sense it: people type at a different rate, there's more giggling, the air is tenser.
I sat there red-faced and nauseous and alone, having caused one of these electrical storms with my unintentionally blatant and rude diss of a coworker's family business. Thus commenced my Hugh Grant apology tour. I wrote to the offended party directly, and then I wrote to everyone, and then I flagellated myself in an in-person meeting.
I mean honestly, what do I know? Now that I think about it, my brother got push-up handles for Christmas and my sister's kids were thrilled to drop and give him 20. Maybe kids across the country are clamoring for a Biggest Loser experience. What do I know?
Watch how people react if and when you ever make a faux pas as dumb as mine. Two people were brave enough to (gently) let me know that I had been a jackass. Two others were kind enough to let me know they sympathized. Otherwise, I was on my own.
When it comes to this particular disaster, I've done everything I can. I'm pretty sure at least one coworker now thoroughly disdains me because of this. Some insults you can't joke your way out of.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Vanity Plates.
Every morning I drive to a corporate campus in Virginia and am struck by how many vanity license plates I see in the parking garage on my walk into the office. Is it Virginia, or my company?
It takes a certain amount of wherewithal to get a vanity plate. I don't know about you, but every time I'm at the DMV, I'm just trying to get shit done. I haven't thought about what my license plate is going to look like. Then I see these plates and I'm like damnit, why don't I have a vanity plate? To me, they fall into the same category as tattoos: I'm a bit skeptical, but secretly, I wish I could be that oriented toward defining myself, that creative and self-aggrandizing with my time. Whoops, okay, I have a personal blog. I am that oriented toward defining myself, that creative and self-aggrandizing with my time.
Here are some plates that have struck me lately:
OMG WTF: Best license plate of all time.
21 FRVR: Someone stole my plate, except it would be 14 FRVR
GUI GRL: Work nerd
FX GUY: Work nerd
4 OBS: I see this car every damn day and it haunts me. There is also a sticker on the car with four stick figures, so I assume it refers to the family. But what is OBS? Are they all gynecologists??
What would your vanity plate read?
It takes a certain amount of wherewithal to get a vanity plate. I don't know about you, but every time I'm at the DMV, I'm just trying to get shit done. I haven't thought about what my license plate is going to look like. Then I see these plates and I'm like damnit, why don't I have a vanity plate? To me, they fall into the same category as tattoos: I'm a bit skeptical, but secretly, I wish I could be that oriented toward defining myself, that creative and self-aggrandizing with my time. Whoops, okay, I have a personal blog. I am that oriented toward defining myself, that creative and self-aggrandizing with my time.
Here are some plates that have struck me lately:
OMG WTF: Best license plate of all time.
21 FRVR: Someone stole my plate, except it would be 14 FRVR
GUI GRL: Work nerd
FX GUY: Work nerd
4 OBS: I see this car every damn day and it haunts me. There is also a sticker on the car with four stick figures, so I assume it refers to the family. But what is OBS? Are they all gynecologists??
What would your vanity plate read?
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Front-Facing.
"The way you get to know yourself is by the expressions on other people's faces, because that's the only thing that you can see, unless you carry a mirror about. But if you keep saying 'I' and they're saying 'I,' you don't get much out of it. They're not really into you, or we, or they; they're into I. That makes conversation slow."
- Gil Scott-Heron
I can hardly bear to look at the group when I speak every morning at work. It's a meeting involving anywhere from 15-20 people, and we all talk about the stories we want to feature. When my turn to talk comes, looking around only exacerbates the shaking in my voice, the redness in my face and the awkward transitions. Some days are worse than others. No days are easy.
There are reasons that I can sing in front of a group of people at a karaoke bar with alacrity, or sell an events company over the phone to a complete stranger, or talk quite forcefully and colorfully in other circumstances (work and personal), yet cannot do so in this particular meeting with this particular group. I leave those aside for now.
The main issue is that sometimes, time slows down, every word echoes, my perspective shifts outside my head, and self-consciousness nearly overwhelms me. It makes me think of a friend who struggled with a serious stutter for most of his life. He learned tricks for hiding the stutter, which made him able to tell when other people were hiding one too.
"If somebody had a stutter, even if they sound totally normal, I could tell," he said.
"Really?" I said, a little skeptical.
"Absolutely," he replied.
Then one day I was sitting in a meeting with someone my team had met with a few times. I'd heard him speak before and never noticed anything. But this particular day, as he was talking, I realized it: He was a stutterer! From that moment, I couldn't process anything he was actually saying. Only the sheer accomplishment of his perfectly easygoing speech -- the way his pauses and breaths flowed over the stutter -- stood out. I was transfixed, and hoped he couldn't tell how closely I was watching him.
So this is probably the genesis of my anxiety: I know what I pick up on when other people are talking, so I shudder to think what others notice when I am forced to subject myself to scrutiny. If I allow myself to break the frame, even for a second, and think of what is actually happening in that moment -- that people are evaluating me, however mildly, and that their faces mask thoughts no one could know -- a small breakdown begins and I may as well have a stutter (not that there's anything wrong with that; I find some stutters quite appealing) for the amount of strife that results.
"That happens to me all the time," said another person on the topic. This person speaks a ton in public, is extremely self-assured, and is the last person you would ever think turns red-faced in a meeting for no good reason. The "all the time" part of his admission was probably added for my benefit. Still, it was soothing to hear. Meetings just lend themselves to UncMos for all of us.
Gil Scott-Heron is all too correct in his comment above. This is why so many people prefer e-mail these days.
Music: Piano Concerto No. 3
- Gil Scott-Heron
I can hardly bear to look at the group when I speak every morning at work. It's a meeting involving anywhere from 15-20 people, and we all talk about the stories we want to feature. When my turn to talk comes, looking around only exacerbates the shaking in my voice, the redness in my face and the awkward transitions. Some days are worse than others. No days are easy.
There are reasons that I can sing in front of a group of people at a karaoke bar with alacrity, or sell an events company over the phone to a complete stranger, or talk quite forcefully and colorfully in other circumstances (work and personal), yet cannot do so in this particular meeting with this particular group. I leave those aside for now.
The main issue is that sometimes, time slows down, every word echoes, my perspective shifts outside my head, and self-consciousness nearly overwhelms me. It makes me think of a friend who struggled with a serious stutter for most of his life. He learned tricks for hiding the stutter, which made him able to tell when other people were hiding one too.
"If somebody had a stutter, even if they sound totally normal, I could tell," he said.
"Really?" I said, a little skeptical.
"Absolutely," he replied.
Then one day I was sitting in a meeting with someone my team had met with a few times. I'd heard him speak before and never noticed anything. But this particular day, as he was talking, I realized it: He was a stutterer! From that moment, I couldn't process anything he was actually saying. Only the sheer accomplishment of his perfectly easygoing speech -- the way his pauses and breaths flowed over the stutter -- stood out. I was transfixed, and hoped he couldn't tell how closely I was watching him.
So this is probably the genesis of my anxiety: I know what I pick up on when other people are talking, so I shudder to think what others notice when I am forced to subject myself to scrutiny. If I allow myself to break the frame, even for a second, and think of what is actually happening in that moment -- that people are evaluating me, however mildly, and that their faces mask thoughts no one could know -- a small breakdown begins and I may as well have a stutter (not that there's anything wrong with that; I find some stutters quite appealing) for the amount of strife that results.
"That happens to me all the time," said another person on the topic. This person speaks a ton in public, is extremely self-assured, and is the last person you would ever think turns red-faced in a meeting for no good reason. The "all the time" part of his admission was probably added for my benefit. Still, it was soothing to hear. Meetings just lend themselves to UncMos for all of us.
Gil Scott-Heron is all too correct in his comment above. This is why so many people prefer e-mail these days.
Music: Piano Concerto No. 3
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Points of Contention: Michael Jackson
Here at UncMo, we like to come up with new blogovations as much as we like to come up with thought-provoking, well-written posts, which is why this is only the second new recurring feature we've introduced in nearly four years, unless you count referring to oneself in the first-person plural.
Recently I was joking with someone that he should start a blog dedicated to his disagreements with another blogger. He was really going at it with this woman in the comments of her blog and feeling a little self-conscious about it. I suggested that instead of feeling bad about it, he should elevate it to the level of a whole new blog that would have a name alluding to how wrong she is.
Normally this type of idea would get left in the realm of the theoretical -- just an amusing notion. Most productive people would consider it a waste of time to publicly catalog one's petty disagreements. Not me! To me, this says, "I think we've got something here."
Therefore, here in "Points of Contention" I will chronicle various debates or disagreements as they come up.
Chances are you've had occasion to discuss Michael Jackson recently, in greater depth than you ever previously thought you would. If you didn't know before, you probably know now what camp you fall in regarding MJ: the "he was a child-molester" camp or the "he was crazy but innocent" camp.
The two best expressions of these differing viewpoints that I've seen are as follows:
"I don't give a fuck how good you can sing and dance. I got babies, you nasty motherfucker... Some of y'all lookin' at me like 'I can't believe you sayin' that. It's a setup.' Fuck a setup. Don't nobody say the same shit about you for 20 goddamn years, what the fuck is you talking about? If a motherfucker call you a crackhead for 20 years, bitch, you are smoking crack." -- Katt Williams
"I had started my investigation convinced that Jackson was guilty. By the end, I no longer believed that. I could not find a single shred of evidence suggesting that Jackson had molested a child. But I found significant evidence demonstrating that most, if not all, of his accusers lacked credibility and were motivated primarily by money." -- Ian Halperin
And there you have it: the MJ debate in a nutshell, excuse the pun.
Call me a sucker, but I am firmly in Ian Halperin's camp. He elaborates, "Jackson also deserved much of the blame, of course. Continuing to share a bed with children even after the suspicions surfaced bordered on criminal stupidity."
I believe that Jackson felt he was robbed of his childhood and tried to recapture it in his notorious sleepovers. I believe he was either conflicted about his sexuality, gay, or both. I do not believe he was a pedophile.
This is a bad position to be in around people who do believe the allegations. As far as they are concerned, Jackson was a nasty, sick person -- and who are you if you're defending such a person? I've gotten enough looks and dubious silences from others to wonder why I even bother making the argument. After all, I'm not a huge MJ fan. I like his music as much as anybody, but I never cared about him that much musically. As a person, I thought he seemed lost and crazy and sad and horrifically physically distorted. And I have to admit, Williams' riff gave me pause. Why defend him?
I don't have a particular need to be right in this case. I'm just saying what I really believe is true. In this case, since none of us were there, that's all we can do: speculate.
Please feel free to weigh in on this argument or share other debates you've been having lately.
Recently I was joking with someone that he should start a blog dedicated to his disagreements with another blogger. He was really going at it with this woman in the comments of her blog and feeling a little self-conscious about it. I suggested that instead of feeling bad about it, he should elevate it to the level of a whole new blog that would have a name alluding to how wrong she is.
Normally this type of idea would get left in the realm of the theoretical -- just an amusing notion. Most productive people would consider it a waste of time to publicly catalog one's petty disagreements. Not me! To me, this says, "I think we've got something here."
Therefore, here in "Points of Contention" I will chronicle various debates or disagreements as they come up.
Chances are you've had occasion to discuss Michael Jackson recently, in greater depth than you ever previously thought you would. If you didn't know before, you probably know now what camp you fall in regarding MJ: the "he was a child-molester" camp or the "he was crazy but innocent" camp.
The two best expressions of these differing viewpoints that I've seen are as follows:
"I don't give a fuck how good you can sing and dance. I got babies, you nasty motherfucker... Some of y'all lookin' at me like 'I can't believe you sayin' that. It's a setup.' Fuck a setup. Don't nobody say the same shit about you for 20 goddamn years, what the fuck is you talking about? If a motherfucker call you a crackhead for 20 years, bitch, you are smoking crack." -- Katt Williams
"I had started my investigation convinced that Jackson was guilty. By the end, I no longer believed that. I could not find a single shred of evidence suggesting that Jackson had molested a child. But I found significant evidence demonstrating that most, if not all, of his accusers lacked credibility and were motivated primarily by money." -- Ian Halperin
And there you have it: the MJ debate in a nutshell, excuse the pun.
Call me a sucker, but I am firmly in Ian Halperin's camp. He elaborates, "Jackson also deserved much of the blame, of course. Continuing to share a bed with children even after the suspicions surfaced bordered on criminal stupidity."
I believe that Jackson felt he was robbed of his childhood and tried to recapture it in his notorious sleepovers. I believe he was either conflicted about his sexuality, gay, or both. I do not believe he was a pedophile.
This is a bad position to be in around people who do believe the allegations. As far as they are concerned, Jackson was a nasty, sick person -- and who are you if you're defending such a person? I've gotten enough looks and dubious silences from others to wonder why I even bother making the argument. After all, I'm not a huge MJ fan. I like his music as much as anybody, but I never cared about him that much musically. As a person, I thought he seemed lost and crazy and sad and horrifically physically distorted. And I have to admit, Williams' riff gave me pause. Why defend him?
I don't have a particular need to be right in this case. I'm just saying what I really believe is true. In this case, since none of us were there, that's all we can do: speculate.
Please feel free to weigh in on this argument or share other debates you've been having lately.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Sucker.
These ads have kind of worked on me lately. Well, I guess technically they haven't worked, because I haven't consumed any of these items. But I made a note of them for possible future consumption rather than ignoring the ad like I usually do.
1. McCafé. This campaign is everywhere -- TV, Internet banners, and print -- and it's making me strongly consider walking in to a MAC-Donald's and ordering a McCafé mocha. I don't know whether it's the boldly incongruous accent over the 'e,' the sassy cursive font, the relentless use of whipped cream in their promotions, or that I just want an excuse to walk into a McDonald's. Hell, I don't even entertain the notion of whipped cream on my beverages, as a rule. These ads are so skillfully rendered that they make me want the whipped cream, maybe more than the actual beverage.
2. Double Twist mascara. Two mascara wands -- one red and one black -- swirl together like a DNA molecule, suggesting that my eyelash genes may actually change if I use this product. Jessica Alba's lashes miraculously swell and elongate after she looks to the camera asking if another take is needed. It's just like what happens when I am on the set in front of my cameraman, by which I mean in my bathroom in front of my nicked rental-apartment mirror.
3. Nationwide. You know what, Jackie Walker, it's true. I do think that you insurance companies just take my money and then, when I have an accident, there's a problem. You say you have an accident-forgiveness policy? Thanks, Jackie. I do believe you are on my side.
4. Miami Social. I don't know what this is. I think it's on Bravo. But I saw an ad for it on the TV and any show named Miami Social sounds great to me.
1. McCafé. This campaign is everywhere -- TV, Internet banners, and print -- and it's making me strongly consider walking in to a MAC-Donald's and ordering a McCafé mocha. I don't know whether it's the boldly incongruous accent over the 'e,' the sassy cursive font, the relentless use of whipped cream in their promotions, or that I just want an excuse to walk into a McDonald's. Hell, I don't even entertain the notion of whipped cream on my beverages, as a rule. These ads are so skillfully rendered that they make me want the whipped cream, maybe more than the actual beverage.2. Double Twist mascara. Two mascara wands -- one red and one black -- swirl together like a DNA molecule, suggesting that my eyelash genes may actually change if I use this product. Jessica Alba's lashes miraculously swell and elongate after she looks to the camera asking if another take is needed. It's just like what happens when I am on the set in front of my cameraman, by which I mean in my bathroom in front of my nicked rental-apartment mirror.
3. Nationwide. You know what, Jackie Walker, it's true. I do think that you insurance companies just take my money and then, when I have an accident, there's a problem. You say you have an accident-forgiveness policy? Thanks, Jackie. I do believe you are on my side.
4. Miami Social. I don't know what this is. I think it's on Bravo. But I saw an ad for it on the TV and any show named Miami Social sounds great to me.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Daily Feedback.
Every day when I open my work e-mail, there awaits a message entitled "Daily Feedback." The contents are pretty grim.
To be fair, the anger raging inside the Daily Feedback comes from a very small percentage of our customers, and much of it is not directed at my team. Still, it is a torrent of abuse that is disheartening to wade through. I have certainly felt this way about a company before and it makes me sad to think of people who have been moved to write us because they have THAT much hatred for what we do.
Here's a selective sampling from the best worst of the Daily Feedback.
what in the hell have you people done now?
you are getting worse every day
I think [you] are a terrible company.
Why is fabric so important to you?
Your service sucks more than ever
No matter what anyone else says you suck!
You have made things way more complicated than they need to be.
Turn your DOOM game off, put down your joysticks and get a clue.
Can't you people find normal things to print?
YOU PEOPLE ARE PATHETIC !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YOU ARE NO HELP AT ALL
This is awful
On the upside, we did get this positive feedback recently:
EVERYTHING WAS EXCELLENT
To be fair, the anger raging inside the Daily Feedback comes from a very small percentage of our customers, and much of it is not directed at my team. Still, it is a torrent of abuse that is disheartening to wade through. I have certainly felt this way about a company before and it makes me sad to think of people who have been moved to write us because they have THAT much hatred for what we do.
Here's a selective sampling from the best worst of the Daily Feedback.
what in the hell have you people done now?
you are getting worse every day
I think [you] are a terrible company.
Why is fabric so important to you?
Your service sucks more than ever
No matter what anyone else says you suck!
You have made things way more complicated than they need to be.
Turn your DOOM game off, put down your joysticks and get a clue.
Can't you people find normal things to print?
YOU PEOPLE ARE PATHETIC !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YOU ARE NO HELP AT ALL
This is awful
On the upside, we did get this positive feedback recently:
EVERYTHING WAS EXCELLENT
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Unclicky.
My latest line of work is centered on trafficking in headlines. It is my job to be obsessed with them: to seek out the best ones, to write even better ones, to edit those written by others on my team, to track which ones get responses.
In school, putting a title on a paper was often the last, and most painful, task on any assignment for me. If I could have turned in title-free papers all day long, I would have been a very happy student. At my previous job, most radio reporters would turn in a script or text for the Web sans headline. More often they preferred, just as I would have in school, to hand over the text and let someone else figure out what to put at the top.
When asked in a job interview what I did in my other job, I used the word "copywriting." My interviewer shook his head. "Never say that," he said.
"What?" I said.
"Copywriting. It sounds like you're in advertising, not journalism."
"Well, we're advertising the news," I said, and gave a little half-smile. He was not amused. (Inexplicably, I got the job anyway.)
It's true, though. That's what a headline does: It advertises your story. A good headline will answer for the reader, in about 10 words or less, two questions: What is this story about, and why should I read it? Achieving that feat is harder than it might seem, which may be why headline-writing is an underappreciated and underdeveloped skill.
All headlines at my company are consumed online, and so the highest compliment that can be paid for one is the word "clicky." I never heard it before arriving at this job, but now I hear it every day: "That headline is clicky," or "I think it's clickier if you say..." or "That is NOT going to click."
Lately I've noticed some headlines that are not clicky, to me. Instead of making me want to click to find out more, they make me desire to know less about the topic at hand. What is the opposite of clicky? They are scrolly. They make me want to scroll away to other (presumably clickier) stories.
Lights, camera ... Poland
Johnny Depp Opens Up About Private Bahamian Getaway
The Coleman/Franken Show Drags On
Dave Matthews Band: Weighing Public Problems and Personal Pleasures
The Poop On Finding Penguins: Follow The Guano
Sleestak Became NBA Star
Of course, one person's scrolly may be another person's clicky. You may be excited to hear Depp "open up" about the understandably private topic of his Bahamian vacation spot. You may want to know about Dave Matthews' public problems or about a show that's dragging on. You may find the word "Poland" in the headline above to be a much better payoff than, say, "action" or "candy."
Which media outlet do you think has the best headlines?
(Headline credits, in order: CNN, Huffington Post, CBS News, New York Times, NPR, Yahoo)
In school, putting a title on a paper was often the last, and most painful, task on any assignment for me. If I could have turned in title-free papers all day long, I would have been a very happy student. At my previous job, most radio reporters would turn in a script or text for the Web sans headline. More often they preferred, just as I would have in school, to hand over the text and let someone else figure out what to put at the top.
When asked in a job interview what I did in my other job, I used the word "copywriting." My interviewer shook his head. "Never say that," he said.
"What?" I said.
"Copywriting. It sounds like you're in advertising, not journalism."
"Well, we're advertising the news," I said, and gave a little half-smile. He was not amused. (Inexplicably, I got the job anyway.)
It's true, though. That's what a headline does: It advertises your story. A good headline will answer for the reader, in about 10 words or less, two questions: What is this story about, and why should I read it? Achieving that feat is harder than it might seem, which may be why headline-writing is an underappreciated and underdeveloped skill.
All headlines at my company are consumed online, and so the highest compliment that can be paid for one is the word "clicky." I never heard it before arriving at this job, but now I hear it every day: "That headline is clicky," or "I think it's clickier if you say..." or "That is NOT going to click."
Lately I've noticed some headlines that are not clicky, to me. Instead of making me want to click to find out more, they make me desire to know less about the topic at hand. What is the opposite of clicky? They are scrolly. They make me want to scroll away to other (presumably clickier) stories.
Lights, camera ... Poland
Johnny Depp Opens Up About Private Bahamian Getaway
The Coleman/Franken Show Drags On
Dave Matthews Band: Weighing Public Problems and Personal Pleasures
The Poop On Finding Penguins: Follow The Guano
Sleestak Became NBA Star
Of course, one person's scrolly may be another person's clicky. You may be excited to hear Depp "open up" about the understandably private topic of his Bahamian vacation spot. You may want to know about Dave Matthews' public problems or about a show that's dragging on. You may find the word "Poland" in the headline above to be a much better payoff than, say, "action" or "candy."
Which media outlet do you think has the best headlines?
(Headline credits, in order: CNN, Huffington Post, CBS News, New York Times, NPR, Yahoo)
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