My Last Blog Post? Already?

Last week, my computer decided to stop working. It didn't just go on strike like any good employee, it just quit on me. I guess I should have expected that was going to happen. It had been four years without major incident, and I would imagine that, in Dell world, that is a very long time.

What makes this situation so dang missed up, is that I don't think I did anything wrong to her.  I didn't invite unfamiliar or dangerous looking files to come hang around her. I gave her days, even weeks, off at a time. And I always protected her dignity by deleting my browsing history after porn sites "accidentally" popped up and I "accidentally" watched them.

Now I find myself scratching my head at the prospect of trying to keep up the 'daily-ness' of this blog. Surely this is going to be a test of my dedication to it.

I was so eager to write about my three day community service before Lucy (aka my computer) decided she wanted no part of me or my blog.  It was my first time in some mess like that and let me just say, it was nothing like I imagined it was going to be.

In any regard, today's post is just to let anyone out there, who I hope reads this regularly, know that things will be getting a little irregular around here. (This is not my last blog post! I wont go down without a fight. Give me blog of give me death!...that last bit might have been a little extreme.)

In any regard, I'll try my best to keep posting as often as possible while I look into getting Lucy fixed or replaced.

Thanks for stopping by and checking it out. Stay tuned.

Confession: I Was An Elementary School Predator

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"As I remember it, yes."

Yahira was the prettiest girl in Miss Smiths fifth grade elementary school class. Maybe the entire school. It would not have been a hard distinction to get, the school was so small that our auditorium also doubled as our gym, which, graciously doubled as our lunch room. Let's just say, for the young boys of Brooklyn's P.S. 397, the pool of single, attractive young ladies in the fifth grade class that year, was quite shallow.

Looking back, one of her earliest advantages was that she was the only Spanish girl in a sea of African-Americans and West-Indian children. Things like that tend to make you stand out. They also tend to bring unwanted attention.

So for a young boy, beset by an early taste of a thing called hormones, that little Spanish flower was the bee's knees.

In P.S 397 the playground was like a jungle made of asphalt, rubber mats, and steel bars. You had your monkeys on the monkey bars, the cheetahs playing tag all around, and a lioness keeping a watchful, yet cursory, eye on everything.

To a kid, that small patch of land tucked amongst industrial buildings, car repair spots, and a garbage truck depot, represented freedom. But to many others, it represented anxiety, humiliation and life and death danger.

The funny thing about the jungle is that you can very quickly discover your position in the circle of life.

It was on that playground that I became a predator, when I decided I would go for the most exotic prey - Yahira.

I became relentless in my pursuit. I did everything possible to get her attention. At first, I was subtle, I didn't want to scare her away - so just to let her know that I was thinking of her, I pulled her hair (not too hard, just a tug. I was in love but I wasn't ready for marriage if you know what I mean).

It was the perfect plan really. It started with steady and prolonged stream of physical abuse and progressed to calling her name every time I walked by - "Yahiiiiiirrrraaa!". 

Strangely enough, after what seemed like months of effort, nothing seemed to be working. Here I was, pulling out all the stops for this girl and I was getting nowhere. What was a boy to do? Did I need to hit her harder?

I would never get the chance to find the answer to that question. Something would happen on the playground that would change our relationship forever. It would also be, what can only be called today, my Herman Cain moment.

On a beautifully warm day out on the asphalt jungle, I was mysteriously called in by the principal of the school, herself a rare sight in the mucky and murky world of child's play. The unusual nature of it all gave, what was about to happen, the feel of an execution - I was a dead boy walking.

What did I do wrong?, I asked myself. I was known for talking up a storm in class but I was getting that under control. Surely that couldn't of been it.

I reached the tiny corridor that lead from inside the school to the playground and found the love of my life standing there with two adults. I recognized the first one as the aforementioned, rarely seen, principle. The other lady was completely unfamiliar to me.

The principle introduced us, "This is Yahira's mother, she's here to talk to you".

Did this mean what I thought it meant? Was she going to give me permission to marry her daughter?Everything I had been working so hard for was about to pay off. All the teasing, hitting, and general behavior of annoyance was all worth it.

As it turns out, she wasn't there to betroth her daughter to me.

Yahira had been telling her mother all about the sweet little gestures I was doing to win her over but she didn't find it as charming as I thought she should have. On the contrary, she was upset, really upset.

She bent over to come closer to my level, pointed her finger in my face, snarled her teeth and said, "Everyday, my daughter comes home crying, because of you."

I couldn't believe it. Was that true? I looked into Yahira's face for the answer. The tears streaming down her face told me it was. But the tears coming from my eyes should have told all of them that it was all a big misunderstanding. Yes, I basically terrorized her every chance I got, but I didn't want to hurt her.

In that meeting, it was made clear to me that if I didn't want my elementary school career to be marred by this sexual harassment  scandal, I would have to stay away. I received the harshest punishment short of suspension; a principal mandated restraining order.

That moment has stayed with me ever since that day. Until the unfortunate 'butt slap' incident in 7th grade I kept everything on the up and up with the ladies - never touching or hitting or talking to any of them. It wasn't until high-school, and with clear understanding that we were boyfriend and girlfriend, that I had my first kiss.

I put my heart out there, and It got crushed. But hey, It could have ended a lot worse - I could be Herman Cain right now.

"Thank you. No more questions, your honor."

"Then witness is excused"

"Thank you"

"Next witness to the stand. Yahira Rodriguez."

Why Monday's Don't Suck

Well, here we are on another beautiful Monday. The hate of a which seems to be a fun national pass time. I stopped hating Mondays when, it hit me one day, that coming off of a restful weekend,  Mondays was time to snap back to the important work of dream fulfillment. Like the birth of a new child, Monday's are bathed in new hope and opportunity.

(that was a little pretentious, I know, I can't help it. A little pretension goes a long way sometimes)

Over the weekend I went to a friends first performance of a song he had been working on for weeks. We're part of a group of friends with huge artistic dreams and thus we all know what it means to create something and expose it - sometimes raw - to the public.

So we rallied up and we all went to his show. (Which was amazing. I can't wait to see how he progresses with it.)

We all were able to meet up later for a hang out session. There is just something about the experience of hanging out with like minded (with different personalities) that charges the creative cells. It's like turning on the engine to a classic muscle car - it hums and roars and purrs to life.

And just like a classic whip, the sound your creative energy makes is unique to a certain type and model. We are the creative generation. We truly long to make our mark on society by showing our inner lives through our natural gifts and honed craft (and I aint talking mac cheese! ow!).

To possibly run the car metaphor into the ground, it seems that too many times, people want to settle on being the assembly line version of someone else.  They want to play it safe and copy what someone else has done or is currently doing.

Partially it's the fault of a society that constantly seeks to diminish creative ambition with the mundane realities of life. And the other part is squarely on the people themselves. Being a copy cat is the easy road. But they  ultimately find out it doesn't  lead where they thought it would.

I realized I use to hate Mondays because it was the day we went back to work, usually at our little place holder jobs (no surprise there) but it was more than that. Underneath that rational, and oft shared feeling, there was a layer of fear. Every new Monday became a challenge posed to all of us; Do you dare to be happy?

You ask somebody that question and the answer is always going to be yes. But there always hovers that nasty possibility of failure.

But it's not like that at all. Not just Monday's, but every new day that comes isn't about failure. It's about the chance to get the level of  happiness and success you dream of. It's chance after chance to quickly learn from your mistakes and rebound the next day.

The smart ones among us do that everyday; adjusting their play book, ever so slightly based on what they learned the last round (yesterday).

So there we were, talking, sipping, laughing and I stopped, turned to my friends and said, "I'm having a good time, let's do this again".  To which one of them replied, " Yeah, How about Monday?"

If another beautiful moment could happen again, then why shouldn't it happen on a Monday? My engine is primed up, humming to its very rhythm, and I'm ready to go.

Monday old friend, It's always good to see you. Let's keep doing it again and again.

Hang, Invite, Go, Play, Be and Explore Your Way to a Better Weekend

It's Friday. Which means the weekend is finally here. For people lucky enough to have a 9 to 5 in this economy, the weekend is like an oasis in a desert of punch clocks, dopey bosses, and corporate minutia. The end of the week is your time.

So you would think most people would take the time to shake things up a bit - they don't. Going to cousin Maria's baby shower in the Bronx is as shook up as things get. Where's the spice?

Could it be that some among us don't know how to make life more interesting? Did the corporate slog beat the sense of adventure out us? Or maybe it's the kids, do you have kids? Children can really suck the fun out of adult life. (they get to play all day, and we get 'responsibility').

Let's stop the insanity before it's too late. (If time flies when you're having fun, try and see what happens when you're not. It's torture)

This sheep knows what I'm talking about

Remember, It's called a social life. And the fastest way to kill it is by giving it an overdose of repetition. Think of the weekend as a chance to give your social life some fresh air and exercise to keep it healthy. Here are some tips on how to get yours off to a good start.

Hang Out with Your Mom. No matter how old you are, mothers are the opposite of cool. But if you can get past the nagging about your love life, your clothe, and your hair, hanging out with your mom can be enlightening. You can ask her to teach you how to make your favorite dish, get the ingredient and make it together. Bonus: You get to hear her side of your childhood antics. Like what she thought when you and your brother broke grandma's vase.

Invite an Enemy to Lunch. Now, I don't mean 'mortal' enemies since that implies death (that's not fun). An enemy in this case can be someone you don't get along with at work or a person you've stopped talking to. The outcome of a sit down lunch can change everything.

Go to an Open Mic Night. Nowadays, everybody is a singer or a rapper or comedian - And most of them are awful. This is a plus for you. It means finding an open mic night wont be hard. Since the talent at these things is usually sub-par, it's also a cheap thing to do. Just make sure to bring a friend that makes you laugh. You guys can pick a seat close enough to hear, but far enough to make fun with being heard. Bonus: Open mics always have drink specials.

Play Dress-up. (for the oh-so-macho out there, call it "Dress to impress" or whatever reinforces your masculinity)  We tend to slack on the weekend, instead go the other way, dress it up if for no other reason, than for yourself.

Be Spontaneous. Just because it's cliche doesn't mean it's not true. You have to be willing to go with the flow sometimes. Planing is fun but give yourself space to be wild and free.

Explore a Strange Ethnic Neighborhood. There are little communities all over the place where certain minority ethic groups coalesce. Find one and go. You might end up discovering a unique restaurant, clothing store, or custom. Think of is as being an anthropologist with out the degree.

Have a great weekend.

What The Grammy Awards Tell Us About America

The Grammy nominations came out yesterday and the inclusion of the British songstress, Adele - mega hit "Rolling In The Deep" - got me thinking about how much today's musical landscape thrives on blurring racial lines.

When Adele came out with her first album, "19" back in 2008, the first single off of it had most people thinking she was a black women. Like Amy Winehouse before her, this actually allowed her to cross over into black households that embraced her soulful, and "soul-filled", voice (black folks love a white woman who sings like a black woman).

I doubt that was her goal but it couldn't have hurt record sales.

Today, we see all kinds of artist of various racial backgrounds mixing, cross pollinating, and merging all the different genres (What's a Bruno Mars?). The thought of their being a certain type of music for Blacks, and another for Whites is almost complexly non-existent

Bruno Mars (Puerto Rican and Filipino)

Back in the day however - I'm talking 1930's back in the day  - Getting a cross over hit was a hard thing to do, especially if you were a Black artist who wanted White people to listen to your tunes. (Call it "sonic segregation").

When Jazz came on the scene, the culture started to change. In the '30's, the leftist ideology felt that jazz music was more inclusive. The music was even used as a political tool to attract younger black people to the communist party (talk about a crossover, am I right?).

Politics is like a volatile chemical substance, If you mix it with something else, the result can be explosive (like Mentos and Soda).

The mixture of Jazz into politics set off a movement that advanced black music into new territories. American born Jews started hanging out with their black brothers and sisters and gained each others support.

In a way, the movement forced the rest of the country to accept Jazz as true American music. That help Blacks folks gain a foothold by a White audience. By many measures, the movement was a success; bringing White intellectuals, Jewish impresarios, and Black and White music artist together.

And music continues to bring us all together still to this day.

The Gammy nominations - and the awards show itself -  is the  best snapshot of how far crossed-over we are. When the show is broadcast Feb 12, next year, the audience at home will be having a good time mixing things up, with a little pop from Katy Perry, dancing her but off to by David Guetta and rolling in the deep with Adele.
  
And like Micheal Jackson once sang "It doesn't matter if you're Black or White just buy my record (Okay he didn't say the last part but he was thinking it)

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Reference: "Swingin' the Dream" by Lewis A. Erenberg

A Note To the Entrepreneur In All of Us

I find it weird that in America we revere the entrepreneur but teach people that they should go to college, graduate, and get a nice job with a good company. It's a confusing message. Folks talk about the 'entrepreneurial spirit' as if it's something you're either born with or you're not. We're taught to respect that but aren't taught to cultivate it in ourselves. Why not treat it as something that needs to be seeded in us from a young age, nurtured and grown strong?

When I was growing up I watched a lot of television - way too much for my mothers liking. She was afraid it would make me stupid (the jury is still out on that one). I remember her many attempts to curb me and my younger brothers appetite for the boob tube, including putting a lock on the cord.

It never lasted long; I would be back to my addiction in no time. My mother didn't get it. What she thought was zapping my mental potential was actually teaching me things too.

The characters I watched everyday represented America and her values - as I understood them as a child. 

I don't know if I was born with an entrepreneurial spirit, but I know I got a taste of it by watching the fantasy Americans on TV.

The lemonade stand is a theme I can fondly remember being repeated through out the shows of my childhood. A spunky little white boy or girl, usually with their little brother or sister as co-owners, would set up a stand and start raking in the big bucks (.25 is huge to kid!)  

One summer, my brother and I, having decided we would set up a lemonade stand, like the ones we saw the kids on TV do, went to work. I grabbed the powdered 'all natural' lemonade mix, some sugar (lots of sugar), a plastic container and made what, we truly believed, was the best (and sweetest) refreshing lemon based beverage.

After setting up a table in the backyard, our plastic cups on one side, our 'Lemonade' sign on the other, we were ready for business.

A few hours went by and we did not sell a drop of lemonade. Children are sensitive at any age and don't often handle disappointment well but we didn't get sad. Besides, working up a thirst by playing karate, we were pretty satisfied because for a couple of hours we got to be, entrepreneurs.

The Top 22 Popular Brand Names You're Saying Wrong

A trademark is a rule that says one company can not use the names of products, services, logos, symbols or catchphrases of another company. They're put in place so we, the ever consuming horde (I'm looking at you, lady who pepper sprayed her war through a K-Mart for black Friday deals), will not confuse one companies product with, the possibly, crappy version another.

And the fact that a trademark could be worth billions of dollars is just coincidental (Just go with it okay). What companies really care about is making sure we get the quality and performance we associate with their brand.

Imagine if every high fructose, vanilla, and carbonated water mix was called Coke. That would be a scary world to live in. Except for reading the label, we would have no idea what we're drinking.

 So companies with deep pockets and a lot to lose will go to great extents to protect their trademarks (Release the hounds! and by "hounds" I mean lawyers). They spend millions of dollars to let you know that, that thing you like to eat, drink, or drive? Yeah, that's our thing and it's the best high quality thing.

And they do a great job at it, in fact, they do such a great job at it, that it backfires on them. The product is so well advertised, so well trademarked it goes - cue record scratch - generic. That means it literally starts being a stand in for a generic version of the same product.

You would be surprised at how many times this happens. Here's a list of 22 popular trademarks that have suffered the generic curse.

1.  Invented in 1921 Band-Aid, owned by Johnson & Johnson, quickly became the catch all for any adhesive bandage.

 
2. Smith & Wesson was the first to own Breathalyser - the company that made the gadget that measures alcohol content. Now, anytime someone sticks a tube in your mouth and tells you to blow, they call it a breathalyser (Unless, You know, It's not).

3. Brillo has been around for at least 100 years now. So, instead of asking the guy at the .99 store where you can find a 'scouring pad'; you just say, "Yo, where the Brillo?" At least that's what I say.

4. Clorox maybe 'bleach', but not all bleach is Clorox. Most people don't care what it's called, as long it gets the pit stains out of their white tees.

5. Quick, if I handed you a run of the mill lip balm that wasn't Chap Stick would you care?

6. Unless you bake a lot of pies (and quite frankly, who doesn't?) you would be forgiven for not knowing that Cool Whip, is just a brand of desert topping, not the desert topping itself.

7. I once bought a "drain opener" that I thought was the long form name for Drano. Needless to say, my tub was still clogged after using it. That, my friends, is what trademarks are for.

8. The Wham-O toy company owns the right to the Frisbee name. If you call your flying disk the same name, they will sue you. You've been warned.

9. The Hi-Liter, being born in 1962,  is pretty young to be an icon for all color markers. It feels like it was just yesterday the Avery Dennison Corporation invented and trademarked it. 



 

10. Who would have thought that a company named Jacuzzi would pioneer a whirlpool bathtub and spa, with massaging jets, that would change the face of sleazy reality shows forever? Now their name is synonymous with hot tub.
  

11. Kraft Foods probably doesn't like that every gelatin dessert in the world is called Jell-O. I mean really, What would you rather eat? Gelatin pudding, or Jell-O?

12. The generic name for fast acting adhesive is Cyanoacrylate. Nobody was going to go around asking for Cyanoacrylate. So we pay a little extra to call it something we all can pronounce - Krazy Glue.

13. Mace Security International, Inc. came into prominence in the early '90s when it started making its premiere product - pepper spray. It was aggressively marketed as a non lethal, legal option for self defense; Its popularity grew so much that people identified the spray with the company name.

14. There was a time where everything that sopped up your babies messy bottom was called Pampers. After 60 years you don't really hear that anymore. But you probably can smell it.

15. Calling table tennis Ping-Pong, is like calling basketball Spalding. They make the tools for the game, but they are not the game.

16. When Minneapolis based, Innovative Sports was sold in the early 80's the companies name was changed to Rollerblade. Since 1983 all in line skates have been falsely referred to by that name, no matter who the manufacturer is.

17. Polytetrafluoroethylene (I'll give you a second), is considered to be the most slippery substance known to man. DuPont applied it to pots and pans and marketed it as Teflon. Other companies make non-stick cookware; to DuPonts chagrin, we all call those Teflon too.

18. The misuse of this one is understandable. Vaseline sounds like a technical name for petroleum jelly. Yet, as you can guess from its inclusion on this list, it's not.  Interestingly enough, the inventor of petroleum jelly, Robert Chesebrough, was the first to market it under the name Vaseline.

19. Windex has been around since 1933. That is a lot of clean glass. The popularity of Windex - trademarked by S.C. Johnson - led to the generic use of the name for similar window cleaners under different brands.

20.  BIC keeps a tight hold on the "Wite-Out" name and still produces products under it. That doesn't stop everybody else from calling other correction fluids by the same name.

21. Xerox is the prototypical example of a rogue trademark. It started off as the leader in the photo copy field, saturated the consciousness of the public, and got co-opted to mean photo copy.

22. Finally, Ziploc is just one of those brands whose name says it all. You zip it, to lock it. There is no room to remember all the names of  other reusable, resealable zipper storage bags. 

Inspiration (Almost) Drove Me Insane

In-spi-ra-tion  n. The stimulation within the mind of some
idea, feeling, or impulse which leads to creative action.


Last night, I went to bed with the word "Inspiration" buzzing in my head. Having established a routine of getting up early and typing out that days post (with an idea or outline already done the day before), I sat in front of my computer ready to write something about inspiration. An hour passed, then another, and another, still nothing came out. Surely, this was the gods of irony playing a trick on me.

I paced around as if my feet could will the words into my brain, like one of those bike powered generators at Occupy Wall St.. And yet nothing came (no surprise there - I wasn't wearing my thinkin' shoes).

I don't like to file a post after 10am, it makes me feel lazy. As that dreaded hour steadily approached, I began to have a serious bought of anxiety. My head started to ache, I felt noxious, the room started to spin (It didn't but a spinning room always sounds good) I asked myself, Have I completely run out of - gasp - inspiration?  What did I do to deserve this? Was it because I use too many conjunctions?


Before I knew it, my self imposed deadline was in the rear view mirror of my day. I was never ever going to get it back. The thought of that made me sad.  I don't take failure very well. Rejection I can handle, failure drives me insane. Clearly this is due to my American values system, which taught to never give up, never surrender - to infinity and beyond! (I think Abe Lincoln said that).


If inspiration was not going to come to me, I would have to go to inspiration. But where does inspiration live? To help me track it down, I started to think about what the word itself meant.

After a quick visit to my dictionary, I was on to something. I could feel it. There was a twinge of something being sparked to life, Like Frankensteins monster, in my brain (Inspiration, is that you?) The next logical question had to be what inspired me?


What about that book you like so much?

You? Where have you been?

I went for walk.

A walk?

Yeah, a walk. Is there a problem?

No. No. It just doesn't sound like you.

I'm trying to work off the turkey weight.

Oh, I see. Anyway, Good idea!

Recently, I found myself reading Booker T. Washington's book, "Up From Slavery", the autobiography of a former slave who became one of the great icons of African-American history. I have had to read it, in the past, for junior high school, high school, and college for several teachers and a professor, on whose grades I depended on. This time I was doing it for fun (slavery, yay!).

In the book, Washington describes a particularly hard childhood saturated in poverty, ignorance, and back breaking labor. He writes,"My life had it's beginning in the midst of the most miserable, desolate, and discouraging surroundings". He was born as disadvantaged as anybody can ever imagine - as property. But somehow he changed all that.

SPIOLER ALERT: Booker T. Washington goes on to a bright future as head of the Tuskegee Institute, a scholar and an influential figure in America.

All the things he had to go through, makes me wonder why I can't be just as brave and courageous in the face of adversity. It motivates me, It encourages me, It - inspires me.

In hindsight it struck me that I had taken inspiration for granted. You do not get an idea out of some surreal phantom zone of your own creation. It's an active process based on things we have seen, touched, smelled, tasted and felt.

Next time, I'll  remember that before I sit in front of the computer. (and maybe stop using so many conjunctions too...)

"You Have a Little Racism Stuck in Your Teeth."

It's not the kind of thing people want to hear about the day after Thanksgiving. In fact, most people are still too jacked up on cranberry sauce and sweet potato pie to even care. but it's been nagging at me all week - racism. It's still here.

As a man of color (that sounds so dignified, doesn't it?) I have had to deal with that ugly little troll of racism, living under Americas draw bridge, many times. I've been profiled by storekeepers, harassed by police officers (wrong neighborhood, wrong color), and been the victim of - this is surely the worst - stereotyping. (living in the great melting pot that is New York, I can only imagine how much worse it is in other places)

It's hard sometimes to explain to someone, who hasn't had any of those experiences, what it feels like to be discriminated against (never-mind for something you can't change - nor would ever want to). You wouldn't believe some of the skeptical looks you can get telling someone how, after sizing two jackets, the owner of the vintage clothing store kicked you and your Palestinian friend out because you were "trying on too much clothes".

Society has conditioned me to be sensitive to those awkward, often infuriating racially flavored situations. That's just the way it is. But some people don't have the same perspective to properly understand it.

What happens when the person who doesn't "get it" is a friend or acquaintance of yours? What do you do when it's that cool guy from work - the one you're always joking with about how much you hate your job - who says something a little racist? This can lead to a pretty uncomfortable conversation. (Omg! Johny's a racist. I knew it!)

I like to think that in those types of situations, I've handled it the right way (by screaming RACIST! and walking away). The truth is, when confronted with a little taste of something prejudice from someone close, I gloss over it. I don't want to make things weird. but by doing that, it invariably always makes things weird. I can never look at Johny the same again, he's a racist.
 
It turns out, One of the most, if not the most, difficult things to talk about in America isn't as simple as 'racist vs. not racist'. There is room for shades of grey in the discussion.

In his 'ah-ha moment' inducing Tedx Talk presentation, entitled "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Talking About Race.", WBAI radio show host, Jay Smooth, talks about the techniques he used to make the conversation about race and racism more nuanced. (I wish I'd seen this before I talked to Johny)

Smooth makes a good point, wouldn't you say? I would.

Like I said at the beginning, this topic has been on my mind all week (actually since Tuesday but who's counting?). Here's why; a very pretty young white girl posted a photo of herself on Facebook (remember my addiction? Go back and read "My Angry Letter to Facebook") giving the middle finger and captioning it "fuck these niggas".

I felt offended by that and wanted to post a comment telling her so, but I didn't. Why? I didn't want to be one of "those" people who always start arguments over race. Besides, I thought, It's her facebook, she can do what she ever she wants. But it still nagged at me.

Clearly, I wasn't doing this young girl any favors by not telling her. I had to say something.

When I got up today, I decided to go on her page and leave a comment (better late than never right?).

"You using that word makes me uncomfortable".

Concise and emotionally relevant.

In this case, waiting four days to say that was a good thing. There's probably a hundred different ways I could have phrased that comment to her - And not all of them would have been as dignified.  But I wish I would have said something earlier.

With racism, when you see it poke it's ugly little head out, you got to stomp it out right there. The little moments, left unattended, can cause just as much harm as the big stuff.

Before you know it, it's at the Thanksgiving dinner table and you've "got a little racism stuck in your teeth."

and that's something nobody wants to think about.

Rumors & Gossip - Part 2: Only Invite the Cool kids

Gossip

"I heard, Leonardo DiCaprio was at greenhouse last night partying and making out with [insert sexy supermodel] until 3am."

Rumor

"I heard, the Batman sequel is going to be all in 3D, like that movie with all the blue people." 


The difference between rumor and gossip seems minor doesn't it? In most cases, it is, but, generally, rumor is the only one you can spin to your advantage. Because a rumor is often, but not always, something that can be verified at a later time - when the movie opens in the theaters, in the case of my above example - it can create anticipation. And anticipation creates buzz, buzz creates popularity, and popularity leads to business (I'm talking jobs people!).

Have you heard of Tom Ferris? He created the four hour work week. He's really a motivated guy, you should look him up, he will inspire you. Tom did some research and found out that "according to various estimates somewhere around 80% of jobs get filled informally."

That means the majority of people get their jobs from people they know (the rest just keep going on Craigslist hoping that 'Personal Assistant' job that pays 100/hr is real).

In 'Rumors & Gossip; Part 1' (yesterdays post. you should check it out) I talked about how actors and corporations sometimes use public relations people to change their image. In this crazy 9% unemployment world we live in, a bad image could be the difference between a good Turkey dinner (happy thanksgiving!) and a turkey sandwich from subway (not so happy thanksgiving?!).

Wouldn't it make sense to do a little PR for yourself?

Ever notice how many parties, functions, and charity events celebrities go to? That's not for fun. Okay, it is for fun, but it's also for work. Every single time Kim Kardashian steps into a nightclub, she is building her brand (that's the new fancy talk of the day, "brand this, brand that..Brandy?").

You don't have to be famous to build your brand though. We're all tiny little brands in our own worlds. You can host a small social event - a dinner, a get together - and invite a small, but varied mix of friends and acquaintances. (the cool kids!)

People in PR know the importance of a good party. In your own party, you get to talk face to face with people about your interests, your goals, and if you happen to mention that your looking for a new job, that wouldn't be bad either.

And if the informal mix of people generates good vibes among your guests, guess what? You win too. The next time you're getting ready to host another shindig (I don't get to use the that word enough) the buzz will be buzzy.

Being your own public relations agent is about controlling and creating that buzz about you. A rumor is just a sexy way of letting people know what you're up to.

I can hear you now; But I don't want to throw a 'get together'. First, stop whining, it's not cute. Second, You don't have to. Keeping up appearances can have the same benefits of throwing a nice get together. When someone awesome or well connected sends you an invite, make the best effort to be there, even if it's for just a few hours.

A lot of people would rather not bother with the work of being social, because they feel it brings too much stress and drama.  

I don't like people talking behind my back.

Why do you keep interrupting me? 

Sorry.

People are going to talk about you no matter what. If they're not, that is just a blow to your brand. The best thing you can do is get the information, stories or rumors about you out yourself. It's up to you to make sure whatever is being said, is something you want to be heard.


"Man, that Batman movie is gonna be sooo awesome. I can't wait!"


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Note:

When I refer to your 'brand' I'm not necessarily talking about anything involving the entertainment business. God knows we don't need another Kim Kardashian.

Your brand can be anything, whether you do hair, fix elevators, file taxes or sell houses. Your brand is what you do and the lifestyle image that presents.

As always, I welcome any questions, comments or corrections. leave them here, or send them to HowToTalkInAmerica@Gmail.com