Five Phrases To Kill in Communication
They all have their time — groovy, neato, smooth, rad, gag me with [anything]. But coined phrases can move to cliches quickly. Clean up your chatter by nixing these five passe communication terms:
“In my wheelhouse”
What it means: What you are describing is what I have experience in.
Previous passe synonyms: “in my arsenal;” “right up my alley”
Why: Are you a train engineer? Do you ride choo-choos? Unless you are working on the chain gang, you have no business using this wildly over-used phrase.
Possible replacement: I have strong experience in this area.
Not possible replacement: I rock that shit.
“Social media guru”
What it means: I work in social media.
Previous passe synonyms: “community ninja;” “online whiz” or “social media expert”
Why: No one, but no one is a social media guru. Guru is reserved for spiritual leaders and maybe your yoga instrutor, not to self-describe your work online.
Possible replacement: “online marketer;” “social public relations”
Not possible replacement: “Hopeless online addict”
“Under the hood”
What it means: Investigate this topic further.
Previous passe synonyms: “into the nitty gritty;” “deep dive”
Why: Are you a mechanic? Mechanics are hot and greasy and work for near-minimum wage.
Possible replacement: “I’d like to research this topic further;” “understand the details”
Not possible replacement: “Under your hoodie”
“Signal to Noise”
What it means: Putting the highest quality to the forefront
Previous passe synonyms: “Cream of the crop;” “Streamline”
Why: Because you are not a radio. And if you are a marketer, you should assume that balancing communication directives are part of the job.
Possible replacement: “Clean communication;” “high quality coverage”
Not possible replacement: “Cut the crap”
“Close the loop”
What it means: Check with other people relavent to the subject to ensure you have completed the task and its needs
Previous passe synonyms: “circle back around;” “touch base with”
Why: Because you are a not a knitter.
Possible replacement: “Complete the process”
Not possible replacement: “Cover my ass”
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The Scary Thin Line Between Blogging and Journalism
As a very young writer, I had the great honor of working for one of the finest editors in the publishing business. Twice, actually. My first real job outside of selling pantyhouse at Nordstrom was as an intern for Los Angeles Magazine a zillion years ago. The editor, Blue Lew, taught me more than he’ll ever know — but the number one lesson about journalism that I learned was that the line journalism and advertorial shall never, ever, be crossed. True journalists hold the honorable role of being paid to write without the bias of influence from advertisers nor perk-a-lators.
This precious lesson helped me write some terrific advertorial inserts which made me more money than journalism ever did. And that’s okay, because one is based on touting the products of the company that is paying you, the other is reporting on a product, event or thing. See? Not hard to decipher at all when the line is drawn.
There was a table at Los Angeles magazine that was endlessly piled with goodies. The old wood 6-ft banquet table had everything from cosmetics to fancy dog treats, hoards of the latest goods to hit the market. Sometimes it was junk; other time it was backstage passes to the opening of House of Blues. The goodies were free for the taking — just pick up whatever you want. Nobody was expected to write about them, talk about them or hell, even use them for more than white elephant gifts. But what the table wasn’t was a deal between the writers and the PR folks who send them the goods. See, journalists don’t take the crap you send them — at least unless then need to in order to write a story. But bloggers? Many bloggers do. And that’s where the scary line between journalism and blogging comes to play for me.
And it’s not just the bloggers’ issue, it’s the PR execs too. Send you a sample, you give me a write-up. I send you to a show, you give me a raving blog post. You send me a book, I write a review. You give me free downloads for my kids and I tweet it out to my followers. It’s a growing relationship between bloggers and journalists that needs to be addressed. In listening to people speak this week at BlogHer 10, I started to become more clear on the problem at-hand: Many bloggers are advertorialists, not journalists. Although not good or bad, it’s got to be addressed. And beyond that, it’s got to be determined that paid blogging — no matter how you cut it — isn’t journalism. And that’s okay. But it’s got to require transparency.
A seasoned PR exec with a stellar reputation was approached by a blogger who wanted to know why she hadn’t contacted her lately. She asked why she wasn’t commenting on her blog, why she wasn’t returning emails at the drop of a hat. Caught off-guard, she tried to make it clear how valuable the blogger was to her and important to her business. And that’s true. But what the blogger was missing in all of this is that her direct access to this PR exec wasn’t a friendship — it’s a business relationship. Do you think the PR chick is calling up Brad Stone every day for a chit-chat? She calls him, then it means she’s got news or information to share that might be useful for his writing. He takes her call knowing that she’s got business. How are bloggers missing this important piece of business relations? Dear blogger friends, PR executives do not want to be your friend, they are working for their client. It’s not personal. It’s not about you. And no, they’re not reading your every Tweet. PR execs know how to engage a journalist, but why not a blogger?
A few weeks ago I received a direct message on Twitter from a company that had offered me free downloads of their new iPhone app. I never got around to it. Yesterday I get a DM saying, “Taking your word for an older promise to try our (parenting) app on your iPhone.” Excuse me? I gave you my word? My word of what? And what promise would that be? How do I explain that offering writers a product to try is very different than committing to write about it. I think bloggers are mistraining our clients to expect that if we receive products to try that it means they will receive a post in return. The lessons of that old table are so simple and yet so hard to teach.
Advertorial is not a bad thing — it’s a great thing! The lines are very clear: you pay me with product or money and I, in return write a glowing blog post for you hitting all the points of interest that you’d like me to focus on. You pitch me or I pitch you. Great. You offer me a Cannon PIXMA Photojet printer which is worth about $375. How much are my blog posts worth? Well, if I write for BlogHer, they’re worth $50, so that’s either a blog post and social media outreach for $375 worth of your services or you are being over paid. Maybe that doesn’t work for longterm relationships with PR folks. Okay, how about if you loan me the printer and I get to have a photo printing party with some friends. You get to use the printer, print out as many photos as you want with all the supplies paid for. That’s worth about $50-$100. More in range of what we’re talking about here. Now you’ve got a deal. And, you’ve got a story to tell, rather than a simple review. That’s a good advertorial deal for both sides. And, could get you both more traffic and more clients.
I used to be on every PR list known to man. Seriously. Anything that had anything to do with entertainment was in my inbox. Not so much anymore. And that’s fine, I’m not an entertainment writers. It’s not my business. And, shame on the PR person who pitches me because they must be unaware that I no longer do that kind of writing. Recently I got on a PR list for live events for children. Now, that’s interesting to me. Why? Because I blog about my kids and kids lives, because I am always up for an adventure and I rather like cultural stuff. You want to send me tickets? That’s great! I like that, but what’s in it for you, you PR maven, you. Not much unless you have made a deal with me to do so. As your guest and having been “invited” to attend your event, I feel no obligation to write about your show. But the line is funky here too, especially for mom bloggers who could really use activities for their kids and ones that are free? Whoah, that’s hard to turn down. But before you say yes with three exclamation points, I’d suggest making the relationship official and transparent. Think: is this advertorial or is this journalism? And then, proceed accordingly. Neither is wrong, of course. It’s just business.
Transparency is the key here. Decide what it is you are doing and be transparent about it. The way I see it, you have three options (a) be a journalist and use your blog to report things/people/events/thoughts without influence or bias; (b) be an advertorialist and use your blog as paid writing, using your blog as a mechanism to advertise things/people/events. Neither is wrong or less influential. The only wrong turn you can make is to blur the lines. And in doing so, lose trust of your audience. Set expectations, understand your strengths and limitations and understand that being a writer — both advertorial and journalistic — are held to the highest level of integrity.
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A Shy Extrovert
You will call bullshit on me before you finish this sentence. You’ll roll your eyes. I know you will. But bullshit you not, it’s true: I’m the shiest extrovert you’ve ever known. Maybe you get it; probably you don’t.
I am a shy extrovert.
“You should meet so-and-so, she is extroverted and bubbly just like you!” Huh? Or one from this week, “You’re not afraid of anything!” And to my face once, “You’re such a people person!”
You don’t know one.single.thing.about.me.
I am a shy extrovert. I’m not sure how I came about it, but if you know me well enough, you know that I am deathly afraid of crowds, am wildly over-sensitive in social situations and can’t stand to be without @la_gringa at events. I can see myself sometimes, removed from the Me that is chatting away to a stranger whose name I will never remember. I know that I can hold a good conversation and tell a great story of this-or-that. I know that I say too many potty words in public. I can tell a dirty joke. I get hugs when I leave an event — probably from the busboy. Busboys aren’t selling themselves, they’re just working. I like busboys: they are human to me. I’m way to shy to connect to anyone else.
God only knows how many years of cotillion, etiquette class and social scenarios I’ve been presented with. I’ve conversed with Paul McCartney and the cook from Bill’s Cafe. I have interviewed celebrities from here to kingdom-come and had heart-to-hearts with some of the foremost brains I could ever imagine. But that’s work. I’m not my work, as most of you are not.
I’m tired of being called an extrovert. I try to not be offended by the title. You want to know what? I am deathly afraid of people and even more, animals (I am terrified by animals). They both freak me out. I never can figure out what people are thinking. More importantly, I don’t know what they are thinking of me. Extroverted people scare the crap out of me. They come right at me, full of bouncy eyes, electric handshake, calling me by name. I can never compete. I don’t do names, my eyes cross easily and I’m not certain at all of why someone wants to speak with me. People are just not my thing.
Engaging people is work. And, unless you are my spouse or one of my dearest friends, you’ll find me super bubbly! bright! conversational! Jesus, how annoying. Want to know what I’m thinking? I am counting the seconds to sitting at a quiet barstool with my pals, not one of which finds me bubbly.
I’m a quiet extrovert. I don’t like chit chatting any more than you do.
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Is Boyscouts Morally Wrong for Us?
My kids have two moms. As you can imagine, this does not bode well for anything super right-wing. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found out that my kid would not be welcome as a Boy Scout.
I knew that there would be places and people along the way that could pose issues for my child from having been born to same-sex parents. I had done my homework. It was only after a lot of research, thought, prayer, self-torture that I decided to have children by an anonymous sperm donor. As my children began growing up, I prepared myself and them for the day that we might be ostracized. And now, at the ripe age of 6 1/2, the day is here: My son wants to be a BoyScout.
I knew before I had children that being in the Boy Scouts was a likely no-go because of their (shockingly legal) stand on gay people. What I didn’t account for was that my son would want to be a Boy Scout so badly that I’d have to consider foregoing my own moral standards, and consider my son’s desire to be part of an organization that discriminates against his parents.
If you don’t know the back-story, here’s the brief recap: In 2000, the Supreme Court ruled (Boy Scouts of America vs. Dale) that The Boy Scouts of America was a private organization and could set whatever criteria they wanted for their membership. Today, the organization legally prohibits Atheists, Agnostics and Gay people. The organization fought to uphold the right to ban and refuse membership to any of the above. The ruling stands today.
My son is the grandchild of two Eagle Scouts who, by all accounts with the exception of faith, follow the Boy Scout creed and, indeed, are two of the most moral people I have ever known. To follow in their footsteps would be a great honor and my son believes with all of his heart that he will grow up to be like his granddads and obtain the very special honor of Eagle Scout. My first question was to my step dad who told me that the national organization had little to do with the local troops — it was all about the scout master and not about the politics. He might be right.
When I contacted our local troop leader, she replied with the following:
“ Pack *** is a family centered group, our focus and concern is with the child and welcome any boy wanting to participate in scouting. Our Pack does not discriminates against anyone due to their color, race, or religious practices. We encourage active participation of all family members regardless of what makes up a scouts family. We do not address private, personal, or political issues at the pack level. That is not our focus, again, the scout is our focus and concern. I hope to see your son there and look forward to meeting you.”
This gave me great hope, and I planned a date to take my son to his first meeting. That was until I was sent the 2010 Boy Scouts of America Bylaws, which states:
“We believe that homosexual conduct is inconsistent with the requirement in the Scout Oath that a Scout be morally straight and in the Scout Law that a Scout be clean in word and deed and homosexuals do not provide a desirable role model for Scouts.”
With that creed in-tow, a two-mom family’s son was kicked out of boy scouts in Vermont in 2009. It was followed by a deep decline in membership and loss of sponsorship including the United Way, director and Eagle Scout Steven Spielberg, Levi Strauss, Chase Bank and CVS. Entire states withdrew annual contributions. Religious organizations including the United Church of Christ, the Secular Coalition of America, and the Unitarian Universalists all issued statements indicating that any form of discrimination was against the teachings of Christ.
Despite all of this support, I remain confused about our decision about whether or not to allow our son to participate in Boy Scouts. I never want my child deprived of anything because of my personal choices. My partner and I talked about what to do. Do we want to roll the dice and allow him to participate, knowing that he could get kicked out? Should we try and divert efforts to something like Adventure Guides, the YMCA version of Boy Scouts? I have friends who have refused to be a part of Boy Scouts because it discriminates openly; are we hypocritical if we don’t follow suit?
Last week we sat down with our boy and explained to him the basic facts as cleanly and with as little opinion as we could muster. After he told us that he would karate chop anybody that didn’t like his two moms, he told us simply, “I want to go for it anyway. I know they could kick me out.”
The decision is here, yet I’m unable to make it without reservation. The Boy Scout law states that: “A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.” Oh, the hypocrisy — if only the Boy Scout organization acted with the same vigor of their Law, then my son could have the chance to follow in the footsteps of their granddads and be an Eagle.
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Racial Profiling — So What?
About a decade ago, I spent the year traveling. I saw over 25 countries. I witnessed true poverty, true faith, true colors I’d never imagined. I did everything imaginable to keep my identity quiet — an American woman traveling alone made my family cringe. Not the woman part; not the traveling part; but the American part.
During my travels I found myself racially profiled again and again. My EuroRail pass notwithstanding, I found myself open to scrutiny and double-checks where other travelers barely flashed their passports at a passing train conductor. Even in western Europe I was racially profiled, which I found not the least bit funny. Moving east, it got progressively more serious and at times, I was afraid of being a traveling American.
Now, life was different then. I spent about a month in the in the mid-East. I was trying to get from Istambul to Jordan when the USS Cole was bombed in Yemen. I was encouraged to detour to Egypt instead. When I got off the plane in Cairo, an American-looking agent stood inside the security area calling my name over and over. He gave me his card and asked me if I knew any Americans. I just nodded my head. Hell if I was going to answer to a stranger in barely pre-September 11 mid-east. Hellno.
Everywhere I went there was racial profiling. On airplanes I was double-screened. People asked if I was American or Canadian. After getting called out on a fake Australian accent, I told people I was Canadian. I learned that my backpack needed to be completely nondescript and I worked to keep it without any kind of symbolism at all. In Abu Simba, I bought the Eye of Horace and kept it on my backpack the rest of the trip. As the Egyptian symbol for safe travels, it was the only personal identifier I kept on me at all times. In some cafes there was a price for Americans and a price for Europeans. I used Spanish as my primary language, even in the mid-east where its not often spoken. I figured that was better than English any day. Once I caught on to being racially profiled, I prepared for it. I knew I’d be asked for my passport twice if others were asked once. I knew my backpack would be subject to search and more than a half-dozen times, I’d find my pack was rifled-through between the time I put it on the plane and picked it up at the next destination.
At first the racial profiling pissed me off. What the heck? And, how did they know I was an American? I never wore tennis shoes (the clear sign of an American); I didn’t travel with jeans (too heavy and too western, although I made friends with a slew of Turks that lived in their Levis and drove Chevys). I wore no jewelery. I read Somerset’s The Razor’s Edge which can hardly be known as an American favorite. I suppose it doesn’t matter just how they knew to double-screen me at every pass, but it never ceased to surprise me that I got screened every time. Eventually, after watching and learning and living the dangers of the world during the horribly embarrassing presidential election of George Bush, I began to screen Americans myself. Loud, overwhelming, stomping creatures full of entitilitis and fat guts.
I am reminded again during this latest surge of securing air travel that racial profiling is unavoidable. It happened to me because I looked different, smelled different (some people in Asia told me I smelled like rotten milk) and, no matter what I did to blend in, was different. That’s what’s happening in American air travel this week. The media is displaying this as a violation of rights, of being racist, being paranoid. Women in headscarves are complaining about being stopped over and over. Men wearing traditional Muslim garb are getting double-checked at every transportation port. I can’t help but shake my head at the double-standard. Well, friends, this is what happens when we have someone of a certain religious profile try to blow up airplanes: you get a little leery of this racial profile.
I finished my travels just before September 11, 2001. I had a hard time transitioning back to American culture and I found myself suspicious of our country. Don’t get my wrong, when I landed in Los Angeles for the first time, I got on my hands and knees and kissed the ground. I cried. I adore my country. But I didn’t adore what I saw some over zealous Americans do in their travels internationally or in the obvious (from where I was, at least) corrupt election process we had in the name of democracy. This week, I am empathetic toward the people who are being racially profiled because of one insane dude, but it’s what any responsible country would do. It happens. It happened to me. It can make you mad if you like, or you can understand that it’s not personal. Because really, it’s not.
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Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater
t was a purple and gold dangling earring stuck between the back seats of my Saab convertible. It was cheap. And it wasn’t mine. In retrospect, it doesn’t matter at all whose earring it was, but during those dark days of being cheated on, I wish I’d had a manual — something like “The Girlfriend’s Guide to Cheating Bastards.”
I’ve been watching the Elin Nordegren/Tiger Woods nightmare in the latest saga of public figures cheating on their partners. Poor things just aren’t as abnormal as we think they are. I’d argue, in fact, that this is the most average Tiger has ever been. According to the Journal of Couple and Relationship Therapy, over 50 percent of married men and 60 percent of married women are cheaters.
Everyone from bookies to old bitties are waging on whether or not Elin will leave Tiger; how much Jon and Kate will settle for; whether or not the Governor of South Carolina is political toast; if NY Governor Elliot Spitzer’s Escort #9 will ever find love. Magazines swoon over extramarital sex scandal cover stories like David Letterman, Madonna, Reese Witherspoon and our dear world leaders Prince Charles, French President Nicolas Sarkozy and beloved Blue Gap Dress fan: President Bill Clinton. But extramarital infidelity is <<gasp>> average behavior for married couples in the United States. The tabloids aren’t writing about the fact that over half of us married folks are cheaters. It could be you, it could happen to you. Or both. I hate to say it, but the statistics (which have doubled in the past decade) don’t lie.
Celebrity or not, those first bleak days of discovering infidelity suck. My first actions were irrational ones: I went shopping for a wardrobe that was sexier, thinking it must have been my fault that my spouse cheated. I kept my children with a nanny a few extra hours so I could be available if my ex should be interested in seeing me instead of the hooch I’d been left for. In a panic, I subscribed to a handful of Save-My-Marriage websites, touting seminars and workshops to bring back my life. I bought books ranging from “He’s Just Not that Into You,” to “Infidelity: A Survivor’s Guide.” I joined the Surviving Infidelityonline forum (which was depressing as all getout).
Truth-be-told, I never found comfort in any self-help guides or any words of wisdom from friends who’d lived through cheating. I know many good, moral, kind, intelligent friends who have stepped-out of their marriages. I know just as many who are victims of a cheater. I spent months hating my friends that stayed with their cheating spouses, but loathed more the ones that had the courage to leave. I began to learn that cheating is simply a dirty little secret that only 40 percent of us married women haven’t indulged in (yet). Don’t shake your head at me. It’s ugly, but true.
I wish there had been some step-by-step guide for staying the course in an unraveling world. I worried about my children, about the stigmas ahead of me. I worried about losing money and my house and my seat at couples-only dinner parties. In the end, it was a cheating friend who gave me the only advice that inspired me: Desperate isn’t attractive.
I took those words and applied them to every part of the recovery process. I didn’t want to be desperate, appear desperate or feel desperate. I wanted to be attractive again. And for me, it was getting past the desperation and onto the business of living again. Eventually the chaos for me settled down, as it will for Elin and Tiger who have found themselves just a little more average than ever before. And life will go on, just like it does for the rest of us whose spouses found themselves on the bland, destructive side of infidelity.
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Side Gigs
