I keep losing my solo-to-go cup! It’s not in the office, not at home and I have no recollection where I left it last week. This is why I don’t do relationships.
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This has got to be my favourite among the bunch (Joel Burns’ moving vid, of course, is on a whole other level; and there’s another funny, When Harry Met Sally, video too from The King Brothers – utterly cute!).
Short, sweet, funny, witty, sardonic, pragmatic, positive and well-produced (but of course!), they remind me of everything that’s fun about being gay… and worth living through it.
Live on, kids. We ALL went through it. The hate ends. And it really gets better.
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Just read an interesting blog by @briansolis regarding The End of Asocial Shopping and the Start of Social E-Commerce. It makes sense, and what was alluring about the thought was that it gave flesh – in industry speak – to what everyone knew already but didn’t have the right copy for: that social media is, essentially, word-of-mouth formalized.
Certified. Quantified. Empirical. It’s not a he-said, she-said no longer. The most effective form of marketing is now incarnate – and it can be traced, followed, liked.
This reminds me of a conversation I had a while ago with a colleague at work.
Colleague: So guess what I found after (opening an account) on Facebook last night?
Me (thinking): You just opened an account just now? Not good.
Some small talk ensues. He found my charming pic. I relax a bit, I remember my privacy settings.
Colleague: I also found bleep’s page with 1 million fans.
Me: Wow, that’s nice.
Some small talk about a small vertical market that was related to the fan page. The page doesn’t really have 1 MM fans, I just dressed it to fictionalize the interchange.
Colleague: …so here’s what I’m thinking. What if we send a message to all their fans, you know, make it really, really friendly with some incentive.
Me: What do you mean, we can’t just contact them with some commercial message.
Colleague: No we’ll make it, you know, really, really friendly. Or maybe I can contact this lady. She’s the goddess of this vertical market, if she endorses a product, they’ll listen. I’m just thinking there must be a way to get our brand impression on those 1 million people, even if it’s just the logo.
I sigh. Engagement, not impressions.
(I edit and paraphrase here and there but you get where the conversation was going.)
The conclusion actually turned for the better. I showed my colleague a couple of fan pages that we both agreed were brilliant, as well as a specific tactic that is the online real estate equivalent to a white picket fence or a well-manicured front lawn: promotion-filled tabs.
And then we navigated through Facebook’s (well, mine) “Updates” email. For those that haven’t checked yet, Facebook’s savvy junk mail toolbar – the folder under “Messages” – makes sure the brands, TV shows, movies, groups and porn studios you “like” don’t stalk you back. It’s the one consumer advocacy tool I like about Facebook, flaws and all.
He saw I never opened a single one. Not even from – gasp – H&M Italy. (H&M, seriously. Talk to me in English and fire your spammers, WTF.)
I’m hearing my former manager imaginarily just above my left shoulder: Just say your thoughts. Direct and unvarnished.
Me (thinking): Direct and unvarnished.
Me (in real time): This is social media, not email marketing. If you want to tell people something, you say it through status updates, not email. Social media is not a push tactic, colleague, think of pull tactics. Not push.
Although the same in concept, the difference between WOM and social media is that one is whispered and one is broadcasted.
Sneaky marketers, be careful. It’s humiliating not to be liked.
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Yesterday, on my way home along Yonge & Eglinton, I was awoken from my zombie state by an innocent voice that traveled from just behind my ear.
“Would you like to buy a movie for $5?”
I only had a split-second to turn before my head followed a moving 11-year old on a bicycle. His right arm was raised up and firmly snapped inside his hand were about four DVD packets – the professionally packaged pirated sachets you buy from Chinatown – of indeterminable kind (I assumed they were Hollywood blockbusters, I remembered seeing exploding cars, etc.). His head was slightly turned, legs pedaling, left hand gracefully maneuvering around the pedestrian on the sidewalk in front of the historical Canada Post building in my neighbourhood. He didn’t get that far before I gave a kind and robotic, “Oh no, thanks.”
I can’t forget the look on this kid’s face as he peddled his four movies.
There was so much courage and strength in that snapshot. There wasn’t regret in his eyes, maybe a slight sign of disappointment, but which immediately turned into a tender, determined gaze at another yuppie walking half a meter in front of me. Another marketing opportunity, another possible movie-goer, she could be interested in what I’m selling. An open-ended answer.
I was moved.
First of all, this 11-year old was doing commerce on a bike. The efficiencies that he covered from this simple – possibly, to him, a no-brainer – decision is already leaps beyond what most existing small- to mid-size operations with larger resources are going through. Trading, while covering territory, while keeping barriers (uniformed officers and possibly his parents) and prospects (rush hour customers) in sight, it was astounding to witness his natural proficiencies.
The other thing that jumped to me was how unnatural everything looked. What was a neat-looking, curly-haired, Caucasian kid, probably living in the adjoined suburbs of affluent Yonge & Eglinton, doing riding a $300 bicycle and selling pirated DVDs? I noted that while his hair was pulled back, it was shoulder length (by force or by choice?). And peddling from a bike (need to do or nice to do?) – it was puzzling.
Did he just want some extra cash, or was he in need of it? Was his family affected by the recession or was he just an extremely precocious kid? I wonder how he felt before he hopped on his bike. After he parks it back home. Will he count his earnings at once and get a Starbucks or will he save his money instead. How does he feel after constantly being turned down by five adults, including me, on that half a block. Does he have the mental and emotional switches to turn feelings on and off? Does he hear the steely determination that people hear when they listen to his hurried, increasingly quaky sales pitch?
Does he know how inspired and hopeful, and reinvigorated, I felt after watching him slow down, person to person, peddling pirated movies to moving strangers, taking “No.” again and again, unaffectedly and mentally driven by a purpose only he knew of?
Neat-looking, curly-haired, 11-year old, suburban merchant kid on a $300 bicycle, thank you for selling to me. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courtesy to stop and ask for comedies. (I was afraid to impede on your elegant retail traffic system.)
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And I’m afraid to sleep because of what haunts me
Such as living with the uncertainty
That I’ll never find the words to say
Which would completely explain
Just how I’m breaking down
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My subway rides have increasingly been more and more interesting with books that have motivated me – beyond habit – to overcome involuntary tendencies to sleep through two, 45-minute rush hour trips to/from work.
Copyright (C) 2008 by Waiter Rant LLC
The latest is this thoroughly entertaining, penetrating, transporting, direct and warm memoir about a 31-year old that finds himself – his purpose, and his world – by waiting accidentally. Steve Dublanica writes about the practical, human, reflective, mundane, crazy, coy and deceivingly complicated life of food service, and I don’t think I’m the same after engaging in his monologue.
Among the many memorable nuggets in the book, I probably loved this the most:
Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a different dimension, separated from normal reality by an imperceptible but impenetrable barrier. I can see what the normal people are doing. I see my friends getting married and their babies getting older. I see girls like Sophie growing into young women. I see the pages of the calendar turn. It’s during moments like those that I hate being a waiter. I get paranoid, thinking that the restaurant business is a trap designed to bleed away the most productive years of my life. I feel like a jealous ghost watching the living. Sure, being a waiter has given me a different perspective from which to view life. In some respects having that different point of view has paid off. People often think of that perspective as living on the “edge”, moving outside the boundaries of normal experience. But if you think living on that edge is an exciting adventure, try it for a while. It gets old fast. [...]
Of course, just as the first shells start exploding overhead, a couple gets seated in my section. Beth and the other server are already outside. Most of the customers are outside, too.
“You,” Fluvio says, pointing at me, “take those people.”
I feel like a disappointed little boy. I want to see the fireworks, too. Fluvio doesn’t stick around to listen to my protests. He goes outside to watch the fireworks. I go over to my new table. Two old people, disinterested in the commotion outside, peer at their menus.
“Good evening,” I say, trying to be professional. “Can I get you something from the bar?”
“What are your specials?” the man says, not looking up from this menu.
As I recite the specials I watch the brilliant starbursts reflected in windows across the street. The kaleidoscope of fire high in the sky projects shifting patterns of color onto the onlookers’ upturned faces. The Bistro shakes and rattles while the benign artillery barrage roars overhead.
I’m angry. I’m missing the fireworks. Another holiday’s passing by, and I’m stuck inside The Bistro. I need to see thoese fireworks. I need to be outside celebrating with everybody else. I neeed to be a normal person, not a servant, for one minute. Seeing the fireworks becomes a psychological imperative.
“Excuse me,” I say to my table. “Would you mind terribly if I go outside and watch the fireworks?”
“We want to eat!” the old man protests.
“It’ll just be a few minutes,” I plead.
The old woman reaches across the table and pats her husband on the hand. A communication passes between them. For some reason I think the old woman understands where I’m coming from.
“Of course, dear,” the wife says, looking up at me. “We can wait. Go outside.”
“Thank you, madam.”
Reflection, acceptance, pity, sadness, humour, tenderness, hope.
No wonder the lady in front of me moved two seats away yesterday morning.
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This morning I laid witness to a friend’s – indelible – Facebook status. It’s apparently from the Upanishads, a “Hindu scripture that constitutes the core teachings of the Vedanta“.
Watch your thoughts; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habits.
Watch your habits; they become character.
Watch your character; for it becomes your destiny.
-Upanishads
I love it for its practicality and simplicity. In its logical dialectic lies its truth and wisdom.
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I just finished an exquisite book a friend lent me, probably, about a month and a half ago now. I had to replace the tattered book she lent that literally fell apart in my hand one evening, while reading cozily in my uncomfortable armchair. I immediately ran to Indigo to replace it, and to continue reading that night.
I was on page 178.
I’ll never forget the characters that Ayn Rand had created, and what they stood for. And what I will inhabit from them moving forward. I’ll not suddenly espouse one rigid lifestyle, nor philosophy; I’ll instead recognize with much certainty Howard Roark, in moments that will rise within me, Gail Wynand, when I get hurt, and Dominique Francon – maybe – when I fall in love again. Even Peter Keating, when utmost honesty is needed.
I wholeheartedly share Ayn’s notion when I think about myself and how I become effective around others, yet also accept its fictional (volatile) triumph in practical application. There is an ideal, yes; and it is grounded in man, yes. But there is more than one, and it is not an ‘it’. I think the Greeks had them right the first time when they thought of creating gods acting like humans.
I thought Dominique was utterly beautiful.
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Afterword:
I found myself erasing every mention of liking and adding ‘altruism’ in every profile or interest – replacing it, instead, with what I really advocated (‘individualism’) or meant (‘doing good’).
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Facebook privacy rules will ‘alienate’ users, expert tells Mesh | Media News.
A phenomenon exists whereby developers, manufacturers and marketers fall too in love with their product, service – or the idea behind it. Facebook suffers from this myopia by thinking people, by default, like to share everything. Let me qualify this simplification: there are trust levels to the concept of extension, and ‘Everyone’ – as in my default photo settings – does not constitute a generality. ‘Friends’ do, and I’m liberal already at that. I don’t know what Facebook thinks of common sense either, or if their decision makers fully exercise it.
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WTF, who’s writing these?!?!?!!?!?!?
*sigh of relief*
