TJ Dietderich and Her Many Exploits

If you couldn’t make it to the Media Relations Summit hosted by Ragan Communications yesterday, do not fret. I took notes! Or you could comb through the #prdailynyc hashtag.

Oh! If you want a recap of what me and the PRBC crew chatted about, you can find it here.

Highlights:

Session 1 was a bizarre yet fun mix of folks. Major takeaways: Write great subject lines, which are actually just great headlines. Make your journo counterparts smarter. Show them something they didn’t know, maybe something new or counterintuitive. Hang out with reporters and get face time with the people who cover your beats.

Stina won a poster signed by Shaq. LOL basketball.

The initial dismissive attitude of new technology is pervasive and should be ignored whenever possible, because it is dumbtacks.

Twitter can be used by companies to (in order of importance): 1. entertain, 2. communicate, 3. engage.

Learn how to treat your superfans well because they’re your real brand managers.

Want to monetize social media? Bam: brand expansion, marketing partners, discount sales, ticket sales for tweetups, event sponsors.

Anyone can make their own content with a flip cam and a story.

And then I drew kind of a smiley face that was eating a sandwich. Good times.

The Summit was fun times, guys! You might get disappointed at a lot of conferences and panels you attend, but even if you feel like they’re preaching to the choir on social media and PR, it’s never a bad thing to see how everyone is using it, because everyone uses it differently.

This is a story about being naive.

I’m a naive person, I’ll admit it. Not naive in a “I have a bridge I’m looking into buying” sort of way, but I tend to think the best of people and situations even when the evidence clearly suggests otherwise. I’m inclined to not notice when two of my friends are fighting; I’m hardly ever in the know when a dark secret is finally revealed; my mantra when acquaintances come to me to vent is “Oh, I didn’t know it was that big of a deal.”

The Hubcap Story will show you what I mean.

When I lived in Brooklyn a year ago, I lived in a part of town that wasn’t exactly considered high-end. I didn’t care. Rent was cheap, the subway was handy, and I was happy. A friend of mine from back home came to visit and told me, rather bluntly, that I was making a mistake by living in that neighborhood.

I gave a passionate and dramatic speech on how my friend was letting his preconceptions cloud his judgment, that my neighborhood was fine, and that he was overreacting. We were walking back to my apartment at the time, and it was late. The streets were very quiet, and ahead of us on the sidewalk was a very old man with a cane. He was holding a large canvas bag in his free hand. And there was a small boy, maybe 6 or 7, walking with him with his hand on the old man’s elbow.

Suddenly, the old man’s bag ripped and a bunch of metal clanged to the ground. It was dark, and as I squinted up ahead, I figured that the things scattered along the sidewalk were a collection of old serving platters.

I hurried to pick up the things the old man had dropped, and I helped him collect them back into the remains of his bag. He thanked me very nicely and limped away with the little boy. I smiled to myself. A job well done.

I turned to my friend to say, “See? It’s a normal, nice neighborhood filled with sweet little old men who could use a hand once in awhile.”

“Teej,” my friend said.

“There’s no reason to be afraid of this place! You’re just afraid that I’m moving on with my life and leaving you behind.”

“Teej,” he tried again.

“But we’re friends! Best friends! And that will never change. So you don’t have to worry about me and the place I live, because I’ll always be right there when you need me, friend o’ mine,” I said.

“TJ!” he shouted. “Did you not see what just happened?”

I blinked.

“That old man had a pile of hubcaps.” He did that thing with his eyebrows that means idiot. “STOLEN hubcaps.”

“B-but…no he didn’t.”

“Yes he did. Why do you think he had a kid with him? Small hands.”

So I’d just helped some thief make off with his haul of stolen hubcaps. Brilliant.

But you know what? Being naive and always thinking the best of people isn’t the worst way to live. It might seem silly to all you jaded and cynical people out there, but wearing rose-colored glasses keeps you sane, keeps you hopeful, and keeps you upbeat. Did I know deep down my neighborhood was the kind of place where your hubcaps were gonna get jacked? Of course I did. But it’s not like I could have afforded to live anywhere else, so why dwell on the bad parts of my situation? If I had walked home every day sighing to myself, “Another day living in hubcap-jack city,” I would have been miserable.

Especially if I had owned a car. Which I didn’t. Because I couldn’t afford it. So that saved me some trouble!

What I’m saying is, it seems very easy to be caustic and biting and unhappy because that’s reality for the majority of us: life is hard. But it’s not so hard comparatively, so I figure you may as well believe those hubcaps are platters for as long as you possibly can.

Image credit to Cobalt123 on Flickr.

My friend and coworker Christina approaches people in a different way than I do. When she talks to people in real life, on Twitter, or on G-chat, she will normally discuss:

1. Their family
2. Their hopes and dreams
3. Their childhoods
4. Their significant others
5. Their past relationships
6. Their pets
7. The professional affiliations of everyone they’ve ever met
8. Their fears
9. What they want to be when they grow up

When I talk to someone, I will normally discuss:

1. Who would win in a fight, Spider-Man or Batman
2. Your zombie escape plan
3. How awesome Stephen Fry is
4. Cake

See the difference?

It would be superficial to say the differences in how we approach relationships are due to one of us being girly and one of us being not-girly. That’s just silly talk. Stina isn’t the most girly girl you’ll ever meet, and I sometimes wear dresses, so there you go.

I just think some people approach new friendships in different ways. Christina, I guess, somehow radiates the ability to listen to your life story without wanting to stab herself. I radiate the ability to talk about kryptonite for a long time.

Sometimes I’m in awe of how much stuff Christina knows about our mutual friends’ lives. I almost never get around to that stuff. I’m too busy being a nerd with them. But I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I think being a geek, and allowing other people to exist in that geek space where everything is okay and life is pretty fun, is one of the most important things you can offer a person. Sometimes, though, people need to cry. And for that, they have Stina.

That is not to say that I never listen to people’s life stories; it just usually takes me five or six years to get around to it. By that time, we’re best friends, sharing an apartment. And to her credit, Stina will trash talk about football with you if you don’t have any serious Life Issues to lay at her doorstep.

I know a lot of expert-y type people who talk about being open and honest online, about making real connections with people, about deeper communication. That’s cool if you’re built like that. But if someone like me tried to be someone like that, then that in itself would be dishonest and wrong. And then my head would explode.

In closing, if you would like to talk about your ex, Stina’s your gal. If you would like to eat cake, I’m here for you, bro.

Photo CC Lenni! on Flickr.

Have you heard? Working your nine to five is literally killing you dead. Thanks to the Daily Mail for, as always, not blowing things out of proportion.

But the truth is that flacks like us spend 75% of our waking hours sitting in front of our computers, doing our flacky thing. And no matter how you slice it, that can’t be healthy.

For the past year, I’ve been fighting a dull pain in my mouse arm that’s probably the beginnings of carpal tunnel. I’ve found these exercises to be really helpful in lessening the pain if I do them every day:

And if I forget to stand up and stretch (and I will) then I try to take mental breaks. Or coffee breaks. Or LOLcat breaks.

He appears on my doorstep in the most dramatic way possible, soaked from the snow storm and holding a bouquet of my favorite Red Vines.

“I told you it was over, Apple,” I say, grabbing the licorice out of his hand (because they are crazy delicious). “Why must you keep opening these old wounds?”

“But I’ve changed,” he whines. “I’m different! I’m the way of the future.”

“Yeah, I saw. iPad. Way to open those flood gates.”

“Laugh all you want, but you know you’re intrigued,” he says. And he’s right. Damn him, but he’s right.

“We can’t do this!” I cry, turning away in anguish. “We’re too different. It was fun while it lasted, but you believe in DRM and I’m open source.”

“You say that now, but you and I had something real! When you open up that MacBook Pro, you forget all about Linux and XP; I see it in your eyes,” he pleads.

“Your UI is ridiculously intuitive,” I murmur, vacillating in the hallway (which is luckily cushioned).

“Give me a chance,” he says softly. “Give us a chance.”

“But the Nook has sharing capability, and he would treat me right. A-and my netbook, he’s always taken care of me. Apple, I love you! I admit it, I love you desperately!” I fling myself into his arms. “But it would be folly! You would break my heart once more.”

Darkly, Apple says, “And you’d go running back to your Toshiba, I suppose.”

“I know he’s too old for me, but he’s comforting! Plus his file conversion software is far superior to yours, no offense.”

None of that matters when Apple finally kisses me. As we part, he says, “Give in to your desires. Stand in line for 48 hours for me.”

“No,” I say, tears in my eyes, “you’re just too expensive.”

“But my price point is lower than you imagined!”

“Not if I want 3G!” I scream, pushing him away. “And I do, Apple. I do want 3G. I want all 64 GB. I want all of you to myself, or nothing at all. So please. Go.”

“But–”

“Go,” I whisper, gently pushing him out the door and closing it with a click of finality.

I stand there in silence for a moment, and then I hear Android emerge from the bathroom. “TJ? Was someone at the door?” she calls.

“I told them we didn’t want any,” I lie quickly. My heart is pounding in my chest. The Red Vines are still in my hand.

I dispose of them before Android can see, but Apple’s proposition is still ringing in my ears. I could go wait in that line come springtime; Android would never find out. But will I?

Only time will tell.

Photo CC MarketingFacts on Flickr

Yes, it’s all very annoying, I know. I mention Stephen Fry far too often for it to be healthy. I very rarely have an original thought about anything, unless it has to do with Spider-Man. And I certainly am an absolute pillock for linking to this video.

But it’s a brilliant and thoughtful look at why we do what we do online (and throughout history), and you’ll at the very least feel smarter by watching it.

And a slightly messily edited second part.

Those of us in NYC couldn’t help but hear about the scandal involving H&M and trashed unsold clothes. Lots of people were upset, and for good reason. There’s no point in destroying perfectly good clothing when so many people are in need.

But if you’re angry now, then whoa, get prepared to have your head explode. The book industry does the same thing.

I know! It’s crazy for normal people to hear, but the shelf life of a book at your local B&N is much less than that of a sparkly coat at H&M. Typically a new book is in stores for a few months, tops. Then unsold copies are sent back to the publisher for a refund or sold to deep discount stores. If the books are mass market paperbacks and the store wants to send them to the publisher, the store will rip the front cover from the book and send that back as proof that the copy had not been sold. The books are then destroyed.

(That’s why lots of paperback books have a legal warning inside that says you shouldn’t buy it if it’s missing its cover.)

Even mass-market books are often over-printed, resulting in thousands of copies being made into pulp. It’s a horrible waste that drives up the average cost of books everywhere.

Should you be furious about that waste? Sure! But then you’d also have to be angry about hotels that replace the toilet paper rolls even when only half the roll is used; restaurants that serve free ice water sans request; Disney World, which replaces all its lightbulbs when they have 20% life remaining. These are all resources that someone, somewhere, really needs.

We’re a wasteful culture. Giving unsold coats to homeless people is the more obvious connection you can make, but I bet if you think about it you’ll see hundreds of other chances you have to conserve important stuff.

In conclusion: bring on the paperless book. I will now duck all tomatoes thrown by people obsessed with sniffing binding glue (AKA the “but I love the way books smell” argument.)

Photo CC Photos8.com

While I was home for Christmas, my mom, an 8th grade schoolteacher, complained that her kids “didn’t know the names of anything.” They couldn’t identify a cabbage palm from a coconut palm, a mockingbird from a sparrow, was her example. This was part of a larger complaint about her kids not having any natural curiosity, but also for the lack of conversation between adults and children that fosters a question-and-answer type thingy. While knowing the name of a palm tree may not seem like the most important thing in the world, it occurs to me now that it is.

There’s a belief in a lot of cultures that knowing the name of something, of being able to name it, is immensely powerful. OK, I may have actually just seen that Doctor Who episode where they fought witches, but whatever. It sounds like something that’s true. Naming something means you know what it is, and that’s certainly the first step.

The process of assigning words and identities to objects is something my more linguistically minded peeps can speak to; it’s very complicated, you know, how we all started calling a tree a tree. We could have just as easily called a tree a boot, and then where would we be?

I spend an inordinate amount of time in my day combing through words, so maybe I’m more sensitive to the naming process than others, but I think it’s pretty awesome. We’re lucky to have English. We have way more words than we really need, a word for every subtly, every nuance. (See what I did there?)

This is all to say: fight on, natural curiosity. Keep storing those names for me, brain.

Photo CC thesix on Flickr

Sometimes I see something an online friend of mine has tweeted or blogged, something I don’t personally agree with. It could be an innocuous thing like “Man, I really love pickles!” And I think to myself, grrrr, I hate pickles! Why am I friends with this person? Then I find myself on the verge of unfollowing/deleting their RSS feed from my Reader/casting them into the online unknown whence they came only to remember, oh wait, I don’t have to agree with everything my friends say. Pickles are a stupid example; sometimes it’s more important (seemingly) like a business practice or technological prediction.

Before the last presidential election, I had a friend who refused to vote. “There are some things that both candidates say that I don’t like,” he said. Well, hell, I said, there won’t ever be a candidate who believes exactly what you believe. We’re all incredibly complicated; it’s not realistic to expect all your stances to be represented by one candidate. “Then I won’t vote,” he said, “because I won’t compromise my beliefs by choosing the lesser of two evils.”

(Have you ever noticed that people who don’t have sound, logical arguments often fall back on platitudes and cliches? “The enemy of my enemy is my friend;” “fences make good neighbors.” ARGH! Do your own thinking!)

It’s NOT choosing the lesser of two evils, I said. It’s realizing that you can’t be president. You would be an awful president. You also cannot have your clone be president. Those are the rules! Man up.

I tell this long and rambling story because, just like you can’t vote for your clone to be president, you can’t befriend your clones. I mean, you can, but then you’re one of those creepy celebrities who use bottle service at bars. Normal, well-rounded people should surround themselves with lots of dissenting voices and diverse people, right?

So it’s all right, person I’m following on Twitter who likes pickles! Rest easy, blogger who can’t stand British comedy. I started following you for a reason that was much more important than our small differences, and until the scales tip and that reason is no longer enough, I’ll let all these little things go.

Photo CC freeparking on Flickr.

I’m pathetically late in checking in to this blog after the holiday but whattayagonna do? I would say it’s my New Year’s resolution to blog more regularly, but I think we all know what sort of lie that would be: bald-faced and blatant.

So here is my ideas for a little personal project in the coming year!

I’d like to track every purchase I make in a way I’ve never done before. Starting this week, I’m going to be keeping a log of everything I buy and how I first heard about it (if it’s a new-to-me product) or how I decided to purchase it again (if it’s an old-to-me product). The thought came to me as I was googling some winter-weather tights a friend had talked about on Facebook that pretty much everything I buy is a direct influence of online word of mouth. I have no idea if this theory is true and I would like to test it. Boring stuff like food and toilet paper don’t count, though. That’s just too boring even for a data dork.

This project will have two useful outcomes: I’ll be able to see where I am most influenced, and I will hopefully learn to spend more smartly. Mostly, though, I just want to remember why I do the things I do.

Welp! That’s my new thing. What’s yours?

Photo CC DarrenHester on Flickr