One last thing...
I think these recent developments actually qualify me for Pirateship.
So, really, pirates talk like I do.
good night.
send chachkes.
or I'll have to slip aboard and steal them from you.
I think these recent developments actually qualify me for Pirateship.
So, really, pirates talk like I do.
good night.
send chachkes.
or I'll have to slip aboard and steal them from you.
So, I thought I should report, now that I've found myself (see post below), and myself is a member of the media, that I can be bought. I'm not like those old school journalists. I'm biased, I'm poor (okay, maybe I'm like them that way), and I'm on the take.
Bring on your tired, your weary, your product enhancement press releases.
But you better send the cool t-shirts and pens and magnetic poetry and stress balls and yo-yos and leather binders and all those other cool things you send the real media.
Damnit.
And when you're not looking, I'll sell all the cool stuff you sent me on ebay to pay for hosting of this media outlet.
I also accept nice lunches where you can tell me all about what you're leveraging this month.
Sure, you want to do a press tour to my house, that's cool. Bring a toy for my kid.
I prefer to receive press releases never, and prefer to be contacted by email. Or carrier pigeon. YES, please send pigeons.
Yah, that's the ticket.
I'm in it.
And so are a lot of you bloggers.
Remember when Dan Gillmor and others posted about getting pinged by annoying PR people from BigPR asking if their client can guest host (or some such nonsense) their weblogs?
Well I know why now. It's Media Map.
When I left Ketchum, I was an infrequent but pleased user of Media Map. I've always thought Media Map was the killer ap for media relations. I started using it when I was at Crescent back in 1997. It had some bugs back in those days, like don't try to click on page two of your search results because it just wasn't having that. But over the years, it's become a valuable tools of both big and small agencies.
I'm now using Media Map Performa for one of my clients. It's some version of media map that is basically the media map I remember from six months ago. It's good. No bugs like in the old days--least as I can tell so far.
In the database is just about every reporter, editor, broadcast journalist, publisher, producer, lapdancer and candlestick maker in the wonderful world of media. There are a number of ways to search them up, and a number of reports you can generate. It's not all bad for the reporters either. They get to state their pet peeves--like DON'T FUCKING CALL ME (mostly they don't say fucking); email me instead.
And would you believe many of them still prefer faxes for press releases--I'm assuming that's so they can easily ignore them altogether. Smart.
But that's not news.
The news to ME was this: Among the choices in the field for media "Outlet" -- along with magazines, journals, broadcast TV, Broadcast Radio, Online, Newsletters, etc -- is now--you guessed it--BLOGS.
PLABOMEASHGHOFLSHHH: Sound of Jeneane's mind being blown.
So, when I put my mind back together, naturally I searched on blogs.
And there was Allied, this very blog, proudly if not puzzlingly listed among the "A"s.
Right. Dig it.
Pirates have different ways of boarding ships these days.
Technology is so cool.
bloody 'ell.
(Is that British or Pirate?)
You coulda knocked me over with a feather when I heard it was Talk Like a Pirate day from this fine Woman of the Sea and this this fine Woman of the Burning Parrot!
The only problem is, I've been walking around trying to talk like a pirate all day and I can't do it.
I can't get the cadence.
I can't get it.
But I am bold in my breeches. That must be good for something.
Yes, that's "Bold" not "Soiled".
BMO gets down on penis enlargement with a pretty darn hysterical post.
All Men Go Back; All Women Go Forward.
This shit is deep.
this is my blog. I can post what I want. sometimes you have to remind yourself of that. so if I want to whine about how tired I am, I can. I will. Too often lately I see bloggers critiquing other bloggers for their pettiness. You know those comments. They're the ones that try to belittle the writer by stating emphatically that what he or she is blogging about isn't important.
well fuck that.
when we started this mess called blogging, we were bloggiing to see what blogging was, and mostly, to have fun. The heavy posts were deep because they were a break from the free-for-all link-and-laugh fest that woke us all up and gave us a reason to get out here and show ourselves in the first place. Now there seems to be some kind of unspoken mandate that what we write should be meaningful and relate to "our readers."
again, fuck that.
This isn't a job, it's an adventure.
If I want to complain about how tired I am or how hard it still is to get my kid to sleep, I will. If I want to say, oh no, Jenna woke up with a sore throat this morning--which she did--and feel like crying all over this blog, I can.
If I want to write about driving to Walmart last week with George and Jenna to get printer cartridges, only to get half way there and say, "Uh, George, do you know what model the printer is?" And him slowing, breaking the car, getting ready to turn around so we could go back and look, me turning to Jenna, still 5, for a couple of weeks yet, asking: "Jenna, do you remember the printer model number?"
"Z-22."
Parents exchanging looks in the front seat.
Z-22. I think she's right.
And she is.
And we get the cartridge and say, wow, how did you remember that?
I don't know. I just remember seeing it.
And if I want to write about how our minds are so plyable at that age, so nimble and flexible and uncluttered, I can.
And if I want to mourn here that I already see the crap of humanity starting to fill little pieces of her mind, starting to infiltrate those innocent perfect sacred spots, the spots fighting to contain mistaken lyrics to songs sung loudly, to contain bright red printer model numbers, to hang on to the three big fingers she used to draw on the people she makes in her art, or her daddy's locks always sticking striaght up in those drawings, then I will.
Right.
And so, if I want to whine here, I'll whine. I don't want to have to be profound. Some days I can come here and say I'm tired as shit, feel as old as dirt, working too hard for what, losing myself again.
some days I come here and post pictures of lingerie barbie and GI Joe.
And I'll come here to look for some joy and games and jokes and stupidity and aimless ramblings from bloggers who remember what it was like.
And I'll continue to do whatever the fuck I want here.
And so should you.
When you fall asleep at the computer (and don't lie and tell me you don't do that), does your head nod off forward or backward? I'm a forward nodder all the way. Takes two bounces down for me to realize I'm asleep, and then I snap it back up and pretend it didn't happen.
yep.
back at it.
Over at Michael OCC's blog just now--((HI MICHAEL!!! I'm SORRY I haven't emailed lately. Kiss that baby for us!))--I saw a post pointing to Marketing Wonk, the brainchild of Rick Bruner, at least I think so. How the hell did I miss Marketing Wonk this long?
I'm doing one of those things we bloggers often do.
Those linguistic double takes: "Uh, how did I get to this blog again? Hmmm. And is this the same guy so-and-so was posting about? OH holy shit, look, he's posting about my Uncle Bucky--OH FUCK, we're related!! OH MAN, this blogger's my HALF BROTHER!"
Well, they're not all exactly like that.
But you know what I mean.
So I'm asking, is the Rick Bruner MOCC mentions the same Rick Bruner I happened upon one post below off someone's blogroll who I don't read that often, so not often that I don't remember how I even clicked there?
And after earlier today being sold on the "Bruner You Pig' (BYP) concept by the BYP (no relation to Rick Bruner, at least I don't think...Rick--are you Polish?) creative director, Marek Fucking J. or DOCTOR J-- back with a spanking new blog and his get-down-get-funky, blow-my-mind writing.
So, Marek/RB/Annie are talking about BYP, I'm clicking through to Bruner.net off some randomx blogroll, and MOCC's over there talking about Marketing Wonk.
What the hell kind of synchronistic convergence in the hemospheric chasms of catastrophic proportions is this?
Eh, Bruners???
I like.
I like.
Damn. Talk about ungentlemanly.
Found it on this cool blog by Rick Bruner.
No, now, I know what you're thinking. It's not THAT bruner!
In a former life, if I believed such things, which I don't think I do, I do think I was a bat. Cold, dark is a favorite climate for me. The bigger and heavier the comforter I can cuddle under, the better I feel.
Note that this summer I did the anti-bat thing: sun and swimming.
I was so darn proud to go beyond my little comfort zone (better known as the front door) with all of this outside activity.
But truth be told, when I reach inside, when go looking for home, it's dark, it's cool, and when the sun comes you can smell the forrest with it, the ice with it, the snow with it, the wet hard beaches of Lake Ontario where I grew up.
No surprise then that I've always wanted to see Alaska. I used to say to George, man! I'd love to take one of those Alaskan cruises. West Indian roots shuddering at the thought, he would say, "Why? I mean, I know it's beautiful and I wouldn't mind seeing it, but a cruise to Alaska? How about some place a little warmer?"
I think there was two feet of Rochester snow on the ground when I suggested it.
And so that's where Doc and the Linux bunch are, and I swear I could look at those two pictures on Doc's blog all night long.
I'm going to hang upside down from a limb now.
Since RB sold my computer to Ann without my prior knowledge, and then offered to sell her our house as well, I thought I'd better pipe up before RB gives AnnC my kid. For free.
Annie, baby, the laptop's yours if you want it. The only thing is, it's broke. I mean bigtime broke. Once I put Macafee on it, it started actin up something perculiar (note, I'm switching into southern vernacular to appeal to the vernal in you). That there software damn did somethin nasty as a hound's tongue after a huntin trip, 'cause the bitch wouldn't even start up no mo.
In other words, first it wouldn't boot. NOW it won't even turn on.
Really, though, these are all features.
You blog less, you spend more time with fleshy people.
I hear that has its benefits.
So, if you want the dead computer Mr. Boy tried to sell you, you can have it.
Mehbe you got a-one-a them there handy men in yer neck-a-the-woods.
Of course you'll have to pay $14,500 for the 2001 Ford Escape that comes WITH the dead laptop.
It's a steal. Really. Email me for details. Your new laptop and SUV are waiting!
With love,
Bruner, You Pig!
Halley posts that Sir RB will be rolling a hoover during the upcoming BloggerCon conference, which truth be told I WISH I could go to, but can't get away from my work right now.
Halley, I think to best entertain RB, you ought to consider tossing a few Barbies into Jackson's room with the GI Joes. Rumor has it, RB is looking forward to hooking GI Joe up with Lingerie Barbie. I'm told he can spend hours playing with dolls. Well, the right dolls.
Peter the writer gets interviewed by the creative director and producer.
Hee hee.
Thanks to the Happy Tutor for the chuckles.