Embracing the tiny, Day 15: Five dollars, long ago

label from a much-beloved scarf On a rare Saturday off from my big, fat advertising job, I took the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan to meet my friend Claudia for a movie.

The weather that was gorgeous and sunny and at least warm-ish when I got on at Park Slope was New-York-awful by the time I emerged from my stop on the Upper West Side.

Desperate for warmth and a half-hour early to meet my friend, I ducked into a nearby shop. Tucked away behind the expensive jackets and coats and sweaters was one sad bin of five-dollar items: damaged or ugly schmatte no one wanted at any price, and a cotton jersey sash that was...passable. (Well, passable as a scarf, anyway; I still can't imagine who'd want a big lump of cotton jersey tied around her waist.)

I figured that at five bucks, even a cheapskate like me could consider it a disposable item. I bought it, wrapped it around my neck, and wore it out of the store—and, then, much to my surprise, pretty much everywhere else for the next 25 years. The skinny stripes in boring, improbable colors (white, tan, taupe) ended up complementing almost everything I owned. The fabric grew softer with each wearing, and softer still with each laundering—it was delicious around my neck. When the blanket stitching wore out, I tucked in the ends. When the material itself gave way, it became my House Scarf.

Last week, the tag finally fell off in the wash. It had hung by a thread for days, much like the dragonfly on my little wish bracelet. When I found it, I chucked it into the God box, just like the dragonfly. I'm not sure what I'm hoping for this time: to slow down the alarmingly fast passage of time? To turn up a new scarf?

Or, most likely, an enduring awareness of the value to be found now and then in very small things.

xxx c

This is Day 15 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 14: Dingbats

dingbats on a tile, surrounded by petal-pink tiles The building I've lived in for the past 13 years—a double-eternity-plus-one in itinerant Los Angeles—was built in the late 1950s.

Undoubtedly, something grand was razed to make this possible. Equally likely, the neighbors on the block, most of whom lived in substantial structures dating back to the 1920s, found it an abomination. The exterior is boxy and awkward, and the materials—most of them gypsum-cheap even then—have not aged well.

But when I stepped inside, the first thing I saw was all of the light in L.A.. It poured from both sides into every room, kitchen included, warm and golden and delicious. Rare, period, but especially rare for modestly-priced rental apartments, even in sunny Southern California.

The second thing I saw was the tile on the backsplash and countertops of that bright, bright kitchen: petal-pink, mostly, studded with the occasional ornamental dingbat tile. The look was straight out of Barbie's Mid-Century Dream House, which is to say it was both ridiculous and perfect. That cinched it. I followed the apartment manager back downstairs to her apartment, where I signed the lease and turned over my deposit on the spot.

It may seem silly that kitchen tiles formed a main criterion in my selection of a home; then again, who hasn't fallen in love over the small gesture? I have dated people for years based on something similarly microscopic.

When the apartments in the building turn over now, the management tears out the old cooktops and double sinks, replacing them with enormous, stainless-steel ranges and dishwashers. The tiles go, too; these days, most people seem to want granite countertops.

Which are probably more sanitary and definitely sturdier, but which will, for me, always lack a certain je ne sais tiny.

xxx c

This is Day 14 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

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Embracing the tiny, Day 13: Slightly better

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how to take a great photo with a point and shoot, by felicia perretti Early last year, I started touring my little how-to-market-yourself-without-being-a-tool talk at a series of conferences hosted by the American Society for Media Photographers (ASMP).

I like to keep things lively, so I tend to use a lot of photos, much as I do here on the bloggity-blog. And, because I've never been especially good—okay, because I've sucked at taking photos, I've tended to use a lot of screencaps or terrific photos from Flickr to do the illustrating.

But occasionally, I cannot find the image I'm looking for elsewhere, and am forced to come up with it myself. This is how a truly horrible photo of a truly awesome thank-you note ended up in the presentation.

horrible photo of a nice thank-you note

My point was—and is—that all the fancy visual branding in the world does you no good unless you have great behavior to back it up. In this case, Chris Guillebeau combines great visual identity work (designed for him by the delightful Reese Spykerman) with the right action of sending a handwritten thank-you note, something he did for every single one of the 500 attendees of the first conference he hosted. It turned what was essentially a piece of collateral marketing (albeit a pretty one—yay, Reese!) into a meaningful memento. And really, that's what you want to do with all of your marketing: create stuff that either literally or metaphorically passes The Fridge Test.*

I did the best I could with my shaky skills and rudimentary equipment, then tacked on a self-deprecating credit line at the bottom, "Horrible photo taken by yours truly" and turned my nonexistent skillz into a joke. Because (a), play to your strengths, and (b), always head 'em off at the pass.

What I did not expect was for an enthusiastic young photographer named Felicia Perretti to bound up to me after the talk in Philadelphia and assure me in no uncertain terms that I could learn to take better photos, even with "just" a point-and-shoot, and that she could show me how. She seemed sincere enough, but as it was a heat-of-the-moment situation, I did not take it seriously. Nor did I take it seriously when she followed up with emails #1,2, and 3, a few days, weeks, and months after the presentation.

four tips on taking better photos

It was not until I received a birthday card in the mail—hand-drawn, with individual tips and a likeness of me holding a point-and-shoot camera—that I realized this girl not only was a woman of her word, but that she truly found joy in turning people on to the incredible things she'd already learned.

tips! on taking better photos

So when I had to expand my presentation from 60 minutes to 90 (and from 211 slides to 300!), naturally, the first great marketing story I had to add was the one about how selfless actions can end up being the best kind of marketing there is. Because some eight months after a sincere offer to help, Felicia Perretti was now a fixture in the canon, her name, story, and website plastered all over screens everywhere as an example of Doing It Right.

the author as as a happy Weegie

There is no guarantee that a small thing you do will make any difference in someone else's life, much less have a huge ripple effect. If you are using actions as lottery tickets, stop it now. (Or don't, but know that's what you're doing.)

But the things you are moved to do, big or small, "successful" or "failed",  will always make a difference to you. After almost eight years of writing posts here, I can promise you that. Many, many times when I hit the "publish" button, I was sure that THIS post was (god help us all) going to be the one that ignited the blogosphere, that THIS brilliant thought would make me, would usher in fame and fortune. No such luck—which is good, because it would have been the shittiest kind of luck.

It is not what ignites or explodes or propagates that matters. It is scribbling in journals, doodling on margins, pausing to take a photo—and another, and another, and then, applying the Rule of Thirds, thoughtfully, another—that matters. Conscious effort to improve yourself, your world, and the way you interact with it. Meaningful work, engagement with other life forms, and, as I am finally (finally!) on the verge of learning, having some damned fun in your life.

I have good teachers. Thanks to them, I am slightly better than I was last year, last month, last week, a moment ago.

And, god willing and the creek don't rise, I'll be slightly better than that tomorrow.

xxx c

This is Day 13 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Click through to see the full series of how-to photos on Flickr.

Embracing the tiny, Day 12: A little more me

I took a silkscreening class in college with an instructor who regularly railed against various indignities: the complacency of his lazy, American students (he was a Polish émigré); the Communists (ditto); the weather (Ithaca being quite possibly the only place worse than Poland as far as this went).

He had particular disdain for what he considered the craptastically low design standards of American art-supply producers. He'd snatch up some egregious example—a sketchbook, a layout pad—and launch into an impromptu diatribe on horsey type and lowest-common-denominator layout.

As much as his outbursts frightened me, I began to notice that he was right: the colors, the photos, and pretty much everything else about most American paper products except the paper itself  just...sucked. And we lived with this affront day after day—we, who were supposed to be surrounding ourselves with great, inspiring examples to help shape our fledgling art consciousness.

Last fall, while attending a retreat that left me with even more time than usual to avoid doing my work, I was seized with the hideousness of the cheap spiral notebook I'd bought to journal in. I don't like to get too fancy with my tools; it's too easy to obsess about them rather than focus on the work. Still, the hideous green of the cover and clunky faces of the text were an affront. I grabbed a Sharpie and scribbled out an improvised manifesto, not stopping until I'd covered every inch of the cover. If it wasn't beautiful, it was at least mine.

Since then, I've hacked every cover of every notebook I've bought. I draw, I inscribe, I doodle, around, under, and right on top of their design elements. I take all of two minutes to do it. Quickly, with whatever words or thoughts pop into my head in the moment.

It by no means turns them into the most beautiful of notebooks. But it turns them absolutely into my notebooks.

xxx c

This is Day 12 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 11: Crack

My collection of Things Familial has shrunk considerably over the years, mostly via a serious of small and deliberate contractions.

Fortunately, the most treasured artifacts lend themselves to repurposing. When they don't, I try to find other ways of keeping them meaningful and relevant.

Which is how my grandparents ended up hanging over the toilet.

On a purely practical level, they perfectly hide the wreckage left over from a fit of overly hasty remodeling, aka "renters' pique". Also, according to feng shui, my bathroom falls squarely in the "helpful people & travel" bagua, where reminders of fine folk and wonderful destinations are both auspicious types of things to display.

Most importantly, the light is good in my bathroom. It spends a lot of time there—almost as much as I do.

It would likely grieve Gram and Gramps to know that their beloved granddaughter is more often there out of necessity than she is vanity. On the other hand, together is together.

xxx c

This is Day 11 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 10: A thin, brown line

toasted pine nuts While they taste fine as-is, ten minutes in a warm oven transforms raw pine nuts into something sublime.

Unfortunately, anything more renders them useless. And the line between "fantastic" and "useless" is quite a fine one, easily missed and just as easily cursed.

But when I take care, I'm rewarded with two things:

A reminder that turning one's full attention to something can be rewarding.

And really delicious salad.

This is Day 10 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 9: Temporary housing

an aladdin-lamp-shaped object My grandparents had a love of tiny things: figurines, jewelry, grandchildren.

There was a menagerie I especially treasured, artfully fashioned of bronze and iron and brass, collected in the course of their worldly travels, in those days before you could go online and order anything from anywhere, instantly. We would look at each animal one by one, and once I could be trusted not to pop them in my mouth, I was allowed to hold them.

My very favorite tiny object was not an animal, however, but a small, genie-in-a-bottle-shaped curio that unscrewed into pieces: at the top, a whistle; in the center, a salt shaker; at the bottom, a miniscule compartment that would hold exactly one, very small pill—Poison!, my gramps would whisper, gleefully, for spies! And at the very, very bottom, an insignia, which the owner could use to stamp his initials in sealing wax. (Which is also how I learned about sealing wax.)

It is small enough not to matter, so I stay alert to ways that ensure it will. I have moved it from city to city, from nook to nook, like my own game of Traveling Garden Gnome. Recently, I was delighted to discover that it fit exactly perfectly between the second "L" and first "E" of a wood rendering of my first name that has also been in my possession a long, long time, and that I cannot bring myself to release just yet. So they sit nestled together now, making each other newly relevant and interesting, earning their keep in my life for a while longer.

But only a while. Because as all things passed down to me from other people and times and places are there to remind me, no thing is forever.

xxx c

This is Day 9 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 8: Presto!

an immersion heater Early tomorrow morning, I will leave on my sixth trip to the ninth city I've been to so far this year, and my 11th trip since this madcap schedule began last fall.

I've learned a lot in my travels—much of it about myself, which is one of the chief benefits of removing yourself from your regular-usual surroundings, but also, quite a bit about traveling in the early part of the 21st century.

One of the chief discoveries is that on the road, small things can have an outsized impact: a pair of slippers for the hotel room; a pair of waterproof shoes for everywhere else. A beanie, to ward off chills. A pound or two in laptop weight—or any weight.

It took me 31 nights in strange rooms to figure out that almost anything is endurable when you have a warm cup of tea first thing in the morning, and another right before bed. My last morning on the road, after I'd trudged out into some very cold weather to grab my cuppa, it occurred to me that I was probably not the only person in the world whom this had occurred to.

A few quick searches later, I was the proud owner of a brand new Electric Pleasure Device. Kidding. It's an immersion heater: stick it in a cup of water, plug it in, and presto! Instant-ish hot water.

Although really, from my perspective? They could just as truthfully called it "Electric Pleasure Device."

xxx c

This is Day 8 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 7: One four-minute egg

a hard-boiled egg in a dish Speaking of eggs, for almost 10 years now, since my Crohn's onset led me to the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, my love for the humble egg has been ardent and, you'll pardon the pun, unbroken: most every morning I enjoy two of them, almost always scrambled, almost always folded over some kind of cheese and fashioned into something omelet-ish.

Obviously, yesterday's masterpiece would have been difficult to pull off with either of the main players in an omelet. So why this great (small) change? Because in my travels this winter, I visited an old friend who is rather healthier-minded than I; he made us each a couple of four-minute eggs for breakfast, and—surprise!—they were delightful.*

I have made certain adjustments, as I am wont to do: the addition of a curved dish which shows off the egg to better advantage; the subtraction of one of the eggs. (A lady of a certain age has, as nature well knows, little need of multiple eggs.) But it is almost a perfect breakfast for me now—so much so that I wonder how long I might have been forcing the old one out of habit, out of speed, out of willfulness.

It never ceases to amaze me, the valuable data to be mined in these small spaces, so easily overlooked.

xxx c

*Which, now that I think of it, some other dear friends who hosted me in Portland a few years back also made for me, and which I loved back then, as well. I guess it takes me a while to wake up to things. No pun intended.

 

This is Day 7 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 4: I see London, I see France

hand-painted ceramic hinged box The summer before I turned 13, my most unusual uncle—he'd already had a brief career as a Franciscan monk—was marrying a French girl he'd met while they were both serving in the Peace Corps, in Iran.

In one of my family's smarter moves, we decided to travel en masse to her family's tiny French village for the wedding. I believe that the mayor of said village not only officiated at the legal union, but catered the lavish event at my aunt's family's château after the church ceremony. (And that was the least remarkable thing that happened over those few days. By a French country mile.)

As long as we we'd gone that far, my mother figured her daughters might as well get a slightly broader sampling of culture. So the three of us schlepped first to Paris and Versailles, then over the Channel to an interminable series of world-class rose gardens in the countryside (mitigated somewhat by daily bowlfuls of mulberries drowned in heavy cream and blanketed with sugar), finally ending up in London (which might as well have been billed as Home of that Awesome Tower Full of Actual Dungeons and the World's Biggest Jewels.)

I know now that Mom must have grossly overextended herself to get us there in the first place, never mind the impulsive upgrades made upon seeing the ratty rooms she'd booked by mail in those pre-pre-pre-Internet days. But we still got to select a few treats as mementos.

The small, ceramic box I chose is barely big enough to hold the tiny hand-painted rose inside. Yet somehow, in the grand tradition of curio holders and clown cars, it also manages to contain so much more: my first waltz, first Champagne, first sleep under a down comforter; a house with both peacocks AND a wine cellar like the one in Notorious; the Mona Lisa and Buckingham Palace; candied violets and pizzas with an EGG in the MIDDLE; and me and my sister and our mom, camped out in our swanky hotel room watching The Muppet Show on the BBC.

All that, and, currently, a pair of bright orange earplugs.

xxx c

This is Day 4 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 3: A small game of fetch

a chew toy, a dog, and the gate between them There are many beautiful routes I can take to walk the mile that separates me from my mail, but my favorite passes an estate that's home to two German shepherds.

For years now, as I'd near the driveway, I'd glance down to see if there was a snout or a paw in that little space between the gate and the pavement. If so, more often than not I'd hunker down on the ground and play a highly constrained game of "fetch" with whatever chew toy the dogs were on their way to obliterating with their gigantic maws, a ritual that began years ago when I gallantly (if tentatively) retrieved an old Kong that had rolled just out of paw's reach.

I was late yesterday—the time change will do that to a gal—and there were no dog parts visible as I approached the driveway. Still, something made me pause, lean down and call out my usual greeting: Puppies! Pu-u-u-u-u-ppies! (They could be "Hansel" and "Gretl" as easily as "Hans" and "Franz"; no way am I sticking my hand in there to check for tags or anything else.)

Eight feet bounded toward the gate, stopped for a second, then bounded away again. I shrugged, feeling just the slightest bit hurt for ranking so low, and just slightly less idiotic for feeling ignored by two dogs who have never even seen me.

I had just straightened up to continue on my way when I heard them bound back to the gate. Everyone stopped, and a red rubber bone dropped to the ground, and rolled out to my side of the gate.

You really can't throw anything very far with only six inches of clearance and an eager dog in the way.

Then again, none of us seemed to mind that part a bit.

xxx c

This is Day 3 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny, Day 2: Ablutions

A big part of me sides with the esteemed Quentin Crisp on matters of housecleaning.

The remaining portion grudgingly cedes the potential spiritual benefits of several days spent on one's hands and knees applying a handheld steam cleaner to an expanse of filthy carpet. Release from obsessive thinking for a slice of the day; redemption, one square foot at a time. Each one the sweeter for being hard-won.

Plus there's the sheer Morbid Fascination Factor. I mean, holy cats, that was one filthy @%$! rug.

xxx c

This is Day 2 of a 21-day series. For more scoop on the who/what/why, go here.

Embracing the tiny: a 21-Day Salute™

a blossoming tree How do you begin again what it feels like you've stopped since forever?

Any way you want to. Or any way you can.

(Conveniently, sometimes they're the same thing.)

That damn tree can take a few months off, even out here in the land of perpetual growing seasons. No one wonders what the hell it was doing while those shrubs down the block had it going on. When it blossoms again, no one disparages it for slacking off, or wonders why its flowers aren't bigger, already, or whispers behind its back that last year's blooms were soooooo much better.

So I'm going to make like a tree, and come back slow and tiny, one bud at a time.

Here we go...

xxx c

The skinny on, plus all previous, 21-Day Salutes™.

What's up & what's gone down :: February 2012

the author speaking to ASMP Philadelphia A mostly monthly but certainly occasional round-up of what I've been up to and what's in the hopper. For full credits and details, see this entry.

Colleen of the future (stuff I'll be doing)

  • "Making People Love You Madly" tour for ASMP [February dates: Salt Lake City, 2/23; March dates: Denver, 3/1; Cincinnati, 3/22] Still (whew!) on the road with my "marketing in the postmodern age" talk for the American Society of Media Photographers. Many of the chapters allow non-members to attend for a fee. This version of the talk uses specific examples from the world of commercial photography, but anyone with a small creative business will come away with plenty of ideas. And, if you're good at networking, many new contacts from the world of photography!
  • February L.A. Biznik Mixer at Jerry's Famous [Los Angeles; Tonight, Wednesday, February 15, 5:30-7:30pm!]  Fun, free, low-key networking plus great tips, tricks and ideas from your fellow indie-biz folk, which of course includes me. Duh. I co-host with South Bay designer-illustrator, Donna Barger, but really, she's running the show. Heeeeeere's Jerrys!
  • WPPI [Las Vegas, NV, 2/21] A-a-a-also, ASMP is generously sponsoring my marketing talk at this annual gigundo wedding photography conference hosted by Nielsen. Ordinarily, I wouldn't post anything so market-specific here on the blog, but I was reminded a week or so ago that all kinds of people read this crazy blog, EVEN WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHERS. Like, even my wedding photographer. Yes, really.
  • TEDxConcordiaUPortland [Portland, OR; March 31] I am beyond thrilled, honored, and yes, terrified to be presenting at this conference whose theme is "Becoming Extraordinary." I mean, pressure much? But I had such an amazing, amazing time at the last TEDx produced by my now-friend Michelle Jones that—well, I made her be my friend. So there you go. Tickets are on sale now. Please don't wait to buy them; it will sell out!

Colleen of the Past (what I have done for you lately)

  • Mac Power Users podcast :: I was beyond honored—not to mention cartwheel-turning happy—when co-hosts David Sparks and Katie Floyd invited me to be a guest on a "workflows" episode of their popular podcast. I'm not as super-smarty-pants nerdy as many of their guests, but there are puh-lenty of tips we got out there on both writing and tweaking your Mac to do your writerly bidding more efficiently. Plus, it was just rollicking fun! [Running time: 66 minutes]
  • 30-Day Art Challenge :: How blown away was I that Oliver Emberton chose THREE of my little musings to illustrate for his monthly self-imposed creative challenge? How about "VERY, VERY and VERY." Thank you, Oliver!
  • The Strictly Business Blog :: I've continued to write for my wonderful clients, the ASMP, on a variety of marketing and productivity-related topics. This month, I contributed posts on creating successful collaborations, my writerly "secret weapon", and how to best handle referrals to ensure more of them.
  • Savor & Serve Blog :: My lovely and smart pal Jennifer Louden created a wonderful roundup of suggestions on how to find your tribe when you're moving to a new town, either permanently or temporarily. I threw my 20 cents in, but there are scads of suggestions—you're bound to find a few you'll love implementing.

Colleen of the Present (stuff I do, rain or shine)

  • communicatrix | focuses :: My monthly newsletter devoted to the ways and means of becoming a better clearer communicator (plus a few special treats I post nowhere else). Free!
  • Act Smart! is my monthly column about marketing for LA Casting. Nominally for actors, there's a ton of good info in there for any creative business person. Browse the archives, here.
  • Internet flotsam :: You  know, I have not been so much with the Internet flotsam of late. Mostly posting links/etc. and chatting on Facebook. This could change—and probably will. Most things do, given time.

xxx c

Photo by Greg Benson.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup #69

shadow art An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffoxiest things I fffffind stumbling around the web. More about the genesis here. Every dang Friday Round-Up here, you procrastinating slacker!

While I'm pleased that my friend Lisa is gainfully employed again, my fondest wish is for a full book full of her startlingly clear and beautiful prose pieces—like this one, on divorce.

A trifecta from Seth, as he has been en fuego lately, making it impossible to choose. Learn about the dangerous game of the reciprocal recommender, the hazards of well-meaning lizard-feeding, and/or why you need to get off the page.

How one doctor used diet to help reverse her M.S. symptoms. [TEDx video, 18 minutes]

The controversial Caitlin Flanagan takes a stab at explaining the fanatical worship of (early) Joan Didion among women writers.

Image of shadow art by Fred Eerdekens, via Patti Digh/others on Facebook. (Or, view a full gallery of amazing "shadow" art.)

What's up & what's gone down :: January 2012

the author speaking in front of a gigantic picture of herself A mostly monthly but certainly occasional round-up of what I've been up to and what's in the hopper. For full credits and details, see this entry.

Colleen of the future (stuff I'll be doing)

  • "Making People Love You Madly" tour for ASMP [January dates: Albuquerque, 1/17; Phoenix, 1/19; New Orleans, 1/23; February dates: New York City, 2/1; Philadelphia, 2/9; Salt Lake City, 2/23] I'm continuing the road with a beefed-up version of my "marketing in the postmodern age" talk for the American Society of Media Photographers. Many of the chapters allow non-members to attend for a fee. This version of the talk uses specific examples from the world of commercial photography, but anyone with a small creative business will come away with plenty of ideas. And, if you're good at networking, many new contacts from the world of photography!
  • January L.A. Biznik Mixer at Jerry's Famous [Los Angeles; Tonight, Wednesday, January 11, 5:30-7:30pm!]  Fun, free, low-key networking plus great tips, tricks and ideas from your fellow indie-biz folk, which of course includes me. Duh. My co-host again this month is South Bay illustrator Donna Barger. Heeeeeere's Jerrys!
  • TEDxConcordiaUPortland [Portland, OR; March 31] I am beyond thrilled, honored, and yes, terrified to be presenting at this conference whose theme is "Becoming Extraordinary." I mean, pressure much? But I had such an amazing, amazing time at the last TEDx produced by my now-friend Michelle Jones that—well, I made her be my friend. So there you go. Tickets go on sale January 28, and this event will sell out. And yes, I'd pay to go even if I wasn't speaking—it's that kind of day.

Colleen of the Past (what I have done for you lately)

Colleen of the Present (stuff I do, rain or shine)

  • communicatrix | focuses :: My monthly newsletter devoted to the ways and means of becoming a better clearer communicator (plus a few special treats I post nowhere else). Free!
  • Act Smart! is my monthly column about marketing for LA Casting. Nominally for actors, there's a ton of good info in there for any creative business person. Browse the archives, here.
  • Internet flotsam :: You  know, I have not been so much with the Internet flotsam of late. Mostly posting links/etc. and chatting on Facebook. This could change—and probably will. Most things do, given time.

xxx c

Photo by Michael Smith.

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[video] Hair today, books tomorrow

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[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgfcuOe8x-E] [Long-ass video clocking in at a whoppin' 5:05]

Salutations, and apologies for the distinctly lengthy, somewhat self-indulgent, purportedly "useful" video above. In my defense (and I'm nothing if not defensive), I'm both: (a) woefully (or not) out of practice; and (b) pressed for the kind of time needed to write a shorter letter. We're looking at a rather tense couple of months here at communicatrix HQ, deliverables-wise (after which time I'm sure my essays will return to their previously scheduled interminability; my videos will return to a brisk conciseness; and my newsletters will return, period.) (Kidding. I think. I mean, I should be putting out a newsletter next Wednesday, but don't quote me on that. But you can sign up here, if you want to roll the dice.)

This video—which you may have to click through to watch if you're reading this somewhere other than on the web and an actual computer—contains two main sections.

Section the First is just a hair update. While very little has changed, hair-wise, since September, amazingly (as is abundantly evident via this video), it takes me A MINUTE and THIRTY-NINE SECONDS to state this very obvious fact. I suppose part of the issue is that I'm taking a little time to say howdy and to provide context, and another bit is that I had to shill show off my fancy new Wahl cordless electric all-in-one hair-clipper thingy. Lots lots lots more to say on this whole being-bald(ish) thing, but those are stories for another day—a day which has not quite made it on the publishing calendar yet, but which certainly will at some point.

The second section concerns books. Not just any books, but a particular ritual of reading certain books—one I've been engaged in for some time, and which I've found to be extremely helpful in keeping me focused/on-track (a perennial challenge) and non-depressed (ditto, and how).

I've actually written at some length about daily reads in my marketing column for actors, so I won't belabor it here except to say this: the daily devotional has its place in the secular world, too. Some kinds of change are particularly slippery and elusive, and the right words (i.e., from people who've been working on this stuff longer than you, and are further down the road, and are maybe not too preachy) in a manageable, portion-controlled size (for me, extremely small), repeated at the right intervals (in my case, daily) can be great helpmates. Two of the books are listed in the column I link to, above, but for your convenience, they are:

Think and Grow Rich Every Day, a carving-up of the Napoleon Hill self-help classic by two enterprising fellows, and more power to 'em. Each month focuses on a particular aspect of Hill's teachings, with one month lumping together two of the shorter chapters ("The Subconscious Mind" and "The Brain"). The authors claim to have updated the language a bit from the fusty original text, but damned if I can tell much difference. And that chapter about the sex urge is just nutso; you'll want to take October with a grain of salt, or a pinch of saltpeter, or something. But it's eminently more readable in these bite-sized morsels, and has helped me to keep my eyes on the prize. And as I mention in the video, this book was, in a weird and witchy way, partly responsible for the success of 50-for-50.

One Day at a Time in Al-Anon, a compendium of teachings from the 12-step recovery programs for the friends and families of alcoholics, who (boy, howdy) generally suffer from their own addictive, self-destructive tendencies. I hope you don't need this one. I hope that you have no boundary issues or co-dependent b.s. or any other of the narsty, sticky residue of self-loathing that growing up in an alcoholic (or xholic) home can leave. But if you do, and you can put up with a little Higher Power here and there, you may find it not only steadying in stretches, but shockingly illuminating. I have taken in a few days' entries with the wonder I can only imagine Helen Keller must have felt by the family pump.

The third book I cannot conscientiously recommend yet, as I've only been playing with it since the start of this new year. (Which somehow already seems old at four days in—how weird is that?) But in the month or so since I finally got over my squeeginess over the covers, I have become quite taken with the output of Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, aka SARK, reading a full two books' worth and well into a third. (I put down another one a third of the way through because the erratic typesetting was making me seasick.) But in case you want to check it out—which I did, literally, from the library—here it is.

But really, with all of these books, I'd suggest test-driving them via your amazing public library before committing your hard-earned dollars and even more precious attention. Unless you are filthy rich, in which case please buy them and anything else your heart desires via my Amazon affiliate link.

Okay! This post is already too long and my to-do list isn't getting any shorter. One short request before I go: if you have any daily-devotional-type books you LOVE, feel free to leave them in the comments. Right? Right!

And happy new year, while I can still say it.

xxx c

While this is probably obvious, for the purposes of 100% transparency, this post contains a shitload of Amazon affiliate links. Feel free to buy ANYTHING through your local bookseller, or to test-drive via your local library. Except for maybe that hair trimmer. Because (a) doubtful that anything but a chain store will stock electric clippers or that libraries carry them at all and (b) ew, gross.

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100 Things I Learned in 2011, Part 2 [50-for-50 edition]

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You know what you learn when you do a review of the back half of a year in which you did a massive, 50-day-long fundraising thing-a-majiggy? That it takes WAY MORE than the actual 50 days to do it. Seriously. There's a full six months of my life (and counting) that's all 50-for-50! 50-for-50! 50-for-50!

So here's a one-time-only, half-of-100-things list devoted (almost) exclusively to my biggest teacher ever.

In other non-news, good lord—no wonder I need a nap.

  1. "Possible" lives next door to "impossible."
  2. Neither one can be routed on Google Maps.
  3. Goddamn right it takes a goddamn village.
  4. The "O" word isn't as magical as the "S" word.
  5. Or the "P," "A," "G," "M" and "B" words.
  6. Not to mention the "DLP" and "WCWW" words.
  7. But some of the biggest movers live quietly behind the scenes.
  8. Appliances don't give a crap about deadlines.
  9. That goes double for #@$% hackers.
  10. A $25 haircut isn't as bad as you'd think.
  11. But it can't touch a $50,000 one.
  12. Swears look better neatly stitched.
  13. Or covering your naughty bits.
  14. The breaks you think you can't take are the most necessary.
  15. Flip-flops and street lamps don't mix.
  16. Neither do shaved heads and anything loose and flowing.
  17. Unless you're aiming for "Buddhist nun."
  18. You really do lose 80% of your heat through your head.
  19. Banjo makes everything better.
  20. Self-deprecating humor doesn't hurt, either.
  21. But I'm pretty sure puppies trump everything.
  22. Make time to shred.
  23. Before you shave, moisturize.
  24. After you shave, moisturize.
  25. Everyone loves a good cry.
  26. And a photobooth.
  27. And flan.
  28. Even the ones who don't think they do.
  29. Recovery takes longer than you think.
  30. Definitely longer than the two weeks you've allotted on your calendar.
  31. Getting back to work doesn't always involve work.
  32. Unless you count "play" as work.
  33. WHICH IT TOTALLY #!$&@ IS.
  34. So are massages.
  35. (I know, I know.)
  36. The first thing that goes is reading.
  37. The next thing is blogging.
  38. And finally, when you think it's all over, newsletter-ing.
  39. Dating feels different on the other side of 50.
  40. And when the only hair color you can check is "None."
  41. And you're in no hurry to check any other box.
  42. We won (one category)! We won (one category)!
  43. It feels good to be in GOOD.
  44. I finally know what the Facebook timeline is good for.
  45. Which means they're bound to screw it up before December of 2012.
  46. People love a good story.
  47. With a happy ending.
  48. But watch out for those impromptu pig-whistling lessons.
  49. You can't repay kindness.
  50. Pass it on.

See you next year!

2011

2010

2009

2008

2007

2006

2005

2004

Awesome hat a handmade gift of the awesome Sarah Clinton, community manager for the awesome Richmond Animal League. If you enjoyed this post, go make an end-of-year contribution to them! Or to WriteGirl! And buy yourself something from Amazon while you're at it—that'll help keep the lights on here. And hey, HAPPY NEW YEAR to you!