Saying a lot in a little: Tag(line), you’re it!

Copywriters are not typically known for our brevity when it comes to words. Ask any designer, they’ll tell you. There is an epic battle between designers and writers waging on in agencies around the world. Designers: Can we chop the copy by half? Writers: Can we alter the design to include the copy?

As wonderful as wordiness can be in the right situation, there is an undeniable impact that comes along with being able to convey a grand message, passion or purpose in a few succinct words. The best spirit lines, mission statements and vision statements are proof of the point. If you’ve ever sat down to craft one of these streamlined beasts, you’ll understand.

Saying a lot in a little can be one of the greatest challenges a writer will ever face. When it’s bad, it’s really bad. It falls short and fails to capture the spirit of the message you want to convey. It can come off as lazy, misdirected, cliche and boring. But when you get it right, it’s golden. People pay attention. They remember you and your brand.

I recently discovered one such tagline in an unexpected place: a bag of manure. Or “Moo-nure,” rather. Moo-nure is an organic soil containing a not-so-secret ingredient: cow poo. When I lifted the bag into the back of my car, I noticed Moo-nure’s tagline: We Are Number 1 in the Number 2 Business. It made me laugh out loud.

When you know who you are as a brand, understand what you do and have a vision for what you want to become – you want to share that with the world. Finding those few, precious, perfect words may not always be easy, but when you do, you’ll know it. And others will remember it.

And now for a little exercise. A friend recently passed this link along to me.

One life. Six Words. What will yours be?

Cleaning Naked: Confessions of an occasional nudist

I'm interested to see what combination of search terms will bring people to this post. And how many will end up here hoping for something much more scandalous that they are going to find. In any case, welcome to those of you who found this post by searching "naked" or "nude." Alas, it's not really going to be that kind of blog post. It seems spring has sprung here in lovely South Carolina. The daffodils have come and gone, the bees are a abuzz and my neighbors have returned to their porches to sip sweet tea (or spiked lemonade, depending on the time of day...) If you're a nerd like me, this can only mean one thing: spring cleaning season has arrived! Here is your excuse to run to the store and stock up on buckets and gloves, sponges and spray bottles.

Before I get to the list of a few of my favorite (cleaning) things, I need to make a confession. I fully subscribe to the theory that you cannot get a tub/shower clean if you don't get in it...nude. Yep. That's right. I clean my bathroom naked. Oh the (in)humanity! I used to clean the bathroom fully clothed, but in my junkiest clothes, I found myself hesitating to really get in there to spray and scrub like a tub needs to be cleaned. I avoided product (bleach stains, hello!) and didn't want to walk around in wet clothing. So that left me with one option. Strip down and get to work.

It's actually a fairly genius system. I can scrub and spray to my heart's content. When I'm done, I just rinse off. No bleach stains. No drippy clothing. Just a sparkling clean tub - and body.

I have a standard cleaning kit I use for the bathroom. Below you shall find a few of my favorite products...

Method Flushable Tub-n-Tile Wipes

Ever feel like certain people using your toilet could use a little…coaching? Practice? Aim? Set this hardworking package of our flushable wipes nearby, and you (or, ahem, he) can wipe and flush at any moment for an instant clean. Great for clean-ups all over the bathroom — sinks, countertops, faucets and tile — and they’re always septic tank friendly. Plus they smell like eucalyptus mmmmint. 

Boston Warehouse Glamour Glove Set in Pink

I have a unique set of gloves for dishes, kitchen cleaning and bathroom cleaning. Call it OCD if you must, but quirky pairs like these ensure that the gloves for the toilet bowl are never confused with the gloves for the salad bowl. And that means we'll all live to see another day. 

Alessi's Merdolino Toilet Brush

With a name like "Merdolino" (which I am pretty sure roughly translates to something along the lines of "lil turd") how could you NOT love this unforgettable toilet brush work of art. Alessi's take on toilet cleaning is an interjection of style fit for any throne, and far surpasses the crappy (pardon the pun) toilet brushes of yore. Style, however, does not come cheap. This brush will set you back $55. 

Barkeeper's Friend

You are probably looking at this packaging and thinking, "Egads! Their branding doesn't look like it has changed a bit since the 1970s." I wasn't alive in the 70s, but I suspect you are right. And that is probably because it was just as awesome in 1978 as it is in 2012. Actually I just did a google search, and it turns out Barkeeper's Friend has been around since 1882. I guess that means they're doing something right. Hit up your local dollar store and stock up. 

Poo-Pouri

What more can be said?

 

Squirt & Mop Hard Floor Cleaner

Another gem from Method. I love this product because my dog has yet to learn how to put on a pair of shoes. I feel better knowing his paw pads aren't being exposed to harsh, toxic chemicals. Now if only I could figure out a way to talk him into doing the mopping....

So what's in your cleaning arsenal? Has your cleaning routine gone green? Do you have a cleaning recipe for success? Share your tips in the comment section below, or send me a photo of your recent before and after cleaning job. Spring cleaning geeks unite! 

Growing Pains (and Pins): Should Brands Be On Pinterest?

“Pinterest really seems like the next big thing.”“I’m not sure how we can use [Pinterest], but I’m on it because it seems like we should be.” “I don’t know how it will add value to our marketing, but we’re getting on Pinterest because everyone else is.”

The above are REAL statements I have come across online or have heard in conversation relating to brands on Pinterest.

Let me be the first to say: Ick. Ick. And ick.

We’ve recently had a bit of casual BOF banter about whether Pinterest is a good forum for brand participation. The reviews have been mixed to say the least. Upon floating the question to the Twittersphere, feedback (mostly from kindred spirits in the marketing world) has been surprisingly split. Some feel it’s a great space for self-promotion, while others expressed that they feel it is a sacred space and marketers shouldn’t muddy the water.

As an early adopter of Pinterest, I appreciated that, until recently, it was a relatively marketing-free space. It felt pure and untainted. For me there was a rare sense of communal credibility in knowing the things people pinned were shared because they truly enjoyed and believed in them. NOT because they were trying to convince me to buy a $500 pair of leggings or a $70,000 car.

With the influx of brands racing to get on board now that Pinterest has gone mainstream, it has changed the Pinterest game a bit. I have seen fashion brands regurgitate and pin images from every page of their catalogs. I have seen advertisements pinned as though Pinterest is nothing more than a free marketing forum. And as a result, I have started to see the spirit of Pinterest shift from “Look at how great THIS is” to “Look at how great WE are.“

While I recognize it is within a brand’s right to play in the space, it leaves me with the same “ugh” feeling I experienced the first time I came across a T.G.I. Fridays in Europe. Sure, you can be there, but should you be?

THE GOOD It’s not all doom and gloom for brands on Pinterest. I recently spoke with our friend Ryan Morgan, Director of Marketing at Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams, and he redeemed my faith in brands on Pinterest a bit. Jeni’s is using Pinterest to give their fans and advocates VIP access to the brand.. Pinterest feels like a natural space for Jeni’s in my opinion. They’re not forcing their way into their fans’ lives, they’re inviting them behind the scenes and into their test kitchen. And that, if you’ll pardon the pun, is pretty cool.

So. What say you? Do brands belong on Pinterest? Is it an appropriate space to self-promote or should brands trust their fans to advocate for them in an organic, authentic way? Does it bother you to see brands working their way onto the pinboards you follow? And do you know of any brands that are doing Pinterest really well? Or no so well?

Step up and share your thoughts. We’ll be on pins and needles waiting to hear your thoughts…

Elegy for a Man Named Mutt

My great uncle Mutt passed away last week. And the world is a little less of a place this week as a result. This is a letter I sent to a friend in 2010. I remember the day vividly.

Saturday May 30, 2010

My Great Uncle Mutt’s real name is Ivan.  Save for the mail on his kitchen counter, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to him as “Ivan.”

Unlike the majority of relatives on my Mom’s side of the family, my Uncle Mutt did not live in Wichita until very recently.  My mom used to tell me how Mutt was a former beatnik.  For the longest time, I had no idea what that meant, but I knew it made him fascinating in a way that always made me want to sit by him at family gatherings. Even as a small child I remember feeling transfixed by Mutt.  He is the type of old, gentle soul who walks into a room and people just want to know him. They want to be liked by him. And when everyone else in the world would say to me “Amy, you are your father's daughter,” Mutt would walk through the door and marvel “Amy, you remind me so much of  your mother.”

It was only around the age of 15 or so that I finally realized Mutt’s companion Terry was more than a roommate.  It never phased me before that...or after. I loved Uncle Mutt for his knowledge of art and film and the intricacies of cultures of countries I had never even heard of.  I loved that in a sea of chattering loud women, Mutt, a former social worker, could sit quietly and soak in every tidbit of the conversation going on (verbal and nonverbal.) I loved that his coffee table wasn’t a coffee table, rather some sort of refurbished door from an old Italian villa. And whenever I visited, he took the time to tell me about the art on the wall. 

Of all the conversations with Uncle Mutt, the one I remember the most is the day he declared "Fresh flowers are as essential to life as food.”

He isn’t just a man who speaks it, he is a man who lives it.

Mutt isn’t doing well.  His health has been in rapid decline since Terry passed several years ago. I often wonder if his condition is tied to true malady  or a truly broken heart. You see, it turns out not all the art and films and Italian doors in the world cannot compete with the love of your life. You can buy more everything, but you can't buy more love. 

We went to visit Uncle Mutt today. I noticed that he has a picture of Chihuly's glass ceiling at the Bellagio framed on his kitchen counter. He obviously loves it, as people only take the time to frame the things they truly adore.  That ceiling is my favorite thing in Vegas, competing only with the water show outside, which gives me goosebumps and makes me leak from the eyes. I remember the first time I saw this particular show, I was in awe. It seemed all of Vegas was left speechless, too. From the smallest children to the drunkest drunks, it made people stop. On the sidewalks. On the streets. It hushed the crowd and captivated everyone.

If the flashes of light people talk about when they return from the brink are real, I have to imagine that passing from this life into another is not unlike "Time to Say Goodbye" at the Bellagio Fountains. All the madness and chaos and multi-million dollars of the surrounding hotels and casinos fading into the background. Time stops as a life gently folds in on itself, and a soul is escorted from this place in one final, golden show.

We have a huge Chihuly installation at the Franklin Park Conservatory in town.  I think next weekend I will dust off my camera and go to the conservatory to take pictures of our Chihuly to mail to Mutt.

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Wherever you are now, dear Uncle Mutt, I hope you have a Chihuly garden to call your own.

The Lost Letter: The Story of Almost Us

[A letter: December 2010] The art of losing, they say, isn't very hard to master. And just like every person on this planet I have lost something; people and places and memories that certain smells and seasons and dates unexpectedly return to me. I traded and bartered parts of who I am and who I was for bits and pieces of the people and places and memories I wanted to keep. Just like every person on this planet I have been dented and dinged and bruised somehow. Smart enough to know better, but not smart enough to do better, because I believed and hoped and dreamed. And believers and hopers and dreamers are the exact kinds of people who push themselves too close to the edge of a high shelf just to take in the view. We're never concerned with the fall. We are reckless people, fearless in the face of fear. We gamble, punch drunkenly, and take chances despite the odds. We spin madly out of control with our heads thrown back, laughing wildly.

Just like every person on this planet I am learning how to forgive and remember that every person here has a heart and wishes and desires and wants, too.

There is a box on the shelf of me somewhere. Its contents? Nine yellow balloons. Two magnets. A field sunflowers happy anywhere but the vase. A once upon a time flying jellyfish waiting to transport us to lunch or float us away into outer space.

Today I have returned the pixie dust to the proper jar. The spines of books and thoughts color-coded and realigned. Bedtime precedes the lavender hour these days. Before voices soften and the first morning birds begin to sing.

If once upon a time, someone would have told me, in a certain tone of voice, "Some people will change you without your permission,"  I would still have done it all the same.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

No one lives (or loves) to tell the story of the almost us.

A Letter to an Author: Chasing Narwhals and Saying Hello

Writers writing writers. It's a bit like bears riding bikes. It happens.

I read your book today, cover to cover.

From a writer to a writer, thank you for this.

I have always found it strange to self-identify as a “writer.” In my experience, when you tell people, "I am writer," they look at you as though you've just announced you are leaving the priesthood to track narwhals for the rest of your life.

It’s even stranger when it's the others who identify you as a writer. “I’ve been doing this since first grade,” I want to tell them. “And I won a handwriting contest in 6^th grade. You won't believe what I can do on a steamy bathroom mirror and a grocery list.” (But that would be a little snotty, I realize.)

Sometimes I cannot tell whether I am the happiest girl to ever pick up a pen or if I rue the day ink was born. Nobody tells you what this world is really like. (Though I suppose I could have guessed had I paid more attention to the infinite bottle-bottom wisdom of Hemingway, Bukowski and Anais Nin.) Writers live in a suspended state of voluntary solitude, surrounded but alone. We speak to everyone and no one. The feelings, the thoughts, the experiences are ours, but we fling them out into space and onto the page, only to give them away to strangers and sometimes-acquaintences like cards at Christmas.

(Sometimes, I admit, I am tempted to run back to the mailbox to reel them in again.) “These are mine! They are special. You cannot understand.” And then there is that one stranger who sends a note in broken English reading: “You remember to people that life is wonderful” and the world makes sense again.

I read your book today, cover to cover.

You were like finding tribe. Your words transported me to the prime of my utter recklessness. When everything I said and did was a dichotomous soup of “fuck you” and “I love you,” pulling closer and pushing away, with you but somehow against you. (The royal "you," I mean.) I wrote nightly letters, odes to the secret lives of neon lights and ponderings about the first person to add chili powder to chocolate ice cream. I wrote about bouquets of wooden spoons and a master plan to make the weeping willows stop weeping. I was propelled toward paper by a treacherous muse. The kind I had no business talking to (and certainly had no business loving.)

The broken heart I could have forgiven. It’s the songs and places that bothered me the most. With enough time and thread, you can patchwork a heart back together again. I wish I could say the same for the city.

But I suspect you already know all of this. And after reading your book, I wonder if, at the end of the day, broken hearts and road trips are really all that different.

I read your book today, cover to cover.

You remembered to me that the world is wonderful.

All of this is just to say…thank you.

And hello.

Recipe: Spinach Artichoke Dip

Choke a guy named Artie once, and nobody ever lets it go. (Just kidding.) Ah the mighty artichoke. What's not to love? Spiky outer leaves provide a suit of armor, protecting the tender heart within. (Sounds like a metaphor for several of my ex-boyfriends...) During the 16th century, it was considered scandalous for women in the 16th century to partake of the pleasures of artichoke eating. (It was also thought to be a potent aphrodisiac for men.)

A few centuries down the road and into future, it's obvious the artichoke should be welcomed into all our diets - men and women alike. Research has identified the artichoke as a natural antidote to a host of ailments including heart disease, cancer and birth defects. Among antioxidant-rich foods, artichokes are often overlooked, however a July 2006 study tested the antioxidant levels of more than 1,000 foods and beverages and found that artichoke hearts had the highest level among all vegetables measured. They came in fourth among all foods and beverages analyzed in the study. That means artichokes beat out more commonly referenced antioxidant-rich foods such as blueberries, red wine, chocolate, coffee and tea.

Cynara, the first Myth Artichoke
According to an Aegean legend, the first artichoke was a lovely young girl who lived on the island of Zinari. The god, Zeus was visiting his brother Poseidon one day when, as he emerged from the sea, he caught sight of a beautiful young mortal woman. She did not seem frightened by the presence of a god, and Zeus seized the opportunity to seduce her. He was so pleased with the girl, who's name was Cynara, that he decided to make her a goddess so that she could be nearer to his home on Olympia. Cynara agreed, and Zeus looked forward to the trysts to come whenever his wife Hera was away. Soon thereafter, Cynara began to miss her mother and grew homesick. She snuck back to the world of mortals for a brief visit. After she returned, Zeus discovered this un-goddesslike behavior. Enraged, he hurled her back to earth and transformed her into the plant we know as the artichoke.

A few tweaks to a favorite spinach dip - and voila! Delicious artichokeness with a low-fat spin.

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SPINACH ARTICHOKE DIP

Ingredients

• 2 cans artichoke hearts, unmarinated
• 1-1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
• 1 block chopped spinach, frozen or fresh
• 1 8-oz brick reduced fat cream cheese
• 1/3 cup low fat sour cream
• 1/4 cup light mayonnaise
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• optional, chopped water chestnuts for added crunch

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 F. Mix all ingredients in a baking dish, reserving 1/2 cup mozzarella for toping. Bake for 15-20 minutes. Sprinkle additional 1/2 cup mozzarella and broil until the cheese browns. Serve with tortilla chips, french bread, pita slices or keep the calorie count down and serve with crudites.

Hostess Gifting: From flower pot to teapot

Headed to a surprise party tonight. So, what to get the girl who has everything? Flowers, of course! I found the most gorgeous, cheerful bouquet at Trader Joe’s this morning. (Granted, I’m a sucker for sunflowers.)  I think fresh flowers are a lovely gift, because they’re something we so rarely buy ourselves. Along with other girlish niceties like beautiful soaps, indulgent, one-bite, luxury chocolates, linen water and quality stationary, just knowing I have fresh flowers in my house seems luxurious and special. If you’re anything like me, you have roughly a dozen clear glass vases stashed in cupboards and on shelves throughout your home. I try to avoid adding to clutter when I gift-give and always prefer pops of the unexpected to the traditional. On the way home from Trader Joe’s I stopped at our local Home Goods and stumbled across this gorgeous, lidless teapot and was instantly sold. What is more ladylike than tea and flowers?

I trimmed the flowers down quite a bit and spent some time arranging to end up with a cheerful, feminine arrangement that seems to smile and exclaim “Life is good!” – exactly what I was hoping for.

Next time you give the gift of flowers – think outside the vase. Mason jars, antique containers, old kitchenware, vintage coffee cans, teapots, pitchers – all make wonderful and unexpected additions to a simple bouquet. And when the flowers are gone, the recipient is left with a useful container she can use again and again.

Or, if you're into repurposing, here is a great tutorial from Pinterest on giving those tired, clear vases new life.

What’s the most unique flower container you’ve ever given or received?

Touchpoints Matter

Evelina Children’s Hospital was the first new children’s hospital to be built in London in more than a century. The hospital was designed with a goal of “making a hospital that didn’t feel like a hospital.” Accomplishing this required hospital designers and staff to create a patient experience that included touchpoints fostering a sense of inspiration and wonder – in addition to healing - for children throughout their stay. Perhaps the most remarkable touch point of all comes from an unexpected source: the hospital window washers. As part of their contract, Evelina requires that hospital window washers dress up as superheroes while cleaning the hospital windows. Bedridden, sick children delight in seeing Superman, Spiderman and Batman dagling just beyondf the glass. The window washers report the superhero visits to Evelina are the highlight of their week.

Touchpoints matter. To your customers. To your staff. To your brand.

A Letter to a Friend: The Joy of Dirty Dishes

[From a letter to a friend] I hate it when people leave, but I adore the silent hum and hush that fills the house after a happy evening with people you love. I spent my childhood sneaking peeks at my parents’ parties, trying to figure out where that magic comes from. To this day, I still haven’t been able to find the right word for it, but I know what it feels like. And I know how to spot the artifacts and fingerprints it leaves whispering in its wake. Empty wine bottles, corks here and there. Layers of plates stacked on top of one another. Plate, wadded up cocktail napkin, utensil. Plate, wadded up cocktail napkin, utensil.  Stacks of dirty dishes in the sink – and for just one night, nobody cares.

It fills the empty spaces between walls and floors, foundations and ceilings radiating with an almost palpable sense of aliveness.

It’s hard for me to imagine many other moments in life when I feel more acutely aware of the passing of time than in the hum and hush, alone at last, just me and the dirty dishes. These moments leave me feeling deeply blessed, wishing for a bigger dinner table…and more minutes, more years, more dinners, more cheers, more refills and popped corks and cups of coffee (I won’t drink) with dessert.

If I ever write a cookbook, I’m going to call it “The Joy of Dirty Dishes.”

And I will mean it.