It's A Strategy Game.

How can you get people to follow something online without annoying them daily? I imagine it's the most common question in marketing. I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I haven't come up with anything.

Justin Bieber has 24 million followers on facebook. That's a lot. How are all those people not constantly annoyed? He's probably figured out what works because he started as baby and the internet existed when he was a baby, so he had an advantage there. Starting early helps, I guess. I notice a lot of people put ultrasound pictures of their babies on facebook. Technically, those kids have one up on The Bieb. Web presence before fingernails. How can you beat that?

The pop song you dance to in 2022 will be sung by a kid who says things in interviews like, "Yeah, I've always loved to reach out to my fans. I sent my first tweet from the womb. My first hit was under the name DJ embrYO, and it was basically just that swooshing heartbeat sound you hear in the doctor's office combined with a few 'Jah's!' We sold 36 million singles of that song on the day I was born."

I'm interested in what makes people follow something online. I don't even check the weather daily. I've been caught in the rain without an umbrella five different times this year so you might think I'd have more of an interest in forecasts, but you'd be wrong.

When I met up with Molly she said her most popular blog post was the review she wrote for the Miley Cyrus movie, The Last Song. Clearly, this was a google search thing. So, I'm thinking (Justin Bieber getting married) that if I (Justin Bieber dates biggest fan) insert certain phrases (Justin Bieber shaves head) people will stumble upon my blog (Justin Bieber Ticket Giveaway).

It's worth a shot.

Has Trouble Focusing.

Tried things out with the new camera and then spent over an hour screaming at it because I couldn't get it to focus.

All in all, this first attempt went as expected.

Stay tuned for video blogs, people!

#This Doesn't @Make Any RT Sense

I hate Twitter.

Hate is a strong word, and millions of people can't be wrong so maybe it's me, but every time I sit down to tweet I get upset. We're talking temper tantrum upset. On Sunday morning Meredith asked me, "Are you going to do a morning tweet?" and I just about lost it.

Mer: It's one little sentence!

Me: It's STUPID!!!!!!

Mer: Just write one funny little hello.

Me: How about I write, "Hi, dummies. I hate twitter."

Mer: You're being ridiculous.

I'm just finding out about this deep-seated disdain. I started a twitter page a few days ago after having one of the most inspiring discussions of my life with the incredible Molly Galler. Molly is synergy personified. She talked about PR being a strategy game and discussed said strategies with an energy that was tangible. I was sold. The girl knows her stuff and can create more buzz than a can of four loko, so when she says, "Tweet!" you tweet.

However, three seconds into setting up my account, I realized I had no clue what was going on, I really struggled to say something witty with limited characters, and I didn't want to play anymore.

It immediately reminded me of my childhood swim lessons.

As a fat kid who hated to be told to jump into water, I loathed swimming lessons. Every week was a battle between me and my mom as I cried, begged, and screamed about not wanting to swim. The outbursts out of the pool were bad, too.

So I think part of the reason I got upset about twitter on Sunday was that while Meredith was making points that I didn't want to hear--It might be fun! You have to start somewhere!

Just once a day!--I felt like little kid me shivering in a bathing suit trying to clearly state why I didn't want to participate.

All I came up with was, "I don't want to!"

I'll have to sit down at some point and learn about it. #Blerg.#

Going Viral.

In an effort to increase my web presence, I've decided to make a viral video. 

What do we know about viral videos?

1) Anything with cats works. 

2) Anything with kids coming from the dentist is sure to please.

3) The Chocolate Rain guy will be singing that song for the rest of his life. 

These are all good starting points but I need something cutting edge and controversial. I need body double face replacement.   

Right. So all I need is a good special effects person because I have the video.

I'm picturing my face subbed in for all these little children-- except the one girl who keeps smiling. She can stay.

And then at the end I want to turn into a swan.

If You're Not Doing Anything...

And you're not, because you're reading this-- will you take three seconds to "like" my author facebook page? 

What's in it for me, you ask?

Well, you selfish bastard, I'll tell you what's in it for you.

1) If anything ever happens with this first book you can say that you helped publish it. 

2) You might laugh. This isn't a promise. 

3) I'm planning some things for promotional purposes that could be pretty cool. 

4) You're still reading this meaning that you already could have liked the page and saved us both a few minutes. 

Thanks in advance! Up top!

Also, I take requests and suggestions are always welcome.

sssssssshhhhh!

Listening to other people eat fruit disgusts me. Apples and bananas are particularly gross. 

The woman sitting across from me at the library is eating both. 

She also has the sniffles. 

I want to unlace my hightop and throw it at her head. 

Misled.

My coworker Olivia has a very dry sense of humor that totally appeals to me. She's mastered the straight-face delivery of hilarious lines and usually says the funniest things under her breath when no one else is listening. So of course, when she volunteers a story by prefacing it with, "You'd appreciate this," I'm all ears. 

Speaking slowly and with classic non-expression she said, "Yesterday one of my customers sent her macaroni and cheese back after one bite saying it wasn't what she expected."

Go Team!

So things are moving along with the book. I've decided to self-publish and then promote the poop out of it using whatever outlets I can. "Promote the poop out of it" is an industry term. (Note to self: Buy the domain name promotethepoopoutofit.com)

Here's the recent progress:

-I purchased a camera and will soon be posting video blogs. Stay tuned for that awkward mess.

-I'm thrilled to announce that my incredibly talented friend Geoff Gavett has agreed to design the Open-Eyed Sneeze book cover! It's going to be amazing. 

-Boston's PR darling, Molly Galler, has generously offered her talents to help with my efforts to expand my base. Molly's middle name is actually Twitter.

Seriously.

-Sabrina Rae, event-planner extraordinaire, is planning the initial book launch in NYC. Details to follow. 

-Debra Martin, my mother extraordinaire, has offered to make eggplant parmesan for the launch. 

"Mom, it really won't be that kind of party."

"What, people don't like delicious food?"

I'm excited. Maybe it's because I'm a farm girl at heart, but it's fun to watch something grow.

It's Like Missing Christmas.

So apparently I missed National Pancake Day earlier this month. That's a freaking shame because I LOVE pancakes. But in honor of the national observance, I thought I'd share some pics from a night we went to IHOP back in the fall. Let's just say that I had an enjoyable time before IHOP, and therefore had no clue where we were when we sat down. The series of events as follows:

Thought #1: Where are we? 

Thought #2: Oooh, reading material. That's nice.

Thought #3: Hey everybody! They have pancakes here!

Thought #4: Is all-I-can eat pancakes a good idea? Hmm, I think yes.

Thought #5: And coffee! Weeeeeee!

[sip.]

Thought #6: I think I'm going to take this cup home with me.

Note: This experience is not unique. It's the trademark IHOP experience.

Lightbulb.

I interrupted Meredith's thesis time last night to bounce a couple of ideas off of her for the book. Always one to take advantage of opportunities to procrastinate, she jumped away from her computer, stole mine from me and opened the "Stickies" app to start making a list. I've never met anyone who enjoys lists more. Typing faster than I could talk, she rattled off more suggestions, asked me questions at a rapid-fire rate, and yelled out possible networking avenues to explore. Dropping names, venues, outlets, I could barely keep up with her enthusiasm and pace. Then suddenly, in one dramatic pause, she took a deep breath, pulled away from the computer, and spoke in a voice that was about three octaves lower than normal as she simply said, "Ask Martha."  

It's become a standing joke that our friend Martha knows everyone in the world but to see a literal A-ha! moment as it relates to MG was just about the funniest thing ever. 

Book Update: The Elusive Audience.

When I last posted about editor responses, the main concern was that no one knew me.  It was a good point. Here's the most recent feedback from different publishers: 

Hi, yes I sent it to a reader who liked it, but we’re cutting back titles right now, so best not to wait on us. I need to see how eBooks, Borders, and the downward spiral of the book industry goes....Sorry!
j

I seem to have lost a few a emails, so I'm not sure if I've already responded to this proposal. If so, sorry to repeat myself. It's impossible to not admire and laugh with Jessica Martin but I'm not convinced we could reach a large enough audience for her memoir. It's so damn hard out there -- both for job seekers and publishers! 

Thanks for letting me consider this one and I'll hope you'll send me another project very soon.

Best,
Amy

Sorry for the delay.  I did take a look and enjoyed the read.  She’s very funny, and her subject is certainly one that lots of people can relate to.  I got some other reads and we talked about it.  But in the end, although we all liked the material, we decided we didn’t love it enough to take a chance on a first-time memoirist like this who doesn’t have the kind of platform that could help us find an audience.  We would have to really believe that this would get great buzz and reviews on its own merits, and we just didn’t quite have that confidence or vision about this project.
 
Mark

Right. Well, after hearing such a similar message so many times, clearly something had to change. I've decided to go in a different direction with the book and I'll let you know what that is when I figure it out. The next few weeks are going to be crazy busy with brainstorms so all suggestions welcome!  Perhaps self-publishing is an option, perhaps a cross-country book tour/bike tour to read at random bookstores around America, perhaps a viral video involving my book and the patty-cake cats. I'm not sure. But I'm excited to be moving in a direction where people can start reading my book. I'm extremely fortunate to have some incredibly supportive people in my life, and I think once a copy of the book exists, an audience will follow. 

This message brought to you by Naïveté.

Naïveté: Helping me think positive since 1981.

Woops.

Going to a Brazilian barbershop in an effort to save some money on my haircut was probably not one of my better ideas.

Massage Received.

For Christmas Meredith gave me a gift certificate for an hour long full body massage. She's asked me every week since if I'd like her to call and schedule it. 

-This week?

-No, I'm going to save it until I really need it.

-This week?

-No, maybe next week.

-This week?

-No, I had Indian Buffet on Tuesday and I don't really want anyone pressing on me.

So when I saw that I had a rare Saturday off last weekend, she didn't even think to ask. 

"I booked our massages. You're going."

You know the way you feel when your bath is filling up? That's how I felt for a week. I was calmly ecstatic for 60-minutes of total relaxation. Clear head, loosened shoulders, inner tranquility, not a worry in the world for one whole hour.

Right. 

People, let's be honest. I'm a bit of a mess. When I begin to approach moments of inner tranquility, I start to panic that I left my iron plugged in. When I clear my head I focus on my heart beats and swear that I can hear a murmur. And when I relax any part of my body, I walk into things. Luckily, I would be laying down for the massage so there wasn't any danger there but I definitely pictured myself rolling off the table. 

Mer booked a couples massage, which you would think would be incredibly romantic, but I quickly ruined that by begging her to wake me up if I started to drift off and talk in my sleep. 

Before entering the spa, I kept asking, "You promise? You promise? You promise?"

Waiting in the lobby we noticed a "Getting to Know Your Masseuse" book. It was basically a general questionnaire that the different massage therapists filled out. 

Meredith read all about my massage therapist for me like she was reading my horoscope.

Mer: Her healing philosophy is to work from the inside out.

Me: That sounds incredibly painful.

Mer: And her favorite massage modality is chair massage.

Me: What?! Chair massage?! Doesn't the chair do all the work in a chair massage? 

We were called in and I felt the corners of my mouth turn up the way they do when I know I'm about to start laughing inappropriately. I don't know why, but I had the biggest urge to burst out laughing. Maybe it was because of the soft soothing tone of voice everyone was using, or the music, or the fact that I'm seven years old. 

They led us to our room and each of them started talking to us individually. When they left so we could change Mer asked, "What did yours say to you?"

For as bright as she is, my girlfriend is extremely gullible, so I said, "Well, we talked a little bit about her 'from the inside out' healing philosophy and I just asked that she not put her hands inside my mouth or my butt."

"You did NOT say that."

"Mm hmm. I did. And then she told me to take off my underwear and get under the blanket."

"You're supposed to leave your underwear on! She did not--"

And then it registered.

They knocked on the door and our hour-long massage began. It seriously was awesome. My massage therapist had a little bit of a sniffle though so I concentrated on that for about 7 minutes. When I told Meredith about it afterwards she said, "Yeah I saw her go across the room to blow her nose." The only thing is, I never actually felt a stop to my massage. So of course I started to think, "Then who the hell was massaging me while she was on the other side of the room?"

I felt totally relaxed and it was really nice to be pampered. I'm also happy to report that I didn't fall off the table. Thanks again, Mer!

Movie Trivia.

In the 2006 movie musical Dreamgirls, what does Jennifer Hudson's character refuse to do?

Mama Said.

One of the funniest people I know described her day as such:

So far today i've had peppermint patties for two meals, set off the fire alarm by taking a shower, and cut myself on both the shampoo and a spoon. it takes real talent to live like this.

And later added:
aaaaand i got poison ivy. in the driveway. in february.

i quit this day.

There'll be days like this.

I once went into my kitchen and only found grapes, russian dressing, and waffle pretzels. 

I made a salad out of it. 

It struck me that this was no way to live. 

A Perfect Moment.

Walking home tonight in the cold, holding Meredith close, I hummed the opening riff to "My Girl." Never one to miss a cue, Mer waited for her intro and started singing. I adore her voice and listening to the lyrics made me grin like an idiot. Slowing it down and adding her own soulful twist to the jam, the song has never sounded so good. (No disrespect to The Temptations.) While she sweetly sang my favorite part, I dog-eared the moment as the best of the day. Hands down. No contest. The most perfect moment of my day. 

Crossing the street on the "Talking 'bouts," I leaned in to tell her what I was thinking and she promptly tripped. Taking three fast exaggerated steps to try to run out of a fall, she steadied herself and looked up at me for a second before shrugging and saying with a laugh, "Your girl."

It blew the previous perfect moment of the day out of the water.

Happy Belated, Sister.

I'd say very little has changed since this picture was taken. You're still quite the lady and I still sit like this in dresses. 

Love you.

Thank You, Sean Kingston.

My Hulu episode of 30 Rock was interrupted by an ad starring Sean Kingston asking me to get five friends together to start a Do Something club. 

I feel inspired. 

Cough.

Explain This To Me.

I walked home from Mer's place this morning without my mittens and after about five minutes I was convinced one of my fingers might fall off from the cold. It was a genuine concern. To combat this, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

No good. The thumbs were still out and still freezing. Need my thumbs. How else would I make hang ten symbols or hit the space bar when I type?

Next I tried cupping my hands and blowing into them as fast as I could without stopping. I figured a constant supply of heat would balance out the ridiculously cold weather. This was a good thought but ruined after a few blocks when I started to get dizzy.

 

I then tried a combo platter of rubbing my hands together, blowing when I felt like I could, pockets, and tae-bo punching moves to keep the circulation going. I don't have to tell you what this looked like, but it's interesting to note that one man crossed to the other sidewalk to stay away from me. 

With no other options, I unzipped my jacket enough so I could hold my hands near my armpits, Mary Katherine Gallagher style. Pressing my arms close to my body to try to warm up my little fingers, I ran the rest of the way home. If you have the chance, try to run with your hands in your armpits. It's not easy. 

Anyway, when I got home I checked weather.com to see how cold it was outside and it said zero degrees. 

Then in a smaller font, feels like -20.  

Right.

Can we all come together on the "feels like" temperature thing? If it FEELS LIKE negative 20 degrees, then you know what? It's twenty below. That's like a store trying to sell a cashmere sweater that feels like polyester. If it's itchy and rough, that's what it is. You can't call it cashmere and say, "feels like polyester." Why are we still stuck on the two temperatures thing? No one ever remembers the actual temperature. On days like today all you ever hear is, "But it feels like..." Or, "Yeah but with the wind chill...." Or, "Hey, can I put my fingers in your armpit so they don't fall off?" 

Stuff like that.

I don't know if any of this makes sense. My head is defrosting. 

"There's Talk Of A Blizzard."

Three things you should know about my father for the purposes of this post:

1) He loves to quote the movie Groundhog Day and whenever there is predicted snowfall, he will say, "There's talk of a blizzard." incessantly. I wish I could call him right now on internet speakerphone because I'm 100% positive that's how he would answer and I'd like for you to hear it.

2) He packs the car for road trips to NYC like he's traversing the Oregon Trail. Growing up, we would wait patiently in the car as he ran back to the garage numerous times for flashlights, work gloves, snowsuits (even in summer. not kidding.), atlases, tools, fire extinguishers, you name it. I can't remember a single road trip to my grandmother's house as a child that didn't involve being asked to rearrange suitcases so my father could pack extra produce to give away, multiple pair of work boots, and some oil filters. It only ever ended when my mother started screaming at him to stop and threatened to leave without him.

I'm convinced this is why I only ever travel with a carry-on. 

3) Clearing snow is an art for him. Some people enjoy watercolors. My father plows the driveway. 

Anyway, there's supposed to be a lot of snow headed our way and it reminded me of the huge snowfall over Christmas in NYC. The snow was so bad in Manhattan we were literally walking in the middle of the road because it was the only semi-clear path. In Queens, cars were buried under six feet of snow thanks to the plows. It took some people hours to dig out. When my parents came in from my grandma's house on Long Island, I worried about how long it might take my dad to find a spot, but not that he would have trouble digging out. Digging out a parking spot buried in snow is sort of the only thing he's been packing for his entire life.  

So you can imagine my shock when he arrived at Sabrina's and asked for a shovel. It was sort of like my father driving to NYC with only three tires on the car. I couldn't actually believe it. He immediately started panicking, believing that every shovel in Queens would have already been sold. Hauling off to find an open hardware store and a snow shovel, Nessa captured his success.

The way she tells it, my father jumped through the snow piles outside of the hardware store, walked into the street and yelled for Ness to take a picture of him with his shovel. Holding up traffic by extending his arm in the air, cars beeped at him as he smiled, gleefully holding his new purchase, saying, "Thank you! Thank you!" Nessa said she had to ask him to get out of the road. 

They dug out a spot in no time and my father refused to move the car until they left a few days later.

Anyway, all this talk about a big storm made me think of it. 

Buy a shovel now. Stay out of the road when you do.