• Digital ‘Renters’ vs. ‘Owners’

    After 15 years working on the Web end of journalism, I’m starting to get the game.

    Google, Apple, and Facebook are committed to a campaign to position themselves between you and your customer (and to soak up all the genius engineers who could possibly enable you to outmaneuver them). The more you let that happen, the more you place a ceiling on your ambitions. The more you establish a direct connection with your customers, the greater your ability to engage them, delight them, heal rifts with them, and ultimately profit from them.

    On the web, there are three paths to that kind of direct connection: email, website, and mobile app. If your brand doesn’t have these, it doesn’t have a standalone digital business. You don’t “own” your customers; you “rent” them from the Big 3—or anyone else who manages to insert themselves in this space.

    So beyond building one of these gigantic platforms through which so many people conduct the business of their digital lives, how do you move from “renter” to “owner”? Simply, I think, you must delight your customers. You must make them fans. You must provide value every time they call upon you. You need to give them a reason to remember you—fondly—so you can occupy some mindshare in their lives.

    Do that, and you can overcome the gravity of these enormous platforms and the “whatever’s in front of me right now” mindset that drives so much Web engagement. You can develop your own gravity, and exert a sphere of influence.

    Don’t do that, and you will be left staring at Chartbeat, speculating upon the vagaries of algorithms, cursing the platforms’ whims.

     

  • Haiku for an Expectant Mom
    Note: I have a pregnant friend who is overdue and, unless something happened over the weekend, will go to the hospital on Monday to induce childbirth. I was running today and tried to remember the excitement and emotions of waiting to meet the person who has been veiled for these 40 nervous weeks. I wrote this. It’s an almost haiku, or haiku plus, with an extra line of 5 syllables.
    Uncomfortably
    Waiting on the joy of my
    Life, I thrum in
    Anticipation.
  • A Month without Beer

    I took a monthlong “vacation” from alcohol recently and am writing about it. I haven’t spoken to experts yet to help me frame my experience, but I’m working on it. What follows are my initial thoughts.

    =============

    Maybe you’re like me. You like beer and wine. Sometimes you really like them. And you wonder, is this a problem?

    Not a Drinking Problem, I think, but perhaps a little-d, little-p drinking problem.

    And that’s why I gave up booze (for the most part, qualifier to come) for the month of September.

    Some friends asked why when I declined a beverage. It’s not that complicated. Basically, I felt the need to reign in a habit that had gotten away from me—especially on weeknights, when there was no specific benefit. I was knocking down a couple beers because they were in the fridge. It was a poor excuse. And at 2 and sometimes 3 beers on a weeknight, I was padding my diet with 300-500 calories daily. It added up to a roughly-6,000-calorie anchor on my metabolism every month.

    And like a lot of men from a lot of families, there is a thread of substance abuse, mostly alcohol, that runs through my family tree. It seems to become more pronounced as the men age. As I’ve gotten older, I find myself aware of it, intent to not ignore it.

    So with reasons both immediate and long-term nagging me, I decided it was time to check and make sure that those couple beers a night were serving me—and not the other way around.

    The first couple nights following Labor Day were weird, but I soon settled into a routine, substituting green tea or sparkling lemon water for the beer and occasional wine while watching TV, talking with my family or a friend, or tapping away at a keyboard. I thought weekends would be difficult, but they weren’t really, though I did break with my intentions twice—both times for wine tastings at previously-scheduled social events. Each time I drank about one full glass of wine.

    So here were my takeaways from this 30-day experiment:

    1. I slept better. I knew this from a slew of studies, and from my own experiences when reviewing an activity tracker from Jawbone, but the month proved it again: alcohol, even a comparatively small amount, messes with my sleep. It tends to wake me in the early morning and keep me from sleeping deeply again till just before dawn. It doesn’t seem like much of a disruption, but once I was aware of it, I could feel it in the morning and see it in my tracker’s overnight report.

    2. I didn’t feel better. Maybe my expectations were too high. I thought that I’d feel an increase in energy and generally function better. That didn’t happen, which was disappointing. On the other hand, it confirmed that my drinking wasn’t a real impediment to my health. And it did make me sharper at both ends of the day: I woke up feeling ready to go (credit #1 above), and it kept me sharper later at night, so I was able to get more reading and writing and thinking done in the hour-plus before bedtime. Bonus!

    3. I gained weight (at first). This shocked me. I expected that jettisoning 6,000 calories over the course of a month would have me swimming in my pants. No such luck. In fact, after two weeks, I had GAINED 3 pounds! I assume I compensated in much the same way people often stop at Starbucks as a reward for a trip to the gym. I am not a snacker, so I must have eaten just a little bit more at meals—and I do think my body craved sugar to replace the alcohol and that I found it in pretty subtle ways. The good thing is once I noticed it, I was able to adjust and ended the month back at 186 pounds.

    4. I thought about drinking pretty much every day. It wasn’t an overbearing compulsion or an urge, but it was a consistent daily feature, a tug on my consciousness, and it made me think about the nature of habit. In their book, Scarcity: Why Having Too Little Means So Much, authors Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir talk about “tunneling,” which they write is what the mind does when confronted with scarcity.

    An example: As World War II ended, the US Army sent psychologists into German POW camps where Americans had been held. The US soldiers had basically been starved toward the end of the war when there wasn’t enough food for German soldiers and their captives. The psychologists were shocked by the level to which food dominated the American POWs’ thoughts and even their behavior. They could do very little except think about food, and it affected their ability to think about anything else. They were also willing to do almost anything to get food.

    Beyond this example, many people are captives to their own reactions to scarcity. Tunneling and cravings are powerful roadblocks for people in all sorts of paths to recovery.

    For me, the thoughts were most prevalent on weekends, in the late morning and early afternoon, when I had a little free time and tasks that didn’t require a lot of concentration. I thought about what kind of beer I’d like, or I would swallow and be reminded of the feelings of a beer in the back of my throat, of a bottle in my hand. What’s weird is that I didn’t have these thoughts at night, only in the day, and I never came close to acting upon them except for the already-mentioned wine tastings. 

    That said, I was surprised by the persistence of these cravings; I thought they’d subside by the end of the second week or so, but that wasn’t true.

    The other surprising thought, though, was an equally stubborn one that settled in during the third week—that I should continue this for another month. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’ll do this weekend (editor’s note: abstinence thwarted; five beers total over three  days.)

    5. I have never been so hydrated. Between tea, water, fizzy water, coffee, and soda (my true guilty pleasure), I drank way more fluids than I did previously. I spent roughly one-third of the month, zipper down, dick in hand, peeing into one basin or another, including one overnight trip to the bathroom each night on average. That might have some effect on my weight as I often felt like a large, slightly distended, pink balloon.

    5. It brought me closer to my wife. I didn’t ask her to join me in this little experiment, but she did, on weeknights. I know some people who have done similar experiments say one of the negatives was the loss of “happy hour” time to survey the day or the week. We didn’t experience that; talking over tea worked just fine. And not being quite as dulled at bedtime had other benefits.

    So, all in all, it was a positive. I’m committed to maintaining the weeknight ban and holding myself to two beers on (most) weekend nights.

    Mostly, I am pleased that a habit that I felt was developing a life of its own feels firmly back in check. I know it can be managed.

    Next up: sugar. In particular, soda. I have at times in the last few years really cut back and gone weeks without it, but I’m back to a daily drinker, though probably not what, according to Michael Moss’ eye-opening Salt Sugar Fat, the folks at Coca-Cola calls “a heavy user.” That said, my younger brother has diabetes, my dad had all sorts of health issues that cut his life short, and I could probably do much better at corralling my intake. I think I’ll aim for post-Thanksgiving to the holidays. Some people think that’s crazy, but if I can avoid junk during the junkiest time of the year, I should be poised for a great 2015. Right? Right?!?

    I am very interested in others’ reactions and their own experiences.

  • 3 Finds in the Past Week: Amazing Women

    One of the wonders of the Web is when you find an amazing person. Sometimes it feels as if the person has evaded your attention, as if they lived right under your nose, and you wonder how you missed him or her for all these years. Sometimes there’s just the arrival of something that makes you think. Here are three recent ones:

    Maria Popova

    I have no idea how I have never heard of her Brain Pickings blog before this past week, but I was listening to Tim Ferriss’ podcast when he interviewed her, and I am instantly enthralled. She explains her efforts like this:

    Brain Pickings is my one-woman labor of love—a subjective lens on what matters in the world and why. Mostly, it’s a record of my own becoming as a person—intellectually, creatively, spiritually—and an inquiry into how to live and what it means to lead a good life.

    I found her 7 things learned in the last 7 years pretty awesome, too. No. 6: Presence is far more intricate and rewarding an art than productivity.

    Nadia Bolz-Weber

    She (photo, above) is the tatted, Lutheran minister of Denver’s House for All Sinners and Saints. My minister, the Rev. Ken Beldon, mentioned her in his message last week and, lo and behold, she showed up on NPR this Sunday morning. I don’t know what exactly the universe is saying to me, but I think I need to turn my ear its way. After all, it’s hard not to listen to a minister who writes about meaningless church jargon.

    Lindsay Cox

    Lindsay shared the powerful story about the suicides of her parents about a decade ago. The crux of it is right here:

    Most people in my life or who are familiar with my situation think they’re entitled to an opinion about my parents’ deaths because it was “their choice” to end their own lives. There’s so much shame attached to my parents’ deaths because of a lack of understanding about mental illness that sometimes it feels like I’m not allowed to be sad like people who have lost their parents to other diseases.

    That I found Lindsay’s piece on Buzzfeed, of all places, has me re-thinking some of my own preconceptions. Thoughts and perspectives and people, all of great worth, are swirling around us, if we’ll take the time and have the great fortune to see them.

  • Doing the Dirty Work

    We recently pulled together a bunch of mini-essays about port-a-potties, of all things. I had fun writing the intro (following):

    I’m not sure how we did it. Somehow humanity built things for 10,000 years before George Harding received a patent for a plastic portable restroom in the 1960s—which ruins my vision of the Egyptians building the pyramids beside a desert sea of polyhedron Port-a-Pottys.

    Today the P-a-P—200 pounds of awful, stinking, retchingly-effective convenience—is a modern day staple of construction sites, monster music festivals, and just about any other place where there’s some level ground and the need for people to take a dump without the trouble of, you know, plumbing.

    There’s a price for such convenience, and it’s paid most often by our nose (the most-used deodorant in Port-a-Pottys is formaldehyde—yes, embalming fluid—try to forget that next time you pee into the shadowy hole) and our dignity.

    But there is something about the Port-a-Potty, about being so close to our own (and others’) filth that makes it rich ground for stories. Funny stories, gross stories, put-in-my-place stories. Stories about how the things, and the lives, we try to keep clean have an ability, an aptitude really, for slipping from our hands and landing at the bottom of a tank filled with sopping paper, untold amounts of reeking crap, and the occasional engagement ring.

    What follows are 6 of the funniest, most-disgusting, most-real stories we could find. So hold your nose and read on. The guys with the hoses don’t come for another hour.

    The Funniest, Dirtiest, Most Disgusting Port-a-Potty Stories Ever (MensHealth.com)

  • Happy birthday, mom!

    We had our annual dinner along the Jersey Shore to celebrate Kevin’s mom’s birthday. As usual, the weather was perfect—all sunshine and a crisp breeze. Here are some photos:

  • Hey NFL, Do This

    I was driving to my office last Monday when I had one of those weird ideas I couldn’t quite shake, so I called a sports business prof from Penn’s Wharton School and, when he didn’t laugh me off the line, wrote it up.

    In short, it says the NFL has a lot of problems, between player violence, concussions, and difficulty globalizing:

    Each of the problems can be addressed. But taken together, it’s not unthinkable that the league’s popularity is at what the petroleum industry calls “peak oil”—the high point of production. If stadiums don’t sell out, if the best young athletes stop playing football and move to basketball, soccer, or baseball because their parents won’t let them, if the NFL’s ability to attract a live TV audience diminishes even a little bit due to new viewing patterns … well then, the NFL could use a hedge to secure its ever-growing ambitions.

    Luckily, there’s one right under their noses: Major League Soccer.

    I think it’s worth a read, or I wouldn’t have written it, obviously.

  • Last year, I was part of a relay team that tackled the Men’s Health Urbanathlon. I completed the anchor leg, 3-odd miles with a set of obstacles including running up and down CitiField and scaling an 8-foot wall, and thought, I should do the entire thing next year.

    Well, it’s about nine weeks from next year (Oct. 22) and I need to get my butt in gear. I have run on and off and stayed active through the summer, but I need to get in some serious running if I’m going to tackle 10 miles.

    I was off to an OK start, and had incorporated a fair amount of sprinting (8-10 40-yard sprints, uphill) to add some pace to my sluggish pace.

    Then, being 48, my right foot started to hurt for no good reason. No, it’s not a stress fracture. It’s the fleshy part of the pad near my big toe. But it hurt like hell, and is only now quieting down.

    So it’s time to get in gear, though this weekend I might stick to a bike and aim to start running after Labor Day.

    Wish me luck.

     

  • The Last Lake Trip of the Summer

    I hate August most when it’s pleasant.

    That sounds weird, but when it’s hot and humid as hell, it feels like summer will go on forever. The days shorten, Labor Day threatens, but summer prevails.

    But when August breaks cool and comfortable, I feel the fall crowding in—not in the atmosphere, but in my head, which is worse. So the utter comfortableness of this August has been a mixed blessing—part treat, part threat. Like they say on Game of Thrones, “winter is coming.”

    Which is a circuitous way of saying we had a very fun, very comfortable weekend with friends (the DeGeorges, McKeones, and Harts) in the Poconos. 

    (more…)

  •  

    Virginia and I had a wonderful, wonderful time in Vermont, visiting our friends Ken Rainey and Betsy Plume at their little bit of paradise that goes by the name of Trail’s End, on the shores of Lake Willoughby, in northeast Vermont. Beautiful days, gorgeous nights, the company of Ken and Betsy, their families, and our friends Mary and Majid Alsayegh. What a gift! Many hikes, a little biking, some time on the lake, and amazing music and food. And the moon! The last two nights the moon was so huge and glowing in our bedroom window that it woke me up. So many memories!

    (more…)

  • Stay-at-Home Adulthood

    We were at a nephew’s college graduation party this weekend. He finished up classes in the winter and has been working most of 2014.

    It’s great to see these Once Little Ones becoming Big Ones, and even Self-Sufficient Big Ones. Still, it’s a sign of the times, I think, that my nephew is still living at home—as are so many other SSBOs.

    Sometimes I wonder whether that’s a function of a lack of money to actually get out of the house, or whether young people today are smart enough to realize they aren’t going to live in a place as nice as their parents’ home again for a very long time. Why would you leave? It’s the same question I ask about Santa Claus: why stop believing? I wish I could re-believe in Santa Claus (and the idea of consequence-free desires).

    I don’t know if young people feel this, but I certainly do—I fear that few of them will enjoy the comfort and opportunity that their parents have in their professional careers. I look at the salaries commanded today by young people, the competition they’ll face, and I ask myself: how are these smart, ambitious people going to support a family in the same way I have, and my parents did?

    Now maybe I’m seeing this completely wrong. After all, the Baby Boomers are going to retire  someday, and when they do, there will be management and leadership jobs for all comers. (There was a pretty awesome 2008 piece on 60 Minutes, with Methuselah himself, Morley Safer, doing the reporting, that made this point.)

    Or not. Who says the Baby Boomers have to retire when people have retired previously? Why would America’s most self-enamored generation give up the spotlight so freely? Maybe they will cling jealously to their spot atop the pecking order, till they approach 90. Or 100. That sounds crazy. But so did fluoridated water once.

    Anyway, as someone with two boys, one 20 and one 17, these things can preoccupy me, until I remember that this is their problem, not mine.

    But I won’t plan to turn their bedrooms into a library anytime soon.

     

  • The Graduate

     

    We were in New Jersey this weekend to celebrate Jamie Roberts’ graduation from the University of Delaware. Jamie finished up his studies over the winter, and has been working for months now (for Pepsi, in northern Jersey). He’s a good kid, with an impish grin and a stated desire to corrupt my two sons. If only corruption was so easy to identify and thwart ;)

    We had a nice time seeing everyone, including Jamie’s sister Allie (above), who is a workout fiend and an accomplished teacher. It’s great to see these Once Little Ones becoming Big Ones, and even Self-Sufficient Big Ones. Still, it’s a sign of the times, I think, that so many of these SSBOs are still living with their parents.

    Sometimes I wonder whether that’s a function of a lack of finances to actually get out of the house, or whether young people today are smart enough to realize they aren’t going to live in a place as nice as their parents’ home again for a very long time. Why would you leave? It’s the same question I ask about Santa Claus: why stop believing? I wish I could re-believe in Santa Claus (and the idea of consequence-free desires).

    That’s enough musing. We saw lots of my family, watched Jamie’s friends frolic, and had a friend of Jamie’s mom decide she wanted in to our family. In a word, fun.