Tag Archives: storyscape

Tucker Recites Haiku

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Walk as Tucker: blessed.
No matter life’s twists and turns…
Always face downhill.

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Saved, no sire or bitch
Is known. But “rescue” is sweet.
Life! Life! Life! Life! Life!

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Corgi? Beagle? Jack?
Yes. I slink, therefore, I am.
You know? Comment, please.

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Secrets on the breeze…
Weimaraner on the beach?
Fickle bitch. Bye bye.

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Forget heartache pain.
Life is short, and I am, too.
Want to hear a joke?

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Cats must poop inside.
My gal loves me more than this.
She saves mine in bags.

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Heee! Oooh… ahhh… well… hmmm….
No better moment in life
Than sigh after laugh.

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Oh, noble beast, I am!
Chuckles are good, but… what’s next?
Set, poised, and waiting.


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Tucker: The Jackalope of Pelican Point

For reasons that I don’t yet entirely understand, it was love at first sight.

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There was just something so sturdy and athletic and handsome about him…

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… yet whimsical and unassuming and open at the same time.
The experience of seeing Tucker romping the dunes of Pelican Point Beach was like watching a seriously stocky woman having a fabulous time dancing at a wedding.

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Tucker LOVES his beach time.

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He simply oozes the confidence building attitude of the Jackalope in Boundin’

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Come to think of it, he even has a few of the same moves.
For a dog his height, Tucker can really build up a decent head of steam on the firm straightaways.

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And where the going gets a little heavier for a critter with three-inch legs sponsoring a two-foot body? Well, this dawg isn’t afraid to make a bit of a mess and let the sand fly where it may! Sometimes you just have to go where the path is a bit rough, like, when there’s a new friend to meet, for example.
It was like living the proverbial slow motion run through the field of daisies into the loving embrace of your soul mate. Cue the violins…
And…

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… nope.
He ran right past me. I clearly was so NOT the draw.

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Objects of fascination are short lived in the dog world, apparently. The moment a stick showed up on the scene, poor Tucker was as much yesterday’s news as I had been, thirty seconds earlier.

Who knew the axiom “Payback’s a bitch” was so literally true?

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At least Tucker got a sympathetic belly rub out of the deal.

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In my moment of distress, all I got was a sheepish half glance as he started to slink home. But Tucker has a remarkably fast emotional metabolism, and before he got a short waddle away, he had regained enough of his composure to circle back and tell me a great joke.

I’ll save that for another day. Meanwhile, I’m boundin’ over to amazon.com to buy the next best cure to a belly scratch for a broken heart: a booster shot of my second favorite jackalope in the Pixar Short Films Collection, Vol. 1,


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Bird Watchers

I think we own at least three bird identification books. I have clearly identified them by their covers. As far as the actual identification of the birds we see goes, however, I’m more of the “Oh, look! A bird!” type watcher. I watch for birds to photograph.

Rick is actually pretty organized about his bird watching. He’s even started a log of his Idaho sightings. I, on the other hand, have a limited repertoire of on-demand avian identification skills, and apparently, I’m not prone to lookin’ ‘er up after the fact. As they say in Idaho, that’s just how I roll.

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For instance, I knew right away that this was a seagull.

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And this, despite the deceptive white (not feathers, but rather the sun reflecting off the black), was a red-winged blackbird.

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When I don’t already know, though, I just make it up. And this was clearly a small brown sweetheart looking for a little shelter.

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I believe this species is the common beady-eyed hedge hopper. However, since it looks remarkably like my ninth grade French teacher, I’m going with “Monsieur Leduc.”

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This is a rare mute syrup sucker.

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I’m thinking “Bathsheba” here. She claimed to want some privacy, but she was just so out there…

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Apparently, humming birds do more than hum.

You never know what you’ll see when you’re a bird watcher. And you know what? I’m starting to think they’re keeping an eye on us, too.  For instance, I came around the corner of a 19th floor hotel suite in Vancouver last year wrapped in an insufficient towel and was startled to find a peeping Tom staring me down.

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He thought it was pretty funny.


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The Talking Game

The conversation went something like this:
My brilliant friend, Nancy Ganz: “Kathy, you are so smart.”

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Me (stunned): “Huh? Why on earth do you say that?” (Compared to Nancy, I couldn’t think my way out of a paper bag.)
Nancy: “Because in a group conversation, you always have something relevant or witty to chime in with.”

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Me: “Nancy, are you kidding? Okay, so I can ping-pong a fairly rapid babble, but you! Every time you open your mouth, perfect pearls of wisdom come flowing out, and when you’re done, you can actually stop.”
Nancy: “Yes, but until I have a thought completely formed in my head, I can’t seem to get anything out. People think I’m shy in groups. I’m not shy… I’m just slow! By the time I have something ready to say, they’ve already switched topics and moved on.”

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Me: “Wow. I, on the other hand, rarely know what I think about anything until I’ve heard myself talk about it. People think I’m gregarious, but I just have an external thought-processing loop. You have an internal one.”
Nancy: “Maybe neither one of us is all that smart. Maybe we’re just on the extreme opposite ends of the spectrum of how people think.”

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I thought that was pretty clever of her.


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On Talking With Our Hands

Quick: how many people seated in the picture below are NOT interacting online?

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Nope: the lady in yellow (Brenda of Vision Arts Communications) actually was on her blackberry but had just set it down for a second to attend to an itchy ear. Even three of the six and a half people standing up at the back of the room are ticking away on their midgi-keyboards, and they’re in transit.

My “aha” moment — born in hindsight by reviewing the photos* — from yesterday’s New Marketing Experience conference? Social media has expanded, not diminished, our ability and perhaps even our desire to talk with our hands.

Fingers on keyboards = digital communication.

Maybe that’s why we’ll still show up in person, real time, and spend a day listening, interacting, questioning and sharing a ham sandwich with complete strangers at a conference. In spite of the ubiquitous keyboard, we all still need to get out once in a while and talk with our hands the old-fashioned way.

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We don’t show up for the gum and water, but maybe we’re hoping someone will slow things down for us if they can actually see us sucking our finger and tilting our head at “what everyone already knows.”

I’m mostly (sorta) hip and I don’t know what five of those icons are about, and I’m only guessing the “W” stands for Wikipedia.

I just looked it up, and no matter how far I tilt my head and chew on my thumb, I still can’t tell.

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So while chewing on them doesn’t necessarily enlighten when you’re on your own, in a crowd, digits communicate.

Seriously, when mapped to that grin, Brian Solis‘ pointing finger says it all: “Look! Rick bought my book! You should buy one too! I’m so exhausted from jet-lag, I’m afraid I’m going to start drooling and singing “Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Boys!”**

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Fingers are great for verbal short cuts. “What’s this?” asks the index finger. EJ’s answer about content management is a bit more complicated, but easily enough communicated with all ten digits in play.

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At live conferences, even “we’re SO hip we say ‘poop’ from the podium” social media conferences, finger extensions (known as “pens”) are still used to point to charts where the colors aren’t showing up properly on the LCD projector.

I like that. It keeps it real and let’s us know that behind the suave “playing in the big kids sandbox” veneer that sometimes gets painted online, people are still just mortals who struggle and flub their way through life. Tom Webster of Edison Research proved the point (sorry): when you have great content, one or two of life’s real time gotchas are easily overcome with poise and good humor.

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Tim Hayden of Blue Clover had no idea how much fun I was having with his accidental shadow puppets.

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I’m not just poking fun at other people here. I have my own hand language without which I simply cannot speak, even when I type. (Joanna of Blue Sky Factory was very patient as I explained everything I didn’t know.) In that case, instead of using my hands to talk, I just transfer the signals through my eyebrows.

And no, I will not be using the webcam feature on my Mac anytime soon.

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There are some forms of talking with your hands that can only happen in person. (Hands on demo by Mike McAllen of Grass Shack Events and Media in the gold jacket.)

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And watching Natanya of Powered hold her microphone and talk told me tons about her that I’d have missed even through 10,000 blog postings or more.

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Not surprisingly, one of the most successful virtual marketing guys in the room, Mike “Tony Soprano” Damphousse of Green Leads, kept one hand on the microphone and the other in his pocket the entire time he was on stage. Apparently, it IS possible to speak and not flap about like you’re trying to wave off a swarm of killer bees. But I’m trusting it’s not a skill set that’s necessary in order to find your way in the wild and woolly world of online social media.


* That’s what “storyscaping” is, BTW: taking the raw images of a moment or event and finding the story possibilities hiding in plain sight. Then through selective cropping, good writing, and sometimes a cartoon or two, we scoop up the good bits and arrange them in pleasant lines. People and events become retroactively more interesting, and often better looking, as a result. So, I guess that makes us historians. Huh… didn’t see that one coming.

**Brian Solis’ book is really interesting. You should buy one, if for nothing else than the brilliant insight on p. 112 about “Liking: Microacts of Appreciation Yield Macro Impacts.” I’ll give you two sentences here, and then you’ll have to buy it yourself to discover the potential for impact within social networks.

Liking is the epitome of the relationship-based culture powering the authenticity, ethics, and reciprocal interactions on the Social Web. It’s a powerful form of microrecognition, which serves as an approving, motivating, and uplifting nod from someone else.


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Surf Dancer

I love the rapid fire capability in our Nikon D90.

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For one thing, it sounds really cool–chuckshoock, chuckshoock, chuckshoock–and makes me feel like a real photographer, as opposed to just playing one on the beach.

But the bigger reason is that as storyscapers, we need all the visual nuances of a tale that are available to us. And there are certain “rapid shot” subjects that we’d miss if we didn’t have that option.

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For instance, check out the child on the right and the dad.

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They were no doubt engaged in deep and meaningful dialogue, but there wasn’t much of a physical nature going on there, other than maybe serving as a static cautionary tale about mismatched pant leg hem heights.

If it had just been those two, I could have easily used the click…wait… image review… wait… refocus, and… click of my Canon G10. It would still have been a cool shot, and I wouldn’t have missed anything.

(And I apologize in advance if you are now fixated on that single skinny ankle. You may have to go back to the top and start over by specifically focusing on the girls. Sorry.)

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However, the completely airborne little bean on the left?

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With prancers and poodles and princesses, if ya snooze, ya lose, baby.

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There are some moves that are just too precious to miss…

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… and moments of exultation that flash and are gone before you can blink.

Our dancer must have the metabolism of a super-caffeinated gerbil.

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Maybe we were indirectly involved in what had unfolded. That little Nikon “chuckshoock” in the wind is sometimes all it takes to alert a budding star that someone’s watching.

See that glance over her shoulder?  It was, in fact, a question:

“Didja catch all that?”

I caught it, Sweetie.


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On Making Bread

“I would say to housewives, be not daunted by one failure, nor by twenty. Resolve that you will have good bread, and never cease striving after this result till you have effected it. If persons without brains can accomplish this, why cannot you?
’Housekeeping In Old Virginia’ Marion Cabell Tyree ed. (1878)

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Bread baking is one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world’s sweetest smells…there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel. that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.
M. F. K. Fisher, The Art of Eating, (1990)

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In Paris today millions of pounds of bread are sold daily, made during the previous night by those strange, half-naked beings one glimpses through cellar windows, whose wild-seeming cries floating out of those depths always makes a painful impression. In the morning, one sees these pale men, still white with flour, carrying a loaf under one arm, going off to rest and gather new strength to renew their hard and useful labor when night comes again. I have always highly esteemed the brave and humble workers who labor all night to produce those soft but crusty loaves that look more like cake than bread.
Alexandre Dumas, French writer (1802-1870)

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“The first time I ate organic whole-grain bread I swear it tasted like roofing material.”
Robin Williams

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God made yeast, as well as dough, and loves fermentation just as dearly as he loves vegetation.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

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Bread is the warmest, kindest of all words. Write it always with a capital letter, like your own name.
from a café sign

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Honest bread is very well – it’s the butter that makes the temptation.
Douglas Jerrold (1803-1857)

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“The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight…”
M. F. K. Fisher, The Art of Eating, (1990)

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“You can travel fifty thousand miles in America without once tasting a piece of good bread.”
Henry Miller, American writer (1891-1980)

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“Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea?”
Frank McCourt, Angela’s Ashes (1996)

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Good bread is the great need in poor homes, and oftentimes the best appreciated luxury in the homes of the very rich.
A Book for A Cook, The Pillsbury Co. (1905)