A Gadget Polygamist

I never wanted to be ‘That Girl.’ That Girl on the train with an iPhone, a Blackberry, an iPad and her MacBook. That Girl who checks three devices as soon as the plane lands. That Girl who just has too much gadgetry. I always wanted to be a one device, simple, monogamous gadget whore. My Blackberry has been the only device welded to my hand for 10 years. I hate touchscreen because my fingers are like breakfast sausage. “I will NOT get an iPhone!” is what I have been arguing for 5 years now.

I can blame it on Dijit or Qik or any other mobile application that I’ve represented in the past 3 years. I can blame it on my fiancé who got me the Kindle Fire for my Birthday. I can blame it on wanting to keep my music separate from my email which I also wanted to keep separate from my banking and social networking.

There’s no one to blame. I’ve become a Gadget Polygamist. I can’t stay loyal to one device anymore.

I’m now ‘That Girl.’

I worked with a gadgeteer at Ogilvy PR in NYC who in 1998 declared that one fine day, we’d all have a chip installed in our brains so that we could talk on our phones pretty much anywhere without looking like a total idiot. Today that chip might come in handy.

I have the iPod Touch so I can utilize my clients’ apps. I have a Toshiba Ultrabook because I fell in love with it at CES (well, that and I left my old laptop on some airplane on January 20). I don’t have email on the Kindle Fire so I can actually get through a book without interruptions. And then my trusty Blackberry. We go everywhere together. I used to just shove my phone in my pocket. Now I have a bag to carry it all.

I used to make fun of people that paid with their coffee with their phones. I used to balk at technophiles who could do their job from just about anywhere with all those devices. My brother-in-law even texted me proudly when he finally gave up his Blackberry for just his iPhone. Yeah, yeah, whatever.

The truth is, I’m in denial. I have so many gadgets because I plainly refuse to give up my Blackberry. RIM has not a lot of market share these days and a crapton of problems. I know, I read the news. I’ve grown up in the world of communications with my constantly blinking Blackberry and I don’t know how to move on.

Maybe Apple will build an iPhone that looks like a Blackberry. Maybe Android will give us many more enterprise-level features in the future. Maybe someday I will part with my beloved Blackberry. We’ve been through so much together.

Don’t get me wrong. No matter what non-Blackberry smartphone I choose in the future, my techie soul will always be searching to check for that little Blackberry red blinking light.

“That Rosie has been worshipped more than any other cat. Even Pharaoh cats in Egypt.” +Xandy Sussan

I met my first love at a party venue. There were many other women there just like her, but she was the only girl who wasn’t fussing and complaining. She also wore a sash that read: ‘As advertised on the radio.’ Well isn’t that special, I thought to myself (To this day, I still wonder what the radio ad was all about). While the other women were dancing in their cages, my girl was just chillaxing, and ignoring the other dames who were making a fool of themselves. This woman’s individuality, wisdom and confidence stole my heart and we’ve been together ever since.

That was my first experience with Rosie Daisy Petunia (who we’ll from now on refer to as Rosie). She was a pound kitty and the above tale pretty much describes the conditions when we met. Except instead of a nightclub, I met my first love at the Van Nuys Animal Hospital in August of 1993.

It’s now 18 years later and I had to make the very hard decision to let my baby girl move on to her next destination in the clouds yesterday. I’ve had time to prepare, but it still sucked in a way I can't really describe. Rosie was the most stable thing in my life for 18 years. Even though she was pretty much a cranky bitch the whole time, anyone who spent time with Rosie could see her magic, her compassion and funny sense of humor.

I’d like to personally call out a few friends who have had a special connection to my Rosie because I know she’d want that. Let’s see, first Jen and Alicia for the Post-Its and warm laundry to nap in. Then there’s Katy, Annie, Susie and Steve who all took care of her at some point after Graduation from Loyola. Thank you to Lori for welcoming Rosie into her home without a second thought when I was in transition. Thank you to Taj, Xandy, Carol, David, and Lyn for always taking care of Rosie while I was on business trips.

Rosie had developed many nicknames over the years: Rosie Daisy Petunia, Pancake Head, Mesopotamia, Mertunia, Baked Potato, Merzilla, Rosie Posie, Stinkyface, Big Bootylicious, Squishyface, Heehoobunzicals, Big Girl, Ladyface, Rosalinda, Toonies, Tooniebuns but mostly, I called her just Petunia. Like Cher and Madonna. Just Petunia. She was the diva of all divas.

Part of my soul went with Petunia to Heaven yesterday when we laid her to rest. I’m hoping that God’s house has plenty of Post-it notes, cat treats and a warm blanket for my baby girl. I’m on my way Petunia, it’ll just take me a few years. I know you’ll wait for me.

Swept Off My Feet

The first time I made the voyage to Las Vegas for the Consumer Electronics Show, it was 2001 and I saw Bill Gates speak from the front row and Craig Barrett’s keynote was followed the a performance by The Blue Man Group. I drove to the event from Los Angeles where I was Account Executive at Ogilvy PR and I stayed with a local high school friend to save money on expensive hotels. I was an innocent bystander in 2001. No clients, no major announcements, not a damned thing but a love for technology and an even bigger drive to be at the center of it all. I came home with great stories and really couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

See what lovely memories I have of CES in the early days? No mention of exhaustion. Not a lick of stress, no bitter stories about bad cab drivers or ghetto-fabulous hotels. All sunshine and puppies.

The second time I went to CES, I was launching U3 with SanDisk and M-Systems. We had press conferences in the North Hall, the booth was in the South Hall and I stayed at the Flamingo off the strip. When I got back home to the Bay Area, I had 6 blisters and didn’t walk for a few days. My feet were killing me in a way that I never imagined before.

And the third time I attended CES, I was launching Destinator in the U.S. with Bill Hankes. We gave limo rides to journalists to and from the Las Vegas airport. This was a brilliant PR campaign, and if they demos of the software actually worked, I might not have needed to walk for miles and miles across the show floor. I was smart that year. I brought 4 different pairs of shoes for the 4 days I was there. I still came home with 7 blisters.

Flash forward to ten years later and seriously, all l I can think about is my feet. How will they ever bounce back from the annual beating that is the technology industry’s annual lovefest? I’m unclear.

My old friend and former co-worker from Ogilvy PR (the same delightful girl who dipped her salad!) is now on the PR team for Seagate and as she said via text this morning, ‘my feet ready to fall off’ and she’s been at it since Tuesday. As I was strolling down the strip with Tod Hunter and my family of blisters was staging a riot, I started thinking.

Maybe the CEA needs to start marketing proper footwear for 2012. Maybe I should invent some sort of shoe insert that will protect the 140,000 folks that grace the South and North Halls of the Las Vegas Convention Center. Because really, no matter how many different pairs of shoes you pack, no matter how Gellin’ you happen to be, your feet will fail you in this particular situation.

If you’ve been to just one tradeshow, you know that Murphy’s Law always makes at least one appearance. Your booth’s Internet connection will be sporadic. The power will flicker on and off. Your press materials won’t show up; or if they do, they’ll still have ‘Track Changes’ all over the place (I learned this one the hard way in 2003). It’s just absolute insanity no matter how prepared you are.

So you add miles of walking like a crazed technology lunatic and your feet start to become angry. “Um, yeah no. We’re not walking anymore, doll. Ain’t happening, so sit your sorry ass down.” This was the speech I got as I was working in the Dijit booth. I ignored the ranting and raving of my feet and kept on going.

I might recover by CES 2012. Doubtful. But you know I can’t wait.

Some Devil

I’m on a flight back to San Francisco from Chicago where I saw Dave Matthews close his U.S. Summer Tour at Wrigley Field last night. This was my 41st show, and they played #41 which is my favorite song out of their entire catalog. I have been known to do some crazy things to feed my healthy (yeah, right) addiction to one of the best bands of my generation. I attended my first Dave Matthews concert alone in 1995 at what used to be called Irvine Meadows. I flew to New York alone last year to see them open their tour at Madison Square Garden. I am going to Charlottesville in November because I want to see where it all began. I have seriously forked over more duckets than I care to admit just to see this funky band of extraordinarily gifted misfits. The answer is simple: that Dave Matthews is some gifted Devil.

Annie first introduced me to Dave Matthews in 1994 with the album Under the Table and Dreaming. We listened to the CD on repeat and I was hooked. Katy and I used to sing ‘Ants Marching’ in the car. Kate and I knew all of the words to ‘Too Much.’ ‘Crash’ was my song with Heather. I went to D.C. to see Dave with Siobhan and we sang and danced to ‘Everyday’. It was sweet to watch Kristen get all teary while still cutting a rug at her first concert. ‘The Idea of You’ is perfect for my 20 year old romance with Jen, the love of my life. I turned Erica, a hardcore Dave-hater, into a disciple after she heard ‘The Last Stop.’ Janet turned to me after her first concert in 2008 after just two songs and said ‘Okay, now I get it.’

I was there when LeRoi Moore passed away unexpectedly in Los Angeles in 2008. Dave opened the show and played a very heartbroken version of ‘Bartender’ that had the entire Staples Center in tears. That night we mourned Roi by playing all of his favorite songs. By the second night, Dave played all of Roi’s least favorite songs and that humor helped us all heal and accept that our friend Roi was gone forever. And then a turning point came. Roi’s passing caused a rift in the band and they took a year off. Thank God for Stefan Lessard who persuaded the band to stay together and then finish recording Big Whiskey and the Groo Grux King.

This album was a game changer. The millions of DMB fans who had been following them religiously and fanatically for 15-20 years doubled. Even Rolling Stone breathed a sigh of relief. Like this was the album everyone knew they could produce. Um, that’s just fine and all. But where have you people been for the past 20 years? These bad-ass bitches have been making killer music all along, but you just chalked them up to just another college band. Until now. Blasphemy!

Some idiot last night asked me if I had heard ‘Alligator Pie’ because he said “it’s the worst song ever.” I told him he needed a Q-Tip and then asked what else he liked. “Oh I like ‘Shake Me Like a Monkey’ and ‘Funny The Way It Is.’” This guy had never heard anything else from their catalog of music, but like most new “fans,” he thinks he knows everything because he’s now in on the Dave Matthews Band secret. I’m inspired by this new found interest in my boys and I’m so very thrilled that the rest of the world is finally getting it. Just don’t be talking smack when you’ve only heard 3 songs, or else Some Devil will get stuck inside of you. And you’ll never set it free. Trust me, that’s a very, very good thing.

Great Expectations

Back in October of 2008, when we were all debating about Sarah and John and Barack and Joe, I was not quiet about my skepticism about Obama. I thought he was a sham. A form of vaporware. A total joke of a politician, and I’m a liberal lesbian democrat. I wanted to believe in him. I wanted so badly to feel like he was a beacon of hope and that ‘Yes, we can.’ I wanted to adore a minority who worked hard and with his bare hands to be the grand leader he is today. But listening to him engage as a skilled orator makes me cringe even today.

As Maureen Dowd called him our Mr. Perfectly Unclear President, I seldom find any glimmer of shiny, happy and clear facts from his public speeches. His rhetoric is impeccable, but as a PR professional who can spot a pile of BS from a mile away, he’s totally full of excrement.

In Maureen’s recent article, she quotes: “Obama is the victim of the elevated expectations he so skillfully created in 2008.” Bingo! Nicely done, Miss Dowd. But let’s take it a step further.

Obama set his expectation bar so high in the clouds because Americans were dying of thirst for a prolific and gifted leader just like him. But because Dubya left our country in such a mess, that there is really no realistic way that we can bridge the gap between the past administration and Obama’s unattainable standards.

Obama is not a bad man. He’s not the best President we have ever had and he hasn’t made good on so many of his campaign promises. He’ll do for now, but deep down we all know that he’s just not good enough for the long haul.

Brands Are People Too

If you’ve ever been shopping with me, you know I’m a loyal brand follower. I like labels. The generic of just about anything drives me batty. Even as a kid, I refused to eat Blue Label products from Ralph’s. You know, the plain white bag with the blue stripe across reading: Chips. Very inventive. Doritos brand Nacho Cheese tortilla chips, please.

I know a label is just a label, but to me a brand label always means a guarantee of quality, effectiveness and well, trust. I trust that Tide will give me the cleanest clothes. I trust that Biolage will give me the best hair. I trust that a Volkswagen will last almost forever. I trust that Belvedere is better than Smirnoff. And I trust that anyone in the public eye won’t drink, do drugs, won’t have scandalous affairs or act like a total idiot on camera.

Oh wait, that last part isn’t entirely true. Brands are people, too.

In the midst of recent brand crises, namely BP, Toyota and Tiger Woods, I’ve changed my tune a bit. A golfing genius has a sex addiction? The hippie dippy Prius isn’t perfect? A corrupt company is in bed with the U.S. government? No way.

Even technology brands are raising my eyebrow these days. Why is Oracle partnering with Hollywood to make a connection between Iron Man 2 and enterprise software? Um, there isn’t one. Let it go already.

Are brands allowed to make mistakes? No. We expect them to be perfect. That’s why they’re brands for fuck’s sake. You don’t get to be Toyota because you make crappy cars. You get to be Toyota because you strive for perfection. Safety is always first. What’s best for the driver, the passenger, the end user, the customer, the member, the consumer is always at the forefront of every decision Toyota makes.

I know, I’m kidding. Brands don’t give a crap about us anymore.

Facebook is using our data without our permission. Tiger Woods slept his way across the globe and back, and still plays golf. Americans are still buying the Toyota Prius. Oil is quickly spilling by the gallon as I type this blog post 30,000 feet above the Gulf. Backlash? Ha, think again.

The American public seems to be strangely fussy about who and what we will forgive and forget about. Pee Wee Herman will never live down his movie theater mishap. Neither will George Michael. Yet, we somehow forgive Bill Clinton for letting Monica Lewinsky get the best of him. Strange.

We’ve all made mistakes. Not like whoops, I forgot my keys mistake. But, whoops, I didn’t mean to roll around naked with my best friend’s wife mistake. Brands make mistakes too. It’s all become a gamble of who gets caught. I wonder who will be next.

“I’ve just been quietly weaving my baskets under a bridge all this time.” +Kevin Spacey after winning an Oscar for The Usual Suspects.

I spend about 14 hours each day during the week working like a crazy banshee and 5 or so hours on the weekend. I’ve had loved ones threaten to hold my Blackberry hostage. Sunday and Tuesday are starting to feel the same. I’ve conducted a PR miracle while in a moving car, not driving of course. Sometimes 2:11 am is the only time I can talk to my International clients. If I’m not thinking about my little family of technology companies even when I’m sleeping well then, I’m not doing this right.

Hello, my name is Teena and I am an entrepreneur. I have no life.

Okay, maybe a little. But not much.

Just like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, I’ve been using this little pick for the past six months or so. Focused, tenacious and modest. A little bit every single day. Thank God I’m not lazy. But starting, running and growing a business takes dedication, a strong work ethic and who am I kidding: an obsessive personality. If I didn’t love my job and I didn’t make it my personal mission to find the right formula of PR for my clients, then I would have nothing to think about all day long. And we all know that boredom is for the small minded.

Some days, I feel like I’m running an International PR Hostel for the most interesting travelers. Other days, I just want the phone to stop ringing so I can hear myself think. Most days I’m getting results for happy clients and can’t imagine doing anything else.

Now that I’ve reached my one year goal in a mere seven months, I’m already thinking about hiring and expanding. See? I’m a true entrepreneur. Can’t just settle for success. Must. Obsess. Over. Next. Move.

When we first met, I used to think Peter Shankman was crazy. The man never slept, loved his job more than women and had more energy than anyone on earth. Including me. It’s over a decade later and I now truly understand why Peter is so successful. He does PR his own way, the right way, differently. And he never stops. People think he’s nuts and he embraces the notoriety like a warm blanket on a chilly night.

I am honored to join the ranks of the quiet basket weaving, highly motivated and successful entrepreneurs of my generation. And it’s okay if you think I’m crazy. You’re probably right.