I wish corporate America understood non-profit culture a little better. In the strange, circular way the universe sometimes operates, there's a fairly sizable portion of the corporate world that depends on the business of non-profits and NGOs to stay afloat. But NPOs and NGOs don't run on the same fuel (i.e. profit) that corporate America does, which means the latter is sometimes left scratching their collective head over what their non-profit clients want, or why they may not have landed a particular non-profit account after making a pitch that seemed, well, pitch-perfect.
When it comes to attracting business, marketing yourself well is key - the same goes for attracting donors in the non-profit world - and corporate America understands that very well. They just don't seem to realize that the vast majority of non-profit employees and managers care a zillion times more about getting their message out as far and wide as possible than they do about which company is going to bend over backward the furthest to get their business.
My "bat cave" (I don't actually have an office, I have about 1/3 of our reception area, sectioned off with various pieces of strategically-placed furniture, which a former co-worker took one look at before deciding it looked enough like Bruce Wayne's secret lair to warrant the nickname.) is regularly deluged with marketing freebies. Sure, the pens can be useful and the super-bouncy mini foam football is a good prop for pretending I'm Toby Ziegler when I have writer's block but for the most part, the gimmicky giveaways do me absolutely no good. Same goes for lunch with a corporate service provider who slips and reveals, halfway through the meal, that he actually has no idea what my organization does after working with us for nearly a year. I'd rather have eaten a sandwich sitting at my desk, thanks all the same.
What would do me a lot of good and have me taking a second look at the company, rather than rolling my eyes and practicing my trash can jump-shot, is a company that sends me a letter (better, an email, since most of us progressive non-profit types are suckers for saving the environment) letting me know they've just made a donation ($5, $10 - whatever that ridiculous pad of paper-cum-magnet I've got 20 of cost you to have produced and shipped) and would like to talk about what they can do for my cause. Because, hey, I care about what I'm doing. And I'm much more likely to listen to your ideas on how I can do it better if you seem to care about what I'm doing, too.
With very rare exceptions, the non-profit world is made up of people whose bottom line is wanting to make a difference - we're definitely not here for the money, and we're not going to sign a contract with a consultant or service provider based on the perks they're willing to offer us. We're here because we believe in something, and we want to pull together the voices of everyone who agrees with us while standing up and saying to whatever authority applies, "Hey! People care about this, and they want you to make it happen - we'll help you do it!" If a company not only offers a good product but seems to say "You know, I like what you're doing, keep up the good work," they're on my short list of go-to firms pretty much immediately. Whereas the company that's sent me two expensive, overly-packaged, overnighted gimmicks with business cards tucked inside this week is not likely to ever convince me to sit down and talk to them.
Isn't one of the first rules of Business 101 knowing your customer? Well, corporate America, getting to the heart of a non-profit is easy: know and like what they do. Bonus points if you click "donate now" or "take action."
Friday, August 28, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
"Democratic, progressive and patriotic" Senator Kennedy
Ted Kennedy is a name I've heard for as long as I've been alive, since well before I understood anything about American politics.
Although he was the second most senior member of the Senate and 77 years old, his remains the face that represents the progressive movement in my mind. He came of age in an America that was segregated, where women left the secretarial pool when they got married and where the GLBT community's existence wasn't even acknowledged. He was an upper-class white male from New England, more privileged than perhaps any other group in society, yet he fought relentlessly for the civil rights of every minority group in America throughout his career. What better role model - what better example of an American hero - do we have than one who advocates so fiercely for something for which he has no personal need and which can only serve to lower his own station in society?
Many people will write about Senator Kennedy in the days to come far more knowledgeably and eloquently than I can, but I came across the obituary written by LeMonde's Sylvain Cypel and was touched by the emotion with which it was written, so I wanted to share it with you. A translation of a portion of it follows:
Although he was the second most senior member of the Senate and 77 years old, his remains the face that represents the progressive movement in my mind. He came of age in an America that was segregated, where women left the secretarial pool when they got married and where the GLBT community's existence wasn't even acknowledged. He was an upper-class white male from New England, more privileged than perhaps any other group in society, yet he fought relentlessly for the civil rights of every minority group in America throughout his career. What better role model - what better example of an American hero - do we have than one who advocates so fiercely for something for which he has no personal need and which can only serve to lower his own station in society?
Many people will write about Senator Kennedy in the days to come far more knowledgeably and eloquently than I can, but I came across the obituary written by LeMonde's Sylvain Cypel and was touched by the emotion with which it was written, so I wanted to share it with you. A translation of a portion of it follows:
It is not only a major figure in American politics during the last half-century who has disappeared with the death, Wednesday, August 26th, of Senator Edward Kennedy, the result of a brain tumor. He bore a mythical name and inherited a family history that made him - reluctantly, he often gave the impression - a living symbol. That of a confident, peaceful, globally-minded America, conscious of honoring its laws and civil liberties; an America inclined to give priority to a diplomatic solution over a show of strength, yet never balking at giving a demonstration of power should the need arise. A symbol, thus, of a certain political left: democratic, progressive and patriotic.Beloved in the United States and around the world, Senator Kennedy's legacy is a refusal to accept any injustice, a demand for universal equality and a fighting spirit. Let's honor his memory by ensuring that his dreams for America come to fruition.
Kennedy: a name magnificent and heavy to bear. Magnificent because it is that of one of the most celebrated patrician families of New England. Heavy because his father, Joseph, the patriarch of the dynasty, suspected of having made his fortune thanks to contacts in organized crime, a democrat grown isolationist and anti-Roosevelt during World War II, had been sympathetic to Charles Lindbergh's group, America First, denounced at one time for its proximity to the Nazi regime.
A heavy symbol, above all, marked by fate. The two oldest brothers of he whom America called "Ted" were assassinated: John Fitzgerald Kennedy, JFK, in 1963, during a trip to Dallas, Texas, just three years after his accession to a White House to which he restored polish and strength. Then, in 1968, came the turn of Robert "Bobby" Kennedy, Attorney General, killed in the middle of his electoral campaign. Assassinations perpetrated under conditions and for reasons never fully resolved, but which would inflame global opinion, contributing to the creation of this "Kennedy curse," which Ted inherited...
...An acerbic critic of the tax cuts granted to the [nation's] wealthiest by the Bush administration and of its negligence after Hurricane Katrina's devastation of Louisiana in 2005, he was also an opponent of the American war in Iraq - he is one of the few to have voted against it from the beginning - to the point that former President George H.W. Bush asked him privately to curb the tone of his remarks. George W. Bush, however, always took care to be on the best of terms with Sen. Kennedy.
For this champion of the moderate Democratic agenda, whose every public appearance drew a crowd, was a great orator and peacemaker. He made respecting the structure of the American Constitution - its checks and balances - the cornerstone of his political philosophy. His first major speech as a senator, in 1964, concerned the Civil Rights Act that would lead to the abolition of all racial segregation in the United States. Defender of the weakest - the poor, women, the disabled, minorities, immigrants... - and an unapologetic reformist, over time Sen. Kennedy positioned himself as a man of principles and unrepentant pragmatism.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Kindle: Crave or Scorn?
We've already established that I'm a complete bookworm. Incurably, unrepentantly addicted to the written word, I am absolutely capable of sitting down (or standing up, or lying down, or leaning against something, or walking down the street) with a book and losing any sense of reality.
I've missed Metro stops, set alarms to keep myself from missing appointments, stayed up all night and skipped meals while in the grip of a particularly good story. I scribble in the margins to argue with historians about their interpretation of the facts, to underline possible foreshadowing and ponder what's to come, or to wonder why, oh why, Elinor Dashwood and her Edward can't get their act together. When the books that pull me in deepest end, I miss the characters (which is why I've read Scarlett and three different writers' takes on what came after Elizabeth and Darcy's happily-ever-after).
I struggle with the idea of ebooks and the handheld devices that hold them, like Amazon's Kindle. On one hand, it's great that you can carry around 1,500 books on the Kindle and as many as 3,500 on the Kindle DX - that's a library that would keep a librophile like me busy for several years (or in the DX's case, several more than several years!). On the other hand, a flat, cold screen will never have the same tactile qualities as a book: you can't fan back through the pages of the e-version of A Ring of Endless Light, stopping whenever there's poetry printed on a page, looking for your favorite of Vicky Austin's musings while your finger holds your place. You can't write in the margins. And when you eventually use up your virtual shelf space, you can't box up your older books and move them to the attic; you have to delete some, or buy a new reader.
Admittedly, the ability to easily travel with scads of reading material is worth some sacrifices. But there's one major sticking point for me that has nothing to do with missing feeling actual paper under my fingers: the Kindle and its sibling devices have access to the internet. Of course, they have to in order to download books anytime, anywhere, which is one of their major selling points. And what's the point of having a wireless device that's only capable of accessing one type of wireless information? But, quite frankly, I don't want to have the ability to look up directions, check my email or watch the latest CNN clips mixed up with my books. If I'm going to sit down and read, I want any interruption to be because I'm ready for one, not because I feel like - since I'm sitting with internet access in my lap - I've gone too long without checking for messages.
So I think I'm still an ebook hold-out. What about you, is Kindle something you'd love to have or want nothing to do with? What are your pros and cons?
I've missed Metro stops, set alarms to keep myself from missing appointments, stayed up all night and skipped meals while in the grip of a particularly good story. I scribble in the margins to argue with historians about their interpretation of the facts, to underline possible foreshadowing and ponder what's to come, or to wonder why, oh why, Elinor Dashwood and her Edward can't get their act together. When the books that pull me in deepest end, I miss the characters (which is why I've read Scarlett and three different writers' takes on what came after Elizabeth and Darcy's happily-ever-after).
I struggle with the idea of ebooks and the handheld devices that hold them, like Amazon's Kindle. On one hand, it's great that you can carry around 1,500 books on the Kindle and as many as 3,500 on the Kindle DX - that's a library that would keep a librophile like me busy for several years (or in the DX's case, several more than several years!). On the other hand, a flat, cold screen will never have the same tactile qualities as a book: you can't fan back through the pages of the e-version of A Ring of Endless Light, stopping whenever there's poetry printed on a page, looking for your favorite of Vicky Austin's musings while your finger holds your place. You can't write in the margins. And when you eventually use up your virtual shelf space, you can't box up your older books and move them to the attic; you have to delete some, or buy a new reader.
Admittedly, the ability to easily travel with scads of reading material is worth some sacrifices. But there's one major sticking point for me that has nothing to do with missing feeling actual paper under my fingers: the Kindle and its sibling devices have access to the internet. Of course, they have to in order to download books anytime, anywhere, which is one of their major selling points. And what's the point of having a wireless device that's only capable of accessing one type of wireless information? But, quite frankly, I don't want to have the ability to look up directions, check my email or watch the latest CNN clips mixed up with my books. If I'm going to sit down and read, I want any interruption to be because I'm ready for one, not because I feel like - since I'm sitting with internet access in my lap - I've gone too long without checking for messages.
So I think I'm still an ebook hold-out. What about you, is Kindle something you'd love to have or want nothing to do with? What are your pros and cons?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Beautiful Places: NoVA
I was 16 the first time I came to the mid-Atlantic, headed to Georgetown for three weeks as a Junior Statesman of America. Flying into Virginia's Dulles International Airport in early July, I remember thinking "It's so green!" For a teenager who has grown up surrounded by sand and palm trees, and whose concept of natural beauty is based on the mountainous landscapes of Montana, Northern California and Vancouver Island, a mostly flat, green, deciduous forest is fascinating to look at, but not particularly pretty.
I thought downtown Washington was beautiful, with its white marble and broad avenues; I liked the look and feel of the brick in Georgetown and its narrow, tree-lined streets. But looking out my dorm room window at the river and Northern Virginia on the other side just made me think about how uncomfortable I was every time I walked out into the sauna that is summer in the mid-Atlantic.
The Potomac looked the way the air felt: like very soggy mud you'd want to avoid whenever possible and wash off immediately if it happened to come in contact with your skin. The leafy cover provided by the trees reminded me that if I stood under any of them for more than 30 seconds, at least three of the five gazillion mosquitoes who love the area's shaded, damp scenery would inevitably find me and launch an attack.
When I came back to the area two years later for college, not much had changed. The Potomac was slightly less brown, and I did enjoy being able to watch the seasons change, but I still didn't see any innate beauty in the landscape. (With the exception of fall colors. "The leaves are changing color! On that tree, and that one over there, and...all of them! Look!" was pretty much my standard line every time I walked out the door in October, and my dorm mates from cooler climates spent the month laughing at me.) In the six years since, a love of the region has snuck up on me.
I lived in Alexandria my first year out of college, in a decent-enough one bedroom, the one thing about which I absolutely loved was the view. Most of the outside wall in my living/dining room was window, and overlooked the forested rolling hills between Alexandria and Mount Vernon. I didn't pay much attention in the summer, but once the leaves started to change, I would stand at the window and just look every day.
When I started running on the Mt. Vernon Trail, I regularly jumped at birds singing in or flying out of bushes practically at my elbow as I passed. And at the rustling of some small creature in the underbrush. And at the awful, sticky feeling when I was the first person through some of the morning's spiderwebs. My pace slowed by a good 15 seconds per mile on the stretches of trail that paralleled the river, as I watched the herons and ducks come and go and the occasional fish briefly break the surface with a splash.
I still approach potential spiderweb hotspots with caution, but I've stopped jumping at every other manifestation of the region's native species in my path in favor of appreciating them: on long runs, my first moment of levity in the morning comes from the bullfrog chorus I pass heading south; I gauge the progress of the season by the height of the cattails in a marshy Potomac tributary; I know where to look for ducklings to coo over in early summer.
Lately, I've begun to find even the morning haziness that's an omnipresent indicator of humidity in July and August beautiful (even if the humidity that causes it is still completely, disgustingly, damply uncomfortable). It adds a dreamlike sheen to the landscape and makes things like the doe and her fawn playing in a meadow between the river and the US-1/395 bridge this morning feel a little like reality has momentarily bumped up against a fairy tale. Northern Virginia will likely never be the first thing that comes to mind when I think of beautiful places, but it has a lush, green-and-pastel appeal that epitomizes all the best parts of Virginia charm, and makes you wonder if its roots might be in the landscape itself.
I thought downtown Washington was beautiful, with its white marble and broad avenues; I liked the look and feel of the brick in Georgetown and its narrow, tree-lined streets. But looking out my dorm room window at the river and Northern Virginia on the other side just made me think about how uncomfortable I was every time I walked out into the sauna that is summer in the mid-Atlantic.
The Potomac looked the way the air felt: like very soggy mud you'd want to avoid whenever possible and wash off immediately if it happened to come in contact with your skin. The leafy cover provided by the trees reminded me that if I stood under any of them for more than 30 seconds, at least three of the five gazillion mosquitoes who love the area's shaded, damp scenery would inevitably find me and launch an attack.
When I came back to the area two years later for college, not much had changed. The Potomac was slightly less brown, and I did enjoy being able to watch the seasons change, but I still didn't see any innate beauty in the landscape. (With the exception of fall colors. "The leaves are changing color! On that tree, and that one over there, and...all of them! Look!" was pretty much my standard line every time I walked out the door in October, and my dorm mates from cooler climates spent the month laughing at me.) In the six years since, a love of the region has snuck up on me.
I lived in Alexandria my first year out of college, in a decent-enough one bedroom, the one thing about which I absolutely loved was the view. Most of the outside wall in my living/dining room was window, and overlooked the forested rolling hills between Alexandria and Mount Vernon. I didn't pay much attention in the summer, but once the leaves started to change, I would stand at the window and just look every day.
When I started running on the Mt. Vernon Trail, I regularly jumped at birds singing in or flying out of bushes practically at my elbow as I passed. And at the rustling of some small creature in the underbrush. And at the awful, sticky feeling when I was the first person through some of the morning's spiderwebs. My pace slowed by a good 15 seconds per mile on the stretches of trail that paralleled the river, as I watched the herons and ducks come and go and the occasional fish briefly break the surface with a splash.
I still approach potential spiderweb hotspots with caution, but I've stopped jumping at every other manifestation of the region's native species in my path in favor of appreciating them: on long runs, my first moment of levity in the morning comes from the bullfrog chorus I pass heading south; I gauge the progress of the season by the height of the cattails in a marshy Potomac tributary; I know where to look for ducklings to coo over in early summer.
Lately, I've begun to find even the morning haziness that's an omnipresent indicator of humidity in July and August beautiful (even if the humidity that causes it is still completely, disgustingly, damply uncomfortable). It adds a dreamlike sheen to the landscape and makes things like the doe and her fawn playing in a meadow between the river and the US-1/395 bridge this morning feel a little like reality has momentarily bumped up against a fairy tale. Northern Virginia will likely never be the first thing that comes to mind when I think of beautiful places, but it has a lush, green-and-pastel appeal that epitomizes all the best parts of Virginia charm, and makes you wonder if its roots might be in the landscape itself.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
"Is that the apocalypse, or is it just my TV?"
I love when the media realizes how ridiculous it can be, and calls itself out. Or rather, when print journalists use some of their column inches to verbally roll their eyes at their TV cousins, as TIME's James Poniewozik - author of the title quote - does in the next issue, on newsstands August 10th.
Yes, this probably puts me over my quota of TIME references for the past month, but I had to laugh reading Poniewozik's "Media Freak-outs: Every Week is Shark Week" on the Metro this morning, and couldn't resist passing it along. (He starts with a quote from 30 Rock, but sounds like a professional throughout the column. What better happy medium between pop culture and serious journalism is there?)
In honor of this week being Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, Poniewozik relates our fascination with the fear, awe and occasional hysteria these animals inspire in us to the media's sensationalist treatment of issues that are not, in fact, the crises they're made out to be. "To live every week like it's Shark Week...might be a metaphor for living in our media environment," he says.
And Poniewozik is exactly right. A lack of education and comprehensive health care will have a much more - and certainly much longer-lasting - negative impact on your life than the inability to buy your dream home for a time because no bank will lend you the money. But the housing market is where the numbers are crashing and burning, and things that crash and burn are what keep the ratings up. Our education and health care systems have been going up in flames for years; that crisis isn't interesting anymore. At least not interesting enough to convince people to stay tuned for the 11 o'clock news.
I rarely watch actual news broadcasts because I absolutely loathe this kind of mass hysteria-inducing reporting that the ratings game fuels. I frankly don't care what issue makes an anchor pull out their "now this is really, really serious, folks" voice. I want the most up-to-date facts so that I know what's going on in the world (which, like, OMG, so totally does not include the status of Jon and Kate Gosselin's love lives as reported on CNN!), and I want to decide for myself what my reaction is. It's the job of commentators like Jon Stewart and Rachel Maddow to comment on the news; a news anchor's job is to report it.
And reporting is important. Even if the day's new record low or high percentage of whatever that the media is screaming about isn't high on my list of things to lose sleep over in the long run, it's still good to know. I could just do without the screaming.
Poniewozik recognizes that the media has gotten off track:
Yes, this probably puts me over my quota of TIME references for the past month, but I had to laugh reading Poniewozik's "Media Freak-outs: Every Week is Shark Week" on the Metro this morning, and couldn't resist passing it along. (He starts with a quote from 30 Rock, but sounds like a professional throughout the column. What better happy medium between pop culture and serious journalism is there?)
In honor of this week being Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, Poniewozik relates our fascination with the fear, awe and occasional hysteria these animals inspire in us to the media's sensationalist treatment of issues that are not, in fact, the crises they're made out to be. "To live every week like it's Shark Week...might be a metaphor for living in our media environment," he says.
[T]o spend every week titillated by unlikely threats, getting whipped into frenzies, yawning over high-minded stuff like health-care policy and supping from the delicious chum bucket of hysteria. The President is a secret Kenyan who faked his birth certificate! Terrorists are coming to get you! And the world is going to end, six different ways! But first a word from our sponsor.(This is where I started laughing, and attracted some nervous, sideways glances from my fellow Metro riders.)
And Poniewozik is exactly right. A lack of education and comprehensive health care will have a much more - and certainly much longer-lasting - negative impact on your life than the inability to buy your dream home for a time because no bank will lend you the money. But the housing market is where the numbers are crashing and burning, and things that crash and burn are what keep the ratings up. Our education and health care systems have been going up in flames for years; that crisis isn't interesting anymore. At least not interesting enough to convince people to stay tuned for the 11 o'clock news.
I rarely watch actual news broadcasts because I absolutely loathe this kind of mass hysteria-inducing reporting that the ratings game fuels. I frankly don't care what issue makes an anchor pull out their "now this is really, really serious, folks" voice. I want the most up-to-date facts so that I know what's going on in the world (which, like, OMG, so totally does not include the status of Jon and Kate Gosselin's love lives as reported on CNN!), and I want to decide for myself what my reaction is. It's the job of commentators like Jon Stewart and Rachel Maddow to comment on the news; a news anchor's job is to report it.
And reporting is important. Even if the day's new record low or high percentage of whatever that the media is screaming about isn't high on my list of things to lose sleep over in the long run, it's still good to know. I could just do without the screaming.
Poniewozik recognizes that the media has gotten off track:
Ideally, the media should help us place our worries in perspective. But often they encourage the disaster mentality by focusing on the trendy menace - the sleeper cell, the Obama-conspiracy e-mails, the pandemic, the shark - jumping on hot-button distractions and rushing to label every new crisis the worst ever.So in the world of the 24-hour news cycle, ruled by the cable networks, how do we get the media back on track and reporting on the issues that matter in the long-term, not just the crisis du jour?
Monday, August 3, 2009
Happiness is...
A variety of factors combined in such a way that I spent a lot of this weekend pouting: the weather was hot and disgustingly muggy, with random thunderstorms appearing out of nowhere (not that that's unusual for this time of year), most of my friends in the area were out of town or recovering from vacation and one of my closest friends on this coast - who still not only puts up with but actually feeds my Francophile-ness - moved several states south. I basically set my internal monologue to "whine" after my long run on Saturday and left it on repeat throughout the weekend.
That "there's nothing to do" mentality that, for me, accompanies this kind of pout-fest is one of my least favorite feelings in the world. I'm generally a pretty cheerful person, and getting stuck in that sort of mental funk drives me nuts (which somehow makes it worse, rather than making me snap out of it) and leaves me unfit company for anyone sane until it runs its course.
Fortunately, I woke up this morning in a much better mood and, despite being somewhat punchy from a morning run and commute in 85% humidity, I've been reminding myself of all kinds of things that put a smile on my face, which - surprise! - has succeeded in keeping one there. Here's my "happiness is..." list for today.
That "there's nothing to do" mentality that, for me, accompanies this kind of pout-fest is one of my least favorite feelings in the world. I'm generally a pretty cheerful person, and getting stuck in that sort of mental funk drives me nuts (which somehow makes it worse, rather than making me snap out of it) and leaves me unfit company for anyone sane until it runs its course.
Fortunately, I woke up this morning in a much better mood and, despite being somewhat punchy from a morning run and commute in 85% humidity, I've been reminding myself of all kinds of things that put a smile on my face, which - surprise! - has succeeded in keeping one there. Here's my "happiness is..." list for today.
- Emails and IMs from friends around the globe. (And I'm once again resolving to be a better email correspondent, as a result.)
- My new Tropical Kiss lipstick and Prim and Copper gloss, discovered a couple of weeks ago at an Origins "Healthy Happy Hour" that a friend of mine won. The plant-based formulas make me feel better about using them, and the zingy mint in both is a definite pick-me-up.
- Photos of friends and family. I have a gazillion photos all over my apartment, but don't always focus on them, since I've kept most of them around my living space for years. One of my all-time favorites is of me and Gina on our last day of middle school, yearbooks in hand, arms around each other and huge grins on our faces (my braces, her retainer and all). I looked at it while I was putting on a pair of earrings this morning and had to grin back at our 14-year-old selves.
- Summer dresses, which in my opinion are among the most comfortable articles of clothing in existence.
- The "early" crew at work. The first group of my co-workers in the office most mornings is a happy, laid-back bunch that never fails to put a smile on my face. Let me tell you, that's a great feeling to start the workday with.
- Pilates tonight!
- Splash Zone. I'm sure that makes sense to absolutely no one, so: it's a Linda Arnold CD for kids with songs about sea life, from "That's a Habitat" to "That's A Moray." My niece sings the songs virtually non-stop, and I woke up with "Hold On and Go With the Flow" stuck in my head. Yes, it's a little odd for a 24-year-old to walk around humming "Hold on and go with the flow. That's what the rocky shore animals know!" but memories of my niece singing it at the top of her lungs are superimposed over the lyrics, and are hilariously cute.
- Nala's random sprints around the apartment, chasing a toy she's just found and had forgotten about.
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