People lie! They lie about the bliss of rural relocation. They lie about the size of fish they catch. They lie about being there for you. But, mostly, they lie about bats! Such a silly thing, yet no one can admit the ugly truth. “Bats only come into your house. It never happens to me,” friends say. Liars!
Evidence to the contrary exists. Bat visitations have occurred regularly in all three of my country homes. Each was a different style house, in a different town with different surroundings. No way am I the only person this is happening to! I’ll believe the annual summer bat inundation isn’t a part of normal life when butter is fat free and Smucky’s Electric gets back to me with that wiring estimate they promised just prior to the Mammoth die off.
One of my sisters in particular gets a kick out of telling people I am a witch attracting bats to my home like anorexics migrating to the Cannes Film Festival. She does it to be ornery - a competitive sport in my family. Of course, I could get even by pointing out right here in my very public essay that she is my OLDER sister by a DECADE. However, I am too peaceable and well centered for such adolescent behavior. Besides, you are here to learn another fine country skill - the Bat Ejection Technique (BET).
Lesson 1 - Why BET
Rural dwellers should all master BETs. Realtors will never admit to the Coloptera inundation plaguing the West. Property values would tumble! Amidst all this denial, a seamy cover-up has formed. Copies of Bat Removal for Dummies are burned at country BBQs and members of the Society of the Dead Elk deliver bat traps to farms under cover of darkness.
As my town’s resident City Idiot, I chose to break ranks. If Cidiots are not taught to deal properly with winged rodentia, both will suffer. Bats will be ‘baseballed’ into walls with brooms. If not, Cidiot homes will overflow with wiggling blankets of screeching critters. Folks will be driven back to the burbs in droves. Quite selfishly - I need newbies to stay in the country. Please don’t leave me alone out here! Take notes.
Lesson 2 - History of the BET
For whatever reasons bats enter homes in pairs. My hypothesis is; one holds the dog door open while the other flies through and vise versa. Attempts to document this behavior have been hampered by the presence of innumerable dogs kissing my eyes shut when I stake out the laundry room floor. Nonetheless, like bats to Noah’s ark, they arrive by twos.
Throughout history Novice Bat Ejectors dispelled unwanted intruders with the pacifistic Zero Interference Technique (ZIT). For a true ZIT open all windows and doors and cower on the floor waiting for the bats to fly back out. I researched the effectiveness of this method at my first country home. There are three problems with this technique:
Bats never leave as easily as they enter. A person could learn Arabic before the ZIT clears matters up.
Heat leaves houses quite quickly resulting in cold ZITs.
Bats tend to turn up in the middle of the night. Sleep deprivation is a direct side effect of ZITs.
Lesson 3 - Modernization
Athletic newbies frequently combine the open window/door approach of a ZIT with a more proactive approach. They jump around with a blanket in an attempt to herd bats outside. This is the Comforter Herding Ejection Technique (CHET). A good CHET take two people. Even then CHETs are hard.
Bats do not know they shouldn’t fly around the blanket.
The technique is rendered totally ineffective when your husband, who is suppose to hold the opposite side of the blanket, does a “stop, drop and roll” every time he spots a bat from thirty yards away.
At night neighbors can see you, but not the bat. So there you are running amuck in your PJs. The doors and windows are wide open as you spiraling over furniture with your flag-like fabric in tow. Meanwhile your underwear-clad man is having what is apparently some version of repeating epileptic seizures. And you, you cold-hearted bitch, you just keep on dancing.
Lesson 4 - BET Evolution
Bat invasion number three of year number two was a turning point for me. For some bizarre reason I was washing the morning dishes. We must have been out of coffee. Obviously I was not quick-witted enough to get out of dish duty. Suddenly, I heard the high-pitched chatter of a bat straight over my head.
The space over my cabinets is where all my gigantic jelly-making kettles are poised. Grabbing the step stool, I hovered near and listened. Something was in my stoneware - dark, like a cave, the crafty little bugger. Please, don’t let it get airborne. I have to go to town this morning, I thought. There was no time for the traditional CHET dance.
My cerebral light bulb clicked on. Hey, It’s easier to catch bats when they aren’t moving. A Nobel Prize for would be mine. Apparently washing dishes has some net value after all. I slid a plate over the stoneware rim and took my captive out side.
Plate removed, an upside-down shake and plop. The bat was on the ground. I watched for a moment making sure my son’s devil cat did not turn up. Finally, the bat orientated itself and flew off with chatter. Dam, I’m good, I mused. Then I turned and took two steps towards the door. Gasp! Leap! Curse!
Something bad hit my bare foot. Reflexes took over. I went for a field goal. Another bat had been in the jar. Curse! Hebbie Jebies! Will I never learn? Twos, always twos! Scratches, tiny claws on my foot - it was all to early. First dishes, then this.
The traumatized bat landed several feet away. It took a good five minutes before the winged menace recovered enough to fly off. Headed for town, I left a note for my son. “Finish the dishes.”
Lesson 5 - BET Mastery
I learned two things that morning. First, generic dish soap sucks. Second, a motionless bat is the best bat to catch. Chasing them in flight is a fool’s game. In retrospect Samuel, my Great Pyrenees, had attempted to point this out earlier that spring.
Hearing one of the midnight riots, I ordered all my dogs out. There was no need to look for the cause. I knew by then what the combination of barking and a synchronized chase meant at 1 a.m. Ho hum, more bats in the house. The other dogs complied. Sam however stood there looking sleepy, stubborn, sad and guilty.
Anyone who owns a Pyrenees knows this is their natural state. Just as I demanded, “Samuel, go!” I spotted the diminutive little wing sticking out from under his massive front paw. Here Mom, a motionless bat is the best bat to catch. He is a genius!
BET Summary
Grab a teacup or the aquarium net and a saucer
Wait for a landing
Cup/net over the Bat
Saucer or magazine carefully slid under
Out the door it goes
Hee Haw! With practice you’ll be back in bed before the underwear-clad epileptic knows your gone. You can BET on it.
The preceding was an excerpt from the scathingly wicked satire Bitch Unleashed: The Harsh Realities of Goin’ Country. A free e-book copy of Bitch Unleashed is available on Nola Kelsey’s web site at www.NolaKelsey.com.
TIME FOR A PAMPER
As a parent, many of you will be aware of how little time we have to really take time out of the normal slog of life and pamper ourselves. Much of the time is spent ferrying our children to various activities. Energy is used hollering and shouting at them to do their homework, tidy their room, stop the fighting, turn down the music. Just sorting out the tidying of bedrooms normally uses a serious amount of energy, what with all that threatening and hollering and waving of the Hoover stick in their faces. To say that I am a lucky mother in terms of how disgusting their rooms are not is certainly a privilege. As I will not allow vermin in any shape or form to reside in my habit. On occasion, I may offer my boys a little advice as to how to keep their rooms habitable. They may rant and rage about not wanting to tidy up, but I won’t bow or bend to their whims and do their rooms for them.
I have often watched television talk shows where mothers are stupid enough to show themselves up on national tv by admitting that they feel defeated when it comes to getting their kids to tidy their rooms. I have often been left disgusted when I hear them talk about the state of their children’s room. (Send them back to the West Indies, my mind would usually holler - cause there’s no way any slum could dwell in a household out there). Often times I have pondered what I would do if I were in the position of these particular mothers. Could I force myself to venture to tidy my children’s’ bedrooms as surely I would have to be vaccinated beforehand. As always these women are even more stupid to let cameras into their places of abode to show the state of their infected habitats. (um..did you give birth or did you have a lobotomy? - no camera will be venturing into my place unless I’m being offered a total refurbishment with swimming pool) Often these rooms resemble a tramp’s secret hide-away and forbid you ever took the authority to detox their room, you might be mildly surprised to find the amount of vermin which had taken up residence in the most awkward of places.
I digressed slightly, but my point’s been made. Anyway, other than the usual housework and other numerous jobs we as parents have on our list the thought of finding the time to treat ourselves is a privilege in itself. The nearest I get to anything like this is to grab a quick dip in a bath of luke-warm water at some crazy hour of the morning. This is because the kids were usually securely tucked away and in the land of nod. The indulgence therefore would lie in the fact that there would be no knocking on the bathroom door, to talk to mummy about what they had for lunch at school that day or to tell me that they wanted to spend “quality time with me” - (not at 1am in the morning you’re not).
I’ve been planning to treat myself to one of those really luxurious pampering weekends for the longest of times now. The difficulty I have here, though, is where does one get the confidence and spare money to enter such exotic establishments looking the way I do. Being a housewife and mother does not necessarily put me in the most elegant of categories. Dressing in jeans and tee-shirts, with cellulite hanging off my chin like a beard, dark circles decorating my eye area and a pair of legs that had seen better days on a cockerel - I doubt very much if I would’ve been let into any professional establishment. The only place that would readily accept me would be the slaughter house on a ranch out-back in Australia. I also realised that I would probably have to sell the husband on the black market in order to finance this rather “rich” treat, as generally any extra income would go on extra food for my two fast growing boys. But I was resolute, the time had come for me to have “Me time” and no-one was going to stop me - not even the cellulite and obscene amount of body hair that covered my body.
In the past I’d used a plethora of excuses for not treating myself. Embarrassment was high on my list. Finances was also a major factor and then their was the rather more obvious fact that my rather wayward body had decided to spread its wicked self in a rather awkward and horizontal position. So one day, after a bad night in front of the mirror, and an endless amount of pouring of tears, whimpering and screeches of “oh my god, oh nooo, where on earth did that grow from”, I decided there and then to do something about the state of my body. Liposuction was no longer an option, the situation was serious. I then decided to go for it, and to venture on the road of self-rehabilitation. Surely, if I did not take the opportunity now to tidy myself up I could well imagine the following scenario in years to come. …………….
THE YEAR 2050
I’d be found in Mista Braffet’s Sanctuary for De Helderly. At 80 years old, I’d two teeth less of totally gumless, bald as a baboon’s butt and laughing and rocking wildly in a chair, minus all body hair. I can well imagine what you all must be thinking. Minus all body hair aye? - what sort of decaying pervert was she? Ok, explanation due. The cause for lack of body hair would stem from the fact that I was too cheap and busy with my boring miserable life to pay a visit to a professional beauty parlour and any form of pampering had been administered by “Moi” Madam Scrooge. Therefore over the years I had proceeded to do a home job on myself with a match, a couple of pain killers and a plank of wood wedged in my mouth. To say waxing would’ve been a much more pleasant and painless experience is an understatement.
BUT BACK TO THE PRESENT
There were many things I would have to consider before I could even contemplate venturing into any sort of health and beauty establishment. First and foremost, I would need to get rid of the excess amount of body hair which covered 90% of my physic. It had been a long time since I had shaved and if I remember correctly, the last time I did this with a manual shaver, I almost lost an arm-pit. So the shaving thing had stopped for a while. I even remember the times when I used to sit and twist the hairs up my nose for hours on end, during school holidays as I immersed myself in Mills and Boons and Barbara Cartland books.
Anyway, I began to hallucinate about my pending trip, I fervently hoped that the adults who would be serving me and looking after my every need would be really nice people. I hoped that they would not be quite so mean and that I would be able to walk into a Beauty Parlour, smile, strip off and the hair thing would not be a problem.
But hey ladies, this year is ME year so it’s time to be daring and positive. I may even get my eyebrows plucked until they are like…all gone. Might even draw them back on with a coloured crayon. Yep, draw them back on a totally different plane, say from the tip of your ear to about 5inches above your eyebrows. I’ve seen it done by many women and they carry themselves as if they are really “sexy”. To be quite honest they generally resemble something out of Star Trek, but it seems to pull the guys. Knowing my luck I’ll attract a member of the male species and be cursed to spend the next twenty years sharing a cardboard box with a tramp under Charing Cross bridge with a couple of rats and beer bottles. And my pet name would be “Brow Babe”, so maybe I’ll leave the eyebrow thing alone.
So I think I’ll go pack myself a weekend bag, book myself into a 5 star Hotel somewhere on the other side of England and have a thoroughly good pamper. The kids are now at an age where thy can survive on beans and toast until I decide to grace them with my presence and who knows, I might just get a little adventurous and get a shot of botox in my lips.
Taken from Laugh at Life with Me (Some More ) - From a Little Bajan Woman’s Perspective
ISBN: 0-9545918-1-x
Esther Austin All Rights Reserved May 2002
About the Author
Esther Austin is in her late thirties and is of Barbadian parentage. She is a published author of comedy, poetry and inspirational books, published under Think Doctor Publications Ltd. She is website Director of www.caribbeanwoman.co.uk. She has two boys, lives in London and loves going to the theatre, loves writing, eating out, playing football, and generally being physically active.
“Where are your bananas?” It seemed like a logical question to ask. For all of my forty trips around the sun, bananas were a key item to place in the grocery cart. For the first time I could recall, the banana bin was empty. So I asked a store worker where the bananas were.
“We don’t have any,” he replied. “We’ll be getting some in tomorrow.”
It took me a few moments to absorb this information. “What do you mean you don’t have any?” I thought. “Every store has bananas.” True, sometimes they are almost green enough to pass for bent cucumbers. And they occasionally appear to have lost an arm-wrestling match with a watermelon. But there are always bananas of some sort in the store.
Then it dawned on me just how foolish my expectations were. I live well north of New York City. Even if somebody invented a way to cultivate them in the Great White North, it was early April, and they would not bear fruit at that time of year. For goodness sake, outside the snow was falling and inside I was expecting tropical bananas!
If you commute in a big city, you might have noticed traffic grinding to a halt. Why? Look to bananas for the answer. Just as I was frustrated by my grocery expectations not being met, millions of commuters are frustrated daily by their traffic expectations not being met.
Consider some of the major machines in your life, such as television. Twenty years ago, we would watch a TV show. Ads would come and ads would go, but we would watch it from start to finish. Who does that these days?
“What were you watching, honey?”
“I dunno. But I think I caught 412 channels.”
And if ever you should lose the converter … I know, I know, this is a family publication, so we’ll cut the profanity.
And what about the Internet? If a web site takes more than five seconds to load, where are we?
“Did you order that book from Amazon for me?”
“I dunno. But I think I reached warp speed with my clicking finger. Ouch! I think I sprained it.”
If fancy TV gadgets and high-speed Internet feed our impatience, what about car ads? Vrroooooommm. See how fast this car can go? Wow. It does zero to 60 in 5.2 seconds … in the ad. And zero to zero in half an hour stuck on the Santa Monica Freeway.
As we expect our machines each day to break yesterday’s speed record, our cars seem to be slowing to a crawl. That’s because more and more people are squeezing onto the same road space trying to zoom faster and faster and honking their horns louder and louder (because we all know that cars move faster when their horns get honked, right? Especially when they get honked LONG and LOUD, right?).
Is it just me, or is this poor math? A realist would expect traffic to get a little slower each year, which just proves how rare realists really are. Every one of us expects to move faster and faster.
And I expect bananas on the store shelf even when it is snowing outside. So what can we do? Easy, we can grumble and complain. We can shout abusive words at store clerks and other drivers. We can honk our horns (not recommended in the fruit section).
Or we can step back and ask ourselves logical questions about what we should realistically expect. For instance, “Can I really expect bananas on my grocer’s shelves in the middle of winter when I know the truck is stuck in traffic?”
What a pleasant man that Rick Stein is. Only the other night, as I tucked into Mrs Holmes’ latest offering and flicked through the channels before settling down with his show (yes, another TV dinner) was I really made aware of this.
Pleasant-ish anyway. He seems a little heavy handed with his ingredients at times -when they’re still alive- for my taste but I’m not overly worried by this. I think that’s just twinges on my part because I’m still feeling guilty about falling off the vegetarian wagon. The pheasant shoot he went on recently still sticks in my throat however.
Last night, he was waxing lyrical about an upsurge in the nation’s enjoyment of Cornish sardines. When called pilchards, there was no demand, no call for them. But Cornish sardines are a whole different kettle of fish entirely. (Well, no they’re not, they’re the same species.) It would appear the name change has added romance and flavour.
He quite often enjoys going to the source of his dishes. Last night’s programme involved a trawler trip. I just wish he hadn’t pawed the fish, held them aloft, whilst they were still alive. The dreadful flapping and the bulging eyes were a little off-putting. I think this particular fish was wishing to god it was still called a pilchard. Less demand, more time in the sea, it reasoned. Not unreasonably…
I think it’s his evident enjoyment in the whole cooking experience that I find so endearing. An obvious enjoyment, whilst remaining wholly down-to-earth is a winning combination. No airs and graces, no nouvelle cuisine, just a man with a pleasant manner and a straightforward recipe.
I was still pondering this today when I came across a snippet of information regarding Jamie Oliver. In many ways, the antithesis of Rick Stein. Tempting though it is, I’m not going to unleash on the boy. He’s got a lisp, he’s the perfect example of a mockney, but it’s all been said before. Let’s leave it. The information regarding Mr Oliver was apropos the Sainsbury’s adverts he’s starred in. “Starred” here is the operative word. How can someone, though undeniably a whizz in the kitchen, become a personality? It seems very strange.
As Stephen Fry said, upon winning Celebrity Mastermind: “The word of the epoch: Celebrity.” You can’t have celebrity chefs any more than you can celebrity plumbers. But of course, once the bourgeois have sunk their teeth in, logic spirals out of control. They adore posh nosh, therefore we have celebrity chefs.
I digress. Jamie Oliver and Sainsbury’s. The “Jamie effect” as Sainsbury’s themselves have called it, has boosted their profits by £153m. You can’t say fairer than that.
Whilst we’re on the subject of celebrity chefs, Rick Stein aside, one other I have a lot of time for is Kevin Woodford. Though more high profile than Stein, he has also retained some basic human qualities such as humour and a lack of pretence. Speaking of Kevin Woodford also allows me to regale you with something very funny I read in Loaded several years ago.
One of their writers was over on the Isle of Man and had popped in to The Waterfront, Woodford’s flagship restaurant, only Mr Woodford wasn’t in the kitchen that particular day. As the Isle of Man has very strict laws regarding homosexuality (basically, don’t, regardless of your age) the writer, John Perry considered that perhaps the celebrity chef had gone back to the mainland “where his moustache would raise less suspicion.” Very good. Wit and a damning indictment on homophobia all rolled into one.
These chefs do serve one useful purpose though. Highlighting the fact that it’s ok for blokes such as me to potter around the kitchen without fear of ridicule. We can experiment to our heart’s desire. And whilst we’re on the subject, I find it delightful that my stepson is doing cookery at school. He has no choice. It’s part of the curriculum. Breaking down the barriers of stereotyping is always a good thing. (I’d rather I hadn’t had to try his scones out last week though.)
This is the only use for celebrity chefs though. Allowing men into the kitchen is too large a price to pay for having them on our screens so often. You may remember I spoke earlier of Rick Stein causing a fish to flap about with bulging eyes. It rather reminded me of the chefs themselves.
© Copyright Holmes Charnley mmiv. All rights reserved.
About the Author
Freelance Journalist based in Devon-UK. For more examples of my work, please visit http://www.articles.me.uk. The two most recent pieces have been published in The Guardian (UK broadsheet.) Pieces also accepted by Jack magazine.
Have you ever had someone come to your door and want to share their religion to you; sounds really nice doesn’t it? Indeed, they love their religion and their rendition of their God so much that they are willing to share their psychotic state of bliss with you and your family. Isn’t that just grand? Well then how do you get rid of them?
Should you be polite? No, actually if you really want to get rid of them you need to show a little hostility. That is so unfortunate, as normally you would never treat anyone that way. But if you want to get rid of them you must be forceful or they just keep coming back again and again. But you must be semi-polite and say;
“I really wish you folks would stop harassing me, I have my own relationship with Jesus Christ and I am very happy and so could you please leave me alone?”
Next, point to your neighbors who you like and tell them you have;
“Discussed this harassment with the Smith’s, the Jones’ and they also feel as I do.”
And if you have neighbors you cannot stand tell the Bible Thumper pushy SOBs that;
“Over there at that house the husband is an alcoholic and they are atheists and really need to find God and if you could help them get thru their problems you would certainly be doing God’s work. I would really appreciate it if you could help them thru their family and life crisis, thank you so much in advance and please do not give up on them, we must help them, God would want us too!”
This type of method has always worked for me to get rid of these bible thumpers. If you tell them you do not believe in a God or Gods or that you are an atheist or like religions which do sacrifices or are a devil worshiper, you might think this will work, but some of these nut cases will believe you and make you their personal challenge and you will never get rid of them. Consider this in 2006.
“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; http://www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/
Poor Pete Rose, the tireless slugger who the execs of the game kicked out because he was caught bet-handed. How many hears must the remorseful soul twist on the rack of their self-righteous protection of the reputation of the sport?
Is it not past time to have mercy on the once-mistaken Pete, The Gambler, and make a redemptive place for the extraordinary accomplishments of Pete, The Player?
So we do wish the commissioner of baseball would come forward and announce that Pete’s punishment is over, with, of course, the politically correct reminder that if he bets again all bets are off.
If the commissioner will at long last go to bat for the slugger, he may once again manage and, after a suitable period of bet-free behavior, gain his very well-earned place in The Baseball Hall of Fame.
Tom Attea, creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “”delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”
In the kingdom of childhood relationships, Gary carried the mantle of authority and leadership amongst the children of the block. He was fond of seeing how far he could stretch his rule, and testing to see how devoted the little people of this territory were to his suggestions, no matter how ridiculous the request. Gary had a real knack for convincing others to do stupid things, while making it seem like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. One afternoon, while playing in the back yard, a neighbor boy named Steve, noticed the nice ripe patch of black raspberries growing beside the garage. Unfortunately, Steve happened to mention to Gary how much he loved raspberries, which instantly provided an opening for exploitation.
“Oh, you like raspberries a lot?” asked Gary, sinking in the hook.
“I love ‘em! They are my favorite fruit. Can I pick some?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” replied Gary, as he cooked up his plan, “These are some pretty special raspberries, and my parents don’t like us to pick them. I suppose I can let you have a few of them, but if I’m going to risk getting into trouble for picking raspberries, I want you to help me with a little experiment.”
Having been duped many times before, Steve was suspicious, “Experiment? What do I have to do?”
“Your part is easy,” said Gary with confidence in his voice, “I’ll pick the raspberries, and all you have to do is let me see if I can flick them down your throat without touching your tongue. Do we have a deal?”
Steve thought for a moment, trying to figure the odds of this experiment going right with each attempt. He was not sure about the consequences, but his love for raspberries tilted the decision in favor of going through with the experiment. After Steve agreed to participate in the “experiment,” Gary went to work in harvesting a select handful of ripe berries.
Before the experiment began, Gary explained the parameters to Steve, “All right, my task here is to try to flick these berries down your throat without touching your tongue. If I miss, you are allowed to chew up the berry before you swallow it. Do you understand the rules?”
“Yes,” Steve answered, nodding his head.
“Okay. Open your mouth; now stick out your tongue as far as you can. Tilt your head back a little. There! That’s perfect. Ready?”
“Uh huh.”
Using an adept thumb in an action much akin to shooting marbles, Gary began flicking his handful of raspberries down Steve’s throat with excellent marksmanship. As each berry hit the back of his throat, Steve made a pronounced “Goom!” sound as he swallowed the fruit without being able to chew it at all. As the pile of precious fruit began to dwindle, Steve started to lament how successful the flicking experiment had turned out to be. When Gary reached the last berry in his hand, Steve closed his mouth, rubbed his throat, and raised an index finger in a point of protest.
“Please, do you mind if I taste just one?”
“Well…Okay; here you go, Buddy,” replied Gary with the magnanimous benevolence that only a true leader can display. He handed Steve the smallest berry from the bunch, and ensured himself a place as ruler of the kingdom for the times yet to come.
John Dir
Director of Software Concepts
BHO Technologists - LittleTek Center
Teaching computers to work with people. We make software more fun for everyone. Stop by for a visit to our web site, and see what a difference ITL technology makes!
HTTP://home.earthlink.net/~jdir
Funny, I don’t usually watch E! TV, and my boyfriend watches it even less, but when I went in to the living room last night, to my astonishment he was watching the TOP 50 Fashion Do’s and Don’ts. The show was well done, with some wry humor here and there, and managed to keep my interest. But I was saddened by one of their fashion don’ts — the schrunchie.
Now how am I supposed to wear my hair when I haven’t washed it, or worse when I haven’t gotten a haircut in six or seven months or years?
As you may have guessed, I’m no fashion guru — never have been. There was a time in my life when I went barefoot and wore torn bell-bottoms, but those were the hippie days — after the first couple of years, I stopped getting looks. In fact, at that time I considered anyone who followed fashion to be some sort of brainwashed, bleating sheep — I just couldn’t understand it — the worst perpetrators of this ‘Simon says’ mentality were the quote unquote hippies themselves. They were supposedly going against the status quo, but wouldn’t be caught dead with the ‘wrong’ hairdo and they always sneered at my makeshift purses too (ahem).
That being said, in my older, now wiser years, I have come to understand the desire for fashion and I appreciate it, especially if it is packaged elegantly. But I still don’t have the time or money to dress well. I told you how I dressed in the 60’s but, I have to confess, you’d do a double-take at some of my outfits even now, in fact, especially now. Sometimes I will be in a store, and it is only after I’ve gotten a couple of odd looks that I realize I’m wearing those really comfortable ‘khakis’ that land right above my ankle, with my socks showing and my really old and very puffy sneakers that make my feet look yet another couple sizes bigger than the 9’s they are, poking out grandly.
I would have made a great guy. I really don’t care when people look at me, starting at my feet and traveling incredulously up to see whose face wears these clothes. They always avert their eyes if they notice me catch them; and it’s kind of funny watching them trying not to laugh, especially if they have a cohort nearby. I think it might have upset me when I was younger, though I’d have brushed it off by exclaiming how rude, how arrogant and how snobbish of them. Now I laugh and make a note to tell my sisters next time I wear these pants to their house that I wore them out to the store.
Francesca Goldston is a writer, living in Atlanta, happily surrounded by three cats and one sweetheart. She is currently writing a murder mystery, which she manages to avoid working on as much as possible by submitting articles and blogging at the web site noted here:
http://www.writingup.com/blog/justthinking
“What is your New Year Resolution?”
This was perhaps the nth time I was asked this question.
Considering the progress we make every year on these resolutions, what kind of. People look at me as if I am some strange creature when I say I do not frame any resolutions. Let us take them as it comes, I feel. What say?
Actually speaking, most of the New Year’s resolutions are all about mental and physical health. A wise voice within, that knows what’s best, which keeps urging us onward, rises with enthusiasm on New Year’s Eve and makes us commit on these resolutions. But as the year passes by, this wise voice disappears and leaves us alone to struggle with these resolutions.
How nice it would be if this voice speaks up all the year round and guide us so that we would learn to listen to it all the time and not just at the turning of the year.
New Year Resolutions are all about analyzing our negative
tendencies and nipping them in the bud, they say. We find that most of the resolutions we make are mostly physical, like reducing weight, or related to lifestyle changes or changes in our habits. When we make these resolutions, we sound as if we are determined to fulfill them all by the end of the year and continue to stick to them through our lifetime. But how many of us make attempts to fulfill these resolutions and come out successful?
The New Year Resolutions has also got its “Top 10″ list.
1. Attempt to lose weight.
2. Quit a bad habit like smoking for example.
3. Plan a budget
4. Save or earn more money
5. Look for a better job
6. Become more organized
7. Exercise more
8. Be more patient at work/with others
9. Eat better
10. Become a better person
I would say that eating better is the only easiest resolution in the “Top 10″ list, which can be followed with enthusiasm.
If anyone asks me, my take would be “Why commit to such difficult and breakable resolutions? Instead try easy ones like watching more TV serials, eating more food, reading less, take up new habits, and thus resolve to do what you like best, and not try to please others by doing what they want!
Joke apart, it is easy to make or break resolutions. Resolutions are actually made to overcome our negative emotions, nip them in the bud and become more determined and conscious of all our hard work and efforts and reap the fruits out of them. The ideal path is to analyse our weaknesses, make simple and easy resolutions and see that we not only fulfill them but also continue to follow the path till end of life.
Losing weight or finding a better job or any such simple resolutions can be made any time of the year and need not be counted in the New Year Resolutions List.
Instead, if we try to frame resolutions, which will enhance our personality, a determination that help in making the world look at us in a different perspective as a human being who is fully worth living along with a society, doesn’t it sound good?
Considered a vital link in a show’s promotional plan, direct marketing is vital only if it’s done right. It’s certainly not as simple as typing a letter, adding an address and stamp, and popping it in the mail. Direct marketing specialist Debbie Bermont, president of San Diego-based Source Communications, offers her golden rules for creating that vital, highly successful direct marketing campaign.
There are some key golden rules to making your direct mailings work effectively. That doesn’t mean that you have to spend more money in order to succeed. Far from it. In fact, you could find yourself spending less — or at least spending more strategically — than you may be doing at present. Here’s how:
Mail to Mr. Right
There’s a simple but very clear distinction between junk mail and direct mail. Junk mail is mail that isn’t wanted. Direct mail is something that goes to the right person and is wanted. One major key to the success of your direct mailing is to find the right people to mail to. If you are working on a follow-up show, then targeting the people who signed up last year would be a good place to start. If it’s a new show or a new list, your first job is to start with a research phone call to find out who that right person is. Even if you’re using last year’s list, it is still worth a telephone call to check that your information is up to date. Don’t ever rely on anyone passing your mailer on — it just won’t happen.
Boost Your Letter
Once you’ve found out who to send your letter to, your next step is to make sure that your letter works to its maximum effect. Write it as a one-on-one dialogue. Beware of using industry lingo that your prospect may not understand. Keep your paragraphs short and sweet — no more than seven lines. Break up your letter into clearly defined subheads. And keep it to two pages in length.
Make All Your Copy Benefit-Oriented
List the benefits so they are easy to understand. And remember that a benefit is a lot different than a feature. Features do not have the clout that benefits do. For example, stating that “10,000 people attended our show last year” is merely a feature. Write it in the context of a benefit: “You can have the opportunity of making 10,000 qualified contacts in three days,” and you’ll start making the impact that you want.
Repeat your offer at least three times throughout your letter: in your headline, within the first two paragraphs, and again in your closing paragraph. You can also include it in a “p.s.” Last, but not least, tell your prospects what the next step is and tell them to do it today. Also include details of where to go for more information. Your goal should be for the recipients to immediately respond to your letter in a positive way.
Make an Impact
Your mail piece must stick out from all the rest. Yours will not be the only piece of direct mail that lands on your prospects’ desks today. The more you can do to catch their attention, peak their curiosity, and urge them to open the packet, the better.
One particularly effective way of doing this is to make your packet lumpy. For example, you can include Post-it notes or candy (but never candy that could melt!). Make it even more appealing by relating your insert to your offer or your message. For example, insert a bite-sized Pay Day candy bar along with the message, “Every day’s a Pay Day when you exhibit at the ABC Show!” Another idea is to affix large plastic aspirin capsules to your mailer with the message “Don’t let this be another headache for you!” Or include a card with a telephone ringing along with the note “Give us a call today!”
Whatever your insert, make your message clear, make it novel, make it fun, make it useful, and make it one that leaves a warm fuzzy feeling — not confetti. All that does is leave a mess!
Too Good to Miss
Create an offer that can’t be refused. This may be a limited time offer (the expiration should never be longer than 60 days), or an offer that sets you apart from your competition, such as a better location or a bigger booth size with early sign up. Whatever the offer, the incentive has to be sufficiently appealing to inspire immediate action.
Remember that there’s no point in offering an outstanding incentive if no one knows about it. So in your direct mail piece, make this offer clear, easy to understand, easy to respond to, and relevant for your audience.
Easy Does It
Make it as simple as possible for your prospect to respond to you. The most effective option is a fax-back form with quick and easy response sections. Other possibilities are a toll-free telephone number, a postage-paid reply card, or a Web site. The Web site might not necessarily be your direct response tool, but it is certainly very effective as an additional interactive vehicle for obtaining more information about the show.
Follow up by Phone
Whatever you send out, make sure you follow it up with a telephone call to close the sale. You’ll see single digit response rates quickly turn into double digits as a result. Whoever makes those phone calls must be professional, courteous, and well-informed of the details of the show and the benefits of exhibiting.
Printing Essentials
There are plenty of ways to save money, time, and mistakes when it comes to your direct mail bottom line — and all without compromising quality or quantity. Here are a few ideas to consider:
- Save money with a printer. Pick a printer that will work with you — not necessarily the one that offers the lowest bid. If you don’t, you could end up sacrificing both quality and money.
- Get at least three estimates from three different reputable printers.
- Ask to see samples of their printing quality.
- Remember that you can always negotiate a price (typically between 10 percent and 20 percent off of the price they first quote you).
- For small print jobs buy your paper at a discount paper warehouse and avoid the printer’s markup.
- Always supply a very detailed purchase order that includes all the details that could be problems: price quoted, ink colors, paper specs, space requirements, quantity, etc.
- Make sure that you see a final proof before the job is printed.
- When possible, supply the printer with a sample of your final art as a guideline.
Mailing Tips
Not only does a little know-how help with your printing procedures, but in your mailing too.
If you want to save dollars, use third-class or bulk rate. You can save more than 70 percent of your postage cost if you can afford the slight time delay that bulk rate demands. Deliverability of bulk rate mail is between three and 10 days, but depending on the city, it can be just as fast as first-class.
Make up a sample package in the early stages of your preparation and take it down to your post office to check that it will go through the mail system without any problems. You don’t want to find this out after you have printed 30,000 pieces!
Consider using a mail house to handle and sort your volume work. It can save an enormous amount of your time for a relatively low fee.
Concerned about the image of mailing bulk rate?
You can buy third-class stamps, which make a much better impact than a metered bulk rate mark.
What’s the key to your direct mail?
It’s the synergistic effect of multiple hits — whether that’s by mail, telephone, e-mail, broadcast fax, or an inexpensive postcard reminder — which will ultimately make the impact and make the sale.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Written by Susan A. Friedmann,CSP, The Tradeshow Coach, Lake Placid, NY, author: “Meeting & Event Planning for Dummies,” working with companies to improve their meeting and event success through coaching, consulting and training. Go to http://www.thetradeshowcoach.com to sign up for a free copy of ExhibitSmart Tips of the Week.
