A friend shared this poem by Robert Frost as I was launching my public relations business. I’ve memorized it, because I think it’s important to store beautiful words in my brain for nourishment. These days, I memorize passwords or directions, and very few words for the simple pleasure of recall. I hope to commit more verses to memory.
Never Again Would Bird’s Song Be the Same
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds’ song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
I loved Frost’s depiction of the influence of Eve, the biblical first woman, and her influence. That’s what drives me, makes me passionate, the quest to have an influence on others. Eve wasn’t just softly eloquent, as she is portrayed in this poem. She persuaded Adam to try a new product, the fruit from a tree. She was the first advertising genius, using the power of her gender to sell. Or at least, that was his excuse for trying the apple. “She told me to do it.” Caveat emptor, Adam.
On TV at the gym today, a pro basketball player, doesn’t matter who, called another player a “master of panic.” I’m not exactly sure of the phrase, because it was closed caption, and later the phrase was repeated as “master Hispanic.” But I’ll go with the first one — master of panic.
An image-obsessed business knows how to tame panic like a pro. Managing a company crisis is as important as managing day-to-day customer relations. Public relations revolves around thriving in times of calm and times of chaos. A master of panic may feel fear, but he uses his own panic, and the panic of others, as rocket fuel. Control freak = adrenaline junkie = master of panic.
The planet won't save itself, you know.
Protecting the environment is so important, isn’t it? Of course. But, don’t make it cost too much, and make sure when I do something eco-conscious, everyone notices, OK? We buy stuff, and a lot of that stuff is, well, stuffed, into paper and plastic bags. Which of course, looks bad, once all those bags have served their purpose. And it’s so much easier to worry about the accumulation of useless bags than it is to worry about the acquisition of stuff. Much the same way that we obsessively worried a decade ago about disposable diapers in landfills, rather than everything else in the landfill, or landfills themselves. Glad to see the disposable diaper business is still strong. I haven’t had much luck with incorporating reusable shopping bags into my mass consumerism routine. I keep forgetting to put them in my car, forget to get them out when I’m at the store. Etc. I finally found one I’m using over and over again, by Blue Q. Got it at Central Market in Dallas. www.blueq.com I enjoy the smirks from shop clerks.
Cancer is back in my life, only this time it’s not in my breast. It’s STILL breast cancer but it has moved to my lungs and my bones. I am being treated at Sloan-Kettering Memorial Cancer Center in New York City. I’m going to take a break from maintaining my blogs and tweets and focus on spending time with my husband and my son, and improving my health.
The Elinor Munroe Film Center at Lincoln Center opened this weekend. Event tickets were free. I got two to a lecture on cognitive film theory by Antonio Damasio. The title was “Brain, Self and Cinema” and was sponsored by the Film Society of Lincoln Center, which gave out free sodas and bags of stale popcorn (but thanks just the same).
Damasio is a professor of neuroscience, psychology and neurology, and director of the Brain and Creativity Institute at the University of Southern California. Here are some of the insights he shared. Continue reading
From the Los Angeles Times, a story about a data breach affecting Bank of America customers on the West Coast, which probably explains why there wasn’t much coverage on the East Coast. This LA Times photo is of Andrew Goldstein, whose bank accounts were drained of $20,000 by a fraud ring. The crooks, using insider information, accessed enough information about him to order checks, forward his phone calls, and request money transfers from one account to another. Regional bank fraud is no less worrisome to customers than nationwide bank fraud. Shouldn’t all Bank of America customers be told about this? And shouldn’t they hear it from their bank first, instead of a newspaper article?
in Terrence Malick’s new film, Tree of Life. That’s my view of his character, Mr. O’Brien, the father to three sons growing up in the 1950s and ’60s Texas. The concept of God and eternal life is omnipresent. The movie has several scenes in a church, from a funeral to a Sunday service to Pitt sitting alone in a pew. But what makes Mr. O’Brien so godlike is how he appears to his sons. He’s the teacher, the father who teaches you how to fight, because he believes you are definitely going to need it, and the head of the household whose absence at home is more typical than his presence. Robert De Niro did a better job of explaining the movie. De Niro, head of the jury at Cannes that awarded the Palme D’Or to the film last month, said “Most of us felt it was the movie with the size, importance, intention … whatever you want to call it, that seemed to fit the prize.” Most of us. It’s not a movie that everyone will say is great. It’s not a perfect movie, but perfection lives within it. The Village Voice review by Nick Pinkerton made it seem irresistible. I’m glad I sat in a sold-out theater on a Sunday afternoon in May and watched it unfold.