Dave Caolo

There’s an article in the New York Times about Bing, Microsoft’s would-be Google search killer. What’s odd is that the entire piece is about Microsoft’s choice of the name “Bing,” and says nothing of the service’s functionality. From the article:

“…And if Bing turns into a verb like, say, Xerox, TiVo or, well, Google, that would be nice too. Steven A. Ballmer, Microsoft’s chief executive, said Thursday that he liked Bing’s potential to ‘verb up.’ Plus, he said, ‘it works globally, and doesn’t have negative, unusual connotations.’”

“Google” was meaningless to its millions of customers upon introduction. So was Xerox, Kleenex and others. They became synonymous with what they do because they do so very well.

Part of what I do for a living is write. The other part is read. Much like a red-assed baboon who can’t shower you with palmfulls of shit until it has filled itself with starchy zoo food, I can’t do the writing without first completing the reading.

Years ago, I’d drive the Dodge Dart to the mall, flush with paper route money to buy a novel. Slowly moving from shelf to shelf and aisle to aisle, I’d look at each book in turn. Once I made my selection and paid the patchouli-scented cashier in the Ramones T-shirt, I’d refuse a bag so that I could hold the book itself as I walked back to the Dart.

At home, I’d go into my room and read every word. The cover, the jacket, the reviews on the first few pages. The introduction and the author’s bio.

Mmm, starchy zoo food.

With each chapter completed, I felt smarter. Hell, I was smarter. My vocabulary increased, I considered ideas that weren’t native to Scranton, Pennsylvania. It was lovely to have the time and inclination to do nothing on a Wednesday evening but read.

Today I read in bursts. Press releases are a great example. “Dear iPod vendor,” one might begin. It’s the personal touch that I appreciate. And the fact that I’ve never sold an iPod. Next comes what I call the “parade banter.” This is the type of tripe that’s typically passed between Matt and Willard during the Macy’s Parade. The copy that makes the “Suite Life of Zach and Cody” writers say, “For the love of God, shut the fuck up.” Finally the pitch goes on for at least 1,200 words.

While that’s long-form torture, Twitter is like the spray of a sawed-off shotgun, each pellet a 140-character projectile, and the shooter is the fastest in the west.

Chick-chick, POW! Chick-chick, POW!

The thing is, I love being shot. I love the techy articles. I read them all day and then … well, and then I attempt to have a meaninful conversation. Or I sit down to write someting here and the cursor asks, “Got anything good up there, Davey? Your colon full of starchy zoo food?”

The answer is no. I don’t have 3,500-word thoughts anymore. I have 250-word thoughts. I blame the reading. The reading feeds the writing. I picked up Sputnik Sweetheart by my man Haruki Murakami and intend to sit on the bed, turn off the tweeting and read something that isn’t a pitch, has more than 2 sentences and maybe, just maybe, generates some new brain cells. Because right now I could really use some more.

There’s a hill in Dickson City, PA that overlooks Scranton. At the top sits a Denny’s. Many years ago, my father and I were walking from the restaurant to our car, looking down on Scranton. I saw cars driving in every direction and asked, “Where are all those cars going, dad?”

“Oh,” he said, “That’s people living their lives. They’ve all got destinations to get to, people to meet, things to do. They’re just going about their day.”

Since then I’ve been fascinated with people’s stories. Even today when I’m stuck in traffic, I think about the people in the other cars. Are they going to visit someone who’s dying of cancer? Are they off to pick up eggs and milk? Is there someone waiting for them at the airport? Did they just get the best news of their life? Where are they going?

Then I’ll think of why I’m in the car at that moment and how important my life’s events seem until I realize that I’m only a single line on a single page of the enormous tome of human existence.

With this podcast, I’ll explore those stories. Each episode will feature a conversaiton with one person I admire, respect, know or want to know, edited down to the best 20 minutes (I once heard that a conversation experiences a natural pause at the 20 minute mark, so that seemed a logical place to end). Here is episode 1: Jeannine Luby. Enjoy.

What, Ged?

There’s a great post at LifeDev today, “6 Things I Do to Stay Creative.” I recommend reading the whole thing, so I’m just going to focus on item number one for now, “Find inner peace before starting tasks.”

I’ve got one of those minds that’s like a manic gerbil in a wheel. I also tend to get overwhelmed with stress. Recently, I started listening to “8 Minute Power Meditation” by David Harshada Wagner [iTunes link] before beginning the task(s) of a large project and it’s worked wonderfully. I approach the table feeling confident, positive and enthused. Glen at LifeDev says, “…with an empty mind, I find it much easier to produce some creative output.”

I agree completely.

Photo via jon.nelson on Flickr

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