In defense of ugly jackets

(Or, if I were Hillary Clinton’s speechwriter.)

Do you see this jacket? It’s an Armani jacket. [beat]

I got this at the Goodwill for $12.50.What do you think it retails for? $5,000? $7,000? That’s what Donald Trump pays for his designer suits. [beat] [audience boos]

$10,000? No. It retails for $12,495.00. [beat] [audience boos]

But I paid $12.50 for it. Why? Because it’s ugly. I went to Goodwill and I had so much to choose from, an abundance of jackets, but I chose this one. Why? Because it was the most attractive one there. [beat] [audience laughs]

Would you wear this jacket outside the house? No. Nobody with good taste would. It’s warm, I’ll give you that. And roomy. Look how roomy it is. It’s well made. It is an Armani, after all. But it’s ugly. Not only wouldn’t you wear this outside the house, you wouldn’t wear it to a job interview.

Yet that’s what most of you, our working women today, have to choose from: ugly, uglier, and ugliest. [beat] [audience laughs]

You work hard to feed your families, to keep a roof over your heads. You sacrifice your needs for your children the best you can. You might go without eating because you gave the last of it to your children, without sleeping because you’re working two jobs to make what a man would make with one job, without love because you’re too tired to invest yourself in a relationship with a person who loves you. But no matter what you sacrifice, it’s never enough, is it? [beat] [audience shouts NO]

The light bill has to be paid. You’re living paycheck-to-paycheck because you aren’t being paid the same as the men and you look for a future where you fight to be paid what you deserve. You’re more qualified. You’re being overlooked and overworked. You decide—because you are a powerful woman who can set her own path [beat] [audience cheers]

—to find a new job. A better job. A job you deserve where you will be valued and paid what a man would be paid for the same job. You have an interview and now you have a dilemma: You don’t have appropriate interview clothes. You spent the last you had to feed your children and your next paycheck isn’t until next Friday.

So you borrow a few dollars and head to the thrift store to find an interview outfit. You look and look and look and you realize that your best option is … this.

This well-made designer jacket that retails for $12,500 but was given to Goodwill because it’s ugly and does not project the image of the powerful women you really are. It doesn’t say, “I deserve this job because I’m the best qualified.” It says, “I’m a schlub.” It doesn’t say, “I deserve this job because I’m calm, cool, and collected and can manage crises extraordinarily well.” It says, “I’m useless.”

You know the value of a dollar. You have to because you aren’t making as much as men do for the same job, and minimum wage just isn’t enough to feed your family anymore. I have dedicated my life to ensuring that all hardworking Americans have the chance to succeed, no matter their circumstances.

I have led the charge for equal pay for equal work. [beat]

I have expanded access to early childhood education and healthcare. [beat]

I have worked tirelessly to raise the minimum wage and advocate for out-of-work Americans because I believe that every American should have the right to achieve economic security and income opportunity. [beat]

You’ve been in this ugly jacket for too long. You deserve better than this jacket. You deserve to be paid what men are paid for the same job and you deserve better than minimum wage!

The perfect bookstore v.3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Eight years ago. EIGHT. 8!!!

I wrote this: The Perfect Bookstore.

Six years ago, I wrote the followup: The Perfect Bookstore

Today, my good friend Nate Hoffelder, digital maven and my occasional partner in crime, pointed me to this:

Paris’s first on-demand-only bookshop.

Point-by-point similarities:

  1. The concept itself
  2. The coffee shop
  3. Its location near a college

Best part?

Meriot said he needs to sell about 15 books daily to break even.

That’s a margin even I didn’t foresee.

Les Presses Universitaires de France storefront

Come with me, will you?

—into a deep, dark well of pain, obsession, and love; corruption and murder; lawyers, guns, and money; politics, sex, and lies.

There are no monsters here but flawed and wicked humans. There is no magic here but dark love and aching desire. There is no alternate universe here but an imaginary county in a very real city operating under its own rules.

There are no helpless, hapless ingenues here, but beautiful, mature, brilliant women who kick ass. There are no alpha male billionaires— Oh, wait. Yes, there are. My bad. They’re bad, too. Dominating, one might say. If one were saying.

Come with me, will you?

—into a world you may love or you may hate.

Hopefully both.

What is it about this game

kansas-city-royals-logo-in-white-background-for-iPhone-6-Wallpaper-500x889that compels people to reflect and grants epiphanies like a fairy godmother?

Thirty years ago, I was at the KC Royals parade after they won the World Series. You know, George Brett. Bret Saberhagen. Those guys.

I didn’t care about baseball much before or after that, not that I was ever anything but a fan-in-name-only because I didn’t understand the game. A childhood watching Little League and trying to figure out radio announcers’ jargon tends to blunt one’s enthusiasm.

And then there was college and life and the strikes and the juicing and the Congressional hearings and who wants to get into baseball when they threw a big temper tantrum for a game that’s all fake anyway? You want more money for your steroid injections? Fuck you.

Somewhere in the last decade I was vaguely aware it had cleaned itself up. Or, at least, I knew everybody was playing and that the Royals were a losing team. All. The. Time.

Last night, I was talking to Dude, who taught me more about baseball during the ALCS last year than I have ever known or suspected could be. I wasn’t interested in learning anything about it until the Royals won the ALCS last year.

This year … Well.

As the season has gone by and I saw them winning, I could start to see why they were winning. Little things. Doing what they did in 1985. The correlation of strategy is spooky. Being nice guys (the Royals recruit for nice guys, you know; not one bad boy amongst ’em). Good to their women, good to their kids, nice to their fans.

But not pushovers. The Royals started the season being the Bad Boys of Baseball. Why? Because everybody else came into the season with a hateboner for them, and they will clear a bench as fast as George Brett and pine tar.

So everybody settled down and played ball. They don’t depend on home runs. They take every possibly viable opportunity no matter the consequences. They shoot through the target, not at it. “Hacking” at the ball. Stealing bases. Having lots of good pitchers. Hitting the wall, even if it tears your ACL. Baby steps. Or, as I found out last night, “Playing the game 90 feet at a time.” They have fun.

As I watched, listened, and read, the Royals managed to give me something I’ve been needing my whole life.

  • .366 is the best batting average ever.
  • Run for the grass line past first base.
  • It’s okay to hit the wall and tear your ACL.
  • Hack at the ball.
  • Steal bases.
  • It’s okay to play 90 feet at a time.
  • Hit the fast balls.
  • Change up the pitcher. And the pitches.
  • Home runs are rare and special.
  • Have a deep bullpen.
  • Have fun.

So I was telling Dude, who is/was a Dodgers fan, by the way, about the parade I went to in 1985 and I started to tear up. I don’t know why.

But I was there 30 years ago and if they win this year, I’m going to be there and take my kids. And I’m going to tear up. And I won’t know why. And my kids will have that memory like I have mine. And maybe they’ll get to take their kids.

 

The value of knowledge

Knowledge is power. Time is money.
Knowledge is power. Time is money.

And this is where slogging through Number One’s crazymaking was worth this gem: “You paid for your training in sweat, money, tears, and sometimes blood. Why are you giving it away?”

As some folks know, my day job is formatting ebooks and designing print books, and otherwise helping authors get where they want to go in the world of self-publishing. I consult with nonprofits, corporations, and churches to manage their in-house publishing divisions.

Occasionally, someone will come along who wants my help, and they start picking my brain about general things because they don’t know where to start and the plethora of information on the internet is almost as bad as no information at all. No problem. I like helping people, answering their questions. After all, there are people who handed little nuggets of wisdom down to me when I didn’t even know what questions to ask. The companies who hire me pay for all this advice.

However.

There comes a point where the potential client is not picking my brain so much as trying to learn how to do my job. I can always tell when they get to that point because they’re asking specific formatting questions, but they’re not asking the right questions.

This is where I stop responding to their emails.

This summer was difficult for me work-wise. So when a potential client continued to email me to mine my brain after I’d already invested several hours in him, I stopped responding because I simply didn’t have any more time to spare for him.

And then I got a nasty note berating me for not helping him. He did offer to pay for my “exclusive time,” but not until after he’d had his say.

This is where my viewpoint differs from Number One’s. I don’t feel like I’m giving my knowledge away for free, I feel like someone is trying is trying to steal from me. They don’t value my knowledge, my time, or my skill, therefore, it’s fair game.

Coincidentally, today I went googling for a user’s manual for a 40-year-old tool. It was online, free, a scan of the original user’s manual. I don’t know who did that, but I will be forever grateful.

Knowledge comes with a price. In my case, it was time. I don’t mind donating a little of it, but time (like money) is a finite resource. My family has to eat. And sometimes, an hour makes a big difference.