BlogHer: Postmortem '12

     A week and a day have gone by since the whirl of gaiety that was my inaugural BlogHer outing.
     I confess to being slightly disappointed. Not by any of the myriad reasons other folks have been posting on Teh Intertubez the past several days (too crowded, too whiny, too dissed ...), either. No, I was saddened because I thought this was supposed to be a party happening ... and no one thought to break a champagne bottle over my noggin and call it a christening. Oh well, I guess no one wanted to risk arrest.
     There's always next year.
     So, yes ... more than a week has evaporated, and I haven't published a single, sodding word to this space. I have no excuse other than being sucked headlong back into the vortex of my regular night gig. Instead of writing, I've edited a host of copy about rail-trails and sewer bills ... oh, and some super genius who hijacked a pickup, crashed it, then swiped a tractor-trailer, crashed it and got shot at all while leading a bunch of PA staties on a 100-mph chase down the turnpike. You know, normal, every-day stuff.
     Honestly, I began writing this post a couple of times only to find myself blocked. Still processing, I guess. All the while, I've been reading a host of other wrapups and recaps, some positive, some negative.
     Perhaps I'm just not trying hard enough, but I can't summon up any rage to speak of.
     In fact, I had a pretty damned good time. I got to kick around New York for a bit, visit a great Lego store and attend a Disney movie screening and reception. What's not to like?

The Manhattan skyline at dusk, during
a rooftop reception after a Disney event.

Rockefeller Center ... in Lego.

 
     To be certain, there were hiccups. It was a conference with several thousand women milling about. Of course there were megalines for the ladies room and fighting over "swag." Have these people never shopped in an outlet store on Black Friday? You've not lived until you've witnessed a couple of grannies come to blows over an ugly purse at 3 a.m. the day after Thanksgiving. OK, some of the swag was a little overrated, and if you haul around too much of it, you'll still have a crick in your neck several days later. But I can't complain. I got some useful stuff. Who am I to argue with free vitamins or vibrators? (Yes, you just read that correctly ... but, like many things, it's a whole other story.)
     And lines? Please. I'm a Disney-holic. Don't talk to me about waiting in lines. Pikers.
     Would I have liked to have made a few more personal connections? Sure. But, like every Disney addict will tell you, there's always the next trip. And I very much liked the new people I was fortunate enough to be introduced to. Many were Whovians, because, after all, we geeks do tend to naturally gravitate toward each other.
     Ultimately, despite some newbie fits and spurts, I was able to accomplish what I set out to do ... learn useful stuff and leave feeling inspired to do more.

The More You Nerd...

     As an added bonus, I got to team up for the weekend with my very dear friend April. Best move I could have possibly made. We got to split the cost of a room and hang out, which we seldom get to do, me being in Pennsylvania and she being in Connecticut. We also were able to cover a broader selection of conference sessions. In the long run I think that will be a real boon for the Disney-themed website she owns, I edit and for which both of us and several others write: Enjoying the Magic.
     Oh, and to top everything, I got to see an "Ace of Cakes" culinary sculpture live and in person at an annual shindig called "Sparklecorn." It was, appropriately, a giant silver unicorn with a Zachary Levi/Nathan Fillion-approved "The More You Nerd"-style logo on a fin erupting from its back. It was a thing of beauty.
     What more could anyone want?

Adaptation

     Apparently, when I take on a new challenge, I don't start small.
     I classify myself as a vintage — OK, old — journalist. No, I'm not old enough to have worked with typewriters or hot type. When I began, though, we were still working with AP Leafdesks, photo wheels, paste-up boards, waxers and Exacto knives. We had no Internet. Gasp! No Google! Cellphones were huge, antennaed luxury items. Filing stories remotely involved phone couplers and "Trash-80s" or, more often than not for this reporter, writing a story longhand, then standing outside at a pay phone and dictating it in the dark, rain, snow or iron-forge heat.
    But, unlike some colleagues I have had over the years, I do not harbor a fear dread loathing ... an outright terror of advancing technology. If my abrupt, shocking entry into the world of pagination taught me nothing else, it was that things in my industry can change at the drop of a hat, and it's best to just keep learning.
     To elaborate, in 1995, I was working at The Trentonian (yes, the one with the ridiculous tabloid-y news heds and Page Six girls ... don't judge, I was in sports, the legitimate portion of the operation). One day, a bunch of humorless men from JRC corporate swooped into the newsroom for a few minutes and said, "You're live on a new system tonight. It's called 'Quark XPress.' Paginate, or you're fired."
     Then they swooped right back out the door. That was the extent of our official training.
     Luckily, we had one guy, a recent college grad, who had used Quark in a journ lab. He knew enough to get us through that night. After we miraculously produced a section, we went to the bar and had a couple of bracers. Then we went back to the office, where Joe's Quark Night School came to order. For several weeks, we repeated the process every night until another guy and I had learned enough to do it ourselves.
     Of course, that's about normal for me. I've never taken a journalism course of any kind. I was an English major. But, 23 years after writing my first bylined article, nine stops (one of them twice) on the newspaper food chain, two layoffs and a handful of freelance gigs, I'm still standing. I'm not at ESPN or the New York Times or other major metropolitan news outlets like some of my college friends, but I'm still slugging it out in my chosen field 20 years after graduation.
     Why? Because it's adapt or watch the career you can't be you without wither and die.
     Which brings us to the next twist in the road.
     Everyone says newspapers are dying. While I'm hoping that ultimately won't be the case — I mean, come on, where else are you getting information on the day-to-day machinations of your small community? — I realize that there are avenues I should take for self-enrichment and future considerations.
     That's why I started writing this blog. It's not journalism. It's my opinion on a variety of topics. I began not necessarily to gain a following, but to try to get myself in the habit of writing regularly again, and to get a handle on the technology of a blogging platform, because the information industry is growing in this direction.
     But the more I've worked with this blog, the more I've realized it's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. There's a teeming Internet society based on commercial blogging efforts. What's more, there are all sorts of conferences for bloggers held on a regular basis all over the country, offering a wide variety of classes/seminars and extensive opportunities for networking.
     In fact, I'm going to one very soon.
     It's not just any conference, either. It's "BlogHer" — the biggest one run. You've seen one of their icons over to the left here for a few weeks now.
     As I said, I apparently don't start small. I'm throwing myself into the deep end here. From what I've been told, there will be between 4,000 and 4,500 bloggers at this gathering, to be held in New York City the first weekend in August. Katie Couric will be a speaker, as will Martha Stewart.
     I was introduced to the conference by my good friend April, with whom I'll be rooming. I've been following along on Twitter, and have been inducted into a couple of Facebook groups of attendees. The planning and hyping online is reaching a fever pitch, and quite frankly I'm feeling a tad overwhelmed. I get the distinct feeling most of the women who are coming (I'm told there will be a few guys there, too) are seasoned pros at this whole blogging-attracting-sponsors-networking thing, and that I'll be at a disadvantage.
     The writing and editing part I'd like to think I'm solid on. It's the business angle on which I'm flying blind, and that's my goal for this whole conference. I have a distinct business idea for future exploration percolating in my mind and on my computer, but I know I need to acquire some additional technical skills and a foundation in marketing for my plan to take root and flourish. That's something the newsroom has never taught me.
     So, here I am again.
     Time to start learning something new.
     Time to take a deep breath and leap.

Picking a direction

     Supportive Partner Man (observer of real life challenges!) is kicking my arse. Up and down the block.
     "It's not a contest," he says.
     I suppose. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm getting lapped, literally and figuratively.
     He's exercising. He's eating better. AND he's churning out blog posts left, right and center. I'm enormously proud of him. But, as the professional journalist in the family, I really need to get in the game on that last one.
     Problem is, I've been so swamped by my night job lately that this whole blogging venture has been seriously lagging. You see, I decided to go forth with the Geek Vest because it represents something that's been missing from my life: Writing about things I enjoy.
     Day in and day out, I rework other people's copy. Much of it is about school boards and sewer authorities and crime. Tonight, I had to reduce the length of a feature story by about a quarter. Had to do a lot of close work, editing with a scalpel as opposed to a meat cleaver. Contrary to popular belief, we don't just hack copy from the bottom. It still has to make sense, you know?
     In between stories, I get to design pages, some of them kind of nifty, if I do say so myself. This weekend, I'm even getting the unusual treat of sticking a couple of toes back onto my real turf, sports. I'm pinch-hitting to design the cover and centerfold of the spring All-Area special section. Sure, it's extra work, but it's comfortable extra work.
     However, I haven't put on my writer's hat in a long while, and I find I've missed speaking my mind in long form. Twitter and Facebook are all well and good, but as a dear friend of mine says, "I'm just clearing my throat at 140 characters." Of course, now that (I hope) my recent OT bender is showing signs of slowing for the summer, I think I'll be facing some decisions here at Geek Vest Central.
     Such as what this blog wants to be when it grows up.
     Much like our current battle of the bulge here at Chez T, I think that'll be a work in progress. One step I'm definitely taking, though, is to attend a conference in New York later this summer. My blogging buddy April and I are saddling up for BlogHer '12 in early August. We'll be attending all sorts of hopefully illuminating sessions on the ins and outs of running a blog as a business. Given the state of my darling newspaper industry, I think it's a smart move toward broadening my professional horizons.
    In a business caught in a tidal wave of technical changes, education is never a waste ... and neither is networking. If I can advance my private agenda of writing for enjoyment, double bonus points. Throw in a nice cocktail party? ... Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead.
     Though cocktails and the Lancaster bar culture ARE on my list of things to write about.

Brittany with a 'y' ... or an 'i' ... or an 'ie'...

Continuing on this week's apparent theme of graduation days, I think now would be an appropriate time to speak of my current side project at work.
As an aside, I haven't established on this blog exactly what my regular job is, have I? Since my second semester at Penn State, waaaaaay back in the early Paleolithic (otherwise known as 1989), I've been a journalist. Most of the time I've been in the sports department, but in my current incarnation, at Lancaster Newspapers in bucolic Lancaster County, Pa., I toil nightly on the news desk. Primarily I edit stories and design news pages. But at this time of year, I step into another role.
I am Graduation Wench.
Fear meh.
For several weeks each year, I spend lots of extra time reaching out to area high school administrators, asking for lists of who's graduating and who's being honored with various and sundry awards. As the lists come in, I whip them into printable files and make sure they get in the paper when they need to.
Like much when working with lots of names and lots of different providers of information, it's a ballet, a whirling dervish of moving parts. But Zod help you if there's a name spelled wrong -- even if it's the school's error.
Seriously, though, I wouldn't necessarily blame either institution, the school or the paper. I mean, have you seen the way people spell these days? Twitterverse aside, nowhere is that more obvious than in the pantheon of kids' names.
Among the grad lists slipping into my work email today, for example, there were a proliferation of Brittanys. Six from one graduating class alone. But it's not just "Brittany." Oh no. There's also Britteny, Britney, Brittannie and the ever-popular Britnei.
Among the names at one local educational establishment was Mercedes. Nice, I thought. That's a pleasant return to an old-school name. Perhaps she was named in honor of a dear grandmother. Then, a little farther down the list was Mercedes' classmate ... Lexus. Undoubtedly named in honor of Dad's first really sweet ride.
At this point, only a small percentage of the lists I'm expecting have been turned in, but there are a number of very inventive names thusfar.
I've also seen Amberlene, Micoleen and Yann; Merikka, AhnaMarie and Clest.
Yes, Clest.
I've got nothing on that one. I googled, and came up with precious little in terms of mid-1990s pop culture references that may have led to it. Can't think of anything it could be short for, either.
Of course, my absolute favorite came a few years ago. We had a young man named, no lie, Tanthalas, whose folks were obviously into sci-fi. Geek chic at its best. What's more, he got his certificate in plumbing from the vo-tech. He was Tanthalas the elven plumber. We Geeks and Geek-adjacents in the office applauded most heartily. We didn't know this young man, but he seemed one of us.
As an addenda, though, recent googling shows he is now a male model in Vegas. I am not making this up. I couldn't make this up.
Anyway.
When I see names like these I always wonder what the parents are driving at. I get that parents love their kids fiercely, intensely, and want them to be different -- to stand out above the crowd so that everyone notices them and thinks they're as awesome as they are to Mom and Pop. That's wonderful.
But I have to question if an out-there name -- or an out-there spelling of a name -- is the best solution. You're handing your kid a lifetime of "What's that?" or "It's spelled HOW?" And ... what if the kid hates it or doesn't grow into it? I guess that's what nicknames are for.
Really, I'm not writing this to be smart or mean. I'm merely attempting to make an observation from the other side of the fence. In sports, tons of names get called in every night. As someone who's pulled many a phone shift, taking mountains of track meets and basketball box scores, I know that the first rule is always "Ask how to spell every name." There's plenty of "Is that Cory with an e or without?" or "Jenny with an i or a y?"And I'm here to tell you, coaches and scorekeepers don't always know if it's Marc, Mark or Marq ... and they don't always care. If I had a buck for every time the person on the other end of the line said, "I dunno, just make it up," I could afford some very nice stuff.
I'm not the only one in the family who's got some good name stories, either. My sister is a nurse at a children's hospital. She's seen some doozies, and not just confined to her patients. She had a co-worker who named her child ... ready? ... "Booyah."
Couldn't she have just named her boy Sioux?