Category Archives: Pop Culture

A lesson in Pokémon

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Noah’s homemade Pokémon cards.

My son is six years old and last week he developed a fascination for Pokémon trading cards. It came out of nowhere for us. Since the first day of school, our dinner conversations have revolved around Ninjago and Beyblade®. I know that Pokémon has been around for 15+ years, but I’ve just never understood the appeal. Have you seen these characters?! They look like a science project gone incredibly wrong…disgusting little alien bug monsters with names like Metachomp and Spineboil. Don’t trade your cards, kiddos, just give them away and never look back!

With a little influence from a group of kids at school, Noah decided that Pokémon was the key to recess entertainment. He had no cards to trade, however, and he never asked us to buy him a pack of cards. Instead, he sat down one night and started making his own Pokémon trading cards. He meticulously cut out rectangles of cardstock paper and he drew ugly creatures on each and every card. He gave them all names and assigned them each a super power. He made 37 cards! The next day, Noah came home from school and tearfully told his daddy that nobody wanted to trade with his homemade cards. In fact, the other kids called his cards “fake” and “stupid.” He was crushed, but I was truly annihilated as my heart broke for him.

Yesterday morning the mailman delivered 50 perfectly branded Pokémon cards, courtesy of my husband and a $7.00 eBay shopping spree. The cards went out to dinner with us last night. They were carefully placed on Noah’s headboard before bed. They almost went to church with us this morning. They’ve been sorted and counted and admired more than my Coach purse. Tomorrow they will make their first-grade recess debut.

What about the 37 homemade cards? Those will be stored away in Noah’s keepsake box and one day I will tell him the story of a little boy with creativity for miles and I hope he will be just as proud of those homemade cards as he was last week. Should we have bought him branded cards to make up for his disappointment? I have no frickin’ idea. Do I care? Not really.

Is this camping?

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I didn’t camp much as a child. My only real memory of camping was a weekend with Uncle Ed and Auntie Rita at a Yogi Bear’s Jellystone campground where my dad accidentally pitched our tent on top of a spider’s nest. In his defense, we arrived in the dark and had just narrowly escaped a group of angry pre-teens who didn’t appreciate our station wagon headlights shining on their outdoor Yogi movie.

I camped in a tent once or twice with my husband and spent one entire evening shaking through a severe lightening storm waiting for a tree to crush my skull. While admittedly not a huge fan of the tent camping, I love all that goes along with the full camping experience…hiking, biking, kayaking, bonfires, s’mores, Toby Keith, and Tanqueray. I wanted it all, and so began our camping evolution.

The tent retired into the basement and we bought a pop-up camper. Had some good times in that old Dutchman and even camped into Month 8 of my first pregnancy. God bless the Luggable Loo. A couple years went by and we splurged on a used hard-sided camper, which we still own today. We’ve blown all four tires, almost lost a side wall on the Interstate, smashed a window and cracked a water pipe. Time for an upgrade?

While a friend might (and does) argue that dining in supper clubs and having a private bathroom is not camping, it suits me just fine. That said, this past weekend when we took our not-so-trusty old camper to northern Wisconsin with the kiddos, I realized that maybe, just maybe, we have evolved a little too far.

What do you think? Too much?!

My trash = your treasure, I

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Just one of the many tables filled with toys.

More than two full racks of clothes for kids organized by size and season!

Garage sale season has officially arrived as evidenced by the slew of signs on every corner in my small town. Do you love them or hate them? Do you find them dirty or intriguing? Do you stretch your neck when driving by in hopes of spotting that Blatz Beer sign you’ve been missing since you were 17? Or do you avoid them altogether for fear of finding that creepy plush Ronald McDonald doll that your mom taunted you with for years?

This very weekend I am playing hostess to the most epic of all Tiede garage sales. I have teetered down the attic steps with arms full of boxes, I have climbed up from the basement dragging comforters, luggage and home decor galore. But mostly, I have shed tears sorting through toys and clothes that my children have outgrown. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I welcome the maturing of my kids. I am not crying because they’ve outgrown the beautiful dresses and coolest toys ever. I’m crying because I’m cheap and I can’t believe we paid $25 for the Zhu Zhu Pet and Fun House that Noah played with for five minutes and now we’ll be lucky to sell for $2.00.

I’m so cheap, in fact, that I refuse to pay for a classified ad in the local newspaper. Do you know the going rate for classified ads? It costs $16 for 10 words and 60¢ for each additional word.  I can’t even get my street address and hours of operation in the ad for under $20 and that doesn’t allow me to begin describing the sheer awesomeness of my garage sale!

Then I remembered that I AM A DIGTAL MARKETER. I am a blogger. I am a tweeter. I am a Facebooker. I use Craig’s List. And I pin pins on Pinterest!

So I present to you, my faithful readers, a brazen and bold digital plug for the sale of my Tiede Treasures:

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

This Thursday beginning at 4:30pm sharp, you are all invited to attend the garage sale to end all garage sales. There will be more toys than FAO Schwartz. There will be baby essentials like wipe warmers, bouncy seats, and changing pads. There will be racks of clothes organized on hangers by size and season. There will be nursing pajamas with only minor Lansinoh stains…c’mon ladies, don’t judge — you know it’s inevitable. There will be a pink motorized jeep for your little princess. There will be an infant carrier for your newborn bundle of joy. There will be a Kelty backpack for your slightly older bundle of joy. There will be a One Step Ahead Sit n Stand stroller for your second bundle of joy. There will be home decor that I can no longer bear to look at on my walls and shelves, but there’s no shame in admitting that you can’t live without them. There will be beauty supplies. There will be one kick-ass pair of boots. There will be an interview-ready suit that I clearly don’t need because my job rocks. There will be kitchen rugs. There will be bathroom rugs. There will be shower curtains. Hey! I just realized that you can redecorate your entire bathroom at my garage sale!

Stop by and check out all of the goodies you will find in my garage and on my driveway this weekend. The children are not for sale, but almost everything else you see can be yours for a small price. The sale of my husband is negotiable.

An unlucky St. Patrick’s Day

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Now that spring has arrived a little early in the Midwest, you might notice some of my blogs changing from slightly Geeky Chic to a bit more Sporty Spice.  I love biking in Wisconsin and I was especially psyched for my first ride of the season this St. Patty’s Day weekend.

A friend of mine who recently found out about my two-wheeled hobby asked with a mildly judgmental tone, “You’re not one of those bikers who rides in packs out in the country and doesn’t move over for cars, are you?”  Well, I have to admit that I’ve been known to ride in packs, always ride in the country, but pride myself on being a courteous biker who does move over for cars. I have ridden one foot practically in the ditch to avoid the traffic behind me and I never ride two abreast despite the fact that the law allows it. The way I see it, I will always lose in a “car vs. bike” battle of the wills and I’m not interested in that type of challenge.

This afternoon I eagerly suited up into my favorite biking gear and headed south hoping to start the season with about 20 miles. The smell of fresh farmland leaves a lot to be desired, but it was still awesome to get out from the dark basement where I usually exercise. Almost halfway into my ride, everything changed. I rode up to a stop sign and, in preparation for crossing a major highway, I shifted down to ensure for a swift crossing when the time was right. What I didn’t realize is that I was still between two gears so when I started moving again, my bike sputtered, the chain slipped off, my right foot got caught in the pedal clip, and down goes Tiede.

I picked myself up and removed the gravel that was embedded into my knee, my elbow and my shoulder. Then I noticed the blood. Ugh. The first thing that crossed my mind was that I needed to turn around and go home to clean up. My second thought was anger at myself because I had plans to wear a cute halter top to a party later in the week and I wasn’t intending to accessorize with road rash! A girl has priorities, you know.

After examining my bike for damage, I realized that the chain was pretty messed up. I walked awhile hoping it might jump back into place, but no such luck. It is Saint Patrick’s Day after all – where was my luck?! Oh crap, I’m not even remotely Irish so this day doesn’t give a hoot about me. Well, I didn’t see rainbows or leprechauns, but apparently you don’t have to be Irish because a few moments later, a dark handsome stranger in an Audi pulled up and asked if I needed help. Ummmm, YES!!! He effortlessly flipped my bike upside down, tugged on the chain, and I was back in business. Except for the bleeding, of course…geez, I hope he didn’t notice the bleeding!

So, my 20 miles turned into only 14.5 and my arm is slathered in Neosporin but I feel pretty good. Not good enough for a ridiculous green beer, but I may just reward my efforts and soothe my bruised ego with my most favorite and timely sweet treat of all, a Shamrock Shake. I hope your St. Patrick’s Day is luckier than mine!

Google Doodle gets it

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Google is famous for its timely “Doodles” that change with the seasons, the holidays, and world events. This morning’s Google Doodle was dedicated to Valentine’s Day, of course. It featured a short video of a boy scouring the Web to buy his young crush a myriad of stuffed bears and candy only to be rejected in favor of her jumping rope. Finally, the boy gives up his Google search for the perfect gift and decides to simply jump rope with her. Shazam! She puts down the jump rope and the boy gets the sweet hug he’s been working sooo hard to get.

Keep it simple. Why 24 roses when one beautiful rose can put a smile on somebody’s face? Even the best-selling Valentine’s Day candy of all time, Conversation Hearts, gets it. The phrases are simple: Kiss Me, Be Mine, Love You. Have you ever pulled one from the bag that said, Buy Me a Diamond Necklace?

Take your time. What do we really want from our significant other? Time. Get off your computer, put away your smartphone, and spend time talking to each other. Or don’t talk at all.  ;-)

Ninety-nine percent of Google revenue is generated from its advertising programs. That includes advertising for flowers, chocolate, jewelery…all big sellers on a day like today. In my opinion, that makes this morning’s Google Doodle even more special. I was already a Google loyalist, but today I <3 Google even more!!!

Social Bowl XLVI

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I love social media. I love interacting with complete strangers on Twitter who teach me more about digital marketing than any semester in college. I love “Checking In” to the Boston Store on Foursquare only to find that I just earned $10 off a purchase of $30 or more. I love finding a new recipe on Pinterest that appears ultra complicated but only has four ingredients. I love seeing pictures on Facebook of my cousin’s new baby, Avery Jean, who I have yet to meet in person. I love getting an endorsement from a colleague on LinkedIn who refers to me as someone who “…is ready to deal with any situation and offers strong solutions.”

Even though I try to immerse myself in social media, the impact it had on yesterday’s Super Bowl XLVI was still mind-boggling to me. A Super Bowl Social Media Command Center was established in Indianapolis providing social media coverage 15 hours a day for a week leading up to the game.  The Super Bowl Host Committee selected 46 of the top influencers in social media to promote Indianapolis and the Super Bowl through social media. Twitter broke records both during Madonna’s halftime performance and again at the end of the game.

For me, YouTube gets my vote as the favorite social media channel for all things Super Bowl. I missed the National Anthem because I was busy loading “Fern Gully: The Last Rainforest” into the DVD player for my kids. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to catch the performance online.

The commercials are a major draw for a large part of the population and as a marketer, I look forward to them every year. However, once again the kids make it nearly impossible to both watch and hear the clever multimillion dollar masterpieces. YouTube strikes again by providing a one-stop shop for every commercial aired during the Super Bowl at AdBlitz.

Couldn’t stay awake for the Vince Lombardi Trophy presentation or the game MVP announcement? You guessed it…YouTube has all of the highlights. I haven’t had the opportunity to sit down and watch them all yet, but I am really looking forward to reviewing the MVP announcement. David Beckham got that one, right?!

Comedy with conscience

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My gal pals and I with "Seth-on-a-stick" at the Barrymore Theater to see SNL's Seth Meyers.

I’ve always thought it was unfair that premium cable channels like HBO and Showtime are included as Emmy candidates. Of course Sex and the City was hilarious and The Sopranos was intense drama– the writers had no boundaries. The story lines were controversial, the characters were allowed to curse, and the sex scenes rivaled softcore pornography. It’s the television writers who can make me laugh without being over-the-top naughty who get my vote. I’ve already dated myself with the HBO references, so I’ll go for broke and say that I miss Chandler, Phoebe, Ross, Will, Grace, Jack, Jerry, Elaine, Kramer, George, and Newman!

The same goes for stand-up comedians. Last night my husband and I had tickets to the local Comedy Club. I had watched a short YouTube clip of the comedian before reserving my tickets to make sure we would enjoy his style of comedy. I thought he looked funny, so it was a date. A few Brandy Old Fashioneds for me and Whiskey Manhattans for Jon should have been enough for us to loosen up and prepare for some big laughs. The comedian started out strong poking fun at the ups and downs of parenthood, something to which we could truly relate. As the hour continued, he seemed desperate for laughs and the humor become offensive and for lack of a better term…icky. As his jokes became more vile, his physical appearance took a turn as well. His underarms were visibly sweating, his head mop was disheveled, and I was afraid one of the buttons from his ill-fitting shirt might pop off and strike me in the eye.

I tried my best to enjoy it, but found myself glancing at my watch and hoping it would be over soon. I wasn’t the only person who had grown tired of the crass entertainer. I looked around the room and saw plenty of people fidgeting in their seats and laughing awkwardly at the raunchy humor. Where was that cute waitress with the Jolly Rancher shots when we really needed her?!

The next time we’re looking for an evening of laughs, I’ll do a little more research before making reservations. There are still some wonderful comedians out there who I can always count on for a good laugh. My top 5 personal favorites would probably include: Jerry Seinfeld, Ellen DeGeneres, Jim Gaffigan, Frank Caliendo, and Seth Meyers.

Who makes you laugh?

Word Girl prevails

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I have a love/hate relationship with Alec Baldwin. On the one hand, I’m not so much a fan of listening to him call his 11-year-old daughter a “thoughtless pig” on her not-so-private voicemail. On the other hand, Baldwin’s Schweddy Balls skit on SNL helps rank him as my second all-time favorite host of the show (my heart belongs to Justin on that one). When Baldwin made news last week for being kicked off an American Airlines flight because he refused to turn off his cell phone while playing “Words with Friends,” the first word that came to my mind was moron. But a few days ago, I was invited to play my first game of “Words with Friends” and now I get it.

Words are my friends. They got me through four years of journalism school and a certain co-worker of mine has been known to call me “Word Girl” when she needs a good synonym. The mere thought of myself sporting a superhero cape and saving the world with my words is enough to rouse goosebumps!

While I don’t consider myself much of a gamer, I have enjoyed an action-packed Scrabble match in my day. “Words with Friends” is really just an online Scrabble match with people who don’t live in your house. So then why is it so much more addictive?!

It took 2.5 days to finish my first and only game. Granted, my opponent and I have busy lives and families, but we also calculated each move very carefully and I could literally feel the tension from 300+ miles away. I found myself playing under the kitchen table during breakfast and hiding around the corner at playtime. I even studied my game at a 6% incline on the treadmill while watching the Green Bay Packers do their thing. Now that’s multitasking at its best!

There were some exciting moments during this weekend game as well as some questionable word choices such as zee and fixit, played by my opponent. At one point, I was horrified to realize I had lost a turn when I swapped my letters and suddenly found myself 30 points behind. Several moves later, I pulled out a 33-point tween and was back in the game. Just when I thought the board was mine, my opponent won a 39-point brugh and become very cocky on the messenger, so I appropriately retaliated with a 30-point glib. In the end, this Word Girl brought it home.

What’s my next move? Mr. Baldwin, if you’re reading this, I would be super jazzed if you would accept my invitation to play a friendly match with yours truly. If you must fly, I might recommend trying Funjet…seems like they might better understand our predicament. Game on!

Nobody was naked

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Remember that old trick to picture your audience naked while public speaking? I have always thought that was possibly the worst advice ever given. Multiply that horror tenfold when your conference room is filled with managers and directors whom you support.

I spent last Thursday and Friday in what could have been the most terrifying of all workshops…learning to be my own brand, engaging my listeners, leveraging my body language, and persuading my audience to acknowledge my vision. Sounds like a nightmare, right? Actually, I didn’t hate it.

While I thoroughly enjoy believing that everybody is interested in what I have to say, it’s very humbling to find out that’s not so much the case. Thanks to workshop facilitator, Tamara Jacobs, I’ve learned that my content accounts for only 7% of my effectiveness. The remaining 93% of my success is dependent on my verbal style (38%) and my non-verbal or “personal packaging” (55%). By the way, it’s the same for you.

What does all of this mean? In a nutshell…smile more, speak emphatically, connect with your audience, dress professionally, pause often, tell a story, believe in your objective, don’t rely on slides, gesture appropriately, ditch the laser pointer, and stop using words like just, briefly, kinda, and lil’ bit.

Think you have already mastered these skills? So did I…until I gave two entirely different presentations while never cracking a smile, speaking barely above a whisper, and folding my hands as if I was going to bust a tune from “The Sound of Music”. I honestly wouldn’t have believed it until I saw the bloody evidence for myself. Oh yeah, did I mention that these sessions were recorded for future group critique (a.k.a. humiliation)?

My former self would have dove into the sea of other red-faced losers, but I have chosen to embrace my new knowledge and will not soon forget the lessons learned from Ms. Jacobs. The next time I am tasked with trying to persuade the VIPs in my company to fund my next big idea, I will bid adieu to Julie Andrews and be memorable for the right reasons.

Seven reasons I won’t accept your friend request

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Do I really have 244 friends? It’s pretty hard to believe since I spent last Friday night sitting at home eating Combos and watching “Water for Elephants” On Demand while my husband was carousing with my cousins at buck camp. It’s not that I couldn’t have gotten a sitter for the kids — not one of those so-called friends invited me out. These days, 244 friends isn’t even a big number. But now that the novelty of Facebook has worn off a bit, I’ve gotten more selective about who I want added to my list of friends…and who I don’t want added.

1) If while riding the bus to school in third grade, you ripped the puffy hand-crocheted ball off the top of my hat (made with love by Grandma Adsit) and then proceeded to toss it around the bus, I will not accept your friend request.

2) If you are my 15-year-old babysitter, I will not accept your friend request.

3) If I have ever referred to you in my status update as the annoying co-worker who talks too loudly on the phone about your kid’s bodily fluids and the violent way in which they exited his body, I will not accept your friend request.

4) If we went to college together and you tried to kiss my boyfriend in the basement of the blue Pepsi house during cartoon cocktails at Springfest, I will not accept your friend request.

5) If you are the friend of a friend who wants a job at my company and thinks I can give you a positive referral, I will not accept your friend request.

6) If you don’t speak English, I will not accept your friend request. Not trying to discriminate, just seems like a moot point.

7) If I have absolutely positively no flipping idea who you are and neither do any of my actual friends, I will not accept your friend request.

On a side note, Google+ has a great feature in which you can assign people to an acquaintance circle or a friend circle. If you fall into the above category of 1, 3, 5, or 7, I would definitely add you to my Google+ circle of acquaintances. Sorry 2, 4, 6…not gonna happen.