Writing Boots

An e-mail auto-reply from an acquaintance led me to codify another communication rule.

"Hello, I'm enjoying a little summer respite!  I won't be checking e-mail, but if you need immediate assistance please contact …."

You know what happened here. On her last working Friday for a week, she wrote an auto reply that matched her giddy mood.

As she wrote the note—in less than the time it's taking me to write this blog post—she probably imagined her friends and friendly colleagues reading it, understanding and encouraging of her "little respite." Girl, you deserve it!

She should also have considered her enemies—the people whose deadlines she's missed, the people who thinks she gets too much credit, the people who wonder how she's held onto her job this long. What will they do with this "little summer respite" business.

Her whole summer has been a "little respite"! Don't call _____, she's taking a "little summer respite!" Hey, boss—I was hoping _____ could help on that, but I understand she's taking some kind of "summer respite"?

Unless you're universally beloved, give the cute and clever voice mail greetings and e-mail auto replies a summer respite of their own, and call a vacation a vacation. Your friends already think your adorable; don't give your enemies any ammo.

My mom used to say of my dad, "Your father wouldn't say 'shit' if he had a mouth full of it."

Once, when I was maybe in seventh grade, Dad told me very specifically that I faced a choice in life: To be the sort of person who swears, or the sort of person who doesn't swear. He recommended that I not swear. He didn't appeal to morality, and certainly not to the bogus notion that swearing shows a lack of imagination. (Mom put the lie to that one.)

A communicator first, Dad said simply that swearing turns some people off, makes them think ill of you. Not swearing turns no one off. Why turn anyone off when you don't have to?

I appreciated his point of view. (His lecture might have been too late; in the fourth grade my best friend had threatened to drop me because I swore too much.) Nevertheless, I chose to swear.

When I was younger, I swore to seem older.

These days, I swear because it still feels fun and naughty to me, and it doesn't give me lung cancer. It's my last juvenile habit.

But every once in awhile it's more than that. Occasionally I swear to tell people, in my mother's favorite phrase, "Fuck you if you can't take a joke." That is, swearing is a shorthand way of telling someone (or reminding them): I'm not here to please you. You'll deal with me despite my warts, or you won't deal with me at all.

All that to explain a few of these entries to my dad, who has asked for my blog address again, and who I believe intends to start reading regularly.

Dad, don't be embarrassed by the swearing: It's not your fault. And please don't be turned off.

My graphic design partner in crime Amy Wimmer sends one of the most compelling pieces of communication I've seen in awhile—an ad on Craig's List.

Tell me you don't want to see this bike after reading this ad: