You’ve run though your choices and eliminated the flawed possibilities.

1) Do-it-yourself?  The Web-equivalent of Amateur Poetry Recitation at the Dabbler’s Cafe.  Ok.  Scratch that one.

2) Hire a Full Time Internet Know-it-all?  No.  You just want a website, not a funky live-in brother-in-law who eats you out of house and home for the rest of your life.

3) Hook yourself up to yet another Intravenous Monthly Money drain?  X-Bucks a month from now until for ever from you to McWebsiteDaddy.  AKA: You’re not a Face.  You’re not a Name.  You’re just one of McBillions of McCreditCardNumbers McServed and don’t you dare try to call us and talk to a real person because you think you’re so McSpecial or something.

4) Website Templates.  Yes, yes, yes!  Plastic Posers wearing someone else’s warm, sweaty gym shoes.  Let’s just run next door and borrow our neighbor’s toothbrush.

In the end, the most effective conclusion, of course…Contract a Pro.  Someone you can get to know.

Smart move.

Now’s where the rubber meets the road.  Putting it all together to make that all important impression…that connection with your clientele.  This…is the fun part.

Ok.

You’ve got a logo.

You figure, a couple of pages.

A Menu.

Some Pics.

Maybe a Header.

And Fifteen Football Fields of TEXT.

Wham! There you have it.  Smack dab in the middle of cyberspace, sitting on the screen of the most fantastic, personalized, individually capable device ever conceived of by Man you have a perfectly good…Newspaper Ad.

Nice.  Hey.  Cutting edge, bro.  You’re really wowing them.

Talk about untapped potential.

Talk about using the Rosetta Stone as an abstract, decorative Wall Hanging.

Talk about using a Laser Beam as a Whiteboard pointer.

I mean…you can’t even wrap fish in it.

It’s like reading a one paragraph description of a Circus rather than actually going to see it in person.  That’s what your utilization of the technology that is at your disposal is.

Ok.  That’s a bit overboard.  To be honest, it’s not really a Newspaper ad.  I mean, those are mostly in black and white and on pulpy paper and buried in acres of surrounding articles, popping up somewhere around Page 18, Section C between the Legal Notices and the answers to last week’s Sudoku puzzle. Truth be told, it’s bolder than that.  It’s featured, full screen.  It’s got some good color happening.  It’s not unlike being Glossy, even.

Yes.  It’s actually a Magazine Ad or, maybe, if you zoom in until your nose hits the screen, a very small Billboard.

No, no, no, you say.  It’s much more informative than a Magazine Ad or a Billboard.  I mean, look at all those pages of TEXT.  Why, I’d say I’ve used the entire alphabet at least 150 times over.  Why, it’s chocked full of typographical details about our history and our specialty and written testimonials and a bazillion bullet points about our services and products and partners and so forth.

Clearly, it’s a Brochure.

Oo-la-la!  Un Brochure, monsieur! Hunh-hunh-hunh-hunh! C’est tres jolie, n’est-ce pas?  C’est tres chic, aussi!

This is great.  Maybe your clientele can print it out themselves and crease it into a tri-fold and slip it under the front door of their own place of business, then verbally scoff at it as they pick it up and drop it in the Circular File with the rest of the Junk Mail.

But, what gives?  “What’s wrong with a Brochure,” you say.  It’s a time-tested means of extending awareness of your product, service, organization, or what have you, reaching out to lots of people without necessarily meeting them in person.  Folks you can’t reach on your own.

Let’s see if we can draw a parallel.

Say you’re dining at an exclusive restaurant.  Seemingly out of nowhere, a prospective client appears, their wardrobe, their brief case, their watch, glasses, posture, and demeanor say, “I’m the client of your dreams.  I’ve got big bucks, and I need to spend them on the kind of thing you do.”

Quickly, before they can see you, you rip the tablecloth out from under the setting in front of you and throw it over your head!  Good thinking!

Then, you reach into your breast-pocket and pull out one of your ready Brochures!  With your arm sticking out from under the tablecloth over your head, you frantically wave your brochure at about eye level, smacking your prospective client in the face several times.  They snatch the missive from your hands, mutter something you can’t quite make out, and, then, they disappear somewhere, you guess, your message having been delivered.

But, of course, you do not know because you had a tablecloth over your head.

Mama…take the tablecloth off from over your head.

It’s the web, baby.

It’s like your own INTERACTIVE CABLE CHANNEL.  At the very least, your own TELEVISION COMMERCIAL, not even limited to 30 or 60 Seconds.

Ya gotta quit thinkin’ in TEXT.

TEXT is just odd, impersonal Chicken Scratch.

TEXT is why the World’s Worst Math problems are WORD PROBLEMS.

TEXT is WORK.

TEXT is THEFT of your Customer’s Valuable Time.

TEXT is like OBLIGATORY BUREAUCRACY.

TEXT is like a 15,000 PAGE CONGRESSIONAL BILL THAT NOBODY READS!

TEXT is like TAX CODES.

SILLY WEBBIT…TEXT IS FOR GOOGLEBOTS!

Take Tires, for instance.

If you own a vehicle, sooner or later, you’re gonna need new tires.  Of course, you want quality tires.  No one is going to take a chance on something so vital to their personal or familial safety.  But, thanks to Industry Standards and some justifiable degree of Regulatory Oversight, just about any tire is going to get the job done, discounting some impact on performance and longevity.  In light of that, when the tread starts to wear thin, there’s a good deal of Prudence in the practice of scanning through the paper to find out who’s having a sale.  Let’s face it…Even cheap Tires are expensive. And it doesn’t really benefit you much to grant loyalty to a particular tire distributor, independent of getting the brand and model you may prefer.  But, in this case, when it’s all said and done, you can afford to jump from source to source because Price drives tires.

But nobody plays Hopscotch with their Dentist.

Discounting the occasional syringe he or she jabs into your gums, your Dentist is like, totally better than even your best-friend-forever. I mean, they’re upfront about telling you if there’s any bad news, they offer you a variety of high quality solutions, they keep your X-Rays, they scrape off the crusty stuff, they floss you, give you mouthwash and FREE toothbrushes and toothpaste, schedule your next appointment (and the free Reminder call in case you forget), and, at the end of it all, you walk out with a dazzling white smile and a justifiably heightened sense of confidence in your health and appearance. Then you head straight for the coffee shop for a triple toffee latte. Iced, because otherwise you’d scald the skin from your tongue because you still can’t feel it thanks to the Novacaine.

You know it’s true. A good Dentist is just the kind of professional you want to keep for a lifetime.

No doubt, the same is true of you Hair Stylist. Are you kidding me? Girl, if Maxine isn’t in today, then we’ll just have to re-schedule. Out loud, I’m laughing. Even if you go to the Barber Shop, you know the one you want to cut your hair. “Ok, you’re next!” comes the call from the “next available,” random Coiffeur. “Ah!” you cry inside. “Not that one, again! Last time they cut my hair, I had to wear a bandanna for three weeks straight.” Too, too familiar a scene.

And all this goes quadruple for your favorite Auto Mechanic. Time, Money, Safety, Trust. You want to find someone you can rely on, and then you don’t want to have to think about it anymore. Something comes up? Hear some funny clacking sound? Out of alignment? If you’re fortunate enough to have found the Right Shop or the Right Pro, then you know who you’re going to call. If you’re there, then, you feel good about it. And, you feel good feeling good about it.

It’s like they’re your own, personal professionals. The ones you feel good coming back to. The ones you don’t have to think about. The ones you feel cool recommending to your friends.

Dentists. Hair Stylists. Mechanics.

Web Designers.

Your Personal Pros.

The illusion of Economy and Efficiency at the expense of Gastronomy and Nutritional Deficiency.

The Minimum expenditure of Time. The Minimum investment of Collateral. The statistically derived Minimum Quality acceptable, offset, undoubtedly by sheer Ubiquity and the infallible Reproducibility of our National Icons of Culinary Pulp.

Is this what our Cultural Quintessence has been boiled down to, America?

Can’t we stave off this craving for crappy snacking slapped snappily in happy wrapping?

Serve me, the McBillions cry. Gimme, gimme, gimme!…indigestion.

Now, don’t get me wrong. When I want to avoid stoplights, I enjoy an Expressway. And when I want cheap widgets, from China, say, I appreciate the, more or less, reliable, mechanical expediency of an Assembly Line. But when it comes to a subject as Critical and Sensitive to the Fulfillment of my Dreams and the crafting of the primary means of Presenting my Personality to the public…my Presence on the Web…my Home Page…my address in the Virtual Village…I’m sorry…but, the Drive-Thru just won’t do.

How’s that, again? You have a formulaic business model for pumping out full blown web sites from scratch in just a Week’s Time? Wow…that’s impressive. I guess. I mean…it’s fast…anyway. Is that an Attention Span thing? Can’t really bother to Take the Time cuz they gotta Make the Dime, and, hey, who’s that other customer over there! “Sorry, it’s been fun, but, it’s been a Whole Week, and I gotta run!”

Humph.

I don’t know. Takes me half an hour to figure out just exactly what I want to wear. Maybe that makes me…what…Picky? Yeah…I guess so. Picky. I’m picky.

Is that a bad thing? Well…I don’t think so. Hate to think there was someone there, waiting behind me telling me to “Hurry up and make up my mind because we’re running out of time.” Just because I was being…picky.

I wish those people telling me to hurry up could just be…Patient. Yes. Patient.

I mean…they’re not the ones who have to walk around in what I’ll be wearing. So, what’s their rush to push me out the door, anyway?

The way I see it, whatever we’re making…it’s gotta be comfortable. And, if it’s gotta be comfortable, then, I say, “Go ahead and sleep on it.”

Me? I can be patient.

Patient. So I can be…Professional.

Patient. So you can be…Picky.

Patient. So it can be…Perfect.

“Folksie?” “Provincial?”  Maybe.
 
You know who you are, and don’t need some Metropolitan Marketing Guru to slap some label on you.  But, one thing’s for sure.  They can’t call you Cookie Cutter.  And no one dare to call you CORPORATE. 

What happened to Tom’s Farms?  They upgraded to Tasteless Glossy from Rustic Charm.  

I’m feeling lost.  My neighborhood Shade-Tree mechanic got so busy that he burned out and sold out to some guy who picked up his list of clients, and then (likely) promptly lost all but the few fleets of vehicles already under contract.  I guess if you’re responsible for a fleet of cars and trucks, you’re not looking for the personal touch.  You’re looking at “the bottom line” because you’re dealing in bulk.  But, few of the local homesteaders were eager to suffer the transition.  The reason is obvious, of course.  Trust.  Can’t sell that.

And a Vibe can’t be reproduced…or maintained by slight of hand.  

Have you visited our favorite local coffee shop lately?  No…not that one.  Not the ubiquitous one.  Maybe you don’t even have a local coffee shop.  We did.  Every morning that place was packed.  I tell you, it was like the local saloon in the Old Western Boomtown.  The one where the player piano was jangling out O Suzannah! and you couldn’t hear yourself above the din and everyone that worked there knew your name and was just all smiles because they loved what they were doing…which is to say, not what they were doing, per se…but, rather, they loved who they were working with and working for.  There just is no faking that.  And it was Local.  And it was Alive.  It was Alive because it was Local.  It’s like, everyone had a stake in it, even if they were just in there to buy a cup of Joe.

And then it happened.  

Business was so good…the buyers came a knockin’…and the boss, who had long since handed off day to day operations to his sister and the glad girls behind the counter, started thinking of loftier things, I suppose.  So…he sold the business.  And that was it.   The new boss came in and brought with her a new and cutthroat, bottom-line attitude.  Not only was the wind sucked out of the sails of that business, a swirling whirlpool appeared beneath the ship, and the gigantic hydro-vortex sucked the Pequod to the bottom of the sea.  Kept the same coffee…lost all the customers.  

It’s like those parasites and lawyers that bought Walt Disney’s name, and then thought we’d all think it was still the same.  Granted, the kids didn’t know the real Walt, so you can’t hold them accountable, though they’re the ones that really pay the price.  But the impact has been undeniable.  In with the Cosmo-Corpo-Cash Machine…out with American Innocence, Uncle Remus, and the Coonskin Cap. 

Wait…what am I thinking?  What we really need are more Cut-and-Paste Suburban Strip Malls and more Super-Sized French Fry Franchise!  DEATH!  Death to the Mom-n-Pop!  Full Speed Ahead towards the Plastic Precipice!  Plunge we all into the Abyss!  If we can gain enough momentum, by the time we reach the bottom, we can break through and straight into Hell.

It’s not too late to go back and re-discover the penultimate Progressive French-Canadian Rock Band of the latter 20th Century, SUPERTRAMP.

Granted, that’s not necessarily a cavernous niche of a musical genre.  I guess when someone nails it so precisely the first time, any followers who might seek to capitalize on the trailblazers’ success could likely find themselves disqualifyingly deficient in the ability to synthesize such talent, vision, and sensitivity.  Indeed, the question begs to be answered…Can you put your hands in your head?

That is…can you take those often abstract, highly intangible ideas in your brain, and bring them into the “Real World?”  Can your Inspiration become a Reality?

Much like emulating the success of a world-class rock band, defining and translating your vision of your business’ image can be a daunting task.

You definitely know your business.  That’s what makes you the Pro.  And, deep in your heart of hearts, though you may have always wanted to be “an Artist,” you realize the crystal wisdom of putting the Professional Artist to work for you.

Of course, to suppose that the Presentation of the Image is the whole of the Art is to miss the point entirely.  Fewer can craft an Image that is appealing to the mind’s eye than try…fewer still comprehend, or even attempt to master the craft of understanding what it is that you want…what it is that you need.

You know what it is that you want, but you’re not exactly sure how to communicate that…into words, perhaps…or, especially, into form, shape, or substance…into some experiential whole.  You want desperately to…but you’re not quite sure…how to…put your hands in your head…oh, no.

It’s ok.  It’s alright.  We do.  That’s why we’re here.  We’re here for you.

You wanted the Hot New Web Technology to Market your Wares, and here was this brand new College Grad.  Sure, he probably spent the last few years happy to sleep on a mattress and bedspring splayed on the floor of his campus-close apartment.  Sure, his carpet was littered with weeks-old discarded cans of off-brand energy drinks and empty dehydrated-noodle packages.  It was all good to him, though, ’cause he never even noticed the scattered clutter.  Bro was laser-focused on his computer screen all through the night.  Battling demons.  Slaying Cyber-Commies on the other side of the globe in World of Warcraft or SOCOM.  Wicked! Holmes…I own you!

Recruiters love the new grad because they’ll work like mad…and for nothing!  Sweet returns when you can put them in an environment where their objectives are clearly defined, and the consequences of concomitant immaturity are implicitly checked by the company culture.  The Corporate World works well for kids, because the Corporate World is a lot like the Scholastic environment, where they’ve spent every moment of their lives since they let go of Mama’s apron strings; they’re told when and where to show up…and they’re invariably given some sort of mentor and supervisor.  But, brother, beware the brats when they’re doing the Freelance Dance.

The Steal you thought you were getting when the newbie began panting like an adolescent pup at the mention of “a $1,000 job” comes back to bite you, big time.  That snotty little attitude escalates with each phone call, and he takes sometimes weeks to respond to your emails, if he even does at all.  And when you call him on it, he gives the lamest excuse ever heard. Of course, he is secretly stoked that such behavior ruins his reputation because, by this time, he really doesn’t want to work with you anymore.  In his eyes, you’re high maintenance…too uptight, too demanding…your ideas are lame, and, let’s face it, he’s special.  He’s the bomb.  His epic sense of entitlement drips from him like a pair of extra-baggy blue jeans.  Junior thinks Customer Support is a job for hapless hacks on the phone in some backward country where they don’t have enough drive-thrus to employ persons of that ilk.  In Junior’s vocabulary, the concept of Repeat Customers could only mean Clueless Idiots to whom you have to explain everything twice. Return on Investment? That means you want your money back, right?    Sadly, it doesn’t take long before he decides that the killer rate he was so eager to agree to suddenly seems like a rip-off.  The importance of Integrity and following through?  Ugh…just don’t have the attention span for that.

Sound familiar?  Have you been burned by this experience?  Have you had enough of Kid Stuff?

Not to be too hard on Junior.  Perhaps we’ve all been there at some time in our lives.  Besides, some of Junior’s customers are now our best customers!

Ah…thank you, Junior.  You’ve done our business a world of good!

I have clumsily stumbled upon an obvious revelation.  An underlying inefficiency has plagued our every attempt at written communication since the invention of Hieroglyphics.

Be more deliberate with your time.

Spare your Focus the Reading.  Reading is work!  What we’re really interested in is “Reality.” And our written language is several degrees removed from “Reality.”  Is it not?

There is the idea.  Then, there is the Instant Referencing of a Verbal Catalog.  Then, Verbal Judo!  Out come the Spoken Words.  Then, the Breakdown of those Sounds into Audio Sub-Parts to allow representation by Letters.  The Visual Analysis of those letters, demodulating them into a Mental-Audio Sound Bite.  And, at last, some Abstract Mental Model of that Idea’s Essence.  A Manifestation, from which elicits a Vague Neuro-Chemical and Spiritual Reaction.

Hey, it puts us in the neighborhood of our target.  But all that stuff in the middle makes it kind of like riding a Stage Coach across country.  It gets you there.  But only after Prolonged and Severe Agitation.