This just in: Employers want people who can write. The Wall Street Journal reports that a survey of 180 companies by the National Association of Colleges and Employers (NACE) found 4 of the top 5 skills valued by employers are "hallmarks of a traditional liberal-arts education." Clear-writing skill was ranked Number 3 (following leadership and teamwork). “It’s easier to hire people who can write—and teach them how to read financial statements—rather than hire accountants in hopes of teaching them to be strong writers,” head recruiter for the investment firm Morningstar told The Wall Street Journal. One Morningstar employee—the firm's expert on more than a dozen well-known equity-strategy funds—was a philosophy and classics major who earned a PhD in theology. Want to improve your job or promotion prospects? Go back to school and study philosophy (expensive), or read Writing Tools and The Art and Craft of Feature Writing(cheap). HAT TIP: Thanks to Kevin Daum for informing me of NACE's survey.
Today, mine is victory over Facebook. Every day, the social network presents ads that beg me to donate to the master of mobocracy's presidential campaign. Those tattoo-crazy, latte-sucking, Menlo Park geniuses have sorted me—erroneously—into their big-data bucket of deplorables. Humans 1, Machines 0. What's your latest small win?
Daniel Giusti, once head chef of the world's best restaurant, now runs all the public-school cafeterias in New London, Connecticut, reports The Washington Post.
His goal: to provide the city's 3,300 children the same meals one-percenters enjoy, at a cost to the government of $1.35 per student.
Instead of limp burgers and fries, the cafeteria menus now feature items like fresh-roasted chicken tacos with pickled vegetables; turkey sandwiches; whole-grain cheese ravioli; corn chowder; and a Mediterranean bowl with greens, chickpeas, cucumbers, olives, feta and a house-made balsamic vinaigrette.
All meals are served on porcelain dishes, instead of paper plates.
Giusti is one of many social entrepreneurs who've rejected toiling for the rich in favor of "a life's work."
“The whole point of this is that we’re taking care of these kids,” he says. “We can never lose sight of that. It can’t be about anything else.”
HAT TIP: Thanks to Bob Hughes for pointing me to this story.
The age of chivalry is past. Bores have succeeded to dragons.
—Charles Dickens
Before it was a game show, the Wheel of Fortune was a metaphor. It served writers well in the age of chivalry, when they strove to remind their rich and powerful readers (the only kind; everyone else was illiterate) that the best things in life came not from titles and trappings, but hard work and a positive attitude.
Geoffroi de Charny asked every reader to "be a man of worth;" Geoffery Chaucer, to "make a virtue of necessity." When you worked hard and maintained an "attitude of gratitude," sudden setbacks (the "necessity" in Chaucer's phrase) wouldn't throw you. Alas, chivalry's dead; not so, reversals of fate. Riding the Wheel of Fortune is still dangerous.
I am a friend of neology. It is the only way to give a language copiousness and euphony.
—Thomas Jefferson
While near the bottom of Madison Avenue's pecking order, copywriters do have one prerogative: to coin new words, or neologisms. Just as everyday neologisms (for example, Spanglish, cattitude and entreporneur) empower conversation, copywriters' neologisms empower ads. They can, in fact, be so forceful they're absorbed by English, and we forget they began life in an ad (for example, kleenex, astroturf and motel).
Neologisms come in handy because "they sound funny and weird, and have a catchy nature," says Ruta Kalmane in Advertising: Using Words as Tools for Selling. They also arrive easily. (I'll coin one now: a cheesy telemarketing call is a Mumbuy.) My favs include fabulashes, craisins and, last but not least, Corinthian leather.
Corinthian leather was coined by a copywriter to describe the upholstery in Chryslers of the 1970s.
TV pitchman Ricardo Montalban made famous the line "richly-cushioned luxury seats made of fine Corinthian leather."
In reality, Chrysler's upholstery was vinyl and originated not in Corinth, Greece, but Newark, New Jersey.
The late Montalban admitted the neologism "means nothing."