I originally published this 3 years ago, but re-reading it now, I just had to share – again.
Yesterday, God decided that I needed to be brought low.
You see, I think I’m the bee’s knees.
I’ve always thought that I was a handsome dude (really ever since I got my first piece of a**), so whenever I’m out, there’s typically a peacock strut happening.
Yesterday was no exception.
I had gone into Jersey City to see my friend, and was headed home, when I stopped into the Starbucks on the corner of Park and Church street in Montclair, to pick up a Green Tea Frappuccino for wifey.
As the weather has been nice and balmy, the people were out, and there were plenty folks milling about, enjoying the pleasant weather.
I stepped out of my freshly washed ride, opened my plume and strutted into Starbucks, aware that all eyes were on me (at least in my head).
Placed my order with the female barista. Stop staring, honey, my shine is so bright you’ll hurt your eyes.
Waited for my drink next to another redbone obviously checking me out. Notice my ring finger babe. Hate to disappoint, but I’m spoken for.
Pass another biddy on the way out the door. You actin’ like you aint lookin’, but I know you peeped my steeze when I first walked in. Stop fronting!
Note: Oh my sh*t is ridiculous!
As I step out of Starbucks, there’s this hot red drop top (‘convertible’ for the urban linguistically challenged) with a fly sister perched in the passenger side, parked behind my Jeep.
Of course, I’ve got to pass IN FRONT of her ride to get to mine, and I’m abundantly aware of the fact that I will be eye candy for her as I pass.
Plume opened and magnificent. Check.
Swagger on 10. Check.
Big Pimpin’ soundtrack playing in my head. Check.
Commence strutting.
I could write out the rest of this little episode, but better you hear it from the horse’s mouth…
And that’s why I need to get over myself.
If you’ve got a story of vanity gone wrong, I’d love to hear about it.
Note: This post was originally published August 25, 2008. But it’s so good I just had to reblog. Enjoy.
I’ve written other blogs on other topics before, but never with the sense of purpose I have today.
Not to say that I’ve never had a sense of purpose in the past.
But I feel singularly inspired to write this blog because its all about me.
‘Who am I?’ you ask.
Entrepreneur. Brand strategist. Technology evangelist. Marketing maverick. Biz dev specialist. Trend setter.
I’m the guy who tells you like it is, whether you want to hear it or not.
To put it simply, I’m that dude.
You know who ‘that dude’ is.
He’s the guy that everyone acknowledges (implicitly or explicitly) when he walks into the room.
The one that you’ll remember years after you’ve met him.
The one that everyone aspires to emulate.
The one with the aura, the gift, the presence.
He’s thatdude.
We all have ‘that dude’ in us.
It’s that aspect of us that tells really funny jokes.
Or knows how to solve complex equations in our heads.
Or has ability to remain cool in the face of difficulty.
The ‘go-to’ guy when things really need to get done.
Being the brand is the act of cultivating the ‘that dude’ in all of us.
I want to demonstrate the power of my mantra, ‘Be the Brand,” using myself as a living case study.
I’m not particularly famous.
If you Google “Chukumba” you’ll see about 27,000 results.
Add the qualifier “Stephen” and that jumps to about 37,000.
Not bad, but nothing really if you consider the 37 million results generated by searching for the term ‘Oprah’ or the 40+ million generated by searching the term ‘Donald Trump.’
Oprah and Trump are classic examples of iconic figures with huge brand recognition.
When Oprah Winfrey started O Magazine, people said, “She’s so vain. Why does she need to be on the cover of every issue?”
I thought, ‘that’s brilliant!’
What better way to promote your brand than to put your face on everything you put into the stream of commerce?
Oprah didn’t become a billionaire by promoting other people (although she has made quite a few people rich from her promotional prowess).
She promoted herself.
Similarly, when Donald Trump started ‘The Apprentice’ people thought “Who does Donald Trump think he is?”
He’s practically bankrupt!
But Trump is a perfect example of the value of self-promotion.
Love him or hate him, you’ve got to deal with him because his face, his properties, and his brand are everywhere.
Despite his well publicized failures, you’ve got to concede his staying power and presence are indomitable.
There are countless others who fit the Oprah/Donald Trump mold, both famous and unknown.
I include myself in their ranks, and I am going to prove that anyone can be the brand, if they want to be.
Being the brand is a perspective that allows you to define yourself and your world-view in a way that sets you apart from the crowd, but without thrashing others in the process.
So stay tuned to see what I’ve got to say.
I’ve got a lot to say-I’m quite verbose.
Hopefully, you’ll come away with lots of good advice.
And at least it’ll make for some interesting reading!
So the second time around, the Italians came prepared and Ethiopia was no match.
When Ethiopia petitioned the League of Nations to protect them from Italy’s illegal action, invoking protection from aggression by another member of the League (pursuant to its very charter) the League failed to act.
Many of my male friends have multiple girl children, and no boys.
As men are prone to do, they seek solace from other males, collectively lamenting the conspicuous absence of he-who-shall-carry-thy-name.
On the outside, these men love their ‘lil mamas, daddy’s girls, the apples of their eyes.
But on the inside, their stomachs are in knots over the fact that one day, some boy/man will come and take them away, and do things to/with them.
And they’ll be powerless to stop them.
More disturbing than the fear of future violation though, is the fear that their line may come to an end.
Because they bore no heirs to carry their name.
We can speak of these horrors no more.
My male-child-less male friends, seek my counsel, as I have sired two (count ’em up – TWO) male heirs.
I am a repository and wealth of information on child rearing and the like.
And while I also have two girl children, frequently, my sage advice is sought for the elusive prize – how to sire a male child.
Now outside of expensive artificial insemination, through which one can virtually guarantee the sex of their child, few know of any real non-clinical methods for obtaining the desired sex.
All too often, men find themselves sweating bullets (and praying) as the ultrasound technician looks for the telltale protrusion that says B-O-Y.
All too often, they mask their inner sorrow, when the telltale sign is not there.
If our spouse (or baby mama) wants to be ‘surprised’, we wait with bated breath in the delivery room (or at the bar) for word of the sex of the child.
Armed with a box of Cohibas, we wait to hear “it’s a boy”.
Only to hand them out, half-heartedly, when “it’s a girl” is delivered instead.
But it doesn’t have to be this way.
Hear me now men!
It doesn’t have to be this way!
If you want a boy, gather round, and let me learn ya.
The wisdom I pass to you, has been passed down for generations.
The tips I outline here, are tried and true.
While some may be skeptical, know ye this…
I have used them myself and have the gonads to prove it.
If you’re one, two or three girls deep, and you want that next crumb snatcher to be a boy, follow these simple tips.
Tip No. 1: Have sex with your girl in the morning.
It is a known fact that Y sperm thrive in a base environment. The woman’s vaginal canal area is pretty acidic and generally inhospitable to Y sperm. However, in the morning, before your girl is active, and her body temperature rises (from activity) the conditions of her vaginal canalarea are ripe for planting your Y seed. So take her before she’s had a chance to rouse!
Tip No. 2: Drink a cup of caffeinated coffee before having sex.
Y sperm are a particularly slow and pathetic lot. They’re not particularly active, as sperm go. Coffee stimulates the Y sperm, giving them a much needed boost. Having a strong cup of black coffee, before you do the deed, gets your boys ready for the task at hand. I’d suggest placing a Keurig on the night stand so that your sperm
juice is on the ready.
Tip No. 3: Have sex doggy-style.
If you’re like me, you’re particularly fond of backshots. However, when it comes to making boys, it’s crucial that you take your woman exclusively from the back. And here’s why. Unlike the X sperm, which have long flagella (or tails), Y sperm have short stubby ones. Thus, they’re not the best swimmers and they tire quickly. So to increase the likelihood that they’ll be first to the egg, you’ve got to shorten the distance your boys have to travel. By doing it doggy-style, you’re placing the end of your penisjunkmanhood as close as possible to the opening of the cervix, increasing the likelihood that your caffeine-wired Ys reach the prize.
To recap: sex in the morning, after a cup of black coffee, doggy-style.
Got it?
By now, I’m sure that many of you are thinking “that Stephen Chukumba has finally lost it.”
Indeed, as I shared my tips with several of my colleagues yesterday, there was skepticism and chuckles all around.
This is what my Louis looked like in it’s prime. Today, not so much.
Note: You can read this long and rambling post or skip to the end and watch the video.
I’ve just got to unburden myself.
I do that occassionally.
I went to Short Hills Mall today, to drop off my Louis Vuitton messenger bag for repair.
I’ve had this bag since 2001, when I bought it for the wife as a diaper bag for our first child.
That bag has been through 3 more children and several trips to the Louis Vuitton store, to fix one defect or another of the bag.
The first two trips were to fix the elastic band, which had snapped.
This third trip was for the handle, which was literally hanging on by a thread.
The leather loop, which held the strap to the bag, had separated at the joint.
I thought it was a simple repair and was quite taken aback as <the unnamed person at the counter> told me that the canvas was so stiff that she doubted it could be repaired.
I didn’t think the fabric was all that stiff, as she attempted to ‘assuage’ my concerns by ‘checking in the back’ to determine whether her assessment was off.
She then walked away, and (I guess) beckoned me to follow her.
I was slightly unsure because she seemed to have been distracted by the appearance of <some long-lost-or-favorite-friend-or-associate-that-was-clearly-more-important-than-providing-me-her-undivided-attention>.
I was therefore (again) taken aback when she came back around the corner she just disappeared behind, with annoyance beckoning me to…the back?
She had placed my bag on a counter around the corner from where I had first encountered <the unnamed person at the counter>.
She then proceeded to tell me the same thing she had previously stated less than 30 seconds ago.
Perhaps her desire to reunite with <some long-lost-or-favorite-friend-or-associate-that-was-clearly-more-important-than-providing-me-her-undivided-attention> was such a distraction, that she forgot she had just given me the exact same rundown.
I racked my brain to see if I had missed some critical detail in her initial assessment, as she once again explained why she thought the bag couldn’t be repaired…because of the stiffness of the fabric.
“They won’t touch it because it might crack, and they wouldn’t want to damage the bag.”
Ummm…the bag IS damaged, that’s why I’ve brought it in.
Okaayyyy…
Then, as if to clear Louis Vuitton of any further responsibility for the condition of my “rather old” bag, she whisked the bag from my clutches and marched around another corner…presumably to “the back”.
And this next point is literally from a movie…
She came right back out of the same around-the-corner doorway she disappeared into five second earlier, proclaiming, “Yeah, it’s too stiff. They won’t touch it.”
And it was done.
My beloved bag was deemed irreparable.
“You want a bag?”
My mourning over my old friend was broken by the thrust of a crisp brown Louis Vuitton shopping bag into which, was deposited my (now) retired friend.
Can’t have the walking wounded on fully display of potential LV owners.
My shame was tucked out of sight in a sleek bag that would have all who gazed upon my departure from the store, see me outfitted with the signature brown bag (with my ‘broken’ messenger bag tastefully hidden away).
She handed me my bag and traipsed off to join <some long-lost-or-favorite-friend-or-associate-that-was-clearly-more-important-than-providing-me-her-undivided-attention>.
There was no, “Can I interest you in another bag?” or “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
Just her back.
When I walked in, I had spied several replacement bags, in the event that the news I received was, in fact, the case.
I’m past the ‘diaper bag’ years, and so I was looking to acquire a new Louis.
My wife has at least seven different pieces, acquired over our 12 year marriage, so I’ve been super loyal to the brand.
The only reason I took the bag there was because of their (formerly) superb customer service.
And the pride (they formerly seemed to take) in their work.
So I was committed to acquiring a new piece.
But this chick pissed me off so bad…
I told my three kids, who I had with me…
Oh yeah, I had my kids with me.
…that we were leaving and hoofed out of the store.
Where I paused, and called customer service to get their response to my repair situation.
I had been so thoroughly dismissed by old girl, that I felt I couldn’t rely on her perfunctory assessment.
When I got through to <an unnamed operator> and ran down the situation, she confirmed that Louis Vuitton would not take for repair, any item that was deemed not sufficiently supple to withstand a repair that could potentially rip the fabric.
She apologized and hurriedly asked me if there was anything else she could do.
I barely finished saying “No thank you. I..” and she was gone.
No, “Can I get your name and email?” or “Can I send you a catalogue of our new line of messenger bags.”
Just dial tone.
I kid you not.
No effort at all made to assess whether they could help me replace my (obviously) now useless Louis.
I couldn’t believe how bad these guys were flubbing an opportunity to sell me another bag.
Mind you, you’ve got to drop coin to get these stupid brown canvas bags.
Oooo…it’s stamped with an L and a V.
Ahhh….the pink leather patinas over time and takes on this rich tan hue.
Kick rocks!
But here I am, with a bag I can no longer use and not one person at the store or on the phone, even interested in helping me buy another bag.
And so now, in my heart, Louis Vuitton has stepped into the place of poor customer service.
I pay homage to you, old friend Louis Vuitton, with a video.
Yeah. We're talking to YOU, Stephen Chukumba. You're not invited to our press release. Get it? Got it? Good!
Last week, Apple sent out press invitations for members of the press corps to attend their March 7th press announcement.
I know my seven loyal readers will be shocked when they hear this, but brace yourselves…here goes…
I didn’t get an invitation.
I know, I know.
How could this happen?
I don’t know.
I’ve been asking myself that very question, and I’m still drawing a blank.
I mean, I waited patiently by my mailbox for days.
No invitation.
I thought that perhaps it was delivered to the wrong address.
So I knocked on my neighbors’ doors asking if they had inadvertently received anything with a 1 Infinite Loop, Cupertino, California return address.
Nothing.
Then I thought, they may have sent my invitation in another format.
Was it sent by email?
Nope.
Perhaps it was buried in the spam folder?
Nyet.
Did they send a carrier pigeon?
Nada.
Was Apple trying to reach me via smoke signal?
No Kimosabe.
I’m at a complete loss.
I find it unacceptable that someone of MY stature (with at least eleven readers – that I know of) has yet to receive an invitation.
But you know what?
It’s okay.
Ever since Steve passed, things have been in a bit of disarray.
While I won’t be able to transmit the highs and lows of Apple’s highly anticipated announcements live and direct, I will still provide some (time-delayed) insight to the goings-ons over there tomorrow.
To be honest, I’m really only interested in the announcement as it relates to the iPad 3.
What features are real?
Which are hype?
What will it look like?
When will it actually drop?
Enough with the rumors!
No more supposition!
The people want the truth!
I want the truth!
We’ll forgive Apple’s faux pas, this time.
But next time, I don’t know if I can be so forgiving.
Apple press corps people, listen up!
The next time there’s a press announcement…I want an invitation!
But I have a perfectly good excuse – I’ve been busy.
I really have!
It’s not really a good excuse, but I use it every time I get lax in my blogging.
And it’s been almost four months, so I need to act like I give a sh*t!
So anyway, I just did an interview with David Muhammad, Founder/CEO/Chief Strategist of MadisonDavid Digital, and host of The Digital Strategist, a program on SOMAtv, the public access channel of South Orange and Maplewood.
Now it’s not 60 minutes, and the set leaves something to be desired.
But the conversation with David is insightful, and I wax digital, mobile and me.
We talk about my start in the digital space, working with Digiwaxx, Marksmen Productions and my perspectives on mobile application development.
It’s 28 minutes long, but believe me, it goes quickly!
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Stephen Chukumba 