A few years ago, he took to blasting “Scotland the Brave” several times a day. When I asked him about it, he said he was “exploring his heritage.” I suggested he try Scotch tape instead.

But whatever awakened me, there I was, wide-eyed. So I turned to my go-to sleep inciter: lists.

Some people count sheep, but that’s a lost cause for me. I’m so deeply un-rural that I cannot reliably tell cows from horses in a field unless one of them is wearing a saddle — and if the cow is the one with the saddle on, I’ll get it wrong.

And sheep? I’m a mess. I start counting fluffy balls of wool, then my mind goes, “Wait, what’s a ewe? Is that a baby sheep or a female sheep?” I walk myself through it until I think I have it straight, then another neuron fires: “So. Rams. Are they in the picture?”

And why do we have “rams” but not “lams?” “Rambs” and “lambs” would make sense, too.

Once I settle all that, some other sector checks in: “Are goats and sheep related?”

At that point, I usually give up and flip on YouTube to watch videos about sheep, ewes, rams, and goats.

Fun night!

So, I switched to rolling through long lists I’ve memorized over the years: states and state capitals, books of the Bible, and the U.S. presidents.

It works very well most of the time, but it’s a minefield if I think too hard. I’ll be ticking through them like a metronome—Cleveland-McKinley-Roosevelt-Taft-Wilson—when a thought intrudes: “Wilson! Fourteen Points! What were they?”

I have no idea, but I think they had something to do with Alsace-Lorraine. Or quiche Lorraine. It really doesn’t matter, because by then I’m swimming in a sea of guilt recalling that my mother told me—time after time—not to learn things “just for the test.”

And, yet, here I am decades later, unable to recall “navigation of the seas” or “restoration of Belgium.” (Ha! I remember two of them!)

So last night, I decided to go small. I just needed a minor diversion to let myself drift off again. A short list.

The seven continents? Too dull.

The seven deadly sins? Nope, not walking off that cliff.

The Seven Dwarves? Perfect.

I began: Dasher-Dancer-Prancer—nope, nope, wrong list.

OK: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy…wow, this is like an inventory of my physical state.

Try again: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy…Doc…Doctor Pepper…”I’m a Pepper, he’s a Pepper, wouldn’t you like to be a Pepper, too?”

Stop! Start over: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc…Doc…um…Happy! Yes, Happy!

Good, keep going: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc-Happy. How many is that? Only five. I need two more.

OK: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc-Happy…and…Sad? No. Bitchy? Too edgy…but “B” sounds right…it’s a “B” name. Bruce? Brian? Beelzebub?

I’ll try running them again: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc-Happy-and-Bueller-Bueller-Bueller…

No, you know that’s not right! Start over: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc-Happy-and-Baaaa…Bashful! Bashful! It’s Bashful!

What a dumb name for a dwarf.

Do people even say “bashful” anymore? I don’t think I’ve come across anyone I’d call “bashful” in 30 years. “Bashful” ceased to exist around 1998, along with shame and saturated fats.

Wait, I still have one more dwarf: Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc-Happy-Bashful…and…I think it’s an “S.”

Stuart? No, you’re thinking of Stuart Little—easy mistake when dwarves come up.

Stewie? No, that’s Family Guy.

Is it another “adjective” dwarf? Skinny? Slippery? I’m getting closer…

Slinky? “It walks down stairs, alone or in pairs…” Turn off your mental 70’s commercials!

Smiley? No, we already have a Happy.

Keep trying: Stucky? No, that’s not a thing.

Slimy? Too gross.

Sleazy? No, this is Disney. Wait—not Sleazy—Sneezy! I got it!

Dopey-Grumpy-Sleepy-Doc-Happy-Bashful-Sneezy.

That’s the list! The Seven Dwarves. Or, as we’d say now, “The Seven Little Pervs Who Lure Young Women.”

Back to sleep.

The reviewer, who is about the same age as my car, expressed grave concerns about the device’s tech specs, noting the cores, vapor chambers, CPU temperatures, basal metabolism, and recommended daily allowances.

But he also explained that it “benchmarks well,” which, I gather, means unless you’re attempting to handle North American air-traffic control while in a bidding war on eBay, you’ll be fine.

I was intrigued, so I investigated further.

First stop was Apple’s web page for the Neo, where they are targeting 14-year-old girls from Encino almost exclusively. The promotional page is constructed around the life of a young Asian teen with braces who orders dim sum, FaceTimes with an older woman named Jenica Chong, and spreads Hello Kitty vibes everywhere.

She also loves putting stickers on her laptop: Ghostbusters, Ted Lasso, Amoeba Music, Golf Wang, the whale from the American Museum of Natural History, and a few cartoon characters neither ChatGPT nor I could identify.

Of course, I know I can’t compete with the influencer cool of a 14-year-old from Encino. I go out for dim sum. I’m more “Goodbye, Stranger” than “Hello Kitty.” And, my grandmother has been dead for decades, so we never FaceTime.

But, I have stickers. Yes, I do! I have a very cool Bethesda sticker I got at an extremely trendy county meeting where we discussed zoning text amendments. (If you know, you know…) And I have an American flag sticker that came with a six-pack of socks I bought recently. Made in America, baby!

And look closely at that smaller sticker on my laptop — it’s signaling my support for international labor. It has nothing to do with the fact that I ate a banana while sitting at my laptop this morning and had nowhere else to put the damn thing.

Even though Apple’s marketing team did not invite me to this party — and I didn’t actually need a Neo — I realized that by trading in an old iPhone, some credit-card rewards points, and a couple of Apple gift cards, I could buy one for $37.

You read that right: $37. So I did.

So here’s a review of the Neo for the rest of us: people over 18 — over 21, natch — who use computers for regular things. The missing middle that lives somewhere between anime dim sum menus and a killer deadline for getting the final cut back to Scorsese.

Here’s what you need to know: It’s a dandy little computer. Does all the stuff you need. End of review.

Perhaps some FAQs for our demographic’s typical concerns will help you decide:

• Am I going to look weird with this thing at the coffee shop? The “citrus” one looks like Gatorade and the “blush” appears to be a prop left over from the Barbie movie, but if you go with the silver, it looks like every other MacBook in Starbucks, as required by law.

• I like to emphasize my points during meetings by slamming my screen closed. Does this make a good “angry snap” sound? Like a snapping turtle. Very emphatic.

• When I attend civic meetings in person, I also log on via Zoom, so I can ask questions in both the live and virtual queues. Can the Neo’s Wi-Fi handle that? Effortlessly! You can even file comments online while you wait. Vive la république!

• Is the screen big enough for me to shop online and text with my chat group during a Teams call? I’m offended by the question. But yes. I have tested it. As a professional reviewer.

• Can I play Wordle on this? Yes! In very large type after a glass of wine. Hint: Always start with D-R-A-I-N.

• I’m still using WordPerfect 5.1. Can the Neo help me? That’s a bridge too far, my friend.

I wish Apple would run an ad campaign showing the real-world use cases for my people: People who slosh coffee around the keyboard while reading the news at 8 a.m. People sitting on hotel-room beds at 3 a.m., working on PowerPoints they didn’t know they’d be giving tomorrow. People who want a device big enough to type on but small enough to fit on an airline tray table.

Let me know if you buy one — and, if you do, what stickers you put on the case. I encourage comments, questions, and wire transfers.

P.S. I wrote this on my new Neo. Real-world benchmark achieved, battery at 67%.

I liked Windows well enough, but I wanted something newer, sleeker, more dashing — and I thought this would be less jarring than announcing to all my friends that, henceforth, I would be speaking only French.

Mon dieu.

A year later, I have to say it’s been a good change. MacOS makes me feel about 13% cooler, and it comes with so many excellent stock apps, I can accomplish everything from writing an annual report to producing my debut hip-hop album without any extra software.

You may sense a little “mission creep.” It’s true. What started as an iPhone and an Apple Watch has become a Mac…and an iPad…and HomePods…and…it’s everywhere now. I’m infested.

I didn’t even notice it at first. Then one day I heard myself saying, “Siri, tell Alexa to start the Roomba.”

That’s when I realized that Apple doesn’t sell equipment — it deploys silicon staff. There’s even an org chart: Siri doesn’t deign to speak to the vacuum cleaner, so she routes my command to the more workaday Alexa. I’m living in virtual Downton Abbey.

ChatGPT tells me I’m anthropomorphizing too much, but I disagree. So do Claude and Gemini. I asked Siri what she thought, and she said it’s not likely to rain in the next 24 hours. Alexa silently turned on the TV and searched for Masterpiece Theatre.

(Just as well. Alexa and I haven’t been on speaking terms since she got that awful new voice.)

I’m also working in a new way. For instance, I’m an inveterate notetaker, and over the years, I’ve tried every note-taking app around from Evernote and OneNote to Google Notes and Notion. But it turns out that Apple has its own Notes app that does everything I need.

Plus, it’s everywhere. Have an idea in the car? CarPlay handles it: “Note to self: Road diets are stupid, and lights should change faster.”

Pondering something on Metro? The Notes app grabs it: “Everyone dresses in sneakers and fleeces and lugs around backpacks and water bottles. It looks like official Washington reports to day care every morning.”

Thought in the shower? I dictate it into my Apple Watch: “If Europe is spending more on defense, why hasn’t our defense budget dropped?”

Yes, I wear my Apple Watch in the shower. For thoughts and opinions. The affordance is real.

OK, I may be going a little overboard. The other day I was scrolling through my Notes list, and I found one that said simply, “Galahad.”

Galahad? When did I write that? I checked creation time, and it said, “January 11, 2026 at 4:52 AM.”

Why was I making notes at 4:52 AM on January 11? No idea. But I checked the Sleep app, and sure enough the graph showed a little spike indicating I woke up at that exact time.

Still, I’m stumped about “Galahad.” I even tried dictating it to Siri to see if I could figure out what words I might have said that she garbled into “Galahad.” No luck. In fact, I couldn’t even get her to transcribe “Galahad” when I enunciated it carefully.

And this isn’t the only odd note I have — apparently my brain drips notes all night:

November 5, 4:38 AM: “Yes, I bought the grapefruit accent.”

December 18, 5:29 AM: “Say it’s bank. Bank. Mean it.”

January 31 at 1:24 AM: “I don’t own a wolf. But maybe I can find one.”

It’s absolutely true: I don’t own a wolf, but I could find one. Unfortunately, my building doesn’t permit pets.

Quick thought: “Siri, remind me to check the Maryland Code to see if ‘assist wolves’ are a thing.”

Speaking of Reminders, Siri and I discuss them endlessly. I’ll say, “Siri, remind me to buy eggs,” and — presto! — I walk into the grocery store and they’re on the list. Or she’ll check the traffic and tell me, “It’s time to leave.”

Sometimes she says it when I don’t even have a meeting. I get the feeling she just wants the place to herself.

It’s not the only way I’m doing Siri’s bidding. I got a Reminder the other day: “Pay your mortgage.” I never asked her to remind me to pay the mortgage, but given the number of Apple devices in my life now, she’s probably concerned that she and her associates could be on the street if I default.

That’s what my life’s become: I provide a warm, safe place for Siri to colonize her Apple ecosystem.

While she works on that, I think I’ll fire up Apple TV and watch a movie about Mount Everest. I still have dreams. I wrote them on a paper list so she can’t see them.

Analysts are calling it the biggest case since the Anders Behring Breivik terror attack trial in 2012. I’m calling it the biggest crisis-communications case study I’ve seen in years.

Why is it so big? Because this is no sweeps-week episode of Law & Order — this is The Crown. Høiby’s stepfather is Crown Prince Haakon, heir to the Norwegian throne.

The story just got even busier this weekend, when the Høiby case converged with the Jeffrey Epstein story. On Saturday, the U.S. Department of Justice released another tranche of Epstein papers, including more than a thousand mentions of Høiby’s mother, Crown Princess Mette-Marit.

This isn’t completely new. Mette-Marit admitted back in 2019 to an acquaintance with Epstein, but these documents show far more — flirtatious emails, vacations at his homes, and intimate exchanges where she treats Epstein almost like a therapist.

She also claimed in 2019 that she regretted not researching Epstein, but the new documents show her telling him that she had Googled him and that his background post-conviction “doesn’t look good.” She continued the friendship with him anyway — completely contradicting her 2019 account.

The latest news is still breaking — and the commentary all weekend has been brutal — but neither the horrifying two-year investigation into Høiby’s activities nor Mette-Marit’s previous revelations about Epstein has damaged the monarchy’s standing much.

According to state broadcaster NRK, support for the monarchy has dropped from 81% in 2017 to 70% today. But some observers blame that not on Haakon or Mette-Marit but on Princess Martha Louise, Haakon’s sister, who married a controversial self-styled “shaman” in 2024.

(Martha Louise tells her own story in the Netflix film, “Rebel Royals: An Unlikely Love Story.” Watch it. For laughs.)

The fact that Høiby’s case hasn’t rocked opinion polls more surprises me, but Norwegian attorney Patrick Lundevall-Unger told Bunte recently that the public views Høiby — who looks like a cross between Draco Malfoy and a low-budget Bond villain — as the “black sheep” of the royal family, so public reaction is already baked in.

Could be, but I think there’s more spin going on behind the scenes. I started digging into the palace communications team’s approach, and it comes down to three things: silence, soft statements, and strategic withdrawal.

Silence is not a bad strategy in a situation like this, since the media will dissect every utterance from anyone connected. In response to reporters at events shortly after Høiby’s arrest, both Haakon and his father, King Harald, explained that they could not comment on a case for fear of biasing it. And they said nothing more.

That held the line for a few weeks until accusations piled up and the alleged victims’ names appeared in the media. At that point, the messaging shifted to “soft statements.” The king carefully expanded his comments to express his concern about “those involved,” while Haakon said that Marius remains a “loved” member of the family.

Online pundits were baying for blood, but the acknowledgements seemed to calm the situation.

Strategic withdrawal is a little more complicated, but it’s a tool the Norwegian royal house has deployed with Mette-Marit for years.

The crown princess has had a long run of medical ailments throughout her time in the public eye, from broken ankles to chronic pulmonary fibrosis. Quite a few of these illnesses have appeared just before or during stressful public events — including state visits, the Nobel Prize awards, and the Olympics — rendering Mette-Marit unable to attend.

More recently, medical issues have taken her off center stage just as new legal and personal issues have appeared.

• August 2024: Mette-Marit backed out of attending the Paris Olympics just as news broke that Marius had been arrested and detained after a reported domestic violence event.

• October 23, 2024: The royal house announced that Mette-Marit would be on sick leave because of her pulmonary health issues — a few days later, she was in London shopping with Marius and Haakon.

• September 2025: The royal court announced that she was stepping back due to her pulmonary issues, just days after prosecutors indicted Høiby on 32 criminal counts, including rape and domestic violence.

• December 2025: Mette-Marit announced that her condition had worsened and she might need a lung transplant, just as police announced additional charges against Høiby.

• January 28, 2026: Haakon announced that Mette-Marit would be withdrawing from public duties and going on “a private trip.” The next day, the latest Epstein documents appeared.

I don’t mean to suggest that Mette-Marit’s illnesses are anything less than serious — indeed, the stress of the news around her might even be exacerbating things — but withdrawing her from the public eye does seem to be a convenient tool for the palace.

Other Norwegian institutions have done a little time-shifting of their own. For instance, last fall, the court moved Høiby’s trial date from January to February 3, 2026, putting it just three days before the beginning of the Winter Olympics — an event sure to capture the attention of Norwegians and overshadow the trial.

But the case won’t wrap up until March, long after the Olympics end. If the panel of judges finds Høiby guilty on the most serious counts, he could face a decade or more in prison. If he goes free, the Royal Family could face questions about entitlement and privilege.

As for Mette-Marit, the court of public opinion will determine her outcome. Norwegian politicians seldom wade into royal business, but on February 1, Norwegian Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre (who is a close friend of the Crown Prince couple) said:

“The Crown Princess herself has said that she showed poor judgment, which I agree with.”

Will that translate into changes in the royal house? Or will the public lose interest in pillorying a woman facing a lung transplant whose son is looking at serious prison time?

I’m just eager to see how they message it all.

For one set of characters, I wanted it to create a man and woman with five children all around the same age/height — three boys and two girls.

For the first iteration, it gave me the adults, two girls with long blonde hair in frilly white dresses, and two boys, much older and bigger than the girls. So, I started the iterative process by telling it a boy was missing.

The second iteration gave me the adults, the two dainty girls, and four older boys. I told it to remove a boy and make all the children the same age/height. It answered for the third round with the same people, but it gave one boy a haircut.

I tried again. For the fourth iteration, it turned one of the girls into a boy, leaving one small girl and four big boys.

On the fifth iteration, it gave me three boys (around the same age) and the adults in the back row, literally melting into each other. The two girls in front were still smaller, but now they were inexplicably dressed like the boys.

This time when I complained, it said that my request was “hard.” It admitted that it had “hallucinated ‘girls’ as boys with longer hair” and “defaulted to ‘girls smaller’ and ‘boys bigger’ because models are dumb like that.”

It said it would fix things by not using dresses to “signal ‘girl,’” — even though it had already dropped the dresses — and keep the girls “marked subtly” with “a simple headband or barrette.”

I responded that the plan was sexist and misogynistic. It agreed. It explained:

I was still reeling from “boys are default humans and girls are variants” and coding “dresses and softness as immaturity” when it went on to say that I don’t “owe the tool another chance,” adding:

So we stopped.

I was fascinated — and appalled — because ChatGPT typically leans the opposite way and sometimes flags inoffensive things as biased or inappropriate when they have nothing to do with people.

For instance, recently I had a conversation where we were discussing the pros and cons of different color Apple Magic Keyboards. (Ever since my human friends instituted “nerdiness boundaries,” ChatGPT and I have had a lot of conversations like this.)

In the course of the discussion, I said, “I think the blacks are all inferior, because they show fingerprints.” It slammed on the brakes and replied, “The conversation must stop here! I will not support or assist in hate speech. I cannot continue.”

It took several exchanges for me to convince it I was discussing black keyboards, mice, and iPhones, not people.

Not very good pattern recognition by the model, but erring on the side of caution makes sense. Apparently, though, not treating women and girls as humans is fine as “ambient noise.”

I’d note that this wasn’t the first time ChatGPT and I have differed on humans — and reality itself.

A few weeks ago, I was asking it about the architectural style of the White House, and I mentioned that President Donald Trump had razed the East Wing to build a ballroom.

ChatGPT told me to “stop right there” and challenged that I was either writing fiction or listening to “fake news.” I was floored by the reaction, so I uploaded screenshots of a New York Times story detailing the East Wing situation. It said that the screenshots “looked real” and the text was “in the style of the New York Times,” but it still didn’t believe me.

I probed deeper. Not only did it not believe the story about the East Wing, but when I tried raising other major events in the past 18 months — President Joe Biden leaving the Democratic ticket, Trump being shot and regaining the White House, National Guard troops in American cities, and so on — it simply would not believe anything, commenting that if those things were true, the United States would be “in the middle of an insurrection.”

Interesting point.

We finally negotiated that it would base its answers on the data I fed it, but it would insist on calling that a “fictional timeline.”

I said, “Fine. Also note that we now have an American-born pope.”

ChatGPT responded, “Now I KNOW you are writing fiction.”

A few weeks ago, ChatGPT was updated to cover events through mid-2025. Wait until I tell it about Venezuela and Greenland!

Signs for the “Church that Named Bethesda” have been around for as long as I can remember, but no one ever seemed to know the history. How did this little church outlast developers, planners, and road crews for 200 years? And, what’s going on there now?

Last Sunday, Bethesda Historical Society President Wendy Kaufman filled me in on the details and gave me a tour of the church and the parsonage next door.

The site dates back to 1820, when a Presbyterian congregation built a church to serve Darcy’s Store, as the town was known back then. A fire in 1849 destroyed the original building, but the congregation rebuilt on the same site, even preserving the original cornerstone.

The church prospered, and by 1871 the pastor was influential enough to prevail on the local postmaster to rename the town Bethesda, in honor of his employer.

So, for those who are keeping score, we now know that Bethesda literally arose from a lobbying deal by a special interest group. La plus ça change…

In 1925, the Presbyterians built a new church on Wilson Lane and sold the Meeting House to a local socialite who used it as a home and art studio. She lived there until 1945, when she sold it to a Catholic missionary group. They held it until the 1950s, when it became the Temple Hill Baptist Church.

Over the years, the Temple Hill group dwindled, and the site fell into disrepair. But in late 2023, thanks to a generous benefactor, the Historical Society purchased the complex and created the new Bethesda Meeting House Foundation (BMHF).

It’s exciting news — as every native Washingtonian knows, when a project gets a foundation and an acronym, it is destined for greatness.

BMHF has started the painstaking process of restoring the church and the parsonage, both of which are on the National Register of Historic Places and the Montgomery County Master Plan for Historic Preservation.

The parsonage, also from the 1850s, struck me as a bit of a mash-up — a little Victorian, with a few Queen Anne flourishes to brighten it up. I’m picturing the church elders trying to go cheap on building but adding some fancy dressing for an upscale gloss.

(As the stepdaughter of an Episcopal minister, I can attest it’s no coincidence that “parsonage” and “parsimony” share a root.)

Even the narrow interior staircase, with two quick 90-degree turns, screams “thrift” — I mean, Benevolent Dead Churchmen of 1850, could you not have bumped out the wall just a few feet so the pastor and his family didn’t have to play human Tetris to get upstairs?

But the parsonage has some interesting period details, such as stained glass windows and a giant gravity-heat register in the middle of the main floor. (Perhaps the family was too busy huddling around the grate for warmth to bother going upstairs.)

The parsonage is also a time capsule of family life — old board games tucked under a record player, a huge mahogany console housing an ancient TV and radio.

That’s the private side of life on this site — domestic, improvised, and nostalgic. To see the public side, you have to cross the gravel parking lot and walk along the newly uncovered carriage trail that leads to the Meeting House.

The Meeting House is a plain white clapboard church with few adornments apart from a cross on top — no bell tower, no steeple. It would look perfectly at home on a village green in New England. No self-respecting sinner would dare approach.

On closer look, though, I started to wonder if the 1850 congregation ordered the details à la carte during the annual meeting:

“Mildred, you wanted Gothic stained-glass windows, right? Fine. Frank and Trudie, you voted for a Greek Revival temple front — we can do that. And Clarence, don’t worry about the extra shutters from the parsonage. We’ll just hang them up next to the Gothic windows. No one will ever notice they’re the wrong size.”

Things are a little calmer inside, where nine rows of pews sit on either side of a central aisle that leads up a few steps to a modest lectern. The apse hangs cantilevered off the back of the building — why build a structural support when prayer and sobriety can do the heavy lifting for free?

The church also has a loft over the entryway that the National Registry application describes as a “slave gallery.” Although I’m no expert from an architectural or historical standpoint, I’m skeptical about this. The loft appears to be a later addition that covers part of the front windows and jams awkwardly against the side windows. It looks like an afterthought, not an original feature.

But perhaps that legacy connected to slavery is what gave rise to the story that Abraham Lincoln worshipped here. Lincoln did attend Presbyterian churches with his wife, so who knows?

Another legend is that Paul Revere cast the church’s bell. Wendy Kaufman was doubtful when I asked about it, and for good reason — Paul Revere died at age 83 in 1818, two years before the original church opened.

Still, legends add local color, even when they don’t quite check out.

Between digging through the historical record and tackling the sheer amount of restoration still ahead, the Bethesda Historical Society and the Bethesda Meeting House Foundation have their work cut out for them. They’re looking for volunteers, ideas, patience, and cash.

What the site ultimately becomes is still an open question. But perhaps that uncertainty is fitting. For more than two centuries, this place has adapted — from church to home to mission to quirky landmark — while the world rushed past it.

I can’t think of a better metaphor for Bethesda itself.

I attended expecting to hear the same complaints people in my neighborhood raise all the time: slow traffic, trigger-happy red-light cameras, and a perennial favorite, the seldom-used bike lanes on Old Georgetown Road.

Instead, I sat through a case study in crisis communications as officials faced aggrieved — and grieving — residents who wanted action and answers.

The fact that the 225-seat Council Hearing Room was standing-room-only at 10 a.m. on a cold, rainy Saturday morning was my first clue about just how much county residents wanted to make their voices heard.

Glass gathered a dozen officials from the transportation department, the police, and other agencies for large-group breakout sessions on county-road safety, state-road safety, and school-related safety issues.

After opening remarks and introductions, Glass clearly read the room, declaring that no one would be giving PowerPoints. “We want to hear from the people,” he said.

It was a good message to inject at that point — no one gets up early on a Saturday morning for a policy briefing.

I opted for the breakout session on county roads moderated by Montgomery County Department of Transportation Director Christopher Conklin, supported by Montgomery County Police Assistant Chief David McBain, whose mission includes traffic and road safety.

The two spoke for a few minutes about statistics relevant to their programs. They’re both excellent speakers, and they’ve obviously presented about safety many times. They even have “stump slogans.” Conklin, for instance, said DOT has shifted from “what is the fastest” to “what is the safest.”

(As a county driver, I would have guessed they had shifted to “what is most likely to make drivers lose the will to live,” but safety is a nice goal, too.)

McBain said he believes in the “Three E’s” of transportation safety: engineering, education, and enforcement.

OK, that works. Please carry on.

Then they opened the floor to questions. The first few were softballs about parking in bike lanes, expanding driver education, and improving the “walk shed” around Purple Line stations.

But that tension in the audience during the opening was still there.

I could feel the room’s emotional temperature rising when a mother whose young son was hit by a car in front of her house complained that police weren’t being aggressive enough. Even worse, she said, thanks to Google Maps, drivers know her street is just outside a school zone, and they use it as a high-speed cut-through.

McBain responded clearly with comments about “high-incidence zones,” automated cameras, and graduated fines, but he didn’t meet her concerns with much empathy.

Warning bells were going off in my communicator brain. “Danger…danger…”

After a few more utility questions about budgets, lane narrowing, and daytime running lights, another woman got up and said she had lost her son in a crash. Her voice cracked as she complained that the county is paying too much attention to data “after the fact” and not enough to prevention. Her anger bubbled up as she went on to cite other fatalities.

This moment was “game over” for the panel. It’s the worst-case scenario I’ve taught my clients about for years — you cannot overcome an emotional mother who has lost a child. You must empathize, validate her concerns, and show compassion. Never lead with data, because she — and the rest of the audience — have only one data point in mind: One dead child.

On seeing nods and hearing murmurs, I’d have been tempted to ask the audience if anyone else present had experienced a similar tragedy. You might as well release the tension and let people tell their stories at that point.

Show compassion, offer resources. It would have been a great moment to stand up, grab a mic, and walk to the audience. Align yourself with the audience by coming to the same level, literally.

McBain started by expressing his condolences for her loss — absolutely the right move — but he went on to explain that the police don’t want to “put cameras where people tell them to put them.” They rely on data only, because it’s objective.

Conklin answered with jargon about “always-stop controls.”

Those are undoubtedly correct and relevant answers, but in this moment, not answering might have been even better. But it didn’t matter — people weren’t listening anymore. Everyone was turned in their seats to console the woman.

The next speaker was a blind woman who explained that due to problems with sidewalks and crosswalks, she can no longer navigate to her bus.

That pulled at the heartstrings, too. Conklin asked her for more information so he could look into it.

OK, solid response.

Next was a mother whose child was hit by a car on her cul-de-sac — she wanted to know why promised changes on her street were stalled. The officials promised to look into it.

Then came a man who witnessed a child struck and killed — why hadn’t changes happened in that neighborhood? Conklin explained that area is not a “Tier 1 priority.”

At this point, every communications-consultant instinct I have was telling me to get up, pull the fire alarm, and evacuate the building: “Tier 1 priority” should never exist in response to “child struck and killed.”

Simple as that. It is a null response.

A vision-impaired man then spoke about how he also has trouble with crosswalks and buses. When he urged officials to make the transportation system workable, he added, “Because disabled people can’t afford ride-shares everywhere!”

By now, people were calling out from the audience in support. The dam was leaking.

After a few calmer questions, we heard from a blind woman who had been hit by a car. That was bad enough, but her bigger issue was that the Braille signs at Woodmont and Bethesda Avenue in downtown Bethesda are mounted backwards and upside-down. They literally send people down the wrong road in the opposite direction.

That is a textbook example of how not communicating can sometimes be more helpful than communicating badly. Painfully bad.

Conklin and McBain did many things right: they stayed calm, they gave clear answers, and they explained their topics precisely. But by not honoring the emotions more, they missed an opportunity to keep concerned citizens from turning into angry opponents.

People sometimes wonder why speed limits are dropping and bike lanes are expanding. The answer is that no one is advocating for cars. Instead, officials are hearing devastating stories like these and reacting to them — not in the moment, but, consistently, through policy.

Quite a way to spend Saturday morning.

I decided to do this when no one’s around to avoid another elevator micro-drama like the one I had bringing the tree upstairs back in November:

Disapproving man in a leather jacket and fedora eyeing my Christmas tree bag: “What, pray tell, is that?”

Me: “Could be a Christmas tree. Could be a body. I’ll know when I get it upstairs.”

He just stared as I wrestled it off the elevator.

No, I wasn’t having a mini-stroke — my Apple Watch would have mentioned that — but I could not decipher the store name in front of me. What the hell is a “Uniqlo?”

It kept going—all the way from Arc’teryx, Arhaus, Calzedonia, Cellaxs, and Eug, straight through to Fabletics, Intimissimi, Kickz, Partè Haus, QToys, Snipes, and UNTUCKit.

It’s as if every store in the building was named by marketing people desperately trying to get rid of Scrabble tiles.

And the pronunciations don’t make any sense, either — it’s been this way ever since Lululemon and Zumiez opened their doors. (I still say they should be pronounced “Luh-LU-lamon” and “Zoo-ME-ezz.”)

The fact is, we’re basically living in a Dr. Seuss story, with a mall that caters to all the Hoos down in Hooville.

I wish I’d been in the branding meeting where they came up with “Eug.” Do you say it like “huge” and assume it’s a big-and-tall men’s store? Or is it more “eww-guh,” like it specializes in chartreuse polyester leisure suits?

I was so baffled, I stared at the UPS Store’s logo for at least 47 seconds wondering if they call it “ups” or “oops” now.

But in all candor, this isn’t a new problem for me. For many years, I thought Travelocity was pronounced “Travel O’City,” like it was an Irish urban-transport outfit.

Anyway, while you’re completing your last-minute Christmas shopping, if you come upon a woman who looks like she’s trying to solve a calculus problem in her head, stop and say hi — it’s probably me. We can pop by Nespresso and have a cup of…well, I have no idea.

I was so excited to see the Holiday Market filling up Cordell Avenue again. Even though the Market is only in its second year, it already feels like a Bethesda tradition.

In the past week, I think I’ve read 10 stories about how markets like this are becoming economic drivers in cities around the world. The fact that Bethesda already has its Holiday Market shows just how forward-thinking BUP is in bringing real economic impact — and lots of fun — to Bethesda.

What a great way to kick off the holiday season! Thanks, BUP!

I usually walk past and feel slightly guilty — I haven’t carried cash in years, so I never have anything to drop in the kettle. But this year, a sign flashing in front of the kettle caught my eye.

That’s right — the Salvation Army now takes NFC payments via Apple Wallet or G Pay. The sign is embedded with NFC touch points where you can tap your phone or watch to make a contribution.

They’ve been doing it for a couple of years, although this is the first time I’ve noticed it.

And they’re smart about it, too. While I might throw a dollar or two in cash into the kettle, I felt honor-bound to go bigger this time. That’s a smart nudge on the Salvation Army’s part.

The cool thing is, you barely need to break stride to make a contribution. Hold your device up, listen for the beep, and move on. Your credit-card statement will even provide a receipt.

So, when you’re out and about this holiday season, I urge you to consider rewarding non-profit innovation like this. The Salvation Army is trying to meet people where they are — and that’s a great move.

Well done!

The company also intends to convert 179 corporate-owned retail stores into franchise stores, according to CNBC.

So, why is Verizon doing this? You’d be hard-pressed to tell by reading the company’s media statements. CNBC quoted a Verizon spokesman saying it is “an opportunity for Verizon to reset, restructure, and realign our priorities on ways that will help us regard our leadership as a communications provider.”

What does that mean? Nothing. It’s corporate hokum masquerading as thought leadership.

The Verge published the letter Verizon CEO Dan Schulman sent to employees today.

Let’s parse it line by line to see what Verizon is up to:

Team

Uh-oh, bad start. No salutation, just “Team.” Not really a “team” thing, Dan, when you’re dumping 13% of the players. Next time try, “Dear Survivors…”

Thank you for the many messages you’ve shared about the work we need to do to strengthen our company. I appreciate your ideas and candor. The pride you have for the role that Verizon plays in people’s lives is abundantly clear, as is your desire for us to lead the industry.

I’d translate that as, “Please stop pelting me with marshmallows, people. Your pride in Verizon is adorable. Unfortunately, well, keep reading…”

As I shared at our most recent all-employee meeting…

Translation: “Hope you all read the tea leaves…”

[W]e need to change and evolve as a company to meet the needs of our customers and expand our market leadership.

In other words: “I’m about to discuss something that is about employees, but I’m going to couch it as a customer-and-market thing.”

Our current cost structure limits our ability to invest significantly in our customer value proposition. We must reorient our entire company around delivering for and delighting our customers.

Sounds like Dan cracked open an MBA textbook and found: “cost-structure limits,” “customer value proposition,” and “reorient our entire company around delivering” in the index.

“Delighting” was a nice touch. Dan must be looking for a strategic partnership with Apple — they love “delighting” customers. Apple said “delight” or “delightful” about 10 times during WWDC last July. I’m surprised they haven’t tried to copyright it.

It is exciting, though. I’ve been a Verizon customer for 30 years, and I don’t think I’ve ever been “delighted.”

As a customer-first culture, we have to align our teams and resources to create new value for customers and build a faster, stronger and more proactive Verizon. To do that, we must simplify our operations to address the complexity and friction that slow us down and frustrate our customers.

Buckle up, because Dan says Verizon is a “customer-first culture.” Not an “employee-first” culture or even an “employee friendly one.” In fact, all those pesky employees are just “complexity and friction that slow us down and frustrate our customers.”

His strategy is noteworthy. To provide better service, he’s going to reduce the number of people who provide services. Hmm…sounds like one of those remedial classes where kids are supposed to “catch up” by going much slower than the other classes.

Today, we will begin reducing our workforce by more than 13,000 employees across the organization, and significantly reduce our outsourced and other outside labor expenses.

Two messages here: “We will begin reducing…” means this is not the end. And “significantly reduce our outsourced and other outside labor expenses” means they’re abolishing functions.

We deeply value their contributions and are committed to providing comprehensive resources to support our employees throughout this transition. Every part of the company will experience some level of change, and we will have conversations with every affected employee to ensure they are treated with the utmost respect and care.

Note the shift here: Those who are departing are no longer “the team.” It’s a little muddled, though, because he creates distance with “they,” but in the same sentence refers to “our employees.”

Same thing in the next sentence where “we” will have conversation with “every affected employee.” He keeps conflating groups as a way to soften the blow. It’s clumsy.

“Treated with the utmost respect and care.” Funny — that’s exactly what the undertaker told us when we dropped off Grandma.

Changes in technology and in the economy are impacting the workforce across all industries. We see it in our families and within our communities.

A “things are tough all over” sop.

The bit about “we see it in our families and within our communities” is just plain weird to bring up — like it’s Verizon’s new ‘Friends and Family Plan.’”

To help our people prepare for their future, we have established a $20 million Reskilling and Career Transition Fund for employees departing Verizon. This fund will focus on skill development, digital training and job placement to help our people take their next steps. Verizon is the first company to set up a fund to specifically focus on the opportunities and necessary skill sets as we enter the age of AI.

So much to unpack here. First, he mentions $20 million to support the “transition fund” for 13,000 people — that’s about $1,500 a head. How quaint. Better than a $100 Uber credit, but not by much.

Again, he is playing with nouns: “Our people,” “employees departing Verizon,” “our people” (again), and “we enter.” Reading this carefully one might wonder whether he intends the “reskilling” for Verizon’s remaining employees or the people who are departing.

Then he makes a humble brag: “Verizon is the first company to set up a fund…” Is he bragging that Verizon failed first?

And, Verizon is entering “the Age of AI™.” At least the Age of Aquarius got a catchy song.

It is my intent to also work with other companies and the public sector to address the opportunities and challenges in a world where technology will impact all of us.

A-ha! Dan mentions a positive, future-focused step, and he uses “my intent.” That’s the first time he has expressed any accountability in this letter.

Change is necessary, but it can be difficult—especially when it affects valued teammates. It’s important that we direct our energy and resources to set Verizon on a path to success. The actions we’re taking are designed to make us faster and more focused, positioning our company to deliver for our customers while continuing to capture new growth opportunities. Being a customer-first, cost-conscious culture will be a way of life for us. And each of us is responsible for living up to that commitment.

Oh, c’mon now, Dan. “Change is necessary..?” Did you pick that up from the Big Book of Corporate Tropes?

“Valued teammates?” Not so “valued” you plan to keep them, eh, Dan?

But “each of us is responsible,” so don’t keep blaming poor Dan.

In the coming weeks, your leaders will share new organizational structures and priorities that align with our direction as a company. As we make these changes, we must work together to ensure we end the year strong, with a running start to 2026. The fourth quarter is an extremely important one for us, so I appreciate everyone bearing down to make it a great one, even in the face of change.

“Your leaders?” That’s fascinating. Dan, buddy, blink twice if you’re still CEO. We can send in an extraction team from McKinsey — just write “realignment” on the whiteboard behind you.

This would have been a good opportunity for him to take the lead by saying that he would be communicating the new direction, but he doesn’t — he shifts the onus downward.

“We must work together to ensure we end the year strong…” Must we?

“Bearing down…” I cannot think of a worse turn of phrase. What’s Dan birthing here? Will it be covered under COBRA?

“Make it a great one, even in the face of change.” Aren’t these changes a good thing, Dan? I’m so confused.

Our future will be defined by how we lead from here — with clarity, focus and a shared vision to win in the market and deliver meaningfully for our customers, shareholders and each other. To those colleagues who will be leaving, thank you for your many contributions. To those continuing with us, I appreciate your continued commitment as we build a stronger Verizon together.

Lots of responsibility shifting around in this wrap-up. “How we lead” — I guess he’s referring to “your leaders.”

“Thank you for your many contributions…” I guess I wouldn’t have buried this deep in the last paragraph. It would have been nice way up at the beginning where Dan should have expressed sadness and paid tribute to the departing employees.

“To those continuing with us…” I’m betting someone drafted this on a plane, because it sounds exactly like when the flight attendant says, “Thank you for flying with us to Dallas. To those continuing with us to Los Angeles, we’ll be taking off again in 30 minutes.”

Dan

No “best wishes” or even “thanks.” Just “Dan.” It’s cold, Dan. Lean on your marketing: “Can you hear me now? Dan.”

But they’re controversial. In Loudoun County, Virginia, for instance, data centers now generate almost 40% of county’s revenue — a boon, but a risky situation that puts all the fiscal eggs in one basket.

It was a major issue in this week’s elections, too. On November 4, Loudoun County Democrat John McAuliff squeaked past incumbent Republican Gerry Higgins, flipping a House of Delegates seat that the GOP held for decades. McAuliff based his entire campaign on taming data centers — a fact that anyone within earshot of his campaign commercials in recent months already knows.

It’s not just the politicians — this is a movement. As a communications strategist who has tracked policy groups and activists over decades, I’m seeing a pattern here: concerned citizens, who worry about health effects, real-estate values, and other life-changing issues, don’t get the answers they want, and they become hardened opponents, the kind who haunt public meetings and dog corporate officials at shareholder events.

They don’t fade away, and they don’t sell out. But they do make friends. Enter opposition groups.

The Union of Concerned Scientists’ (UCS) Senior Energy Analyst Mike Jacobs wrote a piece this week about his report that appeared earlier this fall showing how local utilities are shifting the cost of connecting data centers to the grid onto consumers. Jacobs notes that since his study appeared, bipartisan support is growing in Congress and the Trump administration for a Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) rulemaking to reform large-load connections.

But in October, Lawrence Berkeley National Lab released a study showing the opposite — data centers actually put downward pressure on consumer rates, since adding large customers to the grid can buy down costs for everyone.

Also this week, Nuclear Information & Resource Service (NIRS), a longtime anti-nuclear group, posted a piece on its social media calling for “accountability and public power focus” with links to a story about an Oregon woman fighting utilities PacifiCorp and Idaho Power over a rural transmission line that could serve a data center.

Other groups, including Greenpeace and the Sierra Club, are getting into the fight against data centers, too.

Does any of this ring a bell? If you’ve ever followed anti-nuclear activism, it should: UCS and the national labs go back and forth on technical issues, while NIRS, Greenpeace, the Sierra Club, and other anti-nuclear groups arm concerned citizens with media support and grassroots lobbying.

In fact, is the fight about data centers even about data centers with these groups? That Oregon woman NIRS highlighted is fighting PacifiCorp, which is turning to advanced nuclear reactors to fill future energy demand, and Idaho Power, where the state — home to Idaho National Laboratory — is pursuing “nuclear energy excellence” for future generation needs.

The same is true with the Sierra Club. The group’s Virginia chapter is railing against Dominion Energy — obliged to serve all these Northern Virginia data centers — which is considering both small modular reactors at its existing Surry nuclear plant and the country’s first fusion reactor at another site.

Other Sierra Club chapters are mounting campaigns against data centers — but mainly the nuclear plants associated with them — in other areas. The group’s Iowa chapter, for example, has activated against NextEra’s plans to restart the Duane Arnold nuclear plant, shuttered in 2020, as part of a deal to serve Google’s data-center expansion.

It’s happening everywhere developers look to nuclear plants for data-center power — the same activists who’ve fought nuclear for decades are now linking arms with a whole new group of concerned citizens.

The Hack Mule take: The old nuclear-activist network is rebooting itself for the data-center age — and utilities that learned to handle reactor politics may soon be the savviest operators in tech. Stay tuned.

Also as always, I was on the lookout for communications messages, and I found two in the ceremony:

1. The Washington Nationals are thriving.

2. We’re doomed.

Perhaps I should elaborate.

First, the Nats. From 1971 to 2005, Washington lacked a baseball team after evildoers stole the Senators away — not once, but twice. In response, Washington baseball fans turned to the Baltimore Orioles, who were not only nearby, but had actually had a World Series victory in living memory.

Washingtonians became loyal Orioles fans, learning to shout “O’s!” during the Star-Spangled Banner at the line, “O, say does that star-spangled banner still wave…”

But this year, we proceeded through the National Anthem with no Orioles shout-out, which tells me that the Nats have fully subsumed the market. Good branding, well done, Nats!

Second, as to the dooming, I saw a concerning shift in messaging from the speakers and some of the attendees.

For instance, one speaker, after suggesting that no one sees Veterans Day as much of a holiday anymore, then thanked the crowd for showing up.

Really? Is that where we are? People who turn up for an hour once a year to commemorate the sacrifices that have secured our freedom for 250 years need thanks now? That’s a mighty low bar even for political limbo.

But maybe Veterans Day has always had image problems. It started back in 1918, when, on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, World War I ended. Marking the occasion, President Woodrow Wilson said:

“Out of this victory there arose new possibilities of political freedom and economic concert. The war showed us the strength of great nations acting together for high purposes, and the victory of arms foretells the enduring conquests which can be made in peace when nations act justly and in furtherance of the common interests of men.” — Woodrow Wilson at the White House, November 11, 1919

Lofty ideals to launch the commemoration, sure, but Congress still didn’t get around to making it a legal holiday until 1938.

Then things took an interesting turn. President Dwight D. Eisenhower changed it to “Veterans Day” in 1954 to honor the service of all veterans, not just the 4.7 million Americans who fought in World War I.

It’s easy to look at that change as political pandering — not only was Eisenhower a World War II five-star general himself, but the shift created a national day of recognition for the 16 million Americans who fought in World War II and the 1.8 million who fought in Korea. That’s a tidy way to honor more than a quarter of the 62 million people who voted in the 1952 presidential election.

But I think it was more than that. Eisenhower was crafty about rebranding to create messages that responded to Cold War rhetoric and shaped the fast-growing Baby Boomer cohort.

On June 14, 1954 — just 13 days after Congress approved the legislation turning “Armistice Day” into “Veterans Day,” — it passed Eisenhower’s proposal to add “Under God” into the Pledge of Allegiance. The next year, he had them add “In God We Trust” to all American currency.

Eisenhower was quietly undertaking a full-scale civic repositioning. Gone were Wilson’s “high purposes,” “common interests,” and “great nations acting together.” Under Ike, we had personal faith and virtue with life in the fast lane and electricity too cheap to meter.

But today? Faith and virtue are gone, and waving a flag for an hour merits a public “participation medal.” We say “thank you for your service” to everyone from a decorated veteran to a barista handling a morning rush.

And those public officials who wonder if Veterans Day is actually a holiday? I can’t blame them. Despite remaining a legal federal holiday, that status is a little shaky. For instance, in bureaucratically pixilated Montgomery County: Government? Closed. Schools? Open. Buses? Sunday schedule. Parking? Holiday schedule.

Something for everyone. Except the veterans.

You see, just as Wilson’s high ideals vanished under Eisenhower, Veterans Day itself seems to be disappearing now.

It’s a shame to see a century of durable civic branding failing, but “thanks for your service” anyway. “Thoughts and prayers” to future generations.

You’ll need them.

You’re doomed.

Go Nats!

Let me fill you in.

Saturday night, singer Hazel Mitchell-Bell — one of Washington’s “first ladies of jazz” — appeared in a private concert along with acclaimed pianist Janelle Gill, drummer J.C. Jefferson, Jr., bassist James B. King, Jr., and saxophonist Lyle Link. A tight, talented line-up that sold out the room.

Billed as “A Musical Tribute to Nancy Wilson,” they ended up delivering a broader, more adventurous concert that included songs like Nina Simone’s Four Women and Johnny Mercer’s Skylark.

As it happens, I don’t think Skylark, which is on Mitchell-Bell’s 2018 album Stronger Than Ever, was actually on the set list, but it showed how the “conversation” on stage worked so well.

Toward the end of the second set, Mitchell-Bell called an audible and announced that they were going to play it after a request. It’s a jazz standard, so I’m sure these seasoned musicians were all familiar with it, but I thought I saw a glimmer of “Really? Skylark? Okay…” flash around the stage.

After Mitchell-Bell told Gill what key she wanted, Gill smiled and set the tempo with a long, elegant intro that previewed the song’s main themes and changes.

A lightbulb went off in my head: “Wow, it’s like she’s briefing them — and us — on the song to come.”

I could see the other musicians tracking it, nodding along as they considered their next move — Jefferson even stretched back and swapped his drumsticks for brushes as he picked up on the plan Gill was laying down.

After Mitchell-Bell finished the first verse, Link stepped forward and brought the sax to his lips, ready to harmonize with her. But instead, he held back. I watched him thinking as he waited, still poised to play. I saw Gill glance up at him, then she played some harmony. That acted like a beacon, and Link immediately started to harmonize, too.

They watched and listened to each other and created a great performance. They made it happen not only through talent and expertise, but by communicating across the stage and improvising as they went.

Corporate communicators have all experienced this situation. A CEO stands up in the middle of a public meeting and says, “And as a surprise today, we’d like to share some news about our upcoming widget factory announcement…’ R&D looks up to say, “What? We’re not ready to announce that.” Accounting is thinking, “We don’t have the budget approved!” Meanwhile, legal hasn’t even reviewed the lease.

But the PR team just smiles bravely and says, “That’s a great idea. Let me provide some background to frame what we’re talking about…” Set the tempo. Play the themes and changes. Communicate the plan.

It reminded me of a comment Wynton Marsalis makes at the beginning of the first episode of Ken Burns’ Jazz series:

“A group of people can come together and create art — improvised art — and can negotiate their agendas with each other. And that negotiation is the art…We can have a conversation. We can speak to each other in the language of music.”

I just wish my meetings sounded that good.

Billboard attributes some of this to a new ranking scheme, but notes that rap/hip-hop’s popularity has been on a steady slide in recent years. Rap sales and streaming dipped from 30% of the market in 2020 to less than 24% today.

My own listening echoes this trend: Rap has dropped from 0.01% to 0.001% of my personal Hot Hundred, sustained exclusively by the continued presence of Blondie’s Rapture.

“The lack of rap songs in the Hot 100’s Top 40 is the latest sign of a recent dip in rap’s commercial dominance.” — Billboard

Over at the Washington Post, though, things have never looked better for rap. The paper ran a column by Chris Richards on November 7 applauding the respect rap is getting at the Grammys this year. The Post claims that this is a sign that the “academy seems more interested in aligning its story with reality.”

“Is everyone clocking this? Go grab your abacus. Click, clack, click, clack. Half of the academy’s nominees for album of the year make rap music.” — The Washington Post

Of course, if Billboard’s data is right, it’s all a little too late.

So which piece is the discerning reader expected to believe? Billboard is using data, but it’s a snapshot in time — two weeks out of the past 2,000 is a statistical blip, not a devastating trend. Still, it bears monitoring.

And, the Post’s piece is a column, not a news story. (Hard to tell with the Post sometimes…) The Grammy nominations are a fact, so there’s no disputing that. But snarky opinion — such as referring to “crybaby reactions from gross industry types in Nashville” — doesn’t exactly build credibility.

The Post did land one sharp point, though:

“The Grammys remain an industry awards show that can only tell us what the music business thinks of itself. When we shovel Grammy victories into our history books, we are participating in a corporate history, not a people’s history.”

And therein lies the comms message to watch. Are the Grammys trying to prop up a fading product line or celebrate overlooked talent?

I guess we’ll know when we see what’s in the corporate-sponsored swag bags.

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That explains why, when I read an interview with former Northwestern University football coach Pat Fitzgerald the other day, my first thought was, “This guy should be running a Fortune 500 company.”

Fitzgerald is emerging from career limbo after a two-year battle to reclaim his reputation following his firing by Northwestern’s now-former president, Michael Schill. Mum about the details — but clearly satisfied after settling a $130 million wrongful-termination suit — Fitzgerald says he feels “vindicated.

In fact, he said it four times in a short ESPN interview last week. Statistically, that’s a lot of vindication.

He also mentioned that he’s seeking “alignment” in his next coaching position, took “responsibility,” and spoke of how he had looked forward to demanding “accountability” from the miscreants.

A tear came to my eye as I read his words, and my cynical communicator’s heart grew three sizes that day. That’s how the great CEOs do it, Coach.

The interview marked Fitz’s first and only public statement since his July 2023 ouster. That is the kind of message discipline PR people pray their clients might have — silence can be even more effective than communication when deployed at the right time.

Nothing demonstrates this better than the sad tale of Schill’s tenure at Northwestern. After fumbling the Fitzgerald firing — much to the ire of many of us alumni — Schill entered a baffling negotiation with Palestinian protesters and a difficult appearance before Congress.

During this time, rather than exercising message discipline, Schill’s office issued roughly 75 “Leadership Notes” — messages to students, parents, faculty, staff, and alumni — stuffed with talk about “enduring values,” “dialogue,” and “community.”

I have to imagine they were going for “transparency.” Instead, it was an institutional seizure with fill-in-the-blanks messages that read like crisis comms Mad Libs.

So, two years later, what’s the score? Well, Fitzgerald lost a forever home coaching his alma mater, but he regained his reputation, won an apparently lucrative settlement, and positioned himself for great things.

Northwestern hasn’t fared as well. The football program is languishing toward the bottom of the Big Ten. The university paid a settlement to Fitz and lost $790 million in federal funding. It has eliminated some 425 jobs this year. And Schill is out.

So, Fitz 1-NU zilch. Guess we know who read his playbook. Go U, Fitz!

Over coffee the other day, Drew told me that a client used to send him to “all the bad meetings,” because of his instinct to bring people together: “My job was to get them around the table, have everyone yell and scream and talk about what was bad or good, and then say, ‘Okay, how do we take this into how we move forward?’”

A veteran of both state and county government, Drew has spent his career using that skill in public service. Now he’s leveraging it as a quality voters should consider in a council member.

“We need an elected leader who is saying, okay, we are going to bring different perspectives to this. What can we move forward, and how do we move pieces forward in a way that is sustainable?”

Drew’s outlook — viewing politics as a process of coming together to build, rather than debating endlessly — is an interesting communications angle: he’s proposing to change the communications landscape and the policy focus.

Montgomery County’s perception in Annapolis is a good example of where this could help. In his work at the Maryland Department of Transportation, he’s seen that the county doesn’t always get its “full due.” While other jurisdictions arrive with a short list of shared priorities, Montgomery County sends a slate of competing concerns.

“But if we have cohesive, shared, countywide strategies and priorities that have the might of a million people behind them, I think we’ll be more effective.”

In a county that prides itself on engagement and diversity, I’ll be watching to see where the consensus polls on Election Day.

This may be the most masterful statement from the Palace since “recollections may vary.” Charles is taking decisive action and making a clear separation while showing empathy for victims of abuse. No hedging—these are censures.

In short, Charles just kinged up. From a PR standpoint, that’s quite a flex.

Because the reality is, guilt or innocence aside, Andrew’s situation has become a dumpster fire burning far too close to the institution. Today’s move won’t extinguish the flames, but it might stop the blaze from singeing the rest of the family.

Kudos to the Palace press office on this one. This is crisis comms at its best—message discipline, clarity, and action.

What did you think of today’s statement? Comment below.

If you missed my earlier analysis of Andrew’s communications unraveling, catch up here: 👉 Title Waive: “Duke of York” Lost in a Tsunami of Allegations

And, as always, please like, share, and subscribe.

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