Artists bruise easily. And, like any sensible namby-pamby playing in a brutal schoolyard, they will do one of three things when bullies lob rocks at their heads or pants them during recess: run crying to the authorities, summon the cloak of invisibility or fight back. I've never been much of a crybaby (although I like nothing better than a fine cry with a good friend, glass of Merlot and a wedge of Brie) and since I am a bit on the chatty side the skulking away thing doesn't work so well for me, so I've usually elected to fight back. Not with fisticuffs (must we be so...yawn...literal?) but with artsy-fartsy things like wit, humor and a Teutonic level of organization. And usually, owing to a competitive streak the size of the Ganges that will not be satisfied until I have reduced my opponent to rubble, I like to employ all three.

So when some nimrod hocks a lugie at me in my own backyard, I'm not going to be satisfied with a good dressing-down or a simple banning, oh, no, my nameless, faceless friends. I'm going to win win WIN! I'm going to make communicatrix bigger, stronger, faster, and now, with fewer carbs and more natural flavor for a snacking sensation the whole family can enjoy! I'm going to leverage my equity, reposition the brand and seize a whole new slice of the consumer pie. And I won't stop short of anything but total bloggal domination!

Step one: focus the c-trix USP. No more of this soft-pedaling "oh, I'm just writing for me" crap. That's for mom-bloggers and LiveJournalists and other Internet pikers. I mean, really: "spouting off in & about" blah blah blah; what the hell kind of whiny loser bleat is that? Where's the teeth? Where's the snap? Where's the sh-sizzle, baby?

And damned right, people want style over substance. Don't kid yourself, baby, we're all about the cool-hunt in this country, every last one of us. What does Evelyn Rodriguez know about it anyway? Blah blah blah tsunami blah blah blah life-changing blah blah blah more important things in life. Jesus, I've been looking to her for inspiration? SHE'S ALMOST AS OLD AS I AM!!!

No more of this erudite navel-gazing in the guise of self-exploration and the quest for truth. I'm going to STAND for something! And if I can't immediately tell people what it is, why, I'll do what American advertisers have always done: manufacture something out of thin air!

The communicatrix, no, the Communicatrix, stands for...well, she stands for...

Okay. It appears a little old-school copywriting brainstorming is in order:

Communicatrix. Come for the lists. Stay for the interminable homilies.
Communicatrix. Dancing through fields of metaphors, (punctuated by parenthetical remarks) trailing ellipses in her wake...
Communicatrix. Yak yak yak.
Communicatrix. Because it's never too late to hit the back but,
Communicatrix. Double-digit readership since last November.
Communicatrix. I know you are...but what am I?
Communicatrix. Like nails on a chalkboard for real writers everywhere.
Communicatrix. Just because it's beyond our grasp doesn't mean we don't have an opinion about it.
Communicatrix. Too earnest to be funny. Too funny to understand Moveable Type.
Communicatrix. On the cutting edge of the tail end of virtually every trend.

Whew. Some really great stuff in there. Thank god for those ten years in advertising.

Now all I need is a good, weak cup of tea, a little lollygagging and some brisk pacing and I'll be ready to jump into Part II of my genius strategy:

Communicatrix, The Jingle!

xxx c