So it’s no wonder Richmond’s own classy lady, The Jefferson Hotel, is dripping with the darned things. She’s won AAA’s top rating (again!) for 2010. That would be FIVE diamonds for those of you who are counting.

She’s one of only two hotels in the Commonwealth to sport such finery, the other being The Inn at Little Washington in northern VA.

And while you might think such a lady would be stuffy and old-fashioned, you have but to visit the new fashion-forward Lemaire restaurant and take advantage of standard guest amenities like remote wireless document printing (seriously, even from your car), to realize she’s a Modern Southern Belle.

It’s an honor for us to partner with a femme of her caliber, matching advertising creative efforts from traditional to social media with her unique personality. Just like us, the lady has a lot going on.

And of course, there’s those diamonds. Lots of diamonds.

Check out the recent Times-Dispatch article for more information http://bit.ly/jeffersondiamonds or surf AAA to find out more about those diamonds http://bit.ly/aaadiamonds. 

- Shaun Amanda

It’s like a Liger on steroids…with rabies.
I bet if I asked around enough I wouldn’t be the only one who grew up in complete and utter fear of the WAMPUS CAT. The mere mention of the fabled feline still sends shivers down my spine and keeps me on guard at night.
 
According to my dad and every other adult who enjoyed scaring small children, the Wampus Cat is like a cougar or a mountain lion but its fur is jet black (at least in my neck of the woods) and it’s big. Seriously, like really big, with huge eyes that glow red as fire. It sits at the edge of the woods…just waiting…staring…ready to lunge at the first kid it finds catching lightning bugs, playing flashlight tag or just running to get the evening paper out of the mailbox. It can even sit high up in the trees so you’ll never see it coming when it pounces down on top of you. And don’t even try to outrun it—impossible. Some even say it has six legs for increased speed and agility. What does it do when it gets a kid? Your guess is as good as mine, and I hope I never find out.
 
As a kid, I steadfastly believed in the Wampus Cat. I wanted to gather as much information as possible so I was prepared with a strong defense when the moment came. There wasn’t the luxury of the Internet so research was hard work. I will never forget going through every encyclopedia at school on library days—nothing. Science and animal books—nope. Dictionary—forget it. I even went to the thesaurus and almanac—zilch. I remember my last resort, a set of new encyclopedias at my aunt’s house in North Carolina. I waited impatiently for our yearly visit down there just to look at the one set of books I hadn’t referred to yet—and again, disappointment! The Wampus Cat even had a hold on the publishing industry! The horror!
 
I never learned what I wanted to about the Wampus Cat but maybe all I ever need to know is to be afraid—very afraid. The last I heard, there was one spotted in a tree alongside my brother’s driveway last summer. My brother didn’t see it, but my youngest nephew did and that kid doesn’t lie. I haven’t seen one in a very long time but I still get the chills when I’m visiting my folks and need to run outside at night. I definitely come from the school of thought that believes the moment you think something doesn’t exist is the moment you’re most vulnerable. Maybe that’s yet another thing adding to the enigma of the Wampus Cat—it can only be seen by 6 year-olds and adult scaredy-pants.
 
*Special thanks to Matthew Keyser, age 6, for his contributions and willingness to relive his eye-witness account.

Lorie

Big Brother is watching you read this blog
I’m terrified of sharing with the world what I am terrified of. Back in high school, I read George Orwell’s 1984, which centers around the totalitarian regime called the “Party.” To make a classic novel very short, the protagonist, Winston, is arrested by the Party. Despite confessing to all sorts of made up crimes Winston never betrays his lover Julia. However the Party has a surprise in store for him. At some point in his past, he shared what he was terrified of most— rats —to some other employee. That employee probably posing as an innocent chief creative officer just collecting stories for his CEO passed his fears onto the Party.

Poor Winston. He thought he outfoxed his torturers only to have a cage put over his head filled with rats. He folded like the proverbial cardboard suitcase screaming “Do it to Julia!” I felt horrible for days. Well maybe hours. How could a man betray his lover and know she would now be subjected to unspeakable cruelty? How? Well we know the why – because he shared his worst fear with some chief creative officer. It would be as if I shared the nightmare I have experienced since I was a little boy. The one about the evil giant snow cone monster...

Ernest

Where’s Saint Patrick when you need him?
I have a paralyzing fear of snakes - original I know. But they truly cause me angst and make me crazy tense. And living near the river doesn't help. After the dog got bit by a copperhead and I had to take him to the emergency vet (he survived), I was welcomed home by a five foot black snake curled up on the back steps. I declared to my husband at the top of my lungs that "WE ARE MOVING" to which he replied "but black snakes won't hurt you." It doesn't matter. I think they should all be removed. I can't go into "reptile houses" at the zoo, I can't touch gardener snakes, etc. I had to leave the Maymont Nature Center recently when they brought one out for people to pet. My husband and 6-month-old son were more than happy to pet it…I ran for air.

My other not-so-original fear is haunted houses. I think I must have repressed a particularly bad experience because I can't even go on the ones designed for children where you sit in a little car and it's Oscar the grouch dressed like a vampire. I have never made it through a haunted house - sometimes not even 3 feet inside. Every time I think I can get over this fear, I have to be lead out of the haunted house because I'm weeping in the corner. Yes, I'm that person.

Lois

Real ghost stories, Part One
I personally don't trust what I can't see. GHOSTS! I'm actually getting the willies writing this out in fear that one of them may read this and grab my shoulder. A house we owned in Nashville a few years back was definitely haunted and I've never been the same since. Some "being" would knock on doors in front of me, turn on the stove, unlock doors and open them, give me cold blasts of air in the shower (Hello I'm naked, inappropriate!), call an invisible vintage telephone in the basement and even walk around upstairs when I knew I was home alone... should I go on? It wasn't uncommon to find me curled up in a ball with a baseball bat clenched in my hands on nights I was staying there alone. I guess the positive thing was that it never touched me. Whew, that would have sent me over the edge. When we were shopping for a home in Chattanooga, my husband and I made sure to check out the "vibe" of the home before we fell in love with it. So far so good with this one. We've gone an entire year with no activity. I still keep my baseball bat near my bed just in case.

Desiree

No running. No diving. No shrieking in fear.
I trust that I will always be afraid of the "deep end" of a swimming pool. As a very small child, we went to the Outer Banks on vacation and, from what I recall, there was a swimming pool we played in just steps away from the beach. (Yeah right.) I was new to this swimming pool thing but it had a big, beautiful, blue slide that I was petrified to try at the same time I was excited beyond belief. I got up the gumption and went down the slide. Awesome! Then the Jaws theme came on....I felt something touch my toe and it wasn't my dad or my brother who were the only others in the pool at the time. OMG!!! What IS IT???!!!! I freaked out—scrambling in terror towards the refuge of the concrete edge of the pool. I don't recall touching the bottom and didn't even look back to see if something was after me. I managed to get myself to safety only to find out it was a little ol’ crab. Needless to say though, I did not go down the slide again. That crab scarred me for life. I am absolutely positive that it is the reason I am afraid of the deep end of a pool or dark water in general—eternally convinced that if I go in, something will get me. 

Mary

It’s a fine line between fear and O.C.D.
I only have one fear that some (not me) would call irrational. I've had it as long as I can remember. 

Always put the left sock and/or shoe on first or something tragic will happen.

Jason

Real ghost stories, Part Two
Random things make my skin crawl (possessed dolls, Gollum, wooden wheelchairs, etc.) – but living in haunted houses may be the most terrifying thing for a 5-year-old. The first two houses I lived in as a child were haunted, but it’s the second house that I remember most. And unfortunately, for my twin sister and me (and yes, we’ve heard all the jokes about The Shining), the door to the attic was located in our room.

My mother tried to keep the stories from us. Once my uncle visited overnight was awoken to a piano playing. He was sleeping in the TV room at the back of the house and the piano was located in the living room at the front. He thought it was my sister and I goofing off – but when he got up, no one was there. Another time my mother was taking down Christmas decorations in the living room, and someone played one long, loud note on the piano. A family friend who happened to be a minister was visiting at the same time and also heard the piano. After that he went through the house blessing each room. When he was done, my mother went back to taking down the Christmas tree and just a little while later the piano once again, played one long, loud note.

This prompted a visit from a local paranormal investigation group. They had a guest speaker come to give a talk. When they arrived he and several other members saw a man standing on the landing at the top of the stairs. When he didn’t come down and join the presentation, they asked my mother who the man was – she told them nobody else lived here and asked them what he looked like.

Soon after she asked the neighbors about the people that had lived in the house before us.

The man who lived there before us had actually built the house and he was described as looking like Mr. Peepers. Which was the same description the paranormal group gave my mother.

We used to play in the attic (we’ve heard all the Flowers in the Attic references too), until we started hearing the footsteps. My sister and I would play hide-and-go seek. It was the typical creepy attic and the boxes and huge space kept the game going for hours. But during the quiet moments, we’d hear footsteps and boxes being moved. My bed faced the attic door and my 5-year-old mind convinced myself that as long as I had my stuffed animals, the footsteps couldn’t hurt me. To this day I sleep completely still, like I did to keep my stuffed animals from falling off my bed in the middle of the night.

Kym

 I’d have to shake the dust off some files to tell you how long ago the planning process began on the relaunch of Lemaire. We had the honor of helping put the public face on the restaurant. Even as the hotel was working with a team of consultants and architects on physical design, we were working on the visual identity and logo elements. While we were working on supporting materials, like the menus, fab Chef Bundy was secretly planning what would go ON the menus. While the new bar was going in and light fixtures were going up, we were working on print ad launch headlines and visuals.

 We’d been telling people “trust us, you’re gonna LOVE this place” for so long we started to wonder if they’d get tired of us. “No, seriously. Just wait and see!”

When the doors finally opened, we invited some familiar faces from Richmond’s social media Twitter scene to LeTweet, a chatty evening we cooked up featuring Lemaire’s “LeTweet” cocktail and a sampling of edibles.

And now that it’s open we can celebrate in public. Yeah. That short, well-rounded woman you saw “woohoo-ing” on the street when she read the RTD Dining Out Review? (http://bit.ly/QQd73). That was probably me. Or that guy in jeans grinning about Style’s waxings on an Enchanted Evening? (http://bit.ly/xQiHu). Probably one of us.

 So you can imagine how crazy ND&P’s offices are now that Lemaire’s been announced as one of Esquire magazine’s “Best New Restaurants of 2009.” (http://bit.ly/29WN5).

My legs are getting pretty tired, but I have to say I’m looking forward to whooping and hollering and jumping up and down quite a bit as Lemaire graciously takes its well-deserved place in the national culinary scene. Then I can rationalize eating as many Fried Green Tomatoes as I want to.

 (Tweeting? Hit me up @shaunamanda, or follow the restaurant @LemaireRichmond)

- Shaun Amanda

Think American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, and America’s Got Talent. Shows that mix entertainment, talent, and viewer voting are ever increasing in popularity. ND&P uses this same philosophy with our Neat Hawk Awards. We pick the best creative works of the month and pair them with an entertaining video. Then, it’s voting time. For the month of September, the creative work includes The Jefferson’s Lemaire Restaurant Ad, The Blue Ridge Carpet Company Website, and a Fantasy of the Opera Brochure for Opera on the James. Take a look at the work and the videos, and pick your favorite by posting a comment.

-Anna

Lemaire Restaurant Ad Submission:

"You never wear me out anymore. I can't take it. I deserve to be adored. I AM YOUR MOTHER'S NECKLACE FOR GOODNESS SAKES! It's over- Your Pearls"

"I've made you look distinguished at dinner and I'm pretty sure I helped you get that job. And this is the thanks I get? I can forgive you for using me as a napkin, but not for leaving me at home. So long. ~ Your Tie"

Fantasy at the Opera Brochure Submission:

Judging creative work can be very subjective. Who’s to say what makes one piece “better” than another? In an effort to add some objectivity to this month’s Neat Hawks competition, the Roanoke office turned to a completely unbiased authority: John Griessmayer’s mom.

Blue Ridge Carpet Company Website Submission:

There I was, 14 or 15 years old, not a care in the world. My regular summer babysitting gig ended and I was in desperate need of cash to feed my wave pool addiction. I was living in Dallas at the time and my older sister, who was way into horses, worked at a local western clothing/horse gear store. The store was in need of a summer sale promoter. So we worked out a deal: I’d work for cash, due to child labor laws or whatever.

My job was to stand in front of the store on Saturdays promoting the sales going on inside and giving away free hot dogs to customers when they entered. Every Saturday morning I’d get there and would be outfitted from head to toe in fringe galore, cowgirl boots and jeans that were so tight I couldn’t even sit down if I wanted to. Yeeehaaaw! Then, while sporting my wears, I tempted the equine enthusiasts with my delicious dogs and it was over. They were in the door, spending way too much money on “horsey things” as I used to call it.

After weekend upon weekend, I learned to man the grill quite easily and became very bored. So, I got myself a lasso rope from in the store and started perfecting the art of roping in customers, or any random person for that matter. To this day I have a mean lasso aim and I’m not too bad with a bullwhip either!

Yes it may have been an odd job, but I learned the biggest lesson of my life that summer. Go with the flow, meet new people and you may find you’ll pick up a random talent along the way. For those of you who are wondering, it took me years to be able to eat another hot dog. But when I could again, I went right back to the way an old cowboy taught me to “dress” my dog. Mayo, ketchup and a slap of relish!

– Desiree

HOOKER(of bushes)

– Doug

I trust this should be filed under 808.06

My very first job as a teenager was as a page at the City of Roanoke Public Library, located less than a block away from ND&P’s Roanoke office. That “a place for everything and everything in its place” experience has had an impact upon the many other jobs I’ve had since, causing me to be near obsessive compulsive about organization. In most libraries, “a place for everything” revolves around alphabetical order for fiction and the Dewey Decimal Classification (DDC) system for non-fiction. Developed by Melvil Dewey in 1876, the DDC is a classification system being used today in 200,000 libraries worldwide. And I’m amazed at how much I still remember about Dewey’s numbers. The 900’s are history and if you’re looking for books on “Reproduction, Development, Maturation” (read sex education) head for the 612.6 section. Sorry, I no longer can remember which volumes have the best pictures, although there was a time when that information was top of mind!

– Roger

In meow I trust

Probably the oddest job I had was working at a cat gift store in college.  This wasn't a store that sold cats.  It was a store that sold STUFF to cat lovers.  It was a tiny apartment converted into a store on the second story of an old home in the touristy downtown district of St. Augustine stuffed floor to ceiling with cats.  This store carried pretty much anything you can imagine that could have a cat on it, from toilet paper holders to t-shirts explaining why cats were better than men to picture frames to cat tombstones.

The main reasons I wanted to work there were 1- I didn't want to buy ANYTHING in the store for myself, so I knew I would be able to save my money.  I did get a 50% discount on anything I wanted...but only used it to buy presents for my grandmother. I like cats in general, but not that much.  2- It was easy/air conditioned. and 3- Last but not least, the people watching was AMAZING.  

On a daily basis I would have elderly couples come in with the wives genuinely interested in everything and the husbands who would make fun of everything and purr or mew at me and tell me I had the "purrrrrfect job".  We had these plastic cat figurines covered in rabbit fur that made them feel like real cats, and people would yell at me because of the unethical treatment of cats, however when I told them it was rabbit fur, they wouldn't care, and might actually buy them. My favorite customers however were the bikers that came in decked out in full Harley Davidson leather and jeans (usually during Daytona's Bike Week) and then buy $100 worth of cat tchotchkes and oooh and aaah at the "cute kitties".

Things I learned from this job: People will buy ANYTHING if it is somehow related to something they are in love with. Cat lovers are pretty intense and come in all shapes and sizes, even the ones you wouldn't expect, and often times, though they love cats care nothing about rabbits.

– Grace

I trust in red knickers

Picture it: Yorktown, VA. 1993.  It was a summer of heat and angst for a teenage boy from York High School.  A young man stared into the mirror and winced.  For now let's call this young man, "Spleen" because it rhymed with his real name and was his actual nickname (he even had, "SPLEEN1" on his license plate because, astonishingly, someone already had "SPLEEN" - presumably a doctor or sociopath).  Spleen was wincing because what stared back at him was Busch Gardens Williamsburg's latest Games employee, designated to the "Festa Italia" area of the faux European theme park.  

His uniform/costume consisted of a puffy white shirt like that of a swashbuckling pirate, if the pirate shopped at Goodwill; it bore a series of thin vertical stripes in all colors, which only appeared more ridiculous an idea upon further inspection.  One was unlikely to inspect it further due to the distracting nature of the pantaloons.  Awkwardly tied by a fabric belt was a pair of red knickers on his legs.  Let us say this again: red knickers.  It hung over the pair of white socks (ordered pulled up to the knees) and requisite black Reeboks.  The final accessory was a bright blue nametag with his name and state of origin.  

Let us recap: white shirt with rainbow stripes, red knickers, white knee socks, black shoes and blue nametag.  He was a dramatic tragedy of the visible spectrum.

His duties included: a complex dance of extroverted salesmanship (to coax the unsuspecting to play carnival games), introverted basic math (to take care of a till and keep hours tidy), unseemly physical prowess (wrestling with tens of dollars of giant stuffed animal swag, cleaning out the water games and reaching the hard-to-reach stuck rings), and superhuman endurance (of the constant replay of "Hooked on Classics" blaring far too loud in the giant tent).

His official duties did not include the following: Chucking Skee Balls at giant Scooby Doo dolls; flirting with employees (except Sweepers); smoking Cloves near the break room's Galaga machine; traveling to "New France" for BBQ dates with far-flung employees; making fun of Sweepers; perfecting a British accent for future casting in Threadneedle Faire; climbing on top of the water game and triumphantly holding up a golf club while singing Stan Bush's, "The Touch;" and sneaking in a change of clothes for after-shift park roaming and Sweeper harassing.

While the job of the Games employee was not glamorous, it was not the life of a Sweeper.  It is important to distinguish that no matter what theme park employee category you feel pity for, there are none in the caste system as low as the Sweeper.  The Sweeper does three things: it sweeps, it gives directions to confused guests, and it cleans the bathrooms. Beyond the infinite patience this requires it must endure the endless abuse from other park employees. Even when two Busch Gardens "cast members" are caught shooting the breeze, it's the Sweeper that gets its hand slapped because they could just keep moving.  Sweepers had a bizarre independence, like an unchained ghost who could move about but only in archaic patterns, doomed to roam and be bothered by the living.

No, Dea-er, Spleen was not a Sweeper, at least.  But he was wearing this horrific outfit. Because it was his first day of work at this new job, the first truly above-board, taxable job he'd ever had, his mother wanted to take a picture.  An argument ensued, his mother not fully understanding the height of his embarrassment and he not understanding how important this job was in proving to his mother he wouldn't be a colossal failure as a child (as close as the costume had grazed that possibility).

By the end of the summer Spleen had been promoted to a Lead, which ostensibly meant for a nominal raise he was forced to come to work earlier, haul heavier things and take longer breaks to flirt with employees.  A year later he would return to the land of Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, VA to act out this Lead supervisor position in the magical area of fake Germany.  With this transfer he thought he would certainly be outfitted in a better uniform and bestowed buckets of respect.  

That is, until he saw the fake lederhosen.

– Dean

Someone's progeny stands in front of
the Festa Italia Games Tent, 2009

In hog maws and head cheese I trust

"Stack 'um high, sell it low...everthing's gotta go".  That's what the owner/head butcher would go around chanting all day while Christmas music blared in the background (all year long).  Richey was the boss and ran a tight, tight ship.  He smoked like a chimney and constantly had to wipe his ashes off the band saw  - hey, at least we wiped it off before cutting meat.  He was an Italian German and insisted that everything was done right all of the time.  His level of perfection crept into every corner of the shop and made people want to always do a better job.  

Beginning my butchering career at the age of 12 was an experience of a lifetime.  The street education that I received proved to well position me for the advertising business.  Not only did I have to always be nice, sell hard and work with a bunch of overly eager, loud men - I had to handle more animal parts than anyone should ever have to pick up.  It made me realize that you get a lot further by being cooperative and just doing your job.  

The butcher shop was located on the east end of Long Island and our clientele was very diverse.  The "city people" wanted only the finest PRIME meats and kosher deli products while the locals were more into hog maws, cow parts, head cheese and neck bones.  There was always an interesting person to talk to and it's unreal how much you can learn about a person when you're getting their meat orders together.  Every weekend, one of our customers brought in something they'd made during the week - from BBQ to greens to brains - it was always a treat.  

The best thing about working at CVA Meats was the people.  My customers and fellow butchers and butcherettes made me laugh all day long.  We'd have chop meat fights in the back freezers, slide on the floors with slabs of bacon as skates and see how many slices of deli cheese we can fit into our mouths at one time.  Everything was a competition and everything was done to the max.  It worked for someone like me who is competitive, loves to have fun and refuses to think that things can't always be better.

– Denise

Take “augmented reality” (or “AR” for short) and what it could mean for any number of industries.  An example of AR would be using your iPhone’s camera to view the world around you, with the iPhone displaying graphics overlayed on the “real” view of your surroundings.  A Parisian subway application gives us a hint of what such a capability could offer (see the Fast Company article).  In an industry like healthcare perhaps you could have distances to facilities and services mapped out before you.  For higher education and hospitals, virtual tours could provide all sorts of hotspots.  And obviously any history buff can envision a walking tour where content appeared based on your position and offer a view from another era.  Fast Company further points out it’s not just about smartphones, but kiosks as well such as in this Lego example. 

 AR is just one example of something with tremendous potential that could destroy predictions if it soars quickly. It could potentially make massive changes in the social spheres online—imagine an AR app that “shows” you the locations of virtual stores, complete with hanging-in-mid-air Tweeted reviews from moments before; or a series of AR “mirrors” that are just monitors with cameras, but allow you to “collect” items in a store for an outfit so you can see what it would look like on you without trying on a thing- and then send to friends on Facebook for instant feedback with a poke in the air of a logo.

Daydreaming about AR may be a geek’s passion, but the tools are in hands now and the avalanche of technology is coming. Keeping one eye on what audiences are doing and could be doing is exactly where this geek likes to be.

UPDATE: Think this is far off? Read this: Yelp just snuck in the first U.S. iPhone app with AR with their "Monocle" feature...

-Dean

Take a look at the referenced articles below:

Companies enter the hot zone of viral marketing (Page 11)

Combating a crisis: expect the unexpected (Page 11)

Let’s pretend NASCAR is our client. One of the first questions I ask my clients when they ask me for counsel on a situation is – “What is the real issue here and what is the result you want?” Most organizational issues can be fixed with good business decisions. In this case, I doubt this has anything to do with Jeremy Mayfield. At least we hope not. He is no longer a threat to them. Given the scarcity of sponsor money no one is going to pay a driver accused of abusing an illegal drug to drive a racecar with their corporate logo on it. OK then, that issue is gone. Is it about their testing policy? That’s an easy fix. In the name of safety, have some experts quickly improve their testing program to close the gaps a federal judge and others say exist. No problem. Mayfield still isn’t coming back even if he passes a new test and NASCAR gets the credit for making their safety program better.

So what’s the problem?