The CGM that most provoked and inspired me in 2007 had far more to do with the personal than the professional. That may sound a tad curious, since my day job at Nielsen Online (formerly BuzzMetrics) involves a heavy dose of analysis, interpretation, and brand strategy around, well, “consumer-generated media.” Indeed, on any given day I'm analyzing CGM-inspired trends, trouble-shooting client “pain” points like customer-service mishaps or product recalls, creating intriguing new evaluation frameworks around “co-creation” (CGM + marketer “RFP”) ad models where consumers are invited to participate, and so on and so forth. Still, as I look across 2007, there’s just no question personal endeavors most accelerated my command, authority, and intimacy with the CGM space. At the end of the day, I tend to “learn by doing" and most of my best experimentation comes in the off-work hours. As the barriers to generating media for personal needs plummets, we find ourselves testing expression vehicles we never imagined, and often at a very intimate level. Let me share a few examples, starting with the most painful: the death of my father.
Conversations with Dad: I’m still a bit raw from the death of my father, William J. Blackshaw. He passed away in early November this year, and while he lived a full 83 years, his death still came rather suddenly, and on the heels of what I thought was a successful Spring operation for colon cancer. About four years ago, mindful of my father's health situation, I started recording and archiving my conversations with him. I’d flip on the video camera, and just lead him into a conversation. It was awkward at first, but we both knew the importance of the exercise. He opened up in ways I never imagined, and the excitement over what we were capturing and documenting prompted me to upgrade my Mac, deepen my expertise with tools like iMovie, and further experiment with video uploading of all forms. We covered a broad spectrum of topics, from his World War II experience to meeting my mom to raising seven kids. At one point, the conversations led me to create co-develop with him a blog about his WWII experiences (named www.wardiarist.com). More recently, I started posting a few video conversations on YouTube, which I then shared with family members and others. We especially enjoyed picking apart the AMC TV series “Mad Men,” which my dad, who started his advertising career at BBDO in the early sixties, uniquely identified with. The key takeaway here, I suppose, is that my resolve to archive conversations with my father took both my appreciate and understanding of CGM to a new level.
- Key Insight: Create CGM around the ones you love, and you’ll surf an incredible learning curve without even knowing you are trying.
Memorializing Dad: The second “aha” was a bit more sobering, but equally enlightening.
Within hours of my dad dying, I created a blog with the modest objectives of posting his obituary, sharing directions and information about the service and funeral, and uploading a few heartwarming photos. What I didn’t fully anticipate was the degree to which the site became what I now call an Obitupedia: a living, breathing group testimonial about my father. We collected nearly one hundred thoughtful and detailed comments, which in turn became the driving content of the site. In the process, I gained an entirely new perspective about the notion of online community. Folks I completely stereotyped or ruled out as unlikely contributors jumped in. Beautiful stories I just hadn’t heard about emerged from unexpected contributors. And the community itself became the catalyst for so much of the “offline” conversation that dominated the memorial service, family conversations, and beyond. I also experienced a bit of an epiphany about the power of Facebook, a point I document in my ClickZ article “Death, Social Media, and Remembrance.”
- Key Insight: In the age of CGM and conversation, the obituary keeps writing itself, especially as those we love keep shaping our lives.
Taking on City Hall: Earlier in the year, a drunk driver side-swiped my car while racing down our narrow street in Mt Adams, Cincinnati. This wasn’t the first time, and just about every neighbor has lost a mirror or two because of reckless cars whipping down the street, especially late 
at night when the bars close. But I was really ticked this time, and it something I’ve always felt: we need speed bumps or “slow the hell down” signs on my street. Rather than write another letter to city hall, I created a blog called VoterCam.com, and recording a video testimonial explaining the problem, which included some reinforcements from my wife (with twins in hand I might add). I then got a dozen or so neighbors to offer their own first person testimonials about the issue. When I finally made my speed bump plea to our city councilman, I included a link to the site, which in turn set in motion a chain-reaction of events, a very responsive person from the city reaching out to me to talk through the issue. Although we didn’t get speed bumps (I’m not giving up), the city did place an electronic speed monitor on the street, and we’re still working through the best remedy for the issue. And yes, I felt darn empowered!
- Key Insight: In the age of CGM, you can always fight City Hall. And CGM glues common experiences together for bigger impact.
Celebrating Family: I’m now in year three of managing a blog dedicated to my kids, and it
continues to teach me worlds about the power and potential of using CGM to fuse networks of “familiars.” And because it fundamentally appeals to my parental pride, the site’s dramatically ramped up my usage and expertise in multi-media, especially video. Moreover, every time I log into Typepad I feel like there’s another cool widget or device to take my “show the kids” passion to the next level. I’ve also learned that success in social media is less about “big numbers” than driving meaningful bonds and connections among smaller number of familiars. Indeed, it feels great when my wife, sister, or relative responds positively to something posted on the blog (never underestimate the motivating power of an "atta boy"). In the process of seeking my own validation as a parent, I find myself deepening my understanding of why consumers are flocking to the self-validating CGM and social media platform in droves. At the same time, I’m now at what I’d call a “permission cross-roads,” and I doubt I’ll keep the blog open to anyone for longer. Yes, this contradicts so much the “open-platform” romanticism that oozes from my writing and speeches, but as a parent I’m starting to see the world a bit differently. Yes, I’m getting paranoid.
- Key Insight: Closed is the new open? (Well, maybe. We’ll see!)
Establishing Affinity Beachheads: I’m still relatively new to Facebook, but I’ve experimented a great deal with the platform, especially around the establishment of “groups” such as CGM, Web 2.0 Dads, and Digital Cincinnati. Consistent with my earlier commentary about “closed is the new open,” I’ve found in Facebook a certain comfort and satisfaction in its permission-based 
model which by its nature keeps intrusive or unwanted messaging to a minimum, as well as protects intimacy among relationships. I’ve also learned the hard way that you simply can’t bypass the basic pre-requisites of relationship marketing. Trust must be earned. Your content must always be timely and relevant. Friendships must be brokered with finesse and sensitivity, and never abused. Credibility is everything, and we’re all one stupid message away from being defriended. In my own trials, successes, and failed experiments on Facebook, the new rules of marketing have become more obvious and transparent.
- Key Insight: There’s no free lunch…even on Facebook!
This morning in my ClickZ columm I only peripherally dive into CGM and instead fixate attention (and engagement) on the dynamics of "marketing" to my own kids. Lately I've been trying to master the ins and outs of persuasion and marketing in the context of getting my lovable twins to do certain things, like getting ready for childcare. It's a humbling exercise, constantly requiring pause for introspection, retooling, and an occasional dab of self-pity. Oh, and I'm hardly immune from the occasional head scratching from my wife, Erika. As I note in the piece
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