Denise McDonald Dorman

Posts Tagged ‘Twitter’

PR, Communications & Social Media Job Seekers: Check This Out

In Career, Communications, Denise Dorman, Employment, Facebook, Job Opportunities, LinkedIn, Public Relations, Recruiting, Social Media, Twitter, WriteBrain Media on November 10, 2010 at 5:51 pm

Dear Friends,

Some of you following me work in the same universe as do I – communications and content creation. To that end, a friend from a private online group posted information today about this new niche job board, which I’m sharing with all of you in the event that it helps even one person find work in this tough economy. So here it is– “Hoojobs”:

Hoojobs ( is a niche job board for the public relations, communications, and social media community. We just launched to job-seekers yesterday. Several employers and recruiters have positions posted and it’s growing daily.
Hoojobs features:

– Simple, clean, easy-to-use design.
– A live search tool to quickly find relevant results.
– Job alerts via email or RSS based on keywords or categories.
– Integrated social media tools to allow users to quickly share job leads with their networks via email, Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn.
– Real-time job postings – Job posts are only posted for 30 days unless the employer re-posts the position because it is still active. No more out-of-date jobs!
– A niche site marketed solely to communications and marketing professionals resulting in more qualified leads for employers than the large job boards.
– Backing from Paradigm Staffing, a recruiting agency with over a decade of serving the PR and communications industry.

Please visit and let us know what you think! We’re still working on some minor details and will be improving search and the alert features to make it even easier for the job seekers to be notified immediately about opportunities in the field of interest.

We’re also on Facebook and Twitter.

I hope this helps someone out there find work. If it does, will you please share your story here? Good luck!

Why Denise Dorman is So Anal About Grammar…

In Life Observations on September 3, 2010 at 7:41 pm

I‘m in this hyper-private mastermind group, so I can’t say much under threat of my own demise, but one of my favorite cohorts just offered up this beauty, fresh off of Twitter:

Grammar is Important. Capitalization is the difference between “Helping your Uncle Jack off a horse” and “helping your uncle jack off a horse.”

That was sheer brilliance. That might be in one of my favorite books, “Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation.” Yep. I’m the dork who bought that book.

Witness Jeff Deck, and a couple of his college friends, who have spent the last year traveling around the United States fixing grammatically incorrect signs from Hoboken to Hot Springs. I am their biggest fan. While my BFFs lie in bed at night fantasizing about True Blood hotties like Joe Manganiello, I lie in bed fantasizing about making my mark on the world’s typos with a giant Sharpie. Even restaurant menus cannot escape my eagle eye for Parmasan v. Parmesan and Riesling v. Reisling. Musicians listen to a concert and hear that one wrong note that we mere mortals cannot identify. That’s how I read…everything.

I once dated someone who sent me romantic poetry via email. Since he had never done anything like this before, I was puzzled by the email and simply had no idea of its context or social cue. It was truly my adult Asperger’s moment. I emailed it back with grammatical corrections, only to be mortified that this love poem was written solely for me. D’oh! (That was the first of many nails in the coffin for that relationship.)

I once patronized a local dry cleaner, owned and operated by a lovely Asian couple for whom English was a second language. I really liked them, especially since the owner went to NIU–my alma mater–for graphic design. I was infuriated one day when I discovered they had paid hard-earned money for a giant sign on their front window, 3 feet x 6 feet, announcing: “Snirts: 75 cents.” I walked right in, past the line of astonished patrons, grabbed the marker off of their counter, and went to town, turning “Snirts” into “Shirts.” I was too busy fulfilling my fantasy, no, make that my destiny, to notice that I might be perceived by the wildly curious line of suits and middle-aged moms as, say, eccentric. I was merely correcting an unspeakable, giant bowl of WRONG and helping out some friends.

You could say I’m a little over the top when it comes to grammar and punctuation. When fresh college grads send me their resumes, I always point out, gently, that my last name is Dorman, not Doorman, and “perhaps if you’re pointing out your attention to detail, that typo might come under your purview.” Do you think that’s a little too harsh? Not me! I enjoy deflowering the “I’m-too-precious-to-criticize” bubble surrounding today’s Gen Zs. My biggest pet peeve? When people use “it’s” instead of “its.” That one sends me nonlinear.

Now I’ll share my own gaffe, but I refuse to own it. My well-intentioned spell check on my iPhone was the culprit for this big boner. I have a client named Idit for whom I have enormous respect and admiration. I flew in to Jersey to meet with her. I sent her a message and hit the send button a nanosecond too quickly – with the salutation of “Dear Idiot.” For me and my personal brand of grammatical exceptionalism, that moment was as deflating as a Pulitzer Prize winner getting busted for plagiarism. Idit was too polite to acknowledge it, but I’ll admit, her projects have benefited from “The Big Boner Discount” ever since.

“SH*T My Dad Says” Book Is Perfection

In Book Reviews, Life Observations on June 2, 2010 at 4:46 pm

For a long while, I’ve been following @shitmydadsays, the Twitter handle for writer Justin Halpern. His dad’s bon mots always slay me. You can’t imagine my excitement at finding it all in book form at BORDERS yesterday. What a treasure trove of embarrassing dad humor! I hope you buy it and it brings you the same joy that it has me.

You see, I can relate to Justin. Completely. While Justin’s dad’s comments comes from a place of street smart, world-weary sarcasm, my dad’s embarrassing comments (and trust me, I could write a book as well) come from the innocence and naivete of country folk – a man raised on a farm 80 years ago who clearly was never coached by my Grandma how to put a filter on what he says publicly. Dad was never wired for an urban setting, and that’s where he lives now.

My dad is convinced that every stranger he meets is friendly. He is puzzled when he sidles up alongside a strange woman on a park bench and she doesn’t want to tell him where she’s from. Even worse, he’s hard of hearing, so everything he says is so loud, especially the inappropriate stuff. There’s no way people can avoid hearing it.

As we sat in the filled hospital waiting room this past winter while my mom received her cochlear implant, my dad said to me, “You know how you and Dave were necking the other day in the hallway? Well, Mother doesn’t let me neck with her like that anymore.” Oh God. I dared not look about to see who had overheard. Let’s face it. Everyone did. I said nothing, hoping it would discourage further discussion. My eyes became glued to my book, “OPEN” by Andre Agassi. I proceeded to avoid all eye contact with my dad–and everyone else in the waiting room.

(I’ve noticed the only time people ask if I have rosacea is when I’m with my dad…and his pie hole is busy discussing his two favorite public unfriendly topics – his bowels and his love life. With my vampire-white, translucent skin, I can blush with the best of ’em.)

Unfortunately, if I didn’t keep him engaged in conversation, he was going to drag in other victims. An Asian man sitting across the room was next up. “So, where are you from?” Dad asked him. The man, who had no book as a convenient prop to avoid eye contact, said briskly, “Chicago.” He tried looking up at the TV, where “The View” was blaring. That didn’t deter my dad. He went in for a second helping. “What’s your wife in here for?” The man stood up and busied himself with finding a recent issue of McCall’s magazine. Smart move. This was the third time I kicked Dad under the table in 10 minutes. I then understood why his legs hurt all of the time. My mom must be kicking him incessantly.

Next, Dad proceeded to announce to me, and the rest of the room, that he needed to “go sit on the pot.” This is rural Illinois speak for “I need to hit the bathroom,” as I imagine normal dads might say. Not mine. When he returned, he shared–loudly–that he “really dropped a load in there.” I prayed to God that He would deliver me and speed up time, just this once. I didn’t even pray for that when I was in labor.  I handed Dad his coat and we embarked on a lengthy trip to the gift shop. Anything to get him out of this crowded room with its transfixed captive audience before Stockholm Syndrome ensued and everyone began describing their last bowel movements.

One day not long ago, Dad came to pick me up at BFF Christina Bouvier’s home. He asked to use her bathroom, a half bath just off of the foyer. He was in there for a while. When he emerged, he declared, “You’ve got three-quarter inch oak floors.” Bouvier gave him the WTF look. “Want to know how I know that?” he asked. Before Bouvier could respond, he informed her that “while I was sitting on the pot, I lifted up your register.” It’s a good thing he has those long arms, I guess. They come in handy for moments like this one. On the bright side, they also give the warmest, most genuine hugs.