Last week, a ridiculous woman did a ridiculous thing. She did it on social media. Did I mention it was ridiculous? And that her husband helped? Yep.

Lots of people wrote about it, because they are always looking for the ‘teachable moment’ in social media… otherwise known as the SEO slamdunk.

So I wrote about it, too. My title would indicate that my post wasn’t all that different from the other ones… but if you read on, it offered a tiny smackdown of the social media teacher-preachers. SO SNEAKY, RIGHT? A SNEAKY SMACKDOWN!

Just a tiny one, though. With several uses of the word “asshole.”

What’s funny is that, despite the fact that I rarely ever write about social media (on a personal level — I’m a ghostwriter on a professional level, so we won’t even go there), despite the fact that I’m known for not being able to get my tongue out of my cheek (sounds wrong, doesn’t it?), despite the fact that people who know me KNOW I’M NOT AN OPPORTUNISTIC LOON, I got pilloried multiple times based on the title of the post alone.

I guess if you thought you knew what you were getting, resorting to critique without reading may have been a conscious time-saving choice. Except that the time you’d have spent reading it was less than the time spent crafting verbal pokes in my eye, so.

I guess if you thought I was being a jackass, you could spend extra time being horrified by it because SHE ISN’T USUALLY THAT DUMB. Except that I’M NOT USUALLY THAT DUMB so what was I up to?

I used the title to pop up amongst the lesson posts so I could make my point to the people I wanted to hear it. And it’s first page, at least from my particular spot in the universe.

What I didn’t anticipate was how little people actually pay attention. I should have known that, but I thought the folks I knew were smarter and more thoughtful than that.

So, for you, as a follow-up: six lessons you can learn about people from writing a blog post.

1. Assuming makes an ass out of “u” and “me” and also tips me off that many, many people offer opinions of that which they do not read.

2. Even if something is out of character for someone to publish, it’s usually best to assume the worst.

3. A thoughtful comment or rebuttal is not nearly as fun as taking shots at someone’s writing (THAT YOU DIDN’T READ) in comments under a Facebook status update.

4. The whole “are you actually reading all those things your friends write that you link to?” goes both ways. As in, the refusal to link to something is ALSO accompanied by not knowing what you’re not linking to. Wait, what am I saying?

5. I was snarky and I got snarked back. Fair enough. I’ve got a Nerf bat. I’m ready to go.

6. If I ever own a bakery, some of y’all are not getting free eclairs.

Hey.

Read it if you link to it, if you want to be taken seriously, or if you actually give a rat’s behind about your community.

AND REALLY?? REALLY?? YOU THOUGHT I’D WRITE THAT?!?!?!

Ahem.

So this thing happened.

Then everyone wrote this post.

And that’s fine, really. You can write about whatever you want to write about. It’s a free Internet.

Unless, of course, you want something to come from all that effort. Then you shouldn’t.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Every time social media takes center stage in a news story, or a news story spreads across the Internet like a SEO-fueled brushfire, a host of posts appear like the proverbial phoenix, positioned as “lessons”:

Lessons you can learn from ________.

Facing _______? Don’t do what _______ did.

It’s a good to learn lessons. As many lessons as possible. Even if you’re dealing with conventional wisdom. Yes, they call it conventional for a reason, but every kid has to learn for himself not to touch the stove, right?

Unfortunately, the posts I’m talking about aren’t designed to teach you anything you don’t already know (“BUT THIS IS MY UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE!”) Unless you don’t know anything at all, in which case, they may seem incredibly wise and helpful.

That’s not really the point, though.

If you’re up for it, this practice of “zeitgeist blogging” could ostensibly benefit you in three ways (fine, fine… more than three ways. But I’m keeping it simple):

1. You establish credibility through your thoughtful analysis of the situation, as viewed through your particular lens, whether that’s a brand lens, a marketing lens, a PR lens, a technology lens, or a social media lens. Or a real estate lens. Or a “products for dogs” lens. Or a “squirrel-proof feeders” lens. Because who doesn’t want that perspective?

2. You show that you’re on top of the “latest thing”.

3. You benefit from the SEO traffic that heads your way when people Google the story — a boost that could result in better search rankings, and maybe even the “top result”. Either way: traffic!

My title fits beautifully into the third category, but the rest of my post won’t.

Because I don’t have four lessons.

I have one lesson: don’t be an asshole online. Or people will think you’re an asshole. And then they’ll be an asshole to you.

I guess there are nuances around not being an asshole (“WHO ARE YOU SHOUTING AT, CAPSLOCK?” “STOP SWEARING, JERKFACE!” “DON’T RESPOND WHEN YOU’RE MAD, MIKE TYSON!” “PLASTIC SURGERY ISN’T LIKE CELERY, YOU CAN’T HAVE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT!”) but I think most of us can figure that out. If you can’t figure that out, you’re probably not going to learn the lesson, anyway.

(Because you’re an asshole.)

With that out of the way, I have some lessons for you that don’t have anything to do with Amy or her Baking Company.

They have to do with you, and the way you’re blogging.

1. Experts are not experts if everyone knows what they know. Yes, it might seem like people are getting a lot of attention for saying the same things everyone else is saying because, well… they are. But when the vacuum of non-ideas sucks people from their blogs into a giant black hole called “BEEN THERE, DONE THAT”, it will suck you in… or at the very least, leave you pantsless. You and all your thoughtfully regurgitated “pro tips”. Even that great post about Real Time Marketing that everyone RT’d. Or the one on ROI. Or the one on curation. Or the one that was the 24th result for “blackout” right after the Super Bowl for a full six minutes.

2. SEO rankings mean you have a great store window, not a great product. Great store windows get everyone to stop and look, and maybe even head in the door. But if they don’t find an awesome product inside the store, that’s where the magic ends. A potential client can think your blog and your ideas about strategy are super duper… until you fail to provide them with ideas and strategy relevant to their particular needs. You might as well be Crazy Baking Company Amy, yammering about how fresh and delicious your food is… while you serve frozen ravioli and creamed corn.

Rank away, if you wanna. But it won’t make you more smart, more useful, or more capable of delivering.

3. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else does. I’m sure lemmings feel a deep sense of direction and the reassuring warmth of community… right before they follow their friends off a cliff. It’s the classic Mom rebuke: “If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?” Apparently, when it comes to social media, the answer is a resounding YES! Except it’s a shark, and you’re Fonzie. Or you’re Indiana Jones, hiding in a fridge and hoping for the best.

4. Get your own freaking thoughts, you hack. Perhaps that’s a little harsh, but this is where the rubber meets the road for me. Borrowing, regurgitating, mirroring, reframing, writing a blog post about a blog post (“BUT MEG, THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW! HEY! MEG! OW! DON’T PINCH ME! OW! HELP!”), creating circular content-promoting networks (akin to a cyber-swirly), scheduling tweets to promote your keyword-injected magic eight times a day to get the morning, the afternoon, the evening, the international folks… come ON.

At worst, you’re a plagiarist. At best, you’re as dull as un-buttered toast. Regardless, you’re not doing anything of sincere value (even if 40 inbound links tell you otherwise.)

I know it’s easy to get caught up in how all of this works right now. Because it works right now.

And I get it, I do: why waste time on being original or valuable or engaging or fresh if you can just dump your takeout box full of Kung Pao Chicken on a platter… and then tell your guests you’re an expert Chinese chef?

But something tells me if you’ve read this far, you might just… care. Maybe you want to do better.

So do better.

And stop being an asshole.

I was less than a mile from the explosion at the finish line of the Boston Marathon today. I’d planned to walk over to see the whole spectacle, since I’d only viewed it from a distance during my first four Marathon Days.

But a meeting popped up, and then a last minute client need, so I didn’t.

I heard the explosion on the fifth floor of the iconic South End brownstone we work in, while the life of our office buzzed around me. It sounded faint and weird and like it didn’t belong, that noise, but I thought perhaps it was something they set off when the race was done.

Then the sirens started. And kept going. And kept going. I looked on Twitter, because that’s what I do… and there it was.

Then the people came streaming by our office, most of them on their phones, some of them crying, all looking pale and confused… but determined to keep going in the opposite direction of what had happened.

I looked up friends who were in the race, trying to figure out what mile they were on. I looked up anyone I knew had planned to go to the finish line. I told my husband and everyone else texting and calling that I was fine. I posted to that effect on all the social networks any friends or family might check.

On those networks, I saw photos of people fleeing. I saw shaky video of smoke and blood. I watched reports go by of deaths and injuries. I couldn’t believe any of this was happening just a few blocks away. The sirens continued.

It took a long time to get home — we’d coordinated rides for everyone from our office so they wouldn’t have to take the T. There were police everywhere, people everywhere, flashing lights everywhere as we made our way through Boston, into JP, into Cambridge, into Brookline, into Newton, and back into Roslindale. My neighborhood.

Now I’m home. Safe. With my husband.

I’ve seen the news, I’ve seen more photos, I’ve heard the press conferences, I’ve heard the eyewitness accounts. It’s all impossibly awful. But I am seeing it through new eyes.

Five years ago, I would not have known the names of those streets.

Five years ago, I would not have known all of these people.

Five years ago, I would not have been working in that office or listening to those sirens.

You hear pretty often that Boston can be a tough city to break into, what with all the neighborhoods, the closing ranks, the history, the accent, and the attitude.

I think in some ways, it’s true. People can be reserved. People don’t take any crap. People keep to their own a bit.

But when something happens, this city takes all that iron will and backs it up with a giant, squishy heart. A heart that makes all the tough bullshit seem like a big front.

I think both are essential to the character of this place.

Boston will take care of their own tomorrow… and anyone else who needs it. Yes, there will be anger, there will be hurt, and there will be confusion and shock.

But there will also be stories of giving and sacrifice and service that will keep spirits up while the city repairs and heals.

This is a city that I am brand new to, almost three years in. I still get turned around on the cobblestone streets, I take the T in the wrong direction on occasion, and my husband makes fun of my inability to nail the perfect Doahchestah lilt.

But today, I claimed this city as mine with some tears and an incredible amount of pride.

Boston, you’re my home.

And thank you for having me.