Still chaining myself to the keyboard. See prior blog.
I can be a bit of a Luddite in some respects. Okay, a lot of respects. I still carry a Daytimer (bought in 1984) instead of a PDA. My favorite touring paddle (kayak) is wooden. And “American Pie” had it right about the day the music died.
But, photography is one area where I tip my fedora to new technology. Sure, it’s impossible to beat the subtleties of black & white print making. But digital is so much easier (and cheaper).
In days of yore, I would pack four or five rolls of film and use them somewhat sparingly. After the trip, it would take me a day or two to get them to a processor, and another couple to pick them up (forget about low quality one-hour services). I’d have maybe 100-150 prints and/or slides, and be pressed to remember details about 20% of them.
If they were slides, they’d be loaded into a magazine and viewed maybe twice before they were shelved. Prints went into albums and were stored in some remote corner of the basement. Out of sight, out of mind.
By contrast, I’ll probably shoot over 300 pics in the next three or four days. There’s no cost for being thorough. The day I get back, I can select and upload them to my photo site before I forget the significance of anything. At that point, they’re only a mouse click away for me and any of my friends or relatives. I can go back and enjoy the moment again anytime I want.
I’ll stick with my cellulose calendar and paddle, but I’ll take all the digital visuals available.
Monday, May 26, 2008
The power of semantics
I blame the banking industry. During my impressionable years, they inundated me with the concept of Christmas and college accounts, along with other earmarked funds. Now, I’m writing this as displacement activity, to prevent myself from transferring my luggage from my car to the truck. I might’ve lost some of you, there.
Tongue-in-cheek, anyway. I take responsibility for my own actions, so the banks are off the hook. The internal conflict is that I’m leaving tomorrow for western Pennsylvania for a mini-vacation. There are some nice streams to paddle there, so I had considered taking a kayak. If I take a kayak, I’ll drive my truck.
There are also some very nice outfitters (paddling retailers) over there. If I take the truck, my kayak might multiply. I could come back with more than I went with. This is due, in part, to my kayak account.
Years ago, I started a consulting firm, specializing in strategic planning and marketing services. It was a cash cow from the start, but something stuck in my craw. The businesses that booked us were mostly encountering difficulties. No big surprise there, but I hadn’t thought that through in advance. They were malfunctioning because they were sick, from the standpoint of organization dynamics. It was seldom a case of a strategic issue. The flawed strategy was the symptom, not the underlying malady.
We could do the analysis and walk them through new strategies and procedures. But they would revert to the unproductive, because that’s what sick organizations do. The same with mentally ill people, except you can prescribe some Epival, Lexapro or other appropriate drug and attain some behavior and thought modification. There isn’t an organization pill and it’s all but impossible to untwist the aberrant thinking.
It wasn’t enough to me to run them through a program, cash the checks and leave them to their own devices. I wanted to produce results. That was the paycheck, as far as I was concerned. So, I modified my business plan.
We wouldn’t tell you how to get better results. We would get them for you. Within six months, your bottom line would increase by at least five times our fee. Guaranteed, or you owed us nothing. You can’t lose.
At first blush, that might seem like an offer you can’t refuse. But, I anticipated that it would reduce our bookings, and it did. The inherent condition to the agreement is that all control of the pertinent operations was turned over to us. It’s a given and only logical. If they could do it better, they would be, wouldn’t they?
Logic and veracity are not the friends of the dysfunctional. If the decision makers hired consultants, they could delude themselves that it was primarily the employees who were responsible for weak results. But, if the reins were taken from them for a turnaround, there was no way to rationalize away where the responsibility resided.
Were there business owners and executives who cared more about this than generating more profits? As a matter of fact, a lot of them. We booked less business than we could’ve otherwise, but felt better about what we were doing.
The relevance is that I get approached about doing consulting jobs, now. I can take a few days off work, analyze the situation, whip out an action plan and cut an invoice. But, I don’t have time to do it for them. I knew that going in and resolved that I can do a great job on the analysis and strategy, but it’s entirely on them to implement it or not. I don’t get the payoff of seeing the results, but that’s not the business I'm in this time around. It’s just “kayak money” to me.
Which brings us full circle. If I walk into a large outfitter in the next few days with a pocketful of kayak money (more like a bathtub full), I could easily walk out with a truck full of boats. Don’t tell me I'm wrong. I’ve seen me do it.
It’s the power of the semantics. I made it my kayak account and the die was cast. Unless I exercise control. I could go outside and move my stuff over to the truck. Or, I can coherently decide that the kayak money could just as easily be investing money, just by the power of changing a word in a label. Or, I can sit here and think of something else to keystroke so I don’t have time to change my mind.
Anyone want to bet? I can always use more kayak money.
Tongue-in-cheek, anyway. I take responsibility for my own actions, so the banks are off the hook. The internal conflict is that I’m leaving tomorrow for western Pennsylvania for a mini-vacation. There are some nice streams to paddle there, so I had considered taking a kayak. If I take a kayak, I’ll drive my truck.
There are also some very nice outfitters (paddling retailers) over there. If I take the truck, my kayak might multiply. I could come back with more than I went with. This is due, in part, to my kayak account.
Years ago, I started a consulting firm, specializing in strategic planning and marketing services. It was a cash cow from the start, but something stuck in my craw. The businesses that booked us were mostly encountering difficulties. No big surprise there, but I hadn’t thought that through in advance. They were malfunctioning because they were sick, from the standpoint of organization dynamics. It was seldom a case of a strategic issue. The flawed strategy was the symptom, not the underlying malady.
We could do the analysis and walk them through new strategies and procedures. But they would revert to the unproductive, because that’s what sick organizations do. The same with mentally ill people, except you can prescribe some Epival, Lexapro or other appropriate drug and attain some behavior and thought modification. There isn’t an organization pill and it’s all but impossible to untwist the aberrant thinking.
It wasn’t enough to me to run them through a program, cash the checks and leave them to their own devices. I wanted to produce results. That was the paycheck, as far as I was concerned. So, I modified my business plan.
We wouldn’t tell you how to get better results. We would get them for you. Within six months, your bottom line would increase by at least five times our fee. Guaranteed, or you owed us nothing. You can’t lose.
At first blush, that might seem like an offer you can’t refuse. But, I anticipated that it would reduce our bookings, and it did. The inherent condition to the agreement is that all control of the pertinent operations was turned over to us. It’s a given and only logical. If they could do it better, they would be, wouldn’t they?
Logic and veracity are not the friends of the dysfunctional. If the decision makers hired consultants, they could delude themselves that it was primarily the employees who were responsible for weak results. But, if the reins were taken from them for a turnaround, there was no way to rationalize away where the responsibility resided.
Were there business owners and executives who cared more about this than generating more profits? As a matter of fact, a lot of them. We booked less business than we could’ve otherwise, but felt better about what we were doing.
The relevance is that I get approached about doing consulting jobs, now. I can take a few days off work, analyze the situation, whip out an action plan and cut an invoice. But, I don’t have time to do it for them. I knew that going in and resolved that I can do a great job on the analysis and strategy, but it’s entirely on them to implement it or not. I don’t get the payoff of seeing the results, but that’s not the business I'm in this time around. It’s just “kayak money” to me.
Which brings us full circle. If I walk into a large outfitter in the next few days with a pocketful of kayak money (more like a bathtub full), I could easily walk out with a truck full of boats. Don’t tell me I'm wrong. I’ve seen me do it.
It’s the power of the semantics. I made it my kayak account and the die was cast. Unless I exercise control. I could go outside and move my stuff over to the truck. Or, I can coherently decide that the kayak money could just as easily be investing money, just by the power of changing a word in a label. Or, I can sit here and think of something else to keystroke so I don’t have time to change my mind.
Anyone want to bet? I can always use more kayak money.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Unpacking
Last night, a friend called to thank me for organizing the kayak camping trip a group of us had just done over the weekend. She said she had such a fantastic time, she couldn’t wait to thank me. Of course, she added, she dreaded tomorrow when she’d have to unpack everything and wash.
I was already doing that. It’s a part I enjoy.
For one thing, it doesn’t take long, especially in comparison to the packing. I put the list together weeks in advance. Then, I “pull the inventory” and lay it out on the couch to eyeball it to see if I can delete something or if I omitted anything. This process takes a few days, as I want to view it as I run the trip details through my mind several times. It’s complicated by the fact that my cat will also be going through the stuff when I’m not around. He generally deletes stuff.
When it’s culled down to the finalists, I do a test pack to ensure everything will fit into the allotted space or containers. It’s not as simple as tossing everything into the same suitcase for a hotel trip. Items must be packed into different kinds of bags, waterproof boxes, duffels, etc., grouped by activity or usage.
It’s not as simple as saying that all the food or clothing goes in one bag or box. Some you’ll use in camp, some on the river and some en route.
But, it doesn’t end there. I watch the weather forecast, which can vary several times a day. Predicted temperatures and chances of precipitation jump up and down. So, I’m digging for warmer or dryer stuff sometimes, just in case. It may be easier just to not look until a few days before the event, but I’m not comfortable doing that. What if I can’t find my favorite hoodie or rain pants? Too much other stuff to do close to zero hour, anyway.
Then, I have to load the truck in the proper order. That’s determined by whether we’re going to the campsite or the water first.
So, you can see how much easier the unpacking process is. Dump the truck, then dump the baggage into the washer. Well, not quite like that.
In the unpacking process, I note what I didn’t use and recall if I lacked anything. It’s a learning process and I enjoy it.
I’ve saved the best part for last. Every item holds a memory that extends the enjoyment of the trip. In this case, it’s the pieces and smears of M&Ms from some playful wrestling at the campground. A jacket redolent of creosote from a ridiculously robust campfire. Salsa stains attesting to partying at a Mexican restaurant. And, other things that make me grin.
I don’t dread the unpacking. I relish it.
I was already doing that. It’s a part I enjoy.
For one thing, it doesn’t take long, especially in comparison to the packing. I put the list together weeks in advance. Then, I “pull the inventory” and lay it out on the couch to eyeball it to see if I can delete something or if I omitted anything. This process takes a few days, as I want to view it as I run the trip details through my mind several times. It’s complicated by the fact that my cat will also be going through the stuff when I’m not around. He generally deletes stuff.
When it’s culled down to the finalists, I do a test pack to ensure everything will fit into the allotted space or containers. It’s not as simple as tossing everything into the same suitcase for a hotel trip. Items must be packed into different kinds of bags, waterproof boxes, duffels, etc., grouped by activity or usage.
It’s not as simple as saying that all the food or clothing goes in one bag or box. Some you’ll use in camp, some on the river and some en route.
But, it doesn’t end there. I watch the weather forecast, which can vary several times a day. Predicted temperatures and chances of precipitation jump up and down. So, I’m digging for warmer or dryer stuff sometimes, just in case. It may be easier just to not look until a few days before the event, but I’m not comfortable doing that. What if I can’t find my favorite hoodie or rain pants? Too much other stuff to do close to zero hour, anyway.
Then, I have to load the truck in the proper order. That’s determined by whether we’re going to the campsite or the water first.
So, you can see how much easier the unpacking process is. Dump the truck, then dump the baggage into the washer. Well, not quite like that.
In the unpacking process, I note what I didn’t use and recall if I lacked anything. It’s a learning process and I enjoy it.
I’ve saved the best part for last. Every item holds a memory that extends the enjoyment of the trip. In this case, it’s the pieces and smears of M&Ms from some playful wrestling at the campground. A jacket redolent of creosote from a ridiculously robust campfire. Salsa stains attesting to partying at a Mexican restaurant. And, other things that make me grin.
I don’t dread the unpacking. I relish it.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
The shirt
A last minute call delays me, so I have to burn up the fast lane to the pool. I don’t like to be late, as a rule, but especially in this case. Jared, Judie and Cott usually start our workouts about the same time and we kind of race through our warm-up mile. It keeps us from loafing, which is a natural tendency if you’re thinking ahead to your sprint laps.
Jared has always “won.” He’s less than half the age of Cott or me, but my attitude is always that if I have a lane, I have a chance. I won’t use age as an excuse. No one knows Judie’s age, nor has the nerve to ask. We’ve guessed somewhere between 40 and 55. She’s whipcord taut, which would put her at the lower end. But, sometimes she’ll mention something that indicates she’s been around longer.
I jump into the suit and head for the pool. I’m already almost hyperventilating from blasting my psyche-up music in the car and am ready to tear it up.
Damn! I round the corner and see the three of them sitting on the bench. This means, the water aerobics class before us is running long. All revved up and nowhere to burn.
I join them on the bench to wait. Judie says she has something for me and disappears into the women’s locker room. She comes back with a bag and holds it out. “This is for that favor you did for me last week.”
It wasn’t that big of a deal. But, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. It’s a humorous t-shirt. “Ten Reasons Why I Swim.” None of them are serious.
“None of them are serious,” observes Cott. “It’s missing number one for us geezers.”
Jared bites on that. “What?”
“Pumps the blood and oxygen through everything. Keeps you hornier than a three-pecker goat.”
“A three-pecker goat?” Jared raises his eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “He’s from Oklahoma. I think they’re indigenous to there.” Another high and inside fastball for poor Jared.
“I know what he means, but I don’t think it’s the blood flow,” interjects Judie. “If I’m busting my tail to keep my body in shape, I want to show it and I want to use it.” There were a few moments of silence where we contemplated our interpretations of that. “What’s your reason, Henry?”
I was thinking it’s because years of destroying my joints have left me with the choice of swimming or aerobic blinking for a workout, but it didn’t seem to rank up there with the previous entries. “I just like to smell like chlorine.”
The class breaks up and we begin our laps. I hit my rhythm and start pondering the question.
Yeah, there’s all the benefits of being in shape. But, it’s something more than that.
Maybe it’s because there’s always a new frontier to challenge you. Swimming is about technique as much as strength, endurance and tenacity. There’s always an opportunity to improve.
When I began this latest skein of swimming workouts, I searched some articles on workouts and stumbled across one on freestyle technique. When I learned to swim, one thing that was stressed was minimizing body rock. This article had the new slant. You get your body muscles into it.
I found this fascinating. Humans have been swimming for what, five or ten thousand years? And, someone still hurdled conventional wisdom and came up with a better way? Inspiring.
It took a little while to master this, but it chopped a few minutes off my mile. There’s some elation in climbing to a new plateau. A friend of mine recently had a breakthrough in her kayaking skills and couldn’t wait to email me about that. The jubilant words practically leaped off the screen.
Buoyed by this conquest, I took on my old nemesis, the butterfly. Actually, it’s a nemesis to most people, demanding very high levels of timing, form, strength and endurance. A lot of medley swimmers hate to practice fly. I revisited it with a vengeance and banged away relentlessly in almost all my sprint laps. Cott and Judie would exchange glances and shake their heads. Flyers are the berserkers of the pool.
It’s a killer. It quickly saps your strength and oxygen, which destroys the form you need to maintain the necessary momentum. Everything goes to hell pretty quickly.
But, the payoff finally came. One day, everything clicked. I felt like I was flying across the surface of the water. Elation. The knowledge your can do anything if you set your mind to it. That’s why I do this.
Hear the splashes getting closer, Jared? I’m comin’ for ya, buddy.
Jared has always “won.” He’s less than half the age of Cott or me, but my attitude is always that if I have a lane, I have a chance. I won’t use age as an excuse. No one knows Judie’s age, nor has the nerve to ask. We’ve guessed somewhere between 40 and 55. She’s whipcord taut, which would put her at the lower end. But, sometimes she’ll mention something that indicates she’s been around longer.
I jump into the suit and head for the pool. I’m already almost hyperventilating from blasting my psyche-up music in the car and am ready to tear it up.
Damn! I round the corner and see the three of them sitting on the bench. This means, the water aerobics class before us is running long. All revved up and nowhere to burn.
I join them on the bench to wait. Judie says she has something for me and disappears into the women’s locker room. She comes back with a bag and holds it out. “This is for that favor you did for me last week.”
It wasn’t that big of a deal. But, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. It’s a humorous t-shirt. “Ten Reasons Why I Swim.” None of them are serious.
“None of them are serious,” observes Cott. “It’s missing number one for us geezers.”
Jared bites on that. “What?”
“Pumps the blood and oxygen through everything. Keeps you hornier than a three-pecker goat.”
“A three-pecker goat?” Jared raises his eyebrows at me.
I shrug. “He’s from Oklahoma. I think they’re indigenous to there.” Another high and inside fastball for poor Jared.
“I know what he means, but I don’t think it’s the blood flow,” interjects Judie. “If I’m busting my tail to keep my body in shape, I want to show it and I want to use it.” There were a few moments of silence where we contemplated our interpretations of that. “What’s your reason, Henry?”
I was thinking it’s because years of destroying my joints have left me with the choice of swimming or aerobic blinking for a workout, but it didn’t seem to rank up there with the previous entries. “I just like to smell like chlorine.”
The class breaks up and we begin our laps. I hit my rhythm and start pondering the question.
Yeah, there’s all the benefits of being in shape. But, it’s something more than that.
Maybe it’s because there’s always a new frontier to challenge you. Swimming is about technique as much as strength, endurance and tenacity. There’s always an opportunity to improve.
When I began this latest skein of swimming workouts, I searched some articles on workouts and stumbled across one on freestyle technique. When I learned to swim, one thing that was stressed was minimizing body rock. This article had the new slant. You get your body muscles into it.
I found this fascinating. Humans have been swimming for what, five or ten thousand years? And, someone still hurdled conventional wisdom and came up with a better way? Inspiring.
It took a little while to master this, but it chopped a few minutes off my mile. There’s some elation in climbing to a new plateau. A friend of mine recently had a breakthrough in her kayaking skills and couldn’t wait to email me about that. The jubilant words practically leaped off the screen.
Buoyed by this conquest, I took on my old nemesis, the butterfly. Actually, it’s a nemesis to most people, demanding very high levels of timing, form, strength and endurance. A lot of medley swimmers hate to practice fly. I revisited it with a vengeance and banged away relentlessly in almost all my sprint laps. Cott and Judie would exchange glances and shake their heads. Flyers are the berserkers of the pool.
It’s a killer. It quickly saps your strength and oxygen, which destroys the form you need to maintain the necessary momentum. Everything goes to hell pretty quickly.
But, the payoff finally came. One day, everything clicked. I felt like I was flying across the surface of the water. Elation. The knowledge your can do anything if you set your mind to it. That’s why I do this.
Hear the splashes getting closer, Jared? I’m comin’ for ya, buddy.
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