Net Cotton Content

Gone (But Not Forgotten)

I'm on a three-week sabbatical — completely unplugged — until August 12th.

No email. No phone. No Facebook. No Twitter. Alas, no Net Cotton Content.

Just Stay Alive.
I will return for you.

If you want to receive an automatic email when I return to Net Cotton Content, please subscribe. (It's free.) Just submit your email address on the left. (When I bore you, you can easily unsubscribe.)

Miss you.
Where's Artie? In Arizona and Utah, hiking and camping in the heat of the summer.

I wish you peace. Only peace.

Hurry up and breathe!

A funny thing happened on the way to deliver a speech about breathing.

The speech was scheduled for 10 a.m. in Cleveland (three hours away) and I was nervous about everything: getting there on time, and getting there with the speech finished and right.

I hadn't slept well, fussing with the speech all night for several nights — so I was tired. Anxiety pushed me out the door at 6 a.m.

To be extra alert for the drive (and the speech), I stopped along the way for a double shot of espresso.

I was cranked up.
Car windows wide open for the springtime air, Ziggy Stardust blaring, and — yes, I'm sorry — I was exceeding the national speed limit.

Suddenly, a Ohio State Trooper, in the highway median.

He sees me speeding and swings his car into the lane behind me. He trails me for five long minutes over five long miles. What was he doing? Running my license plates in the computer?

Oh, the feeling of receiving an impending ticket. It's just the feeling of being so stupid. I didn't truly need to be speeding. I would have been on time in any case. Blame Ziggy Stardust and Juan Valdez. And me.

Then the trooper pulled away, into the right lane, and exited the highway.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

The Funny Part of This Story
When I arrived, I met the Buddhist teacher who would offer the invocation and closing blessing at the Graduation Ceremony where I was to speak.

How wonderful. I asked Shih Ying-Fa several questions about Buddhism. He is a generous and kind teacher.

So I asked of him a favor: "I will be speaking about Buddhism. Even if I say something patently stupid, would you please nod as if what I am saying is worthy?"

He smiled and agreed.

So I asked him another question. I told him about my drive up: the coffee, the speeding, the Ziggy Stardust, the trooper, the near ticket. I asked, "What sort of person almost gets a speeding ticket on the way to deliver a speech on Buddhism?"

He smiled and says: "Someone who is running late?"

Nothing beats a Buddhist punchline.

And, Now, From Helensvale

I'm mindful not to flog SpeakerSite on Net Cotton Content. (Net Cotton Content must remain pure, whatever that means.)

But — if you care to read an item about SpeakerSite — this would be the Item Of The Month.

The premiere edition of CL!Q eMag has just hit the web and — joy of joys — it features a seven-page spread on SpeakerSite.

• You can see the CL!Q eMag piece on SpeakerSite by clicking here.
  
• You can see the entire #1 July 2009 edition of CL!Q eMag (on ISSUU.com) by clicking here.

Congratulations to founding editor Jeannie May on their launch. And thanks to Jeannie for including SpeakerSite with such a nice piece on the world's largest social network of public speakers.

I Guess I'm Old
I am simply amazed to correspond with a start-up publishing venture in Helensvale, Queensland in Australia, and see it result in such a nice product.

It's a small world after all.

Mentor Up

I'm 20 years older than two key role models: Rob Emrich at SpeakerSite and Matt Slaybaugh at Available Light.

Twenty years older! I could be their father (if I'd sired sooner).

I'm finding role models every day who are younger and younger.

Most of my mentors are younger than I am.

How did that happen?
How do you get to the point when your role models, mentors and teachers are younger than you are?

It is a sign of good fortune and longevity.

Hire A Teacher.
In Chaim Potok's The Chosen, we learn that we each have two obligations each year:

1. Acquire a teacher
2. Choose a friend

In a spirited debate, my son and I discovered — and placed on a PostIt note on the refrigerator door — "Teachers are wherever you seek them."

I'm looking toward the next generation for my next generation of mentors. And, happily, there are many wise, expressive, caring and patient teachers among this new generation.

A Lovely Example
Here's a younger person taking the time to be my teacher.

It's a lengthy email from Dane Zavodny, a recent student (who gave me permission to post this):

Hope this summer is treating you well. 

In reading through your blog recently, I saw that you've picked up running to get in shape for your hike. As a runner, I know where you're coming from when you say you dislike exercising for the sake of exercising. I think it's safe to say that many people have this love / hate relationship with running.

But while its very inconvenient to pick up a hobby such as exercising, I have found it to be very rewarding. However, until reading this specific blog post, I had not realized the connection to between my love for running and our class this past spring. A light bulb went off in my head and I was able to finally relate my hobby back to the things you spoke about repeatedly in class.

It's not about having a cord of chopped wood.
It's about falling in love with the chopping.

Running in itself is a very unenjoyable process (time commitment, physical struggle, even public embarrassment).

However, running allows us the opportunity to enjoy so much more than pounding our feet on the pavement:

• Running gives us the opportunity to be outdoors and enjoy our creator’s creations.  So often we are sucked into our daily routines and obligations that we do not get the chance to experience the day.  Sure everyone talks about the weather, but running allows us to fully immerse ourselves in the gifts of nature. 
• The pace is slow enough that the same ordinary streets we see every day can seem brand new when we pay attention to all the details.
• The route is unfixed, so we are given the opportunity to explore places we’ve never been.  Whether we choose to run through busy streets or quiet trails, we are in control of our own path, something that is often taken for granted.
• Working toward a goal and finding that effort yields results is something that is always incredibly rewarding for me. Whether it means pushing myself to run a little bit farther or a little bit faster, I know that I am the only person that can determine my success. 
• Running also encompasses the idea of postponing today’s happiness for future rewards. In your case, suffering through training will allow you to successfully complete your hike without hospitalization. But that idea also translates into allowing yourself a more fulfilling life down the road. (You’re an educated guy, so you don’t need the lesson on physical fitness and life expectancy.)
• Lastly, in addition to conserving dignity, night running provides me with Flow that I can’t find anywhere else. In the absence of light, sound, and distraction, night running provides me with time to myself for meditation and reflection. To me, running a few miles on a cool summer night is as close to Flow as I’ve found in my brief time here.

For me, it’s about enjoying the little things.
I find small joys in running long distances:

• The constant drumbeat of feet combining with deep breaths as my lungs inhale and exhale creating a beautiful melody. 
• Giving a friendly wave to an oncoming jogger as we cross paths.
• Watching my shadow grow and shrink in the glow of the streetlights. 
• Feeling sweat drip down my brow into the corners of my eyes.
• Setting a personal goal for myself and working toward surpassing it.
• Feeling goosebumps run up my chest and down my legs as the driveway comes into view around the last street corner.
• Walking in the front door feeling like my body is made of a strange combination of Jello and cement. 
• Falling into a deep sleep as soon as my head touches the pillow that night. 

I feel that it encompasses a variety of concepts discussed in class and, until reading your post, I did not make the connection.

On one hand it’s torture. On the other, it’s extremely comforting. 

I hope you are able to reach your goal and enjoy every second of your trip.  But please don’t forget to take your own advice and enjoy the pursuit.

Dane continues:

On a related note, I heard a proverb the other day that I had never heard before.  It has stuck with me, and I found it very motivating:

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle. [attributed to Erin Majors]

It’s very simple, and you may have heard it before. But just in case you hadn’t, I wanted to share it with you. As soon as I heard it, I thought of you and our creativity class. You have undoubtedly been an inspiration to many students both inside and outside the realm of school. Again, I thank you.

Thank you, Dane!
You warm an old teacher's heart. Rare is the student who shares class-inspired musings after the grades are turned in!

Hey, readers: Who are your role models? Are they increasingly younger than you?

Fat and Happy

There used to be some fat people we all knew, back when the ordinary modifiers were "fat" or maybe "chubby." Long before we spoke of "obese" or even "big boned."

They were: Jackie Gleason, Ed Asner, Winston Churchill — and the Skipper (Alan Hale) on Gilligan's Island.

Who Are You Calling Fat?
As I train for my big hike later this month to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, I'm thinking a lot about body weight. I've never been too concerned with weight. I'm lucky, I guess. (You know, I have a fast metabolism. Whatever that means.)

Yet, as I hike around and pass up dessert, I keep thinking of those Legendary Fat Guys.

And here's what I'm thinking. They represented fat, but — if they got in line tomorrow at the nearby fast food restaurant, they'd be seated in the Skinny Section.

Fat ain't what fat used to be.

Talk about inflation!

 

To live, or not to live, à la carte

Let us pause to consider the recently concluded Cultural Year. (The Cultural Year runs concurrent with the School Year, both observing a generous summer vacation.)

Was it a good year? How would you know?

Here's how I assess the Cultural Year.
I ask some hard questions:

• Did I expand my understanding of the human condition?
• Does the meaning of my life — at this time, in this world, among these people — make even a little more sense to me? Did I, like Conrad's Marlow, manage to gain some knowledge of myself?
• Did I connect with others, join their posse, fall in with their friends?

• Did we have a laugh together?
• Did we shed a tear together?
• Did I become more engaged in — not more withdrawn from — our community?
• Did I benefit from subscribing to a series of cultural events (such as ProMusica, BalletMet or a film festival) or did I flit hither and fro, choosing cultural experiences along the way, à la carte?

This last question is critical. There are benefits to sampling events, setting one's cultural agenda week-by-week. The flexibility affords us spontaneity. Which means we can go with the flow.

But the lack of commitment also has a negative side.

In Praise of Structure
Spontaneity is good, but I often find that — because I haven't committed to a season of, say, theatre, then I don't see as many plays.

Each evening rolls around and my cultural curiosity surrenders to weariness. I stay home. My mind and soul must rely on my home life for all their sustenance.

Commitment gets me out of the house.

I'm committed.
I believe in having a cultural curriculum, a series of scheduled events that I am obliged — for my own good — to attend.

So I've made a leap this year — as last year, which served me well — by purchasing a membership to Available Light [Theatre].

It's stranger than a season of tickets. Membership (at the "Groupie" level) allows me to attend (again and again) as many performances as I want to, each time bringing another guest.

With my membership last season, I found that I was seeing the same plays two or three times. The second time: foreshadowing was more enjoyable, because I understood the arc of the show. The third time: I saw the show from the actors' perspectives. Very nice.

(This is like being able to watch a movie on DVD repeated times. And the post-show Talk Backs, with the actors and director, is like watching the special features on a DVD. Only better, because it's all live.)

Interested?
Here's the membership brochure.

Perhaps you might join me with your own membership in Available Light. It's affordable — and downright cheap if you enjoy it as it is intended: a see-all-you-want, bring-all-your-friends-(one-at-a-time) theatre smorgasbord.

Need More Persuasion?
From the brochure:

Available Light is Ohio’s hippest and hottest presenter of new and original theatrical productions. Voted “Best Live Theater” in 2009 by the readers of the Columbus Alive, AVLT is renowned by audiences and critics alike for bold creations by local artists and regional premieres of important new work by playwrights from around the globe.

We create theatre that other troupes do not and could not produce because we believe it is our duty as artists to engage our community, to examine our culture, and as we often put it, “to add to the sum total of joy and brotherhood in the room.”

Our tickets regularly go for the wickedly reasonable price of “Pay What You Want” because now, more than ever, we all really need great art. And because now, more than ever, we cannot allow economic circumstances to shut anyone out of the theater.

We are committed to developing local talent and contributing to the local arts scene, and making Columbus a better place to live and work. We also collaborate with creative small businesses and provide opportunities for volunteers who don’t have formal theatre training. It’s all part of our mission to enable artists and audiences alike to live the life of the imagination.

To what art and culture will you commit this year?

A Night At Strokey's

The SpeakerSite team met yesterday with legendary angel investor, voracious reader, powerful teacher, and loyal visitor to Net Cotton Content, John Huston.

Angel Investor is a term chosen, of course, by those it describes. It's shorthand for Crazy Rich People Who Just Might Invest In Your Completely Unproven Business.

John taught us plenty about how he sees the world. One lesson: You sure can see clearly from atop a mountain of money. Or, John would hasten to add: maybe not. In any event, the view is definitely better.

John is Dante, describing the rings of hell. For John, of course, it's ten possible returns on an investment — each one worse than the previous one. (If you are interested — and it is darned entertaining if you are — here's a podcast where John describes Ten Exit Outcomes.)

But, mercifully for all readers (especially John), this post is not about John and his angel investing.

This post is a story that came to mind when John described how angel investors make the wrong investments time and time again. (That's simply the game they play as they look for the long shot.)

Here's the story: A Night At Strokey's
It comes from Andy Sokol, whose most frequent story was about net cotton content and is how this blog found its name.

This is one of Andy's lesser told stories and a favorite of mine. From memory, heard through his highly refined, yet New York wiseguy accent:

It was a long time ago, when I was a young executive with the Stevens outfit.

I was in charge of entertaining an out-of-town client. The evening had included a great meal and lots of good fun and drinking and we had ended up at an old favorite haunt of mine: Strokey's Bar.

Now Strokey's was not a fancy place. Quite the opposite. It was down on the Bowery and was a very simple affair. I just liked it. It was a real, old New York bar.

Well, the evening was winding down and it was time to get my client to his train at Grand Central Station. So it's time for me to pay the tab and get him into a taxi, which I also had to pay for. I look in my wallet and — wouldn't you know! — I'd spent all my money during the evening.

This was terribly embarrassing, you see, because it was absolutely critical that this gentleman be my guest. I wasn't just taking a fellow out for dinner and drinks. I was a representative of the entire Stevens firm and I had to carry the flag.

So I excused myself from our table and went over to the bar. I signaled the barman and he came over. I said, quietly, "Listen, pal. I've got myself in quite a pickle. I'm entertaining this fellow from out of town and I've exhausted all my cash. Now, I come in here from time to time, and I'm wondering: would you please let me write you a check for cash?"

"How much do you need?" asked the barman.

I said, "I could sure use twenty dollars." Mind you, twenty dollars was a large amount of money back in those days.

The barman raised his eyebrows and took a half step backwards, so he could see me better. He gave me a real look up and down. He was sizing me up. "Make it for fifty," he said.

What a relief! "Thank you, my good man," I said as I took out a check. "I am very grateful to you. Very, very grateful." I handed him my check and he gave me fifty dollars.

He really helped me out. He saved my evening. But I was curious. As I was paying my tab, I asked him, "I have to ask you something. You don't know me from Adam. And yet you are willing to cash my check — and for fifty dollars, no less! Why? Why are you willing to do this?"

The barman held up a finger to silence me. "Wait right there," he said. He reached into a cabinet below the bar and came up with a cigar box. He opened the top, dipped his hand into it, and pulled out a dozen or so slips of paper. "You see what these are? They're checks, returned from the bank for insufficient funds. This box is full of checks I've cashed that were no good. You see, I'm a collector of bad checks. But I'm getting better at this. I can tell: your check is good."

I've always loved this story. And I've always loved Reginald Marsh's ink-and-watercolor depiction of "Strokey's Bar on the Bowery" (1946).

Angel Investors are where you seek them.