Net Cotton Content

The Unexamined Hand Is Not Worth Shaking?

So, it's been a week since I formally renounced shaking hands.

Here are some observations during what has been a awkwardly counter-cultural week.

Group Dynamic
It's easier to refuse a hand when in a group of people, because others can validate that I've also refused their hands. In those cases, it's clearly not about them; it's just a weirdness about me. But if I'm alone with someone, it's much more awkward to refuse the offered hand.

Expression of Prejudice?
When refusing someone's hand, the person might suspect that I am expressing some sort of prejudice. Especially in private.

As a result, the only hands I did shake this week were of the parking valet, a sick fellow, and a fellow of a different race.

Element of Surprise
Some folks are surprised. Others offer a seen-that-before laugh and then offer me their elbow.

And I did shake a hand when a fellow surprised me with a warm greeting.

Conversation Flipper
Unfortunately, any introduction immediately becomes a discussion about the flu. I'd rather not talk about the flu or the non-shaking of hands, but — after I go through my physical and verbal gyrations — every conversation starts with a discussion of germs and my weirdness.

The Change of Etiquette
Today, it is rude to refuse an offered hand.

Tomorrow, I believe, if this disease stuff runs a horrible course through our lives, it might be the opposite: polite etiquette might be a bow; touching might be rude. (In some polite cultures, this is already so.)

Many Of You Don't Like This
Comments on the earlier post suggest that my illness is: a media induced case of mysophobia. (You might be right.)

Others bemoan the further disengagement — now becoming non-physical — in society. An MBA asks, "What will we become if we don't share a hug?" (You, too, might be right.)

Don't Blame Me
When you get home and find that you are sick, I'm someone you will explicitly remember among those people who did not make you sick. (Of course, who knows? Perhaps I made you sick through airborne bad boys.)

All of which reminds me of a horrible story.
Andy Sokol, of blessed memory, the namesake and muse for Net Cotton Content, once told me this story:

We were shipping out for World War I. Basic training had ended and the ship to Europe awaited us in the morning.

It was night and four of us had climbed into our bunks. In the dark, we smoked cigarettes and chatted about our lives.

In the morning, I woke up to find the other three men were dead. Influenza. That's what won the war.

My favorite nurse practitioner adds that the 3,000mg of aspirin prescribed daily for flu symptoms in those times might have also contributed mightily to the sudden, untimely deaths of those three men.

How to do it.
I still don't know what to say or do to avoid the Shake — and not destroy the beginning of a conversation.

Any suggestions?

No Sweat

There has been much news — too much bad news — about a sweat lodge turned fatal out in Sedona, Arizona.

Friend Jonathan asked me: "Is this the sort of thing you organized a few years ago?"

Yes, I did.
And I wrote about the experience here.

It wasn't dangerous however. No more dangerous than sitting around a campfire.

But, yes it was a sweat lodge.

And somewhere right now, there are former members of the board of trustees of Rocky Fork Hunt & Country Club who are thinking, "Thank goodness Artie Isaac didn't lead people to their deaths in our pasture."

Anything overdone is bad.
I used to live near a Texas bar in Greenwich Village called the Lone Star where the banner over the door claimed, "Too much ain't enough."

The hell it ain't.

Too much is too damn much.

What It Means To Be Human

Matt Slaybaugh, mentor to the stars, poses this question: What does it mean to be human?

I think he's getting at something more than simply being a member of our common species. If that were his question, I think, the answer is (1) have a belly button and (2) — well that's about it.

I think Matt wants to know what it means to be a fully realized human, to be all a human can be.

Here we go...

Am I Human?
Five questions to ask myself every day:

• Am I psychologically healthy?  Or do I place my own morale in the hands of others?
• Am I communally motivated? Or do I live only for myself?
• Do I measure my words like pearls? Or do I treat speech as cheap, savaging others — and in doing so, savaging myself?
• Do I pause to reflect? Or am I always a Human Doing, never practicing the art of being a Human Being?
• Do I do those things that only I can do? Or am I swamped with frenetic boredom?

So, Matt, How Do We Know We Are Human?
As usual, Matt's not asking an idle question.

He — with the loyal talent at Available Light — will answer the question for us, with us, in front of us.

[How to] Stay Human opens November 5th for two short weeks.

More information is here.

Come watch. Fall in. Leave more human.

Please spread the word.

On How To Deliver A Speech

A friend and I were exchanging critiques on our performances last week as public speakers.

In critiquing my friend's expert presentation, I wrote him mainly about the content and structure of his arguments. As an English major, I'm mainly focused on the rhetoric, rather than the delivery.

Well, my friend followed-up this morning, specifically seeking advice on his delivery. He wrote:

All of your points give me more ideas on how to make my next presentation better, and that's the goal for me: to become the best speaker I can be, to inspire others, educate them on relevant ideas, make sure I am getting my real message across correctly, etc.

You gave me a lot of great suggestions/feedback as to the things I was saying and what I was saying, but I am curious to know also what you thought about the delivery/presence.

If you don't mind me asking:

• How was my vocal variety? Did I have enough change in my tone to keep people engaged?
• How was my body language? Was I shifting too much, walking all over the place, or was it fine where it was not a distraction?
• How were my eyes? Was I looking down to much, up too much, not looking enough at single individuals?

What To Say?
I'm wasn't sure how to answer these questions.

They might be great questions to ask, but I wasn't watching for such technical aspects. (Silly me. I was enjoying the speech!) Next time I sit in the audience, however, I'll make special note of these aspects.

Deleting my specific comments to him, here are the general ways I approach these three topics:

• Vocal variety: I appreciate speakers who are conversational, rather than oratorical. When a speaker shouts or laughs or sings, it cannot ring artificial.
• Body language: The director (of Our Town, The Odd Couple, To Kill A Mockingbird, and so many others), Ian Short has taught me: make no small gestures. Make sure all gestures have a clear start and a clear end. Don't let gestures simply erode. And don't force any body language. Don't force anything.
• Eye contact: More is better. And, then again, it makes sense to look up (or to the notes) for inspiration. Just don't look down at your shoes too much.

Such Professional Questions
I have to admit, I am not a trained platform speaker. I'm applying what I have learned on the theatrical stage over the years and in the classroom. So, I don't know much about these technical aspects.

If it's not too pompous to claim, I'm more of a "Method Speaker" like a method actor, I guess. I get into character and go. And, I find, the truer the character — the more me I can be — the better off I am.

What Do You Think?
If you have some perspective on this, please don't leave a comment here on this post.

Please visit SpeakerSite's "LITTLE GEMS: Advice For New Speakers" (where I have posted this as advice for new speakers) to add your comment there.

On Secrets at Work

From the Uh, Artie? inbox:

Uh, Artie?

The company I work for is going through layoffs. It's miserable. Families, livelihoods, and momentum all affected in very unpleasant ways. Making matters worse, management here is really botching it. There's been no strategy around who's getting cut, no succession planning, and zero communication. It'd be laughable, if it weren't so sad...They're relying on the water cooler to handle circulation of the news. A guy was given his walking papers as he was getting into his car to go home last night. And another was fired, then re-hired after a key customer threatened to walk.

Morale, needless to say, is in the crapper. This includes me.

One sliver lining is that, at least verbally, management here is saying that they won't be enforcing the non-compete agreements that we all signed when coming on board.

The boss has shared plans with me (and others, I've learned) about the fate of more colleagues who will be pink-slipped soon, so I know at least some who are not going to have a job next month.

One of these people, a fellow I am friendly with and whom I respect for his professionalism and quality of work, contacted me yesterday and asked, rather bluntly, if he was getting cut.

Here is where my ethical question begins.
What I told him is this:

These are tough times and we should all be concerned for the security of our jobs right now — especially those of us with no work in the pipeline. As far as what I know regarding specific plans, it turns out that some of the information management has shared with me has turned out to be false, and therefore all information I'm privy to has become suspect. Still, it would behoove those of us who are still here to extract as much value out of our current projects as possible while lining up more billable work to begin ASAP.

He's a smart guy and I think (maybe) he read between the lines. But I felt like I was...what's the term for lying by not being entirely forthcoming? I felt like that: a little sleazy.

What I wanted to tell him is this:

Pal, I am sorry to be the one to give you this news, but you asked me a question and I'm going to give you an honest answer. And if you can be better prepared for what's ahead by knowing this, I want to play a role in helping you. The plan is for you to get the axe as soon as you roll off this project. Start your networking now if you haven't already and get your resume in order. When they give you the news, confirm that this is a cost-cutting maneuver and that it's not performance-related.

Ask for a letter of recommendation. They'll agree. Write it yourself. Make sure it has three things in there: 1) a glowing paragraph about your performance; 2) The reason for your being let go (hard times); and 3) a line releasing you from your previous non-competition agreements. Present it to them quickly and on company letterhead. Get them to sign a few copies. Then include every client you've done work for in your job search and sell yourself — either as a hired gun or as an FTE.

Finally, let me know how I can help.

I still want to tell him this.
I can't ignore the competing factors of conscience, bitterness, and advocacy that are making this a difficult choice. But I'm torn between ethical, moral, and professional obligations. And I'm likely to be approached by others with the same question this guy asked me.

Uh, Artie? How can I balance these obligations and still sleep at night?

Many thanks in advance for your perspective. Best regards,

— "Steve"

P.S.: Not sure how broad of an audience this material might apply to, but you should feel welcome to use whatever of this you like for Net Cotton Content.

Dear "Steve."

One of the things I have least liked about being in the employer-employee relationship is when one makes a liar out of the other. It might not explicitly be lying, as you point out, but when someone tells me a secret and I have to walk around with it for more than two minutes, I feel like a liar.

Especially in this economy, I don't like burdening anyone with secrets.

But you asked what you should do.
Beats me. Still, here's a stab at the challenge.

I like that you want to help this fellow, this pal. And I think the message you can deliver is a combination of the first message's propriety and the second message's set of instructions.

So you might go ahead and say everything you still want to say in the second message, but I'd recommend one substitution. Rather than "The plan is for you to get the axe as soon as you roll off this project," I'd recommend "All of us have to be prepared to get the axe as soon as we roll off each project." Then change the next "when" to "if" and add a few more "if"'s and you are in good shape.

This substitution isn't driven by some ethical obligation not to spill the beans so much as it's driven by a uncertainty of the beans themselves. Your company has every plan to fire certain people, then unfires them. The bean counters seem to have the beans in their ears. Based on your description of what your company calls management, there is a possibility that you will get the axe and Pal will soon sit at your desk.

Three maxims:

In a blind man's shooting range, it pays for everyone to keep their heads down and know where the doors are.

And we really start telling the unvarnished truth when we call each other "Pal."

Anyone who struggles with ethics is probably a fairly ethical person. (The most unethical folks give no thought to the subject.)

Good luck. Remember, Pal, you'll always have an (unpaid) job here at Net Cotton Content.

-- Artie

P.S.: Any readers have anything to add for "Steve"?

Up, up and away

So, it's come to this. I'm weighing in on Balloon Boy.

I floated this trial balloon (sorry) in my keynote on creativity yesterday at SummitUp.

(I also enjoyed the other keynotes: Lewis Howes on Linkedin, Kevin Dugan on storytelling in social marketing, Bob Garfield on the death of advertising, and Chris Brogan on humans. There's nothing quite so motivating as a social media conference.)

My Wonderful Balloon
I'll presume you know the story of Balloon Boy. We all do.

But I'll also presume that you — we all, as a nation — haven't really considered the story in a productive, constructive way.

Most of us — and all the coverage I've seen — started low (fear! freakish emergency! watch TV!) and gone lower (what the hell is wrong with these people? let's wallow! watch TV!).

I think this story has done more than attempt to destroy The Balloon Family. I think it's cast a harsh light on all of us.

We Crush People.
When sentencing the three spies to death (Henry V, II.ii), the newly engaged warrior king is moved to sadness, because this treason "methinks, is like another fall of man."

Hey, Hank, wethinks the same way, even when the crime isn't treason.

To this day, our popular culture seeks, finds and amplifies any failing or sin. We snipe and snap; we define others by their momentary failings. (Ironically, the non-religious and fundamentalists seem united as the Hypocrisy Police, sputtering mad at any display of inconsistency by others.)

Who amongst us should truly be known only for his greatest failing?

In Defense Of Balloon Dad
Listen, pal, I know that Balloon Dad made mistakes.

All his mistakes can be placed in that quintessentially American bucket labeled: "Seeks fame at any cost." He enlists his son in fraud. He abuses emergency services. He incites panic. He embarrasses all of America, if all our other tacky and gratuitous behavior hasn't already destroyed our international dignity.

All he learned from Bernie Madoff was: hey, I really think I can do this.

Balloon Dad — and we all — should be grateful no one died in the pursuit of that balloon. It's entirely plausible that an accident might have resulted, costing the life of a responder. Then, we'd be on to manslaughter charges.

In any case, Balloon Dad calculated poorly. And, yes, I wouldn't put my sick kid on The Today Show where he would barf.

But let's slow down here.

The Balloon Parents seem wacky to me, too. But let he with no wackiness cast the first stone. Truly: come to my home and watch me play the role of dad for a week. Am I Perfect Dad? Hardly. You'd soon see that I am just Balloon Dad Without A Balloon.

Balloon Dad — we can all agree on this — is just trying to make a living while getting his kids interested in science. (He just got in over his head by about 2,000 feet.)

Balloon Boy was in the rafters of the garage, right? Where was your kid at that time, Mr. and Mrs. Ideal Parents? Playing video games? Smoking crack?

An argument can be made for guy who loves science so much that he chases storms with his kids.

An Inch From Greatness
Allow me to pose the unthinkable question: what could Balloon Family have done to achieve a great media success, rather than a felony indictment?

I mean, really. They were very, very close to achieving exactly what they sought: national exposure for a science-related reality show about a family that is bonkers for science (and, yes, maybe just a little bonkers).

The main problem was, as I read, Balloon Dad planned this event for two weeks. That might have been a lot of planning for a guy who chases storms, but it isn't enough planning for a national social media campaign.

Monday Morning Quarterback
What could Balloon Dad have done differently?

• Use a cat. Rather than having a missing child as the balloon ballast, use a house cat. The PETA people — and we all — should be outraged by this, but it would have resulted in the same media frenzy without the panic. (Is a cat too dear to exploit in this way? Pick the species you hate. How about bloggimus bombasticus?)
• Call 911 first. By calling the FAA and CNN before calling 911, Balloon Dad acted like a social media guy rather than a dad whose kid is escaping from Oz. Even better would be to contact the authorities two week earlier. (What? That takes the thrill out of the emergency? Perhaps. It also removes the awkward felony charge.)
• Coach the kid. Balloon Boy spilled the beans, once on Larry King ("You told me it was for the show.") and once on the floor while on The Today Show. Sophocles couldn't have directed this little fellow any better: he hears falsehood and responds by vomiting the truth.
  

Don't teach the kid how to lie, of course. Teach him a better answer that he can give America while he winks his eye like a child actor.

Imagine our collective opinion if Balloon Boy had looked into Larry King's third eye and said, with the honest, aw-shucks face of little Opie Taylor, "I guess you are right, Mr. King. We just wanted to bring our love of science to more children. If hiding in the rafters is a crime, let me be guilty." 

The New Adventures of Balloon Boy would be on CBS next Thursday night.

But Balloon Dad Isn't The Only Culprit Here.
Hey, we get the world we build.

If you watch this kind of low drama, you must want more of it. Otherwise, you'd have quickly decided to ignore it in favor of more productive activities.

But we get the media we deserve. Why else is The Today Show allowing a sick kid on the show. Is this news? Not hardly. The chase of the balloon was news. The day after was entertainment.

What television producer considers a sick kid barfing to be entertaining?

And who continues to watch such crap without barfing? Spending our time this way is not re-building this country.

Hand me the bucket, Balloon Boy. I'm with you.

Stirred, but not shaken.

I'm stirred by meeting you.

Thank you.

But I'm not shaking that hand.

I'm experimenting with a new prohibition: I'm not shaking anyone's hand.

It's Not Just Your Hand.
Today, I'm at a great conference — SummitUp — and there are hundreds of people sharing insights on social media. And each person has at least one hand to shake.

So many nice people. Some thought I spoke well and they are nice enough to say hello.

And The Hand Is Presented.
But my wife — a family nurse practitioner — says, "Don't shake hands. We — as a people — have to get beyond shaking hands. It isn't hygienic."

And my friend Gordon says, "I'm done shaking hands. No more shaking hands. It seems like an easy way to cut down on the transfer of disease."

I Don't Think You Are Sick.
I hope you are well.

When I deny my hand, some folks smile. How nice.

Some folks insist, "I'm not sick." (How do you know? You mean, you don't feel sick. That's good. But any of us might be contagious without symptoms.)

I'm Trying To Be Polite.
What I'm doing — or not doing — is weird, I know. It's counter cultural. It seems rude. I'm sorry.

I mean well. And it's not solely self-serving. I mean to act in your best interest, too.

Stay well. I will bow to that.

Be careful for what you wish.

People often say, "Careful what you wish for."

What do they mean?

(And should they avoid ending a sentence with a preposition?)

They Think Your Wish Just Might Come True.
And then, boy oh boy — then you will be sorry, pal.

Like the dog chasing the car, snapping at the tires of the car, thinking "I want to bite this tire." (I suddenly know what dogs think. I am a latter day Dr. Dolittle.)

But the dog should be careful for what he wishes. For a mouth of tire on a moving car is a bloody and certain death. Or at least a powerful dog whuppin'.

Suddenly, I Find My Mouth Full Of Tire.
A few years ago, I decided that I should be a public speaker. That was my wish.

Now, I wake up today and look at the next week and see this:

This morning (10/17/09) — four hours on "Unleashing Creativity" — with top-achieving college students convened at the Fisher College of Business at The Ohio State University for the KeyBank Leadership and Creativity Symposium.

Monday evening (10/19/09) — my weekly class at CCAD with 135 talented artists and designers. And you, too, if you want.

Tuesday morning (10/20/09) — again I'm early on the day's agenda for some reason (perhaps I'm supposed to be the barking dog that wakes everyone up? — an hour on creativity at SummitUp, a daylong gathering of social media folks. (You can come to this, if you want. Just click on the link here — at SummitUp — and go to the right sidebar.)

• P.S. (10/20/09): Here are my slides from SummitUp (for what they're worth) and photos on the right added later.

Wednesday noon  (10/21/09) — I'm the lunchtime speaker for the Columbus Chapter of the Association of Legal Administrators. Topic: Rainmaking, how professional development is done by the best networking lawyers.

Wednesday evening (10/21/09) — back to beautiful Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio, for a community wide (students, faculty, neighbors) workshop on creativity called "Creativity+You" in Olin Auditorium at 7 p.m. You can come to this. I think you don't even have to register. Just come. And be nice. (Let me know if you want a ride from Columbus. I could use some help navigating on the return trip.)

Saturday noon (10/24/09) — you can come to this, too, though I won't be "speaking." It's a casual indoor picnic for the 4,000 members of SpeakerSite. We'll meet at Dirty Franks Hot Dog Palace for a Buy Your Own Weenie lunch. Since the vast majority of members of SpeakerSite are not going to be in Columbus (and the 200 who are in Columbus will probably be watching the Ohio State game of the week), this might be lunch with me, Rob Emrich (the creator and co-founder of SpeakerSite), and Catherine White (a celebrated speaker who has come from Sydney, Australia for this weenie). Here's the official invitation. 

I'm thrilled.

And prepared. (That's what I keep telling myself.)

So Why Be Careful What You Wish For?
Because your dream might just come true.

And you want to make sure the tire in your mouth suits you.

What Else Am I Wishing For?
For a few more donations to the Net Cotton Content/Kiva Portfolio.

More than $200 came in this past week from charitable donors. You can send as little as you like, and your name will appear on the Big List o' Donors.

More details here.

YEAR ONE UPDATE: The Kiva/Net Cotton Content Portfolio

We are coming up on the end of our first year of the Kiva/Net Cotton Content Portfolio.

Last November 24th, we began operations by announcing our three first $50 investments in micro-lending on Kiva.com, with $150 donated by loyal and generous readers John, Rachel, Emily, Abbie, and Michelle (and your humble writer).

Highlights of Year One

Two of our our loans have been repaid:

Concepción, the Peruvian guinea pig farmer, repaid the entire $650 (including our $50) on schedule and is doing whatever a guinea pig farmer does.

Suzan Hamoudeh, the Palestinian strawberry farmer, repaid her $1,000 loan (including our $50) ahead of schedule.

You can see this on my Kiva page.

And our third loan is on schedule to be fully repaid:

Djahid Suleymanov, our favorite butcher in Azerbaijan, has repaid 83% of his $1,000 loan. When he makes the final two payments of the remaining $166.60, we'll have our $50 back.

Then, after our first year, we will have our $150 available for us to withdraw and have a celebration party.

Slow down. There will be no celebration.
We will, as they say in Las Vegas, let it ride. We're going to find new entrepreneurs to whom we will loan money.

Does this all sound like small potatoes to you?
How lucky for you!

It's big potatoes to these folks. They are becoming self-sufficient — or maintaining their self-sufficiency. Whatever your politics, I think you'll agree: this is a better world if individual entrepreneurs have a chance at low-cost capital. That's us!

Did I Say "Us"?
And Does "Us" Include "You"?
Those were trick questions. The kind of rhetoric you would expect from your portfolio manager.

Yes, you can be included!

Here's how: from now until Christmas, Net Cotton Content will raise funds with TJT ("tip jar technology"). Just look at the left sidebar for The Hat, which I am passing to increase our funding for micro loans.

Click on The Hat and fork over your money. Any amount is welcome. It takes a community to raise funds. Let's go.

It would be delightful if we could get to $300, so we can make three $100 loans (rather than three humble $50 loans like last year). If we get to $500, that would be about $200 even more delightful.

My promise: all funds raised will go to entrepreneurs via Kiva. Even though The Hat's payment page suggests that this is a "tip for the author of Artie Isaac," I will never run off with the money, spending it on fast pizzas and loose ice creams. I won't. I won't.

Let's Add To Our Corpus
For two reasons:

1. These are real people, living valid lives, in color.
2. "Corpus" is just such a worthy word.

How much you got? Put it in The Hat.

The Moment Before

The runner stretches.

The chef prepares her mise en place.

The t'ai chi master bows.

The batter touches the corners of the plate with the bat, spits and adjusts his privates.

It is ritual.
Before something important, we do that thing, that little dance.

It's more than a physical tic, more than a superstition, more than practical preparation.

It is a form of worship. It is a dance with fate, with the potential of the moment to come.

It is The Creative's Prayer.
During the private, quiet moment before we create, what do we tell ourselves?

How do we prepare when — at last, after months of formal preparation — we are out of time and the preparation is now limited to its final moments?

For me, the ritual has come down to this.
Immediately before teaching a class, or giving a speech, or stepping onto the stage, I embrace this routine.

I am filled with dread, the respect for the situation and the potential for transforming myself and others — and the contrary potential for missing the opportunity at hand.

The ritual begins:

• I understand my place. I measure the scene like a nurse sterilizes the work area, making sure I consider the aspects of the environment I can control: the lights, the microphone, the chalkboard, the platform or area on which I will stand.
• I prepare for distractions. Like a bank robber cases the joint, I note the exits, the hum of the HVAC, the potential for surprise.
• I start the flow of blood. Where no one can see me: ten quick jumping jacks. And I make a series of faces — small face, big face, small face, big face — to make sure I can form all the facial expressions in between.
• I utter an incantation. "Not for me, but for them." I learned this from my teacher, Danny Maseng, who says this (as I now do) during the moments beneath the tallit, before entering prayer in a community. "[What I am about to do is] not [solely] for me, but for them [, the members of my community]." It is a literal reminder: I devote my energy and skill to the benefit of others, not to myself.

How do you prepare, during those final moments of dread and potential?