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Summer School 2011

Today started beautifully, with a flat bicycle tire. A rear tire, which is the more difficult to change.

It really was beautiful, because a couple years ago — during summer school — I learned how to fix a flat tire on my bike. And, to the admiring amazement of my biking pal Gordon:

I disengaged the brake, pulled off the tire, used the tire tool to loosen it, flattened and removed the ruptured tube, checked the tire for any internal damage (which might ruin the new tube), partially inflated the new tube, put it on the rim (with care for the placement of the tube and valve), used the tire tool to reinsert the tire edge within the rim, finished inflating the tire, flipped the bike, and reengaged the brake.

It was very fun. I had all the tools, except a tire guage, which I will buy when I go back to my bike store tomorrow for a replacement tube.

Without summer school, I'd have had to walk home.
We were ten miles away on a hot, sunny, muggy day. It would have been a bummer.

I love summer school. The first summer school for me — in 1974 — taught me touch typing. I'm grateful to this day. It's my fundamental skill right here, right now, on Net Cotton Content.

What's for school?
A quick review of last year's curriculum suggests I was skipping a lot of class. Oh, well.

Here's what seems worth studying this summer:

1. How to sell. I've always wanted to be better at selling. I've applied to a one-week sales training course this summer. They made me take a test and they say (1) my buy cycle is too long and (2) I'm not a closer. "Is that trainable?" I asked. "Oh, yes." So, if I get admitted to sales class, I'm going. More on that later.
2. How to publish a book. I have three book projects underway right now. I really want to learn what it means to publish a book in this brave new world.
3. Geography. I am sick and tired of not knowing which countries (and U.S. states) are adjacent to others.
4. How to sing "Try To Remember" from The Fantasticks. I want to serenade my OSU Creativity Class at our first meeting in September. 
5. Memorize "Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same" by Robert Frost. The soul of creativity is in the air.

That's a short list.
Something else might get added. I think I will take another look at last year's list and try some of those again.

There's a longer list of things I understand how to do, but I need to drum up the motivation to do them. Write those books. Meditate. Exercise. Walk in the woods.

Just got to do them.

What do you want to learn — and do — this summer?

Carry Forth! (New and Improved)

Here is one of many enjoyably motivating comments from this spring's Personal Creativity and Innovation class at The Ohio State University's Fisher College of Business:

"Creativity doesn't seem so creative."

The student said it politely and humbly, but it shook me. He was pointing out that there is so much rigor and discipline — morning pages! artist's dates! deadlines! — that the class was more like a hard-wired recipe than, well, some experience in grooviness.

I know that students enroll in the class expecting grooviness. Oh, they get grooved, as they re-groove their lives. And, in the end, it might be groovy. But it doesn't feel groovy.

Attention! Tension
You see, your creativity is groovy, but it doesn't just happen when you need it.

If you want to rely on your creativity, you're going to need to plan for creativity.

So while creativity is groovy, creative planning is downright military. 

A Stinnett Incursion
Motivated by the student's comment, I invited A.J. Stinnett, long-time corporate consultant, to visit our class. 

About eight years ago, A.J. marched into my life and taught me how planning — real planning — happens. It's straightforward: the What-How-Who-When orientation.

But straightforward isn't always natural. A.J. trained it into me. 

And I am at my most effective when I put A.J.'s mentality to work.

So A.J. came to class and directed the students — staring at them, in that military way that dares you to question authority.

And I went home and completely re-worked Carry Forth, the do-it-yourself personal creativity planning tool. And I added a two-page set of instructions on The Creative Planning Process by A.J. and me.

You Want To See It?
The new big version — and the old little version — are now in my Artie Isaac Creativity website. Right here.

For you. For free.

Maybe it's time for a little creative planning for you. What is your creative adventure this summer?

Questions We Must Ask Ourselves

Oh, you don't have to ask yourself any questions, I suppose.

But there are some questions — the biggest ones — that the world won't ask you. You are left to ask yourself these questions. Or they might just go unanswered.

I'm going to ask these questions of a lot of people.
You can leave your answers as a comment here. (Menacing legal note: by leaving a comment here, you permit me to include your words, with attribution, in any eventual publication.)

Then, I'm going to write a book to encourage more asking.

For now, here's a page you can carry into the woods or post in your cubicle.

The title question — "What is the greatest thing in the world?" — was a first-day-of-class ice-breaker annually asked by John Detrick, my high school geometry teacher. He just wanted to get to know the students and was usually surprised that the question had not been previously considered.
 

 

 

Busy or best? (And risk of embarrassment.)

A hero speaks.

James Franco to Charlie Rose (May 6, 2011) on how he gets so much done: 

"I'm stretched. I'm very busy.... 

"I find that, if I have free time, it just gets filled. I do do that to myself. But I also don't feel like I need to be the best at everything. I am pursuing these things, not to necessarily master them. I am pursuing them in what, I think, is a very humble way. And I am happy that I am just engaged with them.... 

"I never said I was going to be the best author. I am just trying, you know, to write the best book that I can."

[Later, Rose: "You're not afraid to take a risk."]
"No. Because that's what artists are allowed to do. Actors aren't allowed to do that in the same way. Actors are supposed to deliver good performances and then let the movies speak for themselves. Artists and musicians have a different medium and they're allowed to bring more of the personal to their work... 

"[Describes and quotes Ryan Trecartin, Art For The Age Of YouTube:] 'Look, we are a culture that is getting more and more used to embarrassing ourselves.'

"Embarrassment use to be something that really held me back. I mean I just really didn't want to do that because I didn't want to look bad.... Now? I don't care as long as I know that my intentions are pure, I have the right motives: of trying to something new, of trying to find something new, and if that means that I'm going to fail, it's O.K. I'm going to take that risk."

A Closing Comment
"I am not happy having a lot of other people shape who I am, and telling me how I'm supposed to be."

Who is your hero today?

We know not why we are doing.

Finkelman showed this to me in his office on Finkelman Friday.

So, What's This About?
Oddly, this is about everything.

It's about all of us, because it's about human behavior.

Dan Ariely on Irrational Behavior.
By "irrational behavior," I mean, of course, "your and my behavior."

Could be buying bread and milk in the grocery in the afternoon. Could be getting a tattoo at night. (Because Dan is a survivor of third-degree burns over 70 percent of his body, there is some aspect of Skin Deep here, too.)

I'm going to read Dan's books.
He's brilliant in a plain-spoken and engaging way. Or so I think, through all my irrationality.

You be the judge. You might be somewhat less irrational than I. I hope so.

Here's Dan Ariely.

Finkelman Friday

If tomorrow is the end of days, the rapture, then what about today?

Surely you've heard the talk about tomorrow being foretold as Judgement Day. I'm not a particular believer in that one — I certainly don't like the idea of being left behind — but the announcement does provoke an interesting question:

If tomorrow were the end of the Earth (give or take five months of misery before total destruction), what about today? Have you cherished today as if it were your last (presuming you aren't ascending to heaven)?

Even more importantly (to me), am I cherishing today?

But this isn't about the May 21st prediction. I'm not taking on religion today. I'm already in enough trouble with the recent Tattoo Argument.

Today Has Been Complex For A Long Time.
A couple months ago, I unplugged for two weeks. No computer. No telephone. Two weeks. My voicemail said, "This is Artie Isaac. I am unplugged until March 28th. I hope to bump into you." That was all I could promise.

When I returned from that experience — which was glorious, as you can imagine (once you get beyond the terror of being unplugged, and once you decide that you don't care how bad the first day back is) — I wanted to work that sort of experience into my life. Especially when I returned to learn that the first day back really isn't that bad; all I had to do was answer a lot of email messages as if they were Twitter posts. I read every saga and called each bluff with a haiku.

I decided, however, that I didn't want two weeks of unpluggedness. I just wanted a day.

Long before I heard that May 21st was erev Kaboom, I grabbed May 20th and put this on my calendar: "No appointments. Walk in the woods."

That was the easy part. It made me smile. Easy.

But I Had To Defend The Day.
The usual scheduling threatened to make May 20th a normal day of hectic writing and driving and talking and smiling.

But I was determined. I just didn't offer May 20th to anyone. I pretended it was booked. It sure looked that way on my calendar.

Then Finkelman Called.
Hey, it's easy to not offer the day to people.

But Finkelman called and said, "I'm free on May 20th. Want to talk about the curriculum I'm writing for a three week visiting executive-in-residence post at my beloved alma mater?" What a fun question! (It might sound boring to you, but — for me — this is like [insert your favorite naughty delight].)

Some Background On Finkelman
Before Finkelman earned his Harvard MBA, before he got funnier and more piercing at McKinsey, before he oversaw branding at Limitedbrands, before he joined Alliance Data as SVP in Marketing, Finkelman graduated from Grinnell College.

(If you think all this biography is not my story to tell, you can find it all on his LinkedIn profile. So, apparently — like the old punchline — he's telling everyone.)

A quick note about Grinnell College. Beyond its fine reputation as a great liberal arts gem, whose alumni list includes Pat Irwin of the B-52s, Grinnell has another, unique quality.

I learned this from a friend who has vertigo. She falls over, especially when she has to walk uphill or downhill.

So, when it was time for her to pick a college, she ranked colleges with a metric that doesn't enter into the magic at U.S. News & World Report: flatness.

And she found, lo and behold, that the flattest campus in America is, yep: Grinnell College. And that is where she went.

(You can imagine her college essay. "Why do I want to go to Grinnell? It's flat." What Admissions Committee could reject that one?)

But this isn't about that.

I Lied To Finkelman.
So Finkelman calls, has a great topic to discuss and suggests May 20th.

I look at my calendar and think, "Oh, great. It's free. I can lunch with Finkelman."

Then I lied: "Uh, May 20th is all booked. I can't meet that day."

I lied to Finkelman.

Let's Talk More About Finkelman.
Why all this concern about Finkelman?

He's heard me say this before, but he doesn't accept that it — at least the second part — is true:

Finkelman goes to synagogue to talk to G-d.
I go to synagogue to talk to Finkelman.

It's true though. At least the second part. (The first part is between Finkelman and G-d — not a conversation I wish to interrupt.)

You see, Finkelman is blue blazingly smart and funny.

He's one of the Tzadikim Nistarim, 36 Righteous People For Whom My Calendar Is Kept. Like Hecker and Petuchowski. They call; I schedule.

(You're probably one of them, too. I'm not publishing the rest of the list.)

They are also members of my own personal Sanhedrin. I'm honored to have them judge me. When they leave me behind, I trust their decision.

So What?
Here's what: I was amazed that my day of solitude, my walk in the woods, my unpluggedness was not sold to the highest bidder.

I knew that I was serious. Because Finkelman is the highest bidder.

This was the first time in my life that I'd chosen myself over another person. That sounds too noble. Let me try again...

So how's this: It was the first time I risked solitude without an agenda even though I was offered the delightful distraction of a friend's agenda.

I needed time alone. And if I dodged Finkelman, I was serious about it.

So I Walked In The Woods.
And, man oh man, was it ever delicious. I always thought that nature walks were only for weekends. Or on vacations to the Grand Canyon.

But other people play golf during the week. So why can't I? Here's why: I don't like golf. But dammit, I'm 51. I want to play golf. Without the clubs. Without losing balls. Without the loud clothes. Without the beer and cigars. Without the chemically treated fairway. Without other people around.

And I found all this within 30 minutes of my home in the Columbus Metro Parks Battelle Darby Creek. I walked and walked and saw all sorts of things:

Wild honeysuckle (I think) and other plants of prarie and woods, a small snake, a blue jay, a northern cardinal (our state bird), a yellow-throated warbler (I think), deer poop (I don't have an alibi), and a tick on my hand (not yet burrowed, quickly brushed off).

I thought such warm thoughts about the folks I've known who really love the outdoors. Tad Jeffrey, who has long and effectively advocated for our Metro Parks. David Schirtzinger who gave me a great birding book. And Jim Berry of the Roger Tory Peterson Institute of Natural History.

What's The Meaning Of It All?
I found out that two hours in the park was all I needed. So the morning wasn't yet over when I called Finkelman.

He was at his desk and still available for lunch. So I got my solitude and my Finkelman, too.

And now I'm writing you. So I guess a couple hours was all I needed to refresh myself.

Time alone is hard for me. I thought it would require an entire day, so I put it off for 51 years. Now I can do it weekly.

What's the most rejuvenating thing you can do? Are you putting it off because it seems like a Big Deal? Would you do it if this were our last ordinary day on Earth?

What if the devil were in your car, driving you straight to hell?

Put on your safety belt: some early B-52s for a day that could be as important as our last day on Earth.

 

Skin Deep

A student recently asked why I discourage tattoos.

Every semester, it slips out: I emphatically discourage everyone from getting tattoos.

"If you don't have one, don't get one. If you already have one or more, don't get another."

It's An Unpopular Recommendation.
"Unpopular" because tattoos are popular. I know. I've been to a water park.

I guess that half of my college students already have a tattoo. It's a don't ask / don't look situation.

It's Your Skin.
What you do with your skin is none of my business. I might inadvertently glimpse it. But you have to live in it.

So do what you want.

We Might Disagree.
If you are friend who is painted, I still like you. I still can see you through the ink.   

You chose to be painted. If the ink is visible to others, you also chose to be an advocate for tattooing. You might not want to be an advocate for tattooing, but — because you are wonderful and your tattoos are visible — you are automatically a Role Model For Tattooing.

I disagree with you on tattooing. I'm an advocate for not getting a tattoo. But the absence of a tattoo doesn't make me a visible role model.

So I have to write about it.

I hope that doesn't make you angry at me. We're both self-righteous, which is not a bad quality, in moderation.

Before You Paint Yourself
Before you get a tattoo, here are the reasons I'm not getting tattooed.

Try on these thoughts for yourself. Do they fit?

Each takes just a minute to consider — an intelligent step before making an indelible decision:

1. I don't have the time. It's must take more than 20 minutes. I always have something better to do. When I have nothing better to do than get a tattoo, either my imagination or my ambition has failed. 

2. I don't have the money. A good, clean tattoo must cost more than $200. If I had $200 to spend right now, I'd go to the bookstore or the bakery. And there's a million charities that could use my $200. I always have something better to do with $200.

3. I am a role model, however unlikely and unworthy. I don't want to make tattoos popular by joining the tattoo squad. It's like fur. Wearing one encourages others to buy them (which fires up the supply chain). Plus I'm already shilling for other conspiracies: marriage, higher education, blood donation, arts. I'd rather influence you to do something else. 

4. I am not someone else's canvas. I am my own canvas. 

5. I want to be philosophically nimble. Things change. I want to be able to change my mind about as many things as possible. I'm still growing. I can't even think of any jokes that have remained consistently funny. I don't want a tattoo that can't evolve with my sense of humor. (And I don't want to have to remove a tattoo to change my mind.)

6. I don't need a tattoo to make me look different. I already have a big nose, bushy eyebrows and glasses. (No, the nose doesn't come off with the glasses.) When I need more weird, I wear a bow tie.   

7. I already have a mouth. I don't need a tattoo to speak for me. I speak for myself. I don't want my first statement in every conversation to be printed and immutable.

8. My skin is already interesting. It's not as clear as it could be. But it's interesting as it is. It's oddly green.

9. Self-mutilation usually fails. I know when I chew my fingers, I think, "Hey, if I chew that off, everything will look better." Then it bleeds. I'm better off leaving things as they are.  

10. Shirts work. I already have tee shirts with hip (and dumb) words and images on them. If I want to amplify my hip (or dumb), I can put on the right (or wrong) tee shirt.

11. Indelible actions require long-term perspective. "Long term" isn't 30 years; it's three. How much have I learned during the past three years? A lot. I have no idea how differently I'll see the world three years from now. For now, I'd like to keep my ignorance temporary.

12. There is a big difference between I can do it and I should do it.

13. Too many people have told me they regret getting a tattoo. Then they sheepishly explain why it was a good idea at the time. It's an easily avoidable potential regret.

14. I believe in learning. I'm going to know something tomorrow that I didn't know today. If not, who needs tomorrow? Learning something tomorrow usually means recognizing that, hey, I don't know everything today. Because I don't know all that I don't know, I'm not confident to ink anything I think I know on my skin. 

15. Blood diseases. This is a big one. The Red Cross sometimes prohibits folks from donating blood if they have recently gotten a tattoo. Or the blood donation is permitted, but the donated blood is discarded after failing a laboratory test. Tattoos become an ethical issue when they prevent the saving of lives.

16. I can always do it later. It's hard to undo. And if it's really a great idea, I can do it tomorrow. In this case, procrastination works.

I sound old-fashioned and stuck in the mud. But I prefer that to how it sounds when someone explains why he got a tattoo. That often sounds short-sighted and drunken. 

My Father Would Have Argued Thusly
Getting a tattoo is a question of balancing risks, which is clouded by our relative youth. (If you are ten years older than I am and want a tattoo, go for it. What the hell; smoke a joint.)

When I was 16 and a new driver, my father explained why my automobile driver's insurance cost more than his. To bolster his argument he introduced me to the early 19th century essayist, William Hazlitt. This is one of the joys of being raised by an English major.

Hazlitt's On the Feeling of Immortality in Youth begins: "No young man believes he shall ever die." 

Hazlitt's essay should be required reading at every tattoo parlor.

The View From All Over

"Once you travel abroad, the news never looks the same."

So said Brady Calestro over a croissant at Pistacia Vera last year. 

It was true for me.
I remember my 90-day, 10,000 mile drive through Europe during the summer of 1986. From Norway to Rome to Oporto to Amsterdam with a jump to the Cotswolds. I camped every night and drove someplace new every few days. 

All the way round, I read The International Herald Tribune and I became increasingly aware that this beloved newspaper — my lifeline back to the United States, the daily NYT crossword puzzle and Doonesbury — was a peculiar perspective: that of the United States.

(The perspective is even narrower: as a collaboration of The New York Times and The Washington Post, we can agree that the perspective is — like it or not – of Liberal United States. 

Then You Come Home.
And nothing seems the same. Everyone is just as you left them. But you are different. 

What changed? 
You know that there is another perspective: one that might irritate you, delight you, bore you. But there is always another perspective. 

Like my dinner date in Berlin.

I had asked for information at the Tourist Center in West Berlin. This was before East and West Germany were reunited — and I had just driven a fearful ride through East German to isolated West Berlin. The East German police had perfected a threatening theatre of the mind and it had worked well on me.

The tourism representative was a beautiful, young woman. So I asked her one more question, "Would you come to dinner with me?" She sighed and — with no better prospects (her hair was short, it didn't need shampooing) — she said, "Yes."

Over dinner, I asked her about living in the shadow of the wall. I don't remember my question specifically, but it drew a sharp response. She said: "Oh, you Americans. You are so dramatic about the Wall. You think life on the other side is terrible. And you think your freedoms are the envy of the world. Well, the people on the other side of the wall all have equality. And you have only the freedoms you can afford."

(I'm not sure how to say "strike out" in German, but you've already seen me strike out in Russian.) 

Anyway, her words stung. I'd never seen the world that way. And while I have never come to fully agree with her, it was instructive to hear a very divergent opinion. 

What's A World Traveler To Do?
So this, fellow, Brady Calestro has developed a website called Mondokio, which means "world eye" in Italian.

The website shows the story of the day and a map of links (and quick snippets) to other newspapers throughout the world.

I thought of Mondokio right away when the killing of bin Laden was announced Sunday night. And, of course, that story is front and center on Mondokio.

Agree or disagree, the rest of the world's opinions make good reading, if your mind is open enough to tolerate differing views. Try to remember Robert Frost's definition of education: being able to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence.

Please check out Mondokio and let me know what you think. (Brady has invited me to be a member of his Advisory Board.)

A Goal (Partly) Reached

During what is now a decade of teaching creativity, I've presented an assignment that helps students define their goals.

The Assignment
Write hypothetical newspaper headlines describing your achievement of four goals  — one each for four aspects of your life: personal, family, community, and business.

To read about this assignment (and complete it for yourself), click here. 

A Student Hits Paydirt
In last Wednesday's New York Times, a front-page story caught my eye: "Atheists Seek Chaplain Role in the Military" by James Dao describes how Atheists and Freethinkers seek equality in our armed services.

What particularly caught my eye was reporter's quoting of Jason Torpy. Long-time readers of Net Cotton Content have read about his wisdom. And here is his profile on SpeakerSite.

Well, the special treat for me is that this is just the sort of headline students like Jason have submitted in our creativity classes.

This is the first time I've woken up and seen a student actually land an ambitious headline in the newspaper. And the Times, no less. And the front page! 

Why is this "A Goal (Partly) Reached"?
Because Jason and MAAF have much work ahead of them. The article isn't their ultimate goal.

I presume Jason has another headline planned. You can easily imagine what it might be.

I salute a favorite veteran. I appreciate Jason Torpy's ethical service to our country.