interlude: sun and strategy

No, I'm not dead or trapped in an old fridge somewhere in Teaneck.

I'm "on the road", catching some rays and working on a strategy document. Somewhere between my first beer and my last Chupacablahblah, a tenuous link between the two suddenly became clear to me.

You need the sun to live - you can't thrive without a well-articulated strategy. Actually, you can live without both for a while, but you end up kind of pasty and unhealthy-looking.

If you get too much sun, you'll get a sunburn or some wild face-eating melanoma - if you spend too much time working on your strategy, you burn out or get killed by someone who spent less time on strategy and more on execution.

The best way to enjoy the sun is with your friends and family - just like the best way to articulate a strategy is with the help of your colleagues, each of whom brings a different and unique perspective to "where you're going".

Ultimately, the tan wears off, and you have to get some more sun - the same way that you strategy grows stale over time, and needs an infusion of reality. Put another way, the same way you don't expect to keep your tan, you can't expect your strategy to stay fresh-looking forever.

OK, maybe this isn't the best analogy. I blame the Chupacablahblah.

travel: goin' to vegas

I'm off to Las Vegas tomorrow morning for a care management trade show.

Let's parse that for a moment, shall we.

Las Vegas + Trade Show

Now try this one on:

Teaneck + Trade Show

Doesn't quite pop the same way, does it. No offense, Teaneck, but you're not the trade show destination everyone thinks of first. Third, maybe. Right after West Orange.

But I digress.

I've spent my fair share of time in Vegas. I've never had the opportunity to see the real Vegas of the Rat Pack, or CSI, or Mo Green, or even Tony Bourdain. Their Vegas is a snappy, hip place of high-rollers and low-lifers. Their Vegas is a place of extremes.

All I've gotten to see is the unterVegas, a surreal ur-world that exists out of time and out of phase with the rest of reality.

My Vegas never changes.

I've seen the insides of convention halls and the enclosed, mall-like shopping zones that connect them to the casinos. They all look the same.

The ding-ding-dingdingding sounds of slot machines ringing in my head for days on end, and the flat tang of stale smoke infused into every article of my clothing, these never change. The feeling of my head spinning from too much oxygen and my eyes aching from the sudden blast of sunlight at the end of the trip when I finally emerge back into the world, these are familiar and constant sensations. They are perfectly predictable.

I've seen the shows, the big smiles, the snazzy encores.

I've eaten too-big steaks, endured too-big sounds, been threatened with too-big fun.

I've been to Vegas. And now I'm going back.

If you're a PM, you've been to Vegas.

Maybe I'll see you there. I'll recognize you by the look in your eyes.

guide: the chicago panhandling technique

It's tragic, it's heart-breaking.

But I'll be damned if it isn't interesting how a majority of the Chicago Loop's panhandlers employ a very specific technique for signaling their request for your change. I've never seen this technique in use in any other city.

The Chicago Loop does have its share of the classic global techniques such as the Hand-Printed Sign or the Laying on the Sidewalk or the very successful Guy Drumming on Plastic Tubs. Today I witnessed the saddest technique of all - Woman with Printed Sign and Child in Stroller.

But these are the exceptions to the dominant Chicago Panhandling Technique.

1. Obtain plastic cup.
2. Fill cup with a large quantity of coins (see Note 1 for quantity guidelines).
3. Stand still in one place.
4. Rattle cup.
5. Say absolutely nothing.
6. Repeat steps 3 through 5 (see Note 2 below for frequency distribution)

Note 1 - having a few lone coins in your cup won't produce the distinctive sound required of the Chicago Panhandling Technique. You need about an inch of coins. I have yet to walk past a serious practitioner with only a few coins bouncing around.

Note 2 - a typical rattle sequence goes like this: two or three shakes, then a pause for three to five beats. Yes, it's arrhythmic, but I think it's supposed to be. If the Chicago Panhandling Technique followed a 4/4 or 6/8 rhythm, you wouldn't hear it.

*$&#^$: singing the jetblue blues

The flight was originally scheduled to leave at 12:15pm.

That time came and went.

Then they hurried us on to the plane, hurry hurry! We can take off and get there if we all hurry and get on the plane and leave right now!


The second we're on the plane, a guy took the microphone and told us we'd be waiting for 90 minutes for our departure slot.

90 minutes later, we pushed back. . .hooray. . .

But wait, we're in a holding area, we're stopping the plane, turning off one of the engines.

And we wait some more.

At 2:30pm, the pilot tells us we're going to need to get more fuel, we're going back to the gate, if you need to get up and stretch your legs, go ahead.

But don't think you'll be entitled to hotels or meals or anything - "it's weather related".

Hmm.

So here I am, care of a wireless modem, left with the following:

Even if it isn't JetBlue's fault, they have a reputation for poor organization, shabby treatment of passengers left to stew for hours in hot planes, and general ineptitude.

So I can't help but blame this on them. My expectation of service was low, so I'm not surprised when I receive bad service.

I may eventually make it to Vermont tonight for my speech tomorrow. Nothing permanently "bad" is going to happen. Bad weather will always be bad weather, and it's ATC's job to keep people safe.

But still. I can't help but think "this wouldn't have happened if I took that direct United flight".

I don't care how nice the JetBlue DirectTV in every seat is, or how crispy the Blue Chips are, I've been stewing in my own juices now for a few hours and I'm ready to blame someone.

I couldn't help but overhear the lady in front of me talking on her mobile phone to a loved one she wouldn't be seeing as planned - her message? "Tell her I was flying JetBlue and my flight was really delayed."

Lesson: Protect your brand, no matter what. Once your customer's impression of your brand is spoiled, it's spoiled.

photo: pillars at templo de los guerreros - chich'en itza

These pillars used to support a long covered walkway that extended around the perimeter of The Temple of the Warriors at Chich'en Itza. Follow the wikipedia link for a picture of this structure from the air - this picture was taken facing south-east, with El Castillo to my right.

photo: el castillo - chich'en itza

It was hot like the surface of the sun at Chich'en Itza last Friday - but still beautiful. Photo taken with a Blackberry Pearl.

whew redux: coming home (with bonus back pain)

I've got a lot of news (and pictures) to share with you this coming week about the Week That Was. For now, we're settling down with some tea to relax after a full day of schlepping, flying and temperature extremes. It is, after all, our 12th wedding anniversary.

But in advance, I need to caution all of you against the temptation to "man up and dig out" when Mother Nature throws you a driveway-full of freezing rain and snow. Take your time to do it right - bend from the knees, avoid the urge to try and move a mountain with a single shovelful when three smaller ones will do.

Why?

Because a week after "digging out" my lower back still hurts! Arrrgh!

Thank heavens I can now enjoy an Emmi program for Lower Back Pain. If any of you are experiencing lower back pain and are curious to learn more about it, drop me a private note with your email address and I'll sign you up for the EmmiPrep "Back Pain" program. It's a winner, even when your back is a loser.

whew: digging out

Question: What does a full night of freezing rain, sleet and snow give you?

Answer: A ninety minute exercise in digging your way out to the curb - in a di minimus way, at that.

And that says nothing about the ice berm thrown up by the plow.  At least the precipitation stopped and it's above freezing - thirty six degrees feels like beach weather compared to what we've had.

Remember, dear readers, bend from the knees, don't hold your breath while you throw the snow, and take breaks.  I'd hate to see you drop of a heart attack.

travel: bc on the road part 3b

Back in London on November 11th, after the 2 minutes of silence at 11am I spent an hour in Westminster Abbey. Curiously the most moving part of my walking tour was a few moments spent in "Poets' Corner" over the memorial to T.S. Eliot, which read: "The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living."


I walked up Whitehall to the Centopath, where a massive ceremony would be held the next day. From there, I passed through the arch in the Horse Guard's Barracks, around the back up to the Mall then east through the Admiralty Arch up to Trafalgar Square, then on to Charing Cross Road and the bookstores.

Yes, I managed to find a terrific lunch - English bacon, melted mozzarella, basil and grilled tomato(e) on cibatta bread.

Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the used and new bookstores.

Yes, I managed to scalp a ticket to Spamalot at the Palace Theatre. Long story.

I wandered up Regents Street to Oxford Street, meandered down through Soho, had a pretty decent dinner then took the tube back to Notting Hill from the Embankment station. After a bottle of wine, Trafalgar Square at night is a bit surreal.

Sunday dawned clear and cool - I can safely report that the Portobello Road is mostly crap, that Kensington High Street is entirely crap, and that Kensington Park is entirely lovely. Dinner at the Sun in Splendour pub was marvelous, then to sleep in advance of the push to Munich on Monday.

Incidentally, if anyone offers you a beer called Fruli, be prepared for something entirely odd.

Of my trip to Munich, there is not much to report. I got there at night - had the fastest cab ride of my life (180kph at one point care of a spiky-haired kid with an itchy radio station changing habit), then a single-night stay at the Hotel Dorint Sofitel Bayerpost, a modern hotel that I had no opportunity to explore.

After the speech on Tuesday morning and a quick lunch, it was back to the airport. I can happily report that the Munich airport has some terrific shopping, including a Fabriano Boutique dedicated to spectacular hand-made Italian paper and other stationery.

A fast Lufthansa hop to Charles de Gaulle airport. . .then the best part of the trip. From the short post I lodged early last week, you can tell how I feel about Paris. I'll write about that experience tomorrow.

(By this time, my little Clairefontaine notebook was getting stuffed with map fragments, receipts, restaurant "cartes du maison" and other bric-a-brac. My passport was wrinked from travelling in the breast pocket of my coat for a week. My jeans were ready to walk off and throw themselves in front of a train. I had done three cities in 24 hours, was losing my voice, and had serious concerns about my ability to get my French back. I was down to my last pair of clean underwear, was out of shirts, and had managed to lose three socks - all from separate pairs. Travel is fun.)

travel: bc on the road interlude

I've arrived in my third European city in 24 hours - London Monday morning, Munich Monday night, now Paris Tuesday night. The city is as I remember it - luminous, chaotic, extraordinarily alive.

I lived here from 1978 to 1981 - a lifetime ago by any account - but from the moment I saw Sacre Coeur from the north as we zoomed at 30kph along the peripherique de l'ouest, I felt at home again.

I'll get back to describing my adventures in London another day.

travel: bc on the road part 3a

For Some Odd Reason, the wireless connection at the Lennox Hotel in Pembridge Gardens did not permit access to Blogger. The BT Access Point at Heathrow, however, does - and so here I am, capturing for you, my dear reader, some details of what amounted to quite the unusual collection of experiences.

When last I wrote, I was at TechEd in Barcelona. That evening my colleagues and I took the subway into the heart of Barcelona - the Ramblas - a vast pedestrian thoroughfare with narrow car lanes on each side bordering shops and restaurants and whatnot. For some reason, there were no fewer than eight open-air pet shops - apparently the good citizens of Barcelona make their bird and fish and small amphibian purchases when out for a stroll.

The entire area was a tourist trap, to my eyes at least, so we wandered off the main drag to side streets where we identified a small tapas bar. Tapas, for those of you who may not be familiar with the concept - is literally a "small portion" of food, best consumed with copious quantities of alcohol. The three of us enjoyed about a half-dozen such portions, including a ramekin of flaming chorizo, a selection of cured sausage, ham, cubes of baked potato in a garlic aoli, triangular wedges of cheese, a plate of white and dark anchovies, all accompanied by wedges of toast rubbed with tomato and drizzled with olive oil. The wine was a 2003 Castroviejo Rioja "Crianza", about 12 euros a bottle. I know if I ever manage to find it again, it won't taste anywhere near as wonderful.

Interested parties may inquire privately about the end of this particular evening, which involved a small Australian bar, a drunk Liverpudlian (Andy) and his even drunker father-in-law ("Sir" Joe) and a few cautionary notes about how to move quickly when the younger Liverpudlian leaves in haste to pick a fight with a flowerseller of middle-eastern descent. To give you an idea of the level of discourse we enjoyed with these two gentlemen, consider the following:

Joe: Bob?

Bob: Sir?

Joe: (momentarily flummoxed at being called 'sir') Care to show me your ring?

All In Earshot of British Descent: (uproarious laughter)

Bob: Here. (shows ring on left hand)

Joe: Not that one.

All In Earshot of British Descent: (more uproarious laughter)

Adrian (co-worker): That was funny.

Bob: Oh. It's a euphemism.

Adrian: (nods)

Joe: You-fee-what?

Bob: Sir, just so I understand you, am I to understand that rather than asking me to show you an article of jewelry on my hand, you in fact asked me to show you - here in this bar - my anus. Is that correct?

Joe: (straight-faced) Yes.

Bob: Then you'd better start buying me drinks, Joe.

All In Earshot of British Descent: (even more uproarious laughter)

The next day was more TechEd - which was an unparalleled joy, I'll have you know - then that evening we popped over to see Gaudi's fabulously odd Sacrada Famiglia cathedral, which looks a lot like a perfectly good cathedral that's gotten a bad case of stone fungus. The tapas that evening wasn't quite as remarkable as the night before, but I didn manage to finally have some fish tapas - more notably a plate of flash-fried whitebait - whole tiny fish curled and pop-eyed (and delicious).

Friday was a travel day. On my cab ride out of Barcelona, I was struck by just how much construction is underway across the city. I've never seen more urban renewal in my life - everywhere cranes, concrete, scaffolding and the ever-present sound of jackhammers.

I took the Heathrow Express into Paddington, cabbed to the Lennox, then went off to find a Decent Curry. The Star of Bombay didn't disappoint with a lamb curry and a small plate of aloo gobi and padadum. That evening I experienced what was to be the only rain in my entire trip to London - a record by any measure.

Saturday dawned clear and cool, and after a moment spent considering how I'd get my laundry done, I decided my remaining clothes were not in fact "all that stinky", and set off for the heart of London via the Circle Line.

I popped out the St. James station, walked about 200 yards east along the park, then emerged to find Westminster Abbey. I had visited there in the fall of 1978 with my family, but thought I might see a few things a little differently 28 years on.

It was very crowded - for reasons I will explain.

On the grassy lawns around the north face of the Abbey were a number of enclosed "plots" defined by tiny wooden crosses; upon closer inspection, they each bore the name of a particular unit of the military and in each plot were hundreds of small wooden crosses bearing the hand-written names of the fallen.

There was even a plot for the fallen of the United States - which contained a larger wreath of red poppies in memory of the fallen of the Iraq war.

Big Ben was just beginning to chime 11am as I stepped up to enter the Abbey when I suddenly noticed that everything had gone quiet - and that no one was moving. This went on for about two minutes. . .broken by the scream of four jets overhead.

It was the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, and all of London stopped to remember. When life came back to the world, I paid 50p for a poppy of my own and put it in my left lapel.

(continued)

travel: bc on the road part 2

Bright and early Monday morning I spilled out of Heathrow airport and stumbled into the Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station in London. For those of you unfamilar with it, Paddington is one of those grand old railway stations with the soaring curved roof, lots of folks wandering around, steam chuffing everywhere and the most beautiful light coming from all directions.

Standing on the block-long queue for a taxi, I met Mr. Christopher Robinson (and wife), "just back from the Argentine" where they enjoyed "the most marvelous beef, grass fed beef". I learned that Christopher - a former British Army cavalry officer - would be participating in a parade in The City come Saturday held for the new Mayor of the City. "When I pass by on my grey horse you may holler 'haloo, Christopher'." I will, I think.

The Lennox hotel was a small affair on the edge of Notting Hill (northwest side of London). After a bit of a nap I conference called until 5pm, wandered about for a few hours, then had dinner with my co-workers and Svend from B&K.

Notting Hill is a bit "bohemian" - more on that when I have more time to write.

Tuesday morning was the "event" at the very modern (and very humid) Hempel Hotel - needless to say, I love giving speeches, and this one went well. I am indebted to both Svend from B&K and Alys from IDC for their role in the event.

We caught a cab at 2pm for the Maidenhead office; I got out at Heathrow and managed to get on an earlier Iberia flight for Barcelona. . .which was late.

I rolled into Barcelona around 10:30pm, arrived at the Utell Diagonal Hotel at 11pm, got to my room and found I couldn't turn on any lights. Apparently you needed to put your cardkey in a tiny box to the right of the door to activate the room lights - a useful fact the lovely (but dull) young lady at reception could have told me.

BTW - other than The Rambler, the central bit of Barcelona - restaurants close at 11pm. So I enjoyed an expansive dinner of granola bar, peanuts, beer and a small can of Pringles then fell asleep in the Entirely Modern Room.

And now I find myself on the floor of TechEd, on break while the attendees sit in session and the vendors stare at each other. I am happy to report that Vista looks lovely. I can also report that it takes something on the order of five cups of tea to cut through a voice ruined by the beginnings of a cold. I sound like a cross between Barry White and a consumptive Fozzy Bear.

travel: bc on the road part 1

I'll be blogging "from the road" in the grand tradition of Bing Crosby and Bob Hope over the next two weeks as I criss-cross Europe with the "Unlock Hidden Revenue" seminar series.

For a product management/product marketing guy, the opportunity to travel to foreign cities under the aegis of "giver of speeches" is, frankly, a little surreal. I gave the speech I'll be presenting in London, Munich and Paris earlier this week in Boston to general acclaim - which is no guarantee that the discerning audiences of The Old World will give it the same reception.

Right now, I'm cozied up at O'Hare at gate C10 tip-typing away as Ben Roth-Liss-Burger runs his two minute drill on the overhead TV. 've been here for well on an hour already - because I'm one of those schlubs who insists on getting to the airport early. "On time" is synonymous with "late" for me.

Even when I have a long overnight flight to look forward to. And you dear reader, know how much I love overnight flights.

So I leave you with the following requests. If you have an opinion on this, let me know your recommendations on the following:

1. "Best Curry in London"
2. "Best Pint in London"
3. "Best Irish Music Seisun in London"
4. "Best Bookstore in London"

I'll be asking for feedback on Barcelona and Paris later in the week (I'm only in Munich for a day. . .not long enough to do much of anything, unfortunately).

travel: ice=solid=TSA approved?

By now you know you need to stow your various and sundry lotions, unguents, salves, perfumes, balms, unctions, emollients and creams in your checked luggage. The same with your chapsticks, lipsticks and other assorted curative sticks.

You are, as our government requires, utterly-liquid free as you seek permission to enter the airport and subsequently board your flight.

But in a feat of genius, you've brought a bag of ice. Perhaps a large bag. Definitely a well-insulated bag free of any liquid-phase H2O.

When challenged by the thick-wristed TSA agent, you may produce this and smile sweetly. For you, brave soul, are in possession of a solid. Not a liquid. Solids are OK, right?

Unless. . .you've wrapped your ice in a prayer rug and you need to brush your keffiyeh out of your eyes to see the thick-wristed TSA agent in the first place. In that case, give him your ice. You have enough troubles. Gosh knows I wish you didn't.

travel: big mess at philly airport

Turns out some plane blew a tire landing here tonight, locking up the airport and, curiously, making it difficult to get to the gate.

We've been on the ground now for 40 minutes...no end in sight.

But we're lucky compared to all those poor schlubs - 35 planes at last count - in line to take off.

More pretzels!

collected: assorted at an airport

There is a curious kind of calm that overcomes me when I start a "vacation" - I know it won't last, that in the blink of an eye (mine) I'll be back in the s@$!, but for that one fleeting moment, I'm able to get a taste of what it must feel like to be at peace. It's the hollow between big waves, that instant when your toes settle back down to the sand before the next wave hits.

I will be dropping in observations and other oddmentia that have been piling up, but let's start with one that's been puzzling me of late.

The world of modern slotcar racing is dominated by four firms, primary among them Scalextric and Carrera. They make the familiar modular track and scale cars (1/24 and 1/32 being the most popular).

These individual track segments are not cheap, running into $20 and up each.

The hobby is not as popular in the States as it is in Europe, especially Spain, BTW.

With these price points in mind I was surprised to discover a vendor who decided to go counter to the prevailing track-segment modularity to sell entire table segment modules of track that can be assembled. Slotfire (http://www.slotfire.com) is turning an industry on its head by challenging one of that industry's fundamental assumptions: that tracks are assembled from individual track units.

It's a cool concept. Expensive, but very cool. Is is just for the high-end? Or will it begin the process of redefining a market?

I like to see disruptive product concepts like this that challenge our assumptions of what is normal and expected, opening our eyes to radical new possibilities.

travel: never-ending (with bonus booze link)

For the first time in a long time, I had the pleasure of enjoying Chicago's largest airport twice in one week. The second time, last night, was accompanied by a series of delays, a flight memorable for its encounter with thunderstorms, and a 1am cab ride through the dark streets of Basking Ridge.

Everything happens at once, it seems. Deadlines, family adventures, end-of-quarter, management shifts, angst. Its inevitable.

But since every pile of poo is accompanied by a hidden pony, I can share the following:

When I was 15 or so we lived in France, and went to the Normandy region for a quick family vacation. My four brothers and I were offered a local "cider", which sounded innocent enough. But Normandy cider is actually a potent fermented beverage, which had a predictable impact on us. The parents wondered why we were all so silly by the time dinner ended.

The news is that genuine Normandy cider can be found on this side of the Atlantic. Gary's in Bernardsville had a few bottles of an "unpasturized, unfiltered" Normandy cider, which when tested proved to be as potent and delicious as the drink we enjoyed almost 20 years ago.

You can read about it at the manufacturer's website. I think I'm going to waste a lot of time looking for a local supplier of this and their other varietal Calvados.

Slainte, all. If I can survive the week ahead, I'll have accomplished something truly wonderful.

tenses: in anticipation of travel

Mid-week day trips are a sure-fire way to tempt fate. And fate is more than willing to deliver.

Coming up this week - get from Chicago to Boston and back in fewer than 24 hours. Sounds simple. Will probably leave me reaching for the nearest nail-festooned 2x4.

What are your least-favorite "hops"? What airports consistently deliver a full-portion of woe? Where do you swear - swear - you'll never go again without a fight, only to find yourself (SET PACINO VOICE=ON) pulled back in?

travel: new york times "affordable europe"

The New York Times published a series of travel articles today under the title "Affordable Europe". As a courtesy to ack/nak readers, here is the index to the series:

• Amsterdam by Gisela Williams
• Athens by Anthee Carassava
• Barcelona by Andrew Ferren
• Berlin by Richard Bernstein
• Copenhagen by Seth Sherwood
• Dublin by Brian Lavery
• Geneva by Anne Glusker
• Lisbon by Pavia Rosati
• London by Heather Timmons
• Madrid by Dale Fuchs
• Milan by Elisabetta Povoledo
• Oslo by Bruce Bawer
• Paris by Elaine Sciolino
• Prague by Evan Rail
• Rome by Brian Wingfield
• Venice by Elisabetta Povoledo