Pow! Right Between The Eyes! Andy Nulman's Blog About Surprise

What I Learned This Week--Stop Working, Start Fighting

Last week, amongst a dozen meetings I had over a two-and-a-half day touchdown in Los Angeles, was one with a sage mentor of mine.

Said mentor is intensely private which is why he unfortunately won't be mentioned by name in this post (despite his many years of history being a major power player in Hollywood, a Google search of him brings up practically nothing).

To put him into perspective though, he started off as an agent at the industry's all-time most King Kong-ian talent brokerage; he then ran one of Hollywood's most legendary TV production companies, one responsible for over two decades of epic and beloved television series; then he dabbled in talent management, theater ownership and tech company buying-and-selling.

Now into his '80s (I suspect, we never ever talked age, but I did some basic detective math), he still works, and does so from a gated palace high in the Hollywood Hills...where he hosted me for a late afternoon conversation over iced tea in a room filled with magnificent art and handcrafted furniture. We don't talk as often as I would like, but when we do, the outcome is always the same--time well, well spent.

Notwithstanding the fact that there's so much I want to ask him, my mentor always starts every conversation the same way: "So tell me...what's new in the life of Andy Nulman?"

So last week, I told him lots.  I told him...

• About the accomplishments of my two children.  
• About some new artist I discovered.  
• About the last great book I read and how I wish I had time to read more.  
• About a new book idea I had germinating.  
• About the C2-MTL conference and other "shows" I had done.  
• And, of course, about the trials and tribulations of my professional life; about dealing with a rapidly-changing showbiz landscape, about inter-office hassles and internal struggles.

We chatted chum-like and happily for the first few subject matters, chuckling over anecdotes and similar situations.  But when I touched on my personal/professional side, my mentor's demeanor downshifted into serious, with fewer conversation breaks and extended periods of contemplative listening.

After some uneasy moments of silence, he looked at me an uttered the words that formed this week's learning.

"Not that you have a major problem, but you know what your problem is?" he asked.

I didn't have to answer, because he continued.

"You're at the point in life 

when you gotta start

working less..."

Pregnant pause.

"....and start fighting more."

He then went onto explain:

"Work is a task.  You go into the office, you do what you have to do.  You get things done, or you don't.  Then you go home, or go off to do things you really want to do, and start all over the next day.  It's a not the greatest routine for anybody...but especially not for someone like you.

"The fight is something else.  It's a motivator, energizer and driver all in one.  It's tougher than work, but it's way more rewarding.  It's exhausting and exhilarating but when you're in the thick of it, you forget that you're working altogether.  

"The concept of fame, being in the papers or on TV never appealed to me.  But that next battle is what kept me going.  And is what keeps me going to this day.

"Once you lose the fight, it's just another job and you're just another working stiff."

After 90 minutes, I didn't want to overstay my welcome, so I said goodbye, expressed profound appreciation and asked how the imposing gates would open to let me out (weight sensors on the path to them was the answer).

On the drive back to the hotel, I had the time to contemplate my mentor's words and realized how easy the transition from "work" to "fight" can be, no matter who you are or where you're situated on the corporate structure.

You can fight an enemy (competition, rumors, etc.).
You can fight for what you believe in
You can fight for a cause
You can fight for what's right

But you gotta fight.

Forget the cliche "Love what you do and you'll never work a day in your life."

Thanks to my mentor, I think the new adage is:Save

"Find the right fight,

and you'll never work again."

So...who's my next challenger?

What I Learned This Week--How to Get Old: Godfather or Grandfather

If you are reading this, we have at least one thing in common: we are both a day older than yesterday.

And, provided we are not met with some catastrophic circumstance in the next 24 hours, tomorrow, we will both be one day older than today.

Despite a plethora of industries, products and promises that try to impede the march of time, it plods along nonetheless, coolly, efficiently and mercilessly.

Yes, this post is about getting old.  Old-er, at least.  And it comes at a strange coincidental crossroads of recent events, namely yours truly making the final payment on my “final resting place”; the brutal reality of a close high school friend undergoing triple-bypass surgery; and the upcoming arrival of Father’s Day this Sunday. 

It’s a strange feeling both, when you learn about a friend undergoing a major medical procedure, at about the same time you get a “paid-in-full” notice after 18 months of paying off your gravesite, a plot of land perhaps the most expensive real estate in the world.  Your mortality, so certain a little while ago, is questioned. In doing so, your mind gets scrambled in a Blend-tec spin cycle of “what if?”, conjuring up multiple scenarios, almost all of them bad.  

And then, a splash of reality calms you down.  A bit.  For a while. 

Let’s get real, then. In the case of my friend, he’s on the mend, doing fine (surreally in this new world, we check up on him constantly via a web app called CaringBridge), and—happily, luckily—he, too is a day older today than yesterday. 

As for my cemetery plot, when I eventually get to use it, at least it’s city-central, close to those of my parents and grandparents, making it a convenient visiting spot for my kids…provided that my younger son doesn’t move away like my older one has already done.  Paranoia aside, I don’t think I’ll be needing it for a while.  Well, I hope I wont…

So this week’s lesson COULD be:

“Getting old sucks…

unless you consider

the alternative.”

But it’s not.

Because the advent of Father’s Day made me re-think about the way one gets old. 

Actually, it was a side comment in a meeting about how to garner respect from a younger, new breed of entertainer that led me to the Father’s Day thoughts; the comment was “You want to be seen as a Godfather figure.”

And THAT was the catalyst, the launching point to this week’s lesson. 

The way I see it, there are two “Fatherly” ways to get old.

You can get old

as a Godfather...

or as a Grandfather.

Here’s the difference:

• Getting old as a Godfather commands reverence. 
• Your accomplishments are known and admired. 
• You are looked upon with esteem. 
• You are perceived as a mentor, filled with advice and wisdom that will help others learn and grow. 
• You may be older than “the others,” but you’re never treated as such; you’re “one of them in spirit” and all (most) of the physical features that distinguish you from the others are ignored. 
• And perhaps best of all, mixed in with all this high regard, is a soupcon of fear. 
• Need a visual?  Think Francis Ford Coppola.

Getting old as a Grandfather is a different story.

• Just think of the meaning of “The Grandfather Clause”—it’s there now only because it always was.
• Sure, your accomplishments may also be known, even appreciated, but today they are yesterday’s news and somewhat irrelevant. 
• You are looked upon with love, but as a relic of the past. 
• Your advice will most probably fall upon deaf ears, or met with an eye-roll if actually heard.  They may be quaint stories of yesteryear, but they hold no current significance. 
• You look way older than the rest of them, and are treated as such, being given the comfy chair in the back or the arm to stabilize your walk. 
• And perhaps worst of all, mixed in with all this legitimate affection and warmth is a spoonful of pity.
• I’d say “Paint your own visual,” but I know by now, you already have.  Many times.

There’s a fine line between the two.  You can’t be young again, but to be a “Godfather,” you have to stay in today’s game without looking like you’re trying too hard to do so (like the Capitol Records execs of the early ‘60s who sported Beatle wigs and snapped their fingers in an effort to be cool). At times, you have to play hard to get. Your accomplishments should speak for themselves; more likely, you should let others speak of them for you. The territory is filled with mines.  One false step and you’re blown into Grandfatherland.

So unless one of those future-tapping companies invents a wonder drug or time machine, we are all getting older.  Fighting it is futile; the only choice is one of two “Fatherly” paths at the fork in the road.

So take your pick—going Grand is good…but doesn't come close to playing God.

--------------------------------------

(Political correctness check: I could easily substitute the word “Mother” for every “Father.”  Go ahead if you really need to.  It’s just that “Father” is more timely this week, and the image of a Godfather is somewhat more searing than that of a Godmother. )

What I Learned This Week--Practicality is the Enemy of Impact

I spent the weekend speaking at a conference gathering of Quebec’s Young Chamber of Commerce Groups.  The event was an inspiring one, assembling youthful entrepreneurs, business and financial people, as well as policy and governance enthusiasts (and there are many more of these than I could ever imagine).

As is usually the case at these events, there was a whole whack of sponsors.  They ranged from the provincial government and some of its agencies, to some major groups in national accounting and consulting services, all the way down to an independent company named Jack Marketing.

While teeny in stature, the company made the most of its sponsor stature by standing out and standing tall in any way it possibly could.  Female representatives wore neon-colored Jack-branded earrings, while their male cohorts sported similarly personalized neckties and hats.  Every table had a little crossword puzzle promo and branded pen, which brought winners gift bags filled with booty like Jack Daniels whisky (quite the treat while composing late night blog posts, lemme tell you).  

And of course, the company spread its business cards across table surfaces like so much confetti.

Said business card (that's it above) was emblazoned by simple white lettering on black background…although there wasn’t a lot of background to write on, since approximately 65% of the card was missing due to a die-cut of the company name smack-dab in the middle of it.

At my table, there was much talk about Jack’s business card…but most of it focused on how utterly impractical it was.  Random comments included: 

• “It’s very fragile.”
• “Look, I try to put it in my wallet and it bent already.”
• “It must’ve cost a fortune.”
• “It doesn’t really give you a lot of information.”

In the end, in my mind, it was a massive success. 

Despite all the things “wrong” with it, people actually talked about—of all things—a business card!  While there were other cards on the table, they were basically ignored.  The utter impracticality of the Jack card made it a conversation piece, and cut through the clutter.

Which brings me to a related story, and then to this week’s lesson.

When I first started at Just For Laughs, we had a business card that resembled an old school European “calling card” way more than a North American business card.  It was printed on both sides (albeit the back was simply the front but in reverse) and was the size of a small index card.  I remember people howling at its impracticality.  “I have to fold it in half to fit into my business card holder!” was perhaps the most oft-heard complaint.

But I also remember people remembering it. 

“Oh you’re the guy with the weird business card,” was one of the ways I was greeted in the late ‘80s.

Granted, we’re using business cards—a method of identification soon to be rendered extinct by the digital revolution—as our paradigm.  But this week’s lesson can be applied to just about any product or service, namely: 

“PRACTICALITY

IS (often) THE ENEMY

OF IMPACT.” 

I used the qualifier “often” as there are many great designers—Philippe Starck, Sir Jonathan Ive, Ray and Charles Eames—who have found ways combine both.  But until you get to their level, you will probably be left with the trade-off. 

Like this one: A couple of weeks ago, I attended a dinner party at the C2-MTL event.  It was held at a spectacular place called L’Auberge St. Gabriel.  To get to the restaurant, we had to walk in a small door, go up three dark flights of stairs dotted with costumed characters and works of art, walk a smoky maze of hallways with more characters and art, and descend three dark flights of stairs filled with you-know-what, before arriving at the restaurant. 

Sure, we could’ve entered via a back alleyway that let out about 15 feet from the tables. But the impact, the mood created by that inconvenient walk-through was the set-up for what was about to come.  In the end, while impractical, it was every bit as important as the food we ate, the wine we drank and the company we kept.

Same thing goes for the Jack business card. By replacing convenience and standardization with a dab of flair and a touch of nuisance, the—dare I call them this?—“kids” at Jack Marketing managed to create an impressive impact, punching well above their weight.

So the question to you is the following:

Are you willing to sacrifice

a bit of practicality

for a LOT of impact? 

Hope so, because you can always bring people back down to earth after you send them into space, but if you bore them from the start--no matter how "practical" you are--chances are you’ll never even get them near your launch-pad. 

What I Learned This Week--Follow The Leader, or Swing on a Star?

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote here about a better-than-anticipated company strategic meeting. 

One of the main accomplishments emanating from said meeting was the forming of a mission statement that didn’t suck.

This is a monumental achievement, as most company mission statements are about as relevant as an Organ Grinder or a telegram (ask your great-grandparents), and usually because of the one simple word that has become the scourge of the corporate lexicon:

Leader

Used as an adjective to describe a company’s stature, the word “Leader” has degenerated into an ineffective cliché, one that is not only a weak, second-rate aspiration, but a hard-to-measure milestone that shines as bright as a plastic neon glowstick…and lasts about as long as one, too. 

When I was in the tech business, every company—EVERY one!—had the word “leader” (or a derivative of) in its mission statement.

• “We want to be a leader in the field of branded mobile content.”
• “We want to be the leading provider of enterprise solutions.” 
• “We are a leader in systematic symbioses…” 
• “We are a leader at using the word ‘leader’ in our descriptions…”

I could go on for hours.  The image I used to conjure up, with so, so, so many leaders, was one of a race where 10,000 people cross the finish line at the same time, followed by the one poor sap whose second-place finish made leaders out of everybody else.

Now there’s nothing wrong with being a “leader,” particularly in the worlds of politics or social good. But what exactly is one, in the context of a company?  Are you a leader because you sell more stuff than anyone else?  Because your stock price is higher?  Because you’re most profitable?  Or are you a leader because you’re better know than anyone else?  Because you have more “likes” on Facebook? Because you’ve won more industry awards?  Because you’ve been around longest?

The evaluating factors are many and close together (note: the opposite of “few and far between”), so as long as you choose the proper—and most likely narrowing—niche, you too can be a leader within it.  And live up to your mission statement.  Hooray!  Let the bonuses flow! 

While we are still finalizing our mission statement at Just For Laughs, I’m at least peacock-proud that we’ve chosen to do away with the fossilized term of “leader” and have focused on something that can be equally as ephemeral, but is universally understood, and more importantly, emotionally internalized.

For at the root of our mission, we want to be recognized as a:

Worldwide Star

Hokey? Trite?  I think not.  Everyone knows what a “star” is.  We aspire to be one.  We make special previsions for them. We bask in their glow.  A star’s power is often disproportionate to its reality. A star can get away with things leaders can’t even dream of.  And a star can dream of things leaders can’t even fathom. 

Nothing against “leaders.”  People indeed respect them.  But the feeling is rational.  In the head.  In contrast, people are drawn to stars like iron filings to electro-magnets.  People bow to stars.  They open doors, and roll out red carpets for them.  The relationship overflows with emotion.

Is Google a leader?  Is Apple? Is Virgin?  How about Tesla, Amazon or Netflix?  I’m sure there are categories where they blow the competition out of the water…but other metrics/analytics where they may be miles behind the category “leader.”  But in the end, they “own” their spaces…and not only because of the bottom line.  Granted, stardom can be fleeting; nobody stays hot forever.  But being a leader is equally as transitory, no matter how you choose to ultimately measure it. 

So in business, if you ask me which one I’d truly desire to be, well…uh, look up. 

One anecdote to drive this home.  Last Thursday, I performed at the C2-MTL creative/commerce conference.  The three-day lineup was jammed with luminaries the likes of business legends Sir Richard Branson and Barry Diller, designers Philippe Starck and Diane Von Furstenberg, and entrepreneurs Bobbi Brown and Blake (Toms Shoes) Mycoskie…amongst so many others.   If this were a boxing or UFC match, I’d be on the undercard, scheduled when people are still getting beers.  If this were a music festival, I’d be on the poster’s bottom line of type, along with other bands whose names can only be read with the aid of a nuclear microscope.

Given that positioning, if you asked me my mission prior to appearing on stage, I could’ve said:

“Well, I hope, once the audience evaluations comes out, to be a leader in the categories of spectator satisfaction and appreciation.”

But I didn’t.  Because that would’ve been lame.  And selling my aspirations short.

What I did say—and did so like a cocky little bastard on Vine to ensure that the challenge was recorded—was:

“I wanna make sure

that people never forget me.”

Did I deliver?  Well, that’s for others to say.  But I wouldn’t be sending you to the #ctmtl Twitter hashtag if I’d bombed.

People may revere and admire their leaders. 

But they remember, and talk about, their stars.

What I Learned This Week--When Your Title is You

Last Tuesday, I was introduced to a young man who will be working for me this summer as our advertising and promotional coordinator at Just For Laughs.  He was introduced as “The New Theo.”  That introduction was a massive compliment, to him, but especially to Theo.

For the record, “Theo” is Theo Lepage-Richer, a stylish (very) young man who worked for us over the three summers since I’ve been back.  Theo’s job was to harmonize the daily flow of advertising and promo material, put out in two languages, from the start of our promotional rush (early May) until the end of the event (last week of July). 

Said job is a relatively thankless job one requires a lot of patience, mind-reading (“I think I know what he meant by that grunt”), organization, scheduling, cajoling and deal-making.   And it’s actually worse than it sounds, because it requires working with stressed-out creative people, producers and executives; with print, radio, TV, web, outdoor and other assorted media forms; getting various levels of approvals and sign-offs; all while adhering to (and extending) deadlines and commitments.  And doing so on a daily basis amongst dozens of changes, indecision, disregard for timelines and procedure.

Sadly for us, gladly for him, Theo has taken on a full-time position at the Sid Lee agency, but his reputation and spirit still lingers.

And is the inspiration for the lesson of the week, which is:

When your job

becomes your name,

you’ve done something right.

No offence to the gentleman who’s taken Theo’s place (I don’t even recall his name, but will find out by the end of this blog post), but he’s stepping into big shoes.  At Just For Laughs, we all know what a “Theo” is, but I’d venture to bet that nobody ever knew his official title or job description.

In fact, getting to this pinnacle of respect almost negates the need for either one of those two traditional forms of classification.  When your job becomes your name, you go way beyond the realm of your task list and even further beyond your designation on any org chart.

An old health adage you may remember is “You are what you eat”; in the office, you know you’ve made it when “You are what you do.”  I’ve talked before about the value of making yourself indispensible, but there’s no greater compliment, no better mark of organizational value, no stronger personal and professional endorsement than when your name is synonymous with not just what you have to do, but what you actually do.

So, a shout out to “The New Theo”: it ain’t gonna be easy this summer, but keep up the fight and help get us through.

Who knows?  Play your cards right and maybe next year, the job will be called “Dominic.”