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

What I Learned This Week: The Secret of Creativity

Well, as discussed in last week's post, I invested two-and-a-half days of my time at the inaugural C2-Mtl creative conference.

The surroundings were majestic (see above and below).  The folks at Sid Lee, the advertising/creative/disruption agency at the helm of the event, made good use of the mega-budget accorded them by literally creating a high-tech city, showcase and hipster "scene" in the rustic and often rusty confines of Montreal's Griffintown district.

But what the surroundings actually surrounded--the content, particularly the on-stage type--left me in a state of pondering right up until now.

Hence this post.

Despite a flow of heavy-hitters--from HuffPo's Arianna Huffington, Fast Company's Robert Safian and Google's Robert Wong to icons like Michael Eisner, Ian Schrager, Guy Laliberte and Francis Ford Coppola--the inherent difficulty of talking about creativity was, well...inherent.  (To me, the guy who hit it furthest out the park was Jonah Lehrer, author of the best-selling book Imagine.  Although standing at a podium and referring to a prepared text, the content within was so overwhelmingly smart that Lehrer connected far better than most others with a lot more whiz-bang happening on the Cinemascope-esque screen behind them.)

I always felt that talking about creativity was like reading a sex manual, or learning to ski by watching an instructional video on your iPad while at the beach. Being creative is something that's best explained by doing, not necessarily telling. But even there lies a paradox--what to do?  To that end, what made me smile was the fact that so many people talked about taking risks, but did so via the comfort of puffy chairs, or as the third bullet-point in their PowerPoint deck.

Perhaps the most "creative" on-stage moment happened when the lights went out during one of the one-on-one interviews, a format that seems to stifle creativity rather than promote it.  At that point, Dr. Rex Jung and Tim Barber had to improvise, creating a true "human" moment that cut through the formality and truly reached into the hearts and souls of the audience.

And that's when I got it.

Not just the most profound learning of the conference, but this week's lesson.

What's the secret of creativity?

It's having the wherewithal

to deal with what

the world throws at you...

...or having the guts

to throw something

at the world.

Sometimes "creativity" is a reaction; a moment in time where one's presence makes sense of disparate forces seemingly off madly in different directions.

Other times, it's proactive; being a catalyst, a spark, an iconoclast, a rabble-rouser.

Hey...whatever works.

That was easy, wasn't it?

Now, to actually do something about it...

What I Learned This Week: The New Normal of Attention-Shifting

Last week, I spoke at the MixMedias conference on the topic of making digital content and actually getting paid for it.  I had fun and so did the audience.

After my chat, I was making my way through the crowd towards the out door when I was stopped by a young woman.

"I really, really enjoyed your speech and what you had to say!" she enthused.

"Thank you," I replied, "but I don't recognize you."

This is not as creepy as it first sounds.  These days, my speeches are essentially interactive, Q&A-heavy challenges, so I tend to make mental notes of faces, outfits and unique accessories of people in the audience. 

"Well I wasn't at your speech," she explained.  "I was actually at Stowe Boyd's talk.  I just followed the Twitter feed from your session."

At first, I was flattered, and thanked the woman.  But as I walked back to my office, I was overcome with the inherent weirdness of the situation.

What this meant was that someone--actually about a half-dozen people when I checked--spent their time while I was talking dividing their attention between what I was saying and transmitting it to others. 

Meanwhile, others down the hall at Stowe's speech--well, one at least --were dividing their attention between what he was saying and what I was saying...and I suspect what many others were saying.

Yeah, I know this is the new normal.  We have all become broadcasters in search of an audience.

But what does it REALLY say and mean?

On one hand, it may be mere multitasking; does anyone really ever do just one thing at a time anymore?  Consider yourself right now...what ELSE are you doing right now while reading this?

Despite your answer, frankly, I think it goes much deeper than that.

I remember a great term that came to life at the dawn of the VCR age (ask your parents) but took increased relevance with the growth of the PVR--Time-Shifting.  In a nutshell, the recording device freed one from the tyranny of a TV network's schedule, and allowed viewers to "Time-shift" and watch whatever program they wanted whenever they wanted to.

Well, what Time-Shifting was to last decade, Attention-Shifting is to now.

Except that, paradoxically, it happens in real-time.

This says a lot about how modern messages need to be delivered...and how they are ultimately received.  This is why, when I find myself on stage these days, I eschew the over-prepared nature of the usual prose and PowerPoint presentations and deliver something hyper-interactive.  I try to engage people rather than preach to them, but even in doing so, I pepper the conversation with soundbites so that if one truly feels their role is more of a mouthpiece than an earpiece, more an output rather than an input, more a broadcaster instead of a listener, well...at least I make it easy for them.

Still, I wonder, and sometimes fret, about what is actually being understood. If you're busy broadcasting one point, you're probably missing at least the one following.  It's hard to disseminate and contemplate at the same time.  I love that.  Lemme make it Tweetable:

It's hard to disseminate

and contemplate

at the same time.

So what I did I learn this week?  The value of actually listening, I suspect.

And I hope to put this lesson into action as of tomorrow, when I attend the innovative C2Mtl Conference.

I suspect there will be hundreds of people Tweeting, Facebooking, Instagramming, Live Blogging and shouting it out from the rooftops. 

And I suspect, like the young woman at MixMedias, you can follow the conference speakers while at the office, your kids' soccer game, the gym, in the bathroom.

One thing I don't suspect, but actually know:  there will be one guy there, with a Marc Jacobs designer Moleskine and Zebra fine-point pen, who'll be listening attentively, taking notes, and trying to learn something.

What I Learned This Week: Breaking Down Is Good To Do

Over the past two weeks at work, I've seen five people melt down.  To tears, all of them.  A couple left the building for a few hours to de-compress and re-compose.  The others retreated to the solitude of their closed-door offices.

Of the five meltdowns, two were people I hired since last year.  During the interview process, I warned both of them of the pressures and stress of the job, and told them that they'd break down sometime before the festival.  Both looked at me and smiled, one warily, the other with bravado.

Both broke over the past two weeks.

Now I'm not making fun of the situation, nor of my colleagues. Every one of us at Just For Laughs has--at least once--broken down messily.  That includes founder Gilbert Rozon, and yours truly (whose complete trashing of an office with a baseball bat is still legendary in the company's lore).  No shame.

It ain't pretty.

But chez nous, it's a rite of passage.

And despite its outward unpleasantness, it may be helpful--perhaps even necessary--on the inside.  Of both the company and the individual.

I don't know of too many jobs these days that don't put an undo amount of pressure on those holding them.  Never mind jobs, but the day-to-day travails we all go through can bring us to the boiling point.  And at that point, one can either hold things in, or let them out. 

So with apologies to Neil Sedaka, I think Breaking Down is Good To Do.

I'm no mental health professional, but I find a good meltdown cathartic. It's a release, a diffusion of a pressure cooker before the carnage of a more damaging explosion (says he who wielded a bat and tossed it through a glass door). Nothing to be embarrassed about, especially chez nous, where only once you lose it are you truly "one of us."

Over the years, I've seen two ultimate reactions by those who have cracked:

1) They have left the company, saying "This is too much for me."

2) Or they have come back stronger than ever, rhino-skin toughened, ready for battle.

Either reaction is good, depending on the reactor.

There will be more meltdowns, crack-ups and breakdowns at Just For Laughs between now and July 29, when we put the 30th Anniversary edition to bed.

And to those about to crack, I salute you. 

Welcome to the club.

And to close it out, in your honor, this little ditty from Tom Petty...

 

What I Learned This Week: Do Lots of Little Things Blindly

I am very proud of Mitch Joel.

A friend, a colleague, a former employee and currently, a key partner at Just For Laughs via his TwistImage  agency.  (By the way, that's NOT him above.) He has grown into one of the world's key speakers, thinkers, authors and authorities on the digital landscape.

And this week, I was amazed to learn that I had a part in it all.  With all modesty, this is from a recent blog post, an open letter he wrote to the legendary Tom Peters:

Dear Tom,

It has been a while since we last did an event together, but I was just thinking of you yesterday and I felt compelled to write you this note. I don't think I ever told you this, but over a decade ago, I took a job as a Director of Marketing for a mobile content business. I was very excited about this opportunity because it involved working directly for Andy Nulman. At the time, Andy was best known for being the founder of the Just For Laughs comedy festival, but he decided to try out the technology and content world. I was both excited and intimidated by this opportunity because Andy is quite the character (and I mean that in the most loving way possible). I knew it would be hard to impress him, because this was a guy who had seen and done everything to turn Just For Laughs into the world-class brand that it has become.

On my first day, I walked into my new office and he handed me a copy of your book, The Project 50. Up until that point, I don't think I had ever (truly) read a business book. I had given up on book reading after not enjoying my formal education. The book was small and Andy insisted that I read it before working on any projects.

I devoured that book.

Not only did I devour that book, but it sent me on a virtual spiral to read, consume and find anything and everything like it that had ever been written before. In short, your book, your thinking and your writing style was the catalyst (along with some prodding from my good friend, Andy) to learn. Not to read, but to learn. Not to worry about school, but to get a real education. Since then, I have probably read thousands of books (including all of yours) and my life has dramatically changed because of it.

It wasn't a big deal. It was a random, off-the-cuff gesture. The books were cute, easy-to-read and incredibly relevant. I gave Tom Peters books to six people that day; most probably never opened their copy.  But it changed Mitch's life...and by extension, mine.

Another story--at Just For Laughs, I have a somewhat crude way to measure the value of any project, namely:

Get Paid or Get Laid

To explain, I explain that there are only two reasons to take on any project--either there's a substantial financial payoff, or it feels good (i.e. builds relations, builds brand, helps out a charitable cause).  If any project cannot meet one of these two simple criteria, it's not worth doing.

I've told this to various staff members in about three or four meetings over the past two years. No great agenda; it just happened to fit the conversation at the time. Basic reaction--perfunctory nods of yes followed by checking of Blackberrys or iPhones. 

So imagine my surprise when I was called into the office of one of my younger employees to read something on her computer and saw, printed out and stuck to the bottom of her screen, the words "Get Paid or Get Laid."  (Please don't tell her parents!)

Some things you do, no matter how minute and trite they seem at the time, may be monumental in future scope.  It's as if you are planting seeds that explode into Sequoia trees. 

Thing is though, you never know while you're doing it. Even if you are foolish enough to say to yourself at the time "This is going to be so far-reaching and momentous!" chances are that it'll be inconsequential.

On the surface, this week's lesson is that you never really know of the many things you do or say which one will eventually have a life-changing impact on someone else.

But some--dare I say "many"--will. 

So what I REALLY learned this week is to keep doing lots of little things; blindly, without really knowing what you are doing.  Give away books.  Spout strange platitudes.  Give advice.  Treat someone to lunch.  Give a bigger tip than expected.  Cheer someone else's team.  Whatever...

You may never know the end result.  But chances are, you'll be changing someone, something, perhaps even the world, for the better.

(P.S. Mitch's next book comes out in Spring, 2013.  Wonder who I'll be giving copies away to?)

What I Learned This Week: The Truth About Work-Life Balance

I spoke at the annual Youth Employment Services Entrepreneurial Conference over the weekend, and as usually happens at these type of events where the young and the ambitious gather, the question of "Work-Life Balance" came into play.

The answer everyone wants to hear is that all good entrepreneurs ensure time for their family, never miss one of their children's recitals or hockey games, and manage to truly "understand what's REALLY important" from the get-go.

Unfortunately, that answer is a lie.

And I said so, much to the shock of the crowd. (Hey, you ask me to speak at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday, you ain't getting someone rational toeing the line!)

What I said was the following:

"The truth is, there is no

work-life balance. 

"There are two sides of the

scale; on one--the work side--

sits a 40-ton brass weight. 

"On the other--

family side--sits a feather. 

"Now...balance that."

I concluded by telling the hopefuls to

"Say 'see ya' to your wife

(or husband) and tell your

kids not to grow up too fast."

I remember being at a Top 40 Under 40 conference, an award I won uh, well, just a couple of years ago ;)  At that event, one of the panels was about Work-Life Balance, and sitting on it were four of the most vicious Alpha-Male dogs you could ever round up.  And they spun fables of their idyllic family life when anyone who actually knew them also knew that the last time they saw their kids was in between trips to the Orient, the bank and their masseuse.

Cynical?  Not really.  Just the cold, hard truth.  And I know, because I've been there.

But despite what seems to be a nasty tale of woe, I did learn something this week, and that indeed, a Work-Life Balance most definitely does exist.

It's just that it does so on an extended, stretched timeline.

Here's the way it goes:

As a young entrepreneur, you work your ass off.  You start early, you finish late in the day--if you do at all--and then there's the weekends, which aren't much different.  You're faced with all kinds of unexpected stress, chances are you'll be on the brink of total outright failure at least once or twice...and that's the good news.

But if you can get through all this, there's a payoff.  And depending on the size and extent of your payoff, that's when Work-Life Balance kicks in.

As a young entrepreneur, work controls you.  But it's the other way around once you've "made it."  Once you've "made it," you call the shots, and can start making decisions about how you choose to spend your life and your time.  There's was a big deal recently about Facebook's Sheryl Sandberg leaving the office at 5:30, but at this stage in her life, not only has she earned the right, but it's a testament to her ambition that she actually works at all.

So yes, young entrepreneurs, there is such thing as a Work-Life Balance. 

You just have to be patient and wait a few years for the equilibrium to set in.

What I Learned This Week: The Importance of Following

Ever since I was 17, when I became the Entertainment Editor of the Sunday Express newspaper while still in college, I've been what is traditionally defined as a "leader." 

After being fired at the age of 23, I led a small marketing and PR company, was recruited by Gilbert Rozon to co-found and lead the development of the Just For Laughs Festival; left that to co-lead the pioneering mobile media company Airborne Entertainment with Garner Bornstein; and after selling that company, was asked back to Just For Laughs to lead its English and French Festivals and Television divisions. And during my tenure at Airborne, I spent my summer vacation stage directing the large-scale Just For Laughs Gala Shows, leading performers the likes of John Cleese, Nathan Lane, Tina Fey, Jimmy Fallon and dozens of others who had no business actually listening to and taking direction from someone like me.  

Now I'm not saying that I'm a great leader, or even a good one, but that's what I've done for the past 36 years of my career.

What I've NOT done though, is ever been a follower.  

Until a few weeks ago, when I "got out of my comfort zone" and agreed to be part of an ensemble cast in a musical fundraiser for Montreal's Segal Centre for the Arts, which takes place tonight and Wednesday.

The experience has been enlightening, to say the least.  Instead of barking out orders and making decisions, I'm now listening and reacting to the orders and decisions of others.  And despite having a solo number in the show (that's me in my "Hair" outfit, with two of the show's kids below) it--and the two other full-cast numbers I'm involved in--falls under the vision of director/choreographer Lisa Rubin and musical director Nick Burgess (as well as choreographer Heather Huff and stage managers Mirna Morelli and Dana Kobernick). They're the puppet-masters who pull my strings.      

Much has been written on leadership (there are over 75,000 books on the subject on Amazon.com), but what I've learned over the past few weeks is the value of being a good follower.  

Being a good follower means buying into a leader's vision.  If you can't do that, find some other place to work (or play, I suppose).

Being a good follower doesn't mean being a spineless yes-man, a sheep or a lackey; I challenge Nick and Lisa's decisions all the time.  But it does mean that in the end, I respect the ultimate decision they make.

Being a good follower also--paradoxically--shows a sense of leadership, as not everyone follows at the same speed, or with the same intensity.  Those who don't keep up or screw around end up making things tough--and frankly, worse--for everyone else.  Following well makes the ultimate goal easier and faster to reach. Success doesn't just depend on respecting leaders; it depends on respecting, and helping, each other.

It ain't been easy.  I'm much more at ease doing things on my own than as part of a group.  But being, so to speak, "on the other side" has been a learning experience of epic proportions, particularly in the relationship between leaders and followers.

So as I bellow and shake my ass through two shows (two SOLD OUT shows, I may add) this week, I leave the stage with the humility of a committed follower...

...and with the knowledge that without great followers, leaders cease to exist.

What I Learned This Week: How To See Greatness

Last week, in an annual attempt to welcome the influx of young, contractual employees into the madness of Just For Laughs, we created new office ID plaques. 

This annual tradition not only helps us identify each other as our ranks swell exponentially, but by skewing and screwing with our titles, it adds a bit of whimsy to the 24/7 stress of putting on the world's largest comedy event(s).  Below you'll find mine:

My new title reflected a throwaway comment I made in a meeting, but it must've resonated.  I loved it; so much so that I took a photo of it and uploaded it to Facebook almost immediately.

The response was incredible.  Over 100 likes and 40 comments in minutes.  On a picture of my stupid title plaque.

I wondered why this, more than anything else I ever put up on Facebook, resonated to far, so fast.   But after reading the comments, it became clear.  This form of passive-aggressive, Dilbert-ian rebellion strikes a chord amongst all of us doing our best to deal with day-to-day corporate life.

In turn, this got me to recalling one of the most revealing lessons learned during my 11 years running Airborne Mobile in between Just For Laughs stint.  During that time frame, we had some of the most prestigious partners around--major global iconic entertainment studios, professional sports leagues, massive wireless carriers, huge international publishing concerns.  And the common refrain amongst the people we worked with who worked for these renowned, respected, perhaps even idolized corporate entities, was the shocking echo of:

"This company is the

most fucked-up place

on earth!"

The lesson then was that no matter who you work for, in many cases (most cases?), you're seeing the organization from the inside out.  The warts, the stains, the dysfunctional behavior are all in your face on a constant basis.

That's the bad news.

The good news is that most people never see your company from the inside-out; only from the outside-in.

Cut to Dawson College two weeks ago, where I was presented with an award for Just For Laughs; an award that celebrated us as "The Organization of the Year."  Cue laugh track.  We are many things, but again, from my inside-out vantage point, I had to smile sardonically.  See photo below:

I also had to deliver a short acceptance speech, and explain to the assembled students at a prestigious, weekend-long case competition, what makes an organization great.  The request came as somewhat of a surprise, and I had no notes, so I came up with this kinda off the cuff.

I recounted the above Airborne-era tale and explained that every one of us sees the faults in our organization.  But in the end, what really makes a great organization is NOT what we think; it's what our CUSTOMERS think.

It's not WHAT we make or how me make it, it's how our customers REACT to that we make.

If you make or do things that make your customers BUY them and LOVE them, THEN you're a great organization.  Everything else is secondary...or irrelevant.

So what makes Just For Laughs a great organization?

The fact that every summer (or fall in Toronto, or spring in Australia), people gather en masses in places to forget their troubles and laugh. 

The fact that despite the daily turmoil, I still get chills on opening night of the Galas, when the audience claps along to the opening notes of our theme music and gives the MC a standing ovation.

Not to mention the fact that I can have a sign like the one atop this post plastered on my door.

So...what did I learn this week? 

Greatness is seen outside in, not the other way around.

Look differently.

What I Learned This Week: A Spoonful of Familiar Helps The Innovation Go Down

So I'm at a birthday party last Thursday.  Quite a posh party too; free-flowing open bar, grilled scallops and lamp chops just some of the gourmet hors d'oeuvres, and a live band to keep us all company.

The band was somewhat offbeat--three horn players, drums, bass guitar and a sultry German-accented singer (that's them above).  But more than the line-up, what really made the band different was its opening statement:

"We're play only original music...our compositions of acid jazz.  We hope to see you on the dance floor."

Original music? 

Acid jazz? 

Get up and dance to it?

"Fat chance," I thought, surveying the crowd, made up of a well-heeled group of boomers. This is a group tailor-made for a cover band playing moldy oldies from the '70s and '80s...backed up by a DJ playing more of the same in between band sets.

But much to my surprise, the dance floor was jammed from the get-go...and stayed that way until the we-gotta-get-going.

Now there wasn't one familiar song played all night; as they said, these were original compositions, and unless you were one of the band or one of their family members, chances are that every tune was as foreign as a Turkish homily.

But what was familiar was the rhythm and the musical phrasing.  As they used to say on the old American Bandstand show: "Well, it's got a good beat, and it's easy to dance to."

And it was while shaking my ass to the music that I learned this week's lesson (with apologies to Mary Poppins):

A spoonful of familiarity

helps the innovation

go down.

While most people publicly proclaim their love for the new, the innovative and the untried, when it comes down to actually taking the plunge or making the purchase, they usually choose tried-and-true over the great unknown.

Which is why great marketers know to mix in a bit of the old to sell the new.

Which is why just about every Hollywood pitch is an equation of two olds equaling one new.  ("It's a cross between American Idol and a cantorial concert"...or something equally as unlikely.)

Which is why even the most radical of new concepts, let's say the Kindle or iPad, incorporate old-school  stepping stones to ease adoption and interaction (Kindle's ads still proclaim "Reads like real paper.")

Which is why, I suspect, chicken exists...if only as a comparative barmometer for alligator meat, turtle meat, fried tofu and countless other edibles best described to newbies as "tastes like chicken."

And which is why instead of being a bunch of drunken, overstuffed wallflowers, the guests at Thursday's party worked off their calories on the dance floor dancing to the somewhat familiar original sounds of Atomics.  (You can check them out here; ironically, their site says "Sounds like: Saint Germain (Ludovic Navarre), Jamiroquai, Thievery Corporation, PLEJ.")

And by the way...don't you think this post reads just like Seth Godin?

What I Learned This Week: Until There's A Problem, There's No Problem

For reasons best left unknown--ranging from being profoundly personal to "trust me, you wouldn't care"--this has been a long, arduous, challenging week.

One of the many aspects of said seven days was dealing with a TV show we're shooting for the W Network called "Deal With It."  Without going into too much detail, the premise of the reality-slash-gameshow is tossing ordinary people into extraordinary situations and capturing via hidden cameras how they, well, deal with it. (Show premieres on May 16, but I digress...)

What I found astounding about just about every one of the contestants is the Clark Kent-ian transformation from run-of-the-mill everyman or everywoman into superhero.  Literally living "in the moment" allowed them to handle not just the ridiculous challenges and stunts we put before them, but more importantly, handle the stupefied reactions of their cross-table companion (the show was shot in a series of restaurants in and around the Toronto area).

The point here is that we (okay, "I") don't always live in the moment.  Our minds (okay, "my mind") often project, suppose, postulate, wonder, worry and deal with "what will be" more often than "what is."  It's the devil's playground of worse-case scenarios, connections of random nothings into predetermined paths, of coincidences into paranoia.

So I know I'm being cryptic, but I often find myself dealing with problems that don't exist anywhere else but the future of my own mind.  When the present catches up with the future, most of the time the problem has faded away without ever being concretized into reality.

So, this week's lesson?  Until there's a problem, there's no problem.  Like the contestants in my show, I gotta start dealing more with "what is" than "what will be."

Because "what will be" is actually more like "what may be"...

...and most likely "what never was."

(P.S. Uh, I'm not devaluing the power of being pro-active; just pointing out the difference between being pro-active and pro-reactive.)

What I Learned This Week: Dear Diary (Made Simple)

Trying desperately not to come off sounding like some old-timer, I just admit that lately I've been finding myself drowning in data. 

Well, not just "pure" data, but when I look at my day, I see a problematic blur of meetings, emails, phone calls, emergencies, things to read, things to watch, things to listen to and things to write.

Bigger problem is that most days, I don't even look at my day. 

And this is a bit of a drag, because that's where the learning lies. (Usually, my "end of the day" is spent planning the next one.)

So at the risk of sounding like a commercial pitchman, for the past couple of weeks, I've been jonesing on a book--well, to be honest, an iPhone app based on the book--called Keel's Simple Diary.

For over two decades, I've kept a journal book with me at all times, in which I scribble thoughts, ideas, to-do and to-call lists, random drawings and other creative musings.  While a good catch-all and reminder, it's not necessarily a source of reflection.

A diary mos def is, but really...who has the time to faithfully contribute to one of those these days?

Hence the impeccable timing of Keel's Simple Diary, which helps you reflect on your day with a little off-beat tug from brief, multiple-choice questions followed by chances to further explain your answers (sample page below). 

Add to this some post-modern Confucius-isms (a la "A finger points, a hand joins") and the chance to add photos to the mix and you have a whimsical little tool that sucks up a maximum of five minutes of your time, but manages to add some profundity and meaning to your day (not to mention the opportunity to look back even further).

The tool is named after its creator, Philipp Keel, an Swiss-born renaissance man of the arts--painter, sculptor, director, writer...I can keep going--whose previous literary adventure, All About Me, was a massive international best-seller. But as good as that one was, Keel goes one step further with Simple Diary, which he describes as his "response to having too much information and not enough meaning." (It's well worth your while to find out more about him here.)

The power of Keel's current project really hit home last Wednesday, when I had lunch with an old friend and business partner Chris Arsenault.  At 11:00 p.m. that night, while going over my schedule to fill in the day's blanks, I realized that so much had happened in the interim I actually forgot that we had lunch.

No, this ain't onset of early Alzheimer's; it's onslaught of information overload.

So what did I learn this week?  I learned more about me.  And I learned how to bring context to so much of the content and data that consumes me on a day-to-day basis.

But most importantly, I learned how to let a somewhat silly tool allow me to look in the mirror every day. 

I guess that's why they call it "reflection."

And why it's so necessary.

What I Learned This Week: When Passion Met Knowledge

 

 

Three events taught me this week's lesson.

1. My recent trip to L.A.
2. My day in Toronto spent on the set of a new TV series we are shooting for the W network
3. The annual SXSW conference

Well, to be exact, their intersect set did.

Let's look at the first two. 

In L.A., I had 10 meetings over the 60 hours I was there. All were basically on the same subject--the digital future of Just For Laughs. Some meetings were mundane and unproductive; participants there out of obligation to our powerful agents or the opportunity to eke out a fast buck; a blind date gone bad.  Others were stimulating and opened doors to the future; kindred spirits on the same page; love at first sight.  The difference?  The passion of the person/people on the other side of the table combined with their knowledge of our product.

In Toronto, I watched as an expert team put together by JFL's Evi Regev smoothly and efficiently delivered four different segments for an upcoming reality-based, hidden-camera game show...no easy task, particularly over a tight eight-hour time frame.  Every member of said team was engaged and happy; excited about the unique and risky product and profound in their respective expertise in the TV trade.

The lesson?  These days, there's nothing more important in business than the union of

Passion & Knowledge

 

The combination of care and understanding is key not just to making the sale, but to delivering the product on a regular and high-level basis.

Examples are many, but a real timely one given the mega-opening of The Hunger Games film this week is how director Gary Ross landed the director gig over heavy hitters like Sam Mendes and David Slade.  I quote from a piece in Entertainment Weekly:

"When he first met with Lionsgate executives, he brought storyboards, character arcs, and a seven-minute film in which he interviewed his teenage twin son and daughter's friends about the effect of the book...

"'It was a watershed moment in the project,' says Lionsgate president of motion pictures Joe Drake, 'because it showed how well he understood the materiel and that we were going to be able to live up to the promises that we made to Suzanne (Collins, the author of the uber-popular young adult series)."

So where does the third "circle," SXSW, fit into all this?  Well, we were having a debate at the office over how best to describe it; a la "It's a event about what?"

When it first started, SXSW was an indie music festival.  Then it branched out into indie film, tech and comedy. So it's multi-faceted, but still, what's it all about?

The answer, my friends, is lurking a few lines above, bold and red.

Forget the facets.  It's not about music, tech, film or comedy.  It's not even about all of them rolled together.  It's about Passion and Knowledge.  SXSW is an annual reunion of people passionate about knowing. About knowing what's cool, what's next and especially what other people don't know.

While I'm not privy to the the organizers' behind-closed-door meetings of the past, I suspect this event grew by following its initial attendees' loves and interest bases rather than saying "Hey this is trendy and hot now!" or "If we added this, we could get more sponsors." That's why SXSW has become such a monster; it has grown organically by staying true to the passion of its core constituents...and the care and understanding of them.

There's no easy way to making a sale or making something work.  You can see right through fake delight and zeal. Pretending you know about something you don't is a recipe not just for failure, but humiliation.

If it's worth anything to you, make sure you feel it and know it.  And can convince others that you do.

If not, move on to something you can.

What I Learned This Week: Shrtn

 

Sometimes, the most brief of lessons are the most profound. 

So after a week of meetings in Los Angeles, here's what I learned:

 

By the time someone

actually says:

 

"So, to make a

long story short..."

 

...it's usually

WAY TOO EFFIN' LATE.

 

What I Learned This Week: The Necessity of Causing Problems

 

So I'm meeting with the President of a major Canadian corporation.  Flanked by his executive team, he sits down at the boardroom table and opens up the meeting with this unequivocal statement: 

"We are here to do this deal."

One by one, his exec team puts a caveat to his statement.

"Well, we are here to FIND WAYS to do this deal."

And that's when it hit me.

A revelation.

A revelation of what we all do on a day-to-day basis at work. 

The way I see it, there are two types of people in every company:

1--Those who solve problems. 

2--Those who cause problems.

Some people are exceptional at solving other people's problems.  In a controlled environment, they listen, weigh options, take a decision and follow through on a course of action.  In an uncontrolled environment, like a crisis situation, they take charge and deftly react to the chaos that surrounds them.

Other people, like the President in the aforementioned meeting, are experts in creating problems...particularly for those around them.  They take decisions first and let others sift through the rubble their decisions may cause.

A great business needs both types of people.  Unless your a psychiatrist or accountant or handyman, you can't grow a business just by fixing other people's messes.  Every major sale, every major contract, every major advance is--first and foremost--creating a problem for the status duo.  But without these problems, you're lost. 

Example: tomorrow, Just For Laughs starts filming a brand new TV show in Toronto for the W network.  Just getting to shoot day #1 caused dozens of problems for our finance, programming and operations departments, not to mention the W's marketing and publicity and contractual teams, as well as the production team that's trying to corral everyday people into extraordinary situations and film it all via cleverly hidden cameras.

But these problems are our lifeblood, as they are the W network's.  Without them, what do we do for a living?

Picasso once said that "Every act of creation is first an act of destruction." There is a parallel there as it pertains to this week's lesson/grand revelation.

So to my staff and colleagues and partners, let me apologize in advance.

Because not only did I realize that there are two types of people in every company...

I realized that I'm way better at causing problems than solving them.

Call me a Problem Child...and let the good times roll! 

What I Learned This Week: How The Net Can Save Downtown Retail

Ever since I moved downtown, I find myself walking a whole lot more.  It's a healthy habit, one that's good for the body and the soul, as the slow pace allows you to catch and contemplate things you'd miss zooming by in a car.

Sounds utopian, but lately, the vision has been kinda apocalyptic.  Put simply:

Downtown retail space

is dying.

It's staggering and sad.  Two weeks ago, I gave Charlie Todd of Improv Everywhere a tour of what used to be Montreal's most vibrant retail blocks.  That day, what was not vacant was filled with rickety, low-end stores and sketchy restaurants on their last legs.

And this sordid situation ain't unique to my hometown.  Recent trips to New York, Chicago and Toronto (Have you seen Yonge Street recently? Frightening...) have told the same tale.

The culprit?  Well, you're using it right now.  The Internet has replaced the big box store as the deathstar of downtown independent retail real estate (it's basically replaced the big box store too, but that's another blog post).  On one hand, the digitization of music, film and books have eliminated the need for actually posessing them in a physical form, so no more need to head out to buy 'em.  On the other hand, you can buy everything from socks to diamond rings to farm equipment via the Net these days, so no need to venture out at all, never mind to a crumbling central urban landscape.

Now, I love living downtown, and that means "living," not just sleeping and working there. 

But I do see its future, and it ain't pretty.

So here's my solution to ensure that it can be: 

Bring the Internet

from the outskirts

to the center of town.

Everything.  From storefronts of web retailers to webdev companies to server farms.

The Net is now our mainstream.  It has become our core, like stores and store-owners used to be.  And if that is indeed the case, give it front-and-center positioning.

I know the argument--cost per square foot in the burbs and industrial areas vs. a city's core (which is why I have to travel over a half-hour to meet Beyond The Rack CEO Yona Shtern next month).  Now I ain't no economic genius, but I'd rather have a tenant paying me something than nobody paying me anything.  And unless I start filling my buildings, they're gonna be worth shit anyway. If nothing changes, a hard rain's gonna fall on retail square footage prices before we know it. Downtown had better start thinking like an industrial park before delapidation turns to abandonment.

Sure, the look will be different; window displays may feature eclectic hipsters at desks instead of well-dressed manequins in poses.  But that type of "peering behind the curtain" didn't seem to hurt street-level TV networks (a la NBC in New York or CTV in Toronto) or centrally-located, open-air kitchens in restaurants.  At least a downtown jaunt will focus on living beings instead of "For Rent" signs.

Just think of it--a city's core filled with smart, young, vibrant, energetic, bleeding-edge-economy workers who will, in turn, need places to eat, hang out and--gasp!--maybe even buy stuff.

This may not be as crazy as it sounds at first.  Amazon is reported to be looking at opening a concept retail location in Seattle.  And everyone should do as poorly as Apple does with its retail locations.  They trailblazed their place in cyberspace and then on terra firma.  Let the others follow. 

The Internet has shaken the foundations of brick-and-mortar. 

Now it's time for the Internet to build it up again.

And, in the process, make my walks a little more pleasant.

What I Learned This Week: So You Sent It... (or "If An E Falls In The Forest...")

 

Another lesson, another rant...

I've heard it often over the past decade or so--usually said with a tinge of a whine--but I also heard it five times over the past two weeks, which sparked this here post. 

"It" is:

"But I sent you the email!"

And if I'm worth my chops as an amateur prognosticator, I'm sure nodding your head in affirmation as you've heard it at least a couple of times yourself.

You know what it means--the fact that whatever was suggested in the email has not been done...and it's your fault.

This kills me.

I get over 150 emails a day.  Add to that countless voicemails, texts, Facebook messages, LinkedIn correspondence, and the fact that I'm usually sequestered in meetings while getting them.  That said, here are three things to keep in mind about the email that you sent:

1. Just because you sent it doesn't mean I got it.
2. Just because I got it doesn't mean I read it.
3. Just because I read it doesn't mean I acted on it.

An email is half a communication. It's like the proverbial tree falling in the forest; if nobody's there to hear it, it doesn't make a sound. Well, if your message isn't properly received--the other half of a communcation--it doesn't make an impact.

This is not to say that every email has to be obsessively followed-up until the sendee collapses in exasperation.  It is to say that if it's of any importance, it's the responsibility of the sender to ensure closure.  Or to at least ensure the message has been received, completing the communication connection.

Pressing "send" does not alleviate you of responsbility.  It does not put your burden on my shoulders. That's a cop out.

And if things don't get done the way you want them to, it's not my fault.

It's yours.

What I Learned This Week: Where The Fun Is

 

Okay, back to the Lessons for a little while...

One of the great misconceptions I face on a daily basis is that running a comedy festival (four of 'em, and two TV departments as well, to be exact) is a barrel of laughs.

I gave a speech at a prestigious men's club a few weeks ago and the first question--well, statement--was "It must be so must fun at the Just For Laughs office!"

Well, hate to break it to you harshly...but it ain't.

It's work. 

It's hard. 

It's a daily challenge and an hourly struggle.

I often say that we make ourselves miserable so that you can have fun.

I used to have fun working at Just For Laughs.  Going to MTV and Comedy award shows was fun.  Going to clubs to scout comedians was fun.  Going to Oscar parties in L.A. and theatre premieres in London was fun.

Maybe I'm getting older, but nowadays, those are chores.  Fun is playing hockey.  Fun is walking my dogs.  Fun is going to the gym.  Fun is writing this blog.

But this is not to say that I don't love work.  Or that there's no more fun at all there anymore. 

It's just in a different place.

These days, the fun is in the win.

Nothing else matters.

Vince Lombardi was right.  Or maybe it was Red Sanders...

(As an aside, and as a corollary to my observations, please read this piece by Bill Plaschke, one of the best sports articles I've had the intense pleasure to read in ages.  Staggering, revealing, tell-tale...and explains a lot about the actions of your favorite sports stars.)

But the best thing about my gig is that there are usually multiple wins on the same project. 

For example, I just got back from Toronto where a sponsorship pitch resulted in an offer to become an equity partner in the project itself.

Or take the example of a TV show we just sold to the W Network.  Getting the meeting to make the pitch was a win.  Getting them to say yes was a win.  Getting them to rush it on air in May was a win.  If it rates well, it'll be another win.  So will it be if it's critically acclaimed, if it's picked up for 20 more episodes, and if we reach our profit goals.

And so it goes...

I never believed in those "Fun in the Workplace" books and consultants.  Contrived, silly and phony. Only the most naive don't see through the thin band-aid.

There's a reason it's called the workplace.  You want fun?  Celebrate your wins and celebrate your people.  I don't care what business you're in.  Without wins, you're not gonna have a workplace for long anyway. (And to avoid extreme backlash, I'm talking about ethical wins here; no scorched-earth policy promotion.)

At Airborne Mobile we had great Hallowe'en parties and great Christmas parties, but we had wins.  One contributed to the other.  The year that we realized the game was over, our Christmas party was like a morgue.  Hard to have fun when you ain't winning anymore.

Again, maybe I'm getting old--or worse yet, maturing--but to me these days, it's more about the nutritional value of the cereal than the colorful character on the box or the free prize that's tucked inside.

It's about the destination, not the journey.

And now...back to work ;)

Or shall I say, back to win.

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

P.S.  Let the record show that I just composed a 595-word blog post on "winning" without once mentioning Charlie Sheen until the very, very end.

What I Learned This Week: Throwing In The Towel, and Putting On a New Spin

Let's cut right to the chase--here's what I learned this week:

It's time to throw in the towel...

...and pick up a Persian Rug.

And now, to explain such an oblique lesson.

I've been blogging regularly for five years.  It's one of my great pleasures, a getaway from my increasingly-stressful everyday, 90 minutes or so of me time I look forward to every weekend.

This blog, Pow!, has enjoyed two incarnations; one as the source and then support for my book on the element of Surprise (still available, folks!), the other as a repository of weekly lessons learned (and perhaps the fodder for my next book or books).

And today, it--I hope--celebrates its third life (that's the "throwing in the towel" part), as Pow! morphs into a shared creative writing space; shared inasmuch as I do the writing, and hopefully, you the reading. 

Over my many years in showbiz and the tech biz, I've harbored a couple of ideas in my head that I believed would make great short stories, perhaps a novella, or maybe even a film script. But when another such idea popped into my head recently, I realized that with a backlog of three, I'd better start getting them out there before they crumbled and rotted in the increasingly cobwebbed and clutterd attic that is my brain.

One of the problems of being the President of Just For Laughs Festivals and TV is that it leaves little room for additional extracurricular activity, so something had to give.  That "something" is the "lessons learned" element of this blog, which is now being replaced--for the time being--by the most recent of the aforementioned story ideas (that, ostensibly and somewhat pompously, is the "Persian Rug" part).

The blogosphere has changed much in the demi-decade since I first opened a TypePad account, and I think the world is well-served by millions of other marketing/business/social critics, thus would not over-mourn my removal from the space.

Not that it needs another struggling fiction writer either, but hey, that's my decision. 

And no, I didn't quit my day job.

I hope you'll stick around for this new journey; if not, thanks for coming by to share my learnings, ramblings and revelations.  From time-to-time, I'll revert back to lessons when something really smacks me between the eyes, but for the most part, I'll be regaling you every week with chopped-up, bite-sized (500-700 words) stepping stones of my off-beat stories as they deveklop and take life.

So without any further ado, I'd like to introduce you to the ride known as...

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

The Spin

It was "that time of the month" again.

Curtis always hated "that time of the month."

Again.

It was that time of bills.  Car payments and mortgage payments.  Bills for necessities, like electricity, Internet connectivity and cable TV, although with the Internet, he wondered if cable TV was really still necessary.  Surely not all 165 additional channels he subscribed to, but he promised himself once again this month that one day he would weed through them and eliminate the non-essentials like The Food Network, Spike and PBS, whose constant whining and begging for funds coincidentally seemed to escalate with this time of the month.

Again.

It was that time of thick, expensive, forest-wasting magazines that slipped through his mail slot and thudded on his floor only to be picked up and unceremoniously heaved on a pile that twice a year he deposited directly into his recycling bin...never mind without reading, but most times without even removing the petroleum-based, protective plastic bagging.

Yeah, again.

It was that time to take his beloved dogs to the vet for their regular check-up.  As they say in storybooks, once upon a time this chore was actually one of his much anticipated highlights, but with both the beagle/spaniel and the poodle/terrier mix in their ninth and tenth years respectively, these days the monthly news was less happy-go-lucky and more Curtis-go-pharmacy.

Sadly, again.

All this, he learned to deal with. 

What really made that time of the month again unbearable was...her.  

"Her" was Miranda, his girlfriend of six years.  More than girlfriend really, she was his live-in wife sans diamond ring or legal commitment.  When he considered his relationship as a whole, he knew it was a good one. Well, to be honest and unapologetic to those around him with lesser personal bonds, a great one.   If he was a baseball fan, he'd calculate their batting average at about .750, maybe .800...not merely Hall of Fame numbers, but All-World. 

But All-World only in baseball.  In this relationship, all the lavish meals, all the walks in the park, all the society-level parties, all the passion, all the movies with gourmet popcorn in front of the fireplace, all the things that most other couples could only envy, all that could not overshadow the behavior she repeated over and over and over again every 30 days or so.  

Much to his chagrin.  

Much to his misery.  

Much to his continual detriment.

For it was that time of the month when Miranda would save some postage costs for the prestigious brokerage where she worked and personally, by hand, bring home Curtis's voluminous, detailed financial statements.

Again.

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

To be continued next week...

What I Learned This Week: Putting the "Pro" Into Protest

As I compose this post, cities around the world--including my hometown of Montreal--are being "occupied" by people protesting the global financial situation. 

Their cause is a good one (Christ, anything to avoid another damn financial apocalypse!), but sometimes--and let me put this in a most diplomatic manner--the way in which the occupiers express their passions may work against their good intentions.  For example, take the torched cars, vandalized buildings, personal violence in Rome...well, that kinda takes the warm glow off the “[We are] reclaiming space in the face of the financial system and using it to voice ideas for how we can work towards a better future" sentiment expressed by one of the protesters in one of the many articles I've spent my last couple of hours reading.  (Happily, the Occupy Montreal protest was incident-free and upbeat.  I found the photo above, taken by @basiapuszkar, on the Montreal Gazette's Twitter feed of the event.)

Okay, so cut to yet another demonstration, this time by support workers at McGill University.  McGill sits smack-dab in the middle of my residence and my office, so I pass by the protesters at least twice daily.  And again, while I admire their passionate belief in their cause--picketing day and night, no matter how miserable the weather--I this weekend wonder if there's a better way to win over public sentiment than disrupting classes and blocking entrances to Homecoming Weekend events (it took an injunction to keep protesters from hampering student access to certain buildings).

People protest for a reason; they want to change the course of a particular action and behavior.  If they could do it without spending their time in the streets, I suspect they would.  But "taking it to the streets" brings public attention, and by swaying public attention to your school of thought instead of the other guys', well...that's when change takes place. From Tiananmen Square to the Arab Spring to the financial centers of the so-called civilzed world, I suppose.

But in my book, and I'm sure I ain't alone, there seems to be a disconnect between cause and effect when it comes to many of these protests.  Preventing kids from learning, or spooking senior citizens in town to celebrate the 50th anniversary of their McGill graduating class, or destroying public property in Rome and other major cities doesn't seem to be the best way to get one to say "Hey, these guys may have a point!"

It's no doubt frustrating being the downtrodden, or the seemingly downtrodden.  But when frustration boils over into aggression or misguided silliness (like anti-capitalism protesters I saw today wearing blatantly-branded hoodies), well, there's way more chance off your public turning off your message than being turned on by it.

So what did I learn this week?

Well, I learned that if I had to curry public opinion for my cause, I'd do something really out-of-the-ordinary and revolutionary...

...like lead a team of colorfully-dressed protesters to a children's hospital for a mass volunteer day. 

Or take a group to shovel snow in front of an assisted living residence. 

Or clean up a school yard. 

Or serve meals to the homeless. 

Or do whatever positive, pro-not-con, heart-warming action it takes for people to take my side instead of the other side.

Now I ain't anti-union, or anti-free speech. Indeed, in times of injustice, the ends should indeed justify the means. 

But the means don't necessarily have to be mean.

If you really wanna shock the system these days, and win the battle of public opinion...try something nice.

(P.S. The photo above is 'sposed ta be ironic; it was actually taken at the G20 Protests.)

What I Learned This Week: The Best Career Advice Ever (You'll Never Guess From Where)

Well, it was indeed beneficial plowing through the mountain of magazines I whined and moaned about last week in this space.

To the untrained eye, it was a mere stack of periodicals.  But to me, I knew that it was an overflowing cornucopia of wisdom waiting to be discovered...and imparted.  With titles like Fortune, Fast Company, Time, Maclean's, Bloomberg Businessweek, US News and World Report and The Economist amongst others in the pile of pulp, I knew that somewhere within it, I would learn this week's lesson.

Well, I most definitely did...but from the most unlikely of sources, namely Entertainment Weekly.  (Note to self:  either change the parameters of your expectations or give those heady titles a more thorough read.)

Go figure.

But there, on page 43, buried within the cover story called "My Hollywood Survival Guide," written by Neil Patrick Harris (that's him below backstage with my wife and I at Just For Laughs two summers ago), was perhaps the greatest, most astute career advice I've seen in at least a decade.  Whether you're in showbiz, a restaurateur, in high-tech or manufacturing, these are wise words to heed.

Let's set the stage--Harris was a kid actor with limited experience and had just been anointed with the title role in Steven Bochco's groundbreaking medical dramedy "Doogie Howser, M.D."   To set the expectations of his star, and his star's commonfolk New Mexico parents, the sage Bochco--producer of such legedary TV hits as "Hill Street Blues" and "L.A. Law"--took them out to a restaurant and told them the following:

"A career is like surfing.

"You paddle out and paddle out and get wet and get hit by these waves.

"When you finally get out where you're supposed to go, you have to sit on a surfboard for a long time, just waiting.

"If you're really lucky, you'll catch a wave, and it'll be the most amazing feeling.

"But the key is that wave will inevitably crash to the sand.

"Then what you have to do is paddle back out again and get hit by a bunch of waves again.

"But trust that in the long term, there will always be waves to catch."

Poetic, profound, picturesque.   A shelf's-worth of biz book advice in about 100 words.

Hmmm, perhaps I should pick up Businessweek again.  Maybe there's a good movie or TV show review in it...

What I Learned This Week: The Mental Warm-Up

Well...I ALMOST got caught up on everything from Australia, but then two days of Rosh Hashana (the Jewish New Year) spent in synagogue made this past weekend jam-packed with catch-up work.

On Saturday, on top of having to put the final touches on demo videos and PDF docs for a pair of new TV shows we have in development for CBC, I had to deal with over 100 emails, a dozen bills to pay, and a stack of to-read magazines that has somehow grown to over 18-inches high (sadly, no exaggeration; that's it above).

Yeah, to put it lightly, I wasn't just overwhelmed, I was fucking overwhelmed.

Now I'm no laggard.  I have To-Do lists up the wazoo, and am a disciple of David Allen and his "Getting Things Done" tribe/religion of hyper-efficiency. 

But still. I was, let's say it again, fucking overwhelmed.

So, what did I do?

I ignored everything in front of me...and went to fix a door in my house instead.

Yeah...I fixed a door.  Not the most herculean task, but I had to re-install a horizontal slat of wood that divided panes of glass on a French Door.  Now I'm no Mike Holmes, but after 20 minutes of dabbling with contact cement, a pile of clothes and a copy of the massive Kisstory book (didn't want to take the door off, so I piled the clothes and the book to act as a leverage/weight to keep the slat level and pressed to the glass in the proper spot), the job was done.

And I felt great.

And I was able to tackle the work with new energy and insight.

For I came back to it with a win; a small win, no doubt, but a win nonetheless.

So here was this week's lesson:

• When I go to the gym for a TRX or RipTrainer workout, I warm up first with a few minutes on a bike or elliptical machine. 
• When I play hockey, I warm up with a series of stretches, twists, skating drills and shots. 

In other words, I get my physical body warmed up before delving into the activity.

So, when faced with mental challenges (no jokes here, folks!) like video editing, proposal-writing, decision-making and reading, it's probably not advisable to "go in cold" either.

The fixing of the door, and the questions I had to answer--How can I do this without removing the door from its hinges?   How would I keep the slat in place?  Where's the optimum spot for the glue?--got my mind warmed-up for the tasks ahead.  The "win" made it even better; it even further leveraged the "got to get into the game" mode.

The end result? 

• Emails have been answered. 
• Bills have been paid. 
• Documents have been composed.
• Videos have been reviewed, and edits suggested. 
• Blog post has been written.

And now, to tackle those rabbit-like magazines.

What I Learned This Week: How to Hack The Medical System

Okay, this is a leftover from Australia, but it's worth it.  I think.

On the first day of my brief vacationesque trip to the tropical region of Cairns, I got bit by some sort of insect on the back of my neck. 

It itched, I scratched it a bit, and over the next 24 hours said bite zone exploded into a golf-ball-sized welt.  By the time I left Cairns to fly to Sydney on Thursday afternoon, I had Mount Vesuvious growing under my shirt collar.

It gets worse.

That evening, we had a goodbye dinner at a ritzy resto called Aria.  Our guests--which included comedians John Cleese and Dylan Moran--wondered whether I was praying or incessantly consulting the menu, as I could hardly lift my head to make eye contact with them.

At about 10:00 p.m. I couldn't stand it anymore, and knew that if I didn't take care of this agony right away, my 20-hour flight the next day back home would be hell on wings. 

I asked Adrian Bohm, our Australian promoter partner, if he knew of any hospitals nearby.

"There are a couple, but you'll sit for five or six hours in Emergency." he said.

Well, that shattered my illusion that Australia's health care system was different than ours. Nonetheless, I'd hop over to a hospital in a flash with a book or two on a regular day, but with a flight less than 12 hours away, this was a non-option.

"But let me call the hotel," he continued.  "Maybe they have a doctor on call."

And thus was planted the seed for this week's lesson.

WHAT I AVOIDED 

By the time I walked back to the Sofitel, 15 minutes away, the traveling hotel doctor had already called the concierge.  When I called back to tell him I had arrived, he was in the lobby in less than 15 more.

To make a long, painful and disgusting story short, the doctor came up to the room with a black bag of tools and potions, and after performing minor surgery on my room's couch--with no anesthesia, I may add--I was a relieved man.

A half hour after the first knock on the door, the doctor was on his way elsewhere. 

The cost? $300...charged to the room, to boot.

WHAT I GOT. (This photo of Sofitel Sydney Wentworth is courtesy of TripAdvisor)

So here's the lesson:

When you get sick, where's

the best place to check into? 

A hospital?

Yeah, right...

Try a hotel.

Seriously, next time you're in need of medical attention, head to the nearest luxury hotel and ask the concierge if he or she can call you a doctor. 

I'd bet you don't even have to check in to get service.

Even if you DO have to take a room to get the care, you're still ahead a few hours.  What's more, you don't just get a house call, but have a private room to convalesce in.

Yes I know, it's more costly than heading over to your insurance-based or medicare-friendly medical facility.  Not everyone has the type of pockets this solution requires.

But if your time:pain ratio is stronger than your pain:dollar ratio, the Four Seasons Hospital or Ritz-Carlton Health Centre awaits!

Tell them Andy sent ya.

Oh...and you're welcome.

What I Learned This Week: Who Knows When

One week after touching down, I'm still feeling the effects of my recent sojourn to Australia.  The body clock is still a tad off (flying back to Toronto for two days of intense meetings sure didn't help), and I'm still not done organizing my mail, both e and tangible.  

On another level, looking at my pictures as they're transferred from my camera and iPhone to desktop, I realize that the trip--two weeks of Just For Laughs work at the Sydney Opera House (that's me and it above) appended by three days of attempted vacation in Cairns--also marked the turning of a page.

At both stops on the trip, I kept hearing a certain phrase being repeated, albeit for different purposes, to justify a certain action being carried out.  Whether it was to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge, or to scuba dive off the Great Barrier Reef, or simply to walk along Bondi Beach, the rationalization seemed to be:

 

"When are we ever

going to do this again?"

 

Now, despite John Cleese's brilliant line that "There are planets--planets!--closer to London than Australia," the trip there really isn't all that bad; in fact, the flight down gave me a chance to finish a book, watch two movies, and about a dozen episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Larry Sanders Show, as well as sleep a good eight hours...albeit broken up in segments.  While not cheap, it's certainly way less expensive than flying Virgin Galactic, and most major airlines always offer up a seat sale Down Under every year.  In other words, it may be far, but it's closer than ever.

Earlier on in my travels--many moons ago when I was in Edinburgh, Japan, Russia and even Australia--I also heard the above sentence uttered, but with the additional prefixed caveat of "Who knows." 

While just two words, the difference between "Who knows when we're ever going to do this again?" and "When are we ever going to do this again?" is monumental.

This week's lesson then is indeed a short, yet profound one.

At one point in life, you realize that you're closer to the end than to the beginning.  That you've turned a very big page.  That your day-to-day is becoming a Seals and Crofts song.

That's a big lesson.

And now that I've learned it, I'm going out to do something fun.  A lot of things fun.

Because, well...who knows?

In the meantime, here are a few more pix from Aussieland. 

Me and a real live Koala.  My dogs Shaydee and Rawqui are jealous as hell.

The Just For Laughs crew at Sydney Opera House.  Top row L ro R is Dimitri Martin, Russell Howard, John Cleese (actually in both rows!), Wil Anderson, my partner Gilbert Rozon and our Australian promoting partner Adrian Bohm.  Bottom row is JFL's Robbie Praw, Margaret Cho, yours truly, John again, Martin Short and JFL's COO Bruce Hills.

This is where I rehearsed with John Cleese every day. The Utzon Room (named after the designer of the Sydney Opera House), resplendant with majestic mural tapestry of his making.

What I Learned This Week--The First Flight of the Start-Up Butterfly

Spent the last two weeks in Australia, and perhaps the most fascinating sight during my time away (and this is quite the statement given the tripincluded directing John Cleese at the Sydney Opera House, being moored at a diving deck smack-dab in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef and taking a gondola ride OVER a rainforest) was seen at--of all places!--the Australian Butterfly Sanctuary high atop the tiny town of Kuranda.

It was at that somewhat obtuse spot--ostensibly a "tourist trap," but ultimately way more profound--that I witnessed a butterfly's first-ever flight.

Lemme stop right there.

• Yes, I said butterfly. It's first flight.
• No, I did not consume an abundant amount of reality-altering drugs.
• No, I have not converted to some wacky "alternative" religion, nor am I experiencing a "back to nature" mid-life crisis. 

This was actually a) cool and b) very business relevant.

For watching a butterfly take flight can be likened to an entrepreneur launching a new business.

To contextualize this, the Australian Butterfly Sanctuary charges you $16 to stand in a greenhouse-like setting where thousands of different species fly around your head with reckless abandon. Many of them are friendly enough to actually land on you.

What appears at first glance to be a dubious, five-minute "attraction" soon grows gossamer wings of respectability with a visit to the Conservatory's scientific breeding lab next door. There 
the group harvests thousands of caterpillars, and helps them along the road to maturity until they undergo the transformation into colorfully-winged insects.

I'll spare you the step-by-step metamorphosis details (click here if you want to learn some more), but the finale changeover from creepy crawler to flutterer involves the butterfly stepping onto a precipice, slowly and tentatively opening and closing its wings a few times before jumping off said precipice and taking its premiere leap of faith.

Me and a flying friend Down Under

The debut flight I saw was experienced by about 25 other people in the breeding nursery. The butterfly we watched actually approached and backed off from the ledge twice before finally jumping off. When he (she?...hey, I didn't get that close) eventually did, he plummeted about four feet before generating enough wingpower to keep him afloat. The gathered group groaned with each false start, gasped at the initial fall, and broke out into cheer when the butterfly lived up to its destiny.

While most marveled at yet another of mother nature's miracles, I couldn't help thinking about how this is a perfect metaphor for most start-up businesses. (I've been through one myself, and I'm currently watching my elder son Aidan's progress with "Winston," his Next 36-inspired reinvention of the corporate car service.)  To wit:

*At first, you have an idea, one that--if lucky--gets off to a slow crawl (I learned that out of 100 butterfly eggs laid naturally, less than 1% survive).

*Then it changes rapidly, eventually emerging--if lucky!--as something that barely resembles what it started off as in the first place.

*But it's that dramatic first step that is so poetically relevant. The final product has been produced, and is ready to go. It then endures the process of testing...cautiously, slowly, a bit of false bravado and some not-so-well-hidden reticence.

*Ultimately though, the showmanship must stop; all the wing-flapping and tip-toeing leads to the eventuality of a sink-or-swim (or, in this case, "fly or die") decision.

Butterflies and birds and other flying creatures go through this millions of times day every day. It may be an inherited action, embedded in their DNA. But it doesn't make it any less fascinating.

So what did I learn this week, other than a little bit of perilous drama will always draw a crowd and that I may have some hippie genes left over from the '60s?

Well, I learned that the start-up process may be evolutionary; way, way older than we think, and shared by our butterfly brethren.

Now if we can only figure out a way to share their jump-off success ratio, well, THEN we'd be in business.

Lots of 'em.

What I Learned This Week--Hot Numbing Pork (That REALLY Numbs!)

When I was a young teenager, around 13-14 years old, I was intrigued by a sign hanging outside this tiny pet shop in the tony enclave of Westmount. The sign read:

YOUNG SINGING CANARIES
(That really sing!)

While still three years away from my first marketing course, the oddness of the message struck me, and after a few aborted attempts, I finally mustered up enough courage to enter the shop and ask the origins of the sign.

The owner, a stereotypical "little old lady" of about 75 years, explained that the sign once only read "Young Singing Canaries!"...but still drew a stream of curious would-be customers who asked: "Do they REALLY sing?"  She told me that by adding the second line, she ended up answering less questions and selling more birds.

So, over three decades later and thousands of miles away, cut to the Spice Temple restaurant in Sydney. (Yes, I am still in Australia but am actually writing you on my iPad poolside from the Thala Beach Resort in Port Douglas, near the Great Barrier Reef.) I has dinner there last week and was dazzled by an ambience of darkness broken only by narrowly-focused spot lighting on the table settings throughout the place; think opium den meets upscale Chinese cuisine (that's it at right). 

The menu was a trip unto itself; each one fronted by a stunning photo portrait of a different Asian woman, and filled with dish descriptions that ran the gamut between straightforward plain to the work of the world's greatest copywriter after ingesting multiple hallucinogenic drugs. For example:

•Three-shot Chicken
•Fish Drowned in Heaven-facing Chillies
•Strange Flavor White Cut Chicken
•Beef Filet in Fire Water
•Espresso Shaken with Tequila, Hazelnut and a Touch of Chili to Awaken the Senses

...and my favorite:

•Hot, Sweet, Sour and Numbing Pork

Numbing pork? Now, unless you're a rabbi, how does one resist that?  I ordered it and it was better than it sounds. In fact, after three pieces, my mouth was so numb I could've sworn said pork dish was basted in novocaine. Frankly, I COULDN'T have sworn as the "freezing" of my mouthal region was so pronounced that I was actually slurring my words...before biting through the left side of my lower lip (a laceration that took a week to heal; last night was the first when I didn't cringe while brushing my teeth).

But man, that was a helluva dish!

Like I did at the pet shop, I called over the owner to ask about dish descriptions. He confirmed what I had thought--that the best-selling dishes were the ones with the most tell-tale, curiosity-spiking, flamboyant sell jobs. When I asked why every dish wasn't bestowed with the same type of way-out wording, he explained that while all great, not every one was "special." So to avoid disappointment, he played up his superstars to the hilt.

So what's the lesson here? Well, there are a few:

•First, words are important. One word well-placed can be the difference between a sale and a walk-away. Not enough people or businesses realize this...or care. Check your menu, or website, or flyers, or catalogs. Are you "selling" or just tossing out words?

•Second, never promise more than you can deliver, and always deliver more than you promised. Imagine how disappointed I'd be had the pork merely been spicy. You can get spicy pork in the frozen-food section at your neighborhood supermarket. It's about as special as butter. "Numbing" pork sparked curiosity...and then sparked a transformation of my mouth. On the other hand, steamed rice is steamed rice; if you can make it special, do so and tell me so. If you can't, don't try to bullshit me.

•Finally, not all dishes--or canaries--are created equal. Let your superstars sing loudly...and surround them with the supporting cast. All great teams, and meals, need both.

And now, one last application of that lip medicine and I should be done...

What I Learned This Week--The Power of the Tweak

Greetings from Australia, more specifically the confines of the Sydney Opera House. I am writing this on my iPad Typepad blogging app, which I tell you not to impress you, but to explain the lack of usual color, boldness and aesthetic appeal I try to flavor my posts with (said app is relatively spartan compared to its web relative).

I spent most of yesterday in a casting session, looking for performers to work with the legendary John Cleese in two Galas we are putting on as part of the Just For Laughs Sydney Festival.

As Producer/Director of said Galas, my job description is wide, encompassing everything from overseeing the script, ensuring "localization" of material, staging the show, ordering props and costumes, and acting as "traffic cop" to ensure all performers enter, exit and interact on stage in the most efficient of manners.

That said, most of yesterday was spent putting performers through their paces, as I read the lines of, and at times stood in for, John Cleese as he sat at a table evaluating those who would be on the heralded Opera House stage with him.

The casting process for this show is a simple one--performers are given a script on which both their lines and their stage directions (i.e. "She is insulted and walks off in a huff") are written. Over and above those words are a few more from me further describing the scene and the stage movements...and off we go into the scene for evaluatory purposes.

Also in the house is a man named Bille Brown, a renowned Australian actor/writer/director (that's him somewhere in this post, wherever the app decided to position it). Bille is classically-trained, a dear friend of John's, a player in Saturday's show (he plays a corrupt priest)...and the teacher of this week's lesson.

Over and over again, following a auditioner's initial couple of takes, Bille took the actor aside and whispered a little sweet something in their respective ears. The performance that followed the whisper was always the best of the bunch, as the wily Mr. Brown tweaked some minor element of each that resulted in a marked improvement.

For example, an actor named Michelle who was cast to play John's new "wife" Jennifer, was told my Bille to play up her Asian heritage. The result--a nonsensical rant in a Chinese/Japanese/Korean hybrid of gibberish--cracked everyone up immediately...and won her the role on the spot, despite being the furthest away physically (she's tiny) from what the role originally required.

Well, Michelle owes her experience to Bille Brown, as do a handful of others cast yesterday (and rehearsed today, as we just wrapped up).

So, Mr. Brown's lesson?

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF "THE TWEAK."

Like a fine auto mechanic who can tune up an engine with a slight turn of a wrench, the short-relief baseball pitcher called upon just to get the last out, or that eagle-eyed editor/proof-reader who saves you from the humiliation of factual or punctuational mistakes, "The Tweak" is often the difference between success and failure.

Problem is that as things move faster than ever, people don't have time for "The Tweak." Thus it is not only undervalued, but often ignored.

So Bille Brown, this one's for you. Not only do I hope to be able to make a substantial difference in others by Tweaking them, I hope to find someone with as much vision and character as you to continually Tweak all that I do...professionally and personally.

And with that, it's back to work...

What I Learned This Week: The Power of Scour

I had some important business to attend to in Toronto last week, and given that I'll be spending over 20 hours on Air Canada getting to Australia on Wednesday (heading off to Just For Laughs Sydney, where I'll be directing both John Cleese-hosted Galas on September 3), I decided to hop into the car and drive there.  Over and above the mega-flight rationale, I figured some highway riding, coupled with hours worth of tunes, would be a good way to relax and travel from another perspective.

I can't remember the last time I drove to Toronto (I remember the first time though, about 30 years ago for a rock 'n' roll memorabilia show with photographer Lawrence Kirsch and human cartoon character Neil Bubis), but I get notoriously bored and tired on the road, and one thing I wasn't looking forward to was the three or four stops at those skanky highway gas stations/restaurants to grab coffee and refresh.  (The Kinks summed up my feelings best in an old tuned called "Motorway," which outlines the myriad horrors of such locales.)

I left on a Sunday (perhaps a mistake given how late I was out on Saturday and the time I had just spent at the gym), and after about two-and-a-half hours, I was dangerously exhausted.  You know the feeling--heavy eyelids, constant yawning, wandering attention.  It was time for the first pit-stop.

And for this week's big surprise.

The once-grimy rest stops had been replaced by something called ONroute.  Each ONroute had a selection of fast-food familiars (i.e. Tim Horton's, Starbucks, East Side Mario's, Burger King, etc.), an info centre, and a convenience store Market surrounding a middle section of tables, chairs and overstuffed easy chairs that made the place look more like a living room...or an upscale airport lounge.  That's one below:

The toilets--where most rational mortals fear to tread--were tidy and pleasant.  Each urinal had a shelf to put keys, wallets, phones or, in my case, all of the above plus coffee.  Sinks were polished aluminum.  There was even a special water source for pets.

But what really threw me was the uber-organization of the aforementioned Market stores. They were well lit and spotless. The precision and aesthetic value of the way in which the goods were shelved reminded me of some of the more notable shops I visited when in Japan. 

The end result was, after a 10-minute stopover, I felt refreshed and ready to go. 

Frankly, it was as if I had taken a nap.

What did it?  Yeah, could've been the coffee, but I can down a double-espresso at 10:00 p.m. and have no problem getting to sleep (there are a lot of things that keep me up at night, but coffee isn't one of 'em). 

Could've been the two sour cream glazed Timbits. 

Could've been the three vials of 5-Hour Energy...I'm kidding, but they were there if I really wanted 'em.

What did it was this week's lesson (one which confirms that Francis Bacon was almost biblical):

Cleanliness is indeed

next to Godliness

There's something kinda mystical about clean

May sound nuts, but think about how much better you feel working on a clean desk. 

Think about how much better it feels walking into a kitchen with sparkling floors and an empty sink. 

Think about--and this is really extreme, but I know you'll be nodding along in agreement--how much better your car seems to run after a wash.

This revelation should come as no great shock to readers of Malcolm Gladwell's landmark work "The Tipping Point," where he explains how Mayor Rudy Giuliani transformed New York from the bottom up, starting with fixing broken windows and scrubbing the graffiti.  The sense of cleanliness and order built a base upon which he was able to affect greater change.

The sparkling nature of ONroute, the comfy chairs, the chill atmosphere, the bright lighting and the sense of order did wonders for my psyche. 

I gotta tell you, feeling my exhaustion evaporate, feeling reinvigorated, I've seen the light, the bright and the white. 

I'm a believer. 

Pass me the mop.

What I Learned This Week: Resisting The Urge (or How I Almost Tackled The CFL Commissioner)

I went to see the Montreal Alouettes-Edmonton Eskimos game last week as the guest of Marc Cohon, commissioner of the CFL (that's him below).  We had been discussing a potential partnership between Just For Laughs and the league (Isn't it just perfect?  JFL meets the CFL...) in a late-afternoon meeting at my office, and given its proximity to Percival Molson Stadium, where the Als play, we walked over instead of driving or cabbing it.

I suppose every professional sports league would want a commish like Mark.  Young, bright, friendly and very forward-thinking, he outlined his hits, misses and future plans on our 15-minute journey. 

As commissioner, the whole league is his turf, so before heading up to our seats in Robert Wettenhal's box (he owns the Alouettes), we stopped on the field itself so that Mark could schmooze with team reps, some players and especially the game officials.

As he spoke, I marveled at the size of the behemoth players next to me.  No wonder I chose hockey and the gym, not football, as my participative sports of choice. Massive on TV, these guys were IMAX when up front and live in your face. They could snap me in half with a look.

Anyway, once Mark had finished his socializing, the teams, the refs and most of the game staff retreated to their respective dressing rooms.  We were left virtually all alone when Mark suggested we cut across the field instead of the long walk around it to get to where our seats were.

So you have to picture this--five minutes before game time, a completely barren football field, 25,000 people in the stands, dozens of accredited media photographers, a national TV broadcast crew ready to go...and two solitary figures crossing at the 55-yard line. Literally, all eyes were upon us.  Imagine the scene below:

As we hit the mid-field mark, right at the McGill logo (the stadium is part of McGill University), I turned to Mark and said:

"You know what would be great for both our careers right now?"

"What?" he asked.

"If I got down in a three-point stance and tackled you."

The commish laughed.

"Just think!  The perfect image for both our careers!" I enthused. "The 'I Can Get Away With Anything' head of the world's biggest comedy event tackling the very respected head of a pro football league!  The image would be ever-lasting!  A CFL classic, like Pierre Trudeau's pimp outfit at the Grey Cup! Just think of the publicity!"

"You serious?"

For a second I was...but then the tsunami of reality washed over this somewhat over-the-top idea.  

"Aw, security would be on me in a flash and take me away in handcuffs," I reasoned.  We both laughed, and climbed about 250 north side steps to get to the upper level of the stadium.

Maybe had we planned it beforehand we could've gotten away with it...but then again, Mark would have a lot more to lose than me. I think...

So, with this wild tale comes this week's lesson:

Sometimes, no matter how great something may be for you, you've got to consider the other side in your wild plans. 

Resist that impulsive urge and think for a second about the ultimate ressult for everyone involved.

But then again... ;)

What I Learned This Week: How To Enjoy August

Ray Milland had his Lost Weekend.

I had my Lost Month in July.  Running Just For Laughs essentially eliminates 30 days of "real life" from my calendar.

I write this on Saturday, August 6 from the confines of my home office/library, a once neat and orderly room now littered with piles of magazines (a stack rising 18 inches high), mail, bills, business cards, receipts, books and assorted miscellany.  I am spending the day de-cluttering, re-organizing and re-configuring.

By the time this is posted (Monday, 9:15 a.m.), the room will be back in its usual state; my driver's license and health card will be renewed; my synagogue membership, Bloomberg BusinessWeek and Wired subscriptions paid; and my lesson learned.

Said lesson comes from a book given to me by my friend Yanik Silver when I gave a speech for his entrepreneur group in Washington D.C. back in June, and which I only got around to looking at today (it was buried under the magazines).

The book is called "Building A Great Business," and it's about the Zingerman's food conglomerate of Ann Arbor, Michigan (itself an incredible story, but I digress). In it, author Ari Weizweig quotes from essayist Logan Pearsall Smith, whose quote struck me like lightning after spending my lost month with some of the richest, most influential and powerful people in showbusiness, both here and abroad.  Without any further ado:

"There are two things to aim at in life:

first, to get what you want,

and after that, to enjoy it. 

 

"Only the wisest of mankind achieve the second."

And with that, I'm off to enjoy August.  Or at least try to...

What I Learned This Week: A Breed Apart

Spread sunshine all over the place, and put on a happy face!

If you're reading this as its being published (Monday morning, 9:15 a.m.), I am currently dragging myself out of bed to make my way to the annual Just For Laughs closing press conference, where we unveil a bevy of statistics, go over highlights of the 29th edition and make some visionary positioning statements for next year's 30th anniversary edition.

To say the least, I'm kinda exhausted. As President of this company, I've been running straight--no weekends, no time off--since July 5th. Since July 12th, my days have been Groundhog Day similar, starting at about 9:00 a.m. and ending some 18 hours later...if everything goes right.

It's been a hell of a ride, though. Over the past month, I've worked with hundreds of committed artists, technicians, tradespeople, execs and interns, all who have amazed me with their dedication to their métiers. On the performer side, I've crossed paths with everyone from the near-homeless street performing nomad to the multi-zillionaire internationally-renowned megastar.

And being immersed in this waterfall of creative humanity has made me realize the lesson of the week:

Showbiz ain't for everyone

This is indeed a unique world of stress, attempts, failures, achievements, near misses, huge hits and the constant flow of the unexpected.

It takes a special kind of psyche to deal with this mix. A breed apart

Over the past 11 years, after first leaving Just For Laughs in 1999, I maintained an outsider position in showbiz while running Airborne Mobile, a tech company. Like a buffet, I could dabble in the madness, but could shut it off and leave the table at the end of my two-week run of directing the Festival Gala shows.

Now that I'm back in 'the biz" full time, I once again see and feel what it's like for those immersed. I've seen people crack, cry, break down and quit. I've seen others rise to the occasion and pleasantly surprise with finesse and grace way beyond their years and experience.

Since July 5th, I've had dozens of people begging for full-time JFL jobs and a handful of others bailing from theirs with us because of the tension, the surroundings or the lack of "fit."

"Oh, you must just LOVE what you do!" most people enthuse when they hear about my job. To be very frank, I don't. Well, I certainly don't love it every day. It's hard work. REALLY hard work. And a hell of a lot if it.

But what I certainly DO love is the result of what I do. There aren't too many feelings more rewarding than standing at the back of a theatre or a club and watching hundreds, or thousands, or tens of thousands, of people collectively undulating in laughter because of what I do. THAT is why I do it. It's not "fun"; it's a calling.

One of my favorite tell-tale images of all time was the late Roy Scheider playing the legendary director Bob Fosse in the film "All That Jazz." Every morning upon waking, he would drag his haggard, lined, leathery face over to the bathroom mirror, splash it with cold water, crack a smile and say "It's showtime!"

Well, that's my life again. And I think I can say, dealing with all the crap and all the gold I've dealt with over the past month--the past year!--that I handle it well.

But believe me, not everyone does.

Showbiz is like the military. It takes prisoners.

But it also builds character. And characters.

And I'm happy to be one of them.

Uh...I think ;)

What I Learned This Week: Shooting To Sell

Take a look at the picture above.  Incredible, no?

It's Quebec comedian Rachid Badouri playing to a human ocean of over 100,000 raving fans at Just For Laughs' outdoor site last Saturday night.

The photo is astonishing, iconic, tells a story and, most importantly, sells.

It sells an event, sells an emotion.  It will help Just For Laughs: 

• sell to sponsors ("Look how many people we attract!")
• sell to performers ("This adulation can be yours, too!")
• sell to the public ("Fun en masse!")
• even sell to itself ("THIS is why we do it!")

Thing is, this photo almost didn't happen.  Lemme tell you the story of how it did.

We had a perfect storm of magic last Saturday--gorgeous weather, a Pinkarnaval Parade that brought a few thousand more people to an outdoor site already jammed with thousands of fans waiting to see Rachid.  As is my habit, I alternate my watching of shows from "The Room" (in this case, the Place des Festivals site) and backstage, and on my way back, I noticed a young photographer at the side of the stage with the following image filling the screen of his laptop: 

I was knocked out, but told him that while spectacular, the image could've been taken anywhere--Club Soda, the St. Denis Theater, a conference center in Wyoming, you name it! I asked the photographer--a young man named Charles William Pelletier--if he had the chance to take a shot that included the crowd, which to me, was the story.

When he said no, I told him to gather his stuff, and took him with me backstage.

Once there, our timing was impeccable.  Rachid was in the wings, waiting to return to the stage as one of his invited performers was performing a guest set. I asked if he would mind if Charles would take to the stage and shoot from behind (this could freak some performers out...particularly if unexpected).

The answer was a fast yes, and the result sits atop this post.

So, the lesson in a nutshell?  Well, there are two (expand your nutshells!):

1) Consider what you're trying to "sell" when you take a photo...whether it's a major product launch or a mere vacation shot.  Is it the "look at me," the "I was there," the "look at this" or the "you won't believe this"?  Or something else altogether?

2) Change your perspective from time-to-time.  The obvious vantage point may not always be the best one.  

By the way, click on any of the photos here to see 'em in full-screen glory.  And with that, one last look at Charles William's magic Rashid photo, this time in dramatic black-and-white:

What I Learned This Week: Walking John Lennon

So...this is a strange one.  

Last Thursday, on my way to some sort of appointment at Juste pour rire (too many that day to remember precisely which one), I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  

My hair was long and unruly; I was wearing mirrored round sunglasses that accentuated the three breaks of my nose (hockey, baseball and a bike accident), and my manner was somewhat less-than-jovial (hey, it's stress season, folks!).  Here, take a look:

My immediate, instant reaction though was uplifting. 

"Hey," I thought, "I kinda look like John Lennon in that famous 'New York City t-shirt' photo!"  Here, take another look:

   

So, buoyed by this resemblance, I happily bopped along to my rendez-vous. Along the way, I was accosted by a woman working one of the Festival's interactive outdoor activities.  Trying to engage my participation, she pointed at me and shouted the following two ego-inflating words:

 

"Hey Ringo!"

 

So, the point here, the lesson?  It's an old one...but an important one, and well worth never forgetting:

It's your public that sets, and owns your public image.

There may be a massive disconnect between what you think you are sending and what's being received.

Or in other words, your walk may be John Lennon, but your talk may be Ringo Starr.

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

By the way, nothing wrong with Ringo Starr.  Nice guy, fine drummer, sweetheart and a Beatle.  It's just that...come on...I don't really look like this, do I?

What I Learned This Week: Don't Overlook The Obvious

Sometimes the simplest lessons are the toughest.  Or vice versa.  

One of the great--albeit superficial--joys in my life is spending every sunny summer moment I can driving my beloved 1960 Corvette (that's me inside it at left, and above as well, obviously).

Given its age, it's not as reliable as, let's say, my everyday car (a lil' Lexus 250), so what I decided to in October 2010 is swap out the old engine over the winter with a new one to ensure that I don't have to hold my breath every time I turn the ignition key (especially if it's late and I'm some godforsaken place far from home).  

I was referred to a mechanic, a specialist in classic cars, and we agreed on a fee and a delivery date--this April 15th, when I usually bring the car out in wishful thinking of an early summer.

And thus began an adventure--misadventure, actually--that only ended last Monday.

Let's see how I can make this interminable story as brief and painless as possible...

Well, throughout the winter, I received a whole bunch of photos of my car, hoodless, engine-area wrapped in towels as the block was removed.  It looked like my car was undergoing open-heart surgery. At times, I misted up.

In February, after making my second payment, the mechanic started to question whether we buy or re-build, deciding on the latter.  Fine, I said, as long as it's more reliable.  I just wanna drive the damn thing.

Well, a multitude of false turns, false hopes and miscues later, it's May 15th, and I'll I've got is this new picture of my car:

Well, I lost it.

"FORGET IT!," I roared.  "Back to square one!  Just change the goddamn engine!

Not as easy as I would've liked, but a few weeks--WEEKS!--later, we find one, and schedule putting it in.  It's now June.  I've been paying for a phantom parking space for this phantom car since April.  Luckily, the summer weather thus far kinda sucks, which is the only saving grace of me not going completely postal.

I don't get it; what could be so difficult?  This is an engine circa 1960.  Even Fred Flinstone's car, with it's Pterodactyl-driven motor, was more advanced. 

Anyway, finally!, we get the new engine in.  The car's ready!  It's the end of June.

Well, not so fast.  There's a carburetor problem.  Need to find one that fits and doesn't overpower the engine.  But there's a holiday, and it won't be here until next week so...

The second finally!  Wednesday, June 29th, the car is delivered to the garage of my gym.  I pick it up and drive it home.  Ten minutes of heaven!

The next day, I drive it to work.  ten minutes of heaven again!  And that night, after a late-night dinner with my family, on the eve of the Canada Day/July 4th long weekend, I drive my son Aidan home in it.

He remembers the car as it was back in 2010--a little of a rough ride, heavy idling.  We both marvel at how smooth the engine is as we drive it home...

...just before it shudders and conks out dead one block from the garage in my building!

Dead.  Lifeless.  It's throaty roar silenced.

No amount of coaxing, key-turning, battery-boosting or praying could start it up again.  

"Do you have gas?" Aidan asks.  

"Don't be stupid, of course I have gas, damn it!" I snap back.  "Almost a third of a tank!"

Slightly more than 24 hours after getting it back, after the sum total of 25 minutes of driving it, my car is rendered invalid.  Worse yet, despite being a mere 100 metres from my house, Aidan and I couldn't push the car uphill to my garage. Too steep.  And given the three-day weekend, no way I'm leaving it crippled on the side of a downtown street.

So...1:30 a.m., I call an emergency tow truck.  

At first, the driver doesn't want to touch my car; something about classic cars being too fragile and insurance and what have you.  But after enough begging and pleading, he finally loads it onto a massive flatbed, drives a distance that was about three lengths of the truck itself, and tucks it away in my spot. (There's a whole other story about how we actually got it into the tightest spot in my building's garage, but that's another nightmare I'd like to forget.)  I finally get to bed, frustrated, seething and exhausted, after 3:00 a.m.

Anyway, I wait until Monday to call the mechanic, and I guess I did a good job of corking my volcanic rage, because he agreed to hike over to my place while I was at work and take a look at the patient.  

About two hours later, he calls.

"Are you sitting?" he asks.

Not a good sign.

"You won't believe what's wrong with your car..."

Not a good way to start a conversation with me at any point...but especially that Monday.  I told him, simply, to hit me.

"You had no gas."

Seems like there was a problem with the gas gauge.  In retrospect, Aidan was right.

Which brings us to what I learned after all this:

Never dismiss the obvious... no matter how ridiculously obvious it might seem.

Just imagine how much easier my life would've been had I just hiked over to the gas station down the street and picked up a gallon-in-a-can.  Yes, it may not have been the solution...but in this case, it was indeed.

Reminds me of a Just For Laughs story of 2009, when the legendary John Cleese hosted one of our galas.

We were doing three om-stage numbers, each one more complicated than the other.  The show closer involved an on-stage wedding, the middle act was a telethon, but the opener was a simple, little piece we called a "slide show."  In essence, the slide show is a monologue where the jokes pay off via images projected on a giant screen centre-stage.  A technical and logistical no-brainer.

So, cut to the show, and it starts majestically.  Cleese walks out to a raging standing ovation, greets the crowd and launches into the opening number.

It works like a charm.  The first four "slides" pay off with huge laughs...

And then the screen goes dark.

Panic ensues backstage.  Yelling, running, screaming, finger-pointing.  Cleese, abandoned without a life-raft, tries to kill time by dancing a silly jig and speaking in pseudo-intellectual German-esque gibberish.

But to no avail.  This bit is dead.  It has ceased to be.  He introduces the show's first act, and walks off stage into a sea of red faces and mea culpa apologies.

Nobody could figure it out.  Engineers, heads of tech, lighting directors all scratching their heads until intermission time, when Thierry Francis, responsible for projection, climbed his way into the balcony, followed the wire coming from the projector all the way to the theatre's far wall...where he noticed that the plug had inadvertently been pulled from its socket by some clumsy shlub walking by (we think...).

The lesson is an important one, despite these two tales.  Often, when things go wrong, we think the worst and search way too far for the answer.  Equally as often, the answer is something simple, stupid and an easy fix.

Basic medicine works in that manner; doctors go down a checklist, from simple to complex, knocking off possibilities along the way until they make their diagnosis.

We frequently do the same...but problem is, we reverse the order of checklist.

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

(P.S. Thanks to long-time buddy and pop-up photog Matthew Cope for both pix in this post.)

What I Learned This Week: No, Things Weren't Simpler Back Then

I celebrated and shared a fairly impressive milestone with one Peter Frampton on Thursday night.

Thirty-five years ago this very week, at the tender age of 16, I broke into showbiz by writing an article about said Mr. Frampton for a weekly newspaper called The Sunday Express.

I'll try to keep this releatively brief, but here's the story:

I had scored a Saturday job in the paper's sports department starting July of 1976, and since I was way more into rock music than sports, I tried--ultimately, quite successfully--to worm my way into the entertainment section with a collection of what I'll call "large white lies."

Given that Frampton was the hottest act in the world at the time, riding high on the "Frampton Comes Alive" phenomenon, and given that he was playing a show at Montreal's Place des Nations the following week, I asked the paper's entertainment editor if I could write a piece on the golden-tressed guitarist. Well, I actually asked if I could "adapt it," since it was an article that I had ostensibly written earlier that year for my college newspaper, but was unfortunately never published due to a teacher's strike.

Now, truth is that I hadn't yet ever been to college (as I mentioned, I was only 16 and just out of high school), and had never written anything in my life other than the perfunctory school essays.  

But given the ever-so-slim nod yes by a woman named Rosa Harris, I got to work that night, sat for three hours at the kitchen table in my parents' place, stole some quotes from Circus and Creem magazines, and banged out an acceptable piece--my first ever--on my father's noisy portable typewriter, which found its way into the paper with my byline the following Sunday.

That piece opened doors, established me as a rock 'n' roll critic, led to interviews weeks later with '70s staples like Chris de Burgh, Loggins & Messina and Chicago, and in the fall, at the age of 17, enabled me to replace Rosa as Entertainment Editor.  

Crazy, huh?  I still have the piece framed, and look at it every now and then to remind myself of what a long, strange trip it has mos' def been.

So while I was sitting smack-dab centre at Place Des Arts last week, warmly listening to the tunes that engulfed AM (!) radio and an entire generation back in '76 as Frampton re-created them with perhaps even greater energy three-and-a-half decades later, I couldn't help but sighing and thinking that "Things were so much simpler then."

That's what feel-good nostalgiac music does to you.

But stop those touchy-feelies right now.  Like a drug, the music's effect is pleasant, but unreal.  

Fact is, the music perpetuates a myth, one that's kinda harsh, but ultimately settling:

Things are NEVER simpler.

With deeper reflection that night, I thought back to the way things REALLY were back then.  Despite the Cameron Crowe-like position (remember "Almost Famous"?  That really was my life), I was 16 and filled with the usual high-school, "How do I get rid of this acne?" / "Does Bonnie really like me?" / "What if I flunk Chem Study?" teenage angst.  

Five years later, the subjects changed, but not the worry, the pondering, the insecurity.  And 10 years later, and 20, and well...35 years later.

Now I'm not complaining.  Time has treated me well.  Like everyone else (Oh Christ, here comes that music again...), I've had my share of life's ups and downs.  But such is the power of music that it can erase the rough spots and bumps and let the past remind you of what you are not now.  Despite the tender glow of familiar Frampton, THESE are the good old days...not then.

So here's what I learned this week:

It's wonderful to reminisce.  But don't be blinded or lulled into a false sense of time-travel envy because of it.  Time heals all wounds, and time wounds all heels, but it doesn't change the fact that things then were the same as things are now...and vice versa.

People often say to me: "It's so much harder being a teenager today."  No way.  It's hard being a teenager period.  In any era.  Read David Hadju's brilliant "The 10-Cent Plague" for a fascinating look at teendom in the '50s, when comic books were the equivalent of today's Internet.  Or see the musical "Spring Awakening" for the late 19th Century version of teen tumult.

It also ain't easy being a 30-something. Or middle-aged.  Or golden aged.  Or whatever-aged.

It ain't easy. But it ain't that bad either if you just live for the moment and enjoy today.  Or (oy, more music!) don't look back.

And when you celebrate a milestone by revisiting your point of showbiz inception with the same guy who took you there 35 years ago, sit back and enjoy the ride...instead of spending the evening pondering your lesson-of-the-week.

What I Learned This Week: The Perils of Being Uh...You Know...Vague

So I'm flying to Washington last Thursday and the flight is delayed by 30 minutes.  No big deal. 

Reason being touted: "A technical issue that the maintenance crew is working on."

I board the plane, and the flight attendant takes to the mic to apologize for the delay. 

"There was a problem and the maintenance staff had to change...something" was her cloudy explanation.

Not long after, the Pilot comes on the P.A. for a repeat mea culpa. 

"There was a problem with a...uh...uh...one of our systems," he explained.  "We changed something in a system."

What started out as the most benign of problems was now brewing up a paranoid witches brew in my head.  What system were they talking about?

• The rudders? 
• The oxygen? 
• The auto-pilot? 
• The fuel indicators? 
• The toilet flush?

Rationally, I knew it couldn't be overly drastic, or we wouldn't have taken off.  Uh...I think.

But irrationally, well...I'm sure my head wasn't the only domain of doubt on the plane. I couldn't help but ponder:

What was the benefit of being vague?

Why let minds wander over a bumpy minefield? 

Where was the win in not telling us exactly what was wrong?

I'm sure that whatever was indeed wrong was way less dangerous than what anyone was thinking.  Especialy me.

So the lesson of the week is that, with all due respect to Jack Nicholson's famous rant in "A Few Good Men," we CAN handle the truth.

Getting-to-the-point clarity saves time, answers questions and calms fears.

Ambiguity wastes time, generates questions and stirs up the dark unknown.

And this isn't just on in-flight announcements.  This works in every form of inter-personal relationships, from colleague-to-colleague, from parent-to-child, from spouse-to-spouse.

Be clear, say what is...and deal with the consequences now.

Smoke-and-mirror it...and deal with even more consequences for a long, long time to come.

(P.S.  I am writing this at the airport waiting for my flight back home.  I just heard an announcement for the delay of a Jet Blue flight to Boston.  The reason?  "Weather."  Oh, that explains it...)

What I Learned This Week: Let 'Em See You Sweat

Back in 1984, the Gillette Company lunched a series of commercials for its "Dry Idea" antiperspirant.  The ads featured notables such as fashion designer Donna Karan, actress Lauren Hutton and comedian Elayne Boosler, and were all capped off with the bold tag-line "Never Let Them See You Sweat." Take a look:

But that was 1984.

A little over a quarter-century later, I think the opposite holds true.  Not only do I think that indeed, you should "Let 'Em See You Sweat," I think you wear your perspiration with pride.

I learned this lesson double-barreled over the weekend in Chicago, where I was attending our Just For Laughs event there. 

Part (A) of this lesson...

...was the difference between two shows I saw at The Vic Theater. 

On Friday, Jeffrey Ross, the unkempt teddy bear known as The Roastmaster General tanks to his raucous appearances on the Comedy central Roast series, performed his solo how there.  The following night, the much beloved Seth Myers of SNL Weekend Update fame (not to mention his unforgettable, show-stopping stint keynoting this year's White House Correspondents' Dinner) did the same.

Myers was smooth, personable and polished; quite the impressive feat given that stand-up is not his mother tongue, so to speak. At then end of his hour-long set, there was nary a hair out of place.  He was fresh, funny and suave.

Ross, on the other hand, was the visual equivalent of Filene's Basement after a bridal clearance sale.  His wild hair was wet-tipped, his shirt pulled from his pants and rumpled (his jacket came off about 10 minutes into the show and was tossed randomly over a chair).  He wasn't nervous, but he was visibly working it (especially when he brought a dozen or so audience members for a speed roast on stage), and it was evident.

I saw both shows and loved both of 'em.  But there was something different about Jeff's performance vs. Seth's. 

Seth made it look easy.  Jeff made it look hard.  And although both got standing ovations, I'd dare to say that Jeff's was more heartfelt, driven by appreciation in addition to TV recognition.

So, now for Part (B)...

I worked out twice at the hotel gym with my TRX RipTrainer while in Chicago.  Following each workout, I took a pre-shower detour into our production office for a post-workout treat (a sample-size Twix bar, for a sugar fix/sin/reward).

The first time, I wore a black long-sleeved top.  Not a lot was said; a few "You've been in the gym?"s but that's about it.  I was basically anonymous.

The second time, I wore a grey long-sleeved top.  The sweat showed through like a grotesque, Rorschach blot-like stain.  The reaction was remarkably different.

"Oh my God, you must've had one hell of a workout!" was the basic tenet.  Here, check me out in this G-rated, Anthony Weiner-esque, un-retouched photo at my Saturday workout:

There's a fundamental reason why grey is the best-selling color of workout and yoga wear--sweat shows through it blatantly.

You wear grey to the gym, you show the results loudly and with pride.

There's no shame in sweating. 

Better still, there's a benefit in letting it show.

Because Sweat Sells.

Houdini understood, and exploited, this over a century ago.  The master of escape could break his bonds in seconds.  But where's the win there?  By making it look hard, he heightened the tension, and exponentially cranked up the appreciation once he made his appearance, free of all encumbrances. (Under cover of tarps or crates, he often relaxed with a newspaper while his audiences were hyperventilating, hoping and often praying for his safe re-appearance.)

There's something about today's digital society--and I can't put my finger on exactly what, but go with me nonetheless on this--that rewards those who are liberal in exhibiting effort, and better yet, in not hiding the inevitable kicks in the pants they bear the brunt of.  Steve Jobs' legend is almost deified due to his ongoing battle with pancreatic cancer. And Donald Trump is almost universally reviled because of his seeming sense of entitlement.

Nobody likes the guy who makes it look effortless, too easy.  In business, as in sport, the grunting, grimacing and pouring of perspiration is a sign of strength, not weakness.

So even if it's easy, find a way to make it look a bit harder.

Go ahead.

Forget the Dry Idea.

Let 'em see you sweat.

Despite the stains and smell, your audience, your customers, your teammates, employees or bosses will embrace you tighter because of it.

What I Learned This Week: Convince 'Em, Convert 'Em or Kill 'Em

Remember when this blog used to be a happy, pleasant place where birds chirped and bunnies frolicked?

Hold that thought, 'cuz here cometh yet another violent lesson in leadership.

At the risk of sounding like a Spanish Inquisitioner, to run an effective organization, sometimes you may need to act like one.

I read Adam Lashinsky's excellent and revealing piece about Steve Jobs and Apple in Fortune a couple of weeks ago, and what really stuck with me is that organziational greatness comes only with two factors:

1--A clear, dynamic vision

2--Complete buy-in to it

There's no place in greatness for dissent. 

Well, let me be a bit more precise. 

There IS room for dissent, but only WITHIN the vision, not AGAINST it.

And to maintain this, one needs 100% commitment to said vision. You can argue on how to make it better, but you've got to believe in it.  And you may not believe in it 100%, but you've got to believe in it enough to fight for it.

You either buy in, or check out.

Unfortunately, most people won't merely check out of they don't buy in.

And that's when the rough stuff has to start.

It's the same in business as it is in sport--a team needs one goal, one vision, one plan. You can't play two games, with competing game plans, at once.

Those who are convinced get on board easy. For those who aren't, leaders are left with two choices. 

First, you try to:

Convert them.

And if the art of gentle persuasion doesn't work, you're left with only one choice:

Eliminate them.

I know these ain't exactly Sunday School rules, but success requires unanimous commitment. 

These days, especially.

In this economy, in this digital world, things move hyper-fast.  Infighting reduces the time and energy needed for out-fighting.

In any competitive field, there will always be victims.

But better the battlefield be littered with a few dissenters...than with your entire organization.

That said, I'm off to Chicago this week to take in Just For Laughs' third annual Festival there.

Maybe five days of comedy will teach me a shinier, happier lesson next week.

I hope!

What I Learned This Week: The Stab and The Kiss (and neither is bliss)

Lessons.  Some are pretty and fun.

Others are stripped bare and raw.

Brace yourself.

I learned an important lesson in leadership this past week.

Not about how to lead, not about who to lead...but about two types of people sure to encompass you as you lead.

They are, in no particular order:

• Backstabbers
• Ass-kissers

Both groups, while polar opposites, are dangerous and disproportionately counter-productive.  And while unavoidable, they must be ignored at all costs as their mission in life is to throw you off course, and affect your potential to lead.

Backstabbers are caustic and toxic, and as that ol' O'Jays song went, "they smile in your face." 

Ain't nothing you can do about them except eventually prove them wrong. 

Trouble is, because of their ghost-like omnipresence, leaders may pay too much attention to countering their handiwork, which ranges from mischief and gossip to full-scale sabotage.

Ignore 'em.

Ass-kissers are equally as harmful, but because of their up-front niceties and ego-boosting, are seductive.  Don't buy into it. 

As the old saying goes, "if it seems to good to be true, it probably is."  That goes for you, and me, as well.  We ain't that good. 

Ignore 'em too.

So, what's an aspiring leader to do?

Decide what your course will be, and what you profoundly believe in.

Then follow both.

Yeah, your course and beliefs may not work.  There are no guarantees.  But, at least you'll be following your path, unemcombered by the forks in the road trying to skewer you with their sharpened, poison-tipped tines along the way.

Uh...rough week?

Whatever gave you that idea? ;)

What I Learned This Week: How to Carry On

My long-time friend Aaron Rand left his morningman post at Montreal radio station Q92 on Thursday.

Needless to say, after a 26-year run, saying goodbye on-air was an emotional burden, one which Aaron handled with class and strength.

The last few minutes of said farewell were captured on camera by Steve Faguy, who not only works for the Montreal Gazette but writes one of the best--and best-named--city blogs anywhere.  The seven-minute video is well worth watching; it's touching and fascinating.

And it's also the source of this week's lesson.

At the tail end of Steve's video, at the 6:27 mark to be exact, traffic reporter Natasha Hall has to deliver her final report of a morning that has been an emotional roller coaster to say the least.  She bends, she wavers, but she doesn't break, and her grace under pressure, not to mention a hug from Rand himself, makes for highly-inspired viewing.

I must've watched this 40-second segment 20 times that day. 

Like the British WWII morale-boosting poster pictured above (and explained in greater detail here), Natasha kept calm, and carried on.  And while it won't go down in history as the most lucid sponsor promo in history, she managed to hold on and lay down the money shot--the Mazda commercial tag at the end of her report.  If I were the marketing director of Mazda, I'd play her reading of said tag to all staff everywhere as an example of how to deal with tough times in a tender but tough manner.

Whether it's at work or at home or both, we all have to deal with stuff that pushes us to the brink.  It's never fun, and we usually get through to the other side.  But there's always that one point, that most slender slice between what we have to deal with and how we deal with it, where the path to resolution is set.

We can crumble, fall and/or freak out...then face a rocky road.

Or, like Natasha Hall, we can grit our teeth, not be afraid to show our true colours, get through it and set a smooth pace for the road ahead.

Check her out below.  Then get on with your day. 

Or as Natasha says: "There we go!"

 

What I Learned This Week: Slicing The Presidential Pie

Flying home from TV and live show pitch meetings in Toronto last week, I tucked away all my notes and other stuff I planned to read and used the hour for something different and necessary--pure reflection.

And in those 60 minutes of engine-hum bliss, I asked myself one question:

"What do you do for a living?"

Yeah, I know I'm the President of Just For Laughs Festivals and TV, but what does that mean? 

All Rhetoric and PR and kidding and job description and contract aside, what does a President of this company really do?  What does a President of any company--or country for that matter--HAVE to do?

The answer was three-fold.  As far as I've seen it at Just For Laughs (and at Airborne Mobile, where I spent the last 11 years in a similar position), a President's job is comprised of a triumvirate of tasks:

1--Vision

2--Action

3--Reaction

Vision is the foresight to see what's ahead, and the planning to take advantage of it.

Action encompasses the tactics and movements needed to achieve this vision, which includes everything from motivating the staff to making the most mundane of decisions.

Reaction is the response to the unexpected problems (lots of 'em) and opportunities (not enough of 'em) that arise on a continual basis.

So far, pretty basic stuff.  Three slices of a pie.

My "real" realization was what makes a successful President, and ultimately a successful company...namely the relative sizes of the pie's slices.

Go with me on this.

To me, the "Optimum Slice Distribution" would be 30% Vision, 55% Action and 15% Reaction:

• About one-third of your time would be spent thinking, pondering, learning, questioning, dreaming and planning. 
• About one-sixth would be putting out fires or (better still, but I know the reality) jumping on new opportunities. 
• And about half would be actually carrying out and carrying on. 
  

To me, that would be a responsible use of time, would provide enough intellectual and adrenalinal stimulation, and make the job fun.

To be very frank, I'd say my job today is about 20% Vision (adequate, but not enough), 40% Action (as Springsteen sang "Mama, that's where the fun is") and 40% Reaction (yeah, I know it's a time-based and deadline-based world I live in, but this sector is dangerously over-weighted).

So, I suppose that hour-long contemplative flight may bump up the Vision part to 20.5%.  And it mos' def sparked this week's learning, namely...I gotta take longer flights.

Seriously though, as the rush begins (June and July are the two toughest months of my year), I have to remember that this job ain't an easy one, but at least I know how to make it better....both for me, and my colleagues.

It all depends on how I slice it.

And if I choose to add ice cream ;)

 

What I Learned This Week: Find The Answer, Not The Culprit

The gunshot you heard last Tuesday was the starter's pistol marking the official kick-off press conference of Just For Laughs, 2011. (Click here, too for more.)

The next one you hear may be me plugging one into my head.

All kidding aside (and in no way making light of suicide), the advent of May coincides with, for lack of a better term, the shit hitting the fan at the Festival.  Picture a three-dimensional chess game--where
every little move spawns a seismic domino effect--played out at 500 miles-per-hour and you can get an inkling of my daily existence.

So, when copious amounts of shit hits fan at warp speed, a thing or two might tend to fall through the cracks.  Or to keep the fecal theme going, shit will happen.

What I learned this week is how best to deal with this inevitability.

Two things went very wrong on Friday.  One had to do with a non-approval by a major sponsor of a TV ad campaign as we were ready to deliver the spots to the networks.  The other was a collapse of a very important part of our infrastructure.

In one case--and to protect both the innocent and guilty, I wont say which is which--hours were spent searching for who's responsible; in the other, time was used to find a way out of the problem.

The former case is still active; the latter was put to bed Friday afternoon.  So, the lesson?

Look For The Answer...

Not The Guilty Party 

Somehow, sometime, in every company, in every project, the walls will come tumbling down. 

Dealing with it depends on what you look for.

Look for the culprit, and you'll always be blind.  Finding the guilt party wastes time, energy and worst of all, takes your eye off the ball.

Look for the solution, and you'll see forever.  Finding the answer, while far from easy, is time well-spent.  It's the focal point.  Culpability should not be ignored, but dealt with later...once you've solved the problem.

In business, you're not in a court.

Your immediate response to a problem should not be trying to establish guilt or innocence.

You should be trying to establish a way out of a shitstorm.

Because the next one's waiting for you around the corner.

And with that jolly thought, have you checked out our new line-up?

Buy a few tickets and at least make this all worth my while ;)

What I Learned This Week: You Eat What You Are

Lessons.

Some are long, some are short.

Some are disposable, some are profound.

This week's is a best-case-scenario combo: brief and bombastic.

Thanks to an invite from my friend Michael Cogan at PWC, we were invited to the annual Canada 3.0 Digital Conference in Stratford, Ontario.

Given that I was embroiled in prepping this coming week's Just For Laughs line-up announcement event, I sent Parisa Foster, JFL's sharp, young Director of Digital Marketing. 

Upon her return Thursday, we sat down for a debrief, and I asked her what her #1 learning was.

Despite a two-page, single-spaced, hand-written agenda of notes to discuss, covering everything from immediate action plans to a wide-eyed Utopian vision of our company in three years, Parisa blurted out these five thunderous words:

CULTURE

EATS

STRATEGY

FOR

BREAKFAST

I didn't even ask her which one of the speakers said it; in retrospect I should've, but I was too blown away. In a nutshell, no matter how brilliant, how insightful, how well-funded and well-staffed your plans may be, they can be trumped in a heartbeat by a toxic internal working environment.

Pow! indeed. 

Just think of how important and influencing a statement that is.  After being immersed in two days of non-stop keynotes, breakout sessions and networking events about the digital future, the concept that hits a 20-something, self-professed techie geek the hardest is one of heart and soul.

Think of where you work and how you work.  And consider why it's working...or not working.

You know who you are.

Yes indeed, Culture Eats Strategy For Breakfast.

Worse yet, it Spits It Up At Supper.

Fix yours, or forever be plagued by heartburn. 

And heartache.

What I Learned This Week: Do Unto Yourself

Last week it was my wife.  This week, Pow! post inspiration comes from my elder son Aidan.

He and I were walking to my office last week and passed by a gaggle of assorted candidate campaign posters (we're going through a Federal election today in Canada) cluttering up the lampposts and street lights at the corner of St. Laurent and Sherbrooke.  Just about every one of them was defaced in one way or another (for example, see below).

This is nothing new; goofy crap like this goes on everywhere there's an election (perhaps not in North Korea, but I digress...) but frankly, I've never seen it so consistently prevalent.

"There are a number of reasons I wouldn't go into politics, and perhaps this is a little narcissistic," I told Aidan, "but I don't know if I could stand the thought of my face and name being systematically vandalized like that."

"Well," he replied, "it depends on who's system does the vandalizing."

Then he explained.

"If I were a politician, I would pre-graffiti all my posters.  They wouldn't all say 'This Guy's Great!' or be totally positive; I'd mix up some insults along with the propaganda.  But I'd take the marker out of their hands and put it in mine."

Brilliant.  Subversive.  Hysterical.  And very post-modern.

Go figure that it comes from my offspring...

Scartching the surface, the idea is more profound than at first glance.

It's a cliche, but these days, in the hyper-linked, social-networkized world we live in, everybody can comment on everything everywhere.  There's no more sand in which to hide your head; ostriches are slaughtered.  Don't respond to the torrent of rumours, comments, truths, rants and/or questions about you and you're simultaneously a lame duck and a sitting duck. 

So what did I learn this week?

I discovered a version of The Golden Rule, updated for our times:

"Do unto yourself

before others

do unto you."

And next week, I await inspiration from my son Hayes to complete the family circle ;)

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

(P.S.  The image above comes from a Montreal Gazette initiaive, an online repository of defaced election signs.  Check it out here.)

What I Learned This Week: What Familiarity Breeds

As I write this post, I am in the homestretch of the arduous process of downloading my entire 2000-plus CD collection onto iTunes.  I'm on the "W"s (currently working on the complete Tom Waits catalog) and the end is nigh.

The so-called (hey, he was in the "S's) reason for this ongoing task was to ostensibly re-discover some of the rarely-listened-to music that's been sitting dormant on shelves in my old place and in drawers at my new place. 

But as I load and unload disc after disc, it's the familiar stuff that swings the baton of attraction.  For every Treble Charger "Maybe It's Me"  trying to worm its way into my Sonomax custom Soundcage earbuds, there's a Thin Lizzy "Jailbreak" standing in its way.

So, cut to a conversation about I had over dinner on Wednesday with my wife Lynn and friends Thane Calder (head of the Cloudraker ad agency), Caroline Losson (VP Marketing at dairy giant Natrel) and Dan Wise (entrepreneur and musician extraordinaire).

We were discussing the differences between comedy and music as live performance; the prevailing thought being that when it comes to former, people demand new material, as opposed to the latter, where "play again what I know" is the predominant command.  Or, as my wife put so succinctly and profoundly, twisting an age-old adage:

"When it comes to music, familiarity breeds contentment"

Just think about it.  At a live concert, there's no greater impetus for a trip to the bathroom than the phrase "Now, we'd like to do a couple of tunes from our new album."  The cynical amongst us may even believe that playing new tracks at a concert is a conspiracy designed to drive beer and t-shirt sales.  But I digress...

A few months ago in a post about standing in the rain at a Green Day concert, I compared and contrasted music and comedy, coming to the basic conclusion that music plays in the heart and comedy in the head. Take this a step further and you realize that:

Familiarity is a plus to things that work in the heart...

a minus to things that work in the head

Think about it at a business level. The "heady" tech business demands innovation and novelty.  If each new Apple product announcement doesn't fully and completely tear peoples' heads open with a bang, it's deemed to be a disappointment.  And it ain't just in tech. If the makers of cars, golf clubs, sneakers--I can keep going--don't change their look-and-feel every new product season...they're toast.

On the other hand, look at business leaders. Very heart.  Unless they're scandal-ridden rogues, people like their leaders long-term.  Steve Jobs coughs and Wall Street trembles. 

It goes deeper, and gets paradoxical.  Continuing the Apple analogy, people love the company ("Stay the course!  Steve is eternal!") but are vicious with its offspring ("What?  No new iPhone before September?  That's an outrage!").

So where the hell am I going with this?  This is what all this musical/comedy, head/heart rambling taught me this week:

You can keep giving people everything that they want but if you don't change things up, you'll never grow.  A band that keeps playing the same tunes over and over again is merely a cover band, even if they're playing their own music.

On the other hand, you can't ignore the emotional connection that comes with the familiar. 

But there's a fine line where familiarity's contentment morphs into contempt.  What to do?  My suggestion--a solid hug combined with a firm shake. 

Now to apply it as Just For Laughs makes its major programming and thematic announcements on May 10.

And with that, the Warren Zevon disc pops out of the iMac, and ZZ Top makes its way in... 

Where's that Treble Charger?

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

(P.S. Found the great image atop this post here.)

What I Learned This Week: Kill Your Clients, Nurture Your Partners

Amongst 5,348 other tasks, one of the jobs I have as President of Just For Laughs is being trotted out to meet the people we do business with.  Be they sponsors, different levels of government or our media associates, they all want to meet "the new guy" (and hope he sticks around longer than "the old guy").

So last week, I met with some executives from the TVA network, who broadcast a whopping minimum of 16 hours of Juste Pour Rire content, and have been doing so for a number of years. After hearing my pitch about change, new direction, etc., France Lauziere, the network's VP Programming spoke up.

"This is all wonderful," she said softly.  "But the most important change you can make is ensure that we're treated like a partner, not a client."

There are very few "no brainers" in business, but this is one. A big one.

When I was at Airborne, a term I despised (albeit common terminology in the tech biz) was a "vendor."  A "vendor" was someone we turned to for a piece of technology or content that was crucial for the well-being of the overall project we were working on. 

Without them, we were sunk (or at least stuck doing it ourselves), but the descriptive term made them sound like some sort of common corporate whore, plying their stuff to whatever corporate john wanted to purchase it.  I was never overly comfortable "buying" from a "vendor."

So cut back to the TVA meeting.  What France (and colleagues Pierre Taschereau and Isabelle Roy) stressed was that moving ahead meant moving together.  Sounds like a cliche, but these days in every biz--particularly the media biz--not moving together means not moving at all.

Partners consult, look for ways to make one-plus-one equal four, and head off conflict early.

Clients make sales, look for ways to make the most money possible, and often clash when things are at deadline and cost more to fix...if they are fixable at all.

The TVA meeting reminded me of a situation I lived through during my first go around at Just For Laughs.  The year was 1989, the "client" was CBC, and I was producing a series of stand-up comedy specials for 'em. 

After delivering the six half-hour shows, the exec in charge, a no-nonsense woman named Carol Reynolds, requested a number of significant changes.  Given that the shows had already been produced, going back and changing them would be time-consuming and costly, so I fought back on every change, performer-by-performer, joke-by-joke.

I'm proud to announce that I won every battle.

But when the show's contract came up for renewal in 1990, Carol said "I don't think so."

She had won the war.

Gulp.

To make a long and--believe me--very painful story short, a change in management at CBC the following year opened the door for us again.  And the vow I took with the new exec team of George Anthony and Ed Robinson was that we'd be partners from Day One. 

From that point on, every major decision would be discussed, and agreed upon, up front.  If there was to be a battle, it would be settled then-and-there, not later-and-too-late. 

From the selection of performers long before they hit our stages, to nightly reviews of them after their performance, we walked down the production path together.  It made for a decade of peace, a great working relationship, and (most importantly) some high-rated, award-winning shows.

So, this week's learning?

Nobody who "buys" likes to be treated like a "client."  A client is faceless, short-term, interchangeable and ultimately disposable. That's a one-way relationship, no matter what level, no matter what business. 

A partner is a bond.  A partnership an inter-dependable, long-term, two-way-or-more relationship.  It makes it easier to succeed and harder to secede.

It's the way we worked with Twist Image and Favequest to launch our new website.  (Read the release for this quote: "These guys I knew for sure would never let me down.")

It's the way we'll work with TVA.  And CBC, CTV, Comedy Network, OMNI and HBO Canada this year...and for years to come.

And it's the only way to treat, and be treated by, people you do any sort of business with.

What ELSE I Learned This Week: The Refreshing Power of Blurting Out The Truth

Sometimes, even I can't believe I get away with this stuff:  http://bit.ly/fxuCI3 

From Marketing.ca.  Props to Chris Powell for quoting me verbatim.

And despite the well-deserved credit to Twist Image and JFL's Parisa Foster, a lot of the acclaim should also go to Allan Isfan and the team over at Favequest.  Without them we're nothing.

HaHaHa indeed!

What I Learned This Week: The Three You Need (and The One Who Shows Up Anyway)

It's been a week of getting things done and not getting things done at Just For Laughs.  And here's what I noticed as I watched both:

For a project, any project, to be successful, it needs three very distinct people (or groups of people) to pull it off:

1) Conceivers

2) Developers

3) Deliverers 

 

Conceivers are the ones that come up with the root idea, the seed that is planted.  Be it the instant Eureka moment or the realizaton after months of reflection, it's where the party starts.  But it's just that--only the beginning.

Developers are those who bring the seed to life.  They layer ideas on top of the core, solidify the vision but more importantly, lay out the mission ahead.

Deliverers?  These are the people that ship, that carry out the plan, that ensure that what once just a glint in someone's eye comes to fruition.

The problem--make that the stark reality--is that it's just about impossible to be good, even competent, at all three.

Two out of three? Never mind "aint bad," Meatloaf; that's a superstar. Jeez, even to be good at one is tough.

But that's our challenge--find who's good, and at which one, and put 'em together once you do. Succeed at that, then sit back and enjoy the ride.

Unfortunately there's another challenge--and that's dealing with the "someone else" who always seems to pop up in the mix:

The critic.

Hey, this ain't bridge; we don't need a fourth. But invited or not, the critic is always there to rear his or her ugly head.

Now, in the rare case of an insightful, constructive differing viewpoint, the critic can be a valuable ally and add-on to a project. But hey, we weren't born yesterday. Most of the time, the critic is a negative pain-in-the-ass, trying to scuttle, not settle, the activity.

So it's not enough just to conceive, develop or deliver--you gotta learn how to do so under attack. Or, as I put it to my friend Jeff Baikowitz when he asked me to describe my job at Just For Laughs:

"It's like trying to raise a 1,000 pound barbell over your head...while someone's kicking you in the shins."

Let' go back to the April Serious Day concept I discussed last week. I came up with the basic idea. David Heurtel and a slew of others added to, refined and re-directed it. Francois Blanchard, Vivien Gaumand and Sylvia DeFrietas delivered, and led the team that delivered, it. And yes, there wasn't 100% buy-in; we had to deal with doubters as well.

So what I learned this week was simple; go back to the top of this post if you wanna take it in again.

But more importantly, here's what you need to learn:

Which one of "The Three" are you?

(Frightening orchestral music goes here)

Or...are you (gasp!) "The Fourth"?

What I Learned This Week: The Big Diff Between "Do" and "Want To Do"

  Friday, April 1st was a big day for us at Just For Laughs. For three reasons.

1) Believing that we should "own" April Fools Day, we twisted the concept and came up with April Serious Day, a new "national holiday."  (Read the earth-shattering concept here.) 

To launch and celebrate it, we offered 1569 tickets to some of our biggest shows for the insane price of "pay what you want."  We also topped it of by selling $10-bills for five bucks. 

Why?  Because we can, because we wanted to offer a gift to our fans, and create, for lack of a better term, a "happening."

The result was a mofo smashing success.  Over 1,000 people lined up for a full city block for over four hours.  We had a live radio broadcast, live TV coverage and the implication of seven of our biggest stars. We had shout-out Tweets of gratitude like:

"A huge thank you for this incredible initiative!  I don't have the financial means to buy show tickets and I adore Stephane Rousseau (one of our stars) .  Thanks to you, I can now see him live!"

But most importantly, the event galvanized our staff.  What started out as a small idea blossomed into a huge operation, led by newbies like Vivien Gaumand and Sylvia DeFrietas, and carried through from start (laying down 200 huge stickers in a public passageway) to finish (cleaning up the remnants of 2,000 green balloons) by volunteer members of the JFL staff.

2) We launched our third annual Chicago Festival.  And with a huge bang.  About 5,000 tickets sold in less than a day.  Robbie Praw and Christine Melko-Ross delivered a phenomenal programming line-up that has put us WAY ahead of schedule sales-wise. 

3) And perhaps most importantly, we launched our new website at hahaha.com.  This project, while the masterful handiwork of teams from TwistImage and Favequest, was led by 26-year-old Parisa Foster, who worked with me back in the Airborne Mobile days. 

Parisa joined Just For Laughs on November 1.  Five months later, basically starting from scratch, she delivered a massive overhaul on what was a much-maligned company web presence.  The difference in operation, spirit and look-and-feel is staggering.

Quite the day, wouldn't you say?

All these projects were led by people overflowing with passion...almost desperate passion. 

• Sylvia came from our ticketing department and has been in her new job for just a couple of months. 
• Vivien is from France and on contract. 
• Christine and Robbie, while industry vets, breathed new life into something that could've teetered the other way. 
• And the sum total of all websites delivered by Parisa, before the much-needed and crucial makeover of hahaha.com, was the round number of zero.

So what's the learn here?  When looking to hire, when looking for leaders, when looking for people to depend on, I've always believed and said loudly:

Give me the heart; the head will follow.

Experience is a crutch, and sometimes a false hope.  What you've done in the past is less important than what you're gonna do now.  So taken one step further, this is the big lesson of the week, font-size increased for emphasis and emblazonment on your brain:

You can teach people to do things...

but you can't teach them to want to do things.

The "want to" has to come from them.

All I can do is give them the opportunity.

And after a day of three big wins, I'm sure happy I did.

What I Learned This Week: Your Five-Year Plan is A Huge Lie

Last week, while discussing the need for a five-year plan at Just For Laughs, I recalled something I learned while doing my BComm at McGill, when one of my profs explained the three foolproof steps to putting together a solid business plan. 

Per him, all you needed to know is:

1. Where You Are Now

2. Where You Want To Be

3. How You're Going To Get There

Ah, so elementary!  Let's review it point-by point:

1. Unless you are severely location-challenged, this is the easiest step.  Having trouble?  Get a GPS and move on.

2. In business, this is called "vision." Without it, you'll spend your life following.  Or worse.

3. THIS is the tough part.  And which is why I believe that every five-year plan is a big, fat, juicy lie.

And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

A five-year plan is an intellectual exercise.  It requires you to think, to project, to postulate.  (I'm actually a big fan of business plans as this post from--gasp!!--four years ago bears witness.)

But as a doctrine, even as a mere document, a five-year-plan is full of crap.  Mostly because of step 3.  Here's the problem (and perhaps the smartest thing I've said here all year, so pay attention):

Five years ain't what it used to be.  It's the ultimate paradox; time moves faster than ever, and because of that, as an interval, a half-decade a helluva long stretch. 

Five years ago, there were no iPhones, no iPads, Facebook was in its infancy, Twitter had just made its debut...you get my drift. 

So what's gonna happen in five years from today?  We don't even know what's gonna happen tomorrow.  Right now, as we speak, thousands of businesses are adapting their five year plans because of the catastrophic situation in Japan.  As earthquake-prepared as the country was, nobody saw this coming the way that it did.

I could go on for hours, but I think you get my point; find me a company that had "social networking" as part of its core strategy five years ago and I'll show you a history revisionist.  Find me one without it today and I'll show you an also-ran.

And so it goes.

Nobody knows "how they're gonna get there."  (Frankly, nobody actually knows "if" they're gonna get there, but I digress...)  The winners understand this, and build plans that allow for flexibility, adaptation, and the guts to cut bait and shift direction drastically as things change ('cuz trust me, they will).  The losers build a golden roadmap idol, follow it religiously, and pin the blame on others when things go awry ('cuz trust me, they will).

So, all this leads us to the lesson-of-the-week, which breaks down into three parts:

1. "Where" is easy; "How" is hard.

2. You may know "Where" now, but you'll only learn "How" over time.

3. There is no one "How"; it's ephemeral and mystical and changes over time. 

Understanding this, I suppose all I have to figure out now is..."Why?"

What I Learned This Week: The Curse of Scotch Tape

It was a gorgeous spring weekend, and I spent most of it walking downtown... which is why today I come to you with the confession that I hate Scotch Tape.

Yes, a strange confession.  But not without justifiable explanation.

In countless store windows, I saw Scotch Tape support crookedly-hung, crudely-made messages of "We're closed for inventory," "Washrooms for customers only," "Please ensure door shuts tightly behind you" and the like. 

In restaurants, I saw Scotch Tape repair ragged and battered menus, and affix daily specials to others in slightly better condition.

In elevators, I saw Scotch Tape cover up a hole where a basement button used to be, and trace the crack in a mirror in an effort to keep it from cracking even more (and from passengers to slice their fingers, I suppose).

What's worst of all, on my way into the office this morning, I saw Scotch Taped signs all over the front door windows of our now-defunct museum building next door.  Oh the horror, the horror...

In a nutshell, and with all due respect to the 3M Corporation, I think Scotch Tape sends an awful message.  It's inelegant and used with reckless abandon.  It improves nothing.

Frankly, when you see Scotch Tape on just about anything, you know that something's gone wrong.  Even worse, it usually means things have passed the point of no return.

Now I know that everything can't always be perfect and pristine, and that fixing things is part of the creative process. 

But the way I see it, when Scotch Tape is used as a repair tool (or as a means of presentation or communication), what's really being said is that at best, "Things are beyond the state of repair," or at worst, "Hey, we just don't give a shit anymore."

On a literal basis, Scotch Tape (as well as its brethren Masking Tape and Duct Tape) may be an eyesore and the embodiment of throwing in the towel, but figuratively, the message is even sadder.

In other words, I know of too many people and too many businesses who use Scotch Tape metaphorically. "It costs too much," or "It takes too much time," or "I don't have enough energy to change things the way they should be going, so I'll cover up the problem with some Scotch Tape (which, being transparent, makes this even more pitiful) and hope it holds until somebody else is responsible."

There's always a better way. Signs can be hung a myriad of less obtrusive, more graceful and eye-pleasing ways.  Menus can be replaced. So can elevator buttons, glass and mirrors...and people who are reluctant to do things better and more imaginatively.

So, the lesson-du-week:  if you're relying on Scotch Tape, you've probably already lost your grip on things. 

What I Learned This Week: The Sorry State Of Intention

What's my intention with this post?

Well, I want you to read it.  Hopefully, it will strike a chord with you.  Maybe even enough of a chord that you'll choose to share it with others via Facebook or Twitter or whatever.

That's what I intend. 

I've stated my goal, and now it's up to you, and the stars above, to decide if I reach it.

If I do, mission accomplished.

If I don't, life goes on. Chalk up another failure and move onto the next project.

But let's say something unexpected happens.  Let's say this post ends up pissing people off, opens up a can of worms, sparks international protests and unlocks previously well-hidden secrets. Well, that may not have been my intention, but if I have any guts at all, I'll have to accept responsibility and deal with the consequences of this rogue posting.

Alright...here's where all this is coming from. 

Aside from the heart-wrenching situation in Japan, the big news in my hometown this week was the cruel hit laid down on Montreal Canadiens forward Max Pacioretty by Boston Bruins behemoth defenceman Zdeno Chara.  If you haven't seen it, check out the photo below or the video here:

The end result: a massive concussion and broken neck for Pacioretty, and nothing at all--no fine, no suspension--for Chara.

But here's what really bothers me.  Interviewed after the game, not only did Chara try to pin some of the blame on the victim (saying that Pacioretty "jumped up" into the glass partition), but he waived all responsibility and consequences with this "get out of jail free" blanket statement:

"That wasn't my intention...to push him into the post."

Now I can believe Chara.  He's not known for being a dirty player, and you've gotta be one sick puppy to truly want to cut an opponent's head in half (which is what a face-first collision with a stanchion can do). 

My point is that saying it "wasn't my intention" isn't enough.

So, a bit of a rant now.  Here's what I've been noticing lately as I claw my way back into showbiz full-time:

1) People (okay, not all but a lot) are reticent to state their intentions up front.  Doing so sets an expectation, a "black/white" goal that they can be called on, and measured against.  Not clearly stating intentions makes things murky and grey, and allows for avoidance or, even worse, dismissal.

2) Even if and when people do state their intentions, if things go awry, they fall back on the Chara-ified cop-out of "well, that's not what I meant to do" without being accountable for the new state of affairs.

It's all too easy.  Stay nebulous up front, and cop a plea of denial/ignorance/oopsie on the back.  Deny intent and you're covered by a cloak of immunity.

No no no.  That's not business.  That's not life.

That's for cowards.

So what did I learn this week?

Stand in the fire, godammit.