Procrastination
Posted on February 10, 2009 Written by 2 Comments
Rearview Mirror
Posted on January 16, 2009 Written by 1 Comment
I started “blogging” a little over five years ago. I was leaving the daily grind of television news, and didn’t want to lose my chops as a writer. I also needed to process some of the angst and trepidation that comes from a career shift, particularly for a person that many assumed would die in a television studio, conveniently just after signing off.
This is the first piece I posted, and it was intentionally vague. I was expressing notions and feelings and impressions, and I wanted it to be as relevant to the future me as it was to the present me. I don’t read it very often, but it still seems to hold some value. I also had to be careful, as I was trying to preserve my anonymity online.
I reprint the piece here, and over the next week or so may republish a few others. Especially the ones with insights into the state of communications and broadcasting, just to see how they measure up to today’s reality.
Smacking the Ship
There’s an awful lot of work that goes into building a boat. Most people who care about sailing, and have the time, also have the disposable income to just lay out the cash and buy one.
Who builds boats these days, anyway?
Those trapped on islands.
Desperation breeds ingenuity, resolve, and all of those other positive character attributes that boy scouts require, since the organization doesn’t offer ship-building merit badges.
Badges — we don’t need no stinking badges. Just give me some tools, or some sharp rocks to make rudimentary tools, and let me chip and chop some bamboo and coconut trees. If Gilligan can make a raft, I can make one with shade. I’ll lash the posts together, boil my own rosin, and make this sucker seaworthy.
So. Why am I so crazy?
Turns out, there’s boatload after boatload of people trying to get onto my island. So many people, eager for their day in the sun, and ready for the life of splendor and luxury that goes with it. It’s only after a four-year cruise they find out it’s a one-way trip, and the locals pay you with sand.
Sand. Nothing but ground quartz. If there was a way to heat it up, you could make some glass, or maybe a mirror. Then all of the self-made refugees on my island might figure out what they really look like, instead of relying on their own absorbed self-images.
Poor kids. They spent so much time trying to beach themselves, they can’t bring themselves to ask whether they should be trying to go home, or someplace more fulfilling. Because island life is hard. You can only live for so long on cocounts and weed salad. And Tom Hanks made spear-fishing look easy.
The recent arrivals marvel at my survival skills, but I dare not show them the boat I am building. I’m not worried about anyone taking it for a spin — It’s just easier to deal with the rest of the lost if you don’t remind them how lost they are. They just get angry at you.
Building a boat isn’t easy — and it’s even harder when you have to do it in quiet.
The key is concentrating on the boat. You can’t look out at the waves, because there’s another fear that grips you. The fear your boat somehow won’t handle those waves. The fear you’ll find little to eat and less to drink out there than you’ve got right here. The fear the others will laugh at you when you float back to shore, in your red shirt and white Gilligan hat.
I made up my mind that I was going, but hadn’t put a when on that plan.
The siren did that for me.
Now, I really was worried about my boat, because the siren called my name before I was ready. At least, before I thought I was ready. All those fears, all those insecurities, all those doubts… you know what the hardest part was?
Smacking the ship.
Because when you do, you have to give the craft a name. It becomes a relationship. It becomes personal. If it fails, you’ve failed.
Don’t ask me how, but I wound up smacking my ship anyway. And I launched. And I’m off. And I’m relieved. And I can’t thank the siren enough.
I’ve still got a little owing to do.
I’ve still got a little rowing to do.
I’ve still got a little growing to do.
But at least I’m off the island.
Calling John Goldman
Posted on January 14, 2009 Written by 14 Comments
Let’s talk about identity for a little bit.
Do you know me? And if the answer is yes, let’s ask how you know me.
- Do you know where I live?
- Have we shared a meal?
- Have we talked on the phone?
- Have we swapped e-mails?
- Have you followed me on Twitter enough to know when I am joking?
- Did we go to school together?
- Are you family?
- Did I play a part in your wedding?
- Do you know my passwords?
There are many degrees of knowledge, but when you get right down to it there are big cracks in the picture. Psychologically, we want to gloss over them because it’s uncomfortable to be with a stranger.
- So we swapped an e-mail. Anyone can spoof an address that looks legit.
- So we talked on the phone. Whose voice was that again?
- Twitter? Good luck.
- We went to school together? Think again.
Goldman’s Sacked
Enter John Goldman. John is about as off-the-grid as you can get. There are faint traces of him in my first high school yearbook: a picture here or there, and never any decent shot of his face. Some faculty members at Tuscaloosa County High School were quite worried when he didn’t show up for the 1984 graduation rehearsal. He never picked up his cap, gown, or any of his supplies.
John Goldman didn’t walk with his classmates. He couldn’t, because he was a creature of a total fabrication. Members of the yearbook staff made him out of whole cloth. (Full disclosure: I was not on the staff, but know the mastermind and those intimately involved.) It was a germ of a joke that sprouted legs, joined civic clubs, and failed to pick up its graduation paraphernalia. It was a deception and a conspiracy guided by an unusually light touch, and lasted longer than by rights it should if not for the discipline of those involved to keep the joke on the down-low.
It was identity theft, without an identity.
Circles and Rings
Which brings me to today.
I have several circles of friends in my Facebook. There is my high school crowd from Alabama. There’s my junior high crowd from Idaho (which has graciously granted me dual citizenship, if my alma mater once again forgets to invite me to a reunion.) There is a clique of former coworkers in Red Cross, my brothers and sisters in Kung Fu, and various communicators and marketers I’ve been privileged to connect with on various projects or to brainstorm. And there’s family.
These groups, these subtribes, are not created equal. Some know me as Ike, some know me as Isaac. Some have seen me cry, some have seen me bleed. Some have been over to my house for holidays, and some have been able to jump into a conversation with me as though 25 years had not flown by.
Some don’t know which foods I hate, nor which teams I root for, nor which movies I will never watch no matter the offered bounty. Some have no clue I grew up in Idaho, and many of them might have nominated me as least-likely to ever teach a martial art. It’s a good thing we’ve got profiles online to help us fill in the cracks, right?
Faceless Book
Unfortunately, we’ve now got these online profiles that help other people fill in the cracks.
Case in point: I have two friends on Facebook that I have worked with in the past. I worked with them in very different capacities on stories and projects years ago. As it happens, they are both affiliated with the same Bible college. Which means now my “People You May Know” box is filled with people that they know, and there is an assumption that I do as well. In my case, this is merely an annoyance.
Second case: Half of the graduating class in Idaho went to a different junior high, so I really never knew them at all. Seeing people with 31 mutual friends might be a strong indication that this indeed is one of my classmates, and with so many women using married names it can be really difficult to keep up. I find myself asking some rather rude questions, just to ensure I’m not adding a complete stranger and granting access to my private information. (Not that there’s anything salacious or dangerous there, but you see where this is headed…)
Which got me to thinking: What if John Goldman started friending people from the Tuscaloosa County High class of 1984? How many would add him? After all, he is in the yearbook, right?
And how many would add him after three mutual friends showed up? What if it were five? 12? 21?
The vast majority of online theft is not hardcore math or data-hacking. It’s human hacking. It’s gaining human trust, and abusing that trust to trick us into handing over the keys. The numbers game of social networking has made it even easier to exploit, because now you don’t need to scam but a couple of people to see the rest start to tumble like dominos. The inherent peer pressure, combined with the desire to not admit that you might have rudely “forgotten” someone can be a powerful motivation toward a single click of the mouse.
As the threshold of “friendship” continues to degrade, mostly through the abuse and dilution of the term by social networks, we need to be smarter about how we connect. We now compile vast banks of data with little regard to who might see it. We pretend like we’re surrounded by a wall of “friends,” but increasingly there are cracks in that perimeter, the banks are breached.
And even if Willie Sutton didn’t really say it, the banks will be targets because that’s where the money is.
Goals
Posted on January 13, 2009 Written by 5 Comments
Dear Isaac:
Posted on January 8, 2009 Written by 4 Comments
Dave Dix, over on Facebook, asked me the following:
So, here was my answer.
Dear Isaac:
My name is Ike. I am you in the future. (Don’t be alarmed when the new boss asks you to change your name. I promise you won’t lose your identity. And it will make it easier to know your friends when they call.)
Boy, you’re in for some big surprises, and I’m not going to spoil them for you. Other than to tell you that you made it to at least 39-1/2, which statistically your arrogant math-brain already knew. (Don’t try anything stupid to test fate, though.)
Here’s my advice to you, young whipper-snapper:
- Don’t get stuck in ruts. You have an amazing ability to find peace and comfort where others find chaos. You “figure out the rules” and adapt faster than anyone I know. So quit squatting and take a couple more leaps.
- Don’t be stupid. I said a COUPLE more leaps. You also will find you have a knack for jumping when the time is right and grabbing hold of good opportunities. Ike missed a couple along the way, but not too many. Go with your gut and thrive.
- Pay more attention to family stuff. You have an interesting family with a lot of history. Spend more time with the older relatives you have now, and for God’s sake start recording some of their anecdotes and experiences. I’ll thank me when you become me, if that makes any sense.
- Be a better chronicler of your own experiences. I can’t tell you how or why, but you’ll be in a position to bring all of those stories together under one roof — and you can affect a lot of people be sharing them in ways that resonate with where they are now in life. Don’t forget them. Especially that train story…
- Start now on writing short. So you won’t have to split advice in multiple wall posts, or Tweets. Don’t ask.
- Oh, and in a few years, there will be this Google thing. 10 years from now when you’re 35, there’s going to be an IPO of $85. Snap it up, it’s a steal. Sell at $500.
Freedom, Security, and Dollars
Posted on November 26, 2008 Written by Leave a Comment
Another day, another dollar. A day late, a dollar short. Dollars to doughnuts.
A dollar is a unit in flux, but it’s a unit that represents our time, effort, and attention.
How much would you pay for a new car? WAIT! Before you answer, how would you rather pay for a new car?
- Clean 150,000 garbage cans
- Mow 1,000 acres of lawn
- Sew 100,000 buttons by hand
- Wash 75,000 dishes
Those were chosen completely at random, and on purpose. There is no attempt at equivalence here, there may be one of the above that is much easier for you to attain. And that’s the way it’s supposed to work. Fortunately, we live in a society where there is a common medium of currency, which makes the comparisons easier. Much easier than when we had to barter for goods.
Trade Talks
Life in a “five cows for an acre” society is not nearly as efficient. When there is a common ground, a coin of the realm, trade gets streamlined. You don’t waste valuable time (another commodity) choosing how to pay or what means of compensation you’ll accept. You do business, and you move on. In societies that lack stable currency, you’ll see underground markets emerge swiftly to fill the need. Prisons are full of people who’ve learned how to barter. So are nations with economic and military strife. Many look down on such situations as being uncivilized, but they may put their participants even closer to civility than we realize.
Dollars are abstract things, but when we become so familiar with them they take on very non-abstract qualities.
- Dollars can be counted
- Dollars can be measured
- Dollars can be compared over time
- Dollars can sit idle in my pocket
- Dollars can be buried
- Dollars can be put to work
- Dollars can be wasted
Most importantly, dollars can become so central to our thoughts and conversations that they get in the way of how we might compare other abstract notions — and once we have a strong vested interest in considering.
Freedom and Security
Money isn’t everything, and is not the measure of everything. Take Freedom and Security, for example. In an ideal world, we max out on both. But we don’t live in an ideal world, and that’s why we sometimes have to trade in one to “purchase” the other. Don’t want people to threaten or harm you? Then enact and enforce laws that infringe on the freedom of others to harm. Want to feel the freedom of riding without a helmet or a seatbelt. Enjoy it, knowing you have diminished your security by a very vague but very real amount.
Why did I start talking about dollars? Because in a world where there is always a medium of exchange, we don’t do a very good job calculating the exchange at face value. How much is Freedom worth? How much is Security worth? And how do we strike the best balance?
It’s easy to say that we ought “shop” for Security the same way we shop for Shoes. Look for a good fit, and shop around for the best value. After all, you’re going to do a lot of walking in them. Yet how often have we bought into a line of rhetoric or argument that overemphasizes one part of the balance? And how often do we ignore real tangible threats in proportion to bizarre and rare ones that enjoy news coverage?
Many of the contentious political issues of the day fall under the Freedom vs. Security paradigm.
- Social Security
- Health Care
- Tax Rates
- Homeland Security
- Torture
- Gitmo
- Patriot Act
Without really verbalizing it, most of the people who argue passionately are effectively saying the same thing: (issue) is/isn’t a good deal. We’re giving away too much A to get too little B.
Smart Shoppers
What do smart shoppers do? And can we apply those lessons to issues of liberty and survival? Of course we can – we just have to tap into that part of the brain that recognizes a barter situation, and can haggle for the best exchange.
Smart shoppers:
- research their purchases in advance
- compare vendors
- wait for the right time
- don’t buy more than they need
Have we traditionally gone about purchasing security? We wait until there is a terror attack or a financial panic, and we give away everything for a tiny morsel of safety.
And how have we traditionally gone about purchasing freedom? Some actually serve in the military, but for the most part we inherited it. Americans enjoy a windfall of freedom that we haven’t done squat to earn, so there is no real cost attached to it. The only parallel might be those fighting for financial freedom, but there again we’re back to dealing with Dollars again. Back to the tangible.
Is it any wonder we’ve done such a horrible job managing our Freedom and Security? We have an asset (Freedom) that we spend like Other People’s Money that will never run out, and we spend it on the most extravagant reassurances at the worst time and at the highest cost. We’re like the poor fools who only go to the grocery store when we’re starving; then wonder why we’re poor, fat, and have a pantry loaded with fluff.
Now consider: Everything that happens in government at any level is happening because of your effort. Your tax money made it possible for representatives and bureaucrats to make decisions about how you are exchanging your Freedom and Security – and often not to your benefit either way. Your gave up your freedom to engage in activities that allowed you to trade time for money. And the government took a portion of that money. Think about this next time you hear anything about Homeland Security, or a Bailout, a Tax Proposal, or any bill: Am I salivating at the deal? Or am I just so starved that I’ll swallow anything, no matter how harmful?
[tags]Ike Pigott, Occam’s RazR, Freedom , Security, Homeland Security, terrorism, government, economics[/tags]
The Sub-Prime Primer
Posted on October 22, 2008 Written by 14 Comments
Due credit goes to Tim Walker over at Hoover’s Business Insight Zone, for pointing out the need for a sub-prime primer. However, as the parent of a four-year-old and a four-year-old who just inherited an additional $540 billion in bailout this week (on top of the $840 billion that everyone already knew about,) I felt the need to write a primer that speaks to them.
Actually, any primer that speaks to them ought to start with an apology, followed by sentencing guidelines for the weasels responsible. With any luck, I can get my daughter to illustrate it. Without further adieu, here is the Occam’s RazR Sub-Prime Primer.
Meet Dick
This is Dick.
Dick has a nice shirt.
Dick has a nice tie.
Dick has a nice suit.
Dick owns a bank.Meet Joe
This is Joe.
Joe has a job.
Joe wants a house.
Joe does his job and gets paid.
He puts his check in the bank.
He puts his check in Dick’s bank.Joe’s House
Joe wants a house.
Joe does not have lots of cash.
Dick says “Hey Joe. I can give you a loan.
You come to my bank. I see your check.
I know you will pay me back.”
Joe signs his name.
Joe moves in his new house.Meet Tom
This is Tom.
Tom wants a house too.
Tom has a check that is not as big as Joe’s.
Some days, Tom has no check at all.
Dick likes Tom, but will not give him a loan.
Dick wants to be sure he will be paid back.Frank is in the House
This is Frank.
Frank has lots of friends. They vote for Frank, and send Frank to D.C.
Frank wants to stay in D.C., so Frank does what his friends want.
Frank thinks he’ll have more friends if he can put more people in houses.
Frank wants to put Tom in a house.The Phone Call
Dick gets a call at work.
“Hi Dick,” says Frank.
“Hi Frank,” says Dick.
“I want you to put more people into a house,” says Frank.
“But Frank, what if Tom can’t pay me back?” says Dick.
“Too bad,” says Frank. “I will make your bank small. I will let some other Dick buy your bank.”
“But I will lose my shirt,” Dick says.
Frank says “Put Tom in a house. It will be okay.”
Frank says “My friends Fannie and Fred will help.”Pretty Bubbles
Tom gets a house.
Jane gets a house.
Bill gets a house.
Betsy gets a house.
Everyone gets a house.
So many people want a house, that it costs more to buy a house.
Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy all ask Dick for more money.
Dick is happy, and buys more shirts.The Bubble Pops
One day, the shiny houses are not new.
Tom wants to sell his house.
Jane wants to sell her house.
Bill wants to sell his house.
Betsy wants to sell her house.
Now a house does not cost much at all.
But Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy do not have the cash to pay Dick.
Dick will lose his shirt.Pass the Buck
“Hi Frank, this is Dick.”
“Who are you?” said Frank.
“Frank, I am Dick. I own a bank. You told me to put people in houses.”
“What is your problem?” said Frank.
Dick said, “The people in the houses cannot pay me back.”
“That is too bad for you,” said Frank.
“What about Fannie and Fred?” said Dick.
“You have too many shirts,” said Frank. “All you Dicks with banks are bad, bad men.”
Dick did not know what to do.Dick went to Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy.
“I need my money,” Dick said.
“We don’t have any money,” said Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy.
“Then why did you buy a house if you could not pay?” asked Dick.
“Fannie and Fred will pay you,” said Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy.
Dick asked Fannie and Fred for help.
They said “Go see Frank.”Bad to be a Bank
Dick still has his bank.
But Dick does not have money to help people.
Dick has no money to loan people.
Even people like Joe.
Joe has a job.
But Joe cannot get a loan to give jobs to more people.Frank’s Friend Hank
Frank went to his friend Hank.
“Fannie and Fred need more money,” said Frank.
Hank said “What do you mean, Frank?”
Frank said “Fannie and Fred need more money to help Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy.”
Hank said “We can’t give money to Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy. Joe will get mad.”
Frank said “We’ll take care of all of the Joes. We’ll tell them they cannot make more jobs until we help Fannie and Fred.”
Hank said “Fannie and Fred can help all those Dicks with banks.”Hank did not have enough money to help Fannie and Fred.
Hank went to print some more money.
Hank cannot just make money.
He has to borrow it from Joe’s children.
One day, Joe’s children will be mommies and daddies.
Their little boys and girls will have to pay it back.Frank Stays in the House
Frank has a new house.
Frank has a new shirt.
Frank has a new tie.
Frank has a new suit.
Frank says Joe has to pay Hank, so Hank can pay Fannie and Fred, so Fannie and Fred can pay Tom and Jane and Bill and Betsy.
Frank tells his friends that Dick is to blame.
Dick loses his shirt.
Joe loses his shirt.
Hank has the bank.
Frank’s friends send him back to DC.
Now… who how much will you pay to hear my daughter recite it and illustrate it? I’m taking bids, she needs the money. Hank’s interest is piling up as we speak. Suddenly Halloween doesn’t seem as scary as it used to…
