Graphic Tee in the Make

Via Bash.org:

dsully: please describe web 2.0 to me in 2 sentences or less.
jwb: you make all the content. they keep all the revenue.

Castaway Delirium

16 hours and counting since I have been stuck at O'Hare. Dude. Thunderstorms? What?!

My last ad:tech Miami post:

For a Bonafide Web Two-dot-O Experience, Get Stranded

This entry can alternatively be called, "Why American Airlines Sucks."

Before leaving ad:tech I had a conversation with a blogger who lamented learning little of value at the conference. He wasn't the only one who complained; surface-skimming conversation with a few girls at last night's Batanga party betrayed a pattern.

I hate to file yet another complaint into the ether. But after some serious thought, it occurred to me that you can't really learn about how people are communicating - manipulating brands, and media, in the process - unless you're sharing their space, communicating right along with them. That's not the kind of thing you can really be taught at a seminar.

Which leads me to why American Airlines sucks.

If you've ever wondered why the American Airlines logo has a suspiciously shaft-shaped embellishment, it's because it subjects frequent flyers to inappropriate back-door molestation.

Recall the drama of my ad:tech arrival.

At present I'm sitting at O'Hare International. In all fairness I should be home by now. But American has canceled at least 9 of its flights this evening and, insult to injury, will not cover a hotel stay.

So I'm here until at least 7 AM tomorrow morning.

Considering ad:tech Miami didn't exist before this year, I think it was great for what it was. Latin media populators share the same struggles, concerns and insights the marketing and advertising community at large do, which is perhaps a better revelation than any myth of exotic difference.

Like some mega-church, maybe ad:tech is meant only to bring the like-minded together for inspiration, motivation and a spirit-lift, even as it reinforces - on a grand scale - what we as an industry already take for gospel.

In an increasingly smaller world, it goes without saying that industry pros, no matter where they're from, all march to the same beat. (The only difference is, in Miami, the beat's got hotter drummers.)

To get a real feel for what's happening out there media-wise, however, you need an education that can perhaps only be forced upon you by getting stranded at O'Hare.

I'm sitting at a computer hub, which is essentially a long table with some seats and a series of plugs across it. I'm video-chatting my roommate in Ithaca, who's offered to help me find a nearby hotel while I relate the tale of my suffering.

Bleary-eyed from writing, I look at the dude to my left. He's a few years younger than me, and his left hand is flipping lazily across the keyboard. The other hand holds a gigantic set of BOSE headphones over one ear. He's on a program called Fruity Loops, making a beat.

I look to my right. Here's a man in glasses, suffering from programmer's pallor, watching some kind of full-screen video of himself and another guy braving the ocean waves on a vessel. Onscreen, they are smiling and tanned.

The guy glares at me, and I set my eyes back onto my own computer.

Picture us three at this little hub in Chicago, stranded with our media. Just a couple of years ago, this scenario wasn't even possible.

The dude on my right is a recent implant. Before him I was sitting next to a man named Barry from Arkansas. His flight has long since left. The friendly Southerner was in town for a conference on transitioning from print publishing to digital.

Here's his gazette.

Before he departed, we shook hands and lauded the perpetuity of content across any platform, the ones we know and those that have yet to unveil themselves.

The meeting of traditional publisher and online content furnisher occurred like that of a war ship and a flying saucer in the night. Our languages are similar but different, but we both seek to convey messages that don't quite belong to us, to audiences broader than our own voices can reach.

In the end, we're two soldiers of the same struggle, aren't we?

On Divine Delusion, or Revisiting the Pythia

A major benefit to creating your own hours is you get to read when the moment suits. I've just begun The Oracle by William J. Broad, which at heart seeks to understand why the Oracle's influence in ancient Greece was so significant she transcended centuries and, perhaps more surprisingly, the onslaught of rationalism, winning the deference of Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch and Socrates.

The Oracle, otherwise known as the Pythia, was a critical voice in Greek society. Her word was sought for matters of state, coming war, governmental development and everyday questions of love, marriage, sex and legal adoption.

The final word of the Oracle can be traced back to an early democratic government and even the military success of Sparta: It was she who discouraged the Spartans from pursuing love of luxury, so they moved in the opposite direction, foregoing the precious metals in favour of iron as currency, and developing that Spartan endurance for which they later became famous.

Contrary to depictions of the Pythia as young, comely and scantily-clad, early in the Oracle tradition it was decided the position be held by a seasoned woman in her 40s or 50s, who, far from virginal, had already put matters of flesh and family behind her.

This decision was made to protect her virtue, but an older woman's experience probably also contributed to her soundness of judgment, despite the state of intoxication she had to achieve for divination.

I'm only halfway through the book, so the question of why her word was so powerful hasn't yet been answered. But according to experts of the time, a major source of the Oracle's power was a mysterious sweet-smelling pneuma that rose out of a chasm at her feet (just beneath her tripod). This mist caused a kind of divine delirium, into which she had to succumb before ultimately taking her post.

The myth of the Apollonian pneuma and the chasm below the tripod were dismissed in the late 1800s by French archaeologists, which were the first to excavate the site after Delphi, long luster-lost, had been home to a small Christian village for centuries. (Christianity became the vogue religion shortly after the Pax Romana, which was blamed, among other things, for indirectly silencing the Oracle.)

In the late 1990s, however, the pneuma - and the chasm under the Oracle's feet - were validated by archaeologist Hale of Yale and geologist De Boer of Wesleyan.

The mysterious pneuma was ethylene, which stimulates the central nervous system. In the Pythia's time it rose by nature out of two seismic faults, one spanning N-S and the other spanning E-W, crossing beneath the temple site. It was the perfect condition for psychedelic euphoria - better still, ethylene emits a sweet smell, and its effects virtually vanish minutes after contact with the gas has ended.

Ethylene gas visited the site of the Pythia each year for the warmest nine months (she rested the rest of the year), long enough for the intoxicated priestess to develop a good thousand years or so of influence - then it vanished, also quite naturally, around the time of the Pax Romana, silencing her voice in deference to the notion of the One God.

Under the right conditions it's normal for gas to rise out of the earth, especially in places where violent tectonic impacts are still young, as in Greece. Ethylene in particular was a tough gas to pin to the site as it doesn't quite survive once it's gone - it vanishes into the air or sets the stage for other gases over time. Methane and ethane are two gases whose presence is easiest to marry to the site.

That's as far as I've gotten. And I've probably slaughtered all the research. In any case, this book is neat. And if nothing else, it's just another example of how far drugs can get you in life. Ask a surrealist (hallucinogens were pretty modish).

I, for one, am a huge fan of the transcendent effects of black coffee coupled with the complete absence of sleep in the Circadian rhythm. It's a lifestyle, baby.

Here, There and Everywhere

I recently completed Here, There and Everywhere by Geoff Emerick and Howard Massey. If you're a Beatles fan (not the kind that collects Lennon's used kerchiefs or anything), it's definitely worth the read.

To start with, I should say I really dig the Beatles. Why is this important? Because their music wasn't my gateway drug. It was a book entitled The Love You Make by Peter Brown and Steven Gaines. That led to my purchase of Revolver, and then I got ahold of Sgt. Pepper.

One day my good friend's pops asked me about my Beatles awakening. I told him what book did it. It was, in fact, from his very shelf.

He gave me a slight wizened frown and said, "I have the best book on the Beatles ever written. It came out recently. I'll lend it to you, and I never lend my books, so you have to promise you'll return it." With that, he oh-so-delicately entrusted me with Here, There and Everywhere. It still had that new-book smell.

I read it. Slowly. Then, as promised, I returned it.

I do think it was the best book on the Beatles ever written. And even if it weren't, I'm sufficiently satisfied with the perspective presented that I'm not off mongering for other ones.

The Emerick narrative, attentively shaped by Massey, betrays an intimacy with the Beatles that stems from both a technical viewpoint and a time investment that was not always pleasant. He doesn't lend the sense that he's writing about them because he was star-stuck, and he wasn't unduly officious about his position in their world.

Emerick describes each of their records with precision and a sharp eye, alongside painstaking accounts of recording equipment that was appearing at the time. (He also broke ground for many different sound elements that are studio stock today.)

What's more, there's no parsing of public rumours or sordid details, no pop interpretation of what must have inspired their songs. Emerick's craft, and Massey's construction of the tale that shaped it, are the true gems.

The Beatles, their hectic world and their playful experiments with people and music are examined with the same technical lens as was used for their albums. But there's feeling, too. Geoff's life and craft were impacted significantly by the Beatles' travails, and the gravity of his experience rises out of the sum of those parts.

The book is clearly not just about them. It's about him, too - possibly most of all.

After I read the book I picked up Abbey Road. It's the album I like best, and it probably wouldn't mean so much if not for Here, There and Everywhere.

Hats off to Massey and Emerick.

To be helpful, and because I've got a recessive groupie gene, I also posted this on Amazon.com. But if you wanna cut right to the chase, buy Here, There and Everywhere. (I really don't think you'll be sorry.)

On Buffett's Succession

Warren Buffett, nurturing gardener of Berkshire Hathaway, is making good-bye preparations. And while he's the first to admit he'd hate to retire, the 76-year-old CEO and chairman is aware the time to descend will come whether he wants to or not.

Details of the retirement are hush-hush but he did mention he'll be trying some hirees on for size in the coming months. The only position explicitly covered is that of chairman, which will be adopted by son Howard Buffett to preserve the Berkshire culture.

Potential shoe-fillers should prepare to be paid by investment performance, not title (read: phantom phallus) size. And if said candidates aren't too keen on Omaha, they can expect to live "wherever they feel best about life. Wherever you can think best, the information is readily available," confirmed Buffett.

Dire topic matter aside, the Oracle of Omaha is chipper. "I feel terrific. You ought to try this peanut brittle," he said during a news conference. A box of candy sat between himself and Charlie Munger, whose role as vice chairman will not be filled.

83-year-old Munger is rolling with that choice in good humour. "I do not need to be replaced," he said. "If you fade away, you do not need to be replaced."

After all that rag the homies moved onto business as usual, mentioning in passing they're over their railroad prejudices, among other things.

I'm fond of Buffett and Munger (something you probably already know about me) and am consequently bummed, though I've often wondered what sort of hell will break loose when the big men leaveth. Glad we're all being practical here.

You Say Good-Bye, I Say Hello

Advertising Age had this article about leaving work behind and going on vacation. It essentially revolves around the freak-out experienced when departing one's responsibilities for - dare we say it? - three weeks or so.

Statistically, Americans get the least vacation time of most any country. Just ask Expedia. No, but seriously, we do. And last I checked, we're among the most paranoid people ever when it comes to leaving our work behind.

My cousin, who's taken up marketing at DriversEd.com, called me in a mild panic because of an upcoming planned vacation he discussed with the HR manager before he was even hired. She OK'ed it; vacations happen, whaddaya do. But yesterday he demanded, in a tone that hardly elicits an answer, whether I think he'll still have a job once he returns.

"Dude, it's two weeks," I said. "You're good at what you do and nobody else is doing it. Why wouldn't you have a job?"

There wasn't much of a response on his end, and that's okay because he's reacting to a feeling that's common but irrational at heart. Americans are the least inclined to take advantage of their paltry vacation time. One can argue it's because we love what we're doing just that much, but we're probably just scared our bosses will realize they perhaps don't need us much after all.

This doesn't happen. So take your vacation, chuck your e-mail and relax. And in the unfortunate event that you do not in fact have a job when you return, hey. Go build value with people who really deserve you.

Above all things we need to take care of ourselves. It's my firm belief that "tendering oneself," as Shakes' would say, yields the max benefit of our productive potential.

This is a lengthy segue to what I actually popped in to talk about.

Think it's hard to take a vacation? Try leaving the nine to five entirely. Like, forever.

Because, after a long (read: endless) period of deliberation, flip-flopping and completely insane priority-juggling, I've just done it.

I love DriversEd.com and I think my time there was well-spent. In conjunction with the people I worked with (the people I saw most for all of three years!), I got to do and be part of some amazing things.

This company guided my professional development - and dealt with me, rain or shine - all through college. When I left, the marketing department was three times bigger than it was when I started. The clients, pet projects and whatever else I left behind (a stuffed fish named Lyle, for example) are all in good hands.

Leaving a place, especially one to which you feel you owe so much, is frightening.

So why did I quit? What am I doing now?

I'm doing what I said I'd do in high school. I'm writing. About ads and technology. 24/7.

I mean DriversEd.com was great, but now life is a magic sandwich comprised of everything I love, in concentrate. And this is just the beginning of a much grander adventure.

Why am I saying this?

Because we spend so much of our lives in fear - fear of taking a break, fear of leaving someplace, fear of committing, fear of disappointing somebody.

Fear is mostly just us. Sometimes we need to squeeze our eyes shut and leap. When we do what's right by us, inevitably we produce more for others. Plus, people respect you more for it.

That's a big deal.

In other news, guess what? I'm moving to Ithaca to dabble easterly and get a broad broad feel for the wide wide world. I am stoked.

Liftoff: mid-June. Hello, everyone.