Ponderable question for you Road Dog's travelling during the holidays: Why do they do that?
Airports...forget the illusions of porno scanners and the pervert pat downs, just answer me this: does anyone ever go "just the right speed" to get through the security checkpoints?
On the way out, there's the guy painstakingly going through his own carry-on, piece by piece, before it goes on the belt, as the line behind him stretches beyond the Starbucks counter in the main concourse. So the next guy in line makes a move to pass and, you know it, guy #1 raises holy hell for cutting the line.
Then the Dog barely gets a hand on one of those rubber-maiden gray bucket tray things when "Mr. $100-a-week-executive" is crawling up your back with blue teeth ears and blackberried iPhones. Take a 'lude, dude, you're not that necessary to the success of your company, or my life. It would be tragic if my Swiss Army knife, butane lighter and autographed picture of bin Laden somehow ended up in your carry on bag.
Airports... then the herd is migrating down the concourse between planes...wall-to-wall wild-e-beasts migrating....and someone comes to a spontaneous complete stop for no apparent reason. WTF? How does it feel to get trampled?
Airports, next question, why would several of these wild-e-beasts decide to stop in the middle of the herd and have a chat about gawd knows what -- and then look peeved when 10+ people have to "excuse me" to get by them?
Airplanes... carry-on bags. Simple idea, really, one under the seat, one in the overhead, or gate check. We've all figured out how to skirt the bag fees by now, right? Okay, so seriously, why would someone want to vehemently argue with the gate agent that her cello will fit in the overhead compartment? Really?
Airplanes...turn off the GD cellphone Harpo, you're not that important. If you are so desperate to "stay connected" that the flight attendant has to ask you twice to shut if off, then you should have stayed home. Several of us would have gladly helped you off the plane.
Hotels... the doors on most hotel rooms really can actually be shut quietly. I know it's really fun just to let them slam shut all by themselves, but even the dumbest of asses should be able to figure out someone's going to hurt them if they keep banging the doors at 2:30 in the morning. Nothing like a "brawl in the hall" of a 4-star hotel. The Dog witnessed that one... highlight of the trip.
Hotels...God knows the Dog enjoys a good night out, but none of the people along your hallway really want to hear you and your tanked buddies do a loud mouth play-by-play recap of the evening's adventures in the "club". Again, you're not that cool, Dipwad, and I'm guessing most of the girls you were talking about agreed with me. That's why you and your fellow brotherhood of morons are coming back alone.
Hotels...Parents, please control your darling children. The hallways are not running tracks, playgrounds, or soccer fields. Screaming kids should be gagged and their parents exiled to the Chuck E. Cheese Arms.
Hotels finale...I'll admit it, I did go around to the loudmouths rooms and turned all of their "Do Not Disturb" signs around to "Make Up My Room Early" signs. Then slammed my door a few dozen times around 5 am and turned the TV up to about 20 on the Richter scale.
Breakfast was enjoyable that day.
Who has to grow up?
Stay tuned... you know there'll be more.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Rock Dog
A big dog Happy Birthday to John Mayall, and if you don't know who he is you should. His musical influence spans generations and genres. Good God Awmighty, the Blues Breakers are legendary. His album "Road Dogs" (2005) is a classic. John turns 78 today, Nov. 29, and still rides the tour bus. He physically wore out in 2008, said the "retirement" word, and then came back with another tour in 2010. How can this guy not be the hero to all Road Dogs?
In Road Dog style, the music dedicated to him today on the office iTune is his.
BUT, the finale set for this evening won't be his. They'll be in his honor by other old dogs, Elton John and Leon Russell just did their future-classic album, The Unon and the song for John Mayall, the rest of the dogs out there will be "Never Too Old". Follow that one up with Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias singing "To All The Girls I've Loved Before"; and you've got a Road Dog birthday.
Happy Birthday John, you've influenced more than you know.
.
In Road Dog style, the music dedicated to him today on the office iTune is his.
BUT, the finale set for this evening won't be his. They'll be in his honor by other old dogs, Elton John and Leon Russell just did their future-classic album, The Unon and the song for John Mayall, the rest of the dogs out there will be "Never Too Old". Follow that one up with Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias singing "To All The Girls I've Loved Before"; and you've got a Road Dog birthday.
Happy Birthday John, you've influenced more than you know.
.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Dog Returns for Veterans Day
It's Veteran's Day... the big news is people "stranded" on a luxury cruise ship being forced to eat Spam with their free alcohol. Not having ice is apparently a major hardship. In other news, Marines of the 3/5 are pinned down in Afghanistan and I'm pretty sure they're worried about those folks on the ship with the smelly toilets.
Anyway, enough sarcasm Dog, get to the point. It's Veterans Day and people around the country give their token "thank yous" and wonder how to treat these dogs of war. To answer that question, I give you the following definition of Vietnam Veterans. If you, or someone you know, is a veteran of another "conflict", all you have to do is change the enviornment adjectives to get to the root definition.
In 1996, a college student asked "What is a Vietnam Veteran?" Following is the answer written by Dan Mouser. It is the truth.
Vietnam veterans are men and women. We are dead or alive, whole or maimed, sane or haunted. We grew from our experiences or we were destroyed by them or we struggle to find some place in between. We lived through hell or we had a pleasant, if scary, adventure. We were Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard, Red Cross, and civilians of all sorts. Some of us enlisted to fight for God and Country, and some were drafted. Some were gung-ho, and some went kicking and screaming.
Like veterans of all wars, we lived a tad bit -- or a great bit -- closer to death than most people like to think about. If Vietnam vets differ from others, perhaps it is primarily in the fact that many of us never saw the enemy or recorgnized him or her. We heard gunfire and mortar fire but rarely looked into enemy eyes. Those who did, like folks who encounter close combat anywhere and anytime, are often haunted for life by those eyes, those sounds, those electric fears that ran between ourselves, our enemies, and the likelihood of death for one of us. Or we get hard, calloused, tough. All in a days' work. Life's a bitch and then you die. But most of us remember and we get twitchy, worried, sad.
We are crazies dressed in camo, wide-eyed, wary, homeless and drunk. We are Brooks Brothers suits wearers, doing deals downtown. We are housewives, grandmothers, and church deacons. We are college professors engaged in the rational pursuit of the truth about the history or politics or culture of the Vietnam experience. And we are sleepless. Often sleepless.
We pushed paper; we pushed shovels. We drove jeeps, operated bulldozers, built bridges; we toted machine guns through dense brush, deep paddy and thorn scrub. We lived on buffalo milk, fish heads and rice. Or C-rations. Or steaks and Budweiser. We did our time in high mountains drenched by endless monsoon rains or on the dry plains or on muddy rivers or at the most beautiful beaches in the world.
We wore berets, bandanas, flop hats, and steel pots. Flak jackets, canvas, rash and rot. We ate cloroquine and got malaria anyway. We got shots constantly but have diseases nobody can diagnose. We spent our nights on cots or shivering in foxholes filled with waist high water or lying still on cold, wet ground, our eyes imagining Charlie behind every bamboo blade. Or we slept in hotel beds in Saigon or barracks in Thailand or in cramped ship berths at sea.
We feared we would die or we feared we would kill. We simply feared, and often we still do. We hate the war or believe it was the best thing that ever happened to us. We blame Uncle Sam or Uncle Ho and their minions and secretaries and apologists for every wart or cough or tick of an eye. We wonder if Agent Orange got us.
Mostly -- and I believe this with all my heart -- mostly, we wish we had not been so alone. Some of us went with units; but many, probably most oof us, were civilians one day, jerked out of "the world", shaved, barked at, insulted, humiliated, de-egoized and taught to kill, to fix radios, to drive trucks. We went, put in our time, and were equally ungraciously plucked out of the morass and placed back in the real world. But now we smoked dope, shot skag, or drank heavily. Our wives or husbands seemed distant and strange. Our friends wanted to know if we shot anybody.
And life went on, had been going on, as if we hadn't been there, as if Vietnam was a topic of political conversatioin or college protest or news copy, not a matter of life and death for tens of thousands.
Vietnam vets are people just like you. We served our country, proudly or reluctantly or ambivalently. What makes us different -- what makes us Vietnam vets -- is something we understand, but we are afraid nobody else will. But we appreciate you asking.
Vietnam veterans are white, black, beige, and shades of gray; but in comparison with our numbers in the "real world", we were more likely black. Our ancestors came from Africa, from Europe, and China. Or they crossed the Bering Sea Land Bridge in the last Ice Age and formed the nations of American Indians, built pyramids in Mexico, or farmed acres of corn on the banks of Chesapeake Bay. We had names like Rodriguez and Stein and Smith and Kowalski. We were Americans, Australians, Canadians, and Koreans; most Vietnam veterans are Vietnamese.
We were farmers, students, mechanics, steelworkers, nurses, and priests when the call came that changed us all forever. We had dreams and plans, and they all had to change...or wait. We were daughters and sons, lovers and poets, beatniks and philosophers, convicts and lawyers. We were rich and poor, but mostly poor. We were educated or not, mostly not. We grew up in slums, in shacks, in duplexes, and bungalows and houseboats and hooches and ranches. We were cowards and heroes. Sometimes we were cowards one moment and heroes the next.
Many of us have never seen Vietnam. We waited at home for those we loved. And for some of us, our worst fears were realized. For others, our loved ones came back but would never be the same.
We came home and marched in protest marches, sucked in tear gas, and shrieked our anger and horror for all to hear. Or we sat alone in small rooms, in VA hospital wards, in places where only the crazy ever go. We are Republicans, Democrats, Socialists and Confucians and Buddhists and Atheists -- though as usually is the case, even the atheists among us sometimes prayed to get out of there alive.
We are hungry, and we are sated, full of life or clinging to death. We are injured, and we are curers, despairing and hopeful, loved or lost. We got too old too quickly, but some of us have never grown up. We want, desparately, to go back to heal wounds, revisit the sites of our horror. Or we want to never see that place again, to bury it, its memories, its meaning. We want to forget, and we wish we could remember.
Despite our differences, we have so much in common. There are few of us who don't know how to cry, though we often do it alone when nobody will ask "what's wrong?" We're afraid we might have to answer.
If you want to know what a Vietnam veteran is, get in in your car or cage a friend to drive you to Washington. Go to the Wall on Veterans Day weekend. There will be hundreds there...no thousands. Watch them. Listen to them. We'll be there. Come touch the Wall with us. Rejoice a bit. Cry a bit. No, cry a lot. We will. We are Vietnam Veterans; I am a Vietnam Veteran, and after 30 years I think I am beginning to understand what that means.
Anyway, enough sarcasm Dog, get to the point. It's Veterans Day and people around the country give their token "thank yous" and wonder how to treat these dogs of war. To answer that question, I give you the following definition of Vietnam Veterans. If you, or someone you know, is a veteran of another "conflict", all you have to do is change the enviornment adjectives to get to the root definition.
In 1996, a college student asked "What is a Vietnam Veteran?" Following is the answer written by Dan Mouser. It is the truth.
Vietnam veterans are men and women. We are dead or alive, whole or maimed, sane or haunted. We grew from our experiences or we were destroyed by them or we struggle to find some place in between. We lived through hell or we had a pleasant, if scary, adventure. We were Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard, Red Cross, and civilians of all sorts. Some of us enlisted to fight for God and Country, and some were drafted. Some were gung-ho, and some went kicking and screaming.
Like veterans of all wars, we lived a tad bit -- or a great bit -- closer to death than most people like to think about. If Vietnam vets differ from others, perhaps it is primarily in the fact that many of us never saw the enemy or recorgnized him or her. We heard gunfire and mortar fire but rarely looked into enemy eyes. Those who did, like folks who encounter close combat anywhere and anytime, are often haunted for life by those eyes, those sounds, those electric fears that ran between ourselves, our enemies, and the likelihood of death for one of us. Or we get hard, calloused, tough. All in a days' work. Life's a bitch and then you die. But most of us remember and we get twitchy, worried, sad.
We are crazies dressed in camo, wide-eyed, wary, homeless and drunk. We are Brooks Brothers suits wearers, doing deals downtown. We are housewives, grandmothers, and church deacons. We are college professors engaged in the rational pursuit of the truth about the history or politics or culture of the Vietnam experience. And we are sleepless. Often sleepless.
We pushed paper; we pushed shovels. We drove jeeps, operated bulldozers, built bridges; we toted machine guns through dense brush, deep paddy and thorn scrub. We lived on buffalo milk, fish heads and rice. Or C-rations. Or steaks and Budweiser. We did our time in high mountains drenched by endless monsoon rains or on the dry plains or on muddy rivers or at the most beautiful beaches in the world.
We wore berets, bandanas, flop hats, and steel pots. Flak jackets, canvas, rash and rot. We ate cloroquine and got malaria anyway. We got shots constantly but have diseases nobody can diagnose. We spent our nights on cots or shivering in foxholes filled with waist high water or lying still on cold, wet ground, our eyes imagining Charlie behind every bamboo blade. Or we slept in hotel beds in Saigon or barracks in Thailand or in cramped ship berths at sea.
We feared we would die or we feared we would kill. We simply feared, and often we still do. We hate the war or believe it was the best thing that ever happened to us. We blame Uncle Sam or Uncle Ho and their minions and secretaries and apologists for every wart or cough or tick of an eye. We wonder if Agent Orange got us.
Mostly -- and I believe this with all my heart -- mostly, we wish we had not been so alone. Some of us went with units; but many, probably most oof us, were civilians one day, jerked out of "the world", shaved, barked at, insulted, humiliated, de-egoized and taught to kill, to fix radios, to drive trucks. We went, put in our time, and were equally ungraciously plucked out of the morass and placed back in the real world. But now we smoked dope, shot skag, or drank heavily. Our wives or husbands seemed distant and strange. Our friends wanted to know if we shot anybody.
And life went on, had been going on, as if we hadn't been there, as if Vietnam was a topic of political conversatioin or college protest or news copy, not a matter of life and death for tens of thousands.
Vietnam vets are people just like you. We served our country, proudly or reluctantly or ambivalently. What makes us different -- what makes us Vietnam vets -- is something we understand, but we are afraid nobody else will. But we appreciate you asking.
Vietnam veterans are white, black, beige, and shades of gray; but in comparison with our numbers in the "real world", we were more likely black. Our ancestors came from Africa, from Europe, and China. Or they crossed the Bering Sea Land Bridge in the last Ice Age and formed the nations of American Indians, built pyramids in Mexico, or farmed acres of corn on the banks of Chesapeake Bay. We had names like Rodriguez and Stein and Smith and Kowalski. We were Americans, Australians, Canadians, and Koreans; most Vietnam veterans are Vietnamese.
We were farmers, students, mechanics, steelworkers, nurses, and priests when the call came that changed us all forever. We had dreams and plans, and they all had to change...or wait. We were daughters and sons, lovers and poets, beatniks and philosophers, convicts and lawyers. We were rich and poor, but mostly poor. We were educated or not, mostly not. We grew up in slums, in shacks, in duplexes, and bungalows and houseboats and hooches and ranches. We were cowards and heroes. Sometimes we were cowards one moment and heroes the next.
Many of us have never seen Vietnam. We waited at home for those we loved. And for some of us, our worst fears were realized. For others, our loved ones came back but would never be the same.
We came home and marched in protest marches, sucked in tear gas, and shrieked our anger and horror for all to hear. Or we sat alone in small rooms, in VA hospital wards, in places where only the crazy ever go. We are Republicans, Democrats, Socialists and Confucians and Buddhists and Atheists -- though as usually is the case, even the atheists among us sometimes prayed to get out of there alive.
We are hungry, and we are sated, full of life or clinging to death. We are injured, and we are curers, despairing and hopeful, loved or lost. We got too old too quickly, but some of us have never grown up. We want, desparately, to go back to heal wounds, revisit the sites of our horror. Or we want to never see that place again, to bury it, its memories, its meaning. We want to forget, and we wish we could remember.
Despite our differences, we have so much in common. There are few of us who don't know how to cry, though we often do it alone when nobody will ask "what's wrong?" We're afraid we might have to answer.
If you want to know what a Vietnam veteran is, get in in your car or cage a friend to drive you to Washington. Go to the Wall on Veterans Day weekend. There will be hundreds there...no thousands. Watch them. Listen to them. We'll be there. Come touch the Wall with us. Rejoice a bit. Cry a bit. No, cry a lot. We will. We are Vietnam Veterans; I am a Vietnam Veteran, and after 30 years I think I am beginning to understand what that means.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Mickies Dog Food for Thought
The Dog had breakfast with another old "dog" this morning, in an old diner with memories and scars going back a long time. It has been the home to a lot of radical people and thoughts over the years.
Among our ponderings were some questions for everyone in our generation:
When did we become the people our parents warned us about?
When did the radicals of the '60s become the pseudo intellectuals of today?
When did we stop being passionate about our world and stop trying to fix it?
When did we give up the revolution and actually buy into the idea of political process?
When did we become wimps?
The Dog's generation felt real frustration with politics "as usual" and were hell bent to change the world. We were surrounded by corrupt politicians and government at almost every level. We were being "regulated" on everything we did and paid taxes for things we didn't want. We were fighting a pointless war in a land we couldn't understand. Corporate pigs exploited people and resources like they were both expendable...and laughed in the face of anyone who challenged them.
Sound familiar? My reference is 1968, what's yours?
A big difference between then and now is that we did more than write about it on blogs. We didn't suffer the passive aggressive convenience of the Internet and blackberry politics. We took physical action and challenged on an in-your-face strategy. We may have been a little extreme, at times, but we fought a good fight and were not afraid to stand up for what we believed in. We weren't afraid of getting dirty. Chicago in 1968 was a whole lot different than it was in 2008.
I miss those days.
What happened?
Some of us gave up the idea that we could change the world. Some of us felt we could only change the way we dealt with it. Our passions were subverted by our material success. We settled on the idea of singing kumbaya around the campfire with a good income to pay for the firewood...was being what we wanted.
We told ourselves that we would take "revolution" underground and change things from the inside out. Unfortunately, I think that strategy overwhelmed a lot of us and compromised a lot of others. The mantra changed from "Revolution" to "Money is nice to have".
We became the people we used to despise.
We became the people we used to despise.
We became hard charging to make a better life for ourselves and our future generations. We blasted forward to create technologies and opportunities for an easier way of life, without fully considering how those things would affect people who never had to struggle for them.
We became the people we used to despise.
The problem is that our generation created a lot of entitlements, enablements (my new word), and other collateral damage that set the stage to lose touch with the realities of life -- and living. We never expected anyone to learn from what we did -- or what they were doing.
We did not honor the past for what it did accomplish... until it was too late. We forgot a lot of what we believed. Worst of all, we actually believed our own "press" about our accomplishments.
We traded our passion for big houses, nice cars, and giving our kids "things we never had".
We are now in a world having to deal with that.
Speaking for my generation, I am sorry. I am truly sorry for the mess our generation is leaving for our children to live down.
What we realized at Mickies was that a lot of us are now rethinking the past 40 years and looking to bag it all, grow what's left our hair back into ponytails, and head for hills and a simpler way of life. We don't want to burden our kids, our society, our anything. We just want to live again, because we forgot how to do that while we were changing things.
I hope the future generations take the time to read up on what we did. Ask us about it while we can still remember it. And, try, please try, to learn from our mistakes.
I hope the future generations take the time to read up on what we did. Ask us about it while we can still remember it. And, try, please try, to learn from our mistakes.
Places like Mickies still crank out the platters and the milk shakes. The ghosts of past dogs live on. I hope somebody hears them.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Guest Road Dog
The Dog doesn't share this space with other's, but this is an exception. Written by a true Road Dog, this "parable" should be required reading for anyone in a leadership position. Susan Butcher, Four-time winner of the Iditarod sled race, as quoted in the book, "The Nature of Leadership":
"One spring day early in my career, I was taking my team on a trail that crossed a frozen river -- the same trail we had used almost daily all winter long. As we started across the river, my lead dog suddenly veered to the right. I gave her the command to go left and she went back for me, but then she immediately veered off to the right again. Several times I tried to get her back on the trail, and each time she responded the same way. I couldn't figure out what was happening. She had never disobeyed me before. Finally I went ahead and let her have the lead, and just as she pulled me and the team off to the side of the trail, the entire river collapsed ! Her sixth sense saved our lives."
"Since that time, I've learned a lot of leadership is about team work. I usually have about 10 leaders in a 15-dog team, and one of the leaders will let me know, "Hey, we're getting into a storm. This is not my bag. Can you get me out of the lead?" And another member of the team will tell me, "I love this stuff! Put me up there." They are constantly changing off the lead based on who is most adept to handle a particular problem."
"I own and run a business, and this has certainly helped me to know that when I am dealing with something that I may not be the best expert in, I can turn to my employees and let them take the lead. Success is a total team effort, and it sometimes takes letting go and trusting in the talents and instincts of those whose "paws are on the ice," so to speak."
This Road Dog parable to not only about teamwork and reminding us to listen to those front-line peope with their "paws on the ice".... but also to remind us that oftentimes, in order to find the best path we have to go off the path we are on, even for an instant.
That's risk-taking. That's trust. That's answering to yourself, in that instant these questions......
- What's the difference between being the sole voice in the crowd crying for change.. and the sole voice crying not to change?
- What makes the difference between right and wrong here?
- What makes one voice more correct than the other?
- What makes one person seeing something, different from another person not seeing something?
Such are the questions we are asked... and we have asked.
This is what makes leaders.
This is what breaks leaders.
"One spring day early in my career, I was taking my team on a trail that crossed a frozen river -- the same trail we had used almost daily all winter long. As we started across the river, my lead dog suddenly veered to the right. I gave her the command to go left and she went back for me, but then she immediately veered off to the right again. Several times I tried to get her back on the trail, and each time she responded the same way. I couldn't figure out what was happening. She had never disobeyed me before. Finally I went ahead and let her have the lead, and just as she pulled me and the team off to the side of the trail, the entire river collapsed ! Her sixth sense saved our lives."
"Since that time, I've learned a lot of leadership is about team work. I usually have about 10 leaders in a 15-dog team, and one of the leaders will let me know, "Hey, we're getting into a storm. This is not my bag. Can you get me out of the lead?" And another member of the team will tell me, "I love this stuff! Put me up there." They are constantly changing off the lead based on who is most adept to handle a particular problem."
"I own and run a business, and this has certainly helped me to know that when I am dealing with something that I may not be the best expert in, I can turn to my employees and let them take the lead. Success is a total team effort, and it sometimes takes letting go and trusting in the talents and instincts of those whose "paws are on the ice," so to speak."
This Road Dog parable to not only about teamwork and reminding us to listen to those front-line peope with their "paws on the ice".... but also to remind us that oftentimes, in order to find the best path we have to go off the path we are on, even for an instant.
That's risk-taking. That's trust. That's answering to yourself, in that instant these questions......
- What's the difference between being the sole voice in the crowd crying for change.. and the sole voice crying not to change?
- What makes the difference between right and wrong here?
- What makes one voice more correct than the other?
- What makes one person seeing something, different from another person not seeing something?
Such are the questions we are asked... and we have asked.
This is what makes leaders.
This is what breaks leaders.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Road Dog Music
The Dog heard an old song this morning. "Conquistador" by the British group Procol Harum. Did you know that group's name came from a cat? The Dog was troubled that such fine music would be tied to a feline, but upon research he found that that was one dog looking cat, so we'll let it slide. You probably thought it had some deep rooted meaning related to protocols in harems or something, didn't you?
Take a few minutes and go find that song on some machine you have and crank it up. That song is good Road Dog music, bluesy, rambunctious, grabs-you-by-the-chest-and-gets-you-going kind of music... and it carries a wonderfully scripted, thought provoking message... but for the fact there's no way anyone can understand all the words. There is no way that you can understand those words, even the chorus: "And though I hoped for something to find, I could see no maze to unwind."
Another Road Dog trait. Rare is the individual who can figure out Road Dogs. Usually they're off and gone down the trail by the time you figure out the maze to unwind. (Pause here... think about that one... )
Let's add a music theme, here's the CHORUS for this epistle:
"The Dog Brain then drifted off into the world of "communication" thought, and how things get screwed up when humans try and communicate. Fascinating to think that we may have communicated better before we could talk...at least then people were tryiing to figure out what you were trying to say." (END OF CHORUS)
How many times have you been in a conversation with your mates (personal or work), your local barkeep or barrista, or any such personna and at some point, you realize you're not saying what's on your mind, s/he's not saying what's on their mind, and at the end you wander off thinking, "WTF? I should have said this." The best part is that the other person is probably saying the same thing. Don't feel too bad, we all do it.
REPEAT CHORUS...
Why is that? Simply put, we're afraid. Most human types are wimps who under/overthink their impact on other people. We don't want to fight, so we lie or hide the truth or we only tell part of the story. Go ahead admit it, this Dog won't bite you. Why do we do that? Why do we care? Why do we want to change?
REPEAT CHORUS...
Maybe because like the Conquistador, we're afraid people will see our armour plated breast has long since lost its sheen? Maybe we're human and that worries us more than anything else? Not sure we'll ever overcome that, I'm afraid. So, carry the day with love in your heart. The rest will take care of itself. Just try and figure out what the other side is saying....it's hard to face yourself and that's what get's you in the end, doesn't it?
REPEAT CHORUS
Final note... The Stones came on after Procol Harum with "Start Me Up". Another Road Dog song.... love the closing lyrics. And Mick's a Road Dog too... pedigree from the London School of Economics. Didn't know that either, did you?
Take a few minutes and go find that song on some machine you have and crank it up. That song is good Road Dog music, bluesy, rambunctious, grabs-you-by-the-chest-and-gets-you-going kind of music... and it carries a wonderfully scripted, thought provoking message... but for the fact there's no way anyone can understand all the words. There is no way that you can understand those words, even the chorus: "And though I hoped for something to find, I could see no maze to unwind."
Another Road Dog trait. Rare is the individual who can figure out Road Dogs. Usually they're off and gone down the trail by the time you figure out the maze to unwind. (Pause here... think about that one... )
Let's add a music theme, here's the CHORUS for this epistle:
"The Dog Brain then drifted off into the world of "communication" thought, and how things get screwed up when humans try and communicate. Fascinating to think that we may have communicated better before we could talk...at least then people were tryiing to figure out what you were trying to say." (END OF CHORUS)
How many times have you been in a conversation with your mates (personal or work), your local barkeep or barrista, or any such personna and at some point, you realize you're not saying what's on your mind, s/he's not saying what's on their mind, and at the end you wander off thinking, "WTF? I should have said this." The best part is that the other person is probably saying the same thing. Don't feel too bad, we all do it.
REPEAT CHORUS...
Why is that? Simply put, we're afraid. Most human types are wimps who under/overthink their impact on other people. We don't want to fight, so we lie or hide the truth or we only tell part of the story. Go ahead admit it, this Dog won't bite you. Why do we do that? Why do we care? Why do we want to change?
REPEAT CHORUS...
Maybe because like the Conquistador, we're afraid people will see our armour plated breast has long since lost its sheen? Maybe we're human and that worries us more than anything else? Not sure we'll ever overcome that, I'm afraid. So, carry the day with love in your heart. The rest will take care of itself. Just try and figure out what the other side is saying....it's hard to face yourself and that's what get's you in the end, doesn't it?
REPEAT CHORUS
Final note... The Stones came on after Procol Harum with "Start Me Up". Another Road Dog song.... love the closing lyrics. And Mick's a Road Dog too... pedigree from the London School of Economics. Didn't know that either, did you?
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Dog's Dog In Training
It takes years of intense training and experience to become a true Road Dog Dog. The lineage is rich with history and strength. The latest aspirant to the title is progressing at a good pace. She's met the basics (vehicle adaptability and assumed ownership of space, including high scores in window awareness and scourge to anyone who takes her seat). She also scores high in beer ingestion (only the last few drops, mind you - but god forbid you forget to give it to her). Moderation in all such things is key to Road Dogdom. She is well on her way to developing the intangible attitude that goes with the position of Dog's Dog. She's developed the ability to intimidate beings several times her size with a wiry dexterity and loud growl when necessary. She's developed the patience to allow small beings to play, cuddle, poke and prod to a point. She then growls to let them know it's time to move on. These are key developments. A Road Dog, and a Road Dog's Dog's Patience should never be mistaken for weakness by large or small. The true Road Dog knows when to convey the message. This one knows how to place teeth in appropriate places without pain. Good sign.
On yesterday's sunny afternoon, she reached the next level in the 'tude category. After adjourning to the front porch for a cold one, she took her lap position to survey the 'hood and the watch the activities. After a minute of that, Dog boredom set in and it was nap time. This gave opportunity for the "hat test"; one of the most challenging to be completed. Road Dogs must be comfortable and secure enough in their surroundings to nap with hat over their eyes. This does not mean Dogs are oblivious to their surroundings, just that they are secure in their being. Pain awaits the being who doesn't understand the difference.
Previous tests were met with the hat being shaken off immediately. This time the hat went on and she went on to sleep. She met all of the time and noise requirements. She zoned in the zen of porchdom, and stirred only when a group of passers by, with dogs, came upon the scene. She went on alert, greeted the visitors with a watchful eye, and then resumed her zendom.
She was given an immediate promotion to Road Dog Apprentice.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Road Dog's Top 10 Realities of Healthcare "Reform"
"All is flux." Hericlitus said that in 450 AD. One might assume that he was talking about healthcare reform. The Dog wrote a paper on the crisis in American healthcare in 1978, and could pretty much just update the reference from Jimmy Carter to Barack Obama and republish the same paper.
We read... and hear... and read... and hear.... about all of the pending reformations to our healthcare system; and some of us actually believe it.
You know, as I think about this.... I'm not even sure if we know what we believe. (That's your deep thought for the day). Ask someone what healthcare reform really means? Whoa...
Bottom line road dog realities:
1. Healthcare in America is an unlimited demand for a limited resource. Americans go to the doctor for things they don't need to go for; and don't go for things they should go for. If your nose is running, just wipe it. If your nose has been bleeding for over an hour, go see the doctor. We have too many runny noses clogging up the system. We need a decongestant.
2. The American healthcare system will never be reformed by the "government" until someone realizes that the system is based on "cost-reimbursement"; and so it will never have any incentive to reduce cost. Duh, read your basic economics book. Some of this should be in an IQ test.
3. The system is focused on treating disease, NOT maintaining good health. There's no incentive to be heatlhy. Should healthy people get a better deal than the unhealthy? Can you spell "political suicide"? Consider the idea of providing free medicine for everyone with diabetes, IF they agree to follow guidelines for diet and exercise, and maintain regular medical check ups. Diabetes would go down, and so would drug costs. Pity the poor fool who suggests that idea, much less tries to enforce it.
4. The Healthcare industry is not one industry. It is doctors, nurses, hospitals, administrators, group practices, numerous associations and other groups all representing their own vested interests rather than the greater good. Everybody's got their own lobbyist working against everyone else's.
5. The American healthcare system has become so good at keeping people alive as an animal, vegetable, or mineral, that a lot of people have forgotten the basic fact of life that "everyone has to die" at some point. That doesn't mean creating death squads, that means life ends at some point. Sorry. Consider that a dollar saved on treating terminal patients could be used to maintain a family's lifestyle, or even redirected to research for prevention of a disease. The vast majority of cost is expended in the last 18 months of someone's life. A lot could be saved if terminal patients were allowed to die; but who's going to vocalize that? Who's going to determine "terminal" with all of the potential for breakthrough cures and treatments? Who's going to decide? Who's going to tell the terminal patient?
6. Americans have an over-inflated sense of entitlement in too many ways. We can't have great healthcare and not expect to pay for it. Unfortunately asking the questions, "what do you want?" and "what are you willing to pay ?" are political death wishes. We want it all, but we don't want to pay for it.
7. Likewise, some Americans have no sense of accountability for their health. For some reason, some of us think that it's okay to eat everything that isn't moving while we sit in our lounge chair gurgling with our remote. For exercise we'll smoke a few cigarettes as we waddle over to get on our ATV and get some fresh air on the trail to the country bar where we can slam a few cool ones before we double-vision it back. Never fearing for our health, because we know the doctor can fix us up !!
8. Even if all of the above were addressed, America is a very big country. The healthcare needs of one state maybe be vastly different from the healthcare needs of another. Do you think the same system that would work in Mississippi would work in Alaska? How about California and Rhode Island? Hawaii and Wisconsin? If you think one size fits all, you're wrong.
9. And, if you like that one, think about some other "demographics". Should the plan be the same for the twenty-something as it is for the fifiy-something?
10. Drugs. Everybody carps about the high cost of pharmaceuticals. Yes, they are, because we are a medicated society. "Better living through chemicals", the mantra of the '60s is playing out like we never thought it would. But...forget that and forget the fact that the drug companies fund a lot of research in creating the drugs you take. Seriously, forget all that and just take a minute to consider that if you have a pension plan with any sort of mutual fund in it, odds are that you own stock in a pharmaceutical company. If that company doesn't make a profit and loses money, the stock value goes down and so does your retirement plan. Hmmmm, never thought about that one.
Last point: "Coverage for everyone" is another one of those phrases we've been hearing for years and years and years and years. Everyone should have a basic set of benefits. Okay, what is that? Seriously, is it the basic plan that covers everything from sneezing to proshtheses, with a $10 co-pay... or is it the basic plan a $500 deductible with a few exclusions? Who's going to decide that one?
No politician this dog has ever seen.
The good news? The system was broken and in crisis 30 years ago and, somehow, it's still functioning. How do they do that?
We read... and hear... and read... and hear.... about all of the pending reformations to our healthcare system; and some of us actually believe it.
You know, as I think about this.... I'm not even sure if we know what we believe. (That's your deep thought for the day). Ask someone what healthcare reform really means? Whoa...
Bottom line road dog realities:
1. Healthcare in America is an unlimited demand for a limited resource. Americans go to the doctor for things they don't need to go for; and don't go for things they should go for. If your nose is running, just wipe it. If your nose has been bleeding for over an hour, go see the doctor. We have too many runny noses clogging up the system. We need a decongestant.
2. The American healthcare system will never be reformed by the "government" until someone realizes that the system is based on "cost-reimbursement"; and so it will never have any incentive to reduce cost. Duh, read your basic economics book. Some of this should be in an IQ test.
3. The system is focused on treating disease, NOT maintaining good health. There's no incentive to be heatlhy. Should healthy people get a better deal than the unhealthy? Can you spell "political suicide"? Consider the idea of providing free medicine for everyone with diabetes, IF they agree to follow guidelines for diet and exercise, and maintain regular medical check ups. Diabetes would go down, and so would drug costs. Pity the poor fool who suggests that idea, much less tries to enforce it.
4. The Healthcare industry is not one industry. It is doctors, nurses, hospitals, administrators, group practices, numerous associations and other groups all representing their own vested interests rather than the greater good. Everybody's got their own lobbyist working against everyone else's.
5. The American healthcare system has become so good at keeping people alive as an animal, vegetable, or mineral, that a lot of people have forgotten the basic fact of life that "everyone has to die" at some point. That doesn't mean creating death squads, that means life ends at some point. Sorry. Consider that a dollar saved on treating terminal patients could be used to maintain a family's lifestyle, or even redirected to research for prevention of a disease. The vast majority of cost is expended in the last 18 months of someone's life. A lot could be saved if terminal patients were allowed to die; but who's going to vocalize that? Who's going to determine "terminal" with all of the potential for breakthrough cures and treatments? Who's going to decide? Who's going to tell the terminal patient?
6. Americans have an over-inflated sense of entitlement in too many ways. We can't have great healthcare and not expect to pay for it. Unfortunately asking the questions, "what do you want?" and "what are you willing to pay ?" are political death wishes. We want it all, but we don't want to pay for it.
7. Likewise, some Americans have no sense of accountability for their health. For some reason, some of us think that it's okay to eat everything that isn't moving while we sit in our lounge chair gurgling with our remote. For exercise we'll smoke a few cigarettes as we waddle over to get on our ATV and get some fresh air on the trail to the country bar where we can slam a few cool ones before we double-vision it back. Never fearing for our health, because we know the doctor can fix us up !!
8. Even if all of the above were addressed, America is a very big country. The healthcare needs of one state maybe be vastly different from the healthcare needs of another. Do you think the same system that would work in Mississippi would work in Alaska? How about California and Rhode Island? Hawaii and Wisconsin? If you think one size fits all, you're wrong.
9. And, if you like that one, think about some other "demographics". Should the plan be the same for the twenty-something as it is for the fifiy-something?
10. Drugs. Everybody carps about the high cost of pharmaceuticals. Yes, they are, because we are a medicated society. "Better living through chemicals", the mantra of the '60s is playing out like we never thought it would. But...forget that and forget the fact that the drug companies fund a lot of research in creating the drugs you take. Seriously, forget all that and just take a minute to consider that if you have a pension plan with any sort of mutual fund in it, odds are that you own stock in a pharmaceutical company. If that company doesn't make a profit and loses money, the stock value goes down and so does your retirement plan. Hmmmm, never thought about that one.
Last point: "Coverage for everyone" is another one of those phrases we've been hearing for years and years and years and years. Everyone should have a basic set of benefits. Okay, what is that? Seriously, is it the basic plan that covers everything from sneezing to proshtheses, with a $10 co-pay... or is it the basic plan a $500 deductible with a few exclusions? Who's going to decide that one?
No politician this dog has ever seen.
The good news? The system was broken and in crisis 30 years ago and, somehow, it's still functioning. How do they do that?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Quality Road Dogs
"Our need is to create infrastructures to network support of failure...infrastructures which bring people together to talk about what they don't know." I heard Paul Batalden, MD., say that at 17 years ago. He's now at Dartmouth still looking to create those networks in healthcare. Given the current state of affairs in "national health"... he's the epitome of the proverbial guy at the bottom of the mountain. I guess you could say that Toyota has created some of that infrastructure he's talking about...sort of. They seem to have embraced their failings in the ways they're dealing with their "quality" imperfections. Although you'd never believe it if you only read the media coverage. The feeding frenzy of American negativity rumbles on.
But, let's look at failures...they're easier to talk about than the declining state of our existence.
If you want to do something fun, go find some business books from the '80's and '90's and look at some of the companies cited as successful in them. Then draw some trends as to where they are now.
Ask yourself, why do bad things happen at good places, even when their programs focus some much on quality? Ask yourself, why have "quality" programs at numerous organizations failed? Then pull some thoughts and threads to together and come to understand "why" Toy-oater" dropped their pedal, so to speak.....
The short answer:
- They started to believe their own press.
- They lost focus on improving quality. They focused on the process, not the result.
- They were driven for immediate gratification.
- They were compromised by the need to drive profit and cut costs.
- They only read the first of Deming's 14 points...and can't even come close to understanding his concept of "profound knowledge".
- They thought if they did the same thing everyone else was doing, they'd be successful
- ---------- but they also thought they were unique.
- Their motto was: "Post hoc, ergo propter hoc" (look it up..) and lemmng'ed their way over the cliff.
- They failed the first rule of Road Dog: Use your head for something besides keeping your ears apart.
By the way, I drove the pictured '84 Toyota SR5 4X4 for many years and it was THE Road Dog truck.... .
Monday, March 8, 2010
Road Dog's Bites - 1
THERE IS NO "RIGHT ANSWER".
Write this down... "There is no right answer."
We have been taught since the day we entered kindergarten, or before, that there are right and wrong answers to almost everything - and someone knows them - and if we don't we will fail and get an "F" or a "Poor" or some such deterrent to innovative thought.
Right and wrong works for math, some science, and dates in history. Other than that, the majority of decisions involving "human" have no right answer. There may be one in your mind, but as long as another human, or culture, is involved there's probably another opinion, and another answer, to most everything.
Sorry. That's just the Road Dog way..
FAVORITE QUOTE OF THE MONTH
For all of you "evidence-based management" gurus, who opine the need to practice "data-driven decision making"... Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. First coined by two doctors (MD's) in 1896. When did we forget that one?
PEOPLE ROAD DOGS DON'T LIKE:
Policy makers, survey takers, award chasers. (More to follow on each...)
The person who feels it is his or her duty to "constructively critique", to play "devil's advocate", or to otherwise continually remind everyone how smart s/he is by finding something wrong with every idea or statement someone else makes. I've met a million devil's advocates in my life, and one thing rings true with all of them: ANYONE can be a devil's advocate. The hard part is finding ways to get things done, not finding ways that they can't.
Write this down... "There is no right answer."
We have been taught since the day we entered kindergarten, or before, that there are right and wrong answers to almost everything - and someone knows them - and if we don't we will fail and get an "F" or a "Poor" or some such deterrent to innovative thought.
Right and wrong works for math, some science, and dates in history. Other than that, the majority of decisions involving "human" have no right answer. There may be one in your mind, but as long as another human, or culture, is involved there's probably another opinion, and another answer, to most everything.
Sorry. That's just the Road Dog way..
FAVORITE QUOTE OF THE MONTH
For all of you "evidence-based management" gurus, who opine the need to practice "data-driven decision making"... Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. First coined by two doctors (MD's) in 1896. When did we forget that one?
PEOPLE ROAD DOGS DON'T LIKE:
Policy makers, survey takers, award chasers. (More to follow on each...)
The person who feels it is his or her duty to "constructively critique", to play "devil's advocate", or to otherwise continually remind everyone how smart s/he is by finding something wrong with every idea or statement someone else makes. I've met a million devil's advocates in my life, and one thing rings true with all of them: ANYONE can be a devil's advocate. The hard part is finding ways to get things done, not finding ways that they can't.
SERIOUSLY??
Did I really hear on the news that the Government is again seriously considering imposing a tax on "sugared soft drinks" as a way to offset some of the cost of the "healthcare reform plan" AND reduce childhood obesity and cut down diabetes? What? I'm somewhere between laughing out loud and crying. I don't even know where to begin on that one. This idea is not new, it's origins go back a few years anyway. New York gave it a run .. and got a belch from more than carbonation.
If the government wants to reduce diabetes, I do have a plan. Free diabetes meds to anyone with the disease. BUT given with the covenant that anyone using them must maintain a responsible diet and exercise program and maintain medical care. Nah, that won't work - it reeks of personal accountability and would suck a lot of the "victims of the system" out of their "poor me" existences.
Don't get me wrong...diabetes is a seriously tragic illness and needs to be addressed. BUT, the great unspoken is that a lot of the reasons for the increase in its occurrence is directly tied to expanding obesity and decreasing diets and exercise.
I'm sorry, but there is no "PC" way to tell someone, "put down the beer, nachos and double-wide cheese burgers, and tell your kids to put down the 54 ounce slurpee and taco chips, drop the playstation hand-held and both of you ... oh forget it It's not worthy of Road Dog consideration.
But stay tuned for an upcoming epistle about the healthcare crisis.
READER SURVEY
There's a rumor going around that driving a Buick will reduce your overall mental capacity and the ability to observe the world around you. My Dad drove a Buick (briefly), so I have always wondered this theory. Do me a favor and keep your eyes out for people who drive 55 in the left lane of the freeway - or change lanes without noticing you're right next to them - or come to complete stops at "yield" signs - or pull out in front of you - or any number of other things that might cause you to lay on your horn and blow a capilliary in your head yelling at them. My guess is the rankings will be Buicks #1, followed closely by Yuppiettes in SUV's talking on their cell phones, sipping their latte's while adjusting the DVD player for their 2.3 kids. In third place will be Subarus, and I can't understand that either.
And, in recent news...does anyone besides me actually see the humor in a Prius going 91 mph? Yes, yes, yes... tragic consequence could have occured, and Toyota should be pummeled silly for not practicing what they preach on the "quality bus" ... but a Prius going 91?
HUMOR?
While we're at it... what ever happened to humor? What does it mean when you go back to watching Desi & Lucy, Andy Griffith, and some of those and start laughing at pure humor? All of the brain death on TV today is geared to sexual innuendo and political smear. Seriously, it's all recycled trash put out as part of the conspiracy to overthrow America. (Go with that one...;-)
And, I miss George Carlin.
Our Demons
People sometimes perceive me as avoiding confrontations or conflict... or "issues". That's not true at all, in fact just the opposite. But I can understand that some people's perception of how I do things may lead them to that.
Aside from the fact that throughout most of my life I have come to find few arguments worth the effort, and even less of them productive to anythng in the long run. (Play the Eagles: "Get Over It" here...). As I think about it, I go back to a story which was first told to me around 1970; a story I brushed off at the time, but which stayed with me nonetheless.
It begins with a man who left his home to study. This was no short process for him to achieve, and the man was gone for some time. When he came home, he found that his home had been taken over by demons. The people of his village warned him of the predicament, and told him that no one had gone near his home for some time.
The man knew he could enter his home with no problem. Demons, you know, will never attack head on. They will do everything in their power to scare one into retreating, running away, or hiding, at which time they will stab you in the back.
As he entered his home, the demons began to scream and run by him with teeth bared and talons extended. The man responded with the words, "Welcome to my home !". At this many of the demons disappeared. Demons are a shallow lot, most of them are sincere cowards themselves and disappear at any sign of confrontation or approachment.
As the remaining demons continued to carry on, but with more ferocity, he began to sing to them. A calming, serene song of understanding and acceptance and love. This disposed of all but one of them.
The one remaining demon, the most vicious and mean of the bunch, was the biggest, most powerful of all. His fangs and claws were the longest and sharpest of any. His eyes were full of bloodlust as the man approached him.
This demon screamed with a fury unheard of, and his mouth flared open wide and fury raged from his heart.
The man stopped, looked the demon directly in the eye, then bowed to the demon and put his head in the demon's mouth.
The demon disappeared. The home, at once, become peaceful, and the man went on to live comfortably.
The point of this story is that we, and our demons are part of the same environment, and to win the demons over, we have to accept them, become part of them, and change them as we change ourself. We cannot change anyone else unless they want to be changed.
For those of you who take this story in the literal sense, play "Get Over It" again and ponder the idea that the Bible and other religious works are "parables", not necessarily facts. .
Aside from the fact that throughout most of my life I have come to find few arguments worth the effort, and even less of them productive to anythng in the long run. (Play the Eagles: "Get Over It" here...). As I think about it, I go back to a story which was first told to me around 1970; a story I brushed off at the time, but which stayed with me nonetheless.
It begins with a man who left his home to study. This was no short process for him to achieve, and the man was gone for some time. When he came home, he found that his home had been taken over by demons. The people of his village warned him of the predicament, and told him that no one had gone near his home for some time.
The man knew he could enter his home with no problem. Demons, you know, will never attack head on. They will do everything in their power to scare one into retreating, running away, or hiding, at which time they will stab you in the back.
As he entered his home, the demons began to scream and run by him with teeth bared and talons extended. The man responded with the words, "Welcome to my home !". At this many of the demons disappeared. Demons are a shallow lot, most of them are sincere cowards themselves and disappear at any sign of confrontation or approachment.
As the remaining demons continued to carry on, but with more ferocity, he began to sing to them. A calming, serene song of understanding and acceptance and love. This disposed of all but one of them.
The one remaining demon, the most vicious and mean of the bunch, was the biggest, most powerful of all. His fangs and claws were the longest and sharpest of any. His eyes were full of bloodlust as the man approached him.
This demon screamed with a fury unheard of, and his mouth flared open wide and fury raged from his heart.
The man stopped, looked the demon directly in the eye, then bowed to the demon and put his head in the demon's mouth.
The demon disappeared. The home, at once, become peaceful, and the man went on to live comfortably.
The point of this story is that we, and our demons are part of the same environment, and to win the demons over, we have to accept them, become part of them, and change them as we change ourself. We cannot change anyone else unless they want to be changed.
For those of you who take this story in the literal sense, play "Get Over It" again and ponder the idea that the Bible and other religious works are "parables", not necessarily facts. .
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Mentors Revisited
Where have they all gone? When did we enter the world of assigning someone to be a mentor? Is this something people now put on their resumes? Do we really have a job description for Mentor?
As my Dad, and my first great mentor would say, "Another sign that the world is going to hell in a handbasket !". I'd probably respond with something like, "yeah, but the good news is that 50 years later, it's still going !" Dad was a "Road Dog".
Anyway, there are a few words that I do take seriously in their definitions, and this is one of them. I've been blessed throughout my life and career with some good ones. Of course none of mine had any formal training in mentoring, nor were they assigned to me (well, maybe my parents were...), but somehow these untrained mentors did a good job. At least I think they did.
Mentors in my humble mind, just sort of happen. They're the people who have influence on us, and I'm not sure they plan to do that. Mentors are the people that you keep in touch with because you want to, not because you're supposed to. You reach out to them like you would for comfort food. You trust them with your vulnerabilities, and you trust their words (whether you like them or not).
They're Road Dogs personified.
My parents, of course, mentored me in many of life's nuances. And, of course, I didn't fully realize that until it was too late to thank them in person. But that's okay too. I'd tell you that I still talk with them regularly; and they've been gone for over 35 years. Parents, as Mentors, are there in your "formative years" to show you good and bad... oftentimes without trying and through examples more than words. Mine taught me about hard work and love and sacrifice.
My Marine Corps drill instructors were some of the best mentors I could have asked for at the age of 18; but there's no way I would have called them "mentor". Consider my DI who looked at me and said, "Private Schrum, I can't make you do anything, I can only make you wish you did."
Seriously now, how profound is that as a mentoring statement? Isn't that the key to leadership... to parenting... to getting anyone motivated, and all of those things people spend millions of dollars trying to teach people?
Work-wise, I'd have to start with the CEO of my first healthcare facility. He put the first helicopter program in the world up. (Look it up yourself - Flight For Life, Denver). He didn't look for a lot of data-analysis and didn't form any committees, sub-committees, task forces or work groups. He didn't do any surveys and would have laughed if someone said "benchmark". We used to tease him about watching too many episodes of "MASH", but the truth is that he saw us losing a lot of patients coming down from the mountains via ambulance, and saw an opportunity to save some. He went to his Board and was called a lunatic, but he persisted and they gave him the go ahead to lease a helicopter and give it a go. Bingo. The rest, as they say, is history... and I got a great quote, "Every now and then the lunatic fringe becomes the cutting edge."
My work "mentors" all had one thing in common: they cared a lot more about the people and the relationships then they did about the finances, the data, the committees, and all of the other things you read about in business books. I've got a placque from Dr. Thomas Frist, Sr., founder of HCA, the world's largest healthcare company, hanging over my desk. The words on it, "Good people beget good people". He was right. Take care of the people, do the "right thing" and the rest will take care of itself.
Mentors will show you that none of us can really make anyone else do anything they don't want to do, if they really don't want to. The key to our success is getting them to WANT to do it. Peter Drucker summed it up for business when he said, "you can't motivate people, they have to motivate themselves; you just give them the opportunity.".
My Mentors all did that, and this carried through with me in my belief that I don't want anyone with me who doesn't WANT to be there. My job is to give them the opportunity, but if they don't want it, then my job is to help them find a place they want to be. I'll say it again, Mentors care about the people first, not the job or the P&L statements. That helicopter would have never gone up in Denver, if money was the decision point.
Another sidebar here, why would ANY company want any employees who don't want to be there? And, why would any employee come to a job they hate? I cannot comprehend the 20 year employee who has spent most of that time complaining about his job. I think there's therapy for masochism. Seriously, what possesses someone to get up day after day for 20 years to go somewhere they hate and spend 8 hours in misery? Don't say "money"; because you know better.
Mentors aren't assigned to you, they happen. In work and in life. They don't look for you. They aren't assigned to you. Most of them probably don't even encourage you to follow them too closely. They know they're human and they have failings.
Mentors are like the Phantom of the Opera... In sleep they sing to you, in dreams they come to you, the voice which calls to you and speaks your name... the "Mentor" is there, inside your mind.
Bill
Perspective
I started writing a book awhile back, based on tokens and tales of my career in healthcare and human resource management. My working title is "WTF?".
Stop gasping and let me tell you the story of how that term became etched in my mind.
The story of WTF goes back to my Marine Corps experiences as a photo-journalist in the southeast Asian section of our world. Its origins and subsequent memories over the years speak to my use of humor in crisis.
Imagine, if you can, a squad of Marines trudging through the jungle. It's 100+ degrees with humidity to match. They're chasing "Charlie" and all of them are hot, tired, angry, scared, and otherwise edgy.
Then it happens. They come "under fire". They are pinned down and it doesn't take a genius to figure out they need help to get out of the situation.
The squad leader does what he's supposed to do; he grabs the radio and calls back for help. He asks for artillery, helicopters, jets, he doesn't care... he just needs a break to get his men out of harm's way.
His request is answered with, "we have other actions going on and can't get your support now".
He keeps his cool, and restates his case, this time citing the number of casualities he's already taken and the impending catastrophe about to come upon his squad.
Once again he's told, "can't do it for some time, try to hold on."
Finally, after several attempts and his voice increasing in volume, most of the men in his squad have picked up on what's not happening. They are realizing that they're alone; and that they are pretty much on their own.
Then, the squad leader, feeling totally frustrated and helpless, yells into the radio, "WHAT THE F---, OVER?".
At that moment in time, his men realize the total surrealness and insanity of the situation. One of them surpresses a cry and it comes out a laugh. Then another, and another, and pretty soon this group of young men who have little hope, start laughing... and the laughter grows louder and louder.
"Charlie" hears this, and the firing stops, as he no doubt wonders, "WTF?".
And in that moment, the young men rise up with a new sense of energy that comes with nothing left to lose and they fight their way out of harm's way.
Yes, it's true.
Now read this story again and make a correlation to your world.
Think of those young men as your colleagues or your staff.. or your family, and the frustrations they feel when every request or idea they have is met with a "no" or you give them 100 reasons why something "just won't work".
Think of the boss, when every time she asks her boss for something for her group is given a policy or a procedure or a budget process or some bureaucratic nightmare to answer before anything can happen.
Odds are that those scenarios won't create the laughter of my story. Lives aren't necessarily in danger. BUT,spirits and motivation are. And, if the spirit dies what have you got?
My life has shown me that there is rarely enough time, money, people, or resources available to do much of anything; and sometimes a good old, "WTF?" serves to put things into perspective and focus attention on the idiocy of what, or who, you're dealing with.
Success isn't in the policies, procedures, rules, regulations, or other reasons "why you can't do something". Sucess is in opening gates, finding ways to get things done, facilitating the accomplishment of your mission. And that's true in your personal life too. Don't wait for the day you decide you need a "bucket list".
And, laughing in the face of adversity still does make the other side stop and think you're just nuts enough to ..........
Bill
Stop gasping and let me tell you the story of how that term became etched in my mind.
The story of WTF goes back to my Marine Corps experiences as a photo-journalist in the southeast Asian section of our world. Its origins and subsequent memories over the years speak to my use of humor in crisis.
Imagine, if you can, a squad of Marines trudging through the jungle. It's 100+ degrees with humidity to match. They're chasing "Charlie" and all of them are hot, tired, angry, scared, and otherwise edgy.
Then it happens. They come "under fire". They are pinned down and it doesn't take a genius to figure out they need help to get out of the situation.
The squad leader does what he's supposed to do; he grabs the radio and calls back for help. He asks for artillery, helicopters, jets, he doesn't care... he just needs a break to get his men out of harm's way.
His request is answered with, "we have other actions going on and can't get your support now".
He keeps his cool, and restates his case, this time citing the number of casualities he's already taken and the impending catastrophe about to come upon his squad.
Once again he's told, "can't do it for some time, try to hold on."
Finally, after several attempts and his voice increasing in volume, most of the men in his squad have picked up on what's not happening. They are realizing that they're alone; and that they are pretty much on their own.
Then, the squad leader, feeling totally frustrated and helpless, yells into the radio, "WHAT THE F---, OVER?".
At that moment in time, his men realize the total surrealness and insanity of the situation. One of them surpresses a cry and it comes out a laugh. Then another, and another, and pretty soon this group of young men who have little hope, start laughing... and the laughter grows louder and louder.
"Charlie" hears this, and the firing stops, as he no doubt wonders, "WTF?".
And in that moment, the young men rise up with a new sense of energy that comes with nothing left to lose and they fight their way out of harm's way.
Yes, it's true.
Now read this story again and make a correlation to your world.
Think of those young men as your colleagues or your staff.. or your family, and the frustrations they feel when every request or idea they have is met with a "no" or you give them 100 reasons why something "just won't work".
Think of the boss, when every time she asks her boss for something for her group is given a policy or a procedure or a budget process or some bureaucratic nightmare to answer before anything can happen.
Odds are that those scenarios won't create the laughter of my story. Lives aren't necessarily in danger. BUT,spirits and motivation are. And, if the spirit dies what have you got?
My life has shown me that there is rarely enough time, money, people, or resources available to do much of anything; and sometimes a good old, "WTF?" serves to put things into perspective and focus attention on the idiocy of what, or who, you're dealing with.
Success isn't in the policies, procedures, rules, regulations, or other reasons "why you can't do something". Sucess is in opening gates, finding ways to get things done, facilitating the accomplishment of your mission. And that's true in your personal life too. Don't wait for the day you decide you need a "bucket list".
And, laughing in the face of adversity still does make the other side stop and think you're just nuts enough to ..........
Bill
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Naming of a Blog
In the 10 minutes I spent pondering names for this thing, I was trying to come up with something that would be both interesting and broadly applicable enough to let me write about anything. Thoughts wandered from the fashionably cool to the mundane (same thing??) as I searched the wall lockers of my brain for something catchy, but real. I kept asking myself what has been the most consistent thing in my life that could tie to random opinions, but be quietly worthy of reading. I moved through the memories of wine, women, song, (D, S, and R&R for my generation), and on to learnings, to pain, to joy, to just breathing... and then it struck me: dogs. I have had dogs in my life for at least 90% of my life and have gained more wisdom and comfort from them than I have from a whole lot of "teachers".
My first was a cocker spaniel named Mickey, who guided me on the walk from toddler to ten. Then Mom went on a puppy spree and we went through several who were a blur of sickly to hysterical, to mean, but all memorable. (Yes, I'm rambliing, but it's my blog so keep reading it might get better.)
Then came "Puddy" (short for Puddles). Puddy was my first "road dog", and she sat next to me in my '66 Chevy as we travelled the roads of America when I got out of the Marines in 1971. When Mom died, Puddy and I drove the U-Haul from Tacoma to Denver. Coming through Oregon, I fell asleep at the wheel and she barked to wake me up. That's a road dog. Road dogs listen, and then dispense wisdom when needed.
My first was a cocker spaniel named Mickey, who guided me on the walk from toddler to ten. Then Mom went on a puppy spree and we went through several who were a blur of sickly to hysterical, to mean, but all memorable. (Yes, I'm rambliing, but it's my blog so keep reading it might get better.)
Then came "Puddy" (short for Puddles). Puddy was my first "road dog", and she sat next to me in my '66 Chevy as we travelled the roads of America when I got out of the Marines in 1971. When Mom died, Puddy and I drove the U-Haul from Tacoma to Denver. Coming through Oregon, I fell asleep at the wheel and she barked to wake me up. That's a road dog. Road dogs listen, and then dispense wisdom when needed.
The Blogging Begins
Splash. That was me diving into the blog pool, after years of hearing people say that I should do one and humbly ignoring them. But, as I peruse other bloggers and bloggites responses, I figured WTF, why not? On the grand scheme of this planet, my ego is strong enough to say that my wisdom is at least as relevant as the top 50% and no worse than the bottom 50%, so here goes.
This won't be a regularly scheduled posting; heck I'm not even sure I can find it again if I can figure out how it gets posted. These writings will be subject to sporadic thoughts brought on by mood swings, things I see, read, or hear, and/or caffeine induced opinion sharing impulses.
If anyone actually reads this, you have my gratitude and wonder.
Keep the faith,
Bill
This won't be a regularly scheduled posting; heck I'm not even sure I can find it again if I can figure out how it gets posted. These writings will be subject to sporadic thoughts brought on by mood swings, things I see, read, or hear, and/or caffeine induced opinion sharing impulses.
If anyone actually reads this, you have my gratitude and wonder.
Keep the faith,
Bill
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