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

What I Learned This Week: Once Upon A Time, There Was This Blog Post...

As I am wont to do, I attended an Art Fair last week (spoke at it actually, in a speech that may find its way here given its pertinence...but I digress). It was a fundraiser for Youth Employment Services, a cause I've been supporting relatively actively for a number of years.

Most of the art there--from paintings to sculpture to jewelery to original fashion designs--was surprisingly original and almost uniformly good.

So, what separated the purchased pieces from the ones schlepped back home by the artists themselves?

The story.

It's somewhat old news and almost a cliche, but in marketing just about anything these days, the story behind the product itself is almost as important as the product itself.

A handful of books have been written on the subject of corporate storytelling but sadly, considering the depth and breadth of the subject, most of these tomes are surprisingly ponderous and almost uniformly bad.  Proceed at your own risk.

Books aside, suffice to say that wrapping your offering in a story requires following a recipe of three simple ingredients:

1. a modicum of common sense narrative
   
2. a pinch of creativity
   
3. and a tender tap on the soul

For example, take the story of Jason Goldsmith.  He was selling a series of colorful, happy pieces that combined both the back and the glass of a shadowbox frame.  Eye-catching indeed.

But scratch the eye-candy surface and you find out that these pieces were inspired by Jason's seven-year-old son Ellis, who is autistic. Limited in his spoken communication, Ellis communicates with his dad via drawings; "picture conversations" as Jason calls them. "Ellis was a stranger living in my house before I discovered he thinks in pictures," he explains.

Each piece that Jason had for sale came complete with a sticker that tells the story behind it.  The one I bought--"Uh Oh, Broken!"--was about the day Ellis dropped a box of eggs while helping his dad make breakfast...something all parents live through, but few have such a tangible, framed, lasting memory of.  Take a look at it above.

You can find out more about Jason and Ellis and their Big Blue Hug project by clicking here...but equally as importantly, you can be inspired by their story to create yours.

YOU may think your story boring, mundane, unspectacular...but you've been living it.  It's old hat to you.  To someone else, anyone else, EVERYONE else, it's new, and it may be fascinating.  You'll never know unless you tell it, though.

Rod Stewart once sang: "Every Picture Tells a Story."

Well, this week I learned that "Every Story Sells a Picture."

Or, in the case of Jason and Ellis Goldsmith, judging by the images I saw clutched in arms or peeking out of bags on the elevator down from the YES Art Fair, it sells MANY of 'em.

What I Learned This Week: Priceless AND Worthless--The Schizophrenia of the Olympic Silver Medal

Because of the three-hour time diff and my nocturnal habits, I was able to take in WAY more of the Vancouver Olympic Games than I thought I was gonna.  And what really struck me after two weeks or so of thrills of victory and agonies of defeat was the precarious relationship between the two...

...particularly as it pertains to the Silver medal.

Nike took a lot of heat during the 1996 Atlanta Games with its controversial slogan "You don't win Silver, you lose Gold."  Truth is, in many cases, Nike was right. 

To an athlete part of a team that goes down to defeat in a winner-take-all Gold Medal match, Silver means less than a wad of tinfoil.  It's a constant, nagging reminder of getting to the gates of the promised land, but not being allowed in.  Just ask the despondent American hockey teams of both sexes, or teary Canadian Curling Skip Cheryl Bernard.  In this case, Silver = letdown.

However, to an athlete racing down a hill, or flying above an ice surface, or hurtling down a track, only to be edged out by someone going infinitesimally faster or with slightly more grace, a Silver is priceless.  In fact, instead of the zero-sum game of team sports, you see a camaraderie that culminates with a group hug on the medals podium. 

Hmmm...same medal.  But the emotions surrounding its procurement are on polar opposite ends of the psyche scale.

(Don't even get me started on the Bronze.  I was in Lake Placid over the weekend and saw the whole town come together--parade and all--to greet Andrew Weibrecht, Mens Super G Bronzer, and mob him at a Whiteface Mountain autograph session.  Then there's the ecstasy of the Finnish hockey team, who reacted to the Bronze Medal win as if were for an other-worldly Diamond pendant.  And of course, will we ever forget THE story of the Games, Joannie Rochette's heart-tugging, uber-emotional, Bronze-winning skate performance?)

The difference?  No, it's not about expectations, although they play a factor. 

I think the difference in value of the schizophrenic Silver lies in how the competition for it is measured. 

In other words, if you're ultimately battling the clock or being judged (skiing, snowboarding, figure-skating, bobsled, track & field, etc.), a Silver is a win.  It's an individual triumph.

If you're engaged in a head-to-head against others (hockey, curling, basketball, etc.), a Silver is a loss.  It's a team failure.

So, what's this all mean?

First of all, taking this into account, perhaps the IOC could re-think the value of team vs. individual medals.  Perhaps there could be peace in the Middle East and a cure for cancer too, because those are likely to happen way before the IOC changes the way it awards medals.

Secondly and more importantly, in business, I think I've learned hot to use the disparate value of the Silver to motivate my teammates and staff.

If we're up a deadline or an numeric objective, let's always aim for the top of the podium...but not kill each other if we "miss it by that much."

But, if we're up against the competition in an us-or-them situation...then it's Gold or nothing, bay-bah!

All that glitters may not be Gold, but Silver shines...sometimes.

What I Learned This Week: The Power of Preparation...And Style (or "Luring Richard Branson")

Some lessons are feelgood, upbeat and inspiring. 

Others teach you via a swift kick-in-the-teeth. 

This week's main lesson is arggghhhhh! the latter, and comes courtesy of the triplets Could've, Should've and Would've.

Happily, there's a coda lesson that provides a little Novocaine to soothe the pain.

 To put this all into an explicatory perspective, I was invited to hear Richard Branson speak on Tuesday.  More than just a good seat courtesy of my friends at McGill University, I was also invited to a small, pre-event cocktail where I was certain to meet the man face-to-face.

While I had crossed paths with Sir Richard once before (of all places, standing next to each other at a bank of urinals in a Toronto convention center), this meeting promised to be a little less awkward and more personal.

So what did I do to prepare for it?

Sadly, nothing.

I had just returned from a week away at the TED conference, spent two days dealing with the deluge of email, phone calls and meetings that a week away brings, and frankly, the Branson thing was merely another box on a calendar-ful of events, appointments and commitments.  There: my lame-ass excuse.

So when I actually had some one-on-one time with the Virgin King on Tuesday, I went with his flow instead of my agenda.  We chatted about clothes (more on that later), my history at Just For Laughs, the way my company Airborne Mobile had been an early partner of his Virgin Mobile, and my upcoming TXT-TV interactive television product.  When the small talk was over, he moved onto his next private audience...and I beat myself up over a lost opportunity.

I don't know about you, but I don't get an audience with Richard Branson every day. As self-serving as it sounds, the opportunity for me was to look for ways for him to help me. But without the proper preparation, without me truly doing my homework, there was no opportunity.

Here's what I should've or could've done:

1)  I wrote a book about Surprise, in which Branson has a starring role, including a chapter-heading full page drawing of him by renowned artist Tim Barnard.  I should've brought a book and used it as a gifting ice-breaker.  Odds are long that he would read, or take any action on, said book, but odds are even longer if he ain't got one.  Is it tacky or self-serving to do something like this?  Perhaps, but a gift is a gift, and any error of commission is better than an error of omission.

2)  Who cares about my past?  The TXT-TV project could be right up Virgin's alley. A tight elevator pitch and ask could've resulted in a connection that could take the concept further, faster.  Instead, it passed through his ears like water under a bridge.

3)  I was there with my son Aidan, who HAD prepared a tight elevator pitch about his collaborative web music project Youphonics.  If anything, I could've said: "Ahh, who care about me.  It's my son who's doing something really cool"...and passed the attention over to him. Instead, we got a nice photo opp.

So that's the bad news.  And a hard lesson learned.  Never again do I go anywhere where opportunity can knock without being prepared to hit the door.  And hit it hard. 

And this isn't just "big picture" stuff; the same goes for every meeting I have, every social gathering, every time I have an interactive opportunity--I must set aside some time prior to prep for it.

For my own good.

Alright, enough self-flagellation.  Here's the good news:

Out of a room of about 75 people vying for his attention, Branson surveyed the crowd while being ushered in, and after a few perfunctory introductions to others, made a beeline OVER TO ME.

Why?

Because of what I was wearing...primarily, a purple velvet jacket by designer Rene Lezard.

I've said this time and time again, but you either stand out or you're shut out. Blending in makes you invisible...which is about as useful as not being prepared, but I digress.

It may sound trite, but that jacket was the lure for the evening's big fish.  First thing Sir Richard said was "Nice jacket.  I'd trade you if you were my size,"  followed immediately by comparing how similarly we were dressed.  Pow!  Connection made.  All I had to do was stand there.  And stand out, of course.  Now imagine the outcome had I been properly prepared.

Next time, dammit.  Next time.

So, to close on a high note, here's a song for you.  A few years ago, someone suggested that, given my attention to sartorial detailing, the following tune should be my musical theme.

You could borrow it...or at least follow it's wise refrain:

"You either got or you haven't got style.

If you got it, you stand out a mile."

So all this said, I guess the two go hand in hand.  You can be prepped to the teeth, but if you don't get a chance to use what you've prepared, you're the proverbial tree falling in the forest.

And if you stand out enough to get noticed...well, you'd better be ready to sing when the spotlight hits. 

Just like these guys.

Enjoy.

What I Learned Today: Hey #TED! The Whole World Is Watching. So Here's What You Gotta Change

Flying home from TED as I write this, and boy, is my cerebrum tired!

Was gonna use this time to gather my thoughts, and I probably will shortly, but the inauguration of Air Canada's new on-board wifi service lets me riff through 600 or so gathered pieces of email, and get my main "adjunct" learning from the conference also known as "Brain Camp" off my chest, and onto you.

TED has expanded its conference roots into an international brand, a juggernaut of hope, awe-inspiring ideas and mass do-goodism. And despite the Starbucks-like viral proliferation of smaller live TEDx events all over the world, the fact is that more people will see it via a screen than will ever experience it live. To wit:

• There's the real-time simulcast of the annual event to an enthusiastic crowd of 500 in Palm Springs. 
  
• There's the hundreds of thousands of "associate" members watching live on the Internet. 
  
• And then there are the millions upon millions who fervently watch a growing library of TED talks on TED.com and YouTube.

So here's my point: 

For all intents and purposes, TED has become a broadcast entity

...albeit one that just so happens to have a live event as its core.

And as a broadcast product, it has to think and act more like one.  In other words, its stage set--while breathtaking live--is inefficient and sometimes visually jarring to a viewer.  Shots of some of today's greatest minds and thinkers were marred by music stands, keyboards or other "to be used next" stage elements seemingly sticking out of their heads. Many times, close-ups of their heady theories and break-through ideas were disturbed by cameramen or other backstage workers in action behind them.  And don't get me started on the side shots or reverse shots, the latter which was always dominated by the red radiation of the countdown clock.

Add to this a slide clicker that was faulty to a four-day fault and other tech glitches that are acceptable at a Kiwanis Club or Hotel Ballroom sales meeting, but not at the world's pre-eminent gathering of the hipster elite.

The solution?  TED needs a crack artistic director

...sort of like what I do at Just For Laughs every summer. But better ;)

This person should go about hiring an equally-crack live TV director, someone who has cut his or her teeth on sports, awards shows, concerts or other large-scale, large-audience events. 

Next stop: a production designer who thinks TV first, and fits those thoughts into a live setting.  I learned so much from Akira (Leo) Yoshimura, a Saturday Night Live set designer, when he did this work for our HBO and Showtime shows in the '90s. 

IDEASWORTHWATCHING

We had a lot in common with TED--essentially, one pacing, talking head after another on stage--and Leo introduced stunning and relevant background flats (that could be flown or rolled on stage) that ensured each mid, tight and long shot of a performer was properly framed as a solid visual.  No "bars thru heads."  Not only did these add an element of branding and personalization to each performer, but they camouflaged all the dirty work and set-up going on throughout the rest of the stage.

After that, find an equally-good lighting director to minimize shadows and ensure props and faces pop.  And finally, introduce a discreet TelePrompTer to minimize host use of clipboards and floppy key rings of index cards.  At this level of event, there should be no fumbling with notes.  This may alter the somewhat "loose" on-stage spirit of Chris Anderson and other TED hosts, but if you can have a countdown clock, you can have a TelePrompTer.

I really dug my TED experience.  I learned a lot and met an international datebook of interesting people and potential collaborators. 

But as TED grows, the more public its audience gets.  And the public can be way more demanding and fickle than the elite.  

I think it's time for TED to head this public off at the pass and ramp up the production values.  It doesn't have to be Hollywood, but the International Republic of TED needs to play to the screen-viewing masses with a little more screen-friendly pizzazz.

The ideas worth spreading have to be ideas worth watching.

What I Learned Today (at #TED): Pardon The Horn-Tooting, But...I Was Right

 Okay, I'm apologizing in advance for the slightly self-serving, self-congratulatory tone of this post, but...

I was right with the Surprise stuff.

For over three years, I blogged incessantly about it right here. 

I wrote the seminal book on it (shame on you if you ain't got one yet). 

I spoke at conferences and in boardrooms about it. 

And I must admit, while nicely accepted, the concept of the power of Surprise didn't exactly set the world on fire.

But then I got to TED.

Yesterday, the Surprise, uber-eye-popping announcements by Microsoft (new browser named Pivot and a mapping program that replicates what it must be like to be Superman) were topped only by the largesse Pow! laid down by Google who gave away a new Nexus 1 phone to every participant at both Long Beach and Palm Springs.  To say that the gathered elite were buzzing all night with (my favorite term) Euphoric Shock is a supreme understatement.

Then this morning, the 500 fervent attendees of TEDActive in Palm Springs erupted like Mount Vesuvius when TED Head Chris Anderson made a Surprise live, on-stage appearance to open the day.

This afternoon, the brilliant graphic artist Marian Bantjes wowed the place with her dissertation on the unexpected and the power of Surprise.  One step further--her quote in the official TED guide: "I would like to be remembered as someone who was always full of Surprises."

The hits just keep on coming.  And there's still this evening...and all day tomorrow.

So what did I learn today?

Sorry again, but I learned that I was right.  I learned that Surprise is perhaps the most effective tool in communicating, selling and getting into people's souls.  Unheralded, underappreciated, indeed.  But TED has proven to me that its time has come.

And has showed me that, as it pertains to timing, perhaps I was a little early.

Well, better late than never, n'est ce pas?

What I Learned Today (at #TED): Cut Some Slack, Not Your Own Throat

Another great day at TED, with everything from how games will save the world to the next emancipation of slaves to slicing wings off mosquitoes via laser beams.  Eclectic, to say the least.

Yet one of the major lessons had little to do with content and much to do with context.  TED runs on a very anal-retentive schedule.  Speakers get their time (usually three, six or 18 minutes) and heaven forbid they go over.  To ensure compliance, there's an ominous, red-alert-styled digital timer smack-dab in the middle of the stage counting down the minutes and seconds left like a doomsday clock.

So what happens?  Well, in a number of cases over the past two days, you see speakers trying to jam seven minutes of ideas into three minutes of clock, or 10 minutes into six (you get the drift).  The end result is obvious to all watching--a stressed delivery and the unfortunate garbling of ideas.  Pity, given who's delivering them.

It seems elementary, but in this situation, speakers should undershoot, and give themselves some slack, not added pressure.  More diligence paid to editing before hitting the stage will allow speakers the chance to take a deep breath, enjoy the drama of a pregnant pause, maybe even take a sip of water.  Slack also allows for some much-needed improvisation, and/or reaction to audience reaction.

And ya know what?  This micro-level observation plays out even better on a macro level, in almost any life or business situation.  Better to have time to kill than be killed by time.

Jeez, who needs extra stress?  Cutting yourself some slack will prevent you from cutting your throat.  Or your ideas. Or your lifeline.

What I Learned Today (at #TED): Perspective...Goddamn Perspective

So, TED2010 has begun.  An interesting morning, but waiting for someone to hit one out of the park.  When the most inspired speech comes from a politician (British Conservative David Cameron), you know the best is yet to come.

But no matter who's up today or over the next three, I defy any TED talk be as memorable, powerful or thought-provoking than Glenna Fraumeni's six-minute profound lesson on perspective delivered yesterday at TEDyou.

Glenna is a 24-year-old med student from Canada who last year was diagnosed with Stage 4 brain cancer last Christmas and given three years to live. Silent night, indeed.

But rather than wallow in the injustice or create a frivolous "bucket list" of things to do and places to see before dying ("Why do I need a picture of me waving in front of the pyramids?" she asked), Glenna has decided to simply--as they said in the '60s--keep on keeping on.  She goes to school to pursue her degree, continues to help others in her job, and tries to live each day with a sense of normalcy, accepting the inevitable but bravely denying its power to throw her off her path.

There wasn't a dry eye in the house as she stumbled with her opening a couple of times, calmly asked to start over, and then proceeded to teach everyone a much-needed lesson we all soon forget too damn often. 

Her simple closing words still echo endlessly:

"I know I probably won't be here Christmas 2011. 

But, more importantly, where will YOU be?"

And how was YOUR day?

So here's to Glenna, a TRUE inspiration and TED hero.  The next few days may be filled with marquee names like Bill Gates, David Byrne, Jamie Oliver, Cheryl Crow, Chip Conley and the like, but they've got a hard act to follow in Miss Glenna Fraumeni.

Which is why I'm gonna re-type her name.  With the size and verve it deserves:

GLENNA FRAUMENI !

Off To TED...To Seek, To Speak, To Learn

As you read this, I am off to California to take in the mind-altering TED conference and actually speak at TEDActive in Palm Springs.

While not one of the major, 18-minute keynotes (maybe next year, right?) my verbal opus is a six-minute tale of terror and woe, with perfunctory happy ending, about a harrowing experience with one of showbiz's most venerable legends. 

What makes this speech even more special is that my "stage" is out in the desert at the mystical Joshua Tree (better not forget that camera...). Once I get the video link, I will happily post here...I hope.

Until then, given where I'm at all week, I just might just have to transform "What I Learned" into a special daily edition; not re-hashing the zillions of Tweets and blog posts that will explode from the place, but to give my slant on some of the more uncommon and off-beat lessons.

Stay tuned. 

And wish me luck, 'cuz the desert is one big-ass stage.

What I Learned This Week: The Importance of Virgin Eyes

 About 10 months ago, our faithful Maytag dishwasher gave up the ghost, puffing its last sigh of hot drying air on the collected table settings and cutlery of a Friday family meal.

The very next day, my wife and I replaced it with a shiny, new, high-end machine from Miele.

Only problem is that the new, sleeker machine was about two inches narrower than the hole left by the departed Maytag.  We made a note to call our contractor and order a customized piece of molding to match the kitchen and close up the offending gap (see the offensive gash at right).

So here I sit, composing this blog post, 10 months later, and that hole still stares me in the face.

Why?

Because it's become "part of the furniture."  

This gaping wound used to drive me nuts.  For the first few weeks, it was an ugly daily reminder of a job unfinished, a scar on my otherwise perfect kitchen, a source of embarrassment that I would hide from others by leaning against it.

These days, after countless calls to the contractor, two missed appointments of repair and a handful of "I'll do it myself over the weekend," I hardly notice it anymore.

What was once jarring is now invisible.

Which brings me to this week's learning--the importance of using Virgin Eyes.

The concept of Virgin Eyes was one of the key points I introduced in my Pow! book (for the two or three of you reading this who have still not purchased it, you can do so by clicking here), under the tactic "Wear Virign Contact Lenses."  In a nutshell:

"Wearing Virgin Contact Lenses enables you to paradoxically see things again for the first time.  Directions are simple: insert, then look at your product, your service, your dilemma as if you've never seen it before."

The lack of Virgin Eyes causes corporate blight, and stains reputations of businesses large and small.  I see it all the time:

• the crack in the elevator mirror
• the piece of loose brown countertop held in place by a square of grey duct tape
  
• the boardroom wall marred by chipped paint and holes where hooks used to hold paintings
• the exposed extension cord or snake of computer wires
• the frayed edge of a laminated restaurant menu

...I can go on forever.

The chestnut cliche "Time Heals All Wounds" is indeed true physically; the passage of days and weeks renders the aberration into the commonplace. 

But emotionally?  Spiritually? Reputationally? (Hey, I just coined a new term!)  Your customer, your client, your friends don't see things the same way you do.  What has become invisible to your eyes is still harsh to theirs.

So the lesson here is to see the everyday as if it were the first day.  Notice the things that others will notice...and fix the ones that you'd rather they wouldn't.

Trust me, it will make a difference.  A very positive difference.

That said, lemme call that damn contractor one last time...