Sunday, March 29, 2009

Week Twelve / Day One...plus

This was a great week, wrapping up in Perth and the delivery of the first show in which I have had a hand in the full arc of development and production. I had written the concept for this annual event about a year ago while still a consulting Creative from NYC; so, being here to oversee the final few months of pre-production and Direct the show was a welcome opportunity with a healthy subtext of hands-on accomplishment. With some serious re-tooling of what seems to be an accepted matrix or format for these functions in Australia, we nearly doubled the amount realized from the event, Saturday night.

For those of you who've been to the occasional fundraiser, before; we kept cocktails clean of any speeches and established a festive atmosphere at the start...bringing the crowd into the ballroom with a 20-piece marching band (founded in 1898 in Perth), true to the '80's High School theme of the night. As it happens, there isn't a culture of marching bands in Australia - outside the military; so, this component was more an import from my own past. The audience was, then, quite surprised as this group of codgers came marching through all brass-buttoned in their uniforms and trumpeting the theme to "Monty Python's Flying Circus."

Once all were inside, we went right to the meat of the program; presenting a short, very personal and poignant introduction of a new program of the agency. A powerful storytelling moment about the plight of children who are taken into foster care, usually with rapid extrication from a familiar-though-unsafe context as they begin a navigation through foster systems carrying all their worldly possessions in black plastic garbage bags. A very real metaphor for these lives at risk and an effective threat to a child's self-esteem and dignity; the fact of these garbage bags is a profound negative foundation for the rest of a child's life...regularly overlooked in the larger context.

This new program seeks to take these children, on their first morning in this protective care, shopping for their own suitcase and the necessities of life to fill it. Toothpaste, toothbrush, toiletries, washcloths, sweaters/jumpers, shoes, socks, even a lunchbox to take with them to their new school. This is probably the first time these kids have ever actually been shopping and certainly the first time they have been given the power to choose what they want and receive it. Then, when they move from foster home to foster home; they can pack their own suitcase with their own things and carry their lives with dignity to their next home.

I don't know if this is communicating; but, thinking about it, this program can have significant and far-reaching, positive results. This can communicate to these kids that there are adults who care for them, and give them very real ownership of and some control over the way they live their lives. Who knows what effects this may have as they grow into young adults?

So, this was the very first moment of the evening; and, as the story was being introduced in a dark room with one speaker, seated, in a brilliant pool of light, one could feel that moment when a quiet audience becomes a silent audience and all are deeply focused on what is being said. It was powerful. The goal had been to raise enough money, on the spot at $500.00 a suitcase, for as many as 30 kids. In 20 minutes we had enough for over 50 children! Great start to an evening.

That being done, in came the dancers, acrobats and roller skaters to "Physical," "What a Feeling," "Time of My Life" and "Xanadu" and the 80's came alive for a wild evening. These Aussies do NOT do anything halfway; and I was impressed at how thoroughly the entire audience of about 650 participated in the theme. They were ALL dressed to the '80's Nines... 

That is one thing about this culture that is so compelling; nobody is "too cool" to get into something like this. The natural exuberance of the Australian Culture is such that people tend to jump in with both feet when it's time to have fun; and if that means we're dressing like the '80's, we effing dress like the '80's! From CEO to PA, inhibitions (if there are any) were dropped and the entire crowd was fully-themed... Crikey!

We brought the '80's tribute band on between the first and second courses, and the dance floor was PACKED! I'm tellin' you, there is no "halfway" here. 

I saw something else I'd never seen, before, as well: we had a kickass auctioneer for a 30-minute, very fast-paced auction during the main course. This guy was a wacko powerhouse; and, after selling off all the donated/sponsored experience-based prizes, he proceeded to tell the audience he'd planned to bring something personal to auction off, but that he'd forgotten to bring it. So, he was going to auction off "bugger all." He then proceeded to auction...nothing. It was a riot; he managed to get them bidding against one another, starting at $100.00, until he got the figure up to $2,000...whereupon he accepted three, matching bids of that figure...raising $6k for three lots of nothing.

Nice work.

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So, that was this week. A final note on events in Oz, though: my personal/professional mission now includes the eradication of the M.C. In this country, Masters of Ceremony seem, culturally, to be an accepted, "necessary" component of any and all events and ceremonies. IMHO, short of Hugh Jackman, Billy Crystal or Jon Stewart, few things are more certainly guaranteed to protract an evening with air-sucking chatter than an M.C. That's why god invented voice-over! More on this as my mission develops...

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So, all that being said, I am offering a brief visual tour of a few milestones...and looks...from my own past for your personal enjoyment...

1970 - after my relay team's successful four-and-a-half day quest for inclusion in the Guinness Book for longest, unbroken swim. I think we managed to keep the record for about two months...

1973 - At Georgetown's annual Sports Dinner, receiving "most improved"... (I know, I know...the pants...I was so proud of them...a tragedy.)

1976 - The National Cotillion with Miss Ginny Short

1975 - South Coast Repertory production of "Star Spangled Girl"

1978 - Denver, Colorado with my very close friend, Hutch

1981 - San Francisco

So, that should leave you with some laughs, this week. 

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Learned another new term; "getting kip." It means getting some sleep...more, a nap. "Did you get some kip on the flight?"

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Finally, thanks for reading this. I've said it before, but the correspondence and communication amongst us that has been the result of my posting of this blog has been and remains such a tremendous support to me. I am reminded, almost daily, of the quality of friend I am so fortunate to have had and, in many cases, now have again. The fact of you carries me through some very rough spots...

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Week Eleven / Day One

Nope, this isn't actually in Australia; though, I'm still here... This is a camel I encountered as I walked through Dubai, a few years ago. I have no photos of this week, but didn't like the look of a bare headline; thus, I thought I'd share this character...

It's been a week of gentle revelation, here, on all fronts. Well, the chiropractor wasn't the most gentle of revelations; but the subtle differences with which the back crackers crack backs, here near the Outback, took me aback, a crack... On the one hand, the intake at this new (for me) clinic is significantly more thorough than I have experienced, historically; full medical history and a good 30 minutes of simple conversation with the doctor. During this conversation, though, the relationship between the possible existence of immense amounts of stress in my life and the presence of a bale of barbed wire in my neck and shoulders, preventing me from turning my head was, in fact, explored...

On the other hand, the physical experience seems less thorough; in that one remains fully clothed, there is minimal muscle working before the adjustment part of the process, making it almost seem peremptory; and the adjustment takes place on a sort of "breakaway" bed - the part of the body being adjusted is positioned on a raised area of the bed, and that section drops back to flush with the bed as the sharp pressure is applied. The theory seems to be that this offers the body "less of the work." To me, I think it short-circuits the actual adjustment.  I'll have to check this out with my former Chiro when I am in NYC, next month...

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This has been a good week of work with #1. In Perth, together, we delivered the first event with which I have been involved from close to initiation. A massive awards ceremony, simply and elegantly produced; it gave the two of us the opportunity to actually test our respective "definition of terms" with respect to organization, production value, standards, vision, philosophy... Frankly, it was again a reinforcement of the potential that exists between us to really do some exceptional work, together. As we worked through the weekend - attending another event, the night before, on which we are bidding for next year and delivering our own event - time and again we spontaneously shared points of view that are complementary and mutually supportive.

So often, when people discuss standards or specifics, when delivery time comes it can be discovered that different things were meant while using identical terminology. This doesn't seem to be happening, here. On the contrary, I truly think we are on the same wavelength. From the moment we met up at the airport for the flight out and throughout the period; time and again I believe we felt a solid connection, an exciting meeting of the minds and the taking root of trust where trust has been sought. 

I can't tell you the value of that...I don't need t'tell ya. I think both of us felt ourselves moving in from the proverbial limb, through this sojourn. The relationship is taking root; and I feel very good about it.

Having more or less "observed" through this past weekend's project; I am taking a more central role in next week's event, again in Perth. Now that I know the players, somewhat, and have a stronger sense of how things are approached, here; I am going to immerse myself more centrally in this next production to test how I can integrate most effectively and help fuel our movement forward...

I did catch a glimpse of the manifestation of my own frustration, this past weekend; experiencing a brief flash o'wrath, from the sidelines, as I observed a fumble. It startled me, a bit, as I am working to maintain more zen a 'tude as I pass through this transition...overall, though, a good thing to have noticed while on the sidelines, so that I can keep my eye on the Insidious Critter o'Impatience and keep 'im docile.

It was a good week. I'm feeling much better about being here; stronger connection with #1, of course, but the effect of actually having a positive affect on the work being done can't be downplayed or overvalued, either. Stay tuned...

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So, OzLightenment for the Week...

They charge by the byte for the web, here. In the US, we essentially subscribe to broadband via cable or some other method, buying our portal and broadband speed and using as much or as little time and download capacity as we like for a regular price. Not so, here. Here, one must estimate usage and buy a plan for a specific amount of gigabytes per month. Not such an easy thing for we right-brainers...I mean I have NO idea how much I've used, per month, week or day during the past ten years; nor how to estimate or predict.

Which ain't so great; as, when one is approaching one's purchased limit, they SLOW YOUR SERVICE DOWN AND CHARGE HUGE FEES FOR ANYTHING PAST "PLAN." SOMEBODY is making a LOT of money, here.  This also affects public access to the web: where in the US, entire municipalities offer free internet connections on every sidewalk or park bench and most airports, convention centers and public spaces have access to free WiFi, one won't find that, here, due to this cultural anomaly. Most frustratin'...

Terms and Contractions

Moreish - when something is so good that one always wants more of it. "Those chocolate cookies are moreish, aren't they?" Never heard this one, before...

Arvo - Afternoon. "See you tomorrow in the arvo..." Where "arvo" comes out of "afternoon" is anyone's guess; but arvo, it is... 

Doco - Documentary film...

Chook - Chicken; as in Roast...

Lippy - Lipstick..."the women'll want to run do their lippy..."

In subtle and enjoyable ways, the colloquial language, here, reflects the overall upbeat enjoyment of life inherent in the great majority of Aussies...at least in my experience. Irrespective of position in life, responsibility of job or career, to pretty much the last man or woman it is far more likely to see a smile on the face than a frown; no matter how tough the going, short of tragedy or disaster. Knowing this is key to making the transition, here. The quality of taking things seriously looks and feels differently than it might, from where I come. 

This is a nuance to be remembered at all times; and nothing I would want to change, anyway...

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Week Ten / Day One

The Ides of March

A fantastic, non-metaphorical storm blew in and through, yesterday. Like a big-budget, special effect, it loomed on the horizon and grew, relentlessly, as it thundered toward the shore and Melbourne. Wind and driving rain for hours put me in the BEST mood...
My little Aussie flag on the balcony got wet, wet, wet... Looking beyond it, though, one can see that some green is beginning to show in the parks, across the street. We could do with several more days of rain, like this; give the parched and thirsty flora in and around Melbourne a chance to renew itself into the Garden Spot for which this city used to be reputed. 

I do so love weather like this; it reminds me of the Oregon Coast... I love grey, wet days; it brings out my creativity, and I do my best writing in damp, overcast weather. It must be the Vampire in me...

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Well, the virtual cards and letters came flooding-in, after last week's work-related post. I have been reminded, through this, of the tremendous wealth of friends I do have; and of the immense trove of talent and experience embodied in this group...in y'all...and of the faith placed in me by those who care. Psychologists, HR Professionals, Executives, many who've shared this same experience and the odd hunter/trapper, offering to off the source of my frustration, have each and all stepped forward with excellent advice. 

That, and a brief, long-distance reading by my San Jose-based psychic, truly helped bring all this into focus and -- after an intense week of inner angst -- much has come into focus, and the pressure seems relieved.

My opportunity is to recognize that the best way for me to be able to make a valuable difference is to be available, offer what is possible, do what is embraced and keep my presence here perceived as an asset. Perhaps not the asset it might be, were I to really be able to dig in and do; but a welcome asset if I don't attempt to levy or force ideas, concepts and methodologies down anyone's virtual throat. I can "teach" or mentor only by doing; by working shoulder-to-shoulder with my producers, offering ideas on approaches to production and truly being okay with whatever is accepted, attempted or eschewed.

My producer in Perth is entirely different. From New Zealand, she's been around, a bit; worked in the UK for several years as a Head Chef, went into production, is a black belt in kickboxing, is very easy on the eyes (is that sexist?) and a strong, sweet person.  She has her ways of doing things, as well.  Last week, she indicated she was resistant to offering the complete level of detail I include in my timelines/runsheets for a production; that it made her uncomfortable. My response was to tell her not to do it, then; that I didn't want her calling her show with a document that made her uncomfortable, and that she should do it her way with my full support.  I explained my rationale for building the documents the way I do (and those of you who've worked with me know what I'm talking about with my by-the-quarter-minute timelines); and went on to say that that's just the way I do it, not necessarily the "right" way.

All in all, it's her show and she needs to be completely comfortable; no sweat.

The next day, she called me and said she'd been thinking about it and can see why I do it the way I do it and can we try it, that way. So, we're building the document, together, as a test-run. This is The Way.

The thing is, the secret is, that it truly has to be okay with me for it not to be done "my" way. I must share perspectives, points of view, methodologies with no investment beyond the sharing. This little revelation is the key to making this year one of which I will be proud, and from which I will have success, personal and professional.

There is a lot that is "wrong" with how things have begun to play out, here: I cannot live in that frustration, I can do nothing about those things and "win." Forcing compliance or response will only be met with resistance. I loved Australia before I came for this; that is where my head needs to be, now. 

So, that is where I've come. I think my zen, my discipline, will be in the ongoing practice of letting go; yet I think that is the best thing for this company and for me. The only way to make a positive difference is to be in a context where that contribution is wanted and welcomed. It is my responsibility to nurture that atmosphere.

I feel a lot better about this.

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My path to the gym takes me on an overpass that rises a few stories aboveground such that for about 30 yards I am adjacent to a third-floor gym in an apartment building on the route. Friday evening, as I walked, gym-clothed and pumped-up, past this gym, there was a cute kid ("kid" being relative, he was probably about 28) doing sit-ups with his hands behind his head on one of those big, rubber balls, facing out the window as I was passing, about 20 feet in front of him.  I glanced up and, without missing a beat in his sit-up rhythm, as he crunched forward, he looked me in the eye, smiled, and reached around to give me a thumbs-up, and kept on crunching.

I got a GREAT laugh out of this little hotness-acknowledgement. From a face and a person I'll likely never see, again, I got the word; "you're lookin' good, and you're gonna do OK!"

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Week Nine / Day One

Awoke, yesterday morning, to the balloons, again. A quiet, still, grey morning offering the perfect background for the striking clarity of the flame...flaring to take this balloon, just outside my window, higher than I've seen one rise, to date. I thought it worth inclusion... These balloons hover, so compellingly and so regularly, at the edge of my existence, here; anchorless, drifting, buffeted and directed at the whim of the wind...a metaphor?

In fact, I think that I'll keep the rest of this week's post a little lighter than have been so many of those past. We can take a breath and go for a walk...

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I thought I'd share some visuals of my route to the gym/work and back. Ergo, today, I offer a travelogue of sorts; something easy to digest and free of further angst, sturm, drang and drama... Below is a shot of my building, looking back from across the park on my way to the gym. Eighteen floors; I'm on 13.

This piece of art is entitled, "Blowhole," and when the wind is blowing, this thing turns and spins madly, sparkling in the sunshine as though it is flinging jewel-like drops of water in every direction. There is outdoor artwork, throughout Melbourne; all over the city as well as along the major arteries into and out of town. All pretty eye-catching stuff; some kinetic, some of it is simply visually arresting.

Here, below, is the bridge that crosses the Yarra on my way to work or the gym. It twists and turns on itself before releasing one onto a huge, waterside plaza with a view of yachts and bridge.



A ten-minute walk from the bridge is my gym. Olympia. Serious and frill-free...and three blocks from my office...
My office...the former South Melbourne Fire Station, converted to a Starbuck's Training Facility, and now the place where my future is forming... Cross your fingers.
Rather than walking home, there is the choice of taking the tram.  Trams in Melbourne are as iconic as the Cable Cars of San Francisco. Ubiquitous, the city is tremendously proud of the vehicles and the system; and has every reason to be so.  They are well-scheduled, user friendly (ticket machines on every tram) and pretty fast.
The tram takes me to Southern Cross Station, through which I enjoy walking on my way over the hill to my apartment. It's a great structure; architecturally engaging and exceptionally efficient...
...it is also the first place I've ever seen branded escalator banisters...

...spacious, airy, flooded with natural light, wonderful views across the tracks...oops! How DID that pesky banner of hot guys playing footy get into this shot...?

Yes; technically, I live adjacent to Batman Hill...named for the man who negotiated with the locals for the land on which Melbourne is built. I understand he made a deal akin to that made for the Isle of Manhattan... At the end of my street is the former Telstra Dome, now Etihad Stadium. Etihad Airlines must have paid a bundle to brand this place in their Sherman's-March-to-the-Sea onslaught of Emirates Airlines.
Crossing the street, here is Waterview Walk, and we're back to my building...
...and entering a tragic, tragic lobby. This furniture is intriguingly flexible: each of those parts can be independently raised and lowered like a poolside chaise...but...why?
...finally, this free-standing metallic enclosure contains the mailboxes...
...and, our tour is complete. Now, you have some idea of my environment, my context, the place I'm living and spending each day.  

Publishing these dispatches has had the unexpected result of bringing me back in touch with some people with whom I have shared history and for whom I have harboured an affection that has arched across the years, from when our lives first touched. I have received some of the most thoughtful, thought-provoking, caring and affectionate missives from individuals; offering support, sharing meditations, sending photos of what's taking place in their lives...

These renewed friendships are cherished proof that my instincts - our instincts - have been true.