JD Deal Online Marketing and Deal Business Consulting, Watsonville and Santa Cruz, CA

It's not that AT&T is a small company.  Neither is Yahoo.  My webhosting says AT&T Yahoo, so that should make matters simple.  My monthly billings are exquisitely accurate as any charge possible anywhere throughout the AT&T Yahoo mega system finds its way to my invoice.

Be that as it  may the blog  was  down and no amount of fidgeting or rebooting would help.   The problem had to be on the computer cloud side, that is, with the website software and not my harddrive. 

The first call got me to AT&T but no website.   They gave me a new number.  The next call made me listen to all the options before making my selection.   This was obviously some techie's whopper idea of the week to reduce mis-categorized inquiries and make us have to listen to all the options.   'If you have webhosting and are a Red Sox fan, press 9.'

"Wrong department," replied  the pleasant voice on the other end, "why did they give you that number?" 

"Great question," was my reply, "it would have saved me time if they would have just told me first up they were giving me the wrong number.  Could you please forward me to that number?"

"Sorry, sir," was the reply, "we can't do that but here is the new number."  This was sure disappointing.  My AT&T Yahoo bill is all connected but the rest of  the company is not.  As it turns out neither could even forward calls internally.   The menu maze was obviously an obstacle course to weed out  the weak, frail and mentally challenged.   

Ten minutes later: "Yahoo," said the voice. 

"Great," was my relief, "my blog is down."

"Can you get into the control panel?"

"Yes, but not to post new entry or entries.   An error message comes back."

"Give me a few minutes sir and let me  check  it.  Please hold"

Now we were getting somewhere.   What is amazing is how many departments in AT&T Yahoo  have something to do with websites but not the website itself.   My suspicion was most staff were in marketing and sales.   

15 minutes later came the reply.  "Sir, we are getting error messages too but it looks like it's on the  software side.   There doesn't look like there is much we can do..."  Pause.

"Golly, maybe I was hoping for a little too much; afterall, it's  your software, your webhosting and it is technically beyond my capabilities to troubleshoot your software."

"Good point sir.  I'm going to speak with my immediate tech supervisor and get his opinion.  Please  hold."

So far so good though to some it might look otherwise.  They acknowledged there was a problem and they can duplicate it although initially it was unclear just whose respsonsiblity this was.  They must get thousands of  calls from buffoons that can't push the right key; at least on their AT&T Yahoo internal customer routing software  program they would not put me under the 'buffoon' category.  At least not yet.   And ten minutes later:

"Sir, we are looking at shutting down the site and restarting it but we want to make  sure we don't lose your data."

"Thanks.  It means a lot to me.  That and the fact there are hundreds of thousands of words and that blog mean a lot to me too." 

"Sir, we can't determine why you are having this problem from where we are.  Can I have your user name and  password?"  Sure.  Why not?  The good news is even they have trouble hacking into a site they host.  Ten minutes later.   

"Sir, this is an engineering problem and we are forwarding it to them for review.  Please stay on the line and we appreciate your patience."   Sounds good to me as we are only into this process a bit over an hour and what the heck could be more fun that doing  this? 

"Sir, the engineering department said they can see no quick solution and will open a case number.   Your case number is 6542345.   Let me also get your phone and email address as well so they can get back to you.   It might take 24 hours."

"My phone and email?  You folks sell me both, you should have some record somewhere." 

"Thank you sir and they will  be in touch with you."  And there it sat.  Me with a case number like it's some trial or deposition.   There were two things that were abundantly clear to me at this point in this tech troubleshooting process. 

The first  is that even if AT&T and Yahoo are world class companies that does not necesarrily mean that they can communicate with each other about things other than my invoice.   The second is that  Yahoo is a company that the week before had turned down an offer of a $45 billion dollar buy out by rival Microsoft.   Go  figure.   

But no worries.   The engineers were hard a work looking into my problem.    With positive signs like a case number hopefully they were beginning to realize it was their problem too.    A half  hour later I checked back on my email and nothing.   On a hunch I tried my blog and "voila!" ; it worked! 

So you may be thinking this guy is a whiner and why does he need a blog anyway?   Good  points and you may in fact be right.  But you miss the point.   You see,  my experience  proved that AT&T and Yahoo are in it for themselves and collecting my money is their first priority.   As true blue capitialists, they feel that getting my money is at times more important than my having a meaningful experience when dealing with a techie issue. 

So in fact one comes to the conclusion that the company cultures of Yahoo and AT&T are so unidimensional that they will never change and were it not for their people, they would crumble into digital cyber dust.   What saved me were the string of polite, knowledgable employees that despite the absurdity of the systems they were working under, were able to work around that and get my problem solved.

But that still does not explain why Yahoo did not take that $45 billion when they had the chance.

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Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Business is serious stuff.
 
Costs must not exceed revenues.  Employees must be hired, fired, reviewed, evaluated, compensated and motivated.  Managers must walk the tightrope of viewing employees both as resources and costs.  The competition is brutal.
 
What does it say about a business when we walk in and find stressed, grumpy, resentful employees?   Isn't image, look and feel the responsibility of management?
 
Employees do what they are told and reflect the company image they are told to reflect.  Image is the responsibility of management.  So is humor.

Unfortunately the message employees often get is that the company is no fun.  With such high stakes the atmosphere can get overly serious: "if we don't get this contract we all should start to look for another job." 

"If we don't find a way to compete with that big chain we are toast." 

"All our best customers are going to our cheaper competitors."

These are serious issues...everyday serious issues.  Bread and butter problems are not funny.  These issues aren't funny so why the humor?
 
Consider the normal reaction when a manager tells an employee 'unless we get more sales, we won't make payroll next week.'  More often than not the reaction is one of simple worry.
 
The manager mistakenly feels that if he makes the employee feel badly enough then the employee will become motivated as if the payroll problems were the employee's problem.
 
In reality the manager is simply spreading his worry.   The next customer that comes in will read the worry in the employee's face.   The customer may not know the specifics but they clearly see there is a lot of tension.  They can see it.
 
What is not always clear to managers is how the bottom line correlates with attitude and company culture.

When employees hang their heads it is usually a good indicator of the company's performance.  The impression depressed employees give is one of trouble or internal problems.
  
Yet the hard facts of cash flow and competition cannot be ignored.  Where is the trade off?  Where is the magic mix?  Is there a happy median?
 
The bad news is there are no quick fixes for the business seriousness syndrome.  The really bad news is it takes some cognitive restructuring or reframing of old attitudes to develop a better sense of humor.
 
In order to change perception attitude has to change and that is not an easy task.  People are stubborn and in fact attitudinal change is almost always is a very difficult chore.
 
It is important to understand that humor is a process not a destination.   Humor requires ongoing creativity and lots of attention.  And some lighthearted kidlike energy.   After all, humor is supposed to be fun, no?
  
What's the worst that can happen?   Without humor, the worst is already happening.
 
Think about beginning your next business meeting with a touch of humor. Do something humorous and different.   Hand out toys if you can't think of anything else.  Liven up! 

Make the attendees do something that involves their direct participation.  Take a minute to have few chuckles before getting down to all your serious business.  Make fun of a tense situation to help ease the stress.
 
Employees know when their jobs are on the line.  Making them feel worse accomplishes nothing except lowering morale.  Making them laugh lessens their tensions, improves focus and may just improve productivity.
 
Laughing certainly helps morale.  Try a little humor.  'If we all die in the Big One that will take care of the tax problem.'
 
Use humor to lower communication barriers when you are dealing with something very serious.  'I would be getting sunburned in Tulum right now if we hadn't lost that shipment'.

Use humor to reinforce the bond between you and your customers, suppliers and staff.   Customers like to be perceived as humans and not just accounts.  When you use lighthearted humor with people they tend to view you in a more positive light don't feel they are only a transaction.
 
Do happy employees create happy customers?  Are your people happy?

So just how is your company look and feel doing these days?  Do you project a positive image with friendly, loose, relaxed, focused and upbeat employees?  Are all your people Sad Sacks?
   
Humor is one of the highest, personal and complex of all behaviors.  But at the same time there really is no need to make it out to be more than it is.   It's all really quite simple.  Humor is life; humor is fun.

Ask yourself, is your work fun?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's always better to avoid being downwind from pigs. My Maya friend Poot had our permission to put a couple of pigs in back of our village hut.  Somehow Poot took couple to mean six.  A smelly six at that...especially downwind. 

The bad news is the pigs he bought are of the 'Americano' variety and not the Mexican variety.   The Americano pigs eat a special feed that Poot later found out make his pigs more costly to raise and so subsequently he will make nothing.  

Bad business.  The good news is that when they grow a bit more he will sell them and get out of the pig business; forever, we do all sincerely hope.

The bad news too is he can't let them out of their pig pen and he has to clean the pen twice daily.   The other bad news is we all have to smell what he cleans up. 

He laughs that only the Americano pigs smell bad; the Mexican pigs smell sweet.  He says they smell sweet but that is not the case. 

Better yes, but sweet no.  The Maya do have a sardonic sense of humor and living amongst them one occasionally has to bear the brunt.     

In Mexico there is a dark skinned pig that can still be seen in many rural villages and ranchos.   These pigs eat corn but mostly roots and weeds and garbage.  In fact, these pigs will actually clean up a weedy lot and keep it clean.  

And because they are not kept in confined pens, they really don't smell that bad or have to have their pens cleaned twice daily. 

The owners keep giving them corn so they won't walk away to another village.  Pigs aren't stupid; they follow the corn.  

Recently we drove to several Maya villages deep in the jungle with these free range pigs running throughout the village.   Even though these pigs aren't marked everyone knows whose pigs they are.  

We even remarked how cute the little ones looked if loose pigs in the streets can indeed be called cute.   Actually no one pays them any attention except for the senoras that are always shooing them away. 

No matter what pigs are dirty and make a mess.  It's a pig thing. 

My first night many years back in rural Veracruz was spent inside a hut with a dirt floor.   In back there was another 'room' which must have contained farm tools or such.  Later the truth was revealed.

At about 2:00 in the morning there was a very loud noise. Pigs.  A bunch of them.   Maybe ten little ones and four or five big ones.   What a ruckus!

If you have never had the pleasure of sleeping with pigs then you probably don't know they sleep in a pile at night.  It's a pig thing. 

Several times a night they get up and run around in circles and change positions.   And make quite a bit of noise in this social bonding process. 

No need to try and figure out what's going on because it happens to be a pig thing. 

To make matters more perplexing the next morning it was clear someone had smeared my motorcycle with mud.   In broken Spanish I questioned why someone would do that?

The answer was 'puercos' or pigs which I misinterpreted as thieves or bandidos.  They all had a good laugh.   Silly Gringo.   What kinds of thieves go around smearing mud on motorcycles? 

Of course the pigs had wallowed in the mud as pigs like to do and found my motorcycle a good place to scratch themselves, hence the mud.  

That skinny Gringo ended up marrying that family's oldest daughter and to this day they love to tell the story of the skinny Gringo teenager who thought thieves came at night and covered his motorcycle in mud.   Silly Gringos.  

Needless to say when considering what types of animals to put on my jungle ranch pigs were not a consideration.  

They smell, get sick, get stolen and my resident jaguar would kill them off with great regularity.   Domestic pigs are so much easier to catch and eat than wild pigs.   No match for Mr. Jaguar.

Besides, it might be tempting to just give up on them and have a barbecue.  Good eating but not much of a ranching business.   

Yet there really is no doubt our paths will cross again.  It's inevitable and it's fate...along with an occasional BLT or barbecue ribs with the ball game. 

It's a human thing.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Recently psychotherapists and counselors have been recommending that old married couples go out on 'dates' to rekindle their relationship.  The purpose of these dates is to create a sense of excitement when the fire has gone out and stimulate local commerce during the recession.   

In the pursuit of immense diversification potential and unlimited profits, our R&D team got together over the weekend and outlined a roll play dialogue for an Old Married Couples Dating Training Manual.  What was interesting is how this would play out in different regions of the United States.  

What we found was that old marrieds dating strategies would have to be customized for approximately 75 different demographic regions nationwide, not including Hawaii and Samoa. 

For instance, envision this old marrieds dating conversation at a chic, very West Coast Silicon Valley breakfast table:

"Honey, I want to ask you out on a date," says he.

"You need my permission to ask?" says she, "You either want to ask me or you ask me.  After all these years you still can't get it right." 

"Well, do you want to go out on a date?"

"I swear to God your seeing that shrink is not doing you any good at all.  In case you have forgotten, and God knows I can't, I'm not your girlfriend.  Google me and you'll come up with 'wife'; my Google print isn't just pages it's volumes and they all scream 'wife'."

"Well the counselor said we were supposed to ask our significant other out on a date and it couldn't be a virtual date.  The whole purpose is to create a sense of excitement and rekindle old fires if you know what I mean."

"Honey, those fires died when you defragged your hard drive.  And just what do you plan to do?  Get in our broken down car, drive around the block, ring our doorbell and announce you are ready for our date?  Won't the neighbors think you finally fried all your white matter? "

"I guess so, but the counselor said I should do it anyway.  Working on improving relationships is an important part of my therapy; sort of like a neighborhood Wifi."

"Really?  Somewhere I missed all the RFPs in all this...it's true I don't check my Blackberry but I'm only in the next room.   You used to be considerate enough to at least yell.  Is all this that difficult or are we just really that stupid? "

"Could be some of both according to my psychotherapist.  I have to completely erase my brain's hard drive and install a new operating system.  It's going to take about nine years."

"Nine years?  You've got to be kidding.  And you believed her.  She doesn't know what she's talking about.  I'm around you way too much anyway; when I go somewhere I certainly don't care about going with you."

"I love you too, hon.  After all these years it still makes my eyes water when I think of how tender we are still with each other."

"Sometimes I think I liked you better drunk.  All this rehab nonsense has made you into a mush head.   You hardly yell at me anymore...I almost feel like you stopped caring."

"I talked about it with my therapy team and they all agree I should manage my anger and find my own little mental space where I can go and hide when I feel like going ballistic.  Or when I feel I need to be with just me."

"May the gods help us...I just wish they would stop filling your head with manure because you're starting to spread it around here."

"Sorry, hon.  I try to look at it like spam.  If I fill my head with enough spam I can overwrite my buggy mental software and drive out all the evil and spiteful glitches that used to dominate my RAM.  It's harder for evil to grab me if I'm hip deep in spam."

"You fell in, bozo. But all right already, I'll go along with your therapy team and go out on a date with you."

"Great.  That will make my team very happy.  Where should we go?"

"Either Costco or Ross's.  You said we need to go somewhere exciting."

"What time shall I pick you up?"

"How about let's go around 10:00".

"That's too late for a date."

"In the morning, dimwit."

"That's too early.  I think it's supposed to be 7:30 or 7:45 at night.  It's supposed to be like a teenager date."

"That's odd because in a certain sense I really do feel like a really stupid teenager right now.  So, why don't we just make it 7:38 for good measure?"   

"Well 7:38 sounds a bit sketchy but maybe they won't mind.  They are really busy so maybe they won't notice."

"Oh no doubt your team is absorbed with much greater thoughts.  This oldster dating rehab therapy would never have occurred to me; you have to give them credit for dreaming this one up.   And just what does your shrink say about all this?"

"Actually she doesn't say much at all.  Mostly she just nods her head and says 'good'.  That and 'goodbye, see you next week at the same time." 

"I was worried she was going to give you drugs."

"She said I look like I was already drugged and she didn't think I needed any more."

"She's a real sharpie all right. Why don't you just pick me up at 10:30 and we'll be done with it?"

"What about 7:38?"

"Tell them I already have a date for then although after 40 years of being married to you it seems more like a ball and chain."

"I love you too, hon.  What should I wear?"

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 12:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Before video games we kids played with marbles.  There were 'funsies' where the participants would simply play for the fun of it.  Then there were 'keepsies' or a type of wager where the loser lost his marbles thus introducing many an innocent child to the risks of gambling in a brutally cruel world.  There were many variations in between and we played most of them with great vigor, learning a lot about ourselves and each other in the process.    

Fast-forward many years to the Chinese metallic "worry balls" or at least that is how they are marketed in Chinatown.   A little bigger than golf balls, the idea is to put the two balls in the palm your hand and rotate them, using only the one hand, without touching balls.   This is no small task especially if you have small hands or are a bit awkward or have just drank a half dozen martinis.

The concept is similar to the Feldenkreis physical therapy method: focus on something else and the intensity of your primary and immediate problem diminishes.   When one twiddles these Chinese worry balls then they somehow get distracted from their worries, cares, problems, challenges, hassles and aggravations.   This worry ball therapy does not solve problems or even eliminate worries; the attention is simply momentarily focused away from the stressor. 

The real problem with the Chinese metallic balls is they are just too big.  They are awkward, need a travel case and can't be carried in a business suit pocket without bulging.  Some of the balls actually have a type of internal bell so when the balls are moved they make a noise.  Not so with a couple of marbles.   Advantage marbles.

The purists will say that marbles are too small and present no challenge so attention is not diverted from worry and anxiety.   But purists are often wrong.   If regular marbles are too small for you, use the larger sized 'shooters'.  While slowly rotating two marbles in the palm of your hand may not seem overly challenging it does keep one's frazzled mind occupied and at least part of the brain in a less distressed state.   If nothing else it gives the poor overworked hippocampus a short break. 
 
As usual the experts don't know how all this works but in their defense nobody else knows either.   The clump of gray matter known as the brain does not work like the pragmatists hope it would work.   This has been a problem since some men thought they knew more than other men.  And women.  What little is actually known has something to do with tactile sensation, attention, coordination and current mental condition.   And faking out a lot of cranial neural circuitry also known as the black box.     

If we look at the computer or informational model of the brain for insight we can quickly see that logic really doesn't compute because the brain itself really doesn't care.   In the computer brain model, information is taken in, processed internally and then either put into memory or exhibited outwardly as behavior.   This computerized brain model tells us nothing about neural chemistry or extended neural circuitry but it tells us a lot about the dynamics of cause and effect.   The bad news is the dynamics look mostly to be smoke and mirrors. 

The biggest advantage of the two marble therapy is low cost.   Depending on the quantity, marbles can cost several cents to maybe a dime apiece.   For two dollars you can get a year's supply of worry marbles so that even if you lose them or they are stolen by jealous colleagues you can resupply rather quickly.   And you can always pop into the toy store for a new bag.  What therapy is cheaper or more convenient? 

The most outstanding feature of the two marble therapy is marbles can fit in your pocket or purse or laptop case.  You can hide them and bring them out when you feel the urge.  Or not.  You can twiddle them while waiting to give that big presentation or during your kid's soccer match.  People might look at you a bit oddly and you can explain or not; if you must explain just tell them it's a new top secret brain plasticity builder.   Odds are they will readily accept that explanation because they have no idea what brain plasticity means. 

An added plus is if you drop your marbles at an embarrassing moment you can always remark that you 'must be losing your marbles.'  Those near you will snicker and chortle and probably think you are an odd sort but be assured you will emit strong markers that you have a well developed sense of humor.  And a good sense of humor can offset many character defects. 

By the way, have you seen any stray marbles rolling around?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 08:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As a kid, Sherlock Holmes was my hero.  Here was really a cool guy if there ever was one.  He knew almost everything about everything and could solve almost any crime, even crimes that had stumped Her Majesty's best.   But even Sherlock had his days. 

On those rare but revealing occasions when our good Sherlock was bested, he had to swallow his pride, no small task, and go and seek counsel with his older brother Mycroft.   Mycroft lived at the gentleman's club Diogenes, a place where few members spoke and all sipped their coffee and brandies and read the newspaper and looked at each other through the tops of their eyeglasses.   That's where Mycroft lived.   Mycroft also had some sort of government job but his exact duties and functions were unclear.  

Sherlock would approach Mycroft and Mycroft would immediately start this sarcastic teasing of Sherlock.   Only under the most extreme of circumstances would Sherlock go this route but there were times when he just couldn't get over the hump in the case.   Even our man Sherlock could get stumped. 

After a fair amount of belittling, Mycroft would give Sherlock the hint and one almost wondered if in fact Sherlock already knew the answer, but just couldn't get it out.   And our poor hero Sherlock would slip away dragging his tail and feeling just a little bit wiser but a lot more foolish.   Mycroft was Sherlock's comeuppance and reality check.   

Yet curse as he may, Sherlock knew he would use Mycroft again.   Sherlock knew there would come another case and he would have to go meekly before his brother and beg.   The only thing worse than shame is ignorance. 

Now whether Mycroft actually had the knowledge or just real good people skills is the question of the day.   In the end Sherlock probably had the imagination and creativity to solve anything but at times just hit one of those mental blocks, as we humans are prone to do.  

Did Mycroft actually know the answer or did he know how to structure the perception and question to reveal the answer?   Did Sherlock always have the answer already within himself?   Was Mycroft really too lazy to do the investigative work? 

Would that our man Mycroft were around and on call today to help us out on this one.   Like Sherlock we most likely would discover that a good dose of humility is a small price to pay for the right answer.   The right answer can mean the difference between a project's success or failure.   The wrong answer can lead one down a Narnian path to the twilight zone of no return.  

Mycroft's secret was he kept getting a bigger and bigger perspective on the problem.   At some point, he simply mastered it and moved on.   Sherlock would hit dead end and like most of us throw up his hands in despair.   Not Mycroft.   Mycroft didn't structure the problem that way in his mind so he didn't feel that frustration.  Mycroft didn't care.   Mycroft just kept trying to get the greatest perspective he could on the problem and then probe Sherlock's head to fill in the blanks and connect the dots.  

Holmes certainly led a more exciting life but clearly excitement was not how Mycroft measured his own life.   Mycroft appears to be forever content sitting around the club reading the evening edition.   Or the morning edition.   Or looking wistfully at clouds of tobacco smoke.   The club was Mycroft's reward for being Mycroft.

So in the end Mycroft probably didn't know the answer.   Mycroft was a club rat; it kept him insulated from the cruel and insane world, a world of which our man Sherlock was always knee deep in; rogues and scoundrels and that sort of thing.   In the end we have to conclude that Mycroft was nothing more than a well dressed guru pointing the way...and did perhaps Mycroft envy Sherlock?   

At any rate we Sherlock freaks would like even tougher cases and to see our man Sherlock having to squirm and run to Mycroft for more brotherly advice.  Sherlock seldom squirmed.  This is what it's all about and part of what make both Mycroft and Sherlock tick.   Well, at least Sherlock.  

With Mycroft it was all just one big crossword puzzle but for Sherlock it was a way of life so that is why Sherlock wallowed in it.   Mycroft didn't have to.  Sherlock was the populist; Mycroft the aloof landed gentry.  Sherlock lived life; Mycroft experienced life vicariously since it was so much tidier that way.  Two paths that cross through necessity. 

Besides, our Sherlock would never be content with the dull, gentlemanly life of the Diogenes club, right Sir Doyle?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A new study tells us we should stop worrying about worrying as if we didn't already know.  It all started when some group of research pointy heads found out that worrying about paying health insurance premiums was causing people to get sick.  Their conclusions were the patient was going to be sick anyway so may as well jack up the premiums. 

Now we are told if one worries about having a heart attack, one more than likely will have the Big One than if one does not worry about having the Big One.   So now we have a worry about a worry, if that makes sense.  But of course it does. 

It's simply a matter of civilized visualization.  If the baseball player visualizes himself striking out, well, that most likely will be the result.   We do know that in the end the survival of the fittest strategy may come down to who can worry less about worrying.   Or as my good pal Clem Oakley used to say, 'it's time for some very, very hard liquor right now.'  

Good old Clem, rest in peace.   Clem always knew what to do when things seemed darkest.   Clem knew how to deal with things like worry.  Clem always saw the mug as half filled which for him meant he had just chugged the other half. 

But Clem aside, one should worry a lot about having a heart attack, no?   Don't you just hate to visualize all that chest clenching and pain and loss of awareness and sensitivity for others?   Those having heart attacks almost always are focused on their own needs and entirely ignore the needs of others that are most likely becoming stressed as well.  

So now, thanks to folks like you, we have not one but two things to worry about; 1) the Big One and 2) the worry about the Big One.  As a consequence we now must spend our days thinking through all our worries and our difficulty remembering them all, which could be a plus or a minus.  

Not to cheer too soon, because all this eventually causes new anxiety and probably new worry as well.   You know what they say; one little worry leads right to another and nine days later out pops a brand new little baby worry crying its heart out.   It's a cultural thing and an element of pride.  Once you really learn how to seriously worry, amateurism simply will not do. 

As a sideshow, a whole entire industry will pop up over night teaching everybody and his brother how to cope with worry; 'we don't get rid of it, we just dull the pain.'   Sounds like fun.  Sounds like another thing to worry about.   Somehow we just can't wait to attend all those worry capacity building workshops.   As a group, we have found that group worry brings us closer to each other and our common worries.   We also recommend it for families with rude and crude teenagers.  Talk about worry...bring me the bottle, Clem.

What this all means in the final net net is that we just have to learn to deal with more worry if we want to get the full benefits of a worry based existence.   What me worry?  Why not, it's good for you, no?  

Well, yes and no.  If one worries enough about having a heart attack, maybe one will also change one's diet and adopt an exercise plan.  Or not.  So the positive aspect of doing positive things that help prevent a heart attack may in fact offset the negative aspect of worrying about the big one.  

So be it.  But just because it is, should we worry about it?   The unpopular truth is probably so.  That's life.  Like the jaguar in the jungle, what you worry obsessively over won't sneak up on you in the middle of the night, right?   Who wants to wake up in the middle of the night having the Big One?   It's enough to spoil the entire evening...

No worries for the real worry pro though, adding a worry or two presents no problem.  Worries need room to expand and grow if they are to become healthy and vigorous and mesh into the melting pot of full blown anxieties and neuroses.   And subsequently aid in the increased dysfunction of both individuals and tribes.  What's not to like about that?     

Just remember that things are never as bad as they seem and never seem as they truly are; your problems emanate solely from your peculiarly skewed perceptions.  You are somewhat strange.  Don't try to blame it on nature or nurture; be a real man or a real woman and simply take the blame yourself.  In the long run it's less painful and certainly less confusing. 

Whatever you do, don't blame me.  Just remember you were told worry is us and that's all you really need to know, right?   Right?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Whenever we feel the need to lower our heads in collective depression and despair, we take heart from the simple fact that things can always be worse.   To reaffirm this fact of our cruel and unjust life, it helps if we remind ourselves of the imminent Italian physician and philosopher, the venerable Dr. Pietro d'Abano.   

The most obvious difference between Dr. P and us is we are alive and poor Dr. Pietro is dead.   Long dead.  He died around 1316.   Almost seven centuries ago.  This fact alone should be enough to raise our leaden spirits up out of our collective slumber  and into the realm of ignorant bliss as we realize it is far better to be alive than dead.   However, this argument is also somewhat weak in that it can only be argued from the vantage point of the living, since the dead don't usually debate.  Or at least very well.   

If we were all Buddhists at this point there would be far more logic than we need for proof; but we're not, so it isn't.   Coming from the Judeo-Christian tradition of 'every tiny little thing is such a very big pain'; we can't let it go so easily.  In fact, we can't let anything go very easily.  It's what we do best; hoard stuff.   

The good news back then was that Dr. Pietro was a respected professor of Medicine at Padua and was partially responsible for elevating the noble concept of medicine above the superstitious back alleys of sorcery and witchcraft.   The bad news is he was tried for heresy and practicing magic by the Inquisition.   In fact, it really could have been magic after all since this was some 600 years before penicillin.   

But the good news was that our Dr. Pietro was acquitted and freed, no small feat for that day and time.  The bad news was he was later charged again with heresy and tried again.   The good news was that he had already beaten the previous charges.   The really bad news was he died during the second trial.   We don't know the cause of death because the Inquisition did not favor autopsies for obvious reasons. 

But before even any last rites consideration, Dr. P's friends, being the typical uninformed blockheads of the early 1300's, stole his body thinking that the corpse housed something akin to the soul or spirit and was in effect the essence of man or in this case, Dr. Pietro himself incarnate. 

When the good Dr. P.  was later convicted of his heinous crimes, he was ordered burned at the stake, the usual and customary sentence for such an offense as practicing magic.   No big deal.  However, since he was dead and his cadaver had vanished, he was ordered burned in effigy, the same or at least very similar thing.   

So if in fact the sick and fever ridden Don Pietro had realized he was going to die during his second trial, he also knew his good buddies would more than likely scarf the cadaver to prevent the Inquisitors from inquisitioning it.  He also knew he would then be ordered burned in effigy which he somehow would equate with great importance and still thusly die a fearful, dejected and despondent man.  Had our Dr. Pietro only known what we the modernly civilized know.

Had Dr. P been enlightened he would have told the judge to do whatever the court wants with his vile cadaver.   Modern medicine and modern science has now determined just when the whole thing called life ceases to exist and that point is called the time and date on the death certificate.   Death certificates are equal opportunity for all since we all get one, just like the birth one; we are stamped coming in and stamped going out.  Having been burned in effigy, it is unclear whether Dr. P. got one going out or not. 

So of course this begs the existential question:  Can human knowledge that came after Dr. Pietro's era then be integrated into Dr. Pietro's ongoing spiritual psyche thus causing it to be nurtured and developed even after his untimely yet expected death?   Whew.

The short answer is no but that has never stopped extremists like Don Pietro.  For all we know he could still be around so don't be surprised if he shows up at your next potluck or office social.   We can't actually say for sure that he wasn't one of those sorcerers with one of those pointed hats...but we can say that he probably stepped way outside the accepted bounds of normalcy for his day and time.   It probably wasn't a hard thing to do, remember, Columbus was still two centuries away.

It's a good guess there is a physical law or rule somewhere that says you can't keep on learning, growing and developing after you are dead.   As of yet, there is no proof since there is not much reliable information that has been obtained from dead people.  However, it does appear that thanks to the efforts of oddballs like Dr. Pietro D'Abano we are somehow better off today.   For instance, we won't be arrested for practicing magic which despite the best efforts of the Inquisition is no longer a crime.   Wonder what Don Pietro would say about that. 

It is hard to imagine a world without vaccines and public health and a world where burning in effigy really meant something.   "And as punishment Your Honor, I recommend the State burn the dead carcass of my miserable client.   But until then, it's party time, OK, Your Honor?"  Today we call it cremation. 

Such is good and bad, life and death.  And the evolving concept of justice.   But hey admit it, after comparing your problems to those of the departed Dr. Pietro, just what exactly is your gripe?   

And go ahead and admit it, after comparing your situation with that of Dr. Pietro D'Abano, don't you feel better now?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 02:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

You know you are there when you have diarrhea and are throwing up at the same time.  You just have to lose those pounds and it just doesn't get any better than losing them on both ends.  What you really need is an IV drip since you are losing fluids so rapidly but who cares, water is weight and weight is public and private enemy number one, no?   You grin and bear it...

The experts tell us dysentery or as it is known South of the Border, 'turista', is simply the bacteria in the smaller intestines adapting to a change of scenery.   Of course one has to remember that this theory is brought to you by the same folks that said the male and female brain are the same and cancer causing estrogen is just what all post menopausal women need lots of.  Go figure. 

But regardless of how you contact it, 'the runs' as it is known in the vernacular, is not hard to get.   Just drink the local tap water for starters.  If that doesn't work, try well water but be forewarned you might catch more from well water than just weight losing dysentery.   But hey, in the final net net, who can argue with great results? 

Before you pooh-pooh this intervention strategy consider your other options to rapid weight loss reduction; a stapled stomach, colonic cleansing, addiction to diet pills, starvation or the newest grass and toadstool organic calorie burning therapies.   After reviewing your options, you too might take another look at our weight losing user friendly amoebae. 

And consider the cost savings.   Amoebic dysentery is a breeze to catch and usually doesn't require hospitalization; your doctor simply says 'you got da turista, amigo.  It's a lot cheaper to sit on the hotel toilet than a hospital toilet.'   You stand up, pay and hurry out.   

Because there really isn't treatment for dysentery except for letting it, if you will excuse my crudeness, pass through your system.  You can take those pills that plug up your plumbing but remember that fix is only temporary and it all has to pass anyway; 'tarde o temprano' as we Mexicans say.   Those pills only slow it down...stretch out the bliss if you will.   

Several clinics have been using biofeedback and meditation to help you align your chakras so your brain will be faked out and tell you that you are having a peak spiritual experience instead of a wicked case of the runs.   You might try biofeedback but the odds are it's a waste of time because your gut wrenching intestines constantly remind you otherwise.  

My vote for the worst dysentery is for Africa.  Three days of fever and chills finally subside and give way to two months of early afternoon relapses with both vomiting and diarrhea.   Who said exotic travel isn't fun?   Again, try faking yourself out by saying you are trying to understand the finer points of native culture as you lose it on both ends.  Oh, to be an animal in Africa right now...

But since most wimpy travelers can only take Cancun or Bermuda, well, let's not get too far out on an amoebic limb.   The limbs are actually called strains and strain is a very apt descriptor, along with pain, insane and slain.   Hipster travelers will talk about the African strain or the Chiapas strain as if they were old traveling buddies which of course many are.  What goes around comes around, right?   Or at least passes through...

Be that as it may, there are many fools, mostly German, that just don't learn.   Each time they go they fall deathly ill in the rainforest, as if the jungle heat were just a bit too much for their fragile insides to bear.  But the experts assure us it has little to do with economics and class status and a lot about 'did you drink the water?'   Case in point, the Germans.  They just keep going back and drinking the water.   It's a rite of passage; gastrointestinal passage if you will.    

My luck is good with Mexico except way down south which unfortunately is where we jungle lovers tend to hang out.   That is because we are just simply nuts.  Each gut wrenching amoebae and itching mosquito bite should be crying out 'get the hell outta the jungle you idiot!' so the message would be loud and clear even for fools like us and the Germans.  But it's not.  We still go.  The Crazies and the Germans.   

But let's face it, if you really want to lose weight and go home with that newly emaciated look and feel, go right ahead and drink the water, moron.  Nobody really cares what you do or if you turn green in the agonizingly protracted process.  

In conclusion there are three certainties in our germ ridden existence we can acknowledge without hesitation: life, death and dysentery, nature's natural way to emaciation.   The unfair, unjust reality in all this is your only choice is whether you drink the water...unless perhaps, if you happen to live there.

The bad news is the very end result is always same.  The good news is at least we have a choice.   Unless perhaps, if you happen to live there.

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 03:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I think it was the original old man Getty that said some find oil and others don't.    As you probably know the Getty Museum in Los Angeles has one of the finest collections of art in the world.  The 1930's, 1940's and 1950's were great decades for the nouveau riche to splurge on dirt cheap European art.  Getty bought boatloads of some of the best.  Actually art everywhere back then was cheap. 

And it is on that end of the spectrum that I collect and play the market.  The cheap side that is, not exactly the Getty side.  Some find cheap good art and others don't.  Actually it is a totally neglected end of the market and one that although not lucrative can almost make one feel like a poor Getty, if there is such a thing.  That's why locally our house is known as the Poor Getty's Museum, dubbed such after a trip to the real thing in LA. 

As a weekend pack mule, truck driver, errand boy, stand tender and other task doer for my wife's collectibles stand, I found myself constantly at yard sales, flea markets, thrift stores, antiques shows, locker auctions, estate sales, bankruptcy sales and liquidation sales. 

Her total justification for this torture was it kept me away from meaningless activities like ball games and beer.  Needless to say I quickly became fed up with the absolute mountains of stuff and junk my better half insisted on putting me through. 

As a survival mechanism I needed to find a way to cope and not have a Miminsky.  Being the wheeler dealer that she is, she would constantly be spying the neighbor's wares looking for bargains.  'Find some art' she would say.  So I did.  I brought her junk and bad prints and reprints and one day a nice acrylic and she smiled.  'Finally', she beamed. 

Bingo!  My career in art was off.  Rather than standing around looking like I was waiting for my nachos, I was out scouring wherever we were for art.  Skyview, Alameda, San Juan Bautista, De Anza, Alemany...we did them all. 

My first lesson was to determine what a print is and what is an oil, acrylic, watercolor, charcoal, pen, etc.  Now those of you that are experts may snicker but throughout my years of buying paintings I have seen a number of 'experts' stumped on this very issue.  Unless you're an experienced dealer you need to get an eyepiece to see if it's an original or a print.  I know.  I bought a number of them that weren't original and have since learned real dealers make the same mistake.   

The hunter of fine art has to realize that for every good painting there were dozens of bad ones. If the painting had skill that conveyed an appeal, then the painting would have value based on what is commonly called its 'design'.   A skilled painting could be worth good money even if the artist was not listed or even known.  I would usually pay five or ten dollars for these paintings.  Sometimes fifteen or twenty but no more.  My only rule was I had to like it.   

At first I dealt with traditional art; art about objects that would be considered traditional.  Landscapes, portraits, people...sometimes painted with incredible skill.  One day in a thrift store I found four paintings by a Californian named G. Fisher.  He's had a few listings and did a number of paintings up and down the California coast.  At two bucks apiece I have more than gotten my money's worth.   

The paintings are acrylics of Big Sur and Monterey from the 1950's and are probably worth $100-200 each.  Not bad.  But right now fifties paintings are going gangbusters and shooting up...so in 10 years the price may triple.  But for now they adorn my Poor Getty's Museum.

In art don't be surprised if you find one thing leading to another.   Occasionally, though not very often, I came across modern art.  I especially like the collages.   Sometimes the collage components are works of art themselves.  The effects can be rather dramatic, especially if the artist is skilled.   

What I have found is that modern art in general, and collages and three dimensional works in particular, are often ignored by collectors and dealers.  The most valuable of mine might be worth three or four hundred dollars.  Probably what Getty paid for his Del Grecos and Renoirs. 

There is one drawback to my method.  If you take the Poor Getty's route for your own museum be prepared for it to be a long term project.  Many is the day when I found nothing.  But some days I would find two or three originals and was I on top of the world.  I could rotate my stock on the living room wall and pretend I was one of those few in the world that could find oil and trek to Europe to buy boatloads of big time art.      

Well, maybe not oil and maybe not big time art.  I don't even carry a listings guide.  I always buy what I like and I like the cheap, good Poor Getty's art the best...

Why be uncivilized?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 03:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last night the ground moved. Again. It started a little after 8:00 and lasted about 15 seconds; a swaying motion rocking back and forth. It had been a while. Actually several years.  This one was a 5.6 and was the biggest we have had since the 7.1 quake in 1989; you probably remember the World Series Loma Prieta earthquake.

That day in 1989 I was heading to get some hamburgers for the start of Game One when it hit. I had left early for the game but a number of employees were still in the building when it struck. My first thought was they had to be under the rubble and after checking on my family, I raced downtown.

Downtown Santa Cruz was devastated and I believe ten died; most buried under the rubble of unreinforced buildings over 50 years old. All our people were safe. But business was never the same.

That night we camped out in our backyard as the aftershocks continued. At about 3:00 I took off my shoes and stood barefoot on the ground. It was quivering like a bowl of Jell-O.

Just the other day my neighbor and I were recounting the post earthquake days. Some people took it very hard and actually got depressed even though no one in their family was hurt and the damages to their property were minimal.  Why did some people just breeze right through it and others need months and years of counseling to cope?

And how could all this be? If there was ever anything in the universe that was secure it had to be terra firma or the ground beneath our very feet. At least that's what I thought up until then.

At that precise moment my perception was forever changed. No longer would I ever assume that the earth was solid beneath my feet. I knew that at any moment it could jump and roll and turn to a liquid nightmare. I don't worry about it but I know it can happen at anytime. And if the ground beneath my feet cannot be counted on, what can?

We just don't know when Al-Qaeda will attack, a drunk driver will hit us or the ground will turn liquid. How can we be presumptuous enough to feel we can avoid these and numerous other threats and risks to our security? Will the United Nations Security Council keep me and mine secure?  And how about Social Security? And the National Security Council? Homeland Security? The security net

Helen Keller said that security does not exist in nature and therefore does not exist in mankind. We build bigger fences, more elaborate alarms and even hire "Security" companies to help us keep what we got because it seems there are a lot of folks out there that want what is not theirs. They don't want you and me to have security and to pay higher prices.

"It's a war and the shoplifters and crooked employees will steal everything," says Armand Aranda of Enterprise Protective Services. "Losses can approach 10%. These people are nuts; it's like they're crazy and angry. At that point the actual viability of the business is compromised. Employee theft can reach 50% of total theft; we've caught them loading up their pick-ups."

Great.  So we have met the enemy and he's us.  Our own people selling us out; sort of how Dog must have felt after he got shafted.  How do we secure ourselves from ourselves? Do we call the security guard on ourselves? Code Blue, hurry quick, we're stealing from ourselves! Did Dog think he was secure?

So you see, there really is no security. When we feel secure we should start worrying because that is when Al-Qaeda or the Extremist Supremist Utopian groups do their harm. Actually we would be doing ourselves a favor by not getting too comfy. Like Dog you never really know who ends up coming after you...

"It's bad enough when it's your employees," laments Aranda, "but think what it's like when we have a video of your family stealing from your business."

My family? Egads. I never thought of that. One more security worry. Maybe the wife is stealing from me and I don't know it. She's definitely smart enough to figure out a way to drain me dry. You know, go through my wallet when I'm asleep and that sort of thing. Maybe I need to hire a security company. I'd have to get her permission first. Better not wake her up and ask her about it just yet. She probably would not be pleased.

"Security, that's a good one" she would laugh, "after roaming the world through all kinds of adventures and ups and downs you actually think I need security? What would I do with this security of yours when the Big Shaker hits? Will it protect my store from looters?"  She would have a point there. And she would laugh until tears ran down her cheeks.
 
On second thought maybe I won't mention the security thing just yet. We sensitive guys need to make sure the timing is just right, no? And not do stupid things that can compromise what little security we may have.  Because you never know when your family will start stealing from you, the vandals will ransack your store and the ground will turn to Jell-o.

What me worry? Security? Anyway, what would I do with it if I actually had it?

Posted by Jack D. Deal at 02:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)