My Oasis In Every Town

 I love libraries.  Just think about it; an entire building and staff dedicated to helping you acquire knowledge, insight, and truth. What could be a better building to visit? As opposed to anywhere else I go during the day, the library’s staff is not trying to sell me stuff.  There’s no propaganda--no political or financial agenda.  Where else can you encounter a staff of workers whose job is to help you learn, expand, and elevate your understanding?  What a delightful place!

For me, the library is an oasis of culture—a restorative environment that enriches my soul.  And most libraries are great buildings unto themselves, like cathedrals of information.  Traveling between business meetings, given a chance, I always try to look up the local library and drop in for a few minutes, or more if I have the time.  Each library has something of its own too.  Artwork, local history, maps—I learn something new each time I visit a local library. 

If you are a fan of movies, perhaps you might remember the scene from Dr. Zhivago, when Yri (Omar Sharif) walks into the local library for the first time and discovers his lost love Lara (Julie Christie) is working there.  It’s one of the most romantic scenes in all movies.  Julie Christie’s beautiful blue eyes shine through the shadowy light of the library.  Well, while I may be hoping unconsciously to discover a 24-year old Julie Christie working behind the desk, I also find the staff at every library provides genuine and friendly professional advice.  They are always helpful in their soft-spoken way.

So, I’m hoping to have the time to visit the next local library.  And I advise you to make a visit too.

Lunch With The Last Happy Man December 2010

“What I exclaimed, you don’t have an email address or a cell phone! No Internet? How do you live?”  I asked my old college friend.

Exasperated, I stopped trying to understand how he can survive offline.  Here I am immersed in the intricacies and ironies of new media, which I’m not so sure about in the first place, and now this old friend lives comfortably, happily, and seemingly unfettered without computers and smart phones.  Let me emphasize “happy.”

One of my cutting edge colleagues recently predicted that social networking and the number of an individual’s followers will now become part of his personal pricing structure.  In this scenario, the guy with greater social media statistics, i.e. 1000 Facebook friends and a million twitter followers—is clearly more important than the poor guy with only 30 Facebook friends and no twitter followers.  So, when the more connected guy goes to make a reservation on an airline—the airline will value him more as a customer—give him special consideration, better pricing, special offers—because he has more digital clout.  He’s like a high roller in Vegas, courted, pampered, and damn near worshipped.

Google, I’m told, is wrestling with how to rank the piles of social networking data accumulating in its search results.   New criteria may include how many Facebook connections I have accumulated and how many followers on twitter in addition to my links and normal prestige.

So, where does my college friend fit in this scheme?  Without a digital trail, how will they be able to rank his importance?  Or judge how cool he is?

Ironically, I’ve met up with my non-digital, college friend in the downstairs cafeteria at the Museum of Fine Arts; a cafeteria quite similar to Lang Hall where we took meals 35 years ago.  In this cafeteria, the better dressed baby boomers seemed to have already grabbed the window seats overlooking the garden.  My old hippy friend and I sit in the open seats in the middle of the dining hall.  Like every human endeavor and organization—a hierarchy quickly develops.  The cool kids sit by the windows.  The geeks have carved out their territory in the far corner.  The wealthy were eating upstairs at the formal restaurant—with waiters, attentive bus help, and vintage wines.  My friend will not eat there, not even take coffee.

In this scenario, the rich kids don’t get a chance to look down at my friend’s old jeans, paint-spotted jacket and turn their noses up at him, because he naturally avoids them.  But in the digital world, they already have.  My hippy friend can avoid the Toney restaurant upstairs, but Google juice, Facebook, and Twitter have already turned their digital noses up at him.  We are sitting virtually at the non-cool, unimportant table based on software analysis and ever changing algorithms. 

Two other college friends join us.  They are cool.  They can sit anywhere, upstairs or downstairs, no matter.  This couple has a kind of diplomatic immunity; it doesn’t matter to them whether it’s Maine or Manhattan, motel 6 or the Four Seasons. They look good, fit in anywhere, and would be welcomed upstairs.  She’s just back from a friend’s birthday party in Istanbul and he looks like a model stepping out of the pages of an outdoor hiking catalog.  But amazingly, they too, have turned off their gadgets for now.  Perhaps in deference to our old friend.  She talks about her trip to Istanbul and we slide into conversations about John Lennon’s death and updates on other old college friends.

A calmness starts to overtake me.  My old friend is actually looking at me when he talks.  We are listening to our other friend’s stories about Istanbul and watching one another’s expressions.  No texts, emails, or calls interrupt our discussions.  No looking down at the blackberry checking emails and tweets as we talk and laugh about old times.  No clicking as we share French fries.  We are actually having what I recall to be a conversation, like our days in Lang Hall.  Not a series of short sentences like a telegraph.  Perhaps more amazingly, I can now remember our lunch conversation—as opposed to remembering the emails I would have normally been glancing at during lunch. For the first time in months, I didn’t hear someone say: “Oh, what was that, I was sending a text and missed what you said?” 

Henry David Thoreau dropped out to live an unfettered life on Walden Pond just 20 miles from where we were having lunch.  Back in our college days we would visit Walden.  My friend my not have consciously pre-planned his dropping out of the rat race as did Thoreau—but I do think my friend has “built a cabin” in the woods—a cabin that seems nicer to live in.  He’s struck his own act of civil disobedience, or should I say, digital disobedience.

Watching all the work that went into maintaining the railroad systems of the 1840’s, Thoreau asked the question: Does man ride on the railroad, or does the railroad ride on man?  Well, I have to ask, is this blackberry on my hip riding on me? Do I really need the iPhone to do Internet searches while I am also typing on the blackberry?  Do I need to expand these Facebook friends to bolster my digital profile or should I just listen to my friend across the table? 

Here’s my recommendation for a weekend if you can do it.   Unplug that box, cut the WiFi, turn of the PDA.  Call an old friend from your hard line.  Mail a card.  Leave the smart phones in the glove box and have a lunch together.  Then walk around some beautiful pictures and sculptures in a museum or take a sunny walk around Walden Pond or one like it.  I had almost forgotten how much fun we non-virtual friends used to have together.  I think they used to call it socializing.   

Suddenly I get an idea for writing a blog about my old friend…. So I ask him: “Can I use you as an example in my next blog about social networking and new media?”  “Sure,” he laughs, “mail it to me.”

John Lennon is Dead and the Robocalls Continue December 2010

When John Lennon was shot, a viewpoint towards life, an aversion to nonsensical wars, and a touch of humanity that bloomed alongside the poetry, rhythm and electricity of the 1960s took a bullet with him.  And in the nick of time, and not to be left out after years of wandering in the deserts of rejection, Richard Nixon slipped into power in 1969.

In songs and action, Lennon became the icon of peace, love, and humanity.  Ironically, when John said the Beatles were more famous than Jesus—he made a point that went further than publicity hits and media coverage.  Lennon demonstrated the strength and bravery of a prophet—not the power of muscles, swords, and guns—but a gift for moral leadership and personal risk-taking for the cause of good versus evil that seems to have died with him….. No one has taken his place.

The Nixon administration did everything they could to expel from the United States this slight, British, song writer.  Nixon dispatched his minions to use every diplomatic and legal trick to get rid of John Lennon.  In his own genius for politics, Nixon knew what he was dealing with, just as the devil in the desert knew what he was dealing with.  Lennon had to go.  He was a threat.  Just as the Prince of Peace was a threat to Rome—Lennon was a threat to the Nixonian viewpoint of the world.  These two viewpoints of life have been battling since the Garden of Eden.  One side uses every trick on earth to deport its competitor. 

There is an old Jewish joke about a man who keeps calling a law firm named Rubinstein and Cohen.   When he calls the firm the secretary answers and the man asks for Mr. Rubinstein.  The secretary solemnly says:  “I’m sorry sir, Mr. Rubinstein died yesterday, would you like to speak with Mr. Cohen?” The caller replies: “No,” and hangs up.  Ten minutes later the caller redials Rubinstein and Cohen and asks for Mr. Rubinstein.  The secretary seems to recognize the voice again, and says: “I’m sorry Mr. Rubinstein has passed away.”  The caller hangs up.  Ten minutes later the caller redials Rubinstein and Cohen and asks for Mr. Rubinstein.  The secretary, now alarmed and furious, says: “I just told you several times that Mr. Rubinstein is dead!  What’s the matter with you?”  The caller exclaims, “I know Rubinstein is dead, I just can’t hear it enough times!”

Well, we lost Mr. Lennon 30 years ago and the reveling demons of Richard Nixon are still calling the Dakota asking to talk to Mr. Lennon.  No one has replaced him.  The office remains empty.  And the demons are still dancing in this season of peace.

The King of Social Networking Taps Mainstream Media To Get The Message Out

Millions of viewers watched Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg announce his $100 Million gift to the Newark, N.J. school system on The Oprah Winfrey Show.  Facing the release of the movie "The Social Network," which takes some shots at Zuckerberg's preferred image of himself, Zuckerberg and his public relations advisors tapped the most traditional of media outlets: a broadcast, network TV show with leading ratings.  The Facebook team developed a media winning story that captured praise and accolades from one of the most credible of television personalities.  What a winning strategy.  A homerun in the PR business.

But am I the only one who sees the irony of the icon of social networking taking his story to Oprah and using network television to broadcast his message?  Don't get me wrong, social media is the way to go, just review any of the major public relations websites.  They will quickly inform you that the way to go is hire them to help you capitalize on social networking to deliver your messages to the awaiting mass audience.  But why did Zuckerberg choose Oprah?  Because when his own reputation, his own business, and his own ego needed protection and rebranding-- he went to Oprah because traditional media still delivers.  Don't believe it doesn't.  And don't be sold on the notion that traditional media is dead as a door nail. 

Yes, the media landscape is undergoing a paradigm shift.  Software is changing everything rapidly for the better.  But a respected host of a major television show is what the billionaire wunderkind went after when he felt they were after him.  He chose broadcast television and the most traditional of public relations tactics-- a major gift to the less fortunate-- to boost and protect his public image.  And the campaign was an outstanding success.  As a PR man I have to ask, how could anyone challenge Zuckerberg's instincts for public relations?