January 07, 2006
Where I'm headed, I'm not sure, and that feels right. So many things, such a long year. I can't name what this time is, or what it feels like exactly, but I'm working on it.
The abridged version: I am back out on my own, doing work for some really smart clients -- some web 2.0ey fast companies like BubbleShare, with CEO smartie Albert "24/7" Lai, whom my blog-brother Michael O'Connor Clarke introduced me to when he heard I was once again a free agent. I'm also working with some more-offline-than-on clients, and some who are a little of both.
There are definitely scales of efficiency in working with clients that understand, appreciate, and want to participate in what's going on online. For instance, you wouldn't think that a click-and-tell photo sharing company like BubbleShare would have much in common with an company in the gum industry, like ElmiTaste -- except that both companies are led by people who understand that their markets are aggregating around areas of interest on the Internet. And that they can talk to them there, as long as they give a shit and don't just pretend to give a shit. That makes these companies smarter than many of their "industry" counterparts who prefer to focus and compete vertically, by industry, and horizontally, by product (or feature sets).
Word to the Web 2.0 Wise: Do not spend your bucks fighting the vertical-industry, horizontal-feature war. Unless you have So So So much money it doesn't matter. And, hey, if that's the case, well, I can help there too; I mean I'm just sayin...
Kevin is right that the net is not a tree. But it's not a grid either. And companies looking to get closer to their markets by interacting with people around the things that matter to them can't continue to view the marketplace primarily through the lens of their industry and product and how those variables align with their next closest competitor.
Life is officially way to webby for that.
It takes a new kind of filter to cut through the noise and really hear the heartbeats on the net.
The heartbeat, the cadence. Like listening to a little tiny baby in a mom's belly. That's where suddenly, every piece of what I'm discerning for one client somehow, often not directly but in a loop-de-loop, odd-meter sort of way, ties in with the other, and the other, and the other, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
It's stunning to uncover these patterns, these rhythms. Sometimes it's electric, and there's no one home to tell, and so I call Chris, and I tell him, and the best part is I can tell him again the next time we talk, and he'll say wow, because it'll be new all over again, partly because of his short-term memory issues and partly because it IS new all over again. Familiar and new. Every single time.
At least to me.
The speed with which our stories are weaving themselves is, I don't know, surreal? And you now what--it jazzes me to no end. That lub-dub thing.
And you can tell me it's not true, that there's no heartbeat on the net, and you can make fun of all the people who've made themselves vulnerable here by laying down a record of who they are--when they're right and when they're wrong, when they're up and when they're so, so down--and you can even say, who cares. And you can even say, sure, go ahead and drink the kool-aid, girl.
And you know what I'll tell you?
I'll say, you pass me a cup.
I'll say, you pass me a damn cup.
Technorati Tags : CES, CESCamp, CES+Camp, Scoble, BubbleShare
tagging done in Qumana
January 06, 2006
So I just wanted to say Thanks, Canada. If you could send some ideas for Healthcare down our way I'd be much obliged.
through blogging pulls down the long green
based in atlanta
a helluva ranta
and her humor is usually clean
The secret of Web 2.0
Is tapping a revenue flow
You link to some star
And pray from afar
You build it, they come to YOU... No?
God what a terrible mess
For my info to flow
I gots to know mo'
Than a friggin' grandmaster of chess.
and it's only a fraction we see.
What we look for we find,
so we just shouldn't mind,
that from time to time we disagree.
Thank you. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming...
(Disclosure++: I may delete this post when the requested information is removed from that site.)
CES Trivia: What industry analyst is using pedal power to get around the MASSIVE convention layout?
Answer: Forrester's Charlene Li rented a bike--smart!
--Jeneane Sessum, Reporting Live from Atlanta ;-)
no one said there was no hierarchy
kevin marks is a guy, not a company.
Neither Shelley Powers nor Dave Rogers disapproves of everything.
Neither Doc nor David is "the enemy"
What happened to the good old days of making up limericks?
There once was a web that was fun
It went by the name "1.1"
Before "Social Software" was born
When RB's blog was all-porn
And the best thing to make was a pun.
That just rocks.
January 05, 2006
January 04, 2006
So when casual death presents itself, as in the death of a friend, not a very close friend, but a friend I've spent a few dozen hours with over the last three years, on and off, not the kind of friend to call for a shoulder to cry on, but, you know, to offer a ride to a party to, to spend an afternoon watching a football game with, sharing tacos, more of a friend's friend, but still, a friend--well when that less-than-knee-shattering death comes, I'm not sure what to do with it.
I don't know mild grief. Only the devastating kind.
I don't know where to put the smaller losses.
I'm talking about Joanne, a friend who died of a heart attack today, unexpectedly.
Well not totally unexpectedly, I mean, she'd had a stroke in previous years, but she'd been fine of late, and, well, really, yah, okay, unexpectedly would be the right word considering she was walking her dog and died on the sidewalk before she ever reached the hospital from what I've heard.
It's the kind of thing that makes people say, "Well I just saw that person XX ago!"
As if such sightings should render them safe.
I rationalize unfamiliar death. You can sort of see the process. This isn't how a normal person talks about the death of a friend. Even a not-best friend. Even on a blog. But it's how I'm telling you.
Joanne at her best was the earth-tanned and fit older women who loved New Mexico but was stuck here closer to family during her post-stroke years. She was also a woman who was never without her old english sheep dog. I mean never. Not for a second.
I've never seen a human being and an animal as tightly knit as these two. Bathroom, work, drive-thru, shopping--never apart. Joanne loved her Frosty and that dog worshiped her, anticipating every move and every mood.
Tonight Frosty is sitting with her muzzle on the front door knob of my other friend's house waiting for her best friend to come home. But she's not coming home.
In time, the dog will be okay as far as the day-to-day stuff goes--there are more than a couple of options for who'll take her in. Another friend, who has a friend who's a vet, says some dogs are so attached that they grieve themselves to death when their owner dies.
I picture what that kind of grief looks like, and there's the familiar kind I know well. I understand the dog's loss. My own loss, in this case, I don't have an opinion about. 'Cause I'm miswired that way.
So what I wanted to say is, Joanne wasn't a religious person. In fact she was raised Mormon and eventually 'got out' in conjunction with getting out of a bad marriage. She didn't want any big to-do when she died. Just to be cremated. So there won't be a service as far as we know.
I've talked about it with Jenna, who spent more than a few long walks with Joanne and her big hairy dog. Jenna was both surprised and sad to hear about Joanne's death. We decided to donate a little money to the ASPCA in Joanne's honor, because it seems like the right thing to do. That and a big box of biscuits for Frosty.
Okay, that's all I want to say about that.
January 03, 2006
Clearly, your mama didn't raise you right.
Once upon a time, in the land of blogs, there were pixels and publish buttons. some people started arranging those pixels into words and publishing them online once, twice, sometimes 15 times a day. No one cared.
Then came the blogroll. The blogroll said: this is who i like to read, who do you like to read? Oh Cool! I see you--Do you see me? Oh Cool! I will check out who you like to read. Why don't you check out who I like to read? Oh cool! I will add that person from yours and you from mine and his from hers and theirs from theirs. Along with our posts, blogolls were streetsigns to regular coversation spots.
Then new people started writing online.
Then we added them to our blogrolls.
THEN WE ADDED THEM TO OUR BLOGROLLS.
I'm glad I still do that.
We need to keep doing that.
Otherwise it's just another silly pyramid scheme.
Make sure they don't all look exactly like you either.
I'll see your bay leaf and raise you some no-yolk egg noodles, and may the best short-cut chicken soup maker win!
January 02, 2006
Where was I going with all of this--I'm not done. The remembering this time is slow, and I'm folding myself into it. Each tiny glimpse of his face is so precious, been gone so long.
Of course there is no license--no MBA, CPA, or DDS required--not even good taste, thank God. Just some skin and flesh in the game, if you're man enough to make yourself vulnerable. Because starting all of this and keeping at it is no simple thing. Or maybe it is.
The challenges of writing will present themselves immediately. And the challenges are great. Are you a fool? Are you naive? Are you saying too much? Too little? Are you bold enough to say THAT in public? Are you stupid enough? All sorts of gremlins sit on your shoulder whispering in your ear. Some are encouragements. Some are seductions. Some groundless fears. Some dangerous delusions. How a writer responds to these whisperings will determine what kind of writer he or she will become. It’s a very personal thing. My own approach is to listen carefully, then ignore all of it.
While we're at it, on the notion of 'blooks,' I'd argue that the first blook was Locke's The Bombast Transcripts, featuring "browser-free" content from EGR, published in January 2002.
More nuggets from the interview:
Well, if you mean influence as it’s usually measured, then the clear answer is the Top 100 hit magnets on Technorati. No one could say, and I wouldn’t suggest, that they’re not having a lot of influence on whomever is hitting their blogs. They must, right? And the more people who hit those sites, the more people will hit those sites. In this sense, we’ve replicated the mass media model. Which is inevitable in some sense. I mean, there will always be a top-10, a top-100, in anything you can measure. It’s like fashion. Beige is the new black. Chartreuse is the new black. Whatever.
Then there’s the very different phenomenon of going to x-random site and reading something, hearing something, seeing something that changes your mind, touches your heart. It could be someone you’ve never heard of. It could be someone whose voice is just emerging. His or her real voice. Real in the sense that it cuts through all the posturing and bullshit and reminds you what you are, what we are. That kind of influence can’t be measured the same way. And it’s possible that, by measuring things that can be easily measured, we miss entirely the things that can’t be measured at all.
- Jesus, Ev, turn down the point size a little on that font, huh?
- Atlanta's got the all-clear on UFOs tonight.
- I do see the creep. The speed of cooptation increases in direct proportion to the value of creativity.
- Best piecea Internet writing I've seen all year.
- I've always wanted to be the person who could bind beautiful sketchbooks by hand and appreciate the quiet meaning in the making of things. Instead, quiet breaks hard on the rocks in my brain, and I'm the person who and picks up empty yogurt cups and chex mix crumbs and forgot to buy toilet paper today.
- Stay alive; don't blog and drive. You too.