I've talked a little about my days as a roadie, back in the day when shorts were small and socks were tall, but it's been a while since I've thought about what I gave up to take that job. I had wanted to work for SHOWCO ever since I knew there was such a place, and had already made one ill-fated move to Dallas to try to get hired on. In fact it was the fallout from that move (long story best left untold) that found me living in Fayetteville, Arkansas in the Fall of 1977, sharing a studio apartment with a part time accident photographer and working various food service jobs to make my half of the $125 per month rent. (That's not where most of my money went, believe me.)
About two months after moving to Fayetteville I met Anne. She had attended the college where I met my roommate, and they apparently renewed their acquaintance when both moved to Fayetteville. Anne was tall and blond and beautiful -- I mean really beautiful -- and for some reason she seemed to like me. The next six weeks or so comprise one of the most amazing periods of my life. Without going into detail, let me just say that we enjoyed each other a lot. A lot. A lot. She taught me to drink spiced tea with milk and honey. I don't know if I taught her anything. I don't remember a cross word passing between us. She got frightened once and I was the one she called. We went everywhere together. No wait -- we didn't. We went where we wanted when we wanted and we both seemed good with it. It was perfect.
And then the first week of November I made the call. Every time I called SHOWCO they always told me to check back in a few months. So I would call and they would tell me they didn't have anything and I would live another chunk of my life. Except the first week of November when I called, they had just lost someone and needed a replacement and the RCO All Stars are playing in Fayetteville tonight so why don't you go down and talk to this guy Buddy Prewitt and he will tell us whether we should hire you or not. And I did and he did and they did and I was gone two days later.
And just like that Anne was out of my life. Well, not just like that. We talked of her moving to Dallas after I got settled, and for a couple of months I really thought it might happen. But she got a job she wanted in advertising and our relationship did what long distance relationships tend to do, and within a year or so I had completely lost track of her.
Since then I have evolved really mixed feelings about those weeks. I don't think Anne ever knew how close I came to turning down that job. If it had not been my life's dream* I probably would have stayed where I was. She also has no way to know how long I pined for her, or how close I came to packing it in on multiple occasions that first few months, when I was lonely and homesick and the new job wasn't what I expected. I had some pictures of her that would almost (but apparently not quite) disqualify someone from being Miss California, and I kept them for far longer than was appropriate. My ex-wife finally threw them out during a move about a decade later. No one would ever have suspected how much time I spent looking at her face in those pictures, though the other parts were good, too.
On the other hand, it was six weeks. Almost all good relationships are good for six weeks. And I don't even know how much we really had in common. I'm sure we carried the seeds of our destruction, and if I look close enough I can almost see them. There was probably a sad or bitter or fiery end in our future, and we just never had to live through it. I think in some ways we were too much alike, which I only found out was bad many years later.
Or maybe that's all just rationalization. The entire weight of my life since then conspires to ensure that I am happy with my choice. Either way, the direction of my future balanced on a knife point one day many years ago, with two of the best things I can imagine on either side. I chose. What else can we do?
In the end I decided to treat those six weeks as sort of a capsule, like a great book or a favorite song**. Those weeks are almost completely disconnected from the main thread of my life, no longer food for regret or wistfulness or nostalgia. At the same time those weeks embody for me a feeling of love and relaxation and good fortune that is as personal and private as anything can be. It is without cause or effect or consequence, except to remind me that I have been blessed. Wherever Anne ended up, I hope she remembers the time half as fondly.
*I know. I was 20. Shut up.
** Or the time when I was fifteen and an eighteen year old girl I had never seen before stuck her hand down my pants on the Silverton railroad. It was a really good day.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Predicting things is hard
My friend The Wobbler recently twondered (that's tweeting and pondering, or possibly wondering) on the value of long range forecasts. I believe any of us who have ever been involved in long range forecasting and lived long enough to see what happens can agree that any value it may hold has little or nothing to do with accuracy.
As an example, I once worked for a consulting firm here in Louisiana that specializes in disaster and anti-terrorism planning. In the mid-1990's, since it was obvious that no one was interested in planning for terrorism, and emergency managers had the lowest budgets anywhere, we made plans to become an information technology company. Then 9/11 happened, so we focused on homeland security, as it was now called. IT was still important. Disaster management was relegated to the background. Then came a few active hurricane seasons in a row, capped by Katrina and Rita. In terms of mission and capability, the company is now back to almost exactly where they started. They are just bigger.
So forecasting is a waste of time, right? Maybe not. An old professor of mine used to tell a long and extremely uninteresting story about his early days in scientific computing. He was assigned to create a particularly difficult calculation, and every time he needed a value for the calculation, he was told to estimate it. Or extrapolate it, interpolate it or some other fancy term for guessing. In the end, he found that the experience, while frustrating and not providing a very trustworthy answer, allowed him to make progress he would not have been able to make otherwise. As he said, "Sometimes any answer is better than no answer at all."
So maybe there is value in prediction. After all, the focus on IT made our company better prepared when the unpredictable did happen. New capabilities were created, and success followed. But perhaps an understanding of what a forecast really gives us should inform our choices about how much effort to put into it, and how much to rely on what it says. Perhaps if investment bankers and hedge fund managers had a better understanding of this issue, we would all still have the money that was in our 401K's a couple of years ago.
As an example, I once worked for a consulting firm here in Louisiana that specializes in disaster and anti-terrorism planning. In the mid-1990's, since it was obvious that no one was interested in planning for terrorism, and emergency managers had the lowest budgets anywhere, we made plans to become an information technology company. Then 9/11 happened, so we focused on homeland security, as it was now called. IT was still important. Disaster management was relegated to the background. Then came a few active hurricane seasons in a row, capped by Katrina and Rita. In terms of mission and capability, the company is now back to almost exactly where they started. They are just bigger.
So forecasting is a waste of time, right? Maybe not. An old professor of mine used to tell a long and extremely uninteresting story about his early days in scientific computing. He was assigned to create a particularly difficult calculation, and every time he needed a value for the calculation, he was told to estimate it. Or extrapolate it, interpolate it or some other fancy term for guessing. In the end, he found that the experience, while frustrating and not providing a very trustworthy answer, allowed him to make progress he would not have been able to make otherwise. As he said, "Sometimes any answer is better than no answer at all."
So maybe there is value in prediction. After all, the focus on IT made our company better prepared when the unpredictable did happen. New capabilities were created, and success followed. But perhaps an understanding of what a forecast really gives us should inform our choices about how much effort to put into it, and how much to rely on what it says. Perhaps if investment bankers and hedge fund managers had a better understanding of this issue, we would all still have the money that was in our 401K's a couple of years ago.
Friday, April 24, 2009
So, it turns out that conferences kind of suck if you:
1. Don't know anyone.
2. Have never been before.
3. Aren't really interested in the subject matter.
4. Are too old to drink yourself stupid every night.
I've been to two of these in the last two weeks, and I could seriously stand not to go to another for a while. Not that I don't like HBO as much as the next guy, but in spite of (4), my natural inclination when lonely, bored and slightly anxious is to hit the bar and have that "just one more" that turns into a nagging headache way too early in the morning.
I have noticed that conferences seem to be having a hard time attracting anywhere near the number of participants they are used to having. I'm sure the economy is part of it, but it feels deeper, somehow. Like there is some fundamental need that used to be met by these gatherings that is either no longer needed or is being met another way. Sort of like the way the internet porn has made Penthouse and Playboy seem irrelevant. I don't know if it's a temporary thing, or if the industry conference is destined to go the way of the three-martini lunch.
1. Don't know anyone.
2. Have never been before.
3. Aren't really interested in the subject matter.
4. Are too old to drink yourself stupid every night.
I've been to two of these in the last two weeks, and I could seriously stand not to go to another for a while. Not that I don't like HBO as much as the next guy, but in spite of (4), my natural inclination when lonely, bored and slightly anxious is to hit the bar and have that "just one more" that turns into a nagging headache way too early in the morning.
I have noticed that conferences seem to be having a hard time attracting anywhere near the number of participants they are used to having. I'm sure the economy is part of it, but it feels deeper, somehow. Like there is some fundamental need that used to be met by these gatherings that is either no longer needed or is being met another way. Sort of like the way the internet porn has made Penthouse and Playboy seem irrelevant. I don't know if it's a temporary thing, or if the industry conference is destined to go the way of the three-martini lunch.
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