Page View

The Middle Age Bulge blog, started on December 26, 2009 with Where did those 10 pounds come from?, is quickly approaching 20,000 page views.  Can you believe that?  Can you help me understand what a "page view" is?

Honestly, I was pretty convinced that only a small handful of people were looking at my blogs and only 'whenever they got around to it', a loyal 25 folks who were public "followers".  That number has made a quantum leap to 30 as of this morning.

I had my first indication that there were far more people looking at my musings when I got an email out of the blue from a company interested in advertising.

Why? I typed in response.  I only have 28 followers.  That's not a very big audience.

Well, you actually have a Google promo rating of 2, she replied.

And does that pretty much suck?  I asked.

No, actually that's a pretty good rating.  It suggests that you have good content and no spam.

Hey, thanks!

It was shortly after that, back in January, that I realized that the blog dashboard offers statistics as to how many people are viewing my content, how they found me, what kind of web browser they are using, and where they come from in the world.  Crazy!  At that point, I was stunned to see that over 11,000 page views had occurred since I began this literary journey.  Holy smokes!

What is the most viewed blog post?  Christmas Eve is number one, hands down.  I'm not sure what the attraction is to this particular post or what Google search results are bringing viewers to this piece from India, Russia, Australia and everywhere in between.

The total number of posts is getting close to 300.  I started writing every day for the first several weeks, but as time marched on it became more difficult to maintain that pace.  Now, I probably average three or four submissions per week.  I mostly write in the morning, when my brain is the most agile, though once in awhile inspiration will strike at night.

The Middle Age Bulge provides a public road map of my private life.  Everything is safe to share and easily consumable, but behind the words, phrases and metaphors are hidden cues that will hopefully spark many interesting memories years from now.  Thanks for reading!

Perceptions

Suncor flew a plane full of business people up from Edmonton, where they are attending the National Buyer Seller Forum from points across the country. They were given a tour of Suncor and oil sands then brought to MacDonald Island Park for a networking session with members of the Fort McMurray Chamber of Commerce, NAABA (Northeastern Alberta Aboriginal Business Association) and the Economic Development department at the Regional Municipality of Wood Buffalo. I was honoured to have been there with Mayor Melissa Blake and Councillor Don Scott.

I chatted with managers and CEO's from Miramichi to Surrey and a few spots in between. For most of them, this was their first time on the ground in Wood Buffalo and their first real-life exposure to the oil sands. I was very interested to understand how they see us and our industry.

"Everybody knows Fort McMurray," said Steve from Thunder Bay. "We all know what's happening out here."

What became clear in our conversations is that we absolutely have an image problem. The bad stuff, from crime to dead ducks, rises to the top and becomes the gut-level impression that is pervasive about our community. But we are not alone in this ever-challenging task of creating a better sense of balance between perception and reality.

"Thunder Bay has an image problem," said Steve. "So does Winnipeg. You are not alone."

I was struck by the similarities between ourselves and the city of Thunder Bay. Nestled on the northern shore of Lake Superior in the middle of the great Canadian Shield, the city is isolated, misunderstood, underestimated. It has vast supplies of chromium, one of the largest in the world not attached to a country ruled by a fanatical despot, a metal desired greatly by our neighbors to the south. Available serviced land is in short supply, growth pressures are everywhere, and after years of neglect, plans are finally in the works to develop their beautiful waterfront. Sound familiar?

We have several talking points that we repeat ad infinitum when telling our story:

• we are per capita the most giving community in Canada
• if we can dream it, we can make it happen (Northern Classic)
• we are sitting on the second largest supply of recoverable oil on the planet
• people come here on the "two-year plan" and stay for a lifetime
• we are ethnically rich; people come to Wood Buffalo from around the world

I think we still have a lot of work to do in sharing these stories. Sitting down for coffee the other day with Sue Huff, acting leader of the Alberta Party, I discovered that some of the things of which we are most proud have not hit their mark down south. She hadn't heard about the incredible hockey game we hosted in November (possibly not a hockey fan) and she didn't know that we had the most successful United Way campaign in the country (several years running).

Festivals and culture are to Edmonton as the Stampede and corporate are to Calgary, their personalities breed perceptions. What is our personality? For me, it's a key question.

Unfortunately, these wonderful people who ventured north yesterday to discover Fort McMurray and oil sands were implanted with images of crime, partying, way too much money, and dead ducks. With visits like this we are creating understanding and balance one person at a time.

They were impressed with what they saw and how they were treated. And after their Buyer Seller Forum has wrapped up and they have returned to their homes and businesses from coast to coast, they'll tell our story to two friends, who will tell two friends, who will tell....

Please take your groceries

"Please take your groceries," she says, the moment I enter my four-digit password and press enter, finishing off my afternoon shopping excursion at the neighborhood Safeway.

I grab my reusable shopping bags from inside the plastic grocery basket, trying to figure out which items should go in first.

"Please take your groceries," she says again, in that insistent overly-pleasant voice, as my stress starts to rise.

I put the heavy stuff in first: a box of cereal, a container of sea-salt, and the tray of meat destined for the oven a little later in the afternoon. I'm very concerned about my two loaves of way-too-expensive bread, wanting to have them perched on the top of the pile, safe from any danger of getting squished.

"Please take your groceries," she spouts off one more time, way too friendly, and way too soon, my pulse beginning to race, my blood pressure going up.

I'm carefully inserting my loaves of flax and 5-grain bread into the bags with one eye waiting for my till receipt, refusing to show itself. (I'm one of the rare souls who collects those little slips of accounting and manually records them in my money program on the computer back at home)

"Please take your groceries," she says as the white slip of paper begins curling out from under the lip of the automated teller.

I grab for it eagerly and fold the long receipt in three, extract the wallet from the back of my jeans, open it up and begin stuffing the paper inside.

"Please take your...."

"Shuddup," I say - a little too loudly - unable to contain my inner voice any longer, craning my neck from left to right to check if anyone heard me. I grab one bag, then the other, make a beeline for the door as the echo of "Please take your groceries" reverberates in the distance.

Vision

When you look down the long hallway of the MacDonald Island Community Art Gallery, it's a wonder that one artist can fill up the space. The surface area available for displaying art is unbelievable. The fact that Margie Cunningham not only filled the space, but filled it in a way that carries the viewer away, is a testament to her skill and her dedication to her daily practice.

Vision, in memory of her dad Roland Cunningham (1919 - 1976), features a wide variety of styles and themes. Margie is an explorer, who immerses herself in starkly different techniques and forms of expression. The result is an exhibition that offers landscapes, plant studies, abstracts, and expressionist studies of the human environment.

It was nice to meet Margie's dedicated husband Carl, who is a huge supporter, and the person who puts together her canvasses so she can create her magic.

"That's an incredible amount of paintings," I said.

"And there's is a lot more where these came from," said Carl, smiling.

Storage of this volume of work is a challenge that seems to be a common one for artists. They work in a format that demands and takes over space, lots of it.

"I've known Margie in a peripheral sense for many years," I said, starting the short program at the exhibition opening last night. "But the question going through my mind is where have you been all my life? This is an incredible show, absolutely stunning."

I love abstracts! I have one in my office by Sharon Heading that is my pride and joy. There were more than several works by Margie Cunningham that had that powerful effect of drawing me in, taking me to a world of possibility and wonder.

Vision runs from March 20 to April 19, 2011 in the MacDonald Island Community Art Gallery which is on the second floor of the Suncor Community Leisure Centre. It is in a hallway that is exactly above the hallway that takes you to the dressing rooms for the Syncrude Aquatic Centre. It is the perfect oasis after a good work out, trip to the Library or an invigorating swim. Or, better yet, it is a great excuse to come to MacDonald Island to enjoy a few minutes of silence and appreciation. Don't miss it.

You can keep up with all the activities and exhibitions of the Community Art Gallery on Facebook by becoming friends with the Wood Buffalo Artists Forum.

My Favourite Things

As a politician who is a blogger it might surprise you that I seldom write about politics. I certainly hope it doesn't offend that I choose not to use the Middle Age Bulge blog as a soapbox. I'm quite happy writing about all the other wonderful and interesting elements of life, like my favourite things. Here are a few that are jumping out at me tonight.

1. Ron Sexsmith - Long Player Late Bloomer

My buddy Graham took Heather and I to a Ron Sexsmith concert a few years ago. I had become a fan long before that thanks to the incredible music accessibility provided by iTunes. A songwriter that is revered by other artists from around the world, Sexsmith offers up tunes that are remarkable in their freshness, and profound in terms of their relevance. "Tomorrow in Her Eyes" is the song that rolls through my head when I think of my beautiful wife. It is resonant with all the deep feelings that anchor our relationship. Ron's latest album is on top of my list this month as one of my favourite things.

2. The Wire

Heather and I have been slamming through some of the best television dramas of all-time: The Sopranos, The West Wing, Mad Men, Six Feet Under, to name but a few. I had read somewhere that the most critically acclaimed was The Wire created by David Simon. Its 60 episodes ran over five seasons between 2002 - 2008, depicting different views of crime in metropolitan Baltimore. I mentioned our insatiable love for the show to an RCMP Constable recently who quickly shared with me that the series is required viewing within the Force. It's easy to see why; it's absolutely brilliant. We look forward to our nightly dose of The Wire with intense anticipation.

3. Adele

Oh my goodness, if you haven't downloaded the album 21 by Adele, stop reading this blog and hop over to iTunes and get it. A 21 year old songstress from Britain, Adele Laurie Blue Adkins has one of the most striking and beautiful voices that I've heard in years. In some ways, hers is as drop dead original as Norah Jones's voice was when it emerged just shy of 10 years ago. A little bit of roots with a country flare, and a vocal power reminiscent of the great Janis Joplin, Adele is a superstar. She continues to be perched on the top of the charts and for good reason.

4. Twitter

It's taken me a long time, but I'm finally getting a grasp on this Twitter thing. It is now the #1 way that I keep informed. Thanks to the 500 or so people that I follow, I have an effective news aggregator at my fingertips. I like to get in front of breaking news and whether it's the resignation of a Premier or the death of an aging Hollywood starlet, Twitter is my window on the world. In another way, it's my own little news channel, complete with 440 followers and 2,237 tweets to date. I even won the most tweets award at our recent NCMPR conference in Philadelphia. Sweet!

5. Giant

In honour of the passing of Elizabeth Taylor (1932 - 2011) earlier today, I have to include one the classics of her illustrious career on this list of my favourite things. Giant (1956), directed by George Stevens, is a 201 minute Texas oil epic featuring stunning performances by not only Taylor, but also Rock Hudson, James Dean, and a young Dennis Hopper, among many others. It is sweeping in its storytelling and cinematography. Rent it today, sit back with the one you love, and raise a glass to one of the finest actresses ever to grace the silver screen. Why not make it a Liz Taylor marathon and add in National Velvet, Cleopatra, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, The Taming of the Shrew, and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? It's sad that she's gone, but I'm certain she's in a better place doing the moonwalk with Michael Jackson and snuggling in the corner of heaven with Richard Burton.

6. Great Leadership

I've been inspired in recent days by extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. Whether it's the responders and caregivers in earthquake and tsunami ravaged Japan or coalition forces putting their lives on the line in the face of tyranny in Libya, great leadership surrounds us, across the globe and here at home. The opening line from Rudyard Kipling's most famous poem rattles around my brain when I think of the question of what makes a great leader. If you can keep your head...

Take a moment to absorb these 32 lines of verse from 102 years ago. Then pause to appreciate those people who are too often vilified in positions of leadership. Their burden is great, their courage unquestionable.

Tooth Fairy

I ambled into the dentist's office at 7 am yesterday, my preferred time for my bi-annual visits to Dr. Beaulne. The difference this time around was that he planned to yank my remaining wisdom tooth.

Going back 15 or 20 years, they pulled the first two, pumping me full of pain killers - 17 needles into the various places in my face. The third one said goodbye a few years ago, relatively painless and quick.

Over the years, medical technology changes, and while a visit to the dentist once meant at least a handful of grimaces and a smattering of pain, today it's a walk in the park. Swab, swab, poke, poke, pull, pull, and it was done. All that was left was the hole in my gums and a gargantuan molar bouncing around in a yellow plastic tooth carrier.

I spent the morning in virtual silence unable to speak clearly with most of my mouth and lower part of the face completely frozen and a hunk of gauze squeezed between my uppers and lowers. So, I cloistered myself behind my desk, ignored the phone, and plugged away at my inbox which had become rather unruly with over 750 guests. By the time feeling returned and I was able to begin normal operating procedures, the email count had dropped to a manageable 125.

The boys were pretty impressed when I came home and opened the yellow plastic tooth carrier to reveal the seasoned and majestic tooth. I even offered to give it to Ben to put under his pillow. He looked wary, shook his head and said "No thanks! You can't lie to the Tooth Fairy."

Orphan Socks

I have a drawer, just behind my home office chair, where the orphan socks live.

Black socks, white socks, everywhere a sock sock...

I have no idea how or why the sock orphanage has become so populated. Where do their partners go?

"In the garbage," suggested Ben when asked to share his ideas. In the case of the socks who develop large, gaping, unmendable, holes he is exactly right. But what about the others?

I stretch and extend my body over the top of the dryer peering down into that mysterious place in the back, a natural spot where it would be easy to get lost. Dark, dusty, there is no sign of anything, not even a forgotten wash cloth or two.

Determined to make a dent in this growing pile of disparate stockings, I go to each bedroom in the house thumbing through the sock drawers in hopes of finding something. Dylan's room first, followed by ours, then Ben's.

"Maybe this is one," I say to myself hopefully, grabbing a few soloists at the bottom of the pile.

"One sock, two sock, red sock, blue sock," wrote Barb on Facebook. "I feel an hommage to Dr. Seuss is appropriate in this circumstance."

"Where have all my sockies gone, long time passing" she continued. "they went missing one by one, long time ago."

Maybe they get eaten by the washer, squeezing between the cracks in the spin cycle, retiring to that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns? Perhaps they shuffle off this mortal coil in the dryer, becoming shreds and shards, propelled up through the exhaust pipe and blown outdoors to get whisked away by the wind?

It's a deep, compelling mystery, one that baffles me every Saturday when I gather up the darks, whites and colours and put them through their paces.

The orphanage overfloweth, now creeping over the edges of the drawer, 40 socks strong, ever hopeful that one day they will reacquainted and reconnected with their long lost brothers and sisters.

NCMPR 2011 - Day 4

I had been looking forward to attending the NCMPR Paragon Awards Banquet, as it is always creatively stimulating to see the great work of our colleagues from across North America and beyond. However, fate dealt a different set of cards for me that night as a number of issues had come up back home putting me into a 5-hour conference call.

In many ways I was surprised that I managed to wake up on the final morning of the conference as it was almost 12:30 am before I put the phone down. But the anticipation of one more keynote and a hearty breakfast must of inspired me to put aside any lingering feelings of exhaustion.

Our guest to cap off a terrific 2011 national conference was Terry Gross, host of National Public Radio's "Fresh Air" program. Diminutive, slight, unassuming, Terry rose from her seat in the audience when introduced and took her seat in an elegant wing chair on the stage.

"I'll bet this isn't what you imagined," she said.

With an incredible voice, articulate, warm, inviting, Gross may be the antithesis of what her fans had been picturing, but for me, seeing and hearing her for the first time her physical appearance seemed completely normal and appropriate.

She shared many interesting moments from a long radio career that stretches way back into the early 1970's. From pressing Lynne Cheney (wife of the former Vice President) on her views on same sex marriage to trying to get beneath the shallow veneer of Gene Simmons (KISS), Gross is not afraid of going nose to nose with anyone who ends up in front of her interview microphone. Sometimes her discussions are funny, often they are disquieting, once in awhile they are quite uncomfortable. Always she is interested in the human being behind the fame, the circumstance, and the story.

"Life is short," she said in closing. "We're all mortal. And for some people, life really hurts," recalling an interview she had with folk musician Vic Chesnutt who had a brilliant songwriting ability and a propensity for trying to kill himself. He succeeded just days after their last on air chat.

She closed out her session with questions from the audience. Eventually, I got my turn.

"I played the NBC interview with Charlie Sheen for my 12-year-old son the other day," I began. "He couldn't believe what he was watching. If you had 5 minutes with Charlie Sheen what would you like to ask him."

"I have no idea why I want to ask him anything," she replied, completely shutting me down.

In a sense, I agree with her quick conclusion. At this point in his life cycle, gaining any proximity to the real Charlie Sheen would be nothing short of a miracle.

For a former teacher who got turfed as an educator, Terry Gross has gone on to a radio career that has given her incredible access into the life of times of some of the most celebrated artists of our time: Philip Roth, James Brown, John Travolta and one of my favourite jazz artists, Sonny Rollins. Her interviews are heard by an estimated audience of 4.5 million people on nearly 500 public radio stations in America. I'll be looking for a podcast of her show as soon as I'm done this blog post.

I wandered around Old Town on my own on the final afternoon of our visit to Philly. Shopping done almost immediately, I found myself being drawn to Independence Hall and the 30-minute tour they provide courtesy of the Park Rangers. Standing there, mere feet from where the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution were signed was incredible. Imagining George Washington leaning over his desk to talk with James Madison standing close by with quill in hand, I shivered at the thought of the impact that conversations and debates held in this room had on the world.

We closed out our day enjoying a beautiful meal on the Moshulu, a four-masted steel barque christened in 1904 as the Kurt, now a floating restaurant at Penn's Landing. Our guest was Rick Whipple from Cochise College in Arizona. It was a great meal and a fine way to bring things to a close.

After waking up far too early at 4 am, we checked out of the Hyatt Regency on Penn's Landing and began our long journey back to Fort McMurray. We enjoyed this edition of the NCMPR national conference and look forward to 2012 when we will gather at the Fairmont in San Francisco.

NCMPR 2011 - Day 3

The 3rd day of the NCMPR conference didn't do it for me. There, I've said it. And outside of the ray of light offered by Ron Paradis's session To Infinity and Beyond: A Comprehensive Enrollment Management Plan, the other two sessions I went to somewhat fell flat.

As communicators I'm often surprised how often we struggle to communicate. We can learn so much from people like David Raymond, David Pogue, and Peter Shankman who have this incredible ability to light up a room. They get up in front of a room full of strangers and tell a compelling story that engages and challenges. We walk away feeling inspired and energized. The first couple of sessions yesterday left me feeling the exact opposite, tired and struggling to keep my eyes open.

That said, the active listening and constant tweeting may have been taking a toll. Maybe I had nothing left? Let's leave it at that and move on.

Renee and I went on an "epic" walk (that's the word of the week thanks to Mr. Sheen) from Penn's Landing all the way to the Philadelphia Museum of Art and back again, a distance of several miles, or at least 7 or 8 kilometres as we like to call them in Canada.

Our first stop was the Liberty Museum, thinking it may be the location of the famous bell, not having any idea where we were going.

"Is that the actual Liberty Bell," I asked as I pointed to the ringy dingy thing poised at the front of the museum.

"No, that's just a replica," she replied. "The real thing is around the corner."

I was still glad we popped in as the Liberty Museum pays tribute to heroes from around the world who have fought and died in the pursuit of freedom, from the 9/11 responders to Mahatma Ghandi, from religious patriots like Mother Theresa to peace prize winners like Jimmy Carter. It was a powerful trip up and down four flights of stairs lined with portraits of all the fire fighters, police, and port authority personnel who shuffled off this mortal coil in the tragic events from that day that will live in infamy for our generation.

We eventually found the real Liberty Bell, just around the corner and up the block, displayed in a modern looking building just opposite Independence Hall. After we were pat down and searched we weaved our way to the far end of the building where the grand old girl was on display, warmed by the midday sun streaming in from the south through the floor to ceiling glass walls that make it feel like your outdoors. We came, we saw, we snapped, we left.

"That's one more tic off the bucket list," said Renee.

Ten blocks along and we were able to walk through the centre of the gargantuan City Hall. Punctuated by a tower 167-metres high. It was the tallest habitable building in the world for a glorious seven years at the turn of the previous century and has the distinction of being the second tallest masonry building anywhere still today. I got a distinctive shiver as we passed through a walkway that allows pedestrians trekking up Market Street to keep on going. It's an imposing structure, cold and calculating. The granite and brick walls are 22-feet in some places.

We veered off to the north in search of the Benjamin Franklin Parkway and the path to the Rocky Steps, otherwise known as the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We passed Logan Square, the Rodin Museum and found Eakins Oval, the busy piece of pavement just in front of one of the most famous set of steps in the modern world.

I'm not sure how famous these 72 steps would be if it were not for the 1976 film starring a then unknown Sylvester Stallone. Rocky found the sweet spot with a movie going public eager to cheer on the underdog. It spawned a franchise that went on and on, far too long frankly, and it made this entrance to an art museum an instant destination for millions of tourists traveling to the City of Brotherly Love (where, somebody noted, the grand old battleship, the USS New Jersey, stands watch out on the Delaware River).

We charged up the stairs, or perhaps gingerly walked might be a more accurate description, but either way we made it safe and sound with our lungs fully intact to the very top where Rocky's bronzed feet, embedded in the concrete dead centre, stand watch over an incredible view of the Philadelphia skyline.

And after all the effort and excursion, we didn't feel silly at all jumping in the air and pretending that we were Mr. Balboa.

It was a lovely walk and a great way to get an up close and personal feel for this great city. The architecture is incredible, the people friendly, and the street layout envisioned by William Penn easy as pie, or philly cheese steak, to navigate.

Renee went off to the Paragon Awards Banquet while I dived into a marathon conference call, remotely attending a five hour Council meeting happening back in Fort McMurray.

As I listen to the 30th Anniversary edition soundtrack of Rocky and recall jumping high up in the air at the top of the steps, I'm ready to seize the final day of the 2011 NCMPR national conference.

NCMPR 2011 - Day 2

I was up so late writing my blog post last night that I almost slept in this morning. I shouldn't beat myself up for rousing at 7:30 am, as it was 5:30 am back home, or 4:30 am if you ignore the time change that happened the other night. That said, I'm going to keep my thoughts succinct this evening in hopes of getting to bed earlier.

This was another good day with a full slate of breakout and round table sessions along with a flurry of great conversations. I really stepped up my tweeting game today with a total of 129 tweets and retweets. Had I not gone in and counted I would have guessed 40 or 50. No wonder I'm so tired, all that tweeting is exhausting. But, there is a beauty in what tweeting with a conference hashtag can do, and that makes the effort so worthwhile.

In just over 48 hours, we'll be packing our bags and preparing for our long flight back to the frozen north. And after we fly across the Midwest and prairies, back to the beloved boreal forest of Alberta, and return to our busy lives, an incredible record of NCMPR 2011 will be at my fingertips in chronological order thanks to Twitter. That is an incredibly comforting fact.

I enjoyed the fascinating discussion this morning about Reorganizing Your Marketing Department to Increase Efficiency led by Fred Peters from Tyler Junior College in Texas. Fred and his team used the power of research to successfully advocate for more people which resulted in a stunning 110% increase in output. It wasn't easy, and there were a few personnel changes that had to happen, but the re-org was an unqualified success. It was a packed room and I heard a number of comments throughout the day saying how valuable they found the discussion.

What was only a ripple in 2007 (Savannah) has become a tsunami in 2011 as social media has factored (in some way) into every presentation at the conference so far. Sara Villegas from Regis University and Doug Stewart from Colorado Mountain College facilitated a vigorous discussion about Taking Social Media to the Next Level. There were lots of great thoughts that emerged but the key idea for me was engaging students as bloggers. They've done this quite successfully and it's been a reasonable investment for great exposure. And while there is an element of discomfort in paying students to write whatever they feel like, once you empower them, they tend to do way more than what you expect or pay for.

There was one particular tangent in the session that jumped out at me, when they referenced the fact that "Facebook doesn't like this" or "Facebook really likes that". This social media platform was being talked about as if it were a person, the Big Brother of the modern age. I had no idea that Facebook is constantly evaluating content and giving prime real estate to that which is most relevant and best fits their vision for what great content should be. It was eye-opening.

For the fourth year in a row it was great to attend a session with Dr. Pam Cox-Otto. She's a star in my books and was the presenter that I raved about after I made that long flight home from Savannah after my first NCMPR national conference. Since then Pam and I have become dear friends and I've been able to endear her to the wonders of our Canadian life, things like poutine (French fries, cheese curds, and gravy), oil sands, and a Prime Minister named Stephen Harper.

(Side note: in 4 years of asking Americans at the conference to name the current Canadian PM, not a single person has been able to answer.)

Pam did a killer round table on Creating a Toolbox for Your Integrated Marketing Plan. She offered plausible and innovative ideas that can produce results during these challenging times when marketing dollars are in short supply. I see she's doing a full session tomorrow at 11:15 am, an expanded version of the same topic. If funds are few, don't miss this one.

(Second side note: Pam and Interact Communications successfully led our College through both a website redesign and a super-fast (and effective) brand evolution. They have a fantastic team who understand what 2-year colleges are all about.)

If you missed Al Hyland's primer on Search Engine Marketing you truly missed out. I met Al last year in Albuquerque and he is an absolute genius when it comes to maximizing your advertising dollar. He also has a larder full of technical training and certifications so that he can navigate the ever-changing waters of Google adwords, SEM and mobile ads. Based in New Westminster just outside Vancouver, Al is a Media Buyer for Douglas College. "He's a what?" you're probably thinking out loud. Yup, a media buyer: a guy who turns $100,000 into $300,000 by knowing how to buy smart. He pays for his salary many times over.

I loved the session on Moments of Truth by DemandEngine's Jennifer Copeland. Using a secret shopper strategy, they did a study on how various colleges do in delivering their brand promise to potential students. The poor response times, the lack of follow-up, and the vast numbers of students left panting out the front gates of your campus would make your heart bleed. Take a good hard look, through the eyes of a potential student, and see what you see. It's a tried and true strategy, to walk a mile in another man's shoes, but it works. Thanks Jennifer!

Our day ended with the gang from Districts 4 and 7 walking a few block from the hotel to the City Tavern for dinner. Originally built in 1773, members of the first Continental Congress used it as a gathering place. George Washington frequented the establishment, eating in a private dining room just around the corner from where we were sitting. John Adams once called it "the most genteel tavern in America". We ate on the second floor in what was, at the time, the second largest ballroom in the Colonies. It was a grand meal surrounded by wonderful company.

So, I've prattled on for much longer than I intended, but once I start I find it hard to stop. Tuesday approaches and another day of NCMPR's Creative Revolution.

NCMPR 2011 - Day 1

This was a great first day of the 37th annual NCMPR (National Council for Marketing and Public Relations) national conference. With any gathering like this, it can be hit or miss with the content and the speakers. However, in the case of the 2011 event in Philadelphia, both the pre-conference intensive on dynamic video production and the opening keynote by Peter Shankman, hit it out of the park (to use a baseball analogy while the original Philly Phanatic, David Raymond, hams it up downstairs).

The video discussion by Eleanor Shelton and Michael Wilkinson from Washtenaw Community College in Michigan was swimming in relevance for Renee and I as we are about to enter the exciting world of video production at Keyano. Previous to this, creating video content had been an expensive and rare proposition as we had to contract professionals, not having the equipment nor the expertise. We've been going through the process, with the guidance of our photographer, of getting equipped to produce our own stuff. Now that the camera, microphones, lights, this, that and the other thing have been purchased, we're almost ready to go.

And while Mike touched on some of the technical things, the bulk of their presentation focused on the all-important process required to achieve success. From pre-pre-production to post-production and editing, we now have a clearer understanding of the complexities and vagaries around video production.

I was pleased to hear that the writing is integral to the process. It was also nice to have the collaborative nature of video production reinforced. This is not a one person endeavor, nor two, nor even three. To come out on the other end of a video project with a product that is going to sizzle requires teamwork from the beginning to the end.

The above is an example of the work of the creative team at Washtenaw. It's pretty good, and as an arts guy, it makes me want to go to school there. But, this next one is even better.

I love the subtle yet effective pans and zooms, and the shot of the motorcyclist captured while perched on the flatbed of a half-ton truck driving down the road. It is first rate. Be sure to watch when the doors to the lab open up, seemingly by themselves. Two members of the team were off camera armed with fishing line invisibly attached to the door to achieve the effect.

The crème de la crème is the following promotional video for Digital Media Arts, where they integrate a great script with some innovative videography.

I can't remember how long they said it took to go from conception to delivery, but it was months. Good video content takes time and money.

I liked this session a lot as it gave a whole bucketful of practical tips and tricks that will easily integrate themselves into our process in the coming months. Thank you Eleanor and Michael for the best pre-conference intensive in the four years that I've been attending the NCMPR national conference. Well done!

You can find out more about Washtenaw Community College by visiting their website here or watching their entire inventory of videos on YouTube.

OK, so we're off to a delicious and decidedly encouraging start. Enter Peter Shankman (above): entrepeneur, author, social media expert, and self-described ADHD personality success story. From marketing a t-shirt in Times Square during the heyday of James Cameron's Titanic that read IT SANK. GET OVER IT! to creating the incredible Help A Reporter Out (HARO) website that created an invaluable resource to news hounds from around the world, Shankman continues to operate at Charlie Sheen's one speed (GO!) without the slurry of drugs and alcohol.

Always a big fan of presenters that provide numbered pieces of advice, making it far easier to remember, I was understandably thrilled when the author of Customer Service: New Rules for a Social Media World launched into his five points about driving and thriving in the social media universe.

1. Transparency - No matter how good you are, eventually you will screw up. Be ready to admit you were wrong and move on. We live in a transparent world, where everyone and everything is an open book.

2. Relevance - What you do online or in the social mediasphere is only going to work if it is relevant to your audience.

The average age of the viewers of the nightly TV news? Dead. It's no longer relevant. What is? How does your audience want to receive information? Ask them. They will tell you.

3. Brevity - The average attention span is shrinking. By how much? Down to about 140 characters or 2.6 seconds.

Shankman suggests that we're not talking about Twitter here, rather texting, a form of communication that is ubiquitous across all age groups and cultures. "My mom and day text me all the time. I can't get them to stop!"

4. Learn to Write - "Bad writing is destroying America," he said. Content written well will connect more than that which is not.

5. Top of Mind - Barry Diller, the boss at Paramount, had a daily practice of dipping into his rolodex (the Outlook of the 1970s and 80s) and calling 10 people a day, just to stay connected and shoot the breeze. Over the course of a given year, he would connect with every single person in his rather impressive cadre of contacts at least three or four times. When opportunities came up, guess what? He was top of mind, and single handedly turned the fortunes around for this motion picture giant when it was almost sunk.

Shankman moves at a million miles an hour, but in his meanderings, all shared without the guidance of notes or PowerPoint, there were many nuggets of wisdom and brilliance. You can find him on Twitter (@PeterShankman) or at The Geek Factory, Inc., a boutique marketing and PR strategy firm based in NYC.

Day #1 of the NCMPR conference is in the books. We'll be tweeting all week using the hashtag #NCMPR11 if you'd like to follow along.

Putting the Sheen on dubious denial

Charlie Sheen is one messed up dude. Are you with me on this? Don't believe me, take a few minutes to watch this collection of clips from recent interviews:

I showed one complete interview (from ABC) to my 12 year old son Dylan who clearly saw the disturbed individual that lay under the veneer of being "radical" and "epic".

While his dysfunction is as clear as the nose on my face, despite what he says, I don't feel sorry for him. He is on his own personal journey with an ending yet to be determined. That said, I feel intensely sorry for those close to him - his children mostly, but also his father (Martin Sheen) and brothers (including actor Emilio Estevez).

Purporting to be "clean" and reformed for life, Sheen expresses no remorse for his behavior or his out-of-control proclivities. Instead, he is proud of his partying prowess and thinks he should be celebrated for showing people the time of their lives.

Other famous actors have been down this road and are no longer with us. Coming to mind are John Candy, John Belushi, Chris Farley and Heath Ledger, though there are many others - all died way too young.

Money, fame, and power can create a deadly cocktail. Charlie Sheen has had plenty of all three earning millions per episode of Two and a Half Men and amassing a resume of movie blockbusters that had him on the A-List for the better part of a decade, from Platoon to Wall Street. He possessed an uncanny ability to mix uncommon looks with unmatched comic timing, which turned him into a sitcom star that attracted (and continues to attract) an audience hungry for what he had to dish out.

As his family looks on, Sheen is ubiquitous across all media channels, on television, websites and most recently on Twitter. He is decidedly fidgety, unsettled, and unsettling. How is he really doing?

"Winning," he insists.

"Manic," say many; "Bi-Polar," say others.

From the outside looking in I would say that Mr. Sheen is hovering on the edge of the blade and in a state of dubious denial. As with all addicts, I wish him Godspeed, and hope he finds a way out of the abyss.

My Public Life

A number of people commented on or questioned my social media activity on our recent holiday in Mexico.

"Why are you on Facebook when you should be relaxing?" was the essence of a question I heard more than once.

Long story short, I love the communication and connection that is afforded to me by this incredible medium and don't find it "work" at all; I rather think it's fun.

A poll in March 2011 edition of Vanity Fair magazine asked the following:

"Thinking about a typical day, when do you first check your e-mail?"

Almost half the respondents from all age categories selected "When I get around to it." Other options included "After your first waking breath/ as soon as you get up (me!)", "After breakfast", and "When I get to work". I was shocked to discover that according to this statistical sample, I'm in the minority. Almost half the population considers communication and connection work, an effort, an encumbrance on their personal time.

Of course, the poll question was related to e-mail, which is quickly becoming passé. I wonder how different the results would have been if the question was based on when you check your Facebook? I suspect that the "When I get around to it" percentage would be significantly smaller.

The most recent edition of Macleans talks about the role that social media is playing on Parliament Hill. Apparently the most prolific user of Twitter among MPs is Tony Clement. The fact that we're having a discussion about who tweets the most in the House of Commons is indicative of how far we've come in terms of communication and connection.

In recent days, Charlie Sheen, wallowing in the pit of his despair and dysfunction, achieved a world record for the fastest Twitter user to reach one million followers (he is now up to almost 2.4 million). Imagine creating your own channel and an instant audience of millions. That's powerful stuff.

So, as I lie by the pool, nestled under a towel so I can properly see my iPad screen fighting the glare of the intense Mayan Riviera sun, checking my Facebook and Twitter, know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am truly on vacation and that my social media public life is not an effort, encumbrance or encroachment - though I completely understand and respect that it might be for you and yours.

The nights of the long sleeps

Whether it has been the sun, the copious amount of food, the walking, or the luxurious king-size bed, the sleeps in Mexico have been long. We've been in bed shortly after 9 pm most nights and leisurely getting up between 7 am and 8 am. The extra rest has been great, and necessary.

Sleeping on the largest size of bed available is like sleeping on a football field, wide and never ending. I could swing my arms out both ways in the middle of the night and not feel a thing. Those extra inches on our modest queen-size unit back home make a world of difference.

As we pack up this morning and prepare to make our way to the Cancun Airport for our 1:50 pm flight, we'll be thinking about what we'll leave behind and what we're heading back to. Like the sea water mixing in with the fresh water at Xel-Ha, it will create an environment abundant in thoughts.

We will be going from temperatures consistently in the 26 to 28 degree range to similar numbers on the negative side of the thermometer. Fort McMurray is experiencing a bitter cold beginning to March, with spring feeling like an unattainable dream. Contrast that with what we've expienced all week and it will be interesting to see how we react.

The sky opened up late yesterday afternoon pelting us with monsoon-like rain for a few brief hours. It was great how the resort staff kicked into action putting down non-slip matts on the marbles floors to make it safer. Heather was shopping downtown on 5th Avenue during the deluge and got to see how the gaggle of small business vendors adapted to the quickly changing conditions.

"Everyone ran for available cover while the vendors tried to cover up," she said. "The bars and restaurants became packed and overflowing-great for business." Some of the spots in low lying areas were still dealing with four or five inches of water by the time I arrived several hours later.

There is a beautiful look of joy in the faces of Mexican people when they scurry about in the rain complete with beaming smiles and eyes bright in gratitude. Agua is precious here as it not only sustains life, it forms the foundation central to the Mexican economy.

The memories we will bring back from our second time in Playa del Carmen will be many and I'm certain they will be slightly different for all of us. Sitting under a blanket of stars on the beach, snorkeling at Xel-Ha, getting sick on the high seas, and laughing uncontrollably at the Les Gladiatiores show will be among mine. I'm sure there will be more as we traverse the Gulf of Mexico, come across the prairies of the Midwest and back into our home and native land, from epic sun to epic winter in just over five hours.

Wonders and Wishes

Ben was intrigued with the idea of painting a ceramic dragon the other day, with a vendor situated along side the main pool at Sandos Playacar in the shade of a couple of big trees. Among his list of happy places is being in front of an art project with brush in hand. I guess w'e're similar that way as I rose to the opportunity and spent 2.5 hours adding colour to a serving plate. Estelle, the Mexican vendor, paints the patterns with a thin brush and black paint after having put down a base coat of white. We get to choose from a vast selection of colours to fill in the pattens. She takes the pieces home for glazing and firing, then brings them back the following day, good to go.

At a price of about $60 for the two items, I thought it was a good use of money and a brilliant use of time. Unfortunately, I was a little under the gun for time as she was wrapping up by 5 pm; I could have spent several more hours in that comfortable shade adding detail.

It's interesting what each of us has discovered as our own personal space on this holiday adventure. Heather has enjoyed a number of yoga classes along the beach, checking her email on one of only a few computers available to members, and reading. I've loved my daily ritual of writing and checking into the world a couple of times a day (glancing at Facebook and Twitter for the latest updates, and CNN for the latest oil price) via the iPad. Dylan and Ben are happy spend the quiet times with each other in their room, goofing around or watching TV-though I suspect Dylan is reaching that age where alone time, wherever spent, is prescious.

We'll need some additional peace and quiet time today, both in preparation for tomorrow's long flight home and in reparation for yesterday's trip to Tulum and Xel-Ha.

We took the colourful Experiencias Xcaret bus, first to drop off the bulk of the passenger at Xel-Ha, then on to Tulum, about 20 kilometres down the highway. Certainly one of the great wonders of the world, Tulum is an amazing heritage site and home to one of the most important Mayan cities. Overtaken by jungle after the collapse of the Mayan society after the arrival of the Spanish, the ruins were discovered relatively intact, though pillaged, in about 1840. What remains today is several administrative buildings and the main religious temple, about 80 percent intact, along with remnants of the city walls and many foundations of residences.

On a side note, because it deserves highlighting, the Mayan are primarily responsible for the concern and consternation around fears of the apocalypse coming on December 21, 2012. They of course were one of only a handful of ancient peoples who successfully created and maintained a complete written language. One document was found with previously unseen hieroglyphs and a subsequent unknown message about the date that aligns with that fateful day next winter. Pablo, our Mayan guide, suggested that the notation probably indicates the end of one cycle and the beginning of another.

"Every culture and religion has their own predictions about the end of the world," said Pablo. "The unknown message may relate to end of life as we know it, yes, or it could just be a note about the end of a cycle. Remember Y2K? That was the end of a cycle that had a lot of people worried, too."

It was monstrously hot as we meandered through the ruins, finding small circles of spattered shade under trees carefully planted to allow a large number of tours to go through concurrently. For Dylan, it was a particularly tough morning, as the ground was very uneven and he does not have the interest in ancient things like his younger brother. We planted him in a shady spot while we made the final hike to the top of the temple and the stunning view of the ocean and beach nestled at the bottom of the 12-metre high rock cliff.

From Tulum we went back to Xel-Ha for the remainder of the day. A stunning collection of inlets, lagoons, cenotes and caves with water teeming with life, Xel-Ha is certainly one of the top attractions in the Mayan Riviera area. Equipped with snorkel gear, we hit the water as a family and explored for several hours. The most interesting spots were near the shore where the many species of fish could be found near the protection of rocks and reefs. Both boys did exceptionally well after we got their gear put on right.

"Papa, I lost a flipper," screamed Ben, as I made a desperate lunge to grab it before it sunk too deep. I missed it by inches as I dove down, impaired by the buoyant lifejacket.

I helped him to the shore, shucked off the jacket and dived back in, hoping we hadn't blown our deposit. I spied it through the diving mask and went down about 15-feet where I snagged if off the ocean floor, thankfully standing straight up making the recovery much easier.

While Ben and I continued exploring the lagoon, Heather and Dylan went off to Sea-Trek, a 30-minute ocean walking excursion and a chance to pet stingrays and groupers. Dylan was totally stoked about the idea (as the picture I will post when we get home will testify) and enjoyed donning the 60-pound underwater headgear, exploring the ocean floor.

I say "ocean" when, in fact, the water is a mixture of both salt and freshwater, providing a thriving and completely unique marine environment.

By the time we loaded back onto the Experiencias Xcaret bus we were pooped. The sun sets on a dime in this part of the world and by the time we rolled out of the parking lot at Xel-Ha, it was pretty much dark; twilight in Mexico is fleeting, as is our time in this glorious place.

Iguanas and Sun Monkeys

A friend from back home asked about recommending a resort for a future vacation. I'd surmise that she was likely asking, in a very polite way, if I would recommend this one: Sandos Playacar. Let me preface the answer to that question with a statement of fact: it takes several days to get into the rhythm of a place like this, to feel comfortable in its welcoming embrace. I'm not sure I would have answered in the affirmative after the first several days. But as we approach the end of our fourth full day, I can comfortably jump on the bandwagon and proclaim the resort Thomas-approved and endorsed.

Another friend from back home has been here a number of times and particularly loves the beach. She is absolutely right; it's fantastic. Blue lounge chairs dot the swath of white sand, hundreds row on row, with the odd hammock thrown in for good measure, along with requisite lifeguard towers and beach volleyball net.

We walked down to the water after dinner tonight, the only souls on the beach, save for a few cabana boys sweeping off the sand from the beach chairs and cleaning up for another steaming hot day tomorrow. Under a bright blanket of stars with the lights of Cozumel off on the distant horizon, we stretched out on our backs to look at the sky.

"That Orion's belt," said Heather.

"Where?" asked Ben.

"You see those three stars in a line? Right there."

I can't recall us looking at the stars together as a family before.

"You know, outside of a couple days of the year when they have some rain, it's like this all the time down here," I said. There's something magical about being able to sit together as a family in the dark, listening to the soothing waves, watching the greatest outdoor light show on earth, and feeling absolutely as comfortable as is possible-not hot, not cool, just right.

We spent the morning on the beach today, avoiding the super heat of the afternoon, opting for a well-timed siesta instead. But, this morning was lovely, with a little bit of cloud cover to afford us a bit more time in the water.

There are people here from around the world. You can tell by looking at them and by listening to their conversations. They come from Holland, Germany, France, India, Italy, Brazil, Argentina, Peru, Spain, Greece and everywhere in between including USA and Canada. I am most intrigued by what I call the Iguana People, the sun-worshippers, tanned from head to toe, diligently and with careful precision. Mr. Iguana, a semi-rotund gentlemen from some European country (completely guessing on this one), wearing a skimpy Speedo, rises from his towel every 15 minutes, stands tall, raises his chin to the sun, and strikes a statuesque pose.

The Iguana People are easy to spot and great in number, largely in the 40+ category and inclusive of both sexes and often exclusive of any covering, outside of a patch of fabric to cover the most private spots. Yes, this is a topless-friendly environment, though that choice is the road less traveled on this particular beach.

The faces start to become familiar after four days, similar to the feeling you get when you see the same people all the time in the neighborhood grocery store. In that sense, the place feels more comfortable as the days go along.

By the way, the Iguana People are in good company at Sandos Playacar. The real deal iguanas are everywhere you turn during the heat of the day. They scamper under foot, sit on the hot stones of the roads and pathways, and sun themselves diligently and with careful precision, raising their chins to the sun, striking a statuesque pose.

Sea swells and going over the edge

Let me say right off the get-go that the fishing trip was not as I had imagined. Long ago and far away, I got it into my head that I needed to treat myself to some ocean fishing, some way and some how on this Mexican holiday. On our first day I booked a half-day excursion with Captain Rick's, one of many fishing adventure companies who capitalize on every ounce of tourist currency that pours itself into the Mayan Riviera.

In my defense, I had not been feeling very well the day before, sensing a twist in my digestive system for most of the day and battling through a fever for most of the night. Bound and determined to go fishing, I roused myself early in the morning, ate a sparse breakfast and made my way to the Meeting Point, a second lobby where resort patrons can rendez-vous or get picked up for tours.

We crammed into a 10-person passenger and made our way south of Playa del Carmen, past Explor, an adventure-oriented theme park, to a marina community and home base of Captain Rick's Sportfishing Center. As we closed in on 9 am there were probably 50 anxious anglers ready to hit the high seas.

Pick any province or state in Canada or the U.S. and you'd be filling out forms up the wazoo at this point the process, and paying through the nose for a license. In Mexico, you give them your name and home address, "so we know where to send the body if anything happens," said the lady at the front desk smiling and ushering through the last of us so we could get underway.

They split us up, five "bodies" to a boat, some in pre-arranged groups, others just singles like me out for a day on the water. I ended up with two guys from Wisconsin and two from Michigan, all in the manufacturing business at some level or another-two in automotives and two working for Polaris making snowmobiles and ATVs.

We walked the gang plank onto the craft. At high tide, the board was virtually parallel to the edge of the boat (we would have to scale the same plank just four hours later as we docked at low tide).

Of course, in my mind I was going to be stationed in front of a fishing rod the whole trip. This is where I was completely wrong. Instead, our place was in the bow of the boat while the ship's mate got all the rods set, baited and ready. As soon as we broke free of the marina channel and entered deeper water he put out the lines, five of them sitting in different positions and depths. I quickly realized that our job was to occupy ourselves, getting brow beaten by the raging sun, waiting for something to hit on one of the lines.

"This is a whole lot of waiting around for something to happen," I said, feeling like the obvious needed to be stated.

At first, I quite enjoyed watching all five rod tips to look for any sign of movement. It felt like I was back at the mouth of the Snye with all my pickerel rig fishing buddies.

Ivan from Michigan was the first to go over the edge, a spot he frequented several times on our journey. He had taken some medication in hopes of overcoming his propensity to motion sickness, but was completely unsuccessful. He spent most of the trip trying to find a place and a position to sit that would offer some semblance of digestive peace.

Circling back and forth up the coast for 2.5 hours, absolutely nothing was happening so the decision was to move from trolling to bottom fishing. I shuffled to the stern and was the first to get line in the water with a medium-sized hook impaled with a piece of fish meat. Letting out the line manually till it found bottom, we were essentially jigging, searching for the smaller species who reside on the ocean floor.

This is the point in the story where I realized there is a vast difference between the impact on the body from the sea swells on the stern compared to the bow. My stomach started to spin as I handed the rod off to one of my compatriots and sought solace at the back of the boat in the one spot that offered a modicum of shade. The damage was done, as the nausea induced from my time in the front had rooted itself in my gut, and I went over the edge, emptying the sparse contents of my stomach.

Honestly, I don't know if I experienced a legitimate case of sea sickness, or if I had finally succumbed to whatever bug had hit me the day before, but I was done with my fishing adventures at that point. I closed my eyes, sweating from the excursion and discomfort, and nestled in the shady spot while the rest of the guys closed out the remainder of the trip trying their hand at bottom fishing. In the end, my understanding is that three small fish came up, though I didn't have the interest or resolve to turn my body around to have a look.

I remained nauseous right up to the moment the van let us off back at the meeting point of Sandos Playacar. Following the short walk back to our room, the world started to feel right again. I gave the 10 second synopsis of what happened to Heather and the boys (all anxious to hear about my thrill of a lifetime), pulled back the blanket and sheets, took a small hit of water, and curled up in the fetal position and shuffled off this mortal coil for a brief therapeutic nap.

Despite being skunked, getting sick, and sun burned, I have no regrets about my inaugural deep sea fishing adventure. I now understand how it works, so when I decide to try it again, I'll have a better sense of what I'm getting myself into. I also trust that I could better handle the sun and the swells in good health.

That's my fishless story and I'm sticking to it.