Carrie Underwood is no Paul McCartney

I’m a huge Paul fan. Huge. If I ever got to meet him I’d for sure lose my cool and start babbling on and on like an idiot peppering him with comments and questions that would ID me as a crazed fan in an instant. I loved this and that song! What did you mean when you wrote this line? What was it like writing and performing with John Lennon? Could you sing ‘Michelle’ for me right now so I could record it on my phone and show my wife? And on, and on…

A couple weeks ago I had the opportunity to meet and spend time with Carrie Underwood as part of a project at work I’m involved with. I knew who she was- I’m not living under a rock- but I had never listened to a song by her, nor spent the last 30 years memorizing all her music, learning it on guitar and piano, and trying to imitate her voice and delivery style. For one reason at least… she wasn’t even born 30 years ago. To me- she was a famous singer that I knew little about and I was thrilled that she was part of our project. End of story.

So when I got to meet her, it was like meeting anyone else- simple and honest conversation. Where are you from? Tell me about your family. What’s going on in your life? What’s next for you? It was great getting to know her, learning she’s a neighbor (has a place right down the road from us in Leipers Fork and her main home is up the road a bit farther away), and sharing about our respective favorite music, people, places and food. Later in the week there was a party for the folks on the project and I even got to sit next to her and ended up harmonizing on a song when the party shifted from chit-chat to group sing when a couple guys got out guitars. It was Jason Mraz’s “I’m Yours.”

She is a lovely person, wonderful voice, great spirit- and now I’m a fan. Started listening to her music and it’s amazing. I’ve been missing out. But- If I get the chance to hang with her again, I’m afraid I might come off a bit different now. And of course I’ll want pictures with her and for her to sign my shirt with a sharpie.

To All My Valued Employees...

...There have been some rumblings around the office about the future of this company, and more specifically, your job. As you know, the economy has changed for the worse and presents many challenges. However, the good news is this: The economy doesn't pose a threat to your job.

What does threaten your job however, is the changing political landscape in this country. Of course, as your employer, I am forbidden to tell you whom to vote for -- it is against the law to discriminate based on political affiliation, Race, creed, religion, etc.

Please vote who you think will serve your Interests the best. However, let me tell you some little tidbits of fact which might help you decide what is in your best interest. First, while it is easy to spew rhetoric that casts employers against employees, you have to understand that for every business owner there is a back story.

This back story is often neglected and overshadowed by what you see and hear. Sure, you see me park my Mercedes outside. You've seen my big home at last years Christmas party. I'm sure all these flashy icons of luxury conjure up some idealized thoughts about my life. However, what you don't see is the back story.

I started this company 12 years ago. At that time, I lived in a 300 square foot studio apartment for 3 years. My entire living space was converted into an office so I could put forth 100% effort into building a company, which by the way, would eventually employ you.

My diet consisted of Ramen Pride noodles because every dollar I spent went back into this company. I drove a rusty Toyota Corolla with a defective transmission. I didn't have time to date. Often times, I stayed home on weekends, while my friends went out drinking and partying. In fact, I was married to my business -- hard work, discipline, and sacrifice.

Meanwhile, my friends got jobs. They worked 40 hours a week and made a modest $50K a year and spent every dime they earned. They drove flashy cars and lived in expensive homes and wore fancy designer clothes. Instead of hitting the Nordstrom's for the latest hot fashion item, I was trolling through the Goodwill store extracting any clothing item that didn't look like it was birthed in the 70's.

My friends refinanced their mortgages and lived a life of luxury. I, however, did not. I put my time, my money, and my life into a business with a vision that eventually, some day, I too, will be able to afford these luxuries my friends supposedly had.

So, while you physically arrive at the office at 9am, mentally check in at about noon, and then leave at 5pm, I don't. There is no "off" button For me. When you leave the office, you are done and you have a weekend all to yourself. I unfortunately do not have the freedom. I eat, ****, and breathe this company every minute of the day. There is no rest. There is no weekend. There is no happy hour. Every day this business is attached to me like a 1 day old baby.

You, of course, only see the fruits of that garden -- the nice house, the Mercedes, the vacations... You never realize the back story and the sacrifices I've made. Now, the economy is falling apart and I, the guy that made all the right decisions and saved his money, have to bail-out all the people who didn't.

The people that overspent their paychecks suddenly feel entitled to the same luxuries that I earned and sacrificed a decade of my life for. Yes, business ownership has is benefits but the price I've paid is steep and not without wounds. Unfortunately, the cost of running this business, and employing you, is starting to eclipse the threshold of marginal benefit and let me tell you why:

I am being taxed to death and the government thinks I don't pay enough. I have state taxes. Federal taxes. Property taxes. Sales and use taxes. Payroll taxes. Workers compensation taxes. Unemployment taxes. Taxes on taxes. I have to hire a tax man to manage all these taxes and then guess what? I have to pay taxes for employing him. Government mandates and regulations and all the accounting that goes with it, now occupy most of my time. On Oct 15th, I wrote a check to the US Treasury for $288,000 for quarterly taxes. You know what my "stimulus" check was? Zero. Nada. Zilch.

The question I have is this: Who is stimulating the economy? Me, the guy who has provided 14 people good paying jobs and serves over 2,200,000 people per year with a flourishing business? Or, the single mother sitting at home pregnant with her fourth child waiting for her next welfare check?

Obviously, government feels the latter is the economic stimulus of this country. The fact is, if I deducted (Read: Stole) 50% of your paycheck you'd quit and you wouldn't work here. I mean, why should you? That's nuts. Who wants to get rewarded only 50% of their hard work? Well, I agree which is why your job is in jeopardy. Here is what many of you don't understand; to stimulate the economy you need to stimulate what runs the economy. Had suddenly government mandated to me that I didn't need to pay taxes, guess what? Instead of depositing that $288,000 into the Washington black-hole, I would have spent it, hired more employees, and generated substantial economic growth. My employees would have enjoyed the wealth of that tax cut in the form of promotions and better salaries. But you can forget it now.

When you have a comatose man on the verge of death, you don't defibrillate and shock his thumb thinking that will bring him back to life, do you? Or, do you defibrillate his heart? Business is at the heart of America and always has been. To restart it, you must stimulate it, not kill it. Suddenly, the power brokers in Washington believe the mud of America are the essential drivers of the American economic engine.

Nothing could be further from the truth and this is the type of change you can keep. So where am I going with all this? It's quite simple. If any new taxes are levied on me, or my company, my reaction will be swift and simple. I fire you. I fire your co-workers. You can then plead with the government to pay for your mortgage, your SUV, and your child's future. Frankly, it isn't my problem any more. Then, I will close this company down, move to another country, and retire.

You see, I'm done. I'm done with a country that penalizes the productive and gives to the unproductive. My motivation to work and to provide jobs will be destroyed, and with it, will be my citizenship.

While tax cuts to 95% of America sounds great on paper, don't forget the backstory: If there is no job, there is no income to tax. A tax cut on zero dollars is zero. So, when you make decision to vote, ask yourself, who understands the economics of business ownership and who doesn't? Whose policies will endanger your job? Answer those questions and you should know who might be the one capable of saving your job. While the media wants to tell you "It's the economy Stupid" I'm telling you it isn't.

If you lose your job, it won't be at the hands of the economy; it will be at the hands of a political hurricane that swept through this country, steamrolled the Constitution, and will have changed its landscape forever. If that happens, you can find me in South Caribbean sitting on a beach, retired, and with no employees to worry about.

Signed, Your boss,

Michael A. Crowley,
PE Crowley, Crisp & Associates, Inc.
Professional Engineers 1
906 South Main Street, Suite 122
Wake Forest, NC 27587
_______________________________________________________________

My Kingdom For An Empty Middle Seat

The week before last I jetted west to work out of my LA office for a few days and took the last direct Southwest flight from LAX to Nashville Friday night.

I checked in online the previous day (right at the 24 hour mark to make sure I got an “A” boarding pass), and with A35 in my hand was confident I would have an empty seat beside me to spread out and get some work done during the 3 1/1 hour flight.

I had confirmed the flight had about 20 or so empty seats, and my standard strategy in these cases is to find another large person in an aisle seat and secure the window seat near him/her. For strategically thinking Southwest frequent flyers that have to work on the plane, there is quite a bit of thought put into seat selection:

1. If you can hold it, always take the window seat so you’re not getting up constantly for others to go bathroom, and you’re not forever getting wacked in the side by people passing by and their luggage.

2. Confirm whether the flight is full. If it is, look for a couple already seated in aisle and middle seat that are thin. Take the window.

3. If the flight isn’t full, look for a single person seated in the aisle seat that is the LARGEST person available, thereby creating a very small space for the middle seat and encouraging boarding passengers to “keep on walking.” DO NOT take a window seat in an empty aisle, as a couple may board knowing they will have to have an aisle and middle seat between them, and choose your row.

4. Once seated, place your backpack or carry-on in the empty middle seat while moving both your feet under the seat in front of the middle seat. For boarding passengers that might be thinking about taking the middle seat but are too timid to ask if the seat is being saved you increase the chance they will “keep on walking.” Also, by reserving the under seat space in front of the middle seat with your feet, you have a place to put your carry-on when seating is done and still keep all your leg room in front of your window seat.

My strategy tends to work well unless there is some unforeseen circumstance that throws a stick in the spokes. And that’s what happened on that fateful flight home.

Just before the door closed a group of 4 men boarded the plane. They were all friends, and all very drunk. They stumbled down the aisle laughing and talking wildly while looking for seats that where near each other. All that was left were middle seats, and they settled on my general area.

The largest amongst them claimed the middle seat next to me, and plopped his big sweaty and drunk body next to mine. There were empty middle seats (next to much smaller/thinner people than I ) in front of me, behind me, and across from me. But no- he had to pick my row.

For 3 ½ hours I was treated to loud drunk story telling, the smell of whisky and sweat, and a sickeningly hot and wet body pressed into mine while I tried to read a few scripts. Horrible, horrible flight.

4 Lunches, 2 Days and Spilt Milk

This week has been quite busy. The kind of week that wreaks the same havoc on my workload as a vacation week. You know the drill- out of the office (either on the beach or in constant off-site meetings morning till night) and knowing there’s an ever growing inbox, snail mail stack, unreturned phone calls and ignored to-do list.

It’s been so crazy trying to fit various meetings in, several of them with out-of-town contacts, that I’ve had to schedule two days with two lunches. On Tuesday it was an 11:30AM lunch at P.F. Changs in Cool Springs (Chicken chopped salad) and then a 1:00PM at Franklin Mercantile (chicken noodle soup). Yesterday it was an 11:30AM lunch at Bricktops in downtown Nashville (Chicken chowder soup) and a 1:00PM at J. Alexander’s in Cool Springs (Thai Kai Salad). I probably put 500 miles on the Suburban this week. The only good thing about that was when I filled it up with gas yesterday it only cost $49 versus the $150 it would have cost just a few months ago.

A funny thing happened while at the lunch meeting yesterday in J. Alexander’s. While waiting for my out-of-town lunch guest I ran into a couple of folks I know. Friend1 (which coincidentally had been one of my lunch meetings on Tuesday), and his father, Friend2. They introduced me to Acquaintance1 (the sister of Friend1 and daughter of Friend2) and her husband, Acquaintance2 (the brother-in-law of Friend1 and son-in-law of Friend2). We chatted for a few minutes and I mentioned I was waiting to meet with a guy named Darren that I had never met face-to-face before. I joked about having to do the whole “Hi, are you Darren?” routine with each guy that walked in the restaurant. They were escorted to their table and I continued to wait.

Darren showed up a few minutes later and after a minute or two of small talk the buzzer in my pocket went off and we were taken to our table. Of course it was right next to the Friend1 and 2’s table. Friend2 saw me and said to my lunch meeting “Hi! You must be Darren.”

Darren was stunned to have been recognized in a strange town by someone he had never met, and was completely confused about what was going on. We sat down and I explained.

As we chatted business through lunch I happened to glance to my left just as Acquaintance2 (the husband/brother-in-law/son-in-law) knocked a full cup of half-and-half off his table. You know those little metal miniature jugs that get filled to the brim with creamer? Seems they had finished with lunch and it was coffee time. The creamer thingy hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud and creamer shot out of it like a stick of dynamite in a shallow pond. Creamer ALL over Friend2’s leg and shoes (the father/father-in-law). No on at the table noticed except of course for Acquaintance2. He looked down at the huge mess all over the floor and his father-in-law and a horrified look came over his face. He looked around his table to see if anyone noticed and no one did. He straightened up and resumed drinking coffee and glanced my way. He saw me looking at him, and the mess, and his eyes went wide. He was caught. But did nothing.

A few minutes went by (while the creamer soaked into Friend2’s pants and shoes and the floor) and the waiter for their table appeared. He gave them the check and then noticed the spilled creamer. He pointed it out and the table was surprised. Acquaintance2 said nothing. Friend2 wondered if maybe he had knocked it off himself, or a passing server had. The mess was cleaned up with no one the wiser but me.

Nicole Kidman Ruined My Plans

The Good Cup in the Grassland area (no-mans land between Brentwood and Franklin TN) has been my favorite go-to place to have a great cup of coffee and business meeting and escape the insanity of the local Starbucks scene. Could a Starbucks shop BE ANY LOUDER???

I actually think they designed the walls and ceilings to bounce back 150% of the noise from the milk steamer, clanked metal utensils and the insanely loud chit-chat and cell phone conversations from the sea of neighbor tables in order to get customers in and out quickly and turn tables and profits.

Now The Good Cup may be off my list soon for two reasons. First, even though I signed up for the email list to get news and updates from my favorite coffee shop, they failed to notify me that they decided to keep the shop closed after New Years day through the 5th of January. I scheduled two meetings there yesterday morning, and when my first meeting showed up at the same time I did, we stood together staring inside the shop with our hands cupped on the glass around our eyes wondering what was up. Closed. We had to caravan about 8 miles to nearest (non-Starbucks) coffee shop to have our meeting, and on the drive there I had to call my next meeting and let them know about the change of venue.

What exactly would The Good Cup use their email list for if not for notifying their loyal customers about changes in normal operating hours?

Secondly, it seems that two of our local celebs (and neighbors) have made it their regular morning hang too. Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban have taken a liking to The Good Cup’s exceptional lattes, chocolate espresso bean muffins and homemade sausage biscuits and breakfast quiches. I don’t blame them- they have great taste. This has, however, resulted in a massive increase in morning business and celeb spotters (GREAT for the owner- God bless her and I’m glad for her… but bad for the regulars), and, having to start the last couple of business meetings standing against the wall waiting for a spot to open up.

I guess I’ll have to scope out a new spot for caffeinated morning meetings.

Confirmation, Finally, For John And Revé Walsh

In 2006 I had the distinct pleasure of working for 3 very fine people. Julie and Bill Clark (Julie is the founder and creator of The Baby Einstein Company) and John Walsh.

Together, Julie, Bill and John launched a child safety company named The Safe Side, focused on creating fun and informative safety videos for kids.

During that time I worked closely with Julie and Bill to launch the company, and communication with John was infrequent. Mostly faxes to his home as he doesn’t like to use email.

On one occasion I was able to spend some quality time with John during an extended dinner at the hotel we were all staying at in Washington DC. We were attending the annual National Center for Missing and Exploited Children’s Hope Awards benefit and congressional breakfast where John was keynote speaker.

During dinner he shared all about the horrible experience he and his wife Revé went through in the immediate aftermath of Adam’s abduction, the challenges he faced working with local law enforcement, and his certainty, though the police would not confirm it, that Ottis Toole was responsible for the crime. The announcement yesterday by police that the case has been closed and Ottis Toole confirmed as the abductor and killer of Adam is a much needed “period” to the awful chapters to date in their life. John said yesterday though that there’s not really closure. His mission and life’s purpose is still ahead of him.

I will never forget that dinner with John- It was heart wrenching listening to him recount the details (I kept thinking what I would have done had it been one of my four precious kids). Both the pain he showed as he told the story, and the determination that flowed out of him to have the case closed and to do everything he could to prevent another family going through what he went through was very motivating. I left that time together wanting to brandish a sword and chop something or other off every child abuser I could find.

Last Words

I’m a fan of quotes, all kinds of quotes, and especially those that illuminate and underline truths that are self-evident if we just took the time to slow down and think.

I sort of collect them- I even have a word file that catalogs hundreds of quotes that made an impact on me, and still do when I read over them. I wanted to catalog them on the blog and back in 2006 posted them. Links to those quotes are in the label section under, you guessed it, “Quotes.”

I have the priviledge of serving as a pre-screener for the 2009 Nashville Film Festival. My responsibilities consist of screening dozens of films (my specialties are feature-length, animation, shorts and young filmmakers) and commenting on several criteria including writing/story, talent, directing, production value, etc. The screening ends with a thumbs-up (yes, lets show it in the festival) or a thumbs-down (nope, not this year). My screening notes are added to the larger group of pre-screeners and consensus rules the outcome for each film.

This morning I wrapped up the final film in this, my third, batch of projects to screen. Near the end, one of the supporting actors had this to say while laying in her death-bed and recalling the broken relationship with her daughter:

“Oh Inga, my Inga. Fire in my kiln. My love would want to stay and finish my work and heal all the cracks and grazes and imperfections in my love until I have made it perfect. Maybe even just a part of me, the part I gave to you.”

It struck me as beautiful this wonderful cool crisp fall morning… as the world around me prepares to die, and make ready to live again.

Hours Burned

Have you ever had a day that was chocked full of things you HAD to get done, only to have someone call up or pop in and steal an hour of your time with worthless chit chat? How about 2 hours? Well, I had almost 5 stolen yesterday.

I already had a packed day- something I always seem to do to myself on the day back from vacation or the first work day of the new year. Too many things late in the game before a break get pushed to “first thing next year” or “as soon as I get back.”

The result is an insane schedule the first week back that teeters on disaster if one thing does wrong schedule-wise. Well, it all went wrong yesterday. An unexpected call ate up 90 minutes, an unscheduled conference call ate up another 60, then another unexpected call from the same person as the first- another 60 minutes gone.

Then I came up with plan B. I would get it all done that night. Eat dinner with the family then pop down to the office and get a couple hours in to hopefully catch up.

Well…unexpected dinner guests. 2 hours gone.

What a day.

2007 Was An Interesting Year

My entire adult life (which I calculate to have begun sometime around the age of 24 or so), I have lived on payroll. From Star Song Records, to EMI Music, to The Safe Side Company, always working hard to build and create, yet leaning on the safety of a twice monthly predictable payout. There were times the last few years of the corporate game where a bigger payday was possible. Annual performance bonuses, possible company sales that might provide a big pay day. But still the safety net was there.

2007 is different. It has been one of the scariest years of my life.

Waking up each day, getting the work at hand done, seeing various checks of various amounts arrive intermittently as the weeks and months went by, and all the time keeping an eye out for emerging opportunities and new businesses to start and develop.

We made it through. Actually making more than the year before. Not sure how that happened, but I think the federal government will be pleased- as they are taking a bigger chunk of MY money than ever before.

And what do I get for it? Clinton, Obama, Edwards and Huckabee telling me to vote for them so they can take more.

Happy new year.

Doing The Math

A week ago today I wrote about the crèche (for most guys- insert the words barn/stable type structure used in nativity scenes) I made for Michelle. It has since garnered much praise from those that see it.

One of the things most everyone has said is that I should consider making these to sell for extra income. The encouragement seems genuine and it has convinced me that the two I’ve made are of good enough design and quality to sell retail.

Though the words are kind, and very encouraging, there is one big problem with this idea. There is little money in it.

I did some research and found that quality crèche’s like the one made by Willow Tree run about $90. Knowing gift and specialty retailers typically get between 40 and 50 points margin on the retail price (margin is the difference between what the retail paid for an item, and what they sell it for), that means retailers are paying somewhere between $45 and $54 wholesale for these crèches.

So, that’s the market I would have to compete in. Knowing that my crèches would not fetch the same premium as a well-known designer like Willow Tree (mine would probably retail for around $60 and retailers would probably require 50 points margin), and that any future crèches I would make would not be made out of the free wood I found at the dump, and that the milk-based paint I use is not cheap, and that it takes me about 6 hours to make one, there really is no money in this for me.

Assuming the wood and paint is $3, that would leave me about $27 in gross profit after my cost for materials. And at 6 hours work, that comes to a whopping $4.50. The federal minimum wage is $5.45. I suppose I could file a grievance against myself, but then I would price my crèches out of the market if I had to pay $35.70 in parts and labor to only get $30 wholesale per unit.

Doble Digits

A couple weeks ago I trekked to my old worksite for a meeting. While there I wandered by my old office and peeked my head in to look around. It’s been exactly two years since I worked there, and the space no longer generated a familiar feeling. It was now replaced by something more foreign and distant.

It did bring back a fun memory though.

My office had a series of large windows, each about 3 feet wide and 6 feet tall. There were 5 across one side, and 3 across the other. A nice roomy place to work. On those large windows I used to write out ideas and objectives in erasable marker. The windows made perfect ‘white boards’ that allowed anyone that wanted to graphically make their points during meetings in my office. I also had one of the walls covered in sheet metal which worked just as well for an impromptu white boards as well as a cool place to use for magnets to hold posters, brochures, anything.

For my kids, the windows and the sheet metal wall were a magical and mystical thing that allowed them to do something that they couldn’t, wouldn’t, do in the real world. Write on walls and windows.

Each time Michelle brought them by the office they went straight to the markers and started to draw and doodle all over my office. There were several temporary works of art that adorned my office for days afterwards.

One particular day L, our second child, came in the office the day before her 10th birthday. She was so excited about turning double-digits (that was her big thing) that she drew a marvelous portrait of herself and a birthday cake wth a giant heading to the picture proclaiming “Tomorrow I turn DOBLE DIGITS!”

I teased her a bit about the misspelling, good naturedly, and she wanted to correct it. I didn’t let her. It was too precious. It stayed on that window for at least 6 months.

Oh Canada! You're So Nice!

In and out trip to lovely Canada. Arrived in Toronto yesterday afternoon about 1PM and went through customs in a flash. The folks I was meeting with picked me up at the airport, gave me a guided historical tour of Toronto on the way to the office, and expounded on all things Canadian.

The current state of being for the Canadians seems to be estacy, for two reasons. 1) Its hockey season again. 2) The Canadian dollar is now of greater worth than the US dollar. And this last one seems to please them to no end.

During the meeting the European-side of these people shined through: fine coffee and a splendid array of fine fruits, breads and sweets for an afternoon business meeting. Unlike the American way- stale coffee from a few hours ago and a piece of hard candy if you're lucky.

The meeting went well, deal sealed I believe, and then a drive to the hotel. Exceptionally nice people. I can't say that I've ever met a mean Canadian. Indifferent maybe, but certainly not mean.

Drinking During the Workday

I don’t know how Darrin Stephens and Larry Tate did it. On most episodes of Bewitched they threw around advertising campaign ideas over 2, 3 or even 4 martini lunches, then poured a fresh drink in the conference room when the client arrived for the pitch.

Yes, I know it was just TV, but I get the impression that tossing back a drink or two during the lunch hour, and perhaps a snort in the afternoon, was a bit more prevalent in the past then it is now. The last couple of positions I have had required a signed statement included with the standard pages of agreements a new employee signs stating clearly that consumption of alcohol was strictly forbidden during the work day. A bottle of wine or cocktail at a business dinner was alright, but certainly not during the day.

After I started my own business I thought I would explore this freedom a bit. A week or so after I completed my work for my previous employer and started out on my own, I sat down to a light lunch at my home office. A nice plate of fine cheese, some fruit and a couple glasses of wine. It was a wonderful meal. When I woke up a couple hours later after what I thought would be resting my eyes while reading a proposal on my recliner, I realized it wasn’t such a good thing.

A month or so later I had a business lunch at McReary’s Pub in downtown Franklin. So of course, having signed no agreement with myself that I would not drink during the work day I enjoyed two fine pints of premium imported ale. And of course, when I got back to the office I could hardly function. Not that I was drunk- two ales over a 90 minutes with a big lunch and my body weight hardly moves the meter- but I was relaxed. Too relaxed. I found myself closing my eyes at my desk and generally unmotivated to attack the afternoon.

I have recently drafted an agreement between me and my company and I will not be drinking any alcohol during the workday.

Perhaps it’s just how alcohol affects me. Some people become animated and energized with a few drinks. I am totally the opposite. For the most part I am animated and energized WITHOUT anything to drink. A drink or two seems to shut off my brain, hyper-relax me, and cause me to sink deeper into anything I am sitting or laying in.

Once a year the perfect storm occurs. A mid-afternoon Thanksgiving feast with a few glasses of wine. I promptly pass out.

Billing For 27 Seconds Worth Of Work

Problem- consulting clients requires great focus and attention to detail in order to track the work and progress made each day, week and month, and reporting those details to the client. How on earth do I do that if I get and need to respond to 150 emails and 30 phone calls a day across 8 clients that may take 8-10 hours in a day?

I’m considering coming up with a new system for billing. Instead of an hourly rate, either a fee by the second, or by the email.

The Rise And Fall Of A Small Business

My mother is rather creative, coming up with ideas for products and businesses that she jumps in and tries. I think it’s where I got that trait from as well- though her track record for actually launching them is better than mine.

She called up recently and asked if I could help her launch an eBay store for a little doohickey thing she made several versions of and sold to a little gift shop near her home. She wanted to take a shot at retailing them herself online.

The Travel Jewelry Pouch is a nice idea- compact with little pockets for rings and necklaces, and a large area in the middle to hold oversized jewelry. She made them in tons of different colors and designs.

She came over the house on a Friday night and I helped her lay them out with jewelry for some product photos, edited and cropped them, and then set her up with an eBay and PayPal merchant account. I had her ready to load new products in no time at all.

Then the hard part came. What do you want to charge for these? She wasn’t sure, but thought $19.99 was reasonable. I did some quick competitive research and found some similar products online for as little as $5, but many at the $10 range. I asked her what her cost of goods were (knowing that she would not really know what I was talking about and I would get to tease her a bit) and she didn’t know. We walked through her cost of materials (fabric, rope cord, thread) and her time (took her about ½ hour to make one).

We came up with a cost of about $4 per item in materials, and another $5 in labor (assuming that she wanted to make $10 hour for her time). So, our rough COGS was $9, and assuming a cornerstone mark-up, that did put us in the $18 range. Problem. While her pouches were hand made with the finest materials and lovingly stitched together with top-notch designs, she still had to compete with Chinese made versions with crappy fake silk for $3.99.

We launched the store at $19.99. No bites. Tried a lower price. No bites. Oh well. At least she tried.

Old Men?

I am getting to that age. I had a dinner meeting with two other gentlemen, both in their mid-50s. I am still 15 years away from that, thank goodness, but got a glimpse of what is to come.

As I prepared to enjoy a fine meal, a lovely merlot, and a mix of business and personal conversation before our real meeting with the whole team the next morning, things went sideways.

One of them talked about a medical procedure he had awhile back, and that started a full hour full of medical horror stories of cancers, heart attacks, lost friends, scars, surgeries, prostate issues, and much more. Much more.

I could barely enjoy the meal while I listened politely and didn’t say a word.

I thought this was supposed to start in the late 60’s or early 70’s after retirement?

July 1993 Heat

Here in Nashville, like much of the south, the heat this week and last is unbearable. Consistently over 100 degrees, the oven is turned on full blast and we have had about enough of summer. Sure, those in Arizona and Nevada scoff at a mere 100-105 degree heat- they regularly endure 110-120 in the hottest days of summer. But I have been there on those days…and I would take 115 in Tucson over 105 in Nashville ANY day.

Michelle reminded me that she has much more experience dealing with intense heat without relief than I. In the summer of 1993 Michelle was near full term with our first child, K. I had to head out to a convention the first week of July and we reasoned that since she was not due for another couple weeks it would be ok for me to go.

My boss got me an open ended ticket and I could fly back from Atlanta on a moments notice if I needed to. I tried to get out of the trip altogether but my company wouldn’t allow it.

No sooner had I landed in Atlanta than my cell phone rang and Michelle informed me the air conditioner in our apartment had broken and the temps outside were well over 100 degrees. The thermostat in the apartment read 98 degrees and rising. The bad news? Our apartment complex told her it would be 4-5 days before they could fix it.

She spent that night alternating between bed with a couple fans pointed at her, and the bathtub with ice cubes poured in. The next day she had to check into a nearby hotel by herself. Her mom drove up from Gaithersburg MD to Allentown PA where we lived to keep my miserable wife company for the weekend.

I, on the other hand, enjoyed 24/7 air conditioning, fine dining, parties and events all that weekend and into the next week.






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Schedules: Order vs. Chaos

When it comes to scheduling, I am one for order and clarity. If a phone call has to happen and there have been several back and forth voice mails, I ask to schedule a call. Regular family outings? Scheduled. Date night? Scheduled. A lunch meeting with a friend? “What do you have open next week or the week after? Lets get it scheduled.”

Outlook is my friend. Outloook is my friend. Outlook is my friend. I keep telling myself that.

Over the years I have encountered a number of anti-schedulers. I like to call them ChaosCreators. I totally get living for the moment, seize the day, be spontaneous, and all that. I dig it. Really I do.

But not when a friend calls me at 9PM and needs me to lend a hand the next day for a couple hours first thing. That’s not “seize the day.” That’s called “nuke my day.”

I recently had a client come to town and was trying to set up meetings with several local people so I could connect them to my client on a few ideas we are working. Most of the meetings got set up easily enough, 2-4 weeks out- no problem. One ChaosCreator that I REALLY wanted to connect with didn’t get back to me for 2 weeks despite several emails and phone calls. He emailed me the night before the meeting day (I had already filled up the whole day with 7 meetings leaving just enough time to get them back to the airport for their late flight back to LA) and informed me that he was sorry he hadn’t got back to me, he had been really busy, and great news- he has lunch open the next day.

I just don’t get it. Maybe I’m the crazy one. Should I eschew all calendar bookings more than 24 hours out? Is that how I keep my world free of commitment and tethers so I can be spontaneous? Just seems crazy to me.






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Storyteller

Last week I had the great pleasure of meeting with Alex Kendrick- one of the two Kendrick brothers that created the film “Facing The Giants.” He took about 45 minutes of out his busy schedule to talk to Steve (a gent I work with) and me about the new film he’s working on. It was a wonderful experience- hearing a storyteller and filmmaker walk us through the story in such detail, including his ideas for camera angles and music. I felt like I was watching the film, immersed in the story.

It was so exciting I almost decided to become a filmmaker- except for one problem- I don’t have the slightest idea how to make a movie.






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Welcome Back! Now Go

I do this to myself every single stinking time. Why? Stupidity.

I go out of town for a few days, or even a week or more. I travel back home arriving late at night. And I have somehow scheduled and early morning meeting the next day.

Every time. Somebody stop me.






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