Thank you, Boston Globe. Today's editorial, "Time to hang up and drive," puts into numbers what I've been harping on ("Seriously, get off the flippin' phone"). Please, please. Do as I've done and, as the Globe says: "Friends don't let friends drive drunk. It is time to say friends also don't let friends yak on the cell or text-message on the Crackberry at the wheel."
One friend has stopped calling me from his car - but it's because, as he admitted in a weak moment, he's still offending. Here are some sobering stats from the Globe:
THE EVIDENCE won't let drivers off the hook. It is time for a total ban on all cellphone use while driving.
The
federally chartered National Safety Council recently called for a
national ban on cellphone use, whether hand-held or hands-free. It
cited a 2003 Harvard risk analysis estimating cellphones are involved
in 636,000 crashes, 330,000 injuries, and 2,600 deaths a year.
We've talked about this before ("What's the ROI on collaboration?") but a call from a former client today, now a virtual teams consultant, prompts me to come back to it. Out pounding the pavement with his services, or at least pressing the keys, he's finding that everyone wants metrics for the success of virtual teams. No surprise, really. When you don't understand something, you often turn to data for reassurance. And if you're data-driven, then you always want data to convince you that what you're about to undertake will move the indicator more into the green zone.
Here's my question: how do you measure your face-to-face teams? What instruments do people use for that?
OK, the obvious comes next. Most people don't specifically measure their team's performance except in the most rudimentary terms - did they: meet their deadline? stay within budget? meet quality/throughput/whatever goals? If you do measure your co-located teams in some way, apply those same measures to virtual teams.
And...because I'm a bit compulsive about such things, I thought I'd better google this before posting. Came upon Cristina Gibson and Susan Cohen's thoughts on this in their book, Virtual Teams That Work (coincidentally, published by the same company that published our Virtual Teams, a naming similarity I cannot fathom from the same publisher!). Guess what: Gibson and Cohen are brilliant - they say the same thing I'm saying here.
Do you know any instances of companies/organizations measuring their virtual teams performance? If so, what methods are they using?
John Updike's death yesterday at 76 gives wide berth for his obituari-teers (huh?) to write beautifully about his enormous body of work. Though Updike and I (this is going to be a tenuous connection, folks) grew up barely twenty miles and a scant generation apart--and his father once worked as a substitute in the high school English department that my mother chaired (Go Daniel Boone HS, Birdsboro, PA!)--I never was a fan of his actual works. His writing, of course. He reminded me of an extraordinary cake decorator, taking the common form and turning it into something of unusual beauty, something far beyond confection. His subjects, though, were, may I say this, plain vanilla, at least given what interests me, a non-male, non-upper-middling-class, non-suburban-living, non-adult-of-the-50s who doesn't play golf.
So it takes his death to tremble my heart. Mark Feeney's elegant bio in this morning's Boston Globe (Page One, "John Updike, literature's wide-ranging master, is dead at 76") carries Updike's brilliance as to why people sit, as I do, hour after hour, day upon day, year in and year out, at the keyboard, wearing out the imprints of the letters. Thank you, Mr. Updike, and we're all sorry you went so young:
"There's a kind of confessional impulse that not every literate,
intelligent person has," Mr. Updike said in his [1991 Boston] Globe interview. "A
crazy belief that you have some exciting news about being alive, and I
guess that, more than talent, is what separates those who do it from
those who think they'd like to do it. That your witness to the universe
can't be duplicated, that only you can provide it, and that it's worth
providing."
UPDATE on Updike: Just listened to a "Remembering John Updike," a special On Point on WBUR about the breadth and depth of Updike's work. One story after another about how universal his topics--and his generosity and graciousness. And so my reading begins.
Karen Sobel Lojeski (co-author, Uniting the Virtual Workforce) and I are "expert panelists"--and Jim Ellis, BusinessWeek's Assistant Managing Editor is host--on BusinessWeek's webcast next week where we'll talk about the challenges and advantages of virtual work. We're broadcasting, oops, webcasting from the floor of NASDAQ in New York, which certainly promises some atmospherics, given the, er, situation. (You know what I mean re: the sitch - if confused, check your 401k). To "attend," meaning having the proper click privileges to be able to see it, sign up here. Really. Sign up and ask us some great questions--or ask some here so we can be thinking about them.
What would help you right now? Something like: How do virtual teams help in the downturn? How do you compensate for lack of face-to-face when travel budgets are decimated? Something else.
A colleague has been struggling with very strange behavior on his PC that may be the result of this terrible virus. It's estimated that as many as one-third of all Windows machines may be vulnerable with "the worst yet to come," as some are reporting. See John Markoff's informative "Worm Infects Millions of Computers Worldwide" and Geek Doctor's post today, "The Conficker Virus," where John Halamka explains how his medical system is handling the danger represented by this unusually pernicious crawler.
Back in the day, we profiled what had been to date perhaps the worst computer worm story in history in The Age of the Network. What was called "the Internet worm" began its swift and evil journey across the then-primitive electronic nervous system of the world. While it was terrible during its time, it also provides a powerful lesson in how networks come together.
The Internet Worm, c. 1988
November 2, 1988, lives in infamy in Internet history. At 5 PM that Tuesday, a "worm," a computer program that propagates copies of itself on certain types of operation systems, was released on the Internet, ultimately reaching 4000 of them [ed. note: at that time, a large number on the grid!]. Within 36 hours, the worm had, for all intents and purposes, been stopped by a self-organizing, completely volunteer network of computer people across the U.S. It's a great networking story...MORE
I need a new primary care physician (mine is leaving to go into "international medicine"). Leopard-spotted roses are more plentiful than PCPs, apparently. My search has been abetted by suggestions from friends who "love" their doctors (needless to say, all those physicians' practices are closed), the high and mighty who control hospital systems and kindly have their assistants searching on my behalf, and friends who are MDs, who have excellent opinions about what I should do (thanks, K, for the terrific advice last night).
In the course of this search, I've read a lot of doctors' bios, which means I've been to a lot of medical provider websites. More than once I've run into the description of doctors with "preventative" medicine as their specialty.
No. It's preventive. My mother, the English teacher, drilled this into me. But don't take it from me. Here's what Webster's says:
Preventative
Pre*vent"a*tive\, n. That which prevents; -- incorrectly used instead of preventive.
Speaks, make that, sings (see Amy Dixon-Kolar) for itself, posted for all veterans of the Civil Rights movement, for my parents who called themselves "integrationists" in a segregated Pennsylvania town where that word was hardly understood, and for all of us, still shaking our heads while looking ahead:
My friend Xujun Eberlein (author of Apologies Forthcoming) is in China doing research for a book - and celebrating the Chinese New Year with her sisters and parents. A prodigious blogger, she's had trouble in the past with Internet access while in China: "I'm not sure what I have done to deserve such
an honor... I can log in and post, but can't view my
blog normally – quite ironic really."
Thus, I don't know whether she'll be able to see this post, of course, until she returns but meanwhile, her description of grocery shopping in "Hainan, China: Market Crunch" is click-worthy:
The supermarket is one of the biggest I've ever seen, yet there wasn't
even enough space for a single shopping cart to turn around. I was told
it had been like this crowded for over a month. At the pork counter,
people fought like looters ("as if the meat were free," my sister Maple
complained).
...There were about 40 check-out lines, each looked like it would take an hour or longer to reach the cashier.We diverted to look for the shortest line, another bit of hard work. Eventually
Maple's husband found one at the farthest corner of the supermarket and
called by cell phone for us to converge. "Line 15!" he ordered. It took
a sweaty battle to push the packed shopping cart through layers and
layers of human walls.
Xujun's observations on how the economic debacle is affecting China also are worth the finger flex for that click. Predictably, she notes, exports have been the most maimed aspect of the economy with between 40 and 60 million people having lost their jobs. Exports, she notes, comprise 20% of China's GDP. Still things are buzzing in China. Just don't go grocery shopping.
This just gets interestinger and interestinger. First there was the showdown at the BlackBerry Corral, with the President holding on for dear life while the Security Forces threated to rip the device from his hands. Pres 1, Security 1, I'd have to say, because we certainly don't want the President to be insecure in any way.
Now Politico reports that IM is banned for all White House staff. The most technologically advanced team in politics, ooops, in government, is having one of the most useful tools ever taken away. Great headline, by the way, Politico for Ben Smith's article: "Obama staff will say cu l8r 2 IM."
When we were involved in Reinventing Government 15 years ago, many people in government agencies weren't allowed to have email. So they went home and sent email to one another on their private accounts. We don't want that, obviously, and these folks are in the White House, which we want to be the most effective, fastest, most accurate (enough superlatives yet?) government on earth. Taking away IM is not a step in that direction.
Seriously: we've talked before about Tom Allen's famous finding - that if you're more than 50 feet apart, you've got a virtual communication problem to address. Everyone in the White House is more than 50 feet apart and they need to stay in very close contact.
Information policy is lagging, folks. We need some quick brain work from the folks who've really been thinking about this stuff. The desire for transparency should not be blocked by the fear of discovery.
Here are a few choice paragraphs from Ben Smith's piece:
Barack Obama may get to keep his BlackBerry, but David Axelrod is losing his IM.
The lawyers broke the bad news to Obama aides at a briefing Friday
morning convened by incoming Deputy White House Counsel Cassandra
Butts: Not only are they leaving the modern world to enter a White
House where some of the clunky desktop computers still run Windows 2000
but — worst of all — they'll be forced to surrender a form of
communication staffers have relied on for the last two years to
communicate with each other, outside allies, and the press.
From Axelrod, the chief campaign strategist, down to junior staffers in
the press office, Obama's campaign relied heavily on software many of
them began using in high school — AOL Instant Messager and Google Chat.
Instant messaging, though little mentioned, is — perhaps as much as
e-mail—deeply woven into contemporary politics and media, whose fabric
is the constant, quick, gossipy transmission of spin and information.
But a calculus that's perhaps one part security, one part law, and two
parts politics, has long barred instant messaging from the White House.
"They just told us flat out we couldn't IM in the White House," groused one senior staffer Friday.
"It sucks. It's really going to slow us down," complained another,
saying that lawyers had warned that, along with instant messaging,
White House software will restrict users to a range of sites roughly
"like your average grade school."
The clunky technology is standard issue for government offices, but the
bar on instant messaging is particular to the White House. Legal and
security experts say it is dictated by the fear of embarrassment if IMs
were to be disclosed.
Sitting here in the 42nd parallel North, snow a foot high on the picnic table outside my window, and lows of 7F tonight (that would be -13C), my mind turns to summer. Turns to summer with a little help, that is, from my friend Doug Lea, whose writing about his many gardens has fascinated me for years (viz. "onions and
beans are like dragons in a medieval drama"). Writing beautifully about gardening is as difficult as the gardening genre Doug discusses here. I like this piece so much that I'm tempted to tug phrase after phrase up here, into the intro, but better, I think, to let you discover his lovely turns and his wisdom about gardening yourself. (Someone get this man a book contract.) Last week he posted this great bit of garden-think to his Facebook page; I asked to re-post here. Thus, for all who dig the earth and love mud pies...
Doug with the artist (and his wife) Julie Savage Lea
Intensive Gardening: A Way of Knowledge By Douglass Lea
For three decades I’ve followed the intensive way of growing
vegetables. It’s a hard calling, best taken up by those with an excess
of time, friends, and vigor – or by those, like me, with an itch to
escape the modern swirl of abstractions and symbols, to connect effort
and result more directly, to find a grounding for self in the ground
itself.
Loosely defined, intensive gardening describes a set of interwoven
techniques that maximize the yield from a limited area and maintain the
long-term usefulness of the soil. Needless to say, it relies heavily on
organic materials.
What does one do? Begin by digging – and then digging and digging again
– until reaching a depth of 36 inches or more. Try, however, to keep
removed strata intact, for one completes the “double-digging” process
by putting loosened soil back where it came from, each layer in proper
order. By raising garden beds a foot or more above surrounding paths,
double-digging creates a fluffy texture that warms quickly in spring,
keeps a steady temperature throughout summer, drains well with little
erosion, retains moisture for dry months, and breathes easily.
Having survived a grueling test, one then mixes the top layers of newly
aerated soil with compost, manure, bonemeal, and potash. The catechism
here is unequivocal: industrial amendments undermine soil viability,
weaken the integrity of plant structure, and invite pests and plagues
to make a wasteland. Sir Albert Howard, founder of modern organic
farming, said it bluntly: “Artificial manures lead to artificial foods,
which lead to artificial people.”
Next, one inseminates the raised beds with the seeds or seedlings of
diverse vegetables, herbs, and flowers, combining the varieties that
flourish as companions and separating those that attack one another.
Basil likes tomatoes, and the two should forever be joined together, in
sickness as in health, on the plate as in the belly. But onions and
beans are like dragons in a medieval drama, condemned to an eternity of
ceaseless battle. Never plant them together.
Companion planting is complex enough, but it is overlaid by the equally
strong and precise demands of succession planting, closecropping, and
intermixing. Now the fun begins.
In succession planting, one works with an eye focused on the cycle of
maturity for each variety, looking to fit the basic requirements and
patterns of each into a larger whole. Will the corn planted today grow
fast enough to shade the late peas and prolong their season of
usefulness? How many weeks before the borage explodes?
In closecropping, one transplants seedlings into closely spaced
geometric patterns – chiefly triangles and hexagons – to create, once
plants have matured and leaves touched, a microclimate that moderates
the vicissitudes of the macroclimate. Skillful closecropping eventually
generates a living mulch that protects the soil and its microorganisms
and discourages the growth of noxious weeds.
In intermixing, as the word implies, one intermingles varieties as much
as possible – given the imperatives of succession planting and
closecropping – in an effort to approach the mysteriously productive
randomness of nature and avoid the infestations that descend wherever
vast stretches of a single crop are cultivated year after year. Assign
perfidious monocropping to the putative efficiencies of industrial
agriculture, not to the mysteries of intensive gardening.
Having outlined the norms that govern intensive gardening, I think it’s
time to grapple with the deviations. And they are legion.
In the final analysis, I’ve learned, the garden only partly belongs to
me. Other creatures, both animal and vegetable, seem to have equally
strong claims to my domain. And they have been waiting patiently for
someone just like me – bursting with ego and determination – to appear
and bring forth a newly disturbed patch of ground.
In short, my garden harbors a powerful array of biological and
geophysical imperatives that insist on manifesting their own destinies.
They resist the geometric overlays of human design; their chaotic
patterns and turbulent cycles defy the logic of human control. My
garden seems to have a mind of its own.
After three decades, for example, it is quite clear to me that the
primeval forest of the Piedmont wants to repossess my little plot.
Every spring it lets loose a million helicoptering maple seeds in a
relentless effort to impregnate my fluffy beds. Every year I dutifully
pull out the rooted progeny of the spring offensive.
The mere passage of time has also changed my garden, almost beyond
recognition. Having situated my garden in a low, flat, pristine area,
where sun, water, and fertility were plentiful, I fully expected an
endless supply of perfect tomatoes, peppers, onions, salad greens, and
other components of a healthy diet.
Not so. Gradually, I became aware of the extraordinary vigor of my
neighbors’ maples, the shade from which eventually transformed my
painstakingly double-dug, richly composted cornucopia into a shady,
soggy habitat for moss and slugs. Tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers
struggled.
I fought back. I decided to gather wine corks from oenophiles living
within a five-mile radius – first, to deploy them as a heat-absorbing
mulch to extend the effective length of the day for my sun-loving
solanaceae and, second, to suppress the weeds attracted to the
disturbed soil. It worked, although I had to wait a few years to be
sure that the additional woody matter was not stimulating the expansion
of slug populations. It didn’t, apparently because residual wines and
tannins in the oak corks are noxious to slugs.
Coping has become my mantra, for change and surprise are the only
permanent features of my garden. To make a garden is to manage in the
middle. A garden is a living, physical manifestation of the dry
principles of compromise. It mediates between nature and culture. Every
garden has its own special conditions, its own unique combination of
vectors. Climate, weather, soil, water, light, and ecological factors
limit the ambitions of human design. One must learn to “design with
nature,” the title of a seminal treatise on the harmonizing of human
occupation with natural processes.
For me, intensive gardening has become a way of knowledge, a portal leading toward larger understandings of the world.
