Pre-Ramble: Ok, so, in an effort to shake things up a little, I decided to step out and try a few new things… like take piano lessons (again), start a website/blog (you’re there), and, what the heck – take a beginner improvisational acting class, a.k.a. Improv. Those who know me know that this is a huge and unprecedented step (see October 9th posting on turtlenecks). To put this into context, I was voted “Most Easily Embarrassed” in high school. This, and the fact that I was raised Lutheran, will make the following scenario even more horrific.

Improvisation – A Primer: Improv is a rapid-fire, “put-it-all-out-there” activity. The improv mantra is “move the energy forward,” which basically means, don’t just sit there pondering what you might do, JUST DO IT, and JUST DO IT NOW. According to the experts at Minnespolis’ Brave New Workshop (BNW), founded in 1958 by revered improv innovator, Dudley Riggs, improvisation is defined as “an attitude that allows one person, or a group of people, to innovate and create instantly using their own sense of truth, trust, acceptance, and creativity.” Note: Hillary’s BFF, Al Franken honed his political skills on the BNW stages. And curiously, Microsoft spell-check keeps correcting the word “improv” into the word “improve.”

Coming fresh onto the improv scene, I was bolstered by the assumption that, while I would never be Robin Williams, this was a doable thing. Surely I could handle whatever came up in Level 1; you get in there and play along … you make stuff up … you jump around … how hard can it be? (Said the deer standing on the double yellow lines.)

The Incident: So, it is the fourth or fifth session of class, and we are doing a dialogue exercise. When my turn comes up, the leader asks the group to throw out an animal. Somebody says, “Giraffe!”  (I’m thinking, “Yay, I love giraffes!”)  Then he asks for a musician, to which somebody yells out, “Bob Dylan!” (I’m thinking, “Crap, I hate Bob Dylan!”) Then he asks for a musical item, and somebody throws out, “Guitar pick!” (”Sure; swell; whatever; make it work…”)  So, the exercise progresses and I am fielding the questions fairly well. I’m actually thrilled that I am able to form thoughts and verbalize them in a semi-audible manner in front of the group (not something I was successfully able to do during my wedding vows.) I was also heartened in the knowledge that the three minute exercise would soon be over.

Then it happened. Somehow or other the conversation torqued around to a place where I heard somebody saying something that sounded like, “Can you sing a little bit of that for us?”

“What?”

Do you see that blank area between that question and this line here? That is a billion times smaller than the blank space that came over my brain as I struggled to verify that I was still in possession of all of my limbs. Did someone just suggest that I should s-i-n-g something?  Here, in front of the class?  More specifically, did someone just suggest that I should sing a few bars of something as a giraffe channeling Bob Dylan? To say that this was a tall order would be a grave understatement. The unfortunate event that followed was the improvisational equivalent of being beaten up on the playground.

By now the class is clapping, wild with encouragement, and I am forging upstream through the blind terror hissing in my head. In what’s left of my peripheral vision, I notice that the teacher is inadvertantly blocking the room’s only exit and realize that I am either going to cry or barf or both. After several failed attempts to fend off the surreal situation, it becomes clear to me that I am not getting out of that chair until I sing. In fact, the teacher’s exact words are, “You’re not getting out of that chair until you sing.”

The only lyrics I can think of while lying in state are the words to Happy Birthday, which I somehow manage to squeak out while playing air guitar on the hem of my cardigan. I wish David Sedaris were here to do the description justice. (I really wish David Sedaris had been there to sing like a giraffe doing Dylan.)

The Take-Away: You can’t just pay lip-service to the idea of ”stepping out” and “shaking it up a little.” Inherent to the concept is that you don’t get to choose what the new situation will be. The element of challenge is key. Was I shell-shocked by the impromptu singing scenario? Absolutely, but getting out there in new and unexpected ways is not only part of the deal, it’s where the value lies.

So then, there’s the silver lining. There might be some truth in what they say about hindsight and that whole, “if it doesn’t kill you” platitude. I survived it. Two-and-a-half days after the fact, I’m able to eat solid foods again, interact with others, and see some shreds of up-side. The good news is that Randy, Paula and Simon were not in the room during my performance, and, to my knowledge, my vocal stylings were not captured for broadcast on YouTube. More importantly, like a grain of sand in an oyster shell, the universal haz-mat team immediately rushed in to soothe my scuffed psyche with a cosmic cocktail of denial, rationalization and fairy dust. I’m probably not looking at a record deal, but if the analogy holds up, I should be sitting on a nice shiny pearl in no time.

And finally, there’s the element of synchronicity; never doubt the mysterious ways of the cosmos. Last night, I wandered into a little botique, just to check it out, and there among a small display of earrings, was a pair made out of guitar picks. Really. I “picked” out the animal print pair to wear to improv next week.  Stay tuned…

Pre-Ramble: As the campaigns head into the final turn, there’s going to be a lot more than spitballs flying. Let’s face it, we’re sitting in the splash-zone for the next few weeks as election fervor hits the final fan. I’m thinking that this would be an excellent time to head out of range, put our heads under the desk until we hear the all-clear signal. Today, in the spirit of escapism and creativity, we’re going on a little field trip. The following virtual adventure falls under the category of “things found on the way to looking for something else” (the best kind of discoveries ever).

Where are we going with this: We are going to visit an entity called Illegal Art, “a collaborative of artists whose goal is to create interactive public art to inspire self-reflection, thought, and human connection.” Basically, their work is about simple compelling concepts and invites the participation of the general public (like you and me). When you’re finished skimming over my rambling, (Hello? … Hello? … Is this thing on? …), I thought we could go to the Illegal Art website at www.illegalart.org and check out some of their work.

As a fan of the 3M company (which is headquartered here in the Twin Cities), the “TO DO” installations based on the ubiquitous “post-it-note” (shown right), are by far my favorites. It’s a bunch of bright yellow and pink post-it-notes spelling out the words “TO” and “DO” stuck to the side of a building. Passersby write whatever moves them on the little paper squares. Very cool!

To find this on the Illegal Art website, click on the word “projects” at the top, then click on “TO DO” at left. A brief description will pop up and a very subtle list of specific projects/sites will appear below left – click on any one of them. If you click on “East Village 2007,” for example, the photo shown above should pop up. A small cluster of numbers will appear top left – click on any number to reveal a photo taken at the installation site.

Well, we should be having lots of fun at this point, virtually captivated by the messages that the various participants have written on the post-its. Some of the writings are pretty straight up lists of things that the person plans to do; others are a little more abstract – …”file, pedicure” … “call mom” … “get good at juggling” … “become a better actor” (that one was supposedly written by Matt Damon; I bet Jimmy Kimmel wrote it) … “nap, samba, try not to go home with the Brazilian” … etc.

The Take-Away: There is a lot of neat stuff going on out there. In the interest of the ongoing quest to open up as many neural pathways as possible, be sure to put “check out neat stuff going on out there” on your TO DO list.

Note: You can get approximately 9 to 12 spitballs of a decent size and saturation capacity out of a standard post-it-note.  And be sure to wrap the sticky end in, or it will get hung up on the inside of the straw.

Pre-Ramble: Due to the surge of inquiries I’ve had regarding the powder room at the Waldorf (see October 14th blog entry, “The Theory of Revloution”), I’ve decided to devulge the fact that, during our little trip to the Big Apple, I was so taken by the splendor of it all that, in a totally tourist moment, I took a photo of the aforementioned inner sanctum (shown right). I just slung my purse over the hook on that solid-core, enameled door and made myself right at home. That’s my Starbucks on the counter.

The Take-Away: What more can possibly be said at this point, other than that it was all I could to do refrain myself from titling this entry “The Inside Poop.”

Pre-Ramble: A couple weeks ago, two friends and I took a “girl’s weekend” trip to New York City in celebration of one gal’s 50th birthday. The birthday girl hadn’t been to New York in over fifteen years and the third in our group had never been there. (?!) I had worked in Manhattan in the late 1980’s B.C. (before children), and so, was able to serve as designated tour guide. 

We stayed at the historic, “famously luxurious” Waldorf=Astoria on Park Avenue in midtown. Apparently, the Waldorf=Astoria name is officially written with a ”double hyphen” in order to achieve a “visually distinctive look.”  Mission accomplished.  Note: You can tell a lot about a hotel by the quality of the public restrooms. The powder room off the lobby at the Waldorf is top notch. Individual marble stalls have their own little sinks, gilded woodwork, and actual doorknobs.

As it happened, while we were in town, the United Nations General Assembly was in session up the street. Did you know that every U.S. president since Roosevelt has stayed at the Waldorf=Astoria? They have an actual Presidential Suite. Anyway, due to the gig at the U.N., the hotel was crawling with diplomats. It was very exciting. A continuous stream of motorcades pulled up to the curb; purposeful people moved in and out of elevators; clusters of grandly dressed women made hushed conversation with short, dark gentlemen in crisp shirts. Understandably, security was high. The exterior perimeter of the hotel was lined with cement barricades and an entire Command and Control Center was set up on the steps of the church next door. Easily, thirty to fifty policemen were congregated in and around the area at any given time. Note to Secret Service: If ten of you are standing around in the lobby of the Waldorf in suits during the daytime on a weekend, you are not inconspicuous.

Where are we going with this? As we would come and go from the hotel each day, we were greeted by a curious phrase etched across the entryway doors – PLEASE USE THE EVOLVING DOORS.

Evolving doors? The words evoke an existential, Harry Potter vibe. Did they really mean to use the word “evolving”? Or, had the “R” been scrubbed off the front of the word on each of the doors somehow? Is it in any way feasible that a hotel as buttoned-up as the Waldorf would miss being “punked” in this way?  And, was it just a coincidence that the vice presidential candidate for the Republican Party, a strict proponent of fundamentalist doctrine, would encounter this Darwinian message on her first meet-and-greet with world leaders? The mystery remains, but by the time we were to leave the city, the three of us had definitely undergone some kind of magical transformation. In addition to wearing animal print, we had “evolved” in the glow of urban energy and adventure we had found through those doors.

The Take-Away: Did you know that the neural connections/pathways in the human brain are constantly expanding and contracting based on the quantity and richness of a person’s experiences?  Yipes!  GET OUT THERE!  Do something different!  Take yourself through some evolving doors!  Have an adventure… or, at the very least, check out the ladies room at the Waldorf.

Pre-Ramble: I just ordered a couple of new turtlenecks online. I already have quite a few in my closet… Ok, you could choke a horse with the number of turtlenecks I have, and frankly, I take a lot of flack for it. The common perception is that turtlenecks go arm-in-arm with polar fleece, sturdy shoes, and pursed lips. (On that note, as a mother of two teenage girls, I’d like to see a line of prom wear that incorporates these elements.) While you won’t see me hanging with the Girls Next Door, it’s not like I’m understudy to The Church Lady either. It is high time I stuck my neck out in defense of the perpetually stylish, highly versatile wardrobe choice.

First of all, turtlenecks come in a variety of colors and textures and, as shown on Daisy at right, the neckline frames the face nicely. Like a second skin, the turtleneck is super comfortable and very low maintenance. Nina Garcia would surely endorse the classic turtleneck as appropriate wear from Broadway to the Iditarod; Audrey Hepburn made the style coquettish in the 1957 film “Funny Face,” and in the sub-zero temperatures of northern climates, turtlenecks are just plain necessary (necks get cold). I’m guessing Janet Jackson would have welcomed the extra coverage in her “girls-gone-wild” Superbowl XXXVIII halftime performance.

Known as a turtle neck in the US, a polo neck in the UK, or a skivvy in Australia, the garment in question is defined as “an article of clothing – usually a sweater – with a close-fitting, round, high collar that folds over and covers the neck.” No one knows exactly where the style originated, however according to the experts at wikipedia, fishermen and menial laborers began adopting “polo necks” as work wear at the turn of the century. (All you fact checkers out there, just settle down! This isn’t a presidential debate. I’m just trying to make a point, and like the candidates, I don’t care if it’s accurate.)

Fashion historians suggest that over time, polo necks became acceptable casual wear, primarily for men and by the mid 20th century, came to be viewed as an “anti-tie, smart form of dress for fashion conscious mainstream Americans who rejected formal wear.” Feminists turned the polo neck into a unisex item and soon the style became de rigor among teenage girls - ”especially in a lightweight form that emphasized aspects of their figures.” (Eyes up here, boys…) By the late 1950s the “tight polo neck” had been adopted as part of the preppie style among students and as a counter-culture option for left-wing bohemians and intellectuals (see Daisy above). Today, no longer a fad or political statement, the look, and its variant, the “mock” turtleneck, has become a “standard wardrobe item for both sexes and an icon of popular fashion and culture.”

So, There!: I repeat, the once prudish turtleneck is now an icon of popular fashion and culture. (I feel so vindicated.)

And Another Thing: (Caution: psychobabble ahead) In addition to being a pretty amazing piece of clothing, the turtleneck can also represent a state of being. Discovering and embracing your “stuff” is key to an effective approach to creative thinking and living. When you are able to identify essential aspects of your personality, whatever they are, they become powerful and pivotal pieces of information. It’s a matter of personal “brand identity” – accurate self-knowledge can serve as a secure and consistent platform, a pushing-off-point that frees you to move ahead.

The Take-Away: Know thyself. The authentic person is in a state of readiness; nimble and able to receive, consider and respond to people, events, ideas, and other random information and cues that come their way.

In the words of has-been comedian, Dana Carvey, “Well isn’t that special!”

Pre-Ramble: As you know, one of my goals for this site is to showcase and celebrate creative solutions. Based on the title, I bet you thought this entry was going to be about the 2008 presidential election. It’s not. Although, creatively speaking, our man McCain was definitely trafficking outside-the-box when he came up with his scrappy, high-heeled running mate, Tina Fey. Like many voters, I can’t help but think that there would be a better, more seasoned person out there to step into that “heartbeat away” veep role… Glen Close, Meryl Streep… Even a younger actress like Kate Blanchett or Kirsten Dunst would bring more gravitas to the ticket than a woman who, while gifted, is essentially a comedy writer. What was he thinking?

Today’s posting features a creative solution that was first brought to my attention by an article in the Wall Street Journal – Floating a New Idea For Going Wireless (by Amol Sharma, 2/20/08, p.1A). According to the article, 36% of rural Americans don’t have internet connections (…hang with me now, this is a hot topic). This “digital divide” limits the potential of the American workforce in a global economy and is also seen as a line of demarcation between the haves and have nots. How are folks in rural areas supposed to reap the virtual cornucopia of benefits offered in our Flat New World, if they can’t even Google their own name? Alas, the task of stringing cable or erecting cell towers in remote areas has proven to be expensive and tricky.

I can totally relate. Last year my husband, who is pretty good with a tool belt, brought the wonders of wireless networking into our house. As a home-based, freelance writer, I thought this was a fabulous idea. With wifi technology, I could potentially trot my laptop into any room in the house and set up shop, untethered and hassle-free. It wasn’t until I came home to a snarl of cables (think docking lines for the Queen Mary) snaking across the dining room and down through a hole in the carpet, that I started to have second thoughts. But, I digress.

Enter Solution. The article goes on to describe hot air entrepreneur, Jerry Knoblach and his company, Space Data Corp. These guys have devised a way to bring wireless Internet services to rural Americans in a handfull of southern states using a battalion of electronic transmitters which dangle from hydrogen-filled balloons floating 20 miles up in the air. Apparently, the airborne, shoebox-size units function as mini cell phone towers scattering coverage over thousands of square miles. (Here’s where the idea gets really creative.) As Jerry’s balloons are only able to keep the transmitters aloft for 24 hours, the units are equipped with tiny parachutes that enable them to drift gently back down to earth. To keep a constant supply of transmitter-laden balloons at an optimal altitude, Jerry hires a ground crew of dairy farmers (a very reliable bunch) to launch new units from their fields each day. (Ingenious, right? But wait, there’s more.) To retreive the fallen $1,500 electronic units, Space Data pays local hobbyists with GPS devices to retreive them – from random fields, swamps, trees, cliffs – wherever.

Yipes….  What does this business plan look like? Is anybody else thinking “Mouse Trap: the Deluxe MBA Edition”?? Are there line items for “dairy farmers” and “tiny parachutes”? The DVD boxed-set of MacGyver episodes maybe? The critical path on this operation is incredible in every sense of the word. I would have paid money to be in on that first venture capital pitch meeting.

The Take-Away: While my tone may seem disparaging, Space Data’s solution to the digital divide problem is not nearly as far-fetched as it sounds. Sure, there’s room for refinement in the concept, but for now, in addition to a nod and a snicker, it deserves closer contemplation for the elegant and uplifting, almost whimsical demonstration of innovative thinking that it is. Space Data’s hot air balloon solution is a great example of the random, resourceful, collaborative, risk-taking, “out there” dynamic that marks truly innovative ideas.