Vertigo for Christmas

vertigo-dangling

I don’t take many sick days except to spare colleagues some bug and I have always prided myself on a pretty stolid constitution that doesn’t give cause to much hypochondria or abuse of over-the-counter remedies. But this year Santa gave me an interesting “present” which I have to rank as the nastiest affliction I’ve ever endured.

The morning of Christmas Eve, I’m in the kitchen at 5:30 am waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, reading glasses perched on my nose, reading the New York Times on my tablet. I look up to peer at the bird feeders and become vaguely aware of a rotating feeling, a sinking stomach twinge of vertigo. I take a deep breath, read another story, and when the coffee maker beeps I look up and am greeted with another spin of the wheel. Damn reading glasses, I think, having left my usual set on my desk and not sure if the back up set are 2.0 or 2.5 or stronger.

I pour the coffee into the mug but the smell makes my stomach do a little flip. Motherf$%et, I think. You should have gotten a flu shot you idiot.

I walk into the room where my wife is reading, and it spins hard and to the left. I set the mug down on a table, roll onto the couch beside her, and take another deep breath. I don’t want to get her concerned so I say nothing, but she knows something is wrong and asks what’s the matter.

“Just a little dizzy, gonna rest for a second.”

I close my eyes, take another breath, and suddenly know I’m going to blow lunch.

“Wastepaper Basket. Now. Please.”

She leaps into action and makes it in time for me to retch. “Whoa….What the hell?”

I make it upstairs, crawl back into bed, lay in a fetal position and start a cold sweat. Another wave of nausea and to the bathroom I stagger. I’m sick!

But three hours later, the sound of happy holiday people bubbling from downstairs, guilt over gifts to wrap, errands to run, food to cook, and I’m back downstairs feeling much better thank you.

That was the preview of the blockbuster that followed.

Three days later, I’m sitting with the family, evening time, board games are being played, movie times checked, and dinner an hour away when the room decides to spin again. This time I calmly stand up, excuse myself, march upstairs, get a bucket just in case, and climb back in bed. Where I begin to shiver uncontrollably, soak through my shirt and the blankets in a few minutes, and sink into a total fog of hallucinations, wtenching vomit attacks, and acute sensitivity to light and sound.

Downstairs my wife is online researching symptoms. We come to the same conclusion — this is emergency room level and the only question is a ride in the Cotuit Fire Department’s ambulance or a car ride. I vote car. My sons help me slide down the stairs and support me as I stagger outside, barefoot, dressed in a celtics t-shirt and jeans they helped slide over my arms and legs, into the back of the car.

Because of the vomiting I didn’t spend more than a minute in the reception area at the hospital. I was rushed into a bay in the ER, wired up with an EKG, and then the questions began. IV was started, things beeped. My wife answered and there was a long reliving of my visit to that same ER a decade before after I was hit by a car while riding my bike and clocked my head good with a concussion that messed me up for two years and gave me wicked vertigo and nausea.

I could tell the concern was whether or not I was having a stroke or cerebral hemorrhage. I was drugged with Ativan and anti-nausea meds that wiped me out, so the next 48 hours were a blur of vomiting, beeping machines, strangers asking the same questions over and over.

At one point I woke up and saw my phone next to me on the table. I hadn’t seen it for two days so I picked it up and my text messages were filled with concerned questions from siblings and friends.

One of those friends, my best friend in fact, is an amazing doctor. He graduated from Harvard Medical School, did his internship and residency at Mass General — Doctor Dan is sort of a Seal Team 6 command0-level physician, who is scary smart, with a true photographic-memory and an inventive streak that has him on the leading edge of his specialty. He was in my text messages and was the only person I had the strength or fortitude to answer.

Here’s what went down in the wee hours of Thursday morning. The IV in my left arm had an alarm that went off whenever I bent my arm. This made holding a phone and typing on it pure misery as the beeping of the alarm made me vomit. You can tell from my misspelling and typos I was not having a fun time typing. But the point is — in the space of a couple dozen text messages, Dr. Dan pulled a Doctor House and diagnosed me, told me what to tell the attending physicians (I handed them the phone at one poinr), and six hours later I was released and sent home with a prescription for Famocyclivir (an anti-viral used to knock down shingles, cold sores and herpes symptoms) and a diagnosis that made every one who had been scratching their heads at the hospital smile and agree with.

The malady is called vestibular neuritis. It is what happens when a virus gets into your inner ear and inflames the vestibular nerve — the main connection between your ear’s balance system and your brain.  Basically Satanic Seasickness caused by a virus related to cold sores and chicken pox. It’s not that common, but boy does it mess people up.

My favorite part of the exchange, the point where I smiled, is when his ego kicked in and he told me to essentially shut up and give him another case to solve. Tele-medicine at its finest.

1

23456

So here I am, nearly a week later, and I’ve stopped vomiting. The world is still spinning, and it will be at least a week before I’m well enough to resume commuting to the office in Boston. My balance is very shaky, but my appetite is back, I’ve lost a lot of weight, and today is the first day I can sit down in front of a computer and type anything.

If you want to curse your worst enemy with something vile, consider asking the genie in the lamp to send them a case of vestibular neuritis

Part 5: Here’s the deal

So where are we today with this web thing?

Something is definitely happening, but like Mister Jones you don’t know what it is. It’s about much more than that old web stuff. If you read Mary Meeker’s latest state of the Internet, things are getting seriously goofy. Most people in Indonesia think the Internet = Facebook. Period.

Most people look at stuff through their phones. I think 60% of usage is phone or tablet, so the “mobile first” zealots can pipe down. They won.

Most searches are spoken these days because the bulk of the world’s Internet users are in China and other emerging markets, where I assume literacy rates are a bit lower than New Hampshire’s and people need to say their searches (“Ok Google. Tattoo Removal. Laconia“) rather than do some convoluted finger swiping to make a Sanskrit character that to my eyes looks like it came out of the Klingon dictionary.

Stuff is all over the place now, flowing through the pipes and landing on electronic billboards, the dashboard of your Executive Overlord’s Tesla, Dick Tracy Wrist Watches, Glassholes’ monocles….and who knows what will happen five years from now. Augmented Reality First Person Shooter Porn anybody?

Point being: if you’re still thinking web these days, you’re toast. But old habits die hard and so do old words, terms, and slang.

I think the problem is we’re undergoing Digital Hysteria 2.0. The first wave was back in 1995 when we all laughed at Dan Rather for saying four “W’s” when he tried to say a web address on air like a guy who forgot his helmet one too many times. The one that is happening now has fear behind it. I love fear. Other than sex, nothing gets people fidgety and reaching for their wallets than good old Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt.

This is what is probably what is happening behind the scenes: . CEOs have only so much time to absorb “thought leadership” and they aren’t going to read yours. They get a copy of the McKinsey Quarterly and they skim a couple articles that tell them what to do. Those articles talk about made-up things like “digitization” or “digitalization.” One means the phenomenon of growing fingers and toes. I think the other means ripping your old CD collection into MP3s. Anyway, the CEO gets all FUDdy when she hears she’s going to get transformed into the hereafter like ex-garbageman Wayne Huizenga and Blockbuster were by Netflix. So she reads this year’s flavor of Schumpeter’s Creative Destruction (and we all know how scary an Austrian with a Destruction theory can be) and convenes a task force to Digitize the Business.

The board of directors is crawling all over them and they get cotton mouth when they read about Yahoo letting 1.5 billion of our emails, passwords, mother’s maiden names, and shoe sizes slip into the hands of some “state actors” or the poor CEO of Target who got canned after a big security breach breached the company’s cash registers.

So damn right they care about this “digital thing” now. The “website” thing is important and they are scared because it seems expensive and complicated and this “digital disruption thing” feels out of control. “Digalization?” “Transformation? “Paradigm Shift?” “Freedom to Innovate?” Just do something. Anything.

These people aren’t big fans of Squarespace and Wix. They could give a rat’s ass if their CIO and CMO use chisels and stone tablets or a sky writing witch on a broomstick to get it done, they just want it done and done cheap.

So the CIO looks around the World O’Web and realizes things are really ugly. There are 20 content management licenses floating around the company. Websites with logins and passwords no one remembers. Ghost sites taken over by fringe groups using the “talk-back” forum on some abandoned marketing micro-site to plot decapitations or worse. No one knows who commissioned the damn things except they were probably made in 2001 by two aspie hipsters in Brooklyn with a long-gone web agency called “Sucking Chest Wound Digital.” The company’s General Counsel needs to refresh the terms and conditions on every web site the company has to make sure the regulators don’t start issuing fines for some breach of Germany’s new Bundesdatenschutzgesetz (“Don’t Look At Me Goddammit”) privacy regulations. And the CMO is freaked out that the Freedonia website has a home page hero better suited to an R-rated teen slasher flick than a company selling ERP-CRM-SAAS (which, if you say it out loud, sounds like a wicked case of borborygmus).

So the CIO comes in with a plan to quell the anarchy on a cloud-platform with amazing governance capabilities. The lawyer likes that. The CFO sees massive savings in software licenses. But the country managers hear “governance” and they think about the Sphincter Era when they needed to hide their little digital pirate ships. They hear not “governance” and “ROI” but that the No Fun Committee is being reconvened. Remember – this Internet thing was supposed to be about freedom and openness and the democratization of information which wanted to be free – and now it’s about fake news, foreign policy in under 140 characters, and the return of the Process Patrol with their Black Belts in Six Sigma and Conjoined Triangles of Success who get out of the shower to take a piss.

silicon-valley-conjoined-triangles-of-success-poster-11-x-17-557_670

The corporate developers get word that the CIO is out on the golf course or diving into a steak before a night in the Champagne Room courtesy of the sales weasels at Hooli, so they start polishing up their resumes and get ready to revolt because they have snuck in their own illegal open source pirate ships so they can just ship code and get shit done fast without waiting for procurement to buy them a license to whatever is being peddled on the golf course. Lotus Notes anybody? Why fret over bad software when you can download it for free, hack something together in a sprint, and get back to the Settlers of Catan game now in progress?

This is how open source snuck in the back door behind the CIO’s back and now the developers are in total control because they know there isn’t an unlimited supply of Boss Level Coders in the world and they have leverage now by threatening to quit, go to Google, or start Tightpants.com, raise a lot of money, and start competing with the dummies that wouldn’t take delivery from the Cluetrain. All Hail the New Kingmakers. They are in charge now, it’s just the world of enterprise b2b tech marketing and sales hasn’t figured that out yet.

We hold these truths to be self-evident

Mitch Kapor, when asked why Lotus succeeded in the early 80s, said he made a bet that somewhere over the next hill would come the ability to display graphs on IBM PCs. So he designed Lotus 1-2-3 to not only do rows and columns and perform the formulas all spreadsheets perform, he anticipated pie charts and bar charts.

The challenge is about stance and agility. Don’t fight the last war. Look over the hill. I was a goalie and the best advice I heard, the advice that changed the game was: Stay on your toes and anticipate the shot, don’t be stand flat-footed (or flat-skated). The content management world is undergoing one of those “paradigm shifts” right now because a lot of the vendors are fighting the last war, not the next.

First truth. Open Source won. If you make your living charging for software you are dead and don’t know it.

Second truth: proprietary “marketing clouds” are marketing babble for handcuffs. The history of software shows that “suites” of technology are always inferior to best of breed components. But then again adding the word “cloud” to anything makes it better and seem like heaven, doesn’t it?

Third truth: this stuff is the bullseye now. Whatever you want to call this Digital Experience stuff, it isn’t a sideshow anymore. Web Content Management was born in the late 1990s when the CEO needed a corporate website. It was a sideshow. A brochure like they handed out at the New Hampshire State Liquor Store along with Ski Sunapee!  tri-folds. Now this “stuff” is the heart of the matter, right at the center of the proverbial tech stack. Look, I don’t know about you but I rather use the damn website than get on the phone or stand in line to renew my license from some mouth-breather at the RMV. Digital is the thing now!  Derp. It’s everything now! Duh. So when a company or a big organization looks for the tech they need to deliver it, they have to look at how they are going to connect it to the back office where all the good stuff is – the customer histories, the patient records – and then how to get it out there into the chaotic world of tablets, phones, the Internet of Thangs, and the rest of it.

Oh, and the fourth truth is if it gets hacked they’ll get fired. (nice knowing you Marissa)

Fifth truth: cloud hosting. There. I said it. Hosting. I used to be exhibit A in Wired’s definition of the “Slashdot Effect” in the 1990s after Forbes put Linus Torvalds on the cover and Slashdot sent a bolus of traffic towards Forbes.com and smoked our wimpy servers. Then AOL hosed us again in 1999 when they pimped our List of the Richest Plutocrats on their log-in screen. Moral of the story: when you need your site the most it will fail you.

We hold these truths to be self-evident:

I love this stuff. I really do. I’ve been in the middle of it since I ran the Bibliographic Press and hand set No Smoking signs in the basement of Sterling Memorial Library in 1978 and I am glad for a career that had at least one tenuous theme running through it: tools for publishing stuff. That what I do now for Acquia and I’m at Acquia because of all the truths I just listed. But the future is going to be wildly weird. Content marketers are going to use machine learning to automatically develop custom content and their own special fake news for every visitor based on a total invasion of their personal privacy. And no one will read it and the content marketers are going to be out of work. Someone is going to hack the power grid and put us into the stone age again.  Chips will be embedded in our skulls.  In the future we’re all going to be Glassholes. But whatever happens, the stupidity will be breathtaking and very funny.

Bad Santa Gift Idea #3 — A Caganer

….Because what the world needs more of is little defecating figurines to sneak into the creche between the Wise Men and the Donkey. I think this has potential for a real life Civil War re-enactment in the nativity scene in front of St. Joe’s the Redeemer. Bail money is under the couch cushions.

From the New York Times, I give you Caganers.

caganer

caganer2

 

 

Part 4: You Talk like a #%^ and Your S$%t Sounds Retarded

Anyone who walks into a company today that has been doing this Digital thing for the last twenty years and tries to sell a vision around the Freedom to Innovate and Embrace Digital Transformation is going to experience what tech journalists called the MEGO effect. My Eyes Glazed Over.

Talk to the toilers in the vineyard, the poor souls on the front lines,  and just try to pitch them on douche-baggery like “content marketing” or “digital experiences.” You’re going to find they either tune out and start instant messaging to each other during the meeting that you “suck and should have brought Buzzword Bingo cards with you.” These wizened veterans of the web wars know a few things for sure and if you get them grumpy enough they are going to interrupt your pitch to tell you some brutal truths:

  1. Whatever they are building today is going to turn into a brown banana and need to be redone in 18 months.
  2. Whatever they are building will fail when they need it the most because web hosting was designed to fail under pressure.
  3. They have no money, no time, and everybody hates the website.
  4. Marketing consists of ass clowns.
  5. Whatever tools you sell them to build said hated website will screw them when it comes time to move to another tool because the CEO lost patience, hired a Chief Digital Officer who doesn’t tuck in their shirt and carries an iPad, has a Bluetooth headset and wants to create a Digital Center of Excellence using some dumb PaaS/SaaS solution the cool kids were talking about at LeWeb. But the CDO has a lot of Twitter followers, so they have influence and are a true Thought Leader.
  6. If you talk to them like children “Your customers have embraced the Internet and expect a thrilling digital experience” you will become a jerk and be placed in the spam folder.
  7. If you tell them to “Be responsive and agile and treat every visitor as an individual like Oreos did during the Superbowl when they tweeted during the blackout” you will become a jerk and made fun of and given a new nickname behind your back like “Douche Nozzle Dave the Sales Weasel.”

Look, this is the problem. Remember Chef in Apocalypse Now? The former New Orleans saucier who got off the boat and stepped into the jungle and almost was eaten by a tiger? Don’t get off the boat! Remember him talking about his experience as an Army cook?

“They lined us up in front of a hundred yards of prime rib. All of us.  Looking at it. Magnificent meat! Beautifully marbled. Magnifique! Next thing they’re throwing all this meat into big cauldrons. All of it. Boiling it. I looked inside. It was turning grey.” – Chef

That’s what marketers do to perfectly good technology. They  feel compelled to run down to the 7-11 and look for a can of Duncan Hines Chocolate Frosting and they smear that goo over their beautifully marbled meat in the hope that Google will find the goo because buzzwords like “Freedom to Innovate” and “Omnichannel Agile Platforms” attract attention because…..well because the competition is saying those things on their website and the Search Engine Marketing firm says those terms are what are hot right now and …..heck, why not?

1001029_051500760505_a_400

The horror. The horror.

Finally: Here’s the Deal

Bad Santa: Space Buckets

Oh my Puritan antecedents are having a conniption after the last election. The state that used to banish chiropractors to New Hampshire, banned tattoo parlors, and closed down like Orthodox Jerusalem on the Sabbath with its “Blue Laws” has legalized the demon weed marijuana.

7a7bc990e8828945cc2fafd0d5bbe849

That’s right, in two days we Bay Staters can start farming our own little God’s Acre of cannibis sativa without a doctor’s note. I’ll miss those days of paranoid dread that my life would be ruined if I had a pot bust on my rap sheet. I’ll miss the red-eyed, dry-mouthed terror when Sully asked, “How long has that van been there?” I’ll miss getting really really really into a bag of Jax and turning the legs of my bell bottomed jeans orange with cheese dust.

Anyway, now that the Thug Life is legal, I think the deal is four or six plants for personal use. So, in anticipation that the state’s collective IQ is about to lawn dart down to Idiocracy levels, I offer this Xmas gift idea:

A Spacebucket.

That’s right. With winter upon us, no one is going to be tending a little patch of stupid out doors, so before you rush out and get some Martian-level hydroponic weed garden with lights that are going to double your electricity bill. Consider the Spacebucket.

spacebuckets