What Balloon Boy Taught Me About CLE

Yesterday, I was hard at work doing the job of a legal humorist (i.e., watching YouTube videos while trying to keep the 2-year-old from his latest chew toy -- my iPhone). However, my diligence was interrupted by a chirp from my iPhone. After wresting it away from Devin (and drying it with my wife's hair dryer), I learned that the Associated Press had sent me an urgent alert. It read: "6-year-old Floats Away in Runaway Balloon."

As a parent, my first thought was: "Why didn't I think of that? I bet that Dad is watching YouTube videos right now! And I bet his iPhone is dry too!" However, my second thought was one of empathy. I could imagine the fear and agony that any loving parent would experience during such a situation. For the next three hours, I obsessively followed this story on television, radio and over the Internet. And judging from the constant chatter on Twitter and Facebook, I wasn't alone. It seemed that the whole country was holding its collective breath for his safe return.

Fortunately, we were all able to breath of collective sigh of relief when we learned that the little boy was found safe and sound in his own attic. Apparently, he had never boarded the balloon in the first place, something that we might have all discovered millions of collective work hours earlier if anyone in our media would have bothered to ask something as simply as, "Did anyone actually see the boy climb inside the balloon?" Herein lies in the problem with our modern media ... and CLE.

In a strange coincidence, while the entire American workforce was being as unproductive as well, the American workforce, the best and brightest minds in CLE were assembled in Scottsdale, Arizona for a summit on the critical issues facing our industry. And while I wasn't able to attend the summit (largely because I wasn't invited to the summit ... but I'm not bitter), they were gracious enough to provide a webcast of the plenary sessions for the "peanut gallery." In fact, the conference organizers even made the 600 pages of conference materials available online. Thus, allowing us commoners to take away much of the experience of the live attendees sans the hernia from lugging around a 600-page conference binder (okay, maybe I'm a little bitter).

However, as I perused the conference materials (I'll actually get around to reading all 600 pages, I really will), it became clear that we are in danger of falling into the same trap as the news media -- using technological advancements as a substitute for fundamental competence. Let me explain.

In hindsight, it was comical to see Wolf Blitzer and the other geniuses in the "Situation Room" using the most sophisticated tools to track and monitor the flight and landing of an empty balloon. It was the height of breaking news, all except for the part about getting the facts straight. However, in the Situation Room, there's no time for facts. After all, they have situations to cover.

Likewise, my fear is that we are developing the same mindset with respect to CLE. We are in such a hurry to implement technology that we may be ignoring the fundamentals. I think this is most evident in the almost universal disdain for the "talking head" presentation. We constantly decry the lecture format as being archaic, especially in relation to new lawyers.

Yet, the truth of the matter is that the lecture format has been instrumental in passing down information from generation to generation since the beginning of time. Before there was a printing press, an Internet or a Situation Room, there was the oral tradition. Almost everything that is known today has been passed down by "talking heads." Does it make sense that we can do away without them now because we have Twitter?

If you think so, then perhaps you should have been following yesterday's Twitter feed about the whereabouts of Balloon Boy. Depending upon who you happened to be following on Twitter, he was inside the balloon, riding in a basket below it, surfing atop of it or flying alongside of it. Later, when the balloon was discovered to be empty, the Twitterazzi was just as varied in its reports of the boy's whereabouts. He was reported to be everywhere from his attic in Fort Collins to the basement of Phil Collins (for you Gen Yers, he was a pop singer back in the days when people actually sang).

In short, Twitter is a great interactive tool; provided that there is an underlying basis of knowledge to serve as a framework for the discussion. In that same vain, interactive CLE (whether via Twitter or live breakout discussions) is only as useful as the underlying knowledge of those in attendance and that knowledge can be greatly enhanced by a so-called talking head.

Now, as someone who has attended 500 CLE conferences in 40 states, I must admit that talking heads don't always fulfill this role. In most cases, my first question in the Q&A session is, "Why did you bother to show up -- to personally escort your PowerPoint slides to the conference?" Of course, I never ask such a question as it would: (1) constitute a breach of professional courtesy; and (2) require me to be awake at the end of the presentation to do so.

Yet, the fact that many lectures fall short of the mark doesn't mean that we should throw out the baby with my soggy iPhone (as much as I might like to). Instead, we should get back to the fundamentals of providing our attendees with presenters who can deliver the goods in terms of both content AND delivery. We should insist that our presenters know their stuff. Furthermore, they should have the ability to relate their information in a way that it makes an impact on the audience. And if they don't, we should train them to do so.

And while the latter requirement seems like a tall order, it isn't nearly as difficult as, say, sleeping with your eyes open as a panelist at an ethics seminar (trust me on this one). All it requires is a commitment to stress the fundamentals of effective communication -- telling compelling stories. As any great trial lawyer will tell you, the key to winning a case is to tell a story that compels the jury to side with your client. In the same way, the key to winning over a CLE audience is to tell a story that compels them to ingest the knowledge being put forth and then incorporate it into their practice afterwards.

Isn't that what every great communicator does -- tells a story? Dr. King told a story of a dream he had. President Reagan told a story of a city on a hill. In fact, our current president was completely unknown five years ago until he told a story of a skinny kid with a funny name who believed that America had a place for him too. And don't think that this principle just applies at large political events. Every weekend, I walk into a funny-shaped building to hear a "talking head" deliver a sermon that ... you guessed it ... contains a story.

And if you think that CLE is somehow different, think back to the greatest CLE presenter ever -- Irving Younger. Despite the fact that Professor Younger died more than 20 years ago, his programs are still among the most popular around today. Why? Because he mastered the art of PowerPoint, relentlessly promoted Twitter hash tags, or set up a jamming Facebook fan page? Or perhaps, it's because he mastered the art of story telling.

Now, I'm not suggesting that all of your presenters can achieve the legendary status of an Irving Younger (or a humorist in Mesa), but I am suggesting that they can greatly enhance the value of their presentations. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that if they don't start telling good stories, the quality of CLE will continue to decline. This is true, regardless of how adapt we become at incorporating the latest technology.

The disaster of PowerPoint proves this point. Over the last two decades, PowerPoint has become a mainstay (and the bane) of CLE presentations. As presenters focused more on visual aids, they focused less on the underlying content. They thought that the slides would do the work for them. Likewise, I fear that we are now falling into the trap of thinking that "interactivity" will do the work for us.

Now, don't get me wrong. PowerPoint can be a great tool to enhance understanding of the material but it is no substitute for competent presentation of that material. Likewise, the current push for interactivity can enhance the educational experience, but it can't replace the fundamental component -- a competent and compelling faculty.

Therefore, unless we refocus our efforts on shoring up the fundamental skills of our presenters, we will be just like yesterday's media -- expending great time and resources following an empty trend.

Can I get an amen?

I Had a Nightmare ...

Matt Homann has initiated an interesting discussion in the Continuing Legal Education Speakers group on Linkedin.com.  He asked for opinions regarding PowerPoint, which I considered to be one of the world's greatest evils, along with poverty, disease and VH1's fascination with Flavor Flav.  Given my strong feelings on the matter, I couldn't help but throw my two cents in (all I can afford in this economy).

And while I'm tempted to simply paste my convincing (and oh so witty) remarks here for your consideration (and great amusement), sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words.  Therefore, I present the ultimate argument against the use of PowerPoint -- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s long lost PowerPoint slides from his I Have a Dream Speech.

I rest my case!

Move Over Jon Stewart ... Here I Come

You Know the Media is in Trouble When I Become Part of It

My entry into a field of endeavor usually spells the beginning of the end for the field and its institutions.  I ushered in the rise of online brokerage services by joining an offline broker in the early 1990s.  I popped the tech bubble by purchasing my first Internet stock in February 2000.  I later brought on the current financial collapse by working for one of the nation's largest subprime lenders.  Every company or law firm for which I've ever worked has eventually gone out of business.  The only institution that I haven't destroyed by my mere presence is the institution of marriage, which was already ruined when I got to it.

That being said, here is my debut on the Legal Broadcast Network, reporting "live" from the Sotomayor hearings in Washington, D.C.  The countdown to the collapse of the news business can now begin.

Video Homage to CLE Workers

My previous blog entry inspired the creation of the following video.  With the vocal talents of my podcast co-host, rap partner-in-crime and fellow CLE presenter, Stuart Teicher, I put together this music video in tribute to my sisters (and sometimes, brothers) in the struggle.

And if you like the video, make sure that you subscribe to the Two Lawyers in a [Pod]cast show, where we will be unveiling the LP version of the song later this week.

This Box of 14 Half-Eaten Donuts is For You

In 1999, Budweiser introduced its legendary Real American Heroes campaign, in which it celebrated the under-appreciated members of our society, such as Mr. Losing Locker Room Reporter, Mr. Dishonest Cable TV Hooker Upper and my all-time favorite -- Mr. Nudist Colony Activity Coordinator.  Yet, despite paying homage in song to more than 100 of these "unsung heroes," Budweiser has never given credit to greatest unsung hero of all -- Mrs. Onsite CLE Organization Representative.

I learned this sad fact when I recently put on my first (and last) self-sponsored half-day CLE program.  From my vantage point as a speaker at hundreds of these functions, it didn't seem like the most difficult job.  You hand out name badges, point the attorneys to the rest rooms and pretend to care about their complaints.  "What?  You had to pay an entire $5 to park your 7-series BMW?  I'm going to get right to the bottom of this!"

However, I soon learned that the job can be just as frustrating as being the travel agent for Governor of South Carolina, just not nearly as comical.  It started as soon as I reached the conference center that morning and was shown to my conference room.  Over the phone, I had been clear that I needed a room capable of seating 50.  Apparently, I had not been clear that I was referring to 50 adults; ones who probably wouldn't want on floor mats or the laps of complete strangers.

The conference center hostess attempted to alleviate my concerns by pointing out that my event wouldn't be one of those cold and impersonal seminars where the attendees leave without meeting a single new person.  And I had to agree with her on that point.  As tight as the seating arrangements were, it was entirely likely that someone would leave the seminar pregnant.  Of course, I've attended more than my share of family law conferences, so it wouldn't be a first.

In any event, I wouldn't have time to brood over the facilities because my first attendee arrived five minutes before registration started.  What kind of early bird shows up to CLE that early?  Was she afraid that all of the good seats would be taken and that she'd be stuck way back in the fifth row?  Or perhaps, she wanted to make sure that she had her first choice for breakfast.  If so, she could have slept in.

I've been to enough of these events to know that you must serve coffee and muffins/donuts/champaign brunch at a morning CLE event.  Otherwise, you run the risk of an actual revolt that would revival the current unrest in Iran in terms of both wanton violence and Twitter traffic.  To avoid this fate, I stopped at Krispy Kreme and bought boxes of coffee and dozens of doughnuts.  As it turned out, allowing my attendees to revolt and ransack the place would have been less wasteful.

Not only did I pour just about every drop of coffee down the sink afterwards, but when I attempted to box up the donuts, they didn't fit in the containers.  Amazingly, it appeared that I had more donuts at the end of the seminar than I started with.  Had someone come to my seminar just to get rid of some of their unused donuts?  And was this the same person who approached me during every break complaining that the room was too hot?  Or was this the person sitting next to him who complained that cold air was blowing on him but never considered solving his problem by just switching seats with the "too hot guy"?

These were just some of the many unanswered questions from my misadventure as Mrs. Onsite CLE Organization Representative.  And with a newfound appreciation for my brothers and sisters who toil under the florescent lights of hotel ballrooms, I salute you with a leftover box of donuts from the seminar.  This box of 14 half-eaten donuts is for all you do in ordering massive amounts of food that will never be eaten and smiling while silently wishing harm upon your attendees.  "God, if you love me, you will allow a power surge to electrocute this lawyer when he plugs in his laptop, portable printer, and microwave oven."

It isn't said enough, but you are the Real American Heroes.  Well, you and Mrs. Look the Other Way While I Assaulted That One Attendee in the Parking Lot Conference Center Hostess.

Pulling the Plug on Laptops in CLE?

Recently, an interesting debate broke out among the CLE-razzi -- whether to ban laptop use in CLE seminars; at least, for those lawyers who don't even have the courtesy to pretend they are listening to the presentation.  As someone who stands before rows of open laptops each week, I couldn’t resist the temptation to hop into the middle of the debate.

I've decided to reprint my comments here in an effort to further the conversation (and avoid the hassle of creating original blog content).  Enjoy:

"I agree with those who have stated that you can’t really police whether the students are paying attention.  After all, even if you take away their laptops, Blackberries and Etch-a-Sketches, they can still find many ways to NOT pay attention (just as we did during our senior year(s) of college, right?).  Seriously, they can doodle, create to-do lists, or, as they do in my seminars, stare blankly into space while fantasizing about the speaker.

That being said, I’m not sure that we can embrace the attitude of “It’s their time and money.  What do we care?”  After all, we are supposed to provide continuing legal EDUCATION not continuing legal ATTENDANCE.  The justification for making CLE mandatory in most states is  based on the very sound premise that the public is better served by lawyers who update their knowledge and skills on a regular basis.  That same justification doesn’t hold true if we are going to just warehouse lawyers in Marriott conference rooms while they check e-mails, take the latest “What Teletubby Are You Most Like?” quiz on Facebook, or complain that the room is too hot (while sitting next to a person who is complaining that the room is too cold).  Our lawyers (and the clients they served) are no better off unless they actually pay attention at our courses.

And since we can’t make them pay attention (through technology policies or otherwise), I think we might want to consider ways to make them want to pay attention by providing programs that not only contain relevant and timely information, but are presented in ways that capture the audience’s attention.  For example, I would bet that not many people play Bejeweled through a presentation by Todd Winegar or a Periaktos Production.  They are too busy listening to the presentation and, against their best efforts, actually learning something. The same holds true for your local volunteers who actually take the time and effort to engage the audience by employing multimedia effects, utilizing game show formats, and the like.

Interestingly, most of your speaker guidelines offer suggestions on keeping the audience’s attention.  The challenge is, of course, getting your presenters to fully utilize them.  This is particularly challenging when working with volunteers.  After all, they are already doing you a favor by volunteering their time.  Can you really demand that they go the extra mile to make the presentation interesting?  I would say, “YES!”

In truth, the presenter who just reads his law review article (including the footnotes) or flips through so many Powerpoint slides that half of the audience has a seizure (in my view, the lucky half because they get to leave) isn’t doing anyone a favor.  This person hasn’t imparted any useful information or skills to the attendees.  Furthermore, they have made it that much more difficult for the attendee to get something useful out of the next CLE program.  After all, if I sat through six hours of Ben Stein in Ferris Beuller's Day Off, I wuld make sure that I brought my laptop, iPod and maybe even a pillow to the next seminar.  In my never-to-be-humble opinion, you (and your attendees) have EVERY right to demand a presenter who actually makes the audience WANT to pay attention.

How do you do this specifically?  How would I know?  Does the humorist have to think of everything around here?

Can You Smell What the Sean is Cooking?

For years, I've lived with a secret; something that I've tried to hide from my colleagues, business associates and to some degree, even from myself. Yet, after years in the closet, I've decided to come out and face the truth.  That's right! I am a wrestling fan. 

And no, I'm not referring to that pseudo-gay Greco-Roman wrestling where two men in spandex roll around the floor for hours.  I'm referring to the full-on gay professional wrestling where oiled men enter the ring wearing tights and shouting nonsensical catchphrases like, "Can you smell what the Rock is cooking?"  And for the record, I know that they aren't really hitting each other with chairs or gouging one another's eyes out.  I also know that the outcome of each match is just as scripted as an ABC "reality" show.  Yet, I'm continually drawn into the world of "sports entertainment" because the WWE knows how to present its product.  In particular, I'm referring to the wrestler's introductions.

Very often, the entire arena will go dark and then the wrestler's entrance music will start.  At this point, the audience erupts into a chorus of cheers (or boos).  Next, there is a series of explosions around the ring entrance.  As the smoke clears, the wrestler can be seen standing on the platform, ready for battle.  Eventually, the wrestler enters the ring (often to even more pyrotechnics) and climbs up on the ring posts, flexing his muscles for the screaming fans.

Now, compare this to the way CLE speakers are introduced.  The program chair stands at the front of the room and clumsily reads the speaker's bio, badly mispronouncing the name of the speaker's firm and very often, the name of the speaker herself.  Interestingly, this faux pas is usually overlooked by everyone in attendance (including the speaker) because, in truth, no one is listening to the introduction (including the speaker).  However, at the end of the introduction, the attendees seem to instinctively know that they are supposed to clap timidly while wondering to themselves, "Who the heck am I clapping for?"

Not surprisingly, these introductions are about as worthless as most of the stocks in my 401(k) account (and yours too).  They serve neither of the primary purposes of an introduction, which are: (1) to tell lies about the speaker that she can't tell about herself; and (2) to get the audience excited about the presentation.  That's why it's important for us to put a little WWE into our introductions.

Now, I know what you're thinking.  "I should have put my 401(k) money in those GIC thingees."  You're probably also thinking that pyrotechnics are way beyond the abilities of the local hotel staff, which often has its hands full just trying to produce audible sound through the lavalier mic.  It's pretty safe to assume that any fireworks display more intricate than lighting a birthday candle is bound to end in disaster.  Perhaps, the only thing more disastrous is the thought of, say, the local constitutional law professor coming to the lectern wearing a sequined robe and draped in a feather boa.

That's why when I suggested that we put a little "WWE" into our introductions, I meant it as an acronym for Wait, Wow and Exhort.

Wait them (out).  If you start into your intro and a few attendees are still talking, wait for silence.  You'll be amazed at how silent the room will grow as you stand at the lectern shooting visual daggers at the offending blabbermouth.  Unless this person is as clueless as automotive executive, they will get the hint and you will actually have the audience's full attention (and the everlasting hatred of the blabbermouth).

Wow them.  As I get older and wider, I become increasingly convinced that life is largely a matter of expectation.  Most often, you get what you expect out of situations.  If, for example, you expect to have a good time at an outing with family, you do.  If, on the other hand, you expect to have a bad time (i.e., it's your spouse's family), then you do.  The same is true for your audience.  If they expect to enjoy a presentation by a witty, knowledgeable and downright sexy speaker, then you probably shouldn't ever hire me.  In any event, I think you get my point.  You want to get them excited about the speaker and remember, you aren't under oath here.  You don't have to treat a speaker's introduction like a sworn affidavit or your bar application.  Instead, feel free to treat it like your mortgage application.  After all, what harm could it do, right?

Exhort them on.  Most audiences are remarkably timid.  This even applies to audiences filled with intelligent, accomplished professionals, so it certainly applies to an audience of your lawyers.  They often don't know what is expected of them, so you should tell them.  If you have a funny speaker, tell the audience to "get ready to laugh."  If you have a speaker who tells powerful and moving stories, tell the audience to "have your hankies handy."  And if you have a speaker who feeds off audience interaction, tell the audience to "get your questions ready."  In short, let the attendees know what role they are to play in making the presentation live up to their high expectations.

Can you smell what the Sean is cooking?

What I Learned in Traffic School

Recently, my wife called me at the office.  From the sound of her voice, I knew that I was in trouble.  However, I hadn't imagined how much, not until she coldly announced, "I just received a picture of you in the mail.  It appears to have been taken January 31st.  Now, Sean, I have warned you about this type of thing.  I'm so mad at you I could scream!"

My mind immediately raced back to January 31st.  What the heck was I doing on the 31st?  What was I ...   Uh oh!  I was in big trouble!

On January 31st, I awoke early to drive from my home just outside of Phoenix to Albuquerque, New Mexico -- the site of the Association of Continuing Legal Education (ACLEA) Winter Meeting.  That evening, we kicked off the conference with a raucous cocktail party.  I should have known better.  Of course, my picture would be taken; but not at the cocktail party.  My picture had been taken hours earlier when I received a photo radar speeding ticket (thus, the very grainy, yet still remarkably sexy, picture below).

While most states are attempting to solve their budget shortfalls through a combination of higher taxes and reduced speeding, my home state of Arizona has instead opted to install a photo radar equipment every 20 feet along our highways.  In fact, if we get any more of these devices, we'll have to change the tagline on our license plates to "The Grand Camera State."  

Now, as a patriotic citizen, I was doing my part for the cause.  In fact, I might have been doing more than my part, as this was not my first ticket (or even second).

Of course, as you know, the biggest penalty for receiving a speeding ticket isn't the cost of the violation itself.  The real penalty would be imposed by my auto insurance carrier when they learned that I had a penchant for driving as if I was a motorist in Los Angeles with a video camera mounted on my dashboard.  To avoid paying insurance rates higher than the national debt (and almost as incomprehensible), I was willing to take drastic measures.  That's right.  I signed up for traffic school.

As you can imagine, I wasn't looking forward to spending an entire Saturday in traffic school.  In fact, I would have gladly dipped my ears in steak sauce and climbed into a boxing ring with Mike Tyson had it been a lawful alternative to traffic school.   After all, in my view, traffic school is perhaps the only thing worse than CLE, except in the case of traffic school, you've actually done something wrong to deserve your punishment.

However, as it turned out, I couldn't have been more wrong if I was Bobby Jindal recounting the events following Hurricane Katrina.  Traffic school was actually far superior to CLE.

For one, my traffic school instructor had the "wacky" idea that we should actually learn something out of the experience.  This is a far cry from CLE, which should actually be renamed "CLA" -- continuing legal attendance.  In that vain, my traffic school instructor had the temerity to insist that we ... you're not going to believe this ... pay attention.  We were strictly prohibited from using laptops, cell phones and PDAs (and from some of the questions asked by my classmates, our brains).

Second, to facilitate our learning, the instructor had the even more radical idea that he would make the presentation interesting.  Rather than reading from his prepared text in a monotone, he told jokes and stories.  And get this ... his visual aids were actually visual.  Rather than simply clicking through bullet points of text, he showed live video and animations to illustrate his points.  As a result, the four hours flew by as if it was only 3 hours and 55 minutes.

Of course, let me be fair.  There are many lively, witty and informative lawyers on the CLE circuit (and some of them are quite handsome in their photo radar speeding ticket pictures as well).  Yet, I've sat through my fair share of CLE seminars where I've brought my own steak sauce, just in case Mike Tyson happened to find his way into the seminar.  On the whole, it's a close call as to which is the greater punishment -- CLE or traffic school.

What do you think?

The True Facebook of Evil

Just recently, I've come face to face with a force more malevolent than Al Qaeda, Osama bin Laden, and whoever invented the ridiculous Final 36 elimination process on America Idol combined.  That's right.  I'm referring to Facebook -- the single greatest scourge to affect the Internet since the invention of the pop-up ad, except we actually learn something from our folly in the latter case.  "Oh wow!  I'm the one zillionth person on this website!  I'll click here to claim my prize.  Doh!"

How many times could you fall for that?  Once?  Maybe twice, if you attended public school.  Yet, I've fallen for the biggest time-wasting scam of all -- Facebook.  I suspect that you've probably heard the pitch -- that Facebook will allow you to keep up with all of the significant events in the lives of your friends and family with minimal effort.  And if you have a hectic work schedule as I do, you've probably thought, "That would be great!"  Well, think again. 

For one, if you've been married for a decade or so like I have, you don't have many friends to keep up with anyway; online or offline.  Over the yours, your spouse has probably "culled the herd" of those who belonged to the "wrong" political party, had questionable morals, or worst, were still single.  For example, after 16 years of marriage, my only remaining friends are my father, two cousins and our pastor; and after his comments leading up to the last election, I'm not sure how much longer I will be allowed to go over the pastor's house to play.  

As a result, for a little while, my only Facebook friend was ... you guessed it ... my wife; and I'm not so sure that she was thrilled to make my online acquaintance.  She seemed particularly displeased when I tried to add her as my wife in my online profile.  When Facebook asked her to confirm our marital status, she must have sensed an opportunity to "make a break for it."  So instead of confirming, she called to ask, "Do we have to be married on here as well?"  She then added ... and I'm not making this up ... "You're cramping my style!"

My life became even more pathetic when I began to log online to get updates about our life.  "Well, I see that the kids haven't set fire to the house today.  Oops.  I just didn't scroll down far enough.  And what's this?  We are having trouble in our marriage?  It appears that we just don't communicate enough.  Well, let me solve this by sending her a private message right now."

Fortunately, with the help of Facebook, I was able to locate a slew of former classmates and work colleagues to add to my list of friends.  Before long, I was receiving a barrage of updates about their lives, reminding me precisely why I had allowed myself to lose contact with them in the first place.

Now, don't get me a wrong.  If one of my Facebook friends gets, say, a new job or a new house or a new kidney, I want to know about it.  However, I don't need to know if they have just found their first gray hair or become online friends with someone who I don't know or become a fan of Sweet Tea (and no, that's not a new rock band, but the actual beverage).  Yet, all day long, my Facebook page is filled with news updates that are so inane that, if I don't know better, I would think that I'm watching Fox News.

For example, just today, I learned these fascinating insights into the life of my younger sister, Candice.  And I'm not making this up or exaggerating in any way!

11:15 am -- She screwed up her shoulder playing catch with my nephew.

1:46 pm -- She has tried to fight it for too long but has come to the realization that she just does not like sausage on her pizza.

5:41 pm -- She is stuck in a very crowded, very loud Chuck E Cheese and is pleading, "Get me out of here!!!!" (That makes two of us, sis!)

8:59 pm -- She is about to watch the Amazing Race.  The Oscars can kiss her #$%.

Now, I know what you're thinking -- the Oscars can kiss your #$% too!  You might also be thinking that I have the wrong attitude.  You might love to know all of these things about a typical day in the life of, say, your mother or brother or son or daughter.  However, you must keep in mind that, in a short period of time, you could accumulate 100 online friends (perhaps 200 if your spouse doesn't "cull the herd").  Can you imagine getting 400 of these updates everyday?  And this is not to mention the comments you will receive from their friends reading "I hate sausage on my pizza too!" and "No way, sausage rules!"

Finally, if you aren't on Facebook yet, then you're probably asking the obvious question: "If Facebook is such a time-waster, why do I keep logging on?"  However, if you are on Facebook, then you know the answer to this question -- "I can't help myself!"  As much as I hate reading about the mundane events in the lives of my Facebook friends, I'd hate even more to miss an important development.  For example, what if someone was to post pictures of their newborn or news of the death of a loved one or the winner of Best Cinematography at the Oscars?  How could I live without knowing this vital information and being able to comment on it for others?  "That's the cutest baby EVER!  So sorry to hear about your sixth cousin Bessy.  Slumdog Millionaire was SOOOO over-rated!"

Of course, I wouldn't have this dilemma had I never signed onto Facebook in the first place.  However, now that I've had a taste of it, I'm hooked much like someone addicted to crack cocaine, crystal meth or Krispy Kreme; only not nearly as interesting at a party.  Yet, there might still be time for you.  If you haven't signed onto Facebook yet, then just say "No!"  And if you are on Facebook, add me as a friend.  I'm just dying to know about your favorite pizza topping, television show or beverage.

Don't Be Cavalier With the Lavalier

When it comes to the topic of microphones, I've always been a "lav" man.  Now, don't get me wrong.  It's not that I'm in love with the lavalier or lapel microphone, it's just that there aren't any other reasonable alternatives.

For example, the microphone attached to the lectern tends to limit your freedom of motion, which is okay if you are, say, giving an address from the head table at a banquet or your feet have been nailed to the floor.  Otherwise, you might want the option of moving more than three inches in any direction.  Of course, your movement will be further limited if the lectern mic is of the normal quality (i.e., bad).  In that case, you will spend your entire presentation bent over the lectern as if you were accepting an American Music Award.  "I'd like to thank everyone for coming out to my CLE, especially those of you in the balcony.  This CLE is for you guys!"

The other option -- a handheld microphone -- presents its own challenges.  For one, it requires you to spend an hour or more holding a microphone near your face ... and at just the optimal distance from your mouth.  And, of course, that optimal distance varies from mic to mic.  With some microphones, you must practically kiss the thing to get it to pick up your voice, which does nothing for the clarity of your speech.  In fact, the audience usually feels as if it is attending CLE in a bus terminal.  "Did he just say that the plaintiff had no standing or that the fifth bus is going to Mays Landing?"  And with other microphones, you have to hold it, say, 12-14 feet from lips for fear of deafening everyone in the audience.

That being said, the lav mic does have one serious drawback -- it is possible to inadvertently walk out of the room with it still on (something that would be extremely difficult to do with, say, a lectern microphone).  As a fledgling speaker, I'd often hear horror stories about speakers who visited the restroom with their mics still on.  I still remember thinking, "What kind of idiot would do such a thing?"  That is, until last month, when I learned just what kind of idiot would leave his lav mic on after a speech -- ME.

Now, in my defense, I was in the midst of a speaking trip in which I would speak in seven different cities in nine days.  To make matters worse, rather than scheduling these speeches in terms of geographical proximity, we had apparently scheduled them in alphabetical proximity.  "P falls between O and S in the alphabet, so let's have you speak in Oakland on Wednesday, Philadelphia on Thursday and San Francisco on Friday, just to keep things logical."  As a result, I had spent most of the week crisscrossing the country as if I was Carmen Sandiego, except that she is taken for more seriously.  I was simply too exhausted to realize what I was doing as I gathered my things and headed to the valet stand to retrieve my car for the drive back to the airport.

While waiting for my car, I was chatting with a young man about the recent Obama inauguration when, all of a sudden, the president of the organization came running towards me, waving frantically and mouthing, "Your mic is still on!"  I looked down, and sure enough, there was the green light on the battery unit.  I sheepishly handed over the equipment as we exchanged a quick laugh and she returned to their meeting, which was still in progress.  I was still laughing about the incident when it occurred to me that I had called my wife briefly after the talk; unknowingly broadcasting my part of the conversation to the room.  Uh oh!  Oakland, I think we have a problem.

I frantically tried to recall exactly what I said to my wife.  When she asked how the speech went, what did I say?  Did I reply with something generic like "Great" or "Fine," or had I elaborated?  "It would have been great except for this one fat, bald guy sitting in the front row with a light blue shirt and paisley tie.  He didn't laugh once at my jokes.  Is it my fault that his wife probably left him for the UPS man?  I think not!"  Trust me, I've said worse.

And that was precisely what I spent the rest of the day thinking about it -- had I made some horribly inappropriate remark that would reflect adversely on the organization, its leadership and perhaps, most importantly, my chances of receiving the balance of my fee?  Or had I just said something that would be appropriate if said privately to my wife, but not in a conversation being overheard by 200 strangers?

For instance, given that I hadn't been home in more than a week, perhaps we had talked about that special thing I would do for her when I returned home that Friday night (i.e., take the garbage cans out front; Saturday is trash day).  Or perhaps, we had discussed which one of us would be selling a kidney on eBay to replace the funds we lost in the stock market last year.

In any event, none of this would have been necessary had I not been so cavalier with the lavalier.  So please learn from my mistakes (I never seem to).  Never leave the room still wearing your lav mic.  And if your speaker attempts to do so, feel free to do whatever it takes to stop him, even if you have to put him in a full-nelson sleeper hold to do so.  He (and his wife) will thank you for it.  Trust me on this one!

ACLEA, Tequila and Karaoke ... Oh My!

This week, I made my semi-annual pilgrimage to the mecca of CLE -- the ACLEA Mid-Year Meeting.  I was particularly excited about this conference because it was being held just outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico.  New Mexico was one of the six states I had yet to visit (despite living in an adjoining state) and I was eager to cross it off my list.  Furthermore, I was eager to renew old friendships, learn of developing trends in the world of CLE, and forever tarnish my reputation within the industry.  Sadly, I was only successful in one of these endeavors and I think you can guess which one.

One of the best things about ACLEA meetings is that the people who attend them actually like each other.  As a result, the extracurricular activities are as well attended as the educational sessions, if not better.  In fact, if truth be told, there are a few individuals (who shall remain nameless provided they call me immediately for a booking) who only attend the extracurricular events ... but I digress.

On Monday evening, dozens of us dined at a Tex-Mex restaurant that served ... you guessed it ... margaritas (oh, and I think they served food too).  Afterwards, we returned to the hotel and not being able to bear the thought of being apart for an entire night, we assembled in the bar for a night of karaoke.  It was here where I got the idea that I could save a lot of time and effort by simply drinking tequila straight from the bottle as if I was in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.  In a sense, I was "cutting out the middle man."

After my third, fourth or two-hundredth shot of tequila (one tends to lose track), I had an epiphany -- I must perform my own karaoke song.  There was just one minor problem -- my singing voice should be registered with the FBI as a deadly weapon.  My voice is so bad that even the judges on American Idol would be shocked if they heard it.  I can imagine Randy Jackson sitting there dumb-founded with blood trickling from his ears just mumbling, "Dawg.  Dawg.  How could you?"

Now, there isn't enough tequila in all of New Mexico (or old Mexico for that matter) to make me forget that I can't sing.  As a result, I searched the song sheet looking for rap songs, finding just two -- M.C. Hammer's You Can't Touch This and Sir Mix-a-Lot's Baby Got Back.  Realizing that I neither danced well enough (nor owned pants baggy enough) to pull off an imitation of M.C. Hammer, I opted for the latter song.  And by "opted," I mean that my former good friend, Stuart Teicher, pulled me up to the karaoke machine yelling, "This is going to be so good!  I'll do the song with you!"

Before I knew it, the music had begun and there we were -- Sir Drunk-a-Lot and Sir What-Do-I-Care-If-We-Embarrass-Ourselves-I-Am-New-Here-A-Lot.  To my surprise, the women in the room responded to the thumping bass line with incredible enthusiasm.  They jumped to their feet and started screaming like 13-year-old girls at a Jonas Brothers concert.  I thought to myself, "What was I worried about?  This is going to be just fine."

Of course, at this time, the first lyrics had yet to appear on the screen and I had no idea what was coming next.  After all, Baby Got Back was originally released in 1992, back in the days when the only people on the Internet were Al Gore and Screech from Saved By the Bell.  I hadn't heard this song in at least a decade and had completely forgotten that the song starts with "I like big butts and I cannot lie ..."

And it only went downhill from there as the lyrics became increasingly provocative (and even racially-polarizing).  It then started coming back to me -- MTV had banned the music video for this song at one point.  That's right!  The same network that brought us such "family-oriented entertainment" as Jackass, Beavis & Butthead, and The Osbournes,  drew the line at a three-minute ode to the virtues of an ample backside.  And they were right to do so!  Unfortunately, I didn't have the benefits of a network censor (or a fully functioning frontal lobe) at the time, so I had to stumble my way through the rest of the song.

To my amazement, the ladies in the bar didn't storm the stage demanding apologies (or at least assurances that their butts weren't the ones I was rapping about).  Instead, they clapped and cheered.  Yet, I could tell that something had changed and that our relationships would never be the same.  And how could they?  In just three minutes, I had transformed from a mild-mannered humorist who tells innocent stories (many involving his wife and four young children) into a butt-obsessed misogynist with unresolved racial biases.

Therefore, I want to take this moment to apologize to the women of ACLEA.  I want to apologize on behalf of myself, my partner in rhyme, Sir Mix-A-Lot and every man who has ever judged a woman, not by the content of her character, but the size and shape of her derriere.  And if you allow me to return to future conferences, I promise that I will never perform karaoke, chug tequila, or air my videotaped footage of several of you singing and dancing to I'm Too Sexy.  Do we have a deal?

I thought so.  See you in Salt Lake City!