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?