And the Winner for the Most Boring Highway Ever: The Envelope Please

Have you ever driven on the Florida Turnpike?
Have you ever been in a coma?
They’re the same thing.

I don’t mind driving long distances. There are usually interesting sights to see, and I always have plenty of things to think about. But the Florida Turnpike is a stretch of road like nothing I’ve ever encountered.

Excuse me. I mean Florida’s Turnpike. They seem to be quite possessive about it because “Florida’s Turnpike” is how it’s displayed on state road signs, maps, and my GPS, apostrophe and all. Back in mid-July, I drove from Orlando to Boca Raton, some on I-95, but most of the three-hour trip on the turnpike. I took off the last day of the National Speakers Association convention and drove south to interview a client whose book I’m writing. 

Florida is famous for things like alligators and palm trees, as well as its terrain. I live in Pennsylvania, so my car and I are accustomed to major hills. Florida is a little different. The first feature to suck the interest right out of you is the road’s flatness. As in no hills. Sure, once in a great while you get to cross a raised causeway over a river or marsh, but please. There is nothing to see on either side since it’s bordered by trees the whole way. I like trees as much as anyone, but after a few minutes, they all look alike. Oh, wait– they are all alike.

If you ever have the occasion to drive it, here’s how you’re likely to spend your time:

*You’ll change lanes just for something to do.
*You’ll find yourself saying things like, “Oh boy, a curve.”
*You’ll liken a service plaza to an oasis in the Mojave.

Please understand: the highway itself is excellent. It’s well-maintained, clean, and roadkill- and pothole-free. But that does nothing to alleviate the monotony. In fact, these sterling qualities probably exacerbate it.

At least the trip back to Orlando seemed shorter, as most return trips do. This was good, as I was racing to get back in time to attend an awards dinner at the convention. But I paid for the privilege: ten bucks and change each way.

And I didn’t even get to see an alligator.

Retreat? Never!

As you probably know, I see a lot of animals from my patio. Quite often, they’re even on my patio. Deer, squirrels, groundhogs, turkeys– you name it. It’s a wildlife superhighway out there. But sometimes the wildlife overlaps the parts of my life that aren’t so wild.

As president of the Pittsburgh chapter of the National Speakers Association, I invited the Board of Directors to my house for the annual retreat. Lately, many word-conscious types are calling them “advances,” perhaps to dispel negative associations. But I decided not to confuse the issue.

Running from 10:00 am to mid-afternoon, the meeting started on the patio while it was still cool enough to be comfortable. I had my laptop set up for a connection with our “guest speaker,” as she was billed on the agenda. Last year during his retreat, our past president, Jeff Tobe, arranged for a conference call with incoming national president Phillip van Hooser on his iPhone. That was a great way to kick things off and set the mood.

In a burst of uncharacteristically geeky one-upmanship, I asked Kristin Arnold, this year’s national president, to connect to us via Skype, so we could have video as well as audio. Also uncharacteristically, the call actually worked. Quite often, when I attempt such feats of technological derring-do, something goes horribly awry. Not this time; we had a fine chat. Kristin could see most of us (I think I was out of frame) and we could see and hear her. We talked about items such as National’s relationship to our chapter and various other topics.

The only minor hitch was an avian interruption. A crow was cawing up in the trees as Kristin was talking. She stopped and said, “Is that a bird or something?” Apparently, my audio signal was actually too clear. Hell, we were lucky the blue jays weren’t congregating. We would have had to move inside. We did that anyway after we said goodbye to Kristin because it was lunchtime and it was getting August hot and humid out there.

It’s not that I’m a total novice at using Skype. I’ve had such video calls with friends in California and North Carolina, with fair success. The quality of the video is sometimes sketchy for varying technical reasons, such as camera quality or the battery dying (which happened to my friend in NC). But to me, it’s that old saw about comparing a new technology to a dog dancing on its hind legs: It’s not that we’re expecting him to do it well; we’re amazed that he can do it at all.

Inside during the second half of the meeting, there was another wildlife break as we all looked out at a black squirrel trying to open one of the feed bins on the patio. Some of my guests had never seen a squirrel that color.

I’m going to suggest to Karen,  my president-elect, that she try to outdo me next year and shoot for a holographic projection. The technology? That’ll be her problem.

 I know a crow she can use for practice.

Disobey your parents: talk to strangers

The Pittsburgh chapter of the National Speakers Association was host to renowned speaker Lou Heckler last Saturday. Lou favored us with a wealth of information about presentation skills, but one of the points that stood out to me was only marginally related to stagecraft.

He said to engage people. Regularly. Because you have the potential to learn things that could result in a useable story. I was pleased because this is something I’ve been doing more and more lately. I’m usually reserved and a little shy with strangers, but I’m getting better. Case in point: a snippet of my article about a trip to Phoenix. Read on.

“It was a trip of wildlife observation. Shortly after my arrival, the clock said it was noon, but my stomach said it was two hours past lunchtime. My table was in the main section of the hotel’s bright and airy restaurant, just inside the patio where about a dozen tables stood under the permanent canopy.

I was having a hamburger and coffee and admiring the view of the golf course. (I don’t play, but the landscaping was pretty.) After a couple left their patio table, having finished their lunch, a grackle with the biggest feet I ever saw on a bird landed on the table and started foraging. Several other birds were checking out the other tables and the floor; apparently they were accustomed to finding food there.

The plates had been cleared and there were no crumbs left, so the grackle made do with something else. It picked up two packets of Sweet ‘n Low in its beak and flew off. I mentioned this to my waitress, and she said the birds do it all the time. It seems they love any sweetener, real or artificial. The birds make a neat, surgical incision in the exact middle of the packet and devour the contents. Sugar I can understand, or even Splenda, but Sweet ‘n Low?”

If I had been satisfied with simply noticing the bird fly away with the sweetener, the reader would have had only that image and no related information. Actually, the reader wouldn’t have had even that because there wouldn’t have been enough there for me to use in the first place. The waitress’s comments gave the anecdote the necessary backstory and essential detail.

In a word… engage.

(Here’s a link to the entire article: click here.)