Project Inbox Zero

I've gotten to know and love Merlin Mann first through the MacBreak Weekly podcast, and from there I got to know his 43 Folders web site. He's a bit of a productivity guru, though I use that word reluctantly. He has none of those annoying "salesman"ish qualities that turn me off to most of the Tony Robbins/Dr. Phil types. He's very laid back, almost suggesting to you that you can try this if you want, it worked for him, but no biggie. I hear that message better than the "I am going to change your world!" quasi-brainwash bullshit that so many self-help types like to effect.

One of Merlin's latest things is called Inbox Zero. And God knows this is a place where I totally need help. The In box is totally out of control.

So, starting today, through his suggested actions, I have done the following:

1. I moved all my In box email prior to today to a box called "DMZ." (More on that in a moment.)
2. I am checking my mail only once an hour (at most), and
3. I am taking care of everything in my In box each time I do check my mail.

This last step is where the real change is: Merlin suggests that when you look at your In box, there are five possible actions for each email:

1. Delete it. He recommends doing this as much as possible.
2. Archive it.
3. Delegate it. Again, highly recommended, if possible.
4. A Quick Response. (See FiveSentenc.es for an idea on this!)
5. Defer it. A tricky one, but the idea is to defer it only for the day -- to move it to an "Action" folder, which you deal with by the end of the day.

Well ... So far, so good. We'll see how it goes in the long run.

As to the DMZ folder, my goal is to get rid of 100 emails in there per day, on work days. That's 500 a week. I started this on Friday night, while sitting around the ER listening to my wife's Pulse-Ox meter beeping.

On 8/24/07: 4,372 emails in the DMZ.

Last night (8/26/07), when I went to bed: 4,272 messages.

*sigh*

We'll see how this project shakes out.

(You can watch progress on the DMZ mailbox in a module in the righthand column of this blog.)

Scenes from the E.R.

"Did you hear that?" Laura asked.

I looked up from my book. I said I hadn't heard.

"They call me 'Chest Pain.' They just said, 'I need to call Chest Pain's doctor.'" The "They" in this case were the E.R. workers on the other side of the curtain. We were in Room 1.

She went back to her Harry Potter book, but I couldn't resist my own interruption: "Funny. I always just call you 'The Chest.'"

She giggled and added: "I thought the rest of the family just called me 'The Pain.'"

***

"I'm the EKG Guy."

We looked up from aforementioned books.

Oh. My. God.

A stunning fellow. As he hooked up the EKG, my wife made huge eyes at me, and mouthed: Why didn't I shave my legs?!

His work done, he unplugged the machine and headed out. "I'm Mark," he said.

"I'm Laura," my wife said.

"But you can just call her 'Ms. Chest Pain,'" I added. He laughed, and for the rest of the night, that's exactly what he called her.

The curtain closed again, Laura exclaimed, "Did you see his teeth?"

I said, "I never got past the eyes. His name is 'Mark.' I'm not sure I can live up to my name any longer. I may have to change it."

She laughed.

"So ..." I said, "I wasn't sure what the appropriate thing to do was. Would you have preferred that I left the room and left the two of you alone?"

***

You have to look for the humor anywhere you can on those long nights in the emergency room. All this from a somewhat false alarm on some chest pains. Since she had had recent gall bladder surgery, the pain raised red flags. But all tests were negative. Still, since it was a Friday night, they kept her overnight. They'll stress-test her this a.m., and the kids will have their Mom back by noon, we expect. Which is good, 'cause we're treating ourselves to a Rufus Wainwright concert tonight. That'll do the heart some good.


***


"Okay, Ms. Chest Pain," said Mark as he wheeled the chair into the room. "You've got a room."

"Question," I asked. "What's a 'Code Gray?'" A few minutes before, we had heard a hospital-wide alert that Room 5945 had a "Code Gray."

Mark smiled. And me without my SPF 45. "That means behavioral disorder. Someone acting up."

A few minutes later, we depart the elevator, and I realize that Laura's room is just a few doors down from ... wait for it ... Room 5945. A bevy of nurses stand outside the door of the room. Two doctors are inside. A patient lies in bed. He is moaning. No, he is screaming.

As the nurse's assistant takes my wife's vitals, she suggests that perhaps Laura will want to keep her door closed until they "figure out what we're going to do with him."

It was a long night for Laura.

***

Zuzu woke up last night when I got home, so I just took her into bed with me. She's an excellent snuggler, doing her best to wrap her arms around me in the dark.

"I miss Mommy," I whispered.

Without hesitation, she said back: "Flowers will make her feel better."

I laughed. I couldn't stop. And the tears came up at the same time. The rigors of the long night were catching up with me. That, and I can't believe how sensitive — and astute — this two-year-old is.

"Shall we go get Mommy flowers tomorrow?" I asked.

"Mommy will like that," my daughter said. She yawned.

"Where did you come from?" I asked.

Whispering now, fading away, Zuzu only commanded: "Rub ... my ... back."

A metaphor for our times?

Essentially, the problem is: Through intent and capability, we have a Superbowl-quality NFL football team: 300-pound guys, run the 40 in 4.3, they bench-press 550 pounds. We've got a lot of them, and they're good. And the door opens in the gym, and they go outside ... and the problem is, it's water polo. And they're going against the guys — I mean little guys — 130, 140 pounds, wearing goofy hats, swim like fish, and they're throwing a ball, and that's how they keep score.

That's Cofer Black (my emphasis added, but from his vocal inflections), a former director of the CIA's Counterterrorist Center. He was speaking at a fascinating multi-day conference held at Tufts University back in March, called "The War On Terrorism: How Are We Doing?" (a title that created its own controversy within the conference, by the way).

If you're interested, podcasts of the main sessions are available for free via iTunes, on the University Channel Podcast page. It's a lot of listening — over ten hours — but I haven't gotten a clearer picture of the situation from any other source.

Olympics in 2016: Now It Gets Interesting!

Laura and I attended the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. The excitement of the actual games was almost overshadowed by the camaraderie of the Sydney citizens (Well, those few who were actually still in the city), especially the host family who invited us (two strangers) into their home for a week.

I would love to give some good-kharma payback to another couple, let them come to stay in our home and enjoy Olympics here.

The USOC just got us another step closer to getting to do that: Chicago was just announced to be the US applicant city for the 2016 games.

Gee, only two-and-a-half years now 'til we know if we win!

Imus in the Mourning

I'm usually not inclined to use this space to take on current socio-cultural issues. I'd like to, but I'm rarely able to contribute on a regular basis enough to be that current. And really, the last thing the blogosphere needs is another post on this particular topic. But his whole Don Imus thing has me ... well ... pretty confused.

I understand that what he said was reprehensible, stupid, ignorant. I believe that apologies — both publicly (on air) and privately (to the Rutgers team) — were absolutely necessary. And I believe he should have been punished. The two-week suspension made some good sense. (I might have gone four weeks, but that's a relatively small quibble.)

But at some point, it seems like the whole hands-to-face shock that the general public and (even worse) the corporate world has exhibited during these last days is just a little ... artificial. Do they honestly believe that Imus' statements that got him in this hot water are really that much worse than other utterances he has made over the last three decades?

Apparently Proctor & Gamble and all the other sponsors to Imus' CBS radio show were okay with his offensive crap before this. Apparently the public didn't mind his past racist, sexist b.s. enough to get a Sharpton or a Jackson behind them and try to bring Imus down.

Every time that Imus — or other similar on-air personalities — said this kind of stuff and got away with it, the line in the sand was moved a little further. He had that much more room to maneuver with his "politically incorrect" thoughts. (I put that phrase in quotes mainly because it's a pretty subjective concept.) So we (the public, his station, his sponsors) let him go a little further, and a little further ... until finally he takes one step that's just a little too big, and he commits a foot-foul. Suddenly, it's game-over. Period. No take-backs.

This time, Imus picked the wrong target — an innocent target. The thing that saddens me is that Imus realized that, and attempted to make amends. In his on-air apology (which went on for several minutes) on April 10, he said as much:

Here's what I've learned: that you can't make fun of everybody, because some people don't deserve it. And because the climate on this program has been what it's been for 30 years doesn't mean that it has to be that way for the next five years or whatever because it has to change, and I understand that.

That's a pretty remarkable statement, in my opinion. This was not one of those pansy-politico "I'm sorry if anyone was offended" quasi-apologies that we hear from so many public personalities. This was a man who knows he screwed up, wants to apologize, and, most importantly, wants to commit to not ever "going there" again. And sure, he could have been trying just to save his ass. But this also might be a real change in his thinking, an ah-ha moment ... perhaps even the start of a Saul-to-Paul type of conversion.

I can't stand the guy and have no desire whatsoever to listen to him ... but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'm willing to cut him a little slack.

The thing is that we'll never know if Imus was really on his way to a revelatory moment because the entertainment industry's business model does not leave room for this concept of forgiveness. It's a "one strike and you're out" policy. (And I hope I'm done mixing sports metaphors with this post.) It doesn't take into account the whole picture — doesn't consider things like the millions of dollars he has raised through his charitable work (or so I've read). I mean, the guy might be an idiot, but he's not evil incarnate. While I understand that CBS had a right to fire him, I think that the demand for Imus' termination and the flight of almost all of his sponsors was an overreaction against someone who spends a lot of time extemporizing into a live, nationally broadcast microphone. I mean, weird, head-scratching stuff is going to come out of the mouths of just about anyone if you mic them long enough. This is even more likely to be the case when the line is moving all the time.

Maybe this is why the Reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson stay away from starring in syndicated radio or television shows like the one Imus had. They might reach a wider audience with such a broadcast, but they would also eventually get caught in their own slips of the tongue. And then it might be much harder for America to forgive Jackson for his infamous "Hymietown" remarks ... or Sharpton for his reverse-racist screes in connection with the Tawana Brawley case. Apparently, these leaders' own missteps didn't stop them for a moment from throwing stones at Imus. Maybe it's simply the passing of two decades since Sharpton's and Jackson's own turns on the "stupid merry-go-round." Or maybe, on some level, their mistakes were not as "grand" as Imus'.

But it doesn't quell my uneasy feeling that the punishment Imus is receiving is ... unbalanced.

I'm not saying that what Imus said wasn't heinous. I'm not saying that he is somehow protected by the First Amendment — that has nothing to do with this situation. I just think it's too bad that we'll never know now how this might have changed Imus.

Not to compare, but ...

... this was kind of spooky/fun:

Ca. 1959: My brother Chris, then 5½, and my brother Ian, a year-and-a-half Chris' junior, are in the backseat of a car. A radio report is playing, something about a hurricane.

Ian: Mom, why do all the hurricanes have girl's names?

Chris: Because, dummy, if they had boy's names, they wouldn't be called "hurricanes." They'd be called "himmicanes!"

+++
Ca. one hour ago: My mom is reading Piper (now 5) a "Magic Treehouse" book that takes place on the HMS Titanic.

Piper: Why do they keep calling it a "she?"

Mom: I don't know why that is. Ships are always called "she."

Me: (from a nearby table, in front of the computer) I could look it up....

Piper: Maybe it's because it's a ship ... and "ship" sounds like "she."

Mom: Oh my.

Me: I don't think I can't come up with a better explanation than that.

New home.

So, I've officially made the move from Blog City. Nothing like a good sick day to give you the time to finally get the last pieces of the old blog moved over to the new one.

Nothing like being sick on baseball's opening day too — though it's looking like we're kicking off the start of another typical Cubs season, with a pathetic first inning at bat and Zambrano walking his first batter on four pitches and then giving up a dinger. Some things never change!

In other news: I'm planning on making a bid to purchase the Cubs and am currently convincing Piper to break open her Babe piggy-bank to help out ... I am mystified as to why Alberto Gonzales still has a White House security clearance badge ... and Benadryl doesn't work nearly as well on me as it used to.

Packing for the move to Blogger.

I'm in the midst of moving my blog from Blog City to Blogger (since Blog City has seen fit to cease offering free accounts).

Once moved, I hope to more regularly start posting here again.

I know. I've said THAT before, haven't I?

Words that feel good in the mouth II

Occipital. Bonnie Hunt used it on her cancelled show last year when she referred to her "occipital Rolodex."

Supple. This one struck me while listening to Neil Finn's "The Truth" ... "Remember what we are/ Supple and new."

Bump. It's been around for awhile, but I really like it in connection with the pitcher's mound in baseball. "The Cubs play the Diamondbacks tonight with Les Walrond on the bump." Believe me, it's a lot more effective if you've ever heard of the pitcher. But the Cubs don't have any of those anymore.

Alacrity. Sen. Charles Schumer: "Why aren't we moving with alacrity" when installing the new security system that will scan cargo bins for nuclear content?

Grok. This word is ... what, 30 years old now? A gift from Robert Heinlein, and still more useful to me than other words that seem trendy. This one stuck for me, and I'm surprised it hasn't been more universally accepted. Perhaps the universe hasn't grokked it yet.

Fracture. It almost hurts to even hear the word, doesn't it? That's because it contains the sound of cracking bone.

Does George Carlin have kids?

Too bad if he doesn't. With philosophies like this, he'd be a kick-ass parent.

What kind of empty people need to validate themselves through the achievements of their children?... Here's a bumper sitkcer I'd like to see: "WE ARE THE PROUD PARENTS OF A CHILD WHOSE SELF-ESTEEM IS SUFFICIENT THAT HE DOESN'T NEED US PROMOTING HIS MINOR SCHOLASTIC ACHIEVEMENTS ON THE BACK OF OUR CAR."

Squishy entry, but deal with it, it's my birthday.

Dads are so easy.

I'm in the shower this morning. I'm not awake yet, though the hot water hitting the back of my neck is doing its work. Through the frosted glass of the shower, I see the bathroom door open. This is highly unusual. Laura never gets out of bed until she has to.

But she apparently did have to: Someone wanted access to me.

Laura cracks the shower door, and says, "Someone wants to say something."

I see the tousled blonde hair behind her, at waist height. I bend over.

She is beaming. The glee in her face -- her entire body -- is all because of the message that she is practically shaking to give me. And she delivers it with a devastating smile:

"Happy birthday, Daddy!"

"Thank you, sweetie."

And she whirls around and returns to the bedroom to snuggle with Mom for a few minutes. Laura and I exchange sleepy smiles before she leaves.

Shortly, dried and getting dressed, I approach Piper, who sits up in bed. She repeats her salutations.

"Honey," I tell her with a hug, "if no one mentions my birthday for the rest of the day, this will still be a great day, after that greeting."

It's not bad to be reminded -- not just on your birthday but on a daily basis -- how important the moments that have become innocuous to us as adults are still as thrilling as a roller-coaster ride to some younger than us. It's not bad to be reminded that we should strive to recapture that thrill of the mundane of another birthday. I've had 41 of them. It doesn't mean I shouldn't remember the thrill of my fourth.

Well, that was a nice Cubs season.

A weekend in St. Louis, where we get to go to the new Busch Stadium today and check out the "new" (read: post-Derrek Lee era) Cubs get shellacked by a major league team. I'm still reeling from Lee's injury in L.A. a few days ago.

A number of reports are suggesting that maybe it won't be that bad, but when it's not only the most effective offensive and defensive player on your team, not to mention the unofficial team leader, how can you not feel like perhaps your entire season isn't lost? Please, Glendon Rusch, make me eat these words this afternoon.

Recent Piper quotes.

Sadly, another placeholder. Recent entertainment from my almost-four-year-old.

-----

"Little kids don't understand grownups."

- Said after Laura tried explaining her side of a dispute she had with Piper

-----

Piper has gotten very used to TiVo. Though she doesn't use the remote yet (her 10-month-old sister seems to be the more button-gifted of the two), she still knows that if she sees a commercial she likes (she calls them "movies"), she can ask us to rewind it ... as many times as we can stand.

The other night, Laura came into the room, and Piper announced that there was a commercial she had seen earlier that she wanted to go back and watch again. Laura rewound the TiVo, and as each commercial flew by, Piper waved them off, looking for the right one. It was not to be found.

"I guess it fell off the buffer," Piper said. And Laura's jaw dropped.

We've laughed about her ability to toss off tech talk so easilly many times. Like all three-year-olds, she's paying very close attention.

-----

Piper told Laura that a boy at school has been scaring her with dinosaur puppets.

Laura: "You don't have to worry about dinosaurs. They're all gone now."

Piper: "What happened to them?"

Laura: "Nobody knows for sure."

Piper: (After a few moments of thinking) "Maybe a wizard turned the dinosaurs into frogs."

Laura: "Maybe."

You know what? I like this explanation more than that big ol' meteor theory.

Things never calm down.

I suggested I'd be back in July. Here it is mid-September and I can't seem to shake free of the ever increasing workload.

I had my fortieth birthday last Tuesday. A lot of people have asked if this is a big deal to me. I suppose it is, but not nearly as big as it used to be. The difference? Having children.

Life Before Piper™ included lots of obsessing about my age and about missing "benchmarks" I had set for myself. Now, with Susannah growing up fast as well, I see time passing not through my ever-increasing gray hair, but rather through the rapid changes in the girls. Piper is beginning her second week of school. (Well, pre-school ... but you explain the difference to her.) Zuzu has been pulling herself to a stand for two months now, and is desperate to do and have everything her sister does.

And me, I'm misquoting my age all the time -- not coincidentally, I seem to still think of myself as 37, my age when Piper came on the scene. Time seems to stop -- or at least move into stealth mode -- when your kids show up. And it's not that I'm grateful that I now seem to be ageless ... It's just that age now seems to matter less to me. Now, ask me how I feel about this as I'm driving back from dropping my second daughter off at college, in 18 years.

Placeholder with a view.

Yes, life with two girls -- and two jobs (thank God I didn't go for two wives!) -- has been insanely busy, so all I can do right now is put in this placeholder post right now, so that this blog isn't erased. I hope to get back to writing in July, once things calm down a bit.

Until then here are some relatively recent shots of the girls. Enjoy ....