Date: 2009-02-26
To: Thursday: You know that dream where...
Miles today: 0.0

You know that dream where you're on a stage, only you're not wearing any pants?        When I got to the office on Wednesday, I started to focus on the workshop I¢d be doing on Thursday morning. It¢s normally a half-day affair, with a couple of other speakers for short presentations, a case study that the participants do in ¢break-out¢ groups, and a coffee break in the middle, but for most of the time I am the main event. Me and my power-point slides against the world!        I kind of like teaching it, as it deals with something about which I feel passionate: improving governance (and thereby reducing corruption) in the development projects we help to finance. I mean, what we¢re trying to do is to help the poor, right? And it really pisses me off to think that contractors and government officials are ripping off our projects to line their own pockets, and short-changing the intended project beneficiaries in the process. The workshop focuses the concepts, tools and techniques that we¢ve developed for dealing with those issues.         We normally have 30-35 participants in a large conference room. Occasionally, we¢ll also have one or two of our field offices tied in by video conference. What I learned on Wednesday was that we were going to have 28 people in the conference room in Washington, and another 20-some tied in by video conference covering 9 of our field offices in Europe and the Middle East¢ ranging from Kazakhstan to Turkey, from London to Jerusalem.         In addition, we¢d be video-taping the presentation with the hope of turning it into an e-learning product ¢ to make it more readily available in a cost-effective way to all of our staff. AND, as if those technical challenges weren¢t enough, we were also going to pilot an on-line software product that would allow staff to participate from their home computers, seeing my slides on their screens, along with a video box of me talking, with the ability to type in questions and comments via a dialogue box ¢ all in real time.         Now I like teaching. But all of this technology just kind of boggles my mind. (See, for example, my ¢05 Journal entry of February 18.) So I do my best to ignore the computers, the cameras, and the microphones, and just concentrate on the audience. If they¢re engaged, if they are thinking about the issues and the possibilities, then I¢m happy. It¢s only when the computer freezes, or we lose the video connection, or the battery in my lapel mike dies, that things start to go down hill. But that¢s what all the technical support folks are for, and they generally do a great job of keeping things on track.         I¢ve taught this workshop enough times that I wasn¢t too worried about the presentation, but the discussion can be a challenge when part of your audience is ¢out of sight¢. In Thursday¢s workshop, there would be 9 field offices that I would have to try to remember to bring into the discussions. Those on their home computers would send text messages to a ¢moderator¢ in the conference room in Washington who would relay their comments and questions to me in written form. I hoped it would go well.           I left for the office early Thursday morning. Traffic was bad, however, so I only arrived about 20 minutes before ¢show time¢. Fortunately, the materials were all in place, the presentation was loaded into the computers, and all I had to do was to ¢¦.opps! I felt a pop at my waist, and realized my belt had come unbuckled. When I reached down to re-buckle it, however, I saw that the buckle had actually detached from the end where it had formerly been anchored. ¢Crappola¢, I thought. ¢I do NOT need this right now.¢         I headed for the men¢s room for some emergency repair work. Upon closer examination, I realized to my horror that there was no possibility of a repair. An almost new belt had simply chosen a highly inconvenient moment to ¢give up the ghost¢. ¢Great¢, I thought. ¢Here I am worried about how all of the high-tech configurations are going to work, and I¢m done in by a 32 inch piece of leather! (Ok, well, maybe 32 inches is a bit short of reality, but it¢s my journal and I¢m not about to admit that it was actually slightly, or maybe a bit more than slightly, longer than that¢¦.)        The ironies continued to grow. The pants I was wearing were probably the ONLY ones I own that are slightly too large for me. If I¢d worn almost any other pair of pants in my closet, there simply would not be an issue. The only good news was that I was wearing a sweater that covered the absence of a belt, and would help, in a slight way at least, to offset the pull of gravity. To reduce the forces of gravity, I immediately set about emptying the contents of my pockets: wallet, keys, pocket comb, handkerchief ¢ everything had to go.         I returned to the conference room and dumped the former contents of my pockets into my briefcase. I glanced at the ¢continental buffet¢ on the other side of the room, and wondered if I could possible consume enough bagels and orange juice to expand my waistline fast enough to avert the disaster whose image was quickly forming in the back of my mind:         In front of HALF of the WESTERN WORLD, the speaker¢s pants were going to slide, slowly and inexorably, down his legs to the floor. And just to add insult to injury, the entire event would be captured on video tape so that the OTHER HALF of the world would not be deprived of the opportunithy of observing his colossal mortification. I could almost hear my poor dead mother¢s voice as she turned over in her grave: ¢Fergawd sakes, son, I hope ta hell yer wearing clean underwear.¢        No time to worry any more now -- the show¢s about to start. One of the techies approaches me with the lapel microphone. He clips the "mike" to my collar, and hands me the batter pack. I stare at it for a brief instant, in obvious confusion. ¢You just clip it on your belt¢, he says, innocently enough, and heads back to his seat in the control room.         Now what! Ok, I can just set it on the table in front of me, and ¢¦ no! That won¢t work ¢ I move around to much when I talk. Ok, I can just hold it in my hand. No, that won¢t work either ¢ I gesture with my hands, and I¢d be waving the cord all over the place. Ok, wait. I¢ve GOT IT. I¢ll take the clip that normally goes on the belt, and clip it onto my pants ¢ only FROM THE INSIDE. Having the battery pack between me and my pants -- which takes up some of the slack ¢ will actually REDUCE the chances that they will fall on the floor while I¢m doing this workshop!        Brilliant, I think to myself, as I hurridly clip the pack into the inside of the back of my pants, and pull my sweater down over the tell-tale bulge. Curtains, everyone! Curtains!         I introduce myself, and tell them what a pleasure it is to be there with them. And I mean it, too, until I feel the battery pack starting to slide, slowly down the back of my leg¢¦   And then came Friday.