Archive for the ‘Reflexions’ Category

I know. You thought Second Life was dead. Let’s be honest: Who would be interested in avatars anyway? No money to make there… Well, think again. A virtual-life-savvy hotel resort on a sunny beach in Japan is making a fortune. In real money .

The concept is simple: the resort lets you spend a flower-scented romantic weekend with the virtual love of your digital life. Mind you, not the gorgeous long-legged girl that is operating your favorite manga avatar. Nope… a weekend with a virtual cartoon.  Hundreds of manga addicted, 3G sidekick packing men are visiting the resort to date… an avatar.    A Japanese beach town has found a new tourism niche by drawing young men and their virtual girlfriends. The Ohnoya hotel and the nearby town attract over 2,000 real visitors for this!

All over the resort, these men point their smartphones at AR codes -a two-dimensional barcode that looks like tiny black and white squares-. Thanks to “augmented reality” (AR) software, their fetish manga avatar appears on the screen overlay of their phone.

Last year, a Japanese man calling himself SAL9000 married his favorite cartoon beauty Nene Anegasaki in a tuxedo ceremony that was an incredible hit on YouTube.

Now obsessed young men hunt for scarce dressed manga girls all over the peaceful pacific Japanese coast to fulfill… well, I’m not exactly sure what .

Guy Kawasaki pointed me to a brand new profession Chief Listener. Forget the fuzzy sweater, the inviting divan or the steaming pot of tea near the cozy fireplace. A Chief Listener listens online, looking if the brand that pays him/her gets mentioned somewhere.

Lately online titles crack me up. Browsing through twitter biographies I find Chief Social Media Officers, Gurus, Specialists, an  Onlinemetrist, Padawans, SoMeYedi’s , Experts, a Tweetpert (I kid you not), Chief Online Conversation Analyst, Conversation Managers, Mavens, Social Media Cross Over Consultants, and –I hope you are sitting – a non-executive chairman of a digital thinktank. Nomen est omen.

I have the bizarre feeling that the more a person is in the dark on what to do for a living, the more eccentric the online title becomes .  I need to build a reputational savvy global positioning creditproof title for when I grow up. Rainmaker. I think it suits me .

I showed some good friends around in Normandy. You cannot get past the Cider, the Camembert, the Calvados and the gorgeous countryside. But all over the fields and forests, all over the dunes and beaches are the marks of the Second World War. There is simply no way of getting the hang of Normandy, if you do not try to understand its past… from William the Conqueror to the countless young lives that died for their respective colors 65 years ago.

So we showed up at the Normandy American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer.  General Mark W. Clark said one day “all we asked was enough soil in which to burry our dead”, and here it was:  172.5 acres of perfectly landscaped memorial grounds are overlooking Omaha beach and the English Channel. It contains the remains of 9,387 American military dead, most of whom were killed during the invasion of Normandy and ensuing military operations in World War II.

It was raining cats and dogs. It was cold. There was a stormy wind that chilled us to the bones. But hearing superintendent Hans H. Hooker talk about his cemetery was heartwarming.  In the pouring rain, he sketched us the grim details of the landing, bringing back lives of young men that died on those beaches, Americans and Germans alike. Here is a man with a passion for history, simply reminding us never to forget, urging us to remember.  I just hope that people as passionate and respectful as Hans will still be around for our kids, and the kids of our kids.  Over 9000 white crosses and stars of David silently witness about the absurdness of war. We need people to continue to tell their story…. .

Sometimes there’s a man… I won’t say a hero, ’cause, what’s a hero? But sometimes, there’s a man. Sometimes, there’s a man, well, he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there.

Yep… it happens to the best of us. I got a bit older. Steaming right past forty on to the golden age of Abraham. Still nine years to go. A lifetime.

Dabbing my toe left and right in the stormy waters of Social Media, I bumped into a fascinating quote from Google big boss Eric Schmidt (Google him, it’s impressive ). He said in an interview with the Wall Street Journal: “I don’t believe society understands what happens when everything is available, knowable and recorded by everyone all the time… I mean we really have to think about these things as a society… Young people may one day have to change their names in order to escape their previous online activity.”

This is a concern I have voiced for a long time now. Do people really know what they are sharing? Do people really want to tell every last detail of their most private lives online, for Google to index? Do people realize that that very cute picture in that minuscule teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini is available for their future boss? What about the massive tagging of pictures taken by smartphones in the dark of a hen night? Do people realize Tweets are indexed and kept, long after their authors have deleted and forgotten them?

Schmidt has a point. Digital citizens should be more aware of the digital traces they leave behind. Some social auto-responsibility is required, indeed. Some social clean up even: map your real friends. Find a circle where sharing is mutual and well defined. Un-friend and un-follow the shady ones. Be online street-smart. And we need more e-netiquette. The freedom of waving your digital camera around ends where someone else’s freedom (for privacy) begins. An opt-in/opt-out for tagging?

We all can become social-digital smarter. But we’ve all been young. We’ve all partied. We’ve all made big, social mistakes. Luckily, for my generation, the memories of those mistakes have been blissfully eroded by the softening hand of time. Should we now be merciless on youngsters that made that one drunken mistake online? Should we continue to judge that one girl for loving the wrong guy just a bit too much, and ending up tagged on exgirlfriends.com?

Maybe Eric Schmidt and his all-powerful Google have a responsibility here: can you get a second chance from Google? Imagine, mister Schmidt, if a youngster made that one online mistake, and motivates why he/she would like to see it blown into –permanent- oblivion.  Could you alter your logarithm, and give the kid the rest of his/her life back? Would that not be easier, more respectful, and more educative than just offering future generations the possibility to change their names?

But I do not want to put the entire burden on Eric Schmidt’s shoulders, I agree with online consultant Suw Charman-Anderson who said somewhere:  “As a society, we are just going to have to become a bit more forgiving of the follies of youth.”

Richard Branson and me… It is something that occasionally flashes through my head, at the backend of a long and fruitful day. I enjoy a chilled over-alcoholic drink in my arty recliner, contemplating about life, the universe, everything. Where am I, halfway this life of me? How am I doing in general? You’ll understand I cannot benchmark myself against the normal people in my street or town, as it would be unfair to them. You surely see? So here is the question, benchmarking amongst my peers… the difference between Richard Branson and me? (I need another drink)

I am a boy. A big one. I am easy, honestly. I love gadgets. Give me something with batteries, an on/off button, some wireless hocus pocus and a handful of twinkling LED’s and I’ll be happily humming in a corner figuring it out.

My birthday is coming up. I know all of you desperately want to make me very very happy. But what could make me happy? What has little LED’s, some augmented reality, a remote control and enough coolness to chill even the best bottle of Zubowka into an ice cube?

Well, luckily, Nicolas Halftermeyer pointed me towards Henri Seydoux. SEydoux,  from the Paris based Parrot company,  is still a boy in his own right. He and his engineers came up with about the coolest toy on this side of the galaxy: a flying drone, iPad controlled, augmented reality enhanced, all wireless and with an OOMPH factor to freeze hell all over. Twice.

The Parrot AR drone. Look no further. As said, I am easy to please.

It’s almost funny. I met a distinguished communication specialist, -expensive suit, nicely groomed grey hair- rambling at a cocktail party a week ago. He gave his attentive audience some remarkable quotes… one of them being that “digital communication is a nice to have these days”. Nice to have. That is what he is counseling his clients. Nice to have. When I wanted to know if he actually ever used social media, he confessed that he did “not have the time for any of that modern nonsense”.

I can find a plethora of well paid, highly intelligent consultants counseling their clients on digital: without any experience, knowledge, frame of reference or even remote understanding. People with less than a handful followers on Twitter, who never tweet, who are not experimenting, who have no access to any metric tools are helping brands decide on how to communicate. Do not get me wrong. I do not think for a moment that all wisdom and results come through or from social media. I am an honest believer in integrated communications. Keep the best of the past, add the best of today, and you’ll be armed for the future…

But, seriously, how can you give valuable advice on something you do not practice, that you do not know, and that you do not master? How do you take the responsibility? It beats me. These people do not have a clue how social media can be a great add-on to the communication mix. . The reason is mindblowing simple: they do not know, because they do not use it themselves. Management by example. Counseling by example. Only people who actively participate in social media are able to determine if their clients could benefit in any way. Not being involved in social media gives you absolutely no insights on what it is about. So you should be silent about it.

On every corner of the street, there is a self-proclaimed social media guru now, shooting some buzzwords in a presentation, and trying to tap into the marketing honey-pot.

Never take advice from a guru with an online social capital that is lower than your own. Call it street wisdom.

I get my social media streams funneled into my brain through five screens. Content comes in swiftly at a nice steady rate of about a tweet/post/second. Do not worry. If your content is remotely interesting, challenging, funny, edgy, groundbreaking or special… I will notice. I have a decent, well-equipped army of filters, aggregators, spam detectors and fluff busters.  None of the spam shall pass. None.

But I do get the flying green space invaders looking at messages, tweets and posts that get seeded by #’s. I know hash tags are a useful thing. I love hash tags. Heck, I use hash tags. But I would love it if people would just use them wisely, with caution. Not all the time. Not #everywordbelongsbehindahashtag you know. And if you need a hash tag so #yourmessagelooksfunny, maybe you should redefine the metric fun system.

O well. #maybeImjustgettingold.

You do not have to follow me, you do not have to follow anybody .

Call me a nostalgic. But I am still living out my Star War years. X-fighters. The Wookie. Princess Leia chained in a teenie weenie gold bikini. The Force. It’s dark side. The little beeps of R2D2. Yoda.

Sometimes, I admit, I hoover through highway traffic similar to Han Solo swinging his beloved Millennium Falcon through a treacherous asteroid field… with brio .

And now, on top of the delicious Yoda wisdom (Do or do not, there is no try), some Star Wars illuminati have developed a whole range of Star Wars referring Yoga positions. When Yoda goes Yoga, the force is powerful .

Rich people. You know them. The ones that buy Bugatti Veyrons.  The ones flying private 747. The ones that ask top-notch designers to remold their way too young spouses. The ones that buy islands. The ones looking ridiculous smart and cool in designer clothes. The ones earning more per day through interest on capital than you will in a lifetime. Those ones. Rich people.

Most blogs, people magazines, press and Joe six-pack tend to hate, despise and envy them. Them. Their lives. Their wives. Their fortune.

But what know?  Thirty-four U.S. billionaires pledged today to give away at least 50 percent of their wealth to charity during their lifetime or after their death and to publicly state their intention with a letter of explanation. This remarkable pledge is part of a campaign started and spearheaded by investor Warren Buffett and Microsoft founder Bill Gates. (Both. Extremely. Rich. People.)

Among the billionaires that apparently joined the campaign are (quoting Reuters here), -of all people- New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, entertainment executive Barry Diller, Oracle co-founder Larry Ellison, energy tycoon T. Boone Pickens, media mogul Ted Turner, David Rockefeller and investor Ronald Perelman.

I am baffled. There might be hope for this planet after all.

I sat James Cameron’s version of Titanic out. Wishing to be somewhere else. Not understanding why you needed that much slow-motion to sink a ship. Timing how alien-long it took for bodies to crash on decks. Trying to keep an interested face while the obligatory love-story was steamingly consumed on the backseat of an oldtimer. On a cruisehip. I hated every second of the 194 minutes (!). Vowed never to buy, download, webstream or rent the thing.

I thought I was over it. My therapist thought I was over it. But some Bonobo did it again… they will roll Titanic 2 soon. With a delicious plot: On the 100th anniversary of the original voyage, a modern luxury liner christened “Titanic 2,” follows the path of its namesake. But when a tsunami hurls an ice berg into the new ship’s path, the passengers and crew must fight to avoid a similar fate.

Some plots should be shot before they’re pitched…. and quartered for good measure.

My colleagues from the London office invited me to speak at their healthcare event “How to communicate with the 21st Century Patient”.  Highlighting the importance of digital media seemed a logical thing .  More and more patients turn to the internet as their first source of information, confronting their medical practitioners and doctors with the information they have found online. Dealing with this “dr Google phenomenon” is something that is changing the medical playfield, and frankly a bit of a challenge.

A freelance healthcare writer, co-presenting at the event, is an excellent    journalist (with a focus on print media). However, I had to disagree with her when she stated that off-line information is per definition better than on-line information, and that online providers of content are mostly inferior to off-line providers.

And that is when the sleeping journalist in me roared. When I was a young press monkey, older journalists were better, and journalists with a blue accreditation cards were better than the ones with a green card. Now the quality debate shifted to it’s online, or offline.  Honestly, that is enough nonsense to propel a pound of half-cooked beef in an orbit around Betelgeuse.

It is NOT about off line or online. It is about quality of content. If the content is good, crosschecked, weighed, referenced, footnoted, transparent, honest and correct…. I could not care less if it is written by a journalist with a diamond incrusted press card, or by a nerdy blogger in a Hindustani basement.

Encyclopedia Britannica, the self-proclaimed God of wisdom, proves to be less correct than the crowd sourced, wiki-drafted, and community controlled Wikipedia.

Trust me, you will also find fine and balanced content online. Written by journalists; bloggers; moms and dreamy eyed students. Not all of those have nihil obstat press card blessing… who cares?

Mom tried to raise me to be an honorable citizen. Thinking of it: so did dad. Greet people. Thank them. Speak with two words. Be helpful. Pay for things you need. Get older ladies safely across busy streets.

Honestly, they succeeded quiet well.  I was managing reasonably good, trying to be mister almost perfect. And then… I bought an iPad. And my world shifted. Because mister Steve Jobs disagrees with mom. He does not want me to be a nice citizen.

My iPad has all this great tools and things. It’s a fully mobile, highly connected dog-and pony show. But to make half of the stuff work, mister Jobs wants me to cheat. I live in Belgium, and iTunes will not let me buy ebooks. ITunes will not let me buy TV-series. iTunes will not let me buy movies. No buying, no renting. God and Steve know why.

I cannot even buy my favorite stuff in another country than Belgium. iTunes will not let me. American Express and Visa ensure there is nothing wrong with my credit. There is something wrong with iTunes. There is something wrong with Steve.

Now that he pocketed a small 1000 dollars, I discover that some nice features of my iPad only will work if I rip or download illegally. Apple will not take my good money for legal entertainment on my kosher personal iPad.

Sorry mom… blame Steve. But nothing will stand between me and an iPad driven Monthy Python.

There is always something. An earthquake. Michael Jackson passes away. Brittney Spears could not find her undies. Steve Jobs iPhone presentation crashed (hihi). Paris Hilton hates undies. Perez Hilton accuses Miley Cyrus of doing a Spears/Hilton. The BP oil well catastrophe, Porter Novelli doing a EMEA social media tour….

Every day something pops up that shakes the web and throws my beloved Tweetdek bananas. But I can live with that. It puts a smile on my face, makes me a little wiser, and gives me something to talk about in the elevator.

But trop is too much. I hate football, yet the whole twitterverse cracks at its seams because a couple of million bonobos all over the world painted in their favorite war-colours (seriously orange?) chatter endlessly on how  where and when a midsized leather ball should roll. Seriously, it’s football. Keep it in your sofa, between your pizza and sixpack.

In about a weeks time sweating men with shaved legs will take over the twitterverse, steaming up and down some way overrated French hills in de Tour de France. And, mind my words, Twitter will crash again.

I have nothing against all that healthy sporting on TV, but when it crashes my online universe I’m getting annoyed. I’ve seen more Twitter fail whales than I can handle. I hate fail whales.

So does Mariana Pugliese, a web savvy cake designer from sunny Buenos Aires. The haunting fail whale chased  her so badly at night, that she decided to create it in real life… and eat it.

Cool. A Fail Whale Cake. Can’t wait till @princess_misia makes me one….

It must be a plague, or a disease. In any case it seems contagious. And freaking annoying. For some reason way too many people tell me they’re not into Social Media. They do not get it, do not need it, were never on it, will surely quit it soon. It makes their lives miserable; it will ruin their family life, and in no way it can get compatible with their work environment. Most probably the life expectation of this planet goes down the drain per tweet that leaves my Tweetdeck.

All of this garbage-nagging gets to me by phone, over a beer, on Facebook, Twitter or when I’m bolting something manly and robust on my Landy. Most often the people who shower me with this nonsense tilt their head a bit to the left, and wait expectantly. For the argument. For the arguments. For that flood of highly intelligent, moist-making logic, highly skilled ratio and passionate savoir-faire.  They wait for me to tackle their opinion, to try to convince them otherwise, to prove them wrong…

They’re waiting for a fight….

But frankly, I cannot be bothered. I just don’t care. If people think they should not be on Twitter, that is fine by me. They can quit Facebook, any day. They can blow their blog out of the water.  I care as much as them trying to buy a pink Hummer.

Honestly, it’s a free world. You have the right to think Social Media is wrong, overrated, annoying and will affect us as a species in a way that most certainly displeases Darwin.

Just do not bore me with it ….

Shuffling through my weekly mountain of undigested news, I stumbled on a nice article in the Wall Street Journal on how Digital Media have created countless gigabytes of text, sound, and images… most of it created by people who understand little of the professional standards and practices for media. One might think that this produces an un-fresh sea of mediocrity, eroding quality and acceptability, and steering humanity as we know it directly into chaos and intellectual collapse.

But do not jump too quickly to the wrong conclusions. Since Gutenberg invented the book press (and people eroded contemporary literature with vulgar versions of the Bible and its interpretation) , every increase in freedom to create or consume alarms people who want to defend the old system and set of metrics….  Every century, the “old ones” accuse the new technology to make the younger generation stupid. And still, humanity seems to get smarter, week by week…

Close to two billion people today are connected to the same network, spending more than a trillion hours a year of free time, creating a cognitive surplus so gigantic that even a tiny fraction of it that can be seen as “valuable” creates breathtaking positive effects.

The Wall Street Journal states that: “Increased freedom to create means increased freedom to create throwaway material, as well as freedom to indulge in the experimentation that eventually makes the good new stuff possible.”

On this rainy Sunday I agree. We’re watching a digital revolution: on communications, media, press, conversations, connections, privacy, work/life balance, and countless other holy grails.  There is never an easy way through a revolution. We’ll have to ride it out, bolting the rails just in front of a fast moving train.   Of one thing I’m convinced, in the end, when we will lick our wounds, and watch how the dust settles… we’ll discover it will have made us stronger, and smarter.

One of the great things about the weekends is that I can cuddle in my favorite Corbusier long chair, with something mighty nice to drink,  John Coltrane’s melancholic saxophone through my Sony acoustic system…and something to read. While I spend my evenings and nights devouring novels and romans, my weekends are for catching up on newspapers and scientific magazines. Guess what, more and more I read those online… on the screen of my laptop. And… that is not very compatible with my relaxed dude-in-long chair attitude. No good way to hold the microcomputer.

41, and trying to find a way to justify an iPad. Midlife crisis, is that you?