Author / Jim Cota

Posts by Jim Cota

Jim lives in Indianapolis with his wife and four kids and feels lucky to work with the fine folks at Rare Bird. An occasional writer, tweeter, and shooter. If you need to know anything else about me, this should do it...

Net Transparency: A Compelling Argument for Airing (All) the Laundry

A friend (thanks, Doug!) sent along a link to a Wired Magazine article about the “See-Through CEO“, referring to the emerging trend of CEOs posting openly and honestly about… well, about basically everything. The article makes an extremely compelling argument for laying it all on the line, becoming part of the online conversation, and – in effect – helping to steer some of that conversation via participation.

Late in the article the author makes the distinction between “secrecy” and “lies.” Essentially, companies can’t afford to tell lies anymore because the odds of being discovered are so great. You can, however, still try to maintain some secrecy in your business practices and, in many cases, this makes perfect sense. They cite the iPhone as a legitimate example of maintaining secrecy and control to deliver a stunning product. So secrecy can continue as necessary, but any sort of untruth, even a little white lie, will likely serve as tinder for the upcoming flame.

Having been blogging for some time, I can see the logic of the argument. Some of these case studies, like Redfin, simply couldn’t have been handled as cleanly in any other way. But as a trusted advisor to many small- to medium-sized organizations, I’m left wondering about the issue at the center: Does anyone really care?

Do people out there really care what is going on behind the scenes in a small IT firm? Or a medical equipment manufacturer? Does anyone really want to know the challenges facing the owner of growing durable goods maker? Or the things I face running my company? Ultimately, I think they do. Maybe not a lot of people, but each of these businesses has customers, vendors and employees. And I submit that they care quite a lot. And those small audiences are reason enough to stay involved, stay engaged, and continuing putting out the laundry for all to see.

[Read “The See-Through CEO” on Wired]

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Joel and Mary were in town a couple of weeks ago and they brought with them a present for Jack: “A Light In The Attic” by Shel Silverstein. I loved these poems when I was a kid and we’re enjoying them; it’s great fun to read about flying hippos, Whattifs who enter your head at night and Clarence Lee (who ordered new parents.)

But there are a few here that have a decidedly adult point of view and tell stories much deeper than most kids will realize. For example:

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the little old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the little boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.

Come to Tennessee and… Oops!

This is classic. A recent ad created by Memphis advertising agency Chandler Ehrlich touted the great mountain biking available in Tennessee. And, honestly, there is quite a bit. The problem was the sizzle they used to sell the steak…

Turns out that during the Fall, many of the leaves fall off the trees in Tennessee. (It sucks, it happens here in Indiana, too.) So by the time the concept got approved, the photo would have been less than appealing. Two choices (well, I think they had other choices, but they apparently thought they had two): Either scrap the ad or find a stock photo. (I think “alter the ad or find an appropriate photo… perhaps taken by a mountain biker in the state of Tennessee”, but I digress.)

What they did, instead, was buy a stock photo. Of a mountain biker. In Alaska. And then they ran the ad across the country in some fairly major publications like Outside Magazine and Travel + Leisure, where it just so happens that a reader recognized the photo and realized that it uh… wasn’t the Smokies.

[Read a great account of the full story]

(Photo by Erik Hill/Anchorage Daily News)

Lenten Resolutions

While riding in the car today with Lily (6)and Jack (4), we got to talking about Lenten resolutions. I asked Lily what her plans were.

“I’m giving up pouting,” she answered. “I’m also going to make my bed every day. And I’m going to pray at night and in the morning.”

“That’s good,” I responded. “How about you, Jack?”

“Can I think?” he asked. This is his standard phrase when he means to say “I’m thinking…”

After a minute or so he said, “Dad, I’m going to give up opening umbrellas in the house.” Lily began to reprimand him about that, telling him he’s supposed to give up something he does a little more often than once.

“I agree with Lily, Jack. Maybe you should give up something else, too,” I said. “Can you give up pouting?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Can you give up arguing with your sisters?”

“No,” he said, with a slight air of honesty and certainty.

I guess I’ll be satisfied with the umbrella thing.

The Fiery Sermon

[Ed. note: My sister Diane sent this to me recently and I thought it was a great illustration of the role we can all play in building better communities, faith-based or otherwise. /Jim]

A member of a certain church, who previously had been attending services regularly, stopped going. After a few weeks, the pastor decided to visit him.

It was a chilly evening. The pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for his pastor’s visit, the man welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace and waited.

The pastor made himself at home but said nothing. In the grave silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs. After some minutes, the pastor took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth all alone. Then he sat back in his chair, still silent. The host watched all this in quiet contemplation. As the one lone ember’s flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow and then its fire was no more. Soon it was cold and dead.

Not a word had been spoken since the initial greeting. The Pastor glanced at his watch and realized it was time to leave. He slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember and placed it back in the middle of the fire. Immediately it began to glow, once more with the light and warmth of the burning coals around it.

As the pastor reached the door to leave, his host said with a tear running down his cheek, “Thank you so much for your visit and especially for the fiery sermon. I shall be back in church next Sunday.”