Hayseeds no more!
After the last trek-- we may be redeemed. We headed up to NYC again this week just for the day for a few meetings. One was a new business prospect with exciting potential. We assembled a small version of the band we took before, all woke up very early and made it just in time for the first meeting-- which went exceedingly well.
A brief portrait here needs to be painted. A key player in these meetings is one of the most intriguing people I know. He's an MIT grad who looks exactly like Larry David. Well, not exactly enough to hoodwink savvy NYC club doormen (which is repeatedly tested) , but there is a striking similarity. His manner of elocution can be very impressive; he's able to chameleonize to just about any business situation-- but with an uncanny familiarity with the subject matter. From cutting edge technology to very traditional institutions-- somehow its all packed into his bespeckled brain.
But what's hysterical is that he has all this New England-style sophistication within his speech--- but its rolled into a sort of hippy-like personage. He grew up in California and it shows. He lived in the East Village in the '70s where I have no doubt hallucinogens were part of common diet.
In other words, he isn't afraid to push a dialog to otherwordly boundries. Truly. Think Carl Sagan. He will sit back, pontificating something a client just said and at once blurst forth in a California sing-songy tone "Let me ask you this--- do you think dogs laugh? No, seriously, do animals laugh?"
I am usually sitting there, choking on the preganant pause that ensues, waiting for either applause or a set of blank stares. I have rarely been in a meeting where he doesn't elevate himself off the chair, gesticulating wildly with his hands, circling the table in his soft-shoe manner (its true, I can never hear him coming)-- steering the conversation out towards a blue, pulsing Planet Zulu.
There we were, hurtling westward through the park, late for our next meeting. I had discouraged MIT Sagan from coming, as it's with a film foundation that has a smaller budget that may not warrant Planet Zulu discussions, especially since most of the meeting was about back-end functionality. Dry. Things not in orbit.
He was not having it. I AM Film! He exclaimed. I thought to myself, alright, sure, he can come to this and be seated in the kitchen where we often are set, crowded around the small table with crumbs and on chairs with little cushions. I love this company, but there is nothing not quirky about it.
We walked up the stairs and I chuckled as I looked at over at my collegue, his proud head held high and his shoes untied. I had no idea what was in store.
Our lovely client raced to greet us and hugs were exchanged-- we were led into a small, dark room with many cushioned chairs, surrounded by servers, toner cartridges and rows of file cabinets. Cookies and coffee were laid out for us.
The meeting got underway and MIT was patiently letting us talk nitty-gritty. But not for long. All at once, he bellows in his musical-trippy way "So, may I ask you all...?" and he exposed his passion for the most obscure restrospectives and cult films; and how he was a part of the NYC theater scene 30 years ago. Who knew? The meeting then turned into a small cocktail party-- lots of excited conversations happening at once -- all of them good.
Within two hours, we'd nearly finished when I noticed MIT had levitated from the table. He's managed to shuffle unnoticed over towards some of their files and was practically rooting through thier books and posters. "Have you rolled yourself into one of the cabinets over there??" I asked. He turned a little red, said something charming and thanks to him, we left with armfuls of nifty swag.
After the last trek-- we may be redeemed. We headed up to NYC again this week just for the day for a few meetings. One was a new business prospect with exciting potential. We assembled a small version of the band we took before, all woke up very early and made it just in time for the first meeting-- which went exceedingly well.
A brief portrait here needs to be painted. A key player in these meetings is one of the most intriguing people I know. He's an MIT grad who looks exactly like Larry David. Well, not exactly enough to hoodwink savvy NYC club doormen (which is repeatedly tested) , but there is a striking similarity. His manner of elocution can be very impressive; he's able to chameleonize to just about any business situation-- but with an uncanny familiarity with the subject matter. From cutting edge technology to very traditional institutions-- somehow its all packed into his bespeckled brain.
But what's hysterical is that he has all this New England-style sophistication within his speech--- but its rolled into a sort of hippy-like personage. He grew up in California and it shows. He lived in the East Village in the '70s where I have no doubt hallucinogens were part of common diet.
In other words, he isn't afraid to push a dialog to otherwordly boundries. Truly. Think Carl Sagan. He will sit back, pontificating something a client just said and at once blurst forth in a California sing-songy tone "Let me ask you this--- do you think dogs laugh? No, seriously, do animals laugh?"
I am usually sitting there, choking on the preganant pause that ensues, waiting for either applause or a set of blank stares. I have rarely been in a meeting where he doesn't elevate himself off the chair, gesticulating wildly with his hands, circling the table in his soft-shoe manner (its true, I can never hear him coming)-- steering the conversation out towards a blue, pulsing Planet Zulu.
There we were, hurtling westward through the park, late for our next meeting. I had discouraged MIT Sagan from coming, as it's with a film foundation that has a smaller budget that may not warrant Planet Zulu discussions, especially since most of the meeting was about back-end functionality. Dry. Things not in orbit.
He was not having it. I AM Film! He exclaimed. I thought to myself, alright, sure, he can come to this and be seated in the kitchen where we often are set, crowded around the small table with crumbs and on chairs with little cushions. I love this company, but there is nothing not quirky about it.
We walked up the stairs and I chuckled as I looked at over at my collegue, his proud head held high and his shoes untied. I had no idea what was in store.
Our lovely client raced to greet us and hugs were exchanged-- we were led into a small, dark room with many cushioned chairs, surrounded by servers, toner cartridges and rows of file cabinets. Cookies and coffee were laid out for us.
The meeting got underway and MIT was patiently letting us talk nitty-gritty. But not for long. All at once, he bellows in his musical-trippy way "So, may I ask you all...?" and he exposed his passion for the most obscure restrospectives and cult films; and how he was a part of the NYC theater scene 30 years ago. Who knew? The meeting then turned into a small cocktail party-- lots of excited conversations happening at once -- all of them good.
Within two hours, we'd nearly finished when I noticed MIT had levitated from the table. He's managed to shuffle unnoticed over towards some of their files and was practically rooting through thier books and posters. "Have you rolled yourself into one of the cabinets over there??" I asked. He turned a little red, said something charming and thanks to him, we left with armfuls of nifty swag.
