My first and only reporter job was a technology dork’s dream come true. In the 90s, Computer Technology Review was a tabloid version of eWeek and Light Reading. I thought writing about firewalls and Java was just about the coolest job ever. And then I started listening to Mark Ferelli go on and on and on and on some more about storage. I was hooked.
Disk, tape, optical. Then there RAID which I just found fascinating of course. But I always wondered. Aren’t we eventually going to, um, run out of space? I mean, great that we can store just about any type of data on multiple types of storage. Woopeedoo. What happens when we run out of room?
About two years ago I started following this crazy and outlandish concept called Cloud Computing. I remember telling just about anyone who would listen and I usually got the glazed over stare after I started explaining how Cloud works. I realize this isn’t exactly compelling dinner party conversation material. Interestingly enough, that seems to have changed.
Not that every dinner party I attend is centered on Cloud, but thank the sweet baby Jesus that I’m not the only nerd making noises about this confusing yet inevitable storage method. But now the conversation has changed. It’s no longer “what the hell is Cloud Computing”, but more like “are you sure we can trust this so-called Cloud”? The public Cloud versus the private Cloud versus the hybrid Cloud. How can we really tell if our information is safe, secure and untouchable by the most ambitious hacker?
There are already several standards organizations formed to establish Cloud Computing best practices, as well as determine security measures that expand or contract depending on the type of Cloud storage used. Similar to WiMAX and U3, Cloud might seem like a tease. It’s real and it’s already changing the way companies do business.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though. Cloud Computing has and will continue to impact the way companies manage their data. There is a limit, however. Even Ed Sperling’s recent article titled ‘Not Everything Will Move to the Cloud’ makes it crystal clear that some data and applications will never make it to the big Cloud in the sky. Large financial institutions and big manufacturing plants can’t leverage the Cloud because of security compliance or massive data too big to be contained.
And here all this time I’ve assumed that Cloud adoption was all about space. And trust. Clearly it’s all still up in the air.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Monday, September 21, 2009
There are no small parts, only small businesses.
My father always tried so hard to console me every time I didn’t get the lead in the school play. I never bought the ‘no small parts’ business. I wanted to get the lead character with the most lines and best possibility for totally hamming it up onstage. I know, obnoxious. But let’s not focus on that. As I got older and honed my acting skills, I got better parts, but never the lead.
Now I’m the starring role in the very interesting little play called ‘Teena Touch PR’. I’ve been told a million times over the part of the past 10 years that I should start my own business. Yeah, right. I can barely navigate my way through thick company politics. How on earth would I start, run and grow a business? I’m just getting the hang of houseplants.
Like my career in public relations, I got here totally by accident. Let’s not assume it was all random fate; I was born for PR. I get so passionate and excited and fulfilled when I bring my clients great success that solves their business needs. I just never imagined that I would be successful doing PR for my clients in my own special way. But here I am.
In the past few months since Teena Touch PR was born, I have learned the following nuggets of small business intelligence:
1. Write a business plan. Even if you don’t need capital to start or run your business, it’s imperative to have the structure of a business plan to mentally guide you through the first few years.
2. Run the numbers. My sister is a money wizard and did me the huge favor of breaking down the details of what I will need to grow my business over time.
3. Learn how to negotiate. If you under bid on a piece of business because you don’t want to scare away a potential client with a large price tag, you will always find yourself working for nearly nothing. Be realistic and never sell yourself short.
4. Don’t ask your other self-employed friends for advice. Everyone has their own opinion, but you will often find that there is a very good reason that you have clients and they do not.
5. Use the Internet for resources. Pretty much any moron can start a small business. But doing it right takes skill, intelligence, research and a little help from websites like LegalZoom, GoDaddy, VistaPrint and GoToMeeting.
6. Don’t hire a partner. It sounds like a great idea. Two heads are better than one and all that business. When you’re just starting out, go at it alone. Trust me.
7. Schmooze, even if you don’t like people. Networking events, Facebook, Twitter, Associations, Linked In and the like will no doubt connect you to other people in your industry. I’m not a big fan of any networking honestly, but it’s a necessary evil. And if you don’t Tweet and post on Facebook and go to Happy Hours then you are limiting your own exposure and recognition.
8. Eat before Noon. Your brain will stop working by 2 or 3 pm. When you start babbling to yourself, it’s time to eat.
9. Shower before 2 pm. If you don’t, you will still be sitting in your stinky PJs from last night at 11:30 pm. Been there, done that.
10. Leave the house once a day. Even if you take the dog to the park, that’s fine. There’s something to be said about changing the scenery.
11. File all of the necessary paperwork. Get a business license, Federal Tax ID Number and all that official paperwork mailed away to the appropriate state and government officials. Sounds complicated; it’s not.
12. Don’t fall for the Small Business Loan scams. If you start looking for capital, you will run into several shady characters who will promise the sun, moon and stars. Run.
13. Be patient. Just when I wanted to throw my laptop out the window and go back to my cushy job in corporate communications, I started gaining traction. Now I’m making more than I ever did at said cushy corporate job.
This isn’t easiest path to take, but being an entrepreneur gives you more freedom than you ever imagined before. While it can sometimes be a bit challenging to tackle a problem alone when you’re so used to a team, you will start to trust yourself and feel confident in your recommended strategies.
I should have done this years ago but something tells me that I wasn’t quite ready until now. And timing is everything, even for those of us who always get the small parts.
Now I’m the starring role in the very interesting little play called ‘Teena Touch PR’. I’ve been told a million times over the part of the past 10 years that I should start my own business. Yeah, right. I can barely navigate my way through thick company politics. How on earth would I start, run and grow a business? I’m just getting the hang of houseplants.
Like my career in public relations, I got here totally by accident. Let’s not assume it was all random fate; I was born for PR. I get so passionate and excited and fulfilled when I bring my clients great success that solves their business needs. I just never imagined that I would be successful doing PR for my clients in my own special way. But here I am.
In the past few months since Teena Touch PR was born, I have learned the following nuggets of small business intelligence:
1. Write a business plan. Even if you don’t need capital to start or run your business, it’s imperative to have the structure of a business plan to mentally guide you through the first few years.
2. Run the numbers. My sister is a money wizard and did me the huge favor of breaking down the details of what I will need to grow my business over time.
3. Learn how to negotiate. If you under bid on a piece of business because you don’t want to scare away a potential client with a large price tag, you will always find yourself working for nearly nothing. Be realistic and never sell yourself short.
4. Don’t ask your other self-employed friends for advice. Everyone has their own opinion, but you will often find that there is a very good reason that you have clients and they do not.
5. Use the Internet for resources. Pretty much any moron can start a small business. But doing it right takes skill, intelligence, research and a little help from websites like LegalZoom, GoDaddy, VistaPrint and GoToMeeting.
6. Don’t hire a partner. It sounds like a great idea. Two heads are better than one and all that business. When you’re just starting out, go at it alone. Trust me.
7. Schmooze, even if you don’t like people. Networking events, Facebook, Twitter, Associations, Linked In and the like will no doubt connect you to other people in your industry. I’m not a big fan of any networking honestly, but it’s a necessary evil. And if you don’t Tweet and post on Facebook and go to Happy Hours then you are limiting your own exposure and recognition.
8. Eat before Noon. Your brain will stop working by 2 or 3 pm. When you start babbling to yourself, it’s time to eat.
9. Shower before 2 pm. If you don’t, you will still be sitting in your stinky PJs from last night at 11:30 pm. Been there, done that.
10. Leave the house once a day. Even if you take the dog to the park, that’s fine. There’s something to be said about changing the scenery.
11. File all of the necessary paperwork. Get a business license, Federal Tax ID Number and all that official paperwork mailed away to the appropriate state and government officials. Sounds complicated; it’s not.
12. Don’t fall for the Small Business Loan scams. If you start looking for capital, you will run into several shady characters who will promise the sun, moon and stars. Run.
13. Be patient. Just when I wanted to throw my laptop out the window and go back to my cushy job in corporate communications, I started gaining traction. Now I’m making more than I ever did at said cushy corporate job.
This isn’t easiest path to take, but being an entrepreneur gives you more freedom than you ever imagined before. While it can sometimes be a bit challenging to tackle a problem alone when you’re so used to a team, you will start to trust yourself and feel confident in your recommended strategies.
I should have done this years ago but something tells me that I wasn’t quite ready until now. And timing is everything, even for those of us who always get the small parts.
Monday, September 7, 2009
“Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act”. +Truman Capote
It appears that growing up has some disadvantages. I don’t really mind being called ma’am, and I am getting used to my body changing in ways I never really imagined. I do, however, take issue with large crowds and general admission seating at concerts.
We got up at 5 am to get a spot in the front row to see Dave Matthews Band at Outside Lands this year. Last year I waited for a total of 18 hours for three different Dave Matthews Band shows also with general admission seating. I’m clearly a rabid fan who has no problem waiting in the cold, heat, rain or sleet. I learned something new this year: I’m too old to battle the sardine can that is the front row of an open admission concert.
There are only three instances where you will find me running: if I’m playing basketball, softball or if someone with a large knife or gun is chasing me down the street. That’s it. I’m in no hurry otherwise. But that Saturday morning, I was booking it all the way through the Polo Field at Golden Gate Park to the front of the stage. So you see, I went to great lengths to secure my prime position at the very front of the crowd.
Enter stage left: snotty, bitchy, surly beast of a teenybopper who inserted herself into the front row. She wedged her big bootylicious in between our group of five like she had been waiting there since midnight. I managed to squeeze out her and her harem of Paris Hilton look-a-likes before we went off searching for Farmer Brown’s fried chicken.
For the first time ever, I was the old crotchety crabapple who got all snippy with a youngster and put her in her place for attempting to hijack our seats. I mean, really. The nerve.
After a little siesta in the sun with delectable treats, we attempted to return to our friends and Surly Teenybopper in the front row. Wading through a huge crowd like that feels kind of like playing Twister with a full beer in your hand. By the time we reached the front, Surly Teenybopper had taken up full residence in our spot and she was NOT giving it up.
I decided to choose my battle wisely and ditch my prime front row seats. The seats I got up for before dawn and waited 5 hours in line to run a mile and then wait for 7 more hours in the sun. If I was to have a remotely enjoyable concert experience, I’d have to do it from far away. So, the Fiance and I fled the sardine can and still enjoyed the stunning concert from our picnic blanket off to the side of the stage.
Ten years ago, I would have kicked Surly Teenybopper in the shins and told her where to shove her self-important, pretentious and little hussy attitude. I would have been all fine and dandy with being shoved, poked and prodded during a 2 hour concert. But it just ain’t worth it anymore.
The truth is, I am older now. I think those damned kids’ music is too loud. I can’t understand the ridiculous trendy vintage outfits and the bizarre hairdos that accompany this entitled generation. My third act seems to be a farce of sorts, though I am thoroughly enjoying the writing process.
We got up at 5 am to get a spot in the front row to see Dave Matthews Band at Outside Lands this year. Last year I waited for a total of 18 hours for three different Dave Matthews Band shows also with general admission seating. I’m clearly a rabid fan who has no problem waiting in the cold, heat, rain or sleet. I learned something new this year: I’m too old to battle the sardine can that is the front row of an open admission concert.
There are only three instances where you will find me running: if I’m playing basketball, softball or if someone with a large knife or gun is chasing me down the street. That’s it. I’m in no hurry otherwise. But that Saturday morning, I was booking it all the way through the Polo Field at Golden Gate Park to the front of the stage. So you see, I went to great lengths to secure my prime position at the very front of the crowd.
Enter stage left: snotty, bitchy, surly beast of a teenybopper who inserted herself into the front row. She wedged her big bootylicious in between our group of five like she had been waiting there since midnight. I managed to squeeze out her and her harem of Paris Hilton look-a-likes before we went off searching for Farmer Brown’s fried chicken.
For the first time ever, I was the old crotchety crabapple who got all snippy with a youngster and put her in her place for attempting to hijack our seats. I mean, really. The nerve.
After a little siesta in the sun with delectable treats, we attempted to return to our friends and Surly Teenybopper in the front row. Wading through a huge crowd like that feels kind of like playing Twister with a full beer in your hand. By the time we reached the front, Surly Teenybopper had taken up full residence in our spot and she was NOT giving it up.
I decided to choose my battle wisely and ditch my prime front row seats. The seats I got up for before dawn and waited 5 hours in line to run a mile and then wait for 7 more hours in the sun. If I was to have a remotely enjoyable concert experience, I’d have to do it from far away. So, the Fiance and I fled the sardine can and still enjoyed the stunning concert from our picnic blanket off to the side of the stage.
Ten years ago, I would have kicked Surly Teenybopper in the shins and told her where to shove her self-important, pretentious and little hussy attitude. I would have been all fine and dandy with being shoved, poked and prodded during a 2 hour concert. But it just ain’t worth it anymore.
The truth is, I am older now. I think those damned kids’ music is too loud. I can’t understand the ridiculous trendy vintage outfits and the bizarre hairdos that accompany this entitled generation. My third act seems to be a farce of sorts, though I am thoroughly enjoying the writing process.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
All The News That’s Fit To Purchase
My random fits of insomnia usually involve watching reruns of The West Wing, cuddling with the dog and listening to the comforting sound of snoring. Now I have one more sleep distraction: Twitter. Most of the 80-something people I follow on Twitter are news outlets. I love getting as-it-happens news from various sources at 3:12 am on the Blackberry. I like knowing what’s happening while I’m under the covers. I am not a fan of the term ‘news junkie’, but I’m afraid that I fit the description.
Rupert Murdoch recently announced that The News Corporation plans to charge readers for news content online. A few months ago I asked some friends over brunch and the Sunday New York Times if they’d pay for news content online as Google and some other players were making noises about such shenanigans. Rupert wants to make it happen and I’m sort of torn on the issue.
There’s the obvious truth that any breaking news content can be found in multiple locations on the Internet. We all read stories after Michael Jackson’s death about social media’s impact on the shitstorm of news from that fateful day. Gone are the days where we read the newspaper to get information. It’s free and it’s available online 24/7 across the globe.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if paid content is special. Exclusive. Under true NDA. I can’t find it anywhere else unless I pay $9.99 to the News Gods. As consumers, we’ll pretty much pay for anything if we want it that bad. I never thought I’d pay 30 bucks a month to get unlimited access to DVD movies via the postal service when Netflix was my client 10 years ago, but I love my movies.
As a PR ninja, I frequently break out the credit card for access to news and information on industry and trade-specific websites. In order to get business intelligence for my clients, I have to pay for analyst reports and sometimes media coverage to provide the best strategy possible. I suppose if I were anyone other than me I’d read Google News like everyone else.
Will Rupert succeed? Will we pay for news just like everything else in life? I think it’s very ambitious but the Wall Street Journal among others is already playing the game. But will consumers play along?
Rupert Murdoch recently announced that The News Corporation plans to charge readers for news content online. A few months ago I asked some friends over brunch and the Sunday New York Times if they’d pay for news content online as Google and some other players were making noises about such shenanigans. Rupert wants to make it happen and I’m sort of torn on the issue.
There’s the obvious truth that any breaking news content can be found in multiple locations on the Internet. We all read stories after Michael Jackson’s death about social media’s impact on the shitstorm of news from that fateful day. Gone are the days where we read the newspaper to get information. It’s free and it’s available online 24/7 across the globe.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if paid content is special. Exclusive. Under true NDA. I can’t find it anywhere else unless I pay $9.99 to the News Gods. As consumers, we’ll pretty much pay for anything if we want it that bad. I never thought I’d pay 30 bucks a month to get unlimited access to DVD movies via the postal service when Netflix was my client 10 years ago, but I love my movies.
As a PR ninja, I frequently break out the credit card for access to news and information on industry and trade-specific websites. In order to get business intelligence for my clients, I have to pay for analyst reports and sometimes media coverage to provide the best strategy possible. I suppose if I were anyone other than me I’d read Google News like everyone else.
Will Rupert succeed? Will we pay for news just like everything else in life? I think it’s very ambitious but the Wall Street Journal among others is already playing the game. But will consumers play along?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
“And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?” +Talking Heads
I’m perched at my desk in the corner office with a view of the Bay while I type this. No, I’m not some big corporate dimwit, I just work from home. And as much as I love my guest room slash home office, I prefer to sit at my dining room table while working on client stuff and learning how to build a business.
There are moments when I look around the huge living room in my Berkeley home and I have absolutely no idea how I got here.
My day starts with herding my Fiancé out the door to the nursing clinic, then it’s time to feed two cats and one dog after I hit snooze a few times. Then I get the pleasure of poop scooping and backyard rinsing. Then I grab some coffee and sit here at the big window. After a whirlwind day of client business, social networking and reading until my eyes bleed, I take great pleasure in watering the front yard. It’s the smell of fresh Rosemary and Lavender that make it especially delicious.
I have NO idea who I’ve become.
I used to buy Steamed Veggies for one. Now I get the family size. I used to despise happy Lesbian couples because I was forever entrenched in the most dramatic of romantic affairs. Now I’m planning a wedding with one of the best people I know. I used to mock people in Berkeley who only buy local and organic. Now I’m making plans to walk down to the Berkeley Farmer’s Market just to get some fresh basil and Roma tomatoes to go with the Fettuccine I’m serving with pan-seared scallops tonight.
Again, who the hell am I?
It’s not that life doesn’t have its ups and downs. Nothing is perfect, and we all have our crappy days. Sometimes it’s just nice to look around and realize that life isn’t always the same as it ever was.
There are moments when I look around the huge living room in my Berkeley home and I have absolutely no idea how I got here.
My day starts with herding my Fiancé out the door to the nursing clinic, then it’s time to feed two cats and one dog after I hit snooze a few times. Then I get the pleasure of poop scooping and backyard rinsing. Then I grab some coffee and sit here at the big window. After a whirlwind day of client business, social networking and reading until my eyes bleed, I take great pleasure in watering the front yard. It’s the smell of fresh Rosemary and Lavender that make it especially delicious.
I have NO idea who I’ve become.
I used to buy Steamed Veggies for one. Now I get the family size. I used to despise happy Lesbian couples because I was forever entrenched in the most dramatic of romantic affairs. Now I’m planning a wedding with one of the best people I know. I used to mock people in Berkeley who only buy local and organic. Now I’m making plans to walk down to the Berkeley Farmer’s Market just to get some fresh basil and Roma tomatoes to go with the Fettuccine I’m serving with pan-seared scallops tonight.
Again, who the hell am I?
It’s not that life doesn’t have its ups and downs. Nothing is perfect, and we all have our crappy days. Sometimes it’s just nice to look around and realize that life isn’t always the same as it ever was.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Facebook (Not Time) Heals All Wounds
I was interviewing my friend Annie last week about an education project I’m working on for one of my potential clients. After the business side of our conversation turned into catching up on personal stuff, we landed on the topic of Facebook and the past. We both agree that Facebook has become sort of like virtual therapy. Consider this: remember that guy who broke your heart in high school because he went with Sally Sue to the prom instead of you? Well guess what? Now he’s on Facebook except these days he’s fat, bald, divorced and unemployed. And he wants to be your friend.
It’s as if those eight little words “Billy Smith Has Added You As A Friend” will somehow make you forget about how you cried into your pillow the whole week before prom. And accepting Billy’s friend request will somehow erase the 4 hours you spent with the standby prom date who talked your ear off the whole night. I don’t know what it is, but being friends on Facebook means that the horrible shit Billy did to you 20 years ago is now null and void.
I got a friend request last week from this girl I knew in high school. She was sort of an asshole back then, but when she dated my very first girlfriend not even 30 seconds after we broke up, that was a different story. Even so, I found myself accepting the friend request, because really, I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter what happened in 1996 with my first lesbian relationship. Would I have preferred that she not Shanghai my first true love? Sure. But do I really care today? Not in the least bit.
Is Facebook a safe haven where you can be friends with people that you secretly hate? Do we friend people not because we like them so much but because we want 8 million friends too? Does a connection on Facebook actually mean that you’re truly friends? I was reading an interesting article in (big shocker) BusinessWeek while on a flight back from (no way) New York two weeks ago all about how corporations attempt to translate internal employee relations via social networking. Most attempts are unsuccessful, but still. The parallel universe that is Facebook has clearly become a highly skewed social barometer.
There are ex-girlfriends, former co-workers, frenemies and even acquaintances that I wouldn't answer the door for let alone friend on Facebook. As liberating and cocoon-like as Facebook might be for some users, I still value my privacy and there are some people I wouldn't be friends with even in a virtual reality.
It’s as if those eight little words “Billy Smith Has Added You As A Friend” will somehow make you forget about how you cried into your pillow the whole week before prom. And accepting Billy’s friend request will somehow erase the 4 hours you spent with the standby prom date who talked your ear off the whole night. I don’t know what it is, but being friends on Facebook means that the horrible shit Billy did to you 20 years ago is now null and void.
I got a friend request last week from this girl I knew in high school. She was sort of an asshole back then, but when she dated my very first girlfriend not even 30 seconds after we broke up, that was a different story. Even so, I found myself accepting the friend request, because really, I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter what happened in 1996 with my first lesbian relationship. Would I have preferred that she not Shanghai my first true love? Sure. But do I really care today? Not in the least bit.
Is Facebook a safe haven where you can be friends with people that you secretly hate? Do we friend people not because we like them so much but because we want 8 million friends too? Does a connection on Facebook actually mean that you’re truly friends? I was reading an interesting article in (big shocker) BusinessWeek while on a flight back from (no way) New York two weeks ago all about how corporations attempt to translate internal employee relations via social networking. Most attempts are unsuccessful, but still. The parallel universe that is Facebook has clearly become a highly skewed social barometer.
There are ex-girlfriends, former co-workers, frenemies and even acquaintances that I wouldn't answer the door for let alone friend on Facebook. As liberating and cocoon-like as Facebook might be for some users, I still value my privacy and there are some people I wouldn't be friends with even in a virtual reality.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
So Much To Say
I like to talk. A lot. Some might call me a Chatty Cathy. A smooth talker. Someone who can’t live without her Blackberry welded to her ear. Recently, I’m learning that I’ve got so much to say and yet not many people listen because I’m speaking at the speed of light. Pretty much my whole life has been spent repeating myself and speaking slowly for those of you who don’t read mouths.
Like most everything else, my speech has slowed considerably in the past few months. You can’t reel in the right technology clients unless they can understand what the hell you’re talking about. So I’ve been forced to ‘take it down a notch’ and it’s really not easy.
When I was 5, my father took me to a speech therapist because I had a distinguished lisp and well, we just can’t have that now, can we. After 3 months of tape recorded sessions and repetitive speech therapy, my lisp was gone. I believe that this where the fast talking stepped in. My overactive mind assumed that if I didn’t get my words out fast enough, then I would be ignored. It’s now 30 years later and I’ve learned the valuable lesson of slowing down so that my words of wisdom might actually reach my target audience.
I’m currently on an airplane to Vegas and for the first time in 5 years, I’m without an iPod. It was just one of many casualties from my move into my Berkeley castle on a cloud. Without the sound of music blaring into my head and nothing else in the world to distract me, I’m practicing my pitch in my head and for once in my life, I can even understand me. Finally.
Like most everything else, my speech has slowed considerably in the past few months. You can’t reel in the right technology clients unless they can understand what the hell you’re talking about. So I’ve been forced to ‘take it down a notch’ and it’s really not easy.
When I was 5, my father took me to a speech therapist because I had a distinguished lisp and well, we just can’t have that now, can we. After 3 months of tape recorded sessions and repetitive speech therapy, my lisp was gone. I believe that this where the fast talking stepped in. My overactive mind assumed that if I didn’t get my words out fast enough, then I would be ignored. It’s now 30 years later and I’ve learned the valuable lesson of slowing down so that my words of wisdom might actually reach my target audience.
I’m currently on an airplane to Vegas and for the first time in 5 years, I’m without an iPod. It was just one of many casualties from my move into my Berkeley castle on a cloud. Without the sound of music blaring into my head and nothing else in the world to distract me, I’m practicing my pitch in my head and for once in my life, I can even understand me. Finally.
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