Stand And Deliver

What makes a good presentation? Let's start with some assumptions. First, your audience has little choice in the matter. Make the best of it for them. Most audience members have the attention span of a five-year old at best. You have to stand out in a crowd. Use every trick available. Hone your key messages. Practice.

Remember to breathe. You'll need the oxygen to communicate. How do you want to be perceived? Do you stand out from the crowd (for the right reasons)? Do you know how much you can communicate with your eyes, your eyebrows, your smile (or frown)? What about your tone and inflection? Be memorable (for the right reasons).

Utilize crisp visuals. I know this violates my cliche rule, but a picture is worth 1,000 words.  Remember, people want to hear from real people. Be outrageous, but be careful. Humor can come off badly with some. Eye contact is key. Like the god Janus, you must be able to look many directions at once. Avoid unhappiness and anxiety.

What about audio? Speech equals sound. Watch what you eat before you speak. Have water handy. Practice breathing control. In terms of body posture, find your natural body position, then work the room. Use a microphone if necessary. Hone your key messages. Start with an opener, hit your key messages. Three is best. Then conclude.

Remember that you are also a visual aid, including how you're dressed. Talk while you do stuff. Movement must be purposeful. Make gestures. Use your hands to help the audience visualize your purpose and intent. Finally, nervousness is normal. Don't freak. Mark Twain said: there are two types of speakers: the nervous, and the liars.

Y2K: Who Cares?

Nearly 20 years ago, it was a dark and stormy night.... Okay, you've heard it. But not this one. On December 31, 1999, I was sequestered in Eugene Water & Electric Board headquarters for an event that would never happen: Y2K. The end of the world, hellfire and brimstone, dogs and cats living together.... Well, you get it.

After rising early on December 31, 1999, I would spend the next 24 hours hanging with my EWEB homies, biding my time, playing solitaire, staring at the ceiling and the like. In other words, nothing. As the day wore on, my patience wore thin. No beer or nothing. Let's say I wasn't partying like it was 1999.

As midnight approached, I grew more sleep deprived as the clock continued to tick. We all stayed until 2 a.m. on January 1, 2000, just to be sure. If not a computer glitch, we feared terrorist or other boogeymen, so we hung for two more hours. Afterward, it was time for high quality beer, then hit the hay. What a waste.

This Aggression Will Not Stand

A Christmas medley, from all of us at Gonzo PR: JM in Eugene, Helmut Vallindaklopf in Washington D.C., Ramona Vallindaklopf in Genoa, Italy, and Wolfgang Majoris in Bangkok, Thailand.

JM: (editorial director, head writer, producer, art director, choreographer at Gonzo PR): "'Twas the eve of impeachment, and all through the mouse (read: rat), not a creature was stirring, not even a louse, the stockings were hung from the chimney with care, they were perfect for mice (rat), just about any day?

HV: "Hark hear us Dems, Chump we condemn, quid-pro-quoing, per abuse, must cut him loose, article two, that's just a few. Now move to add, that makes him bad, cheats on his wife, also two and three, merry, merry chump impeachment."

JM: "Bing, bing, bing, bong (sad, somber, solemn and satisfying.) Merry Christmas, everyone! And to all a good night. As an aside, I don't do New Year's Eve. Just another excuse to party. Like I need one. I do, however, look forward to an epic Rose Bowl on New Year's Day. As always, Go Ducks! Bust the Badgers."

Year Of The Pig

Admittedly, it's not much of a choice. We're moving from the Year of the Pig to the Year of the Rat. Hence I've put in a hasty Skype call to Helmut Vallindaklopf, GonzoPR's man in Washington, D.C.

JM: "Helmut, you must help me. What in tarnation is going on in your neck of the woods?"

HV: "Well, JM, there's certainly no lack of action around these parts. Herr Gropenfuhrer and his minions continue to lie, cheat and steal. Politicians should wear sponsor jackets. Then we'd know who owns them."

JM: "Indeed, Herr Gropenfuhrer set a new world record for tweets, including a vicious missive to Greta Thunberg, one day after she won Time's 'Person of the Year.'"

HV: "Yes, he told the Swedish teenager to chill, adding that she should work on her anger management skills. Of course, Thunberg has Asperger's syndrome."

JM: "Isn't it a sin to bully children?"

HV: "He's read neither the Old nor the New Testament."

JM: "As Joe Biden tweeted: 'Give it a rest, man.' What are we to do, Helmut?"

HV: "Vote for anybody but Herr Gropenfuhrer."

JM: "Yes indeed, Helmut. I will need to check in with you daily for now. The action just keeps coming. I'll contact you soon."

HV: "JM, you should come to my basement lair on Connecticut Avenue. I'll tidy the place up, and I have plenty of good beer."

JM: "I'll take the next flight out of Eugene. See you soon."

Pahto: The Forgotten Giant

Mt. Adams, second-highest peak in the Northwest, is The Forgotten Giant of Washington. It's certainly the most remote from Portland compared to Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Hood. I climbed the mountain just once, from the standard south side route via Trout Lake, north of White Salmon, Washington and Hood River, Oregon.

Pahto is the third leg of the love triangle that destroyed the Bridge of the Gods. A climber once described the mountain as "unimaginatively designed." Yet Pahto's vast size also lends the peak an impressive dignity. Rising over 1,000 feet above the floor, the southeast slope offers compelling views of St. Helens (below).

According to native lore, when St. Helens preferred Adams to Hood, the latter struck his northern neighbor with a blow so mighty that Pahto's head was utterly flattened. This fraternal battle, lost by Mt. Adams, explains the somewhat ungainly and bulbous appearance of the volcano. Pahto never recovered from its humiliation.

Pahto and Wy'east were those who courted Loowit, the damsel in question. Not seen by the white explorers, including George Vancouver and Wilson Price Hunt, Pahto truly is a forgotten giant. Because of its Johnny-come-lately status, it became a member of the president's club with Jefferson and Washington.

One Thomas J. Farnham, working from inadequate maps, placed Mt. Adams about 40 miles east of St. Helens. Big mistake. Mountaineer Ray Smutek commented recently: "In what has to be one of of geography's greatest coincidences, there was a mountain there to accept (one of the president's club's) names."

On our trips to the Owl Conservatory, we can see Pahto from Hood River all to Yakima via I-84 and U.S. Highway 97. At Biggs Junction, we can also see Wy'east near the Bridge of the Gods in Cascade Locks. On the northern end, we can see Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier and the Stuart Range. Who's up for a trip to Trout Lake?

Loowit: Big Bang Theory

Because of its symmetrical shape, Mt. St. Helens looked like a snow cone from the picture window of my childhood home in the City of Roses. As referenced in Fire and Ice, the prologue to this series on the Cascade volcanoes, I had this recurring dream that the mountain had erupted. Then, it actually happened, in 1980.

Prior to 1980, when it blew its top, I had climbed the mountain at age 13, my second peak, following Mt. Hood. After the eruption, I scaled St. Helens another five times. Needless to say, the protocol to climb the peak had become more restrictive. When the mountain did explode, it sent ash and debris as far away as Missoula.

Native American legends reflected the immediacy of past eruptions.

Wy'east (Mt. Hood) would battle Pahto (Mt, Adams) for the affection of Loowit (Mt. St. Helens). Disasterous results soon ensued, causing the sacred "Bridge of the Gods" to collapse into the Columbia River.

At the time of the blast, we were working for that Forest Service in Entiat, Washington on the Columbia River. We didn't hear it, but saw the plume of ash cloud hurtling up the river (above). The subsequent  dusting enveloped the town of 300 just north of Wenatchee, Washington. It was quite a sight to behold.

After the big bang, the mountain had a few more eruptions, lesser but still significant. The surrounding became a national monument, and access, and a lottery was established: first-come, first-served. My merry band of gypsies, tramps and thieves and I took the bait. We climbed Loowit on a number of occasions.

Scaling the mountain is an experience. It's more difficult than it looks. We always climbed from the south side, where parking/camping is available via the road from Cougar, Washington. Ape Caves, complete with lava tubes, are open for tours. Anybody care to join me for a sojourn to Camper's Bivouac? Too early for flapjacks?

Highway 67: The Road Less Traveled

After tooling along Route 66, I’m taking a detour onto Highway 67, the road less traveled. When asked about my journey to the heart of the American dream, I reply with a simple response: “It’s complicated. Lots of ins and outs, ups and downs and what-have-you’s. Certainly, new information has come to light.

I’m reminded of a scene from “Invincible” with Mark Wahlberg as Vince Papale and Greg Kinnear as Dick Vermeil. Papale: “Excuse me, my name is spelled wrong.” Locker Room Janitor: “Nothin’ personal, but by the time I’m through with this, will it really matter?” Or so the story goes, like a Coen brothers movie.

It’s been a rocky road, resulting in a few bumps here and there. Nonetheless, I hope to recover this fumble and head for the opposite endzone. “He could go all the way,” as no less that ESPN’s Chris Berman would intone. I'll jump the out and return it for a touchdown. No sweat, meester! I’ll do a dance when I get there.

Meanwhile, I’ll opt to take the exit onto Highway 67 and explore new horizons. Now fully retired, I will boldly go where no one has gone before: venture to the Owl Conservatory and trek into the wilderness, hang with my beloved family, travel to Italy, Spain and Switzerland, help raise a granddaughter, and the like. I have a few ideas.

As Carl Spackler says in Caddyshack, “I have that going for me, which is nice.” What’s not to like? So, as I meander down Highway 67, I’ll be like a sponge and soak it all in. As Nikki Rowe stated so eloquently: “There’s only one place I want to go and it’s all the places I’ve never been.” Along with my favorite haunts, of course. Onward!