Browsing through the reference material accompanying the Collaborative Learning 2002 online event, I discovered this absolute gem from my friend Marcia:
Think back on learning to ride a bicycle, use a computer, dance, or sing. We took an action, saw the consequences of that action, and chose either to continue, or to take a new and different action. What allowed us to master the new skill was our active participation in the event and our reflection on what we attained. Experience and reflection taught more than any manual or lecture ever could.
Kurt Lewin wrote that little substantive learning takes place without involving something of all three aspects.[1] Learning also involves feeling things about the concepts (emotions) and doing something (action). These elements need not be distinctive. They can be, and often are, integrated.
eLearning Forum has a great session coming up this Friday morning. Chuck Fred (author of Breakaway) and David Batstone (founder of Business 2.0) are going to lead a lively discussion atop the Bank of America Building. Here's the blurb I wrote for it:

So what's so tough about being small? Yours truly is juggling more tasks than he can keep in the air. I was at eLearning Guild in San Diego most of the past week so Friday was the first time I sat down to figure out how to take credit card orders from my website -- because I have to tell our caterer how many are coming by the end of Tuesday. Last night I got the credit-card-fu cobbled together and emailed the eLearning Forum memberships, but now I'm getting nervous.
This is eLearning Forum's first event in San Francisco (we've met for several years in Menlo Park). Two days is not much time to draw a crowd. Argh. What else can I do to promote the event?
I've got an idea! Why not join us? Friday, November 22, 8:30 - lunch. It's going to be great.

Normally, I love Carl Hiaasen's books, what with the former governor turned eco-terrorist who subsists on road-kill, the villain with a weedwhacker instead of a hook where his hand used to be, or the theme-park sleazeball trying to peddle a dead Shamu as catfood. Hoot is something else again.
"Has Carl forgotten how to write?" I wondered. "Too much time in the Florida sun?" Hoot is more Jerry Lewis than Dennis Miller, move Bill Murray than John Belushi. Slapstick. Middle of the road. Simplistic.
Only upon finishing the book did I notice that this was Hiaasen's first novel for "a younger audience." An Amazon review notes, "Carl Hiaasen is riding the wave of adult fiction writers down-shifting their word processors to 'Kid Lit' in the wake of Harry Potter."
I find it confusing when an author messes with his brand without informing his customers. How about a big "Kid Lit" sticker to let us know what we're getting?
Ask Googlism.com what eLearning is and it will tell you:
Thursday a terrific storm swept into the Bay Area, knocking over some major trees in the hills of Berkeley, and we lost power from early evening until midafternoon on Friday. We ate supper by candlelight. Afterward, freed from the pull of the Internet, I propped open Stephen Wolfram's A New Kind of Science and read a couple of chapters in the flickering light, fancying myself something of a modern-day Abraham Lincoln.
Wolfram is appealing. Not that I understand what's really going on with his cellular automata (simple geometry programs that sometimes yield astounding complexity). Reconceptualizing all of science is not high on my list of personal priorities. What I'm enjoying is Wolfram's attitude, his moxie, the sheer audacity of telling the world that what he has discovered has been in plain sight for centuries, and everybody missed it because they were looking for something else. Minor insight gives way to enormous conclusions.
This is empowering -- the concept that one might trip over a simple idea that can unlock major mysteries. It's like beachcombing, one of my favorite metaphors -- and a favorite activity, too -- but instead of finding a pretty shell, I might find a chunk of intellectual capital that could change the world. That's sufficient incentive to keep my curiosity aflame.
The power is back on now and I've returned to dorking around with the technical trivia that enables me to jack in to the web. I just emailed several dozen people that:
Should you need to reach me in the next couple of days, use this temporary address: jaycross@meta-time.com
Thank you. Pax vobiscum.
I think I'll go for a walk.
Salvador Dali. One of the large canvasses with ants, melting watches, elephants on stilts, a pomegranate, his wife as a topless nun, eyeballs and grapes in a bowl, and, today's front section of the New York Times.
Why is this morning surreal? No, it's not just that were he running, Arnold Scwartzenegger would be elected governor of California. No, the truly absurd stuff was reported under the headline, "Tough Issues on Baggage Screening Remain"[understatement].
The Transportation Security Administration plans to welcome the new year by starting to screen ALL checked baggage for bombs. Needless to say, delays are inevitable. Many bags will miss their flights and be delivered to passengers' homes (at a cost of $100/bag).
Never mind that no one has figured out how to handle locked bags. Or that few airports have space available for opening and checking all the bags. Or that current procedures have proved themselves a useful deterrent even though they "sometimes cannot distinguish between explosives and chocolate."
Starting on New Year's, the inspectors plan to rub every bag with a gauze pad to be analyzed by bomb-sniffing machines. They'll check the outside of 40% of the bags, the inside of 40%, and the contents of 20%. So... picture 60% of these unlocked suitcases being opened. Did I mention that they haven't figured out who's liable if your jewelry and camera mysteriously disappear during this process? (Lawyers, start your engines!)
A larger issue is the price-tag for these shenanigans. The government plans to kick things off with 1,100 new builk detecting machines and 5,000 trace detectors. After all, passengers check more than a billion bags a year in the U.S. The big machines cost more than a million a pop. The tab for the equipment will hit $2 billion. (Imagine the cost of the labor to run and maintain this gear, and to oversee all these folks rifling people's bags.)
Here we are, spending billions on a program that most sixth-graders could tell you is doomed to failure. Some fanatics will rise to the challenge, finding new ways to evade the system.
The government will divert the smart terrorists to other targets. Why not blow up the airport lobbies? Or the SuperBowl? Or DisneyWorld?
Screening everyone's luggage punishes everyone but the terrorists. The concept is simply STOOOPID. Zero-tolerance on uninspected suitcases will end up making the War on Drugs look like a winner.
What a world! I can visualize Dali's wife Gala, dressed as a baggage inspector, going through a suitcase full of ants and melted watches and dead animals. Your tax dollars at work.
You might think about whether you want to live in a society led by noble values or controlled by little people pawing through your stuff in the back room of some airport.
Then vote.
Wall Street Journal
Boomtown
by Lee Gomes
Here's an excuse in technology nostalgia: Remember Internet Time?
From its origins, circa 1994, the phrase became canonical during the late 1990s. It was used to describe the accelerated pace at which, in a Web-enabled world, all business was supposedly going to be conducted. Business plans, product cycles, big decisions -- everything would be zipping along at a fraction of their traditional rates.
This is your business brain on speed.
Internet Time, along with cousins like Web Time and Warp Speed, became handy phrases to throw into book titles and PowerPoint presentations as proof of savvy topicality. Into newspaper articles, too; The Wall Street Journal mentioned the idea four times in 1996 but 43 times in 2000.
This column, though, marks only the second time the phrase has been used by this newspaper all year. Internet Time's time was short indeed.
In fact, what with the current free fall in tech spending, Internet Time has been replaced by its evil twin: let's call it Slowth.
Faster product cycles? Why bother? No one is buying anything anyway; take all the time you need.
Like New Economy, the term Internet Time was used seriously by some people, mockingly by others. (Back then, you picked your friends by which camp they belonged to.)
People in the former category invariably mentioned it with a celebratory, even reverential, tone. It seems to have never occurred to them that companies were taking two years rather than six months to bring out a new product because that's how long it took to get the new product right.
One can't help but suspect that Internet Time was a convenient excuse for companies of the period to sell stuff not fully tested, if not downright shoddy.
Back then, though, who would dare complain? People would suspect you were operating with an Old Economy paradigm, a fatal accusation for any career circa 1997-1999.
In retrospect, Internet Time was actually an amalgam of several unrelated phenomenon. In a few cases, the simple existence of the Internet did, as billed, allow for faster products. If you are making software, for instance, your customers were suddenly able to download new versions as fast as you could put them on the Web.
But most of the time, Internet Time was something else. In the fight between Microsoft and Netscape, usually hailed as the ultimate Internet Time battle, it was the sudden emergence of a big market coming up for grabs that drove the frantic pace. There would have been the same sense of urgency had the pair been making the very first generation of patio furniture.
Mostly, Internet Time was just a euphemism for Bubble Time. Venture capitalists were approving business plans in a single breakfast meeting for the simple reason that they wanted to get in and get out before the roof fell in.
The phrase Internet Time is traditionally credited to Tom Paquin, one of the earliest employees of Netscape. As the story goes, Mr. Paquin, around the summer of 1994, was asking other Netscape employees how long they had been at the company -- and how long it felt they had been there.
A four-month tenure, people invariably said, seemed like a year, maybe two. "Ah," said Mr. Paquin, "Internet Time."
That's how the story usually gets told. But Mr. Paquin said last week there was more to it than that.
The phrase, he said, was initially something of an inside joke among Mr. Paquin and his buddies. (And it was used to describe time perception not, as in its current meaning, time compression.) "Then the marketing and PR people picked up on it," he said.
It may be hard to remember now, but back then, Netscape was at the very center of the technology world. It was, for one, going to put Microsoft out of business. Reporters, politicians, the whole world flocked through its doors, asking about its ways, its secrets.
"Internet Time," said Mr. Paquin, was something that Netscape marketers began offering as a window into the company and its new world. People ate it up.
It may have been one of the first instances of a tech company marketing a form of Internet Exceptionalism. That's the notion that the Internet is a wholly new place where none of the old rules apply. That idea, of course, became the central tenet of the subsequent Internet bubble, and eventually ended up costing a lot of people a lot of money.
Mr. Paquin still thinks that Internet Time is a meaningful notion in the confines of technology. But he says it's not, as boosters tried to claim, the new world order.
Says Mr. Paquin, "To say some guy in the chemical industry ought to be shipping new products every six months -- that's just crazy."