Prezi's Fractal-esque Editing Menu

Exactly one year ago today I published my last blog, fulfilling my commitment to myself to blog once a week for one year. My intent: to provide real-time insight into the trials and tribulations of funding, building, and running a technology start-up in the midst of what many believe is the worst recession since the Great Depression.

This last blog was aptly named The Economics of Piracy. I won’t delve into the title’s relevance, but I will say that had I truly really wanted to chronicle the ups and downs of entrepreneurialism, I would have continued blogging throughout 2010.

My 2010 rollercoaster made Eduardo Saverin’s Facebook saga (see The Social Network) seem like a cakewalk.  I slogged through multiple funding rounds, a company-wide furlough, and a CEO transition. And more. Then, just as I thought I saw the phoenix peeking out from the flames, I was laid off from the company I had spent seven years building.  Ka-boom!

Physically and emotionally exhausted, I decided to take 2011 off.  Or so I thought.

A few weeks after leaving Pie, I met Peter Arvai, CEO of Prezi. When he started talking shop, I flinched. The last thing I wanted to hear was an entrepreneur pitch his wares. Fortunately, my Southern manners prevailed. I listened politely and even chatted him up about the future of visualization (a future in which, Peter said, Prezi would play a significant role). One thing led to another led to a discussion of open positions at Prezi. I stopped him cold. “I’m not looking for a job,” I said. “Just lake a look at the product,” he replied.

I did. Ka-boom!

I’m not sure if I’m going to start blogging again, but this amazing product/company/team has made me reconsider it. It’s made me reconsider other things as well. Like taking 2011 off.

- Drew Banks, Head of Marketing, Prezi.

Vegas: Treasure Island's Pirate Ship

We Americans are fascinated by piracy. From Treasure Island to the Pirates of the Caribbean,  novelists and filmmakers have capitalized on our idolatry of the nonconformist seafaring swashbuckler. Me, I’m not so fascinated. I tend to think of pirates as murderers and thieves rather than heroic idealists. It is precisely my disinterest in pirates that has caused me to take note the recent manifestation of piracy in my life.

I’m not sure when it started—maybe last fall with Ducan Sheik’s “There  Once was a Pirate” addition on my Spring Awakening soundtrack or the hilarious Wanda Sykes Somalian pirate skit in her DC HBO Special, “I‘ma Be Me.” But it was two weeks ago in at CES when this piracy onslaught reached a theatrical crescendo. On my walk back from the convention center, I paused to watch the Treasure Island’ Sirens of TI pirate battle—childsplay when compared to Cirque du Soleil‘s  acrobatic pirates of KÀ, which I saw later that evening.

Such foreshadowing made it impossible to ignore an email that night from a friend drawing my attention to a book she thought I would appreciate: The Invisible Hook by Peter Leeson.  This book title is more than just play on Adam Smith’s famed invisible hand mataphor; rather it further entrenches the idea of economic self-interest as THE driving factor of democratic ideology.

In an interview with the New York Times, Leeson parallels economic practices of piracy and those of modern day business, spanning topics from branding to M&A:

…once we recognize pirates as economic actors, businessmen really, it becomes clear as to why they wouldn’t want to brutalize everyone they overtook. In order to encourage merchantmen to surrender, they needed to communicate the idea that, if you surrender to us, you’ll be treated well.

Again, I’m not so fascinated.  I do agree that biologically, humans are animals, and as such, our actions are guided by base-level instincts like self-preservation.  But does this mean that all human aspiration can be reduced to such primal motivators? I hope not. If greed is THE foundational cornerstone of all human behavior then God help us.

Big Edge

Last Wednesday, I boarded a plane for Vegas. Settling into my seat, the passenger sitting next to me said, “So, are you heading to Mecca too?” I responded, “That’s not what I would call it.”

For me, Vegas is anything but Mecca. As a non-gambler who prefers an intimate night out with friends over a showy club or restaurant, traveling to Vegas is more akin to a boat ride across the river Styx than it is to a religious pilgrimage.

“What would you call it?”

I knew that the Mecca that this man referred was not Vegas, but rather CES, to which I was indeed going. Instead of my usual off-putting response to thwart fellow passengers from striking up longer conversations, I replied, “Are you looking forward to the show?”

For the next hour, we talked home networking & start-up dynamics (my job); imaging technology & M&A strategies (his job); linguistics & travel (shared interests). Upon landing in Vegas, I cabbed it to the Wynn of a fantastic dinner hosted by Foundry Group, my company’s lead venture partner. Again, great conversation with many like-minded folk—all a-twitter (literally) about this tear’s major CES themes: 3D TV, wireless gadget charging, the return of The Tablet.

Sated and tired, I returned finally made it to hotel around midnight. We stayed in City Center, which boasts itself as “The Capital of the New World.” The cab pulled up to our hotel, Vdara, situated dead center in City Center. Towering before us was a hodgepodge of colorful canoes crashing into one another To my bleary eyes, this massive sculpture (which I learned later was called called Big Edge) seemed a fitting metaphor for this colossal crossroads. The doorman ushered us into Vdara’s sleek, spa-scent-infused, casino-less lobby. It was the perfect nightcap.

The next two days were packed with meetings and show-floor trolling. The show buzzed with its annual pilgrimage and the walls of razor thin LED screens were sufficiently impressive to make one wail. Saturday night I managed to talk Nick into flying in and after a couple of hours at the Vdara spa, we went out for dinner at Aria’s American Fish and then to the MGM to see KÀ. Both were superb.

After all of these years maligning Vegas, I’ve finally begun to warm to it. It will never be my Mecca, but I can see an occasional weekend splurge in my future.

A friend of mine refers to the first rays of New Years Day as  “the cold hard light of January,” a cheery aphorism connoting the rude awakening to the previous night’s ambitious resolutions: shedding those added holiday pounds; getting ahead of that persistent procrastination; being a better, kinder you. My cold hard light of January was reflected from the cold hard pavement of I-45 as I drove from Dallas to Houston to attend a friend’s wedding. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent four hours in solitude. Four hours with nothing to do but think …and drive. The day before, I’d seen my bi-polar mother for the first time in over a year, a short visit which had left me much to reflect upon. Instead, my mind drifted. I welcomed its denial.

For the next four hours, I revisited the blur of 2009 which sped by with a flurry of entrepreneurial vigor, clearing the way for an even more vigorous 2010. This year in review left me feeling simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated—bi-polar, so to speak. As Houston rose from the horizon, my mind drifted back to the memory of my mother struggling against the darkness. I pray the cold hard light of January is cast upon her.

Anthony

With this last post of 2009, I’ve met my blogging goal: at least one post a week for a year. I still ponder whether or not this has been a worthwhile experiement—if the while spent writing these posts is worth the satisfaction of either me or my scant readership. If nothing else, I’ve a compliation of musings for a year which has been not only pivotal for me, but for many of my family and friends, and indeed much of the world.

Tristan

The title of this blog, Amphony, is misleading. Amphony is not an audio phonics concept or technology (although after spending much of the last two weeks in the airport, it is tempting to imbue meaning to into this made-up word: amplified cacophony). No, Amphony is the name that my excited or frustrated six-year-old nephew uses to call his brother, Anthony, when fratenal tensions run high. The A is pitched and elongated—AAAmphony. It’s so darned cute.

Unwrapping

Like many couples, Nick and I split the holiday between our families. For Christmas, we went to Maine, and for New Years, we’re in Texas (well, I am. Nick’s flight was just cancelled and he’s flying in tomorrow). Manipulating our schedules to accomodate these two trips was a bear and holiday travel a quagmire, but when family duty calls …

Sledding

Soon after we arrved in Maine, Tristan shouted his first, “Amphony,” an instant reminder that family was not a just a duty, but an all-consuming one. The next two days were filled with gift wrapping and unwrapping, puzzle and LEGO building, Sorry! playing, chocolate milk drinking, grilled cheese eating, bedtime Grinch reading, sledding, and ice skating. For possibly the first time in 2009, I was consumed with something other than work or wrting. It felt good—very good.

Ice Skating

Now, in Dallas, I watch another nephew, Zachary, ply golf on his Wii. I am taking a break after an embarassing attempt to play tennis with him.

Zachary

While the quagmire of holiday travel has not been forggen (or completed, for that matter), the worth is clear.

Happy New Year!

Pie Digital's 2009 Comapny Holiday Party

During difficult economic times such as these, it’s easy to cut the holiday party as an unnecessary expense. Given the diversity of religious practices in most companies, it’s been watered down to a non-event anyway. Why not just save a few $.

For the second consecutive year, my company Pie Digital held its holiday party at my house (thereby saving the biggest expense of the holiday party). Unruly hair was shorn and festive vests and vintage ties of red and green were donned. Jeans gave way to Pucci prints. It was a clear, warm December night, enabling the party to spill onto the deck. With the panorama of downtown San Francisco spread wide before us, glasses clinked and closet smokers smoked. Above the din the city, laughter resounded. We celebrated the progress of 2009, but focused on the possibility of 2010. This was not a non-event—it was most definitely a boon.

Pie Digital's Holiday Open House Evite

It’s that time of year again—time to send your corporate Holiday greeting card, a venerable practice that has become far more diversified in recent years.

Back in the ‘80s, the the clear favorite was the professional, embossed “Seasons Greetings,” with the inclusive message: “From all of us at [rubber stamped company name].” The font was seasonally gold or red and with an Old English flair, and the generic, non-offensive tidings were punctuated by a sprig of holly to emphasize their festive intent. In the ‘90s, the Internet ushered in the age of e-card, and new digital photo services resulted in corporate Holidays photo cards intimately adorned of soon-to-be-laid-off smiling faces.

Now in the twenty-first century, we’ve myriad e-card services and custom card possibilities. You and your business partners can animate yourselves into dancing elves, or you can force all of your portfolio companies to dance in a YouTube video.

As a tangent to this VC reference, it appears that the Holiday greeting card is the new competitive fodder for the venture community, like the modern art they collected and displayed on their office walls during the flush years. Upping the ante from last year’s dancing entrepreneurs, First Round Capital has their 2009 posse singing this year, accompanying Susan Boyle for a spoof of Les Misérables’ “I Dreamed a Dream” (though, give the post-Lehman economic climate, I thing the song’s original lyrics may be more appropriate). Not to be outdone, ONSET Ventures has contrived a hysterical faux holiday catalog with topically fashionable items such as Bernie Madoff black and white striped fleecewear, freshly baked humble pies, and Series B knee pads. It certainly appears that these firms are making the most of their spare time as they’re waiting for the investment climate air to clear. I for one am enjoying the frivolity, just as I relish my annual holiday window display stroll down NYC’s 5th Avenue. I’ll hold my judgment to see if any other VCs trump First Round and ONEST to become this year’s Bergdoff Goodman of VC Holiday greetings.

One of Bergdorf Goodman's Amazingly Detailed '09 Holiday Window Displays

Next to Normal—the Broadway musical

Last week I was debating whether or not to visit my bi-polar mother over the holidays. I haven’t spoken with her in over a year now. She won’t answer the phone. According to my brother who looks after her the best he can, she doesn’t want to talk to or see anyone. After her last manic spree, she stopped all medication and has now sunken back into a deep depression. My brother warned me that even if I do visit, she’ll likely refuse to see me. Given the current craziness of my life, I decide not to go.

The next day, I flew to NYC for a weekend a weekend escape with meet Nick who was there attending a laparoscopy conference. Our friend Renee had purchased tickets to a Broadway musical—a perfect escape indeed. Renee tells us that the play’s lead actress, Alice Ripley, won a Tony for her performance. “Alice Ripley,” I thought—isn’t she the lead singer in my friend’s band, Ripley? I Wikipedia’d her. Sure enough, Alice is Ripley. I’ve listened to Ripley for years now. I‘m excited to, after the play, wait by the stage door and tell Ms. Ripley of the coincidence. At the theater, we settle into the excellent fifth row, center tickets that Renee snagged at TKTS. I scan the crowd and notice two friends from San Francisco sitting a few rows ahead of us. Another coincidink. I bask in the serendipity’s warmth.

The orchestra starts and it isn’t long before I realize that Ms. Ripley’s character, Diana, is a bi-polar mother struggling the keep her family intact. When she flushes her medicine down the toilet and sings “I Miss the Mountains” (a song in which Diana chooses the reality of pain over the falsity of drug-induced numbness), I’m a mess. After the play was over, we hurry past the stage door and head anywhere for a drink.

The next day I do my best to forget the similarities between Diana and my mother. Renee, Nick and I kick around SoHo and then dine in TriBeCa at Bread. “Is that Drew Banks,” I hear as we’re being seated. Yet another friend—a fellow Memphian who actually knows my mother—was sitting at the table next to us (and at the table next to him was Moby). Last time I was in New York, he (my friend, not Moby) and I took a long midnight stroll down the Hudson and discussed the impact addiction and mental illness had had on our families. I shiver and as my friend stands up to greet me, I decide to visit my mother after all.

As for the musical, Next to Normal, I highly recommend it…if you don’t mind having your heartstrings tugged.

Ford's Assembly Line

Any Type A who has experienced perfect optimization—whether it be military, sports, video gaming, or business—longs for its repetition. We Type As love efficiency, and therefore squeeze as much as possible into a moment or event. Such multi-tasking can lead us down a wayward path of over-optimization as we try to accomplish too many things at once. This is especially risky if these multiple things serve multiple purposes thereby jeopardizing the success of the primary task at hand.

For example, let’s say you’ve promised to take your wife out for a romantic dinner and you decide to optimize the evening for multiple goals. The primary task at hand: a romantic dinner with your wife. In planning the event, you:

1. Make the reservation for 6:30 so you can get home in time for Monday night football.
2. Choose a restaurant where you have a 2-for-1 entrée coupon.
3. Take time composing one last email on your Blackberry while she’s looking over the wine list.

It is quite possible that your over-optimization of the evening may result in the failure of your primary romantic intent.

The business world has been long enamored with optimization. From the assembly line to Six Sigma, we apply rigorous principles to continually improve our processes. Such efforts can have extremely positive results, especially when we remember that we are often optimizing people, not cogs, and we are careful not to over-optimize.

The Android GUI

I can’t remember whether my fascination with graphical user interfaces (GUI) began with Pong or the Mac SE, but somewhere along my long journey down the digital highway, I became convinced that the concept of GUI was as critical to the evolution of technology as the concept of brand management has been to the evolution of marketing.

Until recently, this conviction has diminished my technical credibility. In the ’80s, when I worked at SAS, I argued that statisticians were not computer scientists (what we called software developers back then) and therefore required a more intuitive manner with which to interface with our software. In the ’90s, when I worked at SGI, I fought the GUI battle for technologies such as email and web browsers, making little headway against UNIX engineers who believed GUI was a costly, inefficient, and irrelevant overhead to perfectly understandable command-line interfaces. I remember thinking then that if SGI—a company built on the vision of computer graphics—didn’t understand the power of graphical interfaces, no company would. Still, when I started my own company, Pie Digital, I stuck to my GUI guns. As my partners and I schlepped Sand Hill Road, I found myself eyed mockingly any time I would tout the holistic UX (User Experience, inclusive of GUI) of the Pie System. It was as if I were talking about our HR practices (nothing against HR—I’ve spent much of my career in HR—but other than being able to recruit engineers quickly, you don’t bring up the strategic relevance of HR practices in a VC pitch). My co-founders eventually convinced me to quell my UX/UI evangelism so we could appear more serious.

Then came the iPhone. Suddenly business folk from all walks are comparing capacitive versus resistive touch screens, arguing over the importance of muti-touch and gesturing, and engaging in all sorts human factors buzz talk. Last week Pie was visited by a CEO from an industry not known for caring a rat’s aorta for UI. He talked to me of the importance for anthropological human-computer interaction (HCI). Stunned, I opened once more the closet door of my evangelism and replied that I believed UX/UI was a primary differentiator for consumer-focused technologies. He nodded in agreement. It was liberating.