Dorrier Underwood

You don’t know squat. So I’m at the event to do my Elvis show. It’s on a stage and they’re going to open me up with these Vegas showgirls with feathers in their hair and bikini outfits and it seems like the perfect opportunity to showcase the King. But then, I walk in and realize the people aren’t really there for the show. They’re there to be with each other. There could be 100, 150 people there but there is nobody within 30 or 40 feet of the stage and as I begin to walk around through the crowd to touch people’s hands, nobody will really touch my hand. I get up on the stage and do my show. I do my dance. I do my songs. Nobody is really listening, nobody is clapping. Then I finish my first two songs and it’s time to do the special song that they requested that I do. They requested it. I didn’t even want to do it but I’m willing to do anything. As I was sitting in the back considering changing my show, I’m thinking, “I’m a good performer. I’m the kind of performer that tries to d

The rule of Alexander the Great, at his death, extended over more than two million square miles. Not all of those lands had been conquered. Apparently, when some little countries saw him coming, they just gave up and asked him to dinner. Setting aside his military prowess, one can see Alexander as a master of Mergers and Acquisitions. It’s the part that comes after each “takeover” that points to his genius at holding on to what he had won, whether in battle or by concession. He didn’t need to leave more than a small administrative contingent in one conquered land before moving on to the next. Once conquered, they stayed conquered, until his death at 32. Dave Logan, one of the authors of Tribal Leadership, credits much of Alexander’s success to his tutelage in rhetoric under Aristotle. This is not the corrupted view of rhetoric as some flowery manipulation. Rhetoric for Aristotle encompassed ethos in language (wisdom, virtue and good will) as well as pathos. Alexander went into cou

My first thought was “Wha--?” My second was “terrorists?” My third thought was “Someone who resents high performers?” None of these thoughts required any work on my part. I did not cogitate, analyze, weigh or seek additional information. The thoughts arrived unbidden. I need to remember that. I need to remember that because my brain, like all human brains, attend to the drama—the outrageous, the loud, the flashy, the emotionally compelling—and, in so doing, either miss some critical, quiet clue or put undue weight on the Big Events. For instance, many more people die of poor diet (too much salt, fat, sugar) than terrorist attacks, but I pay much more attention to screaming headlines than to what I put in my body. Actually, I do pay attention to Cheese Crunchies—a lot of attention—so it would be more accurate to say that I let drama convince me that there are Bigger Things at Stake than the effects on my body of Crunchies and too few vegetables, statistics and the relatively q

I got goosebumps watching Adam Scott fulfill the hopes of a sporting nation (Australia) by winning the Masters, the world's most prestigious golf tournament, as the rain fell and the light faded across north Georgia this evening. I'm not a golfer, nor do I watch golf tournaments as a matter of course. I'm a student of performance, and a fan of performance art, the art of performing under pressure, in the spotlight, like Bruce or Tiger or P!nk or LeBron or Steven Strasburg. Didn't really know this 32-year old Aussie, but was reminded of his epic failure at last year's British Open, when he let a four-shot lead get away with only four holes to play... he had played hot and cold in this round, but at the end was in the lead going to the 18th hole! But I was really struck by the greatness of his foe, Angel Cabrera of Argentina, touchingly caddied by his son, sharing amazing moments with him. He is a grandfather in his 40's and he was matching this strong tall

We have a mouse in the house. At least I think this dark thing that moves like lightning to some unknown retreat is a mouse… about that size, at least in the flash I see it. The first clue I had was visual, and I thought I was seeing things that weren’t there. I saw something scurrying out of the corner of my eye one night, and I tried to see where it went… to no avail. Then I saw the tiny little droppings, near the sink and the dishwasher… I mean tiny, tiny pellets that could have been just seeds from something, or maybe even chocolate sprinkles left over from a cookie session with Eve. I got them up, and then they reappeared the next day… no seeds in our house or cooking sessions to blame it all on. Okay, likely a mouse, or a rodent of some sort. And there have been two sightings since then, all by me… Phil hasn’t seen anything but the droppings, though he does believe me.  I’ve been reading up on how to catch a mouse. We could rent a cat, perhaps… not my idea of fu