The Practice of Recording Meetings: Good Custom or Overload?

I’ve been navigating my new 100% remote-work environment for a few months. I’m still figuring out a few things, such as when to be on/off video, or where to position my camera. When I should book a meeting instead of reaching out by chat for a quick call. Or how to make it through a day of back-to-back meetings. At least for the last challenge, I’m implementing new guidelines to shorten meeting durations by 5 (or 10 minutes) to allow for some breathing room in between.

However, one new thing is how easy it is for anybody in the meeting to make a recording. I think before everybody was 100% remote, recording meetings didn’t happen. Or at least it didn’t happen frequently. This might have been because in a face-to-face scenario, it wasn’t as easy to record without special equipment. Also, making a recording would have required someone to gain consent. And all of this could have been more complicated if some attendees were remote and joining in through phone or video calling.

Now, recording the meeting is as easy as clicking a button. Instantly the recording starts. Participants give their implied consent by remaining in the meeting. To be fair, nobody has made a recording without first mentioning, or asking if this would be okay with the attendees. A red signal indicates recording so everyone knows.

Since I’m in the business of Records and Information Management, I always have to wonder, what happens to all these recordings? Where are they stored? And more importantly, is anybody going to watch through a 30-60 minute recording of a video to refresh their memory? Sometimes when I do interviews, I like to record them for referring back, or filling in gaps in my notes. These recordings are done with consent and only maintained for a limited period of time. Also, without any indexing done on a recording, it can be challenging to find a specific section. Videos are difficult to search.

All of this to say, just because something is easy to do, doesn’t make it a good practice. Additionally, just because something has a perceived usefulness, doesn’t make it useful. Without following up, or reviewing our practices, we can’t know if making these ad-hoc videos is beneficial. Something I’m sure I will have to assess in the future as someone assigned to clean-up these things.

The Infodemic vs. the Pandemic

Over a year into the pandemic, we’re still dealing with a parallel infodemic. The infodemic is the spread of misinformation and disinformation about the pandemic. The misleading, or incorrect, information can be found on social media, TV, newspapers, etc. It can come from professional sources or from regular people.

I blogged about it in Misinformation in the Time of the Pandemic. I made suggestions for improving it in Librarians: The Disinformation Antidote. The infodemic is problematic for many reasons. This pandemic is a scary time for most people. For the last eighteen+ months, we’ve been living our lives according to restrictions, lockdowns, and new protocols. Having up-to-date and accurate information is critical for us to make decisions. Sifting through lots of information, some of which is incorrect, makes this process even more challenging. It’s hard to know who to trust, what to trust, and when to trust. Things change so quickly.

In addition to dealing with all the information (misinformation and disinformation) about the pandemic, we’re also learning about the vaccines. It’s all a lot to take in and absorb. At this point, I’ve known several people who got sick with Covid, and one death. The reality of Covid and the pandemic lives with us, yet we still struggle to get good quality information. Over a year into the pandemic, we’re sifting constantly through a never-ending supply of headlines, sensational stories, lies, truths, inaccuracies, and some trustworthy accurate stuff.

Added to all the misinformation and disinformation are data gaps. There are still some things we just don’t know yet. This is either because the data hasn’t been collected yet or not enough time has passed. For example, how common are breakthrough infections? How easily can someone with a breakthrough infection spread it to someone unvaccinated? How often does a breakthrough infection spread to another vaccinated or unvaccinated person?

In my mind, the infodemic will have more lasting consequences than the actual pandemic. Though it seems that Covid is here to stay, we’ll always be reading, learning, or experiencing it in one form or another. Should the day ever come when we can once again gather, unmasked in large numbers, I wonder how we’ll think about this time. And what resources we will have to rely on.

Talking: The old-fashioned way

As more pandemic restrictions lift, we will have to re-learn how to talk, face to face. The other evening I called a friend. She couldn’t talk because she was out, having drinks and dinner at a bar. It all sounded very magical and exotic. I hear about my friends having more of these experiences. Each time, I pause for a moment, to imagine what it will be like to actually have conversations, again, face to face all the time, instead of an occasional treat.

For the last 15+ months I think most of us have been surviving socially on video calls. But it’s not the same thing. I find on video or conference calls, there can be a lot of awkwardness. For example, it’s hard to know when to speak. Sometimes there’s a slight delay so two people are speaking at the same time. Without important non-verbal communication cues, it’s difficult to know when somebody is about to speak. Or even to gage when they’re finished speaking.

The video calls at work also get challenging. I use two monitors. The camera is on my laptop, but if I’m screen sharing, or taking notes, I’m almost always doing that on my second monitor. Consequently, I’m never looking directly into the camera. I just can’t get the angle right for the laptop and the monitor, so that I’m more squarely visible.

Even talking on video, it’s also hard to figure out when to speak sometimes. During work meetings, I often end up raising my hand, otherwise it can be difficult to jump in. Nobody is making direct eye contact with anyone else, or noticing other non-verbal cues that make up the majority of communication. Reading facial expressions is almost impossible when everybody’s face is a tiny little box, sometimes blurry, or distorted because of using a background setting.

I often wonder, when we’re finally allowed to move about freely, will we have lost the art of communicating? Will it be a chapter in future history books how we used to get along by talking with one another, unmasked, in person, and out in the open?

I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, I’m hoping to keep my face-to-face talking skills sharp by having small, outdoor picnic-style lunches with friends while the weather is still nice.

The Silent Season

I’ve been playing music for most of my life. Playing music, for me, is largely a social experience. Despite having spent hours and hours practicing alone, the hours spent making music with others are the ones I remember most. I’m accustomed to dedicating at least one night a week to orchestra rehearsals. This time is sacred in my schedule and non-negotiable. I also block off weekends, and some week nights, throughout the year for performing.

Rehearsing and performing has been part of my life for decades. It felt odd to go through the “silent season” last year. In 2020, the pandemic hit the day before a concert. My orchestra was in the middle of auditioning new conductors. For the audition, each short-listed candidate had six rehearsals and the performance. I was on the selection committee. All the committee members spent hours reviewing and interviewing candidates to arrive at the short list. The timing of the pandemic put an abrupt end to the process and one of my personal lifelines.

Each week I looked forward to rehearsal night. It was a chance to recharge and do something that I love. Normally, we start rehearsing at the end of August until the end of May. I have a number of close “orchestra” friends that I’m fond of seeing every week. Sometimes I see them more than my other friends. I’m usually ready for a few weeks off at the end of the season. But by the end of June, I’m feeling eager to play and lonely for the musical camaraderie. This cycle is built into my natural rhythm. At least it was until the pandemic.

For maybe the second year in a row, I’m facing the possibility of another “silent season.” People coordinated Zoom rehearsals and online playing last season, but it’s not the same. The orchestras I used to play with have been hard at work trying to figure out how we can make music again, safely. And even more importantly, how we can attract an audience to fund the orchestra. I play a wind instrument so masking isn’t an option. Some distancing is possible, though there are limits.

It seems as though we may have to endure for one more season. In the meantime, I’ve been encouraging my family to play music and learn instruments so I’m not lonely playing only for myself.

Looking in the Underwear Drawer

Over the years, I’ve had lots of trials and tribulations working in Records and Information Management (RIM). Curiously, many of them occur when I’m helping someone, or a group of someones, organize their information better. By better, I mean in a way that makes it easy to find things. Or knowing what to save and what to toss.

The process usually starts the same. I ask questions to assess the current problems and desired end state. This part often goes smoothly. Then I ask to look at the current system. This is where things take a turn. People often get very defensive, and almost protective, of their information. Even when they’ve just told me their system doesn’t work. And especially when they’re discussing their work information, which doesn’t have anything personal in it. Or at least it shouldn’t.

I assure people I’m focusing mainly on context rather than content. I explain I’m assessing the process. Honestly, there’s usually so much volume that I don’t have time to read and poke through things, even if I wanted to. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that people treat me like I’m rifling through their underwear drawer. That’s actually the last thing I would ever volunteer, paid or otherwise, to organize for someone else. Even professional nerds like myself have our limits.

What’s so personal about underwear anyway?

This feeling of invading someone’s privacy while trying to fix their information management systems has occurred so often, that it really made me think about it. What is it that feels so personal about an email inbox, document names, and how we describe and nest our file folders?

In some ways, it is personal in the sense that everybody has their own unique way of organizing, naming, and saving their stuff. But at the same time, almost all of my experience is in a business setting. I generally deal with business information that doesn’t contain any personal information. So why do people get so territorial and protective about their stuff, even when it technically belongs to the organization?

My impression is that people know their system of organizing better than anybody else’s. Even when that system is faulty, it’s comfortable and familiar. So when I enter the picture, even with a faster, more intuitive way to organize and find information, it’s different. And that can be a hard sell.

The Universality of the Junk Drawer

Last week one of my reader’s commented that taking care of the niggly things is why we have junk drawers. And it’s true! Sometimes it takes too much brain power, or requires too much energy, or decision making to deal with one thing. That’s when it’s time to open up, or start, a junk drawer. A place to collect this seemingly, random accumulation of stuff. However, there are times when a certain kind of order, weird logic, or pattern appear. I write this as someone who deals with them professionally.

Thinking about junk drawers brought me a kind of relief. The relief that comes with not having to deal with something at that exact moment, but still feeling comforted that it had been handled in some way.

Perhaps this is why:

  1. Everybody seems to have at least one junk drawer. They’re universal.
  2. Nobody needs training on a junk drawer. It’s as though we all know instinctively what a junk drawer is, how it functions, and how to create one.

To me this is similar to using folders. In 10+ years of working as a records & information management professional, I have never had to teach somebody what a folder is, what it is used for, or how to create one. The concept of a folder, or a junk drawer, is universally accepted.

The last time I blogged about Junk Drawers, one of my reader’s commented, with relief, that she was glad I wasn’t recommending getting rid of the junk drawer. There’s definitely a time and place where it’s okay, and even beneficial, to be messy. Even though I love decluttering and organizing, having a junk drawer is one of those time.

The Magic of the Junk Drawer

It’s true. The junk drawer can be a magic place to make annoying things disappear. Hopefully they reappear at the right moment. It can be a place for discovering long, lost treasures. A way to relive a favorite memory. However, they can also become wastelands.

The best strategy is a combination of willful abandon (i.e., get the annoying thing out of sight) and occasional sifting. It’s healthy to go through your junk drawer periodically. Even if the sole reason is to make space for more junk. However, it’s likely you’ll be able to put some stuff away properly. Or at the very least, pass a few pleasurable moments reminiscing.