As luck would have it, I was able to attend the MIXX 2.7 Conference in Manhattan this year. It was my first time at the conference and I could tell from the lineup it was going to be a good one. So, when I came down with a cold the Thursday before I was to leave for NY, I started pounding orange juice and thinking positive thoughts. But to no avail. By the time I arrived at Mitchell Field for my flight out of Milwaukee, I was sick as a dog. Now, I am not much of a complainer, but I am possibly the worst sick guy ever. Totally worthless lump when I catch a bug. Nonetheless, I decided to persevere in the face of adversity. I was not going to miss the conference. That’s not to say I didn’t wallow in my sufferings all the way to LaGuardia. I did. But I did so in silence, which I figured must be worth something.

When I landed in NY, I grabbed the nearest shuttle, trusting that in no time at all I would be fast asleep in the confines of my hotel room. My intention was a self-imposed quarantine, during which I might just start feeling better for Monday’s conference kick-off. But the driver dropped me at the wrong hotel. And I found quickly that there were a few “Plaza” hotels. Near as I could ascertain, there are some three of them. My fault for not being more specific. Eventually I made it to the Crowne Plaza, Times Square. The check-in was uneventful and I made my way to my room on the 34th floor, turned on ESPN and caught up on the Packers game.

The next morning, I woke up early to the din of the TV and noted I had left the bathroom light on. I also remembered being stirred from sleep a couple of times by the sound of sirens ricocheting off the high-rise buildings from the streets below. The UN, it turns out, was having its General Assembly get-together and dignitaries warrant police escorts. It’s a perk, I would guess.

I ironed my clothes, and did my best to put myself together. I showered, shaved, and then remembered my tube of toothpaste had been confiscated at Mitchell. I put some soap on the toothbrush and grimaced. Again, I was determined to persevere. Nonetheless, I could not have felt much worse than I did. As I mentioned I am not much of a complainer. Except maybe in prose. My eyes were watering, my nose was running, my head felt like I had been on the receiving end of a Louisville Slugger. Okay, well maybe not quite like that, but I am permitted creative license. I grabbed a bunch of Kleenex, stuffed them in my pocket and staved off another sneeze.

I spent the 34-floor elevator ride staring at myself in the sheen of the polished steel doors. I looked like a really sick guy trying not to look ill. Which, of course, pretty much was the case. The door opened to a ton of activity, as one would expect. I would do my best to lose myself in the crowd, avoiding any unnecessary human interaction. If I was going to be the Sick Guy, I didn’t want to broadcast it. I would suffer in silence. As it turned out, interaction with others was rather the point of the conference, so within minutes I was speaking with one of the exhibitors about something I can’t quite recall. The cold meds had kicked in on cue. Now, I was happy for the slight relief. But I was also cognoscente that I was somewhat… well, somewhat stoned. This was the unintended consequence I hadn’t thought of. After my brief interaction with “Vendor Guy,” I made my way to the main conference hall, found a seat in the back, and did my best to appear deeply engaged in checking my Treo. Next time I looked up, the hall was packed.

I spent the day taking in as much as I could, returning to my room on the 34th for an occasional rest and to splash water on my face.

It is not lost on me that many who attended the MIXX 2007 Conference are wondering who to curse for their cold. For the record, I started my investigation with a call home from the hotel, presuming this question would eventually come up. And this is what I discovered. A couple of my kids had stayed home from school both Monday and Tuesday. I also found that many of their co-conspirators had missed the tail-end of the prior week due to what was described to me as a “really bad cold.” So, if you try to pin it on me, just know that I am pinning it on some kid in Mrs. DeLuka’s 5th-grade class at Poplar Creek Elementary, New Berlin, WI, who I am told was the first kid in the class exhibiting symptoms.

As for the MIXX conference and the point of this article: we gather as Interactive Marketers in order to swap ideas, so that we might become better (stronger if you will) at what we do for a living. In this sense, we are not unlike host-carriers of strange and exotic strains of thought. In the exchange of these ideas, whether participating in or attending a panel, or participating in a break-out session, or even engaging in idle chit-chat, we infect others with our ideas while exposing our own minds to the ideas of others. Now, before you take me for a genius, I must make clear that the idea of ideas and their transmission as viruses is not my own. That credit goes to Richard Dawkins, who likened the transmission of ideas from one mind to another to the behavior of genes being passed from one organism to its offspring. He termed his theory memetic theory. And in memetic theory, a thought/concept/idea is referred to as a unit termed a meme. The host transmits memes via communication to others, not unlike a father or mother transmits his/her DNA to subsequent generations. Point is this… I may have picked up a cold/flu bug from my kids, who for their part were infected by some other kid in Mrs. DeLuka’s class. And being sick at MIXX was a drag to be sure. But my immune system is better for it. In a real sense, I have become better (stronger if you will) for it. Conferences, where the free exchange of memes take place, really do make us better professionals. The degree to which they are of value to us as individuals depends heavily upon the degree to which we transmit our own memes to others and open up our minds to be infected with the memes of others.

Sure… I was the “Sick Guy.” And you can hate me for it if you want. But I went through hell and back for the sake of swimming in your memes. And I guess, even given a bad case of the Cold, that which doesn’t kill me makes me stronger somehow.

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