Consider the Supra

Things I like:

• Salted caramel almost anything
• Espousing uninformed, misguided, authoritative sounding dribble
• Cappuccinos – not salted caramel though

I already had a cappuccino today, and I think I’m getting fat from sugar, so I guess that leaves me with adding confusion to a topic I know nothing about.

The Toyota Supra

I mean, I know a little about it: I can spot one in a crowd, and I can read about it on Wikipedia. But I don’t know most things – like development costs, profit margins, or target market demographics. The exact things needed to make the following statements even remotely plausible.

1. Everybody and their mother killed the Supra in a great big team effort
2. There are non-car people working at Toyota and they should quit
3. Nissan is doing one hell of a job keeping the dead Supra dead

Lemmesplain

In 1997 everybody had lots of money and they were all ready and willing to spend. It was the middle of the longest continuous economic expansion in US history, oil was back to cheap after the gulf war, and the Yen was dive-bombing suffering during the Asian financial crisis.

Americans could finally afford a little something extra in the automobile department, and we figured the bigger your SUV, the thicker your pen is to write checks. Anyhow, that was the beginning of the large SUV and the end of the berserker Japanese sports car. For a while.

Ten years later, in 2007, the number of sports car models Toyota sold was exactly zero. For the first time since 1969, Toyota offered no sports or sporty cars. The last of the breed, the Celica, was axed only the year before. And no, the Scion TC doesn’t count. From a styling and performance perspective, it never quite fit the bill.

Toyota Models

But the story isn’t over there. Or at least I hope it isn’t. We still have an appetite for the sports car, so why won’t Toyota satisfy us?

Well, they’re starting to. Kind of. The GT-86 is a serious step in the right direction, but it wasn’t all Toyota, was it? The cost-sharing program with Subaru demonstrates that someone at Toyota still isn’t willing to take on that risk alone – someone at Toyota believes the spreadsheet should dictate which cars to R&D, and which cars should take up space on dealer lots. Someone at Toyota still doesn’t believe in the sports car, and they need to go.

But at the end of the day, the GT-86 was green lighted, so Toyota is willing to at least test the waters once again. Good on them. However, something else happened in 2007 that, I suspect, is now the only reason for keeping our filthy little hands away from the new Supra.

Nissan’s GT-R

It’s long known that Nissan and Toyota ignored their own gentleman’s agreement to limit horsepower in the Skyline and Supra, meaning at one point Toyota cared enough about their own car, as well as the other guy’s, to lie to various governments and to the population at large. And god bless them for it. Seriously.

It’s probably a safe bet then that, when it comes to resurrecting the Supra name, Toyota won’t do it until they have something that’s competitive, once again, with the old rivals. And good lord have you seen what that GT-R can do? You have to step into something truly exotic to fell Godzilla, and whatever that thing is always makes the Nissan look as tall as a minivan.

The Supra will almost inevitably be a loss leader, which to bean counters is impossible to imagine, so let me explain how this will work through the magic of metaphor.

The Supra is a man. A big man, with big arms and a big chest and a big beard. And he’s angry and he throws a chair through a window.

Now, you would think that a big man with a temper should be terrifying, right? That people would run away in fear? Well, if the man is handsome enough, and the Supra absolutely was, an odd thing happens: That big, scary, hairy man has lots of sex with lots of women. Additionally, there will be many more women who want to have sex with the scary man, but are already married. So they go home and have fantasy sex with their noodly armed husbands.

In this case, we the car-enthusiast buying public are the horny women, and the noodly armed husbands we want to have sex with are other Toyota models that we end up buying, and it’s at this point that the metaphor breaks down. But you get the point.

Just do it, Toyota!

Autonomous Mobility

Give it 12 years. 2025 is a nice, round number.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the inevitable automation of cars. I think that full automation – not touching the wheel, gas, or brakes – is closer than most people think. There will be a number of factors keeping broad adoption low to begin with, but from a commercial availability perspective, it’s right around the corner. Though when I say available, I’m somehow not saying on sale to the consumer. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

There are plenty of moving parts that march us ever towards this new relationship with vehicles; I’ll try to name as many as I can before I feel the need to admit I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Cars are getting smarter

The tech needed to support fully automated cars exists right now, and already has hundreds of thousands of proof-of-concept miles in the bag tank trunk. Companies like Google, VW, and Toyota have had driverless cars quietly moving around cities and highways for a few years, to wildly safe success.

Much of that same tech is routinely baked into current consumer vehicles, but packaged as individual safety or luxury features. Brake assist, lane departure warnings, anti-fatigue measures, and pedestrian avoidance systems are commonplace. Steer by wire, super cruise, and intricate arrays of advanced sensors and cameras are coming on line more and more. Each of these features use the same technological underpinnings that are needed for fully autonomous cars.

All this boils down to one quiet yet important fact: You can buy a Mercedes, today, that can drive itself in stop and go traffic; speeding up, slowing down, and going around corners, without your input. Tomorrow you can buy an Audi that finds a parking spot in a garage after you’ve gotten out and gone inside somewhere. And to a computer, the difference between 5 mph and 75 mph isn’t nearly as big as it is to us.

We’re not getting any better at driving

We suck at driving. All of us. Even you. Compared to machines your situational comprehension, reaction time, decision making ability, spatial reasoning, and object permanence is embarrassing. Unfortunately, all of these are extraordinarily important components in being able to drive well. On top of that, modern cars and the roads they drive on are get better, which means average speeds are increasing, shrinking our precious margins of error.

How long will it take the insurance industry to recognize, in miles driven before a wreck, the difference between an autonomous Prius and a 16 year old with a hashtag addiction? Or an octogenarian with undiagnosed Alzheimer’s? Or any male under the age of 35? Seven weeks is my bet – a month to generate the numbers, a week for analysis, a week to double check that analysis, and a week to draft new policies for automated cars.

There are other nickels and dimes to be saved

Besides the insurance savings, less will also be spent on gas. Initially, smarter routing based on real-time traffic updates, and smoother mechanical operation (acceleration and breaking), will boost individual MPG returns. Rerouting around accidents will become a trusted component and barely even noticed by the driver, so time spent in traffic will decrease. But when you scale up adoption city wide, and then to a national level, the 5% lift in efficiency you found individually will be dwarfed by what comes next.

Take the morning commute for any major city: When a certain percentage of cars automatically execute on the fastest route to anywhere, the burden of traffic will ease exponentially. This will raise the average speed on any given street or highway, adding efficiency to every car on the road. This is to say nothing of the fact that accidents will become fewer and farther between, further pushing down traffic load. Taking all the gains found at the city level, from a national perspective a measureable ease in fuel demand will occur, and the market price will drop.

Nice.

There are a number of other reasons to adopt this tech, but as it turns out I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about (made it 700 odd words). I’m also itching to get to the big one.

Commercial Industry Incentives

Insensitivity warning: Insensitivity ahead.

There are lots of professional drivers out there. Millions of ‘em, in fact, making their living and supporting their families as long-haul truckers and delivery drivers. Each year they move goods nearly a quarter of a trillion (trillion (with a fucking T)) miles in the US alone. And those muhfuggas are expensive.

Do you have any idea what $.40/.25Trillion is? I do. It’s the annual number of dollars that trucking companies pay their drivers. Or taken another way, it’s the number of dollars tacked on to goods purchased by consumers. It’s also a hundred billion. And it’s only a matter of time before one of those two paying entities want some of their dollars back.

And again with the exponential return thing: As go the truck drivers, so goes the weekly mileage limitations imposed for safety reasons. So goes the time “wasted” while the drivers “sleep”, or “eat”. So goes the unreliable dependence on sight for safety at night, or in inclement weather. No more rookie driver mistakes costing time and money, fewer touch-points for shrink (“Musta fell off the truck”), and so much less paid out in liability for accidents with other motorists. Most people already know the truckers are the careful ones, but if you’ve got 6 cameras on each side of your trucks, you’ll have some beautiful footage of the idiots who crash into your stuff.

So we’ve got the tech, we’ve got the incentive. Why hasn’t this happened already?

Lots of reasons.

1.      The tech probably isn’t quite ready just yet. Nervous manufactures don’t want to get sued because their self-driving car wrecked, so they’ll keep at R&D and then release consumer grade products when they feel like they’re covered.

2.      And speaking of coverage, there will need to be lots more laws written around driverless vehicles. Who pays when one of these things really does crash with fault? The driver who bought it? The manufacturer who made it? The part supplier whose camera stopped working? The software company who programed it?

3.      And speaking of laws, we all know how quick our lawmakers are to understand and embrace technology. Luckily the silver-tongued $100B the trucking industry alone stands to make per year by not paying their drivers is a sweet talking little honey bunny.

4.      And speaking of embracing technology, would you buy a first gen automated car? Consumers will have to be eased into the technology, even as it has existed safely for several years. But waves of releases – a car that drives in traffic, a car that parks itself, a car that can swerve to avoid an accident and then give you back control – will boost consumer confidence. It won’t be long then before fully automated cars are in demand and commonplace.

But, the time scale mentioned above is certainly not on par with my prediction of consumer available driverless cars within 12 years. So how do we bridge that gap? If one wanted to speed up the adoption process, facilitating our transition to driverless cars, there is one more consumer touch-point that I think will be instrumental in the broad familiarization of the new technology.

Car sharing

Call it a taxi, call it ZipCar or Car2Go, call it Lyft. Whatever you call it, it’s not your car but it just drove you somewhere and you paid someone something. The experiences can be great, but more often than not they’re horrible: Sometimes you know for a fact your driver is either lost or taking the long way. Sometimes you pay $50 to go 12 miles. Sometimes you’re drunk and you kill a cabbie (amirite?). Whatever your experience, you know it could be better than it is now.

This is where our first consumer experience with driverless cars will come in. The new automated car service will pilot in a big, tech friendly city. You’ll give it a shot on your own terms, ordering the car and taking a little trip – like a carnival ride. You’ll appreciate the quick, quiet, clean experience. You’ll see your destination on a screen with traffic flow and an ETA. You’ll fare will be automatically deducted from your bank account – no need to even pull out your wallet or phone (this is 12 years from now after all). And then you’ll be hooked. You’ll begin to wonder if you could get rid of your car, and just use this service.

The company that supplies this service will be a giant. Who else will have the pockets to roll it out first? They will have the experience and knowhow from millions of miles quietly piloting prototypes, and this gives them reason to create a market that helps recoup their extensive R&D costs. They’ll have limitless access to bleeding edge technology, world class navigation algorithms, comprehensive street level mapping of every major city, proven influence with legal policy creation, and always looking for deeper product integration. If only such a company existed now.

Adventures (?) in Unemployment: Day 185

Hi, my name is Eric, and I’m a stay-at-home-husband.

So this is what it feels like to be unemployed for six consecutive months: It’s a nagging, frustrating feeling that no matter what I’m doing, I could be making better use of my time. It’s avoiding former coworkers, not because I’m embarrassed, but because I’m afraid they might have survivor’s guilt. It’s an aversion to malls.

Actually, that was there before.

But on the whole, it hasn’t been so bad, and here’s why:

• I keep myself moving. When I’m not actively looking for a job, I try to remain productive in other areas – lots of reading, writing, and exercise, and not too much Netflix or idle internet browsing. I actively try to add structure and variety to a day that would open and close just fine without it. That’s not to say I don’t have off days, because I do. Days I slink out of bed at 4 p.m. so sick of Reddit, FaceBook, and YouTube that I can’t breathe.

• It's been a busy, beautiful summer: Getting married, honeymooning, vacations, family and friends visiting – each of these milestones separate what could have been indistinguishable months of beautiful monotony. And the weather, oh my god. Perfect. That’s helped keep the spirits way up.

• I’m not entirely unfulfilled. In its absence, I’ve learned that “to work” is so much more than to simply draw pay. It’s a place to add value, to perform on a team, to grow and create. But when all that is suddenly gone, the hole in my day isn't simply plugged by finding things to do for eight hours. And yet the reinforced sense of self-worth I got by doing good work at work has been somewhat replaced by doing good work at home and, when I can, volunteering now and again. I am bored though, absolutely, but I don’t hate myself. So that’s good.

What the job search has been like:

I’ve created profiles on a number of jobs boards (Monster, Indeed, Careerbuilder, Seattlejobs, ad nauseam), and I keep them on recruiters’ radar by updating information or uploading resumes on a weekly basis. From these boards I have received hundreds of canned emails telling me about the wildly exciting and lucrative career in insurance sales. C’mon, Farmers! I’ll probably respond to the next one! I also have a profile in the career section of most major Seattle area companies. 

But from these avenues, aside from insurance spam, I mostly get notes or calls from area 3^rd party recruiters who, as far as I can tell, are tasked with providing maybe a dozen options for a particular opening that hiring managers can then chose from. Usually the process is a quick call to determine I’m alive and not currently drunk, an email confirming my interest in the job description and compensation, and another call to talk through examples of situations I may encounter; lovely, lively conversations that typically end right there. These interactions account for around 90% of the attention I get from passive searching. Occasionally an in person, follow-up interview will be scheduled, but this is typically the exception that proves the rule.

A strategy with a much higher take-rate has been trolling through craigslist posts. The downside to this approach is the amount of inapplicable gigs to filter through before the ones that fit show themselves. The upside is directly (in many cases) contacting the hiring organization, an exposure to a wide variety openings, and oddly, a total sense of treasure hunting. In a really lame, anti-climactic kind of way.

So there is movement. That is to say, I am getting interviews. So I guess the job search is going exactly as well as it could without actually landing a job. But here’s an unanticipated consequence to all these interviews – after each one I have to report back to my wife, friends, and family how it went. These conversations are below in chronological order;

1. “It was great! I’m excited for this one” 
2. “No, I haven’t heard back yet, but I’m still waiting” 
3. “Guess I didn’t get it. But I have another one coming up!”

I said that to say this: In some recent cases, I no longer announce when an interview comes up. The idea is that if they don’t know it happened, I won’t have to say I didn’t bring it home. That sounds more negative on paper than it did in the old coconut, but there you are. The other idea is that hopefully soon I get to say “hi, honey. I know you didn’t know about this one, but since Ballmer was stepping down they put me in at CEO”. Or something to that effect.

New thoughts have been stirring of late. I have been clinging to the mantra of “recent, relevant work experience is more valuable to perspective employers than a newly minted English grad, so prioritize work over school”. However, as moments turn to months and I’m still not working, the possibility that I will neither have a degree nor my precious “recent, relevant” marches steadily into the forefront of my mind. Since one of those pieces is within my control, I’ve decided to press on with school, full time, regardless of what is happening on the work front. If I get another gig, I’ll be in school at night. If I don’t, I’ll be in school during the day. More on that later. 

Pinckneyville

My father is from a small town in southern Illinois. So was his father, and his father before him. In fact seven generations of Smiths and their married offspring, stretching back to the mid-1800s, have lived and died in a town with one tenth the population of my neighborhood. My grandfather sleeps in the same room he was born 90 years ago, and I believe he intends to die in that room when his time comes. My dad and his twin brother found their way out after college, but my aunt stayed. So have my cousins, and since their kids are too young to take off just yet, they’re still around too.

Growing up, it seems we made our way down to Pinckneyville once every other year or so. At each arrival we would rediscover the selfsame scene that came to define my impression of what that place was: An L shaped world about 2 blocks long; beginning on one end with a railroad crossing, turning a corner around a flat green lawn, and ending three houses down at Aunt Mary and Uncle Bill’s. The midway point was my grandparent’s handsome house with a light colored roof and strong corners on the front porch. The detached garage out back; an oversized thermometer facing the kitchen door; the corrugated tin roof covering an open shed; each became as familiar to me as a favorite recurring dream – immediately recognized and judged as unchanging with every encounter.

As I grew older, the intervals between visits grew longer, until sometime around high school I stopped going. Neither through resentment nor disinterest did my attention wane, but like the recurring dream, its absence weighed very little on me. Being out of the country, I even missed my grandma’s funeral in late 2005. That was the last time my family went down together.

Half a lifetime hence, now armed with a wife, a drivers license, and a receding hairline rental car, I came back to celebrate my grandpa’s 90^th birthday. Though I hadn’t visited since I was a teenager, the only thing that changed was me. My L shaped world was exactly as I left it; still warm under the heavy setting summer sun, its stillness pierced by the cicada drone from unidentified treetops. Perhaps some details shifted slightly – a missing hedge here, a new car there, but by and large everything was just how I remembered. And so began the schism – the separation of the two Pinckneyvilles: One that I unquestioningly absorbed as a child; and one that I now keenly observed behind eyes that have finally seen some sheeit.  

Firstly, Pinckneyville is not simply the 100 yards between the family houses. It’s much larger than that. Like, 20 times larger. In two directions. Secondly, there’s more to do than just sneak around the attic and garage roof while we think grandpa isn’t looking. There are restaurants but no movie theater. There’s a tire shop but no dry cleaners. You can buy a gun in town but not a bicycle. And for better or worse, everybody knows you. Even if you have never lived there. The last time I visited, as a teenager, I walked past a flower shop and the owner (who was well in to her 150s) popped outside and declared that I was a Smith though she didn’t know which brother had sired me. She was already halfway back in when I caught my breath and wheezed “Al, ma’am”.

This visit was no different. In my email to the B&B where we were staying, I mentioned how long it had been since I last visited. Our greeting was something to the effect of “Are you Eric? Shame on you for taking so long to get here! Your room is upstairs”. She wasn’t kidding, but it didn’t hurt any. I’ll just go back sooner so I don’t get scolded again. Neither this establishment nor any of its rooms had functioning door locks.

But that “small town” coin has two sides, and nighttime in a small town is wildly different. We spent an evening with my cousin’s family eating at Dixie’s Cup, the only diner open after 11:00.

 <Tangent> I opened the menu and dropped into a sticker shock, of sorts: Burger and fries for $4; “Steak” “dinner” for $8. I couldn’t not sound like a dick as I tried to explain what an all-night dive in Seattle looks like. Bottom line is our burgers have suggested wine pairings. </Tangent>

Since my high school boasted a larger population than the free residents of Pinckneyville, and I didn’t know half of my own graduating class, I wondered if my cousin knew everybody in town, or at least everyone who happened to be in the diner. She looked around to see if anybody was listening, and then proceeded, in a matter of moments, to dissolve the illusion of quiet, private small town life.

             “See the fry cook? That’s (her daughter’s) former best friend until a few weeks ago. They got in a fight. The woman next to her is her mom. Our server lives with her husband, and boy friend. And ten year old son. The guy on the grill just got out of prison for meth. The cashier is a pedophile. If you look outside, there is a car parked across the street. That’s the hostess’s paranoid and jealous husband who watches her work”.

She could have continued with every single patron in the restaurant had she been facing them. As it happened, she was seated the wrong way. But that’s the essence of it; when residents on opposite sides of a small town aren't separated by more than 2 miles – walls, doors, and windows become more metaphorical than physical (since they never lock anyway). And equally ineffective.

Though the world of Pinckneyville both expanded and collapsed during this visit, I am by no means fulfilled, and I can’t imagine letting another 12 years slip past before returning. I believe there was wisdom in the bi-annual visit cadence, and Wells Fargo willing, I’ll keep going back to enjoy watching the next seven generations unfold in all their small town glory.

Average American Billionaire

This afternoon I found myself watching a “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” type show that glamorized the material buying power of a handful of billionaires around the world. From the humble, almost embarrassingly small fortunes of dot-com entrepreneurs (~ $3B) to Saudi Royalty (~$20B) to the Gates and Slims of the globe ($50B+), there was seemingly no end to the thought and creativity put into spending those hard-earned, or more commonly hard-inherited, piles of cash. So I got to thinking: What would the proportional equivalent of my last five transactions be had I the wealth of a billionaire? That is to say – if I spent 0.01% of my net worth on a cup of coffee, how many dollars would that be if I were mega-ly rich, and what could I have bought instead?

Maths:

First off I need some numbers: Prices of things I bought; a value assigned to me; and a comparative billionaire’s value. Let’s do the easy part first.

In chronological order, most recent transaction on top, these are the last five purchases that I made with my check card. They are typical prices for a variety of products and services with regular (daily, weekly, monthly, or yearly) reoccurrence. Fair game for a fun comparison.

Coffee Shop     -    $12.83

Car Wash         -    $15.00

Dinner Out        -    $40.00

Soccer Cleats    -    $111.00

Hair Cut            -    $30.00

Now for the tougher, more variable numbers: What value should I assign to myself? I have options.

• Cash on hand
• Net worth
• Income reported for 2012
• Income percentile for Americans

And while we’re on the subject of defining value, what makes a Billionaire in this sense – aside from having at least a thousand million dollars? Again, lots of options.

• Having exactly $1B
• Average Billionaire’s wealth
• Average American Billionaire’s wealth
• Average cash liquidity

I’m writing this crap so I get to choose. We’ll use what might currently be in my bank account against the net worth of the “Average American Billionaire” so we come as close to buying power apples to buying power apples as possible.

So let’s say I’ve got $20k cash in my checking account (I don’t, but let’s say I did). And let’s use Forbes’ March 13 article that says the average American billionaire has a net worth of $4.2B. As an equivalent percentage of my newly found billions, this is what I would have spent between yesterday and today:

Coffee Shop     -    $2,694,300

Car Wash         -    $3,150,000

Dinner Out        -    $8,400,000

Soccer Cleats    -    $23,310,000

Hair Cut            -    $6,300,000

So, how would I have done it? Let’s start at the top.

Coffee Shop Budget: $2.7M (.064%)

Coffee and a sandwich? No sir; coffee plantation is the new name of the game. Looks like .064% of my wealth is good for about 812 acres of prime Costa Rican coffee country, which just so happens to be currently available for a cool $2.4 million dollars. Add a few hundred grand for machinery and labor and I’ve made my first purchase of the day. Incidentally, this is a working farm, which means it’s an investment that will pay dividends. If my calculations are correct, and they almost certainly are not, this farm could begin to pay me back in a big way in fewer than ten years.

Car Wash Budget: $3.1M (.075%)

Surprisingly, or maybe not, $3.1M will not buy any car in the world. There were a handful of new models released this year eclipsing that sum, to say nothing of the vintage and classic machines selling for ten times or more what the car budget is. So discretion is advised. I choose the Lamborghini Sesto Elemento. It sets me back $2.9M so I should have enough left over to get it washed. Alternatively I could buy three of these, if the muse descends. Now, for the real me, the me with a few grand in the bank, a car wash is quite literally pocket change. As soon as I have too many quarters in my cup holder to turn a corner quietly, I wash my car. So to be clear; buying three Bugatti Veyrons to the Average American Billionaire is about as impactful as a Normal washing his car.

Dinner Out Budget: $8.4M (.200%)

Dinner – it was good, it was Indian. So can I buy an Indian? I feel like that’s what a billionaire might do. I asked Google but got mixed results. I know for sure I can pay an Indian, if not purchase one outright. And by one I mean a fucking army. English speaking live-in housemaids with good hygiene and a familiarity with Western foods (there are dozens of expat blogs that speak to these things – their words, not mine) can earn 120,000 Rupees (~$2,000) per year. IT professionals with 10+ years experience can earn 1,200,000 Rupees (~$20,000) per year. I think a good mix within that range would be beneficial. So if we expect an average salary of 500,000 Rupees ($8,400) per year, I could have a staff of 1000 Indians. Not sure what I want them doing just yet, but that’s fine. How does the Margaret Mead quote go? “Never doubt that a large group of Indians can change the world; indeed it’s the only thing that ever has” or something like that.

Soccer Cleats Budget: $23.3M (.555%)

Didier Drogba. He’s a striker who plays for Chelsea. He’s the 20^th most highly paid soccer player in the world and I don’t like him. And I don’t like Chelsea. I would buy Didier Drogba for two years and bench him. Nobody said I had to use my powers for good.

Hair Cut Budget: $6.3M (.150%)

The most expensive hair cut I could find was like $30k, and that was only because the salon dude was flown to the Middle East on a private jet so he could cut a Sultan’s hair. From a fashion perspective, the watch I want is like $3k, suits seem to top out at $120,000, shoes stop around $2k, and even a billionaire shouldn’t be paying much more than $200 for jeans. There was a Victoria Secret bra that sold a while back for $12M, but that’s outside the budget and probably wouldn’t fit me anyway. So I’m at a bit of a loss. I could probably spend $300k on clothes, but I’d still have another $6M left over. I guess it doesn’t have to stay in the realm of fashion, but I may need some help with the last few dollars. Any ideas?

300 Words

I’ve always fancied myself as someone on the precipice of becoming a writer. I’ll admit to the occasional vague, fleeting fantasy of the prestige that comes with being defined by creativity. But until now I hadn't given much thought to what being a writer actually means. This on its own goes a long way in explaining why I am not that now, and probably never will be. But, since I’m on the topic at the moment, let me flesh out what exactly it means to “be” a “writer”.

So first things first: Is there some measurable threshold that could demarcate who is and who is not a writer; a line in the sand that empirically demonstrates success or failure in the realm of communication and creativity for its own sake? Of course not. That’s ridiculous and probably insulting. So naturally I’ll give it my best shot.

The notion of successfully “being” in this context can be measured in any number of ways. I’ll examine three of them: Audience, accolades, and earnings.

Audience

To me, success in terms of audience is regularly being read by more people than I have friends on Facebook. A crude yardstick if ever there were one, but it skirts the chance that my FB friends are nice, and out of sympathy, read whatever garbage I vomit onto a page. In order to assure myself that it isn’t just my mom and wife who read this stuff, we must surpass that threshold.

Accolades

And speaking of my mom and wife, (the more I look at that phrase, the more it seems as though the two could be one. They aren’t, I assure you) they are suspiciously supportive of my pencil drool. So some good, solid, third-party pats on the back are needed to differentiate between irresponsible encouragement and actual kudos.

Earnings

Replacing my current income (had I any) with money paid for writing would be a great indicator of success, if not entirely over-ambitious. In fact, now that I’m married, if our combined income could match what I made while employed – or even half that – I would count it as a success. Come to think of it, if writing brought enough money to buy one sandwich per day I would count myself a winner.

So that covers the “be”. What about that other part – “writer”. What is that?

Technique and content – two elements that must achieve equilibrium before a message can be properly received by its audience. Simple messages require little technique. Think street signs; just be clear and brief. Likewise, complex thought deserves precision, subtlety, and nuance in execution. The writer’s trick is appropriately applying his technique to match his message. But herein lies a very important implication; that the writer writes something worth reading. Otherwise you, the receiver, might be presented with miles and miles of very readable empty space (see above).

And above all else, ignoring the fact that I categorically fail at each of my own metrics for success, and forgetting for the moment that my technique falls somewhere between teratoma and high school freshman, I have nothing to say. Not worth you reading anyhow. And that’s why, I think, I’ll only develop as a hobby writer, rather than as a professional.

So that’s the landscape I find myself in – resigned to the fact that money will be made elsewhere, and writing pushed the margins of my day. It’s not so bad, really. Like I said before, there is no message that will go unheeded as a result. But I still hope to develop my skills, so my nothing to say won’t go entirely unnoticed. As a result, I am challenging myself to write a minimum of 300 words of nothing, per day, no excuses, for one week. I’ll start tomorrow.

Lincoln's Dilemma

Congratulations! You’ve just been handed the keys to the Lincoln Motor Company in last ditch attempt to salvage Ford’s underwhelming luxury brand. What do you do now? You could sell parts and patents to the Chinese for enough money to literally skydive with a golden parachute; but do you really want to be remembered as the guy who finally killed the Town Car?

Ok, bad example.

A business model with an expiration date

For too long Lincoln has simply gussied-up the exceptional work done by their “blue-collar” brothers and sisters in a half-hearted attempt at brand stratification. And while badge-engineering is, to an extent, an accepted practice by manufacturers occupying space across multiple demographics (i.e. economy & luxury makes), it is neither as thinly applied, nor as extensively used as it is between Ford and Lincoln models.

And herein lies the major problem: Lincoln does not have the luxury (pun very much intended) of falling back on the rock-solid reputation of a parent brand in the same way that Acura, Infinity, and Lexus enjoy the near mythic reliability of Honda, Nissan, and Toyota. Admittedly Ford has moved heaven and earth to convince the buying public that theirs is a brand finally worthy of comparison to neo-traditional competitors from Japan and Korea, but this has done little in the way of bolstering their luxury arm.

In fact, the shift in perceived quality at Ford has drained what little value Lincoln held, prompting major differentiation between brands now to be found in the buying experience and service orientation, rather than on a product level. And while these are important elements of a successful luxury brand, they are not enough on their own.

Solving for Lincoln

The first order of business is clarify, if not redefine entirely, the role of the American luxury car in a competitive and globalized businesscape. We must reconcile with the notion that consumers shouldn’t have to sacrifice quality for domestic loyalty, realize the right to build the finest cars in the world, and recognize that heritage and evolution are not mutually exclusive.

This challenge is met through the conception of a halo project – a clarion call of brand values to inform design language and performance ideals – something that excites a new generation of potential Lincoln enthusiasts. Our new flagship will be from the beginning a proof of concept in engineering perfection, not an exercise in mass production, and never to be used as fleet meat. The Lincoln Halo will breathe life into the brand by highlighting strengths in the current portfolio and buy enough time to ready the next generation of product made in the Halo’s image. But this begs two important questions: Who is Lincoln now, and who must Lincoln become?

Well, who we are now is underscored in a Polk survey showing that at 60 years old, ours are the most “distinguished” customers in the industry – three years older on average than Cadillac buyers (the  next closest competitor) and 10 years older than the performance oriented Audi – BMW crowd. So for argument’s brevity’s novelty’s sake let’s split the difference and start getting to know our new target market: At 55 years young, the Lexus buyer becomes a challenging yet highly enticing source of inspiration and income. And the expectations they bring are no less than perfection in terms of reliability, refinement, class, and tech. But builder beware; we must never take the fatal misstep of imitation – as the nature of imitation is limitation in terms of creativity and innovation. So with that in mind, and market share ready to be stolen, our new product portfolio begins to take shape.

And now to address the third and final major challenge to becoming a world-class luxury brand: The buying experience. As your grandfather moved through the ranks at his job, the guy who sold him his first Ford also sold him his first Mercury and then his first Lincoln. And until recently, this was status quo. Now, Ford and Lincoln showrooms have specific employees with specialized training, a step in the right direction. But we need to go one step further and completely decouple the two brands. Separate showrooms, service centers, customer support call centers, and any other touch-points potentially shared between the two families must be different, must feel different, which is imperative for success in brand-conscious China and developing Asia – markets we must find success in to remain competitive on a global scale.

And that’s it! Generate excitement; build to the consumer; and Honor Thy Father but move out of his house. Think you can handle it? We’ll be right here if you’ve got any questions.

The Bouncer King

INT.  BOUNCER KING BACK OFFICE - EVENING

A slightly disheveled young man sits at a DESK in a small and cluttered BACK OFFICE. He mindlessly clicks around on an ancient DESKTOP COMPUTER. The PHONE on his desk rings. He quickly grabs the handset and rests it between his ear and shoulder without taking his eyes off the computer screen.

OFFICE EMPLOYEE

Bouncer King, this is Brian

INT.  BIKER BAR - SAME TIME

A bar manager stands behind a busy COUNTER in a dark and crowded BAR with the house PHONE pressed tightly to one ear, his finger stuck firmly in the other. There is a ROCK BAND beginning to warm up on STAGE, and a few dozen intimidating men with LONG BEARDS, SUNGLASSES, and BIKER GEAR are milling around between the bar and stage.

BAR MANAGER

Hey, yeah, hey, I need to get a couple bouncers down to Paddy’s on 4^th for an event tonight.

INT.  BOUNCER KING BACK OFFICE - SAME TIME

The office employee grabs a PEN and PAD, still keeping his eyes glued to his computer.

OFFICE EMPLOYEE

                                     OK, great, have you used our services before?

INT.  BIKER BAR - SAME TIME

The manager almost has to shout over the din of the band warming up. Stage hands in BLACK T-SHIRTS run cables past him as he tries, unsuccessfully, to get out of the way.

INTERCUT – PHONE CONVERSATION

BAR MANAGER

Nope, it’s just that neither of our bouncers are working tonight.

OFFICE EMPLOYEE

                                    Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I can just send a tech over, if you want.

BAR MANAGER

(Sidelong glance at the stage hands) No, we’re good there. We just need a couple bouncers. One for each entrance, I think.

OFFICE EMPLOYEE

The employee has turned his attention from his screen to his pad of paper. His brow is furrowed, and one hand props up his forehead as he tries to wrap his mind around the situation.

OK. And you said Paddy’s over on 4^th? Like Paddy’s the bar? What kind of event are you talking about?

BAR MANAGER

(Becoming slightly annoyed) It’s just a music event. Will that be a problem?

OFFICE EMPLOYEE

No…No I don’t think so. But you’ll need to use our "Tuff Bouncers", which are an extra $150 each for the night.

BAR MANAGER

A BOTTLE flies past his face and smashes on the wall behind him.

                                    OK, fine, whatever. I need them quick. How long will they take to get here?

OFFICE EMPLOYEE

                                    (Still has a confused look on his face) I can have them there and working in an hour.

BAR MANAGER

                                     Brilliant. See you guys soon.

EXT.  BIKER BAR - TWILIGHT

Thumping rock music can be heard in the background. A line of bikers has formed outside the bar, but it appears to have started inside, rather than out. Stoic faces and dark sunglasses mask emotion of any kind. The line leads up to one of two over-sized BOUNCY CASTLES, each have two bikers bouncing vigorously around inside, entirely emotionless, still with sunglasses on.

Adventures (?) in Unemployment: Day 2

Dollars and Sentiments

Happy Monday. There is an older man across the street from this coffee shop who is digging aluminum cans out of a garbage dumpster. He wears a backpack and some gardening gloves. He fishes his wares from deep within the dumpster by putting a stick in the mouths of the cans, lifting his prizes out quickly and easily. They’re probably worth 5c a piece, and it looks like he’s found about 20 so far. Interestingly, there is a recycling bin next to the garbage dumpster which he largely ignores. While it may be worthwhile to point out that he is in fact working, while I am not, this is not why I bring him up. Rather, what caught my attention is how he wears his backpack: He’s going one-strap style, but instead of left strap over left shoulder (standard playground rules); he slings the left strap over his right shoulder, effectively turning the backpack into a messenger bag. Again, I mention this because I have worn a backpack nearly every day since I was about 3, and it has never once occurred to me to do that. What else have I been missing?

Dollars seem to have a polarization effect around certain aspects in a relationship; let me fumble through this explain: Imagine for a moment you are standing on a pier on a sunny day, looking for fish in a lake. Put on polarized sunglasses, and all of a sudden you can see right to the bottom and know exactly where all the fish are. The same seems to be true when including money in the equation of a relationship: formerly obfuscated elements suddenly become highlighted. Now to be clear, I’m not suggesting that adding money eliminates problems, or vice-versa, but to recognize early on a shift in focus of relationship elements brought about with a change in dollars would not be a bad thing.

I bring this up in part to acknowledge the unfailing support I’ve received from friends and family during this first phase of change. I’m getting married in a month, which is more than enough reason to become stressed by the dismantlement of the framework of my livelihood, but all y’all little fishies have kept me from even thinking I could drown. So thanks a lot.

Though if I’m honest, this experience has brought to into sharp relief the role of a (soon-to-be) husband as “provider”, and what it means to have lost functionality in that regard. Deep-rooted self doubts asking “what am I good for”, however quickly squelched by the lovely lady friend, bubble up now and again. To work, in the abstract, lends a sense of purpose to the station of an individual; the satisfaction of contribution as one half of a couple; and the strength found in membership of a team. Taken together, the opportunity to feel devastation at the loss of these components is, in my mind, justified.

Not in Nura’s though. Good lord not even for a moment. Trying to use “but I just got fired” as reason to eat extra cookies, or play games on the phone, or even sleep in on Sundays will get you slapped across the face. FYI.

Adventures (?) in Unemployment: Day 1

I was laid-off on Thursday. I’ve decided to write about the experience of being unintentionally unemployed for a few reasons: to ward off lethargy; to build routine; to stay sharp and think critically; and so I can look back next time and perhaps be better at being unemployed. Whatever that means.

I had a bad feeling about the cuts this time around for three main reasons;

• This was the first time the company seemed an exciting place to be
• I was finally doing something I liked and was pretty good at (if I do say so myself)
• Looking at my team objectively, I would have fired us. Evidently they felt the same way.

I think normally I would have felt self conscious about my performance (or lack thereof) that led to the separation. But I am proud of the work I was doing, and among those who also found themselves on the business end of a severance package were some of the more talented and charismatic folks I’ve been around at work. So I’m not taking it personally.

However, I am beginning to realize how closely connected I have allowed my identity to become to my job title. “I am a Program Manager” is no longer an applicable phrase. So what is left? Well, the need to decouple myself from my title, for starters.

The actual experience of being separated was pretty good, all things considered. The director who did the dirty work was appropriately – if not unnecessarily – macabre. I’m sure there were others in much tougher positions than my own, so his air of seriousness was mostly lost on me. Also, the lump-sum payout was nearly three times higher than I was expecting, which will lighten pretty much any mood.

I walked out of my meeting and back down to my desk feeling a slight sense of excitement at finding myself in a situation I’ve never faced before; being handed a puzzle with some weight that needs solving and a timeline to solve it in. I grabbed a few things from my desk I didn’t want to lose, wrote the obligatory “so long and thanks for all the fish” email to my coworkers (come to think of it, why the fuck didn’t I put that as the subject line?!), hugged a few folks who had gathered around my cube to say their goodbyes, and headed home. I had a soccer game at 8 pm, and no amount of firing was going to wreck a day that ends like that.

So that was day-of.

Day one, today, is Friday. I suspect that I would have been precisely as productive at work as I have been so far, had I retained employment. The biggest challenge I have right now is trying to understand what kind of progress I should expect to have made and by when. I don’t want to panic and go find just any job. But I also don’t want to hold out forever and pass up acceptable opportunities. How to strike that balance is something I’m looking for more clarity around.

They say you should switch companies every 5 – 7 years to expand breadth as well as depth of experience. Three months shy of six years into T-Mobile, I'm now I’m forced to do that. The other thing I’m forced to do is better define (or rather, begin to define) what it is that I want to do. This may be an opportunity to align work with personal interests and passions. This also may be an exercise in naïveté. We shall see.