The Art of Concision...

"I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead."  - Mark Twain

"Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler."         - Albert Einstein 

I am stuck between Twain's "too long" and Einstein's "too simple".          - Too Much Den

Next month, I will begin my 19^th year as the President of a cognitive analytics company. It’s a job that has challenged the full extent of my creativity, my problem solving acumen, my sub-par diplomatic skills, and my general tendency to persevere through challenge. On the whole, I think I have earned passing grades, with one possible exception.

I am not exaggerating when I say that, on the majority of the nearly 7,000 days that I have held this job, I have devoted some portion of my day pondering how best to tell the story of what our company does. Now, I think I have at least average communication skills, and I have devoted immense effort to this problem, but somehow, I’ve not yet constructed a satisfying version of our story that is both lucid and concise.

The long version, that makes our commercial proposition clear and compelling, is too detailed and too boring for most audiences. The short version leaves most wondering what it is that we actually do. I’ve never found the middle ground that balances the two approaches.

Part of the problem is that our story is not simple. To appreciate it, one must have a smidge more than a cursory grasp of the US healthcare system, of inferential statistics, and of human cognition. However, squeezing together even a single sentence about each of these diverse and complicated topics makes for a necessarily complex plot.

I am writing this blog entry while preparing for an investor presentation and wrestling with this very problem. I am hopeful that a momentary diversion, a brief interlude with my imaginary readers, might finally shake into place the right series of thoughts, the precise words and statements that explain why our business is valuable and important.

Mark Twain implied that “time” was the key ingredient for brevity in composition, but after 18 years of trying, I’m not so sure.

    

A Brief Lesson in Grace

It was about 10pm and I was the only customer filling my tank at the station. He approached from behind the building; an older gentleman, unkempt, perhaps drunk.

Despite the potentially dangerous circumstances, he radiated a gentle vibe of harmlessness and I looked him in the eye as he neared me. I offered a smile and he predictably but politely asked me for spare change. His demeanor was proud at the core, but draped in a cloak of humility, like a capable man reluctantly seeking help with a tenuous problem. His warm expression and optimistic tone could not completely mask the undertone of desperation in his voice. Mostly, he struck me as a man genuinely in need of a break.

I handed him a twenty-dollar bill, which he beheld with what seemed like profound gratefulness, and stared back at me for a brief moment with misted eyes. He spoke no words of thanks, but I felt his deep sense of appreciation. Not appreciation for the small monetary gift, but rather, for seeing him, for trusting him, and for not deeming him worthless. He had taken my gesture as reinforcement for what he already believed about himself, and stood before me, magnificently vulnerable yet seemingly focused on a better tomorrow.

Before shuffling into the darkness, he surprised me with a hug, a heartfelt receipt for my offering. I had no doubt that, wherever he was going, he would get there eventually. Perhaps he would need some help along the way, but he was clearly intent on helping himself; a man down but not defeated, behind in the game but sure of his imminent comeback. 

As I drove home and reflected on the contrast between the current circumstances of our very different lives, I felt a pang of guilt for the near spotless record of good fortune in mine. And I realized that this chance encounter, an unexpected exchange on a random Tuesday night, was just another good break for me. I had gone out to fill my tank, and ended up as the lucky recipient of a brief lesson in grace.

Mixed Emotions...

So I washed the windows last weekend. Upstairs and downstairs, inside and out. Took out all the screens and washed them too. Both sides. When I got everything back in place, there was a new vibrancy to every room, clean light splashed into every corner and the windows gleamed like diamonds.

As a day of physical work often does, completing the task gave me a great sense of accomplishment. Not the inspired type accomplishment where your skills or intellect were challenged and the final achievement was in doubt, but a more subdued form of accomplishment where all that was needed was commitment and perseverance. These are the more common types of achievements in life and I don't mean to belittle them; consistently "putting in the work" is a suitable foundation for an honorable life.

Since I am working from home, I've had several sunny days to enjoy the airy brightness of a home with clean windows. This has produced a steady undercurrent of joy each day. However, my positive vibe has been interrupted four times this week by the jarring confrontation between a clean window and a speeding bird.

Each of these startling occurrences left me feeling a bit guilty for my unintentional role in the collision. Though I was relieved when three of the birds got up and flew away, I have found myself thinking wistfully now and again about the one that did not.

I guess I'll just chalk this up to unintended consequences and the laws of nature. I know that dam-building beavers wreck the habitats of many lives on the nearby riverbanks and nesting squirrels chew through wires, spark fires, and burn a great many buildings to the ground each year. I cleaned my windows and felt good about it, but a few birds have paid the price for my happiness.

Corporate Greed

Corporate greed is a phrase we all know, hear, and possibly even use. It seems as though, at every opportunity to choose between the public good and obscene profitability, corporations choose the latter.

But don’t blame the corporations, or their management teams; it really couldn’t be any other way. Let’s review history to clarify.

There was a time when our American forefathers in Europe had only two choices in life, they could either be born to a rich landowner, or they could spend their lives in utter poverty. The landowners held the majority of the wealth and there was really no legal manner for obtaining upward economic mobility. This began to change with the industrial revolution, but not in a major way. After all, building a factory required lots of upfront capital and only the landowners could really pursue such endeavors.

Enter the corporation. A new idea whereby a great many people could pool their paltry resources into a sizable lump sum and “incorporate”. In this way, they could jointly own a well-capitalized legal entity, share the risks and benefits of commercial enterprise, and compete with wealthy individuals to exploit new economic opportunities. Upward mobility at last!

A whole set of laws were written to describe how corporations are formed and managed. Those laws were (and still are) very clear about the purpose of a corporation. It is to maximize economic return to the shareholders who pooled their resources to create and own it. Remember, the concept of a corporation materialized solely for wealth generation.

Now, to be clear, there are times when bypassing some profit in order to benefit the public, will also increase the value of a corporation. Managers realize that a reputation as a socially responsible entity can help attract top talent while endearing a corporation to its customers. Corporate management teams constantly consider such cost-benefit trade-offs. However, in most cases, the argument for immediate, attainable profit is stronger than the argument for potential goodwill down the road. 

This is all very clear if you think about it from the perspective of the shareholders. At some point, shareholders have made a decision about what portion (if any) of their discretionary income they want to use supporting social causes, and what portion they want to invest for economic gain. For those who favor social good, a large portion may go to charities, but any funds ultimately invested in a for-profit corporation were clearly intended to realize an economic return, not to underwrite social programs. 

At the end of every day, maximizing economic returns is what shareholders (who own the entity) demand of management teams, and the managers hold a fiduciary duty to comply with ownership's wishes.

Of course corporations are greedy; accumulating wealth is why they exist.

Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

This post is heavily influenced by my daughter, who shall be nameless, and who is deeply principled in certain ways. As you will see.

I’m working from home and I get hungry, so I mosey to the kitchen to make a sandwich. The family diet, and therefore the family grocery list, has been slowly but forcefully shaped in recent years by my daughter’s veganism, so I know there will be no sandwich meat. 

I am thinking that peanut butter will work and I know we will have that. Obviously, if you don’t eat meat, you need to get protein in other ways. Nuts are a good source; for sure there will be peanut butter.

I search but, surprisingly, no peanut butter. I do find some eggs, some wacky bread with lots of seeds, and some avocados. Guess that’ll do.

I approach the sink to prep the avocado and I find an empty peanut butter jar. Mystery solved! It has been placed there for thorough cleaning, in strict accordance with recommended recycling guidelines.  My daughter intends to save the planet so we have all learned to follow these recycling guidelines meticulously. That’s fine.

Also near the sink, probably attracted by the scent of peanut butter, is a fairly large fly. It is buzzing around and generally annoying me, but I cannot kill it because, over the course of her childhood, my daughter has deeply sensitized me to the value of all life. I get it.

I resign myself to the much more difficult task of capturing the fly and relocating it to a more suitable habitat in the backyard. I unscrew the lid of the peanut butter jar to begin cleaning it while contemplating capture plans. Miraculously, the fly is attracted to the open container and I easily trap it inside with a quick recapping maneuver. I release him in the yard and watch helplessly as he flies back toward the house. When I return, I find him on the sink. Sigh.

I pop a cup of water into the microwave so that I can rinse the peanut butter jar with scalding liquid prior to recycling. When the water is ready, I move to pour it into the jar but, at the same instant, the ever-annoying fly buzzes into the action, gets caught in the liquid downspout, and dies an unfortunate death in the frothy peanut butter soup.

So I tried to eat a vegan sandwich in accordance with my daughter’s dietary recommendations, but lack of supplies forced me to go with an egg. I tried to relocate the fly in accordance with my daughter’s doctrine of respect for all life, but I accidentally killed it.

At least I was able to support my daughter’s efforts to save the planet by recycling a pristine peanut butter jar. Question for Meatloaf: What is one out of three...?

Just Whine Baby!

Contributed by Auggie

Sometimes karma takes its sweet old time, but when it comes it’s like a cool stream on bruised and weary feet. Depending of course on which end you sit.

The NFL network has a mini-documentary series call “The Timeline” where they chronicle significant events in NFL history. This weekend I happened to catch the episode called “The Tuck Rule” which first aired in 2017. If you are a football fan you probably know what it’s about. On a snowy January night in 2002 in Foxboro, MA, Tom Brady apparently fumbled away the Patriots’ chances to continue its Cinderella season. When the Raiders recovered the ball, victory was imminent barring a miracle. The miracle came in the form of the little-know “Tuck” rule. After reviewing the play, the officials ruled the play an incomplete pass and the Patriots maintained possession. (Even Patriots fans can admit it was a stupid rule; but it was absolutely the correct call of that stupid rule). The Patriots eventually scored on that possession and went on to win that game in overtime. The rest as they say, is history.

The Raiders have a rich history and proud tradition symbolized by the motto “Just Win Baby”, a doctrine attributed to long-time owner Al Davis. They might as well have titled the show “Just Whine Baby” as suggested by the title of this blog, because a significant portion of the program was devoted to just that. Raiders team officials, former players and fans all got in on the act. They went so far as to suggest Tom Brady would never have become the Tom Brady we know, and the Patriots dynasty would not have happened without that egregious call. Ha! I must say, I couldn’t have enjoyed the episode more. For an old-time Patriots fan like yours truly, another fitting title would have been “The Poetic Justice” game. Allow me to explain.

The year was 1976. The nation had celebrated its bicentennial, Apple Computer and Microsoft were incorporated, Jimmy Carter defeated Gerald Ford in the Presidential election and one week before Christmas the New England Patriots were robbed in broad daylight.

That year the Patriots had emerged from years of mediocrity to become a sudden, and surprising NFL powerhouse. It was the team’s first winning season after the NFL-AFL merger and came on the strength of some recent spectacular drafts. In fact, one could argue that the ‘76 team had more talent than any of its 6 Super Bowl winning teams. The Raiders meanwhile dominated the regular season with only one loss. The one loss? It was to the New England Patriots who trampled them 48-17. Let that sink in for a moment! In the divisional round of the playoffs, the Patriots once again had the Raiders beaten despite many controversial calls and non-calls all the favor of the Raiders. When Ken Stabler threw an incomplete pass on 3 and 18 with about 90 seconds left, the game appeared over. But wait! The official decided to call roughing the passer on Ray “Sugar Bear” Hamilton. An entire blog could be written on the ridiculousness of that call, but I leave it to the imaginary readers to do the research if interested. Many an objective witness would call it one of the worst calls ever! In any case, they tacked on an unsportsmanlike penalty on Hamilton for protesting the scandalous call and voila, the Raiders had a first down near the goal line. Shortly after, Stabler ran one in with less than 10 seconds in the game and that was the end.

 
That game always bothered me, right up until the Tuck Rule game that is. (And yes, I’m cognizant of the fact that my personal whining lasted 8 years longer than the Raider nation’s current streak). This is where it gets interesting. In the 1976-77 season, to fully benefit from their undeserved fortunes the Raiders still had to beat the Pittsburg Steelers on the road the following week and then go on to win the Super Bowl, which they did. In the 2001-02 season, after the tuck-rule game the Patriots still had to beat the Pittsburg Steelers on the road the following week, and then go on to win the Super Bowl, which they did. Justice? Check. Poetic? Check!

Black and Blue

If you go to a deserted beach at 10pm and stare out into the water, you mostly see black. Of course, if there is a clear sky and a bright moon, you might catch some pale light reflecting off of breaking waves. That would be expected.

What would not be expected is the sudden eruption of a bright, blue, self-illuminating wave like the one pictured above (photo credit: Elisabetta Mariotti). My family and I stood in awe and watched this phenomenon repeat itself over and over last night on the shoreline in San Clemente. Here's a short video that shows the effect more vividly.

The phenomenon, which has been in the news a fair amount lately, is bioluminescence. It is caused by the same algae that look red in the daytime and cause what is colloquially know as the "red tide". However, when these algae are jostled about, they emit chemiluminescent light.

Whole new meaning to the phrase "black and blue"...

What Are the Odds?

So I'm walking past Romeo's room (my son) with a cup of water in my hand. He's in there with a nerf basketball taking half court shots from the far corner when a rebound kicks out to me. I toss it back to him and call for an alley-oop.

For any imaginary readers who are not familiar with the term, an "alley oop" is a pass over the rim where your teammate (me in this example) catches the pass and dunks the ball in one fluid motion. I think the rule is, if you can do this in High School, you get to take a cheerleader to the prom.

Anyway, I'm standing near the basket, cup of water in my left hand and my right hand raised up near the rim, ready for the slam (and the cheering imaginary crowds). To execute this play, Romeo would need to slightly overshoot the hoop, ensuring that the ball would reach me on the far side of rim. However, he uncorked a floating shot, with perfect arch and backspin, that swished through the hoop while barely touching the flimsy net. I never touched it.

Thereafter, the ball dropped directly down and lodged into my cup of water. Long odds, for sure.

Landing in my cup was highly unlikely given that the diameter of the spongy ball was greater than the diameter of my cup and anything but the perfect shot would have bounced out. But there is more to this story...

Naturally, I was not about to walk away following a failed alley-oop, so I kicked the ball back out to half court and called the play again. However, this time, I reached my left hand out into the hallway, around the corner, to prevent any accidental water spilling if a similar result were to occur.  I also initiated a vocal countdown of the play-clock "3...2...1..." to add some drama to the situation and give the imaginary crowd more joy when we undoubtedly triumphed.

Romeo, ever tuned in to the play clock, gathered my pass and hastily jacked up an off-balance attempt. It was offline and I had to reach to the right to get a hand on it. Alas, it was a little out of my range and the most I could do was deflect it. Which I did. Right into the hallway. Around the corner. Into my cup.

Two for two. And I never spilled a drop...