Work. Home. Life. Examined & Commented On.
Well it depends what you’re looking for. If you like blue, I’d upgrade. If you like kittens and pie and the color of leaves after a spring rain, I’d upgrade. If you, like me, like the feeling of a stray endorphin or two tap dancing on your brain, or the feeling you get when you try the electric-new for the very first time, or the calm peacefulness that comes after a hard earned satori, yes, Yes, YES: I’d upgrade.
But that’s just me.
A good friend of mine and I talked through the issues around the USPS the other day. It was sparked by the Rolling Stone entry, “Don’t let business lobbyists kill the post office.” Warning: it’s not a great summary of the issues.
My fundamental thought boils down to this: the USPS is probably dying of its own accord. Pre-funding contractual benefits at 100% now is probably the only way we, the taxpayer, aren’t on the hook for them later.
Another warning: there are plenty of questions I’d like to ask and facts I’d like to hunt down, but I’m not going to. (For example, go here and look at the numbers. You can even mess with the URL to easily get other numbers back to about 2005. It would be interesting to adjust the numbers so they only include first class mail and no junk mail.)
Why?
Well, in this election cycle, which will be as full of rhetoric, hyperbole and (let’s call them what they are) lies, the issues with the USPS don’t bubble up to my top 3.
It’s not that I don’t have fond memories of the post office. I do. In my pre-Internet youth, PO Box 1832 in Gambier, OH, was my window to the larger world of zines and global amateur art. Factsheet Five. My first copies of Principia Discordia came not from Amazon.com (because they didn’t exist yet) but from Loompanics. I still run across the ephemera I collected via the magic box I could open with a single outsized key.
Today, on the other hand, my relationship with the USPS is fundamentally different. They bring things by six days a week, and I throw 90% of it into the recycling bin. And it’s been exactly that way for more than a decade.
It’s a different world, right?
It’s shame about the USPS. It will be a slow, painful death to watch, and even worse for career employees stuck inside.
But it’s not top 3 for me, so I’ll continue to (mostly) ignore it so I can pay attention to things that are.
What is top 3? How will I make a difference? Subjects for a different post.
NPR has a story this morning on how high school seniors need to decide, today, which college they will attend. And this of course led to a story about liberal arts schools and how they are struggling to prove they can help you get a job.
First, if you can, go to a liberal arts school. The rest will take care of itself. This was true for me with Kenyon, even when I graduated, in the midst of a recession with no real marketable skills (except Japanese, which I didn’t want to use). No, no one hired me into their management consultant trainee program.
Oh well. The rest is history and I wouldn’t change it at all.
But all this got me thinking about college applications. You know what would be cool? Turn the application into a year long learning event. It’s not like colleges don’t spend oodles of money on slick brochures and mass mailings. They do. And doesn’t most of that go into the trash?
So spend that money instead, or a portion of it anyway, setting up year long classes that anyone can connect to and participate in through the magic of the Internet.
Get rid of the ACT. Get rid of the SAT. Spend the time to actually get to know students instead.
YouTube the courses.
Reddit the discussion.
Stack rank the participants based in whatever quality you like and then ask for their name and address once you’ve agreed to spend two, three or four years together.
Raise a generation of intellectual mercenaries and drop all discussion of helicopter parents.
That would be a revolution.
And a word to those who consider Aristotle et al a little out of date: ignore the Greeks at your peril.
“Time to get back to the lab,” she says.
The lab. The first thing I hear when I get up. The last thing I hear before I fall asleep.
“Dr. Faulseit will be expecting you,” she says in a voice too sleepy to sound sexy. “You know what will happen if you’re late.” Or threatening.
But, yes, I know what she means. And I haven’t stopped regretting my association with Herr Doktor Faulseit since the day I found out. The contract seemed so innocent when I signed it. I shudder a bit and am fully awake.
And hungry.
I step out of the sixth floor single where I sleep when I sleep with her and make my way to the elevator. The vomit inside reminds me that someone had a more eventful night than me. So I take the stairs, two at a time.
The cold air hits me like a brick wall. It snowed again last night. Shit.
I trudge across campus, the first footprints in six inches of new, wet snow. Making the journey in the usual 15 minutes means I’m working hard, my head full of sweat and my heart racing. The door is difficult to open against the drift, but once inside I know I’ll make it.
I catch my breath. No sense in letting the bastard see me this way.
With fifteen seconds to spare I enter. Faulseit is there looking at his watch. Something like regret shows in his face. He glances first at me and then to his left.
Next to him, a steaming bowl. Of oatmeal.
Dear Chrysler / Jeep / Fiat,
First, Happy New Year! I wanted to let you know something: despite anything I filled out today, I’m not in the market for a new car. Why would I go out of my way to tell you this?
Well it has to do with that little red star you require on my son’s hand to participate in a Winter Wonder Fest event we already paid $14 a person to enter (as shown by that blue band).
That red star is evidence of a pretty simple transaction. I give you my personalized information, you stamp my son’s hand so he can play with the cars.
And that’s the problem: although you are spending a large amount of money to make contact with me and a positive impression, you’re actually generating resentment instead of goodwill. How? Why? This little quid pro quo you’ve set up.
Let me describe the transaction differently: you leveraged my son’s intrinsic interest in the battery operated cars to pry my contact information away from me.
See what I mean?
Yes, yes — there was an opt out box on the form. No, I don’t believe it will help me remain more free of advertising messages.
There’s a better way to do this. How about just letting the kid drive the toy cars you’re parading in front of them? How about building a positive relationship of trust?
The vast majority of people who came through that door and filled out their paperwork so their kid could get a red star are exactly like me. They are not interested in buying a new car today, and they won’t be for some years to come. Your long term goal is to build enough trust with them that they consider your brand when they’re ready.
This is the new reality. Marketing is different. People see the world through clearer lenses today than even just a few years ago. Brands that want to lead must concentrate on building trust first.
Ask yourself: does using my kid this way build my trust in your brands?
Nope.
And I thought you might want to know.
Best wishes for a great 2012,
Reid
This experiment seems to be ok. Sweet. Used brown rice settings.
I’m not big on resolutions, but I love tweaks.
Two minor tweaks I’d like to make in 2012:
1) Do my morning reading of the Internets at the gym instead of while drinking coffee at home.
2) Drink coffee second or third thing in the morning instead of first.
These couple of tweaks will likely have some longer term benefits and should be relatively easy. Yes, BTW, I did this this morning and it was great.
You might be aware that I’ve been messing around with model trains for the last few months. This has led me to a few train shows and a lot of train stores. I’ve been surprised to see that many hobby shops have marginalized their train sections in favor of RC cars. Also, I’ve heard that one of the great Chicago train shows is moving to Cleveland next year. In other words, interest in the hobby is declining. (Maybe–my evidence is anecdotal, not statistical.)
I’ve been wondering why.
My theory boils down to this: in a world that looks forward to each new whiz-bang techno gizmo, model trains harken back to a less sophisticated, less technical world. In other words, while everyone else is seeking the future now, model train enthusiasts are, by and large, looking toward the past.
What makes me think this?
The idealized state for a model railroad is a completed layout of some location at some point in time, clearly representing the real world as it was. Now, there are quite a few excellent models that spice things up by adding aliens and spaceships to their layouts, using toy trains (Thomas), etc. This is all well and good, but the majority use case is not taking that kind of leap. I do not mean to suggest these realistic models don’t have value and aren’t quite the accomplishment — doing it right is difficult.
Another example, Con-Cor, who creates some beautiful trains, has as their slogan, “Famous Trains From Your Childhood.” For sure they do a nice job on their models, but is that their market? The trains they’re targeting are the romantic passenger beauties of the 40s and 50s. The GM Aerotrain. The Zephyrs. Great stuff for sure, but not exactly the future. I suspect that’s by design–the model railroader population is graying. Significantly.
I’d love to see a different approach. I’d love trains that helped model the near future. Or even the possible present. For example: help me model Chicago with a Shinkansen. Help me create a high-speed freight train, something that would rival the fastest passenger trains. Bring out something like the Unitram system from Kato. Bring out something that uses the awesome technology that trains have perfected — small motors, DCC — and reapply it to vertical travel or space models. The sky truly is the limit.
This might just be a mirror of reality. Trains in the US have certainly been a mixed bag. Take Chicago, for example. The CTA trains are pretty useful (and heavily used), but there’s no easy connection to the Metra, no common station, which alienates a huge body of potential passengers. Take Seattle, where it took forever to get train service from the airport to downtown–crazy. Look at LaGuardia – no train to Manhattan, which is ridiculous. Most Amtrack service just needs to be put out of its misery.
Does any of this mean I won’t continue messing around with trains? Nope. In fact, I have recently acquired three new engines — all Japanese, all present day — and some killer Kato double track.
But I’m not interested in modeling the mid twentieth century, and I don’t think I’m alone.

This is the inside of a Tomix JR E231-500 (as used on the Yamanote line). Where am I going to put the DCC decoder??
Great speed on this BTW. Love it.
A friend of mine died this week. He was 85. Now, you might think, well that’s a pretty good run. And for sure it was. But he was the kind of guy who took life by the horns and lived it. If the body was willing, he had enough soul to live double that.
I met him when he was … around 70? Hard to believe that as I type it. Some people at 70 are done. He gave the impression of just getting started. He was energetic. Had purpose. Clearly loved life.
We met through business, and, as sometimes happens, our lives started to mix. I met his wife. They came to my wedding. They met The Critter pretty early. How many Christmas parties did they join us for? Too many to count.
A lot of great memories. He took me to Fogo de Chao the first time, a meal that put me in a meat coma for two days. He used to tell me off color jokes while I fixed his network. He was always dressed to impress. And that crazy south american / pan european / touch of hawaii / chicago tough guy accent — unforgettable!
Simon Trachtenberg. I will miss you.
