Near the end of October of last year, our sales team, always eager to pounce on a potential marketing opportunity, called an emergency meeting. Our VP of sales asked me if I could develop a miniature control switch that would operate heating elements inside of car seats. "No problem," I said. He said, "Great! We needed a working demo in time for an auto show next week so that we can start taking orders next month in time for winter sales."
By now, our VP should know that it takes a minimum of four months for the simplest of projects to make it through the gauntlet of design, validation, purchasing requirements, ISO-9000 certification demands, and into the first day of error-free production. Of course, if our sales team admitted to this knowledge, they couldn't blame all of us for their continually missed "zillions of dollars" of sales to upper management.
What is more amazing is that all of our sales employees are college graduates. Yet, with another occurrence of a seat heater sales opportunity, the knowledge has again eluded them that winter occurs twice a year on our planet of potential customers. If we don't make the December's deadline for people in the northern hemisphere, there are people in the southern hemisphere who will have cars and cold derrières in June.
I wonder if other cold-season businesses have this same issue with their sales team. Take for example, "CozyWinters.com electric blankets". Who doesn't need the warmth of heated bedding during the bone-chilling nights of winter.
Of course, that is an unfair example to compare with my company. Drivers may need a toasty tush in the midst of a freezing winter. However, if you are or have been married, you know that, even during the worst scorching nights of summer, an electric blanket is extremely vital to your woman's seemingly frostbitten extremities. Without such a heated covering, many a man has been suddenly wakened in frozen anguish to wonder how well a blow torch would operate under the covers of their marital bed.
In any case, as of last week, we finally presented a finished, extremely competitive product to our sales group. During our pre-production meeting, our VP of sales talked about how he greatly appreciated our long hours and sleepless night to rush this project towards production. Then he quietly mentioned that the sales requirements had changed. Could we scrap what we have done and have a new version ready to sell by next week?
The ensuing discussion would have heated many a rear-end. During the conversations, our VP of sales was often referred to as an especially flaming member of the human anatomy. You know, given the elevated temperatures, the red faces, the heated discussions, perhaps we are selling the wrong product. If we should find a market for people who would sit on a heated VP of sales ...
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
writing on purpose.
OK. For some silly reason, I thought I should develop my writing skills, then self-publish a few books on Amazon and work myself into a retiring life of ease. So, for the past few months, I focused on various highly-recommended books on writing, forced myself into long nights of study, and committed myself to capturing whatever silly thought crossed my mind. (Don't worry, most of these practice pieces are well hidden in draft format. You will never see them on this blog. Maybe.)
Yes, I know what you're thinking. Just what we need during the year of the apocalypse, more junk to add to the ever growing mountain of books from writers who think you need to be privy to their every miniscule thought.
Of course, you forget that this is a marketing game. I only have to tickle the fancy of anyone who has nothing better to do than to read my silliness. Out of 7 billion people, I only need a dollar a year from less than 50,000 readers to live a comfortable life. People have become millionaires with more trivial products - pet rock, new coke, Lady Gaga.
I feel bad for trivializing this fact, but I don't have long to live. So I only need to act like an endearing fool for a short while. The staying power of the Iliad and the Odyssey have nothing to worry about. It's just me and my brief flicker of inane thoughts, and impossible hopes of grandeur. Buy for now!
Yes, I know what you're thinking. Just what we need during the year of the apocalypse, more junk to add to the ever growing mountain of books from writers who think you need to be privy to their every miniscule thought.
Of course, you forget that this is a marketing game. I only have to tickle the fancy of anyone who has nothing better to do than to read my silliness. Out of 7 billion people, I only need a dollar a year from less than 50,000 readers to live a comfortable life. People have become millionaires with more trivial products - pet rock, new coke, Lady Gaga.
I feel bad for trivializing this fact, but I don't have long to live. So I only need to act like an endearing fool for a short while. The staying power of the Iliad and the Odyssey have nothing to worry about. It's just me and my brief flicker of inane thoughts, and impossible hopes of grandeur. Buy for now!
Things are going swimmingly
Congratulations! In three days, we will celebrate the beginning of winter! Oops, my mistake … the beginning of spring! Normally, we have a seasonal period of intense cold that kills mosquitoes, wood roaches, and other creepy crawlies who would make your upcoming bright summer days regrettable. However, no Arctic-type weather this season it seems.
Somehow, I missed our wintery interval. The last thing I remembered was a flurry of dead leaves, a frosty morning or two, and one 10° day that would make those annoying summertime bugs say, "Ooh, that's a might chilly! Hope it doesn’t last too long and kill me!" The next thing I know - here we are, basking in 80° days with trees a-bloomin' and pollen a-ttackin'.
The good thing about this lack of winter has been the impact on one of our more snobby neighbors. Not only do they have a large pool, but they have a pool heater so they can show off their status by comfortably swimming during those freezing days of January and February. "Those freezing days" being the key phrase.
I admit it. Nothing can thrill the human spirit more than watching some fool make that invigorating jump from warm, soothing waters of a heated pool into the chilly airs of winter. The Swedes made this pastime famous with their X-rated romps from boiling saunas into shrinkage-inducing snows. So normally, our neighborhood would secretly covet that envious fog as it rolled off the artificially warmed waters of our evil neighbor’s pool.
This year, however, the obscenely mild wintertime cooled our neighborly jealousy. And this is a good thing. The more petty among us were about to sabotage a couple of our smug neighbor's pentair pool heater parts and blame it on the rage of mother nature and karma for not having pool parties for us all.
I don't know what summer will bring, but I don't think our saboteurs will be forgiving. I have a feeling that, during August, someone's pool water will mysteriously approach the boiling point. Might be due to that global warming thing, but who can say for certain.
Somehow, I missed our wintery interval. The last thing I remembered was a flurry of dead leaves, a frosty morning or two, and one 10° day that would make those annoying summertime bugs say, "Ooh, that's a might chilly! Hope it doesn’t last too long and kill me!" The next thing I know - here we are, basking in 80° days with trees a-bloomin' and pollen a-ttackin'.
The good thing about this lack of winter has been the impact on one of our more snobby neighbors. Not only do they have a large pool, but they have a pool heater so they can show off their status by comfortably swimming during those freezing days of January and February. "Those freezing days" being the key phrase.
I admit it. Nothing can thrill the human spirit more than watching some fool make that invigorating jump from warm, soothing waters of a heated pool into the chilly airs of winter. The Swedes made this pastime famous with their X-rated romps from boiling saunas into shrinkage-inducing snows. So normally, our neighborhood would secretly covet that envious fog as it rolled off the artificially warmed waters of our evil neighbor’s pool.
This year, however, the obscenely mild wintertime cooled our neighborly jealousy. And this is a good thing. The more petty among us were about to sabotage a couple of our smug neighbor's pentair pool heater parts and blame it on the rage of mother nature and karma for not having pool parties for us all.
I don't know what summer will bring, but I don't think our saboteurs will be forgiving. I have a feeling that, during August, someone's pool water will mysteriously approach the boiling point. Might be due to that global warming thing, but who can say for certain.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Yet another "national" object day.
Today, I celebrated National Pie day by baking an apple pie with 3.141569 apples in it. I'm just making sure I've covered all my bases.
Are You LinkedIn?
If you don't know what LinkedIn is, don't worry. It's another social media like Facebook, only for business people and workers. So there is less drama and incriminating photos (but I make no guarantees). It is a great tool to look for a job while hiding for your boss who are also using LinkedIn to abandon the ship of their "great" business venture.
For the heck of it, I picked a random company to compare to the company I work for.
For example, take sterkly on Linkedin. Sterkly is an Internet company that deals with affiliate marketing – kind of like product placement in a movie except that you have to click on the object on the webpage instead of throwing popcorn at it as it taunts you from the silver screen.
The workplace I work for is in the automotive manufacturing industry. Definitely not as trendy as affiliate marketing on social media. In fact, I didn't even know our company had a presence on LinkedIn until I started researching this post.
Sterkly makes their money through CPA – cost per action. Basically, Sterkly gets a cut from their clients' business only if someone clicks on a product link, or when someone downloads software, or if someone completes a registration through a link that Sterkly has on a particular affiliated web page.
My company and its investors also make money through "cost per action" ... as long as that action involves layoffs, workforce enhancements (firings), and the righteous business decisions by overzealous bean counters.
Based on Mr. Nicholson's graph, Sterkly's business model places well ahead of the company I work for. The good thing about LinkedIn is that you can track when companies are hiring. So Sterkly is at the top of my list ... for some odd reason.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
taxes and dst.
Daylight "savings" time is kind of like income tax. Near the beginning of the year, the government takes an hour from all of us. Then, several months later, our efficient bureaucrats graciously give those confiscated hours back to us. And, just as inflation diminishes the value of our refunded tax dollar, so our returned hour is now worth less because we are older and time is moving faster.
Do you know what they do with those extorted millions of hours? I don't. Our trusty public servants certainly aren't spending that time in areas where they need to speed up operations, like the DMV or the post office. I don't know where the savings is, but I'm pretty sure we're not the recipients.
Do you know what they do with those extorted millions of hours? I don't. Our trusty public servants certainly aren't spending that time in areas where they need to speed up operations, like the DMV or the post office. I don't know where the savings is, but I'm pretty sure we're not the recipients.
There are tests, then there are TESTS
Everyone needs a hobby, and lately it seems that most of my friends and family have picked college. Not me. If I want to take on more aggravation and useless debt, I can always get married again.
This week, all of these college students returned home for their spring break. Have they regaled me with wondrous tales about all the exciting knowledge that they’re accumulating? No! All I hear about is how bad the classes are and how tough the testing has been for them – proof that money doesn't buy happiness. Well, college money at least.
They whine about all the studying they had to do (or didn't do), and about the terrible results for all their long hours and torturous efforts. Of course, it could be worse. Instead of college course testing, it could have been std testing.
With college exams, you want to tell the world how well you did. With STD tests, you are forced to tell how well you did – especially to those you "studied with".
With college exams, the preparation is tedious and mind numbing. With STD tests, there isn't a whole lot of thought that goes into preparation – which is part of the problem.
With college exams, there is a lot of anxiety about failing. With STD tests, there is a lot of anxiety about not failing.
Hopefully, all my friends and family will recover this week from their college ordeals. And, hopefully, they won't do anything foolish enough this week to make their course exams seem like a easy walk in the park.
This week, all of these college students returned home for their spring break. Have they regaled me with wondrous tales about all the exciting knowledge that they’re accumulating? No! All I hear about is how bad the classes are and how tough the testing has been for them – proof that money doesn't buy happiness. Well, college money at least.
They whine about all the studying they had to do (or didn't do), and about the terrible results for all their long hours and torturous efforts. Of course, it could be worse. Instead of college course testing, it could have been std testing.
With college exams, you want to tell the world how well you did. With STD tests, you are forced to tell how well you did – especially to those you "studied with".
With college exams, the preparation is tedious and mind numbing. With STD tests, there isn't a whole lot of thought that goes into preparation – which is part of the problem.
With college exams, there is a lot of anxiety about failing. With STD tests, there is a lot of anxiety about not failing.
Hopefully, all my friends and family will recover this week from their college ordeals. And, hopefully, they won't do anything foolish enough this week to make their course exams seem like a easy walk in the park.
I give up, you win.
Watching and reading and hearing about all of the caucus debates is getting to be a bit much. All of the empty promises and the childish attacks - I feel like a vegetarian who's been given the choice between chicken and beef. I can't wait for the presidential debates so I can wonder why I eat at all.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Today's Lesson.
I keep seeing the acronym "FML" on Facebook, on Twitter, and a few other socially hip sites. Today, I learned that FML doesn't mean "fax me later".
Sorry, I guess I got a little behind the times. You would have thought that the "fax" part should have been a clue, but nooooo.....
Sorry, I guess I got a little behind the times. You would have thought that the "fax" part should have been a clue, but nooooo.....
a good relationship is a miserable one?
As guys, we have a very simple relationship standard: if our girlfriend or wife (or "girlfriend and wife" for the more adventurous among us) is happy, then we are happy. To us it's obvious -- if we do everything to please the love of our life and she is happier than the New York Giants winning the Super Bowl, then we're all winners. Toss me a cold beer, boys! Life is good.
However, according to a recent study, women have a far more convoluted standard to judge the success of their relationships. Are you ready for this earth-shattering revelation about mars and venus?
Well, hold on to your asteroid belt because, apparently, the fairer gender of our species is happy only when she believes her male counterpart is miserable. The intricate workings of female logic goes like this: the more miserable her favorite fella is, the more work he must be putting in the relationship. A happy partner is a no-good, lazy partner.
I bring up this little tid-bit because several of my male friends are planning a weekend camping trip while leaving their fair-maidens behind in civilization. The idea is that the time apart will do everyone some good.
I guess my unsuspecting friends haven't read this incredible study of life between the sexes. Otherwise, they would know there is only way their happy women will be in the throes of absolute bliss: the men have to return with horrible stories of their camping experience. My friends will have to regale horrific tales of enduring skunked beer, bad food, freezing snow while a boiling sun baked their skin. Instead of fish-a-plenty biting at their hooks, their wolverine boots will have to be actual live wolverines gnawing on swollen feet of my buddies.
Of course, if one bro needs a break-up plan, he only has to utter those relationship-killing words, "Yeah, I had a great time!" (As long as he doesn't add the phrase, "without you". That would be the kiss of death. His, not the relationship.)
So remember, if a man is happy because his lady is happy, then she must be happy because he is miserable. It's so obvious, I don't know why I didn't think of it.
Yes, I do. I didn't think of it because I'm a guy.
And some people wonder why men die sooner than women.
However, according to a recent study, women have a far more convoluted standard to judge the success of their relationships. Are you ready for this earth-shattering revelation about mars and venus?
Well, hold on to your asteroid belt because, apparently, the fairer gender of our species is happy only when she believes her male counterpart is miserable. The intricate workings of female logic goes like this: the more miserable her favorite fella is, the more work he must be putting in the relationship. A happy partner is a no-good, lazy partner.
I bring up this little tid-bit because several of my male friends are planning a weekend camping trip while leaving their fair-maidens behind in civilization. The idea is that the time apart will do everyone some good.
I guess my unsuspecting friends haven't read this incredible study of life between the sexes. Otherwise, they would know there is only way their happy women will be in the throes of absolute bliss: the men have to return with horrible stories of their camping experience. My friends will have to regale horrific tales of enduring skunked beer, bad food, freezing snow while a boiling sun baked their skin. Instead of fish-a-plenty biting at their hooks, their wolverine boots will have to be actual live wolverines gnawing on swollen feet of my buddies.
Of course, if one bro needs a break-up plan, he only has to utter those relationship-killing words, "Yeah, I had a great time!" (As long as he doesn't add the phrase, "without you". That would be the kiss of death. His, not the relationship.)
So remember, if a man is happy because his lady is happy, then she must be happy because he is miserable. It's so obvious, I don't know why I didn't think of it.
Yes, I do. I didn't think of it because I'm a guy.
And some people wonder why men die sooner than women.
DST - Daylight waSte of Time.
What was that saying? Fall behind, spring ahead ... so you can be even further behind. That's why I am going to set my clock back 23 hours tonight. This way I will have lost nothing and will get to spend my daylight savings immediately.
Thursday, March 08, 2012
International Women's Day.
Today is International Women's Day! Hurray! I would celebrate but all the international women I know live overseas.
Of course, I could visit the local Korean-owned nail salon for a manicure, or rather, a man-icure. Then, I could go to the International House of Pancakes and tip the waitress a little more generously with my stylized hands.
Nah. I'll just wait until November 19 for International Men's Day and treat myself with German beer, Mexican food, and Chinese take-out. Until then, I'll just practice.
Of course, I could visit the local Korean-owned nail salon for a manicure, or rather, a man-icure. Then, I could go to the International House of Pancakes and tip the waitress a little more generously with my stylized hands.
Nah. I'll just wait until November 19 for International Men's Day and treat myself with German beer, Mexican food, and Chinese take-out. Until then, I'll just practice.
Don't exhale when you read this.
In today's absolutely mind-blowing, weird news, I learned that the Reverend Pat Robertson actually advocated the legalization of marijuana. My first thought was, ˝What is that guy smoking?˝ But that question sort of answered itself. In any case, I guess this gives a new meaning to Mr. Robertson as a holy roller.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Gold Rush
So silence is, what, over $1700 an ounce. However, with my annoying friend, silence is a lot cheaper. More like aluminum foil – very crinkly and as disturbing as chewing on it.
The price for gold is so high that people are doing all sorts of crazy things. Oh sure, you can go various places and, for example, “
buy gold at Golden Eagle”. Yet, many folks are more interested in selling their personal items for profit.
Recently, I saw Goldilocks go into pawn shop that advertised high dollars for your golden goodies. She walked out a short time later with her head shaven and her purse bulging with money. As sunlight bounced off her bare cranium and onto the side of the building, she said, "This experience will give me time to reflect."
Rapunzel heard about Goldilocks’s financial windfall, and set about coloring her brunette tresses into a radiant golden blonde. However, when she went into the same place, they told Rapunzel that her plating was much too thin to amount to much.
I'm hoping for a time when silver is rage and costs thousands of dollars an ounce. Perhaps then I can turn my graying locks into retirement money. Although I'm sure they have a policy against buying fools gold.
The price for gold is so high that people are doing all sorts of crazy things. Oh sure, you can go various places and, for example, “
buy gold at Golden Eagle”. Yet, many folks are more interested in selling their personal items for profit.
Recently, I saw Goldilocks go into pawn shop that advertised high dollars for your golden goodies. She walked out a short time later with her head shaven and her purse bulging with money. As sunlight bounced off her bare cranium and onto the side of the building, she said, "This experience will give me time to reflect."
Rapunzel heard about Goldilocks’s financial windfall, and set about coloring her brunette tresses into a radiant golden blonde. However, when she went into the same place, they told Rapunzel that her plating was much too thin to amount to much.
I'm hoping for a time when silver is rage and costs thousands of dollars an ounce. Perhaps then I can turn my graying locks into retirement money. Although I'm sure they have a policy against buying fools gold.
rewarding work
The amount of panic shown by upper management was incredible. After all, the entire issue revolved around a small square-head set screw. Who knew that a three-quarter inch piece of metal could cause so much turmoil for our bosses?
Naturally, what was at stake was nothing trivial to those powers-that-be. This mac 90 screw would decide the fate of their $5,000 bonus – a bonus that wouldn't affect their employees who were doing the actual work.
Yet, somehow, somewhere, someone had already depleted inventory for this normally unimportant artifact. Now, fingers pointed, accusations flew, temper tantrums ensued, and more importantly, production came to a halt. No orders would be going to the customer on that last day of the month. Replacement parts would be in the next day; but that all-important bonus depended on what went out the door in February.
Then, at the 11th hour, a miracle occurred. It happened long after the executives had gone home that afternoon to their golf games and martinis.
After spending a grueling 14-hour day in a scramble to fill all of the months orders, a couple of employees dismantled several warranty returns, and sifted through many more drawers in the maintenance area. They managed to find enough screws to complete that critical shipment for their overseers’ bonuses.
So, in the end, upper management received their windfall. As for those dedicated workers, well, they have yet to receive a “thank you”.
Naturally, what was at stake was nothing trivial to those powers-that-be. This mac 90 screw would decide the fate of their $5,000 bonus – a bonus that wouldn't affect their employees who were doing the actual work.
Yet, somehow, somewhere, someone had already depleted inventory for this normally unimportant artifact. Now, fingers pointed, accusations flew, temper tantrums ensued, and more importantly, production came to a halt. No orders would be going to the customer on that last day of the month. Replacement parts would be in the next day; but that all-important bonus depended on what went out the door in February.
Then, at the 11th hour, a miracle occurred. It happened long after the executives had gone home that afternoon to their golf games and martinis.
After spending a grueling 14-hour day in a scramble to fill all of the months orders, a couple of employees dismantled several warranty returns, and sifted through many more drawers in the maintenance area. They managed to find enough screws to complete that critical shipment for their overseers’ bonuses.
So, in the end, upper management received their windfall. As for those dedicated workers, well, they have yet to receive a “thank you”.
What Am I Trying to Say Here
Look at this phrase and telling which word doesn't fit: "small business loans bad credit". That's right! All of them!
First of all, the motivated, wealth-driven, visionary as an entrepreneur doesn't think in terms of “small”! You have got to think big, Gigantic, ENORMOUS! "small" is for shrimp boat captains! And you aren't a shrimp boat. Are you!
Forget the word "business". Instead, think in terms of "providing a profitable and pleasurable transaction with your victim… I mean, your customer." To be successful, you got to think positive. And wordy. Nothing sells ice cream to the Eskimos better than wordy confusion. (As this post may prove.)
Loan? We don't deal in loan. We deal in loans; with the capital S! We deal in the temporary acquisition of another's resourceS ... unless, of course, those resources involve sharks. We don't deal with loan sharks. Too bitey. And no capital S.
Ahhh, the old, negative, downer of a word "bad". Unless you are working on your street-cred, and you need to be bad to be good, we should just skip the word altogether to avoid confusion. However, if your confusion is bad in a good, street-cred manner, be sure to use "baddeSt" (again, with the capital S to show how badly good you is. Word.)
Finally, there is “credit”. Always remember that we are a successful, tough-minded, take-no-prisoners kind of entrepreneur. We give credit to no one! We might take credit, but that's the kind of non-shrimp boat, wordy, non-loan shark dealing, confused kind of person that we are.
And there you have it! I have no idea what it is, but you are welcome! Please pay at the door as you leave.
First of all, the motivated, wealth-driven, visionary as an entrepreneur doesn't think in terms of “small”! You have got to think big, Gigantic, ENORMOUS! "small" is for shrimp boat captains! And you aren't a shrimp boat. Are you!
Forget the word "business". Instead, think in terms of "providing a profitable and pleasurable transaction with your victim… I mean, your customer." To be successful, you got to think positive. And wordy. Nothing sells ice cream to the Eskimos better than wordy confusion. (As this post may prove.)
Loan? We don't deal in loan. We deal in loans; with the capital S! We deal in the temporary acquisition of another's resourceS ... unless, of course, those resources involve sharks. We don't deal with loan sharks. Too bitey. And no capital S.
Ahhh, the old, negative, downer of a word "bad". Unless you are working on your street-cred, and you need to be bad to be good, we should just skip the word altogether to avoid confusion. However, if your confusion is bad in a good, street-cred manner, be sure to use "baddeSt" (again, with the capital S to show how badly good you is. Word.)
Finally, there is “credit”. Always remember that we are a successful, tough-minded, take-no-prisoners kind of entrepreneur. We give credit to no one! We might take credit, but that's the kind of non-shrimp boat, wordy, non-loan shark dealing, confused kind of person that we are.
And there you have it! I have no idea what it is, but you are welcome! Please pay at the door as you leave.
Saturday, March 03, 2012
bad love, no vampires needed
His head ached as he ended the phone call with her. But not as much as his heart. As he slowly rested the receiver back in its cradle, his memory tortured him with the sounds of when her voice was once full of love and hope and happiness.
But now, the honeymoon was over. Her tones were full of unspoken gripes and complaints. Behind her cheerless voice, he heard "what have you done for me lately?" In the beginning, it was her implicit coos of "what can I do to make you happy?" made him give love a second chance.
But now, like the strangling hold of Wisteria vines around a mighty oak, she had him now. Try as he might, he could not stop her true personality from infecting his life. He had as much chance as hiring a durham house cleaning service to work for him in Antarctica as he did trying to untangle his life from his latest mistake - her.
There was a time when her love was a wonderful fire that warmed and filled his heart. Now, it was a raging, crazed inferno that threatened to reduce his life to ashes. Our hero had no idea how he was going to save himself this time.
But now, the honeymoon was over. Her tones were full of unspoken gripes and complaints. Behind her cheerless voice, he heard "what have you done for me lately?" In the beginning, it was her implicit coos of "what can I do to make you happy?" made him give love a second chance.
But now, like the strangling hold of Wisteria vines around a mighty oak, she had him now. Try as he might, he could not stop her true personality from infecting his life. He had as much chance as hiring a durham house cleaning service to work for him in Antarctica as he did trying to untangle his life from his latest mistake - her.
There was a time when her love was a wonderful fire that warmed and filled his heart. Now, it was a raging, crazed inferno that threatened to reduce his life to ashes. Our hero had no idea how he was going to save himself this time.
Sermon On The Monte
To deal with engineering problems at work, we sometimes have to perform a "Full Monte". This has nothing to do with being naked around power tools. We just call our futile exercise of humiliation as the "Full Monte." Basically, we strip our pride and bare our souls to release new, untested products that sales sold ahead of time in spite of our protests.
Sales and management often enjoy "counting chickens before they hatch" while forgetting the part about buying the rooster. But it's engineering's fault as we frequently point out that little necessity during the development process to production.
Anyway, we use a statistical tool called a Monte Carlo simulation, hence the "Monte" part. We take adjoining pieces in an assemble and simulate all the possible sizes that our vendor will send us.
This exercise answers many questions. Such as, how likely will the resulting assemble be too large, too small, or a just-right fit? And, how likely will we meet the customer’s requirements? And, how likely with the VPs get a large bonus for making us use sub-standard parts that may or may not be the correct size? And, how likely are we wasting time on an exercise where we already know how bad production will be? (Surprisingly, pay raises never makes the list of things most likely to occur.)
Monte Carlo is a very versatile statistical tool. When I think of the name, I’ve wondered if people ever used it back in the days of “Let’s Make a Deal” show? The master-of-ceremonies, Monte Hall, would randomly pick overly excited contestants from an audience full of people wearing the most outrageous costumes. I have no doubt that these people did everything possible to get selected - included the use of complicated math.
One time, I remember Monte (the person, not the algorithm) chose a rather large woman dressed as a big ol’ montecristo cigar. This happened during the late 80's when such a get-up was funny. Those crazy cigar moments have changed since the days of President Clinton. Since his administration, you can thank the anti-smoking people for taking a giant super-soaker to such tobacco hilarity. I think it's their fault. I could be wrong.
Oh well. Where was I? Oh yeah, we use math at work without getting naked. Probably a good thing. The last thing we need is for Human Resources to make a Montezuma out of a molehill.
Sales and management often enjoy "counting chickens before they hatch" while forgetting the part about buying the rooster. But it's engineering's fault as we frequently point out that little necessity during the development process to production.
Anyway, we use a statistical tool called a Monte Carlo simulation, hence the "Monte" part. We take adjoining pieces in an assemble and simulate all the possible sizes that our vendor will send us.
This exercise answers many questions. Such as, how likely will the resulting assemble be too large, too small, or a just-right fit? And, how likely will we meet the customer’s requirements? And, how likely with the VPs get a large bonus for making us use sub-standard parts that may or may not be the correct size? And, how likely are we wasting time on an exercise where we already know how bad production will be? (Surprisingly, pay raises never makes the list of things most likely to occur.)
Monte Carlo is a very versatile statistical tool. When I think of the name, I’ve wondered if people ever used it back in the days of “Let’s Make a Deal” show? The master-of-ceremonies, Monte Hall, would randomly pick overly excited contestants from an audience full of people wearing the most outrageous costumes. I have no doubt that these people did everything possible to get selected - included the use of complicated math.
One time, I remember Monte (the person, not the algorithm) chose a rather large woman dressed as a big ol’ montecristo cigar. This happened during the late 80's when such a get-up was funny. Those crazy cigar moments have changed since the days of President Clinton. Since his administration, you can thank the anti-smoking people for taking a giant super-soaker to such tobacco hilarity. I think it's their fault. I could be wrong.
Oh well. Where was I? Oh yeah, we use math at work without getting naked. Probably a good thing. The last thing we need is for Human Resources to make a Montezuma out of a molehill.
Friday, March 02, 2012
Faking Yourself Into Better Deals.
As the TV actor barely held on to the enormous sandwich, his hamburger look tempting enough for me to drive to the advertised fast food joint in my pajamas. Fortunately, I know a few things about advertising, so reason prevailed. That and a large pizza in the oven.
The makers of commercials must think we are idiots. For example, most of us know that the actor is just a tad over 3 feet tall. Since a mini muffin will look like a five layer cake in his hands, it's no surprise that the tantalizing, overpriced, tiny hamburger will look it like it could feed most of Ethiopia.
Still, I think the advertisers on to something. People are more likely to surrender their hard-earned money when you make an overvalued object seem like a better deal than it really is.
So let’s put this philosophy to use. The next time you go to a gas station, have a child hold the handle in its wee hands while you watch the rapid changing price on the pump display. Then you can say to yourself in amazement, “I must be getting a great deal on my gas! Look at how much fuel is being pumped by those small hands!“
Yes, I know. As gas prices go higher, we’ll eventually need a newborn to pump our gas. But think of the deal that we'll be getting on our petrol purchase. And we'll need a pacifier to help choke back our tears.
The makers of commercials must think we are idiots. For example, most of us know that the actor is just a tad over 3 feet tall. Since a mini muffin will look like a five layer cake in his hands, it's no surprise that the tantalizing, overpriced, tiny hamburger will look it like it could feed most of Ethiopia.
Still, I think the advertisers on to something. People are more likely to surrender their hard-earned money when you make an overvalued object seem like a better deal than it really is.
So let’s put this philosophy to use. The next time you go to a gas station, have a child hold the handle in its wee hands while you watch the rapid changing price on the pump display. Then you can say to yourself in amazement, “I must be getting a great deal on my gas! Look at how much fuel is being pumped by those small hands!“
Yes, I know. As gas prices go higher, we’ll eventually need a newborn to pump our gas. But think of the deal that we'll be getting on our petrol purchase. And we'll need a pacifier to help choke back our tears.
my golden baby
In less than 2000 miles, my Hyundai Tiburon will cross the 300,000-mileage mark. My previous car, a Nissan stanza wagon, reached the 405,000 miles before my mechanic convinced me that it wouldn't even survive another car wash. Both vehicle have given me my money's worth and then some.
You would think there would be some award for getting every last inch out of your vehicles. But sadly, no. I have yet to get a gold medal, a gold necklace, or even a mass-airflow sensor to replace the one that wore off its gold plating during its selfless service.
I still have hope for that trophy. My Tiburon has several thousand miles in her aging frame. Yes, I know that she doesn't look as sleek and sexy as the day that I bought her. And every time I fill her up with gas, I double her value. Still, she gets me to my destination ... mostly. And aside from her suddenly noticeable odd noises, my Tib is a joy to drive ... though warily.
Maybe I will get that award. Or, at least, a pay raise for a new car. Either way, I have a wonderful car. And AAA.
You would think there would be some award for getting every last inch out of your vehicles. But sadly, no. I have yet to get a gold medal, a gold necklace, or even a mass-airflow sensor to replace the one that wore off its gold plating during its selfless service.
I still have hope for that trophy. My Tiburon has several thousand miles in her aging frame. Yes, I know that she doesn't look as sleek and sexy as the day that I bought her. And every time I fill her up with gas, I double her value. Still, she gets me to my destination ... mostly. And aside from her suddenly noticeable odd noises, my Tib is a joy to drive ... though warily.
Maybe I will get that award. Or, at least, a pay raise for a new car. Either way, I have a wonderful car. And AAA.
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