All socialed out
The people I know are, on average, more technically savvy than the average person in the UK. And I am, I would say, more technically savvy than the average person I know. Yet I am confused.
For me, there are too many technologies for me to keep up with. And there are two platforms in particular that have tipped me over the edge: Pinterest and Tumblr.
In all honesty, I can’t be arsed. I do Twitter—my 17,417 tweets are testament to that. And I do Facebook, in a rather half-arsed way. And yes, I blog, albeit less vociferously than I have done: 1,766 posts over the last seven and a half years.
And for me, from a social perspective, that’s enough. I use other tools professionally—Google Apps, Dropbox to name but a couple. But socially, for me, there isn’t space for anything else in the virtual world.
Twitter fuels my interest in things. And Facebook fuels my interest in people.
There are overlaps. But Twitter is not sufficient to fulfil my online friendship needs (although over time, it’s become more important in this regard). And Facebook certainly isn’t sufficient to fulfil my interests (and this position has changed little over time).
Pinterest, Tumblr, Posterous, Google+, Yammer. Maybe I’m missing out by not participating. But to be frank, I have neither the time nor, more to the point, the inclination.
Is the human voice music?
My grandad used to have somewhat of a purist when it came to music, denouncing the use of the human voice. (In the context of music, as opposed to altogether.)
His favourite piece of music as I remember was Johann Strauss’s Blue Danube (An der schönen blauen Donau), indeed a masterful piece.
But I can’t help but feel that he missed out. All instruments create sound artificially, using a piece of apparatus that has been crafted from raw materials, often using the human hand. And those instruments rely on the skill and movement of humans to make them figuratively sing. They rely on the human breath, dexterous fingers or rhythmic feet.
The main difference between such instruments and the human voice is that in the latter, the instrument and the musician are combined. The instrument has been crafted directly by nature and nurture rather than indirectly as is the case with an instrument. And so the oboe’s reed is combined with the oboist to provide a single unit.
And just as with instruments, voices need to be repaired – just ask Adele.
To remove Whitney Houston from one’s listening repertoire on the basis that the voice is in some respect impure is sacrilege. And here’s such a wonderful example of why.
Limited choice is a good thing
Limited choice is a good thing.
Imagine if we had immediate access to every episode of every sitcom and drama that was ever made. Not only that, but also every single film that was ever made. And imagine if we could access them whenever and wherever we chose, on our mobile devices, from our couches or even by scheduling a visit to the local cinema.
Sounds immense, doesn’t it? But in reality, I don’t think that model fits well with us humans.
You see, too much choice is sometimes a bad thing. If I could select any film to see at the cinema, I think I’d go much less often than I currently do. I wouldn’t be able to decide what on earth to see. I love being able to look through the half-dozen films showing at the local Picturehouse and deciding which, if any, takes my fancy.
Even with the hugely extended offering that is now available to us on TV, I more often than not settle upon regular scheduled TV as opposed to selecting something from the last week’s worth of TV via the on-demand service. And in doing so, likelihood is I’ll be watching one of the four channels I grew up with.
I like the idea and reality of an imposed schedule. My dad enjoys TV, but his regular refrain when my mum was busy programming the video recorder before a night out while we were growing up was, “If you miss it, you miss it.” I tend to agree: we own DVDs that are still wrapped in cellophane.
While attending a five-year-old’s birthday party the other day, I met Mike Blakemore, the CTO of LOVEFILM (wow that capitalisation grates). Among other things, we talked about the recent forays by Netflix into the UK market. (As an aside, he’s leaving soon to become the Guardian’s CTO.)
Neither streaming product interests me. Maybe I’m a traditionalist when it comes to TV. Maybe I’m an outlier. But I’d much rather be given a choice of what to watch of an evening. If there’s nothing that takes my fancy, I can always find something else to do. And if I’m out when something of note is on, I may record it on the 80 hours that are available on my Virgin Media box; but likelihood is that I’ll delete it before getting round to watching it.
Email: lighten up!
I currently work as a consultant to a large financial institution. I work independently, so have kept my own email address. This is great, as it allows me to work into the evening while many of my colleagues in the US are still in the office. (This is dreadful, as it allows me to work into the evening while many of my colleagues in the US are still in the office.)
Given this state of affairs, I am slightly segregated from my client. I am not “one of them”, which has its benefits and its drawbacks. But given what I’m doing, all in all I think it’s a good thing. Doubtless the benefits of me being able to work out of hours more than outweigh the inconveniences that the segregation brings about.
A member of the client organisation recently commented that I could never be an employee there. When I asked as to why, she said that I was way too informal in my email communication.
I disagreed.
For me, just as with face-to-face communication, there is time for formality and time for informality. And that is not purely dependent on the audience. Just as with talking to people, there are times when you’ll be formal with your friends; and less formal with your colleagues.
The key is to gear your communication style to your audience and subject matter. And to be a bit bold in pushing against formality.
I recently presented to 20-or-so people, the majority of whom I’d never met. I gave an overview of a system, and talked of it “squirting out documents at the other end”. The lady mentioned above was horrified when she saw the deck. But the audience liked the informality. I was talking about an IT system in words that a child might use, stripping away any sense of complexity, focusing purely on the business need that these people had.
If I’d said “printing” or “producing”, the level of engagement in the session might have been less. And if one or two of the audience remembered the use of the word “squirting” half an hour after the session had ended, then it served its purpose.
And I do the same in email. When asked by email today whether something was ready to go live, my response: “You betcha. 
” Formalists will argue that this isn’t sufficiently legally binding to sign off upon a requirement, nor is it appropriate for the working environment. I say “tosh”. If any member of your staff tries to argue that the above statement isn’t a ringing endorsement for go-live suitability, then you’re probably best getting rid of them.
You see, one of the reasons few people read their emails is that in the main they’re dull. My hope is that by adding some lightheartedness to otherwise mundane emails, I might at best get someone to read something they otherwise wouldn’t; and at worst I might have brightened someone’s day a smidgeon.
But in reality, I simply hope that people enjoy reading my emails.
I bet that my client organisation hasn’t written any guidelines dictating the manner in which emails should be written. Yes, they will have guidelines about whether email should be used for personal reasons. But I expect there will be nothing about the manner in which “formal” communications are written. Yet people settle into a routine. They follow the lead of their colleagues when they join the organisation.
I hope that by adding some spice, some zest, the odd smiley and a sprinkle of cheeky words, I add a little fun and enjoyment to the workplace.
The decision to buy a car
Last weekend, we bought a car. And a few factors contributed to this decision.
Over the previous seven months, my car usage had become sufficient to suggest that Streetcar, or Zipcar as it recently became, was no longerthe most economically valuable solution. My four-times weekly 35-mile each way commute was arguably viable when the 500-mile fair use mileage was in place under Streetcar. But when this was lowered to 200 miles under Zipcar’s charging model, the financials changed.
And tax rules mean that once you’ve commuted to the same location for a certain length of time, it is no longer allowed for that travel to be put through the company. That time limit was hit in October.
These factors meant that car ownership was the most sensible option. So I started the search.
I wanted to spend four figures. My wife is more comfortable with an automatic. The car needed to be sufficiently sizeable to cater for the family of three. And it needed to be relatively fuel efficient, both for the environment and for my wallet.
The default choice was the second-hand market. And the default choice therein was Auto Trader. (I didn’t even consider going directly to a dealer.)
I did my research. I looked for cars that interested me, and refined the options over the course of a few weeks. At first, I was looking at bigger cars: the Nissan Qashqai and the Kia Cee’d SW. But then I realised that apart from legroom, we don’t have huge space requirements. So the options moved to the dull yet solid Ford Focus, the Citroën C3, the Fiat Grande Punto and the pricier Audi A3. A late entrant on the list was the Mazda 3.
Most of my research was done online. Although I also took some advice from friends old and new, including Pete Chivers, an old friend from school.
Having done the research and identified some options, and after a thoroughly enjoyable game of golf last Friday, I popped in to see a semi-private dealer near Croydon about a Mazda 3. It ticked all of the boxes and seemed a good deal. I didn’t have time for a test drive, but my initial viewing of the car was positive. I caught the train down to Purley the following day and after a short test-drive, I drove away with having bought the car.
And so far so good.
First, the dealer: On Four Wheels. Not a dealer in the traditional negative sense. A truly positive experience. Not pushy, just seemingly genuine. I wouldn’t hesitate in advising people to go straight to him if you’re looking for a user car.
And the car itself? It’s great. It’s not going to pull away from you at speed when the lights change. But it’s safe, solid, roomy and pleasant to drive. And it’s ours. And my daughter’s happy because it’s purple (more blue than purple, but she’s convinced) and she has a new car seat furnishing the back seat.
As for the financial comparison with Zipcar, time will tell. But I’m estimating that once all of the ad hoc costs of a car are factored in (petrol included), I’ll be saving a sliver over £100 per week against their increased pricing model, not taking into account the cost of the car itself.
Those incomprehensible skills
There are many, many skills that I don’t possess. Ask my daughter of my drawing skills, and she’ll probably vouch for them being comparable to hers. (And she’d be about right, although she can draw a flower that would put mine to shame.) My observational skills could do with some work. And my abilities as a salesman are, at best, limited. (This list of my non-skills is by no means exhaustive, btw.)
But for most skills that I don’t possess, I comprehend them. My brother, for example, has spent a good few hours more than I have carelessly sketching in notepads, and his artistic skills reflect this. He is a fabulous artist. My wife is a phenomenal influencer, and can use her interpersonal skills to secure the right outcome in the workplace.
I know coders that can put together sublime websites in a heartbeat; and technicians that can support those websites without you knowing they’re there. (They’re the best types, btw.)
These skills I get. I understand that practice makes perfect, and that you can hone these skills over time.
But there are some skills that I just don’t get. One in particular is photography.
Anyone can take photographs. Here’s my daughter’s first Flickr set, for example. But few can take phenomenal photographs. Even fewer can do this consistently. And yet fewer can do this even when faced with what might seem like mundane subject matter.
Paul Clarke is one of those people. Over and over, he brings subject matters to life, complements a photo’s subject with a violent sky or a beautifully-lit street. And I have no idea how.
Sometimes, naively, I think that maybe he’s blessed with skies and lighting that are unavailable to the likes of me. At other times, I think that he reels off furlongs of proverbial film to get to the shot of choice.
While point two no doubt has an element of truth, the primary reasons for the skill are training and experience—just as is the case with the vast majority of skills.
But the immediacy of photography to me makes the skill stand out far more than other skills. Modesty aside for one second, I can rock a spreadsheet. And give me a document to proofread and I’ll guarantee that the result will be stellar. But both of those activities allow me to play, review, delete, undo, redo before giving you the output. Photography doesn’t appear to allow that luxury. And that is perhaps what I admire the most.
Here are just a few of my favourites.
Me and management consultancies
(Or more correctly, management consultancies and I.)
I will be the first to admit that I didn’t make a particularly good consultant. I’m not talking medical consultant. I’m talking management consultant.
You see, while most large consultancies will likely have a “value” that focuses on the client, successful delivery, exceeding client expectations or some similar strapline that sits nicely on a poster, they also have other “values”. Now these other values may not be well advertised, or even publicised, but they’re there. And they are all about bringing the knowledge that you’ve garnered at the client site back to the proverbial mother ship—thought leadership, if you will. And maximising the value of each assignment—cross-selling, if you will.
And I was rubbish at these aspects. As a consultant, I focused relentlessly on making a project successful, delivering the scope, delivering beyond the scope, and generally trying to make the client happy. But I was rubbish at the thought leadership. I had little time for the consultancy-only team meetings. And I was the worst cross-seller in the business. (As someone once said of me, I’d be rubbish as a salesman—I’m too honest.)
Why? Because these aspects of the job got in the way of the client-focused delivery. If you are 100% committed to the success of a project, then arguably having targets to sell more of your own people into the project doesn’t align with this commitment. And taking a few hours a week to feed everything back to the consultancy is time that might be better spent in project delivery mode.
Consultancies have their place. They’re just not for me, that’s all.
Racism in Britain
I just watched the My Tram video. Quite frankly, I’m not in any way surprised.
For those that don’t know what it is, or would prefer not to watch, it’s two minutes and 26 seconds of a woman’s tirade against foreigners in my Britain, on “my tram”. (Likely most of the targets were as British as the woman, albeit a much greater asset to the country.) The footage is made up of wall-to-wall expletives and racist abuse, throughout which a small child sits on her lap. The child doesn’t flinch at the tirade, suggesting that perhaps he’s used to both the tone and the content of the woman’s rant. (That, to me, is the most troubling aspect of the video.)
Racism is rife in the UK. Whether or not John Terry racially abused Anton Ferdinand on 23 October remains to be seen. (For what it’s worth having seen the footage, my view is that he didn’t.) But the subsequent chants of hordes of Chelsea fans were undoubtedly filled with racial hatred.
Some time ago, a colleague of my dad’s, while I joined them for a beer, was less vociferous yet similarly derogatory about Korean people in Croydon. I gave my apologies and left; my dad followed suit.
Usually the racism is confined to situations in which there are no people of ethnic background to offend. After all, racism amongst a bunch of white people can cause no offence, right? But on occasions, likely more frequent than many would like to admit, overt racial abuse is aimed at the targets themselves, as was the case in the video.
With a mixed-race daughter, I am probably more conscious than the average person about racial prejudice. I will always be making sure that she is aware of and proud of her heritage. And I will always strive to pick up on prejudice and either avoid it or stop it.
She will suffer racism in her life, without a doubt. But my role is to ensure that she knows that any such behaviour, abusive, active or passive, is not a reflection on her, but a reflection on the person dishing it out. She needs to be fully aware of racism, while at the same time I need to strive to protect her from it. That is my job.
The woman on the tram has merely served to increase further my awareness of just how close we are to such vociferous and toxic views.
Fucking Hobnobs
Earlier today, my friend Paul Clarke tweeted thus:
There are few challenges that cannot be surmounted with the aid of a dark chocolate Hob Nob.
I corrected him, suggesting that HobNob was one word, camel case. My source: Wikipedia. (Topical.) Discussion ensued, and I think it was settled that that the current standard is actually Hobnob—one word, no camel-casing.
The reason for the confusion was that the McVitie’s branding is inconsistent. It seems that it’s changed over the years, switching from HobNob to Hobnob. The current standard is certainly Hobnob.
As such, I’ve spent part of my Friday evening updating the Hobnob Wikipedia page to reflect the revised branding.
FML.
The proof is in the pudding. Or some such
Among other things, I am a proofreader. And it’s a profession for which many elements might have been commoditised by the internet.
If you’re unsure whether to use affect or effect (or indeed effect), then it’s easy to find out on the internet. Is it yours or your’s? (Ouch, that hurt.) Again, the internet is your friend. Google will tell you.
But the issue is twofold. People don’t know what needs checking. And even if they did, many wouldn’t have the wherewithal to check it.
One day, proofreading will become a true commodity. Upload a document and download it in perfect English. (If the document itself is a crock of shit, this attribute will remain.) In the meantime, you know where I am.