Tech in the Trenches

Carl T. Holscher fights for the customers.

Minimal Viable Meeting

It is very hard to write and to think when all I want to do is to crawl into bed and sleep. I want to ignore my alarm and stay firmly held between blankets and mattress. I Want to pretend the day is not existing and no one needs me for anything. I want to make-believe.

But instead, I am at work. I left my bed. I rode a train for an hour. I got to work. Work is happening.

Slowly.

As the Internet is down for everyone. The cafeteria is unusually busy. The water cooler chatter is high. The paper-thin walls surrounding my office are even more annoying than usual because all I can hear is the office next door socializing, laughing and carrying on. All I can hear is people having fun.

A workday holiday. However temporary it may be.

Meanwhile I field calls about this afternoon’s event. With questions I can’t answer because I simply do not know. How will this work over a tethered connection? I don’t know. I laid out the options given the setting for the event. It’s what we have to work with. Will we be back up by then? I do not know. No one knows.

If we are, great. If we are not, prepare yourselves for a Plan B experience.

These things happen. They are not ideal but I’ve found in my professional career things are rarely ideal. The best we can do is to come up with a workable plan. What is the most important part of the session today?

The audio. You want people to be able to hear what is going on in the National Office. You want the voices heard and the questions answered. The slides are a nicety. The video is a bonus.

The point of this event is to answer questions from your staff and to share the directions of the agency. That can be done, in its simplest form through text.

Email. Web page. Nothing fancy.

When unexpected things happen, focus on what the point of the session is and build up from there. Don’t get hung up on what you planned to do. Focus on how to get your message and information out to your staff. The rest is just windows dressing.

The Urbanist

Whatever sins of urban living you commit today, and you will commit at least one, will be washed away overnight. When you get back on the train the next morning, nobody will even remember. It’s liberating, in a way. It’s the introvert’s dream. All the people around you are extras in the movie of your life, and you are an extra in theirs.

via The Urbanist – Sanspoint. – Essays on Technology and Culture by Richard J. Anderson.

Richard Anderson (who will forever be Mr. Anderson in my brain) writes a wonderful ode to city life.

It’s a wonderful love story of concrete anonymity. I love image of city dwellers being extras in each other’s lives. Working in a city, and taking a train into it each day, I relate to this aspect of the city experience.

I agree with his final words that it is a big enough country to have, and appreciate both perspectives.

The Ruralist

The older I get, the more I miss the small barely two stoplight town I grew up in. It’s only 60 miles west of me. It’s a place where my father still can’t get land-based broadband internet. It’s where I grew up without cable TV because the cables stopped at the end of my road. And there weren’t enough people to justify running them back to the few houses that sat on acres of land.

J.D. Bentley writes in The Ruralist

The most redeeming quality of big cities is that their people choose to congregate in small, dense areas, leaving the bulk of the earth to the rest of us.

As I’ve entered my third decade on this earth, that line resonates deeply with me. I grew up with cows and deer for neighbors. I grew up without a working knowledge of the Nickelodeon schedule. I grew up in a quiet place. Where I could sit outside and barely hear another sign of humanity. I’d walk in the woods and take long bike rides past apple orchards and corn fields. I relished the silence. The wind in my ears as I raced down hills and pedaled like a maniac up the next.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to move out of the little town. I could not wait to spread my wings in a bigger city. I escaped to Richmond, VA for college and lived there for a several years afterwards. Then I returned home to the outskirts of Washington, DC. First living in Northern Virginia across the river from it, and now in Maryland to its north.

I like the area where I am now. It’s quiet enough it could almost be mistaken for rural. There are deer and rabbits nearby. I pass geese, ducks and the occasional heron (I think?) on my walk to the Metro.

That’s where the illusion ends. When I cross the barrier from wildlife to concrete and board a train descending underneath DC and into the heart of the city.

By day, I am city dweller, though at least I am close enough to the National Mall and Capitol Reflecting Pool I can still enjoy the ducks, green spaces and people-watching.

But I miss the quiet nights. I miss falling asleep to the wind whipping through trees and across open fields. I miss the cows and occasional rooster.

I miss hearing a world not powered by motors and processors.

The Despotic Clown

Now that I have given you nightmares… Taco Bell has launched a propaganda campaign against the Routine Republic.

In the three-minute centerpiece ad below, McDonald’s affable but intrinsically creepy mascot is reimagined as a sunken-eyed Stalinist clown (though perhaps bearing closer resemblance to Mao). He rules over a small army of look-alikes and an oppressed proletariat in a decrepit, cloistered city with a beefy security apparatus. Run-of-the-mill breakfast sandwiches are his preferred method of subjugation.

The three-minute video is worth watching, even if it is just an ad for Taco Bell.

The print work for this campaign is marvelous and I want to print and mount the entire set. Here’s a taste.

Same Breakfast

To see the rest of the print work head on over to Adweek.
Ad of the Day: Taco Bell Launches Cold War Against McDonald’s With Propaganda Imagery

Friday Thought

 

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