Needle, Meet Haystack

I’ve thrown a lot of numbers at you guys – the 80-20 Pareto Principle, the Rule of One, the two statistics posts, not to mention all the lists, guides and other non-wordy stuff.  Well, here’s one more.

I was sitting with a friend of mine, noodling around with his fancy metal clipboard-binder thingy (looks sorta like this), and was having a hard time closing it.  He motioned that I move back, and with a flick of his thumb, accomplished something that had been boggling my mind for several minutes.  I looked at him, slightly astonished, and before I could say anything, he smiled and declared, “It’s something I learned in the military – the 10% Rule.”

The 10% Rule, he explained, states that you need to be at least 10% smarter than the piece of machinery you’re operating in order to use it.  Or, to put it another way, you should have at least a basic understanding of what you’re doing and how to do it before you even start.  But the thing about the 10% rule is that it isn’t just about operating computer systems or closing binders.  It’s about succeeding at business.

At the macro level, you only need to really have 10% more business than your next leading competitor to assert market dominance.  But on a smaller scale, you really only need to be 10% more proficient than your competition to get the job, get the promotion, get the raise, or get the recognition.  Sometimes, that 10% is set as a quantifiable thing, like productivity, sales, client retention or completed projects.  Sometimes, it’s less tangible, like having a better rapport with people, being more likable, being able to hold your alcohol better or holding more interesting conversations.  It doesn’t take much to get that 10% and all the acclaim that comes with it.

But wait, you say, didn’t you just blog about how comparing yourself with other people is a surefire recipe for disaster, failure, loneliness and extra root canals? And why I may not have said exactly that, you’ve got a point.  When it comes to motivation, goals and planning, it IS a bad idea to compare yourself to anyone (BIEBERRRRRR!) – but when it comes to a competition, where your success is determined by how well you do compared to others, it’s fine.

In fact, the 10% Rule applies to a few other things, too.

When we refer to experts, the criteria really comes down to them having that vital 10% more knowledge that you might lack.  They exhibit a higher proficiency at something and can demonstrate it.  That 10% rule is the difference between Dr. Demento and Dr. Phil (and before you say anything, I know that Dr. Demento is a national treasure, I’m just saying that he’s not a medical doctor, though you could argue that about Mr. McGraw too).  The 10% gap is the base for creating a knowledge base upon which a personal brand an an expert’s reputation are built.

So when you get right down to it, you can get a lot accomplished with only 10%.  And I don’t mean closing fancy metal clipboard-binder thingies.

In case you guys weren’t aware from posts like this one or this one, I’m a statistics nerd.  Not a math nerd, but a statistics one.  I like charts, graphs, standard deviations and all that good stuff.  So I was thrilled when I came across OkTrends, the blog for dating website OkCupid.

Although it has more of a dating/relationship bent (though there was a recent post on politics) to its math, the site uses a variety of techniques to prove – and disprove – some very interesting notions.  So whether you’re looking for some numbers to help boost your single game or just want an entertaining read, check it out!

OkTrends

It’s easy enough to thank someone, be it a relative, friend, or complete stranger.  Hallmark singlehandedly saved its business through the invention of the thank-you card.  And we can even thank our ancestors, though often in a more religious or ceremonial fashion.  But there is one type of person who we can never truly thank, despite what they may give us.  I refer, of course, to fictional characters.  The best we can do is pay tribute to them by sharing their stories with others.  So, this is my message of thanks to someone who will never truly know what they gave me.  But first, a little background:

My dad loves to read.  As in, my parents’ house is almost a library.  As in, every room is a fire hazard.  As in, he buys duplicate books all the time because he has no idea where he put his current copies.  So growing up, I went to a lot of bookstores.

Not that I minded much.  According to my parents, I somehow taught myself to read when I was 3, despite their attempts to dissuade me from reading until I reached elementary school.  But by the time I was 5, I was burning through Heinlein and Asimov like nobody’s business.  I had stopped reading Grisham earlier that year as I thought it was, to quote Li’l Andy, “Too easy.”  And by the time I was 6, I was almost burned out on reading.

So when Dad and 6 year-old me went into the (sadly now closed) Waldenbooks in the local mall, I was sure I wasn’t going to enjoy myself.  That is, until I saw a spinner rack full of brightly-costumed characters doing battle with the forces of evil.  I perused the rack, my excitement building, until finally, it reached a crescendo when I saw this cover.

Dude in armor with jet boots is straight up flying into a big ol’ pack of missiles with a clenched fist like he’s going to punch them.  Or, as my six-year-old brain saw it, THE FLYING ROBOT DUDE IS GOING TO PUNCH SOME EXPLODEY THINGS.

So yeah, I convinced my dad to buy it for me.

A new world opened itself up to me, with compelling dialogue, bright colors, visual sound effects, intricate histories, and, yes, plenty of ‘splosions.  I was hooked.

Over the next five years, I amassed a collection of almost 1,000 comics, not counting all of the collected editions that I had read, or the issues I’d speed-read (which I learned to do via comic books) while at the store.  But these comic books had effects beyond making me a nerd: they changed my perspective.

All of a sudden, I was interested in reading again.  I blazed through novels, nonfiction, classic literature, self-help, biographies, and even some sections of the encyclopedia.  I couldn’t get enough.  So I started writing.  I developed a love of language and communication that has grown and flourished within me for my entire life.  And it all began with Tony Stark and his badass armor.

You might be wondering, as I did when I considered this post, why I’m not thanking the writer, artists, editors or other people who made the book, and instead chose a fictional character.  And the reason for that is that it wasn’t really what they did.

Comic books are a sequential art form, one that builds and develops over the years, with characters evolving and changing as creators come and go.  Hundreds or even thousands of hands play a part in the development of a single character over decades of stories.  At a certain point, the tales and histories overtake their original contributors, and the characters go from fictional entities to people in their own right.  Well, except for creator-owned characters, but that’s neither here nor there.

Nope, it’s all about a dude who doesn’t really exist who uses the jet boots on his suit of mechanical armor to fly around and shoots repulsor blasts from his gloves, and sometimes also punches missiles, who I can never truly thank enough for what he gave me.

So thank you, Iron Man.  Thank you.

First off, I want to allay any suspicion or concern that this is turning into a fashion blog.  While I like suiting up as much as the next fella, I don’t think that I’m particularly inclined to start doling out advice on clothes.

No, this is about personal definitions.

For generations, jobs have been separated into that either-or category: either you’re a blue collar (manual/physical labor) or a white collar (office/mental labor).  Much like the white hats and the black hats of the Old West, there was no cause or reason for further delineation.  Either you worked with your head or you worked with your hands.  But then, a funny thing happened.  Industries started getting in on the act.

There were soon green collar jobs for alternative energy/agricultural/conservation positions.  I’ve heard of medical, volunteer and disaster relief work referred to as red collar positions.  And there might be some morticians or morgue operators who fancy their collars to be referred to as black.  The career wardrobe has begun to expand.  In fact, some people may have several different colors and types in their job closets.

Whereas careers might have been once defined by whether someone was working inside or outside (the simplest way of separating white and blue collars), now it’s a matter of specialization.  How are you using information?  Where are your skills applied?  In what way do your tasks fit in with the organizational hierarchy and operations?

It can all get so terribly confusing.

Pretty soon, we’ll have people defining their work with paisley collars, tartan collars, polka dot collars, popped collars and no collars.  Companies will make every effort to differentiate their work by giving their employees new collars.  But really, it’s indicative of a new trend in the working world.

The competencies and skills needed for many jobs continue to grow and expand to such a degree that they become overly specific.  Instead of becoming well-lopsided, people are becoming trained in specializations that ensure that finding a different career will become increasingly difficult for them.  In an age of high employee turnover, companies are fighting back by making their workers proficient in such small niches that they may not be employable anywhere else, even for competitors.

This specialized knowledge comes at a price, though.  If an employee does leave, they create a knowledge vacuum that can be difficult, if not impossible, to fill.  Or, to stretch back to the original metaphor, it’s like taking essential clothes out of one’s wardrobe.  Like socks.  Or underpants.

As much as we may strive for better definitions and comprehensions of our careers, there comes to be a point when things get too specialized and categorized.  Sometimes, it’s better to stick with the basics, for both employees and employers.  After all, it’s just a collar – not the whole shirt.

No one has ever asked me to speak at a graduation ceremony.  I have friends who did, but I can’t tell you much beyond a basic outline of what they talked about.  In fact, I never really liked the concept of the smart kids talking at the end; I always felt it would be far more interesting to find out what the dumb kids at the bottom of the class who barely squeaked by had to say.

That being said, when I started this blog, I was upset that I hadn’t done it a few weeks before, when it could coincide with graduation ceremonies (or at least those that I was aware of – I know people graduate in June but shut up I’m used to early May graduations).  So I’ve been holding on to this thought for the past year, waiting until now to try to put it into written form.  Graduating class of 2010, this is for you:

To the graduating class of 2010, I have only two things to say to you.  The first is a congratulations on your accomplishments.  The second is that after today, you probably won’t remember a single thing I’ve said.

Not that I blame you.  I only remember vague things about some of the speeches I’ve heard at graduations over the years; someone read The Giving Tree, someone else talked about Legos, and I think one dude bastardized the Gettysburg Address so it was about school and dreams and future accomplishments.

A lot of people would tell you that you should follow your dreams, that you’re going to change the world.  And while there’s a statistically tiny chance that this might be true for one of you, the rest of you graduates probably won’t do much.  In fact, some of you will fail at life.  Hard.

And now here’s the part of the speech where I talk about resilience.  But if you’ve seen any movie in pretty much ever, you know that you have to fail in order to get back up.  Sometimes, you need a montage.  A wisecracking sidekick can help.  Also, explosions.

Where were we?

Oh yeah, so most of you right now are brimming with potential.  And most of you are talking to the people seated around you, or texting, or surfing the web on your iPhones, or tossing around beach balls because hey, you just want your name to be called so you can walk onstage, get your diploma, and move on.

And move on you will.  In three years, hell, in three MONTHS, you might find yourself drifting away from some people who, for the last four years, have been closer to you than your own family.  And sure, there’s Facebook, Twitter and all those sites to keep you connected, but you will drift apart.  You’ll lose friends without noticing.  And one day, when you’re in the bathroom reading the classifieds section because you find the personals hilarious, you’ll suddenly wonder, “Whatever happened to…”

I’m aware this is all terribly depressing.

Then again, if you’re one of the millions of people looking for a job right now (and you probably are), or if you’re one of the millions of people terrified of the coming onslaught of student loans (and you probably are), or even if you’re just now realizing that a specialization in ancient Sumerian pottery wasn’t the best choice (okay, only a few of you might), you’re used to bad news.

For the past few years, people have been talking about how shitty the economy is, how bad the employment rate is, and how difficult things are going to be for each year of graduates.  And you’re probably sick of it.  You will break the mold.  You will be different.  You will not find yourself back living with your parents as you struggle to find any sort of work that actually has relevance to what you want to do with your life.

But like I said before, most of you will find the opposite to be true.

So enjoy the little things.  Don’t be afraid to try new things.  The great thing about a lousy economy and a bad employment rate is that you can do a whole mess of stuff with a lot less riding on your success.  Take that trip you always wanted to go on.  Learn a new skill.  Go back to school so you can avoid the real world for a little while longer.

What I’m saying to you is this: you don’t have to fix everything.  Sure, you can try to help, but don’t lose sight of yourself.  You’re young, fresh, wide-eyed and ready to change the world.  And if it doesn’t turn out so great, you have years ahead of you to recover from it.  And even if you don’t change the world, you might be able to help a few people along the way.

I don’t expect any of you to remember any of this.  I don’t plan on being stopped on the street 15 years from now by one of you who says, “I really appreciate what you said at my graduation.”  I do expect you to go out into the world and try to do something.

But right now, I expect you to all pat yourselves on the back for making it this far.  So welcome to that “real world” you’ve been hearing so much about, graduates.  And good luck.

Did the 80s ruin America?  Did pop culture cause the decline and degradation of modern culture?  Is The Karate Kid any good, or is it overhyped?

In David Wong’s recent article on Cracked.com, these questions and several others are asked and answered, and the results might surprise you.  It’s a thoughtful, meaningful piece on a site with content normally skewing towards the scatological, silly, and list-tacular.  But it’s really great writing, and definitely worth your time.  So if you’re looking for a great source of debate among friends, an interesting piece to ponder for the day, or are just looking for some retro nostalgia, check it out.

How ‘The Karate Kid’ Ruined The Modern World (via Cracked.com)

Complication is a terrible thing.  But we often simplify things too much, too.  And this can actually make things more complicated.

Today, I decided to see how complicated I could make the act of making and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Here’s the rules that you should be able to follow:

1. Get out the bread, peanut butter, jelly and spreading utensil
2. Spread peanut butter and jelly on the bread with said utensil
3. Connect the spreaded sides of the bread to make a sandwich
4. Eat the sandwich
5. Clean up

That seems like enough, right?  But what if we wanted to be more succinct?

1. Make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
2. Eat the sandwich
3. Clean up

The problem with both of these is that there are too many assumptions: we assume the person wants the sandwich, that they have access to all of the ingredients, and have a modicum of sandwich-making skill.  Now, try to imagine you need to give instructions to someone who has never made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before (but has seen sandwiches), and has never eaten anything before.  How many steps would that take?

Using some assumptions, I came up with an answer: 31 steps. Don’t believe me?  Here they are:

1. Decide you want to have a PB&J sandwich
2. Make space on the counter
3. Open a silverware drawer
4. Take out one spreading knife, two knives, or one knife and a spoon
5. Close the drawer
6. Decide on the kind of bread you want
7. Get the bread from the freezer/breadbox/top of fridge/counter
8. Undo twist tie/bag closer
9. Reach into the bag and take two slices of bread
10. Reclose and refasten the bag
11. Put the bread bag away
12. Get peanut butter and jelly jars from the freezer or pantry
13. Open jar lids, set lids to the side
14. Lay out bread slices on the counter
15. Using the knife, get a dollop of peanut butter from the peanut butter jar
16. Spread the peanut butter on one side of one slice of bread, or one side of each slice if you prefer
17. If you are using one knife or the spoon, rinse the knife off off and dry it.  Otherwise, get your second knife
18. Using your knife or spoon, get a dollop of jelly from the jelly jar
19. Using the knife or back of the spoon, spread the jelly on one side of one of the slices of bread.  If both slices have peanut butter on them, spread the jelly on top of one of the peanut buttered slices on the peanut butter side
20. Bring the two covered sides together in a sandwich fashion, so the peanut butter and jelly are now on the inside
21. Put the tops back on the jars of peanut butter and jelly
22. Put the jars back – if you’ve just opened them, this means you will probably have to put them in the refrigerator
23. Rinse off or wash off your spreading instruments in the sink
24. Dry your hands off.
25. Pick up the sandwich
26. Open your mouth
27. Insert sandwich into your mouth – careful!  Don’t put it all in at once!
28. Close your teeth around the part of the sandwich that is in your mouth
29. Continue the opening and closing action on the part of the sandwich that is in your mouth until you feel ready to push it down your digestive tract via your tongue and throat muscles
30. Push the sandwich part that you had in your mouth down your digestive tract using your tongue and throat muscles
31. Repeat steps 27-30 until you have consumed all of the sandwich

For some people, the first set of instructions would be enough.  For others, the second set would be plenty.  And for some, the third set would be necessary.

SO TO ALL YOU IDIOTS WHO WOULD SUE POP-TARTS IF THEY DIDN’T HAVE AN ENTIRE SIDE OF THE BOX DEDICATED TO PREPARATION INSTRUCTIONS, now you can finally have that PB&J you always wanted.

AND TO ALL OF YOU WHO WILL COMPLAIN THAT I DIDN’T MENTION TAKING THE CRUST OFF, CUTTING IT INTO TRIANGLES, RECTANGLES, SQUARES OR SOME OTHER SHAPE, OR FOOD/DRINK PAIRINGS, I didn’t have enough time to finish the charts and diagrams.

People don’t have the same levels of comprehension, understanding or knowledge.  But that doesn’t mean that you need to simplify through overcomplication.  It’s not rocket science; it’s just a sandwich.