Category: Philosophy

Yesterday I Learned …

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Yesterday, I learned that TIL is an abbreviation for “Today I learned …” Today I learned that in the era of texting and Tweeting, we are abbreviating far too often. I knew that yesterday, but it’s annoying me today.

1) Yesterday, I considered myself intelligent. Today, I learned that I’m not half as smart as I thought I was yesterday. We curious types ask questions and questions can lead to questions, such as, “How is it that you did not know that?” They ask this with that strained smile that suggests they have a haymaker awaiting us. Curious types often wipe the slate clean to learn different perspective, new angles, and nuanced approaches to known procedures. There are also times when we just don’t know. Decades of cultural and societal conditioning train us to avoid asking such questions, for we know the abuse that’s coming from those who know and those who quietly pretend to know so they’re not the subject of such abuse.

2) Yesterday, I learned that kids hate cotton candy as much as I do. Today, I learned that no matter how great it looks, cotton candy is pretty awful. Cotton candy, fairy floss, candy floss, tooth floss, or whatever we call it around the world looks so good on a stick, in a bag, or in a  bag on a stick. It looks so beautiful in other mouths, but how many of us, kids or adults, make it past the third bite? After watching others tongue their way through the confection and appear to be having one heck of a good time doing it, my son pleaded with me to purchase some for him. “You’re going to hate it,” I told him. “No, I won’t,” he said. Amid the back and forth that ensued, one that mirrored the many arguments I had with my dad, I conceded. I remembered how alluring the confection was for me. My son took one bite. He wouldn’t admit that he hated it, he wouldn’t give me that satisfaction, but he gave it back to me saying, “I can’t eat it.” I was frustrated with him, but as I said, I remember going through all of that myself.  

3) Yesterday, I learned that the Astros cheated by stealing signs, the Patriots cheated by filming the other teams’ practices, and the New Orleans Saints cheated. Today, I found out that no one has ever accused my favorite teams of cheating. If the other team has such obvious signals that my team can steal them, why aren’t they doing it? If the other team is giving away their game plan in any way, and you’re not taking advantage of any opportunity you can to win, why, the hell, am I still cheering you on?  

4) Yesterday, I learned that some of the times we buy junk for a kid’s birthday gift. Is it our fault that the toy was a piece of junk? Today, I learned that it depends how long it works. The reveal is the most vital moment in the life of the birthday present. If that kid wants to play with it moments after opening it, and it works for that first hour, we’re in the clear.

5) Yesterday, I learned the need to teach our kids to appreciate gifts they receive. “That isn’t what I wanted,” my kid said after opening a Christmas gift. Most of us learned gift etiquette from our mom when we were young. “You pretend to love that gift, no matter what,” my mom told me, as her mom probably told her. Today I learned to phrase this in such a way that the child’s rationale might view it as more honest. “You don’t have to talk about whether you like the gift or not. You just say, ‘Oh, thank you so much’ with a bright, shiny smile on your face, and everyone moves on in life.” Again, the reveal is the most important part of gift-giving. If your child can open a gift with all feelings left in tact, you’re in the clear.

6) Yesterday, I learned that there’s nothing more compelling than a well-placed, succinct disclaimer. If I were the owner of a fireworks company, I would test the limits of that theory by listing disclaimers listed all over my creations. I would warn my potential customers that this might be the most dangerous firework ever created. One part of the reason we think we need disclaimers is to protect the consumer, another is to protect the company from lawsuits, and my disclaimers would attempt to do all of the above, but they would also try to generate hype and excitement to those who seek dangerous fireworks. Today, I learned that this principle applies to music, movies, and anything that might lead a parent to warn a child. The more we warn, the more exciting the subject of our warnings will appear to the warned.  

7) Yesterday, I heard some stranger say, “You’re so anecdotal. Your whole life in anecdotal!” to another. I had no idea what that discussion concerned, but I couldn’t help but wonder how that applied. Did that person just learn the word? Did they enjoy using it, because it has so many syllables that sound so intellectual? Today, I realized that we’re all anecdotal.

8) Yesterday, I learned that some of the times I move out of another person’s way without complaint, regardless if I have the right of way or not. Most people cede space in an open area for another to pass. Some do not. Some walk straight for us, expecting us to cede the space necessary for them to get through, and we can read those signposts as they head our way. When we see them coming, we know it’s better to move out of their way. Some form of compassion often motivates this decision. Today I learned that some of the times it’s just better to get out of the way with no questions asked. Some people don’t care for our questions.

9) Yesterday, I learned that, “One of the key components to having an open mind is admitting that you’re wrong,” says the person with whom we disagree.

“That’s probably true in some personal instances,” I argue today, “but you’ll need to show me the person who was richly rewarded for admitting they were wrong, and I’ll take a look at it.”

The first thing a person who wants to have an open mind will do is listen, read, and gather all of the information they can attain to formulate a philosophy. After selecting a philosophical train of thought that aligns with ours, we should continue to gather as many dissenting opinions as we can to challenge that logic. Some people say that an open mind often contains some conflicting opinions. We all have some conflicting opinions, but the best way to limit it is to listen to, and read, as many conflicting opinions as we can find, as often as we can, so that we can philosophically defeat dissenting opinions in our own mind. If we can’t defeat their rationale, we adjust accordingly. If we can, dissenting opinions often strengthen our own. We should also compare our ability to have an open mind versus the person who requires us to have an open mind so that we might agree with them. Their mind is often as closed to dissenting opinions as those they accuse.

10) Yesterday, I learned that too many say that they are so honest that others can’t take their brand of “brutal honesty”. Today, I learned that too few of us use such brutal honesty on ourselves.

11) Yesterday, I learned that there are two types of people in this world. Those who prepare their order before they reach the drive-thru window and those who put their family of eight in park and turn to them, “Now, what does everybody want?” Today, I realized that there is a third type, the person who is trapped behind that family of eight.

12) Yesterday, I learned that I think we can tell a lot about a person by the way they drive. I sat behind a person who would not turn until they had a “clear” opening. A clear opening is a relative term that we have not codified. It can be the space necessary to avoid entering into, or causing an automobile accident, or a hole in traffic that allows for the passage of the state of South Dakota. Today, I realized that I could never be friends with such a person, in part because the man who raised me would not turn unless he could see Wyoming unobstructed.

13) Yesterday, I learned that the most horrific thing that ever happened to us probably took less than a minute. Impossible, we argue, I was there, and I know it lasted longer than a minute. Did it, or did you relived every single detail of every snapshot of that moment, the smells, and the sounds. Have you put that moment in slow-motion, and relived it so often that it seemed longer. Today, I learned that humans, on average, live 41,942,880 minutes, and some of us spend an inordinate amount of minutes reliving that one. It doesn’t help to hear others say that we should just move on, but there is a point when we begin to obsess over it so much that we ruin too many minutes of our lives. No matter what happens in the moments before our final minute comes, I can’t help but think that we’ll regret wasting so much time obsessing over that other one.

Take the Money and Run

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“Show me the money!” I’ll say if I’m ever in the fortunate position of someone offering me substantial amounts of money. I’ll steal that line from one of Cameron Crowe’s screenplays, called Jerry Maguire. If I’m ever in a position of taking money now, versus the prospect, or potential, of making more on the backend, I’ll tell my high-priced negotiator to “Take the money and run!” Don’t ask questions, don’t try to be clever, get out of there with as much upfront money as you can possibly get me.”

There are other stories, and we’ve all heard them when “Big-Time” players play “Big-Time” games with the money and won. Jack Nicholson agreed to play the role of The Joker for $6 million dollars, but he had a clause in his contract that stated he would receive a percentage of the Batman’s receipts and merchandise. Some estimates suggest he ended up making $90 million off the movie. “Yeah, that, I want to be that guy,” we say when we finish reading those sentences. “He knows who he is, and how indispensable he is, and he used it to make some major bank. I want that all over me.” Of course you do, I do, and we do, but we’re not Jack Nicholson. I don’t write that to suggest Nicholson is more important than us, as I can’t stand it when people say, “You’re no Jack Nicholson!” about an actor or athlete who in many cases is simply more fortunate, as opposed to more talented than most. I write that because while we’re basking in the glow of the moment, we need to remember who we are to them and how relatively indispensable we are to them. Nicholson’s image was so important to Warner Brothers that they considered it essential to selling that movie to the public. Moral of that story, know your bargaining position, and ask your side to try to be objective when characterizing it for you.  

On the flip side, is one of Nicholson’s favorite NBA stars of all-time, Magic Johnson. Magic had a deal all set for him from an upstart shoe company called Nike. Nike couldn’t offer Magic the big money that Converse could. Converse offered Magic $100,000 to sign a shoe deal, so Nike countered with $100,000 in stock options. The Nike stock was worth $.18 a share at that point. Estimates now have it that if Magic took the Nike deal, and he never sold a single share, his stock options would now be worth $5.2 billion. 

It’s a provocative tale, but if Magic signed with Nike, Michael Jordan probably wouldn’t have, and with all respect to the great Magic Johnson, I doubt his image and persona would’ve sold as well as Air Jordan.  

I don’t care what happened to Jack, Magic, or Michael, if someone offers us a boatload of money, take it. There might be some room for haggling, and we should probably, probably, consider it, as it might be the only time we spend any time in the Sun, but be careful. Spend too much time in the Sun, or getting too close to the Sun, and we’re toast, literally, figuratively, actually, and all those -ly words. The “theys” on the other side of negotiating table don’t always respect a crafty businessman or woman. Sometimes they get ticked off, and they remove once-in-lifetime opportunities. Don’t overthink their positions at the table or overestimate yours. Don’t think about backend percentages, equity stakes, or anything other than upfront money. Hire some guy who has a wall full of diplomas, and a track record that’s going to cost you if you want to hire his representation services and instruct him to get, “as much upfront money as you can possibly get.”

For those who think they might not never be in a position like this again, and you tends to be a person who thinks you can outthink the system, I give you Winston Groom v. Paramount. Author Winston Groom was offered a boatload of money for the movie rights to his book Forrest Gump. Forrest Gump? We’re talking about Forrest Gump, one of the highest grossing movies of its era? Yes, the movie that ended up making $683 million. Winston Groom sensed that he was in an excellent bargaining situation, and he probably had all kinds of advisors telling him that with this book, he was going to soon be living in the land of sunshine. Groom obviously loved that notion, and as an author of numerous books prior to Forrest Gump, he knew there wasn’t a lot of money in writing. He knew enough to know that a movie studio approaching a relatively obscure author money could be a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Groom, probably influenced by his advisors, lawyers, and friends and family suggested that he should take the roundabout route. Why would you want a lump sum when the potential for this story on screen could make hundreds of millions. No one knew it would make over a half a billion at the time, of course, but we have to think Groom had such visions dancing in his head. That’s the idea of potential, potential earnings messing with our head. Potential can be an evil temptress, whispering sweet secrets to us. Forget potential, I say, get it out of your head, and “Take the money and run!”

Groom listened to those sweet secrets and took less upfront money $350,000 with the promise of receiving 3% of the backend profits. The movie made $683 million, but Paramount’s accountants, using “Hollywood accounting,” found out that Forrest Gump actually lost $80 million when all was said and done. A movie that made $683 million lost $80 million? How is that possible? Hollywood accounting. Groom never heard of Hollywood accounting, so he asked to see it, firsthand. Groom was so incensed, after seeing what they did with the numbers that he sued. We don’t know how much Groom spent on lawyers and accountants, or how long he spent threatening his lawsuit, but when Groom finally saw his day in court, the judge asked Winston Groom to confirm that he signed the contract she had before her. “Yes,” he said. She threw the case out in 15 minutes.

Years later, Groom wrote a sequel to Gump, called Gump & Co. (company). Paramount decided to purchase the rights to that sequel, and they offered a seven-figure sum for it, upfront money. Groom took that upfront money and ran away as fast as he could. Moral of the story: If someone offers you money take it!  

Some of us have philosophical problems with “Show me the money” and “Take the money and run!” They think that we should consider a “Too much money” pause before signing. So, if you’re in a position to make massive amounts of money, you’re going to pause and say, “That’s too much money for the ability to do something with a ball.” There are people starving in the streets, teachers who teach the next generation how to survive in the world don’t make 1/100th of that money, and doctors, who save lives, don’t make 1/50th of that money. Why should I make that much, we might think, mired in guilt. To assuage your guilt, ask yourself a question, where’s that money going to go. It’s there, and it’s there for you. What are you worth? You’re worth what someone is willing to pay, and if you don’t take your slice of the pie, where is it going to go?  

“It’s not all about the money for me,” earners often say. Then we hear cliches like, “Money isn’t everything, and money is the root of all evil.” These are things people who make a boatload of money say to those who don’t. It makes everyone feel better about ourselves.  

Some of the best advice I’ve ever heard is, “Money isn’t evil, people are, or they aren’t, and making more money will help us further define whether they are or aren’t, which one could say, means that is the root from which evil blooms, but it isn’t the seed.” Money is the reward for our efforts, but if we’re doing it solely for the money, we’re doing it wrong. If we’re only doing it for the money, we’ll probably end up unfulfilled and miserable. That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t do everything we can to take every dime we can from those on the other side of the negotiation table. If you’re ever in a position where something you’ve created leads you to be lucky enough to sit on the other side of a negotiation table, wipe all of the nonsense you’ve heard about money, your whole life, from your mind. This might be the only chance you have to make some real money.

If we hire someone to negotiate for us, and most people should, send them in with the instructions that you want them to bleed every last dime out of the other party. Once your team determines the other team of negotiators is not going to pay another cent, take it, take as much front-end money as possible, and run away as fast and as far as you can. Don’t think about the back end, the asides they offer in lieu of money, the otherwise symbolic, prestigious titles they offer, or anything but the money. The job of the other team’s negotiators is to pay you the least amount of upfront money possible, and they will use several creative measures to accomplish that. Ignore all of that and the voices in your head screaming about the prospect of making more money on another end, and remove those cartoon dollar signs from your eyes. As the negotiations between Winston Groom and Paramount suggest, “Show me the money,” should be the first and last things you say in any negotiations.

Winston Groom was a writer, and though he probably experienced some level of negotiations selling Forrest Gump and his other books to book publishers, he probably knew negotiating the rights of his book with a Hollywood production studio was a different league. This was probably the most advantageous position Groom had ever been in his life, and he didn’t know anything about such negotiations. He probably hired a team of lawyers and other specialists to handle the negotiations for him. We can guess that negotiators on Paramount’s side were so eager for the project that they showed their hand at various points. Groom’s negotiators probably knew, at some point, how much Paramount wanted his book. We can guess that numerous advisors probably guesstimated how much money this story could make for both sides, especially if they knew actor Tom Hanks and director Robert Zemeckis would sign onto the project at the time of negotiations, and Groom’s team probably walked away from that table with several proposals from Paramount. Groom ended up selecting the proposal that gave him $350,000 on the front end, and while this is a sizable amount, sources report that it was less than the top proposal of front-end money. Groom chose the proposal with less on the front end because his negotiators worked out a clause that would give Groom 3% percent on the backend, movie’s net profits. Who wouldn’t take less on the front-end if they knew they could make 3% of $683 the million on the backend that, by my math, equals over $19 million? Groom and his team couldn’t know how much the movie would make, but we can only imagine that Groom had dollar signs in his eyes when he signed the bottom line.  

We can also guess that Winston Groom was more than patient with Paramount after Forrest Gump raked in $683 million, and we can imagine that Groom followed the box office numbers with great interest, and excitement, and probably did so with some old, rare scotch bottles and celebratory cigars. At some point, further down the line, Groom informed Paramount that he hadn’t received a single dollar of those royalties. At some point beyond those initial letters, calls, and emails, Paramount sent Groom a “We regret to inform you …” letter. They regretted to inform Groom that Forrest Gump, the fourth highest grossing film of all time (at that time), that grossed $683 million, “didn’t make a net profit.” Paramount’s accountants found that not only did Forrest Gump not make a profit. After expenses, the movie actually ended up $80 million in the red. They probably concluded the letter with a “and gosh darn it, they found that it didn’t make a net profit.” 

Winston Groom is Winston Groom, an author who wrote eight novels and fifteen non-fiction books. As with most authors, he was relatively unknown, until one of his novels ended up selling 30,000 copies, a relatively high number of copies sold for Groom. A producer for Paramount, Wendy Finerman, “discovered” Forrest Gump for Paramount, and she pushed it into production. Hollywood, slash Paramount, thought Winston Groom was Winston Groom, a writer of a book, among the hundreds of thousands of people who write books. He wasn’t a limited commodity in other words, and they didn’t care if they offended him. 

If a Tom Hanks or a Robert Zemekis were ticked off about their compensation, if they signed a deal similar to Groom’s, we can rest assure that Paramount would’ve scrambled to do whatever they had to make them happy. Winston Groom was Winston Groom, a writer, see ya never again, Winston Groom!

 We have to imagine that the star and director of Forrest Gump didn’t have to sue to receive their royalty checks, because Paramount didn’t want to upset them. They didn’t extend the same courtesy to Winston Groom, however, because they probably figured they wouldn’t have any future dealings with him. Groom declared that the other parts of his lawsuit against Paramount left him as “happy as a pig in sunshine,” but these deals don’t always end up this way. Thus, if you’re ever lucky enough to be seated at a negotiations table, pitted against someone who wants something you have, set aside your qualms about the evils of money and greed, and get the most front-end money you can while they’re all good and eager. They will dance the prospect of future funds in your fertile brain, “Because no one thinks short-term, right?” Wipe those words away, like Tom Cruise did in Minority Report and replace it with the name Winston Groom. That name should be highlighted and underlined in your brain, when they begin to offer creative substitutes. Don’t kill the deal with greed, and depending on your feel in the negotiation, don’t wait them out for a better deal. Walk in screaming “show me the money” and leave mumbling it with pride.

Portion Control

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“Excuse me,” a customer calls out to a server. “I ordered a roast beef sandwich, and I believe my slices are insufficient.” Has this ever happened? Has a customer ever called a server back, with bread pealed back, to inform a restaurant employee that they need more slices? I know it has. I know if I interviewed a number of servers on this topic, they would tell me to sit down before they began their tales, but I’ve never witnessed it firsthand. The more common complaint occurs in whispers long after the server walks away, as most of us avoid confrontation and situations that could draw attention to us. Most of us quietly cede portion control to the restaurants we choose for our dining experiences.

“MORE? You want more?” a Dickensian character might say in a manner that drops a proverbial spotlight on us. When we go to an established franchise we’ve learned to accept their nationally accepted portion control, but do we accept the same norms from an upstart mom and pop’s deli at the end of the block? Anyone who has worked at a restaurant has heard a wide array of complaints from customers, but how many hear that the portion of meat on a sandwich is too small, or that there aren’t enough fries? Would we deem that so bold as to be obnoxious? It might seem like such a violation of sorts of our conditioning that we might view the complainant as gluttonous?

Franchise websites suggest that portion control is vital to establish a level of consistency in a national chain, and they discuss the health benefits of lesser portions for the consumer and the profit potential for franchise owners. “Customers don’t complain about more portions,” they write, “but they will certainly complain about less.” I realize that writers of such columns have franchise owners in mind when they write such things, but I’ve never heard customers openly complain about less.

How many ounces of roast beef should we expect when we purchase a roast beef sandwich? Is there a generally accepted or preferred amount? How much does it vary with each restaurant? We could look this amount up, but the actual number is relatively unimportant when compared to our expectations. It’s a ‘we know it when we see it’ amount that varies, and if the restauranteur violates that principle most of us simply go to a restaurant that meats (sic) that expectation.

If the restaurateur notices our absence and finds a way to ask us why we left, they might say, “Well, why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve provided you a couple more ounces of roast beef to make you happy.” The problem for most restaurateurs is that most of us are members of the silent majority who don’t complain. We don’t fill out suggestion cards or comment cards, then we tell the cashier that everything was fine when they ask how our meal was, and we never go back. We also whisper things to our friends that close restaurants down.

If it benefits all parties concerned to speak up, why don’t we? As with just about every adult predilection, it goes back to high school. We see the hungry patrons in line behind us at the deli, and we remember the groans, fidgeting, and ridicule we heard when we asked one too many questions in our Algebra II Trig class. Even if we still didn’t understand the teacher’s explanations, we learned to shut up and stop asking so many questions. Our peers’ audible fatigue conditioned us to stop asking questions, don’t appear difficult in any way, and avoid complaining. Thus, when we feel the hungry patrons behind us, who just want us to move along so they can get their sandwich, we do. Even though we’re not satisfied, we shut up and move along to avoid causing a scene, and some of us do this so often that we start ceding portion control to the restaurant.  

How many customers prevent a waiter from leaving their table with the complaint, “I only have four broccoli florets on my plate, I’m accustomed to having five?” How many people would say, “I’m accustomed to a half a cup of mashed potatoes. Does that look like a half cup to you?” The more likely complaint would be, “I ordered the eight ounce steak, but this looks like six ounces to me.” I’m sure there are some who complain about this portion control restaurants have on us, but I have to guess that that percentage of the population is so small that it’s hardly representative. The rest of us know that they’re in charge, and we’ve learned to accept this facet of life. 

Most complaints lead to a manager visiting our table, and that manager brings a proverbial spotlight with him. When that manager kneels before our table that we’re being difficult, and we experience the same anxiety we did in Algebra II Trig. “It’s not a big deal,” we say to attempt to soften the blow, “I just thought I should get a couple more slices of beef for my roast beef sandwich.” I’ve witnessed some go bold in the face of a one-on-one with a restaurant manager, but most people shrink from the magnitude. We don’t want to appear difficult. The manager might consult a franchise advisor, as I’m guessing that a person complaining about portions happens so infrequently that they don’t have a standard operating procedure, but my guess is that the manager does whatever he has to do, under the “customer is always right” imprimatur to make us go away.

The inclination most restaurants might have to avoid such stated and unstated complaints is to go “bigee” on the portions. I witnessed this as a deli employee at an upstart, now defunct bagel shop franchise. The national chain decided to allow an owner to open a franchise in our area, and they apparently believed that their key to success was bigger portions. They never said that they wanted to compete with the portions Arby’s provided, but that was my takeaway. They provided over-abundant roast beef portions on a bagel sandwich. I was a dumb kid who didn’t know anything about market testing, or any of the particulars franchises uses to establish themselves in a given area, but when I took my first bite of their roast beef sandwich, all of my fixins fell out the other side. The sandwich was excellent. The roast beef was so tender, and I thought all of the other fixins were fresh and tasty, but their portions were so large, on a comparatively weak bagel, that everything fell out the other side. I told the owner of this particular franchise that I thought it gave the sandwich a sloppy presentation.

The manager lifted an eyebrow on me, but he said nothing further. I thought he totally dismissed my observation, until the franchise advisor walked in the bagel shop, days later, to see how things were going. My manager encouraged me to ask my question. I repeated my question, and I added, “We’re a bagel shop. My motto would be if you want more meat go to Arby’s.” I said that the bagel shop didn’t have to say such things openly, but that it should be our M.O., and I said that I thought bagel shop patrons would understand that, even expect it, before they set foot in our restaurant.

We all enjoy eating out at restaurants, but how much of our enjoyment of the food centers around presentation? How many of us would be turned off by a sloppy sandwich at an otherwise clean bagel shop? I told the franchise adviser that I thought portion control, and the art of presentation were everything. I said that a patron of Arby’s might find a sandwich overflowing with meat more attractive, whereas a bagel shop patron is more likely to prefer a clean presentation that appears more structured, regardless of the portions. To me, it was all about demographics. 

I’m sure that their insider information told the owners of the franchise that if they wanted to open a location in the Midwest market, they had to increase their portions, but my gut instinct told me that if you’re going to increase portions, make a larger, stronger bagel. The bagel they sold did not adhere to the illusory notion of portion control, and when the bagel shop went out of business in our area, I felt vindicated.