Skip to main content

"Mr. Microsoft, your table is ready."

Well, I have never written anything other than a bubble sort program for a computer that accepted input via a punch card reader. And I thank all of you "coders" for that. I simply do not have to program. All the effort, sweat, late nights, and code crushes, (a wine country reference), billions in advanced education and artistry of the SW development process are appreciated, but most likely lost on me in the big picture. Now what is MSFT like as a person?

Microsoft is that guy you see at the latest hip restaurant (Web X.0). He looks tired, is actually 45 to 50 years old and looks older. He is half paying attention to his spouse (Windows Server) and too young kids (SQL and MSN), while mostly wondering when the kitchen remodeling will end if it ever does (Gates leaving).


He can no longer conspicuously consume to feed the hole in his soul where his childhood used to be (DOS grab). But he does anyway, and is typically a year or more behind any meaningful social trend (selling ads on the internet). As an example he just bought his Crocs last week (Silverlight, Anti-Virus, SaaS, updates over the web, Windows Live, stop me anytime). He hates the fact the people in the booth next to him have as much, enjoy it more and are almost 20 years younger (that, and his corporate jet will never get preferred parking at Moffett Field). His infrastructure is chronologically old while his brain (read: marketing department) tells everyone he can still bring it. BTW “It” left him about 7 years ago.


He is financially set; in fact having too much coin has made him mentally sloppy (SharePoint?). His favorite shirt is no longer retro; it is a biohazard (Sun Alliance?).


What he is is cranky; he has to focus on something to keep going. He rang the bell for a long time; in fact some say he is tone deaf from noise. He needs to be agitated to work at an optimal level; he has to find something to keep going. So he tried snowboarding (web search), kite surfing (Zune) the two months a year it is possible in his home geography. He dabbled in yoga and pulled an upper dorsimus (virtualization), and finally settled on planning retirement (Vista).


In fact he is everyone’s neighbor, and for all his faults, false starts and faux promises, he is the guy we go to for help. He will have the tool we need to borrow, it won’t be new and cool, but it will do the job. He give us the shirt off back, typically at one of his 80s style parties where the Kamikazes flow like Seattle rain. He can still rock it old school, all while thinking Maroon 5 is the color of the paint swatch for the kitchen.


He still thinks obliterating a competitor like Netscape could happen again, just like the he thinks the Mariners have a shot every year.


And you know what? As much as we love to hate him, he fits in. In fact without him our cable would not suck, our kids would not forsake the outside for the in, and the internets would most likely be used by scholars and not soccer moms, dads and much less as a social tool for his too young kids.

Tip of the hat (not the Red Hat) for everyone’s favorite baby boomer, Mr. Microsoft.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Death of a Sales Team, One by One

While participating in a rather tedious discussion of the sales team effectiveness, well in this case its ineffectiveness, I heard the following; “They (meaning any sales person on the team) can just call on their contact network while we ramp lead gen.” Yikes. While the words stung my ex-sales person ears I thought there has to be an “ism” for this start up phenomena. That is a start up hires a salesperson who has a strong Rolodex and expects them to generate business from this Rolodex as a means to ramp to quota while the company gets its marketing house in order. The inevitable end result is the salesperson exhausts his or her contact database and ends up on a PIP (Performance Improvement Plan) and then is let go for under achieving. Then it hit me; Rolodeath. This is the “ism” I am looking for to describe this group think outcome. Imminent death for a salesperson occurs by allowing them to exhaust their personal network with no real lead gen in sight. Anyone? Buehler?

Healing After Surgery - The Neo Age Way

On January 22nd of the year of the hare I wiped out on my road bike and managed to implement a Class III separation of my Acromioclavicular Joint (AC Joint). For us lay persons that is a joint in your shoulder. On February 2 (also year of the hare) I had the joint surgically repaired and have been recovering ever since, and let me tell you it hurts. One part of the healing process is the unsolicited advice on healing from all persons who you may call friends or at least call acquaintances. Thought I would share some of the suggestions I get from my unpaid group of advisors on healing my shoulder: I call them my ill-advisors, that is people who tell me they know someone who had something similar to what I am going through and they have the best 'cure.' Here are the best so far: Vitamin D3 - or calciol which is a form of Vitamin D structurally similar to steroids and has all kinds of good benefits for healing, except it's poisonous in large doses. Acupuncture - c'mon you ...

It's all downhill from here...

It is said that every dog has its day. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. That you have to know when to hold them and know when to fold them. An apple a day. Dip it don't soak it. You're eyes will get stuck like that. Two men enter one man leaves. Would you like that super sized. Live in the moment. The journey is the reward (and they are touring again). Good men are hard to find. A bird in hand. Every rose has its thorn. Hold your horses. Take it down a notch. Pin your ears back. You can’t take it with you. Don’t pick at it. Pick your battles. Pick your poison. An ounce of prevention. This goes to eleven. Open the pod bay doors. I’ll be back. Phone home. Show me the money. Plastics. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. You can’t handle the truth. There’s no place like home. Stupid is as stupid does. Don’t stop believing. Don’t tug on Superman’s cape. Two out of three ain’t bad. Finally a broken clock is right twice a day and stop - Hammertime. It is with tremen...