According to Drucker, all problems are essentially generic in nature. But what does that actually mean, you ask? I’ll attempt to elucidate the Dean’s words with a rather mundane example: let’s say that you own a particularly difficult toaster. Each and every morning, you put two pieces of cinnamon raison bread into its slots. You then offer up a prayer to the toast gods, that they may choose to spare your breakfast this morning. However, after several minute of tense waiting, the toaster spits out your offering like an angry volcano. And why does this happen? The reason, dear reader, is painfully obvious: with some crucial piece of the toaster’s mechanism malfunctioning, any bread you put into it will be similarly reduced to nuclear ash. This issue is generic, because we can generalize that any other toaster which contains the same set of malfunctioning components will become a toast destroyer.

Where are we going with this, you ask? Drucker, in his attempt to spell out the critical characteristics of an effective executive, declares that anyone worthy of the name must be capable of making good decisions. Furthermore, any capable of methodically making good decisions must first understand that all problems are have a broad, generic base. Good decision makers don’t make many decisions; rather, they focus their intellectual energies on the core of the issue at hand, and make monumental decisions that address the problems core. They may go back to their previous decisions and make numerous small adjustments as their understanding of the issue evolves, but these are analogous to the course corrections of a cargo ship on the Pacific Ocean bound for Hong Kong that must plot a new course around a storm. The destination hasn’t changed, although the tactics to get their alter with the introduction of new information.

Drucker appears to be in good company: Aristotle states in the first book of his Metaphysics that knowledge of everything belongs to the man who can understand the universals. Universals, he continues, are the broad generalities that encompass all individual events and occurrences in our universe. What makes them the true gauge of wisdom? They lie below the surface, many layers of abstraction removed from the visible world of our senses, and hence require the greatest level of intellectual power to comprehend.

I’ve read several of Drucker’s books, and Covey’s as well. Like anyone reading effectiveness literature, I do this because I see holes in the armor of my own “effectiveness”, and want desperately find some sort of caulk that will plug them. Being human, however, I understand that this is ultimately too much to ask. That’s what I like about Drucker (and Covey to a certain extent): they embrace the realities of life that most decisions are fated to be wrong, that many projects are doomed to go awry. The best we can do is develop a methodical approach to addressing problems that is based on the understanding that issues are best addressed with universal principals. Like Voltaire’s Candide, all we can do is cultivate our gardens and do the best we know.

I just got a marketing email announcing lynda.com’s latest release: Digital Audio Principles. Just last week, I was wishing they’d create a title on this topic! Either lynda.com can read minds, or I’m omnipotent. There’s only one way to find out: if by this time next week, Katie Couric is reporting that world hunger has been ended by the miraculous appearance of steak-growing trees, we’ll have our answer…

We began with the design. Dad had been playing around with ideas for the addition since 2002, but his drawings didn’t have the necessary polish or precision. We would require professional CAD drawings if we were to find other project participants and subcontractors.

I contacted Henry Weinberg, a friend and architect at Payette. I’ve known Henry for years, and have found him to be skilled, diligent and talented. Over the course of several weeks, Henry helped Dad turn his drawings and ideas into a set of plans that were structurally sound, and incorporated green design features.

Green/Sustainable Design

In recent years, there has been much talk about green design and construction. Green construction (also known as sustainability) originated as an outgrowth of the environmental movements of the 1970s, and also as a reaction against the energy crisis of the same period (some have suggested that the concept of “green construction” was first codified in E. F. Schumacher’s 1973 book Small is Beautiful). More specifically, green refers to non-toxic, sustainably-produced materials, energy efficiency, quality and durability, and reuse/recycling. Design features such as solar hot water, energy-efficient windows, and bamboo flooring are often considered to be “green”.

We knew what green design was, and we had a sense for how we wanted to incorporate them into our project. What we didn’t know was how to find manufacturers that would be interested in showcasing their products on our show. At Henry’s suggestion, I attended the Boston Society of Architects’ 2005 Build Boston convention. If you work in the construction industry and live in eastern New England, I highly recommend it. After walking the floor for a few hours, I had found what I needed: several prospects whose products and services were a perfect match for our addition. It was there that I met Tim Cutler of T.J.’s Plumbing & Heating, who would arrange for the donation of Viega PEX radiant tubing, and a Viessmann boiler and solar hot water array. Build Boston also yielded National Fiber, a manufacturer or recycled cellulose insulation, and GroSolar from Vermont, who donated a complete photovoltaic solar system.

Dad did his own research and found Reddi-Form, a New Jersey-based company manufacturing Insulated Concrete Forms (ICFs). They were also motivated participate, and agreed to supply materials for all of the exterior and basement walls. This part of the process is really fascinating, and I’ll get into it in great detail later.

With our design in hand, we set out for town hall to get ourselves permitted and approved. I anticipated needing two weeks to get everything squared away, assuming that everything would go smoothly. In my next post, we’ll discuss the danger inherent in making assumptions.

After several days of shuffling, stamping, stapling, and collating, we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. On a cool, early-Spring day, I dropped our kit off on the last stop of its red-taped odyssey: the Norwell Conservation Commission.

The Big Snag

A few days later, the Norwell Conservation Agent came by to look at our site. She looked about, took notes, and gave us some bad, bad news. Much of our lot fit the technical definition of a wetland, and consequently our project would be forced to operate under some rather onerous restrictions.

Before describing them, however, the term wetland requires a bit of explanation. The very word conjures images of a swamp, bayou, or tidal estuary, rife with manatees, mosquitoes, and malaria. It evokes liquid water, and this is somewhat misleading. According to the US Army Corps of Engineers and the Environmental Protection Agency, a wetland may or may not actually be saturated with surface or groundwater water at a given time, although it doesn’t necessarily require the constant presence of liquid water to be considered a wetland. The defining characteristics of a wetland are botanical. In other words, the presence of certain kinds of ferns, trees, or undergrowth determine whether or not a piece of land is considered a wetland, legally speaking. This is because the soil in a wetlands area is composed in such a way that only certain species are adapted to survive in them. (Believe it or not, Red Maple is wetland species.)

Much to our dismay, certain parts of our lot ran amok with a wide variety of wetland species. The Conservation Agent issued us a set of terms that had to be satisfied before we could proceed with construction. To wit, we were obligated to hire an environmental consultant to prepare an ecological impact statement. We also had to have a surveyor prepare detailed drawings of our lot, with elevations and markings denoting the flagged wetlands areas. Additionally, we had to design and install an erosion-control system, consisting of straw bales and plastic netting, which lined the perimeter of the wetlands areas.

There were other restrictions; namely, we couldn’t place a dumpster on site with several hundred feet of the flagged wetlands areas. Since our one-acre lot was barely 140 feet wide, this was a de facto ban on on-site waste disposal. Altogether, these conditions put us about six weeks behind schedule, and added tens of thousands of dollars of unexpected expenses to a project that hinged on thrift.

Steve Ivas: Environmental Consultant

Our first call after receiving the order of conditions from the Conservation Agent was Steve Ivas, an environmental consultant based in Norwell. I would highly recommend Steve to anyone contemplating land development in the South Shore of Massachusetts, and I will happily provide his contact information to anyone interested in retaining his services. Steve kept a bad situation from mushrooming out of control. He assisted us in preparing an impact statement, implementing erosion control measures, and surveying the affected areas. He also helped us understand the nature of the wetlands issues itself. He was featured prominently in a segment on the Bob Vila program.

Last Wednesday night, it caused Dad and I to drive to the Hanover Mall theater and buy two tickets to 300, which might possibly be the worst film I have ever seen. I will admit to having a soft spot for the ancient historical epic genre. As a college student, I reveled at Gladiator’s romanticized portrayal of Maximus, the Man in Full: cunning general; beloved leader of men; fearless killer; unflagging idealist; dedicated husband; and loving father. His virtue and perfection would inspire laughter and cynicism, if Russel Crow’s performance weren’t so sympathetic. Crow imbues Maximus with a sense of humility and vulnerability that I find irresistible.

I realize that, by any objective standard of cinematic quality, Gladiator is not a great movie. Film historians will remember it as a “box office hit”, a mere “crowd pleasing action epic”. And they would be correct, I suppose. The plot is simplistic and straightforward: a good man is wronged by a bad man, chaos ensues; then the good man gets even, order is restored. Simple, yet I feel compelled. The screenplay isn’t exactly Shakespeare, Trumbo, or even Mamet; yet “Strength and Honor” never fails to light a fire in my chest. Altogether, it’s grand meal, made from humble ingredients. A tough-handed carpenter in regal clothing.

Nobly human. As opposed to 300.

“Spartans! Tonight, We Dine on Turkey!”

Bob Longino of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution managed to encapsulate the movie perfectly: “This film is both beautiful to look at, and bombastic tripe to listen to.” He continues:

“300″ is extreme on every level. It imagines strange beings — a kind of pig man with blades for arms and toady oracle devotees who insidiously lick scantily clad vestal virgins. It presents bottomless pits, a hunchback uglier than the Elephant Man, and the evil invasion leader Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro) as a kind of giant she-he cross between a bald, chain-wearing Grace Jones and “Stargate’s” Jaye Davidson.

As a lover of film, I can appreciate the sensuous visual spectacle director Zack Snyder has wrought, and his desire to remain true to Frank Miller’s graphic novels, on which the film is based. As a lover of history, I’m incensed by the flagrant falseness of some of the liberties taken with the historical record. For instance, King Leonidas (Gerald Butler) gives his hoplites a pre-battle pep talk in which he proclaims the dawning of a new age of freedom. This is ridiculous, considering the source: Sparta was less a city than an armed camp, a Stalinistic tyranny in which all inhabitants were enslaved to the belligerent whims of their king. Even in rival Athens, cradle of reason and humanism, slavery was explicit and common. Perhaps in writing 300, Frank Miller was referring to some archaic, Grecian notion of freedom which allowed for the owning of slaves. I can’t say for certain.

I can say with absolute certainty that I will be getting my ancient history fix from other sources. Namely, the books of Michael Curtis Ford. If you can get past the ludicrously comic-bookish cover art on the dust jacket, you are in for a real treat. History brought to life.

Our path took us along the wharfs of the North End and Financial District. Looking out at the harbor reminded me of a picture I’d once seen, in a coffee-table book I happened upon in some-or-other bookstore. It was a book about the waterways of Boston, and it contained a fascinating map of Boston, hand-drawn in the late 18th century.

I’m not sure if this is that picture or not, but it certainly is striking. Imagine all that land, created the hard way: Man-Made Land, “terra infirma”, if you will. The proper name is something like “filled land”, or “claimed land”, I’m not entirely sure. Imagine all those throngs of Bostonians, living, working, playing, what-ever-ing on places that didn’t exist two hundred years ago. Boston, Cambridge, Somerville, Charlestown, Southie: like pieces of dried fruit that have been pumped full of hydration, and swelled to twice their customary size. Gives new meaning to “Back Bay”, doesn’t it?

As a kid, I remember hearing that should Boston’s long dormant fault line (a fairly active one, by geological standards) once again start quaking, the motion would cause all that fill to assume the physical properties of a liquid, compromising scores of buildings and crippling the city. Perhaps there’s some validity to that story, or maybe its an urban myth, best kept in a drawer with stories about Pop Rocks and spontaneous human combustion.

She called my cell during a 45 minute layover in Texas to check in, in case I might have been overcome by irrational visions of Canada geese being sucked into jet engines. Fortunately, that image only came to me after she had landed (while writing this post, to be precise). Something else occurred to me after the conversation, and I’m p.o.-ed that it didn’t pop into my head during our call - Whitney was in Houston!! Yeah, you heard me. I’m so damn witty, I can’t stand it.

Take it away, Whitney…

“In any business or other organization, it is better to have managers with strong leadership skills than managers with expertise and work experience in a particular field.”

Discuss the extent to which you agree or disagree with the opinion stated above.  Support your views with reasons and/or examples from your own experience, observations, or reading.

Some contend that it is more valuable for a business’ managers to have strong leadership and managerial skills than it is for them to have a thorough understanding of their field.  I’m in an interesting position to evaluate this contention, since I’ve spent the last four years working in a technical consulting firm owned and operated by a gentleman fitting the latter description, serving clients who fit the former.

There is certainly something to be said for possessing an encyclopedic knowledge of your field.  No one with a lick of sense will dispute that a firm’s frontline workers and supervisors must understand the technical aspects of whatever it is that they are supposed to be doing.  My current employer is considered by many to be the preeminent expert in his field.  He has spent the last 30 years actively engaged in his specialty, executing work that is arguably in the upper 10th percentile of quality for his industry.  Added to this wealth of practical experience is his academic background: he has completed doctoral coursework in his field.  This is truly a distinction, and it has enabled him to provide expert services on matters of great complexity and technical sophistication.  But does this level of technical mastery a guarantee of business success?

Unfortunately, it isn’t.  Businesses succeed or fail based on factors unrelated to the depth of their field-specific knowledge.  This is because businesses are little more than loose groups of people, individuals with their own interests, aims, and desires.  These interests, if unmanaged, may very well conflict with the interests of their employer.  The fact is that groups of people are unpredictable at best, and unruly or uncooperative at worst.  Managing them requires a very specific set of skills, and amorphous toolbox filled with impossible-to-quantify things like empathy, EQ, and leadership.

This is not to say that leadership trumps knowledge in every instance.  Most of my employer’s clients are very shrewd leaders and businessmen.  They have inadvertently neglected some fundamental technical principal, and now find themselves dealing with a problem that is beyond their ability to correct.  They require the services of an expert to mitigate this loss and correct the issue.

One should not think that these managers are irresponsible or negligent; quite the contrary, most of their project are executed well, owing to their abilities to effectively manage their employees and contractors.  Most people cannot be universal experts, equally facile in project management, website development, and the translation of ancient biblical texts written in archaic languages.  Limitations on time and energy require us to specialize.  These managers have judged that the likelihood of a major technical problem is so slight that, when it does occur, it is more cost effective to hire an expert than it is to invest the energy to become experts themselves.

My experience indicates that managers would do better to master the art of dealing with people.  The rudiments of a field can be learned, and will help avert the most common disasters.

I went to my learned sister Kara, who’s never at a loss to dispense advice. She loaned me a copy of Richard Nelson Bolles’ seminal book on the topic of job-hunting and career-changing, What Color is my Parachute? It’s a great book, very practical, useful, and witty. He has some fabulous advice on any job-searching topic you can imagine, and his website contains some interesting supplementary articles.

“To thine own self be true”

One of the things I like about Parachute is that he lays out a systematic, methodical approach to changing careers. Rather than diving into a premature dissertation on the best resume fonts available, he begins with a fundamental self-evaluation process. This is based on Bolles’ strong belief that everyone contains a unique and invaluable set of skills, traits, and interests. Where they intersect indicates an individual’s best career path (or paths!). This process of self-awareness and stocktaking is called the Flower Exercise (I might have chosen a different name). It begins with a sub-exercise used to identify your Favorite Transferable Skills.

Mad Skills

First you create a rough list of every skill you can legitimately claim. This is done by writing seven short stories, each describing something you have done in your life. Each story must start with a goal, something you wanted to accomplish. It must also have an obstacle you needed to overcome. You then write a step-by-step narrative of how you proceeded, followed by a description of the result (quantified, if possible).

Next you analyze each story for the Transferable Skills you used. To make this easier, Bolles had created a hierarchy of Transferable Skills. It contains nearly 70 skills, divided into three categories: Physical, Mental, and Interpersonal. They progress from being highly prescribed (”Serving, Taking Instructions, Helping”) to very discretionary (”Mentoring” and “Negotiating”).

You have now created what amounts to a random statistical sampling of you life experience, and the Transferable Skills they have called upon you to use. Some of them you may not have enjoyed using, and some may not be your greatest talents, but they encapsulate a rough description of your core competencies. They are part of what makes your contribution to the workplace truly unique.

Once you have a tally of your Transferable Skills, you strike off those that you don’t enjoy, or that only appeared infrequently.

Next you must prioritize your Transferable Skills. Bolles has created a grid that simplifies this process. You list each of your skills on a chart, and compare it to each other skill, one at a time. Each time, you pose the question, “If I could only use one of these two skills, A or B, for the rest of my life, which would I rather it be?” Each time you choose a skill, it receives one point.

After you’re finished making your comparisons, rank and each skill based on the number of points it received, and re-order the list. You just systematically prioritized your list of Favorite Transferable Skills. Would the Dead Poets Society approve of this method? Probably not, but consider the possibility for human error engendered by the use of naked intuition. Is the process mind-numbing, time consuming, and soulless? Yes. Does it ensure that you get a thorough, objective picture of your preferences? You betcha.

“Come Mr.Tally-man!” My Prioritizing-Process

I’m a big fan of Dead Poets Society. I’m not such a big of manually crunching numbers. Perhaps it’s necessary, but it’s also boring beyond comprehension. After a while, my eyes begin glazing over, and my brain starts begging for the opportunity to do something more interesting. Twenty minutes after trying to do the Prioritizing Grid by hand, I knew there had to be a better way. Heeding Peter Drucker’s First Element of Effective Decision Making (The Effective Executive), I accepted that the problem was generic and scalable, and would be best addressed by the creation of a system.

I created an Excel document with three worksheets, each of which would be able to handle lists of different sizes: 10; 24 (a tribute to Jack Bauer); and 40. I spent about two hours, and created what seemed like a great formula for tabulating the final score of item. It didn’t work. So, I labored for another 45 minutes, and crafted an even better second version. No dice. After another hour, I realized that my algorithm was “backwards” (not sure how that happened). I corrected it, and voila!

The Proof of the Pudding

With my template document in place, I handily prioritized my Transferable Skills. I also plowed through my Favorite Subjects, which came from another of Bolles’ career-changing exercises. In fact, many other exercises from What Color is my Parachute requiring prioritization; each one was readily dispatched by my fantastic tool. Generating the formula was a bit of a task, but it’s saved me hours of heartburn and carpal tunnel.

In case you were wondering, my prioritized Favorite Transferable Skills:

1. I am a proactive, thorough, planner.
2. I am a methodical organizer.
3. My managerial style is marked by a deliberate attempt to be both decisive and supportive.
4. I’m an adept instructor, with a teaching style that is flexible and fun. I love teaching individuals, but also enjoy running larger educational events.
5. I try to remain patient when getting things done; persistence is the key to consistent results. Act in haste, repent in leisure.
6. Written communication is one of my favorite conduits for creativity. I employ a writing style that is slightly jocular, without losing its tact, professional tone.
7. I make thoughtful appraisals, and diplomatic recommendations.
8. When assessing individuals, I always strive to make evaluations incisive and objective.
9. My mind works in unusual ways, which often allows me to find unique ways to synthesize information.
10. I’m a sensitive, responsive coach.
11. When communicating to groups, I try to be commanding, succinct and personable.

Della does a fantastic impression of Star Jones, post-gastric-bypass. It’s uncanny, right down to the bugged out eyes. Come to think of it, we didn’t even have to teach her that one. Brynnie has mastered “roll-over” with unbelievable zeal. Whenever he’s let in from the yard, he immediately gallops over to the shelf where his treats are kept. If anyone makes the slightest move toward them, he starts rolling furiously, as though his fur had spontaneously caught on fire and he were trying to put it out.

Talented as they are, I wish I could teach them this one: