Thoughts on Bond villains and cheesecake, by Scott

I decided to watch a random movie off Netflix last week called “Gamer”. The cast was pretty impressive (Gerald Butler, Michael C. Hall, Kyra Sedwick and a completely wasted John Leguziamo), but it wasn’t really a very good movie. Aside from the crazy violence, gratuitous sex and poor plotting, it had, what I call, the Bond Villain Effect.When I was a kid, I loved James Bond movies, for all the usual reasons that young boys love James Bond: he drives cool cars, he gets to shoot people, random gorgeous women take their clothes off we he talks to them, he’s got gadgets (lots o’ gadgets), and flies to places like Barbados to all the things previously mentioned with a certain devil-make-care attitude while drinking a martini.Of course, every Bond Movie requires a Bond Villain, someone as evil as Bond is good, who is seriously bad enough for Bond to actually report to duty and save the world. When I was younger, the Blofelds, Goldfingers, Hugo Drax’s, and others seemed like worthwhile enemies for James Bond to fight. They are rich, powerful men steeped in bloodlust for the world, and only one person can stop them: James Bond.As I’ve gotten older, I find that my love of James Bond and similar movies is waining. Not because of the silly plotlines, the goofy special effects, the wooden acting or the hundred other things that make these movies ridiculous. It’s the villains. I’m just not buying it.See, the usual prerequisite of a Bond Villian, and frankly most villains in action movies, are that they are usually ridiculously rich, powerful and privileged, but someone want EVERYTHING ELSE. I realize it is only a movie, but has anyone ever thought how much effort it takes to subjugate the nations of the world. It’s a ridiculous amount of work.In this case, I think an analogy would work well:Imagine you have a slice of cheesecake. It tastes good.

You work hard, you get two slices of cheesecake. It tastes good but you’re feeling a little sick at the end of the second.

Now, imagine you’re a rich, powerful person. You have seven slices of cheesecake.

You won’t be able to eat more than three, but you can use the other four to get other things you want: like apple pie, or give a slice to your girlfriend so she might like you and you could get lucky. Maybe you give one slice to the tall dumb guy to be your bodyguard.

Now, imagine you are a Bond villain. You have 10,000 slices of cheesecake. You have special refrigerators to keep it fresh, and a small army of pastry chefs to make more so that you will never conceivably run out for several generations. You have a harem filled with nubile creatures that love you for your cheesecake decadence and you live on a private grotto with a private military to protect you and your cheesecake collection.

Then you say something really intelligent like “this is not enough, I must have all the cheesecake IN THE WORLD! EVERYONE MUST GIVE ME THEIR CHEESECAKE AND I WILL RULE THEM FOREVER!

[and then, obviously] AND NO ONE WILL STOP ME, BECAUSE I AM SO POWERFUL AND RICH EXCEPT THAT PESKY MR. BOND, WHO I WILL DISPATCH IN A MOMENT.

This is the Bond Villain Effect: You are a rich, powerful mastermind with a ridiculous amount of power, sex and cheesecake but somehow you are stupid enough to announce to the world your desire to take everything else.

Why?!

Fucking hell! You’ve got 10,000 pieces of cheesecake. What are you looking to accomplish? It doesn’t make any sense. Why do screenwriters think this is a believable motivation?

Suddenly, you need to mobilize your armies, and announce your plans to governments who up until now thought you were really cool. Then there are the logistics, supply chains, rogue MI6 agents out to kill you, and dealing with all the people will think you’ve gone too far.

So, Mr. Nefarious Bond Villain, take my advice. Don’t take over the world. Don’t try to control everyone with your ultra-sophisticated zombi-fication machine. It’s a dumb plot device. Trying to take over the world is a pain in the ass and it never ends the way you think it will.

Just relax on the deck of your gigantic mansion while your minions fan you and eat a piece of cheesecake. That desire to take over the world will go away in a minute.

What If Your Organization Actually Performed the Way You Want It To Perform?

Organizational leadership and management are funny things. A group of intelligent people can spend a lot of time creating and refining a strategy for their organization for success. But, as most people in business can attest, there are often vast differences be an executive-level strategy session, and what can be accomplished by the organization when that strategy is implemented. But the gulf between conception and execution is wide, and many things can happen on the way.The Four Corners Framework was designed to help in the way that a company communicates and accomplishes its operational goal. The Four Corners is meant to help bridge the gulf between the directions and strategy at the executive level and the decisions and choices done at the day-to-day level. By, determining the weaknesses within your internal and external communication, you can create a culture of continuous improvement, and make strategy a reality in the coming year.In the end, all the planning in the world will not help if there isn’t an understood method to accomplish those goals.

My Tweener, by Scott

My Tweener comes home today after spending a month with her grandparents.Alexa will be 10 years old in a month. Looking back, the initial years of parenting are a painful blur of sleepiness, frustration and maturation (for the parents) as a baby bashes through your adult conversations, routines and priorities to take over your life like some kind of invading army, but without the sanctity of the Geneva Convention to protect you.The benefit was that you get to make all the minor decisions once they became toddlers, like if the little one got to watch the TV that afternoon, or if there was one additional ride on the pony. But, largely, our children, their eating habits, sleep schedules and potty training decided our lives.But, when children are young, there is love, there is admiration (unless they were upset). Our young ones want to be with us, want our time and attention. And that attention is turned inward to us, to their siblings, to what we as a family can provide.But, now I notice, things are changing. Alexa’s gaze is turning evermore outward to others, to her school, her teachers and coaches, but most importantly, to her friends. I find we’re entering a phase where K’s and my priorities and suggestions are becoming less important than to her peers. I know this is as it should be, but like most parents, I don’t really like it. Before, I controlled or approved the vast majority of information and discussion that came to her. Now, I have to let go and let longer stretches of time go where she is learning and interacting with others in ways I can’t always know about. And I have to be okay with that.And, I’m not. I’m really not. I’m scared. Really scared. Obviously, I’m concerned about her safety, her sense of well-being and the thousands of things that will attempt to influence her. But, really, I’m scared about me. I know I will need to treat her differently in the coming years, give her more space, help her grow into an adult. And, I’m really scared that I’m going to bungle that. Actually, I know I will bungle it, I just hope it’s not to badly.When children are younger, you have the understanding that if you make a mistake, ice cream and TV shows have a wonderful way of whitewashing the past. You don’t get that they get older. Older children remember promises, fights and slights. They remember when you lie to shut them up and they begin to count when you don’t follow through on threats. This is parenting without a net.Wish us luck.

Popsicles, by Scott

[As my summer draws to a close and my children will be returning home in a few days, I’ve decided to repost a small event from August, 2009 in honor of that occasion. I hope you enjoy it. ] Popsicles -They’re back. Yes, the house has been upended, rebuilt, and I now walk uncomfortably on the backs a thousand My Little Pony-ies and Barbie dolls that cover my floor. I trip endlessly over miniature fairy people, princess books and little girl shoes . . .NOTE: Why is that both my daughters, who own 800 pairs of shoes between them, feel that the day is somehow lost if they don’t try on each pair at least once, if only into the living room, at which time they kick them off at strange angles and wander barefoot till the next impulse pulls them to the closet to try on a different pair? Is it some form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?. . . and I’ve listened to the the Jonas Bros rendition of the Kim Wilde’s “Kids in America” dozens of time since they came home. It would totally annoying if it wasn’t so amazingly wonderful. I’m not sure why these things, which should be driving me completely insane if it was someone else’s children, are totally okay. But, after six weeks on my own, it is. It’s annoying and aggravating and the girls are 12-times more sassy (bad sassy, not good sassy) then when they left to go stay with their grandparents, but, still, I feel like someone gave back some necessary, but hidden, part of myself to make me whole again. Like my spleen.Okay, maybe not my spleen. But, you get the picture.This last week has been, thankfully, a little slow on crazy work assignments, so I’ve been working from home. Sort of. From the garage, really. Now that the girls are back, working at the dining room table isn’t really an option anymore. And, K decided 12hrs after coming home that it was time to reorganize every drawer, closet, shelf and bookcase. Yeah, the garage has been good.Today, we ate lunch together as a family. School won’t start for a few more weeks, so it’s nice to have “family lunches” every once in awhile. Teja (the Little One) found me in the kitchen as I was cleaning the last of the dishes.-Daddy, can I have a popsicle?Moving to the freezer – Which kind?Tilting her head – What kind do they have?I looked inside and read the three boxes out loud – Strawberry, tangerine and lemonade.- Lemonade.I gave it to her. She walked a handful of steps before she stopped. – HeeeaaAAAY!She held up the lemonade popsicle, still in the clear plastic. It had half-melted at some point, burying the stick in a giant wedge of (now) frozen lemonade. K and Alexa (the Big One), still at the dining room table, turned to look.K spoke up. – Daddy, you can’t expect Teja to eat a melted popsicle like that. What were you thinking?Always with the sarcastic comeback, I mumbled “sorry” and got her a different one.Alexa called out. – I’ll have a popsicle!- Which kind?- Tangerine.I brought it to her.Alexa took it and smiled. – It’s not tangerine, Daddy, but it’s okay.K looked up and snorted.  – It’s not tangerine. How could you think it was tangerine?- It was in the tangerine box. They’re all the same.- It’s purple. It’s grape. Anybody would know that.There is NO GRAPE BOX. Why would there be grape popsicles in a tangerine box?K shrugged. – I was making space in the freezer. I put them together.- I didn’t know that. I thought it must be some blood tangerine popsicle. I didn’t buy them.- You’re silly!Alexa nodded in the midst of a giant purple lick. – Yeah, silly daddy!I closed the freezer door. How did this happen? Did I just turn into my father, the man who can fly any plane, helicopter, blimp or balloon with a unparalleled understanding of airspeed, velocities, mass/fuel ratios and technical instrumentation but would appear to be an Alzheimer patient when looking for a fork in our family kitchen? Was I suddenly destined to be outmatched, outclassed and outmaneuvered from everything from groceries to the type of pants I wore in my own house? K has been laughing at my wardrobe a lot lately, and not in the “I’m laughing because I’m so proud of your sense of style” way, either.And the worst part was I was furious, feeling henpecked and dismissed, over a PURPLE POPSICLE.I did the only thing I could. I retreated to the garage. If I am to be a outnumbered in my own house, the garage is my final haven of manhood. Or, at least, until K decides to re-organize down here.