The Walton Firm Memos

Back in the late 20th century an accomplished economist was buying some vacation property out west. The real estate agent picked him up from town in an antique ox-drawn cart, hoping that he could tempt the businessman into buying the animal as a pet to complement his new rustic estate. “Yes shes a beautiful animal”, the real estate agent said. “its a four mile ride from here up to the ranch and she made it no problem, and this is a pretty heavy antique wagon too”. “I don’t know, the economist said, I’ll probably just give my relatives rides in a rustic-looking beat up old pickup instead”. At the end of the ride the real estate agent made another pitch “are you sure, we made it all the way up here no problem, thats an eight mile haul and she’s still going strong…”

“wait a minute,” the economist said, cutting him off: ”whose animal is that one over there.” In a corral to the side of the road was a beautifull prize bull.

“THAT bull” the agent exclaimed, “well its a well bred animal for sure, but it’s gored to death all 50 cowboys that have tried to break him.”

“Gored 50 cowbows!” the economist replied, “why he must be the strongest animal in this whole countryside, name your price.”

On the morning we emerged I remember a fan broke and our basement started to really bake. We were sweaty and crowded and getting anxious to crack the doors. Someone’s girlfreind was sullen in the corner, some fought, some gambled on what we’d find. Some gym-teacher-looking motherfucker was trying to quiet us but he couldn’t keep our attention over the outside screaming. It sounded as though there were some exuberant howls swirling around the surface. Upon our exit we noticed that Jocks were darting here and there about the new prairie, shirtless and with cargo shorts bleaching in the violent white sunrise. They were hoarsely and vigorously at the business of declaring victory. A smooth-chested one was holding an empty bottle like a club as he hugged me. We made eye contact as he let one go at top volume; swerving into falsetto. As his neck tightened and flexed, some blood rushed to his temples and then he wilted. He went doubled over for breath onto the next sap as if he were the youngest man alive. It was only about half of the campus males that had had this reaction, this becoming a new bullet of pale flesh; having un-torn hands and heads in the game. They were red eyed and shooting around us on the lawn, making us feel exhausted. These were children unwrapping a thousand-corpse Christmas present. The howlers trouped together as a nation, their amphetemal manifest not written but committed to the air in exuberant shrieks. Their constitution was fueled by probability, which was a purer fuel than faith, but did not seem to be burning away as quick. Aside from lighting up some cigarettes (i’m embarrassed to say, but even on the morning after, we called them silly things like “smokes”) the four of us were catatonic. “no more parents” one of us said sadly, as he watched a stocky and barefoot one scramble away from us awkwardly. I would have tried to laugh it off, but his face was far too grave.

Our startup is currently developing an innovative web platform to “centralize the web” by means of incorporating a variety of advanced web features along with our signature web services to meet a significant need in the market for efficiency and productivity. It will be completely web based and will have a focus on the consumer/user experience. We are currently seeking to recruit individuals with experiences and skills in web development, both server-side and client-side familiar with a broad range of languages, however, preferably HTML, CSS, JavaScript, Java, XML, XSLT, PHP, MySQL, AJAX, etc.

If you’re interested in working in a very energetic and exciting internet startup venture and would like to be part of the development of a revolutionary and new beta platform, please send your resumé and a short cover letter…

There are 85 words in this job ad and 5 of them are “web”, WE GET IT. Also, I don’t think “centralize the web” is a thing that means what you think it means, nor is “efficiency and productivity” a market per se.  “Focus on the consumer/user experience” is more or less standard boilerplate for internet startups, and “beta platform” is kind of confusing. Is the idea for the product to be a platform that is in beta permanently? I cant wait to sign the NDA and find out that the plan here is to develop a link aggregation site, nay, a link aggregation site with venture capital! whatever. Call me when the office gets a ping pong table and I will happily drop out of school and work for no money.

What if the plan here is to just get applicants guessing and eventually one of those applicants will accidentaly think of a viable business idea in that process, then the “executive” is 4 hours of paperwork away from patent-trolldom?

Perhaps there is such an explosively good idea beneath this inky slick that even hinting at what it might actually be would cause me to aneurism. Maybe they are afraid that Sequoia might drop the fat paper TOO SOON the second the business plan is spoken aloud?

As usual, I am likely being too harsh. There is probably an actual idea with actual value behind this, but the tech industry, (or in this case, it’s live-in boyfreind, the pitch industry) has a very serious language problem.  I am looking for a job ad that reads:

Energetic tech startup seeking a liberal-arts graduate who can actually put into consequential language what we can actually promise the market place. Must be able to define the terms “product”, “service”, “competition”, and “value”. A familiarity with the back catalogue of Wired Magazine preferred BUT NOT NECESARRY.

P.S. we cannot rule out that this blurb is really a cryptic personal add, rabbit hole for an A.R.G., rouse for the purpose of sociological research, or an A+ assignment for a really quirky  creative writing teacher. Stranger things have happened.

My father is currently the Board Chair of a hospital in Haiti, I am passing this along for him to help give an update of the situation there. More up to date information can be found on the HAS Blog.

DESCHAPELLES, HAITI – January 13, 2010 – Haiti has sustained a terrible disaster: a 7.0 earthquake in Haiti, the worst in 200 years. As many as 3 million people may have been affected. So far, tens of thousands of people have died.

Ian Rawson, HAS Managing Director on the ground in Deschapelles, provided this snapshot of conditions.

Ever since early this morning, a steady stream of vehicles, mainly the open-back pickups which serve as public taxis on Haiti’s roads, has come to the front of the hospital. In the back are one or two people, their legs or arms covered in bandages or clothes. HAS security staff rush out to the truck with a backboard or gurney, and bring the patient inside to be triaged by the emergency team.

Now, in early afternoon, a crowd of over 200 people are outside the hospital, friends or neighbors of injured patients. They rush to the arriving trucks and try to help to carry the new patients inside. Occasionally, the combination of the person’s injuries and the truck ride are more than can be sustained by the patient, and the family members, with great wailing, adapt to the shock of the loss of a loved one. A sound system has been set up outside, so that family members may be called into the hospital to meet with doctors.

Each patient is brought into the Observation Unit and quickly evaluated. Some are sent to for an X-Ray or lab test while others are taken immediately to the holding area outside surgery, where both operating rooms are being used full time.

All beds have been pressed into use, and still there are patients on benches. Gradually, some of the early arrivals and less injured are prepared for discharge.

Systems at HAS are working well; preparation and practice have paid off. The greatest resource, however, is the dignity and grace of people who have suffered a great shock and sometimes tragedy, and remain calm and show concern not just for the people with whom they have come here, but for others as well.

Hôpital Albert Schweitzer Haiti (HAS), located 40 miles NW of Port-Au-Prince, was able to withstand the recent devastating earthquake and is currently operating with full staff helping victims. With mass casualty protocols in place, the medical staff is evaluating each patient, performing diagnostic tests and delivering life saving care. Due to the expertise developed over its 54 year history, Hôpital Albert Schweitzer Haiti (HAS) is one of the few institutions positioned to provide timely hospital care for the injured. As the flow of people urgently seeking care increases over the next few days and weeks, our resources will be pushed to the breaking point. It is critical that we receive support to help us continue with our mission.

This is the most serious challenge ever faced by HAS in its 54-year history, and while we are currently coping with the onslaught of the injured, we urgently need support. At this moment, we don’t have the capability to accept material goods or personnel. Our greatest and most urgent need is for funds to pay overtime wages to our dedicated staff, and to buy replacement medicines and supplies. We will update the www.hashaiti.org website with news of relief efforts. To make a donation that will have immediate impact, please go to www.hashaiti.org. HAS deeply appreciates the many expressions of help and caring that are coming from around the globe.

…we were all wearing forced grins and our best black shirts, and we had hoped then that the crowd could sort of wash us in a way (cause we’d been bathing with sand and after a point you’d rather just stink). We wished that the thousand-head mass around the fires would be both alibi and punching bag and hold onto our liquor while not minding our breath. It would wait up with blue lights and a stocky polyester chest to deliver a stern warning, which we would treat as a  blessing. Yes, in that time we could wish for some wonderful things. I remember Carrie was still bored then. Still, like a miracle, non-plussed by the exuberance, and then by the panic that had come with that year, which was the strike year for those of you not paying attention…

Scribd, the website where anyone can publish their own documents, is an often overlooked resource.  These documents can be, like, political-tirade pamphlets, unpublished (unpublishable) books, business-school homework, whatever. The whole boat-and-parade is like a rowdy, misfit Google Books. Check it out sometime. I’ve discussed Scribd before of course, but the specific case I’m going to make for it’s potential tonight is this:

Some hero of our time has posted a whole bunch of WW2 training manuals. And for those of us raised in the post-rollerblade era who probably thought Bayonet use was just a straightforward jabbing of a blade into someone’s chest, we were wrong. WE WERE DEAD WRONG. There is a spirit to the bayonet, and were we not so softened by goldfish crackers and the ergonomics industry, we would all be living each day as if it were the result of vigorous training. They were the greatest generation indeed.

So this one time when I was twelve I was waiting for a bus at the kirkland transit center and this socially inept fat guy sat down next to me. The guy insisted on telling me all about his (presumably) imaginary life as a kung-fu master. I had no problem with this at first, but he was going on for a long time, and as his tales escalated I began to get pretty impatient. I was a pretty shy person at that time, so I didn’t, like, think about calling him out, but in retrospect, I was actually fairly pissed. I could have felt pretty justified coming at him with something like: “listen man, if pretending to be Bruce Lee is helping you deal with your self esteem problems, that’s great, but to me it’s really just a lot of bullshit that is of no concern, so stop lying and step the fuck off”.

May you always have a buckle on your hat,

a wind at your back,

a new world to sail to,

and a desert beach to wreck upon.

May all your friends’ graves be loitered by cure fans of the purest heart.

May your juice be loose,

your smiles unhidden,

your styles un-bitten,

your gardens lusciouse,

and your crushes smitten.

Fascinating article in the Guardian today on the Swiss assisted Suicide organization, Digniatas. Most astaoundingly:

Since Swiss law allows assisted suicide, but not euthanasia (the difference being that the person who wants to die must actively take the dose himself), the act of voluntarily drinking the drug, mixed with 60ml of water, and the subsequent death is videoed by the Dignitas companions, who stay behind to deal with the police and the undertakers in the hours that follow.

Not to cheapen the discussion here, because these are people in real pain and it is a contentious issue with a lot of strong emotions that come up, but placing those emotions to the side for a moment: videoed? I take the above to mean that a lofty (are all Swiss organizations lofty or is that just the way those of us near sea level percieve them?) non-profit has a secret catalogue of videotapes of people drinking poison. I find this to be way gnarlier than even the choice of ”assisted suicide guy” as a professional calling. More importantly: How long before this footage is leaked? and in what context will it first appear? will it be a Geraldo segment? extreme-underground-video? pornography? home movies? Only time will tell, but my pessimistic impulse tells me that the first venues for these things will either be undergraduate art shows or the YouTube accounts of synth bands. The two most awful venues for exhibition of anything.

The water rolled down with our reflections in it. It was foamy for a second and then nothing, just dark out. I can remember the shape of him. He had a soft jaw and eyes that were darting off, and he held a gun that seemed to me like it was on video. It was a movie thing or a TV thing. It was scrambled, snow and fading out. It was not made of the steel he claimed. As he held it, the weight belonged to televised men.

“c’mon man, he’s a fucker”

“yeah but….”

“c’mon man … Navy seals, motherfucker, you all waist deep in that skunk cabbage and shit. Your mom was so mad …”

“yeah but…”

“and don’t give me any of that we were just kids. seems like the way people tell me that … it must’ve been shit-near everything happened when were just kids … well did he crash your family easter and then make your mom go shopping with him afterwards when we were just kids?”

“we’ll, yeah …”

“thats not what I mean, what I mean is we were kids and he was a fucker, and now were adults and he’s a fucker, so why be such a baby about it?”

“I don’t know if…”

“What, you dont know that we’re adults? Fuck you. Katie had to got those tests and I paid full price for a movie ticket, and that means we’re adults. Plus your dad died.”

“Please gabe he had nothing to do with …”

“and when you tricked him into eating that shit and he … ”

“I don’t really want to get into…”

“no, remember… his face got all white … and he held your arm and just kept punching you, and made yo say that the dog shit tasted, like, really good. You didn’t want to do it, but he was really serious: This tastes delicious! remember he was screaming that, and like say it! He told you to stop laughing but you were really crying. Like, hard. Don’t laugh you fucker, this shit tastes great. Say this shit tastes great! say it’s like the best fucking thing ever. ”

“allright man, your right, he is kind of a choad. He made me say that shit about that shit.”

“so then we definetly shoud get his ass”

“we’ll honestly bro, right now im kind of just happy we had a chance to talk about that whole thing. I’d never really figured it out you know?”

“so what, your sitting down now? c’mon man that is not exactly the way to crush a man, what are you thinking?”

“maybe im thinking that the way to crush a man is to get over yourself and show the choad what a grown up you can be? like that I have better things to get concerned about?”

“you don’t have any better things. and now Im starting to think that it’s no wonder you said that shit about that shit”

We had been younger and were rocking against each other on the school lawn. We were making fists around one anothers’ shirt collars. It was a fight going nowhere. We each could put up barely enough to keep one another at bay. Our wrestling match had never reached the ground.

Five days after the above conversation though, he was denied bail and I had given up looking for work. Different strokes.