Goodnight, House

I was just coming off a combination of a stopped heart, a concussion, and getting my driver’s license when we moved into the house on Massachusetts Avenue, so needless to say, it was quite an arrival. But then again, it was quite a house. Built in 1835 and known as the Hendley Farm, the house became newer as one moved further to the rear. Unfortunately, the newness stopped at about 1952 and by the time my parents bought the place, it was 1995 and as you might imagine, my folks did wish to live on the cusp of the 21st century like most people.

To do this, however, took nearly a year of wrangling with the Lexington Historic District Commission. Despite my mother’s well-documented participation in historic preservation projects, my father’s hiring of an architect who actually sat on the Historic Commission, and even my inevitable march towards majoring in history when I finally made it to college, the Commission reveled in tweaking every last part of the house. (Ask us why the garage doors weigh about a ton each and what we used to hold back the shutters.) But eventually, the family prevailed and work began on building a house that was in every way tailored to our needs and tastes.

Hall of Presidents: Washington, Adams, Jefferson & Jackson. Out of Frame: Lincoln and the Marquis de Lafayette.

And what a house it was. The décor revolved around the town’s history and, as Lexington was so instrumental in it, that of the nation itself, as well. We even had a Hall of Presidents. Meanwhile, the yard was the ultimate expression of my mother’s skill as a horticulturist: in back was a surprisingly extensive vegetable garden and flowers native to New England with a few surprises thrown in, while in front were well-manicured hedges and fruit trees. Lollygagging amidst all of this was the family dog, Archibald, a supremely relaxed field spaniel.

But now it’s 2011 and the house has been sold—in fact, the papers were passed today. I’ve been back and forth from New York a few times over the past month, helping to empty it out and I have to tell you, it wasn’t easy. If nothing else, I have mixed emotions: on one hand, the house is going to the co-chairs of the Sherborn Historic Society, so the right people have taken over; but on the other hand, I’ve lost the house where I came of age and where we buried Archie years ago. Yet time marches on, and I have to accept that.

And so it goes. First, it was multiple generations of the Hendleys, then the Friedgoods, then us. The Hendley’s farmhouse has seen generations come and go and it’s given back to each what each has put into it. I know its new caretakers will look after it, but I’ll miss that old house in spite of myself.

A New York State of Mind

Ah yes, here we are: early June. It’s certainly been a while since my last entry, and I’m sure hundreds of some people who are actually spambots that fill my comment cue with solicitations for knock-off Viagra have wondered what became of me. Well, to be succinct, I did it. I made it to New York and I’m a writer on the  account at Razorfish. On top of that, I have a fantastic apartment in Battery Park City with an unobstructed water view of the mouth of the Hudson River, Ellis Island, and the Communipaw Terminal. Even as I write this, I’m perched high above the water, watching cruise ships, sailboats, and immodestly sized private yachts glide on by.

You might wonder about the “” in the previous paragraph. That, of course, is due to the 87 different nondisclosure forms I signed upon being hired at Razorfish. Social media being what it is and me being among the gearhead-ier users of social media, it’s best that the opinions I express online not be directly linked back to the client, who happens to be one of the world’s leading automotive manufacturers—which is all I can say, really. That said, I’d never disparage  one way or the other now that I’m working on their behalf, but that’s not to say that I might not utter something nice about a company other than  every once in a while.

Ah, but it’s ok. In spite of my not being able to mention  in print, I’m in a very, very good spot. I get up at 5:30 in the morning, eager to go to work. I spend my day espousing on the auto industry, channeling the emotional aspects of what it means to take pleasure in the act of driving, and being gently made fun of for (as my boss, Reid, puts it) my “impossibly literate entrees into tales of Cape Cod exploits.” When I get home, I sit on my porch, watching the sun set over the Hudson from the comfort of my rocking chair.

I’m in a good place these days, and if you’re not in the same spot yourself, hang in there—we’ll see each other soon.

Si Non Oscillas, Noli Tintinnare

Today, I leave Chicago. That may come as a surprise to some of you, as I hadn’t exactly broadcast my arrival in the Windy City to begin with. Nevertheless, I’ve been here for a decent bit, but now it’s time to head back east.

Unaffected by the move, of course, has been the tag line “Si non oscillas, noli tintinnare,” emblazoned upon The Highly Official Weblog since first emerging in February of The Year of Our Lord, Twenty-Aught-Seven. But why did I ever choose that particular shibboleth in the first place? Well, two reasons: 1) it’s Latin, and most people assume anything written in a dead language is somehow of great intellectual value; 2) despite the apparent highbrow overtones of the phrase, the English translation is rather subversive—“If you don’t swing, don’t ring.”

And from whence did such learned inspiration spring? Why from none other than Hugh Hefner. Back in the early days of Playboy, Hef surveyed his empire from atop 1340 North State Parkway, right here in Chicago. Naturally, he had a doorbell, but to save himself the bother of determining which potential Playmates were products of a Classical education, Hef had the above phrase embossed on a brass plate over that very doorbell. Below, the exterior of the famous Gold Coast donjon; although one can no longer find warrens of Bunnies there, one can at least buy a condo in the original Playboy Mansion.
Thank you, Hef, and thank you, Chicago. Now it’s off to New York to begin an exciting new chapter of my life.

Why Jeep Needs a New CJ

In 2007, Jeep introduced the JK Wrangler, the successor to the 10-year-old TJ, which itself was really just a warmed over version of the 20-year-old YJ. So, considering the TJ’s old bones, improving upon it wasn’t too tall of an order, but the JK is nevertheless just as capable as its predecessor, while also far and away more comfortable.

And indeed, why shouldn’t the new JK be more comfortable? It expands the potential market for the Wrangler, and greater sales equals greater income, of which DaimlerChrysler Cerberus Capital Management Chrysler Group could always use more. However, in gentrifying the Wrangler, Jeep risks diluting the inherent personality of the nameplate, a dangerous proposition for a brand already diluted itself by several models possessing none of the traditional Jeep virtues.

You see, as much as the name Wrangler has always meant off road prowess, it has also meant a certain degree of inconvenience wherein the experience of ownership is concerned. As is evident from the above video, the Wrangler (and before it, the CJ) has been unequaled in noise, vibration, and harshness since time immemorial; ergo, Wrangler drivers have been, of necessity and by tradition, slightly eccentric. That, in turn, has built a loyal community of owners, whose enthusiasm has imbued in the Wrangler nameplate an unimpeachable equity. The problem is that in making the JK easier to live with, that very equity is being squandered. How am I so sure? In my opinion, the new JK is so refined, to own one no longer requires acceptance of the maxim, “It’s a Jeep thing. You wouldn’t understand.” The more damning evidence, however, is this: 99% of all JK drivers I encounter fail to perform the Jeep wave.

Of course, there’s no sense in doing away with the JK. From a financial perspective, it’s too much of a sales success to so much as even contemplate doing so, while from a utilitarian perspective, if I were married with two kids, I have to admit that I’d drive a four door JK, myself. What needs to be done away with are the execrable car-based Compass and Patriot, replaced post haste by something that embraces the roughshod unwieldiness of the old Wrangler.

However, by embracing the form-following-function ethos of the previous Wrangler, I don’t mean just running off another bunch of old TJs—as much as I’d like that. Rather, Chrysler could look at this as an opportunity to break new ground. While the ability to tackle the Rubicon Trail would be a must in a new CJ (or Willys or whatever it might be called), there’s no reason why it can’t be a comparatively lightweight unibody vehicle, the XJ Cherokee having long ago proved unibody construction entirely capable off road. Furthermore, this new vehicle would present an opportunity to incorporate high tech powertrains, which I was lead to believe were being worked on.

Now, I admit that I take issue with the JK Wrangler’s size. We won World War II with a vehicle 1/3 as large, so why does going to the mall require something comparatively massive? Of course, that’s just me being a traditionalist. The larger threat lies in the rationale used to justify the more accommodating JK: putting Jeeps in the driveways of those who would otherwise have nothing to do with them. This is the same rationale that lead to the Compass and Patriot—miserable economy cars masquerading as Jeeps, concocted by and for people who think the essence of the brand is nothing more than a seven-slot grille.

Naturally, all of this falls of deaf ears—I’m 100% certain that nobody within 20 miles of Chrysler HQ in Auburn Hills, Michigan will read this post—but if nothing else, I’ve at least justified why I plan on driving my old 4-cylinder, no A/C, rattle-y, loud, and awkward TJ for a long time to come. Yea, though it is a warning bound to go unheeded, mark my words: while expanding the reach of a specialized brand like Jeep with a softened Wrangler and what are essentially milquetoast cars may build sales, it does so on a crumbling foundation.

Would The Real Detroit Please Stand Up?

As a gearhead, I know enough about the cars sold on television not to be affected by the commercials, but despite that, I found myself among the millions taken by Chrysler’s “Imported From Detroit” Super Bowl spot. Part ad for the Chrysler 200, part civic boosterism for Detroit (perhaps even more the latter than the former), the spot struck a chord that, frankly, I don’t believe has been felt since 1984’s Morning In America.

But why? Why has every Motor City native I know (and many that I don’t) adopted Imported From Detroit (Detroit Advecto Ex if they’re the formal type) as their personal motto, and why did the rest of us sit up and take notice?

As I’m one of them, I’ll start with “the rest of us.” The car-buying segment of the marketplace is increasingly being taken over by people who grew up cynics, especially in the case of the American auto industry. (See my previous post, Horses to Water, for further evidence.) While we might like to live in a world of football, meat pies, kangaroos, and Holden Cars baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and Chevrolet, we’re far too suspicious to buy into anything portrayed through rose-tinted glasses.

Meanwhile, as I’m not one of them, I can only speculate about why Detroiters have been so taken with the ad, but knowing a few of them, my conjectures at least have some basis. To wit, it’s obvious when talking to a Detroit native that they overflow with both civic pride and frustration that the rest of the country remains ignorant of all the good things their city has to offer. Furthermore, they wish the auto industry would stop running from “Detroit” as an epithet, and instead embrace the city’s unique style and take some pride in its role as the nation’s industrial heart.

Fortunately for you readers, the previous two paragraphs dovetail nicely into the following conclusion. Namely, how did one Chrysler ad outshine Kia’s two goofball spots and Chevy’s go-jillion commercials? Simply put: by bucking convention. Instead of obsequiously bowing to the coastal crowd, Chrysler wrapped itself in Detroit without apology, embracing its neighbors. Meanwhile, the confession that the auto industry has found itself in a bad spot was hardly an admission of defeat, but rather bracing and refreshing honesty that cut through the cynical armor of those very same elites it had once sought to placate. Finally, like Charles de Gaulle’s 1940 message to his fellow Frenchmen, Chrysler reminded us that while the auto industry and its hometown may be beaten, neither is anywhere near broken.

Of course it can’t just end there for Chrysler. The company’s new parent, Fiat, has a lot of work ahead of it to repair the damage done by Daimler’s years of neglect and Cerberus Capital’s slash and burn management style. But the manufacturer that has traditionally been the industry’s weakest link made a smart move in taking up the mantle of the underdog, positioning both itself and its hometown for a resurgence. It’s up to Chrysler to actually make it happen, but if there’s one thing Americans of all stripes love, it’s a comeback.

PS: If you’re wondering who wrote Imported From Detroit, it was Logan Summers, husband of mommy blogger Melissa Summers. Follow this link for some added insight into the guy who, I think, came up with one of the all time great taglines.

I, Business Owner

Hello, everyone. I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but things got crazy, if you know what I mean. Since we last spoke, I’ve played my way through Gran Turismo 5 (except the endurance races—does Polyphony Digital really expect me to spend a full 24 hours driving around Le Mans on my PlayStation? Puh-leeze.) thus subjecting myself to abject disappointment, eaten soup with chopsticks thus subjecting myself to the inverse relationship between my manual dexterity and my gluttony, and have also become part owner of a business thus subjecting myself to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune the American Dream.

And what exactly is this business in which I have taken a stake? Why it’s Thompson & Queen, my good man, a company that will tell the story of America through American-made textiles. Of course, I must confess that T&Q wasn’t my idea; rather it’s the genesis of an artist from Alexandria, Virginia by way of Charleston, South Carolina and a former employee of Ralph Lauren from New York by way of Philadelphia. Also, I must confess that I’ve never met the artist from Alexandria, but in my defense, Mr. Lifshitz’s one-time protégé is an old friend, which I’m sure counts for something, to say nothing of the fact that she’s the one who gave me my share.

At the moment, T&Q’s cofounders are busy working as face men to potential sources of startup capital, leaving me in something of a holding pattern, but I’d be lying if I said I was content. I’m eager to continue refining T&Q’s position in the marketplace and to find ways to get the company’s name (and products… eventually) into the consciousness and hands of the target demographic. Yes, T&Q wasn’t my idea and yes, I play a relatively small part in the whole operation, but I have a lot of faith in this company and I find the prospect of nurturing and growing the venture rather thrilling. Frankly, I consider myself quite fortunate to be aboard.

But, uh, I am being paid in equity, so if any potential employers out there are reading this, I’ll gladly trade my services with you for any one of several major currencies.

Tire Smoke & Rear View Mirrors

It would be nothing short of a lie if I told you that I wasn’t giddy like a schoolboy when I saw that Jalopnik got its hands on the complete car and track lists for the upcoming (and long, long overdue) Gran Turismo 5. Likewise, it would be nothing short of a lie if I told you that I wasn’t rather let down by what I saw.*

The Gran Turismo series has a deserved reputation for offering car-obsessed gamers such as myself the most realistic, varied, and exciting virtual driving experience. There have been plenty of pretenders to that throne, but they’ve all been roundly defeated by Gran Turismo’s superior… well… everything, really.

Given that, you can imagine how we benighted few have been salivating over the release of Gran Turismo 5, now allegedly taking place on November 24. I say “allegedly” because the game has been delayed too many times to count. (I’m fairly sure I’ve had my copy reserved for over a year.) Massively irritating, yes, but given what quantum leaps each successive installment of Gran Turismo has been over its predecessor, we’ve given Polyphony Digital (the game’s publisher) the benefit of the doubt.

But now we know what cars and what tracks will come with GT5 and, frankly, neither does much to justify how long Polyphony has strung us along. The first thing I noticed was that in spite of its incredible V-Series of cars, GT5 includes one measly Cadillac, and it’s the Cien concept from 2002. Meanwhile, there are 15 different versions of the Honda Civic, a car notable mainly for its parsimonious use of gasoline.

My greatest disappointment is reserved for the selection of tracks, however. After all, what good is a great car without an equally great ribbon of asphalt on which to drive it? Previous versions of Gran Turismo could always be counted on to introduce excellent original and real world circuits, as well as sprucing up some of the old chestnuts from the previous version. However, GT5 has not only shed some of GT4’s best tracks, but failed to make up the difference. Where’s Spa? Road Atlanta? What about the fictional Mid Field Raceway?

Clearly, I’m not thrilled to bits about what’s to come in Gran Turismo 5, but it’s not like I’m going to march over to GameStop and cancel my reservation after I’ve already waited this long. And granted, GT5 does include some new cars that are pretty cool, and the variable weather should make things interesting, but what good is it when most of the 1000+ cars in the game are made up of every possible variation of milquetoast econoboxes? Gran Turismo is supposed to be about driving the unobtainable, not the contents of your average high school parking lot.

The Cars, Tracks of Gran Turismo 5 [via Jalopnik]

*Nor am I the only one; have a look at the comments following Jalopnik’s post on the matter here.

So Flashed and Fell the Brand Lotus

While most people would call what I’m currently going through “protracted unemployment,” I find that the experience is made that much more bearable if it’s termed “a long-term involuntary sabbatical.” Expressed as such, the inordinate amount of time I spend following the auto industry seems almost acceptable, which recently has been reverberating with consternation over the change in product direction announced by Lotus Cars at the recent Paris auto show. These bones of contention stem from the fact that until recently (apparently), Lotus followed a philosophy based on company founder Colin Chapman’s dying words, “Simplify, then add lightness.”* (Certainly the flag bearer of the new Lotus, the 3,600 lbs. Elite, is hardly a delicate little flower and likely has Chapman spinning in his grave.) None of the critiques that I’ve seen, however, have dealt with the damage Lotus may have done to its reputation.

Never about all-out speed or luxury, Lotus has so far built cars featuring a preternatural connection between man and machine that no other company can duplicate. Hence the reason why Lotus Evora drivers willingly pay over $10,000 more than they would for a similar—and demonstrably better-built and better-appointed—Porsche Cayman S. This despite Louts making its cars from recycled toilet seats (hat tip to Jeremy Clarkson), powering them with Toyota economy car motors, and bashing them together in a garden shed in rural England. It’s that feeling of interconnectedness that keeps a small but fiercely loyal customer base coming back for more.

So how does Lotus’ situation apply to other brands? It applies because brands—regardless of what they’re applied to—have to stand for something. Distinctiveness draws people to a brand and makes it stand out, which in turn leads to success in the form of sales or whatever the particular equivalent might be. Lotus has stood for an intimate connection between driver and car, but this new product plan is a radical departure. The company’s focus will shift from uncomplicated singularity of purpose to overpowered, overcomplicated opulence. (Alliteration!) Lotus will thus become yet another player in the crowded supercar segment, a market in which Ed Hardy-bedecked buyers may not be as forgiving of Lotus’ historically eccentric build quality, to say nothing of the generic styling of the new Lotuses: the angry, slanty-eyed look seen on everything from Ferraris to Hondas.

The paradox is that common wisdom says brands must expand to survive. That, of course, seems to be in conflict with the importance of sticking with core competencies. In my wholly unqualified opinion, it’s entirely possible to expand a brand while staying true to its core competencies; Lotus’ problem is that it didn’t. As a result, although the new cars may prove eminently competent, the company has risked losing the loyal minority who have been willing to pay a premium for cars arguably inferior to their competitors in all but one important respect.

The moral of the story is that reputational damage isn’t always the result of malice or negligence. No doubt Lotus’ expansion is being done with the best of intentions, but in changing the brand’s character, the company has abandoned its reputation. Effectively resetting its reputation meter to zero, Lotus must rebuild from the ground up, an arduous task for any company, much less one based in a thatched roof cottage.

*There’s a slight chance those weren’t actually Chapman’s dying words.

Economies of Scale

One of the few benefits of unemployment (actually it’s the only benefit) is one’s newfound bounty of free time. As such, I’m free to roll out of bed and slowly sip my coffee while watching Morning Joe, much as I did this morning. Speaking of which, this morning is when I really began to think about something that has been rattling around in my head for a while now: infrastructure. (Exciting!)

Newshound that I am, I’ve long heard governors Rendell and Schwarzenegger (of Pennsylvania and California, respectively) and Mayor Bloomberg of New York City make the case for large-scale and long-term Federal investment in the nation’s infrastructure, a call to which New Jersey Governor Chris Christie has recently added his voice. How important is infrastructure to a healthy economy? If you had to name the top three reasons for China’s rise and our decline, infrastructure would be one of them.

Thankfully, this need for infrastructure maintenance and development seems to have finally been heard in Washington with President Obama announcing a $50 billion spending plan. And $50 billion is a lot of money, right? Well, by itself, sure, but when you consider that it’s barely more than a quarter of what AIG got when bailed out by the taxpayers, the largess of the current administration’s proposal begins to pale slightly. How is a country this big supposed to at least repair (much less improve) its infrastructure for only 28% of what was required to keep a single company afloat?

As this is just the latest thing the federal government has failed at tackling, we come to another, related something (Editor’s note: the earlier version of this post contained a poor transition. I’ve since fixed it.) that’s been rattling around in my head: can individual states band together in economic pacts? Think about it: New England; New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania; the inland industrial Great Lakes; the west coast, the corn belt—all regions sharing similar economic interests and needs.

Of course, raising the possibility of intranational trade coalitions is one thing; actually doing so raises the larger question of whether it would usurp the authority of the federal government and therefore be unconstitutional. But that having been said, wherever federal authority begins, it has to end somewhere, too, and the individual states are free to act in their own interest whenever they can.

Reading what I’ve just written, I worry that I may come off as some kind of anti-central government crank, but I assure you that I’m not. Strong, coherent, and farsighted policies implemented at the Federal level would bring the most benefit, but it doesn’t seem as though that will happen any time soon. In the meantime, the individual states have an obligation to look after their citizens and I believe that all constitutional options and solutions are open to them.

Horses to Water

A distant relative of mine, Henry McCarty, once said, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” As much as that adage applies to horses (and especially mules, as one would assume) it’s equally applicable to people. Some people are so set in their ways, that no matter how irrefutable the evidence of their wrong-headedness presented to them is, they refuse to change. I realize this is hardly breaking news as stubbornness is an obstacle in all facets of daily life, but as the roles of advertising and public relations continue to overlap, it’s become an impediment to accomplishing the common goal of both practices: establishing beneficial relationships between organizations and stakeholders. Therefore, I find myself questioning whether attempts to change obstinate minds are really worth the effort.

My moment of doubt came this past Saturday when Scott Monty, Ford Motor Company’s Head of Social Media, posted a link on Twitter to a New York Times piece that was actually optimistic about Detroit’s future. Not long thereafter, however, Mr. Monty followed up, registering his dismay at “how many coastal elites live in denial or ignorance,” as evidenced by the comments left in response to the Times’ story. The takeaway was that the American auto industry can’t catch a break from the bailout haters on the right or the Detroit bashers on the left.

So if you’re Ford and you’ve just unveiled the new Explorer which radically departs from all previous Explorers, how do you bring these people around to your side? I asked Mr. Monty as much, his answer being, “The way we do it: keep making world-class products that are best-in-class in quality, fuel economy, safety and technology. ” (For the record, it was Mr. Monty who omitted the Oxford comma and added the emoticon.) My thoughts were that, yes, I know where Ford excels, but I’m a gearhead; what about people who think the bailout was the first step towards President Obama becoming Generalissimo Obama, or those who consider buying domestic as tantamount to clubbing baby seals?

If you couldn’t tell, I’m a bit of a car guy, so it stands to reason that this particular issue would get my hackles up, but the reputational problems faced by the American auto industry are the same as faced by any other industry or individual organization: the world is full of the willfully ignorant and habitually stubborn and they’ll always have an axe to grind, no matter what. So what can you do about them? For my wholly unqualified two cents, I say nothing. The best one can do is to forge relationships with stakeholders who are predisposed to be on one’s side, while reaching out to the potential stakeholders who retain some objectivity. In fact, it’s the very word “objectivity” that distinguishes potential stakeholders from those who just aren’t worth the tsuris.

I’ve no doubt plenty of people disagree with my assessment, but from where I’m sitting, when it comes to relationship building, an organization would derive more value from pursuing and making the most out of realistic prospects, rather than trying to convert strident non-believers. After all, as cousin Henry said to a reporter after one of his many arrests, “What’s the use of looking on the gloomy side of everything?”