Today’s post is brought to you by the letters R and D

BusinessWeek has an essay about the lack of innovation at the major telephone companies (yet another installment in the “I care about this stuff; no reason for you to” series). Mind-blowing quote:

One way in which these companies are very different from the old phone monopoly is that while the original AT&T had a world-class research operation, its successors don’t. One of the signal facts of the communications revolution is that virtually all the new technologies that made it possible were developed outside the phone world. Last year, Verizon’s revenue came in at nearly $80 billion. AT&T (without BellSouth or Cingular) had revenue of $44 billion. And yet while Intel Corp. spent $5.1 billion last year on research and development, AT&T spent just $130 million. The word “research” doesn’t even appear in Verizon’s annual report.

Now, in the pharma industry, there’s a lot of talk about “rethinking R&D,” as major companies learned that simply pumping more dollars into the process doesn’t necessarily yield results. When I compiled this year’s Top Pharma Companies report, I noticed that plenty of big guns have reduced their R&D budgets — not drastically, but it was certainly a change from past double-digit increases. And these annual R&D figures were at least $1 billion for the top 17 companies on the list.

Obviously, the drug industry is keyed by development of new products; patent terms dictate that every product has a brief lifespan. When the R&D pipeline falls short, companies turn to in-licensing new drugs. In my many Yankees = Pfizer comments, this equates to buying free agents when the farm system isn’t producing good players.

Turns out that this is the main model for the telcos.

There is something to be said for “buying it elsewhere.” If the big telcos built everything themselves, there would be no Cisco and no Motorola. But years of buying it elsewhere has yielded a culture distrustful of technology — and of progress: It’s impossible to imagine Microsoft developing a big new product and having the lead engineer shift from foot to foot in the corner pretending to be just another customer. It has meant, as with AT&T’s Lightspeed, that telcos are likely to offer services that only match, but not surpass, those available from others. And increasingly their approach has put the telcos on the wrong side of technological innovation, leaving them in the position of protecting their investments in their networks from the encroachments of new ideas.

Anyway, I’m fascinated by the ways major industries function, and this essay provides some neat insights into what it’s like to be an $80 billion player with razr-thin (ha-ha) profit margins. So give it a read.

Family album

Despite some dreary weather, we had a lovely day up in Connecticut with my cousins, most of whom I hadn’t seen in 10 years. That span (coinciding with both daughters’ weddings in the summer of 1996) has yielded 5 children, plus a bunch of retrievers:

Amy was pretty happy to discover that

a) I have relatives in the United States

b) I have relatives who aren’t crazy

There was a third dog who couldn’t get into the picture. He has a big “elizabethan” collar on to keep him from chewing on his foreleg. It looked pretty sad, and I opined that they should paint a big sunflower pattern on the inside of the collar, so at least they could be cheered when the dog looked up at the them.

We had to get a pic of Amy with the youngest kid, for obvious reasons:

!rebmiT

During the summer, my office is only open from 8am to 1pm on Fridays. It’s nice of the owner of the company to give us that early start to the weekend. Since Amy doesn’t get out early from her job, I usually take the extra Friday hours to get a bunch of errands done.

Today’s errand-circuit took me to Home Despot (Remington 3.5 HP electric chainsaw), the local Lukoil (a quart of motor oil), and Chik-Fil-A (the grilled chicken combo with the waffle fries is All That).

Then, fortified with Chik Courage, I set to work slicing up the tree last seen lying across my driveway:

Well, first I warned my neighbors across the street, “If you hear the chainsaw stop, followed by a wet thud, give 911 a call, then come over and try to find any limbs or fingers of mine that are still in the driveway. If you could pack them in ice, I’d really appreciate it.”

We all laughed nervously.

It turned out fine, given that it was the first time I’ve ever used a chainsaw (yeah, I wore work gloves and protective glasses), but there was one kickback that almost severed my right leg. And that taught me not to crouch down to the same level that I was cutting.

The glorious results?

Some of the pieces I cut it down to were a litte too large, so my back is sore as heck from hefting them up into the wheelbarrow, but the big work is all done. (I swept up after taking that pic; I’m such a blog-tard.)

Let the weekend begin!

Timber!

Amy & I met up with official VM pal Elayne & her (feverish and delirious) beau at Chow Bar in NYC last night. I had a fantastic meal, with the summer(time) rolls and the szechwan angus steak, with matchstick french fries. I also drank a pair of Typhoons, so I’ve now had two hangovers-without-getting-drunk in a week. That’s no fun.

We got home around 9:30 and found the following in the driveway:

I’ll probably pick up an electric chainsaw tonight at the Home Despot. If I don’t post for a while after this weekend, it’ll be because they haven’t reattached my fingers.

noToryous?

My buddy Mitch once praised the Grateful Dead, not for their music–which he detested–but for their ability to get money out of hippies. He considered that one of the strongest legacies of the 60’s.

Conversely, this writer at the Herald (UK) contends that Trainspotting author Irvine Welsh, who recently “came out” as a Tory, is a traitor to the cause.

Of course, people’s views change over time, and there’s no shame in that. There’s nothing more common than for a youthful socialist to evolve into a middle-aged Tory. What is distasteful about Welsh’s apparent volte-face, however, is that he has made his fortune from exploiting a grotesquely picaresque community whose brutal existence has provided the most colourful, horrifying, virulently anti-establishment material for fiction since Balzac’s backstreet Paris.
While with one hand Welsh was guddling a hungry readership, many of whom had scarcely seen a book since school, with the other he was holding a champagne flute at Edinburgh’s New Town soirees.

Moreover, despite the “guddling,” she (sorta) knew it all along:

From the start of Welsh’s career doubts have been raised about just how closely his widely reported wild behaviour matched reality. Former colleagues at Edinburgh City Council remember a dapper, punctual employee who, they said admiringly, “could have gone right to the top of local government”. Even as his novels were being devoured by the poverty-stricken, the addicted and the terminally unemployed, he is believed to have been dabbling in the property market, and we’re not talking council houses.

Needless to say, I think she’s an idiot, even when she concludes that drug dealers are the “most successful capitalists of our time.” After all, Renton doesn’t really want to deal; he just wants to get away to Amsterdam, be a DJ, and live with a model. Is that so wrong?

Everyone’s a critic

NYTimes movie critic A.O. Scott wonders why people go to bad movies, and why the hell he gets up in the morning:

For the second time this summer, then, my colleagues and I must face a frequently — and not always politely — asked question: What is wrong with you people? I will, for now, suppress the impulse to turn the question on the moviegoing public, which persists in paying good money to see bad movies that I see free. I don’t for a minute believe that financial success contradicts negative critical judgment; $500 million from now, “Dead Man’s Chest” will still be, in my estimation, occasionally amusing, frequently tedious and entirely too long. But the discrepancy between what critics think and how the public behaves is of perennial interest because it throws into relief some basic questions about taste, economics and the nature of popular entertainment, as well as the more vexing issue of what, exactly, critics are for.

See the sights

Last night, devoted VM reader Elayne text-messaged me to let me know that she had just bumped into Gabriel Byrne. Today, my wife calls to let me know that she just bumped into Peyton Manning (the gravity field of his enormous noggin made this inevitable, I bet).

Me? I work in northern NJ, so about all I can hope for is to cross paths with Danny Aiello.