Hythrax's Xanga

Marketing

Sat, 11 Oct 2008 02:49:54 GMT

Most people don't really understand what it means, and assume that it has something to do with the promotion of products, like branding, merchandising, advertising, and public relations. While that certainly is true, it'srr such a narrow view of what is really an incredibly diverse field. And so it frustrates me to no end when people automatically assume that because I'm "in marketing", I'm not a technical person. Everybody thinks Marcom is "marketing". I guess Marcom is the most glamorous.

Amongst my international counterparts, I'm actually the least technically qualified (and the only one with a marketing degree), and I'd say my technical background isn't too shabby. Of the 5 that I interact with regularly, one holds a masters in theoretical mathematics, 2 have a masters in engineering, 1 is a software engineer, and the other one was a stats major with a PMP.

I suppose I could be more specific in the future by using the term "product marketing", which to me, is hardly specific, considering "product" is quite an important "p" out of the antiquated "4 P's of marketing". Qualifications for this field: "as a key skill is to be able to interact with technical staff, a background in engineering is also an asset."

At either rate, I felt vindicated this week when I saw one of the first fruits of my labour trending +70% YTD at our biggest retailer. These are insane results for what-was considered to be a maturized product line from a highly mature company.

For a self-confessed fuck-up in life, I have to say, I was quite proud of myself this week, for multiple reasons, all to do with work. The pride wore off quickly of course, but nonetheless, one of the few times in my life where for a few seconds, I was quite happy with myself. Now I'm back to being the angry-ass motherfucker everyone is used to.

Impromptu funds raised from my department: $120

Tue, 07 Oct 2008 01:33:43 GMT

$1.00 worth of canned soup: just under 1 lb
$1.00 worth of tomato juice: 0.63 lbs
$1.00 worth of pickles: 2.1 lbs
$1.00 worth of apple juice: 2.73 lbs

Look on the ladies' faces at the grocery store when I brought a shopping cart full of different cans to weigh on the vegetable scale: fucking priceless

Look on the cashiers' faces when I checked out with over a hundred cans of apple juice: even more priceless

Look on other department heads' faces when I showed up at the food drive competition with 327 fucking pounds of apple juice, only 30 minutes before the deadline: absolutely priceless

"OH SHIT it's too late to go out more food!"

"Hurry, go out and buy some big ass bags of rice!"

Learn some math, bitches. Apple juice pwns all with respect to lbs/$. I weighed the entire fucking store the night before.

Winning a prize I didn't care about: absolutely amazing

Being the most reviled person in the marketing division: hey, it's not my fault I'm so fabulous

"He totally missed the point of this food drive"

"That's just immature"

"We'll have to change the rules for next year"

Naw, bitches.

At the end of the day, it's important of course to realize why we have food drives in the first place.

So we can win fucking competitions.

FUDS represent, motherfucker. I fucking killed this one.

"Values"

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 23:43:56 GMT

S: How do you keep this up? You're working like a dog. How do you ever intend to have kids?
H: I don't intend to have kids.
S: Ever?
H: Nope.
S: Why?
H: Incongruent with current life goals. Not financially feasible at the moment.
S: You've got to be kidding.
H: Oh, I'm totally not. Anything worth having involves sacrifice. I'm willing to sacrifice just about everything so I can have everything.
S: You don't want a family?
H: I suppose our definitions of "family" are different.
S: That's crazy.
H: How? I think this world is overpopulated anyway. Totally against my life philosophy to make it worse.
S: That's not normal.
H: I hate the word normal. If anyone should write a biography about me, it had better not contain the words "normal" or "average". Nothing about me should be average.
S: Why? Don't you want a normal family life?
H: No. Normalcy drains people of their ambition. I could be normal doing what I'm doing now. Decent income, decent car. What would be the point of striving for more? I want a life that is utterly abnormal. I want purpose.
S: What's your purpose?
H: I actually have two. The first is to have the means and power to do whatever I want, whenever I want, because I want to. Once I do that, I'd like to save the world and die a hero.
S: That's ridiculous.
H: Exactly.
S: What do mean by "do whatever you want"?
H: Just that. If I want a Ferrari, right now, in yellow, I want a yellow Ferrari, right now. If I want a helicopter, I'd better fucking have one in my backyard, right now. If I want to go to the south of France, on a whim, tomorrow, and spend the next year there traveling, I'd like to do that. If I want a new car every fucking day for the rest of my life, then it had better be so. If I want the entire planet handed to me on a silver platter, it had better be so.
S: You want to be god. Isn't that selfish?
H: Well, there's the "save the world part".
S: Well that's not fair. What gives you the right?
H: Nothing. There are no rights. Everything is earned. You don't have a right to jack shit. Your forefathers, those that fought for your country, your freedom - they EARNED it for you. And nothing is fair. Life isn't fair. Nature isn't fair. Born a fly? You live for a few days. You're fucked. Born in a country in war? You're fucked. Our very existence isn't fair. Nature in fact is very UNfair. That is how it's supposed to be.
S: Unfair.
H: Yes. Basic economics. Resources are, and will always be, scarce. Scarcity demands unfairness. Unfairness means that certain species have certain competitive advantages. And so species evolve, and they improve with each incarnation. Survival of the fittest. Darwinism. Humanism. We aspire to continue to evolve, even within the frame of our own lifetimes. For the better of humanity.
S: That's ridiculous. So disadvantaged people shouldn't be helped?
H: That's a stretch. All I'm saying is that sometimes, by helping everybody, we fuck over everybody. Things that should've have gone extinct now have a second lease on life, and now we have overpopulation, and nobody has enough, and everybody in the long run is fucked. We shot ourselves in the foot when we stepped on nature's toes, and now she's shoving the rifle up our asses.
S: That's hypocritical.
H: Hypocrites have kids even when they know that there are millions of orphans around the world who have no parents. Millions of kids with no future that desperately need help, and you still have the fucking audacity to replace them with your own just because you foolishly think your bloodline actually means anything.
S: Wow.
H: You're hypocritical. If you were "fair", you'd put yourself in the shoes of the majority of the planet. You'd sell your possessions and give all you have to the poor. Drive a car? You're a hypocrite. Own a big house? Hypocrite. That golf shirt? Hypocritical. I'm just being pragmatic. Anybody can simply say "oh let's save the world". What an easy fucking thing to just say, isn't it so fucking convenient to just save the whole fucking world. But nobody is going to listen to what I have to say, because it's just wrong, it's terribly politically incorrect, and it's against well, just about everybody's values. It's not convenient, it's totally unfair, but it'll work. The inconvenient fucking truth is this. We can't keep everybody alive and prosperous at the same time. Not with our current technology, not so long as the world religious makeup is what it is, and not so long as people continue to be unreasonably nationalistic.
S: And you're okay with that?
H: Totally.
S: So you have everything you could possibly want. Then what.
H: Then I want to cure AIDS, malaria, shit like that, herpes, strange venereal diseases...
S: Then you want to die a hero.
H: A hero. And I want to die on an interesting but painless anecdote. Like I want "nuked himself on a big boulder and saved the whole fucking planet and the explosion was epic" on my tombstone. Or pyramid, or at least a monument or something.
S: You think that's a reasonable expectation from life?
H: No. Actually, I think - I know it isn't reasonable. It's completely impossible.
S: Yeah...so?
H: That's exactly the point.
S: What?
H: Most ideals are impossible. I have an ideal. And it's totally impossible.
S: So if you conquer the world you will be happy?
H: Probably not. There's still space.
S: So you will never be happy.
H: I will never be happy.
S: [laughing] What the fuck, man. You're seriously screwed up.
H: Perhaps.
S: One day I'm telling you, when you get to my age, you're mentality will change.
H: Perhaps.

Darth Vader Zero

Thu, 02 Oct 2008 02:52:19 GMT

I love how, when field sales reps meet me for the first time, after 2 years of nothing but phone correspondence, they do a double-take.

Apparently I either sound like Darth Vader or "some big black guy".

One guy this morning did a double-take twice. Once when he saw me, a skinny, casually-dressed Chinese kid that looks like a co-op student, roar into the lot in a black Audi, blasting Lauryn Hill/Bob Marley ("turn your lights down lowwww"), and pull into reserved parking right in front of the door, and then again, when both of us realized that we were each strolling into the building next to the person we were scheduled to meet.

"Holy crap you're [hythrax]?"

"Yaman," I said, still subconsciously channeling Bob Marley, "nice to meet you."

"Your voice must throw people off like crazy!"

"Yep, I get that all the time."

"But you sound normal now...haha, what do you, do you distort your voice on the phone or something?"

"Nope. Just how I sound over microphones and phones, particularly early in the morning, which is when you usually call me."

"Holy shit!"

"Yep."

Hooked on hockey

Wed, 01 Oct 2008 07:21:03 GMT

Don't give a shit about hockey, really, or any other sport besides Formula 1 for that matter, and I'm not even that interested in Formula 1.

But watching the Leafs play live was great. Mostly because the seats were so baller. Not sure I can fork over $400 for tickets all the time. Well, I wouldn't know, wouldn't I, since I didn't spend a dime on anything besides parking and a couple of beers.

Not sure I would have enjoyed myself as much on welfare seats. I thoroughly doubt it. Nothing to do with bad seats, just that I like feeling baller.

So similar. And yet so different, sadly.

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 06:39:08 GMT

Yeah. Those are 275 tires on all 4 corners...

And in case you didn't notice, this ain't an A4. Brand new it costs almost twice as much as mine.

Ballsy guy, running in Ontario with no front plates.

$4K USD Stasis coils with external reservoirs. Drool. Now I know why I'm so unhappy.

Happiness is not a fish I can catch.

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 04:55:57 GMT

I shouldn't be complaining, really. By all measures, things are going well. Career momentum is exceeding expectations, and certainly exceeding my personal targets for 2008. Business ventures are coming along, for once in my life. Old car is finally sold. New car is running well. Spent a rare, uneventful weekend with the girlfriend. Management knows I'm a bit overworked; got $400 worth of Leaf tickets for tomorrow night. With exception to a few hiccups that I can forgive myself for, I'm well on-track to meeting most of my goals for 2008.

I should be happy. Especially when you put the shitty economic outlook into context. But I'm utterly not. I wouldn't say I'm entirely miserable either. It's odd. I have no idea what I'm feeling, if I'm feeling anything at all.

Perhaps the only thing I'm feeling is exhaustion. Exhaustion, on one hand, and on the other, some uncontrollable feeling of urgency. Urgency, because I am nowhere close to where I want to be. Exhaustion, perhaps, because deep down, I know that no accomplishment will ever be enough. There is no real destination. I would honestly have to conquer the entire world before I could even contemplate being satisfied. Perhaps I feel exhausted because I know I will never be happy.

There's temporal happiness, which is easy enough to find. But there's a bigger "happiness" that is much more elusive. What is this happiness worth? Is it worth anything? What if I gain the whole world? Is that worth my happiness? I would hope so. I would hope my happiness is worth less, quite frankly, since I stand little chance of enslaving the entire human race.

Perhaps I need to create a better 15-year "purpose". Something a bit more colourful, perhaps, than "the relentless pursuit of exorbitant amounts of money" and something more specific than "world conquest". I need a cause. Something to fight for. Something noble. Like eugenics, or human cloning, or human overpopulation in general.

Hull integrity is at 40%

Fri, 26 Sep 2008 00:40:58 GMT

Funny how once in a while, if you observe me for an entire day, you begin to see cracks in my meticulously-crafted persona. I have the patience of a lightning bolt right now, and the temperament of an abused pitbull with the entire arsenal of fireworks used for during the Beijing Olympics opening and closing ceremonies shoved up its ass, along with a couple of rogue nuclear warheads. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a very long time now and the exhaustion is making it exceedingly difficult to exercise good judgment.

And yet, except for a few fleeting bursts of unhinged rage, reckless anger and a sprinkle of momentary psychosis every few hours or so, I still manage to be personable, diplomatic, cool, and calm.

I've been here before. I've been here many times. I've been here enough to know that, despite how much I hate the panic, the mayhem, the uncertainty, the stress, the physical and psychological toll, I'm at my best, when I'm at my worst. My focus becomes laser-sharp, my ability to thin-slice, diagnose and decide is improved ten-fold, my decisions are actually better, and I even manage to convince, persuade and negotiate better than I ever would in normal situations. It's uncanny; this shit happens every time. I hate it, but I really do, in some disgusting, sadistic and self-destructive way, love it.

I even love the feeling of coming home, after everything blows over and the world returns to calm, depleted, barely able to walk, nauscious, famished, maybe a few heart beats away from cardiac arrest, and a few synapses away from losing my entire fucking mind. I love feeling like a fucking gladiator that's just taken on an entire barbarian hoarde, alone with a blunt axe and a few butter knives, in a rigged arena, with the entire crowd jeering and throwing shit at me. And most of all, I love waking up after passing out for 3 straight days. I even like how, after it all, I wonder why the fuck I put myself through this shit all the time.

I sometimes wonder if I really do take ridiculous risks at the worst possible times just to see if I come out alive and standing. It's retarded, but there's a pattern. And I don't always win, either.

I can still take some more of this punishment. Just don't get in my path right now, for your own safety, and for the good of humanity.

Aside from that, things are going good. Career is on track, if not slightly ahead of plan. Business is on track, except for a few hiccups and moments of blind fury, here and there. Money is utter shit. I sat in a Quattroporte the other day and while it's an old man's car, I can't help but loathe myself for not having a Ferrari-powered car where even the roofliner is graced with the carcasses of at least a few dead cows.

Speech is slurring and I haven't had a drip..drop? to drink.

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 23:37:56 GMT

Insomnia, sleep deprivaton in general, starvation, ridiculous levels of stress...

Another day.

Seriously now.

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 23:15:07 GMT

Who the fuck actually chooses what car they buy solely based on how likely their cars will attract women? Who the fuck? Perhaps the fact that I've been off the market for 6+ years has made me an irrelevant fart, but seriously now.

Some 20-something freshie retard at work thinks he'd land more chicks if he drove an Audi. He doesn't know that I have one. That statement made me want to get on the bus, head straight to the BMW dealership, and ask them to pick up my now-abandoned car from the lot. He claims that women are turned-off by the fact he drives a hand-me-down Hyundai Sonata.

How about the fact that his hair is as greasy as his personality, he is a slob, you can see his socks when he walks, he is an unintelligent moron, that sometimes when you walk past him you get a faint whiff of B.O. and a strong sense of desperation, that he is a low-life bottom-feeding drone with a dead-end job and isn't going anywhere - ever, that he has terrible taste in music, is as skinny as I am but has no shoulders and a pot belly (a la some other pear-shaped douche I knew in university), he can't ever stop shaking his whole fucking leg and chewing gum, his breath smells like bad Chinese food, and worst of fucking all, that he thinks he is the fucking man that knows everything about anything?

Like, he tells me how I should do my job. He doesn't even work in my fucking department. His job has nothing to do with mine. He's a low-level finance drone that makes half my fucking salary, if even that. He doesn't even really know what I do. He thinks that "marketing" means advertising, making coffee mugs, and shit. He can't stop saying "yo".

I think buying a nice car would just make the guy even worse.

I don't know of a single girl that judges a guy based on the car he drives. I'm sure they don't mind if he has a decent ride, but I seriously don't know of any.