applied generalization – how it works

So, brass tacks. The idea is this.

You have a problem – need a sound intepretation of something puzzling, someone to still some complex waters, a synthesis of a mess of stuff that is buzzing you – you turn to the Institute for Applied Generalization (i4ag).

At i4ag, we (I) will take a look at your problem, go for a walk, call some friends and bore them with old jokes – have a coffee, and then make sense of whatever it was that was troubling you. Honest, we will.

The solution will never be more than 350 words long, have no more than three logical steps (usually input-output-throughput), a maxium of two diagrams or other graphs when these are needed, and contain less than six footnotes and references to other helpful stuff – and we’d possibly add some stuff we (I) just kind of like to point out whatever the issue is that’s being raised. And, for a small fee, you get a PowerPoint pack to dazzle your colleagues and/or boss with.

At i4ag, we’re ready. ‘Common sense, pompously’ delivered is our motto. (Even having a ‘motto’ is pompous these days, but what the heck).

Unknown's avatarAbout i4ag
Experienced corporate public affairs counsel and former news agency journalist - interested in corporations' role in society and the value of common sense in public discourse.

3 Responses to applied generalization – how it works

  1. Rebekka Edlund's avatar Rebekka Edlund says:

    Dad, I think you need a focus group. “Common sense pompously delivered” sounds a bit … complicated. How about: “Common sense. Full stop.”

    • i4ag's avatar i4ag says:

      As a director of the Institute, you will have influence on the strategy and the marketing tactics. So I take your suggestion. “Common sense. Full stop.” it is. thanks

      • Bruce Harrison's avatar Bruce Harrison says:

        OMG! Take away consultant pomposity (surely it is wisdom in hiding, seducing demand)? Common sense is shredded by tweeters and amplified to blind far corners by bloggers. Please. Ben Franklin as counselor? He’d be the clown in the corner, by the cooler (model 1712).

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