A few years ago, (well, to be truthful quite a few years ago), I was a young and bushy-headed fellow in a $150 suit, new to corporate life and amazed at its intricacies and freebees. About three or four weeks after I joined Planet Mambo, the holiday season descended on us and the cycle of parties celebrating the end of the year began.

The first of these took place at the old Park Sheraton Hotel on 55th and 7th Avenue in Manhattan. It was a place with a lot of history. The Jackie Gleason show, The Honeymooners, was filmed there, for instance, and I believe Albert Anastasia, one of the key players in Murder Inc., was killed in a barber’s chair there in the late 1950s. By the time my old corporation (which is now as dead as both Anastasia and Murder Inc.) had its party there, the place had gone somewhat to seed. But the ballroom downstairs was pretty and lit for maximum warmth, and there were plenty of noisy people and — a  new concept to me — free scotch.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I want you to think for a minute, particularly those of you who have suckled at the plastic corporate mammary for a while, the effect on a young man of all that free booze. It was Johnny Walker Red I favored back then. It was long before the days of snooty, peaty single-malt snobbykins. Red was fine with me. And here there were, bottles and bottles of it, and all of it… free! Free! I seized a tumbler and told the bartender to fill it up. Then I did it again. Around that time, platters of little fried things began making the rounds. I inhaled a bunch of those, too.

An hour into the bash, I have to relate, I believe I was as happy as I have ever been in my life. What a world! Free stuff everywhere! Drunken friends at every turn — for were these not my friends? Ah, how I loved them, each and every one, these smiling, yelling, sweating folks I had known for lo these many weeks. My buds! My pals!

Somewhere in there, I spotted the EVP of Marketing, whom I liked a lot and was only 12 levels above me on the food chain (as was just about everybody there but the guy who delivered the mail), talking in a dignified fashion to somebody in a gray suit.

“Burt!” I said, tearing across the room and throwing a friendly arm around his shoulder. “How’s it goin’, man? Isn’t this a great friggin’ party?”

“Stan,” said Burt, looking at me with a mixture of pity and fondness that I will never forget. “This is Al Potrazibi, the Chief Financial Officer from corporate headquarters in Pittsburgh.”

“Hi, Al!” I yelled in his face. “How’s it goin’?”

“Fine,” said the cadaver standing before me. There then ensued a cold, weird silence that I now recognize as the sound of a career thumping to a halt as a gigantic mental filing cabinet is receiving a terminal entry.

“Well!” I said, drooling only slightly onto my shirtfront. “See you guys!”

I remember this incident now because 1) I survived it and 2) there was no reason I should have. The thing that saved me, in the end, was 1) Burt was a really good guy who had been known, in other venues, to tear off  his own chunk of fun now and then and 2) our corporation was divested not long after and the death-eaters from Pittsburgh lost sway.

This, of course, is only one of the many times I have disgraced myself in the line of duty at this time of year. I am not the only one. I have seen lawyers dancing with their ties around their heads. I have seen two accountants punching each other like enraged girls over their respective interpretations of some arcane aspect of GAAP. I have heard the head of ethics compliance going at it with his assistant in an empty office right next to the Boardroom. They were married, of course, although not to each other.

My point here is that in virtually each and every case, none of these people was helped by making a jerk out of themselves at the holiday party. People remember. A successful career is an act of self-mythology. You create a persona for Business. You groom and care for it over the years. They put you in a suit or outfit of some standardized kind to help make it easier on you. And then the holiday time comes and you blow it all up by showing your true self under the influence of a variety of uncontrolled substances. Take care. Beware. There will be free scotch, if you play things right, for a long, long time.

I will leave you with Bing’s Law on this subject: Always remain one drink behind.

Beyond that? Do not get naked. Do not put anything on your head. Do not fall down or throw up. Keep in mind that the party is not a break from business; it is, in fact, some of the most important business that you will do all year, not because you have an agenda at it, because that’s just plain dorky, but because it is in places where people get the right to appear informal that some of the nicest and most enduring relationships can be forged.

That long ago night, by the way? I ended up back at home on the floor of the bathroom, calling Ralph on the big white phone. Haven’t done that in a great long while, you know? And I’ll tell you what. I don’t miss it.

My prior post referred to an object of my desire — what I referred to as a “towering G5″. I had no idea when I mentioned this thing that a tsunami of you guys would leap on me the way a pack of dogs attack a wounded chipmunk, instructing me with great condescension that Mac stopped making those years ago.

Big deal. I work in a giant corporation and my entire floor is packed with G5s, and they rock. I understand that Mac now makes Mac Pros that are packed with Intel power. Here’s what they look like. They come in a big tower and I want one. It would go nicely with the Macbook Pro 12″ and 17″ laptops, the Mac Mini, the iMac and the Apple-TV that are sitting at home waiting for me right now. I say this to quiet the ill-tempered, swaggeringly pompous Macophiles who continually accuse me of not being sufficiently Mac when I occasionally poke a little hole the the slightly wormy side of the AAPL.

Sorry I got the model number wrong, or the processor designation incorrect, or the format of the digital copranshy defibrilated. No matter what you say, my point stands tall: I’m not getting an iPhone until I can use it on the network of my choice! And I DO like every single XBox I’ve played on! And that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get a Wii at some point, either. My old Super Nintendo was the best gaming system ever, maybe, except for… now get this… my old Windows PC! Yeah! I liked playing on that, too! It was WAY better than any Mac I’ve ever played on, okay? Even the G5s at my office!

Thanks for listening. Oh, and you guys who occasionally send me comments wasting your time to tell me what a waste of time reading my blog is? Bring it on! You can waste my time telling me that I’m wasting your time anytime.

Yesterday I had the temerity to take a short and somewhat gentle poke at Apple (AAPL), noting that their exclusivity to one particular network made it impossible for me to acquire the apple of the collective I — the iPhone.

A teeny-weeny storm ensued.

What happened is what usually happens around here. First the angry Apple (AAPL) fans come in, calling me names and contending that I know nothing about Marketing. Of course I know nothing about Marketing. After 25 years in business, it’s my contention that Marketing is like Economics. Everybody knows a lot about it and nobody knows anything about it. In the end, we are all equally intelligent and stupid on the subject.

For proof on this, I will point to the most superbly marketed item on the planet, the iPhone, which Apple (AAPL) rolled out with extraordinary perfection, except for the fact that it was priced wrong. So much for expertise in this area.

After the waves of invective hit me, a big number of you waded in to defend my honor and, not coincidentally, pile onto Apple (AAPL) a little bit. Some of you reminded cranky commentors that this is a site that, in between rants about one current indignity or another, indulges in satire now and then. Others forgave my ignorance and then launched into extensive technical discussions on the nature of cellular transmission and delivery. Those were very interesting. Thank you.

It is clear, as one constant reader noted, that all you have to do is talk about Apple (AAPL) to get your blog read. This is because people care intensely about Apple (AAPL). They love their Macs. They despise/love the CEO. They identify with the company as a scrappy David going up against the Phillistine Gates. They hate its critics. They defend its battlements. Others feel the exact opposite. And nobody has no opinion. Good for you, Apple (AAPL)! Passion sells. And we’re buying.

This holiday season, I have no doubt that all the Apple (AAPL) worshippers will be lining up to acquire. iMacs. Macbooks. Towering G5s. Flat screen monitors that irradiate your brain. All of them produced by the genius mind of one great corporation.

On the night before XMas, however, I won’t be home abed. I’ll be sneaking out to the nearest big box electronics store to pick up something else that starts with an X. It’s called an XBox. Perhaps you’ve heard about it. It’s surfaced as the game platform of choice for just about anybody who loves to suffuse their cerebrum with electronic cheese. I think it should go very nicely next to my AppleTV. I’m keeping quiet about it here, of course, because I don’t believe it’s made by Apple (AAPL) at all, but by some other corporation entirely (MSFT).

Gee… I hope I haven’t enraged all you Wii-heads now (NTDOY.PK).  

The Founding Fathers — if one may use that somewhat sexist phrase in this enlightened, post-Enlightenment age — crafted ten amendments to the Constitution that together form our treasured Bill of Rights. It is clear, however, that the Founders never saw the need for a new perceived entitlement that is now firmly entrenched in the hearts and minds of our citizenry. This, then, is the new Right… call it 10A: The Right To Choose.

We used to sit down every night in front of the TV and choose one of three networks. Now we have hundreds, almost all of them superfluous. An improvement? Maybe. Last night I fell asleep in front of The Mold Network. Who knew watching lichen form on a log could be so interesting? One thing’s for sure, though. I was very excited to have the chance to choose it. Made me feel, you know… important.

Better still, I time-shifted the program with my new DVR. That meant not only that I could choose the program I wanted, but I could choose to watch it when I wanted to. Boy, that felt good, viewing that lichen forming on the log a full hour later than when it was originally scheduled. I like being able to choose the time as well, not just the content. I consider it my right, you know. As a consumer and an American.

I choose the music I play on my Ipod. I choose the videos I like on YouTube. I choose from six kinds of apples I buy in one of six supermarkets in my general neighborhood. I exercise my rights under Amendment 10A every chance I get. This makes me feel empowered. This makes me feel good as an American.

Up until now, however, I could choose my cellular network but I could not have complete freedom of choice about the cellphone I utilized to hop into it. Now all that has changed, and I can feel my heart beginning to burst into song. Or maybe it’s the second helping of bacon I had at breakfast. No! It’s song, definitely.

I’ll tell you the reason why. News comes in USA TODAY this morning that Verizon (VZ), the #2 cellphone network provider in the U.S., has decided to open the floodgates of history and allow people complete freedom of choice about the phones they may use as Verizon subscribers. Hurrah for you, Verizon. You have made the world our oyster, and removed one giant disincentive to be a part of the Verizon cosmos. If a phone doesn’t work on the Verizon network, it’s probably because that phone was designed to be exclusive to some other.

Which brings us to the fabulous, fantastic, must-have gizmo of the new century — Apple’s iPhone (AAPL), which only functions within the alternative universe of AT&T.  I have nothing against that network. I’m sure it’s a fine one, festooned with pretty green trees and blue skies. I just don’t belong to it. And so I can never have an iPhone. And this makes me sad. More than that! I makes me mad. As an American.

A company I love is denying me of my right under Amendment 10A of our Constitution to choose something. Come on, Apple! Let freedom ring! With the ringtone of my choice, that is!

I say “dudes,” dudes, because I have noticed that, far from fading away, the use of surfer lingo in middle-aged business executives is flourishing. You haven’t really lived until you’ve seen a guy in a $2000 pinstripe, $500 wing tips and one hair artfully arranged on his shiny head say, “Dude, awesome weekend.”

My favorite comment of the day comes from M. Smith of Colber, Georgia (unless she’s M. Smith Colber, of Georgia), who reminds us that, behind all the headlines, all the business manuals, all the economic analyses of this supposedly rational sub-strata of society, organizational life continues in its eternal dance of madness and complaint.  She writes:

Wow, are you sure you’re not in Georgia? My boss takes the cake on bullying. I have gone home crying so many times that it is pityful. My boss can take you into her office and make you feel like dirt and then come out smiling and telling everyone that you are the best thing ever. She is insane. She picks on people for stupid little things that don’t even matter. She is a principal and she has 3 spies or like I call them (pawns) that run around and get all the dirt they can on people and run back and tell her just to get things started. There noses are so brown they look chocolate covered. She would never believe anyone over them, even people who have worked there for 30 years. She has a new lil spy now who she is treating like gold for this year. Just wait till next year and she will be in the same boat as everyone else. I’m just glad I found the articles on corporate psychopaths and now I know how to deal with her.

I’d be interested to know how M. plans to “deal with her.” And I’m hoping that our ongoing discussion of Crazy Bosses, and the requisite purchase of my book on the subject, helps smooth her way.

Beyond that, I’ll just say so long for now. I’ve got a lot on tap today. A subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ours has a product coming out of China that may have a few wrinkles to iron out. I can’t be more revealing than that, except to say that I have every confidence that our Chinese suppliers have operated with nothing but the most rigorous integrity in the matter.

Have a good day, dudes!

Visitors to the Fortune website today will be treated to the brand-spanking new look and feel of the premier business destination on the planet. It’s clean. It’s sharp. It’s as fast as approval on a low-cost ARM.

No, wait a minute. At this point, it’s faster. A lot of people worked long and hard behind the scenes to make this elegance and simplicity a reality. Think one of those James Bond movies where a huge team of people swarms an underground complex, each with a white jumpsuit and digital clipboard. It was sort of like that.

To kick off the launch of this beautiful new baby, I’ve answered a passel of questions from you guys which will be featured in the Ask Bing section for the next couple of days. Keep those queries coming, by the way. I love to hear about your problems. They perk me up when I’m low.

Finally for this rainy, crispy autumn day in New York, I’ll just say Welcome Back to whatever it is you do after the enforced four-day retreat into family life. It’s interesting how much worse Sunday night is than Monday morning. Right now, I’m at my desk, the mail is done. It’s halfway to lunchtime. What was I up at 3 AM about, chewing on the inside of my cheek?

Don’t you have that Sunday anxiety meltdown thing? And if not, tell me… why not? Like, how do you keep your mellow from being harshed on a daily/weekly basis? Without booze, I mean.

It’s 6:00 AM, and all the world’s asleep, except it’s not, of course. The American Airlines terminal is alive with bustling humanity headed to and fro. There are lines out front and lines at Security. The magazine stores are humming. The smell of coffee and greasy things frying nicely fills the air. We are headed out.

These days, people greet each other at this time of year with vague, unspecific salutations. “Happy Holiday,” seems to predominate from Halloween onwards. This is Thanksgiving, an event with an actual name, but the whole season seems to be mutating into one long festival of food and drink and somewhat enforced gaiety. “Happy Holidays,” says the attendant at the check-in counter. “Have a good Thanksgiving,” I reply. I don’t want this day to go the way of Washington’s Birthday and Lincoln’s Birthday, and turn into a President’s Day with no particular significance.

Today we set down our implements, whatever they may be, unplug our minds from the vast network that is our collective brain, and head off to plug back in to other places, places of the heart, if we are very lucky, or, if life has swept us elsewhere, to places where a certain kind of welcome may be offered.

I wish all of you the best. I hope you enjoy the people you are with, do not find cause to fight with Uncle Bob about his refusal to quit smoking in the house, or mom because she cheesed out on the turkey this year and served meatloaf, or your spouse because he or she had too much to eat or drink and slept the afternoon away, or the kids because they once again refused to be cordial at the table, or mom and dad because they’re the same as they ever was.

And my heart in particular goes out to those of you now reading this who are oppressed on this holiday, imprisoned in your offices and forced to work by management that was incapable of planning things so that its workers could take these precious four days off. It’s an old story. All of us in business have endured this gulag of bad timing. We see it coming through a long way off, as travelers to Siberia must have seen the frozen tundra up ahead and known it was their destination.

Three weeks out, somebody says, “Hey, we’re planning the launch of Project X for December 1.” And everybody looks at each other and thinks, “Well. There goes another long weekend.” In this way I have seen New Year’s Eves, Memorial Days, Labor Days and countless Thanksgivings and Christmases spoiled by the workaholic Scrooges who march to their own despotic timetables not of their own making.

Wherever you are, you who labor while we rest and feast, we take a moment to raise that that turkey leg in a silent salute of tribute.

Me, I plan to take the rest of this weekend off. I’m one of the lucky ones, and I appreciate it. I may even let my BlackBerry run down.

Safe travels, everybody. Even if you’re not going anywhere.

Word comes in today’s USA Today that Thanksgiving, once a non-religious holiday in the United States, has finally morphed into one in which we collectively worship at the central shrine in our culture: Wal-Mart (WMT).

That’s right, new studies of our consumer behavior show that as soon as the first round of turkey is tucked away, an increasing number of us are going online to shop at our favorite stores, and some of us are even leaving the couch for a while to get the Xmas season started early.

In recognition of this fact, stores are now moving their Black Friday promotions to Thanksgiving Thursday, so that people can get busy dumping their wallets into the collective maw of our mercantile establishment.

And so the time we must spend with our families, fruitlessly not working or shopping, once again shrinks to a size even more miniscule than it was before. Already many of our holidays have become excuses to buy new cars or bulk up on consumer goods offered for that day only at fabulous prices. Now Thanksgiving is wide open too!

Ka-Ching! Now… On To Christmas!

Over the weekend I was annoyed to get one of those idiot chain emails from somebody who has me on their list for some reason – a person I do not know, a status I intend to maintain. It’s bad enough when you get one of these things on your office email and can see immediately what’s going on. But when you’re reading a chain email on a Blackberry? You have to scroll down until your thumb gets tired, passing by long fields of addresses and then more addresses and still more Fw:s until you get to the core email, which turns out to be a stupid piece of nonsense like this one:

Dear Friends: Please do not take this for a junk letter. Bill Gates sharing his fortune. Microsoft and AOL are now the largest Internet companies and in an effort to make sure that Internet Explorer remains the most widely used program, Microsoft and AOL are running an e-mail beta. When you forward this e-mail to friends, Microsoft can and will track it (If you are a Microsoft Windows user) for a two week period. For every person that you forward this e-mail to, Microsoft will pay you $245.00 For every person that you sent it to that forwards it on, Microsoft will pay you $243.00 and for every third person that receives it, You will be paid $241.00. Within two weeks, Microsoft will contact you for your address and then send you a check.

Regards. Charles S Bailey General Manager
Field Operations,
1-800-842-2332 Ext.. 1085 or 904-1085 or RNX 292-1085

Thought this was a scam myself, But two weeks after receiving this e-mail and forwarding it on. Microsoft contacted me for my address and within days, I received a check for $24,800.00. You need to respond before the beta testing is over. If anyone can afford this, Bill gates is the man. It’s all marketing expense to him. Please forward this to as many people as possible. You are bound to get at least $10, 000.00.

The email was a lot longer than this, and it clearly had the desired effect because before it got to me it was sent by bulk to no fewer than a hundred different dweebs in four separate forwardings. So now I have all THEIR email addresses and they have mine. Is that a good thing? I don’t think so.

I’m as interested in $245 from Microsoft (MSFT) as the next guy, of course, but it only took one Google (GOOG) to ascertain that this is an urban legend/scam that’s been around for ten years, maybe more, and always with the same exact text that made it around this past weekend. There was no article in USA Today. Bill Gates is not giving away any money, not to us, at any rate.

Perhaps the inclusion of AOL in this idiocy should have been a tipoff of some kind. Who, writing at this time, would include that particular portal in an enterprise of this sort? Nah. They’d goof on Facebook or MySpace or Schlump or some other next-gen destination.

The bottom line is this, guys: Don’t send me any bogus chain emails from here on in, okay? I have other things on my mind. And I’m still waiting for that $80,000,000 check that former king of Nigeria is sending me. That should arrive any day now. I sent them all my banking information. I wonder what’s taking so long?