Same as it ever was....

Recently saw "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying," the '60s film version, and I hate to say it, but for all the outdated references, its basic premise is sound. Sure, "A Secretary Is Not a Toy" reflects a time when sexual harassment was part and parcel of everyday life for working women, and I hope those days are largely behind us.

But the idea that He who sucks up succeeds--well, it's as true today as it ever was.

It's slowly dawned on me (I have noted here and elsewhere that I am not the sharpest cheddar in the cheesehaus, remember) that the reason so many managers are atrocious at performance management is because it takes too much work. For most, it's much, much easier (not to mention more pleasant) to reward those who make you feel good about yourself than to actually examine what each and every one of your charges is doing.

This I understand.

But the rub is that the suck up school of rewards can backfire BIG TIME. Like FEMA's response to Katrina BIG TIME. I mean, wasn't "Brownie" in his spot because he was liked by someone higher up, after all? Certainly not because of the emergency response experience he gained working for the Arabian Horse Association (or whatever the heck it was).

I won't tell you why this is bothering me today, but I will tell you that I have written about the importance of performance management for over a decade now, and I believe in it. As much as I believe in any management topic, with the possible exception of the importance of good customer service.

But organizations are sending their customer service operations half a world away, where they can't really keep tabs on them, and when it comes right down to it, the best way to get ahead is not to hit your numbers, but to kiss the ass above you on the corporate ladder. With VIGOR.

Sigh. Maybe that's why I enjoy The Comedy so. On a good night, one gets results--immediate, satisfying results.

Not feeling very perky today, sorry. I think my hormones are in an uproar in preparation for my body's monthly exercise in futility. The signs: I needed a crowbar to get out of bed this morning, I'm entertaining dark thoughts, and last but not least, I'm eating everything that is not nailed down.

And if I met whoever wrote, "It's a Joy Being a Girl!" I'd kick him (and what else could it be?) right in his--well, that's enough for one missive, I'd say.