First Printing – SOLD OUT (14 hrs) – Freight received, All orders shipped ✔️ Second Printing – SOLD OUT (19 hrs) – LTL freight received, All orders shipped ✔️ Third Printing – SOLD OUT (5 days) – LTL freight received, All orders shipped ✔️
Fourth Printing – 11 UNITS LEFT IN STOCK – LTL freight received, All orders shipped✔️
A teaser extract from the Observer Ranch presentation, May 1 2026.
Remember Who You Are…
Westward view at Observer’s Conference, Penrose, Colorado, 1 – 5 May 2026
Since you are reading this, I will let you in on a little secret here: studies are forthcoming which will show the majority of older cities worldwide, and especially cities at higher elevations above 2250 ft, show a clear bias toward Np’ over our current north pole or any other alignment. The cities which show a clear bias towards the current north pole, are all in the ECDO inundation footprint. This will send ECDO Theory off the charts in interest. Get a part of the original work, and author’s touch, here, while you can. Once the big publishers get hold of this – it will be a different ballgame.
Coming April 2026 — A New Knowledge
It took more than two decades to assemble the line of research presented in this work — years spent in strategic analysis, intelligence work, materials science, complex initiative planning, detailed engineering and specification, construction, and operational discipline. During this long development of the theory, I gradually endured the internal struggles that accompany a worldview reshaped far outside the bounds of what was instilled in childhood or instruction. Accordingly, I do not underestimate the burden of dissonance that may settle upon the shoulders of a reader encountering this argument for the first time, or in a single sitting.
Despite the apparent darkness of its tone, the reader may discern an undercurrent of Gnostic optimism. I define faith not as a matter of holding to a set of doctrinal beliefs or performative deeds of virtue, but as the quiet art of living small lives with patience, love, and integrity — despite every temptation to submit to the contrary.
Hold one another close, for that is the only thing that is real. In this simple truth resides the joy each person must ultimately come to understand.
More is at play in our seemingly absurd circumstance than we are presently equipped to know. We are not alone …and never have been.
Any sufficiently advanced act of benevolence is indistinguishable from either malevolence or chance.
~ Ethical Skeptic’s Third Law of Advanced Intelligence
Goodhart’s Law and the Death of Honest Inquiry — One of the most expensive lies I have ever had to endure.
Several decades ago, my firm was retained by a large U.S. off-price retail brand to develop the strategy, engineer, and implement a new operating region in the southeastern United States. It was precisely the kind of challenge I relished.
After my value chain team completed the strategic analysis — which was well received — the engineering effort began. The engineering group’s objective was not merely to design a distribution center, but to build an operation whose performance could be understood from the ground up. Every component was developed by asking first questions, then proceeding from first principles — what I have elsewhere called the critical path. Travel distances were minimized. Labor methods were standardized. Material flow was carefully balanced. Every second of work content was measured and accounted for before the first mechandise ever entered the facility. Following startup, I remained to help manage the operation, ensuring that the primary operation performed as it had been designed.
On paper, everything should have worked.
Instead, one stubborn number refused to cooperate.
Our new central facility consistently processed approximately 97 units per labor hour. A long-established sister operation in Ohio, however, was most recently achieving 114 UPH.
The conclusion throughout the organization seemed obvious: Our new facility must have embodied an inferior operational design.
As the engineer responsible for that design, I adopted what I regarded as the proper null hypothesis: that my own engineering contained a defect. That assumption deserved the first — and most exhaustive — attempt at falsification. If the design was flawed, reality would eventually reveal where.
For months, my team and I searched for the superfluous work content within the facility itself. We dissected every operation. I spent no less than six hours each operating day walking the floor. Individual work elements were repeatedly audited. Labor standards were reviewed while standing beside the associates performing the work. We recalculated travel distances, challenged supervisors, questioned our assumptions, and reexamined every critical path we had engineered.
Reality never cooperated.
Every investigation returned to the same conclusion: The design was not the problem.
Something else was.
Only after the engineering had survived every serious attempt at falsification did I expand the system boundary. The flaw, it turned out, was not in the engineering at all. It was in the experiment. Only after assuming operational responsibility within the facility did I finally gain access to records that had been unavailable to me as an outside consultant: the inbound freight invoices.
There, buried among otherwise routine transportation charges, lay the answer that months of operational analysis had failed to uncover. Approximately forty percent of the work content in our southeastern operation — and in every distribution center based upon the source-based strategy we had implemented — consisted of manually applying price tickets to merchandise before it could be distributed.
The Ohio facility performed essentially none of that work. It was, apples-to-apples, performing at 68 UPH in comparison to our operation’s 97 UPH.
Its management had quietly contracted with their inbound freight consolidator to apply every price ticket before the merchandise ever reached the distribution operations. The work had not been eliminated. It had merely been relocated — into a sphere that was not ideally suited to perform such work to begin with.
The labor had not disappeared. It had crossed an accounting boundary. It had been shifted to another player, who executed it at an even higher cost.
For several weeks, I simply sat with that discovery.
It explained everything.
The outsourced ticketing labor had increased inbound freight costs dramatically, as one would expect. Yet, in a remarkable continuation of the illusion, the increased freight expenditures were attributed to a supposed failure in the distribution strategy itself — as though I had somehow underestimated freight mileage. Having personally designed every major cost component of the network, I knew that explanation could not withstand even a cursory audit.
The Ohio distribution center had not become dramatically more productive. It had simply begun measuring productivity after someone else had already completed the largest component of the labor on its behalf.
The single facility metric improved. The enterprise did not. Exorbitant executive bonuses were paid — while the hot currency of blame was paid out as well.
Goodhart’s Law and the Underlying Pathology
What had actually improved was the appearance of productivity. The underlying work content remained essentially unchanged; it had merely been transferred across an accounting boundary and concealed within inbound freight expense. Management lacked sufficient visibility into its own cost structure to recognize what had occurred.
My team published the complete supporting analyses, including the underlying accounting source files that documented the transfer of labor. We even visited the facility where this work was being done and photographed the operations — cartons spread out over an entire facility floor, while ladies scurried about, ticket guns in hand. It made no difference. By that point, the organizational narrative had already taken hold. Perception had become more valuable than investigation.
This is why I don’t hire B-students. They are merely C-students who are willing to cheat. They learn how to manipulate the single metric.
Successful companies are not immune to this phenomenon. In fact, prosperity can make it easier to overlook it. Strong sales often conceal operational weaknesses that would otherwise demand careful scrutiny. This organization had fallen into precisely that trap, allowing one opaque performance metric to substitute for an understanding of the system itself.
Years later, I discovered that economists had already given this phenomenon a name.
Goodhart’s Law
When a single measure becomes the goal, it ceases to be a good measure.
Charles Goodhart originally observed this principle while studying monetary policy, but it has since become one of the most profound insights in systems engineering, economics, medicine, artificial intelligence, and organizational behavior.
Metrics exist to describe reality.
Targets incentivize people to modify the measurement instead.
Sometimes intentionally. More often unconsciously.
Either way, the consequence is the same. The measure gradually replaces the objective, and gradually as well, perception rules over reality. This is a common circumstance in both government as well as large logo-wearing businesses.
There are evenings now when I find myself wondering whether I chose the wrong profession. Perhaps I should have remained in the hills of Tennessee after high school. Built guitars. Played bluegrass on weekends. Learned to coax music from maple and spruce instead of explanations from boardrooms looking to sink blame into the most expendable party. Of course, as a consultant, you are also compensated to take the blame at times.
The Honesty of Tone Wood
Several followers of The Ethical Skeptic have noticed in recent podcasts the array of guitars I have mounted upon my studio wall. There is a reason for this. Wood possesses an honesty that corporations — and even scientific cabals — rarely achieve.
Be cautious of truths that rely upon Cox proportional hazards models, claims of “no relationship” inferred from statistical silence or appeal to ignorance, or conveniently exploited p-values. Like the warehouse that appeared more productive only because the labor had been moved across an accounting boundary, much of the analytical heavy lifting is often performed quietly within the exclusion criteria — beyond the reader’s view and, too often, beyond the investigator’s awareness.
In contrast, a guitar does not negotiate with reality. It cannot be designed by committee, nor peer-reviewed into excellence.
If the wood is poorly chosen or the bracing inexpertly shaped, the instrument sounds boxy. If the neck angle is wrong, the frets buzz. If the soundboard is over-braced, it refuses to sing. If the intonation is imperfect, every chord quietly testifies against its set-up.
The instrument neither flatters nor condemns. It simply reveals.
Its honesty does not arise from publishing schematics to GitHub, modeling harmonic responses in Python, or inviting endless commentary from those who have never shaped a piece of spruce in their life. It arises from expression, intonation, sustain, and voice. The guitar places itself before the listener with complete indifference to reputation.
Its voice arrives naked before the craftsman, asking neither for excuses nor narratives — only perceptive appreciation.
That, perhaps, is why I continue to admire both these instruments and those who devote their lives to building them.
Reality cannot be managed there. Only respected.
Perhaps that illustrates as clearly as anything the divide between the craftsman and the pretender.
The craftsman seeks the profound connection between first principles and outcomes. Every imperfection is welcomed as instruction. Every failure reveals another opportunity. Every success remains provisional until the instrument itself agrees.
The pretender seeks refuge in tools, credentials, procedure, and consensus. Explanations become substitutes for observation. Appearance replaces comprehension. The metric gradually becomes more important than the phenomenon it was intended to describe.
The guitar willingly surrenders its reality. The B-student measure-phile spends a lifetime negotiating with perception.
