Everybody reacts to certain sounds in ways that range from cringing to anaphylactic shock. It may be chalk squeaking on a blackboard, fingernails scraping a screen, or even two pieces of corduroy rubbing together.

For me it’s the fingernail/screen combination. If I’m ever captured by an enemy bent on learning all of my secrets (both of ’em!), all they’ll have to do is brandish the screen in front of me. I’ll cave in an instant.

Sometimes whole sentences can cause just as intense a reaction. Many InfoWorld readers react to various examples of ManagementSpeak like those that begin this column. (Me too.)

Another source of acoustic chafing: People who tell you what you’re thinking and feeling (“Don’t get defensive,” is the perfect example, requiring extraordinary self-restraint and conversational dexterity in response). Deal with what I say and do, pal. I’m in a better position to describe my thoughts and feelings than you are.

There’s a new kid on the block that puts the others to shame. It goes like this: “The technology is the easy part.”

I hear people say this all the time these days. These people have never written a line of code in their lives, of course, and that may explain why they’re so comfortable saying it while calling programmers “bit-heads” and “nerds.” For them, technology is the easy part. They get to toss out high-level, fuzzily stated requirements. Then they sneer at programmers who bug them with questions, using the popular put-down: “Clearly you’re not comfortable dealing with ambiguity.”

There’s not much point explaining that it’s C++, not you, that’s uncomfortable dealing with ambiguity. These characters are so busy being self-important that they don’t have the time to deal with a mere technologist, who after all gets to deal with the easy part of the problem.

With a little less arrogance and a bit more patience, these important businesspeople would learn that they do indeed have a very difficult job, which they often shirk. That’s the process of clearly and unambiguously defining what the business needs. Usually, this means creating a detailed picture of a business process that doesn’t exist, along with every resource that process will need to be put into practice.

That’s hard. It requires, time, thought, and patience, so it usually goes undone.

Yes, when business planners do their jobs well they make the job of the technologist easier. Not easy, but easier. Somebody has to take the big picture and refine it into the kind of detail a data designer can translate into a schema and a programmer can translate into code. Too often, the people who end up having to do the refinement are the programmers and data designers, who collar the business planner in the hallway to ask annoying questions.

I’ve known IS programmer/analysts who have been assigned to a new business unit to “create the technology” and instead have designed every key business process along with defining the technology, up to and including the invoice design.

(Which, by the way, points to a solution. Place a programmer in a business area, actually doing the work. That puts the programmer in a great position to envision, and immediately build, efficient, technology-centered work processes. Try making this an endorsed system-design methodology.)

The devil is in the details, of course, and the ultimate level of detail is the actual code. It takes talented programmers to write good code that gets the job done. I guess it’s because the devil is in the details that so many businesspeople simultaneously denigrate and demonize the technologists who translate their “important concepts” to reality.

When I first heard about the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, I wondered why everyone was so worried about Heisenberg’s uncertainty. I knew lots of people who weren’t certain about any number of things.

I’m more sophisticated now, although not so much so that I’ve actually learned the mathematics. I’ve learned, for example, the basic idea behind the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle — that the act of observing any phenomenon affects the observed phenomenon.

Here’s one useful application of this little Nobel-prize-winning insight. The next time you read a market analysis or prediction from one of the big market research organizations … Gartner, Meta, Forrester, IDC … consider this Heisenbergish notion: When these groups observe, analyze, and report on the technology marketplace and you act on their observations, you and they together distort the marketplace.

I’d love to tell you that I have a terrific solution to this dilemma. I don’t. Since Albert Einstein failed to find a loophole in the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle; I’m not all that depressed that I haven’t found one either. It’s a fundamental property of the universe.

Speaking of the Gartner Group, I received quite a bit of feedback on my recent critique of its highly publicized total cost of ownership (TCO) model for personal computers. Several readers suggested a way to measure the value of the PC — “simply” figure out everything you’d have to spend to keep the work going if you got rid of them.

You’d certainly get a huge number, even if you didn’t include the cards your employees would need to continue playing solitaire. I’m afraid the number wouldn’t mean much more than the TCO itself, though. PCs have transformed the workplace in fundamental ways, defining new kinds of work that were previously impossible, invalidating other activities and skills that used to be of vital importance, and changing how communication flows, not just within the company but throughout the marketplace.

Since not all of the changes are for the better, calculating the cost of undoing them wouldn’t measure value. It would measure the cost of making time flow backward.

Good try, though.

I got lots of requests for the “Total Cost of a Day Planner” calculation from my debate with the Gartner Group at its 1993 Annual Symposium, so here’s the five-year calculation, based on Gartner’s standard $40 per hour fully loaded cost of an employee and 48 productive weeks per year:

Figure the day planner costs about $150. The time management course itself probably costs the company another $150. And it costs a day of employee time, so at $40/hour times 8 hours that’s $320. And every year you buy refills for about $50 — $200 over five years.

Add up the 15 minutes every morning you’re supposed to spend planning your day and you get $12,000 over five years. During the day you may spend 10 minutes putting things on your to-do list and scratching them off. Over five years that totals up to another $8,000. In the evening before you go home you’re supposed to spend another five minutes recapping the day — over five years, another $4,000.

Then there’s the time you spend fiddling with refills, because every so often you have to take stuff out of the book and put new stuff in. That adds another $600.

Add it all up and the TCO for day planners is pretty shocking: $25,420 over five years.

Okay, I’ve done my part. I’ve done my best to debunk the whole silly TCO idea. Now it’s your turn. If I’ve convinced you and you subscribe to Gartner or any other organization that calculates TCO, it’s time to let them know you don’t want to spend another nickel on it. Overhead costs? Yes. Cost per hour of use? Yes.

TCO? As Nancy Reagan used to say, “Just say no.”