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What’s the big idea?

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Abstract ideas are a red hot topic in the patent world these days. And the frenzy has provoked some folks to adopt the wrongheaded view that ideas are a new phenomenon.

Far from it.

Look back a few centuries. After a long fallow period during the dark ages when people mostly wandered around in circles ignoring those puzzling sensations in their crania, ideas started to multiply like rabbits.

These days, more and more people are getting ideas. They are a dime a dozen (the ideas, I mean). You cannot stop them. Frankly, if it were not for all the ideas people are having everywhere, on the subway, in the bathroom, you name it, the world would be in a bigger heap of hurt than it is. In the future, count on a gazillion more ideas spilling out of people’s little brains and onto their breakfast plates next to their yogurt and cinnamon rum lattes.

In the old days, say 2010, if you had a good idea (maybe pentagonal croissants filled with pesto sauce), you went up two flights to your local patent lawyer and got yourself a patent. Your Aunt Celia threw a couple of thousand into the venture. Within a few years the New York Times was featuring your goodies in the Food section. And you were using your patent to smack down any other dough slinger who hoped to challenge your position. This made sense. It’s how we built America, mid-century. Business, government, and the press working together. Using patents. For the common good.

As we all now know, thanks to the Supreme Court, the Congress, and the patent office, big patents on big ideas are dangerous antisocial immoral claptrap. Gasp. Thank goodness we are rid of them once and for all. The world is a safer place.

Yes. The tide has swung. Today, no self-respecting Congressperson or Supreme Court Justice dares to mouth a good word about a patent. And if she did, the dazzlingly thought-leading Wall Street Journal would skewer her alive.

This flap about ideas is tricky.

The universe of ideas once was a simple enough place to maneuver. An idea was an idea. Good, bad, big, or small. You had an important new idea, you got a patent. You have a brain-dead idea, you didn’t get a patent.

You can forget all that now. The ideas world has been Balkanized: There are abstract ideas over here and there are non-abstract ideas (I like to call them concrete ideas) over there. Abstract and concrete. There is nothing else, and nothing in between.

Concrete ideas are things like the Todd Road overpass across US 101 in Santa Rosa. That was concrete for sure. It came to life one day when Sandy Mix, an engineer in the Office of Concrete Ideas of the California Department of Transportation strode into her boss’s office and announced “We need a concrete overpass on Todd Road in Santa Rosa.” And her boss jumped up, pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and bellowed “Great idea.” Notice he said “idea” without making a fine point of whether it was an abstract idea or a concrete idea. The poor doofus didn’t know the difference. But to you and me (and everyone in Santa Rosa) hers was a concrete idea, plain as day.

Here’s the key to concrete ideas: you can patent them with no sweat. But they aren’t worth much. Because nobody cares. Sandy Mix getting a patent on the Todd Road overpass would be a non-event for Clarence Thomas, your Aunt Celia, and everyone in between. Except maybe a guy who wants to build another Todd Road overpass crossing US 101 in Santa Rosa. Yawn.

Because getting patents on concrete ideas is like shooting fish in a barrel, people are going after them with a vengeance. They’re dumbing down their square abstract ideas to make them fit the round concrete sewer hole. They’re making them “substantially more” so they don’t preempt. And they’re staying away from anything that smells like organizing human activity. (Gee, I thought patents were all about human activity.) These maneuvers keep the numbers up, the boss or the client happy, and the patent machinery running slicker’n a smelt.

Then there are the abstract ideas.

The important thing to know about abstract ideas is that you get your head handed to you and go home with your brains in your pockets if you are stupid enough to try to patent one of them.

So you need to be sure you know what abstract ideas are. And that’s a puzzle. Aren’t all ideas abstract ideas? If an idea weren’t abstract it wouldn’t be an idea, right? It would be a selfie stick or a ham sandwich or an Uber app running on your smart phone.

Here’s an abstract idea: Your new skateboard sharing app. You call it the GOOBER app. Just click the FETCH button and a guy on a peanut-shaped tandem skateboard wheels up in 3 minutes, swipes your credit card, and skates you into town for the big meeting with the GC of Apex Consumer Electronics. Or say you want to get to your boyfriend’s place pronto. You text him “I’m going to GOOBER right over. See you in ten. [suggestive smiley face].”

Of course, you don’t have a clue how to make the app, but your boyfriend does. And this idea is big. REALLY BIG.

So you GOOBER over to your patent lawyer’s bunker and are told to forget it. You can get a worthless patent on the GOOBER idea if the skateboards must have turn signals. Or you can develop a headache and a pain in the wallet failing to get what you really need: a big, broad, bold, in your face patent on your abstract idea. Neither works, because, without the patent, your Aunt Celia isn’t coming up with a plug nickel for your venture.

I have a big abstract idea of my own: Retake the high ground, de-Balkanize the world of ideas, popularize the mantra “A bold broad patent is a beautiful thing.” And push the patent bashers back to the only question that matters patent-wise: is the concept new stuff or is it the same old bunkum that people have known about for years.

Just my two cents.

Written by thinker

October 18th, 2015 at 3:50 pm

Who needs a patent office anyway?

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Patents are taking a pounding on the editorial pages of the country’s great newspapers.

And not just there. In the Supreme Court and Congress, this popular political whipping boy is being flogged without mercy. A hard-to-parse slice of corporate America seems to be pitching in, too. They’re all doing their part to safeguard civilization from the scourge of patents.

Face it. Patents are on the ropes. To hear some critics tell it, we ought to outfit the patent system with concrete boots and push it straight off the 14th Street Bridge into the icy Potomac. You can hear these wet-blanket detractors mumbling under their breath: “Patents? Hah! Stupid idea. Jefferson must have been stone drunk on corn mash hooch when he concocted that one. Patents? Baloney.”

What’s more, this round-robin choreographed public flogging promises to succeed.

And one morning soon, don’t be surprised if big-brain innovators and well-healed investors all over America find themselves peering into their bathroom mirrors while shaving or blow drying and subconsciously blurting out to their significant others still half asleep in bed—“Jamie, do you remember the quaint old patent office that I was telling you about? You know, the one with the eighteen bazillion employees that filled that big office campus in Alexandria. To the rafters. Yeah, the one that sported the best work-out facility in the free world? Y’know, I haven’t heard anything about the patent office lately. I think it went out of business. A shame, really. What do you suppose happened?”

“Huh? Could you stop blathering. I’m trying to sleep.”

And, count on this–on the same morning, at the arrivals curbs at National and Dulles and BWI, lawyers in their elegant suits and pointy shoes (with the punch-hole patterns on the toes) will be getting into black, gas-guzzling, eco-hostile car-service SUVs and leaning over the front seat backs to instruct their drivers: “Take me to the patent office.” And hearing back from the front seat—“The what office?”

Then patent bashers will dance in the streets, elated by this perfect end game. Simple. No patent office, no patents. An elegant and final solution.

Untutored observers will be non-plussed; for them, the demise of the patent office will be a head-scratching puzzle. They will see the event for what it is, a great tragedy for the American economy and technology development.

But patent cognoscenti will hardly be surprised, for they will have seen the one-column-inch ad tucked at the bottom of page 27 of the big city paper three days earlier (underneath the “Dog itches self to death” ad for Flora’s flea powder)—“Patent office closes for lack of interest. Patent shoes being sold as surplus. Call Phil’s Auction House. 571-272-8888. Leave a message.”

My advice? Don’t bother.

 

Written by thinker

June 7th, 2014 at 8:55 pm