all in one

On Friday X got an e-mail from a D.C. liquor store - some now near legendary joynt that provided the Singleton for Christmas - about a new release Spanish wine that Charles Parker rated a gazillion. She just happened to open her e-mail between 10:00am and 10:09am and decided to plop down an order for 2 bottles at $16.99. Done deal, hands dusted. We swung by after work to pick up her two bottles where upon she was treated as some legend who'd mastered wine greatness. Apparently, only 50 cases were delivered to the greater D.C. area and this shop managed 49 of them. Wth a limit of six bottles per customer, only 98 D.C-area customers tapped out the 588 bottles - well, 47 with 6 each, X with 2, and one person who called and could only get four, and now doubt wondered who the hell would call on release day to only buy two? If you're getting in during the nine-minute selling period you'd surely buy six. I'm sure the talk around the nation's capital wine circles over the weekend involved determining just who busted up the six pack. Along with that discussion, they must have awoken a bit hungover, because we were. Breca packs a 15% alcohol content and it certainly knocked us around (during our rousing new geography game). It is very, very good.

This is a picture of one of the two matching handmade mugs I've gathered from an Eastern Market artist. I keep one at work, one that I've been using for coffee for about a year - everyone (most) know this is my mug; I have it at meetings nearly every morning. Anyway, about three weeks ago it went missing, and I quickly sorted that I must have left it on someone's desk whilst walking about pontificaing, as I'm wont to do. Well, nothing. After a number of weeks with no one saying, "Hey, Pontiff, you left you mug on my desk," or (walking to my desk an hour later) "Here's your mug old man. I hope you don't leave your kids alone in strange places." Finally, last Monday one of my closer confederates says this to me, "Hey, I think your mug, the blue-and-white one, is on Beasley's desk. I think he's keeping pens and pencils in it." What the fuck? I remember going to Beasley's desk for something a few weeks back - a rare event - and the bell finally rings that I did leave my mug on or near his desk. Most likely with at least a quarter cup of coffee still in it. Let's break down this scenario a little more: you've discovered and unknown coffee cup on your desk. Hmm. Said cup is pretty distinctive in styling; you aren't looking at a styrofoam cup, or anything that looks as 'distinctive' as this:

I guess if it did look like that you might think something other than "this clearly belongs to someone", take it to the kitchen, rinse it out, and leave it in the drainer. Nope, not happening here. You have a handmade mug left on your desk, including some coffee undrinked, and you decide this: I'll just rinse this bitch out, give it a dry, and put my pens and pencils in it. Bingo. This is akin to seeing some kid wandering across your lawn, grabbing him, giving him a shower, and having him settle into your family. Look at my mug. How could you not figure that it belonged to someone? I'll never know. I did see him in the hall after data was received and nicely said, "Beasley, I hear my mug is on your desk holding your pens and pencils." To which he replied, "The ceramic blue one? I'll get my stuff out of it and bring it to your desk." Fade to black.

This is the final install of the cat door/vaporlock. As you see, it has space for a plant, a candle, and the cats' stockings come Christmas. For you non-local folk, the hand-built box has two doors: the one you see, and one on the opposite end, outside access. The cats can't have both doors open at the same time so the cold air (or heat in the summer) doesn't much affect our weather bill. (Yes, there's carpet inside the vaporlock - seriously?). There's the carpeted platform inside, a painted platform outside. Lemon figured it out in about half a day; Pumpkin took some coaxing and a few days of thought. All is fine now.

i'll need you to rip that shit out

The week kicked off with my use of ‘traffic cones’ in the morning meeting, “It seems the only traffic cones that might present a problem are…” We’ll give it a bit of time to percolate and see what kind of run it gets by end of the week.

I also reconfigured my cube to a standup desk fashion runway. Down to one massive monitor and a purpose-built riser that moves everything up to my level – it’s like I’m a circus clown around here. I’ve already ordered an ergo mat for the floor so that will only add to the curiosity of others. I’ve decided there are too many people I’d like to be around for awhile, and dying of a heart attack because I sat on my arse for years would, quite frankly, be embarrassing.

Over the weekend we moved forward with stripping a 6 x 40 (?) foot area from the front of the yard; it’s now garden in a near complete state. The issue was getting rid of the grass before turning the rock hard Virginia clay with leaf mold. The old timey method involves me, a spade, and twelve hours of my time. The less old timey way involves the use of this:


Now, that guy is overdressed for the job; and that hair is something. I actually think the ‘sod cutter’ label is in the wrong place – that should be pointed at dude’s head. You know that happens without guy to kick that damn thing around the yard? Nothing. It’s wood and metal. It’s parts. Unfortunately, the gas powered beast wouldn’t fit in the Merc wagon so me and the rental tool staff were laughing about how much work I had ahead of me on a lovely Saturday. Funny. While my dear was completing the paperwork for the enhanced sod removal device, a landscaper (with a truck) walks in and volunteers to bring the real thing to the house, gratis. And pick it up. And give us about $50 of high-quality mulch. I don’t know how she does it. I asked him if this tool/lawn/nice guy thing was his chosen superhero trait. Makes you hope for society, doesn’t it. Anyway, I ended up with something like this instead, which took about 40 minutes of my time to clear the desired area:


I don’t want you to get any ideas in your head about this being simple. Running this beast, with my little experience, sort of feels like this:


I got my eight seconds and called it a day.

(Speaking of me and machinary or mechanics, if you haven't heard my story on changing the oil on my Geo Metro, circa 1998, you might not understand.)

The front yard, with my lovely gardeness working endless hours, is looking very nice. I’ll get a picture tonight.

pivot

I am so tired of mindless meeting speak. Most of my co-workers know this fact because of how much I laugh and rail at their attempts at fitting in with pathetic vocabulary. Every single person here works this amateur vocabulary into everything they say. In this job a lot of the vernacular comes from the military but there are enough non-military folks that oftentimes business lingo hops over the moat. Yesterday morning, in a two sentence opening by one person, I wrote down the following phrases: pillars, stovepipes, lanes of the road, fidelity, cart/horse, and show the math. Stunning. I’ve been particularly harsh on the users (and it’s everyone) of “lanes of the road,” it may be the most overused phrase since “it is what it is.” Which, by the way, makes you sound like a moron.

My game for the next month is to try to get everyone using crazy terms that I’m going to simply pull from (almost) thin air: One phrase per week that I’ll use at least once a day in our various meetings and strolling discussions. I’ll have to be careful because anything too random will signal to the lemmings that it’s not a serious phrase. At the same time, it has to have some pull to those unable to actually speak normally; my first thought was to try out ‘widdershins’* but I don’t think it’ll do anything but make people wonder, “Right, I see your point, but let’s go widdershins around the table. Bob?” I think I’ll have to grab an idea from the world of traffic and somehow make it work, I'm contemplating some version of either 'on ramp' or 'off ramp'.

Any suggestions are welcome.

*** I'd never heard of, or used, widdershins until X brought it up last week. Fantastic word.

do not

I’ve been hand-making donuts at my weekend gig for the last six weeks. That’s not at the heart of this story, but I can at least vaguely tie into some professional donut qualification.

There’s a small Dunkin’ Donuts inside the shoppette here on base (for those non-mil types, the shoppette is essentially the combo gas station/7-11 on base). Since I walk right by while heading to work, I usually grab a cup of coffee to get me through the morning. The problem of the Dunkin’ Donuts is multi-faceted, but I only care to address today’s issue: buying dozens of donuts for work. Aside from the fact that I don’t care to stand in line while you buy three dozen donuts, what exactly are you doing with the individual donut type selection? Let’s imagine you’re buying two dozen donuts for your office. (For those who’ve worked in the same nozzle plant for a million years, play along.) Do you have the knowledge and personal connection to the donut eaters to know whether they like filled, cake, raised, sprinkles, chocolate, maple, etc.? Would you be standing in line thinking that Debbie in accounting would definitely want a bear claw with her coffee? Oh, and make sure to get a jelly-filled and a custard-filled donuts for Doug and Bob in shipping (they are always referred to as ‘Doug and Bob’ because they are like an old, married couple who’ve working in shipping for 15 years). How about just firing off the “fill two dozen boxes with a full mix of what you have up there” accepted technique and letting the donut artists do their job? We can be rid of you in about one minute instead of the 10 minutes I’m standing behind you listening to “one maple cake…..(pause)……two of the sprinkle ones. No the purple sprinkles not the white one. No the purple frosting, not the sprinkles. (Pause) (Pause) Two of the plain glazed. One maple cake. Wait, I already have one of those. (Pause) Two of the…..”

(fade to death)

i order the large cup of coffee

Well, maybe I’m settled in after nearly three months at the new job. Plus, I’m out of school for a quarter so I’ll have all my evening free until after the New Year (I only have one quarter left, but they aren’t offering two of the last three classes I need so I’m in holding for a bit). I am working a brunch on Saturdays and Sundays (at least until about Thanksgiving) so sleeping in and weekend days are a bit garbled up.

Apparently there’s a coffee mug in the house that X doesn’t care to use. It’s one she brought home not long ago, and it mirrors any number of big, bulky,’ bust-a-head’ open mugs that we’ve gathered over the years. The funny thing is that about a week ago I found the mug stored in a cupboard above the microwave (there’s nothing up there but rarely used dry goods) when I was grabbing some pasta. I figured that Henry has put it up there while fulfilling his duty as dishwasher emptier – even though that made no real sense – so I took it down and used it a day or two later for coffee. I hadn’t realized it had gone missing again until Monday night when I went to the cloth napkin drawer at dinner, and there it was tucked away with the linen. What the hell? Now I knew that Henry was crazy: the napkin drawer on the other side of the kitchen? I put it on the counter as I headed back to the table and it was then that X pointed out, in a threateningly/meek manner, that she didn’t like that mug and didn’t want any coffee in it…ever. So, instead of simply saying that she didn’t like the mug – and we didn’t get into any detail in that area because I was laughing too hard – she was attempting to hide it “where I wouldn’t find it.” This is reminiscent of her pointing out a few years back that she didn’t care for shitake mushrooms (after three years of my using them), and last month where she said she didn’t want hummus ever again. I caught me a good one.

lean just a bit, kids. it'll miss us...

There’s ongoing sarcasm on The Hilltop when it comes to self-diagnosing via the Internet. The latest episode was X trying to Google© her way into figuring out what’s wrong with her left shoulder. Of course, the result of this was someone pointing out to her that there’s no reason to internet your way to health when you have Dr. Sam available to give you a professional, and correct, consultation. Why the obsession with figuring this stuff out on your own? Then again, she also researched how to get the family of raccoons out of our roof/attic. That was more successful. I guess I’m good with raccoons, not so much with health…or weather. (By the way, to get raccoons out all you need is some Led Zeppelin and a 100-watt light bulb.)

We had some quick, powerful storms roll through over the weekend – I think it all happened while I was at a play on Sunday (more on that later). I find out today, from someone I’ll call “Brian”, that there were serious tornado warnings up in the Baltimore area - the kind of stuff where the radio and emergency broadcast system are telling everyone to take shelter. (“Brian” was in Baltimore.) Fortunately, he took a look at the radar picture on his smart phone and correctly ‘assessed’ (on a 2”x4” screen) that they were a safe distance from disaster. This is also one of those times when your certificate from fifth-grade weather class doesn’t actually gain you AMS certification. If something bad had happened, and we’re glad it didn’t, the interview with “Brian” and the local news reporter, begun shortly after the house was spun off towards Kansas, would have been pure gold.

The 51 took in The 25^th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee at Keegan on Sunday. It was a romping good time and L. participated on stage as one of the four volunteer spellers. She hung around with cast and crew for about the first 30 minutes of the show, while correctly spelling the two words they allowed for each contestant before eventually having to get them off the stage via an impossible-to-spell word. The last volunteer, when it was his time to go, was given his killer word, which he ended up spelling correctly. Quite funny. As he went to sit back down on the stage with the actors, the “proctor” called him back up immediately. “Yes, Mr. Ed. It’s your turn again, already.” I think he only said two letters for whatever word he was given before getting the bell for a wrong spelling, and was promptly escorted from the stage.

We are in the midst of getting ready for vacation. This also entails X sorting, buying, and packing up and endless checklist of items for the boys’ camp. They’ll be doing their first camp for the two week following our week in Maine. My checklist in the old days simply included: sleeping bag and OFF! This camp requires a sub-contract from REI and four pages of stuff.

Oh, and some kid executed a hit-and-run on Galactica on Saturday afternoon. Fortunately, two people got the license plate and his father was promptly notified by D.C. Police that his car was involved in said hit-and-run. Dad was none too happy and immediately offered up his insurance to pay for repairs. And, I suspect, is still in the process of teaching his progeny some lessons. Both the driver and rear passenger doors are inoperable so we’ll probably be with a rental care for our journey up north.

pre-drinking

“I’ll just take her out to our favorite Thai place and then go home and we can watch a movie. I have The Hangover from Netflix.”

“The Hangover? You’re going to watch The Hangover for your anniversary? That’s not really anniversary material. Or, for that matter, material for any sane person over the age of 28.”

“Well, I have Patton, also.”

“Patton?”

“It won the Academy Award for Best Picture.”

“Yeah, it did.”

This is a snippet of a conversation involving the first anniversary of an unnamed work compatriot. I guess if Patton is your fallback for a romantic anniversary, I got nothing more to teach you, Daniel-san.

This was the first week that I was in the kitchen for my class/school restaurant. We don’t have a massive menu so getting everything straight isn’t horribly difficult. What takes time is sorting out priorities, prep, plating, and kitchen movements. We have a very small class so even when we are all there (five) we’re pretty busy. (The lunch/afternoon/restaurant class has something like 10 or 12 in the kitchen.) Last night – only our second – two didn’t show: one who is gone on a weekly basis with some sort of ailment (she missed two of three days this week), and one I wouldn’t have expected to miss, but who apparently had a ‘bad day’. Luckily, all the prep was mostly done the day before, so we survived. The real kicker, as far as time is concerned, is that we still produce an equal amount of dishes, and overall mess, whether we are 3 or 5. It takes a good, long piece to clean the entire place with only three of us there. I tell you this for no particular reason. Well, I tell you this so you’ll glean some idea of how much I hate people who don’t show. That’s all.

rearranging deck chairs

X pointed out this morning that we need more chairs for both Thanksgiving and general-use dining functions around the Hilltop’s massive table. Her exact words, while sipping coffee at the bar, were something like “finding solid, quality-made chairs for a reasonable price ain’t easy.” I decided then and there that I could include that tidbit within the grumpy fatherly advice given to children as they depart the nest (X added the last two):

1. Don’t get involved with crazy women.
2. Good quality dining table chairs are hard to find.
3. Don’t ever buy a piano.
4. Don’t ever buy a boat.

Of course, this led to me falling into my grumpy old father imitation (?):

“I don’t give a crap about your wife; I don’t have to talk to her. I don’t have to get in your damn boat or move your stupid piano. But, I do have to come over to your house for holidays because your mother will make me. I won’t sit in crappy chairs while eating overcooked turkey so get some goddamned good chairs. And, don’t ask me for any more money.”

On to other stuff.

Joel Klein is following Michelle Rhee as “school chancellors out the door” in urban east coast cities (but for different reasons). I’m bothered by Rhee leaving even if I’m not a DC resident because I think letting her finish the job (five years) would have been the better option but politics intervened. Klein has been in NYC for eight years which is a pretty amazing run. I don’t have fully formed opinions and evidence for charter schools, something Klein fully supported and Rhee seemed to sort of support, but it seems as if both of them were quite willing to take on the unions and bust some heads – nice turn of “union and head-busting” phraseology, isn’t it. I’ve lost count of the number of philippics turned while talking about education out loud and in my crazy head. It’s easy to look at Fairfax county or the district of my youth and make assumptions about the quality of education. I think we’re usually wrong to even consider either of those as the underpinning of the system as a whole. Shouldn’t we always consider the weakest link as the issue at hand? Even if you take that weakest link’s issues and apply them to the stronger links you’ll still see the same problems. Those problems? Mediocre actual skills and results, middling test scores, and grading that is focused on pushing kids to the next level, not learning them to the next level. I’ll let it go for now…I’m pretty pessimistic. I have an analogy to make between education and offshore drilling, if you can believe that, but I’ll hold it for another day.

(Here’s a harsh review of Rhee’s tenure in D.C. Read at will. Here’s a look at Klein’s in NYC.)

I’ve started about book, The Tiger, that has me massively enthralled. I’m taking it bit-by-bit because I’m quite keen on the writing and the story. Here’s a review from the Seattle Times and here’s the piece from NPR that got me interested (you can listen to the audio portion). I’m looking at Lemon in a new light…

Finally, one last yarn. X was given control of taking any important calls at work for a colleague at work who’ll be out of the office for a few days. The real request is for her to simply ‘handle’ the calls and ease the minds of callers – don’t actually try to solve any issues; issues to be solved will be handled by the master upon his return. She’s to just be nice and make them feel as if their concerns and feelings are being stoked. I passed along to her that you can really learn a lot from Roadhouse. In fact, just about every life lesson might be encapsulated in this fine film.

Be nice. You don’t decide to do anything…I’ll let you know.

gpa

A discussion at work today devolved into whether or not Patrick Swayze was an A-list star. First all, and before we get too far down the hole, an important disclosure: I’m a big Swayze fan. My position on the A-list nomenclature is that someone would have to be on the shortlist of about 15 actors or actresses who are constantly banking big-time money for big-time movies over at least a five- or ten-year period. Swayze is a difficult bill of goods because just about everyone will bring up Ghost and Dirty Dancing, huge hits but both really surprises in the money department. By being successful in both movies I always felt that Swayze punched well above his class. I consider him the very peak of the B-list movie celebrity who endeared a lot of movie goers with those two rolls and for just a moment stood at the door of the A-list room He might even be considered the B-list king. Then again, at the very end of the discussion we suddenly remembered Point Break and for at least a moment reconsidered his place in the pecking order: alas, it didn’t change. Along with his successes you have to really consider what comes to mind when you really dig deep and think of Swayze’s career: Roadhouse, Outsiders, Red Dawn. And with those great movies, the case is closed.

I was going to serenade you with the events surrounding what is now know as the “Landlord & Dishwasher Service Call” episode but I don’t have the heart. I think you can probably figure out whether or not it was a result in the end.

My former F/A-18 pilot and co-worker was just stumped by the plane-on-a-conveyor belt-taking-off puzzle.

t

taking a stand

The other night, I think it may have been before heading out for Quiz Night, G. began a question thusly, “So. If Laurel moves here in the spring does that mean…”. There was actually a pause at this point and my mind quickly filled in any number of issues that might arise if another child ended up in the house: he’d lose his bedroom, he’d have to play nice with someone other than his brother, maybe he’d have fewer chores to do, his personal space and growth might be stunted; any of a number of childhood issues might bubble to the surface. The finish to his sentence of concern was, “…I won’t get to have orange juice with pulp in it?” Right, that’s exactly what I was thinking. I told him that since Laurel likes no pulp and he likes pulp, I would make the sacrifice and have both types available. In my mind the addendum to my answer was, “if this was the great concern of the day then the day wasn’t too bad.”

X has another four days of work at her current firm in D.C. before moving to what she calls a “boutique” firm on the 16th of the month. She’s decided to move on after just over a year and has been hired by a smaller operation that’ll make her work day much happier. (I didn’t spill the beans a few entries ago; I wanted next of kin notified first.)

Even though I reported it earlier I'll reiterate that I think we're moving quickly to winter here. We need to order a cord of wood and get it settled on the porch - fires galore.

More later....when there're more interesting nuggets.

re-foiled, again

Canada. Our week in Quebec was excellent but I think everyone, based upon my own study, has suddenly found themselves back in their offices or cubicles stunned by normalcy. My early portion of this week will include having two fillings redone tomorrow and a concert tomorrow night at the Birchmere; those two are clearly differing poles on a very long stick. I suspect the remainder of this first week back will be filled with catching up around the house, finding my cat (who’s not put in an appearance since our return), and getting back into the workday groove.

All three children were installed on a Midwest Express flight back to Omaha last night so the house is once again stunningly quiet and mostly clean. The boys come back in a few weeks but turn around immediately for a trip to WMass and will be gone for another week. The four of us will then drive to Ohio over the long Labor Day weekend before the schools in NoVa fire up the classrooms and torture kids with maths and literature.

Our place outside of Magog, QC (and within viewing distance of Lake Memphremagog) was plenty of strange house for everyone. We had five bedrooms over three floors, a big kitchen (with only two burners on the stove working), a great room with a beautiful fireplace (actually used twice in the evenings), no internet, a lovely pool in the estate, and neighbors that decided upon 4am for an absolute scream-fest fight on their back porch. Being that this community has large homes with loads of space and trees between the high-end properties it was surprising that I could hear the set-to so clearly on that Sunday morning. Of course, they were yelling in French so I’m not exactly sure what they were saying but I have some good guesses based on the staccato delivery.

A quick summary would give the following details: sailing, horseback riding, swimming, eating, a one-day trip to Montreal (me and L.), wall climbing, shopping, strolling, crosswords, *Pitch Penny©, learning or reacquainting ourselves with French, lazing about, reading, coffee, and sunshine. (I must point out that up yonder in Canada the days might get to 80º on a bad day but mostly hover in the mid-70s. On our first full day back in the swamp yesterday the temperature was mid-90s and it’s pushing 100º today.)

I would put forth the highlight for some as being the two sailing outings on the lake. They’d been looking and hoping for sailing over the last few years in Stowe but never managed to get a solid opportunity. This year the rubric was solved and they got out for two sails on a small three-person boat; the first with L. the second with G. From what I gathered – as if I’d get on a sailboat after some stories I’d heard – they were first given a refresher by a young French Canadian boy who gave them a grade of C+ before literally diving from the boat and swimming to shore. Nothing says confidence more than a horribly average grade given by a fleeing, teenaged instructor.

I’ve got a few other follow-ups but they’ll have to wait.

t

and the winner is...

I was driving through Arlington on Saturday afternoon when I was stopped at a traffic signal and noticed this law firm on a corner of Washington Blvd. I might be crazy but I figure it would be best to just change the name to Paulson Law – as it is now, it seems a bit over the top, “Hey, which Paulson are you?”

Here’s an interesting conundrum for you to ponder. If you’re at work and there’s been a slow down in chores to be done, do you go to your supervisor and throw your name in the hat for additional tasks or do you just wait it out? Would it matter to you if the economy was a bit sluggish? How high do want to raise your hand in that class?

Here’s another: according to Virginia State Law I can work the polls for elections (which I’ve been doing for nearly three years) and don’t have to take leave or vacation time from work. I happened to stumble across this nugget whilst renewing my annual appointment letter; in the past I’ve been taking either vacation time or making up the hours before/after the election. Our polling hours are 6a-7p plus an additional three hours for pre-/post-election duties – it’s a long day.

One more fact – I’m nothing if not facts today. I’ve heard recently that about 12% of the employed population in America works in the non-profit sector. As the non-profits struggle for both monetary support and sponsorship it could be a heavy hit against employment as those sources dry up and jobs disappear. As a comparison, that 12% number is greater than the numbers employed by either the auto or financial service industry.

A number of weeks ago we were playing a bastardized combination of Charades and Cadoo!. The thought behind creating this strange stew was driven by some clay gone bad in the Cadoo! game and the boys’ desire to simply act out all the game’s clues. I, as a trained thespian, always feel that when acting out words or ideas in a game scenario, one should build and tell a story; don’t just hop up and act like a chicken in order to get people to scream out “chicken!”. If the answer is skiing then I’ll spend some time “getting my boots on”, “sitting on the chairlift”, and “adjusting my goggles” before “hitting the slopes”. It’s always entertaining to hear kids and adults alike yelling out things like “tying your shoes!”, “sitting on the couch!”, or “combing your hair” before you finally swoosh away and they all scream “SKIING!!!” at the top of their freakish little lungs. I consider myself the Robert Downey Jr. of Cadoo! This may seem like a long back story, and it is, but it’ll now turn to a mea culpa of tropical fruit knowledge. Aha!, a quick turn of the mystery. I was given a card that required me to write my screenplay to support the acting goal: pineapple. Not an easy task if you think about it. As I was trying to create a scene in my mind I decided that I’d need to create some “sunshine”, maybe an “ocean”, a “beach”, and eventually a “tree”. (As expected, these led to many false stars, “moon!”, “water!”, “tree!”, etc.) My hook had been set as I reached up into the “tree”, picked a “pineapple”, pulled it down, and began to peel and core it. Well, some joker in the crowd shouts out “coconut” which is just silly because who’d peel and core a coconut? Do they not recognize my acting skills? Clearly, it’s nothing that I’m doing wrong. I reenact the scene – with more feeling – and the crazies are sort of thinking, but mostly just screaming mindless answers, before X finally cocks her head to one side like a confused puppy and says, in a quizzical way, “pineapple?” Yes! I stroll to the podium to accept my Oscar© for Best Actor in a Leading Role when I’m suddenly tripped up by some crazy comment from the front row: “Pineapples don’t grow in trees, they grow on low bushes on the ground! (chuckle chuckle chuckle)” What? How to get around this little issue? What would Marisa Tomei do? It took only seconds for me to sort out my riposte to this heresy: “You did say ‘pineapple’, correct? Then I rest my case. That, my friends, it Actors’ Studio acting.”

Oh, here’s Marisa Tomei, in case you’re wondering. She’s long ago been invited to my new famous people dinner party that X decided she should have input on. Here’s the original list of folk – maybe it’s time for an update.


Hello out theeeeerrrrreeeeeee.....

T

warning: grumpy bears

I want to make sure I’m not crazy. As with most office pool environments – cubicles, bad light, crappy equipment – my office has shared LAN printers. There’s only one in our laboratory and it had a signed posted above it that decried:

PLEASE PICK UP YOUR PRINTOUT OR IT WILL BE SHREDDED

A few weeks ago I tore it down and threw it away. There were many more reasons for me to do this – acting out, frustration, hatred – but I only want to focus on the crazy person who posted the sign. The idea that this little rubric would be posted at the printer is laughable. What? I’m going to walk to the printer after spooling my job and then say to myself, “Screw that! I’m not picking up my printout!” I’d think that posting one of these little signs on my monitor might be more useful. It’s kind of like a warning sign that isn’t actually a warning sign but a sign placed at the actual point of danger. Maybe instead of having a construction warning that alerts me to a lane ending in 1500 feet they could have just a single sign that reads “Road Ends Here”.

Needless to say, a new sign was immediately posted after my little fit.

They don’t get me.

round peg, square hole

On my way home from work last Friday I was opining to X just how disastrous I think work cubicles are in the running history of the human race. Just like building on swamp land, getting involved in a Ponzi scheme, or voting for Bush in 2004, I recognize that at some point people must have thought it a good idea. Probably at some point in the late 70s or early 80s there was an inept decision made, with best intentions, by some company in Cleveland to change the office floor space from wide-open swathes to manmade caves of misery. There is absolutely no benefit to the cubicle live that I can discern. What I once again noticed this morning, and something that’s bothered me since being here, is that while walking around the joint you notice just how many people have mirrors mounted on their desks so they can see who’s either passing by or violating their space. Life through a mirror? Of course, there’s never been a cubicle designed that allows its hibernator/prisoner to actually look outward into the World – look at the damn wall. The wall!

L. is at her clay-thing camp this week and gave me a call this morning to let me know she’d made it into Falls Church on her bike. The camp hours aren’t the greatest (11a-3p) so we took a bike ride yesterday afternoon and covered the route, rules of the road, and any other questions she might have. I think that by the end of the week she’ll feel well chuffed at having been out and about on her own during these rides into town. The roads all have sidewalks and the route is about 95% residential – no worries.

Is my vacation here yet? Where is it?

The trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn’t end any time soon - David Carr

t

stop me if you've thought this

What I’ve realized during my time in the private sector is that there are an endless number of ‘jobs’ posted for people we’ll call program managers and project managers. I hate program managers and project managers. Here’s a wikipedia definition of project manager: “… the discipline of planning, organizing, and managing resources to bring about the successful completion of specific project goals and objectives. A project is a finite endeavor—having specific start and completion dates—undertaken to create a unique product or service which brings about beneficial change or added value.” Right. Making dinner every night qualifies as project management. Making dinner every night over the course of an entire week probably qualifies as program management (the managing of separate projects under one overarching theme). I guess if you add in some packed lunches and a few quick breakfasts than you could claim yourself some type of certification by ISO, Six Sigma, or any other fruit-loop organization. Aren’t these PMs, as they’re called, actually just workers and managers? Do we really need new on-line and resident educational programs to ‘qualify’ people as such? Here are a few other areas I might consider as PMs per your resume:

1. Making sure the dog gets walked twice a day.
2. Establishing and maintaining an exercise routine.
3. Creating a kick-ass compilation CD for your friends.
4. Planning the purchase of the new G3 iPhone.
5. Budgeting your money so you can buy Madonna tour tickets.
6. Printing labels and applying them to index cards for Bar study.
7. Planning for the cab home after hanging with friends at the local bar.
8. Making vacation plans.
9. Setting the alarm to wake you up.
10. Putting out the recycling.

You get the picture.

Todd
Project Manager, the Paddle.

p.s. I’m changing the verbiage on my resume ---- big money PM!

lumbergh

I cut our swatch of Everest today. When you come and see the house – stay if you like, we’ve got rooms and futons – you’ll understand the yard thing. Luckily, I’ve got some yard and groundskeeping skills. If I can claim only one manly trait then it’d be my ability to work any two-stroke and 3.5hp (or lower) apparatus. What I normally do is this – cut horizontally one week, vertically the next, and on the diag’ the third. It makes for a lovely lawn…and I don’t much like lawns. This joint only allows for one cut, horizontal – it’s way too steep and crazy to imagine any other geometry. Of course, I’m just crazy enough with the Jac’ to consider my options.

The immediate rundown of folks on the block shows that we’ve got kids galore around these parts. From what we’ve seen, there are four next door and three more two doors down. Lots of others walking dogs, and themselves, every night; a very friendly neighborhood. G. pontificated on his shyness when we first moved here but he wandered about tonight and came home with a half dozen kids in tow. I told him I thought he could establish his own tribe of kids who’d follow his every move since he’s the oldest. He relayed that they are horrible at catching anything, namely him, so he didn’t think they’d be of any use. Ah, I said, that’s exactly what you want – troops to train and worship you. Upon the arrival of Henry the Elder this week, you’ll already have your kingdom of warriors. I got little more than a sideways glance.

Here’s my deal with work. The small company is struggling a bit and there’ve been some layoffs over the last three or four days. I worry about that, but I must say I worry more about why it is that my division and group leaders aren’t talking. What I hate more than anything else are folks in charge who don’t just sit down and tell people what’s what. I have no illusion that times change, companies need to make moves, and that the world isn’t perfect – just don’t hide in your office and f*&king pretend it isn’t happening. In the end, if I (or we) know there are issues then we at least have a chance to make changes and look around for other opportunities before you kick me in teeth and head back to your office. I hate cowards. In fact, we’ve had two or three ‘get togethers’ where the bigs spout the same crap I heard from military commanders – and I hated them for that because I knew the truth. As it is, I’m safe until the end of summer; beyond that (and my completion of their contract), I’ll place no bets. Man up.

The Current is playing through my speakers and I’m happy. I’m happy about that as an aside to everything else; these are the best days of my life.

T.

i pity the fool

It’s been a week (and some…) since an entry?

Some sleet and snow fell last night and is supposed to return later this evening and into tomorrow AM. Isn’t that a great update on life?

X and her mother spent six days gallivanting around Catalonia Spain and returned safely on Tuesday afternoon. I fetched the weary travelers from Dulles Airport and shepherded them home for a day or two or recovery rest.

There was an interview that occurred somewhere, at some time, last week that involved a very close version of this question-and-answer session:

Panel: So, what kind of hobbies do you enjoy?
Interviewee: I like golf.
Panel: Anything else that interests you?
[pause]
Interviewee: I’m really into UFC, the Ultimate Fighting Championship.

Now, let’s just say that I was a part of the panel for the purposes of reviewing this little nugget of joy. If I was there, and I may or may not have been, the first thing I’m wondering – and asking shortly after my brain stops – is this, “Oh, so you participate in mixed martial arts?” When I define hobby I think about something that is participatory, at a minimum an idea that involves some thought of bodily movement. After the first interview question and answer I would have believed that the interviewee, someone I’ve now dubbed Rampage Jackson, as a member of the great golf-playing segment of our population. Maybe he’s a 15-handicap that enjoys spending his weekend perfecting his short game. After the second question I’d really be impressed because the answer addressed another active and newly interesting hobby – mixed martial arts. Dang! Ol’ Rampage Jackson plays golf on Saturday and then steps into the octagon on Sunday in preparation for his upcoming tussle with Chuck Liddell at UFC 96. That is someone I want in my workplace: golfer and ass kicker. Let’s continue…

Panel: We don’t know much about Ultimate Fighting…sounds interesting.
“Rampage”: Man. I’ll tell you something, I love cable TV.

What? He loves cable TV? That’s a hobby? I can’t believe two things: first, we would fall for the golf and UFC inputs and not think it was actually based on watching those events on TV. Second, who the hell tells an interview panel that they love cable TV (and, apparently, digital video recorders)? I’m keeping that technique in my pocket for any future interviews.

I’m heading into the District this evening for a Steven Breyer get together at the Sixth and I Synagogue. He’s being interviewed by a legal correspondent for The National Review. And let me tell you something, that’s a hobby to pass along during an interview, “I enjoy attending events that peg me as a dork….”

I can live with that.

T.

just try it. please!

Here’s a very serious look at developments in the workplace of today. I think I've passed along the idea of the level of competency in the work force being shockingly low. I know Phil has a saying that the bar out there is quite low; it doesn’t take much to impress across the broad spectrum of employment. For the moment we can dismiss brain surgeons, lawyers, engineers, etc. Some fields require a much deeper level of scientific or philosophical training to even get in the door – I don’t wholly excuse those fields from the discussion because I’m sure they have similar issues.

What brought this on is my current assignment to turn some outlines and lesson specs into a functional learning tool. The ins-and-outs of how this process works, or the subject matter, aren’t important. The theory should be that if two different people are going to work on a project; i.e. one starts the outlines and completes the research, and the other puts it into a finished product, then the first person better be minimally competent. If they are thinking about passing along some product that isn't comprised of intelligent research and some actual work…then don’t pass it along. I have no desire to fix someone’s poorly conceived idea of work. It seems like the critical mass of alleged experts (or workers, or developers…) are completely stuck in antiquated era of what passes for skill. The best parallel I can draw upon is how people use to high jump way back in the day. All these yahoos working today are still competing with some scissor technique, eastern cut-off, western roll, or straddle technique of high jumping. This is how they still look, as if trying to win a blue ribbon during their 3rd grade field day:
Listen, some of us have figured out better ways to do things – they aren't even better ways, they are just ways, for crying out loud. Unfortunately, 80% of those workers getting paid good money refuse to develop beyond that old crappy method of jumping, because in their mind it’s functional enough to get by, why actually get better? The worst part of the whole scenario is that it has nothing to do with how much work someone does; that has no effect on producing something usable. Do you want to know how I know? Because people here spend days and weeks working on a project and it’s still garbage. Not because they can’t do it…they simply choose not to. Seriously, it’s just like that effort from 3rd grade; here’s a nice green ribbon for just for being you! Put a check in your little Excel spreadsheet, you're done with the project!

Here’s how people that actually give a crap about competency high-jump:
That’s right, Dick Fosbury! He figured out a better way to do something and then practiced and perfected the skill.

Teach a man to jump and he’ll jump. Teach a man the Flop and he’ll kick ass.

T.