Driving to work in the morning.
A delight in itself, the morning drive is always accented with the little things that make me hate everyone I see.
The people around me do not seem to realize that my day has started out badly already. I had to wake up unnaturally in the morning, for the sole purpose of going to work. I don't mind externally prompted wake-state to go somewhere fun. But work? C'mon on... And if it's winter, and cold, and raining...? Too much to bare.
I then get in my car. A common white colored sedan, that is exactly the same as any other car on the road, no matter how the car magazines try to rate them. If it was something exciting, it might have been different. Then again excitement in cars usually involves speed, and if Death is the great equalizer for people, traffic jams have the same affect on vehicles.
And so I slip into the southbound lane for my crawling-pace-ride to work. Traveling 12 kilometers in up to 45 minutes. That's 16 kilometers an hour. Good thing the limit is only 90, or I would really feel bad. In a residential zone the limit is 50. On private roads in factories or the like the limit is 30.
And I have to suffer through half that! I might as well be driving a motorized electric scooter!
So I sit there, looking stupid, trying to keep my brain from loosing its contents though the ears. I breath deep to keep myself calm, reminding myself that I'm not in any real or particular hurry to get to where I'm going.
And then the idiot in front of me stops.
I can see the lane in front of him slowly open up to two, three, then four car lengths, before he starts to move.
Why! I literally cry out.
Pack 'em in, man! Pack 'em in. Every pace of highway counts, damn it!
But he is taking his sweet time closing up that gap. If we're lucky, no one cuts in front of him. If not, then that's just so many more cars ahead of me. More stupid people between me and the blessed right turn that will take me off the main road.
Of course, concentrating on the road to make sure that these sort of gaps don't open up might take the attention away from the newspaper that the man in front of me is reading, and we wouldn't want to do that now, would we?
And then there are those that remember they have to turn right somewhere. It may be just ahead, it may be a kilometer down the road, it may be 10. The point is they remember it now, and have to change lanes. Now!
So they do.
The fact that there is an entire car, a big one, in the space where they are heading toward as they turn the wheel doesn't seem to phase them a tinny little bit. They need to be there, and that's all that matters.
I break, and honk the horn, but they don't even turn their heads. It's as if they are thinking "If I don't actually acknowledge him, then he is not really there, and it's not my problem anyhow." It's a common symptom describes by the late Douglas Adams as "Somebody Else's Problem" principle where things can actually become invisible if we make a subconscious effort to ignore them.
And there are more. There are the lane traders which actually lose ground because they always change lanes at the wrong time. And if they would not inhibit traffic by their constant movement and effects on other drivers, they would just make me laugh.
There are the phone talkers, whose eyes are literally glazed over because their mind is somewhere else completely.
There are snoozers, that fall asleep while traveling at idle-speed forward and tap the fender in front of them. Everything has got to stop. Everyone, out of the cars! Let's spend half an hour examining the bumpers for invisible damage. The bumper was barely leaned on, man! It's not a real accident. Pull over! You don't have to stay in place for the cops to see the actual scene!
I look in their eyes. All of them.
And they all look at me.
An I can suddenly tell.
There was a message that went around among all there people.
Today, we are pissing off the man in glasses, with the ginger-brown hair, in the white Ford Focus, as he heads to work.
It's not paranoia if they're really persecuting you!
But it's not just the people around me. Not even the people a long way down the road whose actions and idiocy ripple through traffic like a tidal wave on the ocean, amplified as more an more idiot-power merges with them. It's the people on the radio as well that are in on this conspiracy to start my day with the utmost misery that may be summoned. And it's not the DJs themselves. Oh, no. This goes much higher. The DJs are taught, for reasons I can only attribute to the cohorting against me, that they should speak over the lead of a song until the lyrics start. I can, I admit, see where this may be useful. Some leads are stupid. But the greatest guitar rift ever played? (And if anyone cliches "Stairway to Heaven" on me I'll smother them in their sleep.) I'm talking about "Sultans of Swing" by "Dire Straights". Everything about that song is great.
The lyrics, the solo, the beat, and of course, the lead. It holds so much promise. It's uplifting. It's simply awesome. And for a kid on the radio to talk without end on the rambling trivials of his or her mind just to fill the time between the beginning of the song to the singing part is borderline blasphemous.
But they don't have anything against the song.
It's me.
They know how I feel about all this.
But then I get to work. An I park so far away I might as well have left my car at home and walked to the office.
And there, up there in the cubicles, and open-space, and computer and labs, and meeting rooms...Up there a whole new Hell waits me. And I get there already belligerent. All set to make war.
"Oh, you're trying to get on my nerves? Don't bother. I came all prepared from home."
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Alma, Why am I still Single?
The answer is: I'm ill with a disease called Terminal Shyness.
Shyness, because I am, to unhealthy levels.
Terminal, because everybody has got to die of something, and I decided that this is the death for me.
Why am I bringing this up? I just had dinner with this woman I know. And I just can't tell where it's going, and I have no idea how to find out. I never did. Every girlfriend I ever had made the first move. I'm thirty two years old, and I still don't have a good pickup line (People tell me that's key for picking woman up).
What's going to happed is that I'm going to become very good friend with this woman. And that's it. In a few months she'll suddenly tell me of the wonderful new boyfriend she has, and that I really should meet him because he's really great and funny. I would be left to wonder if I ever did have a chance if I would have gathered up the nerve to go for it.
This is the story of Alma. Alma, who was always almost but never actually my girlfriend.
Now, right of the bat, it should be known that I was twenty, and completely smitten with this girl who is completely wrong for me. Alma would have broken my heart, no doubt about it.
This is an old army story, so I'm looking at with a ten-years perspective, and now it's actually kinda funny. I skipped a lot in the middle, but it's unimportant.
I was a brigadier-general's communication sergeant and was always off base somewhere. Alma worked in the encrypted traffic office of our communication company, and spend all her time on base. It took me more than a month to realize she has joined the company, and that she was the the greatest thing I've ever seen. She was pretty, she was funny, and even in her regulation B-class uniform, she was very sexy. She had red hair that drove me crazy.
Anyway, by the time I worked up the nerve to actually go talk to her, I missed the boat and she started dating somebody from another company. I spent the next six month moping about it (in the army you have plenty of bored-time to think too much).
She then broke up with the guy and we started getting a little closer. It was one night that I finally worked up the nerve to make my move, as they say. Our weekend on-base duty coincided every month and a half, and that coincidence happened again. It was Saturday night, and we were both in the Company common, watching TV. Alone. Some stupid movie was on, and we were sitting close. My moment had come. I would turn to her, look her in the eyes, and say nothing. Hold it for five seconds, and bend to kiss her. I'll either get slapped or kissed back. At that point, I was willing to take the chance.
But then someone shot Yitzhak Rabin, our Prime Minister, and a second after I made up my mind the TV broke in with the news that "something happened" (We did not know what for a while).
As a side note I will mention this, for the benefit of whomever did not have that experience: an assassination of a national leader (especially when you are in uniform) is a terrible killer of romance. Just wanted to explain.
We stayed watching until three in the morning. She held my hand the entire time, wiping her eyes on my sleeves occasionally. I didn't mind, and I don't even know why I noticed. About then we realized that there is nothing to be done, and nothing more was going to be told. Out week was about to begin in a few hours, mine with a trip to the south for a three days surprise training exercise for one of our battalions. We ran the exercise, so it was going to be three days of no sleep for me. She had a shift at six in the morning, so we left the common and headed back to the barracks. Her to the women barracks and me back to the company barracks. I got a small kiss, on my cheek, and that's it. With what had just happened not yet sunk in, everything seemed too stupid and unimportant.
After that, we hardly saw each other. I was in the field most of the time, and out weekend on-base duty just failed to coincide for a long time. One night I heard her on her cellular phone - she was talking to her new boyfriend.
Shit.
Now, it's the military, and you don't get to meet a lot of new and exciting people all the time. I just wanted to say that because I don't want to seem obsessive. There were only eight women in our company of thirty five. The whole base was no more than a hundred or so people, with a low percentage of females, so the points of attraction, if you will, were slim. Since there was nothing to take my mind off Alma, it stayed fixed.
As these things go, it was another six months before Alma broke up with her boyfriend again. I meanwhile, found myself together with another woman on base, but she transferred after a couple of months and we lost touch.
It was Passover, and we both had long leaves from the Army. Alma has invited me to spend a couple of days at her house. I thought YES! This is my chance. She's interested, obviously, and she's invited me in.
I spent the Seder with my parent and a few other people, and had a great time. Through the entire thing I thought of tomorrow afternoon when I will make the trip to her house. Unfortunately, the universe conspired against me, again, and at eleven o'clock the phone rang and I was recalled to base. Operation "Grapes of Wrath" has begun in the north. It was the time to bomb the hell out of southern Lebanon for no particularly good affect again. I spent 35 days on the front line, and she spent 35 days on base.
With very few people; everybody else went to war.
She was bored and alone.
By the time I came back she was dating one of the operations sergeant that remained behind (he had his arm burnt pretty badly as consequence of Stupid, so he couldn't go).
I'm making her sound pretty bad. She wasn't.
Anyway, I gave up, and we just remained really good friend for a while.
We both finished our service and continued to be friend in civilian life, hanging out in the same circle of friends, going to parties together and the such.
It was a healthy time, because the more I got to know Alma the more I realized that she's completely bad for me. She has the kind of personality that I could not be with for long, and it was then I realized she was destined to break my heart if I ever let her. I'm glad she never got the chance, although there is always the shadow of doubt that keeps a small unfulfilled crush alive at the back of the head (or is it the heart? I'm not sure where those things I kept).
Two year went by, and one night I found myself a block from where she lived. I called her and told her that I have an early evening and I'll be done about ten o'clock so I'll drop by. Great, she said.
So I did.
By the time I showed up she was a little drunk and crying. Her boyfriend said or did or thought something bad, and she was hurt. We sat on the floor of her bedroom (well, almost the whole small apartment was dedicated to her bedroom) and she cried on my arm again.
She then looked up and said: "Why didn't we ever get together? You're the guy I should be with. A nice guy. Not like those bastards".
That's when I knew she was crazy. I realized it all of the sudden. Now it's too late, I knew. Three years ago would have been great. We would have gone out. I would have loved her, she would have loved me. I would do something stupid accidentally, and she would break my heart. Normal relationship for young people. Back then I would have taken it with both hands.
Now I knew I had to bolt from there! But I didn't because I was, am still I'm told, a nice guy, and I would not leave her sobbing on the floor of her bedroom. A couple of more friend appeared after that, and half an hour later her boyfriend came back, ready to do whatever it takes to make it all better, and I made a quite, dignified exit.
We kinda drew further apart after that, and within a couple of years we didn't speak anymore at all. I saw her last five year ago in a wedding of a mutual friend.
And so we're left with the story of Alma. The story of almost every girl I knew in my life.
I just know that now I have a new really good friend...
I don't need a new really good friend.
What I need now is a really good GIRL-friend.
At this point I'll settle even for a mediocre girl-friend.
(Please let me know if I sound like whining idiot; I feel like one.)
Shyness, because I am, to unhealthy levels.
Terminal, because everybody has got to die of something, and I decided that this is the death for me.
Why am I bringing this up? I just had dinner with this woman I know. And I just can't tell where it's going, and I have no idea how to find out. I never did. Every girlfriend I ever had made the first move. I'm thirty two years old, and I still don't have a good pickup line (People tell me that's key for picking woman up).
What's going to happed is that I'm going to become very good friend with this woman. And that's it. In a few months she'll suddenly tell me of the wonderful new boyfriend she has, and that I really should meet him because he's really great and funny. I would be left to wonder if I ever did have a chance if I would have gathered up the nerve to go for it.
This is the story of Alma. Alma, who was always almost but never actually my girlfriend.
Now, right of the bat, it should be known that I was twenty, and completely smitten with this girl who is completely wrong for me. Alma would have broken my heart, no doubt about it.
This is an old army story, so I'm looking at with a ten-years perspective, and now it's actually kinda funny. I skipped a lot in the middle, but it's unimportant.
I was a brigadier-general's communication sergeant and was always off base somewhere. Alma worked in the encrypted traffic office of our communication company, and spend all her time on base. It took me more than a month to realize she has joined the company, and that she was the the greatest thing I've ever seen. She was pretty, she was funny, and even in her regulation B-class uniform, she was very sexy. She had red hair that drove me crazy.
Anyway, by the time I worked up the nerve to actually go talk to her, I missed the boat and she started dating somebody from another company. I spent the next six month moping about it (in the army you have plenty of bored-time to think too much).
She then broke up with the guy and we started getting a little closer. It was one night that I finally worked up the nerve to make my move, as they say. Our weekend on-base duty coincided every month and a half, and that coincidence happened again. It was Saturday night, and we were both in the Company common, watching TV. Alone. Some stupid movie was on, and we were sitting close. My moment had come. I would turn to her, look her in the eyes, and say nothing. Hold it for five seconds, and bend to kiss her. I'll either get slapped or kissed back. At that point, I was willing to take the chance.
But then someone shot Yitzhak Rabin, our Prime Minister, and a second after I made up my mind the TV broke in with the news that "something happened" (We did not know what for a while).
As a side note I will mention this, for the benefit of whomever did not have that experience: an assassination of a national leader (especially when you are in uniform) is a terrible killer of romance. Just wanted to explain.
We stayed watching until three in the morning. She held my hand the entire time, wiping her eyes on my sleeves occasionally. I didn't mind, and I don't even know why I noticed. About then we realized that there is nothing to be done, and nothing more was going to be told. Out week was about to begin in a few hours, mine with a trip to the south for a three days surprise training exercise for one of our battalions. We ran the exercise, so it was going to be three days of no sleep for me. She had a shift at six in the morning, so we left the common and headed back to the barracks. Her to the women barracks and me back to the company barracks. I got a small kiss, on my cheek, and that's it. With what had just happened not yet sunk in, everything seemed too stupid and unimportant.
After that, we hardly saw each other. I was in the field most of the time, and out weekend on-base duty just failed to coincide for a long time. One night I heard her on her cellular phone - she was talking to her new boyfriend.
Shit.
Now, it's the military, and you don't get to meet a lot of new and exciting people all the time. I just wanted to say that because I don't want to seem obsessive. There were only eight women in our company of thirty five. The whole base was no more than a hundred or so people, with a low percentage of females, so the points of attraction, if you will, were slim. Since there was nothing to take my mind off Alma, it stayed fixed.
As these things go, it was another six months before Alma broke up with her boyfriend again. I meanwhile, found myself together with another woman on base, but she transferred after a couple of months and we lost touch.
It was Passover, and we both had long leaves from the Army. Alma has invited me to spend a couple of days at her house. I thought YES! This is my chance. She's interested, obviously, and she's invited me in.
I spent the Seder with my parent and a few other people, and had a great time. Through the entire thing I thought of tomorrow afternoon when I will make the trip to her house. Unfortunately, the universe conspired against me, again, and at eleven o'clock the phone rang and I was recalled to base. Operation "Grapes of Wrath" has begun in the north. It was the time to bomb the hell out of southern Lebanon for no particularly good affect again. I spent 35 days on the front line, and she spent 35 days on base.
With very few people; everybody else went to war.
She was bored and alone.
By the time I came back she was dating one of the operations sergeant that remained behind (he had his arm burnt pretty badly as consequence of Stupid, so he couldn't go).
I'm making her sound pretty bad. She wasn't.
Anyway, I gave up, and we just remained really good friend for a while.
We both finished our service and continued to be friend in civilian life, hanging out in the same circle of friends, going to parties together and the such.
It was a healthy time, because the more I got to know Alma the more I realized that she's completely bad for me. She has the kind of personality that I could not be with for long, and it was then I realized she was destined to break my heart if I ever let her. I'm glad she never got the chance, although there is always the shadow of doubt that keeps a small unfulfilled crush alive at the back of the head (or is it the heart? I'm not sure where those things I kept).
Two year went by, and one night I found myself a block from where she lived. I called her and told her that I have an early evening and I'll be done about ten o'clock so I'll drop by. Great, she said.
So I did.
By the time I showed up she was a little drunk and crying. Her boyfriend said or did or thought something bad, and she was hurt. We sat on the floor of her bedroom (well, almost the whole small apartment was dedicated to her bedroom) and she cried on my arm again.
She then looked up and said: "Why didn't we ever get together? You're the guy I should be with. A nice guy. Not like those bastards".
That's when I knew she was crazy. I realized it all of the sudden. Now it's too late, I knew. Three years ago would have been great. We would have gone out. I would have loved her, she would have loved me. I would do something stupid accidentally, and she would break my heart. Normal relationship for young people. Back then I would have taken it with both hands.
Now I knew I had to bolt from there! But I didn't because I was, am still I'm told, a nice guy, and I would not leave her sobbing on the floor of her bedroom. A couple of more friend appeared after that, and half an hour later her boyfriend came back, ready to do whatever it takes to make it all better, and I made a quite, dignified exit.
We kinda drew further apart after that, and within a couple of years we didn't speak anymore at all. I saw her last five year ago in a wedding of a mutual friend.
And so we're left with the story of Alma. The story of almost every girl I knew in my life.
I just know that now I have a new really good friend...
I don't need a new really good friend.
What I need now is a really good GIRL-friend.
At this point I'll settle even for a mediocre girl-friend.
(Please let me know if I sound like whining idiot; I feel like one.)
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Clocks and Chickens
I'm not a computer gamer (I think I said it before). I do like the little games that you can download and play which don't require any strategy, or thinking for that mater, and not much skill accept quickness of the hand. There is a long list of these games I like, but one of my favorites is "Chickens Invaders" (google it for more information). It's based on the old "Space Invaders" game, but this time the Solar system is invaded by waves after waves of evil, erratic, egg-shelling chickens, led and controlled by the mighty Mother Hen-ship. I love the game, and it's not quite as explicable as you might think. Or at least as I might think. I thought of it long and hard, and came out with a critical conclusion: Everything Is Funnier With Chicken!
It's a lesson that should be learned and understood.
We take it for grated, and years of slapstick comedy relied on it, without actually formalizing it.
I have proof:
A couple of years ago a co-worker has told me of a friend called Yaron Hayut (sorry, no link) who is a mechanical engineer by trade, a clocks enthusiast by passion, and a general mad-designer by choice. He creates non-traditional time keeping devices that could be referred to as non-clocks. He is a horrible business man and terrible at promoting himself, so there is not even a web-site where the clocks may be viewed. You might have to take yourself to MoMA in New York to see some of his work on display (if it's still there, it's been years).
Anyway, that whole concept of "It doesn't matter what time it is, but rather how it is displayed" struck as me ingenious, and kept lingering in the back of my mind. I kept looking at clocks, trying to find the uniqueness of them. The art. It just stayed there, like a little post-it note on the brain, until about a year ago when I visited London, England, and walked around the shops in Covent Gardens. There I saw a little wall clock that had a very unique way of identifying the hour. A spiral arm stretches out and back into the oval face of the watch. Across the face are the numbered the hours. The arm crosses across the correct hour. It is simple, brilliant, and just makes me happy (cheap happiness at 5 pounds). I bought the clock and brought it back home. A few weeks ago I struck a conversation with my co-worker about the clocks and I mentioned that I have bought this clock in London. Consulting his friend, Yaron has asked for a photograph of the clock, being unfamiliar with it. Not knowing of the origin of the clock he has asked in return whether it was bought, by any change, in London, possibly in Covent Gardens.
Apparently, fifteen years ago Mr. Hayut walked through Covent Gardens and saw strangely engineered clocks and thought "Hey, I can do that!". He's been designing clocks ever since. And if I never would have heard of it, I would never have notice that clock that now hangs on my wall. I dare anyone to contest Karma!
Anyway, I promised you chickens.
Rubber chickens. It would not have been the same with a rubber bat (baseball or sonar-guided fliers of the night). A rubber chicken smacked over someone's head holds a special kind of comedic charm that would be otherwise impossible.
The Muppets. It's not a coincidence that Gonzo's is a chicken (or is he? He's actually an alien. They said so in a movie!). At least he is a rooster-chicken by association with his band of singing hens. Gonzo has got to be the funniest (or is it ridiculousiest?) character there. It would not be the same if he was goat now, would it?
Yaron Hayut has also invented an alarm clock that, upon going off, releases a bunch of eggs into a basket. The awoken person must return the eggs back into the clock to stop the alarm. It's a brilliant waking mechanism, but more than that, it is hilariously funny. Why? It's just an alarm clock!
Because everything and anything can be made funnier with Chickens.
Whenever there is a little sadness in your life, think of chickens.
It'll make it all just a little bit better.
Everything is Funnier with Chickens!
Pak-Pak....Pak-waaaack!!!!
It's a lesson that should be learned and understood.
We take it for grated, and years of slapstick comedy relied on it, without actually formalizing it.
I have proof:
A couple of years ago a co-worker has told me of a friend called Yaron Hayut (sorry, no link) who is a mechanical engineer by trade, a clocks enthusiast by passion, and a general mad-designer by choice. He creates non-traditional time keeping devices that could be referred to as non-clocks. He is a horrible business man and terrible at promoting himself, so there is not even a web-site where the clocks may be viewed. You might have to take yourself to MoMA in New York to see some of his work on display (if it's still there, it's been years).
Anyway, that whole concept of "It doesn't matter what time it is, but rather how it is displayed" struck as me ingenious, and kept lingering in the back of my mind. I kept looking at clocks, trying to find the uniqueness of them. The art. It just stayed there, like a little post-it note on the brain, until about a year ago when I visited London, England, and walked around the shops in Covent Gardens. There I saw a little wall clock that had a very unique way of identifying the hour. A spiral arm stretches out and back into the oval face of the watch. Across the face are the numbered the hours. The arm crosses across the correct hour. It is simple, brilliant, and just makes me happy (cheap happiness at 5 pounds). I bought the clock and brought it back home. A few weeks ago I struck a conversation with my co-worker about the clocks and I mentioned that I have bought this clock in London. Consulting his friend, Yaron has asked for a photograph of the clock, being unfamiliar with it. Not knowing of the origin of the clock he has asked in return whether it was bought, by any change, in London, possibly in Covent Gardens.
Apparently, fifteen years ago Mr. Hayut walked through Covent Gardens and saw strangely engineered clocks and thought "Hey, I can do that!". He's been designing clocks ever since. And if I never would have heard of it, I would never have notice that clock that now hangs on my wall. I dare anyone to contest Karma!
Anyway, I promised you chickens.
Rubber chickens. It would not have been the same with a rubber bat (baseball or sonar-guided fliers of the night). A rubber chicken smacked over someone's head holds a special kind of comedic charm that would be otherwise impossible.
The Muppets. It's not a coincidence that Gonzo's is a chicken (or is he? He's actually an alien. They said so in a movie!). At least he is a rooster-chicken by association with his band of singing hens. Gonzo has got to be the funniest (or is it ridiculousiest?) character there. It would not be the same if he was goat now, would it?
Yaron Hayut has also invented an alarm clock that, upon going off, releases a bunch of eggs into a basket. The awoken person must return the eggs back into the clock to stop the alarm. It's a brilliant waking mechanism, but more than that, it is hilariously funny. Why? It's just an alarm clock!
Because everything and anything can be made funnier with Chickens.
Whenever there is a little sadness in your life, think of chickens.
It'll make it all just a little bit better.
Everything is Funnier with Chickens!
Pak-Pak....Pak-waaaack!!!!
Friday, November 17, 2006
Maintain the Balance (or go MAD)
Tom Lehrer wrote in the song "Who's Next"
But that's not what I want to say.
Something that happened at work got me thinking of the "Balance" line of the song. Lehrer speaks of the balance of power. I'm thinking of the The Balance of Stupid. It is my conclusion that if there is a balance for everything in the universe, then there is also a Balance of Stupid that must be maintained.
In a previous ranting I spoke of a programmer that I referred to as the Old Man. Nothing against old (older) people, I swear. I know of Old thirty-some years old and Young of sixty-some years. This man simply programmed like it was 1986. I program likes is 1996, and in our line of work even that is soon-to-be-old. But nevermind the aging tangent.
This man was fired ("and there was much rejoicing") a couple of months ago. We were dancing among the cubicles and chanting Yey-chants to all the small gods we could think of. I got responsibility for all the items he was in charge of, and the imagination soared. I felt uplifted (I'm not kidding). My head literally dizzy with all the neat things I will finally do the software. The software module in question is our infrastructure and there were about 6 years of neglect. People, including me, had to come up with their own solutions to problems that could be solved in a central (infrastructural) manner.
I'm going on and on to try and explain my excitement (albeit a professional excitement, I am, indeed, a geek). I thought that all my frustration was over. No more blank stares from someone who could not follow simple logic (he actually said once "I can't do that for you, it requires logic"!). No more idiotic solutions to the wrong problems. No more waiting two years for a month's worth of work. Utter bliss.
And in that euphoric state of mind, I was blindsided.
My other major project right now is a Linux migration. I'm supervising an outsourcing of the work by another company.
And there, waiting, was another old man.
Another man who doesn't believe in order, or neatness.
Another man who doesn't listen.
Another man who could call me with the same question three times because he doesn't like my answers, and then goes ahead and does what he wants anyway.
Hence the Balance of Stupid is maintained. My original conclusion was that we need to find a way to shift the Balance of Stupid in the right way, so the weight falls on unimportant things. Then I realized that whenever you have to cover for somebody's stupidity, that specific task turns to supreme importance, so a shifting attempt is futile.
Suffer stupidity in quite (it's impossible, I tried).
Nothing left but to suck it up!
So I am left with only this small wish: I hope that I'm not someone else's Balance of Stupid.
Although I probably am. If so, I apologize.
First we've got the bomb and that was good,Mr. Lehrer spoke, of course, of the Atomic Bomb, the fear of Nuclear Weapons proliferation, and invention of that absurd theory, which is probably what kept the world alive until now, of Mutually Assured Destruction, with the aptly acronym MAD. "The balance of power" Lehrer called it. The idea that fear of my own (assured) destruction would deter me from taking an action that would assure my enemy's destruction (modern Nuclear Weapons do come with an "Assured Destruction Certification", apparently). It's a good theory, and like I said, as long as sane people were at the button it worked. I use "Sane" as in "understand the implication of starting a nuclear war"-sane not "Sane" as "Hi, I'm Stalin, I feel like killing a couple of million of my own people today because it's possible they will look at me funny someday in a parade"-sane. This theory fails today because nuclear weapons have new kind of owners. Their Sanity is limited to "let's fire this thing and God (-Allah, Jesus, or the minor Goddess of "things lost in drawers" * ) will handle the rest and assure my Heavenly eternity" brand of sane.
'Cause we love peace and motherhood.
Then, Russia got the bomb, but that's O.K.,
'Cause the balance of power's maintained that way.
Who's Next?
But that's not what I want to say.
Something that happened at work got me thinking of the "Balance" line of the song. Lehrer speaks of the balance of power. I'm thinking of the The Balance of Stupid. It is my conclusion that if there is a balance for everything in the universe, then there is also a Balance of Stupid that must be maintained.
In a previous ranting I spoke of a programmer that I referred to as the Old Man. Nothing against old (older) people, I swear. I know of Old thirty-some years old and Young of sixty-some years. This man simply programmed like it was 1986. I program likes is 1996, and in our line of work even that is soon-to-be-old. But nevermind the aging tangent.
This man was fired ("and there was much rejoicing") a couple of months ago. We were dancing among the cubicles and chanting Yey-chants to all the small gods we could think of. I got responsibility for all the items he was in charge of, and the imagination soared. I felt uplifted (I'm not kidding). My head literally dizzy with all the neat things I will finally do the software. The software module in question is our infrastructure and there were about 6 years of neglect. People, including me, had to come up with their own solutions to problems that could be solved in a central (infrastructural) manner.
I'm going on and on to try and explain my excitement (albeit a professional excitement, I am, indeed, a geek). I thought that all my frustration was over. No more blank stares from someone who could not follow simple logic (he actually said once "I can't do that for you, it requires logic"!). No more idiotic solutions to the wrong problems. No more waiting two years for a month's worth of work. Utter bliss.
And in that euphoric state of mind, I was blindsided.
My other major project right now is a Linux migration. I'm supervising an outsourcing of the work by another company.
And there, waiting, was another old man.
Another man who doesn't believe in order, or neatness.
Another man who doesn't listen.
Another man who could call me with the same question three times because he doesn't like my answers, and then goes ahead and does what he wants anyway.
Hence the Balance of Stupid is maintained. My original conclusion was that we need to find a way to shift the Balance of Stupid in the right way, so the weight falls on unimportant things. Then I realized that whenever you have to cover for somebody's stupidity, that specific task turns to supreme importance, so a shifting attempt is futile.
Suffer stupidity in quite (it's impossible, I tried).
Nothing left but to suck it up!
So I am left with only this small wish: I hope that I'm not someone else's Balance of Stupid.
Although I probably am. If so, I apologize.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
I need a better map
So I fell of the face of the Earth again. Got lost. But I'm back.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
I need a better map
So I fell of the face of the Earth again. Got lost. But I'm back.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Engineering Commando to the Rescue!!!
So I was dropped a bomb to handle last Wednesday. I have to go to the US and Canada to install a couple of systems. Customer Care and Field Support are bogged down. Not my job, but, hey, everyone's gotta pitch in and lend a hand, don't they?
So I was all set to fly out on the 10th or 11th of June. It gave me a week to get ready. Just enough time. Time for what? Learning what the hell I was going to do. You see, I've never installed these type of systems before. In fact, some elements in these systems were never installed before. Certainly not in these versions which are brand new.
By the time Thursday rolled by, I was already flying out on the 7th.
OK, only three days. Not a problem. I can do it. I'll have to rally people up to help me a bit, but we're still cool.
Hey, at least I get to be in Canada and Wisconsin which I never visited before. Small towns, Hamilton outside of Toronto and Madison, just north of Chicago. Not quite your regular tourist traps, but that's alright.
But all this is not the point.
The point is that I am, effectively, temporarily on loan to the sales and support department. I have always had the satisfaction at my job of actually making something. It's not like carving stone or casting iron, but writing software does produce something at the end. Something that does something someone needs. I have always assumed that the sales and customer support and care departments don't really produce anything. Not that they don't work hard. They do. They're the ones bringing the money in. They just didn't actually make anything.
Or so I thought.
I was wrong.
They do produce.
A lot.
Mountains upon mountains of paperwork.
Volumes of e-mails going back and forth.
I have been CCed all the correspondences about my two sites over the fast two days and have received upwards of thirty mail messages and about fifteen documents. POs, SOWs, Quoting Tool, and something called channel Partner/Dealer Information form. I am sure that, just like me, you are wandering what all these things are. I have no idea!
A to B: "When are you coming...?" asks the first message.
B to A, cc C: "We are arriving at X...?" answered B.
A: "At Y...?" This is an e-mail message, not a phone, what's unclear about X?
B: "No, X"
C: "I like X."
A: "You sure you wouldn't like Y?"
B + C: "X is the date."
D: "I need you to be here on Z". Now, D is the customer. Why didn't anyone ask him beforehand?
B: "Oh, then I guess we'll be there at Z."
A: "But wouldn't Y be better?"
C: "Y is not an option. The customer wants it on the Z"
B: "We can be there on Z."
A: "Maybe we should try and work it out that we still arrive on X?"
B+C: "Z is fine. If that's when D wants it, then that's it."
A: "Oh...."
And the conversations go on and on:
A to B: "Our engineer has to talk to the customer."
B to A: "In addition, your engineer has to talk to the customer."
A to B: "We have to set up a conference to introduce him to the customer."
B to A: "Maybe we should have a conference to introduce the engineer to the customer?"
A to B: "We should talk about it."
B to A: "Let's have a conference with the engineer and work out what he needs."
A to B: "He would probably like to talk to the customer."
B to A: "Hmm, maybe that's not such a bad idea. Maybe he should talk to the customer?"
Engineer: Blows own Brains out.
That has been the content of my Inbox for the last few days.
If they're thinking I'm filling out all these forms, they are mad.
If they are thinking I'm participating in the sixteen conference calls they set up since Thursday, they are stark barking mad.
It looks like I'm actually going take this on and go through with the whole thing.
I must be a raving lunatic!
So I was all set to fly out on the 10th or 11th of June. It gave me a week to get ready. Just enough time. Time for what? Learning what the hell I was going to do. You see, I've never installed these type of systems before. In fact, some elements in these systems were never installed before. Certainly not in these versions which are brand new.
By the time Thursday rolled by, I was already flying out on the 7th.
OK, only three days. Not a problem. I can do it. I'll have to rally people up to help me a bit, but we're still cool.
Hey, at least I get to be in Canada and Wisconsin which I never visited before. Small towns, Hamilton outside of Toronto and Madison, just north of Chicago. Not quite your regular tourist traps, but that's alright.
But all this is not the point.
The point is that I am, effectively, temporarily on loan to the sales and support department. I have always had the satisfaction at my job of actually making something. It's not like carving stone or casting iron, but writing software does produce something at the end. Something that does something someone needs. I have always assumed that the sales and customer support and care departments don't really produce anything. Not that they don't work hard. They do. They're the ones bringing the money in. They just didn't actually make anything.
Or so I thought.
I was wrong.
They do produce.
A lot.
Mountains upon mountains of paperwork.
Volumes of e-mails going back and forth.
I have been CCed all the correspondences about my two sites over the fast two days and have received upwards of thirty mail messages and about fifteen documents. POs, SOWs, Quoting Tool, and something called channel Partner/Dealer Information form. I am sure that, just like me, you are wandering what all these things are. I have no idea!
A to B: "When are you coming...?" asks the first message.
B to A, cc C: "We are arriving at X...?" answered B.
A: "At Y...?" This is an e-mail message, not a phone, what's unclear about X?
B: "No, X"
C: "I like X."
A: "You sure you wouldn't like Y?"
B + C: "X is the date."
D: "I need you to be here on Z". Now, D is the customer. Why didn't anyone ask him beforehand?
B: "Oh, then I guess we'll be there at Z."
A: "But wouldn't Y be better?"
C: "Y is not an option. The customer wants it on the Z"
B: "We can be there on Z."
A: "Maybe we should try and work it out that we still arrive on X?"
B+C: "Z is fine. If that's when D wants it, then that's it."
A: "Oh...."
And the conversations go on and on:
A to B: "Our engineer has to talk to the customer."
B to A: "In addition, your engineer has to talk to the customer."
A to B: "We have to set up a conference to introduce him to the customer."
B to A: "Maybe we should have a conference to introduce the engineer to the customer?"
A to B: "We should talk about it."
B to A: "Let's have a conference with the engineer and work out what he needs."
A to B: "He would probably like to talk to the customer."
B to A: "Hmm, maybe that's not such a bad idea. Maybe he should talk to the customer?"
Engineer: Blows own Brains out.
That has been the content of my Inbox for the last few days.
If they're thinking I'm filling out all these forms, they are mad.
If they are thinking I'm participating in the sixteen conference calls they set up since Thursday, they are stark barking mad.
It looks like I'm actually going take this on and go through with the whole thing.
I must be a raving lunatic!
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Sandy and the Hedgehog
Sandy is our Golden Retriever. She lives with my parents at my parents' house. The Hedgehog is the one living on our street, traveling through the yards.
It all started a few weeks ago, when the spring started and all the night-time hedgehog activity ensued. Sandy, which spends her nights in a kennel in the yard so she doesn't go mad, started barking. Like mad. My mom eventually went outside to see what the bark it's all about, and discovered a hedgehog, in the, um....hedge. Sandy was protesting the uninvited trespassing of her yard. My mother, electing not to deal the small prickly creature, brought Sandy into the house, where she sat with her nose pressed against the door for the rest of the night. Admittedly, she might have dozed off at some point - nobody stayed up to watch her.
Sandy had spent the next few days sniffing out the little creature with no success.
One night, as I walked her, I met a neighbor, another late-night walker, and we stood and chatted for a bit. Sandy stretched her lead as far as it would go, and stuck her nose under the hedge of my parent's next door neighbor's' yard. She stood there, her faced fixed for almost two minutes. Now, Goldens do not stay focused for entire two minutes. Certainly not Sandy. It only occurred to me after those two minutes, that Sandy was looking at something very intently. Going around her, I saw her nose pressed as close as she dared to a curled up hedgehog. Hedgehog was rolled in a ball, thinking "take a bite...I dare you!" as hedgehogs do. Sandy was thinking "....???...." as Goldens do.
Two nights later, at a completely different part of the street, Sandy was pulling hard to the right, toward a fence. The little hedgehog was walking along happily. Out of curiosity, I let her get close. She again stuck her nose as close as she dared and sniffed. The hedgehog curled a bit, then decided it was not worth the trouble, stretched out, and walked on, Sandy at foot. We had to break off our slow pursuit finally. This really brings into question the whole survival instincts issue, but never mind.
Then, last night, I was pulling out - for those who wander what I'm doing at my parents' house so often it is because I was house-sitting for the last week, and they live very close anyway, and mom-food beats pizza-warming any time! Anyway, I was pulling out into the street, where a small black-gray-dotted-white thing walked across by headlights. The hedgehog was on the move again. He paused, looked my way, thought about it, and turned back, choosing not to stare down my car into submission. As I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I could see him taking a shot at crossing again.
The really cool thing about this whole affair is this: If I ever get a rock-and-roll band together, I have a great name!
Sandy and the Hedgehog.
Rock on.
It all started a few weeks ago, when the spring started and all the night-time hedgehog activity ensued. Sandy, which spends her nights in a kennel in the yard so she doesn't go mad, started barking. Like mad. My mom eventually went outside to see what the bark it's all about, and discovered a hedgehog, in the, um....hedge. Sandy was protesting the uninvited trespassing of her yard. My mother, electing not to deal the small prickly creature, brought Sandy into the house, where she sat with her nose pressed against the door for the rest of the night. Admittedly, she might have dozed off at some point - nobody stayed up to watch her.
Sandy had spent the next few days sniffing out the little creature with no success.
One night, as I walked her, I met a neighbor, another late-night walker, and we stood and chatted for a bit. Sandy stretched her lead as far as it would go, and stuck her nose under the hedge of my parent's next door neighbor's' yard. She stood there, her faced fixed for almost two minutes. Now, Goldens do not stay focused for entire two minutes. Certainly not Sandy. It only occurred to me after those two minutes, that Sandy was looking at something very intently. Going around her, I saw her nose pressed as close as she dared to a curled up hedgehog. Hedgehog was rolled in a ball, thinking "take a bite...I dare you!" as hedgehogs do. Sandy was thinking "....???...." as Goldens do.
Two nights later, at a completely different part of the street, Sandy was pulling hard to the right, toward a fence. The little hedgehog was walking along happily. Out of curiosity, I let her get close. She again stuck her nose as close as she dared and sniffed. The hedgehog curled a bit, then decided it was not worth the trouble, stretched out, and walked on, Sandy at foot. We had to break off our slow pursuit finally. This really brings into question the whole survival instincts issue, but never mind.
Then, last night, I was pulling out - for those who wander what I'm doing at my parents' house so often it is because I was house-sitting for the last week, and they live very close anyway, and mom-food beats pizza-warming any time! Anyway, I was pulling out into the street, where a small black-gray-dotted-white thing walked across by headlights. The hedgehog was on the move again. He paused, looked my way, thought about it, and turned back, choosing not to stare down my car into submission. As I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I could see him taking a shot at crossing again.
The really cool thing about this whole affair is this: If I ever get a rock-and-roll band together, I have a great name!
Sandy and the Hedgehog.
Rock on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)