I am tired. This morning I got up early and cranked-up the trusty Sears snowblower for its maiden run of the season. Started on the first pull. I wrangled the 6 inches of blizzard in the driveway and 2 foot snow banks left by plows. Snow work is good work. You get a visual reward when you look back and see how much you have cleared away by dint of your hard labor.
At a desk in an office the mounds of paper never seem to disappear. Stuff is never really done. You get to thinking about cycles. Office Work is tightly linked to cycles. I know guys who get up every morning, and they don't think about the date on the regular calendar, they think about what fiscal week it is. They are the beancounters who toil and sweat and agonize about money that belongs to shareholders - nameless, faceless gamblers whose greed infects the institutions that they have bought a piece of. 21st Century slavers who buy and sell the anonymous workforce like they were just cattle. Hey, I know: it's just business. But it's not about worker satisfaction.
Judy hates to drive in the snow, and I don't mind. So I drove her to work in the Caravan. On the way over to Watertown, I noticed two vehicles spun-out - both big SUVs being operated by people who do not have a firm grasp on physics. I was a C student in High School but I still understand momentum, inertia and gravity enough to stay out of a ditch in slippery weather. (At least when I am sober)
My wife and I have both picked-up some respiratory congestion probably from the grandkids who were sniffling all week during their visit. Or, was it from all the kissing of friends and relatives during the holiday festivities. We'll we all got to share something besides the love I guess. Cough, Cough. Or maybe she got it at work and gave it to me. Staying home sick is not an option at her place of work; they don't believe in being sick. So all the sick people come to work and give it to their coworkers and customers. I dunno.
If I was back working in an office, I'd be home taking a sick day. I don't believe in spreading disease or working on snowy days. If I was feeling ok, and there was no snow to shovel, I'd probably be at my desk, shuffling paper, staring at some PC screen of data base attributes, running queries, thinking about lunch. Maybe I'd be dozing at the director's end-of-fiscal-quarter meeting. Of course, this is the meeting where he reflects on the contributions the IT group has made to the company during the past year. (Funny, he never mentioned my projects.) Mainly he talks about the hardware improvements to the infrastructure, (like any of us non-geeks give a rat's patooty about hardware.) Then, the employee of the quarter would be recognized. Always one of the cute young gals with bodacious boobs. No argument. They do make working in an office more interesting.
But just thinking about the meetings at the old office makes me want to yawn.
12/27/2004
12/26/2004
The Day After
This morning, we were up at 4am to take the kids to the airport for a 6:00 take off. As I loaded- up the minivan, it was cold and dark toward the east. a bright moon was a the southwestern sky. The ground was dry. Last Monday's snowstorm was followed by an unseasonable thaw - with tropical rains driven by a strong wind. The temps had been in the 50's during that storm or we would probably be looking at a couple of feet of snow like they got in Chicago.
By the time I had the car warmed-up and packed with bags and grandkids, a cloud bank moved in and the sky was dark. Snow flurries could be seen in the headlights as we sped along the black streets. We were virtually alone. A commuter's delight I was thinking, Hey maybe I should get an early morning job. Being out and awake in the early morning is invigorating!
We made it down the pike though the Ted Williams tunnel and into Logan. (We kept a lookout for leaks, but couldn't see any.) I took the arrivals lane instead of the departures at terminal B so we didn't use curbside boarding. Fortunately there were short lines and by the time I got the van parked, Dana was done checking her luggage. The boys were still drowsy and distracted by the bustling crowd. Pretty soon it was time to go through security and board the plane. There was nothing left for us to do so we hugged and kissed them all goodbye and went home.
As I drove back on the pike, I was still noticing that the traffic was very light. At the Brighton Tolls, it finally dawned on me that this was the day after Christmas and a Sunday to boot. A lot of travelers would wait a few more days to get back from whence they came.
We got home and went back to bed.
I figure the Kids should be arriving in San Jose about now. So we are waiting for the call. The flurries have evolved into a fine powdery snow, maybe an inch or so on the ground. I don't think this was forecast. No complaints, compared to the earthquake/tidal wave killing 10,000 people in South East Asia, we feel pretty lucky.
It is quiet in the house. The cats have resumed their normal duties. Sleeping on the sofa, puking on the rug, grazing the cat bowls. They seem a little hungover as a result of the catnip toys that were brought by Santa Claws. (Sorry couldn't resist that.)
I do not have any work planned for this coming week. I shall try to get back on my schedule of doing nothing.
Post script: We got the call around 4:30pm Everyone arrived safeley.
By the time I had the car warmed-up and packed with bags and grandkids, a cloud bank moved in and the sky was dark. Snow flurries could be seen in the headlights as we sped along the black streets. We were virtually alone. A commuter's delight I was thinking, Hey maybe I should get an early morning job. Being out and awake in the early morning is invigorating!
We made it down the pike though the Ted Williams tunnel and into Logan. (We kept a lookout for leaks, but couldn't see any.) I took the arrivals lane instead of the departures at terminal B so we didn't use curbside boarding. Fortunately there were short lines and by the time I got the van parked, Dana was done checking her luggage. The boys were still drowsy and distracted by the bustling crowd. Pretty soon it was time to go through security and board the plane. There was nothing left for us to do so we hugged and kissed them all goodbye and went home.
As I drove back on the pike, I was still noticing that the traffic was very light. At the Brighton Tolls, it finally dawned on me that this was the day after Christmas and a Sunday to boot. A lot of travelers would wait a few more days to get back from whence they came.
We got home and went back to bed.
I figure the Kids should be arriving in San Jose about now. So we are waiting for the call. The flurries have evolved into a fine powdery snow, maybe an inch or so on the ground. I don't think this was forecast. No complaints, compared to the earthquake/tidal wave killing 10,000 people in South East Asia, we feel pretty lucky.
It is quiet in the house. The cats have resumed their normal duties. Sleeping on the sofa, puking on the rug, grazing the cat bowls. They seem a little hungover as a result of the catnip toys that were brought by Santa Claws. (Sorry couldn't resist that.)
I do not have any work planned for this coming week. I shall try to get back on my schedule of doing nothing.
Post script: We got the call around 4:30pm Everyone arrived safeley.
12/24/2004
Twas the morning before Christmas
I was lying snugly in my bed, thinking about stock prices and bacon, which I did not smell sizzling in a pan down in the kitchen. Suddenly, at my door there arose such a clatter that it made the pile of sleeping cats scatter, wondering what was the matter. One hid in the closet, two scampered under the bed.
"Wake-up, wake-up, Grandpa" It was of course Vinny and Tony, screaming with the delight of surprising a slumbering grandpa in his lair. Climbing up on the bed, jumping on body parts that were not designed for such activity. Ok Ok I said I'm getting up. Go tell Nana to make me breakfast! I shouted. Tony went back down the stairs with the message. "Grampa want breakfast, Nana!" he repeated on every step. Vinny stayed and kept tickling me to make sure I stayed awake. Tony came back shortly with an apple.
"Breakfast" he announced.
But when I reached for the apple he held it back saying, "My breakfast." laughing at his joke.
I went downstairs and settled for a toasted bagel with cream cheese.
"Wake-up, wake-up, Grandpa" It was of course Vinny and Tony, screaming with the delight of surprising a slumbering grandpa in his lair. Climbing up on the bed, jumping on body parts that were not designed for such activity. Ok Ok I said I'm getting up. Go tell Nana to make me breakfast! I shouted. Tony went back down the stairs with the message. "Grampa want breakfast, Nana!" he repeated on every step. Vinny stayed and kept tickling me to make sure I stayed awake. Tony came back shortly with an apple.
"Breakfast" he announced.
But when I reached for the apple he held it back saying, "My breakfast." laughing at his joke.
I went downstairs and settled for a toasted bagel with cream cheese.
12/21/2004
IT'S A COLD SICK WORLD OUT THERE
Grandchild update. (Skip this section if you are a Grinch.) The kids arrived in Boston yesterday morning at the ungodly hour of 6:30am. The ground was covered with a light coating of snow as we drove into Logan in the dark. We were just happy that the Northeaster that was threatened by the fear-mongering weatherguy did not materialize. As we waited at the doorway where the throngs of arriving holiday travelers pass through on their way to baggage claim, there were many touching scenes of people being met by people who were glad to see them. This is civilization at it's best, I was thinking: loved ones braving the arduous challenges of modern mass transportation to travel long miles to be with their families. Out of the din and confusion I heard a small but powerful voice yelling "Grandpa, grandpa, grandpa." It was 2 year old Tony, of course.
We all got back to the house as the morning commuters started boarding trains to Boston. Vinny, who is now 4yrs and very much into trains, insisted that we first stop at the Farms station to watch the big diesel engine come in. While we waited, he delighted us with his rendition of "The night before Christmas." As soon as they all got home and unpacked, Vinny started coughing. I'll spare you the details of the rest of the day, but it involved a visit to the local pediatrician, hospital laboratory and pharmacy. Finally, after a long and exhausting day, Vinny (and the rest of us) got a good night's sleep and we are hoping he is better and ready to take the train into Boston today (which he has been talking about for a month!). Tony is cute as a button, yakking and following the cats around the house tirelessly. Cats like to be chased, so it works out fine for all concerned. Tonight, we will put up the Christmas Tree. This should keep them entertained for at least ten minutes. Also, little cousin Dennis will be visiting if the coughing is kept down.
By the way, the 6 degree temperature is unnecessarily frigid. This is an unpleasant reminder to Dana of the reasons they do not live in Massachusetts anymore.
Reasons to Stop reading the News. This morning I read in the news that Aleve - the effective pain reduction pill that I have been popping on a daily basis for the past 3 or 4 years - is suspected of elevating the risk of heart disease and stroke. This is just another in a continuing series of recent reports that the pills we take to make us feel better are actually killing us.
If you tune in to the nightly news reports at 6:30pm, you are assailed by every pharmaceutical company with TV advertising budget. They've got a nostrum for every ailment and a pill for every discomfort. Purple pills to heal your acid etched esophagus, blue pills to put the wood back in your willy, gunk to hold your dentures in, and shots you can take to raise your white blood cell count enough so you can keep taking your chemotherapy ( a diabolical medicinal approach where you take poisons that hopefully kill the cancer before the poison kills you. )
Some of the ads don't even tell you what the product does. But then they recite a list of the side effects, all of which are nasty. Ask your doctor, they say. Maybe I should change my HMO. I ask the doctors and they say "No, it's not for nagging rectal itch. We still don't have a cure for that."
All I know is this: The nicest luxury yacht in Hyannis Harbor is owned by the Eli Lilly pharmaceutical family. Another unpleasant side effect of taking drugs is the obscene profits accruing to the big drug companies.
More signs of seasonal sickness: Here is what looks like a hoax news item:
"Search resumes for 5 missing fishermen "
Now, why aren't they out there looking for the missing guys instead of checking out their Curricula Vitae ??
We all got back to the house as the morning commuters started boarding trains to Boston. Vinny, who is now 4yrs and very much into trains, insisted that we first stop at the Farms station to watch the big diesel engine come in. While we waited, he delighted us with his rendition of "The night before Christmas." As soon as they all got home and unpacked, Vinny started coughing. I'll spare you the details of the rest of the day, but it involved a visit to the local pediatrician, hospital laboratory and pharmacy. Finally, after a long and exhausting day, Vinny (and the rest of us) got a good night's sleep and we are hoping he is better and ready to take the train into Boston today (which he has been talking about for a month!). Tony is cute as a button, yakking and following the cats around the house tirelessly. Cats like to be chased, so it works out fine for all concerned. Tonight, we will put up the Christmas Tree. This should keep them entertained for at least ten minutes. Also, little cousin Dennis will be visiting if the coughing is kept down.
By the way, the 6 degree temperature is unnecessarily frigid. This is an unpleasant reminder to Dana of the reasons they do not live in Massachusetts anymore.
Reasons to Stop reading the News. This morning I read in the news that Aleve - the effective pain reduction pill that I have been popping on a daily basis for the past 3 or 4 years - is suspected of elevating the risk of heart disease and stroke. This is just another in a continuing series of recent reports that the pills we take to make us feel better are actually killing us.
If you tune in to the nightly news reports at 6:30pm, you are assailed by every pharmaceutical company with TV advertising budget. They've got a nostrum for every ailment and a pill for every discomfort. Purple pills to heal your acid etched esophagus, blue pills to put the wood back in your willy, gunk to hold your dentures in, and shots you can take to raise your white blood cell count enough so you can keep taking your chemotherapy ( a diabolical medicinal approach where you take poisons that hopefully kill the cancer before the poison kills you. )
Some of the ads don't even tell you what the product does. But then they recite a list of the side effects, all of which are nasty. Ask your doctor, they say. Maybe I should change my HMO. I ask the doctors and they say "No, it's not for nagging rectal itch. We still don't have a cure for that."
All I know is this: The nicest luxury yacht in Hyannis Harbor is owned by the Eli Lilly pharmaceutical family. Another unpleasant side effect of taking drugs is the obscene profits accruing to the big drug companies.
More signs of seasonal sickness: Here is what looks like a hoax news item:
"Search resumes for 5 missing fishermen "
Now, why aren't they out there looking for the missing guys instead of checking out their Curricula Vitae ??
12/10/2004
Making a Difference
"Tis the season for chestnuts roasting on an open fire, jack frost nipping at your nose, carols sung by a choir of eskimos and, of course the annual contest to see who can get through an entire evening of TV watching without bumping into "It's a Wonderful Life."
We've all seen it a few hundred times. Bedford Falls, George Bailey played by Jimmy Stewart, mean old man Potter.
We all know the story by heart - a depressed George Bailey, ruined and hopeless decides to end it all on the icy bridge. His guardian angel a large white rabbit names Harvey persuades him that his life did have meaning - by taking him for a walk through bedfor d falls as if he hadn't lived. On the third day he wakes up and ....
As I clicked over to the Comedy Channel to watch South Park, I vaguely wondered how the companies I have worked for would have been different if I hadn't worked my magic while on the payroll.
Letsee - Wang Labs. Hmmn. I helped design the first commercial application on the Wang VS Minicomputer. But they went bankrupt a few years after I left. (Perhaps they should have been nicer to me). Then Prime Computer, where my most memorable contribution was to design a customer file structure that would allow an intelligent executive to determine how much business a global customer had done with us. Pretty impressive except that the CFO didn't understand it. He had me transferred to Manufacturing because I pointed-out that he was the only one in the room who didn't get it. They scrapped that idea. A few years later, they were out of business.
Then there was a short stint at Index Technologies. Aha, I managed the miraculous recovery of their lost user database. Unfortunately, before we got the thing up and running, they got bought out and the new guys laid everyone off.
Then I went to Honeywell-Bull, where I analyzed and tested a new piece of software they were considering from Brock Controls. I advised against using this software. They thanked me for my incisive analysis by going ahead with the original plan and made me work on the project. Within a year, they were suing Brock for non performance. Everyone hated the new system.
I went to the diploma factory where they were implementing Peoplesoft. I designed a nifty HR DataMart there, but the HR folks were too busy to try it out. My recommendations regarding the hiring of a certain loose cannon as Project Manager were ignored, with disasterous results. My best efforts were rewarded with a demotion. This act of clueless management turned out to be the best thing that had happened to me in a long time.
I went to TAC, where I was finally recognized for my ideas and ability to stay awake during staff meetings. Ok, I admit that I did fall asleep once when the Director was giving us a pep talk. A few months later I was laid off.
So, that's the story of the impact my career has had on the world: Nada.
I might just as well have been born rich, so I could have at least developed my Tennis game.
12/09/2004
Critical Feedback
We all need feedback at times, even from our supporters. One UK band named Damageplan got a bit more harsh criticism than they expected last night at a night club in Ohio . As they began their first number, an armed gunman leapt upon the stage and shot the guitarist at point blank range, killing him. The gunman fired more shots and killed several others before being slain by an alert police guard.
We are not surprised that a band called Damageplan would evoke such a response. I have often thought that David Chapman killed John Lennon in response to Double Fantasy - that terrible album that interspersed some pretty good Lennon performances with hideous and artless songs written and "sung" by the tone-deaf-bitch-who-broke-up-the-Beatles - Yoko Ono. (I tell you, if I had wasted my $5 bucks on the album, I'd have been tempted to shoot him myself.)
DamagePlan performed at the Ozzie Fest recently. So you don't need to listen to know you would hate their music too. Maybe enough to take action...
We are not surprised that a band called Damageplan would evoke such a response. I have often thought that David Chapman killed John Lennon in response to Double Fantasy - that terrible album that interspersed some pretty good Lennon performances with hideous and artless songs written and "sung" by the tone-deaf-bitch-who-broke-up-the-Beatles - Yoko Ono. (I tell you, if I had wasted my $5 bucks on the album, I'd have been tempted to shoot him myself.)
DamagePlan performed at the Ozzie Fest recently. So you don't need to listen to know you would hate their music too. Maybe enough to take action...
12/08/2004
Harlotry in the Office
The drudgery of working has again intruded on my schedule. One of the sancrosanct traditions of my existence during the recent hiatus from the world of employment, has been Tuesday High Tea. In actuality, "Tea" is just a euphemism for "Beer." A small group of unencumbered semi-retired guys getting together for a couple of cold brews for an hour or so, to discuss the issues of the day and to celebrate our liberty.
Our wives (all of whom work) do not object to this benevolent weekly gathering. They think it's nice for guys to initiate social interaction that doesn't involve sports. They worry that a guy not-working spends too much time alone. They have read stories about men who become despondent during retirement, and they encourage us to find activities that make us get dressed and leave the house.
Yesterday, for the first time, I missed it. No, I didn't forget what day it was (as one member of our group frequently claims.) And I certainly didn't have anything better to do. I was working.
Just as I was about to leave to head over to Natick, the Office Manager asked if I could help with an emergency mail-merge for a communication that had to go into the mail yesterday. I am ashamed to admit that I did not yell "Tough darts, see ya tomorrow," (as I would have, if I had been an employee.)
No, like the mercenary whore that I am, I thought about the money. I sat down and designed master document and the database query that churned-out several reams of perfectly-composed personal letters and matching labels instead of going for a beer with my buddies. This is how debased we can become as desperate house husbands trying to earn enough cash to buy the wife an expensive piece of jewelry for a Christmas present, (or perhaps a nice 5 megapixal digital camera for himself.)
Our wives (all of whom work) do not object to this benevolent weekly gathering. They think it's nice for guys to initiate social interaction that doesn't involve sports. They worry that a guy not-working spends too much time alone. They have read stories about men who become despondent during retirement, and they encourage us to find activities that make us get dressed and leave the house.
Yesterday, for the first time, I missed it. No, I didn't forget what day it was (as one member of our group frequently claims.) And I certainly didn't have anything better to do. I was working.
Just as I was about to leave to head over to Natick, the Office Manager asked if I could help with an emergency mail-merge for a communication that had to go into the mail yesterday. I am ashamed to admit that I did not yell "Tough darts, see ya tomorrow," (as I would have, if I had been an employee.)
No, like the mercenary whore that I am, I thought about the money. I sat down and designed master document and the database query that churned-out several reams of perfectly-composed personal letters and matching labels instead of going for a beer with my buddies. This is how debased we can become as desperate house husbands trying to earn enough cash to buy the wife an expensive piece of jewelry for a Christmas present, (or perhaps a nice 5 megapixal digital camera for himself.)
12/06/2004
Infamous Days
History is the story of human events and cycles. Let's face it: the remarkable events of history are mainly associated with wars and other deadly catastrophes. I cannot remember reading anything in my history books about nice people living peacefully together, helping each other. Oh yes, there were stories of missionaries and such, who braved the tortuous conditions of pestilence and plague to help others - if they would agree to be converted. I do not think the work of missionaries is righteous, so much as self-serving. Possibly, even malevolent.
Anyhow, tomorrow is the anniversary of the historic Day of Infamy (Dec 7, 1941) the attack on Pearl Harbor, which gave the author James Jones a writing career. Every book he wrote (eg, From Here to Eternity, and other titles which I cannot remember.) were based on events of that day, at that Island Paradise turned into a graveyard for the American fleet. I was born a few months after that infamous day, and have dedicated my life to staying away from Hawaii. So far, I have been quite successful.
Work has become a hellhole. Every day at the crack of dawn (10am) I drag my tired ass into the office to grind out mindless queries on the access database. I need to restructure the tables and rewrite every bleeping report.
Writing new procedures. Making them into a well-oiled information machine. I am a data quality missionary in the jungles of the Sargasso Sea. I work for 3 or 4 hours straight, taking short breaks for biological necessities.
When I get back home, it is dark. No one has cooked dinner. The cats are annoyed. My wife is righteously tired from her own workday, which began at 8am. She is watching Dr. Phil on TV, wondering why I have not planned for the evening meal . She is ready to confront me with her anger and disappointment. But I quickly dial the phone to arrange for a nutritious meal to be delivered piping hot, with extra sauce.
Tomorrow, we will run the same tedious program, and on, and on. Until we die. Or, win the lottery!
Anyhow, tomorrow is the anniversary of the historic Day of Infamy (Dec 7, 1941) the attack on Pearl Harbor, which gave the author James Jones a writing career. Every book he wrote (eg, From Here to Eternity, and other titles which I cannot remember.) were based on events of that day, at that Island Paradise turned into a graveyard for the American fleet. I was born a few months after that infamous day, and have dedicated my life to staying away from Hawaii. So far, I have been quite successful.
Work has become a hellhole. Every day at the crack of dawn (10am) I drag my tired ass into the office to grind out mindless queries on the access database. I need to restructure the tables and rewrite every bleeping report.
Writing new procedures. Making them into a well-oiled information machine. I am a data quality missionary in the jungles of the Sargasso Sea. I work for 3 or 4 hours straight, taking short breaks for biological necessities.
When I get back home, it is dark. No one has cooked dinner. The cats are annoyed. My wife is righteously tired from her own workday, which began at 8am. She is watching Dr. Phil on TV, wondering why I have not planned for the evening meal . She is ready to confront me with her anger and disappointment. But I quickly dial the phone to arrange for a nutritious meal to be delivered piping hot, with extra sauce.
Tomorrow, we will run the same tedious program, and on, and on. Until we die. Or, win the lottery!
11/24/2004
Reasons to be Thankless
Cripes. I've been putting-in about 4 hours a day since last Friday. It's a big adjustment for me. Going to an office every day reminds me of how dumb and inefficient time wasters office workers can be.
Now, I am an expert at malingering. I can spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing except staring out the window and wondering about the meaning of life. But I never have considered time spent doing nothing, sleeping or standing in line at at the coffee wagon as "wasted." Wasted time is when morons - impersonating busy people - are sitting at their desks surfing the web, or congregating in useless meetings, pretending to be getting something done, complaining about how stressed and "swamped" they are with work, or wondering what the boss thinks.
Here it is 8:30am and I am looking at another day of grueling database analysis. For the 4th consecutive workday, I will shower, shave, put-on clean pressed clothes and drive to an office. The office will be closed for Thanksgiving and Friday. I am Thankful for the long weekend, but will be doing about twenty hours next week as well. I miss the times when I could look at several whole days with no one expecting me to be anywhere, wearing the same clothes for a week, bathing only when the cats started following me around the house, shaving only when strangers would start handing me spare change.
This is the definition of Freedom. I will be Thankful when I can return to that blessed state.
Now, I am an expert at malingering. I can spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing except staring out the window and wondering about the meaning of life. But I never have considered time spent doing nothing, sleeping or standing in line at at the coffee wagon as "wasted." Wasted time is when morons - impersonating busy people - are sitting at their desks surfing the web, or congregating in useless meetings, pretending to be getting something done, complaining about how stressed and "swamped" they are with work, or wondering what the boss thinks.
Here it is 8:30am and I am looking at another day of grueling database analysis. For the 4th consecutive workday, I will shower, shave, put-on clean pressed clothes and drive to an office. The office will be closed for Thanksgiving and Friday. I am Thankful for the long weekend, but will be doing about twenty hours next week as well. I miss the times when I could look at several whole days with no one expecting me to be anywhere, wearing the same clothes for a week, bathing only when the cats started following me around the house, shaving only when strangers would start handing me spare change.
This is the definition of Freedom. I will be Thankful when I can return to that blessed state.
11/21/2004
Back to Work
On Friday, I got up early, showered and shaved. I put on clean, pressed pants and a newly laundered shirt. I went to an office in a nearby town and worked on their database for 4.5 hours. I must say that I survived this first stint of office work since I left my previous job in April of 2003.
The hardest part was looking out of the window and seeing that I was missing an unseasonably warm afternoon. This is defense exhibit 9233 proving that the gods hate me. They see that I am stuck in a stuffy office showing the administrative staff how to do mail merges, and they taunt me with a perfect day for staining the new screen porch mahogany deck.
As I say, I survived. I'll probably be back there tomorrow for three or four hours. Then maybe 7 or 8 more partial days. The office is closed on Thanksgiving and the next day. I have to re-structure the database, rewrite some report queries, do some necessary clean-up and reformatting of the actual business data. Then write up some pretty user documentation. The whole job will be about 40 hrs work.
Then I'll probably take some R&R time before looking for more work. After all, it is the season to reflect on one's blessings and hope for the future. More importantly, it is a time to renew fellowship over malt beverages, washed down with Bar-B-Qued ribs.
The hardest part was looking out of the window and seeing that I was missing an unseasonably warm afternoon. This is defense exhibit 9233 proving that the gods hate me. They see that I am stuck in a stuffy office showing the administrative staff how to do mail merges, and they taunt me with a perfect day for staining the new screen porch mahogany deck.
As I say, I survived. I'll probably be back there tomorrow for three or four hours. Then maybe 7 or 8 more partial days. The office is closed on Thanksgiving and the next day. I have to re-structure the database, rewrite some report queries, do some necessary clean-up and reformatting of the actual business data. Then write up some pretty user documentation. The whole job will be about 40 hrs work.
Then I'll probably take some R&R time before looking for more work. After all, it is the season to reflect on one's blessings and hope for the future. More importantly, it is a time to renew fellowship over malt beverages, washed down with Bar-B-Qued ribs.
11/20/2004
Games People Play
I am disturbed by the recent news from Iraq. The TV news reports that the occupation of Fallujah by US troops is almost complete. At the same time that we are clamping down on one troulespot, new problems are igniting in new places. This reminds me of the carnival game called whack-a-mole. You hit as many mole heads as you can in a race against the clock. Every time you whack the mole in one hole, he pops up again in another spot.
It's a maddening game that you cannot win, whcih is why carnivals run it.
How can we put down the new insurgency with troops tied up occupying Fallujah. If we leave, they will come back. If we stay, they will just go and cause trouble somewhere else. Like drug dealers and hookers here in the homeland. They just keep moving to the unguarded areas. Without civilian cooperation (and a bit of old fashioned vigilantism on the part of the civilian populace), we cannot win.
WARNING: When I was Googling the term Whack-a-mole, I got an item that describes a "game" that was going around the internet last year called "Whack-a-mole." Apparently the "game" is a devious way to keep you busy while a hacker installs a piece of nasty spyware on your machine.
It's a maddening game that you cannot win, whcih is why carnivals run it.
How can we put down the new insurgency with troops tied up occupying Fallujah. If we leave, they will come back. If we stay, they will just go and cause trouble somewhere else. Like drug dealers and hookers here in the homeland. They just keep moving to the unguarded areas. Without civilian cooperation (and a bit of old fashioned vigilantism on the part of the civilian populace), we cannot win.
WARNING: When I was Googling the term Whack-a-mole, I got an item that describes a "game" that was going around the internet last year called "Whack-a-mole." Apparently the "game" is a devious way to keep you busy while a hacker installs a piece of nasty spyware on your machine.
11/17/2004
Thundering Silence
It's quiet here today. This is the first weekday in about a month that there are no workmen here. They have gone to go and pound, drill, saw and pound again on someone else's house. They have taken their giant country and western playing radio and their dunkin donuts coffe cups and omwitch wrappers and their loud talking to the next victim - er, I mean customer. The screen porch is 93.7% done. All it needs is screens and a door, maybe some electical details. I think these will be done in the spring. This is ok with me, because the final payment is not due until the job is done. The dumpster is scheduled to be removed by Friday.
Finally, I have my house back.
I was somewhat dismayed to read an article today about how badly some lottery winners have fared. It seems that the sudden influx of a huge amount of money can be a bad thing for a lot of people. Especially people who have no experience with wealth. A lot of the "winners" have ended up bankrupt and despised by their families. One winner's brother hired a hit-man to kill him in hopes of inheriiting the fortune. I recall reading a profile a few years ago about a young woman who won something like twenty million. She was unhappy after a few years because her relationship with siblings and parents had become strained. "No matter what I gave them, they didn't think it was enough." she said after buying new homes for her family members that were slightly smaller than hers. They thought she was selfish. She thought they were moneygrubbing.
This would never happen to me. If I won, I would give all the money to charity: The Noonan Rectal Itch Foundation. This venerable organization is dedicated to finding not just a treatment but a cure for this agonizing condition.
===========
I am brushing-up on my Microsoft Access knowledge. Reading "Access 2000 for People Too Lazy to Read The Help Documentation." It's pretty informative. But I keep dozing off. My contract gig starts on Friday, and will probably run 7-10 days of maybe 4 hours a day. Not bad for a starter engagement. That's what we consultants call them: engagements.
Man, it is quiet today. Even the cats seem to be spooked by the eery silence. They have assembled in the doorway, looking at me for an explanation.
Ah, as if on cue, the landscapers have arrived next door with their big mowers and blowers and...of course the giant leaf-sucking machine.
Finally, I have my house back.
I was somewhat dismayed to read an article today about how badly some lottery winners have fared. It seems that the sudden influx of a huge amount of money can be a bad thing for a lot of people. Especially people who have no experience with wealth. A lot of the "winners" have ended up bankrupt and despised by their families. One winner's brother hired a hit-man to kill him in hopes of inheriiting the fortune. I recall reading a profile a few years ago about a young woman who won something like twenty million. She was unhappy after a few years because her relationship with siblings and parents had become strained. "No matter what I gave them, they didn't think it was enough." she said after buying new homes for her family members that were slightly smaller than hers. They thought she was selfish. She thought they were moneygrubbing.
This would never happen to me. If I won, I would give all the money to charity: The Noonan Rectal Itch Foundation. This venerable organization is dedicated to finding not just a treatment but a cure for this agonizing condition.
===========
I am brushing-up on my Microsoft Access knowledge. Reading "Access 2000 for People Too Lazy to Read The Help Documentation." It's pretty informative. But I keep dozing off. My contract gig starts on Friday, and will probably run 7-10 days of maybe 4 hours a day. Not bad for a starter engagement. That's what we consultants call them: engagements.
Man, it is quiet today. Even the cats seem to be spooked by the eery silence. They have assembled in the doorway, looking at me for an explanation.
Ah, as if on cue, the landscapers have arrived next door with their big mowers and blowers and...of course the giant leaf-sucking machine.
11/13/2004
Snow Job
The porch guys have one or two more days work, finishing up the trim and electrical. Then, they will go away and work on inside jobs until March, when they will finish installing the screens. I will be glad to have them gone. The noise and distraction from their hammering and power sawing activities (not to mention their boombox) have been driving me up a wall, and out of the house. I (reluctantly) have agreed to allow them access to the bathroom, rather than having one of those unsightly portable toilets sitting in the driveway, next to the dumpster. During the inhumanly cold weather, I feel obliged to offer them the option of coming inside to warm-up periodically. Although it has only been about two weeks since they started, it feels like 6 months since I have had the house to myself.
This morning I had to shovel about 4 inches of wet snow. Winter has arrived. Thoughts are wrenched away from screens and decks to ice and snowthrowers. Thanksgiving. Christmas (and grandsons).
The news is full of world events. And problematic questions.
The sight of the adoring throngs of Palestinians at Ramallah yesterday gives one a real sense of what we are up against when we say we are at war against terrorists. Not only do they worship the man who ruined their hopes of peace and independence, but they are habitual wasters of valuable ammunition. Don't those bullets come down, somewhere? Maybe landing on people? Does Allah like being shot at?
Now they are reporting that all the enemy strategy guys escaped in Fallujah . Duh! Does anyone else think we might have helped more insurgents to become martyrs if we had not announced the attack two weeks in advance?
Nine Iraqi police stations were looted by militants yesterday. How come the cops didn't shoot the looters?
Presidential assassin John Hinkley wants to get more walking-around time. He's just fine now. I would make it mandatory that any shrink who lobbies for freedom for a former homicidal maniac would have to co-sign a guarantee that the said former mental patient will not violate any laws - or the shrink will be accountable for any crimes committed by the nutcase, and will serve the appropriate sentence as the mentally accountable party. Also the guys who were shot must sign-off on any plan to let this guy out without a chaperon.
The Peterson trial is almost over (we still need to go through the spectacle of the sentencing.) The amazing statistic that has been in the news is that the leading cause of death for pregnant women is homicide. More shockingly, the father of the baby usually commits the crime. Should the prolife movement get involved with this extreme form of abortion? Why aren't they speaking out?
The Big Dig tunnel system has sprung a leak or two - but nobody is responsible. Gov. Mitt wants the Turnpike chairman to resign. But, this will accomplish nothing.
We want our money back!
This morning I had to shovel about 4 inches of wet snow. Winter has arrived. Thoughts are wrenched away from screens and decks to ice and snowthrowers. Thanksgiving. Christmas (and grandsons).
The news is full of world events. And problematic questions.
The sight of the adoring throngs of Palestinians at Ramallah yesterday gives one a real sense of what we are up against when we say we are at war against terrorists. Not only do they worship the man who ruined their hopes of peace and independence, but they are habitual wasters of valuable ammunition. Don't those bullets come down, somewhere? Maybe landing on people? Does Allah like being shot at?
Now they are reporting that all the enemy strategy guys escaped in Fallujah . Duh! Does anyone else think we might have helped more insurgents to become martyrs if we had not announced the attack two weeks in advance?
Nine Iraqi police stations were looted by militants yesterday. How come the cops didn't shoot the looters?
Presidential assassin John Hinkley wants to get more walking-around time. He's just fine now. I would make it mandatory that any shrink who lobbies for freedom for a former homicidal maniac would have to co-sign a guarantee that the said former mental patient will not violate any laws - or the shrink will be accountable for any crimes committed by the nutcase, and will serve the appropriate sentence as the mentally accountable party. Also the guys who were shot must sign-off on any plan to let this guy out without a chaperon.
The Peterson trial is almost over (we still need to go through the spectacle of the sentencing.) The amazing statistic that has been in the news is that the leading cause of death for pregnant women is homicide. More shockingly, the father of the baby usually commits the crime. Should the prolife movement get involved with this extreme form of abortion? Why aren't they speaking out?
The Big Dig tunnel system has sprung a leak or two - but nobody is responsible. Gov. Mitt wants the Turnpike chairman to resign. But, this will accomplish nothing.
We want our money back!
11/06/2004
One Flake Does Not a Snowstorm Make
I had a job interview yesterday. The hiring VP reminded me of the guy who didn't like me when I was starting up the Data Warehouse Project at the Diploma Factory; I probably reminded the hiring VP of someone who would soon need to be demoted. I don't think it was the right situation for me - they were looking for someone who had actually succeeded in starting up a data warehouse. Hah, I told him. That's the boring part.
He didn't even smile at some of my wry humor ("Why, 2 years ago I couldn't even spell XML...." and, "You're not offended by fag jokes are you?"). I figured he was giving me a strong hint when we said goodbye and how nice it was to chat, when he added, "Good Luck in your job search."
Still, it was an interview. The first time in 15 months that I had gotten past the phone screen to an in-person meeting. That indicates something. Perhaps not a trend, but remember: every blizzard starts with a single flake. The Globe reports that the national job numbers are starting to look better. Can a full-time job be around the corner? Now that the garden is put to bed, and the construction workers are a distraction, I am anxious to get out of the house these days.
My wife thinks I would hate going back to work-a-day routine: everyday, getting up early, daily ablutions (as opposed to showering every third or fourth day whether I need it or not), sitting in commuting traffic, working with (and for) assholes. Sitting in a stuffy office, talking about data models and budget line items. Or arguing with the insane network admin. Meetings. Going to the bar for beers. Hey, wait. That last one is the chief work related activity that I do miss!
I am not desperate. I have had several business writing jobs lately. The last one was an executive letter inviting C-level Captains of Industry to a really boring IT records management conference. The client loves my work and wants to book me for another series of letters. Ok, I said, why not? The research I do for the letters is interesting. They send me all the info I need and I just write it up pretty. Takes about 8 hours over about three days, counting research, draft and finished composition, haggling with client over nitpicking edits, complete re-write, final edits and nitpicks, calming cocktails.
I make more than Dave Barry, and I'm just as funny.
He didn't even smile at some of my wry humor ("Why, 2 years ago I couldn't even spell XML...." and, "You're not offended by fag jokes are you?"). I figured he was giving me a strong hint when we said goodbye and how nice it was to chat, when he added, "Good Luck in your job search."
Still, it was an interview. The first time in 15 months that I had gotten past the phone screen to an in-person meeting. That indicates something. Perhaps not a trend, but remember: every blizzard starts with a single flake. The Globe reports that the national job numbers are starting to look better. Can a full-time job be around the corner? Now that the garden is put to bed, and the construction workers are a distraction, I am anxious to get out of the house these days.
My wife thinks I would hate going back to work-a-day routine: everyday, getting up early, daily ablutions (as opposed to showering every third or fourth day whether I need it or not), sitting in commuting traffic, working with (and for) assholes. Sitting in a stuffy office, talking about data models and budget line items. Or arguing with the insane network admin. Meetings. Going to the bar for beers. Hey, wait. That last one is the chief work related activity that I do miss!
I am not desperate. I have had several business writing jobs lately. The last one was an executive letter inviting C-level Captains of Industry to a really boring IT records management conference. The client loves my work and wants to book me for another series of letters. Ok, I said, why not? The research I do for the letters is interesting. They send me all the info I need and I just write it up pretty. Takes about 8 hours over about three days, counting research, draft and finished composition, haggling with client over nitpicking edits, complete re-write, final edits and nitpicks, calming cocktails.
I make more than Dave Barry, and I'm just as funny.
11/02/2004
Letting the Chips Fall
Some years ago I read a book that had a title something like "Machiavelli and Management." The gist of it was that the strategies and tactics of many managers seem to be wrenched from the playbook of that pre-renaissance despot-philosopher. One of the most useful truths that I have embrace from that reading was the inspired observation, which I paraphrase, That which you take by force you must keep by force.
I am not just laying-down an allusion to the current situation in Iraq. In fact, I am thinking about a job opportunity that has come onto my radar. The job title is Manager of IT Business Information Systems for company that fits within my job search parameters: Within 5 miles of home, no higher than third floor, no heavy lifting, exorbitant salary.
(Actually, the last criteria has not been established, yet.)
Apparently, I applied for this job via one of those web job boards, and now they want to talk to me. The prospect of a real interview (after more than a year of drought) raises some serious issues for me. After ruthlessly bashing management in print and orally for eons, how can I now credibly interview for a job with the word Manager in the title? Answer: it's easy to rationalize nearly anything. More importantly, the question arises: How can I fool them into thinking I am evil management material?
Then, the Machiavelli quote comes to mind. My corollary is : That which you achieve with a lie, must be maintained with a lie. This Truth presents an untenable problem for me. You need an excellent memory to support a lying personality. I do not have the instinct or energy to be a career liar.
So, I'll just have to go in and be myself.
I know what you are thinking: Bad move. Well, let's see...
Time to go to the polls and vote. You too.
I am not just laying-down an allusion to the current situation in Iraq. In fact, I am thinking about a job opportunity that has come onto my radar. The job title is Manager of IT Business Information Systems for company that fits within my job search parameters: Within 5 miles of home, no higher than third floor, no heavy lifting, exorbitant salary.
(Actually, the last criteria has not been established, yet.)
Apparently, I applied for this job via one of those web job boards, and now they want to talk to me. The prospect of a real interview (after more than a year of drought) raises some serious issues for me. After ruthlessly bashing management in print and orally for eons, how can I now credibly interview for a job with the word Manager in the title? Answer: it's easy to rationalize nearly anything. More importantly, the question arises: How can I fool them into thinking I am evil management material?
Then, the Machiavelli quote comes to mind. My corollary is : That which you achieve with a lie, must be maintained with a lie. This Truth presents an untenable problem for me. You need an excellent memory to support a lying personality. I do not have the instinct or energy to be a career liar.
So, I'll just have to go in and be myself.
I know what you are thinking: Bad move. Well, let's see...
Time to go to the polls and vote. You too.
10/29/2004
election thots
As you know, this blog is about work, not politics. But we have an important election next Tuesday, which will determine the course of history, or more accurately - the course of the future.
For what it's worth, here is how I see the current situation:
Of the two choices we had in 2000, George W. Bush was the right guy to have in the White House when we were attacked on 9/11. We all cheered his response against the terrorists. But somewhere between defeating the Taliban in Afghanistan and bombing Iraq, things went wrong. Bad decisions based on bad intelligence led us into a war which most of us now agree was unnecessary and badly conceived. Instead of beefing- up the resources protecting our borders, ports and soldiers, huge sums of money have been spent in a low-percentage attempt to import Democracy to a people who will always prefer - and will always vote for - Theocracy.
[Incidentaly, What kind of example are we demonstrating to the world? 10,000 lawyers, more hanging chads, dead voters, fraud, scandal, etc. Maybe we need Jimmy Carter to come with a UN team to monitor our elections!]
For what it's worth, here is how I see the current situation:
Of the two choices we had in 2000, George W. Bush was the right guy to have in the White House when we were attacked on 9/11. We all cheered his response against the terrorists. But somewhere between defeating the Taliban in Afghanistan and bombing Iraq, things went wrong. Bad decisions based on bad intelligence led us into a war which most of us now agree was unnecessary and badly conceived. Instead of beefing- up the resources protecting our borders, ports and soldiers, huge sums of money have been spent in a low-percentage attempt to import Democracy to a people who will always prefer - and will always vote for - Theocracy.
[Incidentaly, What kind of example are we demonstrating to the world? 10,000 lawyers, more hanging chads, dead voters, fraud, scandal, etc. Maybe we need Jimmy Carter to come with a UN team to monitor our elections!]
I read in the paper yesterday that a recent study estimated 100,000 civilian deaths in Iraq due to American military action. Didn't say how many wounded. (Hey, it was in the paper so it's got to be true!) If this is even half true, how can we still justify our intervention to save the populace from a murderous dictator. Can we honestly say things are better today for the Iraqis. Or us? Do you feel safer? I don't.
Despite inheriting a budget surplus in 2000, we now have a budget deficit that will impose an even greater burden on the next generations of Americans, many of whom are already forced outsource child care because both parents must work to support a half-decent lifestyle. Many are priced-out of the hope of buying a home in the communities that they grew up in. (Is this the Conservative interpretation of family values?)
If re-elected, Bush has promised a continuation of the tax breaks for the those earning over a million dollars a year. This item alone represents 90 billion in lost revenue. That amount could cover quite a few protective vests for soldiers on the from lines who can't get them. And, perhaps some of it could be used to fund the education program that Bush takes credit for despite the fact that he refuses to pay for it.
Finally, Bush is a public embarrassment. He cannot utter an unrehearsed sentence without flubbing it. Everyone knows he is the front man for the real presidents - Cheney, Ashcroft, Rumsfeld and Karl Rove. The arrogance and capacity for deceit that this team has already demonstrated is chilling.
Now, on the other hand we have John Kerry. He has shown himself to be a chameleon and a phony. He continually reminds us that he defended the country, although his own words seem to contradict the amount of defending he was doing (as opposed to pillaging the countryside). There are many men whose military experience qualified them to be heroes, but there is nothing to indicate that that such valor would make them become good presidents. He has chosen some embarrassing photo ops - just recently the hunting trip - which make you want to cringe.
Still, no one denies that Kerry is intelligent, has a long career in government, and has an understanding of why we want and need global partners, and how mindless Nationalism easily leads to Fascism.
Despite our doubts about Kerry's character, we know two things. 1) This election is really about who appoints the next few Supreme Court Justices. The progress of the past three decades in human rights and personal liberty are at risk under a neocon-backed presidency. 2) We are not more secure with Bush in the White House. Despite the tough and scare filled rhetoric, the Bush administration has failed to secure peace in Iraq. The real enemy - Osama Bin Laden looks healthier than ever as he broadcasts (from a studio - not a cave) his latest warnings for the next attack on the USA.
How can John Kerry do worse?
The message for George Bush (and his co-presidents) is "No more years."
10/28/2004
Total Exclipse of the Cards
As predicted, the Red Sox cowboyed-up and vanquished the opponent. The Cards folded like girly men. Most of the drama was in the commercials which have been repeated in mind numbing frequency throughout the games. Will Badger ever find his way home? Do you believe AOL really listens to their customers?
How the hell does Manny get MVP? (Mr. two errors in one game?) Wasn't Shillings gutsy appearance the real spark for the team?
Well, back to work. I have another writing job today. This one is due Monday. I have to read a big document and abstract it into a little document. If the work keeps up at this rate, I may be forced to consider resigning from retirement.
How the hell does Manny get MVP? (Mr. two errors in one game?) Wasn't Shillings gutsy appearance the real spark for the team?
Well, back to work. I have another writing job today. This one is due Monday. I have to read a big document and abstract it into a little document. If the work keeps up at this rate, I may be forced to consider resigning from retirement.
10/24/2004
Wickid Pissah
St Louis will be playing the blues in the night, going back home after dropping the first two games to Boston. I don't count these guys out yet. They have a dominant record at their home park and were weak on the road with the Astros in post season. On the other hand, the Red Sox played very strong in New York. It should be a couple of nail-biters. Productivity in the Boston area will be poor again this week due to bleary eyed fans who stayed up to watch the game.
Someone ought to tell "Buckwheat" Manny Ramirez to get a haircut for crissakes. He has not impressed me so far. Take his big money away and give it to Papi Ortiz.
Am I the only one who hates all the distracting graphics that the TV guys paste on the screenduring sports games? I like the bar at the top showing the details of the game, men on base, speed of piches, etc. All that is good. It's the animated previews of other programs that take up the lower third of the screen, the crawling text, the jiggling, flashing, whooshing images. All this eye trash, spoils the game. And I don't care what Steven King is doing in the stands. Let's watch the damn game.
Someone ought to tell "Buckwheat" Manny Ramirez to get a haircut for crissakes. He has not impressed me so far. Take his big money away and give it to Papi Ortiz.
Am I the only one who hates all the distracting graphics that the TV guys paste on the screenduring sports games? I like the bar at the top showing the details of the game, men on base, speed of piches, etc. All that is good. It's the animated previews of other programs that take up the lower third of the screen, the crawling text, the jiggling, flashing, whooshing images. All this eye trash, spoils the game. And I don't care what Steven King is doing in the stands. Let's watch the damn game.
Work Series
The builder called Friday to tell me that he would be over to start building the screen porch on this coming Tuesday. This is excellent and surprising news. I only signed the request for a building permit a few days ago. I figured it would take at least another month to get something going. I always knew I was a "fill-in" job, and I accepted the fact that this small job would get bumped by conflicts of larger jobs The contact agreement had a final deadline of May 3, 2005. But, now the builder seems to think that he will get most of it done in the next few weeks.
The only downside is that now we will need to come up with the money sooner.
On Tuesday afternoons, several of us guys usually meet at George's for "tea". You know, Ice cold frosty "tea" that comes in six packs. This week, I think we should move the Tea here, so we can supervise the work.
====
Last weekend, I completed a freelance writing job. Then on Monday, I called on a local business nonprofit to look at their database and discuss fixing some reporting problems. I think they liked me. I gave them a written proposal for 40-60 hrs of work. No response yet.
I'm thinking actively soliciting more business writing gigs. I think I am good at this type of writing, and the remuneration is excellent. The uncertainty of work and the prospect of down times between jobs is much preferrable to a tedious work series of fifty 40 hour weeks per year. And, you know, someone needs to keep an eye on the guys working on my new porch. So, I am optimistic about the prospect of small occasional work to pay for my lavish lifestyle....
=======
The other day, a retirement expert-financial planner called to offer his services.
"Well, I might be interested if you can answer one question." I said in my most cooperative tone.
"Sure. What's the question?" he asked, helpfully as he mentally began to tote up his commisson.
"When am I gonna die?"
"Excuse me?"
"I know how much money I have. The only thing I don't know is how many years to divide into the nest egg?"
The silence on the end of the line spoke volumes. Finally, "Well, actually, it's not quite that simple..."
"Oh yes it is," I interjected. "Tell me! When?"
"Sir, I am not in a position to answer a question like..."
"Hey, it's the only question I have about financing my retirement." I hung up, not to string the poor shmuck along any further. I really need to find another way to entertain myself - instead of jerking around with telemarketing callers. But it is fun.
=============
Last night just before game one, Steve Tyler from Aerosmith sang the National Anthem. In my humble opinion it was the best work I have ever heard him do. Well, maybe "Walk This Way" was a little catchier. (Or, was that Led Zeppalin? I dunno. Neither of those bands fall within my golden era.) Anyhoo, just as Tyler finished the SSB there was a low fly-over of two F-150 Air Force jets. Or is F-150 a Ford Truck model? I don't know nuthin' about jets - or trucks. The timimg was awesome. I figured I had enough time to get up and get a frosty brew. By the time I got to the fridge there was this tremendous roar overhead. It scared the crap out of me for a split second. The cats - who are quite accustomed to the noise and vibration associated with the occasional but noisy passing of freight trains - panicked and ran under the table. Then, I realized it was the Fenway fly-over jets on the way back to Hanscom Field in Bedford. Through the rear slider I could see the lights speeding through the dark sky as they screamed overhead, dishing thunder to the ground below. It makes you wonder: how the hell does anyone get any sleep in Iraq?
===
Speaking of Jets, the Pats kicked their New York asses all over the field today.
The only downside is that now we will need to come up with the money sooner.
On Tuesday afternoons, several of us guys usually meet at George's for "tea". You know, Ice cold frosty "tea" that comes in six packs. This week, I think we should move the Tea here, so we can supervise the work.
====
Last weekend, I completed a freelance writing job. Then on Monday, I called on a local business nonprofit to look at their database and discuss fixing some reporting problems. I think they liked me. I gave them a written proposal for 40-60 hrs of work. No response yet.
I'm thinking actively soliciting more business writing gigs. I think I am good at this type of writing, and the remuneration is excellent. The uncertainty of work and the prospect of down times between jobs is much preferrable to a tedious work series of fifty 40 hour weeks per year. And, you know, someone needs to keep an eye on the guys working on my new porch. So, I am optimistic about the prospect of small occasional work to pay for my lavish lifestyle....
=======
The other day, a retirement expert-financial planner called to offer his services.
"Well, I might be interested if you can answer one question." I said in my most cooperative tone.
"Sure. What's the question?" he asked, helpfully as he mentally began to tote up his commisson.
"When am I gonna die?"
"Excuse me?"
"I know how much money I have. The only thing I don't know is how many years to divide into the nest egg?"
The silence on the end of the line spoke volumes. Finally, "Well, actually, it's not quite that simple..."
"Oh yes it is," I interjected. "Tell me! When?"
"Sir, I am not in a position to answer a question like..."
"Hey, it's the only question I have about financing my retirement." I hung up, not to string the poor shmuck along any further. I really need to find another way to entertain myself - instead of jerking around with telemarketing callers. But it is fun.
=============
Last night just before game one, Steve Tyler from Aerosmith sang the National Anthem. In my humble opinion it was the best work I have ever heard him do. Well, maybe "Walk This Way" was a little catchier. (Or, was that Led Zeppalin? I dunno. Neither of those bands fall within my golden era.) Anyhoo, just as Tyler finished the SSB there was a low fly-over of two F-150 Air Force jets. Or is F-150 a Ford Truck model? I don't know nuthin' about jets - or trucks. The timimg was awesome. I figured I had enough time to get up and get a frosty brew. By the time I got to the fridge there was this tremendous roar overhead. It scared the crap out of me for a split second. The cats - who are quite accustomed to the noise and vibration associated with the occasional but noisy passing of freight trains - panicked and ran under the table. Then, I realized it was the Fenway fly-over jets on the way back to Hanscom Field in Bedford. Through the rear slider I could see the lights speeding through the dark sky as they screamed overhead, dishing thunder to the ground below. It makes you wonder: how the hell does anyone get any sleep in Iraq?
===
Speaking of Jets, the Pats kicked their New York asses all over the field today.
10/23/2004
Changes to the game
They should institute some changes to baseball to make the game more interesting.
#1 A 3 pitcher limit, pitcher must bat to stay in game.
#2 Video review of close calls (two big mistakes by umpires occurred in last two games)
#3 No women sports analysts - wimmen are not allowed to play, and they shouldn't be allowed to talk during the game. Exception: Dick Cheney's daughter.
#4 Every other spectator sport has a time limit. In Baseball, the limit should be nine innings. Game over tie or no tie. Or maybe a sudden death home run shootoff.
#5 No spitting. The constant expectoration on camera is revolting.
Remember, these guys are professional entertainers, not amateur athletes.
#1 A 3 pitcher limit, pitcher must bat to stay in game.
#2 Video review of close calls (two big mistakes by umpires occurred in last two games)
#3 No women sports analysts - wimmen are not allowed to play, and they shouldn't be allowed to talk during the game. Exception: Dick Cheney's daughter.
#4 Every other spectator sport has a time limit. In Baseball, the limit should be nine innings. Game over tie or no tie. Or maybe a sudden death home run shootoff.
#5 No spitting. The constant expectoration on camera is revolting.
Remember, these guys are professional entertainers, not amateur athletes.
10/21/2004
It Ain't Over Until I Say It's Over
A fat lady sang tonight in the heart of Gotham city. Oops, it was Rohan Tinan singing God Bless America with an Irish accent. Oh well, stuff happens.
Then an odd thing occured. The Red Sox did not embarrass themselves. They did cowboy up. Except for the foolish move of bringing Pedro in to pitch a few Yankee runs in, and getting the Yankee fans revved up, the game was a unabridged victionary.
OK they won the pennant, and I am happy. The small problem is: It ain't over.
(But, wow!)
Then an odd thing occured. The Red Sox did not embarrass themselves. They did cowboy up. Except for the foolish move of bringing Pedro in to pitch a few Yankee runs in, and getting the Yankee fans revved up, the game was a unabridged victionary.
OK they won the pennant, and I am happy. The small problem is: It ain't over.
(But, wow!)
10/19/2004
Walkoff Home Run
All of a sudden I'm hearing this term. No one has defined it for me, so, I looked it up on the web at a place called FAQ Farm. Here's what they say:
"A walk-off home run is a home run which ends the game. This is a phrase that has only recently entered the baseball lexicon. Comes from the fact that if the home team hits a home run to take the lead in the 9th or an extra inning, both teams walk off the field since the game is over. "
"A walk-off home run is a home run which ends the game. This is a phrase that has only recently entered the baseball lexicon. Comes from the fact that if the home team hits a home run to take the lead in the 9th or an extra inning, both teams walk off the field since the game is over. "
Eternal Endeavers
Despite my better judgement, I allowed myself to get sucked into the game again last night. Another grueling contest that should never have gone fourteen eternal innings. The whole spectacle raises some metaphysical questions about the meaning of life, the existence of a supreme being and the reality of an afterlife.
I felt very sorry for the poor shmucks who paid big bucks to sit in the narrow seats freezing their collective asses off for more than 5 hours while their hometown heroes bobbled, stumbled and slid around the bases like a bunch of little leaguers.
While I was ensconced on a comfy sofa with a frosty Sierra Nevada, a perfectly grilled burger and of course with my trusty clicker within easy reach, the ticket holder in the stands had to settle for undrinkable coors lite beer for $3.50 a pop and marginally warm hot dogs at $5.00 and a long line at the rest room. They had to watch every tedious second of the "park experience" including the singing of God Bless America. I surfed around, catching fragments of the Cards vs Astros, the football game on ABC and Sienfeld reruns.
I think it is pretty clear that if there is a god, then he is a taunting bully. Faithful Boston fans are yanked helplessly back to New York like kittens chasing a string 2 of Red Sox wins in a row. In their hearts, they know how it is going to end, the way it always ends, but they can't help hoping. This is the nature of this earthly existence. Something wonderful will happen - tomorrow, if you believe! Then, just when you think it might happen, despite all of your pessimism and dark thoughts, that's when the hammer of defeat smacks you with a baseball bat. That is why I call it a Hellhole.
If there is an afterlife, and I am on some cloud looking at the re-runs of my life, I firmly believe that I will be pleased that I chose the option of not-being-there when it comes to professional sporting events. However, it begs the question of whether I used my time on Earth wisely in watching the game on TV, when I could have been doing something worthwhile - like, making fudge.
Gurus who specialize in Time Management remind us that Time is the supreme scarce resource. No matter how rich we are or how smart or sexy, we cannot ever get back so much as a single second of Time. Nearly everything else in our lives can be replaced - relationships, property, even critical body parts. But we never get to do yesterday over. Our lives are like spools of twine unravelling one second at a time. One day there will be no more twine. It behooves us to spend this day doing things that we wont regret.
So, anyway, who's watching the game tonight?
I felt very sorry for the poor shmucks who paid big bucks to sit in the narrow seats freezing their collective asses off for more than 5 hours while their hometown heroes bobbled, stumbled and slid around the bases like a bunch of little leaguers.
While I was ensconced on a comfy sofa with a frosty Sierra Nevada, a perfectly grilled burger and of course with my trusty clicker within easy reach, the ticket holder in the stands had to settle for undrinkable coors lite beer for $3.50 a pop and marginally warm hot dogs at $5.00 and a long line at the rest room. They had to watch every tedious second of the "park experience" including the singing of God Bless America. I surfed around, catching fragments of the Cards vs Astros, the football game on ABC and Sienfeld reruns.
I think it is pretty clear that if there is a god, then he is a taunting bully. Faithful Boston fans are yanked helplessly back to New York like kittens chasing a string 2 of Red Sox wins in a row. In their hearts, they know how it is going to end, the way it always ends, but they can't help hoping. This is the nature of this earthly existence. Something wonderful will happen - tomorrow, if you believe! Then, just when you think it might happen, despite all of your pessimism and dark thoughts, that's when the hammer of defeat smacks you with a baseball bat. That is why I call it a Hellhole.
If there is an afterlife, and I am on some cloud looking at the re-runs of my life, I firmly believe that I will be pleased that I chose the option of not-being-there when it comes to professional sporting events. However, it begs the question of whether I used my time on Earth wisely in watching the game on TV, when I could have been doing something worthwhile - like, making fudge.
Gurus who specialize in Time Management remind us that Time is the supreme scarce resource. No matter how rich we are or how smart or sexy, we cannot ever get back so much as a single second of Time. Nearly everything else in our lives can be replaced - relationships, property, even critical body parts. But we never get to do yesterday over. Our lives are like spools of twine unravelling one second at a time. One day there will be no more twine. It behooves us to spend this day doing things that we wont regret.
So, anyway, who's watching the game tonight?
10/18/2004
Homer in the 12th Inning
I have an interview scheduled this morning, so I gave up and went to bed at 1AM with the game tied in the 11th inning and the Red Sox so deep into the bullpen that they were bringing in Wakefield to pitch again.
This morning I hear that Ortiz wins the game 20 minutes later with a homer in the 12th. He shoulda done it in the 9th when he had bases loaded, and I was still awake. They play again tonight - this is the reshedule of the game that was rained-out friday night. I'm sick of seeing the Jeeter and Sheffield and especially Alex Rodriguez. They are not human.
Don't get your hopes up. You will not be seeing Pedro vs Clemens in the World Series.
This morning I hear that Ortiz wins the game 20 minutes later with a homer in the 12th. He shoulda done it in the 9th when he had bases loaded, and I was still awake. They play again tonight - this is the reshedule of the game that was rained-out friday night. I'm sick of seeing the Jeeter and Sheffield and especially Alex Rodriguez. They are not human.
Don't get your hopes up. You will not be seeing Pedro vs Clemens in the World Series.
10/17/2004
Blowout
After last night's blowout loss to the Yankees (19-8), I feel compelled to quote myself from my blog entry of several weeks ago:
"That giant choking sound you hear in the distance is coming from Fenway Park. It's annual the Red Sox end-of-season slog up Heartbreak Hill."
I take no pleasure in being right. I merely note that one should have faith in causes that are worthy of one's hope. It did not escape the notice of some observers that A-Rod (the guy that the Yankees outbid the Sox for) led the smackdown.
This year I hope they fire that punk Theo Epstein and also bring Grady Little back as Manager. And get rid of those annoyingly stupid TV announcers. Scratch interviews with celebrities in the stands - we don't care what they think!
No team has ever come back from a 3 game deficit and won the Series. Looks like the Yanks against the Cards in the finals.
"That giant choking sound you hear in the distance is coming from Fenway Park. It's annual the Red Sox end-of-season slog up Heartbreak Hill."
I take no pleasure in being right. I merely note that one should have faith in causes that are worthy of one's hope. It did not escape the notice of some observers that A-Rod (the guy that the Yankees outbid the Sox for) led the smackdown.
This year I hope they fire that punk Theo Epstein and also bring Grady Little back as Manager. And get rid of those annoyingly stupid TV announcers. Scratch interviews with celebrities in the stands - we don't care what they think!
No team has ever come back from a 3 game deficit and won the Series. Looks like the Yanks against the Cards in the finals.
10/16/2004
October Surprise
Normally, just before the national election one or both of the candidates campaign staff reveals some tawdry secret that reveals what a slimy evildoer the opponent is. Or, the incumbent finds some reason why the country should not even consider changing horses midstream. Did John Kerry think he was dealing a lethal blow by calling the VP's daughter a lesbian? Hmmn, it was shocking - but mainly because only a thoughtless A-hole would make that kind of remark.
But anyhow, the real surprising event for me recently was that I got calls from two people who called to discuss potential projects. I am working on one (paying) writing project this weekend. (Naturally a rush job due on Monday - but they don't pay the big bucks unless there is an unreasonable deadline involved.)
Monday, I have an appointment with a local business to look at their database and see if I can help them clean it up. I have a feeling that I will be the right one for the job, (whether I am or not). Between these two gigs I will earn enough to cover my bar tab for a month!
That's not all: I have a message from a headhunter who wants to discuss a contract opportunity with me - urgently. So, something is up. Fiscal quarter? I dunno. I just feel busy all of a sudden.
I was watching 20-20 last night. They had a piece on the Saudi Royal Family and their obscene oil riches. They were interviewing one of the Princes (the 5th richest man in the world with some twenty three billion of his own)on his yacht anchored on the Riviera, where he spends the summer. Apparently, the homeland desert is too hot. He admitted that he had a lot of money, but quickly pointed out that his luxurious 150 ft yacht was "used." He had bought it from Donald Trump. He viewed this bit of frugality it as a sign that he was not living in excessive luxury - despite the fact that the majority of his countrymen and women live in squalor. He accepted the disparity as simply the way Allah wants it.
I guess it's all relative.
I read this am that the auditors can't account for billions of dollaers that were earmarked for the Iraq war. I'll bet that all those wounded amputee soldiers are wishing someone had spent the money on better armor.
Hey wait, we already know who has stole - oops I mean accidentally overbilled - several million dollars in reconstruction activities in Iraq. Can they spell Halliburton? (Dick Cheney's lesbian company). What a surprise that the Dems should have discovered the error just before the election....
But anyhow, the real surprising event for me recently was that I got calls from two people who called to discuss potential projects. I am working on one (paying) writing project this weekend. (Naturally a rush job due on Monday - but they don't pay the big bucks unless there is an unreasonable deadline involved.)
Monday, I have an appointment with a local business to look at their database and see if I can help them clean it up. I have a feeling that I will be the right one for the job, (whether I am or not). Between these two gigs I will earn enough to cover my bar tab for a month!
That's not all: I have a message from a headhunter who wants to discuss a contract opportunity with me - urgently. So, something is up. Fiscal quarter? I dunno. I just feel busy all of a sudden.
I was watching 20-20 last night. They had a piece on the Saudi Royal Family and their obscene oil riches. They were interviewing one of the Princes (the 5th richest man in the world with some twenty three billion of his own)on his yacht anchored on the Riviera, where he spends the summer. Apparently, the homeland desert is too hot. He admitted that he had a lot of money, but quickly pointed out that his luxurious 150 ft yacht was "used." He had bought it from Donald Trump. He viewed this bit of frugality it as a sign that he was not living in excessive luxury - despite the fact that the majority of his countrymen and women live in squalor. He accepted the disparity as simply the way Allah wants it.
I guess it's all relative.
I read this am that the auditors can't account for billions of dollaers that were earmarked for the Iraq war. I'll bet that all those wounded amputee soldiers are wishing someone had spent the money on better armor.
Hey wait, we already know who has stole - oops I mean accidentally overbilled - several million dollars in reconstruction activities in Iraq. Can they spell Halliburton? (Dick Cheney's lesbian company). What a surprise that the Dems should have discovered the error just before the election....
10/09/2004
Home Improvements
It hasn't really been a week since I updated the blog. I had attempted to write on two previous occasions, but my timeless prose was lost somewhere in the internets (as our hi tech prez would say). There is a glitch in the blog-writing program that allows your text to disappear if you fail to save the text before clicking on another window. I call it a "glitch", you might call it "user error."
Pajamas pajahmas - let's not fight about it.
The new baby and mom are doing fine. They look a bit tired what with the nightime feedings and the chaos that is caused by the arrival of a new member into the family routine. They have turned the ringer of the phone off so the only way you can contact them is to go over there and bang on the door, yelling "Police! We have a warrant. Open up!"
Our builder stopped by yesterday for a serious discussion of the porch project. We gave hime our "final" changes to the drawings. He will have a contract ready in a few days, and then we will be underway - sometime in the next 5 months. The survey guys were here last week, measuring and siting and writing notes in their booklets. They sprayed little red circles on the street marking the property lines. Hmmn. Hey neighbor, get your tree off my yard!
The project next door is nearly complete. Maybe the crew will just come over here and do my little porch in a few days. Dreamer or what?
The house across the street just went up for sale. Over a million. Hope they get the price. It will help my property values. Most of the people who are looking at the property are arriving in fancy cars. I made a deal with the owner that for the price of a couple of cases of beer, I would agree not to sit on my front lawn in a beach chair, wearing plaid bermuda shorts and my favorite Hooters Tee shirt, looking like a bipolar geezer who has gone off his meds. The owner offered to double the extortion payoff if I would promise to stay inside whenever prospective buyers were on their premises. The agreement doesn't specifically prohibit me from mooning them from the upstairs window, so I can still have fun with it.
My wife took a week off from work to be on-call for the newborn and mom. It has been enjoyable for us, since she rarely takes time off to be at home. Normally we go somewhere on vacations. So it is a bit of novelty for her to be around the house, telling me what to do (You know you promised to paint the living room before Columbus day!) and what not to do (Are you having another beer?), and organizing my exercise regimen (Get up you lazy lout; It's 7:33 am - time for our walk!).
I cite the recent scientific study "Men who drank one-two beers per day had a bone density 7 percent greater than nondrinkers." If two is good for you, how much better to have more beers? But my logic is useless in the face of her determination.
On the plus side, when she is not over the daughter's house in her capacity as grandmother. she has been doing the shopping and cooking, which gives me a break - and plenty of time to get that painting done. She has re-taken control of the kitchen.
I can't find anything any more. The beer opener is in a different drawer. The cupboard has been re-organized. She will be going back to work next week, so I can get some rest, and re-arrange the utensil drawer the way I like it. Re-gain some of the weight I have lost walking and being denied access to the beer fridge,
PS - The living room has been painted - ceiling walls and woodwork - two coats.
Pajamas pajahmas - let's not fight about it.
The new baby and mom are doing fine. They look a bit tired what with the nightime feedings and the chaos that is caused by the arrival of a new member into the family routine. They have turned the ringer of the phone off so the only way you can contact them is to go over there and bang on the door, yelling "Police! We have a warrant. Open up!"
Our builder stopped by yesterday for a serious discussion of the porch project. We gave hime our "final" changes to the drawings. He will have a contract ready in a few days, and then we will be underway - sometime in the next 5 months. The survey guys were here last week, measuring and siting and writing notes in their booklets. They sprayed little red circles on the street marking the property lines. Hmmn. Hey neighbor, get your tree off my yard!
The project next door is nearly complete. Maybe the crew will just come over here and do my little porch in a few days. Dreamer or what?
The house across the street just went up for sale. Over a million. Hope they get the price. It will help my property values. Most of the people who are looking at the property are arriving in fancy cars. I made a deal with the owner that for the price of a couple of cases of beer, I would agree not to sit on my front lawn in a beach chair, wearing plaid bermuda shorts and my favorite Hooters Tee shirt, looking like a bipolar geezer who has gone off his meds. The owner offered to double the extortion payoff if I would promise to stay inside whenever prospective buyers were on their premises. The agreement doesn't specifically prohibit me from mooning them from the upstairs window, so I can still have fun with it.
My wife took a week off from work to be on-call for the newborn and mom. It has been enjoyable for us, since she rarely takes time off to be at home. Normally we go somewhere on vacations. So it is a bit of novelty for her to be around the house, telling me what to do (You know you promised to paint the living room before Columbus day!) and what not to do (Are you having another beer?), and organizing my exercise regimen (Get up you lazy lout; It's 7:33 am - time for our walk!).
I cite the recent scientific study "Men who drank one-two beers per day had a bone density 7 percent greater than nondrinkers." If two is good for you, how much better to have more beers? But my logic is useless in the face of her determination.
On the plus side, when she is not over the daughter's house in her capacity as grandmother. she has been doing the shopping and cooking, which gives me a break - and plenty of time to get that painting done. She has re-taken control of the kitchen.
I can't find anything any more. The beer opener is in a different drawer. The cupboard has been re-organized. She will be going back to work next week, so I can get some rest, and re-arrange the utensil drawer the way I like it. Re-gain some of the weight I have lost walking and being denied access to the beer fridge,
PS - The living room has been painted - ceiling walls and woodwork - two coats.
9/30/2004
Announcement
At approximately 8 pm tonight, my newest grandson, Dennis (named after both of his grandads) arrived in the usual way, after a long haul. He weighed in at 8lbs.
A few minutes ago, I spoke to my daughter on the phone and heard the lusty cries of his nibs. Everyone is doing fine.
We are happy. Thanks to all for your support and good wishes.
A few minutes ago, I spoke to my daughter on the phone and heard the lusty cries of his nibs. Everyone is doing fine.
We are happy. Thanks to all for your support and good wishes.
Thurs AM
As of 8am
My daughter called from the hospital this morning around 7:30. They have been there since mid-day yesterday. She was reported as starting labor around 6:30pm. She is still in labor, but things are going slowly.
She is on epidural and not in great pain - they (the ever-attentive hubby is with her) got some sleep during the wee hours and She sounded in good spirits. (remember, she knows what to expect having been in attendance for the birth of her nephew, Vinny after a long labor).
If the drugs do not get the baby moving this morning they will do a C-section. So The birthday will definitely be 9/30
That is all I know at this time. Maternal Grandparents are jumpy as cats
I will post more details as they are learned.
My daughter called from the hospital this morning around 7:30. They have been there since mid-day yesterday. She was reported as starting labor around 6:30pm. She is still in labor, but things are going slowly.
She is on epidural and not in great pain - they (the ever-attentive hubby is with her) got some sleep during the wee hours and She sounded in good spirits. (remember, she knows what to expect having been in attendance for the birth of her nephew, Vinny after a long labor).
If the drugs do not get the baby moving this morning they will do a C-section. So The birthday will definitely be 9/30
That is all I know at this time. Maternal Grandparents are jumpy as cats
I will post more details as they are learned.
9/29/2004
Baby Update - Wednesday AM
Well, maybe today...
My daughter went in yesterday and they gave her some drugs to induce the birth process. After 8 hours of nothing going on, they sent her home.
This baby is already showing the traits of unhurried stubbornness that many of the members on my side of the family demonstrate on a daily basis.
Who can blame the child for not wanting to enter a world where one has to choose between economic achievement and Art?
The writer, Roland Merullo has observed that "...Family is the source of most of our joys and most of our pain..." Wisdom indeed.
My daughter went in yesterday and they gave her some drugs to induce the birth process. After 8 hours of nothing going on, they sent her home.
This baby is already showing the traits of unhurried stubbornness that many of the members on my side of the family demonstrate on a daily basis.
Who can blame the child for not wanting to enter a world where one has to choose between economic achievement and Art?
The writer, Roland Merullo has observed that "...Family is the source of most of our joys and most of our pain..." Wisdom indeed.
9/28/2004
Finally
Finally, the builder came by yesterday. I was beginning to think we had fallen off his radar screen. He had drawings and a contract to sign. He will be ready to start the porch sometime between now and April 2005. "Most likely before winter sets in."
I do not feel like I have a lot of bargaining clout on the timing or cost, since he has plenty of work lined-up. I am a squeeze-in project for him. If we demur, he will be busy on other jobs. The porch job will cost over $30k. Too expensive, I think, but it will easily add $50k to the selling price of the house. Besides I've already had a unsatisfactory experience with bargain priced contractors.
We still need to look at some door samples and lighting options, but it looks like the project has finally begun.
====
My daughter informs me that she will be going to the hospital at 3pm today, for a scheduled sonnagram. She says she is planning a "Lie-in" and will refuse to leave the building until after the baby is born.
Stay tuned.
I do not feel like I have a lot of bargaining clout on the timing or cost, since he has plenty of work lined-up. I am a squeeze-in project for him. If we demur, he will be busy on other jobs. The porch job will cost over $30k. Too expensive, I think, but it will easily add $50k to the selling price of the house. Besides I've already had a unsatisfactory experience with bargain priced contractors.
We still need to look at some door samples and lighting options, but it looks like the project has finally begun.
====
My daughter informs me that she will be going to the hospital at 3pm today, for a scheduled sonnagram. She says she is planning a "Lie-in" and will refuse to leave the building until after the baby is born.
Stay tuned.
9/27/2004
Over due
I get a lot of mail asking for news about the baby. My daughter is 8 days overdue, according to OB-GYN scientific calculations. She was here yesterday for a pleasant luncheon of grilled meat and seasonal greens. She is big, she is ready, and the doc figures she will deliver by Tuesday (tomorrow) one way or another. A sonogram on Friday confirmed all signs are good.
My sisters remind me that it is not uncommon for women with our DNA to have late pregnancies and large babies. Several of my nephews were weeks overdue and yours truly was 3 weeks tardy when I finally saw the light of day.
(Some former managers have noted the chronic lack of urgency that characterized my personal and professional behavior may be congenital.)
So, we wait with the certain knowledge that something will happen sooner or later.
====
And those of you who were heartened by the performance of the Red Sox this weekend (beating the crap out of the hated Yankees - twice), I say, Don't get your hopes up. But, you will ignore me and let your hearts pump gleefully with the mirage of winning a championship at last. I'm telling ya: It's over.
My sisters remind me that it is not uncommon for women with our DNA to have late pregnancies and large babies. Several of my nephews were weeks overdue and yours truly was 3 weeks tardy when I finally saw the light of day.
(Some former managers have noted the chronic lack of urgency that characterized my personal and professional behavior may be congenital.)
So, we wait with the certain knowledge that something will happen sooner or later.
====
And those of you who were heartened by the performance of the Red Sox this weekend (beating the crap out of the hated Yankees - twice), I say, Don't get your hopes up. But, you will ignore me and let your hearts pump gleefully with the mirage of winning a championship at last. I'm telling ya: It's over.
9/25/2004
Falling Short
Calendar makers should change the name of the ninth month from "September" to "The Month Than The Boston Red Sox Break Your Heart, You Sucker!"
That giant choking sound you hear in the distance is coming from Fenway Park. It's annual the Red Sox end-of-season slog up Heartbreak Hill. After a hope-kindling series of on-the -road wins in August the team returns triumphantly to Fenway for the final homestand, full of grins and spin. The media loves a winning team. They revive the legend of The Curse of The Bambino; they pour gasoline on the flammable rivalry between New York and Boston. Even the weather forcasters get into the act, telling us the temperature at game time, and whether to bring rain gear to the game. It's a shameless and unforgivable exploitation of the need in some fans to be rooting for a winning team. Worst of all, they offer the false hope that in the end, the Red Sox might win the World Series.
Youngsters and newcomers to New England may be forgiven for their naive hopes that this is finally The Year. But, for those of us who have grown-up and lived in the Boston area all of our lives, this is the way it always ends: Not with a bang, but a whimper.
Maybe these guys just don't like playing in cold weather, and they would rather spend those chilly playoff days in October laying on a sunny beach somewhere where the weather is warm. They are all millionaires, thanks to the poor shmucks who lay-out the hard-earned bucks to pay for an afternoon or an evening at the game with the kids. So they can afford nice accommodations. Maybe that's what they are thinking about when they are at bat with men on base and they hit a high fastball one hop to the shortstop into a guaranteed double play. Or, when they get thrown-out at second base for not hustling up the first base line when they smack one off the wall in left field.
I used to go to church when I was a younger man full of hope and faith. Then, it occurred to me that what happens is what God wants to happen. This epiphany sent me reeling out of the pew and out of the Fenway bleachers forever. Clearly, if God exists, then He loves Yankee fans more than Red Sox fans.
So, you can keep dreaming, hoping or praying - or whatever you die-hard fans do during the inevitable torture of the season finale. Me? I'm thinking about football. Seventeen in a row. Superbowl Champs. A team that cannot lose tomorrow (mainly because they are not playing).
That giant choking sound you hear in the distance is coming from Fenway Park. It's annual the Red Sox end-of-season slog up Heartbreak Hill. After a hope-kindling series of on-the -road wins in August the team returns triumphantly to Fenway for the final homestand, full of grins and spin. The media loves a winning team. They revive the legend of The Curse of The Bambino; they pour gasoline on the flammable rivalry between New York and Boston. Even the weather forcasters get into the act, telling us the temperature at game time, and whether to bring rain gear to the game. It's a shameless and unforgivable exploitation of the need in some fans to be rooting for a winning team. Worst of all, they offer the false hope that in the end, the Red Sox might win the World Series.
Youngsters and newcomers to New England may be forgiven for their naive hopes that this is finally The Year. But, for those of us who have grown-up and lived in the Boston area all of our lives, this is the way it always ends: Not with a bang, but a whimper.
Maybe these guys just don't like playing in cold weather, and they would rather spend those chilly playoff days in October laying on a sunny beach somewhere where the weather is warm. They are all millionaires, thanks to the poor shmucks who lay-out the hard-earned bucks to pay for an afternoon or an evening at the game with the kids. So they can afford nice accommodations. Maybe that's what they are thinking about when they are at bat with men on base and they hit a high fastball one hop to the shortstop into a guaranteed double play. Or, when they get thrown-out at second base for not hustling up the first base line when they smack one off the wall in left field.
I used to go to church when I was a younger man full of hope and faith. Then, it occurred to me that what happens is what God wants to happen. This epiphany sent me reeling out of the pew and out of the Fenway bleachers forever. Clearly, if God exists, then He loves Yankee fans more than Red Sox fans.
So, you can keep dreaming, hoping or praying - or whatever you die-hard fans do during the inevitable torture of the season finale. Me? I'm thinking about football. Seventeen in a row. Superbowl Champs. A team that cannot lose tomorrow (mainly because they are not playing).
9/23/2004
Yankees Suck
One of my first jobs was at Fenway Park. My buddy Dave Randall and I got jobs working for the company that cleaned the stands after the game. We were 14 at the time. The perk of this job was that you could get into the park free after the 8th inning, watch the end of the game, and then make $1.00 per hour sweeping up.
The first (and as it turned out - only) day on the job turned out to be a night game. I cannot recall much about the evening other than the fact that we did not get out of there until the wee hours. Trolley cars did not run with great frequency during those wee hours, and thus we did not get home until the morning sun was rising. This unfortunate commuting problem prompted our mothers to forbid us from returning to the job.
I did learn one skill of lasting value that night: how to sweep. You take it for granted, but there is a science to sweeping with a broom. (Let the tips of the bristles do the work, don't bend them, and you can sweep up even sticky ice cream wrappers.) Many times in my life, I have been called upon to sweep things up. Much of my military service and training was devoted to the art of waxing and buffing hallways and KP duty. But I digress.
I was reminded of my occupational roots under the green monster recently. In the paper and on TV there has been some earnest discussion about the rise in vulgarity associated with the passionate rivalry between the Red Sox and the despised Yankees. Apparently, loyal fans have taken to chanting "Yankees Suck," during games - even when the Sox are playing other teams. Other (less complimentary) slogans have been seen printed on tee shirts in and around the park. Perhaps the heightened passions are fed by the frustrations many citizens have with their shitty jobs, the current tenor of political discourse, or just as likely, the outrageous costs for a seat, a beer, and a slice of bad pizza at any professional sporting event.
Vulgarity is really nothing new among sports fans. It isn't just an characteristic of the rabble at Fenway either. Another job I had as a teenager was selling programs at Harvard Stadium during Ivy League games. I remember being shocked by the Harvard (probably freshmen) chanting "Dartmouth Sucks," to the dismay of the stodgy Crimson alums.
Also, just a few years ago I recall being at a Sox game when a gal several rows behind us started lifting her shirt to proudly expose her new boob job. She was determined to get on camera. In the end, to a chorus of boos, a uniformed usher came to escort her out of the park, but not before there were several rounds of adjacent sections yelling, "Show us your tits!" - to which she gladly complied.
Most of the other guys in the stands seemed to enjoy the spectacle, except one young father who had brought his two pre-adolescent sons to actually watch the baseball game. Like, me, those kids probably do not recall who the Sox were playing or how the game turned out, but we all came away from the park with an unforgettable memory.
Hmmn. I wonder how much they are paying these days for an experienced broomsman.
The first (and as it turned out - only) day on the job turned out to be a night game. I cannot recall much about the evening other than the fact that we did not get out of there until the wee hours. Trolley cars did not run with great frequency during those wee hours, and thus we did not get home until the morning sun was rising. This unfortunate commuting problem prompted our mothers to forbid us from returning to the job.
I did learn one skill of lasting value that night: how to sweep. You take it for granted, but there is a science to sweeping with a broom. (Let the tips of the bristles do the work, don't bend them, and you can sweep up even sticky ice cream wrappers.) Many times in my life, I have been called upon to sweep things up. Much of my military service and training was devoted to the art of waxing and buffing hallways and KP duty. But I digress.
I was reminded of my occupational roots under the green monster recently. In the paper and on TV there has been some earnest discussion about the rise in vulgarity associated with the passionate rivalry between the Red Sox and the despised Yankees. Apparently, loyal fans have taken to chanting "Yankees Suck," during games - even when the Sox are playing other teams. Other (less complimentary) slogans have been seen printed on tee shirts in and around the park. Perhaps the heightened passions are fed by the frustrations many citizens have with their shitty jobs, the current tenor of political discourse, or just as likely, the outrageous costs for a seat, a beer, and a slice of bad pizza at any professional sporting event.
Vulgarity is really nothing new among sports fans. It isn't just an characteristic of the rabble at Fenway either. Another job I had as a teenager was selling programs at Harvard Stadium during Ivy League games. I remember being shocked by the Harvard (probably freshmen) chanting "Dartmouth Sucks," to the dismay of the stodgy Crimson alums.
Also, just a few years ago I recall being at a Sox game when a gal several rows behind us started lifting her shirt to proudly expose her new boob job. She was determined to get on camera. In the end, to a chorus of boos, a uniformed usher came to escort her out of the park, but not before there were several rounds of adjacent sections yelling, "Show us your tits!" - to which she gladly complied.
Most of the other guys in the stands seemed to enjoy the spectacle, except one young father who had brought his two pre-adolescent sons to actually watch the baseball game. Like, me, those kids probably do not recall who the Sox were playing or how the game turned out, but we all came away from the park with an unforgettable memory.
Hmmn. I wonder how much they are paying these days for an experienced broomsman.
9/21/2004
Baby Update
Thanks for your inquiries. As of this posting we are still waiting, patiently. Judy notes that if the new grandchild does not come by midnight, he will go through life under a different astrological sign. I have no opinions as to whether Libras are more faboured than Virgoes (and I am not interested in your opinion on the subject.)
I was born 3 weeks late myself, according to all accounts. As a result, I weighed nearly eleven pounds at birth. Had I arrived on schedule, I probably would have turned out very different: thin, driven to succeed, more interested in the opinion of others and boring.
=============
Where is that builder?
I was born 3 weeks late myself, according to all accounts. As a result, I weighed nearly eleven pounds at birth. Had I arrived on schedule, I probably would have turned out very different: thin, driven to succeed, more interested in the opinion of others and boring.
=============
Where is that builder?
9/14/2004
My War
Sunday morning at 6:30am. Judy went out to get the paper and found herself face to face with a pair of live deer. It was a doe and her nursing fawn. They were standing brazenly on the neighbor's lawn. She looked the deer in the eye and saw no fear. With our daughter who is imminently ready to give birth to our third grandson, Judy saw this as a favorable sign.
I think it is a sign that there is too much wildlife in the neighborhood.
All summer long I have been at war with the local varmints. We have daily visits from rabbits, raccoons, skunks. A vast variety of birds visit the area. Crows, cardinals, blue jays and doves make a constant racket, and occasionally I can hear the distinctive calls from redheaded woodpeckers and a pair of red tailed hawks (making lazy circles in the air) hunting for prey.
The ubiquitous and constant residents of my private property are the squirrels and chipmunks - whose population seems to have exploded this year. The birds and skunks do not cause any real harm. I chased some raccoons out of the garage one night. They had gained entry through an open door and were noisily foraging in the garbage cans. They have not been a problem since then.
My garden has been assaulted by varmint intruders unmercifully. Early in the season I found that the tops of half of my tomato plants had been nibbled at by a tall animal that left cloven hoofprints in the humus. (Whether you believe it was a visit from the Prince of Darkness or just a hungry whitetail deer, who would have expected that any of the suspects like to eat tomato plants??) The rabbits like to eat the freshly emerged marigold flowers. (Too bad they don't do me a favor by deadheading the blossoms that have gone by.)
The worst insurgent attacks are perpetrated by the squirrels and chipmunks. I have cultivated tomato plants for many years. In recent years I have experienced some minor interest in these plants by rodents. Up until this year, the chief problem was squirrels going after the ripe tomatoes on the vine. I was able to protect my harvest by picking the tomatoes just as the blush was coming upon them, and letting them ripen indoors.
This year, the squirrels have proliferated in geometric fashion (they breed like rabbits, if you ask me.) Apparently there is a lot of competion for food. A few squirrels have found my garden full of cukes and tomatoes to be easy picking. They take the low hanging fruits, but they do not stop there. I have actually witnessed squirrels climbing up my tomato stakes to get at higher fruit. And they do not wait. They pick them at Ping pong ball size and run across the yard with their prize. ) In the beginning I assumed that they take them back to the nest and wait for them to ripen. But lately I have seen half-eaten greenies on the ground.
In my rage, I have fought back. I bought rat traps and baited them with tomato pieces. So far the tally is four chipmunks and one squirrel. This has not even put a dent in the population that inhabits this area. I have stopped putting-out the traps because I worry about hurting the few (welcome) outside cats that also live in the neighborhood. The squirrels are too quick and escape the traps, anyway. (One night a young skunk blundered into a trap and stank-up the neighborhood).
I am losing this war. I am outnumbered and outgunned. The only way to keep the gardens safe is to be outside. They stay away when they see me. But, when I go in for my afternoon nap, the rodents swarm back to feast on my produce. They don't seem to like cucumbers, they just take a few small bites out of each one.
Fortunately, the ban on assault rifles has expired. Maybe a fully loaded AK-47 with a banana clip will prove to be the answer to my prayers....
I think it is a sign that there is too much wildlife in the neighborhood.
All summer long I have been at war with the local varmints. We have daily visits from rabbits, raccoons, skunks. A vast variety of birds visit the area. Crows, cardinals, blue jays and doves make a constant racket, and occasionally I can hear the distinctive calls from redheaded woodpeckers and a pair of red tailed hawks (making lazy circles in the air) hunting for prey.
The ubiquitous and constant residents of my private property are the squirrels and chipmunks - whose population seems to have exploded this year. The birds and skunks do not cause any real harm. I chased some raccoons out of the garage one night. They had gained entry through an open door and were noisily foraging in the garbage cans. They have not been a problem since then.
My garden has been assaulted by varmint intruders unmercifully. Early in the season I found that the tops of half of my tomato plants had been nibbled at by a tall animal that left cloven hoofprints in the humus. (Whether you believe it was a visit from the Prince of Darkness or just a hungry whitetail deer, who would have expected that any of the suspects like to eat tomato plants??) The rabbits like to eat the freshly emerged marigold flowers. (Too bad they don't do me a favor by deadheading the blossoms that have gone by.)
The worst insurgent attacks are perpetrated by the squirrels and chipmunks. I have cultivated tomato plants for many years. In recent years I have experienced some minor interest in these plants by rodents. Up until this year, the chief problem was squirrels going after the ripe tomatoes on the vine. I was able to protect my harvest by picking the tomatoes just as the blush was coming upon them, and letting them ripen indoors.
This year, the squirrels have proliferated in geometric fashion (they breed like rabbits, if you ask me.) Apparently there is a lot of competion for food. A few squirrels have found my garden full of cukes and tomatoes to be easy picking. They take the low hanging fruits, but they do not stop there. I have actually witnessed squirrels climbing up my tomato stakes to get at higher fruit. And they do not wait. They pick them at Ping pong ball size and run across the yard with their prize. ) In the beginning I assumed that they take them back to the nest and wait for them to ripen. But lately I have seen half-eaten greenies on the ground.
In my rage, I have fought back. I bought rat traps and baited them with tomato pieces. So far the tally is four chipmunks and one squirrel. This has not even put a dent in the population that inhabits this area. I have stopped putting-out the traps because I worry about hurting the few (welcome) outside cats that also live in the neighborhood. The squirrels are too quick and escape the traps, anyway. (One night a young skunk blundered into a trap and stank-up the neighborhood).
I am losing this war. I am outnumbered and outgunned. The only way to keep the gardens safe is to be outside. They stay away when they see me. But, when I go in for my afternoon nap, the rodents swarm back to feast on my produce. They don't seem to like cucumbers, they just take a few small bites out of each one.
Fortunately, the ban on assault rifles has expired. Maybe a fully loaded AK-47 with a banana clip will prove to be the answer to my prayers....
9/10/2004
Wrap Up
I am watching the end of summer with a mixed feeling of anticipation and befuddlement. I wonder: Where have the days gone? How come I do not have more items crossed off my TO DO list? Why am I still fat?
The anticipation is about a new grandson who is expected within the next few weeks, and the onset of my favorite season - when Monday nights are again occupied by Football Games on TV, when you can feel the crisp clean air of Autumn, when I can go back to the beach.
I love the ocean, but I hardly ever go to the beach in the summer. Neither of us enjoy basking in the sun. As a chronic sunburn victim, I am too sensitive to expose myself to the ravages of sunbathing, and my wife is too vain to allow her alabaster complexion to turn to dessicated leather. We call ourselves EPA's (Exceptionally Pale Americans). Our idea of a good day at the beach is an overcast windy fall day, where we can have the beach to ourselves, stroll the shore and gain the soothing benefits of whitecapped rollers pounding on the sand, washing away all the stress and angst of life....
The Bush administration has not produced a job boom in my neighborhood yet. So, I have officially joined the ranks of the early-retired. Although the SS money is a pittance, at least I can again afford to buy good scotch on my own, (instead of charging it to my wife's credit card).
Still, I keep looking for that perfect job. (ie, Good salary, short commute, non-asshole workplace, interesting work.) I hope something happens soon because i must confess that I am becoming less interested in the problems of business with each passing day.
Normally, I would use the recent Labor Day observance as another excuse to howl against greedy, clueless, ego-centric Management. This year, I am barely able to raise my sleepy head and growl about the slow economy.
At this rate, I will soon end-up a pensioner poet: unpublished, in need of a haircut, and wandering the streets and alleys looking for a good metaphor. Or, a decent pub.
The anticipation is about a new grandson who is expected within the next few weeks, and the onset of my favorite season - when Monday nights are again occupied by Football Games on TV, when you can feel the crisp clean air of Autumn, when I can go back to the beach.
I love the ocean, but I hardly ever go to the beach in the summer. Neither of us enjoy basking in the sun. As a chronic sunburn victim, I am too sensitive to expose myself to the ravages of sunbathing, and my wife is too vain to allow her alabaster complexion to turn to dessicated leather. We call ourselves EPA's (Exceptionally Pale Americans). Our idea of a good day at the beach is an overcast windy fall day, where we can have the beach to ourselves, stroll the shore and gain the soothing benefits of whitecapped rollers pounding on the sand, washing away all the stress and angst of life....
The Bush administration has not produced a job boom in my neighborhood yet. So, I have officially joined the ranks of the early-retired. Although the SS money is a pittance, at least I can again afford to buy good scotch on my own, (instead of charging it to my wife's credit card).
Still, I keep looking for that perfect job. (ie, Good salary, short commute, non-asshole workplace, interesting work.) I hope something happens soon because i must confess that I am becoming less interested in the problems of business with each passing day.
Normally, I would use the recent Labor Day observance as another excuse to howl against greedy, clueless, ego-centric Management. This year, I am barely able to raise my sleepy head and growl about the slow economy.
At this rate, I will soon end-up a pensioner poet: unpublished, in need of a haircut, and wandering the streets and alleys looking for a good metaphor. Or, a decent pub.
9/04/2004
Porch Envy
As mentioned in previous blog entries, there is a major renovation that has been going on at the next door neighbor's house since Spring. Over the course of the project, I have had occasion to go over to inspect the work and to marvel at the miracle of construction.
As one who is measure-mentally challenged ( I measure twice and cut thrice ), I have huge respect for anyone who can competently mitre a joint or operate heavy machinery without maiming themselves or others.
During my career as a systems guy, I often used the construction metaphor to explain the complexity of information systems projects.
I always justified the time spent on requirements gathering as similar to the importance of laying a stable foundation for a building. Many business applications are like a structure that has been modified incrementally over the years, to become a hodge podge of modules that are both unsightly and dysfunctional. Sometimes you just have to gut the damn thing and start all over with a new design.
A project to develop a business systems solution is much like a construction project. Certain tasks must be done in exquisitely planned sequence at predefined points in time. A team of workers, each with his own specialty needs to be deployed, communicated with, evaluated and rewarded (or more likely, corrected).
But a business systems development project is a piece-of-cake compared to construction. The bulk of risk for an application development project is managing team member's activities. The main resources are human. There is not a fundamental dependence on the arrival of certain materials at key junctures. This dependence upon external deliveries and the immutable pressures of climate, gravity and entropy make the construction project a risky and complex endeavor. And the worksite is a true Hellhole of noise, dust and micro-managed tasks.
More amazing is the realization that these projects are accomplished by individuals who are largely uneducated, uninformed and practically deaf. I assure you I am not being a snob in making these observations. As I say, I am right next door and have had an ample amount of time to spend puttering around my own garden or attempting to read in a quiet back yard. The banging starts around 8am and goes on most of the day (except for break times) through 4pm when the workers drive off like a swarm of locusts - probably to the nearest bar. Because of the constant pounding and sawing and other noise, most of the workers have apparently become deafened. When they talk to each other they always shout. Even when they are on break.
Thus it is not hard to overhear the substance and tone of their discussions, which I assure you seldom rises to the level of art history, philosophy or even politics. Generally the topics cover some or all of the following:
- Pit bulls make nice pets
- Did you hear about the lady who won $4 million on a scratch ticket?
- Nomar was a jerk
- My Jimmy is better than your F150.
- Whose turn is it to go get donuts?
You get the idea.
Miraculously, this crew is able to make something functional and beautiful through their combination of skills and the ability to follow orders precisely.
As the summer has progressed, I have been gradually possessed by a feeling of envy for my neighbor's porch. A feeling of emptiness has welled-up in my soul as I sit in my 9X9' metal-framed, vinyl roofed screen house. My neighbor was probably languishing on fine furniture in his huge screened-in porch, sipping fine scotch, puffing on expensive cigars and listening to cool jazz on his installed sound system, while I was cramped into my little screen house, sitting in my resin lawn chairs, drinking cheap domestic beer, listening to talk radio on my portable walkman. I felt something was missing.
One day last week, I asked the Builder if he was looking for any new projects. He said he already had plenty of work, but was always looking for new projects. I told him of my dream to have a screened porch instead of my little screen house.
He liked the idea of a project that did not require the use of a back-hoe and thirty tons of concrete. We got to talking. He made some measurements, sketched out a drawing, and before you knew it, we had agreed to a project.
So, my home is about to become a construction site. A Hellhole. I need to get a job, for obvious reasons.
As one who is measure-mentally challenged ( I measure twice and cut thrice ), I have huge respect for anyone who can competently mitre a joint or operate heavy machinery without maiming themselves or others.
During my career as a systems guy, I often used the construction metaphor to explain the complexity of information systems projects.
I always justified the time spent on requirements gathering as similar to the importance of laying a stable foundation for a building. Many business applications are like a structure that has been modified incrementally over the years, to become a hodge podge of modules that are both unsightly and dysfunctional. Sometimes you just have to gut the damn thing and start all over with a new design.
A project to develop a business systems solution is much like a construction project. Certain tasks must be done in exquisitely planned sequence at predefined points in time. A team of workers, each with his own specialty needs to be deployed, communicated with, evaluated and rewarded (or more likely, corrected).
But a business systems development project is a piece-of-cake compared to construction. The bulk of risk for an application development project is managing team member's activities. The main resources are human. There is not a fundamental dependence on the arrival of certain materials at key junctures. This dependence upon external deliveries and the immutable pressures of climate, gravity and entropy make the construction project a risky and complex endeavor. And the worksite is a true Hellhole of noise, dust and micro-managed tasks.
More amazing is the realization that these projects are accomplished by individuals who are largely uneducated, uninformed and practically deaf. I assure you I am not being a snob in making these observations. As I say, I am right next door and have had an ample amount of time to spend puttering around my own garden or attempting to read in a quiet back yard. The banging starts around 8am and goes on most of the day (except for break times) through 4pm when the workers drive off like a swarm of locusts - probably to the nearest bar. Because of the constant pounding and sawing and other noise, most of the workers have apparently become deafened. When they talk to each other they always shout. Even when they are on break.
Thus it is not hard to overhear the substance and tone of their discussions, which I assure you seldom rises to the level of art history, philosophy or even politics. Generally the topics cover some or all of the following:
- Pit bulls make nice pets
- Did you hear about the lady who won $4 million on a scratch ticket?
- Nomar was a jerk
- My Jimmy is better than your F150.
- Whose turn is it to go get donuts?
You get the idea.
Miraculously, this crew is able to make something functional and beautiful through their combination of skills and the ability to follow orders precisely.
As the summer has progressed, I have been gradually possessed by a feeling of envy for my neighbor's porch. A feeling of emptiness has welled-up in my soul as I sit in my 9X9' metal-framed, vinyl roofed screen house. My neighbor was probably languishing on fine furniture in his huge screened-in porch, sipping fine scotch, puffing on expensive cigars and listening to cool jazz on his installed sound system, while I was cramped into my little screen house, sitting in my resin lawn chairs, drinking cheap domestic beer, listening to talk radio on my portable walkman. I felt something was missing.
One day last week, I asked the Builder if he was looking for any new projects. He said he already had plenty of work, but was always looking for new projects. I told him of my dream to have a screened porch instead of my little screen house.
He liked the idea of a project that did not require the use of a back-hoe and thirty tons of concrete. We got to talking. He made some measurements, sketched out a drawing, and before you knew it, we had agreed to a project.
So, my home is about to become a construction site. A Hellhole. I need to get a job, for obvious reasons.
8/28/2004
The Sounds of August
Lately the early mornings have been crisp and cool, with the dew glistening on the lawns. The dawn sky is quiet, sunny and deep blue. Before the workaday stirrings of those cursed creatures called "the employed," the air is still. Saturated with the perfume of pine and pungent herbs. And the whispered promise of an abundant harvest.
You can almost hear Autumn coming down the tracks in the near distance like a rumbling westbound freight train.
Wait!
That really is the sound of a train! A tandem team of six big diesel engines pulling a long train of container cars, from the sound of it, probably loaded with Chinese imports headed inexorably for the heartland, or up to Montreal.
My house is just two streets over from the main rail line that handles all the Conrail and Amtrak traffic from Boston's South Station to Worcester and points beyond. When you live near the tracks, you get used to the noise. In fact, most of the time you are not conscious of the passing rail traffic. Like the other sounds in the distance, like birds chirping, dogs barking, lawn mowers, trucks in the street, the trains add to an ambient sound level that you do not notice until they use that high decibel horn. Last year, the Woodlawn Ave bridge was being repaired and every train that went by in either direction sounded the horn to warn workers who might be near the tracks. It made me notice how many trains went past. We are probably talking fifty trips a day, not counting the ones that go by at night.
The trains are the least of my noise problems. Since Spring there has been a crew working on the house next door. Each day brings another big noisy diesel vehicle to dig or deliver or pour concrete or pick up a dumpster or whatever. No one ever turns off a diesel engine, so most of the day there is an idling engine running. The nail guns are driven by a compressor that rattles like a chain saw. So all day you hear this pfft, pfft, phfft, groink, buzz, ghmmmm, phfft,phfft, Outch! Hey I'm bleedin here! (The last sound was the fat carpenter shooting a nail through his boot. Ha ha)
Then across the street, they have been replacing the back deck. It takes a lot of banging to properly replace a deck, apparently. And, not to be outdone, they also need a big idling diesel truck to haul away and bring fresh dumpsters.
In the white house on the other side, the widow lady likes to have here carpets and ducts cleaned. She prefers the work to be done by a crew who come in a huge noisy truck which not only idles noisily, but also runs a high-pressure compressor that is so loud you can no doubt hear it from the engine compartment of a westbound train.
Some times the UPS and Fedex drivers have trouble driving down the street because there are so many vehicles parked on both sides allowing only a narrow passage. Delivery trucks, Landscape vehicles, pickup trucks driven by construction workers and sloppily parked. This is not an urban setting, readers, this is a "quiet" suburban road.
Some days, I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to go to a nice quiet office where you can sit at a nice quiet desk and spend the day getting paid for surfing the web like most employed people?"
Nah. Someday, the construction work will be finished, the workers and their trucks will go somewhere else, all ducts and rugs will be clean, the lawns will be mowed, and I will again be able to sit in the peaceful solitude of my back yard, with a frosty Sierra Nevada, listening for the sound of Autumn.
You can almost hear Autumn coming down the tracks in the near distance like a rumbling westbound freight train.
Wait!
That really is the sound of a train! A tandem team of six big diesel engines pulling a long train of container cars, from the sound of it, probably loaded with Chinese imports headed inexorably for the heartland, or up to Montreal.
My house is just two streets over from the main rail line that handles all the Conrail and Amtrak traffic from Boston's South Station to Worcester and points beyond. When you live near the tracks, you get used to the noise. In fact, most of the time you are not conscious of the passing rail traffic. Like the other sounds in the distance, like birds chirping, dogs barking, lawn mowers, trucks in the street, the trains add to an ambient sound level that you do not notice until they use that high decibel horn. Last year, the Woodlawn Ave bridge was being repaired and every train that went by in either direction sounded the horn to warn workers who might be near the tracks. It made me notice how many trains went past. We are probably talking fifty trips a day, not counting the ones that go by at night.
The trains are the least of my noise problems. Since Spring there has been a crew working on the house next door. Each day brings another big noisy diesel vehicle to dig or deliver or pour concrete or pick up a dumpster or whatever. No one ever turns off a diesel engine, so most of the day there is an idling engine running. The nail guns are driven by a compressor that rattles like a chain saw. So all day you hear this pfft, pfft, phfft, groink, buzz, ghmmmm, phfft,phfft, Outch! Hey I'm bleedin here! (The last sound was the fat carpenter shooting a nail through his boot. Ha ha)
Then across the street, they have been replacing the back deck. It takes a lot of banging to properly replace a deck, apparently. And, not to be outdone, they also need a big idling diesel truck to haul away and bring fresh dumpsters.
In the white house on the other side, the widow lady likes to have here carpets and ducts cleaned. She prefers the work to be done by a crew who come in a huge noisy truck which not only idles noisily, but also runs a high-pressure compressor that is so loud you can no doubt hear it from the engine compartment of a westbound train.
Some times the UPS and Fedex drivers have trouble driving down the street because there are so many vehicles parked on both sides allowing only a narrow passage. Delivery trucks, Landscape vehicles, pickup trucks driven by construction workers and sloppily parked. This is not an urban setting, readers, this is a "quiet" suburban road.
Some days, I think to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to go to a nice quiet office where you can sit at a nice quiet desk and spend the day getting paid for surfing the web like most employed people?"
Nah. Someday, the construction work will be finished, the workers and their trucks will go somewhere else, all ducts and rugs will be clean, the lawns will be mowed, and I will again be able to sit in the peaceful solitude of my back yard, with a frosty Sierra Nevada, listening for the sound of Autumn.
8/23/2004
They Said, He Said
The recent flap over the swiftboat vets casting a shadow over John Kerry's heroism leads us to the state of confusion about whose facts are the real facts. Truth is elusive even when we are eyewitnesses to events. But we are forced to realize that we cannot rely on anyone's testimony, especially about events that happened opver 30 years ago.
The discrepancy over what happened on the swiftboats can only be explained by the willingness of one group or another to lie about what happened - to advance their political agenda. We know that some vets were so outraged by what Kerry said after returning from Nam that they would do and say anything to keep him from becoming President. Even to the point of disparaging his wounds and actions. On the other side, there are apparently a lot of medals at stake that depended upon the report that the swiftboats were under enemy fire. The crew members (and recently another eyewitness) have maintained that Kerry's actions were honorable.
We probably will never know the truth. But we know this: If Kerry's military service and subsequent political career do not make him fit for command, how in the world can honest men consider George W's preparation for the office to have qualified him for the job?
I don't question the results of the 2000 election; I lament the system that fails to promote our best and brightest leaders into the ranks of viable presidential candidates.
Job Search Update
No change in status. I lament an economy that fails to seek and hire the best and brightest systems analysts into the ranks of the high paid employed.
The discrepancy over what happened on the swiftboats can only be explained by the willingness of one group or another to lie about what happened - to advance their political agenda. We know that some vets were so outraged by what Kerry said after returning from Nam that they would do and say anything to keep him from becoming President. Even to the point of disparaging his wounds and actions. On the other side, there are apparently a lot of medals at stake that depended upon the report that the swiftboats were under enemy fire. The crew members (and recently another eyewitness) have maintained that Kerry's actions were honorable.
We probably will never know the truth. But we know this: If Kerry's military service and subsequent political career do not make him fit for command, how in the world can honest men consider George W's preparation for the office to have qualified him for the job?
I don't question the results of the 2000 election; I lament the system that fails to promote our best and brightest leaders into the ranks of viable presidential candidates.
Job Search Update
No change in status. I lament an economy that fails to seek and hire the best and brightest systems analysts into the ranks of the high paid employed.
8/15/2004
Stepford Guys
Type Four Hurricane Charley had dwindled down to "A-tropical-depression-formerly-known- as-Hurrican Charlie" by the time it tiptoed through Massachusetts. We got some fairly heavy rain, but my harbor bouy wind chimes hardly acknowledged the gentle breezes that posed no threat to beast or bloom. It was a girlie-storm for the Northeast. It should have been named Charleen.
Speaking of girlie things, I am worried about the next generation of men in this country. There is a baby shower planned for my daughter in a few weeks. Traditionally, this would not have been a matter of manly concern. The wimmens would be invited, go to the shower, sit around watching the soon-to-be-mother open presents, have some chicken salad finger sandwitches and tea and that would be the end of it. Menfolk would tend to their affairs, whatever they might be.
But these days, men think of pregnancy as a shared thing. "We're pregnant," they say. Really, I ask? both of you? Hmmn. One of the young husbands of a female invitee wants to actually attend the shower as a protest to the exclusion of men from the outmoded traditions of the past. He feels that fathers should be just as involved as mothers with childraising, and watching wimmens opening gifts. It worries me. Number one, the lad was not invited. This traditional detail of civility apparently is also outmoded - you feel like going somewhere you just go. Number two, it is unthinkable that a man would CHOOSE to go to a girlie event rather than to simply stay home watch the game, or to sit quietly in the yard with a book and a frosty beer marveling at the gift of manly solitude.
I'm sure these guys seem like sensitive, caring fellows to their wives. I think they might be pod people.
Speaking of girlie things, I am worried about the next generation of men in this country. There is a baby shower planned for my daughter in a few weeks. Traditionally, this would not have been a matter of manly concern. The wimmens would be invited, go to the shower, sit around watching the soon-to-be-mother open presents, have some chicken salad finger sandwitches and tea and that would be the end of it. Menfolk would tend to their affairs, whatever they might be.
But these days, men think of pregnancy as a shared thing. "We're pregnant," they say. Really, I ask? both of you? Hmmn. One of the young husbands of a female invitee wants to actually attend the shower as a protest to the exclusion of men from the outmoded traditions of the past. He feels that fathers should be just as involved as mothers with childraising, and watching wimmens opening gifts. It worries me. Number one, the lad was not invited. This traditional detail of civility apparently is also outmoded - you feel like going somewhere you just go. Number two, it is unthinkable that a man would CHOOSE to go to a girlie event rather than to simply stay home watch the game, or to sit quietly in the yard with a book and a frosty beer marveling at the gift of manly solitude.
I'm sure these guys seem like sensitive, caring fellows to their wives. I think they might be pod people.
8/12/2004
This Page Cannot be Displayed
Just to prove that I haven't totally given up looking for work, I decided to check out some of the local job boards this am before my morning walk down to the nearby Donuts R Us. I don't believe in depleting my energy reserves by aimless exercise. I believe it is good to have a goal in mind. Boston Kremes. Yumm.
So anyhow, I am checking out the jobs listed on this one well known job board, and I find a listing for Usability Analyst, an internal position working for the job board. Now I have always wanted to work as a Usability Analyst. In my many jobs as a systems analyst, my chief interest has been making the interface "friendly" to the users. I wish I had a nickel for every screen or web page I've seen that makes the user say "Huh?" because the data being presented wasn't what they expected or the user has come to a dead link. If I have gained any expertise in my working life, it is in the presentation of data in a usable format. Not too much, not too little.
So, I said to myself, "Self, you should apply to this job. It is the first Usability job description that doesn't require a PHD in heuristics (the science of obfuscation). Your past experience in business and web based applications are quite relevant. If these guys are smart they will at least want to talk to you. Do it."
But an inner voice replied,"But, they probably aren't interested in an experienced BSA with umpteen years of experience. They'll look at the resume, think too old, and toss it in the trashcan. How could they understand that the web is merely another way to present information? You think HTML and Java are great tools, but without a well designed process and superior content management, web pages are empty eye candy. No one wants to hear that sort of stone age thinking. Forget it. Go get your donut!"
"What the hell," I said, "it can't hurt to send them an e-resume. " So I hit the apply button. That took me to a screen that insisted that I login. Which I did. Then I got to a screen that allowed me to select the resume. Funny, no place for a cover letter to explain how uniquely qualified I am for the job. Then I clicked on continue. And got this message:
There is a problem with the page you are trying to reach and it cannot be displayed.
HTTP 500 - Internal server error Internet Explorer
Huh? (These guys really need someone like me. I wonder what happened to my resume).
Donuts, here I come.
So anyhow, I am checking out the jobs listed on this one well known job board, and I find a listing for Usability Analyst, an internal position working for the job board. Now I have always wanted to work as a Usability Analyst. In my many jobs as a systems analyst, my chief interest has been making the interface "friendly" to the users. I wish I had a nickel for every screen or web page I've seen that makes the user say "Huh?" because the data being presented wasn't what they expected or the user has come to a dead link. If I have gained any expertise in my working life, it is in the presentation of data in a usable format. Not too much, not too little.
So, I said to myself, "Self, you should apply to this job. It is the first Usability job description that doesn't require a PHD in heuristics (the science of obfuscation). Your past experience in business and web based applications are quite relevant. If these guys are smart they will at least want to talk to you. Do it."
But an inner voice replied,"But, they probably aren't interested in an experienced BSA with umpteen years of experience. They'll look at the resume, think too old, and toss it in the trashcan. How could they understand that the web is merely another way to present information? You think HTML and Java are great tools, but without a well designed process and superior content management, web pages are empty eye candy. No one wants to hear that sort of stone age thinking. Forget it. Go get your donut!"
"What the hell," I said, "it can't hurt to send them an e-resume. " So I hit the apply button. That took me to a screen that insisted that I login. Which I did. Then I got to a screen that allowed me to select the resume. Funny, no place for a cover letter to explain how uniquely qualified I am for the job. Then I clicked on continue. And got this message:
The page cannot be displayed
There is a problem with the page you are trying to reach and it cannot be displayed.
HTTP 500 - Internal server error Internet Explorer
Huh? (These guys really need someone like me. I wonder what happened to my resume).
Donuts, here I come.
8/06/2004
Hardly Working
In the news today:
"The U.S. economy added many fewer jobs than expected in July, raising big concerns about the recovery in the labor market."
Well, welcome to the club. I've been concerned about job growth for more than a year.
I guess this headline helps explain why my phone has not been ringing lately. It's the stupid economy.
That's a relief. I was afraid that somehow the word about me had gotten out.
===============
The other day I finally closed my Fleet bank accounts. Without a steady income, my balance had long since fallen under the no-fee limit, so I was getting slammed with a $12 monthly fee.
Since I have a free account at another bank, I decided to consolidate my remaining funds.
I guess I expected to get at least a mild pitch to get me to stay with the bank. I have had the account since it was South Shore Bank, bought out by Bank of Boston and then Fleet. Now, as Bank of America, I guess they don't want to be bothered by people like me with low balances.
Even if the situation is temporary.
The kid who handled my paperwork never asked me why I was closing the account, or whether I had considered their free checking with automatic deposit. Apparently, he did not care why. He never even said a word, like Hi how are you today? or Gee, hope you will do business here again. Not the type of person I would put in a customer service job. But I suppose I would be a miserable little pissant too, if I had to spend my day closing accounts for geezers who came into my office complaining about usurious bank fees.
"The U.S. economy added many fewer jobs than expected in July, raising big concerns about the recovery in the labor market."
Well, welcome to the club. I've been concerned about job growth for more than a year.
I guess this headline helps explain why my phone has not been ringing lately. It's the stupid economy.
That's a relief. I was afraid that somehow the word about me had gotten out.
===============
The other day I finally closed my Fleet bank accounts. Without a steady income, my balance had long since fallen under the no-fee limit, so I was getting slammed with a $12 monthly fee.
Since I have a free account at another bank, I decided to consolidate my remaining funds.
I guess I expected to get at least a mild pitch to get me to stay with the bank. I have had the account since it was South Shore Bank, bought out by Bank of Boston and then Fleet. Now, as Bank of America, I guess they don't want to be bothered by people like me with low balances.
Even if the situation is temporary.
The kid who handled my paperwork never asked me why I was closing the account, or whether I had considered their free checking with automatic deposit. Apparently, he did not care why. He never even said a word, like Hi how are you today? or Gee, hope you will do business here again. Not the type of person I would put in a customer service job. But I suppose I would be a miserable little pissant too, if I had to spend my day closing accounts for geezers who came into my office complaining about usurious bank fees.
8/04/2004
Forward This to Everyone You Know
I received one of those partisan political propaganda e-mails today from my reborn conservative sister in Uxbridge. In case you didn't get it, it was the one that cites all the bad things Democrats have done to destroy Social Security. (I know you are probably thinking, "Huh?" It just shows how you can distort any piece of information to get what you want out of it. It was in the form of questions and cooked-up answers. At the end it pleads with the recipient to "Send this to everyone you know!" as if that would awaken some manchurian brain cell and make otherwise sensible people suddenly want to vote for Bush.
I could not resist answering her:
" Thanks. I was wondering who was responsible for all the horrors. This type of screed is a lot like Michael Moore's methodology: leave out the facts that are inconvenient to the message.
Anyway, I thought of a few Q's and A's that came to mind.
Q: Was it the evil Democrats who ran up the deficit while giving Tax Cuts to the wealthiest 1%??
A: Well, not exactly.
Q: Was it the lying and cheating Democrats who pay lip service to the war on terror and then fail to fund our border security forces while handing billions to cronies at Halliburton??
A: No, that would be co-president Cheny's idea.
Q: Who hates America most?
A: A) Michael Moore B). Drudge C). People who support the war, but want someone else's kid to do the fighting, D) Ralph Nader
Q: If you knew then what you know now, would you have supported the invasion of Iraq, the alienation of our allies and the expense of men and material?
A: No. And everyone involved with that decision should be fired.
Q: Why doesn't God make the world a nice place.
A: Because he likes to watch us fight.
Q: Who has killed more people Laura Bush or Ted Kennedy?
A: It's a tie
Q: Does sending partisan e-mail around the internet actually change anyone's position?
A: No. Most recipients are members of the choir already, so they nod their heads in agreement. The others, the ones who think for themselves, just delete the propaganda and go back to downloading porn.
I voted against Al Gore in the last election. After listening to the speakers at the DNC, I hate to admit it, but I would vote for Bill Clinton if he was running again. He is clearly the smartest leader we have in America today.
I remain pretty much Opposed to the Republican/conservative agenda
- In favor of same sex marriage (they can have family values too)
- in favor of a woman's right to choose (it's none of your business)
- in favor of spreading the wealth around (middle class tax cuts, against Corporate Welfare)
- In favor of gun control
- in favor of bombing the hell out of the poppy fields in Afghanistan (we know where they are!)
- in favor of using our resources to clean up our own cities so that elderly people and children do not have to live in constant fear of gangs and thieves.
- in favor of an equal opportunity military draft to serve in defense of this country on the Border Patrol and Neighborhood patrols.
I am certainly not in favor of giving taxpayer money to immigrants who come here to go on welfare.
Nor do I agree with mortgaging our grandchildren's future in a vain attempt to transplant Democracy upon a group of people who do not believe in equality or individual liberty.
It is dangerous to give the power of the vote to people who cannot think for themselves (people who need preachers and mullahs to tell them how to think). The founding fathers recognized this when they provided for the Electoral College."
Hope is on the way. I hope.
I could not resist answering her:
" Thanks. I was wondering who was responsible for all the horrors. This type of screed is a lot like Michael Moore's methodology: leave out the facts that are inconvenient to the message.
Anyway, I thought of a few Q's and A's that came to mind.
Q: Was it the evil Democrats who ran up the deficit while giving Tax Cuts to the wealthiest 1%??
A: Well, not exactly.
Q: Was it the lying and cheating Democrats who pay lip service to the war on terror and then fail to fund our border security forces while handing billions to cronies at Halliburton??
A: No, that would be co-president Cheny's idea.
Q: Who hates America most?
A: A) Michael Moore B). Drudge C). People who support the war, but want someone else's kid to do the fighting, D) Ralph Nader
Q: If you knew then what you know now, would you have supported the invasion of Iraq, the alienation of our allies and the expense of men and material?
A: No. And everyone involved with that decision should be fired.
Q: Why doesn't God make the world a nice place.
A: Because he likes to watch us fight.
Q: Who has killed more people Laura Bush or Ted Kennedy?
A: It's a tie
Q: Does sending partisan e-mail around the internet actually change anyone's position?
A: No. Most recipients are members of the choir already, so they nod their heads in agreement. The others, the ones who think for themselves, just delete the propaganda and go back to downloading porn.
I voted against Al Gore in the last election. After listening to the speakers at the DNC, I hate to admit it, but I would vote for Bill Clinton if he was running again. He is clearly the smartest leader we have in America today.
I remain pretty much Opposed to the Republican/conservative agenda
- In favor of same sex marriage (they can have family values too)
- in favor of a woman's right to choose (it's none of your business)
- in favor of spreading the wealth around (middle class tax cuts, against Corporate Welfare)
- In favor of gun control
- in favor of bombing the hell out of the poppy fields in Afghanistan (we know where they are!)
- in favor of using our resources to clean up our own cities so that elderly people and children do not have to live in constant fear of gangs and thieves.
- in favor of an equal opportunity military draft to serve in defense of this country on the Border Patrol and Neighborhood patrols.
I am certainly not in favor of giving taxpayer money to immigrants who come here to go on welfare.
Nor do I agree with mortgaging our grandchildren's future in a vain attempt to transplant Democracy upon a group of people who do not believe in equality or individual liberty.
It is dangerous to give the power of the vote to people who cannot think for themselves (people who need preachers and mullahs to tell them how to think). The founding fathers recognized this when they provided for the Electoral College."
Hope is on the way. I hope.
8/01/2004
Playing Games
I couldn't believe it when I read the headline on the sportspage of today's Globe. Garciaparra traded, the words blared. Nomar is gone. To the Cubs. Cripes.
I am not a real Red Sox fan. In fact, I have not been a baseball fan since the strike of 1981. Loyal readers of this humble Blog know how I feel about Unions and strikes. My disdain for the job action antics of overpaid athletic workers is even more than my antipathy for civil servants who refuse to do their jobs and don't want others to work either.
If I was a fan, I would not buy the bullshit being spouted by the Sox Management and their shills in the media. They claim that Nomar was not going to sign anyway. Columnist Dan Shaughnessy says Nomar hates Boston and the Red Sox and was a toxic non team player. If this is true, I believe the situation was caused by stupid management tricks in the first place.
That punk Theo Epstein reminds me of a typical corporate manager. He claims that we need to make hard choices to get a championship team. We need a golden glove defense. Yada-yada.
Hey, when was the last time defense scored a home run? Besides, no one who has grown up in the Boston area, actually expects the Red Sox to Win.
A lot of business guys like to use sports analogies to motivate their workers. Maybe the baseball guys think they should run the team more like a business. This "trade" sounds a lot like a layoff to me. Managers always think that they are the real key to success. (Why else do they give themselves all the good perqs?) Team members are just interchangable parts, they think. The truth is, it is the manager of any organization who is ultimately and seamlessly replaceable. Good all star shortstops are hard to find. The history of the Red Sox is pissing off the star players, then trading them, then having them come back to kick their Fenway asses. Roger Clemens is a prime example of which I speak
If I was a baseball manager, I think I would get Pitchers who can throw lots of strikes instead of praying that my multi-million dollar infielders will quell a Yankee rally with deft fielding. Baseball has always been about hits and runs. Get enough and the errors are not important.
Just like in business. But what am I talking about? I don't know anything. That kid Epstein is getting paid to run the team - this year. Hey how much can we get for Pedro?
Heck, I don't even watch baseball on TV anymore. TV sports coverage is boring and distracting. Besides, these players like to think of themselves as employees, so if I want to spend my valuable time watching people work, I can go next door and watch the craftsmen building the neighbor's stone wall. Not playing games.
I am not a real Red Sox fan. In fact, I have not been a baseball fan since the strike of 1981. Loyal readers of this humble Blog know how I feel about Unions and strikes. My disdain for the job action antics of overpaid athletic workers is even more than my antipathy for civil servants who refuse to do their jobs and don't want others to work either.
If I was a fan, I would not buy the bullshit being spouted by the Sox Management and their shills in the media. They claim that Nomar was not going to sign anyway. Columnist Dan Shaughnessy says Nomar hates Boston and the Red Sox and was a toxic non team player. If this is true, I believe the situation was caused by stupid management tricks in the first place.
That punk Theo Epstein reminds me of a typical corporate manager. He claims that we need to make hard choices to get a championship team. We need a golden glove defense. Yada-yada.
Hey, when was the last time defense scored a home run? Besides, no one who has grown up in the Boston area, actually expects the Red Sox to Win.
A lot of business guys like to use sports analogies to motivate their workers. Maybe the baseball guys think they should run the team more like a business. This "trade" sounds a lot like a layoff to me. Managers always think that they are the real key to success. (Why else do they give themselves all the good perqs?) Team members are just interchangable parts, they think. The truth is, it is the manager of any organization who is ultimately and seamlessly replaceable. Good all star shortstops are hard to find. The history of the Red Sox is pissing off the star players, then trading them, then having them come back to kick their Fenway asses. Roger Clemens is a prime example of which I speak
If I was a baseball manager, I think I would get Pitchers who can throw lots of strikes instead of praying that my multi-million dollar infielders will quell a Yankee rally with deft fielding. Baseball has always been about hits and runs. Get enough and the errors are not important.
Just like in business. But what am I talking about? I don't know anything. That kid Epstein is getting paid to run the team - this year. Hey how much can we get for Pedro?
Heck, I don't even watch baseball on TV anymore. TV sports coverage is boring and distracting. Besides, these players like to think of themselves as employees, so if I want to spend my valuable time watching people work, I can go next door and watch the craftsmen building the neighbor's stone wall. Not playing games.
7/27/2004
The Big Question
Inevitably, during all the bloviation and rhetoric, someone asks "Are you better off today than you were four years ago?"
Answer: Hmmn
Four years ago I had a good job at good wages. My mutual funds were at an all time high. My daughter had just given birth to my first grandchild. When I went to the airport, my biggest fear was losing my suitcase. There was no such thing as "Threat Level." Life was pretty good.
Today, my family income is less than half what it was in 2000. For the past year, I have been fruitlessly looking for a job in an economic environment that stubbornly favors cost-control over growth. We are afraid to fly - heck we are even afraid drive to the airport. The cost of a gallon of gas has skyrocketed. The stock market goes apeshit everytime there is a suicide bombing in the news. Most of the robber CEO's walk free as crows, but Martha Stewart has been convicted of crimes against humanity and is headed for jail. My grandchildren moved to California.
Democrats are still talking about "stolen" elections and "coo-day-tat", as if they did not understand the Electoral College. Republicans - with no evil empire to oppose - bark about moral principles, and the evils of those who would deny tax cuts to the richest Americans.
Neither party can produce a leader that the majority of voters can rally around enthusiastically. Most voters support their guy mainly because they are afraid of the other guy.
Read: Afraid of the other guy's Supreme Court appointees.
Republicans - in the ultimate cynical strategy - contribute to Ralph Nader's impotent and vain attempts to become a real candidate, in hopes of spoiling Kerry's draw on independent voters. Nader, once seen as a principled struggler against special interests is now seen as a sad buffoon.
Our confidence in the System is shaken. We now know that the past two Presidents have been making military decisions based on flawed intelligence data about terrorists. Political debate has devolved to mere shouting matches and mudslinging. We seek for the truth in vain. (Maybe Cheney is right - we can't handle the truth).
Are we better off than we were four years ago? Perhaps the key question is, will we be better off or worse following the election in November?
Hmmmn.
Answer: Hmmn
Four years ago I had a good job at good wages. My mutual funds were at an all time high. My daughter had just given birth to my first grandchild. When I went to the airport, my biggest fear was losing my suitcase. There was no such thing as "Threat Level." Life was pretty good.
Today, my family income is less than half what it was in 2000. For the past year, I have been fruitlessly looking for a job in an economic environment that stubbornly favors cost-control over growth. We are afraid to fly - heck we are even afraid drive to the airport. The cost of a gallon of gas has skyrocketed. The stock market goes apeshit everytime there is a suicide bombing in the news. Most of the robber CEO's walk free as crows, but Martha Stewart has been convicted of crimes against humanity and is headed for jail. My grandchildren moved to California.
Democrats are still talking about "stolen" elections and "coo-day-tat", as if they did not understand the Electoral College. Republicans - with no evil empire to oppose - bark about moral principles, and the evils of those who would deny tax cuts to the richest Americans.
Neither party can produce a leader that the majority of voters can rally around enthusiastically. Most voters support their guy mainly because they are afraid of the other guy.
Read: Afraid of the other guy's Supreme Court appointees.
Republicans - in the ultimate cynical strategy - contribute to Ralph Nader's impotent and vain attempts to become a real candidate, in hopes of spoiling Kerry's draw on independent voters. Nader, once seen as a principled struggler against special interests is now seen as a sad buffoon.
Our confidence in the System is shaken. We now know that the past two Presidents have been making military decisions based on flawed intelligence data about terrorists. Political debate has devolved to mere shouting matches and mudslinging. We seek for the truth in vain. (Maybe Cheney is right - we can't handle the truth).
Are we better off than we were four years ago? Perhaps the key question is, will we be better off or worse following the election in November?
Hmmmn.
7/26/2004
Railing Against The Man
The DNC is at last underway. At the very last minute, the Fire and Patrolmen's Union backed-off on their threats to picket the welcome parties in a petulant attempt to spoil things for just about everyone - especially Menino. It will take a 9/11 event to restore their vaunted status as Protectors of the public. The glint of heroism has been etched dull by the acid of greed and extortion.
I'm thinking of going in town today to protest against wanton joblessness. I think the discrimination against aging, well-fed people - who don't want to take orders from assholes - is a blight on our nation. I'm bagging-up some cat poop to throw at any one I see wearing a fur coat. Attention must be paid!
I see Bill Clinton is in town signing copies of "My Lies. " Has he no shame? Is every event just an excuse to engorge the Clintonian coffers? And, did you see the clip of Kerry "throwing" out the first pitch at the Sox Yankees game last night. Maybe he thought it was bocci instead of baseball. You call that a Pitch? The ball dropped like a stone 10 feet in front of the plate and dribbled between the legs of the hapless catcher (was his name Buckner by any chance?). My Grandmother could throw a better pitch than that, lefty. And the next first lady, in Pennsylvania deploring the un-American tone of public discourse. When a reporter pressed her for examples of the un-American speech, she denied having said what she had just said on tape. Further efforts at clarification were rebuffed and the reporter was invited to "Shove it!" Hmmn. I think it should be an interesting 4 years with Theresa in the white house.
I'm thinking of going in town today to protest against wanton joblessness. I think the discrimination against aging, well-fed people - who don't want to take orders from assholes - is a blight on our nation. I'm bagging-up some cat poop to throw at any one I see wearing a fur coat. Attention must be paid!
I see Bill Clinton is in town signing copies of "My Lies. " Has he no shame? Is every event just an excuse to engorge the Clintonian coffers? And, did you see the clip of Kerry "throwing" out the first pitch at the Sox Yankees game last night. Maybe he thought it was bocci instead of baseball. You call that a Pitch? The ball dropped like a stone 10 feet in front of the plate and dribbled between the legs of the hapless catcher (was his name Buckner by any chance?). My Grandmother could throw a better pitch than that, lefty. And the next first lady, in Pennsylvania deploring the un-American tone of public discourse. When a reporter pressed her for examples of the un-American speech, she denied having said what she had just said on tape. Further efforts at clarification were rebuffed and the reporter was invited to "Shove it!" Hmmn. I think it should be an interesting 4 years with Theresa in the white house.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)