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!
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