Lessons

There was an article in the Globe today, purporting to advise people who were contemplating returning to work after a long layoff. Clearly, it was an article written by a journalist, not someone who actually had the experience.
It gave "helpful" suggestions for people who have been on the beach maybe a bit too long - like "Don't wear flip-flops to work" and "You can't burp any time you feel like it anymore" and "Don't nap during staff meetings."

I learned that lesson the hard way, at one of my jobs. The CIO was annoyed with me dropping off during his impassioned quarterly motivational monologue that he moved my name to the top of the deadwood layoff list. It wasn't really fair. I had come into the office uncharacteristically early that morning to test some software modifications; I had not had any coffee yet, and the CIO was mouthing the same old inanitites. Yes, I dozed off.
A polite CIO would have simply let the thing go, but this guy had an ego bigger than Nebraska.
So, when the layoff came, I surfed-out of there on the first wave.

This time I am smarter. Now I am a contractor, so I don't have to go to staff meetings.
These days, the trick to not get caught dozing at my desk. I am working on that. Honestly.

If I was writing a piece about going back to work after a long layoff it would offer some really helpful tips:

1) Do not assume that the person you are talking to knows more than you do, even though you are new and don't know anything about the organization or the application. Many of the people I have been referred to for answers know next to nothing., but are apparently unaware of that fact. I have spent a lot of time chasing the elusive butterfly of fact. And, I might add, getting paid for every fruitless minute of the quest. No one else seems to mind, and I don't either.

2) Do not eat at your desk. This is tempting, since many of the geeks with whom you work do not like to sit in the cafeteria with other human beings and have a conversation about anything other than the multi- dimensional array problem in module 3445a.

They sneak down to the lunchroom and get high carb food from the express line and take it back to their cubes without speaking to anyone. Or, worse, they bring last night's Kung Pow chicken from home in a rubbermade container and heat it in the microwave. They like it that way. But studies show that their is more bacteria on the average programmer's keyboard than on the average toilet seat. (I do not know who did the study, but it is intuitively believable.) Personally, I find the odor of reheated leftovers to be nauseating.

Assuming that you are not a geek, you must flee from the noisome miasma of re-heated Asian and Mongolian cuisine that drifts over cube city at lunch time. You have two choices: Go to the Mall or seek-out and cultivate a group of interesting people to go to lunch with. At the cafeteria, do not sit with anyone who is alone at a big table. Research studies show that people who are eating alone have severe personality disorders, which is why no one sits with them. Don't get sucked in by their apparent friendly and inviting demeanor. They are a sink hole of human sadness. Better to go pretend to go back to your cube (but then take your lunch to your car and eat it in the way to the Mall.)
On this topic, you should also not ask the cross-eyed maintenance guy who has only one tooth, "How's it going?" Or he may deftly block your escape with his push broom and wheeled barrel, while telling you about his recent kidney transplant operation. This actually happened to me one morning. Now I use a different route to get to the coffee area.

3. You should prepare for drive time traffic. Commuting is the bane of an otherwise tolerable job. That painful thirty or forty minutes spent in sluggish, if not stopped, traffic sows the seed of frustration and despair in even the most stalwart among us. Now, I am not a good commuter. I hate traffic, waiting and everything associated with sitting in my car trying to be somewhere at the ungodly hour of 9am. Getting home before 6:30 pm is even worse.
My advise here is to find something to entertain yourself while passing the time. Books on CD or tape, favorite tunes, memorize epic poems, checking yourself for ticks, that sort of thing. Some people knit, or learn to play the harmonica, or practice asking the boss for a raise. (These days, the stigma of apparently talking to yourself in the car has been ameliorated by the existence of mobile phones.)
The other thing that helps me during the heavy traffic nightmare is thinking about the things I can buy - now that I have an income again.

Week 3

My, how the time passes. I know you are wondering - "How is it, back in the grind [of working full time]?" At least that seems to be the main question posed in the thousands of messages posted in the old Hellhole Mailbox. In the interests of full disclosure, the second most pressing question is "Do you want to buy drugs online without a prescription?" Funny, you would think the courts might chase after those internet drug peddlers insteads of trying to refuse dubies to severely sick people who only want a few tokes to releive their chronic pain.
But I digress.
The job is going well, thanks for your interest. So far, there is no evidence of hell-holish conditions: ie, when managers are clueless, micromanaging nitpickers. My role and all aspects of the job are loosly overseen by a blurry team of management specialists - all of whom are way too busy to spend a lot of time worrying about where I am and what I am doing every minute. I got some pretty clear directions and have a reasonable amount of time to deliver results. Can't ask for a better situation and still call it going to work.
The nagging problem (other than the rectal itch thing) is the commute. The location of my office is in a bad place to get to during rush hour. I have been experimenting with staggered hours. So far the schedule I like best is going in arounf 9:30 and coming home around four.
Unfortunately, this is not considered a full time schedule by my peer group. Glad I don't work for them!

The Tomatoes are In

This is the weekend when many Americans do something to remember their lost love ones. A visit to the cemetery, looking through a scrapbook or just sitting on the newly completed screen porch drinking cold Sierra Nevada's thinking about the dearly departed.

Actually, this is my first one (holds up an empty.) Excuse me a second. I'll be right back.
(time passes. He returns with a fresh frosty, and continues typing)
Most of the day was spent in the garden. It was a perfect day. 70 degrees, mostly sunny skies, no wind. I planted two Rhododendron bushes and two dozen tomato plants. And, assorted marigolds.

According to the old Farmers Almanac this is the first planting day of the season for vegetables and flowers that are not "hardy." People who do not garden seem to have a warped sense of how May weather is supposed to be. They complain, "Where is Spring?"

Just because April is a cruel temptress with those lovely warm days, a lot of people are seduced into thinking that Spring will come early this year. Then comes May - the Evil bitch goddess of frigid rains and unending dankness. We, who plant tomatoes, know these harridans well. We know that killer frost can come anytime in May. So, we wait until Memorial day to plant our tomatoes, and we hope to start picking the Early Girls around the third week in July. Then for a glorious month or so, we have fresh homegrown tomatoes for our salads, sauces, salsa, sliced, or just to eat out of your hand, like an apple.

This year, I planted an extra 6 plants. Last year the rodent population squirrels, rabbit and chipmunks was out of control. They nibbled at everything in the garden. More than once I saw squirrels making off with tennis ball sized tomatoes. This year, I will not have the time to guard my little patch with the trusty BB gun, so I just planted more, hoping to offset the losses from varmints. I do not invest all this labor and effort to save money. I is all done in anticipation of the incomparable flavor of home grown tomatoes over store bought.

My mother used to call me "Farmer Brown." I miss her sarcasm and sense of humor. Here's to you, Mom, wherever you are. (Guzzles down the last of the Sierra, then goes inside for a nap.)

Week One

OK. I made it through the first week of full-time employment without any major issues. Ok, maybe a few, but they are mainly associated with the commuting distance - 20 miles - and , of course the chief complaint is how much this work thing eats into my free time.

Here it is Saturday and I am forced - like so many other working stiffs - to cram all my chores into the Saturday-Sunday routine. I have been accustomed to leisurely doing my dump run on weekday mornings when there is no line, then picking stuff up at the laundry whenever I felt like it. Maybe a stop at the beer store, supermarket and hardware store. All these tasks were done on off-hours. Now, I am not only stuck in the daily commuting grind, but also stuck in the weekend crush to get the chores done. At least I do not have young kids to take to soccer games...

The bright gem in all this is the work itself. Some of you may find enjoyment in doing crossword puzzles or refurbishing old houses,. I suck at these types of activities. But give me a complex data model to figure out, and I am in hog heaven. All week I have been studying Oracle 11 e-Business data models. Next week I will be writing database queries. This is better than being Pope. OK I exaggerate. But honestly, I am happy with the situation. I like the people I am working with, The boss is not a micromanager - in fact, he is very busy and commutes from Arizona or someplace like that. He's only going to be around four days a week and too busy to be delving into my underwear. They actually told me that they wanted experienced people on the project because there is no time to train them how to do things or even to check up on them. :-) . Even the young bright designer boys are glad to have someone there who is willing to go out and find out what the business users are thinking.

Retirement was great, but there is a depressing reality looks back at you from every mirror. You are getting old, it says. I think the reason I feel happy, despite having given-up much of my freedom, is that it makes me feel younger. And now, I can afford Single Malt Scotch. Life is good. And I can do anything for four months.

Doing It For Money

The headline for the feature story in the Business section of the paper today reads "Mass Unemployment Lowest in three Years." There is an accompanying graphic to prove it. I wonder just how they are counting the "unemployed". Once you fall off the unemployment benefit payroll, you are no longer counted in the stats since no one really knows what has become of you. Can't tell if you died or moved away, stopped looking, started your own unsuccessful consulting business, took a part time job, or just started collecting retirement benefits. None of the foregoing activities would include you in the unemployed number. I think they are really reporting that less people are collecting unemployment benefits these days because companies have started hiring back to fill slots that were shed over the past several years.

I can agree that there has been a definite increase in the number of posted jobs with the words "Business" +"Analyst" in the title.

That reminds me, A number of you have asked for more details about the new job. Now, I have started more than a dozen new jobs in my career. Not one of them proved to be the job I expected based upon the interview and discussions that occurred pre-day one. It's not that the hiring parties lied purposefully. No, the fact is, stuff happens that changes everything. I know this. I expect to be surprised. (But, you are saying, How the bleep can you expect to be surprised? Isn't that an Oxymoron?)

Well, let me tell you what I know: I will be working full-time on a four-month contract job as a business systems analyst for a big company that is implementing a new CRM system for a local HMO.
Note that I do not use names in this medium for reasons that are pretty easy to figure out - at least not until they prove themselves to be a hellhole.)
My job is to act as liaison between business users and the technical team, to ensure that the users get the info they want/need out of the new system. Same stuff I have been doing most of my career.
People have said, Hey I thought you're retired. So was George Foreman.

The details of the job will be revealed in due time, as I start the journey at 9am on Monday morning. I'm sure there will be moments of entertainment, pathos, stress and uncertainty - and that's just the commute. The job itself should be an easy thing. And even if it's a Hellhole, it is only for four months. You can put up with anything for 4 months.

The End Is Near

The builder just dropped by. He apologized for not returning my numerous voice messages and threatening e-mails, but he has been away on vacation and then jammed with work. He promises him that the screens will be up by Memorial Day.

Breaking News

Ok, this may sound crazy - and, you cannot tell anyone about it: I have a new job.

You are probably thinking: " Huh"?

That is my sentiment exactly. I was minding my own business, planning a less-than-heavy schedule of working 10-15hrs at the Part-time job on Mon and Fri mornings - balanced by aimless puttering around the premises during the rest of the week, Lawn and gardening, shopping for dinner, whipping -up delicious feasts, grilling meat on the Bar-B, swilling frosty brewskies with my pals, spending inordinate amounts of time hanging around the periodical room at the library, leisurely reading the WSJ down at Starbucks, taking long walks on the beach, painting the front hall, pruning the crabapple trees in front, fishing for stripped bass - that sort of stuff.
Maybe afternoon naps on the new screen porch (which has yet to be graced by any [bleeping] screens; my [bleeping] builder seems to have "runaway" probably to get away from the stress of actually finishing a project!)

He will come back eventually. I know it. (I still owe him a lot of money. )

Yes, it was indeed shaping-up to be another pleasant year of marginal employment - blogging about the hellaceous things that I recall from my working life and shooting at trespassing squirrels with the BB gun, to keep them away from my tomato garden. To me, this seemed like a full schedule of activity.

Now all that is ruined by this new job thing. Now, my thoughts are dominated by angst and trepidation. I need to venture into the dark, unmapped recesses of my closet to see if any of my good shirts still fit me...and I will probably need to be at the office at an ungodly hour and there will be a commute.

Voices rage in my head and images of past clueless management and back-biting co-workers play like a B movie in my dreams.

Against this tide of disappointment and fear of the future is a tiny, but strong current of Hope. My wife is thrilled that I am "back in the game", earning money to help fund her opulant Hiltonesque lifestyle.

And a small part of me admits to being glad to get back to the world of work and ideas. The prospect of making good money appeals to the streak of greed that runs thick in my soul.

Besides, there are servants to pay, horses to stable, pools that need to be maintained. In a word, we have Standards that must be kept. Ok, this part is sort of a lie, but it could happen. As Bloody Mary sings (in South Pacific) "If you no have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?" That's why I keep buying lottery tickets.

Mother's Day as an Orphan

Weather forecasts are gloomy for the next few days, ruining what should be a great spring planting weekend. And, of course, Mother's Day. I have seeds sprouting under lights in the basement - my rite of spring. The supreme annual expression of hope and expectation. Cell packs of Tomatoes, peppers, herbs, marigolds, Mom's favorite morning glories, cucumbers and lettuce. 

 As the season matures, the inevitable occurs. Too much rain, not enough rain, too many varmints and bugs chomping on my garden. Thus are the hopes for a bountiful harvest and a luxuriant flower garden pared-down to hopes of a few pounds of ripe tomatoes and a handful of blooms for cutting. It always makes me wonder what people did for salad before refrigeration and rapid transportation. Here in the northeast, lettuce is gone to seed by the time cucumbers and tomatoes are ripening. 

 Speaking of things ripening, the expiration date of my shelf life as a retail employee is rapidly approaching. I have informed my wife that the store employee discount only lasts as long as the tenure of the employee, and therefore one should hurry if one has things on her list that must be acquired. Let me be clear: the store experience has been great. It happened at a time when I needed some structure in my life. The part-time job has given me that structure, and the excitement of helping to open-up a new store was both unique and satisfying. Meeting the physical challenge of manual labor has been the most satisfying thing I have done at work in a long time. 

 But there are two aspects of this level of work that are beginning to bother me. First is the problem of supervision. Any one who has ever been my manager can tell you that I do not respond well to detailed instruction. As I have often said, if you need to tell me how to do my job then maybe you should get someone else. My best most productive mode is in environments where no one knows what to do. The only direction I want from management is to identify the problem and the ultimate goal. To me the satisfaction of working is to figure-out how to solve the problem, to define and implement the solution. I want management to give me the resources and authority to get it done. This level of autonomy does not exist in retail. Retail is run like the military. Brass at the top, scum sucking privates at the bottom of a multi-level command and control organizational structure. There is no level of decision-making expected of the dolts at the lowest levels. There is a book to define conduct, rules, and ways of doing things. The most elementary activity or process is detailed and prescribed. 

 For someone whose career has basically been process improvement, it is difficult to carry-out orders to do labor-intensive things routinely, mindlessly and often inefficiently. Worse, sometimes a person wants to do things differently just for kicks. This sort of radicalism is discouraged. Secondly, there is another spookier aspect of this environment. Relentless cheer-leading. Now, I have spent six decades upon this earth. Most of the time life has been good, but there are times when things go wrong. Many times. Any residual degree of cynicism or pessimism has been earned honestly and painfully. Further, my sense of humor seems to feed upon anger and rage at this screwed-up world. Thus, my characteristic expressions of humorously decidedly negative observations (eg, the other morning, the driver took 15 minutes just trying to back the semi trailer square into the loading dock. My query, "Where the heck did he get his truck driver's license - Sears?" was met with steely looks and taut jaws of the supervisory crew leaders who will not tolerate anything but positivity. There is a palpable effort to control the thoughts of employees by constant (mindless) repetition of uplifting, seemingly harmless tenets of being flexible, working quickly, and smiling a lot. If your not having fun, something must be wrong with you. Well, perhaps something is wrong with me. I am not having fun. Fun is drinking beer and fishing. Playing poker. Watching a great game or movie. Reading a great book. Dancing naked in the moonlight on the front lawn. Writing crap in your blog. You know, that kind of stuff. Fun is not being micromanaged by emptyheaded supervisors who were hired mainly because they like to bust other people's chops. Besides that, I know something else that you don't about my future in the professional workforce. Hint: it is not working at a prison in Baghdad. Stay Tuned. And if you are lucky enough to have a living mother, be nice to her tomorrow.

Job Description

Last night on PBS I was watching highlights of the Crossroads Guitar Festival that was held last summer in Dallas (or maybe it was Austin - whatever.).

Eric Clapton was the celebrity host. It was a fund-raiser. He managed to get a huge array of talent to appear over the three day concert. B.B King, Albert King, ZZ-Top, Joe Walsh, James Taylor and a bunch of others - all who knew how to play dat thing. It was very entertaining and I stayed up until past midnight to watch all of it.

But, the most memorable moment for me was just before his appearance, they had a short interview with Carlos Santana. He was reflecting on what his work meant to him. He described playing the guitar as "the giving and receiving of spiritual orgasm."

I thought that sounded like the best damned job description in the world. It takes "customer service" to a new dimension. It implies a level of worker satisfaction unparalleled in any industry I have worked in.

Just before I dozed-off on the couch, for just a nanosecond, I held a shimmering thought: Maybe I should take guitar lessons.
Then, I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed about corrugated cardboard.

Roots

About 20 years ago, the country-western singer, Johnny Paycheck, had a hit song titled, "Take This Job and Shove It." David Allen Coe wrote the lyrics. His genius was to capture and articulate the dominant sentiment of most of the US workforce in a short catchy phrase.

This song became the anthem of disaffected workers everywhere regardless of the color of their collars or skin. Who among us has not been driving home from the local watering hole in our beat up Chevy pick-ups, with a six-pack on the seat and an open can in our lap, with the local Country station turned-up real loud and hearing this song on the radio, who among us has not joined loudly in the refrain?

Ostensibly, the chief reason for the passionate expression of desire to ram the figurative 'job' up management's collective rectum was the fact that the singer's woman had walked out on him, thus taking with her "… all the reasons I was working for." In other words, the main reason a man or woman keeps going in to work at a lousy job is because they need the money to support a sex partner. Now that he is alone (and there is no tax on masturbating in the shower), who needs money - ergo: who needs a job? Deep philosophical existential thinking expressed in simple terms.

Now, the true, core reason for the mantra is found in this verse:

"...Well, that foreman, he's a regular dog,

The line boss is a fool.

Got a brand new flat-top haircut;

Lord, he thinks he's cool.

One of these days, I'm gonna blow my top,

And sucker, he's gonna pay

Lord, I can't wait to see their faces,

When I get the nerve to say:
Take this job and shove it,

I ain't workin' here no more.

My woman done left,

An' took all the reasons I was workin' for.

You better not to try to stand in my way,

As I'm a walkin' out the door.

Take this job and shove it,

I ain't workin' here no more. "

Note that the complaint is not about the work itself, the workplace or the commute. The problem (once again) is clueless management - bad supervisors and directors who infest the factories, fields, retail stores and offices of this great land, making the workers (and by extension - their women) miserable.
So you see that I have not invented the concept of Hellhole; I am merely the lens through which the reader focuses upon the root of all evil.

Thinking Inside the (Empty) Box

Now, I understand that the decision to take a job at a retail store may be met with horror and disbelief by well-meaning friends who suspect that we have 'fallen upon hard times'. Let me assure you that this is not the case. My wife is quite secure in her well-paid position, and I am receiving monthly checks from Unka Sam (to pay me back for 45 years of grinding employment). Occasionally, I work on independent consulting or writing jobs which pay pretty well on the infrequent occasions when they come-up. Ends are being met. Bar bills are getting covered. There is no fiscal crisis.

More than a paycheck, what I was looking for is structure: A regular schedule that does not involve nights or weekends. In addition, as you all know, I have a lifelong dream of working at one of the "100 Best Places to Work in America." When I saw the ad in the paper for a new store for one of the companies on the list, within ten minutes traveling distance from home, I applied.

In her book "Nickel and Dimed" the author, who took a year off to work at various minimum wage jobs (eg, Associate at Wal-mart, Waitress at a Restaurant, Hotel Maid), noted that despite the fact that she had several academic degrees, none of those curricula prepared her in any way for the "unskilled" work she was doing. She discovered that she found the "menial" jobs difficult to master. She asserted that there is no such thing as "unskilled labor." Each task involved learning a specific process and sometimes the demands of a job were complex.

When I think back to my "Professional" career, I recall that many of the people I worked with (especially business users- were talented, but not particularly skilled. In fact, I now realize that managers are truly the unskilled labor force. Managers and used-car salesmen are the same type of people at different points on a continuum of Responsibility. I see management as a habit of mind, rather than a skill to be learned or taught. Leadership is an even more abstract personality trait that cannot be taught to others, any more than you can train someone to have a sense of humor.

I must confess that my work experience in the store, which have been physically gruelling, have given me a renewed sense of appreciation for some of those easy, high paying Hellhole jobs that I have been disparaging since I started this blog. (Remember, the definition of Hellhole is determined less by the nature of the work and the environment as by the Clue Quotient of management. As an overweight 62 year old, working on the receiving dock for a busy retailer is challenging, There is heavy lifting. Each man-jack has to pull his or her weight, which for me is considerable. There is a lot of corrugated cardboard packaging to be man-handled. Boxcutters are a standard tool. In the beginning, after my 5 hour shifts (which begin at 6am), I would come home, shower and then nap for several hours to recover. But now that I am in better condition, I am delighted to be out at 11am, free to go fishing or drink beer or both.

Strangely, I actually haven't minded getting up at the crack of dawn, working my ass off for what my old peers would call "short money", but learning things about merchandising and distribution that are not taught in any university. But, I admit that I am beginning to feel less enthusiastic about the job. The bloom is off the rose, as Pappy used to say.

During the first few weeks - before the store opened - the best and brightest mentors in the company have been on site. These folks were knowledgable, personable and confident. They were continually positive, encouraging and interesting. Now that the store is open, the B&B went back to their normal duties. Suddenly, the local management is pretty much on their own. They are a bit scared; and scared management tends to become micromanaging nitpickers. Needless to say, this is not an attractive leadership characteristic, in my opinion.

I've never been very good at following orders, I am reminded by those who know me. Micromanagers make me want to run for the hills. We are not talking Hellhole, yet. But the seeds are there.

I have lost 5 pounds, and I am quite pleased about that. The enforced exercise is great for my sense of well-being and other vital signs. But lately, I find myself day dreaming of a nice cubicle in a well-lit office, normal hours, no heavy lifting and the company cafeteria, and lunch.

I must go now and check my Careerbuilder job search.

Hey, a 78 year old guy who probably doesn't even speak English just got a job as CEO of the Catholic Church.
I guess it is news for the billion or so practicing Catholics, but why do the news guys think the rest of us give a crap? We don't.

Re-invention

Recently, I have been seriously contemplating the idea of getting a part-time job. Faithful readers will recall that the corporate world has deemed that my experience and knowledge are of zero value. Budget-conscious managers have determined that the ideal employee is thin and has 3-5 years of experience. This pretty much leaves fat old white guys like me out in the cold.

I guess the purveyers of current hiring philosophies have not read the same articles I have been reading lately - which predict a rash of business failures mainly because of a lack of wisdom in the workforce. The traditional mentor level in business organizations is disappearing. Older, experienced workers have been deliberately downsized, outsourced and put out to pasture. The goal of this exodus has been cost containment, but the business press is loaded with stories about companies that unexpectedly found themselves lacking the expertise that had previously been taken for granted. Having promoted the worst and most dishonest people, corporate boards are now wringing their hands because they discover that the current crop of leaders are corrupt, short-sighted and self-serving. The net cost of failure is many times greater than the savings enjoyed by employing younger cheaper workers.

I am not going to hang around waiting for Corporate America to come to its senses. I am moving forward. I have signed up for a job working at a local retail store which is opening soon.

I earned my retail nameplate back in the last big recession when (now defunct) Highland Superstores successfully wooed me away from unemployment, following the layoff from Prime Computer. As the new guy in the Highland white goods (appliances: stoves, washers, refrigerators were mostly painted with white enamel in those days) department, I was soon known around the store as "The new guy over in the white goods department."

My silver locks and inate understanding of the need for white goods in our society plus a willingness (at the manager's insistence) to negotiate price with the sagacious customers quickly resulted in a successful record of sales. The only downside, of course, was the fact that most of the discounts came from my commission. Thus, after several months it seemed that I was virtually working for minimum wage, which was $5.20 in 1990. I lived in constant fear that customers would return their purchase, thus charging back the pittance that I had earned in commission.
Whenever I look back and complain about that experience, my wide remembers the plus side: Standing for those 12 hour shifts, with minimal time allotted for breaks and lunch, caused me to lose weight. 20 pounds in four months.

My autobiographical account of that time in my life might even be available on bookstores, where it not for my unfortunate condition. You see I was born with MPP syndrome ( Marked Propensity for Procrastination). The draft has a working title, "The Retail Employee Diet - How I Lost 20 pounds in just 4 Months!"

Vexation

I have never been a big fan of politicians. As you may have surmised, I have a problem with egocentric self-serving bloviators who misuse their power.

I am a big fan of those in elected office who genuinely heed the call to make things better for the citizens of this country and others on the planet. I cannot, at this moment, cite the name of a single individual who meets this criteria. Give me a moment...(2 hours pass) Ok, Ok, I guess I am an unreasonable idealist. The system does not elect people who truly want to help others. Those who are elected are not the best and brightest; they tend to be the most ruthless and single-minded.

I am sad today. Last night, I stayed-up to watch the biggest and most vexing public relations stunt I have had the misfortune to witness on TV. It was put on by our elected officials in the House of Representatives. Fortunately, "Desperate Housewives" was a re-run, so there was not much competition for viewers who could tune in to C-Span and watch the spectacle.

In a nutshell, the Republicans managed to call a Sunday night primetime appearance to pass a bill to force the Federal court to review the Schievo case. Supporters of the bill were unconvinced by the Florida State Court system that had on 17 previous occasions decided that the poor woman who had no higher brain functions should no longer be kept alive by artificial means. The Democrats, to their credit, tried not to debate the right to life/die issue. Instead they maintained that this was a family issue that had already been decided in due legal process. Thus it did not apply to the nation and was not a matter for the US Congress to decide.

The irony of the situation made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. Here is the body of government that - just last week cut - the funding for starving children in the USA, and has consistently failed to provide decent health care benefits to war veterans. Moreover, you'd have thought that the USA was a Theocracy from the way US Reps were out there, quoting scripture and invoking the name of God.
As if they know what God wants.

The proponents of the bill have opened-up Pandora's Box. In a shameless play for the support of the religious Right, they have turned the US Congress into a dysfunctional claque of special interests - for sale to the highest bidder.

I have to go now, and write a letter to my congressman. Maybe they will pass a law to help me to get my old job back.

By The Way

By the way, for me, life is not merely existence. Nor do I believe that it it a precedent to something else. My only reason for continuing in this life is the hope of a pleasant day, a good meal and a cold beer. Without these to look forward to, what is the point?

Just in case I am not here to ask, or if am suffering a condition that renders me unble to express my wishes, here is my official and binding statement: "I do NOT wish to be kept alive by artificial means if competent medical authority deems that there is little or no hope for recovery." Should you find me in such a condition, please place a fluffy pillow over my face and hold it there for a long time. I will be sure to come over and thank you in the afterlife, if there is one.

Manana

Ok stop yelling at me. I haven't felt like writing lately. Believe it or not, writing the blog is an easy thing to put off. I am busy and there are lots of other things going on.

Some people think that procrastination is the thief of time. All of my life, I have been reading time management aphorisms decrying the tendancy to delay until tomorrow that which can be done today. Do it now.

Quotes like: "Procrastination is the grave in which opportunity is buried," have haunted me for years. Still, I have continued to plod on the wayward path of frittering last-minute idlers. I am the one who turns in his taxes just under the deadline on April 15th regardless of whether I am getting a refund or paying. If I am traveling, I finish packing as the car warms-up for the trip to the airport. If I have a report due on Monday, I start working on it Sunday night, after the 11 O'clock news.

I know I am not alone. In fact, I believe that there is a genetic component in what I call the Manana Syndrome My parents had it and so do my siblings. We have all been conditioned by goal-oriented society to be ashamed of our tardy tendancies.

The sign over my desk intones:

On the beaches of hesitation

Bleach the bones of countless thousands

Who, at the moment of victory

Sat down to wait

And, waiting, perished.

There are hundreds of books and seminars designed to overcome Procrastination. But there are virtually no guides to help people overcome their sense of urgency.
But at last I have found the reason why people behave this way: It Works.
One writer, John Perry, dignifies his tendancy to dally, labelling it Structured Procrastination. And there was another piece in April 05 Money by David Futrelle examining the positive side of procrastination.

Most of us who are successful procrastinators work exceedingly well under pressure. The fear of failure that drives most people to "get it done now" does not haunt the breast of a good procrastinator. We see our TV watching and paper shuffling as preparation time. We are terribly creative. We can find a million reasons Not to do something. The less gifted simply start working on the task. They will probably be done while we are still considering the options. Then, they fill their time with even more tasks to get done. I ask you, "What kind of life is that?"

We procrastinators make everything we do more interesting, adventurous and important. Seeing the deadline right smack in front of you charges up the adrenilin. "The sight of the guillotine tends to focus the mind" - another quote I have been carrying around on a yellow sticky note to enter into my journal, someday.

Poor CEO's

News Item:

"(WASHINGTON) Carly Fiorina, who lost her job as chief executive of Hewlett-Packard three weeks ago, has emerged as a strong candidate to become president of the World Bank, according to an official in the Bush administration..."

My last real job was going pretty well until Carly Fiorina decided that HP needed to buy Compaq. My company had a big contract, managing all the contract staffing at Compaq in the USA. My role was essentially to keep the customer happy. I was making good money and life was good. Then came the HP cloud.

There was a big, protracted fight within HP stockholders about the merger/takeover. During this time, the uncertainty about the future tainted everything. New projects froze. Plans were put on hold. Budgets were constrained, management was scared and clueless. My workplace became a Hellhole.

In the end, Carly won the day. HP took over and the bloodbath at Compaq began. We watched helplessly as our contacts were laid-off. The relationships Compaq had developed with suppliers was nullified as HP asserted it's power. The inevitable happened: my job went away along with many others at the Hellhole. Thanks, Carly.

After two years, skillions of dollars, many thousands of casualties (both at Compaq and its suppliers) the HP board finally realized what I could have told them in the first place: Carly was wrong. She was punished severely, sent packing with a mere $21 Million severance to ease the sting of her public humiliation. She is eligible for unemployment benefits on top of that.
My severance was two months pay, plus unused vacation. This barely covered my tab at the local gin mill.

I guess I'm finding it hard to garner sympathy for the poor CEO's in the news. ( Poor Bernie, no one told him about the fraudulent accounting; poor Martha, she had to do jail time for doing what everyone does). But above all, poor Carly - what idiot would want to hire her, after the HP fiasco?

Only the Best

Friends and relatives (especially my wife) often forward job leads to me via e-mail.
These are well-meaning attempts to aid in my pursuit of the Ideal Work Experience (IWE). As you all know, the IWE has eluded me throughout my career. In fact, you could say that the search for the IWE has actually been my real life's work.
Yes, you could say that, but you would be wrong. Most of my "career" has been spent trading labor hours for a paycheck. I think I was a good employee. I worked hard most of the time; I showed-up; I solved problems. In short, I earned my pay. I have disdained the idea that I had anything that could be termed a Career. The word Career implies planning. I just took the best offers I could get with no real thought about where it would lead. The idea of searching for the IWE has only occured to me since I was laid off, nearly 2 years ago. Shows you what happens when you have time to think about things.


I know I may have given some of you the impression that my work goals were basically maximizing my time spent at the water cooler and minimizing the time spent in meetings. It is true that I have been fairly cynical about work in my writings, but this has really been a commentary on dysfunctional organizations, where Management egos wreck previously effective enterprises. Most of the successful organizations I worked in were effective despite management, not because of their genius.


I never felt defined by my title, since the real me was the person who came home from work in the evening and who left for work in the morning. In the beginning, I had buoyant hopes that the cliches were true and somehow I would rise to the top - whatever talent I had would be recognized and rewarded. Ah naive youth.

These early hopes were pretty much dashed on the rocks of despair by managers who were looking for leaner and meaner disciples. The real world was colder and crueler than I had imagined. They wanted people who were disciplined, who would follow orders, praise the Emperor's new clothes...

Anyhow, the other day, a friend forwarded a job lead for a Data Warehouse Project Manager. I checked it out, but the company is a high powered consulting outfit, looking for bright, young, lean and hungry "Playas" who devote their waking hours to activities that bring-in billable hours from the clueless client. This is not now nor ever was Me.

Henceforth, I wish to inform folks who might be tempted to send me job leads that I am only considering work at one of Fortune's "100 Best Places to work in America."

Epiphany

One of my favorite work metaphors has been the Sinking Ship. Often times we get so hung-up on the petty events of our working lives that we sense disaster just ahead, lurking just below the icy ocean surface, unseen by the Captains up in Mahogany Row.

I have oft described my assignments as "rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic", or "criticizing the choice of tunes played by the orchestra" as the freezing ocean rushes in through giant gash below the water line.

While this may be poetic and entertaining imagery, it is less accurate than it is therapeutic. Of all the enterprises where I applied this metaphor, none of them was actually seriously damaged by the crisis that I was experiencing at the time.

This point came clear to me today as I was reading the WSJ. There was an article about people who actually loved their long commute to work and back.
These were people who looked at creative ways to spend the time, rather than railing at the unknown forces that stalled traffic, broke-down busses and trains and caused passengers of irregular hygiene habits to sit next to them. These people had managed to alter their attitude toward a heinous experience and turn it into lemonade. They read books, wrote their diaries, listened to tapes, even meditated. What genius!

Thinking about this, it suddenly became clear to me that we create our own Hellholes!

This mental abberation is easy to see in others: we all know people who seem to create bad luck for themselves by their behavior, choices, negative thoughts.

But when we look in the mirror, we see a noble hero, valiantly fighting for truth and justice in a world filled with ego-maniacs and blowhards.

So, let the word go forth. I have resolved to adopt a new attitude toward my next work situation. No longer will I be calling names, alluding to clueless management and corrupt co-workers, while painting myself as a decent, well-meaning perfect employee who has been badly-used.

I am re-born. I shall henceforth endeaver to re-invent myself. In the future I shall try my hardest to be as evil, self-serving and untrustworthy as the rest of you bastards. It feels better already.

Edifice Complex

I was reading a book the other day titled "Pushing The Limits". The author, Petroski has a fascination with big engineering projects, and has written a rambling but interesting account of some of the most impressive bridge and tunnel projects of the past hundred years or so. The book got me to thinking about people who had the vision, drive, talent and opportunity to build bridges and other massive construction challenges.

Building a bridge has some stickiness to it that I find worthy of envy. For a systems analyst, getting the weekly payroll to correctly generate a few thousand paychecks might have a short term glow to it. But, before you know it, you need to do it again, and again. After a while, no one really notices, unless you foul-up.

Implementing a successful business application cannot really compare to the lasting, palpable presence of a bridge or an edifice.

Most of the folks I've known (this probably includes YOU) have spent a lifetime of work and never do anything of comparable permanence. My favorite kind of work - shoveling snow - is quite satisfying in the short term. But, the visual pleasure of seeing the mountain of cleared snow is fleeting and ephemeral when compared to the gratification one gets from building something out of solid materials.

Even artistic accomplishments - paintings, statues, poems have a persistence that invites an increased sense of accomplishment. By the way, Blogging is the second least permanent medium I can think of, right after a spoken conversation. Verbal discussions and blogs are quickly crowded off the frame of focus by other distractions. Even the newspaper which most people throw away each evening, has more stickiness - and portability. Readers can take the morning newspaper into what Brian euphemistically calls the "library" to peruse during their daily squat. Try doing that with your Desktop monitor. But I digress.

The worst kind of work is missionary work. Helping people who are stuck in a bad situation is admirable. But bringing the evils of civilization and religion to the innocent peaceful inhabitants of some far flung jungle is worse than being a machine gunner.

Most of the work I have done is probably analogous to tunnel work. Most of the results are hidden. We were always talking about the light at the end, hoping that it was not an oncoming train.

No Valentine for Bush

Wow, the Iraqi election results are in. Surprise. They chose a Theocracy. The secular slate which supported the US got only 14% of the vote. The new duly elected representatives will be kicking our asses out of the country before you can say "catastophic failure."

So much for the Bush administrations's 300-Billion dollar, 10,000 man experiment in mid-east democracy. The newsguys say the administration is "surprised" by the results of the election - just like they have been surprised by everything that has happened since Bush was elected in 2000.
Now, we have a new ally for Iran in the mideast, bought and paid-for by US citizens and US marine blood. How do you guys like it? I think it sucks.

Final Thoughts on The Superbowl

What has happened to the championship game of the NFL? Instead of a sporting event, it has become a political media event. We have former presidents, an ex-Beatle, and business leaders all vieing and mugging for the camera. Flyovers by the Air Force and touching scenes of young soldiers overseas watching the game as a connection with home.
These are all fine and interesting scenes but what do they have to do with football?

To a TV football watcher who saw the first superbowl (but forgets who played, the whole thing has gotten way out of hand. And not in a good way.
The start time for the game has been tweaked for optimal commercial payback. The original 2pm daytime kickoff time has drifted upwards to 6:30pm EST. This makes partying less attractive. The loyal season ticket holders are not rewarded with championship tickets at reasonable prices, and how can they compete with the grinning state solons who are offfered tickets nearly for free.
Women who know nothing about football and care even less are watching for the commercials and the half time shows.
Don't get me started on the commercials. How did it happen that an industry has sprung-up to keep viewers posted on the ads? You can go to a website on the internet and vote for your favorite superbowl commercial (of the forty or so that interrupted the game.)
Folks, we have been duped into actually asking for commericials! It is sick, I tell you.

Gig from Hell

Perhaps it is not surprising to readers of this journal when I report that my current contracting assignment has turned into the Gig from Hell. What started out as a benevolent, routine Access Database job, working for "volunteer" wages at a local non-profit has devolved into a rat's nest of complications.

My first mistake was underestimating the work. My second mistake was assuming that the working conditions were agreeable. The third and biggest mistake was assuming that the users knew what they wanted.

I had estimated the cleanup effort at 40-60 hrs, and stipulated that my charges would not exceed the upper-limit. After I actually got in there and analyzed the situation, I was a bit surprised to find that there was no resident expert to explain why things are the way they are. And no one could articulate what they wanted me to do.

In my past lives, I always had a knowledgeable user who could define - or at least validate the business rules. At this place, my inquiry about business rules was met with a look of panic. We don't have business rules, my user almost sobbed from the stress of my probing interrogation.

That's when I realized that what they wanted was magic. Somehow the database should support some unknown objective. Just get rid of the records that we don't need. Oh, good let's talk about the ones you do need. I have no idea. That's why we hired You! Oh dear, that will take a bit longer.

Another vexing complication is my incompetence when it comes to actually doing labor intensive technical tasks. I can fudge my way through some basic SQL queries, but the mysteries of writing macros (or any form of code) seem to be beyond my ken. Another fortunate aspect of my professional career has been the luck of teaming-up with talented techies who like to do that sort of thing.

So, here I am. Alone on the open ocean of independent contracting - over my head with no life raft, mucking around with forms and mismatched data types and referential integrity - working for peanuts.

Oh yes it has been a learning experience. Corporate America, please, take me back!

Cutting Edges

Procter and Gamble wants to buy Gillette. Oh, the copywriters are honing their headlines to show how cleverly they can play on the words about these mega-consumer providers. The lines are too easy, and it will take some really disciplined writers to reach for the simile, metaphor or turn-of-phrase that will make readers envy the cleverness of the writer rather than fighting the urge to pummel the writer.

A favorite metaphor of management is expressed with the tired business objective "...to be on the cutting edge" of their industry. I think this is an ill-chosen image. I think they mean "progressive" or "at the forefront" or even "ahead of the pack." But the words conjure a vision of wood shavings curling away from a plank, or a scythe mowing a swathe of wheat. The cutting edge is destructive. The glint of the razor begs for blood.

When I hear some maven of business uttering this pop cliche, I cannot help but recall a Mad Magazine cartoon - a kid is sliding down a long curving banister and as he rounds the final curve, he suddenly sees that the bottom section turns into a giant razor blade. Oooch.

Tom Lehrer immortalized the image in one of his little ditties ( Bright College Days"
The lyric goes
"... Soon we'll be out, amid the cold world's strife.
Soon we'll be sliding down the razor blade of life..." (oooch)

You would think that the company that offered an eternally-sharp "Ginsu" razor blade would become gloriously successful. But Gillette has demonstrated that the real money comes from the recurring sale of blades not in the sale of razors.

There is something vaguely disturbing about the recent spate of acquisitions and mergers between already large companies (e.g., Oracle-PeopleSoft, SBC-AT&T, Cingular-AT&T Wireless). These mega-deals may benefit the corporate mavens and stockholders, but they don't sound so sweet to the employees that will be consolidated-out of a job, or to the consumers who will inevitably pay increased prices in a less competitive marketplace. (Fewer employees, more profits = bloody brilliant!)

I would like to believe in the Ayn Rand brand of free market rationalism, but my gut tells me that more big companies are not a good thing. These multi-everything institutions begin to behave like political entities rather than economically driven organizations. Monopolistic control of pricing and availability will ultimately reduce consumer choices while increasing the cost of goods. The rising costs do not result in better quality goods - because executives realize that they get more bang for the buck if they spend the buck on marketing than if they spend it on product development.

Face it. We are screwed.

========
In a related story, US auditors cannot account for Nine Billion US Taxpayer dollars that was spent in Iraq last year. Incredibly, our guy Bremer said that we gave most of it to the Iraqi provisional government, but did not make them account for how the money was spent. Don't the Iraqis have oil? Why are we paying for everything? Who the heck is in charge?

When the enterprise gets so big that those responsible do not have to answer to anyone, we are screwed. Royally.

In yesterday's historic election in Iraq, everyone was surprised. The turnout was higher (percentage-wise) than in most American elections. This, despite the fact that they all had to walk to the polls, stand in long lines, risk death or injury, undergo a personal body frisking, and hardly anyone one really knew who they were voting for.

On second thought, it sounds a lot like the reports from Ohio last November.

When Weather is News

I know what you're thinking: Here comes another rant about the TV Media's irrepressible campaign to exploit the fears of viewers to make them stay-tuned and watch more commercial messages.
But you are wrong. I have no interest in lampooning those silly "live updates" with some pitiful newsy standing outside in the driving blizzard to report on the blowing snow, the wind-chill factor, the dangerous driving conditions. Nor am I going to jab the tiresome weather guys and gals for "teasing" us with the promise of dire weather warnings that we will only learn if we stay-tuned to the upcoming segment.

No. These may be pertinent examples of the disturbing trend of weather-tainment, but they are not the topic I wish to address today. Let me remind you that the theme of this journal is the nature of work and the meaning it has on our lives.
More importantly, this has been the record of one man's quest to find the self-actualized life. A search for fulfilling, meaningful work and an ideal workplace. (Unlike the Hellholes where he has toiled for most of his questful life).

I know exactly what you are thinking: "Give up. Utopia is for dreamers. Besides no one wants to employ an aging, stubborn, insubordinate, fat guy with no sense of urgency. (Did we mention unorganized?)"
Well, then fine. You have your opinion. I have this! (Holds-up a potentially winning megamillions lottery ticket. Fade to scene of snowplows on highway.)

Cold Enough For You?

We had a big winter storm yesterday. Twenty-something inches in my driveway. It was the best kind of snow to clear away. Fine, dry and light. The Snowthrower went through it like butter. Not really a big deal. And let's face it, shoveling snow is the purest form of work you can do.
Annually, I host a get-together for the guys to watch both league championship football games. Typically, they are the most interesting games to watch, since they pit the best teams from each league.

By 3pm the local streets were clear enough for George and Bill (fearless fans who laugh in the face of travel warnings) to come here to watch the league playoff games, drink beer and eat grilled meat. Rick and my brother cancelled, since neither of them had shoveled-out their driveways yet; they were still waiting for someone else to do the work (imagine passing-up the opportunity to occupy one'self in such satisfying labor.) My brother who is not a true believer claims that God put the snow there and he was not going to mess with the work of the Creator. Besides, the governor had declared a state of emergency. The roads were a mess. Despite such wimpery in the audience, the Patriots vanquished the Steelers handily.

Today, Mit Romney was on TV. State workers were being asked to stay home today, since there was nowhere for them to park with all the snow. Now, I know a few state workers, and I'll bet my lottery winnings that not one of them insisted on going-in on public transportation. One friend was supposed to start her new job as a state employee. She was told to stay home and take a paid day off. (That's what I call a great beginning. A harbinger of Utopia? Time will tell.)

We are going to the Superbowl Baby!

The superbowl is to a professional football player the ultimate success. As searchers of peak work experiences, we should all rejoice in the good fortune of these football employees - especially the third string back-ups who don't really have to do anything. They get a free trip to Florida in February. They get a nice ring, that can be auctioned off for big bucks someday, if necessary. And they get a huge bonus - even if they lose. That's pretty good work, if you can get it.

Investigating

I was surfing the channels on TV the other day and happened to stop on the program called "Dog - The Bounty Hunter." This guy - Dog has a great job. He chases down bail jumpers, beats the hell out of them and then lectures them about fiscal responsibility all during the ride back to jail. Apparently, Bounty Hunters do not need a warrant. They can come to your house, kick down the door and shoot you if you resist.

Hmmn I thought, Bounty Hunting might be a little to much of a career transition for someone whose most confrontive act was asking for the senior discount at Papa Gino's.

But, when I saw an ad on Monster.com for a Private Investigator, I started thinking about the parallels between systems analysis and crime fighting. Analytical mind, patient observer, willing to write up detailed accounts of relatively mundane events, able to keep a secret... Crap. That was the booger in the oatmeal. How the heck could I be trusted to keep a secret? I'm a yakker, a shmoozer, a story teller. No way I could pass the battery of psychological tests to find the perfect investigator: Disciplined, heartless, follower of orders, no empathy for the victim oops I mean suspect.

By the way, the dirty little secret of job boards is that many of the listings are NOT jobs, but rather sneaky and underhanded come-on's from people who do not have jobs but use fake jobs to suck you into giving them information and paying them money to list you in their database, which they say will help you find jobs. Some of their come-ons are probably familiar: (Work at home licking envelopes and make hundreds a week! Be a Secret Shopper - you can get rich! Earn Millions from the Belly Button Lint you have in your own home!)

This "ad" was the same type of marketing BS. The offer you a "test" to see if you are the right sort of personality to be an Investigator earning thousands of dollars just watching people go in and out of motels, or tracking down bail jumpers,like Dog?
I must say I was surprised to learn how many different jobs there are in the field of "investigation." Here is the list they published in the ad.

* Background Investigations
* Civil & Undercover Investigations
* Retail & Cashier Fraud Surveillances
* Crime Scene Analysis
* Sales Fraud Investigations
* Criminal & Drug Investigations
* Real Estate Fraud
* Nursing Home Abandonment Cases
* Insurance Fraud
* Music & Video Piracy
* Nanny & Child Care Investigations
* Integrity Shopping Services
* Missing Persons & Research
* Pre-Employment for hotel chain employees
* Dead Beat Spouse Collections
* Process Service
* Customer Service Investigations
* Internet and Web Hack Programmer Investigations
* Telemarketing & Collections Investigations
* Protective & Bodyguard Services
* Work at Home scam Investigations
* Skip Tracing
* Clerical and Office embezzlement
* Forensic and/or Evidentiary Photography
* Federal Anti-Piracy Investigations
* Medical Negligence Examinations
* Identity & Social Security Theft


Sounds like crime creates a lot of jobs. Maybe we need to encourage that sort of behavior.

Marketing Lies

It has been bone-chilling cold around here lately. So, it was not surprising that my eye was caught by an advertisement for Air Tran hyping the discount fare to Sarasota, FL of $89 In smaller type was the qualifier "One-way". So it was a great rate for a terrorist or someone planning to expire in Florida.

Then I noticed that the price had a small asterisk. So I read the footnote which was printed in faint microscopic letters. It was a disclaimer that the price * doesn't include a segment cost of $3.20 or a 9/11 security fee of $10 or a charge that they call Airport Passenger Facility Charge of up to $18. Hmmn. Now, we are talking about a one-way ticket that costs no less than $120. Further, the weasel words included "limited availability" of seats at this price, and two weeks advance booking was required for these non-refundable tickets, if you could get one.
How come the government doesn't protect consumers from lying marketing bastards?
We should teach our kids to read ads as follows: "Sonny, when you see an ad with an asterisk it means 'we are lying.' fine print= Lies. Fast talking= liar."

Talk about liars, Air Tran used to be called ValueJet before the big crash a few years ago. They have the worst safety record in the industry.

Best Places to work

Fortune Magazine has recently published their annual list of the 100 Best Places to Work in the USA. Not surprisingly, none of my former employers were on the list. (In fact, now that I think of it, most of my former employers are not even in business anymore. Wang, Prime, Index Tech, Bull Express)

Actually, none of them - even the ones that became Fortune 1000 companies - could have even make a list of the top 100 thousand best places to work in the USA.

"What makes a workplace into a Hellhole?" is a frequent question posed to yours truly. The answer is very simple: Clueless Management.

Our system of promotion and reward tends to advance the most competitive and ruthless among the workforce. This is the ideal province of narcissists and sociopaths. Only a small fraction of those individuals who succeed under this system are truly talented, empathetic and wise.

To my way of thinking, a good place to work requires Wisdom and Empathy in the governing hierarchy. Most of the senior management I have observed (and read about) are wrapped-up in their own agendas and egos. They give lip service to the people who do the work - the rank and file. At quarterly meetings they drone, "We could not have done it without you." But, privately, they believe that all success is due to their genius; but, failure is due to "economic conditions" or "lack of sufficient training."

Do not get me wrong, I am not an anti-management disgruntled dissenter. In fact, I am a booster for the wise and empathetic managers who make decisions which allow all boats to rise with the tide. If I ever meet one, I shall be sure to document it right here.

Necessity is the mother

Thinking about reinventing myself. It's pretty obvious that hiring managers are not interested in the old Me:
- The aging, insubordinate, prima donna systems analyst.
- The fussy bastard who complains about everything from unacceptable working conditions to excessive useless meetings.
- The curmudgeon who rails at the prospect of commuting for more than 15 minutes, who takes 90 minute lunches, who stays home at the first sign of a sniffle, who insists on being sent to boondoggle User Conferences in places like San Francisco, Las Vegas and New Orleans.
- The fraidy-cat self-preservationist who refuses to even apply for a job in a location that might be attacked by terrorists (ie, any company that has offices above the fourth floor).
- The obstinate foot-dragger who insists on designing usability into those tedious business applications.
- The self-appointed Director of Dissent, donut aficionado, and first-one-in-line at the Coffee Wagon.

So, perhaps it is high time to evolve to a new profile. You know, the type that managers like to have on their teams:
- Hard working, entrepreneurial spirited, get-it-done mentality.
- Hands-on experience with every system platform and software utility ever produced.
- Competitive sociopath with monomaniacal focus.
- Willing to go the distance, step-up to the plate, win one for the gipper.
- Positive can-do spirit, especially when implementing the managers agenda, however flawed.
- Docile, loyal, eager-to-please, regardless of how idiotic are the directions from above.
- Thin, shaven, recently bathed and wearing clean clothes.
- Willing to suffer complete assholes, long meetings, tedious commuting distances, outrageous working conditions (eg, cubicles, no cafeteria, professional dress code), and lengthy work days.

Hmmn. This will be a challenge.
Hey, I just noticed tonight's Mega-million lottery jackpot is $92 million. Talk about re-inventing myself.... Yeah. That's the ticket....

Vexing events

I got an unsolicited e-mail yesterday. It said:

"My name is Megan Connelly and I am the Recruiting Coordinator for American Express Financial Advisors. I came across your resume on Jobfind.com and I'm very interested to meet with you to discuss the Financial Advisor position. We are currently seeking individuals to work in our Waltham location. This opportunity can be both personally and financially rewarding. It requires initiative, hard work, self-discipline, and an entrepreneurial orientation."

The e-mail went on to say that someone would be calling me yada-yada. I decided to be proactive. I replied:

"Dear Megan,
Thanks for your interest, but I am definitely not looking for anything that involves hard work or self-discipline. My goals are to be overpaid, have lots of naps and excessive vacation. I want a big corner office and a beautiful buxom secretary...And lots of stock options. "

After re-reading my reply, I realized that I should have been more firm about my lack of interest in working in Financial Services, selling shoddy investment advice to unsuspecting victims who have managed to put a few bucks aside. So I added: "If you had read my CV carefully, you would ascertain that my career objectives do not include Bloodsucking weasel."

In a related story: There was a news item a few days ago about an unfortunate woman from Brockton. (I should say "cursed" because she was both dumb and dentally challenged. ) She fell for the scam where someone from a foreign government/bank sends a "confidential" E-mail to you to inform you that you have inherited money from a deceased distant relative. To get the huge payout, all you need to do is send ten thousand US to handle administrative costs. Now, most of us are too smart to fall for this type of fraud. But this woman went into it for $25,000. More money than she had. She had to borrow $15k from the bank. Pretty sad. Pretty dumb. How come our government cannot track these thieves down and send them to GITMO for some creative interrogation?

Another news item: The Congo where 4 million people have died in 5 years is asking, how come everyone is falling all over themselves to help save lives in Sri Lanka, but the plight of 4 million dead Africans is met with global apathy. Good question. Anybody got a good answer?

After a holiday haitus, I shall be returning to my contract job next week, finishing-up. I will be available for new assignments soon. Tell your friends, unless you happen to know Megan Connolly.

Hard to Ignore

The news is filled with coverage of the disaster in South Asia. The death toll has gone from initial estimates of 10,000 to the current estimate of 140,000 with another 150,000 survivors in imminent danger of death by disease and starvation. The graphics are mind-boggling. The numbers are incomprehensible.

The headlines are filled with politicians elbowing each other to get to a media microphone to show their heartfelt horror and support for the dead, dying and those left to mourn. Partisans are doing everything they can to show that the opponents are cheap bastards or pinko commies, giving your hard earned money away. The most absurd statement was uttered by pea-brained Sean Hannity. "I didn't see the Indonesians rushing to help us after 9/11."

The US Public Relations guys are doing circus contortions to explain the almost daily revisions in the monetary commitment of our government. I find this to be a silly waste of time. The US citizenry may be accused of a lot of faults, but there is no nation in the world that has tried to do more to help others have better lives. It is true that we are usually so wrapped-up in our own selfish concerns that we seem to ignore the world - especially the third world. But when adversity strikes, we are at our best. Generous. Caring. Willing to help.

There was an earthquake in Iran a few months ago. The US was quick to offer aid - and with no expectation of benefit. Many of our critics in the UN and in Hollywood are dishonest not to acknowledge that the Iraq situation was an attempt to bring peace to the region. You may judge iot to be a failed strategy, and bad execution, but the the intent behind our occupation of that country was to give Iraqis a chance at democracy. I do not believe we went there to control the oil, despite what all the Bush haters say. I think the US is still the only country to win a war and not keep the spoils. Your welcome Europe, Japan, Bosnia, Granada, Panama.

Yesterday at lunch, my anti-Bush companion asserted that the Bush administration was big on promises but they still have not made good on monetary pledges of aid to Africa. This sort of nitpicking does not help. Jon Stewart, fake newscaster of the Daily Show showed a clip of Star Jones on The View (ABC) was discussing the near-miss she had experienced. "I was just there last month," she said, referring to her honeymoon visit to one of the posh beach resorts that was destroyed by the Tsunami. "God blesses." she pronounced, apparently referring to the fact that God held back until SHE was home safe, before going ahead and killing hundreds of thousands of people. Jon Stewart wondered how far up your own ass must your head be to make a statement like that.

To those who denigrate the US, just check the news. Oil Rich and Muslim countries Saudi Arabia and Kuwait were initially reported to be ante-ing up a mere $10million to help the victims. Saudi officials announced yesterday that they were adding another $20 mill. This will actually be paid by the US in the form of higher oil prices.

We are the champions of the world. Don't you forget it.

Out With The Old

I spent the first day of the year 2005 in my traditional fashion - on the sofa, in front of the TV, with a cold beverage in hand. The college bowl games were pretty exciting. Texas - Michigan and Iowa-LSU games were down-to-the-wire nail biters. There is a difference between these games being played by young athletes - who play for love and glory - and those NFL games where the guys who show up are just working for a living. Last Monday, Philly took out their quarterback after three plays, to save him for the playoffs. They lost the game.

The question that comes to mind is: Why bother watching these "meaningless" games? Even the play-by-play announcers were bored. John Madden suggested that since Philly wasn't even trying to win, they should just call the game and let everyone go home.

When was the last time you watched a pre-season or pro-bowl game? Unless you are a hopeless loser with nothing else to do, you only tune in to watch games that mean something. Who wants to waste valuable time watching people who think they are just working? Not me, coach.

So, another year has arrived. I am conflicted by the simultaneous realization that
a) I managed to survive another year and
b) I probably will not win the megamillions lottery in 2005 either.

For some reason, I'm reminded of the comic strip where Dilbert encounters the Angel of Death. Dilbert exclaims "You don't look so grim to me."
The Reaper responds with a grin, "Unlike you, I love my job."

The realization that you are another year closer to the final destination is not morbid. It's just a fact of life. About the time when you pass the fifth decade of existence on this planet, it begins to sink-in that you have definitely passed the halfway mark. I notice that as we get older, my cohorts and I do not greet the new year with the same enthusiasm as we did during our callow youths. Yet, with the magic of psychotropic pharmaceuticals, we are able to look to the future with hope, equanimity and on-demand boners that last up to 36 hours.

In 2004, I continued my search for gainful employment in a job market that seemed chronically un-interested in my career experience. I did land a couple of temporary gigs, but nothing that would provide funding for the lavish lifestyle to which I aspire in my senior years. The good news is I did not attend any meetings. I did not feel the sting of the manager's whip. And I will not see nearly half of my earnings taken for government welfare programs, risky foreign adventure and funding municipal porkbarrel projects.

My wife thinks I should re-invent myself this year. She's been watching too much Dr. Phil, I think. Or maybe she thinks I should get cosmetic surgery. (I'm not sure they have a liposection unit large enough to make my love handles disappear.)

So, let us see what the gods have in store for us this year...a new Hellhole opportunity? A "reinvented" self-actualizer? Megamillions winner?
Who knows?

Happy New Year

No Blog today. I am watching football. Come back later.

Snow Daze

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.

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.

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.

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 ??

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.

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...

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.)

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!

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.