It’s been a frustrating morning.
Now, I know that you people many of whom are reading this at work are thinking to yourselves, “How can someone who is not working at some dead-end, crap-laden occupation, where you have to endure a commute that is characterized by miles of tedium punctuated by moments of terror, and then a series of mind-numbing status meetings, garnished with the snide comments of a nitpicking micromanager or the bloviation of the ego-in-charge, having to eat your peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a dingy basement café in your building, listening to the inane chit-chat of your office mates whose main topic of interest is American Idol - how can such a person talk about a “frustrating morning” ?
Well, fans, the cause of my frustration is Verizon. You know them - the company that advertises a huge network of support in their TV ads. Well, just try and get some of that support when you need it.
Since the heavy rains of last week, the phone lines have been almost impossible to use. The static on the line is so noisy that you cannot have a conversation. Not only the voice line, but the DSL service is also spotty at best. So I have been isolated without decent phone service, and locked out of internet service as well.
Calling for service is one of the most frustrating exercises I have experienced since that time last year when the DSL modem went on the fritz. First of all, Verizon has cleverly shielded themselves from the public by a series of automated IVR systems. IVR stands for Interactive Voice Response. You cannot get an operator by dialing “0” anymore. What you get is a menu of potential reason why you might have dialed “0”. Then you are subjected to what is commonly known as “IVR Hell” where you find yourself talking to a fairly dumb computer.
Now IVR seemed like an advanced concept back in the 70’s, when techies were all aflutter about designing computer interactions to mimic human responses. I confess that in those days I had a positive impression that this type of technology could contribute to the efficiency of business communications and free some people (operators for example) of the tedium of repetition. (May I help you? Who should I say is calling? )
I do applaud some communication technologies, such as caller id, call waiting, and, of course, voice mail. But I am seriously losing my enthusiasm for the over use of IVR as a replacement for a human on the other end of the line. I would rather talk to a live nitwit than to hold a “conversation” with an automated perky voice that is nothing more than an audio representation of a line of code.
The other day, I got a phone message from a text-to-voice system. It sounded like the computer voice from Star Trek. Thanks to caller-id I recognized the name of the caller as Asian Indian. I have worked with quite a few Indians in recent years. Many of the have come to the US to work on technology projects. They are a smart, hard-working group. Although they read, write and understand English, many of them still have a strong accent that makes them hard to understand in conversation. This enterprising recruiter had overcome the accent problem by using technology.
The designers of the Verizon IVR system are probably pleased with themselves with their cleverness and conversational tone. They have reduce the human interaction to a series of choices on a menu. They have replaced thousands of operators and created a buffer for the remaining humans so that they do not have to actually talk to the rabble. The only entertainment of the whole experience was that they actually wanted the caller to get a screwdriver and bring the phone down to the basement to run a line check. ( I did not make this up).
It was at this point that I hit the 0 key a few more times – and miraculously a person came on the line. “What seems to be the trouble?” she asked through the static.
“Sorry, I cannot hear you. I have a lot of static on the line.” I said.
“What seems to be the trouble?” she said more loudly.
I had to grin at the irony of the situation.
5/24/2006
5/16/2006
Epiphany de Jour
Despite my previous negative response to the question about why I don't write for a living, I have recently been giving the matter considerable serious thought. Aside from the simple fact that writing well takes a lot of BS&T, nearly all the reasons I gave for not writing for money are related to my attitude toward those who would presumably pay me for my work. Also, I noted that, relative to the pay of a systems analyst, the expected remuneration from writing would be on the same level as whale feces.
However, I have recently experienced a sort of Epiphany.
As you may have gleaned from recent blog entries, my attitude towards work has been dominated by the question "Am I getting paid for this?" So, much like a prostitute, I would dutifully show up at the client's place of business and perform acts that might be likened to those of a common whore in exchange for money. It was an impersonal business deal.
They needed a warm body and I needed to get paid. They wanted someone to talk to users, go to meetings, write business requirements, work with developers to solve problems, test solutions and make the users happy. This was fine and interesting work.
But they also wanted the ego gratification associated with demanding status reports, attendance at boring and interminable planning meetings (where they told you the weekly change in plans), and painful, inane conference calls with a cast total idiots. I complied with these acts of virtual fellatio and justified it with an affirmative to the question, "Am I getting paid for this?" I began to focus on the odious 20 mile commute which was costing me an hour and one half each day. Gasoline prices were rising sharply. Traffic seemed unbearable.
I was getting well paid, but still I could not wait for the project to end. When it finally did, I left without so much as a pang of loss. (For the record, they did not seem to miss me either. I was unable to elicit any feedback from them - no praise, no criticism. They simply saw me as an interchangeable part who did his job. No more; no less.)
After a few months of non-employment, and with the specter of going back on a dreaded fixed income, I began to look for another "gig." Out of habit, I sought out the same sort of work. I even contacted the same folks who hired me last time, with the restriction that I would only consider situations where I could work locally (within 10 miles of home).
There has been a good response from pimps - er I mean 'recruiters' who saw me as an employable commodity.
Yet, the more I thought of going back, the less agreeable I felt about "just doing it for money." Most of the recruiters have stopped calling me. One said my restrictions were, "Not realistic." I tend to agree.
This is the Epiphany: Time is running out. Life is too short to be a whore. If I am going to do something, I will do it for the pleasure of it, not just for the money. I need to do something that is so enjoyable that I will get up early to do it, and show up even if I have to drive for two hours to get there. So far, the only thing that fits the bill is saltwater fishing, but I am actively thinking of other activities that might generate some income as well. Writing does come to mind. Maybe writing about fishing. Hmmn
However, I have recently experienced a sort of Epiphany.
As you may have gleaned from recent blog entries, my attitude towards work has been dominated by the question "Am I getting paid for this?" So, much like a prostitute, I would dutifully show up at the client's place of business and perform acts that might be likened to those of a common whore in exchange for money. It was an impersonal business deal.
They needed a warm body and I needed to get paid. They wanted someone to talk to users, go to meetings, write business requirements, work with developers to solve problems, test solutions and make the users happy. This was fine and interesting work.
But they also wanted the ego gratification associated with demanding status reports, attendance at boring and interminable planning meetings (where they told you the weekly change in plans), and painful, inane conference calls with a cast total idiots. I complied with these acts of virtual fellatio and justified it with an affirmative to the question, "Am I getting paid for this?" I began to focus on the odious 20 mile commute which was costing me an hour and one half each day. Gasoline prices were rising sharply. Traffic seemed unbearable.
I was getting well paid, but still I could not wait for the project to end. When it finally did, I left without so much as a pang of loss. (For the record, they did not seem to miss me either. I was unable to elicit any feedback from them - no praise, no criticism. They simply saw me as an interchangeable part who did his job. No more; no less.)
After a few months of non-employment, and with the specter of going back on a dreaded fixed income, I began to look for another "gig." Out of habit, I sought out the same sort of work. I even contacted the same folks who hired me last time, with the restriction that I would only consider situations where I could work locally (within 10 miles of home).
There has been a good response from pimps - er I mean 'recruiters' who saw me as an employable commodity.
Yet, the more I thought of going back, the less agreeable I felt about "just doing it for money." Most of the recruiters have stopped calling me. One said my restrictions were, "Not realistic." I tend to agree.
This is the Epiphany: Time is running out. Life is too short to be a whore. If I am going to do something, I will do it for the pleasure of it, not just for the money. I need to do something that is so enjoyable that I will get up early to do it, and show up even if I have to drive for two hours to get there. So far, the only thing that fits the bill is saltwater fishing, but I am actively thinking of other activities that might generate some income as well. Writing does come to mind. Maybe writing about fishing. Hmmn
5/14/2006
Weighing the Options
The only time I miss having a job is on rainy days, when there is nothing to do outside. And we have had a 6-day string of rainy days lately.
I have a lot of time talking to headhunters. There are a number of lines in the water. I guess time will tell if there are any lunkers out there that will rise to the bait. The popular press says that the job scene is rife with opportunity. The economy is strong and unemployment is at the lowest % since the full-employment days of 2000.
I am still conflicted about my options, and what I want to do at this point:
1) Accept the idea that I am done with work forever
or
2) Take advantage of the current opportunities to work and earn money.
I keep flipping back and forth. When I am in the mood for the Retirement option, I begin to think about a future consisting of stress-free relationships, reading, gardening, fishing, wandering around, writing, socializing, and napping. Being non-employed is never having to say, "I hate this *bleep*ing job!"
Sometimes I even consider altruistic activities such as volunteering to help old people - then I realize I am practically an old person myself. Then I start to panic because I don't really know how long I have left to live. On one hand I imagine myself as an frail 80 year old living in an assisted mode, who has depleted our life savings on a liver transplant. Or, worse, being run over by a bus at age 66, just as I am starting to enjoy the fruits of full-retirement benefits.
I used to laugh about the prospect of getting my puny $130/month pension from Bull when I reached the age of 65 and 10 months. "That won't even cover my bar bill." I used to joke. I don't think it's so funny now. I don't rack up much of a bar bill these days anyhow. But at current gas pump prices the pension will just about cover my monthly tab at the local filling station.
The thought of being on a fixed-income in a non-fixed-cost world is a bit scary. So the fear of being forced to subsist on food stamps and cheap liquor leads me to flip back to the Keep-Working option.
After all, let's admit it: I still have my marbles. My health is pretty good. I can still learn any data base structure in a few days and I can communicate with business users. They like working with me, too. I have a good sense of humor, I bathe regularly and speak English. I am calm and professional, and I solve problems. They trust me, and every now and then I come up with an absolutely brilliant idea. I like the sociability of working with people - even the weirdos. The regular structure of a job appeals to me and frankly it keeps me from wasting my time and fortunes at places like Mohegan Sun and Suffolk Downs.
On the other hand....
I have a lot of time talking to headhunters. There are a number of lines in the water. I guess time will tell if there are any lunkers out there that will rise to the bait. The popular press says that the job scene is rife with opportunity. The economy is strong and unemployment is at the lowest % since the full-employment days of 2000.
I am still conflicted about my options, and what I want to do at this point:
1) Accept the idea that I am done with work forever
or
2) Take advantage of the current opportunities to work and earn money.
I keep flipping back and forth. When I am in the mood for the Retirement option, I begin to think about a future consisting of stress-free relationships, reading, gardening, fishing, wandering around, writing, socializing, and napping. Being non-employed is never having to say, "I hate this *bleep*ing job!"
Sometimes I even consider altruistic activities such as volunteering to help old people - then I realize I am practically an old person myself. Then I start to panic because I don't really know how long I have left to live. On one hand I imagine myself as an frail 80 year old living in an assisted mode, who has depleted our life savings on a liver transplant. Or, worse, being run over by a bus at age 66, just as I am starting to enjoy the fruits of full-retirement benefits.
I used to laugh about the prospect of getting my puny $130/month pension from Bull when I reached the age of 65 and 10 months. "That won't even cover my bar bill." I used to joke. I don't think it's so funny now. I don't rack up much of a bar bill these days anyhow. But at current gas pump prices the pension will just about cover my monthly tab at the local filling station.
The thought of being on a fixed-income in a non-fixed-cost world is a bit scary. So the fear of being forced to subsist on food stamps and cheap liquor leads me to flip back to the Keep-Working option.
After all, let's admit it: I still have my marbles. My health is pretty good. I can still learn any data base structure in a few days and I can communicate with business users. They like working with me, too. I have a good sense of humor, I bathe regularly and speak English. I am calm and professional, and I solve problems. They trust me, and every now and then I come up with an absolutely brilliant idea. I like the sociability of working with people - even the weirdos. The regular structure of a job appeals to me and frankly it keeps me from wasting my time and fortunes at places like Mohegan Sun and Suffolk Downs.
On the other hand....
5/01/2006
Mayday, Mayday
I will not be going to work today. This (non-attendance) is merely an aspect of my ongoing non-employment. This is not a political statement to show my solidarity with the planned “Day without illegal immigrants” boycott.
As I have previously stated, I do not support any activity that threatens to disrupt traffic. I do not care what your cause is; you have no constitutional right to inconvenience me and others. Just as your right to swing your arm ends at my jaw, so should your right to demonstrate end at the curb of the public thoroughfare.
It seems to me that the most idiotic method of getting attention is gathering in numbers, marching in the streets jamming-up traffic. It pisses people who are trying to get somewhere off. It causes secondary problems because fire trucks and ambulances cannot get through. It makes commuters late. It ignites ire in the otherwise apathetic majority.
It has always mystified me that organizers of events choose to clog-up streets as opposed to gathering in a big open field where they will not bother anyone. I do not care if you are walking for hunger, breast cancer research, world peace or immigrants’ rights. Stay out of the streets!
The demonstrations for immigrants' rights have already caught our attention. They say that there are 12 million illegals in the country today - plus or minus a few million. I am not so concerned by the one's who came here to work and assimilate. I think we can figure out a fair way to get them on the taxpayer rolls and put most of them on the path to earning citizenship.
But I am very concerned about the bad guys among them - the crooks, killers and predators who snuck in with them. We need a way to identify these bad guys and get them out of our midst.
I am not in the conspiracy theory business, but it seems odd to me that suddenly we have an gasoline price crisis to catch the attention of the public just when the immigration issue threatens to reveal the gross ineptitude of the government to manage the borders and to ensure the protection of the citizenry.
As I have previously stated, I do not support any activity that threatens to disrupt traffic. I do not care what your cause is; you have no constitutional right to inconvenience me and others. Just as your right to swing your arm ends at my jaw, so should your right to demonstrate end at the curb of the public thoroughfare.
It seems to me that the most idiotic method of getting attention is gathering in numbers, marching in the streets jamming-up traffic. It pisses people who are trying to get somewhere off. It causes secondary problems because fire trucks and ambulances cannot get through. It makes commuters late. It ignites ire in the otherwise apathetic majority.
It has always mystified me that organizers of events choose to clog-up streets as opposed to gathering in a big open field where they will not bother anyone. I do not care if you are walking for hunger, breast cancer research, world peace or immigrants’ rights. Stay out of the streets!
The demonstrations for immigrants' rights have already caught our attention. They say that there are 12 million illegals in the country today - plus or minus a few million. I am not so concerned by the one's who came here to work and assimilate. I think we can figure out a fair way to get them on the taxpayer rolls and put most of them on the path to earning citizenship.
But I am very concerned about the bad guys among them - the crooks, killers and predators who snuck in with them. We need a way to identify these bad guys and get them out of our midst.
I am not in the conspiracy theory business, but it seems odd to me that suddenly we have an gasoline price crisis to catch the attention of the public just when the immigration issue threatens to reveal the gross ineptitude of the government to manage the borders and to ensure the protection of the citizenry.
4/29/2006
Reminders
There was a small news item in the paper last week announcing that construction work on the new World Trade Center in New York City had begun. Strangely enough, this coincided with the opening of the movie "United 93." I am not ready to see this flick, yet, and I object to someone making capital on this event.
Does anyone need this movie as a reminder of the horrific events of September 11th 2001? Maybe the leaders of the country will be jolted into finally doing something about securing our borders and ports.
As for the WTC, why would anyone want to work in the rebuilt towers? Isn't that just asking for trouble?
One of the criteria of any future job for me is "nothing in an office higher than the fourth floor."
Does anyone need this movie as a reminder of the horrific events of September 11th 2001? Maybe the leaders of the country will be jolted into finally doing something about securing our borders and ports.
As for the WTC, why would anyone want to work in the rebuilt towers? Isn't that just asking for trouble?
One of the criteria of any future job for me is "nothing in an office higher than the fourth floor."
4/20/2006
A Bad day Fishing
They say that a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work. I'm not so sure about that. Recently, I went deep sea fishing with some pals. I know what you are thinking: Isn't it rushing the season? But, the weather forecast was Sunny 55 degrees 15 knot wind.
As it turned out, this might have been the correct forecast for Miami. But off the coast of Boston's North Shore the conditions were slightly less balmy. It was more like 38 degrees, cloudy and 25 knot wind.
We left the dock at 7am. Hoping for warm, calm seas. But the seas outside the harbor were as rough as I have ever experienced. Rough indeed - as attested to by the numbers of experienced fishermen leaning over the side tossing their breakfast donuts into the roiling waves. "We have chum!" yelled one guy as his buddy lurched to the rail and launched his breakfast into the 4 foot swells. A lot of people - who had paid $70 to come on this trip - were sitting or lying on benches in the cabin, sincerely regretting that decision. I felt compassion for them - sick as a dog on the way out. There is no turning back, so they had a miserable day to look forward to.
After plowing through the gray water for an hour or so, we - those of us who were not heaving our guts - finally got our gear - thick deep sea rods with 60 pound line and 3lb sinkers to hold the bait down on the swirling ocean floor. There is no casting involved. Thirty or forty guys arrange themselves around the rail and wait for the captian to yell "Ok, drop your lines."
The bait is sea clams. The crew hands out small buckets of the raw clam pieces that have been cut up. On this particular morning the bait was still frozen. Some guys had the foresight to wear fishing gloves. I was unprepared and had to bait my hook with bare hands. Funny how you can stick the hook into your freezing thumb and not realize it until you notice your own blood dripping on the deck. You start to lose consciousness as your life force squirts into the scuppers. Your childhood passes by in your mind's eye. Death by rusty hook and clam guts is imminent. Then someone gives you a band-aid and you pull yourself together and keep fishing.
Something nibbles on your line. You reel-in 200 feet of nylon to discover a very small cod fish, who looks annoyed. Some of the guys laugh and want to take you picture with the minnow before you throw him back to whence he (or she) came. You ignore the jeers and mockery. You bait-up (carefully this time) and drop your line, again.
The day proceeds in this manner. Others nearby catch fish. Keepers. But you seem to have chosen a "dead spot" on the boat. Nothing nibbles again. And the sea remains cold and rough. From time to time no one is catching anything. The Captain orders everyone to reel-in, and he cranks up the engines and plows to a new spot. During these breaks we find time to quaff a few brewskies and eat lunch. Eating and drinking is important to keep from getting seasick with all the rolling around in the giant seas. We all admitted to feeling queasy, but the antidote is food and beer. Still, it is less than a cullinary delight to be munching your sandwich while one of the other pale and unhappy fisherman is spewing into a nearby garbage can.
Finally, around 3pm, the Captain declared that it was time to go in. Music to my ears. I had not caught anything, and in fact had given up the further pursuit of fish, and instead bobbed for beers in the cooler. I was much more successful in the beer department, and by the time we were again in sight of land, a comforting buzz had descended upon me. I think I napped during the return trip.
On the way home in the car, fishless, starting to worry about tetnus in my throbbing thumb, I summed up the day: I think I would rather have been sitting in a warm cube, documenting database attributes, not rocking the boat, on a project headed-up by a micromanaging nitpicker, getting paid.
As it turned out, this might have been the correct forecast for Miami. But off the coast of Boston's North Shore the conditions were slightly less balmy. It was more like 38 degrees, cloudy and 25 knot wind.
We left the dock at 7am. Hoping for warm, calm seas. But the seas outside the harbor were as rough as I have ever experienced. Rough indeed - as attested to by the numbers of experienced fishermen leaning over the side tossing their breakfast donuts into the roiling waves. "We have chum!" yelled one guy as his buddy lurched to the rail and launched his breakfast into the 4 foot swells. A lot of people - who had paid $70 to come on this trip - were sitting or lying on benches in the cabin, sincerely regretting that decision. I felt compassion for them - sick as a dog on the way out. There is no turning back, so they had a miserable day to look forward to.
After plowing through the gray water for an hour or so, we - those of us who were not heaving our guts - finally got our gear - thick deep sea rods with 60 pound line and 3lb sinkers to hold the bait down on the swirling ocean floor. There is no casting involved. Thirty or forty guys arrange themselves around the rail and wait for the captian to yell "Ok, drop your lines."
The bait is sea clams. The crew hands out small buckets of the raw clam pieces that have been cut up. On this particular morning the bait was still frozen. Some guys had the foresight to wear fishing gloves. I was unprepared and had to bait my hook with bare hands. Funny how you can stick the hook into your freezing thumb and not realize it until you notice your own blood dripping on the deck. You start to lose consciousness as your life force squirts into the scuppers. Your childhood passes by in your mind's eye. Death by rusty hook and clam guts is imminent. Then someone gives you a band-aid and you pull yourself together and keep fishing.
Something nibbles on your line. You reel-in 200 feet of nylon to discover a very small cod fish, who looks annoyed. Some of the guys laugh and want to take you picture with the minnow before you throw him back to whence he (or she) came. You ignore the jeers and mockery. You bait-up (carefully this time) and drop your line, again.
The day proceeds in this manner. Others nearby catch fish. Keepers. But you seem to have chosen a "dead spot" on the boat. Nothing nibbles again. And the sea remains cold and rough. From time to time no one is catching anything. The Captain orders everyone to reel-in, and he cranks up the engines and plows to a new spot. During these breaks we find time to quaff a few brewskies and eat lunch. Eating and drinking is important to keep from getting seasick with all the rolling around in the giant seas. We all admitted to feeling queasy, but the antidote is food and beer. Still, it is less than a cullinary delight to be munching your sandwich while one of the other pale and unhappy fisherman is spewing into a nearby garbage can.
Finally, around 3pm, the Captain declared that it was time to go in. Music to my ears. I had not caught anything, and in fact had given up the further pursuit of fish, and instead bobbed for beers in the cooler. I was much more successful in the beer department, and by the time we were again in sight of land, a comforting buzz had descended upon me. I think I napped during the return trip.
On the way home in the car, fishless, starting to worry about tetnus in my throbbing thumb, I summed up the day: I think I would rather have been sitting in a warm cube, documenting database attributes, not rocking the boat, on a project headed-up by a micromanaging nitpicker, getting paid.
4/13/2006
The Road Not Taken
I was cleaning out the basement the other day, trying to cross items off my indoor "honey-do" list before the Spring weather outside calls me to the garden – or someone makes me a job offer that I cannot refuse. I came across a folder of work-related stuff that I had saved from the 80's and 90's.
In one folder were some performance reviews from the 80's when I had my first management job working at a now defunct minicomputer company. I was struck by the fact that the reviews of my management style were mediocre. My "superiors" were unanimous in labeling me a nice guy, good writer and pretty good analyst. No one really liked me as a manager. I was "too soft" on subordinates. I was a procrastinator, and not a good role model. I was either too collaborative or not collaborative enough. Some managers thought I was stubborn and had a low sense of urgency.
In all honesty I have to agree with these opinions, even though I thought most my superiors at that place were shitheads. This is not to say that they were stupid or lazy. No, they were mostly very smart, ambitious, competitive and – unfortunately for me (and the company) - wrongheaded. They sucked at management, too. They had gotten ahead by shooting guys like me in the foot and sucking-up. The company had started out in the mid 70’s as an engineering-driven company producing a great product. By the mid 80’s the company had evolved into a classic “command and control” organization, dominated by financial types – much like Enron.
The financial management network was strong, insular and always certain of their leadership. I thought they were mostly shitheads, because they systematically (if not intentionally) de-motivated people who were creative, interesting and even productive - in the name of leadership. They were micromanaging nitpickers, not the visionaries that they saw in the mirror. By the way, they drove the company off a cliff in 1988. They all moved on to bigger and better positions, sort of like the way a virus spreads to new host environments.
But, back to me. During the 90’s, I decided that being an individual contributor was the best path for me. As an IC I no longer had to deal with being a middle manager – trying to insulate the subordinates from the madness of upper management.
I confess that non-management career track was the easy way out of my performance predicament. My performance reviews for that period reflected the wise decision not to be in a supervisory capacity. The glowing reports of my exceptional interpersonal skills and ability to advocate the business requirements of my department almost make me blush to this day.
So, there you have it. I guess Management is not for everyone. I was never really comfortable telling others what to do or how to do it. (Although I warrant that many of my peers would assert that I was pretty free with unsolicited advice.)
I admit it: I was born without a sense of urgency. This is a fatal flaw for someone who is in charge. Someone – the boss – needs to tell people what to do. The boss needs to decide when the thing needs to be done. And he or she must be willing to scream and yell or chop people’s fingers off if necessary.
I was unequipped for such a role. Even if I had read the Machiavelli book earlier in my career, I fear would have been too compassionate and tentative. Subordinates, sensing this weakness, would have taken credit for their own work, remained creative and productive, and would generally have made my life a living hell. My bosses would have chided me for the unwillingness to get blood on my hands, and to thump the hive randomly, just for the fun of watching the worker bees buzzing around.
So, I tossed the folder full of reviews into the trash. Ancient history now. And without the historical documents to prove me wrong, I can return to the comfort of faded memories of the 80’s and my fictitious life as a successful corporate manager.
In one folder were some performance reviews from the 80's when I had my first management job working at a now defunct minicomputer company. I was struck by the fact that the reviews of my management style were mediocre. My "superiors" were unanimous in labeling me a nice guy, good writer and pretty good analyst. No one really liked me as a manager. I was "too soft" on subordinates. I was a procrastinator, and not a good role model. I was either too collaborative or not collaborative enough. Some managers thought I was stubborn and had a low sense of urgency.
In all honesty I have to agree with these opinions, even though I thought most my superiors at that place were shitheads. This is not to say that they were stupid or lazy. No, they were mostly very smart, ambitious, competitive and – unfortunately for me (and the company) - wrongheaded. They sucked at management, too. They had gotten ahead by shooting guys like me in the foot and sucking-up. The company had started out in the mid 70’s as an engineering-driven company producing a great product. By the mid 80’s the company had evolved into a classic “command and control” organization, dominated by financial types – much like Enron.
The financial management network was strong, insular and always certain of their leadership. I thought they were mostly shitheads, because they systematically (if not intentionally) de-motivated people who were creative, interesting and even productive - in the name of leadership. They were micromanaging nitpickers, not the visionaries that they saw in the mirror. By the way, they drove the company off a cliff in 1988. They all moved on to bigger and better positions, sort of like the way a virus spreads to new host environments.
But, back to me. During the 90’s, I decided that being an individual contributor was the best path for me. As an IC I no longer had to deal with being a middle manager – trying to insulate the subordinates from the madness of upper management.
I confess that non-management career track was the easy way out of my performance predicament. My performance reviews for that period reflected the wise decision not to be in a supervisory capacity. The glowing reports of my exceptional interpersonal skills and ability to advocate the business requirements of my department almost make me blush to this day.
So, there you have it. I guess Management is not for everyone. I was never really comfortable telling others what to do or how to do it. (Although I warrant that many of my peers would assert that I was pretty free with unsolicited advice.)
I admit it: I was born without a sense of urgency. This is a fatal flaw for someone who is in charge. Someone – the boss – needs to tell people what to do. The boss needs to decide when the thing needs to be done. And he or she must be willing to scream and yell or chop people’s fingers off if necessary.
I was unequipped for such a role. Even if I had read the Machiavelli book earlier in my career, I fear would have been too compassionate and tentative. Subordinates, sensing this weakness, would have taken credit for their own work, remained creative and productive, and would generally have made my life a living hell. My bosses would have chided me for the unwillingness to get blood on my hands, and to thump the hive randomly, just for the fun of watching the worker bees buzzing around.
So, I tossed the folder full of reviews into the trash. Ancient history now. And without the historical documents to prove me wrong, I can return to the comfort of faded memories of the 80’s and my fictitious life as a successful corporate manager.
4/05/2006
Postscript
A few blogs back, I was opining on the merits of being mean and powerful (i.e., rich).
I implied that there were basically two groups of people in the workforce: Nice Guys and Mean Bastards. I should correct the record:
There is a gamut of other people with whom one comes in contact whose dominant characteristic is neither mean nor nice. This includes the inept, stupid, lazy, unimaginative, people with no sense of humor, sheep, people who take a job because it has a good pension plan, and chickens.
All the people who match these descriptions can be expected to behave badly when the chips are down. You cannot count on any of them, because they will sacrifice your friendship if they believe that the relationship jeopardizes their own job security. Not all of them are nasty brutish and short, but it seems to help.
The tragedy of this story is, of course, that most of us spend the majority of our waking existence working at some sort of job. Day in and day out we go to the office or plant. We spend our energies trying to get something done as a group, despite the divisive tactics employed by weak or wrongheaded management.
Loyalty, once considered a premium attribute, has fallen into disrepute. Hellhole management does not want your loyalty these days, just your obeisance. Management's loyalty to the workforce does not exist. That edge of the loyalty sword disappeared during the massive layoffs and outsourcings of the past decade, plus the restructuring of pension guarantees. In the extreme cases - such as Enron and Worldcomm - we see the dark side of capitalism, where a few greedy and powerful princes can ruin the fortunes and disrupt the lives of millions of people.
This is not to say that we - the rank and file worker types - are perfect. No, we have plenty of foibles, frauds, secrets and schemes up our collective bargaining sleeves. We steal office supplies, take long lunch breaks, fudge our expense reports, surf the net while we are on the clock, and some of us even take naps during bathroom breaks.
I suppose these are merely the whinings of an idealist, who thinks he would have become richer and more powerful if the key factors for success in business included being a mensch instead of a schmuck.
I implied that there were basically two groups of people in the workforce: Nice Guys and Mean Bastards. I should correct the record:
There is a gamut of other people with whom one comes in contact whose dominant characteristic is neither mean nor nice. This includes the inept, stupid, lazy, unimaginative, people with no sense of humor, sheep, people who take a job because it has a good pension plan, and chickens.
All the people who match these descriptions can be expected to behave badly when the chips are down. You cannot count on any of them, because they will sacrifice your friendship if they believe that the relationship jeopardizes their own job security. Not all of them are nasty brutish and short, but it seems to help.
The tragedy of this story is, of course, that most of us spend the majority of our waking existence working at some sort of job. Day in and day out we go to the office or plant. We spend our energies trying to get something done as a group, despite the divisive tactics employed by weak or wrongheaded management.
Loyalty, once considered a premium attribute, has fallen into disrepute. Hellhole management does not want your loyalty these days, just your obeisance. Management's loyalty to the workforce does not exist. That edge of the loyalty sword disappeared during the massive layoffs and outsourcings of the past decade, plus the restructuring of pension guarantees. In the extreme cases - such as Enron and Worldcomm - we see the dark side of capitalism, where a few greedy and powerful princes can ruin the fortunes and disrupt the lives of millions of people.
This is not to say that we - the rank and file worker types - are perfect. No, we have plenty of foibles, frauds, secrets and schemes up our collective bargaining sleeves. We steal office supplies, take long lunch breaks, fudge our expense reports, surf the net while we are on the clock, and some of us even take naps during bathroom breaks.
I suppose these are merely the whinings of an idealist, who thinks he would have become richer and more powerful if the key factors for success in business included being a mensch instead of a schmuck.
4/01/2006
3/27/2006
Not All Fun and Games
Recently I got an email from a former colleague who is also an avid gardener. She expressed some envy that I did not have to drag my ass into a stuffy office to endure status meetings and the other annoying distractions of having a job during this coming week - when the temperatures outside will be warm enough for outdoor work. I responded thusly:
"Hey it's not all fun and games here. My wife has been making me do things - you know - chores. Last week I painted on of the bedrooms that she uses as her studio. In the coming weeks I am expected to paint the porch, our bedroom and the North side of the house. (It is peeling so bad that I keep getting flyers stuck in the mailbox from total strangers offering painting services. Kinda insulting if you ask me...)
Last friday I spent the day in the yard burning fallen limbs from the pine trees that infest my yard and other twiggy debris. It is my annual sacrifice to the gods. I am purified by the cleansing smoke and forgiven all my sins. (Yes, I have a permit).
Lately I am getting serious interest from staffing companies looking to find me a gig. Boy, nothing like a recent successful contract to make them want you. I am interested in returning to the world of a regular paycheck and the sociability of a project team. I need some spending money for the Scotland trip in September.
I got on the train last week to go into Boston to meet with a recruiter who had spotted my resume and probably didn't realize that I was old enough to be her grandfather. My purpose was to assess the commute - to see if I would tolerate a rail commute into the city - should a promising opportunity arise. She was cute and charming, but I don't think she understood most of the stuff I was talking about. If you are 22 years old, and your first job out of college is being a headhunter, you cannot appreciate the complexities of working with diabolically designed Enterprise Applications and ancient thinkers who reject any new processes and systems.
She thinks she has the perfect gig for me at a local university. Hey, do the math: I worked at another university a few years ago. They both have PeopleSoft databases. The biggest no-brainer of Earth. Perfect match! I did not share with her my opinion that college campuses are the last refuge where people with observable mental illness are tolerated and even extolled. (After all, who am I to point fingers.)
Anyhow, I have a couple more interviews/sceens next week. I find it flattering that my wife is jealous that all the recruiters are young females, leaving voice messages for me and wondering if I would like to meet over coffee. "That doesn't sound very professional," she comments, "Don't these trollops have offices?" :-) In her heart she knows that they just want to eyeball the old geezer to make sure I don't drool or look like death-warmed-over. Her jealousy it is a game we play.
The positive thing about working these days is that I experience zero stress, because I simply do not give a shit. This has been the most liberating aspect of my life! This is not to say that I don't take the work seriously. I really try to do the best I can to earn the money that they are paying. But if the boss is a turdbrain or my coworkers are psychotic, I do not waste a minute of time fretting. I keep focused on the key question that every contractor must keep in mind at all times: "Am I getting paid for this?"
If only I could find a way to not give a shit about everything, I would be totally free."
"Hey it's not all fun and games here. My wife has been making me do things - you know - chores. Last week I painted on of the bedrooms that she uses as her studio. In the coming weeks I am expected to paint the porch, our bedroom and the North side of the house. (It is peeling so bad that I keep getting flyers stuck in the mailbox from total strangers offering painting services. Kinda insulting if you ask me...)
Last friday I spent the day in the yard burning fallen limbs from the pine trees that infest my yard and other twiggy debris. It is my annual sacrifice to the gods. I am purified by the cleansing smoke and forgiven all my sins. (Yes, I have a permit).
Lately I am getting serious interest from staffing companies looking to find me a gig. Boy, nothing like a recent successful contract to make them want you. I am interested in returning to the world of a regular paycheck and the sociability of a project team. I need some spending money for the Scotland trip in September.
I got on the train last week to go into Boston to meet with a recruiter who had spotted my resume and probably didn't realize that I was old enough to be her grandfather. My purpose was to assess the commute - to see if I would tolerate a rail commute into the city - should a promising opportunity arise. She was cute and charming, but I don't think she understood most of the stuff I was talking about. If you are 22 years old, and your first job out of college is being a headhunter, you cannot appreciate the complexities of working with diabolically designed Enterprise Applications and ancient thinkers who reject any new processes and systems.
She thinks she has the perfect gig for me at a local university. Hey, do the math: I worked at another university a few years ago. They both have PeopleSoft databases. The biggest no-brainer of Earth. Perfect match! I did not share with her my opinion that college campuses are the last refuge where people with observable mental illness are tolerated and even extolled. (After all, who am I to point fingers.)
Anyhow, I have a couple more interviews/sceens next week. I find it flattering that my wife is jealous that all the recruiters are young females, leaving voice messages for me and wondering if I would like to meet over coffee. "That doesn't sound very professional," she comments, "Don't these trollops have offices?" :-) In her heart she knows that they just want to eyeball the old geezer to make sure I don't drool or look like death-warmed-over. Her jealousy it is a game we play.
The positive thing about working these days is that I experience zero stress, because I simply do not give a shit. This has been the most liberating aspect of my life! This is not to say that I don't take the work seriously. I really try to do the best I can to earn the money that they are paying. But if the boss is a turdbrain or my coworkers are psychotic, I do not waste a minute of time fretting. I keep focused on the key question that every contractor must keep in mind at all times: "Am I getting paid for this?"
If only I could find a way to not give a shit about everything, I would be totally free."
3/18/2006
How to Be Mean and Powerful
I just finished reading a book written by Fortune Magazine columnist, Stanley Bing. As an insightful student of American business potentates, Bing has planted his tongue in his cheek and written a very readable, tell-all handbook for the would-be power-monger/prince.
“What would Machiavelli Do?” is the title and refrain of the book. Bing encapsulates the habits of mind and behavior that characterize the powerful (and therefore wealthy) leaders who the rest of us adore and/or fear.
To get the right answer, one must ask the right question, he says, and the right question to guide the prince-in–training is always, “What would Machiavelli Do?”
The answer: Whatever is necessary to get your own way.
This is exactly why most of us nice guys are left in the dust. We are hampered with an adolescent desire to be liked. We care about people - not just to find out how they can help us get our own way – but we tend to see others as ordinary flesh-and-blood human beings like ourselves with feelings and hopes of their own. We have difficulty with Machiavellian concepts like justifying a multimillion dollar bonus for ourselves as a reward for cutting thousands of jobs and throwing good workers out on the street as you would toss out yesterday’s newspaper into the trash bin.
We have all met these men and women – who did whatever was necessary to get their own way – in our personal and career lives. We used to call them names like egomaniacs, narcissists, and pompous assholes. We could not fathom why they were successful. We acknowledged that they were smart and hard working people. But, we thought of them as ruthless, self-serving manipulators. Who would be foolish enough to trust such people with increased power? Answer: Those in power who are just like them.
So, when we were laid-off or harassed until we left on our own, these princes were rewarded with promotions and bonuses. Our enmity and loss did not bother them in the least. They grew in power and mean-ness. That’s the way Machiavelli would have done it too.
Being the nice guy has been moderately successful. I have a nice family and a nice home located in a nice neighborhood. I have sufficient means to live in moderation for the remainder of my nice little life. I have my garden and my books to entertain me. I have friends and relatives for social intercourse. Nice. Nice. Nice.
But, think of all the things I don’t have! A boat! A seaside villa in Italy! A new Hummer! Cosmetic surgery! These are all things that mean bastards already have. I wonder if it too late for me to change my stripes.
“What would Machiavelli Do?” is the title and refrain of the book. Bing encapsulates the habits of mind and behavior that characterize the powerful (and therefore wealthy) leaders who the rest of us adore and/or fear.
To get the right answer, one must ask the right question, he says, and the right question to guide the prince-in–training is always, “What would Machiavelli Do?”
The answer: Whatever is necessary to get your own way.
This is exactly why most of us nice guys are left in the dust. We are hampered with an adolescent desire to be liked. We care about people - not just to find out how they can help us get our own way – but we tend to see others as ordinary flesh-and-blood human beings like ourselves with feelings and hopes of their own. We have difficulty with Machiavellian concepts like justifying a multimillion dollar bonus for ourselves as a reward for cutting thousands of jobs and throwing good workers out on the street as you would toss out yesterday’s newspaper into the trash bin.
We have all met these men and women – who did whatever was necessary to get their own way – in our personal and career lives. We used to call them names like egomaniacs, narcissists, and pompous assholes. We could not fathom why they were successful. We acknowledged that they were smart and hard working people. But, we thought of them as ruthless, self-serving manipulators. Who would be foolish enough to trust such people with increased power? Answer: Those in power who are just like them.
So, when we were laid-off or harassed until we left on our own, these princes were rewarded with promotions and bonuses. Our enmity and loss did not bother them in the least. They grew in power and mean-ness. That’s the way Machiavelli would have done it too.
Being the nice guy has been moderately successful. I have a nice family and a nice home located in a nice neighborhood. I have sufficient means to live in moderation for the remainder of my nice little life. I have my garden and my books to entertain me. I have friends and relatives for social intercourse. Nice. Nice. Nice.
But, think of all the things I don’t have! A boat! A seaside villa in Italy! A new Hummer! Cosmetic surgery! These are all things that mean bastards already have. I wonder if it too late for me to change my stripes.
3/13/2006
Why I Will Never Eat Again at McDonalds
I am back from vacation. One of the lowlights of the trip was McDonalds. Once upon a time, McDonalds was a brand where you could get a predictable product at a low price when you were in a hurry. It wasn't necessarily great, but it was filling and always tasted the same whether you ordered your Big Mac in Augusta, Maine or Sacramento, California.
But, things have been changing over the years. And not in a good way. The once spotless stores are now dingy and tired looking. The adult workers who used to flash a big sincere welcoming smile and a hello - who would eagerly ask for your order - have been replaced by poorly trained kids who barely speak English and who could give a crap if you had a nice day or not.
The term "Fast Food" once held the promise of a rapidly-filled order. In and Out. The Drive thru was a way to have it even faster - you did not even have to leave the comfort of your vehicle to get the luscuous cookin's from the famous grill.
Now, if you go through the Open 24 hours a day Drive Thru (Winona Judd's favorite eating venue) you are lucky if they can fill your order when you get to the delivery window. You must check the bag to make certain they got the order right. And you need to ask for napkins unless you prefer to wipe ketchup on your shirtsleeve.
Recently, there have been a lot of radio ads touting the new improved dark roast coffee. I thought I would try it. On two separate occasions, I was disappointed. The first time at the counter when I ordered, there was only 1/2 cup left in the pot. They asked me to wait while they brewed a fresh pot. Sure, I said, fresh coffee is worth waiting a few minutes for. When I got it, it tasted like mud. I surmized that they added the "fresh" coffee to the 1/2 cup of old coffee. I threw it in the trash. A few days later, we were rushing to get to the airport at 5am and we decided to stop for a cup of fresh, hot coffee. I went through the 24 drive thru. When the gave us the coffee, it was cold. The kid said he would start another pot. I said we are in a hurry thanks for nothing and we drove off. Never to return.
I have four calls on voicemail from headhunters wondering what my current status is.
That's a very good question. I have a long list of promised "honey-dos" to do. There is painting to be done, and cleaning of the garage, and staining the outdoor furniture.
And, it is getting to feel like Spring. The yard beckens.
But the lure of easy money, the fact that someone is interested in my "skills" and the sociability of working on a project calls to me like a siren to a sailer ...
But, things have been changing over the years. And not in a good way. The once spotless stores are now dingy and tired looking. The adult workers who used to flash a big sincere welcoming smile and a hello - who would eagerly ask for your order - have been replaced by poorly trained kids who barely speak English and who could give a crap if you had a nice day or not.
The term "Fast Food" once held the promise of a rapidly-filled order. In and Out. The Drive thru was a way to have it even faster - you did not even have to leave the comfort of your vehicle to get the luscuous cookin's from the famous grill.
Now, if you go through the Open 24 hours a day Drive Thru (Winona Judd's favorite eating venue) you are lucky if they can fill your order when you get to the delivery window. You must check the bag to make certain they got the order right. And you need to ask for napkins unless you prefer to wipe ketchup on your shirtsleeve.
Recently, there have been a lot of radio ads touting the new improved dark roast coffee. I thought I would try it. On two separate occasions, I was disappointed. The first time at the counter when I ordered, there was only 1/2 cup left in the pot. They asked me to wait while they brewed a fresh pot. Sure, I said, fresh coffee is worth waiting a few minutes for. When I got it, it tasted like mud. I surmized that they added the "fresh" coffee to the 1/2 cup of old coffee. I threw it in the trash. A few days later, we were rushing to get to the airport at 5am and we decided to stop for a cup of fresh, hot coffee. I went through the 24 drive thru. When the gave us the coffee, it was cold. The kid said he would start another pot. I said we are in a hurry thanks for nothing and we drove off. Never to return.
I have four calls on voicemail from headhunters wondering what my current status is.
That's a very good question. I have a long list of promised "honey-dos" to do. There is painting to be done, and cleaning of the garage, and staining the outdoor furniture.
And, it is getting to feel like Spring. The yard beckens.
But the lure of easy money, the fact that someone is interested in my "skills" and the sociability of working on a project calls to me like a siren to a sailer ...
3/07/2006
Why I don't update this Blog
I'm on Vacation. Basking in Sun and surf. Drinking coctails on the balcony and watching the sun set on the Gulf of Mexico. Blackened fried grouper for lunch.
Long romantic walks on the beach. Catching up on my reading of action suspense novels. Guys with guns and silencers. A lot of people here bring dogs on vacation with them, and into th restaurants. We only stop at the places with "No Dogs" signs.
I am in the Sarasota public Library. They want to throw me out because I don't have a library card and my cell phone ringtone plays "Fat Bottomed Girls". I don't have a card, but I do have this Glock special. I have a silencer on it. It should be ok to use in a library. Here comes the librarian again. Let's see where this gets me!
[a commotion ensures and PC is logged off, maybe plug is pulled or ...]
Long romantic walks on the beach. Catching up on my reading of action suspense novels. Guys with guns and silencers. A lot of people here bring dogs on vacation with them, and into th restaurants. We only stop at the places with "No Dogs" signs.
I am in the Sarasota public Library. They want to throw me out because I don't have a library card and my cell phone ringtone plays "Fat Bottomed Girls". I don't have a card, but I do have this Glock special. I have a silencer on it. It should be ok to use in a library. Here comes the librarian again. Let's see where this gets me!
[a commotion ensures and PC is logged off, maybe plug is pulled or ...]
3/02/2006
Why I Don’t Write for a Living
On more than one occasion, folks who have read my stuff have flattered me by asking why I do not write professionally.
It may look easy, but real writing is much harder than going into an office, sitting in a cube, researching entity relationship diagrams, analyzing database attributes, designing user reports and pretending that the boss in an intelligent person who does not deserve a twice daily bitch-slapping.
Also, it is virtually impossible to make a living as a writer (Fewer than 20% of "professional" fiction writers manage to make more than $20k per year from their writing). The exception is writing marketing ad copy for Publisher’s Clearinghouse - which can be very remunerative.
So, I prefer the relative anonymity of the web log, where I am the sole editor and publisher, where I can say almost anything I want without getting fired or poked in the nose.
I am not disciplined enough to get any work done unless my workplace is in a place where someone is watching me. If I am "working at home" I inevitably become distracted by the radio, the cat, the desperate housewives in the neighborhood, a yard that needs work, peeling paint, a falling down fence, the phone, noise from the building project down the street, Jehovah’s Witnesses – you name it. If I need to look-up a word in the thesaurus I often spend hours searching for the bon mot.
I cannot meet deadlines. My energy to write usually lasts about the time it takes to consume two Sierra Nevada’s. Then I nap.
Writing as a job has no allure for me. As soon as I begin to think of it as work - i.e. doing what someone else tells you to do - I find it tedious.
Writing is much harder than rocket science. Think about it. Rocket science is simply applying known laws of physics. Make accurate detailed calculations and presto you've got a man on the moon. On the other hand, writing a humorous piece starts with a blank page, a half-baked idea, a literary license and some grammatical rules that would curl your hair. You write a draft. You rewrite the piece four of five times. Finally, you just give-up on it and call it done. Now, if you show it to someone, they feel perfectly comfortable criticizing your work. Some people even get-off on it. (e.g., "That last piece on midgets was not as funny as the one on hunting accidents.") Perhaps I am too thin-skinned to be a professional writer. But you don't see these dolts going around pretending they know something about rocket science.
I do not seek fame. The downside of fame is that it makes you an easy target.
Who needs it? During my last under-employed period (1989), when the local newspaper would publish my essays, I often felt like a minor celebrity, when someone would recognize me in the supermarket (often to say how much they liked the midget piece but that I should do more on wildlife sightings in the police notes). One fan even said I was better and funnier than Dave Barry (thanks, Mom).
After one not-so-humorous piece lampooning the pro-life demonstrator tactics at clinics, I got phone calls from a pro-life lady who quoted scripture and urged me to do more research. My wife got freaked-out at this veiled attempt at intimidation and she made me promise not to write about touchy subjects in the future. That nipped my career as a famous opinionator of current news events in the bud.
The other day I was metaphorically pulled over by a word police officer for failing to properly punctuate a sentence. Instead of a full period stop, I had typed a comma. Then he cited me for a dangling participle and writing while under the influence of my muse and malt beverages.
"I'm innocent, I tell you," I told him. "I've only had two Sierra Nevada's. OK, I did split an infinitive back there a few paragraphs ago, but I have a license that allows me to violate certain rules of grammar."
The officer sneered, “Where’d you get your license – Sears?”
Ok, time for my nap.
It may look easy, but real writing is much harder than going into an office, sitting in a cube, researching entity relationship diagrams, analyzing database attributes, designing user reports and pretending that the boss in an intelligent person who does not deserve a twice daily bitch-slapping.
Also, it is virtually impossible to make a living as a writer (Fewer than 20% of "professional" fiction writers manage to make more than $20k per year from their writing). The exception is writing marketing ad copy for Publisher’s Clearinghouse - which can be very remunerative.
So, I prefer the relative anonymity of the web log, where I am the sole editor and publisher, where I can say almost anything I want without getting fired or poked in the nose.
I am not disciplined enough to get any work done unless my workplace is in a place where someone is watching me. If I am "working at home" I inevitably become distracted by the radio, the cat, the desperate housewives in the neighborhood, a yard that needs work, peeling paint, a falling down fence, the phone, noise from the building project down the street, Jehovah’s Witnesses – you name it. If I need to look-up a word in the thesaurus I often spend hours searching for the bon mot.
I cannot meet deadlines. My energy to write usually lasts about the time it takes to consume two Sierra Nevada’s. Then I nap.
Writing as a job has no allure for me. As soon as I begin to think of it as work - i.e. doing what someone else tells you to do - I find it tedious.
Writing is much harder than rocket science. Think about it. Rocket science is simply applying known laws of physics. Make accurate detailed calculations and presto you've got a man on the moon. On the other hand, writing a humorous piece starts with a blank page, a half-baked idea, a literary license and some grammatical rules that would curl your hair. You write a draft. You rewrite the piece four of five times. Finally, you just give-up on it and call it done. Now, if you show it to someone, they feel perfectly comfortable criticizing your work. Some people even get-off on it. (e.g., "That last piece on midgets was not as funny as the one on hunting accidents.") Perhaps I am too thin-skinned to be a professional writer. But you don't see these dolts going around pretending they know something about rocket science.
I do not seek fame. The downside of fame is that it makes you an easy target.
Who needs it? During my last under-employed period (1989), when the local newspaper would publish my essays, I often felt like a minor celebrity, when someone would recognize me in the supermarket (often to say how much they liked the midget piece but that I should do more on wildlife sightings in the police notes). One fan even said I was better and funnier than Dave Barry (thanks, Mom).
After one not-so-humorous piece lampooning the pro-life demonstrator tactics at clinics, I got phone calls from a pro-life lady who quoted scripture and urged me to do more research. My wife got freaked-out at this veiled attempt at intimidation and she made me promise not to write about touchy subjects in the future. That nipped my career as a famous opinionator of current news events in the bud.
The other day I was metaphorically pulled over by a word police officer for failing to properly punctuate a sentence. Instead of a full period stop, I had typed a comma. Then he cited me for a dangling participle and writing while under the influence of my muse and malt beverages.
"I'm innocent, I tell you," I told him. "I've only had two Sierra Nevada's. OK, I did split an infinitive back there a few paragraphs ago, but I have a license that allows me to violate certain rules of grammar."
The officer sneered, “Where’d you get your license – Sears?”
Ok, time for my nap.
2/18/2006
Est la barre ouverte?
Thoughts on Non-Employment
I have decided to describe my current status as “non-employment” as opposed to unemployment or retirement. “Unemployment” connotes a lack of success in a job search. “Retirement” implies a decision to stop looking for work. Non-employment means that I am not presently looking for a job, but not sure that I am permanently done with work. When asked, I simply say I am “on the bench.”
"On the bench" is standard jargon for consultants and contractors who are "between" assignments. I especially use this terminology around my wife. She is nervous at the thought that I have actually begun an unannounced de facto retirement. Not having "work" to occupy my time, and without her being home to keep an eye on me, she fears that my evening cocktail hour will commence closer to noontime.
I assure her that I have plenty to do, and hardly any of my cohorts are drinking these days (primarily due to the unfortunate fact that alcohol disagrees with their meds.) Besides, I have come to the point in life where two beers is about all I can handle before I start mumbling. How much trouble can you get into after only two beers?
Other than the predictable domestic demands on my free time (mainly meals preparation, shopping, doing laundry and going to the dump), I am enjoying non-employment. The main problem with this status is the steady encroachment of fearful thoughts that tend to dominate the thinking of people who subsist on a (limited) fixed income. We begin to worry about living too long or getting sick and running out of money. At the same time, we dread the thought that we are squandering our healthy years by continuing to work and save, rather than using some of the hard-earned cash to buy some well deserved fun.
A job is an opiate. By accepting the constraints of a job, we allow someone else to make all the big decisions about Time in our lives. Indirectly, the working hours of our job dictate when we go to bed, when we wake-up, how much time we have for breakfast. The job description may even decide where we work how much travel we must do.
Job related deadlines and overtime demands determine whether we are able to squeeze-in some entertainment and/or family time on weekends. The paradox of business life is the devil’s bargain where we trade our personal autonomy for attaining more money and power. The higher we are in the management hierarchy of an organization the less “free time” is available to us. Those days when the execs sneak off early for a round of golf are more than paid for by weekends and nights of overtime. It is commonly known that many of the most successful executives have disastrous personal lives.
Well, the idea is that time is precious. One must spend it like gold – and certainly not give away the control of it to by people who think of us as “resources” not as human beings who need some personal time to think about life’s unanswered questions.
One of the ways we are planning to spend precious time this year is to travel beyond the local boundries of the interstate. We think we will have more fun seeing more of the world. In anticipation of said travel I am brushing up on my language skills. The new MS word2003 has a language translator and I have been spending my precious time learning some handy phrases in different languages.
Hey, it's almost noontime. (Is the bar open?)
É a barra aberta
Ist der geöffnete Stab
I have decided to describe my current status as “non-employment” as opposed to unemployment or retirement. “Unemployment” connotes a lack of success in a job search. “Retirement” implies a decision to stop looking for work. Non-employment means that I am not presently looking for a job, but not sure that I am permanently done with work. When asked, I simply say I am “on the bench.”
"On the bench" is standard jargon for consultants and contractors who are "between" assignments. I especially use this terminology around my wife. She is nervous at the thought that I have actually begun an unannounced de facto retirement. Not having "work" to occupy my time, and without her being home to keep an eye on me, she fears that my evening cocktail hour will commence closer to noontime.
I assure her that I have plenty to do, and hardly any of my cohorts are drinking these days (primarily due to the unfortunate fact that alcohol disagrees with their meds.) Besides, I have come to the point in life where two beers is about all I can handle before I start mumbling. How much trouble can you get into after only two beers?
Other than the predictable domestic demands on my free time (mainly meals preparation, shopping, doing laundry and going to the dump), I am enjoying non-employment. The main problem with this status is the steady encroachment of fearful thoughts that tend to dominate the thinking of people who subsist on a (limited) fixed income. We begin to worry about living too long or getting sick and running out of money. At the same time, we dread the thought that we are squandering our healthy years by continuing to work and save, rather than using some of the hard-earned cash to buy some well deserved fun.
A job is an opiate. By accepting the constraints of a job, we allow someone else to make all the big decisions about Time in our lives. Indirectly, the working hours of our job dictate when we go to bed, when we wake-up, how much time we have for breakfast. The job description may even decide where we work how much travel we must do.
Job related deadlines and overtime demands determine whether we are able to squeeze-in some entertainment and/or family time on weekends. The paradox of business life is the devil’s bargain where we trade our personal autonomy for attaining more money and power. The higher we are in the management hierarchy of an organization the less “free time” is available to us. Those days when the execs sneak off early for a round of golf are more than paid for by weekends and nights of overtime. It is commonly known that many of the most successful executives have disastrous personal lives.
Well, the idea is that time is precious. One must spend it like gold – and certainly not give away the control of it to by people who think of us as “resources” not as human beings who need some personal time to think about life’s unanswered questions.
One of the ways we are planning to spend precious time this year is to travel beyond the local boundries of the interstate. We think we will have more fun seeing more of the world. In anticipation of said travel I am brushing up on my language skills. The new MS word2003 has a language translator and I have been spending my precious time learning some handy phrases in different languages.
Hey, it's almost noontime. (Is the bar open?)
É a barra aberta
Ist der geöffnete Stab
2/04/2006
State of the Yard
I’m looking out the window into the back yard. Yesterday’s warm rains have wiped out any residue of recent snows. The neighbor’s home-made skating rink looks more like a swimming pool. The thaw has encouraged a distinct greening of the lawn and patches of bright new growth can be seen in the clay pots of chives and parsley.
Spring is in play.
The WSJ reports that there were 193,000 new American jobs in January. Today’s editorial touts the “lowest employment rate” in four years as clear evidence that the 2003 tax cuts are working. I’ll let you know whether I agree or not after I am finished doing my taxes.
I use Turbo-Tax so the hardest part is gathering all the pertinent documents.
I know what you organized people are thinking: Why not just keep all the tax-related papers in one folder so you can find everything you need easily? Yes, that might be an efficient way of doing things, but it is not my way.
My way is to keep every bill, receipt, statement, form, notice, credit card offers, correspondence, acknowledgement, confirmation, insert, fax, note, stub, check and any other document that is not an advertisement – in a big cardboard box.
Traditionally, during the NFL Wildcard weekend, usually in mid-January, while watching the games on TV, I sort through the box and toss the stuff that needs tossing and pile the stuff that needs shredding into a big brown grocery bag for later attention.
Usually this process is lubricated by repetitive ingestion of malt beverages. Now, I don’t know about you, but after a few frosty Sierra Nevada’s, my inclination to sort paper erodes very quickly and without warning. Thus, I typically end-up with a half-sorted box of papers, a bag of shred-able documents - which – like as not, will just get chucked into the trash along with the wet garbage (Go ahead, identity thieves, burrow through the rotten cantaloupe, eggshells, coffee grinds and banana skins. Bring it on !)
But it is good to know that the economy remains strong, with all that job growth. I was comforted the other night by Pres. Bush’s rosy picture of things, weren’t you?
He needs a new speech writer. He reminded me of a CEO at the annual Kickoff meeting. Rah-Rah, we are the greatest! We need to foster more Teamwork and we need to work harder to out-compete the competition! Empty feel good phrases.
Funny how companies give all the perks and rewards to the greedy egomaniacs who create dissention and distrust among the workforce instead of trying to get the people to work as teams.
Not that it matters to me anymore. I am officially back among the ranks of unemployed and NOT looking. At least not for the moment.
I do not have time for a regular job.
Stop sending me leads.
Spring is in play.
The WSJ reports that there were 193,000 new American jobs in January. Today’s editorial touts the “lowest employment rate” in four years as clear evidence that the 2003 tax cuts are working. I’ll let you know whether I agree or not after I am finished doing my taxes.
I use Turbo-Tax so the hardest part is gathering all the pertinent documents.
I know what you organized people are thinking: Why not just keep all the tax-related papers in one folder so you can find everything you need easily? Yes, that might be an efficient way of doing things, but it is not my way.
My way is to keep every bill, receipt, statement, form, notice, credit card offers, correspondence, acknowledgement, confirmation, insert, fax, note, stub, check and any other document that is not an advertisement – in a big cardboard box.
Traditionally, during the NFL Wildcard weekend, usually in mid-January, while watching the games on TV, I sort through the box and toss the stuff that needs tossing and pile the stuff that needs shredding into a big brown grocery bag for later attention.
Usually this process is lubricated by repetitive ingestion of malt beverages. Now, I don’t know about you, but after a few frosty Sierra Nevada’s, my inclination to sort paper erodes very quickly and without warning. Thus, I typically end-up with a half-sorted box of papers, a bag of shred-able documents - which – like as not, will just get chucked into the trash along with the wet garbage (Go ahead, identity thieves, burrow through the rotten cantaloupe, eggshells, coffee grinds and banana skins. Bring it on !)
But it is good to know that the economy remains strong, with all that job growth. I was comforted the other night by Pres. Bush’s rosy picture of things, weren’t you?
He needs a new speech writer. He reminded me of a CEO at the annual Kickoff meeting. Rah-Rah, we are the greatest! We need to foster more Teamwork and we need to work harder to out-compete the competition! Empty feel good phrases.
Funny how companies give all the perks and rewards to the greedy egomaniacs who create dissention and distrust among the workforce instead of trying to get the people to work as teams.
Not that it matters to me anymore. I am officially back among the ranks of unemployed and NOT looking. At least not for the moment.
I do not have time for a regular job.
Stop sending me leads.
1/17/2006
Back to the Future
I am pleased to report that my current "engagement" is coming to an end. Why am I pleased, you ask? (Honey, if you need to ask, you have clearly not been reading this blog. )
But just for the record, to apprise those newcomers who are too intelligent to dig back into history, let me summarize the top ten reasons why I would rather be home - staring out the window wondering how I am going to exterminate those pesky tomato eating squirrels this year - rather than schlepping my big retirement age ass 30 miles down the highway and back at rush hour every day.
Top ten reasons to be cheerful that my gig is over:
1) Did I mention that I hate being on the highway at drive time? Fellow commuters in their big scary SUVs and Truckers in their very big and scary 18 wheelers crawling up your rear bumper because you are only going ten miles over the speed limit. (Makes you want to just jam on your brakes to see what would happen) Or you get stuck for an hour in a huge traffic jam behind an accident scene all because some moron in a big SUV was tailgaiting some clueless idiot who wanted to teach the SUV a lesson by slamming on his brakes.
2) The system is among the worst I have ever seen. The users who have to work with it, hate it quite passionately. It was the wrong solution, peddled to an unwary customer. The managers who made the "buy" decision of course cannot admit that they might have bleeped up, so they blame all "problems" on the users and developers. Most of the middle managers are disappointed and pressured because they have to make things work somehow. It's fairly hopeless.
3) My shelflife is up. I am begining to smell. The three guys who interviewed me are all long gone, and on to better lives and locations. I too have lost the sense of magic and wonder that one feels at the beginning of a new project. Ok maybe I never had that sense on this job. I just feel intellectually antsy.
4) Micromanagement has robbed me of any feeling of ownership or responsibilty. I start looking at my watch just after morning coffee break. Sometimes in the afternoon I actually doze off for seconds at atime starting at some vacuous email that I have been CC'd on for some incomprehensible reason.
5) Indolence and autonomy becken. I have books waiting to be read. My Retirement portfolio needs balancing. The bedroom needs painting. Both toilets are running and wasting water. I sometimnes fall weeks behind on my blog because I am so tired at the end of the day that nothing seems worth writing about. I miss my long walks in the morning and hours spent in the periodical room at the library.
6) Freedom Calls. I want to go fishing or to the casino whenever I please. If I feel like sleeping late or staying up late, that's what I want to do. I want to have time to read the paper in the morning - not just the Op-ed page.
7) I am weary of showering and shaving every day. And getting a haircut every month and wearing laundered shirts and clean pressed trousers every day and wearing dress shoes. I want to go back to my Rockports and Dockers and tee shirts. Ponytail, beard, earings and....New tattoos! It is only a few more weeks until Spring.
8) I want to return to my old schedule, where I shop and do errands in the middle of the week when there is no traffic, and then do something interesting on weekends when the rest of the workd is jamming the local streets trying to get errands done.
9) Hardly any of my friends have jobs. Certainly none who are my age or older.
10) I have in my hand a potentially winning lottery ticket worth 23 million. Stay tuned. Drawing at 11pm.
But just for the record, to apprise those newcomers who are too intelligent to dig back into history, let me summarize the top ten reasons why I would rather be home - staring out the window wondering how I am going to exterminate those pesky tomato eating squirrels this year - rather than schlepping my big retirement age ass 30 miles down the highway and back at rush hour every day.
Top ten reasons to be cheerful that my gig is over:
1) Did I mention that I hate being on the highway at drive time? Fellow commuters in their big scary SUVs and Truckers in their very big and scary 18 wheelers crawling up your rear bumper because you are only going ten miles over the speed limit. (Makes you want to just jam on your brakes to see what would happen) Or you get stuck for an hour in a huge traffic jam behind an accident scene all because some moron in a big SUV was tailgaiting some clueless idiot who wanted to teach the SUV a lesson by slamming on his brakes.
2) The system is among the worst I have ever seen. The users who have to work with it, hate it quite passionately. It was the wrong solution, peddled to an unwary customer. The managers who made the "buy" decision of course cannot admit that they might have bleeped up, so they blame all "problems" on the users and developers. Most of the middle managers are disappointed and pressured because they have to make things work somehow. It's fairly hopeless.
3) My shelflife is up. I am begining to smell. The three guys who interviewed me are all long gone, and on to better lives and locations. I too have lost the sense of magic and wonder that one feels at the beginning of a new project. Ok maybe I never had that sense on this job. I just feel intellectually antsy.
4) Micromanagement has robbed me of any feeling of ownership or responsibilty. I start looking at my watch just after morning coffee break. Sometimes in the afternoon I actually doze off for seconds at atime starting at some vacuous email that I have been CC'd on for some incomprehensible reason.
5) Indolence and autonomy becken. I have books waiting to be read. My Retirement portfolio needs balancing. The bedroom needs painting. Both toilets are running and wasting water. I sometimnes fall weeks behind on my blog because I am so tired at the end of the day that nothing seems worth writing about. I miss my long walks in the morning and hours spent in the periodical room at the library.
6) Freedom Calls. I want to go fishing or to the casino whenever I please. If I feel like sleeping late or staying up late, that's what I want to do. I want to have time to read the paper in the morning - not just the Op-ed page.
7) I am weary of showering and shaving every day. And getting a haircut every month and wearing laundered shirts and clean pressed trousers every day and wearing dress shoes. I want to go back to my Rockports and Dockers and tee shirts. Ponytail, beard, earings and....New tattoos! It is only a few more weeks until Spring.
8) I want to return to my old schedule, where I shop and do errands in the middle of the week when there is no traffic, and then do something interesting on weekends when the rest of the workd is jamming the local streets trying to get errands done.
9) Hardly any of my friends have jobs. Certainly none who are my age or older.
10) I have in my hand a potentially winning lottery ticket worth 23 million. Stay tuned. Drawing at 11pm.
1/10/2006
Truth Comes in Blows
In the Saul Bellow novel, "Henderson The Rain King", the protagonist, Gene Henderson, spends much of the time searching for an answer for the little, persistent voice inside his head that says I want, I want.
In one scene, he is chopping wood and a chunk of oak pops up and gives him a bloody nose.
He experiences an instant epiphany wherein the Truth is revealed to him. He declares that "Truth comes in blows".
I recently experienced a similar, painful sudden insight. I was navigating in the dark, after a late session watching college championship football. Three Dewars and two beers had clouded my usually sharp radar, and I stubbed a middle toe on the bedpost as I aimed for "my" side in the unlighted wee hours.
I do not think I was actually thinking of anything important at the time. Most likely, I was silently regretting that I had to get up and go to work at the Hellhole in just a few hours. Then, in the numbing ache of a banged-up digit, a new and wonderful perception came to me.
As you know, for most of the duration of my current gig, I have been complaining about the micromanaging project manager. I castigated him (behind his back, of course) for being a hovering, meddling annoyance. I criticized him for holding long and boring meetings while he tediously grilled someone on the conference call because he did not understand things that the rest of us found simple and comprehensible. I accused him of malfeasance for insisting on slavish attendance at those dumb and unproductive status and "planning" meetings, not letting us get to work so we could actually do our jobs. I observed that the more involved he became, the more apathetic and disengaged I (and others) became. At problem-solving sessions, he would not listen to us when we offered facts or proposed solutions. He made many bad decisions which later had to be corrected.
After a while, we just accepted the situation and let him make all the decisions and assume all the responsibility. This was his impression of management. We were getting paid the same as if we were actually accomplishing something. Why get frustrated or angry?
Sure, it was the easiest thing to do. And for the past six months I have enjoyed a pretty good gig, being well-paid and having to invest nothing other than some face time and an odious commute. But, getting back to the point of this: The Truth that came to me in a sudden flash is I should be thankful for his micromanaging.
If he had not turned me off, I'd have become invested in the project. I'd have made commitments and would have tried hard to meet them. Heck, I might have gotton interested in the challenges instead of shirking them. I might even have worked overtime instead of going in late and going home after 6 or 7 hours. And it would all have been in vain, for this is truly the worst system I have ever seen!
Thank you, Micromanager. You are my hero. If I am still there when your ulcers are better, I vow to take you out and buy you a beer.
In one scene, he is chopping wood and a chunk of oak pops up and gives him a bloody nose.
He experiences an instant epiphany wherein the Truth is revealed to him. He declares that "Truth comes in blows".
I recently experienced a similar, painful sudden insight. I was navigating in the dark, after a late session watching college championship football. Three Dewars and two beers had clouded my usually sharp radar, and I stubbed a middle toe on the bedpost as I aimed for "my" side in the unlighted wee hours.
I do not think I was actually thinking of anything important at the time. Most likely, I was silently regretting that I had to get up and go to work at the Hellhole in just a few hours. Then, in the numbing ache of a banged-up digit, a new and wonderful perception came to me.
As you know, for most of the duration of my current gig, I have been complaining about the micromanaging project manager. I castigated him (behind his back, of course) for being a hovering, meddling annoyance. I criticized him for holding long and boring meetings while he tediously grilled someone on the conference call because he did not understand things that the rest of us found simple and comprehensible. I accused him of malfeasance for insisting on slavish attendance at those dumb and unproductive status and "planning" meetings, not letting us get to work so we could actually do our jobs. I observed that the more involved he became, the more apathetic and disengaged I (and others) became. At problem-solving sessions, he would not listen to us when we offered facts or proposed solutions. He made many bad decisions which later had to be corrected.
After a while, we just accepted the situation and let him make all the decisions and assume all the responsibility. This was his impression of management. We were getting paid the same as if we were actually accomplishing something. Why get frustrated or angry?
Sure, it was the easiest thing to do. And for the past six months I have enjoyed a pretty good gig, being well-paid and having to invest nothing other than some face time and an odious commute. But, getting back to the point of this: The Truth that came to me in a sudden flash is I should be thankful for his micromanaging.
If he had not turned me off, I'd have become invested in the project. I'd have made commitments and would have tried hard to meet them. Heck, I might have gotton interested in the challenges instead of shirking them. I might even have worked overtime instead of going in late and going home after 6 or 7 hours. And it would all have been in vain, for this is truly the worst system I have ever seen!
Thank you, Micromanager. You are my hero. If I am still there when your ulcers are better, I vow to take you out and buy you a beer.
1/02/2006
January 1, 2006
Another New Year. I guess we all share a universal sense of optimism when a new year rolls around. Even those jaded cynics among us who (perhaps like me) who have begun so many New Years with a list of resolutions and the hope of peace and prosperity, and then witnessed the disolution of those hopes in the fire hose of reality.
2005 was another one of those years when the idea of World Peace seems like a childish aspiration. Threats - real and imagined - abound. China and Russia are drifting back to totalitarianism. None of our old friends likes us anymore. Perhaps Randy Newman (Let's drop the big one and see what happens) should be the next president. We need someone with a sense of humor.
We don't even like each other! The Dems are calling the Republicans liars and corrupt. The Neocons seem to have patented a new definition for patriotism which sounds to me too much like nationalism. I recall that the Nazi's came to power by focusing the people's attention on the internal and external threats and then ruthlesly punished eliminated any form of dissent or opposition. As a country, we have polarized to the extremes. There is no middle. The bell curve is now a statistical pucker when it comes to politics. Each side says "Either you are with us (and shut-up). or you are helping the enemy." Good old-fashioned comromise is out of the question. How can you find common ground with traiters, Nazis and killers of babies? Amazingly, after centuries of barbaric warfare (much of it over differences in religious beliefs), we have learned nothing. Some of us have distilled (or should I say, "dumbed-down") our political philosophy down to a few defining issues such as right to life, opposition to same sex marriage and insistence upon unquestioned allegience to a leader. Unfortunately it will take another national tragedy for the sides to come together.
But, despite the gloomy assessment for the prospects of peace, I look ahead to 2006 with a sense of renewal and optimism, just like the rest of you naive children.
Footnote: Was it just me, or did you think it was kind of a bummer seeing post-stroke Dick Clark at the annual New Years Eve festivities on TV. Is this what the rest of us have to look forward to? Can't someone tell him that it is time to get out of the spotlight? It gets worse - They announced today that Clark's successor has been named to host New Years Eve when Clark finally kicks the bucket. Was it some one with talent? Good looks? Charisma? No, some poofta from the american Idol show. Reality Central to ABC: there is a reason why none of my homies bothers to watch that phony baloney "competition."
I guess Clark just did not want to give up his Job. Like so many of us, we work our whole lives to accomplish something worthwhile and then the company replaces us with Ryan Seacrest.
2005 was another one of those years when the idea of World Peace seems like a childish aspiration. Threats - real and imagined - abound. China and Russia are drifting back to totalitarianism. None of our old friends likes us anymore. Perhaps Randy Newman (Let's drop the big one and see what happens) should be the next president. We need someone with a sense of humor.
We don't even like each other! The Dems are calling the Republicans liars and corrupt. The Neocons seem to have patented a new definition for patriotism which sounds to me too much like nationalism. I recall that the Nazi's came to power by focusing the people's attention on the internal and external threats and then ruthlesly punished eliminated any form of dissent or opposition. As a country, we have polarized to the extremes. There is no middle. The bell curve is now a statistical pucker when it comes to politics. Each side says "Either you are with us (and shut-up). or you are helping the enemy." Good old-fashioned comromise is out of the question. How can you find common ground with traiters, Nazis and killers of babies? Amazingly, after centuries of barbaric warfare (much of it over differences in religious beliefs), we have learned nothing. Some of us have distilled (or should I say, "dumbed-down") our political philosophy down to a few defining issues such as right to life, opposition to same sex marriage and insistence upon unquestioned allegience to a leader. Unfortunately it will take another national tragedy for the sides to come together.
But, despite the gloomy assessment for the prospects of peace, I look ahead to 2006 with a sense of renewal and optimism, just like the rest of you naive children.
Footnote: Was it just me, or did you think it was kind of a bummer seeing post-stroke Dick Clark at the annual New Years Eve festivities on TV. Is this what the rest of us have to look forward to? Can't someone tell him that it is time to get out of the spotlight? It gets worse - They announced today that Clark's successor has been named to host New Years Eve when Clark finally kicks the bucket. Was it some one with talent? Good looks? Charisma? No, some poofta from the american Idol show. Reality Central to ABC: there is a reason why none of my homies bothers to watch that phony baloney "competition."
I guess Clark just did not want to give up his Job. Like so many of us, we work our whole lives to accomplish something worthwhile and then the company replaces us with Ryan Seacrest.
12/30/2005
Trying Not To Offend Anyone
My PC crashed last week so I have been out of communication with the online world more than usual. I had to go down and crank up my "B" system which has no Ethernet port, so I have been condemned to the Total Hell of 56K dial-up these past few days. I reminded me why I harbor a deep hatred for pre-broadband AOL.
I have taken a few days off from work, so I have not even been able to sneak a peek at my inbox at the office. It kind of humbles you, being forced to use an archaic dial-up connection. Now I can empathize with people who live in the third world.
I trust my faithful fans have endured the holidays without undue strife or disappointment. Note that I eschew the usual seasonal greetings because I do not wish to offend anyone. It seems that this year people have become more sensitive to the assumed underlying sentiment when someone offers a general "Merry Christmas" as a greeting.
I gotta admit it: Wishing Merry Christmas to a non-Christian does seem a bit like wishing others a happy birthday when it is your birthday.
True Christians are offended if you offer a generic greeting 'Happy Holidays' because it clearly means that you hate Jesus.
You cannot win. Everyone is offended by something. So the hell with it.
I didn't even write a Holiday Newsletter this year because I didn't want to offend anyone. Some people are not as blessed as I, and reading about what a great year I had, and how wonderful and successful my children have become, well, it might make others feel envious.
That would be unseemly of me.
I have taken a few days off from work, so I have not even been able to sneak a peek at my inbox at the office. It kind of humbles you, being forced to use an archaic dial-up connection. Now I can empathize with people who live in the third world.
I trust my faithful fans have endured the holidays without undue strife or disappointment. Note that I eschew the usual seasonal greetings because I do not wish to offend anyone. It seems that this year people have become more sensitive to the assumed underlying sentiment when someone offers a general "Merry Christmas" as a greeting.
I gotta admit it: Wishing Merry Christmas to a non-Christian does seem a bit like wishing others a happy birthday when it is your birthday.
True Christians are offended if you offer a generic greeting 'Happy Holidays' because it clearly means that you hate Jesus.
You cannot win. Everyone is offended by something. So the hell with it.
I didn't even write a Holiday Newsletter this year because I didn't want to offend anyone. Some people are not as blessed as I, and reading about what a great year I had, and how wonderful and successful my children have become, well, it might make others feel envious.
That would be unseemly of me.
11/25/2005
Some times I wonder why I seem to be so out-of-sync with my culture.
The news programs on the day after thanksgiving were predictably focused on the coverage of "black Friday" which refers to the bump that retail merchants expect to get from the hordes of shoppers who cannot wait one more day to start their xmas shopping.
This year there were the usual stories about people who waited outside in the cold just to be first in line to buy an Xbox at Wal-Mart. This is when I question why someone would do that? Then I think of all the 'sheeple' you see on the evening so-called news who are perfectly willling to stand in line to get tickets to a baseball game or to watch the parrot guy sing Margaritaville for the ten-thousanth time. Well, I guess I am glad for them. After all I do believe in capitalism and the victims doen't seem to mind.
The problem for me is I am line-phobic. Those who know me will tell you that I am patient with most aspects of life. But, I hate standing in lines. My wife is just the opposite. Most people who grew up in the shadow of NYC were acclimated to lines for everything. Deli, Bus, Toilet, Gas Station, Laundry, Soup - everything. NYC people see a line and rush to get into it before you; then, they ask what the line is for. You could not get me to wait in line for Guaranteed Eternal Salvation.
One exception that I can think of: If the entire financial system collapses and the liquor stores close because money is worthless, I would stand in line to trade all my Excellence Awards and plaques for a single cup of Dewars.
I was cleaning out my "office" in the basement the other day, and was impressed by the collection of Plaques and "Certificates of Accomplishement" I had received over the years.
Most of these were meaningless "attaboy" incentives that some mouthbreathing manager thought would motivate me to work harder.
Then there were the training certificates. Talk about impressive. I had evidence that I have attended Training in Project Management, Presentation Skills, Developing Superior Negotiation Techniques, Documenting Business Rules, and Re-engineering Business Processes. I have another folder attesting to my attendance at 5 different PeopleSoft classes, several for software companies that I had long forgotten. Then there were several certificates for "seminars" that I had attended in Data Warehousing, Business Intelligence, Visual Display of Information, and similar topics. I also had stuff from Vendor User Group meetings that had been held in places like Atlanta, Orlando, SanFranciso, and (pre-deluvian) New Orleans.
It occured to me that the companies that I worked for had paid the bill for each of these "learning" venues. A quick estimate of the total cost of all this education is probably between $30-40K. In retrospect I conclude that most of this expense was a waste. Not that I failed to have a good time traveling to these fun places and getting paid attending class as opposed to working - I did find this use of my time totally worthwhile. No, the waste was for the companies that I worked for who were paying the bills. Most of the stuff we learned at these seminars and classes was ignored by our management. I recall one senior manager greeting a group of newly promoted managers as we returned from Management Training100. He said, "OK you had a nice week enjoying the Ocean view and eating gourmet food. Now forget everything they told you and let's get back to work."
I tossed all the meaningless certificates and awards in the trash, the same way you chuck yesterday's newspaper. I wonder why I saved them all this time.
The news programs on the day after thanksgiving were predictably focused on the coverage of "black Friday" which refers to the bump that retail merchants expect to get from the hordes of shoppers who cannot wait one more day to start their xmas shopping.
This year there were the usual stories about people who waited outside in the cold just to be first in line to buy an Xbox at Wal-Mart. This is when I question why someone would do that? Then I think of all the 'sheeple' you see on the evening so-called news who are perfectly willling to stand in line to get tickets to a baseball game or to watch the parrot guy sing Margaritaville for the ten-thousanth time. Well, I guess I am glad for them. After all I do believe in capitalism and the victims doen't seem to mind.
The problem for me is I am line-phobic. Those who know me will tell you that I am patient with most aspects of life. But, I hate standing in lines. My wife is just the opposite. Most people who grew up in the shadow of NYC were acclimated to lines for everything. Deli, Bus, Toilet, Gas Station, Laundry, Soup - everything. NYC people see a line and rush to get into it before you; then, they ask what the line is for. You could not get me to wait in line for Guaranteed Eternal Salvation.
One exception that I can think of: If the entire financial system collapses and the liquor stores close because money is worthless, I would stand in line to trade all my Excellence Awards and plaques for a single cup of Dewars.
I was cleaning out my "office" in the basement the other day, and was impressed by the collection of Plaques and "Certificates of Accomplishement" I had received over the years.
Most of these were meaningless "attaboy" incentives that some mouthbreathing manager thought would motivate me to work harder.
Then there were the training certificates. Talk about impressive. I had evidence that I have attended Training in Project Management, Presentation Skills, Developing Superior Negotiation Techniques, Documenting Business Rules, and Re-engineering Business Processes. I have another folder attesting to my attendance at 5 different PeopleSoft classes, several for software companies that I had long forgotten. Then there were several certificates for "seminars" that I had attended in Data Warehousing, Business Intelligence, Visual Display of Information, and similar topics. I also had stuff from Vendor User Group meetings that had been held in places like Atlanta, Orlando, SanFranciso, and (pre-deluvian) New Orleans.
It occured to me that the companies that I worked for had paid the bill for each of these "learning" venues. A quick estimate of the total cost of all this education is probably between $30-40K. In retrospect I conclude that most of this expense was a waste. Not that I failed to have a good time traveling to these fun places and getting paid attending class as opposed to working - I did find this use of my time totally worthwhile. No, the waste was for the companies that I worked for who were paying the bills. Most of the stuff we learned at these seminars and classes was ignored by our management. I recall one senior manager greeting a group of newly promoted managers as we returned from Management Training100. He said, "OK you had a nice week enjoying the Ocean view and eating gourmet food. Now forget everything they told you and let's get back to work."
I tossed all the meaningless certificates and awards in the trash, the same way you chuck yesterday's newspaper. I wonder why I saved them all this time.
11/22/2005
Bungle takes a Holiday
Life at work goes on and on. I am getting seriously burned -out working on one particular report, which has been in "User Testing" for eight weeks.
It was done when I went on vacation in September but somehow it got redesigned while I was away. Gremlins and scope creep have oozed out of thje woodwork. The PM decided to change programmers just as we were getting to the end of things.
Now if you have ever dealt with code jockeys you know that there is no more cardinal sin of stupidity than to change horses in strong current. Programmers hate any code that they are forced to maintain - especially if it was written by another. Much like writers editing someone else's dreadful prose.
It is not consoling that we have discovered at least three seious bugs in the way Oracle writes to their audit tables, and we have shone a spotlight on the malfeasence of the custom design team in creating a virtual plate of spaghetti for a database.
The PM is still micromanaging the whole affair and doing everyone's job. He is working pretty hard, but the rest of us are letting him do it, wondering when or if he will figure out how to manage people who know more than he does. It may take months, but for us - it's easy money for now.
Actually, phase 2 is not going so bad. Big difference, writing specs for a system that you know a little about, and with users who have had a few months of real experience under their belts.
I have come to the point where I actually enjoy the weekly status meetings, despite the fact that they do not accomplish anything. I keep thinking how it ties the PM up and he cannot faithfully do our all of our jobs for us while he is earnestly managing that powerpoint project document. (I never can figure out what percentage complete I am with any task until it has been done and not undone by management for at least a week.)
Have a great Holiday and thank your lucky stars if you are free of micro management.
It was done when I went on vacation in September but somehow it got redesigned while I was away. Gremlins and scope creep have oozed out of thje woodwork. The PM decided to change programmers just as we were getting to the end of things.
Now if you have ever dealt with code jockeys you know that there is no more cardinal sin of stupidity than to change horses in strong current. Programmers hate any code that they are forced to maintain - especially if it was written by another. Much like writers editing someone else's dreadful prose.
It is not consoling that we have discovered at least three seious bugs in the way Oracle writes to their audit tables, and we have shone a spotlight on the malfeasence of the custom design team in creating a virtual plate of spaghetti for a database.
The PM is still micromanaging the whole affair and doing everyone's job. He is working pretty hard, but the rest of us are letting him do it, wondering when or if he will figure out how to manage people who know more than he does. It may take months, but for us - it's easy money for now.
Actually, phase 2 is not going so bad. Big difference, writing specs for a system that you know a little about, and with users who have had a few months of real experience under their belts.
I have come to the point where I actually enjoy the weekly status meetings, despite the fact that they do not accomplish anything. I keep thinking how it ties the PM up and he cannot faithfully do our all of our jobs for us while he is earnestly managing that powerpoint project document. (I never can figure out what percentage complete I am with any task until it has been done and not undone by management for at least a week.)
Have a great Holiday and thank your lucky stars if you are free of micro management.
11/14/2005
Mid November thots
It was cold in Massachusetts last night. The last of the annuals in the garden, stems drooping and blackened by the killer frost, seem to accept their fate. We are all waiting for the inevitable snow.
As I stopped to remember the pungent smell of the marigolds and tomato vines, and recalled the harvest of beauty and fruit, suddenly, the air was filled with leaves, drifting from the elms and oaks along the back fence. Spiraling and spinning like a squall softly to the ground in the still morning air. There was not a breath of wind to knock them from their branches, and I wondered what had made them take flight. But no Crows or foraging squirrels were to be seen.
The air seemed filled with them. Crimson and gold leaves, which had held fast to the branches through the storms and winds of three seasons, now become airborne for that brief final moment before returning to the earth.
I guess it was plain old fashioned gravity pulling them from the branch tips to spiral to the ground. But, did they finally let go, or did the tree decide to let them go? Not that it mattered now. Dust to dust.
We are a lot like those leaves, hanging on to our lives and loves through rain and shine. Then one day we just let go, and then we know the answer.
As I stopped to remember the pungent smell of the marigolds and tomato vines, and recalled the harvest of beauty and fruit, suddenly, the air was filled with leaves, drifting from the elms and oaks along the back fence. Spiraling and spinning like a squall softly to the ground in the still morning air. There was not a breath of wind to knock them from their branches, and I wondered what had made them take flight. But no Crows or foraging squirrels were to be seen.
The air seemed filled with them. Crimson and gold leaves, which had held fast to the branches through the storms and winds of three seasons, now become airborne for that brief final moment before returning to the earth.
I guess it was plain old fashioned gravity pulling them from the branch tips to spiral to the ground. But, did they finally let go, or did the tree decide to let them go? Not that it mattered now. Dust to dust.
We are a lot like those leaves, hanging on to our lives and loves through rain and shine. Then one day we just let go, and then we know the answer.
11/06/2005
The Secret to Success
People keep asking me "What kind of work do you do."
Even my lovely wife and kids cannot really explain what I do for a living.
Sometimes I wish I had an easily understood job title. Cop, Firefighter, Dog Catcher - everyone knows what these people are doing. But if you tell them that you are a systems analyst, and chances are, they will nod and paste a phony smile on their face while their vacant eyes tell you everything about how little they know about systems or analysis. You might as well tell them that you are a phrenologyst or a tonsorial artist.
So here is my job description in a nutshell:
I go into the office nearly every weekday around 9:30 or so depending on weather, traffic, hangover, and mood. I go to my "cube" and turn on the thingybob. The technical term for it is Kumputa. I sit in front of the Kumputa for about half the day, writing up notes from meetings and discussions. The other half of the day is spent having discussions with people and going to meetings.
You might well ask: "What are you doing that is worth a fiddlers fart?"
Aha, it is with that type of query that you reveal your true naivetie. Let me clue you in on a big secret: Success at work is not about what you do.
Go ahead and try to refute that statement. You can't. Name anyone who you think is successful and I can show you a thousand unsuccessful people who are as-good-or-better at the same kind of work.
What made the difference was not what they did, but what people in power think they did.
And what, dear readers, makes the difference beween what you really did and what they think you did? (Audience yells: "Status Reports!" ) You are right!
The main difference between me and the smarter, more technically savvy, younger, thinner and better-looking (but lower paid) analysts on my team is one thing: I write better.
Being a great writer is a gift which I take no personal credit for. Just as others were born better-looking and smarter, I was just lucky to have been born with an uncanny ability to make molehills of modest accomplishment seem like lofty mountains of unparalleled excellence.
When other (less gifted) analysts write the notes from their meeting with Mr Bigshot, they hurredly jot: "Met with Mr. Big. Discussed new Billing system requirements." Now, seeing this on one of your minions' weekly status report might simply induce a yawn, if you noticed it at all.
But consider how a Writer documents one of the most important summit meetings ever held in this hemisphere: "In a 90 minute meeting with "Doug" Bigshot, the single most important criteria for success in this project is measuring Billing process turnaround time. With these metrics business managers can measure their progress in improving processes and making them more responsive to their customers."
See? Not only did I use a lot of (possibly meaningless) jargon and buzzwords, faithfully recorded from the horses mouth, but I also gave my boss some new phrases to add to his (or her) status report. This is the nugget of how to be successful. You quote the words of the Bigshot and treat then as if he was the authority on best practices in your field. Kachink.
So there you have it: The Answer.
Now, what was the question again?
Even my lovely wife and kids cannot really explain what I do for a living.
Sometimes I wish I had an easily understood job title. Cop, Firefighter, Dog Catcher - everyone knows what these people are doing. But if you tell them that you are a systems analyst, and chances are, they will nod and paste a phony smile on their face while their vacant eyes tell you everything about how little they know about systems or analysis. You might as well tell them that you are a phrenologyst or a tonsorial artist.
So here is my job description in a nutshell:
I go into the office nearly every weekday around 9:30 or so depending on weather, traffic, hangover, and mood. I go to my "cube" and turn on the thingybob. The technical term for it is Kumputa. I sit in front of the Kumputa for about half the day, writing up notes from meetings and discussions. The other half of the day is spent having discussions with people and going to meetings.
You might well ask: "What are you doing that is worth a fiddlers fart?"
Aha, it is with that type of query that you reveal your true naivetie. Let me clue you in on a big secret: Success at work is not about what you do.
Go ahead and try to refute that statement. You can't. Name anyone who you think is successful and I can show you a thousand unsuccessful people who are as-good-or-better at the same kind of work.
What made the difference was not what they did, but what people in power think they did.
And what, dear readers, makes the difference beween what you really did and what they think you did? (Audience yells: "Status Reports!" ) You are right!
The main difference between me and the smarter, more technically savvy, younger, thinner and better-looking (but lower paid) analysts on my team is one thing: I write better.
Being a great writer is a gift which I take no personal credit for. Just as others were born better-looking and smarter, I was just lucky to have been born with an uncanny ability to make molehills of modest accomplishment seem like lofty mountains of unparalleled excellence.
When other (less gifted) analysts write the notes from their meeting with Mr Bigshot, they hurredly jot: "Met with Mr. Big. Discussed new Billing system requirements." Now, seeing this on one of your minions' weekly status report might simply induce a yawn, if you noticed it at all.
But consider how a Writer documents one of the most important summit meetings ever held in this hemisphere: "In a 90 minute meeting with "Doug" Bigshot, the single most important criteria for success in this project is measuring Billing process turnaround time. With these metrics business managers can measure their progress in improving processes and making them more responsive to their customers."
See? Not only did I use a lot of (possibly meaningless) jargon and buzzwords, faithfully recorded from the horses mouth, but I also gave my boss some new phrases to add to his (or her) status report. This is the nugget of how to be successful. You quote the words of the Bigshot and treat then as if he was the authority on best practices in your field. Kachink.
So there you have it: The Answer.
Now, what was the question again?
10/30/2005
Survey Says...
Today we returned to Eastern Standard Time. Again, my annual reminder of the feeble thinking designers of digital time devices. How hard is it to include a < back button? Sometimes I wish reality was a VCR Tape so we could rewind it back to a time when things were less FUBAR.
Yesterday afternoon, I anwered a call from some outfit that was conducting a telephone survey. Ordinarily, as a charter member of the Do Not Call Society, I'd have growled "Not interested" and then rudely slam down the receiver on the intruding bastards. But yesterday afternoon, the weather had turned nasty, which drove me to shelter in my basement office, ( which just happens to be next to the beer refrigerator.) Consequently, I was feeling somewhat mellow when the office phone (which does not have a caller id display) rang. Curiosity got the better of me, so I picked up the phone and agreed to answer some questions. (Full disclosure requires that I admit to really having nothing better to do.)
The overall design of the survey seemed amateurish to me. There were a lot of questions that were meaningless because they wanted Yes or no answers about things that were too vague to be useful. (Do you think your local officials are doing a good job? With no follow-up or expansion). I found those types of questions to be annoying and refused to answer them. After a few minutes it was clear that the survey was really about Mitt Romney and how I (as a registered voter in Mass) thought he was doing. I told the caller that Mitt should spend more time in the Governor's Office and run for re-election to that post in 2008. I would not vote for Kerry Healy for Governor - (The Jane Swift debacle soured me on women Republicans.) There were a lot of questions about an "Educational Reform" initiative of 1993.
I refused to answer any of these questions . ( I vote against any override or plan that would force people on a fixed income to leave town. Yeah, I know I am no longer on a fixed income, but I plan to retire again in the near future). Let the rich young yuppies who are moving into those Million dollar plus houses down the street pay for the middle school renovation project - I've been paying my dues to this town for over 25 years! The survey caller wanted to know how I felt about the current economy (Positive); Employment (Plenty of Jobs); and Same sex marriage (I have no problems with it). After 15 minutes I asked how long this was going to take. She said 10 more minutes. I told her to make a note that the survety was tedious and boring. From one of my underemployment jobs as a survey caller, I know that the caller gets paid on "completes" so I advised her to get to the end quickly.
This experience re-enforced my opinion about surveys. Most are ill-designed and therefore give ambiguous results. Besides, how valuable is the opinion of a beer swigging independent who has nothing better to do with his time? I would have liked them to ask me about Iran (Major threat to our best ally in the mideast); Iraq (We need to start our own "Oil for Protection" program); the UN (Useless and worse); Syria (et's drop the Big One and see what happens); 12 mile fishing limit (Extend to 26 miles); FEMA (Sounds like a gay rights organization. Well, I'm resigned to the fact that no one really wants to hear my opinions. I cannot side with either political side - since I believe they are both corrupt.
At least I got an extra hour of sleep last night. And I am resolved to install a phone with caller id in the basement office.
Yesterday afternoon, I anwered a call from some outfit that was conducting a telephone survey. Ordinarily, as a charter member of the Do Not Call Society, I'd have growled "Not interested" and then rudely slam down the receiver on the intruding bastards. But yesterday afternoon, the weather had turned nasty, which drove me to shelter in my basement office, ( which just happens to be next to the beer refrigerator.) Consequently, I was feeling somewhat mellow when the office phone (which does not have a caller id display) rang. Curiosity got the better of me, so I picked up the phone and agreed to answer some questions. (Full disclosure requires that I admit to really having nothing better to do.)
The overall design of the survey seemed amateurish to me. There were a lot of questions that were meaningless because they wanted Yes or no answers about things that were too vague to be useful. (Do you think your local officials are doing a good job? With no follow-up or expansion). I found those types of questions to be annoying and refused to answer them. After a few minutes it was clear that the survey was really about Mitt Romney and how I (as a registered voter in Mass) thought he was doing. I told the caller that Mitt should spend more time in the Governor's Office and run for re-election to that post in 2008. I would not vote for Kerry Healy for Governor - (The Jane Swift debacle soured me on women Republicans.) There were a lot of questions about an "Educational Reform" initiative of 1993.
I refused to answer any of these questions . ( I vote against any override or plan that would force people on a fixed income to leave town. Yeah, I know I am no longer on a fixed income, but I plan to retire again in the near future). Let the rich young yuppies who are moving into those Million dollar plus houses down the street pay for the middle school renovation project - I've been paying my dues to this town for over 25 years! The survey caller wanted to know how I felt about the current economy (Positive); Employment (Plenty of Jobs); and Same sex marriage (I have no problems with it). After 15 minutes I asked how long this was going to take. She said 10 more minutes. I told her to make a note that the survety was tedious and boring. From one of my underemployment jobs as a survey caller, I know that the caller gets paid on "completes" so I advised her to get to the end quickly.
This experience re-enforced my opinion about surveys. Most are ill-designed and therefore give ambiguous results. Besides, how valuable is the opinion of a beer swigging independent who has nothing better to do with his time? I would have liked them to ask me about Iran (Major threat to our best ally in the mideast); Iraq (We need to start our own "Oil for Protection" program); the UN (Useless and worse); Syria (et's drop the Big One and see what happens); 12 mile fishing limit (Extend to 26 miles); FEMA (Sounds like a gay rights organization. Well, I'm resigned to the fact that no one really wants to hear my opinions. I cannot side with either political side - since I believe they are both corrupt.
At least I got an extra hour of sleep last night. And I am resolved to install a phone with caller id in the basement office.
10/15/2005
Murky Saturday
The weather here is Boston has been cloudy and rainy for at least two weeks straight. People tell me that this is what the weather is like in Oregon most of the time. I guess it is not surpirizing that the suicide rate in Oregon is among the highest in the country.
We are all in a foul mood. Everyone you meet is light-deprived and grumpy. I feel like going downtown and looting a big 48 inch plasma TV and spend the rest of the weekend watching Hi-def sporting events, and drinking beer.
But it is not to be. The inlaws have come to town for the gala family wedding celebration. The weather is not cooperating and our plans for some crisp Autumn leaf-peeping have been drenched. Most of the out of towners are sitting in the hotel, by the heated pool, pretending that they are in Florida. Perhaps tomorrow the rain will cease and we will at last get some light.
I was back to work this week on Tuesday. The new PM did not show-up. I found out on Wednesday that he had decided on a career change. This would have been disconcerting, in the light of other recent defections from the project team, if I were an employee who was invested in the successful outcome of this project.
This is the advantage of being a contractor: We do not take credit or blame for any outcome. We are viewed as leased lawnmowers. They bring us in for a specific purpose. Like a lawnmower, we are seen as work tools. Start it up, push it and it mows the lawn. When you are done with it, shut it off and put it in the shed.
Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining, I really like this arrangement. I get paid a lot and the works is easy. I just have to comment on it because it is a totally ineffective way to manage a work project. People are not like interchangable parts. And the "lawn" is more like safari grass than Kentuckey blue fescue. This is why nothing happens on time and under budget.
I got a call the other day from the Micromanager from phase 1. He has been asked to stay on and run the project thru the end of the year. Great, it will be nice to have some continuity, I said. But I was thinking, oh crap, here we go again.
Will this rain ever stop?
We are all in a foul mood. Everyone you meet is light-deprived and grumpy. I feel like going downtown and looting a big 48 inch plasma TV and spend the rest of the weekend watching Hi-def sporting events, and drinking beer.
But it is not to be. The inlaws have come to town for the gala family wedding celebration. The weather is not cooperating and our plans for some crisp Autumn leaf-peeping have been drenched. Most of the out of towners are sitting in the hotel, by the heated pool, pretending that they are in Florida. Perhaps tomorrow the rain will cease and we will at last get some light.
I was back to work this week on Tuesday. The new PM did not show-up. I found out on Wednesday that he had decided on a career change. This would have been disconcerting, in the light of other recent defections from the project team, if I were an employee who was invested in the successful outcome of this project.
This is the advantage of being a contractor: We do not take credit or blame for any outcome. We are viewed as leased lawnmowers. They bring us in for a specific purpose. Like a lawnmower, we are seen as work tools. Start it up, push it and it mows the lawn. When you are done with it, shut it off and put it in the shed.
Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining, I really like this arrangement. I get paid a lot and the works is easy. I just have to comment on it because it is a totally ineffective way to manage a work project. People are not like interchangable parts. And the "lawn" is more like safari grass than Kentuckey blue fescue. This is why nothing happens on time and under budget.
I got a call the other day from the Micromanager from phase 1. He has been asked to stay on and run the project thru the end of the year. Great, it will be nice to have some continuity, I said. But I was thinking, oh crap, here we go again.
Will this rain ever stop?
10/08/2005
Endings
Well, the glorious two-week hiatus from work is about over. I could not have asked for better weather. I love this time of year. It was pretty busy, catching-up on my chores, watching the White Sox kick the crap out of the Red Sox, helping the kids find a new house and helping to murder my favorite cat.
I spoke to the PM for the new project early this week and he wants me to come in for the kick-off meeting next Tuesday (Monday is Columbus Day holiday. The day we commemorate the Italian invasion of India). Columbus, that erstwhile explorer, reminds me of a lot of managers. He had the right idea - If the world is round, then sailing West would take you to the Far East. The crackers in the bedlinen turned out to be the continent of North America which he did not foresee. So we are stuck with the term "Indian" when the correct term should be "Casino Millionaire." But I digress.
Going back to work should put me back on a less chaotic schedule. I have gained 5 pounds since returning to the free life - mainly owing to the inordinate consumption of Sierra Nevada's and Dewers. And snack food. The house has been full with children and grandchildren for the past month. They are staying here temporarily while they looked for their own home. (Their offer on a place closer to the town where they are working was just accepted, so they will be here until the passing of papers next month.) We are appalled at their diet. Most of the stuff they like to eat is prepared foods, donuts, fast food products, lots of soda and take-out. The pantry is full of tempting chips and snacks. These things we had eliminated from our eating lives.
Our disapproval of their food choices are met with obstinate dismissal. They are a bad influence on my weight loss program. We are very happy that they are with us, as opposed to being in California and when they get settled in the new place it should be less chaotic. We will probably miss the constant noise that is generated by young boys when they are not napping.
We are trying to figure-out the best way to tell the grandkids about the cat, which went to the vet yesterday on the one-way trip which we have been dreading. The cat was diagnosed with renal failure four years ago. We have kept him alive and relatively happy all this time by a weekly infusion of saline solution injected with a big scary needle. But, inevitably, his system began to shut-down. He lost weight, stopped grooming; he looked miserable. We decided yesterday that he was suffering too much. I stayed in the room while the Dr. gave him a lethal overdose of happy juice. Ten seconds later he was in kitty heaven chasing a fat mouse. I admit that I felt the same way Elvis described in the song Old Shep ("I had killed the best [cat] the a boy ever knew... ")
The new Roberts supreme court is currently reviewing the right to die case in Oregon. Conservatives are uncharacteristically going in favor of Federal Authority here as opposed to States Rights. John Ashcroft did not approve of the law in Oregon and his successors are challenging the ruling which blocked Ashcroft's directive regarding prescribing drugs. This will be a nice test to see whether Roberts is a conservative flunky or a man worthy of his robes.
As a man who has admitted to assisting in the peticide of a beloved cat to end it's suffering, I think you know how I stand on this issue. In fact, I would gladly have authorized the forcible taking of John Ashcroft's kidneys if it would have kept my cat healthy.)
The grandkids haven't noticed yet that one of the cats is not among us. (It is not unusual for the cats to hide from the little boys for days on end). But one of these days one of them is going to ask. And, I suppose we will have to tell them the upsetting news: The Red Sox are losers!
I spoke to the PM for the new project early this week and he wants me to come in for the kick-off meeting next Tuesday (Monday is Columbus Day holiday. The day we commemorate the Italian invasion of India). Columbus, that erstwhile explorer, reminds me of a lot of managers. He had the right idea - If the world is round, then sailing West would take you to the Far East. The crackers in the bedlinen turned out to be the continent of North America which he did not foresee. So we are stuck with the term "Indian" when the correct term should be "Casino Millionaire." But I digress.
Going back to work should put me back on a less chaotic schedule. I have gained 5 pounds since returning to the free life - mainly owing to the inordinate consumption of Sierra Nevada's and Dewers. And snack food. The house has been full with children and grandchildren for the past month. They are staying here temporarily while they looked for their own home. (Their offer on a place closer to the town where they are working was just accepted, so they will be here until the passing of papers next month.) We are appalled at their diet. Most of the stuff they like to eat is prepared foods, donuts, fast food products, lots of soda and take-out. The pantry is full of tempting chips and snacks. These things we had eliminated from our eating lives.
Our disapproval of their food choices are met with obstinate dismissal. They are a bad influence on my weight loss program. We are very happy that they are with us, as opposed to being in California and when they get settled in the new place it should be less chaotic. We will probably miss the constant noise that is generated by young boys when they are not napping.
We are trying to figure-out the best way to tell the grandkids about the cat, which went to the vet yesterday on the one-way trip which we have been dreading. The cat was diagnosed with renal failure four years ago. We have kept him alive and relatively happy all this time by a weekly infusion of saline solution injected with a big scary needle. But, inevitably, his system began to shut-down. He lost weight, stopped grooming; he looked miserable. We decided yesterday that he was suffering too much. I stayed in the room while the Dr. gave him a lethal overdose of happy juice. Ten seconds later he was in kitty heaven chasing a fat mouse. I admit that I felt the same way Elvis described in the song Old Shep ("I had killed the best [cat] the a boy ever knew... ")
The new Roberts supreme court is currently reviewing the right to die case in Oregon. Conservatives are uncharacteristically going in favor of Federal Authority here as opposed to States Rights. John Ashcroft did not approve of the law in Oregon and his successors are challenging the ruling which blocked Ashcroft's directive regarding prescribing drugs. This will be a nice test to see whether Roberts is a conservative flunky or a man worthy of his robes.
As a man who has admitted to assisting in the peticide of a beloved cat to end it's suffering, I think you know how I stand on this issue. In fact, I would gladly have authorized the forcible taking of John Ashcroft's kidneys if it would have kept my cat healthy.)
The grandkids haven't noticed yet that one of the cats is not among us. (It is not unusual for the cats to hide from the little boys for days on end). But one of these days one of them is going to ask. And, I suppose we will have to tell them the upsetting news: The Red Sox are losers!
10/02/2005
Micromanagement 101
I get a lot of mail here at the old Hellhole asking me that age-old question: "Do you work at my company?"
The answer is blowin in the wind, my friends. The answer is blowin in the wind.
Many of you are experiencing the agony of employment under a "leadership" team composed of insecure, smart people. Being smart can be a huge liability to someone whose ambition is greater than their management skills. Strangely enough, smart people are not necessarily perceptive when it comes to human motivation. They believe that everyone is either ambitious like themselves OR they are dumb.
The best managers are not geniuses. They start out as ordinary folks who realize that you can get a lot of stuff done if you can articulate a goal and then get out of the way to let your team members do their jobs. They ask for a status report every two weeks. Their main form of questioning is "How can I help you?" instead of "How long is that gonna take?"
Good managers are organized; and they are able to show other how to be organized. (For the record, this was my biggest personal flaw as a manager. I am congenitally disorganized and like it that way.)
Good managers have a sense of urgency plus a personal style that gets others to share the desire to get things done on time. (Another failing of mine. I was born without a sense of urgency, and deadline is a word that I find annoying rather than challenging)
Good managers recognize that not everyone is motivated by the same things. Most of us are still emotionally retarded and desperately seek some evidence that someone somewhere appreciates what we are doing. However, a lot of us are perfectly happy with the anonymity of a large bureaucracy and can reamain happy malingering indefinitely while waiting for our pensions to kick-in.
I recall a quote from WWII General George S. Patton, which distills all relevent management theory in a single sentence. Patton said "Every man needs a pat on the back every now and then; some men need it high, other men need it low." He was a genius.
Unfortunately, those smart, insecure people that have risen to "leadership" positions in your company are just victims of the Peter Principle. This means that they probably got promoted from a job where they really were competent into a job where they suck. They are trapped.
In their hearts, they may suspect that they suck in the new job , but cannot accept the possibility that everyone else might share that opinion - especially those higher up in the food chain. So, they work harder. Hard work always made them successful in the past, before they got into management.
So, they become hapless workaholics. Micromanagers delude themselves into the belief that they must be the best brave to earn the title of Chief. They need to know more than everyone else. Everything that happens must be their idea. They come to assume that everyone on their team is sitting around, waiting to be told what to do next.
For those of us who are mature, competent workers, micromanagers suck all the joy and sense of accomplishment out of working. We become seduced into following the easy path of going along, letting the boss have his way without resistance. We end-up as mere followers-of-orders, eroding our own self-esteem, doing exactly what we are told, assuming no ownership, no sense of responsibility and no loyalty to the job at hand.
Eventually, most Micromanagers will burn themselves out, or - if they are lucky - smarten up before they crash and burn. However that damage they do to their organizations and subordinates echoes for a long time.
9/14/2005
Like A Box of Chocolates
One of the wags on our team has characterized the new system as "Gumped." He says that the database is like a box of chocolates because you never know what you are gonna get (when you compose an sql query).
Clearly, the architects of this database were recruited from a madhouse. Virtually none of the database design team speaks English without a pronounced accent. If you talk about business rules, they adopt an expressionless demeaner and firmly insist on telling you how the system process the data with a strong implication that you are wasting their time with your silly questions. Eventually, they give in and research your question. At least half the time they end-up changing something in the code. Hah.
I am reading a lot of copy that sings praises to Oracle for trying to consolidate all the competition by buying them. Smart move, I guess. The pundits must know.
All I know is that the Oracle ERP applications are a rat's nest of 5th normal form database design. Theoretically elegant; yet it practice - unusable. The relationships in this database are a puzzle that no one I know has solved. No one can produce an up-to-date Data model that shows how things actually work together. We actually have to reverse engineer the data to come up with a working data dictionary.
I am convinced that the whole ERP industry is nothing more than a huge lobby. They don't manufacture software, they bribe, then intimidate CIO's to get on board with these expensive systems that don't do half of what the systems they are replacing do. How do they get away with it? These young folks seem smart, but unfortunately they have never seen how efficient and usable the pre-ERP world was.
So what if I sound like an old fart. No one listened to me when I was a young fart either. No one wants to hear that the Emperor is wearing only a smile, and lordy no one wants to be the one to tell him.
Clearly, the architects of this database were recruited from a madhouse. Virtually none of the database design team speaks English without a pronounced accent. If you talk about business rules, they adopt an expressionless demeaner and firmly insist on telling you how the system process the data with a strong implication that you are wasting their time with your silly questions. Eventually, they give in and research your question. At least half the time they end-up changing something in the code. Hah.
I am reading a lot of copy that sings praises to Oracle for trying to consolidate all the competition by buying them. Smart move, I guess. The pundits must know.
All I know is that the Oracle ERP applications are a rat's nest of 5th normal form database design. Theoretically elegant; yet it practice - unusable. The relationships in this database are a puzzle that no one I know has solved. No one can produce an up-to-date Data model that shows how things actually work together. We actually have to reverse engineer the data to come up with a working data dictionary.
I am convinced that the whole ERP industry is nothing more than a huge lobby. They don't manufacture software, they bribe, then intimidate CIO's to get on board with these expensive systems that don't do half of what the systems they are replacing do. How do they get away with it? These young folks seem smart, but unfortunately they have never seen how efficient and usable the pre-ERP world was.
So what if I sound like an old fart. No one listened to me when I was a young fart either. No one wants to hear that the Emperor is wearing only a smile, and lordy no one wants to be the one to tell him.
9/07/2005
Talk About Hellholes
Our project has solidly entered the phase of the SDLC that I call "finger-pointing." This is more-or-less a sophisticated variant of musical chairs. Some poor sucker who failed to protect their nether regions from culpability with wads of CYA documentation is usually attacked at one of the daily status/issues meeting.
Here are some of the phrases that signal the advent of you being selected as the cause of all problems:
"How come this issue was not raised before?"
"When did you get in this morning?
"This is all your fault!"
Your phone rings. Caller ID reads Conference Room 3344 -where they are having a perpetual status meeting. Your boss says, "Got a minute?"
No Worries - No one is bothering me these days. Perhaps I have learned something from my tedious career in IT. My actions and intentions have all been documented and recorded in the master documentation portal. I am able to anticipate every micromanaging inquiry (or accusation) and spend the first working hour of each day documenting my status. It does not matter that progress is glacial as long as you can identify the real culprit (generally the hapless user who did not return your phone call.) My daily memoes are like a porcupine's quills, or a skunk's sphincter - the micromanaging nitpickers move on to more unprotected flesh.
The real suffering is experienced by less mature team members who think that they can actually make a difference by working harder. In their zeal to show how dedicated they are, these poor sukkas stay late, come-in early and offer to give up their weekends to "make it happen."
The good news for all of us is that it is almost over. Most of the senior IT management is resigned to the net disappointment of yet another puzzling failed opus. They have started to plan the victory celebration or perhaps they are distracted by thoughts that maybe their next gig will be successful. Most of them will be moving on to other locations and clients instead of being fired (as they would if there was any justice). It is only the micro managing ankle biters are still working 12 hours a day trying to assess which of the victims of supervisory incompetence is to blame. The client project team is either clueless or cleverly taking the stance that everything is super freaking great. Perception is reality, they say.
Sooner or later some one is going to ask a critical business question and then the sky will fall. Hard. Category five. Hey, I am just thankful that my project is not in New Orleans.
Here are some of the phrases that signal the advent of you being selected as the cause of all problems:
"How come this issue was not raised before?"
"When did you get in this morning?
"This is all your fault!"
Your phone rings. Caller ID reads Conference Room 3344 -where they are having a perpetual status meeting. Your boss says, "Got a minute?"
No Worries - No one is bothering me these days. Perhaps I have learned something from my tedious career in IT. My actions and intentions have all been documented and recorded in the master documentation portal. I am able to anticipate every micromanaging inquiry (or accusation) and spend the first working hour of each day documenting my status. It does not matter that progress is glacial as long as you can identify the real culprit (generally the hapless user who did not return your phone call.) My daily memoes are like a porcupine's quills, or a skunk's sphincter - the micromanaging nitpickers move on to more unprotected flesh.
The real suffering is experienced by less mature team members who think that they can actually make a difference by working harder. In their zeal to show how dedicated they are, these poor sukkas stay late, come-in early and offer to give up their weekends to "make it happen."
The good news for all of us is that it is almost over. Most of the senior IT management is resigned to the net disappointment of yet another puzzling failed opus. They have started to plan the victory celebration or perhaps they are distracted by thoughts that maybe their next gig will be successful. Most of them will be moving on to other locations and clients instead of being fired (as they would if there was any justice). It is only the micro managing ankle biters are still working 12 hours a day trying to assess which of the victims of supervisory incompetence is to blame. The client project team is either clueless or cleverly taking the stance that everything is super freaking great. Perception is reality, they say.
Sooner or later some one is going to ask a critical business question and then the sky will fall. Hard. Category five. Hey, I am just thankful that my project is not in New Orleans.
8/28/2005
Harvest Lessons
What the heck happened to Summer?
Just a few weeks ago we were pining for Autumn, wondering when the monotonous sweltering, muggy weather would end. Now, in the mornings there is a crisp cool breeze and the distant scent of apples and squash ripening in the fields and orchards. And the echo of a bucket of golf balls being thwacked out at the driving range.
On TV guys in football helmets and shirts are performing the exhibition thay call pre-season. Viewers call it "Where the hell is the remote?" No sane person has the time or inclination to waste watching practice games with no meaning or importance except to the purveyers of automobiles, beer and boner juice.
The tomato garden is lush with healthy greenery and pinkish promise. I pick anything that shows any signs of ripening (in my ongoing competition with the squirrels, who have such a keen taste for the ripe Jet Star tomatoes, that they will climb the vines to get the high-hanging ripe fruit.) I planted extra vines this year, to allow for the inevitable shrinkage. Still, I pick anything that is blushing and let them ripen on the counter. It only takes three days from pink to slicing in the salad, which is why you cannot get this variety in the supermarkets.
The cooler nights are nature's signal to vegetation that Winter is nigh, and so the tomatoes and the marilgolds get very busy with seed production and less busy with stem growth. Tomatoes turn red and the flowers rush to bloom. I keep the Marigolds blooming until frost by deadheading the faded blooms which encourages them to produce more flower heads.
I have been forced to hand-water the garden nearly all Summer. We are as dry as a Jack Benny Martini here. We have had virtually no useful rain for most of the Summer. The muggy weather usually generates thunderstoms, but this year, the storms have been scattered and drenching. Most of the heavy rainwater has run-off to lower ground. We have had precious few gentle soaking rainshowers in the past 3-4 months. One of the weather gals says we are 6 inches below normal. Good news for gardeners, the forecast is for rain every day next week. We need it. Gentle soaking rain, unstrained, like the quality of mercy.
I have been pretty busy lately. Apologies to those of you who count upon this journal to provide a perspective on your working lives. But, my own paid labors have been occupying an inordinate amount of my time. You understand.
In the next entry I shall bring you up to date with the current hellhole project and the unpredictable events that occure, like lightning and thunder, not out of the blue, but out of the gray.
Just a few weeks ago we were pining for Autumn, wondering when the monotonous sweltering, muggy weather would end. Now, in the mornings there is a crisp cool breeze and the distant scent of apples and squash ripening in the fields and orchards. And the echo of a bucket of golf balls being thwacked out at the driving range.
On TV guys in football helmets and shirts are performing the exhibition thay call pre-season. Viewers call it "Where the hell is the remote?" No sane person has the time or inclination to waste watching practice games with no meaning or importance except to the purveyers of automobiles, beer and boner juice.
The tomato garden is lush with healthy greenery and pinkish promise. I pick anything that shows any signs of ripening (in my ongoing competition with the squirrels, who have such a keen taste for the ripe Jet Star tomatoes, that they will climb the vines to get the high-hanging ripe fruit.) I planted extra vines this year, to allow for the inevitable shrinkage. Still, I pick anything that is blushing and let them ripen on the counter. It only takes three days from pink to slicing in the salad, which is why you cannot get this variety in the supermarkets.
The cooler nights are nature's signal to vegetation that Winter is nigh, and so the tomatoes and the marilgolds get very busy with seed production and less busy with stem growth. Tomatoes turn red and the flowers rush to bloom. I keep the Marigolds blooming until frost by deadheading the faded blooms which encourages them to produce more flower heads.
I have been forced to hand-water the garden nearly all Summer. We are as dry as a Jack Benny Martini here. We have had virtually no useful rain for most of the Summer. The muggy weather usually generates thunderstoms, but this year, the storms have been scattered and drenching. Most of the heavy rainwater has run-off to lower ground. We have had precious few gentle soaking rainshowers in the past 3-4 months. One of the weather gals says we are 6 inches below normal. Good news for gardeners, the forecast is for rain every day next week. We need it. Gentle soaking rain, unstrained, like the quality of mercy.
I have been pretty busy lately. Apologies to those of you who count upon this journal to provide a perspective on your working lives. But, my own paid labors have been occupying an inordinate amount of my time. You understand.
In the next entry I shall bring you up to date with the current hellhole project and the unpredictable events that occure, like lightning and thunder, not out of the blue, but out of the gray.
8/11/2005
What goes up comes around
While most people were hoping to see another spectacular video clip of disintegrating astronauts, I was glad to see them get back safely. Thanks to our crack news organizations, the possibility of disaster was explored, in depth, live and in color by vitually all the news media except those devoted to the riviting coverage of a missing white girl in Aruba.
In the end it seems like the billions spent for this ten day ride are a success. Strangely enough that is how my current project is being hailed.
What, you ask, the famous fubar project from hell? A success, you say?
Yes, that is what I said. Moreover, we had a wine and cheese party to celebrate it. I went, of course. Pappy told me "Son, if someone offers you free food and drink don't spoil the party by not showing up." This has been the guiding strategy of my entire career.
And there is a hint of a bigger more lavish celebration in the works. You can imagine that I felt like some one who has accidentilly stumbled into The Mad Hatter's tea party. The users were smiling and drinking heavily. No one talked about "The Emperor's New Clothes" nor did I hear any references to Titanic or other disaster metaphors.
It sounded like everyone was happy about the new implementation. No mention of the unix os running out of process agents. Or views that taking two hours of running time. Some of the actual operational users were screaming about how the system was interfering with their productivity. These cretins were not present at the party - perhaps they were still catching up on their work. Whatever. None of us who were there, sucking down the free food and drinks, really wanted those nattering naybobs ruining the positive aura that had been so carefully architected.
I decided that my previous judgements were in error. This truly was the best project implementation ever! It was in a flash of insight that I realized how faulty my definition of success had beem in the past. I had thought that there must be an absolute measure of success.
But the scales dropped from my eyes.
I now saw that success is nothing more than the shared perception of the people with the budget to throw celebration parties. I can live with that.
In the end it seems like the billions spent for this ten day ride are a success. Strangely enough that is how my current project is being hailed.
What, you ask, the famous fubar project from hell? A success, you say?
Yes, that is what I said. Moreover, we had a wine and cheese party to celebrate it. I went, of course. Pappy told me "Son, if someone offers you free food and drink don't spoil the party by not showing up." This has been the guiding strategy of my entire career.
And there is a hint of a bigger more lavish celebration in the works. You can imagine that I felt like some one who has accidentilly stumbled into The Mad Hatter's tea party. The users were smiling and drinking heavily. No one talked about "The Emperor's New Clothes" nor did I hear any references to Titanic or other disaster metaphors.
It sounded like everyone was happy about the new implementation. No mention of the unix os running out of process agents. Or views that taking two hours of running time. Some of the actual operational users were screaming about how the system was interfering with their productivity. These cretins were not present at the party - perhaps they were still catching up on their work. Whatever. None of us who were there, sucking down the free food and drinks, really wanted those nattering naybobs ruining the positive aura that had been so carefully architected.
I decided that my previous judgements were in error. This truly was the best project implementation ever! It was in a flash of insight that I realized how faulty my definition of success had beem in the past. I had thought that there must be an absolute measure of success.
But the scales dropped from my eyes.
I now saw that success is nothing more than the shared perception of the people with the budget to throw celebration parties. I can live with that.
7/26/2005
Airborne
I have to tell you that I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard that the Discovery launch went smoothly. Whenever I talk about my project I have been using disaster metaphors .
Titanic was once my favorite because you could talk about management re-arranging deck chairs, while icy ocean poured into the gaping holes in the hull of the ship..
Then it was Challenger - the doomed space launch where the Managers got everyone focused on Launch and not enough people focused on Stay-in-the-air.
So it was good to think that a project did not necessarily have to be doomed. I was beginning to wonder...
Things are going well at the current hellhole - for me at least. By the way, did I mention that this outfit has not been recognized as one of the 100 best places to work in America? Yah, they barely missed getting on the list - probably because of the physical and emotional abuse which the Managers call "Leadership."
The onus is on the venerable development group to put some lipstick on this pig and try to fool the users with blinking message boxes and quixotic error messages. It will probably work, since the users are dolts of the first order. Otherwise they would have yanked the feeding tube on this pigarama years ago. By the way, remember the old Business School saw about teaching a pig to sing? I heard a new one the other day that resonates: "Do not wrestle with a pig. You will get covered in shit; and the pig Likes it."
Titanic was once my favorite because you could talk about management re-arranging deck chairs, while icy ocean poured into the gaping holes in the hull of the ship..
Then it was Challenger - the doomed space launch where the Managers got everyone focused on Launch and not enough people focused on Stay-in-the-air.
So it was good to think that a project did not necessarily have to be doomed. I was beginning to wonder...
Things are going well at the current hellhole - for me at least. By the way, did I mention that this outfit has not been recognized as one of the 100 best places to work in America? Yah, they barely missed getting on the list - probably because of the physical and emotional abuse which the Managers call "Leadership."
The onus is on the venerable development group to put some lipstick on this pig and try to fool the users with blinking message boxes and quixotic error messages. It will probably work, since the users are dolts of the first order. Otherwise they would have yanked the feeding tube on this pigarama years ago. By the way, remember the old Business School saw about teaching a pig to sing? I heard a new one the other day that resonates: "Do not wrestle with a pig. You will get covered in shit; and the pig Likes it."
7/18/2005
How to tell if your Project is FUBAR
Many readers write to the HH mailbag asking how to tell when the project you are working on is FUBAR. We at the Hellhole Center for Project Recognition have done some pretty f-ing amazing research. We looked at some notes we had copied a few years ago and came up with this list.
1. The database is either PeopleSoft or Oracle.
1. The database is either PeopleSoft or Oracle.
2. The green-card DBA's keep looking at you like you are some senile old bastard who doesn't get database structure.
3. Your Blog begins to hint that the project may be headed for a big granite wall called reality.
4. The users agree with everything you say, but you can tell that they are hiding something important.
5. There is a wine and cheese party scheduled for the week after "go Live".
6. The Project leadership hires a new analyst nine (9) work days before "Go Live" to replace the Analyst nwho started 3 weeks after you and then quit, citing "too much chaos." The replacement was supposed to start this morning, but called in with "car trouble."
7 There were two (false) fire alarms pulled in the building today. (No, it was not me)
8. Micro-Management complains that team members do not escalate issues soon enough. When you raise an issue that seems like a management concern, they call for marathon meetings to assess who knew what and when did they know it. You are eventually scolded for not raising the issue last year - even though you only started 2 months ago.
9. You personally could give a fiddlers fart whether the project succeeds or not. You have no ego-involvement in the outcome. (The weekly paychecks have cleared amiably.) The work is interesting even though the project has as much chance at success as a band of nude gay jugglers in Pakistan.
10. Everyone you need to talk to is on vacation, or too busy to talk to you. You find yourself documenting every elevator conversation and phone call, just in case you need to show how busy you have been.
11. You longingly remember how nice the garden looked before you went back to this dumb job.
7/07/2005
Get the succa off the ground
OK. Some of you have guessed it . I have found yet another Hellhole to add to my resume. Sometimes I wonder: are they all hellholes? Is there any successful organization that is run by smart leaders implementing intelligent policies? Is there any enterprise anywhere that is not characterized by the military acronym FUBAR*?
I certainly have not met such a place if there is one.
This time, however, it is different for me. In the old days, when I was an employee, I was what they call invested in the success of my organization. The more invested I was, the more unbearable it was to work for an outfit where the ego-centric bloviation from upper management hung in the air like acrid cordite just after a July 4th fireworks finale.
Nowadays, I just shake my head and think about how glad I am to be getting paid for half of what I would be accomplishing if I was not being micromanaged or being constantly harangued about status.
Today, I was told by said MM that he needed to go to a daily status report on status to some status review committee every morning until go live. Was anything new? I had to chuckle (to myself)
"You had a status meeting yesterday at 4pm."
"Yes, So have you got any updates?"
"Yeah, I had a great bowel movement today, and three cups of coffee."
"Haven't you got something I can tell the committee?"
"Yes, Tell them we are doomed."
"Cut the crap, I need some progress!"
"OK" I gave in and told him what I was working on. Finally he left - looking harried and frightened.
How come there are so few workers and so many management types? They outnumber us. It would not be so bad if they would just leave you alone, and take credit for your work, but they are so out of touch that they would schedule all day meetings to determine if anything is slipping through the cracks. They definitely are not planning to take blame for your failure. They are very good at the CYA game. That is why you are not one of them.
Status meetings are a "must attend" priority. No thought is given to the fact that the thing that is slipping is real work. And it isn't a crack, it is a chasm which was created by management keeping people locked-up in meetings instead of letting them get the work done.
I am reminded of what it must have been like to be on the launch team just before the doomed Challenger space shuttle launch. No one wanted to tell the Launch manager about the O-ring flaw.
Everyone was focused on launch. No one on the launch team had the job of keeping it in the air.
I certainly have not met such a place if there is one.
This time, however, it is different for me. In the old days, when I was an employee, I was what they call invested in the success of my organization. The more invested I was, the more unbearable it was to work for an outfit where the ego-centric bloviation from upper management hung in the air like acrid cordite just after a July 4th fireworks finale.
Nowadays, I just shake my head and think about how glad I am to be getting paid for half of what I would be accomplishing if I was not being micromanaged or being constantly harangued about status.
Today, I was told by said MM that he needed to go to a daily status report on status to some status review committee every morning until go live. Was anything new? I had to chuckle (to myself)
"You had a status meeting yesterday at 4pm."
"Yes, So have you got any updates?"
"Yeah, I had a great bowel movement today, and three cups of coffee."
"Haven't you got something I can tell the committee?"
"Yes, Tell them we are doomed."
"Cut the crap, I need some progress!"
"OK" I gave in and told him what I was working on. Finally he left - looking harried and frightened.
How come there are so few workers and so many management types? They outnumber us. It would not be so bad if they would just leave you alone, and take credit for your work, but they are so out of touch that they would schedule all day meetings to determine if anything is slipping through the cracks. They definitely are not planning to take blame for your failure. They are very good at the CYA game. That is why you are not one of them.
Status meetings are a "must attend" priority. No thought is given to the fact that the thing that is slipping is real work. And it isn't a crack, it is a chasm which was created by management keeping people locked-up in meetings instead of letting them get the work done.
I am reminded of what it must have been like to be on the launch team just before the doomed Challenger space shuttle launch. No one wanted to tell the Launch manager about the O-ring flaw.
Everyone was focused on launch. No one on the launch team had the job of keeping it in the air.
6/30/2005
HHU Exams
A lot of fans have been writing to the Hellhole mailbox asking to know how they can identify when their own workplace is a hellhole or how they can identify the signs of an impending hellhole. As usual, I have figured all this stuff out and have devised a nifty test to assist my loyal hellhole readers and others who may crave guidance.
The answers are Multiple Choice
Q: How can you tell that you work at a Hellhole?
1) At Lunch, you say to your coworkers, "This is an interesting project." They look at each other knowingly and start to laugh, like you are the most naïve shit who ever showed up at this fucked-up organization.
2) Within a few weeks of starting work, your boss's boss calls you confidentially to offer you your boss's job. He is looking for a micromanager to be more of a hardass with the other team members; you decline, citing your incompetence as a supervisor, but privately you wonder why he just will not get out of the way and let the guys do their jobs.
3) At meetings, you hear Management types talk about people as if they were lawnmowers. Start em up and start cutting the grass. Cripes, How hard can iot be o develop a working business application on the web?
4) None of the smart babes wear make-up, because they know this intimidates men. (Or maybe they are lesbians. Who can tell?)
5) All the green card contractors call you "Sir." Even though you insist that you are lowly pond scum, just like they are.
6) The commute typically robs between 1 and 2 hours of your day (and life) roundtrip. Not to mention the gas. Plus the costs of automotive fuel. :)
3) The deadline for "go-live" is less than 30 days away and management is occupying important conference room space in heavy-duty meetings devising a project plan.
7) Your management hierarchy becomes very visible as they attend every piddling issue meeting but spend most of the time in the hall on their cell phone just outside of the conference room ensuring that you cannot escape. Their message: How can I help you? Why can't you handle it? Faster,
8) The meetings become so intense that there is not time to take a lunch break, so you have to grab a sandwich and eat it during the meeting and go to the bathroom only if you must.
9) You cannot help thinking about the Challenger Disaster where the only goal for the project team was launch. (The successful return of the crew was another team's responsibility. ) You probably thought that everyone knew this was a bad way to manage projects that could be unstable after they "get off the ground".
10) You start having those Titanic dreams again.
11) All of the above.
Ok Turn in your Blue Books Now
The answers are Multiple Choice
Q: How can you tell that you work at a Hellhole?
1) At Lunch, you say to your coworkers, "This is an interesting project." They look at each other knowingly and start to laugh, like you are the most naïve shit who ever showed up at this fucked-up organization.
2) Within a few weeks of starting work, your boss's boss calls you confidentially to offer you your boss's job. He is looking for a micromanager to be more of a hardass with the other team members; you decline, citing your incompetence as a supervisor, but privately you wonder why he just will not get out of the way and let the guys do their jobs.
3) At meetings, you hear Management types talk about people as if they were lawnmowers. Start em up and start cutting the grass. Cripes, How hard can iot be o develop a working business application on the web?
4) None of the smart babes wear make-up, because they know this intimidates men. (Or maybe they are lesbians. Who can tell?)
5) All the green card contractors call you "Sir." Even though you insist that you are lowly pond scum, just like they are.
6) The commute typically robs between 1 and 2 hours of your day (and life) roundtrip. Not to mention the gas. Plus the costs of automotive fuel. :)
3) The deadline for "go-live" is less than 30 days away and management is occupying important conference room space in heavy-duty meetings devising a project plan.
7) Your management hierarchy becomes very visible as they attend every piddling issue meeting but spend most of the time in the hall on their cell phone just outside of the conference room ensuring that you cannot escape. Their message: How can I help you? Why can't you handle it? Faster,
8) The meetings become so intense that there is not time to take a lunch break, so you have to grab a sandwich and eat it during the meeting and go to the bathroom only if you must.
9) You cannot help thinking about the Challenger Disaster where the only goal for the project team was launch. (The successful return of the crew was another team's responsibility. ) You probably thought that everyone knew this was a bad way to manage projects that could be unstable after they "get off the ground".
10) You start having those Titanic dreams again.
11) All of the above.
Ok Turn in your Blue Books Now
6/26/2005
Heat Wave
I am beginning to realize why there is so much social unrest in hot climates. The heat and humidity gnaws at your equanimity. After a few days of unremitting 90 degree temperatures during the days and nights of sleep depriving discomfort, the usual insulating layer of patience and understanding is worn away, exposing a raw irritated nub of anger which spews out in all directions. This is why places like Haiti and Iran, Florida and Mexico are dysfunctional - especially in the summer.
I have taken to getting up before 6am and getting all my activities in while the air is still relatively cool. Then like an ant, at mid-day, I withdraw to the coolest corners of the nest to nap or read. I don't write much anymore. In fact if it was not for updates to this blog, my writing output would be nil.
I guess I have given up the fantasy that some day my extraordiary talents would be discovered by some rich editorial syndicate and that I would become the next Andy Rooney or Dave Barry. No, this is not to be. And I am ok with that. Fame is a sharp two-edged sword. I had enough celebrity back in the 90's when I was writing small vignettes for the local newspaper on a regular basis as a "Guest Columnist". People seemed to like my light humorous pieces lampooning the foibles of my fellow citizens. People would stop me in the supermarket to express agreement with a pithy point I had made. They would print almost anything I submitted, virtually un-edited. But when I suggested that I would be more prolific if I was getting Paid, they were decidedly uninterested in such an arrangement. I eventually decided to stop writing for free and went back to work as a systems analyst - which no one would expect you to do and not get charged for your time.
I am less than a week away from my 63rd birthday. ( Please, no presents - I already have pretty much everything I want or need that costs less than $10,000. ) I only mention it because my age has a lot to do with the attenuation of my writing ambitions these days.
My father died when he was age 65. None of his four brothers made it to their 66th year either. So, you can imagine that I have lived most of my life, thinking that men in my family die at around age 65 - except for the ones who got hanged for stealing horses.
Now that I am approaching that age, I am trying hard to revise my fatalistic thinking. Several males of my generation (older cousins) have successfully reached the 70 year mark in relatively good health. ( although full disclosure requires that I mention that cousin Barry suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack at 65 a few years ago.)
All my life, I have had a feeling that I was charmed in some way. You know, I was meant for something big and important. Call it ego or hubris, you are probably right. The point is that I have passed a lot of time (and Gas!) waiting for something to happen. Not making things happen. I always thought that if there was a Creator then he probably had some special purpose for me. Now, after six decades, I have concluded that if there is a Creator then he must like assholes, because he sure made a lot of them.
My goals for the rest of this life is not to be included in that count.
I have taken to getting up before 6am and getting all my activities in while the air is still relatively cool. Then like an ant, at mid-day, I withdraw to the coolest corners of the nest to nap or read. I don't write much anymore. In fact if it was not for updates to this blog, my writing output would be nil.
I guess I have given up the fantasy that some day my extraordiary talents would be discovered by some rich editorial syndicate and that I would become the next Andy Rooney or Dave Barry. No, this is not to be. And I am ok with that. Fame is a sharp two-edged sword. I had enough celebrity back in the 90's when I was writing small vignettes for the local newspaper on a regular basis as a "Guest Columnist". People seemed to like my light humorous pieces lampooning the foibles of my fellow citizens. People would stop me in the supermarket to express agreement with a pithy point I had made. They would print almost anything I submitted, virtually un-edited. But when I suggested that I would be more prolific if I was getting Paid, they were decidedly uninterested in such an arrangement. I eventually decided to stop writing for free and went back to work as a systems analyst - which no one would expect you to do and not get charged for your time.
I am less than a week away from my 63rd birthday. ( Please, no presents - I already have pretty much everything I want or need that costs less than $10,000. ) I only mention it because my age has a lot to do with the attenuation of my writing ambitions these days.
My father died when he was age 65. None of his four brothers made it to their 66th year either. So, you can imagine that I have lived most of my life, thinking that men in my family die at around age 65 - except for the ones who got hanged for stealing horses.
Now that I am approaching that age, I am trying hard to revise my fatalistic thinking. Several males of my generation (older cousins) have successfully reached the 70 year mark in relatively good health. ( although full disclosure requires that I mention that cousin Barry suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack at 65 a few years ago.)
All my life, I have had a feeling that I was charmed in some way. You know, I was meant for something big and important. Call it ego or hubris, you are probably right. The point is that I have passed a lot of time (and Gas!) waiting for something to happen. Not making things happen. I always thought that if there was a Creator then he probably had some special purpose for me. Now, after six decades, I have concluded that if there is a Creator then he must like assholes, because he sure made a lot of them.
My goals for the rest of this life is not to be included in that count.
6/16/2005
The Commute must be getting to me
As I have mentioned - however briefly - the worst thing about going back to a full-time gig is the commute. I am way beyond my comfort zone, driving 20 miles twice a day, It would be OK if I could count on a half-hour or less in traffic. But, it typically takes 45 to 60 minutes. depending on the density of the traffic for me to make the trek home? . It can be maddening.
So I have started passing the time by thinking about important issues:
What would I do if I was diagnosed with ALS?
What if I won $200 Million in the megabucks lottery.
What ever happened to Gary Larson - the Far side guy?
Tonight as I was dirving home I started wondering what preceded tha big bang. I mean what was it like? And why did it go Bang? I am unencumbered by a rigorous scientific education, so it is very easy for me to dismiss the Big Bang theory as pure unproven speculation. Scienctific explanatoin has been off-the-mark for most of the entirety of history of science, so we need not fret too much if we find a theory far-fetched. The future will prove current scientific prounouncements the same way we denigrate the superstitions and beliefs of primitive cultures.
So, What os on the other side of the end of the unverse? Huh?
So I have started passing the time by thinking about important issues:
What would I do if I was diagnosed with ALS?
What if I won $200 Million in the megabucks lottery.
What ever happened to Gary Larson - the Far side guy?
Tonight as I was dirving home I started wondering what preceded tha big bang. I mean what was it like? And why did it go Bang? I am unencumbered by a rigorous scientific education, so it is very easy for me to dismiss the Big Bang theory as pure unproven speculation. Scienctific explanatoin has been off-the-mark for most of the entirety of history of science, so we need not fret too much if we find a theory far-fetched. The future will prove current scientific prounouncements the same way we denigrate the superstitions and beliefs of primitive cultures.
So, What os on the other side of the end of the unverse? Huh?
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