I moved into a new office yesterday. The office itself is actually much nicer, it's in a quieter location, and it's got a little more cache than the old one.
Unfortunately, the woman who moved into the office directly adjacent to mine is a ghastly posterchild for Bring Your Gun To Work Day. Firstly, her perfume reeks. It's so bad that I assume she's marinating potpourri in turpentine for a few days, then bathing in it each morning. The whole suite of offices smells like a goddamn whore house, and she's only been here one day. There's about six offices here joined to a main atrium, and when you walk into the central room, it smells faintly of urine; or maybe a wild animal in full rut.
As if that's not enough, she's in her office right now singing. Okay, I don't give a shit if your Mariah fucking Carey; don't sing at the office. Who the hell behaves like that? She's a total hack too. I can't even recognize the song she's singing. It sounds like vocal Muzak, and that's before she starts faintly wailing along with the melody. Her voice reminds me of a violin being played with a hack saw.
Topping it all off is her ridiculous personality. A full-on Obnoxious Yankee, Jersey variety, early baby-boomer vintage. You know, the guttural raspy tone, weird giant jewlery (giant bracelets clanging around her wrists, giant earings weighing on her sagging giant ear lobes, giant teeth jutting out of her giant lower jaw - wait. That's not jewlery is it? Anyways, back at the ranch...), and one of those laughs that makes you want to punch a baby. Good Lord, how I would love to punch a baby right now.
The upside to all this, is that she's retiring in five or six weeks and they're already recruiting for her position. I can only hope that Fate and Irony will not collaborate against me, and find a replacement that's even worse. I mean, the only way to insure my sanity is to weasel my way into the interview process. At least then I can attempt to control who will be invading my space on a regular basis.
Is it just me, or does this song not make you damn near cry every time you hear it. I know nothing about this Cactus Cuties thing (it sounds really suspiciously dirty, if you ask my old perverted ass); but they sing it so nice.
I'd embed, but the embedable version just isn't as good as this one.
It doesn't matter if I'm standing on the field waiting to play, standing in the stands (or at home) waiting to watch a game, or just plain old hearing it at a ceremony - this song brings tears to my eyes. I think of my parents and grand parents and great grand parents; and the sacrifices and lives they lead and friends they lost so that I could (at the very least) have this song grace my ears. On a regular beautiful basis, mind you.
Pleasepleaseplease feel free to post links in the comments to other great renditions.
Via the Don Instapundit, the blogfather himself; a posthumous post from one of our men who died in Iraq recently defending freedom.
I put the post in the extended entry below, just because The Wife and I read it together and found it so moving that we had to do something to preserve it for posterity's sake; but if you don't follow the link, you'll be missing out on the links to Olmsted's own milblog.
No political commentary here please, in respect of Olmsted's wishes.
I work as an RN in a busy Emergency Room. One night recently I had an odd little man in one of my rooms. He had been retching for the last 2 hours in the waiting room and was continuing his gastric emptying. The catch is this-I walked by when he wasn't aware I was there and I see him with his fingers down his throat making himself puke. I don't know about you all, but I don't particularly care for the bulimia lifestyle-my stomach contents need to stay put.
Shortly after witnessing this, I was called into a trauma and when I returned the man had finally quit with the puking. I went into the room and began to check his vital signs again and get his story. Somewhere in his long story about smoking since he was 9 years old (now in his mid 40's) and his current ailments he shows me a sore on his arm. The conversation, pretty much verbatim was this:
"A dang 'ole spawder bit mee. I jest laynced et wif mah knife to git da poison out. Then ah leet mah dawg lick it."
(trying not to let my disgust and dinner be visible)
"Huh, interesting. Why did you decide to do that?"
"Weel, dawgs mouts is cleener dan humans."
"That may be sir, but all the same, I'd use peroxide next time."
The Wife, RN: "...and that's okay, because I know I get on your nerves too sometimes."
shank: "Sweetheart, you never get on my nerves."
The Wife, RN: "You lying cuntass fucktard."
shank: "I love you too dear."
~ ~
(Dancing to romantic music)
shank: "Hey, it's going to be okay. Why are you crying? We're going to have kids and they're going to be fine!"
The Wife, RN (crying): "But what if our kid has an imperforate asshole?"
shank (falls over, laughing hysterically): "A what?" (choking laugher) "Wouldn't that be a blessing, considering his gaseous lineage!?"
So, for the second time in approximately a week, I almost burned the house down. And once again, it happened while I was left at home unsupervised. Well, Dad was there, but he's about as much help in the kitchen as a Yugo at a tractor pull.
The Wife was finishing her day shift down at the bar, and the old man and I were at the house preparing the compulsory Super Bowl fare: homemade potato chips, black bean salsa, and Buffalo wings. The Wife was born and raised in Buffalo, so the wings (and football) are a pretty big deal around here. Dad worked on the salsa while I deep fried the thinly sliced potatoes. We were moving along at a pretty good clip for a spaz and a kitchen-illiterate widower, so I decided to start the wings. I mean, I figured The Wife would think it considerate of me that I went ahead and started the wings, instead of waiting for her to get home from work and do it. I'd seen her do it countless times before, and had gotten a general recipe from her over the phone; so I figured I was all set. So the old man finished the salsa and went to watch the beginning of the game while I took care of the wings.
I let the fryer heat back up, and when ready, I plopped about ten wings into it. The damn thing promptly started foaming and spitting like a jungle cat. Within a second or two, the sound was deafening and boiling oil was flowing steadily out of the kettle, all over the counter, and onto the floor. "Dad. Dad! DAD I NEED SOME HELP!" Luckily, deep friers are made with morons in mind; and come equipped with magnetic power cords that can be unplugged easily. I snatched the cord out of the socket, and the crackling died down considerably. We both kind of stood there, absorbing the absolute mess. It took us most of a half hour to clean the oil off of everything.
Upon returning home and hearing our tale, The Wife gave me a frightened look. "Can you imagine what this place is going to be like when we have kids? Should we even have kids at all!?"
"Well, yeah we should have kids. I mean, I don't think I could bear telling people we had to hire a babysitter just for me!"
When I say this story is true, I'm saying it's true. Not only factually true, but universally true. Sometimes you have to make decisions immediately. Sometimes you make good ones, and sometimes you burn the living room carpet. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Awww yeah, bitches. Y'all remember the drunken movie reivew! Today's installment - V For Vendetta
What can I say? Natalie Portman as Yentle. Hottest damn bald chick since Sigourney Weaver in Aliens.
And talk about your kick-ass leads. 'V' has it all going on - bitchin' karate moves, Keeanuesque attire noir, and a Guy Fawkes mask.
Which reminds me - Guy Fawkes - what the fuck's up with that? A guy (pun intented) tries to overthrow the British government, gets caught, executed, and they make a holiday for him. Where's our Benedict Arnold holiday? Dammit, this has to be rectified! They're already 15 to 20 holidays ahead of us!
Why can't we have Boxing day? We've had more world champion boxers than the damned poms anyway!
Where the hell was I?
Oh, yeah - If nothing else, this movie gave Malcolm McDowell another chance to act. It deserves props for that if nothing else.
Go rent it today. And send me a dollar if you like it.*
Project Black Widow has claimed another life. That brings the total body count to 4 and a half for managers and above. (One fellow was "lucky" enough to escape. Unfortunately the horse he rode off on turned out to be Project Widowmaker.)
This puts Black Widow way out in front of Project Lizzie Borden. Lizzie has a measly 2 so far. Then again, BW will actually be closing in the next half year. Lizzie could be morphing into a four year global implementation. That would give her plenty of time to catch up and pass the Widow.
Now don't go thinking that the only projects I handle are career killers. I just commissioned project Fluffy Green Leaves. Unfortunately, after defining the business case, it became apparent that the leaves were raw spinach from California.
In other job news I've been offered a promotion of sorts. I'd still be a project manager for all of my current projects but would also coordinate all projects for our largest internal client. More work, same pay, same title, but fantastic leverage and networking opportunities. The down side is I'd have less time for blogging.
Decisions...decisions...decisions...
In the middle of my second day of all day meetings about how to beat project Lizzie Borden into a semblance of order I received an instant message from another one of my clients.
Carol says: do you or any of your cronies know if we're moving to IPv6? it's a discussion topic in one of my classes this week.Jim says: IPv6 has been an approved standard for a decade. Nobody is going to go through the pains of implementing it until we’re all out of IP addresses. Then it will be a huge rush to implement, just like Y2K compliance was. There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Doomsayers will spin tails of woe about all electronic transactions failing and the crash of the Internet porn industry causing global financial collapse.
Jim says: Then after nothing much happens for a while the news will refocus on terrorism and the latest Gallup poll showing that 47% of registered voters really aren’t qualified to pick their noses much less a president and the whole IPv6 story will fade to its proper place as a Trivial Pursuit question.
Carol says: you're a bit cynical
Jim says: Flatterer!
Two things jumped out at me when I reread this. First, I'm the only person I know who uses capitalization and punctuation in instant messages. Second, I'm a geek of godlike proportions.
I'd spent Tuesday and Wednesday out of the office at management seminars. You know, those time honored boredom marathons that become sound more and more alike with each passing quarter.
So I got up this morning with a real fire under my ass. I was looking forward to going into my office, shutting the door, and getting some work done. No interruptions, no drop-by shootings ("Hey! Can I just have a minute of your time buddy?"), no bullshit. I'm up at seven and leaving the house at 7:15. Seriously, hair gelled, teeth brushed, the whole deal. I'm from a military family and was trained at a young age to shit, shower, and shave in five minutes or less.
I get to the commuter lot, hop out of the car and realize two things. Firstly, I'd forgotten my lunch. I pack food everyday so I have the option of eating something that's not meant to kill me from the inside out. Shit. Secondly, I've forgotten to wear a belt. Again with the shit. I decide neither item is worth driving back home for. I'll find a salad somewhere, and the slacks I wore weren't center-button; so I decided to keep truckin.
I briskly walk across the lot, jump on the bus, and check my pocket for the office keys. Shit. Nobody's going to be there this early, so if I don't have them I'm going to have to bother some security guard to key me in. I ask the two or three folks waiting in the bus to not let it leave without me. I'm speedwalking, walksprinting back to my car. Unlock, check the console...Oh, sweet Jesus the keys are there! I'm in a dead walkrun back to the bus, make it just in time; and flop down in the seat.
Whew.
Then I hear the man sitting behind me lean forward and whisper in my ear, "Hey man, your zipper's down." I fight the urge to have a fit wherein I throw my shoulderbag across the bus, emptying it's contents on several passengers; and throw random fists. Fists of fury.
"Thanks," I say to the guy. I actually mustered an honest laugh. I mean, what the hell else could I do, right?
Besides, like we don't all play a little pocket pool in rush hour traffic every once in a while. Seriously, that could be the only explanation for the way you people drive.
This is totally random, but I figured what the hey.
The Wife and I cleaned the house from top to bottom a few weekends ago. I mean, made a pile of shit to give away to goodwill and a pile of shit to throw out. You know, cleared out the garbage and used the created space to organize those things which we've actually used in the past year or so.
However, we ended up with a small pile of things that we felt would be stupid to bring to The Salvation Army, but equally stupid to just chuck in the trash. If you're interested in more details of the following objects, or seeing photos of them; just email me.
If any of the four people who read this blog actually take any of this stuff off my hands, I'll come back and update to avoid confusion. I'm not listing any prices because it's totally negotiable (and by that I mean, all the way down to $0); though I'd expect the buyer to pay shipping. Actually, there's only one item with a price tag.
With the doubling in size of our company comes a corresponding increase in the workload for those of us in the Project Management and Quality Assurance department. Fortunately we are taking measures to grow our department to meet the needs. Unfortunately that means I'm back in the interviewer seat for a large chunk of my exceptionally scarce time. As a public service to job seekers and an attempt to make my life easier, I present Jim's Rules of the Interview:
First, the resume:
1. Proof your resume. Proof it again. Hand it to your spouse / significant other / mom / nearby hobo (hobos will work for beer so it's very cheap) and have them proof it. There should be exactly zero spelling errors on your resume. When you are applying for a position with heavy documentation duties there is even less tolerance than that.2. Don't mix cases. "Proofed corporate news documentation and implemented a redaction policy" is good. "Performed systems evaluation tests and modifying active test plans" is bad.
3. I have a limited time slot to conduct the actual interview. There are questions I have to ask and questions that I want to ask. The ones I have to ask are the same as the ones every other interviewer has to ask. Answer those on the resume. Tell me why you left IBM. Tell me why you want to leave Sprint. Pull your major accomplishments and essential qualifications out and put them right at the start of your resume. Put a one-line description of what the companies you worked at actually do. Nobody except you and the other four people who work there know what "Synergy Systems, LLC" is or does.
It's true. It happened on Wednesday. I was leveraging around for a scratch and put a bit too much pressure on it. I felt it bend a bit awkwardly but didn't think anything serious had happened.
When I whipped it out yesterday morning I saw the damage. The tip was bent over at a 15% angle. I straightened it out but there must be something wonky in the area where the tip and the shaft meet. As soon as I start using it the damn thing bends over again.
This is very distressing for me. I use the hell out of it - multiple times a day, sometimes for hours at a time. I like a precision instrument. Even if I'm just messing around with it I expect it to perform perfectly. Now my aim is all off and I don't even like using it anymore.
Lovely Wife bought me some "replacement units" a while back. I can use one of those to take care of critical tasks but it's just not the same. They don't have the smooth feel of my original equipment and (not to brag) they're smaller. They don't fit very well in the receptacle either, if you get my meaning.
Speaking of original equipment, that poses some problems all by itself. I'm not saying that mine is one of a kind but I guarantee they aren't making any like it any more. Trust me, I've Googled it. (Interesting images in that search, by the way.) I've been sending messages to the creator to see if there's any way to get mine repaired or replaced with equivalent equipment but I never got an answer back.
So, anybody know where I can get a replacement stylus for a Dell Axim 4 PDA?
To celebrate the new year my company bought itself a large travel company in the UK and a larger one in Germany, catapulting us from the second largest business travel company in the USA to the third largest in the world.
As you might expect the workload for Enterprise Technology in general, and the Project Management / Quality Assurance group in particular, has not decreased. In fact, you would not be incorrect if you guessed that our workload has increased substantially. It's one of the reasons I haven't been posting a whole lot. Where I used to get up bright and early, read a bit, write a bit, shit, shower and shave, I am now catching up on emails and project statuses, shitting, showering and shaving. I've tried to eliminate one or more of the "S" class morning tasks to make room for more blogging but have had mixed results with such experimentation.
But help is on the way, and the sooner the better. We have authorization to hire a QA Manager, 2 Project Managers and a Business Analyst. Experience in the travel industry is a plus but not a grand requirement. Similarly, living in the Atlanta area is a plus (that's where HQ and our department are located) but not required. We also have departmental offices in Chicago and Kansas City (Missouri).
So, who wants a job? If you want more detail on any of these just give a holler.
Well, he would be if he was alive. Just look at the quality of this piece of juvenile art!
(Click here to see it in all its majesty.)
The part that looks like the tree trunk is exploding is water damage. Can you guess which Peacock household prodigy is the artist of this original marker masterpiece?
We'll do some points here...the point pool will be equal to the total number of players. The points in the pool will be split amongst the players who get the answer right.
Bacon also has a pig. It's name is Blanket (Named as such because it was under a blanket when I asked Bacon what its name was. At least it's more creative than "Piggy".) and it is a plush piggy bank. It did some initial service as an actual piggy bank but was somehow defective. Any money we put in there would seep out (through osmosis we think as Bacon swore he never took a coin out of it) and get lost so we eventually stopped putting money into it. Blanket serves as one of Bacon's favored stuffed animals, along with a kennel's worth of little bean bag puppies.
Bacon: I've got a new puppy!!Lovely Wife: You do? Where did it come from?
Bacon: It's Blanket's baby. It was in her tummy and then it was born.
Me: Your pig had puppies out of wedlock?
Bacon: Just one.
Me: Alrighty then.
So we've got one son incestuously wed to his baby sister pig and another fathering bastard pig dogs. I'm just thankful we never got a pig for Bear. They're a very bad influence.
Burger has a piggy. He cherishes Piggy (Okay, not the most creative name. Give him a break, he wasn't even a year old when he named it.) and it alternately holds roles as little sister or baby. He's had it since he was a wee tot. Once it was the cutest, softest stuffed animal in the world. He loves it fiercely though and the pig has suffered over the years. Like the Velveteen Rabbit its coat is worn smooth. It has had many surgeries, once it was even brought to the School of Veterinary Science at UGA for repairs. Its coat became too thin for sutures to hold so it has many skin grafts (duct tape) as well. It is, in a word, "used".
The scene: We are driving in the van on the way to the farmer's market. Burger brought Piggy along for the ride.Burger: I married Piggy yesterday.
Lovely Wife: You married Piggy?
Burger: Yup. Yesterday.
Me: Eww. Isn't that like ... incest?
Burger: Nope. She was the princess. I was the king.
I guess it's okay then. Royalty does as royalty does and they've been marrying cousins or worse for generations. The Pharoahs married their sisters after all and, with all of those duct tape repairs, Piggy does somewhat resemble a mummy.
The Scene: Lovely Wife is typing away at her computer. Bacon comes up to her with a marker and a blank piece of paper.
Bacon: Momma, how do you spell "Everybody stay out of my room especially Burger"?
Lovely Wife: [stifles laugh] Ummm...it's "E-V-E-R-Y-B-O-D-Y S-T-A-Y O-U-T O-F M-Y R-O-O-M E-S-P-E-C-I-A-L-L-Y B-U-R-G-E-R".
Bacon: [wearing a crestfallen expression] Oh. That's a lot.
Lovely Wife: Yes, it is.
Bacon turns and walks out of the room, dispirited at the effort required to make his sign. Late the same evening Lovely Wife noticed a sign, carefully lettered and taped to Bacon's door. The resourceful lad had rethunk his requirements and reduced scope on his sign project. The completed work read:
NO BURGER!
I've been pretty quiet lately so I figured I'd pipe up and let y'all know what's current.
Monday was our seventh wedding anniversary. I took Lovely Wife to the newly opened Georgia Aquarium. Highlights included skipping the 2 hour wait for security by taking advantage of some severely harried guards, smuggling in contraband and drinking beer with lunch. No, those last two aren't related - they sell beer at the aquarium café. Unfortunately they don't sell fish there. They could make a killing if they sold some fish fry. After looking at fish for a couple of hours I was dying to eat one.
Dinner didn't work out as planned. We were out of the aquarium earlier than we expected so we went Christmas shopping. Our travels ended up putting us quite a distance from our target restaurant when the hunger finally hit. We opted for a shorter journey to a different restaurant that we'd been meaning to try. We hunted for it, finally surrendered and called 411 to find it, arrived and found it closed. Closed as in "out of business" closed. That was a bummer. We ended up at our family favorite restaurant.
I'm currently reading A Feast for Crows, a Christmas present from Helen. Helen continues to kick ass in a seriously hardcore way. Thanks, Helen! :-)
I continue to despise taking a crap at work. My bowels tell me that I'll be doing so a bit later this morning. Feh.
The boys visited the dentist. Bear has an extra set of teeth up top that'll need to be removed. He also had two adult teeth coming in but trapped behind a couple of baby teeth that refused to relinquish occupancy. Tooth extraction was scheduled. Over the weekend I offered him $5 if could remove one (it was wiggly) before the big day. He took the challenge, earned himself $5 and saved us $80. The other tooth turned wiggly too so we cancelled the extraction and will let nature take it's course.
Work continues to be demanding. I'm taking over four projects from a coworker who's a bit overloaded. Oddly enough, two of them are ones she took over from me several months ago when my mega project became too demanding.
After Friday I'm off for 10 days in a row. Ten days in a row? Damn, I haven't seen that since high school. To be specific, ten days off and then having a job at the end of it hasn't been seen. Ten days off due to job loss has happened a couple of times.
Dopple-G and his fiance came over last night bearing gifts. The boys were thrilled with their presents and spent the better part of an hour finding plastic toys and bottle caps to wrap up in order to return the favor.
That's about it for the moment. More later. But probably not today.
Last night I found this true story about the worst Christmas party I ever attended. In the end I triumphed. Sort of. It was dated December 2003 and I’ve no idea if I ever posted it or not. Reflecting back on those days, a case could certainly be made that I was an asshole.
It’s that time of year again. In order to make things easy on you, and insure that I get exactly what I want, I offer the following shopping guide:
I need some decent earphones for the iPod. The stock earphones are uncomfortable and lack the required dynamic range for maximum enjoyment.
Sony Fontopia MDR-EX70LP Earphones
Price: $49.99
These are available online from many retailers so order now to avoid an uncomfortable wait on my part.
I’d also like something to help me wind down from a hard day at work. There’s an add-on to Rome Total War, the video game I have driven into the ground. It’s called Barbarian Invasion Expansion Pack, $24.99 on Amazon.
If you could make these two happen I’d be happy.
Aside from that, you could always make a deposit into my ‘special account’ at the bank, you know the account number.
Last, but certainly not least, can we just buy this damned thing and get it over with? I swear by all that is holy that you can drive it on Saturdays.
Please have the courtesy to make a similar list for me. We don’t want a replay of the shoe incident, do we?
True Story (from my original blog):
The women’s shoe store. We were Christmas shopping together and she took me in and pointed them out. I looked down at them.
"Look closely."
"Okay," I said.
"Do you see the heel?" she asked.
"Yes, I see it."
"And the toe? See the difference?" She held up another shoe.
"Don't worry. I understand."
We left the mall. Several days later I went Christmas shopping alone. I had bought her every gift on her list. Only the shoes remained. I went back to the store, back to the exact spot where the shoes were. But they all looked the same.
Granted, I tend to tune out when people talk to me. I'm in my own world most of the time. I guess I wasn't paying attention. And now I'm looking down at these shoes and every pair looks the same. I tried to guess the exact spot I was standing in when she showed them to me, thinking I might find the right ones by dead reckoning, but I had no distinct landmarks. Meanwhile, it's a few days before Christmas and the place was packed. These things were flying out of there. Women were grabbing shoes and holding them up over their heads yelling sizes. I had been at the mall for a long time. I was hungry. I was tired. I had no hope. I picked a pair and bought them. I was certain I had narrowed it down to two pair and I chose one.
Fast-forward to Christmas day. All the presents opened except for one box. She opened the box and took out a shoe. Not only was it the wrong one, but it was the one she used as example of what she specifically did not want. She went berserker. I thought at one point that she woul