Frustrated at work

Well I went to work today to figure out a problem. Just what I like. I arrived very early, but I spent hours and hours trying to figure out what went wrong. I started in trying to understand the scope of the problem by varying the program through recoding the software in different ways. For each variation I would write down what I did, what I expected and what actually happened - a kind of a simplified scientific method. However, each thing I tried did not change the problem much, thus, providing little information. I got more and more frustrated. Nothing I did was helping.

Finally I left for lunch when Katie and Matthew arrived home from their long drive back from North Carolina [straight through for 18+ hours]. It was nice to see them, listening about their vacation, and I'm glad that they're back safe and sound.

After lunch I returned to work and worked past dinner. Still nothing helped, and I was running out of ideas and getting really frustrated. Finally I called Candice, one of my co-workers, for ideas and got a few good ones. I tried one and it didn't help. But the next one was to go back several versions (what we call a build) and see if it fails. When I tried the first one it worked successfully, so now I know more - from that version to the latest something has gone wrong.

But I had to leave because I needed my TV fix, that is, Big Brother. Now I've got something to do tomorrow - try each version one by one and find out when it begins to fail. So tomorrow is another weekend day at work, oh well I'm not as frustrated as I was before.

I just like being busy

I don't like being bored. I like to be mentally active. A good problem that somebody needs solved get's my juices going. When I was a main-frame computer operator during college I found that it never really challenged me, yet it required just enough thought that I couldn't do anything else - something I didn't like. Instead computer programming, keeping the whole software system in my head, is more to my liking. The best is when the hours pass in the blink of any eye. For example tonight I told my wife that I'd be finished in 10 minutes and then I'd leave for dinner. I didn't realize that when I thought 10 minutes was done it was actually 30 minutes - my kind of time warp. What can I say - I just like being busy.

Mouse in a christmas tree

I was reminded of this past event on my previous posting...

Just after my eldest son, Justin, was born in December I went out and purchased a Christmas tree for the holidays. When I got home I unloaded it by the garage. I found that it had a bird's nest in it. Somewhere I remember someone telling me that this was a lucky omen. In addition there was a nest of milkweed seeds. It was a second lucky omen. As I looked at this softball-sized soft fluffy white bundle a field mouse popped out of it and ran into the grass. I told Kathy, but I paid it no further mention.



This was our first home. It was a raised ranch. The basement and garage were downstairs. The basement was unfinished and the insulation was exposed. The living areas, our bedroom, and Justin's room were upstairs. It was very cold that winter in New York, and few weeks later I noticed droppings in the insulation downstairs. That little mouse had found its way into the house. I didn't mention anything to Kathy.

Then one night when Kathy and I were carrying Justin down the hall to bed that little beast was scurrying ahead of us. Kathy shrieked and held Justin close to her. I chased after it, but lost sight of it, and it disappeared. In my typical sarcastic joking manner I said, "Don't worry honey it won't eat Justin's eye's out". Well, Kathy burst into tears. All she could picture was that horror movie "Williard". I felt terrible. That night Justin slept in our bedroom with towels sealing the crack under the door. I learned that there are some things that one shouldn't joke about, and this was one of them.

New couch lizard

We just got two new couches (a sofa and a loveseat). The old stuff was broken down, falling apart, showing wear, and just plain ucky. We shopped around and found some nice ones at Norwalk Furniture. We choose a navy blue fabric. As we were choosing this fabric we also found another one that had a nice small pattern, but just not right for the couches. So we also had a wing chair that was showing a lot of wear, and we thought this pattern would look great on it. We asked the people at the furniture showroom for names of upholsterers, and had it done too.

Now everything has arrived and it looks swell. However, this morning as I was dressing Kathy yelled for me to come quickly because something was in the sofa. A small (2 1/2 inch) lizard had wedged itself in the back of the sofa. As Kathy trapped it with an empty peanut butter jar she accidentally caught its tail under the jar edge and cut it off. The detached tail continued to wiggle for seconds, which totally grossed out Kathy. I dumped the lizard out in the backyard. Now Kathy is spooked that there are more lizards in the new couch. And I'm not helping the situation either - like typing up this "de-tailed" account of what took place - giggle, giggle :)

Degrease/grease

I was surprised to get a call from Jane today. She wanted to know what solvent to use to clean her RollerBlade bearings. Justin told her I've done this before which I have. I'm sure there are better things to use - like a real degreaser. But I've used mineral spirits (AKA paint thinner) in the past. I have probably tried to use acetone, but it's not as good. I hope this helps her.

Then there's the issue of what sort of grease to use after they're clean. I have some heavy duty automotive bearing grease in a big tub, and I also have some lighter SLX (Synthetic/Lithium Complex) oil in a tiny bottle. The former is cheap, and easy, and the latter I picked up at an inline skate shop, and was probably expensive (I can't remember). My plan is to send her a small (1 tablespoon) packet of the cheap stuff.



Now I've gotta convince my wife that the postal service won't confiscate it in shipment. She's worried that this packet of dark brown goop is a national security risk. Geez, what has the world come to?

Interest atophy

Over the years I've found that certain of my interests have atrophied. As I was growing up I was always making or doing something in our home basement workshop. I would spend hours lost in the construction of some mechanical thingamabob. Sawing, drilling, sanding, and painting stuff. The time would just disappear until my mother called down saying it was supper.

At one point the tweens around the block were into anything with wheels on it. We made wooden cars that we'd push each other around in. They started with 2x4s frames, and bolts through cheap wheels into the end of the 2x4. Next we learned about axles held in by u-bolts, and rope steering. Then one of us got an old engine, a few pullys, and a belt mounted on an old wooded door. In time we graduated to mini-bikes with 4 cycle Briggs and Stratton engines, and go-karts with 2-cycle West Bend engines, centrifigal clutches, and chain-drive. Yet we never graduated to cars, instead the group grew older and went their own ways.

After university graduation and getting my first job (that is, I was no longer poor) I bought and raced a Margay go-kart with 125cc McCulloch engine at Cuddebackville, New York. I ran gas, but I'll never forget the sweet exhaust smell of an engine running alcohol and caster oil. Yet slowly my interest changed, and I finally sold everything a few years later.

That was about 30 years ago. Now I don't putter in the workshop. My kids never really showed any interest in karting. Recently I went to a local go-kart track and was surpised how much has changed and how little has changed. But somehow this interest has atrophied - or has it?

Antsy kid

I was an antsy kid growing up. It's not that I couldn't sit still, but anything that suggested waiting patiently I didn't want to do. For example, each year my family would take vacations to a nearby state park, Letchworth State Park. We would rent a cabin and stay there for two weeks each summer. Sometime during that week, my father and possibly my brother would go fishing at Silver Lake. I never wanted to. Sitting still in a boat for hours was not my idea of fun. I had to see things, explore around the cabin, do anything else than sit still. Oh, and there was lots to do around Letchwork, because of the deep gorges to climb - yet it made my mother a nervous wreck. I found what most people consider a relaxing vacation to be pure boredom for me. Instead I wanted vacations that would make me think, show me new things, and teach me stuff. I now wonder if I maybe have had a mild case of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). But then again, I could have been just be a kid, a normal, but slightly antsy kid.

Hair where ya don't want it

The aging process is sometimes so strange. After the age of 50 your hair begins to grow in new places. Twisty, curly, out of control filaments sprouts when and where they're unexpected. Not just thin, light, well-formed hairs, but thicker, black, deformed ones. I need to know just what genes are playing this joke on me. My eyebrows have become exploding bursts of hair. My shaver's auxiliary cutter and my scissors work regularly to make them behave. Yet it's not just external surfaces, but one's little cranial orifices. Nose hair needs to be constantly controlled. I need a "Roto-Rooter" for those despised hard-to-reach bristles. And my ears, oh God why my ears, erupt with new sporatic growth. My new best friend is the tweezer - a perfectly wonderful tool.

Simple pleasures

I'm sorry, I like simple reality programs. I followed American Idol. I'm now into Big Brother 5 and Amazing Race. What is wrong with me?

She gently holds my heart

she gently holds my heart as none have done
her smell, her glance, her touch, her soft caress
she knows so well how to delight my soul
a smile, a laugh does bring a joy to me
yet does she truly know how much I care
so deep and broad my love for her endures
a thousand thousand years will come and go
before another love the same could be
but these such words cannot describe my thoughts
nor written paper feel all things I hold
why must I struggle always to express
the feelings I do hold for her inside
for as I try in vain to put them down
the pen but draws pale shadows of the truth

Conflict and caring

p1: "You can't just stand there and let them do it"
p2: "Who says I can't"
p1: "The law for one, it's just not right"
p2: "Aww, give it a rest, don't whimp out on me."
p1: "I'm not, I'm on your side"
p2: "You're such a dork"
p1: "Now look I don't deserve that"
p2: "But you are, you know it"
p1: "Regardless, don't shove it in my face"
p2: "OK, OK, relax, calm down"
p1: "I'm calm, I'm calm, you're the one whose gotta go stop 'em"
p2: "I'll do it, but they're not gonna like it"
p1: "Then do it"
p2: "Alright, geez, you're pushy"
p1: "Yeah, but that's what you love about me"
p2: "Shush, they might hear"

"American Idol" effects

Has American Idol affected how we live day to day? Has hearing the placating sweet words of Paula seem false? Have the scathing brutally honest comments of Simon seem true? Who do we respect more? Has that changed us? Thousands of applicants, but so few are really top quality. The vast majority are average and know it. And a few think they're talented and they're not whatsoever. We are surrounded by people in similar circumstances. Some judging, some being judged. Some top quality, but most aren't. If you're being judged would you rather have an honest critique, or content free sweet words? Since American Idol are we becoming both more critical and more accepting of criticism. I think so, but is it a good thing?

Tears

The person cried in my office. I felt awful. A previous post was about this person's work. Over the past few months I have talked, taught, suggested, and cajoled this individual to see the light, but it has been hard. Although I felt I have been very very patient, it wasn't enough.

What's the problem? This person just doesn't have the experience. This person just needs to do the work again, and again, and again. This person needs to struggle to figure out how to express things in the simplest and most straight-forward, obvious way. This person needs to fix problems while realizing why they occurred in the first place and how to never have them happen again. Just too intense to do in such a short time.

What did I do wrong? A lot. I was too vocal. I said too much, too often. I should have just kept my mouth shut more. The person said they felt worthless. How sad. Previously I tried to work through this person when changes needed to be done. I discussed each change and why they were needed. Then I let the person do the changes. This was both exhausting and frustrating. However, recently and mistakenly I decided to make some changes myself. This was the final straw, and the individual gave up, and said that the work was now mine.

Work reincarnation

Over your career you will have many individual jobs. When you change jobs I think of this as "work reincarnation" where you "die", that is, you leave a job and come back into another "existence" or job. Sometime you stick with some of the same people, other times you're on your own. Sometimes you reuse your expertise, other times you have much to learn. I call the latter "going naked" into a new job. I have been fortunate that these changes have occurred within the same company. As a result my benefits and salary have remained the same, whereas when one changes companies there can be a discontinuity (IMHO, many times this can be a jump down, yet it can be a jump up if you are a player - I'm not). In each of these jobs you meet new people, learn and try new things, and sometimes you can even change locations. I have found that earlier in my career I would stay in a job approximately five years. Now my job duration tends to be about two years. I've worked for many different people from a beginning manager, to a bureaucrat, to a corporate high-level technologist called an IBM Fellow. Most times I have choosen to change jobs, but sometimes, much less often, it has been forced upon me. In each of these self-imposed changes I have tried to choose what is the next "thing", this I call "catching a wave", that is, something that is new and has a long term and wide impact on the business. This enhances one's resume and allows you to continue to be gainfully employed.

An incremental job

Since March I've been painting trim on the house (yes, March, it seem it's been a lifetime). Each weekend I wake early (remember I can't help it I just wake up) and at least one day each weekend I paint trim. I have taken two or three weekends off due to other commitments or the weather. I paint early in the morning because it's summer and the Austin, Texas sun is brutal. At 10:30 to 11:00 AM I'm squinting in the sun, dripping of sweat, exhausted, and I call it quits.

The house is 8 years old and the trim was showing a lot of wear-and-tear. The builder used the cheapest bulk stuff to paint it. The house is brick on three sides and wood siding on the back with wood eaves all around. All the wood needed desperately to be painted. The paint was chalky, cracking or just falling off. Also there is some water damage that will also need repairing, but I thought I'd paint up to the damage first, then do the repairs.

I took a quarter-sized piece of siding off the water-damaged back section that I'll replace later and went to the local paint store. They scanned it and made me two gallons that match. Little did I realize at the time that the sample had some water damage and a bit of green algae/mold so the new trim color is muddier with a hint of green. What is surprising it that it looks good with the bricks we have. It actually looks better that the previous color. Even the neighbors have commented about how nice the color is, and it was a total mistake.

I bought their best paint. I don't want to do this job any more than I need to assuming that the best paint lasts the longest. By the way just this weekend I finished those original two gallons, and got two more. This time I used the color specification on the lid of one of the original cans - no more moldy paint chips and a random roulette of colors.

I started on the front eaves, then did both side eaves, and now I'm finally on the wood-sided back. My balance is not as it once was so climbing two stories on an fully extended aluminum ladder has been a challenge, but I've handled it. I also have a 6 foot step ladder for lower heights, and I'm even foolish enough to climb on the top step (that's the one that says DANGER DO NOT STEP HERE - oh well, I'm short and need the added height).

I've had to caulk all edges and seams. The builder used cheap wood for the eaves and because I was lazy and didn't paint earlier, there are numerous knots and cracks to fill with caulk. For knots and cracks I do this by hand, one at a time I squeeze out a bit of cault, and use my finger to smear it into the knot and smooth it. Now my finger tips are sore, because the rubbing has worn the skin off them. As one gets sore, I use another. I'm now onto my left hand.

For edges I caulk them with a caulking gun squeezing a bead into the corner. At the beginning it was awkward and gloppy, now I can stream a bead quickly, evenly, like a pro. [So a side benefit is that I could do this for hire - this thought sends shivers up my spine even considering doing this task again] Edge caulking uses up caulk at an alarming rate. So far I think I've used over 40 tubes of caulk. This weekend alone I've used on the back of the house 3 tubes left over from last week, bought 10, and now have only 2 left of them.

I'm about 30% done on the back, so it'll probably be Fall before I'm done. Unbelieveable, but if I try to push to get this chore done I'll probably get totally sick if it and never return to it so I do it in small incremental steps to keep my sanity. If you ever need to paint trim and a professional painter stops by and bids a few thou to do it, don't think it's too expensive because after the energy, and number of hours I've spent it's probably well worth it. However being cheap son of a b@#$% I just keep plunking away at it each weekend. Wish me luck!

I hurt for them

Why is it that you can't stop being a parent? When your children were little and fell down you could comfort them, hold them, and kiss their boo-boo's away. Now when they're adults it's not that easy. You want so much to do the same and somehow you can't, because it's typically not physical on the outside, instead it's emotional on the inside. So now comfort is to listen, to advise, to hug and to say that it will all work out because they're good, fine, smart, upstanding people. So I'm here in case they need me, and I trust their decisions, and most of all I hurt for them. Again, why is it that you can't stop being a parent? Because you love them and always will.

You'd think I'd learned my lesson

So I went running today. Except for a bit of rib soreness I was fine from my fall yesterday. Instead of going by the scene of yesterday's accident. I felt that I should be safe and follow my "standard" route. So up Metric, by the Middle School, down Rampart and turn onto Parmer. There I stay on the sidewalk with two lanes of oncoming traffic beside me. Carefully I crossed at the light with the Randall's plaza on the left and Parmer traffic on the right. In front of me a car is pulling out of the plaza. Another car on Parmer is approaching me to turn into the plaza. The approaching car sees me, slows and stops to let me cross before pulling in, but the car pulling out is looking left, thinks the approaching car is stopping for them, and begins to pull out - RIGHT WHEN I'M IN FRONT OF HIM. I begin to yell hey, hey, hey, as the SUV begins to nudge me. I put my hand on the hood. Then the driver finally sees me and brakes. WHEW! That was close, real close, too close. What is happening to me. These past two days have been unbelievable. And I thought this was the safe route - hah. Moral: Never cross in front of a car pulling out especially when you're running next to oncoming traffic.

Crash!

Even though I had off today I didn't sleep in. Got up early, dressed for running, snuck downstairs, opened the front door quietly, went out, picked up the newspaper on the driveway, placed it by the front door, stretched briefly, and headed out. It was a bit cloudy which was nice. I planned to come back and paint house trim so cloudy is good, very good. I chose a different route today. Previously I've noticed that someone or group has been placing ceramic tiles on roadside storm drains in our neighborhood. They say "no dumping, drains to creek". They're small and thin, about four inches square and a quarter of an inch thick. Near the beginning of my outbound run there was a broken one of these tiles laying near the side of the roadway when I ran by. Continuing on I proceeded do my run, by the Scofield condos, up Equestrian, by Karen's house, near the Ridge pool, and began to cycle back. Without much to think about I took it easy. During times like this I just scan the sidewalk or road immediately ahead. Looping back I again I returned to the spot where I has seen the broken tile. In the past I've kicked cans and stones for no other reason than to see what happens. As I approached the tile I decided to kick it and slide it along the pavement. In mid-stride with my left foot back, I swung my right foot forward for my next step and to kick the edge of the tile. But it was glued down - it was immovable, and I wasn't. YIKES! Totally unable to do anything I fell. I crashed forward. Barely having time to get my hands out to catch me, I slammed them down on the pavement. OUCH! My chest took the brunt of my fall. OOOF! My glasses skittering down the street. After a moment I got up. My tee-shirt was muddy and wrinkled. I was wobbly-kneed and catching my breath. I had just performed a massive cardio-pulmonary massage, and I felt like it. Queasy I walked for the next hundred feet. Then even more slowly I jogged the two tenths of a mile back home. My left shoulder has a big red mark on it, a deep bruise on my left hip, and my ribs hurt when I cough or laugh, but luckily no road rash on my face or chin. Tomorrow I'll probably feel worse. Moral: I gotta stop kicking stuff when I go running.

First encounters

"Guess who" signed on several valentines has changed my life forever. Those two words set my life's journey on a glorious path. For years I couldn't guess who they were from, but I never forgot them. Years later I found out that a beguiling little girl sent them to me. At the time I was a young teen. She was a tease, and I teased back. We were both very young.

All the students in Junior High School would wait outside in the parking lot before the school bell rang and they let us in. The buses would drop all the students off there. Sometime it was very cold and snowy, and they would let us into the cafeteria - it was Buffalo, need I say more. Mostly we stayed outside in various groups. The social stratum was clearly defined then. But I knew this girl's sister, who was a year older than me, although her sister and I never talked very much. We had met in the Yorkers club, a New York State history club. It was a unique institution in Junior High. Her sister was now in Senior High School.

She was two years younger. I was a ninth grader, and she was a seventh grader. My first attempts at dating were taking place that year, but not with her. It was 1963, and the Beatles were just beginning. School dances were held at the end of school day in the gym with boys on one side and girls on the other - staring at one another. I was on the swim team having had the benefit of an above ground swimming pool, a first in our neighborhood. I was also the president of the Yorkers club, and she was in it too. So I knew who she was and I knew her family. She lived a short bike ride from my home - less than a mile.

The shift from being the top in Junior High to beginning again in Senior High took me years to overcome. I felt very awkward, emotionally immature, and socially inept. I don't think I regained my self-confidence until after I graduated from college, if ever. So the next time she and I were in the same school was my senior year in High School, and she entered as a tenth grader. Her family was involved in AFS (American Field Service) after hosting a student from Austria. This included an open house at her home, and briefly seeing her parents. Another time the club rode our bikes to the Buffalo Zoo. She and her girlfriend were there. Unfortunately I showed more interest in her girlfriend. The remainder of the school year was a blur from SATs tests to National Merit Scholarships tests, and culminating in my college acceptance.

At university I joined a fraternity. There was insufficient undergraduate housing and over fifty fraternities and sororities. Doing it seemed appropriate, and it has provided numerous memories of good times. Yet I spent many hours working at the computer center and there I met someone. It never progressed very far, but it knocked me for a loop. She had a boyfriend yet I thought we had something special. I totally flipped over her, she encourage me, but in the end she stayed with her boyfriend. Seeing her after all this was so emotionally trying that my legs would feel weak when she was in the same room.

Later that semester at home on holiday break I was still in a funk and my mother suggested that I call "the little girl who had sent me those valentines". So I looked up her number and phoned. She was now a senior in High School. I expected her to say no, but her reply was totally unexpected. She said that her father had just died that week. I didn't know what to say, but she made it easier on me by saying that I should phone back when I was in town again. I did, and another enduring theme in my life began.

My dearest Kathleen, we've had so much to learn, and we have learned so much together - now over forty years later you are my friend, my partner, my love, and you will always be my valentine as I am yours.

I'm a movie junkie

What is it with movies. There are some scenes that just stick with you. For example, can you pick out which movie these scenes or dialogue came from (names shortened to make it a bit more of a challenge, but not too much):

EXT. D'S HOUSE -- NIGHT

J exits cab, holding hang-up bag. Looks at the house. On the other side of that window is a world he hopes he's still a part of.

INT. LIVING ROOM -- NIGHT

J enters. D is seated toward the back.

J: Hello. I'm looking for my wife.

D looks up, robbed of words. Stunned, she does not move.

J: (continuing) Alright. If this is where it has to happen, then this is where it has to happen.

D says nothing.

J: (continuing) I'm not letting you get rid of me. How about that?

He shares a look with some of the other women. She's not going to say a word. Neither do they.

J: (continuing) This used to be my specialty. I was good in a living room. Send me in there, I'll do it alone. And now I just... I don't know... but on what was supposed to be the happiest night of my business life, it wasn't complete, wasn't nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn't share it with you. I couldn't hear your voice, or laugh about it with you. I missed my wife. We live in a cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors, so try not to laugh --
(directly)
I love you. You complete me.

D: Aw, shut up. You had me at hello.

Or how about

Everybody knows American isn't easy. America is advanced citizenship. You gotta want it bad, 'cause it's gonna put up a fight. It's gonna say, "You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating, at the top of his lungs, that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours. You want to claim this land as the land of the free, then the symbol of your country can't just be a flag; the symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest." Show me that, defend that, celebrate that in your classrooms. Then you can stand up and sing about the land of the free.

I wish I could have written them. Name that movie!