Way back in 1995, I attended a halloween party at the home of my friend and classmate, Phil Valdez. I didn't really have a costume in mind so I threw on a tie and penciled in a fake moustache. Not sure what my motive was, but I attended his party as "guy in a tie". Pretty lame, but it worked.
Well, every day is Halloween now. I'm required to sport a tie 5 days a week now. So far, walking through downtown Seattle at mid-day, I've heard lots of "nice tie!" comments, and feel like I have some sort of aura of higher respect (okay, I'm deslusional). However, in spite of all the fears and insecurities, it's not all that bad. The folks at Ramp said things like "I'd never wear a tie! I'd quit!". Whatever. I'll wear a clown suit to work each day if the money's green enough.
Anyway, it's not all that bad. One thing I find is that it levels the playing field quite a bit. At previous jobs, the person of authority was always he or she who was not dressed in cutoffs and sandals. Now, everyone is dressed at pretty much the same level. This threw me for a loop on my first day. One of the guys who interviewed me seemed to have that air of high authority... older, looked more distinguished. Well, I stopped by his cubicle the other day and he and his cube mate were swapping comic books and goofing off on the company clock.
Very refreshing to know that you can put lipstick on a pig and it's still a pig. You can throw ties on your employees, but it's still the same circus. So come on y'all! There's nothing to be afraid of! Throw off those sandals and cutoffs and slip into a tie and some slacks! It's going to be an outstanding day!
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
One Year Ago...
One year ago yesterday, I was on family vacation in Switzerland. I had let the others take off on their early morning routine, and took a leisurely morning showering, reading the paper, not being in a hurry. I told the elders that I'd catch up with them in Luzerne around noon, under the wooden covered bridge. I carried the walkie-talkie just to get ahold of them once I got there (I believe my Dad's code name was "banjo 20-20"). So I hopped the rails, and ventured from Reuti to Luzerne. It's really a no-brainer getting around in Switzerland. Signs are usually in 4 different languages, English included. In spite of this, the folks were still concerned about my traveling on my own in a foreign country.
So, I arrived in Luzerne, right about at noon as promised. I called out banjo 20-20 on the radio, and lo and behold, he answered. When I met up with the folks, I could see the stress on my dad's face, almost as though I had put them through hell with worry.
After putzing around Luzerne in flock formation for the afternoon, little brother and I decided to hang back when the elders traveled back toward Reuti. We drank a lot of lager and stumbled around what is one of my favorite cities on the planet. ( I think my list includes Montreal, Vancouver, San Francisco, Portland, Paris, and of course Seattle). After many beer, we decided it was about time to head back toward Meiringen. We wanted to find a pub to watch some world cup. I think it was Italy vs. America that night. Not sure. I know it was Italy because the Swiss were shouting "Mamma Mia!" when the Italians met with misfortune.
As nightfall became a reality, we began to realize that a plan was indeed in order for getting back up the hill to Reuti. Of course, we thought about it over a few more beer. Then we decided it was time to make the trek.
Now, Reuti is situated on the top of the hill from Meiringen, and there is a very steep wooded path that goes right straight up. However, if you want to get there by road, it is a ten mile walk. We weren't up for that, so we headed toward the woods. Unfortunately, we couldn't see our own hands in front of our faces. After about 15 minutes of "okay ready... take another step", and wondering if that would lead us off of a steep precipice, we decided that our efforts were fruitless, and headed back down toward Meiringen.
We were screwed. We ducked into a few establishments and tried to locate a taxi, but the town was asleep. We were starting to resign to the notion that we were either in for a 3 hour stumble home, or sleeping on the sidewalk. Then it happened. An angel ascended from the tavern we had been buying drinks from all night, and we put on our best puppy dog faces and asked "what way is it to walk back to Reuti?". She looked at the fellow bartender and laughed, and looked like she didn't know how to handle this. Then she blessed us with 2 seats in her car, and mercifully gave us a 20 minute ride home. As we exited her car, we kissed the ground on which she walked and I gave her a bottle of wine. My brother offered her money, but she refused.
We ended up back in our remote cabin without injury. The next morning was typically ungodly early, and painful. The clear air seemed to cure our headaches pretty quickly, and we saw some more nice scenery.
I can't for the life of me remember the name of that bartender, but if by some extremely remote chance you happen to stumble upon this (perhaps Googling "Meirengen"), please know that you are a goddess among mortals, and I worship before your altar before eating my Cheerios each morning.
So, I arrived in Luzerne, right about at noon as promised. I called out banjo 20-20 on the radio, and lo and behold, he answered. When I met up with the folks, I could see the stress on my dad's face, almost as though I had put them through hell with worry.
After putzing around Luzerne in flock formation for the afternoon, little brother and I decided to hang back when the elders traveled back toward Reuti. We drank a lot of lager and stumbled around what is one of my favorite cities on the planet. ( I think my list includes Montreal, Vancouver, San Francisco, Portland, Paris, and of course Seattle). After many beer, we decided it was about time to head back toward Meiringen. We wanted to find a pub to watch some world cup. I think it was Italy vs. America that night. Not sure. I know it was Italy because the Swiss were shouting "Mamma Mia!" when the Italians met with misfortune.
As nightfall became a reality, we began to realize that a plan was indeed in order for getting back up the hill to Reuti. Of course, we thought about it over a few more beer. Then we decided it was time to make the trek.
Now, Reuti is situated on the top of the hill from Meiringen, and there is a very steep wooded path that goes right straight up. However, if you want to get there by road, it is a ten mile walk. We weren't up for that, so we headed toward the woods. Unfortunately, we couldn't see our own hands in front of our faces. After about 15 minutes of "okay ready... take another step", and wondering if that would lead us off of a steep precipice, we decided that our efforts were fruitless, and headed back down toward Meiringen.
We were screwed. We ducked into a few establishments and tried to locate a taxi, but the town was asleep. We were starting to resign to the notion that we were either in for a 3 hour stumble home, or sleeping on the sidewalk. Then it happened. An angel ascended from the tavern we had been buying drinks from all night, and we put on our best puppy dog faces and asked "what way is it to walk back to Reuti?". She looked at the fellow bartender and laughed, and looked like she didn't know how to handle this. Then she blessed us with 2 seats in her car, and mercifully gave us a 20 minute ride home. As we exited her car, we kissed the ground on which she walked and I gave her a bottle of wine. My brother offered her money, but she refused.
We ended up back in our remote cabin without injury. The next morning was typically ungodly early, and painful. The clear air seemed to cure our headaches pretty quickly, and we saw some more nice scenery.
I can't for the life of me remember the name of that bartender, but if by some extremely remote chance you happen to stumble upon this (perhaps Googling "Meirengen"), please know that you are a goddess among mortals, and I worship before your altar before eating my Cheerios each morning.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Sleeping Like a College Boy
Maybe it's because I'm in a steep transitional period, being in-between jobs and all. Maybe it's allergy season exacting its toll on my system. Maybe I refuse to grow up. I've had three days off this week, today being the last before I start my new job. Regardless, for the past three nights, I've gotten more sleep than should be necessary for a guy approaching 40. Last night wasn't so severe, with me getting a solid 8. The night before, however, approached 10 hours! I emerged from the bedroom and took a serious glare from Leilani. It immediately communicated "I've got stuff on the agenda and your sleeping for 10 hours is preventing me from reaching my goals". Now forget about the fact that it was still only 8am, and the only thing a person should be worried about at that time is either getting to work, if you're going, or what the latest danger your baby faces, as presented by Matt Lauer that morning. What I'm wondering is when I'm going to graduate from having the constitution of a college dorm-dweller. I've heard that you need less sleep as you age, but I haven't reaped those benefits yet.
To quote Leilani on a typical morning as I emerge from the bedroom, "What the Hell???"
To quote Leilani on a typical morning as I emerge from the bedroom, "What the Hell???"
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Go In-Betweens
So, it's over. It's done. My involvement with Ramp ended on Monday evening of this week. It was an odd one because out of all of the jobs I've left, and there seem to be plenty, this was the first that my reasons were not either getting shown the door, or leaving due to the inevitibility of a mental breakdown. I mostly left Ramp just because I knew there were better opportunities elsewhere, and because of quality of life choices, i.e.: being able to walk to work each morning, thus gaining back 2-3 hours of each day.
In retrospect, I gained a lot from my 8 months at Ramp. I got into the UCD process pretty heavily during that time, grabbed another peek at Microsoft culture, and walked away with a handful of lifelong contacts. The dark side of it all was that being there also put me in some of the most stressful situations of my work career. I mostly felt like I was on my own to get a handle on some pretty complicated problems, during some high intensity situations. When I met these challenges, it was very rewarding. But going through it all put the first gray hairs on my head. There were some days where I walked away thinking "I just can't do it. It's not worth it." So now I'm headed for a much lower-stress, seemingly more longterm situation. My promise to myself is that no matter how things turn out in the beginning, I will always look at this in terms of months down the road rather than days and weeks. The idea of being at the same place for the long haul suddenly seems attractive to me.
So now we're in the "go-in-betweens". I'm on day two of my 3 day period between jobs where I'm trying to get caught up with my life. Yesterday, Leilani and I spent a lot of time organizing the home, and what we would do to make it a better place. I slipped out for a haircut, a prescription refill, and Fathers day shopping. I also picked up a new shirt and tie. Will be needing a few of those.
Today, we've mapped out some furniture shopping. Our plan is to immediately find new blinds for the sliding door, as well as a new dining room table. Less urgently, we need to find a sofa (Lei would argue it's more urgent), and a new coffee table. In between that, we'll be bringing Leilani's friend Molly to the airport.
To wrap up the go-in-betweens, I'd feel much happier returning to work knowing that I've cleared out unnecessary junk from my storage, and did a bit more organizing around here. May be biting off more than I can chew. When you look down the road at 3 days off, it seems like enough time to clear out all the clutter of your life. In reality, it slips away with you being lucky if you cleared out 2/3 of your list.
In retrospect, I gained a lot from my 8 months at Ramp. I got into the UCD process pretty heavily during that time, grabbed another peek at Microsoft culture, and walked away with a handful of lifelong contacts. The dark side of it all was that being there also put me in some of the most stressful situations of my work career. I mostly felt like I was on my own to get a handle on some pretty complicated problems, during some high intensity situations. When I met these challenges, it was very rewarding. But going through it all put the first gray hairs on my head. There were some days where I walked away thinking "I just can't do it. It's not worth it." So now I'm headed for a much lower-stress, seemingly more longterm situation. My promise to myself is that no matter how things turn out in the beginning, I will always look at this in terms of months down the road rather than days and weeks. The idea of being at the same place for the long haul suddenly seems attractive to me.
So now we're in the "go-in-betweens". I'm on day two of my 3 day period between jobs where I'm trying to get caught up with my life. Yesterday, Leilani and I spent a lot of time organizing the home, and what we would do to make it a better place. I slipped out for a haircut, a prescription refill, and Fathers day shopping. I also picked up a new shirt and tie. Will be needing a few of those.
Today, we've mapped out some furniture shopping. Our plan is to immediately find new blinds for the sliding door, as well as a new dining room table. Less urgently, we need to find a sofa (Lei would argue it's more urgent), and a new coffee table. In between that, we'll be bringing Leilani's friend Molly to the airport.
To wrap up the go-in-betweens, I'd feel much happier returning to work knowing that I've cleared out unnecessary junk from my storage, and did a bit more organizing around here. May be biting off more than I can chew. When you look down the road at 3 days off, it seems like enough time to clear out all the clutter of your life. In reality, it slips away with you being lucky if you cleared out 2/3 of your list.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Sex Ed. and Paper Routes
Do you remember being 13 years old? Farts were the funniest comedic act known to man. An extra quarter in your pocket meant the difference between playing one more game of Pacman, and not playing one more game of Pacman. Having your buddies and being cool was the most important thing on earth. Football and pro-wrasslin' are in, poetry, art, and anything deemed even slightly effeminate are out.
Now, picture this age, and being the unfortunate son in a family that frequents the most touchy-feely, liberal church in town, the Unitarian Universalist church. Picture this church offering a sexual education class for middle-school aged kids. Finally, picture your parents forcing you to attend this weekly class, backed with the threat of no HBO for the next week if you happened to miss it. Such is the hell that my life was during the winter of 1982.
Every week I was forced to sit through this class with some of the dorkiest kids in the metropolitan area of Manchester, NH. We would sit in a circle on the floor and discuss penises in a class led by a guy who resembled the pre-conservative version of Sonny Bono, and a woman who probably knew Gloria Steinham on a first name basis. One week, we had to sit opposite of another class member and close our eyes and stroke the face of this person. To what end we did this, I'm not sure. It was awkward and I found myself daydreaming of getting the toughest kids I knew in my school, arming them with tire irons, locking the doors to this room and beating everyone in the class to a bloody pulp. My hair would stand on end at these thoughts. Unfortunately, there's a Walter Mitty in all of us, and these fantasies never came to fruition.
After these classes, my parents would routinely corner me with questions like "what did you discuss today?" I'd usually respond with something like "nothing", or "not much", typical of the conversation level a pre-teen has with their parents, no less with the subject matter in question. Unfortunately, it wouldn't usually end there. The old man might prod me by giving me the LBJ lapel grab and in a Clint Eastwood, no-nonsense tone, repeat "WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT TODAY?" I wasn't giving in. There was no way I was going to volunteer a discussion about the scrotum with my parents. So I kept it at a vague level, at the likes of "oh, just relationships". The whole affair was very disturbing, and probably enough to mess up my sexual well-being to this day.
As much as I'd like to point my finger at my parents in this story and charge them with being true demons, I can't say they were the lowest of the low in this story.... well, I guess maybe I can. However, my brothers deserve some recognition as well.
My older brother was sitting pretty throughout all of this. He was in his mid teens, and got by with throwing on his Black Sabbath t-shirt, and spending church time making out with cute girls and getting high in his youth group. Forcing him to go to church on Sunday was somewhat similar to handing him a beer and saying "you need to drink this, and you're going to like it!".
My younger brother had it differently. He hated going to church nearly as much as I did. He had a "get out of jail free" card, however. For he was blessed with having a paper route during this period. January in New Hampshire tended to be cause for longer time required to complete this route, what with the snow and below zero temperatures. That little bastard was able to make a three hour ordeal out of what was normally a half hour process. He also timed it so that he'd finish off at a spot where he could view from a safe distance our family car traveling to church. There, in all of its glory was the old Volvo station wagon, the folks in the front seat, dressed to the nines and amped to hear an uplifting sermon, my older brother in a psychedilic daze wearing a Black Sabbath Mob Rules t-shirt, and me at his side, sporting the angriest scowl a 13 year old is capable of.
Upon seeing the passage of the car, my brother knew he was home free. He'd shuttle it on back to the house, turn on the "Top Cat" cartoons, and enjoy a long leisurely, sugary breakfast, knowing full well that I was enduring the worst hell imagineable.
In retrospect, I admire my brother's angle. Had I been smart, I would have set myself up with a route of my own, had a little cash in pocket to play more Pacman, and would have escaped a particularly damaging episode in my young life. However, in some weird way, I like to imagine that I am stronger because of it. And the touchy-feely liberals still hold a place in my heart.
Now, picture this age, and being the unfortunate son in a family that frequents the most touchy-feely, liberal church in town, the Unitarian Universalist church. Picture this church offering a sexual education class for middle-school aged kids. Finally, picture your parents forcing you to attend this weekly class, backed with the threat of no HBO for the next week if you happened to miss it. Such is the hell that my life was during the winter of 1982.
Every week I was forced to sit through this class with some of the dorkiest kids in the metropolitan area of Manchester, NH. We would sit in a circle on the floor and discuss penises in a class led by a guy who resembled the pre-conservative version of Sonny Bono, and a woman who probably knew Gloria Steinham on a first name basis. One week, we had to sit opposite of another class member and close our eyes and stroke the face of this person. To what end we did this, I'm not sure. It was awkward and I found myself daydreaming of getting the toughest kids I knew in my school, arming them with tire irons, locking the doors to this room and beating everyone in the class to a bloody pulp. My hair would stand on end at these thoughts. Unfortunately, there's a Walter Mitty in all of us, and these fantasies never came to fruition.
After these classes, my parents would routinely corner me with questions like "what did you discuss today?" I'd usually respond with something like "nothing", or "not much", typical of the conversation level a pre-teen has with their parents, no less with the subject matter in question. Unfortunately, it wouldn't usually end there. The old man might prod me by giving me the LBJ lapel grab and in a Clint Eastwood, no-nonsense tone, repeat "WHAT DID YOU TALK ABOUT TODAY?" I wasn't giving in. There was no way I was going to volunteer a discussion about the scrotum with my parents. So I kept it at a vague level, at the likes of "oh, just relationships". The whole affair was very disturbing, and probably enough to mess up my sexual well-being to this day.
As much as I'd like to point my finger at my parents in this story and charge them with being true demons, I can't say they were the lowest of the low in this story.... well, I guess maybe I can. However, my brothers deserve some recognition as well.
My older brother was sitting pretty throughout all of this. He was in his mid teens, and got by with throwing on his Black Sabbath t-shirt, and spending church time making out with cute girls and getting high in his youth group. Forcing him to go to church on Sunday was somewhat similar to handing him a beer and saying "you need to drink this, and you're going to like it!".
My younger brother had it differently. He hated going to church nearly as much as I did. He had a "get out of jail free" card, however. For he was blessed with having a paper route during this period. January in New Hampshire tended to be cause for longer time required to complete this route, what with the snow and below zero temperatures. That little bastard was able to make a three hour ordeal out of what was normally a half hour process. He also timed it so that he'd finish off at a spot where he could view from a safe distance our family car traveling to church. There, in all of its glory was the old Volvo station wagon, the folks in the front seat, dressed to the nines and amped to hear an uplifting sermon, my older brother in a psychedilic daze wearing a Black Sabbath Mob Rules t-shirt, and me at his side, sporting the angriest scowl a 13 year old is capable of.
Upon seeing the passage of the car, my brother knew he was home free. He'd shuttle it on back to the house, turn on the "Top Cat" cartoons, and enjoy a long leisurely, sugary breakfast, knowing full well that I was enduring the worst hell imagineable.
In retrospect, I admire my brother's angle. Had I been smart, I would have set myself up with a route of my own, had a little cash in pocket to play more Pacman, and would have escaped a particularly damaging episode in my young life. However, in some weird way, I like to imagine that I am stronger because of it. And the touchy-feely liberals still hold a place in my heart.
Friday, June 1, 2007
One Week...
Ah... we're approaching my final week here at Ramp. To be honest, the final period did not go as awkwardly as I expected it to. I think I've been more or less busy during this time, which has made it a thousand times more bearable than if I had to stare straight ahead, with my boss's watchful eye looking over me. Thank god for activity.
Today is the first day of June. The weather here this past week has felt more like late July! Sunny and in the high 70s / low 80s. It's been nice. In one week, I will have completed my class, will be on the verge of a commute-free job, and will be making preparations for my parents' visit at the end of the month. Life will be completely different.
Last night I watched United 93. It was much better than I had expected. It didn't tug at the heartstrings like I thought it would. It didn't push a patriotic fervor. And there were no NYC firemen wrapped in an American flag with a rescued child at their side. Some tears, but mostly it was an adrenyline rush as the passengers stood up to 4 bad men who had put them in the most awful of situations. It was well done.
Tonight, I see Emily for the first time in at least 6 months. Heading up to Capitol Hill for lots and lots of beer, but not enough to make the weekend worthless. Need to get a final paper written.
Today is the first day of June. The weather here this past week has felt more like late July! Sunny and in the high 70s / low 80s. It's been nice. In one week, I will have completed my class, will be on the verge of a commute-free job, and will be making preparations for my parents' visit at the end of the month. Life will be completely different.
Last night I watched United 93. It was much better than I had expected. It didn't tug at the heartstrings like I thought it would. It didn't push a patriotic fervor. And there were no NYC firemen wrapped in an American flag with a rescued child at their side. Some tears, but mostly it was an adrenyline rush as the passengers stood up to 4 bad men who had put them in the most awful of situations. It was well done.
Tonight, I see Emily for the first time in at least 6 months. Heading up to Capitol Hill for lots and lots of beer, but not enough to make the weekend worthless. Need to get a final paper written.
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