So this is post number 102 for my humble blog. During that time, my readership has grown by leaps and bounds, or maybe just hops and skips and jumps, or maybe not at all. There's nowhere to go but up.
My major accomplishment for this week was getting all of my packages to my new place unscathed. Plus, I've elevated the TV to a good foot off the ground with a very professional-looking TV stand. Not that exciting.
What else...I sang karaoke the other day, but that was hopefully pretty forgettable. Just good enough not to be so bad I was good, ya know?
I got to see where I'll be working, or at least where I'll be while I'm getting paid. It turns out that I'm getting my own office, with my own name on my own door, and my own brand-new PC. Of course, the computer in my office won't be secure enough for actual work; we've got a stand-alone network behind locked doors for that. Basically, your office is where you go to avoid doing work; all the really productive stuff happens in the lab, which I'll share with two doctors.
The code I'll be working with is 30 years old, but still export controlled. I wonder how much farther it would have gotten if it were open, but then you've got to take into account getting bombed into the stone age if Charlie gets his hands on it.
So now my physical self is here, but there's still the small matter of sending out change of address notices to everyone I've corresponded with over the last year. I'll refrain from putting my address here, but just shoot me an email if you want to know it.
I'll be putting more pictures up on my flickr account. I won't annotate all of them here, because that would be double-blogging.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Kitchen
Well isn't this clever? Now I can blog from my phlog on flickr without even bothering with the Blogger logger.
Yet Another Use of Quantum Mechanics in Packing
Just to show off my mad Excel skills, I'm posting a static-html version of the pivot table I used to keep up with my packages. [Note: this was A Bad Idea, as the spreadsheet not only doesn't show up in Firefox, it doesn't get along with Blogger either. I gave up on it.] It looks like I have too much stuff coming, seeing as how the room is already full and none of the nine boxes has arrived yet. I know I've been spoiled living with unlimited space at G-diddy's, but if there's one thing I learned at Tech, it's how to fit way too much stuff into way too little space.
If there're two things I learned at Tech, the second one is how to fit way too many activities into way too little time.
And if there are three things I learned at Tech, the third one is that space and time are inextricably intertwined in the first place.
If there're two things I learned at Tech, the second one is how to fit way too many activities into way too little time.
And if there are three things I learned at Tech, the third one is that space and time are inextricably intertwined in the first place.
They ain't kiddin' about that mile-high business.
Here I am in sunny, pointy Colorado. It's everything you could ever want in a place to live, except of course for an oxygen-rich atmosphere. I have to take a nap every thirty minutes or so, and can't carry a letter to the mailbox without panting. That's gonna be an adjustment, I think.
I'm told that my packages (the first batch of them at least) are now safely in my office. I take this to mean that I now have an office. So that's one less thing to worry about. An office is a good sign; I've always had less work to do when I had one of those, and most people I know with offices seem to have a better time at work than those without them.
Lest you cube-dwellers should wax envious of the space, I'm going to post some pictures of my new domicile. It turns out that the room I rented has less space than my Accord. Basically all the stuff that came out of my car has rendered the floor more of an ideal than an integral part of the room. I'm about to go take pictures of everything, since I didn't have much light to work with yesterday. There's rain and stuff here, which is less than ideal, as far as I can tell.
Anyway, I'm living with a personal trainer and a window and siding guy, who both seem pretty cool so far. They're both older than I am, so they shouldn't get me into too much trouble. Unfortunately the Frietnamese lady didn't work out; we had irreconcilable differences in our concepts of square footage. But she's still awesome.
I would've gotten my Colorado driver license today, but I'm out of the kind of money they take. I've got little short-term liquidity, but slightly more plasticity to my name. The generous folks at Visa were kind enough to increase my spending limit fivefold, but something tells me that might have been a mixed blessing.
More stuff is forthcoming; I'm gonna run take pictures now.
I'm told that my packages (the first batch of them at least) are now safely in my office. I take this to mean that I now have an office. So that's one less thing to worry about. An office is a good sign; I've always had less work to do when I had one of those, and most people I know with offices seem to have a better time at work than those without them.
Lest you cube-dwellers should wax envious of the space, I'm going to post some pictures of my new domicile. It turns out that the room I rented has less space than my Accord. Basically all the stuff that came out of my car has rendered the floor more of an ideal than an integral part of the room. I'm about to go take pictures of everything, since I didn't have much light to work with yesterday. There's rain and stuff here, which is less than ideal, as far as I can tell.
Anyway, I'm living with a personal trainer and a window and siding guy, who both seem pretty cool so far. They're both older than I am, so they shouldn't get me into too much trouble. Unfortunately the Frietnamese lady didn't work out; we had irreconcilable differences in our concepts of square footage. But she's still awesome.
I would've gotten my Colorado driver license today, but I'm out of the kind of money they take. I've got little short-term liquidity, but slightly more plasticity to my name. The generous folks at Visa were kind enough to increase my spending limit fivefold, but something tells me that might have been a mixed blessing.
More stuff is forthcoming; I'm gonna run take pictures now.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
I didn't know Daewoo even made monitors...
This is as close to roughing it as I'm equipped to be, blog-wise. Well, no, I suppose I could update from my cell, but that's not the best use of my thumbs.
Anyway, I'm in Elk City, OK, for the evening. They said there wasn't anything of note between here and Amarillo, and, given where they were when they said that, that's saying something. The plan, according to my sister-to-be-in-law's fiance, is to hang a right at Amarillo and head northwards to colorado springs. Apparently I get to see more cows that way than by going through St. Louis.
I used to think Alabama was the most backwards state in the country. I'm not recanting that, now, but I have come to realize that threre are some contenders for the title. Take, for instance, the city of Florala, which lies, conveniently enough, on the Alabama-Florida border. I used to think that was a pretty stupid name for a municipality, but after passing through Arklahoma on my way to Texarkana, it doesn't sound so bad.
The scenery hasn't changed since Memphis, although I'm seeing a sharp increase in the number of American cars on the road. Most of the drivers are nice enough, except for people in maroon minivans. I don't have time to go into the reasoning behind this, but soccer moms are constantly trying to drive me off the road.
I'll take some pictures of the car loaded like it is, but it's seen worse. I hope the TV and monitor in the trunk don't get their pixels shaken loose by all the bumps in the roads, but the former is under warranty and the latter is obsolete, so I'm not too worried.
On the roommate front, I haven't made any progress since about thursday. I guess I'll go ahead and pay the greedy people at roommates.com for more access. I'll be paying for it if I don't, that's for sure.
I could probably afford a decent place on my own, but if I'm gonna be working with computers all during the day, it'd be nice to have another vertibrate life form at home to make some noise. I've only had one roommate, and he was pretty easy to get along with, being more like me than I am, but in a good way. I've never been the smart one in the room before, though.
Well, I'd write more, but the table upon which this lobby computer sits is about to break, and it shakes whenever I hit a key. That and my arms are sticking to it, which is sub-optimal.
If you're new to the blog, check out some older posts, many of which have actual content of interest to more people than just me, and a few of which I actually put some thought into.
Anyway, I'm in Elk City, OK, for the evening. They said there wasn't anything of note between here and Amarillo, and, given where they were when they said that, that's saying something. The plan, according to my sister-to-be-in-law's fiance, is to hang a right at Amarillo and head northwards to colorado springs. Apparently I get to see more cows that way than by going through St. Louis.
I used to think Alabama was the most backwards state in the country. I'm not recanting that, now, but I have come to realize that threre are some contenders for the title. Take, for instance, the city of Florala, which lies, conveniently enough, on the Alabama-Florida border. I used to think that was a pretty stupid name for a municipality, but after passing through Arklahoma on my way to Texarkana, it doesn't sound so bad.
The scenery hasn't changed since Memphis, although I'm seeing a sharp increase in the number of American cars on the road. Most of the drivers are nice enough, except for people in maroon minivans. I don't have time to go into the reasoning behind this, but soccer moms are constantly trying to drive me off the road.
I'll take some pictures of the car loaded like it is, but it's seen worse. I hope the TV and monitor in the trunk don't get their pixels shaken loose by all the bumps in the roads, but the former is under warranty and the latter is obsolete, so I'm not too worried.
On the roommate front, I haven't made any progress since about thursday. I guess I'll go ahead and pay the greedy people at roommates.com for more access. I'll be paying for it if I don't, that's for sure.
I could probably afford a decent place on my own, but if I'm gonna be working with computers all during the day, it'd be nice to have another vertibrate life form at home to make some noise. I've only had one roommate, and he was pretty easy to get along with, being more like me than I am, but in a good way. I've never been the smart one in the room before, though.
Well, I'd write more, but the table upon which this lobby computer sits is about to break, and it shakes whenever I hit a key. That and my arms are sticking to it, which is sub-optimal.
If you're new to the blog, check out some older posts, many of which have actual content of interest to more people than just me, and a few of which I actually put some thought into.
Friday, July 22, 2005
The Trick to Moving
is to realize that you are not just a person. You are a hundred different people in a thousand different databases, and moving all of them at the same time is next to impossible. This is before even bothering with actual cargo. Despite doing everything I can conceive of doing ahead of time, it's still gonna be a major headache.
For instance, I'm required to get a Colorado driver's license immediately upon becoming a resident. I'm pretty sure I need to present a valid DL on my first day at ITT as well. The only problem is, when I get a Colorado license, they will force me to surrender my Alabama one and issue me a fake-looking temporary ID, which will in turn delay everything from a new bank account to a security check to a car tag & smog check to a rent-ability check.
Then there's the medical stuff. Just to continue allergy shots, even with a note from my current allergist, I have to see another doctor out there. Apparently allergists from rival states don't trust one another, or maybe it's just a scam to get more business. Anyway, even though the allergins and Tabasco sauce or whatever they put in the needles will come from my allergist back home, I have to make an appointment to see the new overlord of the dominatrices who call themselves allergy technicians (or maybe I call them that, whatever).
I decided to go with FedEx, since they told me I could just ship my stuff to a FedEx/Kinko's in Co Springs and pick it up there. Then they told me I could only do that if I were sending the package "express," which, incidentally, isn't what the Ex stands for in the first place. I wanted to ship ground, and they said that they can't hold boxes when they ship them on the ground, because they'd have no way to keep track of it. It turns out that, while they can track millions of packages all over the world that are moving at varying speeds via land, sea, and air, if a box stops for some reason, it ceases to exist. Sorta like how photons can have a momentum but no mass. (How many people do you know who can't move an apartment's worth of stuff without using quantum mechanics?) Anyway, I shipped the first batch of boxes to my employer (I love having one of those), whose warehouse will have fun trying to decide what to do with them, since I probably don't exist over there yet.
Now my navigator has gone AWOL on me, so I'm gonna have to use mapquest, yahoo! maps(!), and google maps, and figure the best consensus of the three of them. I figure whatever I lack in direction I can make up in speed; if I drive fast enough at random for a long enough time, I'm sure to hit colorado eventually. They say it's a mile high up there, so all I should have to do is keep driving uphill.
Oh, and my car got new shoes. Apparently when I did my budgeting for the machine I didn't reckon on its preference for V-rated (the V is for expensiVe) tires. They're apparently the Air Jordans of roadware, if Mike played basketball in the mud, rain, and/or snow. This comparison got me to thinking why Nike hasn't come out with a line of tires yet, but I think I'll let somebody else make a million dollars off that idea, since branding isn't really my style. (BTW, I want to start a Hooters spin-off company selling coffee and magazines. I think I'll call it Moe Juggs).
It turns out Colorado is a whole state to the west of where I thought it was; it looks like Kansas swapped places with it or something since I checked the map last.
I'm sorry for not updating during my downtime, but my uplink is down in the dumps. I'm not sure if packets travel faster in the thinner air in the mountains, but we'll see. If anything, the letters should go faster when I'm uploading them downhill.
I thought I'd be on the road by now, but my mother said something about "deep cleaning" after I left, which means I've got to batton down some more hatches if I want any of my stuff to be where I left it. The more irreplacible something is, the more likely she is to throw it away. Plus I still need to back up all my files in case of, I don't know, something bad happening, even though the computer will be riding with me.
For instance, I'm required to get a Colorado driver's license immediately upon becoming a resident. I'm pretty sure I need to present a valid DL on my first day at ITT as well. The only problem is, when I get a Colorado license, they will force me to surrender my Alabama one and issue me a fake-looking temporary ID, which will in turn delay everything from a new bank account to a security check to a car tag & smog check to a rent-ability check.
Then there's the medical stuff. Just to continue allergy shots, even with a note from my current allergist, I have to see another doctor out there. Apparently allergists from rival states don't trust one another, or maybe it's just a scam to get more business. Anyway, even though the allergins and Tabasco sauce or whatever they put in the needles will come from my allergist back home, I have to make an appointment to see the new overlord of the dominatrices who call themselves allergy technicians (or maybe I call them that, whatever).
I decided to go with FedEx, since they told me I could just ship my stuff to a FedEx/Kinko's in Co Springs and pick it up there. Then they told me I could only do that if I were sending the package "express," which, incidentally, isn't what the Ex stands for in the first place. I wanted to ship ground, and they said that they can't hold boxes when they ship them on the ground, because they'd have no way to keep track of it. It turns out that, while they can track millions of packages all over the world that are moving at varying speeds via land, sea, and air, if a box stops for some reason, it ceases to exist. Sorta like how photons can have a momentum but no mass. (How many people do you know who can't move an apartment's worth of stuff without using quantum mechanics?) Anyway, I shipped the first batch of boxes to my employer (I love having one of those), whose warehouse will have fun trying to decide what to do with them, since I probably don't exist over there yet.
Now my navigator has gone AWOL on me, so I'm gonna have to use mapquest, yahoo! maps(!), and google maps, and figure the best consensus of the three of them. I figure whatever I lack in direction I can make up in speed; if I drive fast enough at random for a long enough time, I'm sure to hit colorado eventually. They say it's a mile high up there, so all I should have to do is keep driving uphill.
Oh, and my car got new shoes. Apparently when I did my budgeting for the machine I didn't reckon on its preference for V-rated (the V is for expensiVe) tires. They're apparently the Air Jordans of roadware, if Mike played basketball in the mud, rain, and/or snow. This comparison got me to thinking why Nike hasn't come out with a line of tires yet, but I think I'll let somebody else make a million dollars off that idea, since branding isn't really my style. (BTW, I want to start a Hooters spin-off company selling coffee and magazines. I think I'll call it Moe Juggs).
It turns out Colorado is a whole state to the west of where I thought it was; it looks like Kansas swapped places with it or something since I checked the map last.
I'm sorry for not updating during my downtime, but my uplink is down in the dumps. I'm not sure if packets travel faster in the thinner air in the mountains, but we'll see. If anything, the letters should go faster when I'm uploading them downhill.
I thought I'd be on the road by now, but my mother said something about "deep cleaning" after I left, which means I've got to batton down some more hatches if I want any of my stuff to be where I left it. The more irreplacible something is, the more likely she is to throw it away. Plus I still need to back up all my files in case of, I don't know, something bad happening, even though the computer will be riding with me.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Head 'Em Up, & Move 'Em Out
Now it's officially official; I'm a Hydrocode Analyst, headed for Colorado, where, I'm told, I have a job. I'm kinda taking it on faith that there is a company out there and that they have a job for me. Maybe it's all an elaborate hoax, but then again, I can't prove that the rest of the world isn't, so what the heck.
I've decided to pass on U-Haul in favor of just shipping my stuff. It should be cheaper and less of a hassle. The only big obstacle now is finding a driving buddy, since it's like 23 hours' worth, and my siblings are both indisposed, or at least not at my disposal.
I've started posting some of thel pictures from the beach at my brand-new flickr account. I'm thinking it's a little higher-class free picture hosting than photobucket, at least for visitors. Check it out.
I'm looking for roommates now, preferably ones with rooms already since the logistics of co-shopping with stranger for a new place involve too many degrees of freedom. I've met a Frietnamese woman who's renting out a posh room on top of a mountain or something. The only catch is, all the furniture I bring has to be attractive enough to match her decor. She's a little ahead of me in that regard, but maybe we can work something out. Since I'm a Taurus/Aires hybrid, and she's a Gemini, we "click," or so I'm told. I won't say more, since she could be reading this... Hi, if that's you. It may be a little more highfalutin than I had planned on, but the price is good for the accomodations.
I still have ahead of me the arduous task of deactivating my resumes, agents, profiles, and recruiters on a couple dozen web sites. I think I'll make a spreadsheet to list which ones are where and what the passwords and login names are. It's pretty ridiculous, but you know how much I like listing thins.
Speaking of that, moving is a great time to assess the total replacement cost of my worldly posessions. As I pack, I'm gonna be listing contents and retail replacement amounts to figure out how much insurance to put on each box.
If there's one lesson I learned the last time I tried this trick, it's to carry your GameCube memory card separate from the cube. One of the final traumas I experienced at Pacific Tech was when UPS lost my cube shipping it home, and when, paying out the insured amount, all the proceeds went directly to the Bursar's office toward my balance. In other words, I was denintoed, and had to start over on all my games when I did get around to buying them back.
So I'm doing an ambitious backupping project. Basically I'll assume that my computer is obliterated, my car stolen, and everything else is lost. I don't know if that will be enough precautions, but we'll see.
Today was Monday, and I have exactly 13 days until I report for work at wherever it is I go to do whatever it is I do.
I'll write more later (Charter is coming tomorrow between 8 & 5), when I'm further along updating my resume sites. I hope to get an apartment soon so I can start sending stuff ahead of me there, although if I room with the Vietnamench girl, who's only 97 lbs, I might have to pack in smaller boxes, or hurry and beat the truck up there.
I've decided to pass on U-Haul in favor of just shipping my stuff. It should be cheaper and less of a hassle. The only big obstacle now is finding a driving buddy, since it's like 23 hours' worth, and my siblings are both indisposed, or at least not at my disposal.
I've started posting some of thel pictures from the beach at my brand-new flickr account. I'm thinking it's a little higher-class free picture hosting than photobucket, at least for visitors. Check it out.
I'm looking for roommates now, preferably ones with rooms already since the logistics of co-shopping with stranger for a new place involve too many degrees of freedom. I've met a Frietnamese woman who's renting out a posh room on top of a mountain or something. The only catch is, all the furniture I bring has to be attractive enough to match her decor. She's a little ahead of me in that regard, but maybe we can work something out. Since I'm a Taurus/Aires hybrid, and she's a Gemini, we "click," or so I'm told. I won't say more, since she could be reading this... Hi, if that's you. It may be a little more highfalutin than I had planned on, but the price is good for the accomodations.
I still have ahead of me the arduous task of deactivating my resumes, agents, profiles, and recruiters on a couple dozen web sites. I think I'll make a spreadsheet to list which ones are where and what the passwords and login names are. It's pretty ridiculous, but you know how much I like listing thins.
Speaking of that, moving is a great time to assess the total replacement cost of my worldly posessions. As I pack, I'm gonna be listing contents and retail replacement amounts to figure out how much insurance to put on each box.
If there's one lesson I learned the last time I tried this trick, it's to carry your GameCube memory card separate from the cube. One of the final traumas I experienced at Pacific Tech was when UPS lost my cube shipping it home, and when, paying out the insured amount, all the proceeds went directly to the Bursar's office toward my balance. In other words, I was denintoed, and had to start over on all my games when I did get around to buying them back.
So I'm doing an ambitious backupping project. Basically I'll assume that my computer is obliterated, my car stolen, and everything else is lost. I don't know if that will be enough precautions, but we'll see.
Today was Monday, and I have exactly 13 days until I report for work at wherever it is I go to do whatever it is I do.
I'll write more later (Charter is coming tomorrow between 8 & 5), when I'm further along updating my resume sites. I hope to get an apartment soon so I can start sending stuff ahead of me there, although if I room with the Vietnamench girl, who's only 97 lbs, I might have to pack in smaller boxes, or hurry and beat the truck up there.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Hydrocode Analysis
If you're confused by the title, join the club. I've officially landed a position as a hydrocode analyst at ITT Industries Advanced Industries and Sciences in Colorado Springs, Co. The only trouble is, I have no idea what a hydrocode might be or how to analyze one.
It's been a big weekend, but most of it was devoted to reading Harry Potter. I won't spoil it, but I'm going to have to hurt these people who keep putting it off. Kind of hypocritical on my part, since i didn't read any of them until 2003.
Bleh, I have pictures, but still no internet connection at home. I've set up a temporary headquarters at my sister's place, but I expect to be kicked out any minute now.
Not much to say really, until I get the pictures from the beach and the Harry Potter party. Most of the costumes were underwhelming, although it was funny to see a 35-year-old man come dressed up as a wizard with a seven-year-old kid who wasn't. I'll write more when I get my Zoloft refilled. I've been having a headache since I ran out, and it's contagious, from what I can tell. Better quit while I'm still ahead, I guess.
It's been a big weekend, but most of it was devoted to reading Harry Potter. I won't spoil it, but I'm going to have to hurt these people who keep putting it off. Kind of hypocritical on my part, since i didn't read any of them until 2003.
Bleh, I have pictures, but still no internet connection at home. I've set up a temporary headquarters at my sister's place, but I expect to be kicked out any minute now.
Not much to say really, until I get the pictures from the beach and the Harry Potter party. Most of the costumes were underwhelming, although it was funny to see a 35-year-old man come dressed up as a wizard with a seven-year-old kid who wasn't. I'll write more when I get my Zoloft refilled. I've been having a headache since I ran out, and it's contagious, from what I can tell. Better quit while I'm still ahead, I guess.
Friday, July 15, 2005
I Put the Ass in Associate
So I'm calling yesterday my last day at the Sharper Image, mainly because the boss started back today, and it wouldn't do for me to be in her company a minute longer than absolutely necessary. Once I found out that, by giving them the courtesy of a 2-week notice I was cutting myself out of commission for the period, I stopped worrying about courtesy and got more pragmatic in a hurry.
I started giving away my sales again, and managed to hook up some of my cow-orkers with some pretty sweet deals, including several RSGs. It gets tricky deciding whom to give which sale to, since you don't want to screw up anybody's RSG percentage or units/transaction average, or any of the other asinine ways they rate us.
Anyway, at one point some poor sucker decided he had to have a $10 HugOO pillow. It was originally $30, so I couldn't talk him out of it, but I had to decide who the benefactor of the commission ($0.04) would be. I logged in the register as me (which I'm required to do by the policy), and when the register presented me with a list of employees to choose whose sale it was, I got a singularly evil idea. It was the closest thing to a little devil on my shoulder that I've had in a long time. I think they call him the Imp of the Perverse, but I'm not sure.
It turns out that the first name on the list is the full-time stock boy, who isn't officially a Sales Associate. One might ask, "If he isn't a sales associate, then why was his number listed under the heading Sales Associates?" If one had asked my manager that, she would've probably gone off on a tirade about how short-staffed we are, and how our IT people can't be bothered with little details like that. Probably the same reason she makes me sort through a clipboard with 200 pages of emailed pieces of time-sensitive data instead of allowing me to take 400 milliseconds to search in the computer. But back to my story...
The stock boy is pretty cool, despite being an old friend of the PHB. He gets to use tape, box cutters, stickers, and ladders all day, which makes me jealous, since I'm already bored with all our products, and tape never gets old. Since he's a full-time stocker, he didn't go through the sales training, and isn't elligible for commission, and (according to my boss) can't sell anything.
So I figured, "If he's not a sales associate, what happens if I credit him with this $10 sale? It's about time he sold something anyway, always hiding in the back room watching DVDs and sucking up to the boss." Plus, since I was tired of trying to explain the virtues of well-designed (or at least half-debugged) software to my boss, I figured she deserved an example. She's always quick to throw the book at me, so my thinking was, if it's paperwork she likes, I'll give her some.
I typed in the stock boy's number (only one digit different to an actual sales associate, so if anybody asks, my finger slipped). The transaction went on as usual, and at the end of the day, the computer listed him among the sales associates. This was on Sunday, and nobody said anything about it when we closed.
So far, you're thinking, this is a pretty lame story. You may have to have worked in a similarly braindead beuracracy to understand how much trouble one mistyped digit can cause. In this case, Adam was instantaneously semi-promoted to sales associate, now has a customer history, and will probably get a commission report and RSG lesson (since he's at 0%, having only sold one item). I bet he also gets a letter telling him his sales productivity isn't high enough in a few weeks, although by that time he'll be using a different number to log in.
The reason he needs a new number is because now my boss has to terminate him as a stocker, re-hire him as a sales associate, then terminate him and re-re-hire him as a stocker. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets three W-2s in January from TSI, having now been spliced into more than one person. So, in the fraction of a second it took me to type one digit out of place, I've created probably dozens of pages of paperwork for the higher-ups who were so keen to keep me down. The district manager noticed, naturally, but the official story was that it was an accident. I'll take the fifth on that one, although I should probably start watching what I type here, seeing as how I'm gonna be investigated by Uncle Sam and all.
The moral of the story is, people living in glass libraries shouldn't throw books. That, and don't try to bury me in a loophole, if you're still close enough to the ground to fall into one yourself.
I started giving away my sales again, and managed to hook up some of my cow-orkers with some pretty sweet deals, including several RSGs. It gets tricky deciding whom to give which sale to, since you don't want to screw up anybody's RSG percentage or units/transaction average, or any of the other asinine ways they rate us.
Anyway, at one point some poor sucker decided he had to have a $10 HugOO pillow. It was originally $30, so I couldn't talk him out of it, but I had to decide who the benefactor of the commission ($0.04) would be. I logged in the register as me (which I'm required to do by the policy), and when the register presented me with a list of employees to choose whose sale it was, I got a singularly evil idea. It was the closest thing to a little devil on my shoulder that I've had in a long time. I think they call him the Imp of the Perverse, but I'm not sure.
It turns out that the first name on the list is the full-time stock boy, who isn't officially a Sales Associate. One might ask, "If he isn't a sales associate, then why was his number listed under the heading Sales Associates?" If one had asked my manager that, she would've probably gone off on a tirade about how short-staffed we are, and how our IT people can't be bothered with little details like that. Probably the same reason she makes me sort through a clipboard with 200 pages of emailed pieces of time-sensitive data instead of allowing me to take 400 milliseconds to search in the computer. But back to my story...
The stock boy is pretty cool, despite being an old friend of the PHB. He gets to use tape, box cutters, stickers, and ladders all day, which makes me jealous, since I'm already bored with all our products, and tape never gets old. Since he's a full-time stocker, he didn't go through the sales training, and isn't elligible for commission, and (according to my boss) can't sell anything.
So I figured, "If he's not a sales associate, what happens if I credit him with this $10 sale? It's about time he sold something anyway, always hiding in the back room watching DVDs and sucking up to the boss." Plus, since I was tired of trying to explain the virtues of well-designed (or at least half-debugged) software to my boss, I figured she deserved an example. She's always quick to throw the book at me, so my thinking was, if it's paperwork she likes, I'll give her some.
I typed in the stock boy's number (only one digit different to an actual sales associate, so if anybody asks, my finger slipped). The transaction went on as usual, and at the end of the day, the computer listed him among the sales associates. This was on Sunday, and nobody said anything about it when we closed.
So far, you're thinking, this is a pretty lame story. You may have to have worked in a similarly braindead beuracracy to understand how much trouble one mistyped digit can cause. In this case, Adam was instantaneously semi-promoted to sales associate, now has a customer history, and will probably get a commission report and RSG lesson (since he's at 0%, having only sold one item). I bet he also gets a letter telling him his sales productivity isn't high enough in a few weeks, although by that time he'll be using a different number to log in.
The reason he needs a new number is because now my boss has to terminate him as a stocker, re-hire him as a sales associate, then terminate him and re-re-hire him as a stocker. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets three W-2s in January from TSI, having now been spliced into more than one person. So, in the fraction of a second it took me to type one digit out of place, I've created probably dozens of pages of paperwork for the higher-ups who were so keen to keep me down. The district manager noticed, naturally, but the official story was that it was an accident. I'll take the fifth on that one, although I should probably start watching what I type here, seeing as how I'm gonna be investigated by Uncle Sam and all.
The moral of the story is, people living in glass libraries shouldn't throw books. That, and don't try to bury me in a loophole, if you're still close enough to the ground to fall into one yourself.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Technical and Non-technical Difficulties
I've been hoping to report that I'm employed gainfully in Colorado Springs. The trick is to wait for them all to be at the office on the same day, find all the rubber stamps, and the extra-long roll of red tape required to get me hired. I understand that my low GPA means that they have to fill out "due diligence" paperwork, but that shouldn't slow them down much. I have an unofficial verbal offer from them, for what that's worth.
I'm also interviewing with Goldman Sachs in New York, for the position of Mortgage Analyst. This is yet another subject I may be qualified to be an analyst for that I know next to nothing about. Just goes to show you, I guess. These blue chip Wall Street guys like to have a room full of well-paid eggheads to tell them when they should buy and sell what. I can sound convincing, and that seems to be the most important thing. Sure, there are spreadsheets involved, and some occasional legitimate math, but for the most part I'd be a professional gambler. It's interesting that they ask for a background in "stochastic calculus," which sounded hard until I realized I'd already taken it under the heading "random variable calculus." That's the best display of mathematical marketing I've seen since they started calling imaginary numbers complex numbers, to try to dispel the growing belief that imaginary mathematicians were using actual money to do imaginary work. It's sad that the least sophisticated mathematicians are the best paid, but, at this point, I'll take it.
Just to keep my options open, I interviewed for a programmer/analyst position for a concrete manufacturer. That's right, you need a computer to mix concrete now. Apparently it's a pretty technical company, with 80% of the staff being involved with the programming. Naturally they use one of those sissy business/web-based/4GL languages, but at least it's local.
So basically, by this time next year, I could either be a Wall Street (ok, technically Broad Street) bond expert, a missile defense/hydrocode secret-cleared engineer/scientist/analyst guy, or a concrete-mixotronic engineer. The only people who like my resume are the ones who can't write a job description for what they need; they enjoy finding a candidate as confused as they are.
I'm still waiting on Charter to get their wires uncrossed. They gave me a new, cuter-than-cute cable modem yesterday, but the little lights on the front aren't blinking right, so they're coming out to fix it. That and the cable TV is out as well, but since we still got the All-star game, G-diddy hasn't suffered any permanent damage yet.
More pictures are forthcoming, including a few I plan to take at the Harry Pottery Convention Friday night. If you're not a Potter fan, what's wrong with you?
I'm also interviewing with Goldman Sachs in New York, for the position of Mortgage Analyst. This is yet another subject I may be qualified to be an analyst for that I know next to nothing about. Just goes to show you, I guess. These blue chip Wall Street guys like to have a room full of well-paid eggheads to tell them when they should buy and sell what. I can sound convincing, and that seems to be the most important thing. Sure, there are spreadsheets involved, and some occasional legitimate math, but for the most part I'd be a professional gambler. It's interesting that they ask for a background in "stochastic calculus," which sounded hard until I realized I'd already taken it under the heading "random variable calculus." That's the best display of mathematical marketing I've seen since they started calling imaginary numbers complex numbers, to try to dispel the growing belief that imaginary mathematicians were using actual money to do imaginary work. It's sad that the least sophisticated mathematicians are the best paid, but, at this point, I'll take it.
Just to keep my options open, I interviewed for a programmer/analyst position for a concrete manufacturer. That's right, you need a computer to mix concrete now. Apparently it's a pretty technical company, with 80% of the staff being involved with the programming. Naturally they use one of those sissy business/web-based/4GL languages, but at least it's local.
So basically, by this time next year, I could either be a Wall Street (ok, technically Broad Street) bond expert, a missile defense/hydrocode secret-cleared engineer/scientist/analyst guy, or a concrete-mixotronic engineer. The only people who like my resume are the ones who can't write a job description for what they need; they enjoy finding a candidate as confused as they are.
I'm still waiting on Charter to get their wires uncrossed. They gave me a new, cuter-than-cute cable modem yesterday, but the little lights on the front aren't blinking right, so they're coming out to fix it. That and the cable TV is out as well, but since we still got the All-star game, G-diddy hasn't suffered any permanent damage yet.
More pictures are forthcoming, including a few I plan to take at the Harry Pottery Convention Friday night. If you're not a Potter fan, what's wrong with you?
Friday, July 08, 2005
C-ya Later, Gator Tater
I'm still chuggin' away at the Secret Clearance application, and I hate to think what hoops I'm gonna have to go through to get my license to kill. Since it was getting tedious, I resorted to my usual method of wasting time when I want to feel a sense of accomplishment without expending any energy or thought: giving blood.
Actually, I got bored with regular blood and switched to giving platelets and RBCs, via a process called aphoresis. I don't know how it works, and I'm not sure the nurses do either, but they have a cute little machine that sorts out which cells go where and what gets put back in. All they have to do is run through the 50-part medical questionnaire in under 45 seconds and stab me with whatever sharp objects they have handy.
I get an even bigger kick out of it because my blood type, like just about every other parameter you might use to describe me, is rare in more ways than one. I'm O+, CMV-, which means my blood cells can go to premature babies, cancer patients, and people suffering from immune disorders like HIV. If nothing else, that's my contribution to humanity (well, that and the prestigious publication that you, dear reader, are now enjoying).
Since it's Friday, and since the men at Samford are afraid of cooties, and since the girls know I have nothing better to do, I was summoned to go swing dancing at Roman's. I figured I'd take it easy, seeing as how I'm sort about 40 million platelets, but I had to revise that figure to keep the ladies happy. (Keeping women happy, I've found, if possible at all, involves, among other things, the ability to revise, rework, remove, and refuse all kinds of logic).
Anyway, the one who requested my services was of course not interested in dancing more than a half a song once I got to the place, but that was fine, since the crowd contained better dancers anyway. Granted, pulling me off my couch when I'm studying valuable educational programming and then refusing to dance with me when I ask her to dance, citing a disinclination to dance to the current song, then dancing with some old geezer 8 bars later is enough to make me want to break her ankle all over again. But I was in a good mood, and still feeling the effects of the missing brain cells that I suspect the people at the donation center helped themselves to while I was distracted squeezing the hand exerciser, so I let her off with a few choice comments. Not that they're comments anyone else would've chosen, but I guess I must've chose them on some level, because they came out of my mouth.
The alert reader will have noticed by now that my narrative, to this point, has nothing to do with my title. For the rest of you, notice that my narrative, to this point, has nothing to do with my title. This is the point at which the one matches up with the other, thus resolving the suspense I've been building up until now.
At some point, two couples of young people (gasp!) showed up. They were all interested in dancing and relatively inexperienced, so I took the liberty of teaching them everything they needed to know. The first thing the men learned under my tutelage was that, just as in chess, if you take your finger off your girl, it's my move.
Anyway, both of the ladies proved excellent followers and a joy to lead, and as an added bonus, one of 'em is a radio personality, interning for none other than Rick and Bubba. For those of you outside of the sphere of influence of the Southern Trump, Rick & Bubba are to redneck radio what Ben & Jerry are to quantum electrodynamics. (All four of them eat inordinate orders of ice cream). So that was kinda exciting, and she told me her name--voted on by the listening public--was none other than the legendary Gator tater, a reference to her alma mater and her favorite flick. She took a picture with me on her camera, but tells me that they can't put it on the Rick & Bubba website on account of the absence of the two sexy fat men, the event not being sanctioned by the Birmingham Buddhas. Luckily, since my editorial staff consists largely of my imaginary friends (and I use the term loosely, as many of them aren't speaking with me anymore), nothing prevents me from posting her picture here. If you haven't gotten anything out of the reading material in this article (and I can't blame you, as I certainly haven't put much into it), here's some eye candy.
She'll probably remember me, because she managed to slip and land on her butt at the end of the fourth dance. I caught her head, though, and she was no worse for the wear. Naturally her smart-ass date chose that moment to tell me she had a torn ACL, but I can't take credit for dropping a girl if she was standing on her own feet at the time. Unless I put you in the air, you're generally responsible to handle any unfavorable gravitational situations that arise.
Actually, I got bored with regular blood and switched to giving platelets and RBCs, via a process called aphoresis. I don't know how it works, and I'm not sure the nurses do either, but they have a cute little machine that sorts out which cells go where and what gets put back in. All they have to do is run through the 50-part medical questionnaire in under 45 seconds and stab me with whatever sharp objects they have handy.
I get an even bigger kick out of it because my blood type, like just about every other parameter you might use to describe me, is rare in more ways than one. I'm O+, CMV-, which means my blood cells can go to premature babies, cancer patients, and people suffering from immune disorders like HIV. If nothing else, that's my contribution to humanity (well, that and the prestigious publication that you, dear reader, are now enjoying).
Since it's Friday, and since the men at Samford are afraid of cooties, and since the girls know I have nothing better to do, I was summoned to go swing dancing at Roman's. I figured I'd take it easy, seeing as how I'm sort about 40 million platelets, but I had to revise that figure to keep the ladies happy. (Keeping women happy, I've found, if possible at all, involves, among other things, the ability to revise, rework, remove, and refuse all kinds of logic).
Anyway, the one who requested my services was of course not interested in dancing more than a half a song once I got to the place, but that was fine, since the crowd contained better dancers anyway. Granted, pulling me off my couch when I'm studying valuable educational programming and then refusing to dance with me when I ask her to dance, citing a disinclination to dance to the current song, then dancing with some old geezer 8 bars later is enough to make me want to break her ankle all over again. But I was in a good mood, and still feeling the effects of the missing brain cells that I suspect the people at the donation center helped themselves to while I was distracted squeezing the hand exerciser, so I let her off with a few choice comments. Not that they're comments anyone else would've chosen, but I guess I must've chose them on some level, because they came out of my mouth.
The alert reader will have noticed by now that my narrative, to this point, has nothing to do with my title. For the rest of you, notice that my narrative, to this point, has nothing to do with my title. This is the point at which the one matches up with the other, thus resolving the suspense I've been building up until now.
At some point, two couples of young people (gasp!) showed up. They were all interested in dancing and relatively inexperienced, so I took the liberty of teaching them everything they needed to know. The first thing the men learned under my tutelage was that, just as in chess, if you take your finger off your girl, it's my move.
Anyway, both of the ladies proved excellent followers and a joy to lead, and as an added bonus, one of 'em is a radio personality, interning for none other than Rick and Bubba. For those of you outside of the sphere of influence of the Southern Trump, Rick & Bubba are to redneck radio what Ben & Jerry are to quantum electrodynamics. (All four of them eat inordinate orders of ice cream). So that was kinda exciting, and she told me her name--voted on by the listening public--was none other than the legendary Gator tater, a reference to her alma mater and her favorite flick. She took a picture with me on her camera, but tells me that they can't put it on the Rick & Bubba website on account of the absence of the two sexy fat men, the event not being sanctioned by the Birmingham Buddhas. Luckily, since my editorial staff consists largely of my imaginary friends (and I use the term loosely, as many of them aren't speaking with me anymore), nothing prevents me from posting her picture here. If you haven't gotten anything out of the reading material in this article (and I can't blame you, as I certainly haven't put much into it), here's some eye candy.
She'll probably remember me, because she managed to slip and land on her butt at the end of the fourth dance. I caught her head, though, and she was no worse for the wear. Naturally her smart-ass date chose that moment to tell me she had a torn ACL, but I can't take credit for dropping a girl if she was standing on her own feet at the time. Unless I put you in the air, you're generally responsible to handle any unfavorable gravitational situations that arise.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Coup Data
So I'm in "the final stages of the application process" with the blower-upper-designer people in Colorado, and they've got me filling out an app.
Now I get the thrill of tracking down payroll records for jobs I worked at 16 and 17, figuring out if I have an alibi that I was self-employed as a tutor in high school, and trying to sort out how to list the five or so different gigs I held at Tech while I was busy doing everything else.
My favorite question, which is a simple yes/no, actually comes at the end of the form, but it would have made more sense at the beginning methinks:
What bugs me about it is the hyprocracy of the thing. I mean, here we are, the week of Independence Day (or Good Riddance Day as the British call it), patriotically celebrating the anniversary of an act of high treason. We're a nation founded on the notion that there are times when a government simply has to go. I'm not engaged in the violent overthrow of the United States Government, nor do I belong to any organizations that are (although the Society of Women Engineers always seemed a bit sneaky...). However, I wouldn't be a Patriot if I put my love of my country ahead of my commitment to what it stands for in the first place. Government is a tool to protect freedom, and freedom should not be sacrificed to protect it.
Of course, it gets interesting determining what constitutes "illegal activities" in this context. I mean, a coup d'etat is only illegal if it fails. Revolutions are righteous, but rebellions are punishable by death. Kinda an all or nothing game.
Anyway, if there are any G-men reading this, don't get your g-strings in a wad. I've invested too many tax dollars in Uncle Sam to want to topple him by force. Naturally there are some things I would change if I had my 'druthers, but I'm really not charismatic enough to lead a coup.
On a more serious note, I wrote the above sections yesterday, before the attacks in London, and no connection to those tragic events should be inferred. All references to hypothetical future revolutions are abstract musings and should not be construed as threats.
Now I get the thrill of tracking down payroll records for jobs I worked at 16 and 17, figuring out if I have an alibi that I was self-employed as a tutor in high school, and trying to sort out how to list the five or so different gigs I held at Tech while I was busy doing everything else.
My favorite question, which is a simple yes/no, actually comes at the end of the form, but it would have made more sense at the beginning methinks:
Have you ever been an officer or a member or made a contribution to an organization dedicated to the violent overthrow of the United States Government and which engages in illegal activities to that end, knowing that the organization engages in such activities with the specific intent to further such activities?It gets better:
If you answered "Yes", explain in the space below.And, yes, they provide a total of one line for the explanation. I feel safer already.
What bugs me about it is the hyprocracy of the thing. I mean, here we are, the week of Independence Day (or Good Riddance Day as the British call it), patriotically celebrating the anniversary of an act of high treason. We're a nation founded on the notion that there are times when a government simply has to go. I'm not engaged in the violent overthrow of the United States Government, nor do I belong to any organizations that are (although the Society of Women Engineers always seemed a bit sneaky...). However, I wouldn't be a Patriot if I put my love of my country ahead of my commitment to what it stands for in the first place. Government is a tool to protect freedom, and freedom should not be sacrificed to protect it.
Of course, it gets interesting determining what constitutes "illegal activities" in this context. I mean, a coup d'etat is only illegal if it fails. Revolutions are righteous, but rebellions are punishable by death. Kinda an all or nothing game.
Anyway, if there are any G-men reading this, don't get your g-strings in a wad. I've invested too many tax dollars in Uncle Sam to want to topple him by force. Naturally there are some things I would change if I had my 'druthers, but I'm really not charismatic enough to lead a coup.
On a more serious note, I wrote the above sections yesterday, before the attacks in London, and no connection to those tragic events should be inferred. All references to hypothetical future revolutions are abstract musings and should not be construed as threats.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
I Left My Skin in Sandestin.
While there are innumerable stories I could post about the members of my traveling party over the last week, I've about decided that this is not the place for it. On the one hand, it's too easy to poke fun at one's own family, and on the other, it's too easy for them to read what I write. I'll let things cool off for a spell and then go about my venting in less obvious ways when I've recovered from my R&R.
Among the throngs of people vying for the coveted position of first against the wall when the revolution comes we now have the Coppertone R&D department. It seems somebody thought it would be a good idea to make sunblock that goes on like spray-on deodorant. They did, and it wasn't. You end up with a cloud of sticky, useless stuff that seems to call out to the UV gods, "Hey, look, I'm over here!" Anyway, when I get around to posting pictures you'll be able to see how unfairly the tanning genes were distributed in my clan.
Creditors don't seem to understand the concept of vacation. They just went ahead and sent bills last week anyway, when I was quite clearly not at home to pay them. I figure those shouldn't count, since they weren't considerate enough to bill me at my own convenience. I'm gonna be lucky if I can avoid an overdraft fee; it gets confusing when we switch months like that. I hate how they divide the calendar into such unmanageable chunks. What we need is an 8-day week, where you work two days on and two days off on average, and half the population alternates with the other half. Then put 32 days in the month, with 256 to the year; much better all around. The astronomers can sort out how it affects the rest of the cosmos. Maybe I'm just saying this because the sun and I aren't on particularly good terms right now, but whatever.
What I don't get is why monkeys never get sunburned, and who decided it was a good idea to develop fair skin in the first place. In the future you'll just take a pill at breakfast to determine what color your skin is for the day, unless you opt for the modular body package, where you mix & match limbs and features much like Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head. It's not just a game anymore; our grandchildren will be crawling on the floor trying to find their noses half the time, while generation Y is still fiddling with contact lenses.
The next big thing after that will be artificial beaches. I foresee Japan mastering the concept first, creating a comb-like island where 98% of the surface area is within 200 meters of the shoreline, and all the properties are perforce beachfront. The more dangerous the weather, it seems, the more valuable the property is these days, so the whole Ring of Fire could be a major attraction.
It'd be cool if supermodels could shed their skin all at once like snakes. There might be a market for a Heidi Klum shell somewhere. If nothing else, I'd buy a set of skin just to wear on the beach. Combine that with temporary freckles and you'd be set for life. Maybe the halfbakers should hear of these breakthroughs...
I'm actually working today, which means they didn't find a way to fire me while I was gone. I had hoped to hear an offer last Friday so I could've used last week as one of my 2 notice-weeks, but it looks like I'm stuck for a while. I didn't sell anything while I was out, but some people brought some things back, so it all evens out.
Among the throngs of people vying for the coveted position of first against the wall when the revolution comes we now have the Coppertone R&D department. It seems somebody thought it would be a good idea to make sunblock that goes on like spray-on deodorant. They did, and it wasn't. You end up with a cloud of sticky, useless stuff that seems to call out to the UV gods, "Hey, look, I'm over here!" Anyway, when I get around to posting pictures you'll be able to see how unfairly the tanning genes were distributed in my clan.
Creditors don't seem to understand the concept of vacation. They just went ahead and sent bills last week anyway, when I was quite clearly not at home to pay them. I figure those shouldn't count, since they weren't considerate enough to bill me at my own convenience. I'm gonna be lucky if I can avoid an overdraft fee; it gets confusing when we switch months like that. I hate how they divide the calendar into such unmanageable chunks. What we need is an 8-day week, where you work two days on and two days off on average, and half the population alternates with the other half. Then put 32 days in the month, with 256 to the year; much better all around. The astronomers can sort out how it affects the rest of the cosmos. Maybe I'm just saying this because the sun and I aren't on particularly good terms right now, but whatever.
What I don't get is why monkeys never get sunburned, and who decided it was a good idea to develop fair skin in the first place. In the future you'll just take a pill at breakfast to determine what color your skin is for the day, unless you opt for the modular body package, where you mix & match limbs and features much like Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head. It's not just a game anymore; our grandchildren will be crawling on the floor trying to find their noses half the time, while generation Y is still fiddling with contact lenses.
The next big thing after that will be artificial beaches. I foresee Japan mastering the concept first, creating a comb-like island where 98% of the surface area is within 200 meters of the shoreline, and all the properties are perforce beachfront. The more dangerous the weather, it seems, the more valuable the property is these days, so the whole Ring of Fire could be a major attraction.
It'd be cool if supermodels could shed their skin all at once like snakes. There might be a market for a Heidi Klum shell somewhere. If nothing else, I'd buy a set of skin just to wear on the beach. Combine that with temporary freckles and you'd be set for life. Maybe the halfbakers should hear of these breakthroughs...
I'm actually working today, which means they didn't find a way to fire me while I was gone. I had hoped to hear an offer last Friday so I could've used last week as one of my 2 notice-weeks, but it looks like I'm stuck for a while. I didn't sell anything while I was out, but some people brought some things back, so it all evens out.
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