Wednesday, June 07, 2006
The dog that barked
Uh-oh. When I came home from work Monday night, Marley barked. It was just a single "Woof," but a telling one. Marley hadn't barked at me for several years. Back then, and now, I'd go in to work early and staying late.
Our need for longer work days is quite real. I have something like 10 books due by the end of July, including two by the end of this month. They aren't big books, but they're challenging. We have a demanding customer. Each week, in one forum or another, we have conference calls where we learn how the customer wants more documentation with greater technical depth and, oh, by the way, can you also improve the stuff you released last year?
Nevertheless, every day I say, "I work hard, but this isn't hard work."
We've also moved our offices. The cubicles are nicer, larger, but it's still like being in an airplane for nine hours a day. The neighbors are close and idiosyncratic. My next door neighbor has a cold, sneezing, coughing, and blowing his nose in a manner that would keep the ships safe at sea. When I get to the office early, I can listen to a co-worker two aisles over play America the Beautiful on his computer. Someone has burnt toast for breakfast every day. I'm certain that I do things that attract the attention of my neighbors, so I don't get too torqued about my neighbors' quirks. I wouldn't mind, however, if the guy with the cold would take a few days off.
This move was simple; I just barely filled one moving box. At a previous job, I won the Pack Rat award for having the most boxes o' stuff, 17 or 18, I think.
Moving in the opposite direction for most technology companies, HP is eliminating the telecommuting option for some of its employees. There's no question that in-person meetings are helpful (witness the amount of traveling that I've done). Nevertheless, with broadband Internet, cell phones, instant messaging, and such, physical location matters little. For example, albeit a slightly screwy example, on short-notice, I had to join a late-day conference call. Sandra and I rode to work together. On the way home then, I listened to the conference call, with my dorky little earpiece and she could listen to her recorded book.
At a time in my life when most people, young and old, are calling me Sir, the pharmacy technician at the neighborhood drug store greets me by my first name and then checks to see how many prescriptions I have waiting for me.
Adam, Jennie, and Lily had come to the camp a couple of weeks ago to help us get the boat into the water. The boat guy had a few more things to do before the launching. He was an hour and half late and forgot some key parts. He did what he could and left, to return a few days later. Jennie observed that BG looked and acted like Otto from The Simpsons.
Our need for longer work days is quite real. I have something like 10 books due by the end of July, including two by the end of this month. They aren't big books, but they're challenging. We have a demanding customer. Each week, in one forum or another, we have conference calls where we learn how the customer wants more documentation with greater technical depth and, oh, by the way, can you also improve the stuff you released last year?
Nevertheless, every day I say, "I work hard, but this isn't hard work."
We've also moved our offices. The cubicles are nicer, larger, but it's still like being in an airplane for nine hours a day. The neighbors are close and idiosyncratic. My next door neighbor has a cold, sneezing, coughing, and blowing his nose in a manner that would keep the ships safe at sea. When I get to the office early, I can listen to a co-worker two aisles over play America the Beautiful on his computer. Someone has burnt toast for breakfast every day. I'm certain that I do things that attract the attention of my neighbors, so I don't get too torqued about my neighbors' quirks. I wouldn't mind, however, if the guy with the cold would take a few days off.
This move was simple; I just barely filled one moving box. At a previous job, I won the Pack Rat award for having the most boxes o' stuff, 17 or 18, I think.
Moving in the opposite direction for most technology companies, HP is eliminating the telecommuting option for some of its employees. There's no question that in-person meetings are helpful (witness the amount of traveling that I've done). Nevertheless, with broadband Internet, cell phones, instant messaging, and such, physical location matters little. For example, albeit a slightly screwy example, on short-notice, I had to join a late-day conference call. Sandra and I rode to work together. On the way home then, I listened to the conference call, with my dorky little earpiece and she could listen to her recorded book.
At a time in my life when most people, young and old, are calling me Sir, the pharmacy technician at the neighborhood drug store greets me by my first name and then checks to see how many prescriptions I have waiting for me.
Adam, Jennie, and Lily had come to the camp a couple of weeks ago to help us get the boat into the water. The boat guy had a few more things to do before the launching. He was an hour and half late and forgot some key parts. He did what he could and left, to return a few days later. Jennie observed that BG looked and acted like Otto from The Simpsons.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
One Grande ChiliDogerino, hold the onions
You can tell right away that you're in Amherst, even if you ignore all of the ivy-covered buildings or the Rip-Van-Winkle-esque hippies in the natural foods store. It's the bumper stickers. It's the aging Toyota with Democratic campaign stickers from the last two state and national elections. (They all lost.) This year's winner was on the back of a small pickup truck:
This was my annual return to campus during Reunion weekend. At one point, I'd make a day of it, visiting with professors, hanging out in the coffee shops, nosing through favorite bookstores. Most of those professors have since retired, although I did get a chance to chat with my religion professor. The coffee shops that aren't Starbuck's are gone. And books. I'll read a book again someday, for sure.
"A celebration of summer, with its sweet flavor of juicy sun-kissed blueberries baked to perfection in a buttery crust." That sounds nice, but it shouldn't be a description for my morning coffee. Last week, in our New York office, some samples of the blueberry coffee showed up. Some people said it was good, but I kept walking. I like chili dogs and I like lima beans, but I'm not going to put them in my coffee.
And, last night, I stopped into a store for a newspaper. A young man at the other counter requested two strawberry cigars, and not bubble gum cigars, either.
Woody and Marian have returned for a short stay. They'll go to the Cape to visit with their new grandsons. They have doctors' appointments this week and next and plan to return to the Island to prepare for summer visitors.
If the Grateful Dead decide to get the band together and call to ask if you'd like to be their keyboard player, tell 'em you're busy.
Before long, we'll have our iPods surgically implanted, with a USB jack in our navels and the ear buds grafted onto our tympanic membranes. Until then, we get this.
Footnote: the Blogger spell-checker didn't recognize the word Starbuck's and offered this instead:
(Strabismus is the medical term for cross-eyed.)
Support the No Sheep Left Behind ActIt was raining heavily during the time that I was on campus, so I didn't see a lot of people. The people I did see, however, were white - alumni, spouses, and kids. I met one black campus police officer.
This was my annual return to campus during Reunion weekend. At one point, I'd make a day of it, visiting with professors, hanging out in the coffee shops, nosing through favorite bookstores. Most of those professors have since retired, although I did get a chance to chat with my religion professor. The coffee shops that aren't Starbuck's are gone. And books. I'll read a book again someday, for sure.
"A celebration of summer, with its sweet flavor of juicy sun-kissed blueberries baked to perfection in a buttery crust." That sounds nice, but it shouldn't be a description for my morning coffee. Last week, in our New York office, some samples of the blueberry coffee showed up. Some people said it was good, but I kept walking. I like chili dogs and I like lima beans, but I'm not going to put them in my coffee.
And, last night, I stopped into a store for a newspaper. A young man at the other counter requested two strawberry cigars, and not bubble gum cigars, either.
Woody and Marian have returned for a short stay. They'll go to the Cape to visit with their new grandsons. They have doctors' appointments this week and next and plan to return to the Island to prepare for summer visitors.
If the Grateful Dead decide to get the band together and call to ask if you'd like to be their keyboard player, tell 'em you're busy.
Before long, we'll have our iPods surgically implanted, with a USB jack in our navels and the ear buds grafted onto our tympanic membranes. Until then, we get this.
Footnote: the Blogger spell-checker didn't recognize the word Starbuck's and offered this instead:
(Strabismus is the medical term for cross-eyed.)
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