I’m tired today… nearly falling asleep at my desk and I had coffee this morning. It’s post-Memorial Tuesday and I work to recover from a long weekend of house painting and a 1 year job performance review. Please tell me it’s 5:00…no? Sigh…
Painting was productive and fun, but we were probably too ambitious. Luckily our college student 30-something friend, Johnny, was able to help out… he’s a workhorse. Tonight, we’ll be doing some more work before the forecasted rain arrives… Summer in the NW doesn’t really start until after July 5th.
Performance review was OK…I’ve had them every 3 months for the year I’ve worked here. I love government.
Apparently most of my skills “exceed expectations,” none were “outstanding,” but I was given a “meets expectations” for my interpersonal skills. Gah! 1st of all, of all my skills, I’d sorta put “interpersonal skills” at the top… I mean, I have oodles of weaknesses but this had not traditionally been one of them. Yeah, I’m aware that it was not a bad rating… but for an overachiever like me? I know what “meets expectations” means.
Other than one incident where I took the initiative to suggest a tentative agenda for a bi-weekly team meeting and everyone couldn’t believe I did this without having a meeting with them first… I couldn’t think of any other reason why my interpersonal skills need work. Neither could my boss, ‘cause I actually argued about this and he ended up changing it to “exceeds…” I’ve never had to argue about my performance before.
I guess, in a cosmic sense, this is a good learning experience for me. I’m studying Organizational Development (The field of OD is concerned with the performance, development, and effectiveness of human organizations—Google definition) so this occurrence I’m having of not fitting with my current organizational culture lends some wisdom and empathy… yeah, that’s it.
Will my ego survive 2006? Tune in to find out…
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
On Black Gold and HP...
There is an icon blinking in my systray. It sounds like a personal problem and it is one, but there is a solution. It’s time to change my printer’s colored ink cartridge (uh…ink cartridge of color). However, I have not done so, though it’s been blinking for three weeks.
I’ve grown sort of attached to it; like it’s a little friend, or hostage. It flashes from miniature picture of printer to miniature picture of the earth-next-to-a-yellow-caution-triangle. Who comes up with these icons? It’s hungry…hungry for color, and I deny it every day. No color, no color for you. Mwahahahaha! (evil laugh).
I’m procrastinating because printers are obnoxious. First of all, the ink is priced like it’s some sort of rare, non-renewable resource. It is excruciatingly painful to purchase an ink cartridge, especially one of color, because I can’t begin to imagine how ink can possibly be worth that much money. So I’ve become a printing miser; only allowing my friends and family to print using the “fast draft” option. They are only allowed to print when it’s absolutely necessary, and multiple paged documents must be printed 4 to a page. Hey, they can read it with a magnifying glass, ok? They’ll live.
Besides, when you go to the local Officey Mega-Depot-Max-Mart, the ink is kept behind the customer service desk. So you can’t shoplift it. If it wasn’t so expensive, nobody would even think of shoplifting ink. Instead, you have to grovel with the clerk to get just the right number for your particular printer and, HP forbid, you neglect to remember your printer name and number (which is usually something like the 45983D-Z~Printpro 500x.2 SuPerPhoToMax G12-1972abceasyas123.), because you’ll never figure out which cartridge number goes with it. The clerk gets all flustered and won’t share the look-up book with you, even though you know you could probably figure it out if you could only spend a moment flipping through the pictures to locate your bad-boy. The clerk gets all haughty, “Well is it a PrintPro or a Photopro? Jet or lazer? Did you read the instruction manual? Do you know anything?” And then I say something like, “I went to college minimum-wage boy, and if you’d hand over the stupid guide book, I’d be able to throw it at you.”
Eventually, I get the ink ingot home and it’s time to put it into my printer. However, I open up the font and it starts to have seizures; buzzing back and forth, blinking lights, the display reprimands “CAUTION PRINTER HOOD OPEN! MISSILES WILL LAUNCH IN 10 SECONDS, 9, 8, 7…” I reach for the empty unit, unlatch it and remove it, carefully, like I’m performing internal surgery. An attractive nurse dabs my forehead. I transplant the new cartridge in and all appears fine, until I close the hatch. Now the thing hums, stops and beeps long and hard. In the display it says, “PRINT CARTRIDGE INSERTED IMPROPERLY YOU MORON. WHY DON’T YOU READ THE MANUAL, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE.” So, I open the hood, remove the cartridge, shove it back in a few times, and close it up. It whimpers, but otherwise appears to be satisfied.
My computer pipes up next with an ultra helpful utility window that proudly announces, “A new printer cartridge has been installed!!” No, really? You don’t say! Then it asks, “Align printer cartridges?” It all seems so innocent and meaningful and I think, “Sure, I can see how that’s important;” but when I click OK the printer once again freaks out and then, to my horror, starts PRINTING! Printing a lot. Printing page after page of high quality colored dots, squares, Mona Lisa’s, numbers, letters, tildes, punctuation cussing….It won’t stop, it’s using all the ink I just bought for it…cancel, cancel, cancel…I’m frantically mousing the cancel button on my computer. I try the cancel button on the printer but it laughs at me…beep ha ha, beep ha ha. I turn it off, which stops it, but when I turn it on again, it keeps going! Ahhhhhhhhh. Then suddenly, it stops. I now have a booklet of fresh photo-quality colored gibberish and all is quiet. I cry.
So go ahead and blink at me. I know what you’re up to ambiguous icon, and I’m not falling for it, you ink vampire. I’ll change you when I’m darned tootin’ ready and not a minute sooner. Beep, ha ha.
mln
I’ve grown sort of attached to it; like it’s a little friend, or hostage. It flashes from miniature picture of printer to miniature picture of the earth-next-to-a-yellow-caution-triangle. Who comes up with these icons? It’s hungry…hungry for color, and I deny it every day. No color, no color for you. Mwahahahaha! (evil laugh).
I’m procrastinating because printers are obnoxious. First of all, the ink is priced like it’s some sort of rare, non-renewable resource. It is excruciatingly painful to purchase an ink cartridge, especially one of color, because I can’t begin to imagine how ink can possibly be worth that much money. So I’ve become a printing miser; only allowing my friends and family to print using the “fast draft” option. They are only allowed to print when it’s absolutely necessary, and multiple paged documents must be printed 4 to a page. Hey, they can read it with a magnifying glass, ok? They’ll live.
Besides, when you go to the local Officey Mega-Depot-Max-Mart, the ink is kept behind the customer service desk. So you can’t shoplift it. If it wasn’t so expensive, nobody would even think of shoplifting ink. Instead, you have to grovel with the clerk to get just the right number for your particular printer and, HP forbid, you neglect to remember your printer name and number (which is usually something like the 45983D-Z~Printpro 500x.2 SuPerPhoToMax G12-1972abceasyas123.), because you’ll never figure out which cartridge number goes with it. The clerk gets all flustered and won’t share the look-up book with you, even though you know you could probably figure it out if you could only spend a moment flipping through the pictures to locate your bad-boy. The clerk gets all haughty, “Well is it a PrintPro or a Photopro? Jet or lazer? Did you read the instruction manual? Do you know anything?” And then I say something like, “I went to college minimum-wage boy, and if you’d hand over the stupid guide book, I’d be able to throw it at you.”
Eventually, I get the ink ingot home and it’s time to put it into my printer. However, I open up the font and it starts to have seizures; buzzing back and forth, blinking lights, the display reprimands “CAUTION PRINTER HOOD OPEN! MISSILES WILL LAUNCH IN 10 SECONDS, 9, 8, 7…” I reach for the empty unit, unlatch it and remove it, carefully, like I’m performing internal surgery. An attractive nurse dabs my forehead. I transplant the new cartridge in and all appears fine, until I close the hatch. Now the thing hums, stops and beeps long and hard. In the display it says, “PRINT CARTRIDGE INSERTED IMPROPERLY YOU MORON. WHY DON’T YOU READ THE MANUAL, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE.” So, I open the hood, remove the cartridge, shove it back in a few times, and close it up. It whimpers, but otherwise appears to be satisfied.
My computer pipes up next with an ultra helpful utility window that proudly announces, “A new printer cartridge has been installed!!” No, really? You don’t say! Then it asks, “Align printer cartridges?” It all seems so innocent and meaningful and I think, “Sure, I can see how that’s important;” but when I click OK the printer once again freaks out and then, to my horror, starts PRINTING! Printing a lot. Printing page after page of high quality colored dots, squares, Mona Lisa’s, numbers, letters, tildes, punctuation cussing….It won’t stop, it’s using all the ink I just bought for it…cancel, cancel, cancel…I’m frantically mousing the cancel button on my computer. I try the cancel button on the printer but it laughs at me…beep ha ha, beep ha ha. I turn it off, which stops it, but when I turn it on again, it keeps going! Ahhhhhhhhh. Then suddenly, it stops. I now have a booklet of fresh photo-quality colored gibberish and all is quiet. I cry.
So go ahead and blink at me. I know what you’re up to ambiguous icon, and I’m not falling for it, you ink vampire. I’ll change you when I’m darned tootin’ ready and not a minute sooner. Beep, ha ha.
mln
Friday, May 26, 2006
On annoying things about Portland…
I live here because our jobs are here. I’d really rather be East of the Cascades or Montana or even Central Washington…my spirit is really more about pine trees, mountains and wide open spaces than coffee shops, concrete and traffic jams.
But apparently I also value money so we’re here…for better and worse.
Portland is a weird place. People actually have bumper stickers that say “Keep Portland Weird” as if there is some threat to weirdness… like the city is going to be littered with sanity and we’d better work to keep things as absurd as possible. Great.
The worse thing about Portland is how everyone takes themselves so seriously… I mean, Portlanders seriously need to get over themselves.
Bicyclists, for example. It’s not about just riding one’s bike for fun and fitness… now bicyclists behave as if they are a protected minority. They protest stuff. They especially like to be in the way of vehicles then they complain and get all haughty when they are hit by vehicles. I mean, I’ve been a rider of bikes since I was 6 and I learned early on to ride way to the side (THE RIGHT SIDE) of the road. I’ve always tried to stay out of the way of cars, silly me, and—gasp—use hand signals to indicate when I needed to stop and turn.
Portland bicyclists are rude and stupid. They ride slowly, in the middle of traffic lanes, and refuse to let vehicles pass them. They cut people off, ignore traffic rules, and create a danger to themselves and others. Is it so freakin’ difficult to stay to the side of the road and be courteous? I know there are drivers who are rude to cyclists but I’m pretty respectful of them and still I end up behind some jerkwad going 2 mph when he/she could simply move to the side and let me pass. My greatest fun is getting in front of them, going really slowly, and not letting them pass me.
Bikers want more “rights” and a city with more bike friendly features. Great, I’m all for this. However, when you have a freakin’ bike lane—USE IT. You want drivers to respect you but you fail to respect others or traffic laws. And, another thing, maybe we should license bicycles. My car registration fees help pay for the roads… maybe bike registrations could help pay for bike lanes…and force cyclists to follow traffic laws. Cyclists should be ticketed when they don’t follow the rules…hey another source of revenue to pay for our overpriced schools and “diversity” programs.
Portland pedestrians are jerks too. When I cross a street, I use the crosswalk and the signals and I hurry. Most Portlanders fail to do any of these things and saunter across the streets… deliberately trying to piss people off. The trouble is that some dunderhead politicians decided to give pedestrians the right of way no matter what… meaning, walking people do not have to follow any traffic laws and drivers are at fault anytime a walker is injured. Good grief.
Those bumper stickers might as well say “Keep Portland Rude.” What happened to common courtesy? My parents taught me to respect others… when I walk through the malls, I move aside for people… when somebody lets me change lanes, I wave… when it’s night-time, I turn down my music… I actually give people a friendly smile now and then…silly me.
Don’t even get me started about Portland’s absurd government, it’s fascination with political correctness and it’s judgmental liberals. I mean, I always thought being liberal meant tolerance and stuff… you know, being laid back. Portland libs are almost as obnoxious as fundamentalist conservatives. Fundies want to regulate my sex life, child bearing, and religion… PDX libs want to regulate my diet, transportation, shopping locations and reverence for “diversity.”
Common courtesy. Live and let live. Are those concepts so bloody impossible? Apparently… here in Portland… they are.
I’d really rather write humor… and I will but, man, sometimes I gotta just complain.
But apparently I also value money so we’re here…for better and worse.
Portland is a weird place. People actually have bumper stickers that say “Keep Portland Weird” as if there is some threat to weirdness… like the city is going to be littered with sanity and we’d better work to keep things as absurd as possible. Great.
The worse thing about Portland is how everyone takes themselves so seriously… I mean, Portlanders seriously need to get over themselves.
Bicyclists, for example. It’s not about just riding one’s bike for fun and fitness… now bicyclists behave as if they are a protected minority. They protest stuff. They especially like to be in the way of vehicles then they complain and get all haughty when they are hit by vehicles. I mean, I’ve been a rider of bikes since I was 6 and I learned early on to ride way to the side (THE RIGHT SIDE) of the road. I’ve always tried to stay out of the way of cars, silly me, and—gasp—use hand signals to indicate when I needed to stop and turn.
Portland bicyclists are rude and stupid. They ride slowly, in the middle of traffic lanes, and refuse to let vehicles pass them. They cut people off, ignore traffic rules, and create a danger to themselves and others. Is it so freakin’ difficult to stay to the side of the road and be courteous? I know there are drivers who are rude to cyclists but I’m pretty respectful of them and still I end up behind some jerkwad going 2 mph when he/she could simply move to the side and let me pass. My greatest fun is getting in front of them, going really slowly, and not letting them pass me.
Bikers want more “rights” and a city with more bike friendly features. Great, I’m all for this. However, when you have a freakin’ bike lane—USE IT. You want drivers to respect you but you fail to respect others or traffic laws. And, another thing, maybe we should license bicycles. My car registration fees help pay for the roads… maybe bike registrations could help pay for bike lanes…and force cyclists to follow traffic laws. Cyclists should be ticketed when they don’t follow the rules…hey another source of revenue to pay for our overpriced schools and “diversity” programs.
Portland pedestrians are jerks too. When I cross a street, I use the crosswalk and the signals and I hurry. Most Portlanders fail to do any of these things and saunter across the streets… deliberately trying to piss people off. The trouble is that some dunderhead politicians decided to give pedestrians the right of way no matter what… meaning, walking people do not have to follow any traffic laws and drivers are at fault anytime a walker is injured. Good grief.
Those bumper stickers might as well say “Keep Portland Rude.” What happened to common courtesy? My parents taught me to respect others… when I walk through the malls, I move aside for people… when somebody lets me change lanes, I wave… when it’s night-time, I turn down my music… I actually give people a friendly smile now and then…silly me.
Don’t even get me started about Portland’s absurd government, it’s fascination with political correctness and it’s judgmental liberals. I mean, I always thought being liberal meant tolerance and stuff… you know, being laid back. Portland libs are almost as obnoxious as fundamentalist conservatives. Fundies want to regulate my sex life, child bearing, and religion… PDX libs want to regulate my diet, transportation, shopping locations and reverence for “diversity.”
Common courtesy. Live and let live. Are those concepts so bloody impossible? Apparently… here in Portland… they are.
I’d really rather write humor… and I will but, man, sometimes I gotta just complain.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
On American Idol and Validation...
We were couch-side for every episode this season and I had my favorite picked from the beginning… Finally a singer I could relate to and one who makes the kind of music I like…and who has an interesting character to go along with it.
He’s certainly the whole package but not the one AI pushes every season and not the one record producers force feed us these days. I’d internalized my lack of congruence with pop music… thought I was square ‘cause I didn’t go ape doo over the wailing divas or the hip-hopsters. Every time I hear Mariah or Whitney or Celine… I want to kick a dog. And, I like dogs. Same goes for those insipid “boy” voices.
I’m old school. I like singer/songwriters who put pen to paper, fingers to strings, and sing about what they know… who maybe, you know, play an instrument or two and whose voices soothe me. I love AI but it really ought to be called American Karaoke…Everytime one of the judges tells a singer they sounded like karaoke, I think…duh, this is karaoke. It’s the biggest karaoke competition in the world. Worse, it seems to have a most limited song-book.
Yet, in spite of AI’s limited vision (don’t even get me started about the age restrictions); we Americans elected a mature, dorky, Southern white-boy who is about as far from the pop-skanks as one could get. I love the message this sends to record producers and music moguls. Guess what? We’re sick of the junk you’ve been throwing at us for years… sick of the Brittany’s and Timberlakes… sick of the “runs” that give us the runs.
I hope Taylor’s success signals a return to real music and real musicians…not prepackaged Johnny Bravo’s. I also hope Taylor gets to write his music…share some of himself rather than performing somebody else’s idea of “what America wants to hear.” His prepackaged single, “Do I Make You Proud,” is OK; largely ‘cause he has the talent to infuse something personal into it but I’d much rather hear the song he’d write about it all.
Personally, I feel validated. To all you jerks who made me feel ridiculous for liking my old-school music…to all you record people who think only bubblegum youngsters sell records…and to all you radio stations who play absolute crap… Two words: Taylor Hicks. America voted. Please pay attention.
He’s certainly the whole package but not the one AI pushes every season and not the one record producers force feed us these days. I’d internalized my lack of congruence with pop music… thought I was square ‘cause I didn’t go ape doo over the wailing divas or the hip-hopsters. Every time I hear Mariah or Whitney or Celine… I want to kick a dog. And, I like dogs. Same goes for those insipid “boy” voices.
I’m old school. I like singer/songwriters who put pen to paper, fingers to strings, and sing about what they know… who maybe, you know, play an instrument or two and whose voices soothe me. I love AI but it really ought to be called American Karaoke…Everytime one of the judges tells a singer they sounded like karaoke, I think…duh, this is karaoke. It’s the biggest karaoke competition in the world. Worse, it seems to have a most limited song-book.
Yet, in spite of AI’s limited vision (don’t even get me started about the age restrictions); we Americans elected a mature, dorky, Southern white-boy who is about as far from the pop-skanks as one could get. I love the message this sends to record producers and music moguls. Guess what? We’re sick of the junk you’ve been throwing at us for years… sick of the Brittany’s and Timberlakes… sick of the “runs” that give us the runs.
I hope Taylor’s success signals a return to real music and real musicians…not prepackaged Johnny Bravo’s. I also hope Taylor gets to write his music…share some of himself rather than performing somebody else’s idea of “what America wants to hear.” His prepackaged single, “Do I Make You Proud,” is OK; largely ‘cause he has the talent to infuse something personal into it but I’d much rather hear the song he’d write about it all.
Personally, I feel validated. To all you jerks who made me feel ridiculous for liking my old-school music…to all you record people who think only bubblegum youngsters sell records…and to all you radio stations who play absolute crap… Two words: Taylor Hicks. America voted. Please pay attention.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Let my ruminating begin...
So, blogging... Everyone's doing it. I mean, the Chief Meteorologist on Newschannel 8 does it. Who knew 'sunbreaks' could be blog worthy--but there it is and here I am.
I am one of those people who "should be writing"... you know, for money, but am instead a government employee doing a job largely unrelated to the masters degree I still owe oodles of money on. Of course, this means I need a distraction... something to fiddle with at work when I'm bored out of my mind.
Instead of writing for money, I'll be writing for amusement at taxpayer expense. Great. OK, OK, only on my breaks, Big Brother.
I write humor... well, I've written humor. I'd say about 8 humor columns total. I am not prolific, which is reason #1 why I am also not published. Reason #2 involves a lovely combination of lethargy and fear that outweigh my drive for marketing myself. Reason #3 would be my lack of ability to commit to a writing genre...columns, articles...novels?
Perhaps the act of writing regularly and sharing it will kick my tail into writing professionally. Blog = Magic Wand?
Aside from my work, parenthood, wifely duties... my primary hobby is rumination. I should learn guitar, golf more, take up tatting... but I mostly spend my time in my head worrying about, well, everything. Friends' romances, my parents' disapproval, politics, past behavior, American Idol...all there, all the time... churning about like, uh, things that churn... maybe butter. Nah, too cliche.
My blog is the written manifestation of my ruminations... for better and worse. I hope good can come of it... for me, for you...for the universe, really.
I'm different now. I blog.
I am one of those people who "should be writing"... you know, for money, but am instead a government employee doing a job largely unrelated to the masters degree I still owe oodles of money on. Of course, this means I need a distraction... something to fiddle with at work when I'm bored out of my mind.
Instead of writing for money, I'll be writing for amusement at taxpayer expense. Great. OK, OK, only on my breaks, Big Brother.
I write humor... well, I've written humor. I'd say about 8 humor columns total. I am not prolific, which is reason #1 why I am also not published. Reason #2 involves a lovely combination of lethargy and fear that outweigh my drive for marketing myself. Reason #3 would be my lack of ability to commit to a writing genre...columns, articles...novels?
Perhaps the act of writing regularly and sharing it will kick my tail into writing professionally. Blog = Magic Wand?
Aside from my work, parenthood, wifely duties... my primary hobby is rumination. I should learn guitar, golf more, take up tatting... but I mostly spend my time in my head worrying about, well, everything. Friends' romances, my parents' disapproval, politics, past behavior, American Idol...all there, all the time... churning about like, uh, things that churn... maybe butter. Nah, too cliche.
My blog is the written manifestation of my ruminations... for better and worse. I hope good can come of it... for me, for you...for the universe, really.
I'm different now. I blog.
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