So I finished my book and started on a new, and grueling, project for Microsoft Learning (via some outsourcers in India-- joy). During this transition, it became apparent that I needed a break.
My beloved boyfriend, unbeknownst to me, started looking around for good places to go to unwind. He decided on Barbados (still without my knowledge) and did about a month's worth of research and planning. Night after night, for hours, he looked over websites, poured over resort brochures, checked pricing, local economy, weather, beach conditions, and more. He listened to traveller podcasts and read reviews. He emailed people and make phone calls, he put in his time and had everything planned out before even discussing it with me.
I was skeptical. Last year was bad for me financially, and I just didn't want the stress of all that money spent on something unessential. I didn't need the stress of planning for international travel (to a caribbean island when I am so sensitive to sunlight...), packing, etc. on top of the new job I was doing.
But he was adamant. And it's his money. So I let everyone on the project know that I would be on vacation for the first week of Feb.
Time passed, I kept working. Expedia emailed us and told us our original flight was cancelled. My boyfriend had to arrange for a different, earlier flight. That sucked, but what are you gonna do?
He then came down with a really, really bad case of the flu just over two weeks before vacation-- perfect amount of time for him to recover and for me to come down with it...
But he got better, and due to strict quarantine procedures, I managed not to get it (first time ever).
So it's the day before we leave. He goes to Expedia.com (where he made the reservations) to get the confirmation number so he could print out the boarding passes.
And expedia no longer has an itinerary for him.
That's right. The vacation we planned so carefully, and Expedia has lost all record that we paid for two round trip tickets.
He calls them. The call goes to india (sigh-- I am all to familiar with that sort of issue-- try working sub-sub-contractor for an outsourcer....). After a long frustrating call, it appears that the problem is with Delta. But we paid for the ticket. It is already purchased, paid for, done deal. We called weeks ago and confirmed our seats and everything....
While on the phone, apparently the indian guy got confused, or was trying to be helpful, and purchased two more tickets *on the flight that was cancelled earlier* in his name without his knowledge. Then he told my BF to call Delta.
My BF called Delta, and here's the scoop:
--the itinerary/confirmation number that Expedia had was wrong.
--the original flight that expedia said was cancelled, was not.
--we still had tickets and seats on that flight, they were not cancelled.
--despite working through Expedia to fly using the earlier flight- Delta had no record of us on that plane, and that plane is completely sold out.
--during the call, the expedia guy, bought two more tickets in our name for the same flight we were already on.
So in the end-- we have our original flight booked, with the seats we originally chose. We have not purchased any other tickets (we were double booked for the same flight, but that was taken care of).
Expedia was wrong about:
-the first flight being cancelled
-putting us on the second flight at all-- we would have gotten to the airport, and found that there was no record of us on that flight.
-removing us from the first flight (I'm relieved about that)
-what our confirmation and itinerary number was
-telling us the second flight was cancelled
-double booking us in confusion
Now our only problem is: We planned to eat some food between the morning flight from home to atlanta, for the flight from atlanta to our caribbean destination. Now we will have about 40 minutes to get from our atlanta flight to our connecting flight. Atlanta airport is huge. We definitely won't have time to eat. heck we may not have time to make the connecting flight....
Friday, February 01, 2008
Thursday, November 08, 2007
first in a circle-- part 2
So after I took the call from my friend's cell phone that caused me to experience-- in a weird, third hand way-- his mugging, the subsequent call to 911 and all that hullabaloo, I went to bed around 2am.
I took my cell phone up to my bedroom (which I never do because it makes my alarm clock buzz). But in my exhaustion (and hunger) I forgot to also bring my headset. My phone's handset volume is broken and I can't hear anyone who calls without the headset.
At about 4:55am the phone rings. I answer it, then realize I forgot the headset. I heard "Whazzup Bitch?" Which is a possible greeting from several of my friends, so I ran downstairs, frantically searching for my headset so I could see if it was the guy who got mugged or someone who knew about it. I told them my phone was acting up and I couldn't hear them. I couldn't find my headset and ended up hanging up... which is when I found the headset hanging over the back of a dining room chair... wtf, I never put it there...
And it was then that I finally had the presence of mind to check the caller ID-- it was my friend's phone-- the one that was stolen. Those bastards were calling me on a stolen phone.
Then, the phone rang again and it was them (apx 5am). I was pissed. As soon as I said hello they started yelling about the fact that I was a bitch and a whore-- at which time I told them that they were idiots to call from a freaking stolen phone because now we can track their ass down (okay, I wasn't sure but I wanted to get them to stop calling). I then told them I was going to conference call their ass with the police and see how they liked it-- please hold-- (which they did) while I dialed 911 then connected both calls-- at which time the punk ass hung up.
I asked the 911 lady if there was anyway to track them down, that they were probably going to call all of the numbers, and she said no. The best she could do was send the police to my home (at 5am) to take a statement. I live across the city from the assault and knew, the way that the keystone cops work in that area of the city, that it would do no good (OMG, don't get me started about the police in that area). So I went to bed, again.
The next day, emails started trickling in: Other people from his phone contacts got calls (for them this was out of the blue-- they didn't know, as I did, the backstory) and they got my emails. Finally, my friend called and let me know what happened:
He was walking home from work, feeling tired and cranky and not really paying attention (isn't it always how it happens?). On his way, he heard people running. He thought it was some friends from work playing a prank and was slow to turn around. When he turned, it was not his friends but two black guys, young, and one had a gun. My friend, shocked, dropped to the ground (well, I'm not sure why, but that's what he did). That's when the phone apparently dialed and I got to listen in. The guy with the gun held it to my friend's chest and started yelling "Fucking Nigger, fucking nigger" over and over, really working himself up. Then he started to demand, getting high, I think, on the power, that my friend give him things. First his money, then is phone, then his bag, then his coat, then his dog collar (a cool neck collar, leather, studded), then even his shirt, then he asked for my friends boots.
At that point my friend protested, and some time had passed (about four minutes). The second guy was getting nervous and vetoed the boots. So they took his bag and ran.
My friend got up, shocked and cold, and started back towards work so he could call the police and get a uniform shirt to wear home. On his way up the street he saw his cloths on the ground and two black guys walking ahead of him. He could have sworn it was them-- but they still had the gun, so he doubled back to work and called the police.
Meanwhile, the assailants were heading back to their hangout to empty out my friend's bag and see what was in it, find out I was listening and hang up. And that's when I called 911.
When my friend got back to work, he called the police too, which is why I got the call back from 911, letting me know he was okay enough to file a report.
And then, because of where he works (a restaurant), his coworkers were still there and decided the thing he needed was a drink and opened the bar for him so they could commiserate...
...hours later he got home and passed out, happy as a clam (all things considered).
So while he was sleeping, myself and his friends were getting frightening phone calls, ranging from being berated over the phone, to the assailant leaving a detailed message about what they'd done to our friend. All of us were left pretty shaken up and uncertain if our buddy was okay...
...Unaware that he was fine. He'd not been beaten up or shot, he'd fallen of his own free will and gave them what they wanted (well, except his boots, a man has to keep his boots...) so he was okay. We could only expect the worst.
But the next day, from a friend's house, he called all of us to let us know he was alright (ah, the tedious price of having people care). He has gotten a couple of leads from other people in the area (this is local community info, the police are doing bupkiss). It looks like it might be possible to find these bastards.
So that's the story. I doubt there'll be more to follow, so that's it for me.
Oh, and I don't quite feel so bad yelling at the guy on the phone and trying to conference him with 911 (instead of being suave and trying to get clues). One of the women that they called, pissed because of the time, simply yelled into the phone "STOP CALLING ME!" and hung up. LOL. Not necessarily helpful in the ongoing investigation but both heartfelt and effective-- they didn't call her twice.
It does turn out that my speed dial for my friend's phone is pound sign+1, so it was easy to auto-call me by mistake when trying to call 911. So the reason I got the call and not someone else was simply because I was first in the list.
Keep that in mind, being first... it can be a greater responsiblity than you'd think.
I took my cell phone up to my bedroom (which I never do because it makes my alarm clock buzz). But in my exhaustion (and hunger) I forgot to also bring my headset. My phone's handset volume is broken and I can't hear anyone who calls without the headset.
At about 4:55am the phone rings. I answer it, then realize I forgot the headset. I heard "Whazzup Bitch?" Which is a possible greeting from several of my friends, so I ran downstairs, frantically searching for my headset so I could see if it was the guy who got mugged or someone who knew about it. I told them my phone was acting up and I couldn't hear them. I couldn't find my headset and ended up hanging up... which is when I found the headset hanging over the back of a dining room chair... wtf, I never put it there...
And it was then that I finally had the presence of mind to check the caller ID-- it was my friend's phone-- the one that was stolen. Those bastards were calling me on a stolen phone.
Then, the phone rang again and it was them (apx 5am). I was pissed. As soon as I said hello they started yelling about the fact that I was a bitch and a whore-- at which time I told them that they were idiots to call from a freaking stolen phone because now we can track their ass down (okay, I wasn't sure but I wanted to get them to stop calling). I then told them I was going to conference call their ass with the police and see how they liked it-- please hold-- (which they did) while I dialed 911 then connected both calls-- at which time the punk ass hung up.
I asked the 911 lady if there was anyway to track them down, that they were probably going to call all of the numbers, and she said no. The best she could do was send the police to my home (at 5am) to take a statement. I live across the city from the assault and knew, the way that the keystone cops work in that area of the city, that it would do no good (OMG, don't get me started about the police in that area). So I went to bed, again.
The next day, emails started trickling in: Other people from his phone contacts got calls (for them this was out of the blue-- they didn't know, as I did, the backstory) and they got my emails. Finally, my friend called and let me know what happened:
He was walking home from work, feeling tired and cranky and not really paying attention (isn't it always how it happens?). On his way, he heard people running. He thought it was some friends from work playing a prank and was slow to turn around. When he turned, it was not his friends but two black guys, young, and one had a gun. My friend, shocked, dropped to the ground (well, I'm not sure why, but that's what he did). That's when the phone apparently dialed and I got to listen in. The guy with the gun held it to my friend's chest and started yelling "Fucking Nigger, fucking nigger" over and over, really working himself up. Then he started to demand, getting high, I think, on the power, that my friend give him things. First his money, then is phone, then his bag, then his coat, then his dog collar (a cool neck collar, leather, studded), then even his shirt, then he asked for my friends boots.
At that point my friend protested, and some time had passed (about four minutes). The second guy was getting nervous and vetoed the boots. So they took his bag and ran.
My friend got up, shocked and cold, and started back towards work so he could call the police and get a uniform shirt to wear home. On his way up the street he saw his cloths on the ground and two black guys walking ahead of him. He could have sworn it was them-- but they still had the gun, so he doubled back to work and called the police.
Meanwhile, the assailants were heading back to their hangout to empty out my friend's bag and see what was in it, find out I was listening and hang up. And that's when I called 911.
When my friend got back to work, he called the police too, which is why I got the call back from 911, letting me know he was okay enough to file a report.
And then, because of where he works (a restaurant), his coworkers were still there and decided the thing he needed was a drink and opened the bar for him so they could commiserate...
...hours later he got home and passed out, happy as a clam (all things considered).
So while he was sleeping, myself and his friends were getting frightening phone calls, ranging from being berated over the phone, to the assailant leaving a detailed message about what they'd done to our friend. All of us were left pretty shaken up and uncertain if our buddy was okay...
...Unaware that he was fine. He'd not been beaten up or shot, he'd fallen of his own free will and gave them what they wanted (well, except his boots, a man has to keep his boots...) so he was okay. We could only expect the worst.
But the next day, from a friend's house, he called all of us to let us know he was alright (ah, the tedious price of having people care
So that's the story. I doubt there'll be more to follow, so that's it for me.
Oh, and I don't quite feel so bad yelling at the guy on the phone and trying to conference him with 911 (instead of being suave and trying to get clues). One of the women that they called, pissed because of the time, simply yelled into the phone "STOP CALLING ME!" and hung up. LOL. Not necessarily helpful in the ongoing investigation but both heartfelt and effective-- they didn't call her twice.
It does turn out that my speed dial for my friend's phone is pound sign+1, so it was easy to auto-call me by mistake when trying to call 911. So the reason I got the call and not someone else was simply because I was first in the list.
Keep that in mind, being first... it can be a greater responsiblity than you'd think.
The price of being first in the circle
My good friend Spaz was mugged tonight, and I listened to most of it on the phone.
You see, he must have tried to dial 911 and missed the 9 and only got the 1, and wouldn't you know it, I am the first person on speed dial. He had told me just a week or two prior that I was the only one in his circle of friends. He'd just formally signed up for a cell phone... only to have it stolen with me in tow.
At 11:15pm I got a call on my phone from Spaz. I answered (which is a miracle in and of itself really), and heard some black guy yelling, "You fucking nigger, you FUCKING nigger..." Some grunting, some words I couldn't understand, jostling, wind noise, more "Fucking nigger!", then running. I listened trying to figure out what was going on, because this is not good, really not good.
Meanwhile, my boyfriend, awakened by my yelling "Hello, can anyone hear me?!" wanted me to just hang up, but I knew something was wrong. I kept listening, I handed the headset over to him to listen. He wanted me to just hang up and call back. I knew that that was a bad plan, so I just listened. I heard them stop, it got quiet, like they were inside. Then I heard CD cases clink and someone say clearly something like "Just fucking CDs.... and some movies..." I relayed this to my boyfriend, commenting that they were going through Spaz's stuff (damn, but they didn't hear me before), when I heard the guy say "Fuck" and then the phone hung up. The call lasted 10:17 (ten minutes, seventeen seconds).
Pissed, but knowing now for sure that the phone was not in Spaz's possession, I called 911. The lady told me, after listening to my story, that she could do nothing because I didn't know where Spaz or the assailants were.
Damn. So I hung up and started trying to find phone numbers for Spaz's friends, people he might have been out drinking with. I didn't have any (hey, I don't hang out with them myself, so why would I?), when I got a call back. It was 911. The lady wanted Spaz's phone number and name-- and when I provided them she told me that the police were already with him, that he was okay, or okay enough to tell the police about the two guys. That's all she'd tell me, but I thanked her profusely for calling back.
I then tried to access his friends by doing the unspeakable, I signed up for myspace. That's how freaked I was. I then was able to email some of his peeps to ask them to have him get in touch and just let us (me and my boyfriend) know he's okay, since he obviously didn't have access to a phone now.
Yikes, how terrifying (not the myspace but the mugging...). I hope he's okay. I hope he has health insurance so he can get taken care of if he's not okay. It sounded devastating. I feel freaked out and I only listened. How strangely intimate, listening to an assault and theft on the phone. To be listening on the phone being stolen.
What would you do? Would you stay on the line and try to get clues? Would you immediately call 911? Would you believe them if they said they couldn't find the persons involved by the cell phone? Have you ever had this sort of experience? If you did, what would do? What advice would you give to someone who did?
Scary.
You see, he must have tried to dial 911 and missed the 9 and only got the 1, and wouldn't you know it, I am the first person on speed dial. He had told me just a week or two prior that I was the only one in his circle of friends. He'd just formally signed up for a cell phone... only to have it stolen with me in tow.
At 11:15pm I got a call on my phone from Spaz. I answered (which is a miracle in and of itself really), and heard some black guy yelling, "You fucking nigger, you FUCKING nigger..." Some grunting, some words I couldn't understand, jostling, wind noise, more "Fucking nigger!", then running. I listened trying to figure out what was going on, because this is not good, really not good.
Meanwhile, my boyfriend, awakened by my yelling "Hello, can anyone hear me?!" wanted me to just hang up, but I knew something was wrong. I kept listening, I handed the headset over to him to listen. He wanted me to just hang up and call back. I knew that that was a bad plan, so I just listened. I heard them stop, it got quiet, like they were inside. Then I heard CD cases clink and someone say clearly something like "Just fucking CDs.... and some movies..." I relayed this to my boyfriend, commenting that they were going through Spaz's stuff (damn, but they didn't hear me before), when I heard the guy say "Fuck" and then the phone hung up. The call lasted 10:17 (ten minutes, seventeen seconds).
Pissed, but knowing now for sure that the phone was not in Spaz's possession, I called 911. The lady told me, after listening to my story, that she could do nothing because I didn't know where Spaz or the assailants were.
Damn. So I hung up and started trying to find phone numbers for Spaz's friends, people he might have been out drinking with. I didn't have any (hey, I don't hang out with them myself, so why would I?), when I got a call back. It was 911. The lady wanted Spaz's phone number and name-- and when I provided them she told me that the police were already with him, that he was okay, or okay enough to tell the police about the two guys. That's all she'd tell me, but I thanked her profusely for calling back.
I then tried to access his friends by doing the unspeakable, I signed up for myspace. That's how freaked I was. I then was able to email some of his peeps to ask them to have him get in touch and just let us (me and my boyfriend) know he's okay, since he obviously didn't have access to a phone now.
Yikes, how terrifying (not the myspace but the mugging...). I hope he's okay. I hope he has health insurance so he can get taken care of if he's not okay. It sounded devastating. I feel freaked out and I only listened. How strangely intimate, listening to an assault and theft on the phone. To be listening on the phone being stolen.
What would you do? Would you stay on the line and try to get clues? Would you immediately call 911? Would you believe them if they said they couldn't find the persons involved by the cell phone? Have you ever had this sort of experience? If you did, what would do? What advice would you give to someone who did?
Scary.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Even as I...
Even as I prepare to finish the book I am already thinking about other things I want to do. And one of those things I am desperate for is to update my personal music library.
Some male singers I am really into that I need to make sure I have enough of their stuff is:
Richard Thompson
Leonard Cohen
David Sylvian
love these guys, must have more.
I'd forgotten about about Kate Bush, Lori Anderson, and Jane Siberry. I'll probably remember more, but I need to get back in touch with music with words in...
Some male singers I am really into that I need to make sure I have enough of their stuff is:
Richard Thompson
Leonard Cohen
David Sylvian
love these guys, must have more.
I'd forgotten about about Kate Bush, Lori Anderson, and Jane Siberry. I'll probably remember more, but I need to get back in touch with music with words in...
More from this week
I finally, really, got over the cold on Wednesday. It definitely slowed me down.
It's friday and I finally finished the last chapter's edits.... or, more honestly, I finally just gave up on chapter 12's edits and sent it in.
You see, the book may be finishing, but my heart's not currently in it.
I am alone, the weather's beautiful, the book is almost finished, and my boyfriend is adventuring in Portland OR without me. He was packing last night and this morning... then I drove him to the airport and drove home alone.
I cam home alone, to the silence, and the continued work. I was up until 3am this morning, then got up around 9am and kept going. The work didn't let up while my boyfriend was preparing to leave, nor when I had to take him to the airport (terrible traffic at first- it was so tempting to accidentally drive off in the wrong direction and just keep going....), and now I sit trying to keep going. I did manage to turn the chapter in, but now I just can't keep going.
I don't care anymore. I've been working desperately on these edits with the goal of; the moment I was done, I'd get to be with my boyfriend. As soon as I was done, I'd go upstairs where he'd be watching videos or playing games on his computer, and I'd say "Hey, I'm done. Let's go out and see a movie." And then life would start again. We'd do stuff, have fun. I'd get to appreciate his company without the constant pressure of finishing the book.
And now that he's not here, I don't care to finish. Screw it. Why bother? When I'm done, there'll be no one to go upstairs to.
It's friday and I finally finished the last chapter's edits.... or, more honestly, I finally just gave up on chapter 12's edits and sent it in.
You see, the book may be finishing, but my heart's not currently in it.
I am alone, the weather's beautiful, the book is almost finished, and my boyfriend is adventuring in Portland OR without me. He was packing last night and this morning... then I drove him to the airport and drove home alone.
I cam home alone, to the silence, and the continued work. I was up until 3am this morning, then got up around 9am and kept going. The work didn't let up while my boyfriend was preparing to leave, nor when I had to take him to the airport (terrible traffic at first- it was so tempting to accidentally drive off in the wrong direction and just keep going....), and now I sit trying to keep going. I did manage to turn the chapter in, but now I just can't keep going.
I don't care anymore. I've been working desperately on these edits with the goal of; the moment I was done, I'd get to be with my boyfriend. As soon as I was done, I'd go upstairs where he'd be watching videos or playing games on his computer, and I'd say "Hey, I'm done. Let's go out and see a movie." And then life would start again. We'd do stuff, have fun. I'd get to appreciate his company without the constant pressure of finishing the book.
And now that he's not here, I don't care to finish. Screw it. Why bother? When I'm done, there'll be no one to go upstairs to.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
argh-- summer cold
So, I'm trying to edit about 200 pages by Weds. I was doing well, other than the occasionally distracting flies, and that's why, for the last two days I've been suffering from a summer cold. Really painfully runny nose, watery eyes, burning in the lungs and overall fatigue (no coughing yet). I can't sleep because laying down is too much like drowning.
Argh.
Things that have helped:
Things to be careful about-- geting cold in any way, especially my face. Beware of the direct cold air from the aircondition. Last time I was sick and sat too close to the AC output I got an ear infection (and that *really* sucked). I really can't sleep laying down so I am trying to sleep sitting up. Whenever I've had sinus problems of any sort and laid down to sleep I've gotten bronchitis or pneumonia. I have a really small torso so I wonder if it's simply easier for the infection to travel to my lungs than it is for other people?
And let's not forget, I have to keep typing through all this. OMG, why does this have to happen now?! Not this weekend, please not now.....
Argh.
Things that have helped:
- Exiling myself to the computer room in my house. This gray, dim, utilitarian room contains my servers and has to have an aircondition running at all times (even for most of the winter) in order for the room not to become dangerously hot and ruin the equipment. Because of this, the computer room has had completely filtered air for many months.
- Drinking *a lot* of water. Avoiding tea because the caffeine stresses my heart.
- Taking large quantities of vitamins. Doing an organic multivitamin, then augmenting it with copious amounts of C, zinc and iron. I toss in some extra potassium and magnesium too, again for my heart. It seems to work.
- Trying to sleep, sitting up, as often as I can-- screw the book (I cringe when I say that but I just can't handle having pneumonia twice in one year).
- When the burning and pain becomes too much, I spray saline (especially for nasal passages people, not the canned stuff for your eyes) up in there and then blow it out. It really, really helps. I recommend it, even though it's kinda weird feeling. Always rinse the nozzle thing under super hot water before putting it away.
- When the stuffiness and aching in the sinuses begins to feel like an infection, I have been boiling water, pouring it in a cup with a drop of tea tree oil, and breathing in the steam. Be careful about the oil-- it really works but it hurts like hell if you use too much, ahh the burning, the burning....
- Using neosporin on the outside of the nostrils. Man, my stupid skin is so, so sensitive, that having a runny nose for maybe a few hours causes major redness and pain. It's surprising. Neosporin helps.
Things to be careful about-- geting cold in any way, especially my face. Beware of the direct cold air from the aircondition. Last time I was sick and sat too close to the AC output I got an ear infection (and that *really* sucked). I really can't sleep laying down so I am trying to sleep sitting up. Whenever I've had sinus problems of any sort and laid down to sleep I've gotten bronchitis or pneumonia. I have a really small torso so I wonder if it's simply easier for the infection to travel to my lungs than it is for other people?
And let's not forget, I have to keep typing through all this. OMG, why does this have to happen now?! Not this weekend, please not now.....
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I hate flies, hate hate hate
So I've got this new umbrella on my back deck.
It's red.
I don't really like red, but hey, I needed something to help keep the heat down back there. I often work in the dining room, which opens, through a sliding glass door, to the deck. And in the afternoon sun beats in and really makes it hot there. An umbrella helps. Not only to cool the deck, but to keep the dining room cool too.
However, I have found that because it's red, for some reason, it's easier to see my macbook pro's screen under it, even in broad, sunny daylight.
So here I am, happily typing on my deck, under my red umbrella. I am working away, tea on my left, bottle of water and a snacky bag of almonds on my right...
Typey, typey, tappity, tap. SMACK.
It has gotten warm back here after a cold night and cool morning. And the frickin' flies are out.
And to make matters worse, there are horseflies among them.
So now they are buzzing around me like fighter pilots, occasionally trying to hurt me. I swear they are intentionally torturing me.
Argh.
Well. I knew it was too nice to last. Back inside.
Speaking of inside, I really hate it when flies follow me inside. I can't stand the sound, I can't stand that they lick the world with their feet, and they keep trying to smack my head as they fly by. But it pleases me to see them, after a while, hanging out on the back and front doors, like dogs trying to get outside. There's nothing for them to eat in my house, those bastards...
It's red.
I don't really like red, but hey, I needed something to help keep the heat down back there. I often work in the dining room, which opens, through a sliding glass door, to the deck. And in the afternoon sun beats in and really makes it hot there. An umbrella helps. Not only to cool the deck, but to keep the dining room cool too.
However, I have found that because it's red, for some reason, it's easier to see my macbook pro's screen under it, even in broad, sunny daylight.
So here I am, happily typing on my deck, under my red umbrella. I am working away, tea on my left, bottle of water and a snacky bag of almonds on my right...
Typey, typey, tappity, tap. SMACK.
It has gotten warm back here after a cold night and cool morning. And the frickin' flies are out.
And to make matters worse, there are horseflies among them.
So now they are buzzing around me like fighter pilots, occasionally trying to hurt me. I swear they are intentionally torturing me.
Argh.
Well. I knew it was too nice to last. Back inside.
Speaking of inside, I really hate it when flies follow me inside. I can't stand the sound, I can't stand that they lick the world with their feet, and they keep trying to smack my head as they fly by. But it pleases me to see them, after a while, hanging out on the back and front doors, like dogs trying to get outside. There's nothing for them to eat in my house, those bastards...
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Writing a book is a lot like poetry...
...either you can do it, or you can't.
How do I explain it?
I've been editing my work. I've had three technical editors edit my work. I've been editing other people's work. And all I can say is this-- either you can write a book or you can't.
It isn't about writing a chapter, it's about writing a book built, one at a time but altogether, out of chapters. There is a certain way you need to start it, to capture the reader, to share that vision. You have to know when to say something, how to say it, and how to leave it alone.
You either have a sense of flow, of timing, of rhythm and know when you should introduce a concept, when you should finish one, and when there is a concept that simply cannot be left behind. There is a certain symetry that must be maintained throughout. And trying to teach someone else how to do it is rough. Trying to just explain it is rough.
You start with an idea. You start with a concept of the book you'd want to read.
Then you flesh it out, building up the details that you'd want to see, you'd want to learn, that you'd be willing to pay for and go back to as a reference time and again.
Then while trying to write eight hundred pages of poetry, you begin fighting. Fighting for the time to do it right. To make changes, to do what is necessary to keep your original vision. It was right the first time, it is right now. No matter what the editors say. They care about arbitrary things that actually have nothing to do with the contents of the book, the accuracy of the book, or, really, the success of the book.
That's not their problem. They're paid to produce more books. Not produce good books, just more books. Quality is, you get the sense, their enemy, their nemesis. And when it looks like you are on quality's side, demanding time to do its work-- well, expect to fight for it.
It's been nine months. In the beginning I trusted them. I thought that, of course, we were on the same team, trying to put a good book out. I learned, five months later that was a lie. I was alone in wanting to put a good book out. They were not interested in good. Adequate was okay, but good wasn't a goal they shared with me.
Good was my problem, my albatross. Tied to my neck by my name. They had no such burden to bear.
And now I struggle, after fighting and fighting, to finish the book I am too tired to edit. I am exhausted beyond anything I've ever had to bear. I don't know how much more of this I can take--- and yet quiting is not an option.
All I know, for certain, is that nothing that comes of the book can be worth this. Already it has cost more in investment than it can ever make back. Even if it succeeds I cannot see how it can avoid being a failure. It was priced too cheap, its description doesn't match its contents, it has taken too long to edit, it has had too many people on staff, it is already going to be obsolete in some ways before it even prints.
I have forgotten why I did this--- oh yeah, to write the book I'd want to read.
Well, at this point, I never, ever want to read anything about sharepoint again. So what does that say?
How do I explain it?
I've been editing my work. I've had three technical editors edit my work. I've been editing other people's work. And all I can say is this-- either you can write a book or you can't.
It isn't about writing a chapter, it's about writing a book built, one at a time but altogether, out of chapters. There is a certain way you need to start it, to capture the reader, to share that vision. You have to know when to say something, how to say it, and how to leave it alone.
You either have a sense of flow, of timing, of rhythm and know when you should introduce a concept, when you should finish one, and when there is a concept that simply cannot be left behind. There is a certain symetry that must be maintained throughout. And trying to teach someone else how to do it is rough. Trying to just explain it is rough.
You start with an idea. You start with a concept of the book you'd want to read.
Then you flesh it out, building up the details that you'd want to see, you'd want to learn, that you'd be willing to pay for and go back to as a reference time and again.
Then while trying to write eight hundred pages of poetry, you begin fighting. Fighting for the time to do it right. To make changes, to do what is necessary to keep your original vision. It was right the first time, it is right now. No matter what the editors say. They care about arbitrary things that actually have nothing to do with the contents of the book, the accuracy of the book, or, really, the success of the book.
That's not their problem. They're paid to produce more books. Not produce good books, just more books. Quality is, you get the sense, their enemy, their nemesis. And when it looks like you are on quality's side, demanding time to do its work-- well, expect to fight for it.
It's been nine months. In the beginning I trusted them. I thought that, of course, we were on the same team, trying to put a good book out. I learned, five months later that was a lie. I was alone in wanting to put a good book out. They were not interested in good. Adequate was okay, but good wasn't a goal they shared with me.
Good was my problem, my albatross. Tied to my neck by my name. They had no such burden to bear.
And now I struggle, after fighting and fighting, to finish the book I am too tired to edit. I am exhausted beyond anything I've ever had to bear. I don't know how much more of this I can take--- and yet quiting is not an option.
All I know, for certain, is that nothing that comes of the book can be worth this. Already it has cost more in investment than it can ever make back. Even if it succeeds I cannot see how it can avoid being a failure. It was priced too cheap, its description doesn't match its contents, it has taken too long to edit, it has had too many people on staff, it is already going to be obsolete in some ways before it even prints.
I have forgotten why I did this--- oh yeah, to write the book I'd want to read.
Well, at this point, I never, ever want to read anything about sharepoint again. So what does that say?
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Gahd I love summertime
I just got back from a late dinner at a little restaurant near my house. I drove through the summer night with the windows down, savoring the sweet summer air, redolent with the smell of grass, honeysuckle, and a faint whiff of car exhaust and stale dumpster.
When I got home I realized, as I unlocked the front door, that the weather was perfect. The neighborhood is silent, which is almost miraculous for a Saturday night.
The house is a little stuffy, trying to shake off the incredibly high humidity of the last several days, so I opened the sliding glass door to the back deck to get some air.
And now, here I sit, in the light of the growlites of my half empty plant stands (most of the plants are on the deck for the summer), breathing in the summer air and listening to the crickets and tree frogs.
I love that sound. I live five minutes from downtown, and my yard echoes with all the calls and chirps and clicks of summer. And I am grateful that, at least today, I am healthy enough to notice it. Way too often I am too stressed, too busy, too sick and tired to sit for a second and savor the moment. Usually seasons zoom by without notice as I go from car to house to airport to hotel to airport to car to house, over and over again. I have got to get out more. Go out to the countryside I love so much before winter descends again.
I am not done with the book, I am as far behind as ever. But for now, for this brief moment, I managed to get fed without getting sick, I have no migraines, my heart is hardly skipping a beat, and I am just happy to realize that it is summer, the weather is perfect, and I am not living in fear. I have a place to sleep and people who care about me. I am not going to fall off the earth, and am not going to be physically hurt by anyone today. It's okay. Even if I am late with my work. Even if my editor is mad at me. I have nothing to fear as long as I can keep breathing.
And with that happy thought, I think I'll go back to editing. G'nite.
When I got home I realized, as I unlocked the front door, that the weather was perfect. The neighborhood is silent, which is almost miraculous for a Saturday night.
The house is a little stuffy, trying to shake off the incredibly high humidity of the last several days, so I opened the sliding glass door to the back deck to get some air.
And now, here I sit, in the light of the growlites of my half empty plant stands (most of the plants are on the deck for the summer), breathing in the summer air and listening to the crickets and tree frogs.
I love that sound. I live five minutes from downtown, and my yard echoes with all the calls and chirps and clicks of summer. And I am grateful that, at least today, I am healthy enough to notice it. Way too often I am too stressed, too busy, too sick and tired to sit for a second and savor the moment. Usually seasons zoom by without notice as I go from car to house to airport to hotel to airport to car to house, over and over again. I have got to get out more. Go out to the countryside I love so much before winter descends again.
I am not done with the book, I am as far behind as ever. But for now, for this brief moment, I managed to get fed without getting sick, I have no migraines, my heart is hardly skipping a beat, and I am just happy to realize that it is summer, the weather is perfect, and I am not living in fear. I have a place to sleep and people who care about me. I am not going to fall off the earth, and am not going to be physically hurt by anyone today. It's okay. Even if I am late with my work. Even if my editor is mad at me. I have nothing to fear as long as I can keep breathing.
And with that happy thought, I think I'll go back to editing. G'nite.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
argh, my heart hurts
I am trying desperately to edit a 125 page chapter in my WSS book and I just can't stand it.
I am far, far behind. The book has fifteen chapters and I am only on chapter 5, and my heart hurts.
I don't know how much more of this heart palpitation thing I can take. Last week I accidentally ate a few bites too many of mashed potatoes. I know, I know, I can't have carbs anymore. But c'mon, I can't have bread, chips, pretzels, cereal, toast, french fries, barbeque anything, pizza, soda, lemonade, coffee, pasta, carrots, squash, ice cream, cookies, pie, hot chocolate, brownies...anything anymore. I can eat no food that has flavor, texture, joy.
So forgive me if I eat a little mashed potatoes with my steak. I can't help it, I'm irish (well, genetically anyway).
So, I ate a little too much of a starchy substance to help make my otherwise boring chunk of meat interesting. That night I had trouble sleeping. By the following day, the heart palpitations started, as well as the all over body aches, trembling, weakness, and fatigue. And the symptoms lasted for days, and days, and days.
I am supposed to be editing a book really, really quickly, remember? And instead, I am having heart palpitations that make it really hard to breathe. It hurts to type, and I am so fatigued I can't think.
Damn potatoes.
Worse yet, that all started last week. So a week of diminished productivity and suffering. The pain went away yesterday, and then I screwed up and ate some salad that had blue cheese in it (I didn't really realize the mistake before it was too late). And the dizziness and heart palpitations started again with a vengence.
Seriously, I don't think my lips are supposed to be that shade of purple.
Now I am trying to type, to edit, to think and I can't breathe. This is infuriating and agonizing. I have moved from depression to despair. If I survive this I am going to find that doctor woman at the emergency room who told me that PVCs (pre-ventricular contractions) are nothing, and slap her really hard right across the face. I mean it.
Meanwhile, I am still trying to work. The weather here is super hot and extremely humid (lotsa flooding, dangerous storms, and ozone warnings). I wemble between typing downstairs in the humidity, and typing here in the computer room where it is too dry and frigid (for the sake of the servers). In neither place am I comfortable. And never mind my trying to sleep. If I lay on my side (my standard sleeping position), my heart leaps around in my chest like a fish on a peer.
And through it all, all I can do is keep my eye on the prize. I must finish the book, I must finish the book...
... and I must never, ever, ever eat any more potatoes for as long as I shall live, amen.
I am far, far behind. The book has fifteen chapters and I am only on chapter 5, and my heart hurts.
I don't know how much more of this heart palpitation thing I can take. Last week I accidentally ate a few bites too many of mashed potatoes. I know, I know, I can't have carbs anymore. But c'mon, I can't have bread, chips, pretzels, cereal, toast, french fries, barbeque anything, pizza, soda, lemonade, coffee, pasta, carrots, squash, ice cream, cookies, pie, hot chocolate, brownies...anything anymore. I can eat no food that has flavor, texture, joy.
So forgive me if I eat a little mashed potatoes with my steak. I can't help it, I'm irish (well, genetically anyway).
So, I ate a little too much of a starchy substance to help make my otherwise boring chunk of meat interesting. That night I had trouble sleeping. By the following day, the heart palpitations started, as well as the all over body aches, trembling, weakness, and fatigue. And the symptoms lasted for days, and days, and days.
I am supposed to be editing a book really, really quickly, remember? And instead, I am having heart palpitations that make it really hard to breathe. It hurts to type, and I am so fatigued I can't think.
Damn potatoes.
Worse yet, that all started last week. So a week of diminished productivity and suffering. The pain went away yesterday, and then I screwed up and ate some salad that had blue cheese in it (I didn't really realize the mistake before it was too late). And the dizziness and heart palpitations started again with a vengence.
Seriously, I don't think my lips are supposed to be that shade of purple.
Now I am trying to type, to edit, to think and I can't breathe. This is infuriating and agonizing. I have moved from depression to despair. If I survive this I am going to find that doctor woman at the emergency room who told me that PVCs (pre-ventricular contractions) are nothing, and slap her really hard right across the face. I mean it.
Meanwhile, I am still trying to work. The weather here is super hot and extremely humid (lotsa flooding, dangerous storms, and ozone warnings). I wemble between typing downstairs in the humidity, and typing here in the computer room where it is too dry and frigid (for the sake of the servers). In neither place am I comfortable. And never mind my trying to sleep. If I lay on my side (my standard sleeping position), my heart leaps around in my chest like a fish on a peer.
And through it all, all I can do is keep my eye on the prize. I must finish the book, I must finish the book...
... and I must never, ever, ever eat any more potatoes for as long as I shall live, amen.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Wow, so much has happened I can't believe it
So, I last wrote about going to the Grand Cypress to stay while I was presenting at a conference.
The presentations went well, I got practically the best scores of the conference.
But, I had a horrible time with the Hyatt Grand Cypress Hotel. To make a brutal story short, the room had bedbugs, I am allergic to bedbugs (I've never seen one so i had no way of knowing), the hotel did nothing about it, and wouldn't move me even when I said it made me sick. I had to go to the conference staff and make a stink in order to fix it-- and by then it was too late. the whole time, I suspect, the cleaning staff knew that it was bedbugs, but didn't do anything about it (bedbugs have a distinctive smell, one I complained about but didn't recognize because I thought bedbugs were a myth). I never realized that my swollen eyes, throat and bloody nose, not to mention the "hives"I had all over my legs and on my arm were from bugs. I couldn't imagine that they were bites.
By the time I got home my legs were covered in bites that swelled up the size of carbuncles and burned and itched so bad I couldn't stand it. It is so much worse than poison ivy, and absolutely nothing soothes it. Nothing. In addition, I had a fever that lasted almost two weeks. All of my glands were swollen, including those weird ones right on the back of your head. They were all tender to the touch. I was afraid my legs would scar, and it did take months for them to completely go away.
Meanwhile, I had to keep writing my book, so I, of course, got a secondary infection that overwhelmed my respiratory system. Within three weeks of getting attacked by the bedbugs, I had pneumonia, bronchitis, and sinusitis. It took a month to recover from it (and most of that time was spent dealing with the side effects of Levaquin, the antibiotic I was on).
During all that I got an email from the Chair of the conference saying that because of my issues with the hotel that they didn't want me at the next conference. I tried to tell them that it was an unusual circumstance, that I now know what a bedbug is and how to look for them in other rooms to avoid a repeat of the problem, but apparently criticizing the hotel is such a bad thing that I have been removed from the conference website, and my classes have been removed from the schedule.
Needless to say, I didn't go to the spa while at the hyatt grand cypress in florida. And although I had a good conference, I am probably no longer working for them because of that hotel.
On to other news-- the book is still not done. You know, the eight hundred page technical monstrosity I was suckered into writing. Yeah, that thing. I'm still working on it.
Currently I am editing it, finally, because I pushed to have production stop so I could do something about it. It is a real struggle (some of which I can't tell you about right now but I promise I will) and I struggle to keep working despite the despair that plagues me.
Oh, and I am definitely allergic (or intolerant?) to wheat. For a year I have been avoiding wheat, corn, and soy. And over that time I have gotten more and more healthy. Then I accidentally was exposed to wheat through some veggies I thought were grilled (let that be a lesson to ya), they were fried in grease that had had wheat in it.
I was dizzy, clumsy, and felt poisoned. The following day, I woke up with the pain that used to plague me-- stiffness and soreness in my back, shoulders and neck. The exact MS symptoms I used to have. It lasted for days and nothing would help. Finally, after four days of no wheat/corn/soy the pain suddenly cleared up. Midday, sitting here typing, I felt a warmth sort of flow from the top of my head, down the back of my neck, shoulder and back. It tingled for a minute and then...the pain was gone. The stiffness went away a little more slowly, but it was gone by that night. I haven't had any pain since, and I have avoided eating at the restaurant that poisoned me earlier.
I have also learned some important things-- most blue cheese, and some feta have wheat in them. So not all cheeses are automatically wheat free. Brie (which breaks my heart) can also have wheat in it. Anything that is fried can be wheat contaminated, either because the oil (for some reason no one seems able to explain) is based on wheat, or because breaded or crumbed stuff is cooked in it.
I have also found that, instead of growing more tolerant as my immune system calms down, I am growing more intolerant. I now get dizzy almost immediately if anything I eat has a little wheat in it. And, that sucks.
I no longer can do the soy pancakes, even they make me sick. Although I have been told to try spelt, so when I have time, that will be my next test.
Anyway, that's my story, or at least most of it. Stay tuned for more some other time.
The presentations went well, I got practically the best scores of the conference.
But, I had a horrible time with the Hyatt Grand Cypress Hotel. To make a brutal story short, the room had bedbugs, I am allergic to bedbugs (I've never seen one so i had no way of knowing), the hotel did nothing about it, and wouldn't move me even when I said it made me sick. I had to go to the conference staff and make a stink in order to fix it-- and by then it was too late. the whole time, I suspect, the cleaning staff knew that it was bedbugs, but didn't do anything about it (bedbugs have a distinctive smell, one I complained about but didn't recognize because I thought bedbugs were a myth). I never realized that my swollen eyes, throat and bloody nose, not to mention the "hives"I had all over my legs and on my arm were from bugs. I couldn't imagine that they were bites.
By the time I got home my legs were covered in bites that swelled up the size of carbuncles and burned and itched so bad I couldn't stand it. It is so much worse than poison ivy, and absolutely nothing soothes it. Nothing. In addition, I had a fever that lasted almost two weeks. All of my glands were swollen, including those weird ones right on the back of your head. They were all tender to the touch. I was afraid my legs would scar, and it did take months for them to completely go away.
Meanwhile, I had to keep writing my book, so I, of course, got a secondary infection that overwhelmed my respiratory system. Within three weeks of getting attacked by the bedbugs, I had pneumonia, bronchitis, and sinusitis. It took a month to recover from it (and most of that time was spent dealing with the side effects of Levaquin, the antibiotic I was on).
During all that I got an email from the Chair of the conference saying that because of my issues with the hotel that they didn't want me at the next conference. I tried to tell them that it was an unusual circumstance, that I now know what a bedbug is and how to look for them in other rooms to avoid a repeat of the problem, but apparently criticizing the hotel is such a bad thing that I have been removed from the conference website, and my classes have been removed from the schedule.
Needless to say, I didn't go to the spa while at the hyatt grand cypress in florida. And although I had a good conference, I am probably no longer working for them because of that hotel.
On to other news-- the book is still not done. You know, the eight hundred page technical monstrosity I was suckered into writing. Yeah, that thing. I'm still working on it.
Currently I am editing it, finally, because I pushed to have production stop so I could do something about it. It is a real struggle (some of which I can't tell you about right now but I promise I will) and I struggle to keep working despite the despair that plagues me.
Oh, and I am definitely allergic (or intolerant?) to wheat. For a year I have been avoiding wheat, corn, and soy. And over that time I have gotten more and more healthy. Then I accidentally was exposed to wheat through some veggies I thought were grilled (let that be a lesson to ya), they were fried in grease that had had wheat in it.
I was dizzy, clumsy, and felt poisoned. The following day, I woke up with the pain that used to plague me-- stiffness and soreness in my back, shoulders and neck. The exact MS symptoms I used to have. It lasted for days and nothing would help. Finally, after four days of no wheat/corn/soy the pain suddenly cleared up. Midday, sitting here typing, I felt a warmth sort of flow from the top of my head, down the back of my neck, shoulder and back. It tingled for a minute and then...the pain was gone. The stiffness went away a little more slowly, but it was gone by that night. I haven't had any pain since, and I have avoided eating at the restaurant that poisoned me earlier.
I have also learned some important things-- most blue cheese, and some feta have wheat in them. So not all cheeses are automatically wheat free. Brie (which breaks my heart) can also have wheat in it. Anything that is fried can be wheat contaminated, either because the oil (for some reason no one seems able to explain) is based on wheat, or because breaded or crumbed stuff is cooked in it.
I have also found that, instead of growing more tolerant as my immune system calms down, I am growing more intolerant. I now get dizzy almost immediately if anything I eat has a little wheat in it. And, that sucks.
I no longer can do the soy pancakes, even they make me sick. Although I have been told to try spelt, so when I have time, that will be my next test.
Anyway, that's my story, or at least most of it. Stay tuned for more some other time.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Oh, and the girly bit
I just mentioned in the post below (created a few minutes before this one) that I would be doing presentations in April-- yippee.
What I forgot to mention was the venue-- The Hyatt, Grand Cypress. They sent me an email confirmation of my reservation. In the email was a link to the e-concierge, so I could preschedule stuff I might do while there. One of the things available by this service is access to the Spa.
Hmmm, the spa. Go to work, finish a hard day of yacking, go visit the spa. Have them pamper me with hot rock massages and facials. Finish up in the jacuzzi.
Did I mention that my room has a balcony? This speaker stuff is kind of luxurious, I must admit. It grows on you.
So anyway, I might be scheduling a spa treatment (this is a real spa folks, not that sad little place I went to in september) one day while I am in florida. It'll be an experience, I'm sure.
I'll keep you posted.
What I forgot to mention was the venue-- The Hyatt, Grand Cypress. They sent me an email confirmation of my reservation. In the email was a link to the e-concierge, so I could preschedule stuff I might do while there. One of the things available by this service is access to the Spa.
Hmmm, the spa. Go to work, finish a hard day of yacking, go visit the spa. Have them pamper me with hot rock massages and facials. Finish up in the jacuzzi.
Did I mention that my room has a balcony? This speaker stuff is kind of luxurious, I must admit. It grows on you.
So anyway, I might be scheduling a spa treatment (this is a real spa folks, not that sad little place I went to in september) one day while I am in florida. It'll be an experience, I'm sure.
I'll keep you posted.
So I learned a few things
Since last we spoke dear reader, I had just returned from Vegas. Not what I'd call victorious, I did manage to survive the experience.
Then, several weeks after I'd returned home, I got asked to write up proposals for the april event.
Yipee! I didn't suck so bad that they wanted to fire me! Woo hoo.
Oh but I find that they want five new, never before done presentation proposals in two days. And then, when they're accepted, it means I am now responsible for producing that material and then being prepared to present it.
All while writing a book. A big book. A big, difficult, complicated book.
That I am sucking at. Seriously. I can't believe I let someone talk me into this. I can't do this. What was I thinking?!
So anyway, here's my thing:
Yes, I am not sure doing short sessions at large conferences is the thing for me. I don't have a big enough ego, I am just not that kind of person.
But it is possible that I might be the kind of person who goes to these big events and teaches full classes. Total, pre/post con. hands on classes. Training is more my style.
To that end, I am teaching a day long session covering, basically start to finish, what WSS 3.0 is, what it is behind the curtain, how to install it, how to configure it, how to use it (web parts/lists/libraries/subsites), and how to administer it.
In six hours.
Then I'll be covering 3 one hour sessions, two of which will be back to back-- Hidden Gems: List view web parts, custom lists, and custom list views. All culminating to using sharepoint in a more thorough way than most people expect. And a final session-- WSS backup and restore (which I thought would be great when I suggested it, but now that I've done it with WSS, I dread trying to explain how it often doesn't work...).
Altogether, lots, and lots, and lots of work.
Oh, and the 800 page book? Due in April. How far have I gotten? Chapter 4. I have only finished chapter 4.
Are they at least large chapters, you might ask? No. In all there are supposed to be 18 chapters.
Seriously. I suck. I have some people who might help me and write a few chapters. I am at their mercy. If they don't come through, I am so, totally, hosed.
And that's my story.
Then, several weeks after I'd returned home, I got asked to write up proposals for the april event.
Yipee! I didn't suck so bad that they wanted to fire me! Woo hoo.
Oh but I find that they want five new, never before done presentation proposals in two days. And then, when they're accepted, it means I am now responsible for producing that material and then being prepared to present it.
All while writing a book. A big book. A big, difficult, complicated book.
That I am sucking at. Seriously. I can't believe I let someone talk me into this. I can't do this. What was I thinking?!
So anyway, here's my thing:
Yes, I am not sure doing short sessions at large conferences is the thing for me. I don't have a big enough ego, I am just not that kind of person.
But it is possible that I might be the kind of person who goes to these big events and teaches full classes. Total, pre/post con. hands on classes. Training is more my style.
To that end, I am teaching a day long session covering, basically start to finish, what WSS 3.0 is, what it is behind the curtain, how to install it, how to configure it, how to use it (web parts/lists/libraries/subsites), and how to administer it.
In six hours.
Then I'll be covering 3 one hour sessions, two of which will be back to back-- Hidden Gems: List view web parts, custom lists, and custom list views. All culminating to using sharepoint in a more thorough way than most people expect. And a final session-- WSS backup and restore (which I thought would be great when I suggested it, but now that I've done it with WSS, I dread trying to explain how it often doesn't work...).
Altogether, lots, and lots, and lots of work.
Oh, and the 800 page book? Due in April. How far have I gotten? Chapter 4. I have only finished chapter 4.
Are they at least large chapters, you might ask? No. In all there are supposed to be 18 chapters.
Seriously. I suck. I have some people who might help me and write a few chapters. I am at their mercy. If they don't come through, I am so, totally, hosed.
And that's my story.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Return from Vegas baybee
So I survived Vegas. I didn't do nearly as well as I wanted to. Let's face it- I didn't get to prep enough, I didn't have trustworthy equipment (I ended up using the Macbook pro to do my demos), and I simply was not emotionally in the right place to do a kick ass presentation in front of 300 people like I was supposed to.
I won't say it completely sucked, but it wasn't good. I am crushed. I feel I blew my one big chance to do well. To blow the socks off the power players and cement my place amongst the big guys.
Instead, I cemented my place amongst the wannabees. It's sad.
But I also learned something important. Maybe I don't want to do that kind of work that badly.
Maybe it's not for me. Maybe the airport, hotel, conference, expensive food, exhaustion thing isn't for me. I dunno. We'll see if anyone calls me back.
Meanwhile, it's back to writing.
I won't say it completely sucked, but it wasn't good. I am crushed. I feel I blew my one big chance to do well. To blow the socks off the power players and cement my place amongst the big guys.
Instead, I cemented my place amongst the wannabees. It's sad.
But I also learned something important. Maybe I don't want to do that kind of work that badly.
Maybe it's not for me. Maybe the airport, hotel, conference, expensive food, exhaustion thing isn't for me. I dunno. We'll see if anyone calls me back.
Meanwhile, it's back to writing.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Catching up on everything at once (holding your breath is not advised)
I've been awfully busy over the last few weeks, so here's a bit of a catch-up:
-Got my hair re-cut at this well recommended place at the galleria called "zarelli & company," by none other than the zarelli himself, jason. He was pretty workman-like. Listened to me, and gave me basically what I wanted. I say basically only because I wanted symmetry between both sides of my head, but because of the damage pam did from la pompenne, he could only do a good job on one side, while try to not make the bad side look worse...
...sigh.
So at least on one side of my head I have a Mandy Moore layered cut. On the other side, well, it's like some decided that I needed two layers of bangs starting at my part and going to the left, with the top layer being thicker, longer, and off center of the real layer of bangs. This means that where the layers fall on the right side of my head, I have just a chunk missing on the left side of my head from my bangs to my ear. Then some half hearted layers start after that.
Remember folks, I had hair, all one length, all the way down to my butt when this started, and only a light fringe of bangs. Now, well, let's say that I will be wearing barrettes for the frickin' conference that I wasted all this time trying to be pretty for.
-Then, there's the glasses.
As you probably know, my eyesight is a problem. I always will need glasses (cannot wear contacts, believe me) unless I get lasix (or my corneas blow and need to be replaced, which is a possibility). So, I need glasses. My old ones were not working well and looked dated.
So, I went to lenscrafters because I had a coupon and they would be done in an hour. Note, 1 hour. Let me stress how I do not have time to waste on this stuff. I just need an update to my perscription, pick out some frames, and bang, I'm done.
Long story short, I went back four times. Then I had to go see *another* doctor because the first one apparently is known to be careless about perscriptions (wtf?!). They never got it right. I had to return the lovely frameless glasses that I wanted to be able to wear in front of everyone in vegas, something chic, something attractive... because it took two weeks (actually just over a week, but now it is too late) to come in and were way off.
Does this mean I have to go back to my old glasses after taking two weeks to get used to the new ones? Well, I did get a spare pair of glasses with the new perscription as back up. They were forty dollars. Just clear lenses in some square sunglass frames. I ended up keeping them because I am desperate. I can't go back, the previous glasses gave me headaches on the best of days, nevermind having to overcome the conditioning of getting used to the new glasses.
So now my hair is worse than it was if I left it alone, and the glasses are not much better than my originals. I spent about two to three weeks dealing with these things for nothing. I should have focused on my work.
The moral of the story--- it's hopeless. Don't try. And certainly don't expect anything to happen in a timely manner, without grueling weeks even months of repeated attempts. There is a reason that almost forty years have gone by and no miracle of hip coolness has happened to my appearance. It's not rocket science, if I have tried again and again, and the best the stylists can say is "It would look nice in a bun," then maybe it would.
But, I haven't given up entirely. I will seriously consider lasix and I plan to get braces. So here's the score:
Hair-- 4.5 from the russian judge. definitely not what I had hoped. This will require a real, gifted professional (you know the one, they're retiring next month...). Until then...well at least I am not bald.
Glasses-- 5.5 from the russian. The french judge abstains due to fashion differences. $660+ later, and now it seems there is something mysterious and possibly serious wrong with my left eye. I will have to spend some (potentially extensive) time dealing with it. Lasix, at $2500 an eye might be an option--- only I do have to write a book soon (more on that in a moment) and can't afford to go blind and get used to it while working. Actually the glasses I have are smaller and square, so they are a little trendier. But they are obviously cheap, a little oversized (the only size they had...figures), and slightly crooked because my left eye is having problems that tilting seems to help). So I looked a little like a deranged naughty librarian with silly hair. Weee.
-Now about work.
I finished the chapter for that guy about vista's control panel. I am super glad he liked it, but it took a week longer than I expected. I am so thoroughly sick of Microsoft's crappy piece of monkey dung they call vista (I am afraid it makes ME look like OS X). I cannot believe they have so completely brainwashed themselves into thinking that the average joe is going to embrace this OS. I hear bells tolling.
Anyway, I had crashes, problems with screenshots, problems with video drivers, three different builds coming out in the time I was working on the chapter. Two physical machines had hardware issues, and I had two weird problems with screenshots in VMs (running VPC 2004sp1 with the beta2 additions). What was most frustrating were the undocumented changes that occurred between builds. I was trying to take screenshots that would match the book, which apparently was really going to be done with the last, best build they could get before production. Also, they wanted me to take screenshots in Aero Glass with transparency off. Uh, I am a server grrl, focused on business machines. I only have one computer out of ten that can run Aero Glass and I was beta testing Office 2007 on it.
Needless to say, in the end, in desperation, I wiped and installed Vista RC2 on that machine (with the screenshot software, which is another story), so I could get screenshots as close to the final book's screenshots as possible. And found that certain applets in control panel functioned *differently* in that last build than the did in the previous builds. Dammit. That meant that not only were my screenshots significantly different, but my *text* was different (and now incorrect). So, due to having to have aero glass running as the theme, and the fact that several significant applets were significantly different, I had to retake *every single* screenshot-- *and* rewrite content to match the new changes.
Okay, so I finished that, right on the toes of the next thing that I had to do under a tight deadline-- Technical Review of the third module of MOC for the indians.
Bottom line on them--- they kept changing the schedule, making it impossible for me to do my other jobs and still work for them. In addition, they changed the VMs and didn't clearly give me an activation key. Also, I got the module a little late because I was finishing the control panel chapter, so I was blindsided by the fact that I was supposed to be doing six hours of review on one 50page (apx) document which turned into (and I am not making this up) *five* different documents of varying lengths written (very, very redundantly) about the same topic, approximately.
It was too much. I asked to be taken off the project. The PM complied. But during the conference call, in order to see what went wrong and how to fix it, the PM's buddy (who I *still* don't know what his real involvement was) actually said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what made you feel you were qualified to do this job if it takes you so long to do...?"
Ha, how about, if I were not qualified for the job, I would not have *found any* errors. I would have thought is was all fine and therefore would not have taken so long trying to fix and double check the supposed SME's (subject matter expert) work. If I were not *better* than the SME on staff, then we would not have been having that conversation. *That's* what makes me think I am qualified, jack@ss.--- of course I didn't say that. The SME's friend was another person on the call, and the SME had just been in a bad car accident, so I didn't think it was prudent to bring up. Instead, I said that I was naturally cautious about criticizing another expert's work without double checking and making absolutely sure that I was correct. That I was honestly giving that SME the benefit of the doubt befitting someone of their rank.
LOL. Yay me! I am free of the indians. Oh, and here is what I learned--- That the indians *are not* the bad guys. Oh, okay, I was poorly managed by them. They still have not paid me the last 200$ they owe me and fully expect them not to. The management lied to me, tried to make me do extra work, and lied about scheduling. But, they are only a smalll percentage of the people on the project-- those whacky managers. The real people, the writers, experts, designers, and such-- they are real people, trying to do a good job in absolutely no time. MS is insane, demanding fundamental design changes on the fly, in production, from people who don't speak our language that well, that are 9.5 hours ahead of us, who are being paid peanuts, worked extremely long hours, and probably (because they are being managed by the same people I was--God help them) not clearly told what they are supposed to do in time to *do* it.
Those people were good people who bent over backwards to accomodate me. When I asked for the lab virtual machines that go with the courseware, they complied, they went *way* out of their way to painstakingly upload 22 GBs of data to an FTP server for me to use.-- AND here is the point I wasn't aware of until the exit interview-- despite the *express* instructions from MS *not* to do so (gee, I wonder who did that?).
So who is at fault here? Why is the courseware so bad, so slipshod, so rushed, so faulty contentwise? Why are the reviewers not communicated with properly, given adequate time to their jobs, adequate tools, and given conflicting instructions concerning their responsibilities?
It's not because of the indians. It is not because they don't care. It is *because* of Microsoft. Or at least one significant person, the key person in each review interaction with the indians. He explicitly wants to undermine anything the reviewers do. Insisting on short turnover times, insisting on *no* access to the virtual machines the entire courserware is *based* on. He doesn't want the reviewers to really *review* and edit the courseware. He just wants them to quickly read over it. Not check the accuracy of the labs, practices, or demos. Not to double check or challenge the errors found-- just "flag" them to be fixed later (which, if anyone has ever taken an MOC class, knows they aren't). I guess if we really find errors, it would put a crimp in the schedule because now they have to deal with them. Oh, the horror.
He, and therefore MS, is the root cause of the lack of quality in the process of technical review of the microsoft official courseware. The indians simply want to do the job. They know that if it is bad, they either have to do it over, or they won't get paid (okay, maybe they are hoping that it's not that bad...). They want it right as quickly and easily as possible. They don't want the hassle. It is MS that doesn't want the job to be done right. I don't know exactly why-- but now you know.
In all of this, I was supposed to be working on my presentations for the conference in Las Vegas *NEXT WEEK.* Hello, yes, that soon. I have the leg work done for my preconference session. I need to finish building (oh the long, painstaking process) the labs for deployment.
Then, and this is how behind I am, I need to build the labs for the network access protection session, and resurrect and run through the labs for my network access quarantine control session. Yes those sessions are only an hour or so long, but to demo any of it, I have to build all of it, regardless of length. ( I am writing this while I am backing up my external drive to free up space so I can *defrag* the drive. Yes, it is so full I can't defrag it, and I still have to build about eight to nine VMs in there) Later this week (on Wednesday) I need to drive out to Zelie to present my sessions to some really great, patient people so I can see how they go (gahd, those people are great. Really, I need to put them in the acknowledgements of my life somewhere...).
And here's something funny- my slides need to be done and turned in (in the correct format) tomorrow. That's it or game over (it's written into the contract). (I am now defragging the drive--- it should take an estimated three hours...sigh)
When I get back from the conference (assuming I survive it), I have to start on the book. That's right (for those of you who have heard this story), I signed the scary contract that might be a mistake to write an 800 page book about Windows Sharepoint Services 3.0 (the thing I taught at TechEd and tech reviewed a course on). The schedule is impossibly tight and I may well be getting set up to fail. But I can't know until I try, right?
That means, as soon as I get back I need to get my life in order; deal with my eyes, start on the process of getting braces, get the d@rned ducts cleaned (yes, we put thick filters over all of the duct vents in the house in order to turn on the heat-- we both were sick for a few days after, but at least we are not freezing), deal with the car (OMG the car-- the GM who was supposed to fix my brakes in August was *fired* and now they are not returning my calls), and more, then get started on the book. I have a week to straighten out my life, then back to work.
That means that I have very, very little time to rest, if you call catching up on all that life stuff resting. I have five days for the first section- the introduction- and that's solid (no give backs, no lifelines). I will be writing five pages a day for the next six months. That's it. No break unless it's a conference (which the editor encourages, maybe it increases sales).
Wish me luck.
So now you are caught up.
Oh, except for my heelys. I bought heely shoes so I could skate around the conference instead of walk. It would be great, fast, no impact, and fun. Okay, so I might look silly, until someone realizes how convenient it is. I really, really wish I had that for TechEd last June. I would have been *so* much less tired.
But this is the problem. You have to learn them. Like riding a bike, but more like skiing, it takes some skills (some non-instinctive skills) and muscles to heely. So it takes practice. I have had none. Zip. Zilch. So, I have heelys and no time to learn them. This means that I probably cannot use them for las vegas. Maybe in April at the networkworld gig...
And *now* you are caught up.
I guess I'll go do laundry while I defrag.
It's going to be a long, long night.
-Got my hair re-cut at this well recommended place at the galleria called "zarelli & company," by none other than the zarelli himself, jason. He was pretty workman-like. Listened to me, and gave me basically what I wanted. I say basically only because I wanted symmetry between both sides of my head, but because of the damage pam did from la pompenne, he could only do a good job on one side, while try to not make the bad side look worse...
...sigh.
So at least on one side of my head I have a Mandy Moore layered cut. On the other side, well, it's like some decided that I needed two layers of bangs starting at my part and going to the left, with the top layer being thicker, longer, and off center of the real layer of bangs. This means that where the layers fall on the right side of my head, I have just a chunk missing on the left side of my head from my bangs to my ear. Then some half hearted layers start after that.
Remember folks, I had hair, all one length, all the way down to my butt when this started, and only a light fringe of bangs. Now, well, let's say that I will be wearing barrettes for the frickin' conference that I wasted all this time trying to be pretty for.
-Then, there's the glasses.
As you probably know, my eyesight is a problem. I always will need glasses (cannot wear contacts, believe me) unless I get lasix (or my corneas blow and need to be replaced, which is a possibility). So, I need glasses. My old ones were not working well and looked dated.
So, I went to lenscrafters because I had a coupon and they would be done in an hour. Note, 1 hour. Let me stress how I do not have time to waste on this stuff. I just need an update to my perscription, pick out some frames, and bang, I'm done.
Long story short, I went back four times. Then I had to go see *another* doctor because the first one apparently is known to be careless about perscriptions (wtf?!). They never got it right. I had to return the lovely frameless glasses that I wanted to be able to wear in front of everyone in vegas, something chic, something attractive... because it took two weeks (actually just over a week, but now it is too late) to come in and were way off.
Does this mean I have to go back to my old glasses after taking two weeks to get used to the new ones? Well, I did get a spare pair of glasses with the new perscription as back up. They were forty dollars. Just clear lenses in some square sunglass frames. I ended up keeping them because I am desperate. I can't go back, the previous glasses gave me headaches on the best of days, nevermind having to overcome the conditioning of getting used to the new glasses.
So now my hair is worse than it was if I left it alone, and the glasses are not much better than my originals. I spent about two to three weeks dealing with these things for nothing. I should have focused on my work.
The moral of the story--- it's hopeless. Don't try. And certainly don't expect anything to happen in a timely manner, without grueling weeks even months of repeated attempts. There is a reason that almost forty years have gone by and no miracle of hip coolness has happened to my appearance. It's not rocket science, if I have tried again and again, and the best the stylists can say is "It would look nice in a bun," then maybe it would.
But, I haven't given up entirely. I will seriously consider lasix and I plan to get braces. So here's the score:
Hair-- 4.5 from the russian judge. definitely not what I had hoped. This will require a real, gifted professional (you know the one, they're retiring next month...). Until then...well at least I am not bald.
Glasses-- 5.5 from the russian. The french judge abstains due to fashion differences. $660+ later, and now it seems there is something mysterious and possibly serious wrong with my left eye. I will have to spend some (potentially extensive) time dealing with it. Lasix, at $2500 an eye might be an option--- only I do have to write a book soon (more on that in a moment) and can't afford to go blind and get used to it while working. Actually the glasses I have are smaller and square, so they are a little trendier. But they are obviously cheap, a little oversized (the only size they had...figures), and slightly crooked because my left eye is having problems that tilting seems to help). So I looked a little like a deranged naughty librarian with silly hair. Weee.
-Now about work.
I finished the chapter for that guy about vista's control panel. I am super glad he liked it, but it took a week longer than I expected. I am so thoroughly sick of Microsoft's crappy piece of monkey dung they call vista (I am afraid it makes ME look like OS X). I cannot believe they have so completely brainwashed themselves into thinking that the average joe is going to embrace this OS. I hear bells tolling.
Anyway, I had crashes, problems with screenshots, problems with video drivers, three different builds coming out in the time I was working on the chapter. Two physical machines had hardware issues, and I had two weird problems with screenshots in VMs (running VPC 2004sp1 with the beta2 additions). What was most frustrating were the undocumented changes that occurred between builds. I was trying to take screenshots that would match the book, which apparently was really going to be done with the last, best build they could get before production. Also, they wanted me to take screenshots in Aero Glass with transparency off. Uh, I am a server grrl, focused on business machines. I only have one computer out of ten that can run Aero Glass and I was beta testing Office 2007 on it.
Needless to say, in the end, in desperation, I wiped and installed Vista RC2 on that machine (with the screenshot software, which is another story), so I could get screenshots as close to the final book's screenshots as possible. And found that certain applets in control panel functioned *differently* in that last build than the did in the previous builds. Dammit. That meant that not only were my screenshots significantly different, but my *text* was different (and now incorrect). So, due to having to have aero glass running as the theme, and the fact that several significant applets were significantly different, I had to retake *every single* screenshot-- *and* rewrite content to match the new changes.
Okay, so I finished that, right on the toes of the next thing that I had to do under a tight deadline-- Technical Review of the third module of MOC for the indians.
Bottom line on them--- they kept changing the schedule, making it impossible for me to do my other jobs and still work for them. In addition, they changed the VMs and didn't clearly give me an activation key. Also, I got the module a little late because I was finishing the control panel chapter, so I was blindsided by the fact that I was supposed to be doing six hours of review on one 50page (apx) document which turned into (and I am not making this up) *five* different documents of varying lengths written (very, very redundantly) about the same topic, approximately.
It was too much. I asked to be taken off the project. The PM complied. But during the conference call, in order to see what went wrong and how to fix it, the PM's buddy (who I *still* don't know what his real involvement was) actually said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what made you feel you were qualified to do this job if it takes you so long to do...?"
Ha, how about, if I were not qualified for the job, I would not have *found any* errors. I would have thought is was all fine and therefore would not have taken so long trying to fix and double check the supposed SME's (subject matter expert) work. If I were not *better* than the SME on staff, then we would not have been having that conversation. *That's* what makes me think I am qualified, jack@ss.--- of course I didn't say that. The SME's friend was another person on the call, and the SME had just been in a bad car accident, so I didn't think it was prudent to bring up. Instead, I said that I was naturally cautious about criticizing another expert's work without double checking and making absolutely sure that I was correct. That I was honestly giving that SME the benefit of the doubt befitting someone of their rank.
LOL. Yay me! I am free of the indians. Oh, and here is what I learned--- That the indians *are not* the bad guys. Oh, okay, I was poorly managed by them. They still have not paid me the last 200$ they owe me and fully expect them not to. The management lied to me, tried to make me do extra work, and lied about scheduling. But, they are only a smalll percentage of the people on the project-- those whacky managers. The real people, the writers, experts, designers, and such-- they are real people, trying to do a good job in absolutely no time. MS is insane, demanding fundamental design changes on the fly, in production, from people who don't speak our language that well, that are 9.5 hours ahead of us, who are being paid peanuts, worked extremely long hours, and probably (because they are being managed by the same people I was--God help them) not clearly told what they are supposed to do in time to *do* it.
Those people were good people who bent over backwards to accomodate me. When I asked for the lab virtual machines that go with the courseware, they complied, they went *way* out of their way to painstakingly upload 22 GBs of data to an FTP server for me to use.-- AND here is the point I wasn't aware of until the exit interview-- despite the *express* instructions from MS *not* to do so (gee, I wonder who did that?
So who is at fault here? Why is the courseware so bad, so slipshod, so rushed, so faulty contentwise? Why are the reviewers not communicated with properly, given adequate time to their jobs, adequate tools, and given conflicting instructions concerning their responsibilities?
It's not because of the indians. It is not because they don't care. It is *because* of Microsoft. Or at least one significant person, the key person in each review interaction with the indians. He explicitly wants to undermine anything the reviewers do. Insisting on short turnover times, insisting on *no* access to the virtual machines the entire courserware is *based* on. He doesn't want the reviewers to really *review* and edit the courseware. He just wants them to quickly read over it. Not check the accuracy of the labs, practices, or demos. Not to double check or challenge the errors found-- just "flag" them to be fixed later (which, if anyone has ever taken an MOC class, knows they aren't). I guess if we really find errors, it would put a crimp in the schedule because now they have to deal with them. Oh, the horror.
He, and therefore MS, is the root cause of the lack of quality in the process of technical review of the microsoft official courseware. The indians simply want to do the job. They know that if it is bad, they either have to do it over, or they won't get paid (okay, maybe they are hoping that it's not that bad...). They want it right as quickly and easily as possible. They don't want the hassle. It is MS that doesn't want the job to be done right. I don't know exactly why-- but now you know.
In all of this, I was supposed to be working on my presentations for the conference in Las Vegas *NEXT WEEK.* Hello, yes, that soon. I have the leg work done for my preconference session. I need to finish building (oh the long, painstaking process) the labs for deployment.
Then, and this is how behind I am, I need to build the labs for the network access protection session, and resurrect and run through the labs for my network access quarantine control session. Yes those sessions are only an hour or so long, but to demo any of it, I have to build all of it, regardless of length. ( I am writing this while I am backing up my external drive to free up space so I can *defrag* the drive. Yes, it is so full I can't defrag it, and I still have to build about eight to nine VMs in there) Later this week (on Wednesday) I need to drive out to Zelie to present my sessions to some really great, patient people so I can see how they go (gahd, those people are great. Really, I need to put them in the acknowledgements of my life somewhere...).
And here's something funny- my slides need to be done and turned in (in the correct format) tomorrow. That's it or game over (it's written into the contract). (I am now defragging the drive--- it should take an estimated three hours...sigh)
When I get back from the conference (assuming I survive it), I have to start on the book. That's right (for those of you who have heard this story), I signed the scary contract that might be a mistake to write an 800 page book about Windows Sharepoint Services 3.0 (the thing I taught at TechEd and tech reviewed a course on). The schedule is impossibly tight and I may well be getting set up to fail. But I can't know until I try, right?
That means, as soon as I get back I need to get my life in order; deal with my eyes, start on the process of getting braces, get the d@rned ducts cleaned (yes, we put thick filters over all of the duct vents in the house in order to turn on the heat-- we both were sick for a few days after, but at least we are not freezing), deal with the car (OMG the car-- the GM who was supposed to fix my brakes in August was *fired* and now they are not returning my calls), and more, then get started on the book. I have a week to straighten out my life, then back to work.
That means that I have very, very little time to rest, if you call catching up on all that life stuff resting. I have five days for the first section- the introduction- and that's solid (no give backs, no lifelines). I will be writing five pages a day for the next six months. That's it. No break unless it's a conference (which the editor encourages, maybe it increases sales).
Wish me luck.
So now you are caught up.
Oh, except for my heelys. I bought heely shoes so I could skate around the conference instead of walk. It would be great, fast, no impact, and fun. Okay, so I might look silly, until someone realizes how convenient it is. I really, really wish I had that for TechEd last June. I would have been *so* much less tired.
But this is the problem. You have to learn them. Like riding a bike, but more like skiing, it takes some skills (some non-instinctive skills) and muscles to heely. So it takes practice. I have had none. Zip. Zilch. So, I have heelys and no time to learn them. This means that I probably cannot use them for las vegas. Maybe in April at the networkworld gig...
And *now* you are caught up.
I guess I'll go do laundry while I defrag.
It's going to be a long, long night.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Okay, so that's just creepy-- or how blogsearch loves me
So, I posted an entry a few days ago about being lazy. I mentioned the things that were hanging over my head that I needed to do.
I hate laziness, I hate being late, I hate it, I hate it.
Okay, enough about me...
...And, I happened to mention someone by name (no, lol, I am not doing it again).
Within hours, he'd emailed me. He wanted me to cheer up and (as far as I could tell) get back to work.
Wow.
Well. Hum. I let him know that, yes, I was working on his chapter. And that no, his chapter was not exactly the sole cause of my despair (actually, NAP and system image manager are my real problems, oh and my hair, and my car, and... why am I so tired?).
I do know this. Up until recently, until I used someone else's name on my blog actually (figures the name of the guy who wrote "Blogging for dummies" would be so totally, easily, findable) no one could find my blog on google, ask.com, dogpile, or yahoo. It just wouldn't list.
Well, that was before Google BlogSearch.
OMG. I think that engine loves me.
Or maybe I would be more accurate to say, it loves blogspot.
When I searched "Callahan Teched," my blog was the third list entry. When searching by the only full name listed on my blog, plus my name, my blogentry was the second list item.
I came up again and again. But never, ever, my MSN spaces blog. Those entries, that address never came up.
Funny that.
So what does this mean? That I am not as anonymous as I thought. That this is the internet. That the more entries you make, the more data you create, the more likely that something will be listed somewhere.
Am I okay with that? Yeah, I guess I am. This is a free internet right? If you don't want to read it, click away. And if you want to stay (like watching a trainwreck) feel free to do that too.
Thanks for stopping by. Y'all come back now, ya hear?
I hate laziness, I hate being late, I hate it, I hate it.
Okay, enough about me...
...And, I happened to mention someone by name (no, lol, I am not doing it again).
Within hours, he'd emailed me. He wanted me to cheer up and (as far as I could tell) get back to work.
Wow.
Well. Hum. I let him know that, yes, I was working on his chapter. And that no, his chapter was not exactly the sole cause of my despair (actually, NAP and system image manager are my real problems, oh and my hair, and my car, and... why am I so tired?).
I do know this. Up until recently, until I used someone else's name on my blog actually (figures the name of the guy who wrote "Blogging for dummies" would be so totally, easily, findable) no one could find my blog on google, ask.com, dogpile, or yahoo. It just wouldn't list.
Well, that was before Google BlogSearch.
OMG. I think that engine loves me.
Or maybe I would be more accurate to say, it loves blogspot.
When I searched "Callahan Teched," my blog was the third list entry. When searching by the only full name listed on my blog, plus my name, my blogentry was the second list item.
I came up again and again. But never, ever, my MSN spaces blog. Those entries, that address never came up.
Funny that.
So what does this mean? That I am not as anonymous as I thought. That this is the internet. That the more entries you make, the more data you create, the more likely that something will be listed somewhere.
Am I okay with that? Yeah, I guess I am. This is a free internet right? If you don't want to read it, click away. And if you want to stay (like watching a trainwreck) feel free to do that too.
Thanks for stopping by. Y'all come back now, ya hear?
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Beautification and other forms of humiliation
In the midst of all the other things I must do, I managed to accomplish steps one (and one point five) of my prep for the November conference today.
Yup, I went to the spa.
You see, I've been desperately needing to make over my neglect and inertia driven "look." I just need to face the fact that I can no longer avoid getting my picture taken. People are asking for my "headshot" for this or that event or publication, and I have run out of excuses. It's time to get with the program. It's time to ditch the little house on the prairie look and join the 21st century.
So, a long time ago, the boyfriend gave me a $150 gift certificate to a hoity toity spa up in the expensive part of my neighborhood. Of course, it was almost a joke gift, as I have never been to a spa, and wouldn't know what to do there if you quizzed me. So, the certificate sat on the mantle for more than a year (nearly two), unused, gathering dust, waiting for a "good time" to come up to use it.
Now the spa in question does the normal spa stuff; hot stone massages, pedicures, manicures, wedding makeup and updos, as well as walk-in useful stuff; like eyebrow shaping, manicures, and haircuts.
So, since the certificate wasn't getting any younger, I decided to use it to get a bit of a appearance improvement.
LOL. Cue the laugh track-- hilarity ensued. Well, a dark comedy, tragic kind of hilarity. But hey, this is 2006, we've got to get our laughs where we can find them.
As for the hair, let's just say after almost three hours, the best the stylist felt she could safely do was give me the same hairstyle I have always had.
Yes, the same shapeless, "Cousin It" look. It took her forever. Snip, snip, snip, look critically, snip, snip. Microscopic bits falling to the floor (and my clothes, and my eyes...). I swear that, once she realized that I am blind without my glasses, she just held the scissors close to my head and made snipping motions. Then, with a flourish, pronounced her masterpiece finished, making loud proclamations as to how much better I looked after her work, while handing me my glasses so I can see no difference whatsoever in the style of my hair except that it is well over a foot shorter than it was when I started.
I am doomed. It is official. Nothing can be done to my hair, because, apparently, any worthwhile cut would require massive amounts of "product" and lengthy efforts with the blowdryer and curling iron daily to look any different than it does. I am stuck with hair from little house on the prairie. They stylist kept suggesting, over and over, that I put my hair in a bun on the back of my head. She kept demonstrating with her own curly, well trained coif (carefully never trying it on my actual hair, which would never submit to such slavish constraints).
"It's a good look for you."
Meaning, "Your hair is a bland, dark curtain of biotin. There is nothing to be done short of shaving it and getting a more attractive wig."
And besides, when I do finally take the bun down (assuming I can actually put the bun up), it will be all wavy.
Yeah. Wavy. Woo hoo.
Sigh. So, that was the hair. On to part 1.5 of the adventure: The eyebrows.
Yes I also got my eyebrows done. Pluck, pluck, smear of warm wax, rip of the tape (which felt exactly like taking off a bandaid). Very earnest young lady inches from my face, smelling faintly of tide, dove, and lilac, staring at my 'brows like she could puzzle out the answer to the meaning of life there. When she finished the less than ten minute process, she sincerely explained the reasoning behind her design choice, as if I were going to complain. They're eyebrows. If you screw them up it only takes a few weeks to grow them back in. So they're still a little bushy, no big deal. At least they're not now going to have to be painted on.
Otherwise, it was kind of low key and nice. It was nice to be treated like a piece of art, like an important piece of work in that young lady's day. It didn't hurt, and in my opinion, they came out pretty well. Crocked, and funky looking behind my glasses (yes, one eyebrow is above my frames, the other is below it. Ha ha, the glasses are straight, so guess who's asymetrical?), but nicely shaped.
It seemed pretty easy to do. I think, should I ever find myself in need of a eyebrow trim, I will try using a bandaid. Can't hurt right?
Why are eyebrows supposed to be a big ouchy deal? It didn't really hurt, it took seconds, and it looks okay (especially since, between my glasses and my bangs, you can't see them). I guess not everyone feels pain the same way. I would prefer the eyebrow thing to the makeup torture that the hairstylist (and all girly girls in my life) insisted I go through.
After the eyebrows, I checked my doo before leaving, and felt that I couldn't honestly pay for something I could have done myself with safety scissors. I asked to have the stylist take some more off the front. "I would like to see more of my face," I said (I am not kidding). Off with the glasses, more snipping, some wispy layers appear... finally I give up.
Following the second phase of the hair debacle (consider it 1.5.1 of the overall adventure), the stylist, sensing my unhappiness (and a potential loss of tip), bustled me into the makeup room for a makeover. What is it with women? They are always trying to slather me with makeup. And the stylist (and her posse) were no different. They could not resist. "You have good bones." "You need to bring out your eyes." Which means, in reality, "You are just one of those people that needs to be painted in some foul smelling goo in order to avoid fading into the background. No, seriously, put on the eyeliner, I can't see you."
So I got heavily painted in flesh colored "moisturizer," pink powder on the "apple" of my cheeks (because, I guess, there are other places to put it), three different colors of eyeshadow (uh, does no one remember the glasses?), and some really gluey, shiny, thick lip stuff that exactly matches the color of my existing lips. Seriously, no difference, except now the color extends to my teeth.
Meanwhile, all the women in the room ooo'd and ahh'd over the remarkable painted transformation.
What could I do? I cooed and fawned and tried not to seem in a hurry to leave and shower. So grateful for the laborious ministrations, another ugly duckling turned into a swan, off I went, stinking of strange hair product (hypo-allergenic my ass), sporting itchy, smelly makeup (yikes, is it supposed to come off in stripes like that?!).
I could not get home soon enough.
I mean it. By the time I got home and washed the stuff off, I already had hives and red, itchy, burning spots. The aveda conditioner they used on me (shampure, sham-pure?! Are you kidding me?) absolutely reeks, and after washing and conditioning my hair several times, I still can't get that smell out. My boyfriend complained of the scent in the car with the windows down. What is in that stuff?
So in the end what do I have? Did I accomplish anything?
Yes, my hair got cut. It isn't the cut I really was hoping for, it isn't even the cut I wanted, but I can live with it. Frankly it is a shorter version of what I already had, so at least I know what to do with it in public. It is not a different color, it is not permed or bobbed short, so it'll do. ANd it was free.
And my eyebrows look more human than cromagnon. And I have officially been to a spa. So, altogether, it was good (and free).
Next, I need to do something about the eyes and teeth. To that end I am going to replace my glasses with something more modern (and maybe, dare I hope, more flattering), and get my teeth whitened and pulled in with some invisaligns (thanks book advance).
Speaking of books, I need to get back to work so I can continue to improve my street cred and make all this timewasting primping worth it. I am actually starting to see the light through the trees, so that is a relief.
And speaking of work, anyone have a pda they would be willing to overnight to me so I can do screenshots of the Sync Center in Vista?
That would be sooper...
Yup, I went to the spa.
You see, I've been desperately needing to make over my neglect and inertia driven "look." I just need to face the fact that I can no longer avoid getting my picture taken. People are asking for my "headshot" for this or that event or publication, and I have run out of excuses. It's time to get with the program. It's time to ditch the little house on the prairie look and join the 21st century.
So, a long time ago, the boyfriend gave me a $150 gift certificate to a hoity toity spa up in the expensive part of my neighborhood. Of course, it was almost a joke gift, as I have never been to a spa, and wouldn't know what to do there if you quizzed me. So, the certificate sat on the mantle for more than a year (nearly two), unused, gathering dust, waiting for a "good time" to come up to use it.
Now the spa in question does the normal spa stuff; hot stone massages, pedicures, manicures, wedding makeup and updos, as well as walk-in useful stuff; like eyebrow shaping, manicures, and haircuts.
So, since the certificate wasn't getting any younger, I decided to use it to get a bit of a appearance improvement.
LOL. Cue the laugh track-- hilarity ensued. Well, a dark comedy, tragic kind of hilarity. But hey, this is 2006, we've got to get our laughs where we can find them.
As for the hair, let's just say after almost three hours, the best the stylist felt she could safely do was give me the same hairstyle I have always had.
Yes, the same shapeless, "Cousin It" look. It took her forever. Snip, snip, snip, look critically, snip, snip. Microscopic bits falling to the floor (and my clothes, and my eyes...). I swear that, once she realized that I am blind without my glasses, she just held the scissors close to my head and made snipping motions. Then, with a flourish, pronounced her masterpiece finished, making loud proclamations as to how much better I looked after her work, while handing me my glasses so I can see no difference whatsoever in the style of my hair except that it is well over a foot shorter than it was when I started.
I am doomed. It is official. Nothing can be done to my hair, because, apparently, any worthwhile cut would require massive amounts of "product" and lengthy efforts with the blowdryer and curling iron daily to look any different than it does. I am stuck with hair from little house on the prairie. They stylist kept suggesting, over and over, that I put my hair in a bun on the back of my head. She kept demonstrating with her own curly, well trained coif (carefully never trying it on my actual hair, which would never submit to such slavish constraints).
"It's a good look for you."
Meaning, "Your hair is a bland, dark curtain of biotin. There is nothing to be done short of shaving it and getting a more attractive wig."
And besides, when I do finally take the bun down (assuming I can actually put the bun up), it will be all wavy.
Yeah. Wavy. Woo hoo.
Sigh. So, that was the hair. On to part 1.5 of the adventure: The eyebrows.
Yes I also got my eyebrows done. Pluck, pluck, smear of warm wax, rip of the tape (which felt exactly like taking off a bandaid). Very earnest young lady inches from my face, smelling faintly of tide, dove, and lilac, staring at my 'brows like she could puzzle out the answer to the meaning of life there. When she finished the less than ten minute process, she sincerely explained the reasoning behind her design choice, as if I were going to complain. They're eyebrows. If you screw them up it only takes a few weeks to grow them back in. So they're still a little bushy, no big deal. At least they're not now going to have to be painted on.
Otherwise, it was kind of low key and nice. It was nice to be treated like a piece of art, like an important piece of work in that young lady's day. It didn't hurt, and in my opinion, they came out pretty well. Crocked, and funky looking behind my glasses (yes, one eyebrow is above my frames, the other is below it. Ha ha, the glasses are straight, so guess who's asymetrical?), but nicely shaped.
It seemed pretty easy to do. I think, should I ever find myself in need of a eyebrow trim, I will try using a bandaid. Can't hurt right?
Why are eyebrows supposed to be a big ouchy deal? It didn't really hurt, it took seconds, and it looks okay (especially since, between my glasses and my bangs, you can't see them). I guess not everyone feels pain the same way. I would prefer the eyebrow thing to the makeup torture that the hairstylist (and all girly girls in my life) insisted I go through.
After the eyebrows, I checked my doo before leaving, and felt that I couldn't honestly pay for something I could have done myself with safety scissors. I asked to have the stylist take some more off the front. "I would like to see more of my face," I said (I am not kidding). Off with the glasses, more snipping, some wispy layers appear... finally I give up.
Following the second phase of the hair debacle (consider it 1.5.1 of the overall adventure), the stylist, sensing my unhappiness (and a potential loss of tip), bustled me into the makeup room for a makeover. What is it with women? They are always trying to slather me with makeup. And the stylist (and her posse) were no different. They could not resist. "You have good bones." "You need to bring out your eyes." Which means, in reality, "You are just one of those people that needs to be painted in some foul smelling goo in order to avoid fading into the background. No, seriously, put on the eyeliner, I can't see you."
So I got heavily painted in flesh colored "moisturizer," pink powder on the "apple" of my cheeks (because, I guess, there are other places to put it), three different colors of eyeshadow (uh, does no one remember the glasses?), and some really gluey, shiny, thick lip stuff that exactly matches the color of my existing lips. Seriously, no difference, except now the color extends to my teeth.
Meanwhile, all the women in the room ooo'd and ahh'd over the remarkable painted transformation.
What could I do? I cooed and fawned and tried not to seem in a hurry to leave and shower. So grateful for the laborious ministrations, another ugly duckling turned into a swan, off I went, stinking of strange hair product (hypo-allergenic my ass), sporting itchy, smelly makeup (yikes, is it supposed to come off in stripes like that?!).
I could not get home soon enough.
I mean it. By the time I got home and washed the stuff off, I already had hives and red, itchy, burning spots. The aveda conditioner they used on me (shampure, sham-pure?! Are you kidding me?) absolutely reeks, and after washing and conditioning my hair several times, I still can't get that smell out. My boyfriend complained of the scent in the car with the windows down. What is in that stuff?
So in the end what do I have? Did I accomplish anything?
Yes, my hair got cut. It isn't the cut I really was hoping for, it isn't even the cut I wanted, but I can live with it. Frankly it is a shorter version of what I already had, so at least I know what to do with it in public. It is not a different color, it is not permed or bobbed short, so it'll do. ANd it was free.
And my eyebrows look more human than cromagnon. And I have officially been to a spa. So, altogether, it was good (and free).
Next, I need to do something about the eyes and teeth. To that end I am going to replace my glasses with something more modern (and maybe, dare I hope, more flattering), and get my teeth whitened and pulled in with some invisaligns (thanks book advance).
Speaking of books, I need to get back to work so I can continue to improve my street cred and make all this timewasting primping worth it. I am actually starting to see the light through the trees, so that is a relief.
And speaking of work, anyone have a pda they would be willing to overnight to me so I can do screenshots of the Sync Center in Vista?
That would be sooper...
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Arrghh, why am I so lazy?
So here I sit
writing in my blog
when I have work to do.
Real work
that means something
that others are waiting for.
And instead
I watch TV
Make a cup of tea,
maybe do some laundry.
What is wrong with me?
As deadlines loom,
when I should be getting alarmed
I can't even come up with the energy
to be concerned.
I dream about it
But I can't seem to move.
I hate procrastinating.
I hate the sense of being out of control
out of time
of having to explain or make excuses
yet still, I do it.
Why?
Things I must do--
Work on material that I will be doing in front of hundreds of people in Las Vegas in November
(but the presentations are due mid-Oct).
Re-write/update a 50 page chapter about Vista for this guy, David Pogue, by next week.
Keep up with material required to do Technical Review of MS MOC courseware on Sharepoint Services 3.0 (including remember how to log into the outsourcing company's web site).
Keep up with material that will be necessary for the 800 page book I will probably have to write starting when I get back from Las Vegas.
Clean the house and finish research, scheduling duct sanitizing so we can turn on the heat when it gets cold a few weeks from now.
Force the frickin' car dealership's general manager to remember that he promised to fix the brakes on my car.
Instead, I am here
idly posting.
Argh.
I think I really, really want to fail.
I just want to be told that I have lost this race,
that I played this game so poorly
that I might as well stop now
and maybe start over later.
Meanwhile, the weather outside is gorgeous.
Incongrously lovely, while inside I am plagued by doubt and despair.
I resent not being able to just go outside. Maybe mulch my weeds.
writing in my blog
when I have work to do.
Real work
that means something
that others are waiting for.
And instead
I watch TV
Make a cup of tea,
maybe do some laundry.
What is wrong with me?
As deadlines loom,
when I should be getting alarmed
I can't even come up with the energy
to be concerned.
I dream about it
But I can't seem to move.
I hate procrastinating.
I hate the sense of being out of control
out of time
of having to explain or make excuses
yet still, I do it.
Why?
Things I must do--
Work on material that I will be doing in front of hundreds of people in Las Vegas in November
(but the presentations are due mid-Oct).
Re-write/update a 50 page chapter about Vista for this guy, David Pogue, by next week.
Keep up with material required to do Technical Review of MS MOC courseware on Sharepoint Services 3.0 (including remember how to log into the outsourcing company's web site).
Keep up with material that will be necessary for the 800 page book I will probably have to write starting when I get back from Las Vegas.
Clean the house and finish research, scheduling duct sanitizing so we can turn on the heat when it gets cold a few weeks from now.
Force the frickin' car dealership's general manager to remember that he promised to fix the brakes on my car.
Instead, I am here
idly posting.
Argh.
I think I really, really want to fail.
I just want to be told that I have lost this race,
that I played this game so poorly
that I might as well stop now
and maybe start over later.
Meanwhile, the weather outside is gorgeous.
Incongrously lovely, while inside I am plagued by doubt and despair.
I resent not being able to just go outside. Maybe mulch my weeds.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Just one of those things
So I'm sitting here, glued to the computer, about an hour after bed time, just tiddling about.
I had read a wonderful email from a former classmate (several times removed, she was in a different sorority, but we were in the same year, and lived on the same campus. You know, we saw each other in the cafeteria sometimes...), all sentimental and nostalgic about how she'd gotten a job at the school we once went to (she went there far longer than I did), and how the ghosts of her memories haunted her.
I was tempted to post back about how I had once felt that way, about fifteen years ago. How I would wander around campus, missing my old chums, wondering where everyone was, and why I was even there. Now, twenty years after I left (give or take), I return to that campus to enjoy the silence, appreciate the architecture, study in the library (I still can't be as productive anywhere but where I created grand and silly opuses as a teen). I've created new memories there, made new friends. I go there to detox, to get work done, to smell the air (and listen to the geese flying south in the pre-autumn silence of the town).
I didn't tell her though. Because our memories were so different. Because she spoke fondly of people I never knew, never met. Because she simply got to experience so much more of that than I did. She had belonged, done her time, qualified for her nostalgia. I was just a wanna-be that lived so close by I could frequently visit.
It's kind of heartbreaking still that I ran out of money and had to leave college before I could graduate. After all these years I am still devastated. It's as if someone I loved, someone I'd planned for and expected to be a big part of my life, had died unexpectedly. Leaving a big hole, changing the course of my days, of my self completely, and leaving me forever half-finished. People to this day are stunned that I have no degree. They wonder why I don't just finish.
I don't just toss off a degree because it would not be worth it. It would not be the same. Now I am cynical, jaded, critical of the process (now that I have created and taught my own courses, now that I have taught professors how to teach my courses). I can't just get credits to get credits. It was never about that for me. It was the learning experience, whole hog. The people, the classes, the learning, and well, mostly the people. The classmates, the professors. I can teach myself from books or online, I do that all the time. I wanted the experience. I *still* want the experience.
I can't get excited about finishing my degree. That experience closed for me long ago. Now it will just be a stubborn, empty exercise. I will be just be going through the motions. I am too busy, too tired, too distracted, to bother with such a hollow waste of money. I don't even think I'd do it if someone paid me. It would just be more bitter than bittersweet.
But, because time is a bitch, I am getting to watch my classmates, those who got to finish, slowly trickle back to my alma mater, my vacationland, as employees. As, once again, people who unequivocably belong. As I don't, and probably never had. I get to read their heartfelt letters of gentle sorrow, as they cope with working at the place where so many critical memories were made. Like growing up to be a counselor at the camp where you spent the best summers of your life.
Ironically you really can never go back, no matter how easy it is to drive there. The place it once was is gone. And my friend (if I can call her that) is now having to make peace with how the past overlays the present, until soon, current memories will take the edge off those sharp nostalgic images. Then she will become bored, cynical, and jaded about the place, just like everyone does about where they work.
Or maybe you can go back, but not often and not for long. Not unless you are willing to let those old memories fade. She has to work there now. It will, sadly, never be the same in a way the most of us just can't understand.
Of course, I don't know if I count as most of us. I have been haunting the place like a ghost for about twenty years. I never belonged, I never finished, and I just keep getting drawn back; to watch spring rise over the hills, watch summer cook the lawns, and watch autumn drive away the geese. To just appreciate the natural, changing beauty of the place. In a way, it could be that I appreciate it like those who got to graduate never could. To really see it's value, its virtues, and never take it for granted because it's hard to take for granted what you have never quite had. I can't go back to something I never really had, I just keep going back to the place where it almost happened. It's so pretty there, so serene.
I am honored and a little baffled that I was on her mailing list of classmates and friends for her nostalgic email. I am not sure she realizes how sad it makes me that I can not ever, ever commiserate with her. I never had any close relationships or chance meetings with my professors. I don't expect anyone from the past to be coming around the corner. The place has been filled with strangers for decades now. No one I know, no one who knows me. It is a place that makes me feel safe, calm, peaceful, alone. Filled with trees, hills, and wind. It is a place that is a shadow of the campus so filled with potential long ago. It rarely echoes of loss or disappointment anymore. I had to come to terms with that ages ago.
I wish her luck in her attempts to reconcile the past with her current situation. Both she and the school have changed, and I hope that both live up to her expectations.
I had read a wonderful email from a former classmate (several times removed, she was in a different sorority, but we were in the same year, and lived on the same campus. You know, we saw each other in the cafeteria sometimes...), all sentimental and nostalgic about how she'd gotten a job at the school we once went to (she went there far longer than I did), and how the ghosts of her memories haunted her.
I was tempted to post back about how I had once felt that way, about fifteen years ago. How I would wander around campus, missing my old chums, wondering where everyone was, and why I was even there. Now, twenty years after I left (give or take), I return to that campus to enjoy the silence, appreciate the architecture, study in the library (I still can't be as productive anywhere but where I created grand and silly opuses
I didn't tell her though. Because our memories were so different. Because she spoke fondly of people I never knew, never met. Because she simply got to experience so much more of that than I did. She had belonged, done her time, qualified for her nostalgia. I was just a wanna-be that lived so close by I could frequently visit.
It's kind of heartbreaking still that I ran out of money and had to leave college before I could graduate. After all these years I am still devastated. It's as if someone I loved, someone I'd planned for and expected to be a big part of my life, had died unexpectedly. Leaving a big hole, changing the course of my days, of my self completely, and leaving me forever half-finished. People to this day are stunned that I have no degree. They wonder why I don't just finish.
I don't just toss off a degree because it would not be worth it. It would not be the same. Now I am cynical, jaded, critical of the process (now that I have created and taught my own courses, now that I have taught professors how to teach my courses). I can't just get credits to get credits. It was never about that for me. It was the learning experience, whole hog. The people, the classes, the learning, and well, mostly the people. The classmates, the professors. I can teach myself from books or online, I do that all the time. I wanted the experience. I *still* want the experience.
I can't get excited about finishing my degree. That experience closed for me long ago. Now it will just be a stubborn, empty exercise. I will be just be going through the motions. I am too busy, too tired, too distracted, to bother with such a hollow waste of money. I don't even think I'd do it if someone paid me. It would just be more bitter than bittersweet.
But, because time is a bitch, I am getting to watch my classmates, those who got to finish, slowly trickle back to my alma mater, my vacationland, as employees. As, once again, people who unequivocably belong. As I don't, and probably never had. I get to read their heartfelt letters of gentle sorrow, as they cope with working at the place where so many critical memories were made. Like growing up to be a counselor at the camp where you spent the best summers of your life.
Ironically you really can never go back, no matter how easy it is to drive there. The place it once was is gone. And my friend (if I can call her that) is now having to make peace with how the past overlays the present, until soon, current memories will take the edge off those sharp nostalgic images. Then she will become bored, cynical, and jaded about the place, just like everyone does about where they work.
Or maybe you can go back, but not often and not for long. Not unless you are willing to let those old memories fade. She has to work there now. It will, sadly, never be the same in a way the most of us just can't understand.
Of course, I don't know if I count as most of us. I have been haunting the place like a ghost for about twenty years. I never belonged, I never finished, and I just keep getting drawn back; to watch spring rise over the hills, watch summer cook the lawns, and watch autumn drive away the geese. To just appreciate the natural, changing beauty of the place. In a way, it could be that I appreciate it like those who got to graduate never could. To really see it's value, its virtues, and never take it for granted because it's hard to take for granted what you have never quite had. I can't go back to something I never really had, I just keep going back to the place where it almost happened. It's so pretty there, so serene.
I am honored and a little baffled that I was on her mailing list of classmates and friends for her nostalgic email. I am not sure she realizes how sad it makes me that I can not ever, ever commiserate with her. I never had any close relationships or chance meetings with my professors. I don't expect anyone from the past to be coming around the corner. The place has been filled with strangers for decades now. No one I know, no one who knows me. It is a place that makes me feel safe, calm, peaceful, alone. Filled with trees, hills, and wind. It is a place that is a shadow of the campus so filled with potential long ago. It rarely echoes of loss or disappointment anymore. I had to come to terms with that ages ago.
I wish her luck in her attempts to reconcile the past with her current situation. Both she and the school have changed, and I hope that both live up to her expectations.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Rememberance-- Katrina vs 9/11, I think our gov't is trying to tell us something
So, I have been watching TV, and getting newsletters from moveon.org and other places.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that a movie about 9/11 has come out. It is supposed to be a moving, true story tale of some heroes who were trapped beneath one of the towers, but survived.
Meanwhile, on discovery, the health channel, and other cable networks, shows about Katrina are popping up.
I wasn't surprised about Katrina, it's been about a year, and the media needs to be sure we haven't forgotten. That makes sense, that's why christmas is celebrated yearly, lest we forget. Humans are silly like that.
But, 9/11? Why wait only five years or so and create a sappy movie about something that still freaks us all out? Something that obviously is no longer on our President's agenda, even though he threatens us with higher alert status every time we don't seem to like him. He's obviously more interested in iraqi freedom, than punishing those that wantonly attacked us.
So why was the movie allowed to go through? Why remind us of something tragic that encourages us to take a look at what started the war on terror that has caused us to be redirected to a war on iraq? Why make us angry?
Well, consider this: Midterm elections are coming out. Katrina memoriums were bound to surface. Katrina is a definite black mark on the current administration's record. Clear proof that the powers that we pay are incompetent. It repulses us.
But, 9/11? Well, despite proof that the prez dropped the ball, that it could possibly have been stopped, that we are currently *not* doing anything to avenge our dead, it still triggers a blind, "damn those towelheads" patriotism. The "oh my god, all those innocent people died" knee jerk reaction is a good way to distract american voters from the katrina news that will be floating around the media this week and next. Katrina is undeniable proof that our current government is being run by idiots, with 9/11, there's deniability.
It's kind of like covering the smell of rotten meat with the equally repelling smell of lysol disinfectant. Both stink, but the lysol is actually more nasty and lingers longer. And, it is associated with things that *should* be good for you.
If we wanted to do right by all those that lost their lives, or those suffering without their loved ones because of 9/11, then we should have spent more time crushing osama, and less time defending our oil fields, I mean, bringing democracy to the middle east.
It's just a thought. I mean, I'm just your average joe, so what would I know?
A few weeks ago, I noticed that a movie about 9/11 has come out. It is supposed to be a moving, true story tale of some heroes who were trapped beneath one of the towers, but survived.
Meanwhile, on discovery, the health channel, and other cable networks, shows about Katrina are popping up.
I wasn't surprised about Katrina, it's been about a year, and the media needs to be sure we haven't forgotten. That makes sense, that's why christmas is celebrated yearly, lest we forget. Humans are silly like that.
But, 9/11? Why wait only five years or so and create a sappy movie about something that still freaks us all out? Something that obviously is no longer on our President's agenda, even though he threatens us with higher alert status every time we don't seem to like him. He's obviously more interested in iraqi freedom, than punishing those that wantonly attacked us.
So why was the movie allowed to go through? Why remind us of something tragic that encourages us to take a look at what started the war on terror that has caused us to be redirected to a war on iraq? Why make us angry?
Well, consider this: Midterm elections are coming out. Katrina memoriums were bound to surface. Katrina is a definite black mark on the current administration's record. Clear proof that the powers that we pay are incompetent. It repulses us.
But, 9/11? Well, despite proof that the prez dropped the ball, that it could possibly have been stopped, that we are currently *not* doing anything to avenge our dead, it still triggers a blind, "damn those towelheads" patriotism. The "oh my god, all those innocent people died" knee jerk reaction is a good way to distract american voters from the katrina news that will be floating around the media this week and next. Katrina is undeniable proof that our current government is being run by idiots, with 9/11, there's deniability.
It's kind of like covering the smell of rotten meat with the equally repelling smell of lysol disinfectant. Both stink, but the lysol is actually more nasty and lingers longer. And, it is associated with things that *should* be good for you.
If we wanted to do right by all those that lost their lives, or those suffering without their loved ones because of 9/11, then we should have spent more time crushing osama, and less time defending our oil fields, I mean, bringing democracy to the middle east.
It's just a thought. I mean, I'm just your average joe, so what would I know?
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