OVERHEARD AT WORK TODAY
To a crowd of 10...
XXX: Man, Don't forget...I'm a half a century now! Shee-it...man, when I take a bath my balls float on top of the water like alligator eyes...That's why I take motherfuckin' showers....Pealing maniacal laughter.
Crowd of 10...Pealing maniacal laughter.
On the way back to the truck....Lee: "Did he really say 'alligator eyes'? Me: "Yeah...funny, huh"? Lee: "Yeah...I guess"...
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
THERE WAS THIS KNOCK ON THE DOOR
I didn't hear it at first, the bellowing of the dogs woke me up first, then I heard it. Not a frantic knock, like a neighbor in crisis. I'd heard that knock before, and this wasn't that. It was an authoritative knock, the knock of someone who means business. Law enforcement has a knock like this, I remember from the noise complaints from so long ago. The odd thing was that it didn't ramp up to pounding, just that knock.Persistent and unnerving. It was also 2:30 in the morning.
I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t shirt and got my 9mm out of the bedside table and, on my way to the door, peeked out the window to see a black excursion parked in my driveway.
This is not a good sign I said to myself as I approached the door. I released the safety on my 9mm and looked out the door window.
I could see one man, who looked alot like the guy from the matrix that dogged Neo, and in the shadows just beyond my visual reach, I thought I saw a couple of other figures. I looked at my 9 and thought better of it and retrieved my 12 gauge from the hall closet. With a round already racked in, it was just a matter of releasing the safety...a silent operation.
I answered the door.
"Can I help you"? I inquired, my shotgun well below his field of vision in my darkened house.
"Are you XXXX XXXXXXXX"? Was the reply.
I responded, " Yes I am, why"? "And what are you doing here at 2:30 in the fucking morning"?
He said " I'm detective XXXX with the department of homeland security, we have a search warrant to ..."
And that's when I shot him.Through the screen door. He flew back about 8 feet and crumpled to the ground while I racked another round.
The shadowy figures came out into view, drawing thier guns and I shot them both...
The excursions doors flew open and 4 more men piled out with automatic weapons, I released a volley of buckshot alternating with slugs until the shotgun was empty. I whipped out my 9mm and fired wildly suppressing fire and slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.
I hightailed it to the back of the house and retrieved my SKS and reloaded my 9 and my shotgun. I grabbed a flashlight out of the pantry, told my wife to stay put in the bedroom and climbed out the window into the back yard with my guns.
As soon as I hit the ground a flashlight beam caught me, I rolled and opened up at the light with my SKS. 15 rounds later, the flashlight fell to the ground and rolled away.
Shots rang in from the other direction, I rolled, but not soon enough catching one in the forearm. I dropped my SKS and responded with 14 shots from my 9mm, another flashlight hit the ground and rolled away, useless.
And then it was quiet for a while, long enough for me to survey the damage. There were nine agents of the government dead or dying on my property, and all I had was a grazing wound to the forearm. I found the guy who had fucked up my tats and put him out of my misery. BOOM! Fuck you bitch. Try and take me...you can't.
I will live free or die.
I opened the gate to the front yard to a hail of gunfire, and as I lay dying, they stormed the house...killing my wife and my dogs.
In the name of homeland security.
And then the alarm went off.
And I woke up and went to work, wondering what country I was living in, and feeling like in some real way, outside of my dreams, I had died. And I needed to cut back on the iced tea.
Dreams....man.
I didn't hear it at first, the bellowing of the dogs woke me up first, then I heard it. Not a frantic knock, like a neighbor in crisis. I'd heard that knock before, and this wasn't that. It was an authoritative knock, the knock of someone who means business. Law enforcement has a knock like this, I remember from the noise complaints from so long ago. The odd thing was that it didn't ramp up to pounding, just that knock.Persistent and unnerving. It was also 2:30 in the morning.
I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t shirt and got my 9mm out of the bedside table and, on my way to the door, peeked out the window to see a black excursion parked in my driveway.
This is not a good sign I said to myself as I approached the door. I released the safety on my 9mm and looked out the door window.
I could see one man, who looked alot like the guy from the matrix that dogged Neo, and in the shadows just beyond my visual reach, I thought I saw a couple of other figures. I looked at my 9 and thought better of it and retrieved my 12 gauge from the hall closet. With a round already racked in, it was just a matter of releasing the safety...a silent operation.
I answered the door.
"Can I help you"? I inquired, my shotgun well below his field of vision in my darkened house.
"Are you XXXX XXXXXXXX"? Was the reply.
I responded, " Yes I am, why"? "And what are you doing here at 2:30 in the fucking morning"?
He said " I'm detective XXXX with the department of homeland security, we have a search warrant to ..."
And that's when I shot him.Through the screen door. He flew back about 8 feet and crumpled to the ground while I racked another round.
The shadowy figures came out into view, drawing thier guns and I shot them both...
The excursions doors flew open and 4 more men piled out with automatic weapons, I released a volley of buckshot alternating with slugs until the shotgun was empty. I whipped out my 9mm and fired wildly suppressing fire and slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.
I hightailed it to the back of the house and retrieved my SKS and reloaded my 9 and my shotgun. I grabbed a flashlight out of the pantry, told my wife to stay put in the bedroom and climbed out the window into the back yard with my guns.
As soon as I hit the ground a flashlight beam caught me, I rolled and opened up at the light with my SKS. 15 rounds later, the flashlight fell to the ground and rolled away.
Shots rang in from the other direction, I rolled, but not soon enough catching one in the forearm. I dropped my SKS and responded with 14 shots from my 9mm, another flashlight hit the ground and rolled away, useless.
And then it was quiet for a while, long enough for me to survey the damage. There were nine agents of the government dead or dying on my property, and all I had was a grazing wound to the forearm. I found the guy who had fucked up my tats and put him out of my misery. BOOM! Fuck you bitch. Try and take me...you can't.
I will live free or die.
I opened the gate to the front yard to a hail of gunfire, and as I lay dying, they stormed the house...killing my wife and my dogs.
In the name of homeland security.
And then the alarm went off.
And I woke up and went to work, wondering what country I was living in, and feeling like in some real way, outside of my dreams, I had died. And I needed to cut back on the iced tea.
Dreams....man.
Monday, June 13, 2005
IS SIX FEET UNDER, UHHH, SIX FEET UNDER?
I caught the final season opener last monday, and all the while I was thinking...man! These people are fucked up.Why am I watching this shite? Now don't get me wrong, I have been a rabid fan of this show since the beginning, but something was missing...maybe it's me. I don't know. I'm watching tonight to decide...mind altering substances at the ready. I'll let you know in about an hour and 10 minutes.
TICK-TOK...
Wow...They close with "Back on the chain gang"...brilliant.
How do you run over yourself? Indeed.
ouch.
I caught the final season opener last monday, and all the while I was thinking...man! These people are fucked up.Why am I watching this shite? Now don't get me wrong, I have been a rabid fan of this show since the beginning, but something was missing...maybe it's me. I don't know. I'm watching tonight to decide...mind altering substances at the ready. I'll let you know in about an hour and 10 minutes.
TICK-TOK...
Wow...They close with "Back on the chain gang"...brilliant.
How do you run over yourself? Indeed.
ouch.
SO HERE'S THE (HAMMER) DRILL
You climb up the ladder, hammer drill in hand
, in your pockets you have a pair of channel locks 
, two nutdrivers, 3/8" and 1/2" sizes 
, tape measure, 
,and your trusty level...
.
On a previous trip up the ladder you have toted up your #3 sledge hammer
, only to climb back down cussing under your breath, because you forgot the set tool 
.( My set tool is much cooler than this one as I've decorated it with red and black electrical tape, kind of a barber pole for the emotionally disturbed) you also have two lengths of all thread, several nuts and washers, a 12 inch length of unistrut and a pair of drop in anchors.
After you negotiate yet another fucking climb up the ladder, you realize you left the sharpie marker on the tool cart, so you climb down AGAIN and retrieve it.
This is when you've noticed you have hit a random button on your cell phone and have left a 10 plus minute voice mail of you clanging and banging up and down a 12 foot ladder to someone you know and love.
Then you arrange yourself amongst the myriad of pipes and ducts and racks already snaking along the ceiling and attempt to measure for your holes...2 1/2" off the beam and another 10 inches from there.
You hoist the hammer drill into position and drill the holes, when the concrete dust hits your face, you curse, by the time you drill the second hole, all you can taste and smell is the dust, which smells vaguely of burnt hair, your blue shirt is now a kind of crap gray and your forearms look like a statues concrete appendages.And you're sweating, because it's fucking hot 16 feet in the air.
Pound in the anchors after you feel every pocket to remember where the set tool is...screw in the all thread hand tight and finish with the channel locks, cinch up the nuts and level the all thread. Drop level.
Climb down the god damn ladder and retrieve level. Level the other piece of all thread. Attach one side of the unistrut while simultaneously laying in the conduit, attach the other side, drop washer, pull throw down washer out of your shirt pocket because you will not climb down and back up that ladder for a fucking fender washer. Level pipe, attach straps using nutdrivers x2. Insert 10 more feet of conduit, climb down with your arsenal of tools move ladder 8 feet, repeat ( in this case ) seven times and in the process have to bust through two cinderblock walls to get there.
Go to lunch.
You climb up the ladder, hammer drill in hand
, in your pockets you have a pair of channel locks , two nutdrivers, 3/8" and 1/2" sizes , tape measure, ,and your trusty level....On a previous trip up the ladder you have toted up your #3 sledge hammer
, only to climb back down cussing under your breath, because you forgot the set tool .( My set tool is much cooler than this one as I've decorated it with red and black electrical tape, kind of a barber pole for the emotionally disturbed) you also have two lengths of all thread, several nuts and washers, a 12 inch length of unistrut and a pair of drop in anchors.After you negotiate yet another fucking climb up the ladder, you realize you left the sharpie marker on the tool cart, so you climb down AGAIN and retrieve it.
This is when you've noticed you have hit a random button on your cell phone and have left a 10 plus minute voice mail of you clanging and banging up and down a 12 foot ladder to someone you know and love.
Then you arrange yourself amongst the myriad of pipes and ducts and racks already snaking along the ceiling and attempt to measure for your holes...2 1/2" off the beam and another 10 inches from there.
You hoist the hammer drill into position and drill the holes, when the concrete dust hits your face, you curse, by the time you drill the second hole, all you can taste and smell is the dust, which smells vaguely of burnt hair, your blue shirt is now a kind of crap gray and your forearms look like a statues concrete appendages.And you're sweating, because it's fucking hot 16 feet in the air.
Pound in the anchors after you feel every pocket to remember where the set tool is...screw in the all thread hand tight and finish with the channel locks, cinch up the nuts and level the all thread. Drop level.
Climb down the god damn ladder and retrieve level. Level the other piece of all thread. Attach one side of the unistrut while simultaneously laying in the conduit, attach the other side, drop washer, pull throw down washer out of your shirt pocket because you will not climb down and back up that ladder for a fucking fender washer. Level pipe, attach straps using nutdrivers x2. Insert 10 more feet of conduit, climb down with your arsenal of tools move ladder 8 feet, repeat ( in this case ) seven times and in the process have to bust through two cinderblock walls to get there.
Go to lunch.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Looks like we're about to piss off the neighbors
Half of the 10 X 5 raised bed is done; weeds pulled, dirt poured in and seeds planted. Rob's convinced the corn is going to piss off the neighbors, what with it eventually growing to 8 feet high and looking like, well, like corn. Not that he cares if they get their panties in a wad, nor do I, but I remember the fuss in my parent's neighborhood when someone decided to turn their front yard into a vegetable garden rather than a vast expanse of St. Augustine lawn. The neighborhood consensus was that vegetable gardens are messy and untidy and that they should be hidden from public view. I remember thinking at that time that life is pretty damn messy and untidy and all those manicured lawns were just a way of people fooling themselves into thinking they had some sort of control over the chaos. Can't change the fact that your boss at work is a jerk and treats you like shit? Go zap some dandelions and pretend to be in charge of your own domain, at least until the cinch bugs hit. And I've never figured out the appeal of neighborhoods where all the houses look the same, the yards look the same and even the people look the same. This neighborhood started out that way 50 years ago. Every house built at the same time as ours has an identical floor plan, with a few minor differences in lot and front door placement. Our house is actually the odd man out with the kitchen located where the dining room usually sits (a really stupid idea, but we've learned to live with it.) However, after 50 years of remodels, additions and a variety of unusual individuals coming and going, the street no longer looks like a cookie-cutter neighborhood. Interestingly enough, my parent's neighborhood, where every house was custom built and no two are alike, looks much more homongenized even though it was built at the same time as ours. Except for the couple who moved in after the veggie garden folks and decided to raise wild flowers in all those wonderful raised beds. Talk about messy and untidy, but hey, more power to them. It's a hell of a lot more interesting than a boring expanse of grass.
Half of the 10 X 5 raised bed is done; weeds pulled, dirt poured in and seeds planted. Rob's convinced the corn is going to piss off the neighbors, what with it eventually growing to 8 feet high and looking like, well, like corn. Not that he cares if they get their panties in a wad, nor do I, but I remember the fuss in my parent's neighborhood when someone decided to turn their front yard into a vegetable garden rather than a vast expanse of St. Augustine lawn. The neighborhood consensus was that vegetable gardens are messy and untidy and that they should be hidden from public view. I remember thinking at that time that life is pretty damn messy and untidy and all those manicured lawns were just a way of people fooling themselves into thinking they had some sort of control over the chaos. Can't change the fact that your boss at work is a jerk and treats you like shit? Go zap some dandelions and pretend to be in charge of your own domain, at least until the cinch bugs hit. And I've never figured out the appeal of neighborhoods where all the houses look the same, the yards look the same and even the people look the same. This neighborhood started out that way 50 years ago. Every house built at the same time as ours has an identical floor plan, with a few minor differences in lot and front door placement. Our house is actually the odd man out with the kitchen located where the dining room usually sits (a really stupid idea, but we've learned to live with it.) However, after 50 years of remodels, additions and a variety of unusual individuals coming and going, the street no longer looks like a cookie-cutter neighborhood. Interestingly enough, my parent's neighborhood, where every house was custom built and no two are alike, looks much more homongenized even though it was built at the same time as ours. Except for the couple who moved in after the veggie garden folks and decided to raise wild flowers in all those wonderful raised beds. Talk about messy and untidy, but hey, more power to them. It's a hell of a lot more interesting than a boring expanse of grass.
GAWD AWMIGHTY I'M HUNGRY
That spooge on his chin was a hunk of cat food bigger than his head that he managed to swallow by the time I got out the camera.Little bastard. He and his three siblings will soon be going to a new home...I initially wanted to keep this one, but they are a group that have been together for the last couple of years, plus he's very much a humanized turtle, meaning he is captive bred and identifies with humans as if they are turtles.A definite plus where he's going. My foreman has built a pen for them for his daughter Dharma...you remember her from the cordite fest, right?
That's her on the right.
It's hard giving up these babies, but I know where they are going and that they will be well cared for. Plus I'm available for consultation.
It's a win win.
PS: It appears we are #1 on google if you search for dave chappel/ lil' John. This cracks my shit up. G'wan...google it and see for yourself.
That spooge on his chin was a hunk of cat food bigger than his head that he managed to swallow by the time I got out the camera.Little bastard. He and his three siblings will soon be going to a new home...I initially wanted to keep this one, but they are a group that have been together for the last couple of years, plus he's very much a humanized turtle, meaning he is captive bred and identifies with humans as if they are turtles.A definite plus where he's going. My foreman has built a pen for them for his daughter Dharma...you remember her from the cordite fest, right?
That's her on the right.
It's hard giving up these babies, but I know where they are going and that they will be well cared for. Plus I'm available for consultation.
It's a win win.
PS: It appears we are #1 on google if you search for dave chappel/ lil' John. This cracks my shit up. G'wan...google it and see for yourself.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Beat the Heat
It's so hot in the house that the laptop won't stay on longer than ten minutes despite being two feet from the window unit a/c and raised up off the desk by an inch so the air can circulate underneath it. Rob was speculating that he'd be asleep by 4 pm today, but he beat it by 2 hours and has been napping on the couch since 2 pm. It's the only logical thing to do right now in these temperatures and I'd love to join him, but I was still drinking coffee at noon so there's no way I'm gonna doze off. I suppose I could leave and go some place with good air conditioning, but can't come up with any place I'd like to go that doesn't cost money to get in. Yeah, the stores are free, but I'd rather sweat than go shopping. The only free museums I can think of don't have parking and it's way too hot to wait for the bus. I could throw in a movie, but I'm not much of a movie watcher and there's nothing here I want to see for the umpteenth time. And the house is just going to get hotter over the next few hours so maybe I'll take a cold shower and head off to Home Depot. If I'm going to go shopping to cool off, I might as well go somewhere that has stuff I'd enjoy buying if I had any money to spend (which I don't.) And I'd take shopping at Home Depot over shopping at Target any day of the week.
Later: The Home Depot was not the coolest spot in the world, but it was still an improvement over our house. I looked at some very cool, but incredibly expensive doors. I'd have to be pretty damn rich before I paid $1400 for a front door. I drooled over the powertools and dreamed of someday owning a bunch of those nifty solar powered landscaping lights. I looked longingly at the watering wands which would save me the backache I get every time I water the veggies and I searched in vain for mosquito dunks for the ponds which is something I would have bought if they had them. I did get some seeds; Kandy Korn which is supposed to be a good corn variety for this area, some more standard straight-necked yellow squash to plant amongst the corn, along with some Patty Pan squash and some kind of bush zuchinni to plant in pots. I have neither pots nor dirt so I'll have to get creative. Maybe Rob will let me steal some dirt from the turtle pen that's in need of repair and not housing turtles right now. There's a lot of good rich dirt in that pen and I hadn't thought about it before, but turtle pens are a sort of compost pile. They are kept shady and moist with regular applications of mulch and plenty of veggies and fruit thrown in (turtles are messy eaters and some it ends up in the dirt rather in than turtle tummies), plus the turtles dig and keep the dirt turned over on a regular basis. The pens are always full of earthworms too. The turtles snack on the worms, but there never seems to be a shortage of worms. Sounds like good garden soil to me.
PS - Never mind on the idea of using soil from the turtle pens. Turtles carry samonella and it turns out that it can remain viable for at least 280 days in the soil. The pen hasn't been retired quite that long so I'm glad I researched it first.
It's so hot in the house that the laptop won't stay on longer than ten minutes despite being two feet from the window unit a/c and raised up off the desk by an inch so the air can circulate underneath it. Rob was speculating that he'd be asleep by 4 pm today, but he beat it by 2 hours and has been napping on the couch since 2 pm. It's the only logical thing to do right now in these temperatures and I'd love to join him, but I was still drinking coffee at noon so there's no way I'm gonna doze off. I suppose I could leave and go some place with good air conditioning, but can't come up with any place I'd like to go that doesn't cost money to get in. Yeah, the stores are free, but I'd rather sweat than go shopping. The only free museums I can think of don't have parking and it's way too hot to wait for the bus. I could throw in a movie, but I'm not much of a movie watcher and there's nothing here I want to see for the umpteenth time. And the house is just going to get hotter over the next few hours so maybe I'll take a cold shower and head off to Home Depot. If I'm going to go shopping to cool off, I might as well go somewhere that has stuff I'd enjoy buying if I had any money to spend (which I don't.) And I'd take shopping at Home Depot over shopping at Target any day of the week.
Later: The Home Depot was not the coolest spot in the world, but it was still an improvement over our house. I looked at some very cool, but incredibly expensive doors. I'd have to be pretty damn rich before I paid $1400 for a front door. I drooled over the powertools and dreamed of someday owning a bunch of those nifty solar powered landscaping lights. I looked longingly at the watering wands which would save me the backache I get every time I water the veggies and I searched in vain for mosquito dunks for the ponds which is something I would have bought if they had them. I did get some seeds; Kandy Korn which is supposed to be a good corn variety for this area, some more standard straight-necked yellow squash to plant amongst the corn, along with some Patty Pan squash and some kind of bush zuchinni to plant in pots. I have neither pots nor dirt so I'll have to get creative. Maybe Rob will let me steal some dirt from the turtle pen that's in need of repair and not housing turtles right now. There's a lot of good rich dirt in that pen and I hadn't thought about it before, but turtle pens are a sort of compost pile. They are kept shady and moist with regular applications of mulch and plenty of veggies and fruit thrown in (turtles are messy eaters and some it ends up in the dirt rather in than turtle tummies), plus the turtles dig and keep the dirt turned over on a regular basis. The pens are always full of earthworms too. The turtles snack on the worms, but there never seems to be a shortage of worms. Sounds like good garden soil to me.
PS - Never mind on the idea of using soil from the turtle pens. Turtles carry samonella and it turns out that it can remain viable for at least 280 days in the soil. The pen hasn't been retired quite that long so I'm glad I researched it first.
The second cherry tomato plant is running way behind the first one on production, but here's a shot of it's first fruit. I've learned that I need a lot more than two plants if I want enough tomatoes to feed the turtles twice a week. It looks like we might get one squash off this vine before the borers kill it off. I suppose I should plant a lot more vines next time since I want squash for us as well as for the turtles. I also have some tiny green beans growing now. I should be outside working on the bed for the corn, but my desire for fresh picked sweet corn isn't strong enough to motivate me to pull up all the weeds in that 5 X 10 foot section of the yard in 90 degree heat.
THE WORK THAT I DO
We're on a pretty big job in one of the engineering buildings that involves some pretty big equipment and 3 sizes of conduit...2", 1.5" and 3/4" . The 2" conduit only runs about 100 feet, but the 1.5 and 3/4" will end up running about 300 ft. each. The machine room hums like a hive there are so many switch gears and transformers. I took some pictures.
This is where I spend a lot of my time...up inside the suspended ceilings.You can see our pipe running along the left wall, all neat and professional.
This is a 120/208 volt switchgear...the silver pipe coming out of the top is ours, I had to drill the hole for it and then stick my hands inside to attach the connector...nerve wracking.
This is a 277/480 volt switchgear...where our 2" conduit originates... thats it on the right.I had to drill this one out too. Miscalculate the depth or drop something on the bars and it's arc city and time for a trip to the burn unit or the morgue.
Some seriously big circuit breakers...the kind you have to wind up with a spring fulcrum.
When I started this job a year ago, this kind of stuff terrified me...not so much anymore. You just have to be careful.
Very very careful.
And here's a treat for suffering through my electrical picture story...enjoy.....
I loves my little turtles :)
We're on a pretty big job in one of the engineering buildings that involves some pretty big equipment and 3 sizes of conduit...2", 1.5" and 3/4" . The 2" conduit only runs about 100 feet, but the 1.5 and 3/4" will end up running about 300 ft. each. The machine room hums like a hive there are so many switch gears and transformers. I took some pictures.
This is where I spend a lot of my time...up inside the suspended ceilings.You can see our pipe running along the left wall, all neat and professional.
This is a 120/208 volt switchgear...the silver pipe coming out of the top is ours, I had to drill the hole for it and then stick my hands inside to attach the connector...nerve wracking.
This is a 277/480 volt switchgear...where our 2" conduit originates... thats it on the right.I had to drill this one out too. Miscalculate the depth or drop something on the bars and it's arc city and time for a trip to the burn unit or the morgue.
Some seriously big circuit breakers...the kind you have to wind up with a spring fulcrum.
When I started this job a year ago, this kind of stuff terrified me...not so much anymore. You just have to be careful.
Very very careful.
And here's a treat for suffering through my electrical picture story...enjoy.....
I loves my little turtles :)
Friday, June 10, 2005
Allergies and stuff
Allergies have been kicking my ass this week. Naturally they would kick up on a week that I was scheduled for 10 hour days. And it was a week that turned out to be pretty damn busy at work as well. Double whammy. I've been dragging around, getting nothing done and realized today that I hadn't checked my personal email in an entire week. I don't think that's ever happened before. There might be something of interest or importance in there amidst all the spam (though gmail does a pretty good job of filtering it), but I haven't the energy to deal with it right now. Nope, I'm focused on doing a blog post about nothing because I get really frustrated when I go back to see what was happening a year or so ago and I find that I posted NOTHING, not even some boring stuff about doing laundry or cleaning out the cat box (not that we've had a cat box to clean in the last 10 years or so.) So, on with the blather.
I finished off my work week today (woohoo - entire weekend off!) with a particularly gnarly day consisting of way too many hour long calls which will drive my call stats for the month into the ground. Normally L1s like me transfer calls to L2s after 15 minutes, but I whined about this a bit because it means I never get to learn much. As a result of my whining, I'm frequently left to flounder about and figure it out which as far as I'm concerned, is a good thing except that it trashes my call statistics. Although I've recently learned that my average call time is one to two minutes below some techs that I consider to be much better at this stuff than I am so I must not be doing too bad at things. However, I got a QA observation review today that was only a 90 which is not good so I guess it's still a mixed bag as far as my performance goes. I know I put way too much effort and concern into a job that pays squat and will go nowhere, but I can't help myself. It's how I operate and I can't seem to change. The realization that hard work and effort doesn't always pay off was a hard thing to swallow and I guess I haven't quite accepted it as fact because here I am busting my ass... for what? It is just the knowledge when I go to sleep at night that I've given it my best? Is that really worth anything?
Allergies have been kicking my ass this week. Naturally they would kick up on a week that I was scheduled for 10 hour days. And it was a week that turned out to be pretty damn busy at work as well. Double whammy. I've been dragging around, getting nothing done and realized today that I hadn't checked my personal email in an entire week. I don't think that's ever happened before. There might be something of interest or importance in there amidst all the spam (though gmail does a pretty good job of filtering it), but I haven't the energy to deal with it right now. Nope, I'm focused on doing a blog post about nothing because I get really frustrated when I go back to see what was happening a year or so ago and I find that I posted NOTHING, not even some boring stuff about doing laundry or cleaning out the cat box (not that we've had a cat box to clean in the last 10 years or so.) So, on with the blather.
I finished off my work week today (woohoo - entire weekend off!) with a particularly gnarly day consisting of way too many hour long calls which will drive my call stats for the month into the ground. Normally L1s like me transfer calls to L2s after 15 minutes, but I whined about this a bit because it means I never get to learn much. As a result of my whining, I'm frequently left to flounder about and figure it out which as far as I'm concerned, is a good thing except that it trashes my call statistics. Although I've recently learned that my average call time is one to two minutes below some techs that I consider to be much better at this stuff than I am so I must not be doing too bad at things. However, I got a QA observation review today that was only a 90 which is not good so I guess it's still a mixed bag as far as my performance goes. I know I put way too much effort and concern into a job that pays squat and will go nowhere, but I can't help myself. It's how I operate and I can't seem to change. The realization that hard work and effort doesn't always pay off was a hard thing to swallow and I guess I haven't quite accepted it as fact because here I am busting my ass... for what? It is just the knowledge when I go to sleep at night that I've given it my best? Is that really worth anything?
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
The nonalcoholic hangover
Yesterday I woke up with the worst hangover I've ever had in my life except that I didn't drink a drop the night before. Even when I do drink to excess, I don't usually get hangovers because I tend to limit myself to beverages that don't cause that reaction in my body. But every once and awhile I'll socialize with a group that convinces me to try this or that drink with a silly name or I'll get talked into doing a shot (or two or three) of some strange substance. Which usually leads to my drinking even more drinks with silly names or more shots of liquids that resemble brake fluid and I'll have hell to pay the next morning. So it was a bit frustrating to wake up yesterday feeling that way without any fond memories of a rip-roaring time the night before. No, it was just an evil combination of hormones, allergies and arthritis cleverly mimicking the effects of a night of partying. Hormones provided the all-body puffiness required to produce the telltale "pillow marks" on my face. Allergies added the red-eyes, splitting headache and complete lack of energy. Arthritis kicked in to contribute the after effects of dancing for hours or arm wrestling or other assorted excessive physical endeavors I might engage in after consuming large quantities of alcohol. Unfortunately the activities of the night before were simply washing five loads of laundry, hardly the thing to cause me to say "Ah, but it was worth it," the next day. And to add insult to injury, I had to go to work and be nice to idiots and assholes for 10 hours. When your parents tell you as a child that "Life isn't fair," this is the sort of thing they are talking about.
Yesterday I woke up with the worst hangover I've ever had in my life except that I didn't drink a drop the night before. Even when I do drink to excess, I don't usually get hangovers because I tend to limit myself to beverages that don't cause that reaction in my body. But every once and awhile I'll socialize with a group that convinces me to try this or that drink with a silly name or I'll get talked into doing a shot (or two or three) of some strange substance. Which usually leads to my drinking even more drinks with silly names or more shots of liquids that resemble brake fluid and I'll have hell to pay the next morning. So it was a bit frustrating to wake up yesterday feeling that way without any fond memories of a rip-roaring time the night before. No, it was just an evil combination of hormones, allergies and arthritis cleverly mimicking the effects of a night of partying. Hormones provided the all-body puffiness required to produce the telltale "pillow marks" on my face. Allergies added the red-eyes, splitting headache and complete lack of energy. Arthritis kicked in to contribute the after effects of dancing for hours or arm wrestling or other assorted excessive physical endeavors I might engage in after consuming large quantities of alcohol. Unfortunately the activities of the night before were simply washing five loads of laundry, hardly the thing to cause me to say "Ah, but it was worth it," the next day. And to add insult to injury, I had to go to work and be nice to idiots and assholes for 10 hours. When your parents tell you as a child that "Life isn't fair," this is the sort of thing they are talking about.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
CAREER OPPORTUNITIES
While the dry spell at work is over for the time being and I'm back to 40 hours a week as opposed to the 24 hours each week for the last three weeks, I wonder how long it will last. My foreman did a great job of juggling us IJ's so there were no lay offs (24 hours is better than none after all ) but our already rickety ass budget was almost down for the count. The new contracts came just in time.
I keep reading things about the economy, and none of it is good news unless you buy into the bullshit pouring out of the bush white house. A very small percentage of americans have outpaced (by a long shot) other americans who earn between 70 and 100,000 dollars a year (those were the days) by virtue of the bushites, saddling them with the bulk of the tax burden on the way to being dubbed the "hyper rich". Those making 70,000 and below maintain by increasing debt and juggling bills and rent and/or mortgage payments while keeping fingers crossed that no one in the family falls ill or they get their job outsourced from underneath them. The middle class no longer exists.
I haven't seen any recent stats to back up my next thought, but I think it has merit.
I predict a sharp increase in crime over the next 5 years. Bank robbery, burglary, drug dealing, car theft, petty theft, that sort of thing. Desperate people do desperate things. I wouldn't put it past anyone who was hungry enough, whose kids were hungry as well, shoplifting food.This is after the unemployment runs out and you lose your house and the food banks and other resources are gone because of budget cuts.Some peole are too honest to resort to criminal behavior. I saw one of those folks today, standing on the stoop of a church in soiled clothes talking to himself and waiting for a handout. You can't rely on the kindness of strangers for very much when they are half a step behind you on the road to ruin.
So, the question for me last night was what would you be capable of doing if push came to shove? Rob banks? No...too risky, someone could get hurt or worse,killed. Burglary? No...I'm not wrapped like that, I couldn't steal from people in the same boat as me. Deal drugs? No...even when I sold pot to my friends in high school the anxiety surrounding the consequences wasn't (well, almost wasn't) worth the huge sums of money I made, but I'm older now and more anxious. Steal cars? that's for the bored teenagers of the hyper rich...a lark I have no interest in.
I decided I would be better off struggling along like I have been and hope for the best...2009 isn't that far off, right? Right?!
But if you ever see me on a church stoop talking to myself, keep in mind how I got there and if you're able, throw me a bone.
It's a scary world out there, more so for some of us.
While the dry spell at work is over for the time being and I'm back to 40 hours a week as opposed to the 24 hours each week for the last three weeks, I wonder how long it will last. My foreman did a great job of juggling us IJ's so there were no lay offs (24 hours is better than none after all ) but our already rickety ass budget was almost down for the count. The new contracts came just in time.
I keep reading things about the economy, and none of it is good news unless you buy into the bullshit pouring out of the bush white house. A very small percentage of americans have outpaced (by a long shot) other americans who earn between 70 and 100,000 dollars a year (those were the days) by virtue of the bushites, saddling them with the bulk of the tax burden on the way to being dubbed the "hyper rich". Those making 70,000 and below maintain by increasing debt and juggling bills and rent and/or mortgage payments while keeping fingers crossed that no one in the family falls ill or they get their job outsourced from underneath them. The middle class no longer exists.
I haven't seen any recent stats to back up my next thought, but I think it has merit.
I predict a sharp increase in crime over the next 5 years. Bank robbery, burglary, drug dealing, car theft, petty theft, that sort of thing. Desperate people do desperate things. I wouldn't put it past anyone who was hungry enough, whose kids were hungry as well, shoplifting food.This is after the unemployment runs out and you lose your house and the food banks and other resources are gone because of budget cuts.Some peole are too honest to resort to criminal behavior. I saw one of those folks today, standing on the stoop of a church in soiled clothes talking to himself and waiting for a handout. You can't rely on the kindness of strangers for very much when they are half a step behind you on the road to ruin.
So, the question for me last night was what would you be capable of doing if push came to shove? Rob banks? No...too risky, someone could get hurt or worse,killed. Burglary? No...I'm not wrapped like that, I couldn't steal from people in the same boat as me. Deal drugs? No...even when I sold pot to my friends in high school the anxiety surrounding the consequences wasn't (well, almost wasn't) worth the huge sums of money I made, but I'm older now and more anxious. Steal cars? that's for the bored teenagers of the hyper rich...a lark I have no interest in.
I decided I would be better off struggling along like I have been and hope for the best...2009 isn't that far off, right? Right?!
But if you ever see me on a church stoop talking to myself, keep in mind how I got there and if you're able, throw me a bone.
It's a scary world out there, more so for some of us.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Garden Update
The healthy green bean plants finally have some blooms. The sickly green bean plants haven't died, but they haven't grown either and they seem to be in some sort of plant stasis. The squash appears to have been hit by squash vine borers, but the cherry tomatoes are still doing well and providing our turtles with a ripe tomato or two every other day. The pepper plant... well, I'm not sure what it's doing. It looks better than the sickly green beans, but also appears to be in stasis. The beets perked up a bit after Rob moved the pot to the shady side of the yard. Only a few seeds sprouted and I think it's too hot even in the shade to hope for much more than that. And I may try my hand at planting some sweet corn this month. The spot I've picked is less than ideal and even if it does grow, there's a bevy of raccoons that live in the neighborhood so my odds of actually getting to eat any self grown corn are pretty slim. But seed is cheap and it's something to do with that part of the yard.
The healthy green bean plants finally have some blooms. The sickly green bean plants haven't died, but they haven't grown either and they seem to be in some sort of plant stasis. The squash appears to have been hit by squash vine borers, but the cherry tomatoes are still doing well and providing our turtles with a ripe tomato or two every other day. The pepper plant... well, I'm not sure what it's doing. It looks better than the sickly green beans, but also appears to be in stasis. The beets perked up a bit after Rob moved the pot to the shady side of the yard. Only a few seeds sprouted and I think it's too hot even in the shade to hope for much more than that. And I may try my hand at planting some sweet corn this month. The spot I've picked is less than ideal and even if it does grow, there's a bevy of raccoons that live in the neighborhood so my odds of actually getting to eat any self grown corn are pretty slim. But seed is cheap and it's something to do with that part of the yard.
SID AND LUCKY
Sid, the horribly ill tempered blue tongued skink passed off this mortal coil the other day, bummer. He was a fixture in this house and a part of the family for years. Longer than he should have really, as far as skink years go and considering the life he had before I rescued him from that dark lower shelf at the pet store so long ago.
And then there's Lucky, a malayan box turtle who was sold to the original owner a "chinese box turtle". Lucky didn't thrive because the care info given at the point of sale was WRONG. It was apparent to me when I met the owner to take possession. Malayan box turtles are semi/permanently aquatic turtles, they have webbed feet fer cryin' out loud, and have dietary requirements above and beyond what the pet store employee told the original owner. Lucky has thrived here for 6 years, but over the last week has not eaten a thing. I was convinced that Lucky was just in a finicky stage, but with the passing of Sid I began to worry. When I first got Lucky, he was like an empty box weight wise, but with my knack for turtles he was soon heavy and grew quickly. He didn't display any signs of illness, he just wouldn't eat the usual tropical fruits offered.
So I had to get creative...I bought a small package of cocktail shrimp and put Lucky in the sink with luke warm water and dropped some of the shrimp in there with him and BAM! he was on those shrimp like stink on shit. 25 shrimp later I was relieved and Lucky was sated.
Fucking turtles.
Losing Sid was hard enough...Losing Lucky would have really sucked.I knew he was being finicky.
You got yer horse whisperers and yer dog whisperers.
I guess I'm a reptile whisperer. Go figure.
Sid, the horribly ill tempered blue tongued skink passed off this mortal coil the other day, bummer. He was a fixture in this house and a part of the family for years. Longer than he should have really, as far as skink years go and considering the life he had before I rescued him from that dark lower shelf at the pet store so long ago.
And then there's Lucky, a malayan box turtle who was sold to the original owner a "chinese box turtle". Lucky didn't thrive because the care info given at the point of sale was WRONG. It was apparent to me when I met the owner to take possession. Malayan box turtles are semi/permanently aquatic turtles, they have webbed feet fer cryin' out loud, and have dietary requirements above and beyond what the pet store employee told the original owner. Lucky has thrived here for 6 years, but over the last week has not eaten a thing. I was convinced that Lucky was just in a finicky stage, but with the passing of Sid I began to worry. When I first got Lucky, he was like an empty box weight wise, but with my knack for turtles he was soon heavy and grew quickly. He didn't display any signs of illness, he just wouldn't eat the usual tropical fruits offered.
So I had to get creative...I bought a small package of cocktail shrimp and put Lucky in the sink with luke warm water and dropped some of the shrimp in there with him and BAM! he was on those shrimp like stink on shit. 25 shrimp later I was relieved and Lucky was sated.
Fucking turtles.
Losing Sid was hard enough...Losing Lucky would have really sucked.I knew he was being finicky.
You got yer horse whisperers and yer dog whisperers.
I guess I'm a reptile whisperer. Go figure.
Friday, June 03, 2005
NOW THAT I GOT THAT PESKY CREATIVE SHIT OUT OF THE WAY
I can get back to railing against the man...and the man this week is one donald rumsfeld ( no caps because he does not deserve it ). Back before the the war, he was all about the CREDIBILITY and TRUSTWORTHINESS of amnesty international ( circa 2003 ) reports on human rights abuses. When amnesty says GITMO is like a russian gulag, Rummy is quick to say that they have no credibility and can't be trusted. You got Rummy singing the praises of amnesty in 2003 for the run up to the war in regards to the reports, but now, they are not trustworthy and hold no credibility since they are saying bad things about the horror the GOP is pushing to justify the rape they are commiting on the world.
How can he support amnesty in 2003 for the reports on bad joo-joo in iraq and dismiss the allegations regarding gitmo today?
Because he's a lying pile of dog vomit...just like his minions and his leaders.
And we let them get away with it.
We should all be ashamed.
Are we all liars? Looks that way to me.
How can they get away with this shit?
Liars...fucking liars.
The end is nigh...I'm glad I'm armed.
I can get back to railing against the man...and the man this week is one donald rumsfeld ( no caps because he does not deserve it ). Back before the the war, he was all about the CREDIBILITY and TRUSTWORTHINESS of amnesty international ( circa 2003 ) reports on human rights abuses. When amnesty says GITMO is like a russian gulag, Rummy is quick to say that they have no credibility and can't be trusted. You got Rummy singing the praises of amnesty in 2003 for the run up to the war in regards to the reports, but now, they are not trustworthy and hold no credibility since they are saying bad things about the horror the GOP is pushing to justify the rape they are commiting on the world.
How can he support amnesty in 2003 for the reports on bad joo-joo in iraq and dismiss the allegations regarding gitmo today?
Because he's a lying pile of dog vomit...just like his minions and his leaders.
And we let them get away with it.
We should all be ashamed.
Are we all liars? Looks that way to me.
How can they get away with this shit?
Liars...fucking liars.
The end is nigh...I'm glad I'm armed.
HYPOCRITE
(short story...parable...life...whatever)
The intervention was set up for a friday afternoon, 4:30 as I recall. The subject was a 35 year old wanna be rock star with a minor in retail sales. Apparently, over the past ten years he had tempered his failures as a rock star with a mix of drugs and alcohol, and that mix had finally caught up. But what do I care? I just get these families together and orchestrate a confrontation...a last resort sit down to convince the subject to pull his or hers head out of their ass. That pulling to be assisted by the agency I work for, a treatment center specializing in anal-cranial extractions for all manner of loser, lost soul, mid-life crisis victim. You name it, we'll crack it. For a price.
I show up 30 minutes early to meet the family members taking the circle...the circle of chairs. I got the wife, a pitiful doormat who probably has skeletons of her own...they just haven't started dancing outside the closet yet...pillhead I'm guessing. She's brittle as a fourblock of graham crackers, sweet and crumbly but you don't know how much of the block your gonna get when the pressure's on, I gotta watch her. Then there's his parents, decent folk who love the guy but never understood his passion for the rock and roll and forgot a long time ago the disparaging comments they made when he was starting out in high school, comments he has never forgotten. They greet his every morning like a thunder cloud. It used to be his inspiration to carry on but now, with middle age just around the corner, its a slap in his face. Then there's grandma ( sans grandpa, who died last year and supported the subject much to her shagrin ). And even though she loves him, I can be sure that anything she says will be filled to the brim with that overbearing guilt trip that is unique to grandmas.
I have to keep her in check, for me she is the wildcard. If I play her right, he's bagged. Then there's a couple of cousins who I can tell won't say much for fear of the subject revealing shit about them...it's a kind of familial give and take and nothing to worry about.
Then there's the friends...just like the subject, frustrated people...disatisfied people...talented people with secrets of their own, most of which are shared by the subject. I have to keep these people in check, focused on the concern for the subject lest they open themselves up for a defensive attack regarding their own bad habits from the subject. I need to keep the focus on the love and concern for their friend and not on the role they played in his descent (however direct or indirect) into hell. And I will call it hell...a lot. These people are all catholic...summoning hell is an effective tool.
The subject arrives 15 minutes late, he seems surprised, but not really, to see his family and friends gathered to potentially alter his life...I know he knows he's been fucking up and I play it to my advantage...after the introductory statement by me which is rote by this stage of the game, the subject thinks these people are gathered here by love and concern, and while that's partially true they just want the bullshit to stop. They want him right again, on track and focused like he used to be. And between my bullshit and the heartfelt statements of grandma ( wild card pays off!!! Yes!!!) and the (just to be honest) mamby pamby performances of everyone else involved, the subject admitted himself voluntarily to the hospital i freelance for. Yes! Score!
I know they'll be calling me again.
I rolled up at my house at 8:30 and walked inside, exhausted from my day of saving souls. In addition to getting the subject admitted to treatment, I single handedly empowered and convinced an entire family into thinking they had made a real difference. I had earned my commission.
I cracked a beer and sat down at the counter in my kitchen, and while I scratched out a line of meth on the mirror on the counter I thought to myself..."self...you are really good at what you do". And I am. Thirty minutes later I called my grandma, who backed me up.
I got a three o'clock tomorrow...heroin addict.
I need to make some phone calls...research you know.
Gotta understand those junkies...right?
(short story...parable...life...whatever)
The intervention was set up for a friday afternoon, 4:30 as I recall. The subject was a 35 year old wanna be rock star with a minor in retail sales. Apparently, over the past ten years he had tempered his failures as a rock star with a mix of drugs and alcohol, and that mix had finally caught up. But what do I care? I just get these families together and orchestrate a confrontation...a last resort sit down to convince the subject to pull his or hers head out of their ass. That pulling to be assisted by the agency I work for, a treatment center specializing in anal-cranial extractions for all manner of loser, lost soul, mid-life crisis victim. You name it, we'll crack it. For a price.
I show up 30 minutes early to meet the family members taking the circle...the circle of chairs. I got the wife, a pitiful doormat who probably has skeletons of her own...they just haven't started dancing outside the closet yet...pillhead I'm guessing. She's brittle as a fourblock of graham crackers, sweet and crumbly but you don't know how much of the block your gonna get when the pressure's on, I gotta watch her. Then there's his parents, decent folk who love the guy but never understood his passion for the rock and roll and forgot a long time ago the disparaging comments they made when he was starting out in high school, comments he has never forgotten. They greet his every morning like a thunder cloud. It used to be his inspiration to carry on but now, with middle age just around the corner, its a slap in his face. Then there's grandma ( sans grandpa, who died last year and supported the subject much to her shagrin ). And even though she loves him, I can be sure that anything she says will be filled to the brim with that overbearing guilt trip that is unique to grandmas.
I have to keep her in check, for me she is the wildcard. If I play her right, he's bagged. Then there's a couple of cousins who I can tell won't say much for fear of the subject revealing shit about them...it's a kind of familial give and take and nothing to worry about.
Then there's the friends...just like the subject, frustrated people...disatisfied people...talented people with secrets of their own, most of which are shared by the subject. I have to keep these people in check, focused on the concern for the subject lest they open themselves up for a defensive attack regarding their own bad habits from the subject. I need to keep the focus on the love and concern for their friend and not on the role they played in his descent (however direct or indirect) into hell. And I will call it hell...a lot. These people are all catholic...summoning hell is an effective tool.
The subject arrives 15 minutes late, he seems surprised, but not really, to see his family and friends gathered to potentially alter his life...I know he knows he's been fucking up and I play it to my advantage...after the introductory statement by me which is rote by this stage of the game, the subject thinks these people are gathered here by love and concern, and while that's partially true they just want the bullshit to stop. They want him right again, on track and focused like he used to be. And between my bullshit and the heartfelt statements of grandma ( wild card pays off!!! Yes!!!) and the (just to be honest) mamby pamby performances of everyone else involved, the subject admitted himself voluntarily to the hospital i freelance for. Yes! Score!
I know they'll be calling me again.
I rolled up at my house at 8:30 and walked inside, exhausted from my day of saving souls. In addition to getting the subject admitted to treatment, I single handedly empowered and convinced an entire family into thinking they had made a real difference. I had earned my commission.
I cracked a beer and sat down at the counter in my kitchen, and while I scratched out a line of meth on the mirror on the counter I thought to myself..."self...you are really good at what you do". And I am. Thirty minutes later I called my grandma, who backed me up.
I got a three o'clock tomorrow...heroin addict.
I need to make some phone calls...research you know.
Gotta understand those junkies...right?
Apparently I have "cool" hair
I got yet another compliment on my hair today and this continues to leave me baffled. It seems I had my hair done right before I got this job seven months ago because there are no roots showing in my new hire photo taken about a week after I started there. My hair grows about a half an inch a month when it says on my head (I shed worse than a dog) so my roots are a bit over 3 inches long now. While I had pretty much accepted the fact that it would be a long time before I could afford to dye my hair again, I never expected to get compliments on the results. It's most amusing when people ask me "How did you get your hair to do that?" in reference to the silver roots. I guess grey hair is such a rarity these days that folks don't even realize it's a NATURAL COLOR.
On another note, I've been pondering just what I would choose as the stupidest thing people say when they call tech support. I've decided that it's the threat to get the tech support rep fired. For one thing, this is similar to telling a child that you are going to take away their broccoli. Secondly, reps that are doing their job well are not going to get fired because someone threw a temper tantrum and reps that suck don't give a shit if they get fired. It's a complete waste of breath. The number two item on the list is to inform the rep that you are a stockholder in the company. This is always said in a threatening manner, but I haven't quite figured out the threat. I should treat someone better because they are a stockholder? Our policy is to treat all callers well, even assholes. Personally, if were a stockholder I'd want grandma to get the same treatment as "Joe Stockholder" because it's all the grandmas that make the company money. But what do I know, I'm just a grunt.
I got yet another compliment on my hair today and this continues to leave me baffled. It seems I had my hair done right before I got this job seven months ago because there are no roots showing in my new hire photo taken about a week after I started there. My hair grows about a half an inch a month when it says on my head (I shed worse than a dog) so my roots are a bit over 3 inches long now. While I had pretty much accepted the fact that it would be a long time before I could afford to dye my hair again, I never expected to get compliments on the results. It's most amusing when people ask me "How did you get your hair to do that?" in reference to the silver roots. I guess grey hair is such a rarity these days that folks don't even realize it's a NATURAL COLOR.
On another note, I've been pondering just what I would choose as the stupidest thing people say when they call tech support. I've decided that it's the threat to get the tech support rep fired. For one thing, this is similar to telling a child that you are going to take away their broccoli. Secondly, reps that are doing their job well are not going to get fired because someone threw a temper tantrum and reps that suck don't give a shit if they get fired. It's a complete waste of breath. The number two item on the list is to inform the rep that you are a stockholder in the company. This is always said in a threatening manner, but I haven't quite figured out the threat. I should treat someone better because they are a stockholder? Our policy is to treat all callers well, even assholes. Personally, if were a stockholder I'd want grandma to get the same treatment as "Joe Stockholder" because it's all the grandmas that make the company money. But what do I know, I'm just a grunt.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Some good news for a change
It turns out I might be a better phone support tech than I think I am. I received some nice compliments today and a small increase in pay. Woo-hoo! We celebrated by having beef for dinner. The grocery store had ground brisket (raw) on sale and Rob cooked it up every bit as tasty as a steak might have been. We also had garlic mashed potatoes and bread with gravy. Yummy! Dang, there was so much more I wanted to post about, but it was VERY busy at work today and I'm completely pooped out. Let's just say it was a banner day and I've been smiling since this morning. That hasn't happened in a very long time.
It turns out I might be a better phone support tech than I think I am. I received some nice compliments today and a small increase in pay. Woo-hoo! We celebrated by having beef for dinner. The grocery store had ground brisket (raw) on sale and Rob cooked it up every bit as tasty as a steak might have been. We also had garlic mashed potatoes and bread with gravy. Yummy! Dang, there was so much more I wanted to post about, but it was VERY busy at work today and I'm completely pooped out. Let's just say it was a banner day and I've been smiling since this morning. That hasn't happened in a very long time.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
It was an interesting start to the day. I woke up a 3 AM to a lot of booming thunder and flashing lightening. I spent an hour and a half trying to sleep through it with no luck. I decided at 4:30 to just get up and that's when I discovered my clock was wrong. It was really 3:30. Screw that, but I did have to go ahead and let the dogs out before I went back to bed. You see, if I stir just a bit too much in the morning, in a way that might indicate I was about to get out of bed, the dogs leap into LET ME OUT mode. They don't do this with Rob. Rob can get up, get ready for work and leave without them moving an inch. All I have to do is stretch and I've got jumping and barking dogs on my hands. So I let them out and then went back to bed and actually managed to get another couple of hours of sleep. After I finally did get up, I made coffee, cranked up the computer and was met with the blue screen of death. The driver for our wireless antenna causes this at times and considering we left the antenna outside in the pouring rain during the middle of a major lightening storm I wasn't too surprised. What did surprise me, after I had enough coffee to catch a glimpse of the what was written on the blue screen of death before the damn thing rebooted for the umpteenth time, was that it wasn't the antenna driver this time. To make a long story short, it was a program conflict and it was fixable. However, that took up most of my day since I decided that rather than just uninstall the offending programs that I would go ahead and clean out a years worth of junk and install a long list of updates and upgrades that I've been putting off. It took me most of the day, but it was good feeling to get that done. And much to my surprise, the wireless antenna still works. Well, off to bed for me since I didn't sleep late enough this morning to allow me to putz around on the internet past 10 PM.
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