My stress level is best indicated in the relative desire for me to go eat Thai for lunch.

Today, I crave it.

So today at work, we took a colleague out for lunch on his last day. He’s leaving the contractor world to become a civil servant. PB is a hard-working thermal analyst; hell, he was in the office on Sunday when I was. If I was in my last week of work, I … wouldn’t be in on the weekend. But there he was. When we talked about how life as a civil servant would be different, I said, “Hey, man, you’re gonna have to get some hobbies or something.”

At lunch, we talked about a variety of weird subjects—after all, this was a table full of nerdy engineers. But I think I out-nerded them all. The subject of earthquakes came up [in the context of a what-to-do-in-an-earthquake discussion about some safety slides that NASA/MSFC had circulated, because we're in such a dangerous zone here in Alabama ], and someone talked about the New Madrid earthquake. I then brought up Kentucky Bend, and then …

“How the hell do you know this stuff?”

“I read Wikipedia late at night when I can’t sleep.”

“And you tell me that I need a hobby?”

Heh. I come by it honestly. Dad used to read the encyclopedia as a kid. [So did I.]

Text received: “What do you use to make screwdrivers?”

Response sent: “3 parts vodka and 1 part triple sec to 5-6 parts OJ”

Response considered: “Cold-worked stainless steel and a petroleum-based polymer for the grip.”

Me, I’m working in the morning and am still a bit dehydrated from being sick, otherwise, well, I might have to fix myself a drink …

The NASA teleconference system always asks for the same thing before joining you to the call: “Please state your name, followed by the pound sign.” No, most mornings, since we’re a staff meeting, I say, “Teledyne Brown, Huntsville” or “Huntsville” or “TBE Huntsville”, because we’re the only group from our company and city tying in. As you’re joined to the conference, some of the numbers ring out, “[recording of what you've said] is now joining.”

This morning, I responded, “Puddintane! Ask me again, I’ll tell you the same.”

There was a brief delay, and then everyone laughed. But I could tell that they really wanted to throw shit at me.

I have considered other options:

• “James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the starship Enterprise.”
• Various politicians. Were I Frank Caliendo, I’d do it with impressions.
• “Who has two thumbs and doesn’t give a crap?” Only to see if someone responded, “Bob Kelso“.

The nuclear option is, of course, “YOUR MOM.”

Some days, it’s a wonder that they put me in positions of responsibility.

Co-op: [hands me data] “Here’s everything I have. The first couple sheets are exact quality records, the next two are photocopies of build paper, and the rest is all stuff I wrote down on an indentured parts list.”

Me: “Excellent! Just the kind of data that we need.”

Co-op: “How do you want me to organize this?”

Me: “Well, we need weights and part numbers.”

Co-op: “We’ve also got serial numbers …”

Me: “Good point. Just … get started with the data entry, and the organization will come to you. Promise.”

And that’s the truth: faced with a blob of data that you know only in part, you’re best to get it all entered and then figure out how to make it pretty. You could spend a half-hour with a plan for all this, and something on page 47? Gonna kick your ass. Better to just get started.

[And now my co-op is going to see this on Facebook, since I import notes there, and she'll know that I care. 'Cause I do. 'Cause she's kicking ass. I'm just trying not to tell her too much so she won't get complacent. ;)]

P: “It’s always dark in [my office].”

Me: “Juuuuust like I like it.”

P: “Maybe it’s because …”

Me: “I have a dark personality?”

P: “Maybe that’s it.”

Me: “You’re just now figuring this out?!”

Ain’t gonna lie. Mood improves with coffee, though. The sad thing is that I’m maximally productive at some level of irritation. The trouble is keeping from being so irritated that I go back down the curve …

Boss: “How was your weekend?”

Me: “Honestly, pretty shitty. I spent all weekend tangling with my Web server and got three hours’ sleep.”

Boss: “I’m not really sure that it’s worth the time that you put into it.”

Me: “Trust me, on days like today, I wonder about that myself.”

Amy, at lunch: “Quit with the Twitter already!”

Me: “You’re just jealous. I’m Twittering that we’re playing with the JesusPhone.”

I meant to take the receipt home so I could snap a photo of it, but printed in all caps on the receipt:

YOU HAVE BEEN SERVED

Mind you, below that it said “BY: $cashier”, but … too funny. I turned it around and showed Stephen, and he got a laugh out of it as well…

“Hey, do you want to see the iPhone? Geof’s got one.”

“Ooooooh, pretty!”

“I can tell you’re checked out of this meeting. Why don’t you just go ahead and leave?”

“You got an iPhone?! We need to get $co-worker in here … we were talking about them just last week.”

“Yeah, Geof claims that his Treo died. I don’t believe him.” [said as I walked out of a meeting to answer a call from my business manager ... tried not to flip my colleague the bird for pulling my leg]

“It’s just too much fun, isn’t it?”

“So, has that gotten you any babes yet?” [my boss]

About an hour ago, I got a call from a number that I didn’t recognize from the 334 area code—Lower Alabama. Not being in a talkative mood—I’m on vacation, after all—I hit Ignore and let whoever was calling talk to voicemail.

They did.

I’m pretty speechless, other than to note that, well, I’m quite straight.

“Well, [boss], I’ve devised a solution for next week. Any time any of you calls me from work, I will immediately go and get a beer after the conversation and drink it down. If you call me three times in an hour, I’m going to be of no use to you.”

“Ohhhh, you’re smart.”

I just freaked myself the hell out.

[phone rings]

Me: “Hey, Chris.” [ohnosecond] “Wait a minute, I don’t have caller ID. I have no idea if it’s Chris or not.”

Chris: “You don’t? Well, it is me.”

Me: “What the. That’s freaky.”

Chris: “That’s scarier than you normally are.”

Six days to vacation.

Here’s an email I got this afternoon, at the end of a really crappy day—not-fun work things, compressed schedules, and several hours of meetings coming after finding out that my maternal grandmother fell, again, yesterday and is in the hospital with a brain bleed—that kinda set me off:

Subject: [Upcoming] (username redacted) sent you a note!

The note reads:

The address:
(address redacted) that’s under the name “Grace Free Evangelical Church is WRONG. The church at that address is my church, which is (church name redacted to protect innocent parishoners). Please get your facts straight, and please correct this. I don’t know why its saying I’m sending this from the email address “(redacted)”. That email has been deactived. Please email me back at (redacted, although I want to subscribe her to a lot of funky porn spam). Thank you.

Ummm … huh? Okay, so I made a mistake. Actually, I copied another person’s mistake—this was a venue for one of the artists for whom I enter data into Upcoming, and apparently, things changed, the address was wrong, or something. But anyway. Two things immediately struck me:

1. The tone. This young woman was angry that I had the wrong church at the right address. It’s a mistake—simply ask me to correct it and go on with life.
2. The utter lack of helpfulness. There’s no URL for the venue–and given how Upcoming has gone in the .org–>Yahoo.com transition, it’s a bit harder to search anymore. If given the venue’s URL, I could probably knock this problem out in about 30 seconds. I wasn’t, and after five minutes of fruitless searching, I gave up. [The tone had a lot to do with that.]

Here’s my response:

Would you shoot me the URL to the venue you complained about? That’ll help me get it corrected in the system.

As for the facts, I entered them from an artist’s Web site as to where they indicated that the show would be held. I apologize if you were offended by this error, but I would urge you to look look at it from my end—by being so strident with your response, you give me very little incentive to fix it. That said, I want to get the right address for the actual venue, and while I’m at it, I’ll add in your church so that anyone else who tries to add a venue at that address will get an error in Upcoming’s system.

Ahhh, Christian kindness and charity. [I'm including my response here as a slight reproof for myself, because I certainly could have done a better job in my response.]

Redux, 20 Jun: I got a very polite and contrite reply. I’m satisfied, especially because I’ve lashed out at people unnecessarily, and heck … my OCD nature is to want such things right as well.

When I came home tonight, the boyfriend of the teenaged-girl-next-door had, again, parked in such a manner that I couldn’t park my car in my driveway. Being the crotchety old coot that I’ve apparently become since, oh, last Tuesday, I angrily wrote a note that said the following: “Learn to not block my driveway or your car WILL BE TOWED!” and left it under his passenger-side windshield wiper.

I didn’t get the hatch fully closed on my car afterwards, so when the kid came to the door with the note, my roommate said, “He was really nervous, but said that he saw the lights on in your car and thought you needed to know.” That was nice of him. In his place, I probably let me run the battery down. He was out there when I went out with my keys to firmly close the hatch, and he was extremely aplogetic.

Apparently I’m now 47. What’s next, me moving the neighbor kid’s basketball goal so his missed shots don’t hit my car?

I sometimes wish that I cared less about what I do for a living. It sure would make the disappointment easier.

That said, I really don’t want that. I’d rather passionately care and obsess about this stuff, waking up in the middle of the night thinking about stuff, than just punching a time clock.

If you find yourself in a dead end job, you’re probably wanting to switch chairs with me. I tell you this: each situation has significant negatives that turn that suck knob to 11.

I’ve worked here for seven years and four months, and I must admit that today is the first time that I’ve heard the words “Klingon tribes” while wandering the halls at the office. We’re not as geeky as everyone might think we are.

[Of course, I'm an aerospace engineer working for what it largely a systems company these days.]

So I ran over to Bruegger’s [I know, I know ... but I don't have a neighborhood bar, and NO I AM NOT COUNTING THE APPLEBEE'S ON THE OPPOSITE CORNER] for a quick dinner and a braindump into Tasks, and … well, at closing, they had extra bagels left over that they weren’t going to sell. So … they bagged ‘em up and gave ‘em away. Given that the bags are Bruegger’s branded—”Last Night’s Bagels”—and have nutrition information on the back, well … I’d say that they do this often.

Note to self: awesome.

Back to braindumping. They’re supposed to close in five…

Edited to add: Then they brought me the leftover chili. I know what that was about: it was an effective attempt to hook me on their chili so I’ll buy it in the future.

… there are four people in a meeting, you’re the only male, and it’s the women who bring up the Iron Bowl.

This actually happened to me this morning. The discussion of whether Alabama should fire their coach went on for about three minutes, and, grinning, I finally piped up and said, “I’d like to note that I’m the only male in the room, and we’ve been talking football for the last five minutes.” We all broke up in laughter.

[Have I mentioned lately that I really genuinely like almost everyone I work with? That is so, so true of everyone in that room this morning. Good people who are very good at what they do---mostly, keeping me out of trouble.]

As I sit here listening to Billy Joel’s “Goodnight Saigon“, I’m reminded of my wait at my local Chinese takeout place last night as I waited for dinner. After I’d paid for my order, I did as I normally do and went to sit down at the back of the eat-in area at one of the tables for two. I watched as a biker guy came in, then followed by a black couple in their 50s or so. I people-watched out of the corner of my eye, wondering what would come of this.

The men struck up a conversation, originally about motorcycles; it ended up that they were both Vietnam veterans. They talked about that for a while, and as I eavesdropped on their conversation, I had this overwhelming urge to go and thank them for their service.

It then occurred to me that this is one of the few times in my life I’ve heard Vietnam vets swap war stories; I guess Dad’s fellow officers just weren’t the type to talk about that, especially Col. Jim, who spent six years, four months, and three days in the Hanoi Hilton after getting shot down over Thud Ridge.

As I left with my shrimp lo mein, I knew that I was passing up my last chance to thank them. Then iTunes smacks me in the face again … :sigh: The Vietnam conflict was horribly run, awfully prosecuted, and terribly ended, but the guys at the sharp end of the stick are just doing what they’re told to do, even when they know that the war’s “goals” were crap.

I wish I could go back and thank those guys.

Bits and pieces from a conversation with Josh. We were talking about sports journalists, but then got off on broadcast media in general:

[25-January-2005 @ 16:09] G: Being on air is a narcotic, man.
[25-January-2005 @ 16:09] G: I’ve done it myself.
[25-January-2005 @ 16:09] J: No doubt — and you don’t get on air with balanced opinions!
[25-January-2005 @ 16:10] G: And nuance? As Kerry learned, nuance is lost in the soundbite.
[25-January-2005 @ 16:11] J: Exactly
[25-January-2005 @ 16:11] G: You can get your point out, but you have to do it over the right medium. Most of us want to be fed the soundbite because we 1) have shit to do and 2) are lazy.

I think that, these days, you have to craft the message to the medium. Wonder why I segregate my Weblogs? Pretty simple—I see them as different exchange media. [Not that any of them are really good, but they make me happy, so yeah.]

I think that understanding this is important for both content producers and consumers. You’ve got to remember that, when you’re giving or receiving the soundbite, it is what it is—a soundbite! If you forget the context, you can really go off on a tangent.

Not that I’ve ever gone off on a tangent in my life.

Bli·vet (BLIH-vet): n. Ten pounds of horseshit in a five-pound bag.

Return to Flight schedules are insane. This one I’m working on now? Easily a blivet.

“Our drop dead date on this is 28 February.”

(pause)

[Incredulous.] “You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, I’m not.”

(pause)

“Wow, okay.”

“What does your February look like?”

“Oh, trust me, boss … I’ve kept it clear, knowing that this was going to likely hit.”

This is one hell of a hole card.

“You know it’s cold in our building when I’m the one saying that it’s cold.”

Seriously … someone has the air conditioning on in here today. Brrr!

With my pen poised above the palm of my left hand, I said to a co-worker, “Such are the perils of leaving my Treo in my office … I’m writing on my palm instead of in my Palm. If I walked back down to my office to get it, I would undoubtedly forget everything I need to write down right now.”

Geof: “You seen my new toy?”

Leonard [warily]: “That looks like a labelmaker.”

G: “That it is!”

L: “Oh, dear Lord.”

G: “It’s just a part of my effort to get organized.”

L: “What are you going to label?”

G [holds up box]: “File folders! Why, did you think I’d do anything else?”

L: “Yeah. If I come home one night and there are labels under the remote controls indicating where they’re supposed to go, like what Anthony used to do, I’m going to beat you in the head. Repeatedly.”

See, Ant-Dawg, you’re missed around here.