I Am Prepared to Give Up at Any Time

2008-07-22T19:51:00.000-07:00

Birthday parties for kids are terrible events. They're devoid of creativity and filled with expense. (They're also filled with kids, which is obviously annoying, but there's not much you can do about that).

Sometimes parents get it right though. Last weekend I attended one such party.

We all gathered at the birthday girl's house, with the kids running around doing whatever the hell it is that 9 year-old girls do. I assume it involved imagining themselves marrying unicorns. Suddenly there was a horrible screeching outside. I thought it sounded like some late-arriving guest had suffered a particularly painful dismemberment. Daisy thought that cats were fighting.

The source of the noise banged up the front steps and pounded on the door.

The hostess opened the front door and a young woman rushed in, tripping over herself trying to explain that she had just been robbed. She excitedly told us all how she had been carrying her grandmother's jewels when she was robbed, but in a bizarre twist, the robber gave her an envelope before running off. The woman paused at this point, introduced herself as a tourist from Australia, and apologized for barging in. She asked for our help.

The party had begun.

Inside the envelope, which "the tourist" handed to the birthday girl, was the first clue in a treasure hunt that ultimately led the kids through the charming West Portal neighborhood of San Francisco, looking for more clues in various stores, nooks, and buildings. The clues had been written the week before by the birthday girl's mom, and were being hidden just in time at each one of the clue locations by the girl's older brother, who stayed a block ahead of the party-goers at all times. I traipsed behind the pack of girls, along with the other parents, watching the kids race around finding and decoding the clues.

Daisy had a great time, and at the end of the party I chastised the birthday girl's mother for setting the bar so goddamn high. Thanks for spoiling my child for bowling parties, lady.

When Daisy and I drove home after the party, she asked me if all that stuff with the tourist was what was supposed to happen.

Me: What do you think?
Daisy: I don't know.
Me: Well, you knew that the party was going to be some sort of scavenger or treasure hunt, right?
Daisy: Yeah
Me: So, I guess there are two possibilities here. Either they planned that whole thing with the Australian tourist, or instead they had planned some completely different scavenger/treasure hunt and then it got interrupted by the Australian tourist activity, which just happened to also turn into a treasure hunt. Right?
Daisy: Yeah.
Me: And you're not sure which of those choices it is?
Daisy: Right.

So, I taught my daughter about Occam's Razor.

2008-07-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

Oh. Man.

I'm pooped. That was an exhausting week.

First of all, it was my first week of work at my Big Boy Job, which requires me to go into an office 4 days a week (yay for Work At Home Wednesday!). That means that I spent nearly 4 hours last week commuting, time that I normally would have spent perusing blogs, watching TV, nagging my child, or any of the other activities in life that give me true joy.

On top of that, my in-laws arrived for a 10-day visit. Now, they're good folk and I get along well with them, but having guests in the house just generally requires more cleaning, shopping, ass-wiping, cooking, pretending to be a good husband, overall consideration, and syllables in general. I only have a fixed number of syllables each day, you see.

Then, yesterday, after running about 15 miles, and then executing a series of precarious errands, we took the in-laws out for a fancy dinner in honor of my mother-in-law's 70th birthday. We went to Michael Mina, which is the most expensive restaurant I have ever attended. It was expensive in the sort of way where you wonder if they accidentally put the decimal in the wrong place. For example, when Hank needed some help choosing a bottle of wine, the sommelier first suggested a $600 bottle. Hank passed on that one, and the subsequent $400 bottle, and so on until the sommelier finally suggested one that didn't make Hank's eyes bug out of her head. My eyes still bugged out when I saw the final bill, but that's ok. It's a good look for me.

The food was really good. Michael Mina's gimmick is that he prepares food three different ways. So, for example, if you order the lamb, you'll get three small preparations of it on your plate: one small tasty lamb chop, one tasty braised lamb shank, and uh... some other cut of lamb. Ear? Tail? Crap, I don't remember. It was good though. It was all "trios". I had a crustacean trio appetizer, the lamb trio entree, and a chocolate trio for dessert. They were all delicious. And when I went to the bathroom, I was pleased to see a trio of urinals. Although I had to stand pretty far back to spray into all of them, as though I was watering my backyard, I was fully committed to the trio concept. Us Michaels stick together.

Afterwards, we attended a great birthday party where I laughed more than I have laughed in quite a while. Most amusingly (at least to me) was that there was a guest in attendance who reads this blog but I had never met before. When you have a Z-list blog like this one, that sort of thing doesn't happen very often, even if we do have a mutual friend (Nrd2) who gave him the URL. Anyway, he was a hell of a nice guy who now gets own nom du blog. I christen him: Bones.

Bones told me that he and Nrd2 sometimes quote my blog like a cult film.

I thought that was awesome until I remembered that cult films are always the unintentionally hilarious worst made films out there. So, uh, thanks, Bones and Nrd2!

Anyway, the rest of the weekend was a blur of errands, kid birthday parties, and a mountain of dirty dishes. As soon as I figure out the B-movie plot for a cult film that combines all of those elements, I'll write up the details in my next blog post.

2008-07-15T20:44:00.000-07:00

I wasn't expected to walk into my new job and be productive on the first day. There's a decent sized learning curve associated with coming up to speed on all their issues and technologies. I never even used the programming language that their main system is written in. All they really expected of me on Day One was that I'd be a reasonably intelligent guy who could learn the tools.

I marched into the IT office on the first day, and they handed me a laptop and a monitor. Then, my manager pointed me towards some instructions on what pieces of software to install and configure. It all made sense.

I turned on the laptop and it worked normally. I plugged in the monitor and connected the laptop and.... nothing.

I peered at the monitor and noticed that there was no power button. This seemed odd, but I figured that in an office where they had done away with phones, maybe they had done away with power buttons. Maybe this was some super new kind of efficient monitor that only turned on when a laptop sent a signal to it. Cool!

I jiggled the cables a bit but soon became self conscious of the fact that I was sitting right across from the CEO who was sure to notice that I was completely incapable of using my computer monitor. No one else seemed to have an issue with their monitor, including the intern who sat at the next desk. I decided to just use the laptop without the monitor for a while and if anyone asked, I'd just say that I had been much too engrossed in software installation to play with my silly monitor. Very very busy, you see.

This morning, on Day Two, I got to the office earlier than almost everyone else, and my room was empty. I took this time to scrutinize the monitor from all sides, including the bottom, multiple times. There was no power button. I replaced the cable, changed the plug, and jiggled all the connections. Nothing. Nada.

Damn you Peter Principle! I couldn't believe my incompetence had been outed by a stupid Samsung monitor.

I gave up on the monitor for the 2nd day and resigned myself to using the laptop without a spiffy monitor. Was I going to ask the CEO how to turn on my monitor? The intern? The other new people who apparently had no problem turning on appliances? No thanks. I'll program in goddamn braille before I do that. A few minutes later, my friend Pablo walked to wish me a good morning.

"Pablo! Thank god you're here!" I cried "I have an issue that I can't discuss with anyone else"

(Oh, Liz and Larry, don't read this post)

"What's up?" he asked, concerned.

"I can't figure out how to use my monitor!" I whispered.

He laughed and then examined the monitor with me. He looked all around it and was surprised to find that he also could not locate the power button. His monitor, apparently, was a different brand.

At this point I got up from my desk and went over to the intern's desk to examine her monitor, which appeared to be the same model, since the office was still empty at this point. The lighting was different at her desk (her monitor faces the window) and suddenly I was able to see some markings on the lower right hand corner of the thin all-black monitor frame. There, in dark dark grey lettering, was a power symbol. The button was right there, but was completely borderless and flush with the frame. Basically it was just a part of the frame that you pressed to turn on the monitor, and they had marked it in dark grey letters on a black frame.

It was a trap for people with 40 year-old eyes.

Once I turned it on, it was pretty handy though. I'm sure Day Three will be tremendously productive.

2008-07-14T21:21:00.001-07:00

So, I did something new today. I went to one of them old-fashioned... whaddaya call it... thingee with the people....

Office! I went to an office!

Today, after a mere 12 years of working at home in my little cave, I marched into a bonafide office building to start my new job. I have to tell you, it took every ounce of self restraint in my body (by which I mean one ounce) to not show up for my first day of work in my bathrobe and slippers. The allure of making a statement about my transition from work-at-home-dude by showing up in my "business suit" was nearly irresistable. Somehow, miraculously, I resisted. I showed up freshly showered, fully clothed, with my smart-ass semi-muzzled.

The environment there doesn't use offices or cubicles. Instead, folks work in open areas, with four or six desks to a room. Liz showed me to my desk.

"Do you want a book case?" she asked? "It would be a good place to store things and it sort of serves as a divider, giving you a little bit of privacy."

"Ok," I agreed, eager to replicate a tiny bit of my cave.

Liz returned a minute later, wheeling a large book case into the room.

"Um, the only one I could find also has the office liquor in it. You ok having the liquor cabinet next to your desk?" she queried.

"Sounds like home," I answered.

Anyway, there were three of us who showed up for our first day of work today (including the new CEO who works directly across from me in the same room, and who refrained from commenting on the liquor selection at my desk), so it was a pretty big day for this small software company. To celebrate, they took us all out for lunch at a more-pretentious-than-thou restaurant/spa.

I eyed the menu with caution, well aware of my emaciated table manners. I was forced to rule out all foods that would further demonstrate my inability to adhere to societal norms, including the tasty-looking prime rib and cheddar panini sandwich. With visions of cheese dripping out of my mouth, I chose the scallop risotto.

Three tasty scallops later, I left the restaurant hungry. Thanks, pretentious restaurant! Luckily, I was able to raid the snack shelf (which, oddly, does not reside in the same book case as the liquor) for an afternoon snack.

All in all the day went pretty well. I arranged my phone-less desk, installed various pieces of software, and attended meetings where I tried to stifle myself from making every possible joke that popped into my brain. It seemed inappropriate to dominate the conversation when I was the most ignorant guy in the room by several orders of magnitude. Maybe tomorrow though.

2008-07-13T20:46:00.000-07:00

I went to my first gay wedding today.

I don't mean to make it sound like a stereotype, but it was fab-u-lous.

They had show-tunes, a bit of bawdy humor, a lot of laughter, and it was presided over by the most famous minister in San Francisco: Reverend Cecil Williams.

What does one wear to a gay wedding, you ask?

Pink! In fact, the grooms had requested that everyone wear pink. That request was a little problematic for me, because I'm a big burly man's man who does not own any pink clothing. So, I marched my candy ass down to Nordstrom last weekend and blinked nervously in the men's department until a saleswoman helpfully swooped down.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I replied, "I need a pink shirt and a matching tie."

"Ok, no problem..."

"It'sBecauseI'mGoingToAGayWedding!" I blurted out, both defending my manhood and demonstrating my San Francisco liberal street cred.

"Great," she said, in that patented non-judgmental Nordstrom way.

So, she hooked me up. And today I strolled down the street, to the neighborhood restaurant where the wedding and reception were taking place. A man sitting at a sidewalk table at a nearby cafe eyed me.

"Hey boss!" he called out, "You going to a wedding?"

"Yep!" I replied, walking past.

He turned to his table-mate and I heard him say, "Looks like pink is the wedding theme!"

"Actually, wearing pink was the required dress code," I stopped and explained.

His eyes grew wide.

"Really? Now, THAT'S a gay wedding!" he exclaimed

And so it was.

2008-07-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

While we were in San Diego this week, we spent a day visiting Legoland.

Legoland is a great idea for a theme park. First, it's a beloved kids toy. Second, it's a BUILDING toy. Kids use it to build little houses, little cars, little everything. So, why not showcase Lego and build an amusement park out of it? Genius!

We had a lovely time there, but I did have one teensy-weensy itsy-bitsy minor little complaint.

I don't mean to tell the good people at Lego how to do their job or how to build an amusement park, but if I owned a company that made Lego, the world's favorite building material, and I was building something fun like an amusement park, I'd consider BUILDING IT WITH LEGO!

Almost nothing in Legoland was built out of Lego. There were some token Lego statues, like Darth Vader or a dinosaur, that were pretty good, and there was a nifty section of the park called "Miniland" that replicated key buildings from famous U.S. cities out of Lego in miniature, but by and large very little in Legoland was made out of Lego.

You couldn't ride in a Lego vehicle or walk inside a Lego building.

That's weird, right? I mean, not a single Lego building? Not even one where they built a regular building and then covered the walls with layer of Lego? Yeah, that's weird.

So, here's my billion dollar idea.

Let's all pool our money together and buy a big plot of land near Legoland. And then let's buy a crapload of Lego. And then let's BUILD STUFF OUT OF LEGO! We'll have buildings you can play in where they appear to be made entirely out of Legos, and vehicles you can ride in that appear to be made entirely out of Legos AND PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING YOU'D BUILD WITH LEGOS EXCEPT LIFE-SIZED!

I mean duh. Jesus.

And we'll call it something slightly different for trademark reasons, like LetsGoLand.

They're morons.

2008-07-11T08:40:00.000-07:00

Although I didn't see this in any of the Zagat's guides, I can fully recommend the San Diego DMV as the best place in SD to get a new driver's license while on vacation. So goddamn fun it was.

Back soon....

2008-07-08T20:34:00.000-07:00

As of midnight tonight, I am officially unemployed. Spooooooky.

Today was my last day reporting to the German corporate overlords. I sent my final emails, removed my personal files from my work computers, piled the work computers in the car to return them to the office, and then thought, "Where the hell is the office?"

I had been there once before, maybe 5 months ago or so, but didn't recall how I got there. It was in some remote office park, in the middle of nowhere, in a podunk city I had never visited before or since.

So I google mapped it and was on my way. I guess it was entirely appropriate for a remote employee to have to google where the office is on his last day.

Anyway, I dropped off my computers and said my final goodbyes to the people I had typed at for the last few years. They all said nice things and we made the obligatory references to keeping in touch. Good folk.

Then I came home, made myself a big martini and watched the Giants get whupped on by the Metropolitans from New York City, New York. Good enough.

Tomorrow, we're off for a brief vacation to San Diego. Stand by.

2008-07-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

Being a short-timer at work is great.

If the oppressively boring nature of the business process management software industry by itself wasn't enough to make me not give a crap, being a short timer sealed the deal.

Last week Ralph and I reviewed all the open issues for the upcoming release of the software we work on.

Ralph: What did you think of issue #1, where the system apparently loses important data when the server crashes?
Me: Huh.
Ralph: That's it? Just "huh"?
Me: Hey, sounds like a real issue, but not one I can add value to with the little time I have left. Good luck though.
Ralph: Alright, alright. How about #2? Looks like they set up 3 servers in a cluster and then unplugged the network cable on one of them and lost some data. Any thoughts?
Me: Huh.

I think you can sense the pattern here. When you work on a really crappy and boring piece of software, it's tremendously liberating to be able to walk away from it and the imminent flood of critical issues that will soon crash down on its ancient and creaky architecture.

But, good luck, Ralph.

Today I filled out my online exit survey. It was a little anti-climactic to have a decade of job frustration and then be asked to express my thoughts in a multiple choice format. There were a lot of choices, and I picked the ones that seemed to most closely represent my feelings of "dead end job, but I was still left wanting...

There was no check-box for "ennui"!

Which option would I select for "soul crushingly boring job"?

"Mid-life crisis" ? Nope, not available either.

How about "What the hell is wrong with you people?!?!?!"? Astonishingly, not to be found.

There wasn't even a box that let me express the fear I felt when they started laying off experienced engineers in order to move jobs to India. Instead, there was a small text box at the bottom of the electronic form where I could list my "other" thoughts. It was, of course, a tiny little box that seemed best suited for text messages, or maybe a Twitter tweet.

Thankfully it had a scroll bar on it, so I crammed about a page of text in there. It was my magnum opus of quitting. I led them through the time-line of atrocities they had committed that finally drove me from my job. It was a masterful explanation of the frustration I felt, accompanied by sincere wishes for the well-being of the coworkers I had left behind. I hit the "Submit" button satisfied that I had said my piece.

I'm sure that somewhere in Germany an HR person will dutifully record that Engineer X left the company in July of 2008 for reason: Other.

2008-07-05T19:04:00.000-07:00

(Apologies for the post about baseball here, but given that I'm a huge Giants fan, it's pretty amazing that you only get a couple of these a year. Buck up. Plus, this isn't really about baseball as much as it's just me just jerking off in my blog.

Back in the Barry Bonds era, it was pretty easy to be a Giants fan. They were a good team, and as long as you weren't allergic to anabolic steroids, you could enjoy their ability to contend for a playoff berth, even if they'd always break your heart in the end. These days, in the post-Bonds era, wins are rarer and it'll be a surprise if they manage to eke out victories in something near half their games. We still have one of the best players in baseball, but he only plays once every 5 days.

So, why still believe? Am I rooting for the uniforms? For the stylized "SF" logo?

Of course not. I'm rooting for the name.

The Giants have the best team name in all of baseball? Don't believe me? Let's review.

National League West:

Los Angeles Dodgers: Dodgers? As in draft? No? Dodgeball? What are they dodging and how does that related to their ability to hit a baseball? No clue.

San Diego Padres: Really? Hispanic priests? Good luck with that.

Colorado Rockies: Ok, a Rocky Mountain is impressively big, but doesn't really possess the athleticism required to deftly maneuver around a baseball diamond. Nice try.

Arizona Diamondbacks: I guess this is the team you'd least want to be bitten by, but snakes don't really conjure up images of hitting home runs or turning double plays. Maybe if they had limbs.

National League Central:

St. Louis Cardinals: A bird? Come on. Ideally your mascot should be bigger and tougher than than the ball used to play the game.

Chicago Cubs: So close! It's a bear, but a BABY bear. Cute and clumsy doesn't win many games.

Houston Astros: Astro? Like astronaut? That's a great freaking name if you're trying to put together a team of rocket scientists, but no so much if you're trying to hit baseballs.

Cincinnati Reds: A color? Your team is named after a color? Was chartreuse already taken?

Pittsburgh Pirates: When your team can be felled by scurvy, it's time to pick a new team.

Milwaukee Brewers: It's hard to type while laughing, but I'll give it a shot here. Even if we were to ignore the fact that beer brewing skills do not correlate to scoring or preventing runs, what beer making skills are they celebrating in Milwaukee? Is it Pabst Blue Ribbon? Old Milwaukee? Schlitz? You'd be hard pressed to find a town in the world that makes crappier beer. Well done, Milwaukee.

National League East:

Philadelphia Phillies: Now we're just making up names without the slightest bit of creativity Go San Francisco Sanfrans! Way to set reasonable goals Modesto Modests!

Florida Marlins: I don't mean to come across as some sort of limbist, but try playing baseball without arms or legs.

New York Mets: Metropolitans? So, they're from a city? That wasn't already clear from the "New York" part? Go Redundants!

Atlanta Braves: Is there a single Atlanta Brave fan who would actually root for a team full of Native Americans?

Washington Nationals: The newest name in the league is perhaps the most boring. I guess the Washington Bureaucrats was already taken.

American League West:

Oakland Athletics: Hurray Non-specific Physical Specimans! Go Humanoids With Above Average Hand Eye Coordination!

Seattle Mariners: Hands down the best name for an baseball team that plays underwater.

Los Angeles Angels: Intimidating name, eh? You scared of getting your ass kicked by an angel? Me either.

Texas Rangers: They're named after cops. When you think of cops, do you think of home runs or fat dudes eating donuts?

American League Central:

Chicago White Sox: Socks? Really? You named your team after an accessory? Go Belts! Hurray for the Purses!

Minnesota Twins: Hazzah for the semi-rare reproductive quick of nature!

Detroit Tigers: So close! You got a big strong scary animal... without opposable thumbs. I wouldn't want to meet one in a dark alley, but I'm pretty sure I could strike one out.

Kansas City Royals: The name "Royals" doesn't denote any aspect of a monarchy. Instead, it refers to a livestock show held in KC. Yay Sheep! Go Hens!

Cleveland Indians: Again with the Native Americans. Still not a good name.

American League East:

Tampa Bay Rays: This is team that USED to be the Devil Rays until this year when they casually struck the "Devil" from their name when they thought no one was looking. Nice try, you're still basically named after a fish.

Boston Red Sox: Oh, how we hate those white socks, but we root so vigorously for socks of another color! Go primary-colored accessory!

Toronto Blue Jays: Not only a bird, but a really freaking annoying bird, the kind you'd like to hit with a baseball bat.

Baltimore Orioles: THE THIRD BIRD TEAM! ENOUGH WITH THE STUPID BIRD NAMES!

New York Yankees: Do the New York teams have nothing to celebrate other than the fact that they're in New York? Hurray team that happens to be colocated with their fans!

That leaves the San Francisco Giants. You know what a giant is? It's a REALLY BIG DUDE! One who can smash the hell out of a ball or beat the crap out of opposing teams. Who's going to win a battle between a giant and cardinal? How about a giant and a sock? The color red? You get the idea.

I present the San Francisco Giants: the only team with a name worth rooting for.

2008-07-02T19:15:00.000-07:00

One of my co-workers organized a "goodbye" lunch for me today. I've still got nearly a week left on my job, but today was the convenient time for everyone, so I drove my ass down to the office and had me some lunch with the gang.

Given that I work from home, and that I've probably only made it into the actual office once in 2008, having a goodbye lunch felt strange. It would have made more sense, and made me a lot more comfortable, if they had organized a "remote" lunch where I'd call in from my kitchen while eating leftovers from the fridge. Since I rarely see any of these people in-person, I didn't know who would even be interested in attending my lunch.

I got to the restaurant early and greeted folks as they came in. One guy looked unfamiliar but I eventually identified him as my product manager, whom I had met once before. Another guy was a complete stranger, so naturally I got seated directly across from him (and next to the product manager). It seemed rude to ask "Do I know you?" at your own goodbye lunch, so I sucked it up and made generally impersonal conversation.

After about 10 minutes of this nonsense, the stranger asked me, "Mike, do you remember meeting me?"

Doh!

"Uh, um, geez, I'm not quite sure," I replied, elegantly strolling right into the landmine.

"It's me, Hinar!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly.

Hinar! This was the dude who, through no fault of his own, had been a complete thorn in my side for the last six months, and had indirectly contributed to me leaving the company more than anyone else. He was a good guy, and a hard-working guy, but due to budget cuts was being assigned the work of three engineers. Consequently, he routinely pushed the hottest and most unpleasant issues over to my plate. As it turned out, doing Hinar's job was WAY worse than doing my job, which wasn't a picnic to begin with.

In the past six months we had never met, but we had exchanged countless tense emails and played exhausting games of to-do ping-pong. And here he was! At my goodbye lunch! Weird. Anyway, I complimented Hinar on his ability to perform one of the toughest jobs in the company and we avoided discussing the simmering tension between our teams. Good enough.

Meanwhile, Ron, my long-time coworker who had organized the luncheon, was in a thoughtful mood. He launched into stories from the first time we had worked together and generally tried to turn the conversation into something significant and befitting a goodbye lunch. Thus I was forced to bat sex jokes at him. I'm classy that way. He wrapped up by asking me if I had any words to say to the group.

Gah.

I hate this kind of thing. I hate ceremony, forced sincerity, and formality of any kind. I am the guy who got married in Vegas after all.

I gritted my teeth, stopped gritting my teeth, and then somehow said, "From day one on my current project, I hated the software I was working on. It is the very worst piece of software I've ever seen, and it was going to make me quit long ago. The only thing that kept me here all this time is the people that I've been working with. You guys have been great, and I thank you."

Then there was an awkward silence. I had destroyed the very levity I had been working so hard to establish. We wrapped things up shortly thereafter.

That awkward moment would be a poignant end to my career at that company if it weren't for the fact that I've still got a few days left, and I'll have to go back into that damn office again next week to return all my equipment. The only thing better than an awkward goodbye is an awkward goodbye that you get to repeat.

2008-06-30T18:55:00.000-07:00

Daisy's current summer camp program involves frequent field trips. Last week they took a trip to Pier 39 (a local tourist trap) and the nearby beach. She brought a few dollars of spending cash, anticipating that she'd want to buy some piece of crap at one of the myriad of Crap Stores that populate Pier 39.

Of course the last thing Daisy needs is more crap. Although she's getting better about it, she's always been a bit of a pack rat. It has been a struggle over the years to convince her to let go of old items such as too-small clothing, or worn toothbrushes. I'm wary of each new item that comes into her possession, anticipating the inevitable struggle that will occur when it's time to let go of the broken slinky, smooth rock, or colorful bit of plastic.

So, she came home from her field trip and we had this conversation:

Daisy: Daddy, want to see what I got on my field trip?
Me: Sure
Daisy: (digging through her backpack) Look! Beach glass!
Me: What?
Daisy: (spreading out a dozen pieces of broken glass) Don't worry! We checked them and they're safe!
Me: You bought... broken.... glass?
Daisy: No. I found them on the beach!
Me: You brought home... broken.... glass?
Daisy: No! It's BEACH glass! They're smoooooooth!

I fingered one of the pieces of broken glass. It was, I guess, smooth as far as broken glass goes.

Me: So, what are you planning to do with all this broken glass?
Daisy: Start a collection!
Me: Does your mother know about this?
Daisy: Uh... I believe so. (note: she did not)
Me: Ugh. Just put this somewhere safe, ok?
Daisy: (beaming) Okay!

She scooped up her beach glass and carried it up to her room, dropping a few pieces as she went.

Me: DON'T DROP BROKEN GLASS IN THE HOUSE!
Daisy: Okay! Okay!

Good lord. I can't believe they haven't revoked my parenting license.

2008-06-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

Liz, who will be my manager in two and a half weeks, has been asking me various questions to prepare for my impending and triumphant arrival at my new job. These were mostly run-of-the mill questions about my computing needs. Then she asked if I wanted a phone for my desk

I thought that was a pretty strange question. Of course I want a phone for my desk! I'll also need a chair for my ass, some sort of writing implement for my hand, and access to a restroom for my best thinking. I need all the standard officey stuff!

"Most folks don't have one, and I just picked mine up today for the first time in months, but if it makes you feel good, you can have a phone," she offered.

Huh? Most people don't have phones? In an office?

I mean, I know that we have email, IM, and something terrifyingly intimate called "face to face" (which I assume involves french kissing), but people still use phones, right?

"Like I said, you can totally have one, but I bet you won't use it. I can't even remember my own number!" Liz explained.

That's when it hit me. The last time I worked in an office was in the 1900s and I was in my 20's. It's now 2008 and I'm 40 years old. I have no idea what a modern office is like. Is the phone the 2008 version of the Red Swingline stapler? Do I need to hide behind a protective wall of fax machines, typewriters, slide rules, and cotton gins to make myself feel safe and cozy?

I manned up.

"Well, I guess I don't need one until I need one," I squeaked.

"That's a good plan. Thanks Mikey." Liz replied reassuringly.

No phones! Good god. I've made a horrible mistake

2008-06-24T19:20:00.000-07:00

I am a terrible musician.

Ok, that's not entirely accurate. What's worse than terrible? I think maybe I'm an antimusician. That would explain the remarkable explosions that occur when I produce something musical and it comes into contact with actual music.

I have a fair amount of evidence supporting my low opinion of my musical "abilities"

1) I was kicked out of song flute chorus in 6th grade for sucking (I guess blowing would have been better)
2) My sight-singing test in Basic Musicianship 1A in college didn't go much better
3) I absolutely cannot carry a tune, to the point where I actually repel melody, regardless of whether I'm singing in the car or during my one attempt to sing a song to my wife.

So naturally this Sunday morning I found myself at the store, picking up Rock Band for the Wii on the very first day it was available. Why limit my humiliation to traditional musical venues like the shower when I can expand my inept flailings to previously competent areas like video gaming? Why not indeed.

That's why for the last few days, if you've been in the southern half of San Francisco, you may have heard some god-awful wailing. That was me "rocking out". Or maybe it was Daisy. She has, apparently, inherited my mad skills. What she lacks in polish, however, she makes up for in enthusiasm and volume.

It is just a riot. I've spent a few hours now either mangling vocals, missing percussive beats, or generally flailing on the guitar. And I've laughed a ton while doing it. My favorite moments generally involve hearing Daisy just let loose with off-key vocals on some Nirvana song she's never heard before while I'm completely missing the rhythm on the drums. It is terrifically atrocious. Occasionally Hank joins us and actually sings on key. That's fun, but definitely less hilarious.

But do I have evidence that I'm still an antimusician, capable of destruction each time I engage in this craft? Behold my latest victim: the Rock Band drumstick! Only duct tape is a force mighty enough to contain my rock 'n' roll fury.

2008-06-23T20:58:00.000-07:00

Today was the day at work when I needed to inform folks that I'd be leaving in two weeks. I'm not one much for good-byes, but I can send an email as well as anyone.

I perused my "Sent" folder and slowly assembled a list of folks who might actually give a crap if I left the company. I included various programmers, testers, some managers, and a couple of VPs. It was a pretty long "To:" list but I didn't want to offend anyone by leaving someone important off.

I then tried to contemplate what I was going to say and realized that it was way too early to say good-bye. What's the point of that when I'm still going to be working there for another couple weeks? Instead, I needed to send a heads-up email to the people I work with on a daily basis, which is a much smaller set of folks than I had in my "To:" list. I decided to save this email for a couple weeks and start a new one instead for today.

I fumbled around looking for the "Save This Email For A Few Days" button and then suddenly the email disappeared. *Poof*.

I looked in the "Sent" folder and there it was. I had just sent a blank email, with no subject line, and no text in the body, to pretty much everyone I had ever worked with at my company. Awesome. Nothing says "You're going to miss my technical expertise" like a company-wide blank email.

For the remainder of the day I had to field various replies via email and IM from folks who wanted to know why I had sent them a blank email, as though I had hidden some secret message inside my signature. (The secret is: I'm a tool! Shhhh!). So, that was pretty fun.

It's good to go out on a high note.

2008-06-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Last Friday I interviewed for a job. It was a chance for them to see if I could solve technical problems without wearing a bathrobe and for me to see if I enjoyed sweating profusely in their office building.

Apparently they liked me (and I found their office to be as good a place to sweat through my shirt as anywhere) because they extended me an offer this week. We then had a few discussions about compensation and start dates and suddenly today I found myself accepting their offer.

*gulp*

So, today, I called my boss, who is a good personal friend, and gave him the news. It was a phone call that I had been dreading for weeks, ever since I first entertained the notion of interviewing with this company. He took it pretty well, and we had an only semi painful conversation about what this meant for our team.

Later in the day I called Ralph, whom I've been working closely with for the last year. During that time we've spent hours each week on the phone batting ideas back and forth and generally doing some of the better software development of my career. The product that we work on has been too complicated for either one of us to handle by ourselves, so we've been working closely as a team. I knew I'd be making his job a lot more difficult and lonely by leaving, so calling Ralph was even more difficult than calling my boss. Ralph is a big boy, so that call went ok too, but I felt pretty bad.

I'll notify the rest of the team tomorrow I guess then my two-week notice officially begins.

Dang. So weird.

Although my corporate logo has changed many times in the few years, I haven't actually quit a job in nearly a dozen years. I've been working at home for that entire time. The idea of walking into a new office, albeit one with a few familiar faces, is kind of intimidating. I know it'll be good for me but New is scary! I'll have to meet new people, learn new things, and wear new pants. Stupid pants.

Anyway, things feel strange in my brain. Stand by.

2008-06-17T20:43:00.000-07:00

One of the symptoms of being tragically unhip is the inability to keep up with modern slang. New words and phrases enter my vocabulary long after even the late night comedians have given up on them.

For example, one day, a couple years ago, one of my coworkers used the word "jiggy" in conversation. The rest of us pounced on the usage and interrogated the coworker until he confessed he had no idea what it meant. And so a word was introduced into our lexicon.

To this day none of us have any idea what the word means, so we only use it when we're trying to express something vague or unknowable.

Boss: I need to know if the project is on schedule. How's it going?
Me: Uh, it's pretty jiggy.
Boss. I'll just mark down that you're 50% done.

Now I don't even want to know what it means.

The other day we had one of Daisy's friends, a 9 year-old, over for dinner. At one point somebody at the table corrected someone else. The 9 year-old shook her head.

"Oh, you got served!" she announced. It was, of course, the first of about 10 times that she recited that phrase, searing it into the slang-retention portion of our brains.

Bam! Another phrase in our life. We now trot it out when someone is proved wrong, someone gets mocked, or, most commonly, when someone actually gets served a meal. It has proven to be a worthy and surprisingly handy expression.

What's next on this list? Only time will tell. I can only hope it's as jiggy as "jiggy".

2008-06-14T19:24:00.000-07:00

On Friday afternoon I did something I really hate doing. I interviewed for a job.

When I graduated from college, I interviewed with around 25 of the tech companies that came through campus to look for new employees. Every single one of them rejected me. Since then I've had better luck, but the overwhelming rejection I received back in college was somewhat scarring, so I get pretty stressed out before a job interview. However, my friend Liz had an opening on her team for a job that sounded interesting enough to make it worth the stress. Larry and Pablo also work there, so it sounded like a pleasant environment, maybe one nice enough to give up the perk of working from home every day.

So, I spent a few nights last week generally panicking. I reviewed some basic computer science stuff, practiced solving problems on a white board, and spent many horrible hours laying in bed with my brain busy conceiving of every possible thing that could go wrong during the process. They included:

I fail to answer any questions correctly and out myself as an idiot to my friends
I embarrass Liz, Larry, and Pablo and they are outed as people with idiot friends
I succeed at the interview, get offered the job, take it, and hate my new life
I succeed at the interview, turn down the job, and watch from the sidelines as the company creates world peace, unseats Google, harnesses the power of dilithium crystals, and offers Blow Job Fridays.

And most realistically

I make a dick joke during the interview, causing a cascading series of sexual harassment lawsuits which destroy the company and financial future of Liz, Larry, and Pablo.

The odds that something good would come of this process seemed slim, but I soldiered on. Meanwhile Liz and Pablo peppered me with advice about the interview process including one important piece of information.

"Don't try to fake your way through any of the questions," one of them suggested, "The people here are pretty good at spotting fakers, so just admit what you don't know."

Admitting my ignorance? I don't mean to brag or sound full of myself here, but I am REALLY REALLY GOOD, like world class good, at admitting my ignorance. This is one of my core competencies. So, when the interviews began, I pulled out that trick at every opportunity.

Chief Technical Officer: So, on your previous project did you consider using Complex Technique X?
Me: Nope. Never occurred to me.
CTO: What about Complex Analysis Y or Complex Approach Z?
Me: No and no. Those sound like really good ideas though.

So far so good.

CTO: Tell me what you know about Bayesian analysis.
Me: You first.
CTO: Oh, I'm just interested in hearing what you know about it.
Me: I'm pretty sure I could spell it, but that's about it.

2 for 2!

CTO: What do you see your days being like working here?
Me: I guess I'd have to wear pants.

As you can see, the interview went very smoothly. I'm sure it helped that I forgot to wear a belt and that my resume listed the wrong name for my current company. It's the little touches and attention to detail that impress a potential employer.

On the plus side, I didn't make any dick jokes.

2008-06-11T20:38:00.001-07:00

Next week is the first week of summer for Daisy. That means it's summer camp time.

There are a zillion different summer camps in San Francisco, enough of them so that they have a Summer Camp Fair once or twice a year to let people know what all the options are. I went to the summer camp fair three years ago and was amused at the... uh... variety of choices. I think the most amusing camp I saw advertised was Shakespeare camp.

Shakespeare summer camp? What is that? I mean, I know what all those words mean independently, but they're nonsense when you string them together like that, kind of like "ass cookie". I couldn't tell you what an ass cookie is, but I'm pretty damn sure I don't want one. (I imagine they have partially digested raisins in them.)

I recall asking myself, what kind of freak-show, yuppie, over-bearing parents sign their kid up for Shakespeare summer camp?

The answer? Me.

We strolled through that summer camp fair again this year and Daisy was beside herself with excitement at the prospect of signing up for Shakespeare camp. I asked if she understood that they speak ye crazy olde language there and she rattled off a couple of "Ye"s and "Thou"s in reply. The idea of the camp is that they put on a show at the end of each session and Daisy could not be more overjoyed with the prospect of standing on stage and spouting some iambic goddamn pentameter.

Just unbelievable. And she walked RIGHT PAST the Computer Camp booth! Kids are weird.

2008-06-09T20:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have the desire to interact with the people around me, but I can't think of anything to say or ask. In my head I'm googling for "engaging conversational topics", but the only thing that ends up coming out of my mouth is "Hi!". It's what my brain responds with when I'm Feeling Lucky.

I could be sitting quietly with Hank, each of us concentrating on our separate tasks (me, computing how to turn hours sitting on the couch into faster marathon times (runner's alchemy) and Hank planning the next 20 years of Daisy's school auction) and I'll suddenly blurt out "Hi!". It unnerved her for the first few months of our relationship, but she's fully acclimated now. It's just one of my delightful quirks.

With Daisy, my conversational Tourette's takes a different form. With her, when I want to engage, but have nothing to say, I'll stick out my tongue.

It never fails to impress me how charged up an eight year-old will get when you stick your tongue out at them. Daisy goes bonkers. She springs up, makes faces, screeches, and usually makes a beeline directly towards Hank to tattle on me. It's moments like those that remind me what an involved father I am.

So, the other day, when all three of us were in the car, stuck in stop and go traffic, and I felt that familiar urge to fill a conversational void, I turned to my wife and stuck out my tongue at her.

She raised an eyebrow at me, lifted her right buttock every so slightly, and farted.

In one fell swoop Hank had found a new way to relate to me, and taught Daisy a Jesus-like lesson in turning the other cheek. Very impressive.

2008-06-04T21:50:00.000-07:00

It's Day 5 of my diet.

I've settled into a routine now. I've modeled my dieting technique after my marathon training technique. Much as my approach to long-distance running emphasizes rest and non-running days, my diet emphasizes scheduled periods of non-dieting. I refer to these periods of non-dieting time as "mealtime".

Baby steps, baby.

I briefly discussed my diet with my coworker, Ralph, yesterday. In the last year or so Ralph has started paying a lot of attention to his workouts and what he eats, so he was interested to hear about my diet (unlike all of you poor bastards). I explained my plan to lose 7 or 8 pounds in the next couple months.

He scoffed.

Ralph: That's ridiculous.
Me: It's too big of a goal? Too small?
Ralph: Too big. There's no way you'll lose 8 pounds in 2 months without going on a really drastic diet.
Me: Seriously? To be honest, I have not researched this at all, so I take your opinion seriously, but 8 pounds sounded pretty reasonable to me.
Ralph: Sure, it would be if you were significantly overweight, but you're not. Losing 8 pounds off your frame is going to be really hard. How are you modifying what you eat?
Me: Well, I thought I'd snack less. And eat less dessert. Maybe cut out some beers?
Ralph: Oh, come on! You think that's going to get you there? I mean, it's not like you were eating a big piece of chocolate cake every night!
Me: But I was eating a big piece of chocolate cake every night.
Ralph: Really? You're serious?
Me: I am. I really like chocolate cake.
Ralph: Damn. Maybe you'll get close, but I say you'll be lucky to lose 4.

Place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen.

2008-06-02T20:24:00.000-07:00

*ring ring*

*ring ring*

Me: Hello
Telemarketer: Hi, can I please speak to Michael Ughblay?
Me: That's me, sort of.
Telemarketer: Hi Michael, how are you doing this evening?
Me: Ducky. And your bad self?
Telemarketer: Very good, thanks for asking. I'm calling this evening to remind you of elections tomorrow and to ask for your support for David Chiu...
Me: Tah dah!
Telemarketer: What?
Me: I've got a rule. Whenever someone calls me to solicit my vote, I'm forced to vote for the OTHER person.
Telemarketer: But, are you familiar with the county commissioner office?
Me: I don't have to be, do I now? You've made up my mind for me.
Telemarketer: ....
Me: So, thanks for helping me decide who to vote for!
Telemarketer. *grumbly* You're welcome. Have a good evening.
Me: Right back atcha

She seemed nice.

2008-05-31T18:46:00.000-07:00

I think I've got achilles tendonitis again. Don't ask me what that is, but it comes up when I google "my achilles hurts". (I'm on the verge of informing my rarely-used medical insurance that Google is now my primary care physician).

That means I'm now suddenly taking an unscheduled running break. This is a bummer because I've been running really well lately and I had hoped to build upon my current fitness level for my races coming up later this year. I've committed to being a pacer for half of the San Francisco Marathon in about 2 months (at an aggressive pace for me), and I hope to qualify for next year's Boston Marathon by running well in the Portland Marathon 4 months from now.

I've had this achilles injury before and there's not much you can do to treat it except for rest. Now, not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty damn good at resting, so there's no reason why I can't nail this sort of physical therapy regimen. Rest, however, doesn't get me any closer to my goal of qualifying for Boston this year. It just feels like I'm wasting time.

Oh, time, you taunt me so.

So, I had to ask myself what I could do during this time of inactivity to keep progressing towards Boston. The answer, sadly, was to lose some weight.

Although the Body Mass Index chart lists me in the "Normal" range (okok, at the higher end of normal), it's pretty clear that being thinner will make long-distance running easier. Carrying 5 or 10 "extra" pounds during a marathon is basically like carrying a dumbbell during the race. You COULD run a marathon that way, but wouldn't it be easier to put down the dumbbell first?

So, just now I stripped down to my skivvies and stepped on the scale. I'm 157.8 pounds.

I hereby do establish the goal of losing 7.8 pounds before my race in August and then maintaining that weight for my marathon in October. I choose that number because 150 is a nice round number, like my ass.

And, *poof*, just like that, I've made my life crappier in a new and boring way.

I've never been overweight, so this will be my first time on a diet. I'm not exactly sure how I should approach this, but I can tell you that yesterday (before my diet began) I bought a chocolate cake and some really good chocolate chip cookies. Since Daisy is allergic to them, and Hank is now a crazy no-sugar person, and I'm morally opposed to throwing away delicious desserts, I can tell you that Step One in my diet will be to consume large quantities of cake and cookies.

I'll keep you posted, but so far dieting is going great!

7.8 pounds to go.

2008-05-31T11:45:00.001-07:00

An Open Letter to drinking glasses that have a concave bottom that allows water to pool when placed upside down in my dishwasher and then drips on me when I put them away:

Dear drinking glasses that have a concave bottom that allows water to pool when placed upside down in my dishwasher and then drips on me when I put them away,

Screw you!

Respectfully,
Mike

2008-05-28T19:26:00.000-07:00

An Open Letter to the upstanding beings who stole my wife's ATM card info:

Dear Doucheboxes,

I will admit that I'm impressed that you managed to get a copy of my wife's ATM card and her pin number. Hell, I don't even know her pin number. If you know any other secrets about my wife that you'd like to share, like where her goddamn G-spot is, I'm all ears.

Anyway, kudos to you for your technical wizardry. Your thievery-fu is most impressive.

If I may be so bold, however, I'd like to offer you a bit of advice. The daily withdrawal limit on my card is $400 or $500. Many ATM cards have a similar limit. So, the next time you successfully steal someone's ATM card information, and possess that information for a whopping 19 undetected days, might I suggest that you steal more than $270?

I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, and I mean no disrespect here, but I think you should aim a little higher. I realize that you used the fake card in places where the cost of living is cheaper than San Francisco, so you've maximized your buying power that way, but what's up with the two $100 withdrawals in North Carolina? I guess there's only so much you can spend on smokes, and moonshine is pretty cheap.

And the two paltry $35 purchases in Mexico? Buy the muy expensive tequila, compadre!

So, next time, go for the gold. Try withdrawing $400! EVERY DAMN DAY! I know you can do it, ya big douchebucket.

Love,
Mike