After writing my apparently unremarkable Haikus the other day (which was fun for me, so...there!), I was driving to an appointment and couldn't shake the format out of my head. When I got to the parking garage, I whipped out the closest piece of paper, which happened to be a new business card of mine, and scribbled the following haiku on the back:
Why should I scramble
to help your ignorant ass
when you won't buy squat?
Then I stuffed it into my planner...(camera moves in for a foreshadowing close-up...) But...nice attitude, huh? Well, there's a little background.
It started in December of last year, when I received an Email from a prospective customer asking a question about a product's specifications.
I would like to avoid revealing exactly what I do and who I work for, but it's basically a form of technical sales. Not the type of sales that many people think of, where you are selling a commodity that someone can get from a retail store or something--this is more like custom-designed equipment that solves very specific problems for highly technical businesses and research-oriented people. So I'm used to dealing with very left-brained people who are very analytical (but it doesn't mean I like 'em...just kidding).
So, this guy's December Email is equivalent to someone buying a car and asking "What is the suggested tire pressure on the front right tire?". I mean, in the overall scheme of things, it was pretty insignificant no matter who you are or what you are doing. This happens sometimes when people read up on equipment, get disproportionally focused on the wrong thing, and don't want to trust me with advising them in their decision-making. Kinda like someone living underground and reading about what a sunset looks like without pictures--it would be hard to get the proper perspective. Almost everytime this type of thing happens, the person sending the Email is an Engineer. If you are an Engineer, let me help you out, here: Yes, that was a shot at YOU! Unfortunately, I don't have time to graph exactly how intense the shot is, provide a diagrammatical representation of exactly where it is aimed, or chart out a decision-tree as to how you should handle it. Good Luck.
Emailing back and forth with Engineer-boy was a trip. Unfortunately, he was under the idea that his purchase was going to be the highlight of my life, and he was trying to make me jump through hoops to earn his business (It actually amounted to less than 1 day's sales quota).
The way my job is organized, we are (seriously) supposed to cut someone like this loose instead of letting them take advantage of our time. I know that runs counter to what people think of when the consider sales and customer service, and it's something that I struggle with, because these pain-in-the-ass types actually need more help than the research groups that are brilliant, who are usually very respectful of our time and consult with us for help with decisions.
But, I was trying to help this guy, and thought we could get on the right track somehow. I actually learned that there was a Big Boss who was the actual decision-maker, and this guy was supposed to be doing all the ground work so Big Boss could come in and make the decision. But he still made me a reconsider when he canceled our first appointment in January. While I was 2 miles from getting there. After driving 45 minutes. So, I never rescheduled and attempted to cut him loose--I was hoping he would buy from a competitor and bog them down with his nonsensical idiocy. But, no, he Emailed me again a month later. We set up another appointment for last Wed.
This time, I was smart. I called before I left, and he canceled again! I've only had 3 canceled appointments in the last 5 years, and 2 of them from this bozo! But I charitably (see, bad attitude from me, huh?) let him reschedule for 11:00 this past Wed., aka "Haiku Day".
I pull in about half an hour early to his location, scribble my lines about him (cleansing myself of bad feelings) and realize that I'm going to have to lug 200 lbs of stuff about 3/4 mile to his office in a building on the complex. At 10:59, my cell phone rings (I knew immediately it was Engineer Boy without looking):
"Hello"
"Hello, is this Mike?"
"Yes."
"We had an appointment for 11:00 today."
"Yes, I am standing right outside your building." I keep rolling my cart.
"Where are you?"
"I'm coming through the door to your building right now."
"Oh, I thought you were going to be late."
"No, I'm right here."
I'm going around the corner to his office. I look up and see a guy on a cell phone looking the other direction.
"I'm right behind you right now."
"Oh, I see you right now coming." He is still talking into the cell phone even though I'm standing 15 feet from him, his hamster-sized engineer brain calculating the overall energy expenditure to speak into the cell phone amplified vs. speaking in a normal voice.
I'm starting to get set up, and unfortunately I realize that I didn't get all the information I needed, and that this guy's budget is not enough to do what he wants. He brings in the Big Boss and starts spewing out technical jargon about what type of equipment he thinks they need.
I hate jargon. I rarely use it, because it feels like very unspecific communication. Big Boss is standing there.
"Put 'em in or put 'em out." That's advice that I got from my original sales manager. It's ugly advice, because it really means to make a bold statement and see if they agree or disagree. When you think you are going to lose the business, this is a good technique to use--otherwise, you can pine away wondering what they are thinking. It takes some guts.
So--I gave Engineer Boy a Jargon Smackdown (even though I don't like it, I CAN use it if I need to). Then I add "I appreciate that you are so enthusiastic about learning this equipment, but..." Although not nice, it was overdue and it also got Big Boss' attention. He committed to buying equipment at double the price if it works as described (which, of course, it does). So I guess I put 'em in.
At the end of the meeting, Big Boss asks for a business card, so I fished a random business card out of my planner... Wouldn't THAT have been funny? Thankfully, this time, I was spared from fate's fickle humor.
Engineer-boy, if you happen to be reading, please have someone explain it to you.
29 April 2005
28 April 2005
Whan that Aprill with his shoures sote...
If you recognize this sentence, and aren't a senior in high school, you are perhaps afflicted with the same random memory wiring that I have. The kind of thing that lets you memorize all the words to a random movie (Hunt for Red October, for example, complete with Sean Connery's fake Russian/Scottish accent). But you couldn't force Organic Chemistry into your brain with a crowbar (which is the way I tried to do it, I think, thus my failure).
But...it helps you make bizarre connections in your head sometimes.
For the rest of you, this is the first line of the Middle English version of Chaucer's Canterbury tales. It is a penance than many of us pay for a high school diploma, a particular brand of humiliation laid on us in the form of having to learn the words to a story in a language that no one uses anymore. But wait, I took 4 years of Latin, too, so, I guess I must...like that kind of stuff? hmmmm....
Here's the series of lines that I particularly like and remember from this (in English this time):
When April with his sweet showers has
pierced the drought of March to the root...
...(so Nature pricks them in their hearts):
then people long to go on pilgrimages...
It is an interesting concept to me that at different times of the year, Nature seems to prick me in the heart (in lesser-know words of Chaucer "O' thou sophomoric wit, inserteth thine oaf-brayned humour thither") and I feel differently about things. I would almost characterize it as a different physiological response, but, however it is characterized, it absolutely rings true with me.
I walked out onto my patio and see that, again, doves have started roosting in the rose trellis outside our window. Here's a picture:
It's one of my favorite times of year to see the doves protecting their nests, building shelter, and eyeing us as we move around them to play, water the flowers, offer them a bite of an ice cream cone (Ryan), and shriek loudly (mostly Kaitlyn). Once they get settled, they won't move. Fran got mad at one a few years ago because she nested in her beautiful, expensive hanging basket--so Fran continued to water the plant anyway. When the water would run into the plant, the dove would cry out "Wooooo!!!!!" Much like me in the shower when the dishwasher kicks on....
I feel very protective of these dove, and have even been known to dump bird feed around them so they can get up and eat if they want. I've also picked up baby birds that are learning how to fly and help them back into their nest. Trust me, it's actually pretty creepy to be holding it while it is flapping wildly.
Then something happens.
The springtime turns to scorching heat and the nest empties as the mother and babies move on. Despite constant irrigation, eventually we lose the battle and the rose trellis stops blooming. The doves have left, but we know they will come back next year.
Then fall comes. Around September, my index finger starts to twitch a little and there's nothing more in the world I want to see than this:
I know, it's a little crude, but you have to admire that picture (don't you?). If you can't tell, this is a mourning dove on the opening day of dove season, which is September 1st.
In "The Green Hills of Africa", Ernest Hemingway describes a safari where he is bird hunting: “they come whistling back, passing faster than you can load and shoot…then (you) only take fancy shots because you know now you can get all that (you) can use or carry…” I’ve only been on a few hunts where I felt that overwhelming confidence and satisfaction, and it’s both something you always hope for and something that is bittersweet when it happens. But that was the way I felt this day, right outside the gates of the King Ranch in South Texas—we had almost shot our limit and we had hours and hours of daylight left. I decided to get my camera and get the best picture I could of a dove in the shotgun sights. My evil idea was to tease Gar by sending it to him….
I leaned against the truck and waited. Although it looks far away, it’s actually just about 15 yards from the end of my muzzle—I waited a ridiculously long time before I raised my gun and took the picture (no dove was injured in the making of this photo).
The cool air, the sunrise in the morning while sitting in the field, getting up early with the guys, putting on camo (in Texas, the way you tell a city-slicker from a country boy is this: If your camo patterns all match, you aren’t a real hunter), eating greasy eggs and greasier bacon and drinking black coffee before getting out into the field. Thinking about rattlesnakes (okay, maybe that’s just me). It’s undeniable, though—a physiological response. A pricking of the heart by Nature.
I wonder of those English teachers really know what they are up to when they teach this stuff?
But...it helps you make bizarre connections in your head sometimes.
For the rest of you, this is the first line of the Middle English version of Chaucer's Canterbury tales. It is a penance than many of us pay for a high school diploma, a particular brand of humiliation laid on us in the form of having to learn the words to a story in a language that no one uses anymore. But wait, I took 4 years of Latin, too, so, I guess I must...like that kind of stuff? hmmmm....
Here's the series of lines that I particularly like and remember from this (in English this time):
When April with his sweet showers has
pierced the drought of March to the root...
...(so Nature pricks them in their hearts):
then people long to go on pilgrimages...
It is an interesting concept to me that at different times of the year, Nature seems to prick me in the heart (in lesser-know words of Chaucer "O' thou sophomoric wit, inserteth thine oaf-brayned humour thither") and I feel differently about things. I would almost characterize it as a different physiological response, but, however it is characterized, it absolutely rings true with me.
I walked out onto my patio and see that, again, doves have started roosting in the rose trellis outside our window. Here's a picture:
It's one of my favorite times of year to see the doves protecting their nests, building shelter, and eyeing us as we move around them to play, water the flowers, offer them a bite of an ice cream cone (Ryan), and shriek loudly (mostly Kaitlyn). Once they get settled, they won't move. Fran got mad at one a few years ago because she nested in her beautiful, expensive hanging basket--so Fran continued to water the plant anyway. When the water would run into the plant, the dove would cry out "Wooooo!!!!!" Much like me in the shower when the dishwasher kicks on....
I feel very protective of these dove, and have even been known to dump bird feed around them so they can get up and eat if they want. I've also picked up baby birds that are learning how to fly and help them back into their nest. Trust me, it's actually pretty creepy to be holding it while it is flapping wildly.
Then something happens.
The springtime turns to scorching heat and the nest empties as the mother and babies move on. Despite constant irrigation, eventually we lose the battle and the rose trellis stops blooming. The doves have left, but we know they will come back next year.
Then fall comes. Around September, my index finger starts to twitch a little and there's nothing more in the world I want to see than this:
I know, it's a little crude, but you have to admire that picture (don't you?). If you can't tell, this is a mourning dove on the opening day of dove season, which is September 1st.
In "The Green Hills of Africa", Ernest Hemingway describes a safari where he is bird hunting: “they come whistling back, passing faster than you can load and shoot…then (you) only take fancy shots because you know now you can get all that (you) can use or carry…” I’ve only been on a few hunts where I felt that overwhelming confidence and satisfaction, and it’s both something you always hope for and something that is bittersweet when it happens. But that was the way I felt this day, right outside the gates of the King Ranch in South Texas—we had almost shot our limit and we had hours and hours of daylight left. I decided to get my camera and get the best picture I could of a dove in the shotgun sights. My evil idea was to tease Gar by sending it to him….
I leaned against the truck and waited. Although it looks far away, it’s actually just about 15 yards from the end of my muzzle—I waited a ridiculously long time before I raised my gun and took the picture (no dove was injured in the making of this photo).
The cool air, the sunrise in the morning while sitting in the field, getting up early with the guys, putting on camo (in Texas, the way you tell a city-slicker from a country boy is this: If your camo patterns all match, you aren’t a real hunter), eating greasy eggs and greasier bacon and drinking black coffee before getting out into the field. Thinking about rattlesnakes (okay, maybe that’s just me). It’s undeniable, though—a physiological response. A pricking of the heart by Nature.
I wonder of those English teachers really know what they are up to when they teach this stuff?
Sentencing
Kaitlyn has used her first two word sentence!
It happened yesterday when the bathroom door was open, and she waddled hurriedly around the corner and into the bathroom.
Her favorite thing seems to be to try to put her hands in the water if she can reach. Probably because it makes everyone in the house go crazy and run around randomly, followed by a collective case of the "heebie-jeebies" while we scrub her hands with...soap and water...for about 30 minutes.
She just laughs and laughs.
So Kaitlyn has been talking for a while now--one thing she really likes to do is go over to a container of--pretty much anything--and "unpack" it. Fran calls it the Yoda Act (for those non-geeks, it's like when Yoda similarly unpacks Luke's bag by just taking everything out and dumping it on the ground in The Empire Strikes Back).
As she unpacks, she inventories everything, "Dis (this)...dis....dis....", as if to say "I'm taking this out...and now this...and this too..."
So as Fran chased her yesterday into the bathroom, she was relieved that the lid was closed.
Kaitlyn patted it like she was petting a puppy on the head, looked up at Fran, and said "Dis yucky!"
It happened yesterday when the bathroom door was open, and she waddled hurriedly around the corner and into the bathroom.
Her favorite thing seems to be to try to put her hands in the water if she can reach. Probably because it makes everyone in the house go crazy and run around randomly, followed by a collective case of the "heebie-jeebies" while we scrub her hands with...soap and water...for about 30 minutes.
She just laughs and laughs.
So Kaitlyn has been talking for a while now--one thing she really likes to do is go over to a container of--pretty much anything--and "unpack" it. Fran calls it the Yoda Act (for those non-geeks, it's like when Yoda similarly unpacks Luke's bag by just taking everything out and dumping it on the ground in The Empire Strikes Back).
As she unpacks, she inventories everything, "Dis (this)...dis....dis....", as if to say "I'm taking this out...and now this...and this too..."
So as Fran chased her yesterday into the bathroom, she was relieved that the lid was closed.
Kaitlyn patted it like she was petting a puppy on the head, looked up at Fran, and said "Dis yucky!"
27 April 2005
Secret Desire to Haiku
Tiny buds, green, lush,
moist smells wafting through today
Please do the dishes
Crying, screaming, wails,
Candles lit, the spray hisses
diaper change time now
Leaven, sweet, rising
expanding with the cosmos
I love Krispy Kremes
Boston cream beatles
Clap ton pink floyd bono sting
Ipod cries out "help"
Insult/flattery.
How much you wanna bet that
Don leaves no comment?
Please don't lock me up!
The people inside my head
Will stop talking now...
Posts vanilla, long
Black sea, letters, colorless
Gee, dude--your blog sucks!
moist smells wafting through today
Please do the dishes
Crying, screaming, wails,
Candles lit, the spray hisses
diaper change time now
Leaven, sweet, rising
expanding with the cosmos
I love Krispy Kremes
Boston cream beatles
Clap ton pink floyd bono sting
Ipod cries out "help"
Insult/flattery.
How much you wanna bet that
Don leaves no comment?
Please don't lock me up!
The people inside my head
Will stop talking now...
Posts vanilla, long
Black sea, letters, colorless
Gee, dude--your blog sucks!
25 April 2005
Don't be a Comment Chicken
I admit freely that I'm a shameless comment whore. That's not exactly what this is about...
Although this isn't the reason I keep bloggin' away, it does help to get feedback, especially when somebody likes something.
So, Don told me that he's not leaving comments anymore because I made fun of him when he does. Waaaaahhhhh!!!! Do you think not leaving comments can STOP that? Like the time we were all in the car, and you thought it would be a great idea to moon someone....you see where I'm going with this? Yes, it's a threat!
Anyway, even if you don't want to leave a public message, do like some people and at least shoot me an Email once in a while...or a twenty (seriously, just kidding).
Sometimes I write off-line (don't know if I've ever said this before, but my blog is a really good vehicle for clearing out my random thoughts while I'm working on a couple of books (or "projects", like we in the business refer to them--yeah, right)).
If you like something, or even if you don't like something (that would be intriguing, unsettling--I haven't had to react to that yet), just let me know you're out there.
To end with a story: I am actually a pretty shy, somewhat self-conscious person, and just recently have opened the blog up to strangers to read. Sometimes, when I look at the stack of work on my desk and get overwhelemed, I look up in the top right corner of my screen and click on "Next Blog"--you get some random result--usually either someone from another country, an advertisement (Hey, Blogspot is free, right?), or what-have-you. I saw that sometimes teenagers establish a blog and use it for instant messaging--I'm thinking this is a good way to get around parental controls or the ability to track what was typed--sneaky, huh? But one time, I found a guy's website where he had made a brief entry the day before, his first entry. He wrote about the fact that his marriage was breaking up--they had blended their two families together, and now they were going to separate. He was heartbroken and asking for encouragement. I immediately typed up an encouraging response--his entry really touched me and you could just tell he wasn't used to expressing himself very much and I thought about all the energy and/or desperation it took for him to put himself out there.
When it came time to send the message, I didn't do it. Here's why-I would have had to leave a link to my blog, and I just wasn't ready for others to see it. What if he hated it? What if it was my next door neighbor? What if I misspelled a stupid word and he thought I was just a Big Southern Dummy? I was afraid of what he would think of me. It wasn't worth the risk. I actually exited out of the blog without noting the URL, and I couldn't find it again. I wonder what happened to him...
Now I feel very guilty about that. I could have done something for this guy, and I know how much it would have meant for him. It's part of being a good human being to encourage others. But it leaves you vulnerable.
When I let others into my blog space, it feels like I'm dangling a fishing line out of the back of my meek rowboat, and I'm in danger of inadvertantly hooking a leviathan and dealing with the consequences.
Wow, this is starting to sound very self-serving, almost like a shameless solicitation, but hopefully you realize that it's really deeper than that. And there are times when I have put myself "out there", but to be honest with you, the risk/reward thing has to be a pretty stacked deck for me to do it.
So--this title is a comment directed at myself, and you are just an innocent bystander.
It's kind of weird being on this side of the equation--you wonder if people are responding to what you are putting out there...Look around--you see a lot of people start blogs and stop them, or never really get them off the ground. Lots of people say "I don't have time for that."
But I suspect it's a risk/reward thing.
Although this isn't the reason I keep bloggin' away, it does help to get feedback, especially when somebody likes something.
So, Don told me that he's not leaving comments anymore because I made fun of him when he does. Waaaaahhhhh!!!! Do you think not leaving comments can STOP that? Like the time we were all in the car, and you thought it would be a great idea to moon someone....you see where I'm going with this? Yes, it's a threat!
Anyway, even if you don't want to leave a public message, do like some people and at least shoot me an Email once in a while...or a twenty (seriously, just kidding).
Sometimes I write off-line (don't know if I've ever said this before, but my blog is a really good vehicle for clearing out my random thoughts while I'm working on a couple of books (or "projects", like we in the business refer to them--yeah, right)).
If you like something, or even if you don't like something (that would be intriguing, unsettling--I haven't had to react to that yet), just let me know you're out there.
To end with a story: I am actually a pretty shy, somewhat self-conscious person, and just recently have opened the blog up to strangers to read. Sometimes, when I look at the stack of work on my desk and get overwhelemed, I look up in the top right corner of my screen and click on "Next Blog"--you get some random result--usually either someone from another country, an advertisement (Hey, Blogspot is free, right?), or what-have-you. I saw that sometimes teenagers establish a blog and use it for instant messaging--I'm thinking this is a good way to get around parental controls or the ability to track what was typed--sneaky, huh? But one time, I found a guy's website where he had made a brief entry the day before, his first entry. He wrote about the fact that his marriage was breaking up--they had blended their two families together, and now they were going to separate. He was heartbroken and asking for encouragement. I immediately typed up an encouraging response--his entry really touched me and you could just tell he wasn't used to expressing himself very much and I thought about all the energy and/or desperation it took for him to put himself out there.
When it came time to send the message, I didn't do it. Here's why-I would have had to leave a link to my blog, and I just wasn't ready for others to see it. What if he hated it? What if it was my next door neighbor? What if I misspelled a stupid word and he thought I was just a Big Southern Dummy? I was afraid of what he would think of me. It wasn't worth the risk. I actually exited out of the blog without noting the URL, and I couldn't find it again. I wonder what happened to him...
Now I feel very guilty about that. I could have done something for this guy, and I know how much it would have meant for him. It's part of being a good human being to encourage others. But it leaves you vulnerable.
When I let others into my blog space, it feels like I'm dangling a fishing line out of the back of my meek rowboat, and I'm in danger of inadvertantly hooking a leviathan and dealing with the consequences.
Wow, this is starting to sound very self-serving, almost like a shameless solicitation, but hopefully you realize that it's really deeper than that. And there are times when I have put myself "out there", but to be honest with you, the risk/reward thing has to be a pretty stacked deck for me to do it.
So--this title is a comment directed at myself, and you are just an innocent bystander.
It's kind of weird being on this side of the equation--you wonder if people are responding to what you are putting out there...Look around--you see a lot of people start blogs and stop them, or never really get them off the ground. Lots of people say "I don't have time for that."
But I suspect it's a risk/reward thing.
24 April 2005
Robbery or Flattery
I'm trying to figure out which one of these situations I am experiencing...
Five months ago I was catching a flight to California and I looked up to see a National-level executive from my firm, Norm Thompson, standing in line to get on the same plane. This guy has always taken a personal interest in me and was involved in the decision to hire me and put me in my current position, but he often seems to be full to the brim with BS (business slyness).
On top of that, our company employs quite a bit of posturing and revisionist history which conjures up the feeling of living through the novel "1984". Sometimes the government changes the objective for the country, and whoever the enemy turns out to be this week, you are supposed to fervently oppose and hate them. If it happens to change to the exact opposite situation tomorrow, you aren't even supposed to question the sudden change in direction, and the fervency of your allegiance shouldn't wane. (I LOVE BIG BROTHER!--Right before the bullet smacks you in the back of the head...)
Aside: Words which were looked up in the previous paragraph (fervency, allegiance, wane. Misspelled (<--which I also ironically got wrong):allegiance (allegience), wane (wain), and probably should have used "fervor") Looked up in a dictionary which I received from one of my friend's mom on June 4, 1988, for graduation and for which I never wrote a thank you note because I'm an ungrateful a-hole who forgot this one gift because she gave it to me while I was at work at a grocery store. Another note on this very generous woman--she was my mother's roommate in the hospital when my brother Don was born, and my mom totally ripped her a new one because she woke up at 4:00 AM and started packing to leave, which woke my mom up...then, 10 years later, we moved to a new neighborhood and I became friends with her other son, who was my age. Perpetually awkward. Funny. Serendipity (not looked up)).
I learned the corporate culture immediately: I was given a computer loaded with a report generation program that was the "baby" of Norm Thompson--apparently he was the one who commissioned the writing of this software (rumored to have been done by a buddy of his), which is definitely the most user-unfriendly piece of junk I've ever been cursed to work with, and sold the idea to our corporate leadership. And all employees have to use it about 5-10 times per week. So, after a couple of weeks of trying to get it to work and having it crash unpredictably, print crazy lines instead of my reports, and generate random numbers, incorrectly add columns (!), and several other untold errors, I mentioned to Norm (not knowing his allegiance to the software), that the software didn't seem to be very refined. He responded, "Well, the people that tend to have problems with it are people who are relatively uneducated when it comes to computers." OUCH!
Since I really knew that that wasn't true in my case, I decided to lay low on the topic--I was the new guy, actually the "golden boy" because I was successful almost immediately, so I wasn't in a rush to trade in my bon-bons and roses to fight the good fight for the lost cause. In our weak underground opposition to "the virus" (Mike D.'s nickname for the software), I've even seen fellow employees go out in frustration and find off-the-shelf report generation software that does a beautiful job, only to be viciously shot down and insulted.
I guess I should have gotten a clue to the corporate culture, but I tend to be sympathetic to management's need to put up a positive front. People make mistakes, and employees tend to have lots of fun highlighting these mistakes. But those of us with a memory kind of resent that revisionist history nonsense.
Just so you know...We employees remember when we are told "The Company is instituting a new bonus program in April", and when we ask when it doesn't happen, we resent being told by you: "We said we might 'change things' in April"... When we are hired, we assume we are being told the truth when you say, "your commission rate is xx", and get very confused when add it up and it turns out to be xx minus 1/2 percent, and it bugs us...
Back to the flight to California.
So Norm somehow got the guy sitting next to him on the aisle seat of the exit row to trade me for my middle seat in the sardine-can row--I don't know if he used that date-rape drug or what to get this guy to comply with moving, but I wouldn't have ever changed if I were him...During the flight, Norm asked me if I could share any ideas I had about our company's direction, and what my ideal job would be.
I saw it as a great opportunity to voice some issues that I had been thinking over for several months, and over about 30 minutes, with Norm's encouragement, I laid out a very constructive approach to revamping our company's design. Here it is in a nutshell:
Our company doesn't have a very good continuity from our engineering/manufacturing level through to the sales and support system. That's because most of the engineers speak Japanese and don't care what Americans think about what should be manufactured. And on our side, we often discount things that engineers build into our products as "uninformed" and not representative of the needs of the market (this is a classic dilemma in manufacturing). My idea was to create a liaison position that is a focal point of feedback from the US to the factory. The second and most critical function is to critically analyze all of the manufactured products and converge the technical and marketing data into one source of information tailored for each product, assimilating this into the market by presenting competitive selling techniques for each product's market, and working hands on with reps to make sure that we have a systematic model for selling each product in the line.
I'm sure this appears logical, but, unfortunately, this resource currently doesn't exist within our company. In fact, every member of the management team comes from the sales field, and there is a noticeable, almost superstitious de-emphasis on training. Our means of coaching new employees is to turn them loose in the territory after a couple of days of "ride-along" with a veteran salesperson (I know this because I'm the guy they ride with about 75% of the time). A coordinated training plan just seems to be too much of an investment, but my pitch to Norm was that our company can't afford to NOT consider it much longer--I thought that a training program with clearly defined goals and concepts that need to be mastered would enable us to "weed out" people that aren't technically proficient, which, unbelievably, we are unable to do at this point.
Also, by creating this training network, a communication system would be set up within the company that would provide a means of quick communication of product and competitive data throughout the company. Additionally, there is little accountability for production, daily activity, accuracy of information--there's a little too much autonomy, and many of us work from home with no supervision (I know someone who went on vacation for 10 days without telling anyone...). The weakness to this design is that, if someone is incompetent or even negligent, they can get away with it for years before the documentation process even begins. I mentioned to Norm that I would institute a subtle feedback system where people should be reporting their weekly activity via a short report, just to provide at least a semblance of accountability (I felt that the complete lack of accountability is dangerous because some people interpret this as "the company doesn't care if we work or not"). Revisionist history explanation: "we put a lot of trust in our employees to do their job correctly. We never want to micro-manage."
This liaison position requires someone with excellent communication skills and technical knowledge, and the ability to coordinate a team. I mentioned a guy named Dave, who is an excellent teacher with many years' experience, but who needs a little direction to be more effective at training. I told him that I would make him my right hand man and show him some techniques that I learned as the supervisor of a training department for several years at another company. One of the first things that I did when I got my current job was to write my own training program (written on the plane on the way to my interview)--I showed it to my manager and got his approval--it actually made the company accountable to ME, because when I got to the next level of training, I would call my manager and say "I'm at the point of my training schedule where I am supposed to learn about X. Can I attend the conference next month where this is highlighted?" As a direct result of this, I was fully trained in the product line in a record 9 months--the process generally takes 12-24 months for most employees.
After I laid this plan out to Norm, a very novel, aggressive proposal in light of our conservative corporate climate, he seemed overwhelmed. He smiled very big and shook my hand and complimented me on my ideas. I've run into him 4 or 5 times since then, and he has been very friendly, but didn't mention my ideas again.
Two weeks ago, our company announced a positive new step: The creation of a National Training Department headed by...Dave. Practically every idea, down to the weekly activity report, was instituted in one way or another.
I'm wondering if I should be flattered or pissed off. Dave's new position wouldn't have been a promotion to me, but it would have been nice to have the right of first refusal, or at the very least some type of notification that they are going to use my plan. It may have kept me out of trouble, though, because if Norm had told me that "this was the plan all along--I'm sure it was so obvious that we needed to do this that you just figured out what we were doing-it's been in the works for years..."-I would have had to punch him in the nose.
The bad part about this is that it is going to be a haphazard patchwork of my ideas instituted badly, imposed upon Dave, with the possibility of fading into beauracratic oblivion and ineffectiveness. The architect of the system, the champion, was snubbed. But at least I get a front-row seat to the train wreck.
I've been robbed! But at least it means that I had something valuable to begin with...
Five months ago I was catching a flight to California and I looked up to see a National-level executive from my firm, Norm Thompson, standing in line to get on the same plane. This guy has always taken a personal interest in me and was involved in the decision to hire me and put me in my current position, but he often seems to be full to the brim with BS (business slyness).
On top of that, our company employs quite a bit of posturing and revisionist history which conjures up the feeling of living through the novel "1984". Sometimes the government changes the objective for the country, and whoever the enemy turns out to be this week, you are supposed to fervently oppose and hate them. If it happens to change to the exact opposite situation tomorrow, you aren't even supposed to question the sudden change in direction, and the fervency of your allegiance shouldn't wane. (I LOVE BIG BROTHER!--Right before the bullet smacks you in the back of the head...)
Aside: Words which were looked up in the previous paragraph (fervency, allegiance, wane. Misspelled (<--which I also ironically got wrong):allegiance (allegience), wane (wain), and probably should have used "fervor") Looked up in a dictionary which I received from one of my friend's mom on June 4, 1988, for graduation and for which I never wrote a thank you note because I'm an ungrateful a-hole who forgot this one gift because she gave it to me while I was at work at a grocery store. Another note on this very generous woman--she was my mother's roommate in the hospital when my brother Don was born, and my mom totally ripped her a new one because she woke up at 4:00 AM and started packing to leave, which woke my mom up...then, 10 years later, we moved to a new neighborhood and I became friends with her other son, who was my age. Perpetually awkward. Funny. Serendipity (not looked up)).
I learned the corporate culture immediately: I was given a computer loaded with a report generation program that was the "baby" of Norm Thompson--apparently he was the one who commissioned the writing of this software (rumored to have been done by a buddy of his), which is definitely the most user-unfriendly piece of junk I've ever been cursed to work with, and sold the idea to our corporate leadership. And all employees have to use it about 5-10 times per week. So, after a couple of weeks of trying to get it to work and having it crash unpredictably, print crazy lines instead of my reports, and generate random numbers, incorrectly add columns (!), and several other untold errors, I mentioned to Norm (not knowing his allegiance to the software), that the software didn't seem to be very refined. He responded, "Well, the people that tend to have problems with it are people who are relatively uneducated when it comes to computers." OUCH!
Since I really knew that that wasn't true in my case, I decided to lay low on the topic--I was the new guy, actually the "golden boy" because I was successful almost immediately, so I wasn't in a rush to trade in my bon-bons and roses to fight the good fight for the lost cause. In our weak underground opposition to "the virus" (Mike D.'s nickname for the software), I've even seen fellow employees go out in frustration and find off-the-shelf report generation software that does a beautiful job, only to be viciously shot down and insulted.
I guess I should have gotten a clue to the corporate culture, but I tend to be sympathetic to management's need to put up a positive front. People make mistakes, and employees tend to have lots of fun highlighting these mistakes. But those of us with a memory kind of resent that revisionist history nonsense.
Just so you know...We employees remember when we are told "The Company is instituting a new bonus program in April", and when we ask when it doesn't happen, we resent being told by you: "We said we might 'change things' in April"... When we are hired, we assume we are being told the truth when you say, "your commission rate is xx", and get very confused when add it up and it turns out to be xx minus 1/2 percent, and it bugs us...
Back to the flight to California.
So Norm somehow got the guy sitting next to him on the aisle seat of the exit row to trade me for my middle seat in the sardine-can row--I don't know if he used that date-rape drug or what to get this guy to comply with moving, but I wouldn't have ever changed if I were him...During the flight, Norm asked me if I could share any ideas I had about our company's direction, and what my ideal job would be.
I saw it as a great opportunity to voice some issues that I had been thinking over for several months, and over about 30 minutes, with Norm's encouragement, I laid out a very constructive approach to revamping our company's design. Here it is in a nutshell:
Our company doesn't have a very good continuity from our engineering/manufacturing level through to the sales and support system. That's because most of the engineers speak Japanese and don't care what Americans think about what should be manufactured. And on our side, we often discount things that engineers build into our products as "uninformed" and not representative of the needs of the market (this is a classic dilemma in manufacturing). My idea was to create a liaison position that is a focal point of feedback from the US to the factory. The second and most critical function is to critically analyze all of the manufactured products and converge the technical and marketing data into one source of information tailored for each product, assimilating this into the market by presenting competitive selling techniques for each product's market, and working hands on with reps to make sure that we have a systematic model for selling each product in the line.
I'm sure this appears logical, but, unfortunately, this resource currently doesn't exist within our company. In fact, every member of the management team comes from the sales field, and there is a noticeable, almost superstitious de-emphasis on training. Our means of coaching new employees is to turn them loose in the territory after a couple of days of "ride-along" with a veteran salesperson (I know this because I'm the guy they ride with about 75% of the time). A coordinated training plan just seems to be too much of an investment, but my pitch to Norm was that our company can't afford to NOT consider it much longer--I thought that a training program with clearly defined goals and concepts that need to be mastered would enable us to "weed out" people that aren't technically proficient, which, unbelievably, we are unable to do at this point.
Also, by creating this training network, a communication system would be set up within the company that would provide a means of quick communication of product and competitive data throughout the company. Additionally, there is little accountability for production, daily activity, accuracy of information--there's a little too much autonomy, and many of us work from home with no supervision (I know someone who went on vacation for 10 days without telling anyone...). The weakness to this design is that, if someone is incompetent or even negligent, they can get away with it for years before the documentation process even begins. I mentioned to Norm that I would institute a subtle feedback system where people should be reporting their weekly activity via a short report, just to provide at least a semblance of accountability (I felt that the complete lack of accountability is dangerous because some people interpret this as "the company doesn't care if we work or not"). Revisionist history explanation: "we put a lot of trust in our employees to do their job correctly. We never want to micro-manage."
This liaison position requires someone with excellent communication skills and technical knowledge, and the ability to coordinate a team. I mentioned a guy named Dave, who is an excellent teacher with many years' experience, but who needs a little direction to be more effective at training. I told him that I would make him my right hand man and show him some techniques that I learned as the supervisor of a training department for several years at another company. One of the first things that I did when I got my current job was to write my own training program (written on the plane on the way to my interview)--I showed it to my manager and got his approval--it actually made the company accountable to ME, because when I got to the next level of training, I would call my manager and say "I'm at the point of my training schedule where I am supposed to learn about X. Can I attend the conference next month where this is highlighted?" As a direct result of this, I was fully trained in the product line in a record 9 months--the process generally takes 12-24 months for most employees.
After I laid this plan out to Norm, a very novel, aggressive proposal in light of our conservative corporate climate, he seemed overwhelmed. He smiled very big and shook my hand and complimented me on my ideas. I've run into him 4 or 5 times since then, and he has been very friendly, but didn't mention my ideas again.
Two weeks ago, our company announced a positive new step: The creation of a National Training Department headed by...Dave. Practically every idea, down to the weekly activity report, was instituted in one way or another.
I'm wondering if I should be flattered or pissed off. Dave's new position wouldn't have been a promotion to me, but it would have been nice to have the right of first refusal, or at the very least some type of notification that they are going to use my plan. It may have kept me out of trouble, though, because if Norm had told me that "this was the plan all along--I'm sure it was so obvious that we needed to do this that you just figured out what we were doing-it's been in the works for years..."-I would have had to punch him in the nose.
The bad part about this is that it is going to be a haphazard patchwork of my ideas instituted badly, imposed upon Dave, with the possibility of fading into beauracratic oblivion and ineffectiveness. The architect of the system, the champion, was snubbed. But at least I get a front-row seat to the train wreck.
I've been robbed! But at least it means that I had something valuable to begin with...
20 April 2005
Mailing it in today.
Aha! I figured out a way to add a link without having to memorize code. Okay, this was a very sneaky way to impress you by seeing that I knew how to add the code.
I saw this website and thought it was well-thought-out for the agnostics among us:
Reasons to believe in God
I guess that's on my mind because last night, Ryan told me "Daddy, when we get to heaven, I'm going to ask God where he came from."
Soooo...I guess we're already at the stage where the son is outhinking the dad. I was going to ask "When I'm out fishing and I'm not catching anything, is it because the fish aren't there, or they aren't biting?" I mean, I'm really aiming low here. I just answered "That's a great question! Let me know what he says..."
Additionally, I abandoned yesterday's baby-fit that I was throwing about having to do that difficult report and figured out why I was so ticked about it--I'm not too organized, so I haven't been keeping track of my inventory as well as I could.
Here's my excuse: I'm soooooo productive that I deserve to not have to bog down with the paperwork of keeping track of my inventory closely. Well, guess again. There is a day of reckoning coming, so I spent literally 1 hour today and created a great spreadsheet that will help me track changes in my inventory--yes, I know everyone's thrilled.
But, the point is: I was proactive and went after my problem instead of just complaining about it, which is my first instinct. In fact, my first analysis didn't include the possibility that I could do anything about it.
So I feel good about that.
Also, I mailed some Thank You cards that I've been wanting to send for over a month...
Sorry for the lame post today! I've got a crazy one that I'm working on--if it turns out to be any good, you'll see it here soon.
M
I saw this website and thought it was well-thought-out for the agnostics among us:
Reasons to believe in God
I guess that's on my mind because last night, Ryan told me "Daddy, when we get to heaven, I'm going to ask God where he came from."
Soooo...I guess we're already at the stage where the son is outhinking the dad. I was going to ask "When I'm out fishing and I'm not catching anything, is it because the fish aren't there, or they aren't biting?" I mean, I'm really aiming low here. I just answered "That's a great question! Let me know what he says..."
Additionally, I abandoned yesterday's baby-fit that I was throwing about having to do that difficult report and figured out why I was so ticked about it--I'm not too organized, so I haven't been keeping track of my inventory as well as I could.
Here's my excuse: I'm soooooo productive that I deserve to not have to bog down with the paperwork of keeping track of my inventory closely. Well, guess again. There is a day of reckoning coming, so I spent literally 1 hour today and created a great spreadsheet that will help me track changes in my inventory--yes, I know everyone's thrilled.
But, the point is: I was proactive and went after my problem instead of just complaining about it, which is my first instinct. In fact, my first analysis didn't include the possibility that I could do anything about it.
So I feel good about that.
Also, I mailed some Thank You cards that I've been wanting to send for over a month...
Sorry for the lame post today! I've got a crazy one that I'm working on--if it turns out to be any good, you'll see it here soon.
M
19 April 2005
Brain Dump
I've got about a million things to do today, but I'm so pissed off right now I thought I would take it out on my poor keyboard by slamming away for a few minutes. My inclination is to just hammer out my stream of consciousness and not look back, so here goes:
1) I am royally cranky that I have a report to do, and I can't make myself do it. The problem is that I am selling off some of my demonstration equipment, and when you do that, you have to fill out a multi-page form, which means that I have to write it out. My handwriting totally sucks. Not only that, but the information I need is located in about 4 different places, which all have to be collated perfectly. And, to top it off, one of these places is a report that has a list of all the equipment that I have on loan. Although I receive these once a week, when a change occurs, it is only updated about...once a millenium (slight exaggeration). So, if I have 10 pieces of the same equipment, and I sell one of those 10 pieces, I have to guess which reference # to use (no serial #'s available), and if I use one that's already been sold, it screws the whole system up (actually, it just screws me up--they don't bill it, never tell me about it, and I a) don't get the money for selling it and b) end up looking like I lost a piece of equipment, which they use to make you feel stupid. Sorry to bore you with that, but today I have a no-delete policy going, so I'll move on.
2) Still a little TO'd that Don won't send me a full body shot...
(Note to self: Stop all Napoleon Dynamite references immediately if you ever want to be taken seriously by anyone...)
3) So, I decided to do my best to improve the look of my blog and start including links. I linked to a sports page of a guy that I listen to on the radio, as well as one of Don's favorite blogs that he keeps whipping me to death over, called Dooce.com. Insert a smarmy voice here "Her blog is great--it's even won some Bloggie awards."
"Really? I read about that--when you win a "Bloggy" don't you just, like, get a coupon for 25% off your next meal at TGI Friday's? I think I saw one of those in the newspaper..."
"No, really, Mike. She's funny. She's got a little girl and she writes about her, all sweet and endearing, and then all of a sudden she throws in the word "fuck". It's hilarious."
"Really? Fuck you! Does that make me a witty stand-up comedian?"
"No, you just have to read it--it's clever...But I like your blog, too."
"Uh-huh. Well I held my name out of the running from the Bloggies this year out of protest. I mean, come on, I don't have enough anime' on my page to appeal to the masses. Didn't you read my Napoleon Dynamite entry? Come on, man--that was genius. You know, like "A Modest Proposal" meets...something."
"I dunno. Just keep going. You'll be okay."
4) Did anyone notice that my blog entitled "Just Hacking Away" was sandwiched between my entry on computer hacking and the one about me hacking up the snake? Hmmmm...didn't do that on purpose (especially since I didn't know about the snake's impending demise). Does it make me sound smarter to use the word "demise" than "death" or "shish-kabobing"? I use demise because I think it's funny to juxtapose that with a silly picture of a snake with an arrow through it. It would be even funnier if people were around to see me running around with my hands flapping like a little girl (my apologies to all little girls offended by this imagery). Also to see me walking around on pins and needles, flinching and twitching at every dark patch of ground for the rest of the day. When one of my dove decoys fell off the shelf in the garage and tapped me on the head while I was bending over the lawnmower, I almost went into cardiac arrest.
A couple of other notes on "Just Hacking Away" (I enjoyed writing that for some reason):
Is it cheeky to compare my picture to a Van Gogh? ("cheeky?" what are we, in freaking England?)
Did you notice that I fulfilled my desire to change the color of the sky, even after I wrote about how sick it was (it's linked to something or other within the story, but not displayed)?--I really have a problem with impulse control. Fran thought my modified picture looked like Armageddon (what is sackcloth, anyway?) and asked me to remove it from our kitchen counter.
Also, for the record, I do realize that "Starry Night" is a picture of the moon and not the sun--I can't control what pops into my walnut-sized brain...
5) Another thing is the writing thing. I have a confession to make: I'm a fraud. I'm not a writer, really (for some, this is less a confession and more a personal experience with reality). I'm just a hack wannabe. I'm just trying to make up for it with volume--the monkeys banging on typewriters who eventually crank out Shakespeare. Although I don't flatter myself and I'm somewhat allergic to bananas.
I now have 2 half-started books going as well as some ideas for books that I would like to work out. "Work out" means to attempt to write something that doesn't suck. One of these books is a kind-of gimmicky book that I would like to write for Ryan for Christmas next year. I thought it would be fun to do an adventure book with him as the star. Then, during the year, I take pictures of him that I can incorporate into the book. (see how I draw you in to cheering for me by making myself seem like nice dad? Don't let sympathy cloud your judgement.)
6) Here's the next part about writing: I've read several books about writing a novel. Once you have it written, revised, etc. and are ready to sell it, one way is to get an agent. I read a book by a successful book agent who says that there is kind of a "weeding out" process (naturally), to elminate wannabe, sucky writers who pine away on their blogs about wishing they could write... One thing he asks submitters is "what have you read lately?"
This question is intended to smoke out if you are current about what is popular in modern novels, and help determine what your tastes/motivations are. My truthful answer is that it's a combination of classical literature, sports books, and inspirational business books, combined with Nicole's blog. When I read a book that isn't a novel, I usually open to the middle of the book and read it backwards toward the front--I have no idea why I do this, but it keeps me entertained longer. That would probably make the agent spontaneously combust into laughter, so I broke down and read "The Firm" (yes, I know it's old, but it was used as an example in this book)--almost like a textbook to review the storytelling devices, logical progression, etc. It feels very cheesey writing this out...Good book, though.
One person whose name has been thrown out in every single stinking book is Sue Grafton. I am prepared to hate Sue Grafton. She reminds me of Sally in my 10th-grade geometry class who always seemed to know the answers and unfairly raised the bar for the rest of us. I think she probably is great at catering to the zombie-like morons that I see when I serve on jury duty (who are reading her books instead of listening to the judge). So I bought "R is for Ricochet", the whole time scoffing at the trite title (yes, I know it's a whole thing she's got going...)and read the first paragraph. Damn, she's really good. It pissed me off even more to know that she actually deserved the praise she gets.
7) Cards. I bought Thank You cards for people who were so kind to me and Ryan (Ryan and me?, Ryan and I?--uhuhuh...yup, I'm gonna be a writer: insert ..."bubba teeth" here...) when we went on our trip for spring break. I'm not good about the following cards: Birthday, Christmas, Easter, St. Patrick's Day, Thank You, Get Well, Sympathy, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Mother's Day, Father's Day or any type of anyone's Anniversary. I'm golden for Flag Day.
I'm showing them to Fran, and she just completely loses control and starts laughing hysterically. An hour later, after the oxygen bottle runs out, she is able to formulate the words to explain: Apparently, one of the cards I bought is a "Mahogany" card. I'm like, so what? She tells me that Mahogany cards are for black people. Yep--the hand that is holding the rose on the card is possibly black--it's just a hand, it's dark--how am I supposed to know? What's so different about the way black people say "thank you"? Just because it's for black people, does it mean I can't use it? I think people already realize that I didn't come up with the picture and wording myself, and go and have it printed for just the right occasion--it's a representative platform that I use to add my personal notes, right?
Come on, people, I'm trying to be part of the solution, here...
So now I'm self-conscious about filling it out (does this consitute playing the race card?--Okay, I apologize for that one...) I was already self-conscious to begin with because it has been 2 months and I haven't sent the cards.
That's about it for the Brain Dump. Nothing else to see here
1) I am royally cranky that I have a report to do, and I can't make myself do it. The problem is that I am selling off some of my demonstration equipment, and when you do that, you have to fill out a multi-page form, which means that I have to write it out. My handwriting totally sucks. Not only that, but the information I need is located in about 4 different places, which all have to be collated perfectly. And, to top it off, one of these places is a report that has a list of all the equipment that I have on loan. Although I receive these once a week, when a change occurs, it is only updated about...once a millenium (slight exaggeration). So, if I have 10 pieces of the same equipment, and I sell one of those 10 pieces, I have to guess which reference # to use (no serial #'s available), and if I use one that's already been sold, it screws the whole system up (actually, it just screws me up--they don't bill it, never tell me about it, and I a) don't get the money for selling it and b) end up looking like I lost a piece of equipment, which they use to make you feel stupid. Sorry to bore you with that, but today I have a no-delete policy going, so I'll move on.
2) Still a little TO'd that Don won't send me a full body shot...
(Note to self: Stop all Napoleon Dynamite references immediately if you ever want to be taken seriously by anyone...)
3) So, I decided to do my best to improve the look of my blog and start including links. I linked to a sports page of a guy that I listen to on the radio, as well as one of Don's favorite blogs that he keeps whipping me to death over, called Dooce.com. Insert a smarmy voice here "Her blog is great--it's even won some Bloggie awards."
"Really? I read about that--when you win a "Bloggy" don't you just, like, get a coupon for 25% off your next meal at TGI Friday's? I think I saw one of those in the newspaper..."
"No, really, Mike. She's funny. She's got a little girl and she writes about her, all sweet and endearing, and then all of a sudden she throws in the word "fuck". It's hilarious."
"Really? Fuck you! Does that make me a witty stand-up comedian?"
"No, you just have to read it--it's clever...But I like your blog, too."
"Uh-huh. Well I held my name out of the running from the Bloggies this year out of protest. I mean, come on, I don't have enough anime' on my page to appeal to the masses. Didn't you read my Napoleon Dynamite entry? Come on, man--that was genius. You know, like "A Modest Proposal" meets...something."
"I dunno. Just keep going. You'll be okay."
4) Did anyone notice that my blog entitled "Just Hacking Away" was sandwiched between my entry on computer hacking and the one about me hacking up the snake? Hmmmm...didn't do that on purpose (especially since I didn't know about the snake's impending demise). Does it make me sound smarter to use the word "demise" than "death" or "shish-kabobing"? I use demise because I think it's funny to juxtapose that with a silly picture of a snake with an arrow through it. It would be even funnier if people were around to see me running around with my hands flapping like a little girl (my apologies to all little girls offended by this imagery). Also to see me walking around on pins and needles, flinching and twitching at every dark patch of ground for the rest of the day. When one of my dove decoys fell off the shelf in the garage and tapped me on the head while I was bending over the lawnmower, I almost went into cardiac arrest.
A couple of other notes on "Just Hacking Away" (I enjoyed writing that for some reason):
Is it cheeky to compare my picture to a Van Gogh? ("cheeky?" what are we, in freaking England?)
Did you notice that I fulfilled my desire to change the color of the sky, even after I wrote about how sick it was (it's linked to something or other within the story, but not displayed)?--I really have a problem with impulse control. Fran thought my modified picture looked like Armageddon (what is sackcloth, anyway?) and asked me to remove it from our kitchen counter.
Also, for the record, I do realize that "Starry Night" is a picture of the moon and not the sun--I can't control what pops into my walnut-sized brain...
5) Another thing is the writing thing. I have a confession to make: I'm a fraud. I'm not a writer, really (for some, this is less a confession and more a personal experience with reality). I'm just a hack wannabe. I'm just trying to make up for it with volume--the monkeys banging on typewriters who eventually crank out Shakespeare. Although I don't flatter myself and I'm somewhat allergic to bananas.
I now have 2 half-started books going as well as some ideas for books that I would like to work out. "Work out" means to attempt to write something that doesn't suck. One of these books is a kind-of gimmicky book that I would like to write for Ryan for Christmas next year. I thought it would be fun to do an adventure book with him as the star. Then, during the year, I take pictures of him that I can incorporate into the book. (see how I draw you in to cheering for me by making myself seem like nice dad? Don't let sympathy cloud your judgement.)
6) Here's the next part about writing: I've read several books about writing a novel. Once you have it written, revised, etc. and are ready to sell it, one way is to get an agent. I read a book by a successful book agent who says that there is kind of a "weeding out" process (naturally), to elminate wannabe, sucky writers who pine away on their blogs about wishing they could write... One thing he asks submitters is "what have you read lately?"
This question is intended to smoke out if you are current about what is popular in modern novels, and help determine what your tastes/motivations are. My truthful answer is that it's a combination of classical literature, sports books, and inspirational business books, combined with Nicole's blog. When I read a book that isn't a novel, I usually open to the middle of the book and read it backwards toward the front--I have no idea why I do this, but it keeps me entertained longer. That would probably make the agent spontaneously combust into laughter, so I broke down and read "The Firm" (yes, I know it's old, but it was used as an example in this book)--almost like a textbook to review the storytelling devices, logical progression, etc. It feels very cheesey writing this out...Good book, though.
One person whose name has been thrown out in every single stinking book is Sue Grafton. I am prepared to hate Sue Grafton. She reminds me of Sally in my 10th-grade geometry class who always seemed to know the answers and unfairly raised the bar for the rest of us. I think she probably is great at catering to the zombie-like morons that I see when I serve on jury duty (who are reading her books instead of listening to the judge). So I bought "R is for Ricochet", the whole time scoffing at the trite title (yes, I know it's a whole thing she's got going...)and read the first paragraph. Damn, she's really good. It pissed me off even more to know that she actually deserved the praise she gets.
7) Cards. I bought Thank You cards for people who were so kind to me and Ryan (Ryan and me?, Ryan and I?--uhuhuh...yup, I'm gonna be a writer: insert ..."bubba teeth" here...) when we went on our trip for spring break. I'm not good about the following cards: Birthday, Christmas, Easter, St. Patrick's Day, Thank You, Get Well, Sympathy, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Mother's Day, Father's Day or any type of anyone's Anniversary. I'm golden for Flag Day.
I'm showing them to Fran, and she just completely loses control and starts laughing hysterically. An hour later, after the oxygen bottle runs out, she is able to formulate the words to explain: Apparently, one of the cards I bought is a "Mahogany" card. I'm like, so what? She tells me that Mahogany cards are for black people. Yep--the hand that is holding the rose on the card is possibly black--it's just a hand, it's dark--how am I supposed to know? What's so different about the way black people say "thank you"? Just because it's for black people, does it mean I can't use it? I think people already realize that I didn't come up with the picture and wording myself, and go and have it printed for just the right occasion--it's a representative platform that I use to add my personal notes, right?
Come on, people, I'm trying to be part of the solution, here...
So now I'm self-conscious about filling it out (does this consitute playing the race card?--Okay, I apologize for that one...) I was already self-conscious to begin with because it has been 2 months and I haven't sent the cards.
That's about it for the Brain Dump. Nothing else to see here
17 April 2005
Cold-Blooded Killer
Words cannot express how much I hate snakes. I am irrationally scared of them.
So, of course, naturally, I'm forced to intersect with snakes more than most people--just to steel my nerves. In fact, since this is the time of year that we see snakes dead in the street in this area, and grey, shedded snake skins delicately hanging over our tree limbs reminding us of our little slithery buddies, I had actually written down the word "snakes" today in my planner as an idea to talk about in a blog. My better judgement told me not to expose my fear to some, ahem, parties who might think it's funny to jack with my head over that, but I think it's pretty well known among the more creative of my jokester buddies, so I've already been teased pretty thoroughly about it--I don't think I'm going to be cured anytime soon.
One time, Fran and I were coming out of a party and headed to our car. I was wearing shorts and shoes with no socks. I stepped on a "belt" in the parking lot, and all of a sudden it came to life and wrapped completely around my leg--a 5-foot water moccasin who was very pissed about me stepping on its head. After I lifted my foot, it uncurled from my leg and crawled crazily across the parking lot, reversing and coming back at us (I guess once it recognized me as "that guy who is really afraid of snakes"). I just shuddered typing that story out.
Last year, Ryan was talking to Fran in the front room of our house and he just suddenly stopped talking and froze. Fran later told me she instantly knew what it was without even looking: a snake clinging to the windowscreen behind her head. They yelled for me and I came down and saw it sitting there...but it was gone by the time I was able to shove Fran out the door with a wooden spoon in her hand while I watched from inside.
She's already cornered and fought two of the damned things beside our front porch. Fran: 2, snakes: 0. Yes, my wife is a bad-ass--she'll cut you if you don't watch yourself.
So, after writing up my story about my friend Jackie this afternoon, I went downstairs to work on the yard, and damn it if there wasn't a relatively large snake sitting outside my window.
Note that the bricks are over 1 foot long...
This is right where the kids run through the yard, so I thought it would be best to kill it before my one-year-old wants to cut her teeth on it or something. In case there are any snake lovers reading, you are officially welcome to come over and get all the snakes you want and transplant them to your house...
I was going to kill it with a hoe, but I couldn't get one to come over (I guess this would be funny if it wasn't typed out).
Also, sometimes you need to exert your skills (a little in danger of overexposing Napoleon Dynamite lines again...) But I am a pretty good shot (and pretty good with a bowstaff, in case you were wondering)--my first one went down the length of the snake and pinned it to the ground. The next shot was aimed into the middle of the "snake ball". Gross, huh?
I think it was a rat snake.
Proof of my bowhunting skills:
So, of course, naturally, I'm forced to intersect with snakes more than most people--just to steel my nerves. In fact, since this is the time of year that we see snakes dead in the street in this area, and grey, shedded snake skins delicately hanging over our tree limbs reminding us of our little slithery buddies, I had actually written down the word "snakes" today in my planner as an idea to talk about in a blog. My better judgement told me not to expose my fear to some, ahem, parties who might think it's funny to jack with my head over that, but I think it's pretty well known among the more creative of my jokester buddies, so I've already been teased pretty thoroughly about it--I don't think I'm going to be cured anytime soon.
One time, Fran and I were coming out of a party and headed to our car. I was wearing shorts and shoes with no socks. I stepped on a "belt" in the parking lot, and all of a sudden it came to life and wrapped completely around my leg--a 5-foot water moccasin who was very pissed about me stepping on its head. After I lifted my foot, it uncurled from my leg and crawled crazily across the parking lot, reversing and coming back at us (I guess once it recognized me as "that guy who is really afraid of snakes"). I just shuddered typing that story out.
Last year, Ryan was talking to Fran in the front room of our house and he just suddenly stopped talking and froze. Fran later told me she instantly knew what it was without even looking: a snake clinging to the windowscreen behind her head. They yelled for me and I came down and saw it sitting there...but it was gone by the time I was able to shove Fran out the door with a wooden spoon in her hand while I watched from inside.
She's already cornered and fought two of the damned things beside our front porch. Fran: 2, snakes: 0. Yes, my wife is a bad-ass--she'll cut you if you don't watch yourself.
So, after writing up my story about my friend Jackie this afternoon, I went downstairs to work on the yard, and damn it if there wasn't a relatively large snake sitting outside my window.
Note that the bricks are over 1 foot long...
This is right where the kids run through the yard, so I thought it would be best to kill it before my one-year-old wants to cut her teeth on it or something. In case there are any snake lovers reading, you are officially welcome to come over and get all the snakes you want and transplant them to your house...
I was going to kill it with a hoe, but I couldn't get one to come over (I guess this would be funny if it wasn't typed out).
Also, sometimes you need to exert your skills (a little in danger of overexposing Napoleon Dynamite lines again...) But I am a pretty good shot (and pretty good with a bowstaff, in case you were wondering)--my first one went down the length of the snake and pinned it to the ground. The next shot was aimed into the middle of the "snake ball". Gross, huh?
I think it was a rat snake.
Proof of my bowhunting skills:
(Weakened)
Just driving along by myself today and found myself feeling old while enjoying Queen's "Another one Bites the Dust" (for the record, I have a mental block on whether to italicize or put parenthesis around books. movies, song, etc. and can't muster the energy to look it up every time, so just live with it and think what you want...just realize that the power is knowing that you can look it up but choosing not to). First I felt a little nerdy about liking it, then remembered how cool that song was when it came out--I think I must have been in 3rd grade or something. Now I feel somewhat drawn to that song because, in an undesrcibable, disjointed sort of way incorporating blood relatives and their gay lovers and ex-lovers, we are "related" to Freddie Mercury. Just so you know.
Ryan's all-important baseball stats for the weekend:
2 for 3 with 4 RBI's. In the 2nd inning, he grounded into a fielder's choice down the first base line into the outfield which scored 2 runs, then hit 2 1-RBI singles. And he played catcher...
In other family sports news: I birdied the 6th hole at Stewart's Peninsula by hitting a 160-yard tee shot which rolled 5 feet right of the cup, pin-high. Then I sank the putt. Aren't you impressed? I managed to shoot a par, a birdie, and 2 bogeys and still shoot 50 for 9 holes. For all non-golfers, that means that I totally lucked out on about half the holes, and completely sucked during the rest of the round.
Something this weekend made me think about an old friend from my senior year in high school named Jackie. He was tall, not fat but not lean, with shaggy straight blond hair and light blue eyes. He had the weirdest smile, but he was always smiling. It looked like someone had sharpened his teeth into fangs--I can't remember, he may have had braces or something, but when I think of Jackie, he's always smiling that big, wicked smile. Sometimes, I change the names of people in my stories (I've read 5 books on writing in the past 3 months, and they all recommend that you completely avoid identifying people), but this guy's name really was Jackie. He could have been homeless-I never knew where he lived, or anything about his parents or anything, and he wore the most bizarre clothes--huge, loose pants when they weren't stylish, and cool colors and vintage t-shirts. When I see the movie "Harold and Maude" (see, I'm doing it again--my default parenthesis), Maude makes me think of Jackie--He seemed like a combination of a completely crazy, unpredictable fruitcake and a self-confident "old soul", who was so self-assured that he would just do whatever kooky thing came into his brain. I was a little scared of Jackie.
There's the security guard's golf cart: Jackie wants to take it for a spin. We're doing a physics experiment. Jackie's idea? Let's add fire to the equation--wouldn't that be cool?... A song comes into his head? Jackie sings it at the top of his lungs for everyone.
Somehow we got together during lunch to hang out while we were in physics class together--it was an eye-opening thing to see someone so independent--almost like an adult, and he made me laugh my ass off. He had a pure heart. He also had the worst car I've ever seen--anywhere, anytime (The B-52's song "Love Shack" reminds me of Jackie's car: "I've got me a Chrysler, it's as big as a whale..."). No idea what model it really was, but I think originally it was supposed to be blue before all the paint came off -- it was so freakin' huge! I am absolutely convinced that it didn't fit completely between the white stripes on the road.
Then there was the day we were late back from lunch--Jackie hears Echo and the Bunnymen's "Lips like Sugar" and reaches over to crank it up with one hand, and steers with the other. He screams out "Hang On! We're going over!" and hits the gas, launching us across 3 lanes of traffic, over the median, ahead of oncoming traffic from the other direction, violently scraping the raised concrete and bouncing us down the road for the next minute or so due to the worn-out shocks and the massive size of the car. We laughed incredibly hard--that painful, gut-wrenching laugh that leaves you out of breath and sore. Our faces were red when we got back to class, leaving the teacher very suspicious of what we were up to.
Jackie also busted me on my shyness one time--I was in pain over a girl in our infamous physics class, and even wrote some poems about her. One day, Jackie turned around and told me "You know, I think we all have a little crush on Susan, but not like you." Although him saying it was a little annoying and ill-timed (because I was sensitive to it, and I felt like he said it a little too loud and within earshot of her) his smile wasn't quite so wicked--more like encouraging. It's good to have honest friends like that that challenge you.
We graduated, and he vanished like so many other high school friends. But Jackie's name never showed up on any of the alumni lists, and, even though I knew he was there, his picture or name never appeared in the yearbook. Like he never existed.
He still makes me smile, and sometimes even laugh out loud.
Maybe he was an angel.
I'm not looking too hard for him, because I like to think that he was.
Ryan's all-important baseball stats for the weekend:
2 for 3 with 4 RBI's. In the 2nd inning, he grounded into a fielder's choice down the first base line into the outfield which scored 2 runs, then hit 2 1-RBI singles. And he played catcher...
In other family sports news: I birdied the 6th hole at Stewart's Peninsula by hitting a 160-yard tee shot which rolled 5 feet right of the cup, pin-high. Then I sank the putt. Aren't you impressed? I managed to shoot a par, a birdie, and 2 bogeys and still shoot 50 for 9 holes. For all non-golfers, that means that I totally lucked out on about half the holes, and completely sucked during the rest of the round.
Something this weekend made me think about an old friend from my senior year in high school named Jackie. He was tall, not fat but not lean, with shaggy straight blond hair and light blue eyes. He had the weirdest smile, but he was always smiling. It looked like someone had sharpened his teeth into fangs--I can't remember, he may have had braces or something, but when I think of Jackie, he's always smiling that big, wicked smile. Sometimes, I change the names of people in my stories (I've read 5 books on writing in the past 3 months, and they all recommend that you completely avoid identifying people), but this guy's name really was Jackie. He could have been homeless-I never knew where he lived, or anything about his parents or anything, and he wore the most bizarre clothes--huge, loose pants when they weren't stylish, and cool colors and vintage t-shirts. When I see the movie "Harold and Maude" (see, I'm doing it again--my default parenthesis), Maude makes me think of Jackie--He seemed like a combination of a completely crazy, unpredictable fruitcake and a self-confident "old soul", who was so self-assured that he would just do whatever kooky thing came into his brain. I was a little scared of Jackie.
There's the security guard's golf cart: Jackie wants to take it for a spin. We're doing a physics experiment. Jackie's idea? Let's add fire to the equation--wouldn't that be cool?... A song comes into his head? Jackie sings it at the top of his lungs for everyone.
Somehow we got together during lunch to hang out while we were in physics class together--it was an eye-opening thing to see someone so independent--almost like an adult, and he made me laugh my ass off. He had a pure heart. He also had the worst car I've ever seen--anywhere, anytime (The B-52's song "Love Shack" reminds me of Jackie's car: "I've got me a Chrysler, it's as big as a whale..."). No idea what model it really was, but I think originally it was supposed to be blue before all the paint came off -- it was so freakin' huge! I am absolutely convinced that it didn't fit completely between the white stripes on the road.
Then there was the day we were late back from lunch--Jackie hears Echo and the Bunnymen's "Lips like Sugar" and reaches over to crank it up with one hand, and steers with the other. He screams out "Hang On! We're going over!" and hits the gas, launching us across 3 lanes of traffic, over the median, ahead of oncoming traffic from the other direction, violently scraping the raised concrete and bouncing us down the road for the next minute or so due to the worn-out shocks and the massive size of the car. We laughed incredibly hard--that painful, gut-wrenching laugh that leaves you out of breath and sore. Our faces were red when we got back to class, leaving the teacher very suspicious of what we were up to.
Jackie also busted me on my shyness one time--I was in pain over a girl in our infamous physics class, and even wrote some poems about her. One day, Jackie turned around and told me "You know, I think we all have a little crush on Susan, but not like you." Although him saying it was a little annoying and ill-timed (because I was sensitive to it, and I felt like he said it a little too loud and within earshot of her) his smile wasn't quite so wicked--more like encouraging. It's good to have honest friends like that that challenge you.
We graduated, and he vanished like so many other high school friends. But Jackie's name never showed up on any of the alumni lists, and, even though I knew he was there, his picture or name never appeared in the yearbook. Like he never existed.
He still makes me smile, and sometimes even laugh out loud.
Maybe he was an angel.
I'm not looking too hard for him, because I like to think that he was.
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