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v-minus-four


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I'm in that last-few-days-before-vacation zone.

You know how it is; the spirit begins to leave and go elsewhere, while the mind deals with a steepening ramp of details, crossed with a descending curve of time.

I had this vague notion I would have some free time toward the end of the week; as it turns out, I've barely time to manage what I need to do before I leave. I have months worth of I should-document-that-in-case-I-get-hit-by-a-bus; my tendency to keep everything in my head is part if what makes me good at problem solving, but it always hurts when I need to leave. Because I'm that guy; the one who knows where the bodies are buried, the one who knows who everything works and why it works that way.

On the other hand, in four more days, I'll be in the PNW doing pretty much nothing. So there's that. Ok, it's not a tropic isle, with a dark-haired maiden, but it'll do.

I have virtually no plans for this trip. I'm not doing any diving; I'm not going to be doing any work (I mean it this time). I have no tickets to events. I have no agenda at all. The closest I get to plans is that I kind of want to spend a gift certificate I have at the Utilikilts store, though honestly, I don't really *need* another utilikilt (so if someone wants to buy a $400 gift certificate for a significant discount off face price, I could then spend that money on a new highland kilt I've been eying.)

Meanwhile, I can barely summon enough attention to pack, and no attention at all for anything else beyond getting through these last few days without my head exploding.

ink at the end of the tunnel


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I'm beginning to feel like this last year's incredible load of work, death, illness and mayhem may be closing out, finally.

I looked at a web site I built for the project I've been working in to see when we created it; I was thinking, five, six months ago. In fact it was just about one year almost exactly, which in my mind signifies the start of this whole thing; the day I started working on what was presented as a simple, short-duration project.

Best-laid-plans and all that crap.

I feel I should knock wood saying it, but it looks like the worst might be over. Though when I say knock wood, I mean it that way, since my superstition begins and ends with how many swallows of water cures hiccups.

Meanwhile, I look out at blue sky and try to re-learn the skill of concentration on one task at a time; something I find I'm doing poorly at still, as it's taken me two hours of interruptions to finish typing this sentence.

It's been, though, a brutally long year. My struggle now, both at work and in real life, is to try to back up and figure out all the things I've put off for months, and take care of them now, in the short window were there might be time. I'm ahead on some fronts; my motorcycle is running again, I finished my taxes on time (last year's were completed just before the october deadline), and my bills are in some state you might call paid. I've gotten a significant amount of yard and house maintenance done since the weather turned nice.

On the other hand, I have a month's worth of laundry to put away and will be lucky if I can get my garage 'spring cleaning' done before fall.

The thing is, these mundane tasks actually feel good; it's been so long since I've felt like anything was actually finished in my life that just planting a new lemon tree in my yard or clearing my desk off feels like a victory.

Part of me wants to take this time to just do nothing; but I can't yet. I can't really rest yet. It's like those first few days of a hawaiian vacation, when my nervous system can't get off silicon valley time, and and I can't just sit and watch an ocean or a sunset without thinking about what I will, should, or could do. I can't stop twitching.

I'm still in that crush-time mindset; the list of things to do is still growing faster than I'm cutting it down; but I'm cutting it down in order of what I care about now, instead of in order of whomever screams first and loudest.

What this means is that my to-do list includes a tattoo; next week I go in to see orly at Humble Beginnings.

I found some good representations of what I'm getting - in concept and style anyway; take a look at the 'Marquesan' and 'Polynesian' links by Rob Deut of Indepedant Vision; anything with stylized faces gets you to the right territory. Sorry, it's all behind a stupid flash interface so I can't direct link; but damn, he's a great artist; alas, he's in the netherlands.

I'm working hard to get my head back together, and I can't think of anything better for than than a little productive pain. I'm hoping this isn't the last tattoo I actually start work on this year, even if it's the last this summer (I try to avoid tattoos in teh summer; new tattoos tend not to like sun, sand, sea, and chlorine, which are (one hopes) part of my summers. BUyt as soon as this one's done, I'm reasonably sure I'll have my mind best to another, though I'm not sure if it'll be on my back, or if it's time to start on the legs again (or, for all I know, more work on my arm). BUt it's been way too long, and I feel the need to continue.

smoke and fire and a dearth of sleep


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I'm getting bored with bitching about how swampped I am. And I bet you are already clicking away, thinking, oh, sure, another whine-whine-i'm-so-fucking-busy-i-can't-blog-apart-from-blogging-about-being-busy entry.

Fair enough.

Thing is, I keep making the mistake of thinking - and saying, in some cases - it'll be better after this week. Which it isn't. I was pretty damn sure after my LA trip last month that things would start to quiet down; the project we're working on is just about to finish (no, it won't get announced at some upcoming show, we're back to working on system internals, nothing so splashy as last time). I figured the night-and-weekend, no-time-to-think-or-talk thing was about over, that I'd have time to take a lunch break or plau hookey for an afternoon any day now.

Of course I was wrong; while the project is closing out soon, this has been one of those moving target games, where 'about three weeks' is always out about three weeks from any value of now. And we've got two more projects spinning up in the next week or so ("oh just little ones, they'll be quick," the teams are saying. Sure. Riiiiight.)

And of course, I just got pulled into some planning on longer terms stuff; projects I am VERY INTERESTED IN, yet don't have bandwidth to think about yet. I'm so busy bailing I can't even visualize building a new boat.

Add to that my boss leaving my team (which means I'm having to step in and catch all the balls and clubs and rings and chainsaws he's been juggling, in effect picking up a new job on top of my old one), and my main co-worker leaving for the rest of the month for a (well deserved) trip home to ethiopia, and I'm looking at a solid month of saying i need a fucking vacation. Which I don't have time or dough for, at least not out as far on the horizon as I can see from here.

My head will now explode. Stand Back.

The one thing I've managed to do is some cooking; even with working most of the weekend, paying my bills, tending my mother, and driving kids around to various play dates and teen birthday parties, I managed to make both a dinner of grilled, mint-and-yogurt marinated lamb with artichokes saturday, and tonight, what turned out to be the best tomato soup I've ever had (courtesy of a tyler florence recipe).

I've said it before; when everything seems like it's comin' down around your ears, try cooking something. If you don't have time for therapeutic rough sex, smoke and fire and knives is the next best thing (though, you know, sex that includes smoke, fire and knives? That sounds pretty damn good.)

Now I've distracted myself. I was going to post recipes, one for roasted tomato soup with bacon, and another marinated lamb. But instead I'm imagining the sort of thing I need a lot more brainpower to describe. That, possibly, will be my next entry. But I'm finding writing erotica isn't so easy when one's fighting several weeks of sleep deficit.

Helping the Helpless


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Y'ever try your best to help someone who just won't be helped?

Actually I'm talking about work. We pretty much all have been there when it comes to personal life.

I'm in deadline hell; the story is complicated and even if it were worth telling, I couldn't really tell it anyway. But to tell a short version, there are software licenses that expire at the end of this month, I have travel plans that eat half a week next week, and due to plans gone awry (I suddenly want to say it like bobby burns, Gang aft agley), and due to unexpected software bugs, I suddenly find that I need to replace infrastructure software two months sooner than expected.

Ok. I can do that. CAD tools and engineering infrastructure is what I do. Solve Problems. Only here's the thing; sometimes one man can't do it all.

The tool I'm replacing - a batch queueing system - is wired into every damned thing, in about twenty different ways. Which means that the things that need to change are not all under my control. But I can manage that, I've got plans and schedules. I don't really need sleep, you know, and I can ignore my friends and put off things that need doing at home and at work.

Only today, one of the users I'm giving it all for came back to me with a whole new plan which consisted of, "no, I don't know anything about what you're doing, and don't really understand what you're asking, but I reject it and propose you do it all my way."

Ten years ago, I guess I would have come back with exact details on why he's such a fucking moron and explained to him that if he'd just try doing things the right way (ie,my way), suddenly most of the problems he's having would go away, fucking *poof*. And then I would have stared updating my resume.

Sigh. Sometimes growing up sucks.

I managed to respond in a businesslike way, clarifying that 1) I was doing all this to support his team, 2) no, the solution he countered with was technically impossible, and 3) his fears of disaster were based on not understanding the technology. And I even said it all without using the word 'idiot' even once. Tomorrow, I fully expect him to re-iterate his points, adding extra emphasis, in effect saying "I don't have time to read your email, just go make pigs fly for me, slave!".

And I'll brandish imaginary weapons, then I'll go solve his problem against his will, knowing that I'll win in the end, without him ever knowing I've again saved him from himself.

It's a thankless task, but someone's gotta do it.

...about your dongle.


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On my voice mail today - a girl named Dassie left this:

"...the sticker on your dongle is incorrect."

After that, I could not refrain from giggling.

bitter, dark night


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I think I've been trying to get something written for at least two week. Even testing the new beta version of ecto3, I wasn't able to manage anything more than test test, test.

It has been, to say the least, nuts.

There have been school plays (and much applause), trick-or-treating with teenage girls (the smell of girls and candy in my truck), hockey games (the sharks lost, but I finally got a sharks jersey), award ceremonies at the county department of education (who, it turns out, have quite the collection of art, one piece of which is now by my daughter). There have been friends in need, emergency house repairs, and kids games that don't work on Leopard.

And that's not to mention work.

Work, though; well, one might touch wood (Shhh! no giggling!) and say things are getting better. Or at least getting ready to get better.

We finally got another guy in my group, which we desperately needed - and this new guy's lookin' like a rock star, one of those gifted CAD engineers who loves this kind of work, AND has the technical chops. And we have a new director, and for the first time since I reported to Jeff (Ray knows what this means), we have a top manager who fucking gets it. He knows already who's carrying the load (my team) and who's not (that other team who sit next to my team, and no, if you're reading this, I don't mean you. Unless it's YOU in which case, yeah I do).

This is why I try not to tell co workers I blog. One of them asked me about a Bukowski quote in my sig bar: "Writing chooses you, you don't choose it." And he asked me if I'm a writer, and what I write. "Dark, violent noir" is what I said, because I didn't want to mention blogging at a group lunch, and I didn't want to say "erotica featuring drugs and depravity" which is nearer the mark.

But possible improvement aside, we're still bailing as fast as we can to slow the boat sinking. Which doesn't help one's creativity or general well-being.

My head's been full of snippets of writing lately. I can feel something trying to get out. Snippets of dialog I can't quite seem to bring from brain to keyboard. Characters who walk on stage and are gone again before I know who they are.



I sat late last night in a bar, watching a pretty young woman talking to thebarman. She wants him, I thought, seeing it in the hair-touching, the posture. I puzzled over their story. Was she playing so hard for him, doing her overt mating dance? Or was I seeing a couple in love already, her body showing every recent touch of his hands.

I wondered as I sipped strong black coffee and listened to people next to me tell boastful stories. I began to tell myself a story about them, pieced together without words, from glances and smiles and almost-touches. I entertained myself until last call and after, until closing time.

I overheard the handsome young barman then, as I picked up my coat and hat. He was saying "...my fiancée..." to other late-night patrons, with an open-handed sweep in her direction.

Young love, I thought. Romance, and possibility, everything life has laid before them like a shining path.

"Fuck the both of you," I thought, and walked out into a bitter, dark night.



The setting above was true, a pretty girl who looked like Fred from the teevee show Angel, playing with her hair as she talked to a friend of mine who tends bar. The word fiancée was indeed used later, when he introduced her, and I loved her instantly when she said hello. She had a little betty boop voice that made want to hear her say daddy.

But the slice on monolog was a character who started speaking in my head as I drove home. I don't know who he was or why the young lovers inspired his wrath; but I wanted to find out. I wanted to know the rest of his story.

It wasn't there. Just what you see, more or less as I heard his voice say it at 1:30 am last night on a freeway under dark, clear, starry skies. His story was lost, like someone you meet in an airport lounge and listen to for twenty minutes, while you await flights to different ends of the world. Like someone you meet and wonder about after.

I need to find a character again who speaks to me long enough that I know him, or her; that I can let them tell mea a story. It's been far too long since that's happened, but I can almost feel it, almost hear it.

And time, of course, to let them speak when they arrive. Because they will not wait. They will not hear me say, later, tell me later.

get thee thy jesusphone


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Ok. It's time. Go get your iPhone.

Iphonehero20070629


I don't get mine 'til late july (we get ours after you get yours - hell, I have the same philosophy in bed, so I can't argue). And no, I can't get you one, I can't get me one, apart from the one-per-employee apple's handing out as a thanks for the incredible amount of work we've all been doing on this project.

If you manage to score one, let me know what you think. I still ain't actually seen one in person, for all the hours I've put into getting the chips and boards out.

I have fantasies like that...


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It's conversations like this that make me like where I work.

My group's director - who's also my long time pal and tattoo soul-mate, Jeff - walked into my office and began:

"The great thing about having a personal trainer is that now, I really have a body"

"Must be nice, man," I replied.

"It's what happens when you work out with an evil lesbian three mornings a week."

"...I have fantasies like that," I said.

"Yeah, I bet you do," said Jeff with an evil laugh, as he walked off down the hall.

like a start-up


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Skip this one if you're here for the dirty stuff. This is one in which I bitch about work and stress.

How did another fucking week get by me like this? It seems like yesterday I was saying, i'm off for sake bombs and then two blinks I'm back, and the list of things I need to get done is no shorter, in fact it's longer.

I need a vacation, so very fucking badly. Hell, I needed to take a couple sick days this week (doctor's orders - i got me a wicked sinus infection) but fuck it, I've no time to be sick.

I'm counting days til I get a break; 18. I head to anaheim for an all-too-short family trip to see The Mouse. But while that's good for the soul, it's not rest; four days of mad rush and then back at work.

My real vacation isn't til august, and even that is still in a state of flux due to some scheduling difficulties. If I'm lucky though, I'll be under water in about a hundred and twenty days.

Ignore me while I grumble. This shit ain't as easy as when I was 25. This is why i didn't move to a startup company six, almost seven years ago when I left Cisco. I had offers; I had several offers. But I had a moment of clarity, and though, sure the big money, maybe, if the dice land right, but what else? And I thought about my first run in a start-up where home was a memory, a place I showed up at to sleep and shower, where life was what I did at work, not the other way around. And I turned down an offer or two and took a job in a big corporation.

This last month it's like I'm on one of those shops, where we are in push mode all the time, short handed and long-houred; and we don't even see when the light at the end of the tunnel is, we don't know when the ramp stops going up. It's that kind of push, we're in uncharted waters here. The schedule tells us nothing, because for my team, the work is setup, support, methodology. And we don't know what is going to explode around which corner yet.

We're makin' this up as we fuckin' go, y'know?

I had a conversation with a co-worker the other day; one of those relaxed, happy, eternally competent people who almost never gets riled, who never complains even when he has to work long house (ie, nothing like me), and he remarked, this is getting really tense, you know? Stress is getting to everyone. And I said yes, and dude, it's going to get worse.

To be sure, I'm actually into what I'm working on, which hasn't always been true the last two years. My days are winging by and I'm doing work I'm good at (i'm at my best at the bleeding edge). This isn't misery I'm talkin' about. But damn, I'm tired.

what the fuck time is it?


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Well, the dreaded DST bug was about as big a deal as the Y2K bug - ie, not, but mainly because IT pros like myself put in a lotta hours in advance testing, checking and uprading. Of course that still meant a lot of hours at work on sunday re-checking everything to make really-damned-sure before users (ie, riff-raf, ie, you people) got on line and starting finding things broken.

Cause there's nothing worse, for a support person, than when the users find the bugs we should have found.

Thus, today, all is well, but i need a day off.

I must say, I don't know that i groove on this early DST thing. While I bet I like it later when it's still light at 7pm, right now, the sun is burning in my east-facing window and searing my corneas. I'm sitting at my desk in sunglasses and squinting; I look like I have a monday morning hangover (or, you know, if I move my head right, I can pretend I look like Ray Charles, baby.)

What the fuck time is it, anyway?

better things to do


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Pardon me a moment while I grumble.

This has been a very long week; various dramas of real life involving parents, a sudden huge uptick in my workload, drama from unexpected sources here and there.

The kind of week where you really look forward to weekends.

No; I have to work. One of the things I inherited from Mr. Disappeared is a big project to roll out a bunch of new hardware libraries (if you don't know what that mans, don't worry, it's irrelevant). Now, I sort of figured it was a quick morning of work due to how much time he'd had to set up for it. Not so much, it turns out.

I had to bag out on going to a San Jose Stealth game last night (our local pro lacrosse team) because of this; I had this image of bein' outta the office today by one or two o'clock, maybe doing some useful or entertaining thing.

No. I'm still here trying to get all this shit working, flyin' blind because I was just supposed to be dropping changes in place and didn't have time to get a full view of what the changes would be.

And you know, days like this, there has to be an 'and to make things worse'.


Bk-Bo107-1

I carry this knife. Only mine, well, mine's what you might call a switchblade. So today I went to pull my new phone out of my pocket, and somehow between skull ring, knife, and phone, there was something of a miss-fire.

What that means is that my hand went in fine, but when it came out, there was suddenly a knife blade in the mix; this left me with a 3/4" furrow carved into my right middle finger (The L finger, for those keeping track).

As luck would have it (or you could call it foresight, given how I am, though you'd be wrong), i happen to have band-aids at my desk (batman, in case anyone was wondering). So I was able to staunch the blood flow with super-heroic power, without ever loosing focus on the task at hand. I'm just that good.

But having a finger out of commission just adds that one extra irritant to my day; it's now nearly six PM and I stay anchored to my desk, with no end to this job in sight.

I had much much better things to do today. Much better things.

disappeared


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Someone in my group got disappeared today.

It's one of those corporate moments that just freaks 'ya out, you know? Friday you're talkin' to a guy about a project you're working on, monday he's mysteriously out of work and your boss is saying you might need to handle that.

And then they start with the euphemisms about won't be here. No one uses the word fired.

And no one seems to know why. The ones who know don't say; they can't.

And we all look over our shoulders, and then at the train headed our way, carrying a shitload of work that someone else was doing; work no one else knows how to do.

That train has my name on it.

Maybe a bullet's a better metaphor; because it's that jumpy feeling you get, like there are cross-hairs trained on your back. You don't know when it's coming, but you know sooner or later it will.



EDIT:

Well, the coworker in question didn't get disappeared; there's still the romulan cloaking device over what exactly happened, but evidently he was asked to leave, though evidently he expected it, and it wasn't over anything beyond work performance. He was at work today clearing out his office and answering questions while waiting for his goodbye check. Fortunately he's a good guy and was willing to spend a lot of hours doing a brain dump for those of us who have to clean up after.

However, what this all means for me (because it's all about me, and don't you fucking forget it) is that all the shit he's been doing but not documenting for nearly two decades is now mine and all the schedules that he's months behind on, also, are now my slipped deadlines.

The light at the end of the tunnel? C'mon say it with me - is a train. And it's pickin' up speed.

Self Review


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Every year, around this time of year, it winds up being review time at my place of gainful employment, and I have to do the dreaded Self-evaluation-form.

And every year i try to write a clever piece about it, to the effect that instead of this crap, i should get reviewed on what I'm I'm actually good at.

Hilarity would then ensue.

Only every year, I wind up pissed off and time-short and never get it done. I've two or three partially completed pieces like that.

Fuck it. You people do it. Write me my performance review. I'm going to go gnash my teeth.

Joomla Designers?


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Anyone out there know Joomla templates?

I've need of a good Joomla designer who can take some bad CSS and make a good joomla template out of it.

This is a paying gig.

I'm not a designer, I suck at graphic design. Help.

I'm working on setting up a server and getting the content in place, but the template is what the muckity-mucks care about, and they feel we need to make it look like the old site.

cobbler's elves


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looks like I've got one of those all-weekend pushes coming - a project that's due for release monday (this is internal tools stuff, not product. I don't do product, man) needs the cobbler's elves to do magic behind the scenes.

So I'll be at my desk, or some variant of my desk, most of the weekend, getting data moves and tools tested so that no one notices a damned thing on monday.

That's the essence of what I do, most of the time. make it work, so users people notice anything changes.

If i'm lucky this won't be a really major push. I'd actually like to see the sun if it pops out this weekend. But we'll see...

!Broke


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I think I've mostly un-done the template breakage, but I still need to tweak a few things.

Right now I'm hip deep in Joomla, trying to figure out how to shoehorn a internal group website into a Joomla layout. Sections and Categories and Bears, Oh My. I'm finally putting the blog-related skills into something now work-related.

V


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Yesterday, on very short notice my boss decided to take my whole team out. I guess we're at quarter end and he had budget for something that went away next week.

The result was the sort of day that works out perfectly with no planning whatsoever.

One of my co-workers is from Ethiopia, and he's introduced us to what may be the best Ethiopian restaurant in the bay area; it's certainly the best one I've ever been to and I'm a huge fan of that cuisine

http://www.zenirestaurant.com/


An absolutely wonderful meal. For those who don't know, Ethiopian food consists mostly of stew-like dishes; it's both served on, and eaten with, a unique soft, spongy flatbread called Injera which has a flavor (faintly like sourdough) and texture unlike anything else I've ever eaten.

You don't get plates. You don't get forks. You get a platter covered with Injera, with the various meat, veggie and salad dished dolloped directly on the Injera. You then tear strips of the bread and use it as your utensils.

In flavor, it's akin to Morroccan, with certain dishes having an almost indian character; red pepper, cumin, cardamom, gigner, and coriander are prominent spices.

It's a cuisine for people who are not afraid to get elbow-deep in a meal. It's also a cuisine I tend to avoid eating too often because, once started, I tend to eat until ready to absolutely explode. It's a sensual experience, rich, spicy, aromatic buttery flavors, and food experienced by touch as well as taste, smell, and vision. I can imagine taking a date (not, however, a first date) to such a meal, and feeding each other morsels of exotic-spiced meat while sharing a flask of Tej, Ethiopian mead.

It could be an awkward meal with co-workers. Luckily, my team are a bunch who like to eat, and who know each other well enough that we're not afraid to wear some food in from of each other.

After the meal, Bossman treated us to a quickly-chosen movie (based on when it was playing more than anything else); luckily also my first choice of a movie.

V for Vendetta.

Now let's say up front, I'm a huge Alan Moore fan. No disrespect to Gaiman or Frank Miller, but to my mind, Moore is the inventor of what we today called the graphic novel. He's the man who took a lame muck-monster comic, Swamp Thing, and turned it into possibly the best comic ever published. He's the guy who re-invented both comics in general and the superhero genre with Watchmen. And he's the man who wrote a bold, frightening, bizarre comic about a terrorist who dresses as Guy Fawkes.

I read V for Vendetta when it was new - I don't think I ever finished it, I can't recall why. Maybe it was one of those times when I gave up comics like one gives up smack; I have a problem with just buying one, so from time to time I have to go cold-turkey. But whatever it was, I've been waiting for someone to do something with that comic ever since.


Typically, when I heard it was going to be a movie, I was both afraid and excited. I hate, hate a holywood ruing of something important. *cough*Ask the Dust*Cough. But some things just cry out to be done right, and given the guys in charge (the Matrix brothers, Andrew and Larry Wachowski), and given the source material, I was hoping, just maybe, they nailed it.

Ok, so Alan Moore disowned it. But he's Alan Moore. Look at him, you can see the guy's a couple inmates short of an asylum. I haven't found the details on what he objected to, but in the end, you gotta look at the movie, like Kubrick's The Shining and say, forget the book, did they make a good movie?

They did. And fuckin' how.

This isn't an easy movie to make. To start you have a plot that depends on some idea of who the fuck Guy Fawkes is any why The Fifth of November is important. Not an easy sell in the USA. Then you have a lead who never takes off his mask.

It works; part of it's due to the incredibly charismatic, sexy presence of Natalie Portman, with whom I've been in love since I spent all of Phantom Menace thinking about her mouth. She turns in what is certainly the performance of her career thus far (though I'm betting she's go lots of brilliant performances ahead of her). A girl who manages to look that intensely sexy while sobbing on a prison floor is someone I could watch all damned day.

It works despite the dead plastic face Hugo Weaving wears all the way through it; he does a great job in what's almost completely a voice gig. He resists the temptation too over-do the physical performance, to over-do the voice. He's a man in a mask, but he just plays it, and by the end of the movie when he's asked to take off the mask and doesn't, you're rooting for him not to. You don't want to see what's under it, you want him to be what he is, an enigmatic presence with no face and no name.

James McTeigue, who was an assistant director for some or all of the Matrix films, avoids the major pitfalls of so many sci fi epics; he doesn't try to make things look far away and futuristic. He doesn't overwhelm us with special effects or elaborate makeup or bizarre technology. This movie doesn't play as sci-fi, it could be any time, now, the late 90's (the date in Moore's original comic), or it could be 2020. He lets the characters and ideas run the story, not the special effects.

This is a story about ideas. It's easy to simply say it's a movie about today's american government, and to be sure, you can't escape that idea. This is where we're headed if our current regime is taken to it's ultimate conclusion. The hitler-like figure played so effectively by John Hurt is scary because you can hear echos of today's politics.

But it's not as direct and simple as that. Moore's story is about anarchy vs. fascism, not about republicans vs democrats. It's about the extremes in both directions. It's about fighting a fight that will kill you and drive you mad.

It's about terrorism; but we're seeing it from the side of the terrorist, the man who fights an ideological battle with bombs and murder. It's about a monster fighting a monster system. There's no clear high moral ground he stands on; the enemies are evil, but are they any worse than our hero?

There are flaws. It's a comic-book style story, so some of the plot logic doesn't hold up to intense scrutiny. V's hair, which made sense in the comic, winds up being dorky rather than threatening in real life. I kept thinking bad wig. And some of the plot developments late in the movie seem to happen to abruptly without adequate explanation (I'd explain but no spoilers).

But the quibbles are small. The movie looks great, it's well cast, well acted, well paced for such a long movie (2.5 hours). The dialog is well written (I will have to get the graphic novel, I can't recall how much of this was direct from the comic and how much was written by Wachowskis). It works well as pure escapist, and as political commentary. And it's got some choice dialog I'll be quoting until you all get sick of it.

And oh my god is Natalie Portman hot with her head shaved. Holy christ. I want her.

When tuesday feels like friday


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It's only the middle of tuesday and and I already feel like I've had a week. Out of my five person team, two are out; manager and our do-everything technical lead guy, so I'm point man for everything my group does.

Which is good because I was sort of out on the edges for most of the last year. I need to be the glue that holds it together, I work better that way. I forgot how much quicker a day goes by when you're up to your eyeballs in things that have to be done now.

Only problem is that it cuts into the shit I want to work on - writing, blogging, blog setup and hackery. I've got three blog projects for lovely ladies I am helping with and I would far rather be doing those than conducting a perforce training class for electrical engineers. Yet that is what pays the bills.

Good thing I don't need sleep.

Take Me With You


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(forgive me for a work interlude)


Typically, I'm the guy at work who knows everything.

The guy who's got it all in his head, the guy who gets the phone calls with obscure questions at 3am. The guy who's gotta write out a novel of process when he goes away on vacation for more than a couple days, and who still gets called in Hawaii or Turks and Caicos or Fiji.

Only it's not true anymore.

One of the things that happened to me this last year is that I had a horrible year personally, the same time that my group at work got completely re-purposed. We used to be all about chips, and then one day last april, my employer stopped caring much about custom ASICs.

We were the guys who kept the chip designers working, and suddenly we didn't have a job. So we had to convert to being all about boards. We did it - and we did a great job. The proof is in our latest - and next - products. But to do it, my team had to learn a new business from scratch. And for the first time in years, I wasn't the guy who was in deepest, first. I've been playing catchup ever since.

There are a lot of reasons why, and that's a much longer, more painful story, a story for some other time and place. The part that's relevant now is that I'm finally catching up.

I'm catching up because the guy I work with, the guy who wound up in my usual role, the go-to guy, the technical leader, the guy who knows everything, is leaving on a month-long trip to africa. And I have to learn everything he knows and everything he does in about two and a half more days.

This is good - in theory. I need to get back in fighting trim, work-wise. I need to get back to the point where I can manage fifteen things at a time, keep on top of everything, know who's doing what where. And this forces me back there. Writing it down (thank god for wikis, they make documentation so fucking easy), training people, solving problems. That's what I do, so having to take over again as the focal point gets me back into the mind set I need.

But god damn, I wish I were taking off for a month in africa. I want to tell him, take me with you.

I woke up with the need to go incredibly strong in my mind, the need to be out the door. The need to feel the weight off my shoulders, the need to be warm and free and open.

There are moments where I hear something out there call me so loud it's everything I can do not to answer. I woke up thinking, quit my job, quit my job, quit my job. The kind of voice-in-my-head moment where I feel like screaming shut up shut up shut up at the inside of my own head.

My head's finally getting back in the game, and yet, the call gets louder and louder. I need earplugs on the inside, or I need to listen to the call. Some days it's a hard choice not to listen to it.

What I work on, can I have one?


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It takes a lot of sexy to make me lust for a computer.

Now, lusting after the flesh and blood, well, you know about that. And lusting after certain inanimate or mechanical objects, sure. I mean, look at my obsession with skull rings, or something like the car from Supernatural.

But computers - well, you know, I've never owned a computer. I have one, but it's a tool for work and pleasure, it belongs to my employer, and that's fine. I've always gotten by with what I can scrounge from work.

For the first time ever, I looked at this machine and said to myself (Self, I said), I want that.

The new Apple MacBook Pro:



MacBook Pro

This is the outcome of the super secret product I couldn't talk about last summer. This is what my team have been working on - the intel based macs - since April. And it's cool to see it come out, and even cooler to think, this thing we make, it's good and I want it.

I Like To Move It Move It


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Moving day.

We're doing one of those pointless corporate re-shuffle where we all move from one office to another, many of us in the same bldg.

I've been in my current job for almost six years now - a while, in my time line, only one job I've ever had (cisco) was longer and that was because stock chained me to the salt mine.

Most of the tech companies I've worked for move people from cube to cube and bldg to bldg all the time. Here at this fruit-flavored company it's different. First in that I have a hard-walled office, a novelty, nearly a first in my career. Second, I've been in the same office for almost five years.

You get pretty settled in five years. You get from friont door to office to restroom to break room on auto-pilot. You can do it blind.

It's easier when you move to a different building. You have to utterly break habits. Moving in the same building actually winds up being more disorienting. I moved up a floor and over about three offices, so the view out my window is almost the same, the office orientation is almost the same, still facing east over the santa clara valley.

I feel like I'm in the same office yet when I turn around and look out my door, I'm in the wrong place and I have a moment of utter twilight-zone confusion. And you know, I kind of like that feeling. It's a flash of mental free-fall, all the connections cut loose.

This usually lasts a week but who knows, I've never been in the same office this long before.

Now I have to go look for my chair and my Sun keyboard and figure out where I packed my perl books. And then I have to figure out where the hell my co-workers wound up...

Dance of the Broken Cell Phone


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Nothing quite like the feeling of your cell phone cracking into pieces under your foot first thing in the morning now, is there?

Now, you gotta understand I live by my cell phone. I do engineering support for a living. I'm the go-to guy for my group 24x7. I'm never off-call. When they can't find key people, I'm on the short list of who do ya call.

I get sms text alerts when machines go down. I get sms text messages asking for help. And of course, I get texts from friends all day long.

I pretty much always have my phone in my pocket, and feel disconnected when it's not within reach. I don't know how I managed before cell phones. Really, I no longer need a land-line, I never give my regular number out anymore.

So after making coffee this morning, I went to get my cell out of the pocket of my jeans; only I was wearing shorts with no pockets and needed my hands free for something or other, and mindlessly tucked my hone in the waist band of my shorts, where it stayed securely for about 3 seconds.

I've dropped my phone a million times, and it's beat up as hell, but still works fine. I tell ya, I'd buy another LG phone. They're durable. And it was fine this time too; battery popped off, and the phone flipped open, but no big deal.

Only I was in mid-stride and... And.

I tried to avoid it. There was that split second and doing a bizarre off-balance tap-dance, like when you realize you're about to tread on the cat, or boot the baby who's not where she was expected to be. So I wound up doing a bizarre stompy dance on top of my fucking phone.

Surprisingly, the phone itself is in pretty good shape. I didn't crack the display, nor break the keypad. All of it looks, pretty much, good as new. Only the top and bottom are now wholly autonomous units, no longer joined with a plastic hinge, or any sort of cable.

The super-fine ribbon cable that, til recently, made these things one integrated system now looks like it's been rat-chewed.

I'm cut off from my world. No sms. No calls. No fuckin' nuthin. AND, I doubt they'll be able to download the contact list.

Do me a favor, k? Email me your cell numbers. I'm trying to scrounge a replacement phone as I type this, but re-constructing my contact list is gonna be the big issue now. On the other hand, if I can just get on the list for the new ROKR, maybe this is a good thing, soon as they start to be available...

All about the chains


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Yes, it's a work entry. But never fear, I can make it dirty.

A few weeks ago, I was working on that super secret project that I could have told everyone about, but then would have had to kill you. Well, then it 'leaked' and then it got announced; macs with intel chips. Now, some citizens of the land of hightechistan were unaffected by all this, being uses of lesser platforms (*cough*windows*cough*), or of linux. But for many, this was big news. Mac users wondered, what does this mean to me; but the industry as a whole wondered, what does this mean for all of us?

The answer to that is still an open question of course. Even inside, we don't really know unless we need to know, and if we do need to know we're placed under a strict Silencio charm and rendered mute outside the confines of hogw... I mean, outside Apple HQ.

But inside the company, it meant a lot of change; work we had been doing in hardware engineering changed focus. Some projects got postponed. Some engineers wound up needing to find new work to do. We had many, many more jobs in certain areas, fewer in others.

My team, 100% focused on support of chip design, suddenly got re-purposed to support a wider user base; not just chip designers, but boards, systems, etc. We wound up with a new director, a new upper-level manager, and then a while new stack of names.

I don't care, generally, what my team is called. You know, I've been in this industry for a lot of years and you get used to new managers wanting to re-define a group by re-naming it. It confuses everyone, and we all need new web site names and sometimes we have to get new business cards, but my job is my job and I don't care what they call it. So when they started to toss around new acronyms that had some vague relation to what we do day-to-day, I skipped the meeting and went to eat sushi instead.

My boss and my group came up with something I could not remember five minutes after I was told it. And that was fine since our top man decided it wasn't what he wanted.

Last night a new name came down from somewhere above (I have a vague suspicion somewhere above has the initials J.D.); thus our new name is Design Chain Management.

And of course I had only one thing to say when my boss asked me what I thought. 'Got chain in it, s'ok with me.'

And you see? Here's where it gets dirty. Because of course in my mind, chain has only one meaning. And I'm picturing a couple of the interns in my group, in, well, you know.

I get to have the word 'chain' on my business cards now. I'm so going to enjoy handing these out in the right circles.


No one gets a piece of your heart
It's over 'cause you won't let it start
You keep your love in chains, love in chains
And only fear remains and keeps your love in chains

working on sundays


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Dammit, I hate working on sundays.

Still struggling with a perforce problem. My tar process got the files moved over, finally, but now I have to nuke about 100 million files.

Can't these fuckers come up with a way to *extract* meta-data? I have to copy the fucking thing and delete (obliterate, in perforce terms) everything I don't want.

They need to think about offering a real database back-end, I tellya. The proprietary db model is getting old.

Grumble, grumble. I'd rather be at a strip club.


[made with ecto]

It's True


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Yeah, it's true. Those of you watching the news knew it friday. Apple on Intel.

It's been an interesting couple months since I found out - I'm one of very few people who knew this. Now, the people I work with know and it's like a shockwave around the campus.

Gonna be interesting...

Any day now, Any day now now


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Any day now,
Any day, now now

Unplug future plans;
Finger-paint the sun on you,
Shake your bag o'bones,
Shake your bag o'bones,
Mend your missing links,
I think trust should be the glue,
Shake your bag o'bones,
Shake your bag o'bones,

     -XTC, Nearly Africa

A rare work-related entry. I'm sorry, I promise I'll post something really dirty real soon now.

The super-duper-seekrit project I've been working on the last couple months gets announced next week. Then I can finally tell you about it.

I'm waiting to see if that means my life gets quieter, or if that means we've just been in the foreplay phase and are about to get down for some long hard fucking.

Wait, I distracted myself with that metaphor.

Anyway it's that waiting-on-the-edge feeling that gets me. Knowing something's about to happen and not knowing what. I'm comfortable dealing that feeling to someone else; close you eyes and wait for it. But you blindfold me, I'll always try to peek.

I do not, as a rule, wait well.

Things at work are tense, and confused. They're also exciting and dynamic. Things are happening, changing. I like the chaos; I like the change. I thrive on these things. But I have a feeling my job's going to be very different very soon.

It's the waiting. It's the not knowing.

The Resume, or Lies about Me


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I'm helping a friend with her resume, and I'm once again reminded of what an absurd game resume-writing is.

I can't recall the last time I got really serious about writing a resume. My job now, I was hired because I knew a guy and the resume and interview process were a walk-through. I updated what I had handy, re-wrote the first bit to line up with the job and handed it in.

The thing is, a resume is an artful (if you're good or hire well) combination of lies and marketing crap. You take what you're good at, add in what you sort of know that sounds good, mix in a few quantifiable achievements, avoid your fuck-ups, and then write it in a stupid, awkward, artificial language that no one actually uses in real life.

Results-driven
Self-starting
Committed to

It's so deeply artificial. And yet, a good resume can land you an interview, a bad one will land on the floor unless you have some particular skill everyone needs.

It's different when you have a very specific technical skill to offer. I mean, Lumberjack, we all know what your job is, you don't really have to say much. I cut down trees. I eat my lunch. I go to the lavatory. On Wednesdays I go shoppin' And have buttered scones for tea. But for most of us with a range of possibly-applicable skills, looking for a job those might fit to, it's a game.

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