Not Sleeping Enough, Probably

This morning I was forced to make a very poor decision regarding security. I say "forced" because there was actually no decision to be made.
Doing things the right way would simply result in the application not working, so I endorsed the idea of doing things the wrong way.
It happens from time to time, but the idea of a vendor-supplied solution causing a re-architecture on our end still bugs me.
Also today my headhunter showed up with the sign for my cubicle. For the record, I'm even spelled right.
He had been planning to drop by work for a visit for a while now, but this particular visit gave him the opportunity to introduce me to his boss.
We chatted about the house buying and selling process, my hotel where they changed the sheets yesterday for the first time in a month, and how I was adjusting to South Carolina and the freakish weather patterns we've been having. By "freakish" I assume he meant "unnaturally warm" and not some rain of blood I'd slept through. I do so hate sleeping through a rain of blood.
One of these topics (and to be honest I'm not sure which) set me off. I remember talking about the little liquor bottles. I remember talking about an interview I'd seen of a guy living just south of the Texas border who complained about Americans crossing the border to buy cheap gasoline.
I think, though I'm not sure, I talked about Iron Man. I was certainly thinking about Iron Man.
My memory of the event snaps back into focus with my headhunter's boss saying,"Jesus Christ, man! You are an HR nightmare!"
In my opinion, that is hardly a fair assessment. For one thing, I'm always very nice to whoever conducts the interview whenever I am summoned to HR. Secondly, they would be able to talk about "Industry Salary Guidelines" and "Employee Benefits Awareness Programs" all the time if people (dare I say "visionaries in the field of human interaction"?) didn't give them something interesting to talk about.
Also, I never shy away from bringing cookies with me.
A lot of people will tell you to take a detailed written time line of the events in question when you are asked to pay a visit to HR. I will tell you that the time line is nice, but will never carry you as far as even a box of store-bought cookies.
HR people are a lot like regular people in two notable ways:

1. Love of cookies

2. Need to have an interesting story to tell to loved ones at the evening meal

If, for example, an employee were to dash through the cafeteria yelling "Holy crap! The bees are eating me! The bees are eating me!" when, in fact, the bees were doing no such thing, he or she might be summoned to HR for an interview about causing a disturbance.
The evening meal story loses the punchline altogether if it ends with "and we fired him".
A much better ending is, "We called him in for an interview and he brought a bunch of sugar cookies." Or snickerdoodles. You know. Whatever.
The actual type of cookie is unimportant. Unless you shop at one of those X-rated bakeries.
At an X-rated bakery, probably the worst thing you can do is grab a box of "Assorted" and drag them to your HR interview.
The Assorted X-rated cookies are more a drop-by-HR-because-you-were-thinking-of-them kind of snack.
When there has been an incident, err on the side of boring when selecting the cookies.
Hmmm.
This wasn't at all what I was going to blog about.

But look! Evidence of ancient nerds!
It says they don't know what game the ancient Romans played, but it is a safe bet there were dragons involved somewhere.

Team Lunch

After a couple of days of troubleshooting, the current issues impacting our production environment are not solved. However, I have managed to prove that the issues are not related to anything I did, and that is quite a bit more important than an actual resolution anyway.
Calendars aligned across the group this afternoon to allow for a brief "Team Lunch" in the cafeteria downstairs. We grabbed a large table and began discussing work issues.
The conversation naturally evolved into one about who is gay in the entertainment industry and, more importantly, how we felt about it when we found out.
Of course, a table full of manly I.T. guys surrounded by a sea of non-I.T. people tends to draw attention anyway.
I wonder if any of us will be reported for the near-constant exclamations of,"Holy crap! I know, right? . . . Not that there is anything wrong with that!"
I think the "Not that there is anything wrong with that!" should cover us in the event HR tries to crack down on us for creating a hostile cafeteria environment.
Neil Patrick Harris? Seriously? Doogie Howser, M.D.? I, for one, was astounded.


Rob Halford? From Judas Priest? Who saw that coming?

Certainly not this little metal fan.
George Michael managed to surprise no one at the table no matter how old they were when Wham!: Make It Big was splattering singles all over the Top 40.

Um. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

In other news, I had a closed-door meeting with my manager this morning. He told me that HR wants a copy of my job description to place in my file. Further, he'd like me to write it and give it to him by close of business on Thursday.
I blinked.
I nodded.
I was incapable of speech, as all of my brain function was running through the absolutely astounding potential for abuse which had just been handed to me as an action item.
Only after I had left and closed the door behind me could I mutter,"You're ****ing kidding me, right?"
No one answered.
Do you know what this means?
By the end of the week, I could be "extracting genetic material from pre-historic resin to create living dinosaurs". I could be "in charge of Death Star turbolaser operations". I could, in theory, spend my days "plying the waterways of the southern colonies in search of rum-laden merchant vessels ripe for plunder". As far as anyone knows, I may very well be "Chief Executive MP3 Server Administrator".
In fact, given that my only concrete instruction so far is "write your job description", chances are I do all of those things.
And probably "re-order the fundamental laws of space and time to eliminate user issues before the users themselves are even born".

Poor Layout

I'll apologize in advance for posting another restroom-related entry:
"Sorry about that."
In our new space on the seventh floor, we've had to adjust to a new restroom design. In this building, the restrooms are located off the side hallway which leads to the stairwell. The rooms are shaped oddly, but this has little impact on the functionality of the space.
To gain entry to the seventh floor men's room, one must make a left turn into the side hallway, then enter the doorway on the left at the end. Once inside, a "modesty partition" forces a right turn followed by a hard left turn for the urinals.
When completing this left turn, the first obstacle is a wall-mounted aerosol deodorizer on the left. These devices are timed to spray at intervals depending on unknown parameters. I'm not sure if the standard time for them is mandated by the state or if Texaco has published a white paper on it. A few times I've entered and started the turn in time to hear the "pfsssst" noise and pass through the cool mist of perceived cleanliness.
Today, I made the corner too fast and caught the whole "pfsssst" right in my left eye.
To anyone who has ever been sprayed in the eye with an aerosol, it is no surprise that the appropriate response is to grab one's face, fall to the floor and shriek "HOLY CRAP MY FREAKING EYE!"
I was wearing my reading glasses and (when my vision returned) I noticed that the left lens was coated, front and back, in a semi-transparent waxy material. If that much was blocked by glass, I can only imagine what a full-dose shot would have been like.
There are certain situations where one would expect to be blasted in the eye by various substances. Were I to attempt to snatch a purse, I would expect a shot of pepper spray in the face. Except in Denver, where I would expect an eye-full of "Bear Mace". If I were to peacefully protest something Republicans like, I'd expect to have tear gas swabbed into place on my eyeballs because the GOP likes to appear environmentally conscious in certain circumstances and aerosol is bad for the planet.
Walking to the urinal, I have no reason to expect anything to be sprayed into my eye, so I was caught off guard.
After about an hour, the burning subsided to a mild tingle and my vision began to return to the effected orb, but I doubt the guy who was in the last stall has recovered from my screaming and flailing around on the tile while he was taking care of business.
In all, it was the most time I've spent on the floor of a men's room in some time and probably the most ever on a Monday morning when I hadn't even been drinking.
There are two things I've taken away from the incident.
The first is that I should "Tokyo Drift" around that last left turn, hug the outside wall, or listen from the safety of the doorway for the "pfsssst" and time my turn to happen before the next burst.
The second is that I probably have the best smelling eyeball in South Carolina right now, even if no one will take me up on my offer to smell it.

I saw the Edward Norton Hulk movie on Friday night with a coworker.
Everyone knows that Bruce Banner was given the Hulk powers through an experiment with gamma radiation. One of the coolest things about this Hulk movie is that the whole origin thing is covered behind the opening credits so no movie time is wasted on it and they can get right to the smashy parts.
Smashy parts are why people go to see a movie like this. I'm glad someone picked up on that.

Roleplay? Me?

I was totally correct in my suspicions about the demographic of the "Business Negotiation" training class. There were a few admins, a couple of I.T. people, and a whole lot of executives who I will likely never see again.
We spent a good deal of time talking about "closing", which made me freak out about buying a house. We discussed body language, dominant seating positions and comfort zones.
I drew an adorable kitten on my notebook. She had striped fur and long whiskers and I titled my sketch "Princess Muffin".
I did perk up when we got to the "practical" part of the class, which involved splitting up into pairs and conducting an actual negotiation. We were all given colored index cards and a list of "wants" and "needs" we had which had some points of conflict. One person was given the role of "manager" and one was given the role of "employee".
The index cards were used to accelerate the process to meet the time frame of the class, I think, since they were to be played to simulate outside influences.
Our green card was to be labeled "Peace", our yellow card "Arm", and our pink card "Nuke". Everyone dutifully scribbled this into place, assisted by a PowerPoint slide projected on the wall as a visual instruction manual.
I love games with rules. I especially love familiar-seeming games with rules like these.
The "Arm" card is played one round prior to "Nuke" and signifies a break-down in communication. "Nuke" is last resort and the one round delay translates in most cases to mutually assured destruction. "Peace" is played to resume talks in case both parties move to "Arm" but hesitate.
I wonder how these training exercises were done before the nuclear age? Was it "Veiled Hostility", "Influenza Blankets" and "Poisoned Wells"?
Anyway, since everyone needs a laugh at the geek's expense, I was given the role of "Manager" and partnered with some slightly older executive-type gentleman. His demands for "larger cubicles", "casual jeans Fridays" and "discounted meals in the cafeteria for people working through lunch" were clearly stated, as well as his desire for more money per hour and, if possible, better parking.
I listened patiently, my own list of demands ("fewer requests for comp time", a "shortened help desk queue", and "more restricted access to internet resources for employees without a clear business need") battling with my want list of employees in ties and fewer wasted hours in (ironically) training. I kept them all to myself, though, both needs and wants, and waited for his list to be completely expressed.
I would not call his opening statement "impassioned", but his arguments were well-formed, in my opinion. Someone reads Business Week, probably the print version.
Anyway, the silliness of the exercise got to me, so before I spoke a word I held up my pink card and tore it in half in front of everyone.
"Let's take the pink card off the table to start with. Having a looming threat does nothing to foster good will. We should negotiate without that burden weighing us down."
The "employee" executive guy agreed immediately and tore up his "Nuke" card.
We were both commended by the instructor, who advised us that we had chosen the proper course, though negotiation would need to be more plainly stated and open and honest to compensate for the lack of urgency.
Then I placed my sundered pink card on the desk in front of me, the pieces clearly labeled "Pe" and "ace".
Then I played the "Arm" card and listed my demands and want list, in full. I also placed my green "Nuke" card, face up, on the desk. I tapped it twice, as though I were in a comic book store facing off against some arrogant twelve-year-old in a Magic: The Gathering tournament.
Negotiations complete, I took my seat back with the class.
There was some heated debate among the other attendees about whether using an alternate color scheme for the cards was "cheating" or, as I call it, "a creative use of existing game mechanics". Is it wrong to be deceptive in this situation or is it wrong to assume one's opponent is not? Compromise is not winning.
My final argument was that it is the assumed goal of anyone in any negotiation to ensure that their opponent holds as few cards as possible. Fact.
Roleplaying as a training exercise?
To some of us, roleplaying is serious business.

Nothing Can Be Spared

I heard some time ago that there is a Smurfs movie in pre-production somewhere.
Having long-since exhausted the imaginations of every screenwriter on the planet, an ever art-conscious Hollywood must make every effort to entertain us all in these trying times -- Mostly by slaughtering every childhood cartoon memory people of my generation have.
I used to wake up at 6:30 CST on Saturdays to catch the Godzilla cartoon. I've made special effort to avoid downloading that show since I fear it has not stood up to the test of "Timeless Classic-ness", but Matthew Broderick went ahead and overwrote most of my feelings about the monster in 1998 anyway.
The Dungeons and Dragons cartoon show spent almost a full season making me happy about the great mainstreaming of the game itself which happened around the same time. I knew even as a child that the show was too campy for the gritty and awesome parts of the game itself, but I enjoyed the fact that they made the show at all. Not even Jeremy Irons could save the movie adaptation. I will give them credit for The Dragons of Autumn Twilight, though. It is a cartoon, as it should be, and too harsh for children, which it also should be. I think mine is one of four copies ever actually sold.
I should also admit that the movie adaptation of Josie and the Pussycats is filled with win.
Scooby Doo can also be added to the list of abused cartoon into film conversions, since "updating" involved the addition of bathroom humor and the removal of all the drug references. Wait. Maybe they added drug references. I'm not sure, but I'll admit to being drunk while watching both the movies and the cartoon. Recently.
Casper the Friendly Ghost was also brought into the grim reality of the latter part of the last century by going into the back story of the main character. Somewhere deep in the back of every cartoon viewer's mind, we knew Casper was a dead kid, but we repressed the thought and concentrated on what he was doing "in the now". Any movie which focuses on the "dead kid" aspect is not true to the escapist nature of all cartoons.
But I was talking about Smurfs. Like I am known to do.
While not predisposed to hating on the mere concept of a film adaptation, I will confess a bit of trepidation at the thought. There are a lot of things which should be done and even more which should not.
The filmmakers should finally address the exact nature of Smurf biology, putting to rest (except for the cartoon canon purists) the endless debate about the subject among our more pharmaceutically inclined populace. We all know that Gargamel created Smurfette, but that does not mean that she is the first female of the species. More likely she is the first of an entirely new physiologically similar species. The film is an opportunity to answer these question once and for most.
The film should not update the Smurfs to modern times, either, because part of the charm of the original series was the interaction with the feudal human society which lived nearby. If the human character (and don't doubt there will be at least one) is some career-driven advertising executive who comes to learn the value of friendship and loyalty, you can bet I'm going to freak right out.
The latest news I have is that the Smurf movie is currently not CGI, or at least not entirely. It will be primarily live action.
This is wrong. Let me tell you why:


There is a possibility the film will feature real-live people and CGI Smurfs. This technique has been used in films with great critical acclaim such as Alvin and the Chipmunks, Garfield and Garfield Two: A Tail of Two Kitties.
This might work, but only if they set the movie in the proper time period and answer all the Smurf reproductive questions. And possibly if they come up with some explanation of how the word "Smurf" came to mean so many things in the Smurf language without some misunderstanding plunging the whole society into a brutal war at some point.
Even if they do that, if some "making of" show comes out where Tom Cruise is complaining about sitting for six hours every morning while the makeup crew paints his torso blue I'm going to Belgium to wire the ground around the grave of Pierre Culliford so that his spinning can create sustainable power and reduce our dependency on fossil fuels. At least that way some good can come of this.

Maintaining Appearances

Since interaction with people outside work is so limited, I've started to find myself caring what random people think.
And since the only people I ever speak to in-person outside work are store employees, this concern has drifted from amusement to genuine fear.
When I first arrived in town, I made a game of it. Stopping at Target in the middle of the night to buy fifty feet of rope, kitchen scissors, one-hundred "contractor grade" trash bags, duct tape and a gallon of all-surface cleaner was like a game to me. Would the clerk ask what I was doing? Would the police be notified?
Sadly, neither thing happened.
My natural paranoia filled in the blanks, letting me know in no uncertain terms that the check-out personnel were on to my game and judging me for how pathetic my cries for attention were becoming.
For a few weeks, I would visit the grocery store as normal. Food options are limited since I have only a microwave in my hotel room. Buying only enough to fit in my little hotel refrigerator started to look pathetic there in the shopping cart.
I knew that again the check-out people were judging me, only this time it was for living in a hotel completely alone, catching up on old TV and playing video games.
As I picked up groceries yesterday I made no conscious attempt to look less pitiful, yet I noticed that my food choices had evolved somewhat.
The cart was loaded with single-serve cans of multiple flavors of Diet Coke and foods which, while certainly microwavable, could only accurately be described as "appetizers".
Chicken nuggets, if of sufficient quality, are relatively low carb.
Looking from at the cart from the honest angle, one sees the diet of a man living in a tiny space all alone with an evening highlight of finding some kind of dip to use with the nuggets.
From a more objective (and generous) angle, I could have been hosting a party somewhere.
The contents of the cart could serve pretty well as the menu for a viewing of some type of sports thing or (more likely) that non-stop Lord of the Rings Extended Edition showing I've been promising to waste twelve hours on for about forever.
Given an objective view, the items in the cart can be less pathetic than reality would suggest.
When presented with a choice, I will almost always take the viewpoint which defies reality anyway.
But why do I care? It isn't a decision I made consciously. The concern I harbor for the opinions of total strangers says something about my own self-image, probably.
While an in-depth self-analysis is certainly in order here, I also avoid those. So the mystery will remain unsolved forever and I will always exist to store employees as a riddle wrapped in an enigma slathered in buffalo sauce.
Perhaps someday we will be judged not by the content of our carts but by the content of our DVD collections.
Today is not that day.

Not Fast Enough

I was totally caught flat-footed. My coworkers are better at dodging than I am, I guess.
So far, aside from a day and a half of pre-employment training, I've managed to avoid trips back to the training area.
This all changes all too soon.
Someone from our group needed to take a class, and the short straw was pulled my me.
What the hell is "Business Negotiation" and why do I need to attend a half-day training session for it?
It isn't like we have the ability to say "no" to business requirements. For example: When someone suggests that someone from my team waste half a day in a "Business Negotiation" training class, someone has to go waste half a day in "Business Negotiation" class.
In my opinion, the only thing which qualifies a person to need a class like this is an inability to successfully dodge the request.
Well. Maybe I do need to go.
Anyway, as soon as the class fills up, that is where I will be hanging out.
These are the pitfalls which come with keeping a "tidy" calendar, I suppose.
If it goes anything like the last class, it will be filled with people who also failed to get out of it. Within an hour, most people will be staring glassy-eyed at the presenter with a pathetic string of drool pooling next to the keyboard of the training PC. Seriously, there are paper towels there for specifically that.
In other news, I've grabbed another couple of photos to share with you all about life in South Carolina. Please excuse the crappy cellphone quality.


This is in the first floor men's room in my new building. My gut reaction, every time this sign greets me on my way in, is to scrunch up my forehead, point at it and say,"No! Your hands are crawling with bacteria!" I generally go with my gut on this one, too.
Who is that sign to judge me? I wash my hands dozens of times a day and use that anti-bacterial gel crap.



This "business" is about a block from my hotel. I've never eaten there. It is rarely open, actually.
Has anyone ever seen a more obvious front for the mafia?
Capone's "Not Just Pizza"? I would guess they also offer racketeering, tax evasion, prostitution and protection schemes. And maybe a calzone.