Metamucil

Fourth of July fireworks...

These things typically start with lots of pomp and anticipation beforehand, but are real slow to get started. This one was scheduled to start at 9:30pm. Five minutes after the scheduled start date, the first poof goes up in a brilliant shower of red and greens. Then...silence. Three minutes later, a second one goes up. Equally pretty. But then more silence. Another three minutes. Then a third, then prolonged silence. The crowd's hushed anticipation gradually changes to murmurs of discontent. If this were a human body, I thought, I would prescribe more dietary fiber.

Suddenly, as though my thoughts of roughage, exercise, and plenty of water were what the doctor ordered, the skies were alight with explosion after explosion of intense colors and light! And after one mighty prolonged burst of shells, the crowd erupts in applause, sighs in contentment and the show is over.

Happy Independence Day!

On the Shrink's Couch

Something about UK that always psyches me out. I wrote about this little complex almost a year ago -- but that was only when one British colleague was visiting San Jose. Today, I'm the visitor. And that magnifies and intensifies the inferiority complex.

Flashback to several hours ago to a Proudly Serving Starbucks pseudo coffee bar:

"Tall coffee, room for cream, thank you," I say.
"Pardon?" asks the barista
"Um, tall coffee, room for cream?" I reply, suddenly self-conscious.
"Come again?"
"(ah of course, perhaps they refer by cup size) Oh, a 16oz please"
"eh?"
"(how silly of me, I need to convert to metrics!) Sorry, I meant a 14.72 cubic cm coffee please."
"...???"

Finally, a bemused local colleague steps in to save me.

"16oz coffee, mate. Cheerio."
"Brilliant, here you go! Cheers!."

Mark my words, one day, I shall learn their secret handshake.

The 100 yard stare

Zzzzzz. Got into London at 6:30am. Stood in the customs queue forever, amongst throngs of ripe-smelling, irritable, summer vacationers. Once that was done, waited another 30min for the Hotel Hoppa, checked in to the hotel, napped, overslept (1hr planned, 3hr actual), showered, and headed for the office.

I chugged a can of Red Bull and chased that with a espresso, right before the meeting. Nice buzz. But hardly alert. It gave me a crazy spinning adrenaline feeling, but with only a blip of mental activity behind it. I had a persistent anxiety feeling, like those cartoon characters that know that the 400lb iron is about to fall on their head, but hoping really hard that it won't happen this time. The wide-eyed, zoned out look was reflective of that. Or so I thought.

"Hideo, your look tells me that you're not convinced. How about if I lay these data points in front of you....Still no? What if I said the cost is half of what's on this slide? No? How about if time to execution is shaved by a week?"

I didn't hear a single word the vendor was saying. But apparently we drove a hard bargain.

Be Still My Beating Heart

From a company benefits mailer I received this morn.

========
Dear HIDEO,

As a recent user of the TRP, we want to make you aware of upcoming enhancements that will provide you with a faster and easier process for submitting your applications and requesting your reimbursements! Here are the exciting enhancements you will see effective July 5, 2006:

New Fax Number:

New Processing Request Form:

=========

Even one of these by itself is cause for irrational exuberance...but BOTH a new fax number and new form???

Madness! Pure Madness I say!

I am all a-tingle with excitement!

Food for Thought

Quote heard on the morning radio:

"I like pastries, but dead animals rule!"

I dunno why, but that conjures up images of Denver to me.

Father's Day Gifts

Yesterday was father's day, so I got me some goodies from the young'uns. Rei gave me a mousepad that he made himself, which was very nicely done. It came with a worksheet that he had to fill in. Sample: My Dad ________ at work. He filled out: My Dad plays with the computer at work. I was going to correct him, but then I thought hmm...ok good point. Checking World Cup scores probably falls in that category. Playing conference call jargon bingo may cross the line as well. "Cross-functional synergies" BINGO!

My daughter Anna gave me a fridge magnet in the shape of a necktie. However, since she never saw me wear a tie in her 3+ years of consciousness, she thought it was a sock... Reminds me of the last time I wore a tie -- almost 5 years ago as a salesperson in Tokyo. I had fallen asleep on the train, mouth agape, and lurched awake just in time to miss the drool that dripped from the corner of my mouth to my new tie. On second thought, maybe a clean sock is preferable to that.

Whine and Cheese

In Chicago till Wednesday. Great eats town, according to my colleagues, so I'm pretty psyched. Sure the conference was meanigful and all, but now the Main Event. Food! But my elation was short lived. We went to a place called Bin 36, a wine affecianado place. Don't get me wrong, the place was a lively, modern joint. It's just that....ok, I'll just say it. Wine and its rituals terrify me.

I order last in a table of six. Each person sounds like they're Alex Trabek, over-emphsizing and dramatically pronouncing French and pseudo-French words. My palate is not so distinguished nor sophisticated -- color and temperature is as far as I get. Red. White. Cold. Not Cold. When it got to my turn to order, I just stammered, "Um, Ann that, that...thing you ordered? Sounds delightful. I'll have that as well." Even after I drank the white cold wine, I still have no idea what she ordered.

I sat next to another colleague who tried valiantly to give me a crash course. "Suck air in as you sip -- it opens up the wine, " she says. I did, and sucked the damned drink into my lungs and opened up my nasal passages instead. "Lively and light, balanced with pristine minerals vibrant with acidity, right?"she remarked. I can think of some people that fit that description, but as for the wine, all I could think of was, "Yes, it is indeed white. And cold!"

And all this hubub about regions! Mosel-Saar-Ruwer? I know that's in Germany somewhere, but why don't they just say Aisle 3 of the Produce Asile? Heck, *that* is where I would get *my* grapes. There's a special this week ya know.

Web 2.0.1

Have you ever innocently walked into an exec-type's office, only to encounter the Mood Ring on Blood Red, and become the innocent-bystander-hit-by-crossfire?

Worse yet, have you ever done so when the exec-type's ire was due to something you did (or forgot to do)?

Well fret no more!

Thanks to a well-placed special agent with a clear view to exec office, you can now have advanced warning.

Current weather: cloudy with a chance of sun later in the afternoon.

...URGENT ADVISORY...URGENT ADVISORY....

weather has suddenly turned turbulent. High winds, lighting, chance of meterorites.
Advise evacuation from premises.

...URGENT ADVISORY...URGENT ADVISORY....

I call it The Executive Weather Report subscription, available via RSS feed. And all it costs is lunch maybe once a week.

Venture capitalists, take a number and stand in line.

You're a Really Useful Engine!

Today is the Big Move. All of our furniture is in the old place, so we've been doing the camp thing at our new pad for the past two weeks. Spending the night in sleeping bags and using two upside-down boxes for dining tables is fun for, maybe 2 hours, tops. And those two hours are daylight two hours - stumbling around after dark is no picnic. Primitive cavemen would have discovered fire much sooner if they had flipped the light switch and found the matches in the top drawer. Fossil records and cave drawings confirm this. Be that as it may....Finally, we are about to be welcomed back to civilization. Beds, lights, chairs!

But first, a bit of awkward purgatory.

The movers are here now, doing their moving thing, but I don't quite know what I should be doing. Do I help? No...that's why I hired them. Do I make idle chatter, despite the fact that I despise it when folks do that to me when I'm busy? So I shamble aimlessly from room to room, and end up in the garage. And here is where I type away on my Treo.

Who Knew?

Am I the only one in the room that doesn't know that Laura Mercier is a cosmetic? Was it so dumb a question for me to ask, "Is she the new intern?"

Gotta be better than "Ice Age 2"

I find these Disney ice shows pretty annoying. Don't get me wrong, the kids and I really enjoyed watching the original Pixar film. Again and again and again. I can even recite Mr. Ray, the Manta Ray's little ditty as he sails across the ocean floor.

However, this..this..ice thing is where I draw the line. Let me see..former runner-up Olympians and former hockey players + stuffed animal costumes = pure family fun! Put them on skates and it's so much rapture that it should be used only for medicinal purposes!

Wait, why not take it one step further? Let's re-adapt the concept and do a live-action Nemo film!! We can call it:

"Disney on Ice presents. Finding Nemo: the Movie"

movin' movin' movin', keep them puppies rollin'

We spent the weekend doing a gradual move into our new place. Gradual, because we only moved like 5 miles down the street, and we still haven't sold the old place yet. No time pressure, but still a ton to do.

The young'uns, 6 and 3, had to entertain themselves for most of the day while we painted, cleaned, trimmed, fixed, and collapesed in an exhausted heap.

Here's a partial list of Fun Games for Kids to Play while Parents are Doing Moving Chores:

- Let's Test Daddy's Fuse
- Who Can Push Mommy's Buttons the Fastest
- Don't Touch the Wet Paint Means Go Ahead
- Fingerprint art competition on DVDs
- Hide and Forget -- challenging fun with Tools and Car keys

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

(stroking material, walking down the hall oblivious to surroundings)
Ah, my beautiful Coach leather briefcase. Why, it's simply a unique synthesis of magic and logic that stands for quality, authenticity, value and a truly aspirational, distinctive American style.


(carressing the contoured plastic case, also walking down the hall but not paying attention)
Oh, the wonders of my In Focus -- best-in-class capabilities with intuitive controls. Talk about outstanding color saturation and brightness that lasts!

CRASH!

Hey your fine-grained leather...
...in my multimedia projector!

Two great tastes that taste great together. Now featuring the new Coach In Focus projector! Someone brought one of these into a meeting yesterday. Despite the obvious synergy involved in such logical brand extentions, it appears that both Coach and InFocus have discontined their partnership. Misunderstood genius probably. But fret not! I hear that Coach is now trying to fill the void that Disney left when the rodent cartoon company announced its plans to end the tie-in with McDonald's Happy Meals! Imagine -- Double Quarter Pounder with enviro-friendly leather to-go bag.

Ain't that the truth

"Some people change when they see the light, others when that light starts to burn 'em on their arse."

- from a crotchety sales manager I used to work for. I think he added his own color to an existing one, but I still find this phrase to be a valid one...

Read Between the Lines

Ever notice how some people can speak volumes without really conveying anything?

Here's a reply to a question that was asked on a conference call this morning:

"I think we should leverage our organizational strengths to put more wood behind the arrow and to set up a cross-functional virtual team to study how we can better divide and conquer."

Translation:

"I was doing email and didn't hear your question."

Home Home on the Range

Yesterday, we officially entered into contract to buy a home. I dunno whether to be elated at the victory or apprehensive at the prospect of the larger (urrrgh) mortgage payments. So I opt to nervously stay awake.

Can't beat the neighborhood though. Manicured neighborhood, maintained through the vigilance of the 1984-like HOA Compliance secret police. Kids, it's okay to inform on your parents if they plan on installing pink plastic flamingoes on he front yard; that's evil that should be nipped at the bud, after all -- play along now! A few of the upper management types in my department also live in the same stretch. Granted, my section of the settlement is where their help lives. But given that it's what I am at work, the placement is appropriate, I guess...

Hooligan Parenting 101

Our oldest (six point six years old as he is find of saying) started Tae Kwon Do last year, and he's digging the whole thing. I thought it was kinda cool how he was learning all those little kicks and combos. With my concrete-like flexibility, I can barely kick at my kneecap-level height (oh and I was sore the next day for even attempting to do so); kids on the other hand can easily reach higher than their own heads. Ok, when their heads are only a few feet off the ground, maybe that isn't a big deal. But still!

At any rate, all this calm changed when our son progressed enuf to start doing some sparring. There's really no possibility of getting injured, as the young'uns are fully decked out in padded helmet, chest protector, arm pads and shin guards. The only possible mode of injury would be if someone stepped on them after they fell over on their backs -- the padding is thick enough that some of the smaller kids can't get back up by themselves and rock back and forth like some beached turtle until an adult helps them up. Regardless, this is when we start seeing the Ugly Parent Living Life Vicariously Through Their Unwitting Children syndrome (UPLLVTTUC for short). Parents shout like they're betting at Golden Gloves; "HIT HIM IN THE GUT! NOW HIS GUARD IS DOWN. YEAAAAAAAAHHHH! WHO'S YO' DADDY PUNK"

I was alarmed as we hope to raise our son to be less cutthroat. So I take him aside, kneel down to eye-level and calmly explain, "Rei, as long as we're having a good time, that's all that counts. Now go kick his ass."

Or you can just stub your toe on a door

We had some friends over for dinner tonite. At one point, we got to talking about injuries and how long things take to heal these days. We kept trying to one up each other in the horrific scale, but I must say that I was hopelessly outclassed. I thought I had a good one with my running aches and pulls, but he came back with fused spinal disks that cause him permanent and cold-sweat pain on a daily basis. Hard to top that.

So I asked how he deals with that kinda thing. Apparently, the typical painkillers were either too addictive or too mentally debilitating (as a programmer, it is considered bad coding posture to lay in a puddle of one's drool over the space key) to take for long. After many fits and starts, he arrived at acupuncture. He and his wife enthusiastically extolled the virtues of this technique. "If it hurts, that means it's working!!" they said. "You only feel pain for like 5 seconds!" they explain. No doubt because the patient probably blacks out from the excruciating pain by then.

After listening to their impromptu seminar, I was able to nutshell the lesson as follows: acupuncture is more painful than any other ailments that you may have. It hurts so damn much that you forget about why you came for an appointment in the first place...

Street Muzak

The unseasonal rainfall over the past 2 months has a bit of a silver lining. Washing away that house of yours so you finally get gumption to move? Or perhaps getting a little much-needed exercise in as you push your slog through the shoe-sucking mud to the mailbox? No, something much more mundane.

You see, nice weather means we start rolling down the windows as we drive. In free-moving traffic, there's a sense of release to feel the inrush of the hot, dry California air. However, there is no such thing as free-moving traffic in San Jose. We have fast-moving parking lots in lieu of freeways. Ok, not so bad if you have your own set of tunes to keep you company. If you forgot, fret not! There are always those who'd like to share with their fellow commuters. For some reason, these generous sharers seem to favor either pickup trucks, SUVs, Mustangs, or beat-up Civics. They don't want anyone to miss out, so they considerately boost the base so that one not only hears the music, but feels it as well. It resonates with one's body and gives one's teeth and skull a pleasant hum, and has even been known to loosen the bowels.

And the musical selection offered by these acoustic dignitaries will please any discerning palate. At a long traffic light yesterday, I pulled next to a blue 1995 Civic with big, fat exhaust pipes. The gentleman clad in mirrored sunglasses and a hairnet was blasting Muzak at a Spinal Tap Ours-Goes-to-Eleven volume. I wanted to glance over, but this bland re-mixed instrumental of Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach" throbbing through the windshield bespoke one thing -- don't make eye contact; look straight ahead and keep driving. This guy was obviously a playa; no need to be poseuer and blast rap. I'm so bad, I make elevator music sound ominous! Who da man? You are!!! The light turned green, and we drove into our separate evenings.

And You Thought Your Day was Bad: Postcards from the Edge

A memo from a college buddy:

> Listen,
>
> The other day I had to take a shit in Lowes (like a Home Depot) so I
> went into the bathroom to do my thing...more than a 2-wiper...and when
> I looked for the toilet paper there was none...not in the primary role
> nor the back-up. I looked at the placement of the role holder and
> figured I could reach the one in the next stall if I reached up and
> under...so I got on my knees (pants down still) and with my face
> pressed up against the stall wall tried to reach to the next
> side...nothing there either! And while I was down there, an employee
> came in to wash up...must have seen something because I made a small
> comotion trying to get back into position and could see him through
> the stall door cracks, and he was constantly looking at my stall.
> Eventually (4 minutes) he left. The only thing I had to clean up with
> was the paper Stacey sent me to the store with for ordering rugs
> (brand, dimensions, price, color), so I spent the next 2 minutes
> trying to memorize the info then sacrificed the paper for a partial
> clean. After I made sure the bathroom was clear, I 1/2 pulled my
> pants up, scurried out of the stall to the 3rd one away, filled up on
> TP, then shot back to my stall.
>
> Why does this stuff always seem to happen to me?
>
> talk to you soon,
> MSR