Despair!

We have this teleconferencing app that announces when someone dials into or out of a meeting. "Hideo has just joined the meeting" the automated robo-voice soothingly declares. It is a bit disruptive though, as the announcement cuts off all conversation in the interim. This is especially so when attendants arrive late or leave early. I usually don't miss a beat when these interruptions occur, but today was different.

I work frequently with a marketer called Hope. When she dropped off of the line to attend another meeting, she had a different effect. "Hope has just left the meeting." Even the robo-voice sounded like it was at the end of its rope. Are things truely Hope-less? Are things so bleak? And must you, auto-attendant, remind me that all we are is Dust in the Wind? I paused mid-sentence and found myself a bit despondent. But then, a colleague IMed me a YouTube video featuring a Indian toddler doing 80's dance moves (think: Breakin' 2; Electric Bugaloo ." Synopsis: A developer tries to bulldoze a community recreation center. The local breakdancers try to stop it). I put the phone on mute, enjoyed a chuckle, and life moved on; despite the fact that all hope had left the meeting.

Truth in Advertisement

I had McDonald's coffee this morn, because slabs of lard and reconstituted deep-fried potato parts taste better with it. Aside from the somewhat appalling fact that I consumed 57% of my daily recommended sodium intake before 7:15am, it was an altogether pleasant experience. And the coffee wasn't half bad. This is different, I thought to myself. But What?

Oooh me me me me! My styrofoam cup virtually trembled with excitement, like the way a class of 1st graders would react when asked, "Who wants to say screw school and have recess all day?" So I oblige and look at the colorful wrap.

Premium Roast Coffee! Fresh Brewed! Custom Blended. Richer. Bolder. More Robust*! Caution, I'm HOT!

Wow! You're right, styrofoam cup! You do taste better! Even with the qualifier small print on the bottom of the cup that says *Compared with Previous Blends, Mileage May Vary, you're okay in my book.

Enlightenment

After months of being a recipient, I decide that I will take that bold step and use the Office Productivity Enhancements at my disposal.

"Hi there, this is Hideo, leavin' ya a voice mail so you get this first thing in the morn. Huge favor, can you chase down those from last week for me? Details via email. Peace out."

Tappity tappity tap:

======
Subject: wrt to voicemail
Body: Just following up with those codes. Need' em by noon! I'll swing by
======

hm..may as well copy her epage address so she gets the text on her pager too. Click, done.
Resend frequency? Lemme see...how about every 10min? Click, done.

Oh wait, there's her car in the parking lot. Scribble. Nothing says urgent like a post-it on a windshield!


15 minutes later, the needed info arrives. All this technology has made office life so productive! I bet in years gone by, it woulda taken weeks to stalk..uh, coax, rather, someone to provide info via carrier pirgeon and mimeograph!

Quote of the Day -- Zoinks!

"Society is always taken by surprise
at any new example of common sense."
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Pressure!

Attended a back to school night for our son. I remember these things to be a fairly laid-back, if unstimulating affairs, wherein parental types would meet their offspring's teacher, and give permission to said educator to smack little Johnny upside the head if he gets outta line. The 2006 version was...much more intense. Difference between getting bopped in the head with a balloon and getting decapitated by an 18 wheeler trcuk while leaning too far out the passenger side window.

Highlights:

- 6 year olds will be broken out into five groups, ranked by ability. Highest group will be given more challenging homework, while the lowest group will be issued bibs and identifying placards around their necks.

- Stressed Dad (me!) sneaking a swig of Rockstar energy drink to keep up with frenzied air

-Parental types are hopped up on stimulants. In most civilized corners of the world, the phrase "Any questions?" is universal code for "I am done with my presentation. Let us all go home." Not spoken here. At least 8 hands shot up and our hapless instructor was peppered with questions like:

"What if we don't agree with your ranking?"
Answer: Litigation

"How much homework?"
Answer: No more than 4 hours per evening

"How do we fit THAT into Johnny's soccer, swimming, French, and ballet lessons?"
Answer: Sign him up for Time Management lessons

"Will there be appetizers served after this meeting?"
Answer: No


- Stressed Dad switching to drinking something stronger.

New Digs

Brand new locale! I woke up earlier than usual today, knowing that changes are a foot. No longer will I sit in cube J7-1, staring at the drab fabric of my 3.2 sided workspace. No longer will I be confined! Freedom to let my mind roam free, the way it was intended to be!! Fly away mind! Not too far though. Still need ya.

Yessiree, today, I plunked down into a brand new cube; Building 8, cube D3-1. This new arrangement has me facing (be still my beating heart) TOWARD the central hallway, and has me 4ft closer to the printer/copier. Oh yeah, who's the MAN now? Yeah,buddy, those are MY printouts. I can hear you rifling around in there looking for your own stuff. Well hands off! Use the facilities in your own cube slum neighborhood. Punk.

All in the Definitions

Ever have a deadline that really isn't? Deadline: Make sure you supply feedback by Friday, the memo may say. Then the next Monday, you get a followup saying; Final Final Deadline, cob today! With these, I could probably wait till Wednesday, send in some comments, and still make it into the final edits.

But I think we do the word 'deadline' an injustice. Remembering back to my high school English class days, I can distinctly remember that I got this question wrong because the sweat made the ink on the palm of my hand illegible.

From the Random House Dictionary:

"The word deadline first appeared as an American coinage that referred to the line around a military prison beyond which soldiers were authorized to shoot escaping prisoners. According to Lossing's History of the Civil War (1868): "Seventeen feet from the inner stockade was the 'dead-line', over which no man could pass and live."

Be that as it may be, I see the need for a new taxonomy to describe the modern, soft, not-so-dead deadline. Henceforth, dates that can be pushed aside will be referred to as "Hurtlines" (British spelling "Pokeline").

Smoke and Mirrors

Some folks worry too much. Not because they don't trust that things won't turn out ok or anything, but because they just...need to know everything. Don't get me wrong, the world needs detailed folk like that. Otherwise, how could we trust the label on the cereal box that says, "box packed by weight. Volume may differ because content may have settled?" I'll tell you why! It's because the ultra-detailed have counted the individual cereal flakes. Thus the world is safe for democracy.

But sometimes, one needs a little protection if one becomes a target for said detailed folk. I've since developed this handy Gantt chart as a first line of defense.
I've found that flashing this on my screen and saying, "oh yeah, we're right along addressing resource constraints on critical path and exactly at runrate completion percentages," makes these folk walk away with a dreamy look of satisfaction. Give it a whirl!

Deep Thoughts

Why do you run, Hideo?

Because it feels so dang good to stop.

Live Long and Prosper and Prosper and Prosper

Talk about a rich guest line-up! Bill Clinton, Lance Armstrong, and Coolio all played at the company Las Vegas conference. Bill Clinton in particular, had the air of elder statesman, and his words carried the weight of experience. And his secret service folk carried the weight of concealed sub-machine guns with armor piercing rounds.

The coup de grace though, was the suprise appearance of Dr. Spock playing his Leonard Nimoy alter ego. Don't get me wrong, as any hi-tech working male in his 30s, I totally ate the performance up. You da man, Spock! Save them whales, baby! I remember the standing O that he got more than what the preceding speech contained, actually...

Be that as it may -- I know he rakes in cash just by saying his trademark phrase and flashing that hand gesture; but I wonder if a small piece of himself doesn't cringe into a ball and jab itself with sharp psychic stakes every time he accepts payment for standing on stage with the pointy-ear prothesis and uttering those immortal words?

Benevolent Brother

The geniuses in the bowels of the engineering labs gave all 15,000 of us radio-frequency ID tags to wear at Las Vegas. I guess you need this kind of thing when you're tracking attendance for that many people, and I applaud the ingenuity of the system. How cool is it that it knows which sessions I attended and that it generates feedback forms only for those?

But then I got to thinking. I hope it only tracks attendance, and not my whereabouts?

Picture a scene in Command Bunker 251. "Hmm..I see that employee#68034 is spending an inordinate amount of time in Stall 2 of the 3rd floor restroom. And the frequency! Three times in the past hour! He has either had too much celebratory imbibements the evening before, or perhaps we would be wise to avoid what he ordered for dinner last nite. In any case, we should enlist employee#68034 in any appropriate sanitation requirements in said stall."

on a more serious note...

Airflight these days is mass transit -- I'd put as much thought into hopping on a flight as I would to hop on a bus to the next city. Actually less, even, because I have no idea where the closest Greyhound station is nor where I can buy a ticket.

So it really rattles me when these bombing-attempt things hit the news. It just jars me abruptly awake; things that I take for granted is no longer so. It's the emotional equivalent of your parents sitting you down and saying, "Son, we think you're ready to hear this. You're really the heir to Tasmandia, and your people want you back. Oh by the way, your rent is due."

Tuesday, me, and 12,000 of my closest friends fly into Nevada for a massive conference. We'll all go thru the heightened security and rigorous checkpoints, and converge from multiple points on the globe. I think the latest security rule is: no liquids. Pretty soon, we'll be required to take sleeping pills so we're out cold and can't cause mischief. No Consciousness Allowed. But I'm not complaining. Here's hoping that we all have a safe and uneventful transit!

Ponder that, yo

I can almost see the metaphorical lightbulb go off in her head. A moment ago, a tough question stumped the speaker into an unsteady silence. But stumped no more!

"It's behavioral stuff that's the bread, and not the peanut butter, and explodes in a viral fashion!"

Heads nod sagely throughout the meeting room. The light cast by the projector add dramatic shadow and contrast to their faces.

I'm confused. That statement conjures up images of a sandwich left out in the sun too long, perhaps at a picnic. Worse, I picture myself eating that tidbit, and experiencing the subsequent "explosion in viral fashion" in my digestive tract.

But I don't wanna look dumb. So I nod sagely too.

So that's how it eats

My daughter has those nauseatingly adorable Hello Kitty things on almost everything she owns. Pencils, pillowcases, backpacks, shoes, shirts, toothbrushes, bug spray, you name it, it's there. I've always been somewhat troubled with that stylized cat, and now I can place my finger on exactly what it was. In every depiction, Hello Kitty does not have a mouth. How does that thing eat?

Now with this drawing, I know! And I can once again sleep at night...

Narnia Other Door Please

As I wandered around looking for a conference room to commandeer for the morning, I noticed a mysterious addition to the floor. Now that I think of it, there were some Workplace Resource types milling about and changing signage to conference rooms and closets.

Where there was once signage for a Janitor Closet, an ominous sounding Field Productivity sign took its place. I remember what the closet used to look like -- identical in size to a nook one would find in his/her (diversity in writing good. subliminal training sinking in. suddenly want to drink more Coke) home wherein one would store a mop, a broom, and perhaps a duster or two. But now! Field Productivity! I asked around but no one seems to know what the new room is for. All they know is that the room seems to get heavier traffic near quarter end. And rumor has it that salesfolk who visit the Productivity Closet, tend to emerge a superstar...or not at all.

River Runs Thru It

I dunno why, but I really can't stay awake on planes. Try as I may, I rarely stay up past the announcement of the Very Important Announcement that explains all the safety features on the Airbus 319. On this flight, I got up to the part of the floatation device and the pull-cord, but blacked out during the demonstration. To this day, I'm not sure what the pull-string does. Since we'd be hurtling toward the sea at roughly 300 mph, I imagine that I'd pull the string and out pops a mini-bottle of Wild Turkey. Who knows? Not I.

Falling asleep is a good thing, and I don't mind; it's the perfect way to wile away the hours on a long flight. Every now and then though, when I'm totally out (out out as in REM sleep mode during Derivative Pricing class), my jaws go slack, and my mouth falls agape like a trapdoor. This used to be problematic on road trips with friends because I'd become a target for three-pointers using airline peanuts. That was a long time ago -- planes don't serve peanuts anymore. At any rate, the peanuts were helpful in that it prevented me from staying in mouth-agape-out-cold mode. These days, with no one to roust me, my mouth stays open. And sometimes (like 15 minutes ago), I wake up with a start as a stream of drool curls around the corner of my mouth. I usually catch these stealthy streams before it has a chance to go very far (foiled again! would've gotten away with it if it weren't for you pesky kids!), but today, the NORAD defense systems did not kick in on time. The dribble ran unabated past my chin before I was able to wake up. Worst part is, I instinctively tried to recover the errant stream with a sluuuurrrrrpt sound, but did nothing more than attract attention to myself. I imagined that everyone was looking my way, music scratching to an abrupt halt in a old time western saloon as the Stranger rides into town. For about 15 minutes, I stay motionless with my eyes closed, hoping that when I do open my eyes, I won't find the lady next to me pointing and laughing...

But life in the airplane returns to normal, and I sit in seat 10C writing this blog.

What's in a Name?

Dashing to a meeting, I ran into an exec from my new department. I'm awful with names, as an earlier post illustrates. I sat there for an interminable snapshot in time wracking my brain. The funny thing is, I could totally see her email alias floating in my head. I just couldn't remember how to pronounce her name. Her name is spelled "Jere" but I couldn't for the dwindling life of me remember if it's pronounced "Jerry" like Seinfeld or "Jeer" as in what I get for not remembering. So I compromise -- "Good morning Jeeeery."

As polished as she is, there was only the briefest flicker of front-desk-get-me-security before she returned the greeting with perfect pronounciation on my somehwhat harder to remember name...

Part of a Nutritional Breakfast

This morn was the first day I participated in a community runner's group. We got together at 6am, which waking up aside, was refreshing -- especially given the utterly ridiculous children's-toys-melting-on-the-asphalt weather we've been having.

The exercise-induces endophrines were short-lived however. In my haste to get my butt out of bed this morn, I had forgotten to pack my shower shoes; those cheap rubber flip-flop beach sandals often worn, well, on the beach. Why does that matter? Well, if you have to ask, then you have never had the pleasure of utilizing a public shower facility. Picture the delectable sensation of running one's toes through the fragrant mildewy slime on the bottom of a trash bin that has been sitting outside with the remnants of last week's dinner party. Yum! That's why shower shoes. ..

Whatchoo lookin' at???

Reminds me of the expression a fellow commuter had on her face as she looked up from her Blackberry and saw the tail end of a Mustang veer across her bumper.

Guru on High

Ok so I'm a food 'ho. Buy me a Chik-Fil-A (We Didn't Invent the Chicken, Just the Chicken Sandwich) and I will arrive at the meeting 1 hour early and help set up the room. I'm also pretty non-picky with what I eat - call me equal opportunity.

But last nite, I met the Masta. Well not met, actually, as I was too in awe to speak. The halo of greatness was just too blinding.

There I was, back in the bustling metropolis of Raleigh. I ordered room service - a reuben sandwich with fries. Couldn't finish the dang thing, so I shoved the tray thru the door and gave it no further thought. A few hours later, got a hankerin' for some coffee so I meandered down to the lobby for a fix. As I was leaving, I saw that the remnants of my meal was still in the hallway. I get my coffee and head back to my room for an exciting night of white-knuckled adrenaline pumpin' email cleanup. That's when I saw him. Youngish guy, about my age, but perhaps 20 or so pounds heavier. Untucked, slightly greasy looking button-down flopping defiantly over a tech company giveaway tshirt. He reached down to my leftovers, picked out a french fry, and popped it into his mouth. "ugh mustard. I hate mustard," he muttered. He then adjusted the strap on his laptop case, and strode casually down the hall. And like a cowboy riding into the sunset, the mystery stranger shuffled down the dim hotel hallway. I stood for a moment in awed silence, with only the flickering
flourecents witness to this cosmic moment...

This my friends, is why I travel.