There is a new pagan ritual that is making the rounds in the cubicle jungles. Exec-Watching. High priests and priestesses interpret the mysterious sayings and actions of the Denizens of Mount Olympus and attempt to soothsay what is in store...
"Hmm. Jack usually hits the restroom after his second cup of coffee. Yet today, he is still going strong after his third...?"
"This could only mean one thing! He is signaling that he needs to conserve his reserves and not piss it away just because he can. New expense management and budget cuts are coming!"
"No, you uncouth savage, your spirits do you wrong. Jack is signaling optimism that he can hold out through tough times and that we should do the same. Spend wisely, yes, but invest to get ahead!"
...several meetings later...
"Boy, Jack has been in the restroom for a long time?"
"And it's not even after lunch! This could only mean one thing...."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Life is a Highway...!
It was pretty chilly this morn. Not by any northeastern standards of course, but compared to the 70 degree F weather we had yesterday, 45 F was kinda chilly. So as I puttered along on highway 101 this morning, I was genuinely impressed at witnessing a convertible Mustang with the top-down.
About 30 feet out:
I can see hair streaming wildly, body language screaming, Hey Man, I Shave with a Bowie Knife and Eat Raw Steak for Breakfast. Wind-chill factor be damned! I'm a Man's Man dammit!
About 10 feet out:
I see the driver's hands rapping rhythmically on the leather steering wheel. Slap Slap Slap at around 120 beats/min. He's rockin' something fierce. I can't make out the music because I have my windows rolled up and have the AC on like the pampered weakling that I am. But I know, Top Down Man is living his righteous tunes. Body language screaming, AC/DC like, Highway to Hell, Baby!!!
Viewed as I pass on the left:
the Top Down Man's eyes have tears streaming out the sides. Some visible crust forming as the wind sucks away the moisture. Snot is gracefully spraying off to the left and drying in a limegreen latticework on the left side of his miserable-looking face. Body language screaming: Where is the nearest $%^$& Ford Dealer? My &^%^%# roof is broken and it won't deploy!!!
About 30 feet out:
I can see hair streaming wildly, body language screaming, Hey Man, I Shave with a Bowie Knife and Eat Raw Steak for Breakfast. Wind-chill factor be damned! I'm a Man's Man dammit!
About 10 feet out:
I see the driver's hands rapping rhythmically on the leather steering wheel. Slap Slap Slap at around 120 beats/min. He's rockin' something fierce. I can't make out the music because I have my windows rolled up and have the AC on like the pampered weakling that I am. But I know, Top Down Man is living his righteous tunes. Body language screaming, AC/DC like, Highway to Hell, Baby!!!
Viewed as I pass on the left:
the Top Down Man's eyes have tears streaming out the sides. Some visible crust forming as the wind sucks away the moisture. Snot is gracefully spraying off to the left and drying in a limegreen latticework on the left side of his miserable-looking face. Body language screaming: Where is the nearest $%^$& Ford Dealer? My &^%^%# roof is broken and it won't deploy!!!
2009!
Ok, time to dust this blog off. New year's resolution -- at least one new post per week!
Phew, quota met for this week.
Phew, quota met for this week.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Citius, Altius, Fortius
Some of these sports are kinda arbitrary. Take diving for example. Travel back with me 80 years when two drunk Englishmen were deciding on who can do the jump off a cliff while doing the maddest tricks.
"I say old chap, what do you say we make a rule that says whoever makes the largest splash is declared winner of this duel?"
"Splendid, my good man. I just ate my tea and crumpets so I daresay my belly will not be up to the task. What if we decide on who makes the *smallest* splash?"
"Tallyho!"
If that conversation had transpired differently, we may have seen a sport wherein divers are recognized by their trademark roundness and train for the amount of pain a textbook bellyflop causes upon impact...
Twitter Revolution
Boy it has been a while -- like 4 months since I blogged. That Twitter thingamabob just seems much more convenient. Dash it off from my cell phone, then voila'.
But I gotta tell ya, the 120 letter limit does put a cramp on what I can write about and how.
Though I have learned to express deep philosophical conveyances through the Twitter medium.
Observe:
hidework: u smell somethin funny?
emily@hidwork: y kinda. maybe Frank + TBell
frank@hidwork: sorry. my bad. sweet smell of success
But I gotta tell ya, the 120 letter limit does put a cramp on what I can write about and how.
Though I have learned to express deep philosophical conveyances through the Twitter medium.
Observe:
hidework: u smell somethin funny?
emily@hidwork: y kinda. maybe Frank + TBell
frank@hidwork: sorry. my bad. sweet smell of success
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wisdom
18 messages into this Twitter thing. Ya know...it IS kinda fun. But I still can't shake the feeling that this is the digital equivalent of picking one's nose at a slow traffic light. I mean..do ya REALLY want to know what I'm doing? Or what the voices in my head compel me to do?
I'm thinking that this may be one of those things that define our decade, but will seem funny a few decades from now. Remember when you had that BIG hair, that huge brick of a cell phone, listened to Duran Duran, and rushed home to see the VHS tape of Miami Vice? Yeah, those 80's...! Flash forward to 2028: Remember when we thought Blade Runner was fiction and not prophesy, physically commuted to work, and thought that informing the public of your bowel movement schedule is fun? Those 2008 years -- what a hoot!
Huh? You don't remember me with big hair? Of course not, I'm talkin' about *you*. I, of course, had a mullet.
I'm thinking that this may be one of those things that define our decade, but will seem funny a few decades from now. Remember when you had that BIG hair, that huge brick of a cell phone, listened to Duran Duran, and rushed home to see the VHS tape of Miami Vice? Yeah, those 80's...! Flash forward to 2028: Remember when we thought Blade Runner was fiction and not prophesy, physically commuted to work, and thought that informing the public of your bowel movement schedule is fun? Those 2008 years -- what a hoot!
Huh? You don't remember me with big hair? Of course not, I'm talkin' about *you*. I, of course, had a mullet.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Hey Twit!
Dragged kickin' and screamin' from my 8-track and fax machine.
I finally have a Twitter account.
I thought long and hard about my first histroric foray into this brave 24/7 connected word. A bit of JFK? Maybe something classical? Inspirational? What to write?
Here's where my ponderings lead me:
I finally have a Twitter account.
I thought long and hard about my first histroric foray into this brave 24/7 connected word. A bit of JFK? Maybe something classical? Inspirational? What to write?
Here's where my ponderings lead me:
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Ready....aim...
Try as I may, I realize that bad guys have a 100% effective defense against me.
Simply wear a target or bullseye -- I won't be able to hit it.
Not sure why, considering all the training I put in during my formative years...
Simply wear a target or bullseye -- I won't be able to hit it.
Not sure why, considering all the training I put in during my formative years...
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Salonpas
Because of my ninja training, I'm often forced into using various medicinal crutches to get my creaky body through the work day. It's not that I'm undergoing double-secret probation level training -- it's just that my body has acclimated to sitting in a damn chair for 10 hours a day, using only my forearm, fingers, and eye socket muscles.
At any rate, I often use a stick-on pain reliever called Salonpas. Take a hot shower, stick a few of those on your back, get a good night's rest, and you're good to go. Especially effective, the instructions say, if taken with a shot of Wild Turkey. With a bit of a chaser afterwards.
I usually buy these things at the local pharmacy -- Longs Drugs or Walgreens. Last night, a colleague let me in on a little secret. Apparently, the Asian supermarkets carry the Original version, which is much more potent than that found in the American stores. What a scoop! I immediately checked out the Japanese website for the Salonpas product. My translational ability is a bit rusty, but it seems to mention something about insect removal from car windshields. THAT is what gives it the muscle-relaxing effect no doubt. And if I'm not mistaken, it says something about taking the used product and discarding it in the recycle bin OR to use to steep a refreshing cup of tea.
At any rate, I often use a stick-on pain reliever called Salonpas. Take a hot shower, stick a few of those on your back, get a good night's rest, and you're good to go. Especially effective, the instructions say, if taken with a shot of Wild Turkey. With a bit of a chaser afterwards.
I usually buy these things at the local pharmacy -- Longs Drugs or Walgreens. Last night, a colleague let me in on a little secret. Apparently, the Asian supermarkets carry the Original version, which is much more potent than that found in the American stores. What a scoop! I immediately checked out the Japanese website for the Salonpas product. My translational ability is a bit rusty, but it seems to mention something about insect removal from car windshields. THAT is what gives it the muscle-relaxing effect no doubt. And if I'm not mistaken, it says something about taking the used product and discarding it in the recycle bin OR to use to steep a refreshing cup of tea.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Plans!
Some days, it feels like everyone around is 'in the know' but I, for some reason, am not. Folks nod to each other across conference rooms, sharing a deep insight through line-of-sight. People walk by on the way back from coffee, shrug their shoulders and smile knowingly. As I sign for a package, the mail guy gestured ever-so-slightly with his chin, indicating that he totally hears where I'm at, yo.
It was driving me crazy. So today, I determined that it will be different. As the old commercial goes, "I'm not a wise man, but I play one on TV."
It'll play out like this:
"...and in conclusion, we are on track and will hit our April 19th window," my colleague would say triumphantly. "Any questions?"
"Any questions indeed!" I'd reply, nodding till my neck cramped up.
"Huh?"
"Oh, no no, never mind. You did great. Hey, don't every change. Oh yeah, and if anyone
asks, just remember that the Road to Riches passes through Chicago."
"..Chicago?? What's that have to do with.."
"Say no more," I'd interrupt, finger to my lips. "You'll see why this and the number 57 has other significance besides the number of ingredients in Heinz ketchup.""
All I need to do is to keep that up for a few weeks and I will likely develop a cult following that will grow and undoubtedly escalate till I'm forced into a terse standoff with ATF and the FBI in my armoured compound in the Appalachian foothills...
It was driving me crazy. So today, I determined that it will be different. As the old commercial goes, "I'm not a wise man, but I play one on TV."
It'll play out like this:
"...and in conclusion, we are on track and will hit our April 19th window," my colleague would say triumphantly. "Any questions?"
"Any questions indeed!" I'd reply, nodding till my neck cramped up.
"Huh?"
"Oh, no no, never mind. You did great. Hey, don't every change. Oh yeah, and if anyone
asks, just remember that the Road to Riches passes through Chicago."
"..Chicago?? What's that have to do with.."
"Say no more," I'd interrupt, finger to my lips. "You'll see why this and the number 57 has other significance besides the number of ingredients in Heinz ketchup.""
All I need to do is to keep that up for a few weeks and I will likely develop a cult following that will grow and undoubtedly escalate till I'm forced into a terse standoff with ATF and the FBI in my armoured compound in the Appalachian foothills...
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Et tu, Juan Valdez?
Ah Juan Valdez. Symbol of quality and the finest that Columbian beans has to offer. Imagine my delight when stumbling upon the packs of vaccum-packed coffee grinds newly installed in the office breakroom. Eureka! No more brownish sludge! No more all-purpose ink-remover/windshield fluid/caffenated beverage combo!
I was giddy with anticipation -- "Siganature Blend," the packet proudly proclaimed.
My joy was short lived. The Signature, apparently, was that of Juan's donkey, not of Mr. Valdez himself. One thing this new blend did, however, is to cure my dry-eye. I found myself tearing up as I suppressed a retch reflex when I downed the sludgy, acidic drink...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
And you thought MS Office was Bloatware
And here I was, complaining about how Excel is total bloatware.
Turns out, I just didn't know how to use it correctly!
Turns out, I just didn't know how to use it correctly!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Back when I was your age.....!
What's up with all these articles on how wild and crazy these so-called Generation Y folk are? And how Corporate America had better shape up to receive these folk into our warm embrace?
I'm in the tail portion of Gen X, and I seemed to have missed the part about folks fretting about what we want and care about. Now, I'm being unfair of course! Of course people cared back then, too!
Ah the memories of my first job out of college...early 90s, beginning of the 1st bubble:
Workplace ergonomics:
"Hideo, you can either have the chair with the missing third coaster, the one with mystery stains, or the stack of copy paper."
or the ever-catchy, "It's awfully cold outside. That stack of copier paper is looking real good in comparison, no?"
Flexible hours:
"You can come in as EARLY as you want, and stay as LATE as you want!"
Workplace fitness plan:
"Go run down the street and bring back coffee. Doughnuts will get you more points. GO!"
Family:
"WE are your family now"
Compensation:
"Yes, there is. Any more questions, noob?"
Sigh...trips down memory lane always bring back fond thoughts.
I'm in the tail portion of Gen X, and I seemed to have missed the part about folks fretting about what we want and care about. Now, I'm being unfair of course! Of course people cared back then, too!
Ah the memories of my first job out of college...early 90s, beginning of the 1st bubble:
Workplace ergonomics:
"Hideo, you can either have the chair with the missing third coaster, the one with mystery stains, or the stack of copy paper."
or the ever-catchy, "It's awfully cold outside. That stack of copier paper is looking real good in comparison, no?"
Flexible hours:
"You can come in as EARLY as you want, and stay as LATE as you want!"
Workplace fitness plan:
"Go run down the street and bring back coffee. Doughnuts will get you more points. GO!"
Family:
"WE are your family now"
Compensation:
"Yes, there is. Any more questions, noob?"
Sigh...trips down memory lane always bring back fond thoughts.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Devil's in the Details
Situation:
When you want to bail from a meeting wherein your role would be to say "hi" at the start, and silently logoff near the end, what's the best way to do so?
Options:
1. Mystery. Just decline the Outlook invite and move on with your life. It's a nice day out, get some sports in. Take a breath of fresh outside air and promptly return to your dimly lit dungeon for some xtreme xls action.
2. Passive-Aggressive. Attend, but hammer away at email. Rehearse the "Sorry, I must have had you on mute" response and keep it on quick-draw.
3. Decline, with details. "I'm oozing greenish pus from festering sores. So I can't attend, sorry."
4. Miss the meeting. Blame it on Daylight Savings Time (you can milk this one all week). Or your trip to East Kazfanistanbul, wherein the time zone diff is exactly 15 hours 22 min ahead of Pacific.
When you want to bail from a meeting wherein your role would be to say "hi" at the start, and silently logoff near the end, what's the best way to do so?
Options:
1. Mystery. Just decline the Outlook invite and move on with your life. It's a nice day out, get some sports in. Take a breath of fresh outside air and promptly return to your dimly lit dungeon for some xtreme xls action.
2. Passive-Aggressive. Attend, but hammer away at email. Rehearse the "Sorry, I must have had you on mute" response and keep it on quick-draw.
3. Decline, with details. "I'm oozing greenish pus from festering sores. So I can't attend, sorry."
4. Miss the meeting. Blame it on Daylight Savings Time (you can milk this one all week). Or your trip to East Kazfanistanbul, wherein the time zone diff is exactly 15 hours 22 min ahead of Pacific.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
boo! Now what will keep the bugs away?
Turns out that this whole Airborne thing was nothing more than a sham. For the two of you that don't know what Airborne is, its promise can be summed up as this: Airborne keeps you safe from you two in aisle three that keep hacking that dry cough and sneezing into the headrest in front of you. Yeah, and I saw you wipe your hand on the upholstery. I'm on to you, Patient Zero.
At any rate, it turns out that the whole darn thing was a pack of lies. The company fessed up, and now owes us suckers some compensation. Another piece of innocence lost forever. Next thing you know, someone will tell me that using a shiny silver Mac won't grant me instant street cred and irresistible cool.
At any rate, it turns out that the whole darn thing was a pack of lies. The company fessed up, and now owes us suckers some compensation. Another piece of innocence lost forever. Next thing you know, someone will tell me that using a shiny silver Mac won't grant me instant street cred and irresistible cool.
Monday, March 03, 2008
the nation's drug epidemic
"hullo"
"hi, I'd like to make a reservation with Mr. Jamis"
"sorry, miss, you have the wrong number. My name is Hideo. This is my cell phone."
"is Mr. Jamis available?"
"well, no. I'm Hideo and you have the wrong number."
"when will he be back?"
"I don't know. You have the wron...."
"Ok, how about Tuesday?"
"no."
"Wednesday?"
"you know what?....Mr. Jamis got himself in a freak golf cart accident. I've been asked to clear his calendar for the rest of the month. Have a nice day."
click
"hi, I'd like to make a reservation with Mr. Jamis"
"sorry, miss, you have the wrong number. My name is Hideo. This is my cell phone."
"is Mr. Jamis available?"
"well, no. I'm Hideo and you have the wrong number."
"when will he be back?"
"I don't know. You have the wron...."
"Ok, how about Tuesday?"
"no."
"Wednesday?"
"you know what?....Mr. Jamis got himself in a freak golf cart accident. I've been asked to clear his calendar for the rest of the month. Have a nice day."
click
Friday, February 22, 2008
From the Lost Scrolls of Seoul
In training with the kids, I've stumbled upon an ancient Korean secret...
...the Universal Kick!
This forbidden technique refers to a state of kicking nirvana wherein the roundhouse, front, and side kick are indistinguishable from one another. And it can only attack at shin level for some reason. And involves the ingestion of an Advil smoothie or three to compensate for the uber-sore hamstrings and obliques. And can only be performed by those above 30.
Watch out, evildoers! Combined with the Quivering Palm of Doom, nothing short of an 8 year old can stop me.
...the Universal Kick!
This forbidden technique refers to a state of kicking nirvana wherein the roundhouse, front, and side kick are indistinguishable from one another. And it can only attack at shin level for some reason. And involves the ingestion of an Advil smoothie or three to compensate for the uber-sore hamstrings and obliques. And can only be performed by those above 30.
Watch out, evildoers! Combined with the Quivering Palm of Doom, nothing short of an 8 year old can stop me.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
...and life to go!
oh yeah. I'm sore. And I was as coordinated as a drunken salaryman stumbling out of a karoke bar after one too many. Ah, yesterday's lesson; the one take away I have is, "Boy I'm...not good."
Those were muscles I definitely don't use often. Last time I used those fibers were when I had a cup of Grande mocha in one hand, my laptop in another, and I jammed my foot into the security door before it closed shut.
No longer 25, but guess I'll hold on to 35 for as long as I can!
Those were muscles I definitely don't use often. Last time I used those fibers were when I had a cup of Grande mocha in one hand, my laptop in another, and I jammed my foot into the security door before it closed shut.
No longer 25, but guess I'll hold on to 35 for as long as I can!
Friday, February 08, 2008
Because I'm a ninja that's why
I took the plunge. I'm gonna join my kids in training. I've been putting it off forever, using excuses like, "Well Daddy would LOVE to train with you, but they won't let him. Not since they outlawed his siganture Quivering Palm of Doom (tm) !!"
But excuses no more. I start Monday at 7:15pm. In the meantime, the other parents sent me a training video to study over the weekend:
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Voices voices voices
One of the signs that I'm no longer 25 is that it takes me a lot longer to heal from overzealous workouts. So on days where things hurt, I'll spend time hanging out at my gym's sauna.
There, I make it a point to just sit there in tepid, silent misery, sweat dripping into my eyes. Why? Because it's hot. It's a sauna, of course I'm gonna sweat. Pay attention. Oh yeah, the silent part. I do so because I grew up heeding the warning not to talk to strangers. As I've grown older, I've added to that truism and qualified that statement to apply especially to strangers when all they're wearing is a towel around their waists. But I digress.
There were four of us silent, suffering folk in the room that day. For the first 5 minutes, no one said a word. Then suddenly, one of the gentlemen in the room got a manic, pupil-dilated look about him and started to rant. Postage stamps are a conspiracy! There are cameras on me every second of the day; I can FEEL it! This sub-prime mess is a direct result of meddling by the Bio-Fuel industry! He paused only as long as it took his flared nostrils time to inhale a gulp of stale hot sauna air. Then he dove right into his tirade again.
Hey I'm the first to admit that the old fillings in my molars pick up coded military transmissions as well as an occasional country/western station, but this guy was outta control. The three of us, presumably normal, made quick eye contact with each other, and simultaneously checked our wrists. I wasn't wearing a watch, but it didn't matter. Hoo! Already 6min and 42 seconds...late for my conference call. The other two guys mumbled some variation of that and we stumbled over each other to get out of the room. I glanced over my shoulder to see if crazy man was following (which in horror films, guarantee that you get an axe in your cranium). He wasn't. But he looked at us, spat, and said, "Yeaaaaah THAT's what I thought!"
Unnerved as I was, I couldn't help but wonder. Are there really microchips in postage stamps that the pork belly-hair spray industrial complex uses to track my DNA?
There, I make it a point to just sit there in tepid, silent misery, sweat dripping into my eyes. Why? Because it's hot. It's a sauna, of course I'm gonna sweat. Pay attention. Oh yeah, the silent part. I do so because I grew up heeding the warning not to talk to strangers. As I've grown older, I've added to that truism and qualified that statement to apply especially to strangers when all they're wearing is a towel around their waists. But I digress.
There were four of us silent, suffering folk in the room that day. For the first 5 minutes, no one said a word. Then suddenly, one of the gentlemen in the room got a manic, pupil-dilated look about him and started to rant. Postage stamps are a conspiracy! There are cameras on me every second of the day; I can FEEL it! This sub-prime mess is a direct result of meddling by the Bio-Fuel industry! He paused only as long as it took his flared nostrils time to inhale a gulp of stale hot sauna air. Then he dove right into his tirade again.
Hey I'm the first to admit that the old fillings in my molars pick up coded military transmissions as well as an occasional country/western station, but this guy was outta control. The three of us, presumably normal, made quick eye contact with each other, and simultaneously checked our wrists. I wasn't wearing a watch, but it didn't matter. Hoo! Already 6min and 42 seconds...late for my conference call. The other two guys mumbled some variation of that and we stumbled over each other to get out of the room. I glanced over my shoulder to see if crazy man was following (which in horror films, guarantee that you get an axe in your cranium). He wasn't. But he looked at us, spat, and said, "Yeaaaaah THAT's what I thought!"
Unnerved as I was, I couldn't help but wonder. Are there really microchips in postage stamps that the pork belly-hair spray industrial complex uses to track my DNA?
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