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May 04, 2006
Long Overdue: After Four Years, The Employee Is Let Go
There is, of course, a feeling of profound personal disappointment. It is tempered, though, by the emerging realization the the weekend job, and the seven-days-a-week work routine it entailed, had to end at some point. I'm looking forward to weekend bike riding, watching pro football games in the home theater, and actually seeing what my neighborhood looks like on a Sunday morning. This tweaked poem from Stephen Dunn sums up how I felt after receiving the news.
nor gone, her mind cut loose And he felt the weight of caring a freedom some of his friends knew, September 05, 2005
Between Dreams
It's all so hard to fathom, this state of persistent sloth that's had me gone for so long now. This must be a fatigued obliviousness that likeminded people are familiar with; having struggled to stalemate the core, paralyzing bitterness of the past year, we are cognizant that the world marches on around us, and yet detached. Visions and wanderings, headless. With this post, GeckoBlue will cease. I will resume blogging elsewhere when I am more myself, in May, 2006. May 13, 2005
I'm Back
I've been AWOL from the blog for about two months now, working on two mutually exclusive ventures, one the result of hard work, the other a complete surprise, and both with, I'd say, a 50-50 chance of success. When I know more, maybe you will too. March 06, 2005
In an Instant
It's really strange how, in the moment prior to an accident, your perception of reality speeds up and everything around you seems to slow to a crawl. And it's extraordinary that, when you see the accident coming, your singular focus becomes the physics of avoiding or minimizing the imminent physical impact. The scope of your life suddenly narrows, like a camera with a wide-angle lens focusing on the pin of a needle. And what's even more amazing is how, in even the most unforeseen accidents, we always take a split-second prior to impact to subconsciously assign blame. To think, fuuuuck, I knew I shouldn't have done that. Or alternatively, WTF?? This guy... That happened to me yesterday as I got onto Interstate 76. Let me explain. Just moments before the occurrence I'd been sitting beside the highway at a red light, waiting and sizing up the hill ahead of me. I was thinking about how I wouldn't be one of those people who gets up to the very end of the on-ramp and then stops, waiting for a traffic gap of at least 10 car-lengths before they feel safe enough to sputter onto the highway. You see, that's what always happens at this particular on-ramp, at Green Lane. Most days I'm already on the highway by the time I approach Green Lane. (Today is different because I took a different route home.) Every time I pass by, I see a queue of cars waiting to get on, and I heed the urge to accelerate. I think to myself, If you're too timid to merge onto a highway, then I sure as hell don't want you in front of me. And as I pass them, I look to my right, hoping to catch a glimpse of the non-senior citizens who can't manage a simple on-ramp. I mutter at all of them, stay there...idiots. This time, though, it was my turn to approach the on-ramp that so many others had found unmanageable. It was a clear night, and a yellow light for traffic crossing under the highway reflected off my car's hood. I let the car drift forward, my foot hovering above the gas pedal, ready to mash it in as soon as the light facing me turned green. A few seconds later I was racing up the hill. Or trying to race, at least. A quarter of the way up, I was only going 25mph, so I forced the transmission to downshift. Halfway up, the speedometer was teasing 45. When the concrete separator on my left gave way, I could see the highway traffic rushing by. It was heavier than usual, and as I gauged my speed to that of the passing cars, I contemplated whether I could get the additional 15mph needed from my aged, overdriven Taurus to glide seamlessly into traffic. I thought about how I might have to joust my way into the lane, relying, as I often do, on that firmware that forces other drivers to yield their space as they see your on-ramp space running out. And how, speaking of space running out, it might help if I knew how much room was left until it was time to start nudging in. It's when I glance at the road in front of me that everything happens. My eyes widen, and my right foot snaps back from the gas pedal. My lungs inhale, and my arms extend until I'm pushing the steering wheel as far away from me as possible. A pair of red lights is looming ahead, two snake eyes, and they are separating rapidly. Slow-motion begins. My upper body flashes hot, the physical equivalent of WTF?? I push in the brake pedal. A half-second later, I'm grateful that I'm not skidding and yet mindful that I won't stop in time. My eyes dart to the right and, not seeing a car on the shoulder, my hands follow suit. During the pivot, I lean forward to see the front-left corner of my car maneuver around the right side of his bumper like the nose of a guided missile around a building. I whip the wheel back and, seeing open road ahead of me, I take my foot off the brake and coast past him. Side by side I think, This guy... I swerve back onto the road and, this being the end of the on-ramp, accelerate into highway traffic, looking back only briefly at the car I just passed. The danger has passed. I start breathing again. My forehead was hot and perspiring a few seconds ago, and now it feels like there's ice in my pores. I clench the wheel with both hands, taking a second to wipe each palm off onto my lap. I shrug my shoulders uncomfortably, because my back feels damp. I think about what transpired. Matching the rear of the car to the dark front end that I glimpsed in the mirror, I realize that that was a Dodge Caravan completely stopped at the top of the on-ramp. Some schlub who was waiting for the highway traffic to stop and invite him on. I imagine how, if some father had been beside the minivan, changing a tire, I would have run him right over. I push the thought out of my mind because it's unsettling, and well, that didn't happen. The car is filled with the noxious smell of burnt rubber and discs. I roll down several windows to let out the wind sweep out the tension and its byproducts. The episode begins to evaporate from my thoughts. Life expands. I have somewhere to be. I look to my left, and then to my right. I judge which lane is moving faster, veer my car into position, and hit the gas. January 12, 2005
"What's up??"
As I had to remind someone today, you have to actually live life in order to write about it. Hell, I've been thinking I should take all of 2005 off from blogging. Yes, I would like that very much. December 31, 2004
If it ain't bolted down...
There's one picture I forgot to post from NYC. I was walking near 33rd and 3rd when I happened upon this:  [click the pic] Apparently, there wasn't enough parking at the V.A. hospital. If you look closely, you'll notice that there's not one, but two chains on the wheelchair. It's as if the owner, having been burned once, resolved to be doubly vigilant against those wheelchair black market bastards.  [click the pic] December 25, 2004
December 24, 2004
It's The Thought That Counts
I only gave three gifts this holiday season. One of them was an Amazon gift card, which conveniently served as a combination birthday/marriage/x-mas gift. Another was a video game, a birthday gift:  [click the pic] And the third one...well, one of my roommates was always whining that his room was downright frigid. So when I got him a space heater, I opportunistically "wrapped" it to kill two birds with one stone:  Those are cable and network wires, in case you're wondering. I tried anchoring them to the wall a couple of times when we first moved in, but ultimately realized that nobody cared if I left them out anyway. And that's our cat, Brenda, aptly named after this character. With all the static electricity during the winter months, she's practically a walking power plant, so we try not to touch her. But back to the home heating issue: I dunno why his room was so cold anyway, since I sometimes have to open my bedroom windows due to the searing heat.  Come to think of it, I should have rented him that heater. Damn. I need to be more revenue-oriented. December 19, 2004
Back
I'm back in West Chester now, and newly certified in ITIL Foundations of IT Service Management. I was the youngest person, as usual, in our class of 12. When they went around the table for introductions, the others mentioned that they had 15, 23, 25 years of I.T. experience. When it was my turn to say how long I'd been working, my question -- "Does college count?" -- got the expected laughs. I learned a lot of useful information in the course, but have mixed feelings about the overall experience. See, the company offering the course decided to make it three days long -- two days to learn about ITIL, one-half day to review their best practices and the remainder of the third day for the ITIL certification test. The way they condensed what should've been a four- or five-day course into three days was really ridiculous. Our class was grueling, going from 8am to 5pm each day with a few "stretch breaks" plus lunch. Furthermore, they gave us homework to complete after hours. Hell, even when I first registered for the class last month they sent me homework to complete and bring with me on the first day. The instructor basically bulldozed through chapter after chapter so that we could cover the entire subject of ITIL in two days. In fact, one of the homework assignments was to read a chapter at home, and then each person had to explain a portion of the chapter to the group. It was interesting to hear from different people for once, but it also looked like they just didn't want to teach that particular convoluted subject. They also cut short almost all group discussion, presumably so they could keep to their precious timetable. To me, this was one of the most frustrating decisions, since I considered the chance to sit down with other I.T. professionals and compare notes one of the most appealing aspects of attending the course. Instead, I sat with 12 other people for nearly 24 hours, and still came away knowing almost nothing about their I.T. environments or the specific support challenges they faced. So it wasn't the content of the course, but rather, the way it was presented that rubbed me all wrong. There's one other thing I did like: the instructor. At first glance, she seemed like your average sweet southern-accented elementary school teacher. But she told about how, as a child, her aunt would frequently shoot squirrels and cook and feed them to her. And at one point, when there was a scratching sound from behind one of the walls, she exclaimed, "Mmmm, squirrels!" As the course wore on, she made other offbeat statements that I don't think the other people picked up on. I left with the sense that despite her appearances she was an extremely interesting person, and I wished I'd had time to get to know her better. Of the people I did get to speak to at length, two of them were from Lockheed Martin. I was surprised to learn one of them was based just a few minutes from where I currently work. At the beginning of the course, "Bill" made sure to tell me he had two degrees, one B.A. and one master's. On the second day, he told me how he'd written a book on artificial intelligence that was used as a textbook for some college courses. Then, when we had group activities and "Bill" was supposed to be playing the role of the end customer, he immediately stepped out of his role, using I.T. jargon like DASD and "hot spare" when describing his support demands. This is the guy I had to sit next to for the entire course. So imagine my surprise when, on the third day, Bill turned to me and said "Aaron, I gotta tell you, you've done pretty well on these [sample] tests." Uncomfortable, I joked "Well all I did was copy your sheets!" To which Bill responded: "Nah, you got a lot of questions right that I got wrong." Chuffed, I confided in Bill that even though our 40-question certification test was scheduled for an hour, I was sure I could finish it in a half-hour. I had a train ticket for 6:50pm but didn't want to walk around Penn Station for 50 minutes. Bill was extremely skeptical, so we made the bet. The exam started at 3:50. I flew through the pages as Bill, sitting next to me, plodded from one question to the next. I finished at 4:05. First one. As I gathered my papers and got up to leave, I wanted to pat Bill on the shoulder to say goodbye. I refrained, though, because he never looked at me, and I wasn't sure whether it was because he was surprised or pissed off. I caught the 4:45 train home. December 16, 2004
Be More Specific
So the hotel I'm staying at has a cafe attached to it. Together, the hotel and cafe offer a rather convenient breakfast service: Specify your order on the cafe menu, and hang the menu from your doorknob before midnight, and your breakfast will be delivered at a time you specify in the morning. After taking the train in that afternoon, walking over 30 city blocks, unpacking all my things and settling in for the night, I decided that I was due for a rather gluttonous breakfast. I scanned my menu and checked off my items accordingly: 1 - Cheese Omelette (w/ Hash Browns) Yeah, I was aware that my meal choices amounted to nutritional insanity, but I easily rationalized that by telling myself 1) the fresh fruit balances everything out, and 2) who cares, I'm traveling. More important than my personal health, keep in mind that the menu clearly stated "PLEASE SPECIFY QUANTITY" next to each item, and at the very bottom where it asked "How many orders?" I wrote "1," as in one order. At 7am the next morning, I got a knock on the door. I answered it, and there stood the delivery guy holding two full grocery bags as if he'd just come from the ACME market. Too groggy to realize the error, I took the bags and signed the check, thinking "Why the fuck is this guy looking around as if there should be other people here??" Once I bade him farewell, I took the bags over to the desk and started emptying them. This is what I got:  [click the pic] Now, when it comes to glitches in commerce, I like to resolve things using The Goof Method. You see, when I was 16 years old, my first real job was working as a clerk in a real estate office. The head realtor was Ms. Brown, a middle-aged black woman who I swore was the surly twin sister of "Nell Harper" from that sitcom Gimme A Break! During the very beginning of my training period, Ms. Brown succinctly explained what would happen should somebody mishandle the rent monies that her tenants brought by: "I goof, I pay. You goof, you pay." It just made sense. So back to the breakfast: they goofed. The menu had prompted me to specify the number of each item, not the number of orders of each item. So a "3" next to pancakes should have meant three pancakes, not three sets of three. Furthermore, I still might've been tipped off had the menu specified how many pancakes or sausages were already included, but it didn't do that either. And to top things off, it asked "How many orders?" at the very bottom. Yeah, poor customer interface. Their fault. I thought of Nell Harp-- err, Ms. Brown, as I surveyed the meal. I should have called them back, pointed out the error and demanded they take away the extra food, adjust my bill and make the next meal free for all the trouble it caused. Yeah. Instead, I ate what I wanted to eat and tossed the rest. Truth is, I had a class at 8am, and I also wasn't in the mood to bitch at the same people who'd be making my food the next morning. There were those reasons, plus the most pressing one: I was hungry. And at 7:00 in the morning, an order of pancakes multiplied by three smells daaamn good. December 15, 2004
Night Walking
In the days prior to my NYC trip, I decided that I wouldn't bother doing the touristy stuff (Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, etc.) that I did last year. However, once I arrived, and observed from my cab all the shops and people, I immediately thought to myself, "Screw this, I'm going to Times Square!" I checked into my hotel, set up my laptop, put on some sneakers, threw the rest of my luggage in the corner and set out for Broadway. I knew I'd be on my own until I met my coursemates the next morning. And a certain blogger didn't bother telling me he was in the area, either. It was around 4:30 when I left the hotel, but the streets didn't seem crowded at all. It wasn't until I approached Broadway that the trickle of cars and people turned into a flood. It seemed like each red light held back two walls of opposing pedestians, who, once the light turned green, would rush forward and cut swaths through each other. It didn't take long before I realized that Manhattan city blocks are, well, full-sized blocks. As unsafe as I knew it was, I couldn't help but stop on the occasional street corner and gaze at my fold-out map to figure out where the hell I was. Once I actually got to Times Square, I saw and heard a large throng of screaming women. I looked where they were pointing and, to my surprise, there was Jim Carrey on the second floor of the MTV studio, gyrating in the window at the crowd below. Carrey is far away in the photo I took from across the street, but there were large-screen displays that showed a larger-than-life figure looking back at us. Carrey certainly looked much older than his days as a pet detective.  [click the pic] Once I was done exploring that night, I had walked all the way to 48th street. My feet hurt, my legs ached and there wasn't an empty cab to be hailed. I had walked about 30 city blocks over the course of the night.  [click the pic] December 14, 2004
Digs
Once my co-workers prevailed upon me that the Hilton on Times Square wouldn't fly, I settled on the Affinia Dumont, a self-styled "executive hotel" that's only about three blocks from the course I'm attending and several blocks from Broadway. I like the place very much. I'm on an upper floor, with the nice view of the downtown buildings that I requested. My room is a suite, so it has a stove with oven, a full-sized refridgerator, microwave and coffee maker. Even the shower is nice -- when I used it this morning, it was like a sand-blaster cleaning graffitti off a wall. Since the Barking Dog Cafe is attached to the hotel, I've become rather addicted to their room service. More on that later.  [click the pic] December 13, 2004
Decay
So I arrived in New York City today. I'll be here for most of the week attending an I.T. business development course. This is the third time I've been to the city. I'd have to say that each time, the most enjoyable part of the trip was the actual train ride through Philadelphia to New York and then back. I suspect part of it is because I love railroads -- always have. It's not that I care much for the actual trains -- I don't. But growing up, there was never a trestle or switchbox or underground tunnel that my friends and I wouldn't explore. We were like amateur archeologists scouring over the crumbled, ancient infrastructure of generations past. The older and more defunct the tracks were, the better. It's a habit that didn't fade away with age. When I was a freshman in high school, I actually failed ninth-grade English because of my preoccupation with the subway system. It all started after a chance introductory ride when I was about 14. My imagination ran away with it, and I found myself wanting to examine and learn everything about Philadelphia's simple, two-line subway system: How do the tracks, signals and switchboxes work? What's in those underground storage depots? Where is the graffiti concentrated? What else can I find by following those older, defunct rail lines that split off into nothingness? As a young rider, I realized pretty quickly that I could never get those premium-view seats at the very front (or back) of the train during the after-school rush period; I could only snag a good seat in the late mornings and early afternoons, when most people were at work or school. So I played hooky a few times and it eventually became a frequent habit; I'd use my school tokens to ride the subway all day long, mesmerized. I don't think it ever crossed my mind that I might actually fail English -- a first-period class and therefore begged to be skipped. But what I was doing seemed so much more interesting than plain old writing. In my mind, I was discovering. I had to attend summer school to keep up with my English requirements. Everyone who knew me was perplexed -- English was my best subject. I never told anyone why it happened. Fast-forward to today, and the train rides are more interesting for observation than youthful exploration. For a seldom-traveled person such as myself, even a 2.5-hour junket from Philadelphia through New Jersey to New York seems to provide an unending stream of side-scrolling snapshots of American life. I love to see that rare, resilient sign of vibrancy: the little-league baseball game; the bustling shipyard that sits on the edge of a beautiful bog; the tall building at the town center with an unforgettable architecture. Most of the time, though, I've passed through one stagnant old town after another, and it's sad. Decaying houses with boarded up windows and trash strewn practically from their back doors down to the railroad embankment. Schools with barbed wire fences that look like either high-rise housing projects or prisons. Clusters of abandoned warehouses that mark the hollowed-out heart of old Pennsylvania Steel. The affluent settlements are notable, too, if only for the bland sameness of it all -- Wal Mart after Wal Mart to seed the cul de sac colonies, with their cloned McMansions that stand shoulder to shoulder like circled wagons. I look around me on the train, and people are usually napping, yelling at their cell phones or frowning at their laptops. They probably take the trip every week. Not me. I put on my headphones, queue up a soothing, instrumental playlist, lean forward and absorb it all. I dare not sleep, because there is a compelling story in the making here -- the American story. December 01, 2004
26
She said: "So you're 26? How does it feel?" I said: I dunno, how is it supposed to feel? What does that question mean, anyway? Coming from a 23-year-old, it probably means I was supposed to wake up feeling depressed and haggard today. I didn't; It feels like any other day. Besides, it's not like I'm 50. Or worse, 30. November 30, 2004
Birthday
I'm planning on turning 26 this December 1st. Get something for me off of my wishlist if you'd like. If you'd rather buy me something that isn't Amazonable, like, oh, a new car, then by all means feel free. Go ahead...you know I'd do the same for you. November 28, 2004
A Simple Purchase
So yeah, I had the misfortune of going out to buy a few items at around noon on Black Friday. I wanted a new DVD-ROM drive for the PC I use at my weekend job -- the old drive I slapped in there doesn't handle new DVDs well. And I also wanted a better HDTV antenna -- the one I currently use at work is only good when you find its sweet spot, which is hard because that spot changes every damn weekend (usually 5 minutes before the football game starts). And I wanted to buy a VCR, because, as my roommate said, a tape "got stuck" in the old one. Not one to watch the morning news, I went on a leisurely drive to the Best Buy store in Delaware. I go there not because of the tax-free shopping, but because it's the closest electronics store to West Chester (unless you count Radio Shack. I don't.). There are also a few other major electronics stores close to the Best Buy, which makes things easier in case Best Buy doesn't have what I want. I expected this trip to be like all the others -- I stroll into the store and grab what I want, ignore the salesperson trying to sell me $110 gold-plated Monster cables for "the most crisp VHS video," swipe my plastic in check-out while saying "no" to their AOL/magazine/Netflix subscription offers, and then get t.f. out of there. What I found, of course, was a totally different experience. The entire parking lot was packed on all sides of the store. Even in the back, where they service cars and take deliveries, there were rows upon rows of cars and some people even parked in-between cargo trailers. Once I did find a spot and went into the store, the place was so crowded you could hardly browse. The check-out line wrapped all the way through the home appliance and furniture aisles, ending in Car Audio in the back corner of the store. There were rope lines set up to enter departments such as digital photography. The Returns section was also packed with people, with the line almost half as long as the checkout line. Some sanity must've seeped into these people in the parking lot, their pack mentality instantly morphing into buyer's remorse. That line wasn't moving -- the company obviously hoped some percentage of these people would give up and just live with whatever they bought. Back in the tube TV section, I overheard a woman complaining to her husband that one 25-inch television looked larger than another 25-inch television. Even as a bystander, I was very irritated by her ignorance. I stepped in and told her that the casing and base made one TV look larger than the other, but that they were indeed both 25" TVs. She looked me up and down and said "you work here?" I informed her that yes, I worked there -- I was emergency staff. I tapped the phone on my belt and said the manager had called me in to deal with the crowd. Once the couple looked satisfied with my answer, I walked away before they could ask something else. So I blew that joint, and went to a store I was sure people wouldn't be as enthusiastic to shop at: Circuit City. I don't know about your neighborhood branch, but the one near my day job always seems to be empty. And maybe it's just me, but their sales associates never seem happy either. It must be the fire-engine red uniforms, or the fact that they're not working at a fun place like Best Buy. (Circuit City employees are always ready with a bunch of reasons why they're better -- Best Buy has strict quotas, the managers act like slave-drivers, blah, blah, blah. But it always boils down to the same thing: Circuit City is better to work at because their stores are always empty.) Anyway, when I drove to Circuit City, they had some teenage employee directing overflow parking into a nearby lot. I thought to myself, god-dammit, Circuit City is getting Best Buy's sloppy seconds. So I did a uuey out of there too. So then I went to a place that I knew wouldn't be swamped: CompUSA. That store used to be a techie mecca back in the day. But now, with so many other, more entertaining stores around, the place looks downright bleak. You see, while Best Buy was busy riding the wave of convergence between computers and consumer electronics, CompUSA was still devoting floor space to those shitty Packard Bell computers that they sold to your parents while you were away at school and couldn't stop them. They have a few televisions set up now, but they have neither the floor space nor the expertise to really sell them on par with the other chains. I only go there when I need something very specific -- a power supply or IDE cable -- and don't feel like ordering it online and waiting. As expected, I sped into the CompUSA lot and there were four open parking spaces right in front of the store entrance. I went in and was pleased to see that most of the aisles were clear of shoppers. Even the check-out lines were only three or four people deep. But alas, I'd gone there mostly for nostalgia; CompUSA didn't have a any selection of video players or HDTV antennas, so I left empty-handed. I ended up going to another Circuit City in Pennsylvania -- you know, the empty one near my day job with the frowning employees. I figured that since King of Prussia Mall -- the largest indoor mall on the east coast -- was nearby, along with its own Best Buy, the pack would be diverted there and this particular Circuit City would see only modest gains in traffic. I was right. And while I can't say the same for the employees, I sure left there happy. Overheard: Both Best Buy and Circuit City were sold out of PS2 consoles by mid-day. Can somebody explain that one? Didn't those shoppers know that the PS3 is going to be announced within 6 months? Idiots. November 25, 2004
Bah, Humbug
I sometimes work on holidays for the overtime. Today was one such day. Callers are always more merry and chipper on holidays, but today it was particularly hard to match their enthusiasm because 1) I didn't want to, 2) my HDTV antenna was acting up just before the football game, and 3) the ancient DVD drive I installed went on the fritz, necessitating a lunchtime drive to Best Buy to get a replacement. The following call occured when a doctor interrupted my viewing of Blade II by calling the datacenter: ***phone rings*** Me: Help Desk, Aaron speaking. Caller: Happy Thanksgiving! How are you this morning? Me: Fine how can I help you? Caller: Umm, my name is Dr. B****** and I'm-- Me: I can't hear you, speak up please. Caller: I said my name is Dr. B****** and I'm unable to access the webmail system. I typed in-- Me: E-mail systems are down for maintenance until 7pm tonight. Caller: Oh! Maybe that's why I can't get in. Me: *silence* Caller: That was a joke. Me: *silence* Caller: Goodbye... Me: Bye *hangs up loudly* November 22, 2004
Juice Machine Justice
Since the blogosphere and the media are working themselves into a frenzy heralding the emerging Moral Values Revolution, I'd like to relate a tale of my own, of when I recently rose up in defense of my Values© and struck out at the corporate behemoth that had offended them. I was at my weekend job, sleeping on some chairs and footstools that I'd managed to line up comfortably enough for the all-day nap that passes as work. At one point, when I came out of my slumber, I thought that if I was going to work so hard, I should go and get some water. You know, stay hydrated. So I rolled off of the chairs and stumbled out of the room. I went down the hall and into the breakroom, my shoeless feet sliding across its shiny tile floor. I glided to a stop in front of the drink machine. (It bears mentioning at this point that the greedy evil vendor company that runs those machines raised the prices not too long ago. Not only does a 50-cent pie cost 90 cents in the snack machine, but the bottled water in the drink machine costs $1.25. It used to be a dollar. At the time, I wasn't willing to pay that much for "Maine Spring Water" that was probably bottled from a tap in North Philly, but I ultimately decided it was better than drinking on-site tap water that smelled like it came directly from the building's septic system.) So as I began digging into my back pocket for change, feeding the machine one coin at a time, the thought occured to me that I might not have $1.25 on me. No problem, I thought -- I'd just leave and scrounge up some more change if I came up short. It might've taken another round trip, but it wasn't like the machine was going to erase the $1.10 I'd already inserted. I mean, why would it do that? Still scrounging, the scenario played out in my mind: A customer inserts three quarters and then walks away. Logically, the machine should allow the next person to complete the purchase. There wouldn't -- shouldn't -- be a timeout. Why should there be one? The company loses nothing if a different person adds the additional 50 cents. Nah, they wouldn't just take the money. Why would they do that? Sure enough, I was down to pennies. Chagrined, I walked back out of the room and down the hall. Of course, I could have put my shoes on and walked to my car, which was parked probably 20 feet away. But, nah. It was cold out. So instead I walked around the office, scanning the desks of the 9-to-5 employees, looking for that spare change I always see when I never need it. After looking closely at every desk, I was still empty-handed. Incredulous, I then peered into a few top drawers. Still nothing. Vexed, I slapped on my shoes, clunked my way out to the car, snatched two quarters and headed back inside. As I entered the breakroom again, I looked at the vending machine's display for a sign that the manufacturer had some sense. What I saw made my blood pressure jump by 20%: the "---" on the display meant no money was currently inserted. "Okay, no problem," I thought. "If I just push the 'COIN RETURN' button, it will return my money and I'll reinsert the coins." So I pushed the "Coin Return" button. Pressed it hard. Punched it. My coins were not returned. As the realization washed over me that my hard-earned money was, in fact, gone, my mind flashed to the reaction that my old college roommate would've had. The trademark swish of his hips and three-finger-snap in "Z" formation would've said it all: Oh No...You...Di'int! So I did something so dastardly, I hesitate to mention it on this site. Did I break the glass display? Well, no. Did I topple the fucker? Nah. I thought about that, but then I remembered those diagrams on the side of the machine that show people being crushed by vending machines because people tried to shake them to get the goods they'd been cheated out of. The companies had clearly anticipated such activity, and used the predictable shaking as a means to crush the irate customer to death and keep their money. I wasn't going to let them win so easily. Instead, I went to the back of the machine and unplugged the fucker. In exchange for my 75 cents, the company would lose all commerce from the weekend staff and the Monday morning rush. Yeah, yeah, I know: The goods were bottled, which means they didn't spoil. And besides, I could've kept the machine out of commission for a longer period by placing an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on it. But I wasn't trying to spoil goods -- just make sure the company lost more in potential sales that it gained from taking my money. And as for the possibility that the next employee would just re-plug the machine? Well, no. Trust me, I work there. Tech staff or not, 99% of them would walk over to the machine and watch their money fall down to the coin return slot five times before walking away bewildered. Satisfied by my disabling of the machine, I walked triumphantly out of the breakroom and quenched my thirst at a water fountain. Yeah, I had to drink septic water, but that was a small price to pay for a victory that smelled oh, so sweet. Ralph Nader would've been proud. October 16, 2004
Caffeine
So yeah...I just stayed up for 38 hours straight, starting Thursday morning at 6am and ending Friday evening at 8pm. I had to get a project done and had missed too much time earlier in the week to get it done in the pace I'd have liked. Compounding the whole thing was the fact that I didn't know I'd be pulling the all-knighter (and all-dayer?). My document was a business case for a six-figure project, and it was only when I began to outline everything at 3pm Thursday that the enormity of it all became apparent. There were the common-sense assertions on cost savings that needed to be proven with facts and figures; rationales on user adoption that needed to be articulated and filled out; and later, verbose paragraphs that needed to transmutate into the prettier graphs and charts that PowerPoint-accustomed corporates find inherently more pursuasive. I churned through my document, trying to funnel about 14 other windows with vendor quotes, position papers, past reports and scrap notes into something coherent. As the night wore on, my coworkers began disappear, and light after light dimmed until I was all alone in the place. I two-wayed my boss's boss via Nextel at 11pm and he confirmed that, yeah, that document was needed on Friday. I was in for the long haul. I pictured my coworkers settling in for the night at home and, knowing that image would recur over the next several hours, hated them for it. By 2am, I felt practically dead. My loud music --I actually have a mini-subwoofer on my desk -- became more of a distraction than a stimulant. And coffee -- an absolutely wretched drink that I made drinkable with tons of creamer and sugar -- only worked for so long. With every cup, I got perhaps 25 minutes of intermittent focus before my senses degenerated again. So I drank a lot of that, taking a piss break after perhaps every two cups. I went home to change my clothes at 6am, spending about 5 minutes in the house before going straight back to work. On the way back, I picked up three energy drinks, one of them being Red Bull and the other two being brands I never cared to remember. Those babies worked like a charm. The first thing I noticed was their tart taste, which had the immediate effect of focusing me even before the, uhh, secret ingredient kicked in. I gained maybe 90% of my usual focus after that, save for occasional spells of daydreaming, a couple of yawns and lots of stretching. I was certainly able to do much better work over the nine hours that I spent burning through those cans than I did on the coffee. In fact, my coworkers, who began to filter in at 6:30, were eventually much more of a distraction than my own tiredness. So, yeah. Once I got my document done at 3pm, I was still so alert that I hung out for another hour, eating "lunch" (I hadn't eaten food in 27 hours and never felt hungry overnight anyway) and BSing with folks who'd had the luxury of a full night's sleep. Once I did leave to go home, my energy began to wane and I struggled to keep my focus on the car in front of me. Did I walk through the door, go straight to my bedroom, climb up my loft and fall dead-tired onto the bed? Well, no. I went to the computer, of course, and checked my personal e-mail and the news headlines. It felt weird to be disconnected from the outside world for so long during a normal workday. After that, my roommate and I played Burnout 3 on Xbox HDTV. (Very fun game, check it out.) Then I watched some Real Time with Bill Maher off TiVo before passing out at around 8pm. And unlike a normal night in which I toss and turn and slip in and out of consciousness, I only came to once, briefly, and promptly fell asleep again after turning my little digiclock over to see that it was in fact 12:10 and not 01:21. When I finally woke up "for real," it 5:15am Saturday, an hour before I was to leave to go to my second job. Perfect. July 04, 2004
May 15, 2004
Perversions
It usually goes like this: "YO dude! Here's that video everyone's talking about. You know, the beheading video? It's so awful! I just saw it, and I feel soooo bad now!" "Here's the link!" When I first heard of what happened, and read articles describing Nick Berg's murder, I felt sick, as if I had been punched in the gut. The first day, I thought about it up to the time I went to bed, and it was back in my mind when I woke up in the morning. I walked around for days wishing that awful feeling of dread would go away. And I decided that I wouldn't be seeing that video. Not a chance. Now, a week later, it still seems like every idiot with a screen name is sending me links to the video, as if they think the problem is that the rest of us just don't know where to find it. Even at work, my boss had it up on his screen, beckoning me to come over and watch. (Even worse than the gawkers are the ones who feel we all need to see the video, hoping that we'll add our outrage to the echo chamber in their favor. People on both sides of the political spectrum are showing the video to schoolchildren, with one saying "This is the enemy we're up against" and the other saying "That's why we shouldn't be at war." Others, still, are just engaging in mindless and meaningless chest-thumping with no discernible point to make. But anyway, back to my coworkers, friends and AIM buddies.) I live in West Chester, Pennsylvania, Nick Berg's hometown. He was 26, and I'm 25. I've been here for eight years. The Bergs' house is two minutes away. And as I saw the pictures of anguished family members clinging to each other on the front lawn, I couldn't help but wonder how many times I'd crossed paths with their son while walking downtown, or stood next to him in line at ACME, or cut him off in traffic to beat that light at High Street and Gay. Even in suburbia, where the neighbors never really talk to each other unless there's a fire or an accident scene, I feel touched by this tragedy more than any other event that occurred in Iraq over the past year and a half. This probably won't make one whit of a difference to the thoughtless sheep who feel like everyone should see what they saw, but I'll say it anyway: If you want to see someone murdered, screaming as their head is cut off, then fine. But don't make the mistake of assuming the rest of us want to share in your voyeuristic depravity. May 09, 2004
April 20, 2004
After Making Love
After making love, No one, that is, and its inhabitants, filled, even as it may be, with pleasure, of the future, different heads, Some people actually desire honesty. They must never have broken into their
April 19, 2004
I got a blog too
Posted by Eric: whinning [sic] The funny thing is that my semi-facetious comments were met with silence in the private chat, only to be posted (and answered) in public. What am I missing here? Why do bloggers view their lives as some ongoing melodrama in which the only conversations worth having are the ones they can post for all to see? And on a slightly serious note, shouldn't I be able to talk to my friends with the expectation that I'll be asked (or at least notified) before my comments get published? I guess you could call this the Jennicamification of online discourse. But since we're all whining about our problems, allow me to post a few of my own: - I owe the IRS over $3,500. Don't ask. Something to do with two jobs and tax brackets. - Two weeks ago the stoner in the downstairs apartment almost burnt the house down. The only thing that saved the place was the fact that I was up, uncharacteristically, at 1:30AM when my living room began to fill with smoke. - The transmission in my car died. I rented a car while the auto shop took nearly two weeks to replace the trans. I was quoted a price of $1,250, but the final bill was over $1,450, not including what I paid in rental fees. But hey...I guess I should feel lucky. After all, I could have broken my cell phone (which did in fact happen last month) or, god forbid, procrastinated on a paper. Yes, what a lucky ducky I am. If I had to fashion some substantive point out of this post to make it worth everyone's while, I'd just say this: Nobody knows what you're going through unless you tell them. And conversely, if you're not sure what motivated someone's offhand comment, it might help to ask. It's something that simple that often gets missed in relationships, friendships and conversations between bloggers. It's all much ado about nothing, a small slight to be sure. But I like to think that even bloggers can settle their affronts directly, rather than responding on the blog later in a manner that is narcissistic and rude. April 01, 2004
Cavalier
Boss: "Sometimes it seems like you think this is the Benson I.T. Department." Me: "And what makes you think that?" Him: "You come and go as if you're the CEO...as if you own the place." Me: *grins widely, looking down* Him: *points finger accusingly* "See...you wanted me to say that!!" March 22, 2004
No Longer Daily
Well, so much for that experiment. Over the past month I've found that, when I'm away from the computer and tuned out of the news cycle, I look upon this blog with disdain. It's at those times that I want to stop blogging altogether, because I see the exercise as an unnecessary chore, meant more to give friends, coworkers and random visitors a daily dose of infotainment than to advance my own knowledge of any subject. But I've also found that when I am reading the news and scanning blogs, posting to my own site becomes second nature. A single sitting can generate 3-5 posts, most of which I have to leave in "draft" mode for fear of inundating visitors with too much at once. I wonder how I could have ever considered stopping. Something altogether different has been happening lately. I have been plugged in, scanning headlines and blogs, but when the time comes to post content on my own, I just haven't had the appetite for it. For example, why should I take 10-30 minutes out of my life to write about Martha Stewart? Did you know she's going to jail? I bet you did. How about Terrell Owens coming to Philadelphia?? Yup, it's true. It's the same with politics. George Bush is lying again, this time about John Kerry's record. Kerry, who is both physically and mentally on vacation, is offering weak and ineffectual responses that only help the case against him. Oh yeah...and Howard Dean remains a disaster. Maybe it's just a dry spell, or some weariness with which I anticipate the next ten months, but I can't shake the feeling that it's all really the same old story. We've become accostomed to seemingly jobless bloggers who sit at the computer all day long, surfing the net and tossing us popcorn punditry on just about anything they come across. It leads me to wonder: How are these people any different from their ill-informed associates, who themselves gather around the water cooler to prattle on about the top story on cnn.com, last night's game, the weather, Survivor and Big Brother? It's not that I mind the blogosphere -- I don't. There are still those increasingly rare moments when blogging is an immensely stimulating experience. But there's a fine line, I think, between offering one's 0.02 on relevant subjects and playing slave to the scandal-saturated news cycle for web hits. From here on out, I won't carve out a portion of my time to blog about something -- anything -- once a day, every day of the week. When I have something worthwhile to add to the debate, I'll post it. And when I don't, you'll get the next best thing: silence. March 12, 2004
March 10, 2004
We Once Were (Two)
They leaned back nor gone, his mind cut loose And she felt the weight of caring a freedom some of her friends knew,
February 28, 2004
Subverting the Juggernaut
Umm, yeeeaaah. So I went to a company outing on Friday night at Dave & Buster's. Ate dinner, had drinks, held a treasure hunt, blah, blah, blah... Here's the only part that really matters. After a few rounds of rum 'n coke, and having been beaten soundly by my co-workers at the pool tables, I snagged a few of the company-paid arcade cards and wandered into the gameroom to check out the wares. Jon (a co-worker) and I went to screw with one of the photo booths. This particular one had a feature that allowed you to morph your face into that of any animal, so long as it could map out the key points of your mug (eyes, nose, mouth, etc.). Jon and I both tried to squeeze into the picture, with him aligning his right eye to the diagram and me aligning my left. When this didn't work, we became frustrated and began randomly punching buttons, causing the machine to bite the dust. A Windows Protection Error flashed on the screen, unmasking the nefarious hidden hand of none other than Bill Gates himself. Surprised and delighted by our propensity for destroying the work of The Man™, we jumped out of the booth and squeezed past the line of people who were waiting outside. We then snaked through the crowd and into a dark side corridor, snickering mischievously at the surprise we had left for all the patient patrons waiting to take their family photos. February 27, 2004
Out
Going to the company outing at Dave & Buster's today. Besides, I never post on the weekends anyway. February 23, 2004
February 11, 2004
Four tickets in one day
When I go to sleep tonight, I'll be updating my mental firmware with some new rules: - Stay off the street during street cleaning. Fine: $15 *sigh*...Been living here for over two years. Why can't I remember? - Do not park within 30 feet of a stop sign. Fine: $15 I didn't even know this fine existed. And 30 feet is quite a buffer to be mandating for a stop sign that everyone coasts through anyway. When a police car is cruising down the highway, leading a procession of cars whose drivers are obviously petrified of going faster, just stay in line. Fine: $75 Umm, yeah. I suppose that weaving through the other cars and coasting past the cop while shooting him a look that says "fuck you, pal, I paid for these roads..." is not the smartest thing to do. Of course, that thought didn't occur to me until after he pulled me over for "speeding." As we all know, 60 MPH in a 55 zone is just so reckless... When choosing to defy authority, make sure your papers are legit. Fine: $68 Like my registration card, which expired on Jan 31. *shrug* I didn't care, but the poor affronted officer sure seemed to. February 08, 2004
Now Daily
Yeah, I know, this site has gotten so stale that even the Google Bots have stopped coming. But from here on out, GeckoBlue will have daily posts. Unlike some people, I actually have a job and can't (read: won't) sit here typing eight posts a day. And I thought about whether weekends count or not, only to come up with the incredibly decisive answer of "maybe." But in any case, look for something new here every day, either in the mornings or late night. January 21, 2004
Life Without Cable
So, yeah. We were, umm, sharing cable with our downstairs neighbors, when all of the sudden all our televisions went black. Turns out those bastards collected our money each month, but never actually paid the bill. So there I was, at the most crucial point of probably the past nine months, suffering from a sudden video blackout. So I went back to the antenna. But no amount of adjusting, extending or daisy-chaining them gave me a clear enough picture to alleviate my CNN withdrawal. Fortunately, after countless calls to Comcast, I am now jacked in and enjoying the familiar diet of cable news: Jacko, Kobe, Martha and Scott. Frankly, I don't know how any well-informed person could get along without it. January 18, 2004
Eagles Lose
Whatever. It's just a game. After all the pulse-quickening, heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping living room quarterbacking, this is what you tell yourself to dull the pain and disappointment when your team (and by extension, your town) comes up short. I live in Philadelphia. We're still losers. Oh well. Go Sixers. Go Flyers. Go Phillies. Just a game... January 13, 2004
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