Crack the Book

The best laid plans....

I'd hoped having this new laptop at my disposal would allow me to write more, but alas, no such luck. Last week was crazy because I was in training all week long.

"What kind of training have you been doing, soldier?

"Army training, sir!!!" No, not really. Actually, it was computer training. I've now undertaken the task of getting certified. I guess I've known that I've always been certifiable and now I aim to prove it. Hey, wait, that didn't come out quite right... Anyway, now I know how to run Winders XP! Yeah, I know. Big whoop. 75% of the class material (a big 600-page Sybex book) was stuff I already knew. And, I did learn a few new tricks, which is always cool...some I've already put to use. There were only a few people in my class...7 total. Get this: the instructor took a week's worth of vacation from his regular job to teach this class. Most people go to the beach or the mountains. I even had a friend and her husband come to Oklahoma City of all places for two weeks for their honeymoon. Their honeymoon! Not Hawaii, not the Bahamas, not even Vegas! Oklahoma City! The ironic part is that she confessed to me later the best part about coming here was when they met up with me and we went to dinner. The Lex-man knows how to throw down. Word.

But I digress. Oh wait, that's the point of this blog. To digress.

Speaking of which, I'm currently sitting here watchin' Dubya give his state o' the nation. I refuse to discuss anything political on here, but I will say this one thing: Hillary needs to just go away. And, I don't mean Duff.

Well, I'm off to study for a bit. I did the class, but now I have to do the test. That's a whole different animal. And it ain't a fuzzy little kitten.

I'm out like a fat kid in dodgeball. Cya.
-la

Elevator Rules

Elevator Rules?

I'd compare this site to the rules imposed by Emily Post or some such uptight nitwit. Given the need for etiquette and societal norms today, I can see where some of these 'rules' (which I argue should be guidelines...) are, in fact, needed. Some of the 'rules' are just common sense. However, others aren't too well thought out.

For example, there's one rule that states that a person who is ill should simply wait until the elevator is free of others before riding. Um, ok. What if someone gets on at the next floor? What if you pass out trying to get to your damn doctor appointment because you were trying not to infect anyone else with ebola?

And, Moose, a long-time reader, first time caller, shares my frustration, when he declares in the comments section:

moose Says:
December 16th, 2005 at 3:53 pm
"what, no discussion of farting?!"

I agree, Moose. Sing it loud and sing it proud, brother! My advice, that the Elevator Rules site is so quick to leave out is that one can always point to the little old lady in the corner while fanning oneself. But, what if, by some circumstance, substantial evidence points directly to you? What do you do then, oh wise tome of knowledge? Ain't got that answer, do ya?

All I'm saying is that if you're going to put a web site up declaring "rules" and then publish a book on it, you better cover every angle.

'nuff said.

-la

How to Survive a Robot Uprising

I think that if the robots ever really attacked, then I'd be screwed. My first reaction would be to go screaming like a little girl to a remote location in the mountains somewhere, living out my days like Grizzly Adams. However, with time to ponder my situation in my new found solitude, I would likely realize that having seen an infinite number of sci-fi movies throughout my life, that I'm being a bit hard on myself.

Because I could go all Tom Cruise on them and grow a bacterial fungus that will destroy the robots. Or, I could just destroy all lubricants so that they freeze up like the tin man in the Wizard of Oz (ok, maybe he's not really a robot, but robots need their lube, too....) I could befriend the robots and give them all names. But that would be hard, so I would just name them by numbers, my fav being, of course, Number 5. Maybe I'd come back to society, shave, and join US Robotics and prevent any self-aware robots from organizing a robot union. If I had an accident on my way down a mountain road on my way back to the world, I'd make the doctors design my innards to be part robot cop or force them to spend over $6 million to make me better, faster, stronger than I was before.

If I was to return at all.

Still, that's just me. You can find more ideas about how to deal with the inevitable robot uprising at this site. But, if this doesn't do it for you, feel free to just join me in the mountains.

-la

Of course, I always knew it...

I was reading through some blog entries on another site and came across one of those damn quizzes...in this case, it's an old, but good one.

"Which Superhero are you?" I was thinking I'd end up being some kind of neutral, less-important character, like the Flash or something.

Instead, I end up being the Man of Steel. Yep, turns out that ol' Clark Kent and I have a lot of attributes in common. That is, if you discount my lack of being indestructible, inability to fly or shoot lasers from my eyes, and the fact that I'm a complete and utter weenie.

Then, I took the quiz, "Which Serenity character are you?" and I end up being Zoe Washburne. Of course, I would have much rather been Mal or Wash or even Jane. Nope, I end up being a female character. I'm not quite sure what that means.

Mayeb the combination of the two makes me more like Indiana Jones or something. I'm still looking for a "Which Indiana Jones character are you?" quiz. I'd love that one because you could be Indy, Indy, or Indy. Or the guy whose face melts at the end of the first movie when they open the Ark.

heh.
-la

Timing is Everything

Ran across this tonight. Very cool gallery.

Timing is Everything

I'm not sure who is holding the cracker, but they are one brave individual.

-la

Star Trek + ColumbiaHouse = What?

I'm sleep-deprived this morning. Insomnia combined with a fussy RTC didn't allow me to get to sleep until about 4am.

Though bleary-eyed and feeling hungover (no drinking involved, I swear...) I somehow managed to make it to work. Feeling pretty useless until the caffeine kicks in from the gallon of coffee I've already drunk, I decided to do what most people in my position would do: look busy by checking e-mail and surfing the web. It's amazing that any work gets done at all on Monday mornings. Anywhere.

So, I was scouring the web this morning and I came across something rather disturbing:

The William Shatner DVD Club.

Um, ok.

"Why?"

Get this:
"The iconic Captain Kirk has watched literally thousands of Sci-Fi, Horror, and Fantasy films and has selected his personal favorites for you. "

Yeah, right. I bet.

And this:
"You’ll receive gripping and enjoyable movies that most people haven’t heard of before, simply because they never received big marketing dollars or a broad studio release."

Marketing-speak for, "we're trying to get you to spend your hard-earned dollars on obscure B-movies that didn't receive 'big marketing dollars' for a reason. That reason being that they suck."

I'm as much of an sci-fi, fantasy, horror fan as the next geek, but come on.

I know, you're thinking, "Lex, your punchy today. Dude, you need sleep."

I couldn't agree more. If I actually had a real office then I'd shut the door and paste an, "In a Meeting, Do Not Disturb" sign on it. But, alas, I must persevere, subsisting on caffeinated beverages.

Yawn.
-la

I Should Be Drunk All the Time...

I was blog surfing and came across this article about IT stressing people in the U.K. to drink.

Something about the first paragraph just made me giggle.

Then I got to thinking. If users are this stressed about IT-related issues, then I should already be started on my daily bender.

Cheers!

-la

Belated Party

You gotta love this. The geniuses in management decided not to throw a Christmas party (whoops...that's not PC...) Holiday Party back when it was, oh, the holiday season, and have decided rather than just forego the damn thing altogether, to have it the third Friday in January.

I, for one, am no longer in a holiday mood. I don't know about you, but the last damn thing I feel like doing is going to a holiday party in January. For the love of god, I just got my Visa bill in mail totaling the results of Holiday Shopfest 2005. If that's not enough to take you completely out of a holiday mood, then nothing is.

When polled, several coworkers asked if we could just have money instead of the party. You know, like a holday bonus. Nope. We're determined to spend the money and make you happy the way we want, dammit, and you're gonna like. Or, not go.

So, about 95 people have RSVP'd that they would be there. Management now wants to send out an e-mail to everyone that if they sent in an RSVP and don't show, that they are financially responsible for their meal. So, let me get this straight: if I tell you I'm coming to the party, and my kid gets sick, forcing me to stay home, I have to pay for a crappy meal that I didn't want to eat in the first place? Behold, people! The genesis of a Dilbert cartoon!

So, it's set. The holiday party is going forward. To their credit, they have some cool prizes. The grand prize is two plane tickets to anywhere in domestic US. They are giving away a few iPod Nanos, and other miscelleous crap. It's bound to be fun, though the wife can't go this year because we can't get a babysitter for the new kid (in other words, her parents are busy that night). I'm thinking she doesn't really want to go anyway. Which is cool. I'm gonna hit it and make an appearance. Besides, I know the woman in charge of the drink tickets. (Can I get a Woohoo! from the kids in the back row?) And, you can damn sure bet I'm gonna eat my chicken cordon bleu.

-la

Another Brick in the Wall

I've been suffering/recovering from a cold all week. The past few nights have been quick blurs of drug-induced sleep. Ah, better living through chemistry (screw you, Tom Cruise and the Scientologists you rode in on).

Of course, now it seems my wife is getting my cold. Like that wasn't inevitable. Despite my best efforts to keep my distance from both her and the kids, she's getting it anyway. I'm hoping the newest one doesn't get it, but I'm thinking he's doomed.

Still, I feel better today and I'm at work (and actually doing work...can't you tell?). I'm trying to get some things done around here this week while management is out of town. Next week, it's gonna be a freak show around here. The BIG BOSS is coming in for a few days. He's British, so you just know he's got a great sense of humor, likes to share his feelings, and is all warm and cuddly. Despite his warm personality, he hasn't been real big on the changes we've made around here the past month or so. We redesigned the entire office, built a training room, a new super-sized conference room, and a few new offices.

Oh, and I got a wall.

Yes, that's right. A wall. Not an office, just a wall that goes about 3/4 the way across the space where my makeshift cube used to be. Now, I have a pseudo-office. Why not a real office? There's this long-held belief at our corporate office that no one except those deemed worthy (read: management) are to have an office. Since I'm the IT guy for this branch office, I naturally have a lot of crap: computers, patch cables, printers, monitors, etc. Basically anything with a power cord.

My pseudo office is located right outside the VP's office, so it's in direct line of the suits that come in and out of the place. The first thing they always see is the load of crap that I have. I had been asked several times if I could just hide it. "Um, where?" I always ask. At that, they suddenly remember an appointment or a phone call they have to make and scurry off.

Yes, before you ask, I tried to get a full office, with a door and window and everything, but the aforementioned nice British man wouldn't allow it because lackeys of my diminished status at HQ would NEVER be allowed an office. So, I get a wall.

Now that my wall is constructed, several people have pointed out that since I don't have a door, that you can still see all my crap. At this point I usually take a breathe, count to ten, and resist the temptation to punch them in the face. Ever notice how people have a tremendous talent for pointing out the obvious?

As of this writing, the wall isn't quite finished. I'm tempted to tell the construction workers to cut out an order window so I can ask my coworkers if they'd like fries with that e-mail account. The wall will likely be finished today, they say, but if you ask me, until it has a door, it will never be done.

-la

To Pee or Not to Pee

Ok, it's official now. I'm really a new Dad. Ok, true, RTC (Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy) was born 5 weeks tomorrow (damn!), but it's actually official now: he peed on me tonight. Ok, no big deal. I'm an adult, I can handle it. Lawd knows, I've handled worse. Still, there's something about that first baptism. I swear I heard a choir of angels and saw an ethereal glow...nope, wait, that was just the wet spot on my shirt.

So, I did what any adult would do in my position: I stripped and got in the shower.

About a half hour later, RTC was laying in his bouncy chair (a gift every new parent NEEDS...!) and I'm watching the Rose Bowl game and he lets loose with a screech as that made the cats run for cover. I look over at the wife and she says, ever so calmly, "I think he just pooped." Great...

"Ok, I got it," I say. She has to deal with this all day long. So, trying to be a good dad, and husband, I grab RTC, run a preliminary diaper diagnostic, and determine that has definitely had some output. By the time I get him to the bedroom and get his diaper off, he's finished downloading. Or so I thought. As I grab a wipe, he decides he has some more files to send. He produces enough data to prompt a yell to the wife, "Hey! Run in here! You're missing it...!" She comes rushing into the room.

"What?!?"

"Never mind, I think he's done. It was coming out like he was one of those frosting bags they use to decorate a cake..." She just gives me one of those looks. You know the one.

"What?" I ask, perplexed. She grabs the kid and walks out of the room. "Hmmph," I hear as she passes.

So, given all that, my status is now officially father of two: Spawn and RTC (other names include Pumpkinbutt, Houdini, and jellybean).

-la