Archive for category lifehack
Don’t Ease Me In
Photo by antwerpenR
I’ve never been the guy at work who gets in before anyone else. I’m usually the last one to leave at night, but that’s a different story. While I’m rarely late, I do tend to arrive just under the wire. But when I walk through the door, I’m already in 5th gear. I don’t need a ten-minute warmup. Let’s go! But something has been slowing me down lately, and it’s screwing with my instincts.
I worked with an “early guy” once. Clapton liked to get to work early - real early, like 45 minutes before our official start time. He’d unpack, read the paper, and wait for me to come scrambling in before the bell. He’d ease into the day, while I came in with guns blazing. I’d arrive, bags under my blood-shot eyes, strung out from walking our screaming, colic-stricken baby around all night. Early for me in those days was ten minutes late. Where’s my coffee?
I equated myself with one of those rubber-armed relief pitchers, like Mike Stanton, who could be ready at a moments’ notice. Contrast my readiness with Clapton’s, who needed to go through elaborate ritual each morning so that he could get “in the zone”. I could hit the ground running, a skill that I haven’t lost in the years since. Clapton was more like Mike Mussina, who needed all of the stars to align, otherwise, his day would be “ruined”. We’d open the day with the same dialogue:
Clapton: So, how many hours sleep last night?
Me: About two and a half.
Clapton: I don’t know how you do it.
Tell you the truth, I didn’t know how I did it, either. It was probably a combination of too much caffeine, new parent anxiety, and the constant threat of layoffs. Not having a pot to piss in or a corner to throw it in will wake you up pretty quickly. Especially when you throw a baby into the mix. Whatever kept me going back then, I think that I still have it in me to this day (they probably have a pill for it by now). Hence, my newfound irritation.
Something happens when I arrive at work (and it’s not just the stress-induced clenching of my sphincter). I’m able to put the rest of my life out of my mind, and think of only work for the next ten hours. The instant that I swipe my badge at the entrance, I’m on the clock and working. As I climb the stairs to my office, I’ll run through my calendar in my mind. Which is a good thing, given how long it takes for my PC to boot up.
See, that’s the new irritation. My company has installed some God-awful security software that takes forever to load. Yesterday, it took forty minutes to get to my email. This would be perfect for Clapton, who could read the paper while his computer boots. But I’m pulling my hair out, screaming at the goddamn thing to finish loading. So, I have two choices:
- Become an “early guy”, like my old buddy Clapton, and read the paper while the evil software loads, or
- Leave myself in “logged in” status, and only shut the machine down at the end of the week.
I’m leaning toward Option #2. I know that I’m using electricity, which leads to more energy being wasted. But think of all of my energy being wasted, waiting for my PC to boot up. Forty minutes a day of my time could get pretty expensive for the company.
Or, maybe it’s time for a quaalude.
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When Good Hygiene Goes Bad
I was stuck in a series of day-long mandatory training sessions this week. Thankfully, today was only for half the day. Because much of the material was a rehash for me, my mind, and my eyes, tended to wander. And what my eyes saw wasn’t pretty.
The trend in recent years has been moving toward a more casual dress code. I’ve bleated about this in the past. It’s not like I’m a holdout; on the contrary, I think it’s great that I don’t have to go to the dry cleaners for my suits as often as I used to go. It’s nice not having a noose around my neck in the warm weather. I even wear jeans on the really casual Fridays, though they’re more presentable than the ripped Levi’s that many of my coworkers wear.
I don’t really care how my colleagues dress. But I see a disturbing trend, and it’s the neglect of proper hygiene. I know, ewwwwww! The guy two rows in front of me needed an ear-hair trimming something fierce. His ears looked like a bamboo forest. You’d need a macheté to cut through that growth. Just be sure to check for giant pandas. Another guy in the office reeked of body odor. This was at 9:00 in the morning. I guess he skipped the morning shower. I thought that it couldn’t get any worse, until he took off his shoes! Death, where is thy sting?
Some of the ladies were slacking off, too. One wore a sweater that smelled like mothballs. It could have come from some old maid’s attic. Another popped and snapped her chewing gum. Many wore no makeup, and most of them needed some (a few could have used a bag over their heads). The lady next to me had breath that smelled like a cross between coffe and rotting fish. The mothballed sweater smelled sweet by comparison.
Sitting at the back of the room, I was also treated to a variety of thinning hairlines. Most guys opted for the more natural Telly Savalas-look, but a couple went for the dreaded comb-over. One guy looked like he parted his hair from his shoulder. As my wife would say, that’s not fooling anybody. Time to go with the Kojak, buddy.
So if you’re treated to one of these sights at work, why suffer in silence? Just print out a copy of this post, and leave it on their chair, anonymously. Hopefully, they’ll get the hint, and clean up their act.
Just watch out for the pandas.
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The Quiet of Power-washing
Photo by Pink Sherbet Photography
Over the past couple of weekends, I’ve discovered an activity that’s great for focusing my mind. It helps me block out all distractions, because it is, in fact, distraction incarnate. I’m talking about power-washing.
Yes, you read that correctly. Power-washing (or pressure-washing. Tomato, tomahto). That ear-splitting, hand-trembling job that shakes your fillings loose and makes neighborhood dogs howl. But look past the surface, friends, and discover the magic in this tedious task. I even dabbled in multitasking, an activity I usually avoid.
There’s a certain quiet that power-washing creates (I’m sure my neighbors would disagree). Power-washing, or any mundane activity, gives your mind a chance to think. I know it sounds weird, but after a few minutes, I was able to ignore the roar of the Honda’s motor. I felt enveloped in my own little noisy world. My mind began to wander, allowing me to dream up some good ideas for posts.
But that’s not all! As I scoured my grimy deck with its laser-like blasts, I was able to, in my mind, re-arrange my tool shed, develop a study strategy for my son’s Intermediate Algebra final, select a restaurant for our wedding anniversary, and flesh out a presentation that I had to give at work. All without slicing off any toes! I definitely did not have all of my attention on the task at hand.
So the next time you’re stuck doing some thankless task, think about what else you can accomplish while you get the drudgery out of the way. As Henry Rollins once said, “If life gives you lemons, say ‘Oh yeah, I like lemons, what else you got?’” Make the best of it.
Even if it does break your back.
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Facebook, Schmacebook
Many of my family and friends are on Facebook. They post pictures of vacations, wish each other Happy Birthday, arrange trips, etc. They also bug me with friend requests, and wonder why I don’t read the latest drivel on their wall. While I might be a little anti-social, my main reason for not posting on Facebook is simple: I don’t need anyone to know my personal business.
Good fences make good neighbors
One of my favorite things in the whole world is my privacy. That’s why you don’t see any pictures of my face on this website (that, and my face frightens small children). Not that I’m a hermit, but I do have large bushes that block my view of my neighbors (I’m from the Robert Frost school of neighborly relations). I’ve always had an unlisted phone number. When a cashier asks for my zip code for promotional reasons, I tell her it’s classified. I may get a funny look, but that’s the great thing about not caring what others think of me.
“Have you seen the slides of our trip to Gstaad?”
And I guess that’s part of the reason why I don’t go on Facebook: I don’t give a crap what you’re doing, either. I’ve got enough of my own shit to worry about, like layoffs and a dwindling 401(k). I don’t need to see your pictures of your Disney trip; they’re the modern equivalent of forcing people to watch a slide show of their vacation to Niagara Falls. Whoa, look at the time…
“How do I know you?”
And these friend requests. I’m hearing from people I haven’t talked to since high school. If I haven’t missed you over the last 20 years, chances are I don’t need to hear from you now. It’s the high school reunion migrated to cyberspace, where everyone bullshits about how successful they’ve become. I guess the added benefit is they can photoshop their beer bellies out of the pictures.
Popularity contest
And there’s no easier way to give more ammo to the hackers who would love to steal your identity. If they know every intimate detail of your personal life, you’re handing it to them on a silver platter. And who the hell are these strangers that want to be my friend? Hackers, or just pathetic souls who are collecting “friends” as a way of making themselves feel popular? Either way, I’ll take a pass. Nothing to see here, keep moving…
And stay out!
So rather than join the millions who waste their time posting drivel on Facebook, I’ll do something more constructive.
Like watch the Yankee game.
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The Ghost of Layoffs Past
Photo by peasap
The recent layoffs at my company brought a visit from the Ghost of Layoffs Past. Years ago, at one of my old employers, I crossed paths with a former colleague. He was a manager in the manufacturing area, in his forties, with a couple of kids in college. When we passed each other in the hall, his words stopped me cold.
“I just got my two weeks notice.”
“You’re getting laid off?!” Because he had over 25 years service time, the company gave him the heads-up. Everybody with less time under their belts got ten minutes to clean out their desks.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I knew just what he meant. He started with the company right out of high school. He was bright, and a quick study, which allowed him to move up in the manufacturing organization. He became the go-to guy when you needed something done correctly. I know that I tapped his expertise more than once. A born leader, he could have gone to college on the company’s dime, but marriage, children, and overtime took precedence. Which was why he was now in deep shit.
He was making a good salary as a manager. He was bright, and a hard worker. But his prospects were bleak. It’s hard to get a management job without a college degree, no matter how qualified you might be. I didn’t know what to say to comfort him, and told him to stay positive, that people of his caliber were always in demand. But he already knew the deal. He was screwed.
So today’s lesson, grasshopper, is to take whatever the company offers, be it training or tuition reimbursement. Get that piece of paper. It might not mean anything to anyone except the resumé screener. That’s who wields the power when you’re looking for a job. Don’t put yourself in a position to be excluded because you signed up to coach Little League. Get your degree!
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Another Bet that I Won
As I’ve mentioned before, one of my goals for this year is to lose 50 pounds. Back on New Years Day, I made a bet with my son that I could lose 30 pounds by Opening Day of the baseball season. “You’ll never make it, Fat Man”, he hissed in his best Stewie Griffin voice, and wagered $20 that I would fall short. Today, or rather, tonight, the Yankees open the season against the Red Sox. At this morning’s weigh-in, I tipped the scales at 199 pounds. That’s 30 and a half pounds dropped since the start of the year. Before he could utter, “What the deuce?”, I collected my $20 and wished him a Happy Easter. I still have 20 more pounds to go to reach my 2010 goal, but no dieting today - it’s off to the in-laws for a lasagna dinner.
Happy Easter!
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Goal Status: March in Review
Now that March is over, it’s time for another update on my 2010 goals:
1. Drop 50 pounds
I dropped another 8 pounds in March, bringing my total to 28. Now, I’m more than half way, with 9 months to go. Only 22 more pounds to go. I’ll make this for sure!
2. Benchpress and Deadlift 300 pounds
I’m able to benchpress 250 and deadlift 245 pounds, 8 reps each. That’s about a 20 pound gain in each, which makes me very happy. If I stick to my routine, I’ll hit this one, too.
3. Post more frequently
FAIL AGAIN! If not for the NCAA Tournament, this would have been a complete washout. I’m glad most of you have been reading some of my older posts, and I thank you for that. I’ll have to give you an update on my EZ Seed progress.
4. Fund my 401(k)
On track, due to direct deposit. Go stock market!
5. Read a new book each month
I read two novels by Charles Bukowski, Factotum and Post Office. They offered real gritty insights into the fringes of society, and the drinking stories reminded me of some of my high school buddies. I’m open to suggestions for April. Any ideas? Leave a suggestion in the comments.
6. Run 3 miles
A bout with Plantar Fasciitis has halted my progress, but I should get the go-ahead to resume my running in a couple of weeks. Spring is coming. I’ll get back on track.
Check back for more updates!
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Plantar Fasciitis - That Stabbing Pain in Your Foot
I went to the podiatrist the other day after work. I’ve been dealing with a pain in my right heel for a couple of months, and decided to get it checked out (it’s been interfering with my run-3-miles goal). After dealing with a pain in the ass who is probably the worst receptionist in the world (more on that later), he diagnosed my problem as Plantar Fasciitis.
Plantar Fasciitis, as he explained to me, is a fancy way of saying that I’d pulled the ligament that runs along the bottom of my foot. That’s what’s been causing the pain. He gave me two choices of treatment: One, take some Advil (which I had already tried, but didn’t help), or Two, a cortisone shot in the heel. I opted for the needle, and my foot feels better already. But the best part was yet to come.
I dutifully went before the receptionist to settle up. I made an appointment for a follow-up, and attempted to pay my bill. When I gave her my FSA (flexible spending account) card, she reacted as if I had handed her a lump of shit. “We don’t take that here. Cash or check only.” I then asked her for a pen to make out a check.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?” I answered, starting to get pissed off.
“Cash or check?”
“Why would I ask for a pen if I was paying cash?”
“Can I have the check number?”
“You can have the check in two seconds after I sign it!”
“I just need to enter the number in the computer!”
She was getting even more testy, which I was enjoying.
“I’ll need a receipt to submit to my insurance.”
“You’ll just have to wait a minute!” she snarled.
“Can I have the receipt number?” I thought that would put her over the edge.
I grabbed my coat, as she announced, loudly, to a packed waiting room, “See you in a month for your foot fungus!”
“You mean Plantar Fasciitis. Happy Easter.”
“Whatever.”
I don’t think I’ll be getting a Christmas card from her anytime soon.
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Nicknames, Pseudonyms, and Aliases
Jim Bibby, Who Pitched for Pirates in World Series, Dies at 65
- New York Times item
I’ve come across some strange characters at work, and some strange names, too. Most of the strange names aren’t the fault of the owners; their parents are to blame for their birth names. Some handles get hung on people based on their physical features (”Red” comes to mind). But some of the strangest are the ones that people place on themselves.
My first job had a PA (public address) system that allowed you to page people. The receptionist, a large woman with a pleasant voice, would announce whatever name you requested. On many Fridays after a liquid lunch, we would have fun asking her to page Ben Dover, Mike Hunt, and the other usual suspects. But the funniest were the names of real people, like Al Eid (allied), and Dick Kurtz (pronounced like dick hurts). He must have taken a lot of crap for that name. Why he went by Dick instead of Richard, Rick, or Ricky is beyond me.
Some guys went by their nicknames, however unflattering they sounded. We had Shrimpy, Red, Gabby, Chubbs, and Custer, to name a few. But the best were the guys who made up their own first and last names. Take the case of Jim Bibby, the subject of that obituary. Bibby called himself Fontay O’Rooney. No one knew why he chose this stage name. I guess he needed an alias.
I came across another guy who used an alias early in my career. Ziggy Strombowski was a real character. He was in his late 50’s, and he would offer unwanted investment advice. This could range from who looked good in the third race at Aqueduct, to shorting stocks. He tried to recruit investors for a hog farm scheme, but I had to pass. Back then, in the mid-80’s, he played the float on checks, and had to go to several banks each day during lunch hour to “keep all of the balls in the air”, as he put it.
I didn’t know that Ziggy Strombowski was his alias, though. This went over real big when a woman called asking to speak to Steve. Steve Jurgen. Nope, sorry, nobody by that name works here. When Ziggy got back from keeping his financial empire afloat for another day, I casually mentioned the call. He turned a pale shade of white.
“Look at my badge, you jackass!”, he bellowed at me.
His ID badge said “Steven Jurgen”, not Ziggy Strombowski. “The why the hell do you call yourself Ziggy Strombowski?”, I asked.
I never did get a straight answer, but it must be related to one of his many get-rich-quick schemes. By the process of elimination, Ziggy eventually figured out which one of his women called, and assured them that he was still gainfully employed. Or maybe it was his AA sponsor, or probation officer.
I heard anecdotal evidence of some guy who actually had his alias put on his ID badge. His pseudonym was eventually discovered when they ran his background for a security clearance, and it was found that F. Wellington Jade was not an actual person.
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Things to Do in a Boring Meeting
Photo by riddle_
I was in a weekly program status meeting today. Call me the token beancounter. I attended just to give the impression that the finance department was keeping an eye on the exploits of these engineers, and that they didn’t go to far off on a tangent, and just stuck to the contract requirements. I’m not sure if they bought all of that.
After I spoke my piece, I was forced to spend the next hour listening to the propeller heads argue about:
- the benefits of a swappable circuit card configuration;
- where to locate a fan in the test bench;
- who was taking the lead in sourcing a new cable.
If you don’t understand what these things mean, don’t worry - I didn’t either. Also, what had started out as a status meeting morphed into a staff meeting for the lead engineer and his underlings. I couldn’t blame them; their group has been stretched thin by layoffs and attrition, so it was probably the only time most of them had been in the same room in a while.
But now I’m getting off-topic. While the engineers were engaged in heavy technical discussions, I passed the time gazing out the window at a white birch tree. I tracked the flight of a red-tail hawk as he flew over our parking lot, and thought about how many emails would be awaiting me at my computer. It was then that I vowed to be better prepared for a boring meeting.
“The problem with doing nothing is not knowing when you’re finished.” - John Corey, in Nelson DeMille’s novel Plum Island
Here are some of the ideas that I brainstormed while I served out my sentence:
- Bring some paperwork with you - if you can do it inconspicuously, why not pass the time by catching up on some real work? Try to limit it to actual work; one of my buddies got busted for balancing his checkbook in a staff meeting.
- Answer emails - if you’re blessed cursed with having a Blackberry, you can knock several emails out of your inbox while someone is droning on about test program cycle times. Why not use this freedom-robbing device for your own benefit?
- Drinking game - keep track of how many times someone says “system” during the course of the meeting. Then, have that number of drinks after work.
- Beating game - if anyone utters “proactive” more than twice, drag them out to the hallway and beat the living shit out of them. There, that feels better! Bow to the applause as you return to the conference room.
- Separated at birth - look around the room, and try to figure out which celebrity or historical figure each person physically resembles. In this meeting alone, I got Grizzly Adams, Charles Bronson, Napoleon Dynamite, Ruth Buzzi, Droopy Dog, James Caan, Aaron Neville, T-Bag from Prison Break, Kathy Bates, and Bobby Knight. A few participants defied description.
- Grab some Z’s - this only works when the room is dark, otherwise it’s too obvious. Larger crowds offer better protection from discovery. Not recommended if you snore. Or drool.
- Stare out the window - provided you ‘re in a conference room with windows. Watching that hawk sure put me in a better mood. It doesn’t have to be a hawk; maybe an attractive person might be bending over to pick up something that she dropped, and she’s wearing those pants that…well, OK, I’m a pig. Use your imagination.
- Daydream - if you’re certain that you won’t be called upon, why not let your mind wander? You might be able to let your subconscious solve a problem. You could even combine it with staring out the window.
- Paging Mr. Ben Dover - have a prearranged time when a coworker buddy calls the conference room to request your presence at an urgent meeting. When I worked in a building with a paging system, we used to do this all the time. The receptionist would call you over the P.A. system to report to the boss’ office, and you were home free. So long, suckers! (That was 2 “systems”, for those keeping track)
- Pay attention - a last resort, perhaps, but if you really want to broaden your horizons, you could try to get past the technical jargon to really understand what’s going on. I usually can pick up a few new terms in these meetings. It helps when trying to relate to the engineers, who are a different species than us beancounters. I think this is a proven fact, but I could be wrong.
What do you do to pass the time in those mind-numbing meetings?
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