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Ah, yes, those were happier times, August 2008.
I want to complain. I want to bitch. I want to scream at an entity that has no ears and plays games with livelihoods. But I don't know what good that will do.
Usually I get great catharsis with P30P. But tonight, I really can't go into the details. I can't drill down why a broken system can be saved by a scrappy team of misfits (because it might sound like too much like a Quentin Tarantino vehicle), but I really want to.
I know it's unclassified. But still, we do important work. I'm calling the gag order on prudence and better judgment.
Generic time: all I can really gripe about is a system that was doomed to fail once somebody crunched the right numbers. Why would the government hire an overpriced outfit to do tasks that you could easily specialize soldiers and civilians to perform? Why would someone form a company that has no corporate paperwork to show for themselves? Why would anyone sign on with a "corporation" that has no proof of corporate continuity? Easy - it's the evil root.
Contracting is evil. I'm not talking about buildings and paved parking lots. I'm talking about military contractors. I'm talking about the no-bid bastards that don't deliver a damn thing but the CEOs of the contracted company make millions in the turn of a ball point pen. I'm talking about the low ballers that oversell the value of an hour but under buy the souls of workers. I'm talking about stinking capitalists that could care less that the government, with specialists, could probably do it faster, cheaper and more efficiently. But it doesn't matter because the all mighty dollar is driving this uninsured bus.
I'm angry at myself for creating this illusion of solid status. I knew this was not the ideal situation, but I gutted forward because I was learning an exponential amount of knowledge. But now that I have my Microsoft chops, learning accomplished. This plan of action should have been executed last month.
So, if anyone cares, I am looking for a job. I love long walks and small, cuddly animals. I love Information Security, but I am still a FNG at the hardcore stuff. I know my way around "the most expensive Operating System known to man". I have some certs and a degree, but I can always sit down and look for some more. I may not be the smartest guy in the room, but I will work harder to outsmart the guy. This posting thing doesn't pay squat and I have two dogs and a decent lifestyle to support (yes, yes, and I am married, but we know that). If anyone has any leads, please don't hesitate to pass them along.
Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Celebrating a half-anniversary is a very good way of keeping the relationship fresh. That and hotel rooms...is a very good way of keeping a relationship fresh. BONUS: Anytime you see a hotel called "historic", that is code for "small".2) As mentioned before, other towns get it. If the service at any random restaurant, bar, dealership, shopping center is good, people will WANT to visit. Thank you, San Antonio. Corpus has a lot to learn from you.
3) As of midnight Monday morning, we have 47 days until the first Horns football game. Baseball and Lance quitting on me just isn't doing it for me.
No, but seriously, if anyone finds some job leads for me, contact me. Talk later.
Black Market Revival left it all on the stage, literally.
Pardon the repeated theme, but it seems to be reigning the headlines. However, eff the headlines. In most cases, micro has much more impact than macro.
Recently, the thought of death was passing. This week, notsomuch. Guilt set in when I was reminded that it only takes two and a half hours speeding southbound to get to abuela's house. It sucks that you get those reminders when it's a bit late regardless of what Dad said, even though it wasn't a big deal to visit.
Compound that with the complications I learned with abuela's two weeks in the hospital, and I was reminded that death has a precursor. Let's just say it was a textbook case of what happens without a living will and an executor. My dad with the help of my sister and my uncle took care of the rest of the unpleasantness that you don't think about until it's either too late or too-too soon.
So, after all of these necessary evils, Dad and Sis have figured out they want two things: 1) no suffering if everyone knows the prolonged treatments won't do any good and B) cremation seems to be all the rage. Unfortunately, that is a start.
It's too much to process that turns quickly into a slippery slope. If it's not the "what to do when I am sick", it's the "what to do when I finally depart". Then, after, it's the "bury, cremate or other". Then it's the "what to do about the memorial". Then, you always have the "when I go, I want a party" comment. But really, when is there a party when someone just died...unless you are a despot or mass murderer. It's way too much to process especially when you are the one that just passed.
When you grow up and you see loved ones leave, you have to start making difficult decisions. The big lesson learned is (as a reminder): our time is finite. Regardless of how well or lousy we take care of ourselves, we must still depart. I feel there is a lot left to do. My impact is still awaiting, but in the effort to remind myself to get something drafted, I want to post my wishes on the Internets to not only remind my readers and beloved, but also myself. To thyself, stay (somewhat) true.
- Dad and Sis have a good idea. Cremation is a pretty decent way to do it. No open caskets where you look nowhere near as well as you used to or no pine boxes where you stare at unfinished wood. Nah, "ashes to ashes" sounds better than the Bowie track.
- My ashes should be released on the Colorado River. Sure, do it in Austin, or do it in San Saba County - I don't care. Just as long as it gets me to the Gulf, I should be fine.
- So, I mentioned a party. Yeah, don't worry about gathering on my account. If you are going to be at my drop zone, fine. But don't suffer in suits and ties and summer heat on my account. Make that wish happen and move on. It's bad enough I have wasted people's time with dying on them.
- No effing eulogy. I haven't done anything but damage bank accounts and smile at photographs. And even if my impact was felt on people that weren't my immediate family/friends, I still wouldn't want one. Again, quit wasting people's time.
Wow, that was macabre.
Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) It's not really a three-day weekend when you are busting ass still trying to move into the domicile all three days.
2) I have a new-found respect for Andy Roddick. At the very least, he is coach-able.
3) If you are trying to "say tober" at a bar, take it easy with the water-back with the adult beverage. It kinda backfired for me. So, maybe I should just not drink to stay sober, period.
Well, enough of this Fourth of July wholesome goodness. I think next week, I will blog about my favorite "area" rock band as they make their return to the Bend of the Coast. Who knows, I may go all Huffington Post or Daily Beast on this gig. You know, without the aggressive liberal spin and the political banter. Until then, talk later.
I wish I could say we were talking about improving society. I wish I could say that. (from left: Stacy, Arden, Matt, myself and Jennifer)
I have done my share of complaining this month. Mercifully, the month is winding down. This past weekend was the planned break where I celebrated my MCSE Security+ status with a handful of days away from computers and OEMs. Of course, that plan was kibosh-ed. So, before I ran away, I had to rack up a ton more hours at work before I could vacation at a house that was a non-refundable purchase.
To rid myself of the curmudgeon mindset, the sand and the sun of Port A was just the ticket. And misery loves company. The Lovely coordinated with all of her old high school buddies to make this vacation happen. Everything went off without a hitch. Everyone had a great time and no one lost a finger or a flip-flop in the process.
However, my only bitch with vacations is that you need to unwind from the unwinding. Example: Michael and Jen drove from Fort Worth with their three kiddos to make this happen. Matt met Stacy at the airport with delays from planes with mechanical issues trying to connect from Corpus to Port A. Tash and Bry rolled in from Shreveport with Bry having to ace a phone interview while on this trip. Cliff and Arden trucked it from San Antonio with a metric ton of fishing gear in tow (including a bay kayak). How can anyone consider all this work a vacation? Sure, it beats staring at spreadsheets and nodding off in front of dual monitors, but that is a massive amount of work to try to relax.
The only Hell from this section of Hell Month was realizing that 1) paradise is thirty minutes away on Park Road 22 and B) all this work to rest is still work. Clarity is painful sometimes.
With all this charging at full tilt for relaxation, reality seaped in on the last day - my grandmother, who has been fighting the good fight since two Thursdays ago, passed away in the early morning hours of Sunday. She had been sick for a while. Her good days were intersparsed with her bad days. The relief is that she doesn't have to fight anymore.
It's never as bad as it seems, whether the feeling of inequity looms and challenges come in rapid succession and delights come with struggle and strife. The whole concept of Hell Month was to make light of the humdrum and lament that comes with a busy month. But these last 24 hours have put it in it's perspective. Ironically, I close out Hell Month on Tuesday going to my grandmother's rosary.
Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) No matter how well you sunblock performed the previous day, two straight days in the sun will burn you. Reapply all you want, you skin is cooking is the slowest convection oven, ever.
2) It is very difficult to grow a fan base when you blow a 2-nil lead in the first half.
3) Don't be loud at Lisabella's. Your food will be two hours late and uppity white women will sick the head chef on your table to tell you to pipe down. In retrospect, we should have walked.
So, no more of the on-and-on about the woe-is-me after 30 June. Life if a challenge as much as it is a gift. And it only took me 29 days to figure that one out. On to sharper topics next week. Until then, talk later.
Dad is to Detroit Diesel, as I am to Microsoft.
So, when I was a kid, Dad busted his ass moonlighting at Auto Shack while working diesel engines at day. Every once in a while, after his killer professional schedule, he would unwind with his glass of sweet tea (way, way, way too much sugar than should be in any beverage) and a Marlboro Light (or five). and lug home these 5-inch binders of study material that would make law students gulp.
He was always getting certified for Detroit Diesel engine makes and models. I would always recognize the ominous red and yellow logo, specifically for the Series 60 models. And, like clockwork, he would knock out his certification, bring home a certificate or plaque or some version or "atta-boy" that they would think of for that particular exam or the consistency of my dad knocking that exam out of the park.
(Dad, if you are reading, I am kinda fuzzy on what the hell the requirements were. So, you will have to forgive me if I embellish the fact that you were, and still are, a badass.)
I thought it was a Herculean effort. Every time that certification challenge was presented, he would ford along, taking it down, knowing his stuff and becoming better with the continued education, regardless of the esoteric subject matter.
Hell Month continued with one huge goal accomplished. Microsoft calls it MCSE. It's just another industry acronym described as Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer. Basically, it's a battery of tests proving a) Microsoft is the finest software product on the market today and any day and 2) if you think you know what you are staring at when that goofy little flag shows up at a computer startup...you don't.
But, the goal has been accomplished. I am an MCSE with a couple of cherries on top Microsoft calls "Security+". With that distinction, Microsoft has acknowledged that some electives were taken that stresses computer and operational security within the 2003 platform (you know, Windows XP and 2003 Server...the OS people actually like).
Why do I think my dad is a badass? Because I have officially been in front of the 5-inch binder of minutiae certifying myself as an individual that knows what he is talking about. Professionally speaking, continued education is everything. If my dad doesn't know the proper part number for the head gasket for a Series 60, he is slow to the punch. That delay could cost him a sale, an account, a trust that is fostered with the rest of his illuminated tool set.
Why are we alike? Because we continue to learn. Maybe because it's neccessity. Maybe because out careers are offshoot passions. Maybe because we have discovered that if we do not continue to learn, we stunt our growth intellectually and biologically. I can't speak for my father's motivations, other than making a decent living for all of us kids and making sure we all turned out pretty solid human beings. But he still busts out binders and study guides. Sure, the last one I saw was for a shooting (yes, with a gun) competition. But the thirst for knowledge and the challenge of the brain game is still there.
So, today, maybe just in this one instance, I can safely say that we are a lot alike. That is no too shabby of a likeness to compare.
Dad. Thanks.
Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I knew there was a reason I didn't watch CNN anymore. Sure, the website is great, but the live afternoon coverage is insufferable.
2) Positive reenforcement and modified meditation works. I dare anyone to try it and see what happens. On that tangent, I send my postive vibes to all my family that needs it.
3) You know when you are "post-thirty" (TM) when East 6th Street in Austin, TX on a Saturday isn't the first choice for a relaxing evening.
Hell Month continues with reckless abandonment. We are back on insanity schedule at work. But Friday I make the sojoun to the only clean beach in the area. Port A is part of Hell Month for a reason. Full report inbound. Until then, talk later.
I would rather be in a warehouse full of hops than in Hell Month.
I feel like Anne Frank...you know, without the death and destruction laying about. As I post, the only destruction notable is dirty clothes on the hotel room floor and stacks of folders with pages of Microsoft reference material.
Maybe I am overdoing it a bit? Maybe I am hamming it up for entertainment's sake. Maybe it isn't all that bad. Then again, I am reminded of Jennie Bueller standing at the end of the hall.
"[thinking to herself] Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe Ferris isn't such a bad guy. After all, I got a car, he got a computer. But still, why should he get to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants? Why should everything work out for him? What makes him so goddamn special?
[spoken] Screw him."
I just might be overdoing it. However, I think I am entitled to a little bit of moodiness. Think about it, how many times does the average white-collar worker have to struggle so much for things that should be either assumed or logically warranted? I know I chose to leave for two weeks. I know I didn't have to work an 80-hour week. But why is it such a struggle to better yourself?
That is a philosophical question for another time...especially when I have more time. But presently, 70-291 is staring at me like double-barrels to a flock of game hens. So, I much table this argument until next week.
Lessons Learned, my three things
1) You can fix anything...ANYTHING, with a GPO. You heard me, IT!
2) Files trump folder permissions. Deny trumps access permissions. Are you hearing me IT?
3) I know I need to knock it off with the movie quotes, but training has me inspired. "Well I guess we have to win the whole...fucking...thing."
Yeah, this was brief. I am even more brief on the Twitter updates. We are close...but we got a lot to cover. We will see with next week. Talk later.
In Hell, there is no furniture and you are forced to do DIY projects.
You know, it could be worse. I could be this guy. Or I could be that guy. But right now, I am going through the most hellacious month a old man can go through.
I guess it was set up with Purgatory half-month in May. Here is how it started...
Me: I would like to go to Microsoft Training.
The Job: Cool.
Me: You think you can help me with leave-time?
The Job: You have vacation, right?
Me: Well, Microsoft Training really isn't vacation.
The Job: Good point...let me find out.
FOUR HOURS LATER
The Job: (in an email) No dice.
So, for the first week of the month, to preserve my vacation time (or lack thereof), I logged 80 hours in the office in seven days. Nothing says, "What is good for the company?" than logging that sort of cubicle action. No weekend. Limited rest. All balls.
Why in the world would we schedule our exodus from the one-bedroom to the upgraded apartment AT THE SAME WEEK I'M LOGGING AN 80-HOUR WEEK? Very simple, I am in Hell Month. We were suppose to pull that off at the end of May. Yeah, notsomuch. So, I am in a strange, new, bigger apartment...for a day and a half.
So, that's seven days...the following 14 days, MCSE Security Boot Camp. I don't think I have to explain the words "Microsoft" and "boot camp". No, not Boot Camp-boot camp, this is just 14 days of living out of a suitcase and staring at dual monitors running test scenarios and practice tests. Reveille is at 7. First class is at 0830. Grub is at the mess hall at noon. We go until 1730. We take a quick break and labs go until midnight. Fourteen days, six exams, four certifications. That's the goal. Rock and roll.
So, 21 out of 30 does not make a Hell Month. No, no, we need all days from dusk 'til dawn. The last exam on Sunday, I make a quick Whole Foods run and get back to the cube farm. So, again, since this is not vacation, I am not using vacation. But, how about this kick in the pants - 96 hours in six days. My instant mathematicians just had an aneurysm because 30 sans 21 is nine.
Oh, no, I need a break. The Lovely set up a "hey, I haven't hung out with the girls in 18 months, we should do something" vacation. There is a cabin in Port A that is waiting for five couples to wreak havoc. This caveat proves that Hell has a beautiful getaway spot, and some shady beach bars. Hell will be suffered in the mind, body and liver.
Seven plus 14 plus four plus three plus two equals Hell Month. Get your pitch forks and your nine rings. I will but updating Twitter more than @THE_REAL_SHAQ. I have no off-season, Big Aristotle.
Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) I love this town. I totally should have ran for city council, but I can't leave my day job every Tuesday. The latest, it takes almost a third of the salary of the police chief to FIND a new police chief.
2) See, if I lived outside of this fishing village, I would see boring stories, like this.
3) I am very focused. Attack and release for Microsoft. Time to bring it.
Sure, I might be in the midst of Hell Month, but I will ask permission from the dark lord to write and post. Have netbook, will travel. Who knows, we might learn something together. And that's what it's all about. Talk later.
Ah, yes, those were happier times, August 2008.
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