Worst Invention Ever: Videophone.
Don't get me wrong, I think being able to Skype with relatives halfway around the world is awesome, and I've cornered plenty of relatives online and watched them politely chuckle while whatever infant I'm showing off at the time proceeds to reenact the iconic scene from the Exorcist. I honestly do believe that Grandparents find that endearing. I could plant a kid in a Bumbo seat smack dab in front of the web cam and I'm certain Grandparents would sit there and watch the kid try to snack on his toes for hours. It's like crack to them. However...
Why in the world would anyone ever want someone to see what they are actually doing while talking on the phone? People are SO addicted to their cell phones that they actually hold conversations in what used to be semi-private places. Can you imagine adding video to this?
"Dude, where are you? You sound like you're in a cave?"
"Nah, I'm on the can dropping a duce."
"Ah, that makes sense. I thought you were looking a bit strained."
"Sorry man. I would have called you back but this can't wait. Randy Moss got traded again, you have to update our fantasy team."
NOT having the video option on a cell or any other phone allows us to maintain an air of professionalism, regardless of how we look or what's going on in the background. Seriously, I've had some calls that I was so anxious to get that I kept a phone next to me in the shower. Phone rings, caller ID confirms it's the call I'm waiting for, and next thing you know, I'm sitting at my desk, towel around my waist, dripping wet and furiously working at the computer. My trusty speakerphone cooly edits the scene and projects an mental image across the line of me, calm, cool (dry and clothed) and dutifully knocking out whatever problem is at hand.
My office used to be a front porch, and as such has 3 entrances: One from the front yard, one to the living room via glass french doors, and one to the kids' playroom, also with glass french doors. I can close the doors when I need some privacy, and at some point I should probably fix the curtains for the additional privacy, but until I can get around to it (it's number 437 on my 'Honey-Do' list) I have the occasional half-pint visitor who decides that he needs Daddy's attention no matter what. So here's the scene: Imagine giving a serious presentation to a client, where you know that your boss, your boss's boss and the Big Cheese of the client's company is on the line. Imagine that you are the one who developed the new industrial configuration that is going to save them serious dinero and solve a ton of their engineering hurdles and are giving a video presentation to lay out the details and field any questions. Now imagine that while on the Video phone from your home office, at the key point in the presentation, all attention turns to the background. There, a skinny little kid runs headlong into the closed french door, rebounds, then proceeds to get dog-piled by his 2 younger brothers, one trying to force a matchbox car into a place it's not intended to go and the other just piling on because, Hey, that what brothers do! Aside from not being able to ignore the sound of the initial impact with the french door, due to the visual you've pretty much derailed the entire presentation. Now I'm not saying that the example used did or did not happen, but without the presence of a videophone (and some Windex on a paper towel for the glass on the french door), it never happened.
In a world of multitasking, the videophone would ground productivity to a halt. I have no problem answering E-mails or doing the diaper-dash while listening to training (speakerphone on mute, thank you). Chances are, I probably worked through lunch. So while I'm 'attending' a meeting where my input is, for all intents and purposes, neither required nor desired, I'm probably also raiding the fridge to see if I can make a palatable lunch out of a single slice of turkey, a half-eaten banana and the 38 condiments inside. (Side note: Does anyone else feel like food disappears as soon as it gets in the house, but the jar of pickles from 2004 never seems to empty?) Could you imagine what would happen if every time you had a conversation with someone, or attended a conference call, you had to be staring in the relative vicinity of a video camera? Wow. In my book that'd be cruel and unusual punishment. What goes on behind the scenes of the speakerphone that keeps me connected to the rest of the world and lets me do my job should stay a mystery. I get paid because I get results, and am able to do so regardless of whatever antics Groucho, Harpo and Zeppo are pulling off in the Freedonia that is the backdrop of my office.
Thank you to the innovators that have made video phone possible (while making an OS update so cumbersome my old iPhone is now obsolete), but I'll stick with my no-video, illusion-of-professionalism producing speakerphone. Now back to work (after I determine if a quick Matchbox car extraction is necessary...)
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Monday, November 15, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
What Time Did You Need That Again?
Time is a funny thing. When you are sitting at your desk, with not much to do, it's amazing how it can take forever for 5 minutes to pass. Conversely, if you are up against a deadline, an entire morning can fly by before you've even managed to get the Mr. Coffee percolating. To mess with your head even more, add time zones to the mix. I have clients with locations in various parts of the U.S., and because of this, I have to be on a somewhat flexible time schedule. For the most part this isn't a problem since I know (generally) when my kids are going to take naps, want to eat etc so I can plan around a lot of things. The ideal afternoon meeting times are between 2 and 4 PM, since that's when at least 2 of the three will be in 'Quiet Time.' The term "Nap Time" has been phased out since #2 goes into fits and tears at the mention of 'Nap.' (Funny how that works. My kids hate having to take naps, where as if given the opportunity, I'd institute National Siesta from 1-3 daily). In the mornings, meetings are best between 9 and 11. The baby is usually asleep during the majority of that period and the older 2 are usually off with my wife doing something leaving the house pretty quiet. Seniority, of course, sets the schedule, so if I'm planning my day, I usually get to work within these time periods. If the client or my supervisor sets the meeting, then I usually just have to roll with the punches. (more on that in another Post)
One trip-up that the great computer age hasn't sorted out is that because we're in different time zones, setting meeting times isn't always so cut and dry. I've agreed to 2 PM meetings only to have no one call in to the conference line ("Hello? Hello?), followed by calls and E-mails at 3PM and 4PM asking "where is everyone?" Or else, I'll be on a meeting with a lot of people who I don't know (various clients' clients) where they'll all agree that Bob will set a meeting for 4PM Thursday and no one realizes that Bob lives in Adack Alaska and we just committed to a 9PM call. A minor tip of the hat to Microsoft Outlook that recognizes time zones and adjusts the meetings accordingly when they come to be the appropriate time on your personal calendar. I've been caught off-guard by this once or twice and received a call from my boss asking "You joining us?" and answered "Yup calling in now" when what I really mean to say is "No, I totally missed that the meeting is CST not EST and I'm currently chasing a bare-assed 10-month-old under a table and trying to catch him before he smears poop all over the carpet. Honey! I need some help!!!" *Sigh*
Things would be much easier if everyone accepted the idea that whatever timezone I'm in, should be the world standard. It'd be perfect, you'd never have to worry about what time a meeting was. There would never be any confusion as to what time your flight would be getting in or how long that flight was. You'd always know that the booking agent only gave you a 15 minute window to make it to your connecting flight that's 25 minutes across O'Hare International. The more I think about this, the more I like this concept. Football and baseball games would always start at 7PM. Mind you, that's 7PM MY TIME. Sorry if that seems insensitive to my West Coast brethren, but you can always turn on the radio or Internet and have the game going on in the background. I have no desire to stay up until 2 AM to see how a game ends. I'm not saying the whole world would have to work from 9-5, they could work from 1-10. Doesn't matter to me. As long as my 3PM is their 3 PM. The other nice part about this is that it would make Daylight Savings Time completely unnecessary. I'm sorry, that's a bit misleading. Daylight Savings Time IS completely irrelevant. How is it with all the great scientific advancements we've made, this 19th century concept still has a throttle hold on our society? Ok, I'm guessing you are one of those people who revel in the 'extra hour of sleep' that comes each fall. Stop drinking the Kool Aide! This is what they want you to think! If you, like me, occupy a house with three little creatures of habit who don't understand that 19th century farmers needed an extra hour of daylight in the morning (because the idea of working an hour later was, apparently, abhorrent) than they are STILL going to get up at the same approximate time the next morning. So for the first few days after we switch the clocks back, I get to try and convince my kids that they are supposed to understand that the clock now says 4:30 and Dunkin Donuts doesn't open for another half hour so Daddy is not getting up. What really blows my mind is that a few years back, we actually passed legislation to change the dates of DST to 'save more money on energy bills.' Seriously? Why not just pick a time, and legislate the whole concept out of existence. I mean, we managed to essentially eradicate Yellow Fever over a Century ago and DST affects WAY more people. Sorry, I'm venting. The whole time change thing does seriously screw up the sleeping patterns in an already sleep-starved household. The only way to force the new wake up time on the little critters, is to try and keep them up extra late. Yeah. Doesn't work. Ever watched a baby fall asleep sitting up and faceplant into mashed bananas? Now's the time.
I think equally as frustrating is the fact that some people that I work with are completely oblivious to the implications of the time zone difference. I am completely understanding of getting phonecalls in the middle of the night because something has gone wrong. It happens, and it's part of the job. What I can't stand is getting phone calls at 4:55 on a Friday afternoon from someone out in California who wants to just 'chat' about some information that's recently come to light. If it were urgent, late-breaking news, I'd be OK with it, but mostly it's just to ramble on about whether the technical specifications were able to answer a question we've been working on. It's these times when #2 walks into the room and asks "Who you talking to Daddy?" that I have to control myself from saying both to him and into the phone: "Some moron who doesn't understand that it's after 5 on a Friday and I need to be making your dinner instead of talking to him." One of these days I'll have to call them at 6AM (MY time of course) on their cell to discuss the font on the latest employee news letter. Maybe that will drive home the point.
It's another bit of mental gym that I have to go through on a daily basis. It's not really difficult, but it throws a wrench in the works from time to time that takes more effort to clean up than is really worth it. So I'll check my updated calendar, make sure I'm not missing anything, and go de-poop the floor.
One trip-up that the great computer age hasn't sorted out is that because we're in different time zones, setting meeting times isn't always so cut and dry. I've agreed to 2 PM meetings only to have no one call in to the conference line ("Hello? Hello?), followed by calls and E-mails at 3PM and 4PM asking "where is everyone?" Or else, I'll be on a meeting with a lot of people who I don't know (various clients' clients) where they'll all agree that Bob will set a meeting for 4PM Thursday and no one realizes that Bob lives in Adack Alaska and we just committed to a 9PM call. A minor tip of the hat to Microsoft Outlook that recognizes time zones and adjusts the meetings accordingly when they come to be the appropriate time on your personal calendar. I've been caught off-guard by this once or twice and received a call from my boss asking "You joining us?" and answered "Yup calling in now" when what I really mean to say is "No, I totally missed that the meeting is CST not EST and I'm currently chasing a bare-assed 10-month-old under a table and trying to catch him before he smears poop all over the carpet. Honey! I need some help!!!" *Sigh*
Things would be much easier if everyone accepted the idea that whatever timezone I'm in, should be the world standard. It'd be perfect, you'd never have to worry about what time a meeting was. There would never be any confusion as to what time your flight would be getting in or how long that flight was. You'd always know that the booking agent only gave you a 15 minute window to make it to your connecting flight that's 25 minutes across O'Hare International. The more I think about this, the more I like this concept. Football and baseball games would always start at 7PM. Mind you, that's 7PM MY TIME. Sorry if that seems insensitive to my West Coast brethren, but you can always turn on the radio or Internet and have the game going on in the background. I have no desire to stay up until 2 AM to see how a game ends. I'm not saying the whole world would have to work from 9-5, they could work from 1-10. Doesn't matter to me. As long as my 3PM is their 3 PM. The other nice part about this is that it would make Daylight Savings Time completely unnecessary. I'm sorry, that's a bit misleading. Daylight Savings Time IS completely irrelevant. How is it with all the great scientific advancements we've made, this 19th century concept still has a throttle hold on our society? Ok, I'm guessing you are one of those people who revel in the 'extra hour of sleep' that comes each fall. Stop drinking the Kool Aide! This is what they want you to think! If you, like me, occupy a house with three little creatures of habit who don't understand that 19th century farmers needed an extra hour of daylight in the morning (because the idea of working an hour later was, apparently, abhorrent) than they are STILL going to get up at the same approximate time the next morning. So for the first few days after we switch the clocks back, I get to try and convince my kids that they are supposed to understand that the clock now says 4:30 and Dunkin Donuts doesn't open for another half hour so Daddy is not getting up. What really blows my mind is that a few years back, we actually passed legislation to change the dates of DST to 'save more money on energy bills.' Seriously? Why not just pick a time, and legislate the whole concept out of existence. I mean, we managed to essentially eradicate Yellow Fever over a Century ago and DST affects WAY more people. Sorry, I'm venting. The whole time change thing does seriously screw up the sleeping patterns in an already sleep-starved household. The only way to force the new wake up time on the little critters, is to try and keep them up extra late. Yeah. Doesn't work. Ever watched a baby fall asleep sitting up and faceplant into mashed bananas? Now's the time.
I think equally as frustrating is the fact that some people that I work with are completely oblivious to the implications of the time zone difference. I am completely understanding of getting phonecalls in the middle of the night because something has gone wrong. It happens, and it's part of the job. What I can't stand is getting phone calls at 4:55 on a Friday afternoon from someone out in California who wants to just 'chat' about some information that's recently come to light. If it were urgent, late-breaking news, I'd be OK with it, but mostly it's just to ramble on about whether the technical specifications were able to answer a question we've been working on. It's these times when #2 walks into the room and asks "Who you talking to Daddy?" that I have to control myself from saying both to him and into the phone: "Some moron who doesn't understand that it's after 5 on a Friday and I need to be making your dinner instead of talking to him." One of these days I'll have to call them at 6AM (MY time of course) on their cell to discuss the font on the latest employee news letter. Maybe that will drive home the point.
It's another bit of mental gym that I have to go through on a daily basis. It's not really difficult, but it throws a wrench in the works from time to time that takes more effort to clean up than is really worth it. So I'll check my updated calendar, make sure I'm not missing anything, and go de-poop the floor.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Food for Thought
I love food. I think if I were to have a superpower, it'd have to be one that comes with a hyper-drive metabolism, allowing me to eat constantly without needing an adjustable waistband on my underoos. Until then, the angel and devil on my shoulders will have to continue the debate on whether or not now is the best time to see if the last Boston Creme that I squirreled away in the refrigerator has been discovered.
Working from home, creates some challenges in the food department. There's no defined 'meal time' since my schedule is primarily dictated by my workload, but heavily influenced by just how stinky the diaper in closest proximity. Because of this, I've fallen into the habit of 'snacking.' Whether it's to go to the bathroom, or help get the kids in the car I have to pass through the kitchen. I don't think there's a red-blooded American man who can pass by a refrigerator without opening it up. To this day, more than 15 years after moving out of my parents' house, I still feel a compulsion to raid the fridge whenever I'm there. It must be a Y chromosome thing. On occasion, my snacking is actually hunger driven. Mind you, I've most likely been up since pretty early in the morning, and my breakfast probably consisted of a Special K breakfast bar and a cup of coffee. I know, I know. Not exactly the breakfast of champions for someone claiming to love food. See, the problem is that by the time the 3 amigos have put me through their morning paces, I've probably haven't had enough time to figure out what to eat, much less make it or eat it. So I grab something easy that I can eat on the go, knowing that I'll probably end up powering down the leftovers of whatever it is I might make the kids for breakfast. Many days, it's the previously mentioned defrosted Eggo. You couldn't pay me to eat one of those. Flash-backs of a summer in the swamps of Quantico, training with the Marine Corps, eating soggy Eggo's and cold, powdered eggs while wondering just how long it takes for jungle rot to clear up, have given me a slight aversion to them. Of course, on the days one of the little locusts decides that he isn't really hungry and leaves the waffle on the table, I'm not above sticking that bad-boy in the toaster (the waffle, not the kid), crisping it up, and adding a generous portion of peanut butter and Aunt Jemima. (No. The combination of peanut butter and maple syrup on waffles is in fact NOT gross. It is one of the ambrosia-like combinations placed on this earth to remind us that there IS a benevolent higher power who loves us.)
Thankfully, I've accepted my snacking habit as one that may not be treatable but is at the very least controllable. It helps when I can go grocery shopping and peruse the aisles to decide which things I can see myself going for when I get hit by the "Oh God, I can't sit here and read another personnel report" desire to get up and wander through the kitchen. I've already passed the Almond Joy on the counter three times this morning and resisted the temptation to supplement my breakfast with it. (The chocolate cupcake, however, was not so lucky.) I try to make relatively healthy choices, at least when buying the snacks, but I'm not so delusional to think that if I buy nothing but celery sticks and apples (both also awesome with peanut butter) that I'll have no choice but to eat them. In reality, I'll most likely stare at them during my half dozen or so trips to the fridge where I wonder why there isn't anything in there I'm interested in eating then give up, shut the fridge, open the freezer and head back to the computer with a hand full of chocolate chips. (Yes, keep them in the freezer, they're better that way.)
Like most people with a habit they can't kick, I have an enabler. My two year old has few things in life that bring him more joy than to eat goldfish crackers. There is no time of day too early or late, no life event so scary or depressing that a goldfish cracker cannot make all right with the world. The goldfish, sometimes referred to as 'fishies,' are always carried in some sort of cup that causes them to rattle around in a distinct way when five little fingers are groping for the perfect one. No need to tie a bell around this kid's neck, I'm always aware of where he's located in the house by how the sound of goldfish in a plastic cup resonates through the rooms. In his innocent way, he'll meander into my office, staring into his cup, so engrossed in his good fortune that he'll, of course, not realize I'm there.
Him - "Oh. Hi Daddy! Look, Fishies!"
Me - "Oooh, you have fishies?"
Him - "No. Goldfish."
Me - "Oh, I'm sorry, I meant Goldfish."
Him - "Yeah. Look! Nemo!"
At this point, he'll grab one of the crackers and hold it up for me to acknowledge that this perfect morsel is orange and fish-shaped and greatly resembles one of his favorite movie characters.
Me - "Cool. It looks like Nemo."
Him, happily - "Yeah!" Then, as if realizing what fate is in store for his tiny friend, he drops his head, sighs, and with the briefest of pauses, consumes helpless cracker.
Then, to make him feel better (not a selfish thought in my head of course) I'll ask him if I can have one. This request is always pondered most seriously. Then, inevitably he'll decide that sharing is a good thing, select just the right cracker (usually one missing a tail fin (how'd THAT get in there?)) and hold it out for me to eat. This is always done with a grin, though I'm not sure if it's because he likes to share or because he knows that this will get the snack monster fired up. The worst part is that I'm not even aware that I'm hungry until that one little cracker gets the juices flowing. Now of course, no matter how hard I try to get back to the task at hand, the aftertaste of processed cheddar is lingering, I've realized that the breakfast bar was consumed considerably longer in the past than I had realized, and there probably isn't enough time to make a legitimate meal for myself before the next meeting starts. Time to grab my own stash of fishies and head back to work until lunch.
At least one of of the kids, just about every lunchtime, will eat either chicken nuggets or a peanutbutter and Jelly sandwich. My desire not to see food wasted and my snacking capacity create an incredible desire to finish up the inevitable leftovers, hanging around on their plates as they've gone off to fight over whatever toy is readily available. The only thing that keeps me from indulging in these, is that they prefer grape jelly with their PB (I'm a strawberry jelly person myself) and I'm at the point where the smell of chicken nuggets pretty much nauseates me. Isn't that sad? I remember the day when I could ride my bicycle to McDonalds with my cousin, and the two of us could happily power down a 20 piece Mcnugget, fries and a drink (supersize of course) and still put all our change on the table to see if we had enough for a molten-lava apple pie. So I'll pass through the kitchen at lunchtime, scape the scraps into the trash, realize there's noting I really want to eat and head, disappointedly back to the office.
What to do?
Ah Ha! I know! Perfect!
Damn, someone found the Boston Creme.
Working from home, creates some challenges in the food department. There's no defined 'meal time' since my schedule is primarily dictated by my workload, but heavily influenced by just how stinky the diaper in closest proximity. Because of this, I've fallen into the habit of 'snacking.' Whether it's to go to the bathroom, or help get the kids in the car I have to pass through the kitchen. I don't think there's a red-blooded American man who can pass by a refrigerator without opening it up. To this day, more than 15 years after moving out of my parents' house, I still feel a compulsion to raid the fridge whenever I'm there. It must be a Y chromosome thing. On occasion, my snacking is actually hunger driven. Mind you, I've most likely been up since pretty early in the morning, and my breakfast probably consisted of a Special K breakfast bar and a cup of coffee. I know, I know. Not exactly the breakfast of champions for someone claiming to love food. See, the problem is that by the time the 3 amigos have put me through their morning paces, I've probably haven't had enough time to figure out what to eat, much less make it or eat it. So I grab something easy that I can eat on the go, knowing that I'll probably end up powering down the leftovers of whatever it is I might make the kids for breakfast. Many days, it's the previously mentioned defrosted Eggo. You couldn't pay me to eat one of those. Flash-backs of a summer in the swamps of Quantico, training with the Marine Corps, eating soggy Eggo's and cold, powdered eggs while wondering just how long it takes for jungle rot to clear up, have given me a slight aversion to them. Of course, on the days one of the little locusts decides that he isn't really hungry and leaves the waffle on the table, I'm not above sticking that bad-boy in the toaster (the waffle, not the kid), crisping it up, and adding a generous portion of peanut butter and Aunt Jemima. (No. The combination of peanut butter and maple syrup on waffles is in fact NOT gross. It is one of the ambrosia-like combinations placed on this earth to remind us that there IS a benevolent higher power who loves us.)
Thankfully, I've accepted my snacking habit as one that may not be treatable but is at the very least controllable. It helps when I can go grocery shopping and peruse the aisles to decide which things I can see myself going for when I get hit by the "Oh God, I can't sit here and read another personnel report" desire to get up and wander through the kitchen. I've already passed the Almond Joy on the counter three times this morning and resisted the temptation to supplement my breakfast with it. (The chocolate cupcake, however, was not so lucky.) I try to make relatively healthy choices, at least when buying the snacks, but I'm not so delusional to think that if I buy nothing but celery sticks and apples (both also awesome with peanut butter) that I'll have no choice but to eat them. In reality, I'll most likely stare at them during my half dozen or so trips to the fridge where I wonder why there isn't anything in there I'm interested in eating then give up, shut the fridge, open the freezer and head back to the computer with a hand full of chocolate chips. (Yes, keep them in the freezer, they're better that way.)
Like most people with a habit they can't kick, I have an enabler. My two year old has few things in life that bring him more joy than to eat goldfish crackers. There is no time of day too early or late, no life event so scary or depressing that a goldfish cracker cannot make all right with the world. The goldfish, sometimes referred to as 'fishies,' are always carried in some sort of cup that causes them to rattle around in a distinct way when five little fingers are groping for the perfect one. No need to tie a bell around this kid's neck, I'm always aware of where he's located in the house by how the sound of goldfish in a plastic cup resonates through the rooms. In his innocent way, he'll meander into my office, staring into his cup, so engrossed in his good fortune that he'll, of course, not realize I'm there.
Him - "Oh. Hi Daddy! Look, Fishies!"
Me - "Oooh, you have fishies?"
Him - "No. Goldfish."
Me - "Oh, I'm sorry, I meant Goldfish."
Him - "Yeah. Look! Nemo!"
At this point, he'll grab one of the crackers and hold it up for me to acknowledge that this perfect morsel is orange and fish-shaped and greatly resembles one of his favorite movie characters.
Me - "Cool. It looks like Nemo."
Him, happily - "Yeah!" Then, as if realizing what fate is in store for his tiny friend, he drops his head, sighs, and with the briefest of pauses, consumes helpless cracker.
Then, to make him feel better (not a selfish thought in my head of course) I'll ask him if I can have one. This request is always pondered most seriously. Then, inevitably he'll decide that sharing is a good thing, select just the right cracker (usually one missing a tail fin (how'd THAT get in there?)) and hold it out for me to eat. This is always done with a grin, though I'm not sure if it's because he likes to share or because he knows that this will get the snack monster fired up. The worst part is that I'm not even aware that I'm hungry until that one little cracker gets the juices flowing. Now of course, no matter how hard I try to get back to the task at hand, the aftertaste of processed cheddar is lingering, I've realized that the breakfast bar was consumed considerably longer in the past than I had realized, and there probably isn't enough time to make a legitimate meal for myself before the next meeting starts. Time to grab my own stash of fishies and head back to work until lunch.
At least one of of the kids, just about every lunchtime, will eat either chicken nuggets or a peanutbutter and Jelly sandwich. My desire not to see food wasted and my snacking capacity create an incredible desire to finish up the inevitable leftovers, hanging around on their plates as they've gone off to fight over whatever toy is readily available. The only thing that keeps me from indulging in these, is that they prefer grape jelly with their PB (I'm a strawberry jelly person myself) and I'm at the point where the smell of chicken nuggets pretty much nauseates me. Isn't that sad? I remember the day when I could ride my bicycle to McDonalds with my cousin, and the two of us could happily power down a 20 piece Mcnugget, fries and a drink (supersize of course) and still put all our change on the table to see if we had enough for a molten-lava apple pie. So I'll pass through the kitchen at lunchtime, scape the scraps into the trash, realize there's noting I really want to eat and head, disappointedly back to the office.
What to do?
Ah Ha! I know! Perfect!
Damn, someone found the Boston Creme.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Meeting on the Move
To me, it's seriously cool how I can pick up and move to anywhere in the US that has cell phone service and a WiFi and continue to work with virtually seamless transition. In fact, while flying back from Utah a few weeks ago, I even used in-flight WiFi to continue working and keeping in contact from the plane. Of course, sitting in the last row of "Cattle" Class in a non-reclining chair and wedged in between the window and a comatose woman who was unwittingly using me to prop herself up, typing on a laptop that could only be opened 75% required some innovation and double-jointed elbows. But the fact that it only cost $12.95 (slightly less than a bag of airline peanuts) for unlimited WiFi, particularly on a 4.5 hour flight that was not equipped to show the much anticipated "The A-Team," made the flight both quick and enjoyable.
With all the mobility and technology, the Achillies' Heel in this setup is the fact that no matter where I go, I'm potentially a victim of my environment. Relocating to the library is nice and quiet, but you can't take conference calls there. Your local franchise Donut purveyors now offer free WiFi (though interestingly a popular Seattle-based coffee location still charges you) but the seats aren't comfortable, the tables barely fit my laptop and they have become the new hang out for the over 80's crowd who gather to complain about the weather, the price of everything, and go into excruciating detail, at ear-splitting decibel levels, about their latest trip to some specialist ('I told the doctor, "Forget my prostate! Check this out!"').
My personal favorite are the big book stores. Most book stores now come complete with coffee houses and Barrista's willing to pour you a $37 latte with extra foam. The current etiquette, if you care to follow it, is that you should buy a drink or something every so often for occupying their space and using their network. Unfortunately, after a while, all that half-caf grande skim moccachinno with whip and a shake (no, I don't want shaved chocolate on that, let's not be ridiculous please) has to go somewhere, and packing my laptop, notebooks etc for a trip to the men's room isn't convenient. Plus you risk losing the 'good' seat in the cafe. So moderation is key, both to minimize the trips to loo and because when you're a caffeine minimalist like me, two cups of the coffeehouse special and I'm shaking like a junkie in rehab. It makes it interesting trying to type, but hey, at least I'm being 'proper.' The crazy part about these coffee houses is that they seat a small army of people, but only have about two electrical outlets. The person who gets the single seater table along the far wall, well lit but out of direct sunlight, also gets the seat that controls access to electrical outlet. This it the Seat of Power, both literally and figuratively. I get to plug in my laptop, taking up one of the coveted spots and wait to see who will have the courage to ask if they can plug in as well. It's amazing to me how some people will walk right up to me without saying a word, go under my table ("Um, hello? Can I help you?") plug right in and go about their business. Other people, will agonize over whether they should approach me or not, like I'm going to require them to kiss my ring and swear to repay this favor in the future ("Thank you, Godfather"). Of course, the truly savvy coffee house frequenter (typically the college students) will see that the second of my large, somewhat obligatory beverages has long since been consumed, my legs are crossed, my foot is tapping a -mile-a-minute and I'm eyeing the route to the men's room with the same longing that the teeny-boppers in the Young Adult section are eyeing the latest "Twilight" paraphernalia. So it comes down to what deadline is more urgent: their term paper or my bladder. Never knew there were such intense politics in the book store coffee house, did you?
So when all else fails, there's always the relative privacy of my car, which is effective and never dull. On more than one occasion, whether its because I was en route to one of my client's locations, or because I've been travelling with my family but still had to work due to lack of vacation time, I've had to opt for the Driver Side Office. If I have to do this, I usually try to find a mall or small shopping strip with one of the aforementioned book or donut stores. The great thing about those places is the WiFi signal is usually strong enough that if you're lucky enough to get Rock Star parking, you can get a solid signal in the parking lot. Then it's time to plug the smartphone into the dashboard lighter, synch up to the bluetooth speaker and dial in to the conference line. Then, to keep the noise down, I cut the engine roll up the windows and set the car thermometer to Shake-n-Bake. My car, when not carting me around, takes pride in its ability to bake a Thanksgiving turkey in about an hour. So as I'm on my phone, typing away at my laptop which is doing nothing to add to the comfort of my own private sauna, I'm also sweating like Bill Clinton everytime Hillary asks "So, filled that new intern position yet?" There are about 3 days a year, where cold outside temperature is perfectly balanced by the beating sun, and I can stay in there as long as necessary. Any other time, the race is on to determine what runs out first: my laptop battery or my body's water supply. As you can imagine, I've gotten some strange looks from passers-by and particularly security guards while sitting in parking lots, usually before the local stores open, seemingly talking to myself and sweating like a horse. On occasion, it seems like I'm getting a bit TOO much attention from the local mall cop, or the police cruiser makes a second pass in 15 minutes and I decide it's time to leave before something happens.
Despite the somewhat unconventional locations, and the occasionally uncomfortable situations, my productivity while outside my normal office continues to be high. Maybe it's the change of scenery, maybe it's the extra caffeine, who knows. The nice part is, sooner or later, the laptop battery will expend it's last electron, the parking lot light will dim enough, or the trip will come to an end. Regardless of the reason, it gives me a great reason to wrap up whatever I'm working on, head home and get bowled over by the kids with a cry of "DADDY!" That walk-through-the-door greeting is one of the few things you don't get to experience everyday when working from home, so maybe it makes it just that much more special to me when it happens.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Cast of Characters
Every Office is different. For 5 years I got up at 4:31 AM (there was something psychological about that extra minute which made the early hour bearable), drove an hour and 45 minutes so I could sit down in an 8x10 cell, I mean office, with no windows and bad lighting doing work which gave me the same satisfaction as translating Webster's Dictionary into Pig Latin. Oot-shay Ee-may Ease-play. What made it bearable was the supporting cast of characters who kept me sane talking about anything OTHER than work. It's amazing how much time could pass discussing the latest Harry Potter novel, sports, the Simpsons, or swapping home improvement horror stories.
My new office is bright, airy, as close to home as you can get, and comes with it's own cast of characters, who keep me from ever having to worry about my routine getting dull. In fact, one might even say that they take pride in ensuring a routine is never actually established.
As I mentioned previously, I have three computers in my home office with routers, peripherals etc. The result is a Siren's song of flashing lights, hanging chords and clicking buttons to tempt even the most indifferent rugrat. Now as a responsible parent/employee, my office has been declared "Off Limits" which translated into Munchkinese means "Playland of Forbidden Fruit."
I don't enforce the domestic No-Fly-Zone very well, which means that about 90% of my office interruptions are self-inflicted. My 2-year-old, my office's social butterfly, is fun-loving, curious, and cute as can be. He regularly comes in to check on me and ensure my productivity levels don't peak too early in the day. Often I'm greeted with an "Oh, Hi Daddy!" said as though his wandering into the work zone was either a completely accidental occurrence, or the idea that I might actually be sitting at my desk, like I do every day, never occurred to him. Very rarely do I usher him to the door, even when I'm on the phone. Since he no longer feels the need to be picked up all the time and can usually play quietly in the background, once he's convinced I'm not on the phone with, and depriving him of a conversation with, Grandma, he's usually pretty quiet. Instead, he occupies himself by either showing me the toy cars that are the favorite of the day, or turning the A/C on and off. Occasionally he'll stand on the easy chair in my office, looking out the window giving me a play-by-play of every car that passes by. Evidently one can never be TOO informed of the local traffic patterns.
Assuming the role of the office gossip is my oldest. The 'Town Crier' of the family, he has figured out that when Daddy is sitting at his desk, things need to be addressed quietly. For a while, I tried to explain that when Daddy is working, he and his brothers need to stay out. Eventually I learned that his nose for news and his unquenchable need to report it, can come in handy.
tug tug (whispered) "Dad"
*ignore*
(whispered) "Dad!"
*ignore*
"Um, excuse me, Daddy?"
(annoyed) "Daddy is on the phone for work! What is it?"
"The baby is climbing the stairs"
*sigh* "Thanks Champ." "Jim, I'll call you back in a minute."
The biggest character in my new office environment comes in the form of the 10-month-old, who is the unwitting practical joker of the group. He can crawl with ninja-like skill, unobserved, into the room and then uses his highly-tuned 6th sense to choose the most distraction-provoking cord or cable to pull. So while discussing the latest report changes with a client and trying to type the changes while still fresh in my mind, the keyboard slowly starts getting pulled out of my lap, or the scanner starts a deliberate lemming-march towards the edge of the desk. The trick at this point is not whether or not I can catch the potentially expensive piece of hardware pre-swan dive or before the baby completes the gravity-check using the printer, but finding a way to coax the cable, cord or other instrument of distraction out of his pudgy little fist, removing him from the room, and finding a quiet distraction for him all before he lets out an ear-piercing screech and announcing his presence to whoever I'm talking to. Of course, when I'm not on the phone, I'll usually catch him before he entrenches himself under my desk, which inevitably leads to me picking him up and taking a quick Daddy Time Out that, up until that point, I wasn't aware that I needed.
My cast is rounded out by my wife who reprises her role as the hot brunette in the office for whom I've had a crush for years (it's tough being type-cast). Of course the other three 'men' in the office are constantly trying to get her attention but I have it on good authority that she has a thing for me too.
Like my office mates at my old job, the people at my new office keep me smiling, and help me keep perspective on the occasional days that make you want to hurl your computer through the nearest window then find the highest balcony possible and stand au natural, yelling obscenities at the world, while doing shots of Cuervo. (Ok, that only allegedly happened on New Years Eve 1999, and no one can prove it, but you've had those days...admit it.)
My new office is bright, airy, as close to home as you can get, and comes with it's own cast of characters, who keep me from ever having to worry about my routine getting dull. In fact, one might even say that they take pride in ensuring a routine is never actually established.
As I mentioned previously, I have three computers in my home office with routers, peripherals etc. The result is a Siren's song of flashing lights, hanging chords and clicking buttons to tempt even the most indifferent rugrat. Now as a responsible parent/employee, my office has been declared "Off Limits" which translated into Munchkinese means "Playland of Forbidden Fruit."
I don't enforce the domestic No-Fly-Zone very well, which means that about 90% of my office interruptions are self-inflicted. My 2-year-old, my office's social butterfly, is fun-loving, curious, and cute as can be. He regularly comes in to check on me and ensure my productivity levels don't peak too early in the day. Often I'm greeted with an "Oh, Hi Daddy!" said as though his wandering into the work zone was either a completely accidental occurrence, or the idea that I might actually be sitting at my desk, like I do every day, never occurred to him. Very rarely do I usher him to the door, even when I'm on the phone. Since he no longer feels the need to be picked up all the time and can usually play quietly in the background, once he's convinced I'm not on the phone with, and depriving him of a conversation with, Grandma, he's usually pretty quiet. Instead, he occupies himself by either showing me the toy cars that are the favorite of the day, or turning the A/C on and off. Occasionally he'll stand on the easy chair in my office, looking out the window giving me a play-by-play of every car that passes by. Evidently one can never be TOO informed of the local traffic patterns.
Assuming the role of the office gossip is my oldest. The 'Town Crier' of the family, he has figured out that when Daddy is sitting at his desk, things need to be addressed quietly. For a while, I tried to explain that when Daddy is working, he and his brothers need to stay out. Eventually I learned that his nose for news and his unquenchable need to report it, can come in handy.
tug tug (whispered) "Dad"
*ignore*
(whispered) "Dad!"
*ignore*
"Um, excuse me, Daddy?"
(annoyed) "Daddy is on the phone for work! What is it?"
"The baby is climbing the stairs"
*sigh* "Thanks Champ." "Jim, I'll call you back in a minute."
The biggest character in my new office environment comes in the form of the 10-month-old, who is the unwitting practical joker of the group. He can crawl with ninja-like skill, unobserved, into the room and then uses his highly-tuned 6th sense to choose the most distraction-provoking cord or cable to pull. So while discussing the latest report changes with a client and trying to type the changes while still fresh in my mind, the keyboard slowly starts getting pulled out of my lap, or the scanner starts a deliberate lemming-march towards the edge of the desk. The trick at this point is not whether or not I can catch the potentially expensive piece of hardware pre-swan dive or before the baby completes the gravity-check using the printer, but finding a way to coax the cable, cord or other instrument of distraction out of his pudgy little fist, removing him from the room, and finding a quiet distraction for him all before he lets out an ear-piercing screech and announcing his presence to whoever I'm talking to. Of course, when I'm not on the phone, I'll usually catch him before he entrenches himself under my desk, which inevitably leads to me picking him up and taking a quick Daddy Time Out that, up until that point, I wasn't aware that I needed.
My cast is rounded out by my wife who reprises her role as the hot brunette in the office for whom I've had a crush for years (it's tough being type-cast). Of course the other three 'men' in the office are constantly trying to get her attention but I have it on good authority that she has a thing for me too.
Like my office mates at my old job, the people at my new office keep me smiling, and help me keep perspective on the occasional days that make you want to hurl your computer through the nearest window then find the highest balcony possible and stand au natural, yelling obscenities at the world, while doing shots of Cuervo. (Ok, that only allegedly happened on New Years Eve 1999, and no one can prove it, but you've had those days...admit it.)
Monday, October 11, 2010
Home Office With a Changing Table
You know those dads who get up, fight traffic getting to work, grind it out all day, fight traffic coming home and barely see their families?
That's not me.
I'm a new breed of working dad, blessed and cursed by the rise of high speed internet, cheap availability of smartphones and a digital age where just about anything not directly involving physical labor can be done sitting on a slowly expanding backside staring at a computer screen.
My morning starts when my alarm clock (which sounds exactly like my 10-month-old screaming for a diaper change and a bottle) randomly chooses a time to sound. I roll out of bed, wondering what happens at 6 AM that is so exciting that my kids refuse to sleep through it. I grab my cell phone which is never more than a few feet from me in case of the occasional "Oh, @&!^%" call that comes in the middle of the night from work and head out to do the duty (or doody in this case). I put my baby down again after his diaper change and a bottle, feeding my delusion that he'll go back to sleep and let me catch another 30 minutes (I'm batting about .017 with that delusion). About the time my hand touches the door knob, he announces in his not-so-subtle way that he's done with the whole 'sleep' thing and it's time to go downstairs and play.
My work day now starts. After sitting down in the playroom, and checking which toy the baby is going find entertaining for the next few minutes, I fire up the smartphone, and check my work e-mails. I have an office in my home, next to the play room that I work out of, equipped with WiFi, 3 different computers and dual phone lines and fax, but at this time in the morning, I'm pretty confident that if the west coast hasn't called me about it yet, I won't need to man the Bat Cave until at least 7. I'm able to read through my e-mails, check on the latest projects, review documents etc from my cell phone, all while making sure the baby isn't successful trying to stuff a football or something else into his mouth.
By 6:20, my oldest son (4 years) is headed downstairs. He'd be downstairs earlier except we set his clock back 20 minutes back when he was the first to wake up in the morning. Usually about 10 minutes after that, son #2 (2 years) is up and I have to get him up from his crib. He's old enough to be in a kid sized bed, but he's Mr. Ask Forgiveness Not Permission, and I'm not ready to go investigating crashes and bangs before the sun comes up, and the crib helps contain the chaos.
Now the fun begins. My oldest, being a creature of habit, ensures everyone gets their vitamins, and then it's time to defrost Eggos. I grew up with waffles out of the toaster being crispy and needing syrup. For my boys, the only acceptable way to eat an Eggo is defrosted, room temperature and plain. Kids are weird. By 7AM, the kids are fed, lunch is made (if it's a school day) teeth are brushed, and the Cartoons are allowed to begin. Judge me if you want, but once the idiot-box is turned on, I can actually sit down, give my attention to work while still keeping line-of-sight and an ear open for trouble with the kids. My wife will make her way down anytime between 7 and 8 and that's when I hand off the kid baton for at least the next hour. The system isn't perfect, but my wife gets some extra rest that she'll need running around to the various kid functions, the kids are fed, dressed and ready to move, and I'm 3 steps form answering any early morning work problems that might arise. Honestly, the routine wears on me, jump-starting my day at a random time, and then having to multitask work and kid-care for the next 60-90 minutes, but I used to wake up at 4:30 each morning and commute 55 miles each way to work so if it sounds like I'm complaining, just pass me the coffee and I'll shut up.
The rest of the day is a juggling act. Most of it is spent staring at the computer, taking care of whatever needs to be done for my company or our the client, but it's interspersed with various kid related activities. No day is ever the same, and it takes a new skill being able to drown out crying from the other room while focusing on report or speed-changing a diaper between conference calls because my wife isn't back from picking up someone from an activity and the baby woke up early. It's multitasking to a whole new level, it's stressful and frustrating, but I'm an active, daily part of my kid's lives, and that's pretty cool.
That's not me.
I'm a new breed of working dad, blessed and cursed by the rise of high speed internet, cheap availability of smartphones and a digital age where just about anything not directly involving physical labor can be done sitting on a slowly expanding backside staring at a computer screen.
My morning starts when my alarm clock (which sounds exactly like my 10-month-old screaming for a diaper change and a bottle) randomly chooses a time to sound. I roll out of bed, wondering what happens at 6 AM that is so exciting that my kids refuse to sleep through it. I grab my cell phone which is never more than a few feet from me in case of the occasional "Oh, @&!^%" call that comes in the middle of the night from work and head out to do the duty (or doody in this case). I put my baby down again after his diaper change and a bottle, feeding my delusion that he'll go back to sleep and let me catch another 30 minutes (I'm batting about .017 with that delusion). About the time my hand touches the door knob, he announces in his not-so-subtle way that he's done with the whole 'sleep' thing and it's time to go downstairs and play.
My work day now starts. After sitting down in the playroom, and checking which toy the baby is going find entertaining for the next few minutes, I fire up the smartphone, and check my work e-mails. I have an office in my home, next to the play room that I work out of, equipped with WiFi, 3 different computers and dual phone lines and fax, but at this time in the morning, I'm pretty confident that if the west coast hasn't called me about it yet, I won't need to man the Bat Cave until at least 7. I'm able to read through my e-mails, check on the latest projects, review documents etc from my cell phone, all while making sure the baby isn't successful trying to stuff a football or something else into his mouth.
By 6:20, my oldest son (4 years) is headed downstairs. He'd be downstairs earlier except we set his clock back 20 minutes back when he was the first to wake up in the morning. Usually about 10 minutes after that, son #2 (2 years) is up and I have to get him up from his crib. He's old enough to be in a kid sized bed, but he's Mr. Ask Forgiveness Not Permission, and I'm not ready to go investigating crashes and bangs before the sun comes up, and the crib helps contain the chaos.
Now the fun begins. My oldest, being a creature of habit, ensures everyone gets their vitamins, and then it's time to defrost Eggos. I grew up with waffles out of the toaster being crispy and needing syrup. For my boys, the only acceptable way to eat an Eggo is defrosted, room temperature and plain. Kids are weird. By 7AM, the kids are fed, lunch is made (if it's a school day) teeth are brushed, and the Cartoons are allowed to begin. Judge me if you want, but once the idiot-box is turned on, I can actually sit down, give my attention to work while still keeping line-of-sight and an ear open for trouble with the kids. My wife will make her way down anytime between 7 and 8 and that's when I hand off the kid baton for at least the next hour. The system isn't perfect, but my wife gets some extra rest that she'll need running around to the various kid functions, the kids are fed, dressed and ready to move, and I'm 3 steps form answering any early morning work problems that might arise. Honestly, the routine wears on me, jump-starting my day at a random time, and then having to multitask work and kid-care for the next 60-90 minutes, but I used to wake up at 4:30 each morning and commute 55 miles each way to work so if it sounds like I'm complaining, just pass me the coffee and I'll shut up.
The rest of the day is a juggling act. Most of it is spent staring at the computer, taking care of whatever needs to be done for my company or our the client, but it's interspersed with various kid related activities. No day is ever the same, and it takes a new skill being able to drown out crying from the other room while focusing on report or speed-changing a diaper between conference calls because my wife isn't back from picking up someone from an activity and the baby woke up early. It's multitasking to a whole new level, it's stressful and frustrating, but I'm an active, daily part of my kid's lives, and that's pretty cool.
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