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| lazy-ass techno snobs |
| 09.27.06 (1:45 pm) [edit] |
I can't say where I work or what I really do, but it's safe to say I have a good job and had to get started really really quickly. I needed to hire a full staff within two weeks of my first day -- for a new department, using all new technology that I didn't purchase or select. For the most part, I'm happy with everything. We have fancy plasma screens, lots of cameras, newfangled audio devices, what amounts to my own in-house tv studio, and carte blanche to hire whomever I please.Because I was initially terrified to be caught without staff, I took on a few people I now regret. About half the people I hired are great, including my right-hand person, to whom I'm hoping to offer a better position when I can. A few have flaked out. One guy had ties to New Orleans and frankly, way too much talent and experience for this job; one had to go back to school and take a class he thought he hadn't needed to graduate, and one just fell off the face of the earth. I'm not really disappointed about the last guy. I'd been wondering how to fire him and whether that was prudent. First of all, the guy showed up for his interview in jean shorts and flip-flops. WTF? He passed it off as being from Hawaii and not used to shoes. Uh, okay. I hired him because his work experience was stellar. But his attitude was not so, and I wasn't all that pleased. He was snippy with me because we're a PC house and not a Mac one -- not my decision -- the whole place is PC. Okay, fine. I can deal with that kind of crap. But he was snippy with students and instructors, and that doesn't fly. He begged off work at the last minute a few times for various reasons... the car was screwed up, the baby was sick, etc. One day, he was almost two hours late for work -- and never called me to say why. So when he just stopped responding to e-mails and calls, I took it as divine intervention. Now I have another guy I'm regretting hiring, but I can't let him go. I took him as a favor to a friend. He's her live-in boyfriend, and luckily he has some related skills. But the guy is 40 and he's never held a full-time job. He comes from money from what I understand, but I don't understand someone who just doesn't work at all. Forgive me.... his "job" is going to rock concerts at bars every night and taping them. He doesn't actually get paid for this; he gets free admission to almost everything and copies of all the music. And apparently he's E-Baying a bunch of old CDs he's got or something. But seriously, this is a job? I wouldn't care, but he's kind of weird to have around. One day, another employee came to me and complained that this guy was "stalking" one girl on one of the studio cameras... just leaving one of the five fixed cams on this girl, zooming and panning when she moved, etc. I caught up with him, pretended I just saw it, and laughingly said that the faculty might think he was stalking someone, and that I'd have to tell on him to his girlfriend. Another day, I went into our locked AV storage room and freaked -- I'd flipped the light on and found him sitting cross-legged in the dark. He was meditating, he said. Then today, we came upon a little glitch. We use Avid to edit DVs, but I needed to mask a second of audio on a .wmv and the Avid doesn't recognize them. After I figured out (with DH's help) how to jerry-rig the edit, it was fine. But Creepy Lazy Guy was bitchy about Avid. "Why are you guys using that?" he asked. "Why don't you just buy Final Cut Pro? It's not like you didn't have a huge budget here." Okay, we did, but that's not the point. This was endemic of this guy -- he's complained to me about the DVDs (take too long to finish), the slide scanner (too annoying to hook up), the control area (why can't they keep sodas on the control desk?), and a myriad of other things. Today, I got annoyed. "I tell you what. When you sit in my chair, you can make those decisions. Today, this is what we have. The man who designed this program and built our facilities is the one who does it for every major institution in the country, and I'm pretty sure he knows what he's doing." Defensive, much? |
| 9 Comments |
| could i be any more annoying? |
| 09.27.06 (1:28 pm) [edit] |
|
My most peaceful hour -- usually -- is the one I spend in the dim living room at night, rocking Benjamin and giving him his last bottle. I get to watch whatever I want thanks to TiVo, and as long as he's not fussy, I have lovely snuggle time with the baby. Thanks to Season Pass, I've now seen both episodes of Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip and I'm totally hooked. It's not often I'm watching a show that I miss even before it's over. The show is very Aaron Sorkin -- lots of overlapping, snappy dialogue, documentary-style filming, low lighting, politically charged speeches, etc. But the characters and performances are terrific. Last night, I watched Monday's episode, where Matthew Perry's character Matt is panicky because his office has a countdown clock that tells him exactly to the second when his show needs to be on the air. After a terrifying first week, he and pal Danny (Bradley Whitford) are prepping and Danny points out how they made it -- the clock is down to maybe an hour or so and the show is ready. And Matt's character says "yeah, but then it's going to start ALL OVER AGAIN." Danny's reply: "Could you be any more Jewish?" I'd like to be offended but I can't. Sorkin and Whitford are Jewish, and frankly, it's an honest assessment if not stereotypical. I don't know if the need to obsess over every little detail is a Jewish trait, or just a genetic marker we pass along when we marry other Jews. And don't think the irony -- that I'm kvetching about this in the spot where I regularly fuss, fume, and mentally chew my fingernails off -- is lost on me. The problem with the whole "I can say it because I'm Jewish" thing is that if we say it, it should be okay for anyone else to. And according to the Laws Of Extreme Political Correctness, it's not okay to say anything that identifies or labels anyone as anything. See, I don't even know what my position is. But it was pretty funny anyway. |
| 0 Comments |
| could i be any more annoying? |
| 09.27.06 (1:01 pm) [edit] |
|
My most peaceful hour -- usually -- is the one I spend in the dim living room at night, rocking Benjamin and giving him his last bottle. I get to watch whatever I want thanks to TiVo, and as long as he's not fussy, I have lovely snuggle time with the baby. Thanks to Season Pass, I've now seen both episodes of Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip and I'm totally hooked. It's not often I'm watching a show that I miss even before it's over. The show is very Aaron Sorkin -- lots of overlapping, snappy dialogue, documentary-style filming, low lighting, politically charged speeches, etc. But the characters and performances are terrific. Last night, I watched Monday's episode, where Matthew Perry's character Matt is panicky because his office has a countdown clock that tells him exactly to the second when his show needs to be on the air. After a terrifying first week, he and pal Danny (Bradley Whitford) are prepping and Danny points out how they made it -- the clock is down to maybe an hour or so and the show is ready. And Matt's character says "yeah, but then it's going to start ALL OVER AGAIN." Danny's reply: "Could you be any more Jewish?" I'd like to be offended but I can't. Sorkin and Whitford are Jewish, and frankly, it's an honest assessment if not stereotypical. I don't know if the need to obsess over every little detail is a Jewish trait, or just a genetic marker we pass along when we marry other Jews. And don't think the irony -- that I'm kvetching about this in the spot where I regularly fuss, fume, and mentally chew my fingernails off -- is lost on me. The problem with the whole "I can say it because I'm Jewish" thing is that if we say it, it should be okay for anyone else to. And according to the Laws Of Extreme Political Correctness, it's not okay to say anything that identifies or labels anyone as anything. See, I don't even know what my position is. But it was pretty funny anyway. |
| 0 Comments |
| shit just happens. a lot. |
| 09.25.06 (5:28 pm) [edit] |
|
I swear, I'm trying to stay positive, but shit just keeps interfering. The boys having lice for what seems like ages (okay, a little over a week) is making me want to throw up. I'm sure their teachers aren't thrilled either. Thank goodness both DH and Alberta have stronger consistutions and better eyesight than I. Almost all of us getting colds and/or sinus infections hasn't helped, either. We have all escaped mostly unharmed, but it hasn't been pleasant either. Add to that the fact that money sucks (as usual), even worse than usual. A little accounting error has resulted in us being, oh, I dunno, maybe $500 off in our checking account, so basically the $11 in my wallet is all I got. I had more, but I had to buy cat food and some gas. And thanks to gas prices, I was only able to afford three gallons before I got nervous -- there's no way the formula we have is going to last a week. At least we had Mike Keneally's visit to a Mundelein music store to look forward to on Thursday..... except we can't go. Not enough gas money, no money for the babysitter. And we certainly don't want to purposely overdraw our checking in order to go... since DH had a bit of a sideswipe thing this morning and we now have to repair someone's brand-new Honda Pilot. I have been trying and trying to stay upbeat, or at least not fetal, in the face of growing stress and the never-ending financial straing and DH having a really tough time.... but it's starting to get to me..... |
| 4 Comments |
| were you teased? |
| 09.25.06 (10:33 am) [edit] |
|
Then you'll love this. And yes, I have plenty of things to write about but (a) I don't have time and (b) I am really busy. |
| 1 Comments |
| oh, mygawd! (drama nerds only) |
| 09.12.06 (11:32 am) [edit] |
|
The bulletin board for our med students is located directly outside my office door, and one of my staff was in here talking to me when a class let out. The students are all clustered around the board, where things like test results are regularly posted. It became a brief mad mob scene there for a second. |
| 2 Comments |
| no more drama in my life |
| 09.10.06 (9:28 pm) [edit] |
|
Sing it, Mary J! Oy, the drama. I don't even know where to start, but reading one of Flea's old posts reminded me of "stitches" so here goes. Jacob started back at school on August 30th -- a Wednesday, don't ask me why. We were pretty geared up, between the enormous shopping list (everything from crayons to calculators, pencils to tissues) and the lunch plans. Jacob was nervous but not as much so as camp or school last year -- we already knew that certain of his friends were in his first grade class. That Tuesday night, I came home at a decent hour and ran an errand or two, then was nabbed by Alberta as I walked in the door. Benjamin, she said, was trying to launch himself over the crib rail, and would I please lower the mattress all the way? So I set about taking everything out of the crib and lowering the mattress. As I was reassembling the crib, I heard various noises coming from the living room, and Danny came running in. "I make a meth!" he said. "So, clean it up, honey," I replied. I figured it was Legos or something. And Alberta was near the living room, so how bad could it be? I finished the crib and went into the kitchen to wash my hands. And that's when I heard Jake's piercing scream. Now, what you have to understand is that Jacob, while being your basic, active boy, is touchy about some things and tends to make a lot of noise when he perceives he's been wronged. So I tend not to race to him when I hear that scream -- if anything, I cringe and await the tattling. But this time, Alberta came running to get me. "Jacob --- he step in sumting!" she gasped. So I head to the living room, where Jacob is standing, flamingo-style, next to my rocking chair. He's clutching his left foot, which is dripping -- no, draining -- blood into a decent puddle on the floor. I shout for Danny to get out of the room, scoop up Jacob and rush him to the bathroom. I prop him on the edge of the tub, turn on the water, and instruct him to try to hold his foot under the cool running water. He's crying but robust, so I tell him to hold onto the counter and try to hang on. As I race to my phone, Alberta tells me a light bulb was in a cup of various craplets, and Danny had apparently knocked the cup to the floor, where a barefooted Jacob stepped on the light bulb. Marvy. She goes to clean up the mess(es) while I call the pediatrician's, and try to explain that no, they haven't actually seen this child yet but the other two, and I can't see well enough to tell if there is still glass in his foot but it's gushing blood and what do I do? One of the doctors comes on the phone, calmly asks me a few questions, and says while I'm welcome to bring Jake to them, he thinks the ER is a better choice because they may need to extract glass, etc. and will have better methods for finding any (shudder). He says to hold a dry washcloth gently against the wound while we transport him. So I bundle up Jake -- putting an old washcloth on the foot, and carefully putting one of my slipper socks over it -- grab his copy of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and race out the door. Unfortunately, I know my way to the Evanston hospital's ER pretty well (DH's head and rib injuries, Danny's allergic reaction), so we're there in a flash, and I carry Jake inside. They're great with kids at ENH, so they fasttrack us and get us into a room, by which time the bleeding has slowed quite a bit. Jake was calm while they cleaned the wound, and curious when they wheeled in an X-ray machine and took a few shots of his foot. It was decided that nothing larger than a centimeter was still in there, so they'd clean it up and bandage it, and just watch for possible infection. They said it was a crapshoot whether to stitch; they figured stitches would hurt worse and take longer to heal. So with instructions to keep it clean, dry and bandaged, we headed home. "This was not how I pictured spending your last night before school starts," I said to Jake on the ride home. Little did I know, that was the easy one. This past Wednesday, I was actually driving back to Evanston for a meeting with my web guru Charlotte, and got a call from school. It was the Health Clerk (I don't know why they can't call her a nurse). "Mrs. JT, I have Jacob here, and he's bleeding quite a bit. I think he may need stitches." Oh, phooey. I called Charlotte to postpone the meeting and thanked G-d for letting me be halfway to Evanston already. I swooped in to pick up Jacob. He was sitting in the health office, holding a makeshift ice pack to his head, where a bloody gash now appeared over his left eye. The health clerk gave me forms that detailed the accident and how to file a claim against the school's insurance policy for secondary coverage. On our way out, Jacob showed me where he hit his head. The details were VERY fuzzy -- something about this other kid playing something and he bumped Jake as they were headed out the cafeteria's back door to recess. What Jacob hit his head on was a big, rectangular piece of metal that is part of the locking mechanism. We headed back to the ER. Jacob was pretty calm at this point, but I was nervous. What if he did need stitches? What if he was concussed? What if they called DCFS because my kid landed in the ER twice in seven days? Luckily, I was given no strange looks or suspicious questionings. They fasttracked Jake again and in no time we were back in Jacob's honorary hospital room -- AKA Exam Room 3. A nurse came in and gently washed the wound, which had finally stopped bleeding. Then a physician's assistant came in and checked it as well. She wanted the doctor to take a look -- she said it needed closing, but stitches would cause more of a scar then Dermabonding (aka medical SuperGlue). Meredith the PA went to find the doc, and I was left with Jacob -- now high on adrenaline and bleeding above the eye again. I managed to refrain from collapsing in a chair with my head between my knees, and made it through without passing out, but it was safe to say that I was taking this a bit harder than Jake. He turned on the charm for the hospital staff, who thought he was just adorable. The doc came in and took a peek at Jake's head before confirming Meredith's plan. The cut needed closing, he agreed, but stitches would indeed make more of a scar than gluing. He warned gently that while the glue doesn't hurt, it can get warm while it's drying, so Jake might feel weird with a warm spot on his head. And then he stepped out, and Meredith got to work. I held Jacob's hand and deliberately didn't watch. He was totally fine while she did her thing -- drawing the wound together and gluing over it (blech), but at one point he began to scream and pull away from her. We still don't know what happened; was the glue actually hot? Did his hair get pulled? Dunno, but for a few minutes I practically had to lie on him to hold him down. Finally, it was done. Meredith put a bandage loosely over the wound and sent us on our way, with warnings about possible concussion symptoms and a reminder to have him seen by our pediatrician before he's allowed to play sports, run around, or basically be a boy. If he whacks his head again, they said, there will be no avoiding the stitches. And after seeing him react to being glued, I definitely don't want to be holding him down for that one. Those were the highlights of my week -- other than mild work craziness, a few staff members falling off the face of the earth, that pressure to triple enrollment within a year, and various snipy arguments with DH. I'm hoping to start fresh tomorrow -- September 11th (yikes) and Danny's first day of preschool. |
| 3 Comments |
| welcome, yirm |
| 09.09.06 (4:04 pm) [edit] |
|
Just pointing out the addition to the blogworld of someone who should have started posting years ago. His first topic is VERY deep, so you might want to brace yourself for some very philsophical stuff.
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| 1 Comments |
| reasons to be childfree |
| 09.02.06 (2:47 pm) [edit] |
|
I'm perfectly happy with people who say they never want kids. I have some very good friends who say they'll never have kids, and frankly, I'm glad -- I'd rather someone be honest about their feelings than have children they wouldn't really want. That said, I'm always a little surpised by people who don't really like kids. Until I have days like today. I missed my thyroid med for four days (prescription ran out and so did money), and I'm now having some dizziness. I'm also PMSy, so that's not helping. But today, Jacob and Danny are acting like brats. I love them, but I'm having trouble liking them right now. They're demanding, whiny, and selfish. I'm angry that Jacob's irritating behaviors have rubbed off onto Danny. I know I'll feel better once my meds are back on track and my hormones chill out, but damn, they're bugging me today. So I will mentally ride in sympathy with my childfree friends until that's the case. |
| 3 Comments |
| pursuit of the painfully obvious |
| 09.01.06 (10:47 pm) [edit] |
|
I haven't the foggiest idea what that means. It popped into my head this morning and I had to write it down -- on the inside flap of an envelope, on which I've been writing manual blog entries for a few days. I think it's time to start carrying a notebook, before I begin jotting snarky comments on my kids' foreheads. thursday, august 31st written while at the elementary school picnic Welcome to my nightmare. I'm at the school playground, on the one bench that provides the ability to watch almost all activity while not being blinded by the setting sun. I'm surrounded by utter chaos. Two hundred kids under age 10 are running around, shriekling at the tops of their lungs. Kids greet each other like long-lost relatives, though dead; lost at sea. A few hundred parents mill about, chatting animatedly and generally being thinner, better-dressed, and more popular than I. These parents will take their kids home to grand Victorian homes lovingly restored and filled with gleaming hardwood floors, flowers, and the scent of clean linen. I nuzzle the baby and let him yank on my hair, secure that there is at least one being on the planet who remains unprivy to any of my faults or sad truths. He has no idea yet how incredibly uncool I am. There are bright spots. Seeing Jacob fold into his posse of boys and remembering last year's picnic, when a few mean (typical) fifth-graders made him cry. This year, Jacob is any othe rkid, playing tag and seeming unbothered by his too-short sleeves and jeans. Danny disappears into the clusters of kids, charming older boys into including him as they devise ever-goofier and more dangerous ways to go down the slides. friday, september 1st riding the intercampus shuttle between evanston and chicago There's something very sad about a middle-aged man wearing a cardigan. This man gets on the shuttle each morning just south of Loyola. His hair is just a little too long and a little too greasy, like Michael Palin playing smarmy in 1967. He's one of those men who looks dripping wet even when it's sunny out. He keeps a box of obscure cigarillos in the pocket of his thin, short-sleeved shirt, and his beltless waist looks unfinished. Stubble dots his chin, below a greasy mustache. He speaks to no one, reads nothing. |
| 0 Comments |
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