North Korea?
09 December 2013
06 December 2013
The Chatty Cathys, part II
They're at it again.
Rather than work at work (novel concept), my neighbors in the adjoining pod are talking about economies of scale and T-shirts.
I notice they get started early on Fridays.
29 November 2013
The Chatty Cathys, Part I
Some of my coworkers need more work.
My cube isn't really a cube. It's a two sided desk that's part of a pod of desks. People in the pod work on the same tasks. Yes, we are peas in a pod.
My desk's pod neighbors with a pod populated with Chatty Cathys who seem to have an opinion on everything. That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is their propensity to share it out loud. Being their neighbor, I get to hear these opinions all the time. I consider it very distracting, but I also marvel at how, in times where unemployment is high, these people think it's wise to just run their mouths. Business owners and bosses notice how idle, non-work-related chatter impacts the bottom line by reducing productivity. A reasonable boss tolerates the deviation from work because the idle chatter helps the employees temporarily forget they're at work, unwind a little bit, vent their frustrations, get something off their chest, etc., before resuming the work they're being paid to do. It translates to happy employees, whom, studies have shown, are more productive employees. But there is a line where allowing the employee some latitude starts to impact the bottom line more than the extra productivity that may or may not be garnered.
A very wise and worldly instructor I had for supervisor training once upon a time theorized how the different employed generations viewed work:
The generation that came of age during the Great Depression and World War II tend to treat their job as very valuable. Their work ethic gets them to regard their occupation as sacrosanct. They're less likely to expect pay raises on a regular schedule and prefer more to take what they get when applying for a job. "Humble" is a word I would associate with these folks.
The baby boomers came of age during a time of economic prosperity in post-war America. Couple this with the counter-culture movement, and this generation by and large feels like they can do anything and subscribes to the "work smarter, not harder" mindset. Overtime is less common amongst baby boomers, and negotiating for more perks when they join a job is more common. Additionally, baby boomers tend to display less loyalty towards a business, changing jobs every couple of years. The job market they grew up in was different than now, favoring the employee over the employer.
Generation-X, my generation, has more in common with the Greatest Generation than the Baby Boomers. The job market favored the employers somewhat when we came of age. We were on the cusp of the technological revolution we see today, giving us the experiences of at times doing menial tasks involving paperwork, for instance. Within our first few years of employment, however, things started to change: We saw new ways to perform those menial tasks with the aid of technology. Given reliability issues, however, sometimes the old ways still prevailed. Gen X-ers are likely to more slowly adopt technology than the next generation, partly because we're a bit cynical about it. Gen X-ers also were the first generation to grow up by and large with two working parents, giving birth to the term "latch-key kids". We tasted self-sufficiency and independence at an early age. This translates into us being self-starters in our jobs, something that bosses love. Our sometimes-cynicism about technology also makes us an asset because we're more sensitive to cost and less sensitive to the "cool" factor of new technology.
Millenials, the generation entering the workforce now, grew up in an age of instant-gratification. They cannot recall a time prior to getting information from the Internet. They grew up with at least one computer in their house, possibly more than one, and possibly at least one laptop. Cable and satelite television has been more ubiquitous in their time. Cell phones are more popular than landlines. This generation is always connected. Asking them to focus on work presents a challenge: Unplugging themselves from their online presences is difficult. Millenials and Baby Boomers tend to have more in common.
This morning's mindless conversation topic: Parking between the lines. One person, a Millenial, could understand someone parking a nice car across two parking spaces to protect their doors from being dinged by the drivers and/or passengers of cars in adjacent spots. To him, the fact that parking such a way is inconsiderate to others, especially when parking spaces are scarce. Factor in inclement weather, and the lack of consideration is more acute because now people are forced to endure more of such weather in their effort to get inside a building, all so some vain person can protect the sides of their car from what might happen. Don't get me wrong, it sucks to have someone else's car's paint job on yours, but that's life. Get insurance and trust in the consideration of your fellow man.
Another person in the conversation, a Baby Boomer, chimed in her two cents about how the requirements are parking between the lines can be an undue burden, and a person who expects such discipline has never had to "drop a kid and get to work when they're late". This woman is a vacuous moron: By her logic, it's OK to break the traffic laws if you're in a hurry. Why stop at parking? In a hurry, go ahead and run that red light. In a hurry? Go ahead and drive around the lowered railroad crossing arms. In a hurry? Drive over the speed limit.
I'm sure some might point out how violation of moving traffic laws poses a greater danger to people than the parking violation. Maybe they're just more obvious dangers? You ever walk across an icy parking lot in January? Take a spill and you break a bone, mess up your back, etc. The point is that if every person is inconsiderate, you are greatly inconvenienced at best, potentially injured at worst.
My cube isn't really a cube. It's a two sided desk that's part of a pod of desks. People in the pod work on the same tasks. Yes, we are peas in a pod.
My desk's pod neighbors with a pod populated with Chatty Cathys who seem to have an opinion on everything. That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is their propensity to share it out loud. Being their neighbor, I get to hear these opinions all the time. I consider it very distracting, but I also marvel at how, in times where unemployment is high, these people think it's wise to just run their mouths. Business owners and bosses notice how idle, non-work-related chatter impacts the bottom line by reducing productivity. A reasonable boss tolerates the deviation from work because the idle chatter helps the employees temporarily forget they're at work, unwind a little bit, vent their frustrations, get something off their chest, etc., before resuming the work they're being paid to do. It translates to happy employees, whom, studies have shown, are more productive employees. But there is a line where allowing the employee some latitude starts to impact the bottom line more than the extra productivity that may or may not be garnered.
A very wise and worldly instructor I had for supervisor training once upon a time theorized how the different employed generations viewed work:
The generation that came of age during the Great Depression and World War II tend to treat their job as very valuable. Their work ethic gets them to regard their occupation as sacrosanct. They're less likely to expect pay raises on a regular schedule and prefer more to take what they get when applying for a job. "Humble" is a word I would associate with these folks.
The baby boomers came of age during a time of economic prosperity in post-war America. Couple this with the counter-culture movement, and this generation by and large feels like they can do anything and subscribes to the "work smarter, not harder" mindset. Overtime is less common amongst baby boomers, and negotiating for more perks when they join a job is more common. Additionally, baby boomers tend to display less loyalty towards a business, changing jobs every couple of years. The job market they grew up in was different than now, favoring the employee over the employer.
Generation-X, my generation, has more in common with the Greatest Generation than the Baby Boomers. The job market favored the employers somewhat when we came of age. We were on the cusp of the technological revolution we see today, giving us the experiences of at times doing menial tasks involving paperwork, for instance. Within our first few years of employment, however, things started to change: We saw new ways to perform those menial tasks with the aid of technology. Given reliability issues, however, sometimes the old ways still prevailed. Gen X-ers are likely to more slowly adopt technology than the next generation, partly because we're a bit cynical about it. Gen X-ers also were the first generation to grow up by and large with two working parents, giving birth to the term "latch-key kids". We tasted self-sufficiency and independence at an early age. This translates into us being self-starters in our jobs, something that bosses love. Our sometimes-cynicism about technology also makes us an asset because we're more sensitive to cost and less sensitive to the "cool" factor of new technology.
Millenials, the generation entering the workforce now, grew up in an age of instant-gratification. They cannot recall a time prior to getting information from the Internet. They grew up with at least one computer in their house, possibly more than one, and possibly at least one laptop. Cable and satelite television has been more ubiquitous in their time. Cell phones are more popular than landlines. This generation is always connected. Asking them to focus on work presents a challenge: Unplugging themselves from their online presences is difficult. Millenials and Baby Boomers tend to have more in common.
This morning's mindless conversation topic: Parking between the lines. One person, a Millenial, could understand someone parking a nice car across two parking spaces to protect their doors from being dinged by the drivers and/or passengers of cars in adjacent spots. To him, the fact that parking such a way is inconsiderate to others, especially when parking spaces are scarce. Factor in inclement weather, and the lack of consideration is more acute because now people are forced to endure more of such weather in their effort to get inside a building, all so some vain person can protect the sides of their car from what might happen. Don't get me wrong, it sucks to have someone else's car's paint job on yours, but that's life. Get insurance and trust in the consideration of your fellow man.
Another person in the conversation, a Baby Boomer, chimed in her two cents about how the requirements are parking between the lines can be an undue burden, and a person who expects such discipline has never had to "drop a kid and get to work when they're late". This woman is a vacuous moron: By her logic, it's OK to break the traffic laws if you're in a hurry. Why stop at parking? In a hurry, go ahead and run that red light. In a hurry? Go ahead and drive around the lowered railroad crossing arms. In a hurry? Drive over the speed limit.
I'm sure some might point out how violation of moving traffic laws poses a greater danger to people than the parking violation. Maybe they're just more obvious dangers? You ever walk across an icy parking lot in January? Take a spill and you break a bone, mess up your back, etc. The point is that if every person is inconsiderate, you are greatly inconvenienced at best, potentially injured at worst.
25 November 2013
Infandous
Some of my coworkers really need more work.
I've never heard so many people engage in such mindless conversations.
I've never heard so many people engage in such mindless conversations.
18 October 2013
Closing
... a chapter. A sale.
On a home that isn't one anymore, and hasn't been for a while.
In February of 2004, I closed on my house in Minnesota. I was so excited to buy my first house. Moving out of my apartment. Parking my car in a garage. Playing my stereo as loud as I wanted. Doing laundry @ 2 a.m. if needs be, & not needing to hoard quarters.
Then came mowing my lawn. The conventional wisdom is right: There are few things more satisfying than working in your own yard. To tame the chaotic & wild nature of the grass, to battle the weeds. Just the way it looks after it's been cut evenly.
Initially, it was too much space. I went from a one-bedroom apartment in the 800 sq. ft range to a nearly 1800 sq ft 3-bedroom house with a spacious family room downstairs.
I enjoyed wiring the basement for my surround-sound system. I enjoyed adding wire shelving to the garage, upstairs bathroom, and upstairs bedroom closets. Laying out and planting a vegetable garden. Wiring up electrical outlets on posts in the front yard to support my array of Halloween and Christmas decorations.
I even enjoyed shoveling snow in the artic cold of a Minnesota winter.
Over time, I replaced appliances: The refrigerator. The water softener.
Over time, I acquired things: A kitchen table and chairs, a patio table and chairs, crystal stemware. Bed, sofa, bookshelves, and a desk. A lawn mower, a trimmer, shop vac, power tools.
After months in the house on my own, my girlfriend moved in with me when her apartment became a potential health hazard from the suspected drug lab next door. At times, the house didn't feel empty, but crowded. Pets played in the basement.
Then my employment opportunities changed. I found myself 250 miles to the south of my house. For a year and a half, it sat empty. Well, empty of my presence. I periodically drove up and checked on things. When my contract job in Des Moines became full time, I moved the rest of my belongings south. A couple of months later, an opportunity arose for me to rent the house, so I hung on to it for another two years, checking in on it with less frequency, especially after I started dating the woman who would become my wife. After proposing to my wife, I saw the house differently: It was extremely unlikely I would reoccupy it, so I saw it more as anchor around my neck. Late this summer, I put the house on the market.
I didn't get what I wanted for it, but I walked away with some money in my pocket nonetheless.
Five days ago, I saw my house for the last time. As I pulled away with the trailer attached, I felt somber. Closing on the house was a closing on a segment of my life.
But it was easy to drive away: It was just a piece of property. No longer a home. It hadn't been one for years.
No my home was to the south, about 250 miles. And there was a woman there, waiting for me.
A house is just a structure. A home is much more than that.
On a home that isn't one anymore, and hasn't been for a while.
In February of 2004, I closed on my house in Minnesota. I was so excited to buy my first house. Moving out of my apartment. Parking my car in a garage. Playing my stereo as loud as I wanted. Doing laundry @ 2 a.m. if needs be, & not needing to hoard quarters.
Then came mowing my lawn. The conventional wisdom is right: There are few things more satisfying than working in your own yard. To tame the chaotic & wild nature of the grass, to battle the weeds. Just the way it looks after it's been cut evenly.
Initially, it was too much space. I went from a one-bedroom apartment in the 800 sq. ft range to a nearly 1800 sq ft 3-bedroom house with a spacious family room downstairs.
I enjoyed wiring the basement for my surround-sound system. I enjoyed adding wire shelving to the garage, upstairs bathroom, and upstairs bedroom closets. Laying out and planting a vegetable garden. Wiring up electrical outlets on posts in the front yard to support my array of Halloween and Christmas decorations.
I even enjoyed shoveling snow in the artic cold of a Minnesota winter.
Over time, I replaced appliances: The refrigerator. The water softener.
Over time, I acquired things: A kitchen table and chairs, a patio table and chairs, crystal stemware. Bed, sofa, bookshelves, and a desk. A lawn mower, a trimmer, shop vac, power tools.
After months in the house on my own, my girlfriend moved in with me when her apartment became a potential health hazard from the suspected drug lab next door. At times, the house didn't feel empty, but crowded. Pets played in the basement.
Then my employment opportunities changed. I found myself 250 miles to the south of my house. For a year and a half, it sat empty. Well, empty of my presence. I periodically drove up and checked on things. When my contract job in Des Moines became full time, I moved the rest of my belongings south. A couple of months later, an opportunity arose for me to rent the house, so I hung on to it for another two years, checking in on it with less frequency, especially after I started dating the woman who would become my wife. After proposing to my wife, I saw the house differently: It was extremely unlikely I would reoccupy it, so I saw it more as anchor around my neck. Late this summer, I put the house on the market.
I didn't get what I wanted for it, but I walked away with some money in my pocket nonetheless.
Five days ago, I saw my house for the last time. As I pulled away with the trailer attached, I felt somber. Closing on the house was a closing on a segment of my life.
But it was easy to drive away: It was just a piece of property. No longer a home. It hadn't been one for years.
No my home was to the south, about 250 miles. And there was a woman there, waiting for me.
A house is just a structure. A home is much more than that.
15 June 2013
Family
An ambulance picked up my mother-in-law this morning after she had trouble breathing.
Here we are, on vacation with a bunch of my in-laws and some of their families. As if there's a good time for a family emergency.
But what I saw humbled me in new and profound ways today: My father-in-law and his two sons and two daughters (including my wife) are with my mother-in-law in a hospital an hour away. Tomorrow evening, when I get home from this vacation, they will be over four hours away. They won't be coming back to the resort tomorrow, when we were slated to go home. Instead, they will stay with their mother as doctors work to stabilize her. So my mother-in-law's siblings, their families, and my wife's siblings' spouses all pitched in to clean the resort room and pack the father-in-law's car. My father-in-law and his children returned from the local hospital just long enough to say their goodbyes, bring us up to speed, and make their way to the hospital an hour away.
Later, as I sat by the pool and helped my in-laws' spouses watch their kids, I realized something: I was part of this family. What I had in common with the other would-be strangers around the pool was that we had become part of this family. We have married into it. In my fellow strangers' case, we had added children to it. Taking the kids to miniature golf, ordering pizza for them. Despite my railing against the notion of collectivization, what occurred today was just that. Nobody simply took care of his or her self. We pitched in and got it done together. As the only collective that ever comes close to truly working: a family.
This evening, the clanging bells of the ice cream truck summoned children from around the resort like moths to a flame. I took a picture and texted it to my wife. Her reply? It was just the pick-me-up she and her siblings needed.
So tonight I close with a prayer for my mother-in-law: That she may recover quickly and enjoy many more years with her children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, grand-nieces, and grand-nephews.
Here we are, on vacation with a bunch of my in-laws and some of their families. As if there's a good time for a family emergency.
But what I saw humbled me in new and profound ways today: My father-in-law and his two sons and two daughters (including my wife) are with my mother-in-law in a hospital an hour away. Tomorrow evening, when I get home from this vacation, they will be over four hours away. They won't be coming back to the resort tomorrow, when we were slated to go home. Instead, they will stay with their mother as doctors work to stabilize her. So my mother-in-law's siblings, their families, and my wife's siblings' spouses all pitched in to clean the resort room and pack the father-in-law's car. My father-in-law and his children returned from the local hospital just long enough to say their goodbyes, bring us up to speed, and make their way to the hospital an hour away.
Later, as I sat by the pool and helped my in-laws' spouses watch their kids, I realized something: I was part of this family. What I had in common with the other would-be strangers around the pool was that we had become part of this family. We have married into it. In my fellow strangers' case, we had added children to it. Taking the kids to miniature golf, ordering pizza for them. Despite my railing against the notion of collectivization, what occurred today was just that. Nobody simply took care of his or her self. We pitched in and got it done together. As the only collective that ever comes close to truly working: a family.
This evening, the clanging bells of the ice cream truck summoned children from around the resort like moths to a flame. I took a picture and texted it to my wife. Her reply? It was just the pick-me-up she and her siblings needed.
So tonight I close with a prayer for my mother-in-law: That she may recover quickly and enjoy many more years with her children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, grand-nieces, and grand-nephews.
06 April 2013
Key moments
Every life has those key moments. Some are happy, some are sad.
All of them shape who you are.
Today, I'm thankful for each of those moments, even the sad ones, because they've taught me a powerful lesson in life: That our time upon this planet is short, and seizing the moment, enjoying life to the fullest, is one of the gifts our Creator has bestowed upon us.
Those moments helped me get over my reluctance to move out of my comfort zone, where I had a home, a portion of my life that extended over twelve years. But I drove south and made a new home in Iowa.
Those moments helped me ask a beautiful woman out on a date. In my solitary existence, I had the companionship of pets, and a schedule that was all mine, to eat, sleep, and exercise when I wished. I stepped outside that comfort zone to know love and companionship.
Those moments helped me speak with another man about how I loved his daughter and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and ask for his blessing.
Those moments helped me take that beautiful woman on an unusual date involving a helicopter ride, at the conclusion of which, I got down on one knee and asked her to be my wife.
Those moments led me to today, when she will become my wife, and I her husband, in front of family and friends.
Thank you, God, for all those moments.
All of them shape who you are.
Today, I'm thankful for each of those moments, even the sad ones, because they've taught me a powerful lesson in life: That our time upon this planet is short, and seizing the moment, enjoying life to the fullest, is one of the gifts our Creator has bestowed upon us.
Those moments helped me get over my reluctance to move out of my comfort zone, where I had a home, a portion of my life that extended over twelve years. But I drove south and made a new home in Iowa.
Those moments helped me ask a beautiful woman out on a date. In my solitary existence, I had the companionship of pets, and a schedule that was all mine, to eat, sleep, and exercise when I wished. I stepped outside that comfort zone to know love and companionship.
Those moments helped me speak with another man about how I loved his daughter and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and ask for his blessing.
Those moments helped me take that beautiful woman on an unusual date involving a helicopter ride, at the conclusion of which, I got down on one knee and asked her to be my wife.
Those moments led me to today, when she will become my wife, and I her husband, in front of family and friends.
Thank you, God, for all those moments.
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