Month: January 2007

so i definitely didn’t get the job i interviewed for.

that being said, i met some great people, and had some really good ego stroking in regards to what i did bring to the table. the guy i interviewed with is going to kick me to another manager for an open position within the organization.

basically, it came down to my management experience – not that i didn’t have enough of it, just more that my 9-5 experience is not deep enough in terms of pace and complexity for the role i was interviewing for. i was definitely reassured that i was a great fit both technically and personality-wise.

we’ll see what happens with second string possibilities. i’m not going to jump unless it looks like what i want to do, particularly if it is going to move me back out of management.

coincidentally, when i came back to the office, i ran into the guy i interviewed with here for an IT position several weeks ago. he assured me he still hadnt heard anything, and was waiting back to hear. i think that means that they are negotiating bids with people from the outside. meh.

hell, i still have a good job at a top-notch institution. no bitter tears here.

props to for opening a door to a hallway of possibilities!

i have an interview in an hour. i am dressed to my best, and what happens after i get pulled in to a 9:30 meeting? my pant leg gets caught on a file drawer that someone left slightly open, and I tear the seam of my right pant leg, just below the knee.

thank the dark powers i keep a sewing kit on me. further props to my dad’s mom for teaching me how to sew. the seam is not perfect, but it will last the day, and the lines of the pants are not thrown off unless you are right up on my business. i would hope, in the case that someone were that close to my pants, that means i not only got the job, but was being offered a signing bonus of lascivious origins.

happy hump day all.

I am trying to rewrite my xml/rss parser and add new functionality to it. I am using a lot of the algorithms that spambots use to cut and shuffle text. This is the most coherent output I’ve gotten thus far:

Between the high and the low, in this night, laying a ghost, Jeannette and the spirit became one. They whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow, and off the white smoke swims. Choices. Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields of gold. The weight of being born into exile is lifted. Mère and Père are walking away from the desert. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush, a pallid yellow lingers beyond the frame of glided twilight. Père and Mère could be in conversation, searching for a fox whose den I cannot find.

Appendices. Whiteness. Those impediments that rise like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
A salamander scuttles across the quiet to restaurants for Early Bird Specials. The food will melt the spirit; his mouth will distend.

Trying to get computer to write stuff for you is really hard work. I was at this goddamned fundie site this weekend that I stumbled across looking for code snippets, which basically was trying to debunk evolution via mutation via showing how character changes in a sentence do not lead to readable text. It made me angry.

To coach a computer into making words that make sense, you have to teach it the boundaries of language. The same way that a mutant fish with no legs that suddenly grew lungs and no gills would never reproduce, words without vowels and parseable context would not survive. However, words with slightly different spellings or nuance, which change meaning or use over time – those are the real snapper turtles.

What I am trying to do is get the algorithm to spit back meaningful sentences, made from snippets within the text warehouse. Eventually, I want it to be able to answer questions with self-written passages. I’m basically trying to make an electronic oracle. It is a longstanding project of mine, which has existed, in one form or another, since I read Foucault’s Pendulum in 1990.

Even though I think Eco stole some from the Illuminati Trilogy, he took it in an original direction. Pendulum changed my life. I hope, someday, Abulafia will too.

There is a man who lives in my building who is mentally disabled.

Every morning when I leave for work, he is waiting for a bus to take him to dayhab. Every time I pass him by as he hovers by the doorway, I say something along the lines of “Hey! What’s up?” or “Have a good morning.” I hold my hand out. He smiles and gives me a high-five slap. Every time I see him.

He tries to greet everyone who comes in and out of the building, always with his hand, only occasionally with words. Some people ignore him. Some people are scared of him, or look away as if they are somehow responsible for his state of being. Some people partake in a greeting. Some people are inconsistent about it. He never seems to change – the look in his eyes, the stoop in his posture, the slackness in his cheeks which evaporates when he smiles.

It has always fascinated me how people with mental impairment age – he still dresses like he is 15-16. He has a coat with sleeves that are too long for his arms, and usually has a hat of some sort on. He is a skinny black man, probably in his mid thirties, though he looks like he is already pushing forty. He always smiles that same smile when he slaps my hand, that moment is the best thing that could ever happen. I feel that way sometimes, but rarely first thing in the morning on my way to work. I wish I could capture it somehow, maybe bottle it. In a way, greeting him every morning kindles a spark of that feeling in me, even when I am really low. I think part of that hope/smile is tied to mental weightlessness. It is easy to drink in everything when you have very little pulling you down. I wonder what he does on the weekends, when he doesn’t have a bus to catch?

My mom lost her job, because the company she works for is closing the retail site she managed. Of everyone I know who is smart and capable, my mother seems the least likely candidate for unemployment, yet I listened to her and my father discussing it on Sunday night. She is really beat up about it – every time she has tried to rekindle a career since leaving the one she once had to raise children, something adverse has come in the way of her aspirations. I am at a loss as to how to help her state of mind – all I can do is help her try to find a job. It is an odd role reversal, to look at a parent’s resume, and know that you can help.

What I feel she needs more than anything else is a dose of what the man in my building has aplenty, despite whatever other constraints he may face. She sees her working life as a drudgery, something she has to do for a paycheck, but not anything she _wants_ to do. She is not looking to tie her talents to her career. She is not looking to find something she can climb. She is looking to find something that will last her a half-decade at most, then a slip into retirement. How do you find motivation with that outlook? How do you face hitting the pavement again when the last few times you have decided _to_ make a go of it, you end up getting slapped down or have your job pulled out from beneath you? She needs some hope, and some happiness in the moment, instead of a pull of years and frustrations.

I hesitate to push to hard, or too fast. She has a month or so before she is officially out of a job. She needs to come to terms before she is going to be worth anything in an interview. I just hope that she finds something in enough time that she doesn’t get pulled in by the undertow of fruitless job hunting.

Maybe I should tell my dad to ask her for a high-five before he leaves in the morning, to see if it will help.

Yesterday, I totally had to bust-a-move for the vendor company which makes the central software I support at work. They are trying to land a big client, and were touring them through Manhattan impressing the prospective clients with their current clients, and having roaming meetings on how the software was implemented.

The meeting ran about 2-2.5 hours. My boss and another person from my department were pulled in, and there were about 9 of these people, two from the vendor company, and the rest were all from the other org. Though my boss and the other woman were very eloquent on the needs of their specific specialties, I gave my usual top-down overview, and, apparently, impressed more than one person. I had to take everyone on a tour after the meeting was done, and I got a fistful of business cards, as well as personal requests from the two head honchos that I call them if I am ever looking for work.

Today, the sales rep from the software company called to smooch some butt. Apparently I applied the correct amount of razzle dazzle and bs salesmanship. The view and art probably didn’t hurt. The sales rep seems to think I helped seal the deal for him. He, too, offered an open door if I am looking to move on.

The organization being wooed is dual-based: LA and Boston.
Their sister org is based out of Hotlanta.

The software vendor is in Buffalo.

Maybe I’ve just been holding myself back by sticking to my roots here. I don’t really know. I did just put in for a job elsewhere though, which looks pretty cool, if I am reading between the lines correctly.

I’m really not here to talk to you about jobs, I’m here to talk about the draft….

“You can get, anything you want….”

I am back, and alive, after the trip to Puerto Vallarta Mexico. and are married, and I couldn’t have enjoyed being a part of their getaway more.

It was a fantastic trip.


In case you are wondering about the title of this post, it is a phrase I had only ever read in a phrasebook before this trip. appears to have adopted it as her new mantra/motto.

After an ass-early flight out of La Guardia, we got to PV early (the first of the non-family to arrive) and after unpacking, went down to the poolside bar to enjoy the sun and a few drinks. The only notable event of the trip down was something which should have been a great portent: it was colder in Dallas when we transferred planes than it was in NYC when we left it. We were met by a cab driver who was half Ron Jeremy, half lead character of Nacho Libre, and everything someone could hope of a Mexican cab driver. Amongst his plethora of skills and jobs, he had an amazingly uncanny ability to mimic the whistle of a traffic cop, without using a whistle. He was quick to point out the best of local shops and services, and even pointed out the pole used by the local Voladore during festivals. Totally crazy.

At any rate, the first day in was a wonderful start to unwinding. Everyone had plenty to drink, fun in the pool, and a great time at the “welcome dinner”. The resort we stayed at, Playa Fiesta, was on the southern half of the coast of Puerto Vallarta. It was a villa style multi-level right on the shore with a rock beach. The rooms seemed largely suite-centric, and the decor and service was hopelessly friendly. If the accommodations are only as food as the staff, then this place was certainly five star. Ivan, the French-Canadian ex pat manager, Charly and Aldo, the bartenders, and the other people who made it all happen behind the scenes, all of them were top-notch people. Once I get my pictures posted, you’ll see more. You can scope their website here.

Up early the next day for some snorkeling (I found out I can get my scuba cert back with minimal effort, something I plan on looking into when time/funds allow for it), which was absolutely beautiful. The swimming was around three large natural islands of the southern end of the coast. There was an astonishing variety of wildlife there. I saw several needle fish larger than my arm (I mistakenly called them Gar, which is the freshwater version), a couple of eels, tons of tropical school fish, and even a few puffer fish! Mostly, it was just good to get back in the water. I need to start swimming again, regularly. The snorkeling led into a pleasant afternoon on the beach, complete with waterside service from a local cabana.

That evening was the Bachelor party, which was something highly anticipated by all the gents attending. I had spoken with prior to the event, and he noted that he had a number of things to do the next day, so we (the members of the bachelor party) could not obliterate him into non-functionality. This was accomplished largely by a regimen of no less than two bottles of water per bar stop.

The night started with dinner at a house-converted-restaurant with one of the most fantastic views I’ve ever had the pleasure of partaking in with a bunch of friends. The food was o.k. (we were definitely paying for that view). We got to see all the fireworks the other hotels put off nightly right from our dinner table. All said, 15 guys drank over 50 beers in one sitting. Bravo.

From there, we wandered to the first bar we happened to on the strip, after a stop at an ATM. Carlos O’Brian‘s owned by the same people as Senor Frogs, was a high-class drinking establishment of the finest acumen. The chief draw of this bar, aside from the cheap drinks, were the ever present shot girls, who would ply you with their trade for a small fee. Actually, as it turned out, they would ply their trade on anyone you pointed to, so long as you were willing to provide the capital. Granted, the margarita shots they poured down a person’s throat were watered down, but we decided to vacate the location rapidly. This was due to two factors:

  1. We wanted to go to as many places as possible in an evening.
  2. It became obvious after the third salvo of guerrilla shot-girl incidents that if we did not move soon, nobody would move, because they would be too hammered to do so.

To add to the understanding of the role of a shot girl in this bar: First, they poured three or four shots down your throat, all the while bleeping with whistles they wore around their neck. Then, they took your head between their hands, and shook it around rapidly, occasionally pausing in the soft shelter of their bosoms. After that, they would reach their hands up/down your shirt, tweak your nipples, then spank your ass. I have some great pictures of it, I just don’t have all my photos sorted out for posting yet.

From there, we moved on to a dance-club named Zoo. The prices were higher, the crowd was thicker, and the group was a bit more drunk by the time we got here. One of the party goers danced for the crowd, unprompted, in a cage set up for just that purpose. Shortly thereafter, a group of girls jumped in. met up with a girl with whom he had shared the flight down with, and tried valiantly to bring the bachelor crew into contact with some single ladies. Unfortunately, he took action too late – people were already looking to move on.

We ended up at some other bar down the way (I cannot remember the name for the life of me, named for the Mexican artist who makes portraits of fat people) wherein threw down the gauntlet on his level of inebriation. Many tequila shots later, and an order of fries which the remaining folk caused to evaporate faster than water in the sahara, we were stumbling on our way again. It was, I believe, at this point, my flask of 12 year scotch was kicked. I was proud to see it go.

After the sexual assault of a bronze statue of mermaids, something I mentioned earlier comes into play. For those who don’t know much about Mesoamerican history, you probably have never heard of the Totonac Indians. Though they were from the Gulf coast, their major cultural impact on Mexican society was the ritual ceremony they partook in annually. After their people were dispersed due to the Conquistadors mushing the Aztecs, the “The Dance of the Voladores” spread throughout much of Mexico, and managed to become a point of historic pride in a people whose ways were lost so often to the priests and despots of the conquest. The dance is an event wherein five men ascent a sixty-odd foot tall pole. One of the men stays at the top of the pole, singing and playing a flute. The other four are all wearing rope around an ankle, and proceed to jump off the pole, spinning outwards to the ground below. Each of the men represents one of the four chief elements. The man at the tip of the pole represents the spirit world. If all four men made it down safely, the ceremony meant the spirit world and the real world would be in harmony.

As I mentioned above. PV featured an aluminum version of this item, complete with a convenient built-in ladder for quick ascent. At silly-drunk o’clock in the morning, an inebriated , along with one of his other friends, decided climbing this thing would be a good idea. Well, outwardly, that is what it seemed their plan was. In reality, it was a ruse to get everyone agitated. It worked on me. I handed my camera off to ‘s dad, and hopped off the 10’ sea wall onto the beach, trying to head them off at the pass. Though I lived to tell the tale, my knees were certainly none the better for it. I am still kinda walking like an old man because of it.

After wandering all the way down to Hooters at the end of the downtown strip (which was blessedly, closed) the vote was made to end the evening at a strip bar, which we did. I have to say, it was one of the nicer establishments I have ever had the pleasure of being entertained in, aside from the flagrant second-hand sex trade taking place in back rooms. An on-stage lap dance was procured for , which was delivered con mucho gusto by the prettiest girl on stage that night.

We got back to the hotel via taxi, and most people turned in. Some of us stayed up and enjoyed a few drinks before the sun came up. I was up for 8:30 breakfast, which, much to my chagrin, had been changed to 10:00. This day was largely spent recouping/ffing around by most people. I played through almost a whole scenario of CivIV, proving conclusively that hit-and-run tactics against superior tech do not work in that game (though they do work in real life).

The following day was the wedding. Lots of prep-stress, with spending most of the afternoon freaking out in my suite, which was shared by his brother, , who did a bang-up job as best man. The highlight of my day came after the wedding mass (in a beautiful church in downtown PV), when we discovered a frightening bit of information: the play list which and had labored over for ages was trapped on a computer that time forgot! No working USB2, no working sound port, 1/4 on board usb ports working. We had to get all the lists, intact, off the machine, onto something that could be jacked into the poolside speaker system.

Some people know me to bash Apple’s products at times, particularly in cases where people put them on unassailable technological plateaus. For the record, the most stressful hour I spent on my whole vacation was completely the fault of iTunes and iPods. Granted, I was working on a subpar laptop as far as specs were concerned, but every time I did ANYTHING while trying to transfer items to and from the iPod, either iTunes or the iPod would crash. Consistently. To the point where, by the end of the hour, I could anticipate it happening, like that feeling you get right before the roller coaster cars in front of you go down the slope ahead of you, but you haven’t gone yet. Every time that happened, it was a 5 minute 47 second reboot routine. My heart rate was like a flamenco canasta by the end of that hour.

All I am saying, is that if I could deal with the files as files, instead of abstracted XML meta data locked behind some arcane front-end, that decided it was more important to verify the DRM of the files on the 30 gig iPod than do what I was telling it to do (and no, I don’t want to update the blessed firmware, for the 1800th time), the whole thing would have taken me five to queue, and whatever was left to copy. As it was, everything was up and running for the appearance of the bride and groom, and ran well thereafter. Thank the gods for small favors.

The wedding party itself was the ultimate example of what a wedding party should be. So raucous and rambunctious that we gave the bloody pool a hangover. I’m not kidding. It still was not clear when we left a few days later. There were fireworks and cake and booze aplenty. Good music, great laughs, and fun times for all, on a scale some people never see, and most people don’t see often enough, even secondhand.

In the midst of the festivities, at the point where people were starting to get in the pool, ‘s brother and I lost our cameras when their designated guardian was tossed, bodily, into the pool. I managed to save my memory card, and what was on it, so no loss there, but no pics for the remainder of the trip for me.

The following day, nobody had any endorphins left. People nursed hangovers and whatnot. I was up early for breakfast again, and hung out poolside until the eats came to be. Later that afternoon, we wandered into town for some sightseeing and shopping, and had a great time. I picked up a new ring, and a luchador mask. I haven’t decided my lucha libre name yet. I am torn between “El Escarabajo” and “El Tonto”.

Got some seafood at a local joint, went in for a nice quiet evening. At this point, my knee injuries of the previous day were at full roar, and I was walking around like an 80-year-old. It was kinda funny, in a painful way.

The last day in, and we not only flew late, but flew out of Dallas. Back when I was making the ticket reservation, I assumed any midwinter shenanigans which would wreak havoc with air travel would be based out of the mid west or the northeast. Wow was I wrong. Dallas had ice and snow, and people, generally, were acting like the end times were upon them. I have little pity for people with this mindset, and had even less pity after this last evening.

Basically, our flight out of Mexico was two and a half hours late. We were told in Mexico that we may or may not be able to make our connecting. That was a not. We shared the flight with and , whose flight into Newark they made by the skin of their teeth. We were told that we, too, could make that flight, but some incredibly unhelpful and unfriendly attendants. In reality, what ensued was a 30 minute shit-show, wherein we lost out non-carry-on luggage, were closed out of security access and the little tram which circumnavigates Dallas airport, and ended up being ripped off by a cabby (who claimed “no change” after I handed him a 20$). Once we got to the correct gate, they closed the security station there, so we had to run up 6 gates, go through security, then run back. Needless to say, the flight had left by the time we made it.

We flew out 8am the next morning. We made it into LGA after a lovely night in the hotel IN the airport, and our bags were actually there. When we should have gotten into NYC around midnight, we didn’t get there until 1ish THE NEXT DAY. I am totally sending a letter to AA, complete with the hotel bill, wherein I will use the word “incompetence” far more often than the word “the”.

All in all, it was a fantastic vacation. The return could have gone way better, but what can you do. The warranter on my camera covers “incidental damage causing mechanical failure”. Initial contact with the warranty providers (from a phone number not my own) suggests that full submersion in a body of heavily chlorinated water does not count as “incidental damage”. I am pursuing the matter formally now, but it looks as though a new camera is in my future.

Overall, frustrations and material losses aside, I would never do it any other way. I was proud to be invited, pleased to help where I could, and, ultimately, satisfied in a very solid emotional way to attend the whole week. and are awesome people, and I am a better person for having them in my life, much less being there for the week they hosted.


The short version:
Unbelievable good time. My camera did not make it back, and it took over 17 hours to get from Dallas to NYC. and rule.

In other news, Burning Crusade rocks my, your, and your momma’s socks off. I am drowning in work, but at least I have a great vacation to muse on whenever the waterline goes above the nose line.

Happy belated b-day to my mom and

yesterday was a tough day to be a ny football fan.
as put it so eloquently last night “you either become a Saints fan now, or get deported”. i’m pretty sure that was what he had said. i had switched from rum to vodka at that point, so i can’t say for sure. whether that was exactly what he said or not, i agree with the sentiment.

mexico is poised to spring! i am looking forward to this trip. i get my passport today. my new passport photos make me look like a total thug. i hope this is not a huge pain in the ass.

when i get back i gotta check out ‘s wii. i wanna see if it is worth getting to play zelda. not that i particularly need another time sink, but hey, the geek never dies, right?

hope y’all had a nice weekend!

as i scuttle between the multiple pc’s i have doing stuff for me, i am reading “World War Z” in snippets. Must read, for anyone tho is an apocaphle, or a zombie enthusiast.

i have had my vacation on the calendar at work for over 6 months.
i have been telling people for the last month at the weekly manager’s meeting that i will be off radar for a week starting next tuesday.
i have declined meeting requests, rescheduled standing meetings.
why, why, why does someone believe that a three day project, given to me this morning, can be done before i leave? why am i faced with incredulous stares when i say it can’t be done, and even if it is done, there can be no follow-up reporting for at least a week.

time to twist time again.

there are definitely days i hate being me.