Vacuosity
Monday, July 29, 2002
Sold
After only five days on the market, our house has sold. It's frightening, it's overwhelming, it's dizzying, it's exciting, it's surreal. We ended up getting only $880 less than our asking price.
Here's how it went. We decided for sure to list about 4 weeks ago. At that time we called our trusted agent Michael Chua, a very nice, very cute Philipino, who had helped us find the house to begin with. When we first met with him, he told of his concern that there were too many units in this building for sale already, and that he wanted to wait about 2 weeks to let a few of them clear out first and lessen our competition. We thought that made sense, especially since we needed some time to get the place ready to show.
We spent two frantic weeks sanding, varnishing, painting, packing, cleaning. At the end of it, we still weren't ready, and had to postpone for another week. On the day we were to list, Michael came by with the house listing for the building to show us the state of the situation. Nothing had sold in that whole time.
"Don't worry," he said, "It's summer; it always slows down in the summer. We're going to list anyway, and hopefully, within a week or so, some will have sold."
Actually he said "...hopepully...some will hab sold." But that's beside the point. With a deep breath, we signed the papers.
The next day, Michael called with bad news. Two more units had hit the market that day before we could list. One of them was priced even lower than everything already there: $179 K. That did not bode well for us. We were hoping for $185 K, now something was available for way less than we were planning to list, $189 K, and would probably sell even lower. Michael always talks about the last unit sold acting as the benchmark for the units to come. If the precedent were set low, everyone else would want the same deal.
I had a sinking feeling as Michael told me he couldn't list at the price we had agreed upon. He booked an appointment for the next day to rethink our strategy. Julia was worried, depressed and dejected. I felt a whole lot less confident, but said, "Look, we just have to have a little faith that it will work out if this move is really right for us." If you believe in a Supreme Being, you have to trust that He will work in your favour; "He's never let us down before."
The next day, we went to see the other units for sale. I felt a little better to see the rough shape one was in (the cheap one) and the strange layouts of the others. The advantages of our unit became apparent. Michael, told me the price he thought we should list at: $188 880. I had begun to feel that $189 was too low, and was thinking that a few thousand more would give us some room to come down and still land in the high 80s. Michael wasn't comfortable with that. He was worried that if we competed head on, or listed as the highest, we wouldn't generate enough interest. After some thought, I realized his strategy was sound. We wanted to sell quickly, not drag it on, and really, it was only $120 lower than we had planned to list at originally.
I had prayed for emphatic direction; I've never been good at taking a hint. I knew that the answer would either be decisively "yes" or "no". No small request considering nothing but those two units that listed with ours had been on the market less than 40 days. Michael anticipated that they would sell for about 6 or 7 K kess than asking price.
It turned out to be a busy weekend. Many people came to see the place. One group that had come on Saturday, came back on Sunday and made an offer that night. It was low though, $177 K and I told Michael not to even write it back. It was obvious that they were just fishing though, because the agent turned around immediately and asked for $182 K. I knew that if the were willing to move 5 K in a second, they'd move another 5 K over time. We were excited. It began to look as though $187 K were realistic.
A few other groups traipsed through, including a cool-looking young asian couple. I kind hoped that they would take it because Julia had told me how they loved the cupboards and I thought that they would really appreciate the design in the place.
This morning I began to regret turning down the offer of $182 K without even signing back. I could have signed back at $188 K, indicating that I would be happy landing at $187 K. We would have been happy to get $185 K, which, when all was said and done, would leave us $55-60 K to buy a house in Winter Pig; what was I waiting for? I called Michael, but he said that the offer had expired at midnight the day before. They had written an offer that stood for only about 6 hours. Fishing.
Several couples came throughout the day today. When I got home from work, Julia was beside herself. The offer for $188 K had come in. It was incredible. In only 5 days, we had sold our place for almost 99.5% of the asking price; $3000 more than we would have been happy with.
The reality hasn't sunk in yet; everything that it means. Everything is going to change so much in our lives so quickly. I'm sure now, though, that it's right. I'm not naively thinking that it'll all be easy, mind you, there's a lot that has to happen in August, but at least this major hurdle is done with.
A little positive affirmation from above doesn't hurt either.
Wednesday, July 24, 2002
I had a dream last night about a girl. Not just any girl, but an object of desire.
Her name was Dauphine (Doh - feen) which is french for dolphin. Why, I don't know; but even as I repeat it to myself now, I think it's beautiful. Not because of any aquatic association, but purely on the basis of the sound of the name, and how it's spelled.
Julia and I were at the mall, and we saw her on a television in the window of an electronics store. She was a television personality and I felt much the same way about her as I do about Sarah Jessica Parker.
Julia was teasing because apparently Dauphine had broken a leg somehow.
"Hey, there's your girlfriend," she said when we saw her, "Yeah, I'm sure she looks great with a cast."
A full body shot came on, and I saw no cast, just an incredibly beautiful girl. She was an asian/ebony mix who was dressed in some strange, revealing outfit, with a pair of white thong underwear worn on the outside. As she walked towards the camera, I felt redeemed.
Suddenly, in that spliced-reality way that dreams have, she wasn't in the TV but was actually walking toward me.
As she got close, I took her behind the neck, pulled her to me gently but firmly, and without hesitation. We began the most intense dream kiss that I can remember having. At some point, I became aware that this was no longer simply a television fantasy but an actual infidelity, and felt a little guilty about it. Not guilty enough to stop, mind you.
It makes me laugh to think about the silly, exotic names we give to our fantasy girls. Guys' dream encounters are often a fair bit more romantic and passionate than we care to admit.
My brother once told me about a dream he'd had as a teenager, where his dream girl was named Smoke. She kissed him deeply, and as she left he called after her, "What's your name?"
She had looked back sultrily and tossed the word over her shoulder, "Smoke." The name lingered in the air in much the same way as the actual thing.
It occured to me that there might be a dream entity; that Smoke was Dauphine who was that unknown person you dreamt about and have never forgotten. One solitary fantasy reiterated in dream after dream. If that entity represents something we all desire, that might not be too far off the mark, especially if Dauphine is really a perfect love.
Her name was Dauphine (Doh - feen) which is french for dolphin. Why, I don't know; but even as I repeat it to myself now, I think it's beautiful. Not because of any aquatic association, but purely on the basis of the sound of the name, and how it's spelled.
Julia and I were at the mall, and we saw her on a television in the window of an electronics store. She was a television personality and I felt much the same way about her as I do about Sarah Jessica Parker.
Julia was teasing because apparently Dauphine had broken a leg somehow.
"Hey, there's your girlfriend," she said when we saw her, "Yeah, I'm sure she looks great with a cast."
A full body shot came on, and I saw no cast, just an incredibly beautiful girl. She was an asian/ebony mix who was dressed in some strange, revealing outfit, with a pair of white thong underwear worn on the outside. As she walked towards the camera, I felt redeemed.
Suddenly, in that spliced-reality way that dreams have, she wasn't in the TV but was actually walking toward me.
As she got close, I took her behind the neck, pulled her to me gently but firmly, and without hesitation. We began the most intense dream kiss that I can remember having. At some point, I became aware that this was no longer simply a television fantasy but an actual infidelity, and felt a little guilty about it. Not guilty enough to stop, mind you.
It makes me laugh to think about the silly, exotic names we give to our fantasy girls. Guys' dream encounters are often a fair bit more romantic and passionate than we care to admit.
My brother once told me about a dream he'd had as a teenager, where his dream girl was named Smoke. She kissed him deeply, and as she left he called after her, "What's your name?"
She had looked back sultrily and tossed the word over her shoulder, "Smoke." The name lingered in the air in much the same way as the actual thing.
It occured to me that there might be a dream entity; that Smoke was Dauphine who was that unknown person you dreamt about and have never forgotten. One solitary fantasy reiterated in dream after dream. If that entity represents something we all desire, that might not be too far off the mark, especially if Dauphine is really a perfect love.
Monday, July 22, 2002
Insomnia
Staying up at night, I've discovered that you can get an incredible amount done if you consider the nighttime to be a whole other day.
Think of it: I have to go to work only every other day, and at the end of every week is a five-day weekend.
Staying up at night, I've discovered that you can get an incredible amount done if you consider the nighttime to be a whole other day.
Think of it: I have to go to work only every other day, and at the end of every week is a five-day weekend.
Thursday, July 18, 2002
Toys
Today I satisfied a long-standing desire to own a dolly (of the hand-cart variety rather than the Barbie type). I don't know what it is, maybe the potential for marvelous efficiency, but I have been salivating over the idea of buying a dolly for some time. I was able to take five packed boxes, as well four full garbage bags of stuff down to the storage locker in one shot, baby!
I think the want of a dolly falls into the same category as my penchant for Roughtotes, and my absolute fetish for travel bags and backpacks. It may be what they represent: perhaps freedom, perhaps sheer ruggedness, perhaps it's the combination of design, functionality, and potential. Once the tools are there, the only thing left is the opportunity.
Today I satisfied a long-standing desire to own a dolly (of the hand-cart variety rather than the Barbie type). I don't know what it is, maybe the potential for marvelous efficiency, but I have been salivating over the idea of buying a dolly for some time. I was able to take five packed boxes, as well four full garbage bags of stuff down to the storage locker in one shot, baby!
I think the want of a dolly falls into the same category as my penchant for Roughtotes, and my absolute fetish for travel bags and backpacks. It may be what they represent: perhaps freedom, perhaps sheer ruggedness, perhaps it's the combination of design, functionality, and potential. Once the tools are there, the only thing left is the opportunity.
Sunday, July 14, 2002
Pig
I am a glutton for experience.
This weekend's convention flew by; I can't believe it's over already. And while I was there each day, I feel I was somewhat preoccupied, and not there enough. It's as though I were half asleep the whole time, with all this activity going on, buzzing, buzzing. It's all a blur to me now of semi-lucid encounters with old friends, and a host of surreal experiences.
What bothers me is that I feel like I didn't experience it enough, like a decadent chocolate dessert eaten too quickly to be appreciated.
I've been feeling like that a lot lately: about the seven months of Jaimeson's life that have passed already, about my last couple months at work, about all the weekends gone too far to fast, about all the people in my life that I really would like to spend more time with, but never do. I feel like we're so busy doing, that we can't enjoy the activity.
And there are so many media bombarding the senses that we can't differentiate between what to retain and what to ignore. How many times have you had some stupid jingle stuck in your mind? I personally have an apparent attachment to that little ditty: "Everyone loves Marineland!"
Many times have I been with Jordan or Jaimeson and thought, "This moment, right here, right now, remember it. How she looks, how he laughed, that quirky movement of a poorly controlled body, how I feel, remember it all in its entirety." But I can't. Even while I'm thinking it I know I can't; and I lament the loss.
I keep thinking that there has to be some way to tap into those captured moments, electronically, and mine the depths of long-term memory. True it's dangerous territory; a little PhotoShop work on a teenage self-image and suddenly I was 210 lbs. with 40 inch biceps. But that's not the point. And I want to be able to share the experiences too, in a way that talking or writing can't achieve.
I also find that I want to feel things, see things, do things, solely for the sake of the experience. While on the flight to Winnipeg, I was aware of the remote possibility that the plane could crash. It wasn't likely, of course, but part of me wished it would happen. I don't want to die, I don't want even to be hurt, and I don't want other people to suffer either; but I can't deny that I felt a twinge of disappointment when we landed safely. It sounds cracked, but think of the magnitude of the experience. You can't tell me that there's no value in that.
There's a world of experience out there that I will never see, ever, even if I lived a life devoted to it.
I am a glutton for experience.
This weekend's convention flew by; I can't believe it's over already. And while I was there each day, I feel I was somewhat preoccupied, and not there enough. It's as though I were half asleep the whole time, with all this activity going on, buzzing, buzzing. It's all a blur to me now of semi-lucid encounters with old friends, and a host of surreal experiences.
What bothers me is that I feel like I didn't experience it enough, like a decadent chocolate dessert eaten too quickly to be appreciated.
I've been feeling like that a lot lately: about the seven months of Jaimeson's life that have passed already, about my last couple months at work, about all the weekends gone too far to fast, about all the people in my life that I really would like to spend more time with, but never do. I feel like we're so busy doing, that we can't enjoy the activity.
And there are so many media bombarding the senses that we can't differentiate between what to retain and what to ignore. How many times have you had some stupid jingle stuck in your mind? I personally have an apparent attachment to that little ditty: "Everyone loves Marineland!"
Many times have I been with Jordan or Jaimeson and thought, "This moment, right here, right now, remember it. How she looks, how he laughed, that quirky movement of a poorly controlled body, how I feel, remember it all in its entirety." But I can't. Even while I'm thinking it I know I can't; and I lament the loss.
I keep thinking that there has to be some way to tap into those captured moments, electronically, and mine the depths of long-term memory. True it's dangerous territory; a little PhotoShop work on a teenage self-image and suddenly I was 210 lbs. with 40 inch biceps. But that's not the point. And I want to be able to share the experiences too, in a way that talking or writing can't achieve.
I also find that I want to feel things, see things, do things, solely for the sake of the experience. While on the flight to Winnipeg, I was aware of the remote possibility that the plane could crash. It wasn't likely, of course, but part of me wished it would happen. I don't want to die, I don't want even to be hurt, and I don't want other people to suffer either; but I can't deny that I felt a twinge of disappointment when we landed safely. It sounds cracked, but think of the magnitude of the experience. You can't tell me that there's no value in that.
There's a world of experience out there that I will never see, ever, even if I lived a life devoted to it.
Scoreboard
And for the record, as well as the naysayers, it's a couple degrees warmer in Winnipeg tonight than here in Toronto.
And for the record, as well as the naysayers, it's a couple degrees warmer in Winnipeg tonight than here in Toronto.
Wordsmithing
Today, at our convention, the speaker used the word "compunction". At first, I thought he had misused it; used it in the wrong context, or instead of the actual word he meant. As it turns out, he used it correctly, and in fact it was a very appropriate word for the situation he was describing (he was exploring the sentiments of a particular bible character who felt regret over his wrong course of action). But it bothered me at the time.
On one hand, if the word was used incorrectly, it draws so much attention to its misapplication that it takes away from the value of the speaker's point. On the other hand, if a word is so obscure that few people understand its meaning, then the value is lost anyway. It's a tough line between expressing oneself precisely and expressing oneself in a way that will be understood. It's a struggle that I understand.
Today, at our convention, the speaker used the word "compunction". At first, I thought he had misused it; used it in the wrong context, or instead of the actual word he meant. As it turns out, he used it correctly, and in fact it was a very appropriate word for the situation he was describing (he was exploring the sentiments of a particular bible character who felt regret over his wrong course of action). But it bothered me at the time.
On one hand, if the word was used incorrectly, it draws so much attention to its misapplication that it takes away from the value of the speaker's point. On the other hand, if a word is so obscure that few people understand its meaning, then the value is lost anyway. It's a tough line between expressing oneself precisely and expressing oneself in a way that will be understood. It's a struggle that I understand.
Friday, July 12, 2002
Getting going
I fell asleep last night while putting Jaime down. I think technically, I was asleep before she was, but hey, that's what you get after a few nights of 3-4 hours sleep and constant work. At least, I think I'm losing some of that layer of winter padding that's come from no exercise and a poor diet.
While there is still so much to do (I have resigned myself to the fact that we will not be listing on Monday, and possibly not this week at all), I can't believe how much we've gotten done already. It makes me wonder what we've been waiting for all this time. I know it comes from approaching the work with a different mindset; the idea that a certain amount of work has to be done within a certain timeframe, rather than just doing bits as we go.
I have always said, "Better to not do a job until it can be done right." And to me "right" meant perfectly. It's been this thinking that has kept me from replacing the bedroom light fixture; I was waiting until I could afford the one I wanted. The result was living the past 2.5 years with exposed bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It tells me a lot about how to approach the work on the new place, and maybe work in general. My new motto is "Better done than perfect."
I discovering that perfectionism is one of the greatest barriers to achievement.
I fell asleep last night while putting Jaime down. I think technically, I was asleep before she was, but hey, that's what you get after a few nights of 3-4 hours sleep and constant work. At least, I think I'm losing some of that layer of winter padding that's come from no exercise and a poor diet.
While there is still so much to do (I have resigned myself to the fact that we will not be listing on Monday, and possibly not this week at all), I can't believe how much we've gotten done already. It makes me wonder what we've been waiting for all this time. I know it comes from approaching the work with a different mindset; the idea that a certain amount of work has to be done within a certain timeframe, rather than just doing bits as we go.
I have always said, "Better to not do a job until it can be done right." And to me "right" meant perfectly. It's been this thinking that has kept me from replacing the bedroom light fixture; I was waiting until I could afford the one I wanted. The result was living the past 2.5 years with exposed bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It tells me a lot about how to approach the work on the new place, and maybe work in general. My new motto is "Better done than perfect."
I discovering that perfectionism is one of the greatest barriers to achievement.
Thursday, July 11, 2002
More Homer
So my 24-hour Home Depot now closes at 12:00. If that's not bad enough, they start rushing you out at 11:00. Every 10 minutes there was an announcement: "Home Depot will be closing in X minutes, please bring your purchases to the front, so I can go home."
While this trip was more efficient than most, I still spent way too much. I was over 3 bills lighter by the time I left. And every Home Depot trip produces at least one useless item. In today's case it was a white register cover. Right type, wrong size. So yes, it's always something of an oddesey.
So my 24-hour Home Depot now closes at 12:00. If that's not bad enough, they start rushing you out at 11:00. Every 10 minutes there was an announcement: "Home Depot will be closing in X minutes, please bring your purchases to the front, so I can go home."
While this trip was more efficient than most, I still spent way too much. I was over 3 bills lighter by the time I left. And every Home Depot trip produces at least one useless item. In today's case it was a white register cover. Right type, wrong size. So yes, it's always something of an oddesey.
Tuesday, July 09, 2002
Radio Silence
I may miss posting over the next few days. I'm going to have a hard time getting everything done on the house by the 15th, especially since we'll be in Hamilton from Friday through Sunday for a three-day convention.
We have a presentation tomorrow which is the culmination of 9 months of work by the Photo Archive Project Committee. Truth be told, the Committee hasn't accomplished a whole heck of a lot. I think that's the nature of committees. It's easy to spin your wheels furiously, but get nowhere.
Our summer student, Ryan, has accomplished more in three weeks of work, than a team of ten people since last October. Granted, he's been able to focus solely on this project, but still...9 months? Anyway, tomorrow a pile of research, some sweet-talking and cajoling, and a live web presentation will hopefully buy us a new Digital Asset Management system. Oh yeah, that and $45 000 dollars.
I finally had a long overdue lunch with my friend Kelly on Monday. He and I have been trying to get together for lunch for a long, long time. I had no idea how long until we realized that the last lunch we had together was more than 18 months ago. How does a year and a half just disappear? That's just stupid. It was a great to finally do it, though. Besides the obvious people I work most closely with, Kelly will be one of the people I'll miss the most when I leave Foresters next month for my "leave".
Kelly, I'll always think of you when I hear the phrase: "Hoo-waaa!"
I may miss posting over the next few days. I'm going to have a hard time getting everything done on the house by the 15th, especially since we'll be in Hamilton from Friday through Sunday for a three-day convention.
• • •
We have a presentation tomorrow which is the culmination of 9 months of work by the Photo Archive Project Committee. Truth be told, the Committee hasn't accomplished a whole heck of a lot. I think that's the nature of committees. It's easy to spin your wheels furiously, but get nowhere.
Our summer student, Ryan, has accomplished more in three weeks of work, than a team of ten people since last October. Granted, he's been able to focus solely on this project, but still...9 months? Anyway, tomorrow a pile of research, some sweet-talking and cajoling, and a live web presentation will hopefully buy us a new Digital Asset Management system. Oh yeah, that and $45 000 dollars.
• • •
I finally had a long overdue lunch with my friend Kelly on Monday. He and I have been trying to get together for lunch for a long, long time. I had no idea how long until we realized that the last lunch we had together was more than 18 months ago. How does a year and a half just disappear? That's just stupid. It was a great to finally do it, though. Besides the obvious people I work most closely with, Kelly will be one of the people I'll miss the most when I leave Foresters next month for my "leave".
Kelly, I'll always think of you when I hear the phrase: "Hoo-waaa!"
Monday, July 08, 2002
Ouch
On Saturday, playing soccer, I took a hit in the mouth so hard it felt like my jaw was temporarily dislocated. It's still really sore and I have to be careful not to open it too wide. For the whole rest of the day my teeth wouldn't sit properly. When it first happened, my head snapped right back. I'm not sure whether I was unconscious, but I certainly laid there in a daze for a few seconds.
In response to Amy's question about why I always get hurt when I play sports, I answered, "It's because I'm the most intense player, just not the most skilled."
On Saturday, playing soccer, I took a hit in the mouth so hard it felt like my jaw was temporarily dislocated. It's still really sore and I have to be careful not to open it too wide. For the whole rest of the day my teeth wouldn't sit properly. When it first happened, my head snapped right back. I'm not sure whether I was unconscious, but I certainly laid there in a daze for a few seconds.
In response to Amy's question about why I always get hurt when I play sports, I answered, "It's because I'm the most intense player, just not the most skilled."
Sunday, July 07, 2002
On the move
The work on the house is progressing, albeit slowly, thanks to the girls' help. Amy and Erin are single-handedly (or maybe that's double-handedly) responsible for completing all the painting in the basement, which includes walls, doors and trim. No small task, but they've worked hard.
There's good motivation there, for Amy at least. I think this move is as important for her as it is for us. Enough craziness, enough unbearable stress, enough empty sacrifice. I am so looking forward to being able to spend time with the family, and not always be thinking that I'm just burying myself in chronological debt; that "This is nice, but I really should be doing that."
Not that it is all going to be breezy and relaxing. There will be financial concerns, there will be a good deal of stress involved in selling the house, buying another, moving, fixing it up, etcetera, etcetera. That's just life. But it's different, and it's meaningful.
One of the things Amy and I talked about is the fact that how happy we are will be dependent on how well we are getting along, especially if there's a long winter and months of being mostly indoors. But with some space, a few floors and walls to separate us, less work and financial worry, and a conscious effort to be considerate of one other, I think we'll be fine. A little kindness goes a long way.
The work on the house is progressing, albeit slowly, thanks to the girls' help. Amy and Erin are single-handedly (or maybe that's double-handedly) responsible for completing all the painting in the basement, which includes walls, doors and trim. No small task, but they've worked hard.
There's good motivation there, for Amy at least. I think this move is as important for her as it is for us. Enough craziness, enough unbearable stress, enough empty sacrifice. I am so looking forward to being able to spend time with the family, and not always be thinking that I'm just burying myself in chronological debt; that "This is nice, but I really should be doing that."
Not that it is all going to be breezy and relaxing. There will be financial concerns, there will be a good deal of stress involved in selling the house, buying another, moving, fixing it up, etcetera, etcetera. That's just life. But it's different, and it's meaningful.
One of the things Amy and I talked about is the fact that how happy we are will be dependent on how well we are getting along, especially if there's a long winter and months of being mostly indoors. But with some space, a few floors and walls to separate us, less work and financial worry, and a conscious effort to be considerate of one other, I think we'll be fine. A little kindness goes a long way.
Friday, July 05, 2002
High Beams
So summer's here and the boobs are out.
It seems everywhere I look lately, all I'm seeing is partially exposed breasts. I don't believe it's because I'm looking. I don't entirely mind a discreet glimpse, but what does bother me is the fact I seem confronted daily with intimate views whether I want them or not. I shouldn't have to consciously look away all the time to avoid being the pig who stares at women's breasts. They're just always there.
I understand that women are happy to be able to shed some clothing, show a little skin. I get that. I like that. But do they not think about the bending over, the sitting down, the sitting next to? These are real life situations that need to be considered. Do women just not think about it, or do they not care?
I've finally had chance to get a sense of what it must be like for the guys who work with Amy. Lisa, one of the gang from Yield, reminds me a lot of her, especially in how she dresses: very funky, and very intentionally revealing. She's a smart lady, very good at what she does, but it annoys me that when you have to deal with her, you also have to cope with this constant blaring siren of sexuality. I know that's whole point, too, which also annoys me.
Such blatent exhibitionism is about only one thing: control. It is designed to manipulate or misdirect you. Sorry, I don't mean to rant about the evil Jezebels. I'm just saying that if you put something on display, you no longer retain control of the viewing rights.
So summer's here and the boobs are out.
It seems everywhere I look lately, all I'm seeing is partially exposed breasts. I don't believe it's because I'm looking. I don't entirely mind a discreet glimpse, but what does bother me is the fact I seem confronted daily with intimate views whether I want them or not. I shouldn't have to consciously look away all the time to avoid being the pig who stares at women's breasts. They're just always there.
I understand that women are happy to be able to shed some clothing, show a little skin. I get that. I like that. But do they not think about the bending over, the sitting down, the sitting next to? These are real life situations that need to be considered. Do women just not think about it, or do they not care?
I've finally had chance to get a sense of what it must be like for the guys who work with Amy. Lisa, one of the gang from Yield, reminds me a lot of her, especially in how she dresses: very funky, and very intentionally revealing. She's a smart lady, very good at what she does, but it annoys me that when you have to deal with her, you also have to cope with this constant blaring siren of sexuality. I know that's whole point, too, which also annoys me.
Such blatent exhibitionism is about only one thing: control. It is designed to manipulate or misdirect you. Sorry, I don't mean to rant about the evil Jezebels. I'm just saying that if you put something on display, you no longer retain control of the viewing rights.
Thursday, July 04, 2002
Elbow Grease
13, 11, 10...at least the hours are coming down. In three days, I've completed almost a full week's work. I still don't take lunch, or any breaks; I didn't even on that marathon day, Tuesday. I'm doing alright, though. I'm just happy that the work is on track. And I don't feel like I'm drowning anymore.
The work on the house is going slower than I had hoped. The target date for listing is July 15; and there's so much to do. I'm kind of worried that I won't be ready.
The places I looked at in the building that are also for sale were not very nice. They were very clean, and very neat, but old and not pleasingly decorated at all. Either most poeple have no ability for aesthetics, or they just don't care.
The timeframe worries me too. If we end up being on the market for 60 days, then end up with a sixty day closing, worst case scenario, that takes us to the middle of October. Not only does that put us way behind the plan of being out there before the school year starts, but it means an extra couple of months carrying the mortgage. That bites because it's, essentially, lost money. All I pay is interest right now. I've paid $6000 on the mortgage this year, and only $1000 of that is principle. Isn't that awful?
It's late and I have exhausted my current stock of energy, so I no longer care. It will work out some way.
13, 11, 10...at least the hours are coming down. In three days, I've completed almost a full week's work. I still don't take lunch, or any breaks; I didn't even on that marathon day, Tuesday. I'm doing alright, though. I'm just happy that the work is on track. And I don't feel like I'm drowning anymore.
• • •
The work on the house is going slower than I had hoped. The target date for listing is July 15; and there's so much to do. I'm kind of worried that I won't be ready.
The places I looked at in the building that are also for sale were not very nice. They were very clean, and very neat, but old and not pleasingly decorated at all. Either most poeple have no ability for aesthetics, or they just don't care.
The timeframe worries me too. If we end up being on the market for 60 days, then end up with a sixty day closing, worst case scenario, that takes us to the middle of October. Not only does that put us way behind the plan of being out there before the school year starts, but it means an extra couple of months carrying the mortgage. That bites because it's, essentially, lost money. All I pay is interest right now. I've paid $6000 on the mortgage this year, and only $1000 of that is principle. Isn't that awful?
It's late and I have exhausted my current stock of energy, so I no longer care. It will work out some way.
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
Pulling strings
I tend to feel a bit insecure about my work when people, like my boss, ask me what it is that keeps me so busy. I can't really describe it; I often don't know. I look back over the day, throughout which I have run like a flaming chimp, and I can't really identify what I spent my day doing.
I scurry about, answering people's many questions, getting things, providing things, arranging things, helping things happen. I realized a day or two ago: I'm a facilitator. My job is facilitating the work that my team does. I hadn't really thought of it that way before.
The funny thing is, just today, Brad Usherwood (from Yield) said to me, "You're job is to facilitate." Just like that; it was weird.
In other management insights, I saw a skill in Greg today that surprised me and angered me a little. I watched him address a topic with another manager that wasn't a particularly contentious point, but regardless, he approached it with the method he refers to as "positioning". Under the guise of an update meeting, he worked his way around to dealing with the real issue. The way it rolled out, it seemed like we just happened upon it in Greg's half-bumbling manner.
I realized why it angered me even though in this circumstance it worked in my favour. Management should not equate manipulation ; and if it does, I want no part of it. Maybe that's why I hate it. I naively expect poeple to be able to deal with the harsh reality of the way things are. I don't want to have to frame it, or position it, or phrase it, or spin it. I want to be able to say, "This is how it is" and have people accept that maturely and professionally. Silly me.
I tend to feel a bit insecure about my work when people, like my boss, ask me what it is that keeps me so busy. I can't really describe it; I often don't know. I look back over the day, throughout which I have run like a flaming chimp, and I can't really identify what I spent my day doing.
I scurry about, answering people's many questions, getting things, providing things, arranging things, helping things happen. I realized a day or two ago: I'm a facilitator. My job is facilitating the work that my team does. I hadn't really thought of it that way before.
The funny thing is, just today, Brad Usherwood (from Yield) said to me, "You're job is to facilitate." Just like that; it was weird.
In other management insights, I saw a skill in Greg today that surprised me and angered me a little. I watched him address a topic with another manager that wasn't a particularly contentious point, but regardless, he approached it with the method he refers to as "positioning". Under the guise of an update meeting, he worked his way around to dealing with the real issue. The way it rolled out, it seemed like we just happened upon it in Greg's half-bumbling manner.
I realized why it angered me even though in this circumstance it worked in my favour. Management should not equate manipulation ; and if it does, I want no part of it. Maybe that's why I hate it. I naively expect poeple to be able to deal with the harsh reality of the way things are. I don't want to have to frame it, or position it, or phrase it, or spin it. I want to be able to say, "This is how it is" and have people accept that maturely and professionally. Silly me.
Tuesday, July 02, 2002
Isn't it amazing how much time you can waste playing video games? (Those of you who aren't gamers can compare it to any other activity you do that is completely unproductive and absolutely time-consuming, such as watching television, or listening to morning radio.) The other night, I knew I should go to bed, but instead, stayed awake until three playing Bubble Bobble. I had to get up at 6:30.
I just blew off an hour playing a generic version of Bust a Move. It's not even that good. And I'm already planning to play a PC version of Pang.
I think the appeal is that they are totally engrossing. I don't think about work, about money or long-term plans. Nothing too stressful but the in-the-moment satisfaction of blasting, popping, dodging and scoring.
I just saw an email from Fast Company with a quote from some bigwhig CEO saying that there's a huge opportunity right now in entertainment, and I thought "Well, du-uh." Escapism is now a way of life.
I just blew off an hour playing a generic version of Bust a Move. It's not even that good. And I'm already planning to play a PC version of Pang.
I think the appeal is that they are totally engrossing. I don't think about work, about money or long-term plans. Nothing too stressful but the in-the-moment satisfaction of blasting, popping, dodging and scoring.
I just saw an email from Fast Company with a quote from some bigwhig CEO saying that there's a huge opportunity right now in entertainment, and I thought "Well, du-uh." Escapism is now a way of life.
Get a grip
My hands are puffy and swollen from the day's work yesterday. Is there any way to do this type of thing and not mangle your hands? They always seem to get bashed and bruised, nicked and blistered. I actually bought a pair of work gloves to help prevent the soreness, but couldn't bring myself to wear them. I thought it would too wimpy.
My hands aren't used to it, which is why they are complaining. They don't know what real work is. Ocassionally, I'll get the motivation to do some building, or sanding, or something, and they get a taste of work, but only in the same way that a man who goes camping once a year knows the outdoors. It's a vague comprehension.
On Sunday, I shook hands with a man who does construction for a living. He's not a big man, about my height, very slender; it's very misleading. To see him dressed in a suit, you might think he's an accountant. But his hands tell the story. They're about twice the size of mine, and they feel like they could turn rocks to powder. I dared him to give my hand a good hard squeeze but he wouldn't. I know he's too modest for that.
I often think that's what we should all be doing; just working hard, not whiling away the hours in our giant towers, building imaginary empires.
My hands are puffy and swollen from the day's work yesterday. Is there any way to do this type of thing and not mangle your hands? They always seem to get bashed and bruised, nicked and blistered. I actually bought a pair of work gloves to help prevent the soreness, but couldn't bring myself to wear them. I thought it would too wimpy.
My hands aren't used to it, which is why they are complaining. They don't know what real work is. Ocassionally, I'll get the motivation to do some building, or sanding, or something, and they get a taste of work, but only in the same way that a man who goes camping once a year knows the outdoors. It's a vague comprehension.
On Sunday, I shook hands with a man who does construction for a living. He's not a big man, about my height, very slender; it's very misleading. To see him dressed in a suit, you might think he's an accountant. But his hands tell the story. They're about twice the size of mine, and they feel like they could turn rocks to powder. I dared him to give my hand a good hard squeeze but he wouldn't. I know he's too modest for that.
I often think that's what we should all be doing; just working hard, not whiling away the hours in our giant towers, building imaginary empires.
It's not word, but it's a state of mind.
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