Training (?)

In the world of Internal Technology, one thing you can count on is change. And with endless change comes endless training.
Over the years I've been to all manner of training classes, seminars, road shows, demonstrations, workshops... you get the idea.
But I have never been to anything as mediocre as the SMS 2003 / MOM workshop I just got back from. Don't get me wrong. For someone who has never seen SMS or MOM and has no means to see it until they purchase it, I imagine the seminar would be worthwhile.
(Right now, as an aside, let me say that no comedian makes me laugh harder than Ron White. I'm just sayin.)
But for someone like me, who has access to the software, the class was little more than an exercize in frustration.
To begin with, the material. It was like a paint by numbers, where you only got to see the current number you were painting and never the big picture. It was literally : Do this. Click this. Go here. Look at this. No examination of what you were doing, why you were doing it, or what was going on behind the scenes while you were doing it. Granted, it is a quick three day overview. But a little more depth at the expense of some of the leaving early that went on would have been great. I mean, some people flew in for this stuff. Where were they going at 3:00pm?
Second, the Virtual Environment. Every lab starts off with a five minute wait while the virtual environment fires up. And sometimes after that wait you get to wait another ten minutes while you watch your application load. One memorable exercize took literally 30 minutes to load MOM. I don't need to practice that. Get it pre-loaded. Sheesh.
Lastly there was the instrctor. And when I say instructor, I really mean PowerPoint slide reader, because he did little more than that. "I'm just going to lecture out these slides and let you do the labs" was his favorite phrase. Then he'd move on to tell us about all the classes he taught, his farmland, his car, his motorcycle. Any question too far outside the parameters of the book brought on a "Well, I played with that at home but didn't really get anywhere".
The only good thing about the training was interacting with the other guys in the class, comparing notes. And, it was free. But even at free, I felt like they owed me some money when it was over.

Termination

The vast majority of the time, working in Info Technology is great. It's what I love to do, I work with great people, and I generally get all the cool toys before anyone else. I get to play with many programs across many systems, troubleshoot elusive software issues, and deal with broken Microsoft patches.
But the one thing I hate is terminations. I work with these people, make friends with them, usually know spouses and children by name. There is nothing worse than getting the phone call "I need you to terminate Joe's account NOW and lock his email NOW and forward me anything he might have sent today".
Not fun.
I've had users want to come over the desk at me to get thier "personal data" off of thier laptop. Somehow, the admonishment to remember firm policy regarding data on laptops doesn't seem to sway them.
Again, not fun.
I've had employees come to me three months later and ask "Can I look at the files on Joe's laptop?", which is usually about two months after I've re-imaged it and given it to someone else.
Yet again, not fun.
So what do I want? Not sure. How about a "magic packet" to send down the wire to the workstation, causing to to completly shut down? Nah, too hackable.
I'd rather just have fellow employees who don't screw up and get fired.
As if.

For Leo

I freely admit to being a crier. Sappy movies, sad animal stories, hallmark commercials... all are sufficient triggers to bring on the waterworks. Well, last night I cried for Leo.

All of us who love The West Wing knew exactly what was going to happen. John Spencer died of a real life heart attack on December 16, 2005. Ironically enough, it was a follow up to his on screen attack of last year. The shows producers say that, had they a hint of his real-life condition, the on-air attack would never have happened. Since that day we've known Leo's fate.

But to watch last week as Leo was found unconscious in his hotel room, and watch last night the ensemble's reaction -- I was much reminded of the M*A*S*H episode where Henry Blake died.

If Josh was the brains of the show, then Leo was it's gruff and curmudgeonly heart, Leo with his secret AA meetings and his addictive past and his soft center.

It was Leo that handed then governor Bartlett the napkin with "Bartlett for America" written on it. It was Leo that fired Bartlett's first staff, early in the run during the first campaign, and brought in Josh and Toby and the gang. It was Leo in the situation room, urging the President to make the right choice. It was Leo, coming back from his first heart attack, reminding everyone why they were there in the first place.

Watching the actors react to news of Leo's death, it was pretty clear to me that they were drawing on their emotions over the death of John Spencer. Annabeth looked positively distraught. CJ was in shock. And Josh took it worst of all. We never see Josh's father in the show, that I can recall, or hear much about him. Remember Josh's fierce defense of Leo when the addiction scandal hit? In Leo, Josh lost a father figure writ large on his life.

It was a bittersweet ending, with Mathew Santos taking the podium for his acceptance speech, and Josh back in the war room, staring vacantly at the whiteboard. I know what he's thinking. He's thinking about the one that really got him there, the man that has been his mentor and his rudder, and wondering what's next, without him.

In December of last year, America lost a great actor. Last night, West Wing fans lost a good friend. On screen it was a heart attack. In our minds, it was the final end to a terminal illness.

Last night I cried for Leo.

The Book Fair

The book fair came through my son's grade school last week. Book Fair week was always my favorite week of school. I devoured books like they were my only means of sustenence. And maybe they were. A new book, fresh off the presses, was like a rare jewel I had never seen and couldn't wait to lay my hands on. They were things to be touched and felt and absorbed, my tickets out of my ho-hum existence.
I wanted to be ten again, looking at all of the titles. I wanted to buy and read almost all of them. Today's covers and titles are so intriguing in ways that they weren't when I was in school. Charlie Bone and Lemony Snicket, Harry Potter and Julie Moon.
My son is in second grade, too young for the books I wanted. But I ended up with Peter and the Starcatchers anyway, which was of course "for him" when he gets old enough to read it. Maybe this summer, or next year.
I devoured it over the weekend. This prequel to Peter Pan is a wonderful romp by the unlikely duo of Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson. It is long on action and wild characters, wonderful twists and turns, and funny bits here and there. It is also a nearly perfect bedtime reading novel, with short chapters and cliffhangers throughout.
We get to learn where Peter met Captain Hook, and where captain Hook met the Crocodile, and how TinkerBell came to be, why Peter never grows up and can fly... all wonderfully and plausibly spelled out for us. As Peter and his friends jump from adventure to adventure we are effortlessly sucked in, hooked, if you will.
While I certainly enjoyed it and recommend it, what struck me is that I kept viewing the book from an adult's eye, thinking what the kids would think. They'll like this bit, they'll find that funny, I wonder if they will get this bit. I was never really to hoist up my disbelief and just react to the book.
That could be because Peter and the Starcatchers is exactly the kind of book I wish I'd written. I want to give back to the world what was given to me: good escapist books for kids, particularly boys. I"m trying something in the vein of Three Investigators / Brains Benton / Danny Dunn meets some fantastical thing, but not really having much success. I read the book as a writer.
But at the end I found myself wishing I was ten again, so I could run outside with my wooden sword, playing Peter to some friends Black Stash. I could do that today, but a trip to the psychiatrist would probably be the end result.

Lazy Town

Call me crazy, but my kids and I are hooked on Lazy Town.

On what, you ask? Lazy who?

Lazy Town is a Saturday morning live action series. It's an action – adventure – musical – feel good – do good – eat right and exercise kind of Saturday morning show.

A who? Exactly. It's entirely unlike anything you've seen on Saturdays.

I'll try.

Lazy Town centers on the adventures of Stephanie, a quirky eight – year – old (with pink hair and invariable pink clothes) who has come to Lazy Town to stay with her uncle. Everyone in Lazy Town is, well, lazy. Together with Sporticus, the hyperactive superhero, they set about to get the town off of it's colelctive butt and out into the air. Robby Rotten is the evil bad guy who just wants to lay around, and tries to thwart their plans.

To let the folks over at Nick Jr. tell it:

Stephanie, an optimistic 8-year-old with bright pink hair, comes to live in LazyTown and meets a zany mix of townspeople including the world’s laziest super-villain, Robbie Rotten. Fortunately for Stephanie, LazyTown is also under the watchful eye of Sportacus, an athletic, super-fit, slightly-above-average super hero, who runs, jumps, flips and flies in his incredibly futuristic Airship to help the inhabitants of LazyTown battle Robbie’s latest lazy schemes.
LazyTown aims to INSPIRE and MOTIVATE kids to get them to make healthy choices in their lives.

And the show's creator says:

Really, when you get down to it, LazyTown is a state of mind. We've all been to LazyTown. When we decide to go "veg-out" on the couch, you could say you're "in LazyTown." Even me. It's a place we all go.

In a funny way, LazyTown reflects characteristics that you see in yourself or in people around you. These characteristics are universal: It's that dynamic of opposites.

For instance, in the show, Sportacus is a driving force. He's fit, agile, and an amazing athlete who's patient, kind, and understanding. He encourages kids through example. He doesn't take the low road. Conversely, his adversary, Robbie Rotten, is all about easy solutions and pulling the group down to his level. Then there's Stephanie, the lead kid character, a wide-eyed optimist who believes she can make a real difference; while Pixel, a boy character, can conquer every video game, but when the situations are real, he has a harder time.

Just like in real life, nobody's perfect and LazyTowners are constantly trying to find ways to understand and improve themselves. I guess that you could say that LazyTown explores the opposing forces that we encounter in our own daily lives.

With a combination of green screen special effects, puppets, live action and hopped up mid-nineties techno bop, Lazy Town manages to entertain and energize. The best thing about is that my kids cannot sit still and watch it. They're up dancing, doing jumping jacks and sit-ups and stretches and running and trying to do handstands: it's a joy to watch them watch the show.

The acting by the human characters is wonderfully over the top, with Stephanie mugging for the back rows and Robby Rotten absolutely stealing the show with his solid mane of jet black hair and enormous (prosthetic) chin. Robbie's chin and Sportacus's needle spring mustache must be seen to be believed.

It's pretty clear that the main characters have had training, and Stephanie and Robbie especially shine. They've both done stage work in the past. Robbie takes his mugging straight from the Jim Carrey School of Flexible Faces, and then takes it up a couple of notches. Stephanie is constantly cute and adorable, and they both manage to sing well enough.

Lazy Town just announced the filming up eighteen more episodes. If I had Tivo, this is the one the kids would make me record. And I'd probably record it anyway, for myself. Too much fun.

Give the Man a Stamp

Normally I don't do this kind of thing, but this subject is near and dear to my heart.
There is a movement going on in the SF community to get an Isaac Asimov commemorative stamp. I grew up reading Asimov, everything from his SF to science to Bible guides to his Guide to Shakespeare.

Those of you who are familiar with Isaac Asimov do not need to be reminded of the quality and the quantity of his works. Those of you who are not, please consider the following facts: Mr. Asimov wrote well over 500 PUBLISHED books. This does not include short novels, novellas, essays, etc. And the subject matter was very eclectic, including (but not limited to): Sci-fi, Religion, Math, science, mystery, fiction and non-fiction. The word prolific was created just to describe Mr. Asimov's output. The "Foundation Trilogy", written very early in his career, is considered by a lot of SF fans as the single greatest piece of science-fiction story telling of all time, spanning over 500 years of galactic history. This does not count the two prequels and two sequels written later in his life.

Reading his Foundation Trilogy and other works quite literally changed me, leading me down the path of reason and logic and many great years of inquiry into everything I could lay may hands on. For a mostly complete list of his books, you can look here.
Here's a list of his short fiction.
Here's a list of published essays (1600+!!).

We currently have issued stamps honoring Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwaanza, Thanksgiving, Chinese New Year,Christopher Columbus spaceflight, man's first steps on the moon, space images taken by the Hubble Telescope, John Steinbeck,Edith Wharton, Nathaniel Hawthorne, T. S. Eliot, and others. Surely Asimov, with his significant contributions across so many fields of study, is deserving of at least this small honor.

I'll never forget the day I heard that Asimov died. It was like losing a close friend. I can't help wondering at the treasure we lost that day. How many words were left unwritten, how much knowledge left untold? I was shocked to find out recently that Asimov actually died of complications from AIDS, contracted during transfusions in a 1983 heart operation. A long and productive life to be sure, but still too short.

If you would like to take the time, and fell it is a worthy cause, please send a letter (yes, an actual piece of paper in an envelope (What? You think the Post Office is going to let you EMAIL a request? Hah!)) with the request for a commemorative stamp for Isaac to:

CITIZENS' STAMP ADVISORY COMMITTEE
C/O Stamp Development
475 L'Enfant Plaza, SW
Room 5670
Washington, D. C.
20260-2437

The Woodpecker on Robinson Street

Today I rode my bike in to the office for the first time this year. It was a little chilly -- 43 degrees according to my GDesklets when I sat down at the office. But only my fingertips and earlobes got cold. I didn't ride for the exercise or some altruistic motive like making the environment better. I rode because I love to ride.
When I woke up the first thing I did was look out the window like a kid on Christmas morning looking for snow. The roads were dry. That was all I needed. I got dressed, took care of the necessities, stuck an orange in my coat pocket, and set forth.
See, you can't really say things like "and set forth" when you're getting behind he wheel of your Dodge Caravan. Well, you can, but only to amuse the kids.
A quick check of the tire pressure on my old Giant and I peddled out of the driveway. I left the pressure at about 80 pounds for this first ride, not the usual rock solid 110 or so. My behind needs the little cushion this early in the season.
I took the scenic route in. When I'm in a hurry I'll hop on the main drag and infuriate traffic by riding along with them. But today I was in it for the experience.
A block down from my house was an older guy, sitting on his front porch and enjoying the morning in his way, just as I was enjoying it in mine. We exchanged a wave, and a knowing glance. The fools were inside, or in their four-wheeled metal isolation traps, the glance said.
On Robinson street I heard a the hollow pounding of a woodpecker searching for his breakfast. I stopped and examined the direction the sound was coming from until I saw him, perched high in a tree just beginning to bud. His head was a blur as he dug away for breakfast. I always wonder how they can stand the noise. Are their skulls somehow immune for it? Growing up we'd search out woodpeckers in the forest after hearing the sound resonate through the trees from thousands of feet away, just to be able to point up and say "There he is!". Woodpeckers, in my stories, are always he's.
I saw of pair of chairs thrown out with the trash. They were worn, and had no finish, but they didn't look like the pre-made particulate garbage you can buy these days. They were real, solid wood chairs. But there they were, on the curb, waiting for the garbage truck and the dump.
Behind Cahills I saw a big outdoor grill. Smoke rose from it as a man stood there, apparently just getting it fired up. I wondered what breakfast they could possibly be cooking on the grill. I caught the scent of campfire further down the block, but no food. They must be getting it ready for lunch.
I watched as a couple and their young children came out of a Habitat house. I noticed the way the last child out shut the screen door with care, instead of just letting it pull back with a jam-rattling bang. It gave me a vague sense of hope.
As if for the first time I saw a little lot with three pine trees, immaculately kept, next to a lovely small house.
I saw the giant roll-off garbage bin next to the house with the boarded up windows that was gutted by fire. The bin was full. There were construction and electrical contractor signs in the front yard, so life may be coming back there. I hope so.
I noticed again the child's Batmobile sitting on a shelf, attached eight feet up the side of a tree. Before I'd always thought it some strange token, an odd marker. Today it looked like punishment, a plaything set out of reach for some childhood crime.
I rode through the Renaissance district, and saw the amazing change that is still taking place there. How many people that complain about the cost have actually taken time to go through the area, and look closely at the houses there, and the change that has taken place?
I sat at a stop light, next to a guy in a maroon four door. I was grateful for the respite from sitting on that narrow racing seat. I've really got to find something more comfortable. He was eating a bagel that clearly had just come from the Java Hut. It was still partially wrapped in aluminum foil. We waited while the south side got to turn left, and thought we'd then get a green. But the light did not turn for us, it turned again for the folks going east-west. I threw my arms in the air, and he did the same. I could have just hopped off the bike and walked it across, as the traffic was clear. But I coasted over to the stop light and hit the 'Cross Main Street' button, and moments later we both went.
I saw one other bicyclist on the way in, a young man on a bmx - style bike who would not meet my eye. What was his problem? Wasn't he aware of the brotherhood? A smile and perhaps a wave, or at least a nod of the head, were required. But he looked like he was coming from somewhere, and not really going anywhere. He rode by in silence, staring at the ground in front of him, missing the morning.