If you don't watch the show - you'll have no idea what I'm talking about. But for those who do, and just did-
I feel the same way...!
ARRRRGH!
Monday, March 26, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Single point of failure
A chopper pilot once told me that Hueys in Vietnam had a part that was euphemistically called the “Jesus bolt.” Its function was to hold the rotors onto the main mast, which led to its nickname. If that bolt failed, only Jesus could save you.
My backyard has a Jesus bolt. I used to think it was a 1/3 horsepower submersible sump pump. Today, I found out otherwise.
I’ll explain.
My backyard is the low spot in the neighborhood – which means that, sooner or later, I get everyone’s rainwater.
The previous owner of my house installed the aforementioned sump in the yard’s low spot.
Let me back up – ‘installed’ is a pretty strong word. What they actually did is dig a pit for the pump, run five feet of PVC below ground until they reached their neighbor’s yard.
So far, so good.
Next, they ran twenty feet of PVC above ground, on their neighbor’s side of the fence.
With me?
Then, they attached flex hose and buried it along the back of their neighbor’s property until it came out at the corner of four lots that didn’t belong to them.
It gets better.
They then plugged said pump into a 100’ industrial strength extension cord, and buried it in the backyard.
How did it get power?
You’d think given their earlier decisions, they’d just plug it into an outside receptacle, but no, they ran it through a basement window (which could no longer be sealed against the weather) and plugged it into a wall outlet.
Nice.
All this I know now. Learning all this happened in stages – the last stage happening yesterday.
In the beginning – I knew only that there was a buried extension cord, and that the water went…somewhere.
Like most people not looking for trouble, we let this sleeping beast lie until it bit us. One particularly rainy day I noticed that not only was my backyard underwater, but there was a patch of water churning violently in the back corner of my yard.
Being me, I slogged over to the spot and found the aforementioned above-ground-on-the-neighbor’s property PVC pipe. It had split down the side and the sump was dutifully pumping water out of the middle of my backyard lake, only to deposit it into said lake about fifteen feet away.
This, I did not like.
So I bought some PVC, tore out all the splintered junk (that presumably had been shattered by repeated encounters with my neighbor’s lawnmower) and put a fresh batch of PVC on my side of the fence and tied it into the flex hose. Still didn’t know where that hose went to, but I didn’t want to mess with success. I found that the hose went deep into the ground, but once the water was going away – my curiosity followed.
Enter dad.
Dad was not the type to leave such a half-assed monstrosity in place. First chance he got, he dragged me out in the back yard to mount an electrical outlet right next to the pump. We buried conduit and gave the outlet some protection from the elements.
Then we dug a trench and buried the PVC and tied it into the flex hose. In the process, we discovered that it let out on the other side of my neighbor’s yard.
Early discussions with my neighbors indicated that this was not an issue.
Problem solved, right? Wrong.
Why? Because my backyard has a Jesus bolt.
A few days ago, my backyard turned into a lake again and I slogged through the water to trip a stuck float arm. Hours later, the water was gone.
Yesterday, the yard is a lake again. Waiting the usual span of hours, I see no movement. I slog through the marsh and pull up the pump, expecting to free a stuck float arm.
Only this time, the pump is well and truly broken. Apparently, the float fail last time occurred when the float was pressed up against the side of the pump. The pump got so hot that it melted a hole in the float. The hole let in water to the point where the float couldn’t live up to its name.
Last time, hauling up the pump probably cleared out the water and allowed trapped air to float the arm and trigger the pump.
This time, however the pump had kept running so long that it apparently cooked itself – leaving me with something about as useful as a soggy, twelve pound paperweight.
Off to the hardware store – and I buy the same make and model. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Hook it up, plug it in. Presto! Water level falling.
Later that night – I’m on the back porch watching my neighbors dig out their sump and 50’ flex hose. They’re headed for my yard.
That’s odd. So I chat them up and they’re intending to drain my backyard lake. This is nice, I tell them, but my pump is working now and this should all go away soon.
And then they kill off any hope of an easy solution to this mess.
See, the back of their yard is flooding, too. Not where it’s adjacent to my yard, but on the other side – where my sump’s flex hose ends. I turn off the breaker to the sump and, yep, the water in their backyard starts to recede.
My sump is flooding their yard. This has never happened before – but it’s for damn sure I can’t ask them to endure flooding on account of my lack of follow through.
They’re nice about it, even offer to let me use their flex hose, but I’m pissed. Here I fix the faulty pump, and it turns out I've spent all this time patching a system that is totally doomed. I’m stuck with either running PVC out to the street, or shelling out the three grand it would take to re-grade the backyard.
Right now, I’m praying for a dry spring.
My backyard has a Jesus bolt. I used to think it was a 1/3 horsepower submersible sump pump. Today, I found out otherwise.
I’ll explain.
My backyard is the low spot in the neighborhood – which means that, sooner or later, I get everyone’s rainwater.
The previous owner of my house installed the aforementioned sump in the yard’s low spot.
Let me back up – ‘installed’ is a pretty strong word. What they actually did is dig a pit for the pump, run five feet of PVC below ground until they reached their neighbor’s yard.
So far, so good.
Next, they ran twenty feet of PVC above ground, on their neighbor’s side of the fence.
With me?
Then, they attached flex hose and buried it along the back of their neighbor’s property until it came out at the corner of four lots that didn’t belong to them.
It gets better.
They then plugged said pump into a 100’ industrial strength extension cord, and buried it in the backyard.
How did it get power?
You’d think given their earlier decisions, they’d just plug it into an outside receptacle, but no, they ran it through a basement window (which could no longer be sealed against the weather) and plugged it into a wall outlet.
Nice.
All this I know now. Learning all this happened in stages – the last stage happening yesterday.
In the beginning – I knew only that there was a buried extension cord, and that the water went…somewhere.
Like most people not looking for trouble, we let this sleeping beast lie until it bit us. One particularly rainy day I noticed that not only was my backyard underwater, but there was a patch of water churning violently in the back corner of my yard.
Being me, I slogged over to the spot and found the aforementioned above-ground-on-the-neighbor’s property PVC pipe. It had split down the side and the sump was dutifully pumping water out of the middle of my backyard lake, only to deposit it into said lake about fifteen feet away.
This, I did not like.
So I bought some PVC, tore out all the splintered junk (that presumably had been shattered by repeated encounters with my neighbor’s lawnmower) and put a fresh batch of PVC on my side of the fence and tied it into the flex hose. Still didn’t know where that hose went to, but I didn’t want to mess with success. I found that the hose went deep into the ground, but once the water was going away – my curiosity followed.
Enter dad.
Dad was not the type to leave such a half-assed monstrosity in place. First chance he got, he dragged me out in the back yard to mount an electrical outlet right next to the pump. We buried conduit and gave the outlet some protection from the elements.
Then we dug a trench and buried the PVC and tied it into the flex hose. In the process, we discovered that it let out on the other side of my neighbor’s yard.
Early discussions with my neighbors indicated that this was not an issue.
Problem solved, right? Wrong.
Why? Because my backyard has a Jesus bolt.
A few days ago, my backyard turned into a lake again and I slogged through the water to trip a stuck float arm. Hours later, the water was gone.
Yesterday, the yard is a lake again. Waiting the usual span of hours, I see no movement. I slog through the marsh and pull up the pump, expecting to free a stuck float arm.
Only this time, the pump is well and truly broken. Apparently, the float fail last time occurred when the float was pressed up against the side of the pump. The pump got so hot that it melted a hole in the float. The hole let in water to the point where the float couldn’t live up to its name.
Last time, hauling up the pump probably cleared out the water and allowed trapped air to float the arm and trigger the pump.
This time, however the pump had kept running so long that it apparently cooked itself – leaving me with something about as useful as a soggy, twelve pound paperweight.
Off to the hardware store – and I buy the same make and model. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Hook it up, plug it in. Presto! Water level falling.
Later that night – I’m on the back porch watching my neighbors dig out their sump and 50’ flex hose. They’re headed for my yard.
That’s odd. So I chat them up and they’re intending to drain my backyard lake. This is nice, I tell them, but my pump is working now and this should all go away soon.
And then they kill off any hope of an easy solution to this mess.
See, the back of their yard is flooding, too. Not where it’s adjacent to my yard, but on the other side – where my sump’s flex hose ends. I turn off the breaker to the sump and, yep, the water in their backyard starts to recede.
My sump is flooding their yard. This has never happened before – but it’s for damn sure I can’t ask them to endure flooding on account of my lack of follow through.
They’re nice about it, even offer to let me use their flex hose, but I’m pissed. Here I fix the faulty pump, and it turns out I've spent all this time patching a system that is totally doomed. I’m stuck with either running PVC out to the street, or shelling out the three grand it would take to re-grade the backyard.
Right now, I’m praying for a dry spring.
"...or else the terrorists win"
If you haven't read the anonymous article in the Washington Post regarding National Security Letters and what their effect is on law abiding citizens is, you really should.
from My National Security Letter Gag Order (login required):
To paraphrase Hans Gruber, "[the liberty and freedom the terrorists cannot destroy] is [destroyed] automatically in response to a terrorist incident. You ask for miracles, Theo? I give you the F. B. I."
from My National Security Letter Gag Order (login required):
Three years ago, I received a national security letter (NSL) in my capacity as the president of a small Internet access and consulting business. The letter ordered me to provide sensitive information about one of my clients. There was no indication that a judge had reviewed or approved the letter, and it turned out that none had. The letter came with a gag provision that prohibited me from telling anyone, including my client, that the FBI was seeking this information.
Living under the gag order has been stressful and surreal. Under the threat of criminal prosecution, I must hide all aspects of my involvement in the case -- including the mere fact that I received an NSL -- from my colleagues, my family and my friends. When I meet with my attorneys I cannot tell my girlfriend where I am going or where I have been. I hide any papers related to the case in a place where she will not look. When clients and friends ask me whether I am the one challenging the constitutionality of the NSL statute, I have no choice but to look them in the eye and lie.
To paraphrase Hans Gruber, "[the liberty and freedom the terrorists cannot destroy] is [destroyed] automatically in response to a terrorist incident. You ask for miracles, Theo? I give you the F. B. I."
Monday, March 19, 2007
Basketball diary
Blogging is a curious animal. Readers who don’t know you will miss context and subtext. Readers who do know you can make you self-conscious.
I’ve been trying the anonymous route to protect the narrative – but even so, there are things you just don’t bring up.
I’d been debating in my mind if the Basketball Weekend is one of them. For over a decade now, my friend G has been inviting people over to his place to watch the opening rounds of March Madness. On the surface, this is boilerplate enthusiasm for a chosen sport. We like basketball; ergo we watch basketball in a group. Saves electricity, we can pool resources for beer and chips.
It might have been that, early on, - but the reality of any situation changes over time. What began as an excuse to drink and swear and carry on about this team or that team, is pretty much evolved into the best opportunity I have to see my old friends and step out of parenthood for awhile.
As I’m only starting to appreciate - those are two huge things in life. These are guys who I’ve known since – hell, since Bush the Elder was president. Given my background - outside of family, these are the people I’ve known the longest. We don’t chat regularly, so this is pretty much the only opportunity to catch up with them.
I remember C (of A&C) telling me once that she’d interviewed a co-worker for a project and one of the questions she’d asked was pretty typical: what do you know now that you wished you’d learned earlier? That sort of thing. Her co-worker had given a response that was pretty memorable: “I wish I’d realized how important people were a lot sooner in life.”
That’s always resonated with me. Growing up, my social life got erased every couple of years when we’d move – and I think I got more than I little used to writing people off when they were out of sight. I believe that this led to an alarming amount of selfish behavior on my part. I still do things that are (in retrospect) amazingly self-centered for a father of two. Of course, you appreciate the people around you – but investing in them is something I’ve been very bad at.
The Basketball Weekend has been G’s investment in his friends (I’m sure he doesn’t look at it this way) but boiled down – he makes his house available to everyone and we all benefit from hanging out together. March Madness is the excuse – but it’s just great to hang around with people who “knew you when.”
Reverting to selfish for a moment, it is worth pointing out that seeing your friends with their families is one thing – seeing them sans family is quite another. Stereotypically, this would mean the guys sit around acting lewd and chauvinistic because their wives aren’t around to carp on them – but this isn’t really what I’m talking about.
With my son and daughter around – I’m plugged into parenthood. Conversation steers away from subjects that aren’t fit for children and congeals around topics that address the current behavior of same. This is fine and good, but sitting in a roomful of adults, getting to talk like adults is one of the reasons there are bowling leagues and book clubs.
It is therapy. We can grouse about the things that cannot be fixed, discuss the world’s problems, or just forget everything and rally around the fact that Duke can’t seem to drain a basket whenever CBS coverage switches to Hi-Def (So long, Dukies – we won’t miss you).
It is not mere nostalgia, or escape – it’s an awful lot of things that I wasn’t sure I could (or should) spell out.
In the interests of splitting the difference, I’ll leave some things out.
I will not, for example – discuss drinking cocktails at ten in the morning.
I won’t go into details about when four of us watched two men wrestle in the nude.
-or how C made a waitress dance for him before kissing her (and him, a married man!) or any of that stuff.
Some things are just sacred.
I’ve been trying the anonymous route to protect the narrative – but even so, there are things you just don’t bring up.
I’d been debating in my mind if the Basketball Weekend is one of them. For over a decade now, my friend G has been inviting people over to his place to watch the opening rounds of March Madness. On the surface, this is boilerplate enthusiasm for a chosen sport. We like basketball; ergo we watch basketball in a group. Saves electricity, we can pool resources for beer and chips.
It might have been that, early on, - but the reality of any situation changes over time. What began as an excuse to drink and swear and carry on about this team or that team, is pretty much evolved into the best opportunity I have to see my old friends and step out of parenthood for awhile.
As I’m only starting to appreciate - those are two huge things in life. These are guys who I’ve known since – hell, since Bush the Elder was president. Given my background - outside of family, these are the people I’ve known the longest. We don’t chat regularly, so this is pretty much the only opportunity to catch up with them.
I remember C (of A&C) telling me once that she’d interviewed a co-worker for a project and one of the questions she’d asked was pretty typical: what do you know now that you wished you’d learned earlier? That sort of thing. Her co-worker had given a response that was pretty memorable: “I wish I’d realized how important people were a lot sooner in life.”
That’s always resonated with me. Growing up, my social life got erased every couple of years when we’d move – and I think I got more than I little used to writing people off when they were out of sight. I believe that this led to an alarming amount of selfish behavior on my part. I still do things that are (in retrospect) amazingly self-centered for a father of two. Of course, you appreciate the people around you – but investing in them is something I’ve been very bad at.
The Basketball Weekend has been G’s investment in his friends (I’m sure he doesn’t look at it this way) but boiled down – he makes his house available to everyone and we all benefit from hanging out together. March Madness is the excuse – but it’s just great to hang around with people who “knew you when.”
Reverting to selfish for a moment, it is worth pointing out that seeing your friends with their families is one thing – seeing them sans family is quite another. Stereotypically, this would mean the guys sit around acting lewd and chauvinistic because their wives aren’t around to carp on them – but this isn’t really what I’m talking about.
With my son and daughter around – I’m plugged into parenthood. Conversation steers away from subjects that aren’t fit for children and congeals around topics that address the current behavior of same. This is fine and good, but sitting in a roomful of adults, getting to talk like adults is one of the reasons there are bowling leagues and book clubs.
It is therapy. We can grouse about the things that cannot be fixed, discuss the world’s problems, or just forget everything and rally around the fact that Duke can’t seem to drain a basket whenever CBS coverage switches to Hi-Def (So long, Dukies – we won’t miss you).
It is not mere nostalgia, or escape – it’s an awful lot of things that I wasn’t sure I could (or should) spell out.
In the interests of splitting the difference, I’ll leave some things out.
I will not, for example – discuss drinking cocktails at ten in the morning.
I won’t go into details about when four of us watched two men wrestle in the nude.
-or how C made a waitress dance for him before kissing her (and him, a married man!) or any of that stuff.
Some things are just sacred.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Incommunicado
Mom's been the vector of family news for some time now - I hear about it because everybody calls her. Nobody call me because - quite frankly - I never call them.
This past week, mom was traveling in the Grand Canyon. No cell, no internet. So mom's off taking nature photos and somewhere, her phone was ringing off the hook.
Two long-delayed items finally happened, and neither of them were good.
First up - My uncle K had to put his dog Scooby to sleep. Scooby was the smartest, mildest, most user-friendly dog I ever knew. He was like my uncle - very low key, did his own thing - just a great hound dog all round. No great mystery or surprise, Scoob was getting old - and nature took its course. Just a shame.
The closer was also no surprise, just a sad end to a sadder story.
DB, Dad's cousin, lost his wife, JB last week. She had been suffering for years with that particularly cruel form of alzheimers that allows you to be fully functional, yet forget even basic things like speaking. I'd last spoken to DB at dad's funeral, and he was there alone. I knew it was bad, and we avoided the subject. I last saw her at the local festival and she'd smiled a lot and said nothing. After we'd said our goodbyes, Dad had pointed out that she wasn't shy - she just forgot how to talk somedays. She would have been about my dad's age - way too young for a disease like that. DB was like my grandfather, taking care of a person who didn't even know who he was. I can't even imagine.
So there's an end to their suffering, but it is such a dreadful thing. Alzheimers is called the "Long Goodbye," but it’s so much worse than that. By the time it finally consents to let you go, your loved ones are usually too spent to grieve in any normal way. DB's family has not had an easy go of it for lots of reasons - they just never get a break.
Dad would have been there - I would have gladly stood in for him.
I just wish I'd heard about it in time to do something.
This past week, mom was traveling in the Grand Canyon. No cell, no internet. So mom's off taking nature photos and somewhere, her phone was ringing off the hook.
Two long-delayed items finally happened, and neither of them were good.
First up - My uncle K had to put his dog Scooby to sleep. Scooby was the smartest, mildest, most user-friendly dog I ever knew. He was like my uncle - very low key, did his own thing - just a great hound dog all round. No great mystery or surprise, Scoob was getting old - and nature took its course. Just a shame.
The closer was also no surprise, just a sad end to a sadder story.
DB, Dad's cousin, lost his wife, JB last week. She had been suffering for years with that particularly cruel form of alzheimers that allows you to be fully functional, yet forget even basic things like speaking. I'd last spoken to DB at dad's funeral, and he was there alone. I knew it was bad, and we avoided the subject. I last saw her at the local festival and she'd smiled a lot and said nothing. After we'd said our goodbyes, Dad had pointed out that she wasn't shy - she just forgot how to talk somedays. She would have been about my dad's age - way too young for a disease like that. DB was like my grandfather, taking care of a person who didn't even know who he was. I can't even imagine.
So there's an end to their suffering, but it is such a dreadful thing. Alzheimers is called the "Long Goodbye," but it’s so much worse than that. By the time it finally consents to let you go, your loved ones are usually too spent to grieve in any normal way. DB's family has not had an easy go of it for lots of reasons - they just never get a break.
Dad would have been there - I would have gladly stood in for him.
I just wish I'd heard about it in time to do something.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Wisdom of the day
Saw this on Google:
People often write me and ask how I keep my wood floors so clean when I live with a child and a dog, and my answer is that I use a technique called Suffering From a Mental Illness. - Heather Armstrong
Thursday, March 01, 2007
The writing on the wall
CorpWorld is an odd place. Most times - people are unfailingly polite. I believe that CorpWorld culture mandates this, a sort of enforced cheeriness I've taken to calling "North Korea Nice."
Your tech contact will politely smile and nod while you say your peace - then tell their manager that you are causing problems on the project. This will become obvious to you when your manager shows up out of the blue to discuss topics that could only have been suggested by the aforementioned tech contact.
In theory at least, conflicts are resolved by proxy - and no one loses face. Of course, the reality is that plenty of face is lost, and any lag in the system means that people will keep doing whatever got them in trouble until they eventually find out. This fact is compounded when those making the complaint know you're in trouble before you do.
This can make for some interesting meetings, as you sit with a roomful of people all wearing smug expressions on their faces.
Which brings us to a person called JR. JR is going to be fired.
This is fact in the same sense that a person who steps in front of a Mack truck is dead. A miracle could happen, Superman could do the fly-round-the-world thing he does, but odds are - they're pretty much toast.
So it is with JR, but they don't know it yet.
JR's been slacking and it's starting to show. I've seen their face time in front of clients get pruned back again and again, and they are being asked to do more grunt-tasks and less brain-tasks. Rather than seeing this for what it is, they have chosen to feel persecuted.
Worse, they are committing the one truly unpardonable sin in CorpWorld - they are making their department look unprofessional. Our department’s higher ups will tolerate an awful lot. However, if they have to choose between an employee and their own credibility, they'll pause a moment - if they like you - and then fire your ass.
Being in meetings with JR has become a little surreal. Ostensibly, nothing has changed and they are still responsible for running some internal meetings. But it's obvious to all that JR is in trouble. I may be the only one who thinks that JR's condition is terminal - but I've seen this same pattern twice now, and all the signs are there.
Having drunk the Kool-Aid, nobody tells JR a thing - we just smile and carry on. The moral paragons of the world would offer a warning - surely a warning isn't out of line - but I'm not stepping up any time soon. I'm right, but I can't prove it - and anything I'll say won't change a damn thing.
I can't say I have much sympathy for JR - management has been (from what I can tell) fair. But the fact that this situation has carried on so long essentially makes co-conspirators out of everyone who works with JR. We discuss the issue when they aren't around, and hush up when they show up. Nobody has hard info from a reliable source, but we're not stupid.
JR's going to "see their account rep" sometime in the next month or so - and we'll all just keep smiling until it happens.
Just another day in corporate land.
Your tech contact will politely smile and nod while you say your peace - then tell their manager that you are causing problems on the project. This will become obvious to you when your manager shows up out of the blue to discuss topics that could only have been suggested by the aforementioned tech contact.
In theory at least, conflicts are resolved by proxy - and no one loses face. Of course, the reality is that plenty of face is lost, and any lag in the system means that people will keep doing whatever got them in trouble until they eventually find out. This fact is compounded when those making the complaint know you're in trouble before you do.
This can make for some interesting meetings, as you sit with a roomful of people all wearing smug expressions on their faces.
Which brings us to a person called JR. JR is going to be fired.
This is fact in the same sense that a person who steps in front of a Mack truck is dead. A miracle could happen, Superman could do the fly-round-the-world thing he does, but odds are - they're pretty much toast.
So it is with JR, but they don't know it yet.
JR's been slacking and it's starting to show. I've seen their face time in front of clients get pruned back again and again, and they are being asked to do more grunt-tasks and less brain-tasks. Rather than seeing this for what it is, they have chosen to feel persecuted.
Worse, they are committing the one truly unpardonable sin in CorpWorld - they are making their department look unprofessional. Our department’s higher ups will tolerate an awful lot. However, if they have to choose between an employee and their own credibility, they'll pause a moment - if they like you - and then fire your ass.
Being in meetings with JR has become a little surreal. Ostensibly, nothing has changed and they are still responsible for running some internal meetings. But it's obvious to all that JR is in trouble. I may be the only one who thinks that JR's condition is terminal - but I've seen this same pattern twice now, and all the signs are there.
Having drunk the Kool-Aid, nobody tells JR a thing - we just smile and carry on. The moral paragons of the world would offer a warning - surely a warning isn't out of line - but I'm not stepping up any time soon. I'm right, but I can't prove it - and anything I'll say won't change a damn thing.
I can't say I have much sympathy for JR - management has been (from what I can tell) fair. But the fact that this situation has carried on so long essentially makes co-conspirators out of everyone who works with JR. We discuss the issue when they aren't around, and hush up when they show up. Nobody has hard info from a reliable source, but we're not stupid.
JR's going to "see their account rep" sometime in the next month or so - and we'll all just keep smiling until it happens.
Just another day in corporate land.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)