Commerce crazy

Last night a friend of mine mentioned that she wanted to get a Wii for her nephew, but had trouble finding one - they're in short supply. "But wait!" you say. "Didn't the Wii come out ages ago? How can there still be supply problems?!"

Yeah, I know - weird, huh? In any case, technology to the rescue! Someone's built an entire website whose sole purpose is to monitor a bunch of online stores & send you a text message when the object of your tech-crush becomes available.

I'm sure I should be able to make some pithy comment about the consumer lifestyle and the spirit of Christmas here, but somehow, words fail me.

Behind the office park ...

... is a stream. With ducks. And yes, this is winter in California!

Bookcase II

I actually finished making my bookcase a couple of weeks ago, but for those who are curious, here's a photo of the finished product:



It's made of cherry plywood, sanded with 220 grade sandpaper, and finished with two applications of Danish oil. I didn't face the edges; I like the raw look of the plywood. The whole thing barely fits in this photo because it's almost 8' tall - which is what gives it room to hold 8 shelves of books (the bookcase that this replaces held only 5 shelves).

As a result, for the first time since college I have no stacks of books on the floor. In fact, on a bookcase in another room I have about a foot of empty space.

Even so, I'm not going to make another one of these right away - or at least till spring. Here's what it took to get here:

Wood, ready for sanding:


Much much later, stained wood drying under the awning so as not to get rained on:


Assembly, with screws & glue:


Before it had books on it - near the top you can see the brackets where I've attached it to the wall (this is earthquake country after all!):


And with books:


Corner detail (look, you can see some of what's on the shelves!):


And this doesn't even show the hours and hours of sanding, the measuring to drill the holes in the right place, the cleaning off the glue that dripped - not to mention designing the thing in the first place.

I can complain all I want but really, making this thing was so satisfying I hardly know how to describe it.

Babies at Christmas

I never expected to get here: in surveying the Christmas cards on my mantelpiece, I find that over 50% of them include photos of various people's babies.

Good grief. Really? Am I really at this point?

One photo-card shows two little boys gleefully grabbing bottles of Jack Daniels & Bacardi (their parents are my models for how not to take things too seriously).

Surely this helps balance things out? I'm just going to keep telling myself that it does.

This is your name. This is your name on drugs!

A good friend recently pointed me to Sloganizer, wherein you can input random words (eg your name, a food, what have you) and it will generate a slogan.

Hours of fun, I tell you. Hours!

My personal favorite so far: I want heather newt and I want it now.

Something about newts is fundamentally funny.

All kinds of Christmas

"What are you doing over the holidays?" asks my officemate. J & I are beginning to be friends: my guy & I hang out with J & her husband over dinner, occasionally foray into Guitar Hero 3, and last weekend took a coffee tasting class together (!).

"We usually get a tree," I say. I'm half-distracted by my email: the feature I was expecting to launch today will launch... next Monday? Aargh.

"Really?" J sounds...something. Eager? Hopeful? I am never very confident in my ability to interpret other people's emotions.

I say, "Yeah. We usually drive up into the Santa Cruz mountains and cut one down." I look over at J, and the expression on her face is so enthusiastic that I say, "You guys want to come? We were thinking Saturday or Sunday morning." I offer this invitation somewhat dubiously, since J & her husband B are Jewish - did I misread that look on her face?

"Yes!" says J. "Is it cold? What do I wear? Do you just hike around until you find one?"

I grin, and we make a plan.

Three days later, we drive up to the tree farm. I'm worried all the time that the drive will be too long, that J & B won't have a good time, that this won't make sense if it's not your family tradition - but when we get there and see the families and dogs and little kids and people running around with bright red saws, B says, "I get it - this is the best Christmas tree farm." B loves the idea of chopping down a tree in a forest, and makes frequent references to Paul Bunyan. We find a tree; we take turns with the sawing; we load it into my car and head home. On the way we stop at a winery because this is after all California, then for lunch at 4pm because we're hungry. We eventually make it home; J & B help us decorate. The tree looks beautiful.

"You'll probably redo it all after we leave," says J nervously, and I reassure her that no, we won't, it looks great. My guy, child of a tradition that he assures me took six hours to decorate a tree, adds that it's pretty great how fast it goes with four people.

What I don't quite have a way to say that this has been a long-term daydream of mine: holidays spent with friends, celebrated any day that happens to work, focused not on arbitrary religious ideals (come on, it's chopping down a tree for crying out loud! Although please do keep in mind that chopping down a pine tree doesn't kill it; the stump grows into a new tree more quickly than you'd think) but on good company, indoor warmth, & the smell of pine in the cold.

I am awkwardly trying to be balanced & culturally sensitive, so at some point during the day I mentioned that hey, if they had some particularly Jewish event they wanted to invite us to, we'd be happy to show up. After the tree is all decorated, B says, "So - you want to come over for a dry run of our annual Latkes & Vodkas party?"

"Latkes & vodka don't really go, but it rhymes," adds J. And an hour later, my hands are covered in potato dough as J explains that you have to squeeze out all the water before slipping the latkes into hot oil to fry. My guy helps flip the latkes & replaces the paper towel they drain on.

I wouldn't call any of this religious, but it is tradition: I've got my great-grandmother's ornaments, and B called his mom for latke instructions (garlic powder, not chopped garlic!). All together, it's beginning to feel a lot like holidays.

Unintentional Poem

In my email today:

Reminder: send feedback by EOD
If we're all agreed, I'll start ASAP.

I tweaked only three words to make the meter scan....

Yoga with Guys

No, the photo to the right is NOT me. But the pose really does look this silly.

"It's easier to maintain balance if you use a viewing spot," says this evening's leader, while the rest of us focus on not falling over. I've got all my weight on my left foot, right arm & leg extended behind me, right hand wrapped around ankle, head tilted back.

"You stole my viewing spot!" says the guy two mats away from me. Like everybody else I immediately lose my own viewing spot and go staggering off my mat.

Right before sivasana, an objection: "We haven't done Crazy Yoga Pose of the Day."

Our leader thinks for a moment. "Ok, what about Roaring Lion?"

"Roaring Lion? You are totally making that shit up." General appeal to the rest of the room: "Is he making it up?" The guy next to me rolls his eyes. We all get down on our knees to do Roaring Lion. Roaring Lion consists of crouching on all fours, then suddenly surging forward while rolling your eyes back in your head and growling. I suspect most of the benefit comes from laughing at everyone else's growls.

As usual on Monday nights, I'm the only woman in a yoga class full of guys. I love it. It's all-volunteer: our teacher isn't charging, we're not paying, and the classes are shaped by whatever mood everyone seems to be in.

How job transitions really work

"Want my job?" My friend B sent me an IM the other evening. He's a Product Manager on my team, but about to move to a new project - he's been trying to figure out who should take his place. Problem is, all the other PMs are slammed.

"I don't want my projects to just get lost," he said.

Pause. Pause. Pause.

"I could pitch a project plan," I pinged back.

"You could totally do it!" he typed. "Transitioning to you would be great! I can throw your hat in the ring metaphorically!"

Big deep breath. I'd planned to think about a job change oh, maybe next April. I don't have the background to easily move to the PM team but try-before-you-buy deals are always a little easier. With decent luck and a push from friends, it might work. I haven't had time to figure out if I actually want to do it, but if I could try it unofficially for a couple of months.....

"OK," I typed. "I'm in!"

So here I am, 48 hours later. I've agreed to devote 30% of my time to something I've never done before & don't know how to do. My boss is on board but has his own agenda - I'm going to have to fight off his priorities in order to get my own in place, all while making sure I can still go home to my own team again in case this other thing doesn't work out because it very easily might not.

In 40 minutes, I'll be leading a meeting of people who know more than I do and who aren't expecting me to take on this role.

In case you're wondering ...

... why it took me so long to finish Microserfs, it's because I am currently also reading:

Snow, by Orhan Pamuk
--> artistic & cool, but it's taking me forever - something about its being a translation, I think. Sigh.

Temples, Tombs, & Hieroglyphs, by Barbara Mertz
--> Egypt is fun. This book is like gossip about Egypt.

Tim Gunn: A Guide to Quality, Taste, and Style, by Tim Gunn
--> lent to me by a coworker with whom I had a mind-clearing conversation about shoes & closets. I have decided my style mentor is Katherine Hepburn.

Write Away, by Elizabeth George
--> for inspiration; it's so like an instruction manual that I can't help but be seduced. Also a good read.

The Queen of the South, by Arturo Perez-Reverte
--> I want to like this book, so I'm still reading it, but I keep getting bored.

So there.

Bookcase I

My bookcase project begins! This morning on my way to work I stopped by Ace Hardware for wood-finishing supplies. I love Ace. It's full of tools & paint & bags of ready-mix concrete & bins of screws & a whole lot of other things that make me happy just by existing. The Ace in Palo Alto is also staffed by middle-aged men who look as if they spend their weekends doing complicated things with dove-tail joins & tablesaws. In another place and time they'd look at me and tell me to go ask my husband - but this is Palo Alto in 2007, so instead they recommend which kind of tung oil they like best to finish their own projects, and when I check out, the guy I've been talking to accords me the ultimate badge of honor:

"You must really know what you're doing," he says, looking down at my double pack of tack cloth.

I grin. "First time, actually," I say. I haven't felt so proud in weeks.

All of which causes me to think, what about the kids whose Moms aren't also devotees of hardware stores and whose Dads never rewired lamps with a small daughter looking on? Do those kids not get to make their own bookcases, because hardware stores & tools & sandpaper are unfamiliar territory instead of a comfort zone?

That sucks.

Television request

For the past year or two my guy & I have dedicatedly watched CSI (for him) and, more recently, Grey's Anatomy (for me), but CSI is increasing its percentage of gore & serial killers and as a result I showered as quickly as possible this morning, leaping out with the shampoo only half-rinsed from my hair, trying hard not to imagine the bloody palm of a Bad Guy coming to Get Me wrapping menacingly around the edge of the bathroom door frame.

Ugh. I need a new show, something engaging but less focused on random bludgeonings.

Sigh. I am such a wimp. What happened to the good old CSI days where it was just sex & gambling crimes, rather than wackos? Sex & gambling crimes I can mentally deal with by thinking, "Well, I don't date someone who does (insert elaborate and/or bizarre sex practice involving dice and/or roulette tables here) so I'm safe!" Wackos, on the other hand ... I am less sure how to persuade myself are just a plot device.

Apology

I have eaten
the organic apple
that B & T brought us on Sunday
as a gift

and which
was next to the persimmons
we gathered
on our bike ride

and carried
home in our pockets.
No need to forgive me -
I am sure you don't mind.

:)

'Microserfs' is genius

... because it includes lines like this:

"What's truly freaky is realizing I'm vulnerable to identity changes because I'm so desperate to find a niche. I feel like Crystal Pepsi."

and

"People without lives like to hang out with other people who don't have lives. Thus they form lives."

and

"Letting go of randomness is one of the hardest decisions a person can make.... If you concoct a convincing meta-personality, ... then that personality really IS you."

This is one of the best 5 books I've read this year. Easy.

Microserfs

I am reading Microserfs, by Douglas Coupland, and it has occurred to me that there may be absolutely no difference between Microsoft in the '90s and my own Big Tech Company today.

I am not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but it does give me a comforting feeling of being part of a tradition. Lately I have been thinking a lot about things lacking in the current version of my life, these being primarily 1) large sweeping vistas of scenery and 2) traditions (at least work- or geography-related traditions).

In a similar vein I had a conversation with my guy a couple of weeks ago in which we learned that a large part of my connection to Monterey relates to my sense of its history, and that that simply isn't something which he shares. Instead, he is aware of various aspects of Carmel which I had never even realized might exist.

Somewhat ironically, I think a large part of my sense of Monterey's history derives from my time doing community theater in its old buildings. I acted Shakespeare's Plantagenets cycle of history plays in the Memory Garden near the Custom House, and somehow wound up very aware of Monterey's several-hundred-years-after-Shakespeare Mexican and whaling traditions. This is where they stabled the horses, I thought, and here are the bread ovens, while I bashed enthusiastically away at various other community theater enthusiasts with a fake, badly-centered broadsword. It made sense at the time.

Work = kindergarten?

This afternoon, I left work and went to the toy store. I bought 4 Transformers die-cast action figures (two of Optimus Prime, in order to reduce the likelihood of arguments).

Later today, I will hand out said action figures as prizes (along with cash, admittedly) to team members who have successfully launched certain types of projects. There's some chance that in future I will also hand out stickers. And perhaps one of those blow-up punching bags, again Transformer-themed. I have checked this plan with several people whose opinion I respect, and they all agree it's a great idea.

I work with grown-ups, really I do! Really. Um ... yeah. I do. I think.

Then again, I always say I'm not the person to do the warm fuzzy stuff. You want to know what metrics we should reward? I'm your gal. You want to know what the actual reward should look like, what it is that will make people feel good? Nope, not my area. So wish me luck - I'm either about to crash & burn, or launch something successful, or maybe just feel mildly silly.

Value = money

[Warning: rant ahead]

I just ran across this article on the BBC News: Army chief warns of social 'gulf'. Key quote:

Gen Dannatt also called for a radical rethink on the equipment used in the British Army.... But the most important thing was to acknowledge the value of the armed forces, he added.

This sounds pretty fuzzy for a military guy: can't you just imagine a bunch of British folks in a pub, "acknowledging the value" of the military? What would that even look like?

I can only imagine what I'd think of this if I were a soldier, but I already know what I think of it as an employee. Right now I figure that my value is "acknowledged" when my company doesn't second-guess my work, buys stuff that makes my job easier, and/or pays me more. That's it. I don't want a hug, I don't want an award, I don't want somebody senior to say, "gosh, good job!". I want management to get out of my way, let me do my job, and then fork over the bonus.

Somehow I bet the people fighting in Iraq want more or less the same thing: unlimited budget for the tools they need, the ability to make decisions to get things done, and a fat wallet when they come home. Respect? Acknowledgment? That tends to come as a nice side-effect of the pride most people feel when they get to make their own smart choices & then those choices pay off in results plus money.

And yes, I know that doesn't obviously match up with military command frameworks - but if you think of it small-scale, it could. I keep seeing news stories re: soldiers are short of armor. What if every soldier had access to simply go pick up a new set as-needed? In my job, I can do that with computer equipment. It works well. I am, after all, the best person to know when my keyboard hurts my wrists & I need a new setup. Isn't a soldier the best person to know when their gear is no longer working?

If the government really wants the military to be effective, it should support the theory with the cash. Half-assed solutions rarely get anywhere at all.

Quote of the day

Courtesy of the prof from my Economics of Decision Making class:

"If Alice can buy Bob's package, will she?"
--> "If she does, she's leaving with a smile!"

I'm pretty sure I would have found this at least as funny in high school as I do now, if not more so. Whether or not you think it's funny, o my three loyal readers, I suspect depends on how dirty-minded your high school classmates were.

Of course, it's all about the context ... almost anything becomes funny over the course of the third midterm-exam-related 8 a.m. breakfast meeting. It has to.

Non-Work Haiku

Chaos in focus.
Days and evenings both filled up:
nostalgia, content.

Tomatoes are ripe
Cheese & bread become dinner
No cooking needed.

Cats live down the street
Dark graceful forms yowl at night
All else is silent.

Fans blowing all night
Record highs through next Sunday
Heat wave here at last!

Work Haiku

My Calendar's full
Progress update requested:
All meetings, no work!

Best case? Four hours,
empty room, no distractions.
Unlikely daydream.

Design doc delayed
Engineers not committed
Tonight I stay late.

Odd

It's Sunday afternoon, and up till writing this post I have spent the entire day in the backyard. I have eaten breakfast, read a book, and written a letter to my Great Aunt Lee.

In the apartment building next door, there is a baby who amuses itself by crying in an "I want to talk but I can't yet and this is the next best thing so here I go WWAAAAAHHHA WWAAAHHHH!!!" kind of way. And this afternoon I noticed: on a sunny day and at a distance, a baby crying is a strangely peaceful, happy sound. It's right up there with the buzz of a fat tumbling bumblebee and the helicopter beat of a hummingbird's wings. Odd, isn't it: a sound I normally associate with distress (or at least angst) can add to a day's contentment.

Stratigraphy

On my way home from work, I stopped at the hardware store and bought a shovel. Then I headed for the backyard and started digging.

It's been years since I did this for a living, but digging holes is apparently like riding a bike: you never forget. My arms and shoulders still remember exactly the leverage and pressure it takes to dig a round hole, 18 inches wide and 30 inches deep, the size of a standard archaeological test pit. Conveniently enough, this is also the size of hole the Internet recommends using to seat a hammock-post.

After 10 or 15 minutes, I started to notice what came out of the earth. At first, it was just adobe soil: incredibly hard, the kind of soil I used to sharpen my shovel for. A foot or so down, the earth became softer and darker. I bent down and rubbed it between my fingers. It had the texture of ash. I slammed the shovel down again and again, chopping a straight sided round hole into the earth. I cut through tree roots and levered intrusive rocks out of my way.

Once upon a time, I would have made this hole perfect. I would have documented the changes in soil that marked habitation layers or fire pits. I would have screened all the dirt for artifacts, and saved the ones I found in numbered paper bags.

I feel incredibly smug that even without all that effort, I found three pieces of broken glass, a fragment of a flower pot, and a very rusted but still perfectly recognizable square-cut nail.

Resolutions for Thirty

August 15 is my birthday. My guy has planned some sort of overnight something as a celebration; I'm not yet privy to the details. Before he & I started going out, I never expected to like surprises - but now I do, much the way I have learned to enjoy multiple flavors of coffee, nature shows & CSI, and funny books about travel.

I have also made some resolutions. The first is:

1. Store a clean t-shirt, jeans, and underwear along with my always-packed toiletries kit. That way, when Friday afternoon hits and I abruptly decide to get in the car and drive for a couple of hours, I'll be prepared - rather than having to madly try to make it to the Gap before they close at 9pm, as I did a couple of days ago.

You have reached the end of the Internet

This link is one of the funniest I've run across:

http://www.google.com/reader/next?go=noitems

What's the point of it? I have no idea. I just like it.

Update: down with stupid junk mail

A while back, I signed up for GreenDimes in an attempt to a) spend less time throwing out junk mail and b) cause less junk mail to be sent to landfills after I throw it out.

And guess what? It's working! Today, for example, I got exactly 3 pieces of mail: one bill from my accountant (ack, why couldn't GreenDimes have stopped that too?!); one retirement-account-related thing for my guy; and one ad from the SF Design Center, who think I'm still a grad student at Berkeley. You know what that means? No junk!

Ok, so last week I also got a J. Crew catalog. But they've been following me around ever since New York. Imagining I might escape so easily, is, clearly, way too much to ask.

Go GreenDimes go!

Trade books with me!

I read a lot. Side-effect: stacks of books that I don't intend to re-read. Solution (I hope): I've posted them on BookMooch.

So ... trade books with me! By the time you read this, I'll probably have more listed.

So far I've got:



And of course, other people have posted their books too....

In which I almost achieve a lifelong dream

Last week I received yet another "Save this cat!" email in my inbox. Sob story: cat is unhappy indoors, and sprays. Cat is sent to Animal Services. Cat is scheduled for euthanasia.

Enter the soft-hearted, cat-rescue-minded corporate employee that encountered said cat and sent out the email.

Enter yours truly. "I've always wanted a cat!" I think. "And this one has to be outdoors, so it won't cause any problems for my allergy-prone guy! This is the perfect cat for me!" I email the cat rescue person. Discussions ensue. Then I go away to a management conference (!), and ask the cat rescue woman to stall Animal Services on the whole euthanasia thing till I got back.

And while the cat rescue woman stalled, Animal Services decided that the cat did not spray after all, that probably its owners were lying (to make themselves feel better about dumping it?!). And so the cat is now officially up for adoption - for a family that has an indoor/outdoor home for it. This means that the cat is no longer for me.

I tell myself that hey, great, I saved a cat! My stalling gave it the time it needed to prove it could be a Good Pet after all. But somehow, that doesn't quite make up for expecting that by this time this week, I'd have a cat to pet when I get home.

The Portuguese are impressive

I've been in Portugal for the past couple of weeks (hence the lack of posts). I don't speak Portuguese (much), but that is largely irrelevant to travel in Portugal: most people there, at least those who work or interact with the tourism industry speak English.

And French.

And German.

In one hotel in Evora, the woman behind the reception desk easily greeted me in English, provided directions to the hotel over the phone in French, and then switched over to Portuguese again to ask a coworker about the breakfast setup. Wow. I've never seen anyone do anything like that. My own brain is far more sluggish: after just reading Portuguese for a couple of days, it refused to call up even the word for "thanks" in Spanish.

And oh, yeah, it was an awesome trip :)

What I'm reading

Every so often the topic of books comes up - and someone asks, "so what do you read?"

I pause. I rack my brain frantically for whatever it is I'm reading right now. Then I realize that - wait - no - I can't say that - what I'm reading right now doesn't accurately represent what I really read!

And no matter what I'm reading, that is always the case.

For example, right now I'm reading Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon; a collection of essays about Canadian summer vacation cottages; an Elizabeth Hardwick lit-crit collection; and a crime-caper novel by Donald Westlake. If there's an obvious common thread, I at least don't see it.

And so I'm experimenting: over on the sidebar of this blog is a new list called "What I'm reading." I've tagged some books I'm reading (and have read) in my De.licio.us account; they auto-post here.

And maybe one day, as the list grows, it might actually become representative.

Down with stupid junk mail

I just signed up for GreenDimes, a Palo Alto startup company whose sole objective (and business plan) is to reduce junk mail. In return for my $36, they promise to harass the evil people who send me the stuff and get them to stop. They also plant trees.

I find it strangely Kafka-esque (or Mafia-esque) to fork over my credit card number in order not to receive something. On the other hand, if it works, it will be so, so, SOOOO worth it.

Besides, I bet this company was founded due to sheer frustration - and I get a kick out of that. "What do you mean I have to spend my time, energy, and recycling bin space throwing out this stupid stuff I didn't even ask for?! I would SOOO pay someone else to get me off these lists! Hey, wait a minute ... what if ... ? "

Pissed-off-ness is the mother of invention :)

The interesting thing about sexual harassment ...

... is that if you are a manager, and an employee sues you for sexual harassment, you may be personally financially liable.

Whereas if you discriminate against the employee for racial, ethnic, religious, etc. reasons, the company you work for is financially liable. You're not.

Isn't that fascinating?

Disclaimer: I attended a Managing Within the Law training seminar earlier this week. I may have misunderstood something. If you are contemplating sexually harassing or discriminating against someone, I recommend you a) not do it b) not rely on this blog post for legal advice and c) consult a lawyer first. By the time you've done all that, you ideally should have mastered that incredibly dumb impulse you had anyway.

I'm famous! (anonymously)

Gov Bill Richardson, of New Mexico, gave an hour-long talk at work yesterday. And I gotta admit it - I'm proud. I asked him a question he couldn't answer, which got an end of story mention in a local newspaper.

The aide in question (Adam Steinhorn) did come find me. He was a pleasant, dedicated guy who was as enthused about Richardson as you'd expect a campaign staffer to be - but he also seemed extremely sincere. He said no one had asked Richardson about the farm bill so far (!), so he was glad I had. He gave me his email address so I could send him the article my question was based on: "You Are What You Grow," by Michael Pallin in the New York Times (link may not work; try a Google News search if it doesn't).

The cool thing is, I was pretty impressed by Richardson's policies & ideas. He appears to have thought about the issues he discussed. He appears to have thought about them rationally (I've also seen Clinton & McCain speak recently, so I have some basis for comparison). I really, really want to continue to like him as a candidate.

But I'm left with one nagging question: will I get a response to my email?

Mangoes and nukes

A while back my guy and I both heard the exact same story on NPR: some political interview (or maybe a discussion with an author?) mentioned, as a side note, that there are around 1000 varieties of Indian mangoes - and due to US-imposed trade restrictions, none of them are available in the US. The interviewee was from India, and hoped, rather wistfully, that maybe the trade restrictions would be lifted as part of a new nuclear treaty (?!) currently in discussion.

My guy and I both came home absolutely incensed, bursting in our front door to tell each other - did you hear?! There's an import restriction on mangoes! There are types of mangoes in the world that we have never even heard of! What is the US government thinking?! (Not to mention the whole nuclear tie-in. What the ...?!)

I nearly wrote to my Senator.

And now, I am happy to report that NPR has once again informed me (as a side note to another story) about the State of Mango Trade with India: relations have improved! Indian mangoes are now allowed into the US! After searching Google News I found several Indian papers covering the story (like this one), but the US press seems so far oblivious.

That is so sad. I mean, come on - cover some happy news for once (bloggers, however, are all over the story).

Oh well. I'm left with one question: where is this first shipment of mangoes going, and how can I find it? Is it, by any chance, heading for California? We have a large Indian population in the Bay Area.... I doubt my Senator is the right contact for this, but I have every intention of suggesting Indian mangoes to Whole Foods.

Flourescent bulbs that I don't hate

It turns out that, in addition to my pickiness about ambient noise levels, pizza temperature, and plane ticket purchasing experiences, I am also quite demanding when it comes to lightbulbs. "Oh good!" I think. "Yet another personal eccentricity I've discovered about myself!"

Backstory: in addition to my feminist rants, I am also trying to do the environmental right thing - so I recently bought some flourescent bulbs.

Problem is, I hate 'em. I can take the flicker when they turn on, but I can't take the way they make the room (or me) look. They're bad enough that when I heard a news story mentioning the vague possibility that California might make incandescent bulbs illegal, I immediately started plotting to stock up on those energy-guzzling yet friendly-cozy-light-givng bulbs.

As a last hope before renting a storage unit to hoard my stockpile in, a couple of weeks ago I stopped by my company's environmental fair with a single goal: identify a type of flourescent bulb that I don't hate.

Me to PG&E guy: "I'd like to use flourescent bulbs, but the light they give is just horrible. Can you recommend one that's not?

PG&E guy: "Um." Pause. "Well, it's about color temperature.... Color temperature is measured in Kelvins. Most incandescent bulbs are about 2700."

"Great!" I thought. I figured I could go read some packaging and come home with a decent bulb. Not so, however: I could not find one single flourescent bulb package that referenced color in Kelvins. Instead, they offer misleading marketing-y language like "soft white." On incandescent bulbs, "soft white" may mean "normal light bulb color," but on flourescent bulbs, it means instead "evil color that makes you look like you're coming down with a wasting disease."

Several searches later, I found a better result: a guide to selecting bulbs that includes actual color warmth measurements. I haven't purchased from here yet, but as my bulbs burn out, I probably will, and so I'm sharing in case any of my three loyal readers also hates their flourescent bulbs:

Compact Fluorescent Light Bulbs...including color temperature info

Finally! Now, why exactly did this have to be this hard?

Discussion redux: "The Feminine Mistake"

I did, in fact, go to hear this author speak - and came away with a few interesting points, none of them counter-intuitive and many of them encouraging. My favorites are:

• Intensive child-rearing doesn't last long. At five years old, kids go to kindergarten. When planning for the initial few years when children demand the most time, it's also important to plan for the years that come next.
• There's a positive correlation between women's happiness and working.
  
• There's a positive correlation between women's working and children's learning to be self-sufficient (walking sooner, tying their own shoes, making friends more easily).
• At higher income levels, not working is often a status symbol for a woman (and her husband).
  
• The author of the book isn't aware of any research on what happens to a man's career when he leaves the workforce to care for children for several years.
  
• The female taboo on publicly striving for, rejoicing in, publicizing, gloating about, and even taking credit for work success is alive and well. I've seen it clearly myself since I started mentoring: almost every woman I mentor has asked for advice on how to get recognition & credit for her work - and most these same women feel frustrated that they don't already know how to do this. Not one guy has brought this up. It might be time for me to stop feeling mildly embarrassed about my shameless self-promotion - and start giving my mentees a to-do list.
  

Isn't that interesting? We've come so far, and yet....

A book I haven't read yet: "The Feminine Mistake"

The author of "The Feminine Mistake" is coming as a guest speaker to work tomorrow. I'm interested to hear what she has to say - in spite of friends who juggle work/family daily, I can't yet wrap my own head around how, exactly, anyone can ever achieve any sort of reasonable balance (my parents' truly excellent solution - both teachers with summer vacations - unfortunately isn't available to most of the population).

Luckily I'm not currently subject to any urge for children, but I can imagine the anguish I'd feel if I were. Would I be willing to leave work for more than, say, three months? I doubt it. I get way too big a kick out of the adrenaline rush that comes with competition: for good projects, for promotion, for quarterly performance metrics, to get resources to get something done. I angle & fight for the respect of my teammates and I gloat like a proud mother (!) when someone I'm mentoring launches something exciting. I also really, really, really enjoy the conversation of adults. If I left all this behind, would I resent my kids for dragging me from it? Maybe. And don't tell me that the mothering instinct would kick in and save me from that - I've heard too many times that my biological clock would start ticking by the time I turned 28 to believe that feminine biology is destiny.

So where does that leave me? Wishing I knew of a clear way to fight for more work/life balance for all members of society, not just women, that's where. As long as the ability to juggle kids and a job is seen as a women's issue, we're all screwed, women and men together. I know way too many overworked male lawyers who are frantically jealous of the "mommy track" to believe anything different.

India redux

Note: photos with captions here - no, I am not including every photo in this blog post.

What do I actually know about India?

Very little; a two-week trip, largely spent in an office building, isn't long. But the flip side of business travel is that, though I didn't see as many places as I would as a tourist, I did talk to far more people than I would if I'd arrived without a corporate-sponsored goal.

This is going to be a very long post.

March 20: arrival in Hydrabad, after a 22+ hour flight from San Francisco. Photos: my room in the guesthouse (where all "expats" live, about 100 feet from the office building, and behind the same security gates), plus view from my window:



Notice the tent city in the last one, right next to the brand-spanking-new highrise.

Mar 20: office; sleep.

Mar 21: office; dinner at Sahib Sindh Sultan, a restaurant done up to look like a train car on the Orient Express. Food: amazing, and as you might expect, not like Indian food in the US. The power went out for a substantial amount of time, so the waiter brought us a saucer with birthday candles stuck onto it. This appears to be standard practice.

After dinner, I tried "paan," a kind of digestiv which is eaten, not drunk, made of betel nut leaves wrapped around something crunchy and powdery and sweet. It's based on roses - whole thing tasted interestingly of soap and/or hand lotion. Apparently the savory version of paan, as opposed to the sweet version I tried, is strong enough with betel (?) that it can actually get you high.

Expat cultural note: if you go out to dinner, you go in a car with a driver. The driver waits for you, but you bring him your leftovers - making sure to be sensitive to whether he is "veg" or "non-veg." Most restaurant menus are broken down the same way.

Mar 22: I finally get out of the office, and head to the local outdoor craft market, Shilparamam:

thanks to which, I finally felt like I was in India. It was beautiful, and I got there at a just-late-enough to be relaxed time of evening. A few sellers still had their stalls open, so I could see the woodcarvings and the embroidery. Something flowering in the trees smelled sweet, and there was a wide grassy lawn where people were just hanging out, relaxing at the end of the day.

Mar 23: office.

Mar 24-25 (weekend): up at 4:30am to catch the flight to Jaipur, along with my coworker J & his cousin M who was visiting from Taiwan. Saw the Hawa Mahal, with my first snake-charmer outside, as well as my first camels in traffic. I am amazed by the women in bright sarees, riding post on motorcycles with their husbands (?) driving and one or more children tucked in between the adults. The women always ride facing to the left, away from traffic. Woman+saree+children+man+motorcycle sums up India for me, but I never succeeded in taking a decent photo of this so-common form of travel.

A note on travel: everywhere I went, I went with a driver. In Jaipur, our driver was arranged for us by the company's head driver in Hyderabad. In India, this isn't a particularly luxurious thing to do - it's the only obvious solution to India's traffic, which is crazy enough that no non-local has any business driving in it (do a YouTube search for 'Hyderabad traffic').



On the way to Amber Fort we saw elephants returning from their morning tourist-bearing treks up to it:



And Amber Fort itself, which like the other forts I visited inspired many jokes about multiple wives from our guide:



A note on guides: in Europe and the US, I usually avoid guides as much as possible. In India, even the locals hire guides. Guidebooks, by contrast, are rare, and signs at monuments are non-existant. Unexpected side effect of my having spent two weeks travelling around with drivers and/or guides: I am now much better than I used to be at not being bossed around by people I've hired - as well as sightseeing at my own pace even when the guide has an agenda he's expecting me to follow.

The photo below shows the ceiling hooks in a room at Amber Fort. The hooks exactly match the hooks in the guesthouse's living room in downtown Hyderabad. The fort is hundreds of years old, but hanging-from-the-ceiling sofa technology obviously hasn't changed. I love this.



We then drove five plus hours to Agra, so we could get up early the next morning and visit the Taj Mahal:



which was cool. I know that's an understatement, but I suspect whatever else there is to say, someone else has already said. This is my "I was here" photo of the Taj's sparkling marble:



and the Taj reflected:



and the first women I saw in burkas:



(...the anti-feminist aspects of which I hadn't truly understood in my gut until I saw them, at which point it became so amazingly obvious that I have no good way to explain it - I mean, how do you explain why a particular word is spelled the way it is, or how you know what season we're about to have? It just is, that's how.).

After the Taj, we went to Fatahpur Sikri:



which is a deserted fort near the city of Agra & the Taj Mahal. It's at least as pretty, in a different way, as the Taj, and arguably more interesting: it was the seat of a ruler who took over a heck of a lot of territory, but also promoted religious tolerance to a degree the locals are still boasting about (he took wives equally from the Hindu, Christian, and Islamic faiths, and then decorated their rooms in motifs that mixed the three - also, he dispensed justice even-handedly, but that gets a lot less time talked about than the wives). It was eventually abandoned due to lack of water.

In another area of the site is a shrine to a holy man:



which is made of white marble, similar to the Taj. Hundreds of years later people still come here to pray - the shrine was packed. Like most religious sites in India, this one could only be visited without shoes. The temperature was over 100; after this, I carried socks with me to avoid burning my feet.

Then we drove back to Jaipur for our flight back to Hyderabad. On the way, I took this picture of a camel out the back window of our car:



Camels were everywhere, mostly hauling long logs, on the road between Jaipur and Agra.

March 26: back in Hyderabad. This is the pool for our apartment complex; note the contrast with the world beyond the wall:



March 26-30: days in the office, nights out, including an evening trip the India School of Business, shopping for Indian clothes with two of the women in the office, and dinner with one of the sub-teams, at a super-nice restaurant (Celebrations) in Bangalore Hills. This was the only time I ate outside in India (that's not a window, it's an opening in the wall, and there was no ceiling):



Cultural differences: this is the remote control for the air conditioner in my room. I didn't have one for the TV:



March 31: part of the team took me out to see Hyderabad itself. The view from Charminar of the street where "bangles" (bangle bracelets which Charminar is famous for in India) are sold:



and a cafe where we drank chai from tiny cups, with pastry on the side. People sit for hours here - sometimes two people over one cup of chai.



I also drank sugar cane juice and ate some kind of fruit whose name I don't remember, both delicious, both from street vendors - which resulted in one of the India team member's telling someone else, "she'll try anything!" about me. Which felt good, but really, with half a prescription left of Cipro and all the things that I so bravely (!) tried being vegetarian, how far wrong could I go?

Or maybe I just got lucky.

We finished the day with Golconda Fort, which was started in the 13th century and added to over the years:



and then dinner at Angeethi, where we entertained ourselves before our table was ready by pretending to push each other into this fake well:



and I had a hell of a hard time saying goodbye to people. I haven't written about the team much here, but they were amazing. Imagine meeting several dozen people who are all extremely glad you've come, who emphatically want you to like their country, and who are also some of the most sincere people you've ever met. In email, I resorted to saying, over and over, "thank you for making me feel so welcome," and I meant it every time - but it never seemed like quite enough.

April 1: my only day sightseeing on my own (well, ok, with driver, but he stayed in the car). I went to Birla Temple (Hindu), which I have no photos of because they don't let you take any, the Qtub Shai (sp?) tombs:



which were the bleakest thing I saw - dry death, unfiltered and unameliorated, and back to Golconda, since the day before we got there just in time for the evening "sound and light show" and so I hadn't been able to climb to the top:



From there, I headed back to the guesthouse, took a swim (my first and only) in the pool, finished up some work, went out to dinner with a few other expats at Peshawri (my favorite restaurant of the trip - why, why did I only make it there on my last day?!), and then to the airport and that 22+ hour flight home.

Favorite things: people. Never have I felt so welcome.

Least favorite things: lack of solitude. Between drivers, guides, the people who made us dinner at the guesthouse, and the expat culture (imagine perpetual backpackers, but as adults with laptops and quarterly corporate goals), the only time I spent alone was in my room at night. Would this be enough to keep me from going back? No, but I'm glad I spent as much time with the locals as I did - they were a lot easier to take than the expats. Somewhere in all the travelling I've done, I've gotten what you might call "eccentric" if you're a friend, or "cranky" if you're not. I travel for a lot of different reasons, but to the extent that I travel to "find myself" (what a silly phrase), I get real irritated real fast by people lurking in a servant role. For better or worse, that means I find solitude and self when I find anonymity: big cities, paired up with solitary treks in an urban or a national-park-type landscape. When I need to straighten out my soul it'll be the American West, or Europe.

All of which means I had a fascinating time. If or when I go back, I'll try to get work to pay for a business-class flight - and I'll spend the weekends on the places that looked so tempting this time around: the Golden Temple, Varanasi, Chennai....

Meantime, photos!

My own (link now fixed!): here

Plus Navin's from our evening at the India School of Business

Plus Haritha's from dinner with the R team

And Navin's from our day out in Hyderabad

If that quantity of imagery doesn't cover it, I don't know what would!

Reflection on "Expat"

I got home last Monday. Looking back at India, the difference between this trip and all others I've taken really stands out: I still haven't really wrapped my head around what it means to spend time in another country not as a student, a tourist, or a local, but something in-between & off to one: a business traveller.



When I showed up at the airport, there was someone to meet me. When I wanted to see the city, some of my coworkers set up a trip to show me around. And when I wondered what exactly my role in this country might be, I realized I already had a label: "expat."

Before India, "expat" to me meant disaffected Americans lounging languidly around the Left Bank in Paris. In India, "expat" meant pre-trip tips on how not to "act like a manager," expense reports (virtually unlimited as far I could tell), an extreme level of respect from the team, very very long hours, and an unexpected social division between "expats" and "locals."

Of course, the trip was also a lot of fun - but it's the parts I was uncomfortable with that I think are the most interesting. And to avoid a crazy-long blog post, I'll put those up in the next entry :)

What I did last night

Everything that's built in Hyderabad is new: new buildings, new construction, new roads, new highways.

So for contrast, here is a photo of me eating chat ("north Indian spicy snacks") at the India School of Business. This particular snack was a sort of ball of fried dough, hollow, which you dunk in a sort of cilantro-mint broth so it fills up, and then try to get the whole thing in your mouth before it breaks. Lots of fun. I also got a full tour of the ISB by invitation of a woman on the team here whose husband is a current student - the campus size in the US would probably support 6,000 students. Here they've got about 450.

And to finish off with, another photo, this time of all the folks who took me out last night:



Thanks guys - it was a ton of fun.

Lessons in business travel

I have learned a number of interesting things in the past week (people in India think it is just really damn weird to put hard boiled egg on your salad, for example, and they will look at you funny and ask "really?" in a doubtful voice if you do it - never mind that the salad in question consists solely of soft peanuts in oil, garbanzo beans, and sprouted peas), but the thing I have learned that I will take with me on my next business trip is far simpler: bring your camera cable. Yes, that's right - the one that connects your digital camera to your computer.

Why? Because last weekend I took a photograph of a traffic jam caused entirely by a camel. I had never seen such a thing before, I admit, and so I took the photo with the express purpose of blogging about it. And yet without that oh-so-missed camera cable, getting that photo anywhere near my blog is downright impossible....

That's what I get for this being the first time I've travelled with both a laptop and a digital camera. And here I thought I was packing too much electronic equipment....

Travel 2007

Last Sunday I sat at gate 100 at SFO, waiting for the Lufthansa flight that would take me first to Frankfurt, then on to Hyderabad.

Over the loudspeaker I heard an announcement: something about a US-government mandated survey. "Not more idiotic, ineffective security paperwork," I thought, but I finished up the email I was writing, downloaded a few last documents to work on on the plane, packed up my computer and headed up to the check-in desk to get the survey.

The attendant pointed me to a small stack of blank surveys and a drop box to leave mine in when I finished it. I fished a pen out of my shoulder bag and wrote my name on the outside of the survey, thinking how amazing it is that any security agency imagines that voluntary reporting of last, middle, and first name will envelop the world in virtual bubble-wrap.

Then I unfolded the survey to fill out the inside. Airport security is easier to go along with than to bother trying to understand.

Contrary to my expectations, the inside of the survey asked for just 3 pieces of information: whether I wish to designate an emergency contact, and if so, that person's name & phone number. The small print assured me that all completed surveys would be destroyed up on my flight's safe arrival.

I paused. I checked the "yes" box. I filled in my husband's cellphone number, and as an extra precaution, his email address. I dropped the completed survey in the box, stepped back, and waited for my seat row to be called to board the plane.

Times I have moved at work

Ok, so I work at a fast-growing, dynamic, quickly-evolving, and very flexible company. Yes, yes, that's nice and all, sounds a bit like the standard corporate blah blah blah - but what does it actually mean?

It means that in the less-than-four years I have worked here, I have sat in no fewer than 10 different locations. I'm listing them here so I have a way to remember them - in 20 years I bet none of this is going to seem real:

1. Temp desk in the "MoneyPlex"
2. Full-time desk in building E
3. 2nd floor building 45
4. 1st floor building 45
5. (Moved from ConOps to Checkout team) 2rd floor building 42
6. 3rd floor building 42
7. Garcia
8. An office (rather than a cube) in Garcia
9. Building 1350
10. Building 900

And no, I do not even hold the record for the most moves on my team. Gaaah! I've been saying as a joke that you can recognize the old-timers because when they send the movers for us, we have fewer than 2 boxes' worth of stuff at our desks and we can pack in under 10 minutes - but as I look at the list above, I begin to think it might actually be true.

This is just cool

Every now and then I run across something that is just plain cool. These Hubble photos rank way up there. My favorites, in case you don't like clicking links:







I mean, wow. Just ... wow.

Pro-Choice

I've discovered as I get older that I wind up a) caring about more issues and b) caring about them more passionately. Cartooniste recently sent me this link, which can be used to easily spam various politicos about the Prevention First Act (not perfect, but better than the current situation).

Largely for my own amusement, I'm posting a copy of the highly edited letter I recently used this link to send:

It's important for the benefit of all society that all women have a) as many children as they choose b) when they choose.

Ideally, birth control pills should not require prescriptions - but I realize the current political climate isn't likely to support this, so I support the Prevention First Act as a reasonable next-best-thing. This bill would help prevent unintended pregnancies and make abortion less necessary by improving women's access to family-planning services and preventing teen pregnancy, among other things.

Please support women and their families by cosponsoring the Prevention First Act - and by considering more advanced legislation for the future.

Sincerely,
Me

The prescription thing for birth control pills has bugged me for a long, long, time. After all, I'm not sick - and my doctor sure isn't recommending a cure; she's saying, 'Yep, I'm a grownup too, and we're all in this together - sure, I'll check this legally-mandated but still very silly box for you. Kind of a shame we're wasting both our time, isn't it?' And we both sigh and go back to whatever more useful thing we were doing before we met for this appointment.

Then again, I'm lucky my medical options aren't restricted to Catholic hospitals.

So it felt nice to send this off. Of course, I have no idea if anyone will read it - and yes, I also realize I'm just dreaming. But darn it, this is so dumb....

Four years

It recently occurred to me that if work were college, I'd be a second-semester senior. So I started analyzing my every waking moment to determine whether I felt those same stable-but-about-to-launch emotions I remember from college: a sense of wrap-up, of finally knowing what's going on, of being "older" than the other kids, of wondering what's next. And of course, flashes of manic activity followed by pure, motionless relaxation.

Yup. Check, check, check, and check.

No, this doesn't mean I'm thinking about leaving my job. It's not all bad to be getting pretty damn senior at the recently-labelled #1 place to work in the US. By now I more or less know what I do. I could, if pressed, even provide a job description ("internal consultant"). And it's even better to look forward to still more control over my own projects, complete with team members to delegate to and collaborate with - not to mention the nearly-mythical 5 weeks of vacation I've got coming up in just another year and a half.

But it does mean I'm keeping an eye out for whatever shift in my work-life may come my way. I plan to check back in with myself in July - and in the meantime, enjoy the calm I'm hoping for this spring.

#1 reason to eat out when you don't really want to ...

... or at least would be equally happy eating in, and in fact already have some nice sausages that are just begging, begging!, to be devoured with the amazing horseradish mustard acquired at Hop Kiln Winery a couple of weeks ago:

Your fridge has stopped doing what fridges are supposed to do, namely, producing any coldness whatsover (in spite of the fact that the darn thing is less than 3 months old!) - and the service people can't come till Monday. End result is a nasty suspicion that the tasty-looking sausages, like the milk, the favorite fig Greek yogurt, and the very expensive cheese which was a nice present from your mother-in-law, have gone bad way before their time and should be thrown out.

Grrrr......

Fashion bubble

Sometimes I wonder just how much of a bubble I live in. For example, are the fashion trends I notice worldwide trends? California trends? Silicon Valley trends? Or ... just-my-department trends? For example: high heels + socks. See Exhibit A, to the right.

These are nice socks, mind you - not too thick, and interestingly patterned. They more or less match both my shoes and my pants. And note the distinguishing characteristics of the shoes themselves: they've got the requisite rounded toes and kind of look like flats - but aren't.

This may be a bubble (OK, I'm sure it's a bubble), but I like it. I wore this lovely ensemble quite recently, in fact. I'd like to think it's very January 2007, but I suspect that somebody here just got fed up with cold feet on her daily treks from one building to another and thought, "dammit, I'm wearing socks!" This is a very practical trend - and this company has 20+ far-apart buildings with almost no parking, so a whole lot of people do a whole lot of walking.

So ... any takers out there? Who wants to spread it to NY? Is it already there? Or did I just drag my inner geek-ness, protesting, a little further into the light?

How can llamas help defeat biological weapons?

Made you look, didn't I? This headline is lifted wholesale from HowStuffWork's article of the same name. It was so intriguing, I just had to post it.

Favorite quote:

...llamas are our friends. They're soft, good-natured and amusing to view...

and the meat of the article:

Llamas ... produce an antibody that is incredibly sturdy. It has no light protein chains, only heavy ones, making it not only hardy but also simple, with a tiny binding site.... Scientists can create these single-domain antibodies (sdAbs) quickly.... Because the binding site is so small, they're far easier and less expensive to engineer than other kinds of antibodies.... Using these tough, simple antibodies, scientists could develop a library of sensors to detect every bio-weapon imaginable -- and then very quickly develop antibodies that bind to new threats as they come up.

Isn't that fascinating? You should read the whole article. It's neat.

Trashcans - part 2

Today in my cube there are a total of 8 trashcans - which means they continue to spawn.

This is just weird.

Practical cooking

A while back, I started a recipe blog at http://www.impatientcook.com. I enjoyed it, but really - after a couple of months I lost time & inclination to deal with it. One blog is all I'm up to at the moment, and as I've gotten more comfortable with this one, I've deprecated the other (ah, the joy of techno-corporate-speak!).

I am still putting recipes online, though; it works nicely with my habit of finding something good and then using it as a jumping-off point because a) I don't have thyme, and neither does the grocery store b) it would be better if I. . . . I'm an archivist at heart, so I like to save the originals, but I usually like my results, so I'll cook from those. The web is a much better venue for this sort of meandering thought-process than paper.

And so . . . see the recipe for Six Onion Soup I made last night. It was awesome. You should try it. (at least, if you like onions. If you don't like onions you should stay far, far away). Cheers!

Does 2007 really exist?

On New Year's Eve my guy & I went out to dinner with friends. We gorged ourselves on Italian food, wandered into the currently-being-renovated gorgeous lobby of a downtown hotel (reminds me of one of my favorites in Santa Fe - all tall columns and off-white plaster & big fireplace & red & gold upholstered chairs), commandeered blue and silver balloons in hand, then headed home to drink champagne & devour raspberry tart and pumpkin pie.

"2007 doesn't really seem real," said one of my friends. "I mean, it seems like a year in a movie."

"A futuristic movie," I agreed. My guy & I celebrated the millenium together (though not as a couple - another story). How can seven years have passed? Seven years is the magic number in fairy tales; did I spend the past few years sleeping under a hedge?

"2007 seems like it can't really happen," said my friend. "We should all be driving around in pods. Wait, when are all our birthdays?" We discussed. In 2007 we all turn thirty, and we're all dreaming up grand-hurrah trips to take: Asia, Montana, any place we haven't been and that will be harder to get to "after we have kids" (huh).

Thirty. My guy, feeling like he missed out on his late twenties, is not really ok with that. Neither is P. Irene and I nod - thirty. Sounds ok. What is wrong with this, that the women don't mind getting older but the guys do? I read in the New York Times a year or so ago that thirty is the new twenty (yeah right - but it's funny-sounding so I like it).

New Year's is like hide-and-seek: ready or not, here it comes.


The difficult thing about reporting conversations in blogs is that I never remember who said what, or exactly how. . . .