They suck.

Now, wearing a suit to work every day, that’s not going to happen for me. I work in tech, and I’ll never be in upper management. I’m just not destined for that life, and that’s fine.

I’m not a technician, so I can’t bring the “filthy but appropriate tshirt” approach to the table, either.

My corporate culture is the ubiquitous polo shirt, usually untucked. Gag me with a spoon.

When I was at NASA, I decided to stick to high-quality Hawaiian shirts on the days when upper management was going to be absent, which was 95% of the time. When I left the Space Coast, I’m sure the corporate hacks at Tommy Bahama cried a little because I ceased shopping at their section in Nordstrom.

I prepared for my new life in software development by stocking up on long-sleeve button-down shirts and pleat-less (i.e. flat front) slacks. My first day, the folks were unloading equipment from a Uhaul, and they basically patted me on the head and told me to stay put when I offered to help lug servers upstairs. I quickly adjusted to a wardrobe of quality jeans and soft shoes, while keeping the nice-shirt motif.

I still stand out, but I won’t succumb to polo shirt fever.

Yes, I own three of them. One is maroon, one is black, one is white. They hang in my closet, soulless and drab, unloved. Beside them are my Hawaiian shirts, partying together and living large. Finally, my long-sleeve “shirts” that all need altering, because my waist is narrower than my shoulders, so they fit on top and kinda balloon when I tuck them in. They’re pretty quiet, mostly respectful, but much more a part of my life than the godless polo shirts that hang like drunken fruit bats next to the belts.

Short sleeve button down shirts, you say? You’re fired. Get back to the golf course, keep trying to slip the drink cart girl a twenty for her to lift her shirt for you. You sicken me.

Rugby shirts? Yeah, I’m part of that club. Got a pair of those, acting tough next to the Hawaiians. They get broken out during cold spells and when I know there might be a chance for physical labor as opposed to my tradition keyboard-hammering.

But polo shirts, especially on women, need to be burned. Polo shirts with your own company logo on them, they gotta go.

However, since our society is deeply entrenched in polo shirt culture – how it pains me to admit that — I do hereby propose that 2010 be the year of the Throwback Polo Shirt. If you’re going to go the “work appropriate tshirt” route and wear these stupid tops, I want to see something on them other than something making you a walking billboard for the corporate bosses.

Do you have a “Y2K is A-OK!” polo? Approved.

“Mondale/Ferraro ‘84” is total win.

“Alaska for Statehood!” I’m buying.

“I <3 My DeLorean” gets me pumped.

And of course, an original “The Year of the Macintosh is Here” polo shirts get enshrined in the Work Wardrobe Hall of Fame.

Am I alone on this? Is anybody with me?

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I Don’t Wanna Be a Polo-Shirt Wearin’ Yokel

All my documents, everywhere I go.

Automatic syncing.

Works on Mac, PC, and iPhone.

Makes a shared drive icon so I don’t have to FTP or HTTP or EIEIO.

AND!

Puts my music where I want it.

Shared my documents with whomever I want, anywhere they are, and they only have to click.

Simple photo sharing.

AND!

It’s free.

Zumodrive.

I wonder if they need a test engineer who can write?

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This is Exactly What I Needed

Totally unimportant person: Oh, I hide all my icons.

What do you mean, you hide all your icons?

I don’t like a messy computer.

You have a messy computer if you can’t find your icons.

No, I like to see the picture.

But if you can’t find the icons, you can’t DO anything.

I can do things, it just makes it harder…

For everybody else to do anything, yes.

Your computer screen is a mess. Look at all that stuff.

My document and application icons are strategically placed, organized by type and date. Your icons are crammed into one tiny double-arrow thing on the task bar.

Because I have a clean desktop.

If your child cleans his room by shoving everything she owns into his closet, did he just clean her room, or just move the mess so you can’t see it? Is that how you parent?

I’m telling the network people to kill your Sirius access.

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No More ‘Herd

“Wha? I was thinking about plastic switchblades and large Swedish TSA agents. What do you need, Daniel?”

Need your help in doing some research. Trying to install this Oracle patch and it’s failing because it cannot find Java.

“Java?”

Yes. The Oracle patch cannot find the Java development kit.

“Is that a problem?”

What do I know? The patch application fails because it cannot find Java and that’s the end of my responsibility. Get to work.

“OK. Google this error, check some database administrator forums you frequent, see what’s up.”

Good idea, Brain!

“Well, that is my job: ideas.”

Well look. Apparently our Java home environment variable isn’t set. Let’s fix that and see what happens…

“Get’r done!”

BRAIN! It worked!

“You may pay me in Doritos and a sip or two of Dr.Pepper, whatever that joke of a Stomach you use will allow.”

/twenty minutes later, and a crowd of people have begun mulling about and talking to a programmer next to me

…mumble mumble Oracle won’t update…

…proper version of the SKD…

…virtual memory configured…

“Daniel! Tell ‘em what you learned!”

OK Brain.

“Um, fellas, I was just having that error and I didn’t have my Java environment variable set. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“No, we have the variable in there… oh wait. It’s there, but it’s wrong. Thanks! That should fix it!”

/feeling all worthwhile and then…

“You know what Daniel?”

What’s that Brain?

“You work for a software development company now, yes?”

Yes.

“Not NASA?”

No.

“And perhaps in this software company, there might be an Oracle guru or two?”

You know, I think there are. I think they were just behind me, actually…

“So next time you have a software problem, perhaps instead of searching database forums for an answer, perhaps you should just talk to the people down the hall who do this kind of stuff for a living and basically administer those forums?”

Yeah… never thought of that. Now I don’t feel so smart.

“Can I get back to my TSA agent now?”

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The Switchblade Was Really a Lighter; Don’t Ask

So my old 401k is being divided into two and I have choices of what I want to do with My Half:

• Leave it where it is and let my old company continue to manage it.
• Move it to my new company’s 401k plan.
• Move it to a rollover IRA.

My first inclination is to dump it into my new company’s 401k and thus enjoy watching the total grow every week. However, the maxim about having all my eggs in one basket rears its head and I think that it might be better with a separate institution.

But I am a very hands-off kind of investor; I like index funds. I once invested in a bio-tech start-up firm in Hawaii. It was a penny-stock and the prospectus was really cool; using algae to solve the world’s problems, etc. What I think it really was was a bunch of biologists on vacation who, in a fit of alcohol-fueled inspiration, bought a hotel with a filthy pool and tried to recoup their losses with a fancy pamphlet and a marketting scheme. I lost everything, all $200 that I invested. So I like index funds.

My old company’s 401k is a 2040 retirement fund. My new company’s 401k is a 2040 retirement fund. And if I opened a new account with a rollover IRA, I’d probably start a 2040 retirement fund. I don’t want to spend my time allocating my money into separate growth, value, balance, international, precious metals, utilities, oil and gas, and money market accounts. I want simple. I don’t want to pay advertising fees. I don’t want to pay commissions. I don’t want my profits chewed up by money managers .

Thoughts?

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Gimme Free Financial Advice

I wrote them. Of course they work.

“We’ve changed all the software.”

Oh really?

“And all the IP addresses are now static.”

Static?

“And we’ve split the services among three blades.”

When did we get blade servers?

“Nobody can help you get the stuff running; we’re all too busy.”

Nothing is running?

“And the customer’s quality guy isn’t going to show up.”

I’ll be alone in a shielded room with an escort-required badge, no food, water, or bathroom?

“And we’re replaced the simulators with live equipment.”

Well at least that sounds nice.

“Except we don’t have all the live equipment.”

Hey now!

“And the GPS antenna doesn’t have a very long range, so be sure to check that everything is reporting properly.”

Is that why all the equipment is stacked on top of each other in the corner on a chair?

“Here. I made a list of software you need to run on each blade, but you probably can’t read my handwriting.”

Looks like someone was attacking you with a rabid raccoon while you wrote this.

“And I left one critical piece of software off the list, but I don’t remember what it is.”

Now that’s just not fair!

“Get done early and start your weekend.”

Well thanks!

“Can you work Sunday?”

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Friday: an Amalgam

“WHETHER YOURE A BROTHA OR WHETHER A MOTHA YOURE JUST STAYIN ALIVE, STAYIN ALIVE!!”

/takes blind turn, ever so slightly tries to let the rear fishtail, fails due to lack of speed and very sticky summer tires.

“AH AH AH AH STAYIN ALIIIIIVE!!”

Very appropriate song, foshizzle.

/police siren

Uh oh. Motorcycle cop.

/full stop, hands on the wheel so the cop doesn’t dust me.

“License and registration sir.”

Is there a problem officer?

“Power-slide in a 350z at noon near a university while screaming the BeeGees.”

You heard me?

“Very identifiable song. Want to tell me what caused you to do this?”

Well…

/story I’m not talking about here given to the officer, takes 5 minutes, his jaw drops

“In your house?”

Yes sir.

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

No sir, not until last night.

/officer stares at his ticket pad

“You’re not alone. Get outta here, no more fishtailing, and good luck.”

/cop mounts his bike and thumbs-up salutes me

I’m in a new fraternity, it seems, and we take care of our own… as long as we don’t mow down college freshmen.

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Seniors Might Be Fair Game

It has a scope! It has a few shiny things, a very nice sight, and it’s Alliance-only.

Today, I’m a happy ex-WoW hunter.

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The Last Word on the Subject

Why?

Because we’ll pay you!

I get paid now.

We’ll pay you more!

More?

More!

More, as in, my salary now and a little more than that?

Yes, that kind of more!

Can I think about it?

Well, think about more, and then think about a little bit more than more!

More than more?

More. And then a little more!

OK, I’ll come work for Company X!

Hooray!

Hooray!

(Totally and exactly how it happened.)

So I left the Space Coast and started working in Orlando at Company Y.

No, that’s not a type-o. Company X paid me More, but I worked at Company Y. Not for Company Y; at Company Y.

And it was good.

Then this past Monday, Company Y’s Bombad Project Director said a few words:

Layoffs. Yes. A lot? No. Don’t be scared; have some bagels.

Then this past Tuesday, CYBPD said a few more words:

Layoffs. Everybody. Jumpin’ Jeebuz on a pogo stick! We’re going to have management and maybe one or two people to press Return on a few keyboards, but that’s it. You’ve got 60 days to get the F-outta my lab. Peace out, and don’t eat all the bagels, foshizzle.

Wednesday was spent in silent reflection, punctuated with shrill screams of agony into the phone to all my close friends. Until 5:07pm, when someone who has become near and dear to my heart — she’s married though, so no thank you-trysts in the parking lot — sent me an email:

Dude. Chill. New job at Shangri-la. Same pay, new program. Can you perchance, write?

…

Can I write?

One quick GIMME THE D@MN JOB! email later, and I start a new job on Tuesday.

Thursday, the CYBPD had another meeting:

Just to reiterate, you’re all out on your @sses. Sorry. Gonna save on air conditioning, though, so that’s going on my list of accomplishments. Someone here already has a new job, though, so I guess that the rest of you are all a bunch of total slackers. I’m not saying who he is, but he’s drinking from a NASA coffee cup.

A nice, warm spew of raspberry latte later, I’d been outed.

So to everybody with whom I’ve worked with in the past couple weeks, y’all rock, even the CYBPD, who is the nicest guy on the planet, but a story isn’t funny unless you paint management as a doofus.

To everybody who helped me get a new job in 24 hours, I’ll totally give you a kidney if you need it. Not my kidney, but I’m sure I can scrape one up should the need arise.

And now I’m going to have a brand new series of New Job posts on this blog! Yay for blog-material!

…

Yay for happy blog-material!

And there’s still one more day left in the work-week. Yes, I’m scared.

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I Wouldn’t Be Shocked if Michael Jackson Visits Me Tomorrow

So sayth TJ, so it has been done.

The problem is thus: most of the stuff I want to write about, I’m not permitted to write about. When 99% of your life is X and Y, and you cannot write about X and Y, it’s very hard to find the time and desire to write about the 1% of of your life, Z, that you can write about.

Do you want to hear about how my mother-in-law took my bucket-o-cat-cr@p and put it out in the rain?

Do you want to hear about how my front tires have become exceptionally loud?

Do you want to hear about my new wall at my office?

Do you want to hear about how I’m becoming a pretty good VMWare-wrangler?

Do you want to hear about how my son is loving being “goalie” as we play water polo with a blow-up basket ball hoop in the pool?

Or how I’ve saved $20 in water by not using a dishwasher for a month?

My two-month non-WoW anniversary is approaching.

Netflix over the Internet is fantastic, except the selection both sucks and blows.

Ratshag is cuddly, but I didn’t cuddle; quit asking.

Should I discuss my favorite iPhone apps?

I need a better iPhone case but I won’t spend as much on the case as I did on the iPhone.

I need a second iPhone USB cable for work as the iPhone battery is, in a word, horrible stinky nasty-poo.

OK, here’s a quick story:

We got a part-time Linux sysadmin to come to our software development lab to help out the full-time sysadmin. The new guy is pretty great, even helped me with a special script that eliminates about thirty-minutes of work when I’m running four virtual machines at the same time. So the programmers, test engineers, and some QA and CM flunkies were discussing how we needed to tell everybody how awesome he was so he’d get to stick around. I had to set them straight.

“Wrong path, children. That’s not how one keeps quality people from being poached by the rest of the company. Spread the work high and low that Chester (nhrn) is a noob, a goober, and hardly worth the air he breathes and the heat his body generates. Ruin his good name, and only then will he not be a target for some manager to try to steal from us.”

They grew quiet, and then nodded their heads. For the rest of the day, we besmirched the poor man’s name to all who came into the lab, including developers from other companies, just to make sure they didn’t get any bright ideas.

Some day, when all the cr@p is behind me, I might be able to write about the stuff I want to write about, we’ll see. But for the time being, I’m going to try not to be boring. Instead of being boring, I’m just going to shut the heck up. I’ll write what I can, when I can, but the time between posts could be excessive. I apologize, but I gotta do what I gotta do.

Hope you can wait this out with me.

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A WrapUp