Sphere of Archives

May 6, 1999

100% Connectivity

I spent Monday morning with about 130 20-somethings finding out how we are going to 'get connected', how Nortel is going to 'connect' us to everything else, how the world is connecting'. It was all a big show, and a little forced. One of the technocrats running the seminar "transitioned" the microphone to the other speakers. There were some flashy 3-minute videos showcasing the corporate culture. All of the people shown were happy, thin, intelligent-sounding and well-rested. It was quite a different image from what I've experienced in the past -- pushing a mouse for eight hours, e-mail wars, passing blame around -- you know, the fun stuff associated with a cube farm.

After the talk, everyone was invited to eat what food there was in the corridor. There were six huge plates piled with sandwiches, and nobody was touching them. I felt bad for the organizers, going to all the trouble to bring the food, so I stuffed myself heading to my job for the afternoon. But there was a General Information Session, where a strategic manager from France promoted the corporate strategy that's been talked about for almost two years and said everyone's commitment is important. Someone asked him about the recent layoffs. The whole thing lasted an hour and a half, which meant I could go home 30 minutes later.

On Tuesday, I was assigned to some big projects that are due immediately, and two minor projects that are due not so immediately. I have spent the next two days reading technical manuals, support manuals and web-based documents on telephone exchange hardware and software. Next week, I take over support for one of the LANs because the administrator is taking a holiday in sunny Cuba. Last time I did this job, there was a big emergency in one of the project groups, and I got paged at 11 pm.

My apartment is terrific. I'm on the top floor of an 18-floor building, facing east. There is a pool, a sauna, three elevators and a large laundry room (so no waiting). IKEA, the Nortel gym, and the Queensway are within two blocks. It's a 30-minute walk to work, or a six-minute drive. The landlady is a Sagittarius, friendly, efficient. My neighbour to the left is an old widow with tons of plants on her balcony. My neighbour to the right works at Nortel, but he isn't into 'connecting'. When I first met him in the elevator, he stood facing the back corner all the way down.

May 7, 1999

Stairmaster

I climb the stairs to my apartment. It saves electricity. I start out very positive. By the sixth floor - not so bad. I can take it. Ninth floor - starting to feel the burn. Fourteenth floor - can't turn back now. Sixteenth floor - just... two... more. Seventeenth floor - Aaaaah! Eighteenth floor - 18, 18, 18.

Time: 1 minute.

May 12, 1999

Good People

My neighbours hate me. They haven't met me, but I guess they've seen or heard me, and they don't like it. First, someone is stealing my morning newspaper. They pass up the National Post a few doors down, and take my Citizen. I haven't decided yet whether I'll wake up a little earlier to snag the paper or just cancel the subscription. Second, at least one of my neighbours is too obvious in trying to not be seen. Today, while I was approaching my apartment, the guy around the corner at the end of the hall was leaving his apartment. I heard him lock his door. He waited behind the corner until I was in my room. Then I watched through my peep hole as this Roy Orbison look-alike (but with white hair) headed for the elevators. He was carrying a plastic bag, probably full of pinched newspapers.

May 13, 1999

Nice Day for Some Chitchat

My car battery died today. I had left the headlights on, I guess, for two days. I didn't notice because I hardly drive it. So I called CAA, and they said it would take 45 minutes for the truck to arrive. I waited outside.

An engineer was waiting for his ride, too. He was standing in the shade. After 10-minutes of respecting each other's personal space, he said, "Sure is sunny today."

(Uh oh.) "Yeah," I said.
"It's a lot warmer since this morning."
(Oh no. Please!) "Yes, and brighter, too," I mumbled.

An engineer walked past. The talker greeted him, "Hey, Dan!" Dan adjusted his walkman and kept walking. Another engineer passed by on his way to the parking lot. "It's a nice sunny day, eh?" He didn't stop, either. A bunch of people from the operations support departments walked out and said hello to me. At that point I didn't know who to feel sorry for -- me stuck in a small conversation about the sun, or this untouchable. He didn't look like a nerd, not like me, so I guess he has a funny smell or sleeps with the boss' wife or something.

He noticed my pager. I explained I was supporting the LAN for a week. He told me how he got a pager once when his project was at a critical stage, but he refused to wear it. Eventually it was taken away. He couldn't have been happier. He's a physicist, and he has been designing mother boards for six years or so. I got the idea he'd rather move on, but can't because he only has an honours degree. I also got the idea that he didn't want the dialogue to go any deeper than the weather.

Then his ride came, a dark-haired woman, presumably his girlfriend, driving a white convertible with the top down. She didn't smile. He got in, and they sped off.

May 14, 1999

"Steve, fais le ap chagi !"

I entered the Taekwondo Tournament a lot more at ease than last year. When they hand out medals for participation (90% of success is showing up), you know it's a zero risk competition. This time I entered pattern (poomse) and sparring (kyeu reugi). I got a silver medal for my rendition of Tae Kwon 3. I was elminated in the first round of sparring by a guy named Cedric. I did a good job, but Cedric was headed for the gold medal round.

There were a number of excellent demonstrations. My favourite was the all-women's White Tiger School. They handle those jo sticks with flair and grace. The one thing that marred all the demonstrations was the ugly abuse of theme music. At the end of each 1-minute or 30-second act in the 10-minute demos, the disco music would suddenly stop, pause for a few seconds, then start with a new and completely unrelated disco song. There was no classical music ("Flight of the Valkyries" being the obvious choice), nothing Oriental, like "Kaneda" from the movie "Akira", and no heavy metal or industrial fugues. At least the middle-aged people enjoyed themselves. They started tapping their feet and clapping to whatever sixties tune popped up.

The tournament was supposed to move faster this time. The organizers made some changes to the curriculum to combine events. But I guess some important people had to go to the bathroom very badly, and held things up. For two hours.

I took some photos. I'll post them when I feel like it.

May 17, 1999

Crapplet

I re-started my crusade to build a Java applet. It's part of a school project that ended two months ago. I'm not a good programmer; I came close to giving up on it last week. It will probably happen again. Two more confidence hurdles to overcome -- file input/output and changing the user interface based on button clicks.

When I succeed with this program, I'm going to be in Java Country.

May 23, 1999

I am a Slave to the System

At this point, I really don't like any of the candidates in the Ontario election. A naked grab for power is supposed to be fun! It's a month-long festival, with speeches and dances and free food and beer for the kids (Tory kids, that is).

But all of the candidates look desperate, so eager to please they'll say anything. According to Harris, those evil squeegee kids are ruining the province, together with the scheming 'aggressive' homeless. McGuinty's most memorable campaign issue is whether or not he'll wear shoulder pads to look more authoritative. We're not talking about those poofy shoulder pads in Armani suits. McGuinty needs hockey gear. ("Now we'll see who's soft on crime.") I can't say anything about Hamptom, except that he'll get better odds at a Grand Portage Keno table.

So I gave $20 to some independent student candidates, to pay for their ballot fee. They don't have a platform, a philosophy, a definitive value system, or even an expectation of winning. But they've got spunk, and I like to see that.

May 24, 1999

Everything must go!

I believe I know why the United States wants to keep bombing the Serb population in Yugoslavia. They've got to get rid of all those bombs. The US, and all the other industrialized countries, have spent decades stockpiling weapons and selling weapons to each other. But the problem is there weren't any real wars to use up the stuff. Plus there are added costs of maintenance, obsolescence, opportunity costs to build/buy better weapons. And governments can't get rid of it in some desert or landfill dump. That would be the same as admitting there are too many guns, bombs, tanks, planes and missiles.

So the Serbs are providing a useful economic function by being consumers/targets - military or otherwise -- just as the Iraqis did in 1992. Our military has to get rid of those bombs. Run, don't walk, because the new fall inventory is already on its way.

May 30, 1999

Convocation Celebration

I have officially graduated with my second degree. This one is an H.B. Commerce (MIS). The ceremony was four hours long, and I was dozing off. Most of the 200 or so Education graduates showed up; only about a dozen didn't make first standing. I imagine the professor's were shaking their heads, saying "It was simply impossible to give those people A's." The Kinesiology students had their day, too. It's hard to respect people whose undergraduate work included mandatory courses in golf and tennis.

This was supposed to be the day when everyone exchanged e-mail/snail mail addresses, so that we could "stay in touch." I fell for this trick in high school and at Carleton. It's really a method that allows the entire class to collectively say "Fuck you" by not writing to you. That's okay. I alienated most of my class back in February, anyway.

The party after was a lot of fun. I was feeling ill from some horrible Californian wine (Feltzer, the black pepper-flavoured wine -- I had three glasses). The Outpost management are running the bar efficiently. Other, less enlightened managers might have opened the upstairs bar to alleviate the crush of people downstairs, and serve more people faster. But the wise Outpost staff realized this would create general happiness, not the valued, specific happiness ("I'm next.") born from restricted access.

May 31, 1999

TV Connection

My favourite television shows right now are "Once a Thief", and the prison drama "OZ"

"Oz" is a "critically acclaimed" show. It has a lot of calculated violence, just like hockey, which is nice. A friend of mine says there's too much anal rape on the show (just like hockey!). The acting is amazing. It's like a prison soap opera.

"Once a Thief" is a PG-version of John Woo's Hong Kong films, with his trademark stunts and characters. He doesn't even hide the Canadian references from the Toronto location, but the city is so normal that it just makes the action sequences look weirder.

June 5, 1999

Mr. Ikea

I went to Ikea to buy a television stand. A teenager was there selling chocolate for a student summer work program. I decided to be approachable.

Half an hour later, I'm heading out of the store. I don't notice the girl, and I forget about my promise until I'm out of the parking lot. Those are the breaks, kiddo, in our fast-paced economy. Maybe if you had a web site ...

So, I'm building this television stand. It's coloured "Finn black," much hipper than that Norwegian black. I have a bent piece of metal with hexagonal ends, a whole bunch of screws and pegs and some pre-fabricated boards; I feel like MacGuyver. Fifteen minutes later, it's a low table. I have time to go to a commercial, before I stop the terrorists and save the C-grade actress.

June 6, 1999

A Day at the Gym

When I went to the Nortel gym last year, I thought it was a bit creepy. There were full-length mirrors everywhere. I felt that I was being constantly watched ... in disgust. (I tend to leave puddles of water on the floor.) But today, just a few die-hard jocks were there.

I'm going in a Dragon Boat race, so I decided to practice. The rowing machines are just a bicycle chain hooked up to a big fan wheel. On the good side, it makes a nice breeze. On the bad side, every pull sounds like a big fart. I started out slow, then went full bore for five minutes -- rrrrrrrrrrr, rrrrrrrrrrrr, rrrrrrrrrrr. Then I did another five minutes. By then I was drenched, so I could leave the gym with dignity.

I played beach volleyball. Well, it was more of a sand pit in the middle of a lawn beside a highway. I went met the people on my team. None of us are volleyball stars ('I got it! I got it! ... I don't got it!') I landed on my back twice ("10 out of 10 for artistic impression.")

June 7, 1999

I Sold My Soul to Netscape

And all I got was this lousy script.

I gave up on my crapplet. Sure, the Microsoft Java Development Kit is fun at first. It's got little buttons, and things go 'bing' when you do something wrong ("Bing. Bing. Bing. Bing. Oh, crap!"), and the help files are extra-technical. But after days of trying hopelessly to turn a string into a number, I decided to cut my losses and buy some beer.

But last night, a revelation. "I'll write it in JavaScript. It'll practically write itself." And during a break at work, I wrote most of the script. Now it's done, and I've sent it off to C. Law and the client for evaluation. I program! Thank you, Netscape!

June 10, 1999

Nortel Boy Gets Some

I got my first professional massage today. A masseuse visits the building every two or four weeks, and people can sign up for a 15-minute session. I was feeling a little tense this morning, so I went for it. One of my co-workers took three of the slots. She really likes massages.

The style was "em" massage, a Chinese technique like Shiatsu. The masseuse went up and down my spine, then my arms, shoulders, my skull, my hair ("Your follicles are so tense."), and then back to the shoulders and spine. When she got to my arms, she asked if I lifted weights. Then we started talking about various gyms and routines. It was an interesting chat. So, if I enjoyed it, I guess that makes me a jock. But I'm also a nerd because I work with computers. I'm a nerdy jock.

I paid fifteen dollars for the session, because that's what a friend said it was. I later found out it only cost ten. She must have thought I gave her a five-dollar tip on purpose, which may explain why she was persistent in making sure I got to the next session in July.

June 10, 1999

Wall of Pain

I took a trip to Vertical Reality ("Where Reality is Vertical!") with a bunch of Nortel people. I had never been rock climbing before, but it looks easy on those obstacle course game shows. The owner is an focussed guy named Ken. He turned a gutted three-storey warehouse into a series of wooden caves and precipices. There are some exercise areas where people can strengthen their grips, and there's a skateboard pike. The climbing walls went up to the ceiling (80 feet away, I was told), and looked intimidating.

All rock climbers look the same -- thin and narrow-bodied, with veiny arms and short hair, sporting a thin tank top or T-shirt and a tan. And if I continue to go climbing, then it's even more imperative that I get a tattoo, so that I can belong. Some people were talking about "the pump," and how one woman didn't know what a pump was because she had never had a pump. I thought they were talking about air compressors. But no, it's the muscle pump in your forearms, what all climbers want to feel at the end of the day.

All of the new people signed waivers and got a course in climbing safety. I was partnered up with Dan, who climbed at least once before. Our first assault was on one of the advanced courses, because it was the only one free. I went first. I climbed fast, but about half-way up to the ceiling, I found there weren't any more rocks within my reach, except for two tiny ones that I couldn't get a grip on. It was a little scary, too, because I had forgotten all about the secure safety line that prevents people from falling (or, at least, falling quickly). Dan went up and stopped at about the same spot, so I didn't feel so bad. The next course we tried was an easy one. It went half-way up to the ceiling, and I finished it in less than a minute.

June 12, 1999

Sometimes a Space Ship is Just a Space Ship

It is a pleasure to see sci-fi getting back to it's roots of soft-porn imagery. Because that's what it's all about about -- the steel shaft exploding, probing dark, uncharted territory, big guns spewing energy bursts all over the place (on other ships, on the planet, in the ensign's hair), a quick wrap-up, and then the search for new conquests. The creators of "Lexx" are the most open about the thrust of their show, and consciously supply the required images. The Star Trek shows always have one major Betty / Veronica character on every crew.

The line from "Babylon 5" to the new "Crusade" is clear -- more phallic ships led by determined commanders, and more Bettys and Veronicas. The Crusade ship is a little more obvious in shape, compared to the stubby Enterprise. It's long (1.5 miles ... nice piece, man), hard and pointy, and every show promises a huge climax where the commander causes the ship to ejaculate an enormous stream, after which it must spend a minute to "recharge." At the end of the premiere episode, for example, the cylindrical Drakh ship is heading towards our Hero ("She's going to ram us!"), and then BOOM! The Drakh get it right up the middle. Anyone got a cigarette?

You'll probably see a lot of web sites that just miss the point. These misguided and ignorant fans analyze the plots, the characterizations, debate who makes a better captain. Instead, they should be counting how many photon torpedos were fired, which ship has more staying power, who is sexier: Kess or Seven of Nine? I want a running tally of how many times the phrases "ramming speed," "launch a probe," and "we're losing power" are used in each episode. Maybe then those sci-fi conventions will have a little more "oomph."

June 15, 1999

"We Suck !" : Another Team Building Exercise

NortelNetworks has six dragon boats in this year's charity row. I'm on the Wireless team. Our first practice was today. I was seated beside Tom, my manager's manager (I am not an ass kisser!), and we were both eager to get going. The trainer kept telling us to slow down because everyone else was panting ("Okay, everyone, this time we're going to do 16 fast strokes ... you, slow down. Slower."). The woman behind me was always a half-stroke behind and kept hitting my paddle.

But now I'm in the "engine room" because another manager wanted to sit up front with Tom. I'm not saying it was political. The other manager is really tall, almost freakishly tall, and he said he needed the leg room. There was a little discussion about it between the team leader, this manager and me, to smooth any ruffled feathers. I thought it was strange to spend several minutes making sure everyone was okay with the decision. I don't care where I sit, as long as I get on television -- which didn't happen last year because I was hunkered in the engine room.

June 18, 1999

I'm Gonna Kill That Leprechaun !

It rained today. I stood on my patio this afternoon and noticed a perfect double-rainbow arching over Riviera Gate, the apartment buildings across the street. I'm taking it as a sign from God -- that I've got a great apartment. Or that I picked the wrong building.

June 19, 1999

Blue

I passed the Tae Kwon Do belt test with "very good" marks from Grand Master Lee. I only messed up one pattern quite badly (the first two times), so I guess I got a lot of marks for showing spirit. Of course, I was nervous, and it was warm in the room. This time the Grand Master didn't tell me to relax, as he did after all of my other belt tests. Instead, one of the instructors just told me to breathe deeply. I've really improved.

June 19, 1999

Cooking with Eric

I had a look at the "Cooking for Dummies" book I got for Christmas from my thoughtful parents. I just don't have the mindset for cooking. I like to use up whole packages, for neatness. I can't imagine buying a whole bottle of cooking oil and using it a tablespoon at a time; I want to use it all at once. And the recipes for soup stock and salad ... it's not going to happen. I only got into the habit of putting lettuce on my sandwiches last month. At this rate, I should make my first salad at the same time as the nurse is underlining "D.N.R." on my medical chart.

There is no perogy recipe in the book. Not that I'd make them, anyway.

June 21, 1999

"Ma, Get My Gun"

Nothing destroys the spirit like volunteer fund raising. As part of the dragon boat challenge, all the teams are supposed to raise money for the Canadian National Institute for the Blind and something called Friends in Sportfishing, which sends disadvantaged kids on a fishing trip. I thought canvassing my apartment neighbours would be a great way to meet them and raise money -- two birds with one stone.

I've come to the conclusion that the top two floors of my building are largely empty, and the few apartments rented out are home to paranoid shut-ins. For example, there is the old woman who lives next door. I have never seen or heard her since I moved in. She hasn't touched the pots on her balcony. Is she still alive, even? I knocked on her door. I heard some shuffling inside. I knocked again. She didn't answer; I moved on. I kept knocking on door until I got around to the "unconnected" neighbour on the other side of my apartment. He opened his door a crack, said he didn't want to donate anything, and then he closed the door.

So, I went to the seventeenth floor. I was considering giving up, but it had only been five minutes since I started. It was almost the same story. Out of 14 apartments, four people answered and two people invited me in. One guy was confused by the whole "give money to charity" procedure. His wife offered encouragement.

But the worst experience was in an apartment by the elevators. I knocked on the door, heard shuffling inside, and then the peep hole went dark -- the guy was watching me. I knocked again, but the door didn't open, so I gave up. While I was walking to the next apartment, I heard the door lock.

At the last apartment, I hit pay dirt. The man there asked me in, and donated some money. I think he's unemployed (or 'self-employed') because when I asked for a daytime phone number, he reacted as if he didn't know how to answer the question. I decided to end my volunteer effort on a positive note, and went back upstairs for a well-deserved cup of tea.

June 25, 1999

Security to Sector G5

Like most international corporations, Nortel likes to keep track of its employees. Every employee has to wear an identification badge to get into buildings and open doors without setting off strident alarms. Every entry is logged by a computer, for 'security'. There are video cameras in the lobbies and in the cafeterias. I'm sure there are hidden ones, too, aimed at my cubicle, in the washroom, by the coffee machine. The computer operations department in the building where I work wanted to turn the lobby camera a web cam, perhaps to unleash the Stazi in everyone.

Of course, my e-mail is stored and searched for restricted key words by third parties. The phone numbers I dial are checked by a computer. My internet usage is logged and checked for restricted sites. My computer access is curtailed. The computer support department has software to log onto my computer and watch what I do at any time without my knowing it. All of my files are duplicated automatically on a remote server.

I was becoming paranoid this afternoon while I seethed over a computer program that refused to work. I wasn't punching my computer screen or yelling or anything; everyone in my industry has seen video footage of IT/IS workers "caught on tape" as they deal with work-related frustration, before being fired and escorted out of the building. But it's hard to look busy when most of your work is done in your head.

June 26, 1999

The Canadian Sportsman

I bought a great pair of skates in Arnprior, at the urging of my friend Paul. I pretended to know what I was doing, but I didn't fool anyone. But I got some tips from the counter girl:

• break the skates in by wearing them while watching television
• don't wear socks while skating

Imagine yourself watching "The X-Files" while wearing skates, and thinking to yourself, "This is normal. I am being normal." That will be me.

In today's dragon boat races, Wireless Waves was eliminated. No one is surprised. On the good side, we beat our best time last year by two seconds (2:57).

Our first race had a foreboding start. We rammed the JDS Fitel boat, and our boat's foam dragon head got ripped off by their boat's dragon tail. They ended up beating us by two lengths. At the start, the leader of one team was screaming at his fellows, "You guys have to do what I do! Give every race everything you've got, no matter what! Every race!" I'm glad I don't work at that company. After the finish, I went to the beer garden... to reflect. Some of the other teams, stacked with personal trainers and former Olympians, were in the gardens too, but they had a different attitude. "If it's cold, get me water, or else get me juice." Meanwhile, I'm chugging my second glass of Sleeman's, and I'm thinking that these people are mentally incapable of having non-competitive fun.

Our second race was fairer. Most of the teams had the same times in the first race, so it was designed to be close. Our boat happened to get a good start, and we maintained the lead to the end. After the obligatory celebratory paddle splashing for the cameras, the team members parted ways. Maybe some day years from now we'll meet at random in the corridors between the cubicles and won't remember each other's names.

June 27, 1999

Monkey in the Family

I met some of the relatives of Mrs. Sloan, one of my neighbours in Thunder Bay, at a big family party. She has a huge family here, and they all live in the same area, and they all have a lot of history together. I stood out. Physically, I'm very different from the Sloans, the Murphys, the Smiths, etc. And I spent most of the time being introduced to people and listening. I met one woman five times, as new people arrived at the house and took upon themselves to make me feel welcome. It's a comfortable family. There was a huge pile of pork to eat, lots of alcohol, folk singing -- like a miniature Woodstock, but without the biker gang security.

But this is just a prelude to a larger event coming up on July 3rd, and chance encounters downtown on July 1st. So I spent most of my time trying to memorize names and faces so I wouldn't accidentally snub people on a national holiday. (It may sound compulsive, but it has happened before -- I've snubbed people in Thunder Bay that I didn't know I knew.) Maybe I'll see the Prime Minister again.