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July 14, 2001

A Night at Don's

This was a first. Don, a co-worker, invited everyone to his home on the Ottawa River for a barbecue and fireworks. Usually, the people in my department don't see each other outside of work. Even "team building" events are sparsely attended, even more so now that the company no longer covers the bill.

I looked forward to this day of relaxation. I got there at noon, the first to arrive. Don showed me around the old place. It's bounded by huge trees on three sides, and has a wide sand beach on the river facing Dunrobin. The house is being redone -- new roof, new windows, new paint. There are two old sheds where he keeps his lumber and tools. We played horseshoes for an hour, while his wife prepared the food and brought us beer. I tried to help Don set up the barbecue by chopping wood. I broke his new axe. There was probably a flaw in the handle. Still, I decided it would be best if I just sat on the patio for a while.

Other people didn't start arriving until four. Half of the Chinese came in one car. They had never heard of horseshoes, so I showed them how to play. They laughed when I yelled, "Challenge! Let's play horseshoes!" We played catch, too, but after a while the cheap plastic paddles broke. And I went canoeing with a guy. We paddled to a buoy a few kilometers away and back in choppy water and a strong wind. I was really enjoying myself. When we got back to shore, he was so tired that I had to pull the canoe up to the house alone.

By eight, most people had had their fill and left. The rest of us sat on the patio. Don started a bonfire nearby. I was waiting for the climactic fireworks display. It was disappointing, but probably better than the Thunder Bay Canada Day show. What should you expect for 45 dollars? There was one dud, and one cracker exploded on the ground in a white flash. We played with the six sparklers that were included before calling it a night.

July 20, 2001

Weakest Link is the Best Game Show

I think it's one of the funniest programs on the air. Unfortunately, they only have Americans playing the game, and those people are idiots. First, they get most of the questions wrong. And instead of going for a big pot they can split after at the bar over drinks, they think they're on Survivor Redux and vote off the strongest players. I have yet to see the money pot go over $100,000.

Sure, it's just a trivia show with cheesy music and a pseudo-dominatrix host, but I love it. The show has given me some terrific comeback lines I can use at work. Also, how amusing to see how intimidated people get when confronted about their ignorance. Instead of laughing it off and secretly vowing to read a book, they look for sympathy on the web by talking about their nightmares of Anne. If only more game shows -- "Hollywood Squares" and "Who Want To Be a Millionaire", for example -- would follow this example and add some humiliation for the smug media whores that appear on the show.

July 21, 2001

Not Chess, Mr. Spock. Poker.

Everything has to be a competition for me. Playing poker Sunday nights for my friends' nickels and dimes is a struggle to be the alpha male at the kitchen table. And winning the money isn't as important as being the dominant player, the one the other guys talk about in the post-game slo-mo play-by-play analysis. The difference is that we're sponsored by Crown Royal and Sleeman's.

It's a little boring in that the other guys' behaviour is predictable. Week after week, they use the same strategies. We tend to sit in the same seats, too. One guy stays in and bets high whenever he has a full house or higher. If he doesn't have that and the betting is high, then he folds. Another guy refuses to bet, always passing. He bluffs about 25 percent of the time. And another guy will bet low if he has a bad hand, high if he has a good hand, and he never bluffs. And there's me, Mister Highlight, who might be bluffing, or might not, who might bet high or low or pass or fold. The others think it is random, but I think I'm playing a reasoned game. Maybe my reasoning is flawed, but that's not the point. The point is my friends look to me as a mysterious but fun black box, an inscrutable bundle of chaos. Like the insane person that people humour in case he becomes violent, sometimes I win just on the force of my apparent conviction.

My total winnings are around negative $30. For two months of play, that's pretty good. I the same gambling in Sault Ste. Marie. But it isn't as if I couldn't win. I once took forty dollars from my friends in one night, but I felt so bad I let myself lose sixty the next night. I mean, they work for the government. They don't even get stock options. And since they don't watch sports, they need something else to brag about at the water cooler.

July 21, 2001

Let The Payments Begin

Who would have thought buying a house could be so easy and painless? My advisors in Thunder Bay had led me to believe the process would take months of searching, comparing, offering, searching some more, and so on. Yet after only one week of lackadaisical searching and another week of getting papers in order, the adventure is suddenly over.

I'm not going to bore you with the actual searching. Suffice it to say that after seeing ten townhouses, they started looking familiar enough that I could recognize the layouts after stepping into the foyer. The deciding factor became which was relatively new, had a finished basement, had inoffensive colours, and had avoided the dreaded open concept. The final criterion was figuring out which ones I could afford. This last one meant that I wouldn't even consider the one house that I truly wanted. It became a choice between two townhouses at my financial limit, and one cheaper one that was rather simple and bland.

August 2, 2001

Suburbia

I went to the lawyer's office on Friday. He greeted me by saying, "It's time to sign your life away." For a little over an hour he took me through the heap of legal terms, convenants, agreements, and understandings, occasionally stopping so that I could acknowledge the documents. "Sign here, and sign here, and here, initial this and this one, all four copies ..." Then I handed over the cash, probably the most significant acknowledgement of the whole proceedings. Finally, he offered some advice from one divorced guy to a single one. If I ever get married, sell my house and buy a new one so that, heaven forbid, if something should happen, then the shared assets and debts would be assessed equally.

Here's where things started to go wrong. That evening, the friend who had promised to help me move my sofa-bed bailed. His wife had gotten upset when she discovered he was going to skip work for me, yet wouldn't make time to go to the hospital with her for her pregnancy check-ups. None of the other people I know could take time off, either. I felt miffed. Now I had to consider shoving it through the narrow apartment door, down the hall, into the elevator and onto the truck all by myself. "Hmm, maybe I can throw it over the balcony. If it survives the 18-storey drop, I'd only have to drag it a few meters."

On Saturday, I finished packing things in boxes and taking apart the furniture.

On Sunday, I sat on my sofa-bed, staring at the boxes and dismantled furniture. My friend called. He said he could help me move the couch on Monday night, because he would have the family van.

August 11, 2001

Steve Says

I finally met my other neighbour. His name is Steve LaBelle, and his family is even more suburban than Jeff and Sharon. I only spoke with him for half and hour or so, but I already know about his family, his habits, and the people he works with. Steve loves to talk.

Steve smokes, and strips leaves from weed stems while he talks. He has three kids. His wife doesn't work so that she can look after them all, and she plans to volunteer at their school. His family spends the summers in a 40-foot trailer at White Lake. Steve is taking two weeks of holidays now, so he'll be there until the end of August. His daughter had a birthday party today, and he paid for a Britney Spears look-alike to sing and face-paint. Steve said he wanted to have a "private show" with the six-foot blond who showed up.

Steve is a tradesman who installs furnaces and hot water heaters, as well some cement drilling and building maintenance. He told me why he got involved with cement drilling. He told me how much he charges per hole. He told me about his work team. He showed me his diamond-tipped drills. He taught me the procedure for drilling a hole. He told me the price and distributor name for his hydro-drill. He wants to develop a web presence for his drilling business, and asked me about registering a domain name and setting up a web page. He doesn't know anything about computers, though.

August 12, 2001

The Golfer Within

I had the perfect Sunday planned -- sleep in, have an involved breakfast of fruit salad, eggs, and cinnamon toast, then go to the gym, then putter around the house. In an instant, my plans were ruined when I accepted an invitation to go golfing at seven in the morning. I neglected to say that I am not a morning person.

We were playing a dull game of Monopoly last night. It was Steve, one of my poker buddies, who extended the invitation. His original partner had to cancel. Eventually, Ken was convinced to join us. There followed a confusing discussion of logistics. Eventually, it was decided that I would pick Ken up at 6:30 am, then pick up Steve, and then go to the golf course for 7:10. I got home around 1:30 am, and neglected to set my alarm.

I woke up at 6:30. I recognized it was 6:30. I remembered promising to pick up someone at 6:30. Oh, crap. I got ready in record time. The phone rang a couple of times -- when I was in the shower, and when I was on the toilet. My only phone is on the main floor, and I wasn't going to rush down to answer it at that moment. I was speeding down the suburban streets at 6:45. By chance, Ken and I met at an intersection. For some reason, he was coming to pick me up, when the logical choice would have been to go to Steve's place on his own. That was my plan. Then I remembered he doesn't know where Steve lives. We wasted another ten minutes driving back to Ken's place to leave his van for his wife. I expected Steve to be pissed.

I braked in front of Steve's place at 7:15. He was sitting on his porch with his golf clubs, squinting at us in the sun. I yelled at him to hurry, but he took his time putting his stuff in the trunk. The tires squeeled as I sped down the street and onto the Queensway. I was determined to make that 7:10 tee time. Ken had both of his hands on the dash board, and was baring his teeth. Steve seemed fairly relaxed. I was enjoying myself. We got to the course quickly. There was a minor scheduling change because we were late. Renting the clubs and grabbing some coffee took no time at all.

Our first drive was at 7:30. The day was already bright and warming up. In all, we spent six hours driving and putting and searching for lost balls. We played best ball, and usually ended a hole at par or with a bogey. Maybe it was the heat, but around the twelfth hole, I think I started to hallucinate. I had a trouble remembering I was in Ottawa, rather than any of the other places I've golfed. All the courses look the same, I guess. I wish they had more distinctive landmarks, decorative statues or hedges or something to break the monotonous landscape. The last hole was the worst, and I gave up after my seventh duff. On that one, Ken was hitting two balls. His shots were in the teens for both of them, but it made him happy. I know Steve was disappointed in himself and his partners. I bet he never asks us again.

I dropped Steve off. Ken and I decided to go for burgers at a nearby pub. We chatted about the golf game. Our last conversation was a small argument, mainly a monologue from me on the few pros and many cons of the way the group plays Monopoly. The most odious practice, in my opinion, is the insistence on "free stays" on traded property throughout the game, regardless of the profitability of the trade or the value of the property in the future. I said it was childish, cowardly, illegal (according to the rules), unchallenging, and dull. I said it made people focus on screwing each other by making valuable property worthless once it changes hands. Ken was a little hurt; he likes the system, which he invented to "facilitate trades." I equated it with government subsidies propping up non-feasible businesses for political reasons. If people are too afraid of what might happen at some time in the future of a trivial game, then they shouldn't make those trades. Then I said I shouldn't be so negative, because they have every right to play the game in a way that satisfies them. Ah, the ancient debating game of "good cop, bad cop". We drove home in silence.

August 14, 2001

Tech Support, Will Work for Beer

How much do you need to know about high technology to work at a high-tech firm? If you've been a regular reader of this site, then you already know the answer -- not very much. And the higher up the food chain, the more important it is to wear the right clothes and talk the right way rather than to know useful stuff. Read about my latest adventure with the Chief Engineer of the Wireless Division.

The manager was getting desperate. Somehow, his Sympatico DSL connection to the Internet and his remote access connection to the Nortel Intranet had been disabled a few days ago. He was on holiday, but needed to check his Nortel e-mail to keep informed. I think his wife was nagging him, too, because she couldn't read her MSN e-mail. He had already called a number of people for help (but not Sympatico, obviously). Eventually, the emergency reached the ears of an Operations Lab Support manager. First, he laughed. Then I heard him yell over the cubicles, "Who can we give this to? Eric!"

I went to the house after work. It isn't far from my own, but in a much better neighbourhood. His wife showed me to the computer while he chatted on his cell phone. She said a number of people from Nortel had tried to help, but things were just getting worse, indicated by more error messages appearing at boot time. The first thing I noticed was the driver for the network interface card had been removed, no doubt the actions of a previous support technician. Then I re-installed the access software for the Internet connection, which worked like a charm. I couldn't get the remote access working, though. Still, he was happy with what was working. He asked me to show the connection procedure several times, so that he could memorize it. When I tried to explain what was going on, he just got flustered. Soon after, I left. He paid me with a six-pack of Labatt Blue.

September 1, 2001

The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name

My friend Ken and I have a secret. His wife doesn't know yet. If she finds out, she'd feel hurt, betrayed. I don't know if their relationship would survive.Once, she nearly guessed, and we had to move it to a new location. Things got tense. That's why she must never find out.

Ken blew a whole bunch of money on a big aquarium. He's supposed to be saving up so that he can buy a house for his family, but this deal was just too good to pass up. The store was moving, everything on sale. He bought the tank, lights, filters, a load of salt and a big book about aquariums to pore over. Now most of our conversations turn to finding the perfect lighting arrangement for the fish, the optimal filtration system, plant and fish types, maintenance. He's asked me several times if I want to start an aquarium, probably because he has to get rid of his old one sometime.

September 20, 2001

Cubicle of Death

The terminations continue. Two more people today, and will probably never be heard from again. I was surprised at who was fired this time around. They were known for doing good work, and were well-like around the labs. Unfortunately, the labs are now empty, and the managers have been ordered to find efficiencies that are supposed to add up to 10 percent of the current workforce.

The question has come up about what to do with the extra cubicle space. Should people sharing cubicles now move into the empty ones, or should they be used for storage? Neither is going to happen. These work spaces are now tainted. In particular, the one where the ex-LAN administrator sat is deemed to be cursed. When he left, a technician took the space. Months later, he was also fired. It's like getting the captaincy of the Montreal Canadiens. I joked about the ghost of the first occupant with the others. "They say, late at night, you can smell fish sauce. And if you're very quiet, you can hear footsteps walking towards the printer." And they probably won't be used for storage, mostly because there isn't much to store anymore. Stuff is being sent back to manufacturers or otherwise disposed.

Mornings pass quietly. Phones don't ring. There are fewer meetings to attend. It's eerie. What makes it worse is that I can't believe management's assurance that there won't be anymore layoffs, that is, until after the quarterly financial report is published in October. I keep thinking about the axiom bandied around last year when these layoffs started -- "Everyone is expendable."

September 22, 2001

Casino

I went to the Casino de Hull with a couple of my poker buddies and their significant others. In the days before, they were really looking forward to it, with the expectation of winning money. I wasn't excited. I was deciding how much I'd be willing to lose.

My friend and his wife picked me up in their minivan. I could tell things were testy between them. We had to pick up the other couple, and we were late. We finally arrived altogether in the enormous parkade around ten o'clock. The building is nicely decorated. There's a small cafe on the first floor, with stairs and escalators rising through a canopy of bamboo trees to the gambling floor. The floor was packed with people sitting at slot machines or slowly making their way through the rows. The electronic chimes for the slots filled the air. I felt like I was in a big video arcade for adults.

For the next 90 minutes or so, I pressed buttons on a couple of machines. It was boring. I didn't notice a lot of obese people. I thought they were so supposed to gather in these places. And, thanks to a recent bylaw, the place was smoke-free. After I was done at the slots, I wandered around the tables. There was the usual poker and blackjack, some Asian poker tables. At the craps table, the dice kept bouncing outside. It was comical at first, then became gradually more and more pathetic, until after a while I left in disgust.

I met up with my friends. They had lost much more money than me. We left for Kelsey's at South Keys Mall. It's exactly the same as the one in Thunder Bay -- the same layout, the same decor, the same bad service. We stayed until closing.

I didn't realize what a bad driver my friend is until that moment. He zipped right past Hunt Club ramp and south. Nobody noticed because we assumed he knew the way. Eventually, we uttered a collective "Where the hell are we?". His wife got out the map, and they started arguing about where we were, what turn we missed, who was to blame, how do we get back on track, who should drive now? I wanted to say, "Why don't we stop and ask someone for directions?" but kept my mouth shut. He started speeding and nearly ran through a stop sign. The arguing got louder. Amazingly, he neither apologized nor admitted he was at fault at any time. Then it came time to drop me off. I just wanted to get out of there. I asked to be dropped off at a corner near my house, so I could walk a bit. I said it three times, but he insisted on driving me home. Jerk.

September 23, 2001

Not Without My Costco Card

I went to Costco to retrieve my confiscated card. I considered what story I should use to explain how my mother got the card, which I'm not supposed to share.

1. She said she just wanted to look at it, so I handed it to her to look, and then she took off.
2. I was standing in the kitchen, talking to her. I turned around to reach for something. Suddenly everything went black. When I came to, my wallet was on the floor, and the card was gone!
3. It's all my fault. I failed to read the pages of microscopic print where it said I shouldn't share the card with family members when I signed up. I don't deserve to save ten cents on Scope. I'm a bad person.

But it wasn't like that at all. It seemed routine to the people at the service desk. I guess this happens all the time. I was just another casualty in the good War on Costco Card Abuse.

Would I do it again? Without hesitation.

September 28, 2001

Club N

The edict has come down from on high -- spend it or lose it. Part of Nortel Networks employee reward program was "PRIDE" awards that could be redeemed for cash or kept in an account as points. They have to be spent before December 31. I was fortunate enough to get some before the program was put on indefinite hold in January. So, I have 205 points with which to buy corporate-approved stuff, or I can take the equivalent amount in cash (US dollars, before taxes). What do you think I should buy?