Professionalism

Sometimes it frustrates me that I'm expected to stay polite, PC, and respectful in the face of people who are everything but these things. Why do they get to be rude, non-professional, and arrogant, and just keep chugging along in their lives?

I was once like that early on in my career. After a couple of weeks of missed review deadlines, with the final deadline hanging over my head, I walked into the client's office, plunked down my guide for review, and curtly informed him that he had a week to get comments back to me. Did I mention that my client was meeting with another potential client of his at the time?

A couple of hours later, my client (the Prez of the company) knocked at my door. He came in, closed the door behind him, sat down in front of me, and said:

"Hobbes, I know you're a young guy, just starting out in your career, so you're not going to know about these things. I like you, you're a talented writer, but you need to learn how to behave with your clients." And then proceeded to lecture me for about an hour.

He was polite, but firm. I could also see he was really pissed off and I knew I had made a serious error in judgement. However, my employers never heard anything about it, so it was just between me and him.

I'll never forget that day and what he taught me, although when faced with young professionals who treat me the way I treated him, I struggle with crossing that line everytime.

Thanks Don.

Suddenly squeemish

Note: squeemish people beware

It's weird how certain imagery will bother me in one instance and not in another. I usually enjoyed watching the various flavours of CSI and Law & Order, but last night I just could not bear to hear how these people died so horribly in their last moments.

It started with CSI: Miami (just Caruso's acting might make you squeemish enough) with a description of how a woman's ribcage was crushed, puncturing her lungs. I flinched and changed the channel quickly. A bit later, we started watching L&O: Criminal Intent (pre-D'Onofrio starring Chris Noth) and watched with horror an innocent man be bound, gagged, and chained on a tugboat. Then his kidnappers ripped off the gags and threw the chains off the boat, watching expressionlessly as they let the man scream until he disappeared beneath the water. I turned the TV off immediately and went to bed, calling it a night.

But I couldn't sleep. All I could see was the drowning man's terrified face as he watched the heavy chains disappear into the black depths with nary a splash. Over and over, I couldn't help but imagine his last moments as the water pressure squeezed the air from his lungs.

I'm terrified of death and personal suffering and the older I get, the worse it becomes. I've never been a fan of horror movies, but I find myself flinching at violence that I used to be able to shrug off.

Does this mean I'm struggling with my own mortality or the mortality of my loved ones?

Trolls Leave their Bridges

The Internet has the fantastic capacity to unite people. The vast expanses of land, sea, and air fall away only to be replaced by Internet Superhighways, allowing people to connect and build friendships and communities. It's an amazing feat of technology and simple human thirst for connection.

But with all that good, there will always be an element of badness, abuse, and just plain annoying. I am reminded of the early days of the Internet (before the graphical arrival of the World Wide Web) when email and usenet groups formed the first communities. My favourite hang-outs in those days were alt.folklore.ghost-stories and alt.shenanigans. These were the days before there was any Spam on the Internet, so these usenet groups were pretty junk-free. I go back to them occasionally, but they are so overloaded with Spam, it's not worth sorting through all the messages.

And with all those fantastic connections come the Trolls. These people are not interested in positive connections. What they want is to stir emotions, make people angry, and then absorb all the attention that comes with it. At first it was easy to spot these trolls: they wrote all in CAPS and their email addresses ended in AOL.com.

But as the mainstream audience becomes more net-savvy, the Trolls become trickier, sneakier, and harder to spot. They hide behind multiple email aliases, they lurk in elists waiting for the right moment to spout, they create elists of their own so they can say and spout at will and ad nauseum (sometimes their verbiage is only heard by their own mulitiple email aliases).

And somehow, we can't look away. We're facinated by the twisted, the insane, and the rambling. The wwweb is like a window into the mind of a serial psychopath, committing text-based atrocities right on our own screens. We shake our heads in wonder, shake our fists in rage, and reply with a great pounding of our keyboards, hoping that our own textual daggers can pierce through the wall of ignorance our targets have thrown up in all its HTML glory.

I can tell you that it's rarely very satisfying. True Trolls rarely admit they're wrong, no matter how passionately and logically you argue your point. And while these Trolls sleep happily under their bridges, a satisfied smirk on their lips at the chaos they've stirred, you're lying awake at night, formulating your response in harsh whispers, clutching at the sheets as if your mouse has crawled into bed with you.

I once had to muzzle a person on one of my elists because she was infuriating the other members with her trolling ("If you're irresponsible enough to get pregnant, then you don't deserve to keep your job!"). She tried to post to the list after I had gone to bed, and because she had been moderated, her post didn't go through. She tried resending it 12 times and then sent me 22 angry emails on why her post was getting through and who did I think I was to censor her.

After a frustrating day of angry emails back and forth (effectively feeding this Troll), I went to bed and didn't sleep a wink. I was afraid she was a nut, that she'd start calling me, that maybe she'd show up at my door, demanding her Internet rights.

I'm as guilty as anyone when it comes to feeding these Trolls with the attention they so deeply crave, but they really aren't worth the effort. Let the psychologists figure these people out. We must refrain from falling victim to these Trolls who not only feed on our attention, but also our emotions. I know it's hard, but it's best to walk away and not look back.

When I figure out how to do that completely, I'll let you know.

The Sweet Taste of Power

There's been a reshuffle of positions at my client's site that has ended with me taking on more responsibility and more work, which has in turn extended the contract.

With this new position and mandate, I find I'm more motivated and feel better about my contribution to the project. I guess being in charge really suits me better.

In other business-related news, I'm working on a formal business plan with a consultant for my other writing business and I got a call from someone who is interested in me taking pictures of their handfasting (wedding).

If I could balance my worklife between writing, teaching, storytelling, and photography, I believe I'd be more fulfilled. That's important to me and I suspect it's important to you.

Writer's Block of the type of blockWriter block block

I'm documenting a system for my client (I'm a techwriter y'know) and had written up a few definitions for some parts of the application. When I'm defining a term, I try not to use the term itself in the definition. If you know what that term meant, then you wouldn't be looking it up right?

I sent the definitions out for review and I just got them back. I had to laugh when one of the definitions I wrote was scribbled out and, in its place, was written something like the following (I changed the actual terms to protect the inept):

RedBlockType:
RedBlockType is a block type declaration that defines a block of type “redblocktype”.

Note: the more you read it aloud, the dizzier you get. It helps if you spin your chair in place while you giggle non-sensically, waving your hands.

The funny (tragic?) thing is that programmers really think their writing is clear, concise, and a joy to read. And if you can't understand it, then you're just not smart enough to get it.

Postcards of the World: Lick!

I was listening to the CBC during my errands and I heard an interview with Mr. Risley, a Grade 6 teacher in California. He just started a project with his class that he hopes will open their minds and understanding on the different peoples of the world.

But his project depends upon those people of the world. He needs folks to send his students postcards from the edge of the earth that they are from. I'll be trying to find a unique postcard to send him, but if you're interested, here's his note:

Hi. My name is Jason. I teach 6th grade (11-12 year olds) in Perris, California. I am trying to improve my students' view of the world and increase their knowledge of geography. I am asking friends, acquaintances and even strangers to send an appropriate postcard to my class at:
Mr. Risley's Class
c/o "A" Street Elementary School
755 North "A" St.
Perris, CA 92570
USA

Please tell us: Your name, where your from, what you do for work and the subject of the picture on your postcard.

I would really appreciate any help in this. Your kindness will be VERY appreciated. :)

BTW, I really did hear the interview today on the CBC. This isn't some Internet mailing hoax that travels from Inbox to Inbox. And if you send him a postcard because you read this blog, could you mention the blog (shameless plug)?

Ig'nance of non-tea drinkers

I'm a tea guy; I've never gotten into the whole coffee-culture thing, although Ms.Carotte has gotten me addicted to Ice Cappacinos (which is the first step down a slippery slope, I realize).

But Tim's has decided to go after us, the utapped Tea Market and offer steeped tea, which to tea drinkers, is infinitely better than dropping a poor, unsuspecting tea bag into a boiling, screaming death pit. Kinda like sticking a live lobster tail first into a vat of boiling water: the agonizing death just does something nasty to the overall culinary experience.

But not all Tim's understand this. I went to a Tim's on St. Jacques and rolled up to the mechanical Tim attendant and said "I'll have a steeped tea, please."

"A what?" the speaker garbled.

"Tea. Steeped Tea, please," I replied.

There was a pause. "We only have regular tea sir," she replied.

"Steeped tea is regular tea! It's just been steeped!"

"What?"

"Do you have any prepared tea? Instead of just the hot water and tea bag?"

Another pause. "I'm sorry sir, we only have Earl Grey or Orange Pekoe."

Fine. I took what they had to offer, but the person I dealt with was obviously not a tea drinker. Apparently, Tim's will have to send their employees on a 6-week Tea Orientation course to understand the subtlties of tea drinking.

I have a Question

I heard with some relief that the gas prices were coming down off the Island of Montreal. It's dropping from 1.39 ot 1.15. Still outrageous though.

My question is this though: since we get most of our gas and oil from Alaska, Alberta, and Saudi Arabia, why is the devastation in New Orleans doubling the cost of our gas? Am I over-simplifying the situation?

This would be the equivalent of a couple of farms burning down in Saskatchewan and having bread shoot up to $5 a loaf.

Something capitalistic is afoot.

Superman is such a Jerk

I had no idea that Superman could be such a jerk. Thanks be to Tal for opening my eyes.

In a related vein, I finally went to visit the comic book guy at Komico (on Queen Mary) after a 3.5 month absence. My bin was overflowing and I wince when I think of the damage.

My comic book hobby costs me about $18 per week (on average). I'm already thinking of dropping few titles (like Ultimate Spider-man, the new Green Lantern, Legion of Super-heroes, Batgirl, and one of the X-men titles). The ones I'm still definitely keeping are Robin, Usagi Yojimbo, Teen Titans, Birds of Prey, JSA, X-men (?), Nightwing, and Ultimate Fantastic Four.

Good thing I don't smoke and snort cocaine from the belly buttons of young children. I'd never make ends meet.

Good Ideas and Cold Feet

Why is it that when we get a good idea, that we know will work, that we know will be profitable, that we know will allow us to succeed, it takes every ounce of strength to put it into motion?

I've decided that I just need to push this idea ahead, put myself knee-deep into it, and then deal with what it means. I know this will work and I'm fairly sure I'll enjoy it, but I'm so afraid of committing myself to it.

Maybe the fear comes from this certainty I have about my idea. What if I'm so sure that my idea will work and then it fails. What does that say about me?

Then again, maybe I should stop whining, take it by the horns, and see where the wild ride takes me. Last year, I was whining about my book never being published and now I'm a published storyteller.

This is me jumping in feet first, eyes open, and chucking the life vest.