Now that I've shaken the chaos out of the two programs I was given, they are rolling along quite nicely. The schedules I cobbled together 4 months ago are exactly predicting the progress I am making. It's like I know what I am doing. I've got a plan and the plan is solid. Even my budget guesses are accurate. Damn! If it were someone else, I'd be impressed, but I know how I came up with the numbers... so I'm less impressed as I am amazed. Here's an example. I have to run a routine test on the seals. I shrug my shoulders and say, eh, that should take 3 days. Then I add my nuclear industry time factor, and it comes out to 3 weeks. And sure enough, it takes 3 weeks. Guessing costs is similar. That test should cost $300, multiply by my nuclear industry cost factor, and I predict $3000. Yup, that's what they quote. Oh, and I know not to use any factor when my lead design engineer has anything to do with something. He overcomes the industry quicksand and does it in the time that a normal person could do it without the shackles of the industry. He's the best.
I sure do have to give a lot of presentations, though. I wish I could just record myself giving a briefing and send a tape to any and all who request an update. It's not that I don't like giving presentations, if only it didn't take away from making progress. Well, wait, if I recorded my presentations, that would allow me to make progress and then the briefing would quickly become outdated because I would make significant progress. Well, damn, that wouldn't work.
Besides the miracle-working lead design engineer, another bright spot in my work has been the freeing of the seal expert from the field. It is off-season for the field folks. I've become involved in several issues that the seal expert is involved in and presumably have been additive to his efforts. I return, he's been very additive to my efforts. I learn heap loads from him just talking to him for 30 minutes. It used to be hard to come by, those 30 minutes, but now, if I tried, I could get one or two a day! Pretty soon I'm going to be smart! Watch out!
What's weird is, with schedules that are actually predicting reality, it is becoming eerie to see that these projects have a finite end. They have been, shall we say, "evergreen" since inception 5-6 years ago. Always an end in sight and never reaching it. Now I'm sneaking up on those ends. It's new territory! Eep!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Slavin' Sarah
Poor Sarah. Stuck with a tireless slavemaster coming up with exhausting and weird tasks (go up the hill and dig up as many bricks in the woods around the shed and bring them down to line this walk-way... and I mean dig, excavate... and the hill is steep enough to at least a blue ski trail... and there were dozens of these bricks... dozens and dozens). Either that, or I would go to work and leave her home by her self with a LONG list of things to do while I was gone. Most days the word "mulch" was involved. Day after day. Her only sane contact with the world was her never-out-of-reach text-messaging cell-phone (swear to God, she texted while we watched the movie "Momma Mia!" in the movie theater).
Although she averaged going to the city every other day while she was here, recall she went every day while her momma was visiting. So, we only went 4 more times for the next 10 days. All other days she worked from the moment she woke until after sunset (the sun sets around 9 PM 'round these parts). And her only companion was a slightly twisted aunt who kept saying weird words in Japanese and often danced around worse than Elaine from "Seinfeld." I don't know how she did it. Her brother broke down crying after a couple of days when he was younger.
The two remaining shows just got better and better the further we got away from that lame "Mame." "Smokey Joe's Cafe" started badly and by intermission it was enjoyable. The second half was great. The following weeks "Annie Get Your Gun" started off a wee bit hokey, but 20 minutes into it the show just rocketed into orbit. It rivaled "Wicked" on Broadway. It was spectacular! I can't rave enough.
"Annie Get Your Gun" was the 5th show of the 6-show series. After every show I tried to get home from the parking garage without getting lost. Keep in mind the GPS does not work in downtown Pitt, plus many of the roads are closed for construction. EVERY night until "Annie..." I ended up headed to the airport (opposite direction from my house, and wrong interstate altogether). On the ride to "Mame" I told Sarah I was yet to be successful navigating home from a show; that I always ended up headed to the airport. Sure enough, before we knew it we were on the bridge and under the tunnel headed to the airport. Sarah was cracking up hard. It only made it funnier that the GPS told us to take exit ramps that were closed and roads that were one-way. After "Smokey Joe's" although we practiced with the GPS before it lost its signal and studied the map, we got tricked and ended up on the bridge and under that tunnel. Sarah was howling. The GPS told us similarly poor directions, we ignored them (insulting the GPS as we did) and followed the trail we took the evening before. We finally were triumphant with "Annie..." only to be stuck in traffic, at 11 PM, at the tunnel that leads to my house. At least when we get lost we don't get stuck in that traffic.
Besides shows and dragging bricks and slinging mulch, some of my more favorite things we did was go to The Mattress Factory. It is an art museum for up and comers. Really ground-breaking stuff. I had low expectations, but saw some of the best displays (not really art) I've ever seen. I hope they have new stuff come in there often; I'd love to go back and see the same caliber stuff.
The other thing that was a hoot was having poor Sarah cut pavers for my back stoop/porch. I was the brains (who hurt her back) and she was the labor. I have a wet saw. It's an OK wet saw, but it is designed to cut tile. We had to cut the paver on one side and flip it over to cut through it. Well, my wet saw is designed to lubricate the blade with water it picks up from the bottom of the tray. Things are kept tidy with the blade shroud; the blade flings the water and the shroud covers the blade and redirects the water downward. The thing is, the pavers were too tall to allow the shroud to be used properly. So, I'm chuckling as I type, Sarah would sit in front of this saw and push the paver into the blade. The blade, without the shroud to take its glory, flings out a spectacular rooster tail of water that squarely hits Sarah in the face. There is no avoiding it. She must sit there, and the blade must fling. She had about 20 pavers to cut. At first the water was clean. Each successive paver introduced more and more sand to make mud in the water. After the first cut I offered Sarah a diaper and goggles. The diaper was a plastic bag to put around her waste. The goggles were those green chemistry lab goggles from college. When ever she started the blade, that enormous rooster tail would smack her in the face, and she had to sit there and take it. I had to look away because it made me laugh so hard (luckily the saw was loud enough that she couldn't hear me). She hated it. She would taunt me and tell me I better be paying her $100/hour for this! Then we ran into some trouble. I gave her 4 pavers and told her to cut them all the same way and showed her how. Four pavers means 8 cuts. Eight cuts means 8 rooster tails. After she finished she brought them over to me... and I realized that I told her to cut the wrong end off. She thought she was finished, only to learn she had 8 more cuts, 8 more much more difficult cuts. The sun had long since gone down. She wanted to kill me... but she's the one that didn't want to follow along with me as I explained what and why I was cutting each paver. She would have realized the problem after the first paver... but I guess being covered in mud and having to wipe your goggles after ever cut just to get a hint of a view could be enough to keep her mind occupied (the incessant wiping also had me laughing... with no saw to muffle the sounds... I got quite a many, "Oh shut up, you," from my dear niece. In the end I told her I was very nice to her not to have taken any photos, and now that the sun was down she was in no danger of me sneaking some shots. She was all for me getting the camera and turning on the flash to take photos. I regret not being able to capture that rooster tail. Oh that rooster tail can get me to giggling in an instant!
Although she averaged going to the city every other day while she was here, recall she went every day while her momma was visiting. So, we only went 4 more times for the next 10 days. All other days she worked from the moment she woke until after sunset (the sun sets around 9 PM 'round these parts). And her only companion was a slightly twisted aunt who kept saying weird words in Japanese and often danced around worse than Elaine from "Seinfeld." I don't know how she did it. Her brother broke down crying after a couple of days when he was younger.
The two remaining shows just got better and better the further we got away from that lame "Mame." "Smokey Joe's Cafe" started badly and by intermission it was enjoyable. The second half was great. The following weeks "Annie Get Your Gun" started off a wee bit hokey, but 20 minutes into it the show just rocketed into orbit. It rivaled "Wicked" on Broadway. It was spectacular! I can't rave enough.
"Annie Get Your Gun" was the 5th show of the 6-show series. After every show I tried to get home from the parking garage without getting lost. Keep in mind the GPS does not work in downtown Pitt, plus many of the roads are closed for construction. EVERY night until "Annie..." I ended up headed to the airport (opposite direction from my house, and wrong interstate altogether). On the ride to "Mame" I told Sarah I was yet to be successful navigating home from a show; that I always ended up headed to the airport. Sure enough, before we knew it we were on the bridge and under the tunnel headed to the airport. Sarah was cracking up hard. It only made it funnier that the GPS told us to take exit ramps that were closed and roads that were one-way. After "Smokey Joe's" although we practiced with the GPS before it lost its signal and studied the map, we got tricked and ended up on the bridge and under that tunnel. Sarah was howling. The GPS told us similarly poor directions, we ignored them (insulting the GPS as we did) and followed the trail we took the evening before. We finally were triumphant with "Annie..." only to be stuck in traffic, at 11 PM, at the tunnel that leads to my house. At least when we get lost we don't get stuck in that traffic.
Besides shows and dragging bricks and slinging mulch, some of my more favorite things we did was go to The Mattress Factory. It is an art museum for up and comers. Really ground-breaking stuff. I had low expectations, but saw some of the best displays (not really art) I've ever seen. I hope they have new stuff come in there often; I'd love to go back and see the same caliber stuff.
The other thing that was a hoot was having poor Sarah cut pavers for my back stoop/porch. I was the brains (who hurt her back) and she was the labor. I have a wet saw. It's an OK wet saw, but it is designed to cut tile. We had to cut the paver on one side and flip it over to cut through it. Well, my wet saw is designed to lubricate the blade with water it picks up from the bottom of the tray. Things are kept tidy with the blade shroud; the blade flings the water and the shroud covers the blade and redirects the water downward. The thing is, the pavers were too tall to allow the shroud to be used properly. So, I'm chuckling as I type, Sarah would sit in front of this saw and push the paver into the blade. The blade, without the shroud to take its glory, flings out a spectacular rooster tail of water that squarely hits Sarah in the face. There is no avoiding it. She must sit there, and the blade must fling. She had about 20 pavers to cut. At first the water was clean. Each successive paver introduced more and more sand to make mud in the water. After the first cut I offered Sarah a diaper and goggles. The diaper was a plastic bag to put around her waste. The goggles were those green chemistry lab goggles from college. When ever she started the blade, that enormous rooster tail would smack her in the face, and she had to sit there and take it. I had to look away because it made me laugh so hard (luckily the saw was loud enough that she couldn't hear me). She hated it. She would taunt me and tell me I better be paying her $100/hour for this! Then we ran into some trouble. I gave her 4 pavers and told her to cut them all the same way and showed her how. Four pavers means 8 cuts. Eight cuts means 8 rooster tails. After she finished she brought them over to me... and I realized that I told her to cut the wrong end off. She thought she was finished, only to learn she had 8 more cuts, 8 more much more difficult cuts. The sun had long since gone down. She wanted to kill me... but she's the one that didn't want to follow along with me as I explained what and why I was cutting each paver. She would have realized the problem after the first paver... but I guess being covered in mud and having to wipe your goggles after ever cut just to get a hint of a view could be enough to keep her mind occupied (the incessant wiping also had me laughing... with no saw to muffle the sounds... I got quite a many, "Oh shut up, you," from my dear niece. In the end I told her I was very nice to her not to have taken any photos, and now that the sun was down she was in no danger of me sneaking some shots. She was all for me getting the camera and turning on the flash to take photos. I regret not being able to capture that rooster tail. Oh that rooster tail can get me to giggling in an instant!
Mert and Sarah Visit
Sarah just left. I invited her here for the 15-day stretch where I had 3 musicals to go to. It was her graduation gift... I'm the best aunt ever.
Mert, her mom (my bone-marrow matcher) came up with her for the first 5 days. Neither one of them had ever visited Pittsburgh before. Mert visited me when I first bought my house, but she was helping get me settled in and we didn't venture into the city. This was the inaugural visit. I hadn't done much in Pittsburgh in the year I'd been here either, so we were all going on the same expedition.
Well, the visit didn't start off well. My air-conditioner died a few days before their arrival and hadn't been replaced yet. We all had to huddle down in the basement where I had my handy portable A/C I bought the last time the central A/C failed. They slept on the pull-out couch; I resumed my position on the basement floor... where I spent my first 4 months in this house. Luckily the repairmen were coming the next day to REPLACE both the A/C and the furnace... thanks to my home warranty (which only has one month left!).
The night they arrived I got caught at work and they had to enter my house without me. Mert had seen the house when I first bought it, but that was almost a year's worth of improvements ago. I called her just as she entered my kitchen. She squealed with delight. "Judy! It's gorgeous! You are so lucky!!!" "You like it?" "I LOVE it!" What timing.
I arrived home just in time to change clothes and head into the city to see our first musical. It was "Mame," one of the classics. I know every song. Unfortunately, this production was a dud. I HATED it. I think the lead was drunk. It was just horrible; very choppy. Sarah liked it, until I was railing on it and accusing the lady of liquoring it up. Sarah then recognized the flaws and agreed it wasn't so good. I just hated it. It's such a good show, and they flubbed it. Strike one.
On the drive to the Pitt I was telling Sarah about the 'burgh and its people. I told her about "the Pittsburgh left." It's when opposing traffic allows the first car wanting to turn left in front of them, to turn left before they proceed through the left. It is ASSUMED you are going to let the opposing car go... it can get messy when an out-of-towner doesn't know the rules. Sarah was incredulous. She got to witness about 4 of them that night, of all different flavors. My favorite was the ESP Pittsburgh left. That's when the opposing car forgets to turn his left turn signal on and when the light turns green, he turns his blinker on... and tries to go. I was the poor sap who was opposing him who wanted to go straight. Sarah squealed. It was exciting on many levels. Then, in the middle of downtown, a guy in front of me decides to do a u-turn in the middle of the road... 100 yards from the next traffic light... just out of the blue. He held up traffic as he did his 3-point turn. I pointed out to Sarah that not one of the many people he was holding up in BOTH directions honked a horn. It is expected of us to smile and patiently wait for his world to settle down, before we go on our way. Sarah wanted to honk, and she wasn't even driving. She insisted, though, that she hadn't seen a Pittsburgh left yet (the ESP one failed, because I didn't see his blinker until after the light turned green and I went). As we walked around the city Sarah was darting her eyes looking for a Pittsburgh left. She was getting frustrated that no one was turning.
As we walked I told her to notice that everyone on the street, in the big city, will make eye contact with her AND likely either smile or say "hi" ... or both. She didn't believe me. The first guy we encountered after I told her that did both. Sarah was cracking up.
We entered the theater, and she loved it. What's not to love about the Benedum? Then the stinky musical. On the street we crossed to get back to the parking garage after the show, a classic Pittsburgh left took place... right in front of us as we stood there; we were nearly hit by the turning car. I looked at her and smiled. She looked confused. I asked, "Didn't you see it?" "What?" "The Pittsburgh left, right in front of us." "Oh man! I was looking the other way! That's not fair." No worries, before we returned home she saw one... and many more before the 2 weeks were up.
While Mert was still with us we went to the city every night. The next night I had to go to Japanese class. Traffic was yucky going into the city. That could only mean one thing, the Pirates were having a game. I told them how great the stadium was. They decided to see the game while I went to class up the hill from the stadium. Bad luck. It was the night the Yankees were back in town to make up for the rained out game ... the game was sold out. The only time it will be sold out for the rest of the season, and that's the night my visitors want to go. Ah, they had fun checking out the city anyway.
The next day we went up Mount Washington hoping to ride one of the inclines at sunset (USA Today rated it the 2nd best urban scenery in the country). We got there at sunset. It was magnificent. Then we heard there were going to be fireworks at the Pirates game ... in the stadium we were overlooking. We got the see the city all lit up from Mt Washington, then saw it sparkle with the fireworks. Great timing. I had no idea I was bringing them on the best night. They loved it.
Then we did something so Pittsburgian. We were Ohio-nice. While we were on Mount Washington and walking along Grandview Ave (appropriately named), we saw a cell phone on a park bench. I saw it and walked by it... so the person who lost it could come by and find it. Mert decided to take it and figure out a way to get it to the owner (she's lost a few phones and would have loved if someone did that for her). Sarah and I took it upon ourselves to figure out how to contact the guy. We searched his contacts for "home" and "mom" and such, but nothing. We decided to text the last two people he called that day. Within an hour the dude we texted called us and told us the phone belonged to his boss. He said he himself was 100 miles away, otherwise he'd come get the phone for his boss. Instead, he tried all he could to contact the boss, and failed. So he called us back and told us to leave it at his boss's office/home... it was only 15 miles away. We decided to make it an adventure... being Ohio-nice. Fifteen miles should take, what, 20 minutes, unless, say, the Pirates game just let out. Woof. We eventually find the place (thanks to GPS) and Sarah and I head up the back alley up the creaking steps in the dark. We were going to leave it on the porch, but we saw someone in the window, so we knocked. We didn't realize it was nearly 11 PM... oops. Turned out it was the phone's owner... who was naked, and hid behind the door as we handed him the phone he didn't realize he lost. That memory will live on, let me tell you.
The next day we headed into the city to check out the University of Pittsburgh's Cathedral of Learning. It has 20+ classrooms decorated by different foreign countries in their native traditional decor. VERY cool. Highly recommended. Then we drove around and saw some fancy houses and drove by the famous parks. Then Mert decided to take us to a famous cemetery prized for its beauty. Turns out they were having a Stephen Foster festival (he's buried there). It was very strange, with horrible sungs being sung, and expensive gourmet cupcakes for sale, and horse-drawn carriage rides to tour the acres and acres of dead. Strange but cool. It helped that it was a beautiful day. Finally we headed to the Strip District (not named for its strippers), but it was closing time. So I took them to the place that never closes in the Strip, Primanti Brother's. That's the place famous for putting french fries and coleslaw on all their sandwiches... a Pittsburgh tradition. Perfect.
We also went to the Big Mac Museum (down the street from my house). Pittsburgh is where the Big Mac was invented (OK, Uniontown, but let's call it Pittsburgh... the museum is in Irwin, though). We also checked out downtown Greensburg, the county seat... and checked out all its Victorian houses -- very unexpected (we were just lost driving around with our mouth agape).
Sunday we did some shopping and then before Mert headed off home, I wrangled her to help me and Sarah take a 14' x 12' Karastan wool rug up from the basement all the way up the winding staircase to my bedroom. It was like dragging a dead horse. It took forever. Belts snapped, Sarah was slammed around a few times, a trail of shredded paper and bits of padding were left behind. Luckily we didn't have to drag any real dead bodies as a result of dragging this carpet. Woo!
That was Sarah's first taste of the chores I was going to pay her to do while she was visiting (to make up for the wages she would be losing by visiting me and not going to work). The chores didn't necessarily get better...
Mert, her mom (my bone-marrow matcher) came up with her for the first 5 days. Neither one of them had ever visited Pittsburgh before. Mert visited me when I first bought my house, but she was helping get me settled in and we didn't venture into the city. This was the inaugural visit. I hadn't done much in Pittsburgh in the year I'd been here either, so we were all going on the same expedition.
Well, the visit didn't start off well. My air-conditioner died a few days before their arrival and hadn't been replaced yet. We all had to huddle down in the basement where I had my handy portable A/C I bought the last time the central A/C failed. They slept on the pull-out couch; I resumed my position on the basement floor... where I spent my first 4 months in this house. Luckily the repairmen were coming the next day to REPLACE both the A/C and the furnace... thanks to my home warranty (which only has one month left!).
The night they arrived I got caught at work and they had to enter my house without me. Mert had seen the house when I first bought it, but that was almost a year's worth of improvements ago. I called her just as she entered my kitchen. She squealed with delight. "Judy! It's gorgeous! You are so lucky!!!" "You like it?" "I LOVE it!" What timing.
I arrived home just in time to change clothes and head into the city to see our first musical. It was "Mame," one of the classics. I know every song. Unfortunately, this production was a dud. I HATED it. I think the lead was drunk. It was just horrible; very choppy. Sarah liked it, until I was railing on it and accusing the lady of liquoring it up. Sarah then recognized the flaws and agreed it wasn't so good. I just hated it. It's such a good show, and they flubbed it. Strike one.
On the drive to the Pitt I was telling Sarah about the 'burgh and its people. I told her about "the Pittsburgh left." It's when opposing traffic allows the first car wanting to turn left in front of them, to turn left before they proceed through the left. It is ASSUMED you are going to let the opposing car go... it can get messy when an out-of-towner doesn't know the rules. Sarah was incredulous. She got to witness about 4 of them that night, of all different flavors. My favorite was the ESP Pittsburgh left. That's when the opposing car forgets to turn his left turn signal on and when the light turns green, he turns his blinker on... and tries to go. I was the poor sap who was opposing him who wanted to go straight. Sarah squealed. It was exciting on many levels. Then, in the middle of downtown, a guy in front of me decides to do a u-turn in the middle of the road... 100 yards from the next traffic light... just out of the blue. He held up traffic as he did his 3-point turn. I pointed out to Sarah that not one of the many people he was holding up in BOTH directions honked a horn. It is expected of us to smile and patiently wait for his world to settle down, before we go on our way. Sarah wanted to honk, and she wasn't even driving. She insisted, though, that she hadn't seen a Pittsburgh left yet (the ESP one failed, because I didn't see his blinker until after the light turned green and I went). As we walked around the city Sarah was darting her eyes looking for a Pittsburgh left. She was getting frustrated that no one was turning.
As we walked I told her to notice that everyone on the street, in the big city, will make eye contact with her AND likely either smile or say "hi" ... or both. She didn't believe me. The first guy we encountered after I told her that did both. Sarah was cracking up.
We entered the theater, and she loved it. What's not to love about the Benedum? Then the stinky musical. On the street we crossed to get back to the parking garage after the show, a classic Pittsburgh left took place... right in front of us as we stood there; we were nearly hit by the turning car. I looked at her and smiled. She looked confused. I asked, "Didn't you see it?" "What?" "The Pittsburgh left, right in front of us." "Oh man! I was looking the other way! That's not fair." No worries, before we returned home she saw one... and many more before the 2 weeks were up.
While Mert was still with us we went to the city every night. The next night I had to go to Japanese class. Traffic was yucky going into the city. That could only mean one thing, the Pirates were having a game. I told them how great the stadium was. They decided to see the game while I went to class up the hill from the stadium. Bad luck. It was the night the Yankees were back in town to make up for the rained out game ... the game was sold out. The only time it will be sold out for the rest of the season, and that's the night my visitors want to go. Ah, they had fun checking out the city anyway.
The next day we went up Mount Washington hoping to ride one of the inclines at sunset (USA Today rated it the 2nd best urban scenery in the country). We got there at sunset. It was magnificent. Then we heard there were going to be fireworks at the Pirates game ... in the stadium we were overlooking. We got the see the city all lit up from Mt Washington, then saw it sparkle with the fireworks. Great timing. I had no idea I was bringing them on the best night. They loved it.
Then we did something so Pittsburgian. We were Ohio-nice. While we were on Mount Washington and walking along Grandview Ave (appropriately named), we saw a cell phone on a park bench. I saw it and walked by it... so the person who lost it could come by and find it. Mert decided to take it and figure out a way to get it to the owner (she's lost a few phones and would have loved if someone did that for her). Sarah and I took it upon ourselves to figure out how to contact the guy. We searched his contacts for "home" and "mom" and such, but nothing. We decided to text the last two people he called that day. Within an hour the dude we texted called us and told us the phone belonged to his boss. He said he himself was 100 miles away, otherwise he'd come get the phone for his boss. Instead, he tried all he could to contact the boss, and failed. So he called us back and told us to leave it at his boss's office/home... it was only 15 miles away. We decided to make it an adventure... being Ohio-nice. Fifteen miles should take, what, 20 minutes, unless, say, the Pirates game just let out. Woof. We eventually find the place (thanks to GPS) and Sarah and I head up the back alley up the creaking steps in the dark. We were going to leave it on the porch, but we saw someone in the window, so we knocked. We didn't realize it was nearly 11 PM... oops. Turned out it was the phone's owner... who was naked, and hid behind the door as we handed him the phone he didn't realize he lost. That memory will live on, let me tell you.
The next day we headed into the city to check out the University of Pittsburgh's Cathedral of Learning. It has 20+ classrooms decorated by different foreign countries in their native traditional decor. VERY cool. Highly recommended. Then we drove around and saw some fancy houses and drove by the famous parks. Then Mert decided to take us to a famous cemetery prized for its beauty. Turns out they were having a Stephen Foster festival (he's buried there). It was very strange, with horrible sungs being sung, and expensive gourmet cupcakes for sale, and horse-drawn carriage rides to tour the acres and acres of dead. Strange but cool. It helped that it was a beautiful day. Finally we headed to the Strip District (not named for its strippers), but it was closing time. So I took them to the place that never closes in the Strip, Primanti Brother's. That's the place famous for putting french fries and coleslaw on all their sandwiches... a Pittsburgh tradition. Perfect.
We also went to the Big Mac Museum (down the street from my house). Pittsburgh is where the Big Mac was invented (OK, Uniontown, but let's call it Pittsburgh... the museum is in Irwin, though). We also checked out downtown Greensburg, the county seat... and checked out all its Victorian houses -- very unexpected (we were just lost driving around with our mouth agape).
Sunday we did some shopping and then before Mert headed off home, I wrangled her to help me and Sarah take a 14' x 12' Karastan wool rug up from the basement all the way up the winding staircase to my bedroom. It was like dragging a dead horse. It took forever. Belts snapped, Sarah was slammed around a few times, a trail of shredded paper and bits of padding were left behind. Luckily we didn't have to drag any real dead bodies as a result of dragging this carpet. Woo!
That was Sarah's first taste of the chores I was going to pay her to do while she was visiting (to make up for the wages she would be losing by visiting me and not going to work). The chores didn't necessarily get better...
That Wind-blown Look
Went to the hair-dresser yesterday. I had just come from being denied entry into the DMV (closed on Mondays). I went there to get my new license, so I had spent some time getting my hair to look acceptable for the photo. It required a lot of hair product... I had wished I had a haircut. Now that the DMV was closed, I got my chance.
It was a great weather day. I had my car windows open on the drive from the DMV to the beauty salon. I hadn't realized it, but the wind whipped my hair around, and the product held it in its final position as I exited the car.
I went into the salon and as we walked back to the shampooing station, the beautician asked me how I wanted my hair cut. I said, "the same as it is now, but shorter." As I reached the sinks, I looked at the mirror behind them and saw the frightful sight of my hair. I realized I just told the lady I wanted the same look. I quickly tried to make some corrections to the wayward doo; I thought, surely she knows I want it to look NORMAL, not like the 5th Beatle... she didn't.
She started to cut my hair and all seemed well. She cut like a normal person cutting a normal haircut. The only thing was, when she asked me if I liked the length and I said yes, she was done. No styling. No part. No feathering it back. Just a mop head. I was concerned. She played with it, plumping it up, and I got more concerned. She thinks she's done.
Then she scooped up some wax and started to apply it. Ah, good, she's going to style it now. But, uh, she used the wax to force my hair into the "just came in from a hurricane" look. I had to fight from laughing. I knew she had cut it so I could style it normally when I got home, so I didn't need to explain to her. Then she blow-dried it. I looked like a clown, but without the bright orange color hair... just a mangy brown mop.
I got home and played with my hair a little, but the wax was cement-like. I shrugged it off and found something else to amuse me.
The next morning I showered and tried to fix my doo. Uh-ooh. I was wrong. She didn't cut it so I could style it. It was a permanent mop! I gelled, I waxed, I spritzed. No go. Just made it worse. And guess where I was off to? The damn DMV. My photo is one that could sell on a silly postcard or greeting card with captions like "Remember those bowl cuts Mamma used to give you?" and "Send in the clowns."
Ugh.
It was a great weather day. I had my car windows open on the drive from the DMV to the beauty salon. I hadn't realized it, but the wind whipped my hair around, and the product held it in its final position as I exited the car.
I went into the salon and as we walked back to the shampooing station, the beautician asked me how I wanted my hair cut. I said, "the same as it is now, but shorter." As I reached the sinks, I looked at the mirror behind them and saw the frightful sight of my hair. I realized I just told the lady I wanted the same look. I quickly tried to make some corrections to the wayward doo; I thought, surely she knows I want it to look NORMAL, not like the 5th Beatle... she didn't.
She started to cut my hair and all seemed well. She cut like a normal person cutting a normal haircut. The only thing was, when she asked me if I liked the length and I said yes, she was done. No styling. No part. No feathering it back. Just a mop head. I was concerned. She played with it, plumping it up, and I got more concerned. She thinks she's done.
Then she scooped up some wax and started to apply it. Ah, good, she's going to style it now. But, uh, she used the wax to force my hair into the "just came in from a hurricane" look. I had to fight from laughing. I knew she had cut it so I could style it normally when I got home, so I didn't need to explain to her. Then she blow-dried it. I looked like a clown, but without the bright orange color hair... just a mangy brown mop.
I got home and played with my hair a little, but the wax was cement-like. I shrugged it off and found something else to amuse me.
The next morning I showered and tried to fix my doo. Uh-ooh. I was wrong. She didn't cut it so I could style it. It was a permanent mop! I gelled, I waxed, I spritzed. No go. Just made it worse. And guess where I was off to? The damn DMV. My photo is one that could sell on a silly postcard or greeting card with captions like "Remember those bowl cuts Mamma used to give you?" and "Send in the clowns."
Ugh.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Best Game EVER!
It's been 48 years since the Yankees came to Pittsburgh to play the Pirates. The last time was when the Pirates whooped their butts in the last game of the World Series way back in the sixties before "groovey" was hip to say.
Westinghouse was hosting all the owners of our Reactor Coolant Pumps and little Judy had to go out on the town with them to show them a good time. We got a luxury bus (sounds weird, "bus" and "luxury," but it was limousine-like with a well-stocked wet bar and leather seats that faces the aisle so we all faced each other with mood-lighting, full-stereo and TV) and headed to the city for the game.
It was a GORGEOUS day. Perfect weather. Perfect. The stadium is lauded as the most beautiful in the major leagues. The stadium is situated so you have a clear, full view of the city across the river. The sun was hitting the skyscrapers and its bright yellow suspension bridge creating a scene as if conjured up by the Chamber of Commerce.
Pittsburgh Pirates are a lousy team. They usually fill 14,000 seats for home games ... in a city whacko for sports. This night the Yankees were in town. The leagues most winning team of all time. The highest paid players of all time. The rock stars. They sold out the stadium... over 40,000. And Westinghouse had primo corporate seating in the lounge area... with all-you-can eat and drink passes.
So it was the rock stars versus the "lucky to be out of the minor leagues" boys. First inning, the Yankees seem nervous. The Pirates hold them at bay, and end up scoring 2 against them! The Pirates are winning!!! The extra 30,000 fans were Yankee fans. They were stunned. The Pittsburghers were giddy.
You know what? Those Pirates were the luckiest little buggers I've ever seen. Their pitcher was the most pathetic I've ever seen. Walking dudes every chance he had. Filling the bases... and squeaking the third out before one of those "real" baseball players could make it home.
The Yankees were just as unlucky as the Pirates were lucky. Home runs were just squeaking over the fence. Balls were being dropped and turning into doubles and triples for the Pirates. The Pirates kept scoring and scoring. The crowd was like a kid high on sugar... we were dizzy with disbelief. The Yankees never had a chance to swagger. The Pirates were proving good guys don't always finish last.
The Pirates ended up scoring double digits over the Yankees. Every inning but 2, they scored. When they had scored 7, I started chanting "Double digits! Double digits!" By golly, they did it. The final score was 12-5... and the Pirates gave them the last 2 runs in the last inning with 2 outs. It was a blow-out.
It is one of the highlights since my move to Pittsburgh. Just perfect. And the pirogi races (Mrs. T sponsored)? It put the mid-west flair cherry on top. It was like Orwigsburg... so corny.
(I'm sure glad I didn't go the next night when the Yanks had their revenge with a 10-0 win!).
Westinghouse was hosting all the owners of our Reactor Coolant Pumps and little Judy had to go out on the town with them to show them a good time. We got a luxury bus (sounds weird, "bus" and "luxury," but it was limousine-like with a well-stocked wet bar and leather seats that faces the aisle so we all faced each other with mood-lighting, full-stereo and TV) and headed to the city for the game.
It was a GORGEOUS day. Perfect weather. Perfect. The stadium is lauded as the most beautiful in the major leagues. The stadium is situated so you have a clear, full view of the city across the river. The sun was hitting the skyscrapers and its bright yellow suspension bridge creating a scene as if conjured up by the Chamber of Commerce.
Pittsburgh Pirates are a lousy team. They usually fill 14,000 seats for home games ... in a city whacko for sports. This night the Yankees were in town. The leagues most winning team of all time. The highest paid players of all time. The rock stars. They sold out the stadium... over 40,000. And Westinghouse had primo corporate seating in the lounge area... with all-you-can eat and drink passes.
So it was the rock stars versus the "lucky to be out of the minor leagues" boys. First inning, the Yankees seem nervous. The Pirates hold them at bay, and end up scoring 2 against them! The Pirates are winning!!! The extra 30,000 fans were Yankee fans. They were stunned. The Pittsburghers were giddy.
You know what? Those Pirates were the luckiest little buggers I've ever seen. Their pitcher was the most pathetic I've ever seen. Walking dudes every chance he had. Filling the bases... and squeaking the third out before one of those "real" baseball players could make it home.
The Yankees were just as unlucky as the Pirates were lucky. Home runs were just squeaking over the fence. Balls were being dropped and turning into doubles and triples for the Pirates. The Pirates kept scoring and scoring. The crowd was like a kid high on sugar... we were dizzy with disbelief. The Yankees never had a chance to swagger. The Pirates were proving good guys don't always finish last.
The Pirates ended up scoring double digits over the Yankees. Every inning but 2, they scored. When they had scored 7, I started chanting "Double digits! Double digits!" By golly, they did it. The final score was 12-5... and the Pirates gave them the last 2 runs in the last inning with 2 outs. It was a blow-out.
It is one of the highlights since my move to Pittsburgh. Just perfect. And the pirogi races (Mrs. T sponsored)? It put the mid-west flair cherry on top. It was like Orwigsburg... so corny.
(I'm sure glad I didn't go the next night when the Yanks had their revenge with a 10-0 win!).
HON-EY! I'm Home!
At long last, I have a kitchen. A real kitchen. With all new appliances that are plugged in and humming. Counters with counter tops. Light fixtures in all the holes on the ceiling. No more paper plates in the basement or fuses blowing when the microwave and refrigerator down there turn on at the same time. No more washing dishes in the tiny wetbar sink. No more eating at the bar and pretending I'm in a diner.
April, May, June... and now, a kitchen. A fancy-dancy oo-la-la kitchen. I came home from work today and I found that the last few items had been installed and the final invoice was on my shiny new counter top.
No more laborers on my calendar. No more staying home from work to oversee the progress. Oh! And I can FINALLY unpack my moving boxes!!!!!!!!! My kitchen stuff has been in boxes for OVER A YEAR. The items will be like bears coming out of hibernation... all scrawny and squinting at the bright light of day. Welcome home stuff!
With the completion of my kitchen that also means, with the removal of my moving boxes, I will have a family room, living room, and dining room again. Shoot. That's almost a home. Wow. I've almost moved in. Wow.
Now I won't have to be a project manager at home and at work. Oh, damn, I'm going to have to get a life...
April, May, June... and now, a kitchen. A fancy-dancy oo-la-la kitchen. I came home from work today and I found that the last few items had been installed and the final invoice was on my shiny new counter top.
No more laborers on my calendar. No more staying home from work to oversee the progress. Oh! And I can FINALLY unpack my moving boxes!!!!!!!!! My kitchen stuff has been in boxes for OVER A YEAR. The items will be like bears coming out of hibernation... all scrawny and squinting at the bright light of day. Welcome home stuff!
With the completion of my kitchen that also means, with the removal of my moving boxes, I will have a family room, living room, and dining room again. Shoot. That's almost a home. Wow. I've almost moved in. Wow.
Now I won't have to be a project manager at home and at work. Oh, damn, I'm going to have to get a life...
The Big Bucks Have Arrived
Luke is finally paying dividends, baby! I got a year's back-pay from my pension this week. Ooo la-la! It is a huge lump of dough to come along all of a sudden like that. My monthly payment isn't all that exciting, really, but multiply it by 12 and it's a mighty heap! If paid in pennies, I'd need a ladder to leap over it.
DuPont said if I got my paperwork in on time, I could expect my first check in July. I missed the deadline by 3 days. I figured they would be punitive and make me wait another month. I also figured "in July" meant "at the end of July." Instead, they treated me like I DIDN'T miss the deadline, and "in July" means "the last day of June." Woohoo!!! What a delightful surprise!
I also got my first MONTHLY payment check, the same day the other check was delivered. Oh, I THOUGHT they were checks (they look just like checks), and I was mad. I had told them to direct deposit them. I called DuPont to grouch and growl at them. They said it was deposited... surprisingly, they didn't screw that up. I torqued my head and blinked several times in surprise.
Of course, they screwed something ELSE up... Ah, that's the DuPont I have come to know. While I was on the phone with them (they put you on hold for 30 minutes, so it's best to take advantage of having them on the line), I complained about having to pay for my health insurance retro-actively (pay for LAST year's insurance... that I didn't get until THIS year). I said that was absurd. Turns out, they weren't charging me for it... They told me I didn't HAVE health insurance. Heih? Yeah, because I didn't pay my premium, they cancelled my policy in September, last year. I told her (trying not to YELL) that I only was approved as a pensioner in MAY of THIS year. I had to explain it to her, no lie, THREE TIMES before she figured out that they cancelled it before I even had it. Three times. Three. three.
I estimate a year before they fix this. Anyone wanna put a wager on this?
I asked her, once I do get my health insurance, will I be able to retro-actively get coverage for my bills from last year. She said I probably could, but they would only cover as much as they would have paid if I didn't have insurance paying for it... in other words, if Westinghouse paid 90% of the bill and DuPont would have paid 80% (or 90%), they will not pay me anything, because their 80% (or 90%) has already been paid to me. What a load of CRAP! I pay them, but because I ALSO paid someone else, they owe me nothing. What is stopping Westinghouse from coming in and saying, "Oh, you had DuPont coverage? We're taking our money back; let them pay, and we'll pay anything we would have paid if they didn't pay it." Who the hell is DuPont to decide that THEY are the ones that owe nothing on bills that I incurred. Let's just say, they have given me a new crusade. Saddle my steed; I'm off!
While on this crusade I will be enjoying my monthly checks. It's funny. The "incapability supplement" that they added to my normal pension is EXACTLY the amount that they take out in taxes. Oh, and the remainder? It's just a little bit more than my monthly mortgage check. My mortgage is a fixed expense, and my pension is a fixed income. It's a cute arrangement, don't you think?
Oh, this is the best part. I've always wondered why on earth people get married. Most people get sick of each other long before death parts them. What's in it for them? Sure, some men can't cook or clean, or some woman can't fix the house or the car... they leech off the other for their weaknesses. Well, I am more than capable of handling anything that comes my way. The only thing that I saw that was a benefit was they shared living expenses. I would come up short in the food department... a man would eat more than I. That leaves the house payment. They split that. Well, now Uncle Dupie has eliminated that one and only perk... my house payment is now covered. ...It cracks me up.
DuPont said if I got my paperwork in on time, I could expect my first check in July. I missed the deadline by 3 days. I figured they would be punitive and make me wait another month. I also figured "in July" meant "at the end of July." Instead, they treated me like I DIDN'T miss the deadline, and "in July" means "the last day of June." Woohoo!!! What a delightful surprise!
I also got my first MONTHLY payment check, the same day the other check was delivered. Oh, I THOUGHT they were checks (they look just like checks), and I was mad. I had told them to direct deposit them. I called DuPont to grouch and growl at them. They said it was deposited... surprisingly, they didn't screw that up. I torqued my head and blinked several times in surprise.
Of course, they screwed something ELSE up... Ah, that's the DuPont I have come to know. While I was on the phone with them (they put you on hold for 30 minutes, so it's best to take advantage of having them on the line), I complained about having to pay for my health insurance retro-actively (pay for LAST year's insurance... that I didn't get until THIS year). I said that was absurd. Turns out, they weren't charging me for it... They told me I didn't HAVE health insurance. Heih? Yeah, because I didn't pay my premium, they cancelled my policy in September, last year. I told her (trying not to YELL) that I only was approved as a pensioner in MAY of THIS year. I had to explain it to her, no lie, THREE TIMES before she figured out that they cancelled it before I even had it. Three times. Three. three.
I estimate a year before they fix this. Anyone wanna put a wager on this?
I asked her, once I do get my health insurance, will I be able to retro-actively get coverage for my bills from last year. She said I probably could, but they would only cover as much as they would have paid if I didn't have insurance paying for it... in other words, if Westinghouse paid 90% of the bill and DuPont would have paid 80% (or 90%), they will not pay me anything, because their 80% (or 90%) has already been paid to me. What a load of CRAP! I pay them, but because I ALSO paid someone else, they owe me nothing. What is stopping Westinghouse from coming in and saying, "Oh, you had DuPont coverage? We're taking our money back; let them pay, and we'll pay anything we would have paid if they didn't pay it." Who the hell is DuPont to decide that THEY are the ones that owe nothing on bills that I incurred. Let's just say, they have given me a new crusade. Saddle my steed; I'm off!
While on this crusade I will be enjoying my monthly checks. It's funny. The "incapability supplement" that they added to my normal pension is EXACTLY the amount that they take out in taxes. Oh, and the remainder? It's just a little bit more than my monthly mortgage check. My mortgage is a fixed expense, and my pension is a fixed income. It's a cute arrangement, don't you think?
Oh, this is the best part. I've always wondered why on earth people get married. Most people get sick of each other long before death parts them. What's in it for them? Sure, some men can't cook or clean, or some woman can't fix the house or the car... they leech off the other for their weaknesses. Well, I am more than capable of handling anything that comes my way. The only thing that I saw that was a benefit was they shared living expenses. I would come up short in the food department... a man would eat more than I. That leaves the house payment. They split that. Well, now Uncle Dupie has eliminated that one and only perk... my house payment is now covered. ...It cracks me up.
Waaaaaaaaah! My Boss is LEAVING!!!
Oh the horror!! My boss called me last week and told me that they were going to be announcing he was moving to a new assignment. I was dashed. He said he wanted to tell me personally because, "he got me into this mess."
He was the number one reason I took this job. He is STILL my favorite Westinghouse employee. He is the epitome of "Ohio-nice" (even though he is from West Virginia.)
He was my comrade in arms. He did battle with me against evil sub-suppliers and wretched rapists. I'm sadder than a kid stuck in summer school.
He just finished giving me my raise, too. Unlike DuPont, where your performance seems to be in no way related to your raise because your performance review is held 6 months before you get your raise, Westinghouse tells you great things about you (in their own words), then doles out the money right there. It is a great feeling. They really know how to show the love. I wrote my review like I've always done for Uncle Dupie. For every attribute, I put something down for how I addressed it and accomplished its requirements. My boss laughed at me and said no one ever does that. I said, "but it says your supposed to." "Yeah, but they only do what they HAVE to do." Could you imagine a boss laughing in DuPont at the fact his employees disregard "what your supposed to do?!" Ha! My boss thought I was an over-achiever... by simply doing what I was supposed to do. I'm gonna miss him. Oh, am I ever. (wah)
He was the number one reason I took this job. He is STILL my favorite Westinghouse employee. He is the epitome of "Ohio-nice" (even though he is from West Virginia.)
He was my comrade in arms. He did battle with me against evil sub-suppliers and wretched rapists. I'm sadder than a kid stuck in summer school.
He just finished giving me my raise, too. Unlike DuPont, where your performance seems to be in no way related to your raise because your performance review is held 6 months before you get your raise, Westinghouse tells you great things about you (in their own words), then doles out the money right there. It is a great feeling. They really know how to show the love. I wrote my review like I've always done for Uncle Dupie. For every attribute, I put something down for how I addressed it and accomplished its requirements. My boss laughed at me and said no one ever does that. I said, "but it says your supposed to." "Yeah, but they only do what they HAVE to do." Could you imagine a boss laughing in DuPont at the fact his employees disregard "what your supposed to do?!" Ha! My boss thought I was an over-achiever... by simply doing what I was supposed to do. I'm gonna miss him. Oh, am I ever. (wah)
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Favorite Quote
I got an email from my friend Lucy, whose husband Gary used to work with me in DuPont. (Gary quit, too.) In her email she said, "Pity all those poor people hanging in at DuPont, just so they can get the pension. You got your pension, and you got out of there....double win!"
It's the "double win" part that gets me giddy. When I first read it, I thought she was saying "you took the money and ran." But the "double win" part told me she was really saying "1) you got the money now that they were stashing away for you for later, and 2) you got the hell out of that rat hole."
Double win, indeed.
It's the "double win" part that gets me giddy. When I first read it, I thought she was saying "you took the money and ran." But the "double win" part told me she was really saying "1) you got the money now that they were stashing away for you for later, and 2) you got the hell out of that rat hole."
Double win, indeed.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Three Rivers Arts Festival
I loved the arts festival in the Pitt last year so much I went 3 times. This year's festival started last weekend. This weekend was the first weekend in a month that I didn't have to work. So, this girly went to the Arts Festival!
As before, I decided to take the city bus. I had to go on-line to get the bus and the festival schedules. While waiting for the printer to print, I happened to check the weather forecasts. Saturday -- rainy and thunderstorms all day; Sunday -- gorgeous. Guess which day I decided to go BASED on that data? Saturday, baby! No crowds. No sunburn. No baby strollers!
It's been a year since I took the bus. I gave the driver my ride voucher and she told me it was "old." They got new ones in March. I have $40 in bus passes that I think are now worthless. I already paid for the rides. They got their money. Why do they care when I finally take the damn bus? And if it's a big deal, why didn't they just tell me to give them the voucher plus any adder ($0.20)? Thank goodness I had 3 one-dollar bills to feed the bus's money machine. At least in Philly you could be shot for holding up the boarding process (in the Pitt, actually, you are likely to be smiled at, and maybe even given the $3 from a complete stranger).
The festival was wonderful with no lines. I wanted to twirl around with my hands stretched out like Julie Andrews at the beginning of "The Sound of Music" with a big grin on my face.
I was ready for the rain. I wore quick-dry clothes, plus Teva sandals. I didn't care if I got wet. The rain drops were just moist reminders of each person that didn't show up that day because of the rain. Let it pour!! Usually there is a LONG line to get the chocolate-covered strawberries. Not in the rain. I ordered mine without even stopping in front of the stand! As I approached, they took my order (no one else was within 20 feet. Things were going great.
I usually go to art festivals with one thing in mind. WOOD. This weekend, however, the festival was nearly devoid of ANYTHING wooden. What the...?! But a strange thing happened. The photographers were the ones reeling me in. Last year I only remember 2 or 3 booths with photographs (and I bought one). So, when the first one I hit had stacks of photos I loved, I went ahead and bought some. I have a whole house to decorate, you know. Lots of walls to cover. Rather than carry the big matted prints in the rain, I had them hold on to them until Sunday, when I knew it would be dry. Anyway, who wants to lug big poster-sized sheets on a city bus?
About 10 booths down, there was another photographer. I loved everything in her booth too. I already bought 5 photos from the last booth, so I tried to restrain myself. I wanted them all. I bought one. Good girl, Judy. Then 15 booths from that one I find another photographer whose every photo makes me want to fill the bus with them. I have already bought 6 photographs now, and paid big money. Well, this little piggy went wee-wee-wee and bought a FRAMED matted photograph from this dude. All three artists agreed to allow me to come pick them up the next day. I found two more photographers that had the same effect on me... I was like a crackhead. But I resisted. One thing helped me resist... I've taken photos just as good as some of these, and they are personal memories, yet I don't blow them up and frame them. I've been inspired to do so now. (Oh goody, another project to heap on the pile.)
Well, I went back today. This time I drove. It was a good experience, to realize I want to take the bus all the time -- streets are closed and parking is expensive.
The walkways between the booths were PACKED as yesteryear with people who were walking slower than limping zombies. Usually that would be OK, because you want to have time to see what's in each booth, but I was on a mission. An in-and-out mission. Get my stuff and scoot. I wasn't scooting. I was going so slow caterpillars were passing me on the sidewalk.
But I got my goods and stood in line for some food. The shortest lines were 3-people deep. Chocolate-covered strawberries looked to have as many people standing in front as does the sideline of a Steelers game.
I took advantage of being in town (a 25-mile drive) by stopping in Lumber Liquidators to pick-up some off-spec bloodwood flooring I ordered TWO MONTHS ago. They called me last week telling me it was in. Just my luck, I get there 10 minutes before closing and the infamous soup-kitchenesque lines were gone. Just me and the two clerks. Get this, I walk in and say, "I'm here to pick up the bloodwood that I ordered weeks and weeks ago," and they said, "Oh, hey, Judy, we'll bring that right up for you." Dude! They know my name! Wow. It's the fourth time I've been there in a year. Like I said, it's usually PACKED. And they remember me. Cool. I wonder if they know my birthday, too. Ooo, and get this, I bought off-spec stuff (I have the woodworking equipment to bring it back into spec) to make frames and such. The guy delivers it to my car (they don't do that for anyone else) and tells me I lucked out. The warehouse never delivered my shipment, so they just decided to give me first-run (not off-spec) stuff for off-spec price. Yes!!!! This stuff is gorgeous! I went ahead and did the Julie Andrews swirl right there in the parking lot.
As before, I decided to take the city bus. I had to go on-line to get the bus and the festival schedules. While waiting for the printer to print, I happened to check the weather forecasts. Saturday -- rainy and thunderstorms all day; Sunday -- gorgeous. Guess which day I decided to go BASED on that data? Saturday, baby! No crowds. No sunburn. No baby strollers!
It's been a year since I took the bus. I gave the driver my ride voucher and she told me it was "old." They got new ones in March. I have $40 in bus passes that I think are now worthless. I already paid for the rides. They got their money. Why do they care when I finally take the damn bus? And if it's a big deal, why didn't they just tell me to give them the voucher plus any adder ($0.20)? Thank goodness I had 3 one-dollar bills to feed the bus's money machine. At least in Philly you could be shot for holding up the boarding process (in the Pitt, actually, you are likely to be smiled at, and maybe even given the $3 from a complete stranger).
The festival was wonderful with no lines. I wanted to twirl around with my hands stretched out like Julie Andrews at the beginning of "The Sound of Music" with a big grin on my face.
I was ready for the rain. I wore quick-dry clothes, plus Teva sandals. I didn't care if I got wet. The rain drops were just moist reminders of each person that didn't show up that day because of the rain. Let it pour!! Usually there is a LONG line to get the chocolate-covered strawberries. Not in the rain. I ordered mine without even stopping in front of the stand! As I approached, they took my order (no one else was within 20 feet. Things were going great.
I usually go to art festivals with one thing in mind. WOOD. This weekend, however, the festival was nearly devoid of ANYTHING wooden. What the...?! But a strange thing happened. The photographers were the ones reeling me in. Last year I only remember 2 or 3 booths with photographs (and I bought one). So, when the first one I hit had stacks of photos I loved, I went ahead and bought some. I have a whole house to decorate, you know. Lots of walls to cover. Rather than carry the big matted prints in the rain, I had them hold on to them until Sunday, when I knew it would be dry. Anyway, who wants to lug big poster-sized sheets on a city bus?
About 10 booths down, there was another photographer. I loved everything in her booth too. I already bought 5 photos from the last booth, so I tried to restrain myself. I wanted them all. I bought one. Good girl, Judy. Then 15 booths from that one I find another photographer whose every photo makes me want to fill the bus with them. I have already bought 6 photographs now, and paid big money. Well, this little piggy went wee-wee-wee and bought a FRAMED matted photograph from this dude. All three artists agreed to allow me to come pick them up the next day. I found two more photographers that had the same effect on me... I was like a crackhead. But I resisted. One thing helped me resist... I've taken photos just as good as some of these, and they are personal memories, yet I don't blow them up and frame them. I've been inspired to do so now. (Oh goody, another project to heap on the pile.)
Well, I went back today. This time I drove. It was a good experience, to realize I want to take the bus all the time -- streets are closed and parking is expensive.
The walkways between the booths were PACKED as yesteryear with people who were walking slower than limping zombies. Usually that would be OK, because you want to have time to see what's in each booth, but I was on a mission. An in-and-out mission. Get my stuff and scoot. I wasn't scooting. I was going so slow caterpillars were passing me on the sidewalk.
But I got my goods and stood in line for some food. The shortest lines were 3-people deep. Chocolate-covered strawberries looked to have as many people standing in front as does the sideline of a Steelers game.
I took advantage of being in town (a 25-mile drive) by stopping in Lumber Liquidators to pick-up some off-spec bloodwood flooring I ordered TWO MONTHS ago. They called me last week telling me it was in. Just my luck, I get there 10 minutes before closing and the infamous soup-kitchenesque lines were gone. Just me and the two clerks. Get this, I walk in and say, "I'm here to pick up the bloodwood that I ordered weeks and weeks ago," and they said, "Oh, hey, Judy, we'll bring that right up for you." Dude! They know my name! Wow. It's the fourth time I've been there in a year. Like I said, it's usually PACKED. And they remember me. Cool. I wonder if they know my birthday, too. Ooo, and get this, I bought off-spec stuff (I have the woodworking equipment to bring it back into spec) to make frames and such. The guy delivers it to my car (they don't do that for anyone else) and tells me I lucked out. The warehouse never delivered my shipment, so they just decided to give me first-run (not off-spec) stuff for off-spec price. Yes!!!! This stuff is gorgeous! I went ahead and did the Julie Andrews swirl right there in the parking lot.
Boss Keeps Tabs on Employees
My boss is the best. He remembered my birthday and gave me lottery tickets wishing me luck to win big and free myself from needing employment. I've never had a boss give me something for my birthday. The vast majority of them didn't even acknowledge it.
Much later, I stopped by my boss's office and he wasn't in. I went to his desk to write him a note. His desk is always absolutely empty. No piles of paper. No files. No rolls of drawings or sketches. No photos or doodads. He has a cup with writing instruments and a big calendar/blotter pad. That's it. As I was writing him the note I saw this little crib sheet in the corner flap of the calendar/blotter. It was a list of all his employees and their birth dates. Of all the things he wants to have on his desk, that's what is important to him to look down and see everyday.
Who DOES that?! What a sweetie! Oh my god. It may seem small, but chicks really dig that.
Yup, heaven. I died and went to heaven.
Much later, I stopped by my boss's office and he wasn't in. I went to his desk to write him a note. His desk is always absolutely empty. No piles of paper. No files. No rolls of drawings or sketches. No photos or doodads. He has a cup with writing instruments and a big calendar/blotter pad. That's it. As I was writing him the note I saw this little crib sheet in the corner flap of the calendar/blotter. It was a list of all his employees and their birth dates. Of all the things he wants to have on his desk, that's what is important to him to look down and see everyday.
Who DOES that?! What a sweetie! Oh my god. It may seem small, but chicks really dig that.
Yup, heaven. I died and went to heaven.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Moving Damage
Dude! They fixed all the furniture they broke during the move. You can't even tell they were ever damaged. One of my pieces, an antique mahogany pie-crust table, they took it away and completely refinished it. It looks BRAND NEW!! I bought it used, in very good condition, for $100 or $150. The cost to the moving company to refinish it was $350!!! It is GORGEOUS!
My chest of drawers in my bedroom had tiny spots where the finish was worn to the bare wood from the drawers rubbing on the casing during transit. Maybe 5 tiny spots... smaller than an ant each. They refinished the entire front of the dresser. I don't recognize it! Nice!
Remember they bashed my drill press and I didn't notice it until the day after I sent in my damage report? Well, initially, they didn't pay to fix/replace it. Technically, they didn't have to (but the adjuster said they might because my company is a big customer). So, I begrudgingly took the loss. Reds said I should fight it. I told him I didn't have time to fight it -- HE should fight it. So, he did. I had to call them and give the adjusters the details, again, but a week later, without notice, a check for the cost of replacement showed up in my mail. Sweet.
It was a royal pain to move. A lot of work. A lot of hassle. But, the like-new furniture and their paying to replace damage items, that I'm not replacing is quite agreeable. They paid me $90 for a lamp that just needs a threaded coupling. I told them what was wrong with it... but they didn't want to bother fixing it... they only fix furniture. I fixed it myself for nothing. They paid me $15 to glue a little piece of wood back on a little wooden statue. They paid me $50, which is how much they would have charged to fix it, to fix a seam they ripped in my bed-spring... something no one will ever see, and I will never fix.
On top of all this I got to watch the furniture repair guy do all these fancy repairs, right here in my home. I got to see his tools and equipment. I would have had to pay at least $100 for a class to learn all this. And when the guy left, he told me I could call him anytime if I had any questions on refinishing jobs I was doing (he knew I was a woodworker and furniture refinisher). Cool. And he gave me the low-down on where to buy stuff. Ohio-nice.
My chest of drawers in my bedroom had tiny spots where the finish was worn to the bare wood from the drawers rubbing on the casing during transit. Maybe 5 tiny spots... smaller than an ant each. They refinished the entire front of the dresser. I don't recognize it! Nice!
Remember they bashed my drill press and I didn't notice it until the day after I sent in my damage report? Well, initially, they didn't pay to fix/replace it. Technically, they didn't have to (but the adjuster said they might because my company is a big customer). So, I begrudgingly took the loss. Reds said I should fight it. I told him I didn't have time to fight it -- HE should fight it. So, he did. I had to call them and give the adjusters the details, again, but a week later, without notice, a check for the cost of replacement showed up in my mail. Sweet.
It was a royal pain to move. A lot of work. A lot of hassle. But, the like-new furniture and their paying to replace damage items, that I'm not replacing is quite agreeable. They paid me $90 for a lamp that just needs a threaded coupling. I told them what was wrong with it... but they didn't want to bother fixing it... they only fix furniture. I fixed it myself for nothing. They paid me $15 to glue a little piece of wood back on a little wooden statue. They paid me $50, which is how much they would have charged to fix it, to fix a seam they ripped in my bed-spring... something no one will ever see, and I will never fix.
On top of all this I got to watch the furniture repair guy do all these fancy repairs, right here in my home. I got to see his tools and equipment. I would have had to pay at least $100 for a class to learn all this. And when the guy left, he told me I could call him anytime if I had any questions on refinishing jobs I was doing (he knew I was a woodworker and furniture refinisher). Cool. And he gave me the low-down on where to buy stuff. Ohio-nice.
French is Not Their Forte
You've heard of Versailles, right? Who hasn't? Louis XIV's little chateau outside of Paris. The treaty that spawned World War II. You don't have to know how to speak French to know how to pronounce it. Maybe a lot of people haven't really even seen it spelled as much as they have heard it pronounced. It's 'VER-SI'. Long "i" at the end. Here in the Pittsburgh area, just up the road from me is the town of North Versailles. I've never heard it pronounced. I've only seen it on the map and on store receipts and such. I asked a kid cashier at the local K-Mart where the kids of North Versailles go to high-school. (North Verailles is a run-down town and I wanted to make sure they didn't go to my school district.) The kids was definitely in high-school. But he just looked at me confused.
He said, "What?" Like I was screaching and hurt his ears. I asked him again, where do kids from North Versailles go to high school? He said, "Where?"
I said, "Yeah. Where do they go? Where do kids from this town go to school?"
He told me where he went, and I asked him, "And you live in Versailles?"
He said, "No I live in North 'VER-SALS'."
DUDE!!!! They pronounce "sailles" like "sales." DUDE!!! Oh, my god. I heard it later on the radio. They say 'VER-SALS'!!! I weep for them.
Later I was checking out the map and saw a scenic drive that goes to Ligonier, PA. I asked my buddy at work how far away Ligonier was... pronouncing it as the French word it is 'LIG-O-NA' with a long A at the end. He had no idea what I was talking about. Learning from my Versailles experience, I said, I didn't know how they pronounced it, but in French it is pronounced 'LIG-O-NA'.
He said, "Oh! 'LIG-O-NER' with a long E. They pronounce the R. They butcher the French pronounciation so bad I didn't recognize how it could even be pronounced that way. I had to look at the word again just to absorb the complexity of the contortion my brain was being asked to perform.
I still can't call Versailles "Versales," but I've grown accustomed to "Ligoneer." Sadly.
Just in time for my trip to France...
He said, "What?" Like I was screaching and hurt his ears. I asked him again, where do kids from North Versailles go to high school? He said, "Where?"
I said, "Yeah. Where do they go? Where do kids from this town go to school?"
He told me where he went, and I asked him, "And you live in Versailles?"
He said, "No I live in North 'VER-SALS'
DUDE!!!! They pronounce "sailles" like "sales." DUDE!!! Oh, my god. I heard it later on the radio. They say 'VER-SALS'
Later I was checking out the map and saw a scenic drive that goes to Ligonier, PA. I asked my buddy at work how far away Ligonier was... pronouncing it as the French word it is 'LIG-O-NA'
He said, "Oh! 'LIG-O-NER'
I still can't call Versailles "Versales," but I've grown accustomed to "Ligoneer." Sadly.
Just in time for my trip to France...
Summer Theater In a Pittsburgh Palace
Six Broadway musicals in less than 3 months, baby! Pittsburgh summer theater has national tours of major musicals come through all summer long. I got season tickets. There is a stretch of 15 days where I will see 3 musicals! And, oh, the theater! It is GORGEOUS!! I have been to scores and scores of theaters in my day. This is definitely in the top 5! Oh my god! The Benedum Center in Pittsburgh is impressive. It cost $3 million in 1927. That's when a million was worth something. It is jaw-dropping. It is worth the price of admission just to get to walk around the joint. It was called "Pittsburgh's Palace of Amusement." You gotta like that.
Work
Been working the last 3 Saturdays in the lab. Running tests is not work for me. We have to do it on Saturdays because we are testing seals at close to 600 F and 2400 psig. Nobody wants to be around if the seal fails. Shoot, I don't even want to be around.
The tests have just been outstanding. Every time we do a test, we FAR exceed expectations. Pretty much we slap a piece of chewing gum wrapped up with an old shoe string and stuff it in there -- AND IT HOLDS! No matter what we do to the thing, it holds tight. At first we just looked at it rudely. It held. Then we called it bad names. It held. Shoot, we kicked it, shot it, then set it on fire. It still held. We have run out of ideas on how to get it to fail. We're even thinking about taking the shoe string off and seeing if a wad of chewing gum will do the job!
The thermocouple insulation burns, the gaskets melt, the orings lose their compression, but that damn chewing gum and shoelace keep on cruising. It's like we knew what we were doing. Who knew nuclear engineering was so easy?
While not in the lab, I'm in my little office. Rapist dude is back in town and is working with my colleague across the aisle from me... by a sick twist of fate (on paper, he should never have any dealings with my colleague). The company says he can be near me if he has legitimate work to do there. Not surprisingly, the turd goes out of his way to come visit my colleague. My colleague's wife tells me that my colleague has been wondering why this jerk has been visiting him so much... when he doesn't need to. I hadn't told him what the rapist dude had done... it's not like my colleague can get out of working with the creep. My colleague would just feel uncomfortable all the time being forced to work with the deviant. Like my poor boss. He knows the whole story about the guy and has to work with him on a weekly basis. I can see it makes him sick. I decided to do my buddy a favor and not tell. This, did me no good. The creep reveled in coming by my office and my friend didn't know to stop him. I'm sure his wife would be so happy to know he hasn't left this in his past. I'm sure he has convinced her the whole thing was a big mistake and he'd never do such a thing to her again. I'm sure she doesn't suspect a thing. Of course he would never hurt her again... that would make him a monster.
Turns out my company is a little sick of the creature. At first they were saying I had to have a guilty verdict to keep him permanently away from me. (If they gave him a choice I think he would choose to keep the hell away from me than to force me to prosecute him... and if he were smart he would keep the hell away from me to dissuade me from WANTING to prosecute... duh.) Well, his antics had them act without the verdict. Rather than keep him away from me, they are keeping me away from him. They set me up really good in a fancy new office far away from him... far from anywhere he should ever be... matter of fact, if he is seen in my area, he is toast.
Everyone is wondering why I got to move. Heh. THEY want to be in the part of the building I got to move to. Heh. Maybe the creep can attack each of them and we'll all get to move the hell away from him. I really liked being in the center of the action where I was before. All the power-brokers were there. Now, I have the serenity of a library. It's like after-hours where I was before. I always had to wait until after-hours to get any serious work done... and not get home until late. Now I can do serious work during the day and go home after 8 hours. Hooray! It's kind of like when I got cancer. Sure, sure, there was some really yucky stuff to slug through, but some pretty good stuff came out of it -- a pension, for example, 9 months off of work, a new job. Nothing is all bad, I guess... except maybe the rapist dude.
What else is new at work? Well, I might be sent to Philly for a short-term assignment. Wouldn't that be cool? I could visit old buddies, and shop tax-free. I'd like that. Oh, and I wouldn't have to live in my house that seems to be ever-ready to cause me heartburn. A nice vacation. Oh, and working in Philly would entail playing in a lab a lot. Delicious.
So, work is good. I still like my boss, and my boss's boss, a lot. I like my projects. I like everybody I work with. The nuclear business is still booming and they are recruiting like Uncle Sam after Pearl Harbor. Leaving DuPont was really, really good for me. I recommend it for everybody.
The tests have just been outstanding. Every time we do a test, we FAR exceed expectations. Pretty much we slap a piece of chewing gum wrapped up with an old shoe string and stuff it in there -- AND IT HOLDS! No matter what we do to the thing, it holds tight. At first we just looked at it rudely. It held. Then we called it bad names. It held. Shoot, we kicked it, shot it, then set it on fire. It still held. We have run out of ideas on how to get it to fail. We're even thinking about taking the shoe string off and seeing if a wad of chewing gum will do the job!
The thermocouple insulation burns, the gaskets melt, the orings lose their compression, but that damn chewing gum and shoelace keep on cruising. It's like we knew what we were doing. Who knew nuclear engineering was so easy?
While not in the lab, I'm in my little office. Rapist dude is back in town and is working with my colleague across the aisle from me... by a sick twist of fate (on paper, he should never have any dealings with my colleague). The company says he can be near me if he has legitimate work to do there. Not surprisingly, the turd goes out of his way to come visit my colleague. My colleague's wife tells me that my colleague has been wondering why this jerk has been visiting him so much... when he doesn't need to. I hadn't told him what the rapist dude had done... it's not like my colleague can get out of working with the creep. My colleague would just feel uncomfortable all the time being forced to work with the deviant. Like my poor boss. He knows the whole story about the guy and has to work with him on a weekly basis. I can see it makes him sick. I decided to do my buddy a favor and not tell. This, did me no good. The creep reveled in coming by my office and my friend didn't know to stop him. I'm sure his wife would be so happy to know he hasn't left this in his past. I'm sure he has convinced her the whole thing was a big mistake and he'd never do such a thing to her again. I'm sure she doesn't suspect a thing. Of course he would never hurt her again... that would make him a monster.
Turns out my company is a little sick of the creature. At first they were saying I had to have a guilty verdict to keep him permanently away from me. (If they gave him a choice I think he would choose to keep the hell away from me than to force me to prosecute him... and if he were smart he would keep the hell away from me to dissuade me from WANTING to prosecute... duh.) Well, his antics had them act without the verdict. Rather than keep him away from me, they are keeping me away from him. They set me up really good in a fancy new office far away from him... far from anywhere he should ever be... matter of fact, if he is seen in my area, he is toast.
Everyone is wondering why I got to move. Heh. THEY want to be in the part of the building I got to move to. Heh. Maybe the creep can attack each of them and we'll all get to move the hell away from him. I really liked being in the center of the action where I was before. All the power-brokers were there. Now, I have the serenity of a library. It's like after-hours where I was before. I always had to wait until after-hours to get any serious work done... and not get home until late. Now I can do serious work during the day and go home after 8 hours. Hooray! It's kind of like when I got cancer. Sure, sure, there was some really yucky stuff to slug through, but some pretty good stuff came out of it -- a pension, for example, 9 months off of work, a new job. Nothing is all bad, I guess... except maybe the rapist dude.
What else is new at work? Well, I might be sent to Philly for a short-term assignment. Wouldn't that be cool? I could visit old buddies, and shop tax-free. I'd like that. Oh, and I wouldn't have to live in my house that seems to be ever-ready to cause me heartburn. A nice vacation. Oh, and working in Philly would entail playing in a lab a lot. Delicious.
So, work is good. I still like my boss, and my boss's boss, a lot. I like my projects. I like everybody I work with. The nuclear business is still booming and they are recruiting like Uncle Sam after Pearl Harbor. Leaving DuPont was really, really good for me. I recommend it for everybody.
Antarctica -- Check! Where else?
I confirmed with my cousin Sue that she'll join my for an adventure in Antarctica this winter. I can't believe I haven't taken a day of vacation all year, yet! I have 5 weeks yet to take... I can take 6 if I get permission... and not get paid. With a DuPont pension, do you really think I WON'T be taking 6 weeks? Yeah baby! The Antarctica cruise is 11-days, plus we have to get to Argentina, and we'll want to take in that country while we are there. That's at least 3 weeks. Hmmm, what shall I do with the other 3 weeks?
Hopefully they'll send me to Japan and France for work. I was a shoe-in for going to Japan in June, until we had another job go awry in April with the same Japanese customer. Now our customers have all but forgotten their request to have me present my findings. Dratted. Never the less, I am continuing my Japanese classes. I am now taking Japanese II. Of the 13 students from Japanese I, only 4 of us have come back for more. It was brutal the first day back from a month off. Thank God I listened to all my cd's again all those hours I was installing my floor. The professor quizzed us on EVERYTHING. After a while he just saved all the tricky questions for me. My little brain was smokin', I tell you. I couldn't believe I was remembering stuff! By the end of the class, he was just looking at me the whole time explaining the new material. It was uncomfortable for the first few minutes. Then I looked over at the other people and saw that they looked like recent lobotomy patients. Not quite drooling, but close. Their brains were fried. Poor wretches.
I have a meeting with the French in June, but we made it a conference call. It's hard enough to have a meeting with people in the same room who don't speak the same language, but conference call? Hopefully they will find it so distasteful that they will ask us to come over there next time. They came in April... September might be good for me. Paris isn't as hot or as crowded with tourists. Yeah, I'm shooting for September... Gotta brush up on my French. Yeah, that'll mess me up with my Japanese, I'm sure. I'll be bowing to the French and kissing the cheeks of the Japanese. Stupid American.
Hopefully they'll send me to Japan and France for work. I was a shoe-in for going to Japan in June, until we had another job go awry in April with the same Japanese customer. Now our customers have all but forgotten their request to have me present my findings. Dratted. Never the less, I am continuing my Japanese classes. I am now taking Japanese II. Of the 13 students from Japanese I, only 4 of us have come back for more. It was brutal the first day back from a month off. Thank God I listened to all my cd's again all those hours I was installing my floor. The professor quizzed us on EVERYTHING. After a while he just saved all the tricky questions for me. My little brain was smokin', I tell you. I couldn't believe I was remembering stuff! By the end of the class, he was just looking at me the whole time explaining the new material. It was uncomfortable for the first few minutes. Then I looked over at the other people and saw that they looked like recent lobotomy patients. Not quite drooling, but close. Their brains were fried. Poor wretches.
I have a meeting with the French in June, but we made it a conference call. It's hard enough to have a meeting with people in the same room who don't speak the same language, but conference call? Hopefully they will find it so distasteful that they will ask us to come over there next time. They came in April... September might be good for me. Paris isn't as hot or as crowded with tourists. Yeah, I'm shooting for September... Gotta brush up on my French. Yeah, that'll mess me up with my Japanese, I'm sure. I'll be bowing to the French and kissing the cheeks of the Japanese. Stupid American.
House Woes
Good Lord, this house sure can suck the life out of a girl.
I have been living without a kitchen for 3 weeks now. The kitchen installers hauled away everything in my kitchen a month ago and left me to install my new hardwood floor. I asked for three weeks. I'm glad I told them 3 weeks. I couldn't work on it for the first week because work got hot and heavy on me. Then I had to go full throttle to meet my schedule. I was John Henry, I tell you. Slamming that hammer and driving those nails and a steam-driven machine. It killed him, you know, John Henry. It's hard, man. But I'm not a as frail and weak and he... I toughed it out.
Let me say, if you ever consider installing an unfinished hardwood floor, go for 3 1/4 inch quarter-sawn. I can tell you from experience, it is 200 % easier than 2 1/4 inch oak. Not only does it require 50% fewer boards, but quarter-sawn oak is FAR less likely to have warped, cupped, or twisted boards. No finagling to get those puppies to line up. Just slap them down and and tap them flush with the next one. I whispered to them, "Move over, honey," and they'd scoot over all by themselves, it seemed.
Last time I installed 300 square feet of hardwood flooring my hand went numb, but I wasn't finished, so then it ached, still not done, so it hurt for MONTHS. This time I was dreading the return of the pain. My hand never fully recovered from the last time. I believe I have permanent nerve damage. It hurts to play "One potato, two potato." Well, with so little extra banging to get the board to cooperate, my hand only ached, and felt weak. No serious pain. I can't open a jar, but I can snap my fingers and give the the thumbs up... all that's really important in life. So, hooray. Oh, and the floor looks grand. I have yet to slather the finish on... it was such a horror last time, that I'm putting it off until the last moment. Anyway, it's too damn hot to be upstairs.
Yes, June 5th was the first day in Pittsburgh that warranted air-conditioning. That was Thursday. I got home late Thursday. I turned the AC on and let it cool the house before I retired upstairs. I stayed in the cool basement until 1 AM... the house never cooled. DAMN! This is the first summer in my new house; the first time my AC has been tested with serious heat. Who would have guessed, my house wasn't up to the challenge. I slept in the basement... on the couch. No kitchen and now no bed. This is the high-life baby.
I didn't call the repair man, because I didn't have time to trouble-shoot it. Friday was even hotter. When I returned home, the house was the same temperature as it was outside, and even hotter upstairs. I did some trouble-shooting and realized it probably needed freon... I slept in the basement again. Thank God for my basement. It is a good 20 degrees cooler.
The next morning I STILL didn't call the repairman, because I had to go into work at 8 AM. I didn't get home until past 7 AM (don't worry, I'll take a comp day this week... to finish my floor). I didn't call the home warranty/repairman until this morning. They said they will call me FOR AN APPOINTMENT on Monday. This heatwave is supposed to last until Tuesday. My basement is now up to 80 degrees. I have no place to hide. I believe I am melting.
I hope the AC is fixed before the kitchen installation dudes show up. They were supposed to come tomorrow, but their schedule is backed up (they freaked because they thought my floor and I were going to hold them back). They will be here Wednesday. I think they are going to be in a 90+ degree house. And lucky me, I have to be here with them... if I survive until then.
I have been living without a kitchen for 3 weeks now. The kitchen installers hauled away everything in my kitchen a month ago and left me to install my new hardwood floor. I asked for three weeks. I'm glad I told them 3 weeks. I couldn't work on it for the first week because work got hot and heavy on me. Then I had to go full throttle to meet my schedule. I was John Henry, I tell you. Slamming that hammer and driving those nails and a steam-driven machine. It killed him, you know, John Henry. It's hard, man. But I'm not a as frail and weak and he... I toughed it out.
Let me say, if you ever consider installing an unfinished hardwood floor, go for 3 1/4 inch quarter-sawn. I can tell you from experience, it is 200 % easier than 2 1/4 inch oak. Not only does it require 50% fewer boards, but quarter-sawn oak is FAR less likely to have warped, cupped, or twisted boards. No finagling to get those puppies to line up. Just slap them down and and tap them flush with the next one. I whispered to them, "Move over, honey," and they'd scoot over all by themselves, it seemed.
Last time I installed 300 square feet of hardwood flooring my hand went numb, but I wasn't finished, so then it ached, still not done, so it hurt for MONTHS. This time I was dreading the return of the pain. My hand never fully recovered from the last time. I believe I have permanent nerve damage. It hurts to play "One potato, two potato." Well, with so little extra banging to get the board to cooperate, my hand only ached, and felt weak. No serious pain. I can't open a jar, but I can snap my fingers and give the the thumbs up... all that's really important in life. So, hooray. Oh, and the floor looks grand. I have yet to slather the finish on... it was such a horror last time, that I'm putting it off until the last moment. Anyway, it's too damn hot to be upstairs.
Yes, June 5th was the first day in Pittsburgh that warranted air-conditioning. That was Thursday. I got home late Thursday. I turned the AC on and let it cool the house before I retired upstairs. I stayed in the cool basement until 1 AM... the house never cooled. DAMN! This is the first summer in my new house; the first time my AC has been tested with serious heat. Who would have guessed, my house wasn't up to the challenge. I slept in the basement... on the couch. No kitchen and now no bed. This is the high-life baby.
I didn't call the repair man, because I didn't have time to trouble-shoot it. Friday was even hotter. When I returned home, the house was the same temperature as it was outside, and even hotter upstairs. I did some trouble-shooting and realized it probably needed freon... I slept in the basement again. Thank God for my basement. It is a good 20 degrees cooler.
The next morning I STILL didn't call the repairman, because I had to go into work at 8 AM. I didn't get home until past 7 AM (don't worry, I'll take a comp day this week... to finish my floor). I didn't call the home warranty/repairman until this morning. They said they will call me FOR AN APPOINTMENT on Monday. This heatwave is supposed to last until Tuesday. My basement is now up to 80 degrees. I have no place to hide. I believe I am melting.
I hope the AC is fixed before the kitchen installation dudes show up. They were supposed to come tomorrow, but their schedule is backed up (they freaked because they thought my floor and I were going to hold them back). They will be here Wednesday. I think they are going to be in a 90+ degree house. And lucky me, I have to be here with them... if I survive until then.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Oops
Like a dog trainer, I have taught my piano to sit... luckily I did not advance to having it roll over... or crash through the floor.
I had to move the piano closer to the wall to make more room in the Living Room. It was a non-issue when I pushed it AWAY from the wall a few months ago, to make room for painting to room. Well, apparently baby grands are big babies. They just go one way, and lay on the floor kicking a screaming if you try to get them to go in the opposite direction.
See photo.
I have fixed it and all is well now, but the kicking a screaming this brute did when it hit the floor made me think I was going have quick access to my basement below.
I had to move the piano closer to the wall to make more room in the Living Room. It was a non-issue when I pushed it AWAY from the wall a few months ago, to make room for painting to room. Well, apparently baby grands are big babies. They just go one way, and lay on the floor kicking a screaming if you try to get them to go in the opposite direction.
See photo.
I have fixed it and all is well now, but the kicking a screaming this brute did when it hit the floor made me think I was going have quick access to my basement below.
Chaos Receeds Only to Resume
I was really making progress on my house. I had the Family Room, Dining Room, Living Room, and both upstairs and downstairs foyers done. I could go into a room and feel like I was in a home. No boxes, no plastic tarps, no paint buckets, ladders, dust... just a normal room. The rooms were cozy, too. If it weren't for my kitchen, I could have invited friends over... if I had any.
Just last week, my house reverted back to the "just moved in" look. The custom kitchen guys have begun the dismantling of my kitchen. Everything that was in the kitchen had to find a refuge camp willing to accept them. Kitchen stuff only goes in kitchens. It's like a bridal gown; it looks out of place anywhere else.
So, all the boxes I didn't bother unpacking for the kitchen are now piled high in the Family Room. My fancy-dancy leather sofa, chairs, and ottomans are covered with protective tarps. So too are my new velour chairs and big ottoman in the Living Room. There is no place to sit on the whole first floor. The fridge, food, eating/cooking utensils, microwave, and dishwasher are in the basement around the wet-bar (I'm installing the appliances there). All I got rid of was the range. The cabinets and counters, including the sink, are in the garage, mostly, and laundry room and Family room. The kitchen is a hollow shell. And it has only just begun. They don't expect me to have a kitchen for another 2 months.
Reds came up for two weeks for the disassembly of the kitchen, so I could go to work... and not be alone with handymen... which has been problematic in the past. Unfortunately, Reds made his reservation a month in advance, based on the information the installers gave us. They didn't tell me they weren't going to start on the Monday they targeted, until the day before Reds was to arrive. There was no going back. So, they started a 2-week job 4 days late. Reds had to go home to host Soo. Now I am stuck alone with handymen in my house.
As I brought Reds to the airport yesterday, he remarked, "I didn't get to do much sight-seeing this trip." No, he sure didn't. While the installers were here he was stuck at home, without a car. He kept an eye on the fellas, and did odd jobs around the house to occupy himself. Before they arrived, he toiled away either working on the house with me (getting the kitchen ready for the tear-out... I was glad they were coming late... I wasn't ready), or shopping, cooking, and making phone calls.
He did a lot of painting that is ultra annoying to do. First he spent 15 hours cleaning up paint splatters near the top of 18-foot high walls. The splatters closely resembled seagull droppings. I had been putting off that task since February because it was so daunting. Then he attacked both the guest bathroom upstairs and the one in the basement. He meticulously masked off everything, and painstakingly painted even behind the toilets. Primed and painted, walls and ceilings. Only drawback for having a near-80 year-old person paint for you is he can't see. He can't see where he missed and he can't see drips. Just masking off the rooms was plenty of help, so touching up his cataract creations seemed like a good deal. But until I do that, both bathrooms remain lined in blue tape and covered with cardboard and paper.
Soon I shall have piles of hardwood flooring stacked up all around the kitchen (in the rooms that were once completely home-like). I will be installing the floor for a few weeks, then the installers will complete the job installing everything else. But just because the kitchen will be done, that doesn't mean all the crap I pulled out of there and put somewhere else will be settled. I got tons of work to do reinstalling the counters and cabinets in their new homes, plus the dishwasher, and wiring for all the appliances downstairs. Oi vey. When will I find time to protect the world from nuclear meltdowns?
Reds kept telling me, "At least your house will be the way you like it when it is done." Why does he ever think it will be done? Starting one project forces 3 more. It's like I'm working my way down some Amway organization chart when I map out my to-do list.
I couldn't imagine doing something like this with other people living in the house, especially kids. I'm lucky. I'm the only one that has to put up with this, so I don't have to also put up with people putting up with this.
Just last week, my house reverted back to the "just moved in" look. The custom kitchen guys have begun the dismantling of my kitchen. Everything that was in the kitchen had to find a refuge camp willing to accept them. Kitchen stuff only goes in kitchens. It's like a bridal gown; it looks out of place anywhere else.
So, all the boxes I didn't bother unpacking for the kitchen are now piled high in the Family Room. My fancy-dancy leather sofa, chairs, and ottomans are covered with protective tarps. So too are my new velour chairs and big ottoman in the Living Room. There is no place to sit on the whole first floor. The fridge, food, eating/cooking utensils, microwave, and dishwasher are in the basement around the wet-bar (I'm installing the appliances there). All I got rid of was the range. The cabinets and counters, including the sink, are in the garage, mostly, and laundry room and Family room. The kitchen is a hollow shell. And it has only just begun. They don't expect me to have a kitchen for another 2 months.
Reds came up for two weeks for the disassembly of the kitchen, so I could go to work... and not be alone with handymen... which has been problematic in the past. Unfortunately, Reds made his reservation a month in advance, based on the information the installers gave us. They didn't tell me they weren't going to start on the Monday they targeted, until the day before Reds was to arrive. There was no going back. So, they started a 2-week job 4 days late. Reds had to go home to host Soo. Now I am stuck alone with handymen in my house.
As I brought Reds to the airport yesterday, he remarked, "I didn't get to do much sight-seeing this trip." No, he sure didn't. While the installers were here he was stuck at home, without a car. He kept an eye on the fellas, and did odd jobs around the house to occupy himself. Before they arrived, he toiled away either working on the house with me (getting the kitchen ready for the tear-out... I was glad they were coming late... I wasn't ready), or shopping, cooking, and making phone calls.
He did a lot of painting that is ultra annoying to do. First he spent 15 hours cleaning up paint splatters near the top of 18-foot high walls. The splatters closely resembled seagull droppings. I had been putting off that task since February because it was so daunting. Then he attacked both the guest bathroom upstairs and the one in the basement. He meticulously masked off everything, and painstakingly painted even behind the toilets. Primed and painted, walls and ceilings. Only drawback for having a near-80 year-old person paint for you is he can't see. He can't see where he missed and he can't see drips. Just masking off the rooms was plenty of help, so touching up his cataract creations seemed like a good deal. But until I do that, both bathrooms remain lined in blue tape and covered with cardboard and paper.
Soon I shall have piles of hardwood flooring stacked up all around the kitchen (in the rooms that were once completely home-like). I will be installing the floor for a few weeks, then the installers will complete the job installing everything else. But just because the kitchen will be done, that doesn't mean all the crap I pulled out of there and put somewhere else will be settled. I got tons of work to do reinstalling the counters and cabinets in their new homes, plus the dishwasher, and wiring for all the appliances downstairs. Oi vey. When will I find time to protect the world from nuclear meltdowns?
Reds kept telling me, "At least your house will be the way you like it when it is done." Why does he ever think it will be done? Starting one project forces 3 more. It's like I'm working my way down some Amway organization chart when I map out my to-do list.
I couldn't imagine doing something like this with other people living in the house, especially kids. I'm lucky. I'm the only one that has to put up with this, so I don't have to also put up with people putting up with this.
There is Talk about Sending Me to Philly for a While
A few things are aligning that would make sending me to Philly for about a 6-month assignment a likely scenario. That could be cool. It would be better if it were the Swiss Alps, but Philly is nice, too.
The rapist has been sent to the far reaches of the earth for the past 3 months, returning a day or two here or there. Running in to the cretin makes for an unpleasant day. He does not try to avoid me; I believe he revels in finding an opportunity to waft by like a foul putrid scent. He is not stupid enough to attempt to talk to me, which will get him fired. But he waltzes on the brink of being fired by even coming near. I have been working with the District Attorney, State Troopers, Human Resources, and my boss to make things acceptable for me to continue working where I am.
The other thing that is happening is we are really peculating on my development programs, both of which involve our partner in Philly. In passing the guy from the partner company suggested I move down there to help with all the activity. I immediately told my boss of this suggestion. He thought it was a great idea. He talked to one of my mentors, and on his own, that guy suggested we send someone, preferably me, to the partner's site. My boss now has 3 people thinking this is a good idea.
Sending me down there will buy time for the powers that be to resolve the untenable situation in the office when the ogre happens to be in town. I suggested we send him to Chernobyl. I'm sure the Ukrainians could use some help over there... maybe they can lay his body on the hot spots to help absorb the radiation.
This Thursday my boss met with the partner and got the OK to send someone down when we start some of the activities. It will be expensive for him; I don't know how they are going to fund my stay down there. I hope it doesn't involve a tent and a local park.
I do look forward to all the testing I'll be involved with in their labs. I want to play! So, people in Willy and Philly may be seeing me soon! And hopefully Chernobyl will be having a long-term visitor, too...
The rapist has been sent to the far reaches of the earth for the past 3 months, returning a day or two here or there. Running in to the cretin makes for an unpleasant day. He does not try to avoid me; I believe he revels in finding an opportunity to waft by like a foul putrid scent. He is not stupid enough to attempt to talk to me, which will get him fired. But he waltzes on the brink of being fired by even coming near. I have been working with the District Attorney, State Troopers, Human Resources, and my boss to make things acceptable for me to continue working where I am.
The other thing that is happening is we are really peculating on my development programs, both of which involve our partner in Philly. In passing the guy from the partner company suggested I move down there to help with all the activity. I immediately told my boss of this suggestion. He thought it was a great idea. He talked to one of my mentors, and on his own, that guy suggested we send someone, preferably me, to the partner's site. My boss now has 3 people thinking this is a good idea.
Sending me down there will buy time for the powers that be to resolve the untenable situation in the office when the ogre happens to be in town. I suggested we send him to Chernobyl. I'm sure the Ukrainians could use some help over there... maybe they can lay his body on the hot spots to help absorb the radiation.
This Thursday my boss met with the partner and got the OK to send someone down when we start some of the activities. It will be expensive for him; I don't know how they are going to fund my stay down there. I hope it doesn't involve a tent and a local park.
I do look forward to all the testing I'll be involved with in their labs. I want to play! So, people in Willy and Philly may be seeing me soon! And hopefully Chernobyl will be having a long-term visitor, too...
Big Fat Back-Pay Check from DuPont is Coming!
I got word last month. I have been granted my Incapability pension! That means they start paying me NOW what they would have waited to pay me in 20 years... plus an Incapability Supplement (33% more cash!). I get full benefits (medical, dental, life), too. Since I should have been receiving this from day one after departing, I'm getting a hunk-a hunk-a burning love in the form of a check with 10% interest!
If my lawyer was on the ball, I could have received this months ago. He would always wait until the last minute to make his last move. But, he was successful, and in less than a year. I was told to expect 2 years to resolve this. (Some less clear cut cases take 10 years.)
DuPont capitulated without us having to resort to suing them. That, unfortunately, may mean DuPont isn't responsible for paying my lawyer fee's... not sure yet. If I do have to pay the fees, that eats up 1/3 of my hunk-a hunk-a. My lawyer refers to my big check as "found money." I don't consider it that. It is a benefit that DuPont gives all its employees (who are "lucky" enough to become unable to perform their job). I earned it, just as I earned my paycheck each month. I don't think if they stopped paying me for a year and then finally cut me a check for my full salary that I'd call it "found" money.
The lawyer was just trying to lighten the blow of loosing the wade to him. Now, if he would have worked for it, I'd feel better. But, I did all the research and data gathering. I compiled it and highlighted the juicy parts. All he did was put a cover letter on my stack of documents. He printed out the cover letter and my stack 3 times. For that he is getting thousands and thousand and thousands of dollars. In my estimation, he is getting about $1,000/hour. Niiiice.
Hmm, I think I see now why he dragged his feet on getting his letters out each time. He knew I was going to win this case (he said so from the very beginning). The longer I wasn't paid, the larger the check would be from which he skims off the 33%. Blasted! I didn't see that coming. I thought for sure we were going to have to sue those creeps, and they would be responsible for the lawyer fees. Dratted!
I'll try not to think about all that, and just enjoy swimming backstroke in the sea of cash that is coming my way! If I get tired of that, I'll do some origami with it... or spend some... on books on how to do origami, perhaps.
If my lawyer was on the ball, I could have received this months ago. He would always wait until the last minute to make his last move. But, he was successful, and in less than a year. I was told to expect 2 years to resolve this. (Some less clear cut cases take 10 years.)
DuPont capitulated without us having to resort to suing them. That, unfortunately, may mean DuPont isn't responsible for paying my lawyer fee's... not sure yet. If I do have to pay the fees, that eats up 1/3 of my hunk-a hunk-a. My lawyer refers to my big check as "found money." I don't consider it that. It is a benefit that DuPont gives all its employees (who are "lucky" enough to become unable to perform their job). I earned it, just as I earned my paycheck each month. I don't think if they stopped paying me for a year and then finally cut me a check for my full salary that I'd call it "found" money.
The lawyer was just trying to lighten the blow of loosing the wade to him. Now, if he would have worked for it, I'd feel better. But, I did all the research and data gathering. I compiled it and highlighted the juicy parts. All he did was put a cover letter on my stack of documents. He printed out the cover letter and my stack 3 times. For that he is getting thousands and thousand and thousands of dollars. In my estimation, he is getting about $1,000/hour. Niiiice.
Hmm, I think I see now why he dragged his feet on getting his letters out each time. He knew I was going to win this case (he said so from the very beginning). The longer I wasn't paid, the larger the check would be from which he skims off the 33%. Blasted! I didn't see that coming. I thought for sure we were going to have to sue those creeps, and they would be responsible for the lawyer fees. Dratted!
I'll try not to think about all that, and just enjoy swimming backstroke in the sea of cash that is coming my way! If I get tired of that, I'll do some origami with it... or spend some... on books on how to do origami, perhaps.
One Year Anniversary
My last day at DuPont was May 11, 2007. Today is the one year anniversary of my emancipation. So, that's how long a year is, eh? It seems like a long time since I've been gone, yet a short time since I've been here. I've heard this phenomena explained by pointing out that learning a bunch of new stuff seems to make time pass slower (kids think it takes forever to age a year, where as old folks think it takes a mere blink).
Since moving, I have had to learn people's names, directions to places, technical stuff on our equipment, computer systems, policies, laws protecting employees, fixing houses, remodeling houses, Japanese, Computer Aided Design, the Pittsburgh accent, criminal law, tons and tons of stuff. On the other hand, I wasn't doing much fresh new learning at DuPont, and hadn't in a long, long time.
The last time I was learning tons of stuff in Delaware was while I was dealing with Luke. Everyday was an adventure. That year did not pass quickly. Still, I preferred it over having to go to DuPont everyday. On the other hand, I DON'T prefer those days to my days here in the Pitt.
So, looking back, I made an EXCELLENT decision to leave DuPont. I'm happy here. Things have worked out well. These are my kind of people out here, and it doesn't hurt that DuPont is paying my pension plus Incapability supplement.
Since moving, I have had to learn people's names, directions to places, technical stuff on our equipment, computer systems, policies, laws protecting employees, fixing houses, remodeling houses, Japanese, Computer Aided Design, the Pittsburgh accent, criminal law, tons and tons of stuff. On the other hand, I wasn't doing much fresh new learning at DuPont, and hadn't in a long, long time.
The last time I was learning tons of stuff in Delaware was while I was dealing with Luke. Everyday was an adventure. That year did not pass quickly. Still, I preferred it over having to go to DuPont everyday. On the other hand, I DON'T prefer those days to my days here in the Pitt.
So, looking back, I made an EXCELLENT decision to leave DuPont. I'm happy here. Things have worked out well. These are my kind of people out here, and it doesn't hurt that DuPont is paying my pension plus Incapability supplement.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
A Child's Point-of-View
You know how little kids think they are the only ones who get older? They say things like, "When I'm older, I'm going to babysit YOU." (I thought that when I was 3 and my mean sister Mert was 8 babysitting me and doing things I didn't like... I was telling her I was going to get back at her when I was 8... and she was 8).
In a twit's brain they only perceive what is happening to them. Everything else stays the same.
Well, I've had this weird phenomena happening in my noggin, too. When I am working on fixing up my house I'll nostalgically think back to my house in Delaware. If it's interesting enough, I'll want to know how that particular thing is doing since I left... something I planted or something I fixed, whatever.
You know what my brain says to me? It tells me to calls Reds and ask him! In my brain Reds is still living in my house. He is still dealing with my cancer doctors and the hospital. That part of the world never changed, except I left.
Freaky, eh? I talk to Reds a lot. He often tells me stories that clearly indicate he is in his own home in Houston. Yet my brain does not absorb that.
The world of visiting nurses, blood samples, train rides for platelets, and eating home cooked meals lives on in my mind. That is Delaware. That was what I left. I still imagine Reds has all my furniture in that world, too, which ought to kick me back to reality if I'm actually sitting on the furniture I am imagining him sitting on.... but it doesn't... (doesn't it make you feel good knowing I'm designing safety equipement to save the world from nuclear meltdowns???)
In a twit's brain they only perceive what is happening to them. Everything else stays the same.
Well, I've had this weird phenomena happening in my noggin, too. When I am working on fixing up my house I'll nostalgically think back to my house in Delaware. If it's interesting enough, I'll want to know how that particular thing is doing since I left... something I planted or something I fixed, whatever.
You know what my brain says to me? It tells me to calls Reds and ask him! In my brain Reds is still living in my house. He is still dealing with my cancer doctors and the hospital. That part of the world never changed, except I left.
Freaky, eh? I talk to Reds a lot. He often tells me stories that clearly indicate he is in his own home in Houston. Yet my brain does not absorb that.
The world of visiting nurses, blood samples, train rides for platelets, and eating home cooked meals lives on in my mind. That is Delaware. That was what I left. I still imagine Reds has all my furniture in that world, too, which ought to kick me back to reality if I'm actually sitting on the furniture I am imagining him sitting on.... but it doesn't... (doesn't it make you feel good knowing I'm designing safety equipement to save the world from nuclear meltdowns???)
Chemo-brain "Uh" persists
After my first chemo treatment I noticed a sharp decline in my mental capacity. I had to read a sentence over and over to grasp its meaning, and sometimes return to the beginning of a paragraph after reading each sentence many times over the first time through. It was bad. Very bad.
That is when I first noticed my saying, "Uh." The word was a place holder as I went searching in the filing room of my brain looking for the word I was missing. During those months of chemo treatment it was frustrating, but I was never as bad off as the first chemo-treatment.
Mid-treatment I had to give a public talk (presenting to my woodworking guild the project I made). I was horrified to find myself saying, "Uh" EVERY OTHER WORD. And this was on a project that I knew everything about... I made it after all.
I got better, of course. I still recognize I lose a word and it takes me a while to retrieve it. Simple words, too. Not fancy engineering terms. Words like "agreement" or something mundane like that.
The first fancy presentation I had to make at work since almost dying in 2005, was here in my new job. It was on a topic I knew nothing about and I had researched it the night before. It was a dry run a month before the big show, so no big deal. I said "uh" EVERY OTHER WORD. I was back to being brain-poisoned! I told myself that it was a new topic and anyone would say, "uh."
I practiced and practiced. When I would say it out loud in practice I'd say, "uh." I focused on not saying "uh." I figured being silent was better than using "uh" as a placeholder. It worked.
Back at work after the presentation, after having made myself so conscience of my use of "uh," I became painfully aware of just how often "uh" leaps to my lips. I hate it; I hate it; I hate it.
I always tell people who ask how I've been since my leukemia treatment, "It's like it never happened." Except for a few things things it is very true. The one thing that reminds me EVERY SINGLE day is my "uh."
I should embrace my "uh," and tell myself it is my badge of survivorship. Every time I say "uh" it reminds me of all my friends I knew who died, and all their families who live without them. I kind of like that. My "uh" is a "Yo!" to all my fallen friends.
I'll still try not to say it, but at least my "uh" will have a purpose other than annoying me.
That is when I first noticed my saying, "Uh." The word was a place holder as I went searching in the filing room of my brain looking for the word I was missing. During those months of chemo treatment it was frustrating, but I was never as bad off as the first chemo-treatment.
Mid-treatment I had to give a public talk (presenting to my woodworking guild the project I made). I was horrified to find myself saying, "Uh" EVERY OTHER WORD. And this was on a project that I knew everything about... I made it after all.
I got better, of course. I still recognize I lose a word and it takes me a while to retrieve it. Simple words, too. Not fancy engineering terms. Words like "agreement" or something mundane like that.
The first fancy presentation I had to make at work since almost dying in 2005, was here in my new job. It was on a topic I knew nothing about and I had researched it the night before. It was a dry run a month before the big show, so no big deal. I said "uh" EVERY OTHER WORD. I was back to being brain-poisoned! I told myself that it was a new topic and anyone would say, "uh."
I practiced and practiced. When I would say it out loud in practice I'd say, "uh." I focused on not saying "uh." I figured being silent was better than using "uh" as a placeholder. It worked.
Back at work after the presentation, after having made myself so conscience of my use of "uh," I became painfully aware of just how often "uh" leaps to my lips. I hate it; I hate it; I hate it.
I always tell people who ask how I've been since my leukemia treatment, "It's like it never happened." Except for a few things things it is very true. The one thing that reminds me EVERY SINGLE day is my "uh."
I should embrace my "uh," and tell myself it is my badge of survivorship. Every time I say "uh" it reminds me of all my friends I knew who died, and all their families who live without them. I kind of like that. My "uh" is a "Yo!" to all my fallen friends.
I'll still try not to say it, but at least my "uh" will have a purpose other than annoying me.
Tora! Tora! Tora!
This week has been Spring Break for the college classes I am taking. (Good thing, too, with that report due I probably would have missed both classes as I worked into the night.)
I have been listening to those Japanese cd's like crazy. I bit of what seems like a miracle occurred. The long, quickly spoken phrases on those tapes when from
Du*^%$ yo$&*~kuh awny *&%$@ ~^%
to
Dozo yo&%$#*ke one*&^%$mas
to
Dozo yoroshiku onegaishimasu
The first time you hear a phrase like this, you're like, you have got to be kidding me. I have no idea what you just said, let alone how to make my mouth say it. Then you hear it again, and again. You hear some bits that you just say the bits and mumble until you hit another bit you recognize. After the sixth time (usually it takes 6 times, really) you not only know what they said, how to say it, but what it means. These cds are really incredible!!!
It surprises me every time, too. I'll listen to a cd 6 time and have the whole thing memorized, so I move to the next cd, only to have cold water dumped on me. I can't believe how fast they are talking and that I can't understand a word. I assume the first cd was just the easy stuff. But sure enough, after the sixth listening, I have it all down pat. I can't believe what our brains are capable of doing!!! Jibberish to complete sentences in a week. Whoa. Imagine if you were as smart as some of these geniuses walking the Earth that get it the first time! Wow!
Being on Spring Break, I've taken a break from non-stop listening to my cd's. My brain has been mushy with all the over-time I've been putting in at work and I've been too overloaded to tax my brain any further. However, to keep up with my Japanese exposure I watched the movie "Tora! Tora! Tora!" about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. All the Japanese portions of the film are spoken in Japanese. I couldn't believe it! I understood bits and pieces throughout the show!!! I know a lot of polite sayings, so you can imagine I recognized a lot when sailors were speaking to their commanders.
I had seen this movie before, but with the bit of Japanese knowledge I have, it was SOOOOOOOO much better. It didn't change the ending though...
I have been listening to those Japanese cd's like crazy. I bit of what seems like a miracle occurred. The long, quickly spoken phrases on those tapes when from
Du*^%$ yo$&*~kuh awny *&%$@ ~^%
to
Dozo yo&%$#*ke one*&^%$mas
to
Dozo yoroshiku onegaishimasu
The first time you hear a phrase like this, you're like, you have got to be kidding me. I have no idea what you just said, let alone how to make my mouth say it. Then you hear it again, and again. You hear some bits that you just say the bits and mumble until you hit another bit you recognize. After the sixth time (usually it takes 6 times, really) you not only know what they said, how to say it, but what it means. These cds are really incredible!!!
It surprises me every time, too. I'll listen to a cd 6 time and have the whole thing memorized, so I move to the next cd, only to have cold water dumped on me. I can't believe how fast they are talking and that I can't understand a word. I assume the first cd was just the easy stuff. But sure enough, after the sixth listening, I have it all down pat. I can't believe what our brains are capable of doing!!! Jibberish to complete sentences in a week. Whoa. Imagine if you were as smart as some of these geniuses walking the Earth that get it the first time! Wow!
Being on Spring Break, I've taken a break from non-stop listening to my cd's. My brain has been mushy with all the over-time I've been putting in at work and I've been too overloaded to tax my brain any further. However, to keep up with my Japanese exposure I watched the movie "Tora! Tora! Tora!" about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. All the Japanese portions of the film are spoken in Japanese. I couldn't believe it! I understood bits and pieces throughout the show!!! I know a lot of polite sayings, so you can imagine I recognized a lot when sailors were speaking to their commanders.
I had seen this movie before, but with the bit of Japanese knowledge I have, it was SOOOOOOOO much better. It didn't change the ending though...
Pity? No! Ohio-nice!
I was wondering why a couple of guys from my group were being so friendly to me lately. I mean really nice. Going out of their way to ask me to lunch. Going out of their way to talk about my favorite topics (woodworking, travel, foreign languages, for example). Staying late to help me. I assumed my boss told them what the rapist tried to do and asked them all to be a little nicer to me.
I assumed that's what was going on. It made perfect sense. The timing of it. The unspoken reason for it. No one talking about the attack at all.
Then last week the rapist was back in the office. (I had the unpleasant experience of running into him on several occasions... my stomach turning and my chest tightening as I did.) While he was gone, one of my engineers had him working on collecting data for my research program. I had no dealings with the monster. I had my engineer do it all (and I thought he knew why... maybe he doesn't, hmm).
Well, I was talking to the other seal guy in the group and we were talking about the data collection procedure. I had heard from another guy how the procedure had gone... not well. The seal guy told me I should talk to the rapist about it. I gave him a look like, don't even joke about that.
Later that day, the seal guy is talking to the engineer that was dealing with the data collection procedure and the rapist comes by. I hear the seal guy says, "Hey, Judy is looking for you."
I froze! If he knows what this guy did to me, Mr. Seal Man is a real jerk. He's one of the guys that has been extra nice to me lately, and whom I've assumed knew the story. If he doesn't know, someone has to tell him that this guy has to keep the hell away from me, and not to give him the impression I am looking to talk to him.
I didn't know what to do. I went to the one friend I told about what happened to me. I asked him if he thought the seal guy knew. He said the guy didn't. I was incredulous. He said nobody knew. What?!
I can't believe the jerk is getting away with this. I'm not telling anyone at work because instinctively I think I shouldn't, but I thought for sure news would have carried. You'd think he set up a smear campaign to sully my reputation. Nope. (He probably figures they'd be on my side... especially when the cops are involved.) Then I figured the people that were in the know would end up leaking the story to a friend, who leaked it to another, who told everyone. Nope. My friend said no one knew.
That just makes all these guys being nice to me even weirder. They have been so nice that it seemed like pity-nice. Nice like you get when you are dying from cancer. Instead, it's, "what, isn't everybody like this?"-nice. Ohio-nice. Gets me every time...
I assumed that's what was going on. It made perfect sense. The timing of it. The unspoken reason for it. No one talking about the attack at all.
Then last week the rapist was back in the office. (I had the unpleasant experience of running into him on several occasions... my stomach turning and my chest tightening as I did.) While he was gone, one of my engineers had him working on collecting data for my research program. I had no dealings with the monster. I had my engineer do it all (and I thought he knew why... maybe he doesn't, hmm).
Well, I was talking to the other seal guy in the group and we were talking about the data collection procedure. I had heard from another guy how the procedure had gone... not well. The seal guy told me I should talk to the rapist about it. I gave him a look like, don't even joke about that.
Later that day, the seal guy is talking to the engineer that was dealing with the data collection procedure and the rapist comes by. I hear the seal guy says, "Hey, Judy is looking for you."
I froze! If he knows what this guy did to me, Mr. Seal Man is a real jerk. He's one of the guys that has been extra nice to me lately, and whom I've assumed knew the story. If he doesn't know, someone has to tell him that this guy has to keep the hell away from me, and not to give him the impression I am looking to talk to him.
I didn't know what to do. I went to the one friend I told about what happened to me. I asked him if he thought the seal guy knew. He said the guy didn't. I was incredulous. He said nobody knew. What?!
I can't believe the jerk is getting away with this. I'm not telling anyone at work because instinctively I think I shouldn't, but I thought for sure news would have carried. You'd think he set up a smear campaign to sully my reputation. Nope. (He probably figures they'd be on my side... especially when the cops are involved.) Then I figured the people that were in the know would end up leaking the story to a friend, who leaked it to another, who told everyone. Nope. My friend said no one knew.
That just makes all these guys being nice to me even weirder. They have been so nice that it seemed like pity-nice. Nice like you get when you are dying from cancer. Instead, it's, "what, isn't everybody like this?"-nice. Ohio-nice. Gets me every time...
Forced to Unpack
A lot of my stuff has been stored in my moving boxes. No need to unpack; no place to put it; no one to use it. The stuff for my guest bedrooms, for example, or decorations for my family room and living room. No one is visiting, no one needs to see pretty stuff on the walls. So, I keep it out of my way as I toil on all my renovations.
Well, the 100 day limit for reporting moving damage was fast approaching. I had a pretty good list already, but there were many a box with the packing tape still uncut. I was forced to dig into every box and see what was inside and see if it still worked.
I only found a handful more things. But doing this exercise helped me get rid of another 15 boxes. I have breathing room in my one guest room that used to be floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall boxes. Now I can walk around to get to all the boxes.
The adjuster is coming this week. I didn't know how to make claims. If they scratched a table, do you ask for the price of replacing the table? If they crush a lamp shade do you ask for the price of a new shade, or a used one? Oh, I don't know. I just know I better not get screwed on this.
After I sent the report in, of course you can only send in one report, I found a HUGE gash on my drill press. I went to use it and the motor doesn't turn on... doesn't make a sound, and nothing moves. Damn! I knew I was going to get bitten on this "make one report" scam.
Even with having gone through all my boxes, there are a few things that I still don't know where they are. Those fancy trays I made with the "infinity" inlays, for example. I haven't seen them.
I didn't unpack the boxes in the kitchen, even though they probably have the most that could be broken in them. Maybe some of my missing stuff is in there, though none of the things I'm missing are from the kitchen. Hmmm. It was cool finding stuff I hadn't seen or thought about in about a year.
Well, the 100 day limit for reporting moving damage was fast approaching. I had a pretty good list already, but there were many a box with the packing tape still uncut. I was forced to dig into every box and see what was inside and see if it still worked.
I only found a handful more things. But doing this exercise helped me get rid of another 15 boxes. I have breathing room in my one guest room that used to be floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall boxes. Now I can walk around to get to all the boxes.
The adjuster is coming this week. I didn't know how to make claims. If they scratched a table, do you ask for the price of replacing the table? If they crush a lamp shade do you ask for the price of a new shade, or a used one? Oh, I don't know. I just know I better not get screwed on this.
After I sent the report in, of course you can only send in one report, I found a HUGE gash on my drill press. I went to use it and the motor doesn't turn on... doesn't make a sound, and nothing moves. Damn! I knew I was going to get bitten on this "make one report" scam.
Even with having gone through all my boxes, there are a few things that I still don't know where they are. Those fancy trays I made with the "infinity" inlays, for example. I haven't seen them.
I didn't unpack the boxes in the kitchen, even though they probably have the most that could be broken in them. Maybe some of my missing stuff is in there, though none of the things I'm missing are from the kitchen. Hmmm. It was cool finding stuff I hadn't seen or thought about in about a year.
DuPont Lawyer Takes Action
Been calling and calling my lawyer. He finally got back to me with the same old excuses about being so busy. Pah!
He tells me that because I live in PA now, the court that my lawsuit will take place in is in PA. I get to choose between Philly, Pittsburgh, or Harrisburg (federal courts). He wants Philly. He's done Philly a lot. Fine.
Being in PA means instead of one year to file a claim, I have THREE. He says that's great. I'm thinking, no, I want you off your but and filing NOW!!! It's bad enough DuPont drags this out, now PA is letting my own lawyer drag it out. Ugh.
Anyway, DuPont had 30 days to respond to our appeal to their denial of my pension. Of course, my lawyer gave them 3 months... even with my calling him 6 times telling him to get off his duff. So, it is now in our hands.
My lawyer has sent out the final letter to DuPont prior to filing the lawsuit. He sent the "we have exhausted all avenues" letter. You have to show the courts you tried, tried again, and finally told the company that your next step was going to court.
In the past my lawyer has said I had an 80% chance of having to go to court to settle this. This last time I asked, with far fewer chances left, he said I had a 50-50 chance of having to sue. I don't think he is very good at math or statistics. I think it is more like a 90% chance of having to drag this through a court.
I re-read all my files on the case. I read where DuPont said I didn't give them enough medical test reports to support my case, even though they never gave me the opportunity to do so (the forms you have to fill out say nothing about medical test reports). So I asked my lawyer if I should have some tests done to prove my case. He said, "Sure, if you have them." I said, no, I didn't have them, but I could have them done, that I was asking him what tests to have done. He didn't think I needed any more evidence (these tests would be money out of my pocket for something I shouldn't have to provide). So, no tests. I would think a few tests results that said, "If this woman comes near chemicals her body shuts down" would hurry things up a bit, but I guess he is used to the slow pace.
It's not that I need the money. I earned the money. It is a benefit I qualify for. My real concern is that this lawyer stays a live and coherent long enough to fight the case... he's old... I think he was a Hagley Mill employee... before it was a museum... making black powder.
He tells me that because I live in PA now, the court that my lawsuit will take place in is in PA. I get to choose between Philly, Pittsburgh, or Harrisburg (federal courts). He wants Philly. He's done Philly a lot. Fine.
Being in PA means instead of one year to file a claim, I have THREE. He says that's great. I'm thinking, no, I want you off your but and filing NOW!!! It's bad enough DuPont drags this out, now PA is letting my own lawyer drag it out. Ugh.
Anyway, DuPont had 30 days to respond to our appeal to their denial of my pension. Of course, my lawyer gave them 3 months... even with my calling him 6 times telling him to get off his duff. So, it is now in our hands.
My lawyer has sent out the final letter to DuPont prior to filing the lawsuit. He sent the "we have exhausted all avenues" letter. You have to show the courts you tried, tried again, and finally told the company that your next step was going to court.
In the past my lawyer has said I had an 80% chance of having to go to court to settle this. This last time I asked, with far fewer chances left, he said I had a 50-50 chance of having to sue. I don't think he is very good at math or statistics. I think it is more like a 90% chance of having to drag this through a court.
I re-read all my files on the case. I read where DuPont said I didn't give them enough medical test reports to support my case, even though they never gave me the opportunity to do so (the forms you have to fill out say nothing about medical test reports). So I asked my lawyer if I should have some tests done to prove my case. He said, "Sure, if you have them." I said, no, I didn't have them, but I could have them done, that I was asking him what tests to have done. He didn't think I needed any more evidence (these tests would be money out of my pocket for something I shouldn't have to provide). So, no tests. I would think a few tests results that said, "If this woman comes near chemicals her body shuts down" would hurry things up a bit, but I guess he is used to the slow pace.
It's not that I need the money. I earned the money. It is a benefit I qualify for. My real concern is that this lawyer stays a live and coherent long enough to fight the case... he's old... I think he was a Hagley Mill employee... before it was a museum... making black powder.
Kitchen in June
I went to my kitchen design for the first time way back in November. Since that time we have had proposals and redesigns and choosing of every item down to the kitchen sink (heh). I was told in January that I'd have my kitchen remodeling begin at the end of April and be done the first week of May.
My designer came at the end of February to take the final measurements. He asked me when I could have the wooden floor done. I told him to tell me when he was going to have the cabinets done and I'd work 3 weeks back from that date and get started.
"Three weeks? It's going to take you three weeks?"
"Dude, I don't want to rush. I'm going to do it after work and on weekends. What's the big deal?"
"That's an awfully long time."
"Dude, we have way more than 3 weeks before your cabinets will even be in production. I could start now, but I'd be without a kitchen for 2 months."
"Geez. Three weeks, huh?"
"Yeah." I'm thinking, YOU take MONTHS to get me a design. Look who's talking!
Two weeks later I get a call and he tells me that my kitchen won't be installed until JUNE.
What?!!! Who the hell waits SEVEN months for a kitchen remodel.
He told me that because I was taking 3 weeks to do the floor it totally messed up the schedule. I told him that I was basing my schedule on when HE'D be ready with the cabinets. How can I be messing up the schedule?
He said that he wants to do all the plumbing and electrical and demolishing work before I do the floors. So he's sending the crew over to do that. If it only took me a day or two to put the floor in then the crew could wait, but not 3 weeks. They have to go onto another job... that will take weeks. So, my start date is pushed back to end of May for the demolition, and three weeks later I get my new kitchen in June.
He asked me if I was made (he is a very sweet man... and clearly doesn't want a chick mad at him). I told him of course I was mad. I told him I hate my house and am not letting anyone come and visit until the kitchen is presentable and he is postponing that. Let alone the fact that I live in chaos until my kitchen is done, when I can finally empty all my moving boxes.
He called me the next day and asked if I was still mad. I asked if I was still getting my kitchen in June. He said yes. I said, then, yes, I'm still made. He did an "Oh jeez" worried sounding comment and said goodbye.
Well, I'll just work on the rest of my house while I wait for the kitchen... which was what I've been saying since November....
My designer came at the end of February to take the final measurements. He asked me when I could have the wooden floor done. I told him to tell me when he was going to have the cabinets done and I'd work 3 weeks back from that date and get started.
"Three weeks? It's going to take you three weeks?"
"Dude, I don't want to rush. I'm going to do it after work and on weekends. What's the big deal?"
"That's an awfully long time."
"Dude, we have way more than 3 weeks before your cabinets will even be in production. I could start now, but I'd be without a kitchen for 2 months."
"Geez. Three weeks, huh?"
"Yeah." I'm thinking, YOU take MONTHS to get me a design. Look who's talking!
Two weeks later I get a call and he tells me that my kitchen won't be installed until JUNE.
What?!!! Who the hell waits SEVEN months for a kitchen remodel.
He told me that because I was taking 3 weeks to do the floor it totally messed up the schedule. I told him that I was basing my schedule on when HE'D be ready with the cabinets. How can I be messing up the schedule?
He said that he wants to do all the plumbing and electrical and demolishing work before I do the floors. So he's sending the crew over to do that. If it only took me a day or two to put the floor in then the crew could wait, but not 3 weeks. They have to go onto another job... that will take weeks. So, my start date is pushed back to end of May for the demolition, and three weeks later I get my new kitchen in June.
He asked me if I was made (he is a very sweet man... and clearly doesn't want a chick mad at him). I told him of course I was mad. I told him I hate my house and am not letting anyone come and visit until the kitchen is presentable and he is postponing that. Let alone the fact that I live in chaos until my kitchen is done, when I can finally empty all my moving boxes.
He called me the next day and asked if I was still mad. I asked if I was still getting my kitchen in June. He said yes. I said, then, yes, I'm still made. He did an "Oh jeez" worried sounding comment and said goodbye.
Well, I'll just work on the rest of my house while I wait for the kitchen... which was what I've been saying since November....
Japanese Report Sucks Me into Its Vortex
Two weeks? Has it been two weeks since my last blog entry? Why is everybody eating jelly beans and chocolate bunnies? Last time I looked it was Valentine's Day. What the heck happened?
Oh, it must have been that analysis and its honking big report that has me missing huge chunks of my life.
I was given this assignment kind of like one of those suckers Tom Sawyer got to whitewash his fence. I was yacking to the guy who was originally assigned it and he was want our boss to find someone who could bird-dog the project. This project had surprisingly many topics similar to those I'm rolling around it for my other jobs, so I asked him about it. He said it was an analysis on one of our components; the analysis would be done by the scientists at our lab and all I had to do was make sure they do it and put then a cover letter on their report and send it out. For that, he was given FIVE weeks of time to charge against.
Wow! What a deal! I'll buy that. I'm going up to that lab anyway for my other job (it is 35 minutes away from our office); I want to know more about that component; and I love easy charge numbers.
I told him to look no further. I'd take the assignment. He told me the Japanese (our customer) wanted the report by "the end of March" (this was February when he told me). Then he left for a week to Japan. I knew nothing else, and there was, of yet, no charge number; I did nothing. Turns out "end of March" meant March 24, by the way.
The charge number came in while he was out, but I still knew nothing. Who the contacts were, where the samples were, who knew what, and why. Time was ticking, but I had other things to do and I'd just be churning water rather than making progress if I tried to figure it all out alone. I waited for the boy to return and get his jet lag under control. By then, the push was on.
Turns out he never contacted the lab to see if they could hit the end-of-March deadline. They couldn't. The lab was going to be CLOSED for much of March. This is a MAJOR study for a MAJOR customer, and we're going to blow it... no wait, let me rephrase that, I'M going to blow it. YIKES!!! I can't believe I fell into this pile of doo-doo. Ugh.
So, the girl who knows nothing about the NORMAL way of getting things done must now figure out a scheme for getting something done ASAP without going through the normal routes.
Yeah, I did it. The schedule did not allow for one hiccup without acceleration tactics being called for. This whole project got a major case of the hiccups. Yet, I got them the report when they needed it. Most through self-destructive behavior, of course.
You see, the customer's fiscal year ends March 31. They said they can only fund this report if we give them the report before the end of the fiscal year. We agreed and sent them our proposal. It said we'd write it in 16 weeks be sure to submit it before the end of the year. Well, they a purchase order didn't arrive until there were only 8 weeks to go in the year! And that P.O. wasn't converted to a charge number until there was 6 weeks to go, and Tom Sawyer was on the other side of the planet. So, little Judy had 4 weeks to do what our company believed should be do-able in 16. And that was if our labs were fully functioning.
So, my company struck a deal and asked if we could give them the ROUGH DRAFT by the end of the year, and a few weeks later give them the final. We knew they had to pay us by March 31, so they'd want something tangible to warrant spending of the big bucks. Our customer went for it.
If it weren't for that rough draft caveat, little Judy would be dead. That caveat bought me 3 weeks, but, oh those damn hiccups!
I contacted OUR COMPETITOR to do the analysis for me (hey, they hired me for the way I thought differently than everyone else, didn't they?). They could meet our deadline and give us a week to edit their report and a week for them to respond to our comments. This, if nothing goes wrong.
First thing to go wrong, the stupid samples are radioactive and it takes 4 days to send them out. My schedule allowed for one.
Then the guy in charge of the lab goes on vacation during the week they are writing the report. Next, during the week he's gone their Scanning Electron Microscope goes on the fritz... but they don't tell me until I ask them if they still plan on hitting my deadline that week. They said they'd be a week late!!!! Ack! They said they give it to me on Friday. I got it at 6 PM on that Friday. Far too late for anyone on my team to even get it on their email let alone read the damn thing.
All the while I am being asked for schedules, weekly updates, and fighting with our partner to get a Request for Quotation that was written 6 weeks prior to be turned into a Purchase order ... the quote was TIME AND MATERIAL... no calculating or estimating, just "what ever we do or buy you pay for." How hard could that be? Would it take YOU six weeks to write that sentence? Oy!
The Friday I get the report, I study it all weekend long, and by the way, write the report that is the "cover letter." Turns out that the cover letter is really the major document. The lab report may not even be sent!!! Now I'm thinking that 5 weeks worth of charging time is not enough. I work into the wee hours from then on until I handed the rough draft in...
During the weekend I get a sick feeling when I realized a week in schedule was secretly being stolen from me. I realized March 24 is the weekend after Easter, and no one will be working on Good Friday. Then I realized that if they wanted it Monday in Japan, the deadline was really on SUNDAY here, Easter Sunday. If I were to hit the deadline I had to get this report to my peeps on WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19, for them to review and comment on Thursday.... and I'd work all Easter weekend on it.
My team rallies around and reads the rough draft immediately when they get in on Monday (my read receipts told me so). However, it was on Monday that I was made aware that the ultimate due date is indeed Monday, but it had to be translated to Japanese. So, I had a deadline closer to Wednesday... no weekend to work on it. Well, at least that is nice; I get to enjoy my Easter holiday.
Tuesday and Wednesday my team gives me their comments on the lab report. The lab guy (who abandoned me for vacation while my report was supposed to be submitted) calls and tells me he didn't realize so many people were going to be seeing this rough draft and that he CANNOT allow our customer to see the rough draft. It is too rough. I tell him that we won't get paid if we don't give it to them. I tell him to take out anything he doesn't want them to see (like their name on the letter head). I tell him that his report isn't even going to be translated. He feels better but knows that the Japanese can read English quite well. He tells me he will take all of our comments and incorporate them into a SECOND rough draft that will be more to their liking... they'll have it to me by Thursday.
No problem. I can give our Japanese translators the original rough draft to get started with, and give them the good one at the last minute to staple to the back of my report.
The lab director calls again and says that this is much more of an effort than they anticipated and they are already 41% over-spent... and they still haven't worked on fixing the rough draft. He's begging me not to send the rough draft. Instead, I tell him I'd pay him more to give me more. He was dumb-struck. I told him the rough draft was quite good and we were satisfied with it, but if he wanted to make it better, then I'd pay for the improvement. Our customers would be happy, and we'd be the one to take the hit on our margin. Heck, I performed a miracle hitting the deadline; my management had to give me some slack when the margin takes a hit (there is so little time that a lot of the allotted dough for my team can't be spent anyway... I gain margin there).
So, I gave my report and the rough draft to the translators early Thursday AM (before my alarm clock usually sounds), then went home and slept for 20 hours (I was working until 1 AM for much of the week). The new rough draft came in on Saturday morning, still in time to be incorporated in the version going to our customer.
It is Easter Sunday and the customer already has the report.
A 16-week schedule was shrunk to a 4-week one. Damn that Tom Sawyer!!!
Of course the horror continues. I still have to get the final draft out... there were lots of holes in my report.
Sleep. Who needs it? Pansies, that's who.
Oh, it must have been that analysis and its honking big report that has me missing huge chunks of my life.
I was given this assignment kind of like one of those suckers Tom Sawyer got to whitewash his fence. I was yacking to the guy who was originally assigned it and he was want our boss to find someone who could bird-dog the project. This project had surprisingly many topics similar to those I'm rolling around it for my other jobs, so I asked him about it. He said it was an analysis on one of our components; the analysis would be done by the scientists at our lab and all I had to do was make sure they do it and put then a cover letter on their report and send it out. For that, he was given FIVE weeks of time to charge against.
Wow! What a deal! I'll buy that. I'm going up to that lab anyway for my other job (it is 35 minutes away from our office); I want to know more about that component; and I love easy charge numbers.
I told him to look no further. I'd take the assignment. He told me the Japanese (our customer) wanted the report by "the end of March" (this was February when he told me). Then he left for a week to Japan. I knew nothing else, and there was, of yet, no charge number; I did nothing. Turns out "end of March" meant March 24, by the way.
The charge number came in while he was out, but I still knew nothing. Who the contacts were, where the samples were, who knew what, and why. Time was ticking, but I had other things to do and I'd just be churning water rather than making progress if I tried to figure it all out alone. I waited for the boy to return and get his jet lag under control. By then, the push was on.
Turns out he never contacted the lab to see if they could hit the end-of-March deadline. They couldn't. The lab was going to be CLOSED for much of March. This is a MAJOR study for a MAJOR customer, and we're going to blow it... no wait, let me rephrase that, I'M going to blow it. YIKES!!! I can't believe I fell into this pile of doo-doo. Ugh.
So, the girl who knows nothing about the NORMAL way of getting things done must now figure out a scheme for getting something done ASAP without going through the normal routes.
Yeah, I did it. The schedule did not allow for one hiccup without acceleration tactics being called for. This whole project got a major case of the hiccups. Yet, I got them the report when they needed it. Most through self-destructive behavior, of course.
You see, the customer's fiscal year ends March 31. They said they can only fund this report if we give them the report before the end of the fiscal year. We agreed and sent them our proposal. It said we'd write it in 16 weeks be sure to submit it before the end of the year. Well, they a purchase order didn't arrive until there were only 8 weeks to go in the year! And that P.O. wasn't converted to a charge number until there was 6 weeks to go, and Tom Sawyer was on the other side of the planet. So, little Judy had 4 weeks to do what our company believed should be do-able in 16. And that was if our labs were fully functioning.
So, my company struck a deal and asked if we could give them the ROUGH DRAFT by the end of the year, and a few weeks later give them the final. We knew they had to pay us by March 31, so they'd want something tangible to warrant spending of the big bucks. Our customer went for it.
If it weren't for that rough draft caveat, little Judy would be dead. That caveat bought me 3 weeks, but, oh those damn hiccups!
I contacted OUR COMPETITOR to do the analysis for me (hey, they hired me for the way I thought differently than everyone else, didn't they?). They could meet our deadline and give us a week to edit their report and a week for them to respond to our comments. This, if nothing goes wrong.
First thing to go wrong, the stupid samples are radioactive and it takes 4 days to send them out. My schedule allowed for one.
Then the guy in charge of the lab goes on vacation during the week they are writing the report. Next, during the week he's gone their Scanning Electron Microscope goes on the fritz... but they don't tell me until I ask them if they still plan on hitting my deadline that week. They said they'd be a week late!!!! Ack! They said they give it to me on Friday. I got it at 6 PM on that Friday. Far too late for anyone on my team to even get it on their email let alone read the damn thing.
All the while I am being asked for schedules, weekly updates, and fighting with our partner to get a Request for Quotation that was written 6 weeks prior to be turned into a Purchase order ... the quote was TIME AND MATERIAL... no calculating or estimating, just "what ever we do or buy you pay for." How hard could that be? Would it take YOU six weeks to write that sentence? Oy!
The Friday I get the report, I study it all weekend long, and by the way, write the report that is the "cover letter." Turns out that the cover letter is really the major document. The lab report may not even be sent!!! Now I'm thinking that 5 weeks worth of charging time is not enough. I work into the wee hours from then on until I handed the rough draft in...
During the weekend I get a sick feeling when I realized a week in schedule was secretly being stolen from me. I realized March 24 is the weekend after Easter, and no one will be working on Good Friday. Then I realized that if they wanted it Monday in Japan, the deadline was really on SUNDAY here, Easter Sunday. If I were to hit the deadline I had to get this report to my peeps on WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19, for them to review and comment on Thursday.... and I'd work all Easter weekend on it.
My team rallies around and reads the rough draft immediately when they get in on Monday (my read receipts told me so). However, it was on Monday that I was made aware that the ultimate due date is indeed Monday, but it had to be translated to Japanese. So, I had a deadline closer to Wednesday... no weekend to work on it. Well, at least that is nice; I get to enjoy my Easter holiday.
Tuesday and Wednesday my team gives me their comments on the lab report. The lab guy (who abandoned me for vacation while my report was supposed to be submitted) calls and tells me he didn't realize so many people were going to be seeing this rough draft and that he CANNOT allow our customer to see the rough draft. It is too rough. I tell him that we won't get paid if we don't give it to them. I tell him to take out anything he doesn't want them to see (like their name on the letter head). I tell him that his report isn't even going to be translated. He feels better but knows that the Japanese can read English quite well. He tells me he will take all of our comments and incorporate them into a SECOND rough draft that will be more to their liking... they'll have it to me by Thursday.
No problem. I can give our Japanese translators the original rough draft to get started with, and give them the good one at the last minute to staple to the back of my report.
The lab director calls again and says that this is much more of an effort than they anticipated and they are already 41% over-spent... and they still haven't worked on fixing the rough draft. He's begging me not to send the rough draft. Instead, I tell him I'd pay him more to give me more. He was dumb-struck. I told him the rough draft was quite good and we were satisfied with it, but if he wanted to make it better, then I'd pay for the improvement. Our customers would be happy, and we'd be the one to take the hit on our margin. Heck, I performed a miracle hitting the deadline; my management had to give me some slack when the margin takes a hit (there is so little time that a lot of the allotted dough for my team can't be spent anyway... I gain margin there).
So, I gave my report and the rough draft to the translators early Thursday AM (before my alarm clock usually sounds), then went home and slept for 20 hours (I was working until 1 AM for much of the week). The new rough draft came in on Saturday morning, still in time to be incorporated in the version going to our customer.
It is Easter Sunday and the customer already has the report.
A 16-week schedule was shrunk to a 4-week one. Damn that Tom Sawyer!!!
Of course the horror continues. I still have to get the final draft out... there were lots of holes in my report.
Sleep. Who needs it? Pansies, that's who.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Ambulance Ride to Emergency Room
Friday at work I was stuffed in an ambulance and sped across town to the local hospital's emergency room. I had suddenly felt very dizzy and nauseous. Within an hour of first feeling noticeably bad, I felt scary bad.
I felt so bad, I needed to go home. I asked my colleague what the procedure was for leaving work sick. He looked up and said I had to go to Medical and if they don't think I could drive, he'd drive me home.
Heih? If I couldn't drive home? I didn't tell him I felt ill; just asked about policy. I was a bit startled by the prospect of someone deeming me unfit to drive home! I didn't want to go to Medical. I thought I'd just tough it out at my desk... Then he said he'd get a wheelchair if I didn't think I could make it to Medical! What? Why is he offering me that? How did he know I doubted I could make it? I would have been mortified if a wheelchair came up to my office to wheel me away. I was REALLY wanting to call the whole thing off and curl up under my desk and ride this illness out.
He got up and offered to walk me to Medical. I accepted his offer. Walking was slow going and I ran into the wall 3 different times when I swayed. We were going snail-speed, and when he would take his eyes off me he'd take a few turtle-speed steps and pull away from me. I'd try to keep up, but that made me more nauseous. I had him slow down.
We encountered another colleague along the route. He said, "Whoa! What's wrong with you?" How did he know anything was wrong with me?! What's going on? My chaperon told him I was dizzy and nauseous "and that's why she is so pale." Mystery solved. I look like a vampire sucked a few quarts of blood out of me. This newcomer joined us on our march to the land of healing. They said they'd catch me if I fell, or at least push me over to the other guy.
We arrive at Medical and my escort tells the nurse what's going on. Nursey sits me on the examining table. I feel like I am spinning. I am looking around for something to empty my stomach in. My escort kindly stands at the door until the nurse says it's going to take a while to evaluate me.
I was having the exact feeling I had when my blood pressure was VERY low and I took a hot shower... when my blood pressure plummeted dangerously low and I barely made it out of the shower without passing out. The spinning feeling was reminiscent of the day I came home from chemo and hadn't eaten or drunk anything in 24 hours. I was on that damn Tea-Cup amusement park ride and I couldn't get off.
Blood pressure was normal. Pulse normal. Temperature normal. She had me lay down. Thank god.
She started asking me if I had someone who could pick me up, any family. No. "Well, you can't go home alone like this." Hmf. I start feeling worse. There was a headache accompanying the dizziness/spinning and nausea now. As the one gets worse another symptom eases up while the other holds steady. If charted, the three would look like a biorhythm chart.
She asks about my personal and family medical history. Leukemia got her attention. She took a grim tone. Then asked about diabetes; yup, that's roaming around in my family. The spinning becomes very intense and I can't talk to her. She lets me lay in peace and turns off the lights as she figures out what to do.
She comes back and says I have to go to the hospital, the ER. She said she can't have someone at work drive me because I was likely to vomit in the car. She said I had to go by ambulance.
Damn it!!!!
I'm not all that upset about going to the hospital, it's the whole mess of how I'm going to get out of there, how I'm going to get my car which will be stranded at work, and how I'll get home. Emergency rooms are not known for the in-and-out service Jiffy Lube is known for. I could be there for hours and hours, long after everyone I know is off to their weekend plans. I complain more about being stranded at the hospital than I do about going or the ambulance. The nurse "there-there's" me like, "you have worse things to worry about, my child." Ugh.
So, the decision is made. They called the ambulance. The "good" hospital is "code red" and not treating new patients. They send me to one that is in a scary town instead (now being stranded at the hospital just got worse... it's a scary hospital).
The paramedics come. They are great. Treat me very sweetly. There are THREE of them! The give me an EKG, and I pass. They check my blood sugar and I'm unusually high. Check my breathing and I'm fine. They slide me over to their stretcher, bundle me up like a baby Eskimo, tightly cinch me in with several seatbelts along the length of my body, feeling much like Hannibal Lecktor.
People, having me lay on my back with my neck in a brace to keep it from seeing where I'm rolling is a good recipe for nausea. Woof. They approached the door to the outside and said they were going to put a towel over my hair.... ? They opened the door and it was pouring rain. Great, my hair stayed dry; I drowned, however.
During the long ride to the hospital, the 3rd wheel paramedic trainee practiced on me. All he did was put the Oxygen tube to my nose and around my ears... that was challenge enough for him... and me. I just wondered how I was to throw up without choking, seeing as my head was constrained to face the roof...
Happily, when I arrived I was still carrying the contents of my stomach. I immediately got a room. Faster than anytime I had a neutropenic fever, or even when I was in critical condition being over-run with leukemia cells. I was impressed. Then a nurse's aid came and stripped me of my clothes and dressed me in a hospital gown. She didn't even ask if I needed help... what does my chart say?!? Must indicate I'm brain-damaged?!
"You Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Gone" ran through my head while getting my IV. All my IV's and blood sampling have always been done by "All I do is blood" people. For over 2 years now I've only had the best. It is only now I realize how good they are. This nurse had the biggest needle ever to access my vein on the top of my hand. I so hate getting my IV's there. What's wrong with my inner elbow?
I am used to the pain of needles searching and poking around to hit a vein, but this was the worst ever. You know how the top of your hand is hard and crunchy with all those bones and cartilage? She was ramming the damn needle into THAT! It really, really hurt. I didn't yell out; I didn't squirm; I did, however, tense up with each stab. She was getting mad at ME because apparently tensing up made it more difficult for her to jab me more. She kept saying, "Don't do that." I was thinking, "YOU! Don't YOU do that!" She even dared to say, "You ought to be used to this by now," referring to my leukemia. She should examine that logic. If a girl who suffered hundreds of sticks thinks you are doing a bad job, YOU might be the problem.
She finally pulled out of that hole to try another vein on my hand. Well, having so few platelets and her having nicked my vein several times, blood came streaming out like water from a punctured waterballoon. It literally shot out of my hand, taking flight for about an inch before slathering my hand. She laid some gauze on it until she got the other line started... which only took 2 tries and wasn't painful at all (or maybe I had grown "used to it.")
She gave me shot of Zofran (anti-nausea) and 2 pills for nausea and dizziness. She waited until the Zofran allowed me to take something by mouth... wise woman.
Very soon the young woman doctor came in. She did her quick examination and quickly gathered I knew a bunch about my health, so she spoke to me like my favorite oncologist Margie used to... not talking down to me, but explaining the situation.
They were going to do a CAT-scan, 3 different blood tests (CBC, chemistry, and something else), urine analysis, and give me IV fluids. Being a small hospital, on a slow day, everything went lickity split. With Zofran in me I wasn't suffering anymore.
When they wheeled me back from the CAT-scan they told me it would be at least an hour before they got the results on any of these tests. I zonked out from the drugs they gave me. They had to wake me up to tell me the results.
They concluded I likely had a virus in my inner ear. They gave me a prescription for the dizziness and nausea which I will continue to suffer until the virus is conquered. She told me there were 4 other cases of this today alone. The doc told me to stay home from work for 4 days and asked if I had someone to drive me home. I told her I was working on it.
It was after 4 PM on Friday. Not many if anybody left at work. Who even knows where this hospital is, or is willing to drive in the pouring rain? I called my mentor and he came right up and got me. Turns out, the hospital is in a bad town, but the area near the hospital is nice.
So, I was groggy, but not suffering anymore except a mild headache. I was dropped off at my car and drove home, in the pouring rain, against doctor's advice.
It is now Sunday. I am sleepy/groggy for the prescriptions. Rarely a headache. Rarely dizzy. Only nauseous during the time it takes the pill to kick in. I have an enormous (3 inch square) bruise on the top of my left hand. Yesterday it was dark brown, now it is fading to a brown-green. I'm sure after 4 days I'll be normal enough to return to work.
I felt so bad, I needed to go home. I asked my colleague what the procedure was for leaving work sick. He looked up and said I had to go to Medical and if they don't think I could drive, he'd drive me home.
Heih? If I couldn't drive home? I didn't tell him I felt ill; just asked about policy. I was a bit startled by the prospect of someone deeming me unfit to drive home! I didn't want to go to Medical. I thought I'd just tough it out at my desk... Then he said he'd get a wheelchair if I didn't think I could make it to Medical! What? Why is he offering me that? How did he know I doubted I could make it? I would have been mortified if a wheelchair came up to my office to wheel me away. I was REALLY wanting to call the whole thing off and curl up under my desk and ride this illness out.
He got up and offered to walk me to Medical. I accepted his offer. Walking was slow going and I ran into the wall 3 different times when I swayed. We were going snail-speed, and when he would take his eyes off me he'd take a few turtle-speed steps and pull away from me. I'd try to keep up, but that made me more nauseous. I had him slow down.
We encountered another colleague along the route. He said, "Whoa! What's wrong with you?" How did he know anything was wrong with me?! What's going on? My chaperon told him I was dizzy and nauseous "and that's why she is so pale." Mystery solved. I look like a vampire sucked a few quarts of blood out of me. This newcomer joined us on our march to the land of healing. They said they'd catch me if I fell, or at least push me over to the other guy.
We arrive at Medical and my escort tells the nurse what's going on. Nursey sits me on the examining table. I feel like I am spinning. I am looking around for something to empty my stomach in. My escort kindly stands at the door until the nurse says it's going to take a while to evaluate me.
I was having the exact feeling I had when my blood pressure was VERY low and I took a hot shower... when my blood pressure plummeted dangerously low and I barely made it out of the shower without passing out. The spinning feeling was reminiscent of the day I came home from chemo and hadn't eaten or drunk anything in 24 hours. I was on that damn Tea-Cup amusement park ride and I couldn't get off.
Blood pressure was normal. Pulse normal. Temperature normal. She had me lay down. Thank god.
She started asking me if I had someone who could pick me up, any family. No. "Well, you can't go home alone like this." Hmf. I start feeling worse. There was a headache accompanying the dizziness/spinning and nausea now. As the one gets worse another symptom eases up while the other holds steady. If charted, the three would look like a biorhythm chart.
She asks about my personal and family medical history. Leukemia got her attention. She took a grim tone. Then asked about diabetes; yup, that's roaming around in my family. The spinning becomes very intense and I can't talk to her. She lets me lay in peace and turns off the lights as she figures out what to do.
She comes back and says I have to go to the hospital, the ER. She said she can't have someone at work drive me because I was likely to vomit in the car. She said I had to go by ambulance.
Damn it!!!!
I'm not all that upset about going to the hospital, it's the whole mess of how I'm going to get out of there, how I'm going to get my car which will be stranded at work, and how I'll get home. Emergency rooms are not known for the in-and-out service Jiffy Lube is known for. I could be there for hours and hours, long after everyone I know is off to their weekend plans. I complain more about being stranded at the hospital than I do about going or the ambulance. The nurse "there-there's" me like, "you have worse things to worry about, my child." Ugh.
So, the decision is made. They called the ambulance. The "good" hospital is "code red" and not treating new patients. They send me to one that is in a scary town instead (now being stranded at the hospital just got worse... it's a scary hospital).
The paramedics come. They are great. Treat me very sweetly. There are THREE of them! The give me an EKG, and I pass. They check my blood sugar and I'm unusually high. Check my breathing and I'm fine. They slide me over to their stretcher, bundle me up like a baby Eskimo, tightly cinch me in with several seatbelts along the length of my body, feeling much like Hannibal Lecktor.
People, having me lay on my back with my neck in a brace to keep it from seeing where I'm rolling is a good recipe for nausea. Woof. They approached the door to the outside and said they were going to put a towel over my hair.... ? They opened the door and it was pouring rain. Great, my hair stayed dry; I drowned, however.
During the long ride to the hospital, the 3rd wheel paramedic trainee practiced on me. All he did was put the Oxygen tube to my nose and around my ears... that was challenge enough for him... and me. I just wondered how I was to throw up without choking, seeing as my head was constrained to face the roof...
Happily, when I arrived I was still carrying the contents of my stomach. I immediately got a room. Faster than anytime I had a neutropenic fever, or even when I was in critical condition being over-run with leukemia cells. I was impressed. Then a nurse's aid came and stripped me of my clothes and dressed me in a hospital gown. She didn't even ask if I needed help... what does my chart say?!? Must indicate I'm brain-damaged?!
"You Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Gone" ran through my head while getting my IV. All my IV's and blood sampling have always been done by "All I do is blood" people. For over 2 years now I've only had the best. It is only now I realize how good they are. This nurse had the biggest needle ever to access my vein on the top of my hand. I so hate getting my IV's there. What's wrong with my inner elbow?
I am used to the pain of needles searching and poking around to hit a vein, but this was the worst ever. You know how the top of your hand is hard and crunchy with all those bones and cartilage? She was ramming the damn needle into THAT! It really, really hurt. I didn't yell out; I didn't squirm; I did, however, tense up with each stab. She was getting mad at ME because apparently tensing up made it more difficult for her to jab me more. She kept saying, "Don't do that." I was thinking, "YOU! Don't YOU do that!" She even dared to say, "You ought to be used to this by now," referring to my leukemia. She should examine that logic. If a girl who suffered hundreds of sticks thinks you are doing a bad job, YOU might be the problem.
She finally pulled out of that hole to try another vein on my hand. Well, having so few platelets and her having nicked my vein several times, blood came streaming out like water from a punctured waterballoon. It literally shot out of my hand, taking flight for about an inch before slathering my hand. She laid some gauze on it until she got the other line started... which only took 2 tries and wasn't painful at all (or maybe I had grown "used to it.")
She gave me shot of Zofran (anti-nausea) and 2 pills for nausea and dizziness. She waited until the Zofran allowed me to take something by mouth... wise woman.
Very soon the young woman doctor came in. She did her quick examination and quickly gathered I knew a bunch about my health, so she spoke to me like my favorite oncologist Margie used to... not talking down to me, but explaining the situation.
They were going to do a CAT-scan, 3 different blood tests (CBC, chemistry, and something else), urine analysis, and give me IV fluids. Being a small hospital, on a slow day, everything went lickity split. With Zofran in me I wasn't suffering anymore.
When they wheeled me back from the CAT-scan they told me it would be at least an hour before they got the results on any of these tests. I zonked out from the drugs they gave me. They had to wake me up to tell me the results.
They concluded I likely had a virus in my inner ear. They gave me a prescription for the dizziness and nausea which I will continue to suffer until the virus is conquered. She told me there were 4 other cases of this today alone. The doc told me to stay home from work for 4 days and asked if I had someone to drive me home. I told her I was working on it.
It was after 4 PM on Friday. Not many if anybody left at work. Who even knows where this hospital is, or is willing to drive in the pouring rain? I called my mentor and he came right up and got me. Turns out, the hospital is in a bad town, but the area near the hospital is nice.
So, I was groggy, but not suffering anymore except a mild headache. I was dropped off at my car and drove home, in the pouring rain, against doctor's advice.
It is now Sunday. I am sleepy/groggy for the prescriptions. Rarely a headache. Rarely dizzy. Only nauseous during the time it takes the pill to kick in. I have an enormous (3 inch square) bruise on the top of my left hand. Yesterday it was dark brown, now it is fading to a brown-green. I'm sure after 4 days I'll be normal enough to return to work.
Link on DuPontSucks.com
Someone from the website http://www.dupontsucks.com/ decided to put a link on their site to this site... for my entry entitled "DuPont Sucks Sux and Suxcks!" I feel honored... too bad their website is lame.
Friday, March 7, 2008
All or Nothing at All
"Drip-drip-drip goes the water," I love that Chumba-Wumba song. Well, I did until it wouldn't get out of my head as I dealt with my humidifier.
Yes, my house continues to demand my attention. My humidifier has not worked since I bought the house. I have a home warranty, but I knew it was just the saddle valve that was plugged. Cheap easy fix. I just never put it on the top of the priority list. I would wake up every morning parched. My nose would be dried out. I lived with it. No biggy. Got other stuff to do. Then Carole came and her lips got terribly chapped, no doubt from staying most of her time in my house.
What finally got me on task was coming home from Philly finding a huge crack in the 400-year old piece of wood Pitter-Pat had just given me the a few weeks earlier. It survived 400 years and two weeks with me and it starts to crumble. No one messes with my wood. That humidifier had to die.
I replaced the saddle valve with little effort, only to discover that the solenoid controlled valve also was dead. I went from no flow, to non-stop flow. Of course you can't get one of these valves at Homo Depot or any hardware store. You have to order it. Back down on my priority list.
I have set the valve to trickle.
Now I don't wake up parched, but when I walk by the furnace I have an urge to tinkle...
Yes, my house continues to demand my attention. My humidifier has not worked since I bought the house. I have a home warranty, but I knew it was just the saddle valve that was plugged. Cheap easy fix. I just never put it on the top of the priority list. I would wake up every morning parched. My nose would be dried out. I lived with it. No biggy. Got other stuff to do. Then Carole came and her lips got terribly chapped, no doubt from staying most of her time in my house.
What finally got me on task was coming home from Philly finding a huge crack in the 400-year old piece of wood Pitter-Pat had just given me the a few weeks earlier. It survived 400 years and two weeks with me and it starts to crumble. No one messes with my wood. That humidifier had to die.
I replaced the saddle valve with little effort, only to discover that the solenoid controlled valve also was dead. I went from no flow, to non-stop flow. Of course you can't get one of these valves at Homo Depot or any hardware store. You have to order it. Back down on my priority list.
I have set the valve to trickle.
Now I don't wake up parched, but when I walk by the furnace I have an urge to tinkle...
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Go Juu Go!
Japanese class is really turning out to be great fun. I am not the worst student anymore. Far from it. I am beating them at their own game. Reds had given me a 8-CD set of Total Immersion Japanese when I was in the hospital. Chemo-brain killed any hope of learning anything challenging. The box was never even opened.
Well, after suffering a sound beating in my first class, I got keys to open the filing cabinet that had my Japanese CD's. I listen to them every chance I get... which means at a minimum the hour-long drives to each of my college classes. A minimum of 4 hours/week of listening, plus the 3-hour class. Seven hours a week minimum. I listen to the CD's in the car to work, too, but the ride is less than 15 minutes.
It's amazing. That stuff that was just awkward gibberish now comes out of my mouth without my even having to think about it. Sometimes I say a real long phrase perfectly, without effort, and have to pause and play back what I just said in my head to check to see if what I said was right... AND IT WAS! Weird. Like someone else takes command of my mouth. My brain is like, "Yo' man, what's going on? What are you doing?"
It just turns out that the class and the CD's are perfectly in sync. The first CD was the first class (plus 50% more of the same subject), the second CD was the second class and so on. I hope it continues. It's great. The teacher goes around the class and makes each one of us have the same conversation with him. I dare say I speak the most fluidly and naturally. There are a couple that are close, but I have a clear advantage with these immersion CD's. Immersion means don't think about it, just say what you hear. And by golly it works!
Last class we were focusing on counting and phone numbers and time and such. I love their numbers. If you can count to 10, you have all you need to know to count to 100 and beyond. And the numbers are just fun.
Counting 1 to 2 = "Itchy knee" (Scratch that knee!)
Counting 1 to 3 = "Itchy Nissan" (I don't want to drive that car!)
7-7-7 = "Na-na na-na na-na!" (Very taunting, don't you think?)
55 = Go Ju, Go! (My sisters call me Ju, by the way)
70 = Na-na Ju! (Don't taunt me, bub!)
5:55 PM = "Go go go G go Ju go yoon" (Much more fun than saying 6 o'clock)
9-9-10-10 = Cuckoo Ju-ju (Hey, I'm not crazy)
11 = "Ju itchy" (No, are ju?)
Saiyoonara
Well, after suffering a sound beating in my first class, I got keys to open the filing cabinet that had my Japanese CD's. I listen to them every chance I get... which means at a minimum the hour-long drives to each of my college classes. A minimum of 4 hours/week of listening, plus the 3-hour class. Seven hours a week minimum. I listen to the CD's in the car to work, too, but the ride is less than 15 minutes.
It's amazing. That stuff that was just awkward gibberish now comes out of my mouth without my even having to think about it. Sometimes I say a real long phrase perfectly, without effort, and have to pause and play back what I just said in my head to check to see if what I said was right... AND IT WAS! Weird. Like someone else takes command of my mouth. My brain is like, "Yo' man, what's going on? What are you doing?"
It just turns out that the class and the CD's are perfectly in sync. The first CD was the first class (plus 50% more of the same subject), the second CD was the second class and so on. I hope it continues. It's great. The teacher goes around the class and makes each one of us have the same conversation with him. I dare say I speak the most fluidly and naturally. There are a couple that are close, but I have a clear advantage with these immersion CD's. Immersion means don't think about it, just say what you hear. And by golly it works!
Last class we were focusing on counting and phone numbers and time and such. I love their numbers. If you can count to 10, you have all you need to know to count to 100 and beyond. And the numbers are just fun.
Counting 1 to 2 = "Itchy knee" (Scratch that knee!)
Counting 1 to 3 = "Itchy Nissan" (I don't want to drive that car!)
7-7-7 = "Na-na na-na na-na!" (Very taunting, don't you think?)
55 = Go Ju, Go! (My sisters call me Ju, by the way)
70 = Na-na Ju! (Don't taunt me, bub!)
5:55 PM = "Go go go G go Ju go yoon" (Much more fun than saying 6 o'clock)
9-9-10-10 = Cuckoo Ju-ju (Hey, I'm not crazy)
11 = "Ju itchy" (No, are ju?)
Saiyoonara
You Can Take the Girl Out of the...
I've moved offices. Not far, just one aisle down, but what a difference an aisle makes.
It's hard enough being the only one in the organization that does what I do, and being the only one working on what I'm working on, but I was sitting with people who didn't even work on the same equipment as I do. I was so out of the loop.
My boss had a perfect idea. There was a motor dude sitting amongst pump and seal dudes. Wait, let me rephrase, THE pump and seal dudes. The go-to guys for my particular pump and my particular seal. Across the aisle from my technical mentor, THE pump guy. Catty-corner from THE seal guy, who used to lead the very programs I am now heading up. And my next door officemate? Just a guy that knows the in's and out's of the project system in W. I done landed in the Promise Land!
Bossman suggested I move there a few weeks ago and I froze. I didn't want to be around men that I considered friends. I was horribly burned and didn't trust myself in knowing how to avoid it in the future... I didn't see it coming last time... will I be able to spot it in the future? I didn't want to test myself. I stalled. I didn't tell him if I wanted to make the move or not. Then I got to thinking about it. God damn it. This is the best place in the whole office for me to be. This is where things happen. This is where people know the answers. I got mad. I decided I wasn't going to let that b@stard take anymore from me than he already had. Except for the fact that I was afraid of these guys, everything else was perfect. I had to just take the leap and trust that I would eventually get back to normal and I would regret missing this opportunity.
Turns out moving helped me get out of my hole of misery. People talk to me. Work got easier. I hear more stories (I love stories... they're better than ice cream in August). I don't waste my time walking over to their offices only to find them gone. I don't waste my time walking over just to ask a quick question. From my desk I yell out my question and they yell out the answer. Efficient. We hear each other's conversations; the synergy is energizing. Hooray.
It was blind faith that I'd be able to turn the situation around from threatening to supportive. Hooray for me for taking the leap.
Funny thing, though. I've only been in that other office 8 months, but my auto-pilot still considers that homebase. I so often worked into the wee hours that I would run on auto-pilot. I would print something out and go to the printer to get it and return to my office while reading the print-out. Now every time I return to my office doing something like that... walking without really looking up, I end up in my old office.
The first day I moved I ended up in the other guy's office 2 times. The next day it was only once. Then it was every other day. But then I worked into the wee hours and EVERY time I came back from the printer I found myself taking the first aisle instead of the second. I couldn't stop! Let me tell you, it is REALLY startling to look up to enter your office only to find yourself in a foreign land. I am completely disoriented for about 2 seconds. I feel a little like that guy from "Quantum Leap." It takes you a while to piece together where you are.
It's hard enough being the only one in the organization that does what I do, and being the only one working on what I'm working on, but I was sitting with people who didn't even work on the same equipment as I do. I was so out of the loop.
My boss had a perfect idea. There was a motor dude sitting amongst pump and seal dudes. Wait, let me rephrase, THE pump and seal dudes. The go-to guys for my particular pump and my particular seal. Across the aisle from my technical mentor, THE pump guy. Catty-corner from THE seal guy, who used to lead the very programs I am now heading up. And my next door officemate? Just a guy that knows the in's and out's of the project system in W. I done landed in the Promise Land!
Bossman suggested I move there a few weeks ago and I froze. I didn't want to be around men that I considered friends. I was horribly burned and didn't trust myself in knowing how to avoid it in the future... I didn't see it coming last time... will I be able to spot it in the future? I didn't want to test myself. I stalled. I didn't tell him if I wanted to make the move or not. Then I got to thinking about it. God damn it. This is the best place in the whole office for me to be. This is where things happen. This is where people know the answers. I got mad. I decided I wasn't going to let that b@stard take anymore from me than he already had. Except for the fact that I was afraid of these guys, everything else was perfect. I had to just take the leap and trust that I would eventually get back to normal and I would regret missing this opportunity.
Turns out moving helped me get out of my hole of misery. People talk to me. Work got easier. I hear more stories (I love stories... they're better than ice cream in August). I don't waste my time walking over to their offices only to find them gone. I don't waste my time walking over just to ask a quick question. From my desk I yell out my question and they yell out the answer. Efficient. We hear each other's conversations; the synergy is energizing. Hooray.
It was blind faith that I'd be able to turn the situation around from threatening to supportive. Hooray for me for taking the leap.
Funny thing, though. I've only been in that other office 8 months, but my auto-pilot still considers that homebase. I so often worked into the wee hours that I would run on auto-pilot. I would print something out and go to the printer to get it and return to my office while reading the print-out. Now every time I return to my office doing something like that... walking without really looking up, I end up in my old office.
The first day I moved I ended up in the other guy's office 2 times. The next day it was only once. Then it was every other day. But then I worked into the wee hours and EVERY time I came back from the printer I found myself taking the first aisle instead of the second. I couldn't stop! Let me tell you, it is REALLY startling to look up to enter your office only to find yourself in a foreign land. I am completely disoriented for about 2 seconds. I feel a little like that guy from "Quantum Leap." It takes you a while to piece together where you are.
(IF 1 a.m., THEN No emotionally distressed phone call)
I got a call last night from my little brother. I was asleep. It was 1 AM. Usually my cell phone ringer is off, and often being charged in the other room. Not last night.
My cell phone talks to me. It rings and says, "Call from so-and-so from so-and-so." I hear it is my brother from home. I see it is 1 AM. I panic and jump on the phone. I just knew something horribly tragic had happened in our family... I was already picking out which black dress I was going to wear...
The fear and panic did not subside hearing his voice. Clearly he is emotionally distressed. He's about to pop... "Judy," he says, trying to sound collected. I surprisingly resist saying, "Oh my god, what happened?!" He says, "I read your blog..."
Ahhhhhh, stand down from DEFCON 3. Wew, it's just ME in the family that something horribly tragic has happened to. Well, hell, I can handle that. Wew. I mentally return my black dress to its hanger.
Seems the boy has been out of touch for a while. He's been having back problems. Last night he was suffering particularly bad and he thought of me. ("Oww. My back hurts. God, what a pain. Pain = Judy. I wonder how Judy is; she's such a pain in the butt." I think that's how it went.) He decided to check in on my blog: Cheery, cheery. Oh, good news, no Leukemia. Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah. What's this? What the f*ck is THIS!!!! GOD DAMN IT!!! (At least that's how I think it went.)
I've done such a good job of digging out of that miserable hole I was in, that it seems like longer than the month or so it has been since the incident. I haven't had to tell my story in 3 weeks. I was beginning to poke my head out from under the covers and peak around to see if the boogy-man was gone. This last week I was actually able to talk to men at work and not feel threatened. Then my brother called.
Hearing the emotion in his voice reminded me that I only had a thin layer of dust covering my anger. He was blowing that veil off. He's the first one who has contacted me who wasn't asking me how I was; rather he was showing his reaction and rallying the troops in a sense. Rather than looking inward, he was having me look outward. Not, "How you doing in there?" but "What the hell is going on out here?!"
It was perfect timing, really. I've largely gotten over the pouty stage... the devastation... the I'm-afraid crap. I hadn't touched the "how dare he!" phase. Riled up. That's what I need to finally purge this from my system.
HOW DARE HE!!! #@%*&@!!
My cell phone talks to me. It rings and says, "Call from so-and-so from so-and-so." I hear it is my brother from home. I see it is 1 AM. I panic and jump on the phone. I just knew something horribly tragic had happened in our family... I was already picking out which black dress I was going to wear...
The fear and panic did not subside hearing his voice. Clearly he is emotionally distressed. He's about to pop... "Judy," he says, trying to sound collected. I surprisingly resist saying, "Oh my god, what happened?!" He says, "I read your blog..."
Ahhhhhh, stand down from DEFCON 3. Wew, it's just ME in the family that something horribly tragic has happened to. Well, hell, I can handle that. Wew. I mentally return my black dress to its hanger.
Seems the boy has been out of touch for a while. He's been having back problems. Last night he was suffering particularly bad and he thought of me. ("Oww. My back hurts. God, what a pain. Pain = Judy. I wonder how Judy is; she's such a pain in the butt." I think that's how it went.) He decided to check in on my blog: Cheery, cheery. Oh, good news, no Leukemia. Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah. What's this? What the f*ck is THIS!!!! GOD DAMN IT!!! (At least that's how I think it went.)
I've done such a good job of digging out of that miserable hole I was in, that it seems like longer than the month or so it has been since the incident. I haven't had to tell my story in 3 weeks. I was beginning to poke my head out from under the covers and peak around to see if the boogy-man was gone. This last week I was actually able to talk to men at work and not feel threatened. Then my brother called.
Hearing the emotion in his voice reminded me that I only had a thin layer of dust covering my anger. He was blowing that veil off. He's the first one who has contacted me who wasn't asking me how I was; rather he was showing his reaction and rallying the troops in a sense. Rather than looking inward, he was having me look outward. Not, "How you doing in there?" but "What the hell is going on out here?!"
It was perfect timing, really. I've largely gotten over the pouty stage... the devastation... the I'm-afraid crap. I hadn't touched the "how dare he!" phase. Riled up. That's what I need to finally purge this from my system.
HOW DARE HE!!! #@%*&@!!
March 4th Comes and Goes
March 4th was circled on my calendar. It was supposed to be the moment of truth. The next day I find out that Siberia was still hosting its visitor. The police never called me. I found out on my own. It is now the 6th and the cops still haven't told me what's going on. From Siberia he goes straight to Diablo Canyon... I'm not making this up. DEVIL'S Canyon. Siberia to Hell. I do like the way the cosmos keeps finding way of giving me a wink like this. Now if it could just arrange to have justice be swift...
It's Going to Leave Us!!!
I was meeting two colleagues in Philly to meet with some vendors down there. My colleagues drove (one even said he'd never take the train; what's that about?!). I got there 4 hours before they did so met with one of the vendors without them. During that meeting it was decided that one of the two colleagues needed to stay an extra day, while the other dude needed to go home. And how was this going to be possible? Why, he'd take the train with me!
So he and I met an extra day and our host drove us to the station with plenty of time to spare. I got our tickets and we stood around the station with the rest of the huddled masses.
After about 10 minutes a huge train comes rushing into the station. None of the members of the huddled masses moves. My brain is starting to click off from nuclear engineer to train passenger.... oh my god, the train is on the other side of the tracks. These people are not waiting for our train. CRAP! How the hell do we cross the tracks!!!
Even if it was a nice normal station where you crossed underneath the tracks directly from the station, we weren't going to make it. I've missed a train like this once before in Delaware. You are running under the tracks and the sucker takes off without you. We are screwed. The guy with me is bewildered.
I ask someone in the station if that was the train to Pittsburgh. She said, yep, she thinks so. I frantically asked how to get there. She said we had to go outside and go to the street and cross the bridge and ... and we didn't stick around for her to finish.
The guy with me asks how long the train waits... as we are running with our bags out the door. I said, "It doesn't! We're going to miss it! It's going to leave us!" He takes off like a startled lizard.
I'm weighed down by computer and books and that damn zipper on the one bag opens up on me. We see another guy SPRINTING on the road towards the bridge and he sees us and he frustratingly yells, "It's early!!"
My experience said we were going to have to rent a car. My experience said if there was a slight chance to make the train it was because my speedy friend would tell them to wait for me.
I went as fast as I could, which wasn't very fast. I lost sight of my friend. I guessed which way to head, and guessed right. The steps down to the station were STEEP and equivalent to about 3 stories of stairs. I got a bit of vertigo and hoped I wasn't going to die over such a silly problem.
I got to the platform and I was happy to see there was only one entry to the train and there was a line waiting to board. My friend was looking back for me. I was able to stand in line for 45 seconds before I got on and the train took off. My friend was huffing and puffing and thinking he was going to expire. By the time the conductor came by he was able to function once more.
The best part of this train story is Philly was expecting 3-5 inches of snow that evening. We were headed right into the storm. We didn't know how much the Pitt was getting, but we knew were were going to be getting at least what Philly was going to get. Sure enough, about 2 hours into the ride it began to snow. The closer we got to the Pitt the heavier the downfall and the thicker the coat on the ground. We passed completely through the storm. By the time we got to our station it was raining. The storm was over.
Luckily I have my Nanook of the North snow boots to slosh through the thick mix of snow and slush to get to my car. What a rush!
So he and I met an extra day and our host drove us to the station with plenty of time to spare. I got our tickets and we stood around the station with the rest of the huddled masses.
After about 10 minutes a huge train comes rushing into the station. None of the members of the huddled masses moves. My brain is starting to click off from nuclear engineer to train passenger.... oh my god, the train is on the other side of the tracks. These people are not waiting for our train. CRAP! How the hell do we cross the tracks!!!
Even if it was a nice normal station where you crossed underneath the tracks directly from the station, we weren't going to make it. I've missed a train like this once before in Delaware. You are running under the tracks and the sucker takes off without you. We are screwed. The guy with me is bewildered.
I ask someone in the station if that was the train to Pittsburgh. She said, yep, she thinks so. I frantically asked how to get there. She said we had to go outside and go to the street and cross the bridge and ... and we didn't stick around for her to finish.
The guy with me asks how long the train waits... as we are running with our bags out the door. I said, "It doesn't! We're going to miss it! It's going to leave us!" He takes off like a startled lizard.
I'm weighed down by computer and books and that damn zipper on the one bag opens up on me. We see another guy SPRINTING on the road towards the bridge and he sees us and he frustratingly yells, "It's early!!"
My experience said we were going to have to rent a car. My experience said if there was a slight chance to make the train it was because my speedy friend would tell them to wait for me.
I went as fast as I could, which wasn't very fast. I lost sight of my friend. I guessed which way to head, and guessed right. The steps down to the station were STEEP and equivalent to about 3 stories of stairs. I got a bit of vertigo and hoped I wasn't going to die over such a silly problem.
I got to the platform and I was happy to see there was only one entry to the train and there was a line waiting to board. My friend was looking back for me. I was able to stand in line for 45 seconds before I got on and the train took off. My friend was huffing and puffing and thinking he was going to expire. By the time the conductor came by he was able to function once more.
The best part of this train story is Philly was expecting 3-5 inches of snow that evening. We were headed right into the storm. We didn't know how much the Pitt was getting, but we knew were were going to be getting at least what Philly was going to get. Sure enough, about 2 hours into the ride it began to snow. The closer we got to the Pitt the heavier the downfall and the thicker the coat on the ground. We passed completely through the storm. By the time we got to our station it was raining. The storm was over.
Luckily I have my Nanook of the North snow boots to slosh through the thick mix of snow and slush to get to my car. What a rush!
Run! Catch that Train!
I went to Philly last week (thus no blogs). I took Amtrak again. I love that train. Both coming and going were pretty exciting. This entry is about going.
I miscalculated. The only other time I took the train was when I was coming from the Marriott... in the same town as the train station. It only took 5 minutes. So, I allotted 15 minutes to get there this time, plus 5 minutes to wait for the train (not like stupid airplanes which make you get there two days before). Well, I live 15 minutes from the train station... on a good day. It had snowed 4 inches that morning, and was still snowing as I drove there. I was trying to zoom, but all the rush-hour drivers were cautious (since when are rush-hour drivers thinking about anything but getting where they are going FAST? Erg.).
This is the 4th time driving to the station for me. I picked up and dropped off Carole before my own trip (but I never came from home). I still don't have my GPS programmed to know where the parking garage is. The first 2 times there I parked in "experimental" spots... having never been there before. The last time I was there I found a parking garage that happens to be the one that all the trainies in the know use. Now the challenge was to find that place again... without making a mistake, because I had no fat in my schedule to allow for taking a tour of the town.
Well, I fell for the same "Transportation Center Parking" sign that I fell for last time. That set me back. I thought for sure I missed the train with that mistake. I had to do a uey and cross a backed up rush-hour road mid-stream. Luckily I'm in Ohio-nice-land and they let me in, both lanes opened up for me to pass. Parting of the Red Sea was nothing compared to this miracle.
Then I remember the right sign to look for. Just "Parking." I followed it. It had one of those double arrows. One pointing straight, one telling you to turn. I doubted they were both right. I flipped a coin and turned. Sure enough it was government employee parking only!!! ACK!!! I'm for sure, absolutely no way going to make the train. This is just a dry run for next time... I was sure. I had to go around the block (all one-way streets in the heart of the city) in the snow, at rush-hour. I follow the proper arrow and get in the garage... with signs telling me I can't park on the first 3 reserved levels. I circle around 3 completely empty levels going Mach 3. I park on the level I think is high enough. I park next the stairs, grab my bags and RUN! I'm wearing my Nanook of the North snow boots that are 2 sizes too big which I never bother tying because I only wear them from door-to-door. Plus I was carrying 2 heavy backpacks (and only having one back to put them on). Unbeknownst to me one unzippered as I ran. It is now raining. The sidewalks have 4 inches of slush. I am certain I have missed the train and feel silly running to a station that only has one train a day... anyone who knows anything knows I missed my train.
I get winded (painting walls and fixing plumbing isn't good aerobic conditioning). I slow to a fast walk. I enter the building and feel self-conscious... I'm sure they all know the train has left me. They are staring at me... probably because my underwear is showing from my unzippered bag, now that I think about it.
With no time to waste, I can only flip a coin to choose which side of the tracks to climb (last time it was on the opposite side the signs indicated). As I rise, I see people! I immediately doubt that they are waiting for Amtrak. I stand there like I know what I'm doing and I know where I am... panting, in huge boots, with my underwear on display. Think anybody bought it?? Two minutes later I was whisked away on a choo-choo! One minute later I discover my undies making their public appearance... groan. For the next 5 minutes I was still breathing hard... sounding a bit like a choo-choo myself.
The train had left at the ungodly hour of 8 AM, when I usually am hitting my alarm clock snooze button. I was mentally asleep. So, I sat there in my winter coat sporting my Klondike boots for several stops... about an hour. Sweat finally aroused me enough to doff my jacket but I was too tired to bother with my big ole' boots. By the time we entered the part of the state with not only no snow, but sunny skies, I still had these tundra tackling boots on, along with my tailored Talbot's trousers and crisp oxford blouse... very chic. I tromped to the dining car and was very self-conscious... I had this strange sensation of being a bag lady. When I returned to my seat I swapped shoes... but there was no room in my backpacks for my Nanook of the North boots.
When I got off the train in sunny Paoli (one stop short of Philly) my host was without jacket and reacted to seeing my huge insulated boots like I was taking the Boy Scout motto a bit too far. Well, I had the last laugh when heavy snow greeted when I got back home off the train... it sounded like this: Ha!
I miscalculated. The only other time I took the train was when I was coming from the Marriott... in the same town as the train station. It only took 5 minutes. So, I allotted 15 minutes to get there this time, plus 5 minutes to wait for the train (not like stupid airplanes which make you get there two days before). Well, I live 15 minutes from the train station... on a good day. It had snowed 4 inches that morning, and was still snowing as I drove there. I was trying to zoom, but all the rush-hour drivers were cautious (since when are rush-hour drivers thinking about anything but getting where they are going FAST? Erg.).
This is the 4th time driving to the station for me. I picked up and dropped off Carole before my own trip (but I never came from home). I still don't have my GPS programmed to know where the parking garage is. The first 2 times there I parked in "experimental" spots... having never been there before. The last time I was there I found a parking garage that happens to be the one that all the trainies in the know use. Now the challenge was to find that place again... without making a mistake, because I had no fat in my schedule to allow for taking a tour of the town.
Well, I fell for the same "Transportation Center Parking" sign that I fell for last time. That set me back. I thought for sure I missed the train with that mistake. I had to do a uey and cross a backed up rush-hour road mid-stream. Luckily I'm in Ohio-nice-land and they let me in, both lanes opened up for me to pass. Parting of the Red Sea was nothing compared to this miracle.
Then I remember the right sign to look for. Just "Parking." I followed it. It had one of those double arrows. One pointing straight, one telling you to turn. I doubted they were both right. I flipped a coin and turned. Sure enough it was government employee parking only!!! ACK!!! I'm for sure, absolutely no way going to make the train. This is just a dry run for next time... I was sure. I had to go around the block (all one-way streets in the heart of the city) in the snow, at rush-hour. I follow the proper arrow and get in the garage... with signs telling me I can't park on the first 3 reserved levels. I circle around 3 completely empty levels going Mach 3. I park on the level I think is high enough. I park next the stairs, grab my bags and RUN! I'm wearing my Nanook of the North snow boots that are 2 sizes too big which I never bother tying because I only wear them from door-to-door. Plus I was carrying 2 heavy backpacks (and only having one back to put them on). Unbeknownst to me one unzippered as I ran. It is now raining. The sidewalks have 4 inches of slush. I am certain I have missed the train and feel silly running to a station that only has one train a day... anyone who knows anything knows I missed my train.
I get winded (painting walls and fixing plumbing isn't good aerobic conditioning). I slow to a fast walk. I enter the building and feel self-conscious... I'm sure they all know the train has left me. They are staring at me... probably because my underwear is showing from my unzippered bag, now that I think about it.
With no time to waste, I can only flip a coin to choose which side of the tracks to climb (last time it was on the opposite side the signs indicated). As I rise, I see people! I immediately doubt that they are waiting for Amtrak. I stand there like I know what I'm doing and I know where I am... panting, in huge boots, with my underwear on display. Think anybody bought it?? Two minutes later I was whisked away on a choo-choo! One minute later I discover my undies making their public appearance... groan. For the next 5 minutes I was still breathing hard... sounding a bit like a choo-choo myself.
The train had left at the ungodly hour of 8 AM, when I usually am hitting my alarm clock snooze button. I was mentally asleep. So, I sat there in my winter coat sporting my Klondike boots for several stops... about an hour. Sweat finally aroused me enough to doff my jacket but I was too tired to bother with my big ole' boots. By the time we entered the part of the state with not only no snow, but sunny skies, I still had these tundra tackling boots on, along with my tailored Talbot's trousers and crisp oxford blouse... very chic. I tromped to the dining car and was very self-conscious... I had this strange sensation of being a bag lady. When I returned to my seat I swapped shoes... but there was no room in my backpacks for my Nanook of the North boots.
When I got off the train in sunny Paoli (one stop short of Philly) my host was without jacket and reacted to seeing my huge insulated boots like I was taking the Boy Scout motto a bit too far. Well, I had the last laugh when heavy snow greeted when I got back home off the train... it sounded like this: Ha!
Just Enough Snow to Still Like It
It snows here, but not enough to be annoying. I only shoveled the driveway once so far, and that was just because I was bored and want to go out in the snow.
We don't get inches and inches. We get an inch or two. In Delaware snow would be headed right for us, and instead of a pretty white coating, we'd get rain. Cold wet rain. Here it snows. Pretty.
I love waking up and seeing from my picture window as I open my eyes the whole hill in my backyard covered in snow. I really like it when it is heavy snow and the pine trees hold the snow. Picture perfect. Sooooo much better than rain.
And driving in it? Amazingly, they have the roads plowed by 7 AM... because all the school kiddies have to have a safe journey by bus. My neighborhood is cleared and I'm good to roll. I have a short steep hill leading to my house, and I have yet to have an issue with it.
I've slipped a few times with my car, but just enough for you to go "Woo!" Nothing like, "Oh my god, I'm going to die!" Just enough to remind you not to be a jerk.
We don't get inches and inches. We get an inch or two. In Delaware snow would be headed right for us, and instead of a pretty white coating, we'd get rain. Cold wet rain. Here it snows. Pretty.
I love waking up and seeing from my picture window as I open my eyes the whole hill in my backyard covered in snow. I really like it when it is heavy snow and the pine trees hold the snow. Picture perfect. Sooooo much better than rain.
And driving in it? Amazingly, they have the roads plowed by 7 AM... because all the school kiddies have to have a safe journey by bus. My neighborhood is cleared and I'm good to roll. I have a short steep hill leading to my house, and I have yet to have an issue with it.
I've slipped a few times with my car, but just enough for you to go "Woo!" Nothing like, "Oh my god, I'm going to die!" Just enough to remind you not to be a jerk.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Indian Point
I watched a documentary on HBO last night (I only watch stuff "On Demand" anymore... I don't have patience for commercials or shows that have already started.) It was entitled "Indian Point: Imagining the Unimaginable." It was a story by Rory Kennedy... of THE Kennedys, about the nuclear plant 35 miles up river from New York City. She and her family want it shut down.
They argue that the terrorists are going to hit it and release nuclear radiation and kill the 20 million people that live in and around The City. The thing is, she uses no science or statistics to support her argument. She pretty much says, "What if the terrorists hit it and radiation gets out and kills people? Shut it down!"
Uh, you tell us at the very beginning of the story that the terrorists used the river to navigate to The City, that they PASSED the plant on the way to the World Trade Center. She says, "What if they would have banked left?"
Here's the thing, they would have, if it were a better target. It's not a good target. It's a fortified target. It's not a soft target. The containment shell is many FEET thick of concrete and steel, and even if something were to breach the shell and breach it to a degree to do damage to the equipment inside, there are many, many, many control systems that shut the reactor down and kill the process... protecting the world. The NRC guy they interview says, yes, there is a chance it could happen, but it is infinitely small, so small it is incalculable. No one picks up on that. They just say, but it would be bad if it happened... shut it down. INCALCULABLY SMALL chance. Are we blowing up the moon in the chance that it may break free of its orbit and ram into The City? Why not? Because the chances of it happening are INCALCULABLY SMALL.
She even says herself, at the end of the documentary that she is a New Yorker... but she is not moving out of the city because of the threat of Indian Point. Dude, if it's so terrible, MOVE! You completely contradict everything you said in the documentary when you end up saying, "It's not so bad that I'm going to do anything about it for my own safety." Geez, if you're not willing to do anything, and you think you have all the information to make that decision, why should anyone else give a crap?
They make a point, without admitting that hitting the containment shell is not a real threat, that they might go for stuff that is outside of containment and that would screw stuff up inside containment. Again, lots and lots of safety features keep that down to a scant threat. They admit that there isn't a straight forward means of hitting those targets, containment is in the way, among other things. They say a small force of people on foot could take it over. Uh, there are 25 armed guards, armed with machine guns, trained on killing people who try to do that. But they say, the guards are overworked, under-trained, and out of shape. Even if that were true, those 25 machine guns are 25 more than any chemical plant has. Why go for a hardened target, when with the same small armed force you could take out 5 chemical plants? Why not have all the chemical plants shut down within a 35 mile radius? Oh, and I like the way they say that it would need to be a cloudy day for an attack on the nuclear plant to be as devastating as they are projecting. You just brought something INCALCULABLY SMALL even smaller, but we can't calculate how small, because, well, it was already too small to worry about.
They complain that Indian Point does not have a no-fly zone (but Disneyland does, by the way). They get up in a helicopter and show that they can fly near the plant and no one is doing anything about it. Yeah, because a helicopter to Indian Point is a fly to an elephant. Dude, if containment can take a direct hit from a 747 without batting an eye, do you think a helicopter makes anyone scared?
They mention Chernobyl. They show the dead zone and project it on a map of the US to show it hitting NYC and up to Boston and into PA. They show the dying Ukrainians and have a doctor describe the horrible death they had (it was, by the way, the same way leukemia patients die... quite unpleasant). They only say in passing that there is NO way an American plant can explode like that. Not an incalculably small chance... NO way. Our designs are completely different from Soviet designs. Where there design makes the reaction worse when things go bad, ours kills the reaction. NO way for a Chernobyl, but thanks for showing us the map... a big red blotch covering the Northeast corridor. Why not, when you show the map, follow up with a big red "X" over it and write "IMPOSSIBLE" underneath? Or "Aren't you glad Soviets didn't design this?" Why bring up Chernobyl if it can't happen, ever? Why not show us what the map would look like if the moon smashed into it? Just as relevant, no?
Then they just get plan stupid. They dared to say, "Indian Point generates 2000 Megawatts. New York doesn't need Indian Point." Do they not remember the major blackout it had a couple of years ago? This country is DESPERATE for more electricity... New York in particular. ...Maybe if the Kennedys moved out of New York City the city wouldn't need as much electricity, but oh yeah, they aren't worried enough about an attack to leave.
They argue that the terrorists are going to hit it and release nuclear radiation and kill the 20 million people that live in and around The City. The thing is, she uses no science or statistics to support her argument. She pretty much says, "What if the terrorists hit it and radiation gets out and kills people? Shut it down!"
Uh, you tell us at the very beginning of the story that the terrorists used the river to navigate to The City, that they PASSED the plant on the way to the World Trade Center. She says, "What if they would have banked left?"
Here's the thing, they would have, if it were a better target. It's not a good target. It's a fortified target. It's not a soft target. The containment shell is many FEET thick of concrete and steel, and even if something were to breach the shell and breach it to a degree to do damage to the equipment inside, there are many, many, many control systems that shut the reactor down and kill the process... protecting the world. The NRC guy they interview says, yes, there is a chance it could happen, but it is infinitely small, so small it is incalculable. No one picks up on that. They just say, but it would be bad if it happened... shut it down. INCALCULABLY SMALL chance. Are we blowing up the moon in the chance that it may break free of its orbit and ram into The City? Why not? Because the chances of it happening are INCALCULABLY SMALL.
She even says herself, at the end of the documentary that she is a New Yorker... but she is not moving out of the city because of the threat of Indian Point. Dude, if it's so terrible, MOVE! You completely contradict everything you said in the documentary when you end up saying, "It's not so bad that I'm going to do anything about it for my own safety." Geez, if you're not willing to do anything, and you think you have all the information to make that decision, why should anyone else give a crap?
They make a point, without admitting that hitting the containment shell is not a real threat, that they might go for stuff that is outside of containment and that would screw stuff up inside containment. Again, lots and lots of safety features keep that down to a scant threat. They admit that there isn't a straight forward means of hitting those targets, containment is in the way, among other things. They say a small force of people on foot could take it over. Uh, there are 25 armed guards, armed with machine guns, trained on killing people who try to do that. But they say, the guards are overworked, under-trained, and out of shape. Even if that were true, those 25 machine guns are 25 more than any chemical plant has. Why go for a hardened target, when with the same small armed force you could take out 5 chemical plants? Why not have all the chemical plants shut down within a 35 mile radius? Oh, and I like the way they say that it would need to be a cloudy day for an attack on the nuclear plant to be as devastating as they are projecting. You just brought something INCALCULABLY SMALL even smaller, but we can't calculate how small, because, well, it was already too small to worry about.
They complain that Indian Point does not have a no-fly zone (but Disneyland does, by the way). They get up in a helicopter and show that they can fly near the plant and no one is doing anything about it. Yeah, because a helicopter to Indian Point is a fly to an elephant. Dude, if containment can take a direct hit from a 747 without batting an eye, do you think a helicopter makes anyone scared?
They mention Chernobyl. They show the dead zone and project it on a map of the US to show it hitting NYC and up to Boston and into PA. They show the dying Ukrainians and have a doctor describe the horrible death they had (it was, by the way, the same way leukemia patients die... quite unpleasant). They only say in passing that there is NO way an American plant can explode like that. Not an incalculably small chance... NO way. Our designs are completely different from Soviet designs. Where there design makes the reaction worse when things go bad, ours kills the reaction. NO way for a Chernobyl, but thanks for showing us the map... a big red blotch covering the Northeast corridor. Why not, when you show the map, follow up with a big red "X" over it and write "IMPOSSIBLE" underneath? Or "Aren't you glad Soviets didn't design this?" Why bring up Chernobyl if it can't happen, ever? Why not show us what the map would look like if the moon smashed into it? Just as relevant, no?
Then they just get plan stupid. They dared to say, "Indian Point generates 2000 Megawatts. New York doesn't need Indian Point." Do they not remember the major blackout it had a couple of years ago? This country is DESPERATE for more electricity... New York in particular. ...Maybe if the Kennedys moved out of New York City the city wouldn't need as much electricity, but oh yeah, they aren't worried enough about an attack to leave.
Japanese Class
Had my first Japanese class.
I was SOOOOO close to giving up and dropping the class, before I even entered the classroom.
It all started at work. I went to mapquest to see how to get there and get their address for my GPS. I went to the college's website to print out a map of the campus, to identify the buildings. I printed it all out. I headed out right on time.
I got to my car, and I realized I didn't have my print-outs. It takes about 5 minutes to walk from my office to my car... that means I'll be 10 minutes late. I turned on my GPS and asked it to find my college. It didn't know. Damn! I asked my Palm Treo. It took about 3 minutes and I had the address to feed my GPS. I was going to arrive on campus right as the class was to start.
I turned on the radio. Announcer said traffic INTO the city was stopped and has been stopped for the last 30 minutes due to a bridge closure and an accident. UGH!!! I told myself I would drive until I encounter the back-up then I'd tell my GPS that the road was blocked and ask it for an alternate route.
I did just that, and my predicted arrival time backed up 5 minutes. Then I noticed my GPS was trying to get me on that road again, but I didn't know where the back-up ended, so I avoided it all together. Now my arrival time was going to be 15 minutes late. My first day, too.
I got to campus, but had no idea where to park or which of the many buildings I was supposed to go to. My first attempt to park was ill-fated... it was a round-about. The next attempt was faculty only. My last attempt, I was now 25 minutes late, was in this HUGE parking lot WAY away from all the buildings... and it was PACKED with cars. I drove down one aisle and told myself just to turn around and go home. Cancel the class the next day. I don't want to put up with this drive every week, and I certainly don't want to be 30 minutes late or later.
Miracles of miracles, I find a car spot. I get my GPS to remember where I parked and I head towards campus. I am on the hill above Heinz Field... kinda cool... I could spit on tailgaters.
It is FRIGID outside, with a bit of a wind. The walk is a bit brutal. There is not a soul in sight. I have no idea if the neighborhood is bad and how much danger I might be in. I keep thinking, "Just go home, Judy."
I see a bunch of buildings. I'm pissed none of them have any signs on them. I tell myself I'll go in the first one and ask someone where to find my building. As I round the corner, I see a sign on the door. It is my building! I go to the classroom. The door is closed and I can hear talking. I dread to go in 35 minutes late... but I do.
The tiny room is packed. Fifteen people. I grab the only seat, which happens to be the first one as you enter the door. The instructor doesn't even look up. He's making all the sounds of Japanese letters as the class repeats them. The chalkboard is 3-board long and FULL of Japanese. I'm screwed.
I don't have a book and don't even know if I'm supposed to have one. I just start repeating the ga, gi, ge, go, gu sounds with everyone else.
Turns out he didn't write that stuff on the board as he covered it... he pre-wrote it and he was only one the first board... sa, si, se, so, su.
The instructor is the farthest thing from what you'd expect in a Japanese teacher. He's exactly what you'd imagine for a janitor for Heinz Field down the hill. He's a short, stocky red-headed white guy wearing worn jeans and a faded navy blue tee-shirt. But his Japanese is REALLY good. It's obvious he had lived there for a long time... and didn't go hungry.
After ra, ri, re, ro, ru, he broke right into phrases. Japanese phrases are not short or sweet. They are tongue twisters and forever long. Saying "good morning" takes you until the afternoon. It's easy to sound it out, if you have the word written in front of you, but no one in the class is sounding it out. They are all saying it FLUENTLY!!! Damn. I'm good at sounding foreign words out. Japanese is just as easy as Spanish in that respect... the letters only have one way of being pronounced and you say them all, and have no syllable stressed more than another. Easy, but tongue twisters. Everyone in the class already has some background in Japanese, except me, unless you count the song "Doo mo Arigato, Mr. Roboto" as background in Japanese.
There are high-school-age-looking kids in there who have Anime (Japanese cartoons) tee-shirts on, there are two old yuppies sitting up front (clearly there because they are going to vacation in Japan soon), one black chick with a 'fro that is, no lie, one foot high in all directions. There is only one Asian dude, surprisingly. The enormous man sitting next to me is eager to make eye contact with me and wants to impress me with his Japanese. I dread being hit on by him.
Sure enough the instructor pairs me and him up to practice saying good morning, hello, good evening, and good night. I suck. He's fluent.
When the instructor goes around the room making us all say the same word by ourselves out to the class, the only one worse than me is Afro Girl. Others are just as bad, many are better. Judy doesn't like not being the best in the class.
But it is fun. The class and instructor laugh at my jokes. The instructor says funny things. I can do this. I'll drive the 45 minutes each way, in good traffic, 90 minutes on bad days. I'll walk in the cold and dark down the steep hill. I'll wind around the maze of freeways downtown to get home. It's the best thing I have going.
I was SOOOOO close to giving up and dropping the class, before I even entered the classroom.
It all started at work. I went to mapquest to see how to get there and get their address for my GPS. I went to the college's website to print out a map of the campus, to identify the buildings. I printed it all out. I headed out right on time.
I got to my car, and I realized I didn't have my print-outs. It takes about 5 minutes to walk from my office to my car... that means I'll be 10 minutes late. I turned on my GPS and asked it to find my college. It didn't know. Damn! I asked my Palm Treo. It took about 3 minutes and I had the address to feed my GPS. I was going to arrive on campus right as the class was to start.
I turned on the radio. Announcer said traffic INTO the city was stopped and has been stopped for the last 30 minutes due to a bridge closure and an accident. UGH!!! I told myself I would drive until I encounter the back-up then I'd tell my GPS that the road was blocked and ask it for an alternate route.
I did just that, and my predicted arrival time backed up 5 minutes. Then I noticed my GPS was trying to get me on that road again, but I didn't know where the back-up ended, so I avoided it all together. Now my arrival time was going to be 15 minutes late. My first day, too.
I got to campus, but had no idea where to park or which of the many buildings I was supposed to go to. My first attempt to park was ill-fated... it was a round-about. The next attempt was faculty only. My last attempt, I was now 25 minutes late, was in this HUGE parking lot WAY away from all the buildings... and it was PACKED with cars. I drove down one aisle and told myself just to turn around and go home. Cancel the class the next day. I don't want to put up with this drive every week, and I certainly don't want to be 30 minutes late or later.
Miracles of miracles, I find a car spot. I get my GPS to remember where I parked and I head towards campus. I am on the hill above Heinz Field... kinda cool... I could spit on tailgaters.
It is FRIGID outside, with a bit of a wind. The walk is a bit brutal. There is not a soul in sight. I have no idea if the neighborhood is bad and how much danger I might be in. I keep thinking, "Just go home, Judy."
I see a bunch of buildings. I'm pissed none of them have any signs on them. I tell myself I'll go in the first one and ask someone where to find my building. As I round the corner, I see a sign on the door. It is my building! I go to the classroom. The door is closed and I can hear talking. I dread to go in 35 minutes late... but I do.
The tiny room is packed. Fifteen people. I grab the only seat, which happens to be the first one as you enter the door. The instructor doesn't even look up. He's making all the sounds of Japanese letters as the class repeats them. The chalkboard is 3-board long and FULL of Japanese. I'm screwed.
I don't have a book and don't even know if I'm supposed to have one. I just start repeating the ga, gi, ge, go, gu sounds with everyone else.
Turns out he didn't write that stuff on the board as he covered it... he pre-wrote it and he was only one the first board... sa, si, se, so, su.
The instructor is the farthest thing from what you'd expect in a Japanese teacher. He's exactly what you'd imagine for a janitor for Heinz Field down the hill. He's a short, stocky red-headed white guy wearing worn jeans and a faded navy blue tee-shirt. But his Japanese is REALLY good. It's obvious he had lived there for a long time... and didn't go hungry.
After ra, ri, re, ro, ru, he broke right into phrases. Japanese phrases are not short or sweet. They are tongue twisters and forever long. Saying "good morning" takes you until the afternoon. It's easy to sound it out, if you have the word written in front of you, but no one in the class is sounding it out. They are all saying it FLUENTLY!!! Damn. I'm good at sounding foreign words out. Japanese is just as easy as Spanish in that respect... the letters only have one way of being pronounced and you say them all, and have no syllable stressed more than another. Easy, but tongue twisters. Everyone in the class already has some background in Japanese, except me, unless you count the song "Doo mo Arigato, Mr. Roboto" as background in Japanese.
There are high-school-age-looking kids in there who have Anime (Japanese cartoons) tee-shirts on, there are two old yuppies sitting up front (clearly there because they are going to vacation in Japan soon), one black chick with a 'fro that is, no lie, one foot high in all directions. There is only one Asian dude, surprisingly. The enormous man sitting next to me is eager to make eye contact with me and wants to impress me with his Japanese. I dread being hit on by him.
Sure enough the instructor pairs me and him up to practice saying good morning, hello, good evening, and good night. I suck. He's fluent.
When the instructor goes around the room making us all say the same word by ourselves out to the class, the only one worse than me is Afro Girl. Others are just as bad, many are better. Judy doesn't like not being the best in the class.
But it is fun. The class and instructor laugh at my jokes. The instructor says funny things. I can do this. I'll drive the 45 minutes each way, in good traffic, 90 minutes on bad days. I'll walk in the cold and dark down the steep hill. I'll wind around the maze of freeways downtown to get home. It's the best thing I have going.
Neupogen, AGAIN, REALLY?!?
I cannot believe this. I got a bill in the mail from Aetna Pharmacy. They want me to pay $4k for a supply of Neupogen I used TWO years ago. For those of you who don't know the story, it took me 364 days to resolve a $25k bill that Aetna screwed up with me and my Neupogen. It finally took a DuPont representative to chop a few heads off before they finally corrected their stupidity.
Good gracious, they've become dumber. Some how one of the six supplies of Neupogen was handled separately... and missed the head-chopping experience. Now they want me to pay.
Good god. I happen to know Aetna does not pay for bills submitted past 2 years, yet they are submitting one to me after that long. I also know that MOST people who use Neupogen are not ALIVE after 2 years of being subscribed it. Someone in my family would be receiving this bill AFTER having paid for my cremation a YEAR earlier.
I really, REALLY don't want to fight with the idiots who answer the phone at Aetna... not again. No doubt it will take many, many phone calls, too.
What happens if I just don't pay? It's tempting...
Good gracious, they've become dumber. Some how one of the six supplies of Neupogen was handled separately... and missed the head-chopping experience. Now they want me to pay.
Good god. I happen to know Aetna does not pay for bills submitted past 2 years, yet they are submitting one to me after that long. I also know that MOST people who use Neupogen are not ALIVE after 2 years of being subscribed it. Someone in my family would be receiving this bill AFTER having paid for my cremation a YEAR earlier.
I really, REALLY don't want to fight with the idiots who answer the phone at Aetna... not again. No doubt it will take many, many phone calls, too.
What happens if I just don't pay? It's tempting...
Yale Makes Great Locks
Yale is a good name in locks. I have one on my filing cabinet at home. The movers in Delaware pushed the button and locked it... not knowing I didn't have a key for it. Well, I finally realized I needed something in that cabinet. Carole called a locksmith to come open it (the movers will pay for this service). The locksmith told her to just come down to their office with the lock number that is inscribed on the lock, and they'll make her one. It would be $65 for them to make the service call, or $5 for her to go and get the key.
Well, I went down to the office for the key. No question asked. No, "Prove to me you are the owner of this lock." Nothing. If you go into your boss's office and see his filing cabinet marked "Personal and Confidential" and you want to see what he thinks of his subordinates... just go to a locksmith with the lock number and go and take a look.
What the heck!? How does this guy know I'm not doing just that? That's awful. The locksmith can't help you if you have a cheapy filing cabinet with no lock number on the face. So, yeah, Yale is a good lock to have, but only if you don't have $5.
Well, I went down to the office for the key. No question asked. No, "Prove to me you are the owner of this lock." Nothing. If you go into your boss's office and see his filing cabinet marked "Personal and Confidential" and you want to see what he thinks of his subordinates... just go to a locksmith with the lock number and go and take a look.
What the heck!? How does this guy know I'm not doing just that? That's awful. The locksmith can't help you if you have a cheapy filing cabinet with no lock number on the face. So, yeah, Yale is a good lock to have, but only if you don't have $5.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Carolisms
Half the fun of being around older people is the stuff they say. Carole has me cracking up without her even trying.
She was talking about Kentucky Fried Chicken, but she refers to it as Kentucky Colonel Chicken. The Busy Beaver store down the street is a local hardware chain... she calls it Bugs Bunny. Uhh, let me point out, she's not TRYING to come up with new names... she really thinks those are the names.
She professes no mechanical skill. She says she loathes technology. I tell her she just doesn't spend the time to get to know it... after all she was a nurse and had to learn all that technology and science. She scoffed and said, "Oh, but that was easy." I said the new technology is easy, too, but you don't get poohed or vomited on to learn it. She liked that.
I like that she thinks anything I do mechanically is "genius." Yesterday I solved her paint roller problem by unscrewing the roller head she didn't like (which was designed specifically to paint ceilings... and she was not) and screwing on one for a wall. Brilliant! I fixed her broken glasses by screwing the temple screw in. Her savior. It's great for my ego for her to be around. Things that take some know-how, but limited skill, like changing wall sconces have her praising me like I INVENTED the light I am installing. All the while she is cooking something delicious without using a recipe or doing something else that young-folk would be equally impressed with as she is with my wiring skills. She doesn't see it.
I got some other good stories about Carole, but I'm late for work...
She was talking about Kentucky Fried Chicken, but she refers to it as Kentucky Colonel Chicken. The Busy Beaver store down the street is a local hardware chain... she calls it Bugs Bunny. Uhh, let me point out, she's not TRYING to come up with new names... she really thinks those are the names.
She professes no mechanical skill. She says she loathes technology. I tell her she just doesn't spend the time to get to know it... after all she was a nurse and had to learn all that technology and science. She scoffed and said, "Oh, but that was easy." I said the new technology is easy, too, but you don't get poohed or vomited on to learn it. She liked that.
I like that she thinks anything I do mechanically is "genius." Yesterday I solved her paint roller problem by unscrewing the roller head she didn't like (which was designed specifically to paint ceilings... and she was not) and screwing on one for a wall. Brilliant! I fixed her broken glasses by screwing the temple screw in. Her savior. It's great for my ego for her to be around. Things that take some know-how, but limited skill, like changing wall sconces have her praising me like I INVENTED the light I am installing. All the while she is cooking something delicious without using a recipe or doing something else that young-folk would be equally impressed with as she is with my wiring skills. She doesn't see it.
I got some other good stories about Carole, but I'm late for work...
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Family House Volunteering
I'm still volunteering at Family House; still being trained.
After just having been to the onkie, surrounded by suffering and dying patients for hours, I went to volunteer at The House (it is a 4-minute walk from my onkie). I got caught cold 3 separate times with phrases that I heard at The House. Keep in mind this is a place where family members stay while visiting terminal patients...
My trainer and I were walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator. She said, "God, I'm hot. I'm dying in this sweater." No you're not. You're uncomfortable. Dying? She says this as we pass by placard after placard on the guest doors reading "In Memory of ..." THEY were dying. Everywhere you look, you are reminded people are really dying around you. I'm surprised she didn't catch herself and tone that down.
Later someone in the office said something like, "It kills me they keep taking my parking spot when it clearly says, 'Volunteer Parking.'" Kills her? KILLS her? No, no, bullets kill, cancer kills, car crashes kill.... annoying people, they just annoy. Yes, perhaps you think they should be killed, but taking your parking spot really won't kill YOU... unless someone who is really suffering and dying hears you say something that stupid. I'm not even dying anymore and it disturbed me. I guess sharing waiting-rooms for hours with people on their last legs and feeling very uncomfortable about it can make you sensitive to the words "dying, killing, want to die..."
I'm sure next time I'm there I won't be so sensitive... seeing as I won't be coming from the cancer hospital down the street.
After just having been to the onkie, surrounded by suffering and dying patients for hours, I went to volunteer at The House (it is a 4-minute walk from my onkie). I got caught cold 3 separate times with phrases that I heard at The House. Keep in mind this is a place where family members stay while visiting terminal patients...
My trainer and I were walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator. She said, "God, I'm hot. I'm dying in this sweater." No you're not. You're uncomfortable. Dying? She says this as we pass by placard after placard on the guest doors reading "In Memory of ..." THEY were dying. Everywhere you look, you are reminded people are really dying around you. I'm surprised she didn't catch herself and tone that down.
Later someone in the office said something like, "It kills me they keep taking my parking spot when it clearly says, 'Volunteer Parking.'" Kills her? KILLS her? No, no, bullets kill, cancer kills, car crashes kill.... annoying people, they just annoy. Yes, perhaps you think they should be killed, but taking your parking spot really won't kill YOU... unless someone who is really suffering and dying hears you say something that stupid. I'm not even dying anymore and it disturbed me. I guess sharing waiting-rooms for hours with people on their last legs and feeling very uncomfortable about it can make you sensitive to the words "dying, killing, want to die..."
I'm sure next time I'm there I won't be so sensitive... seeing as I won't be coming from the cancer hospital down the street.
Blood Tests Confirm 2-Year Remission
Went to my onkie a couple of weeks ago. Once again it was zoom-zoom-zoom: pick-up folder, go to sector D, drop off folder, wait, get called, have procedure done, get another folder, drop off in another sector, wait, get called.... Very efficient. Just don't rely on their magazines. Your total wait time in the 4 hours you are there is about 1 hour, but that hour is spread out at 10 different sectors, all with different magazines.
Anyway, my blood was clean. White blood cell count suggested no cancerous activity. My platelets, well, they are still as low as they can be without being considered alarming. I bleed all the time, but because I have 150k platelets, there is no real concern. I just have to buy a good supply of hydrogen peroxide to get blood stains out of my clothes.
So, 2 years. That is a BIG milestone. Once a leukemia patient makes it 2 years the chances of the same leukemia coming back is REALLY low. I'm not cured until I make it 5 years, but it's down to single digit likelihood that ole' Luke will be coming back around. Oh, thank God.
I gotta send my ole' onkie Margie a note to let her know the good news. She said she can tolerate being a onkie for Luke patients because there are a few patients who do make it. Isn't it awful that one of the few that is going to make it for her moves away and she doesn't get the benefit of being reminded of her success every time I have a check-up? Yeah, I need to send her a note to remind her she saved one of us and that I'm doing fine... I won't mention I bleed on everything....
Anyway, my blood was clean. White blood cell count suggested no cancerous activity. My platelets, well, they are still as low as they can be without being considered alarming. I bleed all the time, but because I have 150k platelets, there is no real concern. I just have to buy a good supply of hydrogen peroxide to get blood stains out of my clothes.
So, 2 years. That is a BIG milestone. Once a leukemia patient makes it 2 years the chances of the same leukemia coming back is REALLY low. I'm not cured until I make it 5 years, but it's down to single digit likelihood that ole' Luke will be coming back around. Oh, thank God.
I gotta send my ole' onkie Margie a note to let her know the good news. She said she can tolerate being a onkie for Luke patients because there are a few patients who do make it. Isn't it awful that one of the few that is going to make it for her moves away and she doesn't get the benefit of being reminded of her success every time I have a check-up? Yeah, I need to send her a note to remind her she saved one of us and that I'm doing fine... I won't mention I bleed on everything....
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Lemme in!!
What's with Pittsburgh? It's not so different from Delaware. Yet, unexplicably I find myself "locked" out of my car due to ice freezing it shut!!? I put my whole body weight behind yanking on the door handle, and nothing. I have to try other doors until finally I find one that will creak and crack and let me in.
In 15 years in Delaware that may have happened, oh, say five times. Here in the Pitt? I haven't been here a year and I've had it happen at least five times. It's really not that much colder here, or wetter. What's the deal? Oh, jeez, I hope it's not that I've lost all my muscle strength since moving here and the ice is no different... oh that would be too much.
Please, tell me there is some El Ninito altering the world's door seals...
In 15 years in Delaware that may have happened, oh, say five times. Here in the Pitt? I haven't been here a year and I've had it happen at least five times. It's really not that much colder here, or wetter. What's the deal? Oh, jeez, I hope it's not that I've lost all my muscle strength since moving here and the ice is no different... oh that would be too much.
Please, tell me there is some El Ninito altering the world's door seals...
Chemistry?! I thought I was through with chemistry!!
Damn. One of the problems I'm working to resolve could be resolved through chemistry ("Better nuking through chemistry"). Yes, it was my idea. We have a program to address the problem mechanically (by selling a new spare part), but I figured a couple of ways to do it with chemistry (we wouldn't be selling anything).
How did I come up it the idea? Talking to chemist and chemical engineers. That was one of the worst aspects of my last job -- those people are a little freaky not-from-this-world types. Not to mention chemistry is one of my least favorite classes from college (as was fluid flow, but let's not harp on how horribly my life has turned out, aye?).
I fled from chemicals. Chemicals almost killed me. So many reasons to be happy I no longer had to deal with molecules, caustics, alkalines, valance bonds, pH, conductivity... and now I'm back in it again... at least I'm not IN it, in it, like I was before. I'm just figuratively in it... so I won't die from it this time at least... I guess that's something...
In my organization NO ONE is chemically knowlegable. No need. We work on pumps that pump water. So, you could imagine that some chick who used to pump exotic chemicals is more knowledgable about chemistry. Well, they frickin' think I'm a CHEMICAL ENGINEER! I, of course, am insulted.
Unfortunately I have several customers that are VERY interested in my idea... I can't just shove it in the bowels of my filing cabinet never to be seen again. Customers, we gotta find a way to get rid of them, so pesky... oh, wait..
How did I come up it the idea? Talking to chemist and chemical engineers. That was one of the worst aspects of my last job -- those people are a little freaky not-from-this-world types. Not to mention chemistry is one of my least favorite classes from college (as was fluid flow, but let's not harp on how horribly my life has turned out, aye?).
I fled from chemicals. Chemicals almost killed me. So many reasons to be happy I no longer had to deal with molecules, caustics, alkalines, valance bonds, pH, conductivity... and now I'm back in it again... at least I'm not IN it, in it, like I was before. I'm just figuratively in it... so I won't die from it this time at least... I guess that's something...
In my organization NO ONE is chemically knowlegable. No need. We work on pumps that pump water. So, you could imagine that some chick who used to pump exotic chemicals is more knowledgable about chemistry. Well, they frickin' think I'm a CHEMICAL ENGINEER! I, of course, am insulted.
Unfortunately I have several customers that are VERY interested in my idea... I can't just shove it in the bowels of my filing cabinet never to be seen again. Customers, we gotta find a way to get rid of them, so pesky... oh, wait..
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Still Don't Know Where I Am
I'm in Pittsburgh. I'm in Pittsburgh. Gotta remember I'm in Pittsburgh. I haven't watched TV until a few weeks ago. I listen to a public radio station with no commercials. I don't read the newspaper. All I do is work on my house and work at home. Working on my house, the only time I go out is to buy stuff and all the stores are the same no matter what town or state you are in. I turn on the TV and catch a newscast and it startles me to hear them talk about the Pitt. In my mind, I'm still in Delaware... Philly should be on the news.
So, I'm in Philly last week and I'm talking to someone who lives there. I start to tell them a story and it's about a story I read in USA Today. I'm telling it, then I remember that "I'm in Pittsburgh" and add the detail that the story is about a company "around here, in Pittsburgh." Damn! I finally remember I live in Pittsburgh, only to actually be in Philly. That's just silly.
So, I'm in Philly last week and I'm talking to someone who lives there. I start to tell them a story and it's about a story I read in USA Today. I'm telling it, then I remember that "I'm in Pittsburgh" and add the detail that the story is about a company "around here, in Pittsburgh." Damn! I finally remember I live in Pittsburgh, only to actually be in Philly. That's just silly.
Signed up for Japanese Class
Just signed up for a community college on Japanese. The local community college didn't have it. The closest campus offering it is across the river from downtown Pittsburgh. That's a haul. It would be OK if it were on the weekend, and I'd just stay down there and take in the city attractions, but it's a night class. The Pitt is no NYC. It's a city that sleeps. Alas. But the class WILL get me to leave work on time instead of lingering on into the night. That's worth a 25-mile drive... I'll get books on tape to pass the time... Japanese books on tape, maybe.
Oh, why Japanese? Westinghouse is owned by Toshiba. I want to know how to sweet talk the big bosses... always thinking, I am.
Oh, why Japanese? Westinghouse is owned by Toshiba. I want to know how to sweet talk the big bosses... always thinking, I am.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
That's Not Fair!
Today at work a colleague of mine called me to come to his office. I had my notebook and pen ready to take notes. He nervously said it was totally off the subject (of my project), that it was personal. His nervousness made me uncomfortable... oh god.
He said he knew I had some experience with this and that he wanted my insight. Okayyyy...
He said he knew someone, not him, who was just diagnosed with Low-Grade Lymphoma and he wanted to know what was in store for that person.
Fyew! I can handle this.
I jabbered on about the fact that the experience is totally dependant on what stage they were in. Stage one, no worries. Stage four, buy your black suit. Stage two or three, there is going to be some suffering involved and you are facing varying odds of survival. I told him how the lymph system is throughout the body, so it could be a full-scale attack with chemo, but it could also just be radiation. I told him about Lonnie who went every Friday to get his chest/neck zapped every week for a while... and he's fine. I mentioned the barbaric Bone Marrow Aspiration and Biopsy procedure and losing your hair. I informed him that the lymph system is a major part of the immune system... that to treat lymphoma they destroy the immune system and the longer you are without the immune system, the more brutal and horrific the experience is.
He is getting what seems to be emotional, but I'm not sure what's going on. He tells me that it is a family member. I talk to him like he needs to get the straight dope so he can better support and protect the people who are going to be dealing with this crap.
He tells me that the doctor is going to wait before he treats it and he can't imagine what that's all about. I tell him it is incurable, but you can live a long time with it. I told him I knew of a guy who has it who is in the same boat. He is not "bad" enough to warrant treatment. The cancer isn't worth going after. I told him that the guy I knew was told that he WOULD be treated in Europe, that they are more aggressive over there, but here it would be considered "experimental." He did not like that news; I was certain he was getting emotional.
I spoke a bit more about the horrors of a bone marrow transplant that it is the worst experience anyone could ever have, basically.
Then he stutters and told me the person who has it IS HIS DAD!!!! Crap!!!!
I can't believe he let me go on and on without telling me... that's not fair. Oh man. I was telling him the straight poop so he could be nice to someone LIKE HIM, who needs someone to be gentle and sensitive. Oh crap. Oh god. I am a monster. I want to vomit. Bleck.
His eyes well up and he grabs a Kleenex and excuses himself as he wipes his eyes.
I can't take any of it back. I can't say, "There, there, it will be OK." Ugh!
All I can think of to tell him is it's not like acute leukemia where if you don't get treated within a month you die. I told him lymphoma are the nerd cancer cells and leukemia are the jocks. I don't much remember what I said after that... I crawled under a rock. I am salamander slime.
I didn't want to tell him I was sorry for his dad's situation... I thought it would be like "I'm sorry your dad's dying" and I didn't want him to think I thought that was the case. I couldn't say it'll be all right; that's stupid; I just told him it wasn't. I didn't want to say, "Chin up. You can do this," because who am I to tell him what to do? Oh, it was awful. I totally cracked the guy's skull with a 2 by 4 and just stood there... in horror.
I hope I can do better for him soon. I hope he finds out his dad is Stage One and they don't need to treat him for a year or two, or three. I hope his dad is feeling fine, and it was just a routine check that found it.
It's easier being diagnosed than support someone dealing with the diagnosis, I can tell you.
Everybody? Go donate some blood... and platelets.
He said he knew I had some experience with this and that he wanted my insight. Okayyyy...
He said he knew someone, not him, who was just diagnosed with Low-Grade Lymphoma and he wanted to know what was in store for that person.
Fyew! I can handle this.
I jabbered on about the fact that the experience is totally dependant on what stage they were in. Stage one, no worries. Stage four, buy your black suit. Stage two or three, there is going to be some suffering involved and you are facing varying odds of survival. I told him how the lymph system is throughout the body, so it could be a full-scale attack with chemo, but it could also just be radiation. I told him about Lonnie who went every Friday to get his chest/neck zapped every week for a while... and he's fine. I mentioned the barbaric Bone Marrow Aspiration and Biopsy procedure and losing your hair. I informed him that the lymph system is a major part of the immune system... that to treat lymphoma they destroy the immune system and the longer you are without the immune system, the more brutal and horrific the experience is.
He is getting what seems to be emotional, but I'm not sure what's going on. He tells me that it is a family member. I talk to him like he needs to get the straight dope so he can better support and protect the people who are going to be dealing with this crap.
He tells me that the doctor is going to wait before he treats it and he can't imagine what that's all about. I tell him it is incurable, but you can live a long time with it. I told him I knew of a guy who has it who is in the same boat. He is not "bad" enough to warrant treatment. The cancer isn't worth going after. I told him that the guy I knew was told that he WOULD be treated in Europe, that they are more aggressive over there, but here it would be considered "experimental." He did not like that news; I was certain he was getting emotional.
I spoke a bit more about the horrors of a bone marrow transplant that it is the worst experience anyone could ever have, basically.
Then he stutters and told me the person who has it IS HIS DAD!!!! Crap!!!!
I can't believe he let me go on and on without telling me... that's not fair. Oh man. I was telling him the straight poop so he could be nice to someone LIKE HIM, who needs someone to be gentle and sensitive. Oh crap. Oh god. I am a monster. I want to vomit. Bleck.
His eyes well up and he grabs a Kleenex and excuses himself as he wipes his eyes.
I can't take any of it back. I can't say, "There, there, it will be OK." Ugh!
All I can think of to tell him is it's not like acute leukemia where if you don't get treated within a month you die. I told him lymphoma are the nerd cancer cells and leukemia are the jocks. I don't much remember what I said after that... I crawled under a rock. I am salamander slime.
I didn't want to tell him I was sorry for his dad's situation... I thought it would be like "I'm sorry your dad's dying" and I didn't want him to think I thought that was the case. I couldn't say it'll be all right; that's stupid; I just told him it wasn't. I didn't want to say, "Chin up. You can do this," because who am I to tell him what to do? Oh, it was awful. I totally cracked the guy's skull with a 2 by 4 and just stood there... in horror.
I hope I can do better for him soon. I hope he finds out his dad is Stage One and they don't need to treat him for a year or two, or three. I hope his dad is feeling fine, and it was just a routine check that found it.
It's easier being diagnosed than support someone dealing with the diagnosis, I can tell you.
Everybody? Go donate some blood... and platelets.
See Icicle Photos Below
I added photos of my 4-foot long toilet water icicle in that entry. Check it out.
Potential Antartica Shipmate
I called my cousin Sue last night (she wants to buy my car... when I decide to sell it). She and I went to Peru together. She's GREAT to vacation with. She told me of her plans to return to Peru this summer and then asked of my plans. I told her that I've been invited to Costa Rica, but I have to go to Paris for work around that same time. I told her about India, but that my friend has postponed until 2009. Then I told her about Antarctica. She is the only one that ever responded with, "Oh, cool!" She would be up for it!!!!
Seeing as the summer season down there is fast coming to an end, and it will take a while to arrange things, we are looking at their next summer (Nov-Mar is the available window for cruises down there). Hopefully we will go in December... you know, when Westinghouse closes the site for 10 days.
Sue, being a seasoned traveler and shrewed shopper, noted this is the perfect time to buy her requisite parka for the trip. Always thinking, that one.
Seeing as the summer season down there is fast coming to an end, and it will take a while to arrange things, we are looking at their next summer (Nov-Mar is the available window for cruises down there). Hopefully we will go in December... you know, when Westinghouse closes the site for 10 days.
Sue, being a seasoned traveler and shrewed shopper, noted this is the perfect time to buy her requisite parka for the trip. Always thinking, that one.
Talked to My Lawyer Once More
DuPont and Aetna had 45 days to respond to my lawyer's appeal. They have failed to do so (a month ago was the deadline). Now I have to pester my lawyer to write them one more letter to tell them if they do not respond we will be forced to go to court. We have 60 days to do that. Then they have 60 days to respond. When they don't, we go to Delaware's District Court and sue them [Judy Hodgson vs. DuPont Company will be the case].
My lawyer fully expects both Aetna and DuPont to ignore the letters as they have done with the others. Therefore he fully expects us to have to sue them. As he put it, "DuPont has been insulting their people for years" by not responding and denying them benefits that are rightfully theirs.
The bad news is Delaware's 3rd District Court is biased to large companies. Their viewpoint is "Those companies wouldn't do anything wrong." One judge in particular has been known to pass judgement WITHOUT READING THE PAPERWORK. So, there is a high probability that the District court will deny me (picture them as just another arm of DuPont). You have to appeal with the 3rd Circuit Court to reverse the stupidity rendered by the District court. Oh, the tedium.
Here's an interesting statistic. Out of the 5000 lawyers in Delaware, 49% of them are DEFENSE lawyers, mostly CORPORATE defense lawyers. Yup. And that's the pool of folks they pull from to be JUDGES.
Anyway, the longer they protract this nonsense the more money DuPont is going to lose. First, quoting my lawyer, "It is so obvious that DuPont violated their own benefit rules" when they denied my Incapability Pension. Ultimately the result will be that I get my pension and medical and all the other goodies a retired employee is entitled to. But wait! There is more. They have to pay back all the money they have been denying me since I retired last year... with interest. You may snub your nose at the interest part, but get this. The interest they pay is not the paltry 4-5% that some money market account would have yielded. Nope. It's the interest that the DuPont Pension Plan made on my money. Last year, that was 17%! Whoo-hoo! They also pay more and more to my lawyer, who ain't cheap.
When I asked my odds on getting my pension, he said "100%. It's an obvious legal assertion," which is legal talk for "Even an idiot could get you your pension." Ah good, because I'm suing idiots.
My lawyer fully expects both Aetna and DuPont to ignore the letters as they have done with the others. Therefore he fully expects us to have to sue them. As he put it, "DuPont has been insulting their people for years" by not responding and denying them benefits that are rightfully theirs.
The bad news is Delaware's 3rd District Court is biased to large companies. Their viewpoint is "Those companies wouldn't do anything wrong." One judge in particular has been known to pass judgement WITHOUT READING THE PAPERWORK. So, there is a high probability that the District court will deny me (picture them as just another arm of DuPont). You have to appeal with the 3rd Circuit Court to reverse the stupidity rendered by the District court. Oh, the tedium.
Here's an interesting statistic. Out of the 5000 lawyers in Delaware, 49% of them are DEFENSE lawyers, mostly CORPORATE defense lawyers. Yup. And that's the pool of folks they pull from to be JUDGES.
Anyway, the longer they protract this nonsense the more money DuPont is going to lose. First, quoting my lawyer, "It is so obvious that DuPont violated their own benefit rules" when they denied my Incapability Pension. Ultimately the result will be that I get my pension and medical and all the other goodies a retired employee is entitled to. But wait! There is more. They have to pay back all the money they have been denying me since I retired last year... with interest. You may snub your nose at the interest part, but get this. The interest they pay is not the paltry 4-5% that some money market account would have yielded. Nope. It's the interest that the DuPont Pension Plan made on my money. Last year, that was 17%! Whoo-hoo! They also pay more and more to my lawyer, who ain't cheap.
When I asked my odds on getting my pension, he said "100%. It's an obvious legal assertion," which is legal talk for "Even an idiot could get you your pension." Ah good, because I'm suing idiots.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Delaware, Maine, Same Thing
I was telling my new next-door officemate how I really liked the hood on my fancy new Westinghouse winter coat. He said he hated hoods and removed his hood from his coat when he got it out of the box. I said I always hated hoods in the past, but around here you NEED it; you USE it. I said I have to put my hood up to go from the car to the grocery store. It's COLD!
Then he said, "Aren't you from Maine or something like that?" I told him no, I moved here from Delaware. He said, "Same thing; all those north east states up there."
I said, "Uh, Delaware is SOUTH of Philly." Suspicious now of his geographic knowledge I added, "Philly is in Pennsylvania, southern Pennsylvania. Delaware is south of Pennsylvania. South of here."
He shrugged his shoulders and said something disparaging about Philly and went back to work.
Great. Now not only do people think I'm a hippie vegetarian, but I'm a hippie veg-head FROM MAINE.
Then he said, "Aren't you from Maine or something like that?" I told him no, I moved here from Delaware. He said, "Same thing; all those north east states up there."
I said, "Uh, Delaware is SOUTH of Philly." Suspicious now of his geographic knowledge I added, "Philly is in Pennsylvania, southern Pennsylvania. Delaware is south of Pennsylvania. South of here."
He shrugged his shoulders and said something disparaging about Philly and went back to work.
Great. Now not only do people think I'm a hippie vegetarian, but I'm a hippie veg-head FROM MAINE.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Don't Eat that Icicle!!
From January 1-5 an icicle grew from my garage soffit finally reaching over 4 feet long and as wide as 8 inches and as thick as 3 inches. It was a BEAST! On Dec 31, me and my friend thought perhaps it was from the recent rains and the water was caught behind a board on my house's exterior. After Jan 2, the icicle was 2 feet long. We concluded it was NOT from external water, rather, from a pipe.
It was a really cool icicle. It was colossal. If it weren't embarrassing, it would be something to show the kids. Lucky thing I didn't.
Turns out, the source of the water was from the master bathroom's TOILET! The bee's wax ring never sealed the toilet to the floor. Ever since that toilet was installed on the tiles it has been leaking. The person that installed the tile needed to extend the neck on the drain to seal the toilet, and he put gobs of grout all around the drain to heighten it so the toilet had something to sit on. It failed to ever work. It was a lame attempt.
Note, it is only recently that I've started using the master bath, because it is only recent that I've moved upstairs (when my household goods gave me a bed to sleep in up there). I've been using the bathroom in the basement for all my needs (the master bath didn't have a shower curtain for a while after the household goods arrived). When I DID mosey on up there one time, the bowl was nearly empty. I assumed it evaporated. Several other times I went up there it smelled a bit like sewer fumes were entering the house. The solution was to flush the toilet. I never put it all together and saw it as a problem... not until I saw the wet concrete in front of the garage on Dec 31. Seems like every other week I uncover some serious maintenance issue that needs to be addressed. I should have known that maintenance was long neglected, seeing that 40% of all the lightbulbs were burned out... some switches powered FOUR lights, but NONE of them had a working bulb! That was just the tip of the iceberg... er, icicle.
You know, usually icicles make great popsicles. Not this one. Although the icicle (ice-ICK-le) was perfectly clean and clear, I know where it came from. I'm so glad I didn't do something with it I would now regret.
The freezing temps have been replaced with Spring-like weather as of yesterday. The icicle is dead. Once we determined it was from the toilet, we disconnected the toilet. No more leaky-leaky. We collected the ice that formed. It filled a 5 gallon bucket. That is a gallon a day leak. I'm very grateful the leak went OUTSIDE to do its damage. Kinda cool it did that... and make this awesome icicle. That's what happens in Heaven; yeah, you get a leak, but it leaks outside and makes modern art. Heaven is cool.
Anyway, it being a plumbing problem, my home warranty covers it. I have an appointment tomorrow with a plumber. It will only cost me $55. Anything beyond that is covered. Awesome.
Oh, one other cool thing. I plan on gutting that bathroom anyway. The plumber is not likely to cover the wet black plywood that is under the tile (that we could see when we cut into the garage roof. No worries. I plan on pulling up the ugly brown tile anyway.. The only bathroom with tile, and it is brown. Good grief. Makes it easy to pull up for the remodeling though, eh?
It was a really cool icicle. It was colossal. If it weren't embarrassing, it would be something to show the kids. Lucky thing I didn't.
Turns out, the source of the water was from the master bathroom's TOILET! The bee's wax ring never sealed the toilet to the floor. Ever since that toilet was installed on the tiles it has been leaking. The person that installed the tile needed to extend the neck on the drain to seal the toilet, and he put gobs of grout all around the drain to heighten it so the toilet had something to sit on. It failed to ever work. It was a lame attempt.
Note, it is only recently that I've started using the master bath, because it is only recent that I've moved upstairs (when my household goods gave me a bed to sleep in up there). I've been using the bathroom in the basement for all my needs (the master bath didn't have a shower curtain for a while after the household goods arrived). When I DID mosey on up there one time, the bowl was nearly empty. I assumed it evaporated. Several other times I went up there it smelled a bit like sewer fumes were entering the house. The solution was to flush the toilet. I never put it all together and saw it as a problem... not until I saw the wet concrete in front of the garage on Dec 31. Seems like every other week I uncover some serious maintenance issue that needs to be addressed. I should have known that maintenance was long neglected, seeing that 40% of all the lightbulbs were burned out... some switches powered FOUR lights, but NONE of them had a working bulb! That was just the tip of the iceberg... er, icicle.
You know, usually icicles make great popsicles. Not this one. Although the icicle (ice-ICK-le) was perfectly clean and clear, I know where it came from. I'm so glad I didn't do something with it I would now regret.
The freezing temps have been replaced with Spring-like weather as of yesterday. The icicle is dead. Once we determined it was from the toilet, we disconnected the toilet. No more leaky-leaky. We collected the ice that formed. It filled a 5 gallon bucket. That is a gallon a day leak. I'm very grateful the leak went OUTSIDE to do its damage. Kinda cool it did that... and make this awesome icicle. That's what happens in Heaven; yeah, you get a leak, but it leaks outside and makes modern art. Heaven is cool.
Anyway, it being a plumbing problem, my home warranty covers it. I have an appointment tomorrow with a plumber. It will only cost me $55. Anything beyond that is covered. Awesome.
Oh, one other cool thing. I plan on gutting that bathroom anyway. The plumber is not likely to cover the wet black plywood that is under the tile (that we could see when we cut into the garage roof. No worries. I plan on pulling up the ugly brown tile anyway.. The only bathroom with tile, and it is brown. Good grief. Makes it easy to pull up for the remodeling though, eh?
Friday, January 4, 2008
Better Late than Never?
I got a letter from Aetna yesterday. It notified me that they were denying payment for a medical bill... again. Having had so many medical bills over the past few years, even with them denying a small percentage, resulted in big headaches. So, I looked at this thing with a heavy sigh. How many phone calls is this going to take to resolve?
I looked a little closer. I didn't recognize the doctor's name on the invoice. I looked at the date. December. When did I go to the doctor's in December? I looked at the footnote that defined the reason for the denial -- it took too long for the doctor to bill Aetna. Heih? Too long? It's December. I looked closer at the date. It was from 2005!!! It was from 12/8/2005. That is the very date that I was diagnosed with Leukemia. So many doctors saw me and so many tests were performed on me that day, shoot, it's no wonder I don't recognize the name. But, my god, is it possible for someone to really think that TWO YEARS later they are going to get Aetna to pay for something???
Let me just say, they better not come after me to pay the damn thing. An insurance company can just say, "Nope, too late." But can I? I mean, if they gave me the service, I should pay, right? But that's why I have insurance, to cover my costs. Ugh. I don't even have Aenta insurance any more (thank God). I doubt they are going to be very helpful in resolving this if the hospital leans on me.
I can't believe 12/8/2005 has reached from the grave and tapped me on the shoulder again. The date of December 8 freaks me out as it is, but 12/8/2005 stops me cold. Thanks, Aetna. Thanks, HUP. Always nice to be annoyed AND freaked out. It's like burning your tongue on rancid food.
I looked a little closer. I didn't recognize the doctor's name on the invoice. I looked at the date. December. When did I go to the doctor's in December? I looked at the footnote that defined the reason for the denial -- it took too long for the doctor to bill Aetna. Heih? Too long? It's December. I looked closer at the date. It was from 2005!!! It was from 12/8/2005. That is the very date that I was diagnosed with Leukemia. So many doctors saw me and so many tests were performed on me that day, shoot, it's no wonder I don't recognize the name. But, my god, is it possible for someone to really think that TWO YEARS later they are going to get Aetna to pay for something???
Let me just say, they better not come after me to pay the damn thing. An insurance company can just say, "Nope, too late." But can I? I mean, if they gave me the service, I should pay, right? But that's why I have insurance, to cover my costs. Ugh. I don't even have Aenta insurance any more (thank God). I doubt they are going to be very helpful in resolving this if the hospital leans on me.
I can't believe 12/8/2005 has reached from the grave and tapped me on the shoulder again. The date of December 8 freaks me out as it is, but 12/8/2005 stops me cold. Thanks, Aetna. Thanks, HUP. Always nice to be annoyed AND freaked out. It's like burning your tongue on rancid food.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
A White Christmas
No, it didn't snow on Christmas (it snowed the week before and the week after, though). My Christmas was white because I spackled all day. Very festive. I had Christmas music playing. No smell of a pine tree or spiced cider... I was wearing a gas mask. I was wearing a red shirt and green rubber gloves, though. That put me in the holiday spirit (if "holiday spirit" is defined as achy, messy, and monotonous).
I was invited to 3 Christmas parties, but bawked on all 3. It's a shame. They were my first invitations since I moved here. The first one involved an 80-mile drive to Ohio to a colleague's farm for wine-tasting... and it was snowing. Instead, I decided to work on untexturing my awful walls instead. The next party was my next-next door neighbor's. I was planning on going when I thought it was just a neighborhood shin-dig, but right before getting ready to go, I re-read the invitation and read that it was for "all the neighbors and many more." I wasn't up for going to a party where I knew no one (not even the people who invited me... never met them), plus, may never see again, ever. Instead I primed some walls.
On Christmas day the dude who is helping me with all my house over-hauling invited me to Christmas dinner with his family. I like his family... his wife and two kids, but he also said his wife's "crazy" parents were coming. He had told me many a story of their antics. I thought, I am blessed with not to have to deal with any of my own crazy/annoying family members... not because I don't have any, but because I live so far away from them. Why ruin it by taking on someone else's? Instead, I spackled. I sang "Spackle Walls" to the tune of "Jingle Bells" coming up with all sorts of verses...
I think I made good decisions. The walls make me grumpy like they are. Living in chaos with my stuff still in boxes and plastic on the floors and across the doorways is wearisome. Going to the parties would just have extended my suffering at home. The parties would have had to been REALLY good to extend this way of life. Since I didn't hear any mention of Chippendale dancers or free Swedish massages, the parties weren't even close to good enough to warrant more of the warehouse life-style.
I was invited to 3 Christmas parties, but bawked on all 3. It's a shame. They were my first invitations since I moved here. The first one involved an 80-mile drive to Ohio to a colleague's farm for wine-tasting... and it was snowing. Instead, I decided to work on untexturing my awful walls instead. The next party was my next-next door neighbor's. I was planning on going when I thought it was just a neighborhood shin-dig, but right before getting ready to go, I re-read the invitation and read that it was for "all the neighbors and many more." I wasn't up for going to a party where I knew no one (not even the people who invited me... never met them), plus, may never see again, ever. Instead I primed some walls.
On Christmas day the dude who is helping me with all my house over-hauling invited me to Christmas dinner with his family. I like his family... his wife and two kids, but he also said his wife's "crazy" parents were coming. He had told me many a story of their antics. I thought, I am blessed with not to have to deal with any of my own crazy/annoying family members... not because I don't have any, but because I live so far away from them. Why ruin it by taking on someone else's? Instead, I spackled. I sang "Spackle Walls" to the tune of "Jingle Bells" coming up with all sorts of verses...
I think I made good decisions. The walls make me grumpy like they are. Living in chaos with my stuff still in boxes and plastic on the floors and across the doorways is wearisome. Going to the parties would just have extended my suffering at home. The parties would have had to been REALLY good to extend this way of life. Since I didn't hear any mention of Chippendale dancers or free Swedish massages, the parties weren't even close to good enough to warrant more of the warehouse life-style.
I'm baa-aaack
It's been a while, yes. You see, Westinghouse FORCES you to take the 10 days around Christmas and New Year's off. They shut the site down. Dreadful, isn't it, to have all your colleagues off relaxing and recuperating for a minimum of 10 days? Anyway, lil' Judy didn't have internet access at home... not even dial-in without having phone service. That accounts for the 10 day absence, and of course, Las Vegas for 10 days had me tied up pretty good, too.
Well, all this has changed. The Westinghouse site is opened once again and I'm in town for a while. I have internet access at work... and at home!! Yup, on New Year's Eve I had Comcast come in and hook me up with phone, internet, and cable service. Just in time, too. You see, I've been out of touch with the world for 6 months without cable or TV. I had to ask the cable guy if we were still at war and if Bush was still in office (he looked at me cocking his head with a quizzical look on his face and confirmed both). By "just in time," I mean that New Year's Eve is when so many stations have The Year in Review programs on. I caught up on everything in one day. Very efficient.
Besides "Don't taze me, bro,'" I don't feel that I missed anything.
Well, all this has changed. The Westinghouse site is opened once again and I'm in town for a while. I have internet access at work... and at home!! Yup, on New Year's Eve I had Comcast come in and hook me up with phone, internet, and cable service. Just in time, too. You see, I've been out of touch with the world for 6 months without cable or TV. I had to ask the cable guy if we were still at war and if Bush was still in office (he looked at me cocking his head with a quizzical look on his face and confirmed both). By "just in time," I mean that New Year's Eve is when so many stations have The Year in Review programs on. I caught up on everything in one day. Very efficient.
Besides "Don't taze me, bro,'" I don't feel that I missed anything.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
De-toxing in Vegas
No sleep, too much work and stress, and little food made little Judy a mess for the last several weeks. I got to my Vegas hotel (Cesar's Palace) at 2:30 AM (as in "in the wee hours just before dawn"). I lay down and took in the thrill of television technology... having been deprived for so long. At 4 AM, I conked out and didn't wake for 14 hours. Then I sat in the in-room jacuzzi for as long as my skin could handle the ouchy heat... I popped in and out for over an hour. Then conked out some more. Man, I was wiped out.
My sis Vern didn't arrive until 6 PM. I stayed in bed all until she arrived. I ventured out for a vending machine, but other than that, I just recuperated. It's a shame I didn't take in the sights, but Vern and I had plenty of time for that all week.
My sis Vern didn't arrive until 6 PM. I stayed in bed all until she arrived. I ventured out for a vending machine, but other than that, I just recuperated. It's a shame I didn't take in the sights, but Vern and I had plenty of time for that all week.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Perfection is Not So Hard
My refinisher was not looking for perfection. He succeeded in not finding what he wasn't looking for. But, he did such an obviously crummy job, I knew I could do better. I gained enormous confidence. And watching him, I learned important stuff I didn't know, like what tools to buy and what finish to use. Remember all those miracles I was hoping was in that bottle of finish; miracles that would overcome his incompetence? MOST of those miracles WERE in the bottle. The bubbles almost all dissipated without terrible flaws. The brushstrokes substantially lessened, except the cross-grained ones. The shoe print was only noticeable if the light was on and your eyes were open. The study, where I did not get to mop (or skate across) and where I did all that digging up of the gummy uncured finish? It was pock-marked like the moon and loaded with trapped particles forming sharp points. Disaster.
The next day I took the day off and went to the professional wood flooring distributor that sells the stuff Bozo used. I researched it all night into the wee hours. I knew all about it. How much I needed, how long it cures, how many coats, when it fully cures, how thick to lay it, how to lay it, where it is made, the toxicity (lowest in the world), and on. I was armed with first hand experience (being a wood worker), demonstration experience, and now book knowledge, oh and, an engineering degree.
I called the closest distributor and ask if they have the formulation I want, yes, and the amount, yes. Do they have the application kit? Yes. How much total? He gave me the price. He said they closed at 4:30 PM. It was 11 AM. I told him I'd be there shortly.
I was. In an hour I found his crappy little industrial park showroom/warehouse. I couldn't tell if I was coming in the back door or front. It looked like a loading dock. It wasn't. It was a tiny room with a sales desk in front and sparsely stocked shelves in front of the desk. It was a sad excuse for a store. I have more stuff in my house than this store had out in their showroom... recall I sleep on a blow-up mattress and only have one towel.
I know exactly what I want. I have it written down, next to my calculations. I have the exact description of each item. Several people are sitting around the break room that has a window that looks out into the showroom. No one stirs as I enter. I wait 2, 4, 6, 8 minutes. The dumbest one of the 3 comes out and asks what I want. Not to confuse him, I just tell him the first item. He's quite dim and I have to repeat it 3 times.... uh, they sell like FOUR different products, why can't he understand. I figure he is the "special" person they hired for slow periods.
After 5 or 6 minutes he returns. Did I mention they only sell 4 products? This place is for professionals, contractors. Time is money to them. Do they waste their time like this, too?
Then I ask about the application kit. The what? Oh god. I explain to the moron what the kit is. He had to go get the boss... they sell 4 products, four.
The fat arrogant man saunters up behind the desk from the break room (where he probably just finished off a dozen donuts). I ask him about the kit. What's that? I told him what was in it. He said they didn't carry that. He is treating me like I'm an idiot, like, why would anyone want a kit. A real contractor wouldn't want a kit. I tell the jerk, very sternly, that I called an hour ago and that he told me he had them (now who's the idiot?).
He doubles back to escape awkward situation he put himself in. He distracts me by turning to the 4 gallons of finish I have sitting on the sales desk. He asked me why I was getting so much. I answered as engineering- and military-like as I could (emotionless, stern, and clear) that I had 3 rooms totaling 360 square feet that need to be refinished, 3 coats, and a 15-18 kitchen that needs to be finished.
He made a disgusted face like I just said I needed 16 tires because I had 2 cars with 4 tires that needed spares. He got out his calculator and asked me dimensions again. I did not ask him to check me. I did not ask for his advice. He was called over to help with the kit. I gave no evidence of not knowing math or geometry. Then he tried to say what a gallon's worth of coverage is, but I talked over him and gave him the answer... that I read last night. I'm indicating I know what the hell I want and I know that because I know how to do the calculation. Then he asks me who is going to apply the finish. I look at him like he's way out of line and say, "What does it matter?" Then he said the floor needed to be properly prepared... and before he could continue I told him the preparation that his product required (quoting the literature I memorized) and said "I have it covered" meaning, move on; I don't need you. Then he asks why this stuff? "This is the finish my professional finisher used." In other words, don't give me crap that I don't know what to use; you probably sold it to my guy. It has become quite contentious at this point. He asked when the last coat was put on. Knowing that you must apply the next coat within 48 hours, I said, without hesitation and very coldly, "Within 24 hours." He's trying to show that I don't know the "inside" secrets that "professional contractors" (men) know and that I should take my purse and bra and go home and play with my dolls.
Then he asked if I had the proper equipment to sand the floor. I, quoting the litrature, said this doesn't need to be abraded (that's the term used in the literature) if applied within 48 hours, and for that matter, I know where I can get the machine to screen ("sand") the floor and I know it's availability. Discouraged by my knowledge, he then asks why 3 coats? I look at him like he is trying my patience and should fear violence. Knowing I'm not going to answer him, he said, more to himself that than to me, that 3 coats is too many. He mumbles that my guy put on one already and you shouldn't put on more than 2. I look at him like I'm watching a performance that I didn't pay to see and just waiting for it to end. Then he says, looking at his cash register, afraid to look me in the eye, "This stuff wasn't made for more than 2 coats. You just can't keep putting on coats. Bad things will happen."
On the back of the bottle it tells you to put 2 coats on, 3 if high traffic. Plus, what an idiot to say you can't keep putting on more coats. I so want to tell him I'm an engineer, that I graduated top in my class in the honors program, have 2 patents both involving polymer curing, have been making and refinishing fine wood furniture for years, and am a principal engineer at Westinghouse... and I DID THE CALCULATIONS HE DID ON HIS CALCULATOR IN MY HEAD. I don't. He's arrogant and that would be arrogant of me. I am now slightly amused at how big a fool he his making out of himself. He's trying to impress upon me how technical and difficult it is to refinish a floor with this stuff (the manufacturer, on the other hand, touts how easy it is... easiest in the industry). He's telling someone who is designing a thermally actuated seal for an 8" diameter pump shaft to seal 2250 pounds per square inch pressurized radioactive water that goes from 140 F to 550 degrees F in 5 minutes ... against atmospheric conditions on the other side... he's telling me laying down water-based finish is too difficult for me to grasp.
He knows his cause has been lost... I'm buying what I ordered. He has not influenced me, except to go to the other distributor 40 miles away next time.
He moves on to "the kit" which he says like it's both a burden and ridiculous I even want it. He said he doesn't carry the kit but he has some of the individual items. First item, the really cool swivel applicator that makes this finish so seamless and smooth. He wrinkles his nose and asks, "Do you know how to use this?" as in "Do you even know what you are buying?" I raise my eyebrows and cock my head like, "You are kidding me with this crap, right?" He picks up a paint roller and suggests I use that. He says that's what he uses. He says it's just like painting, "and everybody can paint." He admits it's hard to use this swivel applicator if you never used it. I stare at him like he is wasting my time. He realizes he's not persuading me. He moves onto the pad you put in the applicator and holds it up and asks me if I need one. It's a ridiculous question. If I'm buying the applicator that needs a pad, but does not come with one.... duh, me not know. I give him the face that says "What?!?" and bend my elbows and turn up the palms of my hands; meaning, "What is wrong with you? It's obvious." Then he lifts up a cut-in pad and he asks like "who would want want of these stupid things" "Do you want one of these?" Ye-esss. How many? Well, I'd want 3, but I don't want to buy any more from him than absolutely necessary. One. Note to self: order two on the internet direct from manufacturer.
Then the part of the kit he doesn't own. It's an air-tight canister for the expensive rollers for the swivel applicator. You can stop work and not have to clean your roller... for days... it won't harden up on you. He dared tell me that "You don't need one of those. Those are for contractors that put them in their trucks." <-- Exact quote from the jerk. "Why do you want one?" I said I'm going to be working on the floors over several days and I want to put it in there. Like I'm a simpleton he says, "Just wash them out everyday." That would be fine if you only stopped once, but you stop several times and start again in one day. I had to clean my applicator pad 4 times yesterday. That is a lot of wasted finish and time. Ugh!
Finally, I get the hell out of there. A guy looking down on me for daring to believe I could finish a floor, while he proves he is the most incompetent salesman ever... ever.
Anyway, I sanded my floors, feathering every crater and buzzing down any bump or grit . Every inch at least got kissed by the sander. Then wet mop. Wet mop again. Hand feel every inch and spy the reflection for flaws. Then, drum-roll, gasp, I spread the finish! The swivel applicator is the coolest invention and makes the floors flawless; you never pick up the applicator, ever.
Then upstairs. The medallion needed some attention with some holes which I packed with colored wax and I scraped with a cheap ("made in China") putty knife that was more like a cabinet maker's card scraper -- excellent for smoothing without a lot of dust. Used that technique on the whole foyer. Awesome... too bad I'm so dumb and can't figure this tough stuff out. The study was a horror. I prepped it for 2 hours. A horror.
I laid that finish down even better this time around. (The dumb broad learned from her first time.)
By then, it was midnight. I decided to sand the dining room again, just kiss the surface to get any pesky nib or bump. I was done at 2 am. It was flawless.
I woke this morning to a SPECTACULAR dining room floor. I hear choir boys sing when I see it. The upstairs, with all the problems it had, one coat didn't fix everything. One more is required, but sanding will just be a quick kiss (like you give your auntie at the airport). I will finally have what I was anticipating on OCTOBER 8th!!!!
Thousands, and thousand, and thousands of dollars... for perfection... which furniture and possibly a rug will mostly cover. Worth it. Couldn't live with beautiful flawed wood that I had a chance to do right. Couldn't do it. I'd lose the ability to breath and swallow... don't last long after that, I tell you.
The next day I took the day off and went to the professional wood flooring distributor that sells the stuff Bozo used. I researched it all night into the wee hours. I knew all about it. How much I needed, how long it cures, how many coats, when it fully cures, how thick to lay it, how to lay it, where it is made, the toxicity (lowest in the world), and on. I was armed with first hand experience (being a wood worker), demonstration experience, and now book knowledge, oh and, an engineering degree.
I called the closest distributor and ask if they have the formulation I want, yes, and the amount, yes. Do they have the application kit? Yes. How much total? He gave me the price. He said they closed at 4:30 PM. It was 11 AM. I told him I'd be there shortly.
I was. In an hour I found his crappy little industrial park showroom/warehouse. I couldn't tell if I was coming in the back door or front. It looked like a loading dock. It wasn't. It was a tiny room with a sales desk in front and sparsely stocked shelves in front of the desk. It was a sad excuse for a store. I have more stuff in my house than this store had out in their showroom... recall I sleep on a blow-up mattress and only have one towel.
I know exactly what I want. I have it written down, next to my calculations. I have the exact description of each item. Several people are sitting around the break room that has a window that looks out into the showroom. No one stirs as I enter. I wait 2, 4, 6, 8 minutes. The dumbest one of the 3 comes out and asks what I want. Not to confuse him, I just tell him the first item. He's quite dim and I have to repeat it 3 times.... uh, they sell like FOUR different products, why can't he understand. I figure he is the "special" person they hired for slow periods.
After 5 or 6 minutes he returns. Did I mention they only sell 4 products? This place is for professionals, contractors. Time is money to them. Do they waste their time like this, too?
Then I ask about the application kit. The what? Oh god. I explain to the moron what the kit is. He had to go get the boss... they sell 4 products, four.
The fat arrogant man saunters up behind the desk from the break room (where he probably just finished off a dozen donuts). I ask him about the kit. What's that? I told him what was in it. He said they didn't carry that. He is treating me like I'm an idiot, like, why would anyone want a kit. A real contractor wouldn't want a kit. I tell the jerk, very sternly, that I called an hour ago and that he told me he had them (now who's the idiot?).
He doubles back to escape awkward situation he put himself in. He distracts me by turning to the 4 gallons of finish I have sitting on the sales desk. He asked me why I was getting so much. I answered as engineering- and military-like as I could (emotionless, stern, and clear) that I had 3 rooms totaling 360 square feet that need to be refinished, 3 coats, and a 15-18 kitchen that needs to be finished.
He made a disgusted face like I just said I needed 16 tires because I had 2 cars with 4 tires that needed spares. He got out his calculator and asked me dimensions again. I did not ask him to check me. I did not ask for his advice. He was called over to help with the kit. I gave no evidence of not knowing math or geometry. Then he tried to say what a gallon's worth of coverage is, but I talked over him and gave him the answer... that I read last night. I'm indicating I know what the hell I want and I know that because I know how to do the calculation. Then he asks me who is going to apply the finish. I look at him like he's way out of line and say, "What does it matter?" Then he said the floor needed to be properly prepared... and before he could continue I told him the preparation that his product required (quoting the literature I memorized) and said "I have it covered" meaning, move on; I don't need you. Then he asks why this stuff? "This is the finish my professional finisher used." In other words, don't give me crap that I don't know what to use; you probably sold it to my guy. It has become quite contentious at this point. He asked when the last coat was put on. Knowing that you must apply the next coat within 48 hours, I said, without hesitation and very coldly, "Within 24 hours." He's trying to show that I don't know the "inside" secrets that "professional contractors" (men) know and that I should take my purse and bra and go home and play with my dolls.
Then he asked if I had the proper equipment to sand the floor. I, quoting the litrature, said this doesn't need to be abraded (that's the term used in the literature) if applied within 48 hours, and for that matter, I know where I can get the machine to screen ("sand") the floor and I know it's availability. Discouraged by my knowledge, he then asks why 3 coats? I look at him like he is trying my patience and should fear violence. Knowing I'm not going to answer him, he said, more to himself that than to me, that 3 coats is too many. He mumbles that my guy put on one already and you shouldn't put on more than 2. I look at him like I'm watching a performance that I didn't pay to see and just waiting for it to end. Then he says, looking at his cash register, afraid to look me in the eye, "This stuff wasn't made for more than 2 coats. You just can't keep putting on coats. Bad things will happen."
On the back of the bottle it tells you to put 2 coats on, 3 if high traffic. Plus, what an idiot to say you can't keep putting on more coats. I so want to tell him I'm an engineer, that I graduated top in my class in the honors program, have 2 patents both involving polymer curing, have been making and refinishing fine wood furniture for years, and am a principal engineer at Westinghouse... and I DID THE CALCULATIONS HE DID ON HIS CALCULATOR IN MY HEAD. I don't. He's arrogant and that would be arrogant of me. I am now slightly amused at how big a fool he his making out of himself. He's trying to impress upon me how technical and difficult it is to refinish a floor with this stuff (the manufacturer, on the other hand, touts how easy it is... easiest in the industry). He's telling someone who is designing a thermally actuated seal for an 8" diameter pump shaft to seal 2250 pounds per square inch pressurized radioactive water that goes from 140 F to 550 degrees F in 5 minutes ... against atmospheric conditions on the other side... he's telling me laying down water-based finish is too difficult for me to grasp.
He knows his cause has been lost... I'm buying what I ordered. He has not influenced me, except to go to the other distributor 40 miles away next time.
He moves on to "the kit" which he says like it's both a burden and ridiculous I even want it. He said he doesn't carry the kit but he has some of the individual items. First item, the really cool swivel applicator that makes this finish so seamless and smooth. He wrinkles his nose and asks, "Do you know how to use this?" as in "Do you even know what you are buying?" I raise my eyebrows and cock my head like, "You are kidding me with this crap, right?" He picks up a paint roller and suggests I use that. He says that's what he uses. He says it's just like painting, "and everybody can paint." He admits it's hard to use this swivel applicator if you never used it. I stare at him like he is wasting my time. He realizes he's not persuading me. He moves onto the pad you put in the applicator and holds it up and asks me if I need one. It's a ridiculous question. If I'm buying the applicator that needs a pad, but does not come with one.... duh, me not know. I give him the face that says "What?!?" and bend my elbows and turn up the palms of my hands; meaning, "What is wrong with you? It's obvious." Then he lifts up a cut-in pad and he asks like "who would want want of these stupid things" "Do you want one of these?" Ye-esss. How many? Well, I'd want 3, but I don't want to buy any more from him than absolutely necessary. One. Note to self: order two on the internet direct from manufacturer.
Then the part of the kit he doesn't own. It's an air-tight canister for the expensive rollers for the swivel applicator. You can stop work and not have to clean your roller... for days... it won't harden up on you. He dared tell me that "You don't need one of those. Those are for contractors that put them in their trucks." <-- Exact quote from the jerk. "Why do you want one?" I said I'm going to be working on the floors over several days and I want to put it in there. Like I'm a simpleton he says, "Just wash them out everyday." That would be fine if you only stopped once, but you stop several times and start again in one day. I had to clean my applicator pad 4 times yesterday. That is a lot of wasted finish and time. Ugh!
Finally, I get the hell out of there. A guy looking down on me for daring to believe I could finish a floor, while he proves he is the most incompetent salesman ever... ever.
Anyway, I sanded my floors, feathering every crater and buzzing down any bump or grit . Every inch at least got kissed by the sander. Then wet mop. Wet mop again. Hand feel every inch and spy the reflection for flaws. Then, drum-roll, gasp, I spread the finish! The swivel applicator is the coolest invention and makes the floors flawless; you never pick up the applicator, ever.
Then upstairs. The medallion needed some attention with some holes which I packed with colored wax and I scraped with a cheap ("made in China") putty knife that was more like a cabinet maker's card scraper -- excellent for smoothing without a lot of dust. Used that technique on the whole foyer. Awesome... too bad I'm so dumb and can't figure this tough stuff out. The study was a horror. I prepped it for 2 hours. A horror.
I laid that finish down even better this time around. (The dumb broad learned from her first time.)
By then, it was midnight. I decided to sand the dining room again, just kiss the surface to get any pesky nib or bump. I was done at 2 am. It was flawless.
I woke this morning to a SPECTACULAR dining room floor. I hear choir boys sing when I see it. The upstairs, with all the problems it had, one coat didn't fix everything. One more is required, but sanding will just be a quick kiss (like you give your auntie at the airport). I will finally have what I was anticipating on OCTOBER 8th!!!!
Thousands, and thousand, and thousands of dollars... for perfection... which furniture and possibly a rug will mostly cover. Worth it. Couldn't live with beautiful flawed wood that I had a chance to do right. Couldn't do it. I'd lose the ability to breath and swallow... don't last long after that, I tell you.
Fed Up, Gave Up, Throwing in the Towel
I can stand it no more. I called the moving company and asked how soon they can deliver my stuff. Great news, the day before I leave for my out-of-town meetings and extended weekends (I'll be gone 12-straight days) they can dump my stuff. Now I'LL be the storage facility. That is over $500 in savings by just squeaking it in in time ($43/day storage fees, remember).
I won't be UNPACKING much anytime soon; I still have painting and gutting to do. But I'll have MY TOOLS!!!
Recall my original plan was to have my stuff delivered the moment my garage floor epoxy and hardwood floors were cured. Well, over the MONTHS of waiting for the damn refinisher, I started getting grander and grander ideas and wanting to take advantage of the "once in a lifetime" opportunity of having the house empty. Well, you need money to take advantage of things. My storage fees will run me OVER $6,000. That is a nice leather sofa, very nice... it's TWO nice leather sofas. In the dump. Maybe the storage facility will use the money to buy the lunch room a leather sofa or two.
So, back to my floors. My floors will just be cured by the time my stuff is delivered; just as originally planned. I was kicking myself for keeping my stuff in storage for so long, and then I remembered, my floors were never done (and chaos reigned upstairs as a result). Nope, this is the first time, really that I could have received my stuff. Just in time for the holidays.
So, I'm throwing in the towel... which would have meant a trip to the laundromat, because I only have one towel and no washer or dryer. But, soon I'll have scads of towels and my own laundromat.
I won't be UNPACKING much anytime soon; I still have painting and gutting to do. But I'll have MY TOOLS!!!
Recall my original plan was to have my stuff delivered the moment my garage floor epoxy and hardwood floors were cured. Well, over the MONTHS of waiting for the damn refinisher, I started getting grander and grander ideas and wanting to take advantage of the "once in a lifetime" opportunity of having the house empty. Well, you need money to take advantage of things. My storage fees will run me OVER $6,000. That is a nice leather sofa, very nice... it's TWO nice leather sofas. In the dump. Maybe the storage facility will use the money to buy the lunch room a leather sofa or two.
So, back to my floors. My floors will just be cured by the time my stuff is delivered; just as originally planned. I was kicking myself for keeping my stuff in storage for so long, and then I remembered, my floors were never done (and chaos reigned upstairs as a result). Nope, this is the first time, really that I could have received my stuff. Just in time for the holidays.
So, I'm throwing in the towel... which would have meant a trip to the laundromat, because I only have one towel and no washer or dryer. But, soon I'll have scads of towels and my own laundromat.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Carpet is Nice, Too
Damn these wooden floors!!!
So, the test area the refinisher did looked good. The upstairs was still too gummy (after 12 days), so he suggested I crank the heat to 75 degrees in my house. Thanksgiving weekend was toasty inside, frigid outside; very economical. The guy decides to let the floors cure the weekend (remember, the plan WAS to finish Saturday and Monday).
Monday things are much better cure-wise. They sand and vacuum downstairs. Curiously, they do not wipe down, either with mineral spirits or wet cloth. I asked if this was the time to stain the putty that didn't take enough stain. The guy says, "You better be a Picasso." Translation, "I wouldn't do it. It's not worth it." People, the putty looked dumb. I told him I WAS a Picasso. I just wanted to know if this were the time, not if I should do it. Grumble-grumble. I use my stain markers and go at it while they move upstairs. While they are not looking, I wipe the floor down with a cotton rag and get all the fine dust off, too.
I ask him how confident is he that the polycoat will fill the voids left by the ill-cured poly? He said he was pretty sure. I was not. I asked how much more it would cost to add another coat. His response? "We're not looking for perfection here." Uhhh, yeah I am; how much will it cost? Jerk.
Sure enough, they did not wipe down the floor after vacuuming. I'm glad I did. Quality is not his goal. "Good enough" is good enough. Recall, he was the most expensive if I decided to sand down to wood and start over. Oh, and get this. He said $700, but charged $750. I called him on it & he denied. Another precious quality conscious quote:"Remember, this is a floor not a Chippendale." They should print posters, eh?
He returned today. I examined the floors right before he arrived. Upstairs his finish was blooming like the other stuff did. He was so cocky about his stuff. He mocked the stuff I used. Said it took 14 days to cure and his took 1 hour. He knew his stuff wouldn't blister up. His stuff is professional-grade. He's never seen anything like what my stuff did. Well, his stuff did it, too. I showed him and said, "Well, at least it is a lot better than it was." I showed him that his stuff did not cure and that it was gummy in spots upstairs. He still wanted to just sand and put the final coat on. He said, "Give it time. It will cure." I said, "I'm afraid it lost its ability to polymerize." That was a mistake. I used a big word he didn't understand. He was grouchy after that.
I told him I was going to scrap off all the little blossoms and then he could sand and polycoat. He was like, "What ever, I'm not doing it." He went downstairs and sanded the dining room. He vacuumed. I "asked" him if the stuff he was laying down was going to blend and become one with the stuff he was sanding. In other words, shouldn't he mop up the dust, and not just vacuum. He said it wasn't necessary. I wasn't asking; I was politely reminding him. He failed the test. When he went upstairs, I mopped up the dust... and did some more Picasso work.
When he was done upstairs, he came down and vacuumed again (please). I went upstairs and filled in some holes I found in my medallion. He came up and started laying down the polycoat up there!!! Ack! I thought he was going to poly downstairs! I didn't dust up here!!! I didn't pay attention! He was 1/2 way done the room when I realized what he was doing (damn that water-based finish... not as pungent as solvent-based). As soon as I realized, I skated on the foyer floor with my socks. My socks looked like I erased a chalkboard after a physics lecture.
Sure enough, he just lay the poly right on the dusty floor (vacuumed, but dusty). I was hoping that his professional grade stuff would have some magical power. I read the bottle as he worked. It clearly states you must wet mop after sanding. Bastard.
Oh! This is great. He uses this big mop to lay the poly. After every pass across the floor, he pushes down on the mop to squeeze it out, on the floor. FORMING BUBBLES in the poly. My god, school kids know not to do that. By the time he reached the end of the room, the poly was as bubbly as a crashing ocean wave. Ridiculous. Again, I'm hoping for a miracle in this bottle.
More quality control. He STEPS in the poly. Exclaims something to note he wasn't happy. I hand him his rag. He doesn't turn around for it. He just kept going... with a sticky foot. He did wipe over the area he ruined, but not the subsequent footprints... and he walked downstairs without wiping his foot once!
Still more. He went downstairs. He did not wet mop (glad I mopped). He lay the poly and squeegeed the whole way. He finished with brushing. The difference in thickness laid with a mop and a brush... huge, plus brush strokes. Hoping for a miracle.
I see he missed a HUGE spot. Luckily, this room you can access from the side ... I wonder what upstairs looks like. He "fixes" the spot, with a brush... more brush marks. And he went cross-grain! The entire 2 days he is telling me on and on about how he is a professional with 30 years of experience and knows the business, knows floors, his stuff is quality stuff, blah, blah. I know more about finishing wood than he does, really.
He leaves me a wee bit of poly (enough to drown a mouse, for example) to fill in the voids "if" the poly he put down doesn't. As he leaves I grab his brush and fix obvious flaws. I pay him. He doesn't say anything like, "if you have any problems," or "let me know if you want another coat," or anything. The door closes and I see the dining room floor shimmering, flecked with bits of grit and dust and debris. I groan. I go upstairs and see footprints. I come down... and see fish-eyes forming. God, I didn't have that problem before he came.
This floor stuff is costing me a fortune and making me grumpy. Carpet is nice... it even covers fire-ant mounds. I might get me some of that for the dining room....
So, today when my boss queried the group to see if there was any interest in a 2-year assignment in Japan (we're owned by Toshiba, remember), I whispered to my mentor, "Let's wait to see how my floor and mice situations work-out." I'm heading to the bookstore tonight to pick-up a book on living in Japan...
So, the test area the refinisher did looked good. The upstairs was still too gummy (after 12 days), so he suggested I crank the heat to 75 degrees in my house. Thanksgiving weekend was toasty inside, frigid outside; very economical. The guy decides to let the floors cure the weekend (remember, the plan WAS to finish Saturday and Monday).
Monday things are much better cure-wise. They sand and vacuum downstairs. Curiously, they do not wipe down, either with mineral spirits or wet cloth. I asked if this was the time to stain the putty that didn't take enough stain. The guy says, "You better be a Picasso." Translation, "I wouldn't do it. It's not worth it." People, the putty looked dumb. I told him I WAS a Picasso. I just wanted to know if this were the time, not if I should do it. Grumble-grumble. I use my stain markers and go at it while they move upstairs. While they are not looking, I wipe the floor down with a cotton rag and get all the fine dust off, too.
I ask him how confident is he that the polycoat will fill the voids left by the ill-cured poly? He said he was pretty sure. I was not. I asked how much more it would cost to add another coat. His response? "We're not looking for perfection here." Uhhh, yeah I am; how much will it cost? Jerk.
Sure enough, they did not wipe down the floor after vacuuming. I'm glad I did. Quality is not his goal. "Good enough" is good enough. Recall, he was the most expensive if I decided to sand down to wood and start over. Oh, and get this. He said $700, but charged $750. I called him on it & he denied. Another precious quality conscious quote:"Remember, this is a floor not a Chippendale." They should print posters, eh?
He returned today. I examined the floors right before he arrived. Upstairs his finish was blooming like the other stuff did. He was so cocky about his stuff. He mocked the stuff I used. Said it took 14 days to cure and his took 1 hour. He knew his stuff wouldn't blister up. His stuff is professional-grade. He's never seen anything like what my stuff did. Well, his stuff did it, too. I showed him and said, "Well, at least it is a lot better than it was." I showed him that his stuff did not cure and that it was gummy in spots upstairs. He still wanted to just sand and put the final coat on. He said, "Give it time. It will cure." I said, "I'm afraid it lost its ability to polymerize." That was a mistake. I used a big word he didn't understand. He was grouchy after that.
I told him I was going to scrap off all the little blossoms and then he could sand and polycoat. He was like, "What ever, I'm not doing it." He went downstairs and sanded the dining room. He vacuumed. I "asked" him if the stuff he was laying down was going to blend and become one with the stuff he was sanding. In other words, shouldn't he mop up the dust, and not just vacuum. He said it wasn't necessary. I wasn't asking; I was politely reminding him. He failed the test. When he went upstairs, I mopped up the dust... and did some more Picasso work.
When he was done upstairs, he came down and vacuumed again (please). I went upstairs and filled in some holes I found in my medallion. He came up and started laying down the polycoat up there!!! Ack! I thought he was going to poly downstairs! I didn't dust up here!!! I didn't pay attention! He was 1/2 way done the room when I realized what he was doing (damn that water-based finish... not as pungent as solvent-based). As soon as I realized, I skated on the foyer floor with my socks. My socks looked like I erased a chalkboard after a physics lecture.
Sure enough, he just lay the poly right on the dusty floor (vacuumed, but dusty). I was hoping that his professional grade stuff would have some magical power. I read the bottle as he worked. It clearly states you must wet mop after sanding. Bastard.
Oh! This is great. He uses this big mop to lay the poly. After every pass across the floor, he pushes down on the mop to squeeze it out, on the floor. FORMING BUBBLES in the poly. My god, school kids know not to do that. By the time he reached the end of the room, the poly was as bubbly as a crashing ocean wave. Ridiculous. Again, I'm hoping for a miracle in this bottle.
More quality control. He STEPS in the poly. Exclaims something to note he wasn't happy. I hand him his rag. He doesn't turn around for it. He just kept going... with a sticky foot. He did wipe over the area he ruined, but not the subsequent footprints... and he walked downstairs without wiping his foot once!
Still more. He went downstairs. He did not wet mop (glad I mopped). He lay the poly and squeegeed the whole way. He finished with brushing. The difference in thickness laid with a mop and a brush... huge, plus brush strokes. Hoping for a miracle.
I see he missed a HUGE spot. Luckily, this room you can access from the side ... I wonder what upstairs looks like. He "fixes" the spot, with a brush... more brush marks. And he went cross-grain! The entire 2 days he is telling me on and on about how he is a professional with 30 years of experience and knows the business, knows floors, his stuff is quality stuff, blah, blah. I know more about finishing wood than he does, really.
He leaves me a wee bit of poly (enough to drown a mouse, for example) to fill in the voids "if" the poly he put down doesn't. As he leaves I grab his brush and fix obvious flaws. I pay him. He doesn't say anything like, "if you have any problems," or "let me know if you want another coat," or anything. The door closes and I see the dining room floor shimmering, flecked with bits of grit and dust and debris. I groan. I go upstairs and see footprints. I come down... and see fish-eyes forming. God, I didn't have that problem before he came.
This floor stuff is costing me a fortune and making me grumpy. Carpet is nice... it even covers fire-ant mounds. I might get me some of that for the dining room....
So, today when my boss queried the group to see if there was any interest in a 2-year assignment in Japan (we're owned by Toshiba, remember), I whispered to my mentor, "Let's wait to see how my floor and mice situations work-out." I'm heading to the bookstore tonight to pick-up a book on living in Japan...
House of Horrors
(Continuation of Thanksgiving entry)
It POURED last night. I took yesterday off to continue the holiday cheer, so this counts as a Thanksgiving disaster... I was sitting in my lone cushioned chair, reading. There is a line of windows at a 45 degree angle between my ceiling and wall of my living/dining rooms. As I sat there, in silence (no TV, no radio, no people, just rodents), I heard a gentle drip-drip. Constant and rather loud. It sounded like a drip hitting the center of one of my window panes, that's how loud. It went on. I tried to imagine what could be dripping on my window. Hmm. I continued reading (woodworking magazine, of course). The thought of where the drips were coming from crossed my mind now and again. After a while I got up to go to the kitchen (for more pickles) and I saw my baby grand piano COVERED in water!!!!! I just waxed it the day before. Those dripping sounds were of my window dripping on my piano!!! Ack! It was dripping once a second. My baby grand! I leapt into action. Wiped down my gorgeous mahogany, I mean, piano. Bent down to get what was on the carpet, and saw a stain on the side of the piano, an old water stain. It was evidence that this leak had happened in the past, and possibly for a long time. Damn those sellers; filthy liars. In the disclosure they said no mice and no water problems. Liars! As I was dabbing the carpet, I remembered what the subfloors upstairs looked like when they got wet. It was particle board and expands like a puffer fish when hit with water. With my head on the floor I eyed the carpet... it was a lump bigger than a Texas fire ant mound! Ack!!! This is a house of horrors! To top it off, I eyed the molding on the windows above. I noticed the lower piece along the whole wall was missing the putty on the nail holes. I looked it up and down. Then I saw it was darker than all the others (the others are sun bleached). Those b@stards!!! They knew they had water problems. I bet that molding was water damaged, and they just replaced it, not fixing the window!!! ARRRRG!
So, I went in search for other splish-splashes in the house. Too dark in family room. Flashlight in kitchen. Kitchen is closer to garage. Garage is where the mouse feasted, remember. I examined the water proofed wall -- pristine white, except a little hole that was now dirty. THAT'S where Mickey or Minnie is getting in! Then I looked at the garage doors along the floor. The floor was wet. Each door had a corner that the whether stripping allowed a big gap; good for water, good for mice. I ran across another lump of mouse poison; it had nibbles in it. Arg. Die! Die. Then... I saw a mouse dart from a few inches away from the lump (and me) and run along the garage door and scurry down a hole between the two cement slabs. AAAACK!!! A tiny black mouse, two inches long. YUCK!!!! Ack!!!
I scamper in and call Reds, a bit freaked. He suggests for poison and traps. I bought traps already, but didn't put them out (not allowing myself to believe I really had a mouse). I realized I hadn't seen any of the little pellets I had put out the other day. I hung up and I went out, armed with a mop. Sure enough, all the little poison pellets were GONE! A good 30 pieces at least. And then, UCK! I saw that black mouse scurry from the hole, along the door, and out the gap. AAAAAAAACK!
I ran inside and armed those traps with peanut butter. I put them right in the path I saw the little varmint take. I was freaking out and thinking I was feeling things crawl up my leg.
I called Reds and gave him the update and interviewed him on all his rodent experiences... how many can I expect, where will they die, how/when to seal up the holes...
I ate a few more pickles, then ventured out in the garage. BOTH traps had actuated. I armed myself with a mop and approached with caution. Oh, they are empty, WAIT! The one just moved! A mouse was caught, but was mostly outside the garage; the trap is too big to drag out with him. EEEEEEWWWW! I ponder what to do. Ain't no way I'm touching it. Don't want to smash it with the end of the mop, the trap may open (it's designed like a "chip clip"). I search my brain trying to call up any memory I have of an item I own that could help me... tongs, jar, butterfly net, anything.
I figured I could let him do his gymnastics (actually amusing to watch... he didn't look in any pain, just panicked) until he wore himself out and passed away. I thought the clacking may keep me awake, and freaked out. Then I realized he just could figure a way to get loose and I'd be soooooooo mad. I knew I had to do him in.
I went inside and looked at every item I owned and assessed its usefulness to me (this didn't take long; I possess nothing). I came back with an oven mitt gripping a small set of tongs in one hand and a huge Boy Scout popcorn tin with a unhealthy amount of mineral spirits in it.
The mouse played dead. I so hoped he was. I got closer. He flipped and wiggled and strained. Ugh! I opened the tin and lay the cover close by. My oven-mitt-armored tongs pinched the trap with dangling mouse and I dropped in the pool of spirits and covered it with the lid and heavy object. The mouse made quite a racket banging around. That tin is a big drum.
I armed the other trap and put it in the same place. I checked an hour later. Nothing. Another, nothing. Just lucky the first time I guess...
My freshly epoxied garage floor has mouse pooh on it. Not normal pellet pooh. Looks like these guys eat tacos and refried beans. My floor is splotched. Never used garage, already soiled. Damn.
I tossed more poison pellets like I was feeding chickens.
I am soon headed home. I don't know whether to hope for another catch and all the pellets gone, or no action at all. Could I be so lucky as to only have had one mouse? No. Maybe all the others died of the poison, outside? Probably not. I guess I hope I caught another and all the pellets are gone.
It POURED last night. I took yesterday off to continue the holiday cheer, so this counts as a Thanksgiving disaster... I was sitting in my lone cushioned chair, reading. There is a line of windows at a 45 degree angle between my ceiling and wall of my living/dining rooms. As I sat there, in silence (no TV, no radio, no people, just rodents), I heard a gentle drip-drip. Constant and rather loud. It sounded like a drip hitting the center of one of my window panes, that's how loud. It went on. I tried to imagine what could be dripping on my window. Hmm. I continued reading (woodworking magazine, of course). The thought of where the drips were coming from crossed my mind now and again. After a while I got up to go to the kitchen (for more pickles) and I saw my baby grand piano COVERED in water!!!!! I just waxed it the day before. Those dripping sounds were of my window dripping on my piano!!! Ack! It was dripping once a second. My baby grand! I leapt into action. Wiped down my gorgeous mahogany, I mean, piano. Bent down to get what was on the carpet, and saw a stain on the side of the piano, an old water stain. It was evidence that this leak had happened in the past, and possibly for a long time. Damn those sellers; filthy liars. In the disclosure they said no mice and no water problems. Liars! As I was dabbing the carpet, I remembered what the subfloors upstairs looked like when they got wet. It was particle board and expands like a puffer fish when hit with water. With my head on the floor I eyed the carpet... it was a lump bigger than a Texas fire ant mound! Ack!!! This is a house of horrors! To top it off, I eyed the molding on the windows above. I noticed the lower piece along the whole wall was missing the putty on the nail holes. I looked it up and down. Then I saw it was darker than all the others (the others are sun bleached). Those b@stards!!! They knew they had water problems. I bet that molding was water damaged, and they just replaced it, not fixing the window!!! ARRRRG!
So, I went in search for other splish-splashes in the house. Too dark in family room. Flashlight in kitchen. Kitchen is closer to garage. Garage is where the mouse feasted, remember. I examined the water proofed wall -- pristine white, except a little hole that was now dirty. THAT'S where Mickey or Minnie is getting in! Then I looked at the garage doors along the floor. The floor was wet. Each door had a corner that the whether stripping allowed a big gap; good for water, good for mice. I ran across another lump of mouse poison; it had nibbles in it. Arg. Die! Die. Then... I saw a mouse dart from a few inches away from the lump (and me) and run along the garage door and scurry down a hole between the two cement slabs. AAAACK!!! A tiny black mouse, two inches long. YUCK!!!! Ack!!!
I scamper in and call Reds, a bit freaked. He suggests for poison and traps. I bought traps already, but didn't put them out (not allowing myself to believe I really had a mouse). I realized I hadn't seen any of the little pellets I had put out the other day. I hung up and I went out, armed with a mop. Sure enough, all the little poison pellets were GONE! A good 30 pieces at least. And then, UCK! I saw that black mouse scurry from the hole, along the door, and out the gap. AAAAAAAACK!
I ran inside and armed those traps with peanut butter. I put them right in the path I saw the little varmint take. I was freaking out and thinking I was feeling things crawl up my leg.
I called Reds and gave him the update and interviewed him on all his rodent experiences... how many can I expect, where will they die, how/when to seal up the holes...
I ate a few more pickles, then ventured out in the garage. BOTH traps had actuated. I armed myself with a mop and approached with caution. Oh, they are empty, WAIT! The one just moved! A mouse was caught, but was mostly outside the garage; the trap is too big to drag out with him. EEEEEEWWWW! I ponder what to do. Ain't no way I'm touching it. Don't want to smash it with the end of the mop, the trap may open (it's designed like a "chip clip"). I search my brain trying to call up any memory I have of an item I own that could help me... tongs, jar, butterfly net, anything.
I figured I could let him do his gymnastics (actually amusing to watch... he didn't look in any pain, just panicked) until he wore himself out and passed away. I thought the clacking may keep me awake, and freaked out. Then I realized he just could figure a way to get loose and I'd be soooooooo mad. I knew I had to do him in.
I went inside and looked at every item I owned and assessed its usefulness to me (this didn't take long; I possess nothing). I came back with an oven mitt gripping a small set of tongs in one hand and a huge Boy Scout popcorn tin with a unhealthy amount of mineral spirits in it.
The mouse played dead. I so hoped he was. I got closer. He flipped and wiggled and strained. Ugh! I opened the tin and lay the cover close by. My oven-mitt-armored tongs pinched the trap with dangling mouse and I dropped in the pool of spirits and covered it with the lid and heavy object. The mouse made quite a racket banging around. That tin is a big drum.
I armed the other trap and put it in the same place. I checked an hour later. Nothing. Another, nothing. Just lucky the first time I guess...
My freshly epoxied garage floor has mouse pooh on it. Not normal pellet pooh. Looks like these guys eat tacos and refried beans. My floor is splotched. Never used garage, already soiled. Damn.
I tossed more poison pellets like I was feeding chickens.
I am soon headed home. I don't know whether to hope for another catch and all the pellets gone, or no action at all. Could I be so lucky as to only have had one mouse? No. Maybe all the others died of the poison, outside? Probably not. I guess I hope I caught another and all the pellets are gone.
Seasons Grievings
Thanksgiving was an utter bust. Planned to visit sister Mary (Mert) and her brood. Nope, I was stuck at home because the guy coming to fix my blistering finish on my floors scheduled to come on Friday at 8 AM. No 4-hour drive each way for this girly-girl. The guy and his crew came. The floors were much improved, but for Thanksgiving dinner I had pickles & yogurt (wasn't expecting to stay home). I bought a turkey on Friday. It was ever so dry. I had to end up making soup... and plan to make more.... and more... 15 pounds of meat to slop up.
Ooo! I nearly had a white Thanksgiving ... missed it by one day. It, sadly, wasn't the first snow of the season ... that was in October. I don't have my winter clothes yet, mind you. It's all in storage... ye gads. When Carole was here last week she was horrified to see me still wearing linen pants. Yes, the material of choice for people living in jungles and deserts... like Pittsburgh in late November. On my Thanksgiving list (really, I do write a list) I must remember: "I'm thankful I haven't been frost-bitten.
Someone in my house, however, had a a terrific Thanksgiving... with a tasty dinner prepared for them. I put mouse poison out in the garage and it was all gone on Thursday. I am looking forward to the stench of the rotting carcase.
But wait, there is more to that story! I'll write that in a separate entry.
In short, my holiday was a horror. This doesn't even include the continuing saga of my wooden floors...
Ooo! I nearly had a white Thanksgiving ... missed it by one day. It, sadly, wasn't the first snow of the season ... that was in October. I don't have my winter clothes yet, mind you. It's all in storage... ye gads. When Carole was here last week she was horrified to see me still wearing linen pants. Yes, the material of choice for people living in jungles and deserts... like Pittsburgh in late November. On my Thanksgiving list (really, I do write a list) I must remember: "I'm thankful I haven't been frost-bitten.
Someone in my house, however, had a a terrific Thanksgiving... with a tasty dinner prepared for them. I put mouse poison out in the garage and it was all gone on Thursday. I am looking forward to the stench of the rotting carcase.
But wait, there is more to that story! I'll write that in a separate entry.
In short, my holiday was a horror. This doesn't even include the continuing saga of my wooden floors...
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
News on My Wretched New Wooden Floors
I went to the yellow pages. I went to the Better Business Bureau's website. I went to refinishers websites. I called 4 floor finishers. I got 3 quotes to fix what should be perfect floors. To sand to bare wood, stain, and poly-coat 3 times will cost $1700, $1500, or $1150. The lowest price is just a bit more expensive than my original guy... you know, the guy who postponed for 2 months only to cancel.
One of these guys actually came over to my house to make the estimate. He saw the blisters, bumps, star-bursts, and orange-peeling. He agreed that it was a horror. He said it would be $1700 to redo the whole thing BUT, he wants to try buffing the floors and then recoating with HIS poly. That would only be $700... and he won't do it unless the little section he tests proves successful. Shoot! You know I jumped on that, especially when he said he could come over Friday after Thanksgiving to do it. If it is successful, my floors should be done by Monday night!
I called Varathane and told them the story. They did not offer to refund my money like their can says (Guaranteed Satisfaction). The can doesn't specify WHOSE satisfaction. Apparently, it's THEIR satisfaction. They are satisfied that they sold it to me. At least they were helpful in trying to diagnose the problem and helping me discern if the $700 buffing idea was viable. They said it was a good idea.
One bit of good news, the finish the guy would use will be water-based. Far less toxic. I don't have to abandon my home during the cure. Hooray!
Oh, when the dude saw the floors I installed upstairs with the medallion, he asked me if I wanted a job as an installer. So, if this nuclear renaissance thing is just a blip, I may take him up on that... who needs feeling in one's hands? That's for pansies.
One of these guys actually came over to my house to make the estimate. He saw the blisters, bumps, star-bursts, and orange-peeling. He agreed that it was a horror. He said it would be $1700 to redo the whole thing BUT, he wants to try buffing the floors and then recoating with HIS poly. That would only be $700... and he won't do it unless the little section he tests proves successful. Shoot! You know I jumped on that, especially when he said he could come over Friday after Thanksgiving to do it. If it is successful, my floors should be done by Monday night!
I called Varathane and told them the story. They did not offer to refund my money like their can says (Guaranteed Satisfaction). The can doesn't specify WHOSE satisfaction. Apparently, it's THEIR satisfaction. They are satisfied that they sold it to me. At least they were helpful in trying to diagnose the problem and helping me discern if the $700 buffing idea was viable. They said it was a good idea.
One bit of good news, the finish the guy would use will be water-based. Far less toxic. I don't have to abandon my home during the cure. Hooray!
Oh, when the dude saw the floors I installed upstairs with the medallion, he asked me if I wanted a job as an installer. So, if this nuclear renaissance thing is just a blip, I may take him up on that... who needs feeling in one's hands? That's for pansies.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Charmed at Work
It keeps happening. I know nothing, yet I keep stumbling onto things that are huge to Westinghouse. On Friday I has a meeting with material engineers (OK, we don't have material engineers... one was a chemist and one was a physicist) and two guys from my development program. I was investigating possible material changes to our VERY taxing application. I had a whole bunch of impossible requests (polymer that instantly melts at a given temperature and leaves no trace of ever existing, that sort of thing). The chemist suggested I look into this NASA-inspired metal. Then he hooked me up with a dude that just spent 2 years working with this material (the physicist). I suggested we meet.
Because I told my colleague about it and he said he looked into it 2 years ago and it was no good, I invited him. Because I was told by one of our partner companies that we never ask them to play in our sandbox, I invited their technical guy. He, too, said he investigated this already and it was a bust. Well, I was just basing everything off of what my physicist told me.
Lo and behold, the metal properties have improved. They are now in the range to be useful to us. They had given up. It was a great idea, but they found it wouldn't work. Dumb little Judy doesn't know they already traveled this path. But THEY didn't know the path is now paved and has street lights. Who's awesome? Me.
And the other really cool thing about this story is the physicist starting working for the company right when I did. He said this is the first time he has been useful to Westinghouse since he started. He was sitting the bench and then BOOM! hits it out of the park his first at bat.
Yeah, we newbies kick butt. How did Westinghouse survive without us?
Because I told my colleague about it and he said he looked into it 2 years ago and it was no good, I invited him. Because I was told by one of our partner companies that we never ask them to play in our sandbox, I invited their technical guy. He, too, said he investigated this already and it was a bust. Well, I was just basing everything off of what my physicist told me.
Lo and behold, the metal properties have improved. They are now in the range to be useful to us. They had given up. It was a great idea, but they found it wouldn't work. Dumb little Judy doesn't know they already traveled this path. But THEY didn't know the path is now paved and has street lights. Who's awesome? Me.
And the other really cool thing about this story is the physicist starting working for the company right when I did. He said this is the first time he has been useful to Westinghouse since he started. He was sitting the bench and then BOOM! hits it out of the park his first at bat.
Yeah, we newbies kick butt. How did Westinghouse survive without us?
Hired a Designer
I had my friend Carole Darwin catch the train from Lancaster to Greensburg (the station before Pittsburgh, near my house) to help me with my house. She came Wednesday night. I was zonked from a 2-day meeting that I lead with people from all over the country... it was a big deal. So, all I had energy to do was bring her to the house, tour her around, then return her to her hotel (only rodents and I are fit to live in my house in its current state).
Carole was excited to see the house. I tried to convince her that she had her hopes way too high. But, even seeing the house, she was amped. I dropped her at the hotel, and conked out. All night long she came up with designs for every room!
The next day I had to go to a meeting (I was supposed to be on vacation). In that time Carole called cabinet makers and furniture stores. She set up appointments for the kitchen designers to come to my house that day.
I came to the hotel wiped out... still hadn't recovered from that meeting earlier in the week. She showed me paint colors she picked out, told me what furniture is going where, what furniture I have to buy, what lighting I have to buy, what she thinks I should do in the kitchen. I fight to remain vertical.
We zip on over to Ethan Allen and pick out some furniture. Then zip back to meet with a kitchen designer. It hailed furiously outside. We got about 1/2" of hail. I mostly looked out the window as Carole dealt with the designer. My house layout just is not good for a well-flowing kitchen. Even the experts agree. Ho-hum.
I finally surrendered to my exhaustion and told Carole I had to take a nap. She was bummed... she had such energy she couldn't believe that I wasn't hyped up on the possibilities like she was. If we were talking about arranging my workshop, I would have lead the parade, but not for my living room or bathrooms. That's as exciting as getting socks for Christmas.
So, I said I'd take her back to the hotel... No way, she said. She had limited time. She'd go to Homo Depot and look at the paint selection. Then she thought she might as well take a nap too... but at my house, not the hotel! Oh my god! She went upstairs and found one of the air ma tresses and racked out... on a floor that was reduced to just subflooring. Oh my god. Next to a pile of sawdust and staples! Isn't it bad enough she has to SEE how I'm living like someone trespassing in an abandoned home; does she also have to experience it too?
In the end, after 4 days of designing, as it stands now, I have 2 kitchen designers working away. One of them already showed us his concept (and I picked the quartz counter tops, maple cabinets and their handles). He's working on the bathrooms now. As for furniture I ordered a leather sofa, two leather swivel chairs with matching ottomans (for in front of a fireplace... cozy). I also got two little hammered-copper tables for in front of the sofa (metal so people can put their feet on them). A matching sofa table goes behind the sofa. Oh, and the leather sofa has this REALLY fancy pull-out bed that has memory foam... and no painful bar for your back. That's the family room. The living room I got 4 velvety chairs to surround a big ottoman. I'm using my Delaware living room furniture for the basement. The dining room furniture is my old Delaware stuff. She also worked out how to arrange my bedroom furniture... it's very tricky with the HUGE floor-to-ceiling windows I have. But, miracles are her specialty.
I didn't bother looking at price tags. I just got the best. The profit from my last house is covering everything... it better!
I don't know what was more exhausting, preparing and leading the multi-day politically charged meeting, or totally over-hauling the design of my house. Both were very stressful for me. At least I don't have to prepare meeting minutes for the house redesign...
Carole was excited to see the house. I tried to convince her that she had her hopes way too high. But, even seeing the house, she was amped. I dropped her at the hotel, and conked out. All night long she came up with designs for every room!
The next day I had to go to a meeting (I was supposed to be on vacation). In that time Carole called cabinet makers and furniture stores. She set up appointments for the kitchen designers to come to my house that day.
I came to the hotel wiped out... still hadn't recovered from that meeting earlier in the week. She showed me paint colors she picked out, told me what furniture is going where, what furniture I have to buy, what lighting I have to buy, what she thinks I should do in the kitchen. I fight to remain vertical.
We zip on over to Ethan Allen and pick out some furniture. Then zip back to meet with a kitchen designer. It hailed furiously outside. We got about 1/2" of hail. I mostly looked out the window as Carole dealt with the designer. My house layout just is not good for a well-flowing kitchen. Even the experts agree. Ho-hum.
I finally surrendered to my exhaustion and told Carole I had to take a nap. She was bummed... she had such energy she couldn't believe that I wasn't hyped up on the possibilities like she was. If we were talking about arranging my workshop, I would have lead the parade, but not for my living room or bathrooms. That's as exciting as getting socks for Christmas.
So, I said I'd take her back to the hotel... No way, she said. She had limited time. She'd go to Homo Depot and look at the paint selection. Then she thought she might as well take a nap too... but at my house, not the hotel! Oh my god! She went upstairs and found one of the air ma tresses and racked out... on a floor that was reduced to just subflooring. Oh my god. Next to a pile of sawdust and staples! Isn't it bad enough she has to SEE how I'm living like someone trespassing in an abandoned home; does she also have to experience it too?
In the end, after 4 days of designing, as it stands now, I have 2 kitchen designers working away. One of them already showed us his concept (and I picked the quartz counter tops, maple cabinets and their handles). He's working on the bathrooms now. As for furniture I ordered a leather sofa, two leather swivel chairs with matching ottomans (for in front of a fireplace... cozy). I also got two little hammered-copper tables for in front of the sofa (metal so people can put their feet on them). A matching sofa table goes behind the sofa. Oh, and the leather sofa has this REALLY fancy pull-out bed that has memory foam... and no painful bar for your back. That's the family room. The living room I got 4 velvety chairs to surround a big ottoman. I'm using my Delaware living room furniture for the basement. The dining room furniture is my old Delaware stuff. She also worked out how to arrange my bedroom furniture... it's very tricky with the HUGE floor-to-ceiling windows I have. But, miracles are her specialty.
I didn't bother looking at price tags. I just got the best. The profit from my last house is covering everything... it better!
I don't know what was more exhausting, preparing and leading the multi-day politically charged meeting, or totally over-hauling the design of my house. Both were very stressful for me. At least I don't have to prepare meeting minutes for the house redesign...
Cursed Floors
What a freaking horror. Remember those floors I was so happy to be getting finished? Well, all went well, until the polycoat. Apparently Lowes sold us a can that was made, oh, 50 years ago. It was hard to stir... even broke the stirring stick. After it went on we saw there were little dime-sized sections that weren't curing. The next day there were raised specks on the finish like sand... about 20 grains/square foot.
My finished said, "Have no fear, my dear. I will sand them away." He did. And he strained the poly from then on. But the raised specks came back again! He sanded and reapplied, then left for several days. Those specks? They turn into snakes and starbursts. It's a horror. I am dashed.
I think I have to strip the floor all the way down AGAIN, and start over. My patience is frayed. These floors are sucking the life out of me. Waaaaaaaaaaaah!
My finished said, "Have no fear, my dear. I will sand them away." He did. And he strained the poly from then on. But the raised specks came back again! He sanded and reapplied, then left for several days. Those specks? They turn into snakes and starbursts. It's a horror. I am dashed.
I think I have to strip the floor all the way down AGAIN, and start over. My patience is frayed. These floors are sucking the life out of me. Waaaaaaaaaaaah!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saw Dust Is Flying
Hooray! I found someone to finish my floors!!!! Hooray!
I lamented to a colleague about how I was abandoned by my floor finisher and he told me he'd do anything for money; he'll do it. He has a background in building houses (owned a company that built multi-million dollar homes, was a cabinet-maker, an electrician, and now a nuclear engineer). He hasn't sold his house in Georgia yet, and is now paying 2 mortgages, and has been for a year. He is itchin' to rustle up money. Not only that, this is what he does for fun. He has an enormous trailer full of house remolding tools and equipment from his days as a builder. He's a principal engineer here. I've got a gold mine! He's only $35/hour and is willing to give me every spare moment he has. I couldn't be happier! Not only is he doing the work, but he's more than happy to have me doing the work too and be the help. He's teaching me bunches. Oh, he's really funny and tells of hilarious adventures and encounters he's had. Shoot, I'd pay $35/hour to get training and entertained... getting the work done is just a bonus!
So, the dining room floor has been stripped (mechanically... no chemicals for me, man). The gaps have been filled between the boards (it looked more like a deck than a wooden floor!). The medallion was installed. The foyer and study floors have been sanded and puttied. Now what remains is a final sanding on each, staining, then applying the finish. WHOOPEEE!!!!!!!
A thin layer of dust is covering everything in my house. I am so happy I don't have anything in my house! That $43/day storage fee is finally paying off. Now if I could just get my sinuses to stop barking at me. Oof.
I lamented to a colleague about how I was abandoned by my floor finisher and he told me he'd do anything for money; he'll do it. He has a background in building houses (owned a company that built multi-million dollar homes, was a cabinet-maker, an electrician, and now a nuclear engineer). He hasn't sold his house in Georgia yet, and is now paying 2 mortgages, and has been for a year. He is itchin' to rustle up money. Not only that, this is what he does for fun. He has an enormous trailer full of house remolding tools and equipment from his days as a builder. He's a principal engineer here. I've got a gold mine! He's only $35/hour and is willing to give me every spare moment he has. I couldn't be happier! Not only is he doing the work, but he's more than happy to have me doing the work too and be the help. He's teaching me bunches. Oh, he's really funny and tells of hilarious adventures and encounters he's had. Shoot, I'd pay $35/hour to get training and entertained... getting the work done is just a bonus!
So, the dining room floor has been stripped (mechanically... no chemicals for me, man). The gaps have been filled between the boards (it looked more like a deck than a wooden floor!). The medallion was installed. The foyer and study floors have been sanded and puttied. Now what remains is a final sanding on each, staining, then applying the finish. WHOOPEEE!!!!!!!
A thin layer of dust is covering everything in my house. I am so happy I don't have anything in my house! That $43/day storage fee is finally paying off. Now if I could just get my sinuses to stop barking at me. Oof.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Pitt vs. Penn
I went to my new oncologist yesterday. He's at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center -- Hillman Cancer Center. I was IMPRESSED! Unlike Penn's HUP, it's not in a bad neighborhood. Unlike HUP, they don't gouge you for parking -- everyone gets valet parking and no matter how long you stay, it's $4. Valet! When you leave your doc, you call from one of the ubiquitous courtesy phones; by the time you arrive in the garage, your car is waiting for you.
Oh! And since I was a new patient, I got the "new patient" treatment. I suppose new patients are usually also newly diagnosed, based on how they treated me. They acted like they needed to treat me gently, like I've just been delivered a big blow. Shoot, I haven't felt like I was a cancer patient in over a year. It was VERY weird being treated like a I was emotionally and physically fragile again.
I loved how they arranged an orientation for you. Their is an orientation coordinator who calls you and tells you what to expect when you get there, where to go, answers any questions, and gives you directions and parking information. I never would have figured out what the heck was going on without some of this.
You drive up and your car is taken from you. Luckily I was told ahead of time that I HAD to use valet parking. Then I went to the Information booth to check in... visitors and patients have to sign in and get a badge! I knew I had to go to the library to get my orientation. The nice old man at the Info booth pointed me on my way. In the library I met with the coordinator and she told me of all the offerings they have for patients and their families. Free books, regular meetings, free pamphlets, computers to do research on, medical references, nurse practitioners "visiting hours." I was impressed. They even give you an orientation packet with maps and schedules, and lists of services and doctors and on and on.
After that, I was up to the 3rd floor. I had no idea where to go. I walked slowly turning around 360 and looking all over and up and down. I saw a directory... but it was of the WHOLE building. All it helped me with was to tell me to go to the 3rd floor, where I already was. I choose a direction and head off. I see a hand-made sign "Register here." I look all around to see if there are other "Register here" signs in case I have to know which one is for me. I slowly approach it. No one is there...as I get within 1 foot of the desk a woman pops out of no where and has me sign a sticker then tells me to sit and wait.
There are clusters of chairs everywhere. None all that close to the desk. I tentatively walk to one cluster that seems close. People look at me like I'm not supposed to be sitting with them. I pretend to just be sitting to adjust my paperwork. In a minute, my name is called. There are so many booths and desks and nooks, I'm not sure where the voice came from. This place is very weird. I head in the direction I thought I heard it coming from. I feel like Harry Potter when he enters some magical dimension that he's overwhelmed with confronting the new and bizarre... or like Dorothy in Oz... same thing. I look in each little booth to see if someone is looking for me. I find one where a lady looked up at me. I didn't say anything, and she asked, "Judith?" So I went over and sat down at her booth.
I gave her all the paperwork I was sent and had to fill out. Then she gave me an orange file folder and told me to "go over there and put it in the basket." I get up and try to figure out what she meant by "over there." The building is huge and completely open. No halls or doors, really. Just a wide expanse with cubical high walls and desks and chair clusters. I walk in the direction that she pointed her head towards. I walk slowly like perhaps I might fall in a trap door. The first booth I come too has a basket. It has a sign "Place yellow clip board here." Beside it there is another that says "Place orange clipboard here." I have an orange FILE, not clipboard..."Put it in her, miss." A woman behind the desk points at the "orange clipboard" basket... like I'm an idiot. Yeah, I can read... I can read it says CLIPBOARD.
I take a seat. No one else is around, so I don't feel like I have to pretend I'm not lost. Within a few minutes my name is called again... from somewhere. Ugh. I keep walking around and looking for someone. Ah! "Judith?" Yes. I give my insurance info. Now I have a yellow file folder. She tells me to sit in area "F." Area F? I look around and notice that each cluster of chairs has a big letter over it. As I approach F, there is another sign, "Place patient folder here." No one is around. I put mine on top of the one that is already in there. I sit.
In five minutes I am called again. I know where it is coming from and head over, but she disappears behind a cubical wall. She talks to me through the wall(?!) . She tells me to walk around. Around where? Very weird. The wall is about 20 feet long, with the desk on one end of it. I go to the other end and see the lady. She greets me like a dying patient and introduces herself and her colleague as though I'll be getting to know them in the coming months. She actually says that. Then she takes my vitals and weight and gives me another folder. I'm to go to pod "H." I look all around for an H. I see E, B, A, G... way down there, is, uh, H... way back where I first started.
Again I place my folder in a basket and sit. I'm am quickly called in. I'm going in to an exam room! Woohoo! At Penn it would have been another 4 hours before I got in! I would have been SITTING for the past 30 minutes instead of playing some sort of treasure hunt like I've been, but I love it! In an instant some young chick comes in wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard.
This chick is a physicians assistant, like a nurse practitioner. She "tells" me my history and ends each statement with a question mark. "You were diagnosed with AML?" "It was at the end of 2005?" "December?" and on and on for 15 minutes. Then she did the same with my family history. She did the leukemia history from memory and used my paperwork for the family history. I thought it was cool that she did her homework on me before I got there.
She then said something that struck me with horror. First she asked if I had a bone marrow biopsy since I finished chemo. My heart filled with fear. I said no. She said that it is protocol to have one done here at UPMC. But it's been a YEAR since I've been done. She took that into consideration. She said it is the only way to know for sure if there is any leukemia swimming around. She didn't pursue it...she went on with the interview.
The fact that I've lost 10 pounds since my chemo was a concern to her. NOT that I have bled uncontrollably several times. She thought it was amusing that the reason I lost weight after chemo but didn't have a problem during chemo... because Reds was always around making me eat. Now that he is gone and my body doesn't send signals for me to eat, I've lost weight.
The doc came in shortly after she left to get him. I thought he was going to be Indian based on his name. He wasn't. He was a whitey... with some European accent. Very charming. The first thing he says is, "I heard you lost weight recently." I started to explain and he said his assistant told him, and they look at each other and smile like they think it is cute that my dad fed me. I thought that was weird.
Anyway, he asks if I think I'm "pretty much done with AML now." I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Yeah, thanks to inversion-16." And he grinned and he said, "Inversion-16 is a great thing to have." I agreed. Then he told me that if I had been treated there I would have been monitored more closely. I would have been seeing an onkie once a month for a year, then once every two months for a year, then once every three months for a year. I was already at the once every 6 months with HUP and would be advancing to once every year soon. He said he's going to see me once every 3 months. Fine.
One weird thing, they didn't take my blood until AFTER the appointment. What the hell? The whole reason I'm there is because of my blood. From now on, though, they will take it beforehand.
When I left, I was given another folder. I put it in another basket and was yelled at for not having had my blood taken yet before checking out (I was told to check out). She gave me my folder back and made me go to pod E. The guy taking my blood was the best. I didn't even feel it.
Across the door from the phlebotomist was a courtesy phone for valet parking. I was in and out of there in 1.5 hours. Shoot, if it were HUP, I'd still be there... 24 hours later. I'm happy.
Oh! And since I was a new patient, I got the "new patient" treatment. I suppose new patients are usually also newly diagnosed, based on how they treated me. They acted like they needed to treat me gently, like I've just been delivered a big blow. Shoot, I haven't felt like I was a cancer patient in over a year. It was VERY weird being treated like a I was emotionally and physically fragile again.
I loved how they arranged an orientation for you. Their is an orientation coordinator who calls you and tells you what to expect when you get there, where to go, answers any questions, and gives you directions and parking information. I never would have figured out what the heck was going on without some of this.
You drive up and your car is taken from you. Luckily I was told ahead of time that I HAD to use valet parking. Then I went to the Information booth to check in... visitors and patients have to sign in and get a badge! I knew I had to go to the library to get my orientation. The nice old man at the Info booth pointed me on my way. In the library I met with the coordinator and she told me of all the offerings they have for patients and their families. Free books, regular meetings, free pamphlets, computers to do research on, medical references, nurse practitioners "visiting hours." I was impressed. They even give you an orientation packet with maps and schedules, and lists of services and doctors and on and on.
After that, I was up to the 3rd floor. I had no idea where to go. I walked slowly turning around 360 and looking all over and up and down. I saw a directory... but it was of the WHOLE building. All it helped me with was to tell me to go to the 3rd floor, where I already was. I choose a direction and head off. I see a hand-made sign "Register here." I look all around to see if there are other "Register here" signs in case I have to know which one is for me. I slowly approach it. No one is there...as I get within 1 foot of the desk a woman pops out of no where and has me sign a sticker then tells me to sit and wait.
There are clusters of chairs everywhere. None all that close to the desk. I tentatively walk to one cluster that seems close. People look at me like I'm not supposed to be sitting with them. I pretend to just be sitting to adjust my paperwork. In a minute, my name is called. There are so many booths and desks and nooks, I'm not sure where the voice came from. This place is very weird. I head in the direction I thought I heard it coming from. I feel like Harry Potter when he enters some magical dimension that he's overwhelmed with confronting the new and bizarre... or like Dorothy in Oz... same thing. I look in each little booth to see if someone is looking for me. I find one where a lady looked up at me. I didn't say anything, and she asked, "Judith?" So I went over and sat down at her booth.
I gave her all the paperwork I was sent and had to fill out. Then she gave me an orange file folder and told me to "go over there and put it in the basket." I get up and try to figure out what she meant by "over there." The building is huge and completely open. No halls or doors, really. Just a wide expanse with cubical high walls and desks and chair clusters. I walk in the direction that she pointed her head towards. I walk slowly like perhaps I might fall in a trap door. The first booth I come too has a basket. It has a sign "Place yellow clip board here." Beside it there is another that says "Place orange clipboard here." I have an orange FILE, not clipboard..."Put it in her, miss." A woman behind the desk points at the "orange clipboard" basket... like I'm an idiot. Yeah, I can read... I can read it says CLIPBOARD.
I take a seat. No one else is around, so I don't feel like I have to pretend I'm not lost. Within a few minutes my name is called again... from somewhere. Ugh. I keep walking around and looking for someone. Ah! "Judith?" Yes. I give my insurance info. Now I have a yellow file folder. She tells me to sit in area "F." Area F? I look around and notice that each cluster of chairs has a big letter over it. As I approach F, there is another sign, "Place patient folder here." No one is around. I put mine on top of the one that is already in there. I sit.
In five minutes I am called again. I know where it is coming from and head over, but she disappears behind a cubical wall. She talks to me through the wall(?!) . She tells me to walk around. Around where? Very weird. The wall is about 20 feet long, with the desk on one end of it. I go to the other end and see the lady. She greets me like a dying patient and introduces herself and her colleague as though I'll be getting to know them in the coming months. She actually says that. Then she takes my vitals and weight and gives me another folder. I'm to go to pod "H." I look all around for an H. I see E, B, A, G... way down there, is, uh, H... way back where I first started.
Again I place my folder in a basket and sit. I'm am quickly called in. I'm going in to an exam room! Woohoo! At Penn it would have been another 4 hours before I got in! I would have been SITTING for the past 30 minutes instead of playing some sort of treasure hunt like I've been, but I love it! In an instant some young chick comes in wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard.
This chick is a physicians assistant, like a nurse practitioner. She "tells" me my history and ends each statement with a question mark. "You were diagnosed with AML?" "It was at the end of 2005?" "December?" and on and on for 15 minutes. Then she did the same with my family history. She did the leukemia history from memory and used my paperwork for the family history. I thought it was cool that she did her homework on me before I got there.
She then said something that struck me with horror. First she asked if I had a bone marrow biopsy since I finished chemo. My heart filled with fear. I said no. She said that it is protocol to have one done here at UPMC. But it's been a YEAR since I've been done. She took that into consideration. She said it is the only way to know for sure if there is any leukemia swimming around. She didn't pursue it...she went on with the interview.
The fact that I've lost 10 pounds since my chemo was a concern to her. NOT that I have bled uncontrollably several times. She thought it was amusing that the reason I lost weight after chemo but didn't have a problem during chemo... because Reds was always around making me eat. Now that he is gone and my body doesn't send signals for me to eat, I've lost weight.
The doc came in shortly after she left to get him. I thought he was going to be Indian based on his name. He wasn't. He was a whitey... with some European accent. Very charming. The first thing he says is, "I heard you lost weight recently." I started to explain and he said his assistant told him, and they look at each other and smile like they think it is cute that my dad fed me. I thought that was weird.
Anyway, he asks if I think I'm "pretty much done with AML now." I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Yeah, thanks to inversion-16." And he grinned and he said, "Inversion-16 is a great thing to have." I agreed. Then he told me that if I had been treated there I would have been monitored more closely. I would have been seeing an onkie once a month for a year, then once every two months for a year, then once every three months for a year. I was already at the once every 6 months with HUP and would be advancing to once every year soon. He said he's going to see me once every 3 months. Fine.
One weird thing, they didn't take my blood until AFTER the appointment. What the hell? The whole reason I'm there is because of my blood. From now on, though, they will take it beforehand.
When I left, I was given another folder. I put it in another basket and was yelled at for not having had my blood taken yet before checking out (I was told to check out). She gave me my folder back and made me go to pod E. The guy taking my blood was the best. I didn't even feel it.
Across the door from the phlebotomist was a courtesy phone for valet parking. I was in and out of there in 1.5 hours. Shoot, if it were HUP, I'd still be there... 24 hours later. I'm happy.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Kumbaya
It keeps happening. Someone from Westinghouse will tell me how they plan to deal with a situation and it will startle me. They might be planning on telling a client that our equipment is good therefore something must be wrong with their system, or they plan to accost a vendor and demand this or that. Whoa! "You can't do that!" my brain screams. In my last job I was never considered a smooth-talker or afraid of confrontation, but wow, compared to the folks in Westinghouse I am!
I gently suggest they try getting the other side (vendor) on their side and act like they are a team instead of opponents. Or I let them know how the client is likely to interpret the planned response and how rephrasing it in a way that makes it sound like WE have a problem understanding their system and would like to learn more about it from them... so we can have our equipment better perform in that environment. Not like we're not going to tell them that their system sucks, because it probably does... but at least get the client to feel like we are listening to them and that we want to solve their specific problem. Not say, "Everybody else gets good life out of our stuff... it must be you."
Can you believe it? I'm the one with tact. My boss even asked me yesterday if I had some sort of training to "soften" my responses. No, but I'm sure my last company would have wanted me to. Apparently, I could TEACH the class in Westinghouse! You think it's because no one in DuPont will do anything unless you sweet talk them... and I've unknowingly honed my skills at it? Yeah, probably. It's not like I was born nice. And I certainly didn't get any training. Hmm, yet again, working with ornery folks for so long is paying off.
I have to figure out if my boss thinks it's BAD that I soften my responses, or good. I am quite confident; however, that the startling stuff I heard would have been bad if we did them. Quite confident.
I gently suggest they try getting the other side (vendor) on their side and act like they are a team instead of opponents. Or I let them know how the client is likely to interpret the planned response and how rephrasing it in a way that makes it sound like WE have a problem understanding their system and would like to learn more about it from them... so we can have our equipment better perform in that environment. Not like we're not going to tell them that their system sucks, because it probably does... but at least get the client to feel like we are listening to them and that we want to solve their specific problem. Not say, "Everybody else gets good life out of our stuff... it must be you."
Can you believe it? I'm the one with tact. My boss even asked me yesterday if I had some sort of training to "soften" my responses. No, but I'm sure my last company would have wanted me to. Apparently, I could TEACH the class in Westinghouse! You think it's because no one in DuPont will do anything unless you sweet talk them... and I've unknowingly honed my skills at it? Yeah, probably. It's not like I was born nice. And I certainly didn't get any training. Hmm, yet again, working with ornery folks for so long is paying off.
I have to figure out if my boss thinks it's BAD that I soften my responses, or good. I am quite confident; however, that the startling stuff I heard would have been bad if we did them. Quite confident.
ANOTHER delay in refinishing my floors
Just got a message from my wooden floor refinisher. He says his emergency eye surgery did not go well and he cannot do any work any time soon. I'm screwed. I need to get my floors sanded and finished before my household goods can be delivered. Now I have to get on the bottom of someone else's list and wait. I can't believe it. They were supposed to be done the week of Oct 8... now I can only hope for sometime before December. I am so miffed. So miffed. I think this guy delayed other people's floors and they got mad and poked him in his eyes... THAT'S why he has eye problems.
New England Leaf Peeper
Westinghouse has sent me to New Hampshire. Unlike DuPont, Westinghouse has their manufacturing facilities in lovely New England villages. This one is outside Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I was slated to tour this site where we make enormous pump and reactor (nuclear reactor) parts/equipment. I also got to check out their pump test loop... a test loop that can be heated to 600 degrees F and pump thousands of gallons per minute of water with a 7000 horsepower motor. To run a test on the pump that literally have to call the power company to tell them they are going to be pulling the enormous amperage. What fun.
The best part about this trip is it was on a Tuesday morning. That means I was able to fly to Boston on Saturday, visit with my Boston homies through Monday night, then work on Tuesday, fly out Wednesday. Don't you love the inefficiencies of travel? I'm going to be out of the office a total of 3 days for a 4-hour tour. Not to mention I got to visit my friends Lucy and Gary who just moved to Boston from Delaware, and good ole' Rosalie.
Lucy and Gary, being new to town, they were tourists like me. They took me to Revolutionary War towns of Lexington and Concord. The trees were just past peak peeking colors, but still fabulous. The weather was perfect and the skies were blue. We spent the whole weekend outside in it. We went to Walden Pond and took a tour of Thoreau's cabin and stopping grounds. We also went to an apple orchard... got me a caramel apple, of course, and mulled cider. Ooo yah!
Visiting Lucy and Gary just reminded me that my house is the pits. They have a fancy house with shiny new stuff. All their moving boxes have been emptied and removed. My house needs an overhaul and hasn't even gotten moving boxes delivered. If they came to town to visit me, well, they would stay at a hotel. Shoot, I want to stay at a hotel instead, too! As a matter of fact, staying in the hotel here in New Hampshire was a real treat; not only did I have a bed with a solid (not air) mattress OFF the ground, but a TV!!! I had forgotten I didn't have one for 5 months. I excitedly turned it on to see what marvels it had in store for me.... within 10 minutes I remembered just how full of drivel TV is. I can now return to my empty house not feeling so deprived.
On Monday I was able to catch up with Rosalie. She was on the west coast for the weekend. Luckily I had an extra day in Boston. We caught up, chatting non-stop for hours. Then she treated me to Vietnamese dinner. Reminded me of my favorite restaurant in Delaware... how I miss it.
Luckily I got out of town before the Red Sox parade shut down the city. Luckily, too, that I made it to town before they won. And now I'm flying out after the partying has died down. What timing!
Oh, and I'm SOOO glad I brought my GPS. Rosalie gave me directions to get out of Boston and on to I-95. Well, roads were blocked off in preparation for the parade, and for construction. But did I panic? Not much, my little GPS never skipped a beat. I'd pass a turn it suggested and then it took a second and suggested another one... usually a MILE down the road. I drove nearly to Connecticut I think before there was access to I-95... only to turn around and go north to New Hampshire.
I'm heading to Maine today before going to Logan Airport. I got some pumpkin butter I need to pick up. It's to die for.
Being sent to New England is so much better than being sent to Houston or Mississippi, or Alabama... or New Jersey like my last job always did. Ahhhh. I like my new life. Thank God for Leukemia.
The best part about this trip is it was on a Tuesday morning. That means I was able to fly to Boston on Saturday, visit with my Boston homies through Monday night, then work on Tuesday, fly out Wednesday. Don't you love the inefficiencies of travel? I'm going to be out of the office a total of 3 days for a 4-hour tour. Not to mention I got to visit my friends Lucy and Gary who just moved to Boston from Delaware, and good ole' Rosalie.
Lucy and Gary, being new to town, they were tourists like me. They took me to Revolutionary War towns of Lexington and Concord. The trees were just past peak peeking colors, but still fabulous. The weather was perfect and the skies were blue. We spent the whole weekend outside in it. We went to Walden Pond and took a tour of Thoreau's cabin and stopping grounds. We also went to an apple orchard... got me a caramel apple, of course, and mulled cider. Ooo yah!
Visiting Lucy and Gary just reminded me that my house is the pits. They have a fancy house with shiny new stuff. All their moving boxes have been emptied and removed. My house needs an overhaul and hasn't even gotten moving boxes delivered. If they came to town to visit me, well, they would stay at a hotel. Shoot, I want to stay at a hotel instead, too! As a matter of fact, staying in the hotel here in New Hampshire was a real treat; not only did I have a bed with a solid (not air) mattress OFF the ground, but a TV!!! I had forgotten I didn't have one for 5 months. I excitedly turned it on to see what marvels it had in store for me.... within 10 minutes I remembered just how full of drivel TV is. I can now return to my empty house not feeling so deprived.
On Monday I was able to catch up with Rosalie. She was on the west coast for the weekend. Luckily I had an extra day in Boston. We caught up, chatting non-stop for hours. Then she treated me to Vietnamese dinner. Reminded me of my favorite restaurant in Delaware... how I miss it.
Luckily I got out of town before the Red Sox parade shut down the city. Luckily, too, that I made it to town before they won. And now I'm flying out after the partying has died down. What timing!
Oh, and I'm SOOO glad I brought my GPS. Rosalie gave me directions to get out of Boston and on to I-95. Well, roads were blocked off in preparation for the parade, and for construction. But did I panic? Not much, my little GPS never skipped a beat. I'd pass a turn it suggested and then it took a second and suggested another one... usually a MILE down the road. I drove nearly to Connecticut I think before there was access to I-95... only to turn around and go north to New Hampshire.
I'm heading to Maine today before going to Logan Airport. I got some pumpkin butter I need to pick up. It's to die for.
Being sent to New England is so much better than being sent to Houston or Mississippi, or Alabama... or New Jersey like my last job always did. Ahhhh. I like my new life. Thank God for Leukemia.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Mini Tabbin' Momma
I love statistics. Always have. I always talk in percent confidence levels: "I'm 90% sure it will work." I use statistics on my stock investments. I love MiniTab, the statistical (sadistical) software used by Six Sigma sufferers everywhere. Well, MiniTab is for me like the funnest video game is to teenie-boppers.
For my project I have to be 99% certain my equipment will function when called upon. So, I asked my boss if Westinghouse had MiniTab and how could I get it? HE was a Black Belt, so he was giddy I asked. Literally, within 1 hour it was installed on my computer.
So I played with my data and a friend of my (fellow 1991 graduate of Penn State in mechanical engineering!) debated this and that. I even called my good friend Nancy Little back at DuPont who is soon-to-be a certified Black Belt. I loved it.
My technical mentor overheard me talking statistics with the other Nittany Lion and the next day he asked, "You're a statistician, right?" Uhh, how do you answer that? I qualified my yes by saying, "I studied it; I was trained on it; I've used it; but a statistician would spit on me." He knew I just said, "Yes."
So, he shows me this data that our vendor gave to him. He said they took a bunch of data that they predicted for pumps years ago and compared it to data they collected from actual recent tests. With the data they concluded they didn't need to test anymore because they now know how to correct their predictions. (Testing is expensive.) My mentor said he was uncomfortable with the numbers. They concluded that they were just going to increase all the predictions by 0.2% which was the average difference in the two numbers. He didn't like the fact that he saw individual percent error of 8% and -1%. He asked me what to make out of the data. My heart leapt! STATISTICS!!!
I looked at the data. They didn't even calculate the standard deviation of the numbers! They didn't give the correction a RANGE; they just slapped the average down and were done. UNBELIEVABLE!!! But, finally, I get to help my mentor. Five months and all I have been has been a burden to him.
It was 7 PM. I took his data; he went home. I cracked my knuckles and rubbed my hands together, and away I went.
First thing, not enough data to make the conclusion they made. They said they should correct by 0.2%, but the data is only accurate to 3.4%. Ooo, this is getting good. Then I took the standard deviation. Yes, the average was 0.2, but, uh, the standard deviation was closer to 4!!!! Dude! This is amazingly stinky crapola! I've hit a gold mine! I did all sorts of t-tests, single, double, and paired. I did normality tests. I graphed. I averaged. I did linear regressions. And, oh, what's this? Wow...
I found that I could predict with 99.5% certainty (which is phenomenal) what the percent error is of the head data using the tested horsepower data, but NOT using the predicted horsepower data. Eureka! Judy done figured it out. Their test stand is in error, not the prediction method! Little Judy uncovered that, I believe, their means of measuring flow was faulty. Hooray for Judy! Long live MiniTab! Oh, look, it's midnight. Judy got lost in the euphoria of statistics again.
I couldn't go to sleep until 2 AM, I was so excited!
This is an example of how a geek experiences life.
For my project I have to be 99% certain my equipment will function when called upon. So, I asked my boss if Westinghouse had MiniTab and how could I get it? HE was a Black Belt, so he was giddy I asked. Literally, within 1 hour it was installed on my computer.
So I played with my data and a friend of my (fellow 1991 graduate of Penn State in mechanical engineering!) debated this and that. I even called my good friend Nancy Little back at DuPont who is soon-to-be a certified Black Belt. I loved it.
My technical mentor overheard me talking statistics with the other Nittany Lion and the next day he asked, "You're a statistician, right?" Uhh, how do you answer that? I qualified my yes by saying, "I studied it; I was trained on it; I've used it; but a statistician would spit on me." He knew I just said, "Yes."
So, he shows me this data that our vendor gave to him. He said they took a bunch of data that they predicted for pumps years ago and compared it to data they collected from actual recent tests. With the data they concluded they didn't need to test anymore because they now know how to correct their predictions. (Testing is expensive.) My mentor said he was uncomfortable with the numbers. They concluded that they were just going to increase all the predictions by 0.2% which was the average difference in the two numbers. He didn't like the fact that he saw individual percent error of 8% and -1%. He asked me what to make out of the data. My heart leapt! STATISTICS!!!
I looked at the data. They didn't even calculate the standard deviation of the numbers! They didn't give the correction a RANGE; they just slapped the average down and were done. UNBELIEVABLE!!! But, finally, I get to help my mentor. Five months and all I have been has been a burden to him.
It was 7 PM. I took his data; he went home. I cracked my knuckles and rubbed my hands together, and away I went.
First thing, not enough data to make the conclusion they made. They said they should correct by 0.2%, but the data is only accurate to 3.4%. Ooo, this is getting good. Then I took the standard deviation. Yes, the average was 0.2, but, uh, the standard deviation was closer to 4!!!! Dude! This is amazingly stinky crapola! I've hit a gold mine! I did all sorts of t-tests, single, double, and paired. I did normality tests. I graphed. I averaged. I did linear regressions. And, oh, what's this? Wow...
I found that I could predict with 99.5% certainty (which is phenomenal) what the percent error is of the head data using the tested horsepower data, but NOT using the predicted horsepower data. Eureka! Judy done figured it out. Their test stand is in error, not the prediction method! Little Judy uncovered that, I believe, their means of measuring flow was faulty. Hooray for Judy! Long live MiniTab! Oh, look, it's midnight. Judy got lost in the euphoria of statistics again.
I couldn't go to sleep until 2 AM, I was so excited!
This is an example of how a geek experiences life.
Floor Still Not Done
No, I have not completed my hardwood floor installation, yet. I was burned out, and I have nerve damage. Having time thanks to emergency eye surgery of my refinisher, I thought I'd take advantage of it. And, yes, I was procrastinating. I was fearing cutting the hole in my floor for the medallion.
Well, I finally faced my fear and cut the pattern for the medallion. I was so scared that I practiced at least eight times before I turned the router on. Keep in mind, if I screw this up, I'm just ruining a big piece of hardboard... not the medallion, and not the hardwood floor. Still, I feared screwing it up. I'd rather stand up in front of a large audience and field questions on my love life. Fear.
Luckily, it was a snap. Just put the bushing on the router. Put the router on the lowest setting and push the router around the medallion. Boom. Done. Perfection. Absolutely identical (plus the bushing difference).
Next, cutting the actual floor. I taped the patter on the floor. I centered it. I eyed it from every direction. I practiced kneeling in the center of the 3 foot diameter hole of my pattern and pushing the router around the inside diameter, 'round and 'round. A bit of a flaw. The bushing I had to use was thicker than my pattern... by 1/4 inch. Trouble. I had to find something to put the router on to lift it 1/4 inch. It was 11 PM; Homo Depot was closed. I was too wired to just quit and go to bed...
I found a ceramic tile (left over by the seller of my house). Nearly perfect. The trouble, though, is I only have a 1/8" lip to follow the bushing with. I thought my hardboard with 1/4 inch thick. It's just 1/8. Good for cutting all the way through the 3/4 inch oak flooring, bad for sure-footing. I was uber-paranoid. I spun 'round and 'round again, this time with the ceramic tile duct taped to the bottom. It was good, mostly. I decided to make it a go.
All went well... until my router bit plugged up the groove it was making filling it with saw dust. It filled it, then over-flowed it... then the 1/8 inch lip was breached. ACK!!!! I cut into my floor!!!!!! Ack!!!! I didn't know WHY. So I went slower and checked more often. This just delayed the time it took to build up the saw dust enough to jump the 1/8 lip. You can only take off a wee bit of the 3/4 inch oak at a time. You need to take about 10 passes to do a good job. That is about 60 feet of routing. A lot of opportunity to screw up. Sweat sweat.
The duct tape got floppy on one side. Zip! Bit into the hardwood. DAMN!!!
'Round and 'round. Saw dust ramp, and off track again. %$#@*!! I finally figure out the mechanism causing the ramping. I now go an inch and stop and vacuum out the groove. But stopping is risky, because then you have the opportunity of starting off the lip. Yup, off again.
SEVEN times!!! Yes, they are little excursions, but really, it's got to be perfect. It is going to stand out like a red-head in China. I am dejected. Still not done. I quit and go to bed. I tell myself I will buy a 1/4 inch thick plastic sheet and screw it to the router and do a better job peering through the router hole to see if I am lined up before I start 'er up.
The next day I decided I would just cut the lip off the bushing. Cut 1/4 inch off. The bushing was $20, but it doesn't fit my router anyway. It fits my friends. I only need it for this job. But how will I shorten it? Belt sander? No... on a lathe!!
I brought it to my machine shop class on Tuesday and chucked it up and zipped it off in no time. Perfect, too. Smooth.
I checked the dimensions of the hole I'm making and the medallion. Perfect match. No room to spare. I've decided to use a slightly larger router bit after I'm done to clean up the naughty wayward cuts. I'm feeling better about my situation.
Tonight I've regained enough courage to attack again. Wish me luck!
Well, I finally faced my fear and cut the pattern for the medallion. I was so scared that I practiced at least eight times before I turned the router on. Keep in mind, if I screw this up, I'm just ruining a big piece of hardboard... not the medallion, and not the hardwood floor. Still, I feared screwing it up. I'd rather stand up in front of a large audience and field questions on my love life. Fear.
Luckily, it was a snap. Just put the bushing on the router. Put the router on the lowest setting and push the router around the medallion. Boom. Done. Perfection. Absolutely identical (plus the bushing difference).
Next, cutting the actual floor. I taped the patter on the floor. I centered it. I eyed it from every direction. I practiced kneeling in the center of the 3 foot diameter hole of my pattern and pushing the router around the inside diameter, 'round and 'round. A bit of a flaw. The bushing I had to use was thicker than my pattern... by 1/4 inch. Trouble. I had to find something to put the router on to lift it 1/4 inch. It was 11 PM; Homo Depot was closed. I was too wired to just quit and go to bed...
I found a ceramic tile (left over by the seller of my house). Nearly perfect. The trouble, though, is I only have a 1/8" lip to follow the bushing with. I thought my hardboard with 1/4 inch thick. It's just 1/8. Good for cutting all the way through the 3/4 inch oak flooring, bad for sure-footing. I was uber-paranoid. I spun 'round and 'round again, this time with the ceramic tile duct taped to the bottom. It was good, mostly. I decided to make it a go.
All went well... until my router bit plugged up the groove it was making filling it with saw dust. It filled it, then over-flowed it... then the 1/8 inch lip was breached. ACK!!!! I cut into my floor!!!!!! Ack!!!! I didn't know WHY. So I went slower and checked more often. This just delayed the time it took to build up the saw dust enough to jump the 1/8 lip. You can only take off a wee bit of the 3/4 inch oak at a time. You need to take about 10 passes to do a good job. That is about 60 feet of routing. A lot of opportunity to screw up. Sweat sweat.
The duct tape got floppy on one side. Zip! Bit into the hardwood. DAMN!!!
'Round and 'round. Saw dust ramp, and off track again. %$#@*!! I finally figure out the mechanism causing the ramping. I now go an inch and stop and vacuum out the groove. But stopping is risky, because then you have the opportunity of starting off the lip. Yup, off again.
SEVEN times!!! Yes, they are little excursions, but really, it's got to be perfect. It is going to stand out like a red-head in China. I am dejected. Still not done. I quit and go to bed. I tell myself I will buy a 1/4 inch thick plastic sheet and screw it to the router and do a better job peering through the router hole to see if I am lined up before I start 'er up.
The next day I decided I would just cut the lip off the bushing. Cut 1/4 inch off. The bushing was $20, but it doesn't fit my router anyway. It fits my friends. I only need it for this job. But how will I shorten it? Belt sander? No... on a lathe!!
I brought it to my machine shop class on Tuesday and chucked it up and zipped it off in no time. Perfect, too. Smooth.
I checked the dimensions of the hole I'm making and the medallion. Perfect match. No room to spare. I've decided to use a slightly larger router bit after I'm done to clean up the naughty wayward cuts. I'm feeling better about my situation.
Tonight I've regained enough courage to attack again. Wish me luck!
Translations
I was going through my old notes of my project today. Just reading through to see if there were any nuggets in there I had forgotten, or I now have better insight on. I laughed when I saw a few notes where I had to have a cheat sheet to help me understand the Pittsburgh accent:
"Don" = down
"Thermo Miga" = Therm omega
It's one of those accents that just pops up on you. They are talking normal and then all of a sudden they say, "Sit don." Then they talk normal again. Freaky.
The other thing that is freaky is the whole janitorial staff says, "Have a good evening" to me. Not, "See ya," or "G'night," or "Adios," or "Buenas nochas" (everyone on the staff is white... born here). They ALL say "Have a good evening." Not just one or two people; I'm talking six or eight, so far. The reason I noticed was the lady that cleans my floor says it in a whining manor... like the way you mock your sibling who says something you think is annoying... you repeat what they say in a whining voice. I find it completely irritating and have found a way to leave my office when I hear here coming (luckily the garbage can she rolls along the linoleum hall is deafeningly loud). It struck me one night that on my way out another lady said the exact words but said it with a smile and some enthusiasm. Since then I've noticed they all say it. You think it is in the employee manual? I'm sure it's written don.
"Don" = down
"Thermo Miga" = Therm omega
It's one of those accents that just pops up on you. They are talking normal and then all of a sudden they say, "Sit don." Then they talk normal again. Freaky.
The other thing that is freaky is the whole janitorial staff says, "Have a good evening" to me. Not, "See ya," or "G'night," or "Adios," or "Buenas nochas" (everyone on the staff is white... born here). They ALL say "Have a good evening." Not just one or two people; I'm talking six or eight, so far. The reason I noticed was the lady that cleans my floor says it in a whining manor... like the way you mock your sibling who says something you think is annoying... you repeat what they say in a whining voice. I find it completely irritating and have found a way to leave my office when I hear here coming (luckily the garbage can she rolls along the linoleum hall is deafeningly loud). It struck me one night that on my way out another lady said the exact words but said it with a smile and some enthusiasm. Since then I've noticed they all say it. You think it is in the employee manual? I'm sure it's written don.
Corian Qur'an
I was talking to a buddy of mine about fixing up houses. He's a pro. Literally. He did it for living for a long time. The lure of the nuclear industry is just too strong. Anyway, we were talking about what I wanted to do to my kitchen (gut it). He told me he did it in his last house and he installed countertops "made out of that Qur'an." "Corian?" "Yeah."
For someone who used to work for DuPont, this was priceless.
Praise Allah.
For someone who used to work for DuPont, this was priceless.
Praise Allah.
Junk Mail Begets Junk Mail
As a recent home buyer, I am in a special group of people (victims) that get their name and address posted publicly. Mortgage insurers and other slithering reptiles pounce on this list of home buyers and fill our mailboxes with crap mail. I'm doubly lucky... I've moved twice in the past 5 months. My LAST address is still getting "welcome to the neighborhood" crap.
Well, I'm especially miffed about the mortgage-based mail. My mortgage company allowed me to "opt out" of having them sell my name and address to these cockroaches, but they had a 10-day window that I couldn't!!!! As if roaches wait longer than 10 days to eat free food. So, I open every piece of mail and if there is a return envelope with a "no stamp necessary" box, well, I send the empty envelope back... after spitting on it to seal it. I've recently decided to put a note in there saying, "I hate junk mail. Don't you?" Lots of people probably return the envelopes empty and the receiver just throws them away when they arrive. The company still has to pay to have it returned, but it is better to give them hope that they have some dummy on the hook. My love notes make it to some shmoe who thinks he's landed a sucker... instead, he's as annoyed as I am for receiving it.
I encourage all of you to do the same. Especially the ones that have marked on the outside "Urgent documents enclosed." It's funny though, we have been conditioned to think envelopes with "Urgent" and "Time-sensitive" on them are junk. I almost threw away my Westinghouse 401(k) statement earlier this month. I can't believe it. They put "Personal and Confidential" on the envelope. Really, I almost tossed it without opening it... luckily I was collecting return envelopes, eh?
Well, I'm especially miffed about the mortgage-based mail. My mortgage company allowed me to "opt out" of having them sell my name and address to these cockroaches, but they had a 10-day window that I couldn't!!!! As if roaches wait longer than 10 days to eat free food. So, I open every piece of mail and if there is a return envelope with a "no stamp necessary" box, well, I send the empty envelope back... after spitting on it to seal it. I've recently decided to put a note in there saying, "I hate junk mail. Don't you?" Lots of people probably return the envelopes empty and the receiver just throws them away when they arrive. The company still has to pay to have it returned, but it is better to give them hope that they have some dummy on the hook. My love notes make it to some shmoe who thinks he's landed a sucker... instead, he's as annoyed as I am for receiving it.
I encourage all of you to do the same. Especially the ones that have marked on the outside "Urgent documents enclosed." It's funny though, we have been conditioned to think envelopes with "Urgent" and "Time-sensitive" on them are junk. I almost threw away my Westinghouse 401(k) statement earlier this month. I can't believe it. They put "Personal and Confidential" on the envelope. Really, I almost tossed it without opening it... luckily I was collecting return envelopes, eh?
Bad Leukemia Survivor
I'm a bad leukemia survivor. There was a blood drive here at work during a week I wasn't here. You had to sign up in advance to donate. I tried to rally my friends to give blood. I asked the first guy, he said he's not allowed to give blood (either am I, so I didn't rag on him). I asked the next guy, he said he doesn't give blood. I gave him a blank stare. He stared back. I gave up soliciting. Instead I just took the inconspicuous flyer I found and taped it to the men's room door. Weak.
Then there was the Light the Night shindig. It is THE Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's event. Fund raising. Awareness raising. I planned to volunteer. I planned to donate. Both the Philly and Pittsburgh events have come and gone. I did nothing. Lame.
I tried to get my United Way contributions to go to HUP's cancer ward. Westinghouse didn't give me the option. The only hospital in Philly they let us donate to is the Children's Hospital. Damn. I worked very hard and found something passable to donate to. It's the leukemia research center at the University of Pittsburgh. It's just not the same. THEY didn't save my life... HUP did. At least I didn't have to give my money to something I care nothing for... like one of those wimpy cancers that most people survive.
Then there was the Light the Night shindig. It is THE Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's event. Fund raising. Awareness raising. I planned to volunteer. I planned to donate. Both the Philly and Pittsburgh events have come and gone. I did nothing. Lame.
I tried to get my United Way contributions to go to HUP's cancer ward. Westinghouse didn't give me the option. The only hospital in Philly they let us donate to is the Children's Hospital. Damn. I worked very hard and found something passable to donate to. It's the leukemia research center at the University of Pittsburgh. It's just not the same. THEY didn't save my life... HUP did. At least I didn't have to give my money to something I care nothing for... like one of those wimpy cancers that most people survive.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Employee Discount!!
Whoo-hoo! I just stumbled on a intranet page that announces an employee discount. "Discount?" you ask? "For nuclear equipment, supplies, and services?!" Well, no. (Sorry to all those who were excited about that prospect.) We are owned by Toshiba. That means HDTVs and computers and such. Yeah baby! Anybody interested in Christmas presents???
TOSHIBA EMPLOYEE DISCOUNT PROGRAM
US.-based Westinghouse employees are eligible to receive a discount on the purchase of a wide variety of consumer electronics products made by Toshiba America Consumer Products (TACP) and Toshiba America Information Systems (TAIS). The employee discount program enables Westinghouse employees, through our Toshiba parent company, to purchase products at prices lower than those offered by the major electronics retail stores. In addition, some of the products offered through the employee discount program (such as Portégé and Tecra) are not available at other electronics retailer.
TOSHIBA EMPLOYEE DISCOUNT PROGRAM
US.-based Westinghouse employees are eligible to receive a discount on the purchase of a wide variety of consumer electronics products made by Toshiba America Consumer Products (TACP) and Toshiba America Information Systems (TAIS). The employee discount program enables Westinghouse employees, through our Toshiba parent company, to purchase products at prices lower than those offered by the major electronics retail stores. In addition, some of the products offered through the employee discount program (such as Portégé and Tecra) are not available at other electronics retailer.
I hate 11:30 AM
It's a little past 11:30 AM, and I have a question I need answered that can't really wait. But at 11:30 AM this whole floor is evacuated. It's lunch time and one-by-one everyone slips off to forage for food. It is all too often that THIS is the time I have a pressing question that needs attention. UGH!!! Happened yesterday, too. My solution? Brood? No. I went down to cafeteria and ate, killing time. In the past I've always just spun my wheels trying to go on without the answer. It's never worked. Sometimes I had forgotten the pressing issue because I moved on to another task. Either way, 11:30 AM is bad for business.
My Little Buddy
My Palm Treo (Blackberry) has become my little buddy. I have slowly converted to using it and abandoning my leather Daytimer calendar/organizer. I use the calendar feature obnoxiously... even have it remind me to go grocery shopping (it alarms and tells me I should leave work), or put out the trash. It even talks to me. It will say "Group Meeting in Room 256A" in that funny computer voice. Whatever I type, she says it. Gotta make sure I don't input "Gynecologist Appointment" or "Bail hearing" that everyone will hear. Even when someone calls, it says, "Call from Reds Hodgson from home" (I hear that one a lot). It's embarrassing to have nicknames in there -- "Call from Pitter-Pat" may make me blush if a serious colleague heard it.
Anyone that knows me knows I love lists. My brain will reel if I don't jot something down and purge my brain of its burden. I have all sorts of lists on my pocket pal -- shopping lists, store hours, important dimensions (so I buy the right stuff), instructions on how to get a visitor on site, and of course, a to-do list.
When I'm bored I have games on it and I play pod-casts I've down-loaded. I check my email and cruise the internet, too. I've often used my little buddy to check train/bus schedules while out on the town, and I've researched prices for stuff while standing in the store deciding if what I see is a good deal.
I remember making fun of my friend Corey when we we're heading off to lunch (off-site) and he panicked because he didn't have his Palm Pilot. I asked him why he needed it; we were just going to lunch. He said something like "I have everything on it. You never know when you're going to need it." OK. Well, I'm starting to get that way... don't tell Corey.
Anyone that knows me knows I love lists. My brain will reel if I don't jot something down and purge my brain of its burden. I have all sorts of lists on my pocket pal -- shopping lists, store hours, important dimensions (so I buy the right stuff), instructions on how to get a visitor on site, and of course, a to-do list.
When I'm bored I have games on it and I play pod-casts I've down-loaded. I check my email and cruise the internet, too. I've often used my little buddy to check train/bus schedules while out on the town, and I've researched prices for stuff while standing in the store deciding if what I see is a good deal.
I remember making fun of my friend Corey when we we're heading off to lunch (off-site) and he panicked because he didn't have his Palm Pilot. I asked him why he needed it; we were just going to lunch. He said something like "I have everything on it. You never know when you're going to need it." OK. Well, I'm starting to get that way... don't tell Corey.
Scenic Drive
During my drive to work the other day I got to see not only the beautiful rolling hills with autumn colors burgeoning, but lots of wildlife... dead along side the road. On my 7.5-mile drive I saw a dead deer, skunk, and groundhog. I hope it wasn't the same car that hit them all...
Lovin' that Blackrock Global Growth
Zoom! My DuPont 401k is shooting up so fast it may break Earth's gravitational pull and splat into Neptune. This quarter my biggest holding, Blackrock Global Growth went up 11%, as of this year it's up 30%, while the one-year return is 45%. That's just delicious. I may retire next month if things keep going this well...
Kinda Evicted
I told my apartment manager that I wanted to move out; that I had a house. I signed the papers and they said they'd try to sublease it for me so I don't have to pay the last 2 months rent on my lease.
The NEXT DAY she called saying someone wanted to see the place. I had to zoom up there (20 minutes out of my way) to QUICKLY straighten up the joint. It was very close to being scary in there. I did it. They came. They liked it. They want it. The manager called and said they want to move in at the end of the month. I said OK. She said she needed at least a week to paint before they moved. Great. That gives me 3 weeks.
Well, I hate lugging heavy boxes up those stairs to my car. Plus my car only holds so much. So, I was taking it out piece-meal. Then I got a harassing call from the manager. "When are you going to be out?" I'm having flashbacks of that nasty real estate agent that was grouchy I still had stuff in my house 36 hours before closing... it was still MY house, just as it is still MY apartment. I told her I was working on it. Then she said the sooner I move the sooner they can move in... and pay my rent for me. What?! She told me they weren't coming until the end of the month, now it's when ever I move out?! I wasted nearly 2 weeks lallygagging. Damn! I tell her I'll get to it fast, now that I know I can save dough.
My apartment is far away, as I said. I tend to work late, too. Of course I needed to work on my wood floors. Let's not forget I have classes to attend that take 5 hours each a week. So, no, I didn't move my stuff out that day she called. Two days later she leaves a message saying the painters are coming and "I hope all your stuff is out, because they start painting tomorrow." WHAT?! Ooooo! What the hell? I have a lease. Don't bully me. Yes, it's good for me to get out and save dough, but, they can't make appointments without my approval! What the hell?!
A friend asked if I had to pay rent WHILE they fixed the place for the next tenant. Hmmm, good question. A normal turn-over would have the lease go to full term. Payment stops, THEN they can get in there and spruce it up, THEN the new tenant comes in and starts paying. They better not try to screw me into paying for them to evict me and fix it for the next renter. I've signed no papers turning it over to anyone. I may just set up camp in there until the end of the month. They'd have to paint again. They are anal like that...
The NEXT DAY she called saying someone wanted to see the place. I had to zoom up there (20 minutes out of my way) to QUICKLY straighten up the joint. It was very close to being scary in there. I did it. They came. They liked it. They want it. The manager called and said they want to move in at the end of the month. I said OK. She said she needed at least a week to paint before they moved. Great. That gives me 3 weeks.
Well, I hate lugging heavy boxes up those stairs to my car. Plus my car only holds so much. So, I was taking it out piece-meal. Then I got a harassing call from the manager. "When are you going to be out?" I'm having flashbacks of that nasty real estate agent that was grouchy I still had stuff in my house 36 hours before closing... it was still MY house, just as it is still MY apartment. I told her I was working on it. Then she said the sooner I move the sooner they can move in... and pay my rent for me. What?! She told me they weren't coming until the end of the month, now it's when ever I move out?! I wasted nearly 2 weeks lallygagging. Damn! I tell her I'll get to it fast, now that I know I can save dough.
My apartment is far away, as I said. I tend to work late, too. Of course I needed to work on my wood floors. Let's not forget I have classes to attend that take 5 hours each a week. So, no, I didn't move my stuff out that day she called. Two days later she leaves a message saying the painters are coming and "I hope all your stuff is out, because they start painting tomorrow." WHAT?! Ooooo! What the hell? I have a lease. Don't bully me. Yes, it's good for me to get out and save dough, but, they can't make appointments without my approval! What the hell?!
A friend asked if I had to pay rent WHILE they fixed the place for the next tenant. Hmmm, good question. A normal turn-over would have the lease go to full term. Payment stops, THEN they can get in there and spruce it up, THEN the new tenant comes in and starts paying. They better not try to screw me into paying for them to evict me and fix it for the next renter. I've signed no papers turning it over to anyone. I may just set up camp in there until the end of the month. They'd have to paint again. They are anal like that...
Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie
I have said my farewells to nectarines, my favorite summer fruit. What's keeping from laying on the floor and pounding my fists, shaking my yelling head, and kicking my feet is... it's caramel apple season! I go for the ones covered in nuts.
In the past, I would just pick up a pack of three when I'd go grocery shopping (which is rare, mind you). But since my run-in with Luke I tend to give myself what I want. So last time I went grocery shopping... I picked up 4 packs of 3. Uhh, that was bad.
I love those lolli-apples so much, that I can eat 2 or 3 in one sitting... and skip dinner. Well, I've done that a couple of times. Both times I woke in the middle of the night with horrible Luke-like stomach pain. My digestion decides to stop and I'm in agony for hours. Wah. The first time it happened I blamed it on the bit of chicken I ate. After the second time... well, fool me once... Now I'm only allowed one a day. I pout. My summer fruit friend never attacked me like this.
In the past, I would just pick up a pack of three when I'd go grocery shopping (which is rare, mind you). But since my run-in with Luke I tend to give myself what I want. So last time I went grocery shopping... I picked up 4 packs of 3. Uhh, that was bad.
I love those lolli-apples so much, that I can eat 2 or 3 in one sitting... and skip dinner. Well, I've done that a couple of times. Both times I woke in the middle of the night with horrible Luke-like stomach pain. My digestion decides to stop and I'm in agony for hours. Wah. The first time it happened I blamed it on the bit of chicken I ate. After the second time... well, fool me once... Now I'm only allowed one a day. I pout. My summer fruit friend never attacked me like this.
Another Delay
The guy who is supposed to finish my hardwood floor called last night. He is having emergency cataract surgery and can't work for 7-10 days. He was scheduled to do my floors Oct 8, but he was running behind, so bumped it to Oct 22. Now we are looking at Nov 1. All the while my stuff is staying in storage... at $43/day. The only good news in this is it gives me a break. I have been going all out lately -- red-lining it... with the low fuel light aglow. I gave my numb hand a rest last night... it hurts this morning.
So, with his month delay, he had DOUBLED the cost of refinishing my floors, if you add in the $43/day storage charge. I'm sure he feels bad about that... the connection had a lot of static, that's the reason I didn't hear it in his voice... it was the connection.
So, with his month delay, he had DOUBLED the cost of refinishing my floors, if you add in the $43/day storage charge. I'm sure he feels bad about that... the connection had a lot of static, that's the reason I didn't hear it in his voice... it was the connection.
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