Monday, October 02, 2006

Enlightening moments while drunk and abroad…

I attended the YP Webmaster Getaway last weekend, and had a great time reconnecting with a few old webmaster friends, and getting to know some new ones, too.  In spite of my being in virtually a perpetual state of inebriation (or plain old sleep-deprivation-induced delirium) I found myself reflecting on things I’d not thought too much about before… or at least haven’t in quite some time.

First and foremost, driving past the Mexican border towns and Baja coastline one would have to be blind not to notice the strange (yet ubiquitous) juxtapositions of relative wealth side-by-side with abject poverty.  Westward glances out the window present one with the striking contrast of a newly-built large, well-appointed beachside home sitting next to a ramshackle abode that’s clearly been crafted out of whatever abandoned materials the inhabitants have been able to scrounge up.  In town after town, I saw “houses” that more closely resembled the forts I helped build as a kid: half a piece of corrugated tin here, a section of fence or plywood remnants there.  (Oh, and the “new” buildings almost all have rebar poking out of the walls and/or roof, because in Mexico, apparently as long as the building isn’t “finished,” there are no taxes assessed.  On the ride down, we wondered aloud at all the rebar “crowns,” but were informed of this loophole in Mexican tax policy by those in the know at the Baja Seasons resort.) Putting myself in the shoes of the poor souls who live in those cobbled-together casitas, it’s all too easy to understand the motivations of those who’d risk life, limb and liberty to escape across the border… they may get paid shit wages once they get here, but at least they’ll be living in a house or apartment that’s properly built, with indoor plumbing, electricity and all the other basic necessities so many Americans take for granted.

In a similar vein, I found that my “bleeding heart” continues to leak, if not hemorrhage… especially when I’m confronted with the dirty faces of children, nursing mothers and the abuelitas whose leathery, wrinkled faces, gnarled hands and hunched backs make it difficult to tell whether they’re 50 or 80, but in any case are testament to their having lived harshly enough, if not long enough, to bring them sufficiently close to the end of their lives that there’s little doubt they’re unemployable.  During a 3-hour shopping trip to Ensenada, I’d imagine at least 1/4 of the money I spent went to the “chiclet kids,” mamas with babies at their breast and a couple of abuelitas.  My cousin, Chet, chastised me, saying that the kids probably work hard at looking so dirty and pathetic (and likely go home to designer clothes, iPods and big-screen tv), and that he actually SAW one of the mamas pinch a baby to make it cry.  I admit it, I’m a sucker… and thus I must limit the amount of time I spend in places where I’ll end up interacting with beggars.  Even though I know on an intellectual level that many of these people are probably making a better living by begging than I do by working, there’s that small part of me that is all too aware that a sudden downturn of fortune can quite quickly land ANYONE in the undesirable position of having to beg in order to survive.  It can and does happen here in the U.S., and in a place like Mexico the loss of a job is more often than not a fast-track to abject poverty. Despite my disbelief, I succumb to the little voice in my brain that says, “There but for the grace of God go I,” and put a little something in the cup.  Ah well, better a bleeding heart than none at all!

Mexicans, regardless of on which side of the border they’re residing and/or their legal status as immigrants to America, are not only my fellow human beings but my neighbors - and I speak not merely of their country’s bordering mine, but of their being a large and vital force in my community for as long as I’ve lived in Southern California (which is virtually my entire life… at least the part that counts, from my teens ‘til now).  This state would not be what it is if not for the people of Mexico, who are an integral part of its history, style and culture. They’ve left (and are still leaving) their marks everywhere, from our local towns’ architecture and nomenclature to the food we eat and the cocktails we imbibe (Margaritas for Cinco de Mayo? Sí ... muy gusto!).  Even so, all of the above doesn’t even take into account the physical labor performed by Mexicans (and yes, other Latinos) whether they’re here legally or not. Unlike those people who choose to see only evidence of their preconceived notions and negative stereotypes, it’s been my experience that my Mexican friends and neighbors’ stories of coming to America and getting established are nearly identical to those I’d heard growing up from my Sicilian relatives… the first to arrive here scratch out a living doing back-breaking work while sponsoring as many family members as possible, and successive generations (hopefully) assimilate and generally have more opportunities than their forbears.  For my part, I salute Mexicans for their contributions to the society I live in and I recognize that without them California, and indeed the United States, would be a very different place… I appreciate how their culture has enriched ours; and on a more personal level, its influence on my own life and worldview.

Lastly, the “dirty old lady” in me simply won’t let me end this post without admitting to being (positively) biased, purely primal in nature.  Mexicans, and Latinos in general make some bee-you-tiful specimens of human being!  I freely admit to being enthralled by people whose ethnicity is immediately apparent in their physical makeup (and yes, to going all squishy inside sometimes, for particular male specimens, heh).  Having grown up primarily in Southern California, a goodly number of the hands-down hottest, most breathtakingly beautiful people I’ve ever known/seen have been at least a little bit Mexican; and even I, before becoming a wise old married crone, made a few bad decisions while held in thrall by el guapo con carisma latino, silly girl that I was.  It’s the coloring, it’s the accent, it’s just… chemical, I suppose!  I’m perfectly satisfied with admiration from afar these days, and even as a happily married woman I ‘m happy to report that from my observations, the stereotypical “Latin Lover” type is in absolutely no danger of going extinct any time soon.

YP 2006 Video slideshow - So many great memories, such inspiration…

Thursday, December 29, 2005

“There will be consequences…” EPILOGUE

That goddamned Harry Potter did me in… once again I fucked up because I was pressured into putting something live after hours, and I forgot to send one last email with the live link to be tested.  Of course, something was broken… which wasn’t discovered until almost two weeks later.  It didn’t matter that the code that was fucked up came from a template that worked just FINE in the other language I built the day before, or that it would appear that no one ELSE - the project manager, the Legal Dept., the client - cared enough about this CRUCIAL site to thoroughly test it THEMSELVES.  You’d think since it was so fucking important that it was worth violating the staging policy over (not to mention jeopardizing someone’s JOB), that one of these major stakeholders would take the time to give it the fine-tooth-comb treatment.  But no one did; and since I was the one to stage it live, the last link in the chain, I was left holding the bag. 

So I got the ol’ proverbial heave-ho on the 12th; and after 6 years on the job, I find myself looking for another gig.  That I lasted that long is pretty much a friggin’ miracle in itself, as I’ve never lasted more than 3 years at any one job without going batshit from boredom and having to move on.

It’s cold comfort, but the manager who fired me and the HR rep who held his hand through it both seemed really unhappy to have to do it.  I did a LOT of shit each and every day even BEFORE they laid off a third of the Interface Developers back in November; and once those folks were gone I inherited even more to do.  But I did my best to get it all done; staying late, doing “favors” and going above and beyond the call of duty to keep everyone happy and things moving along.  All of that simply didn’t matter… what DID was the violation of a rule and a circumnavigation of the Process.  In the eyes of the soulless entity known as a Corporation, punishments are many and rewards are few.  Despite my flexibility (5 title changes in 6 years, being given duties I wasn’t really qualified to do and learning how to fulfill them, living up to my work obligations no matter HOW shitty I felt, putting off doctor’s appointments so as not to miss too much work) I never had a single promotion, nor was I ever officially recognized for all of the things I received thanks and praise for from my colleagues and superiors.

The road to the Unemployment Line is paved with good intentions.  In reality, though, I have no one to blame but myself, for turning a blind eye to what I’ve always known to be true: any loyalty between an employee and her company is a one-way street, and it ain’t the company feeling any obligation, that’s for sure.

Well, fuck ‘em.  I had a great time for my 10th wedding anniversary, and a fabulous holiday in spite of those Scrooges!

Sunday, September 04, 2005

In the relief effort, every little bit helps

Today I spent about 7 hours in the Interdictor IRC channels, monitoring and transcribing a couple of scanner channels being used by PD, FD and other relief workers.  At first I worked the feed coming out of Baton Rouge, until we lost that feed and I switched over to the San Antonio Airport effort.  It’s one small thing I can do, even though I’m far away and have already given as much monetary support as I can, to help my fellow human beings in such desperate need of help.

In the relatively few hours I spent typing their messages as fast as I could, it became all too clear just how massive an operation it is to move so many people at a time while making sure everyone has what they need.  The police, fire, medical and airport crews are in constant contact with one another, coordinating who goes where, gets what and does what.  Everything from how many people on an arriving flight will need medical assistance or transportation to the hospital, to the need for a janitor to clean and restock the bathrooms requires someone’s OK or orders.

It was truly an eye-opening experience to be a “fly on the wall” and hear how many ambulance crews were being dispatched back and forth, and who needed to be present in certain units responding to a call (such as an EMT, a firefighter and/or paramedic) as well as how many officers needed to be in place and what they had to do to facilitate a media tour.  It really gave me an appreciation for what all these agency folks are faced with and how hard they’re working to take care of as many people as humanly possible as quickly as possible.  To use the current slang, “MAD PROPS” to everyone who’s working so hard to see the victims of Katrina safely settled and placed.

The next time some asshole client or another is whining about this or that problem with their website is a “crucial emergency,” I might just have to verbally slap the shit out of them.  Compared to what the people on the ground in the relief effort are doing, what we web geeks do for a living is so much meaningless bullshit.  It’s difficult to assign the same level of importance to, say, a broken DNS redirect to a movie website as, say, a medical team calling desperately for more IV kits because they’re down to half a dozen and have a few hundred people coming in on planes who might need treatment.  The movie fans won’t even KNOW this new website’s not up, while getting fluids into a patient who needs it can be a matter of life and death.

It’s all in how you look at it, I guess… and the older I get, the more clearly I see how much time and energy I’ve wasted throughout my lifetime, worrying about things that are truly insignificant in the larger scheme of things.  When I leave this world, I’d much rather people remember me as a good human being who loved life, rather than a hard worker who did a good job.

Scanners are pretty much quiet now, which is a good sign.  It must mean they’ve gotten most everyone out and taken care of.  This old bitch needs to hit the hay…

Rox out.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

I Work, Therefore I Am

I’ve had pain in my lower abdomen, mostly on the left side, since Saturday.  It feels like there’s something stuck in there, but that’s impossible, so I can only conclude that I’ve got some inflammation in my colon… which I can’t seem to do a fucking thing about.  It hurt so badly yesterday that I was in bed and asleep shortly after I got home from work.  That sort of sucked, because I woke up at around 12:30, and having already had a good 5 hours’ worth of sleep, I was awake for the next probably 3 hours until I finally… ahem… medicated myself so I could grab a few more hours’ rest before having to go to work today. 

Some of my friends, who know how sick I am, and how much pain I’m often in, have asked why I don’t just take some medical leave rather than continuing to show up day after day no matter how much I hurt.  There are a few people in other departments, with less time on the job than I have, who have gone on leave for less serious problems than mine, so why am I hesitating?  I’m not sure why, but it’s almost a point of honor for me to not cave in to this disease, and at this point working every day is the one thing in my life that’s giving me some semblance of being “normal.” I’m having a difficult time living up to the expectations in the areas of my life unrelated to my job, so at least I have one thing I can cling to as proof that I’m not totally useless.  As long as I can keep paying the bills, maybe I won’t feel so bad about all the other things I’m unable to accomplish, or how I’ve gotten to the point again where everything I do, every plan I make, is subject to revision or outright cancellation because it’s all dependent upon whether or not my guts are giving me trouble and the degree to which they are.

Even my choice of dress more often than not comes down to how much or how little my stomach hurts on any given day.  Yesterday I wore jeans, and even though they weren’t that tight, it turned out to be a poor choice, because they were riding right at the point on my belly where all the trouble seems to be.  So today will be a “muumuu day,” and I’ll wear something that isn’t fitted around the waist at all (and hopefully disguises the abdominal distention that comes with the gut-ache).

I’m hoping this bout of inflammation will hurry up and go away, but in the meantime, I’ll sit at my desk for eight hours and do what I must to earn a paycheck.  After all, those muumuus ain’t free!

Thursday, July 21, 2005

The Show Must Go On

Ugh… I’m really not feeling well at ALL, but I’m quite determined to make it through the work week so that the co-worker I’m covering for (and more importantly, a friend) can have an actual vacation.  When you’re the only one who does what you do, it’s rare to take time off and actually relax without being interrupted with the inevitable question or problem that can ONLY be addressed by you.  *sigh* On the other hand, I’d suppose there’s a bit of job security to balance it out somewhat.  Just trying to be optimistic!  Thanks to the help of another unsung colleage (the “secretary” of course), I’ve not been truly overwhelmed by jumping in to do a job that I’m quite rusty at for lack of practice.  And I may be hardly able to do much of anything else because I feel so shitty, but at least I can fulfill my professional obligations.  It’s something to focus on other than my roiling, swollen innards.

However, I’ve been up since about 4 AM, and I’m pretty sure I feel better today than I did yesterday at this time.  I’m sure I look better, since I took advantage of some of that extra time this morning to slap a little makeup on my mug.   So it goes… the worse I feel, the better I try to look.  And the older I get, the longer it takes to de-hagify!  May as well put the extra waking hours to good use.

Eh, I’m going in early again today.  Maybe I’ll get a decent fucking parking place if I hurry.