Bunker mentality

Back when I was first parachuted into my current…project, my soon-to-be-former-manager (and now former colleague) told me it was a good fit, because (in his estimation), and despite their numerous PhDs, no one in the entire department had a lick of [business] sense, and my skills were desperately needed.

I thought that a wild exaggeration, but some months later (maybe around last summer) I told him that I get really nervous when I look around a meeting table and realize I’m the most organized person in the room. He looked quizzical and said, “But you’re very organized.” No, I am not. I have seen very organized people, very organized people are friends of mine. I am no very organized person.

And yet—in the land of the blind, the one-eyed astigmatic woman is empress.

Anyhow, your empress took the new year by the horns and called a meeting yesterday to “synchronize watches” on what the hell’s going on with this thing, although I was the only person to understand the military reference. Which is sad, because in this upcoming campaign, whatever troops show up on the field will be annihilated.

I slotted the meeting (meetings in this crowd are always called “huddles”, God help me. One of the crowd is actually going to create a folder on Dropbox called “huddles” for her notes. P.S. Her notetaking skills are…rudimentary; how did she get a PhD from NC State?) for 30 minutes. It ran on another 60, and at every minute mark I saw my old ex-manager’s face as he said that this team had no sense at all; “no sense” obviously includes concise communication.

I’m not going into detail, but you’ll get the drift if I tell you that major components of the service we’re meant to be offering starting a year hence have been changed (which buggers the business plan), outside entities are now taking over delivery of many services (ditto), “we have no confidence in timelines because we never get anything done on time” (tough toenails, honey), the same kind of  bullshit yakkery that we saw in Tuesday’s cabinet meeting flowed as team members basically blew business “strategy” out their butts in the expectation that I’m so stupid or ignorant that I won’t recognize it for what it is, and they are planning to manage development of a complex IT infrastructure without input from the only product manager in the company. Also, Ms. Notetaker has apparently heard the term "wheelhouse" and is proud to use it. I'm expecting at any moment to hear her refer to someone as a thought leader.

So hey, 2019—yay!

Shut the Cabinet door

Oh, for pity’s sake—that #CabinetMeeting yesterday.

Listening to that I-I-I-me-me-me for 90 minutes, demanding nothing but praise, yapping on interminably about how NO PRESIDENT IN HISTORY, know more about drones and tech than everyone, arms crossed, all alone with the machine gunners, I could have been a good general, blah-blah-blah; it’s time for the family to have grampa put into the home.

And watching that ophidian John Bolton sitting in the background shifting back and forth from his reptilian core while that orange buffoon rattled on—Jesus sweet Christ.

And what's up with that bloody “Sanctions are coming” poster and the November date—does he not remember that the Rs lost the House last November? As Twitter remarked on more than one tweet, indictments are coming.

If Republicans still think they can hold on to power with this dementia patient at their head, they’re going to be so surprised.

I need to bleach my brain.

Back to work

For most of us working stiffs, today’s the first day in the office after some time off. Depending on your situation, YMMV on how chuffed you are about this. Jury’s out for me.

So as I hunker down with career planning, I’m focusing on whatever light in the darkness I can find.

Fresh hell

Well, alrighty then—we’ve rung in yet another year. Yippee. 

I’ve always found 1 January a somewhat artificial construct for new beginnings, but I suppose we have to draw a line in the sand somewhere, and this is as good as any.

Toward that end, I’ve spent some time over the past month slapping multi-colored stickies on my patio door as a means of focusing on areas where I want to make changes in the coming months, with the different colors denoting different component parts of the areas. After sufficient time spent in contemplation, I’ll need to prioritize, and then, you know, take action.

It’s always something.

But more important to me is the list of things from 2018 that I burnt last night at midnight. You know—all the crap that happened to and around me in el Año Viejo, what I’ve done, what I’ve left undone, etc. I do this every year as a way of clearing the decks, so to speak, for whatever fresh hell the new year brings. I have a habit of hanging on to this stuff, long after it’s served whatever purpose it might have.

Burning doesn’t always work, but it’s a start. Fire purifies, and that’s precisely what this year needs to get it going.

Gratitude Monday: finally over

Lordy, what a year, eh? On both macro and micro levels. How do I deal with it on the final Gratitude Monday? Um…

Well, here’s what I’m thankful for: that on the trip I took because I had to use or lose three weeks of vacation, I discovered Pousse Rapière as an apéritif. And that I bought a bottle of the orange-infused Armagnac before I left Paris. And that—although it took hitting two Nicolas wine shops, I found the last bottle in the 6^th, apparently, and the wine shop guy offered to put it in a box when I told him I was taking it back to the US with me. And that it made it here—neither broken nor filched en route.

Because it makes a lovely Kir Royal apéritif and it doesn’t look like you can buy it here.

So this is what I’ll be washing away the taste of 2018 with.

For the rest of it, here’s Dave Barry’s take on the year. I’m grateful for Dave, too.