2011: The end is near

I can’t let 2011 get away without Dave Barry’s annual Year in Review. He has the knack of putting everything into perspective.

“Zombies on crack”, “rat mucus” and “hyperpartisan gasbaggery”. Yep—that pretty much sums it up.

And even though 2012 is a presidential election year and thus by definition starts out in the hole, I hope it’s a happy and healthy one for you.

Recruiters 24

Oddly enough, considering it’s “The Holidays”, I’ve had rather a flurry of recruitment activity this month. There are a couple that I’m quite interested in, a couple that would be okay, and several that, well, let’s just say that there’s not a bargepole long enough for me to touch them with.

There was the wireless voice communications company that focuses on hospital settings. In speaking with the recruiter I had the usual “what-are-you-looking-for”/”what-are-you-offering” dance.

Why is it that companies can’t do their work and determine what the job is worth to them and be done with it?

Anyhow, it turns out that my expectation was just beyond what they want to pay (“though not by much”), so I was surprised to have the recruiter contact me within a day for a phone interview with the hiring manager. To cut this saga short, I spoke with her on the phone and went in for an on-site interview; but I didn’t think it was a good match. Their technology isn’t particularly interesting, its application is limited, and I don’t see it being a stepping stone to something I really want.

Plus—they’re cheap.

So I wasn’t crushed when I got the “we’ve decided to pursue other candidates that more closely match our needs” email.

However, it’s interesting that the job was posted again this week, so I guess their “other candidates” were more in the realm of wish than reality.

The other one that I decided to swing wide of was a start-up in Emeryville (as lousy a commute from Sunnyvale as it’s possible to have), with a technology that I personally find really annoying whenever I encounter it. But there’s a connection to France and I thought it might be worth a shot, in case there’s some flexibility with the commute.

But a phone conversation with the hiring manager disabused me of all interest.

First—more than half her questions were around how I’ve handled various situations involving conflict. Now, a couple of questions on those lines is quite in order; but her coming back again and again threw up more red flags than the game in The Longest Yard.

Then she informed me that they have weekly calls with the development team in Paris. Because the Paris wi-fi is unreliable, they use Skype; and to save money they limit the number of ports, so everyone on the call from the Bay Area has to be in the office. No calling in from home.

It was clear to me that there’s some serious dysfunction in a group of fewer than 80 employees worldwide and that all the flexibility is expected to be unidirectional: employee to employer.

I brought up the conflict with the external recruiter, who professed herself astonished to hear about it, because she knew nothing.

I myself in turn was surprised to be told that the hiring manager had passed on me because of my “lack of experience working with remote development teams”—since for the last three years that’s precisely what I’ve been doing. Moreover, I’ve worked for and with French companies and have considerable experience with the, ah, culture.

It was because I questioned what’s up with the conflict questions.

Well—I’m holding out hope for a couple of opportunities. One would be really good, a company that really does respect its employees. The other is on the “best companies to work for” lists, but that remains to be seen.

Let’s hope the New Year brings one of these home, early on.

Bookkeeping 3

In my post yesterday I mentioned B. Dalton Bookseller, the progenitor of Barnes and Noble. You used to find a B. Dalton at every mall in America, along with a Kay Jeweler and a Victoria’s Secret. Eventually they were absorbed into B&N because the big box concept of quantity over quality overtook the book world.

But I was disabused of the notion that B. Dalton was a suitable recipient of my literacy dollars back in the 80s after this experience:

At the time I was working in the film industry, in what is known as creative affairs—the unit where stories (“properties”) are evaluated and developed for production. One of my clients, who was also teaching a course in script development for UCLA Extension, suggested that Jules Verne’s Michael Strogoff was something I might want to pursue as a mini-series.

Well, he was right—it’s quite the swash-buckling story, vast in scope, visual, complex, great characters. And mini-series were big then, and the Soviet Union was opening up as a shooting location.

But I first had to read it.

Now, recall—this was pre-Internet. No Amazon, no ABE Books. I had no idea that the book was out of print, I just knew it wasn’t at the LA Public Library branch near me in Playa del Rey, so I went to the B. Dalton shop in Westchester.

I couldn’t find it—in fact, I couldn’t find 20,000 Leagues under the Sea or Journey to the Center of the Earth or Around the World in 80 Days. I looked in the Fiction section, in Science Fiction and in Classics. Nada.

So I went to the guy at the cash register and said I was looking for books by Jules Verne. He directed me to the woman out in the stacks as being the resource on inventory. I asked her, “Have you no Jules Verne?”

She got this puzzled look on her face and replied, “Is that a title?”

Unlike the blonde cashier at B&N earlier this month, this chick was the supposed book expert, so from that point on I never took the chain seriously.

I lucked out and found a paperback of Michael Strogoff at a used book shop in Santa Monica. It’s a great read and I recommend it heartily. You can get a free download for Kindle from Amazon, if you’re interested. It’s kind of satisfying that it’s survived and B. Dalton hasn’t.

Bookkeeping 2

A couple of Saturdays ago I was in the Barnes and Noble store in Campbell, Calif. That’s where my non-fiction book discussion group meets; otherwise I’d be unlikely to go there, since B&N has always struck me as the heir-on-steroids to B. Dalton Bookseller: the literary equivalent of Burger King.

I was early for the meet-up, so I spent some time in the magazine section. Eventually I picked up three: The Economist, Shambhala Sun and WWII History. The latter has a photo of Winston Churchill in uniform on the cover.

As the blonde at the cash register (and, yes, she was a blonde, in her early 20s) rang up my purchases, she commented, “Oh—he looks jolly!”

I glanced at Churchill and agreed, “I guess he does.”

There was a pause, and then she asked, “Who is he?”

“Winston Churchill. Prime Minister of Britain during World War II.”

(I debated whether to explain what World War II was, but decided against it. The meet-up was about to begin and I never know whether to date the war from the Japanese incursion into Manchuria, the Munich Conference or the invasion of Poland.)

I thought I was being neutral, but she felt obliged to explain to me that “I’m more people smart than book smart.” And then, “I like people better than books.”

Naturally, the thought occurred to me that in that case she might have chosen a different retail field. But I reckoned that, after all—they had her at the cash register, and she seemed proficient at operating it. She wasn’t on the floor making reading recommendations.

Still—it does encapsulate why I’ve never cottoned to B&N.

If the Nativity were today...

...this is how it might go:

(Thanks, & Merry Christmas, to the Pundit's Apprentice!)

Non-Handel on the holidays

Okay—a somewhat different “Hallelujah”, but sentiments not entirely out of bounds in the holidays:

Free hugs. In a shopping street.

Handel on the hols, Part 4

Here’s another “Hallelujah” flash mob for your holiday enjoyment—this time at a food court at a Canadian shopping mall.

I love watching the faces of the shoppers as they realize what’s happening around them. You just feel the spirits lightening.

Handel on the hols, Part 3

And another take on “Hallelujah”—this time by a high school choir of “silent” monks.

This one hasn’t the professional videography of the others I’ve shared this week, & is marred by the cackling laugh of someone in the audience (possibly the cameraman). & I have a quibble about the breaking up of “ever”.

But, really—stunning execution on the part of the students—I don’t know what school, but well done, guys!

Working holidays

Last Friday the place where I’m getting post-surgical physical therapy was holding its holiday party. They were actually closing the office at 1300 for the potluck and white elephant exchange, so the therapy sessions were running at quite a good clip as we approached the noon hour.

But it got me thinking, as I was being simultaneously iced and electrocuted (okay, undergoing "electrical stimulation" therapy), about Office Parties I Have Known.

Way, way back, during the Reagan Administration, I worked for one of the major aerospace companies in an office at a satellite site. Meaning, an office building on Century Boulevard; not one of the self-contained highly-secured plants. We had one security guard, Fred, at a beat-up old desk as you came off the elevator.

Well, it was the tradition of the folks in that group to have a holiday party the last day before year-end shutdown, including potluck and white elephant exchange. and for the occasion, my boss got a special dispensation from Fred to bring in a bottle of booze to spike the punch.

(The next year, when we moved to the big plant, this was out of the question. Although at that site I simultaneously realized why we had year-end shutdown and wondered why they’d stick at a bit of rum to go in the punch: from about mid-December on, you waded through six-packs of empty beer bottles in the assembly-line workers parking area, which made you think about how many electronic parts weren’t clearing QC. I reckon that we shut down just to save on the reworks.)

(And yes—line workers had to park in a different area from white-collar types. Farther away. Your car had a windshield sticker—either green square or red triangle—depending on your status. Parking in the wrong area had serious consequences.)

That was a great party; people brought in all kinds of food and some of the white elephants had been in the group longer than many employees. It was all quite jolly, and something I’ve not experienced much of since.

At HBO people were way too cool and hip to engage in such frivolity. The managed healthcare company in DC—well, hard to be jolly when everyone’s sitting on pokers.

The telecoms company just had the corporate extravaganzas, in both Northern Virginia and Wales. In all fairness, I’m not sure that the Brits have full grasp of “potluck”—you may have had to have been exposed to Midwestern Methodist gatherings in some way to get it. But that doesn’t explain the dearth on this side of the Pond.

(We did have department-sponsored “morale” events. Lord knows we needed them, not that they worked. Oh—one year the department paid for a dim sum lunch. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like fried chicken feet and pork buns, let me tell you.)

However, one year I stumbled into the party held by the training group, and that harkened back to my aerospace experience. There was a bottle of bubbly, Christmas crackers (with everyone wearing the paper hats and sharing the corny jokes) and that general air of family geniality.

I’m not at all surprised that there was nothing on either a corporate or department level at the enterprise software company. I always pictured the CEO of the multi-billion megalith echoing Scrooge, calling Christmas “a poor excuse to pick a man’s pocket every 25^th of December”, and this definitely filtered down through the corporate culture.

At the SaaS company, you’d have thought there’d be quite the holiday gathering, but there wasn’t. I mean—there were only about 80 people on site and everyone pretty much knew everyone else, and mostly got along. And we had company-sponsored things like barbecues at other times. But there didn’t seem to be much interest in the hols. Our “official” event, dinner at the Reston Hyatt, was thrown together by the CEO’s admin in a matter of days (and she did a bang-up job of it); but it just speaks to the lack of enthusiasm.

(There was a cube-decorating contest. That’s as close as we got.)

My employer in Seattle—well, they went through the motions. But I never felt there was any warmth in it.

Now—there is one exception to this litany of holiday humbuggery: the small systems integrator where I worked in RTP. My editor and I threw together an evening event—caterer, flowers, must have been booze although I don’t recall it. The location was the apartment clubhouse of one of our tech support guys. Everyone dressed up, including the warehouse workers. One of them brought in a boom box (it was 1992), and we danced to it. Allison and I put together little gift boxes that people received (which included $25 AmEx gift certificates). It was like…Christmas.

Where I am now, they had a potluck on Friday. By 1000 the aroma of fried chicken permeated the entire floor. But of course, when the time came I was in PT. So I don’t know what the actual event was like.

Handel on the hols, Part 2

A friend brought this to my attention last year: Random Acts of Culture seeded the shoppers at the former Wanamaker’s flagship store with members of the Opera Company of Philadelphia and let loose with the “Hallelujah” chorus.

If I thought a flash mob would show up and break out into “Hallelujah”, I might even venture out into a Macy’s

Crank up the volume and enjoy.