Not the stairway to heaven

I’ve been going through computer hard drives both at home and work, clearing things out, because you should do that periodically. And I came across some photos of the environs of my last residence.

That's one of the downsides of living on a ridge: the climb is always on your return trip. Sixty-three steps up this hill every afternoon on my way home from work. I’m very glad indeed that I don’t have to walk that any more.

Phoning it in

Following on yesterday’s post about the not hardest working Kleptocrat in show business during the #TrumpShutdown, here’s another take on the key photo. As noted in, well, pretty much everywhere, the attempt to persuade, well, anyone that the Chaos Monkey was doing anything productive, it failed.

(Here’s one deconstruction, if you want to go there. Share Blue leans way left, but for purposes of today’s discussion, it’s close enough for government work.)

But, once again, Twitter has done itself proud. This is from a different thread, started by Aunt Crabby with that same pathetic fake photo. (Pro tip: Aunt Crabby seldom disappoints.)

I like how, whenever someone uses a simile or metaphor in a discussion of the Kleptocrat (or his minions)—impulse control of a toddler, attention span of a cocker spaniel, dumb as a box of rocks—someone else pops up to defend toddlers, cocker spaniels and rocks.

This thread was short of Photoshop skills, but there were a lot of excellent exchanges.

And this one takes us exactly back to reality. Sadly.

Not the ripest banana in the fruit basket

During the #TrumpShutdown, someone must have told the Kleptocrat that he needed to look like he was doing something to move negotiations forward. So they had him pose at the Resolute desk, with the phone handset to his head.

The utter stupidity of this was apparent to everyone on Twitter, as evidenced in this one thread:

I love how the Photoshoppers stepped into the breech.

But basically the gesture was as empty as everything else in this pathetic git’s life. So I’m glad we got a few giggles out of this at least.

Here's a suggestion...

In the wake of all the Russian crackpot crap pushed on Americans during the 2016 election, Facebook is trying to avoid getting more than its knuckles rapped, and has promised to limit stories that appear in your feed to crackpot crap your friends have posted. Instead of (one presumes) stuff that’s essentially advertising.

I don’t know when this is meant to go into effect, but it can’t come too soon for me. I’ve noticed a lot of things like animal videos (marked “popular on Facebook”) or stories from corporate accounts (marked “[friend name] likes [company name]”) in my timeline. Neither of these categories is anything a friend has specifically chosen to share, and I’m sick to death of it.

But now I see they’ve expanded it further. This showed up yesterday, and it was so ludicrous it stopped me in my scrolling tracks.

There is nothing in my multi-year history on Facebook that has ever indicated I’m in any way at all interested in cleaning. And there’s nothing that will ever make cleaning fun—oddly or otherwise—for me.

That is one broken algorithm.

Gratitude Monday: hope in dark times

Right after the 2016 election, I gave my thoughts on what we were in for with the least-qualified president in history (yes, worse than Warren G. Harding and James Buchanan). While I was right that we were in for a nightmare, I actually grossly underestimated the scope of the possibilities for catastrophe. I’d been counting on the checks and balances put in place by the founding fathers, and did not anticipate the level of sycophancy to which the GOP in Congress would sink—turns out they’ve all had their spines and their consciences surgically removed, and their only position is self-abasement before the Chaos Monkey in hopes that they can retain control of the legislative branch (and therefore access to their big donors’ money).

At this point, I have no words for the lot of them, from Ryan and McConnell on down. There are a few who talk tough, but in the end vote for whatever the Kleptocrat has decreed. The founding fathers, having just fought a war against a system of government based on the Divine Right of Kings, just never imagined they’d have to hardwire in protections against a class of legislative toadies. Oops.

In the year since the inauguration (fun fact: not only was the event sparsely attended, but turns out that many of those who did show up were Russian “businessmen”, hoping to be first through the door to cut deals with their new tovarich-in-chief; quelle surprise), we’ve seen a constant stream of lies; missteps; unconstitutional executive orders; playground-bully diplomacy; assaults on consumers, immigrants, workers, science,the environment, our allies, history and basically everyone/thing that doesn’t fit into his view of Those Who Can Further Enrich Me. He and his Keystone Kops Kabinet have made the United States an international laughingstock, as he blusters and preens, while the GOP keeps nodding and applauding him.

(I personally had never imagined that we would witness a group of high officials go round the room and give public thanks to God on camera for the opportunity to serve any elected official, much less an American one—but we have, twice. So far.)

And every single revelation of yet another scummy, disgusting behavior only makes his supporters like him all the more. Because he is living proof that—when they win the Powerball—they too can be as disgusting and scummy as he is, and no one will turn away from them. This is especially true of his “Christian” supporters, who have been remarkably silent about his affair with a porn star that began four months after his third wife gave birth and continued for a year. They’re apparently not only down with the adultery, but with him paying the woman $130,000 hush money a month before the 2016 election. Hey—if that was necessary to put a racist, misogynistic, homophobic, ignorant xenophobe with no notion of governing and no human empathy into office, then it was clearly God’s will, and therefore money well spent. (Well, okay—they’re used to that sort of payoff from the likes of Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker.)

That ignorance of how government works has resulted in this administration looking like amateur hour, from the first immigration bans (overturned again and again by the courts) down to the current government shutdown. Mitch McConnell (R-Bring-back-slavery) basically said he’d be all for whatever the Chaos Monkey wanted, if he could just figure out what that is. And Chuck Schumer (D-NY) declared on the Senate floor that trying to deal with the Orange One is like “negotiating with Jell-O.” Klepto, of course (and his supporters) thinks that’s good business practice, when in fact it’s ineptitude.

And so here we are at the #TrumpShutdown.

(I make it a point never to use the Kleptocrat’s name online, because I don’t want to contribute to his Klout score, even if the context is negative; he and his ilk think that every mention of him attests to his greatness. However, given his/their pathetic attempt to place the blame for the current federal shutdown—the result of a Republican-controlled White House, Senate and House’s inability to pass even another Continuing Resolution on the budget—on Democrats, has led me, this once, to include this hashtag, which burns his bacon: #TrumpShutdown. Feel free to use it on every social media account you have.)

The Kleptocrat had Air Force One’s engines all warmed up to fly him down to Florida on Friday, so he could get another weekend of golf in and be the star of a fundraiser at his West Palm Beach club. He had every intention of going there no matter what, but someone (my money’s on John Kelly) took away his car keys and told him the optics of him doing that while the government ground to a halt would be bigly bad. So he reverted to type and tweeted how the Democrats were being mean and making him suffer!

As Saturday came and went, with no escape to Florida and counting the $100,000- and $250,000-a-couple gate for the “celebration” of his inaugural anniversary, I’m picturing a toy-tossing tantrum of titanic proportions at the White House. (The event went on, although I wonder if there were refunds of the $250,000 tickets, which included participating in a “roundtable” with the Kleptocrat. No Klepto, no roundtable, so… Yeah, okay, no—obviously it’s harder to pry money out of the Chaos Monkey’s tiny hands than to get sense out of one of his supporters. So there were no refunds.) At any rate, I would not want to be the White House staffer who had to bring him his 14^th Diet Coke of the day.

But, hey—you want to celebrate the achievements in the first year of this #shithole administration? How about these for starters: first to be elected with the help of a hostile foreign power; most days vacationing; most games of golf played; least number of bills signed; lowest approval ratings; most provable lies; most cabinet firings/resignations; most criminal indictments. (Also: first to make one of George Carlin's Seven Words You Can't Say on TV publishable in broadsheet newspapers.)

So that’s where we are today. But there’s cause for hope, and therefore for gratitude.

A year ago, I reported on my experience at the Women’s March on DC. There was so much to describe, it took me all week (here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here). It was an extraordinary day, not only being part of it in DC, but also knowing that women (and men and children) across the country and around the world came out in their millions to serve notice that they weren’t going to stand idle while a pussy-grabbing (and—as we now know—porn star-banging) ignoramus used the planet as his personal piggy bank.

By way of reminder, here’s a comparison of the how the National Mall looked at the Kleptocrat’s inauguration:

Versus the same real estate an hour before the Women’s March on DC was supposed to have begun:

This year I was unable to join the first anniversary march, being laid up with what I’m hoping is not the flu. But I am greatly heartened by the reports of hundreds of thousands of women and men and children who took to the streets in US cities in every state, and tens of thousands more who did the same around the world—to remind those who try to pervert the principles of democracy and decency that we the people will resist and we the people will prevail.

(I—and thousands of others—got a laugh out of him tweeting about the great weather across the country on Saturday being perfect for marchers to get out and celebrate all his accomplishments. Although it is concerning that delusions of tertiary syphilitic proportions seem to be the guiding lights for someone with this much power.)

I am grateful today for these people, and the millions of more like them, for literally standing up and being counted. I am grateful today for the voters in elections around the country—from Alabama to Minnesota—serving notice that even in the face of GOP voter suppression, we the people reject the party of plutocrats and racists. I am grateful today for the 23 (so far and counting) congressional Repugnants who’ve announced their retirement or resignation because they know they wouldn’t win if they ran again, or because they’re fleeing the results of being caught out in various crimes. (I resent every nickel in retirement pay they’re getting, and look forward to the door hitting their butts on the way out.) I am grateful today for Special Counsel Robert S. Mueller, III—USMC combat veteran of Vietnam, former director of the FBI; and generally acknowledged straight-arrow, unflappable, untouchable in pursuit of the truth—and his team, who are continuing their probe into Russian interference in the 2016 election despite the #TrumpShutdown, and despite the efforts of GOP apparachiks in fear of being uncovered for their own kompromat to close down the investigation.

And I’m grateful today for a new crop of Democratic politicians who are standing up for the interests of all, regardless of ability to grease their palms. Like Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-Ill., and Lt. Col. USA, Ret.), who lost both legs and suffered damage to an arm when an RPG shot down the Black Hawk helicopter she was co-piloting in Iraq. A few years ago, while in the House of Representatives, Duckworth neatly flayed a federal contractor with a “disabled veteran” status whose “disability” came from injuring his foot…playing football at a military prep school.

So watch her this weekend flay the five-time-Vietnam-era-draft-deferred Chaos Monkey for flying the false flag that the #TrumpShutdown will cripple and penalize our armed services.

I love her choice of words—she won’t refer to him as president, just current occupant of the White House.

This year has taken a toll on me—the actions of #CadetBoneSpurs, his appointees and his congressional toadies scare the bejesus out of me and depresses me, both for my own future, but also for that of the country, the world and the future. It’s true that the evil that men do lives after their time in power, and we’ll have a crap ton of evil to clean up after this lot are frogmarched out of office. But this weekend’s activities give me hope—the reminder that we march, we run, we vote and we take back—and for that I am grateful.

Job insecurity

Following on news reported in Monday’s post, my now ex-manager stopped by my office yesterday to announce that the wheels of HR have ground exceedingly fine, stopping at last at confirming my transfer to the academic project.

Yay.

My new manager rang me from somewhere in Florida (where she is seeking funding for something; possibly this project, possibly not; it’s not clear) to also announce that the transfer is complete and express her hope that I’m enthusiastic about it. I, of course said I am—which is true, although I believe my enthusiasm would be less measured if the appointment were for longer than six months.

However, at least she did say that I can add value to this process, which can’t be provided by anyone else in the organization. So there’s that.

Don’t know what my new title is, and I’ve not seen a job description, so don’t know how I’ll be measured when performance evaluations come around in March. (What appears to have been submitted to HR is “business development”, which the whole world round means “sales”, and I am in no way a salesperson. So for external purposes, I’m keeping my previous title.) But hey-ho, just have to take it as it comes.

Bird buffet

We got more snow here in the District They Call Columbia—a dusting, pretty much, although enough to cause schools to close.

But temperatures were and are right chilly, and my birds are back to emptying the feeder in less than 24 hours. I know that I keep my house's thermostat at 72°F; these little dudes need to crank up their own thermostats on their own. So they are hungry.

Like this one:

And a couple of his friends:

And a few dozen others. In the first hour after I refilled the feeder yesterday afternoon, the level of seed went down two inches. They’ve almost emptied the 15-pound sack of Fine Tunes I laid in over the holidays.

So I’m glad another 15-pound sack is coming from Amazon today.

Nacho usual snack

Nothing much to report today, so I’m pulling something out from my files.

A while ago there was an exchange on Twitter about guacamole, and someone made a reference that I didn’t quite grok, so I asked her. Turned out to be something a year earlier about adding ground up apples.

Now, guacamole is like religion for its fans. Actually, it is religion for its fans. During the last Republican administration, there was a gigantic hoo-ha over First Lady Laura Bush’s recipe, which uses lemon juice. Folks were ready to riot in the streets because lime juice is what their mamas taught them.

(We won’t have to worry about anyone giving a toss about whatever recipe Melania might put forward in an attempt to seem in any way humanoid. No one would believe that she is.)

Anyhow, I was reminded of the New York Times screwing with the delicate balance of the guac universe with their peas nonsense. My Twitter pal pointed me to the earlier thread, which I share with you.

Buen provecho.

Kinda squirrelly

For a couple of days last week, we here in the District They Call Columbia practically had short-sleeve weather. Friday in particular, we almost hit 70°. And then Saturday we were back into the barely double digits.

What this respite meant for my back yard was that, for one all-too-brief period, the birds took 48 hours to empty the Fine Tunes feeder. Since then we’ve been back to the 24-hour cycle.

But what’s interesting to me is the squirrel behavior. Over the weekend one squirrel (I assume it’s one—I suppose it could be more than one, but since I can’t tell one squirrel from another, I’m going to go with just one) started…eying my living room with an unhealthy interest, and climbing the sliding glass door.

Technically, it’s climbing the rubber gasket at the edge of the door, and occasionally scurrying across the screen door. Viz:

It runs up, looks around, sees no change from the last time it climbed up, and then eventually retruns to earth.

It’s also tried climbing the pole to the feeders, rediscovering the torpedo baffle that still foils its marauding intent. I’m glad, because I just ordered my second 15-pound sack of Fine Tunes from Amazon, and if those little furry vacuum cleaners got a direct line to the seed, I just couldn’t afford it.

Gratitude Monday: help in the search

So this happened…

I found out five weeks ago that the job I was hired to do two years ago is…no longer. Following the company’s board meeting the first week in December, my manager told me that they’d decided to end the new business innovation program, which left me—the Senior Innovation Manager—kind of up a creek and paddleless.

(I also discovered a week later, at the company all-staff year-end wrap-up that my position had been only funded for four years, and I’d been hired two years into that funding period. This little fact had at no time been mentioned to me during the interview and hiring process.)

There are a number of reasons why this should be—the original notion for exploring new products and services had been something championed by the previous CEO, and this current one just was never that much into it. It was also part of an overall organizational transformation initiative, which also has disappeared after an initial fanfare. And it was a task like unto Sisyphus to try to get people to understand that even a non-profit needs to bring in revenues if it wants to keep supporting its mission. But mostly, I think, this outfit just isn’t comfortable with doing anything that they haven’t done for the past century. The way I’ve described it to myself and my manager is: they’re all for innovation, as long as they don’t have to do anything differently.

(Moreover—my manager has burned a lot of innovation goodwill, tbh, by pushing his “communication and collaboration platform” that no one wants to use. That cost a few bob, and he’s described it to everyone as “innovative”, when it’s not. So, they associate “innovations” with [platform], and think, “Eh, no.”)

For two days after the board meeting, my manager avoided me, which was suspicious, and only when we had our weekly meeting did he mention that this was a thing. But, he said, there was a proposal to have me move over to another division for six months, to build out a business plan for a program that is related to one of my ideas for innovation. (This program is focused on diversity in academia; I’d pitched it for the business world, but that’s a market too far for this outfit, so we’re sticking with what we already know.)

I’m afraid I blurted out in disbelief.

“And [head of program] is down with this?”

“Yes, she’s enthusiastic.”

“[Head of program]?”

“Yes.”

Ah, but there was a fly in this ointment. The head of HR, who has been as useful as a chocolate teapot, stuck her neb into it, wanting to know if [head of program] didn’t already have someone on staff who could create the business plan. [Head of program] insisted that she does not, and that I am uniquely qualified to do this. My manager said that he cannot guarantee anything, but this was what the plan was.

Now, in an organization with competent HR, this would have made me uneasy, but with a dysfunctional HR, whose head has meddled in hiring, and whom I’ve witnessed in person insert herself into organizational decisions as a clear exercise in power grabbing—well, I had no confidence at all that anything good (even “good” in the circumstance: that I’d be getting a temporary reprieve, instead of an immediate pink slip) could come of this.

Look—I understand it’s HR’s job to protect the interests of the company, not the employee’s. However, it’s not HR’s job to overrule hiring decisions that are legal and in keeping with company policies, and I’ve seen this woman do it and heard of other instances of her doing it. For just one example, one department had interviewed multiple candidates and told HR, “We want to hire these two people”. Ms. Chocolate Teapot replied, “No, you have to hire this one.”

(Most of the negative reviews of this company on Glassdoor cite HR as reason for the negativity, with incompetence as a major factor. One memorable one referred to its operation as “the Mean Girls Club”. She is leaving the company (along with many of her hires) at the end of the month, “after 15 years of service”, with the bare minimum of thanks from the CEO.)

This was how things were left following the board meeting on 8 December. In the intervening five bloody weeks, there was every possibility that Ms. CT would find some excuse to toss me. Imagine my holidays. And every time I asked my (current) manager what the status was, he’d shrug and say there was no update.

Last week—without update on my status—I was called to a meeting about the business plan (slugged a “huddle”, God give me strength), at which it became clear that, truly, building a business plan is not in this department’s wheelhouse. Following it, I consulted my (current) about a possible way to proceed, and he said, almost as an aside, “Just so you know, there’s funding for you for six months. After that [head of program] will need to get funds from outside sources for you.”

Now, that’s how most of the department’s programs work: they’re funded through outside grants. (It’s also why the company as a whole just can’t grasp the urgency of providing products and services that drive revenues, much less make a profit.) But, you know—it might have occurred to my (current) manager that this information about funding might possibly have been something I’d have liked to know, oh, say, five weeks ago when it was proposed.

However, I’d already reached out to a couple of people I know to start the process of networking into a new job. One of them may be a bit of a bust, but the other—a product management consultant I met in the Valley They Call Silicon—immediately riffled through his network and gave me introductions to a couple of guys he knows in this area. (I went prepared into our conversation, with a list of companies and verticals I’m interested in; I believe in giving people whose help you want all the information you can to make it easy for them to help you.) From that conversation, I’ve talked with his two guys, and from them on to some more.

I also confided in one person at my company, who commutes in to the District They Call Columbia on the train from Baltimore. He mentioned my situation to one of his fellow commuters, who works for an outfit in Fairfax. She gave my details to a colleague who runs the company’s emerging technologies practice, and he reached out to me immediately. He’s on travel, but we’ll chat in February.

Well, anyhow, this is Gratitude Monday, and this post isn’t about how dysfunctional this organization is. Or about my (current) manager’s obtuseness. Or about the long, hard slog that a job search is. Because what I’m grateful for is that there are people who will help—people who have helped—in contrast to the past, when people either dodged, or who blustered that they’d be happy to help, had connections, etc., but then all you heard was crickets.

I’d thought that this would be my last job. But since that’s turned out to be unlikely, I’m really grateful that I am not alone in one more search.