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Stayin’ Alive

The job search continues. It’s been a bit busier lately, but nothing of substance yet. There were a couple that were close, but not close enough. I’m still looking at random alternatives, and there are a lot of sites that seem to think I would be a really good Uber driver. There are also a plethora of recruiters who seem to be keyword-matching my resume to jobs and then asking to present me – if I send them a copy of my resume. Uh, how did you think I was a fit for the job? Maybe I should start a recruiting company.

We’re not going to sell the house and get an RV since the Spousal Unit has decided she’s probably afraid to drive an RV. Luckily, she determined this before we dropped a hundred fifty grand on a rig (and sold the house), so I have that to be thankful for.

I’m also thankful that this year can’t possibly be as bad as last year. (Yes, I realize that is a challenge to the universe.) However, I realize that every other time I thought I had hit rock bottom, I bounced, and then fell further, but I’m pretty sure that losing a job after 19 years (“retiring”) is about as low as it can go. If nothing else, I outlasted the co-op who also wanted to retire as an IBMer. Also, technically, I retired. On the bright side, it was a job I really hated. I didn’t hate the job, I just couldn’t handle the politics. So, if you need a program manager and you’re at a company that’s too small to have politics and turf wars take up most of the productive time, call me.

So, I’m still alive. The dogs still like me as long as I cough up the snacks. I can still work, if somebody needs a presales technical engineer who can learn a product in a week or two and be presenting to customers the week after that. I’m constantly amazed that even though I’m apparently very old, companies seem to be choosing millennials over me, especially since I’ve seen millennials almost pass out while doing a presentation, and use instant messaging to ask a question of someone in the same conference room. For the record, I’ve never passed out doing a presentation, and I just ask questions if I don’t know something.

So, my New Year’s resolution is to survive until 2019. It’s one of my poorer resolutions, but hopefully, I can accomplish it.

The Times They Are a Changin’

So, my daughter-in-law called the house this afternoon, and said that Carson (grandson #2) wanted to talk to “GrandmaGrandpa”. In his mind, we are a single unit, and either word can be used for either of us. I’m “Grandma” from time to time, if he’s excited or not paying attention, or he’s asking me so I don’t feel left out, but he really wants Grandma’s opinion. So, if you get the collective noun “GrandmaGrandpa”, he’s serious.

Grandma was out saving the universe, but I said if I was good enough alone, I was happy to talk to him. So, my daughter-in-law said, “Call us back!” and I said “Facebook Messenger?” and she said “Yes.”

A little less than nine minutes later, we were done. Everybody was happy. Thirty seconds after we disconnected, my iPad chimed. My granddaughter had just realized she missed GrandmaGrandpa, and she wanted a turn.

A couple minutes after that, all the grandkids were heading off to bed, and I was waiting to go to dinner.

That’s when it hit me – just how much technology has changed just in my lifetime, and how my grandchildren’s assumptions are wildly different than mine were as a child.

When I was growing up, it never would have occurred to me to call either of my grandparents – one set in Providence, Rhode Island, and the other in D’Hanis, Texas. I’m glad it never occurred to me, because I can only imagine what it would have cost, paying AT&T by the minute to talk long distance. (Then, I can only imagine what my Dad would have said.)

I started thinking about how Carson called me today, and how he takes a lot of things for granted that still seem a bit magical to me – and I’m in IT.

First, his Mom called our house phone, which isn’t even analog any more – it’s Voice over IP digital. She called on her cell phone, because my kids don’t have a home phone at all. I’m not sure they ever have. If you want my son, call his cell. If you want my daughter-in-law, call her cell. Better yet, text them.

We keep our house phone because we tend to use our cell phones for data more than talk, and because it’s handy to have one number that can get either or both of us (sometimes.) We really don’t need it any longer, but it’s a representation of GrandmaGrandpa.

So, phone service has completely changed, not only in my lifetime, but in the last thirty years or so. (I would have to look up when the cell phone became widespread.)

So, in one generation, we went from analog dial service to Voice over IP and cell service. Some people dropped their home phones completely.

Carson doesn’t want to “talk” to us. He wants to see us. When he says, “Call GrandmaGrandpa”, he means “video conference”, he just doesn’t know that is a thing.

I remember when we got video conferencing equipment at work – it was very expensive, very fragile, and worked somewhat, as long as you were talking to a matching system in one of your other offices. (I had a job interview a couple of weeks ago that was a video conference with some managers in Chicago. I had to go to the Dallas office, and be ushered into a special room where I could see myself on one screen and the interviewers on another. I remember thinking, “Well, it did make me dress up and get out of the house, and they won’t hear my dogs, but what’s wrong with Skype?”)

Carson’s assumption is that you can look at Mom’s iPad in Ohio and see GrandmaGrandpa in Texas and there’s no magic at all – that’s just how it works. Everyone knows that. “Call GrandmaGrandpa”.

So, in less than a generation we went from voice being the norm to video being available to anyone with a cell phone or a tablet with WiFi and a Facebook account.

Wait. When did WiFi show up?

I remember my first Internet account – which I got so I would have an email account. I pestered the admins until they told me where to put web pages and how to get to it, so they hosted my first web site. It was a dial-up account on a system in Massachusetts. I used to pay long distance to edit my webpages and collect my email every day – not that I got much. I learned a lot of basic Unix, because it was the only way to get it to work.

Then, we had Prodigy and AOL, and we could dial a local number to get to the Internet. Man, that was high tech. When you heard the right scrambling noises, you knew you were connecting. You were about to be online. Modems were cool.

(My Dad was still paying for AOL account access even though he had DSL at the house and unlimited Internet. I converted it  to a free account after he passed away. I had to keep the account because my Mom still uses her AOL email. I turned my old address back on, just for old times sake.)

So, we’ve had a lot of technology appear in the past few years that the current generation assumes was always there. We’ve suffered through a lot of early versions and failed attempts that they will never see.

I had a flashback to a discussion with my son when he was young, and I was trying to explain to him that I didn’t have video games when I was growing up. I’m not sure he ever believed me. (I still need to find him an electric football game.)

So, Carson, remind me to send you an email about the good old days, and phones you had to dial with a dial. You could ask GiGi Mary about having to pick up the phone first, to see if any of the neighbors were already using it. In the meantime, if you need me for anything, just say, “Alexa, call GrandmaGrandpa.”

Plano at Rush Hour

He thinks that no-one will complain,
As he exits from the far left lane.

Kill me.
Kill me now.

She is like a pig in clover,
As she slides her three lanes over.

Kill me.
Kill me now.

He thinks he may have seen a cop.
So, let’s have all on Central stop.

Kill me.
Kill me now.

Some of the smartest people alive,
But none of them know how to drive.

Kill me.
Kill me now.

Annus Horribilis

In the Caribbean, this has been a horrible year. I know, because I’m scheduled to go there at Christmas. My wife and I have our annual cruise scheduled, in spite of the fact I’m still looking for a job, because we just need to get out of town for the holidays.

This year, there was a particularly nice cruise available on the Norwegian Jade, a ship we have sailed before and enjoyed. It’s ten days, so a good length of time away. It wasn’t that expensive, compared to other years. It was also calling on a number of ports that we had never visited before. So, with all the stresses of not working, I was looking forward to a cruise.

Then Irma. Then Maria.

Here’s our cruise plan, as of the original booking. All the red ports are currently closed. We should know in a couple of weeks where we’re actually going to sail, but as all the cruise lines have the same problem, and all of them will have a multitude of ships in Florida for the winter, it’s going to get interesting. The scheduling of multiple ships of multiple sizes (which limits which ports can be visited) with random cruise lengths to the same area of the sea will be challenging, to say the least.

This is not a complaint letter about our cruise being changed, although you can find plenty of those around. Our itinerary will change, we know that, whatever. It’s hardly Norwegian’s fault that two of the worst storms in history tracked almost exactly over their planned Christmas cruise.

That said, we learned a couple of bizarre things while watching Mother Nature destroy our vacation plans. One, many people care more about their vacations than other people. When Norwegian announced all their Eastern Caribbean cruises were suddenly sailing Western Caribbean routes until at least the end of November, people complained. Complained.

There are people living in the islands who depend on tourism who now won’t get tourists because the port has been destroyed, and by the way, their house is gone, and you’re whining that your vacation was ruined? Get a grip, people.

It was particularly painful for us, because we’ve been to some of the islands and we know some of the people. I fed birds in St Thomas. I haven’t heard how the resort made out. We made our own perfume at Tijon in Saint Martin. The store remains, the owner’s house is gone.

We support a dog rescue on Saint Martin. We donated what we could to their campaign to build a shelter last year. The shelter is gone now. It took a couple of days for someone to locate the founder of the organization because the power was out, nobody could get to her house, and she had refused to leave the dogs. Even though we haven’t met in person, it was freaking us out that nobody knew if she was OK.

So, having to go to the Western Caribbean instead of the Eastern Caribbean is not really a problem. Trust me.

I was very pleased to see multiple cruise lines donate ships, crew and time to get supplies to the islands and get stranded people off of them. I was horrified by some of the comments of passengers diverted by a hurricane to Cozumel. (“It’s humid here!”) Honestly, I would be freaking out if I was working (and paying a dog sitter) and suddenly had my vacation extended by an unknown amount of time, but I would like to think I could handle it more gracefully. It’s a freaking hurricane. It’s not really under the cruise line’s control. Have a margarita. Chill out.

We also learned that the islands don’t seem to exist in much of the US media’s eyes. At best, they’re flyover country – a large number of independent entities that are all just lumped together. Storms generate in the Atlantic, pass over the Lesser Antilles and then go towards Miami. There are over thirty islands. It’s not one clump. Some were hit, some were grazed, some were missed. The distinctions are important and it is newsworthy for each individual island. The Weather Channel seems to dwell mostly on what might or will happen instead of what has just happened.  CNN did a better job of reporting results, but if you’re all about weather, why aren’t you covering where the weather just occurred? Personally, I don’t really care right now if Miami is going to get hit in four days if someone I care about is getting hit at the moment.

(I also learned that you can find information, you just need to find the official channels or newspapers on the web. However, when their power goes out, the news gets spotty.)

Also, the US Virgin Islands are part of the US. The name should be a major clue. Newspeople don’t seem to know this. These people are your fellow citizens. (Here’s where to donate.) The same applies for Puerto Rico. I’m really appalled by the lack of coverage or concern because everyone was looking down the calendar at Florida.

I’m actually appalled by the media not covering more of the islands at all, even the ones not directly tied to the US. The Caribbean is a major tourist destination. There are expats living all over them. There are cruise ships steaming towards them, filled with drunk Americans. There are people spending their vacation money, planning to visit in the next few months. It does matter.

The Caribbean should be more important to us.

The islands will rebuild. They always do. However, a lot of what they need is imported (expensive), so it will take time. Months. Maybe years. Support them. If the ports aren’t open, I’m pretty sure you can still transfer funds. Donate, people.

I personally don’t mind visiting an island that’s half recovered, just to spend some money there and help the recovery by having some fun. I hope more people think that way. From what I’ve seen online, there are some who agree with me.

“It’s not like at home” is one of the great reasons to travel. I hope we all remember that.

Oh, and if you’ve been thinking about adopting a dog, I can help set you up. You just have to wait until they can arrange the flights, assuming the airport is open.

A Child of Many

Many things form a child into an adult. Some are recoverable.

I’m a child of the Sixties,
I can sing any Beatles song.
Peace and love,
Sex and Drugs,
I’ll party all night long.

I’m a child of Catholic schools,
I know a lot of prayers.
Glory Be,
Our Father,
He watches over us everywhere.

I’m (mostly) a child of Texas,
I got here when I was two.
Whataburger,
Ranching,
A State with its own worldview.

I’m one of the last Baby Boomers,
I was taught right from wrong.
Princess phones,
Playing outside,
In college, I even saw a bong.

I’m a child of many,
My folks, the highest percentile.
Selective amnesia,
An occasional drink,
And my shrink on speed-dial.

Southwest RV Super Show Notes

Virginia and I wandered around the RV Show yesterday, and got some answers and a few more questions. It’s always nice to actually see the vehicles up close and personal, as opposed to just seeing photos online.

We know a Class B won’t work for us. It’s too small or we’re too big, but it’s not happening. Here’s a question though – why are they so bloody expensive? There were many Class B rigs that were priced higher than Class As that dwarfed them in size. A Class B is a just van conversion, so I really wonder what’s driving up the cost.

A Class C would be very tight for us, depending on the model. I’m not willing to write off the entire class, but Virginia has.

We could get a travel trailer or 5th Wheel, but it was confirmed the dogs couldn’t ride in the trailer while we’re moving. We weren’t really considering this as an option just because of the possible cold or heat (depending on location) but we hadn’t considered the ride. Apparently, it gets pretty bumpy back there, so it’s confirmed the dogs have to be in the truck with us. If we got a large enough SUV, we could pull a smaller travel trailer, but not a 5th Wheel, and it would depend on the towing capacity. So, if we get a 5th Wheel, we need an extended cab or similar to make this work. (I would prefer a 5th Wheel to a travel trailer for stability and maneuverability.) I’m concerned about three dogs in a confined space that includes us and movement.

So, a Class A may still be the best choice, but Virginia is afraid to drive one, so that’s a major problem to solve. I need to find an RV school – we asked one of the sales team about lessons, and I don’t think there is such a thing at many dealers, who will let you take a test drive, but that’s because you’re thinking about buying it.

I would like to drive a 5th Wheel rig, just for the experience, but that may be even more difficult to arrange.

Research continues.

Early Research

Virginia and I spent part of the afternoon at Motor Home Specialist in Alvarado yesterday. The first lesson of RVs is that none of the dealers are very close to town. For example, Alvarado is literally on the other side of Venus (but Venus has a Whataburger). The second lesson is that dealerships are big – especially if they have a decent selection. This is the first dealership for anything I’ve ever visited that will lend you a golf cart to get around. 

You trade your drivers license for the key to a golf cart (it will start any of the guest golf carts) and you are then released to wander the 160 acres. This is truly low-pressure sales (and a show of great faith.) The RVs are all open – you can wander in, turn on the A/C if it’s not already on, open the cabinets, turn on the TVs and lie in the beds. The only request is that you not test the toilets, which seems reasonable.
We wandered around until heatstroke threatened, but we learned quite a bit. For example, I may be a bit large for a Class C. So, we’re looking mostly at Class As. Now, Virginia is concerned about the driving. That’s for another weekend.

Our RV Specs So Far

  • Table & Chairs. Much like asking for a table rather than a booth when we go to restaurants, I either need movable chairs or to lose some weight. Movable chairs seem easier to accomplish.
  • Washer & Dryer preferred – maybe not a deal-breaker, but the ability to do laundry in-house (even minimal loads) would be nice.
  • Square shower – there are some long, thin showers available. We are not supermodels.
  • Oven – a requirement for an Italian. I’m grateful she’s not asking for two.
  • Side & Rear Cameras – we need to see what we’re about to hit.
  • Auto-leveling – why do manually what a machine can do?
  • Toad-ready – we will need a car eventually.
  • Two (or more) AC units – this was easily proven by looking at RVs in Texas in August.
  • Bed over cab would be more useful than bunks, from a space-utilization standpoint
  • Bunkhouse non-optimal – it takes up space that we need for dog crates. This can’t be a unique requirement. 
  • King Bed preferred – did I mention we’re not supermodels?
  • Three slides – although this is a Virginia requirement. I just want enough room, and I’m not hung up on how you get it.
  • Full-side slide preferred – this is probably going to solve my room issues.
  • Leather furniture – cheap protection against the dogs. We learned this in the house.
  • Doggie window preferred – really, we need three. I’m sure the dogs won’t bark at everything. Maybe this is optional.
  • Bath 1/2 preferred – two baths is probably overkill. One may not be enough.
  • Distinct areas preferred – in spite of the open floor plan movement, having spaces that can be closed off would give the dogs separate spaces.

Toad?

As newbies, there are many questions we have. (The ones that concern me most are the ones we don’t have yet.) The one that came up early was – do we need a toad?

In this case, it’s not a frog’s cousin, it’s a small vehicle that is towed behind the RV, so you have local transportation when you get to a stopping point.

If you don’t have a toad, then every time you want to go somewhere not in the RV park, you have to disconnect everything and drive away. Then, you get back and have to reconnect everything.

This is a pain.

However, to me, adding a few extra feet and a tow vehicle behind a rather long vehicle already can also be a pain.

So, I asked for advice on a Facebook group – where else would I go?

“Hey, can I survive without a toad?”

I got three answers.

Yes. No. It depends.

Well, that pretty much settles it.

Of course, the other option is to buy a truck and just pull a trailer.

So, question one is still open.

Still Retired

Retired, and not loving it.

It turns out that I wasn’t really permanently laid-off from IBM. I had been there so long, I “retired.” Unfortunately, I was not planning to retire this early, and so the job search continues. 

It’s interesting trying to do something that should be an intimate, personal experience all online, with no immediate feedback, but so it goes. 

You don’t talk to people first any longer. Most of the time, you don’t talk to people at all. You fill in forms, upload resumes, and hope to hit enough keywords to get to the next level. Even if you don’t get to a human, you can get rejected after a couple of months. So, you can’t just send in an application and wait and see. You have to fill your pipeline of rejection.

Here’s a question – if your resume doesn’t get past the computer scanner, how does that take two months to tell you? Aren’t computers fast? The ones I used to have were, and they were old.

I’ve submitted over 250 applications at this point. I’ve had less than a handful of actual, personal replies. 

At a company I really wanted to join, I was told on my second interview that I wasn’t technical enough. I think he meant “you know IBM technology, instead of ours”, but I may be trying to justify it. 

Another “almost” was a phone call two months after the application, “Are you still interested in the job?” I said that I was most interested, so I was invited to a in-person team interview. I survived, I thought. There was someone leaving when I arrived, so I expected an offer or “We’re going with someone else.” After hearing nothing, I sent a follow-up note, and the reply said, “We just had a reorganization, so we’re not opening a center in Arlington, after all.” (I will not miss two hours of driving each day, but still.) 

The most painful (even more than “you’re not technical enough “) was applying to a firm where I had a friend on staff, which seemed to help. I had a pre-screen and was quickly invited to an interview with one of the managers. After I called the recruiter (who had never called with results), here’s what I was told: “The manager who interviewed you grades all his interviews. He gave you an “A.” He never gives people an “A.” Unfortunately , we had some changes on the team, so the position was filled.” So, at least that was close.

Most don’t bother to reply, at all. 

I had two calls with a corporate recruiter just before I left on vacation, and then, radio silence. This would be the same job I was doing before I retired. No reply.

I had an interview I scheduled during my vacation to meet the interviewer’s schedule, and I thought it went well, but now the manager and the recruiter won’t answer me. I would like to at least be told there was a re-org.
It’s almost like dating. Unfortunately, I never needed to date to pay my expenses. (That is the one industry I haven’t considered.)

On the happy side, I will be a guest educator for Enriched Schools, it’s part-time but I’m looking forward to teaching (even as a substitute) in the Fall. So, technically, I did get a job.

I just need something to do in the meantime, to fill the hours and the bank account. 

Hamlet at Quest Diagnostics 

It’s a little jar. How hard can it be?

So, the Rocky and the Rat (ex-rat) saga continues. Rocky has been diagnosed with leptospirosis, which is a bacterial infection. It is possible he contracted it before he killed the rat, especially since it showed up so quickly. On the bright side, it’s a zoonotic disease, wnich means we can catch it from him. Joy.

Rocky had a blood test to see if he was infected. He was. This means we all need blood tests, as well. Well, the people do. If one dog has lepto, you just treat all the dogs. We may all end up on the same antibiotics.

Leptospirosis has two phases – the first is detected in blood, the second is detected in urine. This becomes important as we progress.

After calming down about Rocky testing positive, the Spousal Unit called our family doctor and said we needed a leptospirosis test. I have a feeling we may be the first people to request this specific test. We may be the first people to request any test. 

His nurse called this morning to tell us the tests were ordered, and we just had to go to Quest Diagnostics whenever we could.

I like Quest. They’re fast, there’s no appointments and they always get my blood on the first stick. So, when the Spousal Unit asked if we should go to lunch or Quest first, I thought we should get the bloodwork done first. How long could it take?

We got to Quest and I got stuck. Two tubes of blood, since the phlebotomist had never heard of the test. Time for lunch!

Then, she handed me a little jar, and muttered something about a urine sample. Warning, Will Robinson!

I should explain. When the Spousal Unit runs errands, she will run two days to six weeks worth of errands in an afternoon. So, there’s no telling where we are going to end up, or how long we will be gone. Therefore, I always pee before we leave.

I really wish someone had mentioned we were going to have to pee and not just bleed. It’s an important detail.

Oh, well. How hard can it be?

Apparently, very difficult.

Into the restroom, prepare to fill jar.

Nothing.

Concentrate.

Nothing.

I told the phlebotomist I needed to come back later.

She said she needed both samples together. I wasn’t allowed to leave. I was a prisoner. 

I wish she would have told me this before she harvested my two tubes of blood.

She asked if I wanted some water, to help the cause. So, armed with my three ounces of H2O, back to the bathroom I go.

Nothing.

Maybe I just need more water. I turn on the sink and there is no cold water. I don’t mean the cold water isn’t really cold – I mean turning the handle makes nothing appear. On the bright side, the hot water works and it’s not hot, it’s lukewarm.

Lukewarm water is not very pleasant. 

I could ask for more water from the phlebotomist but she wasn’t very happy to see me the last time, so I think I’ll just stick with lukewarm. Ugh.

Three cups of lukewarm water. Yummy.

How much water could it possibly take before I have to pee?

More than 14 ounces of lukewarm water, it appears.

At this point, I had been concentrating so long, I was beginning to sweat. Hmm. Would sweat be an acceptable substitute? Spit? Lukewarm tap water?

Three more cups of lukewarm water.

Hysteria was about to set in. Luckily, that’s when the Spousal Unit texted me.

Ping! “Everything ok in there?”

Autocorrect does not like my answer.

Time to find a distraction.

I could read the soap bottles. There’s a small table, but nothing’s in it, not even the magazines guys need for that other sample.

Ping! “How’s it going in there?”

Stop bothering me! I’m busy not producing a sample!

Ping! “I have to pee again. Do you want me to do it for you?”

Hardy-freakin-hair-har. Do I mock you in times of crisis? (Hmm. Question withdrawn.)

When all else fails, try the classics. This is the one time a prep school education pays off.

I hold the little jar towards the sky. I take a breath, and in a deep voice (for me), I intone, “To pee or not to pee … that is the question.” 

Nothing.

I begin to giggle. Then, I begin to weep.

Hey, do tears count?

I’m now trying to push the sweat beads on my forehead back in, so they will find another way to escape.

The Spousal Unit finally asked the staff if I could go get a drink, and I guess if you block one of their two restrooms for an hour, they’ll let you out. Plus, some of them were beginning to wonder if I was still alive, and found it hilarious we were texting.
Stay alive. Don’t text and pee.

I had been trying to pee for so long, the hospital cafe was closed. Sure, it closes ridiculously early, but still.

Luckily, the Subway one building over was still open. Up one floor, across the sky bridge, and there it was. I went just for a drink, and realized I was starving. Oh, right, we came here before lunch.

It’s 4:30pm. Quest closes at five. Time to slam down a snack and drink as much Mr Pibb as humanly possible.

What a romantic lunch. Subway sandwiches in a hospital. Can I at least take four sips before the Spousal Unit asks if I need to pee yet? 

18 ounces of soda in eight minutes. Then, speed walking back to the other building.

My phlebotomist is gone. That removes some of the pressure. I don’t like being judged.

Retrieved my jar – the only one left on the shelf – and nobody had filled it for me while I was gone. So much for prayers being answered. It’s probably because I wasn’t sure who the patron Saint of pee is. 

I went into the other restroom. Maybe it was the restroom.

Drained the rest of the soda.

Wait.

I have to pee!

Hallelujah!

I have to pee!

Praise the Lord!

I have to pee!

Crap! Where’s the damn jar?

Found it. Filled it. Sealed it.

Well, that was a fun afternoon.

Washed my hands. Oh, look! The cold water works in this restroom.

Headed home at last.

Let all the dogs out. They all peed immediately. The bastards.

I’ve peed twice while writing this. I’m thinking I should be saving it for next time, just in case.