Wow.

Capt. Splendid always cavils at my attempts to bring fresh leadership and even-handed tolerance to the present controversy. ... said the Anonymous Coward.

Nice use of "cavils", though.

... when I really should be working.

It's funny - I'm going to Beijing next Sunday, traveling alone halfway around the world to spend a week in a country I've never visited before, where I don't speak the language or know any of the customs. I'm not quite entirely certain that my airline tickets are all in place, I haven't even started working on my keynote address yet, haven't put together the talk I've got to give down in D.C. the Monday after I get back, am desperately behind on a hundred different projects at work and at home.

And what am I thinking about?

Which jacket to take.

As my lovely wife pointed out to me, today is a red letter day. Today is the one year anniversary of my last day in the pit.

I tried to support the good, reassure the wavering, hold accountable the marginal and contain the cancerous. I got my nose broken for my efforts, and I paid a high price in self-confidence and emotional stability, but I stood up to the bullies while I was there. When my boss' boss' boss tried to strong arm me into staying longer, I saw that it was to no purpose, so I stood up to him, too.

I blame myself for having had too high an opinion of myself as I took on the job. Even though my boss' boss' boss arranged things so that I couldn't say no to the assignment, I could have done things differently had I brought more humility and empathy to the task. Things still would have gone into the crapper, but I might not have been so shattered by it all.

I blame my boss' boss' boss for misunderstanding the situation in the first place, for designing and implementing his response to it so ham-handedly, for misleading me about what I would find when I got into the job, and for overstating how much support I could expect as I tried to make changes. He should have known that such a viper's nest of vicious old assassins was no place for a rookie, however bright eyed and eloquent.

Most of all, I blame the people in that unit. They are clannish, insular, inbred and twisted monsters, and I pray for the strength to forgive them and to pity them as much as I hate them. They would rather suffer, kill and die in a cesspool of their own making, would rather fight over the right to be king of their private shitpile than allow themselves to be led out of the darkness by someone not their own.

So, I lift my glass of pleasantly toxic amber liquid. Here's to having survived the experience, and to the progress I've made in moving from survival to recovery. I have a way to go, but I'm working on it.

Prost.

Here I am feeling like a half-baked schlub, looking back over my own personal annus horribilus, when I get a phone call from a business acquaintance. He's started a new company that's going to commercialize what I've been researching, and did I have a few minutes to talk?

"You can't go anywhere in the literature in this field without your name popping up. Do you mind if I put you on speakerphone?" We chatted, I answered a few questions, provided a little info. Then he asked, "So, what's your availability for consulting work? This conversation has been incredibly helpful."

I still feel wretched about my annual performance review, but it would be a committedly disconsolate man whose spirits were not lifted by such a conversation.

Being clinically depressed for 8 or 9 months is never good for your annual performance review.

As I always do, I went back over the year's appointments to remind myself what I accomplished. Again and again, I came across entries for phone calls, meetings, teleconferences, etc. for dealing with all of the lingering bullshit from my time in administrative hell. I'd thought my capacity for anger had been burned out, but I got mad all over again.

Write a deposition for this baseless EEO complaint, explain what I didn't do for that grievance, respond to this bullshit charge, provide documents to refute that set of false accusations....

None of which mean anything as an accomplishment for the year.

Every one of these blew at least a day or more, not only for the time they took, but since they upset me so much that I couldn't focus on anything. Between the Thursday when the lawyer calls to set up a time for an interview and the subsequent Tuesday when the interview took place, I was a basket case. Useless.

When I wasn't able to suppress the red haze of rage, I didn't go anywhere or do anything, for fear of doing or saying something that would do lasting damage to my career. When I could swallow the bile, I forced myself to pretend to be polite when necessary. I did precious little in the way of new experiments, made practically zero in the way of new discoveries. Which is what I'm paid for.

What I did for most of the year was hide in my office and write.

I wrote book chapters, technical review articles, abstracts, press releases, job applications, award nominations, edited articles for a bunch of journals, finished a textbook, prepared plenty of presentations (then put on my game face with the charming smile and gave them), etc., etc.

When I'm writing, no one tries to talk to me.

Writing is quiet and calm and soothing. Writing is a cool stream of words flowing from my hands, drawing the heat from and smoothing the edges of the razor sharp, sizzling hot rocks stabbing up from below the streambed.

Writing is something I know I can do.

Writing is solitary.

Writing means I only have to rely on me.

Unfortunately, "I wrote a lot of things while I was licking my wounds" doesn't really cut it as an excuse.

Not a good year.

Back from a family trip out to San Francisco. Lots of fun, cool scenery, great wedding, handsome groom, beautiful bride. Traveling as a family of six sucks donkey, but such is life.

Seeing the family was terrific, both blood relatives and in-laws. I don't know about them, but I for one ate too much and drank too much, and have therefore grown too fat. Must do something about that, starting... NOW.

Otherwise, things are OK. I feel a bit lousy from jet lag at the moment, but am glad to be back home.

At a party this weekend, some guys were swapping skydiving stories. The conversation never turned my way, which is just as well. I have no desire to go skydiving, but I know from past conversations that those who have done it universally interpret such non-interest as timidity. "Oh, you gotta try it!", they say, "It is pretty scary the first time, but it's fantastic! It's life changing! You just have to work up the courage for that first jump and after that you'll be hooked."

Meh. No, thanks, I'm not interested.

Skydiving, mountain climbing, deep sea diving, marathon running... nope, no desire at all. It prompts me to think though, what would I want to do? What life accomplishments are out there waiting for me? I'm turning 40 in just under a week, so this is the time for such reflections, right?

All in all, I'd have to say that things are going pretty well. I have everything I hoped I'd have back when I was twenty - good job, professional respect, great wife, great kids, nice house.

At the moment, the only thing on my "lusting after new worlds to conquer" list is writing fiction. Good fiction, the kind that is exciting, evocative, interesting, inspiring, etc.

I'm still working on that.

When it comes down to it, we are all sharks. Changing directions is fine, but if you don't keep moving forward, you die.

I just happen to be a shark that is 39 years, 359 days old.

With all of my DIY-ness, I'm almost ashamed to admit that I'm planning on buying a honking big laser for work. I'll purchase it off the shelf, instead of building one myself. I'm thinking something that will give me around 800 gigawatts/cm^2. I might be able to put something like that together, but it would be a pain in the butt.

I originally wanted to buy a collimated maser in the same power deposition range, but those are harder to find. I may have to build it from scratch.

UPDATE: As an example, this is the kind of thing I'm looking at.

Glow bar arrived today. It took ~45 minutes to install it and put everything else back in. Push the button and, WHOOSH, everything lit up just as it was supposed to. Everybody say, "Hot, hot, hot!"

I'm very, very, very slightly troubled by the fact that I ended up with two more screws than I started with, but such is life.

I figure that between the dishwasher and the oven, I saved between $500-600 in repairs with these little exercises of DIY-ness. That's good, since a new muffler for my car (yesterday) and new brake pads and rotors for my wife's van (today) added up to $650.

Just think how broke I'd be if I hadn't done the work myself.

That's right! $1200 broke!

Since I'm on the subject of repairman-style dash and elan, I'll update on my oven and car.

The gas oven wouldn't light. After quite a long time, many minutes, it would be a bit warmer than ambient, but not hot. Burners and broiler come on, but not the oven. The troubleshooting section in the owner's manual basically boils down to a) be sure it's plugged in, b) be sure the gas is on, c) call a repairman.

Oh, good heavens, we can't have that! With much diagnosing and tracking down part numbers, I've determined that the igniter is shot. It's a glow bar, a little open-faced resistor that gets hot enough to ignite a trickle of gas from the burner bar. When this lights up, the much greater amount of heat triggers a thermocouple, which opens a gas valve to full on. Whoosh, big flame.

Except in my case, the glow bar wasn't getting hot enough to do the job. I couldn't find a replacement locally, so I turned to web sources. Cost of the replacement varied depending on the merchant, from $21 to $135. I went for a $25 model that looked the same and gave tech specs that matched the original's, even if the housing looks a tad different. It should be here Thursday. (I hope so, because I'm leaving for a float trip on Friday morning.)

Incidentally, I didn't go with the $21 version because it didn't give any tech specs and the item page said "guaranteed to work!" in three different places. Such assurances tend to have the opposite effect than intended, as far as I'm concerned.

As for my car, I'm just going to take it into my mechanic tomorrow morning. The exhaust system broke, and it makes terrible exhaust noise. When I sit at idle, I can really smell the exhaust, so it probably separated just after the manifold. I'm going to have him check the brakes and tie rods, too, since I get a nasty scraping sound when I take a hard right turn.

This car is an old clunker, but since the engine still runs OK and the structural elements of the body are still in decent shape, it will have to do for a while longer. It has trouble starting, but that's probably a battery issue, something to address before winter.

Most of the fit and finish stuff is gone or broken, the rust holes would be noticeable if those really rusty parts were still attached, the seals and gaskets are cracked and leaky.

Still, with at least two, maybe three sets of braces to pay for in the next year or two, and various other sudden and unexpected expenses, a new car tends to be last on the list. For a hundred here and a hundred there, it will keep running for a good long while.

Our dishwasher has gradually been sucking worse and worse. First just a bit of crud left on the dishes if they weren't put in JUST SO. Finally, it got to the point that the entire top rack wasn't even getting wet.

Call a plumber? Repairman?

Damn, what do you think I am? Incompetent?

I got out the owner's manual (no help). I got out the installation guide ( no help). I got out the parts list (some help, but not enough). Finally, I turned to the intarweb (perfect).

I had the dishwasher feed tubes and pump feed/intake system partly stripped down when all of the Phillips head screws gave way to torx head screws. WTF? So, I had to run to Home Depot this morning to get a set of torx (which I should have bought years ago, but anyway).

This evening, I stripped it right down to the nubbins, until I could go no farther. I'd removed the last screw, but the feed guide housing was still firmly attached. What was I missing? How was this supposed to come out?

Check the intarweb, whose best advice was: "Get a pair of big pliers, grip firmly, and force it."

Sure, why not? Worked wonderfully, to my great surprise.

And good Lord what a load of crap was blocking the armature of the intake feed! No wonder the water couldn't flow - it was like sucking a soda through a bag of sand and seaweed!

I cleaned out the crap, scraped off the mineral deposits, generally cleaned it all up, reassembled everything and fired it up. Seems to be working just like new. I bet this repair saved me at least $200, even with the cost of the torx.

I R STUD.

Now, I just have to fix my oven (which won't light) and my car (which sounds like a brontosaur with an intestinal problem). Those problems are for tomorrow, though.

Tonight, we dance!

I don't feel bad that incoming college freshman have never put a period after their state abbreviations, don't know what CCCP refers to and have never seen Michael Jackson when he wasn't a freakshow.

I'm a little bothered by the coincidence that they were born the year I graduated from college, but only a little. Such is life.

When their kids go off to college, not only will they not know what a Blockbuster Video is, they won't really understand the concept of DVD rentals. It could only be explained by analogy. "Telegram is to text message as DVD rental is to video-on-demand."

Vick jokes:

No, I said I wanted a killer receiver, not a killer of retrievers!

I thought the dog pound was in Cleveland.

His record is sure to dog him.

Life's a bitch, eh?

Let loose the dogs of war!

He should have left football entirely and joined the Air Force, a place where they actually train to be in dog fights.

On vacation, I went over to visit my father-in-law. He (70 years old) and his younger brother (60 years old) were outside, working on a stone retaining wall - taking the stones down, removing the sagging dirt behind, rebuilding it. In the course of dumping a wheelbarrow of the dirt, they discovered a yellowjacket nest in the front yard.

The problem was that the yellowjackets did not appreciate the invasion of privacy. Uncle G got bitten, just once, on the arm, and it almost killed him.

He was sweaty and flushed when we got there, about 30 minutes after the bite. He attributed it to the work and the heat. We went in to sit down and he took an allergy pill. Coming back from getting a glass of water, he staggered to the chair, then practically fell into it. He then told us that he had always reacted badly to bee stings.

My wife ran out to get some liquid antihistamine. Uncle G looked terrible, but was adamant that he didn't want to go to the hospital. His arm was swelling, and the bite was turning bright, bright red. Sweat was pouring off his face and his voice started to sound funny. He took off his glasses, and I asked if his vision was blurred. "Yeah... I don't feel ... feel... don't...." That was when his eyes rolled up and he went unresponsive.

My f-i-l immediately said to call 911. I did so, and handed the phone to my father-in-law. While he gave them addresses and particulars, I tried to bring Uncle G around with cold water to the neck. He was slipping into shock. He was already having trouble breathing. Once someone goes into real shock, the heartrate and respiration plummet. In short, the odds of true coma and death go way, way up.

I had him spell his name, made him tell me the make and model of his car, exhorted him as a marine to stay with me until the EMTs arrived. He was slipping away. I swept the piles of magazines, pens and other bachelor crap from a side table and elevated his feet.

That was the right thing to do. At first, he stayed glassy-eyed and disoriented, but came around with more cool water and the new position. He was in a rocking chair, which let him lean back more. He was able to speak, but his voice was getting thick and burred. He was having trouble breathing, and he started to cough.

His throat was starting to close up. Looking back on it, I would estimate that he had perhaps two minutes before he would be unable to breath at all. After that, full shock would set in.

Fortunately for him, the EMTs arrived. They asked a few questions, took some vitals and got him onto an oxygen tank. They loaded him onto a gurney, reversing the position I had had him in. He went from feet up, head down, to feel level, head up. They took him into the ambulance, parked in front of the house. However, they didn't leave right away.

I could see through the ambulance window that there was an awful lot of activity immediately after the doors closed. Lots of hands moving rapidly, equipment brought out, tubes strung, etc.

We found out later that his blood pressure had dropped to 60 over 40. The anaphylaxis and swelling was responsible. Throat closing, blood vessels pinching shut, heart fluttering - a bad, bad situation to be in for a 60 year old.

However, despite the close call, the story has a happy ending. The EMTs in the ambulance, along with the doctors in the emergency room and in the ICU, knew what they were doing. Uncle G recovered and was resting under observation by mid-day yesterday. He spent the rest of the day in the hospital, and may be coming home today.

He'll no doubt be getting a prescription for an epi-pen injector, the kind of thing that everyone with bee sting allergies should carry. I understand that each allergic reaction is worse than the last. Next time, he might have only a few minutes to react instead of half and hour.

I lay awake last night, thinking about all of this. I didn't frame it in dramatic terms while it was happening. There was no, "My God, he's dying!" moment. It was a fast sequence of things to do, tasks to accomplish, short-term (immediate-term) goals. Now, though, I realize that Uncle G came within about 10 minutes of dying.

My f-i-l was level-headed in the crisis, but he was quite pale and shaken when he left to follow the ambulance over to the hospital. After many trips to the ER with heart trouble, he is quite accustomed to riding *in* an ambulance and being treated in the ER. I don't think he has all that much experience being the one sitting and waiting while another person skirts the edge.

He is the oldest of three children. His younger sister died more than 20 years ago. I can only wonder what was going through his mind as he watched his little brother being loaded into the ambulance.

Just when I was feeling all relaxed and warm and fuzzy about it being a nice day, BANG, another EEO investigator calls about something that someone claims I did back during that administrative assignment from hell.

(allegory)Just goes to show, when you get lured into an 6-month affair with a psychopath, you have to expect to get your tires spontaneously slashed every now and then - for the rest of your life.(/allegory)

There's no such thing as a good day around here anymore.