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User Journal

Journal Journal: Get off my Lawn! 6

I feel old, guys. I feel like the old man sysadmin with the Unix Beard and suspenders (which I continually think of as a halloween costume, less and less ironically). My coworkers are all... what would have been slashdotters had they not found digg or reddit, or whatever it was.

These are "kids" who grew up with linux. (They're all 30.) But they don't have the base knowledge that I expect them to have. They only know bash. They mostly know Ubuntu and Red Hat, although the one 'sysadmin' type dude knows virtual machines with Xen, and seems to know what he's doing most of the time.

I figured I'd pick up python, because I ordered a raspberry pi, and it seems that's what all the cool kids are doing. (I get along fine with shell and perl for most of whatever it is I do around here.) The advice I got from one of my coworkers was that I should "uninstall the IDE." IDE? For python? Seriously? It's interpreted, you use a goddamned text editor. Apparently that's one of the 'tips' from "Learning Python the Hard Way." (I'm reading Programming Python on my nook, FWIW. And I'm already yelling at it, as the examples are how to create a database from your filesystem with pickle, because seriously, if you're managing peoples' salaries, you don't want your data in flat files, or necessarily in a readable format to your other employees. But that's my cross to bear.)

When I got home, I started ranting about that to the Benny. Frothing at the mouth kind of ranting like I used to be able to do. Who uses a goddamned IDE for an interpreted language!? There's no "I" for your "DE". When you're writing C, in a complex environment, sure. When you're writing Obj-C for your iPhone app of the year, fine. You have libraries, you have interdependencies, you have reasons to have a debugger and a compiler. Python is interpreted. There's no need for these things.

Goddamned kids these days. In my day, we had emacs and vi, and flamewars about both. There was no IDE for writing shell scripts. There was no IDE for perl. There wasn't even really decent tab completion! We used 'more' instead of 'less'. We knew how to pipe things to awk and grep. We used which instead of locate. And we liked it, damnit!

I'm running OpenNMS on Ubuntu at work, using vi (technically vim) to edit all the xml files and style files. I don't run KDE, Gnome, or any other desktop on the damned thing. It's a server, for pete's sake. Not that it's lacking RAM or CPU for me to run that, but because I'm old, and old-school. Some of my coworkers (and I use that word loosely, as I'm a department of one) run linux on the desktop ... not because all the tools are there and work, necessarily, but because our IT group doesn't know how to deal with linux, and they can get away with it.

User Journal

Journal Journal: I still can't believe I'm this old. 12

I've been 35 for almost a month now. I'm working at a place with linux-only guys, who think that the best solution is always free software. I feel like the old unix dude with the suspenders who still reads a.s.r. I feel ancient, as I've worked with big iron, or at least medium iron since my first job, and the guys who work in the IT department here are used to virtualization on intel platforms (so, machines considered big for their time, but not SPARCs or RISC machines).

Benny pestered me incessantly about what I wanted for my birthday. I couldn't figure it out; I was (and still kind of am) on the dark side right now, about a 4 on my personal 1-10 depression scale. It doesn't affect my ability to work, but it numbs and dulls my senses. Like I should've been elated to get the job I have now (which is almost perfect), but I wasn't. I couldn't express that level of joy. I'm still not quite there, but I'm digging out of it slowly but surely. Anyway, the day before my birthday, I figured out what it was I wanted. I wanted a guitar and lessons.

We headed to Guitar Center and I found a decent guitar, and we walked out with a guitar, case, book, picks, and an extra set of strings. I called up the music store in Castle Rock (which is where I work, 17 minutes from where we live, just north of Sedalia), and started lessons last week. I suck, but I'm sucking less at it every day. I practice until my fingers are tender, as many days as I can actually get the time, and I figure that has to be good enough.

I don't want to be the next Joni Mitchell, or even Lisa Loeb. I just want to make music, in the way I still take photos because I want people to see what I see in the world.

If anyone is looking for a 6-month gig in the Castle Rock, CO area, let me know. I'm looking for a mini-me, who can help me get the alarms in line. Someone who groks windows servers and javascript, who has a decent grasp of monitoring and alarming (snmp and nms experience would be nice, but not necessary.) I'm currently putting people through the "Chris test" by having my boss interview them first, and looking for specific skills later.

User Journal

Journal Journal: 2 more weeks of hell. 8

I gave my notice for the contracting company. I'm going back into NMS with a passion that can't be denied.

Just 2 more weeks of waking up when other people are coming home from work.

Just 2 more weeks until I can take the dog to the dog park after work, or go to the normal park with her on her leash (we're right near Chatfield, and they have a great dog park, I've been told.

Just. 2. more. weeks.

User Journal

Journal Journal: THIS is why linux is not ready for primetime. 18

So Ben (el Husband) is building/has built a CNC router using Ubuntu and a couple of pieces of software, a CAD program (for which he paid), a CNC controller program (which I can't remember if it was free as in beer or not), a tiny motherboard, and a couple of other pieces of actual hardware for which he paid a decent amount of money (but not enough to justify actually buying a mill the size he needs). Motors, threaded rod, etc. If you want to see, he's got a video on youtube linked from the woodshop blog showing it in action.

We've had problems with ubuntu deciding to boot from the usb stick, partially because Ubuntu decided it didn't want to shut down properly, and corrupted libraries, and someone decided that certain useful utilities (say, fsck) didn't need to be statically linked, which made it rather unhappy to work with. Ubuntu has been reinstalled, and he's got a .dmg on his ibook (my old ibook which still runs, and well) that he keeps at the shop, as backup. Because he has to. He was trying to install some packages to make his life a little easier (his BACulator, new version of gcc, some other stuff) yesterday, and the automounter kept complaining about ... something. The error message was Linuxy, by which I mean wordy and not very useful. I got this email tonight:

1: The problem with the USB stick was that SOMEONE, decided that I MUST have a CDROM drive, and surely that CDROM drive would be my second drive, so they added a cdrom entry in fstab for /dev/sdb... So, every time I inserted the USB stick, the kernel tried to mount /dev/sdb, which it was told was a cdrom drive, so it tried to mount an iso 9660 FS, which of course the drive doesn't have. Commenting out the fstab line fixed the problem completely. Assholes.

2: The G-Code reference page has JAVASCRIPT that detects if the gcode-main.html is in the same doc base and sets all the links to point there if so, and to the linuxcnc server if not. So someone wrote a fairly complex bit of code just to make that work, then someone else decided to not include the main page with the distribution. Assholes!

As a programmer and a unix admin, he gets a little upset.

User Journal

Journal Journal: I blame Lysol for the antibacterial frenzy we're in now. 5

Especially after seeing the commercial they're running now. "Did you know that there are germs everywhere, including on the bottle of liquid soap?" Why yes, Lysol, I did. I knew there are germs on top of the soap dispenser. But you see, after I put my hand on top of the soap dispenser, soap is dispensed into my other hand and I WASH MY HANDS WITH SOAP. Holy crap, people. Unless you've got an automatic faucet, you probably pick more germs up from turning off your faucet than you would from the pump on the soap dispenser.

That word looks wrong. You know when you say or write something multiple times and it just looks wrong? The number '1' looks and sounds wrong at the end of my shift because I say it so much. Whatever. Back to my rant.

Lysol kills germs. That's fine. Except that telling people there are germs on their liquid soap bottle on the spot they use to dispense soap isn't really a useful observation. And really, there didn't need to be a 'fix' for that for consumers. Life wasn't meant to be lived in a sterile operating theater. it was meant to be lived alongside and in opposition to the rest of the living things that live around us.


User Journal

Journal Journal: Romance is in the eye of the beholder... 8

So "that day" is coming up on Sunday. You know, February 14th. We normally don't celebrate with what you would call 'normal' gifts. Ben said he'd have gotten me 'flours' but he didn't want to go to Whole Foods. He was going to get some white, wheat and rye, and some yeast, and it would be a bouquet of flours. I'd have loved that.

But no, what he did was awesomer. He bought me a decent point-n-shoot, which I've been wanting for a while now, and a microwave (because our last one was sold with the house -- it was mounted over the stove), and three paperback novels. I've been wanting to read "Stupid reading" for a little while now, too. You know, the kind of thing you read when you just want to read something. Mysteries, mostly. He got me a Jonathan Kellerman and a Dean Koontz Odd Thomas book, and an Iris Schrier, I believe. Those were the sweetest gifts he could've gotten for me. Not anything sentimental, not something that will be dead in a week. Something useful and something I've been wanting, actually wanting.

I'm not recommending that everyone get their SO a microwave and a camera and three paperbacks. Or that you get them Chick-fil-a and leave it in the car clipped to their badge for them to take to work. But they were the perfect thing, and the most romantic thing (for me) that could happen on or around v-day.

I'm obviously easily impressed, though. :P

User Journal

Journal Journal: Mumble mumble something. 3

This week has kinda sucked for me sleepwise. I was up until 2pm on Sunday and Monday, as we were looking for places to rent and moving into the one we liked. For normal sleepers, this is staying up from 6am one day until 4am the next day. Two days in a row. I got maybe 8 hours sleep between the two days (or I guess three days, if you want to look at it that way).


We got a cute place in Sedalia, CO. It's on a guy's HUUUGE tract of land (he has a polo field on it. and the horses to go with that.) and is a small house, but we've met our neighbors, well.. one of them. She's a spinner and a weaver (which is cool), and she and her husband have 4 rather large dogs. Nulla played a little with them, but she's not allowed off her little cable because, well, she's a shiba. Shibas are notorious for deciding to run and run and run and laugh at you when you call them. She zipped out the door when we were staying with a friend and into the busy road (2 lanes each way with a median) -- Wadsworth around 470 for those of you in/near denver.

We spent Monday digging through boxes looking for the &^#*@ remote to the bed -- It's a sleep number bed, which we've had absolutely zero issues with, which seems to be the exception, as I've seen many many bad reviews online. Our stuff is in storage in the springs, which makes it kind of irritating to get our stuff, but whatever. We won't be taking a whole lot out of storage, as the house is only about 700-ish square feet, but we got Benny's big chair, and the bed, and the dining room table. We picked up a few boxes of kitchen stuff, but this'll be one of those long drawn out things where we pick things up piecemeal. There's not going to be much time to set up housekeeping this week, since I'm working and then we're headed down to the ranch to build skeinwinders on Sunday. It'll be interesting to see if Ben installs the shower before we leave... the landlord bought the shower and is paying Ben to install it, but we'll definitely benefit from that, since what's in the bathroom now is a claw-foot tub with a shower sprayer (and no shower curtain) which makes a HUGE mess. We've been un-synchronized sleepwise because of the moving and the going-to-home-depot-with-the-landlord, and will probably stay un-synched for another week or so while he does things like get firewood from the guy down the road, and working at the ranch. It sucks, but you do what you can.

User Journal

Journal Journal: I have people skills! 1

All I can think tonight is

Well-well look. I already told you: I deal with the god damn customers so the engineers don't have to. I have people skills; I am good at dealing with people. Can't you understand that? What the hell is wrong with you people?

but maybe that's because I've seen office space too many times.

User Journal

Journal Journal: So, um... 2

Part of why I've been away is Ravelry. If you're not a knitter/crocheter/spinner/weaver/dyer, you've probably never heard of it. It's a pretty nifty site, and one of the things it has is forums. In spades, but that's beyond the point. The forums were designed by someone who didn't really participate in forums previously, so they are more or less flat, no nesting comments (but you can get to replied-to posts appearing via magic by clicking). The cool thing about them is that under each post are "buttons". They're labelled "educational" "interesting" "funny" "agree" "disagree" and "love". The concept is that you click on a button for a post and it increments a counter. Only one click per person. This makes it so you don't get a page or three of "me too"s, and you can generally judge the quality of a post by the agree/disagree ratio. Of course, with the buttons, there is the inevitable button wank, which the coder has tried to get around by allowing you to hide individual buttons, or all of the buttons. My problem with this is that I keep looking for buttons on posts on other forums. And blogs. And everywhere else.

It's like moderating, but everyone has points all the time.

So, work. Work is... well, it's like everywhere else I've worked in that they have too many tools that kinda mostly but not all the time work together. It's a 12 hour shift, which mostly sucks, but I'm getting used to it, oddly enough. Something about it not being full daylight makes it somewhat easier to sleep. I'm keeping myself entertained by tracking ticket stats, as we have to announce in a group chat who's taking care of which ticket. The 'newbies' -- me and my 3 same-day-training-started compatriots are kicking the asses of the contractors who were here before. Usually outclassing them by 2-3x. I'm keeping my resume out, and looking for something else, but the pay's decent.

User Journal

Journal Journal: Ok, WTF. 21

I must be gettin' old if I can't figure out how to write in my own frickin' journal.

I know it's been... almost 3 years since I showed my text here. Let's see if I can catch y'all up.

About the time I stopped journaling, the company for which I was working cracked down on communications about the company. Feb 08 I left the company's warm embrace as they hired a "15-year windows admin" instead of either me or my co-worker who used to work for SUN to be a Solaris admin. The hubster and I were working on our business as the economy spiraled into the toilet. Short sale of the house, bought 70 acres near Rye, CO. Went to Sock Summit as vendors.

Now I'm working as a contractor at a company in north Denver. I'm going to refuse to mention which contract company or which company I'm contracted to, because I'm somewhat unimpressed by the actual work. I will mention that I hate interviewing, and I'm not cheerful enough for Apple retail. Or something. I don't know. I think I failed when I told them my "wow" moment with my mac was when I opened the terminal and found a fully functioning UNIX underneath.

Anyway, working with tech has re-kindles my sheer loathing of poorly implemented and documented tech and I thought this would be a good place to vent my rage somewhat.

--the one and only kshgoddess.

User Journal

Journal Journal: MOTHERFUCKER. 2

So, a friend of mine is opening her business tomorrow at the upscale swanky Shops at Briargate (other businesses in the "mall" include Williams-Sonoma, Pottery Barn, Eddie Bauer, Coldwater Creek, Sharper Image, etc.) and I just finished uploading her website. No, you may not see it, as it is ... sigh. Let me set the stage.

First, she wants me to use iWeb, which my lappy nor Ben's mini came with, and we go through the whole order-deliver-install thing. I start using it, and want to shoot someone. I tear at my clothing, grit my teeth, and do a passable job using the damned thing, and voila (not wallah, people, really, omg, i'm going to strangle the next person who posts "wallah, my thing that I was knitting is done" ... but I digress) I've got a couple of pages of stuff to post.

I have no descriptions of what things are, but I have some idea of what SOME things are because we had them in our house and photographed them. I have NO clue what the model at her Denver photo shoot is wearing, nor how to describe them, and I got those LAST NIGHT, and the frickin' grand opening is TOMORROW.

So, I asked (sometime last week) for the user/pass to upload the *&(*$@#^&* that iWeb spits out, and got that, yes, LAST NIGHT. But not really. I got some sort of "Account Executive" privilages to the site, but can't figure out for the life of me how to actually PUT DATA to the frickin' thing. She gave me her credentials this morning (which have nothing to do with any sort of user/pass anywhere else), and we'll figure the damned thing out later.

Sigh. So, I put some of her 'model shoot' pix into the site while I tried to figure out what the hell was going on with the "account executive" shit and really, iWeb generates probably the worst code and worst data structure I've seen in a while... but then again, the last WYSIWYG HTML editor I used was FrontPage, EONS ago, so there's my comparison. Actually, I used DreamWeaver once, and remember it being somewhat awful, but this was before Y2k, and I've generally done everything by hand since.

I'm going to be using one of my weekend days rebuilding the site in GoLive, tagging the things that she should be able to change easily (products, featured products, front page photos, etc.), and giving her the "client version". This will let me do things like ... have VARIABLE length/width pages with variable block lengths. It will let me create a BLANK FUCKING PAGE WITHOUT HAVING TO HAVE A TEMPLATE. Even iWeb's "blank" pages have shit on them. It makes me want to scream.

I uploaded all eleventyhundred subdirectories this morning, and the site's up and more or less usable, but with iWeb's directory within a directory structure, its fixed size everythings, and pictures as backgrounds to its fixed-size blocks of text and crap. I understand wanting to have a fixed size whatever due to css concerns, but damnit if I don't want to shoot someone after trying to figure out why the fricking page won't scroll, and my data's being cut off. After finding the Inspector, I was more or less ok with it, but still am relishing being able to dump iWeb into the trash can, and hearing the paper-crinkle of its bits being "recycled".

Stupid iWeb. Stupid Hosting people. Stupid Fetch (which I thought I still had a few days of trial left, but had to buy so I could post). Stupid friend not giving me enough data to actually work with.

I'm going to work out now; my frustrat-o-meter's getting too high. I think an hour of walking nowhere, uphill, both ways, will let me go to work without wanting to kill my co-workers the second I see them.

User Journal

Journal Journal: Writing: Lyanissa and Lyriin

Context: I woke up from a dream on Monday morning and wrote this. Warning: Rough draft. Warning: minimally edited.

There is morre to the story that follows, I can feel it. I just need to get my fingers on the keyboard for an hour or two in a quiet time.


Her name was Lya, she came from the desert, as they all had, to find a trade to support herself.

Tall and lean, Lya had seen none of the years of plenty that herr elders had described; she knew only of the desert, the endless shifting sands, the small game that made its home there, and the relentless cacti willing to share their water with those clever enough to seek it.

She came into town that morning wearing sand goggles, a dusty shirt and pants, both almost worn to shreds by the wind and sand, and a thick blue leather duster that had almost certainly belonged to one of the more unfortunate travelers in a previous caravan. It hung on her small frame, and almost brushed the ground as she made her way through the town. The ensemble was completed by a pair of thick brown leather boots two sizes too large that had been stuffed with rags to fit her feet. She carried a small bag with her belongings: a canteen, a compass, and a small leather-bound book.

Many a traveler arrived in the same manner, from the desert, with little to eat, little money, and blinking in the sunlight from the almost cloudless sky. Travelers got used to the semi-dark that the blowing sands produced from here to the surrounding towns. Without a compass or a knowledgeable guide, it was easy to spend days walking in circles, as the wind covered your tracks almost as soon as you left them. The townsfolk were never surprised when another blinking figure appeared from the sandstorm and stared at CIVILIZATION.

Lya pushed her goggles on top of her head and peered around, gaining her bearings. She headed slowly toward the army offices as if being led there by a parent or older sibling. Again, she was like many of her fellow travelers. The territory's army was known for feeding, clothing, and housing anyone willing to serve. She ran a hand through her short brown hair, windblown and sand caked, and decided that she needed to be more presentable. Her course changed like that of a sailboat in the wind, tacking towards the bath house.

Argosy ran a clean joint; the bath house was for bathin', and nothin' else. No hanky-panky went on in his establishment, and he let people know that up front. "If you're lookin' for a WHOORE, you've got a short walk down the street. This here's my bath house, and I'll have nothin' of that kind of trade," he told potential customers, both male and female, several times a week. He wasn't a religious man, just a clean one, who didn't like to put his mind anywhere near what kind of mess he'd have to clean up if he allowed such impropriety to appear under his roof. It was hard enough cleaning the dust and grit from the drains, and disinfecting to kill the lice many travelers carried. When the small figure appeared in his doorway, he was about to give the normal speech about the propriety of his establishment, but he hesitated, and greeted her with a smile instead.
        "Miss Lya! What a pleasure to see you today. You here for a quick shower? How's your mum?"
        "Afternoon, Argosy. Mum died as she lived, the best caravan leader in these territories. Raiders took us from three sides on this last trip. I was asleep in the last wagon, and they took me for already dead."
        "I'm so sorry, Miss Lya. Come in, come in. I'll have Jeanette start the hot water. You'll want a shower before your soak, I'm sure." Argosy was shocked to hear of Cassandra's death -- she was truly as Lya said, the best caravan leader in the territories. Her loss would mean fewer shipments, or no shipments for quite a while. He bellowed for his wife, "JEANETTE! Get 'er ready for the Women's Bath!"
        "Argosy Evan Johnson, I know full well what my job is!" came the shout from an upstairs room. "You just give me a minute to stoke this stove!"
        "She's a bit temper'mental today, hon. I'm sorry if this is upsetting," the chubby man said sheepishly. "You know how she gets."
        "I know, Argosy," Lya replied. "She's MY sister, after all." There was a long silence between them, then Lya spoke in a soft voice. "She'll want to know what happened to Mum. I should be the one to tell her. I... I don't know how she'll react. She and Mum never got along much, but she was still our Mum."
        Just then, a brunette woman stuck her head out the door of the upstairs boiler room. Her face was covered in sweat and ashes, but the likeness to the smaller woman was certain. She wiped her face in vain with a small towel, and shouted "Your shower's ready, miss!" Her whole expression changed when she saw the bather. "LYA!"
        Jeanette bounded down the stairs, two at a time, to greet her younger sister. She was easily head and shoulders taller, and defnitely better fed, but she didn't seem to care about her sister's sharp features, or her bony arms as she wrapped them around the larger girl. "Lya, where's Mum? The two of you usually come in together from a trip." Lya's dust-covered face looked up, and tears began to flow, washing her face like a river in the springtime. Jeanette knew immediately what this meant, and ushered her little sister through the door marked "Ladies Only".

        Lya continued to weep as she undressed to take a shower, and then through the shower, and finally wept tearlessly in the bath. "Jeannie," she kept saying, "I shoulda been at her side to help her."
        "No, Lya, if Mum couldn't handle it on her own, there's nothing you could've done. You were sick, anyway, and I doubt you could've sat up to aim, much less fired a single shot," Jeanette reassured her. The rebels had killed before, but never like this. Her mother was a seasoned traveller of the sands, and had dispatched many men to meet their maker. There was no doubt the grizzled old woman could have defended herself in a fair fight. From Lya's descriptions, though, it wasn't a fair fight in any sense of the word. Fifty armed men versus a three-wagon caravan of goods coming from Charles Town. Ma had her men, six of 'em, but outnumbered at almost 10 to 1, they had little chance.
        Unless Lya had been well. Lya was a marksman, and better than that, she was a novice magician. Her skills were to hide things from sight, and had she been awake, the storm would've hidden them in its cloak as well as a traveller hides his purse. But she had been ill, contracted a sickness from the children in Charles Town. It was only Providence that had saved Lya's life, and only Providence that she had not brought the sickness with her. Jeanette prayed silently for thanks that her entire family had not died in the attack as Lya told her tale.

        Jeanette put the girl to bed in the guest room, and locked the door. She calmly came back to the bath house, and continued her work in silence. Argosy and her work was the comfort she needed in a time like this.
        At 20, Jeanette was the oldest child of her family. She had married at 16, like most girls, and settled down. Henrietta, her mother, didn't understand the allure of settling down, and with one man, to boot, and told her so every time the caravan rolled through. Heather, 18, and the middle child, was in charge of her own caravan, and spent her time divided among the outlying towns of the territory. Like her mom, Heather was flame-haired, hot-tempered, and full of wanderlust. She and Lyr, Lya's twin brother (both 14), travelled terrain that most goods-haulers wouldn't touch, but Lyr and Lya both had the knack for finding the easiest route, for calming the winds at the right time, and for keeping the caravans safe.
        Jeanette was sure that Lyr and Lya were the children of their father, a magician named Elder Gryffin, but her mother had never told her so. She had never spoken of anyone's paternity, at least not when sober.
        Jeannette had plied her mother with wine one night to learn her own parentage. Henrietta admitted that Jeannette was the daughter of a tavern owner that Henrietta had been working for -- a tavern owner, Henrietta insisted was married at the time, but was entranced with her so that he committed adultery every time she came to town, and was therefore a scoundrel and deserved no part of Jeanette's ilfe.
        When Jeanette was of age, she sent a letter to that tavern owner, Jacob Bandy, and let him know of her existance. They had a polite, if not warm, relationship, which is how she found out that her mother had promised to settle down for him, and never could commit to it, which is why he married another woman in her absence, although continuing to carry on with Henrietta when she came to town, as she was his first and brightest love. Jeanette had two half-brothers, Jonas and Jacob Junior, (who she visits monthly) and a half-sister named Arianne, with whom Jeannette has tea every Saturday morning.

User Journal

Journal Journal: A slight misunderstanding... 4

So Ben & I were out to dinner last night, and he asked the waitress "What three cheeses are in the three cheese lasagna?"

The waitress says "Um... Mozzarella, American, and ... ummm... I can't think of the third one."

She goes wandering off and asks another member of the waitstaff about 10 feet away, who says "Mozzarella and Parmesan on top, ricotta in the lasagna."

The waitress comes back to the table, and proudly says "Mozzarella, Parmesan, and Risotto cheese. It's like risotto, but creamier."

User Journal

Journal Journal: I am a major buzzkill 18

So, Denver got another medium-big snow yesterday. I'm covering for the guy who works the end of the week. I got in my car yesterday at 12:30pm and drove to work. I got to work at 3 pm. The office had already closed, and 'essential personnel' were all that was left -- one guy in customer support, most of us in the NOC. The company had provided food (frozen dinners, sandwich stuff, veggies and fruit, etc.) and a hotel for the night (and a case of what I assume is decent beer, and a bottle of tequila).

So the 'days' crew goes over to the hotel, with the nights sup, and begin to party. The nights sup calls over, says she and the (hourly) guy who comes in nights are going to be late, and she's made the arrangements, and would I mind bunking co-ed. Well, um.. wtf? Co-ed? I get the "we're all professionals" line. Yeah, but try explaining that to a spouse. I asked the guys I was with (all married) how their wife would react if they spent the night (no matter how chastely) with a woman they hardly knew, in a hotel room.

The swings sup gets on the phone with the manager, who says if we can't figure something out, there are other hotels in the area, and we can expense it. After he goes over to check things out and discuss the propriety of 'bunking' people of different sexes into rooms, it gets worked out that one of the days guys will sleep on the floor in another room, and I get a room to myself (?), and the nights sup will sleep in the room with her charge (male).

The 2 of them (nights sup and nights guy) show up reeking of alcohol, slurring their words, around 2 hours after they're supposed to show up. The days guy drove them over in his 4wd truck, and when asked when he's going to sleep, just laughs.

So, were we all wrong to think that co-ed hotel rooms are inappropriate, and that coming in at the very least rather buzzed (and slurring words) is just plain wrong (even if the company paid for alcohol)? Or am I just a major buzzkill?

Personally, I believe that you should come to work sober. Sure, party some, but drink responsibly, and don't get drunk off your ass if you know you're coming into work later. I also know that while Ben probably wouldn't have held it against me that I was in a hotel room with another guy, that I wouldn't be comfortable with it. Especially if it was one of the guys who had been drinking.

Oh well, off to edit some photos. One of my xmas presents was a 60gb hd for the ibook, and I finally got CS2 re-authenticated (via the phone and a nice lady at adobe support).

PS - what is this publicize-publish-post crap?

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