...and the weekend goes on...

My back is soaking wet... its 4:30 in the afternoon, and I am absolutely drenched in my own sweat. Why the hell am I sitting outside instead of enjoying my airconditioned condo? 'Cause I won't be able to do this at all in December...

I'll take a quick dip in the hot tub once I've finished the blog... I dropped the temperature on it substantially so that it becomes a lovely place to lounge in the heat...

Saturday morning I attended a meeting of the three Boards of the condominium corps that share this parcel of land. Attitudes have definitely softened since the changeover in Phase One... we're going to actually get somewhere. Lots of promises of cooperation.

And then I ran off to the insurance company... where the claims agent profusely apologized for the team the day before shutting down early. She was very contrite, and then very embarrassed and slightly angry that no one from the phones team had tried to reach me that morning...

Regardless, with police file number and now a claims number in hand, I started for the body shop...

Did you know that most body shops are closed on Saturdays? I didn't... so, frustration turning slowly to furious, I went home. I'll have to deal with it all when I get back from Victoria...

And now, I really do need to cool off... some I'm going to cut this one short and slip into the cool hot tub... You are welcome to join me...

Relaxing weekend, except for the comedy of errors...

As I sit under my little Chinese umbrella in my Muskoka chair (they are NOT indigenous to the Airdoronaks, dammit!), sweltering in the 35 degree C heat, banging away at this laptop, I find myself quite relaxed and generally happy with the way the weekend has been going. Tomorrow morning, really early, I'm jumping on a jet and heading the rest of the way West... Victoria... to meet up with my darling and our eldest daughter. But for now, I'm just enjoying being somewhere that they aren't bombing me, shooting at me, flinging hand grenades at me, or in any overtly militaristic way trying to disrupt my day. Thank what-every-powers-there-are that I was born Canadian! Sure, we've got our problems, and some of the worst weather on the planet, but compared to most places in the world, we are, or at least I am, in a charmed place... near enough to heaven that I really won't complain.

The weekend did start off a bit rough... on Friday afternoon when I returned to the parking lot where I park my jeep when I have to drive to the downtown offices, I discovered that some stupid M/Fr bastard creep tweaker had smashed in the driver side window. What was missing? Just my change for parking... and that lovely hardened leather case that I picked up dockside at the Cutty Sark in Greenwich during the Nelson/Trafalgar celebrations. That is probably the part that pissed me off the most. The other part is that they spilled my coffee all over... and then I began to laugh. They missed the laptop I had secreted in the back... They smashed, reached in, snatched the money, knocked over my coffee mug... and didn't even unlock the door(s) to give it a decent rummaging...

Of course this is being discovered at 4 PM on a Friday afternoon... I finally took a deep breath and phoned the Police... got a really nice desk sergeant type who warned me it would be close to two hours before dispatch would get a car to me... and at least an hour before I could dictate the details to one of the officers handling the phones... he suggested one or two community policing offices that I could run out to... of course there was always the headquarters, but with the parking issues, I was better off going to the community policing stations...

The Sergeant was right. I got to the Kensington Mall station, got in, got out in about 15 minutes. Armed with the file number I headed off to the insurance claims centre, and ran into a significant traffic jam caused by the Grand Prix. I know that they close at 5 PM, so I called... and was rewarded with an early closing message. I was very angry and quite short with the answering machine. How bloody useful is an insurance company that can't or won't make themselves available?

I went home.

After calling G. to whine and complain of my treatment at the hands of tweakers and insurance companies, I went off to the gym for an hour, and then settled in to feed myself... something which I can do quite well when properly motivated. This seemed like an opportune time to use the food prep as a form of relaxation... a zen kinda thing, I suppose. No rakes in little sandboxes, or the careful placement of rocks. No, instead I would chop something vigourously, fling meat onto hot coals, and figure out what other things I could abuse in the meantime. I did manage to unload the dishwasher without chipping or breaking anything. That was a good start.

I went to the freezer to get the frozen 'gourmet' burgers that I had prepped a week ago, and, even as I was pulling the patty-stacker-tube from the freezer I remembered/realized that I had made a tactical error. You aren't supposed to freeze the burger still in the tube... why? 'Cause the meat swells when frozen and makes it damn near impossible to get the burgers out of the tube!

After three five minute stints in the microwave, I finally freed up the burgers. I then started the barbeque, deciding to try to cook the burgers from their frozen state... a bit of an experiment. Warily I checked the propane in the tank on the bbq, decided that there really must be enough to get through the cooking of four burgers, right?

I went back inside to start laying out a plate. Once there, I stoppered one of the kitchen sinks and put the pieces of the patty stacker thingee into it, started the hot water as a trickle, with detergent, so that I wouldn't get too many bubbles.

I took the plate of burgers out to the barbecue, only to discover just how wrong I was. The propane had run out. So I hauled out the other tank, and swapped them... dropped the burgers onto the somewhat preheated grill and then went back into the condo for the lighter...

The first clue that something was wrong was the sound of water falling gently off the counter onto the tiled floor. I had left the water running... hot water... argh!

Once the cleanup was done, and the burgers carefully cooked, dinner was a delightful affair. Thank God for chardonnay...

ITIL Training... boring, yet somehow very satisfying

I love being a trainer... I truly enjoy working with adults, trying to find new ways to pitch old concepts, new ways to pitch new concepts...

I spend most of my training time on MS Office related products... the full Office suite, including MS Project and Visio... and lately, with a Lotus Notes component thrown in. Its good fun... mostly.

But the most challenging training that I do lately is the ITIL Foundations Certification training.... it is pretty dry material, but oddly satisfying to be able to present, and to see the lights go on behind the eyes of the trainees. I do what I can to inject real world examples, get them to work through at least one case study (time permitting) and try, desperately, to have a bit of fun with it and toss in some applicable jokes. But it is still pretty dry, and an awful lot of material to be presenting in a two day plus timeframe. I always feel like I'm running... moving way too fast.

The one thing that is pretty frustrating is the way that the companies I deal with select the participants. Right now I am training ALL of the Managed Services staff for one IT services corporation. Most of them don't want to be there, and don't see the value in the time expended on the training. Hey, they are mostly content to be Help Desk/Service Desk geeks, and have little ambition beyond that.. well that and their out-of-office hobbies and their gamer personas. As such, the material is absolute anethema to them... but their bosses absorb the info amazingly well. The motivation on the part of the managers makes a great deal of sense... but the general geek just can't be bothered, doesn't study and eventually becomes one of the 'statistics', returning for another session, and another attempt to write the exam. (I've actually got one woman who has done the class twice and the exam three times, and still can't pass!)

Screening... its all about screening. Having a corporation determine that ALL employees must line up with some sort of certification isn't always necessary... some of these guys need to rethink, re-evaluate and understand the staff that they are pushing through these courses...

Its been a bit of week...

The week skated by pretty quickly, didn't it? The last post was written on Sunday, with every intention to do the followup on the Monday, which then became the Tuesday, which of course was not nearly as convenient as Wednesday, which brought its own series of challenges, all of which set the groundwork for friends to subvert the Thursday... so now its Friday, and, truly, I have nothing to say.

So, maybe later I will make a concerted effort to get back to the short list...

Are you having a fun one?

The Short List; Item One

I've been meaning to get back to the 'Short List', and begin explaining each item one by one. So here we go...

Now, its interesting to note that on Saturday night (last night) we hosted a small gathering to celebrate the 46th birthday of a very good friend, who also happens to be the mother of our godson, also known as 'The Boy'. The boy is now 14...

So, at this gathering we have 6 adults and The Boy, and way too much alcohol and not enough really important things to discuss... when the oldest of us, who we will call The Salesman to preserve his anonymity and our dignity, calmly pointed out to The Boy that there are three indisputable rules that will get the girls. The Boy was instantly interested. Strangely enough, so was everyone else at dinner. The Salesman is known for a certain level of outrageous behaviour, and we all waited to hear what was going to slide out of his well-oiled mouth.

Rule One: Learn and use your manners.
Rule Two: Don't Get Drunk.
Rule Three: Learn to Dance and then do it!

Strangely enough, if you refer back to my original 'Short List', Learn to Dance is right at the top.

So, The Salesman went on....

Rule One: Learn and use your manners is about the 'charm', the 'polite', the 'showing of respect', and all within the context of the event. Its something that comes with time, but its also the ability to make it look like its second nature... almost an automatic, autonomic response. Knowing that, yes, you hold a car door open for a girl, but that you also mount and start a motorcycle before she does, and then knowing how to help her on... and how to help her with her hair under the helmet...

Rule Two: Don't Get Drunk. She ain't your mother and she shouldn't be expected to help you to get to the bathroom or a convenient bush to vomit, and she especially ain't the one to be cleaning up after you. And really, do you want her driving your car home, and then having to beg a ride home from your folks? Hell, no! Have some dignity, boy! Be smart enough to stay sober, stay straight enough to get her home. Hell, stay sober and straight enough to be able to 'perform' should the opportunity arise! Nothing worse for a girl on the prowl than a date with a slobbering drunk, a limp dick and the smell of puke and beer.

Rule Three: Learn to Dance and then do it! There comes a moment at all those high school dances when the girls are all clustered on one side of the hall, and the boys are all clustered on the other... and then, like a parting of the Red Sea, the clustered girls slowly form themselves into a semblence of a line, sorta like they are getting into position for a game of Red Rover, which, in a fashion, they are. Unfortunately, most guys don't spot the move... and before they actually clue in to what's going on, the girls are on the dance floor, dancing in small clusters with themselves. You're lost... ya might as well go home, or go out and get drunk (remember Rule #2!). But, if you spot the moment when the girls are actually asking to be asked to dance, you're in like Flynn... and what do you do? When they've gone into the Red Rover, Red Rover, Please Come Over position, get the hell across the dance floor and ask one of 'em to dance. And if she says 'no', ask another, and another... and you'll be dancing all night, and maybe even snogging in the parking lot after the dance! Ya gotta ignore those scared little boys you're hanging out with and get over there and take a chance. Hell, its not like you're asking 'em to get married, or go steady... its just part of the mating dance, matey, so go ahead, puff out your chest and ask.

Oh ya, but know what you're doing, okay? Get a girl, like your mum, to teach you how... and learn how to bloody well waltz. All those girls take something like 'social dance' in gym class. Give 'em a place to use it.

Well, The Salesman is pretty accurate. I'll fill it out and fill in the blanks in another post... times up for now.

Would someone just slap them, please?

Harper.
Klein.

Embarrassing. Both of 'em.

Someone, please, please, please just slap them!