Tag Archives: planning

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Self-Inflicted Crisis. It’s hackneyed because it’s true: A failure to adequately plan on the part of someone else, does not in any way constitute a crisis on my part. Screwing around Boomwith something all week and then dropping it in someone else’s lap at the last minute hoping they’re going to drop everything and fix it over the weekend does not constitute a plan. At best it constitutes hope… and hope, as we all know, is not generally considered a sound planning methodology.

2. Sharing the “wealth”. If you’re hacking up a lung and sound more or less like you could drop dead at any moment, do the world a favor and take a sick day. I don’t care if you’re saving sick days for little Scotty’s tonsillectomy or planning to take a few mental health days later in the month, show a little consideration for the people forced to sit within ten feet of you for eight hours a day and go the hell home. Trust me, you’re not showing anyone how dedicated you are. Even if you’re perfectly willing to drop dead in harness at your desk, no one breathing the same air is interested in your misguided sacrifice on the altar of the workday.

3. Christmas Shopping. Sure, 95% of my Christmas gifts are going to be given in the form of small rectangular plastic cards, but that doesn’t mitigate the fact that it’s getting to the point where I can no longer blissfully ignore the impending arrival of the holiday. At some point, probably this weekend, I’m going to have to break down and do what passes for my version of Christmas shopping. Loosely translated, that means picking up a few quality bottles of hooch at the local liquor store and then hitting up a few other places to pick up gift cards. Come to think of it, there may yet be time to order all the gift cards online and have them sent to the house… then all I need to do for the weekend is stop at the liquor store. That’s a Christmas task that even I can get behind.

What’s next?

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It doesn’t happen very often, but from time to time I hit a point in a weekend where everything I wanted to get done is finished long before I planned on it being that way. As it turns out, I’m not particularly comfortable with sitting around without something that needs doing. Most of the time I try to cram my weekends sufficiently full of projects that I’m still scurrying on Sunday after dinner to get the all finished before the curtain falls. Since I’ve clearly misunderestimated the time needed for things this time around, I’m going to have to call an audible… Now if I can just figure out what else needs done around here I’ll be all set. If all else fails, I can always sit down with a frosty adult beverage, which is a virtual guarantee that I’ll be asleep within five minutes. In a real pinch, I could go ahead and do laundry… but then my plan for Sunday is wrecked before it even gets here. Have I ever mentioned that OCD is fun?

Getting finished-ish

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Today was one of those days when all you can do when it’s over is sit back, shake your head, and wonder if it all really happened or if you’re mind finally slipped of the tracks and made it all up. I have a nervous feeling that the alarm is going to go off at 5:00 tomorrow morning and prove that it was the former. If you’ve never spent three days putting together a three inch binder literally jammed to overflowing with facts, figures, and the administrative minutia of an expedition that apparently rivals the exploits of Marco Polo, well, let’s just say that it’s not something I recommend… If for no other reason than because no matter how many times you tell people you’re not adding anything after a specific time, someone is going to hand you a shit ton of things to add well after what was supposed to be last call. It’s even better when you’ve already proclaimed the product “finished” and still have bits of it dibbling in in drips and drabs.

Facts being the obnoxious things that they are, at some point you’re going to have to accept that when you’re working against the clock, eventually the clock is going to win. Sometimes that means you get a 50% solution, other times it’s 90%. If you’re some combination of both lucky and good, you might hit 100% from time to time. More often, you should be happy to land somewhere in the sweet spot between 75-85%. Hit that and you’re doing twice as good as the best power hitters in professional baseball. As soon as you realize that sometimes good enough really is good enough you’re life gets a whole lot easier. The real kicker is trying to convince everyone around you to buy into the idea at the same time. Good luck with that.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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Delayed, but not forgotten, here’s your rundown of What Annoys Jeff this Week…

1. I don’t like universal healthcare as a concept, but I do like that the court has insisted on calling mandatory health insurance what it is: a tax, just like all the other taxes we pay but whose purpose we may not necessarily agree with. I’m annoyed by people who say “the court got it wrong.” The court didn’t get it any more wrong this time than they did a million years ago when they controversially ruled in Bush v. Gore. As an aside, it’s about time we collectively figure out that just because we don’t like something doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s “wrong.” All it means is that we don’t like it. Nine pretty smart people made a decision based on their interpretation of the law, nothing more, nothing less. That puts the issue of health care and insurance squarely back in the political arena, so take it up with your Member of Congress, not the court.

2. Lack of Proper Planning. I heard a rumor once that proper planning prevents piss poor performance. If I ever get the opportunity to experience proper planning in person, I’ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, I’ll just go ahead and continue to expect “performance issues.”

3. Arson laws. If I want to set my house on fire and let it burn it to the ground, I should be perfectly within my rights to do so. That would so much pent up aggravation. Alternately, expensive things could just stop needing repaired. Either way works.

Azimuth check…

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Tomorrow I’m going to a class titled something like “Mid-Career Retirement Planning Seminar.” Aside from the less than creative naming, it took a while for what that really means to sink in to my thick skull. This coming January, I’ll have ten years on the job. Admittedly, that’s on the low side of the “mid-career” range, but it still doesn’t quite seem possible that I’ve been hanging out with Uncle Sam long enough for a decade to slip past more or less unnoticed. Apparently I have. As a reward, Uncle wants me to find out what it’s going to take to retire to something other than an old age of dining on cat food and choosing between paying my electric bill and buying my medication.

I’ve got my own theory on how to do that, of course, and a guy who makes good money to give me advice and keep an eye on my retirement nest egg, but I’m an open minded kind of guy (stop snickering). I’m open to hearing whatever brilliant ideas this bunch of contractors came up with. I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt until someone mentions Social Security being the “third leg of the retirement stool”, or working past 70 to offset potential market losses and as a hedge against accidentally living long enough to hit the century mark. Since I’m under no delusion of Social Security being anything more than a happy memory by 2040 and the prospect of dropping dead at my desk isn’t particularly appealing, I think I’ll plan for the more traditional route.

Either way, tomorrow could be anything from passingly informative to mildly amusing. That’s mostly going to depend on the performance of whoever is giving the pitch. In any case, I’ll keep my snark at the ready in case it’s needed on short notice.

Lipstick on a pig…

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In the fine tradition of bureaucracies everywhere, I was reminded again this morning how vitally important it is that we say exactly what we mean, especially when using email. I mean we all know how temperamental and difficult to use that can be, right? I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m a simple foot soldier in this corner of this operation, but regardless of whether I title an email “Miami Trip Meeting” or the officially preferred “South Florida Assistance Visit,” everyone in the building knows the big dogs are going to Miami in February while the rest of us freeze our hoohaas off back here at the home office. Hey, it’s ok. We all know that age and seniority bring their privileges. But for God’s sake, when the instructions sent out include not scheduling any meetings before 10:00 or after 2:30, let’s not insult anyone’s intelligence by pretending this is anything other than a good old fashioned boondoggle.

Thanks, and enjoy your South Florida Assistance Visit.

Editorial Note: This part of a continuing series of posts previously available on a now defunct website. They are appearing on http://www.jeffreytharp.com for the first time. This post has been time stamped to correspond to its original publication date.

From Point A to Point B…

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With the new job, I’ve made a concerted effort to keep work things off the blog. In retrospect, if you’re going to blog under your own name on a website that literally is your name, some degree of professional circumspection is probably for the best. I can’t resist the temptation, though, to occasionally call a spade a spade.

One of the perks of the job is that everything is shiny and new, from the desks to the light fixtures. The place practically has new car smell. What I don’t quite understand is why, when they were plowing under acres of virgin land to construct a brand spanking new campus, the decided to locate the training building, which it feels like we use at least once a week, as far away from everything as technically possible based on the site plan. I’ve provided a handy graphical reference for your convenience.

Look, I wouldn’t be making an issue out of this if A) The building in question had adequate parking anywhere in proximity to it and B) There wasn’t a perfectly useable auditorium for this kind of thing not more than 150 yards from the buildings where 90% of us actually work. I’m thinking that someone didn’t run this little slice of idea all the way through the deliberate planning process when they decided to throw that one building down way out in the wilderness. Not a sermon, just a thought.

Guesswork…

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We’ve had three successive meetings this week about the exact same topic – Which 10-12 people are “essential” to continue operating in an emergency even if that means they must work from a fallback location somewhere outside the commuting area. Also of topic: Are we calling things the correct name? – Crisis Action versus Crisis Management. Continuity of operations versus relocation. Telework versus alternate workplace – but what no one is talking about is how they intend to pay for any of it or where people might reasonably be expected to go. Which is all well and good until someone actually wants to put their plans, and I use that term loosely, into action.

What I’m guessing will happen at that point is 75% of people who you previously decided are essential are going to be launched to the four winds trying to find safe shelter for their families or themselves, trying to keep their home from being overrun by floodwater or looters, or will just plain decided they want to go somewhere else when the excrement intersects with the ventilator. Fact is that you can give people whatever title you want, but you can’t make them do much of anything once they’re outside the four walls. That’s one of the perks of being a civilian instead of a soldier.

Until you can actually start answering some of the hard questions, good luck in trying to nail things down how anything might actually works in a worst case scenario. What you’re doing is not planning, it’s charitably described as guesswork.

Editorial Note: This part of a continuing series of previously de-published blogs appearing on http://www.jeffreytharp.com for the first time. This post has been time stamped to correspond to its original publication date.

Things to do…

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So we’ve officially gone directly from stressing about getting a job to stressing about getting through all the wickets to actually get there on time. It probably says something disturbing about me that I’ve sat down and started keeping track of those wickets using a color coded matrix. Of course this isn’t an exhaustive list by any stretch of the imagination, but it seems like as good a way as any to keep track of the things I need to get done between now and June 4th. I’d anticipate in the next week or so this list is going to be alot longer than it is now. That’s fine. I’ve never shied away from hard work for a good cause… and my escape from Memphis is currently the best cause of which I am aware.

Today was a planned day off long before I got the word that I would be leaving, but I’ve tried to use it to good effect. Aside from the original planned trip to the vet, I’ve managed to set up appointments with two movers for quotes, changed some mailing addresses, started the process of changing my insurance coverage, talked to my sawbones about forwarding medical records, and even packed a few more odds and ends – before running out of boxes (again). That’s a reasonably productive day. I’m gaining confidence every moment that I’ll be able to clear out without too many issues.

Reception on the other end remains to be determined. It would be nice to have a house lined up and waiting when I show up, but the chances of that happening are slim to none. I don’t exactly have alot of time built in to the schedule to go poke around myself so I’m relying on the kindness of friends, family, and a slightly standoffish relator (at the moment) to point me in the right direction. Disturbingly, the most important features I’m looking for aren’t even something for me. I need a rental house that’s pet friendly and has a fence… because lets face it, trying to cram me, two eighty pound dogs, and a house worth of furniture into a two bedroom apartment isn’t going to happen.Neither is me running them in and out to a designated “community pet area” multiple times a night. So yeah, a house and a fence. Pretty much everything else is a point for negotiation.

There’s a metric crapload of things that still need done… and the clock is definitely ticking.

A Fine Commute…

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I’d like to personally extend a heart-felt fuck you to the Asshat Construction Company that somehow managed to find a way to keep the Beltway closed until 6:30 on a Monday morning. What project manager decided that was a good idea? Did you somehow miss the eight goddamn miles of traffic that backed up while you were still on site? Did you think the massed phalanxes of headlights were a glowing tribute to your job well done?

Now, I understand the Wilson Bridge is a choke point on 495 at the very best of times. On weekends and during rush hour it has a tendency to become something of a slowly rolling parking lot. Oh, there was a detour; a detour in the form of shunting southbound traffic from a four-lane highway onto an exit ramp and then back onto the highway via the accompanying entrance ramp. Someone apparently forgot to go to class the day they were teaching traffic planning at engineer school.

I understand the company will be fined $50 per minute for the delay, for a whopping total of $4500. I could have a little more respect for this kind of punishment if the fine were even $500/minute. To a firm of that size, a $4500 fine is something akin to keeping $1 from junior’s allowance this week. Sure, he’ll notice at the time, but a week from now he’ll have forgotten about whatever it was that he had gotten in trouble for in the first place.

For those of my readers living in Western Maryland, I want you to imagine taking a drive from Hancock to Frostburg with the heaviest traffic you have every seen… I mean literally bumper to bumper, moving a few feet per minute with the occasional breakout to 5 miles per hour. Imagine this backup started at Rocky Gap. Now imagine that the cross-town bridge was closed and every bit of traffic from 68 was being diverted through downtown Cumberland and the Narrows into LaVale. Now imagine the total drive took you three hours. That should roughly approximate my morning.

Mr. Project Manager, congratulations! You’ve won the first ever Asshat of the Week Award. I’ll see you in hell.