DalphiNation

So my recruiter friend Leo called me up earlier in the week about a QA position he found that he thought I’d be perfect for.  Leo calls me regularly because he wants me to make more money, and hey, it never hurts to look, so I let him send in my resume.  The company took the bite and asked to set up a phone screening with me.  No problem!  Leo brushed me up beforehand on what sorts of things they were looking for… worked with UNIX/LINUX, automation, Apache Tomcat, etc.  Sure, I’ve used all those things.

So the interviewer calls me up today.  The position is very technical-based.  Much more technical than I’m doing now.  In fact, it’s so technical, that the interviewer notes that my jobs seem to have slowly weaved away from being technical and more about manual testing.  Is that intentional, he asks?  Well, no.  I’ve just been taking what I can get lately.  I mean, the job at Jack Morton I went for despite already being employed at UpToDate, but that’s because the marketing industry was more interesting to me, and I had the potential to become a manager in time.

Then, he asks the awkward questions.  ”Have you got experience with UNIX/LINUX?”  Yes, I used them all through college, though since then I’ve only used them off and on.

“Well how would you rate yourself, 1 to 10?”

Uh… what?  I hate this question with a burning passion.  If I were some UNIX guru who uses it on a daily basis and could cite the entire UNIX bible word for word to anyone, this would be an easy question.  Hell, if I thought UNIX was a bunch of  guys who got their balls cut off so they could sing Soprano, this would be an easy question.  But I’m a guy who has used the product off and on over the years for no major purpose, except 11 years ago, back in college.  I can change directories, modify attributes of files, delete, manage my way around the damn system, but how exactly does that rank on a scale of 1 to 10?  And fuck, I don’t want to pick LOW, or I’ll look like an idiot.  How many times have you known a person to rank themselves at something 1 to 10 and they go “oh, 3, definitely.” and then they get hired?  No, you want high, but obviously not TOO high.  So I picked a 7.  Then I thought that wasn’t enough and added “or 8.”

“What command do you use to see how much space is on a drive?”  Well, fuck me, I don’t know.  I haven’t got the entire UNIX command list memorized.  Is that what it means to be an 7 or an 8?  And what assurance does this guy have that I have ever even had to CHECK disk space (note: I haven’t)?  But you know what I CAN do?  I can access the internet and quickly look up the answer and tell you what it is, or use it if I need to.   Except I’m in my car.  So I guess.  Wrong.  (The correct answer is df, which I know now by LOOKING IT UP)

So now I’m displeased, because I feel unfairly judged on my abilities just because of that damned question.  But I take a moment to tell the guy, “you know, anything I don’t know, I can easily learn really fast.”  ”Uh huh.”

“So how much database experience do you have?”  So I tell him about the databases I work with here at work, then of the databases back at Jack Morton, the manipulation, the entry, the alterations, etc.

“How would you rate, 1 to 10?”

Oh fuck you.

“6, maybe 7.”

Shit, I’m doing it again.

“Explain a join to me.”

What?  Oh come on.  So I stutter through trying to explain combining two tables to this guy, but by now I just really want to hang up and go inside and eat my lunch.  No job is worth this.  This isn’t an interview, it’s a fucking interrogation.  I said I was moderately good at something, and now he’s trying to see if I was LYING about my abilities by picking a random function of the things I’ve worked with in the past and seeing if I know how to do them.  Yes, I’ve joined tables before.  But that was over a year ago, and I had to look it up then to figure out how to do it correctly too.  That’s my thing… I can do ANYTHING with computers, as long as I have access to the information on HOW to do it.  I have so much shit in my head that sometimes I have to look up the most basic snippets of javascript.  I don’t just sit there with it streaming out of my head like a ticker tape.

Fortunately, the “interview” ended soon after, but it left such a bad taste in my mouth that now I feel like I don’t know jack about things that I probably have a lot more knowledge of than the basic layman.  From now on, if someone asks me to rate my abilities at anything, I’ll just say, “5″ and not answer backup questions.

“You say you’re a 5 at tying your shoes?  Please explain the rabbit down the hole method of–”

“Fuck you.”

On Friday, we had Chinese food for dinner.  Katie loves chicken and rice, not that that is why we had it.  Of course, like every meal, she became distracted by other things halfway through, and proceeded to bring me the tape dispenser and ask for tape so she could make bandaids for her stuffed dog.  ”I’ll tell you what,” I said in my best negotiator voice, “if you take a big bite of chicken, I’ll give you some tape.”  So she ran over to her plate, chomped down a big mouthful of chicken, ran back to me, showed it to me (ugh), and again asked for tape.  I gave her a piece.

Fast forward an hour later.  Most of her dinner was still on the plate, she’d forgotten about the bandaged dog and was watching something on television.  She suddenly remembered the dog, examined it, petted it, and then came up to me with the tape dispenser and asked for more tape.  ”No,” I replied, “no more tape right now.  I don’t want you to waste.”

“YES.”  Katie said, looking me dead in the eye.  She pointed at her food, and said very sternly, “I’m going to take a big bite of chicken.”  Then she turned and pointed at me.  ”You’re going to give me another piece of tape.”  Then she stood there and just stared at me.

“Well, let’s see you do it.” I said.  So she went, took a big bite of chicken, showed it to me (ugh), and then crossed her arms.  I gave her another piece of tape.  I approve of her negotiating method, but I am concerned about when she gets to that point where negotiations are no longer an option, and she will just have to accept that “no means no.”

Seems like this blog looks different every time you visit it, doesn’t it?  Well, in case you didn’t figure it out already, there’s that bar along the bottom of this new theme, kinda looks like the Windows task bar, and you can click on it and view different pages or see a list of the most recent posts, or… REGISTER AN ACCOUNT HERE so that you can post comments and talk to me!  Wouldn’t that be lovely.  Yes, I’m sure you can talk to me on Facebook too, but I have more control here.  BWA.  HA.  HA.  Oh, and I added a photo page to the blog that connects with my Flickr account, so you can peruse and view photos from my Flickr account via this blog.  Yay.  Just don’t get the comments here confused with comments on the individual photo pages.  If you leave a comment on the photo page, I will most likely not know which photo you are commenting about.  Please go to the actual Flickr photo page for any photo you wish to comment on.

Perhaps I can devote a page to creative writing.  I think I’ll do that next.  Oh, the places I can go with my lovely little blog.  If anybody ever cared.  Besides my mommy.

Hmm, the Yahoo recommended keyword for this post is “blog”.  I see that they have toned down their recommendation widget.  Good job, Yahoo.  Yes, “blog” is perfect for this post.

Perhaps it’s time to justify paying for the domain name here.  I’ve always noticied an improvement in productivity when I have music to listen to, but never truly acted upon it.  I’ll sit at work and listen to my iPod and envision doing all sorts of things when I get home, and then I go home at the end of the day, plop down in front of my computer and goof off.  The next day, I go to work, listen to music and kick myself mentally for not doing anything the night before.

Yesterday, similar events occurred, except that I was party to an incident in the morning in which my daughter Katie threw the largest tantrum I have ever seen.  I was scared that there was something truly wrong with her.  It convinced me that I cannot just plop down in front of the computer at the end of the day.  I went home and hugged her tight, then played a game of “tag” (this involves running around the dining room table until she gets tired or slows down enough that I suddenly become the chaser instead of the chasee), sat with her and watched The Last Unicorn, and picked up her toys and cleaned the area around the television.  After that, she was too entranced with the movie to notice, so I went in the bedroom and cleaned up the area on my side of the bed that had become my “floordrobe” and was something of a disaster area of dirty and clean clothes all mixed together.

I found a box containing a set of adjustable cubby holes and set up a second set of shelves to hold clothes in, then went through my clothes and separated the dirty from the clean.  Katie became curious and came in and jumped on the bed and danced with me while I listened to my iPod.  She had a small tantrum when she was told it was bedtime, but less of one than this morning.  After she went to sleep, I finished setting up the cubbies, put my clothes away and swept the area where I get out of bed.  I can now walk around to the door without having to dodge bins and bags of clothes, though there are still some boxes with blankets and pillows and Melissa’s clothes in them.  After everything seemed acceptable, I sat down with Melissa and did some doodling while she worked on classwork.

I had actually hoped to clear the sun room, but Melissa is of the opinion that that will require both of us because of a ton of her stuff that I’d have no idea what to do with.  Tonight, when I get home, I think I’ll focus on cleaning the area around my desk.  I’ve got over a dozen random cables and DVD cases stacked, and the whole area is slowly becoming a danger zone.  I’d also like to organize the shelves in the living room where we store several of Katie’s puzzles and games.

Here’s to a new, more productive Wil Dalphin.

We travelled to Mountain View for the 4th, Melissa, Katie and I. Driving up after work in my new blue Ford Fusion, pausing in West Lebanon to dine on KFC-brand chicken, we reached our destination around 1 in the morning. My parents were up, awaiting our arrival. We were exhausted, and collapsed into bed, Katie struggling and crying in the provided crib until she too sank into a peaceful slumber, too tired to cry anymore.

We awoke the next morning to my sister and nephews arrival from their prospective cabin. They had arrived soon after we had, making the trip from Maine in much the same time. Katie immediately retook a liking to Duncan, acting shy at first until he went with her down to the beach and helped her throw sticks in the water. We had to nearly drag her away an hour later, she enjoyed being there so much.

My brother George and his wife Annie arrived late in the day, making the group complete. The weather was gray and off-again, on-again rainy. We spent more time indoors than out, but truthfully, I enjoyed the comeradery more than the scenery. When we could go outside, it was very buggy, and we expended great amounts of energy trying to wave off various insects that wanted to taste our blood and our flesh.

Several trips were made out to the store or my parents’ house in Whippleville for supplies. My father took George and I to rummage through his years’ worth of suits, shirts and pants, of which we each took a good number with gratitude. On one afternoon of light rain, I endeavored to take Katie to a nearby park to let her run around and expend days’ worth of pent-up energy. Duncan and my mother came along and provided support.

The 4th of July was rainy, but we tried to make the most of it by having a party with grilled meats, vegetarian chili, watermelon and a variety of chips and side dishes. Katie spent most of the time running from person to person, asking them each to read her the same story, Whose Baby Is That? I attempted to lighten the mood by altering the story to be Whose Booty Is That? my job as jester complete.

Sunday, each group packed up to head home. The weather was the finest it had been all week, and Melissa suggested we stay a bit longer, to let Katie enjoy it before she got jammed into a car for six hours. We passed a good deal of time on the dock, looking out at the water, throwing sticks in and watching them drift back, and then playing in a canoe on the hill down to the water. Hugs and kisses were finally given, along with parting graces, and we made our journey back home. Since then, Katie has pined for the beautiful lake, the fun-filled beach, her cousin Duncan and her dear grandma, both of whom gave her so much wonderful attention and love.

I got there in the chill and fog this morning, and two little old ladies and a middle-aged woman were waiting at the door with coffee. One with a walker had bought coffee for herself but decided she didn’t want it, so she knocked on the door to offer it to someone inside, and a grumbling, middle-aged man who looked and sounded like a young Brian Cox answered and told her they couldn’t come in until 7:00. She told him she just wanted to offer them her coffee, and he hesitated before thanking her and taking it– probably afraid it would look like bribery or something.

More people lined up behind us, and the little old lady with her walker started talking about how excited she was and how she hoped everybody voted Democrat. She asked me if I had to go to work, and I told her I did. She offered for me to go ahead of her, but I told her no thank you, as it was just a five minute walk to the train station, and not even that to fill out my ballot.

They let us into a cramped room where we were lined up to “check in”. They put me in the wrong line because they asked “name?” so I gave them my name, but what they had really wanted was the name of my street. After the confusion was worked out, I ended up behind the little old lady again, who noticed they were taking a long time to find her friend’s information, so she again offered me to go ahead of her, which this time I took her up on. I got my ballot, got into the voting “booth” (I was kind of expecting a curtain or something, but there were just these stalls), and proceeded to vote for Obama – Biden with the felt tip pen. I noticed that more than half of the other elections on the list didn’t even have anyone running against the person listed, and every one of those listed was a Democrat. Nice. I then voted “no” on Proposition 1 (to do away with Massachusetts taxes), “yes” on prop 2 (to lower the punishment for an ounce or less of marijuana), and “no” on 3 (to do away with dog racing). I went through the check out line, watched my ballot get sucked into the machine, and then walked to the train station to catch my train.

For some reason, as I walked the block and a half to the station, I couldn’t stop thinking of the little old lady with her walker and her coffee and her eagerness to vote for Obama, and I smiled the entire way.

I was going to explain all this, but I think the text messages speak for themselves. Enjoy.

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
Happy Saturday Wil! Just
saying hi! Love Jim
--------------------------
5:16pm Sat, Sep 6

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
Ok my stupid iPhone changed
my name from jul to jim, that
note was from me not jim.
--------------------------
5:18pm Sat, Sep 6

To:Julie
--------------------------
Happy Saturday, Jim!  And
congratulations on the successful
gender reassignment surgery!
Love Wendy.
--------------------------
5:19pm Sat, Sep 6

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
So I am sitting outside a
restaurant waiting 4
friends and laughing @
my phone. I look like a
complete mental case!
--------------------------
5:22pm Sat, Sep 6

To:Julie
--------------------------
If it helps, my phone has
autocomplete, inserting
words it thinks I want to
use as I write.  The
weekend I helped you
move it wrote "I'm on my
butt." not "way".
--------------------------
5:25pm Sat, Sep 6

To:Julie
--------------------------
Hey Jim, got a wicked business
opportunity for you.  I
remembered your fondness for
coconuts and wicker cabinetry.
Imagine combining the two!
Wendy.
--------------------------
3:53pm Mon, Sep 8

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
Wendy... What the he'll are
talking about?! I am allergic 2
coconuts and wicker is against
my religion.  Don't make me
laugh like that at work!! Jim
--------------------------
3:57pm Mon, Sep 8

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
Wendy y don't u reply?! Kim
--------------------------
5:38pm Mon, Sep 8

To:Julie
--------------------------
Jim - Eyes in the dark.
One moon circles.  Talk to
the log lady.

O_O Wendy
--------------------------
5:39pm Mon, Sep 8

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
Okaaaay... Wendy u t a
weirdo! Jim
--------------------------
5:43pm Mon, Sep 8

To:Julie
--------------------------
Jim - In Geneva @
supercollider.  Which is
better 1978 investment:
Corey Hart's career or
Otterpops?  P.S. - Need
quick turnaround, world
ends Wednesday.  Wendy
--------------------------
6:41am Tue, Sep 9

Fr:Julie
--------------------------
Otterpops! Jim
--------------------------
7:24sm Tue, Sep 9

To:Julie
--------------------------
Jm sgnl ffctd by tm strm
srry   slp gt pnng nw c n
th pst!  Gv my lv 2 vryn
sghtkllwjpcv##&+++
SIGNAL ERROR -- FAIL
CRC CHECK
--------------------------
8:46am Tue, Sep 9

I forgot to mention in my previous post: Katie has taken a fondness to something near and dear to me.

When I was born, my grandfather gave me a stuffed teddy bear which I eventually named Max. If you were to read this journal entry in LiveJournal, that’s Max waving at the camera in the avatar I chose for this entry.

I’ve had Max all my life. Once, my mother sewed a little denim jacket for him to wear, that later got lost. It looked really nice. Another time, she restuffed him, as the years of love I had given him had left him raggedy and limp. He now has a soft, little pudgy tummy. Many years back, my brother and I got our hands on some glow-in-the-dark paint meant for clothes. Now, Max has little glow-in-the-dark paws. He’s even been immortalized in a comic book I drew back in high school.

The past several years, Max had been hanging out with a bunch of other stuffed animals I’ve kept and collected over the years. Melissa found him while unpacking some things, and left him on the bed for me. I laid him on my pillow, and that night, when Katie was snuggled and nursed to sleep for bed, she found Max and hugged him tightly to her. When I laid her down in her crib, I saw Max in her arms, and tried to remove him, but she gripped him all the more tightly, so I let her sleep with him. Since then, there hasn’t been a night she’s gone to bed (or nap) that she hasn’t taken Max with her. If she leaves him in her crib, she grabs him once I lay her down in it. If she can, though, she brings him with her for nursies in the big bed.

I used to say that Max was going to be buried (or rather, cremated) with me when I die, but when I see Katie hugging him so tightly, and I think about the years of love and playtime I had with him, I think that if my grandfather were still alive, he’d have said “Pass him on to another who will love him as you did.” Melissa points out that for all the stuffed animals that Katie has been given by relatives, it was the little raggedy, brown bear with the scratched-up eyeballs, the poochy tummy and the glow-in-the-dark paws that she has latched onto. I talked it over with Max, and he was agreeable to going with Katie. I told Katie she could have him as long as she treats him with love and kindness. She also better not try to change his name, because he’ll get confused if she starts calling him anything other than Max.

It was an enjoyable weekend all around. Saturday, my sister, brother and collective families came down from Maine to spend the day with us. We took Katie to the park, but didn’t stay as long as I’d have liked because poor Katie’s diaper flooded on the way there, and though I initially decided to let her play rather than drive all the way home to change her and come back (which would have been met with cries, screams, kicking and whatnot (from Katie)), I later rescinded my decision to stay after she went down the slide and left two little pee trails behind her. At first, she had just squeaked as she went down the slide because her damp pants clung to the plastic. Yes, we left the pee trail for some other kid to slide down and soak up. I had nothing to wipe it up with, give me a break.

Sunday, Melissa Katie and I went to the mall in Salem, where Melissa got her iPod replaced after her old one broke down. Katie played on one of those projected floors with motion/hit detection that you find at malls all over the country these days. She sat there, banging on little computer-generated trucks as they drove toward her. We stopped at Best Buy to return a memory card that didn’t fit in my phone, ended up buying the latest expansion for Melissa’s Sims 2 game that she enjoys when she has a moment to relax. She’s quite excited about the game Spore that’s coming out, as well as Sims 3. I got a little role-playing game to play on my DS on the ride home.

Monday, we relaxed, taking Katie back to the park in the late afternoon to make up for her shortened visit on Saturday. When we got there, there were tons of little kids and parents, and Katie was very shy and nervous, but as time progressed, she became more confident… and selfish. She started going up some stairs, and when a little girl came in the other direction, Katie said “no!” and tried to push her away. Admittedly, there wasn’t room for them both and the girl should have waited, but pushing is never the answer, and we told her that. Eventually, almost all the other children and parents left, and Katie went nuts, running all over the place, squealing, going up stairs, down slides… she had a blast. She was worn out that night when it was bedtime.

Oh, and to top off the weekend, VH1 Classic was showing 80 hours of 80s videos. We tuned in late, only getting to see the Rs to the Zs (missing stuff in the Ts and Ss as this lasted several days) but Katie loved some of the music, dancing to Tiffany’s version of “I Think We’re Alone Now”.

I found a nice little app called w.bloggar that I can use to write livejournal entries AND wordpress entries for my website’s blog! Very handy. Before, I’d have to use semagic to write in livejournal, and then copy and paste into the wordpress default post entry page. Now, I just save the entry, relog as the other setup, and repost the same entry. Woohoo!

Oh, and the DalphiNation blog got a new theme put up. It’s not my favorite color– it’s got lots of pink in it– but it really is a nice-looking theme. Feel free to check it out, and maybe register for an account to post comments in it (hint hint).