Yesterday I had the opportunity to hear the most unique 'talk' I've ever heard at church. As is the norm in the LDS Church, members were given an assignment to speak to our congregation on a spiritual subject, in this case it was on reverence and how it invites the spirit into our meetings.
One of the speakers yesterday is a musician, and decided to 'speak' through his clarinet. He played the first verse of a number of hymns, and while he played he displayed the hymn number and some scriptural references on large signs he placed on either side of the podium. Within a few minutes of starting, he had the whole congregation flipping through their hymn books and scriptures keeping up with the message. Despite the rapid page turning, our usually rowdy congregation was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop between his songs.
It was a very beautiful and definitely interesting talk, one like I've never heard before and likely won't again.
Thanks, D.B.!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I must be crazy
At one point in my life, I liked to run. I ran a lot. I was in fantastic shape.
All of that was a LONG time ago.
Up until a few months ago, exercise and I were in an on-again/off-again kind of relationship. I'd try it for a few weeks before wimping out and slacking off. Since the police academy 10 years ago, I had run a distance over a mile exactly one time - a 5K that nearly killed me 4 years ago.
A few of months ago, some 'friends' at work came to me and informed me that I was running in a relay race with them. The conversation went something like this:
Brandon: "You are running Red Rock with us."
Me: [sarcastic snort] "Yeah, right. What's 'Red Rock'?"
Kyle: "Oh, it's easy. It's a relay race with 12 team members."
Me: "How far?"
Kyle: "Only 182 miles. You'll be running 3 legs, at about 5K a piece."
Me: [Comment censored - I'm not supposed to say those kinds of words, especially where I work]
Me: "You realize that I am a fat guy, right?"
Brandon: "Things can change. We're going to introduce you to something called CrossFit."
Three months and -20 pounds later, I'm getting ready to run tomorrow. Not that I'll be running fast or anything. One of the things our team has to do is provide a 10k average time so that the race organizers know when to start us. Our list of times looks something like this:
Name: 10K time:
Kyle 45
Ryan 44
Brandon 50
Ted 1:20
[insert 8 other sub 50 times...]
I get to start us off tomorrow. I have legs of 3.0, 3.7 and 3.1 miles. I'll be up mostly the entire 25-26 hours of the race.
Anybody got a defibrillator I can borrow?
All of that was a LONG time ago.
Up until a few months ago, exercise and I were in an on-again/off-again kind of relationship. I'd try it for a few weeks before wimping out and slacking off. Since the police academy 10 years ago, I had run a distance over a mile exactly one time - a 5K that nearly killed me 4 years ago.
A few of months ago, some 'friends' at work came to me and informed me that I was running in a relay race with them. The conversation went something like this:
Brandon: "You are running Red Rock with us."
Me: [sarcastic snort] "Yeah, right. What's 'Red Rock'?"
Kyle: "Oh, it's easy. It's a relay race with 12 team members."
Me: "How far?"
Kyle: "Only 182 miles. You'll be running 3 legs, at about 5K a piece."
Me: [Comment censored - I'm not supposed to say those kinds of words, especially where I work]
Me: "You realize that I am a fat guy, right?"
Brandon: "Things can change. We're going to introduce you to something called CrossFit."
Three months and -20 pounds later, I'm getting ready to run tomorrow. Not that I'll be running fast or anything. One of the things our team has to do is provide a 10k average time so that the race organizers know when to start us. Our list of times looks something like this:
Name: 10K time:
Kyle 45
Ryan 44
Brandon 50
Ted 1:20
[insert 8 other sub 50 times...]
I get to start us off tomorrow. I have legs of 3.0, 3.7 and 3.1 miles. I'll be up mostly the entire 25-26 hours of the race.
Anybody got a defibrillator I can borrow?
Friday, August 6, 2010
Even more random things from a Constable
More random occurrences from my part-time work:
- I recently needed to be at the AF Police department at a specific time to serve a woman who was avoiding being served papers from her soon-to-be ex-husband. She had wanted to meet at the police department parking lot to let him take their kids. I made contact with him, and he said that he suspected that she only wanted to have him served with papers from her. After waiting for about 20 minutes she texted him and told him that she was at the Lehi Police department, not American Fork. I followed him over to Lehi, but he drove past while I pulled in behind her and served her. She had told Lehi Police that the soon-to-be-ex drove a 4 door pickup, and so when they saw me, they assumed I was him - until they saw my uniform shirt. She was livid that she had gotten served first. The Lehi officers were trying hard not to laugh at the whole thing. I apologized to them for getting in the way, but they just waved it off. (It doesn't really matter who gets served first, but she was going to great lengths to have him served with her papers while avoiding his...)
- While working in north Eagle Mountain, I came across a man out for a nice evening walk with his wife. Both of them. They were walking holding hands, one wife on each side of him. One of the wives let go when they saw me coming up the street. After making a couple of stops in the neighborhood, I again saw all three of them walking holding hands. The same wife let go as soon as they saw me. North Eagle Mountain still has a fair number of polygamists living there, which shouldn't be surprising since most of the town was polygamists at the time it was incorporated.
- Also while in Eagle Mountain, I got to see more Army Apache helicopter maneuvers in nearby Camp Williams. They often come smoking out low and fast from one of the canyons there, and tonight I was rewarded with seeing one do just that. However, instead of the usual loop out across south Eagle Mountain before coming up and over close to Redwood Road on the way back to Camp Williams in a long loop, the Apache stopped just before getting to SR73 and went directly back the way it came, stopping to hover just at the crest of a hill. Looks like it was practicing using its Longbow radar. I love seeing cool things like that.
- I recently needed to be at the AF Police department at a specific time to serve a woman who was avoiding being served papers from her soon-to-be ex-husband. She had wanted to meet at the police department parking lot to let him take their kids. I made contact with him, and he said that he suspected that she only wanted to have him served with papers from her. After waiting for about 20 minutes she texted him and told him that she was at the Lehi Police department, not American Fork. I followed him over to Lehi, but he drove past while I pulled in behind her and served her. She had told Lehi Police that the soon-to-be-ex drove a 4 door pickup, and so when they saw me, they assumed I was him - until they saw my uniform shirt. She was livid that she had gotten served first. The Lehi officers were trying hard not to laugh at the whole thing. I apologized to them for getting in the way, but they just waved it off. (It doesn't really matter who gets served first, but she was going to great lengths to have him served with her papers while avoiding his...)
- While working in north Eagle Mountain, I came across a man out for a nice evening walk with his wife. Both of them. They were walking holding hands, one wife on each side of him. One of the wives let go when they saw me coming up the street. After making a couple of stops in the neighborhood, I again saw all three of them walking holding hands. The same wife let go as soon as they saw me. North Eagle Mountain still has a fair number of polygamists living there, which shouldn't be surprising since most of the town was polygamists at the time it was incorporated.
- Also while in Eagle Mountain, I got to see more Army Apache helicopter maneuvers in nearby Camp Williams. They often come smoking out low and fast from one of the canyons there, and tonight I was rewarded with seeing one do just that. However, instead of the usual loop out across south Eagle Mountain before coming up and over close to Redwood Road on the way back to Camp Williams in a long loop, the Apache stopped just before getting to SR73 and went directly back the way it came, stopping to hover just at the crest of a hill. Looks like it was practicing using its Longbow radar. I love seeing cool things like that.
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Long Drives
My dad was a machinist by profession, but could also have worked as an engineer, draftsman or fabricator. He could design and build nearly anything out of metal or wood. When Geneva Steel laid off a large number of their employees in the early 1980's, he was one of many in our community scrambling for work. He worked a couple of smaller jobs until landing at a company which made machinery for refining gold ore. Excavation equipment would load the machine at one end, and a series of tools would crush and wash out the undesirable material with each step, leaving either pure gold or ore needing little refining at the other end.
These were large, complex pieces of machinery. As such, final assembly at a mine site required someone who could solve problems and get the machine running. My dad often got the assignment to take the machine to the mine and put it together.
Dad thought it would be neat to take me with him when he could. My first trip with Dad was taking a replacement part to a mine in Manhattan, Nevada, a place that couldn't be more different than the more famous place in New York. I couldn't have been much older than 8 or 9. We drove in an old flatbed 1 ton Chevy through Ely and on to Tonopah. Driving across the Nevada desert in an old pick up gives a father and son a lot of time to talk. While I remember thinking it was boring at the time, I cherish that time now.
Not too long later, Dad and another driver needed to drive two semi trucks hauling a machine to Silver City, New Mexico. I can remember that I loved talking on the C.B. radio to the other driver, 'Earl'. They dubbed me 'the navigator' and my job was to figure out the route, and tell Dad and Earl which turns to take. We went down through Flagstaff and Phoenix. I can still remember driving into Phoenix on an warm spring evening asking Dad what that wonderful smell was. It was Orange blossoms. After a day at the mine site setting up, we came back via Albuquerque and the Four Corners area. Despite the other driver and truck, there was still a lot of time for Dad and I to talk. When we got back and the owner of the company heard that I had been 'the navigator', he had the office staff cut me a 'payroll check' for $20 in 'payment for my services'.
My next big adventure was to Cave Junction, Oregon. My elementary school had just switched to a year round program, and I had almost the entire month of December off from school. Dad was being sent off on a trip, and I was going with him as much to stay out of my Mom's hair as anything. Once again, Dad was driving a flat-bed semi truck with the machine loaded on it. When we got to Cave Junction, we found that the mine was about 10 miles away on the other side of a nearby mountain. We toured the site via 4 wheel drive pickups of the mine owner. The road there was so muddy that there was no way we were going to be able to drive the truck on it, so the mine owner got a bulldozer and a chain, and dragged the truck over the muddy pass. We were shuttled back and forth from our motel to the mine site daily, although a couple of days I stayed at the motel and watched the fledgling Nickelodeon network. (Double Dare anyone?) We were in Cave Junction for 5 days, and nearly missed Christmas. We got a permit and cut a Christmas tree down in Northern California on the way home. We got more than a few comments at truck stops along the way about our important cargo.
Our next big trip was to Atlin, British Columbia. This was the mother of all trips to this point. This time Dad was driving the real semi truck, with a long triple axle trailer. This truck had a sleeper in the cab, so we stayed in the truck instead of motel rooms. There were more memorable experiences out of this trip than the others. Starting off, the truck just had problems. We ended up staying the night at a truck stop just outside of Idaho Falls. The next morning, Dad thought he'd let me sleep in while he got us going. The truck had a problem though, and he needed to get under the hood. The problem is that on a cabover truck, you have to jack the entire cab up to get to the engine, as the cab is literally on top of the engine. So with me still sleeping, Dad decides that he can jack the cab up partway without getting me out. Well, what looked like a little bit to him felt like a whole lot as I started rolling out of the sleeper and nearly fell onto the windshield. Turns out we needed a part, and the nearest one on our way was in Great Falls, Montana. We drove to Great Falls, and since the Mack dealership was closed for the evening already, we spent the night there and waited for the dealership to open the next morning. New part installed, we drove on to the Canadian border at Sweetgrass/Coutts where our next adventure occurred.
When we got to the border, we had to go through Canadian Customs.
The inspector went over the records for the truck & machine and verified my dad's drivers license, but then wanted to see the identification he had for me. This was 1987, and Dad hadn't thought twice about bringing my birth certificate or anything. We were in the inspector's office when he was telling Dad that there had been an increase in child trafficking, and that he needed to prove I was his son. I piped up that I could provide documentation of who I was. I went out to the truck to retrieve my wallet, leaving a very confused Dad and inspector behind. I returned a few minutes later, and having just turned 12 that year, proudly produced my brand spanking new fishing license, along with my library card. The inspector laughed out loud and showing initiative that wouldn't be allowed today, agreed that I must indeed be who I said I was and welcomed us to Canada.
The rest of Alberta's plains were pretty uneventful. I remember seeing my first full triple rainbow near Red Deer. Our next challenge came when we got to Dawson Creek, British Columbia. It turned out that British Columbia didn't allow triple axle trailers like ours. Dad had to remove 4 wheels and chain up the axle, which took an hour or so. Now we were on the Alaskan Highway. One afternoon, we were hungry having skipped lunch (because there was nowhere to stop), so we pulled into one of the small gas station/diners which dot the highway as soon as we could. (I think it was at Watson Lake) We went in and asked for menus, and the waitress apologized saying they had shut down the grill after lunch and wouldn't be turning it back on for a couple more hours. She did say that they had some beef stew, and so Dad ordered us a couple of bowls. The waitress returned shortly with two mixing bowl size bowls of stew and a half loaf of bread for each of us. We were just getting our first taste of how hearty the people in northwestern Canada were, having pancakes which overlapped the edges of dinner plates at Teslin. We were also welcomed to the area by a bush pilot who buzzed the top of the truck before doing a touch & go on the highway in front of us one morning.
When we finally got to Atlin, we found a charming little mining town. We spent a couple of days at the mine setting up before heading back. Part of the payment for the machine was a large earthmoving scraper which was loaded on the empty trailer. We had some trouble with the truck a couple of times, but our first real challenge on the way back came when we got back to Alberta. The third axle was still chained up per B.C.'s regulations, but Alberta required the third axle. Only the scraper had been loaded in such a way that part of it blocked where the tires went for that third axle. The truck could not legally be moved until the third axle was operational, so we couldn't even go find a crane to help us reposition the scraper. Dad ended up having to use a few 'come-alongs', 'chain-binders' and lots of chains to engineer a way to move that 40,000 pound scraper forward 6 inches.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. After being gone 10 days, I was very grateful to get home, but I loved spending time with Dad.
Our last trip was back to Atlin again, one year later. We were again teamed up with Earl, taking the earthmoving scraper back along with a new machine. This time we couldn't stay in the truck (we were again in the flat bed semi, which didn't have a sleeper), so we ended up staying in motels for the most part. But one night, it was warm and we were a few hours from the nearest place with a motel, so we decided to sleep outside next to the trucks. That was the coolest thing, because we got to see the northern lights. We lay and watched them for what seemed like hours before falling asleep. I remember it being one of the most beautiful things, even more for the lack of light nearby.
More than anything else, I look back fondly on these memories as times when I really got to know my Dad. During those long hours on the road, and without the distractions kids have nowdays (games, iPods, DVDs), Dad would tell me stories or we would talk about current issues or whatever else came up. I was able to bring a tape player and some books, but usually I just talked with Dad.
Sometimes I wish I worked a job which would allow me to take my own sons on long trips. I hope that I can find ways to create those opportunities for my sons to be able to talk with me the same way I was able to talk with my Dad.
These were large, complex pieces of machinery. As such, final assembly at a mine site required someone who could solve problems and get the machine running. My dad often got the assignment to take the machine to the mine and put it together.
Dad thought it would be neat to take me with him when he could. My first trip with Dad was taking a replacement part to a mine in Manhattan, Nevada, a place that couldn't be more different than the more famous place in New York. I couldn't have been much older than 8 or 9. We drove in an old flatbed 1 ton Chevy through Ely and on to Tonopah. Driving across the Nevada desert in an old pick up gives a father and son a lot of time to talk. While I remember thinking it was boring at the time, I cherish that time now.
Not too long later, Dad and another driver needed to drive two semi trucks hauling a machine to Silver City, New Mexico. I can remember that I loved talking on the C.B. radio to the other driver, 'Earl'. They dubbed me 'the navigator' and my job was to figure out the route, and tell Dad and Earl which turns to take. We went down through Flagstaff and Phoenix. I can still remember driving into Phoenix on an warm spring evening asking Dad what that wonderful smell was. It was Orange blossoms. After a day at the mine site setting up, we came back via Albuquerque and the Four Corners area. Despite the other driver and truck, there was still a lot of time for Dad and I to talk. When we got back and the owner of the company heard that I had been 'the navigator', he had the office staff cut me a 'payroll check' for $20 in 'payment for my services'.
My next big adventure was to Cave Junction, Oregon. My elementary school had just switched to a year round program, and I had almost the entire month of December off from school. Dad was being sent off on a trip, and I was going with him as much to stay out of my Mom's hair as anything. Once again, Dad was driving a flat-bed semi truck with the machine loaded on it. When we got to Cave Junction, we found that the mine was about 10 miles away on the other side of a nearby mountain. We toured the site via 4 wheel drive pickups of the mine owner. The road there was so muddy that there was no way we were going to be able to drive the truck on it, so the mine owner got a bulldozer and a chain, and dragged the truck over the muddy pass. We were shuttled back and forth from our motel to the mine site daily, although a couple of days I stayed at the motel and watched the fledgling Nickelodeon network. (Double Dare anyone?) We were in Cave Junction for 5 days, and nearly missed Christmas. We got a permit and cut a Christmas tree down in Northern California on the way home. We got more than a few comments at truck stops along the way about our important cargo.
Our next big trip was to Atlin, British Columbia. This was the mother of all trips to this point. This time Dad was driving the real semi truck, with a long triple axle trailer. This truck had a sleeper in the cab, so we stayed in the truck instead of motel rooms. There were more memorable experiences out of this trip than the others. Starting off, the truck just had problems. We ended up staying the night at a truck stop just outside of Idaho Falls. The next morning, Dad thought he'd let me sleep in while he got us going. The truck had a problem though, and he needed to get under the hood. The problem is that on a cabover truck, you have to jack the entire cab up to get to the engine, as the cab is literally on top of the engine. So with me still sleeping, Dad decides that he can jack the cab up partway without getting me out. Well, what looked like a little bit to him felt like a whole lot as I started rolling out of the sleeper and nearly fell onto the windshield. Turns out we needed a part, and the nearest one on our way was in Great Falls, Montana. We drove to Great Falls, and since the Mack dealership was closed for the evening already, we spent the night there and waited for the dealership to open the next morning. New part installed, we drove on to the Canadian border at Sweetgrass/Coutts where our next adventure occurred.
When we got to the border, we had to go through Canadian Customs.
The inspector went over the records for the truck & machine and verified my dad's drivers license, but then wanted to see the identification he had for me. This was 1987, and Dad hadn't thought twice about bringing my birth certificate or anything. We were in the inspector's office when he was telling Dad that there had been an increase in child trafficking, and that he needed to prove I was his son. I piped up that I could provide documentation of who I was. I went out to the truck to retrieve my wallet, leaving a very confused Dad and inspector behind. I returned a few minutes later, and having just turned 12 that year, proudly produced my brand spanking new fishing license, along with my library card. The inspector laughed out loud and showing initiative that wouldn't be allowed today, agreed that I must indeed be who I said I was and welcomed us to Canada.
The rest of Alberta's plains were pretty uneventful. I remember seeing my first full triple rainbow near Red Deer. Our next challenge came when we got to Dawson Creek, British Columbia. It turned out that British Columbia didn't allow triple axle trailers like ours. Dad had to remove 4 wheels and chain up the axle, which took an hour or so. Now we were on the Alaskan Highway. One afternoon, we were hungry having skipped lunch (because there was nowhere to stop), so we pulled into one of the small gas station/diners which dot the highway as soon as we could. (I think it was at Watson Lake) We went in and asked for menus, and the waitress apologized saying they had shut down the grill after lunch and wouldn't be turning it back on for a couple more hours. She did say that they had some beef stew, and so Dad ordered us a couple of bowls. The waitress returned shortly with two mixing bowl size bowls of stew and a half loaf of bread for each of us. We were just getting our first taste of how hearty the people in northwestern Canada were, having pancakes which overlapped the edges of dinner plates at Teslin. We were also welcomed to the area by a bush pilot who buzzed the top of the truck before doing a touch & go on the highway in front of us one morning.
When we finally got to Atlin, we found a charming little mining town. We spent a couple of days at the mine setting up before heading back. Part of the payment for the machine was a large earthmoving scraper which was loaded on the empty trailer. We had some trouble with the truck a couple of times, but our first real challenge on the way back came when we got back to Alberta. The third axle was still chained up per B.C.'s regulations, but Alberta required the third axle. Only the scraper had been loaded in such a way that part of it blocked where the tires went for that third axle. The truck could not legally be moved until the third axle was operational, so we couldn't even go find a crane to help us reposition the scraper. Dad ended up having to use a few 'come-alongs', 'chain-binders' and lots of chains to engineer a way to move that 40,000 pound scraper forward 6 inches.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. After being gone 10 days, I was very grateful to get home, but I loved spending time with Dad.
Our last trip was back to Atlin again, one year later. We were again teamed up with Earl, taking the earthmoving scraper back along with a new machine. This time we couldn't stay in the truck (we were again in the flat bed semi, which didn't have a sleeper), so we ended up staying in motels for the most part. But one night, it was warm and we were a few hours from the nearest place with a motel, so we decided to sleep outside next to the trucks. That was the coolest thing, because we got to see the northern lights. We lay and watched them for what seemed like hours before falling asleep. I remember it being one of the most beautiful things, even more for the lack of light nearby.
More than anything else, I look back fondly on these memories as times when I really got to know my Dad. During those long hours on the road, and without the distractions kids have nowdays (games, iPods, DVDs), Dad would tell me stories or we would talk about current issues or whatever else came up. I was able to bring a tape player and some books, but usually I just talked with Dad.
Sometimes I wish I worked a job which would allow me to take my own sons on long trips. I hope that I can find ways to create those opportunities for my sons to be able to talk with me the same way I was able to talk with my Dad.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Blasts from the past
I have a good memory for names. Once I've gotten your name in my head (which these days may take one or two times meeting you) it is irrevocably stuck in my vault of mostly useless knowledge. Oh sure, I may not remember WHY I know someone, but I do remember names.
Therein lies one problem - that I can't remember if we went to school together, worked together, or if I arrested or served a paper to them. That is a crucial detail, because for the most part I will treat someone I went to school with differently than someone I had to slap a pair of cuffs on.
The other problem is that I often run into people who I only knew as an acquaintance while serving them a summons or court order. Since I am roughly double the man I was when they knew me 20 or so years ago, people often don't recognize me unless they had at some point imagined what I would have looked like if I had eaten a whole other person. (I really have to hit the gym!)
These problems create a paradox whenever I end up on the doorstep of somebody I haven't seen in 15 to 20 years. Do I decide to pass it off to another guy from the office (something allowed if I have a personal conflict which would create a tricky situation), do I knock and greet them like an old friend before giving them an order to appear in court and explain why they missed their previous court date, or do I knock and pretend that they are just another stranger - and hope that they don't recognize me.
I mostly choose the third option, and while this mostly works out as I had planned, there are many times where the person in question does recognize me, creating an incredibly awkward moment. In fact, I've previously written on this very blog about one of those instances.
I had another of those situations tonight, when I had to serve a pair of summonses on a guy I had grown up with and hadn't seen for over 20 years. His ward met in the same building as mine, and being in the same stake we often played church basketball against each other, ended up at large scout activities together, and so on. He currently owns a landscaping company, and it is being sued because he had purchased a large amount of materials from another company for a project, and the project owner never paid his company for it, leaving him holding the bag. In addition, with the bad economy, his company didn't have the liquidity to just cover the costs. I had finished serving him when he said "don't I recognize you from somewhere?" I re-introduced myself and explained how he knew me. He was really embarrassed, and kept apologizing for me having to bring court papers to him. I reassured him that just about everybody gets sued at some point, and that bad things happen to good people.
I guess that if I end up on your doorstep with court papers, I apologize in advance if it is awkward, and I'll pretend to not know you.
Therein lies one problem - that I can't remember if we went to school together, worked together, or if I arrested or served a paper to them. That is a crucial detail, because for the most part I will treat someone I went to school with differently than someone I had to slap a pair of cuffs on.
The other problem is that I often run into people who I only knew as an acquaintance while serving them a summons or court order. Since I am roughly double the man I was when they knew me 20 or so years ago, people often don't recognize me unless they had at some point imagined what I would have looked like if I had eaten a whole other person. (I really have to hit the gym!)
These problems create a paradox whenever I end up on the doorstep of somebody I haven't seen in 15 to 20 years. Do I decide to pass it off to another guy from the office (something allowed if I have a personal conflict which would create a tricky situation), do I knock and greet them like an old friend before giving them an order to appear in court and explain why they missed their previous court date, or do I knock and pretend that they are just another stranger - and hope that they don't recognize me.
I mostly choose the third option, and while this mostly works out as I had planned, there are many times where the person in question does recognize me, creating an incredibly awkward moment. In fact, I've previously written on this very blog about one of those instances.
I had another of those situations tonight, when I had to serve a pair of summonses on a guy I had grown up with and hadn't seen for over 20 years. His ward met in the same building as mine, and being in the same stake we often played church basketball against each other, ended up at large scout activities together, and so on. He currently owns a landscaping company, and it is being sued because he had purchased a large amount of materials from another company for a project, and the project owner never paid his company for it, leaving him holding the bag. In addition, with the bad economy, his company didn't have the liquidity to just cover the costs. I had finished serving him when he said "don't I recognize you from somewhere?" I re-introduced myself and explained how he knew me. He was really embarrassed, and kept apologizing for me having to bring court papers to him. I reassured him that just about everybody gets sued at some point, and that bad things happen to good people.
I guess that if I end up on your doorstep with court papers, I apologize in advance if it is awkward, and I'll pretend to not know you.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
More random things from work
Last night while working, I went to a house looking for a dirtbag we'll call 'Dirtbag Stan'. The man who answered the door said "I bought this house 3½ years ago from his landlord. I don't know him, but if you step inside for a few minutes I think I can help you find him." After I went inside, the man explained that he is a sales manager for a used car dealership in the area. Just a few days ago, he was reviewing the loan applications from the prior day and noticed his own address on one application. Turns out that the applicant in question is Dirtbag Stan. The homeowner said he had the salesman call Dirtbag Stan back to ask about the address. Dirtbag Stan insisted that he owned the house right up until the salesman pointed out that his manager in fact owned the house in question. Then Dirtbag Stan pulls out some story about how he had moved to Idaho, and was in the process of moving back, and thought that the dealership would want a local address to use. Dirtbag Stan then provided the Idaho address. The homeowner has had police at his house looking for Dirtbag Stan before, and thought it might not be a bad idea to keep the new address (and phone number!) on hand for when others came looking for Dirtbag Stan.
- Moral of the story: Kids, if you are going to falsify your loan application, make sure to not use the home address of someone you are trying to get a loan from.
Also while working, I had to serve divorce papers on a man who was still living in the same house as his soon-to-be ex wife. Not only that, but he didn't know it was coming, and she had alleged that in a prior attempt to leave him, he became violent with her. When I went to the house, I could tell that he had a bad temper by the way he talked to his kids. I put him on the spot as I was serving him, asking him point blank if he planned to do anything violent. I warned him against doing anything foolish, and advised him to leave the house if he felt he couldn't control his anger. This is not the first time I've been in this situation, and I gotta say that I am amazed that so many people will put themselves in such a dangerous situation by staying in a home like that.
- Moral of the story: Kids, if you are going to divorce your abusive spouse, find a different place to stay for a few weeks until you can get a judge to make him/her move out.
- Moral of the story: Kids, if you are going to falsify your loan application, make sure to not use the home address of someone you are trying to get a loan from.
Also while working, I had to serve divorce papers on a man who was still living in the same house as his soon-to-be ex wife. Not only that, but he didn't know it was coming, and she had alleged that in a prior attempt to leave him, he became violent with her. When I went to the house, I could tell that he had a bad temper by the way he talked to his kids. I put him on the spot as I was serving him, asking him point blank if he planned to do anything violent. I warned him against doing anything foolish, and advised him to leave the house if he felt he couldn't control his anger. This is not the first time I've been in this situation, and I gotta say that I am amazed that so many people will put themselves in such a dangerous situation by staying in a home like that.
- Moral of the story: Kids, if you are going to divorce your abusive spouse, find a different place to stay for a few weeks until you can get a judge to make him/her move out.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Yet another new job
I hate changing jobs. This one simple thing kept me at a small company who was seriously underpaying me for 7 years. I've even worked the same part time job for the last 11 ½ years. However, the software engineering field has shifted away from direct hiring, mostly doing hiring through a 'contract to hire' - typically 6 months to a year. This gives the company a chance to see if they like you before they commit to all the resources of hiring you as a full time employee, although with the added expense of paying a premium to the contracting agency. (Typically around 20% or more...) Sometimes this means that you will move around frequently.
At IHC/GE Healthcare, they had decided to no longer routinely convert contractors to regular employees, instead keeping a larger number of contractors so that they can quickly reduce the numbers in the workplace without being bothered by things like severance & unemployment claims. This coupled with some large organizational changes I didn't care for & feeling just a little unappreciated pushed me to make a move.
A few days ago, I started working for the LDS Church. It is a very cool environment to work in if you are LDS, which I happen to be. (This is a very facetious thing to say, since you have to be a member in good standing to work for the church.)
I'm excited about the job. The workplace environment is fantastic, the facilities are very modern, and the projects are exciting. It is a little weird at first to be at work & hear people start talking about conference talks, scriptures, & saying prayers during meetings. But it's something which seems very natural after just a short while.
The only drawback is that I'm having to re-learn how not to swear. I've regressed significantly in the 6 months since I was released as a counselor in our Bishopric. ☺
At IHC/GE Healthcare, they had decided to no longer routinely convert contractors to regular employees, instead keeping a larger number of contractors so that they can quickly reduce the numbers in the workplace without being bothered by things like severance & unemployment claims. This coupled with some large organizational changes I didn't care for & feeling just a little unappreciated pushed me to make a move.
A few days ago, I started working for the LDS Church. It is a very cool environment to work in if you are LDS, which I happen to be. (This is a very facetious thing to say, since you have to be a member in good standing to work for the church.)
I'm excited about the job. The workplace environment is fantastic, the facilities are very modern, and the projects are exciting. It is a little weird at first to be at work & hear people start talking about conference talks, scriptures, & saying prayers during meetings. But it's something which seems very natural after just a short while.
The only drawback is that I'm having to re-learn how not to swear. I've regressed significantly in the 6 months since I was released as a counselor in our Bishopric. ☺
Friday, February 19, 2010
Clarity in communication
Today in a meeting at work, one participant asked another to 'treat him like a 4 year old' when giving instructions so that there would be no miscommunication.
It reminded me of an experience I had back in early 2001, while working for a stock-trading software company. We were preparing our software for the change from price quotes coming in fractions of a whole dollar to decimal prices. At the time, stocks were quoted in fractions as small as 1/16th. So for example, on February 16th 2001 the stock for Intel closed at 33 & 3/8. This change required significant changes in our software, and required us to convert the historical data from fractions to decimal. (So that Intel will now show as closing at 33.375 on 2/16/01)
Our company created a tool to do this conversion on the historical data, but in testing, we found that in some cases it destroyed the file for an individual stock. We had a meeting with a group of engineers & managers to discuss the issue, and in the meeting the company president (who was the primary author of the tool) asked what the issue was. My response was an ill considered statement: "It nukes random historical files."
The president almost came out of his seat as he leaned forward, pounded his fists on the table & asked "Ted, what in the hell does 'nuke' mean? What exactly is the symptom of a 'nuked' file? Translate that into something useful to me!"
I don't know how I managed to not throw up, but I managed to evenly and immediately reply "It reduces the file size of the affected files to exactly 26 bytes with the same pattern of unrecognizable data within the file."
The president leaned back in his chair, looking me over for a minute, then he pronounced to the rest of the assembled group of engineers & managers "Now THATS what I needed. Now we all know that to 'nuke' a file means to reduce the file size to 26 bytes of unrecognizable data!"
Now in engineering meetings I try to be a little more eloquent and less flippant with my remarks, especially if high ranking persons are present.
It reminded me of an experience I had back in early 2001, while working for a stock-trading software company. We were preparing our software for the change from price quotes coming in fractions of a whole dollar to decimal prices. At the time, stocks were quoted in fractions as small as 1/16th. So for example, on February 16th 2001 the stock for Intel closed at 33 & 3/8. This change required significant changes in our software, and required us to convert the historical data from fractions to decimal. (So that Intel will now show as closing at 33.375 on 2/16/01)
Our company created a tool to do this conversion on the historical data, but in testing, we found that in some cases it destroyed the file for an individual stock. We had a meeting with a group of engineers & managers to discuss the issue, and in the meeting the company president (who was the primary author of the tool) asked what the issue was. My response was an ill considered statement: "It nukes random historical files."
The president almost came out of his seat as he leaned forward, pounded his fists on the table & asked "Ted, what in the hell does 'nuke' mean? What exactly is the symptom of a 'nuked' file? Translate that into something useful to me!"
I don't know how I managed to not throw up, but I managed to evenly and immediately reply "It reduces the file size of the affected files to exactly 26 bytes with the same pattern of unrecognizable data within the file."
The president leaned back in his chair, looking me over for a minute, then he pronounced to the rest of the assembled group of engineers & managers "Now THATS what I needed. Now we all know that to 'nuke' a file means to reduce the file size to 26 bytes of unrecognizable data!"
Now in engineering meetings I try to be a little more eloquent and less flippant with my remarks, especially if high ranking persons are present.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The state of current music
A warning. This is my VERY subjective review of four fairly new albums. If I criticize one of your favorite bands/albums, know that I really don't care. I really don't.
One of the things which has always driven me nuts about the music industry is the low good song to crap song ratio on the vast majority of studio albums. Admit it, you have a bunch of CD's laying around that have one or two good songs along with 10 or 12 mediocre at best and awful at worst songs. For every single "The Cure: Disintegration" or "Matchbox Twenty: Yourself or Someone Like You" which can nearly be listened to end to end, you have a bunch of "311: Transistor" or Franz Ferdinand's self titled album, with one good song in the bunch. (I know that I just offended a bunch of skaters who would never speak negatively of 311, but you know what? It's my opinion, so take another hit and chill out!) I'm not even holding shots here. Come on, Foo Fighters, can you seriously say that "There Is Nothing Left To Lose" was a great album end to end?
I have noticed a trend in more recent years to a higher good to crap ratio on albums, which I have attributed to Napster and it's largest beneficiary, iTunes.
See, if it had not been for Napster and the ability of people to share just the good songs with each other for free (bypassing the album altogether unless it was a very good album), the record companies would have never allowed iTunes and it's a-la-carte format.
I have obtained four new albums over the last few days, and have sadly been more disappointed than pleased. First offender was "Muse: The Resistance". The first single, "The Uprising" is very well done, with a good hook & great pace. The only other Muse song I've really been exposed to was "Starlight", which was okay.
Unfortunately, for me, the rest of the album falls into the mediocre at best category.
Next up, "Kings of Leon: Only By The Night". These guys are getting a lot of buzz for good reason. While the singles "Use Somebody" and "Sex on Fire" are the clear cream of the crop, the rest of the album is listenable. For a bunch of young guys, they have managed to sound like a much more mature band. If they don't let the fame go to their heads, they just might be a powerhouse for the long run.
Following a good showing by Kings, I was let down a little by "Owl City: Ocean", right up until I realized that I really didn't have any expectations for this album and got it on a whim because the pop hit "Fireflies" is so damn catchy. There were a couple of other okay songs on this album, but it falls off quickly after that. Not one I can listen to end to end.
The surprise for me has been "30 Seconds to Mars: This is War". I'm only halfway through it, and have been pleasantly surprised. The single "Kings and Queens" is the best of the first half, but I haven't been tempted to skip anything so far.* I really expected less out of an emo actor and his band. If you like the single, you will probably like this album.
*Edit: I didn't care for song #8 'Vox Populi', really disliked #11 'Stranger in a Strange Land', & stopped liking #12 'L490' when it started doing a weird chant at the end.
The verdict being that I still believe that the ratio of good songs to bad songs on albums is higher than the pre-Napster era, but definitely think in a buyer-beware mindset and take the time to go listen to the samples of an album on iTunes or Amazon.com.
One of the things which has always driven me nuts about the music industry is the low good song to crap song ratio on the vast majority of studio albums. Admit it, you have a bunch of CD's laying around that have one or two good songs along with 10 or 12 mediocre at best and awful at worst songs. For every single "The Cure: Disintegration" or "Matchbox Twenty: Yourself or Someone Like You" which can nearly be listened to end to end, you have a bunch of "311: Transistor" or Franz Ferdinand's self titled album, with one good song in the bunch. (I know that I just offended a bunch of skaters who would never speak negatively of 311, but you know what? It's my opinion, so take another hit and chill out!) I'm not even holding shots here. Come on, Foo Fighters, can you seriously say that "There Is Nothing Left To Lose" was a great album end to end?
I have noticed a trend in more recent years to a higher good to crap ratio on albums, which I have attributed to Napster and it's largest beneficiary, iTunes.
See, if it had not been for Napster and the ability of people to share just the good songs with each other for free (bypassing the album altogether unless it was a very good album), the record companies would have never allowed iTunes and it's a-la-carte format.
I have obtained four new albums over the last few days, and have sadly been more disappointed than pleased. First offender was "Muse: The Resistance". The first single, "The Uprising" is very well done, with a good hook & great pace. The only other Muse song I've really been exposed to was "Starlight", which was okay.
Unfortunately, for me, the rest of the album falls into the mediocre at best category.
Next up, "Kings of Leon: Only By The Night". These guys are getting a lot of buzz for good reason. While the singles "Use Somebody" and "Sex on Fire" are the clear cream of the crop, the rest of the album is listenable. For a bunch of young guys, they have managed to sound like a much more mature band. If they don't let the fame go to their heads, they just might be a powerhouse for the long run.
Following a good showing by Kings, I was let down a little by "Owl City: Ocean", right up until I realized that I really didn't have any expectations for this album and got it on a whim because the pop hit "Fireflies" is so damn catchy. There were a couple of other okay songs on this album, but it falls off quickly after that. Not one I can listen to end to end.
The surprise for me has been "30 Seconds to Mars: This is War". I'm only halfway through it, and have been pleasantly surprised. The single "Kings and Queens" is the best of the first half, but I haven't been tempted to skip anything so far.* I really expected less out of an emo actor and his band. If you like the single, you will probably like this album.
*Edit: I didn't care for song #8 'Vox Populi', really disliked #11 'Stranger in a Strange Land', & stopped liking #12 'L490' when it started doing a weird chant at the end.
The verdict being that I still believe that the ratio of good songs to bad songs on albums is higher than the pre-Napster era, but definitely think in a buyer-beware mindset and take the time to go listen to the samples of an album on iTunes or Amazon.com.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Goodbye, facial hair
I've never worn much in the way of facial hair. Usually whatever I've grown itches too much after just a couple of weeks, and I end up shaving it. Not to mention that for the last 5 years I've had church callings which mandated a clean shaven face. So until recently the most growth I've had has been 2 weeks.
Last year I started a new job working for Intermountain Healthcare & GE Healthcare. On my fourth day there, they celebrated the 2nd annual Mustache Appreciation Day. They took it so seriously that one woman actually used some of her own hair which she had cut to make a mustache. I felt totally naked. I resolved to have a proper mustache for the next one.
I started growing my goatee in the first part of December. I thought that two months would be more than enough time to grow a bushy mustache, although I refused to wear it as a mustache until the day of the contest at work. I chose to wear it as a goatee instead, with the idea of shaving it into a mustache on the day of the competition.
The person making the biggest sacrifice has been my sweetheart. She hates facial hair. However, she is so sweet that she has put up with it for almost two months.
Just yesterday, the gentleman responsible for the contest came to inform us that it was being canceled due to lack of participation. The day is only a week away, and there were only about 5 of us left that had not shaved clean. As such, I resolved to shave as soon as possible. I am more than tired of stray hairs making it into my mouth or worse, tickling my nose. Best of all, my hot wife will now kiss me again!
So watch out world - my ugly mug is now laid bare again:
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Winter Blues
I've never liked January. After the spirit, warmth & love of the holidays, January becomes a time for sobering up. While snow in December is magical, snow in January is just cold. Christmas lights are turned off. Decorations put away. Life slowly returns to normal.
This year, I find myself even more reflective & somber than usual. Maybe it's just specific events of the last few days that have affected me so much.
- Late last night, I stood in below freezing temperatures on the porch of a comfortable suburban home telling a mother that DCFS is trying to take custody of her troubled 11 year old daughter. Her screams and sobs are still echoing in my head.
- A Utah Deputy Sheriff was killed two nights ago, and while her killers were apprehended just a few minutes ago, no justice served on them will return a wife and mother to her husband and two children. She paid the ultimate price for the members of the community she served.
- Finally, I am thinking today of how two years ago today, in an act of supreme selfishness, a cousin shot and killed his wife in a church parking lot on her 30th birthday, making orphans of their two young boys & draping a dark cloud over his entire family for years to come. We didn't see Kristy every day, but we never went more than a couple of weeks without her and the boys dropping by to say hi & for the boys to play with my kids for a few minutes. Later today I'll take some flowers over to her grave, just like last year.
I guess that I am seeing the worst of things right now. My mood seems to match the grim smoggy sky and dirty piles of snow packed in to corners of parking lots.
I really can't wait for the sunshine of spring to arrive.
This year, I find myself even more reflective & somber than usual. Maybe it's just specific events of the last few days that have affected me so much.
- Late last night, I stood in below freezing temperatures on the porch of a comfortable suburban home telling a mother that DCFS is trying to take custody of her troubled 11 year old daughter. Her screams and sobs are still echoing in my head.
- A Utah Deputy Sheriff was killed two nights ago, and while her killers were apprehended just a few minutes ago, no justice served on them will return a wife and mother to her husband and two children. She paid the ultimate price for the members of the community she served.
- Finally, I am thinking today of how two years ago today, in an act of supreme selfishness, a cousin shot and killed his wife in a church parking lot on her 30th birthday, making orphans of their two young boys & draping a dark cloud over his entire family for years to come. We didn't see Kristy every day, but we never went more than a couple of weeks without her and the boys dropping by to say hi & for the boys to play with my kids for a few minutes. Later today I'll take some flowers over to her grave, just like last year.
I guess that I am seeing the worst of things right now. My mood seems to match the grim smoggy sky and dirty piles of snow packed in to corners of parking lots.
I really can't wait for the sunshine of spring to arrive.
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