Sometimes Three is Not a Charm

August 24, 2004

Hey, folks.

I feel like I should apologize for being a bit less verbose lately. I’ve been working on a big project at the office, and it’s been taking up a lot of my off-hour time.

I actually thought that things would settle down this week — the project ended on Friday, and we rolled the system out to the users. Of course, this week I was reminded that working on a software project is a lot like trying to pee on a moving ceiling fan. You’d like to think that all the hard work and sweat and effort is over, once you’ve managed to actually get the damned thing done. But then you look around and see what kind of nasty mess you’re left with, and you wonder why you didn’t try your little stunt in someone else’s house, so you wouldn’t have to clean it up.

Oh, and in both cases, you’re left feeling all pissy, of course. But you knew that already.

Anyway, I figure there are going to be random people knocking on my goddamned door for about another week and a half, and then things will settle down. Or they’ll fire me. Whatever. Just make the madness end, dammit. Cut me loose, punt me out the window, whatever. Just don’t send me any more bug reports, dammit. I didn’t even write most of that crappy code. Leave me alone.

In the meantime, my computer is still Frinked. I got it started, with a new disk drive, but that’s not any damned help. What I want is my data. This is like swapping out the CD player in your car for an 8-track — the thing will run, but it’s not any fricking fun. And you wouldn’t want to do it for long.

(Dude. That’s my second weird-assed analogy already. What’s up with that?

Hey, let’s go for three — see if I can get it out of my system. Here we go — *ahem*:

Boy, is there anything like Olympic beach volleyball to make a guy wish he was an ‘ass man’? How is it they get away with making those women play in the sand with those skimpy little bottoms on, anyway?

It’s like… oh, I don’t know, let’s see… like having the gymnasts flip and flop around in Wonderbras, maybe? Making the women sprinters run their races in halter tops? How about letting the female weightlifters do their ‘clean and jerks’ in G-strings and pasties?

Ugh. Yep. It’s out of my system, all right. Shit. Remind me to never do that again.)

Ah, well. That was fun… until that last mental image, anyway. And now it’s back to work. I put fifteen damned things on my ‘To Do’ list today, and there are likely to be another ten or fifteen thrown at me tomorrow. If I don’t get a couple done tonight, I’ll never dig out. I’ll catch you mofos tomorrow. Peace.