Clutter

HBO featured a science fiction/thriller/horror series called "Ray Bradbury Theatre" from 1985 through 1992. Each episode was based on the writings of Ray Bradbury, usually on one of his short stories. The introduction to each episode consisted of footage showing Ray Bradbury arriving in his studio, which was cluttered with posters, photos, notes and every sort of tchotchke imaginable. Bradbury explained in a voice over, as he took his seat at a typewriter near the center of the flotsam,, that this studio is where he gets his ideas.

"I'm surrounded on every side by my magician's toy shop," explains Bradbury, "I'll never starve here!"

I have a home office something like that. My home office, or perhaps "den" is a better word, is an attic room. I claimed it as my den when we bought the house because it features lots of shelving and cabinet space, which I knew I would need. Even so, every available surface in the room is occupied by books, binders, boxes, discs, caricatures, miniatures and brick-a-brack of every kind.

Clutter rules my life. Sometimes I see this as a bad thing. I admonish myself to be more organized. I remind myself to get rid of the old stuff that I no longer need. What's the rule? If you haven't looked at it in 2 or more years, you can probably throw it out.

However, the introduction to the Ray Bradbury Theatre suggests that clutter isn't always a bad thing. Some of it has to do with surrounding yourself with things that make you happy. Looking around my den, it quickly becomes obvious that I'm a big fan of The Simpsons and Star Wars, and that I love airplanes, computer games and books. Spending time there tends to make me feel good because I look around me and see my favorite things. (Not to worry; I'm not about to start prancing about the room and singing, Julie Andrews style).

Beyond just making one feel good, clutter can serve to inspire. It can help to set the creative juices in motion by bringing dormant ideas to the forefront and sometimes highlighting obscure associations. In Ray Bradbury's case, the clutter in his studio helped to inspire some of his renowned literary works. In my case, well, it gave me something to blog about this week.

It's also possible to be too neat and organized. One of my favorite quotes about computer programming suggests that "structured programming is for compulsive neurotics who were prematurely toilet-trained, wear neckties and carefully line up pencils on otherwise
clear desks". Speaking of which, I think that most people, when they see a co-worker sitting at a clean, uncluttered desk, assume that person must have no work to do. Clutter suggests busy-ness.

Perhaps the happy medium lies in eliminating the clutter that comes from simply not putting things in their place or throwing out the unneeded, but keeping those things whose presence stimulates and inspires, even if they have no obvious practical use.

Deceptively Strenuous Pastimes

I'm a pretty sedentary guy. To begin with, I'm a computer programmer/analyst by profession, so I spend my working days behind a keyboard or sitting in requirements meetings. The most exercise I ever get at the office is when I need to walk down to the factory floor to check something.

My leisure time hobbies are no more active. I'm not into contact sports, or sports of any kind, really. I don't jog. I seldom swim and I don't go skiing or ice skating in the winter time. I like to "plunk around" on my computer, watch DVD movies, read, build models and miniatures and just relax in general. Nothing too strenuous.

I've tried two activities that have fooled me. Both sounded pretty layed back and low-stress, and both turned out to be deceptively tiring.

The first is golf. Golf doesn't look too strenuous to a spectator; a leisurely walk around a well-manicured course, a little fresh air and sunshine, and once in a while you whack a little white ball with a stick. Heck, one usually doesn't even walk from one hole to the next. One usually rides in a little electric car. How hard can that be?

Plenty hard, as it turns out! By the sixth hole, I practically fell to my knees and worshipped before the beer cart that showed up every two or three holes or so! Ten bucks a beer? Such a deal! Five bucks for a can of Coke? A bargain at twice the price! Hand it over with all speed! In my own defense, it was a particularly hot summer afternoon.

It probably didn't help that I couldn't swing to save my life. At each hole I had to swipe at the ball several times before ever making contact. That really tires out the arms! Once I did connect with the ball, I tended to take the scenic route from the tee to the hole, what with short distances, wild hooks and slices, and the inevitable stick-handling the ball across the green in a manner that would have made Gordie Howe jealous. All that walking about wore me down as well. I think my handicap is somewhere around three hundred. Since then, I've stuck to the type of golf that you see to your left.

Last weekend, I tried my hand at the second deceptively placid outdoor pastime; canoeing. When I think of canoeing, I picture a boat, silently gliding through gentle waters, the silence broken only by birdsong, the whir of distant insects and the gentle splash made by the the tips of my oars as they dip in and out of the water. Boy, was I in for an education!

My wife, Judy, my daughter, Jessica and I joined several family members last weekend for a canoe trip down southwestern Ontario's Grand River. There were fifteen of us, occupying seven canoes. The other canoes were occupied by two people each, but Judy, Jessica and I made a threesome. This turned out not to be a very good idea, as I shall shortly explain.

Our 20 kilometer course took us downstream on the Grand River, beginning in Cambridge, Ontario and ending in Paris. The estimated time for completing this was 5 hours. There were shorter runs available which might have been more appropriate for beginners such as us, but my brother-in-law, Shane "Iron Man" Groleau, insisted that anything worth doing is worth doing to exhaustion.

I had foolishly chosen the tiller's position in the rear of our canoe, which made it my job to steer. I had been given rudimentary instructions about how to do a "J" stroke and how to use my oar as a rudder, dragging it through the water on one side of the canoe or the other in order to turn the craft's nose. I had not been warned, however, about the overriding effects of wind and current. I also kept overcompensating, and learned the hard way that, if I waited until the nose of the boat was pointed in the desired direction before removing my oar from the water, it (the nose) had a disturbing tendency to continue to drift over, past the point at which I wanted to aim the canoe. And so my craft zig-zagged back and forth across the stream while I madly switched the oar from the left side to the right and back again, quickly tiring out my arms in the process.

It also didn't help that Grand River becomes quite shallow and rocky at certain points and, because of the extra weight in our three-person canoe, the boat's hull sat deeper in the water than most and kept getting lodged against the rocks. Repeatedly attempting to push and pry our craft away from the rocks with my oar did nothing to sooth my tired arms. In fact, by the time we'd reached the half-way mark for our course, my right forearm kept cramping up every time I bent my elbow.

At one point, the current washed us up against one of the many rocks while the canoe was turned sideways. The sudden stop caused the canoe to list heavily against the rock and, before I knew it, we were all swimming (or, rather, wading) in the river.

Things happen very fast when a canoe overturns. Your first priority is to grab the oars and any other loose items that were in the boat before they're swept away by the current. Your second priority is to grab the canoe itself before it floats away. Ensuring that everyone is still alive and intact becomes the third priority. It's pretty much every man for himself.

Righting and re-entering an upset canoe also proved to be a challenge. First of all, the boat had taken on water when it overturned, so we first needed to empty it. This involved picking it up out of the water, turning it upside-down in order to empty it and then putting it back into the water upright. Canoes are generally designed to be fairly light-weight, but a water-logged one can get pretty darned heavy!

Once the empty canoe was placed back into the river, it immediately wanted to float away on us with the current. Now we had to try to keep it from drifting away and steady it as much as possible whilst climbing back in without upsetting it yet again, all of which required far more dexterity than I normally possess.

During our run, were only dumped into the river once, although I did have to step out of the boat in a more controlled manner several times in order to help dislodge it from various rocks. Fortunately, Shane partially redeemed himself by thoughtfully staying close to us and stopping to help dislodge and then steady our canoe while I climbed back in whenever we got stuck. By the time we finally reached the end of our course, the first of our group of boats to arrive had been waiting for us to return for almost an hour. If we'd been just a little longer, I'm sure they'd have sent out a search party.

By the next morning, every movement hurt. Riding in a canoe is one of those activities that employs muscles which many of us didn't even know we had until they begin aching.

Mark Twain once described golf as "A good walk spoiled". If he had ever ridden in a canoe, as opposed to those Mississippi steamers for which he was known, he might have referred to canoeing as "A good boat ride spoiled". On the other hand, looking back on the experience with the benefit of hindsight, I must admit that it was fun, overall, and there were brief moments, when the water became calm and the screaming stopped and the only sound was the chirping of birds in the trees that surrounded the river, the distant buzzing of insects and the gentle lapping of water against the boat and the oars, that I could imagine myself actually learning to enjoy this.

Bean Counters

"The conditions of financing and distribution that made the Warner shorts possible no longer exist, so we will probably never see their like again." - John Canemaker

When John Canemaker made this comment in the 1975 documentary "The Boys From Termite Terrace" he was, of course, referring to the Warner Brothers short cartoons that so many of us grew up with; Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam, Tweety and Sylvester, Wile E. Coyote, the Road Runner and a host of others.

Let's think about that for a moment. What Canemaker was, in fact, saying is that, today, these cartoons, which millions around the world have come to know and love and which, arguably, have played a significant role in moulding our culture, could not exist. If it were up to us, they would never have been created.

Why? Because they would be deemed to be unprofitable. They take too much time and care to create; therefore they cost too much and offer too little a return on investment. Instead, we get pale imitations of these classics; Fairly Odd Parents, Prank Patrol, Spongebob Squarepants,the Simpsons and a host of anime shows in which what passes for animated speech involves flipping back and forth between just two mouth positions; open and closed.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that these modern animated shows are bad in and of themselves. I'm a big fan of the Simpsons. I own the first 11 seasons on DVD. But the quality of the artistry and animation simply cannot compare to that of the old Warner Brothers shorts.

To demonstrate my point, a friend of mine and I once watched one of the old Warner Brothers short cartoons in its entirety with the sound turned off. It was just as funny and entertaining as it was with sound. The subtlety of the characters' facial expressions, their gestures and their posture rendered the soundtrack almost unnecessary.

Today, the Simpsons aren't even hand drawn in America anymore but farmed out to Korea where the animation is computer rendered. Why? Because it's cheaper to do it that way. The difference in the finished product is noticeable. Watch an episode of the Simpsons without sound, and the experience becomes much degraded; almost pointless. That's the difference.

It seems to me that our society has evolved, or perhaps devolved, to the point where financial profit increasingly appears to be the only motivator for any enterprise. The "bean counters" run the show. I understand that everyone needs to make a living and that money-losing ventures are doomed to failure, but we seem to have forgotten that not everything is about the bottom line. Some things are worth doing for the sake of doing them. What about beautifying the world? What about broadening our horizons, thereby increasing our knowledge and wisdom? What about simple experimentation; trying things just to see what happens?

In George Minter's famous motion picture adaptation of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol", he added a scene that was never in the original novel, in which one Mr. Jorkin offers to buy Fezziwig's failing business.

"It's not just for money alone that one spends a lifetime building up a business, Mr. Jorkin" explains Fezziwig.

"Well if it isn't, I'd like you to tell him what you do spend a lifetime building up a business for," counters Jorkin, with an amused chuckle.

"It's to preserve a way of life that one knew and loved," explains Fezziwig. "No, I can't see my way to selling out to the new vested interest, Mr. Jorkin. I have to be loyal to the old ways, and die out with them if needs must."

And indeed he does. Scrooge, meanwhile, jumps ship and leaves Fezziwig for a position with Jorkin's company before Fezziwig's business fails. This ultimately proves a prudent career move and Scrooge becomes both successful and wealthy, but he loses his soul in the process.

I once read that many of today's corporate steering committees and boards of directors will not approve a research and development project unless the results are known in advance. How ridiculous! If we already knew what the results will be, why would we need to do any research? Conversely, if the "bean counters" never approved any project whose ultimate result was unknown at the start, no projects would ever be started.

Jame's Burke's excellent mini-series, "Connections", demonstrates several examples of inventions and discoveries that changed the world as we know it, which were discovered by accident, or by people researching something entirely different. Otto von Guericke rubbed a sulphur ball in an attempt to create a magnetic attraction. Instead, he caused a spark, which ultimately led to the understanding and harnessing of electricity. Archibald Cochrane, the 9th Earl of Dundonald, cooked coal in a kettle in order to create coal tar for coating the bottom of marine vessels. When the vapor caused by his experimentation ignited one day, causing an explosion, it alerted others to the existence of combustible gases, which could be harnessed for their heat and energy. Would today's "bean counters" have funded von Guericke or Cochrane?

It was largely an obsession with cost overruns that killed Canada's Avro Arrow program in the 1950's. The Arrow was the most advanced jet interceptor of its time. The program inspired advances in aerodynamics, metallurgy, computer processing and engine power which enabled achievements that had never before been accomplished and that many deemed impossible at the time. Of course such a program is going to be expensive!

When the program was canceled, Canada lost not only an aircraft and thousands of Avro employee jobs, but most of its best aeronautical and engineering minds, which all went to the United States to be scooped up by NASA, Rockwell, McDonnell-Douglas and other U.S. aerospace companies, and its status as an aeronautical and scientific innovator on the world stage. By canceling the Arrow program, Canada helped to entrench its own stereotypical image as America's poor cousin; a perception which continues even today.

Concern about costs is also the reason that the Apollo program was canceled after Apollo 17, and why mankind has since managed to venture no further into space than Earth orbit. As our population grows, warming the planet and making it harder and harder for the Earth to sustain us, mankind's only hope for long-term survival may ultimately be the colonization of other worlds, but it isn't happening because the "bean counters" don't think that long term. They're only concerned about next quarter's results.

Certainly both the Avro Arrow and the Apollo programs were hugely expensive and probably financially unprofitable, but the people involved didn't get into these projects solely to make money. There was a larger purpose which got lost among the clatter of adding machines.

If people had thought the way they do today in the past, Columbus would never have discovered the new world and the Wright brothers would never have created a heavier-than-air vehicle that flew. These were high-risk ventures with no guarantee of any sort of return. The motivation of those undertaking them was their boundless curiosity, their need to explore and discover, their desire to improve peoples' lives and their world as well as the hope of financial rewards.

For those who insist on making it all about dollars and cents, I point out that, sometimes, reluctance to risk investing in the unknown can result in the loss of huge potential revenues. The famous postor at left shows the staff of a very young Microsoft corporation, circa 1978 and asks "Would you have invested in this company?" Well, "bean counters", let's see a show of hands. How many of you would have said "Sure! They look like they know what they're doing. Give them some money."

Another disturbing trend is that more and more politicians are encouraging the study of mathematics and the sciences in schools, while downplaying the importance of art and literature. After all, nobody hires a lot of writers, painters and poets, right? Such skills are not considered useful or productive. And yet, our artisans teach us lateral thinking, imagination and conceptualization. This type of thinking is important. Facts aren't usually the catalyst for invention and discovery. Imagination and creative thinking is. It's been said that you can't win at poker just by applying the mathematics of probability.

Accountants and bookkeepers have their place but, in my opinion, they should not be the ones making the decisions that steer the course of enterprise and innovation. Let the "bean counters" balance the ledgers and let those with an entrepreneurial spirit, leadership and, above all, imagination, take the helm. Wouldn't it be wonderful if, in the not-too-distant future, our children could turn on the television to watch something brand new that's as creative and timeless as Bugs Bunny?

Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

About three weeks ago, I attached an invisible stat counter to this blog because I wanted a better idea of how many readers I'm getting and who they are. I find the results interesting enough to share with all four of you.

This blog gets an average of four hits per day. I have five regular readers. Okay, so Perez Hilton has nothing to fear from me for the time being.

I've had one-time visitors from all over the world. Most are from Canada (my home and native land). The United States, not surprisingly, ranks second, but I've had visitors from as far afield as the Republic of South Korea.

I've had one visitor from Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. That tempted me to embellish my heading banner with the tag line "The preferred blog of Harvard scholars!", but Harvard's legal department changed my mind.

Blog Visitors by Location
(Click to enlarge)

(maps courtesy of Google Maps and StatCounter.com)

Incidentally, if you're concerned about privacy, fear not. The stat counter doesn't give me anybody's identity; just their IP address, location (country, region and city), their ISP, and what browser and operating system they were using. Granted, in some cases, I can deduce the identity of the person from this information if it's someone I happen to know, but these are generally people who I already knew read my blog anyway.

Most one-time visitors are directed here by a search engine (usually Google). The post that generated the most Google hits is my recent U/C Airplane Follies post. You'd be surprised how many people search for terms such as "super bee airplane", "miniature flying balsa wood aeroplanes" or "u/c stuka". South Korea was looking for references to "aircraft stuck into ground". Perhaps the North shot down some hapless Cessna from the South that ventured over their nuclear missile launchers and a friend or family member was hoping to find some clue as to whatever happened to them on the internet.

Just as surprising as the post that did attract the most Google searches is one that didn't. I'll admit to a bit of personal subterfuge here. Part of my motivation for writing about the death of Michael Jackson, though the thoughts expressed therein were sincere, was to try to pull in some of the multitudes who were surely Googling for him shortly after his passing. It didn't work. Google didn't direct a single person searching for Michael Jackson references to this blog.

And finally, one last word, as Joseph Campanella used to say. You may have noticed the complete absence of any ads on this blog. Oh, I could put them there alright. Blogger.com does have a "monetize" option that enables me to infest this blog with ads that theoretically make me money every time someone clicks on one. But at ... what is it? 0.04 cents per click? I figure my four readers per day would earn me roughly 60 cents a year. More to the point, I don't do this to make money. This isn't my idea of some get-rich-by-blogging scheme. I do this because I enjoy writing, to entertain and, sometimes, to make you think.

On the other hand, my ego is big enough that I'd like to increase those readership stats a bit, which is why I've recently added a "Share" button after each post. If you like what you read, I encourage you to tell others. Maybe they'll like it too.

Goodbye Michael, Goodbye

Michael Jackson is dead.

That's why I keep this blog; to bring you late-breaking news like that, which I'm certain you haven't yet heard about anywhere else.

Love him or hate him, no-one can deny that Jackson was a controversial person who will not soon be forgotten. Even his fans and admirers have to admit that the man had more than his share of oddities. Even at the height of his popularity, during the nineteen-eighties, there were those who joked about his outlandish outfits and his infamous single "glitter glove". He seemed dissatisfied with his own appearance, subjecting himself to plastic surgery on several occasions. I've always suspected, and still do suspect, to this day, that his freakish appearance at the time of his death was largely attributable to negative side effects from his earlier plastic surgeries.

Then there was his pet monkey, Bubbles, his hyperbaric oxygen chamber, urban myths that he himself encouraged, such as his alleged purchase of John "The Elephant Man" Merrick's remains... the list goes on and on. Eventually we cross the line from mere eccentricities into dangerous and even sinister behavior. His infamous dangling of his son over the edge of an apartment balcony was ill-considered, at best and, of course, everyone is aware of the accusations of pedophilia and child molestation. To this day, there are those who suspect that Jackson merely bought his way out of those charges.

Say what you will about the man, however, I submit that, when it came to pop music, he had an undeniable talent that ranked among the very best. His songs were unfailingly catchy and his signature dance moves were amazing to behold. Almost every single track on his 1982 album, Thriller, ranked high on the charts and the album as a whole remains the best-selling ever. I suspect there exists nary a North American household that doesn't have a copy of Thriller stashed away on some neglected shelf somewhere, usually right next to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.

So goodbye, Michael. Thanks for the music, and may you finally rest in peace. May you be remembered as you deserve to be, for your talent, rather than for your eccentricities.

Tony

I've talked about everyone in my immediate family on this blog, except for my dad. Today being Fathers' Day, I think it's time to correct that omission.

Anton Halma ("Tony" to those who knew him well) was born in Yugoslavia in 1938 to a very large, very poor family. He grew up with eight siblings, and had seven others that died during their infancy and yet two more that were stillborn. The eight that he grew up with included just one brother and seven sisters. Having grown up with only a sister myself, and having now a family in which I am the only male member, I can testify that this fact, in itself, qualifies him for sainthood.

When the second world war engulfed Europe, Tony's family was forced to leave Yugoslavia. They immigrated to Austria, gypsy-style, in a horse-drawn wagon when he was just six years old.

The fact that he came from a family with neither money nor social standing always bothered Tony, not because of a desire for wealth but because the way in which he and his family were perceived by the surrounding community was important to him. If I learned only one thing from my father, it's that one cannot disassociate oneself from one's family. He always believed strongly that a person is judged largely by his or her family and, conversely, a person's actions reflect on his or her family. Because of this, he determined at an early age to rise above his modest pedigree.

This meant getting an education, even though his parents, being simple farming folk, didn't see the value in doing so. His father and mother felt that their childrens' time was better spent helping with the farming chores rather than learning "useless" facts at school.

It also meant staying mindful of his appearance and ensuring that his clothes were always clean and presentable. Again, because his family was so large and of such meagre means, his siblings' clothing was often stained, worn and even torn. Tony was fussier. Sometimes, after his mother washed his clothes, the shirt collars would come out somewhat rumpled. When they did, he would throw the shirts back into the laundry and insist that she do them again.

This is not to say that he didn't have a mischievous or even rebellious side. Many years later, he became a maintenance mechanic for a local manufacturing business. During the 1980's recession, the company fell on hard times. As always happens during such periods, the workers became somewhat jittery and rumors abounded. One day, just to exacerbate the situation, Tony and one of his workmates installed a little black box with a blinking red light just over the doorway in the company cafeteria. It did absolutely nothing but several of the workers predictably assumed that it was a closed-circuit camera which management was using to spy on its workforce. The whole thing mushroomed into a major incident before management had the offending black box removed. Needless to say, they never did learn who installed it. I learned this story from my mother, long after the fact. My father lead by example, and was not one to boast to his children about getting away with a silly prank that might have cost him his job, had he been caught.

Tony first met my mother on a ship when he was 17 years old and she was 14. She was on a school field trip with her classmates, and he was in his apprenticeship and traveling on work-related business. Mom and her classmates had strict instructions from their teacher not to fraternize with any strange boys but mom apparently ignored those instructions. She's still much like that today.

After that meeting, they didn't see each other again for five years, as she lived in Vienna and he in Styria and the two were a good six-hour train ride apart. He was apparently taken with her enough, however, that they continued to write each other for a while thereafter, although the letters became fewer and farther between as time passed. Still, five years later, he decided to visit her in Vienna. She had given him her address during their first meeting but the street name was long and not easily remembered (Antonjägergasse or something like that) but Tony remembered it. Fortunately, she had not moved in the meantime. The rest, as they say, is history.

A few years after he married my mother, Tony decided that he wanted a better future than Austria seemed to offer, so he began making plans to move to North America. Like many Europeans, he first considered the United States of America, but Canada's immigration policies proved friendlier and he wound up in Ontario. He came alone at first, and was followed shortly thereafter by his best friend, Adolf ("Adi") Malley. He left my mother and my sister and me behind in Austria because he didn't want to uproot his family until he was reasonably certain that things would work out.

He arrived in Toronto, destined for Kitchener but spent two days at the Toronto bus station because, since he didn't speak any English, he couldn't figure out at which platform he could find the bus to Kitchener. After two days, he finally bumped into someone who spoke his language and was able to point him in the right direction. Upon arriving in Kitchener, he almost didn't want to get off the bus because the first business he saw was called "Waterloo Trust", so he thought that he was in Waterloo. Someone had to reassure him that he was in the right town. Once in Kitchener, he stayed with some friends who already lived there until he could find a job and live independently.

This single aspect of my father's life has always been the most amazing to me. It must have taken an incredible amount of courage to leave his family and set out for a distant country where he had few contacts, no immediate prospects and couldn't even speak the language. Yet he did it, and succeeded. He and Adi found work, bought a two-story house together and then sent for their respective families. My family occupied the main floor of that house and the Malleys lived on the upper floor for five years after arriving in Canada, until the Malleys had finally saved up enough money to sell back their half of the property to dad and buy their own home.

Shortly after settling in Canada, Tony tried to start his own display sign business. He purchased stacks of bristleboard, both black and white, and pre-printed letters with adhesive backing. Any graphics that were needed he drew or painted by hand and, although he was no Rembrandt, he had a reasonable amount of artistic talent. Unfortunately, the sign business never quite took off and, several years later, I found myself with access to a large surplus of unused bristleboard, which I happily used for making models and posters and such.

Originally, my mother and father had not planned to stay in Canada indefinitely. They had thought to build their fortunes for five years and then return to Austria. After five years, however, Canada suddenly felt more like home than Austria did. They also hadn't considered my sister and me, who were in school by that time and had already become acclimatized to the Canadian way of life and had established our own friendships. They decided that it would be fair to us to uproot us and take us back to Austria which, by this time, was an alien culture to us.

In childhood, I never felt quite the same bond with my father as I did with my mother. Dad's parenting style was more or less "hands off". He was the breadwinner who went away to work every day and kept us fed, clothed and sheltered. He left the care and raising of my sister and me largely to my mother.

That included discipline. Mom would spank us when we misbehaved but she also stressed that no-one except for her had any right to hit us, by which she meant other adults, such as school teachers, some of who were not above resorting to corporal punishment from time to time in those days. Dad hardly ever spanked us but mom still laughs when she recalls one of the rare occasions when I misbehaved enough that he did give me a smack on my behind. I immediately looked at my mother and asked "Is he allowed to do that?"

Just as he neared retirement, dad developed medical problems which forced him to take long term disability leave. In fact, he never returned to work. It was discovered that leukemia was the underlying cause of many of his medical symptoms. He was treated by an Oncologist and was in and out of hospital over a period of 1½ years before finally succumbing to the disease in October of 2003. He was 65 years old, having just recently officially retired earlier that year. One of my biggest regrets is that dad didn't have more time to enjoy his retirement years in reasonably good health. He spent his life working and never quite got to enjoy a well-earned rest during his twilight years.

The greatest testament to the kind of person dad was can be found in the way that the hospital nursing staff regarded him. He was well-liked by all of them. One of the nurses even came to his visitation at the funeral home to pay her last respects. I'm certain that hospital nurses see plenty of their patients pass away in any given year and they can't possibly have the time to attend many visitations or funerals. Dad must have made a significant impression on this particular nurse that she took the time to do so. He certainly had his rough edges, but he was a basically good man, and other people instinctively saw this in him.

As for myself, I'm very different from my father in many ways. He was mechanically adept and a handyman. I, not so much. He enjoyed outdoor recreation such as hunting and fishing. I prefer indoor pastimes and am a fan of science fiction and fantasy, neither of which ever interested dad. You would never have caught him blogging, even if he had been computer literate or known how to type. He tried to teach himself once retired, but never met with much success. Yet, for all our differences, there are many times when I do feel his influence on my thoughts, attitudes and beliefs. To quote William Shakespeare, "He was a man, take him for all in all. I shall not look upon his like again."

Happy Fathers' Day, Tony, wherever you are.

Gallows Humor

My place of employment has fallen on hard times. The company has had to seek protection from its creditors. Many people confuse this with filing for bankruptcy. I want to state, unequivocally and for the record, that the company has not filed for bankruptcy. It's one step away from filing for bankruptcy.

I see this type of "gallows humor" among those few of us who remain employed there an awful lot these days. For example, Scott Adams recently published this Dilbert comic (which I have linked to on Dilbert.com rather than pasting here for you to read, because the last thing I need now is to be sued by a millionaire cartoonist) whose chief humor comes from how eerily close the depicted scenario is to the situation at my office. There have, in fact, been massive layoffs over the past year. The last round came right after the company filed for protection from its creditors. Needless to say, those employees who remain are just a little paranoid about things like managers who abruptly fall silent when they (the paranoid employees) appear.

In fact, one of my co-workers had been away on long term disability (or so I thought) since just before the axe fell most recently. The similarity to the Dilbert comic ends there, though. In our case, the guy who was away got layed off anyway. Seems he wasn't technically on long term disability at all, no doubt a clever maneuver on the part of the Human Resources department, who already knew that he was in their sights.

Dilbert comics are a particularly popular source of gallows humor during times of corporate stress. Here's another one that was very popular with our accounting staff, because it was just a little too close to the truth.

http://dilbert.com/strips/comic/2009-05-01/

Recently, somebody (whose identity I'm withholding to protect the guilty) circulated the following through our inter-office e-mail:

For all you Working People and anyone else needing it...

There are times when additional support is necessary to get through a grueling day at work. Here's one suggestion.

A Master Reference binder has been created for all who may need to reference it. Inside this binder you will find solutions to everyday problems. If you are having problems with the photocopier, having difficulty dealing with co-workers , having computer problems...please come and get the red binder and it will help you through your issue. You may refer to the red binder as often as you wish.

Use the red binder for all issues...it is guaranteed to make you stress-free and relaxed.

We don't just rely on outside sources for our dark humor. One day last week, everyone was working away as usual, when all the lights suddenly went off. One of our accountants immediately shouted "Uh, Barb, could you pay that invoice now, please?"

Our Network Administrator, Randy, was one of those who were recently layed off. All of the most recent layoffs are technically temporary 13-week layoffs, another wily maneuver by our Human Resources department, designed to postpone the company's obligation to pay severance to those affected, which it would be obligated to pay if the layoffs were permanent, although everyone knows that none of these people are coming back.

I recently sent an e-mail about a red binder (oops - did I type that out loud?) to an inter-office mailing list which still included Randy. A short while later, I received an automatic Out of Office notification from Randy, informing me that he is out of the office and will be returning on August 31 - exactly 13 weeks from the day that he was "temporarily" layed off. Now, Randy isn't naiive enough to actually believe that he will be recalled at the end of August. He's just that witty (not to mention sarcastic).

Speaking of automatic Out of Office notifications, some things that make me laugh aren't necessarily intended to be funny. My boss told me recently that our CEO (a new guy, who replaced the previous CEO right after the company filed for creditor protection) complained about our inter-company e-mail system. We don't use Microsoft Outlook. When you set up an automatic Out of Office notification on our system, it is necessary to manually turn it back off again upon returning to the office, else anyone e-mailing you continues to be told that you are out of the office, even after you've returned. This annoyed the new Head Honcho, who was used to using Outlook which, apparently, turns off its Out of Office notifications automatically on the appointed return date.

Now, this guy is at the helm of a company which is under government protection from its creditors and may be a heartbeat away from insolvency, and his biggest concern is that he has to manually disable his Out of Office notification??? I'm sorry, but I can't help but find that hilarious.

Okay, maybe I'm being unduly pessimistic, but I've been through this situation before with another company some years ago, and it did not end well. Incidentally, I do not work for General Motors, unfortunately, otherwise I'd be much more optimistic of my prospects. In fact, I'd be laughing all the way to the bank, and screw you other taxpayers anyway. I didn't pay into my pension fund, and somebody has to, so it may as well be you.

On a more serious note, the real tragedy, in my humble opinion, when a going concern does fail, is that the last few employees remaining when the ship finally sinks are the brightest, the hardest-working, the most dedicated and the most indispensable people that the company had in its employ, and I'm not just saying that because I seem to be one of them. Let's face it; those people are still there after everyone else has been cut because they truly make a contribution that the organization cannot afford to do without. Unfortunately, if the company ultimately declares bankruptcy, they're also the ones who get screwed, being sent to the unemployment lines with no severance and, in some cases, without even the full pay still owed to them. The secured creditors come first. Sucks to be you.

This is not meant to reflect negatively on those who have been laid off. Many good people have been let go and I believe that many organizations, during troubled times, fall into the trap of cutting too deeply. But those who were laid off earlier were at least given severance packages to help cushion the blow. The most recent victims, as well as those who remain, may not be so lucky.

Those fellow employees of mine who remain with the company are the salt of the earth. I have nothing but the deepest respect and admiration for every one of them. There's Harve, the Pay Master, who has over 30 years with the company and has already been given notice that he's to be layed off this summer because payroll is being outsourced. I could understand if he were bitter and resentful. I could certainly understand if he stopped giving a damn and just coasted through his remaining time doing as little as possible. Yet he still carries out his duties in a competent and professional manner. More than that, he's been patiently passing along his knowledge and experience to the Human Resources department, which will be assuming some of his duties.

There's Jo-Anne, one of my fellows in the MIS department, whose organizational skills, understanding of the business and its needs and calm, patient manner with users calling the Help Desk, leaves me feeling envious of her more often than I'd care to admit. During a recent MIS department meeting with the Restructuring Officer, Jo-Anne sincerely and selflessly asked him to consider her if there were to be any more cuts in MIS, because she'd prefer unemployment over having to work with even fewer of her remaining colleagues.

There's Tina, our feisty, petite credit manager who spends her days on the phone with delinquent customers, many of whom don't always address her exactly cordially, and yet retains a healthy sense of humor and a peppy demeanor.

There's Craig, a relatively recent addition to our Finance department who ... well, what doesn't Craig do? People are in and out of his office all day long looking for information, advice, the solution to some problem, or all of the above. He's so rarely wrong about anything that the our International Controller actually noted the date and time on her white board on one of the rare occasions that he was mistaken. "Craig was Wrong", read the notice, "June 8, 2009 - 3:12 pm".

There's Erin, our Sales Controller, who just recently returned from maternity leave, was immediately promoted and fills the thankless role of liaison between upper management, the Sales department and MIS.

The list goes on and on. I've chosen to mention only a very few examples because this is a blog, not a novel. However, if you're a co-worker of mine and are reading this (as I know that some of my co-workers do - outside of office hours, of course!) know that you're aces in my book, whether or not I've mentioned you by name. If the worst should eventually come to pass, I will miss you all dearly.