May 12, 2018

It’s been a long hard week, lots of hours at work. I’m beyond exhausted.
But we had a big breakthrough this week.
Two more hard weeks and we could be done.
Hit a small bucket today and the back held up.
Could even bend over to put a ball on the tee without pain.
Also hit a few chips but I didn’t want to push it.
Back is tight tonight but no pain. Good.
Hopefully I can start taking Fridays off in June to prep for Goodboys.
Heading to Massachusetts on Monday but won’t bring the clubs.
Still too much going on to fraternize much, maybe come July.
Decided not to purchase DirecTV’s Extra Innings package to watch the Sox.
I don’t think they’re going to be that good, and I can’t stand David Price.
Or listening to Dave O’Brien. B-O-R-I-N-G.
Me loves me some President Trump for killing that Iran deal.
Obama’s legacy reminds me of the Wicked Witch of the West.
“I’m melting!….”
John Kerry should be arrested on Logan Act charges.
My national GOP contact says says big news coming re: healthcare reform.
Between that and North Korea, gonna sew up the midterms for the GOP.
Wayne Stinnett’s Jesse McDermitt series of books continue to be a joy.
Just created a Bob Marley playlist on my iPhone.
See y’all in the Eastern Time Zone.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 22:22 | Comments (0)
May 6, 2018

Could the end of the “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” nightmare be drawing to a close? Last week was the second of two really bad weeks in a row for just about everyone on the team – especially yours truly, but this time out of chaos and misery came what might have been a real breakthrough. This coming week it appears we will be taking steps forward, not backward, and by the end of next week things could be pretty interesting. We’ll see…

In the meantime…

My visit to the quack the other day went OK. Doc said he actually did the same thing to his back while working out six weeks ago. Put me on some steroids and muscle relaxants and told me to take two weeks off from hitting golf balls and see how it goes. The twinges are still there when I bend over the wrong way, but they don’t last. We’ll see how it goes when I try to hit a small bucket next weekend.

When the final story of the so-called “Russia collusion” and the Mueller investigation is written, Admiral Mike Rogers’ place in history as a one of the greatest patriots this country has every known will finally be revealed. Single-handedly, he saved the country from a massive constitutional crisis.

The below listed material exposes how political appointees of the Obama administration weaponized the intelligence community, the FBI, and the Department of Justice to spy on a US Presidential candidate before he was elected, and for the first time in US History, attempted to initiate the removal of a the duly elected US President from office, creating a Constitutional Crisis and by so doing, dangerously dividing the American electorate, by charging that Donald Trump collude with Russia to win the presidential election, when the truth is that Hillary Clinton colluded with Russia to create and pay for a false Steele Dossier on Donald Trump.

The article further exposes how the political appointees in the Obama administration in the intelligence community, employed the fraudulently created Steele Dossier, funded by the Hillary Presidential Campaign and the Democratic Party, whose content were never verified by the political appointees at FBI Headquarters and US Justice Department Headquarters to obtain FISA Warrants. The goal was to unmask hundreds of American citizens, and to also surveil and intercept communications, phone calls, and conversations of members of the Trump Campaign and the Trump Presidential Transition Team in Trump Tower.

The hero in putting an end to these illegal and treasonous actions, at personal risk to his survival, was NSA Director Admiral Mike Rogers, USN, who James Clapper tried to prevent from revealing the depth of the conspiracy, and then tried to have him removed from office.

The article that follows the above is long and complex, but well worth reading. To think that something like this could have happened in the United States of America is hard to believe. Thanks to Admiral Rogers’ efforts the truth is coming out, and lots of folks the mainstream media has been holding up as heroes and icons could well see themselves indicted on some very serious charges.

Why the mainstream media continues to push any kind of polls after the pathetic job the pollsters did in the 2016 presidential election is beyond me, but, that doesn’t stop them from trying to destroy President Trump every chance they get. This is just one reason why you can’t trust anything you read when it comes to polls anymore. Because, like the mainstream media, they still refuse to recognize what’s really going on outside their Washington Beltway and East and West Coast elitist collectives.

Why the mainstream media is so focused on Stormy Daniels and virtually ignoring what has been happening on the Korean Peninsula is nothing short of amazing. Granted, it could all be some kind of a ruse and end up collapsing, but if there is reconciliation, nuclear disarmament, and a end to hostilities wouldn’t that be as historic in this generation as the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Soviet Union was in a prior generation? We are living in truly historic times, but yup, a wealthy private businessman vulnerable to blackmail could have paid off a porn star years before he ever became president.

…to that end, Jordan Peterson. Candace Owens. Kanye West. Three public figures who are changing the way people think. I’m linking to articles critical of them because y’all need to know why they are perceived as such a threat to the liberal Left and Democrats. They ought to be shaking in their boots, because the times, they are a changin’…

I can’t believe this guy was actually the Republican nominee for president. What a moron.

I know everyone is fascinated with Tiger Woods and applying a microscope to everything he does, but the fact is he’s really no more than just an ordinary golfer out of the PGA Tour right now. Sure, Golf Channel will highlight every great shot he makes during a round, but the fact is other guys out there are doing the same thing, and more often than Tiger is. In addition, what they are showing skews your perception of where Tiger actually is with this game because they don’t show the incessant grinding he has to do every round. Right now nothing is rocking-chair for Tiger; he has to work too hard every round, and come Sunday he doesn’t have anything left in the tank.

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May 5, 2018

Si lo hicimos!

It’s the second anniversary of the Taco Bowl that saved the world. (Hat tip: Instapundit)

A happy Cinco de Mayo to everyone out there from Goodboys Nation weblog!

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May 3, 2018

I usually don’t dream much about things that have happened in my past. Typically, they’re always kind of disjointed things, like something produced by some early 20th century impressionist artist zonked out of his mind, just flinging paint at a canvas off his fingers. That is, unless I’m dreaming of work and the same crap I deal with twelve hours a day, or the rare golf dream where I’m wedged in between trees and walls and unable to take a full swing with my club.

They say lots of golfers have this kind of dream, researchers don’t know why. But I digress…

Last night I had a dream where I relived one of the best moments of my life. It was back in late 1977 when our band Top Priority was playing a Christmas party at some Elks or VFW hall. It was near the end of our tether as a band, but for this occasion we had brought along my young cousin Gregg to man the lights, and our keyboard player “Keys” Palma had enlisted his brother and a friend of his to augment me on my violin-shaped Hofner knock-off, my brother Mark on drums, “Keys” on his Sun City electric keyboard, and our guitarist “The Cat” with horns in the form of saxophone and trumpet. I remember we played a very bluesy “White Christmas” that (at least to my ears) was one of the coolest things we’d ever done.

In my dream, we capped our performance off with our rendition of this unreleased, horn-backed arrangement of the Beach Boys’ “Back Home”, a song from their 15 Big Ones album the year before. In my dream we were in someone’s cellar working out the arrangement (even though there was no way we could have known about it at the time, technology being what it was), then in the next frame, our band on stage bathed in the colors of Gregg toggling switches on our home-made light show, me handling a gruff lead, the audience clapping along, the band groovin’ in such a way only someone who has ever experienced such a thing could understand – locked in and one with the audience, producing a high unlike any other, a high better than sex, a high better than the greatest high anyone could ever experience.

And then it was over. I woke up, walked out onto the back patio where the last chilly night of the spring gave the tiles under my feet a chilly, almost winter-like feeling. A single bird was chirping in a faraway tree, the stars a carpet of twinkling lights above me. The dream reminded me of a similar occasion two years later, before I gave it all up, with another band playing some dance at Essex Agricultural College, and me handling the lead on a horn-drenched version of this old Beatles tune. I remember at the time thinking we sounded like gods, someone told us later they thought we sucked and one of the worst bands they’d ever heard. But who cares? It’s the memory of it that remains.

I looked at the time, two hours from waking and what would eventually turn out to be five hours of crisis calls in a row, calls that would give me a migraine and cause my injured back to ache back up again.

But for a moment, it was nice to be away.

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May 2, 2018

Are the 14-hour days about to end? Maybe drop down to, say, only 12-hour days? We’ll see tomorrow. We’ve got a big roundtable discussion with the team to see if we’re ready to begin the last glorious phase of getting “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” in a halfway decent state, or whether we might have discovered another hidden landmine that could set us back again. There are a lot of moving parts in play, I’m hoping for the best. In the meantime:

Is it the end of CDs as we know when it comes to playing music in my car? Well, I just downloaded a ton of surf onto my iPhone 6E and ordered a couple of aux cables for use in the car. If this works out, who knows what I can accomplish? Talk about entering the 21st century!

I can see how people spend weekends (if not weeks) organizing all their music on their iPhones. I’ve got a ton of it here in the home machine. This isn’t anything you just want to jump through in haste; you really need to think about how you want to organize your music and get used to how it is all organized so it all makes some sense. We’ll see how it goes.

So there I was, on a call on Monday with some big-wigs down at “TCWSRN”, when all of a sudden, two baby mourning doves flew right in front of my home office window and landed atop the east wall. Then momma dove comes over, and they all just kind of vegged out for a few minutes before all three disappeared. I went outside, checked the planter by the house, and sure enough, the nest was vacated. It just made me feel so privileged to watch nature in action. On Tuesday the runt of the litter was back in the nest just hanging out, then today the two babies and momma dove were back, the babies frantically taking nourishment from their momma before flying away again. They’re obvious strong and good fliers; I hope we see them around from time to time when they’re mature. I’ll leave the empty planter where it is; who knows who else might want to use it?

I wish I could say my back was feeling better, but if it is, it’s only fractionally so. I have a appointment with the quack tomorrow; we’ll see what he says. Normally, I’d be looking forward to playing some spring golf when I’m back in Massachusetts the week after next, but at this point I don’t see it happening. I’ve tried taking a couple of swings in my front yard, and while I can sorta swing a club, I can’t bend over to pick up my ball or put it on a tee, so what’s the point?

I’m really enjoying Wayne Stinnett’s Jesse McDermitt series of “Caribbean Adventure” novels. I’m already on book four of the series and they’re all very good. Breezy reads, definitely a notch below, say, James Lee Burke in their complexity and intensity, but that’s a good thing. I get all the intensity and complexity with work.

We had a storm pass to the north of us yesterday and today, and today’s temperatures didn’t even break eighty degrees. They’re saying the next time we see temps like this will be early November. Tomorrow it’s back to the eighties, Friday, the nineties, and then starting Saturday we’re in the hundreds for, I’m guessing the next 4 1/2 months. Given that it’s May, folks here in the Valley of the Sun knew summer wasn’t going to stay away forever. So into the soup we go.

Enough for now, I’m going in to soak my back. Why not leave with some Yoko Ono for your listening pleasure?

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 20:33 | Comments (0)
April 29, 2018

…just because my life is on hold doesn’t mean there isn’t life going on out there.

…In fact just twelve feet from where I’m tapping away on this very keyboard, the mourning dove who chose an empty planter next to our side yard gate has had two beautiful little babies. There’s a runt and a curious one, and I think they’re both going to make it. The momma dove and her partner have done a great job putting to good use the thousands of years of evolution God has granted them; I’m so honored that it was our yard that was chosen for this marvelous event!

…I think this is the coolest thing. Queue some great music to go along with this.

…It’s pretty amazing to see just how petty the mainstream media is regarding President Trump; one can only imagine if it were Saint Barack Obama serving as the motivating factor behind this? My God, they’d be falling all over themselves in honor, praise, and glory. But it’s Trump, so the downplaying and tempering of expectations is the order of the day. If the President is able to pull this off, it will be as momentous as the Jimmy Carter’s Sinai peace accord and the fall of the Berlin Fall.

…Just don’t expect to see the mainstream media report it as such. They’re just a bunch of privileged, elitist a$$holes.

…because while his opponents are playing Chinese Checkers, Trump is playing 3D chess. And they’re too hung up in their own hate to recognize it.

I too miss Pope Benedict XVI. This so-called Social-Justice Warrior masquerading as Pope is a moron.

It’s things like this that make me realize just how much I despise social media. You have vile, spoiled people who actually think their opinion matters to the point where they can bully someone into being ashamed for simply doing what they feel like doing. It’s the Starbucks generation run amok, and I am so glad I’m at an age where I can tell them all to go to hell.

I’ve been anticipating the same thing Candace Owens and Kanye West are saying for years. The Democrats only care about African-Americans when November comes around during election years. They think African-Americans are too stupid and ignorant to carry around IDs that can be used for voting; they’ve destroyed generations of African-Americans through abortion and Planned Parenthood; and they’ve decimated the African-American family unit through policies that promote only dependency on their Democratic plantation owners. The fact that very high-profile African-Americans like West and Owens are speaking up has to have the Democrats shaking in their boots – they know that increased economic opportunities for African-Americans dooms them to the minority in Washington for years, if not decades to come.

…and it couldn’t happen to a more vile and racist group of people.

…Along those same lines, I loves me some Diamond and Silk.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 22:41 | Comments (0)
April 28, 2018

I was out taking a walk around the block a week ago Friday and turning the past day’s activities at work involving “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” (hereafter simply “TCWSRN”) and I was feeling uneasy. We were supposed to be running a series of jobs that were supposed to fix a data corruption issue caused when one of our India guys overlooked some code that, well, shouldn’t have been overlooked. The data corruption issue had set our main project back a week – instead of having everything (and I do mean everything) fixed and the project finally closed down by the second week of May, we were now looking at a mid-May timeframe at a minimum. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that, in their haste to make things right, the India guys were not accounting for a whole bunch of data that was still going to need fixing. I came in from my walk and fired off an e-mail expressing my concerns. My guy wrote back almost immediately assuring me they had identified and were fixing all of the corrupted data; he even sent me an example of one of the accounts being corrected to prove it.

On Wednesday, one of the users at “TCWSRN” called me up and told me she found a whole bunch of stuff that appeared to still be corrupted. I asked my India guys to recheck their logic, and sure enough, what had made me so uneasy during my Friday night walk turned out to be correct. Even worse, the original issue ended up revealing an even bigger issue involving the 3rd party software vendor our project is involved with, and they found a major issue with their own software. So another week goes into the books and all hopes of the project being completed by mid-May are blown clear out of the water. We’re now six months – six months! – into this project, everyone is pissed at each other and tired of working long days on a project where the goalposts seem to be moving further away with each passing day.

It would be nice in this kind of environment to simply get away and go hit balls at the range, but I’m afraid I did something really bad to my back during my range session a week ago. The muscle relaxants, hot baths, and Tylenols haven’t made much of a difference; today it was back to spasming whenever I tried to bend over for anything. So on Monday I’m going to call my primary quack for an appointment and see what he thinks – perhaps a MRI is in order. I was hoping to start back at the gym this past week but my back won’t let me do anything except stand up, walk around, and sit down. And the same holds true for golf – right now I can’t even bend over to putt, let alone swing a club.

So that’s basically it: a never-ending, mega-stressful work project that won’t relent even for a day, and a back that won’t let me do anything but gingerly take a walk around the neighborhood. Last night I dreamed I was laid off and standing on a balcony overlooking Santa Fe shrouded in snow and fog – the second time I’d had such a dream. I woke up wishing I could go back there, but there were four straight hours of meetings ahead of me that included a shouting match with my boss. It’s not much of an existence right now, but it won’t last forever: it’s hard to “TCWSRN” putting up with this situation for another month. Either things will be fixed by the end of May, or we’ll all be tossed out, fired, or both. Maybe by then I’ll know what’s wrong with my back, and perhaps by then it might even start feeling better.

But one thing’s for sure: until one or the other changes, in one way or another, it’s life on hold.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 21:59 | Comments (0)
April 21, 2018

A few thoughts while considering that maybe it’s time to get that MLB Extra Innings package on DirecTV – the Red Sox are so hot right now that it might be time to actually learn something about them.

I haven’t been following anything about the Sox – or virtually anything else – because of work and “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless”. Tuesday and Wednesday were extraordinarily bad days, as bad as they get. The whole effort was teetering on the edge of a “China Syndrome” collapse, and then one of our India guys pulled a rabbit out of a hat and found a flaw in our programming that has enabled our part of the project to get back to where it should have been a week ago. A week late, perhaps, but at least we’re still standing. Which means the heat gets transferred to one of our vendor partner to fix their own personal version of Armageddon that is now threatening the project. By next weekend I’ll have a much better idea of where all of this is going.

…with the heat off of us – at least temporarily – I went out to hit balls today and promptly threw out my back on just the third ball I was hitting. Felt like a knife twisting into my lower-left lumbar region. This has never happened before, so I’m not sure what I did to cause it. I tried to man-up my way through the bucket but finally had to surrender halfway through so I wouldn’t end up on the ground writhing in pain in front of everyone. But the Goodboys would have been proud of me: an elderly couple two bays down were just getting ready to hit their bucket, so I offered them the rest of mine. Told them about my back but kept one for a “mind over matter” moment win which I grabbed my 9-iron, picked out a target 110 yards away, and promptly stiffed one so close it hit the stick.

“Good enough”, I said, before barely being able to limp away.

…I then went over to the chipping / putting area and tried to do some short-game work, but it was no use; I couldn’t even pick up my balls after chipping them on the green without using my club as a cane. I was trying not to make too much of a scene of it when a teenager came over to his friends on the other side of the green and asked his buds if they had an extra glove since he had forgotten his. His friend said, “but you’re a lefty!”, upon which the lad said, “that’s OK, I’ll turn it around.”

“Here”, I said, offering him my glove. “We lefties have to stick together.”

The grin on his face was something you never forget. “Thanks, dude!”, he said, and off he trotted towards the first tee’s tee box.

…I should have asked him to pick up my balls for me.

Onto other matters…

One of these days, when (if ever) work slows down, I have to figure out how to download photos from my IPhone 6SE to the computer. There’s a mourning dove who has taken to nesting in a small planter next to the house on top of the piling by the gate that opens to the side and back yards. She’s been there for three weeks now, and doesn’t seem to mind me opening the gate to take the trash barrels out as long as I do it gently and quietly and do not – do not place the lock next to the planter like I normally do. We’re hoping in the next week or two to have a baby dove join the family of creation! I took a nice picture of it and will get it for y’all once things settle down. Of course, by then it will be meaningless, won’t it?

With Tracey’s shoulder in such a bad way our plans to get our concealed carry licenses and pick out our weapons of choice are on hold, but that didn’t stop me from joining the NRA today. Screw the Democrats and the snowflake gun-confiscation warriors out there. Gun control my ass – once I have my gun they can try and pry it from my cold, dead hands.

First it was Randy Wayne White with his Doc Ford series of novels. Then it was James Lee Burke and his Dave Robicheaux and Billy Bob Holland series of novels. Now it’s Wayne Stinnett and his Jesse McDermitt “Caribbean Adventure Series” of action-adventure books. Never thought I’d ever get so much into fiction, but these have become my means of escape during this lengthy stretch of work and stress.

I can’t help but think my back going out today while hitting balls is to a great degree work-related. My sister-in-law Tam gave me a muscle relaxant and I’m going in for a long, hot soak in the tub. What I wouldn’t give to be at the Wynn Las Vegas spa for a hot whirlpool and a deep-muscle massage!

Tomorrow it’s back into the meat grinder and another 14-hour day. We’ll see what the next week brings. I can tell y’all this: I’m getting too old for this sh*t.

The Ventures’ “Blue Dawn” is a surf classic, dontcha think? Surf music and golf are a great combination.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 19:58 | Comment (1)
April 17, 2018

15-hour work days.

Tracey reinjuring her surgically-repaired shoulder and is going to be on the shelf again for six weeks, maybe more.

The pool desperately needing a backwash and a good cleaning.

Patrick Reed winning the Masters.

A mourning dove has made a nest in a planter next to the gated entrance to our back yard.

It’s the middle of April and the year has passed by in a blur of work and wasted days and wasted nights.

And there’s no end in sight.

Last night the wind came up out of nowhere. It was around three AM and Tam’s rabbits (they’re staying with us so Tam can play house nurse to Tracey’s needs), all of a sudden started tearing around the bedroom. I could hear the royal palms next door being stirred in all directions, and a dream I was having about being fired from a company I used to work for back when we lived in Kentucky started to recede into my brain.

I went into the kitchen and steadied myself with a small glass of wine and stepped out onto the back patio. The wind had turned into the west and was blowing hard. One of the large branches on the queen palm tossed lifelessly in the breeze above me, its stalk broken by the winds.

I looked up and said to it, “I know how you feel, and I’m sorry.”

It has been an incredibly dry and windy year thus far here in the Valley of the Sun; more wind than we typically get this time of year, for sure. The local weather folks say we’re likely to have more dust storms than usual this year because everything is so damned dry.

I sat in a patio chair for a few minutes and allowed the night to clear my head. I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately about employment; they always seem to center around me being in the wrong place and either not having work to do, getting fired, or worrying about getting fired. No golf dreams. Unlike most folks, I’m guessing, I’ve never dreamt about things in the past. I’ve never dreamt about growing up or being a kid living in Tewksbury, or re-living past events. I do have one other recurring dream – that I’m in college and have to take a final exam but hadn’t known about the class to begin with, so I’m faced with taking an exam I know nothing about.

It’s all very strange.

But even in my waking hours, I no longer think about the past, don’t think about the future, don’t really think about anything. The days just stretch on one after another, like miles on a long, straight interstate westward across the Texas Panhandle, every day’s sunrise and blazing-red sunset no different from the previous day’s, just as they’ve been for the past 4 1/2 months. I wake, grab a cup of coffee, handle the inevitable incoming related to the “Client Who Shall Remain Nameless”, then twelve hours later either veg out for a few hours to take a bubble bath and/or read a James Lee Burke or (most recently) a Wayne Stinnett paperback, before an hour’s worth of e-mailing and calling it a night. There are no sleepless nights – I’m usually asleep in ten minutes’ time, only to dream once again about being soon-to-be unemployed and wake up as the birds are just starting to chirp to do it all over again.

Two weeks ago, I had started working on my golf game again and was really looking forward to becoming a “Ranger Rick” ahead of this year’s Goodboys Invitational; now it’s pretty much a given that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

You might be saying to yourselves, it’s not much of an existence for The Great White Shank. But that’s the way life has become. I oftentimes see myself laying in a hospital bed, dying of something, and regretting all this time not being put to better use, but honestly, I’m not sure what else I could be doing that’s so much different. I have to work, there’s no other choice. Find another job? I could, I suppose, but here I have the luxury of working from home, and who’s to say that any job I might take would be any better and any less stressful, with the prospect of having to travel or at the very least having to commute. No thanks.

…not to mention the fact that I’d never make as much dough-re-mi as I do now.

…and the idea of this 62-year old staring down a job market is a worse nightmare than the ones I’m already having.

By this time in the project I truly thought things would be getting better, but this past weekend’s results were pretty dispiriting, and today we discovered yet another problem that’s likely to set the project back weeks, if not a month or more. I can’t help but wonder how much longer our management or the “Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” will put up with this. Everyone’s tired and burnt out, and we’re making mistakes we shouldn’t be making. Another guy on this project was told in no uncertain terms by one of the VPs that he needed to get him some numbers by end of business. Like me, he had just come off working three fifteen-hour days on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, and made the mistake of just wanting to rest his eyes for a couple of minutes. He slept for over four hours. When I suggested to him the VP wasn’t going to like that, he just said, “Good, then they can fire me. At least that way I’ll be off this damned project.”

And that’s the way I feel. We’re all serving life sentences on a chain-gang on the Brazos with little hope of parole…

Ain’t no more cane on this Brazos, my boy
Oh, oh, oh…

Where we been ground down all to molasses
Oh, oh, oh…

When I come down here had a number for my name
Oh, oh, oh…

Well they chained us together and we started chopping cane
Oh, oh, oh…

I wish you was here in nineteen and ten
Oh, oh, oh…

They was driving the women just like they was men
Oh, oh, oh…

I wish you was here when the storm winds came
Oh, oh, oh…

With that man lyin’ dead and we cut him off the chain
Oh, oh, oh…

If I had a sentence like ninety-nine and nine
Oh, oh, oh…

Ain’t no dogs on this Brazos could keep me on a line
Oh, oh, oh…

…Why dontcha go down Old Hannah, dontcha rise up no more
Oh, oh, oh…

Well they worked me so hard that I can’t work no more
Oh, oh, oh…

Ain’t no more cane on this Brazos, my boy
Oh, oh, oh…

Where we been ground down all to molasses
Oh, oh, oh…

..with the end coming only with execution or exile to the Sunnyvale Nursing Home after you’re all broken down and incapable of creating Gantt charts for dickhead VPs who couldn’t even fart without written instructions after a plate of enchiladas and beans.

There’s another high wind warning up for Thursday.

Meaning more debris in the pool, sure hope I don’t lose any more palm tree branches.

Hoping that mourning dove has her babies soon.

Don’t know where or how all of this will end.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 22:47 | Comments (0)
April 15, 2018

This was supposed to be the week where my team finally got control of the situation at “The Client Who Shall Rename Nameless”; instead, after a weekend of two 18-hour days we’re slightly behind where I’d hoped we’d be, and, even worse, encountering new issues that are only going to slow us down further this coming week.

Some of this, to be brutally honest, was self-inflicted – one of the India guys wasn’t paying sufficient attention and really screwed up (hence, the long weekend hours). But the client helped put us in the situation where we are, so there is plenty of blame to toss around on both sides.

We’re 4 1/2 months into this implementation and I wish there were an end in sight. I thought this past week was the week that was finally going to put us on the road to that light, yet, here we are, in some ways closer, in other ways further away. Because every step we take towards bring this engagement to a close only results in us discovering yet another issue. It’s pretty disheartening.

Were I the client (who, of course, shall remain nameless), I’d have told my company to shut the whole damned thing down a month ago. And I wouldn’t have blamed them in the least – our solution doesn’t scale and there are way too many moving parts and points of failure, and my team, while talented and enthusiastic, is young and prone to mistakes if you’re not bird-dogging them at every moment. And it’s not as if this project is the only one on our collective plates.

Didn’t hit balls this weekend. Never got to attending to the pool, which needs a serious backwash. Never got to blogging except for this minor blurb. At this stage I’ll either be ground down to a pulp or fired. That’s like having to choose between Billy Joel and Huey Lewis and the News. My boss had to intervene between me and one of our executive VPs last week, so the latter isn’t out of the question. Everyone in the project is tired, worn out, sick of each other, and desperate for any light at the end of the tunnel that isn’t an oncoming train.

This sucks.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 22:53 | Comments (0)


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