The Nerd's Eye View

The sky in Pittsburgh is faded like jeans that have been washed too many times. The blues are not as vibrant as they are in the west (maybe the only thing that is remarkable about that part of the country, and yes I am biased) and the sky itself seems constrained like a fat man stuck in an elevator. This doesn't stop me from looking upwards, though mostly at the old buildings that are all over downtown. I may have already mentioned this but I was quite taken by the style of the buildings in the downtown area. They are results of that curious period in American construction that gave us exposed brick with sandstone facades. It's all WWII era construction with hand painted advertising on the broad sides of the buildings, reminiscent of the NY of my youth but before the decline. In keeping with the introspection of this week, the whole thing has me regretting not becoming an architect.

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Pittsburgh is surprisingly pleasant, and I mean that in as nice a way as such a comment can sound. The weather has been lovely (low 60's and sunny) and the proximity to the hotel is an added benefit since it means I can walk to and from the convention center. This is a great advantage because on day 1 I realized there was nothing but registration and some opening ceremonies and so I decided to wander back to the hotel and take a nap before the team dinner with the other representatives of Faceless Corporation.

I woke up from the sleep with hypothermia from being so high up on my bed. The air was so hot mainly because hot air rises and for some reason the heat in the hotel has been turned up to near Saharan levels. In short, I needed a drink. And so I rolled out of bed, cleaned myself up and downed half a gallon of water before calling one of my coworkers and meeting in the lobby to walk down to the restaurant. The dinner was extremely pleasant as I was seated by a particularly engaging manager, and I discovered what other folks of color (as we are variously known) are doing at Faceless Corp. By the end of the night I felt like a part of something good.

That feeling extended into this morning when I woke up, dressed to impress and went to the convention center only to be greeted by a buddy from graduate school who now works for IBM in Tucson AZ. We reminisced and shot the breeze, wandering around the corporate exhibits watching fresh faced and nervous young folks crusing the aisles looking for swag and for jobs. Not too different from SPIE except with an air of youthful desperation. It wasn't long ago that I felt the same pangs and it's a wonder what several months yoked to the harness of a large corporate slave-cart will do. So I smiled and looked at the exhibits and finally went up to the professional development workshops.

Now if you haven't guessed it already, I am a cynic. I don't beleive in much, certainly not the sort of mumbo jumbo frequently espoused in the corporate setting. Yet I was impressed with the messages I was hearing in the workshops. They were positive and and accessible, warm and determined. I was particularly taken by the role of faith in all the presenters lives. But it was, by and large, not that odious self-righteous proclaiming so much as it was a natural extension of their lives. It certainly had me re-evaluating the role of my faith in my own life. Frankly I've been wayward lately - and I don't mean because of the wild behavior, the booze and the women. It's been really due to my own relation with God in my head. Food for thought.

The other striking thing that I noticed was the presence of the military. They were everywhere, and I don't just mean all the cadets (I foolishly forgot that West Point had to have an engineering program if only civil), but the recruiters. It's not enough to have people in the ROTC making their futures in the military after college but they're looking to enlist engineers who have managed to escape their lures thus far. At the Golden Torch Awards ceremony which honored scholarship awardees, former members and current officers there was a table that looked like it had been lifted lock, stock and barrel from a state dinner. Gleaming patent leather and campaign ribbons galore, with crew cut frames made the whole picture complete.

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Being one of three black engineers at Faceless Corporation, I was recently asked if I would like to take the opportunity to represent the company at the National Society of Black Engineers national conference in Pittsburgh. Ever in search of a junket and a way to break up the deadly monotony of the job, I agreed. After all this is a great opportunity to get to know some of my co-workers, network with other engineers and maybe also learn something - Heaven forbid!

I left San Francisco last night, having rushed through packing in an apartment that is itself not completely unpacked. Suits, shirts, ties and some casual clothes for after, all went into the bag. I'm not accustomed to traveling light with a suit and so my suitcase is ungainly and mostly empty space (in that regard much like my head). With that I rushed out to the airport for my red-eye flight to Pittsburgh.

I was already sleepy so when I got on the plane, I almost immediately fell asleep, only waking twice during my flight to wake my arm up. I am usually a big fan of red-eye flights since I have honed my skills of sleeping during trips, but this flight was especially grim partly due to the fact that I was going somewhere for work where I didn't know anybody, and couldn't go to the beach.

Pittsburgh is hilly, which is a shocker for me though it shouldn't be. In many ways it reminds me of E. Orange, NJ, with it's bare trees, and watery morning light. The drive from the airport was mostly uneventful though downtown Pittsburgh rivals SF for the number of consecutive one way streets headed in the same direction. I managed to unload my bags, park my car ($14 a day!) and didn't really stop to take stock of anything until I walked into the hotel lobby.

The strains of classical music crept down the thickly carpeted steps like eight cats and the light was muted on the marble floors. I remembered reading about the attempts of the Carnegies and other robber baron families to convert their industrial towns into real cities, with all the creature comforts of a New York or a Paris. Hotels like this one were obviously the result of their attempts to build their palaces (and in the case of one building their castles).

I checked in relatively quickly, getting a suspicious look from staff as I was grubbier than usual after my trip. "You certainly don't look like a doctor," was the thought running across their faces like a news ticker. I smiled mostly and took the elevator to my room. The room itself is quite impressive, with a bed requiring a step ladder and a harness to get into without violating OSHA safety codes. My only complaint would be (typical) about the connectivity. I am writing this from the lobby right now, since the wireless signal on my floor is so weak as to be useless except as a random number generator test bed. Next step: clean up and prepare for the day's sessions.

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Well gentle reader, if you are squeamish, now is the time to look away. Last night your beloved Lo Fat Mo's vehicle was burglarized. Yes, I've had my latest brush with the "big city crime problem", and it wasn't pretty. I had initially intended to leave my car in Mountain View, since I was cleaning out the apartment and didn't want the hassle of parking in my neighborhood. Unfortunately in my zeal to clean out my old apartment I missed the last train and had to drive back to SF - with things in the back seat.

Yes, harsh lessons for our young hero, and similarly strong lessons for the guys who got a bunch of old clothes headed to Goodwill, an empty box of The Macallan (sorry Pedro, they stole your gift) and a bag of cleaning supplies. When you see a crummy old car, it's really not even worth the trouble of breaking in. Frankly I felt a little insulted that they broke in, ransacked the car and quickly determined that the most valuable thing to take was a bag of old clothing.

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How does one find new Music? Easy, Libby, you go to the horse's mouth. In today's digital world? You could either ask your friends, badger me, or open Pandora's box. No, this isn't some high falutin' porn site, it's actually an extension of the Music Genome project, which aims to take one song and extrapolate all the songs that share the same "genes" or characteristics. Listen. You might hear something new that you like.

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My iPod caused a stir when I bought it since I hav ebeen long through to be the most hidebound of all my friends. The other night I set it down and when I tried to start it again it clammed up. It had been having problems with the hold switch and so I did a few experiments like a good engineer, but to no avail. It was dead.

My loyalty to this now archaic device lead me to try every means at my disposal (all two of them) to avoid junking it. So I finally took it to the Apple Store to see if they could repair it, and waited around like a father waiting for word on a child with a fever. Eventually the "Mac Genius" came out and threw his hands up in defeat like a surgeon in a soap opera. "There's nothing we could do, Sir, she's dead."

But we could apparently take it from you and "recycle" it, and give you a discount on a new black iPod. Which I promptly took. It is a thing of beauty, though I prefer the old monochrome screens. I'm also upset that they've departed from FireWire as their connector. But I suppose it's something I could get used to.

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The most aggravating part of my plan to move to San Francisco has not been the commuting back and forth from the city to the South Bay, but the sheer incredulity of my friends and colleagues. When informed of my move their faces have contorted with sneers and their eyes betrayed their doubts about my initial claims of "moving to the city by around April".

Today I moved the majority of my belongings into my new digs in South of Market (SOMA) district of San Francisco, for the grand experiment of "city" life. My bed is put together, my bookcase against the wall and a box of pizza is cooling slowly on the kitchen counter. With the aid of my friends I was able to move most of my things in under two hours. In fact the real hang up was the pick up of my new roommate's things at his old apartment. We did eventually move all our things in though our apartment doesn't look quite as spacious as it did when empty. For all of those couch philosophers who pontificate on how the universe is mostly just empty space - please come to my apartment and see if you can find any empty space.

I have no doubt that I'll get my self squared away rather quickly, if only because of necessity. You're all invited to the housewarming, though, so come on in, take your shoes off and relax. I am - after all, I'm home.

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Recognition is not something I crave (affirmation, adulation, yes, but recognition is not high on my list), but somewhere in corporate America is some bright spark reading a book about how to motivate people. The trickle down result is that mid-level managers seem to think that pulling long hours and being belittled by narrow idiots with an addiction to number out of context can be adequately compensated with a certificate printed out on a laser printer. The gusto with which they deliver the wrong message would be amusing if it weren't for the fact that one is working like a dog for nothing. Yet these poor attempts continue.

Today I recieved a factory award at our regular department wide staff meeting. It should have been an occasion of some joy for me as it ihas only been a year since I started working at Faceless Corporation, but it wasn't. The whole thing was marred by the sheer number of awards given out (seemed like everyone was winning something, like Little League) and the trouble I've been having with my boss Company Man.

I have been beset on all sides lately with inane requests and general unwillingness to listen to reason. I look to my immediate boss to sheild me from some of this nonsense since I am technically his resource, but he's been remiss in this duty. As a result I've had to put up with some boneheaded requests for help from other departments that are, to say the least, a waste of my time. The last really bad one came by way of Bollywood Boss, who is resembles nothing so much as a former Bollywood leading man who's fallen on some hard times and made a return to the screen - not as a heartthrob, but as perhaps the head of the evil conglomerate that's getting set to take possession of the small village and can only be stopped by a loss agianst the village's own amateur cricket team. You can see I've thought about this a bit.

I've been discussing it with Hatchet Face and The Kid, and both of them tell me that it's just a part of the dues paying. Obviously I'm not pleased, considering that I feel that that decade in college should really count for something more than another certificate and a chance to use the word "recalcitrant" in meetings. Before you all get on your respective comment soapboxes, I do realize that there is some "real world" dues paying to be had - I am just not pleased with the payment plan.

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I've been threatening to do this for a long time, but now, with the help of my good friend Butta Phat I am going through with it. Allow me to present the SkyBlog; a departure from the regular blogosphere introspection and navel-gazing; a raising of the eyes to the heavens; a potentially pretentious attempt at blogging without words. Enjoy.

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Being an employee of a large evil corporation and a blogger is a life fraught with difficulties and pitfalls. Much like a man married to a rich yet insane widow with a more fulfilling mistress, one has to tread very carefully indeed. The consequences are excessive to say the least. Much like the aforementioned man, of course, one cannot simply give up the mistress, and in fact the longer one is married to the insane widow, the more one needs the attentions of the mistress. And so one continues to blog and to blog about work - to abruptly drop the uncomfortable metaphor.

Lately there's been a focus on "information security" at the office. In order to drive the point home the corporate thought police have put posters up all over the place, with a fellow in a cleanroom (or "bunny") suit with a sullen look in his eyes holding hands with a pre-pubescent girl in a white walled room. The girl has a strange smile on her face which contrasts with the threatening look in the man's barely visible face. The whole thing has the air of a child who has been or is about to be abducted and possibly molested. The large caption says "Who is Protecting [Faceless Corporation]?", but gives off the message, "Who is Protecting your Children from [Faceless Corporation]?"

aside: The reasonable desire for the protection of intellectual property is not something to be sneezed at. The mixed messages of the corporate propaganda machine are. What sort of message are we getting from our marketing team when they provide us with a pamphlet about our brand image and how we protect it, that contains images of outsiders in sensitive areas? What sort of messages are sent with pictures of small children watching wafers being handled manually by people in the wrong garb? When marketing can't stay on message then what can the rest of us do?

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In many ways working at a major corporation's cube farm is like being in kindergarten. You can insert your own remarks about petulant babies throwing tantrums or not sharing, but I'm going to take the high road (or higher road anyway). But what I mean is the passing of nagging diseases back and forth. Much like a kindergarten, if one child gets a cold then it's only a matter of time before all the little blighters have it. It's been like Outbreak around here with engineers taking turns to be out of work due to the flu. The sound of phlegm-y lungs are resonating fromthe adjacent cubes and I can practically see the green clouds of pestilence drifting over the cubicle walls towards me. It's a wonder I haven't gone down yet with some virulent throat disease like Dutch.

The other echo of the infant leagues is the "contamination". While all public bathrooms are vile, there is something to be said for the shock that one recieves upon walking into the WC of your office building and seeing the horrifying state of the place. In a building populated by PhD's one has certain expectations and frequently those expectations are dashed like an ugly kid's at the prom.

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