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couldn't muster
Thursday, May 13 1999
An excerpt from Wired News on a possible collateral effect of the Littleton High School mass-shooting, the loss of a rocket & its billion dollar satellite payload:
"The Centaur upper stage was launched
carrying an inaccurate software load from
Lockheed Martin that went undetected in
the company's software verification
process," the May 10 edition of Aviation
Week and Space Technology reported.
The incorrectly programmed booster went
haywire, firing its twin engines at the
wrong times and releasing its expensive
cargo three hours too early into an orbit
thousands of miles too low.
Workers at the Lockheed Martin plant in
Littleton, Colorado, which prepared and
tested the software, were "emotionally
devastated," according to the magazine.
Employees at Lockheed Martin were
already struggling to cope with the
massacre at Columbine High School,
where many of their children are enrolled.
They are also dealing with the recent
announcement of 900 job cuts.
On my bike ride to work this morning, I saw a starling trying to hammer a snail apart against the hard asphalt surface of the bike lane. As I drew near, the bird flew off with the snail, flew over a swath of grass and landed on the sidewalk, where he continued pecking at the shell. It occurred to me that snail-eating might possibly be something that only certain highly-capable starlings do; it looked like an involved task for a small bird like a starling. Large brown land snails are common in San Diego, but I'd never seen a bird trying to eat one.
Other bird news relates to the Least Terns, an endangered species who live along the lower San Diego River channel. They weren't in evidence through the winter and early spring, but now they're out in full force. They're smallish white and grey birds who flit about like extremely-maneuverable miniature jet planes, swept-back wings and all. They do everything a fun-loving six year old boy suffering from ADD would do if only he could fly, careening about, doing mid-air rolls and then randomly plummeting directly into the water with no apparent purpose except the celebration of life.
As I mentioned yesterday, there's a new group of hot-shot programmers recently hired by my company to rebuild the back end of the site from scratch, using the latest Microsoft techniques so that our site may, as the oft-stated agenda goes, be taken to the "next level." While it's true that our site as presently-constructed pushes hacked-together Microsoft NT server technology about as far as it will go and something needs to be done to allow our user base to grow at the exponential rate we've witnessed, I don't like the pains being taken to keep this new batch of programmers away from the contaminating influences of those who have worked here awhile. (Believe it or not, after only seven months, I'm already old school!) Today I heard the "VP of System Architecture" asking the "Director of Web Development" which among the many projects his new team could attack. He wanted a simple one that could be developed largely unconstrained by connections to existing architecture. Well, to say the least, I was horrified to hear the "Director of Web Development" suggest possibly having the new crack shot team develop a message board system. It just so happens that for the past week I've been slaving away perfecting a message board system. To overhear that all this work might have been for naught sent me into a serious funk. Suddenly nothing in the company seemed to have any meaning for me. I should have just gone home I suppose.
An email came around giving the schedule for the various people who would be interviewed for possible appearance in a five minute lead-in that will be cybercast immediately prior to the Elizabeth Dole cybercast. When I saw the list: which included the same old stuffed shirts and marketing VPs making all the wind around the company, I sent out a disgusted (re: all) email saying something like, "god forbid a creative person get interviewed." After all this time I'm just like that. I don't give a fuck about anything and take ample advantage of the open communication policy. In this case, though, I immediately felt foolish with myself. When Aaron, our "class clown" of sorts, responded with his own slightly-awkward take on what I'd written, I sent out another email saying I was just referring to the "unshaven" types, thereby mocking the woman who'd sent out an email some days ago urging us to come to work "shaved and showered."
Later on in the day, my mood improved enormously when the "Director of Web Development," after looking at my message boards, said he was impressed with them and that the four hot shot programmers in the back should probably work on something else.
But even after this endorsement there was still something lacking in my motivation. I found my eyes glazing over as I looked at my monitor. I felt weak, tired and overwhelmed. I just couldn't muster any of the enthusiasm for my job that had been with me virtually without interruption for the past seven months, surviving all manner of "challenges" along the way.
At a certain point in the day the cameraman got around to interviewing me for possible inclusion in the five minute lead-in to Elizabeth Dole's cybercast. In the interview I said I was making heavy use of the new online dating service to find the woman of my dreams, but that I hoped my girlfriend didn't find out what I was up to. That was the only enthusiasm, contrived as it was, that I could muster for the unremarkable mass-market product I help produce.
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