For someone who works with computers, I have very little respect for them. Perhaps that’s left over from a programming class where the teacher reminded us that the computer only does what we tell it to do. It’s mindless. Or more likely it has been experience reinforcing this: the computer program is only as good as its author, and I’ve seen so many that aren’t. What this results in, however, is prejudicial treatment of the machines. I simply assume that my experiences with them will be even worse than experiences with human, so I despise voice mail jail (Press 0 for an operator.), interactive voice response systems (Hi, Siri!), time-sheets, and resume sifting by keyword. This disrespect is misplaced; it’s no fault of the computer’s own that it is incompetent and hard to deal with. It’s the fault of those humans who designed it. But they are anonymous and the computer sits there, refusing to take what I give it until I alter my behavior to suit its inflexibility. I’m not the one wrong; it is. Why? Because I am not the computer’s accessory. It is doing a task for me. Why does it end up being the other way ’round?
Norway’s SlowTV film of the Bergen to Oslo railway is beautiful and deeply moving: nostalgic. Though I’ve never been to Norway, I’ve ridden trains. While I can count long train rides on my hands, my time commuting on MetroNorth Rail-Road, the New York City subway, and the London Underground are some of my favorite memories. I looked forward to riding the train. One year my commute passed through Penn Station. A ticket on the next train out of New York beckoned me to buy one and go.
I’ve started working with the movie in the background. The rhythmic rumble, the occasional announcements, are soothing. I tricked myself into thinking I’m working in the cafe car. Now and again I look up and out at the fjords.
One of the wonderful aspects of system administration, or DevOps as the kids call it these days, was that much of the work can be done anywhere there’s an Internet connection. This begins to pale as a wonderful aspect when anywhere is restricted to just another grey cubicle in a sea of grey cubicles, and pales to insignificance when anywhere becomes only your bedroom, and the few minutes you see other people is at the school bus stop. All of your friendships and conversations become virtual — which is just the thing you once desired so much. What offered the promise of working anywhere became working nowhere. Meanwhile, the world of IT operations long ago realized that if the work could be done from anywhere, then it could just as easily be done from India or Slovenia as from New Jersey, so while BigCo real estate operations were trying to lower costs by reducing the office footprint and exploring telecommuting, other folks at BigCo were looking at ways to get rid of people entirely, not by replacing by replacing them with machines (automating or optimizing processes), but with cheaper labor from elsewhere. Costs were reduced, one assumes, not through efficiency and gains in productivity, but through the illusion of arbitraging regional differences in the cost of labor.
Cleaning my library, I ran across an N-scale model railroad that I’ve carried with me from house to house. If memory serves, it last ran in Loveland, Ohio. I may have been 12. Our youngest, 8, put it together last year, but couldn’t resolve an electrical problem, so it went back in the box. He likes to build with Legos, so this Christmas I gave him a Lego train. We need more track.
I stopped working in New York for moments with my children. Our first child would be asleep by the time I got home, and not yet awake when I left. Taking employment nearby meant I could see my family for breakfast and dinner, and sometimes lunch. There was a trade-off, of course: no more trains, for one.
Each place I’ve worked has had its own atmosphere, its own odor. A new cat came to live with us last year and the adjustment has been, shall we say, complex. So I am in the process of ripping out all the wall-to-wall carpeting and replacing it with something urine-proof. In the meantime, I’m sleeping in the library. There is something so cozy to be surrounded by one’s books. Sometimes I lie awake just staring at all the friends I’ve made and places I’ve been.
Each place I’ve worked has had its own character, its own people. This place here has cats and on occasion small children. One of my first employments was as a clerk at a Standard Drug in Richmond, Virginia. There were just a handful of us on staff: the pharmacist and his assistant, the store manager, another clerk, and me. I did not deal much with the pharmacists other than to pass prescriptions to them, so I only have a faint impression of them. The manager was in his 40s, perhaps older, with glasses, a scraggly beard, and bad teeth: probably a lot like how I look now, except for the teeth. The other clerk spent his days stoned. That summer my brother and I lived with Grandmother; we were expected home for dinner by 5:30. Dinner was always at 5:30. I would walk down the road to the Henrico Public Library branch, if books were needed, then make it back to Grandmother’s for dinner. Late nights I spent with Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Turner Classic Movies. It wasn’t until after I graduated from college that I made real friends at work, or was even interested in doing so. And then I found peculiar characters, colleagues, kindred spirits, and friends.
Working from a coffee shop is a great way to observe a bunch of characters while you work, if you pick the right shop. But you can get trapped just watching everything transient. Much better is the cafe car on a long-distance train or the counter at an all-night diner. People seeking people come and sit there, often drinking, sometimes working, sometimes holding forth, sometimes playing cards.
It is easier to build team spirit on a virtual team than to address alienation. We coalesce around our shared goals, tasks, and complaints quite easily. Interpersonal problems do arise, if not everyone is working at their best, which can require a chat, perhaps the resetting of expectations, but my experience has been that the team wants to work as a team: no one wants to let another down, and quite willingly picks up work that another has dropped. They almost have a common enemy in their employer — not in the competition as one might expect — which is not for the best, but suffices.
Where did we get this idea of work-life balance, that work and life were separate? Did we not realize that by putting work in opposition to life that we’ve aligned it with death? Or was that an intentional recognition that in some respects our way of working is not living, but a kind of zombie existence?
We forget sometimes that a lot of life is constructed around us by society, and when we’re cut off we do not know how to build it back. One of my great failures as a manager was [name redacted], who was a very talented employee, supremely dedicated to his work — until one day it all went to hell. No one else worked near him, or talked to him on a regular basis, so no one knew what was happening until he just stopped. He gave up fighting. As Peter Gibbons puts it in Office Space, “I’m just not gonna go.” The bullshit defeated him. Like the rest of us, he’d been working essentially by himself from home for some time.
I haven’t figured out how to fix this, yet. But it seems to me that the key might be have meaningful work in the first place; nip this problem in the bud.
I have, since I found out about it, wanted to go to space.
I remember, vividly, watching Star Trek in color in the basement of a friend who had television and shag carpet. I was young: older than five and younger than eight.
(I remember, vividly, watching all of Star Trek in one weekend at St. John’s. But that’s another story.)
I devoured all stories of the stars I could find, all of which made it seem possible. I despaired when Skylab crashed in the Australian desert. I gobbled up the news that NASA would launch a space shuttle. We were on our way again!
Still, the first job I wanted — and failed to apply for — was an internship with NASA at Wallops Island, Virginia. That was the first time I decided I wasn’t good enough; I hadn’t enough experience. I was too young.
I’m so excited! I want to be part of this! Why do all the open positions at the company have to be in California?!
Now I’m too old.
Go West, Young Man!
Ad astra per aspera.
Certain things aren’t talked about — or at least are avoided because they are uncomfortable to talk about — in polite society; that is, beyond our immediate circle of intimates: politics, religion, race, gender, sex, salary, feelings, whether or not I’m happy at work and seeking other employment. The strange personalized anonymity of the Internet changed this a bit. We put on masks and play roles with more ease, swapping one identity for another as circumstances dictate, or in a search for ourselves.
I applied, even though I have no work experience in the field, because I want to do this work, and because of this statement in the posting:
as always we’re more interested in someone’s potential than his or her past.
That friendly statement was important. One of my foibles is that I remove myself from consideration for a lot of work that I would like to do because I don’t meet, or think I don’t meet, the specified requirements for the position. And even if I do apply, I find it difficult to sell myself, even though I feel confident that I could do any work required, because there’s that learning curve that experience and training do help overcome. More importantly, perhaps, why should someone have faith that I can do the work if I haven’t done the work before? What intangible assets are they willing to buy when they expressed a preference for certain tangible assets, such as a college degree or certification in the field? Why should I be considered for CIO, for example, if I do not have an MBA and have not supervised a large number of people in addition to a large number of computers?
The last position that I applied for before this was also one for which I was nominally unqualified. While a position in IT it involved Microsoft products, which I have studiously avoided for well over ten years. I applied at the behest of a friend, who thought I would be a great fit for his team because I had the soft skills he wanted: specifically, he wanted someone who could step in for him as Director of IT Operations if he were hit by a bus. His boss, the VP of Technology, however, wanted certification and experience with the products the company used. Or, as he put it, he wanted someone who could hit the ground running. I applied despite this, because I agreed with my friend, and because the salary would have been three times what I’m currently making, and one does need to pay for one’s children somehow. As expected, the VP followed his preferences, and did not accept our argument that general practical experience combined with the ability to learn quickly and solve problems were more important than specific experience with a given product. Basically, the two of them were hiring for different positions. I wonder how they’re doing these days.
I’ve found, in my professional experience, that certifications are relatively meaningless. Rare has it been that the nominally qualified candidate has met my performance expectations. Usually it has been the opposite. But if certifications are worthless, how then does someone know whether you are good, if you can do the work they want you to do? The evidence of the work done, or, loosely, experience. Which is the difficulty if one is entering a field for the first time, whether as a recent graduate or someone seeking a mid-life career change; we are all neophytes.
In the past I’ve leaned on learning things quickly, or at least more quickly than others, to make up for a lack of direct experience. But I don’t know how to sell that. Doesn’t everyone claim that they can communicate well, that they learn quickly, that they can solve problems, even if not as well as AlphaGo? Does one simply assert that something is true, and let the buyer learn from their disappointment or delight?
And so we have spec work and trials — or, online portfolios and blogs.
I’m reading an excellent book right now that’s discussing how we surrender our judgment to detailed rules and procedures: The Death of Common Sense: How Law is Suffocating America, by Philip K. Howard.
These problems plague any large organization, not just government.
An example from today: One of the applications I support needs to increase storage by 26 GB (spread across 8 filesystems on 3 hosts). (IBM doubled the size of some software.)
The Company funds increases of up to 10% of the existing filesystem from the operations budget, but requires a special project and dedicated budget line for anything over that. The needed increase is greater than 10% of the size of the existing filesystems.
So, I could increase the 3 TB filesystem by 307 GB, but not the 3 GB filesystem by 3 GB?
Kinda funny what happens when people don’t understand percentages, isn’t it?
You’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up. Ask yourself this: “Is somebody dying?” No? Then it can wait until morning.
I’ve found that I put off going to work because I know the Internet connection there is limited.
What do the text utilities on AIX have against following the manual and manipulating newlines properly? Is it just that AIX is from IBM, and IBM software is half-assed?
$ uname -a AIX myhost 3 5 00C2D2804C00 $ echo " 1 2 3 4 5 2 1" | tr -s [:space:] '\n' 1 2 3 4 5 2 1 $ echo " 1 2 3 4 5 2 1" | tr -s [:space:] '\012' 1 2 3 4 5 2 1 $ echo " 1 2 3 4 5 2 1" | sed 's/ /\n/g' n1n2n3n4nnn5n2n1
By properly, I of course mean “How GNU does it.”
$ uname -a Linux myhost 2.6.9-55.ELsmp #1 SMP Fri Apr 20 17:03:35 EDT 2007 i686 i686 i386 GNU/Linux $ echo " 1 2 3 4 5 2 1" | tr -s [:space:] '\n ' 1 2 3 4 5 2 1 $ echo " 1 2 3 4 5 2 1" | tr -s [:space:] '\012' 1 2 3 4 5 2 1 $ echo " 1 2 3 4 5 2 1" | sed 's/ /\n/g' 1 2 3 4 5 2 1
Turns out that tr(5) was not matching the class
[:space:] or the class
[:blank:], but would match and transform the single character
' ' (space). Still not sure WTF is up with sed(5). The simple solution to this problem, of course, is to avoid AIX.
The reduction in force has started. I wish I could see what the pattern is, but we’re kept in the dark.
Zimran, thanks for linking to Michael Lewis’s piece on Sarkozy’s attempt to make the French more productive. It is funny, but given my circumstances at the moment, I would pull out this quote.
Nicolas Sarkozy, the new French president, has decided that the French need to become more productive. He eliminated the law forbidding work weeks longer than 35 hours, and he’s making noises about changing the rule that allows unemployed Frenchmen to turn down job offers that they feel are beneath them and remain on the dole instead.
No French person is likely to be required to work more than 35 hours a week — that appears to be too much to ask for just yet — but any French person who wishes to earn more money may, shockingly, work for it.
“Work more to earn more” is Sarkozy’s dully hopeful slogan.
The thing is, the French don’t want to work more.
Shockingly, I agree with the French. I don’t want to work more either. But then, my problem is not that the law says I may work more than 35 hours per week, but that the company I work for sets rather inflexible deadlines — either because of an inefficiency bred of monopolistic isolation, or sheer stupidity. It’s hard to tell sometimes. After several months of 12 – 16 hour days, it starts to wear on you, and your brain pretty much stops working. Good thing I was a super-genius before this started, otherwise I’d be a blithering idiot now.
M. Sarkozy may be right to eliminate the law restricting the work week to 35 hours, and right to kick the indolent off the dole when they could work. But, working more does not necessarily earn you more. That’s a problem, and one I’m not sure how to solve without the leverage of the State.
One of Rick Klau’s shared items in Google Reader suggested that journalists today will need to know Photoshop, HTML, and a bunch of other crap to get a job. That may be so, but remember that computers are just a tool, and any time the tool gets in the way of the Real Work, discard it.
I used to find working with computers and learning their ins-and-outs to be interesting. Now it’s just dull, boring, and a drain on my life.
Maybe if I worked reasonable hours, got enough sleep, and saw my family for more than a few minutes each day, I’d feel differently, but right now I just want to take my time machine back and murder the sons-of-bitches who invented the things.
So, no, I don’t want a job “working with computers.” I want something rewarding, preferably with Oz hours:
Get up at noon, and then to work at one / take an hour for lunch, and then at two we’re done.
It’s a beautiful day out today. The wind chases fluffy white clouds across the sky. Leaves whisper in the breeze, counterpoint to the bullfrog’s basso. I can hear the sounds of baseball from the park.
The girls are out playing somewhere, the boys are napping upstairs, while I sit on the deck, tired, grumpy, and working.
This has gone on too long, and has to stop. I want my life back.
I’ve been running without
root access to systems for nigh on two years now, and I must say that it is very annoying, even with sudo in order to start some web servers and such. The basic UNIX security model is really, truly, FUBAR. What I’m finding is that every now and again you run into a relatively painless operation which, because of design assumptions way back in the Dark Ages, is restricted to the superuser — and that working around wasting the time of the BOFH opens many more holes than would be present if the code-monkeys had been just a little more thoughtful.
And the question I have to ask is, “What are you protecting?”
Avinash Kaushik posted a list of ten things to envy about working at Google, which are, oddly enough, similar to the reasons Joel Spolsky says I would love being a sysadmin at Fog Creek. Both companies place a lot of emphasis on working together, that is, in the same place. One works at, not for, Google.
It’s a wet, slushy day out today. I can understand that such weather might be unfamiliar at Google headquarters, though Google London might have some experience of it. I’m working at home today. What I’d like to know is what Google does in situations where the people can’t come to the Googleplex to work. I have no doubt that they have no software limitations on where they work, but it seems that locality is essential to the nature of Google.
Do y’all take a snow day?
Ever have one of those days where you feel like your job is making you dumber by the minute? I am.
I have this recurrent daydream where I’m independently wealthy and volunteer my time to work on the transportation systems at DisneyWorld. And not just driving the monorail either, but drawing lines on the swamp.
The work some of us have seems to me to exist mainly to serve the computer. That is, we’re not using the computers as tools in our work, but the computers are using us. I know I’m personifying the computer, and it’s really Stu’s — or perhaps Duane’s or IBM’s — fault for writing a program that needs constant human intervention, but my point stands. We are the drones who operate the great looms in the mills of Nottingham. At one time we were the craftsmen who built the looms, but that day has passed. Then we were the mechanics who maintained the looms, but that day too has gone.
The idiocy of this position is more apparent if one talks of the computer as another tool, such as a hammer. Is the carpenter using the hammer, or does the hammer use the carpenter?
This is wrong.
What can be done to return the computer to its place as our tool, and us to its master?
The Method token indicates the method to be performed on the resource identified by the Request-URI. The method is case-sensitive.
Various cookbooks for constructing a request refer to POST as POST, and nothing but POST.
And, yet, we get requests like this. Addresses and URIs have been obscured to protect the victim.
10.0.0.1 – – [21/Aug/2007:08:32:44 -0700] “Post /myEndpoint HTTP/1.1″ 200 254 “-” “libwww-perl/5.76”
HTTP 1.0 was published as informational RFC 1945 in 1996. That’s more than enough time for HTTP user agent developers to read the short sentence requiring case-sensitivity. Even if you come from the copy-and-paste school of programming, there’s no excuse. What are you going to say? Oops, Microsoft Word automatically proper-cased that for me?
Actually, yes, it did. In the requirements for the application interface.
Back in May I was elected to the board of directors of the Dalton Farm Homeowners Association, and became co-chair of the grounds committee. What that means is that I’m responsible for ensuring that the grounds are maintained — that the lawn is cut, the weeds pulled, the trees trimmed, the light-bulbs changed — and improved. And then there was the family of skunks. Most of the work is administrative in nature, such as planning, seeking bids, handling contracts, and addressing complaints.
But it’s a wonderful feeling to reach out and touch something you did. Because the results are physical, the work seems so much more real than what I do for a living. I can see the results of my efforts.