LowComDom Performances Presents
The Crapolla According to Fek'Lar
You Know You're DOOMED When...
the TSA knows you on a first name basis.
You've stumbled onto another issue of The Crapolla, a journal written for software professionals. No not the managers; I mean the people who do the work.
This Crapolla is sponsored by...
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In This Issue...
It's like an old Bob Hope movie
Take a Letter
Mike from Quick Relief writes...
When will this day end?
This is not such a simple question to answer in detail.
The short answer is, not soon enough.
The long answer requires many more parameters such as time zone, altitude, and relative speed compared to galactic center point.
What do I look like, Einstein?
This just in, the Twinkee has announced she's moving to another department. Morale in my department is low. Most people on my team are being laid off in favor of the Indian team I'm training. With the Twinkee moving on, people are interpreting that she is jumping from a sinking ship.
The Twinkee has been around for five and a half years, maybe she just needs a change of pace. It doesn't matter. To me, management is transitory. Here's the list of the management I've gone through in seven years at WTHAIS.
Besides the Twinkee leaving, my cohorts in crime are not waiting around to get the axe. Most have been looking for new positions and are beginning to leave earlier than management thought. (Yes, management thought people would sit around and die according to a Gant chart.)
People are getting jobs and leaving, which is driving down the group's capacity along with morale. This new group is going to take several more weeks to come up to speed.
Maybe I should ask for more money.
Our cars flew through the night. That's a bit scary considering it's a two lane undivided highway, and every driver is a graduate of "Crazy Umesh's White-Knuckle School of Offensive Driving". We were going to Mangalore 350 kilometers due west of Bangalore for the wedding of Harish Shetty. But this turned into the classic guys' road trip.
We arrived around 6 AM. The wedding was at noon. Just enough time to check into the hotel, sleep, shower, dress, and get to the venue. So there I am, Mr. be-on-time, showing up at the wedding... by myself. I arrived just as the bride's car pulled up.
In a Hindu wedding it's not bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony. Everyone stands around for the photo op of the bride stepping out of the car. Men with horns blasted our ears. Drums pound away. You would think this noise would wake up the other guys who are still at the hotel. You would be wrong.
I grab a seat in a spot where one of the electric fans will keep me from sweating through my Indian clothes. Unfortunately, the planned long shirt I was to wear didn't work out, too small. (That's right, it wasn't because I'm too big!) But the duds I bought a couple weeks ago were fine.
The guys with the horns continued their blasting, leading the bridal procession. Akshatha was wearing a traditional costume including flowers, gold bangles, artwork on her hands, you name it, she had it. There was no veil. She was on display for everyone to see. The groom was nowhere in sight. Harish would be the last to arrive, (women wait for the men in India.) but when he did appear he too had a traditional costume, including a turban.
The bridal party was on a stage with their families, a holy man, two air conditioners, and a small fire. There was no amplification of what was being said. Everyone in the audience knew what is happening. Gifts were exchanged. The groom lead the bride around the fire three times. Un-husked rice was tossed onto their heads as a blessing. More walking around the fire. A gold chain was draped around the bride's neck by the groom. It was at this moment that they were married.
I had boned up on this a little in the past weeks. I also had some coaching from one of the groom's friends whom I sat next to. It turns out this is an arranged marriage, and the couple have only known each other for three months. If you consider that two months ago the groom took a one month long class from me in the U.S., one wonders how much they really know each other. More on this in a minute.
I finally asked the groom's friend about the horns that were being blown. They arced upwards, and reminded me of an elephant's tusk. I was close. The horns are in place of real elephants who would have been trumpeting with their trunks. The trumpeting is simply to let everyone in town know of a happy occasion. (You know, like your grandmother just got out of jail!)
The audience was now making its way to the stage. The bride and groom stayed where they were and a receiving line magically appeared. I waited my turn. There was a basket of the un-husked rice to bless the couple with. After I threw the food at them, I congratulated Harish and met the bride. I said that Harish was a man of good character.
She said, "I'll take your word of it."
I guess she really hasn't spent that much time with him yet.
The rest of the guys from "Crazy Umesh's Driving School" finally arrived.
"You missed it," I said.
"That's ok, let's have lunch."
It seems some people just come for the food.
At about 1 PM, we were having the provided lunch, but the reception wasn't until the evening. We headed back to the hotel for more sleep. Then, around sunset, we went to the beach.
In California, the ocean currents come south from Alaska. In the southern most city in the state, the water temperature gets no higher than 56 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. Wet suits are a must. In Mangalore, the ocean is almost bath tub warm. It is even more comfortable than the waters in Hawaii.
On the concrete wall in the beach parking lot the local government has painted the yearly death toll of this beach. The water has many rip tides. I'm well trained in safety for rough surf, so I jump in. The rest of the guys are crazy Indian drivers, so they jump in. We body surfed for a couple hours until the police closed the beach. It's really hard to remember a better time I've had in the surf.
Back to the hotel where we showered, changed clothes, and went to the reception. The purpose of the reception is to eat and drink heavily. The bride and groom were wearing different clothes now, but they were back on the stage in a new receiving line. A couple thousand people have attended this wedding. They had to shake all of those hands.
I'm not sure exactly
what they were selling.
The next day, the plan was to wake up at 7:30 IST (Indian Standard Time) and go back to the beach for an hour or two, then head back to Bangalore with plenty of time to get lots of rest before the next work day. I'm not sure why I thought this would happen since nothing else on this trip happened on time. In the morning I heard that a lot of guys had tied one on a little too tight the previous night, and needed more time. At noon, I was told there wasn't enough bathrooms (when has that EVER stopped guys?) Later, a headlight for one of the cars needed replacing. I learned that IST really means Indian Stretching Time.
At 6 PM we were ready to go. Too late to go to the beach, we headed back to Bangalore. I arrived back in my hotel at 3:30 AM. This was the classic road trip, disorganized, loud, and fun. I'm glad I went.
Giant Jellyfish Attacks Smucker's Plant!
Toast Factory Works Overtime.
Heard in the halls of various software companies.
"Why do people drink Caffeine Free Diet Coke?"
"For the same reason men go to strip clubs."
"Oh... to fool themselves."
"I got that 24 hour TB."
"I'm not talking to you anymore!"
"Oh, good! Christmas came early."
"I need to have an 'Oh, my God!' moment."
"The mens room should be thought of like Las Vegas. What happens in the mens roon, stays in the mens room."
I need a cup of Chi.
They pay me to think. These are my thoughts. Do you think they are getting their money's worth?
Remember: The Crapolla contains my personal opinions. That's right they're mine, so get your own! And you kids get off my lawn!
Although written with the software professional in mind, my mind tends to wander all over the place, and I sometimes write about politics, mass stoopidity, dumb things I saw, and whatever else comes to mind.
From time to time, I use salty language, thus The Crapolla is not intended for children, or certain people in the Bush Administration.
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