Quirks of Coding in Finance

Today I found myself dealing with a vendor who wanted to be paid, as they all eventually do. This particular vendor was rapidly approaching eventually. I was too. With the new fiscal year, we switched to a new financial management system, so there are glitches, but I still feel “check-is-in-the-mail” smarmy even though I have done my part.

Knowing I had done my part, I ran a few queries in the system in search of the hide-and-seek PO with the expectation that I could nudge the process along.

Then I came across an entry that stopped me in mid-scroll.

DETAILS FOR ACCOUNT: XXX XX XXX X X X XXXX Dues TX STATEWIDE NETWORK OF ASSES  09/18/14   25.00  membership renewal for 14-15

Not only did we join and pay dues - it was a RENEWAL!

And it is a statewide network!!!!

The finance office does not have my juvenile sense of humor. When I suggested they adjust the number of characters in the field, without any appreciation for the post, one person replied, “if you just click on it you see the entire entry.”

I know that.

But the entire name is not funny. Adding “ment Professionals” to what is there makes it as droll as one imagines reading purchase order entries to be. Only the happy quirks of coding create nuggets of humor in unexpected places.

I will take those those joy-gems - even the juvenile ones.

The Death and Birth of English

photo from Grammarly

A friend of mine recently posted the photo from Grammarly featuring the quote from Conan O’Brien. The most surprising thing about it is that it is almost a year old and still making the rounds. I have previously mentioned various words of the year as named by various groups. Each so-named word-of-the-year generates the usual pitiful wails from the language purists who remain convinced that Shakespeare, or Dickens, or (insert favorite English author) had the language in its perfect form and we are fools for changing it.

To those purists who have nothing better to do than grouse about the perversion of our language based on societal change I say, “Get over it! English ain't Latin." (Like it or not even spell check knows ain’t is a word.)

Some argue the words selected are too silly or represent a fad. Often they do. Not!* The truthiness** of the Occupy*** movement was challenged by some, but not if they had a subprime**** mortgage. The rise of words expressing the dynamic of society generate the energy that keeps English alive. Rather than killing the language, these words represent the continual birth found in any living language.

Truthfully, those decrying the various words of the year are not attacking the word so much as they disagree with the circumstances that promoted the word to prominence. That is not a question for the linguists who study trends in language but for the society that allowed “selfie” to become a thing. Why are people so preoccupied with taking photos of themselves? I would argue that in a world where everything is social, it’s a cry for attention, “Hey, look at me,” and when the world does not, the selfie offers the illusion of attention, “I’m looking at me.”

Maybe selfie is not so silly.

People, look beyond yourself.

No. Really. Pay attention to the background! No one wants to see your dirty underwear or any of the other embarrassing things captured in that moment of self-affirmation.

In November the various organizations that compile the lists of influential words will again offer their collections. At this point in the year I am at a loss to predict what words will be selected, but I know there will again be the usual uproar predicting the death of our diseased dialects. If it is the typical year, my voice will rise with the others - with the understanding that those cries do not draw us to the funeral parlor, but to the nursery, where we view the continuing birth of English.

*1992, **2005, ***2011, ****2007 words of the year. We may not use them as much, but we still know what they mean.

Revenge...

...of the weeds.

I am convinced a larger cosmic consciousness connects us than we want to believe. Having a superior-to-the-nerds giggle while quoting Darth Vader, “The Force is strong with this one…” lets us continue our denial that the world is out to get us. My too long neglected yard sought to prove it repeatedly as some exceptional weeds, accustomed to reprieves, rioted against the realization the execution of their death penalty loomed as one after another of their fellow annual sprouts had their roots ripped from the nurturing soil.

A few challenged my most muscular tugs. One in particular mounted supernatural resistance. No matter what grip I took or what angle I pulled, I detected no give. My frustration released adrenaline, building my strength.

And this is how I know there is a greater cosmic force.

The force WAS strong with this one.

It recognized my multiplying might and held on until the cosmic consciousness promised justice if it would let go. In the instant the clouds cleared and (I AM CERTAIN) the Google Earth satellite with its ultra-high definition camera passed overhead snapping away, and after giving no suggestion of surrender, the entire root system uniformly slipped the surly bonds of earth, rolling me over, butt-up for the thrill of some future Googler.

Images of people caught in candid - and most definitely embarrassing poses - in the photos taken by Google for their map/streetview programs periodically go viral when someone has a reason to look closely at the picture and then sees, and shares, the unfortunate spectacle with the rest of the Internet. The regularity of those viral images eliminates any surprise that I should expect that every awkward moment gets recorded.

That someday a picture of me, rolled onto my back with my butt up in the air will not surprise me. I will not even be embarrassed. Because…if you pay close enough attention, you will see that though the force of my tug flipped me over, clutched victoriously in my fist is the weed that thought it a humiliating photo trumped its trip to the mulch bin.

And Your Word Is...

This time of year organizations start to come up with their  “________ of the year list.” In my opinion, coming out with the lists are premature with over 1/12 of the year remaining. Each list provides interesting insight into what the organization judged as important, influential, or lasting. As a word-person, I am most fascinated with the word lists that come out and have commented on new words for years.

Oxford released their word of the year and I am guilty. Their word choice for 2013 is “selfie.” Who owns a cell phone with a camera and has not taken a picture of him/herself somewhere?

I hoped the word would be Twerk so I would not be guilty - I am too old and it would destroy my back.

The prevalence of selfies from celebrities and individuals have become so prevalent media sites actually track the worst or most unfortunate selfies. Most of them make the list because the photographer was so concerned with the “self” part of the picture, the background was ignored. Still, our, “self” motivates us to continue.

Maybe now that the word has been blessed, the cool-factor will diminish and we will start hearing a little less about them though I doubt it will slow us seeing them so much.

509 - 9

Today, I start the ninth year of putting my ideas out into the world. I created this blog after experiencing a time of no creativity. I did a whopping two posts before forgetting about it for a year. In that time I changed jobs, turned forty, and discovered that I couldn’t care less about people being offended by my sarcasm. I started having fun writing.

Now, nine years and 508 posts later I’m still going at it and have added two, more focused, blogs to this one. I have one that is my weekly reflection the Bible lectionary (my sermon in 500 words) for the week and another that is reflection on professional topics.

The most viewed post discussed my lament at seeing way too much girl crack in a short period of time. It taught me much about how to market a post for attracting views, but there have been many times I have considered deleting the post.

To date, my favorite posts involved my contacts with Jack Links meat snacks. I actually emailed them about the wording on their package, and they replied. The phrase, “The meat contained herein is for personal use only,” with a clip-art of a surprised looking bull, became an iron-on stencil for the shirt I wore at my fortieth birthday party.

As a mental health professional working in the field of education it would be easy to be be brought to despair with the challenges faced by so many of our students. I prefer to find the joy in even small successes. Getting one of my students to double-over in laughter makes everything I do in the day worthwhile. Because I know my students, I get to do this more often one might imagine.

Laughter is the best medicine. The more I delve into the ridiculous aspects of life (mostly packaging), I believe that is true. In the last eight years, I have laughed hard enough that I had to stop typing. I hope some of the readers have too. I look forward to more years of laughter (and eating well if you follow my recipes).

Pacing Myself

         I like to think of myself as a witty and clever person. To be entirely honest though, it comes in fits and spurts. I have moments when my mind explodes with puns equal to O’Henry, witticisms that would make Dorothy Parker proud, and wordplay that would make George Carlin smirk. I want everyone else to think I am as witty and clever as I think I am, so I have to find ways to parse out my wit and wisdom in digestible bites.

         Why am I telling this if I want to protect my secrets?

         This week’s Lenten scriptures are all about repentance and confession.

         And the three people who read this are not likely to blow my cover.

         Because my cleverness comes in such bursts, I have started using technology to preserve the creativity until an appropriate time. I have to pace myself. While the creativity comes in waves, the dispensation of that creative wisdom must be measured and steady. I have discovered how to use the voice and notes program on my phone to record exceptional thoughts. I have a half-dozen blog posts sitting in draft form as I season them with just enough creativity to (hopefully) not be a waste of bandwidth.

         I have also been perfecting my use of TweetDeck. It lets me type the tweet and schedule it for a later time. That way my Twitter feed does not get overwhelmed with my witticisms and my Facebook timeline does not spam all my dear friends by filling up their timeline with an incomprehensible volume of genius.

         I am nice like that.

         On top of being witty and clever.

My World Record

Those who are easily grossed out should probably leave now.

         A few nights ago I attended a dinner party with some lifelong friends. Post-dinner conversation turned, as it almost always does to past exploits. As is the nature of “exploits” they generally happen in the teenage years and as we (the lifelong friends) were all boys sometimes involve unfortunate occurrences of bodily functions. All the years we were telling the stories, I missed out because I had no good story to tell.

 

         But all that changed tonight!

 

         I believe I set a world record!

 

         (You still have time to leave.)

 

         For the last week I have suffered a typical seasonal sinus infection. Congestion. Fever. General crappiness. I did everything I could to battle the infection to keep from getting so sick, but it did no good. Daily I was getting sicker and sicker. I took medications. I overdosed on allergy medications. I was doing the nasal rinse. I slept in my recliner to stay upright for maximum drainage.

 

         Still my breathing was stuffy and my fever increased. And I noticed the nasal rinse was not working – I could not force the water into my nose, no matter how hard I squeezed the bottle. Through the other nostril, it just ran back out as soon as I removed the bottle. There was no “rinsing” going on.

 

         After a particularly long hot shower tonight, I began to blow my nose to clear out what I could before I did the rinse (I find the rinses more effective after a steamy shower.) I blew out one side: typical results. I began to blow the other side and I felt something move inside but nothing came out. I took a deep breath and blew again. No air, just congestion and a lump gradually moving. Another deep breath. Blow.

 

         Suddenly a pop!

 

         (Last warning to leave.)

 

         On the floor of my tub was the world’s biggest booger! As big around as a quarter with a rough surface, (of course I picked it up to check it out!) it looked like a polymict conglomerate (type of sedimentary stone). I suspect it grew as various boogers joined together over the last few days until they became the massive boogerous boogeri that exploded out of my nose. If this were not the height or cedar-fever-season in Texas, I would have suspected it of being some kind of alien life form trying to drill into my brain through my nose (calling Dr. Who, McCoy, anyone else with alien knowledge).

 

         For a while, I pondered how I could preserve it until the Guinness folks had a chance to verify it was indeed the world’s largest. If I left it out, it would dry up and get smaller. If I put it in water or alcohol, it would likely dissolve. Not coming up with anything more creative, I finally flicked it down the drain. I could have gotten out of the shower and measured it or taken pictures, but I have never inspected any of my friends embarrassing body functions, they will just have to take my word for it.

 

         And amazingly, I started to feel better as soon as that infectious alien mass of mucous, blood, and dust cleared out of my breathing passages. Now I just have to make the story sound really good the next time we have dinner together!

The Other Me

         I just read an article about the fake names celebrities give when checking into hotels and it made me want to be famous enough to need a fake name.

         I guess I could give a fake one without being famous, but it would not be as much fun.

         For years, when I traveled professionally, I, along with my co-workers selected an alternate identity we would give the authorities if we were ever arrested. None of us ever expected to be, but just in case we did not want our name in the paper. I chose the name of another administrator in the district about my size and build (though much-much older) and who grew up in the same geographic area as I did.

         If I were ever arrested in another city, I would insist my name was Kent Ewing.

         We (with a Napoleon complex) stick together (whether he knew it or not). Of course, now that he is retired, his name does me no good.

         I need to start stalking district administrative meetings to find my next alias. And if I cannot find a good doppelganger, I will just have to go with Stormy Strudel.

         First though, I have to become famous.

Do Not Tape!

          During a meeting with co-workers at one of our sites, I stood talking to a friend of mine when I noticed this sign over his shoulder.

         Could they have used any more tape to post a “Do NOT tape” sign to the wall?

         They only made it worse by using the bright blue painter’s tape.

         I looked around the room and there were four such signs taped to the walls. If the building manager is that concerned about tape, a nice frame with a hanger would solve the problem nicely. Instead, sheet protectors and rolls of painter’s tape handled the job.

         I would have mentioned it to the building manager, but knowing that she has no sense of humor, I figured someone would be fired for such careless use of tape, I refrained. I, and my friend, decided we would just laugh about it and take pictures.

The Circle of Life

The circle of life

Of a pen.
Of a waiter.
In a moderately priced cheap restaurant.

When I arrived home tonight and began pulling the day’s collection of stuff from my pockets, I realized, to my horror, I had stolen the waiter’s pen.
My first thought was, “I should drive back and give it to him.”
My second thought was, “I gave him a very good tip.”
Which was followed by, “Does that make me elitist?”
I honestly considered driving back across town to give the waiter his pen back. It was a nice pen, and I am the pen guy.
In meetings I have the pens arrayed in their rainbow order (I get called out by some co-workers if I don’t) so that I can color-code my notes. As a very visual (and hyperactive) learner, color coding helps me remember what I write. Whether I ever look at it again or not, when asked a question about the meeting, I can mentally scan my notes for certain color text and recall what was discussed.
I am also a pen-snob. I like only certain kinds of pens based on their size and the feel when writing. My handwriting can indicate that I should have been a doctor, but with the correct pen, my writing actually presents a certain elegance on the page. Such is the writing I imagine when I mentally glance across the pages to refresh my memory.
Within seconds, I decided that the waiter had most likely snagged the pen from some poor soul who had left it on the table after signing the credit card receipt, so I did not drive back and leave it there. It will be a pen that will be set out on my desk that some student will take shortly after the start of the school year.
That is the way things work.
It is the circle of life.
Of a pen.
Of a waiter.
In a moderately priced cheap restaurant.

Fiat's In-Car Espresso Machines To Debut In Italy

Fiat's In-Car Espresso Machines To Debut In Italy:

'via Blog this'

Rarely do I see a news story that restores my hope for human innovation as much as this one. I may  have to go for a Fiat if these ever become available in the United States.

I have made multiple 21+ hour road trips. I'm thinking packing the right ingredients for the machine and a few adult diapers and I will be set for another lengthy trip.

Wash Your Hands!

I do not know why anyone needs the Internet or television when all one has to do for entertainment is read the labels on everything. The habit of label reading came about a few years ago when I started noticing odd statements certainly placed on packaging to fulfill some legal requirement.

The latest label statement though, has me stumped.

I bought yet another suitcase. This one particularly because its size fills a void I did not have in any of the other luggage. It is bigger than the carry-on that came with the set of luggage on which I mostly rely, yet it still meets carry-on size requirements. I justified my purchase by pointing out that I grossly over-pack for most trips because I want to fill up the suitcase. My other carry-on was too small to pack sufficient clothes.

Now I can pack just what I need and not carry all that extra weight.

I think of it as doing my part for the environment: the plane will need less fuel because of my smaller suitcase.

Nevertheless, I remain stymied by one of the notices on the label. 

I generally maintain good hygiene and wash my hands regularly, but I need to wash my hands every time I touch the luggage? Certainly baggage comes in contact with many different things and who knows how many dirty-handed kids played with it while it remained in Target. My paranoia rises every time I move the bag from one place to another; I feel compelled to rush to the sink and wash my hands - singing the “ABC” song to ensure that my paws are sanitary.

I think I will run over the handles with a sanitary wipe – and pack a few for each leg of my trip – to guarantee I will not be infected by the mysterious toxin that lurks on the trunk.

 

Signs of...

While in New Mexico I had the chance to enjoy a few of the state signs that were posted. As usual, it was the signs that had something unusual about them that captured my interest and forced me to stop and take a picture. For one we actually had to turn around in order to get the picture.

My first thought at seeing this sign convinced me that New Mexico has clumsy cows in the least and at worst suicidal/homicidal cows.

I actually think some graffiti artist had some fun with the signage, but the state transportation department does not find it disruptive enough to replace.

New Mexico also provides a home to special fish.

Particularly trout.

I wonder where the regular fish water can be found. Apparently the fishing in the stream is pretty good judging by the line of fishermen gathered in every accessible spot.

 

Can't Get You Out of My Mind

Sometimes I have no idea how certain thoughts get into my head, but once they get in, they rummage around and push everything else out. Such happened tonight when a random song that had no connection to anything of the day made its way into my head. Today’s temperatures reached the hottest we have had in the year and the air conditioning was out at work; nevertheless, “Santa Baby” the 1953 Christmas song parody popped into my head and latched on.

While preparing for a parent presentation.

While showering.

While watching a documentary on the British Empire.

“Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me I've been an awful good girl.”

Temperatures reached 109° today. I certainly did not think of sable. I thought of swimsuits.

I decided to watch some television.

“Santa cutie, there's one thing I really do need, the deed
To a platinum mine”

No, the documentary covers the formation of the diamond mining industry, not platinum. (Who am I kidding, I would take any mine).

While today’s thought consisted of the lyrics to a silly song the dominating thoughts vary in topic and value. Sometimes, the thoughts consist of professional challenges that I seek a resolution or process to address. Other times the thoughts dwell on personal issues.

I consider the persistence of the song an annoyance. Rarely do I consider more productive thoughts an annoyance. I think this prejudice toward meaningful thought a natural expression of my work ethic. Even in repose, I want my brain meaningfully engaged. I need to start composing songs about professional and personal experiences that way maybe I can keep the silly songs from overwhelming my consciousness.

But as I prepare for vacation next week…

“…Santa baby, an out-of-space convertible too, light blue…”

…would perfectly fit the bill.

 

Not the Kentucky Derby

Today some of my co-workers and I met at a nearby resort for an administrative retreat. As glamorous as it would seem, the bulk of the day was spent in a typical conference room working on key topics we will address in the coming year. Still, you will not get any complaints from me – a day without Internet or phone or interruption spent in detailed conversation about important topics thrills me.

Nevertheless – I must find something to kvetch about.

That would be the signage going into and coming out of the resort.

Nineteen mph? Seriously?

I drive a truck. I do not have a digital speedometer. I just had to eyeball it.

Nineteen is close to fifty wouldn’t you say? And who’s going to enforce it – the Hyatt police?

The sign I actually stopped for though, kept me chuckling the rest of the day.

My co-workers had the same question I did: Where’s the fast horse trail?

I prefer a good gallop.

But that is probably a liability issue and we wouldn’t want that.

 

And They Call Him the Streak

Feeling at a loss for inspiration I started scouring my twitter feed and the various news sites I have on my iPad. An hour later, I had more than a few laughs but still wondered for inspiration. Disturbingly hilarious photos of families with their pets. A nude man robbing a liquor store. The litany of Republican presidential candidate gaffes. All of them are too good on their own. I do not need to comment on them. Even the news out of Penn State is so repulsive that I do not know where to even start in a commentary about it.

And then in real life, a guy wearing a trench coat walks into the coffee shop (start of many a joke) where I'm hanging out. It is 75 degrees. No good reason exists to be wearing a trench in the middle of a drought with this temperature. Well, no good reason unless you are going to flash someone.

He also ordered a hot chocolate.

That trench is coming off.

Unfortunately, he is somewhere behind me, so instead of doing the writing I want to do, I am closely watching the people in my line of sight so I can be ready with my phone camera when the big event goes off. I am trying to imagine how it will go down for a play by play announcer:

And he stands from his seat.

The table to the right is fully absorbed in their studies.

He's fully in the clear. He has a direct shot.

And he's walking.

He's walking.

His hand is on the button.

The table knows somethings up. He's closing in.

And there you have it folks. A wide open trench coat. Full frontal exposure.

The girl at the corner gasps as the boy next to her spews his coffee and points.

The guy across the table leaps to his feet.

But just as quickly trench guy is out the door.

Maybe I have been following Ruth Buzzi on Twitter too much lately. The whole trench coat schtick seems very 1970's. Do people still do that or does webcamming fulfill the fetish for people who have the need to expose themselves live to others? Lately there have been more stories of people streaking at sporting events than in past years, so perhaps we are regressing to a more personal touch for our exposure. Has social media become so distant even exhibitionists have to find a venue with real people?

If that is the case then Avenue Q is going to have to rewrite one of the funniest songs. The Internet is no longer for porn: it's for real stuff.

Halloween Hater

No one ever seems to get why I am so anti-Halloween. Maybe I am just a curmudgeon, but that would mean I started being curmudgeonly in early childhood. Even then, I never saw a point in the holiday and could not understand why others put so much energy into a holiday with absolutely no meaningful basis.

Now, too far into adulthood, I understand some of the traditional basis for the holiday and do, to some degree, participate in a personal Dia de los Muertos recognition. I still do not see the point behind the massive Halloween celebrations that take place. I have made a few trips to the Halloween costume parade in downtown Austin. I wonder how there any business in the city reports any productivity with the extensive preparation many of the costumes require.

I still do not get why so many people spend a year preparing for the next year's costume or host the biggest party of the year on the weekend around the holiday. The rest of the year has so many other days that deserve the recognition heaped upon Oct. 31. There is Hug a Friend Day, Mother Goose Day, Johnny Appleseed Day (not to be confused with Arbor Day the next month), and even Elvis Presley's Birthday. Each day has so much more relevance than Halloween. Friends, trees, music, stories all give us so much more than Halloween.

Halloween gives us 34,000 Lady Gaga wannabes.

Stomach aches.

Cavities.

Nothing good comes from it.

At least it's not Valentine's Day.

Beyond Necessary

Today I was visiting the classroom of one of the teachers in my department, and I noticed the box of labels on her desk.


I didn't know you needed a label to ship something on the Internet.


It even has permanent adhesive. I guess you cannot delete it once it is received.

Stragedy

Breaking a bad habit takes more time and energy than most people realize or are willing to dedicate. It is even more the case when one first learns something incorrectly: the way of doing something came wired into the brain a certain way. It remains the way of doing even when one learns better.

I have one friend who has mispronounced one particular word his entire life and nothing can change it. People who know him know what he means. I actually have come up with my own definition for the word because I think the definition deserves a word and this one sounds right.  My friend says “stragedy” instead of “strategy”. Given what he means and what it actually sounds like, I think we should all start using it when our best laid plans go horribly, horribly wrong.

We have all had those times. Despite our best efforts and most sincere planning, we have those events that go awry unexpectedly and never come back under control. We thought we had all the right strategies, but it turned into a tragedy. I think stragedy is the perfect word for such a situation. If Stephen Colbert can coin truthiness and have it become the word of the year, certainly a truly functional word like stragedy has room in the modern lexicon. 

And it saves valuable characters on Twitter.

Better Living Through Chemistry

Next week at work, one of the programs I coordinate receives an audit from the state agency over such programs. I inherited the program AFTER the audit was announced, so I had nothing to do with anything that caused the audit; however, I’m the lucky person who gets to go through the audit process and resolve any remaining issues.

I’m also the lucky person who does not get to sleep in the couple of weeks leading up to the audit.

Most of the food I cook and eat is made from scratch, so I have little experience with prepared foods (other than what restaurants sneak out to me). Due to the schedule of the last few weeks, I have shopped for prepared meals that at least seemed somewhat healthy in content. Basically, I have found soups.

And the varieties of energy drinks and snacks. Going on a second week of 2.5 to 3 hours of sleep a night, energy drinks have become my fuel of choice. My documented addiction to caffeine does not suffice to keep me functioning at this point. 

Gotta go for the big guns!

I have been a fan of the Monster energy drinks for a while, but my latest kick is energy gummies! One package of them equals two energy drinks. They are much less filling so I can eat more of them!!!

Yes, currently the exclamation point is my favorite punctuation mark!

Energy drinks do that!

I have also lost eight of the twenty pounds I am trying to shed. This is probably unhealthy weight loss, so I’ve most likely just out-run those pounds and as soon as the energy drinks wear off, they will catch up with me.

Of course maybe I’ll have some kind of miracle lab-transformation of my DNA and this two week infusion of taurine, ginseng, and l-carnitine will permanently shift my metabolism back to where it was in my early twenties.

And the wishful thinking of a mid-forties male continues in my generation. Instead of the sports car, I go for weight loss. Instead of the trophy husband, I go for energy.

Better living through chemistry. Yes, it can be done!