I need to get this off my chest.
Borland’s Austin office is located in a big multi-company office building. In the back of the building is a multi-story parking garage. The parking spaces on one side of each row are huge, and on the other side they are very narrow and designated as ‘Compact Cars Only’.
In the morning, the big spaces fill up first for two reasons: they’re on the side where the doors to the building are located, and they’re easy to park in. Of course, since those spaces aren’t marked ‘Big ass vehicles only’, people who get there early, regardless of car size, parks in those spaces.
Those who arrive later in the morning have two choices: park farther away in some of the other big spaces, or a little closer to the door in a narrow space. And of course, by that time, many people park in the closer narrow spaces regardless of the size of their car.
If I want to park in the narrow spaces (I drive a pretty small car, by the way), often the car that’s already there is right up against the dividing line or slightly over it. In this case, it would be impossible to park in the adjoining space without going over the next line. So, instead of leaving 3/4 of a space open, I just pull next to the car that’s already there, which puts me further over the next line. Sometimes, later arrivals continue my pattern of disregarding the lines to make reasonable sized parking spaces, and sometimes the next person leaves the remaining partial parking space on the other side of my car open in order to park in the next designated space (there’s a lesson about personality types in there somewhere).
Well, that was all fine and good before the building management started putting the stickers above on the cars that are parked over dividing lines. It pisses me off to no end that I’m parked over the line in an attempt to work around the management’s stupid arrangement of spaces, and then I get a hostile sounding note from the management for my parking.
I would complain to the building management or to my company’s facilities people, but it wouldn’t serve any productive purpose. I guess this type of ranting is what a blog is good for.
Jamba Juice Chocolate Moo’d Power Smoothie (30 fl oz)
10 g fat
183 g carbs
(166 g sugars)
Jamba Juice calls it a smoothie; we call it a milkshake. In fact, this beverage contains more sugar than two pints of Ben and Jerry’s Butter Pecan ice cream.
Via John Scalzi.
This is from Larry Vaughan, one of my favorite bloggers and someone I like to think of as an internet friend:
I have learned this lesson late in life. When I was young I thought that people who asked for my opinion actually wanted it. I would dig deep into my cerebellum and deliver (sometimes eloquently) my verdict. Iâ€™m laughing right now at the folly of it all. This is why most people have never followed my advice; they didnâ€™t want it in the first place.
My new friend has reminded me of the power of attending. The only thing he wants; in fact, the only thing he needs, is to be heard. Not understood. Understanding would be nice, but at this point itâ€™s just the icing on the cake. In telling his story he shares his life. Now two people carry the load.
No advice. No comprehension. Just listening. Not understanding. Not empathy. Just listening. Followed by change.
Side note: As I was preparing this post, I realized I didn’t have a category for this post. Usually when this happens, I just create a new one and make the post the first entry in this category. In this case, however, I couldn’t really think of a good pigeon hole for this post. Interesting.
I am the wind on the sea.
I am the ocean wave.
I am the sound of the billows.
I am the seven-horned stag.
I am the hawk on the cliff.
I am the dewdrop in sunlight.
I am the fairest of flowers.
I am the raging boar.
I am the salmon in the deep pool.
I am the lake on the plain.
I am the meaning of the poem.
I am the point of the spear.
I am the god that makes fire in the head.
Who levels the mountain?
Who speaks the age of the moon?
Who has been where the sun sleeps?
Who, if not I?
- Celtic poem by Amergin, as recited during The Inner Landscape of Beauty