As with everyone who isn't a professional pit boss, I find it necessary to have gainful employment for the sustanance of our family. Presently, I am employed by an interesting company with interesting leadership. Our CEO 'bet' our 'investors' that 'he' could deploy not one, but two data centers in 45 days or less and spend less than $2.5 million doing it. Just FYI, it can be done, but only if you actually order the equipment. Unfortunately, someone in finance missed that memo. Interestingly enough, one truth has become tragically apparent to me. You can not build a first class data center utilizing second class equipment with a third world mentality.
Anyway, in contemplating how I came to this partcular point in my career, I was reflecting on some of the more interesting jobs and interviews I have had. One interview I had some years ago consisted of a non-technical, somewhat condesending, recent grad of Brown reading technical questions to me, and recording my answers on paper. Apparently, us techies can't be trusted to write. The questions were mostly 'Unix Trivia' type questions with a smattering of real systems administration questions. The answer to one of the trivia questions consisted of a fairly complex command with several modifying arguments, so I told the young lady what command would be used, and what you would want it to do. She replied that she needed the exact command syntax. I told her that I didn't know the exact syntax, that if I were actually doing this, I'd look at the manual page. With disdain dripping from her voice, she said "Don't you want to guess?"
In my senior systems administrator voice, I informed her "Only idiots guess."
Somewhat peeved, she asked "Is THAT what you want me to write for your answer?"
"Do you need help spelling 'idiot'?"
I think I blew the interview.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
The Great Duck Hunt
As we approach duck season, my bride and I are considering sending our son, Catfish, down to Arkansas for a Thanksgiving duck hunt with my brother Matt, and his son, creatively named, Matt. My brother and my brother-in-law have a duck club complete with flooded woods, a blind, and most importantly, a club house with a wet bar, leather couches, persian rugs, Direct TV and a 60 inch flatscreen TV. I am a little concerned because while my brother and brother-in-law are great guys, and they will take great care of Catfish, but they can not call ducks for shit. I have a good friend named Stump who is a great guy and who is an excellent duck caller. Perhaps a call to Stump is in order.
Stump and I used to hunt a slough in the Cache River bottoms which ment that we had to weave our way in a 14ft aluminum johnboat loaded with guns, decoys, beer, and Duke through a tree studded swamp just to get to the slough. Once on the slough, we had to put the decoys out, and then wrestle the boat back into the brush so the ducks wouldn't see it, but not so far as to block either our field of vision or the dog's. If Duke couldn't see the ducks fall, he wouldn't know to go get them.
Usually, we'd get some ducks and have a good time. Sometimes, if the ducks weren't flying, we'd just sit there and drink beer. Sometimes, we'd do both. Once, a bottle of wine got spilt in the bottom of the boat, and Duke lay there lapping it up. A little while later, when one of us shot a duck, Duke was too drunk to go get it so we had to get the boat out of our hide, and go get the duck. This happened several more times, and pissed Stump of greatly. Each time we'd kill a duck, Duke would just lay there and growl.
Finally, Stump and I had enough of the attitude from the damn dog. Dogs that can't hold their liquor should not drink. We collected our decoys and headed toward the landing. Stump was steering the boat, and I complained to him that we were going too fast through the trees. I was afraid we would hit one. We had a 9.8 HP Mercury motor on the johnboat, and even with the load we had in the boat, we were moving pretty damn fast. John, being fortified by having been drinking beer all day, was very dismissive of my concerns and supremely confident in his ability not only to guide the boat but also to judge wheter or not the boat would fit between two trees. We were simply flying through the swamp. I'm in the front of the boat scared stiff as we pass closer and closer to trees, or squeeze between two trees standing close together. Duke is passed out in the bottom of the boat. Decoys are clattering as we shift and weave between the flooded oak trees. The motor is going flat out, and I can hear Stump laughing over the roar of the motor when suddenly everything stopped.
Well, almost everything. The boat and motor stopped. Everything else including me, my gun, the decoys, the cooler, 100,000 beer cans, Stump, his gun, and Duke continued moving through the air at pretty much the same rate of speed we were traveling at before the boat got stuck. I made out the best because, sitting in the front of the boat, there was nothing for me to hit on the way out of the boat and into the cold, cold water. Duke bounced off the front seat of the boat and then into the water. Stump hit the middle seat, then the front seat, then hit the water. I was cold and wet. Stump was cold, wet, and a little dazed. Duke was pissed, and was trying to bite me and Stump, and may have eaten a decoy. While I was trying to evade Duke, I steped into someones lost trap. The steel jaws slamed into both sides of my ankle and even through my boots, hurt like hell. While Duke was chasing Stump, I cut the rope that secured the trap. I told Stump that I was going to kill who ever owned the trap. I pryed the trap from my foot, and checke the tag. It said "Garner/Stump".
Finally, we got Duke calmed down and back in the boat. We spent probably an hour splashing around collecting decoys, beer cans, coolers, guns and dead ducks. Finally we set about getting the boat unstuck from between the trees. It is not possible to convey in words how cold we were. It was early December and a north wind was blowing through the swamp. We were cold. However, as with most things, unsticking the boat was in the end, simply a matter of motivation. After an hour or so's struggle, we were successful in freeing the boat.
On second thought, Catfish might be better off hunting with Matt and Matt.
Stump and I used to hunt a slough in the Cache River bottoms which ment that we had to weave our way in a 14ft aluminum johnboat loaded with guns, decoys, beer, and Duke through a tree studded swamp just to get to the slough. Once on the slough, we had to put the decoys out, and then wrestle the boat back into the brush so the ducks wouldn't see it, but not so far as to block either our field of vision or the dog's. If Duke couldn't see the ducks fall, he wouldn't know to go get them.
Usually, we'd get some ducks and have a good time. Sometimes, if the ducks weren't flying, we'd just sit there and drink beer. Sometimes, we'd do both. Once, a bottle of wine got spilt in the bottom of the boat, and Duke lay there lapping it up. A little while later, when one of us shot a duck, Duke was too drunk to go get it so we had to get the boat out of our hide, and go get the duck. This happened several more times, and pissed Stump of greatly. Each time we'd kill a duck, Duke would just lay there and growl.
Finally, Stump and I had enough of the attitude from the damn dog. Dogs that can't hold their liquor should not drink. We collected our decoys and headed toward the landing. Stump was steering the boat, and I complained to him that we were going too fast through the trees. I was afraid we would hit one. We had a 9.8 HP Mercury motor on the johnboat, and even with the load we had in the boat, we were moving pretty damn fast. John, being fortified by having been drinking beer all day, was very dismissive of my concerns and supremely confident in his ability not only to guide the boat but also to judge wheter or not the boat would fit between two trees. We were simply flying through the swamp. I'm in the front of the boat scared stiff as we pass closer and closer to trees, or squeeze between two trees standing close together. Duke is passed out in the bottom of the boat. Decoys are clattering as we shift and weave between the flooded oak trees. The motor is going flat out, and I can hear Stump laughing over the roar of the motor when suddenly everything stopped.
Well, almost everything. The boat and motor stopped. Everything else including me, my gun, the decoys, the cooler, 100,000 beer cans, Stump, his gun, and Duke continued moving through the air at pretty much the same rate of speed we were traveling at before the boat got stuck. I made out the best because, sitting in the front of the boat, there was nothing for me to hit on the way out of the boat and into the cold, cold water. Duke bounced off the front seat of the boat and then into the water. Stump hit the middle seat, then the front seat, then hit the water. I was cold and wet. Stump was cold, wet, and a little dazed. Duke was pissed, and was trying to bite me and Stump, and may have eaten a decoy. While I was trying to evade Duke, I steped into someones lost trap. The steel jaws slamed into both sides of my ankle and even through my boots, hurt like hell. While Duke was chasing Stump, I cut the rope that secured the trap. I told Stump that I was going to kill who ever owned the trap. I pryed the trap from my foot, and checke the tag. It said "Garner/Stump".
Finally, we got Duke calmed down and back in the boat. We spent probably an hour splashing around collecting decoys, beer cans, coolers, guns and dead ducks. Finally we set about getting the boat unstuck from between the trees. It is not possible to convey in words how cold we were. It was early December and a north wind was blowing through the swamp. We were cold. However, as with most things, unsticking the boat was in the end, simply a matter of motivation. After an hour or so's struggle, we were successful in freeing the boat.
On second thought, Catfish might be better off hunting with Matt and Matt.
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