Bobbie Conti

Personal Challenges

July 16, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

[Editor’s note: this was written actually nearly a week ago on a trip out to Montreal. I have since completed this trip for work and proceeded smack into STP — complete with some sort of pinched nerve which really, really didn’t like the STP. I’ve also managed to do something to my upper right rear ribcage near my shoulder blade. I should know more later but typing is a more deliberate exercise now. The good news is that the rickety knees are fine!]

Greetings from 21F, which on this little plane means I have a window seat, and good thing, too: having stayed up late watching Aliens (we are the proud owners of the Blu-Ray boxed set now) I got a whopping 4 hours of sleep before the flight. That was me, then, mouth likely slack and head up against the window for the first hour of flight. The lady next to me was nice and didn’t mention my probable lack of composure and/or drooling. I complimented her purse.

I woke up in time to make the poor decision of paying for a breakfast sandwich which, now that I’ve eaten it, has informed me it doesn’t like me. My stomach is also telling me it doesn’t like the sandwich. I’m telling them both to shut up but they don’t listen.

I haven’t had much time to blog as of late courtesy of a hyper-packed schedule and a continuing reluctance to blog about Things Court-tastic. When that gets put to bed – ostensibly by November, or, you know, not – I’m planning on doing a series of “So you think you’re going to court” posts; I’ve found the experience educational and am going to share. You are forewarned.

But here I am, sans internet but with the time to blog (perhaps mostly because there is no internet and I’ve done all the work I can do disconnected). I don’t expect to have this luxury much come fall, as I am going back to school.

Since the crash in ’08 I’ve had a morbid fascination with economics and that fascination has not died, despite reading lots of tomes in great detail. I’ve finally decided to feed the monster and go back for my PhD, which is more than a little daunting considering I’m intending to do it whilst working full time, being a mom, and I’ll be about 45 when I’m done. This is not as daunting as the suggested Half Iron Man entry a friend proposed with the same deadline—that is on the table, depending on how I do in STP this weekend – but already it’s showing me that academia is indeed a different world.

For example: I took Pre-Calculus in high school. I then went to the local community college (so my parents could stretch their generous funding of my 4-year degree) and took Calc 1 and 2 (and I think 3). (I can’t remember, it’s been 20 years). Because I can’t remember it – when’s the last time you used yours? (Engineers, shut up) – I want to re-take it and the entire Calculus series before I go on to graduate school. I also need to take some basic Econ classes I missed the first time around. So I enrolled in that same local community college (following my parents’ wise steps).

I was told I could not register for Pre-Calculus, because I had already taken its successor, and therefore I’m asking to take the classes out of order.

Yes, you read that right.

I called the registration office and patiently explained that I knew I took the successor (and the successor to the successor), but that I was planning on taking all those over again, too, so be a good lad and enroll me?

No.

You have got to be kidding me, I did not say, and instead asked how one gets around this particular brand of administratea. “You can petition the Math department for a waiver…” they said.

Herein lays one of the more interesting notes: while I was at this college 20 years ago, I worked at the college in the Math and Science Department. It so happens that the Math Chair remembers me, so I succeeded in getting into Pre-Calculus in the fall (yay). However, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t known him, if I’d still be battling to get into a class I’ve already taken.

Then there’s the textbook.

The “me” of today is not the hormone-poisoned, lazy person I was 20 years ago. I want to get the book now, read it, study it, and be fully prepared come mid-September. I therefore sent an email enquiring if the book for Summer Math 141 is the same as Fall Math 141. Two weeks ago.

To no response.

Not from the instructor, not from the bookstore.

In the working world – at least, in my working world – you may lag behind in emails a bit but eventually you get to it. Especially if it’s a relatively simple question: Yes, No, or I Don’t Know would satisfy here. I’m not sure I want to take a $127 gamble (yes, the text costs that, no, it’s not in eBook format) and it’s irritating to know that the likely reason I haven’t received a response is they just don’t work that way. I had this same problem when I was in my MBA program and it is funny how, like childbirth, you don’t remember the inconvenient parts.

I do realize I’m setting myself up for a serious challenge — unlike the STP where you merely give away 10-20 hours a week of your life to training on a bike, here I will be giving away that time to equations that use symbols you have to learn the Alt Key codes for because they do not appear on your standard keyboard.

Still, like the court experience, the ultimate result will be positive and the journey itself will be fruitful if not completely pleasant. And yes, there will be bloggage – but possibly after finals.

Floatsam and Jetsam

June 1, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

I have not been in the office for seven days.

I managed to avoid work related email for three of those days. While normally I would give myself a very hearty pat on the back over that, I really needs must thank my friend Kevin for getting married, and Andy and Joyce for planning his bachelor party. This is because the portion of the party that I attended involved camping — with no cellular service.

No internet.

No electricity.

The only running water was slightly over freezing, rippling over rounded stones and fallen tree branches in a nearby creek.

And it was wonderful.

In the eight years I have worked for Expedia, I don’t think I’ve been out of touch for that long, ever. From the day I was handed my crackberry, which I cannot seem to leave alone, I’ve always eyeballed incoming mail (even if I don’t necessarily respond). It is not ego — the company seems to chug along just fine with or without me — but addiction. It was great to have something else meter that out for me.

I wish I could say I stayed off the email in the ensuing days but I have not — the addiction is aided by ready availability of internets and cellular service — although I’m pretty happy to say I’ve been on only rarely and only responding to those things that I think actually require attention.

In my time off though I’ve had the chance to do all manner of fun things. I have:

Gone camping! For reals! and acquired a new level of gear-wanting
Taken a four hour midday nap
Had a mini mamacation with Ms. Mindi
Got a massage
Planned the oncoming of chickens and raised bed gardening for the next year
Successfully avoided going under the house to reorganize books — although that shows every sign of happening tomorrow
Eyeballed the jam jars and fruit with every intent of probably making some jam in the next 24 hours — who likes Strawberry Rhubarb?
Attended spin class
Caught up on all manner and myriad of minutiae that one shoves aside in favor of work craziness

Monday promises work catch-up and craziness, although I feel pretty psyched and positive about the couple of big projects again coming our way. There’s only three weeks of school left and I know both the boy and I are looking forward to summer stuff. All in all, pretty happy here.

Staycation is hereby listed as a successful venture. Highly recommended…

Pig Foot

May 12, 2012 Bobbie2 Comments

“Do you like food?”

The question was put to me, last night after work, over a glass of wine. Sebastien, bless his Teutonic sensitivity, was concerned that I hadn’t made Official Dinner Plans in Montreal. This is apparently a sin of some sort. Add to that, it was Friday, and well, he was concerned.

“What did you have for lunch?” he enquired. I answered — smoked salmon over a bed of lettuce with capers, onions, and two small blinis. “That seems awfully healthy,” he observed pityingly, “Not like Quebec at all.”

When he asked me, shortly after this, about whether or not I liked food, I laughed out loud — I am not anorexic, it’s pretty obvious I like food — but it was such a pitying, concerned way he asked it that I found it funny. I assured him I liked food — really, really liked food. And I had one real night in Montreal (the other one I had arrived into my room, straight from the airport, at midnight. Everything was closed.)

Sebastien had two recommendations: Chasse et Peche, and Aud Pied de Cochon. The first translates roughly as “Hunting and Fishing” and is a super-fancy restaurant for surf and turf. The second translates literally as the Foot of the Pig. When we found that Chasse was sold out for the night and Sebastien just barely managed to get me room at the bar at Pied (“You can go at 7pm but you have to be out of there by 9:30, okay?”), he proceeded to sell me on it.

They serve poutine (gravy fries) with foie gras on them. “Because,” Sebastien said, “they can. It’s schweinemast.” “Ah,” I said knowingly, “like Emeril Legasse. Pork fat rules, and all that.” “Exactly, exactly,” he said.

I did not have poutine with foie gras (the lady next to me did, and we discussed it in-depth). I did have duck tartare (and had a private little moment at the bar over it) and then had Plogue A Champlain, which is basically duck bits with foie gras over a pancake and syrup and hey, don’t judge if you haven’t tried it. This is what comes from listening to Sebastien over a glass of wine and then putting yourself utterly in the hands of the nice waiter person at the bar.

Yes I had dessert.

Yes I promptly went for a run this morning to try to ameliorate the caloric destruction of last night. Old Montreal is great for a run if you don’t mind a. taking your life in your hands at every cross walk and b. can find your way as quickly as possible to the waterfront where there are a few k’s of unbroken (or only moderately broken) running/biking paths. Montreal is a lot like the newer bits of Paris in terms of architecture (buildings 300 years old!), tons of little cafes here and there, and friendly people.

You read that. Go read it again. Friendly. People.

I had heard about Quebec — some of the kinder phrases said things like “all of the attitude of France with none of the scenery” — having been to France I can verify that the attitude was there (for I found France friendly), and it had its share of scenery. The only crappy bits were the tourists at my hotel during the manager’s reception (I went for a drink and left before having it — when you have 200 odd guests getting “free” drinks and only 3 servers and 2 barkeeps to attend, it’s a nightmare and people suck). Even the airport was a pleasant surprise — a 2pm departure on a Saturday usually means get there 3 hours early to fight your way through security– which took all of five minutes.

And so here I sit in Cleveland — stop 1 of 2 stops on the way home (ooh, Philly is next!) having only marginal guilt about last night’s excess (it makes the not-eating of airport food easier to go by). Airports really are the least glamorous part of travel.

Not So New Driver

May 12, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

And now we come to the part of the flight where the soporific effect of the hum of the engines has caused me to sleep through the food service. Damn.

I write (again, without wireless, and again, at 35 thousand feet) en route to Montreal, a first for me. It’s for work (naturally) and it’s of short duration (I arrive 10:30pm local, am in the office all day tomorrow, and fly out the next morning), but it’s exciting nonetheless. Instead of being sandwiched between a large German and a larger Swede (as I was in my last flight), I’ve the enviable window seat and a surprising amount of leg room for economy. I have a 40 minute stop in Chicago, just long enough to change planes, so dinner will be elusive if present at all.

I haven’t written in this blog much, actually, since I started my current job. I’ve had jobs before where I thought I worked crazy hours, I thought I was busy, I thought I was stretched to my potential. It’s funny how, when you’re stretched that much farther, you look back at those previous thoughts and smirk at yourself. In this job, I’ve had to go to 11.

It’s not that my hours are so much more, really, or so much more crazy – I’ve managed to keep them “normal” for the most part with the sloppy excess in the wee early hours, the very late hours, or the weekends when needed. When you average 36 meetings weekly, you’re going to be working at weird times to clear out your email inbox. It’s that the expectation levels and the number of things to keep track of are exponential – I previously managed semi-high-profile projects within Business Development, and had no direct reports. I now manage a semi-high profile (or very high profile, depending on who you talk to) department of 105-135 people (depending on contingent staffing) and their output, with two consistent major initiatives and a few smaller ones. It’s people, it’s projects, it’s resources, it’s allocations, it’s budgeting, it’s analyzing, it’s justifying, it’s explaining –oh, it’s a lot of explaining.

When I got into the job I was underwater the first 90 days, just trying to keep afloat and get to know what this department was about, what was (and would be) expected of it, of me, and where does this particular cog fit in that particular mechanism. I didn’t spend much time getting to know my teams (beyond my direct reports) and it meant I had only a very superficial knowledge of what they could do. It was like renting a Porsche. I knew, I absolutely knew, it could do more and better and faster and impress the hell out of anyone; but I was a newbie driver, not checked out on paddle shifters, and I hadn’t read the owner’s manual. So it was a tedious 90 days for the folks on my team, patiently explaining to me the why’s of certain things, the how comes of others, and the limitations of yesteryear. A couple of times I put the gas pedal down way too hard, way too fast.

In the last 60 days, I’ve spent more time with people, and in the next 30 I’ll be spending even more. I’ve had a chance to take this Porsche out onto the track for a couple of initiatives and I have a *very* good idea of what it can do. I know, for example, that it can corner like it’s on rails, even though we’ve only been asked to turn sharply a couple of times and at a slightly slower speed. I know it can brake on a dime even though we’ve been given a longer roadway to do so. And when I look at the next 60, and 90, and 120 days, I know we’ll be set out to even more challenging tracks, and I know we can take the corners at full speed and I know we’ll be able to break to a full stop without engaging the airbags. The Porsche itself is not new and hasn’t changed – I got lucky and inherited a team of really fantastic professionals, who are passionate about their work and the quality of it – but I think their driver is improving. At least, I hope so.

Lufthansa FTW

April 1, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

[from the flight two days ago…]

I’m sitting here in what *should* be the most awkward seat in flightdom: in this A330 the first row of economy-class seats past the bulkhead, left to right, is a line of 2, a line of 4, and then a line of 3. I’m in seat two of the four (so, middle-ish) and this wouldn’t be “awkward” but for the fact that, in the bulkhead row ahead of us, there are only 3 seats.

So there are only 3 video screens.

For 4 people.

I’m still not sure how it works completely but about an hour into the flight I managed to figure out I do not control the videoscreen to the front-left of me, but the front-right of me. This leaves it as an exercise for the class as to whether the person on my starboard side is screenless or owns the far-right screen, and the person on THEIR right thereby gets none?

Ergo, awkward.

And yet it totally has not been.

In a supreme display of German efficiency, although the plane boarded late we departed on time and are tracking ahead of schedule. Dinner (which was good!) was preceeded by drinks, had drinks, and complimentary after-dinner drinks (Bailey’s on ice, yo!), the wine came with an actual cork. In Economy.

I admit the leg room is wanting but I’m 5’10” and all my height is below the waist so it’s a bit unfair to judge.

As Lufthansa is German-based, the first language everything is in on this plane (think: signage, instructions, videos, etc.) is German. I have learned that Nouns in German are capitalized. So if I were to write in English like one would write in German, I would capitalize Nouns. It’s a bit jarring to read.

I am also getting one more stamp in my passport this trip of a country I haven’t previously been to: Germany. (Hence the Lufthansa flight). I’m stopping in Frankfurt on the way to Rome. As this is likely my last international trip before I must get my passport replaced, this is a nice lagniappe.

In my time with Expedia I have flown to Las Vegas, Chicago, Dallas, New York, Orlando, San Francisco, Geneva, Paris, Lyon, Rome, and London. I drove to Vancouver for one meeting. And yet the bulk of my travel has been in the last two years – there was a stretch of a couple of years where the annual Vegas event was “it” for my work-based travel.

In all that time you think I’d have the foolproof formula to combat jetlag – but I don’t. It’s 4:20pm my time, shortly after 1am the place I’m going, and I know that I will not sleep enough on the flight to make up the delta. I have a day in Rome to purportedly get over this, and I can’t quite figure if I will do that or go sightseeing or lock myself in my hotel room and catch up on work.

But at least the flight in was sweet.

Counting One’s Blessings

March 17, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

“At least you have your health!” — often said when one is disparaging one’s fate, usually accompanied by the statement one should count one’s blessings.

My health took a brief holiday on Tuesday night, having (correctly) assessed everything else was going very well so it may as well take its turn. It started with the usual sore throat — and then, as my son puts it, you feel like you swallowed sand. Then you get the fever. And then a wet cough that punctuates every third word.

Three days later you’re still pretty much there. There was one brief respite where the fever had broken and I felt better, I now feel like that was likely the result of DayQuil and not actual healing. Now it appears the fever has broken (again) and I’m hopeful, as this time I can talk more before the racking cough, and the joint pain is subsiding.

One of the most frustrating things about being sick is that you take time off of work (if you can, and you should if you can) so you can heal up. As a result, you look at this startlingly clear calendar, this wide-open schedule, and fantasize about all the things you could do! You could — garden! You could sew, you could catch up on those books, you can reconfigure your pantry, you can …

…oh, no you can’t. Because you’re sick. So while your BRAIN is perfectly capable of envisaging these things, and of planning and plotting and wanting to go do them, your BODY is calling you four-letter words, aching at every joint, and requiring obscene amounts of sleep. In the space of 24 hours I used up an entire box of kleenex (plus five individual packs); in the space of the last 4 days I exhausted the remaining supply of tea and honey. I’ve lost four pounds (silver linings, anyone?) I am both BEHIND and AHEAD at work because I’ve done everything I can that didn’t require me to talk — because I couldn’t — but now I need to make up all that talking time with a voice that sounds like I’ve been sucking on helium and pickles.

This is okay thought. Because it appears I can once again count my health.

Challenge

March 9, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

There’s one of those uplifting sayings they put at the bottom of posters with kittens climbing trees or something, that says “Do Something That Scares You Every Day”. I think this is a bit extreme, I’m all for the good weekly or monthly scare. But essentially, this coupled with Nietzsche’s “That Which Does Not Kill Me Makes Me Stronger” means essentially this: challenge, and your life will be richer thereby.

Challenge is scary. Challenge, by definition, is something that you have to extend yourself to meet, and the outcome is uncertain. Challenge can take many forms.

Maybe it’s a defiance to the status quo. Maybe it’s asking “why” in a culture that discourages it. Maybe it’s rocking the boat. Maybe it’s flying in the face of that which is expected of you. Challenge is scary to you, and to others, because challenge is change.

And people really don’t like change (usually).

And change does not have to be a bad thing.

There was a time when bathing was an annual event because in doing so you’d “catch your death of cold)(nevermind that by not bathing you were almost assured to get that death anyway). There was a time when your life, your path was determined from the time you were born and no manner of training or gumption could change your circumstance. There was a time when the world was flat, when the sun revolved around the earth, and when women and persons of color could not vote.

Sometimes it’s scary. And sometimes it won’t change the course of humanity, of governments, of cities, or even your whole life — maybe just the course of your day.

Lucille Ball once said she’d rather suck her gums by the fire in her old age regretting the things that she did, than the things that she didn’t. We should too.

Silver Linings

March 8, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

The last 24 hours have unquestionably been a series of Silver Linings. (Note: I’m on a plane – leg 3 of a 3 leg sojourn to Heathrow – so I finally get to blog).

My day started on Monday, March 5^th at about 4:30am. That’s when the eyeballs snapped open and steadfastly refused to close. Not being able to sleep is, I think we can all agree, a bad thing; but if it happens on a Monday morning you can at least attend to the deluge of email that Europe’s and Asia’s Monday morning delivered. Silver lining number one, then: clean(ish) email inbox before I hit the office.

I got the boy to school to discover he was the recipient of a C-slip on Friday afternoon but due to the last-minute nature of it the C-slip would not be sent home until Monday (a C-slip is a “Communication slip” – if you have inferred the communication is rarely positive you are correct. Typically C-slips are to indicate behaviors the school would like to stop, now, please. For example: chasing one’s classmate with a pencil). I spent the day agonizing that I had let the boy child have TV on Sunday night because I didn’t know of the infraction, only to discover (when I finally had a chance to talk to him) that he had already ‘fessed up at his father’s house and punishment had been delivered. Silver lining number two: he didn’t attempt to hide it and instead demonstrated true remorse and honesty.

At the point I entered the office I was 3 conference calls in, with no coffee; I stepped into the office of a colleague to discover she was leaving the company (she is a wonderful asset to the company and she’s been around for years and years). She is doing this to spend more time with her family – not because of any real dissatisfaction. Fair enough: silver lining number three – she made the right choice for herself and there is no argument with Family First.

The workday was about on-par for a Monday (which is saying both a lot and very little), and I went to retrieve the boy child so we could go hang up Science Fair posters at the school. I thought this would take a long time, but it turns out the opportunity to spend time with him NOT doing homework or study or projects was incredibly welcome, and he took great pride in his taping skills. Plus, we finished early (and hello Silver lining number four).

We got to karate where he has steadfastly opined that he dislikes all Sempais and only wishes to train with the Sensei. Sensei is travelling back home so we had a Sempai: Silver lining number five was that my son has now declared that “THAT Sempai is okay. I like him.”

Dinner cooked mercifully in short time, I actually got to spend time with my son before I left (technically after his bed time). I rolled into SeaTac feeling especially reticent to fly and discovered that my flight was delayed 3 hours, meaning I would MISS my connecting flight at Dulles. I was rebooked to a flight that left at the same time for O’Hare, which would then meet up with a second flight for Dulles, to catch my third to Heathrow. At this point, all restaurants (even the Starbucks and the bars) at the airports are closed, and I have just enough time to get through security (where I got the complete feel-up even though I went through the perv machine) and catch my new flight.

I know what you’re thinking…. Where’s the silver lining there?

It’s here: my flight to Chicago was practically empty and I didn’t share a seat with anyone; I could stretch out and sleep.

My flight to Dulles was also practically empty and I could stretch out (across 3 seats!) and sleep.

And I type this now from my flight to Heathrow. Incidentally it’s the same flight the Seattle folks were trying to make and wouldn’t have; as a result I have changed my window seat for a middle/middle… with no one on either side of me. I have three seats to sleep in, work at, eat at, and I can watch 3 different TV programs if I was so inclined (I am not, however).

There are a lot of things of late that have me deliberately looking for silver linings: continued adventures in civil court, an overactive volunteering gland resulting in a very intricate Outlook calendar, the increasing realization that time moves much more quickly than it did when I was younger and there’s a definite crest to this hill. I am very glad, then, that I can still find them.

A Hot Shower in My Future

February 11, 2012 BobbieLeave a comment

As per usual, the beginning of the year brought on new stuff and things: projects, drives, initiatives, etc. All of this translates to calendars that are triple-booked and a lot of that juggling we all euphemistically refer to as “work-life balance”. I have it… if only just. Outlook keeps me in line. When you have to put in a calendar event to clean the catbox, you’ve gone too far. We are not there. Yet.

Tomorrow I will be on my first real bike ride in about four months, courtesy of the weather, a new job, and enforced socialization. I had the bike checked out today (new tube, otherwise good to go) in hopes of a 30 mile ride tomorrow, the first Official Outdoor Training Ride of 2012… for the STP.

Yes, I know I signed up for it last year. Yes, I know I didn’t do it last year (thank you knees, you are not at all welcome). Fortunately, I’m back in training early enough and cognizant enough of my limitations, my next injection is well ahead of the actual ride date. My only limitation is time — time to train, time to have things to do OTHER than train (you know – Mom/Work/House/Social). It’s a familiar whine.

Being back in the bike shop brought all the old training home though — yes, there’s the Gu, the Sports Beans, the Cliff Bars. And yes, over there is the rear wheel fender I keep meaning to get, so I don’t have the telltale “brown stripe badge”. Over there is the GoreTex jacket I will absolutely, positively not spend $200 on, even though it is in my size and has an appealing lack of pink.

Years ago I was a diver — I still technically am, there’s no expiration date on your certification although I am personally in favor of the idea of recertification. I’ve seen enough people in the water who were first certified fifteen years ago, just got back in recently, and I know that they are a hazard to themselves and others. At any rate– when I was diving, the second best part to it — other than seeing the really cool stuff Puget Sound has to offer underwater — was the hot shower afterwards. After two dives, even in a drysuit, you are cold, you feel dirty, and your muscles hurt — not from the dive, but from wearing 70 pounds of gear down to and up from the water. Diving is not an elegant sport, but it is rewarding. I quit cold water diving due to arthritis and a blase feeling of having seen it all (and I know I’m wrong, so see “arthritis” as chief reason) but I will keep up with warm water diving for the joy of it.

So the secondary joy there was the hot shower, the washing of everything, the loose, cottony feel of your muscles when you were done. I am very much looking forward to that, post-ride, tomorrow. I am MORE looking forward to a time when 30 miles is again “a piddlin’ distance”.

I’ve done 160. Come July, I’ll have done 200.