Thriff

Even the cloth protests.

Honestly, I’m saddened by the relative quiet around me, when I think of what is presently happening in Iran, a technologically and economically modern state: mass disenfranchisement and violent suppression. And here, domestically, the conservative political punditry — more concerned, apparently, with doing something than with doing something useful — have spent most of their hot air damning President Obama for … what? For not sabre-rattling or initiating unilateral military action in a foreign civil-military dispute? It shames me; it shames all of us to live in a society which encourages such sophomoric monomania, unsullied by compassion.

I will be taking my children to a protest, this evening. We must stand and be counted; it is such a little thing, and yet goes so far to remind us all of our shared humanity.

1. v.t. to interact with a proxy entity (avatar, chat client, Facebook page, etc.) so as to elicit a response, usu. to ascertain the presence or attentiveness of the represented person(s). poke s.o.: “I poked her on FB but she hasn’t logged-in in weeks.”; poke s.t.: “Is it dead yet? I dunno; poke it with a fireball and see.”
2. v.i. (deriv. of 1, slang) (internet social networking context) to cause novel media to appear on another person’s display, esp. to communicate goodwill or interest in conversation.

Notes

On FB, you’re usually dealing with 2. In instant-messaging, texting, or other chat environments, including online games, it’s usually the more general 1. In both cases, the intent is usually innocuous, but (as with the physical analogue) repetition — either from a single prolific source or from a plethora of single-event sources — generally yields a nuisance.

… Things do seem to be looking up.

I wouldn’t have said anything like that, yesterday, after what has to have been the most unpleasant interview I’ve yet had. Ultimately, the interviewer called into question my personal communication style, one that I’m much more accustomed to being thanked and/or praised for. I do have a tendency towards verbosity and encyclopedic answers; it stems from my personal obsession with precision and accuracy — if I am to say something, I want it to be right, and I want it to communicate precisely my intent. This seemed to bother my interviewer.

At one point, it had devolved to where the interviewer called into question my response to a quiz item during the preceding phone screen — an item that didn’t even support his argument! I called him directly on that, and detailed how the context and phrasing of the question could hardly have suggested any more succinct of a response would be appropriate. Otherwise, I played the game, and did my best to modulate my affect and replies into a more concise presentation.

He proceeded to list aspects of the work environment that might be difficult or unpleasant. These included the prospect of being on-call for key production software, somewhat lengthy hours and a requirement to match one’s workload and time commitment to his own (which had never before come-up in any discussions of responsibility or workload), and a rapid (daily) release cycle phrased in the most extreme terms (as time between any two release events, independent of releasor, rather than actual development cycle length). He also chose to interpret my use of hyperbole, in one case (”losing sleep over …”), as literal statement — a statement that as hyperbole is a common idiom for distaste or concern, but as a literal statement suggests significant emotional or mental distress and a failure to internally maintain appropriate perspectives. Perhaps the company has encountered more than its share of sociopaths among job applicants: I have difficulty imagining any other valid reason for choosing such an interpretation.

In the end, it really just seemed that he was seeking an excuse not to hire me. I appreciated, at first, his apparent candor in frankly voicing a complaint he had with my affect, but elaboration of the issue began to reveal inconsistencies and some degree of predisposition. My dismissals, with supporting examples, of several of the aforementioned work environment challenges each met with a certain degree of surprise (and what appeared to be moderate disbelief). Ultimately, he may have decided to recuse himself and rely on whatever objective data might be salvaged from his interview notes, but by then there was real damage done, both to the company’s case as an attractive opportunity as well as to my confidence and interest as a job applicant.

On the other hand, the company with whom I’ve most enjoyed interviewing, this round, remains interested and will be having me back for a second set of interviews. So, whatever it is about my communicative style that was so off-putting, it does seem to be perceived as an asset by the rest of those whom I encounter.

Well! No-go on the Google bit, i’m afraid. It would appear that they really liked me, but weren’t presently hiring for any positions for which I was a fit. Aaand it took them thirty days to figure this out. Thirty days, eight in-person interviews, and three trips down to Mountain View. Grrr. And, in the meantime, my security offer, elsewhere, went and exploded; they’re interested, but they’ve just hired a new CTO and don’t want to circle back with me until he’s up to speed. Grrr. It really makes you almost want to stop trying. Seriously. Oh well. Time to call some recruiters! It’s not that I don’t think I’ll find work, it’s just that I’m really no fan of interviewing. Gotta think positive. Thinking positive. Yep.

Whee.

I half-choked a few times, laughing, just now; as an engineer, a technologist, and an appreciator of language who regrets the rise of soapbox journalism, this struck all the right buttons. On the one hand, the imagery is a bit more graphic than I might choose, myself. On the other, TOO FUNNY BY HALF. And too true, of course.

… the better it feels when you stumble across the occasional island of peaceful familiarity.

Now that Reina’s with Apu & Gongon (my mangled romanization of “Grandma” and “Grandpa”, which is how Mr. & Mrs. Yan prefer to be known by the children they look after), all of a sudden I find myself back at our neighborhood park with regularity. Even better, it’s not just Tuesdays and Fridays (as it used to be, when Reina and I would walk over Nob Hill from her playmate, Simon’s house) — it’s every day of the week! Woo! Yes, every weekday I take the bus 4/5ths of the way home, then walk a couple of blocks down over a saddle to the park, where at 5pm the Yans bring their charges to be picked-up. Since the weather, lately, has been simply phenomenal — and since preschools and kindergartens seem to all be starting next Monday — everyone is out, playing. I’ve seen more old playground friends in the last two days than I have in the last five months; it’s remarkable.

I should really post some pictures. Reina has developed a habit of snagging our camera and playing the spastic shutterbug. Actually, if you ignore the fact that I end-up deleting a little over half of the images, and that she doesn’t have any real understanding of favorable lighting conditions, she’s pretty good. I guess three-year-olds have a natural feel for “human interest candids”. Alternatively, maybe they just have a naturally endearing point of view, 3′ 9″ off the ground.