A Bun in the Oven: Trying something on for size

I have a client. Not a loud client all over my portfolio, a pretty quiet client. A good client. A repeat client. I worked with Kevin Burke of Lucid Marketing last year doing piecemeal projects while their systems administrator was out.

He's started a new company named Light Iris, with a focus of marketing to new mothers.

He had a notion one day that he should get a better perspective on being a new mother, and has been wearing a 35-pound pregnancy suit on his off-hours. Not to parade around town, but to get an idea of what it's like to have all that extra weight on.

He's doing this experiential experiment for a month. You can read about it at http://blog.lightiris.com/

[tags]clients,bias,education,family,humor,identity,inspiration,life[/tags]

Oh, Popeye! -- Broccolipita-ish

I bought fresh spinach and feta cheese at Sam's Club in Middletown. The plan was to make Spinakopita, one of my son's favorites -- I was going to make it with pie dough. I have a clue what dealing with filo is like --- so it was "spinakopita" -- I know it's not, but who cares as long as my son eats it?

Then the spinach scare. Ok, so I throw out the spinach. Even though it was "organic" and probably didn't go near any other spinach -- with so many people in the hospital and someone dead, it's not worth spinakopita-ish to make everyone in my family sick.

So then what? I have a pound of feta and no place to go. So I bought a LOT of fresh broccoli. About 4 florettes. I steamed it. I thawed 2 pie crusts.

I cut up about 3 cloves garlic fine.

I didn't have a yellow onion so I used about 1/8 of a hefty red onion. -- about 3-4 tbs when chopped fine.

I fried up the garlic & onion in olive oil, tossed some crumbled up feta in briefly -- probably a good 1/2-3/4 cup. Only for about a minute or less -- I removed it from the heat when the cheese started melting a little -- just enough to make some creamy oil in the pan, but not to make a gooey mess.

I burned a finger from the steamer -- that is definitely a prerequisite!

Then I used tongs to hold pieces of broccoli on the cutting board (they're HOT!) and chop them up with my handy veggie cleaver -- cutting up the florets and stems into tiny chunks and a bunch of bittie flowers. I tossed this in with the stuff from the pan in a bowl, mixed it up and made some very sloppy loaves with quarters from the pie crust -- I cut the crust dough into quarters, then rolled it out thinner with a rolling pin. You may want to cut them, ball them up, re-roll them and make loaves like empanadas. I was short on time. If you seal them well, take a sharp knife and put slits in the top.

Now I am waiting for them to cook so I can eat them. I'm trying cooking them at 375 even though pie recipes cook hotter.

...

Mmmmm -- I waited until they were crisp but barely brown, and they're YUMMY! They also passed the son test.

Enjoy!
[tags]recipe, spinach, broccoli, garlic, onions, pastry[/tags]

Free Family Tech Support

Doctors have this problem. The moment someone at the party finds out they're a doctor, they get the "Oh, it hurts when I do this..." request for free advice.

I get a little less of it than they do, since there aren't as many Mac owners, but would you believe my dentist did that to me? :) Did she think I was going to offer to come to her house to fix her ailing Mac for her? Or was she offering me to take the Mac home with me and keep it?

Macs are less popular than bodies, but I'm sure every PC tech at a party has this problem. It's never worse than when your family finds out that you do computer support, however. I don't, really DO computer support, not really. Certainly not for PCs. But the moment they hear geeky terminology, the relatives come out of the woodwork with stupid Windows questions that a Mac maven like myself can best answer with "Hrm. Sounds bad. Why don't you buy a Mac?" which of course leads to SOMEONE eventually actually getting a Mac. Now you're in business. Without getting paid.

My kids have Macs, because if I gave them PCs and they broke, got viruses, etc. I would just want to install Linux on them and be done with it, and the expensive games would then be worthless.

Considering the amount of time they spend with the games, maybe that's not such a bad thing, after all -- however, I digress...

Whenever there's a problem with the computers, the kids run in with panic, or determination to break any boundaries I assert in an attempt of procuring aid for their electronic addictions. Today my son's computer isn't on the network, so he has no Internet. Oh, what horror! I'm sorta happy. And exhausted. I certainly do NOT want to spend my wee-morning hours figuring out why his computer won't talk to our wireless device. My laptop is fine, he needs to be on a bus soon, so who cares? Obviously he does, but you get the point.

Somehow the computer has become a right rather than a privilege.

My mom got my old iBook. After her first 10 questions or so, she's been relatively quiet, until lately when it seems the modem may have died. That's a hardware issue I can't debug or fix since I'm 1000 miles away. So mom's pretty much been golden.

However, I see everyone from linux to PC techies running around fixing their family's computer issues. I'm not sure the doctors take care of family members in this way -- aside from the stupid party questions, how many family members want to take their clothes off in front of you and be touched, sometimes rather intimately, by their son/father/sister/cousin? So somehow, for the doctors, I think the buck stops at free advice.

There seems to be a law of the universe that for every geek there's at least one completely technically inept relative who has the lead touch and every computer or network they put their paws on breaks. Then there's the Internet un-savvy relative who blunders into adware and spyware, bad offers, identity theft, etc. And the mother -- usually it's the mother (mine's guilty too) who likes to pass along their spam, chain letters, petitions, jokes, etc. so they can share their inbox pain with you.

If you're the black geek of the family, you get the call, the email, the questions, and have to travel to the relative's house to do unpaid charity service in the name of family peace. After all, didn't you ask the person with the green thumb in the family to do your landscaping? You didn't? Didn't you ask the one most talented in the kitchen to come over and cook for your Thanksgiving meals? No? What about Aunt Martha? She's a neat freak and keeps a perfect house -- didn't you ask her to wash your kids' underwear and scrub your kitchen floor? You didn't do that either? Sheesh, what type of relative ARE you??

What is it that makes being a geek one of the few areas that people can trounce your personal, familial and professional boundaries? Doesn't Uncle James know that if you're fixing his computer, you're bound to find his porn folder?

I think it's one of the mysteries of the family moral and ethical system that I won't understand. I mean, my mom's a nurse, but I never asked her to take my blood pressure, administer an enema, draw blood, or give me chemo.

My family's pretty good on the scale of things, too. I watch others suffer under the burden of having done the family a "favor" and set up a computer network, which then they also must support when it's broken. It's true that people have much more respect when you set up a fee schedule. Suddenly they think twice about what they're breaking on the, computer or network, since they'll have to pay. Otherwise it's "what the heck, my nephew will fix it."

Maybe it's a good thing my family hasn't really realized that I do graphic and 3d design. All I need is for requests for unpaid or speculative work in the design area. Make my logo, do my website, I need a brochure...No one seems to think that time is limited, no one wants to take their work home with them, and we all need money.

[tags]family, rant, humor, life, interruptions, personal, prices, truth, spec work[/tags]

The Check's in the Mail

I've been busy this month, but as I always say "This month's work is next month's money." Whether a 15 day billing cycle or a 30 day billing cycle, with or without a late fee, and so on, by the time the job is done and billable, and then by the time you get the payment and take it to the bank, it's next month.

Last month was really rough. That means this month I'm terribly poor. I've gotten at least 3 new awesome clients, all giving me repeat work, and all paying me on-time. But there's still this cash flow problem.

So here's how the day goes: If I don't have a morning business networking meeting, my 6am to 9am slot is taken by email, breakfast, and catching up on news and potential work. If I have a project that has loose strings, I tie them. Ship out something I said I would have on their desk by morning. Surprise a client with something done ahead of schedule -- those are the best. Sometimes something inspirational came up while I was asleep and begs for my attention. This month I actually get to sleep in -- my son's at my mom's house way far out of state, so I can sleep til 7:30 if I don't have a morning business meeting.

From 9am-12pm I return calls, do job intake as needed, follow up on people answering their morning email, send out invoices, catch up on accounting work, work on billable projects due by the afternoon, etc.

Sometimes around 1pm I have a business lunch with someone. Other times, I take a long lunch break since I was up since 6am and I've hit a 6 hour mark for working during the day.

At 2pm I check the mail. This is the important part of this rant.

From 2-5 I'm doing billable projects, answering phone calls from late risers, and checking the news feeds again.

Now, back to 2pm -- when school is in session, more like 2:30pm, when my son gets home. The mail comes around or before 2. I think. No one really can tell if or when the mail is going to come. Or when. Sometimes it's here around noon. Sometimes it's a little late. But most days if we check for mail at 2-2:30pm it's here. It's my one chance for exercise every day. About 1/10 mile round trip walk to the mailbox. :P

Today the mail isn't here. The mailbox is empty. My wallet is filled with cobwebs, the banks are about to send me threatening letters, every bill under the sun is about to come due, and I had to beg my utility provider to PLEASE waive my late fee. I open the creaky door to look again. Empty. A third time? Yep, that mailbox sure is empty. I stand in disbelief squinting against the sun and look down the block. Surely the postal person is coming. Late over a latte or ice cream? If there are packages, the postal worker is here around 10am -- other days before 2pm.

How do you deal with an empty mailbox at 2pm. 2pm is perfect -- enough time to drive to the bank with that check that finally came. 2:30 is pushing it. At 2pm if the mailbox is empty, you have to run back to the mailbox at 2:30pm, wallet, keys for the car, checkbook in hand -- ready to flee to get to the bank by 3.

I hate being desperate.

But what if it's still empty at 2:30pm?

You begin to wonder what's going on. There are a billion outstanding invoices. People say the check's on it's way (it went to the accounting department, it was sent...), but I get enough junk mail, don't I? Why would it be EMPTY? The days where it's all junk mail, at least I know the mail CAME. Maybe the answer is more junk mail. Publisher's Clearing House? I was just thinking to tell the credit bureaus to stop giving my info out to credit card agencies looking to get me in debt to them. Save your paper! but now I can't tell whether the mail came today or not. Is there a check? I have this daily Schrodinger's cat syndrome when I open my mailbox -- is my bank account doomed to die or will it be resurrected for another week? Maybe I can convince the postwoman to leave me a post-it saying "Sorry, none for you today!"

I worry that maybe someone's beating me to the mailbox. An ol' game of bait and switch. That's not today's mail -- it's yesterday's mail. I'll get today's mail tomorrow.

Maybe I can blame it on my kids. It's all my kid's fault. If I didn't have kids, I wouldn't have bills, and I wouldn't need to charge people money -- I'd do it all for free and liberate the world from lame static websites in the name of the tech revolution! Somewhere there's a flaw in that logic, but in my panic over my bank balance, I guess I'm not thinking clearly.

This month's work is next month's money. I'll be bluddy rich next month. Rolling in it. I better have enough work next month to get me through October.

In the meantime, what's the best source of snail mail spam?

2:30pm. It's still empty.

[tags]rant,money,clients,time,humor[/tags]

The Clean-Room-Gestapo

You were there. You remember.

The humiliation, the pain, the sheer overwhelming bulk of it. Your room.

Your room was a mess. Years of accumulated junk and toys, half-eaten crackers, cups and plates. It doesn't matter if you were 2 or 20. You had done it: you made a big big mess.

There were your parents. Whether you were 2 or 20, their hulking bulk filled the sky as they glared down at you, tiny lightning bolts flashing in their eyes, and the Commandment came down like thunder, "CLEAN YOUR ROOM!"

As they stormed from the room, you surveyed the cluttered landfill, wondering whether you should start at the lump you think is your bed, or whether maybe it would be better to start from the top and work your way down, after all a lot of towers will be crumbling anyway. Overwhelmed, baffled at the Commandment, and with no good way to tackle the chaos, eyes moist with frustration and helplessness, you wonder why your parents have suddenly abandoned you, and made this unreasonable and surely irrational declaration. After an hour of helplessly transferring items from one pile to another, you turn your eyes upwards, ready to pray for salvation, but instead you swear a solemn oath on your favorite teddy, or maybe your iPod, Never EVER to do this to your children. Your children's room will be their own, safe from worries about parents and cleaning. They can do whatever they want with their room. You don't care how dirty it gets.

Years Go By...


You have your bundle of joy now. You watch your child learn to crawl, to walk. At 9 months you laugh when your child experiments with gravity, but then your child is in the high chair and decides to experiment with the oatmeal. A little less amused the 10th time, now that you've reinforced the behavior by being jovial and putting on a housecleaning show in front of your toddler, you finally frown at your child, and sternly say "NO!"

Fast-forward. Now your child is 2 -- or 20. You walk into the room to trip on a toy car, or to be admonished for stepping on their favorite Teddy. Maybe you step on their iPod. It's ok this time, you make it to the bed, tuck your bundle of joy in, realize the covers are in a huge knot, try to unravel them for the 100th time. You turn out the light, and narrowly escape the room with your life.

You do this over and over. It doesn't matter if you do it 20 or 200 times. There's going to be the one time you don't make it out unscathed.


Maybe it was a wooden block, an ice skate, a pencil point, a 4-sided-die. Whatever it was, you stepped directly on it and the stabbing pain went right up your leg. With the pain came a moment of clarity -- or was that insanity? The room is a hazard! The room has gone untouched for far too long, you've put up with it for far too long, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!! There is no way to resist the onrushing waves tossed about by years of neglect and insult. You pay for the house, you pay for their things, you have cleaned up after them, dressed them, bathed them, dedicated endless hours for years and years to keeping them neat, tidy, and healthy. And THIS is how they repay you? Tossing all your labors out the door, carelessly strewing items around the room, inviting vermin with dirty plates and half eaten vittles, and not even trying to make an inviting path to allow you in?!

you. Have. HAD. IT.

Like a Valkyrie or Odin himself, shaking a spear and shouting out a war-cry you denounce your naive youthful oath, and crash down like the very wrath of the gods has filled you, screaming like a banshee, and you make every declaration under the sun swearing that "IF you don't CLEAN THIS ROOM...." and ending it with whatever spills out of your wraith-strewn maw. You can't even remember. It doesn't really matter.

After the one fell incident, you become a police officer, keeping law and order -- your law and your order -- with regard to the tidiness of the room. With every foot your child drags, your threats and declarations escalate into a shrill madness that causes even your own inner child to flee in wild panic. Every speck of dust or item out of place induces threats and limitations: no dessert, no tv, no computer, no movies, no car, no iPod, no GameBoy, no going out, no phone calls, no No NO.

And it doesn't matter if your kid is 2 or 20. In the face of your irrational exhibition, the child will sulk away and make an oath to a long forgotten deity that they will never, ever, tell their child to clean their room...

[tags]humor,truth,personal,rant[/tags]