• Being the messenger of doom

    It was day three of meetings: the last day, and we were in review mode. Everyone’s brains were fried. Everyone wanted to go home, put their head under a pillow, and let their mind descend into blissful oblivion. I use the term “home” loosely. A hotel room is substituting for my home tonight. Though now that I type it, being away from home is probably a blessing. I can enjoy my oblivion without interruption.

    But back the meeting.

    We were hopping through the review, beginning to feel that rush you feel when you think you’re almost done, until I ruined the mood with a buzz-kill.

    “Um… I don’t think that looks right.”

    I’m not one of those people who takes pleasure in finding mistakes. In fact, I often feel partially responsible for other people’s mistakes at work (I’m often the one that did the training – at my office anyway). In this case the problem was a big one, and it was as much mine as anyone else’s. Part of me thought about not saying anything. Maybe someone else will notice. Maybe it’ll be caught in the build phase. Maybe I’m pretty much useless unless I speak up. When you get right down to it I hate making mistakes, so I had to say something to make it right. We ended up scrapping a design that took the better part of a day to put together. And if you think it sounds bad, prepare to be taken a little lower. You may know words don’t come easily to me in a large group. I hate the attention. Now add to this the fact that I was the lowest pay grade in the bunch (my buzz-kill was addressed to the equivalent of my boss’s-boss’s-boss’s-boss’s-boss). After stumbling through an explanation and seeing the flash of understanding on everyone’s faces… followed by the five stages of grief, the accumulated anxiety left me unable to form complete sentences for ten minutes.

    In the end, we slapped together a replacement that ended up three times as complex, in a little under three hours.

    I think I’ve found another trigger for migraines.

  • Light tuna in oil

    McClatchy:

    Describing his position as evolving, Florida Gov. Charlie Crist said he now supports exploratory drilling for oil and gas off Florida’s coast because “Floridians are suffering…”

    The National Petroleum Council estimates the eastern Gulf might hold 36.7 trillion cubic feet of natural gas and 5.2 billion barrels of oil. Others doubt those numbers but say there is no way to know without further exploration.

    Environmentalists warn, however, that Florida’s multibillion-dollar tourism industry, its fisheries industries and its soaring coastal real estate market are as much at risk as the environment if drilling anywhere in the Eastern Gulf is allowed.

    Federal environmental regulators acknowledge that drilling discharges harmful drilling fluids and cuttings, disturbs delicate marine life and poses a threat to endangered sea turtles.

    For those and other reasons, Florida politicians from both parties have considered the endorsement of oil drilling as a ”third rail” of political issues to be avoided. They have worked to keep the drilling ban in force along Florida shores for more than 25 years.

    Let’s be clear about something. Everything in Florida comes down to tourism. Our entire system of government depends on sales tax receipts and a few other taxes paid by tourists (on hotels, etc). There’s no income tax. Taxes on wealth, like estate and intangibles taxes, have been slashed by our Republican legislature. There are a few miscellaneous fees and taxes, but we live and die by the sales tax. Guess what happens to those sales taxes our tourist friends pay when oil rigs pop up on the horizon, and trace amounts of the stuff they bring up start coating our beaches?

    You may argue that it’s in the nation’s best interest for us to fall on our sword, but lets not mince words – that sword’s going to run us through. Others might argue that it’s well past the time we start looking to energy alternatives.

    Charlie must not be interested in running for re-election, or for VP either. A lot of us Floridians suffer from a little too much sun, and we can appear to be a bit dim witted at times (re: 2000). But a lot of us still have enough wits about us to recognize what our meal ticket is, and it ain’t natural gas. We may be suffering at the pump (and from the resulting inflation) like everyone else, but it’s nothing like the suffering we’ll face if the backbone of our economy breaks. Just ask the folks in the rust belt what it’s like when your main industry pulls up stakes.

    So now I have to wonder, what good does Charlie do McCain if he can’t bring Florida with him? I used to think he was a pretty savvy politician. Now, not so much.

  • Day one later

    The afternoon session wasn’t too bad. I even had something coherent to say. We got off early, so I returned to the hotel with some ideas in mind. I figured I’d walk down the road and check out some of the dinner prospects. It was hovering around 97F late this afternoon (if the bank across the street is to be trusted), but I was feeling guilty about not having my bike along for the trip (my normal mode of exercise). So I stopped by the hotel lobby to check with the desk dude, to see if my memory was serving me well.

    It was, but I fetched an odd look with my statement about walking. He looked betrayed, as if I was his one sane customer of the day… and now he couldn’t count on me either. Hell, it’s hot, but it’s not like we’re strangers to a little hellfire and humidity in Florida. And it’s not like this is a bad part of town either. I’m surrounded by all the comforts of suburbia. How bad can it be if there’s a Birkenstock store across the street?

    Yeah, I know what you’re thinking… those dudes in clogs are into some pretty crazy shit.

    Two miles, a raspberry ice tea, and a nice chicken teriyaki wrap later, and I’m back in my hotel room. I feel well fed and well tread. The clog dudes didn’t give me any trouble, though they did frown on my Nike sandals.