It's Not Easy Being Green

I spent another long night at work last night getting some things straightened out on our project. Tonight I finished off another large set of deliverables which took our project team from "Amber" to "Green."

So we posted Kermit the Frog up on our conference room door with the saying: "It's Not Easy Being GREEN! So now that we're there, let's stay there!"

Just yesterday we had decided upon the Jack Russells as our mascots. It looks like mascots have a short career when selected by a fickle crowd.

I also got kudos from our Project Management Office and my new Team Lead for putting the effort in to get this done. More kudos for the quality of my work. I'm feeling pretty good. I think it's time for a Guinness to celebrate.

We're currently the only team that is in the GREEN.

Project Team Mascots

Last night my the Global VP of HR took our project team out to dinner at the local Chinese Restaurant - Mandalay. It's got good food, but is very overpriced. Luckily, I was not paying. It also happens to be the only decent restaurant around. There's an Italian joint around the corner, but I've been warned more than once not to go there.

Anyway, back to the Mandalay. We had the usual table discussion: War, Politics, Tiger Woods, Family, Pets, etc. However, near the end of the meal, the VP made the suggestion that we should liven up the conference room that we are using at the hotel. Then she went on to suggest that we should do something funny to it. Of course I was ready to oblige with a few jibes at the Project Management Office's deadline bullying. But it seemed like an odd suggestion to get from a Global VP.

Anyhow, a course of action was sorted and one of my project team members now has the task of creating a mascot for the HR subteam. His puppy (a Jack Russell Terrier) and another team member's dog (a Miniature Jack Russell Terrier) will be pictured and posted on our door with the saying "My dog ate my documentation."

Not exactly clever, but the VP liked it, so it's happening.

Further Adventures of Banking

I got an email back from our HR department detailing the instructions that I needed to go through to set up an account with AIB. I went down to the local branch and was unfortunately treated to the same level of service as my last visit. The same girl helped me. and she didn't really seem like she wanted to. However, halfway through the transaction, another banker took over and she was quite helpful.

I don't have a bank account set up yet, but I was able to apply for one. Since the local branch of AIB doesn't hold the account for my company, they had to take all of my information, photocopy it and send it to the bank at City Centre.

So now I just need for the mail to get to City Centre, the person there to setup my account - providing that I gave them the right information, then wait for them to send me my information via mail. My hopes aren't high that this is going to work out. I may just go downtown and apply at the downtown bank in person.

I have also found that the definition of "banker's hours" was probably created in Ireland - banks are open M-F 10am - 4pm, so I may need to take some more time off work to do this. That's hard to do when we've got a lot of deadlines to hit on our project.

Nothing Like A Cold Shower To Get You Over Jet Lag

I learned an important lesson today about my new apartment: There are two switches on the heating controls - one for the heating and one for the water heater. I turned both of them off prior to my trip home for the weekend thinking that I was turning only the heat off.

My plane landed at 8am local time and I got back to my apartment at about 9am (yeah, I'm pretty close to the airport). Wanting to wash the travel off before going to work, I prepped a shower. Low and behold, nothing came out of the nozzle but cold water. Damn.

I was faced with a choice - go to work stinking like I'd been sitting in a plane for eight hours or brave the cold water and wash up. Ok, maybe "brave" isn't the right word. Perhaps I should say "I endured the lack of hot water" as there wasn't anything brave about it.

Needless to say, I hopped in the cold shower and took one of the quickest showers I've taken in my life. How's that for being green? I reduced the water output and I didn't waste any natural gas in the effort. Perhaps I should have a cold shower every day.

Screw that. I like my nice long, hot showers.

They Should Give Away Wii's

This weekend I bought Beth her birthday gift (also using up residual owed gifts from Valentine's Day and Christmas). She got a Wii. I wasn't too subtle about it. I let her know that we needed to go shopping for her birthday gift. She asked me what she was getting. I told her a Wii and we went to pick one up the next day.

While we were shopping for the Wii, I noticed that the Wii - just like other gaming systems - is marketed like crack. Two hundred dollars for a gaming system truly isn't bad, but they should have given it to us for free. Why, do you ask?

The actual Wii gaming system is just a gateway drug. You get the game box and one freakin' controller. Beth can have fun playing by herself. If we want another freakin' controller, it's another fifty bucks. On top of that, we now have the right (or the ability) to spend fifty dollars on every additional damn game for the system. So to have the Wii, Wii Fit, Mario Karts (seriously, why by anything Nintendo if you don't get Mario Karts), and an extra controller, we're out four hundred bucks (plus tax).

Yeah it's fun and I'm sure we'll get enjoyment out of it, but it's crack marketing. They're getting us hooked for two hundred bucks and then watching the cash roll in as we continue to add accessories and games. The scary thing is that in a mere two days, I have realized that I am powerless to stop it. Bastards.

Zoned Home

Today, Beth and I installed/affixed 4 baby gates in the house, effectively zoning the house into five different areas. All areas actually have an intent and purpose for their existence. I thought I'd share just for the hell of it.

Zone 1 - Upstairs
This zone is sectioned off by a baby gate installed at the top of the stairs. It includes 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and a linen closet. Allowed within this area are adults, toddlers, skinny cats (who can squeeze under the gate), and dogs (evening access only).

Zone 2 - Stairs
The stairs are controlled by two gates - one at the top of the stairs and one at the bottom of the stairs. Due to the danger of this zone to toddlers, they are strictly prohibited from this zone and must be carried across the zone by an adult. Due to its absence of toddlers, it has also become a refuge for cats looking to escape the curious clutches of a toddler.

Zone 3 - Living Room/Dining Room
This is the primary exploration area for toddlers, where the Dining room has been retrofitted to their taste - including playhouse, play mat, and oodles of toys. It borders all other zones except for zone 1. Cats have full access to this area as it also is the area that provides entrance to their bathroom(laundry room). Dogs are strictly forbidden from this area with the exception of admittance for light cleanup duties (if we decide to feed RJ in this area). It is also home to the Wii and the PS2.

Zone 4 - Kitchen/Family Room
This area is the primary habitat for the canines, where they can dutifully clean up after meals. It has prime access to the back deck as well as the garage. This makes it easy to let the dogs out to the yard to do their business. Cats may enter at their own risk. Fat cats and old cats may have issue getting over the gates to get to this area, but that may be in their best interest anyhow. Home to the popular TiVo.

Zone 5 - Basement
The basement is not sectioned off by a gate, but rather the basement door. It is off limits to toddlers, dogs, and cats. The exception to this is when we have company, when this becomes the temporary home for the cats. The basement is used primarily for storage (especially unused fitness equipment).

The Honey-Do List

It's amazing how long a Honey-Do list can get when you're away for 3 weeks. While I'm away, I get plenty of reminders of what needs to get done when I get home. In addition, I have my own to-do list to boot. So these whirlwind weekends that I'm home for just 4 days tend to be consumed in cleaning, home maintenance and running errands.

This weekend I get to bolt baby gates to the walls, shop for a new car seat for RJ, clean toilets, get a haircut, return/renew books at the library, go through 3 weeks of mail, pay bills, deposit checks, pickup water softener salt, take Tana to the vet, send in my expense reports, buy Beth a birthday gift, shop for cheap things for my Dublin apartment, do laundry, install cabinet cabinet/drawer guards, pack for my flight back to Ireland, and find the time somewhere in there to spend with Beth and RJ.

Luckily, my biological clock is still messed up so I can start working on these things at 4am when nobody else is awake.

To top it off, I have project deliverables due on Tuesday when I land back in Dublin. I'm not sure when those are going to get done, because they lose priority when I'm back in the US.

Safe at Home

My day started at 6:30am Irish time today. That would be 12:30am local time. I got home around 3pm today - got to spend some quality time with RJ, while giving Beth some time to herself. Sorry for the short post, but I'm going to get some sleep.

Mo' Bankin' Blues

I took some time out of my day today to walk down to the bank and setup a bank account. After all, I need a bank account to pay my landlord, my utility bills and just about everything else.

To setup what they call a "Current Account" over here, you need only two pieces of identification. First is a photo ID - no problem, passport has that covered. The second thing is a utility bill addressed to you at your new apartment. This seems to pose a bigger problem.

Last week I set up my accounts with the gas company and the electric company. Earlier this week, I got notices in the mail from both of them. The gas company requires that you either A) setup automatic debit payments AND give them a 200 Euro deposit OR B) give them a 400 Euro deposit. Similarly, the electric company requires that you either A) setup automatic debit payments OR B) give them a 300 Euro deposit. So you can see, that setting up automatic debit payments increases my cash flow by 500 Euro (about 700 USD).

Back to the story at hand. I received these "bills" from both the gas company and the electric company. When I present them to the banker, she tells me that she can't accept them as verification of my address.

Me: "Why not?"

Her: "Because it doesn't show that you've actually paid anything."

Me: "Neither does me presenting you with my first bill. It just tells you that I owe them money, same as this letter says."

Her: "I'm sorry, sir, we still can't accept it."

Needless to say, I'm a little frustrated with my banking situation right now. Most importantly, I need a bank account to setup cable television, internet, and telephone. Instead of watching TV now, I'm watching DVD series if I get a hankering for TV. I already watched The Wire - Season 5 and I'm halfway through watching Firefly (this would be my second go-round on the Firefly).

On a plane back home tomorrow!

The Typical Irish Work Day

Typically the Irish work day starts at 9am and goes until 5:30pm with an hour around 12:30 for lunch. Yesterday was not a typical day for me, nor are the standard Irish working hours typically the hours that I work. Though, that's also true when I'm back in the US. I tend to work longer than the standard work day would require.

Yesterday, I started at 8am and finished at 1am this morning (with a break here and there for lunch, dinner, and to talk to my wife). That's a 17 hour work day. I do believe this was the longest work day that I've logged. I've gone 12-13 hours before, but never have I had a marathon like I had yesterday.

I hope that this is not par for the course on this project. At the end of last week I received a copy of the project plan, where my hours for this week were supposed to total over 80. Considering I'm losing Friday to a flight back to the US, that would mean that I'd need to work 20 hours a day. Perhaps we have a resourcing issue?

I guess I'll be working on the plane - something I typically try not to do.

Pancake Tuesday!

It's Pancake Tuesday, get out your griddles!

Today, I was sitting in the conference room working away. Around three o'clock one of the administrators from our Project Management Office stuck his head in the door and announced that there were pancakes out in the coffee area. Eyes lit up around the room, except for mine. My brows drew together in confusion. One of the ladies I work with announce to me that it's "Pancake Tuesday!" What?

Sure enough, we got up and went to the coffee area and there's a mess of pancakes in the catering pans. A line forms and people start grabbing pancakes and muffins.

How freakin' bizarre! Nothing better for an afternoon snack than pancakes, eh?

Well, upon further investigation, I discover that this is an Irish (and British) custom associated with Shrove Tuesday. The idea is that you use up all of your milk, eggs, and sugar before the fasting of Lent begins. What can you do with milk, eggs, and sugar? Make pancakes, of course!

Happy Pancake Day!

Not Fitting In . . .

I've been living in my Dublin apartment now for about a week. One thing that has struck me is - not necessarily how small the apartment is - but how narrow and low some of the fixtures are.

The en suite (that's posh irish for a tiny master bathroom) has a few quirks to it that just don't fit me. The shower for instance . . .

I'll confess that I've put on a little weight being on an expense account for the last four months (10 lbs or 4.5 kilos or three quarter stone), but trying to get into this shower has me sucking my admittedly ample gut in.

Also the sink basin hits me just above the knees and when I look in the mirror, I can't see anything above my chin. If decided to shave only what I saw in the mirror, I may end up looking like General Ambrose Burnside. At least the mirror I can fix. I'm getting the hammer!

Lastly, the spacing on these double decker buses - not made for people over 5'6". I once took a seat on a bus which ended up getting very crowded. When somebody sat down next me and made me squish toward the window, I thought my kneecaps were going to fuse with the seat in front of me. I have since learned where the American sized seats are on the bus: Just behind the staircase on the upper deck and the center seat in the very back row (let the legs stretch as far down the aisle as you like).

I suppose that I am the visitor here. I need to keep sucking in my gut and pulling my knees into my chest if I'm going to fit in around here.

Valentine's Day

Yeah, it's that day again. Here I am sitting 3000 miles away and 6 hours ahead of my beloved wife. We exchanged cards two weeks ago before my flight out to Ireland. However, it just wasn't a proper Valentine's Day for us. So, in the spirit of Valentine's Day, here is a Valentine for my wife:

Beth -

In all the world and all the days
Many are the ways
I love you.
Stubborn fights to loving nights,
Simple life to times of strife,
You are my rock, my love;
One with me,
United forever.

Happy Valentine's Day, Honey! Sorry that I'm not home with you and RJ. See you next weekend!

Avatar

I finally saw Avatar. Since it took me so long, I'll go ahead and assume that most other people have seen it. Thus this is your spoiler alert. If you don't want to know what happens in the movie, read no further.

I enjoyed the show and I enjoyed the 3-D. As I was putting on my 3-D glasses before the show, I thought to myself, "What a gimmick! What the hell is so special about watching a movie in 3-D?"

Truth is the last time I saw something in 3-D was in Las Vegas . . . and it WAS quite gimmicky. This was no gimmick. What I found great about it was that things weren't necessarily poking out of the screen at you. Instead, the 3-D sunk back into the screen. It gave movie depth and perspective.

The world that was created was fantastic and beautiful. I'm not sure how practical it really was - floating mountains and all. Yet, I was still able to put my skepticism aside and enjoy backdrop.

The story has been told before: Lawrence of Arabia and Dances with Wolves come to mind. Soldier goes into the wild, befriends the natives, is finally accepted by them, then accidentally betrays them. Have I mentioned that I loved both of those movies? I think I just did.

Even though the story wasn't very original, its placement in a Science Fiction setting was new. I'm sure that it's been done before, but probably not as well as this. The use of the Avatar bodies was an interesting plot device, that was even more interesting since it gave the lead character away to overcome his disability.

The characters were fun and I enjoyed the acting - save for the lead character Jake Sully, played by Sam Worthington. His acting was the only distraction that I had to an otherwise enjoyable movie. The rest of the cast did an outstanding job.

Overall, I'd give it a 9 out of 10. Very good movie. I may go see it again, after all I now own the cool 3-D specs.

That's My Bag, Baby!

One of the oddest things I've run into over here is that most stores don't give you bags for your merchandise. I'm not talking about the tourist trap stores down at City Centre - they put your bags in bags; I'm talking about the grocery stores and supermarkets.

I first ran into this oddity last October when I decided to do a little Irish grocery shopping at Tesco. I bought some stain remover (I had a propensity at the time for spilling Guinness on my nice white dress shirts), a bag of chips, and a 2 liter of Coke. I was the clerk's last customer just before she went on break.

So I payed her, she gave me my change, then walked away. This left me staring at the bag boy who was doing absolutely nothing.

"You gonna bag that?" I say.

"You have to buy bags."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"Twenty-two cents."

Luckily he managed to get clerk back to the register before she disappeared back into the break room and I payed twenty two cents for one bag. Lesson learned.

Tuesday night, to outfit my apartment with some essentials, I went down to IKEA. I needed things like pillows and silverware. Going through IKEA, I got some great bargains, but I restricted myself just to the essentials. You see, I had a pretty long walk back to my apartment and I didn't want to burden myself down. So I gathered only what I could carry in one of the big IKEA bags.

IKEA sells you the same size bag (huge) for fifty cents at the checkouts. Compared to twenty-two cents for a standard plastic bag, it's a steal! I payed and walked home with two new pillows, a 32-piece (8 settings) utensil set, a bath mat, four hand towels and a big blue IKEA bag for just under 25 Euro (about $32).

When I got home, I knew that this bag needed to be saved. If I ended up at Tesco again, I'd need something to carry my groceries in. I neatly folded the bag up and stowed it in a kitchen drawer.

Last night, it was time to go shopping. I needed internet access, food, and a quilt/comforter (it got pretty cold in the bedroom with only a set of sheets on the bed). I went to the kitchen drawer and pulled out my magnificent blue IKEA bag, stuck it under my arm and headed downtown.

As you can see, I didn't quite fill it, but it was great for toting my groceries back home in.

The Humble Abode

I missed a day of blogging . . . oh what shall I do. Sorry for that, I was moving into my new apartment! Yaaay! Oops . . . I forgot to get internet access setup.

A day later, here I am with internet access and back at blogging. I thought I'd make this post a simple picture post, but not without a little background. The apartment I got is a bit smaller than I wanted, but I don't mind because it's less that I have to clean (see what being married for six years does to you?). It's the right size for me, but it might get a little tight when Beth is over. It's definitely less space than we're accustomed to. So without any further adieu, I present to you my apartment:

Book Report: Before They Are Hanged by Joe Abercrombie

Time for another Book Report. If you remember, about a week ago, I did a little report on Joe Abercrombie's The Blade Itself. Today I'm reviewing the sequel to that book - the second in his First Law trilogy.

The Best Part: The characters are really starting to pop. There are two characters who are really starting to grow on me:

Superior Glokta - the victim of brutal torture now turning the tables and using his learned torture skills as an Inquisitor. At times, you get to see shreds of his humanity shining through. However, having been subject to such brutality as a prisoner of war has truly warped him.

Logen Ninefingers - A barbarian berzerker whose bloody past has given him true appreciation for the simple things in life, though he struggles to find himself useful in situations outside of battle.

The first book resonated the theme of the Yin and the Yang - there is good in evil and evil in good. This book focused more on themes of battle and war, for example the rich wage the wars, but the make poor fight the wars.

The Worst Part: I find it hard to find a worst part of this book. I really enjoyed it. I would advise, however, that if you don't like swearing or sex scenes in your reading, you might want to stay away from this book.

Rating: I give this book a ten out of ten. The characters are engrossing and the plot lines are better developed in the first book. This was the best fantasy book that I've read since Patrick Rothfuss' Name of the Wind. This is a good series to read if you like good fantasy, great characters and an intriguing plot.

Memorable Quote: "War is harshest on the brave."

Will I read the next book: Yes, already started.

Super Bowl on BBC

So yesterday I was prepared to go down to The Woolshed Baa & Grill to watch the Super Bowl. Trouble is that everyone of the people that was going to go with me backed out. To be honest, nothing made me happier. I really wasn't in the mood to go down to the City Centre (yeah - that's the proper English spelling) and stay out until 3am just to watch the Super Bowl.

The funniest response was from the Brit that was out with me for rugby on Saturday. His response: "Might give the super bowl a miss tonight - have felt better."

I was feeling a little guilty about sticking him with the bill, so I emailed him back: "I just wanted to check. Do I owe you any money for Shanahan's? I'd hate to have had somebody else pick up the bill for an expensive steak with 1 bite taken out of it. Good time on Saturday, sorry I had to leave the party early. "

Being cool, he responded: "Hi Steve – don’t worry about it! If you fancied going again, let me know. Hopefully we can turn up in a state where we get to enjoy it!"

I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't get to truly enjoy the steaks.

So what did I do for the Super Bowl? I watched it from my bed in my hotel room. Great game to watch. However, I thought that I'd share the one big difference in watching the Super Bowl on the BBC as opposed to CBS:

No commercials - seriously, everytime CBS cut away to a commercial the BBC cut back to the studio for analysis. One of the guest commentators was San Francisco QB, Alex Smith, who was promoting the San Fran - Denver game at Wembley Stadium next season.

Just to let you know that the British commentators are just as likely to curse the players on the field as American commentators. Prior to the Manning throwing the pick-6, the studio host noted how mistake-free the game had been.

A different experience, but it would have been fun to head down to The Woolshed.

You're Taking It Like A Champ, Sir

Today, I get to introduce you to my friend, Humility. I'm not proud of what happened yesterday, but I'll share it nonetheless. Just as every human being, I have my flaws. Yesterday, I ran my flaw of overindulging up the flagpole and let it flap wildly in the breeze.

As you may know I was heading off to see the Six Nations Ireland vs. Italy rugby match. The day started at noon in the same fashion a joke might: A Brit, a Turk, a South African, and an American walk into a bar . . .

The bar was Fagan's in Drumcondra - not far from Croke Park. We had a couple of Guinness, then walked 20 paces down to Kennedy's Pub and had a few more. We headed over to the game - I was already a little tipsy. Yet, that did not stop me from having another pint at halftime. Ireland won 29-11.

After the match we went to Gill's Cornerhouse and had another pint. After Gill's, we went to The Church (a church converted into a bar) and had a couple more pints. The South African left us after The Church and the Turk was being more responsible about her intake of Guinness. The Brit and I weren't being very responsible at all.

The Brit had booked a reservation at Shanahan's on the Green - the priciest steakhouse in the city of Dublin. So after The Church, we caught a cab over to the Shanahan's for a good steak. I was starting to feel a little queasy.

We get to the restaurant and we're already under dressed (because we'd just come from a rugby match) but we were seated anyhow. I ordered water and a 50 Euro filet mignon, then politely excused myself to go to the bathroom where I proceeded to projectile vomit into the toilet. I cleaned myself up and headed back to the table (making one wrong turn and being guided back to my table by a waiter).

The waitress brought our food out and I took one bite of my 50 Euro steak before excusing myself a second time. While painting the toilet a second time, the Turkish lady that was with us called into the bathroom and asked me if I'd like a cab back to the hotel. Yes, I would.

As I come up from the bathroom, the mater di already has my coat ready and takes my elbow, escorting me to my cab. He says one thing to me, "you're taking it like a champ, sir."

I look him in the eye as I sit down in the cab and say, "You're lying, but thank you nonetheless."

The cab ride home was not much more fun. The cabbie kept looking back at me a paranoid look. That kind of look that pleaded with me not to vomit in his cab. Lucky for him, I had nothing left but a few dry heaves that I managed to lean out the door for.

The night ended with me crawling down the hallway to my hotel room, struggling with the door, then crawling into bed.

Throughout the day I lost my ticket (wanted to keep it as a souvenir), my rugby program, a pair of gloves, and my pride. Worst of all I wasted a 50 Euro steak.

I still don't know exactly what the mater di thought I was taking like a champ - my drunkenness or getting kicked out of the most prestigious restaurant in town. Probably both.

Super Bowl Weekend

So, it's Super Bowl weekend here in Dublin and frankly the city just doesn't give a damn. It's enlightening to find out how little the rest of the world cares about American sports. If you could picture how much we care about soccer, you'd have an inkling into how little the Irish care about the Super Bowl. Yes, there are fans, but there's barely even a realization that the Super Bowl is going on this weekend.

So what do a handful of American expatriates do for the Super Bowl when we're in Ireland? We're planning to go to an Australian pub called the Woolshed Baa & Grill. That's not a typo; follow the link. It's got everything a good American needs at a Super Bowl party: Full Game Shown, Food Served 'Til Late, Free Entry.

Food Served 'Til Late? Just how late does food need to be served? I'm guessing food needs to be served until at least 3am - after all the game doesn't kickoff until 11:30pm over here.

Perhaps the halftime show will garner some interest over here. After all, The Who are headlining.

Nah, I doubt it.

The big events over here this weekend surround The Six Nations Championship. That would be rugby, my friends. Six Nations is a huge tournament where Ireland, England, Scotland, Wales, France and Italy compete to flaunt their rugby dominance. France is the odds-on favorite to win the championship, even though Ireland won the Grand Slam last year (i.e. went undefeated in the round-robin tournament). France is at 3/2 to win the whole thing and Ireland is at 9/4. The next highest odds go to England at 5/1. As you can see, it looks like a two horse match between France and Ireland.

Today Ireland has 1/33 odds to win the home match over Italy. Yes, that means you bet $33 and if Ireland wins, you get your $33 back plus $1 to boot. Enticing, eh? Perhaps a bet on Italy at 25/1 might be a better value bet . . . or bet the draw at 50/1.

This weekend: Ireland vs. Italy; England vs. Wales; Scotland vs. France.

10,000 Pages

About two years ago, I was driving home from work. I had recently joined a writer's group and had made a commitment to myself to start writing more. A story popped into my head. During my 1 hour commute, I was flushing out the details of the story and was ready to put it to word processor as soon as I got home.

I park the car, hop out, run downstairs to my computer and start typing. I spend about an hour working on one paragraph. I was getting frustrated. The vision was in my head, but the words were not coming to me. I reread what I had written - utter crap.

At this time in my life, I was lucky to read 1 book a year. If I spent time on the couch, I found myself more often watching the ample supply of re-runs on our TiVo DVR. I had an epiphany. If I wanted to learn to write properly, I needed to get up off my TV watching ass and sit down on my book-reading ass. I needed to learn how to write by reading good examples of writing (or even bad examples for that matter). I set forth a challenge to read 52 books in 1 year.

Quite a lofty goal, eh? Going from 1 book to 52 books. Still, I didn't want to cheat and read 52 children's books to get it done. So I stated that the average length of book I needed to read was 300 pages. Thus, I changed my goal from 52 books to 15,600 pages.

In 2008, I didn't hit that goal. I came up short. Though I would have hit the goal if I included all the audiobooks that I listened to. I ruled those out because I really don't retain much information from those. I read 33 books and just under 11,000 pages.

Now knowing what a realistic goal might be, I set my 2009 goal for 10,000 pages. I fell short again. I read only 27 books totaling about 8000 pages. Still quite remarkable considering that I was only 2 years removed from 300 pages a year. Granted, in 2009, I had a good reason for distraction - an infant son, but I make no excuses. I am happy with what I achieved.

So now it is 2010 and the challenge began for me again in January. I have just completed Joe Abercrombie's Before They Are Hanged which brings my yearly total to about 1300 pages. I estimate that reading 1 chapter a night can get me to 10,000 pages - though I don't always have the chance to read even that much.

If you're interested in reading more, join me in the challenge. Try to get to 10,000 pages - or set your own goal that is more realistic or challenging for you (maybe more, maybe less). No rules. Set a goal and go!

P.S. The image is of the library at Trinity College where the Book of Kells is kept.

More Apartment Fun

The last two days have found me back out apartment hunting. I saw one yesterday that I liked, but it was ground level. It was an excellent apartment, but it was in the back of the complex, was on the ground floor and had a door that opened to the outside.

I wouldn't have minded the door opening to the outside, but they didn't have an alarm system. Though gun control in Ireland is quite strict and you really don't have to worry about guns, consensus is that theft is an issue. I didn't feel quite comfortable with it.

On to apartment number 2. This one was a three bedroom apartment, well decorated, south facing and on the 5th floor. It was very nice, but it was over the corporate allowance that I'd agreed to. I made an offer at my allowance level. They countered to a point that was 100 Euro over my allowance. I said I'd think about it. Thinking about it entailed me talking to Beth and having her remind me that I continually remind her that we shouldn't be spending money we don't need to. That was the end of that.

On to apartment number 3. The third apartment is being let by a very friendly gentleman. It is on the third floor, but is a bit smaller (a smaller two bedroom). However, it's in an excellent apartment block, close to work, decorated well and in good shape. A couple of problems: 1) No Dishwasher, 2) No China, 3) No TV. After talking to the guy, I got him to promise a dishwasher, but I'd still be responsible for China and a TV (forgot to mention the TV thing, Beth, sorry). As for China - I'm fine with paper plates (but then why do I need a dishwasher?) I can probably pick up a used TV pretty cheap.

I made and offer and he accepted. Now I just need to find some China and a TV, make sure he installs the dishwasher, get the contract approved by my company, sign the contract, and move in. It doesn't seem like I've made much progress. But it feels good to have come to an agreement again.

On the Back of a Fag Pack

Just to clarify: on this side of the pond, fags = cigarettes.

In Human Resources, we often laugh at the absurdities that occur throughout the business day. You need only look into any employee file to find scribbled notes on quarter-sheets of paper that say things like: "Give John a 3% increase," or "Jane missed work because of 'woman problems' today." Usually these notes are undated and indecipherable.

Since HR has developed as a profession, you find these absurdities occurring far less frequently, but they still occur. They are usually discovered when a large company acquires a small Ma & Pop establishment, where the owner's word was law - regardless of what actual laws are cast by the local regulatory agencies and governments. When auditing the acquired company's personnel files, you usually find all kinds of strange notes and other privacy violations. This usually occurs because the person that was doing the HR work at the acquired company has never formally been trained in legal compliance.

In the US, we have a euphemism for this kind of practice. We say that the agreement was made "on the back of a cocktail napkin." During a meeting today, I learned that the Brits have a different euphemism for the same practice - "on the back of fag packs"- or to translate for my US friends - "on the back of a pack of cigarettes."

The idea is obviously that whoever makes the declaration, doesn't care about a process. They simply just grab the nearest writing implement and the nearest scrawling surface - be it a cocktail napkin or a fag pack. The writing implement is always lost to history, but cocktail napkins and pieces of fag packs find their way into employee files and sit there for decades. Have you ever had an inkling to ask to see your employee file? You have the right.

P.S. By the way, that picture is an actual warning that is put on some cigarette packs in the European Union. It reads: "Smoking may reduce the blood flow and cause impotence" A colleague of mine that smokes jokingly told me one day while holding up his pack of cigarettes, "Dammit, I got impotence again."

Get Your Own Damn Bags!

Today, my airplane landed at Dublin Airport early. I got my bags from the carousel and got out to meet the hotel shuttle at 8:20am. Problem is: The shuttle picks up 8:15am. The next pickup was at 8:45am.

Since my plane landed early, I had the opportunity to make it to a 9:00am meeting on time if I caught a cab. I'd never gotten a cab from the airport to an airport hotel. It seemed like bad form. I know that the cab drivers sit in queue for hours on end just to get an airport fare.

So I get into the cab and as soon as I say "Crowne Plaza - Santry" I can see the cab driver visibly deflate. He'd been waiting in queue for two and a half hours and all he gets is a 10 Euro (roughly $14) fare. He asked me if I could tell the porter that I was going to Blue Car Park. I'm game, so I play along. I don't mind helping a fella out (and I feel guilty about the short hop fare).

The driver rolls down his window and tells the porter that I'm going to the Blue Car Park. The porter turns to me as says "Where are you going, sir?" I say, "The Blue Car Park."

The porter then asks me "Where is that?" I had no clue, so I sat there with the deer-in-headlights look of befuddlement. "Santry?" I answer. That was apparently the wrong answer.

This leads the driver to get into an argument with the porter over where I'm going. During this argument, I discovered that if a taxi fare doesn't leave airport grounds, he can get right back into the queue. I draw the conclusion that the Blue Car Park is on airport grounds. However, the porter seems too wiley for me (I'm sure he's heard it before) and I didn't want to get into any trouble in a foreign country. Have I ever mentioned that I'm a bad liar? Well, I think I just did.

The next time the porter asks me where I'm going, I look at my feet and say, "Crowne Plaza Northwood Santry." The cab driver pulls away, pissed off. I reassure him that I'll give him a good tip and let him know how profoundly sorry I am for the short trip. I explained to him that I needed to be at a meeting at 9:00am and wouldn't have taken a cab if I hadn't absolutely needed to. That seemed to mellow him a bit (though he was still visibly upset).

When we get to the hotel, I give him 15 Euro on a 9 Euro fare. He gets out of the cab and helps me with my bags. This is apparently significant. I talked to another one of our employees today who got in the night before and took a taxi from the airport to the hotel. She did not tip the driver (tipping cab drivers in Dublin isn't a common practice but is very appreciated by the cabbies). Her driver told her that she could get her own bags out of the trunk.

So that makes me wonder if this is a common practice for cabbies - if you piss them off, you get your own bags. On my trip to O'Hare (yesterday), the cab driver didn't help me with my bags. I tipped $3 on a $17 fare. Having made this trip many times before, this is the first time I've had to get my own bags on the same fare/tip. Perhaps he was looking for a bigger tip because he had given me an extra blank receipt (a shady but often practiced ritual in the US).