10-87 with the 10-46

As heard over the radio during an medical emergency recently:

Security Officer Mobile 5: "(blah blah blah) 10-(something), 10-(something)", a string of 10-codes in an unintelligible jumble.

Security Supervisor: "Mobile 5, please do not use 10-codes during this incident."

Mobile 5: "10-4."

Want More Blogs to Read ?

Check out this post from DeeDee, who compiled all the blogs that people posted to Dad Gone Mad. It's an impressive list, and some awesome material out there. Take a gander if you wish.

A Step Toward Manhood

At 15, Daniel is your typical teenager, interested in girls, music, video games and kicking it with his "homies". Unlike his dad, he is fair-haired, and lately has developed some light facial stubble. He has asked about shaving in the past, however Danny has always advised him to wait a while. It was so light-colored and fair at the time, that shaving would only make it darker and more difficult to manage.

Today, Daniel's girlfriend told him that she did not like the rough hairs on the side of his face, and that he should shave them. Daniel, one who always wishes to make his girlfriend happy, was hell-bent on complying.

"Dad. I need a razor. I need to shave this stubble off my face right now !"

"I don't have an extra one, and I'm feeling sick. I can go to Target tomorrow for you."

"Can't I just use yours ?"

I jumped in. "Actually, that's not a good idea. Sharing razors is not very hygenic, and I really don't recommend it."

Daniel replied, "What should I do then ? I don't want to wait until tomorrow !"

"Well," I said, "You can use one of mine if you want."

I buy disposable women's razors in ten-packs, and had plenty of unused ones to spare.

They are pink.

With purple handles.

Daniel had a decision to make: Shave for the very first time, with a sexy pink and purple razor made especially for the delicate curves on a woman's leg, or wait until tomorrow when Danny could obtain the men's version for him.

He elected to go with the girly razor.

Daniel proudly shaved, for the very first time, holding the purple handle steadily as he dragged the double-blades encased in pink plastic across his face.

Only a real man could do this, and be proud of it to boot.

After he was finished, he put a batch of cookies into the oven, then proceeded to don my big, bulky blue oven mitts, and do the robot dance around the kitchen.

Heh. I love this kid.

My Poor Baby !

Ever since I brought her home, I have known that Mocha is an accident waiting to happen.

She is a Bengal, a notoriously energetic, curious and playful breed of awesome-looking cats. Her personality has always been mischevious, and bordering on crazy. Most of the time, her antics are good for a laugh, and sometimes they require the use of a ladder. But last month, she hurt herself, and badly.

She has this terrible habit of running between our legs as we walk, and unfortunately this time, was stepped on. Her diagnosis was a "luxation"; basically, a dislocation of her foot.

The only way to repair this was surgery, which involved taking a bone graft from her hip, and securing a metal plate to keep the foot bones together. Regardless of the cost, I did not hesitate to authorize this. Yes, it broke the bank, as I have to pay taxes this year as well. But it was worth it, for my little Mocha.

She was not too happy about having to wear that head cone, but she was actually quite mobile on that cast. Not even a week after her surgery, and she was walking around the laundry room, playing with toys, and causing trouble as always. She has quite the spirit. Not even this could bring her down.

Of course, she found a way to take her cast off, by sticking her foot under the washing machine, and pulling her leg out from it. She did this twice, which meant I had to drive 20 minutes to the surgery center to have the bandage replaced.

Little brat.

The vet told me I had to restrict her activity, even after the cast was removed for good, just to be sure the bones healed properly. I have been doing this, as best I can.

I had her and Peaches upstairs the other day, as I normally do while getting ready for work. As I turned my back to pour my morning cereal, I heard some commotion behind me. I turned around to catch a glimpse of Mocha, just as she jumped from the floor, to the counter, to the top of the refrigerator.

Yes, this cat, who had just had a cast removed after major surgery, was jumping on top of the refrigerator.

Nothing in this world, not even a traumatic leg injury, could ever keep her down.

That's the spirit of a Bengal.

That's the spirit of my little Mocha.

Take One For The Team

This is what happens when you have to shuffle your defensive positions around due to player injuries, and end up putting yourself in the outfield for the first time in 15 years.

At least I held the hitter to only a single.

Karma Part II

To the loud, obnoxious female San Diego Padres fan sitting behind me at the Giants game last night, this is for you:

I so wanted to whack you in your loud diarrhea mouth with my massive STFU cluebat, but I restrained myself. Luckily, myself and our other section-mates were kind enough to drown out your irritating drivel with our own high-volume support for our local team.

Unfortunately for you, in the most awesome display of karma (which seems to be this week's theme), our Giants won the game in the 11th inning from a walk-off home run by Bengie Molina.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, lady.

This is Me.

Without a doubt.



Link: [I Can Has Cheezburger ?]

Full Circle

Karma is a wonderful thing.

What one dishes out, eventually, at some time, will come back to them. One who treats others with contempt, disrespect and abuse will receive much of the same at a future point in time. It may not be soon, however eventually, one's own misdeeds will come back to bite them in the ass.

For the former upper-management member of my previous department who made my life - and the lives of many others - absolute hell, that day was yesterday.

The company's top executives swung the ax and cut development of the product that I had tested for two years. All employees of my former department were either offered jobs in other departments or laid off. The product that many of us had high hopes and dreams for was rendered defunct. And my asshole former upper management member and tormentor, whose sole ambition was to shine in his glory and be promoted to up the ranks, was tucked away into an office that severely limited his interactions with people.

It was a sad day for many, but a triumphant one as well, for those of us who were the unfortunate recipients of this man's verbal abuse and impossible demands for the last 2+ years.

As it turns out, I had escaped that sweatshop environment just in time; the unfortunate news came two months to the day after I started my new job with the IT department. I am so thankful, not only for removing myself from a hostile work environment and saving myself the stress of a reassignment or layoff, but for landing in a place where everyone is respected, acknowledged, and treated well.

This is the way it should be.

I worked in Network Operations for four years before relocating to California. The past seven years with my current company were spent testing software. Now, as of two months ago, I am in Operations again, and back in my element. The learning curve has been steep, but with help along the way, I am quickly growing into my new role. And I love my job again, for the first time in years.

Yes, it gets stressful at times. Sometimes the shit hits the fan and we all have to scramble. Network Operations is all about putting out fires and attempting to keep up with very dynamic environment. Even so, management supports us, appreciates us, respects us, and allows us the freedom to determine our own paths; instead of running our lives with impossible deadlines, unsurmountable pressure, and a complete lack of regard for our families and outside obligations. Our boss here is one of the best I have ever worked for, and everyone on the team is positive, supportive and helpful.

I may not be quite so cheery when I eventually end up on-call and have to wake up in the middle of the night for an outage. But as it stands now, I am happier than I have been in years.

I wish the same for my friends in my old department, who are now finding their paths within their new groups.

I would love to tell my previous upper management member to kiss my ass, but I am restraining myself. He got what was coming to him, in spades, through this wonderful thing called karma.

That satisfaction is all I need.

If You Can't Take the Heat...

One of the homemade concoctions that Daniel enjoys for breakfast is "hot link and eggs". Basically, we take a hot link sausage, dice it, fry it in a pan, drain off the grease, add eggs, and stir until cooked. It is a perfect breakfast (or dinner) for a finicky 15-year-old that doesn't always like what we make here at home.

Lately, he has expressed an affinity for serrano chiles. These are the small, green peppers you find in the grocery store; smaller than jalapeños, and a hell of a lot spicier. Mixing a diced serrano with an already-spicy hot link is nothing short of a deadly combination. But he likes it.

As I was working from home today, and Daniel was off school, I nicely offered to make him his egg concoction when he lumbered down the stairs after a long night's sleep. Unfortunately, however, I forgot the chile. "No problem," he said, "I can add it after."

Big mistake.

These chiles, as I've already mentioned, are unbelievably spicy. Cooked into food, they add a nice hot flavor throughout the dish. Diced raw, however, they are killer.

Daniel finished his hot link and egg with raw chile concoction in his typical speedy fashion. Shortly afterward, I heard a painful howl emanating from the living room.

"Oh my GOD ! ", he screamed, "My mouth is burning !"

He darted by me and grabbed a Gatorade off the floor. Two seconds later, half the bottle had disappeared into his mouth.

"AHHH ! It's still hurting !"

"Try some milk."

"We don't have enough milk !"

"Try some ice cream, then. Dairy is really good for a burning mouth."

As he scooped his ice cream into a bowl, at 11:00 on a Friday morning, he lamented, "The seeds are stuck in my braces !". A few minutes, and one bowl of vanilla with chocolate sauce later, and all was well in the world again.

I looked at him as he was putting his bowl in the sink, and asked,

"After all that, was it worth it ?"

He smiled.

"Hell yeah."

Public Service Announcement

If you have your work badge attached to one of those cheap badge-holders with the retractable string, it's really not a good idea to see how far and fast you can flick the thing in the air and watch it snap back toward your belt.

Especially when such action results in your badge flying 20 feet in the air and landing on top of the ductwork in a massive, high-ceiling data center.

Good job, coworker Peter ! Hats off to you for breaking the big air record for a work badge attached to a flimsy, breakable string.

He looked so humble, doing the walk of shame through the building and up front to the Security desk, to ask for a tall ladder to retrieve the precious flying badge.

The company doesn't supply free badge holders. We have to pay for them ourselves.

I think this is why.

Love and Zambonis

Last night was a perfect night to be at the Shark Tank, also known as HP Pavilion, home of our most awesome San Jose Sharks. The air was crisp, the sky was clear, and a sense of excitement and anticipation was abound as thousands of fans filed towards the arena.

This game was the craziest one I have ever had the pleasure and good fortune to witness. Four goals by the Sharks in the first period, one on a rare penalty shot. Thundering hits, fisticuffs and mayhem. A visit to our section by the beloved mascot Sharkie and his assistant (or "his bitch", as Derek so eloquently noted). The fun did not stop with the antics on the ice.

During the second intermission, the newly-renovated, HD-quality video screen flashed a pretty, heart-laden graphic emblazoned with the words "Kiss Cam". It then proceeded to focus on various couples in the audience, who complied by kissing for the whole arena to see.

When the camera landed on one particularly grumpy looking fellow and his female companion, he waved it off, shaking his head and refusing to comply. His female companion sat, looking embarrassed at the boos and jeers from the crowd. The cameraman, frustrated by the grumpy man's refusal, moved to a different man, a smiling, romantic type, who turned his hat backward and happily kissed his significant other. Then, the camera turned back to the grumpy man.

Grumpy Man had been schooled ! Hat Man had shown him how it was done, and now, it was up to him to prove his manhood. The whole stadium was watching. He could have redeemed himself at that moment, his moment in the spotlight -- but instead, chose to wave off the camera once more.

The stadium echoed with boos. Party pooper, he was.

The last camera shot in the set was a man and a woman, who looked incredulously at the crowd when they recognized themselves on the screen. The woman shook her head in disbelief. The crowd started booing again; was this another party pooper ?

Not quite.

The man pointed at his female companion, and distinctly mouthed,

"She's my sister."

Uncontrollable laughter ensued, from all 17,000 fans in attendance. Of all the couples to focus on, the cameraman had found a sibling pair, enjoying the game together on a Friday night.

Fun times, fun times.

Dream Come True

Our romantic evening, the day after Valentine's Day, was one I will never forget as long as I live.

Sure, the restaurant lost the reservation I had made earlier in the day. However, they seated us immediately, and we were treated to a wonderful, delicious meal with an animated chef performing cool tricks, including a blazing fire from a stack of onions.

It was well worth the frustration of the day before, and undoubtedly a memorable experience. But not as much as afterward, when we arrived at our home.

In the past, I'd never understood why women cried when their suitors asked them for their hand in marriage. I'd see it all the time, on TV, in real-life, and I was simply dumbfounded. Why do they cry ? The concept was foreign to me.

I never understood it, until yesterday, when the tears flowed freely from my eyes; rendered speechless by the wave of emotions that overcome me.

When that special person, with whom you connect on the deepest of levels in all ways possible, asks for your hand in marriage, the tears are a natural, human response to the most emotional moment of your life. The tears are those of joy, from deep within, that can hardly be explained or rationalized, only felt in one's own heart.

I never understood this phenomenon before.

Now, I do.