...that people find me cold. Or distant. Difficult to get to know. A closed book. With a lock, in a trunk, buried in the basement. Intimidating. From other quarters, “morally superior” (or that my actions don't line up with my thoughts, and I appear so). Inscrutable. That they don’t know what is going on inside my head. That they don’t feel like they really know me. That our friendship sort of "plateaus", and doesn’t go any deeper. I don’t disclose things about myself. I don’t share my feelings.
I’m not sure what to think. (I know that I am more comfortable listening to someone talk about themselves than I am talking about myself, but it seems to be deeper than that. ) When several of my close friends say these sorts of things, it means *something*. I know that I am not always honest, that I don’t always care enough to try, that much of the time I am “on” around people, that I’m not quite comfortable in my own skin. But sometimes I’m not exactly sure what it all means, or what precisely I am supposed to *do*.
And it’s late, and I'm tired.
And what if Brian at his most open is still inscrutable? (Even to himself?)
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Monday, September 05, 2005
Happy Birthday to Me....
***Important Notice that may DRASTICALLY AFFECT Your Life***
...or not so much. Along with my new job and newly clean-shaven face, I also have a new cell phone. It's one of those new fangled contraptions with a color screen and a camera and, I am certain, a cloaking device and a nuclear self destruct system and a thing that makes me sound like Darth Vader and numerous other exceedingly spiffy technological trinkets. The most pressing point at this moment is that it has a new phone number, and within a short time my other number will be deactivated (or, as I like to think of it, "decommissioned"). So, if you regularly call me, or occasionally call me, or would simply like the option of calling me (or if you don't like me, and would like to have my number in your phone book so you can make a point to snub me), email your request here...which would be my email address. Include the name of your favorite film, and...umm...your third favorite color.
***End Important Notice***
The new job is going well. I spent some of the first week as the proverbial trout flopping about on the deck, bugging out its eyes and making rasping, sucking noises with my gills, but I am doing a *bit* better now. I've quickly discovered that the best part of the business world (at least to a poor recent college graduate) is lunch meetings, which I have been engaging in frequently.
To clarify my employment situation: I work for Mill Steel in Grand Rapids (which I have learned is not actually a pun off of "steel mill", nor is Mill the name of the family which founded and still owns it). My official title is "Quality Systems Administrator", which looks excellent on paper, even though I am essentially an intern. The company is switching from QS9000...
***A Basic Primer on Quality Systems***
In the not too distant past, a group of Europeans, most likely Germans, decided that it would be fun to come up with a universal set of documentation and quality standards. This would, ostensibly, make communication between companies easier, and would help make sure every one was doing their jobs properly. Thus the "ISO" standard was born ("ISO" stands for "I'm So Officient", a rather unfortunate misspelling of "efficient"). It has now been determined that this group of probably German Europeans was, in fact, legally intoxicated at the time, meaning that ISO joins rodeo and the pet rock on the list of "Things Invented While Hammered".
The first widely implemented ISO standard was ISO 9000, the number referring either to the number of lagers or the combined pounds of schnitzel consumed by the drafting committee. ISO 9000 migrated to the States, it is now believed, through an infected box of those funny little triangular paper clips delivered to a bank in Delaware. It then spread to offices, manufacturing companies, kindergartens, and even some levels of organized crime ("I'm sorry, Guido, you failed your audit. If your documentation don't reach compliance, you're gonna wake up with an accountants head in your bed.")
And the world was happy...or at least unhappy and extremely well-documented.
Until one day, the heads of the "Big Three" automotive manufactures in America (Ford, GM, and Chrysler...collectively known as "Cerberus") decided that if those prissy Europeans couldn't whip the Nazis, then they sure as heck couldn't write documentation for manly American cars with low gas mileage. And so they pooled their collective resources and worked hard to create a new standard, working so hard, in fact, that they failed to notice that their homes and entire neighborhoods had been purchased by their Japanese competitors, their children sold into slavery, and their wives forced to work the hospitality suite at the Nissan exhibit at national auto shows. The result was "QS9000" or "Quality Systems 9000", making the bold statement "We care so much about precision we won't even make up a catchy experimental name like...um...Porpoise, or...Eskimo."
Thus the reign of QS9000 commenced, and there was peace throughout the land of automotives and automotive sales. Until one day, an envoy came with a message from across the sea: a marriage proposal! And so it was that QS and ISO joined in holy matrimony, and very shortly thereafter (although official word from the palace was that it was *at least* nine months later, if not more) a child was born unto them, a beautiful princess named TS16949, who had the loveliest features of both her parents. In spontaneous, uncoerced celebration, the citizens of both kingdoms brought her gifts, paid homage, and did funny little dances for her amusement. On an unrelated and completely coincidental note, some of those who abstained from the festivities were trampled, boiled, burnt to a crisp, then consumed by carnivorous worms in a series of freak stapler related office accidents. The staplers in question have since been recalled.
***End Basic Primer; rejoining entry, already in progress***
...to TS16949, and I am in charge of the transition for the next year. It can be tedious and dense, and it's not exactly "creative writing" (heck, it's not even journalism), but it won't be so bad once I get the hang of it. At the moment, I am actually working on accreditation for the metal testing lab at one of the plants under a completely different standard ISO 17025, to sort of "get my feet wet."
But I get business cards.
As the title indicates today is my birthday (or rather, yesterday was my birthday, because it is now the 6th as I finish this, but you know I'm not a nit-picker...*cough*cough*). I made pizza for my family (my pizza skills are actually more unique than my pancakes, if that is any indication), and I got the first season of House on DVD (high-def, letterboxed snarkiness with surround sound...booyah!), in addition to some clothes shopping I got to do a few weeks ago.
[I've also decided I *am* going to buy a cane (Buddy, no insult meant), and go as House for Halloween. David is going as Strongbad, thanks to his tone perfect voice work (I kid you not, he's got a knack; he can do the whole cast, save Marzipan).]
I'm sure I had things I wanted to say here, but I seem to have misplaced them somewhere along the way.
I feel...a little old...at twenty three, even though I know I haven't the right. I'm continually reminded of all I don't know, and the little I did know that I somehow forgot. Forgetting it what I fear the most. (Ok, maybe I am being melodramatic; what I really fear the most is probably big hairy bugs or something, but forgetting is way up there). Grad schools stares me down, daring me to blink at its promise of unlimited knowledge and eighty thousands dollars if debt, and I feel my eyes start to twitch. Sometimes I wonder if I should put it off a few more years, "see the world" first (whatever people mean when they say that), because I may never have this much freedom again.
I wrote this at the other day:
"I was sitting at work, listening to Muse. I hadn’t really listened to them since Oxford, and the sound was still part of that place to me (sitting on the bus, walking down the street to the rhythm). On the desktop was a picture of Christ Church. And for a moment, I felt Oxford, that place, the chill and dampness and the weight of the air, the presence of those with me. And I know that it will never be again, even if I go back, because that time, with those people, is finished. And a part of me mourns, an another part wonders if I even want to go back, if it will be too much like an empty house, with all the children moved away."
I hope that doesn't sounds morose. It isn't meant to be (well, maybe it was slightly so at the time). But flowers only bloom for a season, and the children have to move away sometime :)
But besides all that, I covet your prayers for...help...as I sort out the future. "Help" is such a wonderfully all-inclusive word, wisdom and judgment and strength and more, all rolled into one.
Speaking of which (Oxford, I mean, not help), Johanna and I are going to see Chelle this weekend, a visit long delayed. It will be worth it, I'm sure.
There are a lot of people that I miss, who I have been lax in keeping up with. My perpetual struggle. I hope ya'll hear from me soon.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
"This is how the post ends, this is how the post ends, this is how the post ends..."
...or not so much. Along with my new job and newly clean-shaven face, I also have a new cell phone. It's one of those new fangled contraptions with a color screen and a camera and, I am certain, a cloaking device and a nuclear self destruct system and a thing that makes me sound like Darth Vader and numerous other exceedingly spiffy technological trinkets. The most pressing point at this moment is that it has a new phone number, and within a short time my other number will be deactivated (or, as I like to think of it, "decommissioned"). So, if you regularly call me, or occasionally call me, or would simply like the option of calling me (or if you don't like me, and would like to have my number in your phone book so you can make a point to snub me), email your request here...which would be my email address. Include the name of your favorite film, and...umm...your third favorite color.
***End Important Notice***
The new job is going well. I spent some of the first week as the proverbial trout flopping about on the deck, bugging out its eyes and making rasping, sucking noises with my gills, but I am doing a *bit* better now. I've quickly discovered that the best part of the business world (at least to a poor recent college graduate) is lunch meetings, which I have been engaging in frequently.
To clarify my employment situation: I work for Mill Steel in Grand Rapids (which I have learned is not actually a pun off of "steel mill", nor is Mill the name of the family which founded and still owns it). My official title is "Quality Systems Administrator", which looks excellent on paper, even though I am essentially an intern. The company is switching from QS9000...
***A Basic Primer on Quality Systems***
In the not too distant past, a group of Europeans, most likely Germans, decided that it would be fun to come up with a universal set of documentation and quality standards. This would, ostensibly, make communication between companies easier, and would help make sure every one was doing their jobs properly. Thus the "ISO" standard was born ("ISO" stands for "I'm So Officient", a rather unfortunate misspelling of "efficient"). It has now been determined that this group of probably German Europeans was, in fact, legally intoxicated at the time, meaning that ISO joins rodeo and the pet rock on the list of "Things Invented While Hammered".
The first widely implemented ISO standard was ISO 9000, the number referring either to the number of lagers or the combined pounds of schnitzel consumed by the drafting committee. ISO 9000 migrated to the States, it is now believed, through an infected box of those funny little triangular paper clips delivered to a bank in Delaware. It then spread to offices, manufacturing companies, kindergartens, and even some levels of organized crime ("I'm sorry, Guido, you failed your audit. If your documentation don't reach compliance, you're gonna wake up with an accountants head in your bed.")
And the world was happy...or at least unhappy and extremely well-documented.
Until one day, the heads of the "Big Three" automotive manufactures in America (Ford, GM, and Chrysler...collectively known as "Cerberus") decided that if those prissy Europeans couldn't whip the Nazis, then they sure as heck couldn't write documentation for manly American cars with low gas mileage. And so they pooled their collective resources and worked hard to create a new standard, working so hard, in fact, that they failed to notice that their homes and entire neighborhoods had been purchased by their Japanese competitors, their children sold into slavery, and their wives forced to work the hospitality suite at the Nissan exhibit at national auto shows. The result was "QS9000" or "Quality Systems 9000", making the bold statement "We care so much about precision we won't even make up a catchy experimental name like...um...Porpoise, or...Eskimo."
Thus the reign of QS9000 commenced, and there was peace throughout the land of automotives and automotive sales. Until one day, an envoy came with a message from across the sea: a marriage proposal! And so it was that QS and ISO joined in holy matrimony, and very shortly thereafter (although official word from the palace was that it was *at least* nine months later, if not more) a child was born unto them, a beautiful princess named TS16949, who had the loveliest features of both her parents. In spontaneous, uncoerced celebration, the citizens of both kingdoms brought her gifts, paid homage, and did funny little dances for her amusement. On an unrelated and completely coincidental note, some of those who abstained from the festivities were trampled, boiled, burnt to a crisp, then consumed by carnivorous worms in a series of freak stapler related office accidents. The staplers in question have since been recalled.
***End Basic Primer; rejoining entry, already in progress***
...to TS16949, and I am in charge of the transition for the next year. It can be tedious and dense, and it's not exactly "creative writing" (heck, it's not even journalism), but it won't be so bad once I get the hang of it. At the moment, I am actually working on accreditation for the metal testing lab at one of the plants under a completely different standard ISO 17025, to sort of "get my feet wet."
But I get business cards.
As the title indicates today is my birthday (or rather, yesterday was my birthday, because it is now the 6th as I finish this, but you know I'm not a nit-picker...*cough*cough*). I made pizza for my family (my pizza skills are actually more unique than my pancakes, if that is any indication), and I got the first season of House on DVD (high-def, letterboxed snarkiness with surround sound...booyah!), in addition to some clothes shopping I got to do a few weeks ago.
[I've also decided I *am* going to buy a cane (Buddy, no insult meant), and go as House for Halloween. David is going as Strongbad, thanks to his tone perfect voice work (I kid you not, he's got a knack; he can do the whole cast, save Marzipan).]
I'm sure I had things I wanted to say here, but I seem to have misplaced them somewhere along the way.
I feel...a little old...at twenty three, even though I know I haven't the right. I'm continually reminded of all I don't know, and the little I did know that I somehow forgot. Forgetting it what I fear the most. (Ok, maybe I am being melodramatic; what I really fear the most is probably big hairy bugs or something, but forgetting is way up there). Grad schools stares me down, daring me to blink at its promise of unlimited knowledge and eighty thousands dollars if debt, and I feel my eyes start to twitch. Sometimes I wonder if I should put it off a few more years, "see the world" first (whatever people mean when they say that), because I may never have this much freedom again.
I wrote this at the other day:
"I was sitting at work, listening to Muse. I hadn’t really listened to them since Oxford, and the sound was still part of that place to me (sitting on the bus, walking down the street to the rhythm). On the desktop was a picture of Christ Church. And for a moment, I felt Oxford, that place, the chill and dampness and the weight of the air, the presence of those with me. And I know that it will never be again, even if I go back, because that time, with those people, is finished. And a part of me mourns, an another part wonders if I even want to go back, if it will be too much like an empty house, with all the children moved away."
I hope that doesn't sounds morose. It isn't meant to be (well, maybe it was slightly so at the time). But flowers only bloom for a season, and the children have to move away sometime :)
But besides all that, I covet your prayers for...help...as I sort out the future. "Help" is such a wonderfully all-inclusive word, wisdom and judgment and strength and more, all rolled into one.
Speaking of which (Oxford, I mean, not help), Johanna and I are going to see Chelle this weekend, a visit long delayed. It will be worth it, I'm sure.
There are a lot of people that I miss, who I have been lax in keeping up with. My perpetual struggle. I hope ya'll hear from me soon.
Grace be with you all,
Brian
"This is how the post ends, this is how the post ends, this is how the post ends..."
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