Of course, million dollar views around here cost two million dollars.
I haven’t had much time or energy to post lately. It’s been a pretty hectic 2-3 weeks, starting with learning that my roommates - both of them - don’t intend stay past New Year’s Eve. Suddenly, instead of comfortably relaxing in my chair leaking crumbs on a carpet I don’t own, I’m running around scouting out a new location to plant the colonial flag of Allenstown, population one. With a stewing rental market resulting from a dismal housing market, I figured I ought to finally look at home ownership.
A few days ago, Sui linked me an inspiring lecture by Randy Pausch on Time Management, and I think it’s worth a watch. A little background: Randy is a professor in Computer Science (automatic + points for me) at Carnegie Mellon with only months left to live after being diagnosed with terminal cancer, and became famous after contributing to CMU’s figurative “last lecture” series with his own literal last lecture. ()
While that speech is famous for its own right, I found his subsequent talk on time management interesting and resonant with my own experiences:
Note: The following is a rant provoked by some truly douchebag neighbors I’ve been living next to for the past year. Not that any of this will change seemingly ingrained behavior, but It is pleasantly therapeutic.
Ever stop to wonder how considerate you are to the people around you - strangers and acquaintances alike - and what kind of an opinion they have of you?
I think of consideration as a kindness scale. One end is total selflessness: making others happy is the goal and others’ well-being is the priority. Totally opposite is complete selfishness: being aware and taking advantage of situations, disregarding feelings and opinions others may have.
Essentially, doormats and douchebags. The rest of us are (hopefully) somewhere in between. I’m guessing that, much like driving ability, we see our own personalities as the perfect balance between d&d.
This post is about two weeks overdue.
The news - kinda old at this point - is that I’m no longer working at Factset Research Systems and have exchanged working for the finance bean-counting man to working for the social network web startup man. I’ve labored at Factset for 3 1/2 years, so while I certainly didn’t approach the decision lightly, the gravity of the entire ordeal did not dawn on me until the last moments of my old job, in between responsibility transferral and fond farewells. I’m only now starting to realize just how much I left behind.
There’s not much more to say about my previous job; any commentary I make now makes nary a difference and would simply be whining at a scenario I’m powerless to affect.
A few months ago, I decided to shed the pounds put on whilst enjoying Factset’s free lunches; my hefty progress resembled that of my freshmen 15 (), and it took a long hard look in the mirror to convince myself my “holiday weight” was neither temporary or holiday-related.
I reasoned I didn’t need to go on a formal diet when perhaps a few minutes of exercise a day coupled with a reduction in food intake would be sufficient. That said, most fad diets offer a way to rid the junk with immediate results while maintaining minimal effort and allowing for desirable foods, but I’ve noticed while it seems to work initially (the dieter is in a focused, weight-shedding mental state), results tampered off and the dieter goes through periods of rapid weight loss and gain (). Plus, those crazy numbers advertised in diets only applied to the morbidly obese anyway.
Jeff has the executive summary of this story; read on for my long-winded version.
It was a foggy day, but certainly most days in Daly City are foggy and a hint ominous. Jeff was throwing a housewarming party, and in the name of good impressions and high partying standards we dropped by Costco to pick up much-needed culinary provisions (i.e., food). As Jeff was backing out of the garage, I noticed a little ball on the ground in the driveway, curled up and somewhat chilly.
Giving him a tap of my foot, I expected the mouse to get the message and run home. He was very tiny, and I didn’t want to accidentally crush his long tail with my foot nor allow 3000 lbs. of Scion the same opportunity. Contrary to expectations, however, the little guy didn’t budge, and a few more pushes ensured he was out of the blind vehicle’s rampaging path. He remained hunched low to the ground and his lowered eyes betrayed none of his intentions.
Of course, million dollar views around here cost two million dollars.