Some days (and especially the last few) even a pastor needs a good chuckle. Bro. F. at church pointed me at this amazingly funny video.
6 days ago
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Definition of Hell?
Some kind soul at the day job left this on my chair for me yesterday and so as the last post was quite serious, I thought a little humor would be helpful.
There have been many definitions of hell, but for the English the best definition is that it is the place where the Germans are the police, the Swedish are the comedians, the Italians are the defense force, Frenchmen dig the roads, the Belgians are the pop singers, the Spanish run the railways, the Turks cook the food, the Irish are the waiters, the Greeks run the government and the common language is Dutch.Actually, that does sound pretty bad.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Vindicated!
Last summer I wrote about my bad singing and general lack of song leading skills. I also wrote about the technique I use to graphically describe the possible flows through the songs that we sing. I think I forgot to mention that I received quite a bit of (mostly good natured) ribbing for that.
Well today, our song leader said to me that he's gotten so used to having that notation at the bottom of each of the song sheets that when our new piano player handed him her song sheets without them, he felt completely lost!
Vindicated!
Well today, our song leader said to me that he's gotten so used to having that notation at the bottom of each of the song sheets that when our new piano player handed him her song sheets without them, he felt completely lost!
Vindicated!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Texas Deputy Sheriff vs. New York Lawyer
A friend of mine emailed me this the other day. Naturally I do not endorse violence, but no harm came to any police officers in the telling of this joke, so that makes it alright by me. :-)
A lawyer runs a stop sign and gets pulled over by a sheriff's deputy. He thinks that he is smarter than the deputy because he is a lawyer from New York and is certain that he has a better education then any cop from Houston, Texas. He decides to prove this to himself and have some fun at the Texas deputy's expense.
The deputy says, 'License and registration, please.'
'What for?' says the lawyer.
The deputy says, 'You didn't come to a complete stop at the stop sign.'
Then the lawyer says, 'I slowed down, and no one was coming.'
'You still didn't come to a complete stop, Says the deputy. License and registration, please.'
The lawyer says, 'What's the difference?'
'The difference is you have to come to complete stop, that's the law. License and registration, please!' the Deputy repeats.
Lawyer says, 'If you can show me the legal difference between slow down and stop, I'll give you my license and registration; and you give me the ticket. If not, you let me go and don't give me the ticket.'
'That sounds fair. Please exit your vehicle, sir,' the deputy says.
At this point, the deputy takes out his nightstick and starts beating the daylights out of the lawyer and says, 'Do you want me to stop, or just slow down?'
A lawyer runs a stop sign and gets pulled over by a sheriff's deputy. He thinks that he is smarter than the deputy because he is a lawyer from New York and is certain that he has a better education then any cop from Houston, Texas. He decides to prove this to himself and have some fun at the Texas deputy's expense.
The deputy says, 'License and registration, please.'
'What for?' says the lawyer.
The deputy says, 'You didn't come to a complete stop at the stop sign.'
Then the lawyer says, 'I slowed down, and no one was coming.'
'You still didn't come to a complete stop, Says the deputy. License and registration, please.'
The lawyer says, 'What's the difference?'
'The difference is you have to come to complete stop, that's the law. License and registration, please!' the Deputy repeats.
Lawyer says, 'If you can show me the legal difference between slow down and stop, I'll give you my license and registration; and you give me the ticket. If not, you let me go and don't give me the ticket.'
'That sounds fair. Please exit your vehicle, sir,' the deputy says.
At this point, the deputy takes out his nightstick and starts beating the daylights out of the lawyer and says, 'Do you want me to stop, or just slow down?'
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Dealing with Yard Sign Theft
MorningGlory was a regular blogging friend of mine a few years ago when I blogged previously. I am delighted to see that she is still blogging, still conservative and doing well.
http://morningglory2.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/touche/
Welcome (back) to the BlogRoll MorningGlory.
http://morningglory2.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/touche/
Welcome (back) to the BlogRoll MorningGlory.
Monday, August 18, 2008
My all-time favorite Ron Jeffries quote
From the NeverIsNeverNever page on the C2 wiki:
I know that if you agree NEVER to let the unit tests drop below 100%, you'll only do it that one time when you just couldn't figure out an incremental way to change all the deductions from negative to positive. If you agree NEVER to keep a task open for two weeks, you have a better chance of finding the way to do it incrementally, and that one time you'll make sure you've sucked every idea out of the universe before giving in.
When I say something should never be done, it should mean that you'll never do it unless you really have to.
And if you really have to, you'll ask everyone you know first so you still won't have to.
And if you still have to, you'll be looking over your shoulder scared to death that I'm going to materialize there and say "why didn't you just ..." and be RIGHT, and EVERYONE will know you're an idiot.
When you're sure that you'll be able to say "because X" and I'll quietly lower my eyes and say "oh" and de-rez back to wherever I come from ... then break the rule.
Then do one more thing. When it's over, and you've suffered - as you will - for breaking the rule, think back and figure out what you could have done, and learn the deeper meaning of NEVER.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Men are just happier people
As I get ready to head off to our district's Men's Camp, allow me to leave you with another classic Internet funny. Enjoy!
NICKNAMES
If Laura, Kate and Sarah go out for lunch, they will call each other Laura, Kate and Sarah.
If Mike, Dave and John go out, they will affectionately refer to each other as Fat Boy, Godzilla and Four-eyes.
EATING OUT
When the bill arrives, Mike, Dave and John will each throw in $20, even though it's only for $32.50. None of them will have anything smaller and none will actually admit they want change back.
When the girls get their bill, out come the pocket calculators.
MONEY
A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs.
A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she doesn't need but it's on sale.
BATHROOMS
A man has six items in his bathroom: toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel from M&S.
The average number of items in the typical woman's bathroom is 337. A man would not be able to identify more than 20 of these items.
ARGUMENTS
A woman has the last word in any argument.
Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.
CATS
Women love cats.
Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.
FUTURE
A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.
A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.
SUCCESS
A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.
A successful woman is one who can find such a man.
MARRIAGE
A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't.
A man marries a woman expecting that she won't change, but she does.
DRESSING UP
A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the bins, answer the phone, read a book, and get the mail.
A man will dress up for weddings and funerals.
NATURAL
Men wake up as good-looking as they went to bed.
Women somehow deteriorate during the night.
OFFSPRING
Ah, children. A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and romances, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams.
A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
A married man should forget his mistakes.
There's no use in two people remembering the same thing.
NICKNAMES
If Laura, Kate and Sarah go out for lunch, they will call each other Laura, Kate and Sarah.
If Mike, Dave and John go out, they will affectionately refer to each other as Fat Boy, Godzilla and Four-eyes.
EATING OUT
When the bill arrives, Mike, Dave and John will each throw in $20, even though it's only for $32.50. None of them will have anything smaller and none will actually admit they want change back.
When the girls get their bill, out come the pocket calculators.
MONEY
A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs.
A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she doesn't need but it's on sale.
BATHROOMS
A man has six items in his bathroom: toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel from M&S.
The average number of items in the typical woman's bathroom is 337. A man would not be able to identify more than 20 of these items.
ARGUMENTS
A woman has the last word in any argument.
Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.
CATS
Women love cats.
Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.
FUTURE
A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.
A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.
SUCCESS
A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.
A successful woman is one who can find such a man.
MARRIAGE
A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't.
A man marries a woman expecting that she won't change, but she does.
DRESSING UP
A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the bins, answer the phone, read a book, and get the mail.
A man will dress up for weddings and funerals.
NATURAL
Men wake up as good-looking as they went to bed.
Women somehow deteriorate during the night.
OFFSPRING
Ah, children. A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and romances, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams.
A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
A married man should forget his mistakes.
There's no use in two people remembering the same thing.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
The Fastest Guys on the Block
A classic of the Internet. I was reminded of this one the other day. Read and enjoy! :-)
There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed.
Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "HoustonCenterVoice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the HoustonCenterControllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that... and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed.
"Ah, Twin Beach: I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed."
Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
Then out of the blue, a Navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
"Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check."
Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it -- ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
"Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done -- in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
"Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?"
There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if was an everyday request:
"Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
"Ah, Center, much thanks. We're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A. came back with,
"Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one."
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed.
Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "HoustonCenterVoice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the HoustonCenterControllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that... and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed.
"Ah, Twin Beach: I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed."
Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
Then out of the blue, a Navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
"Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check."
Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it -- ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
"Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done -- in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
"Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?"
There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if was an everyday request:
"Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
"Ah, Center, much thanks. We're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A. came back with,
"Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one."
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Now, that's political humor!
Several good political cartoons over at Irons In The Fire. My favorite one is the one about John Bolton as president.
A tip of the hat to The Smallest Minority.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Last time, I poked a little fun at the Architects. In the interest of fairness, it's the turn of the programmers who don't test.
The image was made over at diy.despair.com using an image from Wikipedia.
The image was made over at diy.despair.com using an image from Wikipedia.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Poking a little fun at architects
I made this one over at diy.despair.com using an image from Wikipedia. Most excellent! I have some more I made as well, but I'll save them for another day. (Click on the picture for a larger version.)
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Bad Singing
More specifically, my bad singing.
I feel very sorry for Sis. Geek on Wednesday nights. We have midweek service and our normal song leader is still working on understanding the importance of making it to every service, so I lead the song service. I like to describe my singing voice as worse than a gravel crusher. I have the voice of one suited to written media. Various people have told me that I actually can sing, but I think they're just being nice. Even if they're right, there are still a couple of reasons why you don't want me behind a microphone when music is playing.
The first reason for keeping me away from a microphone is that I have no memory for song lyrics. None. Nada. Zip. Sis. Geek provides me with song sheets for the main service, but she picks songs according to the moving of the Spirit during altar service and that's when my bad memory really does me the most disservice. I loose count of the number of times, I haven't been able to remember the words to some really appropriate song that she's selected. Sigh.
The second reason is that I don't have a creative bone in my body and have no natural music comprehension. This shows itself in my inability to figure out how to lead the flow through a song. Knowing that I'm not a creative sort (and being fairly used to it by now) I applied some geeky analysis to the problem. I was fairly pleased with the result, but Sis. Geek still shakes her head when I use this technique. Allow me to explain.
Songs have verses and choruses and sometimes even bridges. I'm not really sure what the exact difference between a chorus and a bridge actually is, but my best understanding is that a bridge is kind of like an extra chorus. (Feel free to flame me in the comments if I have this all goofed up!) My problem is that with the new-fangled songs (rather than the traditional hymns, which I have no problem with) have very loose "rules" on which part goes where and when and in what order and which pieces you can repeat and even whether you finish at the end of a chorus or a verse. What is a geek to do?
Flow diagrams to the rescue! Check out this simple one:
I feel very sorry for Sis. Geek on Wednesday nights. We have midweek service and our normal song leader is still working on understanding the importance of making it to every service, so I lead the song service. I like to describe my singing voice as worse than a gravel crusher. I have the voice of one suited to written media. Various people have told me that I actually can sing, but I think they're just being nice. Even if they're right, there are still a couple of reasons why you don't want me behind a microphone when music is playing.
The first reason for keeping me away from a microphone is that I have no memory for song lyrics. None. Nada. Zip. Sis. Geek provides me with song sheets for the main service, but she picks songs according to the moving of the Spirit during altar service and that's when my bad memory really does me the most disservice. I loose count of the number of times, I haven't been able to remember the words to some really appropriate song that she's selected. Sigh.
The second reason is that I don't have a creative bone in my body and have no natural music comprehension. This shows itself in my inability to figure out how to lead the flow through a song. Knowing that I'm not a creative sort (and being fairly used to it by now) I applied some geeky analysis to the problem. I was fairly pleased with the result, but Sis. Geek still shakes her head when I use this technique. Allow me to explain.
Songs have verses and choruses and sometimes even bridges. I'm not really sure what the exact difference between a chorus and a bridge actually is, but my best understanding is that a bridge is kind of like an extra chorus. (Feel free to flame me in the comments if I have this all goofed up!) My problem is that with the new-fangled songs (rather than the traditional hymns, which I have no problem with) have very loose "rules" on which part goes where and when and in what order and which pieces you can repeat and even whether you finish at the end of a chorus or a verse. What is a geek to do?
Flow diagrams to the rescue! Check out this simple one:
I -> I -> II -> II -> I -> II -> II -> II
This is a real example where the song has two parts and are best sequenced with the first part sung twice, then the second part sung twice, the first part once more and then the second part three times. I have this penciled at the bottom the song sheet and typically follow this sequence for that song.
Naturally, there are some songs with more leeway and flow diagrams allow for this. An example will help:
Naturally, there are some songs with more leeway and flow diagrams allow for this. An example will help:
.----.*
v |
I -> C -> I -> C
This shows that the song starts with the verse, then moves to the chorus. It then alternates between the verse and the chorus (the asterisk depicts that the loop can be followed zero or more times), with the chorus being the end point of the song.
A very geeky way to solve a creative problem, but it works very well for me.
A very geeky way to solve a creative problem, but it works very well for me.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Computer languages and facial hair
There's a fun entry by Tamir Khason over at Microsoft Israel on the link between successful computer languages and facial hair. As a former wearer of a big ol' bushy beard and as a geek, I found this hilarious.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Green Shift
Reg Braithwaite over at raganwald has a great post about Green Shift. What is Green Shift? Well, it's a term coined by Scott Ambler (back in 2006 writing for DDJ) for a wide-spread corporate anti-pattern. The pattern does like this:
Nobody likes to report bad news to the layer above them, so managers (it's usually managers, most programmers are brutally honest) take the reports they are given and spin them positively. Repeat this for a few layers and a massive compound interest of spin will accumulate until the report that reaches the highest level has no similarity to the reality being reported on.
The reason that it's called green shift is from the "traffic light reports" that modern project management likes to employ for their reports to senior executives. Green means everything is good, yellow means there are issues to be addressed and red means serious problems. If the programmers on a team report problems, that should turn the report red for that project. This would reflect badly on the project manager, so they will often report it as yellow with a written note that they are confident that the current batch of issues will be addressed successfully in the near future. See how this is close to the truth, just with a very positive "glass half full" kind of perspective? The problem is that this is now a subjective rather than objective report. The next layer will take this report and take the project managers expectations and read them as cast-iron guarantees that the problems will be solved before the project is delivered. This layer will then pass on their report with the project status as green, because they believe that everything will come in fine at the end and that there is nothing that senior management needs to worry about. Again, they feel that they haven't lied, but have just taken a positive view of the report they received.
The more layers there are between the programmers and the CIO, the worse the effect gets. Unfortunately, this is a very common occurrence within Corporate America. I have seen this everywhere that I've worked and it seems to be getting worse.
This may come as a surprise to many programmers who think that it's only IS managers who suffer from this form of insanity, but it is in fact so widespread that there are classic Internet jokes about it:
Nobody likes to report bad news to the layer above them, so managers (it's usually managers, most programmers are brutally honest) take the reports they are given and spin them positively. Repeat this for a few layers and a massive compound interest of spin will accumulate until the report that reaches the highest level has no similarity to the reality being reported on.
The reason that it's called green shift is from the "traffic light reports" that modern project management likes to employ for their reports to senior executives. Green means everything is good, yellow means there are issues to be addressed and red means serious problems. If the programmers on a team report problems, that should turn the report red for that project. This would reflect badly on the project manager, so they will often report it as yellow with a written note that they are confident that the current batch of issues will be addressed successfully in the near future. See how this is close to the truth, just with a very positive "glass half full" kind of perspective? The problem is that this is now a subjective rather than objective report. The next layer will take this report and take the project managers expectations and read them as cast-iron guarantees that the problems will be solved before the project is delivered. This layer will then pass on their report with the project status as green, because they believe that everything will come in fine at the end and that there is nothing that senior management needs to worry about. Again, they feel that they haven't lied, but have just taken a positive view of the report they received.
The more layers there are between the programmers and the CIO, the worse the effect gets. Unfortunately, this is a very common occurrence within Corporate America. I have seen this everywhere that I've worked and it seems to be getting worse.
This may come as a surprise to many programmers who think that it's only IS managers who suffer from this form of insanity, but it is in fact so widespread that there are classic Internet jokes about it:
In the beginning was the Plan.
And then came the Assumptions.
And the Assumptions were without form.
And the Plan was without substance.
And darkness was upon the face of the Workers.
And they spoke among themselves, saying, "It is a crock of sh-t, and it stinkith"
And the Workers went unto their Supervisors and said, "It is a pail of dung, and we cannot abide the smell."
And the Supervisors went unto their Managers, saying "It is a container of excrement, and it is very strong, such that none may abide by it."
And the Managers went unto their Directors, saying, "It is a vessel of fertilizer and none may abide its strength."
And the Directors spoke among themselves, saying to one another, "It contains that which aids plant growth, and it is very strong."
And the Directors went to the Vice Presidents, saying unto them, "It promotes growth, and it is very powerful."
And the Vice Presidents went to the President, saying unto him, "This new plan will actively promote the growth and vigor of the company with powerful effects"
And the President looked upon the Plan and saw that it was good.
And the Plan became Policy.
And that, my friends, is how sh-t happens.
[A tip of the hat to the Jewish Humor and Joke Page]
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