A couple of weeks ago, there was a slow moment at work, and I found myself staring blankly at my monitor. Excel was up, and I became acutely aware of the little visual cue Microsoft uses to show the user that a cell has been copied/cut, etc. You know - the one that makes it appear that a line of ants is marching tirelessly around the cell in question. First, I find it interesting that there is someone in Redmond (or at least there was when excel was created) who was the ant-line guru. He thought of highlighting cells like this, and researched the right way to do it, and decided which way the ants should march. Or did he? After 5 or so seconds of trying, I was able to convince my eyes that the ants had suddenly reversed direction, and were now going counter-clockwise. I could also make myself see that 2 columns of ants were emerging from the bottom left corner of the cell, marching up to the top right corner of the cell. This pointless exercise was interrupted by a call from my boss, who informed me that we would need to create an intricate revenue model of growth opportunities for our group president to discuss with the board of directors in 2 days. So much for slow moments. Thus began the latest itteration of a time-honored business tradition: the SWAG (scientific wild-a** guess). Managers walk a fine line when producing SWAGs. SWAG too low, and you get no funding. SWAG too high, and the SWAG presentation has the habit of showing up quarters or years later (like an uninvited guest) so superiors can use it for a paddle on your fanny. Because of the expedited nature of this SWAG, we deployed a SWAG escape pod - a slide buried at the end of the presentation loaded with assumptions and caveats. Such slides are almost always discarded by executives as the presentation makes it up the chain of command, but at least we have a paper trail. Enough on that.

This Friday was Career Day at Sundance Elementary. Kids were supposed to dress up as what they wanted to be. Asha was a ballerina. Jerome was torn between being a painter, a scientist and an olympic runner. Wanting to help him with his dilemma, I suggested a perfectly reasonable alternative. "What about being a marketing manager?". Jerome started laughing uncontrollably. "Oh dad", he said "nobody wants to be that". Suggestions (facetious) that he reconsider have been met with repeated doses of incredulity and guffaws.

I was about to quaff a bottle of Gatorade this week when I paused to read the label. One ingredient that caught my eye: "glycerol ester of wood rosin". Wha--? Has Gatorade gone so far as to actually put physical elements of well-known sports scenes into its energy drink? After all, the rosin bag is an obscure but recognizable prop in a baseball game. If they're gonna do it, here are some suggestions for new additives:

Partially hydrogenated zamboni oil
diamond-dry - http://www.diamond-dry.com/
Lena Blackburne Rubbing Mud - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lena_Blackburne
Bonds Trifecta - The cream, the clear, faxseed oil
Polyglycerol esters of NBA sweat mop
Mechanically separated pigskin

One thought I've had recently is that I often think of companies as people. For example, I see my last employer as an amiable septugenarian who is nonetheless cruel when you don't expect it. My current company is a little more complex, but I see it as a middle-aged man or woman was aggressive and successful 10 years ago, but is complacently coasting now that he/she is comfortable.

I was sad to hear this week that Mom is having rotator cuff surgery on the other shoulder, now. Time to dust off all the old jokes about Mom making rehab starts for AA West Tennessee Diamond Jaxx, being on a pitch count, etc. I also fear that one day, Mom will have a Jim Hurtubise-style conversation with her doctor, requesting that her shoulders be fused at the proper angle for "planting begonias".

As I was mentioning to Stu the other day, my kid's undying love for his Knogahyde ditty "Lawn Gnome" has begun to sap my productivity at work. As kids are wont to do, they play that track on the CD over and over. Asha has learned how to switch on the "repeat 1 song" feature on our CD player, which has compounded the problem. When I get to work, I have Lawn Gnome going through my head incessantly. It got so bad this week that I was forced to deploy the "Coup de'Tune", a maneuver where I forcibly remove a song stuck in my head by planting a different song. Lawn Gnome being what it is, I had no choice but to use "Enter Sandman" by Metallica. Unfortunately, this may have contributed to the dark tone of many emails I sent to work colleagues on Thursday and Friday.

Not having been blessed with Denzel Washington-like face symmetry, I was glad to have happened upon someone whose ears are at least as unbalanced as mine. The unlucky guy is former Mariners manager Jim Lefebvre, and I can tell you right now, those sunglasses aren't doing much for him. This is the reason I have uneven sideburns. I happened upon Lefebvre while reading an obscure story about how MLB is trying to seed interest in baseball by sponsoring a Chinese baseball team (Lefebvre is coaching).

Kai does some crazy stuff. For some reason, after he is done eating, he pops his right thumb in his mouth, and grabs whatever is handy with his left hand. He uses this object like a miniature blanket, pressing it to the left side of his face. Objects he has cuddled up with in the past week: a slice of sirloin steak, a square of tofu, a molded blob of peanut butter, a piece of chicken, and a soggy pit of nori.

I've been doing some cooking on the weekends. Good stuff so far - a pizza that finally works well, as well as some hamburgers stuffed with goat cheese. Oh yeah - a leg of lamb bbq'd wrapped in rosemary - that was good. That's all for now.