September Ain't September Anymore

The Old Me Accepting An Award From Lt. General Flowers

Since I worked in Contracting for the Federal Government, for the past quarter century, I've been driven by the Fiscal Year calendar - my year has gone from October to September, rather than the usual New Year's Eve party to Christmas hangover that most people go by.  And September was always the harshest month. 

You see, budgets being what they are (tight), and Federal rules being what they are (strict), September is the last chance to get money spent.  Well, really the whole last quarter is kind of frantic, but September is when it really kicks into high gear.  If you're in Contracting, you live on No-Doz chased down with Red Bull (or in my case, Diet Rock Star), desperately trying to make sure you get everything out the door by midnight on September 30th.

I'm finding myself a little at a loss this September - it's the first since I've retired, and it just doesn't feel right to not be counting down (73 requisitions to go!)  For 20 years or so (before I went to the dark side of Systems Administration), I was pretty much the guru of "Simplified Acquisitions" - that's Army-speak for anything under $150K, or in September, that's "oh, thank the gods of Budgeting, we managed to save enough money to finally replace these steam-powered PCs - what do you mean, you don't have time to put together a solicitation?  There's still 2 hours left!"  Every year, we'd put out a memo telling everyone to get their requirements in to us by July 15th, and every year, we'd have people saying "Oh, we didn't think you meant us!". 

I used to have a recommended "bribe" sign outside my cubicle as a way to break the tension - "In order to get a requisition through at this date, we recommend XXX"  I'd start with "Tell us we're pretty" on September 1st, working my way through the Diet Coke and a box of Twinkies phase on September 12th or so, and ending up with "A time-machine and the blood of a male unicorn" on September 29th.  Let's face it, mid-September, a good laugh is hard to find, and you'd take what you can get.

But this year... the only thing I have to count down is days until my next Dr visit.  No stress, no begging, no hair pulling out... but no sense of accomplishment, either.  I miss being able to help people out (while cursing them under my breath).  Heck, I miss the numbers - I miss reports, I miss spreadsheets, I even (and I never thought I'd say this), I even miss the hourly calls from Division saying "Are you guys ready to close yet?"  I'm not saying I'd want to go back, even if I could (my body definitely doesn't miss it), but... I feel proud of what I accomplished, back in the day.  I guess I miss that me... the one that could take a last minute request and find a way to make it happen. 

Car Thoughts

I was reading through a thread on Facebook where a friend had asked at what age do you let your kid sit in the front seat.  I don't know that they ever reached a consensus, but it looked like somewhere around 11 or 12?

I was born in 1965, and from the time I was 3, it was just Mom and I in the car (and it seemed like we were always going somewhere in the car.)  I wasn't necessarily pre-seat belt, but I was definitely pre- car seat. My first car wreck was sometime between 2 or 3 - Mom would know the exact year, I don't remember it much - but she had ran in to do an errand somewhere, and I knocked her Nash Rambler out of neutral, and managed to roll it down the hill. Then, of course, there was the time when I was 7 or 8, and Dad decided that I needed to learn to drive.  He took me off to the fields in his Ford truck, where there wasn't anything to run into or hit or... well, except for the drainage canal.  Guess who ended up in the drainage canal.

My air bag was always Mom's arm - she was faster than lightning with the Mom arm.  But she didn't have to deploy it often - she was a great driver, and she tended to drive basic tanks that could get you through anything.  My favorite was the Ford Mustang she had - I think it might have been a little older than me, but not by much, and it was just pretty.  Straight black, sturdy and fast.  Plus, it had a great radio... and that was the most important accessory to me.  We got through some pretty rough times together just by singing our way down the highway.

At any rate...  my point, if I had one, was just that I was struck by the change in how kids ride in cars just in my lifetime.  I was always in the front seat - that's where Mom was, that's where I felt safe.  I'm sure that the back seat thing is infinitely safer...  I just am feeling nostalgia for the feeling of belonging that I always felt when it was just Mom and I, rolling down the highway together in the front seat.

OK, Back To The Politics

I was struck this morning by a thread I was a part of on Facebook...


The Republican Convention had (on the first day) a speech from Patricia Smith, whose son was killed in Benghazi.  She has been fairly adamant that Mrs Clinton was directly responsible for her son's death and has said so in multiple forums, despite her daughter-in-law's disagreement with her on basic facts.  I didn't see Mrs. Clinton attacking her character.  I have, however, seen Mr. Trump spend 4 days now attacking the Khan family for their speech at the Democratic Convention - he attacked them directly (including implying that Mrs Khan didn't speak because she wasn't allowed to, even after Mrs Khan's explanation later that she was too emotionally affected by her son's picture behind her to speak), and has unleashed his surrogates to imply everything from "they're moles for the Muslim brotherhood" to "they're shills for Hillary because they have ties through his law firm".  It's been an ugly, ugly spectacle because Mr Trump was too thin-skinned to accept criticism for his proposed Muslim ban.  I don't want that sort of personality anywhere near the White House. 

Non-political Post

I can't be the only person who blesses the invention of the DVR.  Sure, the ability to time-shift programs is lovely, and I appreciate being able to binge-watch series, but most importantly I can avoid Flo from Progressive.  Well, any obnoxious commercial, really, but especially Flo.

Which is odd - I enjoy good commercials, heck I even watch the "Funniest Commercials Of The Year" shows every time they come up (although I watch them with one hand on the remote, so that I don't have to watch the commercials.  Yes, I know that doesn't make sense.)  The one Subaru commercial with Willie Nelson back-up music, where they're going through and checking off the dog's bucket list?  That one gets me every single time.  I had a long-time crush on the World's Most Interesting Man.  But there are so many ads that are misogynistic, or misandrist, or just plain stupid - seriously, Red's Apple Ale - what is it about a concussion that's supposed to make me want your swill?

Also, as a society, can't we make a rule that you can't do commercials for any physical issue below the neck?  (Used to be waist, but I'm upping my standards.)  No commercials with cartoon plumbing, no medicare supply scams involving adult diapers, nothing that requires a 15 second list of potential side effects - and no ambulance chasing for clients who took the pills that required the side effects list.  

But the worst, the ones that have me grabbing for my remote like a lifeline?  The ASPCA and Humane Society ads - usually with Sara McLachlan as a background.  I love dogs in general and my boy in specific, but these ads aren't celebrating dogs and/or cats.  They're torture porn.  Seriously, puppies in cages, their big eyes looking up at you?  For three freaking minutes?  Just no.  It doesn't make me want to write you a check, it makes me want to call the cops on your photographer.  Same for the ones for human puppies, with the freaking flies - photographers, you're right there.  Give the kid a sandwich!