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Profound or Banal, You Be The Judge
I was sitting in the car with Vicki, marveling at the repetitive repetition of daily life, when it occurred to me:
Life is a marathon. The problem is, we don't know how long the race is, so we don't know how to pace ourselves. Is it time for the sprint yet?
20 Years And What Do You Get
"Oh my God, you need a life," kidded one of my friends when I sent a note around celebrating my 20th anniversary at CMP.
My first day at CMP was April 23, 1979, but in the more than 22 years since, I spent 9 months working as a consultant with Richard Dalton in 1983, and 18 months, first on leave, then working for Ziff Davis' PC Week, in 1988. So, my "adjusted hire date," according to HR, was July 23, 1981, making last Monday my adjusted 20th anniversary.
It required two separate acts of charity for my twice-interrupted service to be strung together into credit for 20 years. The first time I left I returned within the same calendar year which was, at the time, the rule for re-accruing seniority. Thus, when I restarted in January 1990, it was with zero seniority, since I had been gone for 18 months. For some reason, a decision was made (as the saying goes "above my grade"--I always suspected the change came about in order to keep some in-and-outer more important than me happy) to re-instate seniority for people with service gaps longer than a year. In an instant, I went from someone with no seniority and two weeks vacation to a 10-year veteran with four weeks vacation and the right to a second sabbatical. A sabbatical at CMP, by the way, consists of an extra two weeks of vacation every 7 years.
The funny thing is, this was supposed to be a temporary job. I had four jobs in my first five years out of school: AP, UPI, Bank of America and the Oregon Journal. CMP was my fifth. When my application landed on Al Perlman's desk, he showed it to the founder and then-owner of CMP, Gerry Leeds, who said, "Look at this! He skips around all the time. He won't stay."
Gerry was very perceptive. My plan was to use the CMP job, as West Coast Editor of Computer Systems News, to move to San Francisco, where I would soon be hired by Dave Dietz to work for the San Francisco Examiner Business News department. That fell through, and when I mentioned two years later at Comdex that I had been at CMP longer than I had ever been at any job, Gerry bought me a bottle of champagne--for breakfast!
I never expected to put 20 years in at any one company. Even in 1974, when I graduated from MIT, people were saying that lifetime employment was a thing of the past, especially for knowledge workers. And at the start of my career, it looked liked I'd be just another itinerant journalist with a resume as long as my arm.
Somehow, though, CMP became home. Under the Leeds family (first Gerry and his wife Lilo, then their son Michael), it was a paternalistic place to work for, which treated its experienced workers well. And of course, since November 1979 they have let me work at home. It is tough to beat a zero commute. ZD let me work at home too, although I think the policy has changed there since I left.
Much has changed at CMP since the Leeds family sold it to United News and Media back in 1999; I am not even sure we celebrate anniversaries anymore. Virtually every colleague with whom I have worked over the years has left the company. And here I am, still here. I'd go and get a life, but I already have one.
I've had 15 wonderful years at CMP, which is not bad out of 20. My crystal ball is a bit hazy at the moment, and no one has ever gone more than 29 years at the company (employee No. 1 was just laid off). Still, like rearing a child, I believe you should enjoy each stage of a job for what it is, trying not to live in either the future or the past.
One thing's for sure: I won't be here for another 20. I have no intention of working that long.
A Cat Update
It's been a while since I've had anything to say about Champagne and Jagermeister, the two orange tabby cats whom, next to my wife, my daughters and my family, are the light of my life.
They're still great-big love balls, who fall over on their sides at the drop of a hat and sleep each night with (usually on top of) Vicki and I.
They have developed a hankering for some lap sitting at mealtime, and Jager really dug his claws into Rae the other night at dinner; she sits closer to the table now to discourage him. They'll hop up into your chair if you leave it, even for a minute. They're cute and funny and Marlow accuses us of taking too many pictures of them. I don't see how that would be possible.
And skittish? Whoever dreamed up "nervous as a cat" clearly owned one. These two jump out of their skins at the slightest movement by the people in the house. You'd think we beat them regularly (we don't).
My PHC Skit
I have, literally, been dreaming about writing this skit for about three years. Did I mention that I periodically have dreams that I am, or once was, a writer for Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion (back in the early days, when the crowds were sparse and the show more informal)? I also dream sometimes that I once did West Coast cut-ins on Saturday Night Live. When you're a former radio and television technician, your dreams along this line are apt to be quite specific.
Anyway, the skit is entitled "How We Pick Our Writers," and the elements that come from the dream are the Kafka homage and the ducks at the Peabody Hotel. The rest of it came to me during a long walk on Santa Monica beach last week.
Anyway, Harrison Klein has had a shot at the script. I made most of the changes he suggested, and I'm about to mail it in, but before I do, I guess I should get some further opinions.
Yes, I realize my chances of anyone in the PHC organization even looking at the script are almost nil, since it was unsolicited and I don't have an agent. Have a look. Let me know what you think. |
