Yak in the office

For the past two years, my wife and I have shared a home office, and I’m pretty sure she’s heard enough.

I’ve always been something of a blabbermouth, but I spent much of the previous decade working in solitude and silence. Well, not exactly silence. I’d talk all day long, even though there was no one home but me and the dog. Mostly, this steady spiel consisted of cussing at the computer and the various vicissitudes of daily life.

I didn’t recognize that I’d fallen into this habit because there were no humans around to clear their throats and give me disapproving looks. The dog didn’t mind because he was asleep the whole time.

Since my wife started working at home, I've had to tone down the chatter. She kept thinking something was wrong because of all the cussing and muttering, when in fact it was just the usual stuff. (She has the same problem with my reaction to traffic, which is why we often arrive in separate vehicles.)

I’d forgotten what it’s like to have co-workers. People who are trying to get some work done don’t want you nattering at them all the time, even if they are your beloved spouse of 25 years. No, they’d really rather that you shut up and let them concentrate.

In our home office, we sit facing opposite directions. This is the perfect position for tossing wisecracks over one’s shoulder like spilled salt, but it’s not the best position for listening to the other person. Much of our conversation goes like this:

He: Wisecrack.
She: What?
He: Repeated wisecrack.
She: I still can’t hear you.
He turns all the way around, repeats the phrase again, but now it’s lost its verve.
She: Oh. Ha-ha.
He: Never mind.
She: Now what’s wrong?
He: Mumble.
She: What?

It goes on like that until one of us decides it’s time to go to the far end of the house for more coffee or something.

It’s also been more than a decade since I’ve had a boss looking over my shoulder. My wife assures me she doesn’t wish to play that role, yet I feel compelled to report my whereabouts at all times. I tell her when I’m going to the kitchen/shower/garage/yard/store/out to lunch/to take a nap. She keeps saying she doesn’t need to know, but I tell her anyway. This information could come in handy if she found herself in sudden need of a mumbled wisecrack.

Sometimes, my wife leaves our home office to give her ears a rest. She takes her laptop computer to the dining room. That doesn’t deter me, of course. I yell things the length of the house, so she can say “what?” some more.

With the mobility afforded by the laptop, she can leave the house altogether and still get her work done. Sometimes, she even tells me that she’s leaving so I don’t sit around like an idiot, yakking and expecting answers.

You might see her around town, sitting at a coffee shop, pounding away on her tiny keyboard. If you do, please send her home. I’ve got some things I need to tell her.

Lessons learned

The used SUV we bought for our sons came with a lugnut-style lock on the rear-mounted spare tire. But no key.

A special type of star-shaped key was needed to unscrew the lock. We couldn't find a matching one anywhere. I tried auto parts stores, hardware stores, tire shops. Nobody could help. The advice I universally got was to hammer a socket onto the chrome lugnut lock, then ratchet them both off. I tried this several times, buying expensive jumbo sockets each time, and could never get it to work. I showed the lock to friends with power tools. I hit it with a hammer. I tried anything to avoid an expensive trip to the locksmith.

This went on for months and months. Always, somewhere in the back of my mind, was my losing battle with this lock. If I forgot about it, the car promptly got a flat, which required a full emergency rescue and served as a reminder that the spare was useless as long as that lock was in the way.

Finally, I broke down. Yesterday, teeth clenched against the expected expense, we took the car to a locksmith. The locksmith used an expansion socket, which is tapered inside, and had the lock off of there in minutes. The cost? Eight bucks.

I'd spent three times that much on sockets that I subsequently ruined with a hammer. Not to mention the hundreds of dollars spent on antacids and headache remedies and booze. All trying to avoid that expensive trip to the locksmith. Duh.

Two lessons here that we've all heard before, but bear repeating:

1) Use the right tool for the job.

2) Leave it to the experts.

It's much easier to write a check than to jury-rig a solution that probably won't work and may result in personal injury. Often, the experts don't cost as much as we fear. Besides, you can make up the cost with savings on booze.

Double-dipper

Today's tip for aspiring criminals: Burglarizing the same office twice in less than six hours probably, oh, let's say doubles the chances that you'll get caught.

Police in Lawrence, NY, say 46-year-old Lester McDonald forced his way into a second-floor office around 1:30 a.m. Sunday and stole a laptop computer. Around 7 a.m., he returned to the same office and stole another laptop and a television.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't also steal the surveillance camera that captured him on video. Police say that led to his arrest.

Full story here.

Your party footprint

All the talk these days centers on carbon footprints -- how much pollution we generate and energy we consume. But party footprints are important, too, and more immediate. You might have trouble calculating your carbon footprint, but your party footprint can easily be tallied by counting the number of food stains on your shirt.

My personal party footprint is huge. I’m a big guy, so I take up a lot of space. I eat and drink more than my share. I spill. I tend to get effusive (especially when I’ve had a few) and talk with my hands. Anyone crowded too close is in real danger of losing an eye.

I suspect that the size of my party footprint inhibits our social life. When people make party plans, they say: “We can’t invite the Brewers. She’s OK, but we simply don’t have room for HIM.”

Men typically have bigger party footprints than women. We’re louder, larger, hairier, hungrier, thirstier. We tend to forget social niceties, especially as the evening wears on (see “thirstier”). Women at holiday parties are like bright birds, twittering demurely and picking at the food. Men, as we’re frequently reminded, are pigs from Mars.

(Yes, I’m speaking in generalities, but that is my native language.)

Let’s look at the different ways the genders approach parties:

Women enjoy parties for the conversation and companionship. Men like that stuff, too, but it’s difficult to keep a scintillating conversation going while eating with both hands.

When hosting a party, women want to make sure that all the guests feel good. Men want to make themselves feel good. Yes, this is similar to sex. (Hah, beat you to it.)

Women enjoy planning a party and getting everything ready. You can count on men to buy ice.

For women, fancy parties offer an opportunity to dress up. For men, parties are a reason to wear pants, at least at first.

Parties give women a chance to be artistic (décor, fancy food). Men are more interested in the mechanical (BBQ grills, proper keg flow).

At dinner parties, women compliment the chef by oohing over the food and asking for recipes. Men compliment the chef by groaning and asking for more.

Women politely offer to help the hosts serve food and drink. Men sometimes clean up their own spills.

Some parties include dancing, which many women enjoy. Men prefer a challenging game of drunken Twister.

Holiday gatherings let women bask in the warm glow of family and friends. Men prefer the warm glow of televised football.

At family events, women think of the children and the fond memories that are being made. Men say to the kids, “Don’t stand in front of the TV.”

Women like to make an entrance. Men prefer to make a memorable exit.

Women always remember to thank the hosts. Men often remember to apologize to the hosts.

Women like to engage in post-party analysis. Men are happy if they can find the car.

These differences don’t necessarily mean that women are superior to men, but it does mean women have smaller party footprints and often make better hosts/guests. Lucky for us guys, the women have to drag us along or face a lot of embarrassing questions.

Ladies, don’t feel you must apologize for your men’s enormous party footprints. Just say, “I’m with Sasquatch.” Everyone will understand.

Interruption eruption

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled Internet browsing to bring you this important message about interruptions.

We’re interrupted all the time, aren’t we? In the name of multi-tasking and efficiency, we try to do too much in too little time and--

Sorry, I had to take that call.

Recent studies have found that modern communication technology adds to the stress of daily living. Because we can be plugged in all the time, we feel that we must keep up. So we check our e-mail every few minutes and send text messages while we’re eating and answer calls in the middle of the night--

OK, I’m back. Sorry about that. News from the stock market. Had to do some deep breathing exercises.

Constant contact should make us more productive, but a recent study found that we’re actually less productive because we’re interrupted so much.

Researchers found that people work faster when they’re often interrupted, but they produce less, said study co-author Gloria Mark, a professor at the University of California-Irvine.
The study found that only 20 minutes of interrupted work resulted in higher stress and frustration. Worse yet, the study found that people were as likely to interrupt themselves as they were to be interrupted by others.

Mark told The New York Times that observers found that “after every 12 minutes or so, for no apparent reason, someone working on a document will turn and call someone or e-mail.”

She said more research needs to be done to learn why people work in this pattern, but it might have something to do with increasingly short attention spans.

Wait. What was I talking about? Oh, yeah. Attention spans. Whatever.

Because of frequent interruption, self-inflicted or otherwise, Mark said, workers don’t spend time thinking in-depth about, um, their, uh, work.

OK, back again. I had to go play a game of pinball with my computer. Sometimes, I need to blow off a little steam, you know? Too much stress from interruptions. I’m sure that interjecting some fun makes me a more productive worker in the long run.

Except now I don’t remember where I was. I had something I wanted to say--

Hey, new e-mail! Just some spam and a joke (that old favorite about the proctologist and the llama), but I like to keep my inbox emptied out so I’m ready when important messages arrive.

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Interruptions. And stress. And, and productivity. That stuff. Right.
Sorry, another call. I swear, it’s a wonder I ever get anything done. If it’s not one interruption, it’s another--

I’m back. Had to hurry to the other end of the house to see what made that funny noise. Haha, it was the icemaker. Not really a funny noise at all. Just the usual grrr-grrr ka-chunk. We sure go through a lot of ice around here. Odd, when you think about it, because I mostly drink coffee (no ice!) or diet colas that are already cold in the can, and the rest of the family--

There I go again, interrupting myself. It’s hard to stay on track when I go off in another direction every 12 minutes or so.

Anyway, to sum up, I’d like to say you can overcome this addiction to interruption. Turn off your cell phone and limit checks on your e-mail. Manage the flow of information before it manages you.

I’ll be back with more great tips, right after I take this call--