Post by wheelspinner on Mar 21, 2009 0:10:56 GMT -5
August, 2001 - September, 2001
When a man reaches a Certain Age, he is obliged to do one of three things:
Having reached that age, I consulted with my wife what option we should choose. Since (until very recently) I was not able to drive, the Red Sports Car option was easily dismissed.
We discussed the blonde bimbo option at length and identified many Advantages and Disadvantages. The issue was eventually decided on the practicalities. My wife pointed out that all of the bedrooms in our house are occupied, and someone would need to find alternative sleeping arrangements should this course be pursued.
That left the Chucking In One's Job option. I have long desired to own a bookshop, but most Australians are oiks that don't deserve to read the only kinds of books I would be willing to sell them. My MBA training told me that this was a business plan of limited appeal to investors.
Which left doing what I have always done, but doing it for someone else. Somehow chucking in my job at a big bank to do the same job at the other big bank down the road didn't quite fit the bill. Moving to Telstra or Coles Myer was exciting (for a bank worker) but didn't really seem crazy enough to fulfill my mid-life obligation. I then saw an ad - "Senior Project Managers wanted in California". I had found the folly I was looking for!
I submitted my CV, but despite this I scored an interview. Knowing that this interview was vital, I prepared thoroughly by contracting a severe chest infection and attending in a half-dead state. (I also had to find a means of wearing a professional-looking suit without giving the game away at my casual-dress workplace. This required Subterfuge and caused my ingrained Catholic Guilt to undermine my performance).
The interview was tough. The Vice President was nice, but she asked difficult questions like "Are you all right?" and "Would you like some water?". Fortunately she mistook my raking hacks for intelligent responses delivered in Strine, and was impressed overall by my grasp of project management and strategic consulting.
I was then referred to the technical interview, which was conducted over the phone to a Voice in the USA. Once this guru had established that I can spell MQ and know that testing goes before implementation, I was considered a Great Prospect and was offered the job on the spot. I gratefully coughed my acceptance. This was in late August.
We then entered the arcane world of Getting A Visa. I was told of the dire consequences of resigning without first Getting A Visa, all the while being assured that I was guaranteed to Get A Visa. The company had submitted me for the Express processing, which takes about 2-3 weeks. I am still waiting to Get A Visa, although the company assures me that the INS web page assures them that I am Approved. I am grateful that I qualify for Express handling.
Concerned that I may enter the USA too easily, the President then declared war to make sure I would be properly screened before entry. Concerned about the Brain Drain, the Prime Minister and Opposition Leader followed suit. (I was more concerned about the Lung Drain at this point). All of my relatives responded to this announcement by going into paroxysms of panic. Not about whether I would be all right, but whether the job would still be there in the aftermath of the Bombing. Thanking them for their concern about my personal safety, I pointed out that my new employer's biggest client is the DoD, so I anticipated a continuation of demand. (I neglected to mention the likelihood of "Aliens" being employed on DoD projects during wartime).
Next I decided to sell my house (see "crazy" in option 3 above). Showing impeccable timing, I managed to put it on the market at the exact moment that the housing boom collapsed. This was entirely foreseeable in hindsight, as people need to save their money now to invest in the Spring Racing Carnival.
I then faced the challenge of keeping a straight face while my current employer gave me my end-of-year performance review. He expressed concerns that I had not been getting sufficiently involved in the upcoming work and was overly delegating it. I nobly resisted the temptation to yell "It's for your own good! You should thank me for this!". He promised me a fine career at my current place of employ and suggested that he might think about possibly nominating me for a promotion in six months' time if I am Good, while noting that I am never Good, by bank standard definitions, because I have an unfortunate tendency to Think and then say what I Think to other people. This is considered to be Bad Customer Service.
The performance appraisal was made even more surreal by the fact that it occurred immediately after my EEG test. I can confirm that it adds to the appraisal experience to have had flashing lights shining in your eyes for 15 minutes and to have adequately hyperventilated prior to meeting with your superior. This was definitely the most satisfying Appraisal I have had for years, not least because it is my first since 1997.
We will be living in a town called Walnut Creek, near San Francisco. I am told that this is a land of milk and honey, with Good Schools, and handy to a member of the Simpson family. (Quite why I should pay extra to live near BART, I don't know). Walnut Creek is a town the size of Bendigo, for the geographically aware among you, but only about as far from San Franciso as I live from the Melbourne CBD (I am in the inner outer suburbs). It is unlikely to be the target of Anthrax Attacks, although I am concerned that my raking coughs may be considered Suspicious in an Alien and attract Attention. This may not be completely desirable in a town of San Fancisco's reputation.
We have discussed at length what Tourism we should partake in. I have advised my children that I shall take them to Fisherman's Wharf, as they like to fish. I will then take them to Alcatraz and show them how to properly keep their Room Clean, and the consequences if they don't. Finally I will force them to partake of something called the Bay To Breakers (see crazy under option 3 above).
I am now deep into the planning of What To Take. I have been advised by my wife that her and the children are mandatory, and that my books are merely optional. I was grateful to have that cleared up, but I am still trying to figure out how to get the wide-screen TV and surround-sound hi-fi into my second suitcase. I think I can just do it if I leave all my clothes at home. (I intend to rent the Mr Bean episode where he packs for his holiday to research this).
My children are busy planning too. They have heard that Technology is Cheap in the Land Of The Free. (I explained to them that Free means something different in the USA). They have described at length the specifications for the Computer that I Must Buy, and given me dire warnings against Inferior Sound Cards. They have also placed orders for Presents that they will be collecting for Christmas. Apparently I am to acquire something called an X Box, which I hope is not as pornographic as it sounds.
My sons and I have agonised over what sporting interests to pursue. We have arrived at a consensus that my elder son is a Geek, and therefore will fit right into the California school community. He has never played basketball, soccer, gridiron or baseball competitively, so he does not expect to make the school team in Sports in his first year. This will free up time to go on the Internet and play geeky games. He does play the trombone, so he will still find himself at the hub of activity at High School Football Games. He has expressed a total lack of interest in Going To The Prom, because the Internet is not there, it requires Being With Girls of the Opposite Sex, and too many teenagers are Butchered by Knife-Wielding Crazies (who are obviously in mid-life and have found their own alternate Occupation) while attending them.
My younger son is the School Chess Champion so he will obviously have no difficulty establishing his athletic credentials and making the Sports Team. He will be going to a Junior High. We are concerned about this because we have seen DeGrassi Junior High on television, and are concerned that there is too much Homosexuality, Unplanned Parenthood and Drug Taking for a child of his age at these schools, and we would prefer that he defer these subjects until Senior High, or even College.
We are forced to choose a basketball team that Sucks, because they are the only one within driving distance. They are something called the Golden State Warriors, and are still finishing last season, while the LA Lakers are completing their pre-season for this year. They do not have Andrew Gaze playing for them, which is remiss on their part.
We are also poorly served in Gridiron. The San Francisco 49ers are tasteful enough to have a player with our surname, but he looks distinctly unfriendly on their web site, and I suspect he may not be a true Celt. The 49ers also Suck, and they wear colours that my sons Would Not Be Seen Dead In, even if they do have their name on the back for easy identification in a crowd. The Oakland Raiders wear colours more appropriate to Melburnians (black is the new black, as well as being the old black if you are nostalgic). Nor do they Suck, apparently. However they do not have anyone with our name.
Of course there is always the San Diego Chargers, who have the good sense to acknowledge the superiority of Australians by recruiting their All-Pro kicker from the ranks of the AFL team that we barrack for. Unfortunately we are obliged to hate them, as Melbourne struggled for years to find a halfway-decent full forward to replace him, and still haven't. Plus the San Diego Chargers Suck slightly more than Oakland, although not as much as San Francisco. Also, they live a long way away.
My wife and I have discussed the issue of Separation. This will be our first Christmas apart in 21 years, and this is expected to be a Bad Thing. I have sworn upon mine honour that I will Telephone her on the day (as with all of my friends and relations) but she has relieved me of any obligation by pointing out that this is Impossible.
We are very busy planning everything, and my sons are now excited enough to grunt twice when I ask them what they think of this Moving To The USA idea. I am told that I will be flying out in early December, just after the Election, which presents me with the unusual opportunity of Bringing Down The Government and then Fleeing The Country. In 1998, I did this in the wrong order, having fled the country before the election, and thus missing my opportunity.
I am still constantly reminded that I Must Not Resign Until I Get A Visa.
I may not have Got A Visa yet, but I have Got A New Life.
When a man reaches a Certain Age, he is obliged to do one of three things:
- Run off with a blonde bimbo half his age
- Buy a red sports car, or
- Chuck in his job and do something crazy.
Having reached that age, I consulted with my wife what option we should choose. Since (until very recently) I was not able to drive, the Red Sports Car option was easily dismissed.
We discussed the blonde bimbo option at length and identified many Advantages and Disadvantages. The issue was eventually decided on the practicalities. My wife pointed out that all of the bedrooms in our house are occupied, and someone would need to find alternative sleeping arrangements should this course be pursued.
That left the Chucking In One's Job option. I have long desired to own a bookshop, but most Australians are oiks that don't deserve to read the only kinds of books I would be willing to sell them. My MBA training told me that this was a business plan of limited appeal to investors.
Which left doing what I have always done, but doing it for someone else. Somehow chucking in my job at a big bank to do the same job at the other big bank down the road didn't quite fit the bill. Moving to Telstra or Coles Myer was exciting (for a bank worker) but didn't really seem crazy enough to fulfill my mid-life obligation. I then saw an ad - "Senior Project Managers wanted in California". I had found the folly I was looking for!
I submitted my CV, but despite this I scored an interview. Knowing that this interview was vital, I prepared thoroughly by contracting a severe chest infection and attending in a half-dead state. (I also had to find a means of wearing a professional-looking suit without giving the game away at my casual-dress workplace. This required Subterfuge and caused my ingrained Catholic Guilt to undermine my performance).
The interview was tough. The Vice President was nice, but she asked difficult questions like "Are you all right?" and "Would you like some water?". Fortunately she mistook my raking hacks for intelligent responses delivered in Strine, and was impressed overall by my grasp of project management and strategic consulting.
I was then referred to the technical interview, which was conducted over the phone to a Voice in the USA. Once this guru had established that I can spell MQ and know that testing goes before implementation, I was considered a Great Prospect and was offered the job on the spot. I gratefully coughed my acceptance. This was in late August.
We then entered the arcane world of Getting A Visa. I was told of the dire consequences of resigning without first Getting A Visa, all the while being assured that I was guaranteed to Get A Visa. The company had submitted me for the Express processing, which takes about 2-3 weeks. I am still waiting to Get A Visa, although the company assures me that the INS web page assures them that I am Approved. I am grateful that I qualify for Express handling.
Concerned that I may enter the USA too easily, the President then declared war to make sure I would be properly screened before entry. Concerned about the Brain Drain, the Prime Minister and Opposition Leader followed suit. (I was more concerned about the Lung Drain at this point). All of my relatives responded to this announcement by going into paroxysms of panic. Not about whether I would be all right, but whether the job would still be there in the aftermath of the Bombing. Thanking them for their concern about my personal safety, I pointed out that my new employer's biggest client is the DoD, so I anticipated a continuation of demand. (I neglected to mention the likelihood of "Aliens" being employed on DoD projects during wartime).
Next I decided to sell my house (see "crazy" in option 3 above). Showing impeccable timing, I managed to put it on the market at the exact moment that the housing boom collapsed. This was entirely foreseeable in hindsight, as people need to save their money now to invest in the Spring Racing Carnival.
I then faced the challenge of keeping a straight face while my current employer gave me my end-of-year performance review. He expressed concerns that I had not been getting sufficiently involved in the upcoming work and was overly delegating it. I nobly resisted the temptation to yell "It's for your own good! You should thank me for this!". He promised me a fine career at my current place of employ and suggested that he might think about possibly nominating me for a promotion in six months' time if I am Good, while noting that I am never Good, by bank standard definitions, because I have an unfortunate tendency to Think and then say what I Think to other people. This is considered to be Bad Customer Service.
The performance appraisal was made even more surreal by the fact that it occurred immediately after my EEG test. I can confirm that it adds to the appraisal experience to have had flashing lights shining in your eyes for 15 minutes and to have adequately hyperventilated prior to meeting with your superior. This was definitely the most satisfying Appraisal I have had for years, not least because it is my first since 1997.
We will be living in a town called Walnut Creek, near San Francisco. I am told that this is a land of milk and honey, with Good Schools, and handy to a member of the Simpson family. (Quite why I should pay extra to live near BART, I don't know). Walnut Creek is a town the size of Bendigo, for the geographically aware among you, but only about as far from San Franciso as I live from the Melbourne CBD (I am in the inner outer suburbs). It is unlikely to be the target of Anthrax Attacks, although I am concerned that my raking coughs may be considered Suspicious in an Alien and attract Attention. This may not be completely desirable in a town of San Fancisco's reputation.
We have discussed at length what Tourism we should partake in. I have advised my children that I shall take them to Fisherman's Wharf, as they like to fish. I will then take them to Alcatraz and show them how to properly keep their Room Clean, and the consequences if they don't. Finally I will force them to partake of something called the Bay To Breakers (see crazy under option 3 above).
I am now deep into the planning of What To Take. I have been advised by my wife that her and the children are mandatory, and that my books are merely optional. I was grateful to have that cleared up, but I am still trying to figure out how to get the wide-screen TV and surround-sound hi-fi into my second suitcase. I think I can just do it if I leave all my clothes at home. (I intend to rent the Mr Bean episode where he packs for his holiday to research this).
My children are busy planning too. They have heard that Technology is Cheap in the Land Of The Free. (I explained to them that Free means something different in the USA). They have described at length the specifications for the Computer that I Must Buy, and given me dire warnings against Inferior Sound Cards. They have also placed orders for Presents that they will be collecting for Christmas. Apparently I am to acquire something called an X Box, which I hope is not as pornographic as it sounds.
My sons and I have agonised over what sporting interests to pursue. We have arrived at a consensus that my elder son is a Geek, and therefore will fit right into the California school community. He has never played basketball, soccer, gridiron or baseball competitively, so he does not expect to make the school team in Sports in his first year. This will free up time to go on the Internet and play geeky games. He does play the trombone, so he will still find himself at the hub of activity at High School Football Games. He has expressed a total lack of interest in Going To The Prom, because the Internet is not there, it requires Being With Girls of the Opposite Sex, and too many teenagers are Butchered by Knife-Wielding Crazies (who are obviously in mid-life and have found their own alternate Occupation) while attending them.
My younger son is the School Chess Champion so he will obviously have no difficulty establishing his athletic credentials and making the Sports Team. He will be going to a Junior High. We are concerned about this because we have seen DeGrassi Junior High on television, and are concerned that there is too much Homosexuality, Unplanned Parenthood and Drug Taking for a child of his age at these schools, and we would prefer that he defer these subjects until Senior High, or even College.
We are forced to choose a basketball team that Sucks, because they are the only one within driving distance. They are something called the Golden State Warriors, and are still finishing last season, while the LA Lakers are completing their pre-season for this year. They do not have Andrew Gaze playing for them, which is remiss on their part.
We are also poorly served in Gridiron. The San Francisco 49ers are tasteful enough to have a player with our surname, but he looks distinctly unfriendly on their web site, and I suspect he may not be a true Celt. The 49ers also Suck, and they wear colours that my sons Would Not Be Seen Dead In, even if they do have their name on the back for easy identification in a crowd. The Oakland Raiders wear colours more appropriate to Melburnians (black is the new black, as well as being the old black if you are nostalgic). Nor do they Suck, apparently. However they do not have anyone with our name.
Of course there is always the San Diego Chargers, who have the good sense to acknowledge the superiority of Australians by recruiting their All-Pro kicker from the ranks of the AFL team that we barrack for. Unfortunately we are obliged to hate them, as Melbourne struggled for years to find a halfway-decent full forward to replace him, and still haven't. Plus the San Diego Chargers Suck slightly more than Oakland, although not as much as San Francisco. Also, they live a long way away.
My wife and I have discussed the issue of Separation. This will be our first Christmas apart in 21 years, and this is expected to be a Bad Thing. I have sworn upon mine honour that I will Telephone her on the day (as with all of my friends and relations) but she has relieved me of any obligation by pointing out that this is Impossible.
We are very busy planning everything, and my sons are now excited enough to grunt twice when I ask them what they think of this Moving To The USA idea. I am told that I will be flying out in early December, just after the Election, which presents me with the unusual opportunity of Bringing Down The Government and then Fleeing The Country. In 1998, I did this in the wrong order, having fled the country before the election, and thus missing my opportunity.
I am still constantly reminded that I Must Not Resign Until I Get A Visa.
I may not have Got A Visa yet, but I have Got A New Life.
