Mental Slips

As I get older, I notice mental slip ups. The most common is calling Ron "Tim," which is embarrassing, but at least I know who Ron and Tim are, and I can quickly correct myself. Another slip up is to forget a word, and then talk around its definition, hoping that the word will come back. This is a lot like "The word's on the tip of my tongue...." That phenomenon is more common to me than it used to be, but I usually can either come up with the word, or at least make myself understood.

The strangest one for me, and the one that causes the most trouble is recalling names, either of people or places. In this instance, I recognize the person or the place, but I'm totally clueless about the name. I can access the information in my brain about the person or place, but I can't put any name on the person or place at all. The name is also beyond my own recall. It's like I've never know the name in my memory, I can only remember that at one time, I knew the name.

If I hear or read the "forgotten" name, I immediately recognize it, and it is once again connected to the "nameless" information with which it was once associated in my memory. My brain's grasp on those names appears weak, because I can easily forget those names again, and have no way to recall them. I compensate for that by replaying those names over and over in my head whenever I recover them.

Most names that I forget are in my long term memory, but within the last 10 or 20 years. I don't have any trouble with names from my childhood through high school or so. The most difficult names for me to remember are co-workers, some of whom I worked with for years. I can tell you where they sat at work, what projects they worked on, all kinds of things, except their names.

I think the challenge I have with names is that they are arbitrary. On the other hand, the information they represent isn't arbitrary at all, and the connection between the arbitrary name and its information can be lost. The information, itself, remains in my brain, but that pesky pointer to that information is missing in action.

Busy, Busy

I'm not equating busyness with productivity, but I felt a little like the Energizer Bunny^®. I got up, made myself some breakfast, read the paper, then got a wild idea to mop the kitchen floor. At this point, I started my laundry. I mean, if you're going to mop the floor, you might as well run a couple of loads of laundry. After that it was off to the gym. When I got home I wrote my brother a birthday card, then Ron and I walked to the Post Office, after which we walked to Safeway and did a little food shopping. About this time, I really needed a drink (I'm so grateful for cocktail shakers!), then I steamed some broccoli for a salad. I answered some emails, purchased an airline ticket, reserved a rental car, and made a hotel reservation for trip to Idaho in November. I finished making the rest of the salad - chopping celery, slicing tomatoes, sauteing garlic, grating carrots, the usual, (I made another cocktail) then I cooked the ravioli, warmed up the pasta sauce, and set the table for dinner. After dinner, I watered all the pachysandra, which meant repeatedly filling a bucket full of water, and traipsing down the path to the thirsty little plants. (I just about killed them, but I think I'm nursing most of them back from the brink.) Now, I'm writing in here, then I'll read the Economist before going to bed. This is what I mean about retirement - I have a lot to do, but not an awful lot to show for it.

Getting a Grip

I've said before in this blog that I like the freedom of being retired, but I really don't have a handle on the aimlessness my life seems to have taken on. I've talked about this with other retired people, and it's a pretty common observation. Some people live with it. Others seek out a more purposeful life.

When I was working, the lack of purpose didn't seem too much of a problem because work overshadowed everything else; it gave my life a built-in purpose. Square dancing, sex, cooking, and exotic mixed drinks don't particularly fill my life with purpose, either. On the other hand, the freedom of retirement more than makes up for the ersatz purpose that my work gave me. I'm glad to be free of that, and I would have a difficult time returning to the workplace. I think the next job (if ever) is going to have to be at home, during my hours, on my terms.

After eight months of just enjoying retirement (it's the longest summer vacation I've ever had), I'm ready to head out on something new and different. I won't be scanning the Want Ads, but I'm getting back to some projects that have been shelved, some software development, and an idea for a virtual retirement center. I'm making a list of things I want to do, and I'm going to figure out how to do them. My biggest challenge is moving beyond the inertia that my life has taken on. And I've already started addressing that.

Square dancing, sex, and mixed drinks will still continue to be part of my retired, civilized life, but I'm intent on moving beyond them to act rather than drift, to drive rather than be along for the ride.

I don't want to minimize what I have been doing in my retirement, either. I've learned a new program in square dancing (and I'm a caller wannabe). That has been a real achievement and a lot of fun. The travel this year has been wonderful, and more locales beckon. I'm reading more and enjoying that time. I've also had a lot more time for my friends. Retirement has given me freedom to act that I didn't even know existed. It's pretty intoxicating. I'm ready to act more and react less.

As I read this, I'm rolling my eyes.

Retirement Revisited, Remarked, Retouched, Rethought

I'm still thinking through this retirement thing. It's been about eight months since I walked out the front door of Fannie Mae and headed on out to Wheaton. Retirement isn't what I thought it was, but I'm not about to give it up, either.

The most vexing challenge that retirement poses for me is that it imposes no deadline. It's not like work at all in that regard. I'm not complaining; however, the imperative of work provided built-in needs, goals, and (for everyone else, except me) aspirations. I'm not much of a self-starter, so that kick in the pants was very useful.

The other thing about work that I miss is its supplied schedule (I always knew when I was getting up on a school night), and convenient friends. I think what I most miss is the friends. I really liked and enjoyed the people with whom I worked. It was a wide circle of several dozen people that I saw on a regular basis. Although we talked a lot of shop, the conversations were also social. I was in the loop.

Post-work, my circle of friends is far smaller, but the conversations are indeed more social and instrumental to my life. A big challenge for me is to not let myself get isolated from other human beings. Some days, I can sit at this damn computer and not have any meaningful human interactions, and I'm not counting emails or my visits to social networking sites.

One of the pluses of retirement is that I can do what I want to do when I want to do it. It pleases me to go to the zoo, or to take a special vacation. I treasure the time I spend with Ron. I love seeing his goofy grin any time I want. I enjoy lunch with Michael and other friends. I love learning a new square dance program. And the gym, hooda thunk that I'd be fairly faithful getting to and sticking with the gym? (I'm shocked!) I spend more time with Tim, and that is always delightful.

Right now, I'm feeling a certain rootlessness, a lack of purpose. I expect the rootlessness will last, but the lack of purpose won't. I'm looking for my next great passion, something to throw my heart at. I have the energy and the time, just not the focus right now. But when I find that new enthusiasm, you'll be reading about it right here. And I'm so blond that I might not even realize it. I just hope it contributes to the betterment of humanity, or at least Wheaton.

Today, It's All about Mulch

I've had a pile of mulch sitting out in front of my house for three or four days. Today, I borrowed a wheelbarrow from Perry, and I spread the mulch on the side "yard." It isn't exactly a yard, because it's been taken over by Virginia Creeper, poison ivy, and violets. I sprayed the creeper a couple of times to knock it down, then spread mulch this afternoon.

I enjoy moving the mulch pile. I filled the wheelbarrow about twenty times, each time dragging the barrow over the curb, down some steps to the yard. It's fenced on two sides, and deeply shaded. One of the reasons for mulching is that it slows down rainwater on the way to our neighbors' basements. I figure that mulching is a neighborly act.

Not Much

Not much is happening around here today. I guess it goes with the weather, which is a little gray and cool outside. I couldn't get out of bed this morning until after 8 a.m., which is very late for me. I've been answering emails. Gee, this sounds an awful lot like work!

I went to Plus Class last night. Butch Adams called for us. He taught Relay the Deucy in a new and insightful way, and reviewed Coordinate in a better way than "No, no, yes" for those readers who know what I'm talking about. I enjoy angeling square dance classes, because I'm always learning something new that makes me a better dancer. Check out the DC Lambda Squares blog for Tim's and my take on square dance calls.

I'm Behind

Happy, Looking Sage

I have exactly four days of work, then I retire. This is a very strange place for my head. Speaking of which, here is a picture of my head. That shirt is my party shirt, only because of it's holiday colors and its alcoholic theme.

We had a luncheon and party at work today, and it was very nice. I participated in the activities, displaying an amazing ability to gauge, incorrectly, just about any poll on Family Feud. But our team won, anyway. I like being on the winning team. I also took a prize for my presence on the dance floor. I'm not sure whether it was because I was the best dancer or the most improved dancer.

I still have work to do, but I am really over it. I mean, I actually do work, but my mind is no longer focused on the world within my cubicle.

I came home from work today, and Ron was preparing dinner. It was such a domestic scene - it could have been right out of Leave It to Beaver, although he doesn't especially look like June, and I'm no Ward. But it was one of those domestic moments that just hit me.

Finally, for several years, I headed up my work group's adopt-a-family activity. It was a lot of work, but really very touching. We really were helping families that needed help. This year, I bowed out of it. An email came around today from this year's head elf, asking for help with the project. I responded with an email of my own stories about how it had touched me over the last three years. That was one of the things we did at work that really took me beyond work.

Help the Homeless

Today was Washington DC's Help the Homeless Walk. The walk is sponsored by the Fannie Mae Foundation, so it is a BIG deal at work. I walk most years, and was there today, dressed very warmly because the weather was not.

I always feel a little strange on the walk. I usually walk by myself, thinking each year that I can connect up with some co-workers, but trying to find anyone in a crowd of 120,000 is pretty difficult. I did have the good fortune to walk a short distance with a friend and his mom, but they turned off, because mom was getting tired.

The downside of the walk is that it starts at 9 a.m. That's really early on a Saturday for any self-respecting gay man. Ron and I had stayed up very late last night. So this morning came very early. But I rolled out of bed, and hustled myself through a bowl of oatmeal (no coffee), then out the door. After getting there, I did enjoy the walk. The nature of the event makes me realize how extremely fortunate my own situation is, and I'm grateful for that.

Help the Homeless

Today, I walked in the Fannie Mae Foundation's Help the Homeless Walk. It's always held the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Some years are miserable. This year was chilly. I was glad I had a warm coat.

The purpose of the walk is to help end homelessness in the DC metro area. Each year, for 20 years, that has been the purpose of the walk. And each year we walk, vowing to end homelessness.

Sometimes, I think the walk is simply a gesture to make us feel like we're doing something to help the problem. In the midst of a Free Enterprise ideology that blames the poor for being poor, and the homeless for being homeless. I'm pretty sure that we'll be walking for a good many years. The ideology blinds our society to the problem's solutions.

I suggest the following solutions:

• Low-cost and affordable housing for the employed homeless. Keep the employed in the jobs, and in their homes.
• Substance abuse programs for whoever wants (and needs) them. De-criminalize substance abuse. Provide safe alternatives to the street scene. Fund needle exchanges.
• Adequate mental health facilities, treatment, and care for the homeless. Releasing mentally ill people on the streets is a recipe for homelessness.
• Active intervention programs for the chronic, homeless substance abusers - the ones that require the most emergency and police resources. Get them into apartments and into treatment.

While none of these programs would be cheap, in the long run, it's cheaper to seek solutions that will actually move people off of the streets into treatment and into housing. Over times, emergency medical care and policing should decrease. Of course, the real way to fight homelessness is to eliminate poverty. That's achievable, too, but only with a truly different ideology that is focused on the dignity and welfare of our fellows rather than the sanctity of our wallets.

Saying Goodbye

Today I was out at the Reston office, because I had some meetings out there. Several people came up to me to say goodbye. I'm not leaving for a month, folks! On the other hand, I understand this separation anxiety, because I'm feeling some of it, too.

My boss told me we'd do two retirement lunches - one in DC and another in Reston. I like that idea. Well, I like the food. Time is moving very quickly at work, and I can hardly believe it's all happening.

The Joys of Biography

A couple of years ago, one of my co-workers "loaned" me the biography, Fawn McKay Brodie: a Biographer's Life by Newell G. Bringhurst. In preparation for retirement, I've been bringing my personal books home from the office, and I dropped the biography in my book bag.

Day before yesterday, I picked it out of my book bag and started reading it on the train. I haven't been able to put it down since, reading it at every opportunity. I love when a book gets a hold on me. I'm enjoying this book.

It's full of names and incidents that evoke a place and time in my own life. I'm always surprised how strong a hold the Mormon church has on my psyche. Bringhurst's biography of Brodie examines the ambivalent but central role that the church played in Brodie's life.

Brodie, for those who don't know, wrote a controversial biography in the 1940s of Joseph Smith, the first prophet of the Mormon church. Within a year of the book's publication, she was excommunicated. Bringhurst's biography covers all of this but reveals a complex, sensitive, and sometimes conflicted biographer who had her own flaws and her own history (just ask Hugh Nibley).

So I'm enjoying this read. I'm remembering my own struggles in the church, and out. And I do intend to return the book to my friend at work.

Waiting and Impatient

I'm a very impatient guy. Like everyone else, I don't have a real reason to be impatient; I guess I just want to stress out. I think it's a lot of the grass is greener on the other side of the fence phenomenon. I'm stuck here, and what you're doing over there looks ever so much nicer.

Today at work, I was stuck in four and half hours of meetings. I was challenged at every turn not to drool or fall off my chair. I wanted the meetings to get over. I wanted the world to start moving again. I felt in the thrall of doom.

Then I come home with good intentions to work on some computer stuff, and up comes the Windows Update. Download Updates! It'll only take five minutes I'm promised. I'm in the depths of Hell. I fret. I play antsy in my chair. I stare at the screen hoping my system will work faster. I take a shower. I wait. I wait. I wait. I wait. Seven downloads, two restarts, and two and one half hours later. Computers updates are worse than mandatory employee training. I'm sure.

And now, I'm waiting for a guy to come over for sex. I hope he's not late.

I'm Retiring

So, one of these days, I'll have to change the catchy text at the top of this blog, because I'll no longer be a product manager. Truth be told, I'm not doing that anymore, either.

Last Friday, Ron and I went to talk to the Glitter Twins, our finance guys. I thought the talk was going to be about whether I should accept my company's buyout offer. Wrong! Instead, JK had prepared a payout schedule, telling us how much we could spend in our golden years, beginning in 2008.

I obviously didn't get it. I asked him about the package, and he said, "Oh, we're way past that." And then, "These projections are based on Ron's porfolio, only." Hmmm, chump change here. Talk about feeling like the dependent wifey. All kinds of visions (some of them not very happy) flew through my head.

I'm getting over that, though. I'm thinking I'm very fortunate to be retiring relatively young and in good health. I have a man who loves me, and I love him. Our house is paid off. Maybe this retirement thing won't be so bad after all.

And then one of the other people in the office who also got the company package came by my desk yesterday, and offered me a job for when I retire. So now I have even more choices.

I'm Delinquent in Reporting my Gay Life Style

Since the tooth incident, my gay life has not slowed down. I took some follow up photos. Nothing was quite as spectacular as the initial shot of the bloody, seething, pulpy, painful mass. I got that out of my system. The week after the extraction, I kept feeling something hard and sharp in the tooth socket. The day of my dental checkup, I was flossing, and a good-sized chunk of tooth fell into the sink. Finally, the whole tooth was out! The dentist (cute Dr. Perkins) said everyting looked okay, and an implant is probably in my future.

So what else do gay men do between teeth extractions? That's an important question (I often ask myself). The DC Lambda Squares went tubing down Antietam Creek last Saturday. The creek has a very rocky bottom, so traveling down on tubes is quite delightful if you are a versatile gay man. I think the straight people had a good time, too. Tom, who manned the rafting company's canoe, got plenty of attention from the guys; only one of us actually drooled, though. I'm fairly certain he knew his audience, and he was very good-natured about it.

Pastoral Scene on Antietam Creek,
Copyright 2006, Brian Jarvis, All Rights Reserved

And I survived the heat. It has been an incredible week, even for DC summers. I didn't see anyone melt or spontaneously combust on the sidewalks of Washington, but I would not have been surprised had it happened. The heat caused more people to ride the Metro (they probably didn't want to get caught in traffic jams on I-495). A couple of days the Metro cars were full at 6:30 in the morning. The tourists seemed to take it in good stride, and the Legg-Mason Tennis Tournament went on as scheduled. I'm used to hot weather, but this was exceptional.

The power in my office building failed Thursday morning around 11. We're on emergency backup, but I powered down immediately. Then the network went down. The phones (VOIP) went down. The lights were out. The air conditioning was off. So our work group went out to lunch. Eating seems to soothe most emergencies. In the meantime, our VP sent all employees home. I went and got a haircut, instead.

Actually, I had my hair styled. Bill, you bitch, you left me without telling me that you were going to a different salon. So I have to do the walk-in routine. There's a lot of fear in my gut, because I don't know who is going to style my hair, and Bill, I really loved you, I really did, and you left without a word.

So Donnell has entered my life. Donnell was a headliner entertainer at Ziegfeld's before evil developers bulldozed Washington's gay business district. He gave me all the dirt about the developers, politicians, management, and the girls. Donnell should have his own commentary on NPR, he's that good. And he's such a sweetheart, too, Bill.

I admit it, I'm a celebrity groupie. Donnell a.k.a. Ella Fitzgerald, when she's not entertaining the troops, wields a mean pair of scissors as a jolly, saucy, sometimes sharp-tongued gay hair stylist at one of Dupont's premiere salons. You see, having a gay life style, like I do, demands that I have a gay hair stylist like Donnell. And now I have earned some extra gay glitterati points, because of the fabulousness of Donnell's alter-ego. I am in gay heaven. And Donnell, you are such a sweetheart: not at all like Bill who spurned me for those chappies up on Capitol Hill, probably found himself a closet lobbyist or a Supreme Court justice. You never know about Bill.

Finally, this is the week of Lance Bass, and of course, I went out and bought People Magazine. Lance, your social commentary really sucks, but I love your goofy grin, anyway, and now you can enjoy the party without feeling like an uninvited guest. If I were forty years younger, you'd give me hope, being the crazy role model that you are, as I replayed all of my old N'Sync records thinking how much I love you.

I love being gay, because I love the intellectual challenge. Lance told me that's why he loves being gay, too.

Touchy-Feely

I was in a class to teach better interpersonal skills when you're basically being stressed out - how to keep communication open when the conversation has contention. The class was a pretty arduous two-day course. After the first day, I thought it was interesting in the Chinese sense. After the second day, I thought it had real value, but we covered so much material, that it should have been a three-day class.

Upfront: these kinds of personal development classes give me the willies. But the company expects you to enroll and attend. And the company pays for them. That's what autonomy is all about. I don't like PD courses at all. I feel very uncomfortable, kind of like running my fingernails across a chalkboard, then pulling out my fingernails, that kind of uncomfortable. But I wanted to give this course by best try. I'm glad I did. It was very worthwhile. Of course, had it actually been a three-day course, I might not have made it through the third day.

So this morning, I had a conversation in contention with Ron. I tried to model and practice some of the behaviors explained in the course. It was a humbling experience. It is so difficult for me to listen to others. It is so difficult for me to insist that others listen to me. It is hard to be honest. It is hard to talk to the heart of the person you love. I know why we've been together for so long - he's respectful, he's open, he's honest. I can't imagine my life without him.

The conversation was about a part of our lives that was deeply dissatisfying to me, but I just couldn't bring it up. This had been eating at me for years. So today we talked. He opens my mind and my heart. We don't have difficult conversations very often. I don't know why I'm afraid of them. I'm very happy we talked.

Rocky Mountains, Yeah!

The conference ended at noon. So after lunch, I rented a car and headed up for Estes Park to see some mountains, and to visit my brother, Steve.

US 36 winds up from Broomfield into the mountains. The road between here and Boulder is a freeway, but it quickly becomes a windy, two-lane highway. The university is on the east side of Boulder, and has what I think are some high-rise dormitories. Their architecture fits right in with the landscape - some interesting buildings from the freeway. Many stoplights later, I had navigated through Boulder, and on the west side of town I picked up two hitchikers who were on their way to the Rainbow Gathering near Steamboat Springs. They were two very friendly characters, and a little strange, with perhaps a few neurons misfiring. The older guy wanted to leave Boulder, because the woman he had been seeing realized that he wasn't Mr. Right. He spent the winters in Arizona, and the summers traveling around the country. The younger guy was from Minnesota and was preparing for about a month at the gathering. Very interesting folk. I dropped them off at the edge of Estes Park.

With advanced cell phone technology, I called Steve and he guided me to Aspen Avenue, and his home. I talked with him and his wife for a bit then he and I headed for a walk around town, some ice cream and coffee, and a visit to a couple of galleries. On the way we encountered a cow elk that had just given birth. The sidewalk was blocked off, but the cow certainly was quite able to defend her territory and her calf from any pedestrians. She bullied all comers.

Then we were attacked by the happiest dog in the world. This pooch was in a penned off shady backyard. He would take a ball and drop it on the sidewalk, clearly training all passing pedestrians to pick the ball up, then toss it back in the yard. This dog was so full of joy! Wiggly, happy, bursting with enthusiasm. So for about 10 minutes we engaged in a deep dialogue with fido (a German shorthair in extremely good athletic condition), throwing the ball into bushes, trees, benches, and he would retrieve the ball, run to the fence, and drop it at our feet outside the fence. We learned a lot about dog slobber, happiness, and catch. It was a moment of pure delight in the late afternoon in Estes Park. What a perfect metaphor for a perfect life well-lived.

The gallery we went to had some wonderful sculptures and paintings, a little pricey for my pocket book, which was fine with me, and probably a relief for Ron. I don't suppose he'd like a $1250 work of art in the living room. After the gallery, we drove up to Lily Lake and the St. Marys lodge.

We ended up eating dinner at a very nice Mexican restaurant. I thoroughly enjoyed vising Steve and Lesley. I don't get to see them very often. Steve and I have very different views of the world. Sometimes, I feel it gets in the way of our love for each other. I miss the closeness that we once had, but I love him dearly and want him and Lesley to have a wonderful life. I want him to know that I care for him and wish for him the blessings of an abundant life in his faith.

After dinner, I spent a while showing him my pictures of the Glacier trip that Ron and I took. Just going over the pictures with him brings back the trip to me. I told him that the family was planning a similar trip for Yellowstone two years from now. I hope he and Lesley can join the rest of us. I'm going to do what I can to get them there.

Then I came back to the hotel, had a beer, and wrote this.

Storytelling at the Company

John C. Thomas from IBM gave us the inside dope on corporate storytelling for usability, although he probably wouldn't call it that. He had a compelling story in his presentation about the Walking People. In the Iroquois life, storytelling was key to survival.

Throughout this conference the recurring theme of my conversations with other people is the notion of self/personal identity, and public interface/normative expectations. I believe the latter gets in the way of the former. We tamp down the passion, the pain, the joy, the hate, the lust because we want to be loved. We want to fit in. I judge myself in terms of how I think other people are judging me. Maybe no one is judging me. Maybe nobody really cares, except what I may be thinking about them.

Of course, I may be wrong, and is it a story if nobody listens?

Presentation and Identity

I've had two very interesting conversations here at the conference over the last couple of days. Last night at the opening reception, I talked with one of the presenters from the tutorial that I had taken earlier in the day. In the tutorial, he asked how many of us had blogs. I think four of us raised our hands. Then he asked why did we have blogs.

My answer in the tutorial was kind of half-assed, because I don't think that well on my feet. But at the reception, he asked me if he could read my blogs, and I told him okay. I told him that it was very difficult for me to tell him where to find them, because it was (at once, so public) so personal. Funny thing about that.

Then I went into my "All of us think we are normal" talk, and ended with it's our public presentation - what the world sees - that's what we construct as normal. What's personal is what's beneath the clothes, makeup, skin. And it's anything but normal. It's a cauldron of attitude, fear, shame, passion, guilt, in short the very motivation for the presentation. It's our public presentation that people love, and it so unnerves us, because what's underneath that presentation, that which no one knows or sees, is what we really our, and it scares us to death.

So, the speaker in today's last session is a professional storyteller, and she spoke about storytelling, primarily as it affects the imaginations of children, and how it should be part of the public school curriculum. Afterwards, I went up and talked with her about storytelling, and I connected it with my blogging experience. It's here, right here reader, right on this blog where you can read it, that I feel vulnerable, raw, disoriented, and fearful. It's the very same place from which storytellers tell their stories. The honest storyteller is compelling because the tale is one that touches the heart, and finally enlivens the soul. I write my blog because it turns me from a technogeek into a very human geek.

Tidbits I've Heard

If the toolbox metaphor didn't exist, would we create it and put it in our toolboxes?

Users consider tasks to be obstacles in the way of achieving their goals.

This Week, Colorado

I'm hanging out at the Omni Interlocken just outside of Denver. I'm at a conference of the Usability Professionals Association (UPA). This is my third or fourth time. I like this conference because it's all about results. The people who attend are mostly practioners, and usually young ones, at that. I feel like an old man. The only people my age are some of the presenters or consultant predators looking for lucrative engagements. I'm also a bit out of step, because many of these folks come from usability shops, and I come from the business product side of the house.

I like the questioning, the sharing of ideas, the sets of usability methods that people are talking about. It's a good way to checkpoint my own practices, which because of circumstance, often are not the best. Some of these people practice state-of-the-art usability, and I practice seat-of-my-pants. But we're all trying to do the same thing - create a better experience for users. Of course, we hope it increases our business, or web traffic, or what other metric used to measure success.

I talked with a consultant with which my company used to do business. We had an interesting talk, and I'm hoping we can talk again before the end of the conference. He had some interesting perspectives on the progress (regress?) that usability has taken at home. He had a unique view of some decisions made about how to proselitize usability in the company. I think we lost the usability war, but I'm trying to win skirmishes one day at a time. It's been a difficult transition, and usability is hard to manage out of a product group. I think the awareness is in our company's development, QA, and management groups, but no clear vision of how to make it happen.

My brother and I talked last night. He lives in Estes Park, about 45 miles northwest of here. I'm going to rent a car on Friday and drive up there. It's been a year since we've seen each other. We had a long phone conversation last night. I love the guy dearly.