I think it's about time I had a blog blog, so I'm going to donate a substantial portion of the next 1000 words or so to blogging blogging.
Last month was a good month in many ways. First, the project I'd been working on for four long months reached an abrupt, if still satisfactory conclusion. Yes, this is the very same platform migration of colossal, Earth-shaking proportions that I've spent a large chunk of my non-work time (I can't even bring myself to put in 'socialize' in there) describing in painstaking detail to everyone who's had a brush with me in the recent past. (You're gladder than I am that it's done, I'm sure.)
It was, from beginning to end, an utterly pointless exercise; ironically, its utter pointlessness may well prove to be its saving grace, because it really was a textbook manual on inanity. The sort whose existence managers will vehemently deny till they're dead standing, but the sort they'll pore over at night till their eyes pop out and their wives begin plotting murder. Well, 100 words ago, I said it was a 'satisfactory' project, and it was. To me. Any immodesty incidental, but all that bad management meant I got myself one hell of an engineering problem to tackle, and nobody to help me out with it. There's nothing geekoid programmers love more than a good, old fashioned silo - just the memory of the sweet, slightly musty smell of nobody-elseness is enough to make me smile.
The Real Engineering Projekt™ brought home a few uncomfortable truths though:
1) All my pretensions towards having a great work-life balance were just that, because the moment I was hit with a problem that needed me to work overtime, I went ahead and worked overtime, bloggingreadingsocializingsleeping be darned. I'm not proud, and especially because I am proud.
2) I might as well live with approval addiction because I didn't really get reimbursed for all the midnight whale oil I burnt. Just a pat on the back, a 'Good Job' and I was happy as a stray dog at midnight.
That's that about work and any attempts to portray extreme joy as bottomless despair. The second big thing that happened last month was: I was at Oasis! Oasis - I don't really have to do this because I have a readership of one, and I'm a BITSian, but delusions make the world go round - is BITS Pilani's annual cultural festival.
I had, as my dearest friends don't hesitate to remind me from time to time, back when I was a BITSian sworn on all the ancient pagan Gods that no force in heaven and hell could make me go back to the godforsaken place again. Yet there I was, all set to hop on to a plane the moment Rakul spoke the magic words ('Lone! Pilani?'). In my defence, going back as an alumnus was cathartic. (I can walk the SWD corridor without peeing my pants now, yay!)
The Oasis trip was very... I really need to clamp down on my fingers here, because there's a huge chronicle in the works right now, and I don't want to take anything away from that. Ah, yes, I promised one last year too, didn't I? Blame those dirty, thin-moustached, Vajra stalking pickpockets for that not happening! It was in that mobile phone that I'd built up a huge collection of notes, secure in the knowledge that with all my memories jotted down, I could flesh out a proper narrative any time. Pensieve-esque, eh? You, pickpocket! At least have the decency to return my notes, will you? Keep the phone, keep the phone. What? The address? You can text it to me, you nitwi.. er, sir!
Then there was the Metallica concert. Now that MegaDave is all chummy with Little Lars, it's no longer quite so sacrilegious, eh? Not that I would have missed it for anything. There's nothing quite like 30,000 like-minded people packed into one place. The bonhomie (and I've never used that word in a sentence before) was palpable, the odd spaced-out drunk notwithstanding. Rain, terrible organization, backpacked people losing their backpacks while I, I, the First Backpacker himself was not carrying one, the fat band manager trying to babytalk metalheads into doing some military drill, it all combined to make the perfect hodgepodge for a perfect Sunday evening out.
Last, I somehow got talked into being part of an in-house film that'll be shown at campus recruitments. It wasn't so terrible as I thought, because I didn't spend 427 minutes doing 800 retakes of me sitting down in a sofa. I'd like to think it was my awesome camera presence that made that happen, but that little voice of reason in my right ear tells me that it was probably because the film makers just couldn't be bothered. But, hey, bad things did happen - for example, I.. I... had make up put on.
So, dear BITSian juniors, if during your placements you happen to see me blathering in a sugary sweet, thoroughly fake (a la 'It's Magic') video, know this for truth: I did it under pain of death!