bflynn

What Can Be Said?

What can I say about my boys, the Red Sox, which has not already been said by my friends this morning? They are a beacon of hope in a dreary world, even while they raise in us such high anxiety it is hardly to be believed. Who didn’t have heart palpitations last night, with Foulke up, facing the go ahead run in the bottom of the 9th having walked two? Who didn’t wonder if a ball sailing over a right field wall would dash our hopes of life and further sleeplessness? Who failed to marvel as umpires got not one, but two difficult calls correct?

Not I — that can be said.

For the record, I would also like to state that I honestly thought Alex Rodriguez was a better man than that. I have not forgotten that his youth and mine coincided in Seattle.

And tonight, hope again! And fear, my friends. Fear that destiny, fate, and long history move us towards heartbreak once again. Hope that this year, this time, this at bat, might be different. In a world where polling numbers and analysts tell us who we will elect, where reality tv is shot months before we watch it, where even a baby’s face and sex are known before it is birthed… two great nations stand facing each other, and do not know whether the morning brings joy and exultation, or the bitter and ashy taste of defeat.

How few things we do not, or do not expect to know in advance. How ill-prepared we are for the mystery of wait and see. But we were not supposed to be here. The prophets told us our hope was lost, our cause barren. The sages said that it had never been done before. Our own hearts told us that our team labors always under an ill star. But we are here. We hope. We live. We strive.

And all that may be said with certainty is that tomorrow, we will awaken to a great emotion. One nation will stand. One will fall. And the roll call of history will go on.

Vienna and Venice

I always find it rather overwhelming to contemplate writing complete updates of exciting adventures, especially when they’re 10 days in length. I mean, I wax on for the equivalent of two pages on a relatively boring weekend. What will my tally then be for an exciting 10 days? So then I put it off… and before you know it, I never did give you an update. So instead, I try to be concise. Clear. To the point. Shan’t use a word more than necessary. I shall be the soul of brevity, giving you only so much information (as is dictated by my wisdom and experience as an English major graduated from the august educational institution that is Connecticut College) as I consider to be elucidating and interesting, and critical to the story of our adventures, or, as they may be called, misadventures. I shall take no tangents, and my clauses (if I have any) shall be short and unparenthetical. Indeed, when I am done with this update, you shall all be comparing the sparseness of my prose to that of Hemingway, or others of the great sparse authors. Every sentence, every word, every syllable shall be key to the telling of the tale, and well-considered before being allowed entry into my tally.

Aw hell. Or maybe I’ll just use bullet points.

The journey in
We left work. We cleaned house. We finished packing. We took a taxi to the airport. We boarded our plane. The horrors! Seats! They were in the middle! Would sleep be ours? We feared.

Indeed, worst fears were realized. Sleep came but slowly. When at last it settled upon leaden lids, true tragedy struck. A woman in front of us had a heart attack, just over the point of no return. Doctors worked furiously for over an hour. She departed — we are told with good chance of recovery — when we landed in Shannon, Ireland.

We missed our connections. We slept not. We did not arrive in Vienna until 8 hours after our intentions. We were not met at the airport as promised.

The first encounters of Vienna.
Weary, we sought sustenance of the Austrian sort. Guided by hotel clerk, we went to the Cafe Wiemar. Write that down, friends, for if ever you find yourself in Vienna, it should be your first stop. Had hungarian goulash soup and wiener schnitzel. Had to bodily prevent husband from proposing to waiter who brought him hungarian goulash.

The time before the three Hacken struck
Our first full day, saw many dead bodies. Went to the imperial crypts. Saw increasingly ornate coffins of kaisers. Went to St. Stephens — creepiest cathedral in the known world, where even the statues frown menacingly down upon you. Went to catacombs below St. Stephens. Somewhat surprised that they seemed friendlier than the church. Saw really creepy pit where plague victims were indiscriminantly thrown, ossuaries, and rooms simply stacked with bones.

Then saw Roman ruins under the city.

Encountered that which is known as “creme schnitte”. Life will never be the same again, nor would I have it be. Made conversation with two short gay Jewish guys from New York.

Went back to room to dress in finery. Looked great. Shoes a tragic mistake. Like Cinderalla’s, they kept slipping off. Had tapfenspitz for dinner. Quite good. Gamers will come to know well in future days. Went to opera. Husband nearly killed me for picking such unpractical shoes. Opera quite as fantastic as hoped. Seats were amazing. There were even supertitles, to our everlasting relief. Came to the quick conclusion that the heroine of “The Flying Dutchman” a complete nutcase. Opera proceeded to last another 4 hours. After opera conclusion, had famous chocolate after-opera cake. Didn’t like it as well as creme schnitte, but ok.

Next day fewer dead bodies. More instruments of killing. Spent morning looking at the collection of arms and armour at the imperial palace, followed by the early instrument collection. Bought a toy morningstar in gift shop — plush. Bashed husband with it, playfully.

Went to Cafe Wiemar for fortification with Hungarian Goulash Soup. Husband spent time making up odes to it. Bought me some jewelry when thus softened by its paprika-y goodness. Went back to hotel to meet old college friend, “The Overlord of the Balkans” (TOOTB) — Mr. Hackett.

The strike of the Three Hacken
After feeding with the fine hungarian goulash of Cafe Wiemar, took Tootb to downtown Vienna where a run-in was had with Die BackenMeister. Boys barely dissuaded from trying to break into catacombs — probably by lack of liquid fortification. Using Tootb’s unerring sense, we located a bar called “Das Three Hacken”. Took this as a sign. Went in. Ordered three beers known as Edelweiss.

Having completed quota, proceeded to another bar. Ordered another Edelweiss. Came to the stunning and urgent conclusion that there were Irish songs that needed singing. Stopped a man on a street to ask way to nearest Irish pub. Happened to be (we think?) Irishman. Demanded to know the recipient of our votes before helping him. From directions given, unsure whether he was a democrat or republican. Eventually found bar anyway. Sang Irish songs loudly and badly, fortified by additional application of Guinness.

Came to realization we were too drunk to stumble home. Wisely ordered cab.

Tootb left following morning early, a stronger man than we. We slept until noon.

Further adventures in Austria
Upon waking, we went to medieval art museum at Belvedere. Then to a palace with labrynth and beautiful building high on hill called “Gloriana”. Watched sun set over good Austrian coffee in the Gloriana. Glorious. Went back to Cafe Wiemar for further application of Hungarian Goulash.

Managed to figure out how to rent a car, and do so. A Smart car. Breathing sighs of great gratitude that at least we already knew how to drive a standard, departed parking garage. Realized 10 minutes later that following signs for “Einbahn” with arrows was unlikely to lead to freeway since Einbahn means one way. Administered dope slaps, and got on freeway. Drove past spectacular scenery to city of Graz. Where parking costs more than even in Boston. Went to cool armory. Saw thousands upon thousands of bladed weapons, armor and early guns. (Matchlock!) Actually got to see a real, live, true version of exactly what I imagine my character’s weapons to be. Had argument with husband who insisted it is a flail. Told him I knew my own weapon when I saw it. Bought little copy of morningstar/flail in giftshop, along with roughly 4000 other books. Attempted to get to ancient Roman ruins, but were thwarted by the only mean Austrians to be encountered the entire journey. Returned weary to Vienna.

Next day, having concluded that if I did not take my husband to the Papyrus Museum I would hear about it for the rest of my natural life, we began with a quick trip to the Voltskirk (a favorite), and the Papyrus Musum. Itch scratched. Got back into car and begin to drive to Alps. Absolutely gorgeous. Babbling streams. Ruined castles. Bucolic fields. Turning leaves. High fabulous mountains. Hairpin turns. Fun driving. Got husband swiss hat. High point of entire vacation. Happily, only day of good weather in Austria was most important.

The journey to Venice
Took train to Venice. Many stops along the way. Spotted many exciting castle ruins. Need to go back to investigate. Wonder if next week would be too soon. Came up with corrolary, “In the dark, everything’s a castle!”. Alps beautiful, but train mostly went under, not through. Landscape suddenly flattened — suddenly Roman aquaducts make sense. Arrived in Venice late and carried luggate roughly 30 miles in search of hotel. Venice much more difficult to navigate than Vienna. Many bridges to go up and down. Found eventually, and collapsed.

The city of bad street signs
Next morning, went out to see St. Marks. Noticed high water in canals. Got to St. Marks square. Entire thing under 2 feet of water. Got onto duck walk. Ended up in Doge’s palace instead of St. Mark’s Cathedral. Saw many more ways of killing people (another armory) and far more roccoco baroque works with little cherubs than already weakened constitutions can handle. Fled from crowds and confusion in square. Noticed the impossibility of going and returning the same way in Venice. Resolved to return after dinner.

Had fine dinner, cost of which might have fed entire sub-Saharan Africa. Returned hopefully to St. Marks cathedral, having been assured that St. Marks was always open. After 2 miles of walking, found it closed. Sat looking longingly at it. Returned defeated to hotel.

Next morning, arose bound and determined to see St. Marks regardless. Square only full of 1 foot of water upon arrival. Managed to get in, hear some of mass sung in latin, see some works. Saw only reference entire trip to pifarri — a high, out-of-the-way drawing showed them. No other Venetians seemed to ever have heard of them. Finally, got to get into St. Marks. As glorious, golden and delightful as imagined. Maybe more. Took fill of mosaics. Spent nearly 4 hours. Finally emerged hungry but satisfied.

The closing of the chapter
Returned by yet another route to hotel and spent remainder of night reading Wodehouse in bathtub. Would recommend reading “Picadilly Jim”. Packed.

Awoke at 3 am. Went to airport before it opened. Went to Amsterdam. Had darn good nap on floor. Flew home. Arrived to find cats safe, and Red Sox still in it.

Philosophical reflections
Find self refreshed, renewed and restored — not only by the vacation, but by 10 days thinking of other things. Energy and spirits are high. Not even dreading winter with usual vigor. The holiday was well-conceived, and was wonderful. Wish all of you could have same.

The hills are alive

In a week and a half, A. and I will be winging our way across the Pond to regions Tuetonic. 10 days and several hours from now, we will be listening to the tale of the Flying Dutchman and the woman who loved him, against all odds. We will travel to see medieval arms and armour. We will hike in the Alps, and I will think not a little of Heidi. We will travel by rail over high, historic mountains to a city founded on Friday, March 25 at noon in the year 421 on marshy islands. I will stand inside St. Marks and if God has truly blessed me, I might even hear the polypony I so often imagined. I’ll see too the poryphory statues of the tetrarchs, the mosaics, the four mysterious horses of St. Marks. I’ll see the winged-lion of the Most Serene Republic. And I’ll pay way too much to sit in a cafe and drink coffee — perhaps the same cafe frequented by Lord Byron and Dickens.

It seems more than a thousand miles distant from where I sit now. It is a world distant. It is a place I visited often in fancy, but where I have rarely travelled at all lately, even in the realm of the mind. I have become too focused — to concentrated on a small and arcane realm of the world. Granted it pays well, but I yearn for vistas again. And I shall see them. And that, friends, makes me a very lucky woman.

Modern sinfulness

Sinfulness just isn’t something I *feel* very much. I very rarely walk around despairing of my own sinfulness. That sort of diminishes the power of grace, when you don’t feel the weight of sin.

But I was thinking today that I’d love to not feel guilty, even for a little while. I forgot to give my guest a clean pillowcase last night. Guilt. I didn’t talk to everyone as much as I wished last night. Guilt. I think I was too preachy in Sunday school today. Guilt. I’m behind in planning some things. Guilt. I complain too much. Guilt. I spent money on things I don’t actually need. Guilt. I didn’t talk to a single guest in church today. Guilt. I don’t practice my trumpet much anymore. Guilt. I haven’t talked to my parents much lately. Guilt. I’m working right now. Guilt for working. If I wasn’t working, I’d be feeling guilty for not working.

So imagine, maybe, if God’s grace for me was not about removing the weight of sin, but instead the weight of guilt. What if I could give him all my own guilt, and come off scott-free and feather light? Maybe what Augustine and Paul were talking about — the weight of that sin — maybe I *DO* feel the same thing, but I call it guilt. And maybe God would be willing to take that from me, if I asked.

Religious action vs religious belief

I’ve been thinking lately about the difference between belief and action in a life of faith. One of our hosts at our Maine retreat was raised an observant Jew, and obviously since it was a Christian Education youth retreat, most of the rest of us came from Christian backgrounds. At one point in an excellent discussion, he pointed out that being Jewish had very little to do with belief, and a lot to do with inheritance and observance. You could think the whole Yahweh thing was so much hogwash, but if you were born Jewish and lived according to the law, you were still Jewish. (Forgive me, friends, if that’s an oversimplification.)

Christianity, meanwhile, has evolved to be almost exclusively belief-based. If you (yes you!) wanted to join my church, all you’d have to say is, “I believe in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior”. You don’t have to promise to quit having multiple wives, murdering people, cheating the poor, robbing from the blind, etc. The criteria for being Christian has become almost entirely based upon orthodoxy of belief. And lest you blame that on the dissolute modern era, the very first big ol’ schism of the church was the so called Arian heresy (c. 350?) that claimed that Jesus was not coeternal with God the father. Tons of Christians died fighting this difference of belief out.

I’d like to point out that nowhere in the gospels does Jesus claim to be coequal and coeternal with God the Father. At least, I haven’t seen it anywhere. I’d also like to point out that Jesus spends almost no time talking about where he fits into a trinitarian theology. Instead, he talks a lot about helping the poor, being kind to others, etc.

Now, Jesus does talk about belief. There’s the father who prays my favorite prayer, “Lord, I believe. Help my disbelief.” And Jesus says, at one point, “No man comes to the father but by me.” But I would argue that Jesus himself give priority to right-acting over right-believing.

For example, with the youth group all of last year, I taught about a passage in Matthew. It’s a scene of final judgement. The righteous people (the Pharisees and keepers of the law, as I see them) stand self-certain in front of the judge, and he gives them hell because while they may have kept ritual purity laws, and believed the right things, they were not kind to him. And since they worry a lot about important people, and the judge is obviously important, they protest that they never neglected him. He tells them that he is the poor people, and in not helping the poor, they were not helping him. Then he welcomes the dirty people (the people who worked with their hands, upon whom that first group heaped scorn for their failure to abide by the laws, or their superstitious stupid beliefs), and thanks them for being kind to him. And they’re confused — they’re not even usually supposed to TALK to big important people like that. When did they help him? And of course, he gives the same answer. Whatever you did for the poor and needy among us, you did for me.

I love that scripture. Anyway, my point is that Jesus clearly gives priority to right-acting over right-believing — at least in that passage. But I don’t think that means law-abiding-ness. I think that means kindness. And I think that he would find cruel-acting in order to punish wrong-believing anathema. Which is, of course, exactly what we Christians have done for the last 1967 years.

I am an evangelical Christian (please note the little “e” not the big “E”). To me, that means that I have a story of hopeful and meaningful living to offer. I believe Christianity can help guide people towards lives which are better, and offers the hope of a life after this living. I believe there are many people who live lives devoid of hope, meaning, and joy, and that Christianity may help them. So if I encounter someone who needs a path towards joyous, hopeful living, I offer them what I have: Christianity.

However, I think it would be the height of arrogance to decide and announce that I happened to be born into and introduced to the ONLY right way to believe.

Instead, I will try to choose to see the right-acting. You could be a born-again Christian who attacks others for believing “wrongly”, says that the poor and destitute deserved their fates for not working hard, and earns money by cheating the poor. Or you could be an agnostic or atheist or Pagan or Muslim or Jew who is kind towards people in your daily life, tries to do no harm towards others, and would not want to profit at other’s expenses. I will take the right-acter over the right-believer any day of the week.

Stop. Rest. Think. Pray.

This Sunday’s sermon was about time. It was our (beloved) pastor’s first Sunday back after a 3 month sabbatical. He talked about the Sabbath — the divinely mandated one day in seven of rest. He talked about how God himself, after a hard week making creation, took a break. He raised the question: who are we, to think that our labors are more important and more critical than God’s governance of the created world? He could and did rest. Are we so much more integral to the running of the universe?

And he was talking to me and I knew it.

But he didn’t condemn me. And he didn’t say that the working and the striving are bad. He just reminded me that time needs to be taken for all things in this world. God did work hard for the six days. He may even have pulled all-nighters.

We had dinner with a friend from church. He owns his own business in order to make his own hours. He theorizes that we Americans are so busy because if we stop, the silence of the void within us might echo back. And so we’re afraid to stop. I’m pretty sure that my inner life is not echoing. I believe it to be rich, and have taken time for it. But he may very well be right, that it is not a comfortable thing to stop and hear.

My pastor also made a suggestion. In our bulletin was a corny little photocopy of four windows. Pick, he said, four windows of time between now and Thanksgiving. Make them good blocks — four hours or so. For those four windows, stop. Rest. Think. Pray. Do not even plan to do those little hobbies that fill up the corners of our time. Allow that time to be open. Do not do the chores. Do not plan ahead. Do not prepare. Stop. Rest. Be at peace, four times for four hours.

And he is right. I need to.

I threw away my bulletin with the little four windows. But I have before me my calendar — a pretty Presbyterian calendar that I always hope will remind me from whence my time on this world came. I must, of course, coordinate with my husband (who will point out that I do not have these quotes verbatim — that’s what they said to ME dearheart, whether or not it’s what came out of their mouths). But I will do it. I will find four fours. I will obligate myself to let go. I will mark them on my calendar, and they will be inviolate. And I will stop, rest, think and pray.

How I came to love coffee

My love is a love shared with many others — coffee.

I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, home of Starbucks. Around 1994, when I was coming of age and learning to drive (damn, am I THAT old? I am!), Starbucks was creating it’s second wave of franchises. Coffee creations, for the first time, became HUGE in the region. You defined yourself by what you drank, how many modifiers were applied to it, your mug — the whole thang. Cool people worked as baristas in Starbucks. (I secretly wanted to. Still do, actually.)

I didn’t like coffee. But someone convinced me to try a cafe mocha. And it was good. Oh, so good. Soon, I had the Starbucks on all my major routes identified. I remember the Starbucks I always stopped at on my way to orchestra rehearsal on sunny Saturday mornings — listening to Car Talk and delighted to be up early to play Sibelius. There was the Starbucks near the Tacoma Mall, great for when one was running errands. There’s the South Hill Starbucks (next to where the Safeway used to be), great for when I was going to a theater event with my godfather. There was the Enumclaw Starbucks — sustenance when going to visit my grandparents. Often the first and last coffee after backpacking.

Having dived into the world of caffeinated beverages for the first time, I started drinking brewed coffee with my Dad. Since I took up the habit, I’ve usually had 2 16 ounce Starbucks mugs of coffee a day. One poured fresh, and one in a thermos. I used to keep my coffee in a stainless steel mug in my locker during first period Math because Mr. Johnson wouldn’t let me drink it in class. It was still pretty warm by English time.

When I left for college, coffee became a tangible connection to HOME. Starbucks was still rare on the East Coast, and I would go way out of my way for a mocha. A friend’s dad once drove me 20 minutes one morning to get one. He doesn’t remember, but I do. My parents would meet me at the gate with a mocha.

Unfortunately, I can’t handle mochas anymore. They hurt my stomach. I still drink 32 or so ounces of coffee a day, and it still says home and security for me. (It also says headache and exhaustion if I don’t have it.)

Coffee is a comfort food — happily I take it black so it’s a 0 calorie comfort food. It’s a joy to me. And it helps make mornings bearable for me.

Archaic skills

At points in your life, you learn skills that you think never to use again. But somehow, inevitably, that archaic skillset becomes valuable once again.

When I was in Mozambique, the water only ran for like 4 hours a day. (They ran the generator to pump the water to a holding tank, and when the tank was dry, there was no more water.) Even when it ran, it wasn’t warm. So we had big tubs of water in the kitchen we used the rest of the time.

In my 10 weeks there, I became adept at bathing using only 2 or 3 pitchers full of boiling water. (They had neat, very fast, electric kettles out there.) You learn things — like most of the water you use bathing this way comes in rinsing, not soaping.

Well, our hot water heater is kaput. (Whether temporarily or permanently, I know not.) And we had just finished a two mile run and lifted weights in high humidity. No matter how you slice it, I needed a bath. So, I took one, using those obsolete skills.

Sitting on the floor of the bathub, my soaped skin slightly chill to the touch, shaving my legs… I remembered that the last time I had done that, I’d gotten blood poisoning from it. Here’s hoping Malden’s water is better treated.

And so it begins

It’s August. August should be hot and humid. August rises in waves from blacktop pavement, and smells of tar. August fans itself laconically in the shade, hardly fathoming the concept of being comfortable, never mind cool. August sears to the bone with its heat, melting the ice still lingering on in the marrow of a New Englander. July rises us, like bread dough put near a hot stove, and August bakes us into tall loaves, ready to be taken from the oven.

Well, a normal August does. This year, I’m afraid. For the second year in a row we have a temperate August. We had a few hot, humid, properly miserable August days. But now there’s an autumnal tint to the air. The skies are clear and blue. The breezes are cool and crisp. The grasses are still green. Now, don’t get me wrong, this is my favorite weather. But for August, it is simply wrong. We have slipped straight from June to September once again, my friends. The icicles in my veins still cool my heart with every drop of blood.

Watching the colors turn in autumn is like watching a child grow old. You love each stage, and yearn for more — the first word… the first sentence… learning to read… learning to write… But you know that eventually your baby will be a man full grown and leave you. A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife. So does summer go. It goes beautifully, here in the Northeast. The breath catches in the chest as the leaves turn yellow and gold in the slanting October sun — just as your child riding a bike by himself for the first time. And as beautiful as that moment is, it also foretells the future of absence.

Today, I saw a flash of scarlet on the side of the road. A shrub, in a wetland (always the first to go), has signalled defeat and raises a vermillion flag of surrender. It is early. Possibly the shrub is diseased, or otherwise in difficulty. But it is the first. In time, even the mightiest and healthiest of maples shall bow to the inevitable and strip themselves of their summer garmets.

And I am not ready. Another summer like last — short and cool. Another winter like last — harsh and frigid. I am becoming like the Arctic permafrost. I feel the beginnings of a glacier forming in my inmost center. The summer was not hot enough or long enough to melt off last winter’s snow, nor the winter before. It grows and accumulates, and becomes a powerful river of ice, scouring the landscape.

And there is nothing I can do but brace myself, and look longingly at the velvet night sky — too clear for August — and hope.

Amusing job posting

I was just contacted by a recruiter who wanted to know if: 1) I was available 2) I had any friends 3) I knew of any good ColdFusion boards. Striking out on 1 & 2, I sent him the classifieds section of the ColdFusion boards. Just idly looking, if found a job posting with the following. I find it hilarious — such sad and sordid tales the writer must have experienced! Thank God I work where I do!
————————-

Please ONLY respond if you:

1. Have RECENT experience with Cold Fusion & SQL Server (NOTE: 3 years ago is NOT recent).

2. Are available to work at least 35 hours per week RIGHT NOW (NOTE: 20-25 is not equal to 35).

3. Are willing and able to speak on the telephone during business hours, return calls, and you’re able to communicate well in English. You must also have a telephone number at which we can reach you – and not by appointment only. If you object at all to speaking on the phone, please do NOT respond. If you tell us later that you don’t like to talk on the phone or prefer email, you’ll be immediately taken off the job.

4. Are the type of person who calls the project manager if you don’t understand something in the spec. Making assumptions and doing things your way is NOT acceptable.

5. Understand that a deadline is a deadline and must be met. Missing any deadline without our prior approval means that the project will be reassigned.

6. Are familiar with working on sites hosted on web servers of hosting companies AND understand what FTP is. If you’re a programmer and you don’t know what FTP is, we really don’t want to hear from you. Also, if you don’t know where to find files on a web server, you don’t have the experience we’re looking for. Files are not always in the root!

7. Have a developmental server and computer set up that you can use to work on and the necessary tools to complete the job. You must be ready to start work. NOTE: If you do not have these tools and are willing to work onsite here where we do have the tools, you may still respond.

8. Are willing to work initially for a short time with no money upfront realizing that you will only be paid some money when we see some work done. (We are willing to pay incrementally when we see an area of the project completed and we’ve tested it to ensure it works. In certain instances, we’re willing to allow you to show us work on your server if you are nervous about payment. While we can’t pay for any entire element while we’re viewing it on your server (unless you give us FTP and database access), we’ll be glad to make a partial payment once we see that portion working properly and then pay the balance when you move it to our server. We’ve been burned too many times. We realize you may also have been burned but we do want an ongoing relationship with you. We’re a business and we’ll sign a contract with you ensuring payment.) If you write code that doesn’t work properly, we can’t pay for it. You are welcome to take it with you as it’s of no use to us and we don’t want it.

PLEASE DO NOT RESPOND IF:

1. Any military body you were in erased any part of your memory which now prevents you from remembering the spec (even if you just read it 2 seconds ago) or when the deadline falls.

2. You are egotistical, rude, argumentative and/or aggressive — particularly to women. Please go do that somewhere else.

3. You are a nervous wreck on the verge of a breakdown because: (a) your marriage is on the verge of falling apart and you’re emotionally unstable as a result; (b) your child(ren) scream(s) 23.9 hours a day which makes it too hard for you to work; (c) your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend doesn’t like you freelancing and/or demands that you take care of the baby for 12 hours a day and you think you can do our work before 6 a.m. and after 11 p.m. and still stay awake and conscious and not give us complete and utter junk — you can’t; or (d) any other reason not mentioned. If you need constant handholding and compassion from us in order to avoid having a complete nervous breakdown which you’re always on the verge of, we can’t help you, sorry. We can’t be your marriage counselor, psychotherapist or your confidante. If you need any of the above, please find them elsewhere.

4. More than 2 projects at a time puts you over the edge with stress about getting them done; whereas less than 2 projects at a time also puts you over the edge with financial worries. We have many projects and we need a person who can multi-task. If you can’t, don’t respond.

5. You’re the type of person who uses profanity or inappropriate material in naming your variables or in your testing. “Got really drunk last night” is not appropriate in a business environment. Naming variables after sexual organs is also not appropriate.

6. You believe in abandoning projects BEFORE they are finished or missing deadlines you set for those projects. (Even if you are the greatest programmer on earth, we’re not paying you if the job isn’t finished and finished ON TIME. It’s worth nothing to us otherwise.) If you frequently use excuses for missing deadlines, PLEASE do not respond. We are really not interested in hearing that you need another 2 weeks to complete our 2 week project because: your mother died three times in a year (unless you really do have three mothers — and next time we hear that, we’ll ask for proof!); your unexpected house closing prevents you from working (the closing is NEVER THAT unexpected, we’ve bought houses); you have to go to a wedding at the last minute in another state; you suddenly have to move out of the area; you have unexpected friends from out of town that you need to socialize with; you forgot the deadline and thought you said 20 weeks for the project instead of 2 weeks; you did too many drugs in the 70s/80s/90s and can’t think straight anymore; you thought the deadline was just made up to make you work harder; you had ‘top secret’ classification in the military and they erased your memory when you got out and you can’t remember everything you used to be able to; you hired your buddy to do part of the work and he let you down and didn’t do it; you found out you’re losing another job and feel depressed about it so you can’t work; your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend doesn’t like you working so much and needs to hold your hand while you watch TV for four hours a day so you can’t meet the deadline; your pet tarantula died and you’re too depressed to work; you’re hung over; your sister’s mother’s aunt’s niece’s daughter got picked up by the cops and you need to disappear for 2 weeks; your internet connection died but you’re still able to send ridiculously long emails explaining what happened — you’re just not able to do any work for the next week; you can’t connect to the database anymore because the hosting company upgraded to a different version and you don’t want to download the trial version upgrade because big brother could be watching you; your laptop crashed and even though you have 6 other machines on hand, you’d prefer to rebuild your laptop for the next month than to do the work that we’re paying you for; you forgot that your friends were going to have 3 beach picnics and 4 parties when you said you’d do the work and you completely forgot your aunt’s 61st birthday, your best buddy’s kegger and your husband/wife’s family reunion picnic, and you’d prefer to attend those than get the work done.) etc., etc., etc.

We’ve already heard all the most outrageous excuses and we’re REALLY NOT interested in hearing any others.

6. You are a prima donna programmer who thinks that you can do the work your own way, deviating from the specs, and that we should find it acceptable. We won’t. There is ONLY one spec: OURS. Not the one that exists in your head. Not the one you think it should be. Just the spec you were sent. If you don’t want to work on that spec as we’ve written it, then tell us that upfront. But don’t deliver something else. That’s not what you were hired for. It may be absolutely brilliant, but it isn’t what the customer asked for so it’s useless to us and we cannot pay you for it. If you don’t understand something in the specs provided to you, don’t ever ASSUME. Call. If you think something is stupid, CALL. If we say do it anyway, do it. We know the client. We’ve been over all the “stupid” things with the client.

7. You are not able to comment and document the work you complete.

8. You believe in bidding on a job for one price and then decide later on that you want more money to finish the work that you bid on in the first place or you think that doing the job is one price, actually making the work live, is another??? PLEASE NOTE: If the specs change, we expect you to want more money. If they don’t change, we WON’T pay you more to do the work you bid on. If you underbid the job because you didn’t read the specs, whose fault is that? It’s not ours.

9. You do not understand that in order to bid on a job that requires modifying work that already exists, you need to FIRST take a run through the front end of that project and review any existing code. It is not acceptable to later on say that you didn’t realize there were other pages that this needed to work with because you didn’t go through all 3 pages of the project before you bid!!! Nor is it acceptable to say you missed the deadline because it took you longer than expected to review the existing code or there was a learning curve with the existing code. Reviewing the existing code before you bid, solves this problem. I don’t care if you were a DBA for 100 years, no one is so brilliant that they don’t need to review the existing code!

10. If we have a tense moment or we say that we don’t like the way you did some work and that it’s not absolutely perfect and you’re not the greatest programmer God ever put upon the earth and/or, we don’t constantly stroke your ego and reassure you that you’re wonderful every 5 minutes, you go off and sulk like a baby and when we try to call you to discuss it, you let the answering machine get it, listen to our message and then respond seconds later with a nasty mean email. Be a grown up, pick up the phone and talk about it.

11. You’re incapable of doing preliminary testing. If an element of a project contains a link to add an item, a link to modify an item and a link to delete an item, then all 3 of those should work BEFORE you say it’s done. If there is an image to be uploaded in one of those links, test it. Don’t say later that it works as long as the image isn’t modified! That’s one of the features of the project! It’s not done until it works!

12. You don’t understand that a deadline is a deadline. You set the deadline. If you miss it and tell us on the day the work is due, the work is useless to us. No excuse covers that. NONE. If the spec consists of 5 areas and you deliver 3 of those by the deadline, the work is NOT complete by the deadline. Making excuses about how well you’ve done the 3 areas and that you were going to complete the other 2 areas within the next few days is not good enough. You set the deadline. Deliver the work on or before the deadline. ALL the work, not some of it.

Sadly, ALL of the above situations and examples have happened with other developers we’ve subcontracted work to during the last 6.5 years. We’re looking for someone who is serious and wants to make some money working with us. We’ve got so much work that we’re turning away projects right now because we don’t have the right people working with us. We don’t want to treat you like a kid and certainly don’t want to be your mother or father. Are you a grown up? Can you communicate normally and talk on the phone? Do you want to make some money in return for work? Can you meet deadlines you set? If you are solid and reliable, with verifiable references (your best buddy from high school, your cousin or your girlfriend are not acceptable references), and are looking to form an ongoing relationship with a web development firm and make serious money working for us over a long period of time, we’d like to speak with you. We will provide more details as soon as we speak with you.

Otherwise, if this isn’t right for you, we totally understand and wish you all the luck in the world.