He that writes to himself writes to an eternal public. -Emerson

Monday, August 27, 2012

New Job, part 3: The Work

What do I do for work, and why tell you now?  To answer the second question first:  because now, a good many months later, I have an answer and, fortunately, the question is still relevant.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring, so let us speak today.

I am a big picture guy.  I say this not just because I think a big picture is often needed to understand context, to get a sense of the size of a problem, to see what it is we are all trying to do, but also because I actually draw big pictures, for example, the one shown here:


This diagram (technically a Sankey diagram, because I want to know how much data is going where) is useful to me because it holds on a single sheet of paper most of what I know about a topic, in this instance, how a certain type of data gets created in some of our core IT systems and what happens to that data once it has been created.  (This pictures is also useful to at least one other person, Felix of course, who is shown above playing a maze game of his own devising.)  I have spent much of my time since January researching and drawing this and a few other diagrams of comparable size in an attempt to understand the environment in which I find myself, and in particular to understand what kinds of data exist in that environment and what use is made of that data, and, too, what use could be made but isn't.

One of the interesting features of big pictures is that you cannot view them, at least not in their entirety, on a computer screen.  You have to print them, preferably on a really big printer.  And having printed them you have to find a wall somewhere on which to hang them.  And once a picture is on a wall, the days of private offices being long gone and the picture being, as I say, big, other people will inevitably see it too.  This suits me very well:  I want other people to look at these pictures (I make them not only large but colorful for this reason) and to draw from them their own conclusions.

It seems now that a number of people have drawn their own conclusions, not so much about what the pictures represent as about their author.  A corporate decision has manifested itself, about my role and, gratifyingly, about how useful it is to have someone drawing big pictures like these.  It is for this reason that I say I now know what my job is--namely to illustrate the overlapping system, operational, and data contexts within which the company is trying to address a number of the more substantive challenges it faces and thereby to supply these seemingly unbounded challenges with a frame of reference and some clues about how to address them--and it is also, I suppose, for this reason that I still have a job.

What I do not know even now is how to name this job, and that's a pity, not just for the sake of a more pithy blog post but also because I've been asked to provide my own title.  My first inclination, "enterprise data strategist," is a non-starter:  the word "strategist" is an albatross.  Another obvious choice is "architect," but there are lots of architects at Autodesk, and as best I can tell those with a technical element in their title (e.g., data architect) work within a scope too limited for the issues I am tasked with addressing.  I must have data in the title, it's what I most care about, but beyond that at the moment I know only what it cannot be.

Things are changing in my world at work.  Autodesk itself was born in the shift from mainframe to personal computers, it negotiated the move to GUI-based operating systems, and now it has to find its way to the cloud.  We are growing a consumer-facing business, a relative novelty to us, likewise the social web.  All of this and more requires a strategic response, and one element of that response must concern itself with data.  Whatever the uncertainty around my title, it's good to know, half a year in, what must be done.

Monday, August 13, 2012

The Ask

Gideon, from his crib:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada."
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Gideon:  "Dada!"
Dada:  "WHAT?!"
Gideon "I wa ice cream."

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Pox

From Chickenpox

Why?  Because it probably produces more complete immunity than the vaccination and has negligible rates of complication.  Because our pediatrician, whom we have every reason to trust, thought it was a fine idea.  Because we recalled the week when Felix had it as only mildly discomfiting for him and quite pleasant for us.  So we kept an eye out for an infection in the neighborhood and joined in when we found it.

In the midst of it--say, 48 hours in, with Gideon fevered and miserable--we doubted ourselves.  More lost sleep, an unhappy baby, banned from daycare, oh the troubles we've seen.  But trouble after the fact doesn't invalidate the decision as made.

By the way, I'm all in favor of making this a mandatory vaccination:  1 in 80,000 chance of fatal complications is not something an individual parent need worry about in a world of fast cars, hot outlets, and spicy cleaning agents, but if society as a whole can save the sum total of deaths and hospitalizations that represents then it probably should.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Aware

To be human is to be, or rather to become, self-aware.  Some refine it, some are content with what awareness arises in us, some wish to or even succeed in losing it again.  But none of us are born aware, and watching awareness form is one of the more interesting parts of being a parent.  It is also, at times, distressing.

I know Gideon better than anyone on earth, myself not excepted.  I am his closest parent, his closest fellow being, and to me, examined up close, he seems extraordinary.  I have been the source of his greatest challenges (and, not incidentally, him of mine) and I am the source of his ultimate comfort.  It is for this latter reason, and because Talia had had her try, that I took him in the throes of his most recent tantrum.

To me a tantrum appears to be a short-circuiting of the brain, a total overload of the circuits.  It is unmistakably an intensely unpleasant experience for the child, but I have wondered several times in watching Felix go through one whether he, in the throes of this possession, was actually aware of being possessed, or if the experience consumed him so completely as to leave no room for self-consciousness.  On more than one occasion as he began to come out of it Felix would, heartbreakingly, make it clear he wished this was not happening to him, and soon thereafter it no longer would be.

Enter the Gid.  He has tantrumed already several times, and has built his tantrums to a level that rivals anything Felix has ever displayed.  With him, as with Felix, I find myself wondering what, if anything, he is thinking when in one, but mostly I just sit there praying for it to end and wracking my brain for a distraction vivid enough to snap him out of it.  Failing that it's just a matter of time, and this time that's all I had for him.  The tempest passed, I took a picture of him, and this is what he looked like:


Exhausted, my baby boy, just utterly exhausted.  And then something strange happened.  He asked to see the photo I'd just taken.  Wanting to give him whatever I had to give, I showed it to him, whereupon he immediately burst into tears, sobbing as though his little heart was going to break.  And this is what that looked like then:


Why were you crying, Gideon?  Did seeing your worn out little face give you a glimpse of what you'd just been through?  Did you feel sorry for yourself?  It's impossible to know, and you did not tell me, but I thought then and think now that somehow, at that moment, you passed a milestone on the road to awareness, and maybe passed it sooner than I would have wished you to.

Monday, June 11, 2012

Amsterdam 2012

We're back! Hello, we love you, we'll see you again! And now we're gone.

I'm not entirely sure what the point of such a visit is. You run around, trying to see everyone and getting, and giving, little more than a glimpse. You run from here to there, doing and tasting and seeing a handful of things while passing by and wishing for a hundred more. It's a ridiculous exercise in some respects. But it's a reminder, and I'm glad we did it.

I first visited Amsterdam in the early 1990s, and from that day until we departed in October of 2009 I don't think a year went by, or not much more than one, without my finding an excuse to come back. Certainly a full two-and-a-half years was a long time to go without. What is Amsterdam to me?  It is the home of some of the people I know best and love most in the world.  It is the locus of many of my finest memories and of many more events, some remembered, some not, that have made me who I am.  It is a wonderful city in its own right, still by far the most enjoyable, magical, and yet practical I have ever found.  And it is a place I belong, one of the very few such places.  It is important to be here now and then.

The trip was an enormous effort, we have arrived home utterly exhausted, but I think we did it right.  To begin with, we stayed at our garden house which, though now owned by friends, is literally unchangeable:  the birds in the morning, the planes overhead, the pine needles underfoot, the struggle to get the refrigerator lit, this is all as it ever was.  Our tuinburen were happy to see us, the kids were served ijsjes and the adults beer even when the bar was closed, and the annual art fair produced a work that I know we will love more every day:


We split the stay into two parts, two long weekends with Haifa in between, and we began the first weekend with a BBQ in our old style.  We brought the sauce with us and, with the loan of a bakfiets, were able to get in all the additional supplies needed to feed 40 people or so.  One of our friends at the BBQ handed out ijsjes to the kids and in the process discovered there were a full 20 of them.  My, how we have grown.

Grown and, as adults, grown older, too, though on a sunny day, especially with the sun shining from behind, you'd hardly know it.


Almost everyone we invited was able to come to the BBQ, and many of them we saw again, and even again, in the days that followed.  But not everyone has stayed in Amsterdam, or even in the Netherlands, awaiting our return, and those people, those crucial people, we missed, and now, having been and not found them, miss more.

Pictures, words, a photo-essay to close: