After 6 months in my current role, I finally did my first ever in my life full length facilitation. I think it well. I would score myself a C-/B+ if I was giving grades. Certainly some things went better than others and the things that didn’t go as well, I know exactly what to do next time to make it more better. . . At first I was feeling like I was bombing but then once I got people talking it was okay.

Adding to my stress that it was my first facilitation was the fact the class was on how to be a good facilitator, (Hello potential irony), I am not that familiar with the jobs of the participants and there were people from four different countries represented.

But it went okay- I think- I got some good feedback and I am ready to do my next one!

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I worry sometimes about the amount of people at work that read this. I’m out of the closet about it, which means I edit myself slightly, but it is hard when you have an anecdote that you really, really, really wanna tell and you know it could bite you.

Oh well.

Super Uber American Trainer. The HI HOW ARE YA GUY. I bring in a couple of people that are attending the class. One gentleman is from Liverpool and the other is French but is now living in Germany.

I am in the middle of introductions when HI HOW ARE YA says, “SO! YOU’RE THE FORIGNERS!”

I look down to the ground for an Acme escape hatch.

The French gentleman says, “Excuse me?”

I mumble, “He’s making a joke.”

I apologized to one colleague later and he said it wasn’t a problem.

Later, I gave HI HOW ARE YA feedback that that wasn’t the best thing to say as an American in Europe because there were only two foreigners in the room and it wasn’t the Scouser or the Frog. . . That you need to warm people up a bit rather than beat them up with your personality.

He took that on board admitting that he could tell the joke bombed immediately. But as he was making excuses to me why the training didn’t go that well, I felt like I was hearing an actor saying the performance was shit because of the audience.

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Nicole: You realize that our friendship is based on whinging and beer?
Al: That’s not quite fair.
Nicole: You’re right.
Al: Thank you.
Nicole: There is also chocolate.
Al: XXXXX the slag from XXX is here.
Nicole: How come?
Al: Dunno. Maybe she’s looking to have some more extra marital sex.
Nicole: Timely that the health e-mail about getting tested for Syphilis was just sent out then.
Al: She went to her hotel at lunch and changed clothes.
Nicole: Maybe she’s going out tonight.
Al: She dressed down.
Nicole: Or she spilled soup or sperm on her skirt.
Al: Mark is asking why I’m laughing.
Nicole: I dare you to tell him.
Al: I’m going to let it pass.

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Stuart is in China for work. Got the following text this morning:

These guys don’t mess about. Finally found a place to eat, or so I thought. Ordered chicken soup. It turned out to be a huge bowl with a dead baby chicken complete with head. 2pm here and I’m starving.

Poor thing. . .I gave him a call.

“I was in a Wal-Mart, and some crabs escaped and people were just walking around them. They’re nuts here. “

“Crabs, like little pet crabs?”

“No crabs like big fuck off eat them with cocktail sauce. They have a huge fish section. You’d love it here. Other than being in the Wal-Mart.”

(I refuse to shop at Wal-Mart because of their poor labor practices.)

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Umm. Not really.”

“I was worried about this. Maybe ask at the hotel to send you to a place that will help you pick something.”

“Yeah. Did you read my text about the chicken?”

“Yeah. Did you eat any of the soup?

“I tried, but the baby chicken was bobbing under the surface and it kept looking at me. Slightly put me off.”

“Maybe you should have eaten it.”

“Yeah. That will teach it to watch me while I’m eating dinner.”

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I’m watching Notting Hill even though she is a right grade A bitch in the whole flick. . .

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Big thank you to Bitch PhD for posting this. . .

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Stuart and I went to breakfast this morning before I went to work.

“My blog about voting for Mel’s charity? Lille misread what I wrote at first, think I misspelled it and she thought the charity was for coitus instead of colitis.”

“That’s funny.”

“I said that as a married woman I think we should start a charity for coitus and I wonder what our logo should be.”

“That’s funny.”

We crossed the street.

Stuart turned to me. “What would the logo be?”

“Do you not know what coitus means???”

“Of course I know what coitus means Thomas!”

“What does coitus mean Stuart?”

Pause.

“It’s. . . No, I don’t know what coitus is.”

“I find that incredibly ironic.”

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We have been having a rash of robberies in the office recently. Software people order doesn’t arrive. Small items left on their desks go missing. This week Ross had a box of muesli nicked.

They may be thieves, but I suppose it’s good to know that they have a balanced diet of whole grains.

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Mel, one of my workmates is running the London Marathon for The National Association of Colitus and Crohn’s disease.

For the few of you that read this, I have a small request. Please go here and vote for the NACC to be the charity sponsored by Best of the Web at the SES NY Charity Party. Can you do it right now? Will take 30 seconds and March 5th is the last day they will take votes.

If you would like to go a step further and sponsor Mel for the marathon, you can visit his Just Giving page here. If you are a UK taxpayer, an extra 28% in tax will be added at no cost to you.

Thanks everyone!

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Monday night I was watching one of those puff pastry celebrity wankfest biographies on the Osbourne’s. When it got to the bit about Crazy Train I smiled.

When I started at GoTo in autumn 1999 we were the tiny little ugly stepsister of the Internet, AltaVista was the king of search engines and Google wasn’t a verb yet.

We were something like 200 employees with all that crazy dotcom energy flying around and every Friday at 5PM someone would blast Crazy Train. I heard it all began a few months before I started by a developer fueled by too much caffeine and frustration at code.

For years the tradition continued even after Yahoo! bought us. It was a great way to say “Fuck, yeah! It’s Friday!” There were times however it was problematic if you happened to be on the phone with a customer.

“What’s all that noise?”
“Er. . . That’s Ozzy Osbourne sir.”
“Sounds like you’re having a party.”

In a way we were. We were having a party. And all good things must come to an end. When I left two years ago there was no Ozzy on my floor. I don’t know if there are still subversive pockets of it there or not.

Last night I was at work late and I downloaded it. First few bars of that guitar riff I grinned to myself at the sense memory.

EYEE!EYEE!EYEE!

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