tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34616582476039058852024-03-13T07:40:06.283-06:00Why Architects DrinkIn all my years of architecture school and practice, there seems to be a pervasive myth that my job is pretty and easy. Here, I reveal the painful, ugly truth about why it takes so long to build a building, what it is exactly that we do, and why that's not creamer you smell in my coffee.Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.comBlogger712125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-14935339520883855302017-03-10T13:03:00.004-07:002017-03-10T13:03:56.987-07:00What had happened was...Part 3 in bullet form<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Guy has lunch with Sven from Design Associates and proposes that he gives it a shot at DA, for maybe 6 months to 2 years. Sven asks Guy: "What about Pixie? She had a lot to say when she left." Guy replies that he's not me, and he knows the downsides of working with DA and has no illusions about Howie and Bosley. Guy takes the job at slightly less than he made at MegaARCH.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I continue working at MegaARCH but seem to spend more time working on smaller local projects with my past clients than with the larger national planning group. An international project falls through; another project gets delayed. When I do work on a master planning project in a neighboring state, I'm relegated to a bit of a note taker role with a little planning.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Guy starts at DA on a big project with Molly, who promptly pisses Guy off by attempting to treat him like her child or her lackey but not as a colleague with 18 years' experience. Guy confronts her about it and she removes him from the project. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">A really good architect gets laid off from MegaARCH three weeks before a major deadline on a government project. The regional architecture director pulls me aside and says not to worry even though I'm not that busy right now, because I'm part of a longer-term strategy to rebuild MegaARCH's healthcare practice in the Front Range/Western Region.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Three members of DA leadership corner Guy in a conference room to talk to him about his "assertive" behavior and he threatens to quit. They back down because DA hates confrontation.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">2016 ends with neither of us getting raises. I get no bonus; Guy gets a very small bonus.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I start 2017 with anticipating some more local work that I helped us get in an RFP/interview process. A project manager with that client gives my contact info to the new COO of a hospital who is looking for "a really good planner" to help with some master planning of some outpatient clinics.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Guy starts 2017 working with Howie, who apparently sees some of himself in Guy's somewhat brusque communication style. Guy finds Howie micromanaging and tedious, but at least Howie thanks him for doing good work and for stepping in when necessary.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">MegaARCH lays me off in early February. The national group just doesn't have enough work for me. I have to email my clients to let them know I've been let go.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I go home and cry and pace and cry some more. I email colleagues in all fields--architecture, engineering, owner's reps, furniture vendors--to get the word out that I'm available and looking.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I get a call from a contractor who was on vacation with someone I'd emailed--he eventually offers me a position with his company. I'm seriously thinking about it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I called the COO at the hospital to let him know I'm no longer with MegaARCH but would be glad to do his planning as a single person. He calls me back; I visit with him and his staff and tour the facility. I send him an agreement and am waiting to hear back.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I go to the library and start figuring out if I should be an LLC or an S corp.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Three more firms contact me outright to do planning contract work and/or to join them as a full-time employee.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I tell one of the firms that they might want to talk to Guy instead--he's pretty done with the DA bullshittery. Guy meets with them and accepts an offer pending a few logistics and paperwork. If all goes well, he can be in a new firm in the next month or two.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Guy and I celebrate our 12th wedding anniversary in Vegas. We rock.</span></li>
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Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-16149458475266219502016-06-19T10:09:00.002-06:002016-06-19T10:09:27.396-06:00What had happened was...Part 2<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, so where were we? Oh, I gave my notice at Design Associates, and as usual, the fallout was interesting</span>.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Which they apparently took to mean that no partner should talk to me at all. And none of them did for an entire week. Not even eye contact, folks. I was persona non grata.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">After a week, Howie and Sven had to talk to me because I was spending my four-week notice helping my team finish CDs for a major addition and renovation project on a small hospital in east Colorado as well as working on a few small things for another client. Still, though, no social conversation, just business. And another week passed in which no partner or otherwise spoke to me or looked at me. (Except for Molly, who can't fucking talk to anyone without putting her hands on them. She came over and grabbed my shoulders like she was mock-choking me after reading of my resignation. If she puts a hand on me ever again, I'm going to rip it off and shove it up her ass. Just because I'm a small woman who ranks lower than you at your firm, that doesn't mean you can put your hands on me.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">News of my departure spread. Colleagues were surprised, though more often than not they high-fived me. Apparently, my departure came as quite a shock to those ranking above me, but those who actually do the work were surprised it took me so long. Those last few weeks were excruciating--I just wanted to run screaming from the building all day, but I had to stay put and finish those specs and redline those drawing sheets, because my team had been about 1 person down for the whole project (since October) and 2 people down for the past 4 months, and I wasn't going to fuck over my project team because of the grand mal stupidity of the people that supposedly run this dumpster fire they call a firm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And over and over and over again, I witnessed and heard things that confirmed for me time and again: <i>leaving is the right thing to do. You can't fix this place, Pixie. The people in charge don't want it. They say they want "change" and "innovation," but they don't mean it. "Change" means that they do more, faster, with fewer people. "Innovation" means free work out of already-underpaid employees under the guise of "empowerment." The partners get six-figure bonus checks every quarter, but they have the audacity to argue with the head of admin about hiring a temp at $13/hr to scan some files for them so they could eliminate the off-site storage needed for them. They pay college interns less than I made fresh out of college 15 years ago while charging every single latte and Snickers bar to a project's expenses, then have the audacity to complain about the "entitled Millennials." Moments like this make me wish I was a man so all of those sanctimonius dipshits could line up and suck my dick.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I left with no fanfare. Howie asked to throw a going away happy hour for me a few weeks afterwards, which of course I didn't want but knew if I didn't, then I'd be the asshole. I arrived at the pub in question to find that Howie hadn't made reservations for our rather sizable group and started acting all spazzed out that his overburdened admin assistant hadn't read his mind and made the reservation. I looked at Chloe, my longtime friend and colleague from St. Ermahgerd, and she just shook her head slowly. "Not gonna miss this shit show, are ya?" she asked while stifling a huge laugh as we watched Howie act spastically amazed that magic didn't happen and our group of 16 didn't have a party room just because he started waving his hands around. <i>Dude, these aren't your employees--they don't give a fuck if you didn't plan ahead. Their job doesn't actually rely on bending over backwards for you and bumping two other planned parties because you don't know how to operate a phone and an Outlook calendar. Maybe you could use one of your big-ass bonuses to pay someone to care? Oh, never mind, Money. Never mind.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Four. Months. Off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Like Ron Livingston's character in <i>Office Space</i>, I did nothing, and it was everything I dreamed it would be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Guy and I went to South Carolina and Georgia for our birthday this year, which happened to be my 40th. We went to the golf course near Myrtle Beach where my uncle put two bullets in Dad's head and one in his own, and I spent a moment reveling in the peace and beauty of the patch of earth upon which my father last fell that now supported green, lush grass and turf. The sandy soil that drank blood spilled too wrong and too soon now cradled life: small insects bumbling their ways over and under the Brobdignagian blades of perfect green; small birds bouncing over the tee looking for those same insects and the occasional worm; and a squirrel hop-hop-hopping around a tree to search for pine cones with a few tasty seeds still left, only to find one of those humans with a wet face staring into the middle distance. Unlike most humans on this grassy place, this one looks distressed and makes noises like an abandoned squirrel kit. Humans are weird.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I also cleaned like a motherfucker, which those of y'all who know me know what perverse joy I get out of cleaning. I cleaned out my closet and drawers and my portfolio from 6 years of architecture school and my bathroom and my art supplies and books---SEVEN BOXES OF BOOKS TO THE LIBRARY, PEOPLE---and everything. Guy also did some cleaning out of his clothes and some of the crap stored on the back balcony, though it took him a little longer to really clean his crap up. Really, it took both of us some time to clean our crap up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I was finally finding peace in my work life, Guy's was falling apart. While I was about to start my almost-perfect-dream job at MegaARCH, Guy was miserable there. Hamstrung by the corporate processes and by his boss (who didn't seem entirely comfortable being in charge and pushing back on said corporate process), Guy was underemployed and found himself being passed over for professional training and advancement opportunities...and it got to him. Bad. He began to doubt his own professional abilities and even his own general worthiness as a person. (I can name that tune in one note.) He agreed with his boss to cut his hours for three months to just what he needed to work to keep our healthcare, and then we both really got to work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We didn't just clean the house. We cleaned our own houses, emotionally. We purged some bullshit and half-truths and fears and arguments, and it was good. We went a long way towards Fixing Our Shit. It left me in a good place to start my new job in January of 2016. While I didn't immediately have anything billable to do, I had time to settle in and learn how MegaARCH does stuff, how their software works, etc. I overall found a grown up firm run by grown-up people who hire other grown-up people to be your coworkers. What an utterly novel concept.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">After a couple of months of working in the same office, Guy says while driving home, "Look, I really need to leave MegaARCH. They want and value specialists like you, not generalists like me. I've gone about as far as I can here, and I'm going crazy while I go nowhere."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Fair enough," I replied. "I have my awesome job, now we need to get you an awesome job."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then Guy said, "What if I go back to Design Associates?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><i>I promise Part 3 will come sooner than six months later.</i></span></div>
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<br />Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-84064020975801635472016-01-24T14:30:00.000-07:002016-01-24T14:30:46.970-07:00What had happened was...Part 1<div>
I've been wrestling with the best way to describe what happened at Design Associates. I'm trying to find the place in between a brief, overly-professional, and un-informative paragraph and the three-post-long gory-blow-by-blow truth. Hopefully the following achieves that.
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Y'all recall that I made associate at DA a few years ago. Well, the joy of that lasted about 4 or 5 months until I realized what it really meant to be an associate with DA: you still have to maintain the project workload that you had before, but now you have to lead and/or run initiatives, meet with various staff members on a quarterly basis to discuss job satisfaction and conditions and see how things were going, and attend a crapload more meetings. Great. I clawed my way to middle management for this shit? But something darker (dare I use that term) began to reveal itself in the big meeting room with all the partners and associates (aka middle management and senior leadership). I was excited to finally join this group and help DA on its new path of thoughtful leadership and management and evolution into an awesome 21st-century firm. I was finally going to help make a difference. I was finally able to see how decisions are made. I was finally able to watch the interactions and the dynamics between members of senior leadership (the partners) and between the senior leadership and the middle managers (associates and some senior architects). </div>
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With his unwarranted and unprovoked explosions at colleagues, not paying attention to whoever is speaking or even flat-out leaving the meeting before it was over, Bosley was a bully. Howie was a jittering, pushy, micromanaging bully. Audrey, whom I once thought was a great role model for women in leadership positions, turned out to act like a passive-aggressive, hypocritical micromanaging flake. Molly, an associate partner whose arrival had also given me hope for DA was, simply put, a fucking nightmare for my colleagues and me; a master manipulator with poor listening skills and even poorer senses of boundaries and propriety, she was Bosley's syncophant for as long as it helped her get ahead and avoid blame for any project gone wrong. Other partners popped in and out of meetings to deliver their own flavor of seagull management (fly in, make a lot of noise, crap on everything, and then leave). I would sit in the meetings and watch the other partners bulldoze over Sven, one of my favorite partners, and Patty, an associate partner I had long worked with and admired. Sven would sit back quietly in his chair, and Patty would sigh and look down with her head in her hands after being shot down by Bosley and Howie yet again.</div>
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After my experience with the St. Ermahgerd project, I vowed that this truly would never happen again. As a somewhat leader at this firm, I needed to make it work, if not for me then for the others who weren't able to be in this room to defend their interests. I decided to study how to make projects work better so I could show the partners and help them improve the firm's employee satisfaction and maybe even its bottom line too. So, with the help of a colleague with a great deal of experience setting up research projects and surveys, I complete the first round of an in-depth research project and presented it at a national conference, where it was received with great enthusiasm and almost delight. After I presented, I lost count of the number of times someone said something to the effect of "Your firm is so smart and brave for doing this sort of self-study." Yes, I thought, I'm really doing work that can help people!</div>
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And then I went home.</div>
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After getting bumped off the agenda for nearly three months, I finally got to present my research to the partners and associates (however many felt like showing up that day). I went through the data, explaining my methods, and then I got to the punchline: my research showed that the most successful project teams were the ones that had only one partner or no active partners on the project. This was not going to be good news for Howie, Molly, and Bosley, who for some incomprehensible reason insisted on having two of them or even all three on a project. At the end of my presentation, I was met with...puzzled silence. It was as if no one knew what to do with what I'd shown them. They began discussing amongst themselves in such a way that I sensed they didn't really get it: should we share this with our clients? If we get to the design solution faster, would a lot of these stresses go away? My inner Lewis Black rose up in my head: you're not listenin', asshole: the main problem on your projects is your fucked-up behavior. You want to be a partner, but you also want to be designers and planners and architects, and unfortunately those things are mututally exclusive of being a partner. You either get the work or do the work. It's my job to do the work, so go get the work and then get the hell out of my way and my colleagues' ways.</div>
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The emporer was naked, and no matter how many times or how loudly I shouted it, the emporer wouldn't even go put some fucking shorts on. </div>
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I recounted some of this to my dear friend and advisor, Vinnie, while hiding out <a dir="ltr" href="" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">at 3pm</a> one afternoon at the Cruise Room for a glass of wine or four. After a pause, Vinnie said quietly over his Long Island Iced Tea, "Honey, I think you've outgrown Design Associates." I must have looked puzzled, because he continued. "These people are doing to you what your dad's family did to your mom: they're making you crazy. Literally. They say they want to give everyone autonomy and opportunities for growth and all that, but their behavior says they want things to stay as they are but just want the staff to do more. And when you speak up about the delta between what they say and what they do, you get gaslighted, like maybe it's your fault that you can't do an unreasonable amount of work over and over and over."</div>
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At first I was skeptical of Vinnie's assessment, but the longer I stayed at DA, the more I realized he was right. Howie tried to give me room on my next project, but he keep fucking with my staff (on a project that was already .5 to 1 person short) by putting them on other things he needed help with "for just a hour or so" (read: all afternoon). Further I noticed Howie and Molly treating my utterly competent and professional colleagues like they barely knew how to be architects. They were giving me a wide berth, and Bosley literally hadn't spoken to me in six months--because of my meltdown and my survey-delivered hand-slap? So you'll continue to treat my colleagues like shit because they haven't had a massive meltdown (yet)?! Is that what it takes to get this firm's leaders to hear us?</div>
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It was during yet another micromanaging moment from the partners one day in May that I had the strangest feeling settle over me as one of my most senior colleagues told me not to make my staff surveys so "nit picky and getting so into the details." Data is details, fuckhead, I thought to myself. You don't really want me to give you true information--you want to keep living in an echo chamber. Well, you'll be living in it without me.</div>
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I left work early that day, went to a coffee shop, and started writing my resume and assembling my portfolio. I applied to MegaARCH, Guy's firm the next day, uploading my new resume and portfolio a few days later. Guy brought my resume by hand to his boss, and apparently his boss went into a semi-orgasmic convulsion to hear that a highly-experienced healthcare planner and architect with research and speaking experience as well as a pleasant personality and good (if indecent) sense of humor might be interested in changing firms. Every few weeks, I'd have lunch with a new person from MegaARCH's national design specialties group--Guy's boss, the head of architecture lady, the head of healthcare, and the healthcare marketing guy. And lunch after lunch, I felt so strangely light: conversations with people who are interested in what I can do and know how to do and are so excited about the stuff I want to research and do and so on.... I finally realized that maybe, just maybe, I had skills to offer the world that really were well-honed skills, that maybe my work was valued somewhere by somebody. </div>
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The offer came in late July. I got approval to start on January 2nd of 2016. I got the (what I thought was insanely high) salary I asked for, and they didn't even blink. I even got a signing bonus, for which I didn't even ask. I nearly started crying when I got the offer and showed Guy. I waited a couple of days, for what reason I'm not sure. It was a big deal to leave Design Associates...but it was time. Each time I tried to frame leaving DA as a bad, scary, or negative thing, I couldn't scare myself away or talk myself out of leaving and going to MegaARCH. Even if it went poorly there, the fact that they would want me there enough to give me everything I wanted meant that I could still go somewhere else. </div>
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I remembered my sister Kitty and I walking away from Dad's family after he died and they started acting like unrestrained dipshits. I had known them for 21 years, and I shared DNA with them. And I walked away, and I haven't spoken to them in almost 20 years. And I have no regrets.</div>
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I'd only been with Design Associate for 15 years. Do they think I couldn't leave?</div>
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I accepted MegaARCH's offer on a Tuesday. I told Design Associates on a Friday. That's the next post.</div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-12591058958545156822015-08-10T09:28:00.001-06:002015-08-10T09:28:36.664-06:00I just resigned from Design Associates.<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been a long time coming, and I'm formulating a series of appropriate posts to describe the saga of the past few years. But yes, I handed in my resignation last week, and my last day is at the end of August.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More to come.</span>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-3731165877249211672014-11-08T09:42:00.001-07:002014-11-08T09:42:33.554-07:00Don't call it a comeback -- I've been here for years.Okay, okay, okay, it's been a long-ass while since I posted. I either haven't felt like it or have felt like I didn't have anything to say that wasn't just a bunch of bitching and whining. I've come to realize that a lot of what makes me drink about architecture is what makes anyone who does white-collar work drink copious quantities of cheap liquor and boxed wine. Architecture and the design/construction profession gives these everyday white-collar pains a special twist that makes one extra-familiar with the flavor of Mr. Boston vodka. The way we (architects) conduct our business seems almost antithetical sometimes to good business sense, and for the past couple of years, it's left me feeling like I need to get out of this profession.<div><br></div><div>And yet, that feels like giving up just as I'm getting to a place where I could really make a difference. What's an angry li'l radical to do?</div><div><br></div><div>When I'm frustrated, I do what I always do: make lists. What's got me so irritated? Let's see:</div><div><br></div><div>1. I've seen that the emperor has no clothes and a very small wang. By being promoted to Associate a two years ago, I've seen how decisions are made, how things get done, and who really feels what about each topic we bring up and deal with. It's amazing, appalling even to see the politics and personalities behind how anything happens at Design Associates, and there are many times that I'm embarrassed to be part of it. But I also am coming to realize that as a human being--not as an associate, or architect, or any other hat I wear as an identity--I have a responsibility to do what I can to change what I can.</div><div><br></div><div>2. I'm fucking tired. I am. I'm exhausted from striving and trying and performing and outperforming and jumping through hoops and being the good girl. I'm learning that in order to keep fighting the good fight, especially having just turned 39, that I need to protect and defend my energy better and set better boundaries. At some point, I get to turn down, defer, delegate, or throw aside any tasks or behaviors that are truly not helping me or are a good use of my time.</div><div><br></div><div>3. Weed is fucking awesome. Yes, it's legal here in Colorado. Yes, I finally tried it for the first time at the ripe old age of 38 1/2 years old, and I completely understand why people do it. Relaxing, fun, great sleep, and no hangover. We have some bugs to work out of the system, but overall I'm glad our voters made it legal.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm embarking on a big new project to talk about and walk everyone through. So far it's shaping up to be the opposite of St. Ermahgerd, but we'll see. There have been a lot of changes at Design Associates, but things are still interesting. I continue, though, to evaluate a balance between how much I gossip about my work and colleagues with you all and how much should I be professional and ethical, given my position at my firm and my own craptastic attempts to be quasi-Buddhist. A few of you have written me wonderful emails about this blog, and I owe you responses (and you'll get responses). But meanwhile, thanks for checking in--I hope to be a little more regular with my posts as I climb further out of this depression and massive sea change in my behavior and personality.</div>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-12353224685103941022014-05-02T18:02:00.000-06:002014-05-02T18:02:04.633-06:00Hanging in there...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wow, been a while since I posted, huh? Guess I should say something, huh?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am indeed still alive and feeling better. Six months of antidepressants, frequent chats with Vinnie (my erstwhile antiques-dealer-and-therapist pal), and some serious changes at work have started me on the road to recovery, or at least the road towards Giving A Fuck Again. I've been getting the support I need to do my job well and properly, and I've generally been given the space I need to do the stuff I like doing. (I think I scared the shit out of Howie, my long-time boss, during my meltdown. I think he might be a little more willing to back off from me so I don't just quit Design Associates in a desk-flipping-and-burning blaze of glory.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've had a hard time coming up with anything to say here on WAD, and when I do think of something, I don't feel like writing it down. The biggest change in my life that I'm finding is a lack of my former energy and what I call sudden onset procrastination. Vinnie, however, has diagnosed it as "how everyone else feels all the goddamn time". I don't know if it's my late-thirties doing this to me, or if this is how I'm supposed to feel when I peel away the layers of depression and anxiety. Either way, I'm adjusting to a New Normal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm still committed in some way to continuing to share with the world Why Architecture is Still Fucked Up and Needs to Fix Its Shit. Having been broken and chased into a black hole by my job and profession, I cannot stand by and watch it eat its young and itself. When I can, I'll muster up the energy to blog-n-bitch about what I see and what the profession's future can be. Word.</span></div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-51395634810212275392013-12-28T09:18:00.000-07:002013-12-28T09:18:03.500-07:00So, uh...yeah.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, it's been awhile, and with good reason. Turns out my burnout was deeper than originally thought: it was depression.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It became clear after a wonderful vacation with Guy that I was constantly irritated and angry and felt like everything was stupid and pointless. It became clear during the Big Design Associates Partner & Associate Retreat when we were talking about the future of the firm for the next ten years, and all I could think was that this whole thing was a pointless fart-sniffing exercise in stupid futility. It became clear when I said I hated my job and I'd wasted my life at Design Associates, but when anyone asked what I'd rather do instead, my response was "nothing" or "it doesn't matter, it's gonna suck anyway". I called my dear pal, the antique dealer turned psychologist Vinnie, and after a long chat at the Oxford Hotel's Cruise Room, he observed that this looked like agitated depression and I needed to talk with my doctor about some medication stat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, a couple of months later, I'm feeling better. I'm not out of this and I'm not done, but I'm better. I think I could stand to go up on my meds a bit (I'm still pretty cranky and easily set off by the slightest thing), but I'm starting to be able to dissect when my irritation is work-related versus depression-related. I've also had a couple of successes at work, including a few professional speaking gigs involving a research project that I started working on in the late summer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know if it's the depression or just where I am in life, but I find that I'm less and less willing to pull my punches when confronted with nonsense and bullshittery. Multiple times in the past few months, I've said aloud in meetings with the partners that the emperor in fact is nekkid as a jaybird and may in fact also be shitting himself. I have fumed to my colleagues and bosses that our refusal to engage our clients like adults will be our undoing, whether through fees or through burning out good staff because we charge too little and work good people way too hard to meet unreasonable requests time and time again. I have exhorted my colleagues to engage each other like adults and to look in the mirror at themselves, because the way we work isn't working anymore, and the way we conduct ourselves is counterproductive. If we're going to have a respectful, forthright firm culture, we're going to have to be respectful and forthright ourselves. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We'll see if any of these comments get through. I know personal and organizational change is hard and takes time, so God/Allah/Budda/Shiva grant a bitch some patience while I wait for the emperor to get a bathrobe and flip-flops and maybe even a diaper or something.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's hoping 2014 is an improvement over 2013.</span></div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-77819563085496717662013-09-30T05:25:00.000-06:002013-09-30T05:25:00.464-06:00The worst architect in the world<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope, it's not Frank Lloyd Wright, nor is it Peter Eisenmann. (zing!) It's this brilliant Old Spice commercial. See if you can figure out all the horrible, tragic mistakes he's made in his house in the last scene.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/k74ZbpkOG5M?feature=player_detailpage" width="640"></iframe>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-17994804614560615502013-09-23T04:57:00.000-06:002013-09-23T04:57:01.094-06:00So what would I like for my birthday?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This week, Guy and I turn 45 and 38 respectively (for those new to WAD, my husband and I have the same birthday). I have a few professional engagements to attend to the first half of the week, and then we'll be in Paris, Bruges, and London for about a week and a half. As is our custom, we prefer to take a trip together rather than buy each other something for our birthdays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We're all familiar with the trouble of buying gifts for other adults. What do you get someone that would be useful, and they'd like it, and it's not too expensive for you to buy? And what do you get someone like Guy and me, who try really hard not to have a lot of stuff around? (Living in a condo will make you edit your possessions, though not as much as we probably should edit them.) Guy and I get out of this conundrum with each other by taking a trip for our birthday, but Christmas becomes more problematic. Usually, we either get the other person a gift card, or we send each other a web link to the exact thing we like. Yes, it's anticlimactic and totally expected, but what it lacks in surprise, it makes up for in appreciation for the effort and follow-through.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But in my personal and professional malaise this summer (for which I am indeed receiving professional help, thanks for asking, but for which I'm also trying desperately not to have to take medication), I've been wondering what I want, what I really really want (thanks, Spice Girls). A gift should be unexpected, delightful, and useful, and it should be appreciated all the time, not just on the day of its receipt. So what gift would I most like to receive?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd like to see my profession rise back to a level of real respect and respectability. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd like to see us get paid what we're worth and not constantly be worn down by the pressures of clients that can't figure out why it costs so much to have a skilled professional design a building such that you won't have leaks, get sued, or have huge utility bills, and so you'll be able to use it for decades to come (or sell it easily if you need to do so). I'd like to see clients stop asking us to shave off our services like doing a full assessment of your existing building is optional. I'd like to see clients stop thinking they can do my job because they watched a three-day marathon of Trading Spaces. The doctors I work with hate it when you come to them with your pre-diagnosed disease that you got off of WebMD, but they can't see the irony when they come to me having done the same thing with a crude sketch they made from a free download of Google SketchUp; </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nothing you just drew meets any building code known to the state of Wyoming, so knock it off. I'm drawing what I'm drawing because it's the right thing to do to give you a space that meets codes as well as human comfort and ease of use. I'm not trying to draw "fancy" stuff and indicate "fancy" finishes because I want to turn your building's lobby into the Waldorf Astoria--it's because these are the right finishes for the space that will wear well and that align with your original vision of having a hospitality-like "classy" building. And speaking of building costs, I'd like to see the contractors I work with not turn every goddamn project into design-build. Every time I insist that the finishes and designs really are going to be the best in the long run, I get accused of jacking up the price to the owner. And I know who's gonna win that little pointing contest. So much for being "team players."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the biggest thing I'd like to see is architects themselves taking the reins back. I'd like to see us stop writing, speaking, and designing for other architects and start writing, speaking, and designing for the world. I'd like to see us really reach out to people who have never heard the work "architectonics" and don't give a fuck who Kenneth Frampton is. I'd like to see us use words that an 11th grader would use, not because I think the average non-architect is dumb, but because we need to use real, clear language with the world if we're going to explain to them (and convince them) why what we do is important and more relevant than ever, and why we need to be paid accordingly and respected and given the space to do that work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seeing architecture truly own the 21st century: that's the gift that keeps on giving.</span>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-61265841255351657052013-09-15T13:57:00.001-06:002013-09-15T13:57:10.652-06:00Soggy but safe<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rains here in Colorado are supposed to end today, fingers crossed. There are some parts of the Front Range and east side of the Rockies that have gotten a year's worth of rain in one week. As some of y'all have probably heard, the entire town of Lyons is cut off from the rest of civilization because the roads in and out of it have been washed out. Literally--washed out. Gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being in Denver proper has protected Guy and me from a lot of flooding problems, though my friends who live in Aurora and the outskirts of Denver have had to pump water out of their basements. Cherry Creek (the main waterway that runs through the heart of Denver) was way over its banks last week, which made bike travel problematic but not impossible. The flooding also affected some schools, so some of my coworkers had to stay home last Thursday and Friday because their kids' schools were closed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please donate what you can to the Red Cross to help out. Things should start drying out tomorrow, but it will be along haul to get some folks back in their houses and put their lives back together.</span>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-85952437039006177512013-08-24T17:21:00.002-06:002013-08-24T17:21:37.575-06:00Architect undergoing radical transformation, please stand by<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apologies for the lack of posts lately. I've had a very good reason for my relative silence:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm burned out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After working on St. Ermahgerd for over a year, and especially after the last few months on it being nothing but stressballs, I finally had a meltdown at work. Not a screaming and cursing meltdown (I already had three of those in April and two or three in May), but a Skinner-box-learned-helplessness-shaking-and-weeping meltdown. It was bad enough that Howie actually pulled me into a conference room and acknowledged that he had done this to me. (It wasn't just him, per se; my condition is partially my responsibility but also lays to a great degree at the feet of Bosley and all of Design Associates' management.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To keep myself employed while working through the burnout, I came up with an alternate project that involves reviewing DA's processes on design projects, and Howie and Bosley were behind it, though I must say I'm not entirely sure they a) understand it and b) are fully going to be behind the results of my research. Either way, it's keeping me busy and mostly motivated and getting out of bed in the morning...mostly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I must confess that even with this non-billable project I'm on, my heart speeds up while my stomach sinks when I see either Howie or Bosley in my periphery, especially if they're slowing down or pausing at my desk. Whenever I'm asked a random question about St. Ermahgerd, my reflexive reaction is exasperation and profanity. When I'm asked to work on any other issue that's reasonably required of me as an associate, I sag and sigh and respond with irritated brevity. And more profanity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, posting is going to be irregular for a while as I figure out what my problem is and how to adjust my li'l attitude here. But I also need rest, which is hard for me to a) accept and b) do. Wish me luck, and thanks for your patience.</span>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-86467444128210275862013-07-22T05:26:00.000-06:002013-07-27T18:13:22.244-06:00Breakfast with Mom<br />
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[Mom on phone with El Seebeno]</div>
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Where are you? Are you in town?...again?!...*tsk* I made you some leftovers for lun--...it's raining? Again!?!?...if you let the dogs out in that weather, I'm going to beat your eyes out when I get home...no, we're going to the Cherry Creek Arts Festival today...the Cherry. Creek. Arts--...no, not the Titty Creek, the Cherry Creek......</div>
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Mom is a Zen teacher for me. She moves at a steady pace, not fast but deliberate and purposeful. She reminds me to take a moment before you go rushing off into whatever nonsense you think is "urgent". She's been nursing a messed-up right shoulder, with some osteoarthritis and partially torn rotator cuff and partially torn biceps in it. For all I know, she's been using her shoulder joint as a fanny pack, and there's a pack of gum, a notepad, and a chap-stick in there, along with a Starbucks gift card. So she spent the week with me moving very deliberately, pacing herself and using her energy at elevation, plus trying not to re-injure the shoulder while slogging through PT, which was sometimes easy and sometimes made her wince.</div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-80930066058598594232013-07-13T09:33:00.001-06:002013-07-27T18:11:56.201-06:00At the Cherry Creek Arts Festival with Mom<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7fkRqb9K8cM/UeFzRnDM_BI/AAAAAAAACH4/6ZVw8lXEwO8/s640/blogger-image-641769541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7fkRqb9K8cM/UeFzRnDM_BI/AAAAAAAACH4/6ZVw8lXEwO8/s640/blogger-image-641769541.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: You need this sculpture in your house.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: To do what with?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: You could hang your keys on it, or put letters in it--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: Like an odds-and-ends shelf?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: Hang off of it while you and Guy are getting it on, shit, I don't care! I'm just saying it would look great in your house!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: No, I agree, it looks fantastic!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: And it's only $900! Chump change!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-N9vpeb6TmQY/UeFzUu-S_EI/AAAAAAAACIA/c1b5eIiM4LU/s640/blogger-image-765721493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-N9vpeb6TmQY/UeFzUu-S_EI/AAAAAAAACIA/c1b5eIiM4LU/s640/blogger-image-765721493.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: How fantastic is that purse?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: Oh my Gawd, it's got a little space underneath! You could fit a kitten through that space!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: And there's a pocket in the bottom!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: That's where you hide your weed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-OcoXAdLDrzE/UeFzXBJ4paI/AAAAAAAACII/Ykw6KboHRfg/s640/blogger-image--596591631.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-OcoXAdLDrzE/UeFzXBJ4paI/AAAAAAAACII/Ykw6KboHRfg/s640/blogger-image--596591631.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: Mom, can you make that dress?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: Yeah, I think I have that pattern at home...but I wouldn't do the contrast zip.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: Why not?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: Only trailer trash and Kardashians wear contrast zips in their dresses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pixie: Baaahahahahaaaaaa!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom: [walking away] That shit is cray.</div>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-37507474467278260902013-07-13T09:16:00.001-06:002013-07-13T10:12:34.291-06:00Happy belated Independence Day!<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-B1pCggNZ0BI/UeFvUpDscVI/AAAAAAAACHQ/IvlfEP6aogk/s640/blogger-image--2020355538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-B1pCggNZ0BI/UeFvUpDscVI/AAAAAAAACHQ/IvlfEP6aogk/s640/blogger-image--2020355538.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Mom was here for a week, starting on July 4th, and it was fantastic. Great to see her and goof around with her, go to the Cherry Creek Arts Festival, eat at amazing restaurants, go to the spa, go camping, and play Duck Duck Goose with my plants. (I was soundly admonished for not watering them enough this summer.) I'll provide pictures and commentary for the week in the coming month or so...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...just in time for me to go to Georgia in August. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Muwaaaahahahaaaa!!!</div>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-85623210248198950452013-07-01T05:41:00.000-06:002013-07-01T05:41:00.694-06:00Didn't I already talk to you people?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week was meetings and finding just how many holes there were in our drawings, punctuated by a trip to Biefee, MT meet with some smaller groups of St. Ermahgerd's users. One of the biggest problems we've had with the St. Ermahgerd project is insufficient user group meetings, and it continues to plague us. Generally speaking, we meet with the user groups (the people who will actually use the building, usually grouped by department) during schematic design (SD) and design development (DD). We might have a couple of user group meetings during construction documents (CDs) to discuss special equipment issues, but that's it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week's meetings happened seven weeks after we issued CDs. And the users even asked, "so when are you coming back, Pixie?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Never, if I have my way about it. But having my way on this matter is about as likely as getting a unicorn to shit in my coffee every morning: not too likely. So, I'll probably have to go back at some point, even though we shouldn't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet we should. The project kept getting stopped and started over the course of 2012, so the user group meetings kept getting canceled and moved and canceled and moved, hence we never got the full, proper input we needed from the users in a timely fashion. And you have to give users their time--they don't read architectural drawings and understand space the way we do, so they need a certain amount of time and repeat visits to have these conversations and understand what they're getting. And you can't do that in the number of meetings we had. So,we're having to do all these meetings now. And they're still incomplete, and I still feel like I'm about to give these poor people a bad hospital, though God I hope not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'm praying that we have the right information and our professional experience will be adequate to fill in the gaps in this project left behind by the lack of user group meetings. And I'm praying for that unicorn to show up as well.</span>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-33989825705775714412013-06-24T05:30:00.000-06:002013-06-24T05:30:00.934-06:00OPP (Other People's Problems)<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've continued to ponder on Jimmy Ray's comment a few week</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">s ago when he observed that I was doing three different roles on St. Ermahgerd. The staffing on this project has been problematic for a long time; even a year ago, Howie confided to me that the project was understaffed and had been for a while. On the Uber MOB I did 18-24 months ago, which was of a similar size and complexity as St. Ermahgerd, we had two architects and four interns working on just the interior architecture. St. Ermahgerd in contrast had me and two interns for most of the project, and then we picked up another architect (actually, we stole him from the St. Ermahgerd exterior team) to help during late DDs. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Further complicating matters is that the St. Ermahgerd schedule kept stopping and then starting with a vengeance, so we'd suddenly have a lot of floor plan changes plus a fast deadline. We didn't have enough people to make these deadlines, to make the plan changes, and to add in all the additional bits of information and details that make a set of DDs look like DDs. Hence, our DDs were really more like 50% DDs, and we then had two months to take 180,000 sf of building from 50% DDs to 100% CDs. (We usually get about four months for CDs on a project of this size and complexity.) In order to make this even kinda sorta happen, I was having to scramble to find staff to help us during the week, on the weekends, after hours, whenever and wherever we could. Instead of working on redlines and specs, I was having to find staff I also had to match the available and willing staff up with tasks that they could do in the time they had available--I had some experienced folks and newbies, and we kept finding that unfinished tasks tended to remain unfinished.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even more difficult was that Chloe was clearly pregnant, and there seemed to be no strategy in place to fill in for her while she was out for three months with a newborn. I have to wonder if perhaps that the plan was that either my other architect or me were expected to be this person, but both of us are technically planners, not project architects--we need to be available for the next project coming down the pipeline, not stuck doing CA for the next 15 months. The fellow who ended up filling in for Chloe started at Design Associates five weeks after Chloe went on maternity leave, so I'm still getting calls and emails because I've had to be Chloe and me for a month.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm at the point where I hate having to do anything on St. Ermahgerd, even if what's being asked of me is perfectly reasonable. I'm worn down from having to make all the decisions on everything. Thank heavens that some other architects in the office have been answering questions regarding the exterior RFIs and shop drawings, because I really can't make those decisions, having not worked on the exterior (that was Chloe, who God bless her is still taking my occasional emails regarding questions on this project while being sleep-deprived and nursing a baby). It's like when you get barfing drunk on tequila, and then you get nauseous when you just see a bottle of tequila on a shelf. That's how I feel about St. Ermahgerd when I even think about it--nausea.</span></div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-82756692094499097212013-06-19T05:24:00.000-06:002013-06-19T05:24:00.862-06:00Operation Clean Your Desk Up Already, Pixie<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before the chaos containment. Officey stuff, folders, craptasticness, cords and wires, loose papers. Tis was a failure pile in a sadness bowl, to quote Patton Oswalt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After about ten days' worth of cleaning, purging, and organizing. There's still a little more to tidy up and put away, but this is 95% done. (Funny enough, right after I finished organizing, I got an offer to do some paid public speaking. Did a shorty unblock her chi or some cosmic shit? Ain't nobody know, but I won't argue with the results.)</span></div>
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Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-2652898333549849452013-06-17T05:16:00.000-06:002013-06-17T05:16:00.771-06:00This is where I work.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I keep wondering how best to explain what I've been dealing with at Design Associates for the past several months. St. Ermahgerd went from bad to worse to ungodly before the final deadline. I've been trying to come up with a good way to describe what made the project so hard, and the short answer is this: everything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We had staffing consistency issues. We had staffing coordination issues. We had budget issues. We had management issues. We had owner issues. We had owner's rep issues. We had user group issues. We had schedule issues. We had reality issues. We. Had. Issues.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've always felt like the point of this blog is to explain to people what it is that architects do all day, week, month, year...and why it makes us want to drink so much and so often. I also want to be at least fair and human, if not professional (especially given my promotion last year and the fact that a few of my colleagues actually do read this). But goddammit, I'm also pretty fucking angry at how overworked and overwrought I've been for the past year. Jimmy Ray, who has been working with me on St. Ermahgerd since late last summer, told me last week that what people generally say behind my back is that I'm doing three jobs and everyone can tell I'm exhausted. I'm weirdly relieved that my exhaustion is apparent, because I don't have the energy to pretend everything's okay, nor should I have to do so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm still not sure that I'm going to be able to pull back as much as I've asked to from Howie, but I will do my damnedest to make sure I get time off from both professional and personal obligations for the next few months. And I'll put some decent effort into explaining in a hopefully-not-verbose manner all the different aspects that make for a tough project.</span></div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-4912807572781079942013-06-06T04:58:00.000-06:002013-06-06T04:58:00.754-06:00Things to which I shall look forward <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First off, my mom is coming to visit for a whole week starting on July 4th. I plan to take the entire time off that she's here, and I pity the fool that attempts to interrupt our visit with some bullshit RFIs and shop drawings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Second, the rooftop pool is open!! What's a little skin cancer, right? Kidding, sort of. I have some SPF 20 and 30 ready to go, so I can sit around by the pool for a few hours and brush up on my trash reading and naps. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Third, I've got to get to Georgia to see my sister, Miss Kitty's, house in its new tidy and cleaned up state. Housekeeping ha been a struggle for her most of her life, but while taking the summer off this year from teaching and classes, she's been sending me pictures of her cleaning and purging efforts. The house (aka the Happy Kitten Cottage) looks amazing, and I want to go experience it firsthand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fourth, the farmers market is open in Cherry Creek North, and with my firmly-stated limits on my time this summer, I'll be spending more time walking and perusing the goodies at the market each Saturday morning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And finally, Guy and I have decided on our late-September birthday trip this year. With all of the hotel points and frequent flyer miles he's built up in the last 18 months due to working on a project back east, we've decided to go to Paris and London for 9 days. We've been to both places before, but not when we had jobs and money. So now we're going as adults with Hilton Honors points to stay in decent hotels and take trains everywhere and eat amazing breads and chocolates and drink fantastic tea and beer and wine and what the fuck ever we want to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So yeah, good stuff to which we shall look forward.</span>Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-3227753437932359372013-06-03T05:45:00.000-06:002013-06-03T05:45:00.886-06:00Well, now that that's over with...<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now that my major deadlines are behind me, I've finally had a chance to reflect on the past year-plus of working on St. Ermahgerd. This project was a pressure cooker for everyone, and it especially took its toll on me as well as my fellow middle managers. During this project, I found myself drinking a bottle of wine a week (not good, given how poorly I metabolize alcohol) and shouting the f-word at my boss, Howie. By May, when our three major deadlines were, I was using the word "fuck" or some conjugation/gerund thereof about every seven seconds. I mean, it's my favorite word, but there's such a thing as overuse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So after Memorial Day weekend, Howie and I got together to see what we could do to alleviate my 24/7 rage and get me back to something like normal. My state of being was best described as central nervous system overload/failure, and I can't operate like that. I wanted to go home at a decent time every day, with sun still in the sky and energy left in my bones. We figured out staffing a little for the project, including figuring out who could take some of the construction administration (CA) tasks off my list. Howie also advocated for some regular three-day weekends this summer as well as taking a full week somewhere., which I planned to do around July 4th. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll be posting more about what in St. Ermahgerd made me live up to this blog's name, as Howie and I agreed to do a post-mortem on the SD through CD process. I'll hopefully be able to stick to the architectural issues, as opposed to the general white-collar blues issues that plague us all. In the meantime, I'm going to go sit with my cats on the balcony and drink Riesling out of pleasure, not stress.</span></div>
Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-32715763529507073162013-05-20T05:30:00.000-06:002013-05-20T05:30:00.117-06:00Two deadlines down, one more to go.But alas, I'm reaching the point where I don't care anymore. Too long spent on high alert when things aren't truly life-or-death has left me--and a fair amount of my team--with adrenal fatigue. At least they still have their sense of humor, such as this pic, which one of them sent to me recently.<br />
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Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-25453278377085585782013-05-05T07:17:00.001-06:002013-05-05T07:17:59.312-06:00While I was working...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Guy went to a local nursery and bought some tomato plants, jalapeƱo plants, and onions and planted them outside in my various containers. With all of May being taken up by deadlines, I figured I just wasn't doing a garden this year, but Guy said no, no, no. </span><br />
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Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-36407709227276911532013-05-03T05:40:00.000-06:002013-05-03T05:40:00.205-06:00With T minus 96 hours to go<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The equipment consultant is useless, the guy redlining the exterior details has taken a computer off of an empty desk and holed up in a conference room, the owner won't send me information about all their owner-supplied-contractor-installed equipment, the IT consultant keeps emailing me about the MOB (we're starting on that on Tuesday! Did you finish the hospital yet? Well then get back there and finish the hospital! If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding!), the owner's rep keeps emailing my staff for random floor plans and information...</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...and my co-project manager/architect/right hand woman is having to work from home, because she's starting to have weird pre-labor pains. Did I mention Chloe was pregnant? She is, and any day now she won't be any more. Right in time for the deadline.</span><br />
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Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-37847323915329251522013-04-29T05:04:00.000-06:002013-05-02T19:46:08.887-06:00Pull off another miracle? Sure, why not?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, St. Ermagerd has been understaffed for almost a year, the client continues to make changes two weeks before the construction documents deadline, and right after the hospital's CDs are due, my team has two weeks to take 76,000 sf of adjacent St. Ermagerd clinic space from DDs to CDs?<br />
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Piece of cake.<br />
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[chugs half a bottle of Riesling<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">] </span><br />
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Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461658247603905885.post-88953123344596924392013-04-22T07:45:00.002-06:002013-04-22T07:45:32.330-06:00Technical difficultiesThe photos fromthe last few posts aren't working, which is what I get for trying to post things from my phone to my iPad Im' coming up on the first of three retarded and impossible deadlines for St. Ermahgerd, so myposting for the next few weeks is going to be spotty at best and absent or incoherent at worst. Plz 2 stand by, kthxwhatever.Mile High Pixiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276750909800945131noreply@blogger.com0