Walking through the still-darkened halls of my office, it occured to me that being a contractor is a lot like being a spy:

I wasn’t hired, I was “recruited.” I don’t work a job, I work an “assignment.” I’m tasked with fitting into the target organization as best I can. I pledge my loyalty to my onsite manager, though I really work for someone else. At the end of the week, I leave my timesheet at a dead drop and get paid through the mail. And occasionally my handler appears seemingly out of nowhere to check up on me.

The CIA is nothing more than Manpower with a bigger budget.

The mild weather we’re experiencing (sunny and 70F), have got me dreaming of exotic places.

Just got back from Delaware for the funeral of Kelly’s grandfather, T.V. He had been sick with Alzheimers for quite some time, so his death wasn’t a shock. It was a bit of a relief in some respects.

Everyone seemed to be upbeat, and enjoying each other’s company. In fact there was quite a bit of laughter Saturday night, courtesy of some Canadian friends.

What is it about Canadians that makes them so funny? America could take a lesson on how to live from our friends in the Great White North.

Anyhow, news of The Bambino kept everyone’s spirits up. We were glad that we could finally tell people.

Yesterday, we went about telling our close friends. Kelly and I stopped by Gerry and Mandy’s and spent an hour talking baby stuff. Then we raced home to grab some dinner – before we passed out – and set up a visit with Scott and Dawn. We just barely got to tell Scott before he had to head to hockey, but Dawn and her sister Tracy peppered us with questions for a while.

Amazing how soon we’re beginning to feel like authorities on pregnancy even though it’s only our first and millions of couples have gone before us.

The Bambino made its first public performance Thursday afternoon when Kelly and I went in to listen to its heartbeat.

Kelly’s been pregnant for 11 weeks and we’ve been playing an elaborate ruse with our friends in trying to keep it secret. With the appearance of a healthy heartbeat, we’ve got the confidence to let everyone know.

I had some fun with the event by writing a fake news story that was based on an incident over the holidays. We went to a party where my brother had rented a Karaoke machine and he and I hammed it up. Part of the act included acting comedian-like and announcing that Louie Anderson is up next,” and then dropping the microphone.

What makes this funny? A few too many drinks.

What was to be a routine check of a baby’s heartbeat turned bizarre Thursday afternoon when the baby grabbed the microphone and began singing karaoke tunes. Doctors examining Kelly Turner expecting the tiny heartbeat were instead astonished to hear “My Way” sung in a tiny voice.

“I really don’t know what to make of this,” said Dr. Hethfield of the Raleigh OB/GYN. “Even though the baby doesn’t have a lyric sheet – it doesn’t even have eyes yet – it somehow knows all the words. Must be something in the genes.”

“You’re telling me,” sighed Kelly Turner, as she rolled her eyes at her husband, Mark. Kelly then pleaded with the doctor for some kind of cure, but was flatly told her husband was incurable.

The mystery deepened even futher when the baby announced that Louie Anderson would be its little brother before dropping the microphone.

It occured to me how much I enjoy walking back to my PC after having been away for a while.

It’s not that I’m necessarily enamored with my work here. It’s because of the screensaver. My Linux screensaver runs the old Unix “fortune” application, one that prints quotes, stories, jokes and other text items across the screen.

Thanks to fortune and Linux, I become wiser every day.

I used to think that pilots were introverts. I mean, why would anyone want to spend their day locked up in a little room, in front of a panel of dials and sitting on their ass all day?

Then I took a look at what I do for a living. Ahem.

But seriously, I’ve never met a pilot who didn’t want to talk my ear off about flying. Makes me wonder how I ever thought of them as introverts.

Even though my flight simming didn’t pan out, even though the wireless network card balked at my laptop, the evening is not a total waste as the N.C. State Wolfpack trounced the North Carolina Tar Heels, 77-59.

On my way out of the office, I bragged to my boss that I was going home to fly. He knew how anxious I was to try out my new CH Products yoke and rudder pedals. Problem is, I stayed grounded.

I just bought Fly!II, thinking that a new yoke deserved a new flight simulator. Heh. It runs like a snail on my Pentium 266. Even my Voodoo3 card can’t help. Ugh.

So I fight with it for hours; still no luck. Thinking that FlightGear was still installed under Linux, I tried it there. Well, RedHat 7.2 broke OpenGL, so FlightGear doesn’t work.

I could’ve gotten my pilot’s license by now. Sheesh

Dave, the guy I just met this morning when he delivered plane stuff to me, did it again! He stopped by after lunch to give me an FAA sectional map and the address of yet another flight school.

Any minute I expect to find a set of Cessna keys on my desk.

Expressing interest in flying is a like joining a cult: once you express interest, the “members” make sure you don’t back out!