I might have poor comprehension skills, but my interpretation of a deposit is something that you can withdraw or at least something that you can get back. But according to landlords, that is not the case. Their version of the word is to mean that a deposit is something you can kiss goodbye for, by God, you will never see it again.
Shifting to a new apartment is imminent and as such, the battle to reclaim at least %80 of the rental deposit has begun, if only to refuel the evil cycle of making a rental deposit at a new apartment. The last one, I have been comprehensively beaten. The recovery rate was a pittance. Granted, the apartment was filthy. Yes, it resembled more of a sty. But $500 for re-painting a sty was hardly a fee, it was flagrant robbery.
To beat the system, I must be better than the system. I plan to repaint the walls myself, clean the place spotless, have a walk-through with the landlord, take pictures of the emptied place which is sure to be a portrait of immaculate cleanliness and wait for my rental deposit. But our apartment-mate punctured several holes in my plan.
First of all, the place will never be spotless. Even if one hires the very same professional cleaning services that the landlord will hire after one moves out, landlord will always find an issue to deduct something from the deposit. Second of all, regardless of whether or not an agreement is reached with the landlord that everything is in order prior to moving out, the deposit is still vulnerable to deductions. Lastly, the landlord knows that since one is moving out, one does not have the energy nor time--and when one is a youthful student--the patience to contest the charges and one just, inevitably, succumbs.
You can hear the muted echoes of his hopelessness at the situation. Because even if you play by the rules, the outcome is the same.
I understand that deposits are for the protection of the landlords. That in the event their properties are trashed, they are somewhat insured from the damages. However, it is an irritating logic to accept that in insuring themselves against plunderers and pillagers, they will plunder and pillage the rental deposits of even the most conscientious renters.
It has become somewhat of a moral problem: become a plunderer or be plundered.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Baby Fight Club
I saw the above-titled documentary recently. Apparently, some British folks interpret parenting to mean they have license to allow their children, from as young as four years old, to participate in a controlled-brawl they like to call Thai Boxing. These tots are ushered into a ring where they are cheered on by their parents to either "kick em, kick em" or "punch him". It is the only place in the world where children are egged on and even incentivized to hurt what on another civilized society would call a "playmate."
Because it is a fairly new sport, considering that most toddlers still find great joy in sucking their thumbs and playing with their toys, rules and regulations are still undercooked at best. At one competition, a boy wearing a protective headgear zestfully punches another boy in the face whose head unfortunately is not equally protected. Rules and regulations are still to evolve to clearly stipulate the acceptable conditions for having an unprotected head receive fistful of blows. When the parents thrust their kids to the ring, the only thing that keeps their precious little ones from being beaten needlessly into pulp is a referee. This means that now and again, illegal punches and kicks are thrown and illegal punches and kicks are received.
There was a boy, who at age 10, was considered a veteran of the sport and had tw0 knockouts under his belt. It is safe to assume that two souls who make up this disturbing statistic are about the ages of 10, as well. Before entering the ring, which may or may not be caged, he'd have ran for about 9 miles, made 400 sit-ups and spent at least 10 hours on the bags and sparring. For whatever time that he has left, I assumed he spends it sleeping. But according to his folks he also goes to school.
It is easy to fling mud at the parents of these children and call them unfit and abusive. But before you do so, they want you to know that they are doing this for their children's own good. The benefit may be obscured by visions of 4-year olds tearfully entering the ring to face another 4-year old for a kicking and punching match. But by introducing these children to the sport, their parents are confident that their children will grow up not to be pushed around and bullied by others. Their children, unlike your kid who is busy pretending that he is a masked superhero, will know how to protect and defend themselves against exploitation.
Understandably, any concerned parents would not want their children exploited. By others.
Because it is a fairly new sport, considering that most toddlers still find great joy in sucking their thumbs and playing with their toys, rules and regulations are still undercooked at best. At one competition, a boy wearing a protective headgear zestfully punches another boy in the face whose head unfortunately is not equally protected. Rules and regulations are still to evolve to clearly stipulate the acceptable conditions for having an unprotected head receive fistful of blows. When the parents thrust their kids to the ring, the only thing that keeps their precious little ones from being beaten needlessly into pulp is a referee. This means that now and again, illegal punches and kicks are thrown and illegal punches and kicks are received.
There was a boy, who at age 10, was considered a veteran of the sport and had tw0 knockouts under his belt. It is safe to assume that two souls who make up this disturbing statistic are about the ages of 10, as well. Before entering the ring, which may or may not be caged, he'd have ran for about 9 miles, made 400 sit-ups and spent at least 10 hours on the bags and sparring. For whatever time that he has left, I assumed he spends it sleeping. But according to his folks he also goes to school.
It is easy to fling mud at the parents of these children and call them unfit and abusive. But before you do so, they want you to know that they are doing this for their children's own good. The benefit may be obscured by visions of 4-year olds tearfully entering the ring to face another 4-year old for a kicking and punching match. But by introducing these children to the sport, their parents are confident that their children will grow up not to be pushed around and bullied by others. Their children, unlike your kid who is busy pretending that he is a masked superhero, will know how to protect and defend themselves against exploitation.
Understandably, any concerned parents would not want their children exploited. By others.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Restroom Attendants
Those primitive towel holder types that lamely hang on the wall cradling towels on its racks have been tossed to obsolescence. Apparently, its utility was far too deficient when measured against its expected function. In a bid to address this pressing issue, the latest design in tower holders breathes, moves, talks and--its most malignant defect--expects tips.
I noticed that pseudo-upscale restaurants are often guilty of installing such modern fixtures in their restrooms. If they think that by requiring their patrons to pay a fee in exchange of their hands getting a maximum of 4 second devoted attention from a possessed towel they are providing superior service, then they are monumentally and exasperatingly wrong. It does not add to the restaurant experience to have a towel holder leer menacingly at you upon its suspicion that you are a no-tipper.
What it actually does is cause an anxiety on the stubborn and miserly patrons who refuse to mollycoddle this panhandling innovation. They will evade the restroom at all costs, no matter how dire the situation. They will go through the meal without the necessary ablutions thus risking contaminating the food they eat. They will ignore all calls of nature, regardless of how relentless the call is. Because the price to be civilized is higher than the meal itself.
Consider how many times a restaurant patron pops in the loo. The responsible ones would stop by the restroom before eating to wash hands, in the middle to relieve self, some time after to wash hands after handling the lobster and at the end to cleanly punctuate the meal experience. Women develop sudden love affairs with the restroom, visiting it every so often during the meal and often in a tour-group with all the women at the table. Men, because of the religious pilgrimage of the women to the loo, are pressured to visit the loo at least once.
There should not be any money made in visiting the loo of a restaurant and subjecting patrons to a sorrowful spectacle of their money going down the drain. After all, that is what filing taxes are for.
I noticed that pseudo-upscale restaurants are often guilty of installing such modern fixtures in their restrooms. If they think that by requiring their patrons to pay a fee in exchange of their hands getting a maximum of 4 second devoted attention from a possessed towel they are providing superior service, then they are monumentally and exasperatingly wrong. It does not add to the restaurant experience to have a towel holder leer menacingly at you upon its suspicion that you are a no-tipper.
What it actually does is cause an anxiety on the stubborn and miserly patrons who refuse to mollycoddle this panhandling innovation. They will evade the restroom at all costs, no matter how dire the situation. They will go through the meal without the necessary ablutions thus risking contaminating the food they eat. They will ignore all calls of nature, regardless of how relentless the call is. Because the price to be civilized is higher than the meal itself.
Consider how many times a restaurant patron pops in the loo. The responsible ones would stop by the restroom before eating to wash hands, in the middle to relieve self, some time after to wash hands after handling the lobster and at the end to cleanly punctuate the meal experience. Women develop sudden love affairs with the restroom, visiting it every so often during the meal and often in a tour-group with all the women at the table. Men, because of the religious pilgrimage of the women to the loo, are pressured to visit the loo at least once.
There should not be any money made in visiting the loo of a restaurant and subjecting patrons to a sorrowful spectacle of their money going down the drain. After all, that is what filing taxes are for.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
First Person First Hand
One of my professors has suggested that first hand knowledge is one of the most overwhelming influence to wrong decisions. What you see is what you believe and believe so without a full assessment. Yet, I can scarcely deny that indeed the economy is falling when I go to an outlet mall. The weather is beautiful, everyone is out - and yet, when it comes to making the purchase, a few wallets open up to see the light of day.
Some have hoped tax rebate checks will help the stiffly held wallets open a bit, but right now it's pretty much in air. Cellular-news recently reported a huge dip in electronics spending. Perhaps, the only ones buying are those who look for favorite gadgets, with discretionary purchases from the common population on decline. People have compared the present decline with Japanese recession and it's clear that it would be hard to get out from here. Yes, there are opportunities, but a disproportionate number of them are arising out of poorer countries. In the next 30 years we will see a rebalancing of the world, with Asian nations emerging from past 500 years of misery.
But what do I know? I have just seen it first hand.
But what do I know? I have just seen it first hand.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Dumbnation
ERAP 2010--Para sa Masa
The above is proof that the brain has drained out of Philippines, completely. The audacity of a convicted plunderer (who later describe himself as "vindicated" by, in government terms, "pardon") to even ponder running for office once again is fueled by the staggering, collective idiocy of this country.
I do not want a man who wantonly pillaged an already malnourished economy by his monumental and infuriating excess to be in the position to do the same all over again. I do not want his ridiculously inept cronies to once again play musical chairs to the influential and significant positions up for grabs in the government. I am against his midnight cabinet sessions of drunken debauchery to determine the fate of this nation. Of the 91m souls reluctantly calling Philippines home, one of them is bound to be infinitely more suitable than this man will ever be.
As much as one would like to commiserate with the poor and their dire circumstances, it is hard to do so when they pin their hopes to the very man who propelled them deeper into the bog of poverty. To a man, who at the very least, can do very little about their situation. It's not as if this man had not been given the chance to prove his worth. He had the opportunity to substantiate the masses' belief in him but instead, chose to validate the portion of the population who chose not to vote for him.
It might be due to desperation and hopelessness which are causing this infectious bout of idiocy. But desperation and hopelessness will only persist if this man is put in office.
I do not want a man who wantonly pillaged an already malnourished economy by his monumental and infuriating excess to be in the position to do the same all over again. I do not want his ridiculously inept cronies to once again play musical chairs to the influential and significant positions up for grabs in the government. I am against his midnight cabinet sessions of drunken debauchery to determine the fate of this nation. Of the 91m souls reluctantly calling Philippines home, one of them is bound to be infinitely more suitable than this man will ever be.
As much as one would like to commiserate with the poor and their dire circumstances, it is hard to do so when they pin their hopes to the very man who propelled them deeper into the bog of poverty. To a man, who at the very least, can do very little about their situation. It's not as if this man had not been given the chance to prove his worth. He had the opportunity to substantiate the masses' belief in him but instead, chose to validate the portion of the population who chose not to vote for him.
It might be due to desperation and hopelessness which are causing this infectious bout of idiocy. But desperation and hopelessness will only persist if this man is put in office.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The Fine Print
For many years, details encoded in fine print have been subject of much contention, argument and the inevitable frustration. It seems, the substance of the contract is concealed inconspicuously in fine print. Each time there is a crucial issue about the service/product, resolution is sourced by fine print. Doubtful whether or not the increase in fees was stipulated in the contract? Read the fine print and you will be sufficiently enlightened. Baffled why you are suddenly being charged for service fees? The fine print can provide you with the answer. Such is the power of fine print, that contract executors won many legal battles and were awarded punitive damages with the argument, "Read the fine print."
The details in the normal print however, cannot answer these questions. Further, it is deficient of crucial facts. Information in the normal print will not explain to you that you need to do x in order to qualify for y. It will not point out that service a is not automatic but it's something that you have to request for specifically. That in order to avoid paying x amount of fees you have to do y. In general, nothing in the normal print will save you from a future, punishing headache except for providing you proof of your poor choice.
It is therefore unsurprising why details in the normal print are rarely the crux of any complaints or disputes. No customer complaints are easily resolved by referring to the normal print. I'm pretty sure that the customer service representatives hardly use this argument against a disgruntled customer: Read the normal print. And this is precisely because the normal print is merely a decoy used by contract-pushers to distract you from the trap disguised in fine print. Had you known what you were getting into, courtesy of fine print, you wouldn't have gotten into it in the first place.
Everything that we ever need and want to know about a contract, which will help us deliberate on its merits and demerits is in the fine print. For putting up with this dysfunctional system for so long, we deserve to get a contract in which the fine print is in normal print and the normal print in fine.
Let us push for the upliftment and empowerment of the normal print and for once, put value and significance in reading the normal print.
The details in the normal print however, cannot answer these questions. Further, it is deficient of crucial facts. Information in the normal print will not explain to you that you need to do x in order to qualify for y. It will not point out that service a is not automatic but it's something that you have to request for specifically. That in order to avoid paying x amount of fees you have to do y. In general, nothing in the normal print will save you from a future, punishing headache except for providing you proof of your poor choice.
It is therefore unsurprising why details in the normal print are rarely the crux of any complaints or disputes. No customer complaints are easily resolved by referring to the normal print. I'm pretty sure that the customer service representatives hardly use this argument against a disgruntled customer: Read the normal print. And this is precisely because the normal print is merely a decoy used by contract-pushers to distract you from the trap disguised in fine print. Had you known what you were getting into, courtesy of fine print, you wouldn't have gotten into it in the first place.
Everything that we ever need and want to know about a contract, which will help us deliberate on its merits and demerits is in the fine print. For putting up with this dysfunctional system for so long, we deserve to get a contract in which the fine print is in normal print and the normal print in fine.
Let us push for the upliftment and empowerment of the normal print and for once, put value and significance in reading the normal print.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Hello, God, are you there
Theists have this habit of plaguing God about everything, which I suspect is the reason why I am occasionally deprived of that indulgent attention from the divine. I sometimes feel that I am terminally on hold on God's helplines while other whiny souls get serviced. Women in particular have this annoying habit of demanding signs, from whether or not to accept a job offer to an ultimatum as to when will they finally meet The (proverbial) One. God must have cursed the day humanity learned how to pray.
I read a post today by a seemingly intelligent woman (she apparently was a magna cum laude at some top uni) advising her friend to demand a sign from God on what to do with her marital situation. She attested to the success rate of such a method and counted herself as one of the living proofs to this divine intervention. In particular, she recounted a situation in which she had asked God to give her a sign about accepting a job proffered to her from abroad. According to her demands, if God wants her to accept the offer, she should receive a purple rose by end of the day. Or some such nonsense. Apparently, she did get a purple rose that day and she went for the job which turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made. The trick was to demand for a sign that is out of the ordinary that if it does appear, there will be no denying that the sign is actually a coded answer.
It made me wonder what would have happened if she didn't get the purple rose that day. What if she got an equally bizarre black rose? Or what if she got the purple rose the day after? Would she have gone, anyway? Or would she have missed out on a great opportunity?
Most people are terrified to confront tough choices they have to make in their lives that they sometimes resort to coping mechanisms such as demanding exacting and creative signs from the poor, busy guy. Intelligent woman above couldn't make a decision and tossed a coin in the air to resolve the dilemma. Instead of calling it heads or tails however, she called for a purple flower. I suppose by allowing somebody else to have control over her fate, albeit illusory, it gave her comfort that someone else is guiding her. Because left to her own devices, look what she ended up doing.
What intelligent woman and others like her are most scared of, I guess, is not so much as to what the consequences of these choices might imply but as to who they can blame in case the decision turns out to be an unsound one. They'd much rather bleat and flail their arms angrily at an invisible God than look in the mirror and face the unsightly guilt that has nestled in their eyes because of a mistake. What these people need, more than anything else, is unflagging support and steadfast reassurance. That no matter what happens, they won't be judged and they will land on their feet.
Religion is not the greatest vehicle for self-accountability. It will provide for a long and holy list of names, each one of which is powerful enough to alternately praise or blame. What I would like to point out to people who are wont on badgering God for signs is this: For all your pleas for divine intervention, in the end, a mere mortal will have to make the decision and face the music accompanying it. And doing so with complete faith in one's self is in itself the divine act.
I read a post today by a seemingly intelligent woman (she apparently was a magna cum laude at some top uni) advising her friend to demand a sign from God on what to do with her marital situation. She attested to the success rate of such a method and counted herself as one of the living proofs to this divine intervention. In particular, she recounted a situation in which she had asked God to give her a sign about accepting a job proffered to her from abroad. According to her demands, if God wants her to accept the offer, she should receive a purple rose by end of the day. Or some such nonsense. Apparently, she did get a purple rose that day and she went for the job which turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made. The trick was to demand for a sign that is out of the ordinary that if it does appear, there will be no denying that the sign is actually a coded answer.
It made me wonder what would have happened if she didn't get the purple rose that day. What if she got an equally bizarre black rose? Or what if she got the purple rose the day after? Would she have gone, anyway? Or would she have missed out on a great opportunity?
Most people are terrified to confront tough choices they have to make in their lives that they sometimes resort to coping mechanisms such as demanding exacting and creative signs from the poor, busy guy. Intelligent woman above couldn't make a decision and tossed a coin in the air to resolve the dilemma. Instead of calling it heads or tails however, she called for a purple flower. I suppose by allowing somebody else to have control over her fate, albeit illusory, it gave her comfort that someone else is guiding her. Because left to her own devices, look what she ended up doing.
What intelligent woman and others like her are most scared of, I guess, is not so much as to what the consequences of these choices might imply but as to who they can blame in case the decision turns out to be an unsound one. They'd much rather bleat and flail their arms angrily at an invisible God than look in the mirror and face the unsightly guilt that has nestled in their eyes because of a mistake. What these people need, more than anything else, is unflagging support and steadfast reassurance. That no matter what happens, they won't be judged and they will land on their feet.
Religion is not the greatest vehicle for self-accountability. It will provide for a long and holy list of names, each one of which is powerful enough to alternately praise or blame. What I would like to point out to people who are wont on badgering God for signs is this: For all your pleas for divine intervention, in the end, a mere mortal will have to make the decision and face the music accompanying it. And doing so with complete faith in one's self is in itself the divine act.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Movie Review: Race
Saif and Akshay Khanna star in Abbas-Mustan's Race I lost 2++ hours of my life to this useless, god-awful movie and I thought I should write a eulogy for my tragic loss. In a way, I deserved it. The signs were there right from the beginning but I insisted on wresting my better sense from the jaws of stupidity and sat through the whole thing.
The plot was so contrived that it seemed to be a montage of twists from other more interesting movies. There was the secret-lovers twist in which the lover on the surface commits the ultimate betrayal only for it to unravel later on that the lover's loyalties have always been with the hero and that they are secretly lovers. And then there was the it-was-obvious-the-hero-died twist in which the hero dies in some accident only to resurface at a pivotal point in the movie alive, hale and hearty. Of course, Race also didn't fail to employ the staple villain-upperhand twist in which for the better part of the movie we see the villain's plan working like clockwork and the hero seems to have run out of luck but later it will be revealed that all of it was part of a bigger plan that benefits the hero entirely. There was also the I'm-just-a-cripple (in this case secretary) twist in which a seemingly harmless character turns out to be deep in the web of deceit and lies.
Armed with this veritable list of twists, I suppose the screenwriters confidently thought that they have a blockbuster hit on their hands. After all, there were movies which had only one or two of the aforementioned twists and yet caused a sensation at the box office. Having all of them woven into the story should therefore be a moneymaker. But in weaving all these twists together, the writers forgot to include an essential and crucial thread: the story. And that is why I lost 2 hours++ of my life.
Race was anything but the heart-pounding, edge-of-your-seat thriller that the title suggests. In the end, it turned out to be a poor tribute to twists that have previously been masterfully employed by better directors, while it limps amongst the forgettable movies of 2008.
Armed with this veritable list of twists, I suppose the screenwriters confidently thought that they have a blockbuster hit on their hands. After all, there were movies which had only one or two of the aforementioned twists and yet caused a sensation at the box office. Having all of them woven into the story should therefore be a moneymaker. But in weaving all these twists together, the writers forgot to include an essential and crucial thread: the story. And that is why I lost 2 hours++ of my life.
Race was anything but the heart-pounding, edge-of-your-seat thriller that the title suggests. In the end, it turned out to be a poor tribute to twists that have previously been masterfully employed by better directors, while it limps amongst the forgettable movies of 2008.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Quartivores
After hauling out a ton of dirty clothes the last laundry cycle, the boy and I decided that we'll do the laundry once a week. It's not that we didn't realize the value of this until that day. It's just that several trip to the laundry room in one day forces you to act on one of your better plans.
The problem with doing the laundry once a week at our apartment complex is that you need to be swimming in quarters in order to do so. Our washing machines need insane amounts of quarters for a single load and I won't even bother to talk about how much quarters the drying machines need.
What I want to know is why these machines are being obnoxious about which coins they can accept. What is wrong with dimes, nickels and pennies? The parking meters sure have no qualms devouring them. I don't see the washing machines in the higher order of the coin-eating food chain. Why the exclusive diet on quarters?
It's not as if there are machines out there the diets of which are based exclusively on dimes, nickels, and pennies that they are much in demand--except maybe for those coin-pressing machines you can find at amusement parks and other tourist traps. Other than those, there aren't really a great many use for these coins. In fact, movements have been formed to petition the abolition of pennies. And this is precisely because these prejudicial washing and drying machines adamantly refuse to compromise.
Quarters on the other hand are in demand. I need quarters for my bus-rides, for buying small-ticket items, for leaving tips and for calling on payphones when one forgets the apartment key and one's cellphone happened to elope with the apartment key. I rarely find myself in the situation in which I rummage my coin purse for a nickel, dime or penny. Often, I rummage frantically for a quarter.
The utility of dimes, nickels and pennies would increase tenfold if they are allowed into circulation in the washing and drying machines community. People will rediscover a newfound affection for these coins, especially for me, and will actually be motivated to pick them up off the street if they happen to be dropped. But as it is, I weed out my purse of pennies and nickels as they occupy too much space relative of their value.
Some vending machines seemed to have found a solution and have evolved into credit card eating machines. And because I have not much use for vending machines, they are the first to attempt to make my life easier.
As for the machines that I contend with constantly, they remain to be quartivores.
The problem with doing the laundry once a week at our apartment complex is that you need to be swimming in quarters in order to do so. Our washing machines need insane amounts of quarters for a single load and I won't even bother to talk about how much quarters the drying machines need.
What I want to know is why these machines are being obnoxious about which coins they can accept. What is wrong with dimes, nickels and pennies? The parking meters sure have no qualms devouring them. I don't see the washing machines in the higher order of the coin-eating food chain. Why the exclusive diet on quarters?
It's not as if there are machines out there the diets of which are based exclusively on dimes, nickels, and pennies that they are much in demand--except maybe for those coin-pressing machines you can find at amusement parks and other tourist traps. Other than those, there aren't really a great many use for these coins. In fact, movements have been formed to petition the abolition of pennies. And this is precisely because these prejudicial washing and drying machines adamantly refuse to compromise.
Quarters on the other hand are in demand. I need quarters for my bus-rides, for buying small-ticket items, for leaving tips and for calling on payphones when one forgets the apartment key and one's cellphone happened to elope with the apartment key. I rarely find myself in the situation in which I rummage my coin purse for a nickel, dime or penny. Often, I rummage frantically for a quarter.
The utility of dimes, nickels and pennies would increase tenfold if they are allowed into circulation in the washing and drying machines community. People will rediscover a newfound affection for these coins, especially for me, and will actually be motivated to pick them up off the street if they happen to be dropped. But as it is, I weed out my purse of pennies and nickels as they occupy too much space relative of their value.
Some vending machines seemed to have found a solution and have evolved into credit card eating machines. And because I have not much use for vending machines, they are the first to attempt to make my life easier.
As for the machines that I contend with constantly, they remain to be quartivores.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Discretion
I wonder if upon hearing the disclaimer "Viewer discretion advised" select members of the audience actually adopt a cynical stance and doubt if what is about to be viewed warranted discretion. It seems to me that the concept of discretion in this country is highly arbitrary. Which makes me think that these silly disclaimers we hear prior to engaging to a visual treat of nudity, sex or violence are entirely pointless.
For instance, there are situations which certain groups of people would rather enjoy in private and in the intimacy of discretion. Before delving into such situations or more like activities, certain preparations are made. Doors are closed and often locked, windows too. Blinds and curtains drawn. And during the actual uh activity, attempts at downplaying the climax and muffling euphoric feats are prevalent throughout the performance. It is either because (a) they refuse to wake up the neighbors (b) they refuse to wake up the roommate (c) they do not wish to play fodder to juicy gossip of the next day (or hour) (d) they simply believe that the activity falls under discretion.
Our neighbor obviously didn't belong to this group of people. They belonged to this other group which sneers at privacy as unnecessarily restricting and deems it as a slap in the face of democracy and freedom. So instead of closing doors and windows and drawing down the blinds and preserving whatever privacy afforded to them by their room, they open the windows, check for an uncooperative audience and produce the performance of their lives. This is America--the land of the free and the brave. Where every voices have the right to be heard and are heard.
Aaahhh....mmm....
G:...12 million monkeys locked in a room with a typewriter can eventually produce the whole of Shakespeare's works. That's fascinating.
B: Nah, that's not fascinating. It's just probability.
G: Yeah, what's the probability of that actually happening? That's fascinating.
B: No it's not.
Ooooooooh....yessss....oooohhhh
G: What do you find fascinating then?
B: Pendulums.
G: ?
Oh god yes....yessss.....Oh godddd oooohhhhhh
B: They actually exist.
G: Haven't you seen a grandfather clock?
B: I have but I am not referring to that. I am referring to your becoming one when you're about to get your period.
G: ?
Ohhhh....I'm getting dizzy.......
I don't understand why women have to fake it. And men actually buy it.
For instance, there are situations which certain groups of people would rather enjoy in private and in the intimacy of discretion. Before delving into such situations or more like activities, certain preparations are made. Doors are closed and often locked, windows too. Blinds and curtains drawn. And during the actual uh activity, attempts at downplaying the climax and muffling euphoric feats are prevalent throughout the performance. It is either because (a) they refuse to wake up the neighbors (b) they refuse to wake up the roommate (c) they do not wish to play fodder to juicy gossip of the next day (or hour) (d) they simply believe that the activity falls under discretion.
Our neighbor obviously didn't belong to this group of people. They belonged to this other group which sneers at privacy as unnecessarily restricting and deems it as a slap in the face of democracy and freedom. So instead of closing doors and windows and drawing down the blinds and preserving whatever privacy afforded to them by their room, they open the windows, check for an uncooperative audience and produce the performance of their lives. This is America--the land of the free and the brave. Where every voices have the right to be heard and are heard.
Aaahhh....mmm....
G:...12 million monkeys locked in a room with a typewriter can eventually produce the whole of Shakespeare's works. That's fascinating.
B: Nah, that's not fascinating. It's just probability.
G: Yeah, what's the probability of that actually happening? That's fascinating.
B: No it's not.
Ooooooooh....yessss....oooohhhh
G: What do you find fascinating then?
B: Pendulums.
G: ?
Oh god yes....yessss.....Oh godddd oooohhhhhh
B: They actually exist.
G: Haven't you seen a grandfather clock?
B: I have but I am not referring to that. I am referring to your becoming one when you're about to get your period.
G: ?
Ohhhh....I'm getting dizzy.......
I don't understand why women have to fake it. And men actually buy it.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
ASAP
I want to know who invented this ghastly acronym which lately has been the bane of my existence. Apparently, my delightful boss thought that by paying his minions less, they'll be motivated to work more. Along with increased productivity, boss thought that increased efficiency coincided with the implementation of his beloved doctrine. And because I am a cursed soul, getting everything ASAP is his way of life.
My inbox is littered with pithy, straightforward, death sentences such as: How soon can you make a business plan? I need one ASAP; research on how to set-up a nonprofit corp ASAP. But the cherry topper: I need ABCD today ASAP.
I don't exactly know how I am expected to work under ASAP conditions. Does this mean I have less pressure because I can submit ABCD at my own pace and at my own interpretation of soon and possibilities? Or is this actually a veiled and a mispelled NOW?
What is wrong with giving a specific and unequivocal deadline, I wonder. I need it today by 6:00pm. Thanks. It's harsh and exacting but I'd actually prefer that to the ambiguous ASAP. Why must I be subjected to the agony of measuring soon and the probabilities attached to what's possible? Not only must I consider how soon is soon enough, I must also deliberate how much is possible in soon enough. And on top of that, I need to make a stupid business plan ASAP.
Good bosses know that appending ASAPs to their demands do little to expedite whatever output they need immediately. ASAPed outputs essentially require loving attention from time and effort, which necessitated this whole business of ASAPs anyway. So, they don't. Instead, they typically impose a palpable yet admittedly, pressure-enriched deadline.
Bad bosses, on the other hand, use ASAP to bypass the irritating inconvenience of rational thinking.
My inbox is littered with pithy, straightforward, death sentences such as: How soon can you make a business plan? I need one ASAP; research on how to set-up a nonprofit corp ASAP. But the cherry topper: I need ABCD today ASAP.
I don't exactly know how I am expected to work under ASAP conditions. Does this mean I have less pressure because I can submit ABCD at my own pace and at my own interpretation of soon and possibilities? Or is this actually a veiled and a mispelled NOW?
What is wrong with giving a specific and unequivocal deadline, I wonder. I need it today by 6:00pm. Thanks. It's harsh and exacting but I'd actually prefer that to the ambiguous ASAP. Why must I be subjected to the agony of measuring soon and the probabilities attached to what's possible? Not only must I consider how soon is soon enough, I must also deliberate how much is possible in soon enough. And on top of that, I need to make a stupid business plan ASAP.
Good bosses know that appending ASAPs to their demands do little to expedite whatever output they need immediately. ASAPed outputs essentially require loving attention from time and effort, which necessitated this whole business of ASAPs anyway. So, they don't. Instead, they typically impose a palpable yet admittedly, pressure-enriched deadline.
Bad bosses, on the other hand, use ASAP to bypass the irritating inconvenience of rational thinking.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
The Man
A friend who recently got engaged and successfully attached Phd to his name had a fit of manliness over the weekend. After 30 years of listening to his sober second thought, he decided that the weekend was ripe for debauchery at a local strip club. He went with his fiancee.
A concerned friend wanted to do something about this belated youthful exuberance/mistake. "He's too old for this. He should be doing this when he was 16 or 17....not at this time." I told him that going to a strip club and getting drunk are some of the things one must experience as a man. Concerned friend couldn't disagree with this. I guess what bothers him most is not that his prudish friend finally broke free of his prudish shell but that in emerging from his chrysalis he was accompanied by the fiancee. "I would have gone alone," he excessively shared.
I conjectured that perhaps newly minted party-boy friend was on a high, what with consecutive accomplishments under his belt. This altered-state might have contributed to his reckless and feckless exploit into the world of impropriety. But as it is a high, his essence as the thinking, rational man remains unchanged and will eventually re-emerge. Give him a break.
Being crazy at 30 is actually a good thing and I will even go further to say that people should go crazy only at 30. At 30, we have the benefit of a refined mind and tempered emotions--well typically. And so, however crazy a night of drinking turns out for a 30 year old, it still would be tame compared to what could have been on a night of drinking 14 years earlier.
I'm sure our friend will be alright.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Irony
I do not understand the lobby for humane treatment of animals specifically those meant to be devoured by vociferous carnivores - yes, I am one of those. Now and again there are outraged cries of how inhumane the chickens of Kentucky Fried Chicken are treated prior to their inevitable frying. Or how old cows are dragged through the meat slaughterhouses as opposed to--I am not really sure how they want the cows transported for slaughter. Packing them at a back of a pick-up truck seems equally inhumane by their standards.
Companies who are either scared of being pelted by these animal rights activists with angry shouts of protests or are in solidarity with the just cause have resorted to printing cute, little tales about the lives of our chickens, pigs and cows before they were delivered to our fridge in a packaged death.
"Our chickens roamed freely and were not confined in fences. They ate the best grains and had the freshest water supply," that is before they nested on your fancy plate.
How can anybody protest the manner of dying and not the meted out death sentence? The shortlist for animal rights seem comical in my mind if I were to base it on the protests of animal rights activists:
1. Right to roam free
2. Right to best food
3. Right to fresh water
And the list will go on and on about the rights of chickens and pigs and cows to quality sustenance. And yet, the right to live is noticeably absent.
Douglas Adams in his book, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (I can't remember which installment) understatedly made a very sharp point about meat eating. ( At least that's how I interpreted it) I'd love to quote that part of the book but it is a Saturday and I would like to spend much of the day on something else.
Instead you will get an account of how I remembered the passage was written. The scene was at a restaurant at the end of the universe. The heroes of the story were famished and were waiting for their servers. A cow walked up to their table and asked them which part of the cow they wanted for dinner. The cow wittingly enticed them of its meaty part and endorsed it specifically. The heroes, however, were disconcerted. It felt vague to them that their eventual food was actually talking to them and telling them what part of it they would find most delectable.
When the hero decided to order salad instead, the cow almost consolingly replied "Would you rather I am dead and cannot talk before you decide to eat me?" Or something such (deepest apologies to Mr. Adams). Eventually, the meat of the day excused itself so it can proceed to the kitchen and shoot itself with a "Don't worry I'll treat myself humanely."
If there ever was an effective campaign against inhumane treatment of animals or meat eating, Mr. Adams already did it in his book.
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