Saturday, January 30, 2010

A simple solution

Yesterday, as Delta and I headed back from the movies, we remarked on the amount of old gum stains speckling the sidewalks of New York. Black spots on the sidewalk, that used to be someone's gum some fifty years ago. Everywhere we looked, the sidewalk was a veritable leopard of spots in varying shades of gey and black, flattened into the concrete like fossils from a distant past, darker and darker with age, like rings on a tree trunk.

How could gum from fifty years ago still be around? I thought about the thousands - no, millions, of feet that had stepped on the gum since it was left there. And the rigours of varying temperatures, from scorching summers to icy winters. And the layers of dirt and fumes which are the city.

What was this indestructable substance that could survive all this? And alarmingly, why the hell are we actually deeming it fit to eat?

And perhaps equally importantly, why aren't we using it to plug the cracks in roofs, roads and bridges, where it was obviously meant to be ue? There you go, Senate. Isn't that what you wanted? A cost-effective solution to the country's ailing infrastructure?

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

It might be scary, but at least it's not corporate

I was reminded today of a conversation Doobie and I had a few months ago.

I'd been lounging at home focusing all my energy on doing nothing at all, when suddenly the phone rang. "Ficali!!! It's me! I need your help!"

It was Doobie, in some kind of crisis or another.

"What's up Doobie?"

"I'm stuck in the airport and I forgot to turn in my time report! Can you email my boss and send in my hours for me? The deadline is 5 minutes away!"


So I logged into her laptop, and typed up an email to her boss in the most Doobie-esque language I could muster.

"There, I'm done. Should I put a smiley at the end?"

"Smiley? Are you kidding? Nobody does that in the corporate world! My boss would think I was crazy!"


I was appalled. Seems to me, when you're writing groveling email to your boss explaining how you forgot to send your timesheet in and could they please regard this hurriedly scribbled email as a record of your hours, the least you an do is soften the tone with a smiley (or two). At least, seems like that's what everyone in my company does.


I mean, if you were Mr Boss Man, which one would you rather receive?

-I'm very sorry I did not submit the timesheet, but here are my hours below. - OR -

- Hey, I'm really sorry I didn't submit the timesheet, but here's my hours below! :)

You see what I mean?! Worlds apart.


"You seriously don't use smileys? Doesn't that seem a bit cold? I mean, you guys do actually like eachother, right?"

And so we embroiled ourselves in debate about the appropriate placement of smileys (Doobie thought nowhere, I thought everywhere), and argued for a while until I realised I had forgotten to actually "send" the email and her deadline was almost up.

"Okay Doobs gotta send this email bye!". And I sent it. Sans smiley and all. Cold as ice, I say.


I had entirely forgotten about the entire affair, when I receive the email below from Richie Rich the other day. And naturally, it got me re-thinking about smileys and all.




So today I did a smiley count on my emails (because that is exactly the sort of stuff that throws a bone in my efficiency on particularly busy days).


And out of the 517 emails I received/sent today, 487 had a smiley in them. You see what I mean? This is where I've learnt it from. I work in a culture where we smile to each other. All the time. In every email. And nice though it be to get the odd bolstering smile, I do believe we've reached the point where, perhaps even I would admit, it's getting rather scary.


Scary, but better than the corporate world anyway :)

Sunday, January 24, 2010

The ant and the elephant

Inspired by our own personal triumph hiking in Peru last year, Delta and I have decided to do a longer backpacking trip in Patagonia this December.

As soon as we've decided on our trip for the year, of course, this brings with it a flurried excitement of planning and preparation (even if it is still an entire year away and all). Without a doubt, there's some hurdles to us being able to make this hike:

Perhaps most importantly, I have to learn to balance a 40lb backpack on my back and somehow propel myself over six hours of rough terrain without having some kind of emotional breakdown. Minor detail, but perhaps a pretty significant one in a backpacking trip.

So yesterday, Delta and I decided to have a bit of a gander with our backpacks. We loaded the packs with our heaviest books, and headed our for a walk in the park. Just from the fact that I could lift the bag at all, I'm guessing it could have weighed no more than 25lbs. But all the same, it felt like a elephant on my back. As soon as I heaved the pack onto my back, I gasped. I chortled. My feet weaved involuntarily under a convoluted command of their own. My face turned purple. Of course, none of those bodily responses actually contributed constructively to the situation, and I noted with some consternation that my body is obstreperously uncooperative in this regard.

Have you ever spent an few moments watching an ant trudging doggedly on, with a crumb on its back several times its size and weight? So there was I, with an elephant on my back.

Friday, January 22, 2010

What up with that

Ever since last November when we first watched SNL skit "What Up With That", the line's been stuck in Delta's head. Stuck so prominently, infact, that it's been his predominant response to pretty much anything I said.
From an innocuous comment about the weather ("crap its raining again!") to anything as serious as a relationship conversation ("Delta, we need to talk,"), Delta employed a uniform response.
He would burst into a jig and announce, "What up with that?!"

Today, I reached the end of my tether.
"Delta, I'm imposing a one week moratorium on the phrase. You're not allowed to say "what up with that" for at least a week, ok?!"
"But it's stuck in my head!" Delta whined. "I have to let it out!"

And so it got us wondering whether other people have this song stuck in their heads too. And oh dear. Oh, dear. SNL, what have you done.

Google search: "What up with that" snl stuck in my head

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Bureacracy TLC

Over the last few months, I have spent innumerable hours at the USCIS office getting finger-printed, eyeball-scanned and photographed. Such are the trials and tribulations of citizenship application.

So it's fair to say, I suppose, that over the last few months I have grown quite accustomed to the ways of the USCIS. And I feel the bursting desire to announce, with fond twangings of the heart, that I hold the USCIS right up there with the USPS as two of my favourite bureaucracies in the whole world.

You think I jest? Seriously - have you walked in to a USPS branch recently? They are always so lovely. It's all "yes, dear", "of course we can do that for you", "let's try to take care of that as quickly as we can, shall we, dear?". Nothing like a bit of TLC. Especially when it comes at exactly the right moment, after you've been standing in the USPS line for 20 minutes and are exasperated to the end of your tether.

The USCIS has somewhat the same feel (not just the comfortingly drab grey walls) - but the feeling of TLC. I think I've finally put my finger on it. Large governmental bureacracies breed complacency. And I don't mean complacency in a bad way, but more as a culture that actually allows people to take the time to be nice to each other.

Go on, give it a try. Go to the FedEx store and be taken care of with sharp efficiency in three minutes by a person who is so focused on the task that they barely look at you. Then go to the USPS branch and wait in line for twenty minutes, and finally reach the counter and get asked, "hello dear, how are you today?!". You'll see what I mean about feel-good bureacracy.

I could be slightly biased of course. After all, the kind lady with the lovely smile at the USCIS office today gave me a free booklet on US Civics (complete with pictures and all) so I can study for the citizenship test when it comes.

I'm jumping into US Civics with a degree of alacrity I rather failed to muster during my highschool days. Studying isn't my forte per se. But I'll be darned if I disappoint those lovely people at the USCIS by failing the test.

Monday, January 18, 2010

The inexcusable jacket

There is just no excuse for the puffy jacket. None at all.

The puffy jacket was for the eighties and the nineties, when they hadn't quite got their head wrapped around the art of sartorial insulation. When warmth was merely a function how much cottonwool you could put between yourself and the world. But today, the puffy jacket should be made instantly illegal.

It's a winter jacket that is not waterproof.
Unbelievably, it's a winter jacket that is not wind-proof.
And what's more, it turns you instantly into a human lollipop.

That's right, there is simply no excuse for the puffy jacket.

Unless, of course, you're a toddler, for those critters seem like they need as much insulation as possible from everything they run into, and should probably be wearing puffy jackets all year round, even in the summer.

But for everyone else, for gawd's sake get yourself a normal jacket. And if you're in the subway in your puffy jacket, and you bounce off the wall because you failed to anticipate how your jacket doubled your size, and bump across the carriage into me flailing your puffy arms, you know why I'm giving you dirty looks.

Because there's simply no excuse.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Up there with Haley's Comet

I got off a conference call this afternoon and went out to speak to Delta, and he nearly keeled right over in his seat.
"OMG what' happened to you?!!!"
"What?! What?!" When your spouse looks at you with fear in his eyes, you can't help but pick up that something must be amiss in your appearance. I ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror. And almost fainted from sheer fright.


All of a sudden, of it's own accord, without so much as the courtesy to ask permission, my eye had decided to blow up on me. There it was, ogre like, suddenly turned into a tomato. I stared at it in horror.

"Does it hurt?" Delta had suddenly materialised behind me in the mirror.
I prodded at it gingerly. "No, not really. Just feels a bit sore."
We both looked at my eye in alarm, wondering what one does next.
"What happened? What did you do to it?!"
"Nothing! One second it was itching a bit, and two minutes later, this. I can't go out in public! I'm not leaving the apartment until this sorts itself out!" The enormity of my tomato-eye was beginning to dawn on me and I started spiralling into a panic.


Then it suddenly occurred to me, the last time I'd seen myself like this. About the same time four years ago, I had suddenly woken up one morning with a tomato for an eye.

I had solved the mystery. Apparently, this is just one of those bodily afflictions which will come at me every four years, just out of the blue. Regular like clockwork. Right up there with Ol' Faithful, and the leap year. Right up there with Haley's Comet, it's the tomato-eye.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

All it takes is a moment

Just a fleeting moment. A whisper in the wind.
Somewhere, a mother kisses her child and tucks him into bed.
Somewhere, the sun is rising, and a city is coming to life.
Somewhere, the atlas shrugs, the earth replies,
And in a fleeting moment, in a whisper of a wind,
An entire people is left bereft.

Any of these moments could be any of us.
And I hope, when that moment comes for me,
Someone luckier will care enough to stop and help.

Haiti needs your help now.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Oh to be a Soccer Mom

Last week's Economist did an article explaining how within the next couple months, the number of working women will for the first time outnumber the men in the US workforce. More women than men! Women have already considerably outnumbered men in professional services for several years now. But the entire workforce - that's a huge milestone. This sociological change has been expedited by a couple of seminal points, amongst others:
- In the recession of the past two years, far far more men lost their jobs than women
- Far far more women are graduating college with better academic standing than men

Delta and I had been talking about this phenomenon, the monumental sociological implications it has, and what if anything we thought might change in our own workplaces. There's lots of theories about the intrinsically feminine qualities that women bring to the workplace, and several theorists who expound on why women make better bosses than men.

I'm not sure I buy that really, about women making better bosses than men. At least from my own meagre experience, I'd put women vs men bosses down as pretty equal, even if perhaps different. But it doesnt change the fact that on average, far more women than men are successfully graduating through the education system and emerging on the other end, fit and primed to work. Which probably means, if we extrapolate this into the future, that the trend and momentum only seems set to increase.

The most remarkable thing, the Economist remarked, was how rapidly, and yet how smoothly (or at least with relatively little turmoil) this enormous sociological change took place. And I'd have to agree.

Overall, I'd have to say men have been rather gracious in ceding dominance towards a more egalitarian society - in the US, anyway. It takes a generosity of mind and spirit to offer jobs that have always been yours to the ambitious 'other sex'. I was still mulling over the gentlemanly graciousness of men when we went over to the Cos and his wife's house for dinner.

The Cos and his wife are both medical doctors, about to embark on their long and fruitful careers in the city. I was about to ask them what they thought about all this men-women business, when the Cos helped himself to a large glass of wine and announced, "Phew! I'm so glad my wife's a doctor! Now I can happily retire and be a house husband."
"What do you mean?!" I laughed, taken somewhat by surprise.
"Man, I'm all ready to get myself a minivan and just be a Soccer Mom!" he said, laughing.

And there you have it. The graciousness of men. Knew there had to be something more there.

Saturday, January 09, 2010

The lure of the burbs

For the most part, I love this crazy chaotic cacophony of a city with all my heart, and couldn't imagine living anywhere else (except that time we were in Ecuador and I wanted to move there, or the time we were in Peru and I wanted to move there, or the time we were in Cinque Terre...). But for the most part, apart from the vacation distractions, other than the fleeting flutterings of my roving mind, I'm pretty darn happy living in our mad home.

There is one huge problem if you live in NYC though. It's the fact that ultimately, inevitably, unnervingly, all your friends will eventually end up heading to the burbs. I guess I can see why the burbs are attractive to people. The space, the fresh air, the cars, the costcos. But wouldn't you miss the local Chinese dry cleaner, or the little bagel house across the street, or the old guy with his big whiskers running the local wine store? I think I'd miss that sense of neighbourhood. But never mind, for this isn't about me.

Later this month, Gus and Kate move to their new home across the river in Jersey. Problem is, we'd grown rather used to always having them around the corner. To spontaneity and being able see each other in moments, without always having to make a plan about it. And now it feels as though they're moving a seemingy interminable distance away. No matter how happy you are for your friends, when it means they're moving further away, it's rather bitter-sweet no matter what way you look at it. Delta, who will lose his diner-breakfast-and-pub-drinking-BFF as an result of this move, has been morosely brooding about it for a few days now.

Of course - if we were honest about it - Jersey frankly isn't that far away. And when we see their new home, we'll be excited for them and the huge step in their lives this means. And who can complain about having friends with swimming pools and barbecues (or for that matter cars, space or greenery) anyway.

But for right now, it's a moment of despondence. For right now, all we know is that we're losing a couple of dear friends to the burbs.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Why I shouldn't be allowed out of the house on my own

I've been in Houston the last couple days, for work. I don't like business travel at the best of times, but am especially bad at travelling alone. I mean, once the last meeting's over, whats one supposed to do with your time?

So after I was done for the day I headed over to the gym. This gym was a tiny room (converted guest room at best estimate) with a couple of treadmills, a couple of bikes and a bunch of weights. There were four, sweaty, overweight men in the room already working out. I'm not trying to turn you off this blog post - people in the gym are just always sweaty, by the very nature of what they are doing, so I can't very well hold that against them. But it did occur to me, midst-jog, that I don't think I've ever been in a gym before with only men around. It's not like they looked at me - they probably hadn't even registered my presence, preoccupied as they were with their own grunts and groans. It was just me. I'd never been in a place - well, so testosteronified - in my life.

So as soon as I had done enough cardio to be able to call it a respectable workout, I jogged off the machine, out of the gym, and all the way back to my room as quickly as possible. But as soon as I'd stepped out of the shower, I was at loose ends all over again.

I checked my email about 10 times in as many minutes, but no one had sent me anything. Which irritated me quite a bit because when I'm all comfy at home and ready to watch the Wire, it seems like all my colleagues erupt in a veritable frenzy of email. But today - when all I need is a bit of work to occupy my dulling mind - nothing. Ridic.

So I walked around the block trying to find a nice spot to grab some dinner, but was left with a rather unsettled feeling. For one, there were no people about. Here I was, in the heart of downtown Houston, only 8pm, and there were no pedestrians anywhere. Nobody. Nitsch. Nein. Nada. Which wouldn't bother me - say if I was in rural Montana - but here, in a downtown city center, the empty streets felt like being in part of a sci fi movie. Or in the Twilight Zone. You know what I mean. And the other thing I noticed was that there were only chains. I passed a Subway, a Chilli's, an Olive Garden, a Ruby Tuesday, a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut before I was convinced enough that the only palatable option was to return to the hotel and huddle for my dear life.

So I ended up eating dinner by myself in the hotel restaurant, entertaining book in hand. A Marriott dinner is no less dreary than a fast food chain, mind you - but it has with it the dignity of the resignation with which I faced the rest of my trip.

And here's the climax of the evening. After the dinner, after I had paid my bill, after I had cleaned my plate and emptied my glass of wine, when all I had to do to make this a successful day was to get back safely to my room - I gone and outdone myself again. At the very last minute I suddenly suffered a lapse of the mind (for nothing else could explain this), and as I was leaving, I ... wait for it ... I gave the waitress a hug.

Yes, you heard it right. I actually gave the waitress a hug. Not the gentle squeeze of the arm, mind. A full-fledged bear-hug.

What was I thinking?! Just like all other times, I have no clue. I was horrified. I'm sure she was equally so.

But the poor girl reacted much to her credit, which is more than can be said for me. She said a mere startled thank you and beat a hasty retreat. I was mortified of course. To clarify, although I've done many a demented thing in my life, I have never, never, hugged a waitress before, just for serving me food. It was all very awkward, and I wish fervently that I've forgotten all about it by the morrow.

Monday, January 04, 2010

A little bit better

Today, I read a statistic that clean threw me for a loop.

About 5% of America's energy consumption is from wasted use. Eg computers left on overnight (guilty), lights left on in rooms that no one is in, continuous heating and airconditioning even when no one's home, cellphone chargers in outlets even when there's no phone charging. The average American will go through twice as much energy in their lifetime as the average European. There's a simple explanation for this of course. Energy is such a cheaply available resource in America, that Americans have never had to learn to be conservative with it.

That just makes me so sad. I admit with a fair dollop of chagrin that I've been guilty of leaving my computer on overnight far too often. Why? So that I can save the thirty seconds in the morning that it would otherwise take to reboot? Its just simply inexcusable. Delta has told me many a time to shut down the darned machine before going to bed. But - oh - by the end of the day when I'm so tired - I just don't have. the. energy. to. go. all. the. way. over. just. to. turn. it. off.

But when I read this, I was instantly mortified. Horrified. Outraged. Aghast. 5%!

We can bitch and moan about the ineffectiveness of Copenhagen, but what's the point? If we can't even take it upon ourselves to make the smallest of these sacrifices, how could we expect large international treaties of a global nature to succeed?

So this year, for a change, a real resolution. Every night, the computers go off. No iffs or buts or other excuses I may concoct. Just off.

Now that doesnt seem like much to ask for, does it?

Sunday, January 03, 2010

A knot in my stomach

For the last two days, I've had a knot in my stomach.

At first I thought it was because Kima got shot in The Wire (Delta and I have just discovered this series, so we're doing a lot of catch up - still only at the end of Season 1, but involved enough to get knots in the stomach).

Then I thought it might be because we watched Crash again. And now if that movie doesn't give you knots in your tummy, I dont know what would.

But it's been two days now, and I'm still feeling rather - well, anxious - without anything to feel anxious about, really. It's quite disturbing. I don't know how to describe the feeling, other than a knot in my stomach. It's just sitting there, waxing and waning with a pulse of its own. It's throwing me off my game, and I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

Of course, now that I think about it, it could just be that funny salmon I had the other day. That could give you knots in the stomach, couldn't it? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I rather hope the salmon is making me feel offish.

Saturday, January 02, 2010

Welcome, new year

We decided again to have everyone over to ours for new year. A a couple reasons for it, I suppose.

For one, Delta and I quite simply enjoy entertaining. Besides the obvious fun, it gives us a the impetus to do a deep clean of all corners in the home. Last time, we rediscovered 'lost' coins in the sofa, pillow cases in the trunk, a jumper on the window ledge. Who knows what treasures we'll uncover next time we clean.

And for another (perhaps, one could argue, most importantly), it comes as no surprise that New Years Eve always tends to fall on a rather inconveniently cold day. And who wants to be schlepping out of the home in such inclement weather? No, far better to have the party all warm and cosy and safe in your own living room, I say.
The start of the new year is a virtual tabla rasa, which rolls into our lives every 365 days or so. A time for reflection, a time for new resolutions and for turning a fresh page.
But if you're anything like Delta and me, the pressure of such change and self-commitment might just be a bit much to live by (at least beyond the third week of Jan or so). If you're anything like Delta and me, you don't ask for more from New Years than just spending time with friends and family, having a couple glasses of bubbly, and celebrating the year that was.