Plate 1: Mound of rice with a single meat and vegetable dish.
Plate 2: Pile of rice with two meat and vegetable dishes.
Plate 3: Some rice with one meat dish, two meat and vegetable dishes, and one fish dish.
There are of course variations on what can go on the plate with its accompanying variable amount of rice. But one glance at the plate of each diner walking away from the rice stall in Thailand tells a story. A story of relative affluence mixed with absolute hunger.
Rich or poor, hunger treats everyone equally. But sadly, the poorer often have to go hungrier.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Crap oh crap Euphemisms
I didn't write these but I'll reproduce what I read and cite my source.
"We believe that everyone who used to visit Bangkok and shopped at Centralworld should be sad due to his incident. Please keep the good feelings and wait for our better return." - Map, 2010.
"Thank you for all visitors which have a chance to visit after the violation incident from the riot of "red shirts" mob and they not satisfied the mainstays of "red shirts" announcing to revoke the political protest after the deployment of military from the Centre for the Resolution of the Emergency Situation (CRES), as the protestors "Red Shirts" didn't accept the solution of the mainstays and felt not satisfied as a result of the groups of protestots made a riot.
"Everyone who has a chance to visit Bangkok, if you are interested to know more about this incident, please search more through internet. If you have free time and chance to visit the incidents, please say hell (sic!) to those entrepreneurs who were affected from these incidents with good willingness and the map handbook "Siam Bangkok Map Tourist" shall be the guideline to lead you going to anywhere as wished." - Map, 2010
Reference:
Map, Siam Bangkok. (2010, June) 2(18)
Places damaged by fire
Bangkok Bank
Centre One PLaza
Government Savings Bank
Office of the Narcotic Control Board
Siam City Bank
Big C Headquarters
Central World
Krung Thai Bank
Mahatun Plaza Building
Siam Paragon
Siam Theatre
Kasikorn Bank
Tesco Lotus Express
Metropolitan Electricity Authority
Post Today News (Bangkok Post)
The Stock Exchange of Thailand
Thai TV 3
Tesco Lotus
"We believe that everyone who used to visit Bangkok and shopped at Centralworld should be sad due to his incident. Please keep the good feelings and wait for our better return." - Map, 2010.
"Thank you for all visitors which have a chance to visit after the violation incident from the riot of "red shirts" mob and they not satisfied the mainstays of "red shirts" announcing to revoke the political protest after the deployment of military from the Centre for the Resolution of the Emergency Situation (CRES), as the protestors "Red Shirts" didn't accept the solution of the mainstays and felt not satisfied as a result of the groups of protestots made a riot.
"Everyone who has a chance to visit Bangkok, if you are interested to know more about this incident, please search more through internet. If you have free time and chance to visit the incidents, please say hell (sic!) to those entrepreneurs who were affected from these incidents with good willingness and the map handbook "Siam Bangkok Map Tourist" shall be the guideline to lead you going to anywhere as wished." - Map, 2010
Reference:
Map, Siam Bangkok. (2010, June) 2(18)
Places damaged by fire
Bangkok Bank
Centre One PLaza
Government Savings Bank
Office of the Narcotic Control Board
Siam City Bank
Big C Headquarters
Central World
Krung Thai Bank
Mahatun Plaza Building
Siam Paragon
Siam Theatre
Kasikorn Bank
Tesco Lotus Express
Metropolitan Electricity Authority
Post Today News (Bangkok Post)
The Stock Exchange of Thailand
Thai TV 3
Tesco Lotus
Friday, January 08, 2010
When you are at it long enough...
I have a phantom student taking the course I'm teaching for the third time. Apparently, he no-showed all the way during the first two times he was assigned the course. So far, he no showed both lessons. Looks like I'm going to have to give an F grade this time.
Shit happens.
Shit happens.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Case Study: How to throw a bitch fit
You are to read the following case study very carefully before you attempt the questions that follow. Answer each question in continuous prose. Each answer should not exceed 250 words. You have 48 hours to complete this assignment.
You should type out your answers on A4 or Letter sized paper, 1 inch margins all round, 12 point Times New Roman font. You may submit your answers online in the comments column following this post.
You are reminded not to repeat your points in different answers. You are reminded of the need for clear and concise writing.
Scenario
I was shopping for a new rice cooker when a Chinese PRC woman started kicking up a big fuss at the store.
She accused the service staff of being rude to her; some snarky remark was involved, or so it seemed. Ms PRC shouted at the service staff for not answering her question on how good a pot she was interested in was and also pointed out that the side comment that was made about her type was not appropriate.
Ms PRC then started screaming. In addition, she took to banging and kicking the items at the store.
Questions
1. What did Ms PRC do wrong?
2. What should Ms PRC have done?
Reflections
1. If you were Ms PRC, how would you have reacted in this situation so you can extract maximum benefit from the stall?
2. Do you think it is ethical to extract maximum benefit from the stall? Why?
Role Play
1. Imagine you are a shopper in the store who thinks one of the two women is out of line. Write a retort to show how you could take the side one of the women and start hurling insults back at the "bitch".
2. If you are the manager of the store, explain how will you resolve this issue.
Higher Order Thinking Skills
1. In our social context where we are trying to attract foreign talent to contribute to our workforce and population, how do you think you will help these foreign talent integrate themselves into our society?
2. Do you think soft skills, such as child bearing, child rearing, fighting, quarrelling, screaming, shouting, accusing and insistently talking loudly everywhere, should be part of the criteria for admitting foreign talent? How would one test such skills?
You should type out your answers on A4 or Letter sized paper, 1 inch margins all round, 12 point Times New Roman font. You may submit your answers online in the comments column following this post.
You are reminded not to repeat your points in different answers. You are reminded of the need for clear and concise writing.
Scenario
I was shopping for a new rice cooker when a Chinese PRC woman started kicking up a big fuss at the store.
She accused the service staff of being rude to her; some snarky remark was involved, or so it seemed. Ms PRC shouted at the service staff for not answering her question on how good a pot she was interested in was and also pointed out that the side comment that was made about her type was not appropriate.
Ms PRC then started screaming. In addition, she took to banging and kicking the items at the store.
Questions
1. What did Ms PRC do wrong?
2. What should Ms PRC have done?
Reflections
1. If you were Ms PRC, how would you have reacted in this situation so you can extract maximum benefit from the stall?
2. Do you think it is ethical to extract maximum benefit from the stall? Why?
Role Play
1. Imagine you are a shopper in the store who thinks one of the two women is out of line. Write a retort to show how you could take the side one of the women and start hurling insults back at the "bitch".
2. If you are the manager of the store, explain how will you resolve this issue.
Higher Order Thinking Skills
1. In our social context where we are trying to attract foreign talent to contribute to our workforce and population, how do you think you will help these foreign talent integrate themselves into our society?
2. Do you think soft skills, such as child bearing, child rearing, fighting, quarrelling, screaming, shouting, accusing and insistently talking loudly everywhere, should be part of the criteria for admitting foreign talent? How would one test such skills?
Friday, January 01, 2010
New Year Resolution
I kept 2009's resolution not to have any resolutions. Worked so well, I'm not having another resolutions for 2010 either.
Resolutions should not tie you down. Instead, you should live your life in a way that makes your presence meaningful.
Today is wasted, yesterday was rubbish and tomorrow will be crap is one perspective. Nothing wrong about that. Today is good, yesterday was ok and tomorrow will be great is an equally valid perspective. Nothing wrong about that either. The choice lies in you and you can decide what is best for yourself.
Carpe diem!
Resolutions should not tie you down. Instead, you should live your life in a way that makes your presence meaningful.
Today is wasted, yesterday was rubbish and tomorrow will be crap is one perspective. Nothing wrong about that. Today is good, yesterday was ok and tomorrow will be great is an equally valid perspective. Nothing wrong about that either. The choice lies in you and you can decide what is best for yourself.
Carpe diem!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Life just got harder
Went to my usual bakery to score some cheap bread at the end of the business day where it gives a discount to dispose of the day-old buns.
I was shocked to see that the bakery has radically repackaged its bread and totally reinvented its offerings of buns.
Whereas in the past, one could get a pack of 6 small buns at a discount price of $1.20 (U.P. $1.60 - $2.50), what I saw today were packets of 4 slightly larger buns at the same price. However, the 4 buns were lesser in quantity (about 70%) compared to the usual buns. Similarly, one could get a medium savoury or sweet bun at a discount price of 50 cents (80 cents), they have increased the bun size by about 30% and are selling them at $2.50 for 3 buns (U.P. $1 - $1.40).
Needless to say, life has just gotten harder for the folks.
Whereas in the past, a family of four might be able to subsist on a pack of 6 small buns, there isn't enough to spread the new 4-bun packet around now. The kids might get a slightly more substantial breakfast but the adults are definitely not going to have enough. If the family had to buy two packets of the buns because they can't buy 1.5 packets, the average cost would have been driven up by 60 cents, representing a 50% increase.
For folks like me who prefer to have larger buns, my usual breakfast consists of 2 medium buns. That would be $1. Now with the new buns, 2 buns are too substantial while 1 bun is not quite enough. In any case, even if I were to go for a 1.5 bun solution, my costs have also risen by about 25%.
Many retired contract workers like me do not get a pay raise. However, our cost of living could be spiked by 50% just overnight. Such surprises are really nasty and bone chilling.
If I might be a little vulgar, it seems life has become harder than a viagra-induced hard-on. But unlike the latter, life isn't going to get softer afterwards.
If I might share what I saw today at the bakery - there was a drop in the number of customers, easily a 70% drop, and there were many people looking at the new buns and calculating costs in their hearts. Some walked away without buying. Bread is staple for Singaporeans and yet, with such a drastic move, many might soon have to give up even their daily bread.
I was shocked to see that the bakery has radically repackaged its bread and totally reinvented its offerings of buns.
Whereas in the past, one could get a pack of 6 small buns at a discount price of $1.20 (U.P. $1.60 - $2.50), what I saw today were packets of 4 slightly larger buns at the same price. However, the 4 buns were lesser in quantity (about 70%) compared to the usual buns. Similarly, one could get a medium savoury or sweet bun at a discount price of 50 cents (80 cents), they have increased the bun size by about 30% and are selling them at $2.50 for 3 buns (U.P. $1 - $1.40).
Needless to say, life has just gotten harder for the folks.
Whereas in the past, a family of four might be able to subsist on a pack of 6 small buns, there isn't enough to spread the new 4-bun packet around now. The kids might get a slightly more substantial breakfast but the adults are definitely not going to have enough. If the family had to buy two packets of the buns because they can't buy 1.5 packets, the average cost would have been driven up by 60 cents, representing a 50% increase.
For folks like me who prefer to have larger buns, my usual breakfast consists of 2 medium buns. That would be $1. Now with the new buns, 2 buns are too substantial while 1 bun is not quite enough. In any case, even if I were to go for a 1.5 bun solution, my costs have also risen by about 25%.
Many retired contract workers like me do not get a pay raise. However, our cost of living could be spiked by 50% just overnight. Such surprises are really nasty and bone chilling.
If I might be a little vulgar, it seems life has become harder than a viagra-induced hard-on. But unlike the latter, life isn't going to get softer afterwards.
If I might share what I saw today at the bakery - there was a drop in the number of customers, easily a 70% drop, and there were many people looking at the new buns and calculating costs in their hearts. Some walked away without buying. Bread is staple for Singaporeans and yet, with such a drastic move, many might soon have to give up even their daily bread.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Killing Me Softly...
Spent about two hours in the Changi General Hospital's Accident and Emergency Department's Observation Room when I went over for follow-up treatment last Friday. Immediately on entering the room, I was plonked on an empty bed. There was a patient on my left (Bed 7) and an empty bed on my right (Bed 5). No prizes for correctly guessing for my bed number.
Beds 1, 2 and 3 were empty while on Bed 4 lay this Malay guy who was conscious but hooked to various monitors. He's perhaps in his 30s or 40s and if anything, I'd suspect withdrawal symptoms rather than any real medical emergency. But what would I know.
Bed 7 on my left lay a sleeping guy, possibly a national serviceman, wrapped up in his blanket. I was not sure if he's malingering but I was beyond caring now. I had problems of my own to worry about. Bed 8 seemed to be occupied but the patient was blocked by the mass on 7. Bed 9 was empty. Bed 10 lay this Chinese man who looks like he's from China but I might be wrong. Beds 11 and 12 were empty.
I was waiting for my turn to get my CT Scan done. Right after I was made to lie in the bed, my blood pressure was taken and the nurses manning the OR counter began talking about the age of their new patient and his condition. Yak yak yak...
The nurses woke Patient 7 not long after I was settled in and asked if he could manage to go home by himself. I guessed that was the beginning of the long weekend and the hell he couldn't! So, off he went. I saw the gaunt patient on Bed 8. Bed 10 went up for his scan and I waited my turn, when the machine became available.
Before long, Bed 10 seemed to come back down while I fidgeted, went to the loo, was made to sit on a wheelchair, wait in the wheelchair, wheeled up to Radiology, and got my scan done.
Act 1 was complete when the CT machine fired the last x-rays through my skull and possibly semi-cooking my brains. I was wheeled back to the OR and made to get back on my bed.
* * *
"You must drink water. See, ask you to drink water, you don't want to drink? Today you're back in here again." So goes the son to his father, the patient on Bed 8.
"Yesteday, we came here and you were vomiting. They wanted to put you on the drip and you don't want.
"What can we do now? No point telling me that they use such a big (gauged needle) one on your now, right? Yesterday, if you take, you won't need such a big one.
"You need to drink water. How can you not drink water? Yesterday, when the doctors let you go home, you were told to drink lots of water. But you say the water makes you vomit. Now doctor X cannot do anything for you. God can't do anything for you either.
"Don't worry about anything at home. Everything will be fine. The home will still be there when you go home. You should just stay in here and start drinking water.
"You cannot go home now. See? Even God doesn't want to take you yet. So, how?..."
Apart from some occasional low groans and some raspy, unintelligible sounds, the son persisted on his soliloquy. There was resignation, not anger.
"See? I already take leave today. I got no choice since I have to bring you here. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work. And today I take leave to bring you here..."
The battle of making dad drink water was amazing. While I tried to resist turning over to take a look, when sonny left, I sneaked a peek. Old man seemed to be burning. His face is flush reddish purple and his lips were dry and chapped. His eyes were listless as he stared out into the clinically white lighted room, his mouth gaping like a beached goldfish gasping for air.
* * *
"Oh, Mr So-so. I'm your doctor. I've just seen your radiology report. I think you have got a mini-stroke. You know, a TIA..."
Man, I know a TIA. It's short for transient ischaemic attack. I just watched it for the third time on Royal Pains the night before. Oh shit, what if I had a TIA from the car accident...
The patient on Bed 10 must be pretty taken aback. Stroke? How is that possible? He looked perfectly normal. Normal weight range, normal everything.
"Mr So-so, TIA is like a stroke. You see your films? There is this dark region. The blood flow to the area is affected."
I could almost see myself spouting these lines. Man, when I go to the US for studies, I'm going to audition for a role in some medical drama. I could play the role of a plastic surgeon who gets a patient who wants a pair of 38H and midway into the headlights enhancement operation, she had a TIA, wakes up after emergency rescue and decides that, for the sake of her fragile life, she wants a pair of 42L instead. The patient's name? Miss Giant Parts Greenberg. ;)
"We don't know if there is permanent damage. No. You cannot go home. You must stay in the hospital and we need to treat you. We will find out the extent of the blockage and see if you have any permanent damage here.
Such words were not exactly the most comforting to me, since I'm also waiting for the CT scan results.
Doctor turned to Patient 10's wife and asked, "Do you know if he complained of any weaknesses on one side of his body...?"
A poignant Miss Saigon moment descends. I feel walls in my heart closing in, I can't breathe, I can't win...
* * *
I had quite enough by then. Between the time I was sent for the scan and my return, which was less than 15 minutes, the OR room dynamics had changed. There was now a Patient 5 on my right now and he was offered lunch. That junior category senior even asked to see the lunch menu. He really thinks that when the ambulance crew euphemistically call hospitals hotels, they are thus hotels? Crazy.
Patient 1 was an old man/woman - honestly, when you are old and shrivelled up, no one can tell your sex any more - and s/he was sleeping. Or maybe unconscious. S/he is awaiting admission.
Bed 2 was occupied by a huge Indian lady who was to be admitted. When the enrolled nurses asked her to sit up, they asked her, "Can you sit up?" and then asked if the bed, which was supposed to wheel her to her ward, could support her weight. Somehow, after watching Nurse Jackie, I feel strangely comforted.
On Bed 3 was a Malay old man who wanted to be given his painkillers, forget about any treatment and scoot home soonest possible. He looked like he wished to be home, never mind should anything happen to him. I doubt he was of dischargable patient calibre but to subject a senior category senior citizen to more treatment seemed brutal. And what do I know? I'm just an aspiring medical drama quack.
Patient 4 was more sober by then. Maybe they injected a little something into him? I was not sure. By then, I was already pretty much killed inside by the flurry of bad news and the negative vibes.
"Can I leave this place?" I asked the nurses. "I wanna get lunch."
"Do you have relatives with you?"
"No, I came alone. Oh, never mind. How long will this take?"
"About 1 hour."
"1 hour? I can wait. It's just another 15 minutes."
In an environment where it's bad news galore - the sign at the OR entrance
read, "Due to high occupancy, you will only be allocated your bed in the wards when it becomes available," or something to that effect - find an excuse and get out before your heart gives out when your news come.
Still, high occupancy rates in "Cannot Go Home" Hospital? Amazing. Singaporeans must be damned desperate to go there.
As I waited, there was a fresh commotion in the nurses area about how they intend to complain about a staff nurse or doctor who passed disparaging remarks about the hospital. Apparently, the fellow said something like, "No wonder people say Changi is a bad hospital. If I had a family member who was ill and needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn't even send them (sic!)here." And to make matters worse, this utterance was made in front of the public. Apparently, the OR nightingales are going to launch a joint attack on the hawk by claiming that he was out of line, unprofessional and whatever.
Ah, at least some bitching near my comfort levels. I don't know what transpired but the nightingales seemed perturbed enough to say words to the effect that Changi is a great hospital and if any of their loved ones fall sick, they would have no qualms to send them here because of the high levels of care. Oddly, I feel a little more confident, even if Changi is not even on my shortlist for anything.
* * *
1.15 pm. The wait was getting unbearable. The OR was not exactly changing much in terms of patient numbers but there was clearly a need to get rid of bed hoggers. My case came up for review at the counter. A re-triage of sorts.
"This patient looks all right."
"Yah, 29 years old..." - goddammit, there is ABSOLUTELY no one who's 29 in the OR! I'm the youngest and I'm way past 30! - "and the signs are stable. Blood pressure ok."
"Ok, let me call Radiology."
29 years old? Ha! I was 29 once. But how could they work out my age to be 29 when that was half a decade ago?
"Hello, Radiology? A&E OR ah. Can I discharge this patient? We need the beds."
The next thing, I was told I could leave the observation room.
At that moment, I knew there was nothing very serious. But honestly, the lack of privacy in the OR and the deluge of bad news bombarding the patients in the room can rapidly cause anyone to slip into a transient depression. The what-ifs can really be heart stopping and mind blowing.
I quickly bundled out of the OR and went back to the waiting area, where the doctor walked out of his consultation room and asked for another 2 hours to clear my case as the senior enough radiologist wasn't available to countersign on my CT report and a verbal ok from Radiology and from only one radiologist wasn't good enough to get me discharged as an emergency case.
Still, being able to get out of the A&E for a quick lunch and some shopping to remove the negative thoughts and vibes that plague the free mind - despite the giddiness from the mild concussion - can be a little uplifting.
Beds 1, 2 and 3 were empty while on Bed 4 lay this Malay guy who was conscious but hooked to various monitors. He's perhaps in his 30s or 40s and if anything, I'd suspect withdrawal symptoms rather than any real medical emergency. But what would I know.
Bed 7 on my left lay a sleeping guy, possibly a national serviceman, wrapped up in his blanket. I was not sure if he's malingering but I was beyond caring now. I had problems of my own to worry about. Bed 8 seemed to be occupied but the patient was blocked by the mass on 7. Bed 9 was empty. Bed 10 lay this Chinese man who looks like he's from China but I might be wrong. Beds 11 and 12 were empty.
I was waiting for my turn to get my CT Scan done. Right after I was made to lie in the bed, my blood pressure was taken and the nurses manning the OR counter began talking about the age of their new patient and his condition. Yak yak yak...
The nurses woke Patient 7 not long after I was settled in and asked if he could manage to go home by himself. I guessed that was the beginning of the long weekend and the hell he couldn't! So, off he went. I saw the gaunt patient on Bed 8. Bed 10 went up for his scan and I waited my turn, when the machine became available.
Before long, Bed 10 seemed to come back down while I fidgeted, went to the loo, was made to sit on a wheelchair, wait in the wheelchair, wheeled up to Radiology, and got my scan done.
Act 1 was complete when the CT machine fired the last x-rays through my skull and possibly semi-cooking my brains. I was wheeled back to the OR and made to get back on my bed.
* * *
"You must drink water. See, ask you to drink water, you don't want to drink? Today you're back in here again." So goes the son to his father, the patient on Bed 8.
"Yesteday, we came here and you were vomiting. They wanted to put you on the drip and you don't want.
"What can we do now? No point telling me that they use such a big (gauged needle) one on your now, right? Yesterday, if you take, you won't need such a big one.
"You need to drink water. How can you not drink water? Yesterday, when the doctors let you go home, you were told to drink lots of water. But you say the water makes you vomit. Now doctor X cannot do anything for you. God can't do anything for you either.
"Don't worry about anything at home. Everything will be fine. The home will still be there when you go home. You should just stay in here and start drinking water.
"You cannot go home now. See? Even God doesn't want to take you yet. So, how?..."
Apart from some occasional low groans and some raspy, unintelligible sounds, the son persisted on his soliloquy. There was resignation, not anger.
"See? I already take leave today. I got no choice since I have to bring you here. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work. And today I take leave to bring you here..."
The battle of making dad drink water was amazing. While I tried to resist turning over to take a look, when sonny left, I sneaked a peek. Old man seemed to be burning. His face is flush reddish purple and his lips were dry and chapped. His eyes were listless as he stared out into the clinically white lighted room, his mouth gaping like a beached goldfish gasping for air.
* * *
"Oh, Mr So-so. I'm your doctor. I've just seen your radiology report. I think you have got a mini-stroke. You know, a TIA..."
Man, I know a TIA. It's short for transient ischaemic attack. I just watched it for the third time on Royal Pains the night before. Oh shit, what if I had a TIA from the car accident...
The patient on Bed 10 must be pretty taken aback. Stroke? How is that possible? He looked perfectly normal. Normal weight range, normal everything.
"Mr So-so, TIA is like a stroke. You see your films? There is this dark region. The blood flow to the area is affected."
I could almost see myself spouting these lines. Man, when I go to the US for studies, I'm going to audition for a role in some medical drama. I could play the role of a plastic surgeon who gets a patient who wants a pair of 38H and midway into the headlights enhancement operation, she had a TIA, wakes up after emergency rescue and decides that, for the sake of her fragile life, she wants a pair of 42L instead. The patient's name? Miss Giant Parts Greenberg. ;)
"We don't know if there is permanent damage. No. You cannot go home. You must stay in the hospital and we need to treat you. We will find out the extent of the blockage and see if you have any permanent damage here.
Such words were not exactly the most comforting to me, since I'm also waiting for the CT scan results.
Doctor turned to Patient 10's wife and asked, "Do you know if he complained of any weaknesses on one side of his body...?"
A poignant Miss Saigon moment descends. I feel walls in my heart closing in, I can't breathe, I can't win...
* * *
I had quite enough by then. Between the time I was sent for the scan and my return, which was less than 15 minutes, the OR room dynamics had changed. There was now a Patient 5 on my right now and he was offered lunch. That junior category senior even asked to see the lunch menu. He really thinks that when the ambulance crew euphemistically call hospitals hotels, they are thus hotels? Crazy.
Patient 1 was an old man/woman - honestly, when you are old and shrivelled up, no one can tell your sex any more - and s/he was sleeping. Or maybe unconscious. S/he is awaiting admission.
Bed 2 was occupied by a huge Indian lady who was to be admitted. When the enrolled nurses asked her to sit up, they asked her, "Can you sit up?" and then asked if the bed, which was supposed to wheel her to her ward, could support her weight. Somehow, after watching Nurse Jackie, I feel strangely comforted.
On Bed 3 was a Malay old man who wanted to be given his painkillers, forget about any treatment and scoot home soonest possible. He looked like he wished to be home, never mind should anything happen to him. I doubt he was of dischargable patient calibre but to subject a senior category senior citizen to more treatment seemed brutal. And what do I know? I'm just an aspiring medical drama quack.
Patient 4 was more sober by then. Maybe they injected a little something into him? I was not sure. By then, I was already pretty much killed inside by the flurry of bad news and the negative vibes.
"Can I leave this place?" I asked the nurses. "I wanna get lunch."
"Do you have relatives with you?"
"No, I came alone. Oh, never mind. How long will this take?"
"About 1 hour."
"1 hour? I can wait. It's just another 15 minutes."
In an environment where it's bad news galore - the sign at the OR entrance
read, "Due to high occupancy, you will only be allocated your bed in the wards when it becomes available," or something to that effect - find an excuse and get out before your heart gives out when your news come.
Still, high occupancy rates in "Cannot Go Home" Hospital? Amazing. Singaporeans must be damned desperate to go there.
As I waited, there was a fresh commotion in the nurses area about how they intend to complain about a staff nurse or doctor who passed disparaging remarks about the hospital. Apparently, the fellow said something like, "No wonder people say Changi is a bad hospital. If I had a family member who was ill and needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn't even send them (sic!)here." And to make matters worse, this utterance was made in front of the public. Apparently, the OR nightingales are going to launch a joint attack on the hawk by claiming that he was out of line, unprofessional and whatever.
Ah, at least some bitching near my comfort levels. I don't know what transpired but the nightingales seemed perturbed enough to say words to the effect that Changi is a great hospital and if any of their loved ones fall sick, they would have no qualms to send them here because of the high levels of care. Oddly, I feel a little more confident, even if Changi is not even on my shortlist for anything.
* * *
1.15 pm. The wait was getting unbearable. The OR was not exactly changing much in terms of patient numbers but there was clearly a need to get rid of bed hoggers. My case came up for review at the counter. A re-triage of sorts.
"This patient looks all right."
"Yah, 29 years old..." - goddammit, there is ABSOLUTELY no one who's 29 in the OR! I'm the youngest and I'm way past 30! - "and the signs are stable. Blood pressure ok."
"Ok, let me call Radiology."
29 years old? Ha! I was 29 once. But how could they work out my age to be 29 when that was half a decade ago?
"Hello, Radiology? A&E OR ah. Can I discharge this patient? We need the beds."
The next thing, I was told I could leave the observation room.
At that moment, I knew there was nothing very serious. But honestly, the lack of privacy in the OR and the deluge of bad news bombarding the patients in the room can rapidly cause anyone to slip into a transient depression. The what-ifs can really be heart stopping and mind blowing.
I quickly bundled out of the OR and went back to the waiting area, where the doctor walked out of his consultation room and asked for another 2 hours to clear my case as the senior enough radiologist wasn't available to countersign on my CT report and a verbal ok from Radiology and from only one radiologist wasn't good enough to get me discharged as an emergency case.
Still, being able to get out of the A&E for a quick lunch and some shopping to remove the negative thoughts and vibes that plague the free mind - despite the giddiness from the mild concussion - can be a little uplifting.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Elections Coming?
The annual National Day Rally by the Prime Minister last night was a nicely veiled work review of the tasks his cabinet and members of parliament have been given and a report of the updates and achievements. As I sit through the entire speech, the signs of an upcoming elections are obvious. The Prime Minister is not different from a director making an annual update to his upper management the jobs he has assigned to his deputies and folks. Time to give me a promotion. Or for that matter, time to return me to office one more time. Otherwise, why would anyone have to do that at a NDR?
The usual slew of topics - bitching about Singaporeans not giving birth and announcing bonuses - is absent. Of course, what my government and I cannot achieve, we pay less attention to it. Let's showcase our successes instead. So, there were takes on issues such as religious tolerance, the AH1N1, Singapore past and now and possibly the future, and infrastructural updates. PM highlighted the work of all the ministries and gave them kudos.
Of course, in a speech like this, there were no lacking in certain understated but not to be missed moments.
PM Lee envision Singapore to be a Garden of Eden state. If I am not wrong, God owned the Garden of Eden. Enough said.
PM Lee said that people should be inclusive enough so that it is possible for people of different faiths to have a meal at the same table. Even if you don't eat what I eat, it is still possible to share a table. As yourself how many times certain meals must be from a particular religion and every one is forced to eat that, regardless? If there is inclusiveness, then let me eat what I want. In fact, I have asked my neighbour if he minded food that are free of his religious taboos but is cooked in my kitchen. His answer was yes, he minded. So there. Again, enough said.
PM spoke of how a clash between a funeral and a wedding took place. The wedding folks eventually acquiesced and chose an alternative, nearby venue and the town council waived utility charges. Er... I'm pretty sure if the dead person could walk, s/he might want to change a venue to save on charges too? Why not be fair and waive both charges?
PM spoke of the importance of the government to remain secular and the NGOs be that way too so that no one religious group can use such platforms to spread any of their (fanatic) agenda. He also wanted common space to exist. If that is the case, then why is Section 377A still in existence. The government and the laws should be above the religion! Anyone running afoul of Section 377A is a violation of "contract" between the person and the government; what have strong religious sentiment got to do with it? Why even use groups of fervent opposers as an excuse not to overturn the outdated law?
PM spoke of how the picture depicting the NS man (in the Mount Faber SAFRA) is appropriate - his wife is behind him and his kids beside. And how many NS men aren't married, can't even keep a wife, are divorced, don't want the kids they have, have a broken family etc? The rosy pictures are always nice. But show how it really is for the real NS man out there. Do you actually see us struggling with our IPPT? Do you actually see us losing out because of our ICT? Do you even see us?
PM spoke of how the PAP government brought the people out of slums and squatters. The audience laughed when PM spoke about Lim Kim San's visit to Chinatown where he faced a man lying in bed wrapped up in his blanket who claimed that he was being courteous to Mr Lim: his bunk mate and him shared a pair of trousers (gay??) and his mate has worn those trousers out to work then. What's with the laughter? What is so funny? Have we really moved out of poverty? If it were funny sharing trousers in the 1950s, then why is it not funny not having enough money to pay utility bills, pay children's school fees, pay town council charges, or even buy food for a proper meal? Haven't these people who should live with a d*mned paper bag over their heads for living beyond their means have even more to laugh about? Yet, why are they queueing up for handouts? Did they really live beyond their means or have they really no choice but have to live that way? Have we really rid Singapore of poverty? Are our lives really better now than before?
PM spoke of how people benefited from the government housing programme but he plain forgot that the very same government deprived most single Singaporeans from being able to benefit from any housing subsidies. (To qualify for any subsidy, a single must earn less than $3,000 per month. Pray tell how is that possible?) Worse, single Singaporeans now face housing prices that are way beyond their reach. Remember, singles can only buy from the open market and not directly from the Housing and Development Board. Open market flats which cost less than $100 000 from HDB when the owners first bought them cost at least 3 to 5 times as much in the open market. Singles who are attempting to own a unit will be saddled with a mountain of lifetime debt!
There are even more that I can talk about but the bottom line is this. We are busy building and rebuilding and even remaking Singapore into something more and more vibrant and cosmopolitan. However, little provision is made for the common man and its rapidly aging population. Step down facilities to be twinned with acute care hospitals are just one measure for the aged. How about other measures? What happens when I decide to retire? Even if the government raises retirement ages up to 80 years old, there will be one day when I cannot get out of bed any more. Or I simply won't. Then what? Am I condemned to work from 18 to 80 just because I am Singaporean, am poor and have no way to go?
There is little doubt that the PAP government will continue to rule Singapore for at least the next 15 to 20 years. I am no prophet and I am not in the business of speculation so I won't project beyond that. My only question is a simple one: When I am ready to go, where should I be so I can afford to die?
The usual slew of topics - bitching about Singaporeans not giving birth and announcing bonuses - is absent. Of course, what my government and I cannot achieve, we pay less attention to it. Let's showcase our successes instead. So, there were takes on issues such as religious tolerance, the AH1N1, Singapore past and now and possibly the future, and infrastructural updates. PM highlighted the work of all the ministries and gave them kudos.
Of course, in a speech like this, there were no lacking in certain understated but not to be missed moments.
PM Lee envision Singapore to be a Garden of Eden state. If I am not wrong, God owned the Garden of Eden. Enough said.
PM Lee said that people should be inclusive enough so that it is possible for people of different faiths to have a meal at the same table. Even if you don't eat what I eat, it is still possible to share a table. As yourself how many times certain meals must be from a particular religion and every one is forced to eat that, regardless? If there is inclusiveness, then let me eat what I want. In fact, I have asked my neighbour if he minded food that are free of his religious taboos but is cooked in my kitchen. His answer was yes, he minded. So there. Again, enough said.
PM spoke of how a clash between a funeral and a wedding took place. The wedding folks eventually acquiesced and chose an alternative, nearby venue and the town council waived utility charges. Er... I'm pretty sure if the dead person could walk, s/he might want to change a venue to save on charges too? Why not be fair and waive both charges?
PM spoke of the importance of the government to remain secular and the NGOs be that way too so that no one religious group can use such platforms to spread any of their (fanatic) agenda. He also wanted common space to exist. If that is the case, then why is Section 377A still in existence. The government and the laws should be above the religion! Anyone running afoul of Section 377A is a violation of "contract" between the person and the government; what have strong religious sentiment got to do with it? Why even use groups of fervent opposers as an excuse not to overturn the outdated law?
PM spoke of how the picture depicting the NS man (in the Mount Faber SAFRA) is appropriate - his wife is behind him and his kids beside. And how many NS men aren't married, can't even keep a wife, are divorced, don't want the kids they have, have a broken family etc? The rosy pictures are always nice. But show how it really is for the real NS man out there. Do you actually see us struggling with our IPPT? Do you actually see us losing out because of our ICT? Do you even see us?
PM spoke of how the PAP government brought the people out of slums and squatters. The audience laughed when PM spoke about Lim Kim San's visit to Chinatown where he faced a man lying in bed wrapped up in his blanket who claimed that he was being courteous to Mr Lim: his bunk mate and him shared a pair of trousers (gay??) and his mate has worn those trousers out to work then. What's with the laughter? What is so funny? Have we really moved out of poverty? If it were funny sharing trousers in the 1950s, then why is it not funny not having enough money to pay utility bills, pay children's school fees, pay town council charges, or even buy food for a proper meal? Haven't these people who should live with a d*mned paper bag over their heads for living beyond their means have even more to laugh about? Yet, why are they queueing up for handouts? Did they really live beyond their means or have they really no choice but have to live that way? Have we really rid Singapore of poverty? Are our lives really better now than before?
PM spoke of how people benefited from the government housing programme but he plain forgot that the very same government deprived most single Singaporeans from being able to benefit from any housing subsidies. (To qualify for any subsidy, a single must earn less than $3,000 per month. Pray tell how is that possible?) Worse, single Singaporeans now face housing prices that are way beyond their reach. Remember, singles can only buy from the open market and not directly from the Housing and Development Board. Open market flats which cost less than $100 000 from HDB when the owners first bought them cost at least 3 to 5 times as much in the open market. Singles who are attempting to own a unit will be saddled with a mountain of lifetime debt!
There are even more that I can talk about but the bottom line is this. We are busy building and rebuilding and even remaking Singapore into something more and more vibrant and cosmopolitan. However, little provision is made for the common man and its rapidly aging population. Step down facilities to be twinned with acute care hospitals are just one measure for the aged. How about other measures? What happens when I decide to retire? Even if the government raises retirement ages up to 80 years old, there will be one day when I cannot get out of bed any more. Or I simply won't. Then what? Am I condemned to work from 18 to 80 just because I am Singaporean, am poor and have no way to go?
There is little doubt that the PAP government will continue to rule Singapore for at least the next 15 to 20 years. I am no prophet and I am not in the business of speculation so I won't project beyond that. My only question is a simple one: When I am ready to go, where should I be so I can afford to die?
Saturday, August 01, 2009
She
She may be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She ambled along the airplane aisle and began searching for seat 37F. That was the seat beside me and I was certainly not excited about having to be cramped in my little aisle seat in a Boeing 747-400 after losing the space beside me. Being somewhat more generous than I normally am, I looked at her and asked, "37F?"
"Yeah."
"You're here then." I pointed to the seat beside me.
This is my first impression of She. Definitely not a white woman; maybe hispanic, maybe Asian. I'm not too sure. But certainly not a big woman. More Asian, if you ask me to characterise her.
She got past the folks trying to shove their bags into the overhead compartments while I grudgingly removed my safety belt and got up from my seat.
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
She carried her carry on handbag - not exactly a very small one - and then settled into her seat.
"I hope these two seats are empty," said She, pointing to 37D and 37E. "Then we can share the four seats between us."
"I heard the plane is full." I was unusually unhopeful.
"Let's hope," she said.
"We'll know once they say 'Cabin doors closed'," I replied rather nonchalantly.
A chatty one. Dear god, is this a joke? It's going to be 19 hours of... I think I'll go along. Anyway, there is nothing more exciting that disturbing that bitch sitting in front of me.
She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
We got the four seats and she happily moved to 37E, leaving a seat between us. There was distance for comfort and proximity for noisy conversation.
"My name is She," she introduced herself. (For her privacy, I oughtn't name her.)
"I am He," I said.
"I'm from Florida," said She. "I'm flying home to Jakarta. I'm going home for the first time after I married to America."
"Yeah, right, Miss Saigon," I cynically thought. Maybe I should ask her how she fished the rich husband. Instead, my politically correct civil servant persona kicked in. "Oh, Florida. I heard it's a nice place. And wow! It must be a pain flying all the way to Jakarta."
"I started at Fort Lauradale," said she. And she began regaling me with her travails since she began her journey in Florida, including how she had to run from terminal to terminal to make the flight. An earlier thunderstorm in the New York/New Jersey area apparently caused airports to shut down for about 2 hours and planes were backlogged.
"My journey actually started at noon, when I had to check out from the hotel," I countered, not wishing to seem that I was in any better shape. Oddly, it was as though I was trying to find an excuse for bad behaviour.
The flight took off and we had our meals, we napped, we chatted and she told me her lifestory somewhat.
She was not as bad as I had thought. Oddly, her generosity was amazing. She was a "sharer", a "giver" of sorts.
"I live in a big house in Florida. 5 rooms... 4000 over square feet," She proudly announced, right after telling me - a complete stranger less than 30 minutes ago - that I should visit her in Florida and stay at her place when I visit.
And then she started showing me digital photographs off her digital camera of her palace. I vaguely recall the house has a pinkish exterior and it looks huge.
"My husband and I used to live in an even larger house. One acre...," She reminisced as she began describing her heaven. "But he lost everything. You know Madoff?"
I'd be damned if I know not of Madoff.
"He invested all his life savings, our retirement money, millions, with him. He lost everything. You know, he has nothing now."
She described how he invested with Madoff because of "insider ties" and how all these promises of a worry-free retirement were dashed when Madoff was exposed as a fraud. And I thought I would never meet someone to be swimming in Madoff's circles.
I thought I saw tears shimmering in her eyes but She was so strong.
She who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She may be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die
"You know, he went crazy when she died. His friends all said that he married someone really beautiful, but now, he is married to someone who is really good for him."
She talked of how she entered his life after he lost his first wife to cancer. He lost the plot and was womanising and drinking his life away. She came in and turned him back to his home and his family. Her step children are grateful to her role in bringing the family back together again. She gained their acceptance through sheer grit and determination.
Such strength of character need not be said. These are private traits that an outsider looking in must discern and appreciate. And who knows what it took her to uproot herself from Indonesia to marry an Italian-American 8 years ago and live in the US. And worse, inherit a ready family, when at 40, she was somewhat past her productive years.
She asked me to guess her age. Ladies, never ask me to do that, because I'm damned good at that. If you wanna feel good about yourself, don't ask. I told her, 40s? She said I was very good and said she was 48. I politely told her I would have guessed 42. A white lie, but it probably made her day.
Then she half-bitterly and half-proudly said she is a stepmother of a few children and a grandmother of a few (I think 4) kids. The Chinese use taste to describe certain feelings and perhaps, only she would know the exact taste of that pride.
Her strength of character lay not just in how she gave up her job with a multi-national company to become a stay home wife who cooks daily for her husband and have dinner parties ever so often for her friends and family. "You know, I always include his dead wife's mother every time. She's 82 and we look after her." I think this says it all.
Our conversation went on for many hours, albeit intermittently. She gave me her recipes for southern Italian cooking while I told her where to eat when she visits Singapore. We exchanged contacts and we had a really fun time together. I promised to visit her sometime soon.
And from her, one can tell that her 62 year old husband is fully appreciative of her. Perhaps no one better than him will appreciate the closing stanza of his second life that he has decided to spend with this wonderful woman.
She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she
She, oh she
My blessings to them.
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She ambled along the airplane aisle and began searching for seat 37F. That was the seat beside me and I was certainly not excited about having to be cramped in my little aisle seat in a Boeing 747-400 after losing the space beside me. Being somewhat more generous than I normally am, I looked at her and asked, "37F?"
"Yeah."
"You're here then." I pointed to the seat beside me.
This is my first impression of She. Definitely not a white woman; maybe hispanic, maybe Asian. I'm not too sure. But certainly not a big woman. More Asian, if you ask me to characterise her.
She got past the folks trying to shove their bags into the overhead compartments while I grudgingly removed my safety belt and got up from my seat.
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
She carried her carry on handbag - not exactly a very small one - and then settled into her seat.
"I hope these two seats are empty," said She, pointing to 37D and 37E. "Then we can share the four seats between us."
"I heard the plane is full." I was unusually unhopeful.
"Let's hope," she said.
"We'll know once they say 'Cabin doors closed'," I replied rather nonchalantly.
A chatty one. Dear god, is this a joke? It's going to be 19 hours of... I think I'll go along. Anyway, there is nothing more exciting that disturbing that bitch sitting in front of me.
She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
We got the four seats and she happily moved to 37E, leaving a seat between us. There was distance for comfort and proximity for noisy conversation.
"My name is She," she introduced herself. (For her privacy, I oughtn't name her.)
"I am He," I said.
"I'm from Florida," said She. "I'm flying home to Jakarta. I'm going home for the first time after I married to America."
"Yeah, right, Miss Saigon," I cynically thought. Maybe I should ask her how she fished the rich husband. Instead, my politically correct civil servant persona kicked in. "Oh, Florida. I heard it's a nice place. And wow! It must be a pain flying all the way to Jakarta."
"I started at Fort Lauradale," said she. And she began regaling me with her travails since she began her journey in Florida, including how she had to run from terminal to terminal to make the flight. An earlier thunderstorm in the New York/New Jersey area apparently caused airports to shut down for about 2 hours and planes were backlogged.
"My journey actually started at noon, when I had to check out from the hotel," I countered, not wishing to seem that I was in any better shape. Oddly, it was as though I was trying to find an excuse for bad behaviour.
The flight took off and we had our meals, we napped, we chatted and she told me her lifestory somewhat.
She was not as bad as I had thought. Oddly, her generosity was amazing. She was a "sharer", a "giver" of sorts.
"I live in a big house in Florida. 5 rooms... 4000 over square feet," She proudly announced, right after telling me - a complete stranger less than 30 minutes ago - that I should visit her in Florida and stay at her place when I visit.
And then she started showing me digital photographs off her digital camera of her palace. I vaguely recall the house has a pinkish exterior and it looks huge.
"My husband and I used to live in an even larger house. One acre...," She reminisced as she began describing her heaven. "But he lost everything. You know Madoff?"
I'd be damned if I know not of Madoff.
"He invested all his life savings, our retirement money, millions, with him. He lost everything. You know, he has nothing now."
She described how he invested with Madoff because of "insider ties" and how all these promises of a worry-free retirement were dashed when Madoff was exposed as a fraud. And I thought I would never meet someone to be swimming in Madoff's circles.
I thought I saw tears shimmering in her eyes but She was so strong.
She who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She may be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die
"You know, he went crazy when she died. His friends all said that he married someone really beautiful, but now, he is married to someone who is really good for him."
She talked of how she entered his life after he lost his first wife to cancer. He lost the plot and was womanising and drinking his life away. She came in and turned him back to his home and his family. Her step children are grateful to her role in bringing the family back together again. She gained their acceptance through sheer grit and determination.
Such strength of character need not be said. These are private traits that an outsider looking in must discern and appreciate. And who knows what it took her to uproot herself from Indonesia to marry an Italian-American 8 years ago and live in the US. And worse, inherit a ready family, when at 40, she was somewhat past her productive years.
She asked me to guess her age. Ladies, never ask me to do that, because I'm damned good at that. If you wanna feel good about yourself, don't ask. I told her, 40s? She said I was very good and said she was 48. I politely told her I would have guessed 42. A white lie, but it probably made her day.
Then she half-bitterly and half-proudly said she is a stepmother of a few children and a grandmother of a few (I think 4) kids. The Chinese use taste to describe certain feelings and perhaps, only she would know the exact taste of that pride.
Her strength of character lay not just in how she gave up her job with a multi-national company to become a stay home wife who cooks daily for her husband and have dinner parties ever so often for her friends and family. "You know, I always include his dead wife's mother every time. She's 82 and we look after her." I think this says it all.
Our conversation went on for many hours, albeit intermittently. She gave me her recipes for southern Italian cooking while I told her where to eat when she visits Singapore. We exchanged contacts and we had a really fun time together. I promised to visit her sometime soon.
And from her, one can tell that her 62 year old husband is fully appreciative of her. Perhaps no one better than him will appreciate the closing stanza of his second life that he has decided to spend with this wonderful woman.
She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is she
She, oh she
My blessings to them.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
If you want to die in debt...
This is the unsolicited perspective of an outsider looking in. I will accept your views on the matters but I am not necessarily able or willing to discuss all of them.
One thing that strikes me as rather peculiar to the US is the extensive use of credit cards. Almost every facility in the US accepts credit. People pay for parking with their credit cards, they pay for metro card top-ups, train tickets, small item dispensers, shopping... Just about anything can be paid for by credit cards.
It is a pretty worrying trend, if you ask me. Few people are good at keeping their finances in shipshape. Most people tend to squander their money away, swiping their cards at their purchases thinking that they are able to well-afford the service or the item when they don't.
I paid for most of my shopping with cash this time around. I reckon there was no point keeping dollars any raking up a card bill. So what if there were frequent flyer points given for the expenses? With the economy that bad, the airline is cutting back on capacity. What happens then is that you've got the points but they hell have no free seats.
The worst of the financial storm seems to have passed. But my US friends and I share the common perception that the current fiasco was resolved in a way that it felt more like a blimp in the larger scheme of things - giving the impression that this was a one-off anomaly - than a deep puddle of shit, which requires new sanitation lines and facilities to handle.
We agreed that the rut should be allowed to last a year or two, let the market really and truly correct itself, let the perpetrators go off with punishment bruises to remind them to behave, and let the people have time to reflect on their own actions.
Just last night, when the ad nauseum airing of the first series episodes of Boston Legal ended on hotel TV, paid commercials came on. Among them was for a real estate auction for housing properties in the northeastern regions. Man, I could afford those houses if the other buyers do not bid me out of my range. And they look like pretty nice houses too. Even better, the auction company is helping buyers pre-qualify for bank loans. Er...
Immediately today, I saw a news claiming that the housing market seems to have turned a corner because prices have fallen far enough.This is a self-fulfilling prophesy game that some powers that be are playing. And if people fall for the housing trap again...
One thing that strikes me as rather peculiar to the US is the extensive use of credit cards. Almost every facility in the US accepts credit. People pay for parking with their credit cards, they pay for metro card top-ups, train tickets, small item dispensers, shopping... Just about anything can be paid for by credit cards.
It is a pretty worrying trend, if you ask me. Few people are good at keeping their finances in shipshape. Most people tend to squander their money away, swiping their cards at their purchases thinking that they are able to well-afford the service or the item when they don't.
I paid for most of my shopping with cash this time around. I reckon there was no point keeping dollars any raking up a card bill. So what if there were frequent flyer points given for the expenses? With the economy that bad, the airline is cutting back on capacity. What happens then is that you've got the points but they hell have no free seats.
The worst of the financial storm seems to have passed. But my US friends and I share the common perception that the current fiasco was resolved in a way that it felt more like a blimp in the larger scheme of things - giving the impression that this was a one-off anomaly - than a deep puddle of shit, which requires new sanitation lines and facilities to handle.
We agreed that the rut should be allowed to last a year or two, let the market really and truly correct itself, let the perpetrators go off with punishment bruises to remind them to behave, and let the people have time to reflect on their own actions.
Just last night, when the ad nauseum airing of the first series episodes of Boston Legal ended on hotel TV, paid commercials came on. Among them was for a real estate auction for housing properties in the northeastern regions. Man, I could afford those houses if the other buyers do not bid me out of my range. And they look like pretty nice houses too. Even better, the auction company is helping buyers pre-qualify for bank loans. Er...
Immediately today, I saw a news claiming that the housing market seems to have turned a corner because prices have fallen far enough.This is a self-fulfilling prophesy game that some powers that be are playing. And if people fall for the housing trap again...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I give up!
I finally succumbed to my spoilt, bureaucratic ways yesterday.
After lugging my bags and taking public transport faithfully from the start of the journey to the end of my Philadephia leg, my bags probably travelled on more pavements and tarred roads than they had on all their trips past added together.
I hear them whine as their rubber-bare wheels are tortured by the gravel and the uneven roads. I see them shed whatever they have left of their rubber protection as they attempt to navigate the relative potholes that I didn't pay enough attention to. The poor baggies are faithful travel companions. They moan and groan and attract a helluva lot of attention in the hotel lobbies when I arrive - you could hear the wheels roar at the top of their voices to announce my arrival. But they have never complained.
I feel my arms aching and my left shoulder is in pain whenever I take on the weight of my carry on bags. I didn't pack a lot. A usual official work trip during my past civil servant days would see me lug around the same amounts of stuff - at least - but with a difference. On official duty, you can book private transport to ferry you from point to point. On your way in to the country, you only need to drag your luggage as much as from inside the airport at the baggage claim area to outside the airport to the waiting transport, from outside to inside the hotel check in desk, and then to your room. Reverse the baggie movemenets on your way out of the countries. And in between hotel, skip anything involving the airport.
It is not that I miss my good ol' civil servant days but, at PHL, I decided that I cannot survive another round of dragging bags from baggage claim to the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) metro station and then change 4 trains to get to Davis, Evanston, and then drag the bags and walk a couple of blocks to get to the hotel. The hotel is only 15 miles from the hotel but the CTA tracks require me to go downtown first and then change trains to move north, taking about 22 or 27 miles in all. Crazy...
At that moment, I decided that paying USD50 for cab fare each way may not be that bad a proposition after all. But is there something more worthwhile?
As luck would have it, GO! Airport Express at ORD provided the answer. I managed to get a return booking for USD57. As I waited in line, I actually see local Chicago folks queueing for the same service, instead of taking the trains or the cabs, despite not having much to carry. I think I must be doing something right.
My transport arrived 15 minutes after I booked it. My American-Jordanian driver and I chatted when the traffic was not that heavy. My bags are comfotably seated in the boot of the vehicle and gently let off at the door of the hotel. The trip is 35 minutes (despite the traffic jam - Chicago is ramping up its infrastructure for its 2016 Olympics bid) - and 15 miles. Although the CTA would have cost USD2.25 each way, I face the prospect of a 90 to 118 minute trip (depending on how (un)lucky you are with the train schedules) and the need to make 3 transfers between lines.
Honestly, costly as it might have been, I have never found a more justifiable way of blowing away money than taking the transfer.
After lugging my bags and taking public transport faithfully from the start of the journey to the end of my Philadephia leg, my bags probably travelled on more pavements and tarred roads than they had on all their trips past added together.
I hear them whine as their rubber-bare wheels are tortured by the gravel and the uneven roads. I see them shed whatever they have left of their rubber protection as they attempt to navigate the relative potholes that I didn't pay enough attention to. The poor baggies are faithful travel companions. They moan and groan and attract a helluva lot of attention in the hotel lobbies when I arrive - you could hear the wheels roar at the top of their voices to announce my arrival. But they have never complained.
I feel my arms aching and my left shoulder is in pain whenever I take on the weight of my carry on bags. I didn't pack a lot. A usual official work trip during my past civil servant days would see me lug around the same amounts of stuff - at least - but with a difference. On official duty, you can book private transport to ferry you from point to point. On your way in to the country, you only need to drag your luggage as much as from inside the airport at the baggage claim area to outside the airport to the waiting transport, from outside to inside the hotel check in desk, and then to your room. Reverse the baggie movemenets on your way out of the countries. And in between hotel, skip anything involving the airport.
It is not that I miss my good ol' civil servant days but, at PHL, I decided that I cannot survive another round of dragging bags from baggage claim to the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) metro station and then change 4 trains to get to Davis, Evanston, and then drag the bags and walk a couple of blocks to get to the hotel. The hotel is only 15 miles from the hotel but the CTA tracks require me to go downtown first and then change trains to move north, taking about 22 or 27 miles in all. Crazy...
At that moment, I decided that paying USD50 for cab fare each way may not be that bad a proposition after all. But is there something more worthwhile?
As luck would have it, GO! Airport Express at ORD provided the answer. I managed to get a return booking for USD57. As I waited in line, I actually see local Chicago folks queueing for the same service, instead of taking the trains or the cabs, despite not having much to carry. I think I must be doing something right.
My transport arrived 15 minutes after I booked it. My American-Jordanian driver and I chatted when the traffic was not that heavy. My bags are comfotably seated in the boot of the vehicle and gently let off at the door of the hotel. The trip is 35 minutes (despite the traffic jam - Chicago is ramping up its infrastructure for its 2016 Olympics bid) - and 15 miles. Although the CTA would have cost USD2.25 each way, I face the prospect of a 90 to 118 minute trip (depending on how (un)lucky you are with the train schedules) and the need to make 3 transfers between lines.
Honestly, costly as it might have been, I have never found a more justifiable way of blowing away money than taking the transfer.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
If it sounds too good to be true...
It probably is.
I bet this is what many people who paid up to S$12 000 for a ONE-YEAR Bachelor degree from the ROYAL MELBOURNE INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY found out.
How is that even possible? I also wonder...
How is it possible for near academic morons - sorry, I don't know how else to describe them - achieve a degree from a top Australian university in ONE year when top government scholars take at least 2 years of full loads (including two summer terms at full loads) to complete the same degree at the same university. In fact, most top students attempting to do so at any of these accredited universities need about 2.5 years to complete a degree.
And many of these people paying for the shortcut cannot even write a proper sentence to save their lives.
I bet this is what many people who paid up to S$12 000 for a ONE-YEAR Bachelor degree from the ROYAL MELBOURNE INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY found out.
How is that even possible? I also wonder...
How is it possible for near academic morons - sorry, I don't know how else to describe them - achieve a degree from a top Australian university in ONE year when top government scholars take at least 2 years of full loads (including two summer terms at full loads) to complete the same degree at the same university. In fact, most top students attempting to do so at any of these accredited universities need about 2.5 years to complete a degree.
And many of these people paying for the shortcut cannot even write a proper sentence to save their lives.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
眼泪成诗 Tears To Poems
I'm going to dedicate this to all those who are recently out of love. I particularly love the first stanza. The opening lines of describing the recovered wounds as roses and the reincarnation of teardrops into raindrops were particularly poetic.
<<眼泪成诗>>
我已经 已经把我伤口化作玫瑰
我的泪水 已经变成雨水早已轮回
我已经 已经把对白留成了永远
忘了天色 究竟是黑是灰
[I have already turned my wounds into roses
My teardrops have already reincarnated into raindrops
I have already turned our conversations into eternity
Forgotten if the skies were black or grey]
*分手伤了谁 谁把他变美
我的眼泪写成了诗已无所谓
让你再回味 字不醉人人自醉
因为回忆总是美*
[*Who was hurt when we parted ways Who made him look noble
My tears have turned into poems for I am past caring
If you remininsce it is not our words but your thoughts making yourself drunk
Because memories are the most beautiful*]
我已经 已经把绝情变成了恭维
因为不配 你就忽然自卑说声失陪
我已经 已经把沉默变成了忏悔
无路可退 只能无言以对
[I have already turned my unfeeling into mutual respect
Because of our unequal status you suddenly feel inferior and said goodbye
I have already turned my taciturn into remorse
With no where to back off I can only face everything with silence]
Repeat **
分手伤了谁 谁把他变美
我的眼泪写成了诗已是无所谓
让你再回味 字不醉人人自醉
你的品味总是美
[Who was hurt when we parted ways Who made him look noble
My tears have turned into poems for I am past caring
If you remininsce it is not our words but your thoughts making yourself drunk
Because your choice had been for the most beautiful]
<<眼泪成诗>>
我已经 已经把我伤口化作玫瑰
我的泪水 已经变成雨水早已轮回
我已经 已经把对白留成了永远
忘了天色 究竟是黑是灰
[I have already turned my wounds into roses
My teardrops have already reincarnated into raindrops
I have already turned our conversations into eternity
Forgotten if the skies were black or grey]
*分手伤了谁 谁把他变美
我的眼泪写成了诗已无所谓
让你再回味 字不醉人人自醉
因为回忆总是美*
[*Who was hurt when we parted ways Who made him look noble
My tears have turned into poems for I am past caring
If you remininsce it is not our words but your thoughts making yourself drunk
Because memories are the most beautiful*]
我已经 已经把绝情变成了恭维
因为不配 你就忽然自卑说声失陪
我已经 已经把沉默变成了忏悔
无路可退 只能无言以对
[I have already turned my unfeeling into mutual respect
Because of our unequal status you suddenly feel inferior and said goodbye
I have already turned my taciturn into remorse
With no where to back off I can only face everything with silence]
Repeat **
分手伤了谁 谁把他变美
我的眼泪写成了诗已是无所谓
让你再回味 字不醉人人自醉
你的品味总是美
[Who was hurt when we parted ways Who made him look noble
My tears have turned into poems for I am past caring
If you remininsce it is not our words but your thoughts making yourself drunk
Because your choice had been for the most beautiful]
On tenterhooks
The brain is almost unreliable these days with words I hardly use. The latent memory store does not maintain its integrity enough. I had to check a dictionary, I turn to online ones these days, to check if my tenterhoooks was spelled correctly. D*mn, I was really that tentative about it. But that shouldn't come as a big surprise to me. My entire being last week and this has been on tenterhooks for more things than one.
(Very soon, I should write an academic essay here and then direct all my students to come over here to take a look at one correct academic writing piece so that they know what is a hook, what is a thesis statement, what is a topic sentence, what are admissible evidence, what are cinchers etc... But that is a day in some future.)
The first salvo was my 4 month old Nokia phone not holding charge. I had to send it down last Tuesday to the Nokia service centre and kick up a fuss there because the counter staff tried to shirk out of their product warranty. He claimed that battery life - even if the user manual stated that it lasts up to 300 hours on standby - can be as short as 48 to 72 hours because of all sorts of factors. Yeah, right. When I got the phone new, the battery held charge up to 240 hours (10 days). Now, it drains itself flat, on standby mode, in 48 hours. What could have happened? All sorts of what factors? What about a spoilt battery? I stood my ground and my phone was finally taken in for repair.
The service centre called to inform me on Friday last. The phone is ready for collection. Fine. Looks good to me. Then my computer crashed. It shut itself down and would not reboot.
Housemate said the hard disk crashed. I was devastated. (I can spell devastated because being Murphy's favourite nephew, this word is more frequently used than tenterhooks. Honestly, there is no need to be on tenterhooks usually; one does not often have impending trips.) I hope that it is not. If it is, all my hard work and trip information would be gone. I need to start writing emails to the people I wish to meet to check the timing all over again.
To make things worse, the scheduled back up hard disk went AWOL and had not been backing up my stuff since May. The laptop was finally sent in to HP that same day at 7 pm and even at HP, I had to raise my voice (just a little) at them. It was the third time in a row that I was told my set was not under warranty. However, the fact that my set was under extended warranty (note to all HP laptop buyers: First critical crash-and-burn will occur within 6 months of the first year warranty's expiry; second within 6 months of the extended warranty's (usually for an additional next 24 months) expiry) was established about 4 months ago when it was discovered that HP did not register the set for extended cover. The supporting receipts were faxed to HP, who acknowledged receipt of the extended warranty. Yet, this time, my set was still... Fortunately, the receipts were in the car. Housemate genius conveniently left the documents in the car foreseeing that another showdown would be inevitable given the reliability of HP products. So warranty was finally settled.
But HP has not gotten back to me to tell me if their initial diagnosis of a motherboard failure was correct. The laptop isn't with me yet. I'm working on my older laptop with an external monitor. The LCD screen died 1 month after its 36 month warranty. I probably need to blame certain bloggers who are always in pink for shocking my poor monitor out of consciousness. I jest, but the only reason why I stuck to HP is for their after sales service.
Mini hiccups and the Wii... Oh, after my intial encounter with Super Mario Galaxy and my decision to lay off it entirely, I went back and played the game for a few more times and cleared a few more worlds. But I digress. Amidst these awful occurrences, I had a great save from a friend-cum-mentor. She made me prepare a list of critical info to send to her for a quick browse and from her, I managed to get a document - perhaps the most important one of all - back. It probably saved me another 2 weeks of research to put that same list back together. Yes, it ain't easy reading pages and pages of CV and description to decide if you can work with that someone on your postgrad studies.
I now wait with bated breath, my luggage and all not packed yet, for any news of my laptop. Defnitely on tenterhooks, you bet.
(Very soon, I should write an academic essay here and then direct all my students to come over here to take a look at one correct academic writing piece so that they know what is a hook, what is a thesis statement, what is a topic sentence, what are admissible evidence, what are cinchers etc... But that is a day in some future.)
The first salvo was my 4 month old Nokia phone not holding charge. I had to send it down last Tuesday to the Nokia service centre and kick up a fuss there because the counter staff tried to shirk out of their product warranty. He claimed that battery life - even if the user manual stated that it lasts up to 300 hours on standby - can be as short as 48 to 72 hours because of all sorts of factors. Yeah, right. When I got the phone new, the battery held charge up to 240 hours (10 days). Now, it drains itself flat, on standby mode, in 48 hours. What could have happened? All sorts of what factors? What about a spoilt battery? I stood my ground and my phone was finally taken in for repair.
The service centre called to inform me on Friday last. The phone is ready for collection. Fine. Looks good to me. Then my computer crashed. It shut itself down and would not reboot.
Housemate said the hard disk crashed. I was devastated. (I can spell devastated because being Murphy's favourite nephew, this word is more frequently used than tenterhooks. Honestly, there is no need to be on tenterhooks usually; one does not often have impending trips.) I hope that it is not. If it is, all my hard work and trip information would be gone. I need to start writing emails to the people I wish to meet to check the timing all over again.
To make things worse, the scheduled back up hard disk went AWOL and had not been backing up my stuff since May. The laptop was finally sent in to HP that same day at 7 pm and even at HP, I had to raise my voice (just a little) at them. It was the third time in a row that I was told my set was not under warranty. However, the fact that my set was under extended warranty (note to all HP laptop buyers: First critical crash-and-burn will occur within 6 months of the first year warranty's expiry; second within 6 months of the extended warranty's (usually for an additional next 24 months) expiry) was established about 4 months ago when it was discovered that HP did not register the set for extended cover. The supporting receipts were faxed to HP, who acknowledged receipt of the extended warranty. Yet, this time, my set was still... Fortunately, the receipts were in the car. Housemate genius conveniently left the documents in the car foreseeing that another showdown would be inevitable given the reliability of HP products. So warranty was finally settled.
But HP has not gotten back to me to tell me if their initial diagnosis of a motherboard failure was correct. The laptop isn't with me yet. I'm working on my older laptop with an external monitor. The LCD screen died 1 month after its 36 month warranty. I probably need to blame certain bloggers who are always in pink for shocking my poor monitor out of consciousness. I jest, but the only reason why I stuck to HP is for their after sales service.
Mini hiccups and the Wii... Oh, after my intial encounter with Super Mario Galaxy and my decision to lay off it entirely, I went back and played the game for a few more times and cleared a few more worlds. But I digress. Amidst these awful occurrences, I had a great save from a friend-cum-mentor. She made me prepare a list of critical info to send to her for a quick browse and from her, I managed to get a document - perhaps the most important one of all - back. It probably saved me another 2 weeks of research to put that same list back together. Yes, it ain't easy reading pages and pages of CV and description to decide if you can work with that someone on your postgrad studies.
I now wait with bated breath, my luggage and all not packed yet, for any news of my laptop. Defnitely on tenterhooks, you bet.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Super Mario Galaxy
The Wii machine met a new friend last weekend. The new friend needs to be inserted into the machine's hole. And after inserting the friend, new pleasure results. In fact, it was so pleasurable that hours are spent trying to top each previosu climax as the positions got progressively more challenging and each round more tedious.
Welcome to my Super Mario Galaxy semi-addiction.
The game started slowly enough. The moves were initially clumsy and the movement slow. But trust me, at the grand old age of... heck, you'll figure out my age anyway. The point is, even if you can teach an old dog new tricks, you can't overcome the fact that aged joints and ancient habits are hard to overcome. I therefore concede: my moves are still clumsy and the movement slow. Trust me, you won't want to read how many times I steered Mario into the black hole. Ok, I didn't steer him into the black holes but the imprecision of my moves inevitably meant Mario became BH fodder one time too many. How many, you ask? Well, try from 15 lives to nothing and then from 10 to nothing and then another 1 more before I cleared some particularly difficult stages.
And you know what's even better about SMG? The programming folks allow you to return to the game from the last point you left off instead of requiring you to begin from scratch. So you get new frustrations when the positions and techniques don't work and new highs when they do. The mind keeps telling itself that it can top the stage and one reaches for the start button after each game over. The ass is rooted to the seat and the mind loses all track of time. (Maybe, Wii and a slower version of SMG can be introduced to old folks' home to keep the residents engaged. Maybe not; they might fight over who's turn it is.)
Yet, the amazing graphics aside, the trick is to know... the tricks. The programmers are not very smart. I've got them figured out mostly. In certain worlds or galaxies, I pick up so many lives that I was incredibly elated. At the same time, I knew the extras would never be enough; how does one pick up extra lives quickly enough a whole game when one needs 26 of them to clear some particularly tricky stage? I don't know how I managed to clear some of those inhuman stages, but I did.
One can usually progress after mentally working through the algorithm required to clear that stage; keeping Mario alive long enough to clear the stage is the larger problem for me. Unfortunately, though, mental dexterity did not make up for the lack of finesse in the finer movements. The fingers were not stiff - digital (pun intended) gravity works differently, I'd say. Of course there are many excuses. This is where I spend all my time moaning about my exciting life, regardless how exciting it really is. Did you expect otherwise?
For all the fun and pleasure it brings, SMG is a silent time killer. I take anywhere between 45 minutes and 3 hours to clear a stage and I've sat in front of the Wii for almost 6 hours yesterday. That is bad. Extremely bad, if you ask me. And at 1.30 am this morning, when I tried to sleep after my shower, all I saw when I shut my eyes were the stars and the coins I was supposed to pick up in the games. My mind was all hyperactive; I can't get to sleep. The brain was devising ways to pick up stars and coins in the various configuration set by and for itself.
At that moment, I think I'm getting out of control. I need to do something quick. I got out of bed, removed the Super Mario Galaxy CD, returned it into its cover and asked for it to be returned. I can't be addicted to it. I can play other things like Wii Sports. That's fine, because there is a limiting factor called physical exhaustion. Wii Sports require you to mimick the actual sports action and with such physical activity, you get worn out and at the opportune moment, you'll decide you've got enough of a workout, turn off the Wii and resume life. SMG does not wear you out. It makes you addicted. And I worry about addiction.
So, there'll be come cold turkey today. And I'll be back to Wii Sporting.
Oh, did I tell you I chose Princess Peach as my avatar? I wanted to choose Queen Bitch if it (Note at edit: Oh man, that's a Freudian slip!) existed. But then what would I do with Q**nsy? Sigh. So, Princess Peach... that's right. Sounds like Princess Bitch anyway.
This semi-addiction seems worse than I imagine...
Welcome to my Super Mario Galaxy semi-addiction.
The game started slowly enough. The moves were initially clumsy and the movement slow. But trust me, at the grand old age of... heck, you'll figure out my age anyway. The point is, even if you can teach an old dog new tricks, you can't overcome the fact that aged joints and ancient habits are hard to overcome. I therefore concede: my moves are still clumsy and the movement slow. Trust me, you won't want to read how many times I steered Mario into the black hole. Ok, I didn't steer him into the black holes but the imprecision of my moves inevitably meant Mario became BH fodder one time too many. How many, you ask? Well, try from 15 lives to nothing and then from 10 to nothing and then another 1 more before I cleared some particularly difficult stages.
And you know what's even better about SMG? The programming folks allow you to return to the game from the last point you left off instead of requiring you to begin from scratch. So you get new frustrations when the positions and techniques don't work and new highs when they do. The mind keeps telling itself that it can top the stage and one reaches for the start button after each game over. The ass is rooted to the seat and the mind loses all track of time. (Maybe, Wii and a slower version of SMG can be introduced to old folks' home to keep the residents engaged. Maybe not; they might fight over who's turn it is.)
Yet, the amazing graphics aside, the trick is to know... the tricks. The programmers are not very smart. I've got them figured out mostly. In certain worlds or galaxies, I pick up so many lives that I was incredibly elated. At the same time, I knew the extras would never be enough; how does one pick up extra lives quickly enough a whole game when one needs 26 of them to clear some particularly tricky stage? I don't know how I managed to clear some of those inhuman stages, but I did.
One can usually progress after mentally working through the algorithm required to clear that stage; keeping Mario alive long enough to clear the stage is the larger problem for me. Unfortunately, though, mental dexterity did not make up for the lack of finesse in the finer movements. The fingers were not stiff - digital (pun intended) gravity works differently, I'd say. Of course there are many excuses. This is where I spend all my time moaning about my exciting life, regardless how exciting it really is. Did you expect otherwise?
For all the fun and pleasure it brings, SMG is a silent time killer. I take anywhere between 45 minutes and 3 hours to clear a stage and I've sat in front of the Wii for almost 6 hours yesterday. That is bad. Extremely bad, if you ask me. And at 1.30 am this morning, when I tried to sleep after my shower, all I saw when I shut my eyes were the stars and the coins I was supposed to pick up in the games. My mind was all hyperactive; I can't get to sleep. The brain was devising ways to pick up stars and coins in the various configuration set by and for itself.
At that moment, I think I'm getting out of control. I need to do something quick. I got out of bed, removed the Super Mario Galaxy CD, returned it into its cover and asked for it to be returned. I can't be addicted to it. I can play other things like Wii Sports. That's fine, because there is a limiting factor called physical exhaustion. Wii Sports require you to mimick the actual sports action and with such physical activity, you get worn out and at the opportune moment, you'll decide you've got enough of a workout, turn off the Wii and resume life. SMG does not wear you out. It makes you addicted. And I worry about addiction.
So, there'll be come cold turkey today. And I'll be back to Wii Sporting.
Oh, did I tell you I chose Princess Peach as my avatar? I wanted to choose Queen Bitch if it (Note at edit: Oh man, that's a Freudian slip!) existed. But then what would I do with Q**nsy? Sigh. So, Princess Peach... that's right. Sounds like Princess Bitch anyway.
This semi-addiction seems worse than I imagine...
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Murphy Strikes
Strike 1
University of Maryland wrote back and said my area is not a good fit with them. There goes a safety school.
Strike 2
Amtrak takes more than 4 hours to move from Chicago Union Station to Ann Arbor. I can't possibly do a day trip and return in decent shape. I will probably reach the hotel 1 am the next morning after the DAY trip and wake up in time the next morning.
Strike 3
To make it to Chicago O'Hare International Airport by 7 am to check in, I need to hop on the 4.57 am Metro at Davis, Evanston. The trip takes about 2 hours and the reason is that the journey taken by the Metro lines go down south and the back northeast. A direct journey east would have probably taken a third the time.
Strike 4
A big shot of a particular university, after seeing my background, says my GRE Verbal scores are slightly low but "I (referring to if he were me) would definitely apply to our program." I think this is a uber long shot since the university accepts only 2 PhD students a year. But then, this big shot is really big.
Pieceofpork, message me. This university is for you.
Strike 5
To go to visit this particular university, I'll have to spend 10 hours on an Amtrak train, give up 2 nights of hotel, rebook another night of hotel, and give up one part of an airticket.
Strike 6
Not yet. But another Airbus (Yemen) bites the sea. And I'm booked on two Airbus planes for my US domestic flights. Is that irony or what?
Stike 7
You people are sadists or WHAT? Don't tell me... Of course you are enjoying this. What better way to have fun than at another's expense.
Heck, I'm going to enjoy this US trip and I can't give a bloody damn about whatever happens. At this rate things are going, and with the bird flu raging, I wonder if tomorrow will ever come. Maybe I should extend yet another day in NYC...
University of Maryland wrote back and said my area is not a good fit with them. There goes a safety school.
Strike 2
Amtrak takes more than 4 hours to move from Chicago Union Station to Ann Arbor. I can't possibly do a day trip and return in decent shape. I will probably reach the hotel 1 am the next morning after the DAY trip and wake up in time the next morning.
Strike 3
To make it to Chicago O'Hare International Airport by 7 am to check in, I need to hop on the 4.57 am Metro at Davis, Evanston. The trip takes about 2 hours and the reason is that the journey taken by the Metro lines go down south and the back northeast. A direct journey east would have probably taken a third the time.
Strike 4
A big shot of a particular university, after seeing my background, says my GRE Verbal scores are slightly low but "I (referring to if he were me) would definitely apply to our program." I think this is a uber long shot since the university accepts only 2 PhD students a year. But then, this big shot is really big.
Pieceofpork, message me. This university is for you.
Strike 5
To go to visit this particular university, I'll have to spend 10 hours on an Amtrak train, give up 2 nights of hotel, rebook another night of hotel, and give up one part of an airticket.
Strike 6
Not yet. But another Airbus (Yemen) bites the sea. And I'm booked on two Airbus planes for my US domestic flights. Is that irony or what?
Stike 7
You people are sadists or WHAT? Don't tell me... Of course you are enjoying this. What better way to have fun than at another's expense.
Heck, I'm going to enjoy this US trip and I can't give a bloody damn about whatever happens. At this rate things are going, and with the bird flu raging, I wonder if tomorrow will ever come. Maybe I should extend yet another day in NYC...
Repetitive Strain Injuries
I think I've overdone my Wii playing. The pains I'm feeling now are more injury like (you know, after an hour of tennis, almost 25 bowling games, 6 baseball games) instead of mere muscle aches. Now that I figured out what patience can do in a Wii golf game, I'm adding that to my repetoire of games.
The pain goes up the neck and radiates down the arms and fingers from a source I can't directly pin point. My back, oh my back, is in pain and my range of motion is somewhat limited. I can't turn my head left and right and my shoulders feel like they have gone on a holiday without the rest of the body.
I think I'm going to play Wii later again.
The pain goes up the neck and radiates down the arms and fingers from a source I can't directly pin point. My back, oh my back, is in pain and my range of motion is somewhat limited. I can't turn my head left and right and my shoulders feel like they have gone on a holiday without the rest of the body.
I think I'm going to play Wii later again.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Recuperation
It's week 2 of being officially off all work. During this period, I have gone swimming, gone for long walks, cooked up one storm, watched a lot of television, slept a lot.
I guess I'm servicing a debt of some sort. Few people can imagine how tired their bodies are until they can finally take a breather (without money worries). Retirement is way too late. By the time one waits for retirement, one's body is crippled; it is ravaged beyond repair, waiting to be condemned.
I begin to see the wonders of a time out half way into a person's career. Many people wait for something tragic to take stock of their lives. I take stock every day. Especially when you live a somewhat tragic life anyhow.
Ok, I'm a drama-mama but hey, I've a right to live my kind of life. I'm not a pest to society. In fact, I contribute by passing on knowledge. I share my joys and over here, I talk about my life and how things should be lived.
One of the bloggers I read, BHD, talks about his life and each and every one of his blog posts end with some kind of urging to tell people life is short, do something they should or deserve. He is a well-balanced man. Many other people whose blogs I read also have this trait except that they have been unconsciously or subconsciously tacit about it.
Writing a blog is an exercise where one uses or abuses words to restore balance in their lives. Logophiles or wordsmiths, you call them. Just like people swim, paint, dress up, go to high teas or even go for retail therapy, they are doing something that they hope can restore balance in their lives. Some people I know do more than one of those activities.
Alas, there could be adverse effects: some people shop too much, for instance. But such extremes also suggest that these people's lives are much worse than they would admit. Neither would we cut them the slack they need to find a balance. So, in their own time and space, they need to find their means of restoring that balance.
While work and money are important, keeping oneself sane is of a higher priority.
Life is short: Live it like my bud, BHD.
I guess I'm servicing a debt of some sort. Few people can imagine how tired their bodies are until they can finally take a breather (without money worries). Retirement is way too late. By the time one waits for retirement, one's body is crippled; it is ravaged beyond repair, waiting to be condemned.
I begin to see the wonders of a time out half way into a person's career. Many people wait for something tragic to take stock of their lives. I take stock every day. Especially when you live a somewhat tragic life anyhow.
Ok, I'm a drama-mama but hey, I've a right to live my kind of life. I'm not a pest to society. In fact, I contribute by passing on knowledge. I share my joys and over here, I talk about my life and how things should be lived.
One of the bloggers I read, BHD, talks about his life and each and every one of his blog posts end with some kind of urging to tell people life is short, do something they should or deserve. He is a well-balanced man. Many other people whose blogs I read also have this trait except that they have been unconsciously or subconsciously tacit about it.
Writing a blog is an exercise where one uses or abuses words to restore balance in their lives. Logophiles or wordsmiths, you call them. Just like people swim, paint, dress up, go to high teas or even go for retail therapy, they are doing something that they hope can restore balance in their lives. Some people I know do more than one of those activities.
Alas, there could be adverse effects: some people shop too much, for instance. But such extremes also suggest that these people's lives are much worse than they would admit. Neither would we cut them the slack they need to find a balance. So, in their own time and space, they need to find their means of restoring that balance.
While work and money are important, keeping oneself sane is of a higher priority.
Life is short: Live it like my bud, BHD.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Rubbish Rushes in to Fill a Vacuum
Lost Generation by Jonathan Reed
I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.
And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it .
Read the message, then read it again in reverse.
Which generation do you belong in?
---@---@---
Guess what? As I arrived at work, I saw the lost generation. The latecomers, the stragglers, the lost souls, the headless ghosts, the useless bums, the lazy bones... And there were all made to stand outside the office while the rest went through the passage.
Me? I am part of a lost generation. I will tell you that money will make me happy. More money will make me more happy. Ok, bad English. Still, you get the point.
Happiness comes from within. It can't come from anywhere else. I don't laugh or gloat at others' misery. But having money can make me happy.
I am part of a lost generation. Despite me telling my employers that they are not the most important things in my life, I can't stop working. Because I need money. Remember, money will make me happy.
My family is more important than my work. But they will have to take a back seat. Don't forget, money will make me happy. And money makes them happy too.
I don't believe in spending money to be divorced in 30 years. I can't afford that. So I won't marry and won't have children. This way, my money is all for I, me and myself. And money will make me happy.
Environmental destruction is part of nature. Global warming has to do with the less than perfectly circular orbit of the earth. The hell I care about spending any of my hard earned money on environmentally friendly nonsense. Why should I pay others money and make them happy? I should amass my wealth. After all, money will make me happy. Perhaps I should want to be buried in a dollar bill mache coffin. To be buried in money will make me happy.
I am not apathetic and lethargic; watch my energy levels as I throw myself at money. I already know there is no hope (for the hopeless others). Might as well now work towards getting them to bequeath me their money...
All together now: Money will make me happy.
I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.
And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it .
Read the message, then read it again in reverse.
Which generation do you belong in?
---@---@---
Guess what? As I arrived at work, I saw the lost generation. The latecomers, the stragglers, the lost souls, the headless ghosts, the useless bums, the lazy bones... And there were all made to stand outside the office while the rest went through the passage.
Me? I am part of a lost generation. I will tell you that money will make me happy. More money will make me more happy. Ok, bad English. Still, you get the point.
Happiness comes from within. It can't come from anywhere else. I don't laugh or gloat at others' misery. But having money can make me happy.
I am part of a lost generation. Despite me telling my employers that they are not the most important things in my life, I can't stop working. Because I need money. Remember, money will make me happy.
My family is more important than my work. But they will have to take a back seat. Don't forget, money will make me happy. And money makes them happy too.
I don't believe in spending money to be divorced in 30 years. I can't afford that. So I won't marry and won't have children. This way, my money is all for I, me and myself. And money will make me happy.
Environmental destruction is part of nature. Global warming has to do with the less than perfectly circular orbit of the earth. The hell I care about spending any of my hard earned money on environmentally friendly nonsense. Why should I pay others money and make them happy? I should amass my wealth. After all, money will make me happy. Perhaps I should want to be buried in a dollar bill mache coffin. To be buried in money will make me happy.
I am not apathetic and lethargic; watch my energy levels as I throw myself at money. I already know there is no hope (for the hopeless others). Might as well now work towards getting them to bequeath me their money...
All together now: Money will make me happy.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Broken Bow(l)
Well, the title was really a pun on one of my favourite songs, "Broken Vow," by David Foster and Josh Groban.
But broken bowl caused me some grief, indeed, last night.
I had steamed rice in a stoneware bowl in a Chinese wok. When I was about to serve dinner, I tried to retrieve the bowl with a pair of calipers typically used by restaurants to take out hot crockery from ovens or steamers. So as I crimped the calipers on the side and tried to remove the bowl out of the wok, the bowl broke.
I am not sure if the bowl slipped, hit against the wok and broke, or if the bowl fractured, slipped and hit against the wok. However, not that it might matter that much. The combined weight of the bowl and the rice and the resulting force caused by the dropping of the bown of rice tipped the contents of the wok - hot water - right down my thighs and the top of my feet. I had just turned the fire off from steaming the rice some 20 minutes before, so the heat was pretty high still.
I dropped everything, went straight to the bathroom and hosed scalded trotters under running water.
A while later, I re-emerged and cleaned up the mess. The broken pieces were picked up and thrown away, the rice tossed into the bin and I clean the floor for stoneware fragments. There were extremely sharp shrapnel, which I managed to pick up.
Right after, I slathered my burnt legs and feet with some cream and had dinner.
Despite the pain last night, I believe the burns were mostly first degree. By this morning, most of the pain is gone and I'm back.
What an evening!
But broken bowl caused me some grief, indeed, last night.
I had steamed rice in a stoneware bowl in a Chinese wok. When I was about to serve dinner, I tried to retrieve the bowl with a pair of calipers typically used by restaurants to take out hot crockery from ovens or steamers. So as I crimped the calipers on the side and tried to remove the bowl out of the wok, the bowl broke.
I am not sure if the bowl slipped, hit against the wok and broke, or if the bowl fractured, slipped and hit against the wok. However, not that it might matter that much. The combined weight of the bowl and the rice and the resulting force caused by the dropping of the bown of rice tipped the contents of the wok - hot water - right down my thighs and the top of my feet. I had just turned the fire off from steaming the rice some 20 minutes before, so the heat was pretty high still.
I dropped everything, went straight to the bathroom and hosed scalded trotters under running water.
A while later, I re-emerged and cleaned up the mess. The broken pieces were picked up and thrown away, the rice tossed into the bin and I clean the floor for stoneware fragments. There were extremely sharp shrapnel, which I managed to pick up.
Right after, I slathered my burnt legs and feet with some cream and had dinner.
Despite the pain last night, I believe the burns were mostly first degree. By this morning, most of the pain is gone and I'm back.
What an evening!
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