Nero Enough is Good Enough

Being based in Vietnam, we are geographically isolated from the other management teams. For this reason, most of my team meetings occur via conference call. Actually all of my meetings.

I consider these concalls (as they're known) to offer many advantages, most of which are more "con" than "call":

- IT people are rarely easy on the eye. So really, people, who needs to see all that dysfunctional body language and bad hair?

- I can do my other work while on mute

- I can have other conversations while on mute. In the office or cheeky quick phone calls.

- I can travel from A to B while on mute. Elevators pose some risks, but if you put your phone against the crack of the doors as the elevator goes up or down, it helps enormously. None of this is a metaphor.

- It can be easily done from home in a bathrobe.

- A cup of coffee can be seamlessly integrated into the call. Experienced concallers can take out the garbage. Experts can visit the local store to get milk. But only the very elite (my camp, if I do say so) can conduct fights with cab drivers in parallel to facilitating a call.

- One can sneak a visit to the toilet. I would never do that of course. I said One.

- You can jump on chat with someone else who is also on the call and make subversive comments ("does this make sense to you?" or "he has no idea what he's talking about" or "if you give me $5 I will interrupt with something irrelevant ..."

- You can jump on chat with someone else who is also on the call and comment constructively ("why don't you ask when the due date will be" or "good point - reinforce that you met your yearly targets being exceeded as well")

- You can jump on chat with the facilitator and attempt to make him laugh mid sentence (in the more successful cases, you can hear your message arrive via a 'beep' and then them slowly ... break ... down into a series of stacatto syllables. sometimes they get so distracted that they completely lose their train of thought and if they are champion chatters, you will get a "shut up fucker" in the middle of it all).

- You can start giggling during serious issues. An example of this is below.

A successful concall generally involves sending out an advance agenda (MS Word) and presentation (MS PowerPoint), alongside a dial-in number and PIN. So we're all reading through the slides at the same time, in the vein of:

"Now if you'll just look at the chart on slide 24."

On today's monthly call the main presentation was about recent changes to the organisation which had been driven of the US. We had recently acquired a new company for a couple of billion. Large acquisitions nearly always means changes to marketing, sales and corporate structure to leverage (you may say justify) the new groceries as you lay them out on the table and work out which cupboard they are supposed to go into.

The main topic of today's conference was that America has been doing some global restructuring.

No names, no job titles, just big boxes on the slide connected by arrows to show how we're all going to look in the future.

I looked carefully for a moment and realised that I couldn't see my box. I actually think I've been disappeared. It's very H G Wells. Am I Griffin?

Most of the people on this concall have big departments in large geographical areas. Their reactions were one of muted shock. You could almost hear them masking a self-interested gasp as they carefully phrased some vague questions about the future business model. What these polite questions were really asking was if they were getting the flick. Terrified wolves in optimistic sheep's clothing.

In 1983 Rosabeth Kanter wrote a book called The change masters. She listed 10 common reasons that people resist change in organisations. The last one is my favourite: "Sometimes the threat is real."

Do I care about all this restructuring? Not at all. I actually had a little giggle when I heard it.

Maybe I've been restructured. Maybe I'm getting renovated. Maybe I'm just being renamed (to Gordon, hopefully).

I didn't have an empire in the first place and have no plans to build one.

If this threat of elimination was presented to Nero, he would probably had ordered the execution of the messenger. When it was presented to me, I felt like steak for dinner. I guess we both use murder to make ourselves feel better.

I'm not sure if the picture is an homage to my recent weight gain, my feelings at work or my general sense of displacement. But I love the annoyed expression on Alice's face ... it reminds me of Vicky Pollard ... and what's not to love about Vicky Pollard?

In One Day

The company preference is that we stay in non-recently-bombed hotels. The current panic is that we cannot stay in American-owned hotels in Jakarta. My reservation for the Four Seasons Jakarta has just come through, so my attempt to stay at the Ritz Carlton was in vain.

It's American owned but I figure if it's good enough for Bill Clinton it's good enough for me. It's the first Four Seasons I've stayed in.

It's also the first Four Seasons I nearly didn't stay in after my stoush with the cab driver on the way from the airport, who tried to kick me out on the side of the highway after we got lost, started going round in circles, he wouldn't turn the meter off, he stopped in the middle of a road in front of some night construction workers, we both got out, I yelled, he yelled, I pointed at the Marriott hotel (which was in line of sight) and said something about Jarkarta hotels being hard enough for foreigners without taxi drivers making it worse, he tried to extort money from me (100,000 rupees) in order to give me my bags out of the boot, I threatened the Polisi, he wouldn't open the boot, I got back in the car, he wouldn't get back in, I stayed put (like when Homer and Marge visit the old people's home with the window wound up), we had our a Mexican (ok, Indonesian) stand-off, I yelled out "crazy albino" (my only Bahasa apart from thank you, and a racist slur against white people) loud enough for the construction workers to hear (I don't know why but it seemed to fit the situation), he eventually got back in, got lost again, I called the hotel concierge who directed him in, I asked them if security could help me report him back to his company, we did, there was a huge fight on arrival with everyone involved, I now had AK47's on my side and a large dog, I refused a complimentary beer from the very lovely Concierge who helped me out, I lied in the moment and told them he'd called me a crazy albino, they looked completely shocked, I took it back, I insisted on paying the driver, he didn't have change, the Concierge got change, the dog barked at the commotion, he didn't give me a receipt, I went through the x-ray and checked in. Oh - all this while I was on a conference call and I was facilitating the call across about 7 people and 5 countries! Muting on and off and on and off in key moments. I kid you not.

My room is lovely.

Go Where Fashion Sits

I'm travelling back to Jakarta tomorrow.

Since the bombings, Indonesia has become a restricted country meaning that I need a lot more approvals to travel there. I need to be met at the airport by a company official, use pre-arranged transport, inform the local country if I go anywhere outside the hotel and only use nominated transport. We are not allowed to stay at US-owned hotels, either.

All it does is adds time and bureaucracy to my plans. It doesn't add safety. And I certainly ain't getting met at the airport or calling security to tell them I've gone shopping for valium. Of course I'd tell them it was a pair of jeans but even still.

Here is my interaction with the travel agent today:

To my secretary:

good morning.

i need to travel to jakarta tomorrow.

could you please book for me?

returning saturday 08/08

i am getting the approvals through now.

thanks

Back from the travel agent:

Dear Anthony,

Please check air booking below then advise which hotel you prefer to make reservation ?

From me:

Yes please confirm these flights.

I understand that the 4 Seasons is an approved hotel?

If yes, could you please book me to stay at the 4 Seasons? If no, please book the Shangri La Hotel.

[I've never stayed in a 4 Seasons. I don't care if it's American owned. I want to know what their shampoos are like and am prepared to be bombed in the process ... well ... I lived a little.]

From travel agent:

Hi Anthony, Shangri La & Four Season are fully book with the corporate rate offer.

Could you stay in with Swissotel?

From me:

The Swissotel is scabby.

I believe that the Ritz Carlton has recently reopened after it was bombed.

Please book me in there. I'm sure they will have plenty of space. And al fresco dining.

[I knew she wouldn't get the scabby or al fresco comments but they had to be said.]

So I'm off to the Ritz tomorrow! I'm so excited.

I hope the new head chef at the breakfast room is competent. I wonder if they promoted from within?

That last comment was in incredibly bad taste. I think my blog is being hacked.

Mr Goodbar

I am currently sitting here enduring a series of flashbacks from last night.

I don't know how it happened or where it all went so wrong.

It started with a nice dinner. I ordered soda water and looked smugly across to R as he asked for a Long Island Iced Tea. We always pronounce it "Long Iceland" ... due to a recent decision to fuck up their English as pettry revenge for not understanding my accent in Vietnamese. Other examples (there are many) include pronouncing the "ch" in hierarchy, ordering "coffee latte" or calling the bill a "bin", which is how it would be pronounced in Vietnamese.

Then on to the belly dancing night at the local bar (skinny Vietnamese belly dancers, don't knock it till you've suffered it). This ended at about 1am, with the waiter sitting there drinking a beer with us while ignoring other customers who were asking for the bill.

Then onwards we rode to another bar where I found myself in a group speaking German.

Next up, I am following someone on a motorbike through dark streets, while doubling a 110kg bald Australian man on my bike. He talked a lot but whenever I contributed to the conversation the bike got the death wobbles.

Fast forward and I'm on a boat. A boat! R had a little spew over the side on his way to the toilet, although I think I'm the only one that noticed.

Next thing I know, I'm standing there (actually swaying there) waiting patiently for the bike parking lady to SLOWLY give me ALL my change. (Doesn't matter how drunk I am - my maths never leaves me.)

I'm waking up at 9am because I forgot to turn the airconditioning on and I'm sweating. I look around and there is a trail of clothes leading to my bed ... like a drunken Hansel.

Why why why why why?

Absolute PowerPoint Corrupts Absolutely

I’m sitting in a 3-day training course in Kuala Lumpur. It's being held in a conference room at the Renaissance Hotel, so named because the tired decor looks like it's a few hundred years old.

This morning’s presenter is Peggy. I’m sure she thinks I’m paying attention to her ... because while typing this entry I am also maintaining constant eye contact with our Peggy ... and when I detect a distinct change in the pace or volume of Peggy's words I throw in a couple of affirming nods. The ability to touch type opens many doors.

Peggy’s morning will be spent standing in front of the room talking about Risk Mitigation When Estimating Contingency Pricing For Complex Integration Projects And Linking This To Quantifed Business Value. I kid you not. It includes a case study from the Bulgarian Tax Office. And most of the audience is riveted. I kid you not.

There are about 60 people on this course: representatives from our various business units around the globe. In my company it's called a globe (not a world). There is a rumour we may start calling it a planet. But that's just a rumour. There may be a leak from Marketing. Like any good consultant I will take to the quicker than the Pig Flu in a call centre.

Africa is here. So is Russia. We’ve been flown here to learn how to become better marionettes. Although sometimes it feels like our sole purpose is to discretely fish for mints from the ever-depleted stock in the white bowl. While these bowls spend their mornings overflowing with shiny wrapped sweets they end their day empty, surrounded by a sea of plastic blue carcasses.

Like me, many people in this room are taking a lot of notes. Unlike me, their notes probably relate to Peggy’s presentation. I suspect that I am the only one in the room who is penning an insubordinate little treatise although on the surface I seem to be paying more attention and taking more notes than anyone. Beneath the surface, I am finding this course so dry that it will drive me to drink. Boom boom.

I'm lucky to be in the middle of the room. In most corporate presentations the worst seats are located in the front row and usually empty until the very end. It’s the exact opposite of a Madonna concert. These front seats must be avoided at all costs because there is nowhere to hide. Once relegated to them, wave goodbye to any plans for your Blackberry, or laptop, or phone, or Nana nap.

Wait. I have to stop for a bit because some potato from China has just gotten up to ask a question:

“Hi Peggy. Here is Andreas from China team. We have seen similar issues with our own risk assessments during the earlier stages, it’s true. But when we are during the project we fail to incorporate. I am wondering how can I use this contingency approach when I start to execute my project plan?”

I imagine Andreas executing his project plan. He is dressed in a hooded black robe, carrying a large manila folder full of papers as he solemnly climbs the stairs up to the guillotine. Andreas places the folder carefully into the contraption. Silence descends on the room. The folder starts to tremble as its individual documents, charts, Post-it notes and spreadsheets spend their final moments quivering nervously. Andreas pulls the rope. Crack! Hundreds of pieces of paper fly up into the air and all over the room. As all the paper slowly rains down around him, Andreas feels like he has just won a car on the Wheel of Fortune. Just in case, he instinctively pulls back his hood and looks for the pretty girl carrying a large bunch of flowers.

“That’s an excellent question Andreas. Later on in the presentation we’ll be touching on some slide which outline these types of challenges, including many critical success factors in managing risk within project execution.”

Clearly, Peggy didn’t understand the question. The slides won't be coming later, either. I know this. So does Andreas. So does the rest of the class. Andreas nods enthusiastically and mouths a “thanks” to Peggy as he sits back down.

Any experienced presenter will naturally work the room as they speak. This usually involves directing your voice and your body language back and forth across the room, much like watching a tennis match in very slow motion.

Other techniques for presenters include 1-2 seconds of regular eye contact on key audience members. This is done by finding 4 or 5 people who seem to be paying attention and focusing on them though a few words. 2 seconds max, because it’s not a staring competition. It is still important to continue scanning the entire audience, because you need backups in case your initial chosen ones start looking elsewhere.

As I think about this – while maintaining my guise of nodding and typing – I start to feel bored and frustrated. My eyebrows gang up on me and attempt a frown. I make a small adjustment, just in time, and turn it into a look of earnest concentration. Peggy notices me and seems to approve. I nod, to seal the deal just in case. She smiles and nods back. Peggy seems to have just plucked out a new Class Pet from the litter.

Peggy doesn’t realize is that this was not her choice.

Having done so many large presentations myself, I am well aware of how presenter like to focus and engage with the audience, including how they locate their eye contact focal points in the crowd. Even a good presenter will fail without using these points ... much like a dancer who attempts their pirouettes without spotting.

Sometimes, as an audience member, I actively try to become one of these focal points. I prefer the term Class Pet and have a series of proven techniques to move myself up the food chain.

I usually set myself a deadline to become Class Pet; somewhere between 2 and 15 minutes. Why bother? Boredom, mainly … especially when trapped in the front row.

Here are a few tips to a Pettier you:

1. Maintain constant eye contact with the presenter whenever possible.
   
   
2. Nod at key points. Sometimes vigorously.
   
   
3. Smile constantly. Ensure it’s not a dopey grin or an obsequious gush – just a gentle upturn of the sides of the mouth and some warmth in your eyes. Get yourself into the zone by repeating to yourself “I am getting so much good stuff out of this presentation”.
   
   
4. Pretend to take notes. But here’s the clincher – halfway through taking a notes, look up quickly at something they’ve said, look quizzical, then nod curtly, then continue the note again. It’s like you’re TOTALLY taking down their words.
   
   
5. When all else fails, ask an insightful question and use the instructor’s name. You don’t need to have been listening. There are plenty of questions out there that can be used. Just wait for a pause and say something like “Peggy what do you think would be the key differences in how this can be applied to growth markets such as Vietnam, versus more mature markets like the Switzerland or Canada?” Another example (of which there are many) is “Peggy how do you think this has this changed over the years? What I mean is … were we doing it this 5 years ago and if not, what were some of the mistakes we were making during that time?” Now remember this – we are in a training presentation so of course things have changed over the years. That’s why experienced people are being trained. However, the instructor will nearly always begin with “That’s an excellent question …” before answering it.
   
   
6. Don’t just nod when they answer it … but add something American like “OK thanks Peggy - that’s great
   
   
7. If Peggy asks you whether it answered your question … be more crisp. Nod and say something like “Yes. Perfectly."
   
   
8. Never – and I repeat NEVER – look around the room to see if you are being noticed by your colleagues. This is arrogant and self serving. It is possible to have your pet and eat it too.
   
   
9. At the end of the class, go up to the instructor quickly and thank them. Tell them you got a lot from the presentation and would they mind if you called them occasionally to pick their brains.

Each of these techniques requires practice and nerve. However, once mastered they are guaranteed to make you the Class Pet without you having to listen to the presenter, understand the topic, absorb any key messages or retain any of the presentation material.

The trick is to do this sparingly and with intelligent humility. There is a facial expression which is recognisably dedicated to intelligent humility ... but just make sure you practice in the mirror before taking it out in public.

If done elegantly, your colleagues will also see you as an expert and not as an annoying time waster.

Class Pet is but one of the roles I adopt when bored. But there are many others including Class Clown, Most Likely To Succeed and sometimes Class-A Dickhead. The one which requires most skills and practice is Disrupt The Presentation Entirely By Enticing The Room And The Presenter Into Lively Debate That Feels Like Freestyle Learning But Is Really Just Making The Clock Go Faster. This one takes considerable time, effort and expertise. It is not for the feeble hearted.

I am well aware that this type of behaviour is very inappropriate and I am not always proud of myself. I think it's one of those silly, guilty pleasures that we can’t quite explain. For some people it’s chocolate. For others it’s murder. I guess mine is somewhere in the middle, but hopefully closer to chocolate.

Back to this morning's presentation. I actually do understand quite a lot about this topic that Peggy is presenting. I am also learning more about this topic by being here in this course. The problem is that I just ... don’t ... care. But worse than that, I suspect that most people don’t care. I think Andreas probably cares, but he lost my respect when he shot his hand straight up in the air to ask his question. His arm was rigid and his face was pleading as he waited for Peggy to notice him. It doesn't help that he's German and plump. If Andreas had some food stains on his shirt and he would have looked like a 5-year-old boy in school assembly. I decided to sit next to him at lunch and try to spill something on him.

Nearly everyone in the room also knows that we are being taught by Peggy will be impossible to do. This is not pessimism or fear of change, this is simply because we are not structured or funded to do this type of stuff. We all know this. Peggy knows this too. And she knows we know. And we know she knows we know.

So what the fuck are we all doing here?

At this stage I’m no longer listening to any of it. I’m still typing and nodding (of course). I am still watching Peggy – she has a lovely speaking voice and a remote control clicker thing which moves her slides forward. It even shines a red light on key bullet points. But my eyes are emptying themselves out as I allow my mind to wander … a wayward journey along recalcitrant thoughts ... it’s dark in there and I don’t know where I’m going. Wayward, and aimless. It makes me wonder what I'm doing in this room with these people, looking at this PowerPoint deck, talking about the Bulgarian Tax Department. It's so ridiculous that I smile. Peggy smiles back.

If Peggy decides that this is the time to ask her Class Pet for an opinion or an example, I’m fucked. Maybe she will understand. Her presentation is about risk, after all, and I’m just helping myself to a little.

le blog se meurt

I've just looked at the blog stats over the last few months.

I'm in a recession.

This one had roast beef

We get an email nearly every day from HR, giving an update on the pig flu.

It must be one of the best things to happen to them all year.

Myself included.

The subject of this email was particularly comforting:

"H1N1 virus is not deadly."

[Phew.]

Less is Mall

Last weekend I stayed an extra day in Jakarta to see the sights. This proved to be quite challenging because aren’t any. There are lots of malls. Lots of wide roads, too, but I suspect they were only built to connect up the malls.

On Saturday morning I stopped by the Concierge desk to ask where I could do some sightseeing and shopping. He took out a map and started pointing out malls: Plaza Indonesia, Grand Indonesia, Mall of Indonesia, Blok M (M stands for Mall), Plaza Senayan.

I hate malls. And they hate me. I especially hate eating meals in malls, something I’ve been doing a lot of recently. Malls are stark, predictable and organized. I become disoriented and disinterested as I wander around them. When I’m finally coughed up and back out to the street, it feels like I’ve wasted a lump of time that I will never get back. This is the same feeling I get with Facebook; and small talk.

I asked my Indonesian colleague (F) about all these malls. How did they come about? When? Why so many? Why so popular? He didn’t know. He just explained that mall culture now predominates in Jakarta and is spreading rapidly throughout other parts of Indonesia as well. Many people in Jakarta now spend most of their free time in malls. F said that about 15 years ago, his home town was like Hanoi where most shopping is done via small street vendors and markets. Today it is almost completely dominated by malls and apartment towers. Even the poor people shop at malls. (“You know - the chicken is now very cheap in the Carrefour supermarket … Very cheap.”)

F explained this without any hint of lament or disappointment. When I suggested that it was a pity that they are destroying small businesseses and the social elements that go along with them ... F raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, said “Yeah, probably” while he tilted his head back and chuckled. This is a pretty common Indonesian response to problems and I like it.

“At least we’re not robots like in Singapore” he later added. Small mercies.

I thought about these shiny white malls, dotted throughout Jakarta and beyond … like a soulless diaspora greedily feeding on people’s disposable income and time. It’s not right.

The Jakarta malls do have a shitload of stuff in them, though. Every possible brand and product seems to be available. Huge spaces in the building are carved out by big chunks of Louis Vuitton and Cartier and Hermes and Coach. Wall-length billboards promote the additional 40 or 50 stores which will soon be opening in the new wing (a fresh Apple here, a new Bally there). There is far more here than you would find in Sydney. It’s as if 5th Avenue has been stacked vertically onto 6 floors.

Actually, the only thing missing is customers. There is no evidence of anyone actually buying all this high end shit. I asked another colleague (A) about this. He said that 2% of Jakartans are at the extreme end of wealthy so it’s probably them doing all the buying. (This may be so, but in numerous visits I have not seen them tipping their wealth into these stores.)

So back to the Concierge. I asked him to explain the differences between all these malls he was pointing to.

“Plaza Indonesia is only 5 minutes by taxi, Plaza Senayan is 10 minutes, and this one here is 30 minutes depending on traffic, maybe more."

-- “Umm. Are there other differences between these malls? Not just travel time.”

“Time?”

-- “No. No. Other differences.”

“Other differences?”

-- “Yes. Yes. Are there any other differences between the malls? Like … for example … can I buy certain things at one mall that I can’t buy at another?”

“No. They are all very good. You can get everything at all of them.”

At this point he smiled. This was a smile of both pride (for the omnipotent malls, I think) and service delivery (he felt that my customer transaction had now been satisfactorily answered).

“OK. But I don’t really want to go to a mall. I don’t want to shop for expensive clothes or things. Is there anywhere else I could go with many little of shops or other things that I could look at?”

[Smile departs.]

“The Plaza Indonesia is very close to here. Only 5 minutes by taxi.”

[Smile returns.]

I wanted to walk away but I was trapped. Without him I had nothing. I also hate markets. But I hate them less than malls. So second worst would be a victory here.

-- “Is there anything like a street market somewhere in Jakarta? More like a traditional market?”

[Smile departs.]

He furrowed his brow and asked his colleague something longwinded in Bahasa while pulling a hair out of his moustache. He examined the hair as his conversation drew to a close, before carelessly flicking it onto the counter in front of me. He returned back to my map and circled the Ratu Mall. This mall, he assured me, sold the types of things you would typically find in a market.

[Smile returns.]

“Is there an old part of Jakarta? An old town that is historic and like the original streets? Before malls?”

-- “Yes sir. But I do not think you would like it.”

“Why not?”

-- “I am sure you will not like it.”

I insisted that I could. He insisted that I couldn’t. I insisted again, this time trying to confound him by speaking quickly.

Eventually he knocked over his king and circled square E7 on my map. I thought I heard him mumble “You won’t like it” under his breath but I’m not sure. It may have been “Bule Gila”, which means stupid potato (literally “Crazy Albino”).

The thing that I’ve learnt about travel is that you need to trust your instincts and not be dissuaded by local people trying to guide you along safe, well formed tourist routes. And so, with this in mind, off I set.

I was off to the old part of town for a look see and a mini adventure. Finally, something a little more innovative. I’m not like those other potatoes who stay in 5 star hotels. I take risks with my itinerary and just see where I end up. Mine is the road not taken.

Or so I thought.

Within 2 hours I was sitting in a Hard Rock Café—in a mall—eating nachos.

This was not a fall from grace. It was a freefall.

Turns out there was no old town. Just a few slums. The taxi driver took me to slums.

There was nowhere to get out of the cab and have a wander. It wasn’t dangerous, just a bit exploitative to jump out of a cab and take photos of poverty. (“Oh - look at the dear, innocent suffering child ... she’s got such beautiful eyes.” Not to mention the weeping sore on her leg.)

Exploitative and patronizing.

So I decided to go for lunch. He took me to a mall. I desisted. He insisted. I The mall information centre person looked at my baseball cap and sent me to the Hard Rock. They didn’t tell me it was the Hard Rock. They just gave me a little map and told me there was a good restaurant there that is very popular. He insisted.

Up until I arrived there it was all their fault. But the walking in … the sitting down … the ordering nachos like a little fat potato … that was all me. Il ne faut jamais dire: "Fontaine, je ne boirai pas de ton eau."

It was just after midday but the room was dark and sparse and scattered with tired looking customers. It felt like midnight. A live band was playing very loudly. Each band member seemed to periodically abandon their instrument and take a turn at singing at least one dreadful version of a classic. As I sat there I felt like I was in the school assembly hall, casting for a high school play.

Here is a sample to show I'm not exaggerating.

Sting would turn in his grave if he heard this. First he'd kill himself, then have a funeral, then wait a bit, then turn.

I spent most of this time with my mouth agape (or at least ajar) at the horror of my lot. This also helped me stuff corn chips into it more quickly. Which I did. Like a pro.

Off the shelf

I bought 100 valiums at the pharmacy this evening. 4 people assisted me in the purchase, with 2 more supervising from a 3 metre distance.

After I nauseated at the herbal remedies on offer (Valerian and Melatonin are for amateurs) they brought me to the pharmacist. 3 of my assistants stayed around to help watch.

The pharmacist went out the back, grabbed a bottle and returned.

"This will work." She said. It was a bottle of Valium. My heart lept.

"What is this feeling?" I asked myself.

"Must be love," I told myself.

My seasoned eyes checked the label. It was 2mg.

"Do you have 5mg?"

"All sold out. But I'll get you some generic Diazepam, 5mg."

She returned with a tray of 10 Stesolid tablets, whose primary ingredient was clearly listed as Diazepam.

I nodded approval and she up-sold me a box of 100.

I'm starting to warm to Jakarta.

I think Jakarta is starting to warm to me.

When I got back to the hotel I took 2.

As an afterthought, I thought I'd check the drug in Google and see it was OK. Here is the first result:

"Stesolid is a rectal brand of diazepam ..." (See for yourself.)

Oh.

... dear.

Going Atkins

There were decidedly less potatoes at the hotel breakfast this morning.

I guess they changed their plans and went home.

Potatoes hate it when bombs are aimed at them.

The Augustus Gloop in us all

I just read a report that Kevin Rudd described this morning's bombing as "an attack on us all".

Us all?

Stop exaggerating, Kevin. This is not an attack on us all. Because all cannot afford to stay in a 5 star hotel.

It is more accurate to call it an attack on us, the lucky few. I am writing this from my 5 star hotel room so I should know.

At this point I recalled the doughnut crumb I found stuck to my chin this morning.

I was in the bathroom at work, washing my hands, and noticed it on my chin. It was already 11:30am so this fucking crumb must have been sitting there on my fucking chin for quite some fucking time. It is my first day in Indonesia and I wanted to make a good impression with my new Jakarta colleagues. We both did..

Crumb must have been with me in the lobby. It must have clinged on tightly as I climbed into the cab. It was still there when I arrived to the office. Stayed with me as I was introduced to many new colleagues. 

It also means that we (Crumb and I) attended 2 meetings together. We gave quite constructive input on a couple of issues. At one point we walked to the whiteboard, drew some boxes and linked them up with arrows. We then stayed standing there while we finished the discussion, so we could see everyone at all times. And everyone could see us at all times. Crumb and me.

Crumb had wedged himself impossibly onto the middle of my chin, using icing sugar as some kind of mortar. So in the 4 hours during and after breakfast, why had no one mentioned this to me? Perhaps:

- they thought he was a mutant pimple. (Oh, but I hope not.)

- they didn't notice. (Oh, but how could they not?)

- they knew he was a crumb and didn't care. (Oh, but how could they not say anything?)

I looked in the bathroom mirror plucked it off my chin for closer inspection. I reminisced about the sumptuous breakfast buffet at the Shangri-La Jakarta ...

Before entering my world, this crumb was a member of a breakfast troupe. He was attached to a beautifully cooked miniature doughnut, which was in turn balanced atop a mini doughnut pyramid. This is one of many pastry pyramids which, I imagined, had been built in the wee hours of the morning by noble yet humble people with white hats on their heads and flour on their cheeks.

These pyramids formed part of longer, wider, bakery row which I call the Calorie Counter - a tubby contranym.

At the Shangri-La you find many other breakfast offerings woven within and around this buffet.

Lines of omelettes are cooked to order alongside fruit juices, cheeses, cereals, yoghurts, congee and other noodley delights. Each has been carefully chosen, beautifully prepared and carefully positioned for maximum appeal. Many items are positioned atop ceramic podiums; posing, like hookers for fat people.

We (the lucky few) wander around the room like disoriented tourists, holding large white plates as our guide books.

This morning, 2 km away from my buffet but in a similar breakfast room, someone walked in with backpack, pulled the cord and blew up the room. While no one has come forward yet I suspect that Jenny Craig is somehow involved.

It was not easy to get this crumb onto my chin. I needed a good job and a travel budget which included a nice hotel (breakfast included). I needed a large white plate and a sense of disoriented purpose.

I have never seen a fresh doughnut crumb on the chin of a cleaner, or a taxi driver, or a homeless person. The homeless often have something stuck on their chins, but it's usually not fresh and certainly not from a doughnut. It's more likely to be dry saliva masquerading as food. This doesn't make them a lesser person. It just makes them a poorer person. Just enough lesser to be poorer.

So think about that for a moment, Kevin.

Us all my arse.

Edwina ...

... is gone.

And by Gone, I mean that she has finished here and returned to Australia.

... is gone forever.

And by Forever, I mean that if I have any say in it we won't be crossing paths again.

... is gone forever. So RIP.

And by P, I mean Piss.

Rest in Piss, Edwina.

Explosive welcome

It seems that my first visit to Jakarta has been marred by controversy.

My company uses 2 hotels in Jakarta: the Ritz Carlton and the Shangri-La. I'm staying in the Shangri-La.

In the lobby this morning, waiting for a cab, my colleague checked his Blackberry:

Him: "I just heard a bomb went off at the Ritz Carlton - you better call your family and tell them you're not staying there. She might be worried."

My heart rate didn't change at all. I was completely unconcerned for my own safety. Even irrational fears didn't make an appearance. Had I known that the Marriott lobby had also been bombed, I may have been a bit more nervous as I stood there in the Shangri-La lobby.

So I made a call to Cheesel. No answer. I thought "I wish I was dead now - that would serve her right for not carrying her phone around. I keep telling her to carry her phone around." Irrational fears may have been absent but clearly there was still some room left for irrational revenge.

Me: "Let's just hope it's not a coordinated effort across hotels, like in Mumbai. Remember how they targeted a few 5 star hotels at the same time? Taking pot shots at foreigners, right?"

Him: "Oh. Yeah."

Then we calmly wandered out through the lobby to get a cab.

When I got to the office I met the country manager for the first time.

Him: "Hey Anthony! Nice to finally meet you! We have given you quite an explosive welcome this morning!" [chuckles loudly]

Me: "All that? For me? Thanks. That's quite an effort."

Then I received an sms from my Indonesian colleague:

Him: "Sorry. Late because of bombs."

My reply: "They're targeting foreigners and I still made it. Get in."

I didn't realise he was actually at the Ritz Carlton, at a breakfast meeting. When he evenutally arrived to work Ifound out all the details of his hotel trauma, and subsequent trip to work, and I pointed out that he could have made it in earlier if he'd made it more of a priority.

It reminded me of when I was in Israel and a suicide bomber went off (if that's what you call it) a block from my hotel. Fucking suicide bombers: more like my personal stalkers.

Love to stay and chat but I'm off for a drink. I'm staying an extra day here to take in the sights. First time and all.

Monday Morning Meating

Maximes et Pensées du Jour

Commute of the day:

This morning I passed a woman with 5 dog carcasses strapped across the back of her motorbike. They were skinned and ready for service.

Street address of the day:

This one.

Word of the day:

The word for sandwich in Vietnamese is pronounced as "bang me". So if you walk up to someone and say "bang me", you are asking them to make you a sandwich. Just like in English.

Word of the day II:

The word for girl in Vietnamese is pronounced as "gay". So if you walk up to someone, point at them and say "gay", you are calling them a girl. Just like in English.

Medical factoid of the day:

On the weekend my language tutor told me she had been to the doctor about her acne. He told her she needed to get married. No pills, no creams; just marriage. When said to her "this is not medical advice" she looked at me strangely, frowned and said "of course it is". Silly me.

Quote of the day:

"If God didn't want us to eat animals, he wouldn't have made them out of meat."

Silly child of the day:

That would be me. I work with a Korean guy who pronounces "designer" to rhyme with "vagina". I keep trying to ask him questions whose answers are related to design. Eg

Anthony: "Joon, what is Andy's role on the project?"

Joon: "He's a Software Dagina"

Anthony: "Software ...?"

Joon: "Dagina"

Anthony: "What's the module called which allows you to design the invoices?"

Joon: "It's called the Invoice Dagina"

Brand of the day:

The service station I go to is called "Petroconsulting".

Potatospeak of the day:

The Glazed Potato appears in many parts of Asia between June and September. During this period, the summer humidity is so strong that it creates a permanent layer of sweat over the potatoes. Unlike the locals, who appear to be completely unaffacted by the weather, the potatoes find themselves permanently glazed and on the hunt for air conditioners.

CV interest of the day:

My favourite part of any CV is the "Interests" section. A CV I read today listed the following:

"I adore keeping Koi fish and admiring the beautiful color and the movement of these splendid fish also to keep the water system in balance condition."

Monthly newsletter rousing speech of the day:

This is the Message from the CEO, posted on my client's message board:

"Thank you to everyone for working so hard during the past 3 months. It has been very difficult time for our business and I admire all of the efforts you have made. As the time ahead looks even more competitive and challenging, I would like to request that everyone works faster." [I kid you not.]

United Notions

I went to dinner last night with a large group of people that I work with

I ordered a salad, which ended up being a plate laden with cabbage hiding under mayonnaise. I looked around and took stock. My dining companions were from New Zealand, India, Brazil, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Korea, USA, Australia, Russia, France, Turkmenistan, Japan, Malaysia and Thailand.

I can't imagine that my grandparents would have ever imagined this could be possible; much less desirable; much less possible for me.

The conversation was quite boring at times and some people didn't like the food. Must be what it's like at lunch time in the United Nations canteen.

Hiatus

I'm having a little break until the 4th of July. Or so.

This can be blamed on me being busy and tired and stressed and ... well ... ok ... sometimes because of The Evil Milkmaid. Stay tuned.

Please keep voting for the potato, which is now at position 5. By voting one Up for mine, and on Down for the others and it will move twice as fast.

Not Soon Enough

Jacko Memorial Joke 1

Reports of Michael Jackson having a heart attack are incorrect.

He was found in the children’s ward having a stroke.

Jacko Memorial Joke 2

There will be a post-mortem today to determine which was the cause of death:

A) Sunshine

B) Moonlight

C) Good Times

D) Boogie

Jacko Memorial Joke 3

Michael Jackson died of shock after finding out Boyz II Men was a band not a delivery service.

Jacko Memorial Joke 7

When Farrah Fawcett arrived in Heaven, God was such a big fan he decided to grant her one wish. She asked that all the children in the world could be safe. So God killed Michael Jackson.

Jacko Memorial Joke 10

Michael Jackson's legal team announced that he had agreed to be melted down by undertakers to make plastic toys. So, kids can play with him for a change.

The Potato Rises

We've now hit position number 6 on urban dictionary!

Get in there and vote.

Vietnam Idol

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2dZ3uaFyQw&feature=related

My favourites are at 2:13 (my hump, my hump, my lovely ladle hump) and 8:26 (love potion #9), whose dancing is a massive improvement on the original.

Give that the entire country isso skinny, I'm flummoxed as to why the judges are fat fuks. What's with that? the realistic thing about them is that the chick in the middle is wearing her pj's. It's not uncommon in Hanoi to see people walking around in their jim jams ...

If you make it as far as 9:26, look at what she did to progress through to the next round, even though she fucked up her. Also realistic. It is not uncommon to see large groups of people in a local park exercising to similar routines. I kid you not.