Here's an unedited email I sent to my lawyer earlier today:
...thanks...I'll react tomorrow...It would be EXTREMELY HELPFUL IF YOU COULD, IN FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS, CONFIRM THE RECEIPT OF AN EMAIL MESSAGE WHEN ASKED TO DO SO...
...CONCERNING SOME OF YOUR COMMUNICATIONS, I HAVE THE FEELING TO BE CONFRONTED WITH REALLY OLD-SCHOOL FRENCH BUREAUCRACY...OLD-SCHOOL ALSO IN THE SENSE THAT THE UNDERLYING ADMINISTRATION DOES NOT WORK...DATA HAVE BEEN COMMUNICATED TO YOUR OFFICE, AND ARE SUBSEQUENTLY LOST, HASTY PHONE CALLS ARE THEN MADE THAT WOULDN'T BE NECESSARY IF YOUR ADMINISTRATION WOULD BE UP TO DATE, PHONE CALLS THAT COST TIME AND MONEY, POSSIBLY OUR MONEY....AND THERE ARE OTHER PROBLEMS .... NOT GOOD...OLD-SCHOOL FRENCH BUREAUCRACY...MAIN REASON WHY FRANCE IS DOING SO POORLY THESE DAYS IN COMPARISON TO PLACES WHERE LAWYERS (and others) ACTUALLY *DO* RESPOND TO EMAILS PROMPTLY AND *ARE* ABLE TO CONFIRM THE RECEIPT OF EMAILS WHEN ASKED TO DO SO...IT'S A MATTER OF PRODUCTIVITY...
I have been a professional bureaucratologist for an important part of my career (Link:
Google.Scholar.Masuch
) and from my perspective, I can tell you, you should REALLY, REALLY, reorganize in a thorough and strict way the communication flow in your office, starting from scratch, even if it means that heads rollllll---
Kind Regards, Michael Masuch
PS (Sept 7, 2012): I'm studying the way people get fired these days, and there are cases where people got fired for using to much upper case in their emails. Seriously.
Aug 9, 2012
Jul 25, 2012
Olympics (Urban Dictionary, July 25, 2012)
Word of the day
We couldn't agree more.
Jul 17, 2012
Tell me why America is the greatest country in the world
This is how Aaron Sorkin's HBO series Sixty Minutes opens, folks:
Jun 14, 2012
Prometheus --- film review (spoiler alerrrt)
This multiplex in Pathong's biggest mall is real nice, the shiniest black marble greets the lone visitor, and it's being polished a-more as we a-wait the beginning of the movie. We did MIB 3, and may elaborate on it later. Now we are doing Prometheus, the latest film by Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Gladiator...). The movie program of this multiplex is somewhat meager, three or four movies are running now, and the humongous auditorium n° 5 is empty. We brought warm clothes to weather the air conditioning. An utterly empty auditorium, it's always impressive, especially to retired university professors, as it brings their worst nightmares to life.
OK, Prometheus. We vaguely recall having read a review in the NYT, not a bad review, right? SciFi, somebody's having visited Planet Earth 35,000 years ago, left some traces, and modern science has discovered where they came from. We're on our way. A motley crew. They've been hired on the fly by Charlize Theron, whose nose is so straight she must have had a facial. Also aboard is David, the humanoid (robot). He's so much smarter than than the rest that one wonders why anybody bothered to send authentic humans at all---except that the uppity assistant who pointed this out at the script conference got fired on the spot, perhaps because David looks too much like Lawrence of Arabia, or, more precisely, like Peter O'Toole, and he also speaks like a British actor from fifty years ago.
OK, Prometheus. We vaguely recall having read a review in the NYT, not a bad review, right? SciFi, somebody's having visited Planet Earth 35,000 years ago, left some traces, and modern science has discovered where they came from. We're on our way. A motley crew. They've been hired on the fly by Charlize Theron, whose nose is so straight she must have had a facial. Also aboard is David, the humanoid (robot). He's so much smarter than than the rest that one wonders why anybody bothered to send authentic humans at all---except that the uppity assistant who pointed this out at the script conference got fired on the spot, perhaps because David looks too much like Lawrence of Arabia, or, more precisely, like Peter O'Toole, and he also speaks like a British actor from fifty years ago.
Jun 7, 2012
Sushi Express
So Chang discovers this outlet, right in the heart of JongCeylon, Patong's largest mall. And it's a buffet, which means you can eat as much as you like. For 300 bath (10 US$). Or perhaps, more precisely: eat as much as you can, because that's the idea of buffets, isn't it. And if we can mangle our philosophical thoughts at this point, if maximizing quantity and utility converge buffet-wise, we are dealing with a case resistant to Hegel's conversion law ("Quantität schlägt in Qualität um"), which, by implication, also weakens Karl Marx's case (if only Alexis Tsipras, the new, young, handsome, charismatic, Greek leader would know, it might save the Euro).
You have 1 hour 15 minutes for eating more than you like; a wall clock watches with red digital display over the proceedings, an ambulance is waiting outside.
May 26, 2012
I'll come with you (breaking news alert)
 |
| Not the girl |
I walk past this girl, perhaps for the third time now, and she is selling something, and always waving and smiling. I reply in some way. She asks "you are staying nearby?"
-"Yes."
-"How long are you staying?"
-"One month."
The girl grabs my arm and says: "I am coming with you."
We are not making this up.
Tunk-Ka Café
Our longest-lasting controversy is about the river-side café, and while I sing about its charms, such as the chilled, oaky, buttery chardonnay served with chicken breast and sauce hollandaise, or the light wood paneling, or the shady riverside terrace with its muted, yet clipped conversations about Muffy who failed to make partner with Allen & Overy, or the color coding of the awnings, always dark green, preferably in the hex value #00693E (Dartmouth Green), brèf, while I am singing about the river-side café, Chang is dreaming of food markets, this Asian contraption that encumbers the innocent hungry-man between various food stalls where everything is cheap, and abundant, and smelly, and sticky, and eaten with chop sticks.
We are on our first excursion across Phuket now, and the understanding has been that we would end up in a food market, but the first food market didn't pass Chang's muster even though it was located in the Korean neighborhood of Phuket Town, because the Thai girl behind the Korean garlands didn't speak a word of Korean, and so we are driving on, and it is already past 12am, the time when Chang is overwhelmed by hunger and everything stops until he finds a place to restore himself. He suggests we turn right, but I continue straight, and we are mysteriously led up a hill when signs appear which speak of the Tunk-ka Café. The road ends in a parking lot, and everything is coded in dark-green, including the lush, tropical forest, and Chang wants to flee, but is overwhelmed by hunger now, and we, who haven't been to a riverside café in eons, we end up in the first HILL-TOP café of our life, by sheer serendipity.
The Tunk-ka Café. We have to descend a long staircase. Chang is scared. Have a look at the menu first, he cries, but the prices are reasonable, to his disappointment.
We are on our first excursion across Phuket now, and the understanding has been that we would end up in a food market, but the first food market didn't pass Chang's muster even though it was located in the Korean neighborhood of Phuket Town, because the Thai girl behind the Korean garlands didn't speak a word of Korean, and so we are driving on, and it is already past 12am, the time when Chang is overwhelmed by hunger and everything stops until he finds a place to restore himself. He suggests we turn right, but I continue straight, and we are mysteriously led up a hill when signs appear which speak of the Tunk-ka Café. The road ends in a parking lot, and everything is coded in dark-green, including the lush, tropical forest, and Chang wants to flee, but is overwhelmed by hunger now, and we, who haven't been to a riverside café in eons, we end up in the first HILL-TOP café of our life, by sheer serendipity.
 |  |
The Tunk-ka Café. We have to descend a long staircase. Chang is scared. Have a look at the menu first, he cries, but the prices are reasonable, to his disappointment.
May 24, 2012
Touring Phuket
So we finally rent a car, and the next morning it is cloudy, rainy, but we don't care, and travel south. A view from the first viewpoint informs about the western coast of Phuket south of Patong, the hedonistic center of the island:
The bay of Patong is to the north (next to the high-rise), south of it the bay of Kolon, and finally Kata. As we continue south, we reach a small, nameless beach almost on the tip of the island (Chang in the lower right corner)...
The bay of Patong is to the north (next to the high-rise), south of it the bay of Kolon, and finally Kata. As we continue south, we reach a small, nameless beach almost on the tip of the island (Chang in the lower right corner)...
May 22, 2012
Neckermann Bumms Bomber (Learning Thai (2))
Let's get this out of the way first. Remember the 2 k-sounds from our last post? Here are a few more:
Got it?
Well, back in the late seventies, my then-colleague Han felt the urge to take the Neckermann Bumms Bomber (his words, you'll figure this out yourself) to Bangkok (กรุงเทพมหานคร). Han had been a seminarist (studying for priest) until the Marxist wave struck the Netherlands and he took up residence in Amsterdam's red light district, where he would spend the evening checking whether he still had the 25 guilders in his pockets to pay one of the neighboring ladies of the night for the standard job (he told me). Arriving in Thailand, he met a girl, fell in love, bought a home, and learned Thai, while keeping a part time appointment at the University of Amsterdam. Thai learning is difficult, he explained with starry eyes, citing the fact that the language has innumerable consonants, among which 5 different k-sounds (there you have it; the table mentions six, but two are obsolete).
And when back in Amsterdam, Han became a pillar of the relationship community, with which I mean to say that he was hired to save gay couples, in particular those comprising a Dutch person and an imported Thai boy. Relationships, Han explained, depend on communication (this was before everybody subscribed to the Harvard Business Review), and the non-existing Thai of the Dutch and the poor English of the Thai boy would inevitably lead to a downward relationship spiral that only Han could stop by intervening as a Thai/Dutch interpreter and helping the couple to regain a new level of understanding. I don't know whether Han kept any statistics. Rumor has it he's now divorced.
Got it?
Well, back in the late seventies, my then-colleague Han felt the urge to take the Neckermann Bumms Bomber (his words, you'll figure this out yourself) to Bangkok (กรุงเทพมหานคร). Han had been a seminarist (studying for priest) until the Marxist wave struck the Netherlands and he took up residence in Amsterdam's red light district, where he would spend the evening checking whether he still had the 25 guilders in his pockets to pay one of the neighboring ladies of the night for the standard job (he told me). Arriving in Thailand, he met a girl, fell in love, bought a home, and learned Thai, while keeping a part time appointment at the University of Amsterdam. Thai learning is difficult, he explained with starry eyes, citing the fact that the language has innumerable consonants, among which 5 different k-sounds (there you have it; the table mentions six, but two are obsolete).
And when back in Amsterdam, Han became a pillar of the relationship community, with which I mean to say that he was hired to save gay couples, in particular those comprising a Dutch person and an imported Thai boy. Relationships, Han explained, depend on communication (this was before everybody subscribed to the Harvard Business Review), and the non-existing Thai of the Dutch and the poor English of the Thai boy would inevitably lead to a downward relationship spiral that only Han could stop by intervening as a Thai/Dutch interpreter and helping the couple to regain a new level of understanding. I don't know whether Han kept any statistics. Rumor has it he's now divorced.
Learning Thai
We've arrived safely in Thailand, but are now holed up in the bedroom, since Chang (ช้าง) ("elephant") canceled the a/c in the living room. So, we have no choice but to learn Thai (ภาษาไทย). It will be quite a slog. But the beginning is easy, as it thematizes the chicken-egg problem.
ก ไก ko (as in) kai" (chicken) and we are pronouncing the ก as "k," whereas
ข ไข "kho (as in) khai" (egg) and we are pronouncing the ข breezely as "kh."
Cheers:
Hold your bladder, hold your bladder, there is a small problem. Our "ko" (ก), it's some sort of "g" on another web site dedicated to Thai learning.
Stay tuned.
ก ไก ko (as in) kai" (chicken) and we are pronouncing the ก as "k," whereas
ข ไข "kho (as in) khai" (egg) and we are pronouncing the ข breezely as "kh."
Cheers:
Hold your bladder, hold your bladder, there is a small problem. Our "ko" (ก), it's some sort of "g" on another web site dedicated to Thai learning.
Stay tuned.
May 20, 2012
Breaking news alert: Zurich Airport (4)
What's this?
Yes, it's the consequence of our Priority Pass, the black card that granted us access to the Swiss VIP lounge of the airport, where life is eternal and all drinks are free (mental note: need to write an essay with the title "Airport Lounge und Paradies"), whence an attempt to mix a Bloody Mary early in the morning, a mix with mixed results, since the Worcestershire bottle emptied itself like a drunken sailor into our glass. We'll drink it anyhow. Cheers. Chang frowns.
Yes, it's the consequence of our Priority Pass, the black card that granted us access to the Swiss VIP lounge of the airport, where life is eternal and all drinks are free (mental note: need to write an essay with the title "Airport Lounge und Paradies"), whence an attempt to mix a Bloody Mary early in the morning, a mix with mixed results, since the Worcestershire bottle emptied itself like a drunken sailor into our glass. We'll drink it anyhow. Cheers. Chang frowns.
Zurich Airport (3)
So, we are in Kloten, home of the airport (this must be the first time in creative writing that somebody attributed a "home" to an airport), and we are strolling through the lazy afternoon, and the weather improves.
We are not alone, a creek strolls through the lazy downtown setting, too.
What's wrong. What's this? In Switzerland. Something in the water, that doesn't belong there? No, it doesn't.
It's an Irish licence plate, and a fancy one at that, "en guerre" (at war). Euromess in Switzerland? What else.
Fortunately, a sense of order is quickly restored further downstream, at least in a geo-topological way:
We are not alone, a creek strolls through the lazy downtown setting, too.
What's wrong. What's this? In Switzerland. Something in the water, that doesn't belong there? No, it doesn't.
 |  |
It's an Irish licence plate, and a fancy one at that, "en guerre" (at war). Euromess in Switzerland? What else.
Fortunately, a sense of order is quickly restored further downstream, at least in a geo-topological way:
May 19, 2012
Never leave home without it
But we do, we do. (Question: " Why do you need a camara, isn't your cell-phone enough?" Answer: "I don't know how to use my cell-phone"). For example last Tuesday, we had this appointment with our lawyer in Cannes, on the Rue d'Alsace, only a few steps from the Palais du Festival, and it's the day of the opening of the Film Festival. And we leave the lawyer's premises, and the sun shines, and we step into a street scene with two cameras (plus camera men), overhead microphones of the phallic kind, and goons, five goons, and in the middle of it all a woman in her late 50's, dressed up as femme du midi (blond, whitish clothes, bosom, gold), and she looks miserable, miserable, while the cameras zoom, and a male voice is calling --- we forgot her name, actually --- lets make it Muriel. We've never heard of Muriel, but the male voice apparently has, and the cameras are zooming, and Muriel (she answers to that name, so much is clear) looks misreable, misrable, misable, misbel, mis...it's beyond description, her whole body tumbling forward, the face facing the gutter, the rimples (that's the word, isn't it, the spell checker acts up) dancing on her forehead. The voice ("Muriel") belongs to a stalker --- she must be famous --- who is kept at arms length by yet another goon, who is, in fact, spreading his arms so as to keep the stalker away from Muriel without causing any collateral damage. "Muriel, Muriel." We have no proof, we have no proof, but a scene like that, you can't make it up.
Zurich Airport
A friend sends this picture:
Huh? Well, we arrive at the airport, and the place appears to be dominated by wall-high billboards for brothels (eg. Club Aphrodisiac, "all drinks for free"); it's in this spirit that we reply: "If you like anal, use the rear entrance."
Huh? Well, we arrive at the airport, and the place appears to be dominated by wall-high billboards for brothels (eg. Club Aphrodisiac, "all drinks for free"); it's in this spirit that we reply: "If you like anal, use the rear entrance."
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 10, 2012
An open letter to the bureaucracies of the world (Susan)
Dear Mr Minister,
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number, and knows that I bought a television set and golf clubs and condoms from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date ?
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand ?
My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 40 years.
It is also on my driver's licence, on the last eight passports I've ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off planes over the past 30 years.
It's also on all those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.
Also... would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Audrey, my father's name is Jack, and I'd be absolutely f...... astounded if that ever changed between now and when I drop dead !!!
SHIT! What do you people do with all this information we keep having to provide?
I apologize, Mr. Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning.
Between you and me, I've had enough of all this bullshit!
You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my f...... address!
What the hell is going on with your mob? Have you got a gang of mindless
Neanderthal arseholes working there!
And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden?
I can't even grow a beard for God's sakes. I just want to go to New Zealand and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether or not I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? In the unlikely event, I ever got the urge to do something weird to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other side of f....... Sydney, and get another f...... copy of my birth certificate - and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!
Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on the same day?
Noooo! That'd be too f...... easy and makes far too much sense.
You would much prefer to have us running all over the bloody place like chickens with our f...... heads cut off, and then having to find some 'high-society' wanker to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo.... the one where we're not allowed to smile?...you f...... morons.
Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said above about the picture, and getting someone in 'high-society' to confirm that it's me? Well, my family has been in this country since before 1820! In 1856, one of my forefathers took up arms with Peter Lalor. (You do remember the Eureka Stockade!)
I have also served in both the CMF and regular Army for something over 30 years (I went to Vietnam in 1967), and still have high security clearances. I'm also a personal friend of the president of the RSL... Lt General Peter Cosgrove sends me a Christmas card each year.
However, your rules require that I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am; you know...someone like my doctor - WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN F...... PAKISTAN!...a country where they either assassinate or hang their ex-Prime Ministers - and are suspended from the Commonwealth and United Nations for not having the "right sort of government".
You are all pen-pushing paper-shuffling f...... idiots!
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this. How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number, and knows that I bought a television set and golf clubs and condoms from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date ?
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand ?
My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 40 years.
It is also on my driver's licence, on the last eight passports I've ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off planes over the past 30 years.
It's also on all those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.
Also... would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Audrey, my father's name is Jack, and I'd be absolutely f...... astounded if that ever changed between now and when I drop dead !!!
SHIT! What do you people do with all this information we keep having to provide?
I apologize, Mr. Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning.
Between you and me, I've had enough of all this bullshit!
You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my f...... address!
What the hell is going on with your mob? Have you got a gang of mindless
Neanderthal arseholes working there!
And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden?
I can't even grow a beard for God's sakes. I just want to go to New Zealand and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether or not I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? In the unlikely event, I ever got the urge to do something weird to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other side of f....... Sydney, and get another f...... copy of my birth certificate - and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!
Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on the same day?
Noooo! That'd be too f...... easy and makes far too much sense.
You would much prefer to have us running all over the bloody place like chickens with our f...... heads cut off, and then having to find some 'high-society' wanker to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo.... the one where we're not allowed to smile?...you f...... morons.
Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said above about the picture, and getting someone in 'high-society' to confirm that it's me? Well, my family has been in this country since before 1820! In 1856, one of my forefathers took up arms with Peter Lalor. (You do remember the Eureka Stockade!)
I have also served in both the CMF and regular Army for something over 30 years (I went to Vietnam in 1967), and still have high security clearances. I'm also a personal friend of the president of the RSL... Lt General Peter Cosgrove sends me a Christmas card each year.
However, your rules require that I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am; you know...someone like my doctor - WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN F...... PAKISTAN!...a country where they either assassinate or hang their ex-Prime Ministers - and are suspended from the Commonwealth and United Nations for not having the "right sort of government".
You are all pen-pushing paper-shuffling f...... idiots!
Mar 8, 2012
On the cover of the Rolling Stones --- no, wrong, the New Yorker
You get it? It's about Seamus, Romney's wonderdog, the dog that was driven by the future President on the top of the family car to Canada (a country with universal health care). After that, Seamus ran away. Want to know more about Seamus? Click here.
In her NYT column, Gail Collins remarks that "Neil Swidey, the Boston Globe reporter who first broke the Seamus story in 2007, wrote recently that he had been avoiding a return to the topic for fear that some day the dog would wind up in the lead of his obituary." Haha (means: "lol").
Mar 2, 2012
Raisa
So let’s get this straight. David Cameron, the British Prime Minister, has not been riding this horse, or so his speaker affirmed yesterday. But today, at the EURO summit about the End of the World, Cameron gives another press conference to rectify his overworked speaker and to confirm that he, in fact, did ride said horse, whose name is, or more precisely was Raisa.
Yes, really?
Well he got the horse from Charlie Brooks. And "Charlie is a friend since 30 years," "more than 30 years." And "Charlie is a good friend," and furthermore a "neighbor in the constituency," they "live only a few miles apart". Aahpaaht. But he hasn't "been riding the horse since the elections of 2010." Before the elections, however, yes he did go riding with Charlie. Charlie "has a number of different horses" (who hasn't), and one of them is, or was, Raisa, a former police horse, which he did ride, and "we are all very sorry to hear" "that Raisa is no longer with us," and he doesn't think "he'll be getting back into the saddle anytime soon," because his life "as a prime minister is so busy."
|
|
Well he got the horse from Charlie Brooks. And "Charlie is a friend since 30 years," "more than 30 years." And "Charlie is a good friend," and furthermore a "neighbor in the constituency," they "live only a few miles apart". Aahpaaht. But he hasn't "been riding the horse since the elections of 2010." Before the elections, however, yes he did go riding with Charlie. Charlie "has a number of different horses" (who hasn't), and one of them is, or was, Raisa, a former police horse, which he did ride, and "we are all very sorry to hear" "that Raisa is no longer with us," and he doesn't think "he'll be getting back into the saddle anytime soon," because his life "as a prime minister is so busy."
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 23, 2012
It's all in the mind
Yes, it is what you think it is: click for a larger image.
(Hat tip: Andrew Sullivan)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
