Leave it to the professionals

I called Olympus Australia to express my grief over my beloved camera's faulty focussing system. Kelly on the phone promised to have a courier pick up my camera from work and send it to Sydney for an extreme makeover. Olympus would pay for everything.

I put my camera in a brown paper package and tied it up with string. Then I slapped on a letter of complaint at the front.

My work phone rang at about 3 PM. It was Carmen from Level 7.

"Joan? Do you have a package? There's a courier here for you."

"Yes but I told them I'd leave it at the Concierge Desk on the Ground Floor."

"Right. I'll send him down."

Five minutes later, another phone call.

"Joan, this is Melissa from Concierge. The courier refuses to take your package. He wants it boxed. And there's no address on it."

My mind went blank. Wasn't Olympus meant to organise everything? Where was I going to get the box from? Why doesn't he know the address?

"Um. I'll get the address and come down."

(heard in the background) "She's coming down now..."

I grabbed my warranty card. I found a random box by the lift. I waited two minutes for the elevator to arrive on my floor. I power-walked to the Concierge desk.

Melissa and Carmen were waiting.

"He was so rude!" Melissa exclaimed.
"He could have waited," Carmen fumed. "He said 'I don't have time for this,' and left this card for you to call back."

I was speechless. I took the card and stared mournfully at my lonely package.

"Why didn't you get us to help you with the courier?" Carmen asked. Carmen is one of my company's support staff. She looks after packages and couriering.

"It's a private package," I explained, "Not work related."

"That's okay. We do private packages all the time."

"Oh no, I didn't want to abuse..."

"Don't worry about it! We're here to help," she informed me. "Give me all the details."

Silently, I handed over my warranty card and nudged my brown paper package towards her.

She took me back to Level 7. I sat there as she efficiently bubble-wrapped my fragile camera and taped it up in a box. She rang Olympus and abused them. Having obtained their courier account number, Carmen phoned the courier to reschedule the pickup. Then she abused them too, just for good measure.

"There you go, honey. It's all organised. They'll come pick it up tomorrow."

"I'm embarrassed," I said humbly. "Thank you for doing all this for me."

"Tut tut, don't worry about it. Remember, we're here to help."

Part of a community

I went for a walk today, one and a half hours of wandering around the neighbourhood. I was pleased to see many families and friends outside in the sunshine on this public holiday.

I tried to think about my recent serious musings while I walked but the world was too interesting and distracting.

Two friends rode by on their bikes -- one was arguing for nuclear power and the other insisted that we hadn't yet given solar power a proper go.

As I walked by two elderly ladies, I heard one say, "And if you send an email to the webmaster..."

Three younger people rode towards me.
      "Hey, it's Joan! Hi Joan!"
      "Uh, hi Yuen Yuen..." I said, as they whizzed by. Yuen Yuen had been in the year above me at high school.
      "Who was that?" her companion asked
      "Joan, she went to high school with us."
      "Oh! Joan [Surname]??"
Their conversation faded as they rode away.

I reached the park and found it full of people, much like on National Picnic Day. I had been practising my new dance routine in my head and decided I wanted to practise it with my limbs. I found a quiet spot on the grass under a tree and started dancing. I looked down at my feet, interested in how quickly they could move and if they were at the correct angles.

At some point, I looked up and saw two boys looking at me curiously.

I hope I had entertained them as much as everyone else had entertained me today.

Security clearance

I haven't had many stories these few days for my blog. Instead, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the people around me and how I relate to them.

It seems like there is no thought too deep in my head that I cannot share with my close friends. I have learned that when I share something that I consider troubling, shameful or unworthy, instead of thinking badly of me, my friends are touched that I trust them enough to tell them. They feel even more connected to me and reciprocate my confidence by admitting their own inner thoughts. My friends don't want to be protected -- they want to understand.

Just when I have decided, "This is my most private thought. I can never tell anyone," I discover that even this level can be accessed by those who care about me most.

I feel humbled and loved.

Really, I'm not chatting you up!

I met Warwick at the Engineers Australia seminar. I hear that these events are prime networking opportunities so I decided to engage him in friendly conversation. I found out that he had graduated from the Australian National University in Canberra and moved to Melbourne two years ago to work for a wind energy company.

J:	"How was the move to Melbourne?"
W:	"Good, good. It's a great city. Lots more happening compared to Canberra."
J:	"Did you have to make a whole new bunch of friends when you came over?"
W:	"Actually, I met a lot of Melbourne friends while I was travelling overseas."
J:	"What about at your work? What's the workforce at your company like?"
W:	"It's quite a small company. There are a few guys my age so I socialise with them a bit."
J:	"What about girls?"
W:	(taken aback) "Well, um, I moved in with three girls when I got to Melbourne, so..."
J:	(calmly) "No, I mean, are there many female engineers in your company?"
W:	(flustered) "Oh! Sorry! That's what you meant. Sorry. Erm. No, there aren't any female engineers. We used to, ah, have one but she, um, left..."
J:	"Ah. It looks like us girls haven't yet penetrated the wind industry."

Tee hee hee...

Public ranting

I know that most people hate speaking in a formal situation but I love public speaking. So why am I strange?

I don't know. I'll tell you what I like about public speaking. I like trying to turn potentially complex and boring information into something accessible and funny. I like challenging the expectation that presentations must be formal, prepared and verbose, by speaking conversationally and simply. I like speaking after someone who mumbled and everyone looks relieved/perks up just because I speak loudly.

There is nothing more rewarding than finishing a presentation and knowing that people:

1. Heard it
   
2. Understood it
   
3. Absorbed it
   
4. Enjoyed it

At the Environment Group meeting today, the 14 team leaders had to spend two minutes introducing their team and areas of expertise. Now, our company is full of very clever educated professionals so I was surprised that the presentations were mostly bad -- worse than university presentations.

How were they bad? All right, putting their boring content aside, the leaders failed very basic rules of public speaking.

• They spoke too softly
  
• Limited eye contact, referring to notes
  
• Spoke five minutes instead of two -- Come on, it's two minutes! Why have you prepared five pages of notes? You should have five dot points.
  
• Used jargon and complex words when simple ones would have sufficed
  
• "Um, ah, yeah, you know, erm..."

It really was disappointing to watch.

For goodness sake, just speak slower. Prepare your speech then cut it half. Speak up. Stop saying, "In regards to..." These are really simple things professionals should know.

I'm not a brilliant inspirational speaker but I do try to think about the audience when I speak instead of steam-rolling through my speech, desperate for the pain to be over.

For the record, my team put on a puppet show for our presentation :)

Addendum at 10:17 PM -- My old uni has just invited me to be a graduate speaker at an information night for senior high school kids. Ho ho ho, what fun! *big grin*

Paint by numbers

I met mum at the top of our driveway and noticed something new.

"Hey! The bins have our house number on them."

Our Council provides us with a general waste bin, recycle bin and recycle tub. One of the problems we have is distinguishing our bins from our neighbours', especially when the bins have all been dumped in a pile at the end of our court.

"Some kids came up to me on Saturday and asked if they could paint our house number on the curb of our driveway for $5," mum explained cheerfully. "I told them that I'd give them another $5 if they put a number on our big bin too."

"That's a good idea!" I marvelled. "Bet they could make good business out of that."

"Uh huh," mum nodded. "When I came out again, not only had they painted one bin -- they had painted all three bins... on all four sides!"

She spun the bin around and sure enough, the number was everywhere.

"Cool..."

"Yep."

Blowfish plays at Bennett's Lane

You know what's more exciting than playing with a new camera? Having someone equally excited about your new camera to help you explore it!

Thanks, Ajay :)

(Obviously, these photos aren't as sharp as they're meant to be but this month, I'm working with colours, okay? Just colours. Next month, I might think about getting things actually in focus...)


Peeping Ajay spies on the girls sitting on the steps of the State Library.


Megan in the shadows of a jazz club.


Damo joins the Blue Man Group.


Blue cheese...


Oh yeah, the band.

Joan the Blog Stalker

A few days ago, I was going up in the elevator at work and I heard a girl talking about her blog. What a shock! It felt so out of context. She was a lawyer or accountant from the company on the upper floors. I heard her tell a man that she was going to write about one of their colleagues in her next blog entry. I was very excited -- instant camaraderie amongst bloggers. I didn't say anything though, and stepped out on my floor.

Today, by some coincidence, that girl was in the same train carriage as me on the way home. I hovered nearby so that I could hear the conversation she was having with her companion. I wanted to know more about this fellow corporate blogger.

What a disappointment. I don't think I'd like her -- she's opinionated, flippant and hyperbolises her way through normal conversation. Ah well.

The look of absolute delight

Megan sat at the piano and without ceromony, began playing. The notes of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto 3 began tumbling out of the the piano's lungs. It filled the air around us. Her small hands flicked over the keys -- she made it look casual. I looked up. Son was watching with fierce concentration. James's eyes were wide in pleasure. Damjan had the biggest smile I had seen all weekend. It was the look of absolute delight.

This weekend is rated G

What an action-packed family friendly weekend I had.

On Friday night, I went out to dinner with some friends from work including Miriam, Peter and Zena. We had a candlelit night of conversation, Thai food (banana fritters! :P ), and pins and needles in legs due to floor sitting.

Damjan and I then drove 75 minutes to Yarra Junction, where the 2005 dance camp was in full swing (swing!) after midnight.

Camp room stats:

People	6 Me, Damjan, Ben, Megan, James, Naomi
Males	3
Females	3
Larks (early to rise, early to bed)	4
Owls (late to rise, party into the night)	2
Old people	3
Young people	3
Swing specialists	5
Latin specialists	2
Ballroom specialists	2
Committee members	4
Light haired people	3
Dark haired people	3
People I've travelled with before	3
Tall people	3
Medium people	1
Short people	2
People who have had braces	At least 3
People who need glasses	3
Arts	1
Science	2
Engineering	3
Medicine	1
Musicians	4
ENFJ	1
ENTP	1
INTJ	2 (supposedly)
Unknown personality types	2
Vegetarians	0
Cool people	6

Hey, apparently I don't like labels.

We spent the weekend dancing swing, latin, ballroom and salsa. We made use of the inground trampolines ("One person at a time. No shoes. No jumping after dark. No jumping between trampolines.") and canoes on the lake.

My heart almost burst with happiness and goodwill.

Self-fulfilling prophecies

These past few weeks, I've had fun learning about the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), which identifies people as one of 16 personality types based on their natural preferences. For example, I am an ENFJ - Extraversion, Intuition, Feeling, Judging (really, they spell it 'extravert', not 'extrovert'). Translated:

• Extraversion - I am energised by being around people
  
• Intuition - I get information about the world by seeing big picture patterns and meanings
  
• Feeling - I make decisions based on what other people care about and maintaining harmony between people
  
• Judging - I prefer arranging my life in a structured and organised way.

The opposing preferences are Intraversion, Sensing, Thinking, Perceiving. All the types are described here.

It's not the individual type elements that are interesting -- it's the way the four preferences interact. You end up with a big report about how you prefer to behave and how people perceive you. My report pegged me almost exactly.

"ENFJs are energetic, enthusiastic and very aware of others. Their genuine interest can usually draw out and involve even the most reserved person." They may "worry, feel guilty and doubt themselves... Be overly sensitive to criticism, real or imagined... Find it difficult to admit to problems or disagreements with people they care about."

And the revelations continue for 10 pages.

Ever since finding out my type, I've been observing its accuracy. It's interesting and disturbing at the same time. This weekend, I feel like the people around me have suffered my over-friendliness, stubborn refusal to discuss issues that I take personally and preoccupation with schedules and punctuality.

I've been wondering if the MBTI results have allowed me to "know thyself" or if it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. "Gee, I'm an extravert, I'll be super-not-shy and ask that random stranger to dance because he looks lonely and it hurts me when people are lonely but I'd better to check the timetable to see if I have a few minutes before I have to go help set up dinner."

For someone with a love-hate relationship with labels, the MBTI is a scary thing.

Music box monkey

"Jason! Check out the Collectable Wind Up Music Box Damjan gave me."

I waited as Jason finished typing an MSN message. He turned to look at my toy. "Hey, that's cool!" he exclaimed. I handed it over.

He wound it slowly and Love Story began tinkling out. He leaned in closer, fascinated by the way the tiny protrusions on the barrel flicked up metal strips of varying length to make sound. He slowed his winding down then sped it up, faster and faster.

"I reckon it's skipping a note," he observed. We both know Love Story backwards and forwards, it being one of the first pieces we ever learned on the piano.

He placed it on the wooden table and suddenly, the tinkles were amplified. "Wow! That's loud." He put it on a chair and the music was softer. He put it on a folder. Softer yet again.

"I think that it's amplified on hollow surfaces, like guitar strings are," I suggested.

"Yeah..." He wound it on a tissue box to produce an unexpectedly loud sound. He got up and started playing it on the door of his wardrobe.

"I wonder what'd happen if..." he murmured. He placed a finger at the base of the metal strips.

"Do you think if we shorten the strips, it'll go up a tone?" I asked.

He began turning the handle and the notes came out short -- Love Story in staccato. Tock! Tock! Tock! Tock!

"Tee hee," he giggled and began winding faster.

"Erm, Jason... I need to go to sleep now."

He didn't respond.

"Look, you can keep the music box for tonight. I'll get it later."

"Uh huh." He was still turning the handle.

I went back to my bedroom and got into bed. I could hear the strains of Love Story rushing then slowing, legato then staccato, loud then soft, and all combinations of those. Half an hour later, he was still going.


Jason is not a monkey.

Five senses

I enjoyed my walk home from the station today. I enjoyed it with all five of my senses.

I felt the comfortable coolness glide over my skin as I sliced through the air.

I walked with my head up to look at the magenta skyline suffusing into the light blue world roof.

I heard the *thock* of a tennis ball striking wood and crickets chirping to a soundtrack of Grade 5 piano piece.

As I stepped pass each fenceline, I breathed in wafts of barbecue, curry, roast, and other unnamed savouries.

I ran my tongue over my lips in anticipation of dinner and tasted the dusting of chocolate from my 4 o'clock cappuccino.

Broadband jazz

I'm in raptures over today's Jazztrack program on ABC Classic. I have no idea what time it was actually on -- I'm listening to it over my broadband connection. What a wonderful thing, this audio stream.

Mum makes me a yuppie

I bought my mum a Cabbage Patch Kid. For those of you who know my mum, she really is a big kid. I knew she would like the doll. I was right.

"Joan," she looked at me mournfully. "It's really cute but we have to return it. What am I going to do with a big doll? I can't carry it around, people will think I'm crazy. And we can't just leave it in a box and display it somewhere."

"Oh," I said.

"We'll return it and use the money to buy a mobile phone, okay? My phone's too heavy to carry on my walks. We'll get something practical like a new phone."

Damn you, adult practicality!

On Thursday, I arrived home from work.

"Joan! We bought a new phone but it's too complicated for me," Mum was exasperated. She thrust into my hand a Nokia 3200. It has all the latest, coolest features: camera (of course), colour screen, MMS, radio, GPRS... and a flashlight. Ooh, funky!

"I don't want it. Give me your phone, Joan, and you can have this one."

Oh no! I've always prided myself in having a minimalist phone. My Siemens A55 does phone calls, SMS and polyphonic ringtones. It does the job. I'm no yuppie. (Yeah right, Joan. What about your Palm, hey?? Shuddup, shaddup!)

"Okay mum," I said resignedly. "Just for you."

The things I do!