Uneasy

There's a person. She's pleasant and even actively interested in how I feel and what I'm doing. She's really nice to me. She asks me questions and offers help.

She makes me feel uneasy. I get along with most people, especially nice, interesting people. But this person... something about her makes me feel tense when I'm around her.

I think... I think it's because I feel like she's putting it on, all this niceness. When I am with someone, my instinct is to reflect their attitude, their language, their level of energy. I usually do this without thinking. When I interact with this particular person, I struggle to match the intensity of her scrutiny. It drains me. It makes me feel fake. I find myself wracking my brain, trying to be thoughtful and creative, otherwise I will have to repeat the same inane pleasantries over and over again. It's tiring but I can't do any less because then I'd feel like I was being rude.

I'm afraid I've put myself in her bad books in a big way at least three times this year. And every time I think of my unintended misdemeanors, I feel icky.

As a result, I'm not sure I like this person. Or rather, I don't enjoy being around her. It's no fault of hers. Perhaps there are just some people that you don't click with.

Punishment

Sally seems to know exactly what will make me giggle. Remember the Magic Roundabout? Anyway, here's another one of her carefully targeted email forwards. I've taken out all the ones I didn't 'get'. I know it ruins the integrity of the 'forward' but hey, it's my blog.

Phone answering machine message "If you want to buy marijuana, press the hash key..."

A guy walks into the psychiatrist wearing only Gladwrap for shorts.
The shrink says, "Well, I can clearly see you're nuts."

I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but I couldn't find any.

I went to the butchers the other day and I bet him 50 quid that he couldn't reach the meat off the top shelf. And he said, "No, the steaks are too high."

My friend drowned in a bowl of muesli. He was pulled in by a strong currant.

A man came round in hospital after a serious accident. He shouted, "Doctor, doctor, I can't feel my legs!"
The doctor replied, "I know you can't, I've cut your arms off".

Man goes to the doc, with a strawberry growing out of his head.
Doc says, "I'll give you some cream to put on it."

A man takes his Rottweiler to the vet.
"My dog's cross-eyed, is there anything you can do for him? "
"Well," says the vet, "let's have a look at him" So he picks the dog up and examines his eyes, then checks his teeth.
Finally, he says, "I'm going to have to put him down."
"What? Because he's cross-eyed? "
"No, because he's really heavy."

What do you call a fish with no eyes?
A fsh.

Police arrested two kids yesterday, one was drinking battery acid, the other was eating fireworks. They charged one and let the other one off.

"You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen. It said, 'Parking Fine'. So that was nice."

A man walked into the doctors, he said, "I've hurt my arm in several places."
The doctor said, "Well don't go there any more."

Ireland's worst air disaster occurred early this morning when a small two-seater Cessna plane crashed into a cemetery. Irish search and rescue workers have recovered 1826 bodies so far and expect that number to climb as digging continues into the night.

Putting my foot in it

Remember the email footer issues? Well, I complained to the marketing manager in Melbourne. I complained to IT. I then conspired with IT to gang up against the Melbourne marketing manager. When that didn't work, I took my case all the way to the highest marketing echelons in the company -- Corporate Services in Sydney.

Good news. Apparently, I have been heard.

And now, my company sends all its emails in HTML, thus solving everything.

Now my emails are twice the size and in random fonts.

OH. WELL. LIKE. I. CARE.

The Toastmasters philosophy

This is what I say when I'm trying to explain to people who are scared of public speaking why it's a good idea to join Toastmasters.

Speaking in front of large groups is often nerve-wracking for people. That's because when you have to make a presentation, it's to clients, at a conference or a community meeting -- and you only get one chance to get your message across.

No wonder public speaking is terrifying. It's all or nothing. If these are the stakes every time you have to make a speech, when can you practice?

You can practice at Toastmasters. Toastmasters is full of people like you. They've joined because they want to be better speakers. They're supportive. They would never make fun of anyone for stuffing up.

I've got a story for you. This happened backstage at the grand final of the international Toastmasters competition one year. The contestants were waiting to get on stage. One guy was relaxing against the wall. Another guy was pacing anxiously backwards and forward, forward and backwards.

"What's wrong, mate?" the relaxed guy said.

"I'm nervous, really nervous," said the anxious man.

"Nervous?" The first man was incredulous. "What for? It's Toastmasters! Even if you're crap, they'll still clap!"

Even if you're crap, they'll still clap. That, my friends, is the philosophy of Toastmasters.

Google Igpay Atinlay

Not to distract from the serious mood of my earlier post, I've discovered:

• Google in Pig Latin
  
• Google in Elmer Fudd
  
• Google in Hacker
  
• Google in Klingon

I'm sure there are other novelty Google interfaces at Google Language Tools. I just can't detect them ("Is that a real language? What on earth is Bork, Bork, Bork!")

Her Royal Majesty, Joanium

I'm reading The Divine Right of Capital by Majorie Kelly, which is essentially a critique of the prevalent unquestioned self-evident truth that companies exist to profit shareholders. That is, for the majority of companies, the measure of success is how much wealth they generate for stockholders. And sometimes, it is necessary to trade in the welfare of employees, communities and the environment to achieve this aim.

I began reading this book with a certain level of hostility. In fact, I am still wary. I am wary because:

1. Bloody hippies, kill them all.
   
2. I am a shareholder and I'm not evil.
   
3. I couldn't imagine a different world, where society was arranged so that companies naturally delight in increasing community wealth, instead of being pressured to do it by regulators. (Okay, so now I've revealed myself for the right wing economic rationalist that I am. Yeah, that's right. I've only been pretending to care about the environment and people and all that other crap.)

I haven't converted or anything as wholesale as that but there was a turning point in my thinking in my early readings of the book. Ms Kelly seems to have anticipated my lack of imagination. She says approximately, "Once upon a time, the aristocratic class lived off the productivity of peasants, while contributing nothing themselves. It seems ludicrous now but in those times, it was simply the natural order of things. Some people were closer to God than others. How could it be any different? In much the same way, we accept that the only way companies can work [innovate, be productive, compete] is when they're driven to generate profits for shareholders, who really contribute nothing to the productivity of companies."

This was a useful analogy for me, not because I was convinced that shareholders are modern day aristocrats (read: societal deadweight) but I was suddenly able to conceive that truths and foundations that seem self-evident now may not be self-evident and essential in some future.

Boing!

As I read further, I started thinking about these rich young (or old) things, canny investors, people who caught the wave and are so invested up that they can live off their passive income (dividends, rent, interest etc.). They drive around in their Porches, hop between holiday homes, may choose to work or choose to play golf depending on the weather. In all the investment books that I've read, this is the ultimate goal, right? "Make your money work for you!" they cry. It's what the smart people do. It's what I've been trying to do 'coz I'm a smart person.

Now I'm thinking, "Is this fair? Is this desirable? How can there be people who live so comfortably off other people's labour without having to contribute to the community? Are these the new aristocrats?"

And that makes me uneasy because maybe I am evil after all.

What should I do? Do I stop investing? Stop buying shares that produce dividends? Stop putting my money in the bank? Should I live on my salary alone? Isn't that really stupid? If the system's there, why not educate myself and use it to my advantage? If I think it is unethical, can I protest the system with the left corner of my mouth while telling my stockbroker to 'buy buy buy' with the right corner of my mouth?

I don't know. I don't know.

It's like I got a new watch

I've discovered a website that is almost exactly synchronised with atomic clocks. "How exciting!" I thought. "Another thing to be strictly correct about!"

My watch has always run about 1.5 minutes fast but since my website discovery, I've wound it back so I can have the exact time.

Now that my watch shows the correct time, I have an unreasonable fear that I'm going to be late for everything, especially the train, which I've now discovered actually does often run on time instead of always late, which I've always assumed because my watch ran fast.

What a sentence.

I guess it means I'll start showing up to things five minutes early instead of 6.5 minutes early like I used to.

Getting the hang of it

Hello. I thought I might write a general update of my life. None of this coherent, crafted writing stuff today.

I'm enjoying work. It's my seventh month and I'm still doing new things and meeting new people. At the moment I'm finishing projects on water quality and contaminated land remediation. I'm also getting more involved in a psychology/behaviour-based safety system for offshore oil platform workers.

I won the Toastmasters humorous speaking competition the other week. I talked about how my mum relieves me of the burden of buying clothes. People tell me that it was an entertaining speech. I think they are being nice. I didn't get the happy vibe that you get when you make a great speech.

I don't teach hip hop anymore because the extraworkular commitments were driving me crazy. You know it's time to stop when something makes you cry. I really miss teaching dancing, though. I keep having visions of great big theatrical numbers stuffed with innovation. I love teaching.

I still dance hip hop. I've got five funky routines baking in the oven. The routines include sword choreography, pom poms and afros. No latin, ballroom, street latin or swing at the moment. I hope it's not a permanent pause.

This is my last semester of Chinese study. By November, I will have wrapped up sixteen years of studying Chinese. I'm not sure what I'll have to show for it (a Diploma and a 10 point boost in my VCE study score). I've got a test this week -- which is why I'm blogging right now.

In the next few weeks, my company and university are sending me around to speak to high school kids about environmental engineering. I'm the Environmental Engineering Evangelist. Hallelujah! Praise Sustainability!

Here are the projects that I'm currently working on or am about to start:

• Joining the committee of a national industry group
  
• Learning to play inline hockey
  
• Becoming a chartered engineer
  
• Investigating options to work in a rural office
  
• Gain training in negotiation and conflict resolution

I think that's as many irons in the fire as I'll ever want to have at a time.

See you all next time!

Typical blog entry

Good golly, I haven't procrastinated this much since... I dunno.

Uninspired.

I burned holes through one of my favourite tops last week. With an iron, of course.

Gambling

I was sitting in a crowded tram when the door whooshed open and two ticket inspectors stepped up. They swiped their magic 'access all areas' cards and stood in the doorway, talking.

At the next stop, a tall Asian youth (international student?) entered the tram and froze. The ticket inspectors glanced at him. I could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I have to buy a ticket," he said slowly.

The inspectors moved to let him past. He stayed in his spot.

"I need to check if I have coins," he said. He pulled out his wallet. After flicking through the compartments, he carefully put the wallet away.

"No coins," one of the inspectors murmured.

"I don't have any coins."

The inspectors looked at each other and sighed. "Where are you going?"

"Just to Melbourne Uni. [pause] Is that okay?"

Surely they've been through this before," I thought. "Those damned tram ticket machines only accept coins."

"You've got a few options, mate," one of the officials stated. "You can get off at the next stop..."

"I've got coins," someone piped up. "I'll change it for you... if you've got a five." Ooh, some nice person was being helpful. Hey! (double take) That was me talking!

The student jerked his head towards me and looked through his wallet again. "I don't have a five," he said calmly. He focused back on the ticket inspectors. "Can I stay? Is that okay?"

"We're not going to say it's okay or not," they said.

He appeared to be pondering this.

"Here, let me give you some coins." I offered up a gold two dollar coin and a one dollar coin. "You can pay me back the next time I see you on a tram."

He shrugged and shook his head.

The four of us waited in silence as the tram rumbled by three more stops. At last, we reached Melbourne University. The doors whooshed open and everyone, including the inspectors, stepped out.

All I need is a moon suit

This week and last week I've spent days in the field. It's an old service station site, where they used to store fuel in underground storage tanks. The storage tanks leaked so the soil is contaminated with hydrocarbons. We're drilling 15 metre deep holes until we hit the bedrock -- and the soil we pull up at the bottom is still saturated with hydrocarbons.

Personal protective equipment I have to wear at this site:

• Hard hat, to protect my head against objects dropped by excavators
  
• Ski-standard jacket, to protect me from Melbourne's most recent cold snap
  
• High visibility vest, so I don't get run over
  
• Steel-capped boots, so if my feet are run over or I step on sharp objects, the boots aren't pierced
  
• Ear plugs, to protect my hearing around the drilling rigs
  
• Safety glasses, so flying shrapnel doesn't make me blind
  
• Respirator, so I don't faint from the fumes

Check it out.

Stop, thief!

"Joan," Nada said frantically. "They're waiting for me in the boardroom! Could you print these three documents out in colour? I can't seem to do it from my laptop. When you're done, bring it to me in the boardroom. Thanks!"

Nada dashed off and I wandered over to look at her laptop. I soon found the problem. Her network connection wasn't working. I pulled out my USB disk and copied the files onto it. Then I printed the files from my own computer.

I plodded to the boardroom, slid the door open and discreetly slipped Nada the print outs. She threw me a thankful look as I slunk out of the high-level board meeting.

I decided to leave via the boardroom kitchen. As I walked through the kitchen, my eyes were drawn to a large glass jar. In it, in their glorious yellowness, were three giant cookies -- light lemon cream, sandwiched between two fresh buttery biscuit halves. These were special biscuits for special people, people like CEOs and government ministers. They weren't for the likes of us. Engineers only ever got Arnott's Assorted Creams, and if we were lucky on special occasions, chocolate biscuits.

I hesitated for only a second. Quickly, I prised open the wooden lid, reached in and grabbed a cookie. It was so big, I couldn't wrap my hand around it completely. I hid it as best I could. With the heel of my palm, I tapped the lid shut, then walked casually out of the kitchen.

The thrill made it taste all the more delicious.

Busy

I haven't abandoned my blogging. I see the world with blog-coloured glasses and the stories are piling up in (and leaking out of) my brain.

I'll write soon.

Oh, the shame!

I'm angry, a raging angry young technocrat.

Raging against the corporate machine! RAAAARGH!

The stupidity, oh the stupidity!

My company's embarked on a rebranding strategy. New logo colours, new taglines, new business cards (I guess I'll be throwing out the 480 I haven't used yet), new templates, new clothes...

What has made me an Angry Young Woman is the damned email footer they're making us attach to all our emails.

Some marketing genius, in his or her infinite wisdom, has decided that we all need HTML footers. Let me tell you about this footer.

• It's a 14 KB HTML file someone has put together in Microsoft Word.
  
• It's eight, count 'em, eight lines long.
  
• There are three sizes of fonts, two colours and inconsistent use of capitalisation.
  
• It's a HTML footer, when all our emails are sent out to clients and regulators as Lotus Notes files or plain text.
  
• The signature contains a little picture of a tree. Problem? The tree is the letter 'P' from the Microsoft Webdings font set. Whenever our snazzy emails land on a computer in plain text or if for some crazy reason Webdings isn't installed (are there people that backward in the world?), or if the signature is viewed in any non-IE browser, then our emails will announce, 'P Please consider the environment before printing'. Oh, the shame!
  
• When the signature is invariably converted to plain text, the lines are over 72 characters long. In many mail applications, the signature will be wrapped and the whole thing balloons to ten lines or more.

I was so aghast by this monstrosity that I wrote a message to the marketing manager. She said, "I am aware of these issues, however it's a corporate template. I'll let you know if they decide to change it." Translation: Not my problem.

It is your problem! It's all our problem! I am ashamed to send emails that look like this.

Who can I talk to? Who in the marketing department will be able to understand these (not really all that) technical issues? At the moment, I feel like I am talking to stubborn children.

A-wah!