The Fine Art of Blogging

Clearly, I need to review my blog titles before hitting "publish." Somehow,  in spite of having used the phrase just two days ago in a blog, I thought it an original and used it again. Only after hitting "publish" did I comprehend that I, apparently, have determined myself to be the arbiter of 'fine art.'

Not.

Blogging consists of seed ideas, which become full blown sentences in my head, which, if not discharged forthwith into typographical reality, then evaporate, never to be recovered. And, I've also learned that a full, and complete blog entry in my head rarely resembles the reality that comes together just before pressing "publish."

Funny that.

I read over some posts I did a year ago, and I actually thought, "Who wrote this stuff?" before remembering I was on my own blog. Having externalized the thoughts in my head, it's like they no longer belong to me. And never mind a year ago. I read something I wrote last week and I think I must be losing my last few marbles. I don't remember when I wrote it, and I can only vaguely recall the incident that prompted it. (I have determined that it's not Alzheimer's, but I'm not asking anyone for a second opinion, either.)

So no fine art here. Noooooooo... Not in this post, not in previous posts. Just the personal musings of a rather opinionated woman living far, far away from home.

The Fine Art of Packing

The blog title is a joke. There is no "art" to packing. Planning for a trip consists of making all the necessary arrangements to accomplish the traveling, organizing the itinerary, pouring over maps, guidebooks, Google info, and counting the money to see if it fits the plans. Usually not. The plans must be adjusted to fit the money.

Packing is just before the taxi arrives for the ride to the airport, and it consists of attempting not to leave behind anything that is absolutely vital to life and health. Clothes never, ever fit into the category of "absolutely vital." Consequently, our conversations are a bit strange when we're packing.

HM: Do we need to take the laptops?
DM: Yes. This is not a work free holiday.
HM: That means cords and other civvies.
DM: I know, but the laptops are going.
HM: So you don't get to take any shoes but the ones you're wearing.
DM: Deal.

This response causes HandyMan to withdraw from the bowels of the closet and give me the stink eye. I am not intimidated. The shoes I want to take are already tucked in the suitcase out of sight. They're flat. He'll never notice. I smile sweetly.

Wal-Mart circa 1962

HM: I am taking these trucks and toys to Winkin, Blinkin, & Nod.
DM: Fine. But that means you don't get to take any unmentionables. Just what you're wearing.
HM: What?! All I planned to take was ginch and I'll get clothes at the local thrift shop.
DM: Oh. Maybe I should do the same. I'm buying a new swimsuit though.
HM: Take your old one. It can fit in the suitcase.
DM: No. It can't fit. It takes up WAY too much room. I'll just get a new one in the Great White Up. This will need a visit to Wal-Mart.
HM: Argh!! Can't we ever do a holiday without visiting Wal-Mart?
DM: Clearly not.

And so the negotiations proceed. Normally, we come to an amicable agreement since we both hate hauling suitcases around. At the other end, we almost always discover that we have left something vital to life and health back in SandyTown.

So we go to Wal-Mart.

This time, we are determined not to check any baggage. We're going through the Big Apple first and both of us absolutely despise the security gauntlet and the customs crap, so we want to minimize 'drag.' I'm all for it because it means I get to go shopping just the minute we get to Amazing Middle Girl's house. And she tells me Value Village is having a 50% off sale that day. Certainly seems like a Divine arrangement to me.

Couple of laptops, my iPad, my iPhone, and my shoes, and I'm good to go. Hope HM isn't planning on taking anything big.

The Fine Art of Stalling

Approximately $3.54

Getting paid here in SandyTown requires a set of skills totally separate from the ability to do your job. Companies and individuals regularly carry invoices of 90+ days and think nothing of it. The company which employs me pays nothing before a pre-set (and never revealed) quota of begging, nagging, or harassment has been fulfilled. I only recently learned this.

This is not the same as salaries. Our salaries are paid promptly, correctly, and without issue. But our suppliers? Totally different ball game. I had no idea of this fact until recently.

We now deal with corporate accounts, and I learned, quite to my surprise, that it's also a part of my responsibilities to get these corporate dudes to pay up for services rendered. 'No problem,' I thought. We have signed contracts with all these companies. and net 30 days is a standard part of that contract, so I'll just remind them to pay our invoices. Money will pour in, and Le Grande Fromage will be pleased.

Ha!

First off, getting to speak with the person who actually handles our invoices and approves them for payment took some serious maneuvering. Right out of the gate I had trouble even getting his name. Then, I made the mistake of telling the first person I spoke to why I was calling. *sigh* Everyone here uses caller ID, and the majority of land lines and mobiles will not receive calls if you block your ID.  So now the company had my number, and every time I called, I got no answer or was switched straight over to voicemail.

So this is making me mad... and devious.  I borrowed a mobile from one of the staff.

You get the picture. When I finally got to speak to the person with the golden pen, he agreed that the invoices were overdue, and "Insha'Allah" they would be paid this week. I could call on Sunday and arrange to pick up a cheque.

Sunday arrives.
"I'm calling about my cheque. Can I send the driver to pick it up?"
"There's a problem. I'm so sorry to tell you we couldn't issue the cheque this week."
"What? Why not? It's already 90 days overdue. How much longer do we have to wait?"
"I'm so sorry. Our Head of Finance is not here and he must approve all payments over 500KD."
"Ah. And when will this Head of Finance return?"
"He is on annual leave. He will be back in two weeks."
"Annual leave? Does that mean he has been gone from the office for two weeks already?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"So why did you tell me the cheque would be ready today? You knew he was gone and couldn't approve the payment."
"No, Madam. Not me. You spoke with the other Abdullah."

Uh huh.

And so it goes for usually about another month. They always eventually pay, but it takes a certain amount of cunning and persistence on my part to make it happen.

Last week, I got a call.

"DaisyMae, do you think you could talk with your accountant and get our invoice paid?"
"I suppose so. But why are you calling me? Why don't you call him directly?"
"He's not taking my calls."

*lightbulb*

"How old is this invoice?"
"Almost 120 days."
"Ah. Let me see what I can do."

Off I go to our trusty bean counter.
"Why isn't this invoice paid?"
"It is not time yet."
"What?! It's almost 4 months overdue! How could it not be time yet?"
"It has not made it to the top of the pile. See? (shows me a stack of invoices) When it gets to the top, I will pay it."
"But why can't you just pay them all and be done with it?"
*shock/horror* "No. No. No. We only pay five invoices per month. This is the rule."
"Rule? Why do we need that kind of rule? They did the work requested, and we need to pay them."
"And we will. It is the way things are done. Look. Their invoice will come to the top this month. I will pay it then."

Argh!!!

I guess the whole economy works on the 'Net 120 days' system, so I'll just have to broaden my focus a little. In the meantime, I'm looking for a mobile to borrow so I can call Abdullah from an unknown number and harass him a little more. Maybe this time I'll get money.

Orange Shoes & Dancing Diplomats

Kingdom of the Netherlands

I had the lovely privilege of helping the Dutch celebrate their National Day this past week. This entailed a visit to the Dutch Ambassador's residence along with several hundred other people and potentates to witness the cutting of a ginormous cake (which no one ever eats). The saber was sharp, the Arab princeling appropriately blingy, and the Dutch Ambassador his usual droll self.

After that, we retired to the garden where there was International Tea, shwarma, tiny pancakes with chocolate and oddly enough, smoked fish (yuck). Oh. And cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. There was the usual schmoozing amongst the hoi polloi who drift from one group to another with practiced smiles, wimpy handshakes and air kisses. Truly. It's fun to watch. At about 9 pm, there's a general rush for the flagged luxury cars lined up on the boulevard, and the official people depart, often to another social obligation.

The rest of the riff raft remaining (including us. We are definitely 'riff raff' in that crowd) drifts downstairs to the disco ball, loaded buffet, and open bar. The lovely wife of the Ambassador reappears having shed her demure blue dress with the orange sash for a black sparkly mini skirt and a white sparkly top that says, "Let's party!" And she does. Clearly the lively half of the pair, she and her husband danced most of the night. In truth, watching them reminded me of the Warner Bros. cartoon where the bulldog (Spike) is stumping down the alley and the chihuahua (Chester) is jumping all over the place like a demented rat, saying, "Whatcha wanna do now, Spike? Huh? Huh? Whatcha ya wanna do now?" They're a great couple, and it was fun to be in their home.

HandyMan busted out the 80s moves for the updated techno pop - it just doesn't seem so good to hear 70s and 80s music done with the distortion and double-time computerized percussion, but it's still wonderfully danceable. So we danced.

The most interesting part was recognizing the Chairman of ESF just as he took to the dance floor with his wife. At some point they probably did amazing things on the dance floor. Now in their octogenarian twilight, it was a little like watching two sticks swaying in the wind. I only mention it because someone I know will be astounded at the idea. Nevertheless, I really saw them with my own eyes.

The other highlight was all the orange. Orange bows, orange sashes, orange dresses, and the most divine orange shoes. To party with the Dutch is such fun. I have the sore ankles to prove it. Quite possibly, I may be getting old as well.  Boo.

Bite-sized Chunks of Learning

Having recently determined to find optimum health, I am committed to spending some time every day on the elliptical cycle.

Boring.

HandyMan rigged up a shelf that holds my iPad and I have been working my way through the TED talks. If you haven't yet seen a TED talk, you either live with the Inuit north of Baffin Island or you have eschewed all digital media. Some of them are ridiculous, but a great many of them are worth watching. One can actually learn something about what's going on in other parts of the world... and the minds of some pretty spectacular specimens of humanity.

Mercifully, in keeping with the fact that most people have the attention span of a flea these days, the TED talks are short. Usually 6 - 10 minutes. I keep track of my required 30 minutes by choosing my talks according to how long the speaker plans to flap.

Go HERE for a cornucopia of bite-sized learning.

So far, I've watched Felix Baumgartner explain why it's important that he jump out of a space capsule at 71,000 feet ("Why not?"); voyeuristically watched a virtual dissection (the digital cadaver table); and learned more math than I thought possible having repudiated manipulating numbers as soon as I left high school. (I don't believe in math).  I've seen Australian aborigines play the didgeridoo (they actually breathe in and out at the same time); killer whales torture a seal and then not eat it (No No Bad Orcas!); cringed at someone in the Amazon jungle trying to pull a very bright green and very poisonous snake out of a tree (stupid man); and I've learned how a music teacher in Florida turned his unmotivated, drug culture students into an award winning acapella choir. No Glee! in sight. Inspiring.

Today, I clicked on Melinda Gates talking about contraception. Well, actually, she was talking about giving women around the world the choice of when they have a child. And she talked about this for 30 minutes! Of course she showed some lovely photos and she's incredibly interesting (she may have spent some of her billions on public speaking lessons). I watched the whole thing - made this morning's exercise almost painless.

Check out TED. Even if you aren't planning on learning anything, it will make your 30 minutes of exercise a snap.