Friday, October 28, 2011

I don’t need a hairbrush. I don’t have any hair.

Six months in and headed for a week of vacation, I opted to finally get a haircut. Haven’t had one in the entire time I’ve been here, so it’s been a little out of control.

Without having much of a clue where to go, I went to a mall cheapie 10 minute place, one that offers A FREE COMB!!! with the price, which is about $4.

Two guys were in line in front of me, and man, it took more than 10 minutes but boy, did I get my money’s worth.

Going in, I had shoulder-length hair for the first time ever – even longer than it had been in Morocco. Likely grayer, too, not that you could tell that with the white girl hair mixed on the floor with all the luscious black Asian hair.

I indicated something like maybe 2-3 inches to be taken off, but whereas “turn and spit” in the dentist translates fairly easily, somehow my “hold up the amount to be chopped off” became sort of a recommendation.

She just kept chopping and chopping. And then she resumed chopping.

In reality, I swear more hair wound up in my lap than on my head. Holy cow. It’s not that it’s bad – not even close – but holy smokes, did she take off a lot. I was hoping to go back to work in a week and look like I did yesterday, but no way that’s happening. I don’t work with blind people.

So now, in about an hour I leave for vacation with what’s left of my hair in a bandana.

I’m off to Kuala Lumpur again, armed 3wad tanni (for the second time) with my Delta credit purchased ticket. This time I’m staying a week and have a modest side trip planned. It’s a real vacation, not a getaway and I’m trying to get into that mentality.

Not sure if I’m taking my laptop just yet (I have an hour to plan, like I said) so I’ve got no idea when I’ll be online again.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Nothing happened this week

No kidding. I’ve just come off a rather routine week and the only things worth highlighting are the fact I am not on a three-day weekend right now and that I had a largely unsuccessful shopping trip to the Walmart-ish store.

The second is a direct result of the first.

We got our schedules for this week through mid-November or so and, oddly, I was devastated to realize I had a three-day weekend this weekend.

Yeah, that sounds weird, I know. But right now isn’t a good time to have a three-day weekend.

The schedules are done as fairly as possible, I think, and our “floating” day off tends to rotate during the week. We’re always off on Saturdays, but our week ends on Sunday, which means that occasionally, you have to pull a Sunday-Friday shift and then will have both Saturday and Sunday off.

Once in a while on those weekends, I think an attempt is made to then have your day off for the next week be Monday, meaning you get a three days weekend BUT you have to work six days to be off three and then work a five-day stretch. I think that’s the plan.

And it’s a good plan, especially when it’s rotated through all the employees. But somehow, my days off got bumped – or something – and I wound up with my second three-day weekend this month, and basically the weekend between them was a two-day.

Not sure how that happened – especially since some of the fellowship kids have only had two in the whole time they’ve been there – but I didn’t want it. I mean, I got that schedule and my heart sunk.

That’s because my own vacation is coming up the 28th, which would have meant taking a three-day weekend, working three days and then going on vacation. Money’s still really tight and it would have not been feasible for me to do anything whatsoever on the three-day because I already don’t have funds to do a proper vacation. And again, sitting in a 28-square-meter apartment for three days is enough to make you consider stabbing our eyes out with chopsticks -- and I do have a pair handy.

So when I got an email from a colleague asking if I would swap, I was absolutely thrilled.

Actually, the email came from another colleague, who had the same three-day weekend. He wanted to know if I wanted to go somewhere on the weekend because he needed a break. And although I thoroughly get that, I just couldn’t do it this month.

However, the last part of his note, almost as an afterthought, was kind of an “oh, by the way, if you don’t want to go, would you maybe be interested in trading your day off” with the other colleague. Oh, man, I was so relieved.

Turns out, due to the rotation, this colleague has never had a day off with someone. (The joys of being almost at full staff: more than one person can be off on the same day.) So our swapping both days – which we were able to do – wound up working out for three parties, which is practically unheard of.

So right now, those two are off seeing a volcano or something and I’m hanging out on my normal Saturday off. And my next week day off was moved to Wednesday, meaning I didn’t have to go to the grocery store for a full load like I usually do on Saturday.

I did go to Carrefour, which is the Walmart-ish store, this past week on my day off. I didn’t need much since I hadn’t known I’d be off and had already hit up Giant with a week’s worth of stuff, but I like to stop in there once in a while, though I’ve learned it’s not in my best interest to do it on busy Saturdays.

Plus, they have had moon pies, which are a big draw. I went armed with a list of maybe seven things.

Well, they didn't have the first item, the second was cheaper at my regular place and the third I could only buy in bulk, so that wasn't a good start. THEN, I learned they didn't have the moon pies this time. Oh, I was devastated

At that point, I had already driven the little cart around the entire place and it was still completely empty. (Oh, and grocery carts here are just as wobbly-wheeled as in the States.)

Since I’ve now been here six months and I can count the non-essential splurges I’ve give into to on one hand (tennis shoes, umbrella – though I can make arguments that both of those are essential – and a movie) I decided it would be OK to spring for something small.

And what I needed was a new pair of underwear for the lineup. We’re talking the whole Seinfeld thing of “underwear particles disintegrating” kind of thing going on here with a particular pair that I must have had in Morocco. This particular pair, when worn with the pants that now fall down my hips, make me look like some kind of really sick hip hop wannabe. Saying more would be TMI and I do not want to be held responsible for any unintentional visuals, so I'll shut up now about that.

These days, though I've no inkling of what American size and certainly not what Indo size I wear. So I browsed some really ugly undies trying to figure out how large or small my butt is now. That is really hard to determine. After two rounds of the underwear aisle (conveniently, both men’s and women’s), I finally grabbed a pair that wasn’t exactly a decent color but considering I was under the watchful eyes of three associates, I just wanted to get out of there with some success.

It was on sale, marked “diskoun 50%” and marked Rp. 30k. That was in line with the other prices, so I didn't question that being the price. They seemed well-made -- at least more so than the soon-to-be-cleaning cloth-if-they-don't-disintegrate Fruit of the Looms.

Tossed them into my no-longer-empty cart and started to leave but got stopped by the associates, who motioned for me to give the Mello Yello-colored pair to them. I complied.

Turns out, the sales process here (not sure if it was the “on sale” or the fact it was clothing or what), what happens is you pick out something, then you get what is kind of a raincheck and then you go pay for it with your other stuff (in my case, at the slowest possible register; I thought I was going to scream), then you go to information, give it to the (in this case) three boys working so they can inspect it, then they summons someone else to go bring your item to you. This person (who, thankfully, was a woman), hands you the goods stuff in a bag and checks both the raincheck and the receipt before you can leave.

So, in case you need to know how many people it takes to help a person buy a really ugly pair of underwear in Indonesia, the answer is eight. Three in the underwear department, the checkout girl, three boys at information and the runner.

This does not inspire me to go bra-shopping, that is for sure.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Grunt Central Station

Honest to God, I am not becoming some kind of fitness obsessed individual. As I look back through some posts, I realize I mention my little routine frequently, but I swear I am not obsessive about it.

It’s just more that I have absolutely nothing else going on. Nothing. There’s just no time to do anything else.

So that little now-almost-three-hour chunk of my day is a big part of my life. Outside of work, it’s actually ALL of my life, such that it is. So here is more about it.

Aside: That would be so less pathetic if I actually saw any results. But anyway.

This week, I’m back on the 2-10 shift at work and I’ve opted to continue to wake up at 7:50 and do the routine and then have a little span of time midday instead of running like a mad woman from the pool to the elevators (which is a blog post in waiting, but other things keep coming up), to the apartment to grab lunch and head to work.

The little fitness center is becoming a more popular place. Whereas I used to go for days without seeing someone, generally speaking, I now come across one person maybe 3-4 days a week. There is one guy who runs on the treadmill earlier than I do and I no longer have to go pester the people to open up the room at 8:30, which a sign proclaims it to open at 6:30.

Monday, the room was open but that guy wasn’t there. However, another guy was. One I’d never seen before. He was there all week.

He's black, so he's probably from Sub-Saharan Africa. He took a call and I didn't recognize the language. There are FEW black people here. I mean, in six months, I've been maybe three. I don’t know why that is.

With few exceptions (women), I don’t pay any attention or talk to anyone else in the room. I mean, for one, there usually isn’t anyone else, so it’s not a problem. But I put on the MP3 and listen to five “Thru the Bible” lectures and pretty much shut out the world. On the elliptical and bike, I close my eyes.

[Although I did have visual entertainment for two days running. The apartment guys set out live traps for the rats that were eating the greenery and caught one two days in a row, so I had more than a brick wall to watch. I watched rats in a cage for two hours.]

So I have no plans to pay any attention to this guy, or any other. But I couldn’t help but notice that when he moved from the treadmill to the weights, he started making LOTS of noise. Like grunting noises, which seemed unnecessary. Now, I know some people do this while exerting themselves physically, but this just seemed a bit fake, like he was trying to get me to look. I never did. He did smile and wave when he left and I smiled and waved back (I'd moved to the weights by then and I can't close my eyes on those.)

The second day, he was there when I arrived and another guy also came in, the more-or-less regular guy who jogs maybe 20 minutes and then leaves. The whole time both men were in the room, we all just silently worked out, doing our individual things.

When the jogger guy left – and I am not kidding, the door hadn’t even closed all the way -- the grunting resumed.

Nothing like “UURRGH”s breaking into your podcast on a regular basis. I swear, boys are silly.

Yesterday, Grunter wasn’t in when I arrived, so I breathed a sigh of relief. But not more than a half an hour in, he showed up again and got on the bike first, right next to me (there’s only one). It was the first I’ve seen him on the bike, but then, it could be the first thing he does. He is quite obviously a bodybuilder, although he has a huge belly to go along with his huge ass. He’s probably in there two hours a day.

But having him come in later mucked up some of my routine. (I try to do sit ups and no way will I do those with men in the room.) Fortunately, while I was on the leg thing he got off the bike (which is what I do after the legs) and moved to the elliptical, so I was free to continue.

When I got over there, oh, it was go utterly disgusting. He’d sweated a bucket full and just left it all over the machine.

Seriously, people, why do that? I hope he saw my disgusted face and heard my (completely involuntary, I swear) “EWW!” I was so utterly grossed out.

Friday I didn’t see him, but could have been because I went in really late. It was my day off and I paid my cable bill first, then took my duvet cover (finally) to be washed before making pancakes. Which, because you need to know, turned out much better than before, and it might be because I used expat baking power instead of Indonesian baking powder.

So I was in there late. Thought I was going to revert back to having the place to myself but THREE guys followed me in. Although I’d never seen them before that day, I’d noticed them in the lobby – looking like they were heading out for a run – after dropping my stuff off at the 5-11.

Not sure who they are or what, but I swear I caught some Spanish. And one of the other women came in, too – she usually works out in the afternoons but I see her some mornings. So it was a full house today. And one of the male trio also left sweat on the bike.

I really hope it was an unusual week this week. I’m wondering if Grunter was on vacation or something and changed up his regular time – I know someone who does power lifting usually comes in the afternoon and it could be him. Those three possibly Spanish guys I seriously wondered if were just visiting or something.

Time will tell what happens in the growing-in-popularity fitness center. I really don’t like the crowds and am not sure what’s brought on the popularity.

It’s entirely possible that the lot of them are new to the building and I am going to have to face the fact that I don’t have the place to myself anymore.

I do recognize that all the employees know me as the person who is in there every day. They see me and make weight-lifting motions as they say “Fitness?” whenever they see me. It’s kind of comical.

And I need to figure out what else I can do to my routine to actually help make some sort of physical change. I read some article in the NZ Herald mentioning how runners don’t really lose weight but gain belly and it depressed me.

While Grunter was in there and I was on the weights, he was in my line of sight as he used the exercise ball thing. We have two of those, in different sizes, and I’ve no idea of how to use them.

I recognize that those things are versatile and I should try to incorporate them. Limber, I am not.

So, after Grunter left, I figured I’d give it a shot. He’d done some kind of stretchy thing that looked plausible, and I tried to mimic it.

As God is my witness (the only one, fortunately), I fell off.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

An integrated newsroom

Yes, even here, buzzwords rule. This is the current one at the JG, where our digs have been invaded, as planned, by one of the other holdings of the conglomerate.

This conglomerate, at least it seems to me, is absolutely huge and has its fingers in many sectors. Just the media holdings include a couple of newspapers (one English, not sure how many Indonesian), a handful of newspapers, a TV station and a cable company.

There are more sectors, too. Based on what I know, there’s at least a bank and a hospital, plus a hotel and a shopping mall at the minimum. There are probably many more in both categories. I also know of a “Village,” which I am not sure what means but includes some kind of school or something.

So it’s big. And so is the newsroom. It’s been crowded, but now, it’s even more so.

I’m even more thankful for my little perch right now. I’m tucked safely in a corner with no one on my right. I can watch trash float around and have helicopter sightings that can be a little mesmerizing.

Yeah, I forgot to mention that. Since we’re on the top floor and Jakarta is nothing but 650 square kilometers of urban sprawl, helicopters are a big way to get around. Not by common folk, of course, but there is a market for it.

Helipads are everywhere, or so it seems. There’s on I can see from my fitness center, resting on top of one of the conglomerate-owned hospitals.

And there’s one right over my head at work. I’ve ever been up there, but about three times and evening I hear the whop-whop-whop blades and see a helicopter aiming just over my head. It’s a little disconcerting, or it was at first. Now I’m used to it and I just kind of an afterthought think, gee, I really might want to keep an eye in case someone is driving Cuba Gooding Jr. did in “Outbreak.”

So that’s my window on the world, as JB would sing.

I’m thankful for the relative speaking serenity even more so this week, since one of the other newspapers moved in.

I’m still not clear on how many groups are in our huge room, but we’ve cramped together a little more and added one of the Indonesian-writing holdings.

Suddenly, the crowded office is far more crowded. The empty tables now have chairs (still wrapped in plastic, as is the custom. You don’t like it, get a knife and rip it off yourself like I did) and Dells.

Both are annoying. The chairs are annoying because there are so darn many of them, and they’re all crammed together. The path from my corner to, say, the kitchen, was already crowded; now it’s a complete obstacle course. It’s not possible to just walk. You have to push aside chairs and “permisi” (“excuse me”) your way all the way to either the copier (which means you have to dodge a filing cabinet on the way) or the wall (which lengthens your path, but you get to say hi to Emmy and Katrin on the features desk).

Even if there aren’t people sitting in the chairs, they’re still in the way. This demonstrates how little room we have in there. I mean, it’s a pain in the butt. And since I’m in one corner, almost everything is a ways away from me – the sports guy, the photographers, the lead designer and the kitchen.

The kitchen was small when the newsroom only had one newspaper and however many magazine staff members. Now it’s absolutely crazy with staffers and the help staff (I’m not sure of the word for these guys, but we basically have a daily crew that runs errands and will go down and pick up your lunch or whatever). The big keg of water never has time to get cool because there are so many people drinking out of it.

And the cups. Wow. From appearances, it seems that everyone who has been with any part of the company since the beginning has his or her own cup. They don’t even fit into the kitchen, which is maybe four times the size of a telephone booth. Instead, a shelf outside the kitchen is completely overrun with mugs, cups and water bottles. It’s kind of crazy.

It’s a drastic change from before, though doable.

The behavior of the people is a little less tolerable.

The elevator behavior is just a post in its own. The concept of an elevator isn’t that tough. The doors open, people walk out, people walk in. But it doesn’t work that way here. It’s pretty much a bum’s rush when the doors open, with people trying to get on and off at the same time. Then people are surprised when the doors start to close and they’re not settled. Hello, have a little decency about it and it’ll be fine.

Last week, I almost went Bertuzzi on some moron because, while exiting, she stopped right in the doorway because she was in mid-text. I was behind her, having waited my turn to get out. But she just stood there.

I swear, I am growing Gordie Howe elbows. I’m just tired of it.

In the newsroom, some people are just as bad.

Since we’ve pretty much doubled the number of people in the newsroom, the internet has slowed. This isn’t because people are working; it’s because they’re streaming movies, music, playing poker and playing games. It makes it tough for those of us who are trying to work to get things done. [Disclosure: I do listen to music, but I bring my MP3. I’m extremely anti-streaming.]

The music is annoying especially, because there are a few folks who insist on not only streaming it live, but not using headphones and therefore subjecting people nearby to their playlists, which do not consist of anything I’m interested in, for one.

There’s one daily offender in particular who tends to tick off a neighbor who’s sounded of on me. It’s really just a matter of time before someone explodes.

Hope it’s not me, but man. I’m just tired of stupid people.

Went into the bathroom one day and, as I opened the door to one stall, a trying-to-be-helpful person waved me off, saying it was broken.

The toilets here have built-in bidets, and some idiot had left the water running, therefore shooting out of the toilet and onto the floor. This is what the would-be-helpful person meant by “broken.”

Hello? I walked in and turned off the water. It absolutely blew her mind. It just doesn’t occur to people to clean up messes. They certainly don’t touch their own, but if it’s someone else’s doing, just forget it.

The stupidity of some people – not all, and not even the majority – astounds me. I was close to strangling a reporter yesterday, who, luckily for him, wasn’t actually present.

The story had something to do with foreign investment in mining and how this political party wanted to change the law. Really, it wasn’t the party so much as the guy in charge of the party, who owned a mining company. I do credit the reporter with putting that in, although I felt it was important to add something like “So-and-so has a vested interest in amending the law because…”

But in all my reading of the story, I never found any reference to why the law was wrong. As in, what the heck the law said that they wanted to amend. Freaking basic facts.

When I went to the previous person who touched the story (not the author – I rarely, if ever, see the reporters themselves), he seemed kind of surprised why that was relevant. Seriously, I had to explain that if we had a story about the fact the law needed to be changed, then we really needed to spell out what the law said.

Eventually, I got it in there, but boy, it was like pulling teeth.

And on the “more of the same” subject, it looks like I’m in for another haul. It’s still not final, but I’m told my contract is being renewed and it looks like I’ll be here through April.

It’s not the greatest scenario, but it’s not like jobs are falling from the sky in the States.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Have a Coke and a plaque-free smile!

Bad habit that it is, I really think if it wasn’t for Coke and Pepsi I’d float away. Even though I swore I’d be off them for my time here, I’ve backslidden. Badly. As in, one a day. Caloric-wise, really, that’s what keeps me rooted because it’s my big splurge once a day. I mean, seriously, I pretty much only eat rice other than that.

Coke is plentiful here, and so far as I know it’s the same as in America – not the good corn syrup that it is in Morocco. There, I pretended it was good for me, or at least not bad.

Pepsi can also be found here, and at more than just the one hanut high on the hill, which is where the one was in Midelt. And since Pepsi is cheaper than Coke, I’m back on that for the most part.

But sometimes you need the bite. You know what I mean. Coke has that bite that Pepsi just doesn’t, and there are days it’s necessary.

One day in Giant, my usual supermarket, I decided I’d get my Coke for the day as I finished up. And NO WHERE in all the refrigerated units could I find a cold one. And although I prefer cans, I couldn’t so much as find a bottle, either. Cold Coke. How hard can this be?

There was plenty of Coke Zero and tons of diet Coke (it’s not “Coka Light” here). Lots of juices branded under the bottling authority of those fine Monroe-turned Atlanta folks.

Not a darn cold one in the entire grocery store. So I went home and tried my 5-11. Not a cold one in there, either.

I think I settled for an A&W that time, but I’m not sure what it is, but for some reason, it’s tough to get a straight-up Coke sometimes.

Today, I did manage to find a cold one – in a glass bottle, which is better than a can.

And all I did to get it was to make a dentist appointment.

Since I hadn’t been to the dentist since Oct. 2009, in Morocco, I figured for better or worse, it’s about time. I have had no problems or anything, but since I’ve poured a lot into my mouth over the years (boy, for dirty-minded folks, you sure can read a lot into that, but believe me – there’s nothing there) I wanted to make sure all’s well.

In the Ambassador Mall one day – the one I can see from my back porch – I found a dentist and got the information. It took awhile to find a month where I had enough money left over at the end to be able to afford it, but I finally went on Monday.

Although I do have health insurance, dental isn’t covered, but the cleaning and checkup (no X-rays) came to maybe $60, which I felt was reasonable. I just needed a month with money and time, and that happened this month.

So I headed out for the appointment, stopping at a computer place to check on Microsoft testing. I need to do that too, but not now. At that place, I got invited to a church that’s nearby me, so I might head to that sometime.

Really, even before I even got to the dentist, I accomplished a lot.

After my arrival at the office (top floor of the mall), I got waved into a waiting room, complete with magazines, a TV, books and food and drinks.

Seriously. I have never seen a dentist’s office with muffins before. And tea and Mentos. And, in a little fridge, a cold Coke!

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, as I recall, a big point of a dentist’s mantra is to avoid sugars, yet I was looking at a mini-mother lode. What a country of contradictions!

I downed a few Mentos – which got stuck in my teeth, naturally -- drank some water and then popped the top of a Coke and settled in. It was almost disappointing to have to go back when they called me. I saved the little chocolate chip muffin for later. Just couldn’t bring myself to eat it right before cleaned my teeth. It seemed wrong.

This is the third country in which I’ve gone to a dentist and “turn and spit” is pretty much all the same in any language. I think the little plaque scraper thing was a sander here, but other than that, it was same old, same old -- with a Cool Mint Listerine rinse.

After getting the chompers buffed, I celebrated the no-cavity status by grabbing a few more Mentos for the road before heading to the front desk, where, after shelling out my Rp. 500k, I got handed a gift bag.

I reckon freebies are big here. I took a peek and I got a mug, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, all decorated with little ribbons and tucked away in a little green bag. There’s also some kind of discount card to a coffee shop and a coupon, presumably for my next visit, though I had absolutely no idea what she said.

The mug is a basic plain white one that says “Family Health Dental” on it. Once I got it out of the plastic, though, I realized it’s not imprinted on the mug, it’s just a clear decal slapped on there. Spared no expense on that one.