Leaky Faucets

I’m starting to get a little impatient and fed up with the way American politicians talk about how to solve the energy crisis.  All of them—Republicans and Democrats alike—talk about ending our dependence on foreign oil.  It’s a worthy goal but probably unrealistic.  And really it is beside the point.  The goal should not be ending dependence on foreign oil; it should be ending dependence on all oil.  Obama continued to repeat the former showing that his ideas are not always so fresh, while only Al Gore—who is not running for anything so I guess he can speak more freely—used his Convention speech to mention his desire to free ourselves from the yokes of carbon-based energy sources whether imported or domestic.

And how do we propose to do this?  Well, again, if you listen to any of the mainstream politicians in the country, we need to find more oil or harness wind or solar or bio-fuel.  Wind and solar are obviously worthy pursuits, but the others are not the answer.  They may win elections by bringing down gas prices (temporarily) but they will not change things.

Something else needs to be done.   Something that you never hear Dems or Republicans talk about.  We need to change our consumption habits.  We need to reduce our dependence on the automobile rather than find different ways to fuel them.  Mass transit.  Bicycles.  Walking.  Of course, these means of transportation are not convenient or realistic for everyone, but they should be encouraged and increased.  Remember back in the 70s when videos of China showed everyone riding bicycles and cars were scarce?  Look at Beijing now.  It’s more choked with traffic and black smoke than most places thanks to economic prosperity and the mass introduction of the automobile.  I dare any politician to introduce tax breaks for bicycle owners into the tax code.  Only bicycle manufactures would benefit and I suspect that their lobbying power is not as strong as Detroit’s.

I don’t claim to have the exact solution.  I’m just saying that it’s time we start talking about the other side of the problem and not just focusing on supply.  It would require asking people to change their personal habits and perhaps make some sacrifices which politicians are afraid to do.  But it must be done if we really want to address this problem.  

Early on in my time in New York, I discovered that living there makes you more assertive, more willing to speak up when something bothers you or push your way through a difficult situation.  You really have no choice.  The meek will miss their stops on the subway because they are too timid to shove someone away from the closing doors.

In the Philippines, at least in Cebu, people tend not to protest even when there is reason to do so.  A few months ago, we were having trouble getting a medical test done for Ana.  Every time we went to the doctor’s walk-in clinic she was not there for some reason or another.  The third time this happened, the receptionist said the doctor took the day off because it was her husband’s birthday.  This really set Aya off.  She yelled at the receptionist and lectured her on common courtesy, and then demanded that the doctor be reached on her mobile.  The doctor, taken aback at being chastised by a lowly patient, came in that day to give Ana her test.    The other waiting patients–who had silently absorbed the disappointing news of the doctor’s absence despite the fact that some had traveled two hours by bus to get to Cebu City-were stunned because people don’t stand up to doctors here.  They were also grateful that someone did because their time would not be wasted.

At a cell phone store at SM mall yesterday, Aya had another chance to bring out the New York bitch persona as she reprimanded the clerk for not fixing our phones and actually leaving them worse than when we brought them in on Wednesday.  They had told me that they couldn’t do anything further, but Aya managed to convince them to try again.  It’s harder for me to be assertive here because of both the language and cultural barrier, so I purposely summoned her over knowing that she would know just what to say.   She was always more nervy than me anyway and more comfortable confronting people in person (although there was that memorable occasion when I went I went toe-to-toe with the INSofficer and miraculously prevailed) while my forte is the written letter or e-mail dressing down the recipient.   So it is good to be able to trot out this bitchy persona when something needs to get done and we can thank her years in New York for this sometimes wonderful infusion of chutzpah.

There are times when something can frustrate the hell out of me, until you realize that the problem was totally different than I imagined.  I may be missing a tiny, yet vital, piece of information that would resolve the whole issue and ease my predicament.  Here’s an example of this type of situation.  For the past week or so, I’ve been working on some financial statements in Excel.  They are very long across the page so they must be printed on legal-sized paper in order to fit everything on one page across.  But every time I printed, the left side of the page would get cut off despite the fact that the Print Preview showed that the entire contents would easily fit the printed page. 

Completely exasperated with my inability to make it fit no matter how many times I played with the margins or the font or the page breaks or whatever, I pawned it off on Aya.  She couldn’t get it to work either though she spent nearly as much time as me trying.

Then, this morning we asked my father-in-law for help.  He casually dropped us a clue to our problem.  Legal-sized paper in the Philippines is 8.5″x13″, not 8.5×14 as it is in the U.S.  I had no idea that there were different definitions of Legal and neither did Aya.  Her dad certainly didn’t know that we weren’t aware of this; he only accidentally enlightened us and simultaneously solved our problem.  This little piece of knowledge will make the rest of my day so much easier.  And I’m happy that I learned something new today.  I guess I can never count on something being the same here as it is in the States.  There is always a chance that something may differ.  I guess I just need to ask next time.

People in this country like to hover.  I noticed it right away.  When you go to a restaurant in the States, the server gives you a menu, goes away and comes back later to see if you have any questions, want to hear the specials, are ready to order or need more time, etc.   Not in the Philippines.  Here, when you sit down, someone gives you a menu and then hovers.   They stand there and wait while you look at the menu.  No matter how long it takes for you to decide, they just stand there.  I’m sure there have been many bad ordering decisions made because of the pressure felt by the waiting server.  And, this is not just in a few restaurants.   It happens in almost every single restaurant I’ve been to here.

The other night I came into contact with a much more annoying type of hovering.  Perhaps, it could be classified as begging, but it was still hovering.  We had dinner at the Waterfront Hotel so I decided to make my way up to the casino afterward while Aya had dessert with a friend in the lobby.  Cigarette-puffing Korean tourists besieged the only Blackjack table.  All of the Pontoon (a cousin of Blackjack with rules unfamiliar to me) tables were crowded too.  

I walked around for a while, waiting, until I was convinced that I would never get a chance at the tables, so I decided I would throw some small change into the slot machines.  I started with 500 pesos (around $12.50 US) and it started to dwindle rapidly to about 100 until my luck turned around and a got on a bit of a roll, eventually reaching P4,000 (about $100 US), at which point I decided to cash out.  That’s when the hovering started.  A few locals saw all the coins coming out of my machine and decided to offer me any assistance I could possibly use with the implication that if I so desired I could give them some change for their troubles.  I did not desire to give them any money nor did I want their help so I just tried to ignore them.  But they didn’t leave.  They noticed that the machine ran out of coins and offered to call the attendant.  I didn’t stop them from doing that, but it still didn’t mean they would get paid for it.  They also wanted to help me put the coins into the cylindrical tubes used to collect the money.  In the States, they have those giant plastic cups to dump your winning into, which doesn’t take long.  Using these tubes is like putting 50 pennies into those paper rolls to cash in at the bank.  The only thing that makes it easier is that there’s no hole in the bottom.  As annoying as it was to do this, I still declined the hovers’ offer.  Look, I understand that people here are pretty hard up for cash, and I do like to help people.  I just don’t like annoying people begging for money, and I didn’t trust them either.  If I looked away, who knows if they would have reached into the tray for the gold tokens.

Anyway, I told the candy-and-cigarette girl that they were annoying me.  She was probably surprised when I said “samok,” the word for annoying in the local dialect.  I think she told them to go away because they didn’t bother me any more and I managed to get the 8 tubes of 50 coins each to the cashier without spilling.

You know the story of Sysiphus from Greek mythology?  The guy who was sentenced to an eternal hell of pushing a boulder up a hill.  Once he got to the top of the hill he had to start all over.  Forever.

Well, my version of Sysiphean hell would be this: I’m sitting in the barber’s chair, my arms under the smock.  Tiny, freshly cut hairs are sticking to my cheeks and nose, tickling and tingling.  I can’t move my arms to free my hand in order to scratch this uncomfortable itch because I don’t want to interrupt the haircut.  Well, the hell part would be if this went on forever, and I’m unable to relieve this horrible itch.  Argh!!!  This is the type of thing I think about while I’m getting my haircut.

I’m posting here from Boracay Beach in the Philippines. Actually I’m lying down outside less than 50 feet from the ocean with my laptop. They’ve got wi-fi here which works great outside-even better than in our room at the Sur beach resort. This is a pretty bare bones resort; it’s really just a hotel located on the beach with very few amenities other than the aforementioned wi-fi, which is unexplicably shut off every evening and not turned back on until the morning. Sur is probably one of the cheapest hotels in Boracay, which is teeming with beach resorts and restaurants geared toward a largely European clientele. Some rooms here are well over $300/night.

I shouldn’t complain about anything right now. It’s really relaxing here. We just came for a few days because my mother-in-law has some business here. For me, the idea of taking a swim, coming out and reading my e-mail or checking the news or basketball scores is perfect. I’ve thrown in a little work while I’m here but not too much.

Ana absolutely loves the sand and the sea. She has no problem being dirty and sticky and seems to like the taste of salt water. Here she is enjoying her fresh mango juice.

I got my first bit of sunburn since I’ve been in the Philippines which is pretty amazing considering how easily I usually burn. I guess I’ve been pretty careful applying SPF 50 when I’m out. I’m not in any pain yet and I hope that doesn’t change. The water is a bit cold at first, but it’s pretty warm and humid so that is not necessarily unwelcome. It’s completely clear with very little plant life near the shore and absolutely no aquatic life. This is more of a laying-on-the-beach type place as opposed to a diving mecca. The sand is magnificent-super fine and smooth and white. It doesn’t get hot when you walk on it.

The food has also been quite impressive here. They really cater to Westerners with high quality and widely varied offerings. We’ve had excellent fresh seafood, good Filipino food. Yesterday, I had one of the best Nicoise salads I’ve ever had-pretty amazing considering how mediocre salads are in Cebu.

It’s been a while since I’ve spent my days full of sand and sunblock and sweat. You feel kind of gross after a while, but it’s really just part of the package. There’s always a shower at the end of the afternoon. Unfortunately, though, the showers at Sur spew out scalding hot water with no apparent means of changing the temperature. There’s a sign in the bathroom announcing that their water is solar heated, which I certainly applaud. But, if there is no way to regulate the temperature, it’s not really worth it.

Okay, I will complain about a few things in Boracay because that’s just my nature. Hawkers of all sorts of goods and services are omnipresent. Every step you take someone offers you a massage, a boat ride, a pair of Oakley sunglasses or some cheap jewelry. It’s really annoying. They come right up to you as you’re lying in your beach chair relaxing. You would think the resorts would try to stop this, but they don’t do a thing. The proliferation of boats are a little unsightly too but I can live with that. The flight here was also a little scary. At least for me. We flew a 30-seat propeller jet. I don’t really like flying much, even though I do it quite frequently, but I really don’t like small planes. You feel every bump when you’re above the clouds. I think I was the most nervous person on the plane, and that includes Ana’s nanny for whom this was her very first time flying. I didn’t scream or anything but I had to do some rhythmic breathing to get through some rough patches. Thankfully, it was only about 40 minutes to get here.

The storm is over for now…We’re decompressing here in SE Pennsylvania at Maki and Dave’s house before we have to recompress next week.

The last two months were very stressful, and last week was the worst.  I didn’t think we’d get everything packed up in time but somehow we did.  We had some help from friends and family.  Madeleine was our only guest at an impromptu document shredding party last Thursday night.  She stayed over until 2 AM enabling us to get rid of a ton of paper.  For me, shredding is always a bit slow since I can’t help looking at things before I destroy them.  I completely regret my past practices of saving all paperwork, and won’t do it again.  I had to go through 11 years of credit card statements and receipts.  I never had time to do this before, and didn’t really now, but I felt I had to do it because I didn’t want to take all this paper with us or waste storage space.  A few interesting things that occurred to me while I was going through my Visa statements: my credit line 10 years ago was a measly $1,500.  Guess they didn’t trust me back then, I wouldn’t blame them.  I consistently had balances carrying over each month.  And, a gallon of gas in the Cleveland area in 1997 was around $1.09.

On Thursday, Eric also came over around 11:00 and bought our TV, removing one of the last entertainment sources from our home.  Our Bose iPod sound dock was already packed, so we were left with music playing out of the cheap Radio Shack portable speakers that I bought in Newport a few years ago.  Then, on Friday, someone who saw our post on Craig’s List finally came to get our sofa bed after a few false starts.  We were happy to get a decent amount of cash for it, but more important, I was relieved that we would not have to load the behemoth into the U-Haul.  With that gone on Friday, we were left with two barstools as furniture.  I’m sure this didn’t make our babysitter happy when we went out for one final party in the neighborhood on Friday night, but she didn’t complain.

I did some final shredding on Friday night during Jenn and Peter’s farewell visit to our place.  They may have thought me a bit rude (I did), but I didn’t care at that point.  Dave arrived late on Friday night, and we prepared to load everything up on Saturday morning with the aim of a noon departure.  Dave and I went to take a few things to his minivan parked on 73^rd Street before going to get the U-Haul.   It was gone.  Mistakenly, he had parked in a “No Parking 8 am to 6 pm except Sundays” spot on the side of Duane Reade.  It was Saturday.  We needed to find out where the impound lot was.  Fast.  But our Internet had been cut off the day before by Time Warner.  Luckily, Rodel, who was helping us move, knew where the lot was—a few blocks from his apartment in Sunnyisde.  So, Dave and Rodel went to fetch the van, and about two hours later they came back with the 14 footer.

By that time, we had a few more visitors.  Aya’s friend Nikki had come to buy her purple Specialized Dolce racing bicycle.  Nikki was training for her first triathlon—St. Anthony’s in Florida—and since Aya is temporarily retired from the sport, she felt she could part with it.  Nikki’s friend or new boyfriend (I’m not sure which), Mike was there too, which turned out to be a lucky break for us.  They decided to hang out for a while, and Mike, apparently trying to impress Nikki, offered to help me take our things down to the lobby while we were waiting for Dave and Rodel.  I didn’t want to take advantage of him, but he insisted on helping.  We stuck to the less weighty items since I knew they would be bringing a hand truck and some pads with the truck.  The lobby was full of stuff when they arrived, and to my surprise, Mike continued to help us, including some hefty pieces of solid wood furniture.  I had never met this guy before, but I guess he was getting something out of it if it helped him make a good impression.  All I know about him is that he’s Italian and from the Throgs Neck section of the Bronx, but if asked I would give him an endorsement with Nicky based on his chivalry last Saturday.

After an hour or so, with Aya and Nancy alternately guarding the truck and watching Ana, our apartment was empty.  We hit the road around 1:30 pm—not bad considering the towing fiasco—with me behind the wheel of the minivan and Dave the truck.  Stupidly, we went through Manhattan instead of Brooklyn and Staten Island.  Getting across town wasn’t bad, but going down 9^th Avenue toward the tunnel was an absolute crawl.  Dave managed to keep pace although he was usually a block behind.  The tunnel was slow but the worst part of the drive occurred on 495 on the Jersey side.  According to the sign, there was a fuel spill and/or accident.  We inched along and finally got past the trouble spot.  It was around 4:00 already and we were only in Secaucus when things started moving.  In all, the normally 2 ½ hour drive to PA took almost six hours.  We were exhausted when we got there but still had to unload the truck and schlep it upstairs to our room for the next week.  Dave’s friend Neil was a huge help.  As was Dave, who got roped into this by Maki and was not too pleased with the day’s events.  But, he still did what we needed him to do which we really appreciated it.

We’ll be back in Jackson Heights on Sunday, but by that time our old place will be newly occupied by our tenant, Brian.  I would have liked to have taken a few pictures of the empty place, but with the parking problems on our street and the aggressiveness of the NYPD traffic cops, I didn’t want to take any more chances.  So there you have it.  We’re now technically homeless for the next few days, even though I assure you we’re eating very well down here.

On a side note, a telemarketer called me last Thursday.  I said I’m busy but they could call back next week.  Oops, I forgot to mention that my phone was going to be disconnected the following day.

In virtually any New York neighborhood you can walk five blocks and find at least 10 different places where you can get a decent cup of coffee. Out here in the hinterlands of exurban Pennsylvania, you’re hard pressed find one anywhere. And if you can find coffee at a place other than Starbucks, you’re really rolling the dice. After wandering around a strip mall, and finally venturing across the street, I finally purchased two cups at convenience store chain Swiss Farms. I dodged traffic to get back to the other side of the street-this is not pedestrian-friendly territory either-to bring Aya her light coffee. Mine was pretty dreadful but I was desperate and had gone through a lot of trouble to get it so I drank it. Aya determined it undrinkable. Should I have gone to Chick-Fil-A, which was next to Swiss Farms? They advertise breakfast so perhaps they have decent coffee. (I haven’t had any food there since I lived in mall country. Remember those free samples they would give out? Do they still do that?)

At the strip mall where Ana and Chloe were attending this baby/toddler gym, there were a few food establishments that were open already: a pretzel place and Subway. Neither carried coffee. This is stupidity to me. I’m sure they lose a lot of customers by not having coffee. Or maybe exubranites don’t drink coffee like caffeine-dependent city dwellers.

Okay, maybe I complain too much about stupid things.  But this is really annoying.  When the liquid hand soap gets low, what should you do?  Get the industrial size soap from the closet and pour it into the dispense?  Yes, that’s exactly what you should do.  Should you fill up the dispenser with water to get a little extra mileage out of the soap?  Absolutely not.  The water renders the soap totally useless.  Aya used to do this until I lectured her enough that she stopped. But it happened again the other day.  I found out our babysitter did it.

Normally, I try to get the maximum usage out of something.  For instance, I’ll use all my might to squeeze every last bit of toothpaste out of the tube or scrape the sides of the peanut butter jar untl its spotless. But hand soap is completely different.  I will not water it down.

Attention subway loud talkers: if you’re going to have a conversation, couldn’t you at least sit next to each other?  Why do people have to sit on opposite sides of the car from each other on an empty train and shout to have a conversation?