Leaky Faucets

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.

Usually I’m quite self-conscious and uncomfortable about my new role as a minority, but sometimes its fun. Like today when we had a company outing at a shabby beach club in Mactan. Being the only non-Filipino there today was for some reason enjoyable. I don’t usually like the spotlight; I don’t often want to be noticed. Maybe it was the beer (but really I only had two San Miguels) or maybe it was the karaoke. I’m well aware that I’m an awful singer but I sometimes relish the opportunity to make an ass out of myself with a microphone. I opened up with my dead-on impression of Ozzie-era Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs.” Sure, with all the little kids in the adjacent cabana, the lyrics may have been a bit inappropriate, but at least Ana enjoyed it. As did all the staff, although I’m sure only a few probably know who Black Sabbath is. Later I went with one of my karaoke faves, “La Bamba,” although I always seem to lose interest half way through the song because of its repetitiveness. Some of the girls were too shy to sing despite my continued prodding, but for me it’s a liberating feeling when I can sing (however badly) in front of people and helps knock down a cultural barrier between us. After all, karaoke is as much a part of Filipino culture as eating. If you can at least make an attempt, you can find a place here.

Karaoke really demonstrates the contradictory parts of my personality: shyness and boldness behind the armor of a microphone. Sure, everyone was looking at the white guy singing, but today I didn’t mind at all

I’ve been doing a lot of traveling this month, so much that it seems that I’m hardly at home. I haven’t left the Philippines, though. Twice to Manila, several times to my in-laws beach house in SW Cebu and once to Bantayan Island in NW Cebu. I can’t really complain as we’ve spent a lot of time at the beach and checking out different resorts. Manila, though is exhausting. All we do there is meet and eat and meet and eat. And sit in traffic mostly on the horrific Edsa highway. I grit my teeth as I see the MRT or LRT train speeding by as we crawl forward. I wish to be on that train (after 10 years in New York, I really became a train person), but alas, my companions always choose the auto–the worst of all modes of ground transport. And Manila is so filthy and polluted. If I could only find a giant sponge to wipe the whole city with, cleasing the greyish sheen off of every last building. They say they do emissions tests there but I have yet to see any evidence of that, especially with the buses and jeepneys. After spending all this time in the capital, I’m grateful to live in Cebu–it’s much cleaner and smaller with much less traffic.  Manila does have some good points, though, like more diverse and higher quality restaurants, more educated and diverse residents. What else? Hmm… Yeah, I found a very interesting book store in SM Mega Mall. There are so many malls in Manila, it makes Hong Kong look like a commercial-free city. I have been told that a lot of Manila residents only go to the mall for the air conditioning, but with the amount of them that exist, I have to assume that some of the mall goers do actually make purchases. The malls in Manila are much nicer than in Cebu (not that I really care that much), and many of them are decidedly upscale.

I’m back in Cebu now to catch some sleep, but tomorrow we’re going back to the beach house, followed by a boat trip to another island, Bohol, on Sunday. We’ll be back in Cebu in Monday before traveling to Manila again late next week. Need to catch my breath. The traveling is pretty interesting, and certainly better than just sitting at a desk all day, but it does get tiring and tiresome at some point. And I’ve figured out something. I really only need two things in a hotel to make me happy: a reliable and fast Internet connection (preferably free and preferably wireless, but I’ll settle for a reasonably charged, wired connection) and a place to run. The VIP Suites in Makati last week had the free wi-fi but new gym. The desk person said there was a gym nearby where I could work out for 100 pesos per day. The bellman escorted me there a few blocks away, where we found out they were out of business. This week we stayed in Ortigas at a place called Malayan. They have a wired Internet connection for PP500/day (about $12.50 US) and a gym on the 40th floor rooftop. The gym is shabby and desolate and the equipment outdated, but it would certainly do. Unfortnately, I left my running shoes at home because I didn’t know about the gym. We’ll stay at Malayan again next week and I’ll be sure to bring my running gear.

We arrived in Hong Kong SAR, China (that’s Special Administrative Region, which is part of Hong Kong’s official name since it reverted back to Chinese rule–one country, two systems, blah, blah, blah) two days ago. I’m here with Aya and Gahum and a few others from Pan Arts for a jewelry show of sorts. We didn’t join the official trade show at the Asia World convention center; instead, we decided to get a suite at a trendy hotel in Central Hong Kong and invite buyers here. It hasn’t been too successful so far but there’s still one more day. Mostly, we’ve been hanging out in the hotel waiting futilely for someone to show. A buyer from Paris stopped by briefly earlier and said he’d be back, but we’re not holding our breath.

Coming to HK was a welcome change for me. It brought me back to a place of order–something that is mostly lacking in the Philippines. (Chaos and randomness and informality can be good, I think, but one really needs to time to get used to that sort of thing.) What I’m talking about is this: in HK, all streets seem to have names (and people actually refer to them), buildings have addresses and there’s a very orderly and efficient public transportation system here. Like New York, you can easily make your way around here without a car of your own. Walking is common here too, although parts of the city such as the trendy Lan Kwai Fong in Central where our hotel (aptly named Hotel LKF) is located, are extremely hilly and replete with steep concrete stair cases. It’s kind of a cool effect if you can manage not to trip and get run over by one of the ubiquitous red taxis. I really do miss walking around outside even if I just wander and have no clue where I’m going. The weather is nice here (high 50s to low 70s) and refreshing for a change, although it feels a little cold after two months of being in a place where the thermometer never drops below 70.

There are also some giant, outdoor escalators in the middle of the city leading to what else? Another mall. Yes, Hong Kong must have more malls and retail space per square inch than any other city I’ve been to. It seems that shopping is the favorite pastime here with eating being a close second. Obviously, Chinese food is king here but there is also a nice variety of ethnic cuisines: Lebanese (we ate at Beirut last night which was overpriced and disappointing), Italian, Vietnamese, Russian, English, Japanese, etc. I’m taking a little break from Chinese food right now as I had it two days in a row and Gahum tends to order the greasy, fatty stuff which tastes good, but does a number on my stomach. Today, I had a healthy nicoise salad from Pret a Manger down the hill from our hotel. Wish they had one of those in the Philippines. I am looking forward to getting some dim sum this weekend, though.

Yesterday I was reminded of my former life working in Manhattan. I went to order lunch at Tsui Wah restaurant near our hotel. I had to shimmy my way past the hordes perched near the entrance in order to get to the cashier so I could place an order. Luckily, she spoke English and was able to understand me, I think. Then, Sammy (one of our companions here) and I stood amongst the aforementioned hordes waiting for our number to be called as I got dizzy watching the crowds of lunchgoers hustle in and out. This was the lunchtime rush of office workers, mostly Chinese though some were white. There still seem to be a lot of Brits here. It was a little too much for me after spending two months in the calm and relatively sedate Cebu. And I haven’t worked in Manhattan and dealt with this kind of lunch rush since 2002 anyway. I don’t think I want to go back to that anytime soon as much as I can complain about the slowness of the Philippines sometimes. In this place, like New York, you must be assertive and shout to be heard and often push your way past others to be seen. It’s even more complicated here where many restaurant workers do not speak English.

Neither do most of the cabdrivers. This can make getting around a little difficult sometimes. Even if you show them the address they can be confused if it is not in Chinese. Apparently, this was not the case before 1997 and the end of British rule.

A few things yesterday gave me a little nostalgia for my former life. At the office-yeah, we finally started working this week after an extended vacation-I had Outlook installed on my desktop. The interface is pretty much the same as it was at the library. This gives me some comfort in my new work environment. At least something is the same, because everything else is radically different. The language barrier is a formidable obstacle for me to overcome. Yes, people speak English here, but many speak it really poorly and it is difficult to determine sometimes if the person you are talking to understands what you are saying.

The other nostalgic moment occurred at the gym. I used the Life Fitness elliptical trainer and quickly realized that the Aerobic X-train mode was the exact same program that I used to use when I frequently used the elliptical at Astoria Sports Complex. In fact, it was the same exact machine.  This takes me back even further-probably at least five years ago.

I guess these little things give me some feeling of security as I continue to try to adjust to my new country. Sometimes I feel like I’m on a different planet because things are so different here.

I am a little confused about how to dress for a business meeting this afternoon. In the Philippines, business dress is decidedly more casual than in the U.S., which pleases me as I hated wearing a button-down shirt and tie at work especially in the heat of the summer when I’d be sweaty by the time I arrived to the office. For the most part, I think I can wear jeans or even shorts and sandals to work most days.

But to me, at least, meetings with people outside the company are different. Even though I haven’t really started working regularly yet, I’ve attended a few meetings in the last few weeks. All of them have been with foreigners–Russians and Americans–so I dressed a little nicer (short sleeve cotton knit shirt and khakis–hey, this is the tropics so no suit and tie here, thank God). But today’s meeting is with a Filipino group so I’m not sure if I can get away with jeans and sandals. Or do I have to wear shoes and socks? Certainly shorts are out. My brother-in-law is always pretty casual almost always dressed in jeans and an untucked t-shirt and sandals, but I’m not sure if I want to follow his lead on this. I like to be comfortable but don’t want to look like a slob in a business setting.

With only seven days left on the job, I got a little reminder of what its like to be at the mercy of the NYC transit system.  At Continental Avenue, the conductor told us to get off the F train.  It was going out of service, and there would be no more Jamaica-bound trains for the foreseable future.  Apparently, there was some debris or a fire on the tracks at Unoin Turnpike.  If we wanted to get to work, we were instructed to go upstairs and take the Q60 bus.  That would get me as far as Sutphin Blvd., meaning I’d either have to take another bus or walk over a mile.  I was already late–even though it doesn’t really matter at this point–and I was going to be even later.  When I got outside on Queens Boulevard I was greeted with throngs of fellow commuters also waiting for the Q60, which had not yet arrived.  This wasn’t going to be easy.  It would take several buses and there was no orderly line so pushing and shoving were possible.  After a few minutes, though, an MTA employee came up the stairs announcing that service was resuming.  I went back down to the platform and waited.  The MTA people on the platform had not yet gotten word of the resumption.  It took some time but finally the train came.  So this wasn’t going to be the hellish commute that I had a few months ago when rain shutdown nearly the entire system.  But it was enough of a scare to jolt my memory of other commuting nightmares in New York–something I think I’m done with for now.  Hopefully, I can make it another week without such scenarios.

For good measure, when I finally got to Jamaica, I received a good splashing thanks to a racing SUV police vehicle and the horrendous drainage on Merrick Boulevard.  This isn’t the first time my pants have gotten soaked by an impatient motorist mere feet from the office.  Hopefully, it will be the last.

In the five-plus years I’ve worked in Jamaica, I’ve been yearning for a decent, healthy (and clean) place to get lunch. No such place has appeared. (I got so pathetically desperate at one point, that I actually hoped the rumors that Applebee’s was opening were true. They weren’t.) Perhaps, until now. A new Middle Eastern restaurant called Falafel Station has just opened at 153-35 Hillside Avenue, just west of Parsons Boulevard.   They deliver too.  I have yet to try it, but I just picked up a menu today. I had planned to check it out this week, but they are closed for a Jewish holiday. Yeah, can you believe it is Kosher? When I passed by in Peter’s car the other day, I assumed it was an Arab-owned place. Never would I have expected a Kosher place to open in Jamaica. Ironically, just as this place is opening, I’m preparing to depart this neighborhood. Hopefully, this new place will help make my last month here more enjoyable. And, as Ellen mentioned, my discovery (I’m good at finding food places because I’m always thinking about food, I guess) will make a nice parting gift to the office. I am also the one who found out about the Japanese place that delivers to the office all the way from Flushing.

So I haven’t posted in a few weeks. I’ve been really busy, I guess. If not busy, then tired. Or Lazy. Or all three.

Anyway, a lot has happened since I last posted. On August 30, I told Peter and Diana that I was leaving the library. Leaving the city. The country, too. I calmly explained that we’re moving to the Philippines. They took it rather well. They weren’t completely surprised that I quit, but were certainly shocked when I told them why. But after I explained the circumstances, they were actually excited for me. The next day I told the rest of my department at an impromptu staff meeting. The prevailing reaction was “Wow!!!” I must say it is a great relief to finally break the news, after keeping it a tightly guarded secret for well over a year.

I’m also really excited to move on. After 5 ½ years doing the same thing, I’m ready for a change. My previous record was about one year and 8 months. That was at McCann-Erickson-the last job that I quit. When I quit McCann in the fall of 2000, I didn’t have another job to go to or anything else to fall back on. I had no idea what I was going to do next. I just knew I hated advertising and couldn’t stand the hellish existence at 750 3^rd Avenue for another day. Three years earlier, in a similarly miserable situation (worse, actually), I quite my slavish job with the marketing research firm Information Resources, Inc. Again, I had nowhere to go. Less than two months later I had relocated from Cleveland to New York, where I was able to land on my feet rather quickly with my first advertising job at Bozell Worldwide. This time, though, even though I’ll be taking a few months off to prepare for this massive change, I do have a job when I get to my next destination.

* * * * *

What else have I been up to? Labor Day weekend, we went to Tita (aunt) Zenda’s house in New Jersey. Ana went swimming for the first time and she loved it. She stayed in the pool kicking her feet constantly for a half hour, laughing the whole time.

That same day, I got stung by a bee on my lower lip while having lunch by the pool. It killed, and was swollen until the next morning. That was the first time I was stung since I was about 12 or 13. That, and the only other time I’ve been stung, also happened poolside. That last time, I was stung on the bottom of the foot at Meadow Wood pool, where I spent much of my summers in those years. It wasn’t so bad being stung then, actually, because it meant that I got tended to by the long and lean lifeguard Millicent, who my friends and I drooled over hopelessly.

On Labor Day itself, we spent the day at the unfinished lake house of Tita Zenda on Lake Hopatcong. Despite, the utter lack of furniture, electricity and stairs, we had a great time. Let my describe the relaxing scene: the soothing breeze through the lakeside screen door, the calm lake waters, the quiet rumble of small motorboats and jet skis, the sun beaming light through the abundant windows. No television. No radio. No reliable plumbing. No artificial light. Just The New York Times Sunday magazine and the simple joy of watching my 7-month-old daughter trying to propel herself across the floor.

* * * * *

Last weekend, Aya and I took a road trip. We left Ana for two days with Tita Zenda, who seemed delighted to have her. This was the first time we left Ana overnight. We rented a car and drove up to Adams, Massachusetts in the Berkshires. It was quiet up there, and a little rainy. But just getting away for a few days was bliss. We didn’t do any hiking-in part because of the weather, but also because of my injured leg and knee. We did take in a couple of museums-the Clark Institute at Williams College and MASS MoCA, the largest contemporary art facility in the U.S. At Clark, there was an exhibit of Monet’s drawings, which I didn’t care for too much. The museum housed a trove of Impressionist works from Renoir, Gaugin and others. MASS MoCA ended up being pretty cool, although I really did not like the main exhibit of artist Spencer Finch. Maybe, I’m too much of a literalist when it comes to art, but I just can’t get into works that are abstract to a comical extent with ridiculous titles to match. (Although, I did like the Finch installation with the stacks of electric fan titled something like “breeze at Walden Pond.” Mostly, I liked it because the fans blowing in my face felt good.) I did enjoy the works by Sister Corita, a nun who did politically and socially oriented pop-art. It was basically more poetry combined with cool graphics. I looked for a book of her work in the gift shop, but they had none.

In Adams, we stayed at an ecological inn called Topia. This was a unique experience. Everything was organic including the bed sheets. Everything was pure. But not all the products they provided complimentarily were effective. When we were saying goodbye to the two women who run the place-a musician and a dancer from New York (sort of)-I whiffed something unpleasant. Later in the car, I still smelled it. It turned out that I was the one who smelled like a dirty hippy. The spray deodorant they supplied was no more useful than water. I grabbed my Tom’s of Maine stick from my backpack and applied it liberally, ending the unfortunate situation. Other than that, we really enjoyed staying in a green lodging. At times, though, I did feel like I was walking on eggshells a bit. Didn’t want to do anything un-environmental like blowing my nose.

One more thought on our trip. Being in a college town-especially one that hosts an elite liberal arts school such as Williams-is very inspiring to me. Just seeing all the flyers promoting concerts and exhibits, and the students leafing through highlighted texts en masse-makes me want do these things myself. I f only I had more time. Being in a place like this also makes me regret wasting my college years not learning. At least, not outside the classroom.

I’m a relatively strong typist (45-50 WPM), but whenever I type a word with a lot of “I’s”, I inevitably flub it and add extra “I’s” or not enough.