Open Door Policy

Okay, time for a light hearted entry- This one is more for the guys.

I'm wanting to talk about basic toilet etiquette. When you work in an office, there are always a cubical of toilets. All with doors. Good working doors.

However, some guys still think its okay to just walk in, leave the door open, do their business while standing and finish up, turn and walk out unobstructed and leave.

In principal this is fine because all the sensitive details are facing away from the gaping door. And 9 times out of 10 people know your in there.

However the whole thing becomes very tricky in situations known as "accidental walk in's"

It's happened to us all:
- You decide that its time to go
- You walk into the bathroom select a cubical at random and head for it
- You walk in
- You look up from the floor which you've been staring at to realise, in horror, that there is someone already in here.

It all happens very quickly, but for a second this is all you are thinking:

"There are twice as many people in this cubical than what there should be, and one of us has his pants down. Maybe if I close my eyes he won't see me."

Now if you lucky you can bolt out of there before there are any awkward moments. Last thing you want is for him to turn around. The last thing.
If you are unlucky, in your haste to turn around you slip end up face down in a cubical with a work colleague. Bad news.

So folks, moral of the story is close the door, that way everyone stays innocent.

Back in my day

I love old people.

With a sense of achievement they tell you they called and left a message on your VHS player. And of course they still get frustrated when they think the phones engaged because we're on the internet.

But what's even better than old people that fumble with technology is middle-aged adults who just straight up suck.

Working in the technology industry I've seen plenty of mind-benders.

These people make browsing the internet look as complicated as diffusing a bomb.

These peoples fingers have only just developed enough speed and strength to double click in the last few years.

These are the type of people that leave a faceprint on your digi cam because they're still trying to look through the viewfinder. You know the ones.

Anyway, when I see these people floundering I can't help but think "Will I be like this one day?"

I wonder if the technology of the future will render me helpless?

I started to think..

At some stage for these middle agers, the world was manageable. Letters, Newspapers, Telephones, Wristwatches, Telegrams. It was a world they understood and it was a world that to a certain degree worked.

But it changed, and it changed fast. eMail, RSS feeds, internet, smartphones, bluetooth, skype, megapixels.

There were two types of people,

- The people who chose to learn and make the effort to keep up

- The people who thought, the way I do things works why would I change? I don't need email anyway.

Almost without fail, it's the people who decided that they didn't need to change that are the ones struggling now when they realise that change gets to a point where it becomes non-optional.

I came to this conclusion.

As long as I continue to be open to new ways of doing things, not bagging new ideas and technology, but instead giving everything a go, then hopefully I'll stay ahead of the wave.

Twitter is a great example, if I'd followed my gut feeling I would have dismissed it as a pointless, useless technology. One that I could live without.

But against those feelings I got involved, and now it's something that I use all the time.(Follow me it will do wonders for my selfesteem www.twitter.com/jiwanrai)

What will come next? After facebook, after twitter, after tumblr, and what will your response be?

- Choose to learn and keep up? or

- Not bother with them, The way I do things works for me...

Procrasti-pedia

I used to take hyperlinks for granted.

That was before I stumbled across a machine that would reinvigorate my passion for link clicking, Wikipedia.

Like a can of Pringles, once you get started it can be hard to stop.

How often have I innocently looked up the definition of a long word (like Promulgation) and found myself hours later, reading up on the Greek philosophy.

Okay, so It's not like encyclopedias (these came before Wikipedia) haven't been around forever. So why then is there this sudden lust for knowledge or pseudo-enjoyment of scrolling through pages of information?

I'd hazard to say that the leading cause of wikipediaitis is procrastination.

Nothing beats doing work like not doing work.

Almost subconsciously we fall into infinite loops of wiki-surfing, fooled by the feeling of learning that we are actually being productive.

My prediction on the secondary reason for wikipediaitis is because we like having dumb facts to talk about. The good old "Did you know..." is a great convo starter, well at least in the I.T industry where new useless information is like a sweet perfume.

If I want to appear smarter than I really am, I'll just plug into Wikipedia for a quick top up of intellectual info then unleash on the uneducated masses.

Of course it has it's dangers, we've all heard the warnings about accuracy and misinformation, with University's not accepting Wikipedia as a valid reference for research.

But who cares?

If we had to wait for validated, approved and agreed information on everything, we'd be a bunch of waiting people, always waiting for things.

Of course there is great value in having multiple sources of information, and coming to our own conclusions. But you've got to start somewhere right?

Do you think we need to be more careful about not being wiki-washed?

eFail

...and send. wait....

NO! DONT SEND! UNDO UNDO! CONTROL Z!

We've all had those moment right. I call them efails, that is to say - electronic fails.

Sending an email to the wrong person, posting something in the wrong place, predictive text misinterpretations to dialing the wrong number are all well inside the scope of efailure.

They happen all the time, to the most unsuspecting people causing the most unexpected and brilliant results.

We've all heard the stories, here a links to a few email examples:

http://pcworld.about.com/news/Apr292002id93283.htm

But my worst ever electronic moment was not so long ago. Let me fill you in...

I had just scored my first ever girlfriend (yes, not so long ago), and this was to be my first ever text contact as her boyfriend.

Time for operation 'smooth'. So I punched out a heart-melting message starting with "Hey girlfriend!" and some other fluffy candy floss like prose.

Checked it once, checked it twice, then confidently sent it

... to one of my best guy mates.

As if teleported into the sahara, I instantaneously broke out in a cold sweat.

Tapping through to my sent items, I was hoping that maybe I'd just been seeing things.

I had been seeing things, unfortunately the things I had been seeing were correct.

I didn't know what to do with myself although there was a balcony that was suddenly looking pretty tempting.

In the end I got the message to the right person, and that person ended up being my wife, and the lucky guy who received the misdirected text ended up asking me to be his best man.

So maybe failures aren't so bad after all, although resonably uncomfortable at the time.

What are your stories?

Your Attention Please

Okay, let's be honest.

When we see a page filled with text the first thing that comes to mind is "How can I avoid reading this?" often accompanied with a dull aching sensation around the heart region.

On who can we blame this disposition? Obviously not ourselves, because we are all innocent victims of society.... right?

Truth be told, the reason I ask is because someone suggested to me that my blogs were a bit on the lengthy side.

So after we'd finished our fist fight and cleaned up some of the more serious wounds, I came to the realisation that perhaps they were right.

Why is it that the virtue of concentration is rapidly evaporating from our culture? I even struggle with two-part text messages, let alone encyclopedic blog entries. It's not uncommon for my mind to wander off while speaking with someone, and don't get me started on con-calls. (http://jiwanrai.blogspot.com/2010/02/state-your-name-after-tone.html)

Have we been conditioned to think and process in short messages? Since using twitter, I've started to think and experience in 160 character thoughts.
And if I have to click the "more" button on someones Facebook I think thoughts like "Why didn't they just publish a novel instead"

Maybe if we spent more time concentrating on a few things, we'd learn a whole lot more than just skimming through 100 of them!

Now that I'm in my 7th paragraph I realise I've already lost about 80% of my readers, so to you who are left -

Thank-you and congratulations.

Feeling Nosey

What ever happened to red nose day?

Allow me to delve into my childhood memories...

I still vividly remember the teacher at school handing out transparent plastic packages to each of us who signed up. It was an exciting time, but so was most of childhood really.

Each of us would eagerly unwrap the plastic packaging and pull out a impeccably sculpted piece of plastic that would be the home for our childhood noses for an entire day.

I still remember the sweet aroma of mass produced plastic greeting my nostrils as I attached the red nose to my face.

I also remember the condensation. Let's just say sharing noses was a no-no.

While I clearly remember the elation of looking like a clown for the day, I had to do some serious racking to recall exactly what the actual reason behind Red Nose day was.

Once I realised that my brain was not proving to be good reference material, I turned to my friend - the Internet (I have the Internet installed on my computer).

Red Nose Day in New Zealand (not to be confused with the British and American version) was all about raising awareness of Cot Death and funding for Cot Death research. The technical term for Cot Death is Sudden Infant Death Syndrome or SIDS, of which there still seems to be a great deal of uncertainty as to the cause.

As to when or why Red Nose day got the boot? I'm not sure, if anyone can enlighten us then by all means do so.

I'm not sure how Red Nose Day would go down with our new generation of children.

I'd imagine before it even got to the kids you'd have health and safety groups ranting about blocking airways, you'd have environmentalists complaining about plastic waste and there would be people claiming that red noses were racist.

Not like the good old days when OSH didn't exist and we were free to jump off large playground and break bones as we pleased, the days where we could still put skyrockets in a jar and set them off, having to guess which direction they would fire off into.

No no, these are much safer times. No dangerous playgrounds, no skyrockets, and certainly no red plastic nasal blocking accessories.

Maybe the next red nose day will be done via facebook and iPhone apps. Who Nose?

Fine By Me

Have you ever received an involuntary donation form from our friends at the Auckland City Council?

They are usually found most conspicuously placed underneath your front windscreen wiper blade, neatly folded like a gift waiting to be opened. Only difference being that if you don't like it, you can't re-gift it to your Nana next Christmas.

We've all felt the sting of the parking ticket, and no matter how in the wrong you are (i.e. parking in a loading zone), you can't help but feel victimised.

In my early years as an Auckland City parker I was convinced that the parking wardens would hide in the bushes with stopwatches, eagerly waiting for my time to expire. I could see them (in my imagination) bounding across the road, with a crazed maniacal expression, madly punching numbers into their PDAs and triumphantly smirking as they heard the sound of my windscreen wiper slapping back against the glass.

I soon worked this out - if its possible to get a parking ticket (i.e. your time has expired by even as much as a minute), then you most likely will.

I collected over 20 donation forms in my first year of city employment, coming to a crescendo on that fateful day that I got multi-owned. I'm talking more than one in the space of 2 hours.

The first was like a punch to the guts, painful but tolerable. But the second was like a kick to the jewels of India.

Who could I trust now? I looked around, but couldn't see any wardens. I checked the bush, but there was no sign of them, or their stopwatches. Maybe they were undercover? Disguised as lampposts or something...

Either way, I've written about as many letters to the Auckland City Council as I have received tickets. In fact I think I've developed a mild case of RSI because of it.

While the outcome may not be certain, one thing definitely is - It'll take about 10 years before you get a reply. They draw out the process, like some form of mental torture, trying to break your spirit, until you think "oh what the heck, I'll just pay it".

BUT NOT SO! I always wait, because I know how to play the game. I've now avoided close to $500 worth of (possibly) unjustified infringements.

It's a jungle out there folks, but if you get tangled don't give in.

Rung Out

I work in an open plan office. While it's always a joy to look around the room and marvel at everyone hunched over laptop computers, there is a down side.

Mobile phones. When you put 200 people in a (large) room, each with a mobile device loaded with some of the most heinous tunes known to man, all during a working day, the odds are against you.

If your phone is ringing - everyone knows about it.

When I first started at this job, everyone had the same phone issued to them. Each phone had a staggering number of ring-tone options - 3.

I work at a technology company, however most employees can't read small text (i.e. a mobile screen)by virtue of the fact that they have burnt out their retinas by staring at screens all day.

The net result was that 90% of employees left the default ring tone on their phone.

Every time someones phone went off, at least 3 people in close proximity would scramble for their phone. Now you can't pay for this type of entertainment.

But those were the good days. Things have changed, people have moved on, technology waits for no man.

Somewhere along the way, people figured out that they could load their own music or ringtones onto their phones. And like small children everyone updated their phones with these new, hip, slamming tunes.

Now we have Coldplay going off every 10 minutes, TV Show themes being blasted from every angle, The Red Hot Chili Peppers gracing the airwaves, not to mention all forms of techno and house music. It's like being at the big day out, except you're inside, and there are no queues for the girls toilets.

The very worst thing that has happened is this. Someone has loaded a soundclip of them saying their name, which repeats painfully until the phone is answered (or smashed into pieces by fellow employees). "Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane... Hello this is Jane". In the words of my teenage companions - OMG.

I personally have opted for the office friendly traditional phone ring, no techno, no pop music, no mind-bending sound clips, just plain, tried and true ringing.

Only 50 CC's are tasting like these.

Scooting is one of the best things that has ever happened to me... when it comes to driving in Auckland City that is.

Anyone who's had the displeasure of getting behind the wheel in the city of snails can tell you that a simple commute around town takes you one step closer to a mental breakdown. Most of the problems seen on the road are completely attributable to driver incompetence.

The problem is, when you are in the drivers seat the best you can do is sit back and watch it all unfold in front of you. Just to name a few:

- People who wait about 20 seconds before taking off at a green light (by which time the light is amber)

- People who insist on making a U turn on main roads in peak hour traffic.

- People who drive 35 in 50.

- People who slam on their brakes straight after a round about because someone vaguely looks as though they are going to use the pedestrian crossing.

- People who slow down as they approach a green light? (Still don't understand this..)

- People who swerve into the middle of the lane, then slow down to basically stopped before they turn into their side street.

Obviously this is the tip of a titanic sinking iceberg...

But frustration is transformed into entertainment the moment you jump on the scooter.

With a stealthy capability to sneak in and around traffic, and the peak-hour defeating ability to use the bus lane, the world of scooting is one of blissful freedom.

Suddenly all those people that were holding you up, causing you grief, ruining your flow become objects of amusement as you glide on by them.

Sure, it has it's downs. Like when people drive into you.
But arms and legs grow back eventually, and it's a small price to pay for the emotional benefits.

If peak hour traffic is getting you down, I suggest investing in 50cc's of life-giving freedom.

Blogless in Mt Roskill

It's been silent in cyberspace lately...

The Facebook guilt I spoke of in one of my opening blogs has now spread into the pages of blogging.

Every time I hear about a blog, I remember the one I haven't updated in over a week.
As if trying to please an unseen audience, I feel them jeering at me now like I'm a struggling stand-up comedian.

But the show will go on. Sure life has been busy, but there is plenty to write about!

So this is a message of hope to those who have lost it on my behalf. There are more unwritten chapters lurking about.

Stay tuned....

Commander Keno

If nothing else were to surface from a self-analysis, this much I'm certain on - I suck at Keno.

I studied statistics at high school, so I know all about probability, combinations, permutations etc...

But there's no equation for the amount of times I've come up empty handed.

Now before you call the helpline, I assure you I've never put any money on it - and with good reason.

That's because I don't do it for the money, I do it for the love of the game.

Also because the live Keno draw happens during dinner time television hour.

This is how it works. Every time the Keno draw comes up I choose one number between 1 and 80, as does my wife. Obviously you have to choose different numbers.

Whoever gets their number called out wins.

If we both get our numbers right then whoever's number got called second wins.
Unless your number gets called on the very first ball, in which case you automatically win.

Very simple stuff.

Now I'm no mathematician, but the odds of getting it right, based on the fact that there are 20 numbers called out of a pool of 80, is 1 in 4 numbers will be right.

This means that every night there will be 20 numbers which are right, and 60 numbers that are wrong.

Based on this maths I have come to the conclusion that I exist outside of formulas. Because I can't remember the last time I got a number right.

At least I know if I ever hit rock bottom, gambling is not going to be my first port of call. In fact if we go by my track record, I'm more likely to find a safe on the side of the road with the combination code written on a post-it note stuck to the door.

Maybe if I'd paid more attention in stats classes my Keno prowess would be leaps and bounds ahead of where it is today. Alternatively, I could have ended up working for Colmar Brunton.

Either way, the beauty of it all is when theirs no money involved the odds are always in my favour.

Let's put our heads together

I head-butted my wife last night.

Not in a friendly affectionate way, but in a brutal, headache incurring way. Plain, simple, full force, gravity assisted head to head contact.

Now, it's not in my nature to be violent or aggressive. Nor did my wife deserve to be punished in anyway, shape or form.
So I cling to my one and only excuse for such irrational behaviour - We were asleep.

Yup, don't know how it happened, or why it happened. All I remember is bringing my head down and being cushioned not by my danish feather pillow, but by my dutch wifes forehead.

Deep sleep now shattered, we both held our heads and asked 'what happened?' Still in a sleepy state, and no doubt slightly concussed all I could offer is "I don't really know."

Now the morning after, I still feel as though I've walked into a wall. Or at least what I imagine I'd feel like after I had walked into a wall.

All in all, I don't recommend head butts as a combat weapon. They look cool on the movies and seem to be quite effective, but just pause for a second next time you go to administer a butt and think about the consequences.

Are you talking to me?

It's not uncommon for people in my office to randomly explode into conversation.

Not to another human being, but simply a thin-air and out-loud conversation.

It still catches me by surprise, I simply can't predict when it's going to happen next.

They could be standing, they could be sitting, they may be typing or they maybe sipping on a coffee, when all of a sudden- "HELLO!, How are you? Good good. "

I react the same every time, with a confused semi-sideways glance of "are you talking to me? Or Should I leave you to it?"

Usually the eyes are the giveaway. If I'm being looked at, there is a good chance they are actually talking to me. However, if they're looking glazy and staring off into space then I know somethings up.

I couldn't quite put my finger on the inexplicable behavior until one morning when one of these spontaneous exploders 'turned the other cheek' and it all became crystal clear.

Something that looked like a prop from Star Trek was attached to my colleagues ear. But this was no intergalactic communication device, this was a bluetooth headset.

Now in my world 'bluetooth headsets' fall into the category of 'not very cool'.

I could understand if you were at a dress up party, or if you had the full sci-fi outfit on, but not if you are a balding business man or a woman of any description.

Regardless, these stealthy devices are causing me untold amount of social confusion. I can no longer tell if people are talking to me, or simply having a yarn to their flashy earrings.

Yes I'm talking to you.

A Chilly Forecast

Yesterday was a huge day in the world of homegrown chili's. Four months of blood sweat and tears culminated in a bountiful harvest of red hot chili peppers.

This may or may not be actual size, depending on the size of your screen.

It all started at Kings plant barn where by chance (or divine intervention) my paths crossed with a punnett of cayenne pepper plants. It was love at first sight, I knew that I was about to embark on a journey of love and devotion, watching these small, green shoots transform into tree-sized chili bearing machines.

With outstanding foresight I instinctively knew that these shoots would soon outgrow the humble punnets that currently upheld them.

So I invested in pots. Just like a father searches for a place for their children to live, so I found the right pots for my chili's.

And again, the soil that held the frail foliage would soon be inadequate for the massive chili bearing trunks. Two bags of Garden mix later, I knew I had all that I needed.

Over the next four months, I watered, I potted, I observed, I waited....

And waited...

And waited...until yesterday.

The Chili's were red, and I was ready.

It's like true love, theres no formula for it, you just know.

And I knew that it was time to harvest.

I had three chili plants to harvest so I made sure that I had time to get through all of them.

I started with the first one until I was finished, then moved onto the next then onto the next.

After some time of serious reaping, I paused to count the fruits of my labour.

Three.

Three chilli's.

Thankfully I did first year Calculus at Uni, so I didn't take me long to work out that for every plant I faithfully attended to, I received 1 chili.

Some may call this a failure.

I call it a roaring success. Not only that, I can honestly say it's the most fruitful chili harvest I've ever had.

Hello Stranger!

Every Saturday morning at 7am I go for a run.

The world is a lot quieter in the morning, slower moving and gentle. The air is cool and fresh, the sun is just waking up and sounds of birds and the breeze are the only thing disturbing the peace.
It's these conditions that bring out a certain kind of creature - the slow-pace racers, the rolly strollers, the talking walkers, - basically all the old people going for a walk.

I must run past about 20 couples and motivated individuals every morning.
It's these moments of intersection that I find so interesting.
I have made it my custom to offer up a "good morning", or in more breathless moments the simple eyebrow flick.

The reactions vary:
Some are so stoked and offer back an enthusiastic "Morning!" and a smile. This is what I live for.
But others are not so sure. Giving me a look of "what do you want from me..?"
Some are so stone cold you don't even know if they register human contact.
I sometimes wonder if my friendly eyebrow flicks get misinterpreted? Coming across as not "Good Morning", but as "I'm interested in you in a romantic way".

Either way it makes me realise that talking to people you don't know has become such an unnatural thing in our society, in fact even acknowledging they exist has become awkward.
How many times have we been in a lift with work colleagues saturated in silence? Or on the bus sitting next to someone for 40 minutes without even uttering a hello.
Social norms? Or social isolation?

I hate the forced conversation no less than the next person, but I think I can manage to at least extend a "good morning" from time to time.

I realise we were all told as children never to talk to strangers, but I can't help but think -
Maybe strangers would be seem less strange if you simply knew them...

Destiny Unfolding

As a general rule I try to see the good in every situation - Life is better that way.

But for no lack of trying, some stories or events are harder to see through.

Like, lets say... Destiny Church.

I'm torn at the moment between my distrust of the news media and what seems to be the unavoidable reality.

I don't know why, but deep down I want to give Destiny a chance. I want to think that maybe, just maybe the media has twisted the story and that Brian is actually a good guy trying to do good things.

But for the life of me - I can't see it.

Excessive hair gel - tolerable, but a little bit gross.

Self appointed bishop status - at least its entertaining.

Covenant Rings - Okay, starting to get a bit weird.

Telling people to stop drinking coffee to raise money - Now the line has been officially crossed.

I guess at the end of the day, it's not for me to judge.

But I can't help but think that a Church should be more concerned with providing love and support for it's members rather than jewelry.

Apathetic Mind or A Pathetic Mind?

I'm going to be honest, when I saw there were Tsunami warnings issued for the entire country I didn't really care.
I flicked past the news as quickly as I flick through the meaningless dribble on Facebook.

The news of earthquakes in Haiti were found folded under the sports and entertainment section.
Stories of poverty and famine in Africa rarely get any 'eye-time'.
Not to mention wars... "Unrest in the Middle-East" as a headline plays second fiddle to Sudoku.

Where have I gone wrong?

These stories of desperation, injustice, poverty, disaster and warning don't even evoke so much as a raised eyebrow as I peruse the daily news.

So am I just a victim of a media driven society? Or have I simply been given a very convenient pillow to hide behind.

Whatever the reason, I'd like to think if I were the one being reported about, whether I be up to my ears in water, or down on my knees in grief, that my story wouldn't be glanced over because the headline didn't include a clever pun.

I might not be signing up to don a high-vis red cross jacket, but at least I can attempt to put myself in the shoes of those in need.

Because if simply caring about what's going on is one step closer to becoming a useful human being, then its a step worth taking.

Mazel tov!

I had a feeling that Friday night was going to be a good night, a good good night.

Mazel tov'ing it up on the D-Floor.

I have never enjoyed dancing. The very thought of it made me nauseous as I recounted the excruciating awkwardness of highland dancing, blue light discos, socials, school balls, raves and clubbing.

As I stood still I would observe respectable people looking, well, not-that-respectable. I thought it better to stand still, endure the abuse then go home and remind myself what real music sounded like. The more they pleaded with me to dance, the more sure I was that my 'foot tap' was a set-in-stone winner.

But as time went on something far less avoidable than clubbing or school socials came across my path - weddings dances.

I liken it to getting caught in the rain - for a while you do your best to keep dry, running for shelter, holding your bag above your head etc, until you reach a point where you simply surrender.
No running, no sheltering, at that point even your undies are wet so you might as well celebrate the feeling.

And with the monsoon of weddings, I soon got to the point of surrender. My stoic resolve to remain static was broken down one 80's track at a time.
Dancing Queen, YMCA, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Dancing on the Ceiling, Grease Lightning, each like a bullet in my non-dancing soul.

So now I am a changed man. I have forfeited my role as the lonely foot-tapper and embraced my place on the d-floor. I am no Ursher when it comes to busting a move, but I'm not far off.

All and all it's been a journey, but a worthwhile one all the same. And if all falls apart and goes astray I know that my trusted 'foot tap' dance move will never let me down.

Mazel tov!

State your name after the tone...

...followed by the hash key.
These are the last words you hear before being plunged into a world of pain.

I'm talking about conference calling, or as we in the industry call them – “concalls”.
Concalls are a form mental torture cleverly disguised as "collaboration".

The basic gist of a concall is, a group of people get on their respective phones and 'dial in' to a shared phone call and talk to one another.

The aim of the game is to talk in the most dull, monotone voice for as long as possible. Whoever gets the most air-time wins.

More often than not I take a non-speaking role in these games of endurance. My main objective for each call is not to push the agenda or chase up action points, but to stay conscious

There are a couple of reasons for this:
- Hunching over when unconscious is an OH&S nightmare.
- You need to be ready for the unexpected "line checker".

I've been caught out more than I'd like to admit. It's the moment where your concall induced slumber is abruptly interrupted by a "is that right Jiwan? What do you think?"

What ensues is a moment of pure panic, you're mind is flooded with questions like:
"why am I awake?","who said that?","where am I and why does my neck hurt?", "what the heck are we talking about?"

And after you've wiped the dribble from the corner of your mouth, you quickly realise you have two choices:

- Admit guilt and ask for them to repeat the last half hour of discussion.
- Pretend that you're still in the game, and always have been.

And because no one likes a failure, you always opt for path number two.
Here are two of my game-savers:
- "Sorry, the receptions really bad here and I only got bits of the last 5 minutes, could you repeat the question"
- "Could you rephrase the question please?"
- "Yes I agree?"

Either way, there is no avoiding the dreaded concall so I'm doing my best to keep them exciting.
Maybe I'll adopt a speaking role for my next appearance.

'New Seal'and

People are often fooled into thinking that New Zealand got its name from Mr Tasman, naming the new found land after the Dutch province of Zeeland.
Typical Dutch, and not to mention - wrong.

Far more compelling is the fact that New Zealand is named after the most frequent naturally occurring phenomenon experienced throughout the country - road works.

Coming across "New Seal" in New Zealand is just as safe as finding water in the ocean.

Actually, I think that New Zealander's build roads especially so that they can widen them later. Brilliant. How else could we ever afford to buy so many high visibility jackets for our workforce?

Sometimes you'll come across road signs telling you to slow down to 30km/h, even when there is no evidence of road works. This is no mistake. This is training.
The more experienced of us can imagine the crunch of new gravel under our tyres, visualise the grey mist and smell the tar as we pass through these training stations.

So next time you see our familiar friends in the orange waistcoats, don't be a hater. These men are on the frontline, representing a country that is defined by the newness of its tar seal.

Ode to Nokia

Old faithful. Never complains, never seeks attention, doesn't sulk when it's ignored. Just stays consistent and ready. This is an ode to the Nokia phone.

Just like the multi-lingual, sure you can become fluent in other languages, but there is always something natural about returning to your mother tounge.

And so it is with Nokia. They taught a generation the language of "mobile phone", and we will never forget it.

I know we're all fluent in iPhone and Blackberry, but put a Nokia in our hands and it's like we'd never parted ways.

- Who taught us that the letter "j" was on the "5" key? Nokia

- Who taught us how to use predictive? Nokia

- Who taught us to think in menu's? Nokia

- Who taught us to the importance of locking our keypad? Nokia.

- Who brought us snake? Nokia

I work for a large IT company who produces their own 'phones', and I have had the displeasure of using one for the last 12-18 months. For all of it's features one couldn't ignore the fact that it was absolutely gigantic. If I had been stuck at the top of a mountain range, I would have had no problems using it as a toboggan. As a result my texting had gone from lots to not lots, why? Becuase texting on this brick of a device was akin to defusing a bomb. You had to navigate through about 4 menus, then try and use the clumsy buttons, all while supporting the weight of the phone itself.

But recently something miraculous happened - something unimaginably great.

I ran over it.

Yup, I left it on the roof of my car by mistake. It fell off, and I ran over it. In fact so did everyone else who was driving behind me.

As a result, I had to get a replacement phone from work. Strewn across the desk before me were about 4 different phone options. But gleaming amongst the selection was something I simply couldn't resist.

Old faithful.

As quick as a flash, my sim card was in and my ears were treated to the beautiful melody that rings through our childhood - the Nokia tune.

It's been at least 10 minutes now, and I feel alive again.

Thank you Nokia.

Dethroned

It happened.

The cruel realities of corporate hot-desking left me out in the cold and my territory that I had lovingly created and arranged is no more. For a bit of background read: http://jiwanrai.blogspot.com/2010/02/room-with-view.html

I arrived at work today ready to take on the world, only to find boxes strewn across my desk, my screen connected to someone elses laptop and my work space overthrown.

I locked eyes with the culprit and she said "Oh sorry, I'm had to move here permanently. My stuff is everywhere sorry." She looked guilty, but deep down I knew she was loving it.
She'd played her hand and royal flushed me out of contention.

And I had, well nothing.

So the hunt resumes for the perfect office seat. All I can do is hope that the gods of Hot-desking deal me a good hand.

Re-Fail Therapy

I just spent the last 20 minutes watching people embarrass, injure and make fools out of themselves.
And whats more - I enjoyed even second of it.

What is it about human nature that takes pleasure in other peoples misfortune? In fact, sometimes when I'm feeling uninspired I'll indulge in what I like to call "re-fail therapy". Driven by the knowledge that within minutes of surfing through 100's of candid video footage I'll be in tears of laughter.
Here's one I found recently:


It's gotten so bad that I now know all most all of the fail videos on YouTube just by looking at the description. I feel like an addict.
But is it all just innocent viewing for the sake of entertainment? Or is it that we like to see other fail to make us feel better about our own life? Or something more sinister...

Either way lurking underneath all this is that undeniable feeling of fate, or often expressed as "what goes around comes around". I can't shake the feeling that the more I take pleasure in other peoples failures the more likely it is that the laws of nature will turn against me. We've all taken a tumble, we've all done mindless things, I guess the best I can do is make sure no cameras are present when it happens.

eMANticons

If you grew up in the advent of instant messaging you'll know exactly what an emoticon is. What started as a simple ":)" soon transformed into little yellow smiling faces into what are now fully moving animations. Almost every emotion can be expressed: anger, sickness, sadness, embarrassment, peacefulness, love and not to forget plain old happiness.

Now if you're an emotional type of person, emoticons are fantastic. If on the other hand you are a man then emoticons just don't cut the mustard.

In fact the use of emoticons in man-to-man communications is a huge no-no. Sending a smiley to another man is basically a public invalidation of your masculinity.

So let me introduce to you - eMANticons. Designed by men - for men.

Here are some examples you might like to use:

This is a symbol representing a flexed bicep indicating raw strength and general power.

A gun - representing a killer instinct and an ability to inflict pain.

This is a hammer, representing our ability to hit stuff and create things with ease.

This symbolises a BBQ hotplate and grill. I don't even need to explain the link there.

These are just some tasters into the world of eMANticons - the new frontier in man-to-man online communication. =()=/

Mini bus - Mega pain

After the serpent had finished convincing Eve to eat the apple, he got to work on his next evil plan - the Multi Purpose Vehicle aka. the MPV.

The MPV is to the road what seaweed is to the ocean. Sure it's designed to be there- but damn it's annoying.

You've all seen them, the big bubble like vehicles which look like vans that have been punched in the face. They go by many names - MPV's, People Movers, Mini-vans, people carriers. Call them what you will there's no escaping the fact that they are simply Not. That. Cool.

What amazes me is that they exist in a gap between some of the coolest vehicles ever,
Vans = Awesome,
Station Wagons = Super awesome.
MPV's = Neither of the previous descriptions.

So what is it about them that earns MPV's their reputation? ...I thought you'd never ask.

1) Size - They are big. Kind of like a mobile boulder. That comibined with in inexplicable ability to park in the middle of the road makes MPV's some of the best traffic flow controllers on the market.
2) Shape - MPV's are the answer to the question: How do you make a square aerodynamic? But if you've ever used a Blackberry you'll know just because something has curved edges doesn't mean it's good.
3) The Driver - I don't know how it happens, but the MPV seems to ensnare a very specific type of victim and generally speaking driving ability is not a trait shared between them. Some of the most eye watering on-road maneuvers are executed by none other than the MPV.
Heard of the 10-point turn? Invented and popularized by the MPV.

Now some families are forced to buy bigger vehicles to accommodate their multitudes of children. And when I voice my opinion I'm often asked "well, what would you do if you had 5 children?"
Firstly - I wouldn't.
Secondly - Bus passes.

Maybe as I grow older my prejudices will fade away, and I will sell my soul to the family wagon as the pressures of family life build up. But until then the MPV will remain my on-road nemesis.

Gride and Broom

Wedding speeches, an endurance sport at the best of times - unless of course it's you with the new rings on.

However, sometimes in such moments come unexpected pearls of relief. Moments that bring you back to full consciousness like a sharp slap to the face.

I was at a wedding recently slipping in and out of reality when the speaker in all his nervousness announced "gride and broom". Pow - he now had my full attention. I thought "how's he going to recover from this one..?"

Better than I could have ever imagined.

In a fluster he blurted out "Gride and Broom!" as if to resolve the situation he was now sinking deeper into. One more time "Gride and Broom!", now red faced and feeling the crowd grow restless it must have suddenly occurred that he'd mixed up the words.
So with a sense of relief he corrected himself once and for all - "broom and gride."

That was it for me. That was the final straw. With those last three words I was hurled into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Not the loud type of laughter, not in the joyful sense of laughter. More like the eyes watering, body convulsing, gasping for breath type of laughter - topped off with small high pitch squeaks.

For the remainder of the speech I was reduced to a smoldering heap of giggles and I can't remember much else from that point on unfortunately.
To finish, it has to be said that a good laugh is very therapeutic, albeit usually at the most inappropriate moments.

Fool Ain't Got No Game

How could this happen? Surely not to me?

This used to be my house, but now I don't even have rights to check the letterbox.

B-Ball. It was my game, for years in a row I dominated the courts. For 3 straight years I played everyday, I was on a one way ride to the NBA.

But I fell short. My goal was 6 foot 6, but my body had other ideas. At a whopping 5 foot 7 the old growth genes thought, lets take a breather.

As I shrunk (in relation to my friends), so to did the dreams of slam dunking. Slowly, the game I loved faded into something I played. The 3 year record - broken, I fouled out, fade away jumped into the distance.

Not long ago it all sank in. I was playing ball with a bunch of white friends and a couple of girls, not exactly a picture of fierce competition.

For a moment or two I acted casual, waiting for the moment to unleash my unmistakable game in the faces of my opponents.

But it never happened. I even missed a layup, flip.

I took a bite of humble pie, and it didn't taste good.

I feel my credibility as a low-down-bad-to-the-bone-gansta-baller is starting to slip.

Facebook Guilt

I have a mild case of Facebook guilt.
Everytime I sign in through those familiar blue and white doors I can't help but feel the weight of photos that I haven't yet uploaded, the comments I haven't made, the events I haven't RSVP'd to, the status's I haven't "liked" and worst of all the friend suggestions that I've ignored for months now!

For all my good intentions facebook is a purely selfish experience. the first thing I look for is the little red flag. A symbol signaling that my face or my words have captured the attention of millions of users around the globe. For a moment in time I am interested, clicking links with the excitement of a web developer.

However, once I've exhasted the links on my little red flag the world slows down again. I return to the Facebook trance, aimlessly looking through photos of people I haven't spoken to since I met them and reading about the breakup of relationships I didn't know existed in the first place.

According to the home page: Facebook helps you connect and share with the people in your life -here comes that guilting feeling again.

Room with a view

At work, we have a brilliant scheme called "hot desking". The theory is that workers can come into work, chose any desk they like and sit back while enjoying the sweet aroma of variety.

In practice what this means is that all the important people choose the desks near the windows arranging them in such a way that you dare not touch them. And if you do... you get asked friendly questions like, "what are you doing in my seat?" and "do you mind if I punch you?"

Predictably what's left over are the inner floor desks, often by doorways or collaboration areas, lit only by artificial rays. Perfect for the technicians who get third degree burns if exposed to sunlight.

Not long ago, our whole helpdesk services group was relocated leaving what I'd call "a window seat of opportunity".

Now that I've established myself as a resident of the window desks I'm having to devise new ways of securing my area. So far the most effective strategies have been:

- Leaving important looking documents on my desk

- leaving a named drink bottle just in front of the screen

- asking questions like "what are you doing in my seat?" and "do you mind if I punch you?"

The Caffeine Resurgence

Mid last year I went on a quest to rid myself of the effects of coffee drinking. And I succeeded.

I went cold on drinking the hot stuff and no longer was held to ransom by the 11am caffeine headache. Liberation one could only dream of.

However... once deshackled from my vice I decided that having one or two a week on a social basis wouldn't be an issue. And it wasnt, quite the opposite - it was fantastic.

As play continued, my love for the perfect brew was stoked into full flame. Now, instead of a passtime, coffee had become a persuit. I'm not usually a snob, but when you start to know what you like, often you understand what you don't like.

My eyes were opened (literally) when I paid a visit to Atomic Coffee Roasters in Kingsland and indulged in a short black (straight espresso) - possibly the most delicious coffee I've ever lived to experience.

As if guidance from above, my caffeine habbits were cemented in place when Sherie an I were gifted a small, yet overly effective coffee machine. It was like giving an 8 year-old a coke dispenser.

Needless to say my additions have settled in somewhat, and my persuit for the perfect coffee has only intensified.

Ohh, its almost 11am....

Streaming Radio

As is fast becoming apparent, any allegations of me being a geek are purely based on the fact that I'm employed by an IT company.
In real life, I'm reasonably behind the game - illustrated by the fact that I only discovered the world of online radio this week.
Smooth jazz on sky fm is my flavour of the month. Who knew that you could tune into such tasty tunes at the click of a button? Perhaps 'the rest of the educated word' would be your response, but it's been a major revelation for me.
http://www.sky.fm/smoothjazz/ - your portal to an endless elevator ride.

Might switch to the urban jamz channel soon...

Lets get it started

As a member of the wider IT community, I thought it rude not to have a blog? Now at least I have something to talk about at geek conferences and awkward client meetings with the socially inept.
I'm sure that the simple achievement of owning a blog will add credit to my CV, and push me up the ranks of the ruthless IT society hierarchy.
Now let me check my harddrive and see if there is anything worth sharing with the world...