the test of time

the interviewer asked me, 'can you describe a plan or a programme that you have put in place and executed that has added business value'. i didn't have an answer ready; none of my prepared scenarios quite fitted. plans and programmes aren't really what i do in my job. so i shoehorned something that didn't quite fit into an answer. hit the notes: what was the problem. what did you do. what was the outcome.

of course, everything can be seen as a plan if you look at it the right way. perhaps even what i am doing now.

richard bach meets ronina stevens

the outcome is unknown

renewal

i just read an article about Dorothy Stang, the campaigner against the destruction of the brasilian rainforest. she's dead, shot by a local ranch owner, who presumably wanted her out of the way so he could carry on logging.
the brasilian rainforest represents 40 percent of the world's tropical rainforest. rainforest soaks up co2 and generates one fifth of the oxygen we need to survive. it's critical to us all, but seemingly not so critical as our SUVs and burgers.

anyway, this article sent me into a daydream of depression about the end of the world. these words may have no human left to read them in a hundred years, depending on how bad global warming gets.

some people think that advanced, intelligent life has been here before on earth and died out. that even if we destroy ourselves with runaway positive-feedback global warming, eventually time passes and the environmental equilibria settle down and life begins again. a couple of million years of evolution later and with a fair wind, hey presto another advanced race ready to kill itself through its own greed all over again.

what if i wanted to send a message to this next generation? paper is no good and blogger might just have gone down the pan too.

how about cave drawings. sheltered from the weather, indelible inks on rock of ages. that's certainly one of the places i would go for. with limestone around to remove the water vapour and preserve the images.

do we ever look at these drawings for what they may be: a letter addressed to us. not by cavemen at all - but by us from last time around. saying "don't fuck up like we did".

if so we didn't get the message.

pretty vacant

man i am bored. i have been here at my parents for 2 days. I haven't been out hardly. No-one is here except me, my parents arrive back tomorrow from a short break in Wales. I have nothing to do - except prepare for an interview, something which I find both difficult and depressing. Especially depressing since I read all the questions they might ask me at the about.com behavioural interviews section :(

maybe i need the equivalent of a body double to do this interview.

turmoil

i climbed the last few rocks, the peak that had once loomed but was now almost tamed. in a few minutes i would stand and admire the vista; oxygen would fill my lungs and my brain would light up with wonder at the beauty of the scene. a peak of happiness.

an hour passed. then another. i was still climbing. tantalisingly the peak was still close. i could almost reach out and touch it. but it was no closer either; i wasn't making progress any more.

then it became cloudy and my anticipation left me. i could no longer see the way.

happiness would have to wait. i slipped - and fell into the abyss.

steaming jobbies

i've been back almost 2 weeks and its time to find a job. Depressing as this is it represents the first step to actually sleeping in my own bed. Aside from a few days here and there back at my parents place I seem to be forever sleeping in hostels, spare rooms or on sofas.

So today I went back to my old company who seem quite keen to have me back. This is pretty good but it opens up the big question: do I want to go back. They say you never should. I don't always believe what They say (my mum taught me well) but sometimes They might be right.

Something happened. I'm not superstitious but it could be An Omen. I went to chat to the guy I might replace (he's leaving) and afterwards I chatted to a couple of old friends who work on the same floor. Paul showed me a copy of The Times section 2. Front page article all about people who have taken a year off (leaving their dull jobs behind) but then come back and resumed their careers doing much the same. How hard they find it having treated themselves to an inspirational year only to find themselves back on the very treadmill that depressed them so much the first time around, but this time there's nothing to look forward to.

I wonder what to do.

a world away

i spent last weekend in Goiania. Goiania is maybe 250km from Brasilia, deep into the Brasilian interior. A different prospect then, from the beach-oriented metropolises of Rio and Salvador.

I was there to see a friend. Melissa is from Goiania but lives in London. She is home for 3 months on holiday. So I stayed with her at her aunt and uncle's place. It was a difficult weekend, but in many ways an amazing experience. Amazing because not many tourists get to spend 3 days living amongst real brasilians in their real homes as they live their everyday lives. Difficult because of my lack of portuguese, and their lack of English. Unsurprisingly Melissa was reluctant to be my permanent translator.

Mostly though the undercurrents made it difficult. Last summer, Melissa and I were seeing each other on a fairly casual basis. We agreed we were to be just friends before I went away to Europe in September. But even allowing for this, on the first day I arrived she seemed very distant and by the end of the evening I asked her what was wrong. She told me that her ex had been calling her and she had been put in a spin by his calls. That I reminded her too much of him. I remember thinking this was a strange thing, but then she showed me his photo. Suddenly a lot of things made sense, and I realised that I had perhaps always been a substitute. Not good.

For a good day I was wishing she had told me before, I could have stayed away and let her be. As it was we had to get through the weekend. Not easy, as she was aloof, and noone else spoke english. We ended up treating each other with kid gloves. Melissa immersed herself in her friends, leaving me to attempt to communicate with them in sign language and broken portuguese. I spoke to them more than her in the next few days. By the end of the weekend we seemed far apart, maybe both secretly glad I was going. I know I was. Being friends with someone who sees in your face memories that cause her pain is impossible.

But now I look back I am happy to have been there. Goiania is one half of the real brasil. It is not the tourist charm of Rio and being inland it is not the other half of real brasil that lives on the coast. It is something not many tourist will ever see much less do so in immersed in the company of locals. I met some cool people, I saw a new world and the people embraced me more than I could have hoped. I had a moment of smugness as we walked away from the local football stadium with Melissa and her extended family having watched her cousin Marcelo ply his trade as a professional footballer. Standing waiting for their guide was a small group of travelling westerners. In the group of brasilians, I stood out like a sore thumb. But it reminded me that they were still on the other side of the fence and I was privileged. A 3 day safari into real brasil.

the pendulum swings

it's strange, the things I am ready for now. I am in a kind of wind-down, aware that it is my last few days here. Honestly I am ready to go home. I seem to fill the days doing nothing right now. A bit of shopping here, a haircut there and an internet cafe here there and everywhere :)

And there are some strange things I find myself looking fondly on, looking forward to even. Including:

• The Cold (more specifically Lack of Humid Heat)


• Snow (but not Rain - far too much of that here in Rio)


• a shower with Hot Water


• a bedroom with air that doesnt smell like Old Socks


• possibility of Wearing a Watch without needing to move to DefCon 1


• No girls who really shouldn't do wearing mini bikinis


• No guys wearing Micro Swimming Shorts

might think of some more later :)

max gets mad

well i thought about it i have to admit. sending a crapload of abuse to max that is. after all, I think he's bogus - probably buenos aires mafia - and so a fair enough target for a bit of venting to redress last week's unpleasantries.

but in the end restraint won, I decided that if I pissed max off too badly then he might do something vindictive like hunt everybody down in my contacts list and kill them one by one (just kidding people:) ). Well, he is Mad after all.

so when my evil twin Cho idly wondered aloud how honest Max was being, it was pretty much as pointed as I was going to get. there just wasn't any benefit to getting him really pissed off. but make him just a little pissed off? hell yeah, why not have some fun :)

No one likes being having their honesty questioned, I figured, even implicitly or rhetorically. I was right:
"Don't call me Liar," ranted Max (ignoring the fact that I hadn't... ish :) ), "So don't give your opinion. When i try to help you make fool of me. Thank you verry much."

So farewell Money-Mad Max of the (b.a.) Mafia. I am afraid that a US $150 premium on top of the resale value of a used phone is just a little too much to pay for a few phone numbers. Being fucked over once was enough thank you.

the samaritan part 2

so i got a reply to the email I sent the nice (but apparently mad) Mr. Max from my newly opened gmail account. I didn't tell Mr Max that I was me, instead the account is in the name of my good friend Cho, who of course does not exist. Cho is handling things on my behalf as I am in Brasil and currently not in contact. Cho also writes emails in quite bad english so Mr Max should feel right at home talking to him :D

Anyway, the nice mr max doesnt seem too charitable:

I'm not greedy person but... I paid U$D370 for it. If he wont i can sell it for the same price. If not. Tell me how much does SIM card cost for him.
Cya.

er. right. ok, well that seems quite expensive. particular since if I look at the 'buy it now' prices for a used P800 on (US) eBay, the average seems to be about USD 220. So maybe i'll let mr max know that he has been ripped off :) nobody likes to be made out to be gullible; some minor provocation might yield interesting results

update: I'll give max some credit. He might be Mad but he's quick to reply. I've decided to append his latest response as an edit to this post to prevent blogclutter :)

What matter is not Phone or SIM card. What matters is the Contact's. Also U can buy it for 200$ in ebay but here in Argentina we haven't similar prices.
Argentina is not as Good as England in technology. Maybe u can send me one of those next time? :)
Just have a look http://www.mercadolibre.com.ar/jm/item?site=MLA&id=15674427 (this phone isn't new).
Well. Let him talk with me. Sure we can agree on something. If not, have nice day.

It's clear: he wants me to want the contact list. I have a backup of those on my PC at home, so I'm not fussed. And even if I was fussed the little shit can fuck off :)