Archive for February, 2009

  • 27 Feb

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    Another scam in the making

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    For those of you who have suffered through this blog for a while, you would have recollected a brief segment I did on the imprecision of temperature sensors supposedly touting global warming but, in fact, situated in areas of artificially high temperature. (If that makes utterly no sense to you, the blog I’m referring to, from November last year, is here, Example Three.)

    Well, a panel of Japanese scientists have pored over the climate change data and, in a report that will — in all probability — never see the light of day in English, have come to a variety of conclusions, of which the following are just two:

    * The global mean temperature rose continuously from 1800-1850, even though the sudden increase in CO2 emissions only began occurring after 1946.

    * The global mean temperature has plateaued since 2001, despite increasing CO2 emissions.

    Just those two facts, by themselves, should be enough to halt the global warming train. As the Japanese put it (via The Register):

    the IPCC’s (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) theory that atmospheric temperature has risen since 2000 in correspondence with CO2 is nothing but a[n] hypothesis.

    The Japanese are of the opinion that the temperature fluctuations we’ve seen are connected to sunspot activity, although they’re not completely sure, for reasons that will become evident anon. From satellite findings in 1980, it has emerged that times of no sunspots produces more transported energy and light emissions from the Sun than times of many sunspots. More transported energy, in this case, means more heat, although the scientists are also quick to point out that there is no perfect correlation between lack of sunspots and higher temperatures. What they are asking for, however, is a complete revamp of the climate change model to take into account the “enormous sum of energy” that even a 0.5% variance in transported energy from the Sun can make to the Earth. They also note that sunspot activity affects the level of UV rays, our ionosphere and ozone layer and are asking for more research into this area. Sounds reasonable to me. As they put it:

    When constructing models, if our scientific understanding is poor, we are not able to capture the model.

    Sounds like basic common sense, doesn’t it? Here’s the thing. Not only have we failed to take into account fluctuations in the Sun’s energy and its effect on the Earth (obvious, when one thinks about it), the IPCC climate change model also neglects the effects of aerosols on climate systems, the mechanics of cosmic ray ionisation processes, and the lack of true analysis of systems feedback data.

    So, you’re saying, if you agree with this, Kaz, where’s the scam? Well, first, it’s in the Western nations now blaming the developing nations for all its global ills. (Remember Ben Bernake blaming us for the financial meltdown? Pure ballsy gold, that statement. Also a blatant lie, but let’s not let truth get in the way of a damned good excuse.)

    Secondly: global warming is good for the corporations. For one thing, it’s yet another way they can manipulate consumers and pull a “bait and switch” at the same time. Oh look, my company GrCo (Green Company) is soooooo much more environmentally friendly than that other mob. And while gullible consumers are trampling a path to GrCo’s  door, the fact that GrCo is literally killing people by dumping toxic sludge into a river in the Amazon basin is passing everybody by.

    Thirdly, the preferred way to tackle climate change is through the “cap and trade” method of tradeable concessions, rather than the more straightforward strategy of straight out carbon cuts. Why the preference? Well, as Matt Stoller points out:

    By creating tradable financial assets worth tens of billions of dollars for governments to distribute among their industries and plants and then monitor, a global cap-and-trade program also introduces powerful incentives to cheat by corrupt and radical governments. Corrupt governments will almost certainly distribute permits in ways that favor their business supporters and understate their actual energy use and emissions.

    Of course, Matt mentions “corrupt” governments, but I think we’re pretty clear on which governments are in the pockets of industry, which is what we’re really talking about here.

    Global warming, as it’s being portrayed now, plays straight to the unthinking consumer, of which there are too many to contemplate without wanting to slit your wrists. It pats on the head all those little, lazy, PC do-gooders like “Mark” who, according to Anna Shapiro said:

    “What a relief …. Finally, I can stop arguing in my head with all these conservatives, trying to sway faith with reason, you know? …. Obama’s much smarter than I am. I’ve handed it off to him. [my emphasis]“

    What a lovely attitude to have. Democracy? Nah, we don’t have to fight for it, watch it, know that its price is eternal vigilance and constant criticism. No, if someone who even looks a quarter-decent comes along, I’ll just hand the entire responsibility over to him. Likewise, global warming? Nah, we don’t have to think about it, try to understand it, read up on it more. So what if the effects will last multiple generations? What this mob say (the IPCC) sound okay, and those pictures of penguins are heart-breaking, so I’ll go with them.

    You know what first tipped me off to the fact that some players (corporations and Western nations) are going to make huge financial, economic and political gains out of climate change? Al Gore. On the one hand, you have his Inconvenient Truth documentary (his words). But, on the other, you have his unbelievable annual electricity bill and the fact that, when he was Vice-President for Clinton, he vehemently opposed the Kyoto Protocol and advised the President to do the same (his actions). That’s why the US never signed Kyoto. It was because of Gore.

    Right now, in the IT field, I can already see a huge PR war beginning over which company is “greener”. They’re not doing it for the environment. They’re doing it purely because it’s another weapon in their competition arsenal. They’re doing it for profit. That’s what capitalism is all about and that’s what you should be thinking about every time you’re confronted by dogma. Who profits?

    We’re — well, you’re — being scared into taking for granted something that has not been fully vindicated. It’s a big responsibility (and takes a lot of time) to go wading through the facts and come up with your own independent opinion. What a pity most people aren’t going to bother. After all, it’s only the future economic and political landscape of our planet that’s at stake. We can leave it to the big guys, right? I mean, they did such a good job on finance, what the hell’s there to worry about?

    For anyone interested, the Reg’s article is here.

  • 24 Feb

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    A migrant’s experience: the home country

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    Having covered the trials and tribulations awaiting the migrant in a strange land (see A migrant’s experience: the foreign country), I have to tell you that the picture doesn’t get any rosier when you visit the home country on vacation. This is most probably what you’ll face/hear, in no particular order:

    * Emotional speeches on how much more advanced the home country is in terms of [telecommunications/facilities/food choices] than either it was before, or how it is in your new country. You just didn’t have the fortitude to stick it out, like everyone else did. (i.e. you are stupid)

    * Stories of some neighbour who is now richer than Croesus, and all because s/he stayed in the home country, which is what you should’ve done and you’d be as rich as hell too. (i.e. you are stupid)

    * The inability to listen to even a single less than flattering story of your adopted home without launching into tirades of “You see, I told you that country was useless! And you wasted so much of your live moving there! What a waste!” (i.e. you are stupid … starting to see a trend?)

    * Pleas for a “temporary” (usually a decade, give or take a couple of months) home for some second cousin’s niece’s brother-in-law’s daughter who’s always wanted to visit and study in your country … and could you visit the local university, get the forms, fill them out and apply on her behalf while you’re there? (you are a complete idiot)

    * Being accosted by relatives you didn’t even know existed, all clamouring for presents from your adopted home, because everybody knows that the streets are paved with gold there and you’re making a mint just by breathing. (i.e. you are stupid … but you’re rich) Oh, and then getting upset because every goddamn thing is made in China nowadays, and you can never remember to take those little gold stickers off every present you buy. (you are stupid … you are rich … but you are also stingy)

    * The constant chivving from a relative that your home country “needs people like you”, that you’re “turning your back on your country” and “when are you moving back”? (i.e. you are smart … but you are really stupid)

    Then you inevitably come across those superior souls who maintain quite steadfastly (as if it was a badge of honour) that they’ve never been out of the country in their lives and don’t even own a passport! It’s a kind of inverted snobbery. While I think they are nothing more than narrow-minded, ignorant boobs, they think that I’m just a prostitute, scrabbling in the dust for whatever The Mistress (my adopted home) deigns to throw me. It’s inevitable that you meet at least several of this type of person during your holiday. They use their lack of knowledge of the vastness of human experience to somehow condemn you because you had the temerity to chase after something better. Whether it was actually better or not may be a moot point, but they feel an overwhelming need to show you that they are self-sufficient, whereas you are … perennially dissatisifed, is one conclusion I’ve been told. (I’ve noticed that, no matter which country — adopted or home — you’re in, that somehow doesn’t stop people from insulting you quite casually, almost in a friendly fashion, to your face. This is where a writer’s thick skin comes in handy, although patience does wear thin from time to time.)

    Interestingly, these people sans passports seem to fall into two extremes. Either they are dirt-poor, know it, and are working hard trying to rationalise it. Or, they’ve had the world handed to them on a silver platter and are too conceited to realise it. They consider a broken fingernail to be a major disaster and are genuinely perplexed, and more than a little upset, when their superior social standing/family connections/family money (read, lack of real-world knowledge) are pointed out.

    Meanwhile, you’re lapping up the smells of a place that kick something in your child’s brain that only brings back the happy memories and very few of the sad. You visit old haunts, imagine yourself sipping a beverage at your favourite watering-hole, and generally get all misty-eyed. Nobody calls you names, makes fun of your accent, or accuses you of bringing your adopted home to its knees. Your children, cossetted by aunties who coo over them and stroke their hair, want to stay “forever and ever” and you’re torn by doubts as to whether you did the right thing in the first place by moving, and beseech your partner to reassure you that you did.

    So, the next time your migrant (as opposed to transient worker) colleague goes back to the “home country” for a vacation, feel sorry for him/her. Whether here or there, it isn’t easy.

    POSTSCRIPT: I’ll be trying to do the website upgrade that I promised over the Christmas/New Year period and never got around to, so if my actual website (as opposed to this blog) looks a little wonky over the next few days, please forgive me. I’ll try to get it back up and running as soon as possible.

  • 20 Feb

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    What’s with the name-dropping?

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    Fact Number One: With the number of rejection slips I’ve received from them, there’s no way I will ever be writing for Harlequin. I have a special respect for the writers who do, however, because they can do something (write focused prose to tight, focused guidelines) that I obviously can’t. More props to them.

    Fact Number Two: I love Harlequins the way a Malaysian loves satay. That is to say, a lot. Fictionwise has made much, much money from me over the past few years because of this habit.

    So, okay, now that I’ve established where I’m coming from, here’s the question. What’s with the damned name-dropping in all the Moderns (or Presents, depending on where you are) recently? (That’s mostly what I read, so I’ll stick to that.) Armani suits? Okay. Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choo? Slight eye-roll, but Jimmy Choo is Malaysian, so I’ll let that one slide. Porsche? Mmm, alpha male, so okay. But it’s really starting to get weird when I read about the Veuve Clicquot champagne that one character keeps drinking and the 911 GT2 that he’s driving. Or the Mercedes Benz CL-Class Coupe. Or the Tiffany diamond Century cuff links in 18k white gold accented with small round brilliants that he wears. And no, I don’t think I’m exaggerating too much with that last one. I know the heroes are usually rich beyond reason, and the heroines are usually poor to equal measure, but do I really want to know the actual model number of the car they drive? The actual brand name of the whisky they drink? (American writers, please note that there’s a difference between “whisky” and “whiskey”. They’re two different drinks. Says the woman who considers alcohol one of the major food groups.)

    Is this a new move on Harlequin’s part? Do they get some extra moolah if an author does the equivalent of a written product placement? If so, Apple and Audi really need to get a wriggle on, because they’re missing the boat big time!

    See, here’s the thing. Harlequin Moderns, as one astute reader once put it, are the equivalent of fairy-tales. Billionaires aren’t all tall, gorgeous, ripped and ethical. Oh my, a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge suspension of disbelief required for that last one. (My hobby is world economics, remember?) So, by picking up a Modern, I’ve already put myself in a Special Place, where the rules of the normal world don’t apply. And when I’m in that Special Place, I really really don’t want to read any product placement ads. Really. It’s enough to say Porsche. Or Mercedes. Or single-malt. And that’s because I have this thing called an imagination. I really don’t need to know that the Porsche GT2 can reach 100mph in 7.4s. Or that the necklace design was copyrighted by Elsa Peretti. I can imagine that any car the hero drives would go extra fast and carrom around the laws of physics, or that the necklace the heroine is given has been designed by someone so gifted, she may be the illegitimate offpsring of dextrous angels. I get that. So lay off the name-dropping already, Harlequin, okay? It’s really getting on my nerves.

  • 17 Feb

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    A migrant’s experience: the foreign country

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    It seems that migrant is a dirty word, that somehow conjures up images of tattered brown suitcases, ill-fitting suits and long lines of haggard people, with dead eyes, slowly shuffling forward in queues that snake away almost eternally from grim-faced officers at a country’s border. And that’s just the positive image. ::rimshot:: So, I think I’ll state, just for the record, that I’m a migrant. In fact, I’ve been a migrant to several countries with, no doubt, a couple more to go before I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. If I’m honest, I should probably put that down as one of my careers: Professional Migrant.

    In a way, I like being a migrant. It enables me to immerse myself in a different culture in a way that goes beyond books, travel guides or a two-week vacation. It gives me a personal connection to the people and society of another place, and that, in turn, enables me to colour information I read with my own experiences. It constantly teaches me that there are more things that bind us together than separate us as human beings. It also gives me, I feel, some standing when I try to answer the opinions normally associated with migrants.

    For a start, it’s an expensive thing to migrate. Even for those subsidised programs that used to exist decades ago (Australia’s Ten-pound Poms come to mind), there was a price to pay. If not in money, then certainly in the stress associated with the physical displacement from one part of the world to another, and the mental preparation in tearing yourself away from one set of friends to a terrible strangeness in a totally different country. You worry about your belongings, your transport, your children, your pets. You worry about the exit procedure in Country A and the entry procedure in Country B. Is your paperwork sufficient? Does the visa look clear enough? Will there be someone available to help you, as promised?

    The couple of weeks before your move are the worst. A strange mix of fear and excitement grips you. It’s too late to do anything; everything has already been committed. Your household goods are in a container ship probably cruising the Persian Gulf or Malacca Straits at that very moment and you just hope the ship isn’t caught in a freak storm and sunk, taken over by the rash of pirates that seem to be sailing the seas at the moment, or that some errant missile isn’t about to blow all your tangible memories to smithereens. You also cast your mind over your present environment. Have you been everywhere you wanted to go? Did you see everything you wanted? Get everything you wanted? You’re not sure when you’ll be back again, so it’s important to get some sense of closure.

    Commitment. Contrary to what some people may think, you can’t be a commitment-phobe if you’re a migrant, because migrating is all about committing. Committing your family to a new life, committing yourself to financial obligations the moment you step on foreign soil … accommodation, phone, electricity, schools, water, vehicle, insurance. The list is almost interminable and everything, it seems, must be done before the chill of the airplane cargo hold has even left the contents of your suitcase.

    So why do people do it? Why do we do it? The reasons I seem to be reading about in the news recently are a bit strange, and seem not at all truthful to me.

    * To commit crime. Yes, of course this makes sense. Because it’s easier to commit a crime in a country you don’t know like the back of the hand, to one where you do. Because, as a migrant, you stick out like a sore thumb — you don’t belong anywhere, and it shows — so of course that’s the best camouflage for the execution of some violent murderous misdeed. You can just imagine families spending thousands of dollars or their life savings so they can get to another country and, er, hold up a bank? Yep, makes perfect sense.

    * To reduce the racial purity of your new country. Again, there’s nothing like spending your life savings just so you can use your family to prove some kind of obscure ethnic fecundity point. Who cares about UN statistics? Let’s show ‘em personally how fast my wife can pop ‘em out. Yes, I can see how that’s the major priority for migrants. Sorry I hadn’t seen it before, to be honest.

    * To take jobs away from the natives. Ah, this one hits particulary hard as both J and I have been accused of that. To our faces. Although our accusers will not believe us, I’m sorry to say that I did NOT sit down at my desk thinking, okay, I want to move to Utopia because their unemployment rate is only 2% and what the bastards really need is me there so I can shove more Utopians out of jobs and personally help increase the unemployment rate.

    * To form ghettoes. Take it from me, with this particular argument, you can’t win, especially if you have a different coloured skin to the majority population. If you stay with people of your own ethnicity, then you’re accused of forming a ghetto. But, if you try to assimilate fully into society, then … well, you get what J got, five years ago. As he visited the house where we were going to live in Melbourne (Australia), a neighbour came out and started talking to him. He seemed pleasant enough. At the end of the conversation, he told my husband, “I’m glad I had a chance to meet you in person. You see, a rumour was travelling around that there were Asians moving into the suburb.”

    After being told about the “village-like” atmosphere of the suburb (one of the eastern ones past Doncaster) and its “community spirit” by sundry people (teachers, real estate agents, shopkeepers), we were completely ostracised by the inhabitants. Other newcomers were invited to the tennis club, or to barbecues at the neighbour’s. Not us. And, looking at myself in the mirror, it was obvious why. But if we had moved to an “Asian” suburb, then we would have been joining an “Asian ghetto”, and been condemned by those same Australians for it. Lose-lose; not one of my favoured options.

    So why do people migrate to other countries? Four words and four words only. For A Better Life. That’s it. A better life for us and our family. Migrants are not lazy; we are some of the most committed and hardworking people you’ll find in any community. Migrants are not stealing economic success of a country; we contribute to it several times over, as many studies have proven. We weren’t born into your country, an accident of birth. We chose it through conscious choice, because there was something about your country that was wonderful and promising and worth every bit of money and stress for us to get to. But that’s a point that certain groups of people just refuse to get.

    POSTSCRIPT: Interestingly, when you say “migrant” (or “foreign worker”), a brown skin usually springs to mind. This is because our pale-skinned bretheren (and I’m using that term in a gender-neutral sense) don’t “migrate”. They either “relocate” or “move to” a particular country, or are “expats”. The Singhs “migrated” to Australia, for example, whereas the Thompsons “moved to” France. Interesting distinction, isn’t it?

  • 14 Feb

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    Catch me on radio!

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    Sorry for the delay in blogging. Yesterday was a hectic day for reasons I won’t go into. But the news for today is that I’ll be on radio! Well, web radio.

    Total-E-Bound begins its first foray into radio at the Blog Talk Radio site today! Tune in to the inaugural show on Saturday, 14th February at 2:00pm GMT / 9:00am EST to catch publisher, Claire, introduce you to Total-E-Talk (as our “station” is being called) and current hosts, which include Dakota Rebel, ChaCha Tuloose & Cuddles Gaylord, Jo Oh!, and yours truly.

    To get to the site, you can either go here or click on the graphic below:

    Total-E-Talk logo

    And it’s interactive (unlike my podcast!). You can either dial-in during the show with questions or, if you have a headset you can plug into your PC, you can just hit the “Click to Talk” button at the site to connect to the switchboard. If you still like doing things the old-fashioned way, the number to dial is +1 (718) 506-1696 but, be aware, that charges (US domestic or international) may apply, so go easy on that option.

    The first show is only for 30 minutes so, if you have nothing else to do, tune on in! We’d love to hear from you!

  • 10 Feb

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    A little silver lining

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    Warning: gloat alert!

    The world is all atwitter with this current economic crisis, from Roubini to Summers, and I’ve been reading it all with a bit of a smile on my face. Yes, we were hit too, but not as badly as some. The power of planning.

    What’s amusing to me, though, is how the strident rationalisations ring out. Some schmuck academic who obviously earns more than his IQ can handle at Counterpunch wants to tell me how hard done by, how “wounded”, he was by his association with Madoff. No sympathy here. Bankers say it’s not all their fault, where was the government and its regulations? Well, considering you were instrumental in dismantling the Glass-Steagall Act during Clinton’s tenure as Prez, guys, I’d say pretty much where you wanted it to be. In the toilet.

    And financial high-flyers are committing suicide left, right and centre and, you know what, I think it’s too good for them. Typical of them to lord it over everybody when times were good (these people are insufferable at social events) and then take the easy way out — leaving their families and companies high and dry — when times are bad.

    The big investment banks ran the whole MBS/CDO/over-leveraged assets fiasco like a boys’ club. After all, there was never any due process involved. It was just one old white guy talking to another old white guy. (I presume Vikram S. Pandit, CEO of Citigroup, got a “Pass” card.)

    China and the United States are now stuck in a deadly embrace that will destroy both their economies if either tries to pull out of the diabolical relationship. (Insert “coitus interruptus” joke of choice here.) It’s not a victory in the classic leftist sense, but you gotta grab what little joys you can from life.

    There are still unanswered questions about how Europe’s banks got hit so hard by Mad Madoff, while the US ones escaped unscathed (suffering mortal wounds from other instances of “friendly fire”). And I would suggest Ben Bernake should be flogged for his comment that the meltdown is all the fault of “developing countries”, but he’d probably enjoy it too much.

    So where’s the silver lining, you ask? It’s there for everyone else. For a change. All the other little countries who were “developing” rather than “developed”, as Ben would like to say, who were considered too immature a market to be let in on the “big boy” deals. It’s for the countries who managed to resist the seductive come-hithers of the investment banks, and were too small for the Fed to bother with. Now is our/their time to shine.

    I know a lot of you haven’t been following this whole fracas closely, so please forgive me for the boring economic news, but I find this terribly interesting, as well as being — in the long-term — potentially wonderful.

    Here’s how I see it. This depression, too, will pass. And what’s after that? Well, what’s after that (I’m hoping) is a world that belongs to the “developing” nations that the West so often sneers at. My feeling is that where you have: (a) a good manufacturing base, (b) a diversity of resources, and (c) a fiscally conservative central bank ruling the roost, a standout recovery is inevitable. Here is also where I must disagree with Nouriel Roubini, someone I have utter respect for, when he looks askance at the banks of Central Europe (although I agree with him that the countries of Eastern Europe — such as Estonia, once the poster-child of neoliberalist thinking, and Latvia — are now rock bottom). I think he’s being taken for a ride by analyst reports from Western banks that would like every other financial institution in the world to be in the same hole they’re in. The point is, Central European banks have been notoriously conservative with regards to their investment and lending policies (I’ve been telling J that for well on 10 years now), and I think they’ll bounce back in no time. There may be a few tatters around the edges, inevitable in this day of international financial coupling, but the fundamentals are strong. Or, at least, I believe them to be.

    This is a golden opportunity for the smaller nations of the world to resist the blandishments of those who would ultimately do them harm(*), and stand strong. All they have to lose is their future prosperity.

    (*) I think Jeffrey Sachs should be tried for economic crimes against humanity myself. And then we can start on the Chicago School of Economics, and move swiftly onto the IMF (issuing bonds, but with no financial problems? Really, IMF?) and the World Bank.

  • 06 Feb

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    Too good to save for Tuesday!

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    The delightfully monikered Leo Apotheker, co-CEO of SAP, has come out with all guns a’blazing during a recent “conversation” with bloggers about the company. (For the full article, go to this ZDNet blog.)

    In response to some questions about the often tense relationship between SAP (the vendor), the SI (System Integrator, or consultants) and the goat (er, customer), Apotheker (did he change his name to this, because it’s absolutely wonderful. I might have a character called Apotheker in one of my stories) pulled no punches about how SAP wants to stop being blamed for failed implementations:

    I don’t give a shit if it’s Accenture or IBM … I find it shocking people are walking around talking to customers and have no experience on [SAP]. [Consultants] get hired of people [a sic, but I'm not quite sure where to put it! --ed] and have no clue.

    Okay. I really feel for Leo (do you think his name came from apothecary? Must do. How intriguing), I do. System Integrators are the bane of any vendor’s existence. They charge obscene amounts of money, far in excess of the base software, in order to essentially create and then mismanage the jigsaw pieces of putting a working system together to the goat’s customer’s satisfaction. If things go belly-up (more times than not), the product (whether SAP or its major rival, Oracle, SAS, or Cisco, Alcatel, XXXtech, or somesuch) get blamed, instead of the barely-trained consultants. It’s a dreadful situation and, considering both J and I have been in those situations more times than we’d like to admit, I sympathise completely.

    However, Leo ole pal (maybe it was his mother’s name and it was just so awesome that he had to adopt it for himself?), perhaps going head to head with some of the most political, money-grubbing, loathsome, political, mercenary, blame-shifting, political, scope-creeping, PowerPoint-heavy, political, socially-networked, political (are you getting the picture yet?) bastards in the industry of IT is, um, not the best way to go about things. Especially when you add the equivalent of a barrel full of unstable plutonium to the mix:

    If we believe [a project] takes 500 days and another partner [read, consultant company with the abovementioned characteristics --ed] says it’s 5,000 days I’ll do it for 500 and a fixed fee.

    I snorted a very nice vanilla latte out of my nose when I read that one, and — hours later — I can still barely hold back the mirth. With a dick that big, Leo’s (and it’s such a rhythmic name isn’t it? Just flows off the tongue in four, nicely-constructed syllables … a-poth-e-ker. Lovely, just lovely) wife must be well satisfied but, as far as clear business analysis is concerned, he’s still thinking with the smaller head, if you get my meaning.

    Leo (if I was your daughter, I’d keep the name, just for the techno-mellifluous sound of it. Just saying), I may only be a burnt out IT manager of impeccable pedigree and dubious career judgement but, if I may….

    The SI companies are a necessary evil in the industry and you do NOT add to your bottom line by threatening them with being cut off from the goat gravy train. That only makes them angry. And you wouldn’t like them when they’re angry. Putting aside the number of SAP implementations that you would need to support, and that pesky but unfortunately legally-binding wording in the contracts, how exactly would you kick out an Accenture or IBM and take over?

    A much better strategy, Leo (alternatively, you could adopt me and I would be happy to change my name. Just saying), would have been to keep your mouth shut, do what that loathsome creature Fiorina (just because she was the spawn of Satan didn’t mean she didn’t have one or two good ideas) was planning, buy a promising consultancy firm and then ramp it up as a “SAP specialist” SI partner yourself. You could have used all the approved buzz-phrases such as “reaching out to the customer”, “deep experience in implementations”, “unique understanding of customer needs”, “partnerships born of respect and technical expertise”, “unparalleled return on investment”, etc. etc. and, in the end, beaten the consultants at their own game.

    Instead, all you’ve done with your supposed testy and hard-hitting remarks is put the shysters on notice, with the possible consequence of funnelling more revenue into your competitors’ pockets. You’ll be off that PowerPoint “Best Fit Vendors” presentation slide faster than a Hewlett-Packard representative booted out of a Polish government livestock management meeting (that sound you heard, HP, was more than USD50million going down the gurgler due to your own bungling). And with SAP’s well-entrenched reputation as bloated, slow and damned expensive, off that slide, Leo (votre nom c’est très magnifique, mon bonbon au chocolat blanc … he also speaks French, you see, and I’m writing to impress), is not where you want to be.

    STOCK RECOMMENDATION ON SAP: Sell. Once you’ve done that, sit back, get some popcorn and enjoy the show.

    POSTSCRIPT: Leo may just end up being the gift that keeps on giving for 2009. I went to his official bio on the SAP site and read the following pearl (and this is in the official company bio, mind):

    However, his initial attempts at programming soon helped him identify his true talent and strengths: working with customers rather than in development.

    ROFL! This is another way of saying: “His team leader/project manager sacked him immediately because he was utterly, technically and, in every way, useless at stringing two bits of code together.” Maybe his “attempts at programming” failed because the dude only holds a degree in International Relations & Economics. Wonder if anyone ever pointed that out to him? “Er, Leo — love your name by the way, very memorable — maybe you should actually learn about programming first before trying to do some? Just saying.” Priceless.

  • 06 Feb

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    Category

    The white glove treatment

    2

    We’ve been in a bit of a social whirl recently. It’s easy in a country like Malaysia where most people you deal with end up being friends, and invitations to lunch or dinner are dropped frequently yet sincerely.

    We had one such bash a couple of weekends ago. And, while talking to our friend a few days later, he mentioned that his wife mentioned –

    That she liked our house? That the kids were well-behaved? That our cats are gorgeous?

    – that we really need someone to clean the place.

    Oops! And this, after J and I spent hours vacuuming and tidying up. Obviously, dear reader, our efforts just Weren’t Good Enough. (And actually, by Malaysian standards, they weren’t.)

    I took no insult from our friend’s comment. But J and I were somewhat embarrassed. Later, we spoke about it between ourselves.

    As far as work and suchlike goes, we are actually pretty busy people, with lots of things on the go. Add two kids coming to terms with a tough schooling system, additional tuition twice a week, supervision of homework and random quizzes, grocery shopping, etc., and our lives are a bit hectic. Certainly busier than we’d been expecting even six months ago. Compounding this is the fact that we don’t like the concept of servants and, thus, don’t have any kind of domestic help. And I mean, aren’t there more important things to do than vacuuming the house?

    However, while we look around and notice that the bookshelves contain tomes that have been correctly alphabetised (yaay!), visitors notice — ahem! — the cat hair from our two furballs at the bottom of the scratch post and the fact that we may not have mopped the downstairs floors for ::koff::koff:: a couple of ::koff::koff:: months. (I mean, the floors been vacuumed and swept. Just not mopped. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

    According to our real estate agent, our house should have a cadre of three servants to maintain it. Without these people … well, you can just imagine, can’t you? I’d like to think that we project an air of bookishness that teeters on the precipice of gentle decay without actually sliding down that steep slope, but I’m afraid to the rest of the locals we’re just plain slovenly.

    Meanwhile, our friend’s wife volunteered herself and her daughter as helpers to come over on the weekend and clean up the house for us. We were aghast. How could we possibly do that to friends when we don’t even demand it of people we’d pay? After much firm and repeated insistence, we turned them down.

    What is it that makes some homes shine, and others, er, reflect more dully? (Is that a dust bunny in your eye, or are you just glad to see me?) In my parents’ house, you could eat off the damn carpet it was so clean but, then again, my mother neither worked nor read nor had a hobby of any sort other than watching the afternoon soaps and telling me how true to life they were. But, by God, the house veritably sparkled.

    Maybe I’ve veered too much the other way as a strong, subconscious urge to differentiate myself from my parent — pulling a previously fastidious J down into the abyss with me. Maybe it’s because housework bores the hell out of me. Maybe it’s because I think I have better things to do with my time then collect, and then clean on a daily basis, inane little statued dust-collectors of various hues. (Except for the model of the Enterprise E that sits on top of my computer. That’s a critical part of the household and stays, okay?)

    The concept of being house-proud is a serious one in this part of the world. Having unmopped floors and dusty tabletops is seen as an indicator of a careless and primitive persona. You don’t ever want to have the appellation of “dirty” appended to you; it’s akin to being called a serial killer. Actually, in a way it’s worse. The statement “He may have killed four people, but his house was spotless” indicates to the locals some silver lining of virtue amidst a cloud of dastardry. However, say to someone, “Not only did he kill those people, but his house was very dirty”, and you’ve just condemned him, his wife, their parents, their brothers and sisters and his grown-up children to the fires of iniquity, with sage agreements on how being unable to keep a clean floor led inexorably to the murder of four poor innocents.

    So I suppose, bearing this in mind, the time has come for me to get over my little intellectual rationalisations and for J and I to come up with a plan. One we can stick to this time. Ugh! But even just thinking of putting together a regimen of cleaning is exhausting me. I fear we’re doomed. All I can say is, if you ever read about me in headline news, you’ll know where it all started. The unmopped floor.

  • 03 Feb

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    Category

    On job cuts, IT, and loving it

    1

    A couple of blogs on things tech-related, because that’s just how the past few weeks have panned out.

    I’ve been reading about the large redundancies in the IT industry — thousands at a time from both hardware and software companies (20,000 from NEC ::goggle::) — and my heartfelt sympathies go out to all those affected. The boom-bust cycle in IT, that once used to be measured in several years, seems to be contracting so that every few months one hears about various “restructures”. And now, with the current economic crisis, the situation has worsened drastically.

    The IT industry is already one of low morale, as any 15+ year veteran can attest. Back in the 1980s, being in IT was something precious and praised. You slogged for several years, burnt the midnight oil trying to coax an aging PDP-11 to compile your code, winced while various print and compile cycles chewed through the CPU “allowance” that lecturers assigned you, and felt completely and utterly filled with pride when you finally landed a programming job somewhere. Bonus points if it was actually in the city you lived in. Now, anybody can complete an 8-week Java course and say they’re a “Developer”. Give them 3 months on the job and they turn into “Senior Developers”. When you put that together with the travesty that is outsourcing, there’s just nowhere for any of the old guard to go.

    A couple of weeks ago, I read some people in publishing mouthing off about how if you hate your job (albeit in publishing) then you should just “get out”. As if it’s so simple. My first thought was that such people are probably single, or childless, or have wealthy partners, to be able to afford such superior disdain, and I don’t know if I can adequately convey the deep anger and contempt I feel towards them and their simplistic answers.

    I don’t like my job. I’d love to get out. But, with a family depending on me, where could I go? I’ve done the alternate-job questionnaires, had meetings with a “career change consultant”. They achieved diddley-squat. I should be a Chef or a Judge, I was told. Great. Both require training and a lead-up of years. What am I supposed to do about mortgages, electricity bills and school fees in the meantime? Although I now hate the IT industry and the mindless people-mill it has become, it pays me very well, and that’s the reality.

    It’s great that some people find their dream job, but 99% of the world’s workers don’t. We just go out there to earn some money and — Universe knows — if there was just the slightest chance for us to change to something else that would give us the same sense of economic wellbeing, we’d grab that opportunity with both hands and fight to the death the ability to exploit it. And I don’t see why we should apologise for not being passionate about something that takes us away from the best part of a day, separates us from our partner and loved ones, lumps us in with people we sometimes don’t get along with, feeds us with  bucket upon bucket of company propaganda masquerading as “concern for our employees’ well-being”, and treats us with all the respect of a less-loved pair of footwear. Just as easily discarded.

    I have a favourite saying: if you work for yourself, it’s called integrity; if you work for someone else, it’s called an attitude problem. I keep looking for ways to move back to the working-for-myself gig (part of which is the Writing Thing. Great timing on my part, huh?), but I’m not single and carefree anymore, able to rent a bit of bare floor and live on a diet of two-minute noodles for the forseeable future when things get tough. (Both of which I have done.) With a family, I have to be more careful about how I plan things, making sure I cover all contingencies, making sure others don’t miss out due to my own short-sightedness. And the last thing I need are supercilious loudmouths with their “just fuck off and leave the industry to those who luuurve it” platitudes.

    Just wanted to get that off my chest. Thanks for listening.