Toot toot toot - there goes my horn

On July 31st, those of you who acquired the print version of the Jerusalem Post may have received a copy of a brand new magazine – The Diplomatic Post. As a writer, I happen to think it's rather interesting when something new hits the newsstands, and indeed, I enjoy hearing about all of the wildly different publications that are out there, allowing me to muse over the various (and often unusual) target audiences, as well as the potential writing opportunities available.

Even more exciting than hearing about the birth of a new publication is actually taking an active role in the process, and no one was happier (not to mention more surprised) than I to receive a phone call in early May from the editor of a certain, yet-to-be-named-at-the-time magazine, several months after I'd sent in my initial writing sample (and promptly forgot having done so). One planning meeting later, and I suddenly found myself responsible for two monthly columns in the newly branded Diplomatic Post, both involving commentary on current events and political issues, which must come as a huge shock, given how infrequently I tackle such topics here...

Since becoming a writer for this mag, I've managed to get myself on all sorts of fascinating mailing lists, and have even started receiving telephone calls from local embassies asking to confirm my contact information. I've discovered that saying "my editor" takes the same amount of getting used to as saying "my husband", and I haven't decided whether or not I can actually call myself a journalist, or if I'm simply a writer, or maybe a columnist. I feel rather silly referring to myself as a journalist when spending time with my friends who really are journalists and have been for years, but on the other hand, it sounds infinitely more exciting than telling people that I'm a technical writer (though, in all honesty, most things do sound more exciting than that...). Telling people that I'm "a writer" allows them to think that I'm far more interesting than I actually am, and hey – we all want to be perceived as being interesting, don't we?

But I digress... The magazine. Unfortunately, The Diplomatic Post isn't available online at this point, though I'm hoping that will change so that I won't have to grab another six copies at the next editorial meeting (to be fair, only one is for us – one copy goes to my parents, another one goes to NRG, and three went to another friend on-staff who wasn't able to make the last meeting). The next edition should hit local newsstands on the 31st of August, and I can be found writing Headliners and the Page Before Last.

So all in all, it hasn't been a bad summer as far as freelance writing goes. I'm finally getting paid for my efforts, and the added pocket change (which is really all that it amounts to) from this gig and another gig have allowed me to upgrade to the 16-shekel grande-sized latte. Toot toot toot – there goes my horn again!

Documents, rashes and one Norwegian blogger

Life has been rather hectic in something something world, lately, hence the lack of blog entries. The Little One has been sick on and off for the past week, beginning with a throat infection last week and ending in a rash and swelling that was serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital yesterday evening, at his doctor's suggestion. According to the Husband, he's already looking better this morning, and with any luck, they should be on their way home soon. One humorous moment passed last night during a visit to the eye doctor, who asked us if the Little One has any allergies. Husband and I looked at each other, and then looked at our son, whose face, hands and feet were severely swollen, and whose body was covered from head to toe with a rash. I turned back to the doctor, answered, "apparently", and the Husband and I laughed.

And of course, while this whole situation was unfolding, my old friend Murphy came to pay me a visit. For the past few weeks, I've been totally swamped at work, drowning in over two hundred pages of last-minute documents and tight deadlines. The individual managing the project believed that it wouldn't take too long, given that the documents only required formatting, and that checking the English wouldn't be necessary. Ummmm… Yeah… Sure… They believed that checking the English was "extra", especially since the target audience isn't made up of native speakers either (and are living in a third country, not known for excellence in its mastery of the English language). Knowing that I was essentially shooting myself in the foot, I begged to differ, and won approval from my boss to, ahem, "do my job". Suddenly, I was drowning in a torrential sea of badly written documents, I had other work-style projects on the burner as well, and at home, we were in crisis mode. Hopefully, now that the Little One is returning to his usual dimensions and he's no longer the color of a strawberry, life will revert back to its normal hectic state.

There has been one very bright spot during this period. Last Thursday evening, I had the opportunity to meet up with a really terrific politics and current events blogger, Jan, from Secular Blasphemy. Jan is a Norwegian blogger whose blog I've been reading for years, and whose writings tend to be very pro-Israel, unlike a great deal of the Norwegian mainstream media. Anyway, while reading Jan's blog just over a week ago, I discovered that he was vacationing in Israel. I quickly sent him and email and left him a comment, asking if he'd like to meet up at some point during his trip. He quickly responded in the affirmative, and on the day he arrived in Tel Aviv we all (all being Jan, his two friends, and me) met for drinks and dinner. It was a fascinating, very enjoyable evening, where we discussed everything from politics to lutefisk, and I was once again amazed by how well Norwegians can hold their beer.

Anyhow, I really must go read Harry Potter do something productive before the family returns…

Observations...

...from a unisex company washroom.

It is better to have picked up the toilet seat and left it up, than never to have picked it up at all.

Food glorious food

When I started the new job, did I happen to mention the free food in the company dining room? Breakfast is wonderful – eggs, cheeses, fresh vegetables, different breads and cereals, smoked fish. Should I go on? I thought not. No complaints whatsoever about breakfast (though sometimes I can’t find a fruit-flavored Actimel yogurt beverage, and am forced to forego, as I don’t like the plain flavor). And, if breakfast isn’t enough, everyday at 4:00 in the afternoon, fruit and cake is served. Nice, huh?

Then, there is lunch. Some days have a more obvious theme. For instance, I know that today will be sushi day, when they bring in sushi from one of the local Japanese restaurants (note to self – go to lunch on time!). The other day we had meat day (most days are dairy). Yet on some days, the theme is a bit more difficult to ascertain. I believe that yesterday was brown food day. Quiche, kuggel, vegetarian shwarma and steamed vegetables consisting of onion, eggplant and cabbage. The fish dish was the only exception, being that it was in a bright red sauce (hraimeh), which I avoided like the plague. Not one of our more successful meals. One colleague, looking as though she was about to cry, vowed on the spot to go out for lunch today, until we discovered that today will be sushi day. Another popular theme seems to be carbohydrate day, when the meal consists of a veritable plethora of different dishes such as rice, potatoes, pasta, and quiche. Mushroom day is another biggie, when all the dishes on offer seem to contain mushrooms. Fortunately, I love mushrooms, so wasn’t too put off (despite the fact that it was probably mushroom and carbohydrate day). One of the meat themed days was particularly depressing. I’m not a big fan of meat to begin with, so needless to say, I did not do so well on luncheon meat day.

The strange thing about all of this is that whenever the topic of food comes up in conversation, it turns out that everyone is thinking about losing weight, has lost weight, or is currently trying to lose weight – including at least one of the women in the kitchen. Everyone wants healthier food, or at least healthy alternatives to the current selections. Sometimes, I tell myself that I will head straight for the salads, and only once I’ve mostly filled my plate there, return to the “nasty” stuff. It never works though, as the salad choices are less than tantalizing, and certainly not worthy of filling an entire plate. I usually try to limit myself to one carbohydrate per lunch, but on carbohydrate day, it’s an exercise in futility.

During the interview process and my first few days here, I was warned that whenever people begin working here, they initially put on weight, not unlike the long forgotten days of the “freshman 15”, which refers to the weight put on by incoming university freshmen who are suddenly faced with dining room meal plans, late night food runs and the like. In those days, I didn’t have to worry about things like the freshman 15. I was only betrayed by my metabolism after university. My academic years were spent chowing down on alarming quantities of pizza, lots of pasta (after all what else did we know how to cook?), desserts, copious amounts of Chinese and Indian food, frequent visits to McDonalds when it was practically downstairs from my dorm room, alcohol (though admittedly less than most of my peers, never having been a big drinker), and so on. Aside from running around campus between classes, meetings, etc., I was quite the sedentary individual, yet despite the winning combination of heavy food and total lack of exercise, I gained no weight, even losing at times.

Ever the slim one, it came as quite a kick in the ass to discover that said ass had widened and deferred to gravity, and I now had a problem. I yoyo-ed up and down the scale (mostly up) for a number of years, and finally managed to bring myself down to a most respectable weight before and then again after my pregnancy, and have more or less managed to maintain the weight for over a year now. It’s still a constant struggle, and the company dining room is definitely not helping! Haven’t gained any weight since I’ve been here, but on the other hand, I haven’t lost any either, which is what I’d like to do. Nothing radical, just another 2-4 kilos to get down to my optimal weight (and after having lost more than 10 kilos in recent years, this is indeed a paltry amount). Unfortunately, unless radical changes are made to the dining room menu, I don’t see any health-themed days in our future, and may have to resort to more “out of pocket” experiences, popping over to any one of a number of cafes and salad/sandwich places in search of the simple, healthy food I know I should be eating crave.

Ode to a City

Who’d have guessed it? I’ve fallen in love, and it feels so good! The sights, the sounds, the people (well, obviously not all the people, and certainly not in an individual, sexual sort of way! Get your minds out of the gutter, people!)! That’s right, I’ve fallen in love with Tel Aviv! I know what you’re saying. You think it’s too soon. I’ve been on the new job for less than a week. You’re thinking that I’m still in the honeymoon period, that chinks in the armor will start to show soon enough. Okay, I’ll grant you that it’s certainly a possibility, but only as something in the vague, distant future. Not something that’s going to happen today, tomorrow, next week, etc. For now, this is it. The real deal. The tingly feeling (or is that a Fimbley Feeling? Too many hours spent viewing the kiddie shows on BBC Prime, no doubt…) I get when crossing the bridge from the train station, the adrenaline rush as I power walk through the streets towards my office (which may very well be connected to the caffeine buzz I pick up while inhaling the large, low-fat cappuccino I grab each morning at Ilan’s Café). Oh, and did I mention the magnificent vistas from the 7th floor patio of our office, with sweeping views of Tel Aviv? I know it sounds so cliché, but on a clear day, I can even see the sea! Oooh! It’s just so lovely!

Of course, with all due respect to those of you who actually live in the city, I’m not sure that I could live there, as attractive as it seems at times. I like my quiet and I like my space, both of which are at a premium in Tel Aviv. Still, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time there of late, and find that I’m sometimes envious of those who don’t have to tramp back to the suburbs at night, those who can step out of their homes directly into the hustle and bustle, with restaurants and shops at every turn. I mean, shit! How exciting must that be?! Don’t get me wrong, I love where I live. However, you can’t really walk anywhere, and the public transport is less than stellar. And despite the fact that we’ve got a number of shops open on Saturdays, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I sometimes wish for something more. I mean, not that I’m expecting a food festival or love parade, all I’m saying is that it might be nice if things were a bit livelier.

And Tel Aviv is definitely a happening place. Why, in my own little adopted corner of it, there are a veritable plethora of restaurants to suit all sorts of tastes, at least one excellent coffee place (as mentioned above), an assortment of shops and bakeries, and, for those of you who might be interested (though there’s certainly no need whatsoever to bring your interest to my attention), there’s even a selection of strip clubs. A most diverse area indeed. I haven’t had much of a chance to explore (and there are a few establishments that will most likely not make it to the list), but I do know that the British Council has an office around the corner, with a quaint little café that provides a range of current British newspapers, English news on the telly, a small library and a bank of computers connected to the Internet. Even the name of the café was quaintly British, though it escapes me now.

Just being in this exciting city makes me feel good, like I’ve suddenly been presented with a gift of endless possibilities, all mine for the taking. I can make plans with my Tel Aviv-based friends to meet up for lunch or a drink, or attend a stimulating lecture. I can go to the theatre or a concert, or catch a movie at any one of the many cinemas that the city has to offer. I can sit in a café for hours on end, nursing lattes and writing, while the world of Tel Aviv passes by. Aaaah, bliss.

I’m not quite sure how to end this, but it seems that the decision has been taken out of my hands, as the train will shortly be pulling into my stop, and given that it’s Sunday and the path to the door is an obstacle course of people, bags and weapons (many soldiers with rifles casually slung over their shoulders), it’s best that I start now, otherwise, I’ll never make it off the train, and will miss my morning coffee (shudder).

Welcome to my job

Well, after more than three months of searching, I've finally done it. I found a new job! I've been with my current company for more than four years; lots of ups and downs, redundancies and general disorganization had completely sapped my energy and will to continue working there, and an interesting reorganizational move following the last round of firings provided me with a boss whose micromanagement style made me want to beat myself repeatedly with a hammer. Motivation to move on had reached dizzying heights. Dusted off and updated the old CV, shot off a few emails and contacted a few old friends, and then sat back to see where the chips fell.

Interviewed at nine different companies in a veritable plethora of locations. Gotta love the interview process. Repeating the same information about yourself so many times that after while, it begins to sound fake. Honestly, if I hear someone ask me one more time to "tell me a little bit about yourself", I think I'm going to gag. One company even sent me for psychometric testing! Filled out a nine-page questionnaire (written in Hebrew, though I persuaded the powers that be to at least let me answer in English) by hand, followed by a series of intense logic-type tests using a computer. Was there for just over five hours, and by the time I was done, I felt like my eyes were going to bleed. Just to put you in the right frame of mind, think SAT exam from hell.

To make a long story short, in the end, I had to choose between two great job offers, each with it's own set of advantages and disadvantages. In the end, the company with the better location won out. Both companies offered some pretty nifty benefits, and I found that with just a bit of negotiation and playing one company off the other, I managed to get a salary and benefits package that was better than I'd hoped.

One standard option in many Israeli hi-tech companies is the option to take a lease a car through the company. Your salary is reduced by a certain (relatively reasonable) figure, and in return, you get a new car with all gas, insurance, etc., covered by that figure. If you happen to require a lot of gas, it can be a really great deal. Or, if your current car is beginning to die a slow, painful death, the leased car is suddenly a most attractive option. Given that we fall into that latter category (and we're not too shabby when it comes to doing a lot of driving, either), we've decided to take a car. Was told by the powers that be in the new company that we can choose between the Ford Focus, the Mazda 3 and the Toyota Corolla.

And so it began. We researched. We asked our friends. We became peeping toms as we wandered around parking lots, peering into windows to check the space (if we were lucky, there was already a baby seat, which would give us a better idea as to how our own baby seat would fit) and using our arms to measure trunk sizes. The husband even hit the dealerships, coming home loaded with brochures and information.

Back and forth it went. Apparently (depending on who you ask, anyway), the Mazda 3 has the best drive and the most comfortable driver's seat, but the smallest back seat area and trunk. The Ford Focus has the biggest trunk and is the most spacious, but doesn't have a lot of storage space for little things, no armrest for the driver, and no pick-up. The Toyota Corolla, might have a bit of a smaller trunk than the Focus, but there's more storage space. Everyone we asked had a different opinion. Back and forth, around and around, until we were dizzy. In the end, we decided on the Corolla, as it seemed to offer most of what we wanted and needed. Of course, I will continue to take the train to work, given that my new office is only ten minutes' walk from the station, and it would take me at least twice as long to get there by car. Besides, train time is the only "me" time that I've got, so why on earth would I want to give up a half-hour twice a day of reading or writing (on my new company laptop - yeah!) time and replace it with more than an hour each way of traffic time. Seems like a no-brainer to me!

Despite the fact that Husband will be the primary keeper of the car (and accordingly, his wishes as to which car we chose carried more weight, though we were in agreement on the Corolla, once presented with all relevant evidence), he says that I can choose the color! Now we're talking! Damn, it doesn't get much better than this!

(By the by, I would be terribly lax if I didn't make a point of mentioning that the title of my post is also the title of one of my favorite George Carlin skits. Just giving credit where credit is due...)

Slogging away in hi-tech hell

I have been swamped, positively swamped these past few weeks. Being the only one in my office who does what I do can have its perks (such as surviving three rounds of firings in the years that I've been here), but there are also drawbacks (such as being forced to work at a frantic pace in order to meet impossible deadlines made even worse by unexpected projects thrown my way, as has been the case lately). My brain has been sucked dry due to what seems to be the misguided belief that I'm some kind of magician and can do an infinite number of projects in a limited time period. As such, I've been unable to focus on blogging, which I'd much rather be doing than all of these asinine, thankless projects put together. "He" has also been otherwise occupied, though with much happier things (which he may or may not choose to share with you), which is why between the two of us, we haven't been able to get a decent (or any, for that matter) entry posted lately.

Of course, it doesn't help that the person who owns my ass in the office (due to the last unfortunate wave of firings, forcing my beloved former boss to seek out new - and hopefully greener - pastures) seemingly has no grasp of the knowledge-based aspects of my job, and thus chooses to focus on trivial issues where input is normally not required, nor is it especially welcome, given that it often clashes with the way I believe that something should be done. Never an easy situation to be in, and due to this individual's reputation as a serious ballbuster, I usually opt not to argue, having reached the point where I simply don't care anymore. I do, however, take solace in the fact that said boss has the same effect on everyone (even those not under direct command), and thus I'm not the only target.

In an ideal world, I would be a "real" writer, being paid to stir up people's emotions. Instead, I find myself stuck in "Dilbert" World, where the brilliantly created works of Scott Adams often so closely reflect the daily goings on around here that I often wonder which cube Mr Adams sits in. Aah, yes, the joys of hi-tech, where in exchange for being paid a decent salary (though I know for a fact that I could probably do better elsewhere), you are expected to give up all extracurricular thoughts and activities, and dedicate your life to your masters, erm, I mean, bosses.

I am burned out, tired. What kind of world are we living in if freakish amounts of overtime receive high praise, while leaving on time is frowned upon? Is it so incredible to want to get home at a reasonable hour, to want to spend time with one's family? I look around at my colleagues and friends, many of whom have small children, and wonder how many of them actually see their children awake during the week. I come into the office in the morning and check my emails, noticing that some were sent during the wee hours of the morning - 2am, 3am, etc. - times when normal people would be asleep, or at least in pursuit of something far more pleasurable than writing error messages. What happened to the good old days, when people worked from 8am to 4pm, leaving them with less take-home pay, but certainly more quality time for other pursuits? Okay, I suppose this still holds true in the public sector, thanks to Amir Peretz and his cronies in the Histadrut, but for most of us working stiffs, the idea of getting home during daylight hours is nothing but a dream.

Admittedly, I am not a big fan of the French, but I must admit, their approach to work (35 hour work week, isn't it?) suits me to a T. Parts of Scandinavia as well, where they work less hours during the Summer (and even regular full-time hours are quite reasonable), and receive six weeks of vacation time per year (I receive just over half of that, after nearly five years in the company), not too mention all sorts of interesting little holidays sprinkled about the calendar. Say what you will about the Europeans, but it seems, at least with respect to work ethics, that they've got their priorities straight. Now if only they would do something about their cowardly pansy attitude regarding the militant Muslims in their midst, we'd be all set.

Pull up a seat

In celebration of Israeli work practices (though I would have to admit that the following episode could happen anywhere) I thought I'd share a highlight.

[ 'She' has told me to watch my language, because some of our elders may be reading this, but be warned, I might not be able to control myself. ]

Yesterday, my company decided to treat its workers to some new ergonomic seating. Cue a gaggle of sample chairs on my floor, accompanied by a gaggle of workers keen to wiggle their asses as far into each chair as possible. I'm not an ergonomics expert, but I have my doubts as to the health benefits of a bright purple chair. And when Fat Irit, all 300kg of her, wiggled her ample ass into one of those seats, I'm sure the whole concept of ergonomics went flying out of the window. Quite literally.

Anyway, what has got me fucking mad is the three forms requiring completion, one for EACH chair. I'm up to my eyeballs in work and yet I have to invest time in this pointless task. Every single worker in the company has to fill out these forms, each 3 pages in length. "Can't I just have that nice, comfy chair, over there in the corner?" "Nope, we want you to really appreciate that we're appreciating you serfs." "Ah, OK, so give me the forms, the ones with the ridiculous questions". "Ah, you mean questions like these...":

"Would you recommend this chair to your best friend?" What the fuck would Mike the mechanic want with one of these?
"Do you feel that the chair's texture spoils you and supports you at the same time?" Oh yes, my pummeled buttocks have reported back to me that they feel rejuvenated and are now ready to put in some overtime.

Welcome to the world of Israeli management. Plenty more of this kind of stuff to come.