The white (or yellow or something) man's burden...

I've now been in this new setting for a full week so figured I should write something or my patented lazyinerticapathy would most likely prevent me from writing here ever again. I seem to have gotten used to gargantuanwaytoobigosity (I'm too lazy to use the thesaurus tonight) of my apartment and more or less settled into a routine—wake naturally in the morning before my alarm goes off (unnatural, I know), kill a few zombies as I wait for the minutes to tick away, then meander up to partake of the free breakfast—usually some savories followed by fruit (mum would be sooo proud...) and a small bit of sweets. Then, it's off to work, through moderately bad traffic that magically seems so much less frustrating when I don't have to drive.

Work itself seems to be 90% waiting punctuated by 10% headlesschickedness. Perhaps it's a concession to all the waiting involved (though most likely just forgetful IT guys) but there are actually

movies and games on my computers—a definite departure from standard practice back home. With all the waiting I'm likely to do, I foresee myself getting quite good at solitaire or pinball in the next year...

As for the 10% of work? It will be full of frustrations. What I can accomplish is almost entirely dependent on the generosity of others. I can only pass along what others give me and I'm not sure I like that loss of control. But what can I really do? I am a guest in their house—I can't bug them for stuff, and to be honest, folks back home probably wouldn't want to hear me bug them much either. On the bright side though, my greatest fears of having an office without air-conditioning have been found baseless and my new digs are quite conducive to cool and quiet siestas.

Last night, I had to play diplomat and socialize. My hosts held a welcome/farewell dinner for me and my predecessor at one of those swanky restaurants where the main course is served in portions smaller than my palm. It was several hours of nodding politely, laughing at the right times, and answering the same question in the same way a dozen times, to half a dozen different people. The food was of course excellent, with decent wine, a lovely salad (escargot, lobster salad), a main course, and even some desert--I was surprised by a cake in honor of my upcoming anniversary of becoming older (my hosts seem quite obsessed with any excuse to celebrate and sing). All of that added up to a middling price for a meal back home but here, it was enough to feed dozens.

At some point or another, you've all heard me bitch about this but I don't think I'd ever quite get used to being driven through slums to munch on a gourmet dinner. So what will I do with those tinges of guilt? I know I'm too decadent, selfish, and self-obsessed to give up my carnal pleasures and too cynical to crusade against injustice, so I'll probably just settle for some useless half-assed measure like picking cheaper dishes next time...and contributing to the lower economy by getting one of those $7 hour-long massages.

Journey of a thousand steps begins with at least a few stumbles

Anyone who knows me likely knows that I do not too often win any accolades for my grace or organizational aptitude. It's probably no surprise then that my year-long journey to the Philippines came within minutes of a minor disaster. It took longer than expected to clear my apartment of three years of accumulated junk and by the time I got to the airport, the gate was within minutes of being shut. I made it through despite the ticketing agent's initial belief that the gate was already restricted. What good is life without a little bit of excitement eh? I do probably owe some sacrifices to the Lords of the Jetstream though.

Considering my usual flare for procrastination and forgetfulness, I suppose my preparations for the trip could have gone worse. I only spilled one box of stuff in the garage, managed to pack most of my toiletries (razors, floss, etc.) deep into my storage, and neglected to return a few things to my landlady and ISP. Still, any trip that begins without me losing my passport or being stuck overnight at an airport is probably a victory.

The trip itself went smoothly--without delay or too many screaming kids, and with an empty seat next to me during the longer-leg of the journey. As for the Philippines itself? There's a sense of unreality about it all. It still doesn't seem quite real yet that I'm going to spend an entire year in a foreign country, doing a job that's rather foreign to me, and living a lifestyle that I'm quite unaccustomed to.

My apartment is obscenely large...to the point of inconvenience. In a country of shanty towns where families of dozens can squeeze into a couple of rooms, I have to walk 26 paces (yes, I was bored enough to count) from my bedroom to the door, and have four bathrooms, two bedrooms, and a "maid area" to be inhabited by me, myself, and my lonesome. Even with my propensity towards messiness, it'd be quite a challenge for me to damage this place too much.

There's little else of great excitement right now to report as I struggle to leap through the bureaucratic prerequisites necessary before I can actually start working. I'm sure as the year progresses, this page will be filled with the my usual complaints about the world's fucktardness, prophecies of gloom and doom, and endless expositions on alienation and my seperation from the masses of humanity flowing around me. For now, I can just say that life ain't too bad when all I'm complaining about is having an apartment large enough to do laps in.