So, I haven't really gone through any big culture shock (see previous blogs for my fretful diagnosis of this situation.) I think I am coming to the conclusion that maybe it is the small things that are my adjustment, and that having definite future goals in mind help the desperation that I think come unfolding with cultural adjustment to a minimum.
But, I did pick up a book that I think I need to reflect on that is really making this adjustment something pleasant and enjoyable. I remember a friend had read "I'm A Stranger Here Myself" when she returned from living abroad, and decided to pick it up and read it myself.
Never a better move in my life. Bill Bryson comically puts every situation that has left me standing dumbfounded or shocked, as he writes about some of the absurdities of American culture that he himself stumbled upon upon returning from twenty years living abroad. It makes my own mouth-hanging-open-in-shock-disgust-or-just-plain-bewilderment perspective on American culture not only seem relevant, but something universal that travelers have felt and lived through upon "going home again". He wrote all these "notes on returning to America" for a British newspaper, and his opinion column style writing is easy to digest, quick and to the point, and filled with the wit a columnist needs to keep his job.
I have chuckeld aloud while I identify with lacking the correct, current lingo, nodded in agreement with the description of glorious junk food that we hate but secretly missed, and have had my inklings about why no one walks anywhere confirmed. I have laughed at the same response I have urged to give over exuberant waitresses, asked the same questions about the efficiency of my government, and wondered about the inutility of cupholders and dashboard trays.
So, in the next few days I want to make some reflections about the book, the things Bryson says, and the things that I agree with, the things that I can relate too, and my own extrapolations of Brysons newpaper columns. From food to fitness, transportation to the miracle of dishwashers, Bryson's book has confirmed that my lunacy is not unfounded, my transition normal,that I am not the only one who has returned critical of the culture I once called my own, and that others have gone through this as well.
So stay tuned to Chris' observations. Or as Bryson's wife says, "Bitch, Bitch, Bitch, Bitch." Hopefully in a respectful, somewaht humorous way.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
Welcome David!
David,
We have been so anxious to meet you. Nine months anxious. And true to your character, your were born when you wanted to be born, not when everyone hoped you would. (Yes, its true, I was routing for a May 15th birth so that I could hold you once before I left, but alas.)
After knowing how active you are even from five months, its a surprise to see you quiet in this picture. I hope that you give your mommy and daddy more rest than you gave them while you decided to compete in the Uteuran Olympic Games, with your summer-saults and your wild antics.
We are so happy to have you here, and your Tio Chris loves you so much and cant wait to meet you. Dont grow up too fast...I cant visit Panamá that often and I want you to be just as precious when I meet you for the first time as you are now.
Welcome to the world where everyone loves you.
Love,
Tio Chris
Sweating the Small Things
So, it has been almost a month since I am back in the states, and the thing is: I don't really feel this huge jolt of culture shock that I was expecting. After weeks of preparing myself for the jolt of "re-entry", I must say I am a little disappointed. No big break downs, no onslaughts of unforeseen panic attacks, and no need for my brown paper bag that I so wisely tucked into my back pocket for those emergency hyperventilation moments.
What's wrong with me? At first, I thought it might be that I was running around like an idiot trying to do basic things like finding a place to live and getting a job worked out. And while I am happy to say that both have been accomplished, and that I even secured early enrollment to grad school, I am sad to say that after the chicken-dash-y-ness that was the first two weeks that I was back, no large cultural adjustment has yet to hit me over the head or put me out of commission for at least a good couple days.
Am I soul-less? Did my time in Panama really not mean anything? Is this feeling of eternal vacation in the States ever going to pass? Am I going to feel sad anytime soon? Did Dr Suess write a book about how I am going to steal Christmas this year? Do I have a heart?
Or was re-entry just overblown? I mean it could be that it was overstated to avoid any big catastrophes like breaking down when there are ten zillion type of baked beans to choose from.
One thing that has caught my attention has been all the small things. The Roads are huge. Cars stop and kindly wave you along your way as you utilize crosswalks. Said Crosswalks are visible and lights even tell you when its time to cross. Waiters say hi when you sit at a table. Police officers seem to do something.
And while all these things are apparently pleasant, I find myself asking "why doesn't that waiter just throw our food on the table, or slam the bill down in the middle of our conversation?" and "why are people so considerate?" Most importantly I ask "WHY IS EVERYTHING SO FAKE?"
So cultural adjustment, here I come. I will try to smile when random strangers say Hi, and I will try to get used to not having to check 70 bazillion times to cross the street without getting pulverized, and I will try not to let the little things freak me out. Oh, couldn't I just get depressed and get over it in a couple days? Why do all these little things keep drawing out my cultural adjustment?
Damn it. I just want to be depressed. I just want to go through all the re-entry that "normal people" go through. None of this small shit.
What's wrong with me? At first, I thought it might be that I was running around like an idiot trying to do basic things like finding a place to live and getting a job worked out. And while I am happy to say that both have been accomplished, and that I even secured early enrollment to grad school, I am sad to say that after the chicken-dash-y-ness that was the first two weeks that I was back, no large cultural adjustment has yet to hit me over the head or put me out of commission for at least a good couple days.
Am I soul-less? Did my time in Panama really not mean anything? Is this feeling of eternal vacation in the States ever going to pass? Am I going to feel sad anytime soon? Did Dr Suess write a book about how I am going to steal Christmas this year? Do I have a heart?
Or was re-entry just overblown? I mean it could be that it was overstated to avoid any big catastrophes like breaking down when there are ten zillion type of baked beans to choose from.
One thing that has caught my attention has been all the small things. The Roads are huge. Cars stop and kindly wave you along your way as you utilize crosswalks. Said Crosswalks are visible and lights even tell you when its time to cross. Waiters say hi when you sit at a table. Police officers seem to do something.
And while all these things are apparently pleasant, I find myself asking "why doesn't that waiter just throw our food on the table, or slam the bill down in the middle of our conversation?" and "why are people so considerate?" Most importantly I ask "WHY IS EVERYTHING SO FAKE?"
So cultural adjustment, here I come. I will try to smile when random strangers say Hi, and I will try to get used to not having to check 70 bazillion times to cross the street without getting pulverized, and I will try not to let the little things freak me out. Oh, couldn't I just get depressed and get over it in a couple days? Why do all these little things keep drawing out my cultural adjustment?
Damn it. I just want to be depressed. I just want to go through all the re-entry that "normal people" go through. None of this small shit.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The end...
Its all sinking in. Today is my last day of work. I dont think it had all hit yet until this morning when I realized that my access to the internet as of tommorow is NILCH! I will be internet-cafe-ing it up for the next two weeks. I cant beleive that I only have 15 days in Panama! I hope to blog while I am still in Panama, but if not, I will write states-side!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Cultural Revelation
So, as I have my foot out the door of Panama, I feel like, through all my cultural experiences, I can put a big summary on why sometimes it is so difficult to live in another culture. I think that I resigned myself to dealing with alot of the small cultural things, but never really felt that this little things could possibly cuase some of the overwhelming frustration and anger I felt at certain points, directed towards certain people. In my education that prepared me for "church and world" (don't get me started on that), we were told over and over that cultural adjustment, cultural sensativity are the means of living your life in this day and age. We never we given the chance to think that maybe other things came into play when adjusting to a new culture. I mean, not to beat a dead horse, but could cultural reasoning really be the only force flaming the flame of my rage against Latin Princesses? I think not.
In a past blog, I made references, to money mattering. The only thing I have to say today is that money really does matter. I think the key to understanding cultural differences lies in part in our ability to understand social differences.
Let me explain: The things that really drive me nuts about Panamanian princesses are not really limited to Panamanians or even Latino/as in general. The things that drive me nuts about Panamanian Princesses are universal to the upper class. Whereas in my social upbringing, the middle class was status quo and keeping up with the Jones was a cultural norm, there was always a distinguishable line between those who lived within the middle class and those who seemed to struggle with a sense of entitlement, becuase well, there life was nothing but entitlement. That middle class, where people are still educated and work for what they have and can feel proud about what they have accomplished and what they have earned, doesnt really exisit in Panama. Not that their arent hard workers or a working class, but the disparity between working class and upper crust is strikingly huge! In Panama, there is no middle class buffer that seperates the uber-rich from those who struggle every day to put food on the table. In the city especially, you are decked out in desinger suits or destitute. BMW or Bike.
So all the little things that usually get filtered out of our existence by our surrounding middle classers are right in your face here in Panama. The over dependence on daddy's credit card. The way they seem to whine every time they open their mouth. The inability to identify with any kind of work ethic. The inability to control or discpline kids when the maid is not around.
Unfortunately, this kind of life is what most of the middle class I grew up in aspires to. Racking up debt to wear the latest PAris Hilton Purfume, buy the most expensive cars, and drive our self into the ground with hottest most expensive car. It just screams Great Gatsby all over...you will never be one of them! And seeing how annoying they are, how they can't seem to live outside the limelight or away from their bank accounts, why is that what we aspire to?
So anyways, I degress. Money does matter. Maybe I cant claim that I know everything about Panama and maybe I can't write or talk about every little cultural idyiosncracy, but I realized alot of the cultural adjustment that I haven't been able to make is not cultural at all. Its social.
So for all those times I have written off pushy women and selfish men as a cultural flaw of Latinos and Panamanians, I apologize. That right, they're just rich. And them being so intrigued with themselves and the image and the rights their money gives them was not filtered out by the non-existant middle class here in Panama.
In a past blog, I made references, to money mattering. The only thing I have to say today is that money really does matter. I think the key to understanding cultural differences lies in part in our ability to understand social differences.
Let me explain: The things that really drive me nuts about Panamanian princesses are not really limited to Panamanians or even Latino/as in general. The things that drive me nuts about Panamanian Princesses are universal to the upper class. Whereas in my social upbringing, the middle class was status quo and keeping up with the Jones was a cultural norm, there was always a distinguishable line between those who lived within the middle class and those who seemed to struggle with a sense of entitlement, becuase well, there life was nothing but entitlement. That middle class, where people are still educated and work for what they have and can feel proud about what they have accomplished and what they have earned, doesnt really exisit in Panama. Not that their arent hard workers or a working class, but the disparity between working class and upper crust is strikingly huge! In Panama, there is no middle class buffer that seperates the uber-rich from those who struggle every day to put food on the table. In the city especially, you are decked out in desinger suits or destitute. BMW or Bike.
So all the little things that usually get filtered out of our existence by our surrounding middle classers are right in your face here in Panama. The over dependence on daddy's credit card. The way they seem to whine every time they open their mouth. The inability to identify with any kind of work ethic. The inability to control or discpline kids when the maid is not around.
Unfortunately, this kind of life is what most of the middle class I grew up in aspires to. Racking up debt to wear the latest PAris Hilton Purfume, buy the most expensive cars, and drive our self into the ground with hottest most expensive car. It just screams Great Gatsby all over...you will never be one of them! And seeing how annoying they are, how they can't seem to live outside the limelight or away from their bank accounts, why is that what we aspire to?
So anyways, I degress. Money does matter. Maybe I cant claim that I know everything about Panama and maybe I can't write or talk about every little cultural idyiosncracy, but I realized alot of the cultural adjustment that I haven't been able to make is not cultural at all. Its social.
So for all those times I have written off pushy women and selfish men as a cultural flaw of Latinos and Panamanians, I apologize. That right, they're just rich. And them being so intrigued with themselves and the image and the rights their money gives them was not filtered out by the non-existant middle class here in Panama.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Books, books, glorious books!
One thing I am looking forward to in the United States is the whole reading culture. I actually am thinking that I am going to decorate my apartment with those cheesy READ posters that an unequivical addition to any American Elementary school classroom. You, the one with Shaq reading his favorite (what? atheletes know how to read?) and every other ex-polititian and public figure cuddling up with a good book and a cup of Earl grey. That culture is just a little nonexistent here in Panama and the joke has it that the only places that weren't looted here after the invasion were the churches and the book stores. So excited am I to be back in reading bliss with its Borders and Barnes and Nobles and Antiquariums (awesome book store in Omaha) that I will pretty much come back to the States naked, but loaded down with books (130 of my alloted 140 pounds of luggage will be books).
I guess this stems from one of my last ventures into one of the sad, clumsily organized bookstores that many a times has been my frustration: Hombre de la Mancha. Panama's venture into cafe/bookstores sadly under developed. Heres the frustration: One would think that being in Panama, it would be easy to come up with great Hispanic Literature. Expecting shevles upon shelves of Garcia Marquez, Llosa Vargas, Dario, Borges, Cortazar and maybe even some Becquer, Valle de Inclán or even Garcia Lorca didnt seem like an unreasonable expectation, since they are, after all, the masters of the language that is spoken here. With my Great Expectations I always venture to the literature section of said bookstores only to be crushed to find bad translations of Dan Brown, Steven King, Dean Koontz and James Paterson. Or worse. Pop-crap like JJ Benetiz or Paulo Cuelo (stear clear of these if it all possible) is venerated by its unworthy inclusion in the literature section. Defeated in my search for Spanish masterpieces in their original language, I slumber over to the English section looking for those books I was supposed to read in AP English, only to find translations of the same Spanish works I long to read in their original language. Its all backwards. Bad English in Spanish and great Spanish in English.
How I long for a Barnes and Noble, where at least they have a hispanic section that actually includes the best representations of hispanic literature. And at least amazon deleivers in the States.
I guess this stems from one of my last ventures into one of the sad, clumsily organized bookstores that many a times has been my frustration: Hombre de la Mancha. Panama's venture into cafe/bookstores sadly under developed. Heres the frustration: One would think that being in Panama, it would be easy to come up with great Hispanic Literature. Expecting shevles upon shelves of Garcia Marquez, Llosa Vargas, Dario, Borges, Cortazar and maybe even some Becquer, Valle de Inclán or even Garcia Lorca didnt seem like an unreasonable expectation, since they are, after all, the masters of the language that is spoken here. With my Great Expectations I always venture to the literature section of said bookstores only to be crushed to find bad translations of Dan Brown, Steven King, Dean Koontz and James Paterson. Or worse. Pop-crap like JJ Benetiz or Paulo Cuelo (stear clear of these if it all possible) is venerated by its unworthy inclusion in the literature section. Defeated in my search for Spanish masterpieces in their original language, I slumber over to the English section looking for those books I was supposed to read in AP English, only to find translations of the same Spanish works I long to read in their original language. Its all backwards. Bad English in Spanish and great Spanish in English.
How I long for a Barnes and Noble, where at least they have a hispanic section that actually includes the best representations of hispanic literature. And at least amazon deleivers in the States.
Friday, April 25, 2008
My pop reviews
Panamanian Baseball season is coming to an end, and much like Americans must have felt after the long drawn out writers strike, I am happy to be able to actually watch something on TV besides brutes hitting a ball or fear factor idiots eating tarantula testicles.
During the cultural drought, I was forced to watch +23, Panama's equivalent of MTV. Not being the biggest fan of the whole pop movement, and having been neglected of cable access as a child, the whole music video thing isnt anything that I claim to really understand or particularly enjoy. And being somewhat removed from American culture makes some of references more perplexing, or thought provoking.
However, I have lived off the thing for the past three weeks. In a cultural vaccuum, there can only be so much leisure reading, and only so many music videos can be stimulating. So without furthur preamble, here are the reviews and questions that have been aroused through such stimulation:
Avril Lavigne: What happened here? Her next album should be "How to go from Teenage Angsty to Prostitue in 2 short years". Or Maybe "Complete Image shift". When did she stop being angry? And the blond hair? I guess that must have been when she realized that selling out to pop meant continually protraying yourself as a sex idol and people who are mad and have big black mascara eyes didnt really fit the whole pop-star mold. That or she just had some sex herself and doesnt have as much built up angst.
James Blunt: What is with all his videos being this front on shot of him just staring blankly into the camera. I mean, just a little creepy. And know we know why he just wants to be high. Its apparently the only way he knows how to live.
Backstreet Boys: Boy band gone wrong. Receeding Hairlines start to take away some of the sex appeal. And whats up with the movements. Maybe it is a dramatic song, but it doesnt merit gestures straight out of Thriller.
Duffy: You've got me begging for mercy that you WILL STOP SINGING! I mean, just becuase air comes out of your nose doesnt mean we should sing out of it. There are plenty other orifices from which air exits from our bodies, but last time I checked we didn't sing out of those. Please, MERCY! UNCLE! MONKEY! WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO YELL TO GET YOU STOP! We've had enough of a the pop equivalent of fingernails on a blackbird.
Mariah Carey: You are like at least 40. Stop dressing like a seventeen year old. And what happened to your gospel roots? I mean, we appreciate your supersonic voice and the power it has to clear our sinuses, but please. Just becuase you got a set of pipes doesnt mean we want to see your boobs and verify that you really do need a bra.
The Jonas Brothers: No talent ass clowns. I mean, if I knew Sony BMG was giving out record deals for being able to scream "HOLD ON!" into a microphone, gel my hair to one side and put pink blush on my cheeks, well, hell, I would be rich already. Come on. Apparently I missed out on that boat. When will Hanson stop mainfesting itself in every musical generation?
So thats it. Maybe I need to just stick to the indie music that I am really starting to love. I am going to go do some Devotchka...
During the cultural drought, I was forced to watch +23, Panama's equivalent of MTV. Not being the biggest fan of the whole pop movement, and having been neglected of cable access as a child, the whole music video thing isnt anything that I claim to really understand or particularly enjoy. And being somewhat removed from American culture makes some of references more perplexing, or thought provoking.
However, I have lived off the thing for the past three weeks. In a cultural vaccuum, there can only be so much leisure reading, and only so many music videos can be stimulating. So without furthur preamble, here are the reviews and questions that have been aroused through such stimulation:
Avril Lavigne: What happened here? Her next album should be "How to go from Teenage Angsty to Prostitue in 2 short years". Or Maybe "Complete Image shift". When did she stop being angry? And the blond hair? I guess that must have been when she realized that selling out to pop meant continually protraying yourself as a sex idol and people who are mad and have big black mascara eyes didnt really fit the whole pop-star mold. That or she just had some sex herself and doesnt have as much built up angst.
James Blunt: What is with all his videos being this front on shot of him just staring blankly into the camera. I mean, just a little creepy. And know we know why he just wants to be high. Its apparently the only way he knows how to live.
Backstreet Boys: Boy band gone wrong. Receeding Hairlines start to take away some of the sex appeal. And whats up with the movements. Maybe it is a dramatic song, but it doesnt merit gestures straight out of Thriller.
Duffy: You've got me begging for mercy that you WILL STOP SINGING! I mean, just becuase air comes out of your nose doesnt mean we should sing out of it. There are plenty other orifices from which air exits from our bodies, but last time I checked we didn't sing out of those. Please, MERCY! UNCLE! MONKEY! WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO YELL TO GET YOU STOP! We've had enough of a the pop equivalent of fingernails on a blackbird.
Mariah Carey: You are like at least 40. Stop dressing like a seventeen year old. And what happened to your gospel roots? I mean, we appreciate your supersonic voice and the power it has to clear our sinuses, but please. Just becuase you got a set of pipes doesnt mean we want to see your boobs and verify that you really do need a bra.
The Jonas Brothers: No talent ass clowns. I mean, if I knew Sony BMG was giving out record deals for being able to scream "HOLD ON!" into a microphone, gel my hair to one side and put pink blush on my cheeks, well, hell, I would be rich already. Come on. Apparently I missed out on that boat. When will Hanson stop mainfesting itself in every musical generation?
So thats it. Maybe I need to just stick to the indie music that I am really starting to love. I am going to go do some Devotchka...
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Quinceñeras and Latin Princesses
So, for those avid readers of my ramblings, the two topics today should come as no surprise: opulant tradition blown out of control is a favorite of mine to rag on and most of you should know how I feel about (most) Latin Women and their Princess Complex.
Here's a summary of what I feel:
Dress: $500
Food: $1,500
Banquet Room: $1,000
Limo: $450/hr
Unnecessary Crap: $700
Ring: $250
Ring Blessing Mass: $400
Invitations: $200
Miscellanous for making the arrival of your daughter's period special: $2,000
Solidifying your duaghter's spoiled rotten attitude for the rest of her life: priceless.
For life, there's cash. For celebrating menstration, there's mastercard.
I mean seriously, its a birthday. And while I can't say this kind of rediculous extravagence is limited to only Mexicans or latinos in general, and that people in the States dont go over the top for their "Sweet Sixteen", it just seems like too much of a positive, direct correlation between the amount of Latin Princesses that exisit around the world, and the wonderful hispanic tradition of becoming a woman.
Dont get me wrong. Tradition is great. I think the idea of celebrating your duaghter's 15th is a good idea, and that it is special in that she is becoming a woman. The idea of a ring that her parents give her to remind her of the virture of sexual purity and the idea to wait for true love, and that this ring is designated as special and is done so with some religious attachment to it, I think it something that Latinos can feel proud of, since most of their anglo-saxon counterparts have sucessfully divorced civic and personal life within the public sphere from any kind of religion (see Ruben Dario's A Roosevelt, last line). But much like American weddings, the real meaning behind it all has been replaced by this consumeristic zealotry: the 15 años becomes who goes on the best cruise, who has the puffiest dress and which lucky new woman can host her invitados in the fanciest hotel in the city. Not even so much that, but that it becomes the expectation. That little girls who used to be only worried about the newest New Kids on the Block reunion all the sudden turn into this well trained and organized militia demanding their rights to shiffon cakes, indulgence in preparty dance lessons, and at least 18 karats on their fingers. And here is what me lleva (drives me crazy): no one stops them. No ranking official in the government of family says "Calm the hell down, you are just having a regular flour and sugar cake that you yourself will frost, and we will buy the ring that we can afford." We give them the precedent that YES it is their big day, they WILL have it their way, no matter how redicuclous, unfounded or expensive, therby setting the stage for them to be well rehearsed bride-zillas on their other big day, and after the intermission of the honeymoon, they will spend the rest of their lifes as wife-zillas, justifying spending hours and bucks on getting their hair blown, not doing the dishes or lifting a finger around the house, and needing the newest, most expensive, heaviest gagdets (heaviest as long as the housemaid or personal shopper can carry it out to the car).
All this comes on the skirts of +23, Panama's equivalent of MTV, being ready to release one of the very few Panamanian reality shows that has been filmed. Next Sunday is the beginning of "Mis 15", a delve into the physcotic mess that is the life of a soon to be woman. Just the previews make me cringe. Little tidbits say, "The dress is not of the fathers liking" where as the father says "I think its too revealing" and then two seconds later shows the father dancing with daughter in said too revealing dress. The girl giddly runs into a store, and not just any store, the most expensive stores in Panama. Four to five professional party planners come and go at the whim of the soon to debute "woman". During a dance lesson, the pubescent falls and sprains an ankle hours before her big party. She continues to cry and whimpers in her Spanish spoken like she has pototoes in her mouth (another thing that drives me nuts) to "take those camaras out of here", and to "leave me in peace", like she didnt sign up to have every minute of her self-inflicted madness documented and shown on national tv. During the preperations and general ostentatious, frivolous, desgaste de dinero (wasting of money), sloagons like "Her parents will do whatever to make their daughter's day memorable" are followed by nonchalant claims that "Money doesn't matter".
Last time I checked, money did matter. But what should matter more is how we raise our children not to have an overwhelming sense of entitlement. Raise them to be self sufficient, to understand the value of a hard-earned luxary, to want to succeed on their own, and to be their own people not just an extension of daddy's credit or a monster that mom has to please. Por favor.
Thats all for today.
Here's a summary of what I feel:
Dress: $500
Food: $1,500
Banquet Room: $1,000
Limo: $450/hr
Unnecessary Crap: $700
Ring: $250
Ring Blessing Mass: $400
Invitations: $200
Miscellanous for making the arrival of your daughter's period special: $2,000
Solidifying your duaghter's spoiled rotten attitude for the rest of her life: priceless.
For life, there's cash. For celebrating menstration, there's mastercard.
I mean seriously, its a birthday. And while I can't say this kind of rediculous extravagence is limited to only Mexicans or latinos in general, and that people in the States dont go over the top for their "Sweet Sixteen", it just seems like too much of a positive, direct correlation between the amount of Latin Princesses that exisit around the world, and the wonderful hispanic tradition of becoming a woman.
Dont get me wrong. Tradition is great. I think the idea of celebrating your duaghter's 15th is a good idea, and that it is special in that she is becoming a woman. The idea of a ring that her parents give her to remind her of the virture of sexual purity and the idea to wait for true love, and that this ring is designated as special and is done so with some religious attachment to it, I think it something that Latinos can feel proud of, since most of their anglo-saxon counterparts have sucessfully divorced civic and personal life within the public sphere from any kind of religion (see Ruben Dario's A Roosevelt, last line). But much like American weddings, the real meaning behind it all has been replaced by this consumeristic zealotry: the 15 años becomes who goes on the best cruise, who has the puffiest dress and which lucky new woman can host her invitados in the fanciest hotel in the city. Not even so much that, but that it becomes the expectation. That little girls who used to be only worried about the newest New Kids on the Block reunion all the sudden turn into this well trained and organized militia demanding their rights to shiffon cakes, indulgence in preparty dance lessons, and at least 18 karats on their fingers. And here is what me lleva (drives me crazy): no one stops them. No ranking official in the government of family says "Calm the hell down, you are just having a regular flour and sugar cake that you yourself will frost, and we will buy the ring that we can afford." We give them the precedent that YES it is their big day, they WILL have it their way, no matter how redicuclous, unfounded or expensive, therby setting the stage for them to be well rehearsed bride-zillas on their other big day, and after the intermission of the honeymoon, they will spend the rest of their lifes as wife-zillas, justifying spending hours and bucks on getting their hair blown, not doing the dishes or lifting a finger around the house, and needing the newest, most expensive, heaviest gagdets (heaviest as long as the housemaid or personal shopper can carry it out to the car).
All this comes on the skirts of +23, Panama's equivalent of MTV, being ready to release one of the very few Panamanian reality shows that has been filmed. Next Sunday is the beginning of "Mis 15", a delve into the physcotic mess that is the life of a soon to be woman. Just the previews make me cringe. Little tidbits say, "The dress is not of the fathers liking" where as the father says "I think its too revealing" and then two seconds later shows the father dancing with daughter in said too revealing dress. The girl giddly runs into a store, and not just any store, the most expensive stores in Panama. Four to five professional party planners come and go at the whim of the soon to debute "woman". During a dance lesson, the pubescent falls and sprains an ankle hours before her big party. She continues to cry and whimpers in her Spanish spoken like she has pototoes in her mouth (another thing that drives me nuts) to "take those camaras out of here", and to "leave me in peace", like she didnt sign up to have every minute of her self-inflicted madness documented and shown on national tv. During the preperations and general ostentatious, frivolous, desgaste de dinero (wasting of money), sloagons like "Her parents will do whatever to make their daughter's day memorable" are followed by nonchalant claims that "Money doesn't matter".
Last time I checked, money did matter. But what should matter more is how we raise our children not to have an overwhelming sense of entitlement. Raise them to be self sufficient, to understand the value of a hard-earned luxary, to want to succeed on their own, and to be their own people not just an extension of daddy's credit or a monster that mom has to please. Por favor.
Thats all for today.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Despedida and Birthday
Apart from the crappy company that I work for, there are some benefits. But bad before the good.
We were officially uninvited to a strategic meeting that our company had on Saturday. I mean, we dont matter at all. Besides the fact that they woke me up from sleeping to tell me it wasnt necessary for me to come, being uninvited was a low enough hit. It did mean I got a Satruday off that I spent at the mall. Yeah!
And here is the good thing. Today my coworkers surprised me with a birthday and farewell party. And I really was surprised. It was a lot of fun and my students said some very nice things. I truely will miss my students and I am proud of what they have accomplished in the last eight months that we have been taking classes.
And I will be 25 tommorow. A quarter of a century. Yikes. Nothing furthur to say on that.
So apart from fleeing from the administration and bad direction that I have received here, I will miss my students! Thanks again guys!
We were officially uninvited to a strategic meeting that our company had on Saturday. I mean, we dont matter at all. Besides the fact that they woke me up from sleeping to tell me it wasnt necessary for me to come, being uninvited was a low enough hit. It did mean I got a Satruday off that I spent at the mall. Yeah!
And here is the good thing. Today my coworkers surprised me with a birthday and farewell party. And I really was surprised. It was a lot of fun and my students said some very nice things. I truely will miss my students and I am proud of what they have accomplished in the last eight months that we have been taking classes.
And I will be 25 tommorow. A quarter of a century. Yikes. Nothing furthur to say on that.
So apart from fleeing from the administration and bad direction that I have received here, I will miss my students! Thanks again guys!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Personas Claves
Key People. It is an ongoing joke between my cowoker and I. It is also a pharse of frustration and anger for each of us. Let me explain.
In my beloved company (there might be a whole other angsty blog entry about that mess before I escape the hell of it on April 30th), there is one huge ass revolving door. We have a count going. Just this week, four people have quit. Since I started in July, I would say that 50% of the people that I knew when I started are no longer here in this company. Just the executive secretary position has been occupied by no less than 10 people in the last eight months. One executive secretary lasted 3 days. Another got fired for having a cold. Conservative estimates would put the turnover rate at about 89.6%. Its so bad that we came up with a three months rule: You have to be in the company for more than three months before we even bother to learn your name.
Our boss doesnt seem to be too worried that people go running after a week's experience in the company. He has a very logical, precise and, at least in his mind, sane explination. Turnover doesnt really matter, becuase the people are not personas claves, they are not key people.
Um. Lets back the turnover train up just a little. If you are an accounting firm, and all your accountants go running, but since they are not key people, it doesnt matter anyways, then who does all the accounting that you make all your profits on? And whats more, isnt everyone an integral part of the team? Maybe this is my idealism seaping out in my business adminstration ideas, but seriously? What happens if your accountants go? And what happens if the cleaning lady leaves the company where people won't lower themselves to washing their dishes? And when the coffee boy leaves becuase they treat him bad when the cofees has too much milk or their hot chocolate isn't hot enough? (And here I make a long parenthetical thought about my company's stupidity illustrated in the fact that we have a full time, salaired waiter on staff whose job description is to serve coffee and make sure there is sugar available, and whose uniform is actually tux pants, shirt and bow-tie. Umm. Full Time. With benefits. Yeah.)
Where all this turnover talk becomes tedioues and tiring for the teachers, is that we are apparently included in the list of "non-key people". Innumerous times they have been when we are not sent a company email, not informed of presentations that we are supposed to give, and not advised of our status in the company. You can imagine my frustation when we started as teachers, six months later finding out that we are actually MANAGERS of the English department, and that my boss wants me to be in charge of marketing (WTF?), although the only direction he gives me is "I want the posters to be bold".
So vacilating in the gray between unimportance and having the ability to ask the coffee boy to serve me hot chocolate, being cuaght between the rush of having a corner office with an excellent view and the confusion of others having others ask me and asking myself if I am a manager, one can understand how "key people" becomes a joke. It becomes the way to maintain our sanity and sense of security in the midst of all our confusion, the only way to deal with making decisions that might not be pleasant for the boss or not exactly what he wanted since the the lack of direction eventually leads to his dissapointment and even greater confusion on our part. It is the only way to justify the fact that we are disrespected, becuase after all, we are not key people.
Now, its pretty obvious why the turnover is so damn high in this company.
ONLY 11 more days!
In my beloved company (there might be a whole other angsty blog entry about that mess before I escape the hell of it on April 30th), there is one huge ass revolving door. We have a count going. Just this week, four people have quit. Since I started in July, I would say that 50% of the people that I knew when I started are no longer here in this company. Just the executive secretary position has been occupied by no less than 10 people in the last eight months. One executive secretary lasted 3 days. Another got fired for having a cold. Conservative estimates would put the turnover rate at about 89.6%. Its so bad that we came up with a three months rule: You have to be in the company for more than three months before we even bother to learn your name.
Our boss doesnt seem to be too worried that people go running after a week's experience in the company. He has a very logical, precise and, at least in his mind, sane explination. Turnover doesnt really matter, becuase the people are not personas claves, they are not key people.
Um. Lets back the turnover train up just a little. If you are an accounting firm, and all your accountants go running, but since they are not key people, it doesnt matter anyways, then who does all the accounting that you make all your profits on? And whats more, isnt everyone an integral part of the team? Maybe this is my idealism seaping out in my business adminstration ideas, but seriously? What happens if your accountants go? And what happens if the cleaning lady leaves the company where people won't lower themselves to washing their dishes? And when the coffee boy leaves becuase they treat him bad when the cofees has too much milk or their hot chocolate isn't hot enough? (And here I make a long parenthetical thought about my company's stupidity illustrated in the fact that we have a full time, salaired waiter on staff whose job description is to serve coffee and make sure there is sugar available, and whose uniform is actually tux pants, shirt and bow-tie. Umm. Full Time. With benefits. Yeah.)
Where all this turnover talk becomes tedioues and tiring for the teachers, is that we are apparently included in the list of "non-key people". Innumerous times they have been when we are not sent a company email, not informed of presentations that we are supposed to give, and not advised of our status in the company. You can imagine my frustation when we started as teachers, six months later finding out that we are actually MANAGERS of the English department, and that my boss wants me to be in charge of marketing (WTF?), although the only direction he gives me is "I want the posters to be bold".
So vacilating in the gray between unimportance and having the ability to ask the coffee boy to serve me hot chocolate, being cuaght between the rush of having a corner office with an excellent view and the confusion of others having others ask me and asking myself if I am a manager, one can understand how "key people" becomes a joke. It becomes the way to maintain our sanity and sense of security in the midst of all our confusion, the only way to deal with making decisions that might not be pleasant for the boss or not exactly what he wanted since the the lack of direction eventually leads to his dissapointment and even greater confusion on our part. It is the only way to justify the fact that we are disrespected, becuase after all, we are not key people.
Now, its pretty obvious why the turnover is so damn high in this company.
ONLY 11 more days!
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