Why I didn't get a pay rise

An astute reader of the news would have found it really difficult to miss the recent 'crisis' that Dubai is undergoing. I am tempted to doc-link the news reports to "'crisis' that Dubai is undergoing", but I'm not sure if I will be able to doc-link 3,333,234 articles on the crisis to that one line, hence I shall leave it to the reader to understand what I'm talking about or invite them to Google the issue.

Having worked in the area, I'm reasonably familiar with the organisation structure of Dubai World. A rough representation of the structure is as follows:

However, according to the Ruler of Dubai, there are two key matters to take away from this:

1. Dubai World has nothing to do with the Dubai Government and is responsible for it's own mess; and
   
2. Dubai World is just a company that happens to be registered in Dubai. Problems it is facing are not representative of any problems that Dubai as a city may or may not be facing.

Be that as it may, what surprised me more than anything was the way the world economy tanked when this news came out and how convenient the timing of the announcement was to Dubai itself. The announcement was made a day before the Dubai capital markets closed for almost a week due to Eid. There would have been no alternative but to announce the problem, it would have to be done sooner or later. Announcing it just before Eid holidays would save the Dubai stock markets from a slaughter.

What caught everyone unawares was the way the world markets reacted to the news. It would be understandable if share prices of companies with genuine exposure to Dubai World were affected, but no, shares plummeted across the board, across the world. While it is common knowledge that we live in an integrated world, such a level of integration is scary! For example, why should share prices of Mannar and Company Public Limited with its registered office in Kaaterikuppam in rural Tamil Nadu crash because Dubai World defaulted on its loans? M'n'C Public Limited (Mannar 'n' Company) has no dealings whatsoever with Dubai or the Arab world, for that matter (except for a visit by its MD to Doobai on a holiday in 2008).

Why should Tonga catching a cold have anything to do with the world economy contracting a deadly case of pneumonia? I'll tell you why, because of the bally press.

In the early days, the press played good Samaritan, reporting things as they are, letting people in one end of the country know what happened at the other end. As communication improved and became faster, more and more was reported. The fourth estate became more and more crowded. As the population of this notorious estate increased exponentially, the struggle for survival began and 'sensationalism' became the order of the day. The more shocking, Earth shattering and deadly the news, the more revenue the press made. Hence a sneeze became the pre-cursor to pneumonia. Press changed their roles from good Samaritans to doomsayers.

This is where one really appreciates the Arab press. While pressmen across the world were busy predicting when Dubai would be wiped off the map, Gulf News carried an article that merely said Dubai World is restructuring its loans to become more profitable. Simple, effective and concise. A bit like the British way of talking. "I'm in a bit of pain!" = "I've been stabbed multiple times in the back and am bleeding to death and will surely die if I am not treated within the next 2 seconds".

Imagine a world where the trigger for the credit crunch, the sub-prime loans was merely a "re-organisation of debt with a view to streamline future profitability". There would be no credit crunch, there would be no recession and I sure as hell would have gotten that pay rise...

Imsai arasan 23am Pulikesi a.k.a Microsoft Windows 7

A person would have to be stone deaf AND blind as a bat in order to have missed the slew of advertisements Microsoft has been flooding the telly with over the past couple of months, with the launch of Windows 7. Even then, said person with said weaknesses would have had to be completely cut off from a TV/Radio/News paper to have missed these ads. In other words, the only person who could've missed these is a hermit doing some good old fashioned tapas in upper reaches of the Himalayas.

The flip side of this analogy is that the audience Microsoft's ads target, spans the spectrum of the human race and a few from the animal kingdom. With such a large target, boy, did Microsoft do a Pulikesi!

Most self respecting Tamilians would have seen Imsai Arasan 23am Pulikesi and would also recall the scene on the bear hunt. The emperor, deserted by his 'loyal' followers when a bear is spotted fires several arrows and misses at point blank range. The bear is insulted by the lack of skill of its foe and, instead of killing Pulikesi, simply spits on him and moves on. An insulted Pulikesi nurses his wounds by taking up shooting classes. A soldier is tasked with holding an apple over his head so the emperor can shoot it. As each soldier dies, the target grows and is eventually replaced by a huge pumpkin, which is also missed! I may have screwed up the narrative above and made it not funny, but this was a massive slap-stick hit and still has me in splits each time I see it. Each time I see it, I also think about how implausible the whole situation is. Until Microsoft proved me wrong.

You see, the target demographic for Microsoft is massive, to say the least. A catchy ad campaign would have to capture a 3 year old and a 75 year old and everyone in between. I'm sorry to say, in classic Pulikesi fashion, Microsoft's missed them all! I have multiple bones to pick with Microsoft:

• what do you mean you got suggestions from users on what they would ACTUALLY like to see in an OS and implemented them in Windows 7? Does that mean for 20 odd years you sat on your high horse and belted out sub-standard products that didn't care about what the user wanted to do? Even if you did, I think it's a pretty big boo-boo to be admitting this every 10 minutes on telly

• one of the key features being touted is that of faster wake-up. Hasn't Apple being doing this for eons now? I can't help but noticing that my 2 year old MacBook wakes up faster than the Toshiba being showcased in the ad for faster wake up!

• a couple of the adverts feature folks being flown all the way from the UK to Tokyo/Houston just to prove the new laptops are capable of 'waking-up faster' and they are better at gaming! Each of these adverts include a limo ride to the airport in the UK, a flight to Tokyo/Houston and a gas-guzzling 4x4 ferrying the passenger from the airport to Toshiba/Dell, as the case may be. Come on Microsoft, the whole world's in a recession, you have climate change and environment friendliness being bandied about more often than Kate Moss's drunken charades or Amy Winehouse's drug-fuelled antics and here you advertise that you proudly brought a person across the world just to open a freaking laptop? Know your audience Microsoft, is that so hard?

• scriptwriters for the adverts could do with being more creative. If you want to showcase people friendliness, focus on the larger issues and club the smaller ones into a single ad for heaven's sake! Why, oh why, would you want to waste 30 seconds of precious prime-time screen real estate by having one irritating advertisement that says your new OS can arrange windows or the task bar is simple to use (again, stuff that Macs have been doing since the dawn of time!)

It's not so much an argument about the superiority of Windows over Apple's Mac OS or vice-versa. Windows 7, by Microsoft's own admission, has just become more like a Mac to use. It's as simple as that. Some changes that ought to have been done years ago, are being done now and there is nothing wrong with that, better late than never and all that. Look at Mac adverts, they are clean, simple, devoid of loud music or ignorant users (who, by the way, feel proud that they suggested something the Mac has been doing all along!), straight to the point and focussed on the features. No wonder you have fewer adverts for the Mac than Windows and no wonder again that an upgrade from Mac OS X Leopard to Mac OS X Snow Leopard costs £30 compared to £120 for an upgrade from Vista/XP to 7 - Microsoft needs the cash to fund the ads!

The ads end with, "I'm a PC and Windows 7 was my idea!". I guess PC here stands for Puli(c)kesi...

This week, last year.

The few regular readers of this blog are, no doubt aware of my marriage, which happened last year. It's the reason I started blogging and have occasionally (read: a million times) referred to said marriage. I would, in this particular instance, strongly urge the reader not to focus on the marriage per se, but on the words "which happened last year". That's right, at some point in this week (the exact date does not elude me, I just chose not to refer to it, for the simple reason that this post hasn't been posted on that date!) our marriage turned 1. And no, this is not a mushy post on what I did/plan to do for the anniversary and how much I love her, but this is a mushy post on the year gone by.

From the time my memory goes back to, I have been fed a healthy diet of motoring magazines and continue to feed on them. One common theme I observe is that there is always a 'long term test report'. In these reports, there will invariably be a few photographs of a knackered looking car or motorcycle with some notes on how it is taking said knackering. To those who simply love jumping the gun, there will be no photographs and neither I nor the wife is knackered in any way. This was merely a comparison to put layout of this post in perspective. And like they assess the vehicles under different attributes, I shall assess a few categories of my wedding in the past year, followed by a satisfaction score.

Conversations:

At some point in August 2008, I made nervous first phone call to a girl that lasted the best part of 59 minutes. In those 59 minutes, I spoke for a sum total of 6 minutes and 25 seconds, including hmmmms, okays, yes, no and other monosyllabic emissions from my throat. The girl happily batted the remaining 52'35". Keen mathematicians would have already worked out that I was able to only contribute around 10% to the conversation. I'm happy to report that I am now able to talk for a lot longer now. But I suspect that's only because we are now together for a lot longer than 59 min. Her ability to chatter on incessantly is a blessing for me, for after a long day at the office talking in geek, it is amazing how restorative it is to have someone come and talk in a language other than geek. It's become something I look forward to when I get back home battered and bruised.

Lonely bachelors would nod with me when I say that coming home to someone is good, but I can now confirm coming home to someone raring to start talking to you is simply awesome! 9/10

Food:

Visiting dignitaries to our humble little home have poured accolades on the wife's culinary skills. They may have been polite, I don't know. But I need no other proof than the fact that my waistline, which stands testimony to her cooking skills.

In large corporations, there is a practice. When they want to sacrifice a (scape)goat, they hire a few managers and human resource personnel to talk to said goat. When they are done talking with the goat, it voluntarily catches the cheapest mode of transport allowable under expense reimbursement policies, goes to a discount store, bargains hard with the vendor, buys a knife, then goes to the butcher, hands over the knife, goes to the butcher's table and tucks itself in, ready to be sacrificed. That goat is not me. Culinary experiments were carried out on me in January 2009. From there on, there's been looking back and she has gone from strength to strength in the cooking department. I'm completely satisfied. 10/10

Life:

The transition from a carefree bachelor to a 'grahasthan' has had its ups and downs. Luckily there have been more ups than downs. Thanks to her. She's been very understanding. "I'm going for a BNO (boys' night out)", I would say. "No problem, go break a leg", would be the reply. Although I still haven't figured out why she grits her teeth each time she says this, like she is chewing leather. There's been no shortage of happiness and I am more than content here, hence the score is 12/10.

Overall experience:

Nothing short of exemplary. The product has been extremely low maintenance and high on efficiency. Given a choice between a super awesome, exciting life without her and the comfort of domestic bliss with her talking in the background, I wouldn't bat an eyelid while I chose the latter. I enjoy coming home to the wife and will continue doing so for until I retire. Then, I won't have to leave the house in the first place :). Happy anniversary 'week', dear wife.

Minnd the closing doors please!

Some are quiet, some a loud, some are meek, others ferocious. Some use the blessed phone, others don't need to. Some mumble, some jumble, other scream and we moan. Some chitter-chatter, others are aloof...you get the point, don't you? An astute reader of this blog would have already figured out what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you're just not astute enough. Yes, I am talking about train drivers/engineers or whatever fancy designation is given to them. In this post, they shall be called train drivers.

No brainer wasn't it? Allow me to explain.

"The average Londoner spends an average of 2 hours in a below average train on the average day". It's a fact no one can deny. Around an hour of each journey is spent hurtling down a dark, narrow tunnel with nary an idea as to distance or direction. The journey is bumpy, noisy and prone to "earlier signal failures" (wonder why  none of delays are due current signal failures or even signal failures...). In these dark and confusing times, the only beacon of hope is carried by train drivers. They pick up the public address system and enlighten the dull lives of their passengers by telling them which station they can look forward to next, why the train is not moving and even give you the excuse you can give for going late to your meeting. Just keeps the general excitement level up, keeps passengers on their toe and all that.

As with all good things in life, sadly, train drivers are human. So you will hear different accents, tones,  male voices, female voices, males with female voices and females with male voices. You also have wheezers, mumblers, screamers, chatter boxes and quietly efficient drivers etc. That's a lot of jargon there. I'm obliged to elaborate. Along with, where applicable, phonetic representations of the announcement, "Sorry about the delay ladies and gentlemen, we are just waiting for the signal to turn green ahead of us."

Wheezers: These are the fine people who breathe into the PA system. Passengers are treated to their every movement, breath or lack of it. "phphphphphph Sorry about the delay ladies and gentlemen, phphphphphph, we are just waiting phphphphphph for the signal phphphphphph to turn green ahead of us.phphphphphph phphphphphph phphphphphph phphphphphph ..."

Mumblers: These people think aloud. The PA system just happens to be overhearing their thoughts and transmitting it, albeit in a muffled way. (Smaller font indicates a lower volume) "Sorry about the delay ladies and gentlemen, we are just waiting for the signal to turn green ahead of us."

Screamers: These people haven't heard of the wonderful invention that is the PA system. They've never heard of them, nor do they need them. They only hold that black phone-like instrument to their ears 'coz the manual tells them to. They have no idea why they should hold them either. "Sorry about the delays ladies and gentlemen, we are just waiting for the signal to turn green ahead of us."

Chatter boxes: These guys tell you everything happening in their very exciting lives at all times of the day. "Sorry about the bump in the track, ladies and gentlemen, the track is uneven every 200 metres and I'll be talking to you every 200 metres and apologising for the bumpy ride." " sorry about the smell ladies and gentlemen, I shouldn't have eaten that can of beans last night" and so forth.

The quietly efficient blokes are usually very pleasant, they don't utter a word and quietly go about their job ferrying people from one corner of London to another. The only time they get annoying is just before the train starts from the first station. Normally, irrespective of the type, the driver would say, "this train is ready to depart, mind the closing doors please, mind the doors" (they always ask you to mind the closing doors twice, is it because there are 2 doors to each entrance that we need to be mindful about?). The quietly efficient ones just shut the door and make like a jack-rabbit that's spotted the fox. So when one tries to save time by walking all the way to the end of the platform BEFORE the train leaves, just so he can be the first to get off, the train doors just close, leaving you high and dry!

The worst offenders, you will find, are hybrids, who as the name suggest, either wheeze and scream or mumble and chatter or some similar annoying combination.

For those among us who think I've lost my marbles, I'm only talking about this since I had to endure an hour with a wheezing, screaming, chatter box this evening on the long commute back to the cozy confines of my residence. At one point in the journey, I even contemplated jumping ship and getting off at the nearest station and waiting for the next train, only to be foiled by the lovely weather we've been having recently.

So, "thank you!" to the driver for keeping me enlightened every step of way and "thank you!" to my dearest wife for relieving me of my noise canceling headphones. I had a lovely journey home.

दिलदार बीडी नो: २०२

There I was minding my own business, like I always do on the tube, miserable and tired from the daily grind, eagerly looking forward to going back home to a hot cuppa and a lot of food when I was given the lesson of my life on globalisation.
 
I was on the 1945 train from Uxbridge to Aldgate, the precise geographic location eludes me, suffice to say, it was in England! Completely knackered from a hard day at the office, I could barely keep myself from drifting off over the book I was trying to read. As is normal, I checked my surroundings just to make sure I was not surrounded by any dodgy looking characters (wink, wink!!!). To my left was a slightly inebriated gentleman; opposite me was another elderly gentleman, the very vision of calm, with the wizened air that only age can bring.

Diagonally to my right, were two girls who were carrying a suitcase and carry on bag each, chattering away in a language I did not quite understand, it must therefore, be French. All this is regulation occupancy for the train thus far. What made it unusual was the luggage they were carrying.

The suitcase for girl 1 was nothing remarkable, regulation airline baggage, soft suitcase. The carry on bag this girl had was also not quite remarkable, it was a shoulder bag with a lot of paint dabbed on at strategic places, but not making any sense. A modern artist might interpret that as the calm waves an ocean creates or a soothing orangish river of lava flowing toward the sea. I'm no artist; leave alone modern artist, hence the bag shall remain, in my mind, a shoulder bag over which paint spilled.

Girl number 2, on the other hand was the one who gave me the education on globalisation. She too was carrying a regulation suitcase, hard plastic this time. Her carry on baggage was also cloth. The writing on it was in a language that was strangely familiar. The bag had a picture of a sunrise between two mountains. The square picture was divided into four quadrants, the bottom 2 quadrants were black, depicting the mountains and carried the writing. The top left quadrant was a bright orange indicating sunrise and the top right one was blue indicating night. A beautiful picture and that's probably why the girl picked the bag up in the first place. But the writing carried the surprise...

I squinted my eyes and jogged my tired mind before identifying the language as Hindi. My second language in school was Hindi, several of my friends are Hindi and the operational language in Dubai, where I worked for three years, is for practical purposes, Hindi. Having identified the writing, it took but a minute to read it. The writing read:


दिलदार बीडी नो: २०२
दाम कम, स्वाद उथ्थम
वितरक: निजामुद्दीन बीडी कंपनी 
दुलियाजान, मुर्शिदाबाद (पंजाब)

Translated, that is:
Dildar Beedi No: 202
Low price, supreme taste
Distributor: Nijamuddin Beedi Company
Duliajan, Murshidabad (Punjab)

I was blown to bits by this. A French girl in England holding a bag advertising a beedi from Punjab was such a stupid marketing strategy!!! Did the boffins at Nijamuddin Beedi Company think someone looking at the advert in England will hop onto a plane to India to buy their beedi? A beedi for heavens sake, who did they think we are, Rajnikanth? A few minutes of gaping open mouthed at the bag later, I realised NBC probably did not advertise, but it was globalisation at play here.

NBC probably didn't have a clue as to how the girl got the bag or what it's doing in the UK. For all you know, the owner of NBC probably hasn't stepped out of Duliajan. By some stroke of global networking, I suppose some visitor from Punjab left the bag in the house of the people he/she visited in the UK, who would have given the bag to carry some shopping to their neighbours, who in turn could have left it with the girl, it is a small world after all! Or quite simply the girl could have picked up the bag on her last visit to India (which is a little far fetched considering Punjab is not quite on the top of the list for 'foren' tourism).

In any case, NBC has presence in the UK and girl mostly likely thinks the letters form part of the artwork. Little does she know.

PS: I suppose you would have noted that the punch line for Diladar Beedi No: 202 is that it's cheap, agreed, but it also says that the taste is supreme...does tobacco have a taste? All I know is smoking makes you stink a stink that's not too different from a skunk, while a beedi makes you stink a stink that is not unlike a skunk, that's angry and has a serious gas problem after eating a diet of baked beans while it is eating raw garlic and onions.

Stick around and you are toast....burnt toast

I'm not quite sure who did it or when the fire alarm was invented and I'm too lazy to check it up on Wikipedia. It's normally an extremely useful device when things go wrong. Although I am sceptical at times on the real use of the thing in small houses. I mean, when there is a fire, one could possibly see flames, smell the smoke, feel the heat or even hear the crackle of burning furniture. For an alarm to be of real use, the person in the house on fire would need to be completely challenged of all sensory perceptions or they need to be unconscious, in either case, the alarm itself is moot. If a person cannot hear, see, smell or feel, I suppose there is no point in an alarm screaming its little heart out or flashing all colours of the rainbow. I am aware of a certain camp that insists fire alarms are creatures that warn you in advance and all that, they may have a point. Maybe it is, I don't know. The only experiences I have had with fire alarms have all been unpleasant, comical even.

Situation #1:

Back in the heady bachelor days, there was a strong urge to create food. I use the word 'create' deliberately since chefs in many hotels do believe they 'create' food and make sure this is adequately reflected in the description of the dish in the menu. Said urge to create food stemmed from the fact that I was too lazy to leg it to Chennai Dosa for a decent Indian meal and there is only so much pizza you can order for delivery. And don't even get me started on the costs...

While the mind understands these factors, the stomach wouldn't and it would begin nagging the brain at regular intervals and my brain, weak as it is in these matters, would let me know I'm hungry just to shut out the din the stomach was creating. Everyone knows the brain 'controls' all actions of the body, however, my body is more democratic and my legs would, well, put up its legs and say, "no way I'm going out in the cold all the way to the hotel, just so the lump of lard above me can fill up, I ain't movin' out of my place." The brain would then run to my hand and ask if it was willing to help out in the overall scheme of things. After initially rejecting any notion of movement, the hand would grudgingly agree to help. Persistent fellow, this brain of mine. Once the support of the hands was obtained, the brain would take the hands and stomach along for support and convince the legs to make their way to the kitchen. That's the story of how I began cooking. Each day. Bi-weekly to be more precise. God bless the refrigerator.

I digress, as usual. Countless films and an even greater number of youth have discovered that cooking is an unforgiving art and it takes only the smallest error in judgement or the lightest delay for the food to burn. I'm no artist; hence the burning function would happen quite often. All it takes is a bit of smoke from the burnt food to set the smoke alarm, lovingly placed just outside the kitchen, off and it would start clanging away. And boy, does it clang! It would take an adrenaline filled few minutes to fan the smoke way from the alarm to make it shut up.

My question is this, why did the blasted thing go off? Don't I know I'm burning my food? For heaven's sake, I'm going to eat the ruddy concoction, burnt or not, so I, of all people would know the food is burnt. I see no need to advertise the fact to anyone who cared to hear.

I have battled the urge to connect hammer to smoke alarm several times and got married before my resolve weakened. The wife, I'm glad to say, has only set off the alarm twice in her 10 odd months in the kitchen in our house. The fire alarm lives to this day...

Situation #2:

My job requires me to visit different clients, virtually one a day. An office is a commercial establishment. All commercial establishments are plagued by the misery that is health and safety. Different clients have different approaches to fire safety. While all of them would kindly advice you to run like the wind should the fire alarm go off, they have different approaches to ensuring the alarm goes off in the first place. I might need to mention that none of them test the alarms with burnt food; they should try it, highly effective.

Some client's test the alarm once a month on a designated date and time. Others test them only at the frequency required by law. Still others test them every week. There are client's who are in buildings with more people on health and safety than the number of people who built the building. Here the tests are insane. Twice a week, random tests, extended tests, PA test, this test, that test. It's bonkers.

The alarms themselves are different in tone and method of notification. I have tried to reproduce some of them. Since I am running out of ideas on how to emphasise the type of notification and the urgency of notification. The urgency is denoted by the space (dots) between the tones.

My office: beepbeepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeepbeep...
Client#1: krrrrrrrrrr.krrrrrrrrrr.krrrrrrrrrr.krrrrrrrrrr.krrrrrrrrrr.krrrrrrrrrr.krrrrrrrrrr.
Client#2: tingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingtingting and my favourite,
Client#3: Attention please........attention please.........we are investigating an alarm condition..............it MAY be necessary to evacuate the building..........please stand by for further instructions.............................Attention please........attention please.........we are investigating an alarm condition..............it MAY be necessary to evacuate the building..........please stand by for further instructions.............................

You guessed it right, the maniacal testing of the alarm happens at Client#3. I've never quite stopped doubling up with laughter each time they test it. An alarm, as the word quite rightly puts it, is an alarm. The very sight/sound of it ought to invoke an adrenalin rush, which in turn is supposed to trigger the fight or flight mode in humans and make us get our backsides out of the place ASAP. Telling some it MAY be necessary to evacuate the building conveys no sense of urgency. If the makers of this alarm wanted to have a human voice for an alarm, it should probably say, "ATTENTION YOU LAZY BUMS, THERE'S PROBABLY A FIRE SOMEWHERE IN THE BUILDING AND IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR BACKSIDES OUT OF THAT CHAIR AND GET THE HELL OF THE BUILDING, YOU'RE PROBABLY GOING TO BECOME HUMAN BARBECUE AND THEN GO TO HELL ANYWAY, BUHAHAHAHA!!! MOVE, NOW!!!" Now, that would get people moving not someone telling people they MAY get fried if they stick around...

What I'd like to know is this: is the rage I have towards fire alarms normal?

The rat race or headless chicken?

Ever wondered why it's called the rat race? I've never had the inclination to look this up in the venerable encyclopaedia of encyclopaedias. I've never 'wikied' it. Until now. And boy, did it let me down. The first 5 seconds of scanning the Google results page did not yield a result that seemed to make sense. Then I found this at Wapedia and it seemed to make know what it was talking about.

Wapedia seems to think the corporate game of keeping that promotion or progression oh-so-elusive causes a rat race. I'm sure the term progression was the love child of Human Resources/Human Capital honchos who sat up at night wondering what jargon they could come up with to make this process any more palatable. I digress, as usual.

Apparently, rats run around in tunnels, pretty much in circles and end up going nowhere. I'll save my comments on what I think of the scientists who did the 'study' on rats running around in circles in tunnels ending up going nowhere for another post. I suppose, it turns out some amused CEO of a company saw the way his executives were keeping themselves on edge and running around purposefully - and knew they were going nowhere, just because he was the boss. He decided to call it a rat race.

I've always equated the race for progression to the final dance of a headless chicken. For one, its frenzied, its urgent and most importantly, the poor chicken probably thinks it can have its head back when it gets to where it's going (how it can think without it's head, I am not too sure). However, a rat race sounds more positive. The word race evokes thoughts of a competition, with an outcome and a winner. However, it does not reflect reality, for in a race, you cannot legally influence the outcome with contacts, making it look like you're running the fastest and sucking up to the guy who holds the timer. You do it by winning the race fair and square.

My gut feeling leans toward headless chicken, quite simply because, there is a mad scramble to get to the next level, often without a clue on direction, means or methods. The chicken that does make it to the next level fastest is the one that has taken the most direct route, by lying still and letting the butcher have his way. The only issue is that the poor little chicken doesn't know that the next level is a boiling pot of oil. Catch my drift? The next level is no better; in fact it is only worse.

Why am I having this long winded whinge? Simply because I am a headless chicken too. All my life, I have looked at the next level and thought life would get easier. Such frivolous thoughts were fuelled by not-so-innocent bystanders who have confirmed just that. When I let the rope slack in 12th grade, I was goaded on with someone saying the hard work now will lead to a life of relaxation at graduation for I will have that extra edge, in CA, the constant thought that accompanied me in all those sleepless nights was that this struggle will lead to a plum job and life of relaxation. I am now sure that 5 years and 3 promotions down the line, life will be cool once I make it to the next level. Pucka puckk puckk...