Monday, October 25, 2010
The Characters I Work With
Date: 10/25/10
One of the most important aspects of any job is the simple question 'Can you stand the people you work with?' This will go a long way to determining whether you like your job or not. I inherited quite a cast of different personalities on my job. You have me in all my glory. Formerly there was my roommate (read previous blog out him if you have not), but he has since been transferred to a different project due to lack of enthusiasm and productivity; he needed to see something different. First there is Seelan, the Indian safety officer and one of my closest friends since I've gotten to Malaysia. Cool dude, funny, enjoys having fun. Also 32 yrs old, basically taking care of his niece like his own child. Honestly, in a culture like this, I can't figure out why the dude isn't married; i think it's a combo of confidence issues around women and concentration on some other family issues going on. It's nice that he's a bachelor so we can go out and discuss 'eye candy' but one of my biggest missions is to get him out of his bad habit of driving after drinking. I finally think I broke through to him about it after a somewhat unsafe night we had weeks ago. So i will continue working this with him. I can't help thinking I have an opportunity to change his life for the better and I won't stop monitoring him on this. Great guy though. Next there is Khairul. Boy, boy, boy. He's a Malay clerk of works (i won't try to explain what that means) working for the client of the project rather than the contractor, who I work for. He's 35 yrs old, looks like a teenager because of his size and personality. Although married, he's very vocally girl crazy (at least talking, hopefully not acting on such thoughts) especially for young girls (too young). Because he works for the client, basically the customer in the construction situation, whenever women are mentioned his favorite phrase is "Client first."He is the class clown of our work situation; always talking, usually something that ends with his hyena-like laughter. The jokes are often at my roommate's expense. He has been at odds with his bosses since I arrived on the project and has been looking for a new job. He has been offered two or three, he has one big problem. He adamantly refuses to take a blood test; no matter what. Whether he wants the job or not, he is turning it down immediately if it requires a blood test. As hilarious at he his, the funniest part of all my be his territorial attitude towards me 'stealing' Seelan from him. Wow. Moving on, Zambri is our Malay surveyor. He's one of the bigger Malays I encounter (probably 5'11, 210 or so) but rides a small motor bike like his undersized counterparts. He's a cool guy as long as you don't disturb the hour of sleep he sneaks in at work everyday. Ms. Oon, my greatest ally and also my archnemesis. A useful wealth of info to talk to and simultaneously the most frequent source of headaches on the job. She is the Chinese senior clerk of works for the client. Inspections of all members being built, one of the biggest parts of my job, are performed side-by-side with her. She's very good at her job and very good at knowing what to look for. At the same time, she can be very picky - sometimes overly picky - about things that don't matter. Why do we need to waste time brushing the rust off the the rebar if it's part of the foundation and is about to be casted into concrete and buried underground? This is Malaysia, it rains all the time, the rebar is going to rust; let it go. But I digress…Next you have Mr. Ong (pictured below sleeping AKA hard at work) our older Chinese resident engineer. He don’t talk much, but when he does, you probably won’t like it. Come back from break late, he will get mad and tell on you; right after taking a nap and right before he goes on his 3 pm break at 5:15 himself. Old men. SMH. But all old men are not created equal. I have an adopted Grandfather for my time here, Ah Fatt Lim. He doesn’t speak much English. But he can say “Happy Hour” perfectly. He’s that old man that your parents try to keep you away from until you’re a little older because he’s still acting up for his age. He’s pictured below acting up with a bar girl at a local pub. What a character. CH Tan, my former boss (recently transferred due to butting heads with the clients), is two completely different people wrapped into one. He’s the coolest, most inviting middle aged dude outside of work. He used to show us the good, cheap restaurants, he showed us where to by the ‘legally illegal’ DVDs, etc. But at work, he can catch a quick temper with the best of them. He likes to start barking at us if more pressure is put on him He's pictured below in the doorway. Fook Lee Low is our site supervisor; essentially day-to-day he calls the shots. He doesn’t speak much English but increasingly we can understand each other more and more. He’s the most athletic 53 year old Chinese man the world has ever seen (he’s pictured below 20 feet in the air helping construct a roof with no hard hat). I’ve seen him instinctively hop up on things I have to be careful with myself. The other person unsafely constructing that roof is Hasan Ali, my favorite worker. He’s a 28-year old Bangladeshi who you can tell wants more for himself. Most of the general workers on our site are satisfied living on site in meager accommodations and getting paid pennies to build expensive buildings. Hasan is different. Somehow, with the slim salary our workers get paid, he’s bought a PDA and a laptop and is determined to learn how to use them to make himself better prepared to take another step in his life. I support anybody tryna move forward as long as they're not sellin their soul to do it. And how could I forget our security guard Mazlan. Round as he wants to be, always smiling and standing at the gate with this one leg cocked out stance like he's waiting on the spot light to hit him. The funniest guy I can't understand. The "artwork" on his guard house door is pictured below. Interesting times and people. Better than a site full of stiffs....
The Joys of Workers Who Don't Speak English
Date: 10/2/10
“Morning Boss” this is how I am greeted by my workers on the jobsite when I enter every morning. Being mostly Indonesian and Bangladeshi (and full of vibrant personality), this is as far as some of their English vocabularies stretch. So during the day, trying to give them specific directions for what I need them to do becomes quite a difficult yet entertaining task. Hand gestures always help so I could imagine I may look a little silly from 50 feet away if you see me making hand motions but don’t know what I am talking about. Our Safety Supervisor, my main man Seelan, speaks very good Bahasa Malay and English, so sometimes (especially on time-sensitive issues), he gets drafted as my temporary translator for purposes of clarity. It already feels a little strange from time to time giving orders for manual labor to men who are on average 10 years older than me or so; the language barrier makes it that much more interesting. But luckily, the combination of me being one of the only member of the management staff that’s not scared to get their hands dirty and do something themselves and being the “big Black guy” has bought me a tremendous level of respect with my workers. I’ve rolled up the sleeves of my Polo to move something myself instead of disturbing a worker from another task and seen a worker come running 100 feet to come tell me “No boss, I will do.” It was a good feeling.. Hasan, a 28 year old Bangladeshi who’s the leader of the Kongsikong (a Mandarin term which essentially means general construction worker) has become my go-to guy because he understands a little bit of English on top of being genrally dependable, proactive, and informative. But that is the case with my Kongsikong. My site supervisor Fook Lee, a Chinese man about my parents age (who’s remarkably athletic for his age I’ve come to find watching him climb and navigate to the least accessible points on site) understands English okay because he watches American movies; however, he does not speak English well at all. I ask questions, about EVERYTHING. I want to learn about EVERYTHING because I plan to be the big man on the job one day and when I have young, handsome, educated college grad asking me questions about why I do the things I do on site, I need to be able to answer. With Fook Lee, trying to have a productive conversation with him is hit or miss. Sometimes I can decipher what he means and learn something, other times I just end up leaving unfulfilled. I don’t’ even get frustrated any more, I just know it’s part of the game. The most interesting events as far as language barrier are our inspections. Inspections of every building member before it’s concreted are done by Ms. Oon, the bilingual clerk or works for the project owner, and myself. Fook Lee often comes along though. There are times where she and I will disagree and be arguing with something in English and Fook Lee will lean to her a little later and ask in Malay “what was that about?” Then other times she and Fook Lee will argue in Malay and then I have to lean in and ask for clarification in English. After a year of this site dynamic, communicating with worker in English when I return to the States should be a piece of cake. Off to bed, need to get some rest and enjoy Sunday, my only day off each week. Selamat malam…
“Morning Boss” this is how I am greeted by my workers on the jobsite when I enter every morning. Being mostly Indonesian and Bangladeshi (and full of vibrant personality), this is as far as some of their English vocabularies stretch. So during the day, trying to give them specific directions for what I need them to do becomes quite a difficult yet entertaining task. Hand gestures always help so I could imagine I may look a little silly from 50 feet away if you see me making hand motions but don’t know what I am talking about. Our Safety Supervisor, my main man Seelan, speaks very good Bahasa Malay and English, so sometimes (especially on time-sensitive issues), he gets drafted as my temporary translator for purposes of clarity. It already feels a little strange from time to time giving orders for manual labor to men who are on average 10 years older than me or so; the language barrier makes it that much more interesting. But luckily, the combination of me being one of the only member of the management staff that’s not scared to get their hands dirty and do something themselves and being the “big Black guy” has bought me a tremendous level of respect with my workers. I’ve rolled up the sleeves of my Polo to move something myself instead of disturbing a worker from another task and seen a worker come running 100 feet to come tell me “No boss, I will do.” It was a good feeling.. Hasan, a 28 year old Bangladeshi who’s the leader of the Kongsikong (a Mandarin term which essentially means general construction worker) has become my go-to guy because he understands a little bit of English on top of being genrally dependable, proactive, and informative. But that is the case with my Kongsikong. My site supervisor Fook Lee, a Chinese man about my parents age (who’s remarkably athletic for his age I’ve come to find watching him climb and navigate to the least accessible points on site) understands English okay because he watches American movies; however, he does not speak English well at all. I ask questions, about EVERYTHING. I want to learn about EVERYTHING because I plan to be the big man on the job one day and when I have young, handsome, educated college grad asking me questions about why I do the things I do on site, I need to be able to answer. With Fook Lee, trying to have a productive conversation with him is hit or miss. Sometimes I can decipher what he means and learn something, other times I just end up leaving unfulfilled. I don’t’ even get frustrated any more, I just know it’s part of the game. The most interesting events as far as language barrier are our inspections. Inspections of every building member before it’s concreted are done by Ms. Oon, the bilingual clerk or works for the project owner, and myself. Fook Lee often comes along though. There are times where she and I will disagree and be arguing with something in English and Fook Lee will lean to her a little later and ask in Malay “what was that about?” Then other times she and Fook Lee will argue in Malay and then I have to lean in and ask for clarification in English. After a year of this site dynamic, communicating with worker in English when I return to the States should be a piece of cake. Off to bed, need to get some rest and enjoy Sunday, my only day off each week. Selamat malam…
Thursday, October 14, 2010
My Weird British Roommate
September 3, 2010 and ongoing
There he is. The man, the myth, the legend. I’m past the point of avoiding him. Even past the point that he annoys me a little. I’m actually at the point where I pity him. Yes, I said I pity him. I pity him because I realize that if he truly believes the things that he argues, his life is not going to be anything I’d want to live in. His priorities are curious to say the least. We’re here for one year and he wants to do things like buy a car and a motorbike, but he only brought 3 work-suitable shirts and no work-suitable pants to somewhere he’d be working for an entire year. How much sense does that make to you? When we went shopping for our house with reps from our company, the things he was most worried about were very weird stuff: a frying pan with grill marks (very picky about the size of the grill marks), strainers (multiple, actually), a wash pan (because apparently doing the dishes in the sink just won’t do), etc. Even more so, since I’ve been here, he finds something rather ridiculous to argue with me every few days. First we were talking about eating healthy and he honestly tries to convince me and others that pork is very good for you and it is bread that is giving everyone high cholesterol and heart disease. He says scientists in general are proven wrong and that conventional knowledge about nutrition is all media propaganda because Jimmy Carter was a vegetarian and this has somehow lived on since then. Think that over for a minute. Media propaganda from the Carter administration, he said. On a similar note, he argued that Subway is a sham because it’s actually worse for you than McDonald’s. Yeah, he said this to me with a straight face. However, his diet is weird, he claims he likes spicy food and isn’t a picky eater however he tries to order them “no padas” meaning ‘not hot’ because the spice messed up his stomach. Also, he doesn’t eat bread, rice, or noodles because he says they mess up his stomach; but I’ve seen him eat weird foods like Durian, octopus, and sting ray. If you got a picky stomach, fine. But be real. I don’t have a picky stomach. Other coworkers don’t have picky stomachs, so we have to ask YOU where you can eat. Meaning you’re the picky one. The list goes on, we go places where there may be women or even just general an upscale environment. He “dresses up” in a plain gray t-shirt (yes, the same one everytime), jeans (the same jeans) and dingy white sneakers (once again, yes the same one every time). We saw a Lamborghini and I made a comment that I think it’s a nice car but it’s too low for me to drive everyday. He, all of 5’7 to 5’8 and 120 lbs or so, argues with me that it’s not hard to get out of because size is irrelevant in those situations so it’s just as easy for me as it is for him. If you’re talking about a car as low as a Lambo, how is size irrelevant? He’s one of those people who is a buzz kill in conversation. People, not just me, seem to look for ways to exclude him when we’re having social or funny moments. He something says something a little sexist or calls something ‘girly’ but he’s far from a man’s man. My boss questions if he’s ever been with a lady because of how odd he is around women. He talked junk about his ability to drink, but then doesn’t drink anymore because the first times he drank here, they didn’t go well. He tries to blame the beer.
But all of that has become minor in comparison to a conversation we had about decisions. After a normal, “this is a job, you have to make decisions” statement, he reveals to us that he doesn’t believe people are capable of making decisions. He believes that the environment makes your decisions for you. He says that this is verified by science and is indisputable. That’s right, he said that all nutritionists are full of hot air and spewing Jimmy Carter-originated BS; but he believes that scientists have proved without a shadow of a doubt that the environment makes decisions for people instead of them making them for themselves. After some argument, I thought a little more about things and it made me a little sad for him. Take a moment and truly think about the ramifications of a grown man who truly believes he’s not capable of deciding anything for himself. I’m here in Malaysia, despite some job offers in America, because I wanted an international work experience before I settle into the usual working grown person role for the rest of my life. I’m beginning to think that he honestly is here because it’s the first job that presented itself. In his mind, it was “Well, I’ve spent enough time in my parents’ house in England looking for an engineering job; one became available in Malaysia so destiny must want me to go there.” And that was the end of it. Unlike me, no deep thought went into it at all. He didn’t even bring a camera, saying that he doesn’t care about pictures from this YEAR LONG overseas experience. How much do you think he’ll gain from this experience compared to what he has the potential to gain? Then I thought about it even deeper and it gets scarier. How accountable can someone be if they don’t think they make their own decisions? Can you imagine how mad you would get if you tried to ask an employee about ways to rectify a bad decision he made and he says “You really can’t be mad at me, I didn’t really make the decision; the environment around me did.” I’d be tempted to hit him in the throat. Furthermore, exactly how ambitious can you be if you think that way. I went to high school with a guy, Devon, who was brilliant. I mean, I define intelligence as the ability to learn, analyze and process information. And Devon has as much or more of it than anyone else I know. He had the potential to do great things. However, to be great, you have to consciously take a step further than being average or even being good. To use a computer example, that’s how you go from being a smart kid who became a computer hacker and step up to becoming an information entrepreneur or invent something computer-related that changes the world. However, exactly how can you start this process if you don’t feel that step is not yours to take? No one else can take it for you. One of the things that I believe shaped my life immensely is my parents’ mindset on how to raise a man. They raised me and my brother in a way - through lessons, experiences, and exposures – that as an adult we will be able to analyze situations and make your own decisions and deal with the consequences of your decisions. This is probably the biggest root of my disapproval of his attitude. But another part of being an adult is that you have to accept people’s differences and take people for what they are. This reinforces my sentiment that we will never be too close of friends or see eye-to-eye on anything important. I kind of wish I could trade him in for the cool Western companion I’d imagined to counter the Asians. Instead we’re about as different as two Westerners could be. He’s a spoiled, tiny, marginally delusional (personal opinion), white Englishman from a tiny little town in North England. But hey, it is what it is. As usual, I’ll try to find a way to deal. Selamat malam…
There he is. The man, the myth, the legend. I’m past the point of avoiding him. Even past the point that he annoys me a little. I’m actually at the point where I pity him. Yes, I said I pity him. I pity him because I realize that if he truly believes the things that he argues, his life is not going to be anything I’d want to live in. His priorities are curious to say the least. We’re here for one year and he wants to do things like buy a car and a motorbike, but he only brought 3 work-suitable shirts and no work-suitable pants to somewhere he’d be working for an entire year. How much sense does that make to you? When we went shopping for our house with reps from our company, the things he was most worried about were very weird stuff: a frying pan with grill marks (very picky about the size of the grill marks), strainers (multiple, actually), a wash pan (because apparently doing the dishes in the sink just won’t do), etc. Even more so, since I’ve been here, he finds something rather ridiculous to argue with me every few days. First we were talking about eating healthy and he honestly tries to convince me and others that pork is very good for you and it is bread that is giving everyone high cholesterol and heart disease. He says scientists in general are proven wrong and that conventional knowledge about nutrition is all media propaganda because Jimmy Carter was a vegetarian and this has somehow lived on since then. Think that over for a minute. Media propaganda from the Carter administration, he said. On a similar note, he argued that Subway is a sham because it’s actually worse for you than McDonald’s. Yeah, he said this to me with a straight face. However, his diet is weird, he claims he likes spicy food and isn’t a picky eater however he tries to order them “no padas” meaning ‘not hot’ because the spice messed up his stomach. Also, he doesn’t eat bread, rice, or noodles because he says they mess up his stomach; but I’ve seen him eat weird foods like Durian, octopus, and sting ray. If you got a picky stomach, fine. But be real. I don’t have a picky stomach. Other coworkers don’t have picky stomachs, so we have to ask YOU where you can eat. Meaning you’re the picky one. The list goes on, we go places where there may be women or even just general an upscale environment. He “dresses up” in a plain gray t-shirt (yes, the same one everytime), jeans (the same jeans) and dingy white sneakers (once again, yes the same one every time). We saw a Lamborghini and I made a comment that I think it’s a nice car but it’s too low for me to drive everyday. He, all of 5’7 to 5’8 and 120 lbs or so, argues with me that it’s not hard to get out of because size is irrelevant in those situations so it’s just as easy for me as it is for him. If you’re talking about a car as low as a Lambo, how is size irrelevant? He’s one of those people who is a buzz kill in conversation. People, not just me, seem to look for ways to exclude him when we’re having social or funny moments. He something says something a little sexist or calls something ‘girly’ but he’s far from a man’s man. My boss questions if he’s ever been with a lady because of how odd he is around women. He talked junk about his ability to drink, but then doesn’t drink anymore because the first times he drank here, they didn’t go well. He tries to blame the beer.But all of that has become minor in comparison to a conversation we had about decisions. After a normal, “this is a job, you have to make decisions” statement, he reveals to us that he doesn’t believe people are capable of making decisions. He believes that the environment makes your decisions for you. He says that this is verified by science and is indisputable. That’s right, he said that all nutritionists are full of hot air and spewing Jimmy Carter-originated BS; but he believes that scientists have proved without a shadow of a doubt that the environment makes decisions for people instead of them making them for themselves. After some argument, I thought a little more about things and it made me a little sad for him. Take a moment and truly think about the ramifications of a grown man who truly believes he’s not capable of deciding anything for himself. I’m here in Malaysia, despite some job offers in America, because I wanted an international work experience before I settle into the usual working grown person role for the rest of my life. I’m beginning to think that he honestly is here because it’s the first job that presented itself. In his mind, it was “Well, I’ve spent enough time in my parents’ house in England looking for an engineering job; one became available in Malaysia so destiny must want me to go there.” And that was the end of it. Unlike me, no deep thought went into it at all. He didn’t even bring a camera, saying that he doesn’t care about pictures from this YEAR LONG overseas experience. How much do you think he’ll gain from this experience compared to what he has the potential to gain? Then I thought about it even deeper and it gets scarier. How accountable can someone be if they don’t think they make their own decisions? Can you imagine how mad you would get if you tried to ask an employee about ways to rectify a bad decision he made and he says “You really can’t be mad at me, I didn’t really make the decision; the environment around me did.” I’d be tempted to hit him in the throat. Furthermore, exactly how ambitious can you be if you think that way. I went to high school with a guy, Devon, who was brilliant. I mean, I define intelligence as the ability to learn, analyze and process information. And Devon has as much or more of it than anyone else I know. He had the potential to do great things. However, to be great, you have to consciously take a step further than being average or even being good. To use a computer example, that’s how you go from being a smart kid who became a computer hacker and step up to becoming an information entrepreneur or invent something computer-related that changes the world. However, exactly how can you start this process if you don’t feel that step is not yours to take? No one else can take it for you. One of the things that I believe shaped my life immensely is my parents’ mindset on how to raise a man. They raised me and my brother in a way - through lessons, experiences, and exposures – that as an adult we will be able to analyze situations and make your own decisions and deal with the consequences of your decisions. This is probably the biggest root of my disapproval of his attitude. But another part of being an adult is that you have to accept people’s differences and take people for what they are. This reinforces my sentiment that we will never be too close of friends or see eye-to-eye on anything important. I kind of wish I could trade him in for the cool Western companion I’d imagined to counter the Asians. Instead we’re about as different as two Westerners could be. He’s a spoiled, tiny, marginally delusional (personal opinion), white Englishman from a tiny little town in North England. But hey, it is what it is. As usual, I’ll try to find a way to deal. Selamat malam…
Saturday, October 9, 2010
A Bad Bill of Health
Date: 08/25/10
On another note, I met a Nigerian student who lives him my apartment complex. He’s a lbig dude named Uwa who approached me saying he wanted to talk to me sometime about eating healthy. So I hit him up another time to figure out what he’s talking about. He and an older Malay Indian lady served the Herbalife supplement that’s gotten so popular to people for free at a location in the complex. First they take your height and put you barefoot on a scale that apparently knows absolutely everything; weight, body fat, age in wear-and-tear of organs, water composition, level of internal fat around internal organs, 1-10 point scale of athleticism of the person, etc. Somehow I figured the scale was gonna spit out some foolishness; I was right. The scale said I weigh 87 kilos (about 190), which seems to be about right. According to her chart, I’m about 30 lbs (14 kgs) overweight for my height, 1.83 meters (6’1. 75 or so). 30 pounds. I know I’m not small, but would you respect me as a grown man at almost 6’2, 160? I put a picture below of how I looked the last time I weighed 160, how am I supposed to get respect as a grown man at that size in 2010? No sir, I don't want that. The scale said I’m almost 25% body fat (last time I had a body fat test I was below 10%), I was a 3 on a ten-point scale of athleticism. I’m a few months removed from being an all-ACC athlete and I was going to the gym doing double cardio before I came to Malaysia. According to the scale, my organs are significantly older than I am in wear-and-tear, and I have an extremely high almost dangerous level of fat around my internal organs and all kinds of craziness. Now, I know I’m predisposed to high cholesterol in my family, that’s a fact. But all this other stuff is garbage. They say they want me to take the supplement as dinner, which they serve for free, and I will see a notable change in the numbers. I’m gonna play the game and see what happens because they not actual salespeople but just people who publicize the product; they won’t sell it to you even if you want them to they say. Healthier is always better and I know about the cholesterol history so anything is worth a quick try. But you heard it hear first; those test numbers were some BS. We’ll see what’s up after a week or two of taking this stuff for diner. But anyway, I got my music popping, it’s almost payday and I should be getting the Internet and cable soon. I’m feeling alright at the moment. Selamat malam…
On another note, I met a Nigerian student who lives him my apartment complex. He’s a lbig dude named Uwa who approached me saying he wanted to talk to me sometime about eating healthy. So I hit him up another time to figure out what he’s talking about. He and an older Malay Indian lady served the Herbalife supplement that’s gotten so popular to people for free at a location in the complex. First they take your height and put you barefoot on a scale that apparently knows absolutely everything; weight, body fat, age in wear-and-tear of organs, water composition, level of internal fat around internal organs, 1-10 point scale of athleticism of the person, etc. Somehow I figured the scale was gonna spit out some foolishness; I was right. The scale said I weigh 87 kilos (about 190), which seems to be about right. According to her chart, I’m about 30 lbs (14 kgs) overweight for my height, 1.83 meters (6’1. 75 or so). 30 pounds. I know I’m not small, but would you respect me as a grown man at almost 6’2, 160? I put a picture below of how I looked the last time I weighed 160, how am I supposed to get respect as a grown man at that size in 2010? No sir, I don't want that. The scale said I’m almost 25% body fat (last time I had a body fat test I was below 10%), I was a 3 on a ten-point scale of athleticism. I’m a few months removed from being an all-ACC athlete and I was going to the gym doing double cardio before I came to Malaysia. According to the scale, my organs are significantly older than I am in wear-and-tear, and I have an extremely high almost dangerous level of fat around my internal organs and all kinds of craziness. Now, I know I’m predisposed to high cholesterol in my family, that’s a fact. But all this other stuff is garbage. They say they want me to take the supplement as dinner, which they serve for free, and I will see a notable change in the numbers. I’m gonna play the game and see what happens because they not actual salespeople but just people who publicize the product; they won’t sell it to you even if you want them to they say. Healthier is always better and I know about the cholesterol history so anything is worth a quick try. But you heard it hear first; those test numbers were some BS. We’ll see what’s up after a week or two of taking this stuff for diner. But anyway, I got my music popping, it’s almost payday and I should be getting the Internet and cable soon. I’m feeling alright at the moment. Selamat malam…
Music as a Cure-All
Date: 8/25/10
“Music is the rhythm of life,” a wise man once said. That wise man was me. As much as I tell other people that, how’d I get away from it for such a long period of time?
Just a few days ago, I was a little frustrated with things. One of the subcontractors at the jobsite was holding up our schedule (which would get us, not the subcontractor, cussed out next time we have a meeting with the client) and I seemed to be the only person from the management team on site that cared; I had to talk to the boss about what we could do to aid the problem. They took our company car. We still don’t have the Internet in the apartment. I was gonna have to switch rooms into a room that was currently bright pink. And it got ridiculously hot again, which always seems to make people a little more irritable. I won’t say I was losing it or anything, but I wasn’t in the best of moods for a short 
period. Then something miraculous happened. I stopped using my iPod just as a device to search for available wi-fi but bought some new headphones and turned on the music. I had put the Roots’ new album “How I Got Over” on my iPod but hadn’t given it a good listen yet. I just let the album take me away. Before I knew it, I would be waiting to cross the street somewhere or riding in the car bobbing my head. The subcontractor got more manpower and machinery at the sight so now they are working at a much better pace. The project manager is giving us rides back and forth to work and we got news that we will have another car soon. They painted the pink room white and gave me brand new furniture for the move. And even in the Malaysian heat, “The Fire,” “Walk Alone,” and “The Day” among others by the Roots were keeping me cool. In addition to the usual suspects like Nas, Lupe, Kweli, Wale, and NC’s own phenomenal talent J. Col. There’s a reason I always had my iPod in during my years in college. I don’t know where I’d be without it.
“Music is the rhythm of life,” a wise man once said. That wise man was me. As much as I tell other people that, how’d I get away from it for such a long period of time?
Just a few days ago, I was a little frustrated with things. One of the subcontractors at the jobsite was holding up our schedule (which would get us, not the subcontractor, cussed out next time we have a meeting with the client) and I seemed to be the only person from the management team on site that cared; I had to talk to the boss about what we could do to aid the problem. They took our company car. We still don’t have the Internet in the apartment. I was gonna have to switch rooms into a room that was currently bright pink. And it got ridiculously hot again, which always seems to make people a little more irritable. I won’t say I was losing it or anything, but I wasn’t in the best of moods for a short 
period. Then something miraculous happened. I stopped using my iPod just as a device to search for available wi-fi but bought some new headphones and turned on the music. I had put the Roots’ new album “How I Got Over” on my iPod but hadn’t given it a good listen yet. I just let the album take me away. Before I knew it, I would be waiting to cross the street somewhere or riding in the car bobbing my head. The subcontractor got more manpower and machinery at the sight so now they are working at a much better pace. The project manager is giving us rides back and forth to work and we got news that we will have another car soon. They painted the pink room white and gave me brand new furniture for the move. And even in the Malaysian heat, “The Fire,” “Walk Alone,” and “The Day” among others by the Roots were keeping me cool. In addition to the usual suspects like Nas, Lupe, Kweli, Wale, and NC’s own phenomenal talent J. Col. There’s a reason I always had my iPod in during my years in college. I don’t know where I’d be without it.
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