DiploJournal
Spoiled by Good Health Care
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I’m well aware how lucky I’ve been to be very healthy most of my life and, in those rare times when I’ve needed a doctor, I’ve had easy access to high quality care. To date, the biggest injury I’ve suffered was a crushed hand bowling in college (yeah, weird story, but the important part is that I finished the game before heading off to the campus medical center). I’ve had the odd occasion to visit a physician over the past 15 years, but mostly just for regular check-ups and the obligatory lecture to exercise more, eat less bread and pasta, and monitor my genetic predisposition for high cholesterol and diabetes.
Last month, as most people have experienced at one time or another, I woke up with a stiff neck. I didn’t think too much about it, but the pain got progressively worse over the course of two days such that I could not lift my head. Over-the-counter pain relievers did absolutely nothing — even the combination muscle relaxant/asprin pills they sell OTC here in Canada did zip. I figured it’d resolve after a few days like such issues always have in the past. It didn’t.
With E and G here for the summer, I had a lot of help and support, as well as a push to actually get help. I tried to get in to see a doctor here. For residents, health care is free — you just swipe your Health Card at any clinic or hospital and wait for your name to be called. I would be paying out-of-pocket and then submit to Blue Cross for reimbursement. No problem.
Well, the wait was the problem. My experience is obviously anecdotal, but I tried a couple of clinics. The 3-hour wait times weren’t going to work given the level of discomfort standing or sitting on a hard chair. Many here travel to Ogdensburg, NY, about an hour away, for health care because you can make appointments and billing is handled directly with Blue Cross. That turned out to be no better. First available appointment would be August 18th. The alternative would be to wait in the emergency room — probably 5+ hrs.
Thus, I’m not making any judgment on socialized medicine in Canada vs. US pay-for-play health care. Both failed me when I needed help. I knew if I were back in Palo Alto, I’d be able to see a doctor, have an MRI, and get a definitive explanation and prognosis within a couple hours of making a call. Spoiled, no doubt, and not typical just about anywhere, including the United States.
The neck thing was so bad I went to see a local chiropractor (for those who know me, I have little faith in that particular discipline). After a few weeks of what I’d call very painful massage, I have a better range of movement. I can life my head and turn to both sides. I honestly have no opinion whether the 15-minute sessions twice a week helped or if I’d be in the same situation with the regular icing and resting I’ve been doing without the chiro. I still have a lot of pain most of the time that radiates down my left arm and causes spasms sporadically to my thumb.
After a lot of reading, it has all the symptoms of a badly pinched nerve that will eventually resolve. I reached the self-described limits of the chiro’s capability and will start physio therapy next week. My hope and expectation is that it will resolve in the next month or two while I try to not let it impact daily life.
I had a chance to do a temporary month-long consular assignment in Shanghai but figured the long flights back and forth would probably be a bad idea so I opted out. Next time, for sure, though.
If anyone has prior experience with these prolonged pinched nerve in the neck/upper back and found an exercise or treatment that helps speed up the healing process, let me know!
Special Relationship on Hold for Two Hours
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On March 5, 1946, during his Sinews of Peace address, Winston Churchill referred to the special relationship between the British Commonwealth and the United States. Through triumph and challenge, the relationship has continued to be close ever since, underscored by diplomatic and military cooperation. Today, replaying a hiccup in 1950, we took a time out.
That was the last time the United States and England played each other in a World Cup finals match. As the dominant favorite (or as they’d say, favourite), our British counterparts graciously invited the U.S. diplomatic corps in Ottawa to raise a few pints and watch the match at the High Commission. Shared language and geopolitical goals, for 90 minutes, gave way to revisiting a 60-year-old bitter rivalry. At least, it was bitter from their point of view.
The United States and England have played in World Cup group play only once before. In what has since been dubbed the Miracle on Grass, a plucky group of American amateurs upset the dominant team in the world, 1-0, after having lost its prior 7 international matches by a combined score of 45-2. So sure were the English newspapers that the wire report contained a typo, they published the score as a 10-1 England victory. Apparently, nobody in the United States knows about it because it happened over 20 years ago and because Disney never made a movie about it. Most everyone in England, however, remembers it like it was yesterday.
Once again, the United States found itself as a dominant underdog to a powerhouse English team. After exchanging pleasantries, thanking our hosts, and finishing my first pint of Speckled Hen, the match began. From the start, England dictated the pace and it seemed as if we were always on defense. After four minutes, the Three Lions’ captain, Steven Girrard, found the back of the net and our hosts went wild. The American section fell silent, imagining a long afternoon of polite smiles and embarrassed congratulations.
Although the Englishmen continued to attack, American goalkeeper Tim Howard made a series of miraculous saves. In the 40th minute, what looked to be an easy save slipped past Robert Green’s grasp and trickled into the English goal. It wasn’t pretty, but it gave the Americans an excuse to stand up and cheer. Our hosts couldn’t believe it.
The rest of the match, although a tense exercise of repelling repeated English attacks, reminded us why soccer will never become as popular in America. Lots of tension, but no scoring. It ended in a tie.
Although we could hold our heads high and claim the moral victory with a draw, it still felt unsatisfying. Just like the players in South Africa, we all shook hands and headed for the exit. At least the special relationship remains intact.
Celebration
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Mea culpa. It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything. I could say I’ve been busy, but that hasn’t really delayed prior posts. Fact is, I’ve just been kinda lazy about the blog. I will endeavor to get back on the horse. Until I get lazy again.
One of the nice perks of life in the foreign service is a few extra holidays. We continue to celebrate U.S. holidays, but we also observe local holidays. Thus, I have back-to-back 4-day weeks: last Monday was Victoria Day while this Monday is Memorial Day. It happens again with Canada Day and Independence Day both coming in early July.
Last week-end, I was able to take advantage of the Queen’s birthday to catch up with family and friends in Washington for a double celebration. E and I marked 25 years together (I find myself staring at that after typing it) with a nice hotel, a great bottle of champagne, and a couple of excellent meals. We had a really fun evening catching up with some A-100 friends over a few pitchers of margaritas at Lauriol Plaza, one of our favs.
We were in town principally, however, to attend M’s graduation from the University of Maryland. He chose to forgo the pomp and circumstance (and long boring speeches) at the Comcast Center in favor of a much smaller, more casual Lavender Graduation ceremony. While I was initially disappointed not to get to see him in robes walking down the aisle in a big ceremony, this was undoubtedly a better experience for all of us. The speeches and awards were moving, and M will remember graduation as a celebration with some of his closest friends.
I got a little choked up watching Dr. Cordell Black react with a huge smile and a bigger hug when M walked up to receive his diploma. As an activist leader on campus over the last three years, M has taken a lot of fire from the administration, some of his fellow students, and even a state senator. As a result, the formality of a big ceremony would not have fit. This was a much more appropriate send-off. Needless to say, I couldn’t be prouder of his accomplishments there (not to mention two degrees, both with honors, completed in three years).
At the end of the week-end, M came up to Ottawa with me for a few days to decompress and to catch up. It was great having him here, although for not nearly enough time. While I worked, he explored Ottawa, read a couple of books, and got back on the writing horse himself. We met up for lunch and dinner each day and mostly just hung out. It was a good week.
Work-wise, it has been incredibly busy. In addition to the regular consular duties, I am coordinating a huge Embassy-wide project, putting together an outreach presentation for prospective H1B temporary workers, and preparing for a role as a site officer for the upcoming G8 summit. Things should calm down by the next double 4-day week.
Springtime means tulips
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When I think of tulips, which I confess is not very often, I think of the Netherlands. Starting in the 17th century, Holland became the world’s tulip center. Still discussed in business schools, the Tulipmania that engulfed Amsterdam between late 1637 and early 1638 created a free market exuberance that makes the recent housing boom and bust look like a minor blip. Despite its destruction of many family fortunes four centuries ago, tulips are still big business in the Netherlands and the farms bring tourists from around the world.
I had no idea that tulips also play a prominent role in the Ottawa calendar. Every May, the City is covered. Literally 1,000,000 tulip bulbs bloom along the Rideau Canal. The official festival runs from May 7th through the 24th, but with a strangely warm February, everything is in bloom early. The large beds, holding around 300,000 tulips, live in Commissioner’s Park, about 5 miles away and I have yet to get down for any length of time. I did, however, walk my neighborhood and make some photos of the small sets I came across.
This year’s theme is Liberation, kicking off 65 years to the minute after the spontaneous street party that erupted on Spark Street after the announcement of the allies’ victory in Europe. It’s a fitting theme on a few levels. The sea of tulips in modern Ottawa, in fact, finds its roots in the dark days of World War II.
As the Germans invaded the Netherlands in 1940, the Dutch Royal Family fled to England. It was only a matter of months, however, before the Blitzkrieg found its way across the channel and the Battle of Britain began. Queen Wilhelmina arranged to have the heir to the throne, Princess Juliana, and her two young children, secreted to Wales where they boarded a ship to Canada. While her husband fought in the war, Princess Juliana and her children settled in to life in Ottawa. She volunteered for the Canadian war effort and represented her mother at official events, while the two girls attended public school.
In 1943, the Royal Family faced a sensitive quandary. The Princess was pregnant but it was not yet safe to return home. If the Princess were to give birth on foreign soil, however, the child would not be a true heir to the throne. Ever the respectful host, the Canadians officially ceded the hospital room to the Dutch government. Thus, when Princess Margriet took her first breath of Canadian air, she took her place as the fourth heir to the Dutch crown. The new Princess’s baptism became an international event with President Roosevelt and England’s Queen Mary stepping in as godparents.
Canadian troops led the liberation of Holland beginning in 1944 and, on May 5, 1945, Canadian Lt.-Gen. Charles Foulkes accepted the German surrender. After the war, the Dutch government sent Canada 100,000 tulip bulbs as a token of their appreciation. Princess Juliana gave another 20,000 bulbs and donated another 10,000 bulbs every year, throughout her 33-year reign as Queen, and thereafter until her death in 2004.
Ottawa held its first tulip festival in 1951 featuring the bulbs presented by the Dutch people and Princess Juliana. The festival has grown each year. Commissioner’s Park serves as an epicenter for the tulips and the celebration. It now includes a tribute to Queen Juliana and a dedicated flowerbed to her honor. Liberation, indeed.
The full set of tulip photos can be found here: www.backstopimages.com. I’ll supplement them in a couple weeks with whatever comes of my trip to Commissioner’s Park.
From the Other Side of the Glass
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I am the first to admit that I’ve had a privileged existence. As a teen-ager in the late 70s and early 80s, my first jobs always involved a keyboard in a cubicle or an office. I learned to type in a junior high school classroom filled with manual typewriters, a skill that ultimately spared me from the fast-food and other typical service-oriented, part-time jobs available to teens of my era. I’ve never had a name tag, a paper hat, or a uniform.
I became fascinated with the emerging personal computer industry, learned programming as a precocious 13-year-old, and found a series of relatively well-paying temporary jobs. When programming jobs were unavailable, there were always clerical opportunities for people who could type 100 words per minute and use Lotus 1-2-3 and Word Pro on a PC, or a dedicated Wang word processor. These days, first graders can text faster than I type but, back in the day, it was unique skill.
Thus, now in my mid-40s, I find myself for the first time at a window serving the public one at a time. A few weeks ago, as I waited for my number to be called at the Ottawa City Hall to register my car and to obtain my Ontario driver’s license, I found myself watching the clerks behind the window. Although I’ve certainly been in similar situations many times before, it was the first time since I started working the other side of the glass.
The crew processing motor vehicle issues appeared to be under-staffed, with a large waiting room of anxious clients. Whether typical or not, I waited for the better part of an hour for my number to appear on the overhead monitors. It was a great opportunity to watch and learn.
All three clerks spoke French and English interchangeably. They dealt efficiently with a wide spectrum of clients: nervous young adults sitting for their driver’s tests with even more nervous onlooking parents, angry people who waited a long time in the wrong office, and confused elderly patrons who did not understand the particular process they were in line to complete. Through all the chaos, the clerks remained composed, patient, and helpful. Most importantly, they each kept their sense of humor and smiled.
I’ve tried to embody these traits in my daily work from the other side of the window. My clients have been in the Embassy — submitting forms, paying fees, and giving fingerprints — for an hour or more before I see them. They are typically nervous about being judged during the interview. Sometimes my brand of humor, sprinkled heavily with sarcasm, doesn’t always translate, particularly for the very nervous applicant. For those clients, I have to work a little harder to reach beyond the memorized speech describing their work history and why they want to visit the United States.
My goal, which I think I achieve in most cases, is to ensure that the client feels they received a fair hearing. The vast majority of my applicants will laugh, or at least give me a polite smile. For those that receive a refusal, I try to spend a little time explaining the basis for the decision. In many cases, I try to describe what they could do to improve their chances the next time. I can be blunt, but that’s reserved for the relatively rare case in which the applicant has several prior refusals, when they are clearly lying in an obvious manner, or when they appear completely unprepared despite numerous instructions to bring key documents.
After the interview, I have little patience for those who continue to argue after I’ve rendered a decision and returned the passport. This is as much for my own sanity as for the other applicants that deserve to reach the window. I’ve quickly developed a good sense for discerning those that believe they can succeed by not taking no for an answer from those that have legitimate questions. For some cultures, a civil servant’s no is simply the first volley in a protracted negotiation. Without yelling, I definitely raise the volume a bit, cut them off quickly, and make my decision’s finality abundantly clear. The applicant then typically makes an extremely slow effort to gather papers, apparently hoping that the longer they remain in front of me, the more likely I will change my mind.
After a sip of tea from my thermos to wipe the slate clean, I greet the next applicant with a smile. “Welcome the United States Embassy.”
Back from the Moon
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It’s been a long week. On a trek to explore six universities in five days, my daughter and I enjoyed some long overdue one-on-one time. Starting and ending in Ottawa, I drove over 1,000 miles. We ate some good food, caught up with a one of our best friends in Boston and family in New York, stayed in some good hotels, and had our fill of campus tours and information sessions. We had an amazing time and made some good progress on the college search. After dropping her at JFK, I drove 8 hours back to Ottawa, unpacked and slept well.
On Sunday, I did some laundry, ran some errands, packed some heavier winter gear, and headed toward the North Pole. Really.
OK, so I didn’t make it all the way to the North Pole, but I did get within 500 miles. I still don’t know why I got so lucky, but a few weeks ago I received a very cryptic message that the Ambassador wanted to know if I could accompany him on a trip. Sure, no problem. I didn’t know where or why, but the dates fit in well right after the long-standing date with my daughter so I quickly agreed. I learned later that I’d be joining a small group on a trip to Alert, Nunavuk, the northernmost permanently inhabited place on the planet.
Here’s a map that shows roughly where we went (clicking on the image will blow it up big enough to actually see).
I’m not sure why, but it seems that most military flights leave at ridiculous times. I arrived at the Embassy at 2:30 am on Monday. In my distinctly non-military life, that counts as Sunday night, particularly since I never slept. We drove to a private terminal at the airport where the traveling party met. After some prep time, we walked the tarmac to a Canadian Air Force C-17. The flight plan was pretty simple. 6 hours non-stop to Alert, Nunavuk. Due North.
I’m told by those in the know that this flight made a little bit of history. This was the first ever direct flight from Ottawa to CFS Alert and most likely the first flight ever from a national capital direct to any point of landing above 82° latitude. Kinda cool.
Unlike passenger jets, there are not a lot of windows in the C-17. This thing is made to carry tanks, not passengers. We were afforded a lot more freedom to walk around, however, so I caught the sun rising.
The sun didn’t set again until we returned to Ottawa.
The C-17 is not the typical aircraft used for Arctic flights. In fact, this was the second time ever the C-17 had landed on the gravel and ice runway at Alert. The first time was last week just to make sure it would work. Aside from me, the passengers on board were VIPs and it would be bad form to make a completely experimental run with such an important passenger list. Here’s a shot of the plane just after we landed.
The landscape was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It’s not just the snow and ice. It’s the vastness of the land and the complete absence of any visible plants or trees. The closest I’ve come to anything like this is Death Valley, but that doesn’t really compare. It felt like what I’d imagine it’d be like to walk on the moon. It was a challenging environment for photography because everything is just so white. I had to underexpose significantly and struggle with the sun which was at a constant 45-degree angle. Instead of going up and down, it just rotated around the horizon.
The station has an incredible staff and they kept us moving, virtually non-stop, until about midnight. We visited the memorial for the 9 crew members of the RCAF Lancaster that crashed in 1950, and then headed to the base for a series of briefings.
After a quick lunch, we jumped in a Swedish SnowCat contraption — picture a minivan with tank treads instead of wheels — and rumbled into the Arctic for about a half an hour. We came upon two temporary campsites. One built by Canadian Rangers and one built by a Danish military sled dog team. The Rangers were mostly locals who participate as a sub-group of Canadian Forces Reserve. They do periodic Arctic surveillance missions and exchange survival techniques with members of the CSB Alert forces. The Rangers showed us how to build an igloo and a 20-minute survival shelter with nothing more than an ice knife and saw. They also treated us to an Arctic Char Stew — a whole new meaning to fresh, frozen.
As fascinated as I was with the Rangers and their techniques for living in such a harsh environment, my eyes get coming back to the dogs. I love dogs and, other than movies (my kids will gladly tell the tale of my crying my way through Eight Below), I’ve never seen a dog team up close. When we arrived, the team was having a good-natured argument.
The Danes travel over 5,000km each year with the team throughout Greenland and the High Arctic, often 10 hours a day. The dogs work hard and, apparently, play hard. The Danes described how they regularly have to stitch up the dogs when they get a little too rambunctious with each other. Although a little intimidated by the growling, howling, and snapping, I asked if I could get close.
It turns out that they absolutely love people. As I held out my hand, they each pulled at their chains to jump and play with me. Working my way up the line, I ended up wrestling with each dog in turn. They immediately transitioned from snarling wolves to wagging, flopping on their backs, domesticated puppies.
Time seems to have a lot less meaning when the sun doesn’t change elevation. I think we were out there (at 20 below) for about an hour and half or so. We headed back to the base, ate a quick dinner, and then headed back out in a different direction.
This time, we visited a tent pitched over the Arctic Ocean. Outside were huge triangles of ice. Inside, was a triangular hole in the ice with each side approx 10-15 feet long. They were not fishing. Instead, a team of divers were taking turns doing 150-ft. dives into the Arctic. For fun. The process of creating a diving hole was a modern engineering marvel involving a water saw (picture a copper tube drilled into the ice, connected to a pump, connected to a heater that boils the water, connected to another narrow copper pipe that turns the boiled water into a thin stream that “cuts” through the ice). It took over two hours to make the cuts, and a forklift to pull the tons of ice out.
The water was crystal clear like the Caribbean. Except with 5-1/2 feet of ice on top. The divers went in two at a time and could last about 15 minutes or so before the cold really started to penetrate their suits. A relatively small hole and thousands of miles of ice? Not in my lifetime, but it was fascinating talking to the divers while they worked.
We left the dive site around 9:15 or so and that was supposed to be it for the night. We were tired, but the 24-hour sun made it tough to call it a day. A couple of us were anxious to get a chance to explore on the ski-doo snowmobiles so this was the perfect time. We had to wait awhile for others to return to the base during which I realized that I was heading out with two very experienced fighter pilots for a little speedy fun in a wide open playground.
The fact that none of us had ever driven a snowmobile and the fact that the ground was filled with lots of moguls kept me in the game. One of the snowmobiles ended up rolling over, but I won’t identify the culprit. I will say that it wasn’t me, no blood hit the ice, and there were no casualties. Except for the rear view mirror that formerly adorned the left side of the ski-doo. The crew presented the mirror on an ornate polar bear-shaped plaque to the unnamed driver in a quiet ceremony.
We rode about a half-hour out to a glacier, parked the ski-doos, and made the short climb to the top for some photos.
We returned to the base unscathed, albeit a little chilly. I finally got to sleep at midnight, about 40 hours since I’d last slept. Because we had so little time in Alert, we didn’t waste much with sleep. My alarm went off at 5:30 and I was packed up, dressed in winter gear, and in line for breakfast at 6:30.
Although we were scheduled to head home, we had a morning of activity still on the Alert schedule. After breakfast, we immediately headed toward the airfield. No plane to board just yet, however. Instead, we climbed into a Sikorsky helicopter and took off for tiny Ward Hunt Island — further north into the Arctic Ocean. The scenery during that flight was simply breathtaking.
After landing on Ward Hunt, we did a whirlwind tour of a temporary Canadian Forces camp, attended a briefing by the team, and took in the vistas.
Ward Hunt serves as the final stop for adventurers trekking to the North Pole so there are a few monuments to those missions. We ended up giving a ride back to Ottawa to an Australian who came within a few hours of giving his life to his attempt.
It was an amazing story. Had it not been for a lucky coincidence, he would surely have perished on the ice. While heading toward the Pole on a solo cross-country skiing attempt, Mr. Smitheringale fell through the ice, spending 10 minutes up to his neck in the Arctic. Although he managed to pull himself onto the ice, his timely rescue occurred only because the Canadian Forces and Rangers happen to be doing their annual military exercise in the region at the same time.
Despite his severe frostbite, he insisted that this would not be his last attempt. Although I think they are all a little nuts, he makes the ice divers and dog sledders seem like pikers.
We piled back on to the helicopter and walked over to the C-17. It was certainly the most unique flight connection I’ve ever experienced. On the way home, we stopped at the US Air Force base in Thule, Greenland. While they refueled the C-17, we drove to the base and received a tour of the facility and a briefing on their mission. Sorry, no pictures from Thule.
We landed back in Ottawa around 7:00 pm and, despite our extraordinary mode of transport, the crew handed out customs declaration cards as we prepared to land. Nope, I didn’t bring back over $10,000 in cash and I didn’t visit any farms.
iPad and the Foreign Service
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Since I’ve arrived in Ottawa, I haven’t really driven anywhere. Before arriving, I found a place to live that is walking distance to both the Embassy and the downtown Byward Market area. Restaurants, bars, shopping, coffee shops, dry cleaning, and music venues are all within a 15 minute walk from my front door. Thus, other than grocery shopping and the occasional run to the airport to pick up visitors, the car has remained in the garage.
So, what could motivate me to jump in the car on a beautiful Saturday morning and drive over an hour into the countryside, over a nerve-wracking rickety metal bridge over the St. Lawrence River, to a small town that promotes on the front of its web site a petition drive to “Save our Prison“? A UPS store, of course. More specifically, a UPS store just over the border that took delivery of my new Apple iPad.
Yeah, a little twisted, but I love gadgets. I pre-ordered the day it was announced with complete confidence that it’d be a hit. At least for me.
I won’t bother writing a general review of the iPad. Just do a Google search (or use Bing if you think Google has become the new Microsoft) and you’ll find scores of in-depth reviews making conflicting conclusions. It’s the best thing since sliced bread. It’s just a big iPhone. It’s wonderful. It’s awful. You’ll find an opinion to match your own gut reaction to Apple products and marketing.
After a few days playing with it, I think Slate got it right. You don’t need an iPad, but once you try one, you’ll probably want it. For me, the iPad does everything I was expecting (books, photo display, email, newspapers), along with a couple of surprises (Netflix). It does not replace a laptop or the iPhone, but that’s not the intent.
The new buzz-phrase used to describe the iPad’s core functionality is “content consumption.” If what we do now is consume newspaper, books, magazines, TV shows, movies, and web sites, then Apple has just invented a pretty damn good fork. I like the feel of chopsticks (newsprint and books) every once in awhile, but I can see myself sticking to the Apple’s new-fangled fork for most meals. Here’s a quick run-down of my initial key apps:
iBooks. I’ve been using an e-reader for several years, but my first generation Sony died a few months ago. I filled out the online order form a couple of times for an Amazon.com Kindle and a Barnes and Noble Nook, before deciding to hold out for Apple’s entry. I was not disappointed. For the geeks out there that know and care about e-ink vs. backlit LCD, I actually like the iPad better for reading. Between work and home, I have already spent more time reading from a backlit screen than from paper and my eyes haven’t yet felt tired as a result. I’m not even sure what “tired eyes” means.
Reading books is the one function that I required of this device and the experience is very satisfying. It took less than a minute to download my first book from the Apple bookstore (Ali Sethi’s The Wish Maker). It launches very quickly and brings up the last page I was reading when I left the book. Screen brightness can be lowered for bedtime reading (it is very bright, even at half-power) and the font can quickly be adjusted, both size and style, to match what I find most comfortable. I can search for specific passages (not necessary for a novel, but very useful for non-fiction), and set multiple bookmarks that create an instantly accessible index. All this, and it still feels like I’m reading a book.
Newspapers and Magazines. This is a category rather than a specific app. Every morning over coffee in my dining room, I can finally read pieces from the New York Times, USA Today, NPR, the San Jose Mercury, and the BBC. It’s not perfect, but give them time. The New York Times’s Editors’ Choice app is beautiful, seamlessly merging the paper’s traditional layout with color photos and video. It’d be perfect if the app provided the entire paper rather than just a few regularly updated pieces. The iPhone app actually has more content and the website has everything so it’s just a matter of time.
Magazines will be revolutionized by electronic distribution. Some have their own dedicated app (Men’s Health, Time, Outdoors, and more to come) while others distribute through an app called Zinio. Again, the interface is very intuitive to swipe through pages or use the more interactive options. It will only get better as publishers and advertisers maximize the technology (wait for Wired‘s app — the description looks amazing).
One app that I haven’t read much about but has the potential to catch on is Fluent News which aggregates news material from a variety of sources. It organizes the content in sections the way a newspaper would and let’s you decide which sources to promote or eliminate (e.g., more content from the Washington Post and none from Fox News).
Photos. At work, the iPad provides an amazing photo frame, cycling through hundreds of family photos at my desk. The interface to sort through photos is beautiful and the screen really shines.
Video. I have a bunch of video files ripped from DVDs that I can drop straight onto the iPad through iTunes and they look great. The speaker is surprisingly full and loud so headphones are not necessary unless you’re in a public space. The NetFlix app was a fantastic bonus. There’s a ton of content, movies and TV shows, all of which loads in about 25 seconds at the tap of an icon. Same with the ABC Player (although the content is limited by that network’s offerings, there are a couple of my guilty pleasures like Modern Family and V).
WordsHD. I’ve already blogged about my obsession with this Scrabble game. The iPad version is a bigger/slicker version of the same thing that allows me to continue playing my friends and family who are using the iPhone version.
No doubt there will be many more apps that I’ll find useful and entertaining in the months to come. The bottom line is that the device provide a very convenient way for me to stay current on what I find important from home while being thousands of miles away.
Suddenly my iPhone screen feels puny.
Intregrated Bilingualism
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The other night, I had the pleasure of attending the Governor General’s Awards in visual and Media Arts at the National Gallery on behalf of the U.S. Embassy. The prizes were essentially lifetime achievement awards for a diverse group of Canadian visual artists. The National Gallery’s great hall on a beautiful early evening was the perfect spot for the cocktail party and presentation.
The crowd included members of the younger art scene, local luminaries, as well as the friends and families of the honorees. I did the rounds, having previously mastered the art of holding a glass of wine with a napkin of cheese and crackers in one hand, so as to leave the other free for spontaneous new acquaintance hand-shaking. As I made the rounds around the circular hall, I met several artists and one woman who works for the Canadian government funding international development programs.
We all took our seats for the award presentation and short speeches by the recipients. The first speaker described the history of the awards and process by which the Canada Council for the Arts received nominations and selected the ultimate winners. I have become used to a certain level of Canadian bilingualism, just in my interactions on the street, in shops, and in restaurants. I was at first surprised to hear so much French in what I expected to be an English-dominated province. What really struck me during the hour-long presentation, however, was how every speaker incorporated both French and English.
I’ve been to many presentations that included two or more languages. Typically, these become very tedious in that the speaker repeats the same paragraph verbatim in each language. Every flight from the U.S. to Europe, for example, will have the most language-gifted flight attendant demonstrate his or her proficiency by repeating the standard buckle-your-seatbelt-don’t-smoke-save-the-kids-first diatribe in multiple tongues. Similarly, the law here requires all public signage to reflect both languages, repeating the warning or instruction in both languages.
This was different. Each speaker at the event, presenters and recipients alike, switched mid-speech between French and English. Instead of repeating the prior part of the speech, however, each simply continued in the alternate language. It was pretty clear for each speaker which language was most comfortable. The part of the speech, whether at the beginning or the end, that had the most jokes reflected the individual’s dominant language.
Although my three years of high school French failed me years ago, I’m slowly improving. My French language comprehension has improved in the last month from panic-inducing non-existence to simple incompetence. Thankfully, my seat-mate was kind enough to translate the jokes for me every time I frowned in concentration (“OK, I know that one was about a talking fish, right?”).
On the street, just about every shop, cart, and restaurant staffer will make an instantaneous guess as to whether you speak English or French and address you in that language. For whatever reason, I have a Gallic look as more often than not the greeting comes in rapid-fire French. My tortured accent, however, always undermines my attempt to blend and the conversation typically reverts quickly to English. I’m working on it.
For most foreign service posts, I will have to pass a certain level of fluency in the local language. In Ottawa, one of our consular officers is fluent in French while another is fluent in Spanish. Me, I guess I’m fluent in sarcasm (which doesn’t always translate here in Canada). For those with an interest, even if the current job is not language-designated, the Foreign Service provides access to an online version of Rosetta Stone.
I was skeptical. How can anything sold primarily through infomercials and mall carts actually be worthwhile? It turns out to be pretty good. I’m working at glacial speed, mostly because I’m lazy, but I do find it useful. My goals are modest, but still well beyond my current grasp. To be seated in a restaurant and receive the French language menu from the hostess. And, of course, to understand the jokes without translation.
Tags: arts, bilingual, bilingualism, Canada, Foreign Service, French, Ottawa, representation events
S Visit
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One of the great benefits of consular line work is the regular hours. We start early, but the day is typically over by 4:30 or 5:00 in the afternoon. No late nights. No week-ends. That is, when the G8 Foreign Ministers’ meeting isn’t taking place in your backyard.
The last week was a definite change of pace. I had my regular duties in the morning, interviewing 30 or so non-immigrant visa applicants. In the afternoon, I was a minor cog in a large team preparing for the U.S. delegation’s 2-day visit to Ottawa and Gatineau for the G8.
The boss has a lot of titles. To most of the world, she’s the Secretary of State, America’s Chief Diplomat, former Presidential Candidate, or former First Lady. To those of us inside the State Department bubble, she is simply S.
Getting to work with the advance team preparing for an S visit can be a lot of fun. It can also get a little scary. As a site officer, I had the responsibility for ironing out all the details for one particular site. It’s the kind of job that you get noticed only if you screw up.
When I received the assignment, one of the senior folks remarked that I must be setting the record for the shortest time between completing A-100 and serving as a site officer for an S visit. Great. Honestly, I’m in no hurry. What I thought was a pretty simple, straight-forward itinerary (motorcade arrives, reception, working dinner, motorcade departs) had a million minor moving parts, all of which remained fluid up to and after the event began.
Leading up to game day, I had a bunch of meetings with the people on site, with others on the team, and with other delegations. I thought I had everything buttoned down. Well, things change. No press inside the building turned into press opportunities upstairs and downstairs including a short bilateral meeting with the Japanese delegation. I learned a lot, very quickly, concerning protocol for such meetings — who sits where, what flags get positioned where, etc.
Although not always smooth behind the scenes, everything was ready when all the Foreign Ministers arrived. The movements from each event went smoothly, and everything went off pretty much as planned. Although S passed me in the tight hallway a couple of times, I think I did my job well enough that she doesn’t know my name.
Once our blackberries chirped that S was airborne, the marines opened the doors to the “wheels up” party and another visit was in the books. Back to the regular hours for awhile until POTUS arrives in June.
Official Confirmation
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There is a lot going on (hence the new blackberry on belt), but I’ll hold off writing until the smoke clears. In the meantime, I actually managed to read a whole novel. I have no explanation for why my adult-onset ADD allows me to read non-fiction but won’t let me get all the way through a novel. I plowed through Updike’s Rabbit series last year and have since started several other recent and not-so-recent works. They are all sitting in strategic places around my apartment with prominent bookmarks calling out for resumption. I still have great aspirations to finish Infinite Jest, but at almost 1100 pages it doubles as a work-out just lugging it around. Some day.
In the meantime, I found Bapsi Sidhwa’s The Pakistani Bride a quick read. I know so little about Pakistani history and the various cultures at play there, that I don’t feel the least bit qualified to opine on the substance of the book. That said, it gives one (not so flattering) view of the tribal Pakistanis in the 1950s from the vantage of Lahore Punjabis and an American woman. I’m back to non-fiction for awhile, but I’m hoping my soon-to-arrive iPad will make it easier to carry a few books around so I can make more progress on Infinite Jest.
I used to claim that I spent so much time reading at work (which I did), that reading for pleasure at the end of the day was difficult. I do a lot less reading at work now so I guess it was all just an excuse to justify my TV addiction. Oh well.
I do spend a chunk of time every day reviewing cables, some of which are relevant to what I’m doing now. Others are relevant to what I’ll be doing in a year. Still others are just interesting. As I was doing my regular reading the other day, up popped this one (don’t worry, it’s unclassified and public knowledge):
SUBJECT: SENATE CONFIRMATION AND PRESIDENTIAL
ATTESTATION OF FOREIGN SERVICE GENERALIST LIST 2009 #11
1. Following are the names of 99 individuals included on
Foreign Service Generalist List 2009 #11. This list was
nominated by the President on December 11, 2009,
confirmed by the Senate on March 10, 2010 and attested
by the President on March 15, 2010. Posts are requested
to share this information with their officers.
….
4. For appointment as Consular Officers and Secretaries
in the Diplomatic Service of the United States of
America:
…
Daniel Ross Harris, of California
I guess in between passing landmark health care reform, completing a nuclear arms treaty with Russia, and overhauling the federal student loan program, the powers that be found time to confirm my class of foreign service officers. Kind of a kick to see it in print.
Tags: A-100, Bapsi Sidhwa, fiction, Foreign Service, Pakistan, reading
