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So I had a marketing presentation to make to my multi-national peers at my University. I had the works: powerpoint, notes, a well-studied presentation of perfection, all ready to impress. I even decided to add a little 'multicultural' flair to my report, you know, something to appeal to my audience, they were, afterall, over 70% japanese. So what the heck. I asked my dad - an avid businessman - who taught me about the concepts of "Kaizen", a company's drive to improve itself, and a new term I'd never heard before, "Giri", pronounced like "Gee-ree". It means to have supreme loyalty to one's company and customers. Bingo!! What a term, what a word to knock my japanese compadres off their feet! So I incorporated it into my speech. The day of my presentation, despite my nervousness, it went off without a hitch. In fact, it was fantastic. I was captivating, I was fascinating, I was a hit. All was well, - that is, until I reached my conclusion. "So as you can see from the following report, a feedback-management system and thorough IMC marketing plan will not only better the company, but foster supreme loyalty, or, as the Japanese would say - release "geri" upon their best customers and employees." Within seconds, I noticed some shuffling in the audience. Followed by loose coughs and nervous glances. I heard a light laughter rise from the audience. I figured my conclusion wasn't hitting them as I had anticipated, so I did what anyone would do: I reiterated: "Every company wishes for Geri, it is the ultimate goal of the employees, and the customers for complete satisfaction." The dull laughter had risen to full out gaffaws. I figured I must have had a boog hanging or something. What the hell was their problem? I asked: "Is there something wrong here that I'm missing?" A buddy of mine in the class, Hamir, put up his hand, and kindly explained to me that I had pronounced "Giri" as "Geri" - like "Jerry", which loosely translated in Japanese, means "diarrhea". I was humiliated. But everyone in my class thought it was hilarious. Nevertheless, the lesson for the day is, always check the pronounciation of foreign terms, or your presentation might go the craps. |
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I'm taking this marketing class. It's called Strategic Marketing. And my professor, is a boob. ___________________________________ I have a hard time justfying his behaviours to friends. "What do you mean your professor doesn't take photographs of his students in class?" I thought it odd the first time too, I guess. My rationalization was something like: "Well it's not like I'm in the witness protection program, or an ambidigenal model or anything.." Then he started talking about girls. Girls sharing blouses. That was a little off. Considering we were discussing Net Contribution Margin and the implications of product lines. Nevertheless, "I'm sure he was referring to the metaphorical exchange of brand "blouses", and using women to refer to the company, you know, like how sailors refer to their ships as 'maidens'" It all made sense in my head, anyway. In the end, isn't that all that matters? ___________________________________ You know what else matters? molecules. heh heh heh. |
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I brought soup to school today. I brought more than soup actually, but the soup was special - my mom made it - and I figured I'd save it for dinner. Being in class from 8:30 - 5:30pm, I had to find a way to keep the soup cool - less it spoil. So I strolled over to my neighbourhood Student Union building to put it in, what I figured would be, a communal refrigerator. The woman at the desk didn't have a clue what I was talking about, and took me for a nutbar. No campus refrigerator? Where am I supposed to put my parishables, smartie pants? Alot of arguing ensued. I told her "Fine, I'm going to bury this soup in the snow right outside your door!" Little did she know I was serious, so I made a nice little hole in the large snow bank behind the building and buried my soupy treasure. Unfortunately, she was smarter than I thought. I returned that evening to find the three tonne snow bank completely shovelled. Only a few stalks of boiled broccoli remained. I was pretty choked - I felt deflated. Now I'm going to a volleyball game. |
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It is so gross. I'm thinking about all the little germs on my hands - which I'm transfering to the next student through this publicly accessed keyboard. I should have stayed home. My classes this term however are the type you can't miss - not even for a swift bout of headache and nausea. It's the type of class you miss when the professor starts: "And the meaning to life is..." On a positive note, I'm going to my luver's house. I'm going to play Zoo Tycoon on his computer until my eyeballs crust over. Now that's a quality way to spend a Tuesday - oh, and I need to do homework. I'll call that plan B. __________________________________ Thanks for the distraction |
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So it snowed again last night. Just over 1 foot now. I can't help but think about the homeless, the foodless, the jacket-less - but then, I also can't help but think about my poor dog. Rascal's a mutt. She was supposed to be a husky/lab, but got stiffed into being the runt of the litter. She now sitts barely knee-high to a pig's eye - which has it's disadvantages. Like when there's over 1 foot of snow outside. I guess I shouldn't be watching - watching as I do from the window, when I let her outside in the frosty morning. But I can't help it. The dog can't doodoo in the snow. I guess if the ground came up to *my* nether regions as *I* attempted to relieve myself, I'd have difficulties too. Probably explains her attitude the past few days... Needless to say, for now, we're not letting her on the good furniture. |
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I love my friends. All two of them. But I'm getting tired of the profanities they delight my inbox with every Friday. I got a new one from 'Legs today - "International Cocks" or some such thing. The best is when I'm at the University, in the public access, 60-some computer student labs. That's the fun part. DICKS OF THE WORLD!!!!!!!!! LOOK AT THIS ITALIAN COCK!!!!!!!! WHOOOOOOOOOHOOO!!!!! unknowingly opening crass emails has got to be fear #65 for me - next to cotton balls (64) and liquid computer screens (66). I should consider filters. _____________________________________ I can eat 6 waffles by myself. |
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Jealousy's a bitch, isn't it. I have an over-compulsive "attention" disorder at University. If I'm not the center of attention, I'm not interested. And today, I got stood up. I got stood up bad. I've been trying my darndest maintaining my Dean's list status - limiting my social life to a boyfriend and a 2L bottle of chasta - I figured I had it all under control. Until I got stood up. A girl in my marketing class scored three points higher than me on a quiz - a quiz I studied 4 hours for. Don't you love those types of people? They acheive so much in life with the most minimal effort. Not only that, but it becomes pure bragging rights thereafter. "Heh heh, I got 98% and I didn't even study, heh heh". I should have kicked her in the junk. Or taken counselling. I prefer the former. ____________________________________ Tonight's eggo night. Bring your waffles. |
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I ran into a conundrum this morning. Stepping into my modestly-sized garage, which boasts two oversized refrigerators and 24 years of memorable crap, I had to think out loud: "It must be minus four in here" Opening one of the fridges, and finding the usual; lettuce, mustard, and those disgusting ketchup gummies left behind Heinz bottles, I had an epiphany: "The fridge maintains a constant temperature between 0 and 4 degrees - any warmer, and food spoils to bacteria...any colder, and food freezes" ergo... "If it's minus four outside the refrigerator, and the refrigerator must maintain 4 degrees above freezing...does that mean it eventually "heats" instead?" ____________________________________ I jumped in the shower this morning, only to find the water I immediately drew defiantly refused to go down the drain - instead, gurgling for a few minutes, and eventually regurgitating hamster shit, seeds and sheddings. I guess my sister decided to clean it's cage last night - she still denies it. I should poo on her bed. Note to self, three references to "crap" in this entry. Outlook: Positive. |
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I jumped on the bus a little after 5pm - after a grueling 9hr school day, I was heading home. I sat behind a young male, who looked slightly ethnic, but from where I could'nt tell. He had relatively long hair, with a rough looking Chicago Bulls jacket on. What led me to his notice wasn't his jacket, or his origin - what drew me to him, rather - was his hair. In the back of his head, he had two very distinct, very asymmetrical bald spots, behind either of his two ears - somewhat ladle-shaped - which dissapeared into a mountain of thick, black hair covering the rest of his noggin. I wondered what might have caused such an unusual ailment. It was shortly there after my personal diagnoses, I saw why. Every five or six seconds that passed, he would strum his fingers through his hair, and pull out a strand. Rather nonchallant, actually, had you not have been sitting directly behind him, you would have probably never noticed. Nevertheless, it continued. He meticulously yanked hair by hair, studying each one with the greatest of interest, before dropping it to the next seat at his front. Repeatedly, as though committing an act as thoughtless as a scratch, his hands would travel behind his ears, preen his hair, find a strand, and pull. He would quickly look down at his "find", study it intently, and drop it as though it had lost all it's appeal within moments. His hands would travel back behind his ears. Preen. Pluck. Study. Drop. Repeat. 15 minutes later, my fascination turned to disgust. The bald spots appeared to grow larger. I felt like I was witnessing some modern day repulse, like being tied to a chair watching horror movies with your eyes taped open. I tried looking away, closing my eyes...I eventually huddled against the side of the bus in an attempt to "sleep away" the event - but it wasn't much use. It was weird, but I was actually close enough to hear the sound of hair escaping his head...you know the one, like a miniature "pop". The bus finally slowed to my street, and through the hissing and whining of the gears, I managed to "come-to" and pull my stop. Getting off, I realized I was being crazy. You can't categorize behaviours, let alone assign people to those behaviour categories. Hell, I fantasize about cartoon characters - who am I to judge? I did a little research online, and found the name for it anyway. "Trichotillamania" - meaning "hair" "pulling" "mania". The most bizarre of the experience, however, followed afterward. As I was searching for the man's behaviour online, I happened to glance at the arm of my winter jacket, and found a relatively long, thick black hair - embedded in the threads of the cuff. |
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I love not being in school - I finally have time to do my homework. Spring Semester day #1 starts tomorrow. I'm stoked to see everyone I bumped into on New Years - incriminating photos in hand. That's the awe inspiring beauty of being a permanent D.D., the blackmaling potential. I think I've officially driven every single hosed North American at one point within my pre-adult career - If I dug deep enough, I'd probably find Donald Rumsfield's left sock, or a condom once toted by Al Gore lodged between the seats of my Rav4. (But then, who *hasn't* found a Gore condom lodged between their car seats, be honest). I made my boyfriend watch Beauty & the Beast last night. I should have been working on the BC Guide Dogs charity brochure, as I promised, but then I remembered I'm a procrastinator by nature, and fighting against nature is bad. I've always had a weird affinity for inanimate objects. *insert profane joke here ____* When I was a teenager, I used to have a major crush on Tuxedo Mask - for those of you who weren't Sailor Moon adicts, he's a cartoon with the verbal capacity of a shoe horn. So I debated, last night, whether Gaston or the Beast was hotter - for lack of a better past time. Now to blow dry my hair and get to Wal-Mart and NAPA. Nothing like discounts and auto parts to get a girl going on a pleasant Monday morn. |
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If you've come here for pleasant conversation, unconventional wit, or stimulating intellectual thought, you've come to the wrong place. Enjoy the show |