Internet slowdown in the UAE has become quite a common phenomenon that people got tired complaining about it. They got accustomed. Besides, what will the big kahuna, Etisalat, do but leave everyone clueless on why their internet speed connection magically slumped?
There were a couple of incidences before where Etisalat's main excuse (which was then understandable) was that their underground sea cables got fucked up. We heard of the same good old reasons... underground sea cables either got fucked up by earthquakes or by submarines or due to tsunamis on the other side of world or, more commonly, because of some wacko mermaids who deployed their army of Hamour to cut some of Etisalat's loose fibre-optics lying on the seabed. Irritating excuses. It's pathetic how we playfully ask each other if there were any earthquakes lately whenever we suffer from a slow internet connection. We don't get proper notifications or any apologies for those things. (Oh! They just sent me a message about their new promo! And guess what? It's written in my language! Now how cool is that?!) If they can bother sending messages about their new offers that's surprisingly translated in different languages according to their customers, then why can't they bother informing us about their service downtimes? How about a sorry (they don't really have to be sincere knowing that they're Etisalat - but at least...) for the inconvenience? We rarely read anything from them concerning their faults. We're treated as if we don't pay more than enough money for their exceptional services.
Unforgivable. It can make anyone who constantly suffers from being subscribed to Etisalat that the company can make billions (Dh1.84 billion) in three months. If only we have a better choice.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Three Hundred
I finally saw 300 the movie last night. It was regurgitatingly bloody awesome! Anyway, before talking about the movie, I'd like to share how my friend and I were able to deceive those cinema ticket booth cashiers with our age and how we were fortunately able to watch an R18 film.
It's been umm weeks since the premiere of 300 in the UAE. Most of my friends who were also underaged and don't even look that matured enough were able to see the movie in the cinemas. They said it was quite easy to sneak in. And based on my experience, it really was.
"Two tickets for 300 the movie please" I said politely to the cashier who looked lenient. (That's why we've chosen to go to her booth's queue anyway) She printed the tickets and was about to give it to me when...
"Hey, are you guys sure you're over 18?!" she said doubtly. Oops. Since I never tried lying about my age in the cinemas before, I suddenly panicked and worried about how we're going to make it through.
"Duh, of course we are" I said, with my voice calm and loud. But then, how can I forget that South East Asians don't look old enough for their age? And how can I deceive this lady that I'm over 18 when I look just 16?
"You! You don't look like 18 years old and above!!" she pointed her finger not to me, but to my surprise, my friend and gave him a cunning look. My friend, being Iranian with a growing stubble and tall was surprised. He didn't expect to be questioned for his age - for we know that he looks matured more than his age. I was about to blow our cover when I laughed. We expected it to be the other way around, that I will be the one asked if I am really 18 and over.
"I am 18!" My friend replied arrogantly.
"Believe me miss, he is 18." then I handed over our money to her.
"You better be sure." She raised her eyebrows and gave me our tickets and change. We swiftly left the ticket booth and started laughing. My friend was only 15.
It's very easy for underaged teenagers to watch movies that are rated haraam for us.
Oh, and about 300 the movie. The cinematography was excellent. The presence of blood gushing almost all through out the film completely desensitised me from gore and violence. Except for the blood spatters and headless bodies that were embedded in my mind, I can only remember a fugly diseased old man licking a young girl, the Spartan King Leonidas' dining preferences, ("Spartans! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty... For tonight, we dine in hell!") the Persian King Xerxes' emo reaction when his lip got scratched by a spear and Queen Gorgo's ultimate line: "Only Spartan women give birth to real men!" WTF? Seriously, the movie was funny in some way. I am just happy that there weren't many nuisances in the theatre or people could've started kicking those cinema infidels while screaming "This is Sbarta!!"
At the end of it, I have with me, an Iranian friend, who was ready to debate about all the fictitious elements in the movie that illy portrayed his country's history while I laugh as I remember all the blood crap I just saw.
It's been umm weeks since the premiere of 300 in the UAE. Most of my friends who were also underaged and don't even look that matured enough were able to see the movie in the cinemas. They said it was quite easy to sneak in. And based on my experience, it really was.
"Two tickets for 300 the movie please" I said politely to the cashier who looked lenient. (That's why we've chosen to go to her booth's queue anyway) She printed the tickets and was about to give it to me when...
"Hey, are you guys sure you're over 18?!" she said doubtly. Oops. Since I never tried lying about my age in the cinemas before, I suddenly panicked and worried about how we're going to make it through.
"Duh, of course we are" I said, with my voice calm and loud. But then, how can I forget that South East Asians don't look old enough for their age? And how can I deceive this lady that I'm over 18 when I look just 16?
"You! You don't look like 18 years old and above!!" she pointed her finger not to me, but to my surprise, my friend and gave him a cunning look. My friend, being Iranian with a growing stubble and tall was surprised. He didn't expect to be questioned for his age - for we know that he looks matured more than his age. I was about to blow our cover when I laughed. We expected it to be the other way around, that I will be the one asked if I am really 18 and over.
"I am 18!" My friend replied arrogantly.
"Believe me miss, he is 18." then I handed over our money to her.
"You better be sure." She raised her eyebrows and gave me our tickets and change. We swiftly left the ticket booth and started laughing. My friend was only 15.
It's very easy for underaged teenagers to watch movies that are rated haraam for us.
Oh, and about 300 the movie. The cinematography was excellent. The presence of blood gushing almost all through out the film completely desensitised me from gore and violence. Except for the blood spatters and headless bodies that were embedded in my mind, I can only remember a fugly diseased old man licking a young girl, the Spartan King Leonidas' dining preferences, ("Spartans! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty... For tonight, we dine in hell!") the Persian King Xerxes' emo reaction when his lip got scratched by a spear and Queen Gorgo's ultimate line: "Only Spartan women give birth to real men!" WTF? Seriously, the movie was funny in some way. I am just happy that there weren't many nuisances in the theatre or people could've started kicking those cinema infidels while screaming "This is Sbarta!!"
At the end of it, I have with me, an Iranian friend, who was ready to debate about all the fictitious elements in the movie that illy portrayed his country's history while I laugh as I remember all the blood crap I just saw.
PhD: Pizza Hut Delivery
After having a splendid breakfast with my family in a restaurant, we noticed how the waitress attending to our table was having difficulty in manoeuvring her work. The way she moved about cleaning the table and carrying the plates gave us the impression that it was her first day in her job. We got intrigued by the way she didn't look fit for what she was doing. And we were able to ask her a few questions which were answered hesitantly.
We found out that she was new in the UAE and that she graduated with a degree in business and finance. She was working as a waitress because she wasn't able to find a job particularly in her line of studies and also due to some problems with her visa. Heck, she even shared about their insufficient salary and excessive over-times. It was just one of those sad common stories of life, with ala sand lands twist.
Which makes me wonder, just how many people are out there who ended up in a job that was totally different from the career they pursued for in their higher studies? Or how about, how many people are out there who carry self-proclaimed titles without their bona fide diplomas? I've heard a lot of not so good stories before ... stories that told me that education cannot really promise you the future that you assumed it will be. A chemical engineer who works as a labourer, a friendly doctor taxi driver, an unlicensed surgeon performing operations who unfortunately ends up with dead patients ... and a lot more bizarre true stories which make life more complicated as it has already been.
We found out that she was new in the UAE and that she graduated with a degree in business and finance. She was working as a waitress because she wasn't able to find a job particularly in her line of studies and also due to some problems with her visa. Heck, she even shared about their insufficient salary and excessive over-times. It was just one of those sad common stories of life, with ala sand lands twist.
Which makes me wonder, just how many people are out there who ended up in a job that was totally different from the career they pursued for in their higher studies? Or how about, how many people are out there who carry self-proclaimed titles without their bona fide diplomas? I've heard a lot of not so good stories before ... stories that told me that education cannot really promise you the future that you assumed it will be. A chemical engineer who works as a labourer, a friendly doctor taxi driver, an unlicensed surgeon performing operations who unfortunately ends up with dead patients ... and a lot more bizarre true stories which make life more complicated as it has already been.
Year 1
I almost forgot! Falapeno turns one year old in the first week of April 2007. I don't remember the exact date anymore. It's been a while ... and hopefully I can still continue blogging despite the busyness of student life.
For those who are new to this blog, you can find my lost archives here.
For those who are new to this blog, you can find my lost archives here.
Dhoom Machale
It's becoming worse. I know, it's a weird case of Last Song Syndrome - well, at least it's a good example of cultural assimilation... Or something like that.
"Dhoom machale dhoom machale dhoom machale..." I caught myself singing it again - this time, in my classroom. What's worse, I wasn't singing it in my head, I was really singing it. I can only remember my teacher's expression when she heard me sing it in the midst of our Mathematics class.
"Why do you know that song?" she said with a skeptical look mixed with curiousity.
"Huh?" I replied blankly.
I don't really know the song. In fact, I only know one line of the song. 'Dhoom machale' - that's it. I think the first time I heard the song was in one of my taxi rides before where I didn't bother asking the driver to switch the radio channel. Then just the other day, my friends and I were having some sort of a song-trip and out of the blue, they started chanting tom machade. I got hooked. We sang and sang tom machade only to know later that day that it was not 'tom machade' but it was actually 'dhoom machale'. Our classmates thought we were damn hilarious.
"Really, how come you know that song?" My teacher asked again.
"Well, most of us are familiar with it" I answered, though I know for sure that only my South-Asian classmates are probably the only persons who know the song.
"Oh I don't think so." Dissatisfied with my answer, she just smiled and returned to the board.
And then, suddenly, in a coincidental unison with my Egyptian classmate, we sang dhoom machale again and left ourselves and our teacher amused to the hilt.
"Dhoom machale dhoom machale dhoom machale..." I caught myself singing it again - this time, in my classroom. What's worse, I wasn't singing it in my head, I was really singing it. I can only remember my teacher's expression when she heard me sing it in the midst of our Mathematics class.
"Why do you know that song?" she said with a skeptical look mixed with curiousity.
"Huh?" I replied blankly.
I don't really know the song. In fact, I only know one line of the song. 'Dhoom machale' - that's it. I think the first time I heard the song was in one of my taxi rides before where I didn't bother asking the driver to switch the radio channel. Then just the other day, my friends and I were having some sort of a song-trip and out of the blue, they started chanting tom machade. I got hooked. We sang and sang tom machade only to know later that day that it was not 'tom machade' but it was actually 'dhoom machale'. Our classmates thought we were damn hilarious.
"Really, how come you know that song?" My teacher asked again.
"Well, most of us are familiar with it" I answered, though I know for sure that only my South-Asian classmates are probably the only persons who know the song.
"Oh I don't think so." Dissatisfied with my answer, she just smiled and returned to the board.
And then, suddenly, in a coincidental unison with my Egyptian classmate, we sang dhoom machale again and left ourselves and our teacher amused to the hilt.
Second Year
Today officially marks my second year of stay in the United Arab Emirates. What should I say? The reminder struck me with a horrible realisation. Two years in Dubai. Two years away from my home. Two years of living in the desert ... and after that two years I'm still unsure whether this place can be finely called home.
Michiko sent me a chart of 'living in the UAE' last year which was spot-on to the relative amount of time a person stayed in this place and to how he feels. I am disturbed, so says the chart:
And I think I know why. Two years, more or so, is the time when an expatriate begins asking his relevance in this place. It's the time he begins to accept the transient nature of the sand lands - whether he's bound to leave soon or to stay much longer only to loathe at the melancholic thought of having the must to say goodbye someday. Really, we UAE expatriates share something common in us - it's the love for this place, despite the utter daily complaints about it, whether a big deal or not, that we'll probably always be proud of.
Congratulations to me, I can probably now call myself one of the certified Dubai children. I am newbie no more. After all, I can stay awake till midnight, embrace a sedentary lifestyle, read but can't comprehend Arabic, call mall-strolling as one of my past-time, memorised the buttons of my building's elevator ... and all the simple silly things that bind together the average sons and daughters of the temporary workers.
Michiko sent me a chart of 'living in the UAE' last year which was spot-on to the relative amount of time a person stayed in this place and to how he feels. I am disturbed, so says the chart:
And I think I know why. Two years, more or so, is the time when an expatriate begins asking his relevance in this place. It's the time he begins to accept the transient nature of the sand lands - whether he's bound to leave soon or to stay much longer only to loathe at the melancholic thought of having the must to say goodbye someday. Really, we UAE expatriates share something common in us - it's the love for this place, despite the utter daily complaints about it, whether a big deal or not, that we'll probably always be proud of.Congratulations to me, I can probably now call myself one of the certified Dubai children. I am newbie no more. After all, I can stay awake till midnight, embrace a sedentary lifestyle, read but can't comprehend Arabic, call mall-strolling as one of my past-time, memorised the buttons of my building's elevator ... and all the simple silly things that bind together the average sons and daughters of the temporary workers.
Oral Fixation
My rage over Mirage Promotion's unscrupulous work in organising Shakira's concert... If there's one word to describe the whole event, then it must be...Disaster.
The overall stage performance was really great, Shakira gave us a wonderful show last night alluring the crowd with every minute of her booty shaking and singing. I must confess, how Shakira tirelessly shook her body for more than an hour was fascinating. And who didn't love her belly dancing part? The crowd went crazy when she started shaking her hips whilst an Arabian-like instrumental played. However, the show itself was the only good part of the whole concert event last night. Now here are the bad and the ugly parts:
The venue: disaster. Going to Dubai Autodrome was bullshit. Organising a very big concert in that location was a very bad idea. The traffic was barely moving simply because of the huge number of cars and trucks sharing the same road. Really, it's time for Dubai to have a proper place for large concerts. It's a shame how international artists would have an overall bad concert because of the organisers' lack of proper preparation on their side.
Dubai Concert City, anyone?
On the venue: disaster. I have never seen thousands of people of different nationalities briskly walking together in one direction. It was an exodus. The organisers recommended that the people use taxis going to the place. The taxis would only stop near the autodrome because the cars on their way going inside were already moving slower than a turtle drunk with Redbull. The people who used taxis, and people who were already over an hour late because of the traffic were forced to walk a couple of kilometres just to reach the autodrome's main gate. I pity all the women wearing their wicked shoes last night who walked with much vigour as they chanted: "We love you Shakira." At least they were more patient compared to the other women who removed their boots and heels and walked bare-footed on the sandy rocky area.
The staffs: disaster. The lack of knowledge from most of the staffs was ridiculous. I arrived at the main gate at around 10:00 PM (was supposed to be there at 8:30 - but the traffic was so bad) and there were still a couple of thousands of people on the queue trying to get their wrist bands and switching on different queues - whichever was faster. The show was supposed to start at around 9:00 PM - but it just started when I arrived. What's worse was the persons I am going with were still stuck on traffic and I had to wait on the gate and listen to Shakira's entrance and first songs. At least I didn't wait there alone - I waited with around a thousand of people who were already panicking as everything was going so slow. The lack of staffs distributing the tags on every entrance was so stupid. There was a group of people with VIP tickets who was very angry with the fact that the staffs can't tell them which way their entrance was. The policemen monitoring the gate were obviously pissed with the numerous people asking them for things they don't know. I had a good time watching an old couple and a policeman arguing where to get the wrist bands and where to enter. And how can I forget the other couple who made a scene in front of me...
"DON'T TELL ME THIS IS THE CONCERT WE PAID TWO THOUSAND DIRHAMS FOR?!" The woman was so angry that she wished she can refund at least 5% of her money and use it to go home by taxi. We were still on the queue as we listened to Shakira singing 'Illegal'.
The location of the stage: disaster. After the long tiring walk just to reach the gate of the autodrome, we were frustrated to know that we'll still have to walk and find our way to the stage. There weren't any staffs on sight that's suppose to direct the people where the stage was located. Everyone went on different directions and was damn confused whether they were going on the right way.
Going home: disaster. The show finished at around 11:30 PM. The rush going out was stupendous. The people who went in the autodrome's area and parked their cars were stuck. The police monitored the whole roundabout in front of Dubailand and closed some of the roads to ease the traffic. There were a lot of drivers whose vehicles got buried on the sand. Most of the people walked their way out of the autodrome's area. And since the organisers encouraged the people to go there by taxi, they must also obviously go home by taxi. And guess what? There were some taxis ... for a few thousands of people. Everyone was so upset. There was this man who was fuming with anger when he realised that the show was over already when he came. The traffic was so bad. The policemen stopped the lane for the trucks just to ease the traffic a bit. I wonder how badly affected everyone was, whether they were plain motorists or they were the people who at least enjoyed the concert. It was already 2:00 AM in the morning and alas, there were still thousands of people stuck.
Mirage Promotions, bravo!
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