I received this e-mail from the Office Manager on Thursday:
Good morning
Please translate this mail to English.
Thanks
Attached was the following:
Hola, Mi nombre es HUGO y soy de MEXICO.
Me gustaria compartir una OPORTUNIDAD DE NEGOCIO en internet y desde tu casa con usted, que me imagino le podria dar MUCHOS BENEFICIOS ECONOMICOS Y DE DIVERCION, Sin compromiso, simplemente si lo que le voy a presentar no es para usted, no me lo tome a mal, simplemente es que hoy para mi si es una GRAN OPORTUNIDAD Y QUIERO COMPARTIRLA. Por lo contrario Si tienes alguna oportunidad presentamela tambien, por favor, me gusta ver todas las oportunidades uno nunca sabe si hay algo mejor.
Me escribe al siguiente email y le mando informacion, de Inmediato con mucho gusto.
Si no es de tu interes, te ruego me disculpes y como mi deseo no es molestarte, te informo que tu direccion de e-mail no ha sido Almacenada en ningun archivo, ni voy a encviarte mas mensajes.
Gracias por su atencion, si quieres informacion, me escribes estoy a sus ordenes en el email:
someguy(at)somewhereinmexico.com
I figured it was a joke, as everyone in the office knows that no-one in the office speaks Spanish, and went home for the weekend.
Yesterday, I receive this e-mail from the Office Manager, with the previous messages attached:
Mee please send this to me before you leave for lunch.
Still thinking it's a joke, I write the following response:
Dear Office Manager,
The mail says the following:
Hi, my name is HUGO and I’m from MEXICO.
I’d like to invite you to take advantage of this OPPORTUNITY TO NEGOTIATE with me via the internet. I am in the business of male prostitution, and what I have to offer you could lead to a MUTUALLY ECONOMICALLY BENEFICIAL situation, wherein my willingness to compromise my dignity and my arsehole in the persuit of hard cash, opens up a GRAND OPPORTUNITY for you to step in as the middle man or woman, selling my man-whoring skills from behind the smokescreen of your legitimate business. I’m sure you can see how this is an excellent idea.
Please feel free to write to me with any suggestions you may have on the subject.
If you have been sent this e-mail in error, please delete it and pretend it never existed, as the penalty for homosexuality in this country is very, very severe and it would help me a great deal if nobody alerted the authorities to the fact that I’m a screaming fag.
Thank you for taking the time to read my message and I sincerely hope that you’ll give the proposal some serious thought before sending it to the junk mail folder, where it belongs. On the off chance you are interested, please e-mail me at:
someguy(at)somewhereinmexico.com
Imagine my surprise when I found out that she was indeed expecting an actual translation.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Woman's Liberation
A couple of people asked me recently whether I felt safe, going for a run so early in the morning
that you can't tell it's morning - Don't I ever worry about being mugged/raped? I told them that not feeling safe had not occured to me - and it hasn't, for a few years now. I thought about it again last night, as I walked to the local supermarket to buy cigarettes.
2 April 2000. I'd just been broken up with, had more to drink than was a good idea and decided to go for one of those walks I used to take when things were really fucked up and I didn't really know where to start figuring it out. It was very early morning, still dark, and I could feel the pleasant, slightly stinging cold of the Autumn morning on my skin, hot, after walking about 3km at my typical "don't-fuck-with-me-today" pace.
A dark, metallic blue car passed me; very noticeable, being the only car on the usually busy four lane road. There was a man on the other side of the road. We were walking in opposite directions. And then, in the corner of my eye, there was a man crossing the road, running in slow motion, changing his direction. It was so quiet. I couldn't hear the crunch of my sneakers in the gravel path I was walking on. I didn't hear the running man's step as he stretched out his long, thin arm to grab hold of my backpack - little green one, the kind they used to issue in the army, back when there was still conscription. I felt his hand brush my pack and I felt myself lean forward, my heels lifting up slightly to allow for sprint-mode.
He was faster than I.
It's not as bad as they say, rape. Don't misunderstand - it's not something I would wish upon anyone. But there is something liberating in surviving rape. It is a kind of affirmation of one's resilience, to go through that kind of hell and come out whole, if badly battered, at the other end.
Maybe I'm stupid, but I just don't feel that living my life in fear of something that's already happened, and which I already know I can pull through, however hard it may be, is any way to live.
that you can't tell it's morning - Don't I ever worry about being mugged/raped? I told them that not feeling safe had not occured to me - and it hasn't, for a few years now. I thought about it again last night, as I walked to the local supermarket to buy cigarettes.
2 April 2000. I'd just been broken up with, had more to drink than was a good idea and decided to go for one of those walks I used to take when things were really fucked up and I didn't really know where to start figuring it out. It was very early morning, still dark, and I could feel the pleasant, slightly stinging cold of the Autumn morning on my skin, hot, after walking about 3km at my typical "don't-fuck-with-me-today" pace.
A dark, metallic blue car passed me; very noticeable, being the only car on the usually busy four lane road. There was a man on the other side of the road. We were walking in opposite directions. And then, in the corner of my eye, there was a man crossing the road, running in slow motion, changing his direction. It was so quiet. I couldn't hear the crunch of my sneakers in the gravel path I was walking on. I didn't hear the running man's step as he stretched out his long, thin arm to grab hold of my backpack - little green one, the kind they used to issue in the army, back when there was still conscription. I felt his hand brush my pack and I felt myself lean forward, my heels lifting up slightly to allow for sprint-mode.
He was faster than I.
It's not as bad as they say, rape. Don't misunderstand - it's not something I would wish upon anyone. But there is something liberating in surviving rape. It is a kind of affirmation of one's resilience, to go through that kind of hell and come out whole, if badly battered, at the other end.
Maybe I'm stupid, but I just don't feel that living my life in fear of something that's already happened, and which I already know I can pull through, however hard it may be, is any way to live.
Monday, April 17, 2006
... and there was peace
We sent the kids off to daycare as normal yesterday, figuring we'd take advantage of the rare opportunity the Easter holiday offered us to spend some time alone together.
We went for coffee and then caught an early movie before visiting the supermarket to buy a couple of essentials and some chocolate easter eggs to hide about the flat for the kids to find later.
In the car, on the way home from fetching the kids, we mentioned to them that the Easter Bunny might have visited our place while we were out, to leave easter eggs for children who'd been very, very good. To which Megan's response was that she should get all the easter eggs, and there should be none for Michael, who was a very naughty little boy.
I disagreed and told her that I'm sure the Easter Bunny would have left some eggs for Michael too, and from there things were pretty much on their way toward something closely approximating a natural disaster.
But a quick phone call from Mommy to the Easter Bunny established that both Megan and Michael had been equally perfect all year, and that the eggs he'd left were indeed to be shared between them. And there was peace.
The Easter Bunny is my new best friend.
We went for coffee and then caught an early movie before visiting the supermarket to buy a couple of essentials and some chocolate easter eggs to hide about the flat for the kids to find later.
In the car, on the way home from fetching the kids, we mentioned to them that the Easter Bunny might have visited our place while we were out, to leave easter eggs for children who'd been very, very good. To which Megan's response was that she should get all the easter eggs, and there should be none for Michael, who was a very naughty little boy.
I disagreed and told her that I'm sure the Easter Bunny would have left some eggs for Michael too, and from there things were pretty much on their way toward something closely approximating a natural disaster.
But a quick phone call from Mommy to the Easter Bunny established that both Megan and Michael had been equally perfect all year, and that the eggs he'd left were indeed to be shared between them. And there was peace.
The Easter Bunny is my new best friend.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Objection!
Yesterday morning, I posted a comment on the website of one of Dubai's daily newspapers, in response to this article. My comment sparked a few responses of its own and it wasn't long before a journalist from 7 Days called me up to ask a few questions.
This morning there is an entire page dedicated to supposedly clearing up the issue.
Instead, it barely disquises its attempts at further pushing the earlier rumour:
Note the focus on the negative responses of "Doctors" Khayata and Dubai mother, Mrs. Rayes.
Note, also, the repetition of the lie - which is easily disproven by visiting this site and this site, which contain all the information you need to give you a basic idea as to what Scientology is and whether there is any truth to the rumour being spread by papers like 7 Days.
Then there's the flimsy attempt at discrediting both L. Ron Hubbard and the Scientology religion by the emphasis placed on Mr. Hubbard's science fiction writing career and the underlying implication that it is on these works that the religion is based.
Next, the careful non-quote attributed to yours truly: "Lee-Parkins" says that we are only hearing half the story. Firstly, my first name is Amanda-Lee (and I use it only for official purposes) and my family name is Parkins. And I never said that anyone was getting half the story. What I said was that they had the entire story wrong, which is a very different thing.
And, finally, the parting comment: "If there is, however, any truth in the reports that Holmes is willing to neglect her child for a week after its birth, then the general sentiment that the Church of Scientology is a wacky sci-fi cult is well grounded."
It just pisses me off that this coward, despite having been given the facts, is still hellbent on creating a misleading impression of a subject she knows nothing about. And that she gets away with it because she gets to hide behind quotes, misquotes and "general sentiment" in the voice of the paper.
If you're gonna tell it, then tell it like it is.
This morning there is an entire page dedicated to supposedly clearing up the issue.
Instead, it barely disquises its attempts at further pushing the earlier rumour:
Note the focus on the negative responses of "Doctors" Khayata and Dubai mother, Mrs. Rayes.
Note, also, the repetition of the lie - which is easily disproven by visiting this site and this site, which contain all the information you need to give you a basic idea as to what Scientology is and whether there is any truth to the rumour being spread by papers like 7 Days.
Then there's the flimsy attempt at discrediting both L. Ron Hubbard and the Scientology religion by the emphasis placed on Mr. Hubbard's science fiction writing career and the underlying implication that it is on these works that the religion is based.
Next, the careful non-quote attributed to yours truly: "Lee-Parkins" says that we are only hearing half the story. Firstly, my first name is Amanda-Lee (and I use it only for official purposes) and my family name is Parkins. And I never said that anyone was getting half the story. What I said was that they had the entire story wrong, which is a very different thing.
And, finally, the parting comment: "If there is, however, any truth in the reports that Holmes is willing to neglect her child for a week after its birth, then the general sentiment that the Church of Scientology is a wacky sci-fi cult is well grounded."
It just pisses me off that this coward, despite having been given the facts, is still hellbent on creating a misleading impression of a subject she knows nothing about. And that she gets away with it because she gets to hide behind quotes, misquotes and "general sentiment" in the voice of the paper.
If you're gonna tell it, then tell it like it is.
Amiright?
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Bleh...
I've spent this last week randomly looking at popular blogs, not updating my own because it is when I look at other people's work that I can see how far I still have to go before my own is anywhere near as good. And that's usually when I manage to talk myself out of doing things like
bothering to try at all. And then my life starts to become all crappy and pointless again, and I feel bad for having married my husband and given birth to my children because, as if it's not bad enough that I'm a complete failure as a human being, I've now gone and dragged other, wonderful people into my mess and made it all a whole lot worse.
Apparently I have many, many unresolved issues.
I would prefer not to focus on those here. Partly because deep down I would really love to believe that I'm not as awful as I seem, but mainly because I don't think it's a good idea to leave a bunch of stuff here telling people what a sad excuse for a writer I am. Y'know, just in case anyone actually ever reads my blog.
bothering to try at all. And then my life starts to become all crappy and pointless again, and I feel bad for having married my husband and given birth to my children because, as if it's not bad enough that I'm a complete failure as a human being, I've now gone and dragged other, wonderful people into my mess and made it all a whole lot worse.
Apparently I have many, many unresolved issues.
I would prefer not to focus on those here. Partly because deep down I would really love to believe that I'm not as awful as I seem, but mainly because I don't think it's a good idea to leave a bunch of stuff here telling people what a sad excuse for a writer I am. Y'know, just in case anyone actually ever reads my blog.
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