Email from The Wicked Witch of the West

An ex-boss of mine intercepted email intended for a colleague...

LinkedIn
Garrett Walsh has sent you a message.
Date: 9/18/2008
Subject: Susan left?
Wow? Did Christine finally drive her off? Whenever I think of Christine I hear that Wicked Witch of the West theme from the Wizard of Oz playing. =) How's EEC bub? G7

Subject: RE: Susan left?Date: Thu, 18 Sep 2008 09:54:21 -0500From: CConwell@
To: garry_seven@Hi Garrett,
Jeff also left due to major health issues so I get his emails, so I got to see your true colors first hand. For the record, Jeff was a big advocate of us letting you go, so before you judge, you may want to consider that you don't have all the facts.
Best of luck to you regardless.
Regards,
Christine Conwell

I'm sorry to hear that Christine! Jeff is a genuinely good guy. I'm sure he's already feeling better not working for you. He was always transparent with me about leaving. I recall his exact words..."you don't want to work for her." Surprised he stayed this long under your, um, "broomstick" leadership.
There's that song again.
Best wishes.
Most Cordially,Garrett Walsh

The Keen Art of Texan Hiberni-Kaner

Hiberni-Kaner is the name I have coined to define my accent here in Singapore. It's the perfect combination of an Irish (Hibernian) accent combined with a Welsh/Afrikaner accent for use locally. I always speak Hiberni-Kaner to Asians, even my co-workers. I use it in shops, bars, cabs, traveling, and even with my security team at my flat. I've fooled countless Europeans, both British and Dutch, and I even fooled an Irishman in Thailand once. I fooled a Canadian at lunch the other day. My Aussie friends love it and some have said it approaches an Australian accent (I am honored!). I can turn it on and off effortlessly, reverting to Texan at the flip of a switch. I figured that I needed to adopt an accent for local use and the Australians and British have had the longest and most profound influence on Singaporean society so I like to think that Hiberni-Kaner pays them both the best respect.

I am not afraid to use my Hiberni-Kaner. In fact, I enjoy using it to some extent. In Thailand I safely passed it off for 5 days! Note the pic above where I'm sporting my Irish Rugby shirt in Thailand while hanging with fellow Texan Brent Wright (aka Scott Glenn) at the Aussie Bar in Phuket. Talk about an amalgamation of Hiberni-Kaner, Australia, and Texas! =)

I left a voicemail for my American friend Arthur "Artman" James the other day and I literally forgot to turn off my Hiberni-Kaner. He texted me back asking if I had joined the Colonies or something?!?! I guess I gave him an earful? I realized that while I was leaving the VM that I was in a taxi and I didn't want to turn it off since I had already spoken Hiberni-Kaner to the taxi-man and, as you'll read from past blogs, even though he's behind the wheel...I'm driving!! My other American friend, Amanda B in Vegas said she wants me to record it for her so she can hear it. She just got a movie role largely based on her Texas accent and her ability to kick major ass (congrats by the way!) so she was interested to hear how I throw out Hiberni-Kaner.

When locals ask what country I am from I am quick to tell them I am from Texas, not from the US. In Asia, being a Texan commands a higher level of respect and fearsome prowess than just being an American, presumably because we Texans were a stand alone country before we were annexed by the Union and our western bravado has been countlessly romanticized around the planet to great reception (Hollywood's token quality export).

I get the sense that the while the world has its issues with the US, the planet largely respects Texas. I think it is our hardened independence, wildcat ways, and fearless adventureism which are our common characteristics and other countries seem to acknowledge this with some modicum of well deserved honor. The Alamo, Texas Rangers, SpindleTop, and Howard Hughes are probably our best known exports to the non-Texan world that help invigorate this reverence. I'm sure that Jim Bowie, JR from "Dallas", Matthew McConaughey, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Lyndon Johnson, Buddy Holly, Wiley Post, Bonnie & Clyde, Michael DeBakey, and Western films such as "The Alamo" and "El Dorado" have helped to fuel our mystique and solidify our economy of words and our proponence for action.

With the current wake of Chuck Norris-isms, you can hardly deny that "Walker, Texas Ranger" with its infintessimal syndication across the planet in some 70 countries and 100 languages/dialects, hasn't helped to some extent. I know they made Chuck an honorary 'Reserve' Texas Ranger and issued him a badge. I have no doubt that, despite his Sputnik-like hewn coif and pinhead antics, Governor Rick Perry has seen fit to further honor Chuck's right leg as an honorary citizen of the Lone Star State.

I am just happy that the likes of bad AM radio songs from Mac Davis, John Hinckley Jr's botched assassniation of Ronald Reagan, Mark David Chapman's successful assassination of John Lennon, and the birth of Night Stalker killer Richard Ramirez haven't completely tarnished our image. =)

The Brick Through the Plateglass Window

I had the opportunity over the Christmas break to really put my Manurhin-licensed Walther PPK/s in .380ACP through it's paces. Those of you even remotely familiar with firearms in literature and film will no doubt recognize the Walther PPK as the original pistol issued to James Bond, 007 of MI6 fame, in the Ian Fleming book/movie "Dr. No" by the armorer, Major Boothroyd, better known as Q. The PPK hits like "a brick through a plateglass window". Fleming couldn't have said it better.

During the shooting session out at the ranch I showed my 2nd Dad, Richard, a seasoned gun collector in his own right who wasn't familiar with the PPK, just how different the iconic weapon is from it's literary and celluloid perception established by Ian Fleming and the Eon Productions. One session on a range though, and you will quickly establish that the PPK of Fleming fame, a wise choice for the 1958 novel and 1963 film, has its limits.

In the films in particular, James Bond is capable of one-handed flawless execution at ridiculous distances with a seemingly never-ending amount of spare magazines. If you watch the films, you'll see each of the 7 actors who have played James Bond has a different grip. In my opinion, Lazenby and Connery use the most convincing grip. This is no doubt legacy from their military service. Connery had served in the Royal Navy and Lazenby served in the Australian SAS, an outstanding commando unit. I think Brosnan and Moore displayed the worst grips throughout. I don't know what to attribute that to because Moore served his national service in the Royal Arms Service Corp? Anyway, I can site specific examples of both actors limp-wristing, trigger pulling, and using that feeble 'left hand under wrist' support move that does nothing for practical targeting and would send a stray bullet flying dangerously more erratically than intended.

Some of the drawbacks of a PPK:

It has a very long and tight trigger.

It's not an easy pistol to get a good solid grip around.

It has a tendency to 'bite' the webbing of the hand.

It's a small caliber vs. more formidable 9mm sub-compact offerings.

Sights are minimal

Limited rate of fire, 7 rounds, with magazine changes feeble at best.

In its favor, the PPK does offer many benefits:

Size is perfect, concealment is effortless.

Very lightweight.

Caliber to pistol size ratio is good mating a heavy .380ACP to this small frame.

Fixed barrel makes it extremely accurate even out to 20 yards.

Aftermarket grips and the Hogue 'Hand-all' rubber grip enhancement make it easier to grip.

Extremely tough and proven design that has been in service and production since 1929.

So, during this shooting session I set out to show Richard just what the PPK is capable of. I have to say that the PPK impressed me at distances I believed were too far away (20-35 yards). We were both hitting 8 and 9-rings on the target. This is probably attributed to the fixed barrel and strong .380ACP ammunition.

The magazine release button is perfect but the magazines are tight and don't drop with ease to aid in reloading. Richard found it really small in his hands. I had to warn him about 'slide bite' several times.

The 2-handed grip and Weaver stance seemed to work best for target shooting. Target acquisition was good despite being small sites. Once we mastered the DA/SA trigger system it was pretty easy to stay on target. DA/SA means double action/single action which translates to the mechanism that will cock and release the hammer when the hammer is in the down position but on each subsequent shot, the trigger will function as a single action (hammer already back).

We both fired the PPK one-handed for the Hollywood effect and found the PPK to be a very good one-hand shooting weapon! It's easy to see now how Connery could effect many one-hand draw/shoot scenarios with accuracy because the size of the PPK is perfect for it (WITH PRACTICE!).

Once you've identified its faults and embraced its advantages, the PPK is an interesting and exciting weapon system with plenty well-deserved merit. It's interesting to note, however, that Bond was presented with 2 choices to replace his Beretta M71 in .22 calber in "Dr. No". The Smith & Wesson Centennial .38 Special revolver with its internal hammer and heavier caliber was the other competitor to the PPK. It was actually a solid choice proposed by Fleming but apparently 007 favored the Walther, presumably because the CIA was carrying the Walther PPK and PP (examples procured from leftover WWII caches and allocated to the Agency for many years). Just think, had James Bond chosen differently, the immortal weapon could have been an American Smith & Wesson revolver?!?!

Perish the thought.

Janitor PTE LTD

I've been wanting to blog about the worker bees here in Singapore for a while. Wanting is pretty descriptive because I also mean that I've wanted to write about them and give that writing the honor, pride, and justice it deserves. I've wanted to construct this with a minimum of my usual sarcasm and rapier wit so I could seriously concentrate on the praise and respect factor.

Without sounding like I'm a Billy Bragg pro-Socialist, because I am defiantly not, I do have to say that SG is definitely a place where there is honor in seemingly menial labor and there is a lot of cheap labor to go around. Most labor comes from India or Pakistan and they are largely unsophisticated folks from simple means but with the undeniable trait of ambition and adventure that replaces complacency.

If I had the daunting task of becoming part of the labor force then I would want to do it in Singapore. Despite high prices (even for Asians) and expensive tastes, there is nationwide respect for the lady behind the counter, the guy clearing your table at KFC, the old cobbler with a portable store on the corner, and the senior citizen volunteering at the airport (I grandfathered him into this blog since he's a grandfather).

Laborers usually have their home totally subsidized by the government so they can count on not having to pay out that part of their monthly nut. In addition there are plenty of government subsidies available that make the island liveable. The downside is that few rise beyond labor BECAUSE they're nut is covered and there's little incentive beyond entrepreneurialship to achieve more.

The guy clearing my table at KFC still sticks in my mind with the utmost respect. He was an older gent from either Pakistan or India. He walked with kind of a shuffle, seemingly from a birth defect, old age, or a past injury. It was noticeable but once you saw the smile on his friendly face and the pride he took in his work nothing else registered. He was happy, courteous, and noble despite easily contrived outward appearances. I noticed his shoes. They were black but heavily worn and only slightly wrapped around his feet. They looked so small and uncomfortable. I could only imagine that he got them hand-me-down from another worker who had upgraded.

But these were his shoes and they completed his uniform perfectly and I saw his pride. I almost wanted to take every Singaporean Dollar in my pocket and go buy him the best shoes I could find but I knew that would be a moot gesture. His pride would not let me intervene and I totally understand. All I could do was choke back tears, of joy NOT pity. Joy in him revelling in his job. It was a compelling and moving scene and it will always stick in my mind to acknowledge that level of pride, praise menial labor and keep my ass in check at the same time.

There's a Jimmy Buffett song that called "It's My Job" that really says it best...

In the middle of late last night I was sittin' on a curb

I didn't know what about, but I was feelin' quite disturbed

A street sweeper came whistlin' by, he was bouncin' every step

It seemed strange how good he felt, so I asked him while he swept

He said, "It's my job to be cleaning up this mess And that's enough reason to go for me It's my job to be better than the rest And that makes a day for me."

FYI: PTE LTE is the equivalent of ", Inc." in the US, as in Blackwater, Inc. You see PTE LTD written after everything from Han's Delightful Chicken Stall No. 5 PTE LTD to Orchard Towers PTE LTD. I thought it was wholly appropriate the other day when I say a facilities guy in my office wearing a JANITOR PTE LTD.

JANITOR PTE LTED expressed so perfectly the pride in profession and I applaud that.

Praise to Jim Ignatowski!

I knew I was back in Singapore when I hopped into the cab. I greeted him in Chinese to throw him off and to leave him with the impression that I spoke some modicum of Mandarin. I then told him EXACTLY how to get to Raffles Deli from my flat (street by street, no jams!).

As soon as we got within eyeshot of Raffles he immediately has "amnASIA" and proceeds to head the other way. I jumped his shit so fast he didn't know what hit him. My Texas Cannonball was out of the barrell and rocketing towards the Great Wall of China! I barked the directions again and told him to listen to his customer! He was huffing and puffing at the traffic light once I got him back on track but fuck him. It's MY ride and I'm driving no matter WHO is at the wheel!



Singapore Cab Ride 101:

You never ever never ever HAVE to tip them. I only tip them when they do an outstanding job.

70% of cabbies in Singapore are Chinese so leveraging their language, no matter how non-Asian you will sound, is empowering. 20% are Arabic and most are very service oriented, moreso than Asians. The rest are usually Indian, and other than the body odor, fairly amicable.

It's important to note that I give every cabbie equal opportunity to comply with my uber-sense of direction. I have a degree in Geography and 99% of the time I'm a human compass. More often then not I've got a photographically recorded mental picture of the map in my head and there's just no arguing with me.

I do start out with standard greetings in either English or Chinese. I address the older fellows respectfully as 'Uncle'. Int turn, I expect a good cabbie to call me 'Boss' out of mutual respect.

The younger cabbies are more aggressive and will get you there faster. They want to get you there fast! They know if they make good time, throw in a little conversation (or shut the hell up), and show you that they're working then there is the high likelihood of a tip. I think older cabbies aren't used to a tip so they're not going to even try for it. Complacency doesn't reward the dinosaurs.

And if you let them, they will run you straight into a traffic jam! I'm not kidding, this erks me more than anything. They will just drive straight into a traffic jam and wait...no lane changing...no lets get my customer out of this...no lets duck down a side street and backtrack...they just do the "do-te-do-te-do' [channelling Goofy from Disney], ooops, there's a traffic jam, guess we'll just sit here and run up a tab" thing. That's when you have to step in immediately and take control!!



There endeth the lesson, but not the stories so stay tuned!





It's funny, if I ever show up to meet The Man From Snowy River and I don't have my customary 'Cab Story' ready for John then he usually asks checks to see what Pod People have stolen my carcass. He just expects me to have tangoed with them on the way and John knows that when it comes to cabbies...I LEAD! =)

Easy there Rider...easy...

I burned up 5-6 miles riding my new mountain bike up and down East Coast Beach in the rain this morning. This bike was a long overdue purchase on many levels. I looked at its $200USD price tag as an investment in my community as well as my health. I say that because I live here now, for short or for long term, and getting out and getting more into my local area is paramount. The bike, named The Brit for it's blatant Union Jack on the frame, is perfect for a getting my leg workout/cardio in addition to quick jaunts down to the gym, grocery store, and just getting my bearings in my neighborhood.

I noticed on the rainy ride this AM that Americans do the beach differently. It looked like the Indians, and I don't mean the Redskins, were having a beach party complete with DJ, mini-soccer game (called FutSal here), tandoori grilling (think BBQ), and a shitload of people for a rainy day! This was about the closest to an American-style beach venture that you will see here except that the Indians don't do bikinis and they don't kiss in public (remember when Clooney kissed the Bollywood honey and got their ire?). The Asians, probably Malaysians or Vietnamese/Laotian, basically move all of their crap from their HDB flat (barrio) onto the beach complete with whatever shit is stewing in a pot 24/7, lines of clothing in varying degreess of freshness and stages of dry/wet, and bedding. It's looks like they're moving in and staying for days with lots of guests coming and going from their commandeered or, possibly, government subsidized, park bench. Ahh...the population lobotomy continues.

I needed a little shot of Texas or America or something non-Singaporean/Asian today. It was raining all day and the prospect of finding a suitable TV program to keep me from creatively taking my own life was dim. Shows like 'Gags' which is a french candid-camera, fuck with the viewer kind of show and really bad Anime were running like a Jerry Lewis MD Marathon all day. My exit was imminent.

I've been DYING to go to the Handle Bar since having gone to the one in Manila last month! It's the coolest dive bar/biker bar piece of Americana in Southeast Asia, hands-down, bar none. The one in Singapore is somehow loosely affiliated with the one in Manila, but the one in Manila is a little 'ruddier' as an Aussie would say. I've been chompin' at the bit for some kind of motorcyle outlet here beyond Japanese 250cc jobbies which are everywhere. I was ready for some V-twin Milwaukee thunder and the Handle Bar would be my outlet!

I was prepped too... in tandem with reading the James Bond Biography, I've also been reading "Under and Alone" about real-life ATF agent Bill Queen on how he infiltrated the Mongols OMG (Outlaw Motorcyle Gang, not Oh My God you fucking LOL-writing instant message/texting dolts). Reading Bill relaying his bike and gun stories just got me going. I was dead set on getting to the Handle Bar, alone if necessary. I was pretty sure The Man from Snowy River wouldn't go for it and Ray lives too far away to make journey, so it was The GMAN and a cabby who couldn't find the place.

Thankfully, my keen sense of direction, which I attribute to my seemingly useless degree in Geography, delivered me safely into the arms of the only other piece of Americana here besides the American Club, the US Embassy, and the Hard Rock Cafe. Upon entering, it became blatantly apparent the Americans do a couple of things right. If immitation is the sincerest form of flattery then we should be thankful that everyone around this planet emulates us on 4 things...Rock N Roll, V-twin motorcycles, Handguns, and Guitars my friend! Everyone wants to do these things better than us but fear should be the last thing on your mind my friends...they could NEVER do it justice! We have a corner on the market in these 4 areas, I assure you!

Despite the obvious Asian staff, for 3-4 hours I forgot I was in a foreign land. I drank Budweiser, wore steel-toed boots & a Cult concert t-shirt, read about V-Twin custom bobber choppers, listened to the Allman Brothers, AC/DC, & other classic rock and roll, saw lots of biker chicks (only on the walls in pictures damn it!), ate a fucking cheeseburger that was cooked to perfection (hard to get here, medium means raw), and otherwise was an American for the afternoon. I hadn't been one in a while and I'll tell you why in a later blog about Identity crisis and my new accent.

The Handle Bar is a piece of biker heaven on a rock in Southeast Asia...an outpost of truly American innovation rivaled by nothing else on this planet. It is T-shirts that no mother would let a son wear, bike parts everywhere, tires & frames & seats made into bar stools, guitars made into chairs, a pool table begging to eat my SG dollars, Screaming Eagles, hot biker chicks posing in HD bike ads, tattoos, and most of all pictures of friends and patrons. Hopefully I will be in some of those pics soon. Because this, my friends, felt like home to me. At least some simblance of a temporary home that is.

I vividly pictured all my friends around...I could see Arthur doing a johnny-on-the-spot napkin rendering of SVP throwing a "Tarrant County Electra-Glide" on some unsuspecting mamacita...Scotty wearing an entirely inappropriate (read expensive) shirt to intentionally spite/slight the patrons while throwing an imaginary drum stick in the air and chugging a longneck upside down as the stick gracefully returns to his free hand...Lee trying to score some weed on an island where drug dealing means death...Kenon banging his bald noggin on the variety of shit hanging from the ceilings since he's the tallest human ever...John Cox (AKA Heavy C) supporting the bar with a heroic tab while complaining that the bartender, Hop Sing, doesn't use a 5-Mississippi count...I could see both Sasha and Denise hating it so I loved it...Brannon B leading a rollicking a capella rendition of the Shinedown's "I Dare You" which he uses to amuse the muses...Danny whipping out a new tale of how he bought, sold, burned down, built back up, bought back, and then sold the Handle Bar twice for a profit to the Sultan of Brunei just because...and Brent (who was born with a cue-stick for an appendage) beating the ever-loving shit out of the bikers one by one, dollar by dollar. I could choreograph every conversation, activity, and adventure in my mind. Thanks for joining me today gents. You were all there and you didn't even know it!

I admit it, I missed home. It was the first time in roughly 2 months. I opened my phone and looked at the datebook...the 19th never looked so far away. The Handle Bar made me miss home, God love it! Was it the escapism of biker culture, the 1%'er identity, fearless American sense of the bar? Was it the Dallasite, Adair's, Cosmo's, Reno's, and Vickery all wrapped into one that brought a little bit of home to me? Or was it the shear vacancy of close friends in my life thus far that made me miss home? I submit that it was all of these things.

06-04 Living

I'm settled here in Singapore with a very nice 3BR/2BA 6th floor flat. My building is roughly 14 stories high, great pool, shitty gym, and full of transient internationals. Some have kids who scream througout the day and night in Japanese while others are truly just dwelling in a rented space, far from Pakistan or Brunei or Newcastle or Frankfort. Passing time in a temporary place, trying to fill their lives with some kind of interim fun in a foreign land as the Singapore time zone clock ticks away reminding them that home is actually thousands of miles away.

Agnes is my landlady and she is rapid response. I put a work order in and she is like lightening trying to fix it. I'm more of the mind to keep a tidy house and maintain a great property for the de facto owner of my flat so his place is taken care of. She mistakenly referred to it as a 'complaint' (cultural nomenclature to blame) while my positioning was as more of a tenant giving her a heads on what an owner would want fixed and in working order for both tenant, property, and landlady. I think she got it. He housekeeper sucks though. All the maid is there for is to clean the flat. I left the ironing board, 15 shirts, and a $20 out the first day for her...she carefully cleaned around the stack, not molesting even one article of clothing, and promptly took the $20. As penance I've decided to spread my time between 2 toilets in protest.

As I mentioned before, the tough part is cooking for myself. That will work itself out in time and I'm definitely not starving. I find my time during the week after work filled with evenings working out, keeping from drinking all the time, and plenty of time fucking around on the internet because local TV absolutely sucks. I've forgone my 42" LCD home theatre system for a 6 channel 22" TV so I'm having withdrawals. I'm about to have Agnes pipe in roughly 20+ cable channels as varied as National Geographic to Eurosports News to HBO in order to curb my panic attacks. I figure just having 20 channels won't keep me inside all that much but with the rainy season in play it's good to have something to do in lieu of praciticing new Hare Kare angles with a dull swiss army knife, throwing chicken bones out the window to try to hit the Singapore STAR team SWAT surveillance trucks, or watching Casino Royale on my laptop for the bloody 12th time. Cable channels basically amount to roughly $40/month which is negligible. I think you get the picture.