Categories
ranting

Typical Singaporean ‘Service’

I had what I have come to believe is, unfortunately, an entirely typical experience of Singaporean so called, ‘service’. Partially this experience is caused by the unfortunate side affect the nanny state has on it’s citizens minds—turning them into mush only capable of performing set repetitious tasks—and partially on typical bureaucratic red tape. Red tape is typical of all governments, Singapore has no excuse since it has gelded all opposition and there is a single National ID, with no expectation of privacy.

This adventure started with the need to register Victoria’s birth and have the official birth certificate made. We were told you have 14 days to do this, Monday will be 14 days so now that we have chosen the Chinese name I need to get this all done ASAP.

I called up the hospital and ask them when they are open today (Friday) for birth registration. Their answer: “normal business hours.”

I arrived at hospital at 4:03. A sign at queue number machine says: “Birth registration is closed for today. We will be open tomorrow morning at 8:30.” 4:00 PM is not outside normal business hours last I checked. Normal business hours here in Singapore are 9:00 AM to 6:00 PM with some places closed for an hour at lunch time between 12:00 and 2:00 more or less. So I ask the lady at the information counter why they are closed early. Her answer: Birth registration is open 8:30 to 11:00 AM and 2:00 to 4:00 PM.

“I thought you were open ‘normal business hours’ today?”

“Those are our normal business hours. We only give out queue numbers from 8:30 to 11:00 AM and 2:00 to 4:00 PM.”

Would have been nice if the person on the phone would have said that, typical fucking Singaporean—can’t give all the relevant information in the answer to a question, they all seem to suffer from some sort of shared mental heath problem when answering questions; if they don’t flat out lie, or guess they just say whatever they can to get it over with, they are not interested in actually being helpful. So, tomorrow is a public holiday—national day—so ask the lady at the information counter if they are open tomorrow. No, it’s a holiday.

“You need to change your sign at the machine, it says you are open tomorrow at 8:30.”

“Yes we open at 8:30.”

“But not tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow is national day.”

“Then you need to change the sign on the machine—it says you are open at 8:30, tomorrow. Listen to what I’m saying.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Come, look at the sign.”

Once I showed the woman the sign she said, “Oh, I see.” Apparently they put this little sign up everyday at 4, and who ever put it up today did not engage their brain before doing so.

So I asked; “Now, since I was here at 4:03, your closed tomorrow and I have to finish the registration by tomorrow, is it possible to get a queue number for today? Please?

“Let me check with my colleague.”

After a few moments speaking with the girls behind the counter she returned and said, “my colleague there will help you as soon as she is done with the last two people in the queue.”

“Thank you.”

Once I actually got to the counter new troubles started. First was the issue of address. To explain this I first have to tell you a short story:

See, here in Singapore the government keeps such tight reign on it’s subjects that one has to register where one lives so that it can be kept on file by the police and written on the back of ones identity card (IC). The funny thing is while the address you give them is printed on the card when you get the card, any changes to said address are printed out on green paper and taped to over the old address. Candice’s IC was printed a few years back with her family address on it. Then, she updated it to the apartment we were renting in China Town two years ago. Now that we have moved to Yishun she needs to change it again. But to show the change they need specific paper work—i.e. utilities bills or some such. But when we moved it I took care of getting all the utilities set up and therefore all the bills are in my name. So the alternative is to have them mail you an official letter to the new address (don’t know how this proves anything as anyone could have it mailed to a friend and then pick it up…). Candice asked to have such a letter mailed but the person who took the request fucked up our address and so while the post office was able to figure it out and deliver it correctly, the government won’t accept it, but now the system won’t accept any changes for some reason. So despite the fact that you are supposed to have your IC updated within 30 days we are still trying to get her IC changed, because of a fucking typo!

On top of the fuck up with Candice IC and our address there is the problem of the institutionalized sexism here in Singapore. On the birth certificate form there is a place to fill out the particulars of the mother and father. Under the mother they want the mother to list down her address. But they don’t have a place for the fathers address. So I listed down the correct address—where we actually live under the mothers particulars. Now why they even need the address is a point of contention I have with the Singapore government—not that I don’t want to give it to them, that’s a fight not worth starting—but since her address is registered by law why do I have to give any government worker both the IC number and the address? Shouldn’t the IC number, once entered in a form, be used to retrieve ALL the other info? I’m mean what is the point of writing all the damn info down over and over again for each government agency on every form when it’s already in the god damn database. That’s just stupid, someone got taken for a ride by the vendors of their IT systems—and I bet the vendors laughed all the way to the bank. Typical fucking requirements gathering failure. Waste of money. So much for Singapore efficiency and e-government.

Anyway. Once the woman saw that the address I put down did not match the address on Candice’s IC she said I either had to have Candice change the IC or we would have to print the birth certificate with the wrong address. What’s the point if we can just print the birth certificate with the wrong address? I don’t get it. Why does the birth certificate have an address on it? Do they really think that you are never going to move? The morons who designed the rules and process for this shit need to get their heads out of their asses. Why does it matter if we use the mothers address or the fathers address? Why do we need to print the address on the birth certificate? Why don’t the systems communicate with each other—why do I have to give them the same damn info on every form—the god damn IC is supposed to solve this type of shit.

So, in the end I told her to use the old, incorrect, address. It’s just an address for god’s sake.

But wait, plot thickens!

After getting all the info entered into the computer the system spit back and error:

Registration could not be processed. Instruct customer to proceed to Immigration and Checkpoints Authority.

Do what?

Try again.

Registration could not be processed. Instruct customer to proceed to Immigration and Checkpoints Authority.

No luck.

No the woman asked her manager to look at it. Apparently not everyone can register for the birth certificate at the hospital. This is mostly and issue for foreigners, but as Candice is a citizen and I am a permanent resident and we were married in Singapore we should be able to register at the hospital.

The manager could find no problem so she called someone who also could find no problem. The solution: go to ICA. No I have to take a day off work and go to ICA to do this… and my experience with ICA is that it is the epitome of inefficiency and bad processes.

I can’t wait…

Categories
ranting

Blind Linkage!

Flickr Stats for beggs on 2008.07.13

Someone is looking at my photos of the Eiffel Tower through the Peace Wall [flickr.com]. Just wish I knew who, but all the visits show up under ‘direct traffic’ e.g. no way to tell how they got to the photos, so no way to know who is linking to them.

Categories
ranting

I am not ready

How can you ever be ready for the birth of your first child? It is the most amazing moment anyone can hope to experience during their life. It is the singularity of life; what has gone before is all a footnote, what comes after the event horizon cannot be anticipated.

All the reading in the world cannot but seem to be a pale imitation of the event. I once read that Zen loses it’s meaning when written down; that enlightenment is in the experience. I expect the same is true of birth; no matter how many books I’ve read, how many miracle of life National Geographic specials I have seen, the true meaning—the enlightenment—of my child’s birth is something that I cannot prepare for.

No matter what god or gods you do or do not believe in the creation if life is the greatest of all miracles.

Categories
quotes ranting

Le personal blog est mort, vive le personal blog

The move from big blogs to [micro blogs such as Twitter and Jaiku] says a lot about our cultural attention span. One or two lines of text are about as much writing as we can handle—either creating or consuming it.

Rob Peters, quoted from “Is Personal Blogging Fast-Fading?” [alternet.org]

I think he’s right about our cultural attention span—even our personal attention span is quickly becoming so pop-culture driven that we will all be screaming Japanese girls soon. 15 minutes of fame is too much, 15 seconds is about right.

But I’m still here…

Not that anyone cares. I have 0 followers on Technorati [technorati.com] (and an authority of 2 if that means anything to you…). Twitter [twitter.com]? 12 followers, of which 2 are people I actually know, the rest? People trying to sell something or people obsessed with Facebook [facebook.com] like social status—how many connections they have somehow equals self esteem.

Really it does not depress me that there are very few people out there that hear my digital voice over the cacophony of other voices. I keep confusion going for myself. Yelling into the abyss is therapeutic, even if the abyss does not yell back (which, come to think of it is probably more scary that just silence in response, I don’t know what I’d do if I suddenly became popular.) I don’t force it, it’s still fun so I keep going. If only a few people ever read my rantings that’s OK. I have been having fun lately with the ‘random’ link I added to the menu (just next to the ‘archive’ and ‘search’ options at the top.) I get to go back and see old entries, some of which show just a how bad my spelling and grammar are (or where before Firefox added a built in spell checker, it’s much less atrocious now—see I could never possibly spell that word on my own.) Some are so out-of-context that I think it’s obvious why no one keeps up with the posts here; they don’t make sense unless you already know me and what’s going on.

It’s been almost seven years since this incarnation of confusion went live and three blogging platforms later I’m still going. The golden age of blogging may be coming to an end but I think I missed it anyway (and I think I may even predate it, judging by the fact that I was hand rolling posts in HTML before LiveJournal [livejournal.com] went live. I’ll keep posting my “dull personal commentary with a side order of self-importance” [zeldman.com] as Jeffery Zeldman would refer to my rantings. At least for now. You know, ’cause “I’m not dead!” and “I feel happy!”

Categories
ranting

Baby beggs or Little LumMY?

Picking names for your soon-to-be-born child is not easy. It is made twice as difficult by the fact that you don’t know the sex of your bundle of joy. With a month left till full term we have not chosen a name yet.

This is not due to lack of ideas. The problem is that every nice name you can think of comes with too much baggage for one of the parents; “it’s and exes name,” “I had a nasty coworker with that name,” “That’s my friends kids name,” or some other conflict. I suspect that none of these issue will be relevant for the objecting party after a few days of it being the name of your child, all other references will vanish until you are reminded of them by someone.

On top of all this we can add the interesting angle of Ang Moh (white people) names and Chinese names. Seems there are some sort of strange rituals involved with picking Chinese names here in Singapore but since the child will be half white and half Chinese I think it would be cool to give them both names. The fact that I know about five words in Chinese (mostly related to ordering food or expletives) and the fact that they are in Mandarin not Cantonese means I can only say “hey this word sounds cool, what does it mean?” And then I get the inevitable “it means ‘stupid white man who does not understand Chinese ask stupid questions.” This does not make a very auspicious Chinese name.

Of course anyone who has known me for long knows that I have always intended to name my child “Nebuchadnezzar, King of the Fertile Crescent” buy my wife objects to this. I could pull a Major Major and just put it on the birth certificate but I don’t want to pay for the therapy later.

On the other hand I’m not above accepting bribes. Currently Lord Jim I of Sol is offering:

  • 6000 head of cattle
  • 3000 goats
  • 2000 veggie dogs
  • 1788 pastries of your choosing
  • 1-16 rat(s) (tame)
  • 3 Cheetos

Anyone got a better offer?