I understand this is a philosophical question, but it plagues me as find it applicable to organizations, its members and the wider society. I was conducting Postgraduate research within a particular organisation, with a specific focus on environmental issues affecting the organization. I have found many articles in archived newspapers, where protest groups criticized this organisation and its actions with particular reference to the detrimental effects its production has on the environment.
Further probing within the organization, I found that there was such immense commitment from organizational members despite the reality of the accusations from protest groups that criticize the organization’s actions. There appeared to be a culture of pride in what the organization does, which seemed to have resulted in a blind belief that the organization is doing things right. This begs the question: will the actualization of the reality be detrimental to their commitment; or will it benefit the organization in the long run, by creating more awareness, and in turn attempt to find more solutions to the problems the organization faces?
The alleged environmentally-aware initiatives the organization has employed might be a measure to placate opposition groups. However, it might also be a genuine concern for their environment and their corporate image. Does it make a difference? Is it necessary for an organization to act altruistically and genuinely do things for the “right reasons”? Is the idea that both parties benefit, enough? The reason why these questions arose is because the organization’s mission, objectives and values emphasize the fact that it undertakes its initiatives for altruistic reasons. How honest does an organization have to be in order to be transparent? Is transparency a fallacy- an idealistic beacon never to be achieved, but rather something to strive towards? Perhaps we should more accurately use the term, translucency. That appears to be more apt, because if transparency is claimed, I believe many organizations will fall short of this ideal and be doomed to succumb to business practices riddled with hypocrisy. If honesty & integrity is your mission, then perhaps the business might suffer if it is carried out in its truest form. Then does perception always prevail over truth? In the end perception might be all that is left, because the organization can control this. And maybe that is all that is really important. If organizational members perceive the organizations’ activities to be blameless, and this leads to sustained productivity and profitability then truth can be discounted; and consecutively those who preach the truth with their harsh criticisms can more effectively be silenced.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Pretension
I used to be the one who truly believed artists could change the world. I thought that a brush stroke could turn a painting into social and political commentary that will shape young minds and inspire the evolution of a race of conscious human beings – instead of the droves of brain-dead savages whose only contribution to society is that they followed something somewhere along the line.
I was above it all, and consumed in my own pretension. Every poetic verse spoke to me. Every song lyric, every kick and every snare composed a score to my life story. I was alive and inspired by creativity. I shared stories with artists, and they became the voices that echoed my pain. There were no responsibilities, no bond, no 9 to 5 – only blissful awareness of just being. I looked down at the droves with disdain and with some pity, for their blind suffering.
I was above it all, and consumed in my own pretension. Every poetic verse spoke to me. Every song lyric, every kick and every snare composed a score to my life story. I was alive and inspired by creativity. I shared stories with artists, and they became the voices that echoed my pain. There were no responsibilities, no bond, no 9 to 5 – only blissful awareness of just being. I looked down at the droves with disdain and with some pity, for their blind suffering.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
So just because he cooks for me, I should feel lucky?
Whenever I chat with some female colleagues at work and they complain about having to cook for their families every night, I simply cannot join in the bitch-session. After a few minutes of silence the inevitable question comes my way, where one of the superwomen turns to me and eagerly eggs me on by saying: “Don’t you agree?”
This after they’ve discussed in moronic detail about how difficult it is to rush home after work to try to prepare a quick meal for the family. I could actually picture it- an HR Executive, who at work is confident, composed and always in control, but after hours she is in a frantic panic, patent-leather designer handbag still slung over the shoulder as she takes out the half-defrosted value pack of chicken from the fridge. Her stilletto’s burning the balls of her feet, and the metal clasp digging into her sensitive flesh just below her ankle, but taking them off would waste too much time so she pushes through the pain. Whilst stir-fying up the remainder of her vegetables, she mentally runs through the nutritional information she googled on mushrooms and soya, and at last her husband saunters into the kitchen, kisses her on the cheek and says: “Something smells good, what’s for supper?”
But, NO, I cannot empathize, as my household is rather unconventional- then again, unconventional is the new conventional I suppose. It’s more like me who saunters into the house after work and asks: “What’s for supper?” When I reluctantly disclose this information I predictably get the “Oh you’re so lucky” response. So just because my husband cooks for me, I’m supposed to feel like the luckiest woman in the world? I beg to differ, women have been doing it for centuries and do their husbands ever turn round to one another and say, “Oh you’re a lucky guy!” – NO! That’s because it is expected. If your husband cooks for you, you’re supposed to be so thankful, and if the wife doesn’t then it is an abnormality. Did I miss something, or maybe society did, like the millennium. Hello!
This after they’ve discussed in moronic detail about how difficult it is to rush home after work to try to prepare a quick meal for the family. I could actually picture it- an HR Executive, who at work is confident, composed and always in control, but after hours she is in a frantic panic, patent-leather designer handbag still slung over the shoulder as she takes out the half-defrosted value pack of chicken from the fridge. Her stilletto’s burning the balls of her feet, and the metal clasp digging into her sensitive flesh just below her ankle, but taking them off would waste too much time so she pushes through the pain. Whilst stir-fying up the remainder of her vegetables, she mentally runs through the nutritional information she googled on mushrooms and soya, and at last her husband saunters into the kitchen, kisses her on the cheek and says: “Something smells good, what’s for supper?”
But, NO, I cannot empathize, as my household is rather unconventional- then again, unconventional is the new conventional I suppose. It’s more like me who saunters into the house after work and asks: “What’s for supper?” When I reluctantly disclose this information I predictably get the “Oh you’re so lucky” response. So just because my husband cooks for me, I’m supposed to feel like the luckiest woman in the world? I beg to differ, women have been doing it for centuries and do their husbands ever turn round to one another and say, “Oh you’re a lucky guy!” – NO! That’s because it is expected. If your husband cooks for you, you’re supposed to be so thankful, and if the wife doesn’t then it is an abnormality. Did I miss something, or maybe society did, like the millennium. Hello!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Help! I’m stalking my husband . . .
A man and woman should NEVER have been put on this earth to be together. I’ve turned into a crazed paranoid lunatic. It could be a mixture of schizophrenia and delirium that’s causing me to doubt everything my man says.
Last night I convinced myself he was with another woman and ended up driving around the areas I could possibly see his car, trying to track him down. I even thought of purchasing a tracking device to attach to his car. I am seriously losing it, and quickly. So there I was in my baggy house pants, a nasty washed-out T-shirt I found in a big walk goodie-bag at least 5 year ago, patent leather slip-slops at least 1 size too big for me and hair in desperate need of a GHD. Imagine this: a grown woman stalking her own husband. I felt a bit like a spy in a spoof movie driving round at night looking suspiciously at any car that I passed. I finally found his car and kept a stalker-esque distance, following him into unknown territory for at least 45min, until his car finally stopped in a parking space outside a dodgy 70’s inspired block of flats in an area I wasn’t too sure where it was, it could’ve been anywhere in the southern suburbs (all the areas look the same to me anyway). I slowed down and waited for him to get out of his car. By this time I stuck my head below my steering-wheel with my spy-eyes peering through the gap between the top of the steering wheel and my dashboard. I squinted hoping this would focus my sight, and summon “eyes of the hawk” like Marshall BraveStarr.
As his car door opened, I felt the overwhelming urge to let out a Tex Hex-like cackle and shout into the sky “Gotcha Sucker!” like Eddie Murphy in Bowfinger. Only when he finally revealed his foot as it made contact with the pavement, he was wearing green fabric covered pumps with a kitten-heel. Is there more to this double-life than my already demented mind had initially conjured up? Do those shoes look familiar? Are they from my collection, or has he been secretly stashing his own collection is this flat with his other transvestite buddies? Has he? – hey, wait a second! He shaved his legs as well! . . . A more forceful squint revealed his entire outfit as he eased out of the driver’s seat. By this time my forehead had melted against the top of my steering wheel and my chin hit the hooter, causing him to turn round in a graceful spin locking eyes with me at such a distance. I felt my body numb from bruised forehead to unmanicured toes, and the colour drain from my cheeks (okay maybe I’m exaggerating here, since I never have colour in my cheeks). My eyes were fixed on the sight before me, still squinting, I saw my “well thought-out plan” foil right before me. My hand moved toward the ignition and I turned the key, slowly put my car into gear, pulled away with the greatest of elegance, passing the car I THOUGHT was my husband's. I had been following the wrong damn car all along.
Of course, it didn’t help that I wasn’t wearing my glasses, and what looked like my husband in a dress (through squinted eyes), was in fact a woman in a dress!
Last night I convinced myself he was with another woman and ended up driving around the areas I could possibly see his car, trying to track him down. I even thought of purchasing a tracking device to attach to his car. I am seriously losing it, and quickly. So there I was in my baggy house pants, a nasty washed-out T-shirt I found in a big walk goodie-bag at least 5 year ago, patent leather slip-slops at least 1 size too big for me and hair in desperate need of a GHD. Imagine this: a grown woman stalking her own husband. I felt a bit like a spy in a spoof movie driving round at night looking suspiciously at any car that I passed. I finally found his car and kept a stalker-esque distance, following him into unknown territory for at least 45min, until his car finally stopped in a parking space outside a dodgy 70’s inspired block of flats in an area I wasn’t too sure where it was, it could’ve been anywhere in the southern suburbs (all the areas look the same to me anyway). I slowed down and waited for him to get out of his car. By this time I stuck my head below my steering-wheel with my spy-eyes peering through the gap between the top of the steering wheel and my dashboard. I squinted hoping this would focus my sight, and summon “eyes of the hawk” like Marshall BraveStarr.
As his car door opened, I felt the overwhelming urge to let out a Tex Hex-like cackle and shout into the sky “Gotcha Sucker!” like Eddie Murphy in Bowfinger. Only when he finally revealed his foot as it made contact with the pavement, he was wearing green fabric covered pumps with a kitten-heel. Is there more to this double-life than my already demented mind had initially conjured up? Do those shoes look familiar? Are they from my collection, or has he been secretly stashing his own collection is this flat with his other transvestite buddies? Has he? – hey, wait a second! He shaved his legs as well! . . . A more forceful squint revealed his entire outfit as he eased out of the driver’s seat. By this time my forehead had melted against the top of my steering wheel and my chin hit the hooter, causing him to turn round in a graceful spin locking eyes with me at such a distance. I felt my body numb from bruised forehead to unmanicured toes, and the colour drain from my cheeks (okay maybe I’m exaggerating here, since I never have colour in my cheeks). My eyes were fixed on the sight before me, still squinting, I saw my “well thought-out plan” foil right before me. My hand moved toward the ignition and I turned the key, slowly put my car into gear, pulled away with the greatest of elegance, passing the car I THOUGHT was my husband's. I had been following the wrong damn car all along.
Of course, it didn’t help that I wasn’t wearing my glasses, and what looked like my husband in a dress (through squinted eyes), was in fact a woman in a dress!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Is Tina "Palin" in Comparison?
Okay, so the subject line isn't the most original I could have come up with. Consider this though that my mind is still coming to terms with the matter of "relaxation". It's been one harrowing week (well, maybe harrowing is a bit heavy on the dramatic front, but its been a taxing one mentally). Why you ask? Studies my friends.....studies. The constant quest for mental stimulation to further ourselves in the wonderful world we live. Plus, it just looks good on your resume' right? Indeed.:-)
But now I've sidetracked myself from the actual post at hand. I opened up the Yahoo site a few moments ago and found myself greeted by the face of Tina Fey (pictured on the left). For those not in the know, she's the star of (or one of the stars of) the award winning hit comedy 30 Rock. Now with all this news and media coverage of failed US Vice Presidential bidder, Alaska's Sarah Palin (pictured on the right), my mind started playing the age-old game of "Doesn't she look like?". I'm happy to say that I'm not the only one that sees some sort of freaky resemblance here. Recently SNL did a show where Tina spoofed Palin. I must admit, I just heard about it today and can't wait to catch it on youtube or something. As per usual, I can expect a few who totally disagree with this comparison.......that's fine with me. You do that. But you'll come around, you'll see.......they always do.:-)
Monday, November 10, 2008
No middleground: Be good or SUPERBAD!
It's made massive waves when it hit cinemas (a breakout hit if you will) and it's now available on DVD. If you haven't seen SUPERBAD yet, you're missing a whole lot. If you have seen it, I'm sure one thing you'll take away, if its the only thing you do, is "Mr Pinnochio Suit" himself, Fogell aka McLovin. Newcomer Christopher Mintz-Plasse nailed the character to the "T", with every "i" being dotted along the way as well. Apparently the now famous ID of said character floated around in pre-buzz format. Initially it was just Fogell. Interesting...wonder when the McLovin started?
Sidebar: If you're looking to see Christopher Mintz-Plasse again, this time in another guise, expect to be amazed. He's set to play a character called Red Mist in a movie adaptation of the violent comic book called Kick-Ass. Below is a still of one of the scenes. Red Mist is the character not looking at the camera. For more news on this and other interesting movie & TV developments, including GI Joe (I can't wait to see this one) news, check this link:
Morning Spoilers
Is it just me or...?
I've been wondering this for a minute now (ok, much more than that, but you catch my drift, right?). Were South African rugby international Victor Matfield and French football international Robert Emmanuel Pirès (currently with Villarreal C.F.) separated at birth or during toddlerdom perhaps? Just a thought...
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