Late last night, while driving through muck and debris, Nolan and I hit a dead end. We were looking for a house but didn't know how to get there. The dark night and scattered debris didn't help either, and hitting this wall, thought better give up the search. I attempt to back up, and turn on the beams to get a better view. Lo and behold, what seemed like a wall or a house was actually a river barge, straddled on the road with one end on a house's roof and the other seemingly intent on ramming the house across the street.
To imagine a 100 ton barge "parked" across the street is way beyond even my bored mind. A small plane or a helicopter I could dream up, but this sight was simply precious.
Naturally, we made up all sorts of explanations for this phenomenon. Didn't the barge's captain see the 'Boat No Entry' sign? This was something that you could tell someone else who wasn't there and they wouldn't be able to process a mental image. To see is to believe.
*****
An insight gained from my trip to CDO: Filipinos love chicken. On every street corner there seems to be a joint selling fried, roasted or barbecued chicken and almost all of them are doing good business. My theory is that chicken being cheaper than pork or beef, businesses have intentionally force fed the nation with our feathered friends to make bigger profits. Fast food joints all have fried chicken on their regular menus and the ever present deep-fried chicken ass or skin is a staple in every neighborhood drinking spree.
A month ago, I had a chance to run over a still clucking chicken on a national highway. Though not my intent, there was no way I was going to risk control over the car by swerving uncontrollably to avoid it. I waited for the agonizing crunch underneath, but then I was surprised that right at the moment I anticipated the fowl to be murdered, it flew above the hood, and bounced off the windshield. Horny flying chicken, Batman! The big surprise for me wasn't that it avoided certain death, but that I momentarily forgot that chickens do fly for limited durations.
Of course, with limited flying range, the chicken's survival as a specie is largely dependent on human's appetite for its meat. I doubt any wild chickens still run around in the wilderness. I conclude, therefore that an addendum to Darwin's theory of natural selection should be made. For instance, instead of simply limiting a specie's survival on their ability to adapt to changes to their environment, it should also be dependent on how good they taste with catsup. I've been trying to google literature to support my thesis that if a dodo's meat tasted better than chicken's, Colonel Sander's recipe should read Kentucky Fried Dodo. As expected, evil chicken farmers must have permanently suppressed all evidence.
*****
Speaking of extinction agendas, my dad has clearly exhibited his disdain of those cute, cuddly baby seals you find on the Discovery Channel. Remember those emails about hunters killing off that cute, furry, snow white baby seal? Consider my dad a supporter of the hunter's cause.
First, he can't find any evidence of their contribution to the global ecosystem. In a classic argument at home to determine who makes better sense, I got stumped when my dad asked what seals contribute to the ecosystem. I thought 'sea-lice' but was careful to restrain myself. John 1-Hap 0.
Second, they eat fish. Humans eat fish. My dad eats fish. Other more useful animals eat fish (such as our dog, Bob) and for the longest time those environmental activists have been warning us that fish are getting scarcer. My dad's solution was to kill off seals, blend their guts into fishmeal and scatter them all throughout the ocean for fishes to enjoy. My defense consisted of seals providing snacks to killer whales... shot down the moment it left my lips. Humans eat fish, Killer whales eat fish, Killer whales eat humans. For vengeance's sake, die Orca, die! John 2-Hap 0.
Third, the global oil crisis means we need to look for alternative sources of oil. Have you seen a seal? They're pretty much shaped like condoms loaded with blubber. A single adult seal could provide enough oil to light hundreds of superficial decorative oil-lamps, overly extravagant buffet food warmers and cigarette or crack cocaine lighters. I see the obvious flaw in the argument and lambaste his fascist intentions, claiming he's justified the world's need for seals! He ponders this thought, and conceded. All seals should be captured, caged, fattened up to the point of bursting and then processed for our global energy requirements. John 2-Hap 1,000,000,000 x 10exp6.
I win, of course, and have ensured the safety and survival of an entire species. In a few short years, my vision of a world feeding off chickens barbecued over the flames of a seal-oil burning grill shall be every man's utopian reality. No need to thank me, just pass the chicken ass, please?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Pressing Reset
I'm back in Manila, back at my gas station. It's a weird sort of homecoming, so much has happened in the last 36 hours that those 4 days in the southern island seems to have happened ages ago. Time-space warp?
*****
Had an after-dinner conversation with Paul in Davao at one of those sub-zero beer joints. He seemed alright despite missing his dad terribly, must be the joy of having his own little family to come home to. As always, we talked about what was going on at work both ways, something that we usually discuss for hours each time we meet either in Manila or down south. Seems work is going fine so far at his end, so far...
As with most legacies passed down to the next generation, Paul is currently at that state of both excitement and fear. He's got big shoes to fill, and despite his dad's giving him an almost free rein on the business these past years, it's understandable that he's feeling a bit inept at this stage. First, there's his dad's responsibilities to the family that he has decided to carry on his shoulders. Then there's his own family to look after, and that of their employees. Needless to say, there's a lot of pressure to perform... and I don't envy him in the least.
On the other hand, there's me. Okay, so I've got my own problems, no doubt, but nothing on a scale that's comparable to his.
Suppose I were to be in his shoes, and he were in mine, I wonder if my presumption that I'd soon be at the helm of a faltering business to be bought out by Paul stands? Are the bigger responsibilities reserved for better people? Or is it a matter of environment, that given the same tools and challenges we'd end up pretty much in the same opposite situations? There's this story I've read long ago, a boy grows to be a man when a man is needed, I wonder...
*****
I found myself in yet another sleazy bar not long ago. The kind of joints that Philip Salvador or Rudy Fernandez usually trashes in the requisite bar brawl scenes of Philippine action flicks. True to the genre... Lady In Red was being played by a lonely man on an electronic keyboard amid colored flashing lights in a darkened room. The floor manager holds my hand, asking me if I wanted some company. I wave her off, uninterested (well, destitute is actually more apt, but let's pretend...) as I take a gulp of cold beer.
Why do I end up in these types of places, you might ask? Do I like the proximity of warm bodies? Or perhaps an unintelligent conversation rife with the usual flattery and empty promises? Has the search for a cold one become so desperate? Nah... it's more of a need to zone out, I guess. To just unwind without having to think about much of anything.
I signal for the bill after downing my first beer, and make my way to the exit. Clarity ensues and again my mind is filled with fresh thoughts.
*****
Had an after-dinner conversation with Paul in Davao at one of those sub-zero beer joints. He seemed alright despite missing his dad terribly, must be the joy of having his own little family to come home to. As always, we talked about what was going on at work both ways, something that we usually discuss for hours each time we meet either in Manila or down south. Seems work is going fine so far at his end, so far...
As with most legacies passed down to the next generation, Paul is currently at that state of both excitement and fear. He's got big shoes to fill, and despite his dad's giving him an almost free rein on the business these past years, it's understandable that he's feeling a bit inept at this stage. First, there's his dad's responsibilities to the family that he has decided to carry on his shoulders. Then there's his own family to look after, and that of their employees. Needless to say, there's a lot of pressure to perform... and I don't envy him in the least.
On the other hand, there's me. Okay, so I've got my own problems, no doubt, but nothing on a scale that's comparable to his.
Suppose I were to be in his shoes, and he were in mine, I wonder if my presumption that I'd soon be at the helm of a faltering business to be bought out by Paul stands? Are the bigger responsibilities reserved for better people? Or is it a matter of environment, that given the same tools and challenges we'd end up pretty much in the same opposite situations? There's this story I've read long ago, a boy grows to be a man when a man is needed, I wonder...
*****
I found myself in yet another sleazy bar not long ago. The kind of joints that Philip Salvador or Rudy Fernandez usually trashes in the requisite bar brawl scenes of Philippine action flicks. True to the genre... Lady In Red was being played by a lonely man on an electronic keyboard amid colored flashing lights in a darkened room. The floor manager holds my hand, asking me if I wanted some company. I wave her off, uninterested (well, destitute is actually more apt, but let's pretend...) as I take a gulp of cold beer.
Why do I end up in these types of places, you might ask? Do I like the proximity of warm bodies? Or perhaps an unintelligent conversation rife with the usual flattery and empty promises? Has the search for a cold one become so desperate? Nah... it's more of a need to zone out, I guess. To just unwind without having to think about much of anything.
I signal for the bill after downing my first beer, and make my way to the exit. Clarity ensues and again my mind is filled with fresh thoughts.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Weather Patterns
It was pretty much 2 years ago when Milenyo swept over the office, drowning my car and seeing me crawl up the office's trusses like a rat. Wading through floodwaters gushing through makeshift rivers and evading the occasional tree branch and squealing pig, I could definitely feel for those in Manila right now more or less in the same predicament. Of course as fate would have it, this wasn't going to happen to me again this time... karma doing me a favor?
This year, during the storm that drowned a great portion of the metropolis, I found myself in the hinterlands of Bukidnon, then to the southern city of Davao. I could watch the familiar brown murky floodwaters on the television literally a hundred miles away from where I lay comfortably in an airconditioned hotel room, fed, resting and best of all dry.
*****
How's this for irony, just an hour ago while meeting with a client at the mall, the familiar drone of a heavy downpour filled the air. As I walked out, I found the street under a couple of inches of floodwater. I glanced at my hotel's entrance across said street and decided it wasn't worth getting my shoes wet and I'd best wait till the "puddle" subsided. Wow, after watching people drenched in the rain atop their roofs fearing for their lives, I was careful to mind my leather shoes getting wet.
I lit my cigarette, smiling at the irony that I've created and wondered if it would be awfully insensitive to write about this disturbing scene. Obviously I thought not... after all, I've (and my car) paid our dues to the storm gods.
It took maybe a couple more cigarettes before I finally braved the now half-inch film of water. Taking careful steps so as not to spray some drops on the cuff (is that the right term?) of my pants, I crossed the street as the hotel guard who was apparently watching me the whole time chuckled as he readied his now open umbrella, lest I get slightly rained on. I got to my hotel room just in time to watch the news again, still about the great flood.
Sincerely, I would rather this tragedy not happen to anyone else. But this is the weather, and there's just no way to predict nor foresee the happenings of both yesterday and two years ago. Guess I just can't help feeling lucky and happy that I didn't get hit twice by flood.
This year, during the storm that drowned a great portion of the metropolis, I found myself in the hinterlands of Bukidnon, then to the southern city of Davao. I could watch the familiar brown murky floodwaters on the television literally a hundred miles away from where I lay comfortably in an airconditioned hotel room, fed, resting and best of all dry.
*****
How's this for irony, just an hour ago while meeting with a client at the mall, the familiar drone of a heavy downpour filled the air. As I walked out, I found the street under a couple of inches of floodwater. I glanced at my hotel's entrance across said street and decided it wasn't worth getting my shoes wet and I'd best wait till the "puddle" subsided. Wow, after watching people drenched in the rain atop their roofs fearing for their lives, I was careful to mind my leather shoes getting wet.
I lit my cigarette, smiling at the irony that I've created and wondered if it would be awfully insensitive to write about this disturbing scene. Obviously I thought not... after all, I've (and my car) paid our dues to the storm gods.
It took maybe a couple more cigarettes before I finally braved the now half-inch film of water. Taking careful steps so as not to spray some drops on the cuff (is that the right term?) of my pants, I crossed the street as the hotel guard who was apparently watching me the whole time chuckled as he readied his now open umbrella, lest I get slightly rained on. I got to my hotel room just in time to watch the news again, still about the great flood.
Sincerely, I would rather this tragedy not happen to anyone else. But this is the weather, and there's just no way to predict nor foresee the happenings of both yesterday and two years ago. Guess I just can't help feeling lucky and happy that I didn't get hit twice by flood.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Flying with Malcolm
Apart from the hassles of having to wake up ridiculously early, another downside of taking the first flight of the day to anywhere is that everyone seems to arrive pretty early at the airport, and thus a mob usually waits for you once you enter the gates. To solve this, I've resorted to certain means to avoid all these.
First thing I do is... well, I don't sleep. Not to say that I forego sleep, I just sleep as much as I can in the afternoon so that I don't have to sleep at all during the night. This allows me to get to the airport even earlier than most of the usual early birds and avoid the mob. So now, I'm at the airport when my flight is more than a couple of hours away and whiling my time engrossed in writing this post until my laptop's batteries go out. Then I take out the book I am currently reading and wait for boarding time.
I know, there are laptop stations scattered throughout the airport (at least in the Centennial terminal anyway), but I prefer to smoke while writing and thus confine myself to the smoking area with a hot cup of joe to keep me company.
*****
Speaking of books, I have a book that I've specially designated for flights... the autobiography of Malcolm X. I started the book maybe two years ago and read it almost exclusively at airports and during the flight itself. Now, two years after, I'm only halfway through the darn book and have had to go back some chapters because I keep forgetting what the heck happened.
The frequency of my flights have been quite regular... I'm supposed to be at our Cebu office once a month (though depending on the circumstances, I stretch that to once every two months out of laziness) and thus get to read the book only during these times. At the rate I'm going, I should finish the book by late next year... hopefully Malcolm X doesn't get resurrected anytime soon so that I'm more or less up to date on what's he been up to.
*****
I've been reading up on my blog... seems that so far, I've been kinda faithful to my promise of writing mostly about nothing. Well, at least no thread of topics in particular. I'm beginning to wonder if I should at least create a blog with a theme... maybe a travel blog... or one full of my stupid short stories. Contrary to what others may think, writing about nothing is quite a challenge. One has to at least spend hours each day daydreaming up new topics to write about. This practice of mine of daydreaming during office hours has been somewhat taxing on some paperwork. Then again, I doubt if not having this blog would affect my scheduled daydreaming at the office.
Maybe it would help if I had a hobby... like collecting stamps, coins or fountain pens. Then at least I could write all about some major stash I've found and post pictures of each of them. Up to this point, I don't recall having posted any pictures here in this blog. One reason is that I don't know how to... another is the snail's pace that uploading pictures online, and being such an impatient boob when it comes to this, I end up canceling my uploads about 30 seconds into the task.
*****
Well, it's 5 minutes to boarding time... guess I better pack up and get ready to move... now for Malcolm X...
First thing I do is... well, I don't sleep. Not to say that I forego sleep, I just sleep as much as I can in the afternoon so that I don't have to sleep at all during the night. This allows me to get to the airport even earlier than most of the usual early birds and avoid the mob. So now, I'm at the airport when my flight is more than a couple of hours away and whiling my time engrossed in writing this post until my laptop's batteries go out. Then I take out the book I am currently reading and wait for boarding time.
I know, there are laptop stations scattered throughout the airport (at least in the Centennial terminal anyway), but I prefer to smoke while writing and thus confine myself to the smoking area with a hot cup of joe to keep me company.
*****
Speaking of books, I have a book that I've specially designated for flights... the autobiography of Malcolm X. I started the book maybe two years ago and read it almost exclusively at airports and during the flight itself. Now, two years after, I'm only halfway through the darn book and have had to go back some chapters because I keep forgetting what the heck happened.
The frequency of my flights have been quite regular... I'm supposed to be at our Cebu office once a month (though depending on the circumstances, I stretch that to once every two months out of laziness) and thus get to read the book only during these times. At the rate I'm going, I should finish the book by late next year... hopefully Malcolm X doesn't get resurrected anytime soon so that I'm more or less up to date on what's he been up to.
*****
I've been reading up on my blog... seems that so far, I've been kinda faithful to my promise of writing mostly about nothing. Well, at least no thread of topics in particular. I'm beginning to wonder if I should at least create a blog with a theme... maybe a travel blog... or one full of my stupid short stories. Contrary to what others may think, writing about nothing is quite a challenge. One has to at least spend hours each day daydreaming up new topics to write about. This practice of mine of daydreaming during office hours has been somewhat taxing on some paperwork. Then again, I doubt if not having this blog would affect my scheduled daydreaming at the office.
Maybe it would help if I had a hobby... like collecting stamps, coins or fountain pens. Then at least I could write all about some major stash I've found and post pictures of each of them. Up to this point, I don't recall having posted any pictures here in this blog. One reason is that I don't know how to... another is the snail's pace that uploading pictures online, and being such an impatient boob when it comes to this, I end up canceling my uploads about 30 seconds into the task.
*****
Well, it's 5 minutes to boarding time... guess I better pack up and get ready to move... now for Malcolm X...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Pre-flight instructions
Promised myself a lovely snooze at the gas station to make up for the all-nighter I pulled last night making my report. Was pleased to have slept a good 3 hours in the car while parked underneath the lovely shade of an acacia. I now feel a bit refreshed and ready for the drive home... but not just yet...
*****
In a few hours, I will be boarding my flight to the City of Golden Friendship. Don't ask me why Cagayan De Oro is called as such, I have yet to gather enough interest to google it. Apparently this city and its periphery has a lot to offer: ziplines, white water rafting, major waterfalls and other eco-tourism destinations. In my 5 or so visits this region, all I have to show is a t-shirt bought from SM, a meal of ostrich eggs, a visit to Limketkai mall and pictures of me donning a hardhat and stuffing gigantic ferro-nickel ingots into 20-ton container vans. Truly exciting.
*****
Despite the countless number of times I've boarded airplanes, there always is the inevitable thought that this might be the flight that crashes and burns... or drowns in shark infested waters. As the flight attendant demonstrates the safety features of their plane and how to use them correctly, my mind wanders in search of instances where the plane plummets to a crash landing but leaves the passengers and crew unscathed. There's the movie "Alive" of course where a good number of its passengers survive to find themselves stranded on the Andes... and subsequently survive by eating those that didn't make it. Not really that much of a relief.
Of course, being blessed with superpowers I have yet to discover, I convince myself that I might likely survive the crash. Then faced with the odyssey of finding my way back to civilization, I will be forever thankful to lazy weekends spent watching Man Vs Wild. As long as I don't have to drink my own piss, scale sheer cliff walls or encounter carnivorous guinea pigs... I should be fine.
If, let's say the unthinkable (hmm... I've just thought of it, how can that be unthinkable?) happens and I find myself lost in the wild and survive, shall I treat this as a situation wherein I suddenly realize the value of existence and try to make the most of my second chance at life? Or do I wake up at 6 in the morning, take a shower and get ready for the usual daily grind? Movies have always demonstrated how such situations suddenly call for an epiphany and your paradigm suddenly changes, making life as you know it seem worthless. But of course, that's in the movies, and the sequel that is real life can be frighteningly intolerable of such departures from the script.
*****
As usual, I'm daydreaming too much. Better make my way home and pack.
*****
In a few hours, I will be boarding my flight to the City of Golden Friendship. Don't ask me why Cagayan De Oro is called as such, I have yet to gather enough interest to google it. Apparently this city and its periphery has a lot to offer: ziplines, white water rafting, major waterfalls and other eco-tourism destinations. In my 5 or so visits this region, all I have to show is a t-shirt bought from SM, a meal of ostrich eggs, a visit to Limketkai mall and pictures of me donning a hardhat and stuffing gigantic ferro-nickel ingots into 20-ton container vans. Truly exciting.
*****
Despite the countless number of times I've boarded airplanes, there always is the inevitable thought that this might be the flight that crashes and burns... or drowns in shark infested waters. As the flight attendant demonstrates the safety features of their plane and how to use them correctly, my mind wanders in search of instances where the plane plummets to a crash landing but leaves the passengers and crew unscathed. There's the movie "Alive" of course where a good number of its passengers survive to find themselves stranded on the Andes... and subsequently survive by eating those that didn't make it. Not really that much of a relief.
Of course, being blessed with superpowers I have yet to discover, I convince myself that I might likely survive the crash. Then faced with the odyssey of finding my way back to civilization, I will be forever thankful to lazy weekends spent watching Man Vs Wild. As long as I don't have to drink my own piss, scale sheer cliff walls or encounter carnivorous guinea pigs... I should be fine.
If, let's say the unthinkable (hmm... I've just thought of it, how can that be unthinkable?) happens and I find myself lost in the wild and survive, shall I treat this as a situation wherein I suddenly realize the value of existence and try to make the most of my second chance at life? Or do I wake up at 6 in the morning, take a shower and get ready for the usual daily grind? Movies have always demonstrated how such situations suddenly call for an epiphany and your paradigm suddenly changes, making life as you know it seem worthless. But of course, that's in the movies, and the sequel that is real life can be frighteningly intolerable of such departures from the script.
*****
As usual, I'm daydreaming too much. Better make my way home and pack.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Warning: Next post may be hazardous to rodents
Reading up on my last post (Drowning Roger and Hammerstein), I realize that a warning should have been posted, just in case you, dear reader, are of a slightly sensitive constitution. Also, It's a friggin long story (yes, though some parts are fact, I will categorize this as fiction, just in case any animal rights activists are reading) and may bore the hell out of you.
Darn, I guess I'm THAT bored.
Oh well, you've been warned!
Hap
Darn, I guess I'm THAT bored.
Oh well, you've been warned!
Hap
Drowning Roger and Hammerstein
Over the weekend, I seem to have slipped from my non-alcoholic state of being and once again wallowed in the muck... courtesy of 4 straight nights of drinking. The good news, though, is that I've seemed to have it well under control, not getting myself intoxicated beyond control and compromising my safety in the process (unlike in the past).
However, as such activity is almost always bound to do, seemed I've gained some weight, evidenced by an increasing pudginess on my face. I challenged myself on the scale and true enough I've gained a couple of pounds. The combination of a good time and zero exercise is definitely not helping my effort to lose more weight. So now what?
*****
Yesterday I had enough. This past week, I've noticed 2 mice scurrying around my apartment. I didn't mind at first, seeing that there seems to be no damage caused. Then last Saturday, I discovered their source of sustenance: My stash of sinigang mix. Pretty clever, actually, since the sinigang mix was placed at the rear of the condiment rack, and thus I didn't discover the evil deed until I actually needed the mix. That was it, I snapped and looked for my mouse trap.
The first trap that I set was the small cage trap, perfect for mice their size. It was a humane way of capturing them without endangering their physical health (not yet, anyway). So I set it and let it be. I checked up on it again that night, and discovered a small mouse thrashing about the tiny cage. I smiled and lectured it on the consequence of its actions, declaring that justice had been done and that its intruded on my inalienable right to my hard earned sinigang mix meant it had to go.
I now was presented a dilemma of sorts, how do I dispose of the errant rodent?
My first thought involved drowning the little sucker in a pail of water, submerging the cage and watching as the last of the tiny bubbles escape from its desperately gasping mouth. Decided against it as I do not have a pail that I could dispose of after the deed was done (heaven forbid I use it again and get infected with mouse piss and feces), and yeah, I didn't have the stomach to watch the poor fella. So on to the next method, which involves inducing it to heat stroke by placing the cage in the open, under the harsh rays of the afternoon sun the next day. However, the weather being overcast and all these past days, it would die first of starvation before dehydration, and that could take days. Then there's death by electrocution, a childhood favorite of mine, but since I've matured over the years deemed it cruel and more so, a waste of electricity (damn electrical bill).
As I pondered on more creative and humane ways of bidding good riddance to the rodent, I figured that just like anyone on death row, it deserved a good meal. I cut a slice of cheese (cartoon-lore has convinced me it's a rodent's favorite), a cut of vienna sausage, a small bottle cap of Yakult. At first, the little bugger wouldn't touch it. Figured I was out to poison it, I guess, and at that moment I thought about that exact route but decided against it, superstitions against the desecration of food and all. It did decide to partake of the its last meal though after an hour of thrashing about.
While it was eating, I turned on the television and thought about the only other option I could think of... death by toilet.
In my youth, my dad had his own unique and relaxing way of ridding the household of mice. He'd take a baking sheet (to my mom's disgust), a spool of thread, a food cover and construct a crude trap for the pesky rodents. He'd tie one end of the thread to his large toe and consequently watch television while keeping one eye on the trap. I sat for hours watching him and the trap instead of the television and was amazed at how relaxed he seemed in his sport. This revealed to me the logic behind fishing the old fashioned way with a fishing rod. When a mouse took the bait underneath the giant food cover, he'd flick his toe and the spool holding up the cover would fly off, allowing the food cover to trap the mouse completely. Then, hed pick up the whole set-up and proceed to the toilet bowl where he'd quickly slide the food cover from the baking sheet and the mouse would slide off and dive into the toilet water. Its frenzied effort to swim toward the porcelain would fail as his paws only slid off and it'd slide back into the water. With a flick of the wrist, water would momentarily fill the bowl and the mouse would spiral off into wherever toilet water would magically disappear to. (Which I would later on learn to be the septic tank)
So the fate of Roger (Yes, I deemed it fit for the creature to have at least an identity before it died. A last token of its existence)was sealed. Goodbye Roger Rodent!
Now, if you'd recall, I mentioned the existence of 2 mice... thus only half the problem was solved. There was still another pest scurrying about in search of more sinigang mix. There was work to be done, still.
As a segue, this story proves what the lovely Christine Jacob-Sandejas declares as the safety of MSG as a food enhancer. I now question the myth of a thief's usual trick of tossing dogs MSG laced bread to neutralize the canine threat, allowing for an easy loot. With the amount of MSG in a packet of sinigang mix relative to the body mass of the mouse (only about an inch and a half in length minus the tail), there is no way it could continue running around if MSG did have unhealthy components in them. I now declare MSG as safe and will not hesitate in using a ton of the stuff in future culinary efforts. Anyway, going back...
So after some disinfecting of the small cage that proved effective in trapping Roger, I set it up again in hopes of finishing off the job. I set it beside the refrigerator (where Roger was silly enough to wander off to) and went off for some celebrating (not exactly at Roger's expense, mind you) with friends.
I came back and as I took out a jug of cold water from the refrigerator, noticed the still empty trap. I wouldn't have made much of a deal of it at first had I not spied the other little critter, still alive and seemed to be taunting me as it ran across the kitchen floor. Maybe it's small little brain was still sizing up the cage, and hadn't decided on trying it out yet. Fine, I'll go check my emails first.
A couple of hours later, I went back to check on it and found the trap still empty, and almost on cue, the critter was underneath the stove, staring right at me, making eye contact. Damn, it knew.
Memories of my freshman high school experimental research design project came back to haunt me. In said experiment, I set out to answer the question of whether mice "learned", learning limited to their ability to negotiate a maze over several attempts and achieve better times with each attempt. Well, the experiment was a complete failure in its effort to draw any conclusion, due to the lack of sound scientific principles and methods, such as providing a control and utilizing the same experiment on a larger sample size. However as the evil and dirty rodent seemed to be taunting me and giving me the finger, I knew mice not only learned from the mistakes of their fallen comrade, but were also capable of holding a grudge. Instantly I named the second mouse Hammerstein, a sort of promise that it would soon be joining Roger in rodent hell, to be raped and tortured repeatedly for an eternity by a horny squirrel or chipmunk.
The humane cage trap that I've set now proved useless in my hunt of Hammerstein, a different tact was to be employed. I fished out my secret weapon, one that had been so effective at administering punishment and a cruel fate on other mice foolish enough to earn my disdain. It was a simple rig, a wooden base, fitted with a spring mechanism that when tripped, would send a metal bar crashing violently on the unsuspecting mouse. I had chosen in the past to replace it with the cage because of its cruelty, but it was either me or Hammerstein, and it was definitely not going to be me spiraling down to the sewer.
I took out the trap and dusted it, the spring was still taut, and the mechanism worked perfectly, ready for another victim. As I baited it, I was careful to slowly lower it in a corner of the kitchen, and soon enough it claimed its first victim for the night, as the spring was tripped and the bar swung violently, striking my thumb as I screamed out a harsh obscenity. Hammerstein 1, Hap 0. This was harder than I thought.
Nursing my thumb as well as my pride, needless to say, I was more careful this time as I set the trap and baited it on a more stable surface. It was now only a matter of time, and in this battle between the species, my slightly superior intellect should serve me well.
I turned on the television once again, feigning indifference. But this time I watched the trap intently ready to jump in delight at my impending victory.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I saw Hammerstein emerge from underneath the refrigerator, making its way past the cage trap (which I still set up as a diversion), and in careful hops, inched closer to the bait. It took one look in my direction before retreating back to its initial position. Dammit, did it suspect anything? I didn't budge, the worst I could do was reveal my interest in the newly laid contraption and give away my intent. I looked in the direction of the television this time but kept a wary eye on the trap, same tact that I remember my dad use so effectively many years ago.
Hammerstein emerged once again, seemingly emboldened by my apparent indifference to it and made a lunge towards the bait. It stopped short of jumping on the food, and took a whiff of the ambient air, trying to smell out any malice, I suppose. Then finally, it carefully reached its grubby hands on the still moist and inviting chicken tendon. Then it happened suddenly as I almost jumped on the sofa, shocked at the split second explosion of kinetic energy.
I crept my way towards the now struggling Hammerstein and inspected the damage. It was a morbid sight. Hammerstein struggled wildly, thrashing its head and forelegs about, as its tail and hind legs laid limp and immobile. Hammerstein's spine was broken. I stood there in shock and recalled the reason I bought the little cage in the first place, this was no way to treat another specie, specially if you weren't killing it for sustenance. Frozen for about half a minute, I knew I had to act quickly to at least give little Hammerstein some dignity in death. I ran to the cupboard to get one of my disposable containers, filled it to the brim with water and dunked the contraption and the still struggling Hammerstein to its doom.
After his quick last struggle, I freed Hammerstein's lifeless corpse from the deathgrip of the cold metal jaws and carefully plunked it down the toilet, to share a grave with Roger. Hopefully by this time, Roger was already dead, and wouldn't witness the fate of Hammerstein. I threw the cruelly efficient mousetrap in the garbage bin and hatred for mice soon turned into a sorry state of conscience.
I took a shower, an effort to wash off the guilt and made my way to the bar, numbing sorrow with beer and drowning myself as Roger and Hammerstein did to their death.
However, as such activity is almost always bound to do, seemed I've gained some weight, evidenced by an increasing pudginess on my face. I challenged myself on the scale and true enough I've gained a couple of pounds. The combination of a good time and zero exercise is definitely not helping my effort to lose more weight. So now what?
*****
Yesterday I had enough. This past week, I've noticed 2 mice scurrying around my apartment. I didn't mind at first, seeing that there seems to be no damage caused. Then last Saturday, I discovered their source of sustenance: My stash of sinigang mix. Pretty clever, actually, since the sinigang mix was placed at the rear of the condiment rack, and thus I didn't discover the evil deed until I actually needed the mix. That was it, I snapped and looked for my mouse trap.
The first trap that I set was the small cage trap, perfect for mice their size. It was a humane way of capturing them without endangering their physical health (not yet, anyway). So I set it and let it be. I checked up on it again that night, and discovered a small mouse thrashing about the tiny cage. I smiled and lectured it on the consequence of its actions, declaring that justice had been done and that its intruded on my inalienable right to my hard earned sinigang mix meant it had to go.
I now was presented a dilemma of sorts, how do I dispose of the errant rodent?
My first thought involved drowning the little sucker in a pail of water, submerging the cage and watching as the last of the tiny bubbles escape from its desperately gasping mouth. Decided against it as I do not have a pail that I could dispose of after the deed was done (heaven forbid I use it again and get infected with mouse piss and feces), and yeah, I didn't have the stomach to watch the poor fella. So on to the next method, which involves inducing it to heat stroke by placing the cage in the open, under the harsh rays of the afternoon sun the next day. However, the weather being overcast and all these past days, it would die first of starvation before dehydration, and that could take days. Then there's death by electrocution, a childhood favorite of mine, but since I've matured over the years deemed it cruel and more so, a waste of electricity (damn electrical bill).
As I pondered on more creative and humane ways of bidding good riddance to the rodent, I figured that just like anyone on death row, it deserved a good meal. I cut a slice of cheese (cartoon-lore has convinced me it's a rodent's favorite), a cut of vienna sausage, a small bottle cap of Yakult. At first, the little bugger wouldn't touch it. Figured I was out to poison it, I guess, and at that moment I thought about that exact route but decided against it, superstitions against the desecration of food and all. It did decide to partake of the its last meal though after an hour of thrashing about.
While it was eating, I turned on the television and thought about the only other option I could think of... death by toilet.
In my youth, my dad had his own unique and relaxing way of ridding the household of mice. He'd take a baking sheet (to my mom's disgust), a spool of thread, a food cover and construct a crude trap for the pesky rodents. He'd tie one end of the thread to his large toe and consequently watch television while keeping one eye on the trap. I sat for hours watching him and the trap instead of the television and was amazed at how relaxed he seemed in his sport. This revealed to me the logic behind fishing the old fashioned way with a fishing rod. When a mouse took the bait underneath the giant food cover, he'd flick his toe and the spool holding up the cover would fly off, allowing the food cover to trap the mouse completely. Then, hed pick up the whole set-up and proceed to the toilet bowl where he'd quickly slide the food cover from the baking sheet and the mouse would slide off and dive into the toilet water. Its frenzied effort to swim toward the porcelain would fail as his paws only slid off and it'd slide back into the water. With a flick of the wrist, water would momentarily fill the bowl and the mouse would spiral off into wherever toilet water would magically disappear to. (Which I would later on learn to be the septic tank)
So the fate of Roger (Yes, I deemed it fit for the creature to have at least an identity before it died. A last token of its existence)was sealed. Goodbye Roger Rodent!
Now, if you'd recall, I mentioned the existence of 2 mice... thus only half the problem was solved. There was still another pest scurrying about in search of more sinigang mix. There was work to be done, still.
As a segue, this story proves what the lovely Christine Jacob-Sandejas declares as the safety of MSG as a food enhancer. I now question the myth of a thief's usual trick of tossing dogs MSG laced bread to neutralize the canine threat, allowing for an easy loot. With the amount of MSG in a packet of sinigang mix relative to the body mass of the mouse (only about an inch and a half in length minus the tail), there is no way it could continue running around if MSG did have unhealthy components in them. I now declare MSG as safe and will not hesitate in using a ton of the stuff in future culinary efforts. Anyway, going back...
So after some disinfecting of the small cage that proved effective in trapping Roger, I set it up again in hopes of finishing off the job. I set it beside the refrigerator (where Roger was silly enough to wander off to) and went off for some celebrating (not exactly at Roger's expense, mind you) with friends.
I came back and as I took out a jug of cold water from the refrigerator, noticed the still empty trap. I wouldn't have made much of a deal of it at first had I not spied the other little critter, still alive and seemed to be taunting me as it ran across the kitchen floor. Maybe it's small little brain was still sizing up the cage, and hadn't decided on trying it out yet. Fine, I'll go check my emails first.
A couple of hours later, I went back to check on it and found the trap still empty, and almost on cue, the critter was underneath the stove, staring right at me, making eye contact. Damn, it knew.
Memories of my freshman high school experimental research design project came back to haunt me. In said experiment, I set out to answer the question of whether mice "learned", learning limited to their ability to negotiate a maze over several attempts and achieve better times with each attempt. Well, the experiment was a complete failure in its effort to draw any conclusion, due to the lack of sound scientific principles and methods, such as providing a control and utilizing the same experiment on a larger sample size. However as the evil and dirty rodent seemed to be taunting me and giving me the finger, I knew mice not only learned from the mistakes of their fallen comrade, but were also capable of holding a grudge. Instantly I named the second mouse Hammerstein, a sort of promise that it would soon be joining Roger in rodent hell, to be raped and tortured repeatedly for an eternity by a horny squirrel or chipmunk.
The humane cage trap that I've set now proved useless in my hunt of Hammerstein, a different tact was to be employed. I fished out my secret weapon, one that had been so effective at administering punishment and a cruel fate on other mice foolish enough to earn my disdain. It was a simple rig, a wooden base, fitted with a spring mechanism that when tripped, would send a metal bar crashing violently on the unsuspecting mouse. I had chosen in the past to replace it with the cage because of its cruelty, but it was either me or Hammerstein, and it was definitely not going to be me spiraling down to the sewer.
I took out the trap and dusted it, the spring was still taut, and the mechanism worked perfectly, ready for another victim. As I baited it, I was careful to slowly lower it in a corner of the kitchen, and soon enough it claimed its first victim for the night, as the spring was tripped and the bar swung violently, striking my thumb as I screamed out a harsh obscenity. Hammerstein 1, Hap 0. This was harder than I thought.
Nursing my thumb as well as my pride, needless to say, I was more careful this time as I set the trap and baited it on a more stable surface. It was now only a matter of time, and in this battle between the species, my slightly superior intellect should serve me well.
I turned on the television once again, feigning indifference. But this time I watched the trap intently ready to jump in delight at my impending victory.
I could hardly contain my excitement as I saw Hammerstein emerge from underneath the refrigerator, making its way past the cage trap (which I still set up as a diversion), and in careful hops, inched closer to the bait. It took one look in my direction before retreating back to its initial position. Dammit, did it suspect anything? I didn't budge, the worst I could do was reveal my interest in the newly laid contraption and give away my intent. I looked in the direction of the television this time but kept a wary eye on the trap, same tact that I remember my dad use so effectively many years ago.
Hammerstein emerged once again, seemingly emboldened by my apparent indifference to it and made a lunge towards the bait. It stopped short of jumping on the food, and took a whiff of the ambient air, trying to smell out any malice, I suppose. Then finally, it carefully reached its grubby hands on the still moist and inviting chicken tendon. Then it happened suddenly as I almost jumped on the sofa, shocked at the split second explosion of kinetic energy.
I crept my way towards the now struggling Hammerstein and inspected the damage. It was a morbid sight. Hammerstein struggled wildly, thrashing its head and forelegs about, as its tail and hind legs laid limp and immobile. Hammerstein's spine was broken. I stood there in shock and recalled the reason I bought the little cage in the first place, this was no way to treat another specie, specially if you weren't killing it for sustenance. Frozen for about half a minute, I knew I had to act quickly to at least give little Hammerstein some dignity in death. I ran to the cupboard to get one of my disposable containers, filled it to the brim with water and dunked the contraption and the still struggling Hammerstein to its doom.
After his quick last struggle, I freed Hammerstein's lifeless corpse from the deathgrip of the cold metal jaws and carefully plunked it down the toilet, to share a grave with Roger. Hopefully by this time, Roger was already dead, and wouldn't witness the fate of Hammerstein. I threw the cruelly efficient mousetrap in the garbage bin and hatred for mice soon turned into a sorry state of conscience.
I took a shower, an effort to wash off the guilt and made my way to the bar, numbing sorrow with beer and drowning myself as Roger and Hammerstein did to their death.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Whew... Kapoy Gid
My Lakbayan grade is B-!
How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan!
Created by Eugene Villar.Three beers and a crispy pata
The evening started out eerily enough, we found ourselves a prisoner of a hospital’s OB-Gyne Department. 3 smokers desperately wanting of a nicotine fix under threat of the hospital’s exorbitant smoking fine (P1,000 to be caught smoking within the premises? No wonder I hate hospitals!). We made up every excuse to make our way through the maze of wards and offices leading to the hospital gates. But of course, with the birthday party in full swing smoking breaks were few and far between.
The clock struck 12 and we got ready to be going, armed with the perfect excuse we gave our leaves to our host and hostess, it was Pye’s birthday and the ever-present crispy pata was calling out to us.
So we found ourselves at our usual watering hole in Makati. The 3 losers, Edu, the birthday boy, and myself. We met each other freshman year in high school and year after year, despite not seeing each other as often, we keep re-discovering the expression that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
*****
Bernard, the soon-to-be married doctor friend of ours, required us to attend his fiancee’s birthday bash for a fitting. We wondered what the fitting was for as the tailor made hideously erroneous (that can’t be right, miss… no way is my waistline that big!) measurements of our out of shape and pathetic bodies.
We were discussing something else when Pye suddenly burst out laughing at what seemed to be a logical explanation for the measurements… it was to be a themed wedding… and given Bernard’s love of anime, could the wedding be a celebration slash cosplay? Now the three of us were laughing, and pleading to our hosts to be garbed ala-Naruto.
*****
Standing outside the hospital gates, we spied a 7-11 at the corner. It was agreed that a slurpee, no matter what flavor, would greatly enhance our smoking pleasure. We made our way to the store, filled our tumblers with the brightly colored slush and went outside, delighting in brain freeze in a cup.
It’s a wonder how slurpee never gets old. Anytime of day, one could always whet up an appetite for this concoction of brightly colored sugar syrup in crushed ice. And even through the inconvenience of the inevitable brain freeze, you’d still want more of the stuff.
We finished off our slurpees and each lit another cigarette. No hurry going back to the party yet, this was just as fun.
*****
It was another of those looking back conversations… the kind when you reminisce to a time when something you now take for granted was such a big deal in yesteryears, like the telephone. Back when telephones weren’t a common household fixture, the red old public pay phone was such a luxury to encounter. There was one in our high school and we hogged it all afternoon talking to girls. Then it was changed to the shiny silver ones and we no longer found any use for the hundred or so quarters that we had accumulated.
Back then, we had our trusty little phonebooks slipped into our wallets. And we remembered a lot of phone numbers. We also remembered how grumpy or irritated fathers generally sounded like, and what do you say when the father asks what your relationship is with his exclusive-girl’s-school attending daughter?
*****
Fathers are a usual topic among us, probably because we eventually see ourselves becoming one eventually. Turns out we have all limited contact with our dads presently, all for different reasons. Each of our dads have different personalities, and maybe it’s just as well that not one of them has ever met the other as it would be too awkward if we ever found out that they talked about us the same way we talk about them.
*****
Edu asks if I’d be interested to go out with an officemate of his… a 22-year old graduate of the Ahrrneo. I say why not… what’s 10 years, right? He laughs and tells me better I not.
A testament to getting old, we talk about the young and how much different this generation set is compared to as how we saw ourselves. These “punks” are taking over the world right now, and for the likes of us, all we can do is sit back and watch them trample over us. Oh well, better start saving up for that retirement home.
The clock struck 12 and we got ready to be going, armed with the perfect excuse we gave our leaves to our host and hostess, it was Pye’s birthday and the ever-present crispy pata was calling out to us.
So we found ourselves at our usual watering hole in Makati. The 3 losers, Edu, the birthday boy, and myself. We met each other freshman year in high school and year after year, despite not seeing each other as often, we keep re-discovering the expression that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
*****
Bernard, the soon-to-be married doctor friend of ours, required us to attend his fiancee’s birthday bash for a fitting. We wondered what the fitting was for as the tailor made hideously erroneous (that can’t be right, miss… no way is my waistline that big!) measurements of our out of shape and pathetic bodies.
We were discussing something else when Pye suddenly burst out laughing at what seemed to be a logical explanation for the measurements… it was to be a themed wedding… and given Bernard’s love of anime, could the wedding be a celebration slash cosplay? Now the three of us were laughing, and pleading to our hosts to be garbed ala-Naruto.
*****
Standing outside the hospital gates, we spied a 7-11 at the corner. It was agreed that a slurpee, no matter what flavor, would greatly enhance our smoking pleasure. We made our way to the store, filled our tumblers with the brightly colored slush and went outside, delighting in brain freeze in a cup.
It’s a wonder how slurpee never gets old. Anytime of day, one could always whet up an appetite for this concoction of brightly colored sugar syrup in crushed ice. And even through the inconvenience of the inevitable brain freeze, you’d still want more of the stuff.
We finished off our slurpees and each lit another cigarette. No hurry going back to the party yet, this was just as fun.
*****
It was another of those looking back conversations… the kind when you reminisce to a time when something you now take for granted was such a big deal in yesteryears, like the telephone. Back when telephones weren’t a common household fixture, the red old public pay phone was such a luxury to encounter. There was one in our high school and we hogged it all afternoon talking to girls. Then it was changed to the shiny silver ones and we no longer found any use for the hundred or so quarters that we had accumulated.
Back then, we had our trusty little phonebooks slipped into our wallets. And we remembered a lot of phone numbers. We also remembered how grumpy or irritated fathers generally sounded like, and what do you say when the father asks what your relationship is with his exclusive-girl’s-school attending daughter?
*****
Fathers are a usual topic among us, probably because we eventually see ourselves becoming one eventually. Turns out we have all limited contact with our dads presently, all for different reasons. Each of our dads have different personalities, and maybe it’s just as well that not one of them has ever met the other as it would be too awkward if we ever found out that they talked about us the same way we talk about them.
*****
Edu asks if I’d be interested to go out with an officemate of his… a 22-year old graduate of the Ahrrneo. I say why not… what’s 10 years, right? He laughs and tells me better I not.
A testament to getting old, we talk about the young and how much different this generation set is compared to as how we saw ourselves. These “punks” are taking over the world right now, and for the likes of us, all we can do is sit back and watch them trample over us. Oh well, better start saving up for that retirement home.
Friday, September 18, 2009
My Eleven Random Facts
I'm making a list... something random... lemme see...
1. I gave away my guitar to someone who will actually use it.
I got a guitar as a birthday gift some years back. I do know the basics, that much I taught myself back when Cobain, Vedder and the gang were at their peak. I use it maybe an hour every two months, a minute further and my fingers gave way to arthritis. Then a friend of mine broke his ankle, and being stuck at home for 2 months with only his organ to play with, decided to donate it to him. With a lot more time and willing effort on their hands, I don't plan to get it back. (The business with his organ being a part of it as well, I guess.)
2. I spend more time at the gas station than sleeping at home.
Started as a protest on my part against the SLEX traffic, then a necessity for my now defunct career as a professional blogger, now it's getting to be the reason I come to the office... so that I could hang out here after.
3. I've retired my blanket.
Decades of use has made my favorite blanket the translucent piece of canvass it is today. Starting out as some flour bags sewn together, it has served me well for comfort, security and friendship. Now in an effort to preserve what's left of it, I have folded it neatly and stashed it together with my other treasures. Thanks for a lifetime of service, old buddy.
4. I love mustard.
Hotdogs, ham, chicken, shrimp, meatballs, fish tofu, luncheon meat, hard boiled eggs, siomai... I've dunked them all in mustard. Fiercely eccentric taste buds, I suppose.
5. I could eat hotdogs a whole month without complaining.
Besides being my favorite food after pizza and lumpia toge, they are probably the easiest to cook, too.
6. I have a huge respect for instant pancit canton and scrambled eggs.
When I moved out of my parent's house, I earned barely enough to make the rent. This was the only food I could afford and they kept me from starving to death the first 4 months.
7. I read the newspaper from the back to the front page.
The sport's page is usually the back cover, then I make my way to the headlines. Obviously PBA games started me on this habit which I still practice today.
8. I twirl my fork counter-clockwise.
I first noticed this when my college classmates saw me twirling spaghetti at Jolibee, Philcoa and were curious as to why I did that. I never realized that there was a conventional and unconventional direction for fork twirling until then, all 6 of them twirled clockwise.
9. I drove a car with no sidemirrors for 2 years.
In protest against the slew of side mirror thefts plaguing the metro in the early part of this decade, I resolved never to buy side mirrors from the usual "surplus" outlets at Banawe and Evangelista streets. And I would probably had gone on for a couple or more years had Leo finally had enough and bought a pair for me on my birthday. Having basically learned how to drive alone, I developed a special affinity with the rear view mirror which I use more often than the side mirrors while driving.
10. I hate Chemistry
Despite working in a chemical laboratory, surrounded by chemists and metallurgists and with the periodic table of elements on every wall, Chemistry has always been my most hated subject. I barely passed high school chemistry, had to remove Chemistry 16 in college (cheating on the removals, at that) and can't even begin to solve basic stoichiometry. (Am not even sure I spelled it correctly, the red underline appears).
11. I've watched "The Little Mermaid" more than any other movie/cartoon in history.
I can even sing all the songs! Hahaha... side effects of having 2 younger sisters who watch it everyday.
1. I gave away my guitar to someone who will actually use it.
I got a guitar as a birthday gift some years back. I do know the basics, that much I taught myself back when Cobain, Vedder and the gang were at their peak. I use it maybe an hour every two months, a minute further and my fingers gave way to arthritis. Then a friend of mine broke his ankle, and being stuck at home for 2 months with only his organ to play with, decided to donate it to him. With a lot more time and willing effort on their hands, I don't plan to get it back. (The business with his organ being a part of it as well, I guess.)
2. I spend more time at the gas station than sleeping at home.
Started as a protest on my part against the SLEX traffic, then a necessity for my now defunct career as a professional blogger, now it's getting to be the reason I come to the office... so that I could hang out here after.
3. I've retired my blanket.
Decades of use has made my favorite blanket the translucent piece of canvass it is today. Starting out as some flour bags sewn together, it has served me well for comfort, security and friendship. Now in an effort to preserve what's left of it, I have folded it neatly and stashed it together with my other treasures. Thanks for a lifetime of service, old buddy.
4. I love mustard.
Hotdogs, ham, chicken, shrimp, meatballs, fish tofu, luncheon meat, hard boiled eggs, siomai... I've dunked them all in mustard. Fiercely eccentric taste buds, I suppose.
5. I could eat hotdogs a whole month without complaining.
Besides being my favorite food after pizza and lumpia toge, they are probably the easiest to cook, too.
6. I have a huge respect for instant pancit canton and scrambled eggs.
When I moved out of my parent's house, I earned barely enough to make the rent. This was the only food I could afford and they kept me from starving to death the first 4 months.
7. I read the newspaper from the back to the front page.
The sport's page is usually the back cover, then I make my way to the headlines. Obviously PBA games started me on this habit which I still practice today.
8. I twirl my fork counter-clockwise.
I first noticed this when my college classmates saw me twirling spaghetti at Jolibee, Philcoa and were curious as to why I did that. I never realized that there was a conventional and unconventional direction for fork twirling until then, all 6 of them twirled clockwise.
9. I drove a car with no sidemirrors for 2 years.
In protest against the slew of side mirror thefts plaguing the metro in the early part of this decade, I resolved never to buy side mirrors from the usual "surplus" outlets at Banawe and Evangelista streets. And I would probably had gone on for a couple or more years had Leo finally had enough and bought a pair for me on my birthday. Having basically learned how to drive alone, I developed a special affinity with the rear view mirror which I use more often than the side mirrors while driving.
10. I hate Chemistry
Despite working in a chemical laboratory, surrounded by chemists and metallurgists and with the periodic table of elements on every wall, Chemistry has always been my most hated subject. I barely passed high school chemistry, had to remove Chemistry 16 in college (cheating on the removals, at that) and can't even begin to solve basic stoichiometry. (Am not even sure I spelled it correctly, the red underline appears).
11. I've watched "The Little Mermaid" more than any other movie/cartoon in history.
I can even sing all the songs! Hahaha... side effects of having 2 younger sisters who watch it everyday.
Master of the Universe
Today I could do no wrong. For one day every 2 years or so, the universe decides to grant me a whole day to be its master. One one of these occasions, Eduard called me, "Hap Almighty". (reference of course to Bruce Almighty, which spun off to Evan Almighty).
It started early this morning, I had a 9am with a client. First miracle was that I got there on time, 10 minutes to spare. So with coffee cup in hand, hardhat on my noggin and notebook tucked under my armpit, I went in the field office and looked for Mario. Mario seats me at his table and we discuss business. He needed the pipes to be inspected for Tuesday's sampling by our company. Though not an expert, not even a part of the technical team to be mobilized for said activity, one of my jobs is to pretend to be one for such occasions, this frees up valuable man-hours for other clients and allows me to find ways to hustle more money out of unsuspecting clients.
So I go with his assistant, blah-blah, and we follow the pipes leading to their still plugged "stub-out", whatever these may be. I do the nodding, doodle into my notebook pretending to take down valuable technical notes, and use some pre-selected jargon to make myself seem the expert I wasn't. Of course he bought it, and I continue to take pictures which I shall soon pass on to the guys at the lab who actually know what they're doing.
I go back to the field office, and pronounce that everything was going along smoothly and we don't expect any hitches forthcoming. Then convince poor unsuspecting fellow to let me cut their 10% discount to 2.5% on the basis of this particular inspection (more manpower, equipment, what-have-yous) and their payment terms from 30 days to 7, PDC in advance (advance purchases, mobilization guarantees). He signs the dotted line and I stifle the evil grin.
To celebrate, I treat myself to an hour of scrabble on facebook back at the office. Then the VP for Operation interrupts me, there was a client angry about some blunder the lab made. "No problem, I'm on line 26." I get the call and spend 5 minutes. By the end of the call, he calms down and apologizes for being rude earlier. Then he agrees to the surcharges I made up to settle the "contamination" that we detected in his sample (basically, the lab erred in the preparation of said sample) and will send an uncontaminated new sample by the afternoon. Boy am I good! Turning to the VP (who was listening to every word), I demand for a talent fee, my favorite lumpia toge. Yum!
By this time, I realized I was having "my day". So I relax and wonder what's next? The call comes in late in the afternoon, Tuesday meeting moved to Wednesday, yay! Then another call, client asking for a meeting on Tuesday, big business to be discussed. The stars were clearing a path for me! I spend the rest of the afternoon wondering if the poker gods were celebrating "my day", too. I stop short of hauling ass to the poker club... let the good come to you, I say.
As midnight makes its inevitable approach, I can't stop smiling at the recently concluded "my day". Then I hear there was an earthquake this afternoon in Mindoro, an omen, that confirms it.
Too bad these days come few and far between. But how can I complain? I am the master of the universe, after all.
It started early this morning, I had a 9am with a client. First miracle was that I got there on time, 10 minutes to spare. So with coffee cup in hand, hardhat on my noggin and notebook tucked under my armpit, I went in the field office and looked for Mario. Mario seats me at his table and we discuss business. He needed the pipes to be inspected for Tuesday's sampling by our company. Though not an expert, not even a part of the technical team to be mobilized for said activity, one of my jobs is to pretend to be one for such occasions, this frees up valuable man-hours for other clients and allows me to find ways to hustle more money out of unsuspecting clients.
So I go with his assistant, blah-blah, and we follow the pipes leading to their still plugged "stub-out", whatever these may be. I do the nodding, doodle into my notebook pretending to take down valuable technical notes, and use some pre-selected jargon to make myself seem the expert I wasn't. Of course he bought it, and I continue to take pictures which I shall soon pass on to the guys at the lab who actually know what they're doing.
I go back to the field office, and pronounce that everything was going along smoothly and we don't expect any hitches forthcoming. Then convince poor unsuspecting fellow to let me cut their 10% discount to 2.5% on the basis of this particular inspection (more manpower, equipment, what-have-yous) and their payment terms from 30 days to 7, PDC in advance (advance purchases, mobilization guarantees). He signs the dotted line and I stifle the evil grin.
To celebrate, I treat myself to an hour of scrabble on facebook back at the office. Then the VP for Operation interrupts me, there was a client angry about some blunder the lab made. "No problem, I'm on line 26." I get the call and spend 5 minutes. By the end of the call, he calms down and apologizes for being rude earlier. Then he agrees to the surcharges I made up to settle the "contamination" that we detected in his sample (basically, the lab erred in the preparation of said sample) and will send an uncontaminated new sample by the afternoon. Boy am I good! Turning to the VP (who was listening to every word), I demand for a talent fee, my favorite lumpia toge. Yum!
By this time, I realized I was having "my day". So I relax and wonder what's next? The call comes in late in the afternoon, Tuesday meeting moved to Wednesday, yay! Then another call, client asking for a meeting on Tuesday, big business to be discussed. The stars were clearing a path for me! I spend the rest of the afternoon wondering if the poker gods were celebrating "my day", too. I stop short of hauling ass to the poker club... let the good come to you, I say.
As midnight makes its inevitable approach, I can't stop smiling at the recently concluded "my day". Then I hear there was an earthquake this afternoon in Mindoro, an omen, that confirms it.
Too bad these days come few and far between. But how can I complain? I am the master of the universe, after all.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
It's in the preparation
I'm getting old. I suddenly ran into (well, I wasn't really running, more of seated at a table reading) a brod of mine at the gas station. His first words, "Tara inom!". Now, anytime until 4 months ago I would answer "Saan?" without a moment's hesitation. This time, I only quipped "Yoko." and repeatedly nodded my head sideways with every invitation he could slip by. So I guess I'm no longer an alcoholic, which leaves me with almost zero character and personality.
*****
Sorry, couldn't think of anything interesting to write. Even more apologies for still writing. It's either tap on the keyboard or light up my 21st stick for today. Yes, I've been counting recently, no it doesn't help. I'd still just as eagerly light up beyond the one pack... if only to have something to accompany my thoughts.
Crap, now that I've mentioned it, the urge to light up is getting greater. Wait a minute, will'ya?
Click...
So now I'm lit. So why am I still writing? I was lying, I guess... smoking or not, writing or not, I'd still do the other thing.
But what do I have to write about? Hmm... nothing comes to mind. Wait, is a bottle of prepared mustard a good enough topic? I'm sure I could write a whole paragraph, even two about it. Just the name alone is interesting... how do mustard seeds prepare themselves? If the dinosaurs still roamed the earth and developed an appetite for human flesh as a condiment... do they go through a complex selection process to come up with a handsome bottle of "prepared humans"? Does unprepared mustard taste better or worse? And ever notice how mustard can be bought in either wide mouthed jars or squeeze bottles? I've never seen catsup in wide mouthed jars, and seeing that they have the same consistency, shouldn't catsup be treated in much the same way?
Hmm... so I guess talking about mustard wasn't as swell as I thought. Which only goes to show just how bored I am to have allowed such a worthless paragraph such as the above to see print. Normally I'd delete such fine examples of mundane talk and be done with it but some mood of mine tonight has ensured its existence as written literature. Stupid mustard.
*****
Sorry, couldn't think of anything interesting to write. Even more apologies for still writing. It's either tap on the keyboard or light up my 21st stick for today. Yes, I've been counting recently, no it doesn't help. I'd still just as eagerly light up beyond the one pack... if only to have something to accompany my thoughts.
Crap, now that I've mentioned it, the urge to light up is getting greater. Wait a minute, will'ya?
Click...
So now I'm lit. So why am I still writing? I was lying, I guess... smoking or not, writing or not, I'd still do the other thing.
But what do I have to write about? Hmm... nothing comes to mind. Wait, is a bottle of prepared mustard a good enough topic? I'm sure I could write a whole paragraph, even two about it. Just the name alone is interesting... how do mustard seeds prepare themselves? If the dinosaurs still roamed the earth and developed an appetite for human flesh as a condiment... do they go through a complex selection process to come up with a handsome bottle of "prepared humans"? Does unprepared mustard taste better or worse? And ever notice how mustard can be bought in either wide mouthed jars or squeeze bottles? I've never seen catsup in wide mouthed jars, and seeing that they have the same consistency, shouldn't catsup be treated in much the same way?
Hmm... so I guess talking about mustard wasn't as swell as I thought. Which only goes to show just how bored I am to have allowed such a worthless paragraph such as the above to see print. Normally I'd delete such fine examples of mundane talk and be done with it but some mood of mine tonight has ensured its existence as written literature. Stupid mustard.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Solving the Twin Paradox
Everything's all fine and dandy here at the petri dish. The giant eye has been absent for quite a while now, and I'm left to my own devices. So nice to know you're being "cultured", in a matter of speaking. Decided to while the time away daydreaming about Albert Einstein.
Yes, Albert. I know it sounds a bit geeky, but I've been eyeing a book that had found its way into my hands that supposedly talks about his Theory of Relativity. Unfortunately, I am not in the most boring of moods to finger through it yet but the sight of the book alone gave my imagination a new platform from which to dive into the abyss.
So I imagine Albert along with his equally nerdy buddies lazing around while enjoying a nice cold beer. They dream up some of the most eccentric situations and try to derive some semblance of sense from these, making them significant, relativistically. Then I recall the Twin Paradox. (between Tatcee's recent post and the book, a sudden interest in the ancient thought experiments suddenly arose). Fortunately, having been a huge fan of my physics classes back in college (do note the sarcastic tone when I mention the phrase huge fan of my physics classes), I believe that I am able to draw a unique insight into the fray.
The paradox involves twins... to be more specific, hot twins. Now everyone knows that it is every guy's fantasy to "do" hot twins simultaneously, and suspect that the thought experiment was coined while those nerds were giddy sharing some of their most perverse thoughts. Now it so happens that one of the twins was locked into a great phallic rocket and shot up into space at a speed approaching that of light's. So the nerds are stuck with the other twin, which is not an entirely bad situation in itself. A few years after, the space-bound hot twin comes back into the nerds' orbit and they declare a startling disparity in "hotness" (which is a direct consequence of age, of course) and declare that while the hot twin they were stuck with had aged significantly, the other hot twin was still faring highly on the hotness scale.
Now, to explain (or further complicate) this phenomenon, we need to rethink our whole concept of space and time. One may argue that since the space-bound hot twin was traveling at the speed (or almost) of light, then the time-space flux of course imposes side effects making time shorter for the mobile nubile (hehehe... made this one up myself!) thus making her younger (and hotter). However, since the latter nubile is only mobile relative to the nerds stuck on earth with the other twin, what then happens if all the nerds climbed aboard the spaceship with the other hottie? Their perspective would now change, and for them it would seem the whole earth, including the hot twin that stayed, were moving away from the "immobile" phallus at a speed near that of light. When the earth (and the hot twin) then "return" to the static phallic rocket, then the hot earth twin would "seem" hotter.
To resolve this paradox, I cull on the old adage that "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence", which could be directly translated into "the other twin is always hotter when you're with her sister". There, paradox solved. So to do away with such a mind-numbing, testosterone-laden situation, it is always ideal to be with both twins simultaneously. It's the only fair thing.
Yes, Albert. I know it sounds a bit geeky, but I've been eyeing a book that had found its way into my hands that supposedly talks about his Theory of Relativity. Unfortunately, I am not in the most boring of moods to finger through it yet but the sight of the book alone gave my imagination a new platform from which to dive into the abyss.
So I imagine Albert along with his equally nerdy buddies lazing around while enjoying a nice cold beer. They dream up some of the most eccentric situations and try to derive some semblance of sense from these, making them significant, relativistically. Then I recall the Twin Paradox. (between Tatcee's recent post and the book, a sudden interest in the ancient thought experiments suddenly arose). Fortunately, having been a huge fan of my physics classes back in college (do note the sarcastic tone when I mention the phrase huge fan of my physics classes), I believe that I am able to draw a unique insight into the fray.
The paradox involves twins... to be more specific, hot twins. Now everyone knows that it is every guy's fantasy to "do" hot twins simultaneously, and suspect that the thought experiment was coined while those nerds were giddy sharing some of their most perverse thoughts. Now it so happens that one of the twins was locked into a great phallic rocket and shot up into space at a speed approaching that of light's. So the nerds are stuck with the other twin, which is not an entirely bad situation in itself. A few years after, the space-bound hot twin comes back into the nerds' orbit and they declare a startling disparity in "hotness" (which is a direct consequence of age, of course) and declare that while the hot twin they were stuck with had aged significantly, the other hot twin was still faring highly on the hotness scale.
Now, to explain (or further complicate) this phenomenon, we need to rethink our whole concept of space and time. One may argue that since the space-bound hot twin was traveling at the speed (or almost) of light, then the time-space flux of course imposes side effects making time shorter for the mobile nubile (hehehe... made this one up myself!) thus making her younger (and hotter). However, since the latter nubile is only mobile relative to the nerds stuck on earth with the other twin, what then happens if all the nerds climbed aboard the spaceship with the other hottie? Their perspective would now change, and for them it would seem the whole earth, including the hot twin that stayed, were moving away from the "immobile" phallus at a speed near that of light. When the earth (and the hot twin) then "return" to the static phallic rocket, then the hot earth twin would "seem" hotter.
To resolve this paradox, I cull on the old adage that "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence", which could be directly translated into "the other twin is always hotter when you're with her sister". There, paradox solved. So to do away with such a mind-numbing, testosterone-laden situation, it is always ideal to be with both twins simultaneously. It's the only fair thing.
The Uninvited
I might just have uninvited myself to a buddy’s wedding. Well, I’m not exactly sure though I was kinda rude, I guess. It started as a text message he sent me a few weeks ago. He says he was getting married to his fiancée January of next year. And he’s inviting me to her birthday celebration at his house, so that I could get “measured up” as well. Problem was, only a mobile number registered on my phone, thus I didn’t know who the sender was. Maybe it was a mistake, someone mistook my number for someone else’s. Besides, the message was anonymous enough, how was I to know?
So anyway, I waited a day or two and replied the usual (and probably abrasive) “hus dis?”. No reply, go figure. That was that, I thought and forgot all about it.
Last week, another high school buddy of mine sent me a message asking if I knew our friend’s number. This got me thinking about that anonymous message again, and asked him if he knew whether our friend was in fact getting married. Turns out he was. Oh crap.
So the anonymous message came from a barkada of mine back in high school. Seems he changed his mobile number, probably even sent me a message long ago of the change but ignored it (I was busy and having a hard time with my phone, yeah I’m sticking to that excuse if need be). Suddenly all the favors I demanded of him came back to haunt me.
He’s a doctor, I’m not sure if he’s still at the PGH but he studied and took up his residency there. Whenever any medical advice/favor was needed (ear infection, prescription meds, doctor’s certificate, nosebleed) I was quick to give him a call and sort of demanded that attention be paid to my ills. Just last month I even tried to place a call to his old number, hoping to get some information on OTC sleeping pills (or tranquilizers even… he is an anaesth??… yeah, that kind of doctor).
Well anyway, now I’m faced with the dilemma. Did I really un-invite myself to the wedding and birthday party? The party’s this Sunday at their QC home, our high school chums are going, should I? I do feel bad for the fiasco, maybe he thought nothing of it anyway and would still allow me to be at the party, at least? We do go way back, y’know.
Crap, should I come anyway? It might become awkward… or not. Heck, I’ll probably go anyway, just another case of me overanalyzing the situation. In any case, I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing that a few beers and a super neat birthday gift for the bride-to-be won’t fix. So Bernard, if ever you’ve even heard of this blog of mine… thanks for the invite and I’d be honored to be at your wedding.
So anyway, I waited a day or two and replied the usual (and probably abrasive) “hus dis?”. No reply, go figure. That was that, I thought and forgot all about it.
Last week, another high school buddy of mine sent me a message asking if I knew our friend’s number. This got me thinking about that anonymous message again, and asked him if he knew whether our friend was in fact getting married. Turns out he was. Oh crap.
So the anonymous message came from a barkada of mine back in high school. Seems he changed his mobile number, probably even sent me a message long ago of the change but ignored it (I was busy and having a hard time with my phone, yeah I’m sticking to that excuse if need be). Suddenly all the favors I demanded of him came back to haunt me.
He’s a doctor, I’m not sure if he’s still at the PGH but he studied and took up his residency there. Whenever any medical advice/favor was needed (ear infection, prescription meds, doctor’s certificate, nosebleed) I was quick to give him a call and sort of demanded that attention be paid to my ills. Just last month I even tried to place a call to his old number, hoping to get some information on OTC sleeping pills (or tranquilizers even… he is an anaesth??… yeah, that kind of doctor).
Well anyway, now I’m faced with the dilemma. Did I really un-invite myself to the wedding and birthday party? The party’s this Sunday at their QC home, our high school chums are going, should I? I do feel bad for the fiasco, maybe he thought nothing of it anyway and would still allow me to be at the party, at least? We do go way back, y’know.
Crap, should I come anyway? It might become awkward… or not. Heck, I’ll probably go anyway, just another case of me overanalyzing the situation. In any case, I’m pretty sure that there’s nothing that a few beers and a super neat birthday gift for the bride-to-be won’t fix. So Bernard, if ever you’ve even heard of this blog of mine… thanks for the invite and I’d be honored to be at your wedding.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Southern Exposure
Next week is gonna be hectic. Lemme see... week starts on Tuesday (Monday is a holiday, Allah be praised!) where my patience will undoubtedly be tested courtesy of a project I launched. This means half of the lab will be mobilized for one, yes, ONE client. Then Wednesday is specially reserved for the boss, granting him yet again another opportunity to deflate my ego and be aware of my lowly and pathetic place in the food chain. Thursday starts early for that trip to Northern Mindanao, and by Friday night I'd be hopping aboard a bus for Southern Mindanao. That seven-ish hour trip should give me ample time to finish this book I'm reading.
*****
And speaking of the book I'm reading, by chance, "Songs of Selenda" came into my grubby hands. Too bad for the owner, the subtitle says "blah blah blah Sulu", and being a poseur Tausug of the Sulu archipelago, deemed it my ancestral right to defer the return of the book until whenever. Yes, as my name is my birthright, anything to do with "Sulu" shall pique some amount of curiosity on my end.
So why poseur Tausug? Well, my dad is Tausug. I on the other hand was born in the Visayas, not a word of Tausug in my vocabulary and has only been to the historic island of Jolo only once in my lifetime, staying for only 48 hours. As to the famed bravery and battle-readiness of the Tausug people, well unless the enemy could be maimed and subdued by either a bug spray or my sandals... I prefer to run the other direction. Obviously, the force isn't anywhere near me. I am even convinced that my surname, Junghan, might actually be synonymous with "speeding chicken" in the dialect.
*****
And speaking of the book I'm reading, by chance, "Songs of Selenda" came into my grubby hands. Too bad for the owner, the subtitle says "blah blah blah Sulu", and being a poseur Tausug of the Sulu archipelago, deemed it my ancestral right to defer the return of the book until whenever. Yes, as my name is my birthright, anything to do with "Sulu" shall pique some amount of curiosity on my end.
So why poseur Tausug? Well, my dad is Tausug. I on the other hand was born in the Visayas, not a word of Tausug in my vocabulary and has only been to the historic island of Jolo only once in my lifetime, staying for only 48 hours. As to the famed bravery and battle-readiness of the Tausug people, well unless the enemy could be maimed and subdued by either a bug spray or my sandals... I prefer to run the other direction. Obviously, the force isn't anywhere near me. I am even convinced that my surname, Junghan, might actually be synonymous with "speeding chicken" in the dialect.
Woe is me
My shoes are squeaking. It's giving me a hard time, each time I walk to the pantry, or cross the lobby of a building, it squeaks. It sounds like one of those "squeaker shoes" that parents make their toddlers wear so they'd know where those little monsters are going. I now look left and right while walking, to see if anyone notices or is as irritated as I am. So far (for the past week, anyway) it hasn't seemed to bug anyone, else they're just being polite about it.
The solution, of course, is simple. Get new shoes or have this pair repaired. But these are my only pair of "office shoes", affording me little opportunity to have them fixed up, and I've no money for new ones. So the squeaking continues...
*****
There's this lady seated at the opposite table. She is seated squarely within my line of sight, and is positioned facing perpendicular to my view. Every once in a while she glances at my direction and fixes her outfit, raising her pants and lowering her shirt. I suspect that she thinks I'm intent on staring at that sliver of flesh that lies exposed between these two articles of clothing. I've a mind to tell her frankly that I'm not.
Her constant adjustments, every 5 minutes it seems, is getting to be annoying because it implies some sort of malice on my part. But then who is to be faulted here, me or her? Well, not me since I'm not even interested in checking out that particular part of her anatomy, but her need to fix up her clothes tells me she's irritated at the thought of some amount of possible voyeurism at her expense.
Then why did she wear clothes that she knows won't cover her entire body? And why did she sit smack in front of me when there are 3 more empty tables in the area? No, lady, I don't look. I'm not that bored.
*****
Then there's the table on my right. A group of 5 salespeople, 3 women and 2 men well into their 40's. They've been occupying the space here for the past 3 hours that I've been here, not counting the hours before I came. They have been discussing the same topic for ages, and it's giving me a twitching sensation on my upper lip. I hate how one of them laughs, and specially how the other one finds it necessary to speak loudly for the whole gas station to hear. And their topic? Basically that they are the masters of the universe, that without them the office would come tumbling down under the weight of their other officemates who, from their comments, seem like bumbling idiots.
Normally, I don't like to eavesdrop but it's not like I've any choice. I've been trying to put two coherent thoughts together since opening my laptop but thanks to their boisterous laughter and constant screaming, I've nothing to work with. In frustration, I closed my laptop and started to read, but again it's impossible to concentrate and have had to reread every sentence, every page about three times before I can get what I'm reading.
Don't these guys have somewhere else to go to?
*****
Enough ranting... better get back to being pathetic.
The solution, of course, is simple. Get new shoes or have this pair repaired. But these are my only pair of "office shoes", affording me little opportunity to have them fixed up, and I've no money for new ones. So the squeaking continues...
*****
There's this lady seated at the opposite table. She is seated squarely within my line of sight, and is positioned facing perpendicular to my view. Every once in a while she glances at my direction and fixes her outfit, raising her pants and lowering her shirt. I suspect that she thinks I'm intent on staring at that sliver of flesh that lies exposed between these two articles of clothing. I've a mind to tell her frankly that I'm not.
Her constant adjustments, every 5 minutes it seems, is getting to be annoying because it implies some sort of malice on my part. But then who is to be faulted here, me or her? Well, not me since I'm not even interested in checking out that particular part of her anatomy, but her need to fix up her clothes tells me she's irritated at the thought of some amount of possible voyeurism at her expense.
Then why did she wear clothes that she knows won't cover her entire body? And why did she sit smack in front of me when there are 3 more empty tables in the area? No, lady, I don't look. I'm not that bored.
*****
Then there's the table on my right. A group of 5 salespeople, 3 women and 2 men well into their 40's. They've been occupying the space here for the past 3 hours that I've been here, not counting the hours before I came. They have been discussing the same topic for ages, and it's giving me a twitching sensation on my upper lip. I hate how one of them laughs, and specially how the other one finds it necessary to speak loudly for the whole gas station to hear. And their topic? Basically that they are the masters of the universe, that without them the office would come tumbling down under the weight of their other officemates who, from their comments, seem like bumbling idiots.
Normally, I don't like to eavesdrop but it's not like I've any choice. I've been trying to put two coherent thoughts together since opening my laptop but thanks to their boisterous laughter and constant screaming, I've nothing to work with. In frustration, I closed my laptop and started to read, but again it's impossible to concentrate and have had to reread every sentence, every page about three times before I can get what I'm reading.
Don't these guys have somewhere else to go to?
*****
Enough ranting... better get back to being pathetic.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Why I Love The Rain
It’s raining, and as the familiar drone taps incessantly atop my head, I continue walking without a care. It’s funny, it wasn’t raining when I started walking from my apartment, I didn’t notice the first tiny drops until the sky opened up, intent on drowning me.
Quick question, why am I walking in the rain? I’m startled by my own inquiry and look left and right for shelter. There’s a boarded up convenience store on the other side of the street, I cross and shake off the cold water cascading down my face underneath the overhang. I put my hand inside my pockets and find a pack of cigarettes, useless now, drenched. I put it back and cross my arms in an effort to warm myself.
Scanning the neighborhood, I find myself on a familiar path towards her apartment. My aimless walk wasn’t as random as I thought. The connection between my subconscious and my feet are fully functional still, I suppose, despite all the lying. What remains of my pride is alerted, I step out of the shelter and retrace my steps.
Now that I am fully conscious, I start to shiver against the cold. This definitely isn’t worth all the drama. I look back, squinting my eyes in the dark hoping that a jeep, a tricycle, anything really, would save me from the long walk home. Of course there isn’t, not much action going on at 2 in the morning. The occasional scooter passes by, and some cars. The thought of flashing a thumb is at once shunned as a van almost sideswipes me. Well, this is as good as it gets.
For anyone who’s been out walking in the rain on a stormy night, I’m sure you’ll know how fast these moments fill up the bladder. I’m unsure if it’s the humidity, the cold, the tip-tap of the raindrops or osmosis. My steps hasten, pulse quickening and the cold sweat alternates with the rain getting into my eyes. Each puddle I tread reminds me of this urgent need, and every footfall goads the bladder to relief.
Do I do it now or hold it? Normally I abhor this practice of peeing in public, deeming it Neanderthal, but given the situation, Neanderthals do make sense. I cozy up to the nearest electrical post and unzip my pants. Instantly the warm feeling in my gut gives way to a relieving cool, the sensation makes me smile as I feel each trickle unburdening me. There is nothing better than a good long pee, absolutely nothing better. I imagine this must be what nirvana is supposed to feel, letting go and finding fulfillment in the moment. I wait until I’m absolutely sure I’m all tapped out… then shake it off for good measure before I put it back in my pants. My knees start to buckle, I can’t move as my body yearns to remember this exact moment for posterity.
I think back to the last time I’ve ever had a good pee. I remember years ago, on a night like this a friend of mine and myself were stranded in knee high floodwaters. We had been walking in the flood for 2 hours, penniless and yearning for a bowl of hot soup at home. On the third hour, we finally reached a mall and begged the security guard to let us in or we’d pee all over the doors. He obliged and we ran to the nearest restroom, letting it all out. Happy times.
So I stand there, holding on to the post lest my knees give way and let the moment sink in. This puts everything in the proper perspective.
The long walk back to my apartment went uneventfully, and whilst I started out all downtrodden and a mess, getting back was immensely uplifting. Everyone deserves a good raining on.
Quick question, why am I walking in the rain? I’m startled by my own inquiry and look left and right for shelter. There’s a boarded up convenience store on the other side of the street, I cross and shake off the cold water cascading down my face underneath the overhang. I put my hand inside my pockets and find a pack of cigarettes, useless now, drenched. I put it back and cross my arms in an effort to warm myself.
Scanning the neighborhood, I find myself on a familiar path towards her apartment. My aimless walk wasn’t as random as I thought. The connection between my subconscious and my feet are fully functional still, I suppose, despite all the lying. What remains of my pride is alerted, I step out of the shelter and retrace my steps.
Now that I am fully conscious, I start to shiver against the cold. This definitely isn’t worth all the drama. I look back, squinting my eyes in the dark hoping that a jeep, a tricycle, anything really, would save me from the long walk home. Of course there isn’t, not much action going on at 2 in the morning. The occasional scooter passes by, and some cars. The thought of flashing a thumb is at once shunned as a van almost sideswipes me. Well, this is as good as it gets.
For anyone who’s been out walking in the rain on a stormy night, I’m sure you’ll know how fast these moments fill up the bladder. I’m unsure if it’s the humidity, the cold, the tip-tap of the raindrops or osmosis. My steps hasten, pulse quickening and the cold sweat alternates with the rain getting into my eyes. Each puddle I tread reminds me of this urgent need, and every footfall goads the bladder to relief.
Do I do it now or hold it? Normally I abhor this practice of peeing in public, deeming it Neanderthal, but given the situation, Neanderthals do make sense. I cozy up to the nearest electrical post and unzip my pants. Instantly the warm feeling in my gut gives way to a relieving cool, the sensation makes me smile as I feel each trickle unburdening me. There is nothing better than a good long pee, absolutely nothing better. I imagine this must be what nirvana is supposed to feel, letting go and finding fulfillment in the moment. I wait until I’m absolutely sure I’m all tapped out… then shake it off for good measure before I put it back in my pants. My knees start to buckle, I can’t move as my body yearns to remember this exact moment for posterity.
I think back to the last time I’ve ever had a good pee. I remember years ago, on a night like this a friend of mine and myself were stranded in knee high floodwaters. We had been walking in the flood for 2 hours, penniless and yearning for a bowl of hot soup at home. On the third hour, we finally reached a mall and begged the security guard to let us in or we’d pee all over the doors. He obliged and we ran to the nearest restroom, letting it all out. Happy times.
So I stand there, holding on to the post lest my knees give way and let the moment sink in. This puts everything in the proper perspective.
The long walk back to my apartment went uneventfully, and whilst I started out all downtrodden and a mess, getting back was immensely uplifting. Everyone deserves a good raining on.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
My crummy work-life balance
As of late, my suspicion that I’ve been doing a poor job balancing my life and work has been confirmed. Not only am I not getting anywhere with work, but my life isn’t faring any better either (financial, physical, relationships and interests). It has gone to some extent lately that I assume my boss has noticed it, hence his hour long monologue just this morning, coaching me on the benefits of a Spartan lifestyle.
No, I’m not repeating the monologue here at the risk of sounding pathetic. What I’d like to do is to explain the ineptitude of the different factions of so-called work-life whereby I can quantify the different aspects of both life and work so that I could carefully monitor my future progress. And since writing my thoughts (taking notes, as my grade school teacher calls it) is the best way to be able to organize them, why not showcase them via this blog post. Anyway…
*****
Okay, let’s talk about work first of all. My main objective at work is to ensure the future growth of the company through a sustainable increase in the volume of sales. The pre-defined indicator, put simply, is monthly volume of sales. Now, a crisis arises, wherein the projected volume of sales for the year has gone down from what was achieved last year.
Why is that? Of course, the global economy has hit a slump and since our clientele is more or less caught up in a complex web of global trade and production, it directly affects us through sales. But does this justify the decline of our monthly sales? Yes, but it shouldn’t.
Lost? You see, the definition of my job, as my boss had conveniently laid down for me, is to achieve growth through SUSTAINABLE means. The decline in sales that the company is experiencing for the past 8 months is proof that the previous growth was not sustainable, thus I’ve been neglect in my duties. An analogy can be made with a bookstore. Typically, bookstores’ sales go through the roof come enrollment time. However, you cannot rent space for enrollment time only, neither can you retain employees for only one month and lay them off the rest of the year. Moreover, you cannot expect annual sales to grow by this annual windfall alone as you will surely reach a saturation point eventually, overhead costs will overtake profit margins. So how do bookstores sustain their business for the whole year? By selling other stuff or services. Yeah I know it’s too simple, but hey, makes some sense, doesn’t it?
Now going back to the situation involving my company, my boss argues that despite hard economic times, the main thrust of my department is to assure growth. The fact that we lost clients due to the economy should have made little or no impact if sustainability were made a priority. Thus, my “excuse” that a whole income stream was lost (particulary the mining sector which virtually collapsed along with metal prices) is lame at best. The present decline in sales is therefore a direct consequence of my department’s inaction or misappropriation, translating directly into MY inaction and misappropriation.
So you see, despite a 20% growth in the company’s other revenue stream and a total increase in annual sales by 3% compared to last year’s, I’ve failed to ensure the company’s target of a 20% annual growth rate for 3 years, this being the third year. This means that for this year, the projected growth in revenue is overshadowed by the 15% increase in overhead and development represented by mandatory salary increases, interest on loans, investment in new equipment and of course, inflation and price increases on consumables. My bad.
Now comes the life part which as I’ve mentioned above can be broken down into 4 parts: personal finances, physical (health), relationships and interests.
With regards to my finances, I’ve still to make any significant progress with paying off my credit cards (plural, yes.). Though the expenses have been stymied and the total balance to be paid has gone down to more manageable numbers, the interest rates are still of a magnitude that cannot be deemed insignificant. I blame this directly on the loss of a huge chunk of my previous revenue stream, that of prostituting myself to the blog advertising demons, which was deemed too damaging to my sanity and over-all health and had to be cut-off. And of course, recent impulsive purchases didn’t help either, as well as exorbitant costs of living (read rent). Needless to say, accumulating any semblance of a savings plan is out of the question in the meantime and I have found myself living from paycheck to paycheck.
They physical aspect of my life is locked in a constant tug of war between losing and gaining weight. For the past 5 months, I have yet to shed off any more pounds despite regular dieting and exercise and continue to be overweight by around 20 pounds. Then there is the problem of smoking too many cigarettes which can be a manifestation of increased stress levels brought about by an imbalance between work and life. Recently I’ve discovered that three of my close buddies have a fatty liver condition which is quite bothering since they do not drink the exorbitant amounts of alcohol which I’ve been guzzling down for years. Am convinced my past offenses with booze and cholesterol is sure to catch up with me one of these days.
Relationships, not limited to romantic ones, have also stagnated. I am maintaining the same social circles since last year and have yet to develop new ones or add to the ones I already have. My recent disdain of alcohol does not help, I’m sure, as I’ve been ridiculed for it and have been ostracized at recent drinking binges. Seems that within the life part, a balance needs to be struck as well.
Finally, I suppose that this would probably be the healthiest of all the aspects of “life”. In a span of a year, I’ve developed some new interests such as jogging, blogging, camping, an increased need to read, as well as home improvement and the culinary arts. There are even some projects in the pipeline such as carpentry and photography. Now there’s a bright spot.
*****
Having listed and expounded on my problems with my work-life balance, one can clearly advocate a more Spartan lifestyle as my boss suggests. Now the next step is to take measures towards that regimented goal. Well, good luck to myself, I guess.
No, I’m not repeating the monologue here at the risk of sounding pathetic. What I’d like to do is to explain the ineptitude of the different factions of so-called work-life whereby I can quantify the different aspects of both life and work so that I could carefully monitor my future progress. And since writing my thoughts (taking notes, as my grade school teacher calls it) is the best way to be able to organize them, why not showcase them via this blog post. Anyway…
*****
Okay, let’s talk about work first of all. My main objective at work is to ensure the future growth of the company through a sustainable increase in the volume of sales. The pre-defined indicator, put simply, is monthly volume of sales. Now, a crisis arises, wherein the projected volume of sales for the year has gone down from what was achieved last year.
Why is that? Of course, the global economy has hit a slump and since our clientele is more or less caught up in a complex web of global trade and production, it directly affects us through sales. But does this justify the decline of our monthly sales? Yes, but it shouldn’t.
Lost? You see, the definition of my job, as my boss had conveniently laid down for me, is to achieve growth through SUSTAINABLE means. The decline in sales that the company is experiencing for the past 8 months is proof that the previous growth was not sustainable, thus I’ve been neglect in my duties. An analogy can be made with a bookstore. Typically, bookstores’ sales go through the roof come enrollment time. However, you cannot rent space for enrollment time only, neither can you retain employees for only one month and lay them off the rest of the year. Moreover, you cannot expect annual sales to grow by this annual windfall alone as you will surely reach a saturation point eventually, overhead costs will overtake profit margins. So how do bookstores sustain their business for the whole year? By selling other stuff or services. Yeah I know it’s too simple, but hey, makes some sense, doesn’t it?
Now going back to the situation involving my company, my boss argues that despite hard economic times, the main thrust of my department is to assure growth. The fact that we lost clients due to the economy should have made little or no impact if sustainability were made a priority. Thus, my “excuse” that a whole income stream was lost (particulary the mining sector which virtually collapsed along with metal prices) is lame at best. The present decline in sales is therefore a direct consequence of my department’s inaction or misappropriation, translating directly into MY inaction and misappropriation.
So you see, despite a 20% growth in the company’s other revenue stream and a total increase in annual sales by 3% compared to last year’s, I’ve failed to ensure the company’s target of a 20% annual growth rate for 3 years, this being the third year. This means that for this year, the projected growth in revenue is overshadowed by the 15% increase in overhead and development represented by mandatory salary increases, interest on loans, investment in new equipment and of course, inflation and price increases on consumables. My bad.
Now comes the life part which as I’ve mentioned above can be broken down into 4 parts: personal finances, physical (health), relationships and interests.
With regards to my finances, I’ve still to make any significant progress with paying off my credit cards (plural, yes.). Though the expenses have been stymied and the total balance to be paid has gone down to more manageable numbers, the interest rates are still of a magnitude that cannot be deemed insignificant. I blame this directly on the loss of a huge chunk of my previous revenue stream, that of prostituting myself to the blog advertising demons, which was deemed too damaging to my sanity and over-all health and had to be cut-off. And of course, recent impulsive purchases didn’t help either, as well as exorbitant costs of living (read rent). Needless to say, accumulating any semblance of a savings plan is out of the question in the meantime and I have found myself living from paycheck to paycheck.
They physical aspect of my life is locked in a constant tug of war between losing and gaining weight. For the past 5 months, I have yet to shed off any more pounds despite regular dieting and exercise and continue to be overweight by around 20 pounds. Then there is the problem of smoking too many cigarettes which can be a manifestation of increased stress levels brought about by an imbalance between work and life. Recently I’ve discovered that three of my close buddies have a fatty liver condition which is quite bothering since they do not drink the exorbitant amounts of alcohol which I’ve been guzzling down for years. Am convinced my past offenses with booze and cholesterol is sure to catch up with me one of these days.
Relationships, not limited to romantic ones, have also stagnated. I am maintaining the same social circles since last year and have yet to develop new ones or add to the ones I already have. My recent disdain of alcohol does not help, I’m sure, as I’ve been ridiculed for it and have been ostracized at recent drinking binges. Seems that within the life part, a balance needs to be struck as well.
Finally, I suppose that this would probably be the healthiest of all the aspects of “life”. In a span of a year, I’ve developed some new interests such as jogging, blogging, camping, an increased need to read, as well as home improvement and the culinary arts. There are even some projects in the pipeline such as carpentry and photography. Now there’s a bright spot.
*****
Having listed and expounded on my problems with my work-life balance, one can clearly advocate a more Spartan lifestyle as my boss suggests. Now the next step is to take measures towards that regimented goal. Well, good luck to myself, I guess.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Sleazy Old Men
Wrote a lot over the weekend, too much time on my hands, I guess. However posted nothing on this blog. At the time, the reason was my lousy connection which frustrated me no end. Today however, reading back at what I wrote, it just didn't feel like it belonged here. Not that it made sense, rather it was more than the usual gibberish. So that's that.
*****
My father's birthday is coming up, and I seemed to have made the mistake of buying his birthday gift 2 months early. This therefore cancels that as a birthday gift and now I need to dig deeper into my pockets for another power tool. I'm thinking of an electric planer, he's been bugging me for years to get the one that he has repaired despite knowing that parts aren't available anywhere (We've looked, and got nowhere). Don't get me wrong, I don't mind getting him his toys, it's just that the timing is quite off, seeing as I'm short of funds at the moment. Time to take out the plastic, I guess.
My dad is quite the character and has for years been infamous among my closer friends. He's pretty old school, and makes no apologies for it. He doesn't have to anyway, he deserves it. Here's another anecdote I remember:
I was probably entering the fourth grade during this particular summer break. My mom had her hands full with all the kids around and asked if I could come with my dad to work. He was going to the minesite in Zambales. No problem, my dad says and helps me pack my bag. I was pretty excited, I was gonna sit in the car and all that. I was pretty naive then, I guess.
So we go to the minesite and I spent the whole day just watching tv, bugging the caretaker of the executive quarters and playing with the pet turtle that they had. By nighttime I got pretty exhausted and wanted to go home. Of course, this was a 3 day field visit so I was pretty much stuck there. By evening, after dinner, my dad asked me if I was alright being by myself at the quarters. Of course I said no, all the old people were there now hogging the television. So with no choice, my dad took me out with his friends for some beer.
Turn out, the gang was out for a drive to their favorite girly bar in Olongapo. Being in my pre-teens, I didn't know what all the fuss was about. I just sat there, drinking my coke not really minding the woman dancing on-stage... until she took her top off. It was startling... didn't she realize her boobs were showing? I completely forgot about my coke and just stared... really stared. The manager walked over to our table, my dad grinned as the manager was asking what a kid was doing in his joint. My dad of course lied... told him his son was 18 and he wanted to "baptize" me into manhood. The manager just smiled and proceeded with business. Girls were brought, one for each of the gang, including myself!
So while the girls were on the laps of these sleazeballs, I sat on my girl's lap. Cute. My dad looked so proud of me, and pronounced that his son already had a girlfriend. She was okay, I guess, not bad for a first girlfriend. But I was kind of irritated she kept bugging me when all I wanted to do was watch the girl dancing on-stage. Ah women!
Well anyway, pretty soon everyone left us alone and went to do I don't know what (back then, anyway). And when they came back one by one, they kept asking me what I thought of "my girl". She was okay, I admitted, though I was pretty shy about the whole thing. Then my dad comes along, cigarette pack bulging through his tight shirt, hair greased back with tonic and swaggering through the bar. He sits down and they settle the bill. Then he says they'll be leaving now, and by the way, he's already sold me to my new "mommy". WTF?! My new "mommy" held me tight and says bye to the geezers. I was fighting panic by this time... they must be kidding, right?! RIGHT?! I mean, she was okay and all but heck I wasn't ready for a "commitment"! I jump up but the b*tch holds on tight. The geezers laugh and walk away! WTFWTFWTF!! Now imagine the scene, four men laughing, nearing the exit and a little boy near tears fighting off this woman. I finally get free and ran for the exit, heart thumping out of my chest... of course, the geezers were right behind the door laughing. A**holes.
I never told on my dad, of course, not after he tells me that if I ever did he'd leave me at the bar for real.
Well, advance happy birthday, John. Maybe instead of the damn tool we'll just hang out in a sleazy bar. Just for old time's sake.
*****
My father's birthday is coming up, and I seemed to have made the mistake of buying his birthday gift 2 months early. This therefore cancels that as a birthday gift and now I need to dig deeper into my pockets for another power tool. I'm thinking of an electric planer, he's been bugging me for years to get the one that he has repaired despite knowing that parts aren't available anywhere (We've looked, and got nowhere). Don't get me wrong, I don't mind getting him his toys, it's just that the timing is quite off, seeing as I'm short of funds at the moment. Time to take out the plastic, I guess.
My dad is quite the character and has for years been infamous among my closer friends. He's pretty old school, and makes no apologies for it. He doesn't have to anyway, he deserves it. Here's another anecdote I remember:
I was probably entering the fourth grade during this particular summer break. My mom had her hands full with all the kids around and asked if I could come with my dad to work. He was going to the minesite in Zambales. No problem, my dad says and helps me pack my bag. I was pretty excited, I was gonna sit in the car and all that. I was pretty naive then, I guess.
So we go to the minesite and I spent the whole day just watching tv, bugging the caretaker of the executive quarters and playing with the pet turtle that they had. By nighttime I got pretty exhausted and wanted to go home. Of course, this was a 3 day field visit so I was pretty much stuck there. By evening, after dinner, my dad asked me if I was alright being by myself at the quarters. Of course I said no, all the old people were there now hogging the television. So with no choice, my dad took me out with his friends for some beer.
Turn out, the gang was out for a drive to their favorite girly bar in Olongapo. Being in my pre-teens, I didn't know what all the fuss was about. I just sat there, drinking my coke not really minding the woman dancing on-stage... until she took her top off. It was startling... didn't she realize her boobs were showing? I completely forgot about my coke and just stared... really stared. The manager walked over to our table, my dad grinned as the manager was asking what a kid was doing in his joint. My dad of course lied... told him his son was 18 and he wanted to "baptize" me into manhood. The manager just smiled and proceeded with business. Girls were brought, one for each of the gang, including myself!
So while the girls were on the laps of these sleazeballs, I sat on my girl's lap. Cute. My dad looked so proud of me, and pronounced that his son already had a girlfriend. She was okay, I guess, not bad for a first girlfriend. But I was kind of irritated she kept bugging me when all I wanted to do was watch the girl dancing on-stage. Ah women!
Well anyway, pretty soon everyone left us alone and went to do I don't know what (back then, anyway). And when they came back one by one, they kept asking me what I thought of "my girl". She was okay, I admitted, though I was pretty shy about the whole thing. Then my dad comes along, cigarette pack bulging through his tight shirt, hair greased back with tonic and swaggering through the bar. He sits down and they settle the bill. Then he says they'll be leaving now, and by the way, he's already sold me to my new "mommy". WTF?! My new "mommy" held me tight and says bye to the geezers. I was fighting panic by this time... they must be kidding, right?! RIGHT?! I mean, she was okay and all but heck I wasn't ready for a "commitment"! I jump up but the b*tch holds on tight. The geezers laugh and walk away! WTFWTFWTF!! Now imagine the scene, four men laughing, nearing the exit and a little boy near tears fighting off this woman. I finally get free and ran for the exit, heart thumping out of my chest... of course, the geezers were right behind the door laughing. A**holes.
I never told on my dad, of course, not after he tells me that if I ever did he'd leave me at the bar for real.
Well, advance happy birthday, John. Maybe instead of the damn tool we'll just hang out in a sleazy bar. Just for old time's sake.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Blah blah blog
Interesting... as boredom would have it, I browsed through blogs that some of my friends have been following and then blogs that they were following and chanced upon this particular blog undoubtedly cast by some angry young female. Yes I'm quite sure that she's young and a woman, she said so herself. What she didn't say, hence an assumption of mine, is that she is angry. Of the 10 posts that I read, 10 were rants, short and angry outbursts culled from whatever she seemed to read or watch on the news. She is also elitist, another assumption based on her favorite books and taste in art, coffee and everything else. She is a socialist, which is quite ironic given my assumption of her elitist stance.
I didn't bother to go beyond the 10 posts of hers that I read. This wasn't the type of blog that I like reading anyways.
Striking to me is that there is such a lot of criticism coming from the pages of such blogs without anything constructive in return. Of course, that is their right and there is nothing wrong with it. In much the same way I have a right to express my dislike for it by way of this post.
Now I ask a question, does going out and publishing a blog come with any real responsibility? I recall reading somewhere that the blog has become such a potent weapon in getting an advocacy or opinion out there. A few months back, a lot of people were outraged at this father and son public official who along with their armed bodyguards ganged up on another father and son tandem of avid golfers at a country club. Not that I'm saying it didn't happen or that it was a case of fabricating a tall tale, just that it spread like wildfire in blogging circles and all without the benefit of getting both sides of the story.
Well, I'll be stopping there. I realize that I'm not in any position to create a conclusion even if it is only personal. Besides, it's boring me. Time to browse for something more worthwhile to read.
I didn't bother to go beyond the 10 posts of hers that I read. This wasn't the type of blog that I like reading anyways.
Striking to me is that there is such a lot of criticism coming from the pages of such blogs without anything constructive in return. Of course, that is their right and there is nothing wrong with it. In much the same way I have a right to express my dislike for it by way of this post.
Now I ask a question, does going out and publishing a blog come with any real responsibility? I recall reading somewhere that the blog has become such a potent weapon in getting an advocacy or opinion out there. A few months back, a lot of people were outraged at this father and son public official who along with their armed bodyguards ganged up on another father and son tandem of avid golfers at a country club. Not that I'm saying it didn't happen or that it was a case of fabricating a tall tale, just that it spread like wildfire in blogging circles and all without the benefit of getting both sides of the story.
Well, I'll be stopping there. I realize that I'm not in any position to create a conclusion even if it is only personal. Besides, it's boring me. Time to browse for something more worthwhile to read.
Idle thoughts
Was doing nothing, having gas-station-coffee with my friends last Sunday when two men on mountain bikes sat at the next table. I think I know one of them, but being a dude, looked the other way. In a couple of minutes, while swatting away a pesky fly, I glanced at the general direction of the dude and peripherally caught him looking at me as well. Crap, I'm tagged. So I got up, offered my hand and the customary how do you do's and introduced him to the guys. He did the same thing with the guy he was with, and then we waved off, going back to our separate lives while seated at adjacent tables.
This phenomenon is common for guys, I guess. Whenever the other guy is not really one of your buds, the first reaction would be "I hope he didn't see me lest I'd have to greet him." When the acknowledgment of the other's existence becomes inevitable, it gets awkward immediately and you'd have to do the handshake, howdys and talk about someone common or something safe (the weather for instance) for not more than two minutes before excusing yourself. A sigh of relief at last!
For this precise reason, I don't know everyone I went to 4 years of high school with. Coming from an all-boys school, there was never any interest to get to know anyone. The limit of how many friends you needed was determined by how many phone numbers you could actually memorize (that's two for me) for homework purposes, or how many of them had a car or a cool video game. Other than that, what for?
By the time I went to college (which was co-ed, thank God), the number of guy friends that I knew grew. It was sort of a consequence of wanting to meet girls. (She's friends with him? Now I'd have to befriend him as well. Crap.) This made it all the more awkward for guys who knew the ulterior motives of one's friendly gestures. (So you're the next contestant, eh?)
You know the guy who knows everybody? Who's everyone's friend and who have more than a thousand friends on facebook? He's probably gay. And every other guy can't stand him even if he is straight. In fact, we'd probably think slightly better of him if he is gay, otherwise he's just annoying.
So dude, whoever you are, if by chance we stand next in line to one another or find ourselves at the same party or watering hole, let's just go on our own business and not be obliged to do small talk. A nod, a grunt is all it takes and were okay. If it gets really awkward, then a handshake and the customary rhetorical howdy is more than enough. Be warned that any attempt at a buss or (God forbid) a hug will spell doom for you and your clan, and the only acceptable situation wherein you are permitted within two feet from my ear is when you need to whisper the phrase "Dude, that's my sister you're checking out."
This phenomenon is common for guys, I guess. Whenever the other guy is not really one of your buds, the first reaction would be "I hope he didn't see me lest I'd have to greet him." When the acknowledgment of the other's existence becomes inevitable, it gets awkward immediately and you'd have to do the handshake, howdys and talk about someone common or something safe (the weather for instance) for not more than two minutes before excusing yourself. A sigh of relief at last!
For this precise reason, I don't know everyone I went to 4 years of high school with. Coming from an all-boys school, there was never any interest to get to know anyone. The limit of how many friends you needed was determined by how many phone numbers you could actually memorize (that's two for me) for homework purposes, or how many of them had a car or a cool video game. Other than that, what for?
By the time I went to college (which was co-ed, thank God), the number of guy friends that I knew grew. It was sort of a consequence of wanting to meet girls. (She's friends with him? Now I'd have to befriend him as well. Crap.) This made it all the more awkward for guys who knew the ulterior motives of one's friendly gestures. (So you're the next contestant, eh?)
You know the guy who knows everybody? Who's everyone's friend and who have more than a thousand friends on facebook? He's probably gay. And every other guy can't stand him even if he is straight. In fact, we'd probably think slightly better of him if he is gay, otherwise he's just annoying.
So dude, whoever you are, if by chance we stand next in line to one another or find ourselves at the same party or watering hole, let's just go on our own business and not be obliged to do small talk. A nod, a grunt is all it takes and were okay. If it gets really awkward, then a handshake and the customary rhetorical howdy is more than enough. Be warned that any attempt at a buss or (God forbid) a hug will spell doom for you and your clan, and the only acceptable situation wherein you are permitted within two feet from my ear is when you need to whisper the phrase "Dude, that's my sister you're checking out."
Myself acting all nationalistic (an attempt, anyway)
Got sent out of the office today by my boss. I should rant about it, but no, I will resist the urge. It's quite a long and complicated story. Oh well...
*****
It's raining. I usually don't mind such occurrences, but right now it's such an injustice. I am not a big fan of washing the car, I could let months pass by before I finally pick up the old bucket and chamois. Last night I suddenly felt the urge to be a busybody and washed the car after "only" 2 weeks. And then it rains? Thanks.
*****
Was watching television last night and chanced upon a feature on the multi-lingual education approach of a public school in a small public schools in the hinterlands of Kalinga province. It struck me that the teachers there were genuinely concerned about educating their pupils. Then I remembered the other selfless professions that I have encountered, read or heard of. There's this pastor in Camarines Sur from a well-to-do family who uprooted his entire family from an exclusive subdivision and lived in a meager hut amidst the rice paddies and the fishing village sans electricity, running water and other necessities. Then there is the social worker in Pangasinan who volunteered to help out the poorest of the farm workers despite being poor herself. The barrio doctor who gave up a lucrative practice to help out people who couldn't afford proper medical services. How many more people have we heard of giving up economic freedom for another man's cause?
I'm sure a lot of people would want to emulate their example but have all sorts of excuses that justify their not doing so. I myself have been faced with such a decision but took the road often traveled. Do I feel guilty? A bit, yes, but for the most part, not really. (Insert boos *here*)
Talking about the road less/often traveled, I remember the valedictory address of this teenage wunderkind who graduated from a rigorous advanced physics course at the university. She mentioned the phenomena of university students taking shortcuts through the grassy fields instead of taking the sidewalks, a metaphor for the trailblazing efforts of these future leaders and citizens who would eventually graduate (or not) and integrate themselves into the real world. So fine, I took the sidewalk, someone has to.
Before you take that pitchfork out of the barn, allow me to defend myself.
I don't have a passport, thus I am stuck in this god-forsaken country. Not only is this a product of laziness (though in large part, it is), but I do not have any intentions either of leaving it for "greener pastures" preferring to be an active and productive member of this nation's citizenry rather than volunteering to be productive for any other. I am not a cow, I don't care if the grass is greener anywhere it may be. I work, therefore am a productive member of society, paying taxes, contributing to the GDP and all macroeconomic stuff. I live on my own, doing my own groceries, paying the rent, shop on a whim and travel domestically, the money I get from my salary circulates through the national economy thus providing more jobs, services and adding to the purchasing power of those around me. I have no assets under my name, no savings and a lot of credit card expenses, thus I am in poverty. The only difference I can see between myself and those selfless people is that while they do the good work actively, I am achieving this passively. Pathetic excuse, I know, but you must admit the effort to be nationalistic is there.
*****
Back when I was doing community work in Pangasinan, I was babysitting this Canadian national who was doing a video documentary on the Philippines as a sort of hobby. Apparently, she was doing some research online and got into contact with the left-leaning (at best) umbrella organization I was then working for. They promptly okayed for her to go observe some of the people and their conditions as long as she tagged along with us for her "safety".
She was okay, struggling to eat with her hands, learning to carry buckets of water so she could bathe and wash her hair, and walk kilometers a day so she could get up close and personal with her subjects. One day, I didn't have anything to do and was lazing around when she asked if I could take her to the power plant, the monolithic abomination that we were supposed to be protesting against. I guess I was really bored so I took up the task despite never having gone there myself. This was also the first time I personally had to babysit her as the leader of our group was usually the one giving her the tour.
While walking amid the gravel path leading to the plant, she whips out her videocamera and starts asking away. Mostly her questions revolved around my personal take on the state of the nation and why the poor were getting poorer in this country. I tried my best to give her my most intelligent answers, I'd hate to be the bumbling ignoramus in her documentary or a comic relief. I couldn't recall any of her questions nor my answers but for the last one. She asked me if I thought there was still hope for the country, the people. I stopped, looked straight at her (well, the camera as well) and answered "Of course, I wouldn't be doing this otherwise." Yeah! High five, very nice!
*****
It's raining. I usually don't mind such occurrences, but right now it's such an injustice. I am not a big fan of washing the car, I could let months pass by before I finally pick up the old bucket and chamois. Last night I suddenly felt the urge to be a busybody and washed the car after "only" 2 weeks. And then it rains? Thanks.
*****
Was watching television last night and chanced upon a feature on the multi-lingual education approach of a public school in a small public schools in the hinterlands of Kalinga province. It struck me that the teachers there were genuinely concerned about educating their pupils. Then I remembered the other selfless professions that I have encountered, read or heard of. There's this pastor in Camarines Sur from a well-to-do family who uprooted his entire family from an exclusive subdivision and lived in a meager hut amidst the rice paddies and the fishing village sans electricity, running water and other necessities. Then there is the social worker in Pangasinan who volunteered to help out the poorest of the farm workers despite being poor herself. The barrio doctor who gave up a lucrative practice to help out people who couldn't afford proper medical services. How many more people have we heard of giving up economic freedom for another man's cause?
I'm sure a lot of people would want to emulate their example but have all sorts of excuses that justify their not doing so. I myself have been faced with such a decision but took the road often traveled. Do I feel guilty? A bit, yes, but for the most part, not really. (Insert boos *here*)
Talking about the road less/often traveled, I remember the valedictory address of this teenage wunderkind who graduated from a rigorous advanced physics course at the university. She mentioned the phenomena of university students taking shortcuts through the grassy fields instead of taking the sidewalks, a metaphor for the trailblazing efforts of these future leaders and citizens who would eventually graduate (or not) and integrate themselves into the real world. So fine, I took the sidewalk, someone has to.
Before you take that pitchfork out of the barn, allow me to defend myself.
I don't have a passport, thus I am stuck in this god-forsaken country. Not only is this a product of laziness (though in large part, it is), but I do not have any intentions either of leaving it for "greener pastures" preferring to be an active and productive member of this nation's citizenry rather than volunteering to be productive for any other. I am not a cow, I don't care if the grass is greener anywhere it may be. I work, therefore am a productive member of society, paying taxes, contributing to the GDP and all macroeconomic stuff. I live on my own, doing my own groceries, paying the rent, shop on a whim and travel domestically, the money I get from my salary circulates through the national economy thus providing more jobs, services and adding to the purchasing power of those around me. I have no assets under my name, no savings and a lot of credit card expenses, thus I am in poverty. The only difference I can see between myself and those selfless people is that while they do the good work actively, I am achieving this passively. Pathetic excuse, I know, but you must admit the effort to be nationalistic is there.
*****
Back when I was doing community work in Pangasinan, I was babysitting this Canadian national who was doing a video documentary on the Philippines as a sort of hobby. Apparently, she was doing some research online and got into contact with the left-leaning (at best) umbrella organization I was then working for. They promptly okayed for her to go observe some of the people and their conditions as long as she tagged along with us for her "safety".
She was okay, struggling to eat with her hands, learning to carry buckets of water so she could bathe and wash her hair, and walk kilometers a day so she could get up close and personal with her subjects. One day, I didn't have anything to do and was lazing around when she asked if I could take her to the power plant, the monolithic abomination that we were supposed to be protesting against. I guess I was really bored so I took up the task despite never having gone there myself. This was also the first time I personally had to babysit her as the leader of our group was usually the one giving her the tour.
While walking amid the gravel path leading to the plant, she whips out her videocamera and starts asking away. Mostly her questions revolved around my personal take on the state of the nation and why the poor were getting poorer in this country. I tried my best to give her my most intelligent answers, I'd hate to be the bumbling ignoramus in her documentary or a comic relief. I couldn't recall any of her questions nor my answers but for the last one. She asked me if I thought there was still hope for the country, the people. I stopped, looked straight at her (well, the camera as well) and answered "Of course, I wouldn't be doing this otherwise." Yeah! High five, very nice!
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