If you have been following this blog (and why wouldn't you), I am proud to update you that since my December 21, 2005 post, I have yet to subscribe to any cable television service provider. I have in fact completely shunned local television as well. We traded the monthly subscription for cable for something more practical, which is internet access at home (I came to accept the fact that in order for me to have some semblance of work life balance, I need to pay to be able to work at home sometimes).
One of the first things I did after having unregulated firewall free internet access was to succumb to the Facebook fad. Almost everybody has one. It's already integrated in mobile phones, PDAs and most social networking site. It has become so popular that even though companies block access to it because its counter productive, some employees still willingly risk their jobs by finding ways around the system to be able to login to their accounts. I just had to see what exactly the deal was.
So after spending some significant time seeing and reading posts in my recently created account, I came to realize that it’s actually a lot like television (or at least television as I knew it when I still had it almost 5 years ago). In fact, you can categorize user posts the exact same way you categories TV programs:
The Noon Time Show Posts: These are posts that provide mindless entertainment in the form of silly videos that somehow, as deemed by the person posting it, needs to be disseminated all across Facebook. Admittedly some are cool, while others are so senseless all that’s missing is a commentary from Willie Revillame.
The News Station Post: These days, I get my fill of current events just by checking out posts and reposts of news items friends share. My Facebook wall has actually evolved into a news paper and volunteer message board especially during the aftermath of typhoon Ondoy. I am sure a lot of mobilizations were put into action because of wall news feeds like these. Although sometimes I wish people would validate first if their posts are true, like that one time posts circulated that power will be cut off in anticipation of the storm after Ondoy. That sucked because it made me anxious all day in anticipation and it never did happen. But stuff like Congressman Mikey Arroyo allegedly buying liquor at the height of the flood, that’s ok, that dude deserved it.
The Love Radio Post: If you are not from the Philippines, I suppose this needs some explaining. Love Radio otherwise known as 90.7 FM is probably in my opinion the most annoying radio station this side of the planet. And the fact that it’s supposedly number one is very very disturbing for me. When I ride public transport and this station is on, it makes me just want to walk all the way to work. Particular disk jocks of this radio station say some of the stupidest things imaginable. And what’s worse is that they think they are the epitome of coolness and that they have contributed to the greater totality of human knowledge that they have shared their opinions over the air about some of the most mundane things. Some Facebook posts are like that. No wait, some are in fact, exactly like that.
The Music Channel Post: Marie Digby doing a home made video of Rhianna’s Umbrella, hey I can totally understand the need to have that shared and linked over Facebook. Marie Digby in a nice red shirt sharing a video of that time when a batch of her second album CDs got delivered at her home, I can definitely wait for that post to completely load. Seriously, I like the fact that my music page at Soundclick.com can be automatically linked to my wall every time I upload a new song I’ve made. Plus the fact that since I don’t have television, some musician friends get to post gig schedules and their own music videos on their page. I think that’s just really cool especially if you are a struggling artist or you just want to unselfishly share your craft to the world.
The Commercial Post: And since Facebook does reach a wide range of potential consumers, it’s not surprising that people peddle stuff on it as well. Its ok I guess, it depends who it comes from or if it’s done in moderation and you don't spam people with it. But otherwise posts like these are the equivalent of the Avon Lady showing up at your house in the middle of a dinner party.
The Game Show Post: I don’t understand Facebook applications enough to probably write about it, but from a newbie’s perspective, I don’t understand why I should get random score updates on what game some users are playing. I mean, in real life you don’t do that. “Hey everybody, including the ones I really don’t know all that well. I just friggin’ cleaned out my friends in a game of Pusoy Dos! Is that cool or what! Care to comment? Anybody? Anyone? Anybody at all? No? Ok, just thought I let you know. You can probably go back to what you were doing. Thanks.” And I also don't get why some people continue to take Facebook quizes only to question the results.
The Foreign Channel Post: There are posts that just don’t make sense, even if it’s in English or your native language. Some people think their random thoughts merits being broadcasted to the world, even if readers won’t have the slightest clue what it’s in reference too. I see those posts the same way I see foreign television channels in cable. You don’t care for it, but its there and it’s included in the bundled channel package when you subscribed to your cable provider. You just need to get the remote and flip pass by it.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Facebook. I like it mainly because like TV, I can lock out channels that have absolutely no value add. You can’t stop people from posting nonsense, it’s their right. If people like Willie Revillame think they can host a television noontime show, it shouldn't be surprising that people who can hardly weave a coherent logical phrase together think they have the right to post their thoughts on a social networking site and literally advertise that they don't get enough iodized salt in their diets.
But the good thing is, at a click of a button you can “Hide” these posts and be spared of the randomness. Yes, you can child proof your account. Oh, and you now know what the other great thing about Facebook is? It actually makes keeping in touch with close friends fun and a whole lot easier.
So get your laptop, sit lazily on the couch, login to your account and grab some popcorn. Because with Facebook, who needs television?
October 13, 2009
March 16, 2009
Kinda Like Hennas, Only They Don’t Come Off and Getting Them Does NOT Tickle
I know how I did at one point make a bold statement that my skin had enough permanent blemishes that I didn’t need anything else to further distract people with. But last Saturday afternoon, I did get a tattoo. I had Haring Ulan, Cathy and Francesca in Alibata wrapped around my right arm in black ink.
I figure that depending on how you know me, that might probably come to you as a shock or maybe just something that I’m most likely to do. But to be completely honest, the idea of having ink forever etched on my epidermis was not something I contemplated on before.
So why the change of heart?
Well first off, I would shamefully admit that I was one of those ignorant people who entertained to some extent the stereotype that people with tattoos are the kind my parents warned me about when I was little (Which reminds me, as of this writing I have yet to actually tell my parents I did get a tattoo). But in the last few years, I’ve actually met a lot of really interesting people who had tattoos and I personally know a few nice ones who are actually considering getting some ink done. And though some are more passionate than others, it’s actually great to hear stories behind why people pick certain designs. So unless the tattoo of the person you are sitting next to in the bus reads “Kill Babies” or “Willie Revillame Rocks”, I wouldn’t be too quick to judge.
I had someone ask me why get a tattoo now that I am in my mid thirties. Though of course there is no age limit to getting it, I do understand the question. Personally, I think now that I’m at this age; I really do know what I want without having second thoughts in the future.
Settling on a tattoo design requires massive amounts of commitment. Once the machine buzzes and that inked needle pricks your skin, there is no undo function. I’ve heard of people who had their original tattoos covered up with new ones because they didn’t like it anymore or worse had it totally removed. Making sure your heart is set on a design saves you the trouble of having to say something like, “Well yeah, Robby Rosa of Menudo was really really big back then okay, so leave me alone!!!”
Now comes the question of “What it really as painful as people say it is?”
Contrary to what I was told, tattoos are done by using needles and not soft cotton buds. As you probably already know, I am the type of person that has extremely low threshold for things that hurt. But having undergone an operation last year, I think I can safely say with confidence that I am no stranger to pain. Having a machine repeatedly prick my skin for 45 minutes is definitely a day at the beach compared to the mind numbing excruciating pain I had when I recovered from my hemorrhoidectomy.
I’ve heard some people who’ve had tattoos say that the pain is only temporary and that your body eventually helps you adapt to it. I’ve read accounts of people who even went as far as saying it reaches a point when it feels like a therapeutic massage. I don’t know what those people were smoking when they said all that, but it really does hurt all the way, from the outlining to the actual shading. As the tattoo needle jackhammers, it’s like having hundreds of ants gnaw through your skin. It’s hard to describe, you probably do have to experience it to know what it’s really like, but it does hurt.
It doesn’t help that the area I decided to get my tattoo includes that part near my underarm, which has really thin sensitive skin. I’m not going to lie to you, it hurt the most when the needle slowly inched its way toward it. But the pain was somewhat tolerable. I think I was more stressed about the fact that because the procedure its self was a bit messy with all the inkblots and blood (yeah, there was a bit of bleeding involved), I was afraid that the tattoo wouldn’t come out as good and I just paid someone to actually ruin my skin. I had things going on inside my head like, “What if he misspells it? What if this guy sneezes and jerks while doing my tattoo and he accidentally draws a long permanent line on my arm?”
But my tattoo did come out great. It was actually even better than how I imagined it would be when it was finished. I like to personally thank Jimmy Dy, owner and artist of Ink Nation Tattoo and Body Piecing over at Rosario in San Pedro Laguna for doing a superb job.
In fact, my tattoo came out so nicely that my lovely wife Cathy actually even decided to get one as well that very same day. She has my name in alibata just a little below her nape. I was glad she shared that experience with me; it just made the commitment of getting a tattoo all the more special.
It’s nice to know that in a world where things don’t stay the same as much, there are still ones that are truly permanent.
I figure that depending on how you know me, that might probably come to you as a shock or maybe just something that I’m most likely to do. But to be completely honest, the idea of having ink forever etched on my epidermis was not something I contemplated on before.
So why the change of heart?
Well first off, I would shamefully admit that I was one of those ignorant people who entertained to some extent the stereotype that people with tattoos are the kind my parents warned me about when I was little (Which reminds me, as of this writing I have yet to actually tell my parents I did get a tattoo). But in the last few years, I’ve actually met a lot of really interesting people who had tattoos and I personally know a few nice ones who are actually considering getting some ink done. And though some are more passionate than others, it’s actually great to hear stories behind why people pick certain designs. So unless the tattoo of the person you are sitting next to in the bus reads “Kill Babies” or “Willie Revillame Rocks”, I wouldn’t be too quick to judge.
I had someone ask me why get a tattoo now that I am in my mid thirties. Though of course there is no age limit to getting it, I do understand the question. Personally, I think now that I’m at this age; I really do know what I want without having second thoughts in the future.
Settling on a tattoo design requires massive amounts of commitment. Once the machine buzzes and that inked needle pricks your skin, there is no undo function. I’ve heard of people who had their original tattoos covered up with new ones because they didn’t like it anymore or worse had it totally removed. Making sure your heart is set on a design saves you the trouble of having to say something like, “Well yeah, Robby Rosa of Menudo was really really big back then okay, so leave me alone!!!”
Now comes the question of “What it really as painful as people say it is?”
Contrary to what I was told, tattoos are done by using needles and not soft cotton buds. As you probably already know, I am the type of person that has extremely low threshold for things that hurt. But having undergone an operation last year, I think I can safely say with confidence that I am no stranger to pain. Having a machine repeatedly prick my skin for 45 minutes is definitely a day at the beach compared to the mind numbing excruciating pain I had when I recovered from my hemorrhoidectomy.
I’ve heard some people who’ve had tattoos say that the pain is only temporary and that your body eventually helps you adapt to it. I’ve read accounts of people who even went as far as saying it reaches a point when it feels like a therapeutic massage. I don’t know what those people were smoking when they said all that, but it really does hurt all the way, from the outlining to the actual shading. As the tattoo needle jackhammers, it’s like having hundreds of ants gnaw through your skin. It’s hard to describe, you probably do have to experience it to know what it’s really like, but it does hurt.
It doesn’t help that the area I decided to get my tattoo includes that part near my underarm, which has really thin sensitive skin. I’m not going to lie to you, it hurt the most when the needle slowly inched its way toward it. But the pain was somewhat tolerable. I think I was more stressed about the fact that because the procedure its self was a bit messy with all the inkblots and blood (yeah, there was a bit of bleeding involved), I was afraid that the tattoo wouldn’t come out as good and I just paid someone to actually ruin my skin. I had things going on inside my head like, “What if he misspells it? What if this guy sneezes and jerks while doing my tattoo and he accidentally draws a long permanent line on my arm?”
But my tattoo did come out great. It was actually even better than how I imagined it would be when it was finished. I like to personally thank Jimmy Dy, owner and artist of Ink Nation Tattoo and Body Piecing over at Rosario in San Pedro Laguna for doing a superb job.
In fact, my tattoo came out so nicely that my lovely wife Cathy actually even decided to get one as well that very same day. She has my name in alibata just a little below her nape. I was glad she shared that experience with me; it just made the commitment of getting a tattoo all the more special.
It’s nice to know that in a world where things don’t stay the same as much, there are still ones that are truly permanent.
July 06, 2008
Fire In The Hole
I’m the kind of guy that has to have something to read while doing his business in the john. I know that’s not very unusual, I know lots of people who do the same thing. My uncle from my mom’s side does it. Before he has to go; he always picks up a newspaper and brings it with him while he sits on the throne.
I’m a lot like that; I must have something to read while doing number two, be it a book, a magazine, a brochure, as long as it’s something that I can read. In rare instances when I really have to go and there is just no time to grab some sort of reading material, I would settle for the back side of shampoo bottles and go through reading ingredients and directions for use. You know, I think that whole rinse and repeat thing some shampoos insist on is just a scam to have you use up the product faster.
Anyway, a year ago I noticed blood together with my stuff. I asked my best friend about it, he’s a doctor, and he told me it was nothing to worry about. I have not had any significant weight loss and I was way too young to have colon cancer. But then lately it started happening more often and in my last check up, I was diagnosed as being very anemic.
So as it turned out it was due to the loss of blood. So I went to this other doctor and was scolded at why I had to wait for so long to have it really checked up. I said I was busy at work and that it’s highly possible that I have hemorrhoids from sitting in the bowl longer than I probably should. I told the doctor that I liked to read. I was just about to randomly say that some shampoos actually infuse nourishing creamy yogurt energizers that gently cleanses and wraps around hair strands when she told me that worse case scenario was that I might actually have colon cancer. I was told that I needed a colonoscopy (it’s like an alien anal probe, only it’s done by doctors) and have any found polyp biopsied. I stopped being funny right there.
As positive as I tried to be about the entire thing, I would have to be honest that I fell in a pit of depression waiting for the lab results. For the whole week that I had to wait, I did DVD marathons watching The Sopranos before I went to bed because I wanted to make sure that when I closed my eyes, I would be sleeping and not thinking about my health and the associated “what ifs”. I was completely paranoid that if I felt a slight stomach spasm, I’d worry if it had something to do with cancer. I could have googled stuff on the net, but I was too afraid of knowing the details, I figured the less I knew at that point, the less I’d have to worry. It wasn’t easy putting up a calm façade, especially to my wife who I later found out was secretly more of a wreck than I was.
When I got the results I was overwhelmed with relief to know that the biopsy results were benign. Thank God. But I was still losing a lot of blood and needed a hemorrhoidectomy the soonest time possible.
I was told by the surgeon that the procedure was quite common. My wife was pretty discreet about it though, I wasn’t. When people ask me what procedure I am going to be admitted for, I openly said I was going to have my butt operated on. And the surprising thing was, when I started talking about what I was going through, I found out that a lot of people I know had mild cases of it as well. It was like Hemorrhoids Anonymous and I was the keynote speaker.
But as common as it was, it was definitely an in patient procedure. I was told that I need not worry about the actual procedure though because I was going to be completely spaced out throughout the entire half hour while the surgeons did their thing. But being the big wussy that I am, it was the recuperation that I was actually more worried about.
You see, I have extremely low threshold for pain. About 7 years ago, I accidentally caught the tip of my right hand’s index finger on our mechanical water pump while I was fixing it. My finger nail broke in two, exposing the flesh and nail bed underneath. It hurt like a bitch. When I had to clean it up before I went to the doctor, I nearly fainted from the surprisingly huge amount of pain that suddenly came surging through my head. But that was like a needle prick compared to the suffering that I went through when the soothing effects of the anesthesia finally bid the insides of my butt farewell.
It was interesting to discover how many basic bodily functions and simple movements were magnified as moments of sheer excruciating discomfort when recovering from a hemorrhoidectomy. For the first three days I was in the hospital, every time I would sneeze, cough, pass gas, or even lightly chuckle, it would be like having brief butt surgeries all over again only without the numbing assistance of anesthesia. And as for pooping, well imagine trying to push out razor blades every time you had to go do it. I had to take laxatives that were supposed to help with the process, it did very little. Well, let me just say that I have an idea of what a flame thrower feels like. I swear there were times I almost blacked out from the sharp throbbing pain.
I tell you, even when I was at home resting I was still in so much pain that I was literally popping pain killers like they were M&Ms. In fact to illustrate, if Jessica Alba were to suddenly show up naked in my bed room, I would probably say, “Jessica! Great, you’re here. Be a doll and get me two 550mg Flanax forte tablets and a glass of water. The tablets are on the dinning table outside, they are the blue ones right beside my Duphalac laxatives. Oh and for Christ’s sake, please put some clothes on, I have a five year old daughter in the house! How did you get in here anyway?”
It wasn’t all that bad I guess. Granted that I do wish it was under different circumstances, but I was able to get off work and be with my lovely and very supportive wife Cathy. She also took days off work and it was probably the most time we’ve spent together in a long while, she definitely made the pain a lot bearable. I wouldn’t have known what to do without her. She was by my side the entire time. I saw my Mom and Dad more often in the past weeks and they actually came by my house a few times to visit me. Thanks to the miracle of maintenance stool softeners, I do not dread going to the john as much as I did a week ago. And I guess the entire experience has made me reevaluate what I put inside my body and the amount of time I need sitting down to actually process them out.
I’d like to take this time to thank all the people who visited me in the hospital, the people who prayed for me while I was in the dark wondering if I had cancer, the people who texted me wishing that I get well soon, the people in the office who covered for me while I was on sick leave, the lovely nurses and the efficient staff at The Medical City hospital, my mom and dad for the visits and the bags of delicious mocca ensaymadas, my daughter for cheering me up and hugging me every time she saw I was grunting in pain, and of course my wife Cathy who patiently fulfilled the “in sickness” part of her vows throughout my recovery.
It’s been three weeks since the surgery. I am still not allowed to do really strenuous activities or lift heavy stuff, but I do feel a lot better. In fact, if Jessica Alba were to come back, this time I’d probably say, “Hey... umm, about the other time, listen I apologize. I was really in a lot of pain, plus I love my wife. Why don’t you put your clothes back on and let me get you a few mocca ensaymadas, they are really great. You can stay here and we can watch The Sopranos. By the way, you really do have lovely hair in person, I bet your shampoo has Vitanol, did you know that the vitamins and lipid boosters in those things actually nourishes your hair strands from the inside?”
I’m a lot like that; I must have something to read while doing number two, be it a book, a magazine, a brochure, as long as it’s something that I can read. In rare instances when I really have to go and there is just no time to grab some sort of reading material, I would settle for the back side of shampoo bottles and go through reading ingredients and directions for use. You know, I think that whole rinse and repeat thing some shampoos insist on is just a scam to have you use up the product faster.
Anyway, a year ago I noticed blood together with my stuff. I asked my best friend about it, he’s a doctor, and he told me it was nothing to worry about. I have not had any significant weight loss and I was way too young to have colon cancer. But then lately it started happening more often and in my last check up, I was diagnosed as being very anemic.
So as it turned out it was due to the loss of blood. So I went to this other doctor and was scolded at why I had to wait for so long to have it really checked up. I said I was busy at work and that it’s highly possible that I have hemorrhoids from sitting in the bowl longer than I probably should. I told the doctor that I liked to read. I was just about to randomly say that some shampoos actually infuse nourishing creamy yogurt energizers that gently cleanses and wraps around hair strands when she told me that worse case scenario was that I might actually have colon cancer. I was told that I needed a colonoscopy (it’s like an alien anal probe, only it’s done by doctors) and have any found polyp biopsied. I stopped being funny right there.
As positive as I tried to be about the entire thing, I would have to be honest that I fell in a pit of depression waiting for the lab results. For the whole week that I had to wait, I did DVD marathons watching The Sopranos before I went to bed because I wanted to make sure that when I closed my eyes, I would be sleeping and not thinking about my health and the associated “what ifs”. I was completely paranoid that if I felt a slight stomach spasm, I’d worry if it had something to do with cancer. I could have googled stuff on the net, but I was too afraid of knowing the details, I figured the less I knew at that point, the less I’d have to worry. It wasn’t easy putting up a calm façade, especially to my wife who I later found out was secretly more of a wreck than I was.
When I got the results I was overwhelmed with relief to know that the biopsy results were benign. Thank God. But I was still losing a lot of blood and needed a hemorrhoidectomy the soonest time possible.
I was told by the surgeon that the procedure was quite common. My wife was pretty discreet about it though, I wasn’t. When people ask me what procedure I am going to be admitted for, I openly said I was going to have my butt operated on. And the surprising thing was, when I started talking about what I was going through, I found out that a lot of people I know had mild cases of it as well. It was like Hemorrhoids Anonymous and I was the keynote speaker.
But as common as it was, it was definitely an in patient procedure. I was told that I need not worry about the actual procedure though because I was going to be completely spaced out throughout the entire half hour while the surgeons did their thing. But being the big wussy that I am, it was the recuperation that I was actually more worried about.
You see, I have extremely low threshold for pain. About 7 years ago, I accidentally caught the tip of my right hand’s index finger on our mechanical water pump while I was fixing it. My finger nail broke in two, exposing the flesh and nail bed underneath. It hurt like a bitch. When I had to clean it up before I went to the doctor, I nearly fainted from the surprisingly huge amount of pain that suddenly came surging through my head. But that was like a needle prick compared to the suffering that I went through when the soothing effects of the anesthesia finally bid the insides of my butt farewell.
It was interesting to discover how many basic bodily functions and simple movements were magnified as moments of sheer excruciating discomfort when recovering from a hemorrhoidectomy. For the first three days I was in the hospital, every time I would sneeze, cough, pass gas, or even lightly chuckle, it would be like having brief butt surgeries all over again only without the numbing assistance of anesthesia. And as for pooping, well imagine trying to push out razor blades every time you had to go do it. I had to take laxatives that were supposed to help with the process, it did very little. Well, let me just say that I have an idea of what a flame thrower feels like. I swear there were times I almost blacked out from the sharp throbbing pain.
I tell you, even when I was at home resting I was still in so much pain that I was literally popping pain killers like they were M&Ms. In fact to illustrate, if Jessica Alba were to suddenly show up naked in my bed room, I would probably say, “Jessica! Great, you’re here. Be a doll and get me two 550mg Flanax forte tablets and a glass of water. The tablets are on the dinning table outside, they are the blue ones right beside my Duphalac laxatives. Oh and for Christ’s sake, please put some clothes on, I have a five year old daughter in the house! How did you get in here anyway?”
It wasn’t all that bad I guess. Granted that I do wish it was under different circumstances, but I was able to get off work and be with my lovely and very supportive wife Cathy. She also took days off work and it was probably the most time we’ve spent together in a long while, she definitely made the pain a lot bearable. I wouldn’t have known what to do without her. She was by my side the entire time. I saw my Mom and Dad more often in the past weeks and they actually came by my house a few times to visit me. Thanks to the miracle of maintenance stool softeners, I do not dread going to the john as much as I did a week ago. And I guess the entire experience has made me reevaluate what I put inside my body and the amount of time I need sitting down to actually process them out.
I’d like to take this time to thank all the people who visited me in the hospital, the people who prayed for me while I was in the dark wondering if I had cancer, the people who texted me wishing that I get well soon, the people in the office who covered for me while I was on sick leave, the lovely nurses and the efficient staff at The Medical City hospital, my mom and dad for the visits and the bags of delicious mocca ensaymadas, my daughter for cheering me up and hugging me every time she saw I was grunting in pain, and of course my wife Cathy who patiently fulfilled the “in sickness” part of her vows throughout my recovery.
It’s been three weeks since the surgery. I am still not allowed to do really strenuous activities or lift heavy stuff, but I do feel a lot better. In fact, if Jessica Alba were to come back, this time I’d probably say, “Hey... umm, about the other time, listen I apologize. I was really in a lot of pain, plus I love my wife. Why don’t you put your clothes back on and let me get you a few mocca ensaymadas, they are really great. You can stay here and we can watch The Sopranos. By the way, you really do have lovely hair in person, I bet your shampoo has Vitanol, did you know that the vitamins and lipid boosters in those things actually nourishes your hair strands from the inside?”
April 28, 2008
Highway Robbery
I had a gun pointed to my head last Thursday afternoon.
April 24, 2008, 12:30pm. I boarded an HM Liner bus near the Susana Heights Muntinlupa City on my way to work. I was the last person to board the bus that had approximately 40 passengers inside, and because the bus was almost full, I seated myself at the last three seater seats at the back of the bus.
Just as the bus was approaching the Alabang bridge along the South Super Expressway, I noticed a man in his late 30s causing commotion at the back of the bus. He was shouting stuff that I couldn’t make out because I was wearing earplugs at the time listening to music on my mobile phone. It was when he shouted at me while pointing a cocked up loaded gun to my skull that I realize that all the passengers of bus I was riding were being robbed.
I took off my earplugs and heard women and children crying while five other men were collecting the passenger’s valuables.
Because I was in a state of shock, the armed man initially thought I was just being defiant (not knowing I actually couldn’t hear what he was saying), he reiterated his intent by saying, “Alam mo ba kung ano itong hawak ko ha?!!!” (“Do you know what I am holding right now?”), referring to the cocked up gun he had in front of my face. When he looked away from me, I tried to sneak what I considered to be the most valuable thing I had with me inside my pants, my wedding ring. The man with the gun caught me and dragged me into the middle of the bus and seated me to a nurse who was already quietly panicking. A second man violently frisked me while cursing things at my face.
Truth be told, I was unbelievable calm. Not that I was too shocked to process what was happening, but because I was too distracted by the fact that all my valuables were taken from me, my bag that contained my office things (including my IBM laptop that had all my office files and recent pictures of my wife and kid), my wallet (that had my credit cards, health cards, drivers license, scuba certification card, memorable and priceless concert ticket stubs, pictures of my daughter, and cash), my 8 year old divers watch, my celphone (that had all my contacts), a silver engagement ring that Cathy and I bought back in college, and as previously mentioned my wedding ring.
My calmness apparently made me stick out among the passengers around me, which got me frisked a third time. At that point I was so frustrated with the idea of having to go into the trouble of replacing the cards they were stealing that I stupidly brushed off the sweaty arm of the man searching my pants for any valuable that I might have hidden. He looked at me, cursed and did nothing more. But the man with the gun saw that I did and I later found out from one of the passengers that he actually said, “Matigas yang isang yan, sampolan mo nga!” (That ones a toughie, make an example out of him!). I didn’t get hurt, but one passenger who was not seating calmly got hit at the back of his head while another old man was punched in the face for not cooperating.
As we were approaching the South Luzon Toll gate in Nichols, we were all advised not to try anything stupid like signal for help. As it turned out, there was a second armed man in front of the bus near the driver. Our bus took the E-Pass (the unmanned automatic toll exit) and continued its way north along EDSA.
The first three robbers, who had all of our stuff, got off the bus near the MMDA headquarters along EDSA. Our bus continued to move until we reached the Guadalupe area were the last three men threaten to blow our bus should we try anything like draw the curtains and follow them after they stepped out.
After they did manage to get off the bus, the driver drove the vehicle Northbound along EDSA. I got off my seat and approached the driver asking him what his plans were for all the victims. I told him to pull the vehicle over before we approached Crossing-Shaw Boulevard, but he insisted that we continue to move. We approached Camp Crame in EDSA where I figured we could report the incident, but still he insisted that we go to Kamias in Quezon City.
A man wearing an HM Liner company uniform told me to take my seat. I figured he was responsible being an employee of the bus liner for the passengers so I went back to my seat. People were already becoming restless at this point and started to ask questions on what we should all do. The bus employee then said that he was going to take us all back South to Pacita in San Laguna and we can all file our separate complaints about the incident that just happened.
That was unacceptable. I stood from my seat and demanded that we turn back, everybody else in the bus felt the same way. Finally, our bus made a U-turn under the Kamuning Flyover and stopped at a Quezon City Police Station along EDSA. As soon as the bus stopped, people flocked the police desk to tell the officer in charge of what happened.
After I gave my initial statement to the police, I borrowed a mobile phone and called Cathy in my best “its okay, I’m alright, don’t panic” voice.
We spent a good hour or so at the Quezon City Police Station before we were escorted to Makati City to file our official statements. Because the incident happened in the Makati area, it was the City of Makati’s jurisdiction.
I will not go into the details, but majority of the passengers felt that the bus driver, the conductor and the other bus liner employee that made me go back to my seat were in cahoots with the robbers. All their behaviors during the incident leaned to suggest that they were accessories to the high way robbery. I personally believe that they had a dozen opportunities to act against the robbery but just chose not to. In my opinion, they could have not taken the unmanned E-Pass toll exit and they could have stopped at the nearest police station instead of dragging us all the way to Quezon City. It was quite odd how none of them actually put up a fight to explain themselves to the police investigator; they said that they would all choose to remain silent about what happened.
The following day, me and five other victims of HM Bus Liner #258 highway robbery incident went back to the Makati Central Police Station to file our formal complaint against the 3 bus liner employees. As of this writing and to my knowledge, the three said bus employees are currently detained in Makati City.
I know I haven’t written in this blog for a long long time, but I badly needed an outlet. And though I try to block off the incident, it’s just a given that people will constantly ask me what happened and I have to relive the ordeal all over again as I narrate the details.
I am not fully traumatized by what happened to me, I mean, what happened won’t prevent me from ever taking the bus or listening to music while I commute. But I think what’s eating me right now is how my head is still filled up to this point by all the “what if’s”, all the “could have’s” and “should have’s” of the incident. The entire scenario keeps playing over and over in my head and I can’t help but consider the many outcomes of the ordeal have we tried to stop the robbery. I think it’s the feeling of helplessness right now that is really bothering me. I was screaming inside while I was inside the bus listening to the armed man as he went on blaming the president for his actions. It infuriated me that I almost wanted to talk back, but of course you don’t debate politics with brainless thugs, especially armed ones.
Cathy fetched me at the police station in Makati, she immediately kissed me when she saw me and asked for the nth time if if I've been hurt. It was almost 9pm and I just realized that I have had absolutely nothing in me but my morning coffee. We had dinner at Glorietta before going home. When Frances, my five year old daughter found out what happened to me, she sadly climbed up my lap, gave me a big tight hug and patted my back. She offered to open up her piggy bank so that I can buy back the stuff I lost and promised to tuck me in before I sleep.
Fortunately, there are far more priceless things in my life people can never steal away from me.
April 24, 2008, 12:30pm. I boarded an HM Liner bus near the Susana Heights Muntinlupa City on my way to work. I was the last person to board the bus that had approximately 40 passengers inside, and because the bus was almost full, I seated myself at the last three seater seats at the back of the bus.
Just as the bus was approaching the Alabang bridge along the South Super Expressway, I noticed a man in his late 30s causing commotion at the back of the bus. He was shouting stuff that I couldn’t make out because I was wearing earplugs at the time listening to music on my mobile phone. It was when he shouted at me while pointing a cocked up loaded gun to my skull that I realize that all the passengers of bus I was riding were being robbed.
I took off my earplugs and heard women and children crying while five other men were collecting the passenger’s valuables.
Because I was in a state of shock, the armed man initially thought I was just being defiant (not knowing I actually couldn’t hear what he was saying), he reiterated his intent by saying, “Alam mo ba kung ano itong hawak ko ha?!!!” (“Do you know what I am holding right now?”), referring to the cocked up gun he had in front of my face. When he looked away from me, I tried to sneak what I considered to be the most valuable thing I had with me inside my pants, my wedding ring. The man with the gun caught me and dragged me into the middle of the bus and seated me to a nurse who was already quietly panicking. A second man violently frisked me while cursing things at my face.
Truth be told, I was unbelievable calm. Not that I was too shocked to process what was happening, but because I was too distracted by the fact that all my valuables were taken from me, my bag that contained my office things (including my IBM laptop that had all my office files and recent pictures of my wife and kid), my wallet (that had my credit cards, health cards, drivers license, scuba certification card, memorable and priceless concert ticket stubs, pictures of my daughter, and cash), my 8 year old divers watch, my celphone (that had all my contacts), a silver engagement ring that Cathy and I bought back in college, and as previously mentioned my wedding ring.
My calmness apparently made me stick out among the passengers around me, which got me frisked a third time. At that point I was so frustrated with the idea of having to go into the trouble of replacing the cards they were stealing that I stupidly brushed off the sweaty arm of the man searching my pants for any valuable that I might have hidden. He looked at me, cursed and did nothing more. But the man with the gun saw that I did and I later found out from one of the passengers that he actually said, “Matigas yang isang yan, sampolan mo nga!” (That ones a toughie, make an example out of him!). I didn’t get hurt, but one passenger who was not seating calmly got hit at the back of his head while another old man was punched in the face for not cooperating.
As we were approaching the South Luzon Toll gate in Nichols, we were all advised not to try anything stupid like signal for help. As it turned out, there was a second armed man in front of the bus near the driver. Our bus took the E-Pass (the unmanned automatic toll exit) and continued its way north along EDSA.
The first three robbers, who had all of our stuff, got off the bus near the MMDA headquarters along EDSA. Our bus continued to move until we reached the Guadalupe area were the last three men threaten to blow our bus should we try anything like draw the curtains and follow them after they stepped out.
After they did manage to get off the bus, the driver drove the vehicle Northbound along EDSA. I got off my seat and approached the driver asking him what his plans were for all the victims. I told him to pull the vehicle over before we approached Crossing-Shaw Boulevard, but he insisted that we continue to move. We approached Camp Crame in EDSA where I figured we could report the incident, but still he insisted that we go to Kamias in Quezon City.
A man wearing an HM Liner company uniform told me to take my seat. I figured he was responsible being an employee of the bus liner for the passengers so I went back to my seat. People were already becoming restless at this point and started to ask questions on what we should all do. The bus employee then said that he was going to take us all back South to Pacita in San Laguna and we can all file our separate complaints about the incident that just happened.
That was unacceptable. I stood from my seat and demanded that we turn back, everybody else in the bus felt the same way. Finally, our bus made a U-turn under the Kamuning Flyover and stopped at a Quezon City Police Station along EDSA. As soon as the bus stopped, people flocked the police desk to tell the officer in charge of what happened.
After I gave my initial statement to the police, I borrowed a mobile phone and called Cathy in my best “its okay, I’m alright, don’t panic” voice.
We spent a good hour or so at the Quezon City Police Station before we were escorted to Makati City to file our official statements. Because the incident happened in the Makati area, it was the City of Makati’s jurisdiction.
I will not go into the details, but majority of the passengers felt that the bus driver, the conductor and the other bus liner employee that made me go back to my seat were in cahoots with the robbers. All their behaviors during the incident leaned to suggest that they were accessories to the high way robbery. I personally believe that they had a dozen opportunities to act against the robbery but just chose not to. In my opinion, they could have not taken the unmanned E-Pass toll exit and they could have stopped at the nearest police station instead of dragging us all the way to Quezon City. It was quite odd how none of them actually put up a fight to explain themselves to the police investigator; they said that they would all choose to remain silent about what happened.
The following day, me and five other victims of HM Bus Liner #258 highway robbery incident went back to the Makati Central Police Station to file our formal complaint against the 3 bus liner employees. As of this writing and to my knowledge, the three said bus employees are currently detained in Makati City.
I know I haven’t written in this blog for a long long time, but I badly needed an outlet. And though I try to block off the incident, it’s just a given that people will constantly ask me what happened and I have to relive the ordeal all over again as I narrate the details.
I am not fully traumatized by what happened to me, I mean, what happened won’t prevent me from ever taking the bus or listening to music while I commute. But I think what’s eating me right now is how my head is still filled up to this point by all the “what if’s”, all the “could have’s” and “should have’s” of the incident. The entire scenario keeps playing over and over in my head and I can’t help but consider the many outcomes of the ordeal have we tried to stop the robbery. I think it’s the feeling of helplessness right now that is really bothering me. I was screaming inside while I was inside the bus listening to the armed man as he went on blaming the president for his actions. It infuriated me that I almost wanted to talk back, but of course you don’t debate politics with brainless thugs, especially armed ones.
Cathy fetched me at the police station in Makati, she immediately kissed me when she saw me and asked for the nth time if if I've been hurt. It was almost 9pm and I just realized that I have had absolutely nothing in me but my morning coffee. We had dinner at Glorietta before going home. When Frances, my five year old daughter found out what happened to me, she sadly climbed up my lap, gave me a big tight hug and patted my back. She offered to open up her piggy bank so that I can buy back the stuff I lost and promised to tuck me in before I sleep.
Fortunately, there are far more priceless things in my life people can never steal away from me.
November 04, 2006
The New Look Is the Old Look
I finally got a haircut.
Yes. After nearly four long years of enduring lectures on “how not to look like a hippie” from relatives during family reunions, dealing with the expense of having ample supply of hair care products, and being stereotyped as an artist-slash-rock star wannabe (which actually I will plead guilty to), I have decided to finally bid my hideously long curly locks farewell.
Actually, the decision to have them cut was made for me by the account I manage at work. I have an on going bet with my team that if they hit or exceed our contractual targets at any month end, I will head off to the barber and restore the old look I had when I first marched in as an applicant in the company.
It’s not so much of a surprise for people who have known me longer than four years, but for those who have only known the long haired me, I would have to admit I do get a kick out of seeing the shocked look on their faces when they are finally able to place and update my image headshot inside their heads.
Mostly people are quite astonished to see me clean cut tidy and formal. But unknown to most people, the new look I am sporting is actually a comeback.
To be quite honest about it, having long hair and the clothes that I usually wear to accompany it is actually totally out of character for me, especially considering my mom’s side of the family, the up bringing that I had, and that (hmm, how should I call it) “isolated phase” in my life.
The one trivia about me that never fails to leave some friends and acquaintances at work dumbstruck is the fact that I used to be a seminarian before entering a secular college. For some reason the idea that I have studied in a seminary for two years with the initial intention of becoming a pastor totally screws up their concepts of good and evil.
But like I mentioned, it’s not as surprising if you consider my roots. My mom’s side of the family is Protestant and extremely conservative. I was told that my grandfather from my mom’s side was at one time a pastor for a church. My dad on the other hand used to be a board member for a local congregation where I sometimes do lectures on basic Christian Ed.
To further mess with your heads, yes I actually have conducted some lectures in an actual church that was considered to be a real chapel service. The term they used for it was “preach”, but I don’t think I did that. Mine was more of a salvation stand up comedy routine, getting laughs at the pulpit while being ever mindful of the souls I had to reel in. If you’ve ever seen me teach or speak in public, just imagine that only with Bible references.
Modesty aside, I believe that I was actually pretty good at it. I’ve had speaking engagement invites from the church and have actually had at one point a doctor in the congregation come up to me after chapel service to commend me on how “blessed” he was to have attended my “unorthodox sermon method”.
When I left the seminary and went to study Behavioral Science at UST, I was a geek with large framed eye glasses. I maintained 2 x 3 inch haircuts and during break periods I would most often be spotted in the main campus library either studying for next period or scribbling down thoughts on a journal I always carried around. I didn’t hang around with the in-crowd for most parts in college.
But I was into rock music. So when classmates find out that I was in a band that played Jimi Hendrix covers and how at one point I even hosted an underground punk concert, I kind of get the same awestruck reaction I have from the people who still have trouble reconciling the idea that I was an ex-seminarian. Because for some of the people who knew me at that time, I was a stiff, poem writing, goodie goodie two shoe geek in formal leather shoes and eye glasses.
That was until I got involved in environmental activism, where I got into photography, mountaineering and diving. I still maintained short hair, but my taste in fashion totally regressed. But I’ll save that for a different article.
So, point is having had this hair cut and seeing the reaction I generate from it made me realize how I was able to somehow pull off playing both sides. Also, it made me realize that though I may not have a really cool life as compared to others, so far in my own standards, it’s been an interesting one.
Though nothing beats the convenience of not having to deal with maintaining long hair, I would have to be honest that I miss it sometimes. Due to the four years of conditioning I had dealing with long hair; it still takes me a while to recognize the stranger staring back at me when I look in the mirror. At one point I even had to get reacquainted with my own shadow. But I’m starting to get used to it and I’ll think I’ll maintain sporting the short hair for a while. My wife and daughter couldn’t be happier about my new-old look. And besides, I think I’ve had my fun.
Yes. After nearly four long years of enduring lectures on “how not to look like a hippie” from relatives during family reunions, dealing with the expense of having ample supply of hair care products, and being stereotyped as an artist-slash-rock star wannabe (which actually I will plead guilty to), I have decided to finally bid my hideously long curly locks farewell.
Actually, the decision to have them cut was made for me by the account I manage at work. I have an on going bet with my team that if they hit or exceed our contractual targets at any month end, I will head off to the barber and restore the old look I had when I first marched in as an applicant in the company.
It’s not so much of a surprise for people who have known me longer than four years, but for those who have only known the long haired me, I would have to admit I do get a kick out of seeing the shocked look on their faces when they are finally able to place and update my image headshot inside their heads.
Mostly people are quite astonished to see me clean cut tidy and formal. But unknown to most people, the new look I am sporting is actually a comeback.
To be quite honest about it, having long hair and the clothes that I usually wear to accompany it is actually totally out of character for me, especially considering my mom’s side of the family, the up bringing that I had, and that (hmm, how should I call it) “isolated phase” in my life.
The one trivia about me that never fails to leave some friends and acquaintances at work dumbstruck is the fact that I used to be a seminarian before entering a secular college. For some reason the idea that I have studied in a seminary for two years with the initial intention of becoming a pastor totally screws up their concepts of good and evil.
But like I mentioned, it’s not as surprising if you consider my roots. My mom’s side of the family is Protestant and extremely conservative. I was told that my grandfather from my mom’s side was at one time a pastor for a church. My dad on the other hand used to be a board member for a local congregation where I sometimes do lectures on basic Christian Ed.
To further mess with your heads, yes I actually have conducted some lectures in an actual church that was considered to be a real chapel service. The term they used for it was “preach”, but I don’t think I did that. Mine was more of a salvation stand up comedy routine, getting laughs at the pulpit while being ever mindful of the souls I had to reel in. If you’ve ever seen me teach or speak in public, just imagine that only with Bible references.
Modesty aside, I believe that I was actually pretty good at it. I’ve had speaking engagement invites from the church and have actually had at one point a doctor in the congregation come up to me after chapel service to commend me on how “blessed” he was to have attended my “unorthodox sermon method”.
When I left the seminary and went to study Behavioral Science at UST, I was a geek with large framed eye glasses. I maintained 2 x 3 inch haircuts and during break periods I would most often be spotted in the main campus library either studying for next period or scribbling down thoughts on a journal I always carried around. I didn’t hang around with the in-crowd for most parts in college.
But I was into rock music. So when classmates find out that I was in a band that played Jimi Hendrix covers and how at one point I even hosted an underground punk concert, I kind of get the same awestruck reaction I have from the people who still have trouble reconciling the idea that I was an ex-seminarian. Because for some of the people who knew me at that time, I was a stiff, poem writing, goodie goodie two shoe geek in formal leather shoes and eye glasses.
That was until I got involved in environmental activism, where I got into photography, mountaineering and diving. I still maintained short hair, but my taste in fashion totally regressed. But I’ll save that for a different article.
So, point is having had this hair cut and seeing the reaction I generate from it made me realize how I was able to somehow pull off playing both sides. Also, it made me realize that though I may not have a really cool life as compared to others, so far in my own standards, it’s been an interesting one.
Though nothing beats the convenience of not having to deal with maintaining long hair, I would have to be honest that I miss it sometimes. Due to the four years of conditioning I had dealing with long hair; it still takes me a while to recognize the stranger staring back at me when I look in the mirror. At one point I even had to get reacquainted with my own shadow. But I’m starting to get used to it and I’ll think I’ll maintain sporting the short hair for a while. My wife and daughter couldn’t be happier about my new-old look. And besides, I think I’ve had my fun.
September 06, 2006
Haring Ulan’s Princess Goes to School
Last June of this year, Cathy and I decided to send our three year old daughter Frances to Pre-Nursery school. It actually took me a while to really process that, mainly because I come from a family (and I suppose a generation) where in most cases you don’t send a kid to school until they are either five years old or at the very least, completely potty trained.
I suppose it’s a normal parent reaction thing to feel a little overwhelmed at how young kids start schooling these days. I suppose if you ask parents of my generation how old were they when they were sent to pre-nursery they would most probably say they skipped all that by going straight to grade one, and without warning immediately go on a two hour discourse on how they had to walk to school wearing old sandals, how they got whipped with a yard stick by their teachers if they didn’t do their homework, how they had banana leaves for notebooks, and how times were so hard they had to cunningly hunt and cook their own food during recess.
But of course it’s great investment and I am honestly amazed to realize how obsolete my concepts are for kindergarten learning. For instance, I was surprised at how Frances came home during her first week of schooling already knowing the letter “H”. I wasn’t amazed that she knew the letter, but I was curious to know why they didn’t begin with the letter “A” like I did back then.
I had a talk with Frances’ teacher and as it turned out, it’s a learning process called “Webbing”. Preschool teachers teach interrelated topics in one session. For instance, if the letter for the day is “E”, they teach about stuff starting with the same letter, body parts of the same letter and activities starting with the same letter. And since letters aren’t sequences like numbers, it’s ok to teach them not in the old school alphabetical order.
It made sense. It also explained why during the same week my daughter was learning the letter “H”, she randomly told me I had “Horrible Hair”. It was the last time I questioned the system.
My best friend, Dr. Romulo Babasa III, a great Filipino, asked how much the tuition fee was for preschool, he was surprised to learn how it was almost what he was paying back then for a semester in med school. I mean I know it’s expensive, actually it’s only the beginning of a long journey for Cathy and I as far as expense is concerned. But it’s also precious time, and I don’t mean just the investment on your child’s education. Frances is a smart kid and her learning more stuff in school is already a given. It’s the priceless moments that you really have to be there for.
The other time I went on leave for work to be able to accompany Frances on her first field trip. At first I thought it was a really bad idea to sit in for my wife. I had a really long day at work the day before the field trip and didn’t get much sleep. I thought I could get some rest during the bus ride to the Gardenia Bread Factory, but aside from it being only a quick 20 minutes away, it was close to impossible having any moment of silence with a bus half filled with hyper active screaming three year olds. But as it turned out, it was a great Dad and Daughter day. I got to spend some real quality time with Frances, I now have a better appreciation for the brand of bread on my breakfast table, and thanks to teenaged pregnancy, some of the mom’s in the field trip were actually quite hot, hehehe.
Another priceless moment was when Frances took the stage during their “Lingo ng Wika” (National Language Awareness Week in schools. Yeah, I know, we have one. It’s like the week of the Manila Film Festival, only with the Lingo ng Wika, there is still a chance you might appreciate the temporary banning of speaking in a foreign language). Frances did a dance number with her classmates dancing an 80s Filipino song titled “Bongga Ka Day”. How she danced on stage without any hint of stage fright was so cute beyond words!
Then the other month, they had their United Nations celebration and Frances represented Hawaii, which I suppose was a nation at one point before it became part of the United States. Anyway, she looked extremely adorable in her pink hula outfit. But was really made me proud was that she was chosen to represent her class and lead the Philippine National Anthem at the start of the program. My in laws were so proud seeing their granddaughter’s name printed on the programs. She was totally off beat when she was conducting the anthem, but she’s three years old and all she had to really do was stand there in front of everybody on stage and look adorable, which she did perfectly!
These are the moments you simply cannot miss! And I am sure there are prouder days to come. Cathy and I will be ready for it!
I suppose it’s a normal parent reaction thing to feel a little overwhelmed at how young kids start schooling these days. I suppose if you ask parents of my generation how old were they when they were sent to pre-nursery they would most probably say they skipped all that by going straight to grade one, and without warning immediately go on a two hour discourse on how they had to walk to school wearing old sandals, how they got whipped with a yard stick by their teachers if they didn’t do their homework, how they had banana leaves for notebooks, and how times were so hard they had to cunningly hunt and cook their own food during recess.
But of course it’s great investment and I am honestly amazed to realize how obsolete my concepts are for kindergarten learning. For instance, I was surprised at how Frances came home during her first week of schooling already knowing the letter “H”. I wasn’t amazed that she knew the letter, but I was curious to know why they didn’t begin with the letter “A” like I did back then.
I had a talk with Frances’ teacher and as it turned out, it’s a learning process called “Webbing”. Preschool teachers teach interrelated topics in one session. For instance, if the letter for the day is “E”, they teach about stuff starting with the same letter, body parts of the same letter and activities starting with the same letter. And since letters aren’t sequences like numbers, it’s ok to teach them not in the old school alphabetical order.
It made sense. It also explained why during the same week my daughter was learning the letter “H”, she randomly told me I had “Horrible Hair”. It was the last time I questioned the system.
My best friend, Dr. Romulo Babasa III, a great Filipino, asked how much the tuition fee was for preschool, he was surprised to learn how it was almost what he was paying back then for a semester in med school. I mean I know it’s expensive, actually it’s only the beginning of a long journey for Cathy and I as far as expense is concerned. But it’s also precious time, and I don’t mean just the investment on your child’s education. Frances is a smart kid and her learning more stuff in school is already a given. It’s the priceless moments that you really have to be there for.
The other time I went on leave for work to be able to accompany Frances on her first field trip. At first I thought it was a really bad idea to sit in for my wife. I had a really long day at work the day before the field trip and didn’t get much sleep. I thought I could get some rest during the bus ride to the Gardenia Bread Factory, but aside from it being only a quick 20 minutes away, it was close to impossible having any moment of silence with a bus half filled with hyper active screaming three year olds. But as it turned out, it was a great Dad and Daughter day. I got to spend some real quality time with Frances, I now have a better appreciation for the brand of bread on my breakfast table, and thanks to teenaged pregnancy, some of the mom’s in the field trip were actually quite hot, hehehe.
Another priceless moment was when Frances took the stage during their “Lingo ng Wika” (National Language Awareness Week in schools. Yeah, I know, we have one. It’s like the week of the Manila Film Festival, only with the Lingo ng Wika, there is still a chance you might appreciate the temporary banning of speaking in a foreign language). Frances did a dance number with her classmates dancing an 80s Filipino song titled “Bongga Ka Day”. How she danced on stage without any hint of stage fright was so cute beyond words!
Then the other month, they had their United Nations celebration and Frances represented Hawaii, which I suppose was a nation at one point before it became part of the United States. Anyway, she looked extremely adorable in her pink hula outfit. But was really made me proud was that she was chosen to represent her class and lead the Philippine National Anthem at the start of the program. My in laws were so proud seeing their granddaughter’s name printed on the programs. She was totally off beat when she was conducting the anthem, but she’s three years old and all she had to really do was stand there in front of everybody on stage and look adorable, which she did perfectly!
These are the moments you simply cannot miss! And I am sure there are prouder days to come. Cathy and I will be ready for it!
July 27, 2006
I Pod, Therefore I Am
I got a really cool gift the other week. My best friend, Dr. Romulo Babasa III, a great Filipino, got me an iPod Shuffle as part of what I would now be referring to as his Random Acts of Kindness Program. He said it was a “thank you” present for the wedding website I made for him, but that’s a lie because I already got paid in chips and cheese dips for that deal.
I would have to confess that I really do love the little gadget and actually did realize that I was partially in denial when I said that I didn’t need an mp3 player. I love how I can now instantly block off hearing stupid conversation from passengers inside the bus when I ride home. And on top of that, the iPod plays music too.
Honestly, on my own I would never have bought an mp3 player, mainly because apart from it being expensive, I already own an old disk man that I bought with my very first salary. But heck, let’s face it, these days walking around with a disk man is more or less the 80s equivalent of carrying around a large gray stereo cassette player on your shoulder with that song that goes “Won’t You Take Me to Funky Town” playing loudly in the background.
Actually, I think when everyone else started listening to music on CDs, I was still one of those people who still stacked cassette tape albums. My first CD player was actually my first computer that had a CD ROM drive. So when I finally got my own diskman, I loved how I could carry around my CDs and listen to them while in transit. I would bring my favorite albums with me in my bag, bring extra batteries, and just enjoy the ride. With mp3 players I know that sounds silly now, but back then to me it was like magic.
I suppose I am the kind of guy that would hold on to outdated gadgets mainly because they still serve the specific purpose I bought them for. It was part of the “if it ain’t broke, then use it” up bringing I had with my parents (a rule that unfortunately applied even to school pants. In my fifth grade, I had outgrown my old school pants so much that people think for the entire school year I was doing Michael Jackson impersonations).
My family just wasn’t into new technology. Back then, when I wanted to rent movies, it wasn’t an issue of whether the video shop had the title I wanted, it was more of whether they still had it in the format I needed. Sony wasn’t kidding when they named that unit “Super Betamax”. I think we had that thing until the shops totally rented everything in VHS or VCDs, and young video store clerks started saying, “What in god’s name is a betamax tape!?!”
That’s where my “if it still gets the job done, why not” attitude. In spite the teasing I get sometimes, I still take calls on my old and outdated mobile phone. I actually push it and toy with people when I sometimes pretend I take pictures with my Nokia 3315. I already own an old 2 mega pixel digital camera, and like how people dig the artsy fartsy pictures I took using it. So I don’t need a fusion of the two units in one. I know it can be fun sometimes, but personally, I think installing a camera on a phone is in the same category as an electric toothbrush or solar panels on a flashlight.
I’m not resisting technology, I mean, how could you when they force you to upgrade sometimes by discontinuing product support or compatibility. In fact, I am constantly being amazed at how things keep on getting smaller and better. But when it starts becoming a fad is when I start to snicker at how marketing has once again triumphed over the average consumer.
But this new toy I have, my 1 gigabyte iPod Shuffle, I love it to bits! Some people might think I sold out, but I don’t mind the fact that if you walk around malls, you can actually count how many people have earplugs on listening to their own iPods. I figured it’s still way better than its 80’s equivalent.
But then again that isn’t always the case.
The other day while I was ridding the bus home, I saw another dude who had his iPod on and was bobbing his head in beat to the rap music he was listening to. I know its rap because every once in a while, he would suddenly start rapping out lines in this horrible Visayan meets “The Hood” accent. There is something about Ebonics and Asians that just doesn’t sit right with me.
I know how some people can really get carried away when listening to their favorite music. And I know how listening to music via earphones has the tendency to trick the mind into thinking that everybody else around you is drowned in the same amount of decibels as you are. For instance, how many times have you seen idiots in record stores previewing CDs in headphones singing along loudly to albums?
But what fascinates me is that it doesn’t take a lot of brain power to override that, does it? Before you put the headphones on, you actually have a simple choice between quietly enjoying your music and looking like a totally annoying jackass in public.
Anyway, the dude in the bus continued to rap out loud that an irritated elderly passenger about a few seats away literally walked towards him and told him to put a sock into it. I couldn’t hear what the rapper dude’s response was from where I was sitting, but I could almost imagine it was something like, “Yo Pops! You’ve gotta talk louder y’all! I can’t hear you! I’ve gots my iPod on!”
I would have to confess that I really do love the little gadget and actually did realize that I was partially in denial when I said that I didn’t need an mp3 player. I love how I can now instantly block off hearing stupid conversation from passengers inside the bus when I ride home. And on top of that, the iPod plays music too.
Honestly, on my own I would never have bought an mp3 player, mainly because apart from it being expensive, I already own an old disk man that I bought with my very first salary. But heck, let’s face it, these days walking around with a disk man is more or less the 80s equivalent of carrying around a large gray stereo cassette player on your shoulder with that song that goes “Won’t You Take Me to Funky Town” playing loudly in the background.
Actually, I think when everyone else started listening to music on CDs, I was still one of those people who still stacked cassette tape albums. My first CD player was actually my first computer that had a CD ROM drive. So when I finally got my own diskman, I loved how I could carry around my CDs and listen to them while in transit. I would bring my favorite albums with me in my bag, bring extra batteries, and just enjoy the ride. With mp3 players I know that sounds silly now, but back then to me it was like magic.
I suppose I am the kind of guy that would hold on to outdated gadgets mainly because they still serve the specific purpose I bought them for. It was part of the “if it ain’t broke, then use it” up bringing I had with my parents (a rule that unfortunately applied even to school pants. In my fifth grade, I had outgrown my old school pants so much that people think for the entire school year I was doing Michael Jackson impersonations).
My family just wasn’t into new technology. Back then, when I wanted to rent movies, it wasn’t an issue of whether the video shop had the title I wanted, it was more of whether they still had it in the format I needed. Sony wasn’t kidding when they named that unit “Super Betamax”. I think we had that thing until the shops totally rented everything in VHS or VCDs, and young video store clerks started saying, “What in god’s name is a betamax tape!?!”
That’s where my “if it still gets the job done, why not” attitude. In spite the teasing I get sometimes, I still take calls on my old and outdated mobile phone. I actually push it and toy with people when I sometimes pretend I take pictures with my Nokia 3315. I already own an old 2 mega pixel digital camera, and like how people dig the artsy fartsy pictures I took using it. So I don’t need a fusion of the two units in one. I know it can be fun sometimes, but personally, I think installing a camera on a phone is in the same category as an electric toothbrush or solar panels on a flashlight.
I’m not resisting technology, I mean, how could you when they force you to upgrade sometimes by discontinuing product support or compatibility. In fact, I am constantly being amazed at how things keep on getting smaller and better. But when it starts becoming a fad is when I start to snicker at how marketing has once again triumphed over the average consumer.
But this new toy I have, my 1 gigabyte iPod Shuffle, I love it to bits! Some people might think I sold out, but I don’t mind the fact that if you walk around malls, you can actually count how many people have earplugs on listening to their own iPods. I figured it’s still way better than its 80’s equivalent.
But then again that isn’t always the case.
The other day while I was ridding the bus home, I saw another dude who had his iPod on and was bobbing his head in beat to the rap music he was listening to. I know its rap because every once in a while, he would suddenly start rapping out lines in this horrible Visayan meets “The Hood” accent. There is something about Ebonics and Asians that just doesn’t sit right with me.
I know how some people can really get carried away when listening to their favorite music. And I know how listening to music via earphones has the tendency to trick the mind into thinking that everybody else around you is drowned in the same amount of decibels as you are. For instance, how many times have you seen idiots in record stores previewing CDs in headphones singing along loudly to albums?
But what fascinates me is that it doesn’t take a lot of brain power to override that, does it? Before you put the headphones on, you actually have a simple choice between quietly enjoying your music and looking like a totally annoying jackass in public.
Anyway, the dude in the bus continued to rap out loud that an irritated elderly passenger about a few seats away literally walked towards him and told him to put a sock into it. I couldn’t hear what the rapper dude’s response was from where I was sitting, but I could almost imagine it was something like, “Yo Pops! You’ve gotta talk louder y’all! I can’t hear you! I’ve gots my iPod on!”
April 22, 2006
Pervert Alert
The other day I was in the mall having lunch when I spotted a group of teenaged boys strolling around the food court trying to settle on a place to eat.
They were your regular casually dressed punk assed college boys, nothing really that stands out except for the t-shirts that I noticed most of them were wearing. They were different shades of colors but had basically the same design: human figure symbols of a man and a woman, you know, the kind you see in rest room doors. Only these ones were having sex. Each of the three shirts I saw was showing different kinds of sexual positions.
Sexually suggestive t-shirt designs of course are nothing new. I’ve seen milder version of these shirts years ago. I’ve seen a pretty young lady in a mall once wearing a cute pink pre-shrunk shirt with the words “Porn Star” printed on its front. I also remember seeing a dude wearing a shirt with the words “Sex Instructor”. Raunchier versions were those “Boner” shirts that somehow became popular years ago. It was like a chart of sexual positions being modeled by cartoon drawings of two skeletons, hence “boners”. They were usually printed on black shirts, and most of the time I only get to see them being worn by punk assed kids attending rock concert.
It’s not surprising to see teenaged boys or even girls wear them in malls, I actually know of stores inside malls that sell these kinds of shirts. But I suppose what I find interesting is how it has now become socially acceptable to publicly advertise that you are a pervert.
Ok, clarification. Those of you who know me personally will attest that I am no moral activist. By nature, I am not the type of person to be easily offended by these things. In fact, I most probably fall somewhere along the upper-middle echelon of the pervert hierarchy. But man, you don’t see me walking around in public wearing a shirt that shows human figure symbols of a woman giving a man fellatio with a sign beside the kneeling woman that says, “You are here”.
What if heaven forbid an innocent three year old little girl notices these shirts and starts asking their parents questions like, “Daddy, why is there a drawing of a woman sitting on a man printed on that guy’s shirt?”. It’s bad enough that parents have to shield their sons and daughters from the vulgarity being shown on television daily, but now they have to deal with people who shamelessly flaunt their crude taste in humor in public.
Honestly, I don’t care if people actually wear these shirts. I think it’s a good thing that we can now easily single out the perverts in a crowd just by looking at their taste in fashion. It makes it easy for girls too to avoid these jerks, because if it hasn’t occurred to you people yet, no self respecting girl would want to be seen in public with a shameless creep that wears a shirt that reads, “I taught your girlfriend that thing you like”.
I don’t care if people wear them really. Wear your pervert shirts during your porn shoot, adult film industry convention or whatever, but remember that I just don’t want it seen in places where I bring my daughter to!
Ok, I still have some space left. Let’s talk about teenaged girls fashion next. The thing that truly fascinates me about girls who wear skimpy clothes is how in spite the absolute knowledge that they will be stared at, they still insist on trying to squeeze their bodies inside tiny tops and mini skirts. Why is that?
And you know what else drives me nuts about some women? Those who wear slutty clothes in inappropriate venues. And then there are those who wear them commuting in public utility jeeps on their way there. I once saw a girl who boarded a jeepney wearing a really short skirt. She probably noticed how most of the drooling guys inside the jeep where staring so much that it’s starting to burn holes through her denim that she took out her handkerchief, unfolded it and spread it on top her exposed legs.
Times have truly changed, and I’m not even that old yet. Back in my teenaged days, if you see your high school classmate wearing a spaghetti strapped top and jeans with the waist cut so low you could see their lacey t-back undies, that girl might as well have a scarlet letter “A” sewn on her dress. But now it’s just considered casual clothing.
I think if the children’s story “The Emperor’s New Clothes” were re-written today and that the dress was actually designed not for the Emperor but rather for the Emperor’s daughter I’m pretty sure the Emperor would say, “Hey hold on one minute here, what sort of fabric is that dress made of? I can hardly see the damn thing! You can’t wear that to the royal parade!” The Emperor’s daughter would probably argue, “Daddy!!! Are you kidding? It’s perfect!!!” While the Emperor’s son would probably say something like, “Yeah, it looks good alright. But I think it needs a drawing of a man and a woman making out.”
They were your regular casually dressed punk assed college boys, nothing really that stands out except for the t-shirts that I noticed most of them were wearing. They were different shades of colors but had basically the same design: human figure symbols of a man and a woman, you know, the kind you see in rest room doors. Only these ones were having sex. Each of the three shirts I saw was showing different kinds of sexual positions.
Sexually suggestive t-shirt designs of course are nothing new. I’ve seen milder version of these shirts years ago. I’ve seen a pretty young lady in a mall once wearing a cute pink pre-shrunk shirt with the words “Porn Star” printed on its front. I also remember seeing a dude wearing a shirt with the words “Sex Instructor”. Raunchier versions were those “Boner” shirts that somehow became popular years ago. It was like a chart of sexual positions being modeled by cartoon drawings of two skeletons, hence “boners”. They were usually printed on black shirts, and most of the time I only get to see them being worn by punk assed kids attending rock concert.
It’s not surprising to see teenaged boys or even girls wear them in malls, I actually know of stores inside malls that sell these kinds of shirts. But I suppose what I find interesting is how it has now become socially acceptable to publicly advertise that you are a pervert.
Ok, clarification. Those of you who know me personally will attest that I am no moral activist. By nature, I am not the type of person to be easily offended by these things. In fact, I most probably fall somewhere along the upper-middle echelon of the pervert hierarchy. But man, you don’t see me walking around in public wearing a shirt that shows human figure symbols of a woman giving a man fellatio with a sign beside the kneeling woman that says, “You are here”.
What if heaven forbid an innocent three year old little girl notices these shirts and starts asking their parents questions like, “Daddy, why is there a drawing of a woman sitting on a man printed on that guy’s shirt?”. It’s bad enough that parents have to shield their sons and daughters from the vulgarity being shown on television daily, but now they have to deal with people who shamelessly flaunt their crude taste in humor in public.
Honestly, I don’t care if people actually wear these shirts. I think it’s a good thing that we can now easily single out the perverts in a crowd just by looking at their taste in fashion. It makes it easy for girls too to avoid these jerks, because if it hasn’t occurred to you people yet, no self respecting girl would want to be seen in public with a shameless creep that wears a shirt that reads, “I taught your girlfriend that thing you like”.
I don’t care if people wear them really. Wear your pervert shirts during your porn shoot, adult film industry convention or whatever, but remember that I just don’t want it seen in places where I bring my daughter to!
Ok, I still have some space left. Let’s talk about teenaged girls fashion next. The thing that truly fascinates me about girls who wear skimpy clothes is how in spite the absolute knowledge that they will be stared at, they still insist on trying to squeeze their bodies inside tiny tops and mini skirts. Why is that?
And you know what else drives me nuts about some women? Those who wear slutty clothes in inappropriate venues. And then there are those who wear them commuting in public utility jeeps on their way there. I once saw a girl who boarded a jeepney wearing a really short skirt. She probably noticed how most of the drooling guys inside the jeep where staring so much that it’s starting to burn holes through her denim that she took out her handkerchief, unfolded it and spread it on top her exposed legs.
Times have truly changed, and I’m not even that old yet. Back in my teenaged days, if you see your high school classmate wearing a spaghetti strapped top and jeans with the waist cut so low you could see their lacey t-back undies, that girl might as well have a scarlet letter “A” sewn on her dress. But now it’s just considered casual clothing.
I think if the children’s story “The Emperor’s New Clothes” were re-written today and that the dress was actually designed not for the Emperor but rather for the Emperor’s daughter I’m pretty sure the Emperor would say, “Hey hold on one minute here, what sort of fabric is that dress made of? I can hardly see the damn thing! You can’t wear that to the royal parade!” The Emperor’s daughter would probably argue, “Daddy!!! Are you kidding? It’s perfect!!!” While the Emperor’s son would probably say something like, “Yeah, it looks good alright. But I think it needs a drawing of a man and a woman making out.”
March 14, 2006
It's Not a Toy Mom! It's a Collectible!
My best friend collects toys.
Ok, maybe I should try that again. My 30 year old best friend, who is an Emergency Medicine Consultant at the Emergency Department of St. Luke's Medical Center collects toys. Not only that, he collects tons of comics, action figures and almost everything that has the words "Star Trek" either printed or embossed on it. He has quite a hefty collection that if someone were to raid his room, the last thing that person would assume is that a 30 year old medical doctor actually sleeps there.
I visited him last weekend and noticed a few of his latest acquisitions proudly displayed on his shelves. I saw three Batmobile replicas (still inside their boxes), a few Batman action figures (again, never taken out of their original boxes), three volumes of Star Trek DVDs, each of which contains no less than 48 disks, and of course collector's item edition comic books all carefully wrapped in plastic covers.
Being a regular resident of reality, I have in fact never stepped inside the USS Enterprise nor have I ever been to Gotham City, so I did what every best friend would do (or might do), that is of course to brazenly make a mockery of his expensive toy collections.
It's cruel I know, but I couldn't help it. I mean you might think; who would want to purchase an action figure of Batman shown in his late 50's (I know. Believe me, there actually is one. Batman apparently went back to active duty doing hero work even after he started getting his retirement pension)? Wouldn't Batman worry more about fighting high cholesterol than bad guys at that age? Or does he set an alert somewhere on his utility belt that notifies him when his blood pressure shoots up and he should take his Batpills? I swear, if the toy company that manufactures these Batman action figures one day comes up with a limited edition Batman in his Bat-Pajamas, my best friend would most probably be first in line to place advance orders. And it wouldn't be hard to imagine how he'd probably justify his purchase saying something like its rare or how cool it is to see the dark knight presented so vulnerably is in his sleep wear.
"Damn dude, you are one case study you know that. What's this, a mobile phone?" I asked pointing to the tiny toy cell phone accessory obviously belonging to one of his Star Trek action figure on display.
"You don't know anything! That's not a cellphone! That's a communicator!" I figured it was also a choking hazard, but aside from him being a doctor, the last thing a person who purchases a Star Trek doll would do is to actually let a child play with it.
"It's a disease man. You need help; you are the only person I know who does this."
"It's not a disease! There are others like me you know. There are a lot of people who collect these things."
"Oh yeah..." I said. "There's that character in the movie The 40 Year Old Virgin. Oh and of course, TV Geek! Hehehe!"
But true enough he did show me a website forum, where others like him have more or less the same collective size of Batman and Star Trek paraphernalia (it's actually where I got the really funny title for this post, which I hope his playmates don't mind me using it).
Though contrary to the nerd stereotype, he doesn't wear thick black framed eye glasses, he doesn't own a pet snake and/or tarantula, and he is getting married this year. It's the reason why I paid him a visit. Aside from being the best man in his wedding, I am also his online wedding registration webmaster. I was supposed to update the content of his website, but because of the lack of actual stuff to update it with, I ended up doing comedy routines on his toys, which quite frankly was all too easy.
But what really fascinates me about his disease-like obsession is the amount of heart he actually has for it. I've seen him build his collections as far back as high school and to this day he still carries with him that same amount of dedication he has for completing his ultimate Batman and Star Trek stockpile. Every time I would poke fun at one of his toys he would be quick to reference some book in his library or some interesting trivia as to why it's actually cool to own an action figure of Grand Pa Batman in his late 50's. It's a fiery passion not even my class act ridiculing could douse.
Considering the levels of obsession are still within the realms of what society considers to be harmless and what medical science would still consider as healthy, I do believe it's good for a person to be fixated on collecting things. It's good to have things with you that you can either relate to or simply appreciate. Have a low hanging fruit that you can easily reach for and immediately enjoy, while you are gearing towards climbing for the ones that are on top.
I was watching the film "Adaptation" and the character in the story mentioned how at one point in his life he was obsessed with collecting tropical fish. He went as far as skin diving just to get the right ones for his collection. He owned about 60 tanks in his house. Because for him, fish was the only thing that made sense in this fucked up world.
I guess in the midst of all the chaos and complexities that plagues us daily, we do need something that's easy to understand and appreciate in life. Perhaps the need to devote a significant part of our lives to the pursuit of collecting things not only helps us remain sane but also makes our individual journeys all worth while.
As for myself, I collect blues albums and I'm beginning to justify the need to own more than 2 vintage model guitars. I'm married and all right now, but if I weren't, I bet saying "Hey baby, wanna head over to my place and check out my guitar and record collection" would sound a whole lot better than, "Hey I've got a really neat idea! Maybe after you're done with your drink, you and I can go to my room and I can show you my collection of rare Batman dolls! Well? What do you say?!? Hey wait! NO! Arghhh! Crap... I hate pepper sprays!"
Ok, maybe I should try that again. My 30 year old best friend, who is an Emergency Medicine Consultant at the Emergency Department of St. Luke's Medical Center collects toys. Not only that, he collects tons of comics, action figures and almost everything that has the words "Star Trek" either printed or embossed on it. He has quite a hefty collection that if someone were to raid his room, the last thing that person would assume is that a 30 year old medical doctor actually sleeps there.
I visited him last weekend and noticed a few of his latest acquisitions proudly displayed on his shelves. I saw three Batmobile replicas (still inside their boxes), a few Batman action figures (again, never taken out of their original boxes), three volumes of Star Trek DVDs, each of which contains no less than 48 disks, and of course collector's item edition comic books all carefully wrapped in plastic covers.
Being a regular resident of reality, I have in fact never stepped inside the USS Enterprise nor have I ever been to Gotham City, so I did what every best friend would do (or might do), that is of course to brazenly make a mockery of his expensive toy collections.
It's cruel I know, but I couldn't help it. I mean you might think; who would want to purchase an action figure of Batman shown in his late 50's (I know. Believe me, there actually is one. Batman apparently went back to active duty doing hero work even after he started getting his retirement pension)? Wouldn't Batman worry more about fighting high cholesterol than bad guys at that age? Or does he set an alert somewhere on his utility belt that notifies him when his blood pressure shoots up and he should take his Batpills? I swear, if the toy company that manufactures these Batman action figures one day comes up with a limited edition Batman in his Bat-Pajamas, my best friend would most probably be first in line to place advance orders. And it wouldn't be hard to imagine how he'd probably justify his purchase saying something like its rare or how cool it is to see the dark knight presented so vulnerably is in his sleep wear.
"Damn dude, you are one case study you know that. What's this, a mobile phone?" I asked pointing to the tiny toy cell phone accessory obviously belonging to one of his Star Trek action figure on display.
"You don't know anything! That's not a cellphone! That's a communicator!" I figured it was also a choking hazard, but aside from him being a doctor, the last thing a person who purchases a Star Trek doll would do is to actually let a child play with it.
"It's a disease man. You need help; you are the only person I know who does this."
"It's not a disease! There are others like me you know. There are a lot of people who collect these things."
"Oh yeah..." I said. "There's that character in the movie The 40 Year Old Virgin. Oh and of course, TV Geek! Hehehe!"
But true enough he did show me a website forum, where others like him have more or less the same collective size of Batman and Star Trek paraphernalia (it's actually where I got the really funny title for this post, which I hope his playmates don't mind me using it).
Though contrary to the nerd stereotype, he doesn't wear thick black framed eye glasses, he doesn't own a pet snake and/or tarantula, and he is getting married this year. It's the reason why I paid him a visit. Aside from being the best man in his wedding, I am also his online wedding registration webmaster. I was supposed to update the content of his website, but because of the lack of actual stuff to update it with, I ended up doing comedy routines on his toys, which quite frankly was all too easy.
But what really fascinates me about his disease-like obsession is the amount of heart he actually has for it. I've seen him build his collections as far back as high school and to this day he still carries with him that same amount of dedication he has for completing his ultimate Batman and Star Trek stockpile. Every time I would poke fun at one of his toys he would be quick to reference some book in his library or some interesting trivia as to why it's actually cool to own an action figure of Grand Pa Batman in his late 50's. It's a fiery passion not even my class act ridiculing could douse.
Considering the levels of obsession are still within the realms of what society considers to be harmless and what medical science would still consider as healthy, I do believe it's good for a person to be fixated on collecting things. It's good to have things with you that you can either relate to or simply appreciate. Have a low hanging fruit that you can easily reach for and immediately enjoy, while you are gearing towards climbing for the ones that are on top.
I was watching the film "Adaptation" and the character in the story mentioned how at one point in his life he was obsessed with collecting tropical fish. He went as far as skin diving just to get the right ones for his collection. He owned about 60 tanks in his house. Because for him, fish was the only thing that made sense in this fucked up world.
I guess in the midst of all the chaos and complexities that plagues us daily, we do need something that's easy to understand and appreciate in life. Perhaps the need to devote a significant part of our lives to the pursuit of collecting things not only helps us remain sane but also makes our individual journeys all worth while.
As for myself, I collect blues albums and I'm beginning to justify the need to own more than 2 vintage model guitars. I'm married and all right now, but if I weren't, I bet saying "Hey baby, wanna head over to my place and check out my guitar and record collection" would sound a whole lot better than, "Hey I've got a really neat idea! Maybe after you're done with your drink, you and I can go to my room and I can show you my collection of rare Batman dolls! Well? What do you say?!? Hey wait! NO! Arghhh! Crap... I hate pepper sprays!"
February 17, 2006
Three Little Pigs FAQ for Two Year Olds
Yesterday I wasn't able to go to work because I had this industrial strength headache when I got up in the morning. I spent more hours in the office the day before than I should and didn't get enough sleep when I got home. So I decided to just let my body decompress and spend the day resting.
I felt a little better in the afternoon and figured that I make up and spend the remainder of my day with some quality time with my daughter Frances. She was well behaved all day, just playing in the room watching her videos while I was resting.
It was a nice afternoon and we decided to just go outside by the backyard and play. She was playing under the shades when she sat beside me and asked if I could read her a story.
Because I was too lazy to get one of her books inside the house, I thought I'd just wing it and tell her the story of the "Three Little Pigs", which at that time was the only familiar children's story I could think of. Here's how my impromptu story telling went:
Me: Once upon a time, there were three little pigs who decided to build their own houses... so they went to the forest to---
Frances: They don't have a mommy and a daddy?
Me: Ah, of course they do. But in this story, the mommy and the daddy pig are not around. The three little pigs went to the forest to get some materials to build their---
Frances: Did they go to the office?
Me: Huh? Who?
Frances: The mommy and daddy of the pigs. Did they go to the office to work?
Me: No, they didn't go to the office because pigs don't---, you know what, yes they did. Actually they did go to the office. Ok, do you want to hear what happened next to the little pigs?
Frances: Ok.
Me: So, like I was saying, the three little pigs went to the forest to get the things they need to build their new house. The first pig decided to build his house using straw.
Frances: Like in the soft drinks?
Me: Huh? Ah, no. No, not like in the soft drinks. This is a different kind of straw. Straw is like, dried grass. You see our little kubo there, see the roof? That's kind of like straw. But ok, let's just call it grass.
Frances: Ok.
Me: So the first pig was building his house out of straw---I mean, grass. And the second pig---
Frances: How about a yaya (nanny). Do they have a yaya when their mommy and daddy are in the office?
Me: Frances, they don't have a yaya. How can I tell you the story if you keep asking me questions? Ok, so they don't have a yaya, that's why they have to build their house on their own.
Frances: Why are they building a house? They don't have their own house?
Me: No, they don't have their own house... they are building a new house because of the wolf.
Frances: What's a wolf daddy?
Me: It's like a big dog. Ah, like a monster.
Frances: Like Hell Boy!?!
Me: Ah, no, not like Hell Boy. Forget I said anything about a monster. Anyway, so they were building the house because they wanted to hide from the wolf. The second pig was building a house made of wood. Do you know what wood is?
Frances: Like in the tree?
Me: Yes, very good! Like in the tree. The second pig built his house using wood. The third pig was also building his house and it was made of---
Frances: Why does the wolf want the pigs?
Me: So he can eat the pigs.
Frances: He's hungry? He has no food daddy?
Me: Yes, he doesn't have any food. That's why the pigs are scared of him because he will eat them. That's why they are building houses so that they can hide. Ok, now where was I?
Frances: Here, outside the house.
Me: No, I mean in the story. What part was I telling...
Frances: About the pig!
Me: Yeah, the last pig went to build his house using bricks. It's like stone and rocks. And it was a very strong house! Then one day, the wolf came and was looking for the pigs. The three little pigs all went inside their houses.
Frances: Together?
Me: No, not together baby. They went to each of their houses.
Frances: I'm not a baby anymore! I'm a big girl now!
Me: Of course you are. You want me to continue with the story?
Frances: Yes daddy. Ok.
Me: The first pig went inside his house made of straw, and the wolf---
Frances: Grass!
Me: Right, grass. Sorry. Anyway, the wolf asked him to come out but the little pig didn't want to. So he huffed and he puffed and he blew the house down!
Frances: How?
Me: Umm, like this. (Blowing in Frances' hair while imitating the wolf)
Frances: Hi hi hi!!!
Me: Why are you laughing? That's not funny, the poor pig has no more house. The wolf is going to eat him.
Frances: You ticked my face!
Me: Oh, ok. Anyway, so then the second pig---
Frances: Daddy I don't like this story anymore. I want to go watch "The Incredibles" inside the house in the room.
Me: Frances, that's a great idea! Come on, I'll carry you...
Frances: Where's my milk?
Me: I'll make you your milk when we get inside.
Frances: Where is mommy? Is she coming home now? She's in the office? You call mommy on the phone.
Me: I already texted your mommy, she will be home later.
Frances: No you didn't.
Me: Francesca, I did. Do you want to watch your movie or not? Come on, let's go inside the house.
Frances: Ok... and then we will go get mommy???
I felt a little better in the afternoon and figured that I make up and spend the remainder of my day with some quality time with my daughter Frances. She was well behaved all day, just playing in the room watching her videos while I was resting.
It was a nice afternoon and we decided to just go outside by the backyard and play. She was playing under the shades when she sat beside me and asked if I could read her a story.
Because I was too lazy to get one of her books inside the house, I thought I'd just wing it and tell her the story of the "Three Little Pigs", which at that time was the only familiar children's story I could think of. Here's how my impromptu story telling went:
Me: Once upon a time, there were three little pigs who decided to build their own houses... so they went to the forest to---
Frances: They don't have a mommy and a daddy?
Me: Ah, of course they do. But in this story, the mommy and the daddy pig are not around. The three little pigs went to the forest to get some materials to build their---
Frances: Did they go to the office?
Me: Huh? Who?
Frances: The mommy and daddy of the pigs. Did they go to the office to work?
Me: No, they didn't go to the office because pigs don't---, you know what, yes they did. Actually they did go to the office. Ok, do you want to hear what happened next to the little pigs?
Frances: Ok.
Me: So, like I was saying, the three little pigs went to the forest to get the things they need to build their new house. The first pig decided to build his house using straw.
Frances: Like in the soft drinks?
Me: Huh? Ah, no. No, not like in the soft drinks. This is a different kind of straw. Straw is like, dried grass. You see our little kubo there, see the roof? That's kind of like straw. But ok, let's just call it grass.
Frances: Ok.
Me: So the first pig was building his house out of straw---I mean, grass. And the second pig---
Frances: How about a yaya (nanny). Do they have a yaya when their mommy and daddy are in the office?
Me: Frances, they don't have a yaya. How can I tell you the story if you keep asking me questions? Ok, so they don't have a yaya, that's why they have to build their house on their own.
Frances: Why are they building a house? They don't have their own house?
Me: No, they don't have their own house... they are building a new house because of the wolf.
Frances: What's a wolf daddy?
Me: It's like a big dog. Ah, like a monster.
Frances: Like Hell Boy!?!
Me: Ah, no, not like Hell Boy. Forget I said anything about a monster. Anyway, so they were building the house because they wanted to hide from the wolf. The second pig was building a house made of wood. Do you know what wood is?
Frances: Like in the tree?
Me: Yes, very good! Like in the tree. The second pig built his house using wood. The third pig was also building his house and it was made of---
Frances: Why does the wolf want the pigs?
Me: So he can eat the pigs.
Frances: He's hungry? He has no food daddy?
Me: Yes, he doesn't have any food. That's why the pigs are scared of him because he will eat them. That's why they are building houses so that they can hide. Ok, now where was I?
Frances: Here, outside the house.
Me: No, I mean in the story. What part was I telling...
Frances: About the pig!
Me: Yeah, the last pig went to build his house using bricks. It's like stone and rocks. And it was a very strong house! Then one day, the wolf came and was looking for the pigs. The three little pigs all went inside their houses.
Frances: Together?
Me: No, not together baby. They went to each of their houses.
Frances: I'm not a baby anymore! I'm a big girl now!
Me: Of course you are. You want me to continue with the story?
Frances: Yes daddy. Ok.
Me: The first pig went inside his house made of straw, and the wolf---
Frances: Grass!
Me: Right, grass. Sorry. Anyway, the wolf asked him to come out but the little pig didn't want to. So he huffed and he puffed and he blew the house down!
Frances: How?
Me: Umm, like this. (Blowing in Frances' hair while imitating the wolf)
Frances: Hi hi hi!!!
Me: Why are you laughing? That's not funny, the poor pig has no more house. The wolf is going to eat him.
Frances: You ticked my face!
Me: Oh, ok. Anyway, so then the second pig---
Frances: Daddy I don't like this story anymore. I want to go watch "The Incredibles" inside the house in the room.
Me: Frances, that's a great idea! Come on, I'll carry you...
Frances: Where's my milk?
Me: I'll make you your milk when we get inside.
Frances: Where is mommy? Is she coming home now? She's in the office? You call mommy on the phone.
Me: I already texted your mommy, she will be home later.
Frances: No you didn't.
Me: Francesca, I did. Do you want to watch your movie or not? Come on, let's go inside the house.
Frances: Ok... and then we will go get mommy???
February 10, 2006
Whoa... Woe... We...
I remember a game I once saw during a noontime show where contestants were made to hold huge blocks of ice. The object of the game was simple; whoever could hold the ice the longest without getting frostbite wins a small cash prize.
Because huge blocks of ice don't melt easily in air conditioned television studios, the entire program continued with the hosts periodically checking in on the contestants at the side. The poor contestants with their numbing hands continually being soaked by dripping ice water all faked smiled for the camera while they were being asked how they were holding up.
Honestly, I was not surprised that someone was able to come up with a game like that, I'm sure we've all heard of stupider bets or dares that would top that. But what does concern me was that local noontime shows actually think there is entertainment value in televising poor people willing to numb their hands in exchange for cash prizes that would only be enough to get them through a week or so.
But you might ask, what about Fear Factor? Aren't participants in similar reality shows more or less subjected to the same physical, psychological and often times humiliating challenges in exchange for the chance to win large amounts of money?
Yes, but there's a difference.
Of course majority will say that it's about the money, but a good percentage of the people in the states who join reality shows like Fear Factor do stunts and challenges also for the experience of being able to measure their own limits of endurance and strength. Even more, a huge percentage of participants in similar US reality shows are actually lower to middle class professionals (or at the very least hold on to regular day jobs). That is not exactly the case here in the Philippines.
When I heard about the tragedy that happened last Saturday morning at the gates of ULTRA, I was really disheartened. People who lined up at the stadium to be part of the first few participant of the local noontime game show "Wowowee" got trampled upon when the gates opened. The stampede resulted in the injury of 400 people and the unfortunate death of 74 others. I felt sad. But if you really want to know the truth, I was actually more upset and embarrassed at what happened.
I keep hearing how people say that no one meant for this tragedy to happen. Of course that's true. However, it could have definitely been prevented. Desperate poor people gathering in fronts of a gate days before the actual event is an accident waiting to happen.
Though nothing less should be expected, I will give credit to ABS-CBN for taking full responsibility and accountability for what happened by responding immediately to the victims with what ever support they could extend. During a radio interview, Wowowee host Willie Revillame (the epitome of tasteless entertainment) said he spent most of his time visiting victims in the hospital giving out morale as well as financial support, as he should.
But what really upsets me is how people from ABS-CBN continue to advertise how they are helping out poor people with the show. I beg to disagree. Whether they want to admit it or not, the game show is exploiting the poor. The ABS-CBN Foundation has definitely helped a lot of people. But Wowowee is not Bantay Bata (the company's child protection arm) or any of their outreach programs. The decision to announce how this anniversary celebration will be one huge shindig with all the money and prizes that will be giving away to the early patrons is due only to one reason; that is to surmise television network ratings. Giving a handful of contestants large amounts of money in exchange for ratings is not helping the poor. In a word, it's exploitation. I wouldn't mind winning the lottery, in fact I could spend an entire day dreaming of the things I can do with the money I could win. But I would not leave to chance or luck what hard work and perseverance was designed to provide an individual.
I'm sure this incident made its way in the international news, and like I said, I am quite embarrassed about it. We may be third world poor, but it's not that we don't have knowledge of crowd control measures or emergency protocols and contingency plans for events like these. What makes this tragedy really stand out was that this was not a stampede brought about by a theater fire, a rock concert, a natural disaster or an angry mob of protesters.
The crowd that gathered there were some of our poorest countrymen and women. Some even came from far away provinces, some lined up and even camped out at the gates of Ultra as early as three days before the hyped up first year anniversary celebration of Wowowee in hopes to get a shot at winning cash and other prizes that would alleviate their poverty.
Members of the opposition who say that this tragedy is the fault of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo may be stretching it too far. But it doesn't take a political analyst to come to the conclusion that it has come to this: our poor would rather place their hopes on a noontime show that promises quick fixes and light cures to their problems rather than count on a lying government that blatantly pockets millions of allocated funds intended for the very people who they claim to be serving.
Empty promises does nothing to the empty stomach. And as long as the government continues to lie, cheat and steal, and as long as noontime shows continue to capitalize on the poor for what they refer to as "entertainment-slash-assistance", we will continue to see people flock these events and venues, willingly depositing their dignities at the gates.
Because huge blocks of ice don't melt easily in air conditioned television studios, the entire program continued with the hosts periodically checking in on the contestants at the side. The poor contestants with their numbing hands continually being soaked by dripping ice water all faked smiled for the camera while they were being asked how they were holding up.
Honestly, I was not surprised that someone was able to come up with a game like that, I'm sure we've all heard of stupider bets or dares that would top that. But what does concern me was that local noontime shows actually think there is entertainment value in televising poor people willing to numb their hands in exchange for cash prizes that would only be enough to get them through a week or so.
But you might ask, what about Fear Factor? Aren't participants in similar reality shows more or less subjected to the same physical, psychological and often times humiliating challenges in exchange for the chance to win large amounts of money?
Yes, but there's a difference.
Of course majority will say that it's about the money, but a good percentage of the people in the states who join reality shows like Fear Factor do stunts and challenges also for the experience of being able to measure their own limits of endurance and strength. Even more, a huge percentage of participants in similar US reality shows are actually lower to middle class professionals (or at the very least hold on to regular day jobs). That is not exactly the case here in the Philippines.
When I heard about the tragedy that happened last Saturday morning at the gates of ULTRA, I was really disheartened. People who lined up at the stadium to be part of the first few participant of the local noontime game show "Wowowee" got trampled upon when the gates opened. The stampede resulted in the injury of 400 people and the unfortunate death of 74 others. I felt sad. But if you really want to know the truth, I was actually more upset and embarrassed at what happened.
I keep hearing how people say that no one meant for this tragedy to happen. Of course that's true. However, it could have definitely been prevented. Desperate poor people gathering in fronts of a gate days before the actual event is an accident waiting to happen.
Though nothing less should be expected, I will give credit to ABS-CBN for taking full responsibility and accountability for what happened by responding immediately to the victims with what ever support they could extend. During a radio interview, Wowowee host Willie Revillame (the epitome of tasteless entertainment) said he spent most of his time visiting victims in the hospital giving out morale as well as financial support, as he should.
But what really upsets me is how people from ABS-CBN continue to advertise how they are helping out poor people with the show. I beg to disagree. Whether they want to admit it or not, the game show is exploiting the poor. The ABS-CBN Foundation has definitely helped a lot of people. But Wowowee is not Bantay Bata (the company's child protection arm) or any of their outreach programs. The decision to announce how this anniversary celebration will be one huge shindig with all the money and prizes that will be giving away to the early patrons is due only to one reason; that is to surmise television network ratings. Giving a handful of contestants large amounts of money in exchange for ratings is not helping the poor. In a word, it's exploitation. I wouldn't mind winning the lottery, in fact I could spend an entire day dreaming of the things I can do with the money I could win. But I would not leave to chance or luck what hard work and perseverance was designed to provide an individual.
I'm sure this incident made its way in the international news, and like I said, I am quite embarrassed about it. We may be third world poor, but it's not that we don't have knowledge of crowd control measures or emergency protocols and contingency plans for events like these. What makes this tragedy really stand out was that this was not a stampede brought about by a theater fire, a rock concert, a natural disaster or an angry mob of protesters.
The crowd that gathered there were some of our poorest countrymen and women. Some even came from far away provinces, some lined up and even camped out at the gates of Ultra as early as three days before the hyped up first year anniversary celebration of Wowowee in hopes to get a shot at winning cash and other prizes that would alleviate their poverty.
Members of the opposition who say that this tragedy is the fault of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo may be stretching it too far. But it doesn't take a political analyst to come to the conclusion that it has come to this: our poor would rather place their hopes on a noontime show that promises quick fixes and light cures to their problems rather than count on a lying government that blatantly pockets millions of allocated funds intended for the very people who they claim to be serving.
Empty promises does nothing to the empty stomach. And as long as the government continues to lie, cheat and steal, and as long as noontime shows continue to capitalize on the poor for what they refer to as "entertainment-slash-assistance", we will continue to see people flock these events and venues, willingly depositing their dignities at the gates.
January 23, 2006
Time Is More Valuable Than I Thought
I wanted to get my wife something really nice for our fourth wedding anniversary last January 13.
By really nice I mean it's something that she really wants, rather than something I'd assume she likes or will eventually like. Before, I was notorious for giving gifts that were only approximations of what she really would have wanted, and if you consider how we've been dating for ten years before we got married, that's a terrible track record!
So I did some investigative work and was able to decide how I could probably buy her a nice wrist watch as an anniversary gift. As far as ladies fashion goes, I figured that a nice watch is probably right about in the same category as bags and shoes, items women by default can never own too much of.
I discreetly found out straight from Cathy that the brand and models that she really likes were Tag Heuers. I was impressed at how my inconspicuous investigative work was able to narrow down not only the item but the brand name as well.
My anniversary budget came from some secretly stashed leave conversion cash I earned from last year. It wasn't a large amount of money but I was somewhat confident that it would be more than sufficient to fund my purchase.
When I got to the watch store in the mall, I was astonished by how much a ladies timepiece would set someone back today! For the brand I was looking for, the most expensive ones would cost somewhere close to 90 thousand pesos, while the cheapest ones were around half that price, and I didn't even like how the least expensive ones look! I had to pick my jaw from the floor and actually hold it in place while I window shopped around.
There were a lot of other watches available that looked equally nice that weren't as absurdly expensive. But aside from Cathy already having other watches in her possession, they weren't the brand that she wanted. Extremely disappointed, I had to go back to my scratch pad to review my other investigation notes.
I actually felt a little embarrassed at how naïve I was. I understand quality of materials, craftsmanship and all that stuff, but I personally think a watch that goes beyond 5 to 10 thousand pesos is outrageously expensive.
Ok, so I own a Citizen Eco Drive Diver's Watch which I got on sale for 6 thousand pesos about five years ago. I was taking up scuba lessons at that time and I figured it was an investment. I justified the purchase by rationalizing how I have never really owned a quality watch in my entire life and the fact that I could tell time even at 200 meters below sea level was worth shelling out the cash. There were fancier models, but the one I bought does basically the same thing--- it tells you what time it is.
I probably still live in that world where provided that a wrist watch doesn't look hideously unfashionable, it should only serve one primary purpose, and that is to be able to tell time. Unless you are a government spy, anything beyond a simple calendar feature in your wristwatch is just overkill.
I know of some people who own expensive watches. They admit that they purposely take them off when commuting in fear that it might be snatched or be forcibly stolen from them. Now, unless my timepiece is a gift I don't think I need that sort of stress just to be able to say I own a so and so watch. I want to be able to tell time while at the same time be at peace knowing I can do so anytime and anywhere I please.
What's worse than having your expensive watch stolen is actually losing or misplacing it. If you've had your watch stolen you would probably suffer some trauma from the experience, but at least you'd have someone else to blame. If you lose your expensive watch on your own, that's something you just have to live with. If heaven forbid I lose my watch right now, it would definitely suck because of the sentimental value it has accumulated, but I'd just probably save up and buy another one. And it doesn't have to be water proof no more, since I rarely hit the water lately anyway.
To end my short story, I actually told Cathy I wanted to buy her the watch she mentioned to me. I figured it should earn me some consolation husband points for trying. Anyway we did both have a nice laugh at how I realized my price expectation was still set for the year 1995.
Since I still wanted her to have something she liked, I openly asked her what she wanted to have as an anniversary present. After brining up my bad gift giving track record I was able to convince her into suggesting an item. She said she wanted a nice shoulder bag. I asked her what kind. She gave me a brand name. I asked how much do they cost. She gave me a rough estimate of the market price.
Somehow I was able to restrain my self from making any unnecessary comments after hearing the price; anyway it was more affordable than the timepiece I initially shot for and I am sure she feels the exact same way at how electric guitars are priced.
I love my wife. I consider the day we got married as the happiest moment of my life. As long as I am able, there is no price tag on her happiness. Seeing her smile is worth more than any expensive ladies watch, or in this case, a trendy small shoulder bag that has a tiny alligator logo on its side.
By really nice I mean it's something that she really wants, rather than something I'd assume she likes or will eventually like. Before, I was notorious for giving gifts that were only approximations of what she really would have wanted, and if you consider how we've been dating for ten years before we got married, that's a terrible track record!
So I did some investigative work and was able to decide how I could probably buy her a nice wrist watch as an anniversary gift. As far as ladies fashion goes, I figured that a nice watch is probably right about in the same category as bags and shoes, items women by default can never own too much of.
I discreetly found out straight from Cathy that the brand and models that she really likes were Tag Heuers. I was impressed at how my inconspicuous investigative work was able to narrow down not only the item but the brand name as well.
My anniversary budget came from some secretly stashed leave conversion cash I earned from last year. It wasn't a large amount of money but I was somewhat confident that it would be more than sufficient to fund my purchase.
When I got to the watch store in the mall, I was astonished by how much a ladies timepiece would set someone back today! For the brand I was looking for, the most expensive ones would cost somewhere close to 90 thousand pesos, while the cheapest ones were around half that price, and I didn't even like how the least expensive ones look! I had to pick my jaw from the floor and actually hold it in place while I window shopped around.
There were a lot of other watches available that looked equally nice that weren't as absurdly expensive. But aside from Cathy already having other watches in her possession, they weren't the brand that she wanted. Extremely disappointed, I had to go back to my scratch pad to review my other investigation notes.
I actually felt a little embarrassed at how naïve I was. I understand quality of materials, craftsmanship and all that stuff, but I personally think a watch that goes beyond 5 to 10 thousand pesos is outrageously expensive.
Ok, so I own a Citizen Eco Drive Diver's Watch which I got on sale for 6 thousand pesos about five years ago. I was taking up scuba lessons at that time and I figured it was an investment. I justified the purchase by rationalizing how I have never really owned a quality watch in my entire life and the fact that I could tell time even at 200 meters below sea level was worth shelling out the cash. There were fancier models, but the one I bought does basically the same thing--- it tells you what time it is.
I probably still live in that world where provided that a wrist watch doesn't look hideously unfashionable, it should only serve one primary purpose, and that is to be able to tell time. Unless you are a government spy, anything beyond a simple calendar feature in your wristwatch is just overkill.
I know of some people who own expensive watches. They admit that they purposely take them off when commuting in fear that it might be snatched or be forcibly stolen from them. Now, unless my timepiece is a gift I don't think I need that sort of stress just to be able to say I own a so and so watch. I want to be able to tell time while at the same time be at peace knowing I can do so anytime and anywhere I please.
What's worse than having your expensive watch stolen is actually losing or misplacing it. If you've had your watch stolen you would probably suffer some trauma from the experience, but at least you'd have someone else to blame. If you lose your expensive watch on your own, that's something you just have to live with. If heaven forbid I lose my watch right now, it would definitely suck because of the sentimental value it has accumulated, but I'd just probably save up and buy another one. And it doesn't have to be water proof no more, since I rarely hit the water lately anyway.
To end my short story, I actually told Cathy I wanted to buy her the watch she mentioned to me. I figured it should earn me some consolation husband points for trying. Anyway we did both have a nice laugh at how I realized my price expectation was still set for the year 1995.
Since I still wanted her to have something she liked, I openly asked her what she wanted to have as an anniversary present. After brining up my bad gift giving track record I was able to convince her into suggesting an item. She said she wanted a nice shoulder bag. I asked her what kind. She gave me a brand name. I asked how much do they cost. She gave me a rough estimate of the market price.
Somehow I was able to restrain my self from making any unnecessary comments after hearing the price; anyway it was more affordable than the timepiece I initially shot for and I am sure she feels the exact same way at how electric guitars are priced.
I love my wife. I consider the day we got married as the happiest moment of my life. As long as I am able, there is no price tag on her happiness. Seeing her smile is worth more than any expensive ladies watch, or in this case, a trendy small shoulder bag that has a tiny alligator logo on its side.
January 11, 2006
There Goes Our Hero
The other day I heard on the radio how Presidential Spokesman Ignacio Bunye made statements against Senator Mar Roxas who was criticizing the administration's zealousness on the recent strengthening of the peso.
Roxas, in an earlier statement said that the strengthening of the peso and rising stocks are basically meaningless if they do not translate to lower prices of goods and services.
Arroyo administrative champion Bunye said that to say these progress indicators are insignificant would be in effect undermining the contributions of the Overseas Filipino Worker (OFW), who through their yuletide dollar remittances significantly contributed to the improving peso to dollar exchange rate. Bunye goes on by commending the OFWs who due to their sacrifices and contributions are now regarded by the administration to be our nation's new brand of heroes.
Quite honestly, I've always had trouble understanding that phrase, "Ang Mga Bagong Bayani ng Pilipinas" ("The Modern Day Heroes of the Philippines").
How are we defining the word "hero" when we say Modern Day Heroes?
Please don't get me wrong, I have a great amount of respect for our countrymen and women abroad. I have relatives and dear friends who because of circumstances are forced to leave friends and family behind to work overseas. I admire the courage it took to make that decision and the inner strength it takes to face the everyday challenges and hardship of being apart from everything that you hold dear.
It brings to mind a line from one of Emily Saliers' song that cuts deep in the reality of what is "starving the emptiness to feed the hunger".
I am not smart enough to point out all the ironies here, but if OFWs are now regarded as this country's new brand of heroes, does that follow that what Jose Rizal stood for was the old way of looking at things?
How are we defining the word new when we say New Brand of Heroes?
Rizal studied abroad so that he could come back to the motherland armed with knowledge. Some OFWs enroll in crash courses (and even earn entire college degrees) so that they could actually work abroad. Rizal died fighting for our country's freedom. OFWs are dying slow deaths from the harsh realities they face daily from being away from loved ones.
I do have relatives and friends who are working abroad because the opportunities here are less favorable and I actually have more friends who are presently gearing up to join this exodus. In a perfect world, we would all be staying here in the Philippines to physically be together during the weekends or at the very least during the holidays, instead of just sending postcards, pictures and virtual greetings in the form of chats and emails.
If you've ever missed someone in your life you'd know how that kind of thing just sucks like an industrial strength vacuum cleaner!
Maybe it's just me, but if I am forced to leave my loved ones behind to toil in a foreign land because my government lacks the initiatives to prevent me from ever leaving in the first place, I would find it condescending to be called a hero for my contributions to the peso exchange rate.
I think it's beyond idiotic to send a message across our strong and able workforce that to be regarded a national hero these days means having to work abroad and send dollars home. That may sound too straightforward, but what else are we really saying?
You've all seen the statistics and documentaries and probably even heard first hand stories of how our professionals are choosing to go elsewhere. With how the information is sometimes processed its ironic how something meant to be eye opening may perhaps be even damaging. People realize how it blows to make a living here, so they are lured by the prospects abroad, and the government rather than solving the problem of losing the workforce, sugarcoats the issue by referring to OFWs as heroes.
It's sustainable development in reverse. Never mind the decreasing workforce and the brain drain, the peso is stronger than ever!
Is the strengthening of the peso good? Definitely. Is working abroad a bad thing? Absolutely not. Our countrymen and women abroad are hurting; they've sacrificed a great deal to be apart from friends and families. If they had a choice, they wouldn't be where they are now. With all the lying, cheating and corruption in the government, I think this entire hero branding is just being too patronizing.
Our fellow Filipinos working abroad are indeed heroes, but not primarily to the country, nor to the administration. They are heroes to the friends and families they left behind. A role they shouldn't have had to play if only the government does what it's supposed to be doing. If we are to call them heroes simply because they strengthen the peso through remittances, then I think we have a terribly screwed up concept of what this country regards as heroism.
Roxas, in an earlier statement said that the strengthening of the peso and rising stocks are basically meaningless if they do not translate to lower prices of goods and services.
Arroyo administrative champion Bunye said that to say these progress indicators are insignificant would be in effect undermining the contributions of the Overseas Filipino Worker (OFW), who through their yuletide dollar remittances significantly contributed to the improving peso to dollar exchange rate. Bunye goes on by commending the OFWs who due to their sacrifices and contributions are now regarded by the administration to be our nation's new brand of heroes.
Quite honestly, I've always had trouble understanding that phrase, "Ang Mga Bagong Bayani ng Pilipinas" ("The Modern Day Heroes of the Philippines").
How are we defining the word "hero" when we say Modern Day Heroes?
Please don't get me wrong, I have a great amount of respect for our countrymen and women abroad. I have relatives and dear friends who because of circumstances are forced to leave friends and family behind to work overseas. I admire the courage it took to make that decision and the inner strength it takes to face the everyday challenges and hardship of being apart from everything that you hold dear.
It brings to mind a line from one of Emily Saliers' song that cuts deep in the reality of what is "starving the emptiness to feed the hunger".
I am not smart enough to point out all the ironies here, but if OFWs are now regarded as this country's new brand of heroes, does that follow that what Jose Rizal stood for was the old way of looking at things?
How are we defining the word new when we say New Brand of Heroes?
Rizal studied abroad so that he could come back to the motherland armed with knowledge. Some OFWs enroll in crash courses (and even earn entire college degrees) so that they could actually work abroad. Rizal died fighting for our country's freedom. OFWs are dying slow deaths from the harsh realities they face daily from being away from loved ones.
I do have relatives and friends who are working abroad because the opportunities here are less favorable and I actually have more friends who are presently gearing up to join this exodus. In a perfect world, we would all be staying here in the Philippines to physically be together during the weekends or at the very least during the holidays, instead of just sending postcards, pictures and virtual greetings in the form of chats and emails.
If you've ever missed someone in your life you'd know how that kind of thing just sucks like an industrial strength vacuum cleaner!
Maybe it's just me, but if I am forced to leave my loved ones behind to toil in a foreign land because my government lacks the initiatives to prevent me from ever leaving in the first place, I would find it condescending to be called a hero for my contributions to the peso exchange rate.
I think it's beyond idiotic to send a message across our strong and able workforce that to be regarded a national hero these days means having to work abroad and send dollars home. That may sound too straightforward, but what else are we really saying?
You've all seen the statistics and documentaries and probably even heard first hand stories of how our professionals are choosing to go elsewhere. With how the information is sometimes processed its ironic how something meant to be eye opening may perhaps be even damaging. People realize how it blows to make a living here, so they are lured by the prospects abroad, and the government rather than solving the problem of losing the workforce, sugarcoats the issue by referring to OFWs as heroes.
It's sustainable development in reverse. Never mind the decreasing workforce and the brain drain, the peso is stronger than ever!
Is the strengthening of the peso good? Definitely. Is working abroad a bad thing? Absolutely not. Our countrymen and women abroad are hurting; they've sacrificed a great deal to be apart from friends and families. If they had a choice, they wouldn't be where they are now. With all the lying, cheating and corruption in the government, I think this entire hero branding is just being too patronizing.
Our fellow Filipinos working abroad are indeed heroes, but not primarily to the country, nor to the administration. They are heroes to the friends and families they left behind. A role they shouldn't have had to play if only the government does what it's supposed to be doing. If we are to call them heroes simply because they strengthen the peso through remittances, then I think we have a terribly screwed up concept of what this country regards as heroism.
December 23, 2005
Ho Ho... Huh?
Next year my wife and I are probably going to go through a semi-difficult decision of whether we are going to let our little daughter Frances believe in Santa Claus or not.
Personally, I was suckered into believing there really was Santa. Being as young as I was, I never really questioned why Santa’s little elves managed to work around product licensing laws to build me an exact duplicate of the Japanese transformer robot I’ve always wanted.
When I did find out that it was my parents who were behind all of it, I didn’t feel betrayed or lied to, things just made a lot more sense. For one, it explained why Santa’s handwriting looked a lot like my mom’s and why he stuffed our stockings with locally made chocolates.
Though I am not completely sure, I am leaning towards telling the truth really. Better it come from me than from other people. I don’t want to be called one day to the principal’s office because Frances punched some poor kid’s face for saying Santa isn’t real. I’m thinking if I have my little daughter believe in something I knew all along wasn’t real, what does it say about all the other stuff I said.
But for other parent’s who are still unsure on their stand on this subject, allow me to ready you with possible questions that your kids might contemplate on and raise as valid concerns regarding their favorite yuletide icon:
“Does Santa still ride his sleigh when he visits parts of the world where there is no snow?” If you say Yes to this, the follow up question is where does Santa park his sled? And that’s a tough nut to crack depending on where you live. If he parks it in the roof, does that explain the leaks we have during the rainy season? If you live in a bad part of the neighborhood, surely parking a big open sleigh pulled by reindeers would definitely draw attention. If you say No, you can just imagine how saying Santa commutes with a big red bag is going to sound like, even to a grown up.
“If Santa’s little elves made the doll he gave me, why does it say MATTEL Incorporated at the side of the box?” This is way harder than the first one, but I’m thinking you can just say due to technology over the years, Santa was overstaffed and he had to lay off some elves. When there is a huge drop in naughty children in the annual report he gets, he ties up with Mattel and other toy manufacturing companies to pick up the spike in demands.
“We don’t have a chimney, how is Santa going to get in the house?” You can say Santa goes through the window or he has an international skeleton key he uses. What ever it is it has to be really creative and convincing, because the last thing you want during Christmas Eve is your children secretly leaving the door unlocked for Santa.
“Does Santa ever change his clothes when he visits tropical countries like the Philippines?” I once saw a Santa Claus drawing where he was wearing a native hat and a barong. He was holding a sign that reads “Maligayang Pasko” (Merry Christmas), I guess that made answering that question a lot more easier. If they ask if Santa is multi lingual, just say Yes.
“Mom and Dad, I’m going to stay up really late tonight to get to the bottom of this Santa Claus mystery!” You’ve got a few options, bring them to a carnival during the day and let them tire them out, sedatives (ask your pediatrician about it first though) and if all else fails sneak up behind them and apply the sleeper hold.
“I heard how Santa has been doing this gift giving thing for centuries now, how come he appears to have stopped growing old?” You can say how Santa stays fit with all the milk and cookies he eats, plus the low temperatures in the North Pole slow down the aging process like you wouldn’t believe.
“I got an email from Santa Claus and he said I should do well in school so I can become an elf someday!” Believe it or not, Santa does have an email and a website, and he does tell children that in his supposed responses. If your kid takes that too seriously, you can just forget your dreams of him becoming a doctor or a lawyer. You may want to tell your kid to keep his dreams of being an elf to himself though; bullies tend to capitalize on things like that.
“I heard that the US Embassy just issued a travel advisory against trips to the Philippines due to terrorist activities, is Santa still coming?” This is actually a good question and raises a lot of other issues like Santa not going through customs and entering countries without proper documentation. Anyway, you can say that Santa takes every precaution when traveling to suspected terrorist hot spots; it’s the reason why he doesn’t dye his beard black.
You know what, after writing all that down, I think I’m just going to come clean and tell the truth about Santa Claus. I'd probably have her enjoy some of the Santa experience for just a little bit, but would spill the beans when she does start asking why Santa in spite his busy schedule still has time to make a few extra money moonlighting in the malls, posing for pictures with little children.
Frances is a smart kid and I don’t want to insult her intelligence. I think she can handle the truth about Santa pretty well. It’s telling her that Hell Boy isn’t real is what I'm actually worried about!
Merry Christmas everyone!!!
Personally, I was suckered into believing there really was Santa. Being as young as I was, I never really questioned why Santa’s little elves managed to work around product licensing laws to build me an exact duplicate of the Japanese transformer robot I’ve always wanted.
When I did find out that it was my parents who were behind all of it, I didn’t feel betrayed or lied to, things just made a lot more sense. For one, it explained why Santa’s handwriting looked a lot like my mom’s and why he stuffed our stockings with locally made chocolates.
Though I am not completely sure, I am leaning towards telling the truth really. Better it come from me than from other people. I don’t want to be called one day to the principal’s office because Frances punched some poor kid’s face for saying Santa isn’t real. I’m thinking if I have my little daughter believe in something I knew all along wasn’t real, what does it say about all the other stuff I said.
But for other parent’s who are still unsure on their stand on this subject, allow me to ready you with possible questions that your kids might contemplate on and raise as valid concerns regarding their favorite yuletide icon:
“Does Santa still ride his sleigh when he visits parts of the world where there is no snow?” If you say Yes to this, the follow up question is where does Santa park his sled? And that’s a tough nut to crack depending on where you live. If he parks it in the roof, does that explain the leaks we have during the rainy season? If you live in a bad part of the neighborhood, surely parking a big open sleigh pulled by reindeers would definitely draw attention. If you say No, you can just imagine how saying Santa commutes with a big red bag is going to sound like, even to a grown up.
“If Santa’s little elves made the doll he gave me, why does it say MATTEL Incorporated at the side of the box?” This is way harder than the first one, but I’m thinking you can just say due to technology over the years, Santa was overstaffed and he had to lay off some elves. When there is a huge drop in naughty children in the annual report he gets, he ties up with Mattel and other toy manufacturing companies to pick up the spike in demands.
“We don’t have a chimney, how is Santa going to get in the house?” You can say Santa goes through the window or he has an international skeleton key he uses. What ever it is it has to be really creative and convincing, because the last thing you want during Christmas Eve is your children secretly leaving the door unlocked for Santa.
“Does Santa ever change his clothes when he visits tropical countries like the Philippines?” I once saw a Santa Claus drawing where he was wearing a native hat and a barong. He was holding a sign that reads “Maligayang Pasko” (Merry Christmas), I guess that made answering that question a lot more easier. If they ask if Santa is multi lingual, just say Yes.
“Mom and Dad, I’m going to stay up really late tonight to get to the bottom of this Santa Claus mystery!” You’ve got a few options, bring them to a carnival during the day and let them tire them out, sedatives (ask your pediatrician about it first though) and if all else fails sneak up behind them and apply the sleeper hold.
“I heard how Santa has been doing this gift giving thing for centuries now, how come he appears to have stopped growing old?” You can say how Santa stays fit with all the milk and cookies he eats, plus the low temperatures in the North Pole slow down the aging process like you wouldn’t believe.
“I got an email from Santa Claus and he said I should do well in school so I can become an elf someday!” Believe it or not, Santa does have an email and a website, and he does tell children that in his supposed responses. If your kid takes that too seriously, you can just forget your dreams of him becoming a doctor or a lawyer. You may want to tell your kid to keep his dreams of being an elf to himself though; bullies tend to capitalize on things like that.
“I heard that the US Embassy just issued a travel advisory against trips to the Philippines due to terrorist activities, is Santa still coming?” This is actually a good question and raises a lot of other issues like Santa not going through customs and entering countries without proper documentation. Anyway, you can say that Santa takes every precaution when traveling to suspected terrorist hot spots; it’s the reason why he doesn’t dye his beard black.
You know what, after writing all that down, I think I’m just going to come clean and tell the truth about Santa Claus. I'd probably have her enjoy some of the Santa experience for just a little bit, but would spill the beans when she does start asking why Santa in spite his busy schedule still has time to make a few extra money moonlighting in the malls, posing for pictures with little children.
Frances is a smart kid and I don’t want to insult her intelligence. I think she can handle the truth about Santa pretty well. It’s telling her that Hell Boy isn’t real is what I'm actually worried about!
Merry Christmas everyone!!!
December 21, 2005
Couch Potatoes Anonymous
Our cable services were terminated about a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, cable companies require a certain amount of money given in exchange for the cable programs and other services they provide their subscribers. Man, I hate those fine prints!
But you know what, I am holding out quite well considering that I am a self-confessed television addict. Yes, I am a TV addict. I sometimes amaze myself when I can out perform contestant on "Beat The Geeks" when they dare challenge TV Geek on a face off. I mean it requires a certain degree of geekiness to be able to answer questions like who is B.A. Baracus, what was Johnny B’s special power in the Misfits of Science, or name at least one actor or character in the children’s show "The Electric Company".
Back in my early childhood days, pre-cable days when there were only 5 channels available, the loneliest time of the day would be around 6 to 7pm when every single station would be airing the news that I simply did not care for. The loneliest days of the year would definitely be Holy Week where it’s almost like a Twilight Zone scene turning on the TV and absolutely nothing is on except static. I figured the reason why people hit the beaches during the Lenten Season was prmarily because nothing good was on TV. So you could imagine how if this unfortunate lack of TV happened during that time I would have instantly foamed in the mouth and fell into a seizure.
But like I said, I am holding out very well. And after a little rationalization I’ve actually figured out why I’ve resolved the no-TV reality easier than I probably would have imagined:
Frances has stopped saying stupid words like “Wowowee” (a stupid noontime show hosted by the raunchy course mannered and witless Willy Revillame. I honestly don’t know why this guy can be given his own TV show and why anyone in their right mind would want to watch a show hosted by him). Like I’d mentioned before, TV can no longer baby sit a child. Local TV shows are just getting stupider and stupider. A good example would be Pinoy Big Brother. I am glad the show is through, but of course, we haven’t seen the last of it! With the cash flow that show generated last season, consider it to be that turd that just refuses to flush!
During hours when I should be watching TV, I am actually playing my new guitar, plugged in my new tube amp (by the way, I named my guitar Elise, short for Elizabeth. Cathy once said that if she could change her name, she would change it to Elizabeth). One other thing that I have been really busy with this month was rehearsing in studios with a group of office friends. We performed for our Christmas party at the PICC last Saturday, which was by far my biggest gig. So guitar playing has definitely been eating up TV hours even before the cable service got cut off.
Because the TV is out, Cathy and I get to spend more quality time with Frances. Of course I would admit that I still have spent a considerable amount of time on the new guitar recently, but during the weekends it’s nice to just hang out at home and play with Frances as a family.
And lastly, if TV withdrawal symptoms do attack, there is always TV’s first cousin the DVD player to help soothe me down.
This isn’t the first time I had to endure life without television. After Cathy and I got married and we moved in our new place together, we didn’t immediately have cable or local TV (we didn’t even have our own furniture or refrigerator). For an entire week we kept our selves busy fixing up our new home. At the end of the day we would just lie down on the bed and just goof around and talk, just like we used to.
Of course totally doing away with TV is still unthinkable. I know how I will eventually succumb to that whole payment for service system cable companies insist on. But while that is still in the planning and scouting stage, I aim to enjoy the newly re-opened door of opportunities that the absence of TV has freed up.
“Hi, my name is Haring Ulan and I have been television sober for almost a month now...”
But you know what, I am holding out quite well considering that I am a self-confessed television addict. Yes, I am a TV addict. I sometimes amaze myself when I can out perform contestant on "Beat The Geeks" when they dare challenge TV Geek on a face off. I mean it requires a certain degree of geekiness to be able to answer questions like who is B.A. Baracus, what was Johnny B’s special power in the Misfits of Science, or name at least one actor or character in the children’s show "The Electric Company".
Back in my early childhood days, pre-cable days when there were only 5 channels available, the loneliest time of the day would be around 6 to 7pm when every single station would be airing the news that I simply did not care for. The loneliest days of the year would definitely be Holy Week where it’s almost like a Twilight Zone scene turning on the TV and absolutely nothing is on except static. I figured the reason why people hit the beaches during the Lenten Season was prmarily because nothing good was on TV. So you could imagine how if this unfortunate lack of TV happened during that time I would have instantly foamed in the mouth and fell into a seizure.
But like I said, I am holding out very well. And after a little rationalization I’ve actually figured out why I’ve resolved the no-TV reality easier than I probably would have imagined:
Frances has stopped saying stupid words like “Wowowee” (a stupid noontime show hosted by the raunchy course mannered and witless Willy Revillame. I honestly don’t know why this guy can be given his own TV show and why anyone in their right mind would want to watch a show hosted by him). Like I’d mentioned before, TV can no longer baby sit a child. Local TV shows are just getting stupider and stupider. A good example would be Pinoy Big Brother. I am glad the show is through, but of course, we haven’t seen the last of it! With the cash flow that show generated last season, consider it to be that turd that just refuses to flush!
During hours when I should be watching TV, I am actually playing my new guitar, plugged in my new tube amp (by the way, I named my guitar Elise, short for Elizabeth. Cathy once said that if she could change her name, she would change it to Elizabeth). One other thing that I have been really busy with this month was rehearsing in studios with a group of office friends. We performed for our Christmas party at the PICC last Saturday, which was by far my biggest gig. So guitar playing has definitely been eating up TV hours even before the cable service got cut off.
Because the TV is out, Cathy and I get to spend more quality time with Frances. Of course I would admit that I still have spent a considerable amount of time on the new guitar recently, but during the weekends it’s nice to just hang out at home and play with Frances as a family.
And lastly, if TV withdrawal symptoms do attack, there is always TV’s first cousin the DVD player to help soothe me down.
This isn’t the first time I had to endure life without television. After Cathy and I got married and we moved in our new place together, we didn’t immediately have cable or local TV (we didn’t even have our own furniture or refrigerator). For an entire week we kept our selves busy fixing up our new home. At the end of the day we would just lie down on the bed and just goof around and talk, just like we used to.
Of course totally doing away with TV is still unthinkable. I know how I will eventually succumb to that whole payment for service system cable companies insist on. But while that is still in the planning and scouting stage, I aim to enjoy the newly re-opened door of opportunities that the absence of TV has freed up.
“Hi, my name is Haring Ulan and I have been television sober for almost a month now...”
December 16, 2005
God Bless The Flower Child
A few months ago while I was on my way home from work, I got stuck in traffic along Shaw Boulevard in Mandaluyong when I saw this little girl in the middle of the traffic selling flowers to motorists.
I will be honest; I don’t readily give money to street people. I’ve been fooled more than once by people who stopped me in the street saying they lost their wallets and they need money to go back to the province, only to be stopped the next day by the same person with the same story. I mean come on, at least keep track of the people you lie to.
But being a parent, I do have a soft spot for children who are forced to work. More now than I did before. This particular little girl that I saw was probably no older than 5 years old and she was selling Sampaguita flower necklaces. It broke my heart seeing how she had to run from car to car during the traffic, inhaling all the carbon monoxide fumes while trying to sell the flowers she had in one hand.
She didn’t even have to say anything; as soon as she got in front of my window I already had a crisp bill ready. I handed her the money and told her that she could just keep or sell the flowers because I really didn’t need them. She insisted that I take the flowers. When I continued to refuse she quickly placed the string of flowers on my steering wheel and immediately left.
I was a little caught off guard. I even felt a little embarrassed of the fact that I probably made her feel bad when I refused to take her flowers. She was selling flowers and it was what she intended to trade money with.
Now a few weeks ago, while Cathy and I were walking along the sidewalk outside EDSA Shangri La mall (again along Shaw Boulevard, not very far from where I saw the first girl) we were stopped by another little girl selling flowers.
The weather that night was pretty nasty as it was raining all day. The little girl who was selling us flowers was damp, she had dirty sticky hair and actually had no umbrella with her as she approached us; I don’t think she even had any sandals on.
Cathy asked how much are all the remaining flowers she had. The little girl said around twenty pesos. I pulled all the loose change I had collecting in my pocket, which was close to thirty pesos or more and I handed it to the little girl.
Like the first girl I told you about earlier, she refused to take the flowers. She begged for us to take them so persistently that she even followed Cathy and I as we were about to cross the street. I stopped and tried to explain, “I don’t need the flowers, you can still get extra money by selling these. Or you can keep it, it doesn’t matter, it’s yours now.”
What she told me next stabbed me like a knife in the chest and made me stop arguing, “Kuya, parang awa nyo na kunin nyo na po ito, pagod na pagod na po ako, gusto ko na po mag pahinga.” (Sir, I beg of you, please take these flowers, I’m very tired and I really want to rest.) Without saying a word, I took the flowers and watched her fade into the busy wet street.
I cannot articulate how mad I felt! I could imagine how the children who are forced to sell Sampaguitas in the streets are probably being watched to make sure that they only rest after all the flowers are sold. That would explain why the children were so adamant on having people take it off their hands.
When Cathy told me that she was pregnant with Frances, I was so overwhelmed by the amount of responsibility I was going to have that I missed out on some of the excitement of being a dad.
I’ve got nothing against poor people, but damn it pisses me off how some of them could just decide to have children without thinking of the consequences. And what really pisses me off even more is how they don’t just make one, they keep spawning babies like childcare was the easiest and most affordable thing in the world!
So you screwed up your life and you are trying to work out the hand that you are dealt with. That’s ok; just leave the children out of it!!! Let them play!!! Let them be kids!!!
Not everyone stops to smell and buy the flowers!
I will be honest; I don’t readily give money to street people. I’ve been fooled more than once by people who stopped me in the street saying they lost their wallets and they need money to go back to the province, only to be stopped the next day by the same person with the same story. I mean come on, at least keep track of the people you lie to.
But being a parent, I do have a soft spot for children who are forced to work. More now than I did before. This particular little girl that I saw was probably no older than 5 years old and she was selling Sampaguita flower necklaces. It broke my heart seeing how she had to run from car to car during the traffic, inhaling all the carbon monoxide fumes while trying to sell the flowers she had in one hand.
She didn’t even have to say anything; as soon as she got in front of my window I already had a crisp bill ready. I handed her the money and told her that she could just keep or sell the flowers because I really didn’t need them. She insisted that I take the flowers. When I continued to refuse she quickly placed the string of flowers on my steering wheel and immediately left.
I was a little caught off guard. I even felt a little embarrassed of the fact that I probably made her feel bad when I refused to take her flowers. She was selling flowers and it was what she intended to trade money with.
Now a few weeks ago, while Cathy and I were walking along the sidewalk outside EDSA Shangri La mall (again along Shaw Boulevard, not very far from where I saw the first girl) we were stopped by another little girl selling flowers.
The weather that night was pretty nasty as it was raining all day. The little girl who was selling us flowers was damp, she had dirty sticky hair and actually had no umbrella with her as she approached us; I don’t think she even had any sandals on.
Cathy asked how much are all the remaining flowers she had. The little girl said around twenty pesos. I pulled all the loose change I had collecting in my pocket, which was close to thirty pesos or more and I handed it to the little girl.
Like the first girl I told you about earlier, she refused to take the flowers. She begged for us to take them so persistently that she even followed Cathy and I as we were about to cross the street. I stopped and tried to explain, “I don’t need the flowers, you can still get extra money by selling these. Or you can keep it, it doesn’t matter, it’s yours now.”
What she told me next stabbed me like a knife in the chest and made me stop arguing, “Kuya, parang awa nyo na kunin nyo na po ito, pagod na pagod na po ako, gusto ko na po mag pahinga.” (Sir, I beg of you, please take these flowers, I’m very tired and I really want to rest.) Without saying a word, I took the flowers and watched her fade into the busy wet street.
I cannot articulate how mad I felt! I could imagine how the children who are forced to sell Sampaguitas in the streets are probably being watched to make sure that they only rest after all the flowers are sold. That would explain why the children were so adamant on having people take it off their hands.
When Cathy told me that she was pregnant with Frances, I was so overwhelmed by the amount of responsibility I was going to have that I missed out on some of the excitement of being a dad.
I’ve got nothing against poor people, but damn it pisses me off how some of them could just decide to have children without thinking of the consequences. And what really pisses me off even more is how they don’t just make one, they keep spawning babies like childcare was the easiest and most affordable thing in the world!
So you screwed up your life and you are trying to work out the hand that you are dealt with. That’s ok; just leave the children out of it!!! Let them play!!! Let them be kids!!!
Not everyone stops to smell and buy the flowers!
November 21, 2005
The Gym: A Potential Source Of Clean Renewable Energy
One of the most flattering comments I still get is how some people somehow assume that I go to the gym. That of course is laughable when you think about a) how much I love eating, b) how much I love television and c) how much I’d rather spend my remaining free time being with my wife and little daughter.Actually I don’t get flattered right away. I get a little suspicious when people say, “Hey do you work out?” When I see myself naked in front of a mirror I don’t exactly smile and say, “Greek god baby, Greek god!” I usually sigh and immediately get dressed. So when people assume I go to the gym, they are either very misled or they need something from me really bad.
If I were a body of water I would be more like a big lake, I’ve got no plans of moving up to a river. Mainly because I’m a married man, most married people absolutely have no reason to go to the gym. Our spouses love us the way we are (or become) and most of us already have a full body workout program called “The Two Year Old Daughter”.
But I suppose I’m still quite fortunate to have a somewhat Mesomorphic body type, which is why some people probably assume that I work out. No matter how much I starve myself or eat with reckless abandon, there is little or no effect on my bodyweight. Of course I’ve gained a few pounds over the years, but considering how much wheat and dead animals I devour I’m actually in relatively good shape. Which works well for me, I can never see myself going to a gym; I’m just too damn lazy. I’d enroll in a cooking class before I enroll in a gym. The chances of me wanting to cook food are more likely to happen than me wanting to lift a heavy weight.
But looking back when I was in my early teens I actually did contemplate wanting to have membership in a gym. I was into martial arts before and wanted the physique of my boyhood idol Bruce Lee. But my dad would extinguish my thoughts of enrolling in a gym by telling me how I could get the same workout from exercise equipment by doing household chores.It was like a modified scene in “The Karate Kid” where my dad was Mr. Miyagi and I was Daniel San. But unlike in the movie, my dad never did reveal the mystery and wisdom behind chores like “paint the window grills”, “water the plants” or “sweep the floor”. My dad never did ask me to physically act out the movements. When my dad said, “Son, show me wash on-wash off” while pointing to the dirty car, he just literally means I should go grab a bucket of soapy water and wash the car.
But now I kind of see the logic behind it. For one, it’s just outrageous to pay a couple of thousand pesos to go to a place to basically just exhaust yourself by lifting weights. Isn’t it that some people actually get paid by lifting stuff up? Why would you pay someone to be able to lift heavy objects by yourself?If you think that’s weird, how about the concept of having a personal trainer? That’s basically hiring someone to actually encourage you to lift stuff up! Some gym enthusiasts actually admit that they need personal trainers because if they don’t they usually don’t follow through with the program they are given.
So if I understand this correctly, some people willingly pay money to go to a place to lift weights and some actually hire people to make sure they lift weights like they paid to in the first place! Wow, double whammy!With the recent price increases on gasoline and the impact fossil fuel generally has on the ecology, this got me thinking. Since we’ve already established the fact that people will pay good money to go to a place and actually tire themselves out on exercise machines like treadmills, stationary bicycles and stair masters, why not make equipment that have built-in dynamos?
Efforts done on regular exercise machines are just wasted mechanical energy. By installing dynamos on these machines we can harness the power gym goers generate on a daily basis and convert it into electricity. A regular sized gym can probably provide the energy needs of a small home or even the gym’s actual daily electrical consumption. Gym owners would be like, “Hey Berto, can you please tell the guy on the stationary bicycle to speed it up a little, the lights in the shower rooms are starting to get a little dim.” Gym goers can pick on their friends and say, “Pick up the pace on that treadmill fatty, my lunch inside the microwave oven isn’t going to cook by itself!”
But when you think about it, it’s not exactly encouraging to think that gym members are going to be perceived as power sources, they did come to the gym to work out in the first place. Besides, how many figure conscious environmentalists are out there? Exactly! So as an incentive I propose that we provide gym discounts based on the kilowatts a person generates at the end of their work out session. Gym membership fees are expensive, so as an added perk we will then deduct the corresponding amount of electricity on the person’s membership account! It’s a win-win situation, the gym goers tire themselves like they intended to, they save money, and we have just tapped into a new environmentally sustainable energy source!“Whoa, hold it right there lard-ass! It says here on the generator monitor that you barely created enough kilowatts today for an actual discount. I bet I generated more static electricity from walking on the carpet all day! Cough out those extra pesos if you want to keep your membership here in this gym fatty!”
If I were a body of water I would be more like a big lake, I’ve got no plans of moving up to a river. Mainly because I’m a married man, most married people absolutely have no reason to go to the gym. Our spouses love us the way we are (or become) and most of us already have a full body workout program called “The Two Year Old Daughter”.
But I suppose I’m still quite fortunate to have a somewhat Mesomorphic body type, which is why some people probably assume that I work out. No matter how much I starve myself or eat with reckless abandon, there is little or no effect on my bodyweight. Of course I’ve gained a few pounds over the years, but considering how much wheat and dead animals I devour I’m actually in relatively good shape. Which works well for me, I can never see myself going to a gym; I’m just too damn lazy. I’d enroll in a cooking class before I enroll in a gym. The chances of me wanting to cook food are more likely to happen than me wanting to lift a heavy weight.
But looking back when I was in my early teens I actually did contemplate wanting to have membership in a gym. I was into martial arts before and wanted the physique of my boyhood idol Bruce Lee. But my dad would extinguish my thoughts of enrolling in a gym by telling me how I could get the same workout from exercise equipment by doing household chores.It was like a modified scene in “The Karate Kid” where my dad was Mr. Miyagi and I was Daniel San. But unlike in the movie, my dad never did reveal the mystery and wisdom behind chores like “paint the window grills”, “water the plants” or “sweep the floor”. My dad never did ask me to physically act out the movements. When my dad said, “Son, show me wash on-wash off” while pointing to the dirty car, he just literally means I should go grab a bucket of soapy water and wash the car.
But now I kind of see the logic behind it. For one, it’s just outrageous to pay a couple of thousand pesos to go to a place to basically just exhaust yourself by lifting weights. Isn’t it that some people actually get paid by lifting stuff up? Why would you pay someone to be able to lift heavy objects by yourself?If you think that’s weird, how about the concept of having a personal trainer? That’s basically hiring someone to actually encourage you to lift stuff up! Some gym enthusiasts actually admit that they need personal trainers because if they don’t they usually don’t follow through with the program they are given.
So if I understand this correctly, some people willingly pay money to go to a place to lift weights and some actually hire people to make sure they lift weights like they paid to in the first place! Wow, double whammy!With the recent price increases on gasoline and the impact fossil fuel generally has on the ecology, this got me thinking. Since we’ve already established the fact that people will pay good money to go to a place and actually tire themselves out on exercise machines like treadmills, stationary bicycles and stair masters, why not make equipment that have built-in dynamos?
Efforts done on regular exercise machines are just wasted mechanical energy. By installing dynamos on these machines we can harness the power gym goers generate on a daily basis and convert it into electricity. A regular sized gym can probably provide the energy needs of a small home or even the gym’s actual daily electrical consumption. Gym owners would be like, “Hey Berto, can you please tell the guy on the stationary bicycle to speed it up a little, the lights in the shower rooms are starting to get a little dim.” Gym goers can pick on their friends and say, “Pick up the pace on that treadmill fatty, my lunch inside the microwave oven isn’t going to cook by itself!”
But when you think about it, it’s not exactly encouraging to think that gym members are going to be perceived as power sources, they did come to the gym to work out in the first place. Besides, how many figure conscious environmentalists are out there? Exactly! So as an incentive I propose that we provide gym discounts based on the kilowatts a person generates at the end of their work out session. Gym membership fees are expensive, so as an added perk we will then deduct the corresponding amount of electricity on the person’s membership account! It’s a win-win situation, the gym goers tire themselves like they intended to, they save money, and we have just tapped into a new environmentally sustainable energy source!“Whoa, hold it right there lard-ass! It says here on the generator monitor that you barely created enough kilowatts today for an actual discount. I bet I generated more static electricity from walking on the carpet all day! Cough out those extra pesos if you want to keep your membership here in this gym fatty!”
November 14, 2005
Scratching Two Items Off The Wish List
I usually try not to bore people by posting things about my personal life unless they are relevant to the topic I want to write about . But late last month, I made two extremely cool acquisitions that if I humbly (and insincerely) keep to myself and don’t brag about soon; I swear I will explode!
But before I share these really cool stuffs with you, I just want to make it clear that I am not a materialistic guy. I have come to terms with my own poverty long ago and have learned to accept how some things are too impractical or simply put, too expensive for me to own. But every once in a while great bargains come your way that coincides with birthdays, a loving wife, and celestial alignments that directly or indirectly influences ones current reality, making rare purchases like these possible...
Acquisition Number One. After years of having to settle for a free URL that’s long and rather difficult to memorize, I am now the proud owner of my own web address: HARINGULAN.COM! Yes, I now belong to the social elite of registered domain name owners! For the meantime it still pointing to this page until I come around getting my personal website built, but accessing this page is just way easier and not to forget way cooler to advertise now. The fun doesn’t stop there; another really neat thing about it is that as part of the package I got from registering the domain, I now also have my own personalized email! Now how cool is that! So if you have this page bookmarked on your favorites, you can update that now to haringulan.com!
Acquisition Number Two. If you’ve read one of my posts a few months ago, you would recall how frustrated I was having drooled over that romanticized red Ibanez AFS Artcore series guitar I tested in this music store along EDSA. To further torment myself, I actually even printed a picture of the guitar and hung it on my workstation panel with the words, “You will be mine someday” I scribbled at the bottom of the page. Well guess what, someday came sooner than later! Yes, I was able to acquire The Lady in Red at an amazing price! I now have my own semi hollow jazzbox guitar that I have dreamed about for the last couple of years!
And what perfect timing too, there was a recent battle of the bands competition held last week in the office, which I joined along with a few friends from another account. Out of the seven bands that did join, we got as far as the final three. We didn’t make it all the way to the finals but it was alright knowing that at least we didn’t suck the most. And more than that, I was again able to play live music, and this time using my very own instrument.
Of course as the tire old cliché goes, money can’t buy happiness. Material things are temporal and shallow because true bliss can only come from… Hmmm, wait. You know what, I’m going to cut myself short here. Money CAN buy happiness!!! Boy it really can! Hehehe.
***
I went back to the music store where my guitar was sold. I came there to purchase this really awesome Gator hard shell guitar case because man, I’ve got to protect my investment! I also came to check up on my Oscar Schmidt Washburn acoustic guitar that I had brought there a week before to have the string’s action adjusted.
As I was checking out the guitar’s new feel and playability, I did some basic bluesy riffs as the old store staff assisting me watched and listened. In the middle of my picking he asked me what music genre I usually play, naturally I said blues music. This led us into chatting about blues albums and artists that we listen to.
The store clerk, who was in his late 30s or early 40s amazingly knew or had every single album I mentioned. He even knew some of the really obscure blues songs I knew. We ended up swapping stories about our common passion until I realized I was in the store for a considerable amount of time.
Because I felt it was a perfect time to brag, I mentioned how I used to contribute blues album reviews for PULP magazine. He said he doesn’t read the publication regularly but remembered reading an article about Buddy Guy. He said he remembered it well because he appreciated how the article “spoke to him”.
“Ay Sir, ako po nagsulat nun” (Ah Sir, I was actually the one who wrote that piece”), I proudly said. He almost couldn’t believe it. So we ended up talking some more. As I was paying for the items I bought in the store he even followed me to the cashier just to ask me if I listened to several artists he was into.
I’ve accepted the fact that people who read PULP during the days I was contributing for the publication rarely noticed my articles. It’s just funny (though not surprising) how the first person to actually recognize my work turns out to be an old dude. That side job never was to be cool and popular with the ladies.
But before I share these really cool stuffs with you, I just want to make it clear that I am not a materialistic guy. I have come to terms with my own poverty long ago and have learned to accept how some things are too impractical or simply put, too expensive for me to own. But every once in a while great bargains come your way that coincides with birthdays, a loving wife, and celestial alignments that directly or indirectly influences ones current reality, making rare purchases like these possible...
Acquisition Number One. After years of having to settle for a free URL that’s long and rather difficult to memorize, I am now the proud owner of my own web address: HARINGULAN.COM! Yes, I now belong to the social elite of registered domain name owners! For the meantime it still pointing to this page until I come around getting my personal website built, but accessing this page is just way easier and not to forget way cooler to advertise now. The fun doesn’t stop there; another really neat thing about it is that as part of the package I got from registering the domain, I now also have my own personalized email! Now how cool is that! So if you have this page bookmarked on your favorites, you can update that now to haringulan.com!
Acquisition Number Two. If you’ve read one of my posts a few months ago, you would recall how frustrated I was having drooled over that romanticized red Ibanez AFS Artcore series guitar I tested in this music store along EDSA. To further torment myself, I actually even printed a picture of the guitar and hung it on my workstation panel with the words, “You will be mine someday” I scribbled at the bottom of the page. Well guess what, someday came sooner than later! Yes, I was able to acquire The Lady in Red at an amazing price! I now have my own semi hollow jazzbox guitar that I have dreamed about for the last couple of years!
And what perfect timing too, there was a recent battle of the bands competition held last week in the office, which I joined along with a few friends from another account. Out of the seven bands that did join, we got as far as the final three. We didn’t make it all the way to the finals but it was alright knowing that at least we didn’t suck the most. And more than that, I was again able to play live music, and this time using my very own instrument.
Of course as the tire old cliché goes, money can’t buy happiness. Material things are temporal and shallow because true bliss can only come from… Hmmm, wait. You know what, I’m going to cut myself short here. Money CAN buy happiness!!! Boy it really can! Hehehe.
***
I went back to the music store where my guitar was sold. I came there to purchase this really awesome Gator hard shell guitar case because man, I’ve got to protect my investment! I also came to check up on my Oscar Schmidt Washburn acoustic guitar that I had brought there a week before to have the string’s action adjusted.
As I was checking out the guitar’s new feel and playability, I did some basic bluesy riffs as the old store staff assisting me watched and listened. In the middle of my picking he asked me what music genre I usually play, naturally I said blues music. This led us into chatting about blues albums and artists that we listen to.
The store clerk, who was in his late 30s or early 40s amazingly knew or had every single album I mentioned. He even knew some of the really obscure blues songs I knew. We ended up swapping stories about our common passion until I realized I was in the store for a considerable amount of time.
Because I felt it was a perfect time to brag, I mentioned how I used to contribute blues album reviews for PULP magazine. He said he doesn’t read the publication regularly but remembered reading an article about Buddy Guy. He said he remembered it well because he appreciated how the article “spoke to him”.
“Ay Sir, ako po nagsulat nun” (Ah Sir, I was actually the one who wrote that piece”), I proudly said. He almost couldn’t believe it. So we ended up talking some more. As I was paying for the items I bought in the store he even followed me to the cashier just to ask me if I listened to several artists he was into.
I’ve accepted the fact that people who read PULP during the days I was contributing for the publication rarely noticed my articles. It’s just funny (though not surprising) how the first person to actually recognize my work turns out to be an old dude. That side job never was to be cool and popular with the ladies.
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