it was not my birthday yesterday, but i received a gift anyway. it was a box from heaven with a familiar handwriting on one side. i told myself, “that must be the books.” and i was definitely right! courtesy of my cousin, TJ, i now have new additions to my book collection, particularly, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera, Laura Esquivel’s Like Water for Chocolate, and Alan Lightman’s Einstein’s Dreams, plus another two, which i forgot. it was the first time a big heartfelt smile broke across my face since a mixture of everything bad shattered my faith in life.
typhoons are in no way uncommon in any land, save for those dry countries in which storms are loose grains of sharp sand, though what we are used to are not as rampaging as this last one. a month’s amount of rain in a day’s downpour. hours of wailing and pleading for help. hundreds of bodies buried in the mud, houses broken down, homes shattered. days of bleak darkness and mortal fear. weeks of search and recovery. months of misery and famine. years of mourning and haled recuperation… and a scar in the face of this country to last a lifetime.
if there is one good thing this calamity has brought up, that would be the universal feeling of outpouring concern, which compelled us all to move and lend our hands to people who we know are practically within our reach. but, would we care this much if it happened somewhere else far from our roots? as what my friend, Jaycee, and i were discussing the other night, everything becomes a matter of proximity. people don't really care unless it's happening right in their own backyard. i just hope this disaster would serve its purpose of reminding us, dear dwellers of the earth, to stop complaining about the world deteriorating right before our eyes and start doing something about it. is this exactly what we really dreamed of when we gripped on a frantic swirl of transforming this place into a bricked society, under the mantle of our desires to live conveniently? i don’t see any convenience in this. we might be able to move faster today, only to spend our spare time on things that matter less in our lives. and i’m guilty of drinking all night and slacking off in front of the television or this darn computer!
each of us has a typhoon of his own, be it financial instability, emotional turmoil, or even life crisis. what we often do not realize is that, just like the victims, anyone is a potential sufferer, and unless we initiate changes, tragedies will continue to hound us.
Showing posts with label cerebral highway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cerebral highway. Show all posts
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
walk the talk
this is an email shared by Niko Papasideris, a not-so-new indie recording artist from Nashville, TN, whom i met on MySpace some years ago. i admit, i do not entirely agree with the wordplay, but hey, it's another way of looking at the road ahead!
****************************************************************
Why I Have No Goals
Roy H. Williams
"Goal," in my experience, is a favorite word of people who talk and dream and dream and talk. And then they get together to "network" with other talkers. There's always a lot of noise in these meetings but it's unlikely that anything of consequence is going to happen. People who chatter about goals are rarely willing to die on that mountain.
I have no goals. But I do have plans.
A plan puts you in motion toward a destination. The destination you choose is irrelevant. It is (1.) motion, (2.) determination and (3.) commitment that separate destination-reaching explorers from goal-setting chipmunks.
Count the cost, explorer. "Am I willing to die on this mountain?"
A goal without a plan is wishful thinking.
A plan without action is self-delusion.
Here are three questions I'd like to ask:
1. What are you trying to make happen?
2. How will you measure success?
3. What's the first thing you need to do to get started?
****************************************************************
Why I Have No Goals
Roy H. Williams
"Goal," in my experience, is a favorite word of people who talk and dream and dream and talk. And then they get together to "network" with other talkers. There's always a lot of noise in these meetings but it's unlikely that anything of consequence is going to happen. People who chatter about goals are rarely willing to die on that mountain.
I have no goals. But I do have plans.
A plan puts you in motion toward a destination. The destination you choose is irrelevant. It is (1.) motion, (2.) determination and (3.) commitment that separate destination-reaching explorers from goal-setting chipmunks.
Count the cost, explorer. "Am I willing to die on this mountain?"
A goal without a plan is wishful thinking.
A plan without action is self-delusion.
Here are three questions I'd like to ask:
1. What are you trying to make happen?
2. How will you measure success?
3. What's the first thing you need to do to get started?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
a carnival friday
i had a very disturbing Friday morning. believe me. it was my third day as a slacker-no-more and it was supposed to be a great day because during Fridays we are allowed to move away from looking like poor corporate slaves. i could wear by favorite black Tootsie Roll vintage shirt and maong pants, and just feel comfortable without any disturbing collar or blistering sandals.
the first thing i heard on the radio was the mournful passing away of Michael Jackson. i mean, i don't know him personally, but no kidding, i was really affected. maybe it's all because of—yes—him and his songs playing a big part of my childhood. you know me, i'm a fan of classic 70s to 90s music, and i can be a human music library of these decades. my childhood was fruitfully spent discovering things on my own while listening to old songs instead of playing patintero outside (sadly, i never learned to play it well). anyway, most of Jacko's socially-conscious pop music and love songs, i grew up with and learned to love. i remember making my first cross stitch design of a world with a band-aid plastered onto it and a small caption saying, "Heal the World". oh c'mon! i was idealistic even when i was eight! and now i'm getting even more affected while listening to my cousin's MJ playlist... i'm now on Gone Too Soon. it depresses the hell out of me. some of my favorites are Heal the World, Will You Be There, Man in the Mirror, Ben, I'll Be There, She's Out of My Life, I just Can't Stop Loving You, The Girl is Mine, and the list goes on. he's not my most favorite singer, though, but he's one of those, and indeed, most of my favorite songs are from him. i'm surely gonna miss his trademark—the Moonwalk. god was he a great performer!
then there are tributes everywhere, while when Michael Jackson was still alive, people loathed him. i say, when you like someone because he is a great artist, just like him because of that. you don't give a shit on what's he gonna do with his personal life. until now i still hold on to Dr. House's words: "You're dying and suddenly everybody loves you." sad but true.
so off i went to work and hardly found a good spot on the railway train. it was 7:30 a.m.—a crucial hour—and there were only few carriages making their rounds from North Avenue to Taft and vice versa! what do you expect? i just stood still in front of the crowd and found myself being pushed inside the vehicle... no effort at all! when it finally came to Kamuning station, i was astounded by the immense crowd that fell flat on my sight. god was it so overfilled, i could hardly find my way out! then on the highway was a mad congestion as if there was an assembly of some sort. i felt crazy! but the agitation didn't stop there. going down the station, i found myself in a constant elbow fight, trying to go against the current of other MRT patrons dismally lined up in two for single-journey tickets... and in between those lines was a lady lying flat on her back with either arm under her head, as if she was in the middle of a sweet dream. and she was in between the lines, for Chrissake! oh well, i don't really understand what's happening with the world today.
and about what i did at work? don't ask. i don't even know what it is. :)
the first thing i heard on the radio was the mournful passing away of Michael Jackson. i mean, i don't know him personally, but no kidding, i was really affected. maybe it's all because of—yes—him and his songs playing a big part of my childhood. you know me, i'm a fan of classic 70s to 90s music, and i can be a human music library of these decades. my childhood was fruitfully spent discovering things on my own while listening to old songs instead of playing patintero outside (sadly, i never learned to play it well). anyway, most of Jacko's socially-conscious pop music and love songs, i grew up with and learned to love. i remember making my first cross stitch design of a world with a band-aid plastered onto it and a small caption saying, "Heal the World". oh c'mon! i was idealistic even when i was eight! and now i'm getting even more affected while listening to my cousin's MJ playlist... i'm now on Gone Too Soon. it depresses the hell out of me. some of my favorites are Heal the World, Will You Be There, Man in the Mirror, Ben, I'll Be There, She's Out of My Life, I just Can't Stop Loving You, The Girl is Mine, and the list goes on. he's not my most favorite singer, though, but he's one of those, and indeed, most of my favorite songs are from him. i'm surely gonna miss his trademark—the Moonwalk. god was he a great performer!
then there are tributes everywhere, while when Michael Jackson was still alive, people loathed him. i say, when you like someone because he is a great artist, just like him because of that. you don't give a shit on what's he gonna do with his personal life. until now i still hold on to Dr. House's words: "You're dying and suddenly everybody loves you." sad but true.
so off i went to work and hardly found a good spot on the railway train. it was 7:30 a.m.—a crucial hour—and there were only few carriages making their rounds from North Avenue to Taft and vice versa! what do you expect? i just stood still in front of the crowd and found myself being pushed inside the vehicle... no effort at all! when it finally came to Kamuning station, i was astounded by the immense crowd that fell flat on my sight. god was it so overfilled, i could hardly find my way out! then on the highway was a mad congestion as if there was an assembly of some sort. i felt crazy! but the agitation didn't stop there. going down the station, i found myself in a constant elbow fight, trying to go against the current of other MRT patrons dismally lined up in two for single-journey tickets... and in between those lines was a lady lying flat on her back with either arm under her head, as if she was in the middle of a sweet dream. and she was in between the lines, for Chrissake! oh well, i don't really understand what's happening with the world today.
and about what i did at work? don't ask. i don't even know what it is. :)
Friday, June 19, 2009
pure scribbles
it's been a long while since i last had this urge to stick my thoughts on this darn-slash-newly-dressed-slash-everything-gets-confusing blogsite. i don't know. my friend Joycee even told me maybe it's because blogging is a thing lazy bums like us are doing all day that perhaps it's a way of detaching and finally freeing myself from this slothful post-graduation stage. i still don't know. put my two cents on the idea that blogging is what i usually do when i'm fired up with loads of work, and that being a three-month-old slacker is finally taking its toll rotting my very own brain. (oh well, i'm back to this blogging craze!)
i want to write about something. i really do. in the past weeks, i got to discover a lot of things which i would love to write about: poems, books, movies, issues, Johnny Depp, and the list goes on.. strangely, though, this want never turned itself into something similar to must, need, or even will. i just took the pleasure of being the sole spectator on a movie or book i was indulging into. i'm a fancier for these things. you take me into something you would like me to see, and you would readily know if i liked it or not. i'm a good liar but when it comes to compliments and adoration, i'm a first-rate jerk.
anyway, the last time i had a good shot of philosophical, better yet call it larger-than-life conversation, was long before my other friend Jaycee would fly to Dumaguete for his further intellectual pursuit. god, i miss it when i'm with someone i can share my thoughts with. most of the time when i finish reading a book, i impulsively turn ecstatic that i find just about anyone i could discuss my sentiments with; and with a lousy pick, i usually end up saying crap and suddenly wanting to exterminate the person whom i'm having a hard time explaining one times one with. that sure was selfish of me, but how can i help it? i'm excited and ecstatic, i could even kill a cat.
on reading and finding a good read
exactly a month ago, i bought this very good book, Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger. if you've read that, too, then probably you would know what's with all this cursing i'm in right now. that's what you call a book. it's not just because it's a pile of printed materials bound on a fancy cover and all that stuff, but it's the interaction with the brain that matters the most. sorry, but this is definitely not the same with Twilight. this, in fact, is what i couldn't understand with people today. yeah, maybe they're in to something like leveraging their reading habits, that taste will eventually develop in time and whatever, but, isn't it good if they start from something great? i know it's too early for new book enthusiasts to swim into the thoughts of Albert Camus, but at least they can start with something light yet spectacular as The Little Prince or To Kill a Mockingbird. i remember the time we were assigned to do a book review of Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. so we went to this bookstore in a mall and nearly everyone was screaming their lungs out upon knowing that another saga of this Twilight thing was "available, so hurry and grab your own copy now!" darn did they go gaga in front of the Twilight shelf that they looked like a bunch of asylum patients hugging their copies all the way to the cashier. it's depressing, though.
finding a good book is hard, but finding out if a book is good is an entirely different story. as what our review class professor imparted, "You don't have to eat the whole egg to tell if it's rotten." i thought it was from Ernest Hemingway. i sure have it in my notes, but it's from Joseph Parisi anyway, and i don't know the guy. my mistake. good thing we were not given objective tests in that subject, though. in my case, and i know it's also the same with yours or some of you, at the very least, chasing your study (in this case, READING) spirits is quite a hard job. most of the time, especially when you're reading a novel or literature of some sort, the story goes all the way confusing as it grows and sets out different branches of thought you wouldn't understand in the first place what the hell they are for in the story. some books i left half-read because of this. but one sunny day (oh, i'm trying to be poetic), i heard from this bookstore-sponsored radio segment what i needed to learn in the course of reading. "Read. Just keep on reading. Never force yourself to understand the book chapter by chapter. Later on you will come to a point where everything will just fall into the right place, and soon you'll realize why some things needed be there." how i loved these words! this is the same thing i experienced while reading Of Mice and Men. just for the sake of reading it and being able to cook up my own thoughts about the book, i did, and when i came to that revelation part, i nearly got killed with it! it was brilliant. only a genius like Steinbeck can seize readers by the throat like that.
indeed, in a good story, there is a purpose for every word. sometimes you can feel that they're only there to arouse emotions and all, but more than anything, symbolic representations are there to build up the story. they are, in another sense, its foundation. so read. it's a good investment.
one thing about the grownups... and us
last night i was teaching my grandmother how she could put the "my webcam" window on top of the other applications so she could see herself on the computer screen. make it more complex with yahoo messenger photo sharing. it was a pretty hard task, me teaching her about computer stuff and all, and especially because we were just talking online. she hardly even knew any part of the computer, so i had to explain everything, even how a touchpad looks and works and all. i was like goin' back to my old job of explaining things to customers when i was still in that darn call center. but it felt good anyway. not the call center job (my goodness!), but that thing between me and my lola. it's not just because her blood runs through my veins that i had to be patient with her and all. it's the same thing when i was still teaching my mother how to use the computer. patience to the test. but isn't it great, the reversal of roles? how they patiently taught us to walk.. read and write.. and now it's our turn to introduce them to the things that are new to them, like computers and cellphones. it's pure bliss!
one more thing about the grownups... and us
this one is not good, not even funny. and this is the type of grownups i wouldn't even understand. i once had this conversation with two people about relationships, marriage and all. i finally said that i don't want to be beholden to nothing and to no one, and that i don't even see the idea of marriage as glamorous as others do. and so they went on saying, "Bata ka pa. Haha. (with 'haha', believe me) Bata ka pa nga." i nearly poked their eyes out with a pen. personally, i'm open with the idea of spending each other's lives together without marriage, and they were saying that i'm a kid?! c'mon! i don't even like the thought of me doing other person's bed, preparing his breakfast, putting on his tie and all. it sucks! and mind you, annulment is way more expensive than a wedding. maybe the guys i talked to and i we're not on the same page when it comes to things like this. and maybe i would change preferences come some enlightening years or when i just feel like marrying. who knows? but the thought of people saying that i'm still a kid surely gets to my nerves. just because what i believe to be true is different from the truth other people embrace does not mean that one has the right to say that i'm just a kid. right? that's why we were given our own bodies, and brains, for that matter. this would surely be a sad, boring place if all of us were to think the same way.
some grownups still have to grow up.
one last thing about the grownups... and us
i'm not dropping any name. but to say that i wasted four years of my life for enrolling a course that is not nursing, which Person A wanted me to take to have an easy ticket to America, is a lousy remark. i love the degree i have right now, and i know i would have other means of going abroad. i also understand that Person A only wanted the best for me (at least the best that he thinks is best for me), but to say "WASTED FOUR YEARS"? that's extremely annoying.
grownups are sometimes lousy speakers. one must not listen to them all the time.. and, indeed, it will take eons for them to grow up.
i want to write about something. i really do. in the past weeks, i got to discover a lot of things which i would love to write about: poems, books, movies, issues, Johnny Depp, and the list goes on.. strangely, though, this want never turned itself into something similar to must, need, or even will. i just took the pleasure of being the sole spectator on a movie or book i was indulging into. i'm a fancier for these things. you take me into something you would like me to see, and you would readily know if i liked it or not. i'm a good liar but when it comes to compliments and adoration, i'm a first-rate jerk.
anyway, the last time i had a good shot of philosophical, better yet call it larger-than-life conversation, was long before my other friend Jaycee would fly to Dumaguete for his further intellectual pursuit. god, i miss it when i'm with someone i can share my thoughts with. most of the time when i finish reading a book, i impulsively turn ecstatic that i find just about anyone i could discuss my sentiments with; and with a lousy pick, i usually end up saying crap and suddenly wanting to exterminate the person whom i'm having a hard time explaining one times one with. that sure was selfish of me, but how can i help it? i'm excited and ecstatic, i could even kill a cat.
on reading and finding a good read
exactly a month ago, i bought this very good book, Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger. if you've read that, too, then probably you would know what's with all this cursing i'm in right now. that's what you call a book. it's not just because it's a pile of printed materials bound on a fancy cover and all that stuff, but it's the interaction with the brain that matters the most. sorry, but this is definitely not the same with Twilight. this, in fact, is what i couldn't understand with people today. yeah, maybe they're in to something like leveraging their reading habits, that taste will eventually develop in time and whatever, but, isn't it good if they start from something great? i know it's too early for new book enthusiasts to swim into the thoughts of Albert Camus, but at least they can start with something light yet spectacular as The Little Prince or To Kill a Mockingbird. i remember the time we were assigned to do a book review of Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. so we went to this bookstore in a mall and nearly everyone was screaming their lungs out upon knowing that another saga of this Twilight thing was "available, so hurry and grab your own copy now!" darn did they go gaga in front of the Twilight shelf that they looked like a bunch of asylum patients hugging their copies all the way to the cashier. it's depressing, though.
finding a good book is hard, but finding out if a book is good is an entirely different story. as what our review class professor imparted, "You don't have to eat the whole egg to tell if it's rotten." i thought it was from Ernest Hemingway. i sure have it in my notes, but it's from Joseph Parisi anyway, and i don't know the guy. my mistake. good thing we were not given objective tests in that subject, though. in my case, and i know it's also the same with yours or some of you, at the very least, chasing your study (in this case, READING) spirits is quite a hard job. most of the time, especially when you're reading a novel or literature of some sort, the story goes all the way confusing as it grows and sets out different branches of thought you wouldn't understand in the first place what the hell they are for in the story. some books i left half-read because of this. but one sunny day (oh, i'm trying to be poetic), i heard from this bookstore-sponsored radio segment what i needed to learn in the course of reading. "Read. Just keep on reading. Never force yourself to understand the book chapter by chapter. Later on you will come to a point where everything will just fall into the right place, and soon you'll realize why some things needed be there." how i loved these words! this is the same thing i experienced while reading Of Mice and Men. just for the sake of reading it and being able to cook up my own thoughts about the book, i did, and when i came to that revelation part, i nearly got killed with it! it was brilliant. only a genius like Steinbeck can seize readers by the throat like that.
indeed, in a good story, there is a purpose for every word. sometimes you can feel that they're only there to arouse emotions and all, but more than anything, symbolic representations are there to build up the story. they are, in another sense, its foundation. so read. it's a good investment.
one thing about the grownups... and us
last night i was teaching my grandmother how she could put the "my webcam" window on top of the other applications so she could see herself on the computer screen. make it more complex with yahoo messenger photo sharing. it was a pretty hard task, me teaching her about computer stuff and all, and especially because we were just talking online. she hardly even knew any part of the computer, so i had to explain everything, even how a touchpad looks and works and all. i was like goin' back to my old job of explaining things to customers when i was still in that darn call center. but it felt good anyway. not the call center job (my goodness!), but that thing between me and my lola. it's not just because her blood runs through my veins that i had to be patient with her and all. it's the same thing when i was still teaching my mother how to use the computer. patience to the test. but isn't it great, the reversal of roles? how they patiently taught us to walk.. read and write.. and now it's our turn to introduce them to the things that are new to them, like computers and cellphones. it's pure bliss!
one more thing about the grownups... and us
this one is not good, not even funny. and this is the type of grownups i wouldn't even understand. i once had this conversation with two people about relationships, marriage and all. i finally said that i don't want to be beholden to nothing and to no one, and that i don't even see the idea of marriage as glamorous as others do. and so they went on saying, "Bata ka pa. Haha. (with 'haha', believe me) Bata ka pa nga." i nearly poked their eyes out with a pen. personally, i'm open with the idea of spending each other's lives together without marriage, and they were saying that i'm a kid?! c'mon! i don't even like the thought of me doing other person's bed, preparing his breakfast, putting on his tie and all. it sucks! and mind you, annulment is way more expensive than a wedding. maybe the guys i talked to and i we're not on the same page when it comes to things like this. and maybe i would change preferences come some enlightening years or when i just feel like marrying. who knows? but the thought of people saying that i'm still a kid surely gets to my nerves. just because what i believe to be true is different from the truth other people embrace does not mean that one has the right to say that i'm just a kid. right? that's why we were given our own bodies, and brains, for that matter. this would surely be a sad, boring place if all of us were to think the same way.
some grownups still have to grow up.
one last thing about the grownups... and us
i'm not dropping any name. but to say that i wasted four years of my life for enrolling a course that is not nursing, which Person A wanted me to take to have an easy ticket to America, is a lousy remark. i love the degree i have right now, and i know i would have other means of going abroad. i also understand that Person A only wanted the best for me (at least the best that he thinks is best for me), but to say "WASTED FOUR YEARS"? that's extremely annoying.
grownups are sometimes lousy speakers. one must not listen to them all the time.. and, indeed, it will take eons for them to grow up.
Monday, April 27, 2009
sometimes it's also in the name
i have a theory. a very lame theory. for years i've been trying to formulate a fail-proof technique on how to gain favorable outcomes from almost everything i do, although i know things don't always come as planned and expected. i was just thinking, is there something in me that dictates what i would become, as well as the actual part of getting there? above all, i admit that the basic equation is effort plus a little luck plus what you know and who you know. but, could it be that it is also in the genes? zodiac signs? size and shape? color of the eyes? birthmarks? or even in names?
i can't help sharing my self-woven fact that the most successful people (here in the Philippines at the very least) have peculiar names or those that are sure to ring a bell on one's ears. of all the names i've heard, it is almost always true that either real strength or metaphoric rays is radiated through one's name. here, people with non-generic names, i think, have an inherent "plus 50 points" or bluntly said, are 50% ahead in terms of making and building a name.
in the literature and arts, we have Bienvenido Lumbera, Nicomedes Márquez Joaquin, Virgilio S. Almario, F. Sionil Jose, Mario Eric Gamalinda, Mauro Malang Santos, Juan Nakpil, Levi Celerio, Lucrecia Kasilag, Lino Brocka, and Ang Kiukok, to name a few. in politics, it is pretty obvious that their names are as strange as their personas. how these corrupt politicians kill and steal our money and come home to dine with their families at night is just bemusing! but, yes, their names are strange and they are famous.
my very lame theory was somehow supported by a blog i've seen on www.good.is, which is a well-substantiated explanation of how names eventually affect the lives of people in terms of their chosen careers, and i had a good laugh discovering that there are actually people whose names have amusing connections with their professions. read and find out if you are one.
What's in a name? Sometimes, a job
by Mark Peters
The Synchronous World of Aptronyms
Have you heard about the gardener named Alan Bloom or the defense attorney Scott Free? How about the brilliant professor of genetics, Dr. Murray Brilliant? Or the winner of the the Nez Perce County Fair hog-calling contest, Jolee Bacon?
Such perfect marriages of profession and handle sound like old-fashioned jokes from a paleo-comedic era.
Nuh-uh.
These kismetic combos of name and job are truth, not truthiness. Preposterously well-named people like Rita Book the librarian and Diane Berry the mortician have aptronyms—names that are particularly suited to a person’s profession. Folks have been wondering about “nominative determinism” and the “name-career hypothesis” for decades, and collecting the words also called aptonyms, jobonyms, namephreaks, perfect fit last names, and euonyms is a perennial hobby of word-herders.
The word aptronym dates back to at least 1925, and no less respectable a publication than New Scientist has been the home of much aptronym-discussing, though they prefer the term nominative determinism, a name for the phenomena that is both science-y and destiny-ish. In 1994, New Scientist introduced that term and discussed such cases as Dr. Misri (a depression-focused psychiatrist), R.A. Sparks (author of electronics textbooks), C.J. Berry (a make-your-own wine maven), and J. Angst, who co-wrote a book on bipolar disorder. Over the years, the letters page of New Scientist has been an ever-replenishing source of aptronyms, and I particularly enjoyed a 2005 issue that mentioned fish researchers Andrew Bass and Steven Haddock, as well as the journalist Elaine Lies, who probably does not agree that her aptronym is apt.
Timothy Noah of Slate—who lacks his own aptronym, unless he collects a metric ark-load of animals—is a top contender for collector laureate of the aptronym world, as his pieces have brought many to light. He’s collected dentists named Fear, Hurt, Toothman, Chu, Plack, and Puller, as well as an economist named Dollar, a gastroenterologist named Colon, a professor of religion named Godlove, an ophthalmologist named Blinder, and a urologist named Peters. (I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that…) Noah’s crowning glories are the discovery of sexual misconduct researcher Charol Shakeshaft and lawyer Sue Yoo, two professionals whose names must make their lives very interesting (and annoying).
For aptronym insight, you can’t do better than Verbie Prevost, literature professor and head of the English department at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga, who I heard give a paper on this topic at the American Name Society conference a few months ago. As to whether or not the name influenced her, Verbie said her parents probably did not intend to steer their daughter toward an inevitable destiny as an English prof: “They were simply naming me after my grandmothers—Verbie for the maternal grandmother and Ann for the paternal one. I’m not sure it ever occurred to them to think about the connection even when I displayed an early interest in become a writer or an English teacher—as early as elementary school, in fact.”
In her paper, Verbie said that taunt-bearing schoolmates were equally uninterested in her name’s meaning: “I also do not really recall much reference being made to the aptronymic quality of my name during my K-12 school days, but then my classmates probably weren’t fully aware of my future plans. Instead, they primarily teased me about the unusualness of the name.” Admirably, Verbie has managed to not go bonkers from endless jokes about her name, like an old boyfriend who said her sister was named Nounie and another friend who calls Verbie’s children the pronouns.
You could say I have an aptronym, though it’s a bit of a stretch. As I’ve heard tell, my great-grandmother, who was more than a tad bonkers, wasn’t thrilled with the choice of Mark, saying, “What’s that? Like a mark on the wall?” (Guess she never heard of the Bible. Yeeps). But since making marks on paper is my favorite thing to do, even more than plowing through a bag of barbecue chips while watching about five episodes of The Shield in one sitting, the name does fit. I am a mark-er.
What about you, oh nameless readers? Is there a Randall Anonymous, who floats name-free notions across the web, or a Carol Comment with something to say? You know what to do, commentadores.
i can't help sharing my self-woven fact that the most successful people (here in the Philippines at the very least) have peculiar names or those that are sure to ring a bell on one's ears. of all the names i've heard, it is almost always true that either real strength or metaphoric rays is radiated through one's name. here, people with non-generic names, i think, have an inherent "plus 50 points" or bluntly said, are 50% ahead in terms of making and building a name.
in the literature and arts, we have Bienvenido Lumbera, Nicomedes Márquez Joaquin, Virgilio S. Almario, F. Sionil Jose, Mario Eric Gamalinda, Mauro Malang Santos, Juan Nakpil, Levi Celerio, Lucrecia Kasilag, Lino Brocka, and Ang Kiukok, to name a few. in politics, it is pretty obvious that their names are as strange as their personas. how these corrupt politicians kill and steal our money and come home to dine with their families at night is just bemusing! but, yes, their names are strange and they are famous.
my very lame theory was somehow supported by a blog i've seen on www.good.is, which is a well-substantiated explanation of how names eventually affect the lives of people in terms of their chosen careers, and i had a good laugh discovering that there are actually people whose names have amusing connections with their professions. read and find out if you are one.
What's in a name? Sometimes, a job
by Mark Peters
The Synchronous World of Aptronyms
Have you heard about the gardener named Alan Bloom or the defense attorney Scott Free? How about the brilliant professor of genetics, Dr. Murray Brilliant? Or the winner of the the Nez Perce County Fair hog-calling contest, Jolee Bacon?
Such perfect marriages of profession and handle sound like old-fashioned jokes from a paleo-comedic era.
Nuh-uh.
These kismetic combos of name and job are truth, not truthiness. Preposterously well-named people like Rita Book the librarian and Diane Berry the mortician have aptronyms—names that are particularly suited to a person’s profession. Folks have been wondering about “nominative determinism” and the “name-career hypothesis” for decades, and collecting the words also called aptonyms, jobonyms, namephreaks, perfect fit last names, and euonyms is a perennial hobby of word-herders.
The word aptronym dates back to at least 1925, and no less respectable a publication than New Scientist has been the home of much aptronym-discussing, though they prefer the term nominative determinism, a name for the phenomena that is both science-y and destiny-ish. In 1994, New Scientist introduced that term and discussed such cases as Dr. Misri (a depression-focused psychiatrist), R.A. Sparks (author of electronics textbooks), C.J. Berry (a make-your-own wine maven), and J. Angst, who co-wrote a book on bipolar disorder. Over the years, the letters page of New Scientist has been an ever-replenishing source of aptronyms, and I particularly enjoyed a 2005 issue that mentioned fish researchers Andrew Bass and Steven Haddock, as well as the journalist Elaine Lies, who probably does not agree that her aptronym is apt.
Timothy Noah of Slate—who lacks his own aptronym, unless he collects a metric ark-load of animals—is a top contender for collector laureate of the aptronym world, as his pieces have brought many to light. He’s collected dentists named Fear, Hurt, Toothman, Chu, Plack, and Puller, as well as an economist named Dollar, a gastroenterologist named Colon, a professor of religion named Godlove, an ophthalmologist named Blinder, and a urologist named Peters. (I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that…) Noah’s crowning glories are the discovery of sexual misconduct researcher Charol Shakeshaft and lawyer Sue Yoo, two professionals whose names must make their lives very interesting (and annoying).
For aptronym insight, you can’t do better than Verbie Prevost, literature professor and head of the English department at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga, who I heard give a paper on this topic at the American Name Society conference a few months ago. As to whether or not the name influenced her, Verbie said her parents probably did not intend to steer their daughter toward an inevitable destiny as an English prof: “They were simply naming me after my grandmothers—Verbie for the maternal grandmother and Ann for the paternal one. I’m not sure it ever occurred to them to think about the connection even when I displayed an early interest in become a writer or an English teacher—as early as elementary school, in fact.”
In her paper, Verbie said that taunt-bearing schoolmates were equally uninterested in her name’s meaning: “I also do not really recall much reference being made to the aptronymic quality of my name during my K-12 school days, but then my classmates probably weren’t fully aware of my future plans. Instead, they primarily teased me about the unusualness of the name.” Admirably, Verbie has managed to not go bonkers from endless jokes about her name, like an old boyfriend who said her sister was named Nounie and another friend who calls Verbie’s children the pronouns.
You could say I have an aptronym, though it’s a bit of a stretch. As I’ve heard tell, my great-grandmother, who was more than a tad bonkers, wasn’t thrilled with the choice of Mark, saying, “What’s that? Like a mark on the wall?” (Guess she never heard of the Bible. Yeeps). But since making marks on paper is my favorite thing to do, even more than plowing through a bag of barbecue chips while watching about five episodes of The Shield in one sitting, the name does fit. I am a mark-er.
What about you, oh nameless readers? Is there a Randall Anonymous, who floats name-free notions across the web, or a Carol Comment with something to say? You know what to do, commentadores.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
how do i hate 28? let me count the ways...
six hours earlier, i retired myself to a queasy hibernation after my mother gleefully remarked that i looked like an Igorot as she greeted me at the doorstep. and that was it. with my native-looking headband that strangely takes its roots all the way from Japan and my bouncing iron-curled hair still primly fashioned on my apex, i reluctantly went upstairs without a single word. another six troubling hours earlier, i lost my four-year-old school ID somewhere on the cigarette-butt flooded Dapitan steet. something must be extremely wrong with 28...
as much as i would like to dismiss this thought, i simply could not help it. i myself do not subscribe to feng shui and the rest of the occult-smothered fortune telling schemes, but the thing is, i am persistently endowed with an indistinguishable first-hand misfortune every, before, and after 28, and whether or not i am thinking of it, hell and earth never miss their commitment to give me that slimy shit, that sometimes i feel i can even transmit the relatively undeserved bad luck to persons i am with.
i hate 28 as much as i hate bugs and cockroaches, and people who aren't responsible enough to keep their wet umbrellas shut when walking on a covered pathway. i hate 28 as much as i hate big chunks of ginger and garlic on my food, and children who touch your knees when making their way inside public transportation. i hate 28 as much as i loathe muds of spit on the trodden path, cherry-topped with some yellowish slimy phlegm. i hate 28 as much as i hate chewed bubblegum on my skirt, the snatcher of my phone, and people who flaunt their English on streets, subways, and in places like Quiapo and Divisoria. and for the creamiest crap, i hate 28 as much as i hate the terribly no-brainer commercials, soap operas, and films in the Philippines, particularly that possessed Tiki-Tiki ad, the frenzy Gagambino, and the ultimate summary of downright Pinoy psychological error, KC and Richard's When I Met You.
2008 is yet the most dreadful year i struggled to survive-- faulty termination and a series of unfortunate, i mean UNFORTUNATE, very unfortunate (did i say unfortunate?) events. 2008=28. and if my memory serves me well, the first time i had this shedding of my uterine lining accompanied by excruciating cramps, which i naively thought of as a C-level diarrhea, minus all the BM, was on the 28th of January when i was in grade five. but menstruation isn't really an unfortunate event in womanhood, although disturbing and distressing. and maybe i was not at all unfortunate every 28. maybe i really have to thank this day for giving me an excuse for my inherent idiocy and absent-mindedness. and if you happen to be born on the 28th of any effing month or if you're into celebrating whatever event on the same date, i'm sorry for wasting three minutes of your time and for relentlessly dissing you special date, but... it's 28 and i'm in deep shit!
as much as i would like to dismiss this thought, i simply could not help it. i myself do not subscribe to feng shui and the rest of the occult-smothered fortune telling schemes, but the thing is, i am persistently endowed with an indistinguishable first-hand misfortune every, before, and after 28, and whether or not i am thinking of it, hell and earth never miss their commitment to give me that slimy shit, that sometimes i feel i can even transmit the relatively undeserved bad luck to persons i am with.
i hate 28 as much as i hate bugs and cockroaches, and people who aren't responsible enough to keep their wet umbrellas shut when walking on a covered pathway. i hate 28 as much as i hate big chunks of ginger and garlic on my food, and children who touch your knees when making their way inside public transportation. i hate 28 as much as i loathe muds of spit on the trodden path, cherry-topped with some yellowish slimy phlegm. i hate 28 as much as i hate chewed bubblegum on my skirt, the snatcher of my phone, and people who flaunt their English on streets, subways, and in places like Quiapo and Divisoria. and for the creamiest crap, i hate 28 as much as i hate the terribly no-brainer commercials, soap operas, and films in the Philippines, particularly that possessed Tiki-Tiki ad, the frenzy Gagambino, and the ultimate summary of downright Pinoy psychological error, KC and Richard's When I Met You.
2008 is yet the most dreadful year i struggled to survive-- faulty termination and a series of unfortunate, i mean UNFORTUNATE, very unfortunate (did i say unfortunate?) events. 2
Saturday, February 14, 2009
sweet potatoes
scientific name: ipomoea batatas
sa Tagalog, KAMOTE.
***************************************
lately i've been having difficulties in writing. i believe it's not because i've been running out of things to say. in fact, whenever i'm slapped with a certain topic, a web of intertwined ideas clutter my brain; too much, that i do not seem to know how to put them into words. so i end up thinking and planning carefully how to sort them, until the time is up and all that's left is will, coupled with my mastery of procrastination, and Jesus Christ. wow. one must know that most sacrilegious writers and writer wannabes suddenly become religious roughly an hour before the deadline.
beyond the wee hours of idle daydreaming and planning how to make a manuscript less stupid in the critical eyes of professors—
(random: talk about being OC. upon checking if the term "wee" would properly address my thoughts, i stumbled upon this thing in urban dictionary:
wee - the time spent in your life peeing
i wasted my life in the wee hours tags: pee, time, bathroom, life, important)
rotflmao!
—i find it more convenient to read books and magazines, look at old pictures and make silly slideshows, or update this multiply site. holy cow! i'm less than 20 days away from finally getting this shit off, and until now i still regret (sometimes) having worked only to lose my drive in studying, thinking that i could have done better than those it's-a-little-point-zero-three to dean's list, and that 3s in those subjects i swallowed like bitter pills because i stubbornly did not want them like that lame PGC and Pol Dy are beyond repair, so why waste my effort when i know there's no silver tint at the end of my effin' gay rainbow? i can really be such a pessimist at times. i'm not a fan of numbers, but i know i could have made it only if i willed, but i did not, and this remorse is buggin' me 16 days before classes end. sweet Jesus!
***************************************
our supposed thesis defense day is over, but not yet the "grilling of asses and butchering of students alive," as how my friend Jaycee puts it. good thing Sir Nikki Salandanan, one of our panelists (i intended to put this thing near Jaycee's name for good luck. yiii!), who was all crabbed and harassed last night after nearly 12 hours of baking the balls of hopeful kids, agreed to call our presentation off and move it tomorrow, this time, with the other panelist, so it would be easier for his part, and so was heaven's grace for us.
***************************************
28 is my "malas day" and not friday the 13th. i've celebrated a couple of birthdays that fell on this widely-anathematized day, but hey! i'm still alive!
in a hopeless attempt to dispose off my P68-resume, my friend-slash-thesis-mate Joseinne and I signed up in any, i mean ANY participating company in the job fair, just because Reuters' booth was not manned (but we placed our resumes at the table anyway) and Inquirer's was, to our dismay, all emptied; plus, the other publishing companies have already packed up. imagine us applying in Ayala Land Corporation. what the heck are we going to do there? sell houses? write PR newsletters or make advertorials for houses? we just did not think any job would suit us there, but we signed up anyway instead of going for Maynilad or 7-11.
and my friend? well, she ended up submitting her last copy of resume in the Kumon booth. holy guacamole!
then i suddenly remembered that my cover letter was like "I am seeking to align myself with one of the most respected news agencies in the Philippines today." come on, Ayala Land!
***************************************
and i thought i was lucky on friday the 13th...
sa Tagalog, KAMOTE.
***************************************
lately i've been having difficulties in writing. i believe it's not because i've been running out of things to say. in fact, whenever i'm slapped with a certain topic, a web of intertwined ideas clutter my brain; too much, that i do not seem to know how to put them into words. so i end up thinking and planning carefully how to sort them, until the time is up and all that's left is will, coupled with my mastery of procrastination, and Jesus Christ. wow. one must know that most sacrilegious writers and writer wannabes suddenly become religious roughly an hour before the deadline.
beyond the wee hours of idle daydreaming and planning how to make a manuscript less stupid in the critical eyes of professors—
(random: talk about being OC. upon checking if the term "wee" would properly address my thoughts, i stumbled upon this thing in urban dictionary:
wee - the time spent in your life peeing
i wasted my life in the wee hours tags: pee, time, bathroom, life, important)
rotflmao!—i find it more convenient to read books and magazines, look at old pictures and make silly slideshows, or update this multiply site. holy cow! i'm less than 20 days away from finally getting this shit off, and until now i still regret (sometimes) having worked only to lose my drive in studying, thinking that i could have done better than those it's-a-little-point-zero-three to dean's list, and that 3s in those subjects i swallowed like bitter pills because i stubbornly did not want them like that lame PGC and Pol Dy are beyond repair, so why waste my effort when i know there's no silver tint at the end of my effin' gay rainbow? i can really be such a pessimist at times. i'm not a fan of numbers, but i know i could have made it only if i willed, but i did not, and this remorse is buggin' me 16 days before classes end. sweet Jesus!
***************************************
our supposed thesis defense day is over, but not yet the "grilling of asses and butchering of students alive," as how my friend Jaycee puts it. good thing Sir Nikki Salandanan, one of our panelists (i intended to put this thing near Jaycee's name for good luck. yiii!), who was all crabbed and harassed last night after nearly 12 hours of baking the balls of hopeful kids, agreed to call our presentation off and move it tomorrow, this time, with the other panelist, so it would be easier for his part, and so was heaven's grace for us.
***************************************
28 is my "malas day" and not friday the 13th. i've celebrated a couple of birthdays that fell on this widely-anathematized day, but hey! i'm still alive!
in a hopeless attempt to dispose off my P68-resume, my friend-slash-thesis-mate Joseinne and I signed up in any, i mean ANY participating company in the job fair, just because Reuters' booth was not manned (but we placed our resumes at the table anyway) and Inquirer's was, to our dismay, all emptied; plus, the other publishing companies have already packed up. imagine us applying in Ayala Land Corporation. what the heck are we going to do there? sell houses? write PR newsletters or make advertorials for houses? we just did not think any job would suit us there, but we signed up anyway instead of going for Maynilad or 7-11.
and my friend? well, she ended up submitting her last copy of resume in the Kumon booth. holy guacamole!
then i suddenly remembered that my cover letter was like "I am seeking to align myself with one of the most respected news agencies in the Philippines today." come on, Ayala Land!
***************************************
and i thought i was lucky on friday the 13th...
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
on eggs, pregnancy, and night sky
"What makes the desert beautiful," said the Little Prince, "is that somewhere it hides a well..."
December 18 marked the last day of our classes this year. No one was feverish and swarmed with school works because there's not that much to do, except for some encoding and revisions of theses, which practically compensated for the hours wasted on absolute idleness. In short, pang-walis sa nagbuburak na utak.
If Christmas is not a thing for apathetic and semi-anti-social students like us—the notorious bunch of seniors that constantly ignored parties, general assemblies, saintly seminars, and even the upcoming retreat—gift-giving, ironically, does count, at least in some groups, and especially in our last year as kolehiyalas.
"Sirain mo para maraming sumunod," is an automatic line people will surely never forget while anxiously waiting, and sometimes getting even more excited for what the other has received, or dying to see what kind of reaction one would throw upon discovering a slimy toad gum from that silly gift box.
I knew it was an egg; an odd sort of egg—that thing my friend, Joy, gave me last week—and indeed, eggs are supposed to be broken before they can be useful. It was an egg-shaped plush toy with a zip fastener at the midsection, as if inviting you to take a peek at what it cloaks inside. Under the velvety white sheet, much like a scrotum (kidding!) or just plain bonnet, was a happy duckling with 10 hoops of yarn and a perfectly tied orange ribbon on its head, and short flappy wings, unable as that of the tearjerker kiwi animation in youtube. I am not a fan of stuffed toys, but that one was great.
Nevertheless, i prefer to keep the egg closed and figuratively unbroken most of the time for sentimental reasons. Like magic that makes us smile as we look at the swollen tummies of soon-to-be mommies, we slowly fall in love with the idea that there is something beautiful inside it; that there's a little man, sucking his thumb under that pack of lard; and simply because there is life inside it, which gives that ball an extra glow... And for us, lovers of the Little Prince, it is always sweet to look at the sky at night and see the faint white glow with the freshness that comes only with new eyes, knowing that in one of the stars, he is living.
Stars do change, in some measures, as we change in larger ones, and until now, it still gets me to thinking, has the sheep eaten his rose—or not? "And you will see how everything changes... And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance!"
December 18 marked the last day of our classes this year. No one was feverish and swarmed with school works because there's not that much to do, except for some encoding and revisions of theses, which practically compensated for the hours wasted on absolute idleness. In short, pang-walis sa nagbuburak na utak.
If Christmas is not a thing for apathetic and semi-anti-social students like us—the notorious bunch of seniors that constantly ignored parties, general assemblies, saintly seminars, and even the upcoming retreat—gift-giving, ironically, does count, at least in some groups, and especially in our last year as kolehiyalas.
"Sirain mo para maraming sumunod," is an automatic line people will surely never forget while anxiously waiting, and sometimes getting even more excited for what the other has received, or dying to see what kind of reaction one would throw upon discovering a slimy toad gum from that silly gift box.
I knew it was an egg; an odd sort of egg—that thing my friend, Joy, gave me last week—and indeed, eggs are supposed to be broken before they can be useful. It was an egg-shaped plush toy with a zip fastener at the midsection, as if inviting you to take a peek at what it cloaks inside. Under the velvety white sheet, much like a scrotum (kidding!) or just plain bonnet, was a happy duckling with 10 hoops of yarn and a perfectly tied orange ribbon on its head, and short flappy wings, unable as that of the tearjerker kiwi animation in youtube. I am not a fan of stuffed toys, but that one was great.
Nevertheless, i prefer to keep the egg closed and figuratively unbroken most of the time for sentimental reasons. Like magic that makes us smile as we look at the swollen tummies of soon-to-be mommies, we slowly fall in love with the idea that there is something beautiful inside it; that there's a little man, sucking his thumb under that pack of lard; and simply because there is life inside it, which gives that ball an extra glow... And for us, lovers of the Little Prince, it is always sweet to look at the sky at night and see the faint white glow with the freshness that comes only with new eyes, knowing that in one of the stars, he is living.
Stars do change, in some measures, as we change in larger ones, and until now, it still gets me to thinking, has the sheep eaten his rose—or not? "And you will see how everything changes... And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance!"
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
where are you Christmas?
i heard this thing last night which asked, "if you were given a chance to change the 'ho-ho-ho' trademark of Santa Claus, what would it be?" answers came flying as hoy-hoy-hoy, hey-hey-hey, wahahahaha, hihihihi (as if Santa was some sort of a witch), and a lot more crappy sounds.
if i were to be asked, i would suggest that Santa just shuts his mouth up (what's so funny about Christmas?) and never let the hopeful children notice him coming, which is what he intends to do in the first place, because if not, he would just bang the front door or whack the windows instead of squeezing himself dirty in that darn chimney. and by the way, how about the children in tropical countries, who have nothing but holes in the roof, and worse, no roof at all? won't they have their gifts? i'm thankful that i stopped believing in tales at an early age, lest i would have thought of myself as a naughty kid all these time.
well, i don't want to sound like The Grinch, because i also had my own share of putting big red socks under the stairs, waiting for something lovely beneath that plastic tree, and getting myself all mesmerized by the fairy lights that cover the whole city at night; but now, i just don't feel it coming. this year, i don't want to get myself involved with Christmas parties and reunion-slash-beer-drinking session, or whatever. i don't even want to look at plain yellow fairy lights because all they do is make me feel a little melancholic and alone.
again, i say, if i were to choose, i'd rather die on a Christmas season. scanning my older posts, i found this younger piece of thought:
on living and leaving (part 2)
"...it is mostly during the cold December that people feel loved and special. gifts flushing into your house, greetings clogging in airwaves, and friends, those you've known ever since you said your first hello to the earth, coming into sight, and making you feel important, remembered, cherished - is there anything more you can ask for? you feel great, you feel loved, you feel more than what the great dead people felt. what happens after life, you know no more, but what matters is that you keep those memories with you and preserve them like a jar of fragrant kisses which, while the grownups fooled us, multiply into thousand sweet little memories... i can't think of spending another year with those love messages diminishing like decaying trees and being thrown into a state where they were totally lost and out of my grasp..."
i just don't think something has changed in the way i see it.
and since it's the time of the year, and 2008 is slowly making it's way out (thank God, just a minute shadow of 28 for me to endure) i might as well share with you some of my favorite Christmas songs and an audio book of A Christmas Carol by Orson Wells.
happy Christmas...
if i were to be asked, i would suggest that Santa just shuts his mouth up (what's so funny about Christmas?) and never let the hopeful children notice him coming, which is what he intends to do in the first place, because if not, he would just bang the front door or whack the windows instead of squeezing himself dirty in that darn chimney. and by the way, how about the children in tropical countries, who have nothing but holes in the roof, and worse, no roof at all? won't they have their gifts? i'm thankful that i stopped believing in tales at an early age, lest i would have thought of myself as a naughty kid all these time.
well, i don't want to sound like The Grinch, because i also had my own share of putting big red socks under the stairs, waiting for something lovely beneath that plastic tree, and getting myself all mesmerized by the fairy lights that cover the whole city at night; but now, i just don't feel it coming. this year, i don't want to get myself involved with Christmas parties and reunion-slash-beer-drinking session, or whatever. i don't even want to look at plain yellow fairy lights because all they do is make me feel a little melancholic and alone.
again, i say, if i were to choose, i'd rather die on a Christmas season. scanning my older posts, i found this younger piece of thought:
on living and leaving (part 2)
"...it is mostly during the cold December that people feel loved and special. gifts flushing into your house, greetings clogging in airwaves, and friends, those you've known ever since you said your first hello to the earth, coming into sight, and making you feel important, remembered, cherished - is there anything more you can ask for? you feel great, you feel loved, you feel more than what the great dead people felt. what happens after life, you know no more, but what matters is that you keep those memories with you and preserve them like a jar of fragrant kisses which, while the grownups fooled us, multiply into thousand sweet little memories... i can't think of spending another year with those love messages diminishing like decaying trees and being thrown into a state where they were totally lost and out of my grasp..."
i just don't think something has changed in the way i see it.
and since it's the time of the year, and 2008 is slowly making it's way out (thank God, just a minute shadow of 28 for me to endure) i might as well share with you some of my favorite Christmas songs and an audio book of A Christmas Carol by Orson Wells.
happy Christmas...
Monday, November 17, 2008
malkovich, malkovich, malkovich... malkovich?? malkovich!!! malko-malko-malkovich!!!
at a certain point in people's lives, they tend to dream of being in another person's shoes. sometimes it's because of misery, lack of opportunity, envy, or just plain curiosity on how it feels to be somebody else, say, Bianca Araneta or the Ayalas. i myself have my own share of wishing my soul to be transported into another mass of flesh for a day, or even just for an hour. i still want to know how ecstatic it feels to be a Katie Holmes and be kissed by my future ex-husband, Tom Cruise, or be an Angelina Jolie and sleep with the oh-so-damn-hot Brad Pitt. when i was younger and naive on politics (i'm not even wiser on it today), it was during the turnover of the presidency of Ex-President Fidel Ramos to Ex-(okay) just Erap, i wondered if i could transfer into the dilapidated vessel of this then president-wannabe action star, take full control of his movements minus the feeling, punch his chest endlessly, hit his head on a rock, then escape from his body afterwards, leaving him no decent temple to go back into anymore. until now it makes me laugh whenever i remember myself lying on the couch while watching that political threat, and asking Voldemort if Ramos could declare martial law just in time before Erap could get the position.
but what if there really is a way to experience this kind of phenomenal insanity? if Stuart (Liev Schreiber) made his way into 1876 to know more about Leopold (Hugh Jackman) in the 2001 film Kate and Leopold, Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) discovered a portal into the eyes, and him being an excellent puppeteer, he found a way even into the whole being of John Malkovich (himself) in the film Being John Malkovich, which is two years older than the former. wait, i'm not making a movie review, am i? poor me, had i not been curious about Jessica Zafra's The 500 People You Meet in Hell, i won't know this movie anyway. well, at least now i know that there was a response the same year the corniest song ever "Stay the Same" by Joey Mcintyre was released.
i did find it amazing to see the reality (or fantasy) behind being in another's body, whereas mine, the audience, an absolute panoramic view of what people see and think while being in Malkovich for 15 minutes, like they were somehow capable of doing the things this universe has deprived them of since they were breathed life into, i felt omniscient.
realizations and the urge to detach myself from total entertainment (because the film was way hilarious, weird, and full of nuance) dawned upon me when Malkovich entered the portal to his own self. what he saw, heard, and felt was about nothing else but himself. everyone had his face. even women and children did. every word written was Malkovich. every word said was none other than Malkovich. he bumped into a man, and instead of welcoming a crisp "fuck you," he absorbed a curse labeled after his very own name, "Malkovich!!!"
it... i mean... you see the point? that, indeed, is what happens when we use our own eyes to perceive the world, because the truth is, seeing life through the eyes alone means a view of nothing more than ourselves. WE ARE ALL SELF-CENTERED. shoot me straight in the head if you know someone who's not. has anyone never ever thought, when he was younger, of him being the only real person on earth and the rest of humanity being obstacles given by the good Lord to test his strength? this might be a strong statement and/or accusation, but people are so used to saying the absolute cliché, "everything happens for a reason," yet they refuse to admit the idea that they see other people as instruments to realizing their own selves. pathetic...
my college friends will kill me for this ego-centrism post, but this certainly is not in a limited-theory-of-mind sense. we all have our take on this thing, and as they say, "we are all generally selfish, but as usual, it is in varying degrees." i believe that it is because our consciousness has been incarcerated and repressed for the longest time, that sometimes, it's like we feel that our minds are being betrayed by the movements of our bodies. we are slaves of our own faculties. we all crave for freedom, and we find ways to somehow take a replacement for that feeling which can never be completely ours.
then again, of course we are all capable of loving others, yada yada, and all the corny stuff, but, admit it or not, it is a love that emanated from the love of thy own SELF. we love people and we want to be with them because they put US in cloud nine. we help others for the fulfillment of OUR being. we do not want to see them suffer because their misery gives US greater pain, and WE are tired of grieving, aren't WE? this world is full of I-LOVE-MYSELF-and-I-LOVE-PEOPLE-AROUND-ME-because-I-LOVE-MYSELF-period attitude. i suddenly remembered our professor when he reminded us of our Bible code that God created us to love, know and praise "HIM".
now we must not wonder why we are all egocentric...
but what if there really is a way to experience this kind of phenomenal insanity? if Stuart (Liev Schreiber) made his way into 1876 to know more about Leopold (Hugh Jackman) in the 2001 film Kate and Leopold, Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) discovered a portal into the eyes, and him being an excellent puppeteer, he found a way even into the whole being of John Malkovich (himself) in the film Being John Malkovich, which is two years older than the former. wait, i'm not making a movie review, am i? poor me, had i not been curious about Jessica Zafra's The 500 People You Meet in Hell, i won't know this movie anyway. well, at least now i know that there was a response the same year the corniest song ever "Stay the Same" by Joey Mcintyre was released.
i did find it amazing to see the reality (or fantasy) behind being in another's body, whereas mine, the audience, an absolute panoramic view of what people see and think while being in Malkovich for 15 minutes, like they were somehow capable of doing the things this universe has deprived them of since they were breathed life into, i felt omniscient.
realizations and the urge to detach myself from total entertainment (because the film was way hilarious, weird, and full of nuance) dawned upon me when Malkovich entered the portal to his own self. what he saw, heard, and felt was about nothing else but himself. everyone had his face. even women and children did. every word written was Malkovich. every word said was none other than Malkovich. he bumped into a man, and instead of welcoming a crisp "fuck you," he absorbed a curse labeled after his very own name, "Malkovich!!!"
it... i mean... you see the point? that, indeed, is what happens when we use our own eyes to perceive the world, because the truth is, seeing life through the eyes alone means a view of nothing more than ourselves. WE ARE ALL SELF-CENTERED. shoot me straight in the head if you know someone who's not. has anyone never ever thought, when he was younger, of him being the only real person on earth and the rest of humanity being obstacles given by the good Lord to test his strength? this might be a strong statement and/or accusation, but people are so used to saying the absolute cliché, "everything happens for a reason," yet they refuse to admit the idea that they see other people as instruments to realizing their own selves. pathetic...
my college friends will kill me for this ego-centrism post, but this certainly is not in a limited-theory-of-mind sense. we all have our take on this thing, and as they say, "we are all generally selfish, but as usual, it is in varying degrees." i believe that it is because our consciousness has been incarcerated and repressed for the longest time, that sometimes, it's like we feel that our minds are being betrayed by the movements of our bodies. we are slaves of our own faculties. we all crave for freedom, and we find ways to somehow take a replacement for that feeling which can never be completely ours.
then again, of course we are all capable of loving others, yada yada, and all the corny stuff, but, admit it or not, it is a love that emanated from the love of thy own SELF. we love people and we want to be with them because they put US in cloud nine. we help others for the fulfillment of OUR being. we do not want to see them suffer because their misery gives US greater pain, and WE are tired of grieving, aren't WE? this world is full of I-LOVE-MYSELF-and-I-LOVE-PEOPLE-AROUND-ME-because-I-LOVE-MYSELF-period attitude. i suddenly remembered our professor when he reminded us of our Bible code that God created us to love, know and praise "HIM".
now we must not wonder why we are all egocentric...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
chamber of secrets
(don't worry, Twilight fans, this is not a Harry Potter post in response to your addiction.)
as i was bloghopping earlier, i came across this entry of my classmate, Monique, about secrets shared anonymously over the net... and as i visited the site, i happened to have my own favorites...
some pictures were posted with corresponding messages, and there's this one that moved me the most:
I googled my secret...
Frank,
In April of this year you posted a secret of mine, it was a painting that read "when you stopped loving me...i stopped painting."
A friend of mine asked to see my paintings while I was at his house yesterday. I don't have any of them online, so, I did a Google Images search for "PostSecret Painting" not expecting to actually find it.
It was the first image to show up!
I was surprised, but more than that, I was moved. I felt like that secret was personal to me, that very few would identify with it. It's posted on blogs and in personal photo albums, even on myspace pages!
Seeing it again reminded me what it felt like to send it in. It reminded me how great it feels to be free from it.
- The Painter
now, with my being so-not-over-this-letting-go-thing, i wonder if there's any site where we can entrust the things we would like to detach from. there's a fine line between "throwing" and "letting go." i just know that one day, when your eyes landed on the things you have let go of before, you will feel the same way the painter did.
as i was bloghopping earlier, i came across this entry of my classmate, Monique, about secrets shared anonymously over the net... and as i visited the site, i happened to have my own favorites...
some of those are the naughty ones,
uplifting,
and others, sentimental...
some pictures were posted with corresponding messages, and there's this one that moved me the most:
I googled my secret...
Frank,
In April of this year you posted a secret of mine, it was a painting that read "when you stopped loving me...i stopped painting."
A friend of mine asked to see my paintings while I was at his house yesterday. I don't have any of them online, so, I did a Google Images search for "PostSecret Painting" not expecting to actually find it.
It was the first image to show up!
I was surprised, but more than that, I was moved. I felt like that secret was personal to me, that very few would identify with it. It's posted on blogs and in personal photo albums, even on myspace pages!
Seeing it again reminded me what it felt like to send it in. It reminded me how great it feels to be free from it.
- The Painter
now, with my being so-not-over-this-letting-go-thing, i wonder if there's any site where we can entrust the things we would like to detach from. there's a fine line between "throwing" and "letting go." i just know that one day, when your eyes landed on the things you have let go of before, you will feel the same way the painter did.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
dusting off
i have this piece of crap called room. you can find all kinds of (yes, you genius!) crap in it. from old books and papers to soil and cobwebs, all the things in it seldom see the sun. i was driven to do "a little letting go" (if the phrase would permit me to borrow some sense) this afternoon. it might sound ridiculous but i suddenly realized that there's this subtle kind of poetry in the act of throwing most of the things that remind you of the bitter past, while also finding those that made it worthwhile.
how do i say so? whenever i do a general cleaning, which is, of course, as seldom as an eclipse, i start off with the topmost part. it won't take long before you realize that i'm trying hard to associate this thing with the brain. believe me. so there. let the dust fall on the things that are more capable of holding filth―those that are easier to clean. and of course, one must do the cleaning when he is harsh and most detached from the world, because if not, it will be harder to sift what to keep from what to abolish.
normally, i take the books from the shelf, clean them one-by-one, and put them back to their places; but this time, i yanked all of them down to my bed and stared at the heap i have created. now this is a pretty hard task―to look at the vaults of your knowledge and decide whether to pass them on to someone who might need the same enlightenment or keep them for future self-rehebilitation.
for someone who's no good in any household chore, cleaning is the most tiring yet the most exciting and overwhelming of all. it feels good to recollect your youth personally. cleaning brings back old things. and you don't have to be surprised to find out that you have been a good secret keeper. your chamber contains lots of secrets you've probably forgotten by now. in most cases, nothing will change even if you spill them out. like a herd of whores, youthful secrets lose their value as they age. they might have been made known to the public anyway. these are the mundane secrets of your youth, and are now the subjects of laughter. continue testing your tongue if you want to set a new record for the best-kept secret ever, and people might ask you, "where have you been all these days?"
in my crap, i didn't find much secrets. my best friends were gone long after high school that i don't have any today. i'm referring to that one friend you call "best friend." no secrets were "re-revealed again for the second time around" in its utmost redundancy, but pictures of how strange i looked years ago.. nude pictures of me with fictitious pentel-marked panties.. awkward poses and uneasy crescent smiles.. red-eye and closed-eye snaps while everyone else in the picture seemed in glorious state.. how i looked like with a pimple-sized nose, punch in the mouth, fence-like teeth, and bangs.. how i wore my hair in pony tail, the ends touching the straps of my jumper.. and um, yes, minus the boobs, of course. i looked like a little boy.. and the fashion, not just of me but of people around me. the hair! solid!
the joy of reuniting with the things that made up the totality of your being equals that of letting go of your excess baggage. as what my friend, Jaycee, found in that Oprah thing, "You always do a little growing up everytime you do a little letting go." and i guess, acceptance and detachment are the crucial steps to finally let go of something you've held on for so long. like toys and things you keep because they were your firsts (first pencil, first pay slip, first college papers) eventually, you must let go of them because you don't want to make a dump site out of your body. one can't just contain all the things and emotions he had in a lifetime. successful people are always moving forward and there's always a give-up story in every success. move a little and give room for something fresh. give up something good if you want something better.. just that. if only it were that easy..
i gave a final sweep of everything from under my bed and table. how much junk has accumulated there was epic. now my room isn't a crap anymore. give it some weeks and maybe it'll look like a jungle again. but for now, i see it as a sanctuary for my tired body.
well, since Jaycee starred in this entry. let me steal his comment on my friendster, "tap me when it's about time to cram, procrastinate, and make everything work at crunch time. for now, it's a date with the pillows."
how do i say so? whenever i do a general cleaning, which is, of course, as seldom as an eclipse, i start off with the topmost part. it won't take long before you realize that i'm trying hard to associate this thing with the brain. believe me. so there. let the dust fall on the things that are more capable of holding filth―those that are easier to clean. and of course, one must do the cleaning when he is harsh and most detached from the world, because if not, it will be harder to sift what to keep from what to abolish.
normally, i take the books from the shelf, clean them one-by-one, and put them back to their places; but this time, i yanked all of them down to my bed and stared at the heap i have created. now this is a pretty hard task―to look at the vaults of your knowledge and decide whether to pass them on to someone who might need the same enlightenment or keep them for future self-rehebilitation.
for someone who's no good in any household chore, cleaning is the most tiring yet the most exciting and overwhelming of all. it feels good to recollect your youth personally. cleaning brings back old things. and you don't have to be surprised to find out that you have been a good secret keeper. your chamber contains lots of secrets you've probably forgotten by now. in most cases, nothing will change even if you spill them out. like a herd of whores, youthful secrets lose their value as they age. they might have been made known to the public anyway. these are the mundane secrets of your youth, and are now the subjects of laughter. continue testing your tongue if you want to set a new record for the best-kept secret ever, and people might ask you, "where have you been all these days?"
in my crap, i didn't find much secrets. my best friends were gone long after high school that i don't have any today. i'm referring to that one friend you call "best friend." no secrets were "re-revealed again for the second time around" in its utmost redundancy, but pictures of how strange i looked years ago.. nude pictures of me with fictitious pentel-marked panties.. awkward poses and uneasy crescent smiles.. red-eye and closed-eye snaps while everyone else in the picture seemed in glorious state.. how i looked like with a pimple-sized nose, punch in the mouth, fence-like teeth, and bangs.. how i wore my hair in pony tail, the ends touching the straps of my jumper.. and um, yes, minus the boobs, of course. i looked like a little boy.. and the fashion, not just of me but of people around me. the hair! solid!
the joy of reuniting with the things that made up the totality of your being equals that of letting go of your excess baggage. as what my friend, Jaycee, found in that Oprah thing, "You always do a little growing up everytime you do a little letting go." and i guess, acceptance and detachment are the crucial steps to finally let go of something you've held on for so long. like toys and things you keep because they were your firsts (first pencil, first pay slip, first college papers) eventually, you must let go of them because you don't want to make a dump site out of your body. one can't just contain all the things and emotions he had in a lifetime. successful people are always moving forward and there's always a give-up story in every success. move a little and give room for something fresh. give up something good if you want something better.. just that. if only it were that easy..
i gave a final sweep of everything from under my bed and table. how much junk has accumulated there was epic. now my room isn't a crap anymore. give it some weeks and maybe it'll look like a jungle again. but for now, i see it as a sanctuary for my tired body.
well, since Jaycee starred in this entry. let me steal his comment on my friendster, "tap me when it's about time to cram, procrastinate, and make everything work at crunch time. for now, it's a date with the pillows."
Sunday, September 28, 2008
food for thoughts
a perfect reading experience after browsing our phenomenology of love lectures way back in 3rd year (*mushy*), and while listening to the music of beatles.
now, after four years of learning the art of writing, i can really say that there's no greatest of the greatest schools that can teach anybody how to write. how about that then? too bad, professors don't even know how to rate your work. everything becomes subjective. writing classes and all that are just there to develop your taste. the rest is for you to discover...
from reader's digest online: Eight Celebrities Share What They've Learned
DESMOND TUTU - cleric; antiapartheid activist; winner, 1984 Nobel Peace Prize; winner, 2005 Gandhi Peace Prize
"Each one of us can make a contribution. Too frequently we think we have to do spectacular things. Yet if we remember that the sea is actually made up of drops of water and each drop counts, each one of us can do our little bit where we are. Those little bits can come together and almost overwhelm the world. Each one of us can be an oasis of peace."
JANE GOODALL - primatologist and conservationist; founder, the Jane Goodall Institute for Wildlife Research, Education and Conservation, based in Washington, D.C.
"We've been very arrogant in assuming that there's a sharp line dividing us from the rest of the animal kingdom. We are not the only beings on this planet with personalities, minds, and, above all, emotions. We need to be more respectful."
CLINT EASTWOOD - actor, more than 50 films; director, 29 films, including Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby; winner, 4 Academy Awards
"Great stories teach you something. That's one reason I haven't slipped into some sort of retirement: I always feel like I'm learning something new. There was a time in my life when I was doing westerns, on the plains of Spain. I could have stayed there and probably knocked out a dozen more. But the time came when I said, That's enough of that. As fun as they were to do, it was time to move on. If a story doesn't have anything that's fresh in it, at least for me, I move away from it."
"Take your profession seriously; don't take yourself seriously. You really only matter to a certain degree in the whole circus out there. If you take yourself seriously, you're not going to be able to move forward. You're going to be hampered by always wanting to look in the mirror and see if you have enough tuna oil on your hair or something like that."
LELLA and MASSIMO VIGNELLI - interior and graphic design team, married 50 years; creators, New York City subway signage; contributors, Grand Central Terminal restoration; winners, more than 130 awards
LV: "People ask us, 'Aren't you retiring?' But we really like what we do."
MV: "You need to have passion. The greatest thing I've learned in my life is that there is room for everybody. That's the great thing about art and design and communication. There's room for all."
LV: "Aspiring designers should know about the good things that happened before. Have a little history. Go back and see what was done before."
MV: "Learn from the past if you want what matters in the present. Knowledge is the most important thing. To young people, we say, fill your brain with as much information as you can. Look at everything, know everything, develop a critical mind. History, theory, and criticism are the three fundamental elements to grow in a professional life. History will provide you with the tools for understanding. Theory will be the philosophy of why you're doing it. And criticism will provide you with the ability to continually master what you are doing. Play with these tools and you can do pretty good things."
NELSON MANDELA - civil rights leader; prisoner for 27 years for his antiapartheid work; cowinner, 1993 Nobel Peace Prize; elected South Africa's first freely chosen president (1994-1999)
"Wounds that can't be seen are more painful than those that can be seen and cured by a doctor. I learned that to humiliate another person is to make him suffer an unnecessarily cruel fate. I learned that courage was not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid but he who conquers fear. Where people of goodwill get together and transcend their differences for the common good, peaceful and just solutions can be found, even for those problems that seem most intractable."
JACQUES PÉPIN - chef; author, 25 cookbooks; founder, American Institute of Wine & Food
"For most kids now, a chicken is rectangular. It's got plastic on top, and it doesn't have eyes or feet. This is scary. You should never eat something you cannot recognize. A simple principle, but important.
JUDI DENCH - actress, more than 100 plays and films, including Shakespeare in Love; winner, 6 Laurence Olivier Awards, 1 Academy Award, 1 Tony Award
"I get sillier as I get older, so I don't know what wisdom means. I can only pass on something that I've been acquainted with and let whoever it is pick the bones out of it."
now, after four years of learning the art of writing, i can really say that there's no greatest of the greatest schools that can teach anybody how to write. how about that then? too bad, professors don't even know how to rate your work. everything becomes subjective. writing classes and all that are just there to develop your taste. the rest is for you to discover...
from reader's digest online: Eight Celebrities Share What They've Learned
DESMOND TUTU - cleric; antiapartheid activist; winner, 1984 Nobel Peace Prize; winner, 2005 Gandhi Peace Prize
"Each one of us can make a contribution. Too frequently we think we have to do spectacular things. Yet if we remember that the sea is actually made up of drops of water and each drop counts, each one of us can do our little bit where we are. Those little bits can come together and almost overwhelm the world. Each one of us can be an oasis of peace."
JANE GOODALL - primatologist and conservationist; founder, the Jane Goodall Institute for Wildlife Research, Education and Conservation, based in Washington, D.C.
"We've been very arrogant in assuming that there's a sharp line dividing us from the rest of the animal kingdom. We are not the only beings on this planet with personalities, minds, and, above all, emotions. We need to be more respectful."
CLINT EASTWOOD - actor, more than 50 films; director, 29 films, including Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby; winner, 4 Academy Awards
"Great stories teach you something. That's one reason I haven't slipped into some sort of retirement: I always feel like I'm learning something new. There was a time in my life when I was doing westerns, on the plains of Spain. I could have stayed there and probably knocked out a dozen more. But the time came when I said, That's enough of that. As fun as they were to do, it was time to move on. If a story doesn't have anything that's fresh in it, at least for me, I move away from it."
"Take your profession seriously; don't take yourself seriously. You really only matter to a certain degree in the whole circus out there. If you take yourself seriously, you're not going to be able to move forward. You're going to be hampered by always wanting to look in the mirror and see if you have enough tuna oil on your hair or something like that."
LELLA and MASSIMO VIGNELLI - interior and graphic design team, married 50 years; creators, New York City subway signage; contributors, Grand Central Terminal restoration; winners, more than 130 awards
LV: "People ask us, 'Aren't you retiring?' But we really like what we do."
MV: "You need to have passion. The greatest thing I've learned in my life is that there is room for everybody. That's the great thing about art and design and communication. There's room for all."
LV: "Aspiring designers should know about the good things that happened before. Have a little history. Go back and see what was done before."
MV: "Learn from the past if you want what matters in the present. Knowledge is the most important thing. To young people, we say, fill your brain with as much information as you can. Look at everything, know everything, develop a critical mind. History, theory, and criticism are the three fundamental elements to grow in a professional life. History will provide you with the tools for understanding. Theory will be the philosophy of why you're doing it. And criticism will provide you with the ability to continually master what you are doing. Play with these tools and you can do pretty good things."
NELSON MANDELA - civil rights leader; prisoner for 27 years for his antiapartheid work; cowinner, 1993 Nobel Peace Prize; elected South Africa's first freely chosen president (1994-1999)
"Wounds that can't be seen are more painful than those that can be seen and cured by a doctor. I learned that to humiliate another person is to make him suffer an unnecessarily cruel fate. I learned that courage was not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid but he who conquers fear. Where people of goodwill get together and transcend their differences for the common good, peaceful and just solutions can be found, even for those problems that seem most intractable."
JACQUES PÉPIN - chef; author, 25 cookbooks; founder, American Institute of Wine & Food
"For most kids now, a chicken is rectangular. It's got plastic on top, and it doesn't have eyes or feet. This is scary. You should never eat something you cannot recognize. A simple principle, but important.
JUDI DENCH - actress, more than 100 plays and films, including Shakespeare in Love; winner, 6 Laurence Olivier Awards, 1 Academy Award, 1 Tony Award
"I get sillier as I get older, so I don't know what wisdom means. I can only pass on something that I've been acquainted with and let whoever it is pick the bones out of it."
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
maybe i'll put a title tomorrow
after six months of having an online newspaper as my homepage, i finally reverted to MSN. yeah, i know... i'm still not for straight, verrry verrry hard news.
i found this article below on their MSN-Encarta features/columns section. how i love the way it was written! errr.. maybe because it speaks for me. haha. now i know, procrastination's not that bad. hello to all fellow planners and daydreamers!
Is Procrastination Healthy?
By Don Asher
Do you put off important work until the last minute? So do I. That makes us both procrastinators. In fact, this article was due weeks ago. But since you didn't know that, you weren't missing it, were you?
Only my editors suffer from my work habits. At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
Procrastination costs the country untold millions -- if not billions -- of dollars, though. Missed deadlines create a cascade of problems in a complex, interconnected economy.
California can't seem ever to turn out a timely budget, scads of Americans recently waited weeks and weeks for tardy stimulus checks, and delayed software releases even have their own name, "vaporware."
However, procrastination is not all bad, and not all procrastinators are deficient performers. For example, graduate students are more likely than undergraduates to procrastinate, in spite of being statistically superior students.
Artists often revel in pulling all-nighters full of blasts of creativity and production. The peculiar genius of desperation and 4 a.m. logic is a fecund contributor to the national product. In fact, a little procrastination may be part of living an ambitious and energetic life.
But what about when procrastination goes critical? When relationships are ruined, spouses feel betrayed, bosses are disgusted, and a person is frozen, frustrated, and disillusioned with that nonperformer staring back in the mirror? That's when procrastination is an enemy to mental health.
"In personal relationships, if you say you'll do something and you don't do it, people begin not to trust you," says clinical psychologist Linda Sapadin. "If they can't trust you to do what you say you'll do, that's passive-aggressive, and it creates a lot of disturbance in relationships."
Dr. Sapadin is a national specialist in procrastination, and author of "It's About Time! The Six Styles of Procrastination and How to Overcome Them." In addition to her private practice based on Long Island, she speaks to corporate audiences nationwide on the costs and cures of procrastination.
Classifying procrastinators
It turns out not all procrastinators are alike. Dr. Sapadin's taxonomy identifies six different types. You may recognize yourself in one or more of these:
Perfectionists -- They want every project to be perfect, and this often causes them to be frozen in fear that they cannot meet such an unrealistic goal, even though they set the goal themselves.
Dreamers -- These people suffer from magical thinking. "It'll all work out," they say, while they do nothing to advance their goals.
Crisis Makers -- They often say they do their best work under pressure, but more accurately, they prefer uproar and crisis to do any work at all.
Worriers -- Their fears consume their thought processes and prevent any real work being done, as they imagine and dwell upon every possible scenario for disaster and failure.
Defiers -- These people may resent the assignments in the first place, and retake control over their lives by refusing to do the work in a timely and cooperative manner, or at all.
Overdoers -- Also known as "the pleasers," these people can't say no, and so take on more and more responsibility without any reasonable expectation of being able to deliver on their obligations.
One of the more fascinating findings in the research literature about procrastinators is that time-management training doesn't really help. Procrastinators know perfectly well how to manage time; they just don't want to do their work that way!
When Dr. Sapadin was considering writing her book, "All the existing books had to do with time management or getting organized, but for most people it [procrastination] related to some glitch in their personality style," she says.
So procrastinators have to change their thinking, rather than improve their knowledge of time-management techniques. For more on this, check out Dr. Sapadin's Web site psychwisdom.com.
For example, perfectionists have to tell themselves, "This doesn't have to be perfect. Good enough is just fine. It is more important to be done on time than to do a perfect job. Perfection is unattainable anyway, and it's not what my boss or professor wants."
Crisis makers may need to tell themselves, "I don't really do my best work under pressure. That's just a habit I have. I can do more work if I start sooner, and I'll probably find that some of that work is just as creative and interesting as the work I might do under pressure."
It is this sort of cognitive reprogramming that leads to change.
Procrastination is extremely common in academic settings. In fact, the overwhelming majority of students procrastinate. The American Psychological Association has a guide for educators on how to deal with different types of procrastinating students, "Counseling the Procrastinator in Academic Settings."
It turns out that procrastination is, in fact, a time-management technique. When it's not a destructive force, it allows workers to be hyperproductive in bursts. It's an antidote to that old maxim, "The assignment expands to fill the available time." It's a way to contain an assignment within a smaller block of time.
To see how procrastination works when it is a force for good, I decided to interview some top students about their work habits. The following students are all top performers.
Ginger White, a McNair Scholar and a senior at Indiana University -- Purdue University Indianapolis, readily admits to procrastinating.
"I do work better under pressure, and I'm easily distracted. Little things get in the way, until the deadline gets near." For the final push, though, she says she gathers all the books and reference materials she needs to do the assignment.
"Then, I sit there. I don't care how long it takes. I sit there. I'm in the zone, and the ideas just come, and if I were to try to do this two weeks early, the ideas just wouldn't be there."
This seems to be working for her, as she has a 3.9 GPA in new media and computer sciences.
Brandon Lewis, a music education major at the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, and also a McNair Scholar, says he procrastinates "all the time." But he sees a benefit to it.
"When I have a big paper due, I might put it off," he says, but "I'm planning out how I'm going to do it, planning when to do it. I'm thinking about it constantly." So this type of mental rehearsal and preparation helps him get ready to be productive.
Dominique Booker, a double major in criminal justice and political science at Anderson University in Indiana, says her busy schedule of activities sometimes makes her delay schoolwork.
"I have good intentions, but I'm involved in a lot of stuff," says Booker. "I'm vice president of the Multicultural Student Association and a delegate on the legal committee for the Model United Nations, and I take these seriously. There's a lot of work and research for these projects, and sometimes I put these ahead of my regular schoolwork."
But then, like Ginger White, she gets in the zone.
"I get all the library books and articles, and I just do it. I just start reading, highlighting, taking notes, collecting resources and citations, and I work straight through, usually. I normally do it all day, even if it takes several days. I've worked as much as a week straight, usually every afternoon and night, say 4 p.m. to 2 or 3 in the morning."
She recommends academic procrastinators make sure they have all the books and resources they need well before the deadline, or other students may have them checked out.
Then again, there are students like Martsyl Joseph, who is just finishing her Master of Public Administration degree at IUPUI and will be going on to law school in the fall.
"I don't procrastinate anymore," she says. Joseph overcommitted to activities as an undergrad, she admits, but in graduate school she stays on task.
"The key is to know your limit. Understand that you can't do everything, even though you want to. Pick and choose what's most important to you, and stick to those one or two things. And put education first. You'll have plenty of time after you graduate to do all that other stuff."
So, if procrastination is not debilitating, it may be useful. But if it is debilitating, training in time-management skills is unlikely to achieve a change in behavior. You'll need to change the way you think about your work. For myself, I'm going to get on the next article due, right away. Just as soon as I ...
i found this article below on their MSN-Encarta features/columns section. how i love the way it was written! errr.. maybe because it speaks for me. haha. now i know, procrastination's not that bad. hello to all fellow planners and daydreamers!
Is Procrastination Healthy?
By Don Asher
Do you put off important work until the last minute? So do I. That makes us both procrastinators. In fact, this article was due weeks ago. But since you didn't know that, you weren't missing it, were you?
Only my editors suffer from my work habits. At least, that's what I try to tell myself.
Procrastination costs the country untold millions -- if not billions -- of dollars, though. Missed deadlines create a cascade of problems in a complex, interconnected economy.
California can't seem ever to turn out a timely budget, scads of Americans recently waited weeks and weeks for tardy stimulus checks, and delayed software releases even have their own name, "vaporware."
However, procrastination is not all bad, and not all procrastinators are deficient performers. For example, graduate students are more likely than undergraduates to procrastinate, in spite of being statistically superior students.
Artists often revel in pulling all-nighters full of blasts of creativity and production. The peculiar genius of desperation and 4 a.m. logic is a fecund contributor to the national product. In fact, a little procrastination may be part of living an ambitious and energetic life.
But what about when procrastination goes critical? When relationships are ruined, spouses feel betrayed, bosses are disgusted, and a person is frozen, frustrated, and disillusioned with that nonperformer staring back in the mirror? That's when procrastination is an enemy to mental health.
"In personal relationships, if you say you'll do something and you don't do it, people begin not to trust you," says clinical psychologist Linda Sapadin. "If they can't trust you to do what you say you'll do, that's passive-aggressive, and it creates a lot of disturbance in relationships."
Dr. Sapadin is a national specialist in procrastination, and author of "It's About Time! The Six Styles of Procrastination and How to Overcome Them." In addition to her private practice based on Long Island, she speaks to corporate audiences nationwide on the costs and cures of procrastination.
Classifying procrastinators
It turns out not all procrastinators are alike. Dr. Sapadin's taxonomy identifies six different types. You may recognize yourself in one or more of these:
Perfectionists -- They want every project to be perfect, and this often causes them to be frozen in fear that they cannot meet such an unrealistic goal, even though they set the goal themselves.
Dreamers -- These people suffer from magical thinking. "It'll all work out," they say, while they do nothing to advance their goals.
Crisis Makers -- They often say they do their best work under pressure, but more accurately, they prefer uproar and crisis to do any work at all.
Worriers -- Their fears consume their thought processes and prevent any real work being done, as they imagine and dwell upon every possible scenario for disaster and failure.
Defiers -- These people may resent the assignments in the first place, and retake control over their lives by refusing to do the work in a timely and cooperative manner, or at all.
Overdoers -- Also known as "the pleasers," these people can't say no, and so take on more and more responsibility without any reasonable expectation of being able to deliver on their obligations.
One of the more fascinating findings in the research literature about procrastinators is that time-management training doesn't really help. Procrastinators know perfectly well how to manage time; they just don't want to do their work that way!
When Dr. Sapadin was considering writing her book, "All the existing books had to do with time management or getting organized, but for most people it [procrastination] related to some glitch in their personality style," she says.
So procrastinators have to change their thinking, rather than improve their knowledge of time-management techniques. For more on this, check out Dr. Sapadin's Web site psychwisdom.com.
For example, perfectionists have to tell themselves, "This doesn't have to be perfect. Good enough is just fine. It is more important to be done on time than to do a perfect job. Perfection is unattainable anyway, and it's not what my boss or professor wants."
Crisis makers may need to tell themselves, "I don't really do my best work under pressure. That's just a habit I have. I can do more work if I start sooner, and I'll probably find that some of that work is just as creative and interesting as the work I might do under pressure."
It is this sort of cognitive reprogramming that leads to change.
Procrastination is extremely common in academic settings. In fact, the overwhelming majority of students procrastinate. The American Psychological Association has a guide for educators on how to deal with different types of procrastinating students, "Counseling the Procrastinator in Academic Settings."
It turns out that procrastination is, in fact, a time-management technique. When it's not a destructive force, it allows workers to be hyperproductive in bursts. It's an antidote to that old maxim, "The assignment expands to fill the available time." It's a way to contain an assignment within a smaller block of time.
To see how procrastination works when it is a force for good, I decided to interview some top students about their work habits. The following students are all top performers.
Ginger White, a McNair Scholar and a senior at Indiana University -- Purdue University Indianapolis, readily admits to procrastinating.
"I do work better under pressure, and I'm easily distracted. Little things get in the way, until the deadline gets near." For the final push, though, she says she gathers all the books and reference materials she needs to do the assignment.
"Then, I sit there. I don't care how long it takes. I sit there. I'm in the zone, and the ideas just come, and if I were to try to do this two weeks early, the ideas just wouldn't be there."
This seems to be working for her, as she has a 3.9 GPA in new media and computer sciences.
Brandon Lewis, a music education major at the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, and also a McNair Scholar, says he procrastinates "all the time." But he sees a benefit to it.
"When I have a big paper due, I might put it off," he says, but "I'm planning out how I'm going to do it, planning when to do it. I'm thinking about it constantly." So this type of mental rehearsal and preparation helps him get ready to be productive.
Dominique Booker, a double major in criminal justice and political science at Anderson University in Indiana, says her busy schedule of activities sometimes makes her delay schoolwork.
"I have good intentions, but I'm involved in a lot of stuff," says Booker. "I'm vice president of the Multicultural Student Association and a delegate on the legal committee for the Model United Nations, and I take these seriously. There's a lot of work and research for these projects, and sometimes I put these ahead of my regular schoolwork."
But then, like Ginger White, she gets in the zone.
"I get all the library books and articles, and I just do it. I just start reading, highlighting, taking notes, collecting resources and citations, and I work straight through, usually. I normally do it all day, even if it takes several days. I've worked as much as a week straight, usually every afternoon and night, say 4 p.m. to 2 or 3 in the morning."
She recommends academic procrastinators make sure they have all the books and resources they need well before the deadline, or other students may have them checked out.
Then again, there are students like Martsyl Joseph, who is just finishing her Master of Public Administration degree at IUPUI and will be going on to law school in the fall.
"I don't procrastinate anymore," she says. Joseph overcommitted to activities as an undergrad, she admits, but in graduate school she stays on task.
"The key is to know your limit. Understand that you can't do everything, even though you want to. Pick and choose what's most important to you, and stick to those one or two things. And put education first. You'll have plenty of time after you graduate to do all that other stuff."
So, if procrastination is not debilitating, it may be useful. But if it is debilitating, training in time-management skills is unlikely to achieve a change in behavior. You'll need to change the way you think about your work. For myself, I'm going to get on the next article due, right away. Just as soon as I ...
Monday, September 15, 2008
kwentong kalye #1
i have a big problem with umbrellas.
anyway, in the Philippines, where the weather is as moody as a woman in her menopausal stage, umbrellas are, in a way, strong weapons against sickness. well, can you imagine yourself wearing that Disney-character-inspired raincoat your mother used to embarrass you when you were still a moppet? not to mention your oh-so-redundant mini-umbrella, your shiny, colorful rain boots, and your (uhm, again) cartoon-character-inspired stroller bag with a sheet of plastic cover on—it's like you're in for some mock battle down south! crrrrrazy...
so now that you've earned some respect and an ounce of shame for yourself, you realize that umbrellas and plain logic are somehow enough to spare you from hospital beds. set aside the gangs of virus that flutter in the air. it's hard to escape from their merciless claws anyway.
also, it is only in the Philippines where people can get free umbrellas from fast food restaurants, churches, bus stops, classrooms, and jeepneys, courtesy of their careless fellows. talk about perks, man! but how people love walking with this portable roof on top of their heads, i don't even know. more than that, i can't seem to imagine why grownups, especially the typical women who wear dusters and all that, are so numb, they can't even notice the tips of their umbrellas (yes, tips. ferrule's the one on top. oh, i didn't know that, too!) effing your face like they are in prison! in addition to that "more than that" thing, i will never ever understand why it is so hard for people to shut their umbrellas in a roofed pathway, so as not to cause what i would love to call a "human traffic jam," or hold their umbrellas upside-down if they're already shut, and be sensitive enough not to poke their fellow pedestrians with, ehem, ferrules. people can sometimes be so annoying... and then they get inside the jeepney with their wet umbrellas, their muddy shoes landing on yours, the driver speeding more then ever as if trying to catch up for a date with satan—the heck, fools don't even care if water's drooling from their umbrellas down to your pants! then as you reached your classroom/office/whatever, it's as if you've just entered an umbrella exhibit room, with those canopies lying open on the floor like skirts blown up-ways, and like it takes 12 hours for them to get dry.
well, if you would ask me if i carry one, of course i do. who doesn't? ok, some guys don't... and yey! i just got a freebie last week! sorry, classmate. if it's yours, just approach me. i seldom use mine anyway. an umbrella sleeps in my bag for ages, or that whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate. light rain showers are not alarming for me, unless giants up there start to cry so hard, then it's time to give myself some considerations and be decent-looking enough wherever i'm heading to. i just feel a little ashamed that the way i take umbrellas for granted is a different thing for those who use theirs for shelter... or maybe i just think a lot when i'm traveling.
oh well, an umbrella is still an excess baggage for me! whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate.
anyway, in the Philippines, where the weather is as moody as a woman in her menopausal stage, umbrellas are, in a way, strong weapons against sickness. well, can you imagine yourself wearing that Disney-character-inspired raincoat your mother used to embarrass you when you were still a moppet? not to mention your oh-so-redundant mini-umbrella, your shiny, colorful rain boots, and your (uhm, again) cartoon-character-inspired stroller bag with a sheet of plastic cover on—it's like you're in for some mock battle down south! crrrrrazy...
so now that you've earned some respect and an ounce of shame for yourself, you realize that umbrellas and plain logic are somehow enough to spare you from hospital beds. set aside the gangs of virus that flutter in the air. it's hard to escape from their merciless claws anyway.
also, it is only in the Philippines where people can get free umbrellas from fast food restaurants, churches, bus stops, classrooms, and jeepneys, courtesy of their careless fellows. talk about perks, man! but how people love walking with this portable roof on top of their heads, i don't even know. more than that, i can't seem to imagine why grownups, especially the typical women who wear dusters and all that, are so numb, they can't even notice the tips of their umbrellas (yes, tips. ferrule's the one on top. oh, i didn't know that, too!) effing your face like they are in prison! in addition to that "more than that" thing, i will never ever understand why it is so hard for people to shut their umbrellas in a roofed pathway, so as not to cause what i would love to call a "human traffic jam," or hold their umbrellas upside-down if they're already shut, and be sensitive enough not to poke their fellow pedestrians with, ehem, ferrules. people can sometimes be so annoying... and then they get inside the jeepney with their wet umbrellas, their muddy shoes landing on yours, the driver speeding more then ever as if trying to catch up for a date with satan—the heck, fools don't even care if water's drooling from their umbrellas down to your pants! then as you reached your classroom/office/whatever, it's as if you've just entered an umbrella exhibit room, with those canopies lying open on the floor like skirts blown up-ways, and like it takes 12 hours for them to get dry.
well, if you would ask me if i carry one, of course i do. who doesn't? ok, some guys don't... and yey! i just got a freebie last week! sorry, classmate. if it's yours, just approach me. i seldom use mine anyway. an umbrella sleeps in my bag for ages, or that whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate. light rain showers are not alarming for me, unless giants up there start to cry so hard, then it's time to give myself some considerations and be decent-looking enough wherever i'm heading to. i just feel a little ashamed that the way i take umbrellas for granted is a different thing for those who use theirs for shelter... or maybe i just think a lot when i'm traveling.
oh well, an umbrella is still an excess baggage for me! whether or not to bring one is always a self-debate.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
circus flooded from taguig to dapitan
seeing the moonlight fade though the cresting waves of Dapitan flood kept our eyes open to see the first rays of the sun; spending that entire moment with a friend who shares the same passion for life is nothing but priceless..
i would have died last night had i not been able to catch even the last three or four songs of the Eraserheads reunion concert. luckily, the hands of God worked in favor of my plans. i had to stick my neck out for that one.. i literally had to crash in! although it was cut short because of ely's condition, the mere fact that those four music geniuses sang their most popular hits that paved way for the rebirth of OPM in the 90s right on the same stage once again was more than any e-heads fan could wish for. one word: bliss!
however, death arrived as the earth gave birth to a new day at midnight. god, we were witnesses to lifting a decapitated man who was swimming in his own blood and splatted organs under a ten-wheeler truck, somewhere along Sta. Mesa! after which, joseinne and i had some beer at Dapitan Square and had some moments to unwind. we ate sisig (no other choice) just like swallowing a bitter pill, with the incident so fresh, so vivid in our memory. it was way traumatic and freaking..
(random: a line from dave matthews band's grace is gone kept on running through my head--"one more drink and i'll move on.")
the first quarter of our sunday was spent with our usual philo talks. that's what i love about my closest friends.. (and god, how i miss my cousin, too!) i could dedicate my whole day talking with them about anything.. not just about what the skin can feel and what the eyes can behold.. these are stories larger than life--those that uplift the spirit and nurture your being. i guess joseinne got it right when she said, "What we really need are people whom we can share our quotes with." you take an effort to know a little of everything and share a piece of you.. but, whatever happened to those who do? lonely, choosy, and bitter.. her words hit me right, "Look at us." haha!
well, one of the nicest benefits of having your school situated in a naturally low-lying area (thanks for the beautiful phrase in defense of UST river, joycee) is that when you got stranded, you tend to have quality time learning the best lessons of life, apart from books and theories alone.. although getting to a safer place wasn't really that easy. this is, by the way, joseinne's letter M on her blog: crossing the flooded lacson street with tina at one in the morning and while both of us were tipsy. yup, almost knee-high flood + booze + 1 a.m. + idiots like us = relentless laughter. but then again, it was amazing how our feet drenched on the same water within which the early-morning people of Manila painstakingly take steps to make a living. i shudder to think how hazy life is in this city.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
-from The Kraken; Lord Alfred Tennyson (1830)
and then the sun shone through the same ripples that cloaked the life of Dapitan during those serene moments.. one hell of an experience!
i would have died last night had i not been able to catch even the last three or four songs of the Eraserheads reunion concert. luckily, the hands of God worked in favor of my plans. i had to stick my neck out for that one.. i literally had to crash in! although it was cut short because of ely's condition, the mere fact that those four music geniuses sang their most popular hits that paved way for the rebirth of OPM in the 90s right on the same stage once again was more than any e-heads fan could wish for. one word: bliss!
however, death arrived as the earth gave birth to a new day at midnight. god, we were witnesses to lifting a decapitated man who was swimming in his own blood and splatted organs under a ten-wheeler truck, somewhere along Sta. Mesa! after which, joseinne and i had some beer at Dapitan Square and had some moments to unwind. we ate sisig (no other choice) just like swallowing a bitter pill, with the incident so fresh, so vivid in our memory. it was way traumatic and freaking..
(random: a line from dave matthews band's grace is gone kept on running through my head--"one more drink and i'll move on.")
the first quarter of our sunday was spent with our usual philo talks. that's what i love about my closest friends.. (and god, how i miss my cousin, too!) i could dedicate my whole day talking with them about anything.. not just about what the skin can feel and what the eyes can behold.. these are stories larger than life--those that uplift the spirit and nurture your being. i guess joseinne got it right when she said, "What we really need are people whom we can share our quotes with." you take an effort to know a little of everything and share a piece of you.. but, whatever happened to those who do? lonely, choosy, and bitter.. her words hit me right, "Look at us." haha!
well, one of the nicest benefits of having your school situated in a naturally low-lying area (thanks for the beautiful phrase in defense of UST river, joycee) is that when you got stranded, you tend to have quality time learning the best lessons of life, apart from books and theories alone.. although getting to a safer place wasn't really that easy. this is, by the way, joseinne's letter M on her blog: crossing the flooded lacson street with tina at one in the morning and while both of us were tipsy. yup, almost knee-high flood + booze + 1 a.m. + idiots like us = relentless laughter. but then again, it was amazing how our feet drenched on the same water within which the early-morning people of Manila painstakingly take steps to make a living. i shudder to think how hazy life is in this city.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
-from The Kraken; Lord Alfred Tennyson (1830)
and then the sun shone through the same ripples that cloaked the life of Dapitan during those serene moments.. one hell of an experience!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
kill the e-heads fans instead
so, mo twister said it...
eraserheads is gonna have its reunion concert this saturday at the CCP. *sigh*
i didn't know how i felt when i first heard it on the radio this morning. it's not because of the P800 or P1300 fee, although, yes, it would have sounded better if the concert was really for free.. hey! don't play hypocrite! we're all in dire need of money, so shut up. although i don't really like mo, i loved it when he said that the game plan was so weak, that the news would just fly into the air like "really? so tapos na yun?"
so what about this strategy? i don't get the point why they had to entice, i mean, lure the people into this much awaited and almost-impossible-but-possible-indeed reunion concert of e-heads for months, only to pull out our wings for a gayer and more desperate situation. i must admit, i want it badly! but i have to come up with excuses and lame reasons to convince myself that i would not, in any way, be able to watch it.
so here are some of my childish speculations. let's just say that the e-heads concert has been announced formally, following the normal scheme of promoting gigs and other major events. whether or not the tickets are for free, it would sure as hell cause panic among e-heads fanatics. ticketnet would be swarmed with an irate mob, wherein people would kill each other with violent blows of smashes and jabs just to secure a single pass for each. there would be a riot outside their main office, after which meddlesome poser youth on skateboards and emo costumes would wrap the vicinity, squeezing voodoo dolls on every hole they see. then they would take out their mini tear gas canisters that they use as self defense from TBS/TST gangsters, take the caps off and then throw them on glass windows for the gas to squirt all over the office.. honestly, i doubt it if no posers would show up their faces in the concert. they make a quarter of the population of the Philippines and they are present at every corner in the country.
or maybe, if the public was properly informed about the event, and that it would be an open concert like those graced by aspiring rock bands (oh well, it pains me, but let's give them the license to be called as such this time) like cueshe and shamrock on liquor-sponsored gigs on barangay halls, then the rest of the humanity who are desperately in love with e-heads would flock to the venue, step onto each other's throat and murder their fellow audience in ripples and waves. they would eventually reach the stage and kill the members of e-heads themselves, taking a piece of limb one by one for souvenirs. oh how i love eric gamalinda's las ruinas del corazon! (i guess this would make a good episode for happy tree friends.)
so now i thank the producers for making the event less-accessible to the public; at least nobody's gonna get harmed. wow! one shining halo for me!
well, i'm not a die-hard e-heads fan, but i love their music down to my last bone.. and now i hate myself for stooping down into the level of being a total dork for signing up for the red list of Marlboro last month, just to have a one-in-a-million chance of securing a ticket for this event.. well, you have to prove first that you are of legal age before being able to pursue with the application, and it was hell! now i think i lost my passport without even having it scanned (procrastination is the biggest tag on my vocabulary). look at what i had to do to sink my teeth into this thing.. and now the concert is just two days away and i still don't have a ticket (i don't even know if they are still available at this time) and a companion, so there are no other means for me to crash in but, yeah, crash in! as if i can, and as if i will...
(see what happens to journalism students after cracking their brains empty with nosebleed lectures on literature, capped with as-if-we-care provisions on taxation during thursdays? and mind you, today is the 28th -- my most unfortunate date -- or at least i started writing this blog on that date. sorry, i just don't have anything productive to do tonight so i played with my keyboard... shoot me.)
eraserheads is gonna have its reunion concert this saturday at the CCP. *sigh*
i didn't know how i felt when i first heard it on the radio this morning. it's not because of the P800 or P1300 fee, although, yes, it would have sounded better if the concert was really for free.. hey! don't play hypocrite! we're all in dire need of money, so shut up. although i don't really like mo, i loved it when he said that the game plan was so weak, that the news would just fly into the air like "really? so tapos na yun?"
so what about this strategy? i don't get the point why they had to entice, i mean, lure the people into this much awaited and almost-impossible-but-possible-indeed reunion concert of e-heads for months, only to pull out our wings for a gayer and more desperate situation. i must admit, i want it badly! but i have to come up with excuses and lame reasons to convince myself that i would not, in any way, be able to watch it.
so here are some of my childish speculations. let's just say that the e-heads concert has been announced formally, following the normal scheme of promoting gigs and other major events. whether or not the tickets are for free, it would sure as hell cause panic among e-heads fanatics. ticketnet would be swarmed with an irate mob, wherein people would kill each other with violent blows of smashes and jabs just to secure a single pass for each. there would be a riot outside their main office, after which meddlesome poser youth on skateboards and emo costumes would wrap the vicinity, squeezing voodoo dolls on every hole they see. then they would take out their mini tear gas canisters that they use as self defense from TBS/TST gangsters, take the caps off and then throw them on glass windows for the gas to squirt all over the office.. honestly, i doubt it if no posers would show up their faces in the concert. they make a quarter of the population of the Philippines and they are present at every corner in the country.
or maybe, if the public was properly informed about the event, and that it would be an open concert like those graced by aspiring rock bands (oh well, it pains me, but let's give them the license to be called as such this time) like cueshe and shamrock on liquor-sponsored gigs on barangay halls, then the rest of the humanity who are desperately in love with e-heads would flock to the venue, step onto each other's throat and murder their fellow audience in ripples and waves. they would eventually reach the stage and kill the members of e-heads themselves, taking a piece of limb one by one for souvenirs. oh how i love eric gamalinda's las ruinas del corazon! (i guess this would make a good episode for happy tree friends.)
so now i thank the producers for making the event less-accessible to the public; at least nobody's gonna get harmed. wow! one shining halo for me!
well, i'm not a die-hard e-heads fan, but i love their music down to my last bone.. and now i hate myself for stooping down into the level of being a total dork for signing up for the red list of Marlboro last month, just to have a one-in-a-million chance of securing a ticket for this event.. well, you have to prove first that you are of legal age before being able to pursue with the application, and it was hell! now i think i lost my passport without even having it scanned (procrastination is the biggest tag on my vocabulary). look at what i had to do to sink my teeth into this thing.. and now the concert is just two days away and i still don't have a ticket (i don't even know if they are still available at this time) and a companion, so there are no other means for me to crash in but, yeah, crash in! as if i can, and as if i will...
(see what happens to journalism students after cracking their brains empty with nosebleed lectures on literature, capped with as-if-we-care provisions on taxation during thursdays? and mind you, today is the 28th -- my most unfortunate date -- or at least i started writing this blog on that date. sorry, i just don't have anything productive to do tonight so i played with my keyboard... shoot me.)
Monday, August 25, 2008
newspapers will eventually be like dinosaurs
no, it's not that your favorite daily thinking slabs will become extremely gigantic..
i stumbled into this Inquirer.net news about a metrowide protest vs VAT for wage hike on thursday, and got alamed, not just of what is about to unfold the next three days, but because of the threatening growth of internet broadcast, that it would possibly eat the newspaper industry alive!
Inquirer was fast enough to update the world with the latest whatever, i mean WHATEVER, that the same article i read was posted just about the same time i started doing this blog, and now i'm freakin' scared of what lies ahead after graduation, and it doubles day after day, especially when people talk about the future extinction of newspapers and readers. yes, you read it right. READERS. it's not surprising that more people now subscribe to podcasts than spend their time reading, so how's that? will there be enough place for aspiring writers? or should we imagine ourselves venturing the cyberspace just to give a slice of justice to that piece of parchment called diploma?
my time frame is decaying. my energy needs oil change and iron pumps. my body clock shouts for new Ultimate Lithium batteries. my virtual calendar is in dire need of check-up... and oh, i'm having an LSD! (that's Lack of Soul Disease for you... i learned that from my classmate, Aphrodite) maybe i'm still infected with a lot of graveyard shift diseases that ran in my blood for almost two years, not to mention the circus in school and the overly-polluted metro manila.
i dunno where else this would go... i just feel that my habitual asking of "What day is it today?" should now be "What's in today?" thanks for blogs and online social networks. we're somehow used to this kind of thing.. and to Sir Atalia's workshop, too. we're used to "almost anything."
so after graduation....
HELLO CYBERSPACE!!!
i stumbled into this Inquirer.net news about a metrowide protest vs VAT for wage hike on thursday, and got alamed, not just of what is about to unfold the next three days, but because of the threatening growth of internet broadcast, that it would possibly eat the newspaper industry alive!
Inquirer was fast enough to update the world with the latest whatever, i mean WHATEVER, that the same article i read was posted just about the same time i started doing this blog, and now i'm freakin' scared of what lies ahead after graduation, and it doubles day after day, especially when people talk about the future extinction of newspapers and readers. yes, you read it right. READERS. it's not surprising that more people now subscribe to podcasts than spend their time reading, so how's that? will there be enough place for aspiring writers? or should we imagine ourselves venturing the cyberspace just to give a slice of justice to that piece of parchment called diploma?
my time frame is decaying. my energy needs oil change and iron pumps. my body clock shouts for new Ultimate Lithium batteries. my virtual calendar is in dire need of check-up... and oh, i'm having an LSD! (that's Lack of Soul Disease for you... i learned that from my classmate, Aphrodite) maybe i'm still infected with a lot of graveyard shift diseases that ran in my blood for almost two years, not to mention the circus in school and the overly-polluted metro manila.
i dunno where else this would go... i just feel that my habitual asking of "What day is it today?" should now be "What's in today?" thanks for blogs and online social networks. we're somehow used to this kind of thing.. and to Sir Atalia's workshop, too. we're used to "almost anything."
so after graduation....
HELLO CYBERSPACE!!!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
how a song transcends the soul
words are not enough to explain as to what extent of glory one suddenly reaches when falling on a deep trance (see the irony? love it!). each song has its own special way of seeping through your bones. the feeling is relative that only you can describe how its fire keeps on burning forever. shoot me for coming up with an unimaginative title and call me whatever you like because at any rate, this is not a "how to" entry.
here's one of the most influential music geniuses of the 80s, the contemporary Christian singer/songwriter Michael W. Smith. probably you're a fellow who grew up with the kind of songs this so-called new generation loves to despise or bastardize nowadays. anyway, another song i love from this music titan is Somewhere, Somehow, which is a duet with an equally great singer, Amy Grant. it's a good toast for hopeless romantics.
i can get hold of the perfect blend of poetry and music in his songs... in his lips, the passion and love for the art... and in his eyes, i can almost see his soul...
i guess this is what you call "real" music.
I Will Be Here for You
When you feel the sunlight
Fade into the cold night
Don't know where to turn
I don't know where to turn
And all the dreams you're dreaming
Seem to lose their meaning
Let me in your world
Baby, let me in your world
All you need is someone you can hold
Don't be sad, you're not alone
I will be here for you
Somewhere in the night
Somewhere in the night
I'll shine a light for you
Somewhere in the night
I'll be standing by
I will be here for you
In this world of strangers
Of cold and friendly faces
Someone you can trust
Oh there's someone you can trust
I will be your shelter
I'll give you my shoulder
Just reach out for my love
Reach out for my love
Call my name and my heart will hear you
I will be there, there's nothing to fear
here's one of the most influential music geniuses of the 80s, the contemporary Christian singer/songwriter Michael W. Smith. probably you're a fellow who grew up with the kind of songs this so-called new generation loves to despise or bastardize nowadays. anyway, another song i love from this music titan is Somewhere, Somehow, which is a duet with an equally great singer, Amy Grant. it's a good toast for hopeless romantics.
i can get hold of the perfect blend of poetry and music in his songs... in his lips, the passion and love for the art... and in his eyes, i can almost see his soul...
i guess this is what you call "real" music.
I Will Be Here for You
When you feel the sunlight
Fade into the cold night
Don't know where to turn
I don't know where to turn
And all the dreams you're dreaming
Seem to lose their meaning
Let me in your world
Baby, let me in your world
All you need is someone you can hold
Don't be sad, you're not alone
I will be here for you
Somewhere in the night
Somewhere in the night
I'll shine a light for you
Somewhere in the night
I'll be standing by
I will be here for you
In this world of strangers
Of cold and friendly faces
Someone you can trust
Oh there's someone you can trust
I will be your shelter
I'll give you my shoulder
Just reach out for my love
Reach out for my love
Call my name and my heart will hear you
I will be there, there's nothing to fear
so far the best date i've ever had
instead of spending P200 over a glass of ice-cold frappe in an irksome, social-climber-infested place, why don't you go on asking a beggar out for a date? believe me, it's rewarding!
i'm not trying to sound like a philanthropist or a wish-a-wish foundation advocate. i didn't even expect that i would be able to experience this kind of thing. in fact, it was a blessing in disguise! i went to Quiapo yesterday without anything on my brain, trying to come up with an interview with the heretics and a cocktail of opportunists that surround the church for God knows how long. i had no plan at all. nada! all i knew was that i wanted to raise the irony in the place; nothing more, nothing less...
i'll try not to go over the details anymore, as this is just like another bullet on my brain. well, maybe tomorrow; maybe later... my fingers never know how to stop...
"i hugged her son. the little angel's touching the piercings on my ear. his giggle was soft... sweet.-- that was by far the most sentimental hug that i have ever felt..."
i seldom go to church, but what happened yesterday was a living proof which reminded me that there is a God.
i'm not trying to sound like a philanthropist or a wish-a-wish foundation advocate. i didn't even expect that i would be able to experience this kind of thing. in fact, it was a blessing in disguise! i went to Quiapo yesterday without anything on my brain, trying to come up with an interview with the heretics and a cocktail of opportunists that surround the church for God knows how long. i had no plan at all. nada! all i knew was that i wanted to raise the irony in the place; nothing more, nothing less...
i'll try not to go over the details anymore, as this is just like another bullet on my brain. well, maybe tomorrow; maybe later... my fingers never know how to stop...
"i hugged her son. the little angel's touching the piercings on my ear. his giggle was soft... sweet.-- that was by far the most sentimental hug that i have ever felt..."
i seldom go to church, but what happened yesterday was a living proof which reminded me that there is a God.
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