Hay. You can now reach me at this number: 09293777495. I wish this number brings me goodluck.
---
I wish I knew how to swim. This morning a colleague and I went swimming at the campus pool and I discovered I still bore the frustration I had more than I year a go when I took swimming lessons. I only participated in three of the five sessions required to complete the training, and my departure was done in the most cowardly way possible. We were being taught how to do the freestyle then and I just can't use my mouth to breathe. The trainer kept asking us to do laps until I drowned in chlorinated water. I got out of the pool on my third lap, rushed to the toilet and puked what could be three liters of pool water. And it didn't stop there; it also went out my other end. I had never seen liquid that much come out of it.
I never bothered to tell the instructor that I'm quitting. I just walked off the pool and out of the gym.
Maybe I should just try some other "extreme" sport. Like skydiving, perhaps. Or billiards.
---
Go to the Water is also a hypnotic track from Jamie Oakes' album Shadow in Dreams. It's very hard to find, but because I just feel generous today, I'm sharing it with you. Enjoy!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Man as an Island
That's me. I live alone, and I just lost my phone the other day. I have no love lost for the phone, but the SIM, until last night I begged that someone who took it/chanced upon it to at least return my SIM card. That number, that 09102319358, has been my other name for 8 years now so I really wish I'll get it back. This morning, my own phone told me that I can't be reached.
So to my 8 friends in the world, I think boomquina@gmail.com will do for now.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Torched!
Awww, our favorite Capt. Jack Harkness is married na pala! Came across this pictures. Apparently, he's been with Scott Gill (below, a London-based architect) for 16 years already.
Pa'no na si Ianto? Haha
Pa'no na si Ianto? Haha
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Go forth and multiply
I'm slowly getting bored with Multiply especially now that they've disabled sharing music files. Of course there's a work around: you can just play the playlist and as soon as it loads in your media player, save individual songs by File>Save as. But if you're downloading a single song from a playlist with over 30 songs, it can test your patience. There's always G2P anyway, so I'd rather not bother.
I checked out my Facebook account to see if it's a good alternative (I created one just to approve my brother's request), but it's too messy and cluttered for me. I've been sent more than a dozen applications when I just have three contacts! And if you have work to do, deleting or accepting them can prove tedious and well, a waste of resources.
I checked out my Facebook account to see if it's a good alternative (I created one just to approve my brother's request), but it's too messy and cluttered for me. I've been sent more than a dozen applications when I just have three contacts! And if you have work to do, deleting or accepting them can prove tedious and well, a waste of resources.
Friday, February 15, 2008
VD for sexually transmitted disease
Thoughts thought/heard over Valentine's Day eve:
"Eh, ba't ba ayaw mong maniwala? Lahat kasi sa'yo puro joke lang e."
"E tawa-tawa ka nang tawa diyan eh. Pa'no kita seseryosohin?"
"I love you but to be honest, I feel like you size me up everytime we meet."
"Really? I make you feel that way?"
"Oh Lord."
"You think you're better than the rest of us just because you know all these dead or dying writers. Come on! I work in a multinational bank, she's everywhere in Asia, he's with the biggest food and beverage conglomerate in the country, and her boyfriend thinks the world of her. Now, look at you."
I'm better because I know all these dead and dying writers. But wait, I've used up half of my paycheck and it was payday just yesterday. I will have to ask for parental intercession.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm just joking."
It's dark in here. All I see are your eyes.
"You fake your emotions. You are plain incapable of investing emotionally to anyone else save yourself."
"I'd really prefer a shot of Irish cream over Orgasm."
"How do you make the number one go away?"
"Put a G before it and its gone!"
"I was taught how to read by my cross-eyed first grade teacher. "
"I bet your class was a rowdy bunch."
Huh?
"Because she can't control her pupils!"
"Eh, ba't ba ayaw mong maniwala? Lahat kasi sa'yo puro joke lang e."
"E tawa-tawa ka nang tawa diyan eh. Pa'no kita seseryosohin?"
"I love you but to be honest, I feel like you size me up everytime we meet."
"Really? I make you feel that way?"
"Oh Lord."
"You think you're better than the rest of us just because you know all these dead or dying writers. Come on! I work in a multinational bank, she's everywhere in Asia, he's with the biggest food and beverage conglomerate in the country, and her boyfriend thinks the world of her. Now, look at you."
I'm better because I know all these dead and dying writers. But wait, I've used up half of my paycheck and it was payday just yesterday. I will have to ask for parental intercession.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm just joking."
It's dark in here. All I see are your eyes.
"You fake your emotions. You are plain incapable of investing emotionally to anyone else save yourself."
"I'd really prefer a shot of Irish cream over Orgasm."
"How do you make the number one go away?"
"Put a G before it and its gone!"
"I was taught how to read by my cross-eyed first grade teacher. "
"I bet your class was a rowdy bunch."
Huh?
"Because she can't control her pupils!"
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Crying game
So one of my multiply contacts posted a threatening blog about not messing with him, and the violent consequences anyone who dares to will potentially face. I will not claim to know much about what's going on in his life but I think I know what triggered his most recent outburst which, in everyone else's opinion, is kind of petty, leading him to admit that he can blow his fuse over the smallest of things. I got his side and I understand that people value things differently, so I'll sympathize. Patience is not one of his virtues he says, and never will be. I just hope he also knows that many people, especially those around him, feel the same because you see, he can really try yours big time. But I love him, so I'll try to understand (haha) ;-)
It got me thinking about my own threshold and it made me realize how unbelievably patient I am that even I surprise myself. For someone who wears a constant scowl and takes things more seriously than he should, I have an incredible tolerance of people and their behavior. Of course, the easy explanation to this (and how may times have people told me this) is that I am "plastic", that I am good at hiding what I really feel about people. I take no offense with this label, for to some extent I myself admit that indeed I am and that so far, if I am being one, all that being "plastic" ever did to me is make my relationship with people a lot smoother than if I, say, let my usual suplado and antipatiko self all out. I don't know if that passes for tolerance, but if we are talking about the ability to smile and have a meaningful chat with people that others would rather butcher with a rusty, tetano-carrying bolo, then I'm probably a good campaign mascot for the civil rights agenda. I can't keep grudges (even if I want to) so I easily forgive and forget, which makes my limit pretty hard to reach. But I also admit that there's a huge difference between what I really feel and what I say. I may not like someone as much as I claim to do, and I can say with matching snooty eyeroll that I hate someone even if that person is the only reason I wake up every morning and go to work.
I haven't figured in a real fight as well. I have experienced something resembling it, but it has something to do with my being the top officer in my high school CAT and that poor cadet wasn't even fighting back. I was "punishing" him for commiting a grave misdemeanor against a fellow student, so it was more like a parent teaching his son that he did something very bad. And I always feared seeing my parents in school as if the only reason my teachers would want to see them is if I did something bad. So I admit I did everything I could to be (and I was) a very, very nice kid. It was also a blessing that no one dared offend me when I was still in school (none that I can remember, at least) so the possibility of getting into fights was remote. Heck, I was so nice that I think I must have inspired peace wherever I went, that other kids would stop fighting and feel ashamed of themselves as I pass them by. I was Mother Theresa, high school reincarnate. If me now would see me then, I'd probably bully him. I walked around with an unmistakable "Bully me, please" demeanor but somehow I got along well with everyone and now that I think about it, I don't know where all that goodness went.
***
Some grade school stories.
First to fourth grade. I was so afraid of disobeying my teachers that when they instructed us to fall in line at the school yard while waiting for the janitors to finish cleaning up the rooms, I followed as if St. Peter is waiting at the other end. While my classmates acted like normal kids that they are, I proudly acted like a sturdy lamp post, even as the hot sun shone and scorched me to exhaustion. I was so afraid of leaving "the line" and be accused of being makulit, so I refused to be the taya and run around playing langit-lupa just so I can stay even if that line that we have formed has become nothing more than a queue of bags, not kids. Oh I was such a loser. A lamp post for four years.
Fourth grade. The first time I cried in school. She was my first puppy love but everyone in class is pairing her to other boys except me. I became so afraid of losing her to the brainless, class heartthob so I told her I liked her as we walked back to our second floor classroom from the school canteen. Instead of a gentle hug, what I got instead was the most painful slap in the face I ever felt up to this day. It would have been okay with me but she slapped me so hard that I fell a few steps down the stairs. As if the pain of rejection was not enough, I just had to fall down the stairs as she broke it to me with such violence. I cracked my shin. So I cried.
Sixth grade. The second and the last time I cried in school. One of my classmates loved pinching my cheeks, my arms, my tummy, practically every part of me she can get her hands on and she just can't enough of it. Another one knew where my funny bones are, so she tickled me in the most appropriate of places. Then one day, they came at me together. I didn't know what to do and I had no idea what was happening so I thought they were bullying me, they were molesting me. I asked for help but the whole class just laughed at the spectacle of me rolling on the floor, trying my very best to keep two pairs of hands off me. They were both girls so I didn't dare hit them to make them stop. I felt helpless and alone. So I cried.
The following day, the other girls from their clique approached me to say sorry. They did not expect me to cry, they explained, what they wanted was to make me laugh. They thought I was too stiff and too serious for my own good, so it became a competition between the two as to who can make me laugh the hardest. Despite their good intentions, I told them to just stay away from me.
It got me thinking about my own threshold and it made me realize how unbelievably patient I am that even I surprise myself. For someone who wears a constant scowl and takes things more seriously than he should, I have an incredible tolerance of people and their behavior. Of course, the easy explanation to this (and how may times have people told me this) is that I am "plastic", that I am good at hiding what I really feel about people. I take no offense with this label, for to some extent I myself admit that indeed I am and that so far, if I am being one, all that being "plastic" ever did to me is make my relationship with people a lot smoother than if I, say, let my usual suplado and antipatiko self all out. I don't know if that passes for tolerance, but if we are talking about the ability to smile and have a meaningful chat with people that others would rather butcher with a rusty, tetano-carrying bolo, then I'm probably a good campaign mascot for the civil rights agenda. I can't keep grudges (even if I want to) so I easily forgive and forget, which makes my limit pretty hard to reach. But I also admit that there's a huge difference between what I really feel and what I say. I may not like someone as much as I claim to do, and I can say with matching snooty eyeroll that I hate someone even if that person is the only reason I wake up every morning and go to work.
I haven't figured in a real fight as well. I have experienced something resembling it, but it has something to do with my being the top officer in my high school CAT and that poor cadet wasn't even fighting back. I was "punishing" him for commiting a grave misdemeanor against a fellow student, so it was more like a parent teaching his son that he did something very bad. And I always feared seeing my parents in school as if the only reason my teachers would want to see them is if I did something bad. So I admit I did everything I could to be (and I was) a very, very nice kid. It was also a blessing that no one dared offend me when I was still in school (none that I can remember, at least) so the possibility of getting into fights was remote. Heck, I was so nice that I think I must have inspired peace wherever I went, that other kids would stop fighting and feel ashamed of themselves as I pass them by. I was Mother Theresa, high school reincarnate. If me now would see me then, I'd probably bully him. I walked around with an unmistakable "Bully me, please" demeanor but somehow I got along well with everyone and now that I think about it, I don't know where all that goodness went.
***
Some grade school stories.
First to fourth grade. I was so afraid of disobeying my teachers that when they instructed us to fall in line at the school yard while waiting for the janitors to finish cleaning up the rooms, I followed as if St. Peter is waiting at the other end. While my classmates acted like normal kids that they are, I proudly acted like a sturdy lamp post, even as the hot sun shone and scorched me to exhaustion. I was so afraid of leaving "the line" and be accused of being makulit, so I refused to be the taya and run around playing langit-lupa just so I can stay even if that line that we have formed has become nothing more than a queue of bags, not kids. Oh I was such a loser. A lamp post for four years.
Fourth grade. The first time I cried in school. She was my first puppy love but everyone in class is pairing her to other boys except me. I became so afraid of losing her to the brainless, class heartthob so I told her I liked her as we walked back to our second floor classroom from the school canteen. Instead of a gentle hug, what I got instead was the most painful slap in the face I ever felt up to this day. It would have been okay with me but she slapped me so hard that I fell a few steps down the stairs. As if the pain of rejection was not enough, I just had to fall down the stairs as she broke it to me with such violence. I cracked my shin. So I cried.
Sixth grade. The second and the last time I cried in school. One of my classmates loved pinching my cheeks, my arms, my tummy, practically every part of me she can get her hands on and she just can't enough of it. Another one knew where my funny bones are, so she tickled me in the most appropriate of places. Then one day, they came at me together. I didn't know what to do and I had no idea what was happening so I thought they were bullying me, they were molesting me. I asked for help but the whole class just laughed at the spectacle of me rolling on the floor, trying my very best to keep two pairs of hands off me. They were both girls so I didn't dare hit them to make them stop. I felt helpless and alone. So I cried.
The following day, the other girls from their clique approached me to say sorry. They did not expect me to cry, they explained, what they wanted was to make me laugh. They thought I was too stiff and too serious for my own good, so it became a competition between the two as to who can make me laugh the hardest. Despite their good intentions, I told them to just stay away from me.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Celebrate culture with ICUP @ 51
Come and celebrate culture with the International Club of UP from January 22 until January 25. They're screening Ping Pong, a delightfully enjoyable movie about friendship and the unlikely places where we find them. This one's hard to catch, so better take this opportunity to see it - and for free! And ping pong has never looked this, uh, extreme.
Capping off the week-long celebration of the club's 51st anniversary is Kalye Kultura, a walk-through, interactive cultural fair. And where else but the most serene of places at the UP campus: the romantic and tranquil Lagoon.
Capping off the week-long celebration of the club's 51st anniversary is Kalye Kultura, a walk-through, interactive cultural fair. And where else but the most serene of places at the UP campus: the romantic and tranquil Lagoon.
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