Days ago, our little group in the office decided to have some sort of Secret Santa. Revelation day would be the last day of work before Christmas (which happened to be also our scheduled overtime).
Our team leader made us pick up the name of our "baby" from a box and distributed a sheet for us to put our own wish list (with a table for 1st choice, 2nd choice, and 3rd choice) to our personal Santa. When the list came back it really was a wish list because literally speaking, only the real Santa would ever grant those.
Of course, there were typical stuff (like someone requesting for a cologne or a lip gloss) ... the wacky ones are 1) divorce papers of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes 2) Dinner date with Prince William 3) A 40G IPOD (yeah, now that's a WISH!!! I wish had that one too!) 4) A wardobe of clothes designed by Jay (the guy who won last time in Project Runway) 5) For Paris Hilton to get knocked-up, and my favorite (I will write it down in the exact words ...6) "For Mommy Angelina Jolie & Papa Brad Pitt to adopt me pleaaaase."
With that as an inspiration ... I came up with my own impossible wish list just for the fun of it (Hey, you'll never know ... what if it does come true!!)
10. A fort in France/England/Italy. (A castle will be fine too).
9. For the government to return all my tax money. And to be exempted from paying it EVER!!
8. Bring back the E-RING Series!!! (What the hell was NBC thinking!?! Pulling the plug on this one! No wonder they're number 4!!)
7. Peter Jackson to start filming "THE HOBBIT."
6. A private audience with Audioslave, Foo Fighters, A Perfect Circle, and Trapt.
5. For someone to film any of the Neil Gaiman "Sandman" series, and Keanu Reeves should play the character of "Morpheus."
4. A Starbucks franchise of my own.
3. The Van Gogh painting "Starry, starry night" (though Edward Munch's "The SCream" will also suffice).
2. Lifetime supply of Victoria Secret underwear. ;-)
1. And as Gracie Lou Freebush said it in Miss Congeniality ...WORLD PEACE.
Merry Christmas!!
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Fingertipping
My shot to play music came and ended when I was in 1st grade.
It was summer and my parents wanted me to learn piano to make my vacation a productive one.
The tutor who was supposed to train me was an ancient Spanish lady who wears an eyepatch on her left eye. According to my cousin, who happens to be her student, the old lady was fierce. She'll hit your hands with a ruler when you make a mistake. Everytime he goes home, he shows me his fingertips to prove how bad he fessed up with the keys that day.
One hot afternoon, I was told to report to her house which was 10 blocks from home. While walking, I was psyching myself not to be afraid of the lady and everything will be be fine.
Her then teenaged grand-daughter received me at the door and led me to the study where this antique piano lorded the center of the room. I was made to be seated on one of the chairs that leaned against the wall facing the piano. Piano music is central to this family, I thought.
The lady came in, walking with the help of a cane. She was intimidating. She looked like a witch/lady pirate without the hat and peg-leg. She could've been Captain Barbosa's mother. Her silver hair tied so tight in a bun constantly remind me that in the future, hair color would be a priority. Yet strangely though, amidst all the wrinkles on her face, I noticed that for an old lady her hands were really pretty (Note to self: Hand lotion, never forget to buy hand lotion.) She ordered me to sit on the piano seat and proceeded to the lessons. I'd say my fingers had a bashing that day, and that was the first time I heard someone cuss in Spanish.
When I was to do my pastels that night (like I always did) before I go to dreamland I had difficulty mixing colors with my fingers. I decided, when I woke up the next day, that there would be no more piano lessons with that lady.
Right now, I still haven't made a final judgment if that decision was one of the biggest error of my life due to stupidity of youth.
I resigned myself to listening music to instead, and kept my hands and fingers free from harm, since I've always considered that part of my anatomy one of most vital - tertiary to the optic and acoustic apparatuses, actually. (The only time I put my manos in risky situations is when I handle sharps in the kitchen or do surgery).
My fascination with fingertipping never diminished though. My acoustics alert my brain when it hears interesting piano parts in a song or a piano solo itself.
Fingertipsters I love:
CLASSIC: TCHAIKOVSKY
MODERN ARTISTS WITH PIANO ELEMENTS IN THEIR SONGS: TORI AMOS, JAMIE CULLUM, VIENNA TENG, AND MAKSIM.
TORI AMOS is my all-time favorite female musician. She's not traditionally pretty but the lady exudes the definition of beauty, brains, and talent. I know she is Neil Gaiman's inspiration for the Sandman character DELIGHT. And she is a delight in her own right. I love her songwriting, dark and stuttery, but deep. Her voice is haunting. But what I love most is how she handles the piano. It's like it's an extension of her personality already.
JAMIE CULLUM is mostly a pop/jazz artist. And I am not fond of jazz as maybe I don't like the crowd it attracts - pretentious yuppie-types. But I made him an exception, 'cuz his songwriting is fun and insightful. But I think what nailed my interest was when I saw his performance on TV. The guy seems to be having so much fun with the piano.
VIENNA TENG was a wonderful discovery. I was sifting through CDs in Tower Records when I read a blurb about her. I didn't even went to the listening station. I just bought the thing and trusted the blurb saying she's an excellent piano player. I am happy I trusted my gut. Her songs are haunting. The piano pieces tell stories of their own even if she didn't lend her voice. I am actually divided on whether these pieces were well thought of OR just bursts of expression. But either way, I think she's a genius.
MAKSIM, for some uptight classical folks, is a blasphemy. Fusing pop/techno elements with classical piano is like a sin. But I actually liked his experimentation with the genre. I often feel that for the newer generation to appreciate really great music, classical music should at least adapt, to pique interest and draw younger folks to make it live. His style is like a breath of air in CPR. The guy is sooo good. And it shows. He makes love to the piano. I wonder if his GF/wife gets jealous. I was disappointed when I found out from a DJ friend that he was here some years ago, and I was not able to catch a performance. (For that, I hated Medicine even more.)
In the future, I hope to catch these people on stage.
For the meantime, I'll listen to OST's with great piano parts (NOtable: Titanic's THe Portrait - a piano solo by James HOrner) and search for a patient piano teacher that I can pester.
It was summer and my parents wanted me to learn piano to make my vacation a productive one.
The tutor who was supposed to train me was an ancient Spanish lady who wears an eyepatch on her left eye. According to my cousin, who happens to be her student, the old lady was fierce. She'll hit your hands with a ruler when you make a mistake. Everytime he goes home, he shows me his fingertips to prove how bad he fessed up with the keys that day.
One hot afternoon, I was told to report to her house which was 10 blocks from home. While walking, I was psyching myself not to be afraid of the lady and everything will be be fine.
Her then teenaged grand-daughter received me at the door and led me to the study where this antique piano lorded the center of the room. I was made to be seated on one of the chairs that leaned against the wall facing the piano. Piano music is central to this family, I thought.
The lady came in, walking with the help of a cane. She was intimidating. She looked like a witch/lady pirate without the hat and peg-leg. She could've been Captain Barbosa's mother. Her silver hair tied so tight in a bun constantly remind me that in the future, hair color would be a priority. Yet strangely though, amidst all the wrinkles on her face, I noticed that for an old lady her hands were really pretty (Note to self: Hand lotion, never forget to buy hand lotion.) She ordered me to sit on the piano seat and proceeded to the lessons. I'd say my fingers had a bashing that day, and that was the first time I heard someone cuss in Spanish.
When I was to do my pastels that night (like I always did) before I go to dreamland I had difficulty mixing colors with my fingers. I decided, when I woke up the next day, that there would be no more piano lessons with that lady.
Right now, I still haven't made a final judgment if that decision was one of the biggest error of my life due to stupidity of youth.
I resigned myself to listening music to instead, and kept my hands and fingers free from harm, since I've always considered that part of my anatomy one of most vital - tertiary to the optic and acoustic apparatuses, actually. (The only time I put my manos in risky situations is when I handle sharps in the kitchen or do surgery).
My fascination with fingertipping never diminished though. My acoustics alert my brain when it hears interesting piano parts in a song or a piano solo itself.
Fingertipsters I love:
CLASSIC: TCHAIKOVSKY
MODERN ARTISTS WITH PIANO ELEMENTS IN THEIR SONGS: TORI AMOS, JAMIE CULLUM, VIENNA TENG, AND MAKSIM.
TORI AMOS is my all-time favorite female musician. She's not traditionally pretty but the lady exudes the definition of beauty, brains, and talent. I know she is Neil Gaiman's inspiration for the Sandman character DELIGHT. And she is a delight in her own right. I love her songwriting, dark and stuttery, but deep. Her voice is haunting. But what I love most is how she handles the piano. It's like it's an extension of her personality already.
JAMIE CULLUM is mostly a pop/jazz artist. And I am not fond of jazz as maybe I don't like the crowd it attracts - pretentious yuppie-types. But I made him an exception, 'cuz his songwriting is fun and insightful. But I think what nailed my interest was when I saw his performance on TV. The guy seems to be having so much fun with the piano.
VIENNA TENG was a wonderful discovery. I was sifting through CDs in Tower Records when I read a blurb about her. I didn't even went to the listening station. I just bought the thing and trusted the blurb saying she's an excellent piano player. I am happy I trusted my gut. Her songs are haunting. The piano pieces tell stories of their own even if she didn't lend her voice. I am actually divided on whether these pieces were well thought of OR just bursts of expression. But either way, I think she's a genius.
MAKSIM, for some uptight classical folks, is a blasphemy. Fusing pop/techno elements with classical piano is like a sin. But I actually liked his experimentation with the genre. I often feel that for the newer generation to appreciate really great music, classical music should at least adapt, to pique interest and draw younger folks to make it live. His style is like a breath of air in CPR. The guy is sooo good. And it shows. He makes love to the piano. I wonder if his GF/wife gets jealous. I was disappointed when I found out from a DJ friend that he was here some years ago, and I was not able to catch a performance. (For that, I hated Medicine even more.)
In the future, I hope to catch these people on stage.
For the meantime, I'll listen to OST's with great piano parts (NOtable: Titanic's THe Portrait - a piano solo by James HOrner) and search for a patient piano teacher that I can pester.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Rocking My Socks Off
The other day I was chatting with a pal that I shall call as Troutmaster.
We were talking about this VH1 episode that he caught on MTv several nights ago.
For those who don't know, VH1 is a show on MTv that features documentaries of artists and moments in music history.
I like watching that show as it gives the low down on the roots of rock stars I like and basically because they feature the "old stuff" --> read: 80's.
Anyway, Troutmaster was talking about this feature on VH1 about the history of heavy metal.
That time, I was quite sleepy and was trying my best to stay awake by downloading all the cover versions I know of "Time After Time" for the heck of it (... okay, I love that song, hehehe ..... notable covers: Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20, Eva Cassidy and Everything but the Girl).
Like a magic word, upon the mention of "heavy metal" all the sleepiness evaporated and ended up chatting with the dude way beyond my sleeping time.
Anyhow, as VH1 tells it, metal originated with 2 important bands in the 70's. These are Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. Ozzy et. al spawned the shock rock and gothic movement while Led Zep led the crazy bad hair, spandex, and make up Glam and Hard Rock genre. We talked about AC/DC, Alice Cooper, Kiss, Van Halen, Def Leppard, Guns n' Roses, Nirvana to Dave Grohl. I had to say it was one of the most engaging conversations I had in years. Too bad though, Troutmaster haven't caught the Part Two of that feature (apparently it's not yet aired, so I'm waiting for it myself).
Anyway, I remembered it while I was out with the office peeps in one of those "it" dance bars. While the rest of the crowd (which were filled with almost all the great looking people in the world making me wonder what the hell was I doing there) were bumping and grinding, I was near the bar listening to the hiphop sound blaring from the speakers, watching at the "sights" (hehehe) and drinking my Baileys (alright I was grooving a little bit). Suddenly, I heard a riff of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" that jolted my nerves.
Being a rock addict, it felt a little bit blaphemous for me to be there. It was weird. So I excused myself and called this fellow rocker wondering if he's still an insomniac like me. Fortunately he was awake (of course it was just 3 AM) and I ended up crashing his place.
As usual, this friend I call Jose (from his inebriated Tequila days) was up listening to his vinyl collection of Beatles, Elvis Presley, Everly Brothers, and was quite wondering what on earth came over me.
I told him "Dude, I wanna rock."
He was laughing hysterically, asking me if I'm stoned or drunk. I told him I just had 2 shots of Amaretto and a shot of Baileys (technically speaking, I was still sober), spent 4 hours in a hiphop bar, and need absolution. And I presented the offering of Absolut vodka and Baileys (that were stashed in my car - remnants of my birthday party a week before).
Jose called a couple of freaks like me. I tell you, nothing draws my friends out from their caves at 3 AM when there's alcohol involved. Jose even pulled out his stash of J&B and beers. Some brought the finger foods. Thank God Jose lives in the mountain with most of his neighbors gone out of town. Because 4 am we were singing "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake on the top of our lungs and were having animated discussions about Tawny Kitaen's car dance (which was spoofed by Bowling for Soup) and other crazy hair band videos ( Twisted Sister's ,Dave Lee Roth's spandex years, Aerosmith's Alicia Silverstone and Liv Tyler series, Poison's stage antics, Slash's guitar solo on top of a piano, Axl Rose's dance moves, Motley Crue and Tommy Lee - with the Pam Anderson video on the side), and Rockstar:Inxs/Supernova.
Nothing is more comforting when you are in the company of people who prefers black clothes, ripped jeans, and boots, yowls terribly like you do, and finds philosophy in Nickelback's "Rock Star."
.... I'm through with standing in line
to clubs we'll never get in
It's like the bottom of the ninth
and I'm never gonna win
This life hasn't turned out
quite the way I want it to be
(Tell me what you want)
I want a brand new house
on an episode of Cribs
And a bathroom I can play baseball in
And a king size tub big enough
for ten plus me
(Tell me what you need)
I'll need a credit card that's got no limit
And a big black jet with a bedroom in it
Gonna join the mile high club
At thirty-seven thousand feet
(Been there done that)
I want a new tour bus full of old guitars
My own star on Hollywood Boulevard
Somewhere between Cher and
James Dean is fine for me
(So how ya gonna do it?)
I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair and change my name
[CHORUS]
'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels
Hire eight body guards that love to beat up assholes
Sign a couple autographs
So I can eat my meals for free
(I'll have a quesadilla on the house)
I'm gonna dress my ass
with the latest fashion
Get a front door key to the Playboy mansion
Gonna date a centerfold that loves to
blow my money for me
(So how ya gonna do it?)
I'm gonna trade this life
For fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair
And change my name
'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
And we'll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and
today's who's who
They'll get you anything
with that evil smile
Everybody's got a
drug dealer on speed dial
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
I'm gonna sing those songs
that offend the censors
Gonna pop my pills
from a pez dispenser
Get washed-up singers writing all my songs
Lip sync em every night so I don't get 'em wrong
Well we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
And we'll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and
today's who's who
They'll get you anything
with that evil smile
Everybody's got a
drug dealer on speed dial
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
This was one night we actually felt like one. I still hear someone singing "Talk Dirty to ME" in the living room. Hahaha. And the party goes on ....
We were talking about this VH1 episode that he caught on MTv several nights ago.
For those who don't know, VH1 is a show on MTv that features documentaries of artists and moments in music history.
I like watching that show as it gives the low down on the roots of rock stars I like and basically because they feature the "old stuff" --> read: 80's.
Anyway, Troutmaster was talking about this feature on VH1 about the history of heavy metal.
That time, I was quite sleepy and was trying my best to stay awake by downloading all the cover versions I know of "Time After Time" for the heck of it (... okay, I love that song, hehehe ..... notable covers: Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20, Eva Cassidy and Everything but the Girl).
Like a magic word, upon the mention of "heavy metal" all the sleepiness evaporated and ended up chatting with the dude way beyond my sleeping time.
Anyhow, as VH1 tells it, metal originated with 2 important bands in the 70's. These are Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. Ozzy et. al spawned the shock rock and gothic movement while Led Zep led the crazy bad hair, spandex, and make up Glam and Hard Rock genre. We talked about AC/DC, Alice Cooper, Kiss, Van Halen, Def Leppard, Guns n' Roses, Nirvana to Dave Grohl. I had to say it was one of the most engaging conversations I had in years. Too bad though, Troutmaster haven't caught the Part Two of that feature (apparently it's not yet aired, so I'm waiting for it myself).
Anyway, I remembered it while I was out with the office peeps in one of those "it" dance bars. While the rest of the crowd (which were filled with almost all the great looking people in the world making me wonder what the hell was I doing there) were bumping and grinding, I was near the bar listening to the hiphop sound blaring from the speakers, watching at the "sights" (hehehe) and drinking my Baileys (alright I was grooving a little bit). Suddenly, I heard a riff of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" that jolted my nerves.
Being a rock addict, it felt a little bit blaphemous for me to be there. It was weird. So I excused myself and called this fellow rocker wondering if he's still an insomniac like me. Fortunately he was awake (of course it was just 3 AM) and I ended up crashing his place.
As usual, this friend I call Jose (from his inebriated Tequila days) was up listening to his vinyl collection of Beatles, Elvis Presley, Everly Brothers, and was quite wondering what on earth came over me.
I told him "Dude, I wanna rock."
He was laughing hysterically, asking me if I'm stoned or drunk. I told him I just had 2 shots of Amaretto and a shot of Baileys (technically speaking, I was still sober), spent 4 hours in a hiphop bar, and need absolution. And I presented the offering of Absolut vodka and Baileys (that were stashed in my car - remnants of my birthday party a week before).
Jose called a couple of freaks like me. I tell you, nothing draws my friends out from their caves at 3 AM when there's alcohol involved. Jose even pulled out his stash of J&B and beers. Some brought the finger foods. Thank God Jose lives in the mountain with most of his neighbors gone out of town. Because 4 am we were singing "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake on the top of our lungs and were having animated discussions about Tawny Kitaen's car dance (which was spoofed by Bowling for Soup) and other crazy hair band videos ( Twisted Sister's ,Dave Lee Roth's spandex years, Aerosmith's Alicia Silverstone and Liv Tyler series, Poison's stage antics, Slash's guitar solo on top of a piano, Axl Rose's dance moves, Motley Crue and Tommy Lee - with the Pam Anderson video on the side), and Rockstar:Inxs/Supernova.
Nothing is more comforting when you are in the company of people who prefers black clothes, ripped jeans, and boots, yowls terribly like you do, and finds philosophy in Nickelback's "Rock Star."
.... I'm through with standing in line
to clubs we'll never get in
It's like the bottom of the ninth
and I'm never gonna win
This life hasn't turned out
quite the way I want it to be
(Tell me what you want)
I want a brand new house
on an episode of Cribs
And a bathroom I can play baseball in
And a king size tub big enough
for ten plus me
(Tell me what you need)
I'll need a credit card that's got no limit
And a big black jet with a bedroom in it
Gonna join the mile high club
At thirty-seven thousand feet
(Been there done that)
I want a new tour bus full of old guitars
My own star on Hollywood Boulevard
Somewhere between Cher and
James Dean is fine for me
(So how ya gonna do it?)
I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair and change my name
[CHORUS]
'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels
Hire eight body guards that love to beat up assholes
Sign a couple autographs
So I can eat my meals for free
(I'll have a quesadilla on the house)
I'm gonna dress my ass
with the latest fashion
Get a front door key to the Playboy mansion
Gonna date a centerfold that loves to
blow my money for me
(So how ya gonna do it?)
I'm gonna trade this life
For fortune and fame
I'd even cut my hair
And change my name
'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
And we'll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and
today's who's who
They'll get you anything
with that evil smile
Everybody's got a
drug dealer on speed dial
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
I'm gonna sing those songs
that offend the censors
Gonna pop my pills
from a pez dispenser
Get washed-up singers writing all my songs
Lip sync em every night so I don't get 'em wrong
Well we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger's
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair
And we'll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and
today's who's who
They'll get you anything
with that evil smile
Everybody's got a
drug dealer on speed dial
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
This was one night we actually felt like one. I still hear someone singing "Talk Dirty to ME" in the living room. Hahaha. And the party goes on ....
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Preamble of Me
Politics, in the ordinary sense, is the art and science of government. It is closely associated with activities concerned with seeking power, status, and other stuff that would land you in the front page of the newspaper. Sometimes, some warm place in oblivion.
I restrict my love for literal politics about issues on governments in the INTERNATIONAL sense.
Local politics I can't be bothered with. The knowledge that there is crap in the fishbowl I'm swimming in is something I have to live with yet I don't like to deal with it until the water gets cleaned. In the meantime, I'll look through the glass and watch and learn from the other folk.
The politics I'm talking about now is "politics" per se. Activities that result to something else BIGGER, whatever that may be.
Most of my personal edicts defy general, social, even religous constructions. Liberals and conservatives are both confused with where stand. And I relish in that confusion.
What I can offer though is this:
"Why be concerned of matters that matter, when there are one too many people mattering about that matter to the point it does not matter anymore. Matter about something else that will make other matters matter."
It's rough in construction, and I'm still working on it. But let me explain.
There's this saying, good intentions is the road to hell.
I'm not about good intentions nor booking up travel expeditions to hell.
I don't play for a cause because seriously, you can't win.
I play the game to win and I win because I enjoyed the game. THEN, the cause benefits from it.
I do not seek power nor prestige. I seek to make a difference IN MY OWN TERMS. And I intend to do so without being Robin Hood.
My beliefs and ideas are a class of its own. It adheres to no god nor to anyone. The results and cause it favors will speak for itself.
With this, others think I have become an insufferable "politician." They either love me or hate me to death. I drive some people into lunacy. Issues about me range from the silly to the absurd. Usually I don't mind these as these are just stories of dulled imagination, however, there are 3 farcical issues that worry me because I don't like to be sued for intellectual property. These are:
ISSUE #1: I sold my soul to Satan.
ISSUE #2: I do accounting for the Prince of the Damned on a daily basis.
ISSUE #3: Satan could be me.
Just to be clear though, I am flattered with the attention. Positive or otherwise. Nothing is more thrilling than verifying one's own existence when other people talk about you. (with a hint of sarcasm).
I am taking this opportunity to deny all three assumptions due to the hilarity of its nature. Hopefully, all detractors concerned can actually READ this (Otherwise, get someone to read it for you). Just think about this is as a sort of preamble.
Clarification to Issue #1: My soul was never been sold in Ebay. Honestly, half of the time I believe I don't have one, half of the time I borrow if the need calls for it. Satan would never be interested in me ... I never wanted to be in TV.
Clarification to Issue #2: I do my own accounting. I'm a small business enterprise with original ideas. I work for nobody else but myself. It's a bitch to compete with the HUGE bad asses out there. However, I contend that though I am just small I have more CLASS than the competition because I don't scratch kill marks on the wall. I use Microsoft Excel. And it has always been QUALITY over QUANTITY ... so I only off assholes. Morons are just for incentives.
Clarification to Issue #3: I am not Satan. I do not fight God and create my own personal HELL.
If I ever run into an ethics issue or justice issue or a territorial dispute with the High Being, WE resolve issues diplomatically.
In summary, to those who will need simpler explanations:
1. I am self-governed. I don't need to get into "power-seeking activities." I am smart. I am already powerful.
2. I am a force of my own. You either deal with me or get out of my way.
3. I like who I am so get over it. Build your pulpit somewhere else.
4. I don't have the need to like everybody and I don't have the need to have everybody like me. And the world still turns. Amazing isn't it?
5. I don't fight NEANDERTHALS with force, I take advantage of the fact that they're stupid.
6. I get to where I want because I do WHATEVER it takes to get there WITHIN REASON. I will not apologize for it.
6. I make errors of decisions, not excuses.
and lastly,
7. Never been a "politician," always been strategist.
I restrict my love for literal politics about issues on governments in the INTERNATIONAL sense.
Local politics I can't be bothered with. The knowledge that there is crap in the fishbowl I'm swimming in is something I have to live with yet I don't like to deal with it until the water gets cleaned. In the meantime, I'll look through the glass and watch and learn from the other folk.
The politics I'm talking about now is "politics" per se. Activities that result to something else BIGGER, whatever that may be.
Most of my personal edicts defy general, social, even religous constructions. Liberals and conservatives are both confused with where stand. And I relish in that confusion.
What I can offer though is this:
"Why be concerned of matters that matter, when there are one too many people mattering about that matter to the point it does not matter anymore. Matter about something else that will make other matters matter."
It's rough in construction, and I'm still working on it. But let me explain.
There's this saying, good intentions is the road to hell.
I'm not about good intentions nor booking up travel expeditions to hell.
I don't play for a cause because seriously, you can't win.
I play the game to win and I win because I enjoyed the game. THEN, the cause benefits from it.
I do not seek power nor prestige. I seek to make a difference IN MY OWN TERMS. And I intend to do so without being Robin Hood.
My beliefs and ideas are a class of its own. It adheres to no god nor to anyone. The results and cause it favors will speak for itself.
With this, others think I have become an insufferable "politician." They either love me or hate me to death. I drive some people into lunacy. Issues about me range from the silly to the absurd. Usually I don't mind these as these are just stories of dulled imagination, however, there are 3 farcical issues that worry me because I don't like to be sued for intellectual property. These are:
ISSUE #1: I sold my soul to Satan.
ISSUE #2: I do accounting for the Prince of the Damned on a daily basis.
ISSUE #3: Satan could be me.
Just to be clear though, I am flattered with the attention. Positive or otherwise. Nothing is more thrilling than verifying one's own existence when other people talk about you. (with a hint of sarcasm).
I am taking this opportunity to deny all three assumptions due to the hilarity of its nature. Hopefully, all detractors concerned can actually READ this (Otherwise, get someone to read it for you). Just think about this is as a sort of preamble.
Clarification to Issue #1: My soul was never been sold in Ebay. Honestly, half of the time I believe I don't have one, half of the time I borrow if the need calls for it. Satan would never be interested in me ... I never wanted to be in TV.
Clarification to Issue #2: I do my own accounting. I'm a small business enterprise with original ideas. I work for nobody else but myself. It's a bitch to compete with the HUGE bad asses out there. However, I contend that though I am just small I have more CLASS than the competition because I don't scratch kill marks on the wall. I use Microsoft Excel. And it has always been QUALITY over QUANTITY ... so I only off assholes. Morons are just for incentives.
Clarification to Issue #3: I am not Satan. I do not fight God and create my own personal HELL.
If I ever run into an ethics issue or justice issue or a territorial dispute with the High Being, WE resolve issues diplomatically.
In summary, to those who will need simpler explanations:
1. I am self-governed. I don't need to get into "power-seeking activities." I am smart. I am already powerful.
2. I am a force of my own. You either deal with me or get out of my way.
3. I like who I am so get over it. Build your pulpit somewhere else.
4. I don't have the need to like everybody and I don't have the need to have everybody like me. And the world still turns. Amazing isn't it?
5. I don't fight NEANDERTHALS with force, I take advantage of the fact that they're stupid.
6. I get to where I want because I do WHATEVER it takes to get there WITHIN REASON. I will not apologize for it.
6. I make errors of decisions, not excuses.
and lastly,
7. Never been a "politician," always been strategist.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Bad Mindless Days
The problem with me is that I know what's wrong with me, yet I find it difficult to solve the problem even with this knowledge that it's me that's the problem.
I know there is something absolutely wrong with my body. I'm in huge amount of discomfort but I can't bring myself to see doctor for fear of knowing what I suspect. Call it plain moronic and cowardly. Now, I'm still self-medicating myself with things that absolutely don't work.
I know there's some "stuff" simmering inside me that I have to do something about, yet when I do have the chance to do so, I just didn't. And now, I'm still tortured as ever for being an idiot for not grabbing that particular opportunity to do so.
The other day I know that I was not fit to do stuff in work, yet I persisted anyway. Now, those things I did came back with a vengeance doubling my workload. I was not trying to impress the boss or something, but this stupid ego of mine told itself that I can actually solve the problem without even consulting the people with the knowledge. (Though a voice of reason in my brain was telling me not to do it when I was doing it). Jeez, I can't just stop digging my own hole to fall on.
Bad hair days may come, but at least I have a brush to tame those renegade strands.
When my mind fesses up, the damage is just too global to contain.
I just had a bad weekend and a bad week has just begun. (sigh)
I know there is something absolutely wrong with my body. I'm in huge amount of discomfort but I can't bring myself to see doctor for fear of knowing what I suspect. Call it plain moronic and cowardly. Now, I'm still self-medicating myself with things that absolutely don't work.
I know there's some "stuff" simmering inside me that I have to do something about, yet when I do have the chance to do so, I just didn't. And now, I'm still tortured as ever for being an idiot for not grabbing that particular opportunity to do so.
The other day I know that I was not fit to do stuff in work, yet I persisted anyway. Now, those things I did came back with a vengeance doubling my workload. I was not trying to impress the boss or something, but this stupid ego of mine told itself that I can actually solve the problem without even consulting the people with the knowledge. (Though a voice of reason in my brain was telling me not to do it when I was doing it). Jeez, I can't just stop digging my own hole to fall on.
Bad hair days may come, but at least I have a brush to tame those renegade strands.
When my mind fesses up, the damage is just too global to contain.
I just had a bad weekend and a bad week has just begun. (sigh)
Monday, October 23, 2006
Olbers' Paradox
I like philosophical questioning. I sincerely think Socrates is a genius by relentlessly questioning the Greeks to get them to answer their own questions. All along he knew the answers, but made it a point that the others find those answers too. It must be extremely irritating for the Greek populace, but hey, because of guys like Socrates, the Classic Grecians are still considered one of the enlightened ancient races that sprouted in this planet.
Anyhow, what I'm getting at is that I like questioning the existence of man and his world. The problem is if I start asking the same questions that those classical philosophers asked, I come off as a dumb ass most of the time (lol).
I mean imagine Aristotle or Plato asking "who are you," or "where did you come from," and it would be a legitimate question. I ask the same questions, I'll probably get "mind your darn business" or "what sort of drug are you into these days, huh?"
Well, aside from philosophy I happen to love astronomy. Star gazing is one of my favorite past times. I don't know most of the stars I look at but I like just lying down on the ground, counting shooting stars, and feeling the evening breeze.
The other day while I was educating myself over some astronomy articles, I came across a sort of philosophical/scientific question "WHY IS NIGHT SKY DARK?" Now, it sounds stupid if you think of it in a smart-alecky way but then after careful mental rumination (wow! lol!) I decided that it is indeed an interesting question.
If there is an infinite number of stars scattered evenly in the sky there should be a point without a star. However distant some may be, the sky should be bright with light. The question "Why is the night sky dark?" is known as Olbers' Paradox.
The question apparently baffled scientists and philosophers for centuries.
Heinrich Olbers, a German astronomer, proposed in theory that every line of sight from Earth ought to have ended up at a star, not on a dark, empty space. According to what I read:
" He imagined the Earth to be the center of an infinite series of concentric circles, each studded with stars. From the stars in the first shell, the Earth would receive a certain amount of light. Light from the second shell, at twice the distance, would be proportionally fainter. But since the second shell would have to be larger than the first shell in order to contain it, the second shell would have more stars."
The Olbers' calculations total the starlight from the two shells would be the same, and would apply to all the subsequent shells. Like the scientists of his time, he believed the universe to be infinite as well. Thus in conclusion, if the shells continued out from the Earth toward infinity, we would receive an infinite amountof light - the sky then should never be dark.
His math could not be faulted but of course, our own eyes could not be either. The night sky is indeed dark no matter how those calculations speak.
Several explanations were proposed, which included the fact that stars are not evenly distributed throughout the universe but were clustered into galaxies. This does not affect Olbers' argument though as scientists report. Eventually there were only two possible ways out of this paradox: either the universe was finite and came to an end somewhere, or else it was expanding.
The article further explains:
"The universe is finite, at least in time, and has been expanding for about 13 billion years since the Big Bang. Since nothing can travel faster than light, nothing can be farther away than 13 billion light years. So quite simply, the sky is dark because the universe has not yet had time to light up."
Interestingly, the drunken writer, Edgar Allan Poe was one of the first few to point out that a finite, expanding universe was the only logical explanation for the darkness of the night sky, and even discussed the possibility that the universe began with a Big Bang. That's more than a century in advance from Stephen Hawking's. All this was told in his poem "Eureka."
A simple question with several complicated answers.
The dark night sky is still lovely eventhough all the starlight in space haven't lit it all up.
Cheers Poe! *raises a glass of wine*
Anyhow, what I'm getting at is that I like questioning the existence of man and his world. The problem is if I start asking the same questions that those classical philosophers asked, I come off as a dumb ass most of the time (lol).
I mean imagine Aristotle or Plato asking "who are you," or "where did you come from," and it would be a legitimate question. I ask the same questions, I'll probably get "mind your darn business" or "what sort of drug are you into these days, huh?"
Well, aside from philosophy I happen to love astronomy. Star gazing is one of my favorite past times. I don't know most of the stars I look at but I like just lying down on the ground, counting shooting stars, and feeling the evening breeze.
The other day while I was educating myself over some astronomy articles, I came across a sort of philosophical/scientific question "WHY IS NIGHT SKY DARK?" Now, it sounds stupid if you think of it in a smart-alecky way but then after careful mental rumination (wow! lol!) I decided that it is indeed an interesting question.
If there is an infinite number of stars scattered evenly in the sky there should be a point without a star. However distant some may be, the sky should be bright with light. The question "Why is the night sky dark?" is known as Olbers' Paradox.
The question apparently baffled scientists and philosophers for centuries.
Heinrich Olbers, a German astronomer, proposed in theory that every line of sight from Earth ought to have ended up at a star, not on a dark, empty space. According to what I read:
" He imagined the Earth to be the center of an infinite series of concentric circles, each studded with stars. From the stars in the first shell, the Earth would receive a certain amount of light. Light from the second shell, at twice the distance, would be proportionally fainter. But since the second shell would have to be larger than the first shell in order to contain it, the second shell would have more stars."
The Olbers' calculations total the starlight from the two shells would be the same, and would apply to all the subsequent shells. Like the scientists of his time, he believed the universe to be infinite as well. Thus in conclusion, if the shells continued out from the Earth toward infinity, we would receive an infinite amountof light - the sky then should never be dark.
His math could not be faulted but of course, our own eyes could not be either. The night sky is indeed dark no matter how those calculations speak.
Several explanations were proposed, which included the fact that stars are not evenly distributed throughout the universe but were clustered into galaxies. This does not affect Olbers' argument though as scientists report. Eventually there were only two possible ways out of this paradox: either the universe was finite and came to an end somewhere, or else it was expanding.
The article further explains:
"The universe is finite, at least in time, and has been expanding for about 13 billion years since the Big Bang. Since nothing can travel faster than light, nothing can be farther away than 13 billion light years. So quite simply, the sky is dark because the universe has not yet had time to light up."
Interestingly, the drunken writer, Edgar Allan Poe was one of the first few to point out that a finite, expanding universe was the only logical explanation for the darkness of the night sky, and even discussed the possibility that the universe began with a Big Bang. That's more than a century in advance from Stephen Hawking's. All this was told in his poem "Eureka."
A simple question with several complicated answers.
The dark night sky is still lovely eventhough all the starlight in space haven't lit it all up.
Cheers Poe! *raises a glass of wine*
Sunday, October 22, 2006
FREUD'S COUCH
Psychology was one of my favorite subjects in college. I wanted to take it as pre-law and not because I like to figure out what the other people are thinking. Ha! Quite frankly, I'd rather let them leave their thoughts to themselves --> except of course when I'm interested with someone's thoughts (wink wink). Anyhow, I always knew I'm crazy and I like to figure out the severity of my lunacy.
The problem with self-study and self-diagnosis is the tendency to relate so much with every little thing you read due to personal bias. I think I used to diagnose myself as Schizophreniform with Bipolar I disorder and OC personality disorder. And I feared for everyone's sake --> lol.
Due to the wonders of the internet, there are sites that offer psych tests for almost anything that your mind could think of. So my goal for a personal objective study of myself had more progress. I don't like to get "professional" opinion. I don't trust what guidance counselors tell me. It's easy to fake exams. It's easy for me to convince things on paper in order to get my way. Plus a little acting in the office, it's done. The only way I see for this self psychoanalysis project of mine to get off is do a blind study. The internet offer a minimal level of this, but it suits me fine for the moment.
Anyway, one day, bored as usual, I decided to take several psych tests for the heck of it.
The first test was a color test. It showed series of colors of varying shades and makes you pick which you like better. AT the end of the test, the site froze, and knowing that my attention span is that of a baby, I moved to another test. Too bad, it could've been interesting.
The next test I had a lot of fun. It was a MENSA IQ fun test. Initially, it showed series of numbers and letters and you figure it out (i.e. 101 D --> 101 Dalmatians; 365 D of the Y --> 365 days of the year). I wanted to back out because I hate numbers, but then I'd like to find out if I am a cretin and would like to get proper documentation for it if they do provide that. I was planning to frame it and hang it on my wall to silence people alluding untrue adjectives of my mental faculties. Unfortunately, the test showed that I'm not a cretin. What a party pooper.
The next test is a belief test. This interested me a lot. It provided a series of questions about faith and I answered either YES or NO. There was also a checklist of other issues for you to consider. The test revealed that my beliefs are more of Liberal Protestant, Tao Buddhism, and Scientology. I find myself chuckling because I know I haven't had the urge to destroy couches and scream "I'm in love. I love ___!!" <jump, jump, jump>. Moreover, I cannot quite imagine myself bald, sipping tea, and into the noble 8-fold path. I am more of the Bushido code-type and the NO-MIND technique I do naturally. Hahaha. Then of course there's the Sun-Tzu Art of War.
The next test is of them personality test. Like most personality tests this was lengthy and I got easily got bored with it, but I stuck with it because I wanted to know if I do have personality. What it revealed in the end is that I am an INTJ (Introverted Intuitive Thinking Judging). When I read through the explanation, I got a good kick out of it. Finally, I had some sense of enlightenment on why my lovelife is nonexistent. Says there lovelife is actually an INTJ's Achilles' heel. It was a wonderful insight. The cool thing is I read through was when I found out some personalities that share my line of thinking:
REAL: John F. Kennedy, Thomas Jefferson, Rudy Giulliani, US General Secretary of State Colin Powell, Augustus Caesar, Jane Austen, C.S. Lewis, Lance Armstrong, and Katie Couric.
FICTIONAL: Cassius (Julius Caesar), Gandalf the Grey (LOTR), Professor Moriarty (Sherlock Holmes), and Clarice Starling (Silence of the Lambs).
Though I still insist on my insanity, for now I guess I can sleep well with the thought that Gandalf the Grey is as cracked as I am! I mean how cool is that!!
Time's up!
The problem with self-study and self-diagnosis is the tendency to relate so much with every little thing you read due to personal bias. I think I used to diagnose myself as Schizophreniform with Bipolar I disorder and OC personality disorder. And I feared for everyone's sake --> lol.
Due to the wonders of the internet, there are sites that offer psych tests for almost anything that your mind could think of. So my goal for a personal objective study of myself had more progress. I don't like to get "professional" opinion. I don't trust what guidance counselors tell me. It's easy to fake exams. It's easy for me to convince things on paper in order to get my way. Plus a little acting in the office, it's done. The only way I see for this self psychoanalysis project of mine to get off is do a blind study. The internet offer a minimal level of this, but it suits me fine for the moment.
Anyway, one day, bored as usual, I decided to take several psych tests for the heck of it.
The first test was a color test. It showed series of colors of varying shades and makes you pick which you like better. AT the end of the test, the site froze, and knowing that my attention span is that of a baby, I moved to another test. Too bad, it could've been interesting.
The next test I had a lot of fun. It was a MENSA IQ fun test. Initially, it showed series of numbers and letters and you figure it out (i.e. 101 D --> 101 Dalmatians; 365 D of the Y --> 365 days of the year). I wanted to back out because I hate numbers, but then I'd like to find out if I am a cretin and would like to get proper documentation for it if they do provide that. I was planning to frame it and hang it on my wall to silence people alluding untrue adjectives of my mental faculties. Unfortunately, the test showed that I'm not a cretin. What a party pooper.
The next test is a belief test. This interested me a lot. It provided a series of questions about faith and I answered either YES or NO. There was also a checklist of other issues for you to consider. The test revealed that my beliefs are more of Liberal Protestant, Tao Buddhism, and Scientology. I find myself chuckling because I know I haven't had the urge to destroy couches and scream "I'm in love. I love ___!!" <jump, jump, jump>. Moreover, I cannot quite imagine myself bald, sipping tea, and into the noble 8-fold path. I am more of the Bushido code-type and the NO-MIND technique I do naturally. Hahaha. Then of course there's the Sun-Tzu Art of War.
The next test is of them personality test. Like most personality tests this was lengthy and I got easily got bored with it, but I stuck with it because I wanted to know if I do have personality. What it revealed in the end is that I am an INTJ (Introverted Intuitive Thinking Judging). When I read through the explanation, I got a good kick out of it. Finally, I had some sense of enlightenment on why my lovelife is nonexistent. Says there lovelife is actually an INTJ's Achilles' heel. It was a wonderful insight. The cool thing is I read through was when I found out some personalities that share my line of thinking:
REAL: John F. Kennedy, Thomas Jefferson, Rudy Giulliani, US General Secretary of State Colin Powell, Augustus Caesar, Jane Austen, C.S. Lewis, Lance Armstrong, and Katie Couric.
FICTIONAL: Cassius (Julius Caesar), Gandalf the Grey (LOTR), Professor Moriarty (Sherlock Holmes), and Clarice Starling (Silence of the Lambs).
Though I still insist on my insanity, for now I guess I can sleep well with the thought that Gandalf the Grey is as cracked as I am! I mean how cool is that!!
Time's up!
TECH PEEPS
There are two things that my brain is too lazy to bother with: NUMBERS and TECH STUFF.
Throw a series of numerals at me and my cerebrum shuts down and reboots itself. If Mathematics was a relationship, it would be like dating a high-maintenance metrosexual. It’s just too darn tedious to deal with. My parents and teachers used to think that I just don’t have the aptitude for math because my grades were not too fabulous in that department. Truth be told, I was plainly not interested. It’s like Brad Pitt without the X-factor to me. I could make it work, but then it doesn’t turn me on. I get it, but I don’t see the application of higher mathematics in my life. Further proof is when I decided to like Trigonometry and Calculus to prove to the cynics that I can if I wanted to. And sure enough I got impressive grades but then after that, “alright, so what now?” I have amnesia attacks worse than those in soap opera plots when I try to recall those subjects. The numbers I choose to understand these days are the numbers in the calendar, clock, phone numbers, license plates, addresses, and anything that has a currency sign before it. I process faster than the speed of light when I analyze my paycheck, pay bills, receive change, or more importantly check the deductions and TAXES (grrrr!). After all, those things go in and out of my wallet, and THAT is serious business to me.
Now when it comes to technical stuff particularly COMPUTER stuff, it’s a different story.
My brain is like Garfield. The world revolves around it and Jon is my slave. It expects to be fed and it likes to make fun of the hand who feds it. And it applies mostly with the computer guys.
I derive eternal satisfaction on bugging the IT people and I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just like the orange tabby cat, it loves its geeky owner in a sadistic sort of way. I like asking them questions that they end up answering for themselves. Hehehe.
It could be because I have a brother who’s a Mathematics/Computer Science Major, who I love pestering to death. He calls me TECHNO-MORON as a term of endearment. His trouble shooting skills with my computer is limited to REFORMATTING ‘cuz he knows how much I collect viruses. I recall him asking/telling me “You could cross a street, right? Your password is in CAPSLOCK, that’s why you could not get in!” He shoots me an evil eye and chuckles. I laugh along as I mentally dig for my IQ at that moment. Love that guy. Unfortunately, he’s migrated to Ice Age Maple Leaf Country, so too bad for the IT population that has to deal with me everyday.
Most of the techies I meet are mild-mannered quiet types. I assume that this is mainly due to the fact that most of them spent more quality time with their beloved “electric dreams” girl/boyfriends indoors than pick fights outside in high school. They tend to be very patient because they have to memorize instructions worse than “How to Make Sushi – in original Japanese texts and format,” and computer codes probably sent by crank-calling aliens from outer space. But most of all, their sense of humor is so wacky maybe because of being confined in a cubicle the size of a shoe box for 8-10 hours a day. Fleeting pictures of padded rooms flash before me when someone tells me he/she is a computer programmer or in some IT-related profession. I mean you must be a little crazy to learn a language based on numbers, weird symbols, acronyms, and lingo like “fatal error, must restart.” It’s like learning to read and write hieroglyphics.
Another thing I like about them is when they converge in one corner and crowd over the latest issue of PC Magazine or other tech mags. They look like a bunch of high schoolers reading porn. (Hahaha!)
For an old school thinker like me (my laptop is a portable typewriter – and that’s not a joke!), tech people are my tour guides in this millennium of AI. I point at the site, they lead me there like good travel agents. Hehehe! The computer is just a vacation spot for my brain. I like interacting with these people because it’s like a close encounter of the third kind. FOR THEM! When I’m too lazy to think and pretend to be a complete dumbass around the computer, they approach you with a We-come-in-peace-Take-me-to-your-leader face. Sometimes when I know I’m so close to their boiling points, I imagine mental images of the Rush Hour scene “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?!!” going through their minds. I like eavesdropping between IT to IT personnel’s KGB-CIA gibberish and figure out what they are up to. When I mess up my computer, they start scratching their heads like they have severe fungal infection. They call for back-up and operate on the thing like it’s triple coronary artery bypass graft surgery.
My fondest moment is when my boss, an IT guy, set-up my computer in the office. I have no idea what he installed in my CPU and I honestly don’t care. As long as I can type, play my MP3s and games, send info to our FTP, and surf, I’m happy. Before I took the CPU home, he tried to explain to me several maintenance stuff I should remember doing. I tried to note the essentials, but half of my brain was in a beach somewhere sipping Margaritas.
When I got home, I just opened every single thing in the program bar and figured out what these things are for. There was one maintenance program I came across, which I recall my boss lectured that after a week of surfing I should use to remove unnecessary data that accumulated so as to free up disk space. I surfed ‘til 3 AM and after that, decided to use the program. Trying to work it, I just clicked the buttons which I think made sense and watched it do its thing. To be sure though, when I got the message “You are about to delete all, are you sure?” I text-messaged my boss, told him what I did, and asked him if I should say “YES” to this message. He knew how decisive I am and how I am about NOT WAITING for a reply. I guess that was the fastest Yahoo Messenger log in I have ever seen because when I was about to click “YES,” a chat screen POPPED screaming “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” I was in stitches laughing alone in my room.
The next day when I got to the office, he was chuckling, shaking his head and telling my other IT bosses what I did. They told me, “It took us three days to install those things, and it nearly took a second for your itchy fingers to delete all of it!!” Then he proceeds to teach me again how to save me from myself.
PS: I would like to propose of a new version of Charades using computer terms. I’d like to see how the heck these guys will do “PAUSE/BREAK,” “SCROLL LOCK,” “DNS ERROR #,” “F5,”and “JAVA SCRIPT.” I think that would be an interesting Christmas party game.
Throw a series of numerals at me and my cerebrum shuts down and reboots itself. If Mathematics was a relationship, it would be like dating a high-maintenance metrosexual. It’s just too darn tedious to deal with. My parents and teachers used to think that I just don’t have the aptitude for math because my grades were not too fabulous in that department. Truth be told, I was plainly not interested. It’s like Brad Pitt without the X-factor to me. I could make it work, but then it doesn’t turn me on. I get it, but I don’t see the application of higher mathematics in my life. Further proof is when I decided to like Trigonometry and Calculus to prove to the cynics that I can if I wanted to. And sure enough I got impressive grades but then after that, “alright, so what now?” I have amnesia attacks worse than those in soap opera plots when I try to recall those subjects. The numbers I choose to understand these days are the numbers in the calendar, clock, phone numbers, license plates, addresses, and anything that has a currency sign before it. I process faster than the speed of light when I analyze my paycheck, pay bills, receive change, or more importantly check the deductions and TAXES (grrrr!). After all, those things go in and out of my wallet, and THAT is serious business to me.
Now when it comes to technical stuff particularly COMPUTER stuff, it’s a different story.
My brain is like Garfield. The world revolves around it and Jon is my slave. It expects to be fed and it likes to make fun of the hand who feds it. And it applies mostly with the computer guys.
I derive eternal satisfaction on bugging the IT people and I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just like the orange tabby cat, it loves its geeky owner in a sadistic sort of way. I like asking them questions that they end up answering for themselves. Hehehe.
It could be because I have a brother who’s a Mathematics/Computer Science Major, who I love pestering to death. He calls me TECHNO-MORON as a term of endearment. His trouble shooting skills with my computer is limited to REFORMATTING ‘cuz he knows how much I collect viruses. I recall him asking/telling me “You could cross a street, right? Your password is in CAPSLOCK, that’s why you could not get in!” He shoots me an evil eye and chuckles. I laugh along as I mentally dig for my IQ at that moment. Love that guy. Unfortunately, he’s migrated to Ice Age Maple Leaf Country, so too bad for the IT population that has to deal with me everyday.
Most of the techies I meet are mild-mannered quiet types. I assume that this is mainly due to the fact that most of them spent more quality time with their beloved “electric dreams” girl/boyfriends indoors than pick fights outside in high school. They tend to be very patient because they have to memorize instructions worse than “How to Make Sushi – in original Japanese texts and format,” and computer codes probably sent by crank-calling aliens from outer space. But most of all, their sense of humor is so wacky maybe because of being confined in a cubicle the size of a shoe box for 8-10 hours a day. Fleeting pictures of padded rooms flash before me when someone tells me he/she is a computer programmer or in some IT-related profession. I mean you must be a little crazy to learn a language based on numbers, weird symbols, acronyms, and lingo like “fatal error, must restart.” It’s like learning to read and write hieroglyphics.
Another thing I like about them is when they converge in one corner and crowd over the latest issue of PC Magazine or other tech mags. They look like a bunch of high schoolers reading porn. (Hahaha!)
For an old school thinker like me (my laptop is a portable typewriter – and that’s not a joke!), tech people are my tour guides in this millennium of AI. I point at the site, they lead me there like good travel agents. Hehehe! The computer is just a vacation spot for my brain. I like interacting with these people because it’s like a close encounter of the third kind. FOR THEM! When I’m too lazy to think and pretend to be a complete dumbass around the computer, they approach you with a We-come-in-peace-Take-me-to-your-leader face. Sometimes when I know I’m so close to their boiling points, I imagine mental images of the Rush Hour scene “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?!!” going through their minds. I like eavesdropping between IT to IT personnel’s KGB-CIA gibberish and figure out what they are up to. When I mess up my computer, they start scratching their heads like they have severe fungal infection. They call for back-up and operate on the thing like it’s triple coronary artery bypass graft surgery.
My fondest moment is when my boss, an IT guy, set-up my computer in the office. I have no idea what he installed in my CPU and I honestly don’t care. As long as I can type, play my MP3s and games, send info to our FTP, and surf, I’m happy. Before I took the CPU home, he tried to explain to me several maintenance stuff I should remember doing. I tried to note the essentials, but half of my brain was in a beach somewhere sipping Margaritas.
When I got home, I just opened every single thing in the program bar and figured out what these things are for. There was one maintenance program I came across, which I recall my boss lectured that after a week of surfing I should use to remove unnecessary data that accumulated so as to free up disk space. I surfed ‘til 3 AM and after that, decided to use the program. Trying to work it, I just clicked the buttons which I think made sense and watched it do its thing. To be sure though, when I got the message “You are about to delete all, are you sure?” I text-messaged my boss, told him what I did, and asked him if I should say “YES” to this message. He knew how decisive I am and how I am about NOT WAITING for a reply. I guess that was the fastest Yahoo Messenger log in I have ever seen because when I was about to click “YES,” a chat screen POPPED screaming “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” I was in stitches laughing alone in my room.
The next day when I got to the office, he was chuckling, shaking his head and telling my other IT bosses what I did. They told me, “It took us three days to install those things, and it nearly took a second for your itchy fingers to delete all of it!!” Then he proceeds to teach me again how to save me from myself.
PS: I would like to propose of a new version of Charades using computer terms. I’d like to see how the heck these guys will do “PAUSE/BREAK,” “SCROLL LOCK,” “DNS ERROR #,” “F5,”and “JAVA SCRIPT.” I think that would be an interesting Christmas party game.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
OVERWORKED?
I love to work.
I like doing something most of the time.
And I just don't take a job for the sake of having a job. I'm pretty picky actually because if I don't like what I'm doing, I'll stop working and find something else to do.
I don't know if I am just extremely passionate-dispassionate or simply just nuts. What I do know is that I'm always on the go.
Recently, I have been juggling so many extremely different things as usual. Two jobs and several rackets in between. I go home just to sleep and shower. The rest of my life is either in the office or in my car, which by the way, doubles as my roving condominium (complete with extra clothes, pillows and blankets, books and, heck, if I could fit in a refrigerator, it probably would have one).
Anyhow, being a workaholic deprives me recently of a "life." My social life is in the internet, pantry-jokes with my co-workers, and over-coffee-conversations with a client/boss/broker. My dates turn up (if they do show up) in my dreams, and it's usually over in 4 hours unless I push the snooze button for an extra 5 minutes. I see my parents when we accidentally bump each other in the kitchen. I see my dog everytime I leave, come home, or the caretaker tells me to hand me her dog food. Our daily interaction these days is limited to "good morning", "good night", and "good doggy."
So what do I get from all this working?
Well, primarily MONEY (which actually doesn't matter much to me but I use it as a score to rate myself). Money I enjoy having, not because it makes me "feel rich" sort of thing, but I have lots of hobbies that's just too high maintenance (e.g. reading - buy books, music - buy CDs, movies - watch movies/buy DVDs) and a vice to maintain (i.e. coffee - buy coffee or you die --> Damn Starbucks! I'm too addicted to quit). But more importantly, I like the challenge. I don't know. I must be crazy, but I like having something to work over in my brain. It's like chasing a guy, they say you can't have (I don't chase by the way, I lure. --> lol!)
Well, challenge I have a lot these days and I'm getting sick physically. Some blinker inside of me indicated the need to to slow down and get serviced. So I took the weekend off from doing extra work and relax. Unfortunately, my mind is racing and my hands are jittery (I know it's not from the coffee, it's not!) that I have to do something.
So as therapy, I decided to continue to work on my unfinished stories, then I realized I'm working again. So I abandoned it. I started texting my pals, which funnily, ended up in business talks. After talking to three of them, I decided to sleep instead. Fortunately, after taking my usual sleep "pill" (a.k.a. antihistamine - Benadryl), I zonked out in 15 minutes.
After a 2 hour nap, here I am up again, looking for something to do.
And I remembered, I have to "work" on my blog which I forgot to do these days. ;-)
I like doing something most of the time.
And I just don't take a job for the sake of having a job. I'm pretty picky actually because if I don't like what I'm doing, I'll stop working and find something else to do.
I don't know if I am just extremely passionate-dispassionate or simply just nuts. What I do know is that I'm always on the go.
Recently, I have been juggling so many extremely different things as usual. Two jobs and several rackets in between. I go home just to sleep and shower. The rest of my life is either in the office or in my car, which by the way, doubles as my roving condominium (complete with extra clothes, pillows and blankets, books and, heck, if I could fit in a refrigerator, it probably would have one).
Anyhow, being a workaholic deprives me recently of a "life." My social life is in the internet, pantry-jokes with my co-workers, and over-coffee-conversations with a client/boss/broker. My dates turn up (if they do show up) in my dreams, and it's usually over in 4 hours unless I push the snooze button for an extra 5 minutes. I see my parents when we accidentally bump each other in the kitchen. I see my dog everytime I leave, come home, or the caretaker tells me to hand me her dog food. Our daily interaction these days is limited to "good morning", "good night", and "good doggy."
So what do I get from all this working?
Well, primarily MONEY (which actually doesn't matter much to me but I use it as a score to rate myself). Money I enjoy having, not because it makes me "feel rich" sort of thing, but I have lots of hobbies that's just too high maintenance (e.g. reading - buy books, music - buy CDs, movies - watch movies/buy DVDs) and a vice to maintain (i.e. coffee - buy coffee or you die --> Damn Starbucks! I'm too addicted to quit). But more importantly, I like the challenge. I don't know. I must be crazy, but I like having something to work over in my brain. It's like chasing a guy, they say you can't have (I don't chase by the way, I lure. --> lol!)
Well, challenge I have a lot these days and I'm getting sick physically. Some blinker inside of me indicated the need to to slow down and get serviced. So I took the weekend off from doing extra work and relax. Unfortunately, my mind is racing and my hands are jittery (I know it's not from the coffee, it's not!) that I have to do something.
So as therapy, I decided to continue to work on my unfinished stories, then I realized I'm working again. So I abandoned it. I started texting my pals, which funnily, ended up in business talks. After talking to three of them, I decided to sleep instead. Fortunately, after taking my usual sleep "pill" (a.k.a. antihistamine - Benadryl), I zonked out in 15 minutes.
After a 2 hour nap, here I am up again, looking for something to do.
And I remembered, I have to "work" on my blog which I forgot to do these days. ;-)
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
OF FLYING GUILLOTINES AND DEATH PUNCHES
I was channel surfing one night, eager to reach the CNN channel, when I accidentally "surfed by" The National Geographic Channel.
The channel has this Martial Arts Week, and was featuring this show, "Fight Science." For the uninitiated in the martial arts scene, I highly recommend this show.
"Fight Science" examines the different kinds of martial arts, its warriors and their weapons, and the truth about certain myths as "proved" by science. Armed with high tech gadgets that can measure force, acceleration, etc. and motion capture cameras, it effectively demonstrated how much damage a punch of a boxer, a kick from Muay Thai champion, or a death punch from a ninja can actually do.
The scientists who were studying it paralleled their data with their "crash test dummy studies." I was amazed when one hard-body athlete was able to break 13 3-inch hollow blocks producing a thousand G's of force. It's like wow, I don't want to mess with this guy (well, I think he's a nice guy and doesn't hit girls in the first place). Then there's this Muay Thai boxer Melchor Menor, who can seriously kick someone's butt with his 56.3-kilometer-an hour knee kick. Now, I understand why on earth the sport is illegal in some places. Talk about one car crash waiting to happen. Then there's 3-time gold medalist, Alex Huynh's kung fu (wu-shu) punch beating a serpent strike (which was measurred by this device called an accelorometer). So Bruce Lee's and even Jackie Chan's moves can be that fast (I always thought, those moves are just like camera tricks in speed, it's nice to know it can be that real?). Interestingly, he also showed some fancy drunken boxing moves, which I find cool. There were boxers, grapplers, tae kwondo martial artists, but I was particularly impressed with this ninjitsu expert, Glenn Levy. He came to the dojo (or Fight Lab as the scientists called it) to prove if there is any truth about the ninja's cat-like balance. This was done by ascending a series of poles (plum poles) and it measures "sway." It looks deceptively easy, but it's not. The more one ascends to the higher pole, the more likely it will throw you off. The ninjitsu expert has zero sway and ascended quite quickly (and casually ... like he was walking in the park). Then there's what they call the "killer" death punch (as I have learned throughout the show, ninjas study the best moves of all martial arts plus pressure points, and uses these knowledge to, well, kill the enemy). Against the dummy, Mr. Levy's punch on the sternum looked mighty innocent, but as data and CG animation demonstrated, it is destructively heart-stopping.
Aside from that, they also suggested what could be the "ultimate" weapon for martial artists. Kali sticks, staffs, nunchuks, spears, bows, shurikens, swords ... it was interesting how they presented on how to handle these weapons and what are the pros and cons of these with regards to impact, control and range. Of course, in the end they said that it is the Japanese KATANA that is the ultimate weapon as it also "harmonizes" with the warrior's spirit. (Well, I totally agree ... just look at Uma Thurman's The Bride in Kill Bill and every single Japanese samurai anime. Hehehe. It harmonizes so much, it's so destructive. Maybe, that's the reason for the hara-kiri, to die by one's own sword in order to be one with it in the end? But then I could be wrong. Anyway, I find the weapon really cool. ;-). There is some sort of dignity that a samurai sword carries.)
Now, after watching this. The next few days I flipped my remote on the NG Channel again.
This time I watched the top 10 destructive Chinese weapons ever invented.
I guess after all the crap I've been having for the last few years, the violent side of me resurfaces, thanks to these kind of shows. Hehehe. My neighbors should thank God though that I'm a klutz, and my balance is certainly just limited to walking (I do trip often though.) And the weapon I can handle is just the pen. ;-)
Going back, they featured several chinese killer inventions from an innocent looking fan, or a regular chopstick to this fabled flying guillotine.
The flying guillotine was ranked as number one, yet no one has seen it. The story about this weapon is that it can be thrown from a distance, and by a pull of a link chain by the assasin, it decapitates the victim. One chinese antiques collector made a blue print and had his own version of the flying guillotine done. In the hands of a martial artist, the thing actually worked. FASCINATING. (Well, if I were THAT evil, I CAN imagine the uses! I'm just quasi evil as pops Dr. Evil once said. )
Who says that you can't learn anything from TV these days? (Unfortunately, this stuff should be handled by slightly mature audiences, as impressionable adolescents tend to go overboard when they do get ideas).
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