I promised last New Year's that I was going to force myself to read the old classics I missed in school -- preferring those whose film versions and film adaptations I haven't seen. Right now, I'm three quarters through "Emma" by Jane Austen. While I find the "old English" fascinating, some exchanges just leave me feeling retarded. My brain easily grows tired of extremely long narratives, and the book is littered with it. I read, pause, go "Whaaat?", re-read, go "Oh" and move on to the next hump. At this rate, I'll finish that itty-bitty book by Labor Day -- aaargh!
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3.30.2002
JOY RIDE
I've lived in Metro Manila my entire life and I pride myself in my knowledge of its in's and out's as well as of the surrounding suburbs. But today, I made a humbling discovery. Did you know that if you take Ortigas Avenue, turn left at the Circumferencial Road (going to Antipolo) and drive for about, say, three hours straight, you'll find yourself in Los Banos, Laguna?
My family and I took our first we-don't-know-where-we're-going trip and found ourselves actually going around Laguna Lake! Like most Metro Manila dwellers, I always assumed that road would eventually lead a motorist to NPA-infested jungles; and that the only way to get to Laguna was through the South Superhighway (a misnomer, if you ask me, as there's nothing 'super' about it)! The road was surprisingly in good condition. And considering that today is Black Saturday (people are coming back to the Metro from their holidays), we were overjoyed to find traffic non-existent.
We passed through the small towns of Rizal to get to the northern tip of Laguna. We also discovered a road towards Infanta, Quezon (noted for the next trip). 'Stopped at Paete for the handicrafts. 'Planning to go by that way again in two weeks and spend a night at Kaliraya Lake (yes, you can go there via the same route!).
Other precious road discoveries:
1) A two-story building in Laguna has the words "Pililia Club of America" on the facade. The club members must have been a little confused. I think they meant "America Club of Pililia"?
2) There are no major hospitals on the road between Antipolo and Los Banos. But there are a dozen and a half McDonald's and Jollibee's.
3) An establishment in Laguna is in dire need of marketing consultancy with a name like "Buko Pie and Food House."
4) There are no resorts along the banks of Laguna Lake. It's a "fishing only" lake -- or so Mel tells me.
Days like this remind me that there's more to living than making a living. **smile**
<< The east road leading to Laguna -- one less travelled.
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JOY
Spent the last day or so merging two of my sites into this one. I must say, after all the little hiccups, I'm pleased. Now, all I need to do is get those obtrusive pop-ads out and I'll be on my way!
BTW, will be driving today with the family. We'll just get in the car with a picnic basket and see where the road takes us. I wish I could have more days like this!
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3.26.2002
BLOGORAPHOBIA
Today being the first day of my 6-day vacation, I kicked back and did a few things I wouldn't have been able to had this been a normal work day. 'Brought myself into the shop for maintenance -- massage, nails, hair job (liiike!). I got to spend a good 6 hours in front of my pc to surf aimlessly -- a luxury I don't get to indulge in often. 'Came back from the "trip" with ideas for more functionalities for my blogsite -- and ultimately, with a gnawing compulsion to change my lay-out altogether.
Early this evening, I strayed into a blogsite that had to be closed down because a "stalker" had been illegally using names, photos, and bios of the author, his family and friends. The guy spoke about getting his lawyer to chase the sick-o half way across the world. It made me think how very unregulated the Internet is -- and how helpless one can be should such an injustice be done online (especially where I'm from!)
I'm new to blogging and already paranoid to begin with. That last site didn't do much for my mental health.
(BTW, too much has been said about the Oscars. I'm controlling myself.)
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My friend Mabbi swears to be a witness to this tale:
The parking lot in Greenhills was, as usual, packed that afternoon. A girl in a white Mercedez was patiently waiting for a space to empty, when a jerk in a green Mitsubishi box-type Lancer steals her spot. Had that been me, I would have leapt from my car throwing punches; but this girl timidly got down and politely asked the man to leave the space.
The man, while he was locking the car, just brushed off the younger, seemingly helpless girl with a dog-smile. In the local dialect, he said something like, “Some people are born street-smart, some aren’t. That’s life.” And turned his back on the poor girl.
The girl dialled furiously on her mobile phone. She then got in her car and repeatedly rammed the man’s rusty ride to a crumbling heap. In less than a minute, the guy was scrambling back to the parking lot, waving his fists in the air. At about the same time, two Ford Explorer vans screeched nearby and a team of muscular men jumped out to the girl’s aid – scaring the hell out of the ignorant schmuck in the Lancer.
The girl gave her car keys to one of the men, likely expecting him to "manage the situation" for her. And just before she got into one of the black Explorer’s, she chided, “Some people are born filthy rich, some aren’t. That’s life.”
Have you ever tried to NOT think about something? Try this: Do not think of a blue elephant. Unless you have attention deficit disorder, all you get to think about IS a blue elephant, right?
That’s the way I feel sometimes about someone in my past – a guy that could-have-been but never-was. No matter how distant he is from what is important in my life now, he just pops into my head like a blasted brain boil. Maybe because I first knew him when I was young and naive; and those kind of impressions can really haunt anyone for life. Maybe because we were friends but were never really involved, I kinda idealized him into demi-godhood. Maybe it was because we knew each other when things were simpler in my life and I am craving for that simplicity now. The scariest of my rationalizations, I don’t even want to write down.
Sometimes, I think I should just see him or talk to him again and flush him completely out of my system. But then again, with my self-control, that’ll be just asking for trouble.
Before I succumbed to a consumerism-driven life, I dreamt of becoming a writer. I vividly remember being seven and keeping a little flip-type notebook for my rhymes. I churned out novels in high school as easily as I consumed them. Inspired by Anne Frank, I felt I was destined to leave this world with nothing but a legacy of my words.
Then reality bit me big time. There’s no money in an English degree, my father insisted. So against my gut and my guidance counselor, I went for a degree in Business. And after more than a decade since I wrote my last truly inspired piece of literature, I am stunned how the years of neglect can drain me of the words that once came so naturally.
I no longer have that arrogance about being a brilliant writer. I fear pompous Creative Lit majors. I don’t know how I measure up to the other wanna-be’s. I just know I write because it gives me joy.
So in celebration of my passions and my fears, I am entering the Don Carlos Palanca Awards for the first time this year. Maybe I’ll learn something new about myself. Or maybe I’ll finally get admit to what I always knew I was.
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3.20.2002
POST-COLLEGE ORG
I got inducted into the PMA today. And as I entered the Hotel Intercon function room, I sensed an eerie, familiar feeling. It was like being in my old college org genmeet! The dynamics were similar. There were the officers and the active members who dominated the floor, seemingly courting the masses into participation through their "gung-ho-ness." Then, there were the silent observers slash deadbeats who were there for the free food and raffle prizes. Sooo college!
One major diff though. Some people there today have been active members for 25 years! It's like joining a college org whose members are the kids who just refuse to graduate. Ha!
Let's see if PMA can arouse me to jump beyond myself...
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3.14.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 002: DEATH BY BUSINESS DINNER
I entered the room with naive hopes of a pleasant supper with colleagues and our new board chairman. The day had been particularly tiring as I had tons of work to catch up on after my last business trip. The ten other members of the management team dwindled into the private room at EDSA Shangri-la’s Summer Palace one after another until the set time of seven thirty. With expected European precision, our President seated us, carefully distributing me and two other ladies around the table dominated by Caucasian men in suits.
Then it began. The Mr. R. began his dinner speech with CDMA in Korea. He then spend the next twenty minutes going around the world recounting the great things our company has done in the last century. And soup hadn’t even been served yet.
By the first course, the pack of corporate hyenas I was dining with launched a foray of questions for our new board chair (Mr. R. – you’re truly a nice human being; but man, you are boring!) rivaling the gusto of journalists at a Rico Yan-Claudine Barreto interview. The artificial level of interest in global telecommunications futures was so unusually high, I could recognize the near-audible slurping sounds of ass-licking.
My random thoughts:
Who gives a shoot about PCS bidding in North America?
Don’t understand how Globe’s business case became this successful? – ask my 14-year old neice.
Hmmm – so we have 62 joint ventures in China – what’s the big bleeping deal?
Okay, go talk about average revenue per subscriber trends – that leaves more Peking duck for me!
Ask another question on converging wireless technologies and I’m going to kill you.
Oh god, he actually asked another question -- kill me, kill ME!
The flatware began to look like enticing instruments of suicide. Never has death come so close.
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3.11.2002
DISORIENTED
'Have been travelling the last couple of days. 'Had to go to Kuala Lumpur and Singapore for work. It drives me nuts how I can be very productive during my business trip but come back numbed. I'm now sitting at my desk, waiting in vain for inspiration to clear my desk of backlog. My In-tray is filled to capacity. Don't even ask about my unread emails. The poor folks waiting for a phone call from me will have to wait a little while longer.
Ninety-nine percent of Filipinas find their boobs too small. I belong to the residual one percent.
Here are my top 10 reasons for logging “breast reduction surgery” as one of the things I want as soon as I win the Lotto:
1. Jogging is a logistical nightmare -- I need three bras.
2. The chest buttons on my blouses keep popping out.
3. My back’s beginning to hurt.
4. Men always lose eye contact during a conversation.
5. I always lose when I play hide and seek with my kids.
6. Department stores in Manila don’t carry Cup D bras.
7. I bump into things a lot.
8. I can’t manage a full golf swing – they’re in the way.
9. It’s hard to sleep on my stomach.
10. It’s embarrassing what I can hide in my cleavage.
Breasts, boobs, knockers, tits, bumpers, papayas, floaters, et al -- so many terms for one, relatively non-essential part of the anatomy. I know, we need it for nursing and all; but it’s not like the heart or the stomach or the lungs. I say it’s grossly over-rated.
