Carlo just got his report card. Usually, I never work up a sweat about the numbers that come printed on report cards beside academic disciplines (my dad did enough of that when I was in school to last both his lifetime and mine). I just want my son to like learning and to appreciate acquiring skills and knowledge that are useful in every day life, and/or (hopefully, 'and') that will give him joy.
This is why teachers like Mrs. L make my teeth itch. This teacher gave my son his lowest grade -- an 81 for his Computer Class. I wouldn't mind if my son was a total dunce in the subject; but he's far from it. He was de-fragmenting his desktop, installing software by himself and doing simple troubleshooting at age 8. My husband hasn't learned those skills yet -- and he's 38!
Needing clarification, I asked Mrs. L what difficulties Carlo had to warrant the unexpected grade in a class he excelled at all his academic life. I was earnest in my desire to help Carlo do better in her class. Her lame-ass retort: "Oh, Carlo is just good in the practical use of the computer. Only theoretical knowledge is important in my class."
Eh?! I wanted to break into a passionate oration: Doesn't theory become valuable only with practical application? – at least that’s how we see it in the “real world.” Inspite 15 years driving the streets of Metro Manila, does it make me less qualified to sit behind the wheel, if I cannot elaborate on the intricacies of an internal combustion engine? Are those pencil-cut pants cutting blood circulation to your brain?!
If it weren't for my husband's calming charm, I would have gone ballistic on her sorry fashion-challenged arse. This teacher’s is one class I wouldn't mind if my son flunked. But, of course, I won't tell him that ...
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.25.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 014: HI-TECH EK-EK
I cannot be held responsible for any inappropriate, poorly-phrased, gramatically-off, missent or downright stupid-sounding electronically-transmitted communiques in the last three days. It was my computer's fault -- it quit! No, I don't mean my computer is in the shop. It's more like: my computer has declared itself emancipated. These last few days, I repeatedly watched in awe/horror/embarassment as my computer shifted windows by itself, pressed buttons five more times than I did and erased entire pages instead of the single character I intended. Baaad!
WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! My thoughts:
... My computer is possessed by an corporate-variety demon. This demonic entity takes over one's office-issued laptop whose registered user has accessed Dilbert or published her blog using the company's broadband network one too many times.
...The IT Department guys, to whom I surrendered my laptop when I was out of the country (supposedly for repairs), are getting back at me. They are furious because of my use of phrases like "three weeks late" and "still doesn't work right" in my last follow-up e-mail. So, instead of optimizing my hard drive, they poured soda over my keyboard -- Diet Coke, for extra stickiness -- mumbling, "We don't get mad. We endorse you to second-line support."
... The crumbs from all those Big Macs I've had for lunch while typing have reached a critical mass. And due to exposure to enough levels of mobile-phone-emitted radiation to awaken Frankenstein, they have been zapped to life! These new living organisms have built a micro-civilization in my keyboard, with major metropolises under the ::Enter::, ::Shift::, ::Tab:: and ::Control:: keys.
..."Big Brother" has randomly selected my name from a global list of individuals with deep-rooted exigency for control. "He" broke into my office to install cameras, bugged my phone and rented a condo unit across the road (stake-out central). "He" then hacked into my computer and randomly fucked up whatever I was working on -- just so he could watch me spasm in despair. Objective: To find the quickest, most subtle way to kill or to drive into insanity obsessive-compulsive Type A personalities. Research to be used in developing new assassination techniques against the high-ranking islamo-fascist terrorists.
I'd give up my laptop in an instant -- if only I could remember how to write with a pen ...
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.24.2002
BIG LITTLE MYSTERY
Diego discovered an old woven anahaw fan behind the clothes hamper the other day. He was playing with it most of the early afternoon, trying without success to figure out how to work it. He was throwing it around like a frisbee for a while. Then, when he could throw no more, he jumped repeatedly on the momentary object of his obsession, until he crunched it into a soggy mass. (If you can't beat 'em, torture 'em -- I'm thinking of putting that down in the family crest I'm designing.)
When he headed to bed for his afternoon nap, I held the fan in my hand and waved away. Amazed at my brilliance or more likely, tickled by the cool breeze, he began to giggle. No, it wasn't his typical baby-ish gurgle -- it sounded like "Woo-hoo-hoo!" (Translation: "Wow! So THAT's how it works! Mom, you are sooo 'kewl'!)
I want to think I explained a mystery to my youngest child that day. Yep, the five months of nausea, the six hours of hell-on-earth known to many as labor and the loads of cash I handed over to pediatricians for well-baby check-ups were a good downpayment for a lifetime -- or at least, several pre-puberty years -- sprinkled with moments like these.
Decades from now, when Diego is laughing his head off trying to explain to senile old me how his mega-tech transmugaficating polydurakinetic module works, I will remember this day.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.23.2002
ALL IT TAKES
I'm glad to be home. Yes, I missed Mr. V and the kids. Yes, I was dying to see my dermatologist for that deep-pore dredging. But of all things in this microcosm we Pinoys call home, I missed our garden-variety clueless sales ladies the most. Pam once described them as those who are on the floor assisting customers because they are probably "too dumb to work the cash register." Yes, I truly missed them.
For those who have ever traveled to countries where time seems to fly faster, I'm sure you can relate to my annoyance at how some service and sales people manage their duties with so much efficiency but very little visible joy. Precision in lieu of cheerfulness -- hmmm, not a trade-off I would back up with my purchasing power.
Call me spoiled, but I don't give a rat's ass if you're working on your PhD in Nuclear Physics and being a barista at Starbucks in the Hong Kong airport is temporary. I prefer my decaf served with a smile, or indifference at the very least. I can live without that Mark Wahlberg scowl that silently accuses my de-caffeinated addiction as the sole reason you are wallowing in your robusta-bean-smelling hellhole, sticky from whipping up one too many icy frapuccinos.
As I dispensed my hard-earned cash in arrogant retail establishments in foreign lands, I yearned for the cheerful cluelessness of the last SM sales clerk I had the "pleasure" of meeting. In the twenty minutes I waited for the flip-flops in my size to be drawn from the stocks, she entertained me with random, garbled, inarticulate sentences about shoes, her boyfriend, her upcoming cigarette break and her answer to stopping world war. I left with no shoes and the conviction that SM Department Store employees are not required to have functioning brains; but hey, the girl made me smile! There is indeed a minute chance that I will try to buy rubber footwear there again.
People like me can be so easy. Retailers and merchants, take heed.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.17.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 013: SHANGHAI’ED, REDEFINED
The best thing about expecting the absolute worst in those fluffy management courses one has to take several times a year is anything “un-crappy” can make you feel good. In the case of the London Business School quickie brand management program I attended in Shanghai, I was absolutely blown away!
The course was a condensed MBA module but was rooted in realities practising marketing professionals can appreciate – not preachy, unlike too many of the graduate school classes I’ve survived. The speakers – Mark (British), Bill (Canadian), Jonas (Swedish) and John (American) -- were credible, intelligent and engaging. Best of all, they had the uncanny ability to stay out with us until 2 am almost every night and to still manage unwavering coherence for our 9 am sessions. The class of 25 was rich with many great marketing minds in Asia – but it was the animated wit and disarming depth of a few that made the course a noteworthy learning experience. I also know now of the glorious verity that Jakarta folks can party like true-blue Pinoys! Dewi, Harry -- Oke-deh!
The lone damper was the thirty minutes a guest speaker with supposed Harvard credentials tried to wow us with his insights on an integrated marketing mix. Tried.
”Press Relations is a Volvo. Advertising is a BMW. Trade Marketing is an Audi.”
“Western companies doing business in Asia must remember this key business strategy: Shanghai is not Honghai.”
After hearing those little gems, I was instantly inspired to throw out a few of my own metaphors at him:
”Listening to you is like building sand castles by the break water – you are a true Richard." [You wasted my time, you dick!]
"Your words are the cool ocean breeze.” [Your presentation made me want to nap.]
"Indeed, you exude the quintessence of the greatest of Triton’s deep-sea sponges." [You suck – big time!]
Overall though, the trip was almost worth being away from my kids – almost.
Oh, and surprisingly, there were no protracted queues at the airport – in fact, nobody seemed to want to travel. I had the place all to myself! I wish I would have the same luck when I shoot on over to Stockholm ...
Our professor, Mark, also has impressive PhD-level expertise in Britney Spears’ musical repertoire. Being the lone Pinoy in class, ako lang ang naka-get na kamukha niya yung syota ni Thalia sa “Mari Mar.” O, di ba?
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.11.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 012: SHANGHAI’ED
I “have” to leave for Shanghai on business tomorrow …
… on the week of the first anniversary of the World Trade Center attack.
… on the week “Urgent” and “Due this week” action items appeared mysteriously in my Inbox.
… on the day my eldest son has an oral report to deliver, a major quiz to take and a special science project due – apparently all big-deal school stuff (as big a deal as Third Grade teachers can make it appear).
… on the week I’ve been dreaming about a rendezvous with my dermatologist for a deep-cleansing facial.
Understandably, I am not a happy camper. My only comfort is I find a lot more to write about when I am pissed. ‘Back soon.
<< Can you just imagine the queues for security checks at the airports?! Ugh.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.08.2002
OF STERNER STUFF
I was on the phone the other day with my older sister who now lives in Southern California. At the time, she was calmly sitting through a blackout that has plagued their Memorial Day weekend. Outside her house, her neighbors were freaking out, most likely spewing theories of unlikely rebel invasions. This proves what I've known for a long time -- Filipinos make wonderful expats aka OFWs. We speak good English. We work hard. And we were weaned on generous doses of disasters, both natural and man-made, that we chuckle at the worst of what developed countries have to offer.
If anyone ever organizes a Mr. Tough Guy World Pageant, we would DEFINITELY make it to the interview portion:
ARNOLD ARYAN: I am from the First World. My body is a product of a protein-rich, hi-fibre diet and daily workouts. I can bench-press 300 pounds. See my perfect muscle tone? I won 12 Olympic gold medals in 5 different sports. In my spare time, I enjoy snowboarding and car racing. My country is safe, rich and efficient. Our Armed Forces is the best in the world. We stand for excellence, integrity, and justice. We are a global superpower -- piss us off and we'll nuke your sorry hides.
BHONG BATUNGBAKAL: I'm from the Philippines. I am only five feet two inches and 110 pounds; but very strong from a steady diet of balut and Lucky Me Supreme. I work 10 hours a day, unloading trucks of 50-kilo rice sacks -- I can carry three sacks at a time. I've had malaria once, typhoid fever twice and dengue fever three times. I’ve been stabbed by neighborhood drunks on four occasions. See my scars? For fun, my countrymen and I vote for crooks, liars and cheats for the highest public offices – so we can have a big Kick-the-President-Out party at least once a decade. My country's armed forces fly World War II vintage aircrafts, but hell, our soldiers can survive in the jungles of Mindanao for years, living on nothing bugs, snakes and tree bark. Our government is a mess -- Murphy’s Law being a integral provision in our Constitution. If a superpower ever nukes us, I'm sure we'll just get a really dark tan.
I am really excited to see the sequel to “X-Men”. The other day, I figured watching the first one on VCD would sustain me until "X2" arrives.
In the scene where Dr. Charles Xavier (Patrick Steward) and Eric Magnus “Magneto” Lensherr (Ian McKellen) confront each other after the senate session, I missed much of what was going on. I didn't notice the tension between the two powerful enemies who were once dear friends. I did not see the nostalgic regret from a neglected friendship.The anguish of losing a friend to a radical ideology eluded me.
I remember thinking: “Did Dr. X just check out Magneto’s butt?” Isn't it possible that all that fighting between mutants was spawned by tension from unspoken love between Charles and Eric? If that angle ever comes out in the comic book version, this is proof I came up with the idea first.
<< I think they'de make a cute couple talaga.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
9.02.2002
AMADEUS M? NO, ANTHONY K PLEASE.
Pregnant women should listen to classical music. Classical music is supposed to make an unborn child intelligent, good-natured and communicative. No one I’ve asked actually knows why that is; but of course, all my pregnant friends go through their “classical” phases anyway (o ‘di ba, Joanne?). Of course they would! They scared! It’s Mozart for a few months or bad-tempered dumb kids for the rest of their natural lives.
When I was pregnant with my first-born, I did not heed people’s music counsel. Not that I don’t like the classics – I enjoy a moderate share of Bellini, Monteverdi, Offenbach, Puccini, Strauss, Verdi, Wagner -- but at the time I was expecting my first child, I was in my “Red Hot Chili Peppers” stage. Big time. Imagine a very, very pregnant woman waddling to “Give It Away” while waiting for her cervix to dilate. I take that back. ‘Don’t – it was not a pretty picture.
In light of those red, hot nine months when the Peppers and I had a “thing,” it really drives me woozy with excitement how on my eldest’s next birthday, 08 December 2002, the RHCPs are having their first concert in Manila!
THAT’s synchronicity, baby! And yes, I can relate to Anthony K's psycho cabbie in their "By the Way" video ...
<< If it were possible to have a cooler, cuter, less-tatooed, chemical-free version of Anthony Keidis, my son is destined to be him.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
