“Why validate it?” my mentor says.
There’s no point in reliving the suffering
And redundancy is such a nasty habit
5.31.2005
5.18.2005
On the Cheap
In Time Magazine’s May 9, 2005 issue, if you managed to get passed the Star Wars hype, there’s a special report on the situation of the AFP. Anthony Spaeth investigates the mystery behind Lieut. Col. Dennis Villanueva and in the process discovers the serious plight of the AFP. While it’s nothing new to us, what struck a chord was the fact that many are still fighting, many PMA cadets are still excited to fight; despite the obvious uphill battle.
You need a soldier? Hire Filipino. It’s amazing how our countrymen can maintain morale despite daunting conditions. I’ve heard stories of OCW’s sleeping on cardboard box beds in between the gaps of cupboards and ceilings; sending home palm pilots and video cameras to loved ones at home; while leaving little or nothing at all to themselves. Each day, they fall further into debt, the chance at a better life slipping from their grasp. Their families, at the very least, are reaping the fruit. The OCW’s life is one of martyrdom.
We have our own soldiers here at the skunkworks. Our artists face the same lack of equipment and recognition. Yet they do their job. They face deadlines headstrong, despite the larger chance of missing it. Even more difficult is the order to pull hat-tricks everyday with the little we have — hard work and talents included. And they say low morale is to blame. But such is the love for the magazine. We aren’t the only ones. Many private companies, industries and services are run in the exact way — a microcosm of our own country.
Critics say that the reason behind the country’s lack of development is our own lack of patriotism. I disagree. There’s lots to go around. It’s a lack of decent leadership. Barking commands and kissing foreign ass are easy. Leading by example is what we need; a very frugal, efficient and disciplined one. And perhaps more patriotism on their part wouldn’t hurt.
You need a soldier? Hire Filipino. It’s amazing how our countrymen can maintain morale despite daunting conditions. I’ve heard stories of OCW’s sleeping on cardboard box beds in between the gaps of cupboards and ceilings; sending home palm pilots and video cameras to loved ones at home; while leaving little or nothing at all to themselves. Each day, they fall further into debt, the chance at a better life slipping from their grasp. Their families, at the very least, are reaping the fruit. The OCW’s life is one of martyrdom.
We have our own soldiers here at the skunkworks. Our artists face the same lack of equipment and recognition. Yet they do their job. They face deadlines headstrong, despite the larger chance of missing it. Even more difficult is the order to pull hat-tricks everyday with the little we have — hard work and talents included. And they say low morale is to blame. But such is the love for the magazine. We aren’t the only ones. Many private companies, industries and services are run in the exact way — a microcosm of our own country.
Critics say that the reason behind the country’s lack of development is our own lack of patriotism. I disagree. There’s lots to go around. It’s a lack of decent leadership. Barking commands and kissing foreign ass are easy. Leading by example is what we need; a very frugal, efficient and disciplined one. And perhaps more patriotism on their part wouldn’t hurt.
5.13.2005
Faster than Angels Can Fly
I just found out that an old friend just passed away. He died in a car crash. The forced induction nitrous equipped Corona is now a chop top. I used to think he'd grow up driving Volkswagens just like me. The last time we were together, we joined an all Volkswagen slalom competition. Me in my Karmann Ghia, he in his beetle. They were both orange at the time.
In the first heat, I got extremely sideways, hit a couple of pylons, and nearly took out some cars on the side of the skid pad. In the next heat, I took the sages' advice and went a little slower, even taping on the brakes a bit. I was far from best time but I did improve.
He was hot on the gas. His driving was very composed until it missed a turn. He ran over tires all the way to the finish line in rage.
It was just for fun, after all. I wasn't expecting to pull a Schumi. Apparently he had other plans. The next time I saw him, he was souping up a Toyota; the trusty orange Beetle now a dedicated service mobile for his shop. My Karmann Ghia was silver already and having some cosmetic upgrades.
He got tired of the low comp long stroke flat four and decided he needed more power, and that the chug-chug could hardly compete with the whoosh of a blow-off valve. So much for old-school.
I always thought that a person's natural self preservation would convince him never to drive faster than his angels can fly. His angels weren't nitrous equipped. And there might have been a demon on his shoulder coaxing him to flip that toggle.
It's hard to persevere with a Volkswagen, especially in a time where more and more cars are entering the market with technology that pushes the model before it further down the timeline. Imagine how ancient it feels, just by ridicule. Yes, after the initial amazement dies down, I get it a lot.
It's even harder in my line of work. I drive new cars everyday, especially the ones that make you can only drool at in showrooms.
Once you take them around, you can’t help but floor that throttle; the double overhead cam V6 answering all that pent frustration brought about by an 8 valve flat four. You turn it hard into a corner, heavy on understeer — a far cry from the tailhappy gut-wrenching oversteer that I’m used to. You step hard on the brake, waiting for the tire squeal, only to feel the pulsating ABS take control. I’ve managed to push a Mazda 3 on a track to boundaries that would make our resident track expert skip a heart beat.
One of the hardest things to learn is self-control. You think it's something that kicks in inherently, when in reality, it's often clouded by other things. Pride, perhaps even jealousy can cloud it, bringing about unforeseen catastrophes. Maybe it’s the thought that for once, nothing can catch up to you. None of the disappointment, woes or the hard tug of reality could ever fly that fast. For a split second, when that needle slides past 140, you’re free.
So free that you could fly straight to the heavens. Maybe that’s what happened. I hear there are no speed limits in the perfectly cambered sweeping roads in the sky. And for every car guy, there's a Lamborghini waiting.
Cheers.
In the first heat, I got extremely sideways, hit a couple of pylons, and nearly took out some cars on the side of the skid pad. In the next heat, I took the sages' advice and went a little slower, even taping on the brakes a bit. I was far from best time but I did improve.
He was hot on the gas. His driving was very composed until it missed a turn. He ran over tires all the way to the finish line in rage.
It was just for fun, after all. I wasn't expecting to pull a Schumi. Apparently he had other plans. The next time I saw him, he was souping up a Toyota; the trusty orange Beetle now a dedicated service mobile for his shop. My Karmann Ghia was silver already and having some cosmetic upgrades.
He got tired of the low comp long stroke flat four and decided he needed more power, and that the chug-chug could hardly compete with the whoosh of a blow-off valve. So much for old-school.
I always thought that a person's natural self preservation would convince him never to drive faster than his angels can fly. His angels weren't nitrous equipped. And there might have been a demon on his shoulder coaxing him to flip that toggle.
It's hard to persevere with a Volkswagen, especially in a time where more and more cars are entering the market with technology that pushes the model before it further down the timeline. Imagine how ancient it feels, just by ridicule. Yes, after the initial amazement dies down, I get it a lot.
It's even harder in my line of work. I drive new cars everyday, especially the ones that make you can only drool at in showrooms.
Once you take them around, you can’t help but floor that throttle; the double overhead cam V6 answering all that pent frustration brought about by an 8 valve flat four. You turn it hard into a corner, heavy on understeer — a far cry from the tailhappy gut-wrenching oversteer that I’m used to. You step hard on the brake, waiting for the tire squeal, only to feel the pulsating ABS take control. I’ve managed to push a Mazda 3 on a track to boundaries that would make our resident track expert skip a heart beat.
One of the hardest things to learn is self-control. You think it's something that kicks in inherently, when in reality, it's often clouded by other things. Pride, perhaps even jealousy can cloud it, bringing about unforeseen catastrophes. Maybe it’s the thought that for once, nothing can catch up to you. None of the disappointment, woes or the hard tug of reality could ever fly that fast. For a split second, when that needle slides past 140, you’re free.
So free that you could fly straight to the heavens. Maybe that’s what happened. I hear there are no speed limits in the perfectly cambered sweeping roads in the sky. And for every car guy, there's a Lamborghini waiting.
Cheers.
5.05.2005
Plate Tectonics and the Global Community
Thomas Friedman stated in his recent book that the world is flat. Recent advancements in IT and globalization have made the world smaller. I say the Tectonic Plates are shifting, coming rapidly toward each other. Ideally, their coming together will disintegrate borders, making the world, truly, one united global community.
Mom has made liaisons with crafters from all around the world. Plans to start a massive craft manufacturer monopoly overthrow are already underway, at least in Asia. And yes, mother might very well be one of the powerful moving forces, doing all this from the convenience of this very PC in the middle of a light residential Quezon City district.
In science, we were taught that when two continental plates divide, one sinks below, while the other is forced up. Which will sink below is anyone’s guess. Physics will say that the plate with less mass will likely sink below, or crumble from the larger plate’s mass. Yet these plates we’re discussing, being virtual in matter, can easily override the laws of physics. It’s the more human cultural border that will lift its defenses, and therefore forecast which shall flank the other.
We may be one when we find the common interest land bridge, but not everyone will be able to cross that bridge. Sooner or later, detractors will use the rivers that were once oceans as borders, perhaps as a last resort — their last line of defense. Merging into one always has its benefits, but there are those who hold on to their virtues, those distinctive advantages that once formed the natural borders.
I’ll admit, I’m not too keen on the return of Pangaea. I enjoyed the little this tiny island had to offer even if the grass was greener on the other isle. But we can’t live in nipa huts forever. Modernization necessitates the compromise of some culture and principle for the advancement of all.
Like my editor says, globalization has done nothing but make a universally acceptable bland delicacy that any country wouldn’t find offense. The intrinsic identity that makes a dish a delicacy is lost, but then, it’s a blandness that all the world can tolerate. It’s a sham; tiny umbrella, squeeze of lemon, spice of paprika, all designed to make us feel at home. But we’re all bound to outgrow our cribs at some point or another.
Mom has made liaisons with crafters from all around the world. Plans to start a massive craft manufacturer monopoly overthrow are already underway, at least in Asia. And yes, mother might very well be one of the powerful moving forces, doing all this from the convenience of this very PC in the middle of a light residential Quezon City district.
In science, we were taught that when two continental plates divide, one sinks below, while the other is forced up. Which will sink below is anyone’s guess. Physics will say that the plate with less mass will likely sink below, or crumble from the larger plate’s mass. Yet these plates we’re discussing, being virtual in matter, can easily override the laws of physics. It’s the more human cultural border that will lift its defenses, and therefore forecast which shall flank the other.
We may be one when we find the common interest land bridge, but not everyone will be able to cross that bridge. Sooner or later, detractors will use the rivers that were once oceans as borders, perhaps as a last resort — their last line of defense. Merging into one always has its benefits, but there are those who hold on to their virtues, those distinctive advantages that once formed the natural borders.
I’ll admit, I’m not too keen on the return of Pangaea. I enjoyed the little this tiny island had to offer even if the grass was greener on the other isle. But we can’t live in nipa huts forever. Modernization necessitates the compromise of some culture and principle for the advancement of all.
Like my editor says, globalization has done nothing but make a universally acceptable bland delicacy that any country wouldn’t find offense. The intrinsic identity that makes a dish a delicacy is lost, but then, it’s a blandness that all the world can tolerate. It’s a sham; tiny umbrella, squeeze of lemon, spice of paprika, all designed to make us feel at home. But we’re all bound to outgrow our cribs at some point or another.
5.01.2005
Forbidden Fruit
I sat back and let the world put on a show, let the nexus come, and take me.
It started slow, hesitating to reveal its secrets. Then it tingled me a bit; a light breeze flowing down the back of my neck. And it slowly picked up the tempo.
The candles, glaring their center stage smile. Lights, etching their names across the air. Sounds, reverberating all throughout, as if the air itself, had picked up her tune. Then came the senses indulging in all input, lingering, as if to reminisce the all too fleeting moment. Then above, was a cabaret of blue lightning, tracing paths across the expanse, like water on a window pane, yet more erratic like electricity. Then came the climax, as if the show itself had pulled you up into the stage to join it. All around, all at once, too much. I, still heaving, it, continued to indulge.
And how it went on throughout the night.
And as morning trickled in and the performance faded with the growing morning light, I gazed at the beams of light peeking through the blinds. Each one, amber, catching the particles dancing in its light — the swansong, and no encore.
To beg for more wouldn’t draw back the light, nor stop time that was already surging faster than expected. It was hard to pick myself up and grow accustomed to reality once again. Perhaps the nexus shall pass over once again, sooner than expected.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have begged for a taste, having to deal now with nostalgia.
But the ignorant know not what they miss.
It started slow, hesitating to reveal its secrets. Then it tingled me a bit; a light breeze flowing down the back of my neck. And it slowly picked up the tempo.
The candles, glaring their center stage smile. Lights, etching their names across the air. Sounds, reverberating all throughout, as if the air itself, had picked up her tune. Then came the senses indulging in all input, lingering, as if to reminisce the all too fleeting moment. Then above, was a cabaret of blue lightning, tracing paths across the expanse, like water on a window pane, yet more erratic like electricity. Then came the climax, as if the show itself had pulled you up into the stage to join it. All around, all at once, too much. I, still heaving, it, continued to indulge.
And how it went on throughout the night.
And as morning trickled in and the performance faded with the growing morning light, I gazed at the beams of light peeking through the blinds. Each one, amber, catching the particles dancing in its light — the swansong, and no encore.
To beg for more wouldn’t draw back the light, nor stop time that was already surging faster than expected. It was hard to pick myself up and grow accustomed to reality once again. Perhaps the nexus shall pass over once again, sooner than expected.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have begged for a taste, having to deal now with nostalgia.
But the ignorant know not what they miss.
