Let Your Fingers Do The Walking
Oh how I miss those thin yellow sheets of paper bound into 1000 page books... Capitalists everywhere must absolutely
love DARPA's military-born contribution to society.
Then:
- Idea pops in head to print panorama shot and mount on foam core
- Reach for thick bound yellow book sitting atop refrigerator.
- Struggle 5 minutes thumbing through the book to find the right category - photo finishing? photo lab? photographic equipment?
- Spend another 15 minutes reading through pages of varying sized ads with no real help on what's better than the other
- Call your photographer friends and see what they recommend
- Spend next 30 minutes calling different locations, gathering pricing, comparing services, turnaround times, etc.
- Decide on service providers and deliver finished product
Now:
- Idea pops in head to print panorama shot and mount on foam core
- Google for "panorama prints", five minutes later find EZPrints. Cha-ching. (For you photo geeks out there, this is a GREAT shop. You choose 6 or 12 inch height, width depends on size of print. They charge by the foot.)
- Google for "foam core mounting san francisco", 30 seconds later come up with Oscar's photo lab. Place a call, three minutes later get referred to BPS Repro.
- Google for BPS Reprographic, get phone number, place call, five minutes later get price quote and 1 day turnaround time. Cha-ching.
The internet: the ultimate tool for draining bank accounts of shopaholics everywhere.
Now to go find those polyurethane control arm bushings that I've been "needing".
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Bye Bye Chevron
Hello, Shell.
Dear sweet jeezus, what a kickass commercial.
I
will drive a 288 GTO and a 250 Testarossa before I die.
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Half My Age
It's hard to believe that I'm now twice the age of the average college freshman... Sitting there on the edge of
the stage watching young people try to pull of the spectacle that is the Pilipino Culture Night, I suddenly come to grips with the fact that I am now considered
old. [One of the singers in
the opening act said, "some of you may remember the group Xscape?"...Jeez, I was in
college when they came out. I wonder if these singers remember Seduction? Or The Cover Girls? Or Sweet Sensation?]
Well, watching an episode of
SpeakOut on TFC (where they talked about the pros/cons of the "Culture Night") got my blood flowing again about PCNs. During the USF show, I had inevitably checked myself out and started daydreaming...
The PCN is a wonderful concept, but (in my not so humble opinion) has lost focus in the years since its inception. My interpretation was that it is a forum through which ideas and topics can be presented to spark discussion among the audience about things that don't normally receive media attention. Like, say, domestic violence - that deep dark unspoken secret within the Filipino (Asian?) communities - for example. The efforts year-to-year are laudable, some more than others, but it seems that a few important factors prevent the shows from getting any better and maintaining consistency with the original concept:
- No real guidance: when I was a participant (jeez, decades ago), there was no real framework with which to base your goals & mission of the show. It really was all dependent upon the intent & motivation of the core group of creators. Personally, I watched other colleges do it and tried to one-up 'em. But just imagine if there was a resource - in whatever form - through which the purpose and guidelines for such a show would be available?
- Amateurs: being a school production put together by volunteers that ran the gamut from nerdy bio majors to wannabe art students, the presentation was quite honestly... a glorified high school play. (Hell, my first skit looked like sh*t. Are they in the living room? Oh, it's the kitchen!) Imagine the power that a glossy, full-on production replete with props, stagework and real acting skills would bring?
- Kids: face it, the people on stage and the people in the audience are all a bunch of kids. And with the "shout out" name-calling, I can't see the PCN elevating itself to the level that it deserves to be. I admit it, this is me; grumpy old gray-haired man, bitter at the youth wasted on the young and the fact that those glory days of getting a group of actors to successfully execute the script that you wrote are now long gone.
- No continuation: The efforts from one group one year are largely thrown into a closet and locked away. I'm guessing that subsequent "batches" start from scratch, instead of building on the legacy of shows gone past.
I guess I'm just frustrated that after over 10 years, the PCN hasn't really changed. It's still the same crazy glorified talent show that I remember, with students still putting their academia on hold for something they honestly believe is making a difference. Only this time, there's more hip hop dancing and more singing. And the shows are 50% longer. A GMA Super Show for Filipino Americans, if you will. Imagine if there was, say, some type of "reference implementation" or a book of guidelines for what makes a good show, what makes a bad show and
why. And maybe a group of advisors that can help achieve consistency and a level of quality within the various programs among the Universities?
I must say this, though...regardless of all my complaints, "The Show" was the jumping off point for a not so insignificant chapter in my own life, a prerequisite for growing up. Not only did I learn valuable lessons in group dynamics, managing personalities, and what it
really takes to complete a huge project, I opened the door to discovery about a part of my culture, my people, and where I come from.
And heck, I ain't gonna to deny it...for a short proverbial 15 minutes of my life in that dimly lit Mandeville auditorium, this wannabe was able to shed that nerdy computer engineering facade and pretend that he could write & direct in front of 500 people.
No one can ever take that away from me, no matter how insignificant of an accomplishment in the long road of life...
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I Think I Can...I Think I Can
It was like a scene out of a TV commercial. You know, the kind where the car stops in the middle of the road and there's like rocks and pebbles frozen in time and the narrator walks around this frozen scene and talking about how safe and smooth and ultra rad his company's snazzy car is? Well...I was sitting there near the front of the northwest corner conference room, with 15 other peers/bosses/subordinates staring at the powerpoint training presentation, when my cherished half-full and lidless grande Americano decided to leap to its misery, washing the table in a sticky but oh so yummy smelling mess.
"Ernie, that's it, you're cut off", whimpers a heckler from the back.
And I predicted it too. All the factors were there, like some bermuda trianglish combination of events that intersected in some weird aligned-plants-cosmic-ray-star-crossing thingy:
- It was raining today, so I couldn't drive fast enough for my usual 3PM run to Starbucks down the street in the allotted 15 minute break.
- Because of #1, I had to resort to coffee from the cafeteria Starbucks...skeptical of the Barista talent, I passed on the usual and opted instead for the fallback safety drink: Americano with sugar and cinnamon.
- Because of #2, the drink was too hot to use a lid, so I took the lid off
It was at that moment that I envisioned myself spilling my drink. "Wouldn't it be funny (sad)", I thought. 5 minutes into my caffeine high and right on cue...sticky keyboard, nearly shorted cellphone, and a nice brown memento on my jeans.
So it
must be a hidden power. The same thing happened when I was eating my mac-n-cheese. And countless other times that I fail to recall...but I swear, it's there... I envision it, and next thing you know, it happens.
I just have to work on this power.
Concentrate.
And practice...
Then, the next thing you'll know, I'll be throwing that perfect 15 yard fade pattern off a naked bootleg into the back corner of the end zone.
(raaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. the crowd goes wild.)
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Expect More, Pay Less
The brainwashing is working.
With Target's new media blitz fresh in my brain cells, I approach the monumental light-colored building, bright neon red glow casting it's sensual spell over my Etnie-donned thinning head of hair. Half expecting a chorus of scantily-clad women dancing to the beat of a funky "hip" tune, the bright red doors swing open, revealing the newly modeled interior of the beast. Tons of bright greenish-white (not that I'd recognize green, but whatever...fluorescent is supposed to be green, right?) lights thrum overhead, photons sinking into my exposed dark brown arms. (I bet the evil geniuses behind this big capitalist behemoth figured out a way to program subliminal messages within the 60Hz cycle of those thousands of fluorescent tubes overhead.)
I love this store.
You say Targay, you say Tarjay, whatever. I say one stop shopping at it's finest. Especially with two-dollar jars of pasta sauce (cheaper than Albertsons!) only a short 5 minute walk away in this wonderfully warm spring night... Maybe my brain is still recovering from the pounding of a caffeine-laden grande extra hot no whip soy mocha (is it technically cheating if I drink a mocha when I'm not supposed to have chocolate?), but I really dig the new look. Bright, clean, everything I need for reasonable prices.
I'm sure gonna miss this convenience when I move.
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Bistro Luneta
Appetizer: I had the wonton soup. Good tasty broth with a few wontons. Shirley had the Botchay soup, basically Visayan style egg noodle soup. Heavy in garlic, it was REALLY good.
Main Course: I had beef kaldereta, and Shirley had the chicken adobo. Dramatically different presentations of food that Mom used to make. Although the presentations were totally different, the core flavors of the original dishes were there. Nice touches: waiter asked how I wanted my beef done, and the chicken adobo came with a head of roasted garlic. The dishes were great.
Dessert: Turon. I like Mom's better. :) But not bad, definitely not as unhealthy as Mom makes. I like the presentation but they could've done better with the sauce. I'm just sentimental for the super sticky and ultra sweet version from dear ol' Mom.
All in all, a pleasant dining experience. Although $18 for beef kaldereta would have my Mom & Dad screaming in protest, it's a nice "once-in-a-while" treat. Service could have been better, ambiance could have been more "Filipino", but I'd go back... to try the kare kare.
I still would like to see someone take it to the next level like someone I know has been wanting to do for 10 years now.
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The Art of Falling
My body hurts.
It hurts so bad, I figure that being hit by a Mack truck and then getting pounded on by Manny Pacquiao in 10 rounds toe-to-toe would be easier. My brother took Shirley and I up to
Sierra at Tahoe for a fun-filled adventure in snowboarding. Being my first time
ever on a board, I prepared myself for a lot of falling. But jeez...I didn't realize I'd be falling
that much. On my ass, on my wrists, on my back, on my face, on my knees, tumbling downhill, careening end over end, flopping forward... the fun never ended. But eventually, the 5th time up the hill (after spending 5 hours there), I finally got comfortable enough that I made it down the rookie slope falling only thrice.
Man, it sure was GREAT fun. Can't wait to get back.
And to top it off, we made a stop for some really really unhealthy food during the 3 hour trip back...
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Lightly Nerdy: 49
If I took this test 10 years ago, I probably would've scored a lot higher.
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Fattinence
The joy about a community-based knowledge base is that you get things like this...
A page about a
wonderfully indulgent dish, at the bottom of which is a link to another
totally outrageous snack.
Both of which are highly recommended. :)
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Feed A Cold
Why is it that you have to feed a cold? I'm battling the onset of a potential cold, and for some reason every time I eat I feel worlds better.
Or maybe it's just because I'm a fatass and I love
food.
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Ferris Bueller, You're My Hero
Captain America, Dead at 66.Comic books have just never been my thing, and to this day I still don't know why. (Although my parents tell me that at the ripe old age of seven, I used to fawn over their old tagalog comic books -- but that doesn't count, I was in post-Philippine-visit tagalog->english translation mode.) But seeing that headline kind of struck a chord in me. In a world where Jordan is retired and wandering through some grassy field whacking a tiny white ball around, the city's mayor had an affair (oh God forbid!), astronauts wearing diapers are the butt of late night comedian jokes (I counted at least 10 minutes on Leno), and this nation's President has the lowest approval rating
ever, where is that one enigmatic force that unifies us, that binds us together?
Sometimes I want to blow up the television for revealing the truth about life, about our so-called heroes. Let me be the ignorant child, foolishly following his immortalized heroes... (All shall rue the day if Primetime Live
ever does an expose on Optimus Prime, the greatest transformer
ever.) I realize that no one is perfect, that there is
Don't get me wrong, the everyday heroes are in every one of us. Your neighborhood schoolteacher arming children with the equipment to face the world; the commercial jet pilot, safely getting me to where I need to be; the faithful parent, dedicating their life to keeping their daughter "off the pole", there's a little "hero" in each of us. But I ask you...where is that single unifying force...where is that Ferris Bueller of this High School?
Personally, I say screw Captain America... I want to be
Jack Bauer when I grow up. Tortured soul, insanely selfless, and fearless in the presence of bad guys.
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