To the Tale, and Other Such Concerns

Changelog 2011.05.02

2011-05-02T02:00:00.002+08:00

I've started fiddling around with a few things.

1. I've adjusted my occupation as listed in my profile. At the moment, I'm less in the technology sector and more in marketing (although "production" would be the best word here). I'm still doing something akin to project management, though.

2. I haven't adjusted my personal description. It still seems workable, if a little offensive to accountants. But I'll worry about that if one of them complains.

3. I've turned off anonymous comments. This is not to say that I'm driving away a certain group of people, but I've found that the spam content has increased for blogs like these, and I'd like to block even a small fraction of them from appearing here. That, and it's always nice to be able to refer to a name in my responses.

4. There's now a method to post via mobile device, it seems, but I'll keep this turned off for the meantime. I'll try a mobile post at some point first.

5. I'm holding off on changing the base template for now, because I'm going to lose my customizations when I do so. I'll have to set aside some time for a good number of adjustments.

6. I still have no plans to make money off this thing, although the consideration is never far from my mind. Google AdSense still gets the thumbs-down tonight.

"Housekeeping?"

2011-04-19T00:31:00.002+08:00

It has come to my attention that it's been over a year since I've updated this blog. Like any good abode, I suppose that it does need a good round of cleaning from time to time.

I've cleared up a couple of the spam comments that have been gathering in the corners while I was away, so please excuse any textual gaps that you might find. I'm rather surprised that my posts have still been getting comments, but on the other hand, search engines will always be search engines. I'm certainly not going to complain if it turns out that people are still reading my stuff.

I should have a look at the available layouts as well; I like to think that Blogger's come out with a bunch of newer, better-looking templates in the time I've been gone. Maybe something that's not pink...

Bookstories

2010-01-28T00:27:00.003+08:00

Call me weird, but every time I step into a bookstore and lose myself among the shelves, I have to fight the urge to scream. It's not out of genuine fear or despair, mind you — it just happens to be an odd impulse that has psychologically festered with time. I just wondered what would happen if I did that one day, and the curiosity hasn't abated in the last few years.

That's serious, by the way. It's amazing what you can conceive with a bookstore in mind.

Bookstores also seem to figure into a lot of my story ideas nowadays. I imagine that this is because there's something about having all those books clustered together in one tiny section of the mall, their pages shrink-wrapped and otherwise inaccessible to mortal eyes. I inevitably wonder what strange things could possibly lie within those covers (which can easily mislead us into assumptions about their books' content), or if there's any mystical law of the universe that gets violated by leaving so many ideas alone in one place.

I mean, what happens to the books in the middle of the night? Do they drag out the beer, put a DJ on the turntables, and have a party? Do they tend to leak words so much that a staff member has to reorganize the shelves early the next morning? Do they multiply like rabbits? (The last of these, mind you, would explain as to how so many standalone volumes of The Green Mile can suddenly appear out of nowhere.)

This, of course, assumes the presence of the books on the shelves. There are a lot more of the darn things, of course, most likely stacked or boxed somewhere in a storage room around back. These volumes, I imagine, probably seethe and bicker over their lack of face time on the shelves... or perhaps they act starry-eyed and optimistic, each waiting for their chance in the limelight. The "spoiled" books, of course — the sample copies whose pages have been crumpled and rent by hundreds of idle shoppers — most likely beg to differ.

It's like an ecosystem, mind you, and after a few years spent hanging around these places, they tend to be fertile grounds for literary imaginations. How do the audiobooks relate to the easy listening CDs, for instance? Do the bibles and religious tracts act all indignant at being placed at the shelf across from the new-age writings? Do the five-month-old magazine issues give dire warnings and grandfatherly advice to the new releases?

And the staff... just who are they, anyway? From a practical point of view, I've always considered them to be readers of one or more stripes, but for a bunch of people who hang around a bookstore, they never seem to read their own inventory, much less give recommendations once you've finished their entire stable of Terry Pratchett books. Maybe they're robots. Maybe they're cultists. Maybe they literally eat pages of Heidegger for lunch.

Just how do they manage to fit almost every single contemporary idea in there? I can imagine that any random row of false books with uninteresting titles can swing open to reveal a secret passage. I'm fairly convinced that the entire section on travel guides hides a space-time vortex that can immediately transport us from here to, say, Tahiti. And that's not counting the childrens' section, which is haunted by the laughter of invisible beings who can be heard even when the store has closed up for the night.

With all that crowding into one's head, I'm not surprised that I feel an urge to scream right in the middle of the bookshelves. Walking among them is like having this great weight pressing down on my shoulders, if only because there's this heavy potential for ideas in there... and most of the people around me are content only to read what's printed on bound paper.

Perhaps I'll do just that one day. You'll hear this swift, keening cry, a sound that practically commands the dead to crawl out of their graves, and a startling shrill voice that gets all the staff members converging onto a single unlikely location to restrain a single hysterical man.

But then again, maybe not. They might be robots, after all.

Disclaimer: January 2010

2010-01-14T00:57:00.003+08:00

#toggle date on;
#toggle time on;
#toggle secureCAPS on;
#toggle emailfunc email on;
#toggle manualrev on;
#toggle unleashthehounds on;

#define blogposts = all;
#define externalauthor = authorlist.var;
#define externalrequest = requests.var;
#define stolentags = secureCAPS?doc;

!MARK ENTRIES AS ORIGINAL BY SEAN
owner(blogposts)
{ ownerID.pri = "Sean";
tag?post = "Sean", "lengthofwords";
tag?secure = fullownership;
loop(externalauthor)
{ ownerID.sec = externalauthor.nameID;
link = externalauthor.sourcelink; !ACKNOWLEDGE REFERENCE
if(externalauthor.permit <> ALLOW) then email externalauthor.email; !REQUEST PERMISSION - DRAFT EMAIL TEMPLATE
next externalauthor;
if(externalauthor = NULL) then break;
}
}

!CONTACT SYSTEM FOR USE OF MATERIAL FROM BLOG
requests(blogposts)
{ app authorlist = externalrequest.nameID, externalrequest.email, externalrequest.sourcelink, "DISALLOW";
process manualrev; !ACCESS FUNCTION TO REVIEW EACH REQUEST
if(manualrev.asknicely = YES) then authorlist.permit = "ALLOW";
if(manualrev.asknicely = NO) or (stolentag = YES)
{ check HARM status;
check OFFENSE status;
check CONTEXT status;
if(reputation = OFF) then process unleashthehounds;
}
}

!RETALIATORY MEASURES
unleashthehounds()
{ secureCAPS.stat = 2 !0=NORMAL,1=DISAGREEMENT,2=VIOLENCE
!THINK OF SOMETHING APPROPRIATE TO PUT IN THIS SPACE
}

#insert creativecommons.sidebar

Being a Dissertation on Pirates, Closed-Societal Rank, and the Ideals of Democratic Progression

2009-12-25T16:35:00.002+08:00

The other day, I got a call from a friend on a strange-looking logic problem that she had encountered on one of her exams. That this happened to be a corporate exam surprised me; I ran into a variant of this one some years ago, and it struck me as the kind of thing that takes a great leap of logic in order to solve.

I'll paraphrase it below, just for the telling. There are plenty of versions of this puzzle running around, so don't take this one as canon:

Five pirates have gathered on a deserted island to divide their booty: 1,000 gold coins in total. These 5 pirates are ranked by seniority (so there's a #1 pirate, a #2 pirate, and so forth, all the way down to a #5 pirate), and it's the job of the most senior pirate to decide how the loot should be divided among themselves.

There is, however, a catch: Whenever the most senior pirate gives a proposal on how to divide the loot, a vote is taken among all of the pirates. If the majority of the pirates agree with the proposal (or if the vote is tied), the coins are divided as stated. If the majority of the pirates disagree with the proposal, however, the most senior pirate is killed and the next most senior pirate must now come up with a proposal.

As mentioned, there are currently five pirates, and it is now the job of the pirate captain (pirate #1) to decide on how to divide the 1,000 coins. Each of the pirates is completely logical in nature, will never abstain from voting, and would like to keep as many of the coins as possible for him or herself. What division should the pirate captain propose so that he gets as much of the coins as possible, without risk of getting killed in the process?

The obvious concern here is that you can name virtually any division proposal, and the problem will simply throw it right back in your face. The pirate captain can, for example, suggest that the coins be divided equally among all five pirates (i.e. each of them gets 200 coins)... but then, how do you stop the other four pirates from thinking that they could just as easily get 201 coins each?

No, the real puzzle here involves coming up with a convincing argument: the solution involves devising a sound logical structure — sound enough, at least, to get the majority preference among the pirates. That happens to be the key to the problem, mind you — we can assume that each of the pirates is a completely logical, which means that we can presumably predict how they will think.

The worst-case scenario involves all of the first four pirates losing the vote on their respective proposals, in which case it will be Pirate #5's turn to make a proposal. In this case, the situation goes as follows:

Pirate #5: "Since I'm the only pirate remaining, I can simply propose that I get all 1,000 coins. When the vote comes, I'll be the only one voting, which means that I can just vote for myself and let the proposal pass! Whoo-hoo!"

Easy, right? This situation will obviously be the result if it comes down to Pirate #5 making the porposal... and Pirate #4 knows this. So what should Pirate #4's proposal be, assuming that only #4 and #5 are remaining?

Pirate #4: "Only me and Pirate #5 remain, but I just need to tie the vote in order for my proposal to pass. If that's the case, then what's stopping me from proposing that I get all 1,000 gold coins and Pirate #5 gets nothing? Pirate #5 will definitely vote against me, but he can't do anything about the tied vote, and I'll get the coins as proposed."

So the basic fact is that, if the first three pirates are killed and the proposal goes to Pirate #4, when Pirate #4 will certainly get all the coins. Pirate #3 must know this, and must therefore plan accordingly:

Pirate #3: "Pirate #5 knows that if I'm killed, then the proposal passes to Pirate #4, and #5 gets no coins at all. Therefore, I'll propose that Pirate #5 get one coin — because that's more than he'll ever get out of this deal, and he'll have to vote for my proposal — and I get the other 999 coins. Pirate #4 gets nothing at all, but I don't need his vote anyway."

And now, since Pirate #2 knows that he needs to get at least two votes for his proposal — his own vote, plus one of the other pirates' votes... the most economical solution is to offer Pirate #4 an incentive.

Pirate #2: "I'll propose that Pirate #4 get one coin — because he gets nothing at all if Pirate #3 is allowed to make a proposal — and that I get the other 999 coins. Pirate #3 and Pirate #5 will definitely vote against me, but they won't be enough for a majority."

As a result, the pirate captain (Pirate #1) must take all of the above into account. Noting that he only needs three votes — his own vote and at least two other pirates' — for his own proposal to pass, he must offer the minimum needed to two other pirates in order to "buy" their votes. This is this correct, and final answer:

Pirate #1: "If it falls to Pirate #2 to make a proposal, Pirate #3 and Pirate #5 both get nothing at all. So in order to get their votes, I'll offer that Pirate #3 get one coin, and that Pirate #5 gets two coins (so that he's not tempted to wait for Pirate #3's proposal). In the meantime, I get the other 997 coins via majority vote... and Pirate #2 and Pirate #4 both get nothing."

Questions like these are logical models: They assume that all involved entities follow a logical pattern, and then challenge you to follow that logical pattern to a correct resolution. Usually the best approach for each of these is to boil them down to a simpler scenario (usually a snapshot of the same situation in a future iteration) and then work your way back to the original complex scenario.

The earliest (and simplest) example of such a puzzle that I remember goes as follows. I'll use the "pirates" background again, because we might as well go all Jack-Sparrow today:

Three stowaways have been caught on the deck of a pirate ship. Now, normally, they'd be executed, but the pirate captain is feeling a little generous today, and decides to play a little game with them.

The stowaways are shown a total of five shirts: Three of the shirts have a black mark on the back, and two of the shirts have a red mark on the back. Then each of the three is blindfolded, and each made to wear a shirt with a black mark (although they don't know what color mark they're wearing). The two shirts with red marks are then hidden from sight, and the blindfolds removed.

The pirate captain then announces to the three: "Each of you is wearing one of the five shirts we showed you earlier — either a shirt with a black mark, or a shirt with a red mark. Each of you can see what colors the other two are wearing, but not your own. The first one among you who can tell us the color of the mark he is wearing will be freed, while the other two will be executed."

The stowaways are all completely logical, and none of them dares turn his own shirt around for fear of angering the pirates. After a few minutes of silence, however, one of the stowaways announces, "I'm wearing a shirt that has a black mark." How did he know this?

Assuming that the three stowaways are named #1, #2, and #3 — with Stowaway #1 being the lucky man who speaks first — we can boil down #1's thought process as follows:

Stowaway #1: "Let's simplify the situation first: Let's suppose that I'm wearing a red mark.

"If I'm wearing a red mark, then when Stowaway #2 looks at me, he sees that I'm wearing a red mark. And he must be thinking: If I'm wearing a red mark myself, then Stowaway #3 sees two red marks and should therefore immediately conclude that he's wearing a black mark.

"But Stowaway #3 doesn't say anything... and in that case, Stowaway #2 can only conclude that he's not wearing a shirt with a red mark. So Stowaway #2 should have concluded that he's wearing a black mark.

"But Stowaway #2 doesn't say anything, either. And if he doesn't say anything, then that can only mean that my original assumption is wrong. Stowaway #2 doesn't see a red mark on my shirt because I'm not wearing a red mark. I must therefore be wearing a shirt with a black mark."

I've seen quite a few other variants of these situations as well — I've seen grand viziers separated by walls, I've heard of leather-jacket-wearing scientists being locked up in rooms, and I've even read of costume-wearing kids sharing Halloween candy. Each of them happens to be a variant of the puzzles above, or of some unlikely logic-inducing scenario that's closely related to them. The method of solution happens to follow the same pattern, and that involves trying to simplify the situation to a point where the larger problem is solvable.

The strange part lies in the fact that, in order for the object of the puzzle (the "protagonist", if you will) to get out of his or her situation, they'll literally need to think in terms of the other characters' thoughts. It's like having some pseudo-logical encouragement to put yourself in somebody else's shoes.

That said, puzzles like this are actually somewhat rare — when all the variants are compressed into their original versions, you don't have much to go around. I suspect that the more popular logical models belong to a subset of puzzles — the liar- and truthteller-versions — if only because these can go through an infinite number of combinations and get a proportional amount of study.

Finding this puzzle in an exam for a corporate application, though... well, that's just odd. It's not the sort of thing that you can answer in a few sentences, after all. I'm actually more interested to find out if 1) said corporation offers any similar brainteasers in its application process, and 2) said corporation actually expects people to solve these things in one breath.

An even more pressing question, of course, lies in why a company would ask such things of their applicants. Let me see... darkened rooms, strange procedures, and threats of execution... perhaps these things are closer to the corporate scenario than I imagine.

Sound Bites

2009-12-20T23:36:00.002+08:00

I established both a Twitter and a Facebook account last April, as part of preparations for what's now my current mode of work. "I want you to become an expert at both of these," one of our directors noted, and over the last few months, I've concluded that this was because they were both likely to figure into future initiatives.

Said line of work, however, ended up eating into my writing time for most of the year. When you're juggling multiple projects each day, and generally waiting on a client who can toss you a last-minute business-oriented task at any time... well, you usually don't have that much time left to think of other things. Like, say, metaplots and characterization.

The strange part is that Twitter, Facebook and their ilk have provided adequate replacement within this time. With their character limits and such, I originally thought it difficult to place one's thoughts in a single post... unlike, say, Blogger and/or Multiply, which allow you to write however length you wish. You can't, for example, tell an entire story on Twitter. You can't write an entire treatise on Facebook. You simply don't get enough characters to be able to tell it like it is.

One of the keys, as I've found so far, is injecting a little mystery into the whole affair.

I can't write a classic seven-hundred word blog article into any of these shorter posts... and after a while, I realized what the bother was. A venue that's made for 140 characters is made for 140 characters, after all — it just means that I've had to fundamentally alter my way of thinking in order to adjust. You don't think "how do I fit seven hundred words into 140 characters", but "what thoughts do I have that can be expressed in 140 characters".

In short: Twitter's for those short snatches of conversation. Facebook is for those anecdotes you tell over a glass of wine. Blogger and Multiply are for those all-out, full-blown stories that you wouldn't mind reading in the tabloids. (If you want those massive novel-length treatises, you can still go out and buy a, well, novel... or something.)

That, and I find that you don't necessarily have to say everything. I usually come with the assumption that every person I talk to needs absolutely all the facts with regards to every story. Twitter and Facebook don't just put a cap on that sort of thinking on my side; so far, they've convinced me that not every bit and piece needs telling. The result so far has been a string of subtle posts... perhaps even too subtle in some cases. (I've had to explain quite a few things to some of my contacts, particularly the one about the feminine hygiene wash.)

In fact, my only concern right now is that I seem to sound snarkier than usual when it comes to these things. I'm not exactly a photo or a video person, and I'm only a passable web-gamer at best, so what most people see from me are direct quotes like "Bubu, the god of monitor screens and speakerphone conferences, is amused." I get a lot of raised eyebrows that way.

To be honest, it seems less like adjustment and more like attempted mastery of a different medium. It's an accessible medium, mind you, especially to anyone who's been writing on the Internet for a while now — but it's one of those things that you can't quite put your finger on within the first few days. Think 700 words in 140 characters here.

Over the last few months, my Facebook posts have greatly outnumbered my Blogger and Multiply posts, and that's because it's simply a lot easier to come up with a snarky backhand comment sometime in the middle of the day. That doesn't mean that I'll completely ignore my "proper" blogging yet, but it does mean that I might have to reassess my targets. I can't exactly expect to have time for each and every one of these accounts, of course.

I've got a two-week break coming, and I suppose that I'll try to play some catch-up then. As much as the two services have been quite useful this year, I'm not sure how much sanity I should really invest in reading those feeds all afternoon long. I mean, there are longer stories to write.

Disclaimer: December 2009

2009-12-08T15:25:00.003+08:00

I've been following a recent issue as of late, which involves the acquisition of content from a local author and blogger. Roch Chua runs Hearty's Haven as a personal site, and she has been very active regarding events and developments in the technology and social sectors within the last year.

Last week, she reported an upcoming revamp of the Friendster web site, which was promptly picked up and posted in its entirety by a moderator on Sulit.com.ph.

Once the news was broken, this resulted in some mild outrage on Facebook. Roch had been following the Friendster change for a while, to the point of being in contact with them and signing a nondisclosure agreement until the news could be broken. When the Sulit.com.ph article emerged, however, two things were certain: First, the entire text had been copied word-for-word from her blog (including the images and their placement); and second, it was this Sulit.com.ph article that was getting all of the hits from the international search engines. The article was cited and attributed to her, but the lost site visits were another matter altogether.

Roch's attempts at communication with Sulit.com.ph resulted in a negative response (if not outrightly insulting) from the moderators and the forum-goers, which filtered into other channels as well. Fortunately, the moderator who originally posted the article elected to remove it; As of this writing, however, said article has already been copied and has appeared in other venues.

On my discussion with Roch, she advised me that the matter is closed. The offending post is gone, the work is lost, and the fallout has already been scattered across local connections. If anything, the experience inspired her to put up better security practices and measures for her posts; Time will tell if they're effective.

I've advocated an anti-plagiaristic stance from the first post of this blog, so saying that this case piques my interest is little more than an understatement.

In the first place, despite the persistence of Roch's proponents, I must point out that this is not a case of plagiarism. Plagiarism is, in informal terms, the act of taking the work of another creator and passing it off as your own original output. It is the scourge of authors, artists, teachers and governing bodies alike, because it implies that anybody can put his name on somebody else's creation and gain the benefits from doing so. The fact that the moderator at fault here distinctly placed the author's name on the copied article notes that there was no motivation for him/her to acquire the work for him/herself.

This is, however, a case of copyright infringement — the act of subverting the right of the author to determine how his work should be reproduced (among others). While the original article was produced with the intent that it be published on the complainant's blog, the same permission did not apply to its appearance on the Sulit forums. I assume that the same situation applies to the question of site visits and search hits.

Sulit.com.ph disavows any legal action to be taken against posts on its site, but I must point out that this has not prevented similar lawsuits from taking place (and succeeding in compulsory action). There's a clear party at fault here, mind you — the moderator — but the company can be called to task for the actions of one of their representatives. With that said, the moderator has complied with the required action ("Please remove the post"), and the complainant has already closed the issue.

What I find regrettable about the issue is that there was little netiquette involved, and that both parties seemed to want to force a resolution rather than ask for one. I believe that there's a way to resolve such issues in a decent manner, and it goes both ways.

So what does this mean for this monthly disclaimer of mine? Not much, really — but it's another real-world incident in a long list of items that have to be constantly monitored. Stuff like this needs to have its lessons realized and applied. While I'd like to say that this is the last time it will happen... it won't.

This disclaimer, like all disclaimers, focuses on the plagiaristic aspect. For starters, I am obligated to mention that everything written on this blog is an original work of this site's creator and administrator. Yes, that's right — I performed research, discussion, and hours of keyboard-tapping to write each and every one of these posts. There are exceptions in that I will occasionally quote or reference other sources in these articles; these articles are never quoted in full, mostly because I try to provide links and/or attributions for every one of these.

If you feel that I have used something that was created by a different person, and that I have not provided the correct acknowledgments to that source, please inform me. I like to think that I'm a reasonable person, which means that I'm willing to negotiate over the use of the material.

Similarly, if you would like to use the material on this blog, my base requirement is that you ask me first. That's it, really — you can contact me via email, or simply leave a comment here. I usually don't set forth a lot of conditions other than a link and an attribution of some sort.

Do not take my stuff with the intention of claiming that you wrote it. This includes any situations where you post it without any acknowledgments, and most certainly in areas where it gets used in a harmful, offensive, or out-of-context manner.

In the event that any of these tenets are broken, I will be hospitable in my attempts to contact the parties at fault. I feel that these situations can be resolved in a decent manner in accordance with everyone's wishes, and I will assume that any such parties feel the same way. I will assume legal action as a last recourse (because that should really be the case). That said, in cases of extreme offense, I also reserve any and all rights to beat the aforementioned parties to death and feed their remains to the orangutans at the zoo.

I am registered via a Creative Commons License, and you can view its terms and conditions via the the link on the bottom right sidebar at my main blog site.

Be careful about what you do, everyone, and be careful about what you say. I'll also recommend my footnotes below; they make for good reading after the issue at hand.

Essential material for the post was taken from the following sources:
— Chua, Rochelle S.; The New Friendster is Finally Coming!; http://www.rochellesychua.com/2009/12/new-friendster-is-finally-coming.html
— Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia; Plagiarism; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plagiarism
— Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia; Copyright Infringement; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copyright_infringement
— Intellectual Property Code of the Philippines; Chan Robles Virtual Law Library

The P10,000 Question

2009-11-30T21:38:00.002+08:00

...is, of course, "Could I borrow P10,000?"

Lest you think otherwise, this is not chump change we're talking about. That's ten thousand in Philippine pesos, which makes it a little more than two hundred US dollars, and a good chunk of my post-tax salary. It's not the kind of amount that you can casually carry in your wallet, and I'm far more likely to talk to a bank manager about it than I am to have it processed by the local ATM.

And speaking of which, I was conveniently given this statement by my mother on a Friday night, when all the banks were likely to be closed for the long weekend. To make matters worse, I forgot to drop by a cash machine last Saturday, so I found myself stuck at home late Saturday night, wondering how I was going to come up with the money by nine the next morning.

The solution, of course, was to start scrounging. My pack-rat tendencies mean that I hoard the strangest things from time to time — money among them — and even if I couldn't come up with the entire amount, then I could at least provide a substantial contribution. Besides, wouldn't you be curious to see if you had ten thousand pesos stashed around the house somewhere?

So the first thing that I did was check my wallet. My miserly habits meant that I usually had about P1,500 in there — which turned out to be correct — so it was a start.

Then I checked my "emergency fund". Call me paranoid, but most of my money is tied up in various insubstantial venues: closed-investment accounts, savings accounts, antique teddy bear collections... but I figured that I wanted a failsafe in case I couldn't access these for any reason. Thus, I maintain a home-based "emergency fund" in a secure location, which means that it's a wad of bills stuffed into an old sock that's wire-threaded to the back of my CD cabinet.

Said "emergency fund" held only two thousand in dusty old bills. I made a mental note to increase the allocation in the future, then folded everything together. That was P3,500 so far.

Then I raided the envelope stash. This happens to be a mishmash of old form letters on my desk — bills, solicitations, bank reports — stuff that I get over the mail, and set aside after reading. There were two fortunate things about this stash: The first is that it includes the money and gift certificates that I receive from relatives over the past few months; The second is that I hadn't gotten around to my yearly cleanup yet.

Here, for example, was the two thousand and four hundred pesos that I got in a red envelope on my last birthday. Sitting in a different sealed package was the two hundred that I won during October's mooncake dice game. Then there was the neatly-folded stack of hundred-peso bills (all new) that I had left over from a previous vacation, and on top of that, there were also remnants of my fee from a earlier freelancing engagement.

When the dust cleared, I was at the P8,300 mark. I was a little surprised at that point; I'm clearly in the territory of bachelor living here.

Interestingly enough, I still had one more place to look: My slush file, hidden in the deepest recesses of my bookshelves. This was where I held my long-term storage, the stuff that I put away without the intention of opening up until it was needed. It contained sealed envelopes with some of my older story ideas (which is a great way to prove copyright claims, by the way), old calling cards, and memorabilia from bygone years... among other nastier things.

It apparently also contained stuff that I had completely forgotten about. One of the things I fished out, for example, was a bank check for an amount that I'm not at liberty to disclose here... which captured my brother's attention almost immediately:

Brother: "Why do you have a check in there?"

Sean: "I don't know. I haven't seen this stuff in years."

B: "Why is it for [insert significant amount here]?"

S: "I don't know. I don't even remember why I have it."

B: "Why is it dated December 2005?"

S: "Uhhh..."

Crazily enough, I scraped together another P1,600 from the slush file... along with a Starbucks gift certificate (valid until December 2002); a collection of ten-, five-, and two-peso bills; and half-a-dozen membership cards for commercial services that no longer exist.

That brought my grand total to a staggering P9,900... and I was only too happy to add another P100 from my wallet to bring it to the intended ten thousand. It is not, strictly speaking, the easiest way to get a quick shot of funds. Moreover, it doesn't speak very well about my hoardish tendencies, which probably got the last cleaning lady running away and screaming.

My mother was surprised that I had somehow come up with the money without an ATM in sight. She also mentioned that it wasn't an urgent need, that she could just pass by an ATM herself early the next morning, which gave me my regular dose of irony for the week.

She did wonder where I got all the gift certificates, though. I mean, it's not as though they were just lying around the house or anything...

That Could Have Been You

2009-11-27T23:37:00.003+08:00

That could have been you, seeing the flash of the muzzle and feeling the bullets puncturing your skin. That could have been you, staggering back and smelling the gunsmoke as it fights its way across your breath. That could have been you, your legs giving out from the sheer dead weight of your body. That could have been you, feeling the dull black pain as your face strikes the earth.

That could have been you, fighting every rising shred of remorse in your conscience as you follow your orders. That could have been you, signalling the men with the shovels to start their work. That could have been you, mopping your brow with a dirty piece of cloth before you throw it to the next person. That could have been you, scenting the air and wondering if anyone's going to know, if anyone's going to find out, if anyone's even watching you at the moment of your damnation.

That could have been you, sitting comfortably in the station without a care in the world. That could have been you, ignoring that cancer that festers in the region you call home. That could have been you, knowing that there were people who needed your protection against other people with guns and power and money. That could have been you, hearing the faint roar of gunfire in the distance for years upon years and doing absolutely nothing about it.

That could have been you, looking over the sea of corpses wrapped in clods of earth. That could have been you, identifying the bodies by features that were no longer there — a favorite t-shirt instead of a face, an ID card instead of a spoken greeting, a wedding ring instead of a smile. That could have been you, remembering how this one was a father to seven children, knowing that these four staffed a newspaper all by themselves. That could have been you, thinking of colleagues and friends, knowing that this had happened many times before and would almost certainly happen again.

That could have been you, sitting hundreds of miles away in the middle of the metropolis. That could have been you, trusting the other regions to handle themselves well enough despite the political controversy your party once generated. That could have been you, counting people as allies in exchange for a blind eye towards their engagements. That could have been you, gathering the remnants of your authority in closer and closer circles, praying that nothing happens to separate you before the year is out.

That could have been you, sequestering yourself in your majestic mansion, surrounded by relatives and close friends who you've groomed over the years. That could have been you, surrendering yourself with the knowledge that all the eyes of the world are upon your back, knowing that the killing hasn't finished yet, wondering if you or anyone else will hang as high as Haman before it's over. That could have been you, calling for your legal counsel, insisting with every sharp breath that you didn't do it, that you didn't give the orders, that it was a different group of people with no motive as obvious as yours.

That could have been you.

That could have been you.

That could have been you.

...

...

...

Never forget.

Blue Period

2009-11-19T00:47:00.002+08:00

It has recently struck me that most of the stuff I wear is blue.

I'm not sure why, really. It's possible that I've come up with a surplus of blue clothing in the last few years. It's also possible that blue happens to be one of the more neutral colors to wear to one's office, where I spend most of my waking life nowadays. Whatever the case, I seem to have more than my fair share of blue polo shirts, blue t-shirts, and even blue underwear.

Now, I have to admit that blue is my favorite color. In fact, I tend to pinpoint a specific shade of blue — some sort of darkish navy blue that I can somehow identify only on sight — although not an inch of it is ever reflected in my wardrobe. What's weird is that I remember liking red a lot as a ten-year-old kid, which automatically raised the question in my mind: How do we choose certain colors to be our favorites, anyway?

I remember that my brother likes yellow, for example. My sister has long staked out a claim on blue. My friends and associates, moreover, have chosen an eclectic bunch of shades over the years: purple, gray, maroon, white, tweed... and at the moment, it's making me wonder if there was any rhyme or reason to the choice. Heck, I'm particularly curious about tweed. Who chooses tweed as a favorite color, for goodness' sakes?

Having dipped certain fingers into the design industry, I'm fully aware that certain colors produce certain subtle impressions, and have certain associations. Red, for example, is an "attention" color — it implies passion and anxiety, and is used to get us to focus on a specific item. It's why stop signs are red, it's why fire engines are red, and it's why most lipsticks are red.

If I remember correctly, blue is a "serene" color. It's used to denote a sense of coolness and relaxation, and usually gets associated with the elements of air and water. Blue just puts us at ease, more often than not. I obviously agree with this sentiment, although I still wonder if this connotation explains my attraction to blue, or if I'm only holding onto this as a convenient excuse.

That said, there's still the matter of different shades for a single color. Red and pink lie around the same area of the spectrum, for example, but modern society has ascribed different roles to those two. I would imagine that dark blue and light blue are distinct enough from each other to have different connotations as well, although that's where my knowledge runs out.

The jury, however, remains undecided on the difference in impression between, say, Navy Blue and Prussian Blue. The question of significance between, say, Scarlet, Vermilion, Rose, Blood Red and Fuchsia is probably enough to drive graphic artists to madness. And that doesn't even cover the debate between Ebony, Midnight, Raven Black, Mummy Black, and Soot.

Then again, my tendency could simply mean that I just happen to like blue. Whether or not that denotes serenity in some way is probably outside the bounds of opinion — maybe I just like the way it looks.

Besides, my closet doors are painted blue as well. For that matter, so are my venetian blinds, my wallpaper, my bedsheets... heck, something's got to match my underwear, after all.

Disclaimer: November 2009

2009-11-09T01:56:00.002+08:00

I've been doing these disclaimers for a long time now, and the legalese is always a common element. If you've been skipping out on these monthly posts, you'll know that I outline the following bases each time. Now is no exception:

1. I conceptualized and wrote everything on this blog, with the sole exceptions given in #2.

2. Some of the items on this blog were acquired from external sources, either as the material with which I create my posts, or as the references with which I write. These items are always acknowledged, and provided with a link where possible.

3. Anyone who feels that I've used something that they own without acknowledgment is welcome to contact me for discussion. Assuming that the material is truly theirs, I'm prepared to accede to their demands as long as they are within reason.

4. I don't like plagiarists, who I define as people who take others' works with the intent of claiming these as their own. People who manipulate this work in a harmful or out-of-context manner fall under the same classification. I discourage this activity, particularly when it comes to my own stuff.

5. Apart from any monthly disclaimers that I have, this blog is part of the terms and conditions set forth by the Creative Commons license, which is at the bottom of the right-hand sidebar on my main blog site.

There's usually a threat of grievous physical, psychological or legal harm involved, but not always.

I've noticed that it's a little difficult to come up with a brand-new disclaimer post every month, and I think that that's because I like putting little spins on the silly things. I don't want to simply repeat a single post as the first item of every month, so I try to work them into short posts. The only things that should bore people, or turn them off from reading these like any other entry, are the titles — and I find myself wishing that I don't have to call them "Disclaimer" all the time.

Normally I have three different approaches with regards to creating disclaimer posts:

1. Graphics — If one picture is worth a thousand words, then my personal volume must be substantial. The primary benefit of using graphics is that they will immediately catch peoples' attention, despite the stodgy legalese. The fact that I have a few Photoshop skills means that I can put these together by myself... which is fortunate when you realize that these things usually take a couple of hours.

2. Text Styling — This covers the various text formats, layouts, genres and so forth. It's the most common approach that I use, simply because tapping away at a keyboard happens to be my forté. Sometimes I'll incorporate the legalese into a short story, sometimes I'll try a line or two of poetry, and sometimes I'll just try putting it up like one of Letterman's top ten lists.

3. Straight Play — And sometimes, if I don't have much time to come up with a post, I'll just play it straight. These are probably the most boring of the disclaimer posts that I write, but they do act as a bit of a refresher. I'll emphasize the fact that these don't necessarily mean that I don't have any idea for a post. Instead, they simply mean that I'm in a hurry at the time.

I don't think that I've really run out of ideas for a disclaimer post yet, so you're still likely to get these from me in the future. Whether that's good news or bad news depends on which side of the fence you're sitting on.

Then again, I'm assuming that we're all bloggers ourselves, and that we're capable of coming up with our own content. There are millions of words out there, after all... wouldn't you like to see what interesting combinations you can come up with? :)

Nothing to See Here

2009-10-30T19:30:00.002+08:00

I just wanted to note that I've had almost a month of extensive workdays and rush deadlines, which have taken their toll on my personal life and sanity.

That said, I'll be vegetating for this weekend.

So for the next couple of days, no one is to call me. No one is to email me, or send me a text message, or write me a letter on nice stationery and send it via carrier pigeon. No one is to smuggle a video message into my little corner of the earth, roll a tattered message into a bottle and drop it into my bathwater, or inscribe a coded message into a bunch of religious monuments for me to find. And finally, no one is to ever, ever summon me by murmuring Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 backwards while standing in a bucket of cream cheese in an inscribed circle of green marker pens by the light of the full moon... if only because it won't work. (The markers have to be blue, after all.)

Hopefully the storm won't be a huge factor in my plans. But then again, I'll be asleep for most of the time, so it probably won't.

Rizal's Head

2009-10-25T23:42:00.002+08:00

The Inquirer had an interesting headline today, which helps support my belief that truth is stranger than fiction: It seems that a bunch of doctors recently petitioned the National Historical Institute (NHI) for access to Jose Rizal's skull, apparently because they want to figure out the reason for his intelligence. (This link redirects to the FT Chronicle web site instead of its original authors at the Inquirer, because the newspaper's site seems to be down right now.)

This just... puzzles me, to say the least. For starters, NHI chairman Ambeth Ocampo didn't exactly describe the petitioners' method as being quite optimal:

[Ocampo] said the doctors intended to pierce a hole on top of the skull and load it with mongo beans. “When full, they plan to transfer the mongo beans to a beaker and measure its volume,” he said. Through that, they will be able to tell us the size of Rizal’s cranial wall.

As much as I applaud the use of Filipino ingenuity here, I'm not entirely sure that mongo beans would be the best method of presenting one's findings to the scientific community at large. In fact, I'd question it — aren't there better methods of measuring cranial capacity? Wouldn't a liquid medium be far better than mongo beans, for example? And it's not as though you need the original skull in the first place — why not just make a plaster cast of the cranial area and then use that for experimentation? It would give scientific teams a great resource for future trials, and it would certainly be a far better option than drilling the silly thing full of holes in the first place.

This is, of course, not to say that I think that it's a stupid idea. I'm willing to assume that this is a serious scientific study, and that it can't just be boiled down to Ocampo's mongo-bean statement (which could easily be a mere exaggeration). Besides, black-comedy scenarios aside, why else would somebody want to exhume the skull of our country's national hero?

One thing that I'd like to point out is that it's been done before. Paleontologists normally cover this sort of thing in evolutionary study, for instance: If man did evolve from early primates, then there must have been some gradual development on the mental front. There's even a term for this measurement — cranial capacity — that comes with its own Wikipedia entry.

Moreover, there have been historical instances where the brains of noteworthy individuals were removed after their deaths and preserved for study. Albert Einstein would be the most obvious example, and in fact, did happen to have this type of research visited upon him. The study of cranial capacity in these cases doesn't seem to be too far a stretch... after all, if you're capable of going as far as to investigate the folds in brain matter, wouldn't you go knocking around inside the skull as well?

If I have an issue here, mind you, then it's with the subject of the study himself. Jose Rizal, for all the honors granted to him as the national hero of the Republic of the Philippines, never struck me as a supremely gifted and intelligent individual. I can assume that he was a scholar, yes, and that he can be perceived as a very smart man. But I don't see him as a particularly sterling example of Filipino intelligence.

Now, again, don't get me wrong — Rizal does have some value and relevance to us. I respect Rizal because of his perception and capacity to put such thoughts into writing. His two seminal novels, after all, were revelations of the injustice and inequality that existed during the colonial era. I respect Rizal further because it felt as though he was advocating dialogue as opposed to revolution: To him, it was possible that the status quo could improve — the youth just had to recognize what was wrong with their environment and find a way to challenge these traditional assumptions. Rizal came up with a rallying cry that clearly applies even to our contemporary situation.

But I would simply stop short of calling Rizal "intelligent". His writings may fall within the level of "profound insight", but to me, they fall short of "genius breakthrough".

And that's the root of the whole thing, really. Why bother measuring Rizal's cranial capacity if he's not necessarily the best example of Filipino intelligence? You can make your argument for creativity, mind you, and you can make your argument for insight. But those two things are different from intelligence... and well, if you're really after artistic quality, then you've got loads of modern examples to choose from. I'm fairly certain that making plaster casts of Amorsolo's, Joaquin's, and Kasilag's skulls would be a lot easier than prying open that monument in the middle of the Luneta. (I don't mean to disparage the families of the deceased here, but a point is a point.)

I suppose that the NHI can refuse any requests to borrow Rizal's skull, if only for reasons of impracticality. However, I maintain questions of my own — questions that appeal to the motive and scientific nature of the intended study — and these will maddeningly remain unanswered. We have this very strange tendency to expect the excessive from the personalities in our lives — politicians, movie stars, sports celebrities — and now it seems that even the dead are not immune.

End of an Era

2009-10-17T23:09:00.002+08:00

A little more than a week after I post this, Geocities will be gone.

To be honest, this won't hold a lot of significance to people out there. The vast majority of netizens right now, I must admit, are those without a solid technical background: You're probably okay with things like Facebook and Twitter and Google and eBay, mind you, and you probably know your way around an email account... but you probably haven't written a lot of HTML tags or interfaced with servers, much less studied the occasional database query. I'm not saying that that's bad, of course — it takes all kinds to coexist on the World Wide Web — but I must point out that Geocities' name may only be remembered by a relative handful of us.

What Geocities did for the longest time was to provide a sandbox for web programmers. Any creative person, for example, cannot produce works based solely on his creativity alone — he or she would need any amount of material in order to do so: Paint, pencils, paper, canvas, crayons... and more than a little personal space, obviously. On the Internet front, there were only a few online services that catered to this need for budding programmers, and Geocities was one of these.

The interactivity and interface wasn't the best of things, mind you. Back then, we had to write lines upon lines of code entirely by hand, upload one file and/or image at a time against slow dial-up access, and generally spend hours putting together one site or another. But what resulted was a slew of personal markers on the World Wide Web, places where we could write journals to the rest of the world. Some of these markers are still available today, although they've long been overshadowed by further generations.

It's obvious, of course, as to why Geocities is closing. Simply put, few people need a free ground-up site-generation service any more. Nowadays, if you want to have your own home on the Internet, you're either 1) a formal entity that's willing to spend a pittance for an exclusive domain name and hosting service; or 2) an average Joe or a plain Jane who's willing to settle for a Facebook account, a Multiply album, or a Wordpress blog. You don't spend days scribbling code and frantically testing pages to see if you managed to do the fonts right, not if you have this kind of convenience at your fingertips.

Simply put, things have moved on, and Geocities has found itself staring at obsolescence for some time now. I imagine that it was only a matter of time.

I logged into my Geocities account a few weeks ago to clean house, and it turned out to be the first visit I'd made in years. I apparently have more than a few files there: Some storage archives for a few forgotten initiatives, a couple of short story excerpts, an old web site for the family bakeshop... it was like looking into a personal time capsule. Heck, some of the downloadable files for more than a few of my earlier blog posts — most notably the two puzzle events — were hosted on Geocities; I'm going to have to see what I should do with them now.

Having established myself in the modern Internet — I have accounts for Gmail, Blogger, Facebook, Multiply and many others, after all — I must say that I have no further need for Geocities and its brothers. But regardless of whether they're now obsolete or not, I feel that they were an important part of my formative years. In that sense, I'm sad to see them go, much as I would be sad when seeing the tattered state of any favorite childhood book.

Time, unfortunately, has the terrible side effect of leaving certain things by the wayside. Sometimes it's the objects that populated your past, sometimes it's the influences that shaped your present. I'll still hold all my contact with this little thing called this internet, mind you, but it'll be difficult for me to forget roots like these.

Disclaimer: October 2009

2009-10-06T00:41:00.002+08:00

Stormfront

2009-09-28T00:59:00.002+08:00

Manila was the subject of a massive deluge yesterday.

The rain started sometime in the wee hours of the morning on the 26th. From there, buckets of water filled the streets for what turned out to be the entire day, as though some divine entity turned on the bathtub faucet and let the whole thing run. In my corner of the woods, even the wind got into the act from time to time: sometimes it tore off a few pieces of the local flora, just for sport.

My brother and I were up at about 7:30 in the morning, deciding that our badminton gathering was not going to push through: One of our members had mentioned the threat of floodwaters; we stopped our other esteemed guest just as she was about to leave her house, a fact for which I was extremely thankful a few hours later.

At around ten in the morning, I was wondering if the rest of my Saturday schedule was going to push through. The torrents were falling, the wind was howling, and the Facebook posters were putting up evidence of just how bad it was out there. The streets outside my old university were practically submerged; someone put up a photo of how his own car had been half-flooded... while it was sitting in his garage.

A little after lunch, the power went out. That erased any doubt that this was more serious than your average storm, and cut us off from most of the news. None of us had charged our cellphones, and a subsequent search of the house noted that we didn't have much in the way of emergency lights available. Food, oddly enough, wasn't a concern — for some strange reason, my family stockpiles instant noodles like no tomorrow. Along with the fact that we live on a hill and thus have no issues with flooding whatsoever, we ended up having a comfortable time riding out the storm.

At about five in the afternoon, my brother elected to drop by the nearest supermarket and pick up some flashlights and a supply of batteries. My sister decided to come along, while I figured that I would hold the fort at home. It took them about an hour-and-a-half for a trip that would normally take fifteen minutes; in addition to the fact that the roads weren't as clear of vehicles as could be expected, it took them a while to fight the weather.

From there, it was dinner and bed. I slept before ten o'clock for the first time in ages, wondering exactly what was going on out there. We had some contact with some relatives and our closest friends, but had to hold off on extensive contact due to low battery levels; Fiber-optic landlines may be the latest thing in communications technology, but turn out to be utterly useless when it comes to power outages.

The cloudburst only ended at about two-thirty in the morning on the 27th. I know this because I was up at that time, listening to the rain as it got weaker and weaker.

Yes, world. That means that, for about twenty-four hours, we got non-stop rain.

We were out early the next morning, and noted that most of our neighborhood was unaffected. (It's the same set of hills, after all.) The nearest city hall, which was in a low-lying area, was still flooded in ankle-deep waters, and I felt that that somehow said something about our style of local government. The Pasig River had a remarkably high water level, and was rushing along at a rate of speed that would have made a good exercise in fluid mechanics. And most of the houses that we passed along the way were filled with people, all bailing out the accumulated water or cleaning the last vestiges of mud.

I talked to a few friends and acquaintances. Almost all of them either stayed home, or were out at one point or another the previous day... although each of them did get home safely the previous evening. They told stories of other people, however, who got the worst of it: Some ended up overnighting in offices. Others only reached home after midnight or early the same morning. One unfortunate fellow hitched a ride on a dump truck and went the rest of his journey — about twenty kilometers — on foot. In the rain, even.

And yet there are apparently still others, as evidenced by my walls on Facebook and Twitter. There are more than a few families still stuck on their roofs in the Pasig area, more than a few individuals who lost businesses and personal possessions, more than a few people who are sleeping somewhere other than their own beds tonight. There are so many places accepting donations and assistance right now that I'm wondering where to start.

Tomorrow is a workday, of course, and I figure that the right course of action involves holding the fort and mollifying the clients while allowing the rest of the office to recover. Alternatively, it might also involve leaving a message with our eminent clientele, and then moving on to the more humanitarian efforts. The second option sounds a lot better. But that still raises the question of where to start... which I'll probably ask by tomorrow morning.

It's difficult to read the updates that are being posted by the minute. It's even more difficult to look through the photos that people have uploaded regarding one remarkable rainy situation after another; these are photographic times, after all.

Years from now, I figure, we'll be telling stories of the record-breaking rainfall, the massive flooding that ensued, and the question of exactly what we were doing both during and after all this took place.

I suppose I should be preparing for that time, I think. You all take care now, and you all do what you can.

Please Leave Your Cellphones Off

2009-09-24T01:54:00.002+08:00

"My phone isn't working," she said.

I glanced at my mother. She was going to be on a flight to Singapore the next morning, and off for a good portion of the week. That her cellphone would break down now — now, of all times — was just Murphy's Law at work.

Fortunately, part of my job involves testing mobile devices. I'm still a digital producer, mind you, but someone's got to test out the hundreds of tips and tricks that the cellphone companies offer to their user bases. Such a task just happens to fall within the fine print on my contract; I've gone over six or seven devices so far, and I try to finish them up at the rate of one each week.

Not that I'm experienced with mobile devices, mind you, but I approach them with a fairly strong technical background. I can set up technical components, clean computers of viruses, and make small fixes to household appliances. If there was anyone in the house who could solve a cellphone problem, it was likely to be me.

"So what's wrong?" I asked.

"It won't turn off."

I did a double take. "It won't turn off?"

She demonstrated it for me. It was a fairly common phone model, I must add, which was little different from the devices I had been testing for the last few months. She was pressing the Power button on the top of the phone and was getting the Shutdown menu... but nothing beyond that.

In short, the phone just wouldn't turn off.

"That's what I said," she insisted.

I inspected the phone for a bit. It seemed as though it was in perfect working order, and a number of tests with the standard functions proved that. When I tried to turn it off, however... nothing. Nada. Zilch. It stubbornly refused to shut down.

I tried pressing down on the Power button as hard as I could, thinking that maybe she just wasn't pushing it hard enough. All I got for my trouble was a very familiar imprint on the flesh of my thumb.

Eventually I set the phone aside. "You don't have to turn it off, you know. I mean, you can just leave it on to receive calls and messages, like the rest of us do."

"I know that," she said, "but what am I supposed to do with it on the plane? They might ask me to shut it off."

I raised an eyebrow. They were going to tell her to shut it off, obviously. And darn it, the plane trip in question was the next day. Either she was going to have to do without a phone for the duration of her trip, or we were going to have to solve it the same night.

Two hours and more than a few Internet guides later, I was no closer to solving the problem. I had the feeling that I had read all that there was to know about a handy-sized cellphone, except for the simple, incredibly elusive ability to turn it off.

We decided to settle on a workaround: She was going to borrow a cellphone the next morning, and in the meantime, we were going to take down a few of the more important numbers so that she could still make her calls abroad. That would give me a few days to drag her device to the nearest service location and get it fixed.

And that was when my brother showed up, picked up the phone, and asked: "Did you try opening it up?"

I raised another eyebrow. "No," I admitted.

He flipped open the casing, pulled off the battery, and had a look inside. "Seems okay," he said, putting everything back together and flicking on the Power button. The phone lit up.

He pressed down on the Power button. The phone went off.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said.

He turned it on again, then turned it off.

"You've really got to be kidding me."

"You mean it wasn't working like this before?" he asked.

"No," I said, taking the phone from him and checking the settings. "The battery must have been on too tight. Or maybe the casing was loose, so the Power button wasn't connecting to its own switch. Whatever it is, I have no idea."

We gave the phone back to Mom, who returned to her last-minute packing. Now she had her own cellphone to bring along, so that the nice friendly stewardesses could remind her to turn it off just before the plane left the airport.

Walking back to our room, my brother gave me a curious look.

"I thought you tested cellphones at work?" he asked.

"Yeah, well," I said, "it's not like... what I mean is... well, obviously..."

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, shut up," I said.

The Law of Urinals

2009-09-22T01:12:00.003+08:00

Bear with me; this is something that came to mind while I was walking around the malls this afternoon. I freely admit that I was relieving myself in an empty bathroom at the time, if only because it's relevant to my process of reasoning.

It was a little before four in the afternoon in this case, and the place was empty. Beside the rows of sinks and across from the toilet cubicles, there was a line of exactly four urinals set against the granite-tiled walls. I had all the time in the world (or about five to ten minutes, at least) to choose one of those four urinals.

It suddenly struck me that there was supposed to be some method to this choice.

When faced with this kind of situation, I normally relieve myself in the second-to-last urinal. I'm not quite sure why, really. Elementary logic dictates that I don't want to do it in the first urinal (or else I'd be the first thing that people see whenever they wash themselves up by the bathroom sinks), and I don't want to do it in the last urinal (because the presence of the bathroom wall would give me less space to do my business). But to me, that raises the question: Why not just use the second urinal? Or, in the case of more than four urinals in a single bathroom, why not use use any of the urinals in between?

I can only imagine that masculine comparison plays a role here. (And if you have no idea what "masculine comparison" is, take a good guess.) This is less perverted than one may think — while I'm not in the habit of checking out other guys at the urinals, I do live in mortal fear that someone, somewhere, is going to be checking me out at the urinals one day. I'd personally like to minimize those chances, regardless of how amused you might feel at such a predicament. Guys — it ain't cool to do this sort of thing. The thought alone just gives me nightmares.

This, I think, is probably the reason why two guys standing at the urinals will almost always stand exactly one urinal apart — that is to say, they position themselves so that there's exactly one urinal between them at all times. It's a physical manifestation, I think of a certain statement: "You don't check out my package, I don't check out yours, and maybe some neurotic writer out there will sleep well tonight."

Masculine comparison, then, implies that I relieve myself in the second-to-last urinal for a sense of security: It puts me far enough down the bathroom corridor that I won't be bothered by unnecessary interlopers, yet also places me in a position where I still hold valuable non-claustrophobic space.

This, I figure, is not a shared opinion. Some guys will probably take on the plain second urinal in the same situation — perhaps this implies a more overt personality. Others will prefer either the one that's closest to the wall or the one that's closest to the sinks; I leave the reasoning to them in this case. And there is always that small sub-group of people who simply don't care as to which urinal to choose if they had such a choice; I've always wondered if this means that they don't use their heads as often as they should, or if people like me are overthinking situations like these.

Being on the well-traveled end, I've been in restrooms where the designers apparently chose to do away with urinals altogether — possibly because they didn't want me to wrestle with any more stupid questions. In those places, all you get is a stainless steel "gutter" where you're presumably supposed to stand and do your business alongside your fellow man. In such cases, however, I still gravitate towards a point near the end of the gutter, not quite at the wall but fairly close to it — proving once and for all that the logic has somehow been ingrained into my pointy little head.

That, or I enter the nearest toilet stall. I'd still like to avoid the masculine comparison issue if possible, after all.

* The wonderful bathroom fixtures graphic is from http://www.scelera.be, a web site that provides educational pictograms for open use. I've attempted to follow all the conditions of their Creative Commons licensing agreement. Don't sue me, please... or at least allow me the courtesy of zipping up first.

What's the Best Bit of Local Speculative Fiction You've Read, Sean?

2009-09-18T00:31:00.003+08:00

The esteemed Mr. Chikiamco saw fit to ask me this question the other day, in commemoration of his opening of the brand-new Rocket Kapre web site. (Which, by the way, proves once and for all that you can make an interesting name by smashing two completely random words together.)

To be honest, it took me a few minutes to come up with an answer to this one. This is not to say that I don't have any favorites among the local works of Speculative Fiction, mind you — it's just that I've read a fair portion of our efforts here. As a result, there are quite a few stories that make it onto my "like" list... but which I would hesitate at touting as a "favorite" of mine.

I don't want to waste too much of your time on what amounts to a personal choice, so I'll put it straight: the work at the top of my list right now is Vlad Gonzales's Lunes, Alas Diyes ng Umaga. To my knowledge, it only came out in a cheap anthology called "Pinoy Amazing Adventures", which I picked up and reviewed way back in 2007.

You'll want a short explanation, of course.

Lunes, Alas Diyes ng Umaga is a remarkable combination for me: I feel that it's a piece of science fiction that touches on the less obvious aspects of the genre. Surprisingly, the story lacks the advanced technology that marks your traditional sci-fi. Instead, it places the reader in a very familiar contemporary situation, paces you through some very strange events involving parallel universes/timelines, and throws in a subtle twist that reflects a clear — and regrettable — facet of human behavior.

I cite Lunes as my favorite local work of speculative fiction so far because I feel that it's gone well beyond the other attempts that I've seen. It carries a central message that can only be effectively communicated via speculative literature, it ruminates on that knowledge, and it delivers without benefit of the usual trappings on which we poor amateurs usually depend. It's easy enough for the man on the street to read and identify with, and it points out that some things about culture and humanity will never change, even when the potential of the entire universe lies at our fingertips.

More importantly for me, however — and I've been chewing on this fact for the last couple of years — it represents the kind of story that I'd like to write someday. To me, it's that nasty piece of writing that hits you right where it hurts, that work that makes you slap yourself on the forehead and wonder why you didn't put it together yourself.

In short, I wish I'd written it.

Heck, I wish I'd simply thought of it. That's a huge bit of estimation in my book.

There are, of course, quite a few works on my personal list that I've read, watched, felt, and loved so far. There are a few short stories in there, a couple of comics, perhaps even a work of art or two. Those, however, are narrations for a different day, because I'm open enough to recognize that Lunes won't always be at the top of my list. In fact, I hope that Gonzales's work doesn't stay there for at least a few more years — the local speculative fiction scene is young enough that I'd like to see someone top it very soon.

For now, however, Lunes sets the bar for me. I'll even go as far as to say that it sets the bar for everything else... or at least, that's how my personal opinion puts it. Everyone has a few favorites, after all. This one just happens to be mine.

i'm not dead yet

2009-09-18T00:23:00.003+08:00

"No you're not, you'll be stone dead in a moment."
—Man with Dead Body, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Disclaimer: September 2009

2009-09-06T01:29:00.001+08:00

The Lexicomancer
LN Medium humanoid
Init +2; Senses Listen +4, Spot +4

DEFENSE
AC 19, touch 13, flat-footed 18 (+6 armor, +2 Dex)
HP 65
Fort +8, Ref +4, Will +20
Immune fear

OFFENSE
Spd 30 ft.
Melee +3 blade of biting words +14/+9 (2d4+6)
Spells Prepared (CL 11th, ranged attack +9)

6th—mind trick, war of words^D (DC 20)
5th—hypnotic suggestion, extended procrastinate^D, scrying (DC 19)
4th—backlash, extended Kyu's greater ward, tall tale^D (DC 18), underwrite, venomtongue
3rd—burning desire, captive audience^D (DC 16), denouement, lost lore, swarm of speech, yammer
2nd—calm emotions^D (DC 16), edgewise speech, misplaced word, silence (DC 16), stern command, tenebrophilia
1st—bluster (2), comprehend languages, confinement, protection from words^D, windgathering
0—clarion call, light (2), ministrate (2), temporary sustenance

D - domain spell; Domains - Literature, Debate

TACTICS
Before Combat The Lexicomancer is aware that all of the contents of this weblog are the original works and property of her austere master, and makes a comprehensive study of any who would defy this ownership. She immediately places her attention on any who would steal from her lord's repository of words, shadows them carefully, and waits for the right time to strike. In anticipation of combat, she prepares by casting protection from words and edgewise speech as needed, and resorting to burning desire in expectation of protracted battles.
During Combat The Lexicomancer acknowledges the presence of any authors whose works are used in her master's weblog, as these creators are always mentioned in writing; otherwise, she may request for such permissions during confrontation. Against opponents who plan to "borrow" her master's content, she demands that they ask proper permission, and immediately engages against those who use this content for malicious purposes. The Lexicomancer uses ranged spells and engages in melee as required; Common practices involve keeping opponents off-balance from a combination of hypnotic suggestion, misplaced word, procrastinate and tall tale, backed up by more than a few subtle taunts.
Morale The Lexicomancer immediately ends combat if she receives the acknowledgement or permission needed. If her hit points fall below 15, she uses clarion call to summon authoritative reinforcements, then uses her leave the last word ability or scroll of unerring flight to escape into the immediate vicinity. She then prepares for a second encounter with her target, and continues to do so until the target has been brought to submission. No one is safe from the wrath of a fictional construct.

STATISTICS
Str 10, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 16, Cha 14
Base Atk +7; Grp +6
Feats Extend Spell, Get to the Point, Inscrutable, Righteous Indignation, Sharp Tongue, Third Person, Voice
Skills Concentration +12, Diplomacy +14, Knowledge (Literature) +10, Knowledge (Law) +4, Sense Motive +12
Languages Common, Critic
SQ construct aspect, creative commons, mastery of the word, mouthpiece, plagiarist sense, think on your feet
Combat Gear wand of prosaic expression (23 charges), ring of dire threat (16 charges), ring of mind shielding, scroll of abject fallacies, scroll of mental fortitude, scroll of unerring flight
Other Gear +1 chainletter shirt, +2 blade of biting words, bracers of compelling argument, editor's manuscript

SPECIAL ABILITIES
Creative Commons The Lexicomancer is bound to her master by means of a Creative Commons License, which is reflected on the lower right portion of her master's sidebar.
Mouthpiece As a fictional construct, the Lexicomancer reflects the views of her master, and can willingly serve as a conduit for his speech, as per the bestow words spell.
Plagiarist Sense The Lexicomancer is supernaturally aware of attempts to steal content from her master's weblog, and immediately hunts down the perpetrators involved.
Think on Your Feet The Lexicomancer receives no penalties to her domain spells due to combat.

* No, you don't get a cookie if you recognize the template used here, because it's fairly obvious. And if you're curious, this took me more than a few hours to transcribe. But it does look somewhat authentic, and that amuses me greatly.

** No, Charles, I still have no idea how to play the game.

Spawn of the Giant Stuffed Penguin

2009-08-31T23:17:00.002+08:00

Sometime this afternoon, the conversation turned to kids. Not just kids kids, mind you, but real live in-the-flesh kind of children, the ones who constantly bump into your knees and marvel at how much taller you are than them.

I don't have such a good record with kids. Personally, I do like them (particularly with a little barbecue sauce and some grated cheese), but they don't seem to like me for some reason. It might be because the voice scares them, or it could be because my eyebrows give them nightmares. Whatever the case, I'm okay with kids, and the real question is whether or not they're okay with me.

For these occasions, I carry around a nice "children" anecdote. I won't tell it now because it loses something in the writing, but suffice to say that it involved a one-year-old child and a Snoopy doll. Said incident, by the way, ended with the head of said Snoopy doll being thrown in my general direction... and that confession alone should give you an idea of how I am with kids.

Despite the anecdote, however, someone dared to throw the question over to my side of the table: "So what about you, Sean? How many kids would you want to have?"

I figured that the "barbecue-sauce-and-grated-cheese" comment would have gotten me run out of town at that point, so I threw back the only response I could think of:

"What?"

"That is," my friend said, "if you want to have kids. Do you want to have kids?"

I thought for a moment. This was an interesting question, if only because I hadn't quite thought about it yet. I'm still a young man, after all. I'm not exactly about to shackle mysel... er, settle down to family life just yet.

"Well... yeah," I said. "I'd like to have kids someday. I mean, it'll probably be a while by the time I have them, but I wouldn't mind the wait.

"Thinking about it a little further, I'd say that two or three of them would be nice. The issue when you have only one child is that he or she usually has nobody to play with, which puts some undue pressure on either the parents or any outside friends. Having two kids would probably resolve this, but then you get the question of an elder/younger relationship, and I'm not sure how healthy that would be.

"So if it's possible, I'd rather have three kids. That would raise the possible conflict of an elder-middle-younger relationship, but I figure that the internal dynamics would balance it out — you can have a majority clique at any point, I imagine. That, and the middle child would inevitably be a bridge or a mediator between the other two.

"The only question that remains, I think, is the matter of age. I'd prefer the kids to be spaced about two or three years apart, so that they can share knowledge and contacts within similar generations. It takes quite a bit of pressure off the other factors, I think, when their constant contact with each other helps ensure that the older ones can literally help train and educate the younger ones. I find that siblings usually tend to take different paths in life, so three children would probably imply different interests and specializations of some sort.

"I'll throw the question back, by the way," I said. "What do you think?"

This brought some silence over the table for a few minutes.

"I think," my friend finally said, "I'd like three kids."

"Any reason why?"

"Uh... no. I'd just like three kids."

And somewhere in the world, a mother is asking her child about a decapitated Snoopy doll.

If Titles Could Talk

2009-08-31T22:33:00.002+08:00

After thirty years' worth of reading, I've come to a fateful conclusion: It's possible to determine the base contents of a literary or artistic work merely by reading its title.

I imagine that this discovery will change our way of life as we know it: Soon enough, we'll be able flip through literary collections in a heartbeat, finish poetry readings in a fraction of a second, and sleep through movie screenings that would otherwise steal a good two hours of our lives. From there, it shouldn't be a great leap towards coming up with a mutual cure for AIDS, SARS, H1N1 and all forms of cancer; generating renewable fuel resources; solving world hunger; and determining the true meaning of life as we know it.

That, or it was those baked mushrooms I had for dinner. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, because you're getting the list whether you like it or not:

IF...

...the title of the work has a colon in it, or a number at the end — "I am part of a series that everybody has since stopped reading."

...the title is a common phrase — "My title was the first thing that came to mind after the last chapter was finished."

...the title has only one word — "My writer couldn't think of an interesting title."

...the title has five words or more — "My writer couldn't think of an interesting article."

...the title mentions a specific historical or contemporary figure — "I have absolutely nothing to do with said historical or contemporary figure."

...the title summarizes the story in its entirety — "My writer just wasted two thousand words and three hours of effort."

...the title has a typographical error — "My proofreader is checking the want ads right now."

...the title is a word that doesn't exist — "Your only motivation for reading this article is to find out what the heck the word means."

...the title has a subtitle that involves the word "God" and multiple exclamation points — "I was created by the Philippines' newest National Artist!"

...the title is "Untitled" — "Please kill me."

Fire for Fighting

2009-08-31T00:22:00.002+08:00

Something's been wrong with my desktop computer over the past couple of days, and all of the symptoms were there. For one, the system wouldn't shut down properly — something would always interrupt the shutdown and ask me to terminate a running process. On top of that, anything that I downloaded — however small it was — would inevitably run into connection issues. But when I realized that my Google searches were being redirected to completely different (and ad-laden) sites, I realized that I had a problem.

My ability to make completely useless distinctions automatically told me that I was dealing with some malware here. There was something in the system, all right, but it wasn't necessarily a virus — a virus, after all, implies a payload of some sort; it's supposed to do something bad to your computer. Plain old adware normally puts a lot of pop-up ads on your computer, which wasn't the case, so I figured that whatever was in my system had been created for far more insidious purposes. Like, say, password thievery or backdoor hacking.

The first thing I did, then, was to enter my symptoms into a search engine (watching out for the redirection, of course) and figure out what I was dealing with. Yes, it was malware. Yes, it was a password stealer, with security compromisation on the side. Yes, it was a strain that was difficult to remove, which I was to find out later.

Most of the sites I visited recommended a single piece of free software which I could download, install, and run... and that's what I did. So I just sat back, waited patiently for the slower-than-usual download to finish, then double-clicked the handy little Windows icon and watched it do its stuff.

Except that it didn't. The silly thing wouldn't install.

I hit the internet forums again and noted that some of the more recent strains of malware were advanced enough to prevent corrective software from functioning... which was just great, really. I've run into enough malicious code in my life to know that this thing wouldn't be deleted easily; I just had to find the right combination of moves that would defeat it.

After a few attempts at booting and rebooting, I found out that I could run the antivirus installation as long as 1) I changed the name of the installation file, and 2) I performed the installation shortly after I booted up the computer. (I can only assume that it took the malware a while to figure out what I was doing.) The installation turned out successful, although it ran into a problem near the end... which I took as a sign that my digital interloper was trying to fight back.

Chortling to myself, I got the software to scan my computer, and after an hour's work, it easily identified the source of all my woes. Gotcha, sucker.

Cleaning it took all of ten minutes, after which I did what I normally do after a good cleaning session — I restarted the computer and ran the scan again. At this point, however, I ran into the bad news: The second scan indicated that the files were still there... which meant that the bad code was either resisting removal, or reconstituting itself in some way.

I cleared the harmful files again and ran the scan without rebooting. This one told me that the threat had been removed. After a skeptical restart-and-rescan, however, I was told that the malware was still present in my system. I guess there was some sort of method by which it was rebuilding itself, then.

Fortunately, by this time, I was able to put a name to my imaginary little opponent. I could identify a couple of primary component files, as well as three or four supplementary files that were written in random ten-character filename strings, presumably to evade detection. In short, I had a fair idea of where the problem was coming from, and the only question involved killing the stupid thing.

At that point, I fell back on my recovery console — this little backup tool that allows me to get into the operating system without running any of the files there. A few nerve-wracking minutes later, I was looking at the obnoxious little buggers from the safety of my digital crawlspace, and manually zapping them one by one.

From there, I restarted the computer and ran one final scan. This one gave me no issues whatsoever.

I don't remember when I started fighting these sorts of things, but I feel as though I've done a whole lot for someone who doesn't even have in-depth experience in this sort of firefighting. I figure that it's because of the wide range of tools that we have available for our convenience nowadays — any person with at least half a brain for technical analysis would probably be able to combat these things in their spare time.

In that sense, it brings to mind a question that someone asked me once... something about why I never seemed to write about things like computer viruses in my few sci-fi stories. If only that person knew about what strange, real-world experiences I've had in that regard...

Gridlock

2009-08-29T23:57:00.002+08:00

If you're wondering exactly what I do in order to cool off after a day's work, I can give you the regular suite of answers: I read books. I walk around malls. I sleep till noon. And I play games.

It's probably the latter item that distracts me on the Internet nowadays. While I do spend a bit of time in the evenings chasing my email and doing one bit of writing or another, I'm usually too tired to conceptualize and execute entire blog posts in one sitting. Thus, I play games.

And lately, the most prominent of those games has been Grid.

Grid is a remarkable Flash game of the puzzle persuasion, something that immediately caught my mind from the clean execution to the strange gameplay. What the game does is that it gives you a layout of various glyphs, each one contained within a given cell. One of the glyphs is a power source, which means that any other glyph connected to it can therefore supply that power to other glyphs that are similarly connected. Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to rotate each of the glyphs such that power is supplied to the entire grid.

There are, of course, some hitches: You can't change or swap any of the glyphs, which means that you can only rotate each of them in their current positions and figure out how each one of them fits in the final configuration. You can only rotate a glyph is power is being supplied to it, which makes for quite a bit of frustration and fine-tuning. And you can't have any "loose" connections in the final grid, which means that every glyph must be clearly connected in all available connections.

Take the configuration below, for example.

Rotating each of the glyphs correctly gives us the following correct solution:

On each level, you're given a limited number of moves (rotations); it's often plenty for you to finish the level, but completing a grid within a smaller number of rotations gives you a higher score.

The games gives you 35 such grids to solve, and they gradually escalate in difficulty. The previous grid, for example, is one of the earlier ones — the first grid that you get to do for yourself after the tutorial's completed. Further grids tend to be head-scratchers...

And after a while, of course, the grids get more and more confusing. Whoever put this thing together tested the level design quite well.

And if you get far enough (the game saves your progress via unique ID), you can graduate up to the malevolent, labyrinthine jigsaw-like conundrums. You run into stuff that requires you to plan your moves well in advance, stuff that forces you to double back and redo old configurations, and stuff that just plain takes up the whole screen. In the later levels, you might even run into all of them at once.

That grid above is level 31 out of the 35, which is the most recent one that I've managed to solve. It's the first one that's taken me more than one session to finish, which means that yes, I was working on it for a week.

I imagine that my time on this game will end fairly soon, seeing that I'm only three or four grids away from completing everything. I'm going to miss it when I finally finish; it's one of the better games that I've come across, and I've recommended it to a few people so far so that they can suffer as I do.

Sure, it has some significant mental requirements to begin with... but I do look for those games. Otherwise, well, I'd have to fall back on my other online diversion, which involves untangling a bit of string...

I'll probably leave that for another time and another discussion, though. I just need to get to that 32nd grid right now...

* Grid, of course, is the property of Candystand.com, which offers "the sweetest games online". Seriously, they have some pretty good stuff on their site. Don't sue me over the free publicity, guys, or at least not until I manage to complete all 35 grids first.

* Planarity is the work of John Tantalo, and is an insidious time-waster if I ever saw one. Who would ever think that untangling string would be so addictive? Don't sue me either; I'm all tied up at the moment.

Lowest Output Yet

2009-08-28T23:49:00.002+08:00

No, I'm not dead yet. Just busy... I've got a slew of marketing promotions to prepare for the next couple of months, and on top of that, I've got a few device tests to run through. The new manager also reported for her first day of work last week, so I'm allocating a small portion of my time towards making sure that picks up on her tasks and duties.

To make a long story short, I've been getting home by about nine or ten every evening, sitting down to a late dinner, then taking a quick bath and dozing off with a shock of wet hair. My barber's probably going to have a field day next month, but that's not the point here. The point is that I'm usually rather drained by the time I sit down in front of the computer.

I find it a little strange, really, that I'm unable to come up with much in the way of good ideas whenever I'm dog tired. Hypothetically, I don't think that it's really possible for my mind to "tire out" (although it does get migraines from time to time), so psychological fatigue is the only reason I have left: In a sense, between paper and bedsheets, I invariably choose the bedsheets.

The irony is that I don't even sleep early most of the time; I spend a couple of hours reading in bed. In the last month, I've gone through four Lillian Jackson Braun novels, Alan Moore's The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, a six-hundred-page book of ghost stories, and a little more than half of Guy Gavriel Kay's Tigana. If anything, I've at least caught up on some of my reading.

Of course, I still want to catch up with this month's output, which will certainly mean trying to write at least six blog posts by the time Monday comes around. We have a long weekend going on at the moment, so that should make things a little easier. It'll still be about two posts per day, however, when my expected rate goes at about one-thirds of a post per day. (Sometimes I wonder if I should just go and complain about the government; I'd probably have a lot of writing fodder in that case.)

That'll be a good resolution, I think: "Write more." I should take a more proactive stance on this, perhaps, and expend more willpower to write as opposed to flopping onto the mattress whenever I get home from work. It's not mental block after all... it's just psychological fatigue.

That said... I'll start tomorrow. The bed feels too good to leave right now.

Ask a Silly Question...

2009-08-22T00:06:00.002+08:00

For the record, I work for a marketing agency right now. I'm a Digital Producer, which means that I do the following things:

1) I manage any changes that need to be made to clients' web sites, and

2) I set up any online or email-based requirements that my clients need.

In short, if my clients need anything that has to do with the local Internet technologies, I'm the person responsible for planning them out and making sure that they work. It's harder than it sounds, particularly when you take into account the fact that most people don't have much Net savvy to begin with. I often have to advise clients as to what's possible (e.g. tracking peoples' browsing history on a single click), and what's not (e.g. setting up a Google search for colored text).

That said, it's a little complicated to explain, particularly to the previous generation of adults. Most of them have heard of the Internet well enough, but their eyes tend to glaze over the moment I go into specifics. On top of that, there's the occasional acquaintance, store proprietor or barista who asks me what I do for a living — and if anything, I usually don't have enough time to discuss the whole thing.

Nowadays, whenever somebody asks me about my job, I usually make up something on the spot. Sometimes it's reasonably accurate and sometimes it's not, but it's usually satisfactory enough for people to smile, nod, and let me get on with my day. The strange thing is that I'm not even sure if they're even listening.

I have to admit, however, that it was fun to come up with some of these, which were all mentioned at one time or another:

— "I'm the office slavedriver. I have my own official bullwhip and everything!"

— "You know how they need somebody to do the voice samples for commercials? That's me."

— "I'm the babysitter for my boss's dog."

— "Oh... something that involves squids, diamonds, and asphalt."

— "I have a job? I guess that would explain the building I enter each morning."

— "I'm in charge of training the office slackers. They just finished my introduction to Bejeweled last week; I've got plans to start them on Zuma next, but not before they pass that exam on Tetris that I prepared yesterday."

— "I'm the James Earl Jones impersonator."

— "I park peoples' cars, shine their shoes, and put vinegar into the coffee cup when no one's looking."

— "Let me put it this way: Bubu, the god of vacation leave forms and missed deadlines, needs an unfortunate patsy to do his divine bidding."

— "I'm the guy who writes all those neat little taglines on those movie posters."

— "Yes, I work in radio. I'm the guy who screams into the mike whenever they have a caller who they want to go away."

— "I'm the guy they call in whenever the underwear models don't show up."

Oddly enough, most of the people I know still don't know what I do for a living. You'd think that they'd know by now.

Hard Blink

2009-08-14T00:39:00.002+08:00

I don't remember what triggered the topic of conversation, but somehow my brother and I ended up discussing a bit of Sci-Fi on the way home. At the top of the list, I think, was the matter of what literary elements made Science Fiction, Science Fiction... and the question of why some people would argue that some of these elements were preferable over others.

There are plenty of Sci-Fi subgenres, I would imagine. On the one hand, you have your space-opera clones involving bald starship captains and lightsaber-wielding farmboys. On another hand, you have your post-apocalyptic scenarios, usually involving ratty postal workers and people who bear an uncanny resemblance to Mel Gibson. On yet another hand, you have your slick martial-arts-and-slow-motion affairs, often involving machine code and bullet time. There's no shortage of literary elements out there, much less for Science Fiction in general.

We started out with the concept of "traditional" Science Fiction and the recent Hugo Awards argument that it caused, but we didn't get into too much discussion there. After five minutes, I think, we just agreed that we didn't have a clue as to any real distinction between "traditional" and "modern" Sci-Fi — if only because any contemporary take on the genre was likely to become dated after a few decades. "The writers can reinvent the genre all they want," I remember saying, "but that sort of creativity does little against the possibility that someone might grant the 'old-fashioned' label to their work in the future."

Fortunately, we pushed forward into more interesting territory: What would it take, for example, for a contemporary Science Fiction story to be considered "cutting-edge"? I mean, over the last thirty years, we've covered such things as (*deep breath*) aliens, robots, space exploration, extra-terrestrial locations, weapons, war, love, transportation, games, cyberspace, virtual reality, cybernetics, apocalypsis, morals, genetics, humanity, cloning, replication, temporal manipulation, religion, the human psyche, divination, oppression, guardianship, life and death... to say little of any other theme or scrap of a technological future that was written down by some fevered mind somewhere.

The best we could offer was that "cutting-edge" Science Fiction involved using a new element in there somewhere, perhaps something that hasn't seen much of the light of readership yet. In a sense, the genre has to resemble a lot of other genres in their race to constantly reinvent themselves. At the very least, it's certainly hard to define — if I knew what it was that gave the "newness" to any short story, then I'd have the Hugo Awards committee licking my boots right now.

I did point out, however, that for a genre that offers tangible benefits to technological progress, the Science Fiction genre doesn't seem to be concentrating on this aspect. Sci-Fi, after all, was a contributing factor towards such fields as Internet Technology, Artificial Intelligence, and Cybernetics... but the modern efforts seem to be lighter on 'practical use' and heavier on 'cool concept'. After all, what did the concept of bullet time ever do for the real world?

I remember holding onto one concept that I've never been able to work into a successful story, and that's the idea of the neural implant. In case you don't grasp its implications just yet, that's the idea of having a computer grafted onto your living brain; maybe it's a chip that's attached to the front of your temporal lobe, and maybe it's a mechanism hooked up to the base of your skull. It's made the rounds before — most notably in Masamune Shirow's Ghost in the Shell writings — but I can't seem to let go of it as a strangely practical idea, one that we might see within our lifetimes.

My brother was surprised at how far I had considered the idea. For starters, I felt that a convenient interface was possible. Imagine seeing your normal field of vision as a 'screen' of sorts, possibly through some transparent film implanted on the insides of your corneas. From there, you would be able to view information, communicate to people, and possibly issue commands to external implements. You could get a nice weather report the moment you woke up each morning... or perhaps turn on the coffeemaker from across the room.

"The problem with that," my sibling pointed out, "is that you'd get information overload."

"Not when you have a way to turn the interface on and off as needed," I countered. The best I came up with was the concept of a 'hard blink' — a very fast double-blink not unlike double-clicking a computer mouse; it was a little awkward but certainly possible.

It's a strange dream, of course, but I'm aware of at least a couple of developments in that direction. There are some research laboratories, for example, that will implant little identification chips under the skin of your arm so that the security facilities at your building can automatically identify you as you walk in. It's not too far a cry from those security cards and fingerprint scanners that seem to close off a lot of our offices nowadays.

And then there's the macabre practice of implanting similar identification chips into our pets (as well as inanimate personal belongings), so that they we can hypothetically find them if they ever get lost. Those are stories, I think, that people really can't make up... but in hindsight, perhaps we should have.

I have to admit that I'm not too well-versed in the debate between "traditional" Science Fiction and "contemporary" Science Fiction, but as opposed to searching for the concepts that would satisfy one or the other, there's also the possibility of looking for "practical" Science Fiction. It would be like having the same interesting concepts, I imagine, only with the implication that we might actually be wearing them one day.

But then again, I'm obviously not the best authority on this subject — I have yet to write something practical when it comes to Sci-Fi, for instance.

I would be interested to see if anyone somehow takes the idea and runs with it, though. That, and I'd probably buy the book, too.

Disclaimer: August 2009

2009-08-08T22:21:00.003+08:00

* The font is called Christopher Hand, and it's available here. Nice, isn't it?

Anarchomancy

2009-07-31T23:03:00.003+08:00

I find it difficult to put a coherent thought together at the moment, so I just have to hope that this message comes through.

My writing world has seen two straight issues come about lately. First, there's the Hugo Awards issue: A writer named Adam Roberts has seen fit to express his dissatisfaction with the nominees in a very well-publicized blog post. That his creative tendencies have seen fit to express this displeasure in a letter addressed to the Science Fiction reading audience can be seen as either interesting or arrogant (depending on which side of the fence you occur) is just an aside; the main point to take into account is the fact that Adam Roberts is displeased.

On the heels of this international issue comes the list of those individuals named to the list of Philippine National Artists this year. One of the aforementioned individuals, a man named Magno Jose Carlo Caparas, is now a National Artist in the area of visual arts and film. The local artistic community seems to have taken offense to this, and suddenly the web sites I frequent are suddenly filled with catcalls and hate mail.

Both of these issues revolve around a similar premise: Worthiness. A first group of people have seen fit to grant certain awards to a second group of people, and a third group of people suddenly decides to challenge the merit of such nominations. There is one issue at the core of these two events, and that is the simple fact that different people have different opinions about other peoples' work.

Muddying up these waters, of course, are our own elegant methods of expressing our feelings. Some of us attempt to dissect the situation, wondering how circumstances converged unto this final decision. Some of us feign indifference, nursing the conflict within their own minds. And some of us attack the controversial winners, asking how it is that something they despise can gain so distinguished a recognition.

I feel that the third aspect of our expression has been outnumbering the first two so far. And I refuse to join this growing mob.

Kvetching is not a new concept. We can't expect all opinions on a single work to agree with each other, after all, and we're bound to run into situations where that movie or song or novel or painting or comic that we despise suddenly turns up on the winner's pedestal with a nice blue ribbon affixed to the frame. We can probably fill entire shelves with works that we dislike, yet which have likely won countless awards, or sold innumerable copies.

It's not inconceivable that a selection committee somewhere will come up with a winner — or even a list of nominees, mind you — that we think deserves to be buried somewhere and forgotten for centuries. We can't agree on these things all the time.

What I'm saying, however, is that this sort of thing happens. It's been around since the first time one man decided to compete against another in the opinion of their own peers.

Adam Roberts most likely has his own opinion of what should go on the Hugo shortlist this year... but frankly speaking, that's his opinion. It's for him to decide. If he's not on the Hugo selection committee, then it's entirely his problem if none of his choices are recognized. I'm not going to pander to his complaints if he's the one who has issues with the Awards organization, lament or no lament. Roberts can complain about how Science Fiction concentrates on old-fashioned concepts, but again, that's his opinion. I don't see why I should be drawn into his argument.

For the purposes of this writing, I assume that the people running the Philippine National Artist nominations have followed their established procedures to the letter, and this is why I don't necessarily question Caparas's ascendance. I neither like nor dislike his work, to be honest, but it's not my place to figure out who should be National Artist and who shouldn't. I leave that to what I presume to be an honest and open-minded selection committee. If people question his title just because they don't like his works... then, well, that's not something that I feel is worth arguing about.

If these assumptions are wrong, of course, and if there was something wrong with either of the two distinguished panel selections this year, than that's worth arguing about. You can question greed. You can question selfishness. You can question whim or indifference or domination or unmitigated power-mongering, especially when it comes on the heels of a competition that you once assumed to be fair. I feel that action is justified in these cases, if only because integrity and impartiality is obviously at stake.

But questioning a writer's accomplishment just because you yourself don't like his work? That's a really low blow.

So watch what you say. Watch what you do, and ask yourself where your motivation lies. You may choose to investigate the situation further, perhaps to see what redeeming value lies in these winners and find out how their judges were able to notice this when others did not. You may choose to throw in the towel and work on that potential award-winning work of yours for next year.

You may also choose to take up the poison pen and spread your vituperations across the World Wide Web. That's your choice, really. Just bear my words in mind: Look at yourself first, and ask why you wish to piece such an argument together in the first place. Check your awareness. Open yourself up. And most importantly, figure out why you're willing to throw yourself into the fray in the first place.

Otherwise you're just going to be part of the mob. And the mob eats its own young.

The Bibliophile Hunters

2009-07-26T01:04:00.002+08:00

I was in the back of the bookstore, browsing something on one of the lower shelves. It was cold in that lonely corner where the sunlight didn't quite reach, and when the hairs on the back of my neck started picking up, that was when I knew that I was being watched.

I turned slowly. Two people now stood at the end of the aisle, glancing in my direction. The man was tall and bespectacled, and he wore a loose green shirt against crisp blue jeans. The woman wore a dominating black blouse on top of formal black slacks. They both looked young, lean and hungry, and I instinctively clutched at the book I was holding with greedy fingers.

"We know who you are, Sean Uy," the man said.

I only clutched harder at the book, in case I needed to use it as a weapon. "How do you know my name?" I asked.

"We've been watching you for some time," the man said.

"Do tell," I answered, cautiously standing up. "What business do you have with me?"

"We have a proposition for you."

It had come to this, I realized. I had spent too much time in the bargain bookstores, too many moments perusing dusty shelves and ancient stock, all for the want of new reading material. It was only a matter of time before my presence would have been observed and recorded. It was only a matter of time before they came for me.

I tucked the book under my arm. "There are thirteen more shelves in this establishment that I haven't yet visited," I said. "If you have a proposition for me, you'd better name it right now, or else stop wasting my time."

"We represent a consortium, Mr. Uy," the man said, removing his glasses. "A small consortium with powerful members."

"And what would this consortium want with me?"

"You are a man of developing skills, Mr. Uy. You know the correct price for a rare back issue, the scarcity of a long-forgotten series, and the volatility of the collectibles market. You can spot a single relevant title from a stack of three thousand covers about five meters away."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"We are hunters," the man said. "Simple lovers of good books, and ruthless hunters of the same. Each of us has a different set of interests, Mr. Uy, and we employ a great deal of talent with skills similar to yours."

"And you want me to be part of your talent pool?" I asked. "Is this the meaning of the entire black charade?"

The woman started forward. "Why, you insolent little ass," she said. "Do you know just who you're talking to?"

The man laughed at this, and I wasn't sure if he was amused by my response or her reaction. He drew a soft white cloth from his pocket, and began wiping his glasses in the silence of the aisle.

"Our operation is quite simple, Mr. Uy. Each of us is a bibliophile, much like you are turning out to be. Each of us scours the magazine racks, the bargain outlets, and the garage sales for many an elusive volume to read. But we're only human, and we can't be in more than one place at a time. We're each mostly confined to our own little areas."

I smiled. "I know this," I told him. "You can't get rid of that nagging feeling, can't you? That crawling sensation that you have when you imagine that there's a valuable book sometime, somewhere far away you can't find or reach. Maybe you're at work when the store gets its new shipment. Maybe you're three hundred miles to the north, wondering about that convention in the south. Maybe you lie awake at night, concerned about how many books out there you've missed, all of them sitting somewhere beyond your long, dark reach."

The man stopped cold. The woman snarled silently at me, and I knew I had them all figured out.

"What we ask is simplicity itself, Mr. Uy. Each of us has a list of wants and needs. All that we require each of our members to do is to keep such a list in mind whenever they browse the shelves in their own spare time."

"What, then," I growled, "if it means that I'm doing your shopping for you?"

"Oh, you won't be doing our shopping for us, Mr. Uy. You'll just be... canvassing for us, in a way. If one of us seeks a Diana Wynne Jones novel that you should find, then you drop us a line. Should one of us demand a second-edition Crichton manuscript, then you shall reserve a copy if you ever manage to locate one."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"The same, Mr. Uy. That lost Steve Jackson volume that you're been looking for? Should one of our contacts finds it, then you can be notified within minutes. That rare interactive Escape series that you've been seeking for the past ten years? We can have you on the site within an hour, if one of our operatives sees fit to make a call."

My mouth felt dry and heavy. I raised an eyebrow in swift anticipation, but lowered it a second later when I realized the consequences.

"No deal," I said.

"No deal?" the woman answered.

"No deal."

A smile played at the corner of the man's mouth. "Fascinating," he said. "I suppose you would care to enlighten us as to your reasoning?"

"You've got a good idea there," I said. "It looks good on the paper you've scribbled on. But reality has a way of tilting things out of whack, and it's reality — and more than a bit of human behavior, mind you — that will cause it to collapse like a house of cards."

The woman glared at me as though I was throwing away a golden opportunity. The smile never left her companion's lips, and I wondered if he somehow knew something that I didn't.

"People don't always visit the bookstores just to look for books," I said. "That's an unrealistic way of looking at things. Since when was the last time you passed by a place to buy that one exact volume that happens to be on your mind? People browse — and it's only when their sense of curiosity is sated do they actually bring their choices to the cashier's post."

"You say that as though you truly believe in it," the man said. "But we know better. Each of us has a list in our own minds, a true idea of wants that we constantly seek in the literary receptacles. And we're always looking for those."

"Take a close look at those 'lists' sometime," I said. "It's easy to say that you want a first-edition copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, for example. But how specific are your requests? How sure can you get when there are tons of variants and endless minutiae out there?"

"Perhaps the tables have turned, Mr. Uy. One of us now seems to be wasting the other's time."

"Stephen King is on my list, you imbecile. But I neither look for just any Stephen King work, nor do I search for select volumes. I look for Stephen King works that I find interesting, something that I believe will be worth the time they take to read.

"I can entrust the responsibility of specific titles to another person, but I can't entrust the impression that comes from my heart and mind. I want to leaf through my books, find something good enough to read, and then take it home. And I am the sole arbitrator of such personal standards.

"I don't want thirty people telling me that they've found a Stephen King novel in such-and-such a store, because Stephen King is in practically every sale. I want to find him myself, and I don't want to be beholden to you all just because you're looking for something that I may or may not be able to find."

The man drew himself up, his glasses reflecting the cold glint of silicon and wire across the sparse light. He seemed to grow across the shadows of the empty aisle, and his companion shrunk against the chill of his long gaze.

"You are a fool, Mr. Uy. We seek to do a service across those... collectors... who only wish to fulfill their literary desires."

"Then you're talking to the wrong person," I said. "I'm not one of your so-called 'collectors'. I'm just a plain old reader, looking for new books."

For a moment, I thought that the man was going to do something rash and regrettable. For a moment I imagined thunder and lightning to emerge from his form. But the shadows held back at that point, and the light resumed its march, enough for him to lean back against the shelves and fix me with nothing more than his companion's cold glare.

"You will understand in time, Mr. Uy," he said. "I hope that, by the time you realize just what you have denied this day, then you shall still be able to find all of what you seek."

And in an instant, both the man and the woman were gone.

I turned back to the shelf, feeling the brittle pages of the paperback book under my arm and wondering if, perhaps, the wisdom was there. We all had certain items on our watch list, after all, certain items to look for in the darkest recesses of the bargain bins and the rotten corners of forgotten warehouses. To the collectors, ignorance may have been bliss, and knowledge divine.

Then I found another title that looked as though it might have provided some interesting midnight reading, and I settled down to browse.

The Spoils

2009-07-22T01:08:00.002+08:00

I've been hitting the bookstores pretty hard lately.

I'm not sure why, really. I imagine that I've suddenly developed a burning need to read stuff; my office laptop is littered with free e-book samples and gazeteers, I troll the international RPG forums looking for campaign journals to pore through, and of course, there's the aforementioned bookstore visits to consider.

My work is an easy culprit to identify — it's both challenging and exhausting at the same time. When you have to think on your feet and dream up ways to meet a flood of deadlines, you tend to use up a significant portion of your resourcefulness each day.

That said, my circumstances still don't give me a good reason behind my sudden bookstore visits. When the urge first came along, I started hitting the high-class places with discount card in tow. Only recently have I come to my senses and focused these attentions on the cheaper book sales; if I'm going to have to feed a temporary addiction, I hope that I don't break my bank accounts in the process.

I actually put together a short, personal guide to bargain bookstores a few months ago, and I still follow these same expectations. Bargain bookstores (or book sales, or whatever you want to call them) really haven't changed much over the years. I imagine that there are now more than a few bibliophiles who know exactly how to scour a new branch each month, and promptly pick it clean of those volumes that they find interesting.

The last few weeks have made me realize that I approach each book sale with a certain set of goals in mind. My first priority, of course, is to seek out and hoard any particular books that I'm looking for. From there, my second priority involves looking through any titles that seem interesting enough to take home and read. My third priority then involves checking out specific authors or series for collection filler or familiar ground. Finally, if all else fails and I can't find a single thing that I would want to pick up, I just grab the strangest item in the bunch (as long as it's cheap, of course) and bring it to the cash register.

I find that this is not a very organized system, but it does ensure that I leave every book sale with at least one paperback package tucked under my arm. This inevitably gets added to the clutter of a room that has bookpiles in some of the strangest places.

This doesn't even begin to cover the habits I've developed in the bargain bookstore aisles. For starters, I've developed the "bibliophile squat", a maneuver that allows me to inspect the lowest shelves on the pads of my feet for minutes at a time. In cramped spaces or narrow passages where people will inevitably want to walk by, I employ the "crustacean shimmy", so as to let them pass without interrupting my otherwise oblivious stupor.

There are a couple of bookstores that most likely have developed stories about me. In one of them, I spent a solid two hours scouring the bookshelves once it became obvious that at least fifteen volumes of a hard-to-find series were scattered among the collection there. In another, I became so disgusted at the way the books were organized that I started stacking and collating them myself. In the former case, I found myself spending almost a thousand pesos in front of a very surprised cashier; in the latter, I ended up getting some dirty looks from someone who I took to be the branch manager.

The most irritating habit that I've developed so far, however, involves the impromptu "dusting" some of the grimier volumes. I'm allergic to dust, so I can't just start wiping books or melodramatically blowing the tiny particles away... so I end up whacking them once or twice against a convenient surface. Like, say, the seat of my pants.

This has yet to give me any strange looks. I imagine that the people who frequent bargain bookstores themselves have habits that are strange enough to warrant ignorance of mine.

I act a lot more "civilized" when it comes to the more expensive bookstores, of course — these are the places where the titles come shrink-wrapped, and where you can mill around doing absolutely nothing each day until the time comes to grab a Mocha Frappe at the nearest Starbucks. I tend to score a lot more impulsive buys in these areas — if only because I find it difficult to judge books that I can't conveniently open for all of the plastic that covers them. (Yes, it would be easy for me to simply remove the silly wrappers under the watch of a bookstore employee... but why bother?)

That said, even these places aren't safe from my strange habits. I tend to ask the employees about the quality of certain titles, for example. Every now and then I get into a self-propelled debate on the merits of one writer over another, which usually gets me a nod and a smile from people who probably couldn't care less about what I'm talking about. They probably get the same drill from other customers, I think.

I suspect that I've picked up at least thirty different titles in this way over the last few months, with ten of them from the previous two weeks alone. At my current rate of reading, that means that I've got enough to last me about two to three months or so; nevertheless, I still continue to pick up books.

Perhaps it's an obsession. Perhaps it's a compulsion. Perhaps it's merely an outlet for my own curious brand of deviant behavior. Whatever the case, I'm now a hoarder of volumes for my own reading pleasure, which would be nice if it weren't for the fact that I'm rapidly running out of shelf (and room) space.

The other day I inquired about the sale price of a massive plastic container, big enough to fit a small TV with matching DVD player and game system. The saleslady at that time made the unfortunate decision of asking me what I wanted it for, and when I told her that it was for my books, she clearly didn't believe me.

It's just as well, I suppose. Maybe I should start saving for the dump truck...

I Know Where This is Leading...

2009-07-15T01:09:00.002+08:00

Recent exercises in internet surfing have led me to rediscover the Strange Horizons web site. Strange Horizons, you see, is an online publication that's been running for almost ten years now; it focuses on speculative fiction that is made far more interesting by its access to an international stable of writers.

More importantly for this post, however, Strange Horizons is also the home of one of the more fascinating lists on the Net. Ten years of running a regular publication schedule means that the magazine's editors have come across their share of common, clichéd, and castrated stories, and at some point they decided to make an interesting response: They gathered some of the most irritating and overused plot ideas they'd seen, and put up the resulting list in their submissions area like some great warning in big red letters.

Naturally, this list makes for some very fun reading. Got a story idea that you tend to use over and over again? It's here somewhere. Noticed a common theme among the current crop of bestsellers? It's probably about halfway down the page. The list isn't exhaustive and may be somewhat opinionated (because it's only based on Strange Horizon's personal standards, after all), but it's great for a few minutes of derisive laughter.

Let's take one of my favorites as an example. Item 4 in their list of overused plots and themes notes the following:

Weird things happen, but it turns out they're not real.
In the end, it turns out it was all a dream.
In the end, it turns out it was all in virtual reality.
In the end, it turns out the protagonist is insane.
In the end, it turns out the protagonist is writing a novel and the events we've seen are part of the novel.

This never fails to get a chuckle out of me, because it's true. Somehow, sometime, somewhere, there's always an aspiring writer who makes the fateful decision to end their masterpiece with "...and it was all a dream," completely unaware of just how insulting it is to readers and editors alike. (That said, I like to think that we all grow out of this phase, eventually.)

And lest you think that I only laugh at this because I'm almost completely immune from their identified stereotypes, I must point out Item 9 on their list:

A "surprise" twist ending occurs. (Note that we do like endings that we didn't expect, as long as they derive naturally from character action. But note, too, that we've seen a lot of twist endings, and we find most of them to be pretty predictable, even the ones not on this list.)

That, ladies and gentlemen, is my writing to a T, and I was still greatly amused.

That said, I didn't necessarily bring up this article to praise Caesar, and the reason can be found early in the list, in the lower reaches of Item 2:

Creative person is having trouble creating.
Writer has writer's block.
Painter can't seem to paint anything good.
Sculptor can't seem to sculpt anything good.
Creative person's work is reviled by critics who don't understand how brilliant it is.
Creative person meets a muse (either one of the nine classical Muses or a more individual muse) and interacts with them, usually by keeping them captive.

To be honest, I have seen a few of these floating around, and I have yet to read one that's good.

Except perhaps for Neil Gaiman's Calliope.

Calliope, mind you, isn't technically a short story. It's a comic that was featured in The Sandman series, published by DC Comics's Vertigo line, written by Neil Gaiman, pencilled by Kelley Jones and inked by Malcolm Jones III. It's about a struggling author who acquires one of the nine Muses of Greek Mythology and keeps her captive in order to establish a constant stream of ideas. In short, it's a plot that falls squarely on Strange Horizon's list.

Except that Calliope predates Strange Horizon's list. Come to think of it, Calliope seems to predate every single story concerning lost creators and captive muses. Neil Gaiman, in fact, pointed this out about five years ago, and I assume that he's being perfectly straight with us on this matter.

I can only assume that Calliope was an innovative story for its time, and that it probably ended up spawning an entire host of imitators (perhaps due to the hive-minded subconscious that all writers seem to share). Fast-forward a few years and you have a group of editors at an online magazine who have seen more "captive muse" stories than they can take. Ergo, the "captive muse" plotline is suddenly an overused one, fit only for a bit of laughter at how unoriginal people can be.

So what happens when an editor who has read one too many "captive muse" stories finally gets his or her hands on Calliope? Such a hypothetical scenario boggles the mind.

I wonder if this is more a matter of "shelf life" than anything else. Certain plotlines do run their course, after all, and it's entirely possible that something of great relevance and distinction in the past may no longer have the same impact in the present (which is why James Bond eventually moved away from the Cold War scenarios of his youth).

On the other hand, it could also be an issue where repetition diminishes creative impact. JK Rowling's Harry Potter series, for example, spawned an entire host of imitations, most or all of which concerned pre-teens with magical powers, or fantastic worlds that exist alongside our own. But what would happen if, in the middle of this scenario, some excellent story of similar subject matter but better quality than Rowling's writings, came out? Would a significant audience turn their interest towards that work as well?

I suspect that the answer is "no" here, and I suspect that public reaction would consider the second work to be another imitator that couldn't stand on its own. Timing can be such a jerk sometimes.

So it turns out that I do have a problem with the Strange Horizons list after all. The list does make me laugh, yes, because I know that both I and an entire host of writers out there have made the mistake of using those overused, overwrought, and overexposed plotlines. But the list also makes me think, because it now begs the question: Does this mean that I shouldn't use those ideas for stories at all?

And the answer is that I should still be able to write these things. I shouldn't care what Strange Horizons or anyone else says in this regard; if I feel that a story is best served with a captive muse, a subtle plot twist, or even — God forbid — a release from the fictive dream at the end, then I should use it. I mean, if I feel that it should work like that... then, well... it should work like that.

And if I write such a plotline, there's a good chance that some editor out there will gloss over my story, file it among the stereotypical "nonsense" themes that she has tucked away in her head somewhere, and start filling out the rejection slip. I like to think that there are good editors out there, of course, but let's face it — everyone does have their own prejudices, their own first impressions, their own pet peeves.

Innovation, I suppose, shouldn't automatically mean coming up with brand-new ideas. Innovation should also involve taking old ideas and pushing them forward in a new way. It's another lesson that we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions about anything; sometimes it's better to see if that road actually takes you to where you expect it would.

We may have heard it all before, and perhaps we've already taken the words to heart. Perhaps we've even incorporated them as part of our belief system.

But I must conclude that lists like these are more curiosities in the long run. They're like the red octagonal STOP signs — there to provide a warning against a danger that may or may not exist. Eventually we have to hold the notion of stopping in our own minds, molding it to the point where we know why the rule exists and under what circumstances it can be bent or broken.

I feel that there are few certainties in the writing effort, and as interesting as this list can be, it shouldn't stop me from trying things out and seeing what I can do with them.

Neither, for that matter, should it stop anyone. Play with your ideas as you like.

The Last Regulation

2009-07-14T00:09:00.002+08:00

No processed meats.

No internal organs.

Limited amounts of duck, lamb and other uncommon meats.

Lower amounts of beef and pork.

No fats.

Nothing deep-fried.

No alcohol.

Singular carbohydrates per meal.

Reduced consumption of cheese and other dairy products.

Less salt.

Drastic reduction in sugars.

Reduced consumption of fruits.

...

If you're curious, last night's dinner involved a nice cottage cheese spread on a loaf of processed cardboard, with some fresh salad greens on the side. Delicious.

Patience

2009-07-08T01:39:00.002+08:00

Option number one: A eulogy for Michael Jackson.

Option number two: Another attempt at a short story.

Never let it be said that the prospect of writing a blog post was an easy one. I resolved to write something within the previous weekend, and these were the two things I was dithering about.

In the end, I decided to go for the short story. Michael Jackson has a ton of online memorials about his untimely passing already, and while I do want to leave some words on the death of a musical icon, I find it harder and harder nowadays to say something that the rest of the crowd hasn't already mentioned.

So I'm writing a short story. It's reached about 1,700 words so far, which indicates something with enough pace and flow to keep my interest. The only issue is that I don't have that much time to write nowadays, and even at my current rate of eight hundred to nine hundred words per session, it might take me a while to finish this. Michael Jackson will definitely have to wait a little longer.

What's funny is that I don't even intend for this work to be published anywhere apart from this blog. I'm just getting my groove on, that's all — it's been a while since I hit the publishing venues, and it's about time that I called back the muse from her cigarette break. I think of this as a bit of practice.

Stay tuned, then, and be patient. This stuff will come around.

Disclaimer: July 2009

2009-07-03T00:00:00.002+08:00

I was conducting a short crash course on forum moderation the other day. It was right in the middle of a short discussion on plagiarism in forum posts, however, when somebody raised their hand in my face.

"I'm not taking questions yet," I said.

"Yeah, but how can you tell if a guy is infringing copyright or not?"

That opened up a whole can of worms, I have to admit. Discussion forums aren't the most common place to find copyright violations, seeing that most forum posts are short and reactive by nature. However, I recalled an old case where the Sassy Lawyer found one of her articles copied and pasted in its entirety on a local board, which indicated that there was the possibility that such a thing could happen.

The first thing that I pointed out was the lack of "voice". A plagiarized post is usually presented in a tone and style that is different from the poster's usual approach, obviously because the work didn't come from the same source. In short, you could put the suspicious piece alongside the poster's previous works and identify marked differences between the two.

"Every writer has a distinct style," I said. "Taking my blog as an example, you'll notice that its works tend to go in certain directions. The words are chosen well enough that the posts make sense, but not so well that the writer doesn't come off as long-winded. There's also a noticeable trend towards strange humor, and the works of fiction make heavy use of dialogue and plot twists.

"That said, it's sometimes difficult to read tone and style, so another good move would involve Googling an excerpt of the suspicious work. Most Internet plagiarists will take stuff from whatever sites are handy, so if a work was stolen, you're likely to find an online source."

Someone raised their hand. "What if somebody copied it from a web site, but changed some words so that no one could tell that it was plagiarized? Or what if they retyped it from a non-online source?"

"If anyone would be willing to put that much work into the piece," I said, "then they probably would not have taken the work in the first place. They would normally just write something on their own. But even if you make some small adjustments, there's a good chance that the rest of the work would come out on an online search."

"So what should we do if this happens?"

"Easy," I said. "You just have to remove the offending content, then place a moderator's warning at the bottom of the post. Tell them the right thing to do."

"Which is...?"

"That if they use any information from any outside source, they should include an acknowledgment of that source. Usually a link to the original web site is preferred. This is the approach that I use on my own blog — everything I write there is completely original, except for those areas that I borrow, reference or quote... and it's those items where I place my links."

"Okay."

"Sometimes you might run into the reverse situation — someone from outside the web site contacts you and tells you that one of their works was unlawfully taken and posted in the forums. In that case, you should remove the content and put up a notice in its place. Normally the authors would be willing to negotiate over the use of the work, but as a blanket policy, you should remove these at the first sign of any issues.

"I've never had such a dispute with any external source, but on my end, I would try to talk it over with them and smooth out any differences. If I would prefer to keep using the reference (which is unlikely for most forums), I'd negotiate.

"That goes for any work originating on the forum that gets used on the outside, too. For me, I want to get asked for permission before anyone uses my work. That's usually all that there is to it, and you'd be surprised at how many people don't even bother to do that. I don't want to find that me work got credited to someone else who had absolutely nothing to do with its creation. Neither do I want to find my work used to slander and ruin people, much less get interpreted outside its original context."

Another hand went up. "So what do we do if somebody's work on the forums gets stolen?"

"There's not much you can do, because that's technically out of your scope," I said. "But you should at least inform the owner if he or she doesn't know yet. From there, it'll be up to them on what action they want to take. Be prepared to provide information to the authorities if the issue gets investigated. I would suggest that you lock the post or thread immediately to preserve the evidence; that's what the timestamps are for.

"If you're wondering, the usual penalty for copyright infringement usually involves monetary compensation. Bigger cases may see a betrayal of trust of some sort, and may have stiffer penalties. That's not discounting whatever the owner of the work can think of. Online, there are things worse than what the authorities can dream up."

I looked over my tiny audience. "Any other questions before we move on?" I asked.

When there were no responses, I turned back to the whiteboard. "Okay," I said, "the next thing that we need to discuss is the prevalence of the 'Me Too' response in discussion forums..."

Math for an MBA, Part 2

2009-06-26T00:36:00.002+08:00

The first part of the story is here, along with the questions that took about an hour to consider and another hour to conceptualize. After some deliberation, I settled on four areas that seemed to fit into the "MBA Entrance Exam" mold: Percentages, Averages, Multiple-Variable problems, and Logical Reasoning.

Percentages are simple problems involving percentage calculations: "What is 75% of 40?" belongs in this mold. They have a very practical real-life application in bank lending and interest rates, occasionally make guest appearances in Accounting problems, and tend to show up on project status reports. As a result, I felt that a refresher on these would not be amiss.

Averages are similarly easy, although I wanted to approach them from a roundabout direction. Most problems in this area involve calculating the average of a set of values; I wanted to turn this on its head and ask a question where you needed to get a specific value in a series, given the average as one of your clues.

Multiple-variable problems, on the other hand, were certainties. I had given a friend some help on one of these for her MBA class before, so if there were any problems that were likely to show up, it would be these. You've probably seen them before; these are the tedious word problems where you have to figure out the values of more than one item.

Logical reasoning is harder to describe. This is not a subset of problems, mind you, as much as it is the ability to organize given information, identify an unknown value, and then use one to work towards the other. It's obviously used extensively in business, although in a less mathematical sense. But I'm convinced that it's the mathematical training that helps us apply it to non-math outlets.

Given this outline, all that I had left to do was to write the questions:

1. Three chickens can lay three eggs in three days. In how many days can you expect 18 chickens to lay 18 eggs?

This was a question of logical reasoning, plain and simple. I see it appear in a lot of IQ tests and other cognitive exams, and I've seen some very smart people give some very wrong answers as well. Most people, in fact, will trust in their faulty pattern-recognition senses and say "18 days!" right off the bat.

The answer is a lot more mundane. If three chickens lay three eggs, with all other factors being equal, then it stands to reason that each chicken laid one egg. If these three chickens laid those three eggs in a matter of three days, then it follows that each chicken needs three days to lay one egg. Therefore eighteen chickens would come up with eighteen eggs in those same three days.

2. You have exactly Php 35,000.00 in a bank account that gains 2% compound interest per annum. Assuming that you neither deposit nor withdraw any money from that account, how much will the account contain after two years?

I wanted to throw in at least question that implied a real-world application of a mathematical principle, and this was that question. The easy way to solve this is to just get ((35,000 x 102%) x 102%) for a total of Php 36,414.00. That said, I only realized afterwards that banks hardly use the term "compound interest" anymore, which puts up the wall between theory and practice again.

3. I need an average score of 93 among my exams in order to pass one of my courses. So far, the grades that I got in five earlier exams were 90, 97, 87, 100, and 86. What is the minimum grade that I should get on the sixth (and final) exam in order to pass?

This is a reverse-average problem that is commonly known as "the Student's Dillemma", and I'm sure that a lot of people out there learned to put these calculations together at some point in their academic lives. I won't cover the answer here, as it's really just a throwback to what we were all probably doing around our final exam weeks.

4. A bicyclist travels at a steady rate of 8 kilometers per hour. She leaves her house at 2:00pm and rides her bike to the supermarket. Halfway there, she realizes that she's forgotten her shopping list and returns home to get it, then sets out for the supermarket again. She arrives there at 4:30pm. What is the distance from her house to the supermarket?

I put this problem here for one basic purpose: It encourages the solver to draw a chart. I feel that visualization is an important part of logical reasoning — if you can envision the cyclist's journey in your mind, then so much the better, but if not, you can just doodle something that lets you conclude that she travelled a total of twice her original intended distance from 2:00 to 4:30. That means that she normally travels the path to the supermarket in 75 minutes at 8 km/h... which makes the distance 10 kilometers.

5. A 200-liter mixture is comprised of 20% water, 30% salt, 10% sugar, 15% sand, and 25% gold. This mixture is left out in the sun for a few hours, after which all the water is found to have evaporated. What percentage of the resulting mixture is made up of gold?

And now the problems get a whole lot harder. I set up this percentage problem to illustrate the fact that percentages are non-constant values, and that they change with the introduction or removal of new factors. The easiest way to get the answer here is to realize that you're just looking for an equivalent of 25 parts out of the remaining 80 units, which makes 31.25%.

One interesting quirk about this problem was the fact that you technically don't need the volume of the original mixture to solve it. In fact, you can give the original mixture and quantity you want and the answer will still be the same... but I wasn't about to introduce that to people who had spent years away from their high school math classes.

6. A motorboat needs three hours to travel upstream, but it only needs one hour to travel downstream. When there is no current, the motorboat moves at a constant four kilometers per hour. What is the rate at which the river's current flows?

This took things a little further; It's actually rather difficult to solve if you slept through most of your math classes. In fact, it's another problem that encourages you to draw... although a chart instead of a diagram is needed in this case.

Rate-Time-Distance problems like these usually need a bit of background. You need to know that Rate x Time = Distance, of course, but you also need to know that an opposing force will lower an object's effective rate of travel (and vice-versa). Ergo, the river will slow you down by its own rate when you go upstream, but it'll make you go faster by the same rate when you go downstream.

Assuming that the river's rate is R, we get:

(4 + R) x 1 = distance travelled downstream = distance travelled upstream = (4 - R) x 3

From there, it just boils down to:

(4 + R) = (4 - R) x 3
4 + R = 12 - 3R
4R = 8
R = 2 km/h

7. Three bowling balls and four frying pans weigh 54 pounds in total. Four bowling balls and one telephone weigh 54 pounds in total. Three telephones and eight frying pans also weigh 54 pounds in total. What is the total weight of one bowling ball, one frying pan, and one telephone?

This is the classic three-variable problem: Three unknown quantities, and three equations. I chose the objects completely at random only because I like choosing objects completely at random.

The interesting part is that I deliberately screwed around with the numbers here — while a bowling ball weighs 12 pounds and a telephone weighs 6 pounds, a frying pan weighs 4.5 pounds. I find that some solvers normally get thrown off by the decimal value for some reason, perhaps because it makes them think that they're on the wrong track.

8. Anthony, Beatrice and Charles win the lottery on a single ticket. They decide that they will each take 30% of the total, and then set aside the remaining 10% for future needs. After the money is deposited in their bank, however, each of the three friends arrives separately to claim their share. Anthony arrives first and withdraws 30% of the money. Beatrice arrives a few hours later, and withdraws 30% of what's left. Finally, Charles arrives some time later and withdraws 30% of what's left. At this point, only Php 205,800.00 is left in the account. How much did the three friends originally win in the lottery?

This is actually a problem that gets featured in a lot of puzzle books. While it's possible to solve this by means of basic algebra, the circumstances of the problem tend to leave people confused on where to start. Yes, this actually centers more on logical reasoning than percentages. Yes, I threw the two of them together to try and confuse my solvers further.

Problems like these encourage logical thinking — they force the solver to stop, think, and determine their battle plan before trying to tackle the problem. In this case, the way the logic should go is that that 205,800 represents 70% of the money that Charles saw (before he took his 30%). This amount represents 70% of the money that Beatrice originally found in the account, which is 70% of the money that Anthony found in the unblemished account. Therefore:

205,800 is 70% of the money that Charles saw...
— Charles originally saw 294,000 in the account.

294,400 is 70% of the money that Beatrice saw...
— Beatrice originally saw 420,000 in the account.

420,000 is 70% of the money that Anthony saw...
— Anthony originally saw 600,000 in the account.

And now I must admit that it all turned out to be for nothing, because we both ended up so busy the night before the exam that we never got around to the problems. I managed to fire off a quick question about chickens and eggs (which my friend got wrong), but we otherwise weren't able to go through the eight items above.

The next morning, my friend called to tell me that the exam was much easier than he expected, and that math only played a very small role in this regard. There were plenty of real-world logical scenarios and a few questions of general knowledge, but nothing beyond the simplified "What is 75% of 40?" percentage problems that I mentioned at the start of this article.

I suppose it's too much to ask. Math is more a tool for mental stimulation in schools, something that acts as a precursor to the logical thought that we use when we're older. You can't expect business professionals to maintain passion (much less practical use) for these theoretical concepts... especially when it comes to a post-graduate program that concentrates on cooperation and networking.

The test still sits on my desk, however, waiting for the next time that another MBA applicant asks for my assistance. On top of that, I have more word problems where that came from. It's only a matter of time before somebody asks me for another favor...

Math for an MBA, Part 1

2009-06-25T01:10:00.002+08:00

A few days ago, someone asked me to give him a hand with the MBA entrance exam he was taking on Saturday morning. "You still remember what we learned in Math class," he told me, "and you obviously practice it a lot."

"Yeah, well... the math in an MBA course isn't that tough. I've helped out at least one other person with his MBA homework, and it didn't go any farther than algebra and number theory. It's high school stuff."

"I don't remember most of what we studied in high school. And it's the entrance exam... who knows what questions will come out? You know this better than I do, so give me a hand here."

I admit that I couldn't deny him the favor, and I suppose that part of me was itching to do some heavy-duty tutoring, so I said yes. Since we only had about one night's worth of time to go through the basics (us being working stiffs and all), I needed to gather my thoughts and imagine what kind of math was likely to come out in a bunch of MBA classes.

Eventually I came up with a list of eight questions for discussion, which I'll post here. I've come up with Math tests before (mostly for my siblings when they were in school), but this is the first time I've come up with a series of questions for an MBA applicant. If there was any point to this entire exercise, it lay in the matter of what was likely to come out, and what was not.

I eliminated such irritants as Calculus and Trigonometry right off the bat, for example. I felt that these were highly unlikely to come up in a Business Administration course, because they obviously require a lot of theoretical background and advanced thinking. Geometry was the next to go, because as basic as the math is, the concepts didn't apply to management principles. Probability and Combinatorics remained by the wayside as well, although those were among my favorites to explore.

After an hour's worth of thought, I had pared down my ideas into a limited set of concepts that felt as though they belonged in an MBA environment, and were fundamental enough to appear in an entrance exam. From these, I pulled together eight questions that my friend and I could discuss, and I now post them below for your viewing pleasure:

1. Three chickens can lay three eggs in three days. In how many days can you expect 18 chickens to lay 18 eggs?

2. You have exactly Php 35,000.00 in a bank account that gains 2% compound interest per annum. Assuming that you neither deposit nor withdraw any money from that account, how much will the account contain after two years?

3. I need an average score of 93 among my exams in order to pass one of my courses. So far, the grades that I got in five earlier exams were 90, 97, 87, 100, and 86. What is the minimum grade that I should get on the sixth (and final) exam in order to pass?

4. A bicyclist travels at a steady rate of 8 kilometers per hour. She leaves her house at 2:00pm and rides her bike to the supermarket. Halfway there, she realizes that she's forgotten her shopping list and returns home to get it, then sets out for the supermarket again. She arrives there at 4:30pm. What is the distance from her house to the supermarket?

5. A 200-liter mixture is comprised of 20% water, 30% salt, 10% sugar, 15% sand, and 25% gold. This mixture is left out in the sun for a few hours, after which all the water is found to have evaporated. What percentage of the resulting mixture is made up of gold?

6. A motorboat needs three hours to travel upstream, but it only needs one hour to travel downstream. When there is no current, the motorboat moves at a constant four kilometers per hour. What is the rate at which the river's current flows?

7. Three bowling balls and four frying pans weigh 54 pounds in total. Four bowling balls and one telephone weigh 54 pounds in total. Three telephones and eight frying pans also weigh 54 pounds in total. What is the total weight of one bowling ball, one frying pan, and one telephone?

8. Anthony, Beatrice and Charles win the lottery on a single ticket. They decide that they will each take 30% of the total, and then set aside the remaining 10% for future needs. After the money is deposited in their bank, however, each of the three friends arrives separately to claim their share. Anthony arrives first and withdraws 30% of the money. Beatrice arrives a few hours later, and withdraws 30% of what's left. Finally, Charles arrives some time later and withdraws 30% of what's left. At this point, only Php 205,800.00 is left in the account. How much did the three friends originally win in the lottery?

While it would be easy for me to just put up the answers to each of these and call it a day, that wouldn't be enough for a second article on this subject. I feel that there's a specific reason why I prepared each one of these questions... and that these reasons are worthwhile to discuss.

That said, those words will have to wait till tomorrow, I think. It's almost two in the morning at this time, and in the intervening hours, you're welcome to have a crack at these. I know that it's no Sudoku, but wouldn't you be interested to see how much you remember from your high school math?

Export to Hard Drive

2009-06-20T14:34:00.001+08:00

I spent a few minutes doing a backup of this blog a little while ago, based on Dominique's revelation that Blogger now has an Export feature. That's not to say that I'm paranoid and constantly afraid that Big Brother is going to delete all my records one day, but I have had a lot of words posted here for the past four or five years.

To be honest, the Multiply site that I set up some months ago already acts as a backup — that is, whenever it's picking up my posts properly. However, I feel more comfortable knowing that there's a method that allows me to be responsible for making my own archives, as opposed to worrying about a point in time when I might lose everything.

That, and I've just realized that all of my posts since 2004, all of the code and comments and image links, comes to a mere 7.1mb on my hard drive. I feel so inadequate.

Then I mused on the fact that I have a lot of words posted here, so I opened up the XML file in a browser window, then took advantage of the clipboard in order to copy and paste the resulting mishmash into a Word document. The whole operation took me ten whole minutes at my current level of memory (and thirty more minutes because MS Word insists on annotating every single spelling and grammatical error in its documents), but I eventually got the numbers: The backup file contained about 3.6 million characters in 640,000 words. Given a conservative estimate that I wrote about 70% of those words, that puts my total so far at about 450,000 words scattered throughout this blog. I'm no slouch there, at least.

That also implies that I write an average of five or six letters per word. This is a surprise, considering my habit at wordiness.

I'm now working on exactly what kind of backup schedule and procedure I should use. I mean, I'm not sure if it's a smart move to produce archives only when I feel like doing so, not in an age where our government is debating legal standards for open reporting. Pushing a seven-megabyte file each time I post something new, however, will just eat my time in front of the modern boob tube.

Or I could just forget about my budding paranoia and just post more often. But then that would discourage me from playing with all the lovely numbers.

Ah well.

A Man's Psychology Can Be Inferred by His Choice of Street Fighter

2009-06-17T23:27:00.003+08:00

Ryu. You are an intensely competitive person. You exercise yourself both mentally and physically before an endeavor; you don't like walking into situations unprepared. You are incapable of thinking outside of the box, and instead resort to tried-and-tested methods in order to achieve your goals. You use these methods for a reason, mainly the fact that they work... and on top of that, you know exactly how to implement them to the best of your advantage.

Ken. As above, except that you're far more flashy and charismatic. You've got the mad skills — but some time ago, you realized that Number One happens to be a lonely place. You've played the field and are comfortable in the knowledge that you know how to deal with things... enough to go about them with a casual attitude and a sardonic smile on your face. You're really not as good as you think you are, but you're not going to lose as long as people think otherwise.

Chun-Li. You think on your feet. You're a guarded, cautious person who prepares a strategy beforehand and fully expects it to fall apart... which means that you have plenty of practice making last-minute changes. Reaction is almost instinctual in you, and life for you can be reduced to a series of moves and countermoves against the people you play with. You know when to push and you know when to wait; it's all part of the same game.

Guile. It's not about how well you do in the world, really. Instead, you feel that it's all about how you can take advantage of the opportunities that you observe. You are constantly on the lookout for openings — weak spots where you can drive your point home, or at least areas where you can push your own agenda. You're not into self-improvement as much as you are into using your strengths: If someone breaks one of your arms in a fight, you're just going to hit them with the other one. The only way people can get past you is if you let them through.

Blanka. You like to get up close and personal; the best way to solve a problem is to throw yourself into the solution. You have a lot of scars from experiences gone wrong, and often your misadventures outnumber your achievements... but your successes are held in high enough esteem that people don't consider you a slouch. You may not be strong or smart enough to hang with the best of them the first time, but eventually you'll get there. Just expect to get a lot of pain for all your trouble.

E. Honda. People don't expect much from you, and that's where the secret lies. You like being the underdog, the person who doesn't seem to hold much promise until you snatch success out from under everybody's nose. You're not as fast as them — but you're fast enough. You're not as skilled as them — but you're skilled enough. Your plan is to let them settle into their preconceived notions for as long as possible... then pull the gloves off and show them how you really roll.

Zangief. You hit things to make them work. You don't pretend to have an understanding of the basic nature of things like all the others claim to have, and that's because you don't. Why bother gathering every bit of information you can, when you just have to know what to do? That's the way the world works: You just need to point yourself in the right direction and pull the trigger. Everything else is just an irritating buzzing noise in your ears.

Dhalsim. You like surprising people, especially when you can defy their expectations so completely. If they expect you to go left, then you go right. People are at their worst when they're extremely predictable, and that's how you discovered the wonder of creativity and random choice. No one can ever figure out exactly what you're doing until the last moment, and that's when they find out that your eye has been on the prize for a long time. They may be ready, but they certainly won't be ready for you.

* No, this is not a serious psychological study or profile. This is a completely random article with no academic basis whatsoever, so lay off any accusations that I've favored one character over another. Street Fighter™ is the property of Capcom Co. Ltd., and I assure them that this post was written for parodical purposes (more as a curiosity than anything else). Don't sue me, or else I'll go all M. Bison on you. Psycho Crusher!

Six-Word Stories

2009-06-12T22:58:00.002+08:00

Here's a few six-word stories for Bahay Talinhaga's Independence Day effort. Because I like challenges, I've tried to do one for each of various genres. Because I have masochistic tendencies, I based these off of the ones available in the Talecraft storytelling game. And because I'm borderline suicidal, I've tried to place all of these in a contemporary Philippine context, something that I usually don't do in the course of my regular writing.

One conclusion I've developed, mind you, is that I'm too wordy to squeeze all of my ideas into a mere six words. That said, that probably just means that the items below are just the tip of the iceberg that happens to be my warped little mind.

Here you go, Mr. Chikiamco. Hopefully these are of good enough quality for you.

Adventure: Intrepid archeologist seeks lost Kho videos.

Fantasy (Bangsian Fantasy): Demon runs day spa for celestials.

Fantasy (Contemporary Fantasy): Secret squatter society battles subdivision monsters.

Fantasy (Fairytale Fantasy): Princesses. Paedophilia. Politicians. Put something together.

Fantasy (High Fantasy): Spellcasting cop shakes down otherworldly citizens.

Gothic: Strange giggling noises in Manila Cathedral.

Historical: Ferdinand Magellan's last words: "Nice... sword..."

Horror: Balut vendors terrorized by giant duck.

Mystery: Imelda's three thousand shoes are missing!

Romance: Is that MMORPG girl really female?

Science Fiction: Solution to Abu Sayyaf: Giant Robots.

Thriller: Must... stop... president... from... running... again!

Sleep Experiment

2009-06-11T01:27:00.003+08:00

Nope, this isn't really a post. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

I just happened to remain in the office for about fifteen hours today — almost double the recommended daily allowance — because a critical web site went down at about five in the afternoon and we had to spend a good part of the evening trying to straighten it out.

And that leaves me tired. Dog tired, in fact.

I think that I have only a few minutes left before I doze off. To be honest, I'm only tapping away at the keyboard because I'm curious to see how long I can last before the dowsiness overwhelms me and I'm off to crawl under the blankets. Or even better, I can drop off with my face on the keyboard and go to work the next morning with QWERTY printed across my forehead.

My eyelids are drooping a bit. I imagine that I'll finally start nodding off when I begin hallucinating, and I'm surprised that I know exactly what it's like. Strangely enough, there's no single bit where your vision blurs — you just start seeing things right off the bat. After a while, it becomes easier to tell which items in your line of sight are real, and which ones are not... or at least, that's what the purple giraffe is telling me right now.

And then there's the alternating urge to speak both French and Latin, in that sequence. And then a period of awkward silence as I wonder why I would invest my time in such an effort when I could be speaking Swahili instead.

That mattress would be good right about now.

I sometimes worry about my teeth. I haven't been grinding them in my sleep for a while now, but I still worry. I haven't had any nightmares in a while, but suffice to say that the idea of waking up with nothing but nerves and gums ranks foremost among them.

Now I begin asking myself nonsensical questions, which is a clear indication that I'm in the home stretch. Are bananas funny, for example? Will magpies steal shiny items that aren't necessarily metal or bits of glass? What pieces of technology finally killed the tape recorder, and why does the LP yet survive? How many pieces of taffy does it take to change a bottle of Spanish vodka?

And now I begin swaying from side to side — literally — and backtracking throughout this post to edit the numerous spelling errors that I'm starting to make. Even when I'm sleepy, I'm an obsessive-compulsive proofreader.

And now I slowly nod off. The very air feels heavier now. The silence feels oppressive, enough to make me want to escape into the noise in my mind. There was a time when I would be using this time to write a thousand straight words in the span of a single hour, but that time is fairly distant. I've gotten old.

Soon it shall be a question of sleeping at eight in the evening and getting up at one in the afternoon. Exist but don't exist. Slumber bluff, they call it — to pull a fast one on the caterpillar and the Sandman. Fred Flintstone would be proud of the bowling ball.

The Enter button becomes the focal point for my existence, and I have this desire to begin listing down random dates off the top of my head. The kangaroo reaches the goal post, and wondrs aloud as to why I insist on counting sheep. They have a poker table set up in the next meadow, and the one on front is offering me two-to-one odds on a full house. In the corner, an octopus plays the saxophone.

Truth is a question of black and white, but Bogart calls them all shades of gray. Listen to me now, Humphrey... you should never have switched from scotch to martinis. No wonder the moon smiles; we are all its lunatics.

Disclaimer: June 2009

2009-06-06T22:21:00.002+08:00

MANILA, PHILIPPINES — A sixteen-year-old amateur writer was injured this morning in what investigating politicians called "a brazen attack against a controversial Internet personality".

Internet writer Adaspera P. Astra emerged with a fractured wrist and a bruised superego after having been clubbed vehemently with confrontational comments and sharp rhetoric through her own weblog. The incident occurred at about 10:39am, after Astra had participated in an impromptu online debate the previous evening.

"I just turned on my blog and there were, like, three thousand comments there. Like, they wanted to crucify me!" the luckless writer declared.

Astra had previously been identified as the perpetrator of a number of plagiaristic attacks on the Internet, where she would obtain content from other weblogs and personal profiles and post it as her own original writing. The teenage blogger had raised ire for her derogatory responses to the accusations, particularly because the results were easily identified as incompatible with her personal speech patterns.

"It's, like, injust, you know?" Astra commented. "I just want to get, like, more readers kasi eh. How's Google Adsense supposed to, like, pay me money if people don't read my site, ha? It's not like information isn't free on the web."

Online behavioral analyst Sean Uy was among the first to respond to Astra's original statement. "What Astra does not realize," Uy said, "is that while information is often free to obtain on the Internet, this privilege does not exempt users from following standard copyright regulations. Every article has an author and originator regardless of where that article is published. While only some of those articles hold conditions as to how and when they can be used, it must be presumed that standard copyright law applies to all such articles."

The subject of at least three class-action suits, including one from the southwestern United States, Astra had no immediate response to the charges leveled against her. "I'm, like a celebrity!" she said in a UltraMegaPinoyChat forum twelve hours before the attack. "They don't know who I am! Why should they, like, care, ha?"

Uy, who runs a four-year-old blog, clarified the situation further. "Many authors don't like seeing their work used without permission. There is a real risk here — the risk that the author will not be recognized for a project in which he or she has invested some amount of effort, the risk that someone else will profit from the unwarranted theft of such effort, and the risk that the work will be twisted and interpreted out of context.

"I'm proud that I've written and originated all of the works on my blog," Uy said. "While I occasionally use the works of other authors, I try to leave them the correct acknowledgements so that their efforts are recognized. I even remain willing to open dialogues with other writers in case they feel that there's something wrong with my usage. Miss Astra, on the other hand, has originated no such works, has taken no measures to recognize others' efforts, and goes as far as to take offense against her infamy."

News of the incident was a matter of public record within government congressional hearings by late afternoon of the same day, during which Rep. Isagani Batongpuso denounced the incident as an addendum to his speech on Charter Change.

"It is vital to the safety and security of this country that the rights of even incredibly insignificant wrongdoers like Adaspera P. Astra are protected by the Constitution," Batongpuso noted. "It is with this consideration that we must move forward to establishing a constituent assembly before our opponents in the majority voting bloc decide to come back from their foreign junkets."

"Philippine Law holds allowance for copyright law as established even among digital publications," Uy mentioned, "although it is formative in the face of the Internet age. With that said, a lot of copyright disputes could be circumvented if people just asked for the use of articles. People can ask me for the use of my work, for example, and I'm usually willing to let them use it with little more than a byline or link to my site.

Uy also discussed the presence of several online organizations who had begun to help support and enforce authors' rights on the Internet. "I subscribe to a Creative Commons License myself," Uy said. "It's right on the lower area of the sidebar in my main web site."

On Astra's side, the controversial blogger is still unwilling to disclose exactly how she encountered her fractured wrist. "It could have come from, like, all the pangugulit that my enemies do," she said. "But we don't even have to be enemies. They can, like, just keep writing their stuff."

One responding doctor, who declined to be identifed, had a different opinion: "It looks like she just slammed her hand down on her keyboard in frustration," he said. "You can see the letters imprinted on her arm."

All Pretty Things Must Go to Hell

2009-05-31T23:02:00.003+08:00

Every few months, I go over Blogger's administration area to see if there are any stray or incomplete posts that I can fix up. Normally I'm able to squeeze out a few more entries this way; sometimes a single idle thought can provide fodder for further insight on this little corner of the web.

Earlier tonight, I noted that I had an occasional trail of unfinished posts that went all the way back to late last year. And then, in the middle of my casual search, I noticed the following:

In case you can't pick out the title from the cacophony of articles, I've blown it up for you here:

Only three words were appropriate for me at that moment of discovery: What. the. Hell?

I know that I've written some strange titles before, but I'm fairly certain that I would have remembered writing this one. As it stands, however... I don't. That clearly makes this another one of my "lost works" — stuff that I put together at some point in the past, only for me to set them aside and forget about them in the face of additional projects. (There are probably five or six more of these things crawling around in the bowels of my CD archives somewhere.)

That said, it's a heck of a title, and I wondered what I must have been drinking to have written it. Whatever it was, it probably involved an unwholesome mixture of Mountain Dew, peach syrup, blue Gatorade, and gummi bears.

By this time I was extremely curious as to what the story was supposedly about, how long it ran until I decided not to finish it, and what it had done to deserve such a title. The first thing I noticed was that it was extremely short — perhaps only about 350 words or so — and certainly not enough for me to discern the original plot. The second thing I noticed was that it included descriptions like this:

Skin parted like water before stainless steel. There was a scraping sound as she reached the upper part of the chest where both halves of the ribcage met; she grunted once, and then pulled to sever the stubborn strands of muscle there. The tip of the blade would have punctured the heart by now; she shut her eyes, expecting the blood to start flowing any second.

Don't worry — the victim lives. To be quite honest, it looks like he's supposed to live — the next few paragraphs have him outwardly wondering why his female companion would do such a thing. It gets even more cryptic towards the end, with the male character revealing a set of wings and the female character expressing her thoughts through a ceramic mask... I can only conclude that I must have been really drunk the night I wrote this.

The weird part is that I'm not sure if I can salvage this. Normally I only retain those works that have a clear vision in mind, something like a visible thread that connects a beginning and an end to the story. This one feels as though I started somewhere in the middle, and I can't for the life of me remember what this story's original targets were. Under normal circumstances, I would probably cannibalize a few good lines, and then throw the rest of the article into the recycle bin.

But this has such an interesting title, darn it. You just can't lay eyes on that title and not wonder what the story's about.

That said, I laid eyes on the three hundred words in the story as well, and I'm still wondering what it's about.

I'll probably keep it, of course. If anything, it's at least earned its way into my personal slush pile by virtue of its strange title. Maybe someday I'll remember what it was that I was had in mind when I wrote, and maybe then I'll actually go much farther than three hundred words.

I suspect, however, that such a day will not come until I find a way to recreate that foreign mixture of iced tea, strained carrots, Egyptian honey, tonic water and motor oil.

Man, that must have been one rough night.

Move It, Buster

2009-05-31T00:08:00.002+08:00

Last Friday was moving day in my office. This was supposed to be our last day in our current building — we were moving to a new place somewhere in the next municipality, for the simple reason of "more space, less rent". I didn't record everything that happened to me on this day, of course, because I'm a busy man... so the following narrative is an approximation.

9:30am I arrive at the office to find boxes all over the place; some people apparently came in early just so that they would have enough time to pack. I switch on my lifeline to one of my technical teams (conveniently located about one-fourths of the way around the world) and start getting the usual routine stuff out of the way.

10:00am I'm just finished musing on how I don't seem to have much work at the moment, when our accounts manager drops by. She tells me that our primary client just asked for an emergency change. I look over the requirements and tell her that there's no way we can get everything done by the end of the day. She tells me why we have to. I grudgingly agree.

11:00am I recover from my panic attack to find that I entered some requests for the technical team in the midst of the lucidity. I step over a few boxes to brief my other technical team (the ones who hang around here in Manila) of our sudden requirements, and together we bring things down to the bare-bones action steps.

11:30am My offsite technical team comes online. I tell my management counterpart about what we're expected to provide by today, and he laughs. I then tell him that no, it's not a joke, and I'm met with incredulous silence. After a while, we start negotiating what needs to be done.

12:00nn With development underway, I begin rooting through my stuff to see if I need to pack anything. Having been in the company for less than a month, all I have is a roll of tissue paper and a couple of paper clips. I leave the paper clips at the foot of my makeshift shrine to Bubu, god of swivel chairs and mislabeled timecards.

12:30pm I head to lunch. Seeing that it's the last day we're going to spend in our building, I want to pick out a good restaurant in the lower floors, someplace whose refined tastes I can keep with me, even after we're gone. Because of the crowds, I pick out the place that serves budget Mongolian rice, which gives me gas for the rest of the day.

1:30pm Our accounts manager asks if our technical team can deliver the requirements by today. I do a quick check of the project status and tell her that we've got about a 60% chance at the moment. Fittingly enough, I find that the technical team is asking if their other deliverables can be moved; I do a quick check of the deadlines and offer to move those due dates to mid-next week. There are cheers all around.

2:00pm The whole office shuttles downstairs for a pep talk from the company CEO. As I'm still in discussion with my technical team contact at this time, I spend the whole meeting with my laptop open. Inwardly, I wonder if I'm going to be seen as a dedicated employee, or as a loathsome ingrate.

3:00pm With the pep talk over, I return to our upstairs office to find that the ID card reader has been torn out of the wall, and everyone can now enter and exit as they please. Plus, the phones are offline — although the wireless Internet connection remains online by some miraculous quirk.

3:30pm The local technical team wraps up their work — mostly because they need to pull out of their room already. The other team looks like they're in QA phase, which prompts me to tell our account manager that we're 80% sure that we can make the client's delivery requirement. There are more cheers all around.

4:00pm I find out that the movers haven't packed up the water dispenser yet. I fill up my little plastic mug and thank Bubu, the god of status meetings and wireframe wastebaskets, for his small blessings.

4:30pm The technical team reports that their QA is finished. If Cousin Larry and Cousin Balky were here, they'd be doing the Dance of Joy at this moment.

5:00pm I approve the work and ask them to publish all changes to a live version. Our account manager is thrilled. I cover my chair when an ignorant janitor tries to swipe it out from under me.

5:30pm I confirm that all of our client's changes are completed and working fine.

6:00pm The client tells us that they've made a mistake and ask us to undo everything that we've done today.

6:30pm I come down from my second panic attack, stare at the remains of an office that's half-packed up for the move, and wonder if I'll be prosecuted for homicide if the victim really, really deserves it. Technical team does not take the news well, but they push forward regardless. I remind myself to write a nice thank-you note for them sometime.

7:00pm Just when the work has begun, the Internet connection finally blinks out. I spend the next two hours looking for an alternative connection that doesn't involve my spending money for overpriced coffee.

9:30pm The last requirement is packed up, and everything's been reverted back to what it was. I am amazed at the fact that we could be busy the whole day and go absolutely nowhere at all.

On the way home, I find a stray paper clip on the floor. Bubu, god of columnar notebooks and empty conference rooms, is probably amused.

Name that Toon?

2009-05-26T02:03:00.002+08:00

I'm a little startled to find that my original post found few takers. Are these cartoons all that narrow or obscure? Am I the only person who remembers these? (The latter would be rather disconcerting, I'll have to say.)

Given that, I'll push the game a little further. Once again, I've noted each of the ten excerpts below; Each one is a single line from the opening theme of a cartoon series that was first released sometime from the early 80s to the mid-90s. They may not necessarily be popular cartoons, although I'm aware that they all came out on local TV at one time or another.

The difference this time is that I've posted some additional hints for each and every one of these shows. Much like the lyrics, these are elusive bits drawn from whatever facts and histories I've gathered for these. I reserve the option to give further hints in yet another post; otherwise I'll have the answers up in a couple of weeks.

And now...

1. ...And you know there's a long long way ahead of you...
— A lot of cartoon series had a single annoying little character whose purpose involved either comic relief or constant irritation (often both). This series had such a character; strangely enough, he wore armor.

2. ...But bad guys are out of luck...
— This was the most recent cartoon on the list to be released, and was created by Walt Disney Studios.

3. ...High in the mountains, or deep in the sea...
— The archenemy of this series was a man named Scarab, who led an extremely motley crew of villains.

4. ...Let's watch the clouds go far below...
— This series was the TV companion to a revolutionary toy for its time: A combination audio tape player / stuffed doll.

5. ...No one knows what lies behind the masquerade...
— The tagline for this series (and its corresponding toy line) was "Illusion is the Ultimate Weapon."

6. ...Powers of mind, strength, skill and speed...
— The setting for this series was a world where technology was rendered useless; the cause of the phenomenon was never explained in the show's short lifespan.

7. ...Soaring through the highway of the heavens in their flight...
— Two of the hero characters in this series happened to be fraternal twins.

8. ...The music's contagious...
— The three most distinctive antagonists in this series were named Phyllis Gabor, Roxanne Pelligrini, and Mary Philips.

9. ...Two times the fun, wrapped up and rolled into one...
— This show holds the dubious honor of being the shortest-running animated series ever created by its studio.

10. ...You're the only one who can scratch our wrists...
— Unlike most other cartoon shows, this series was spun-off from a live-action TV sitcom.

The Headline

2009-05-24T18:19:00.003+08:00

My family normally subscribes to the Philippine Daily Inquirer as our newspaper of choice, although I'm not sure if it's really out of any personal preference. I like to think that it's because of the entertainment value — I feel that the Inquirer has a tendency to be too sensationalist sometimes, which fits my general view of the local news.

Every now and then, however, our paperboy will leave the wrong paper in our mailbox. This doesn't stop us from reading it, though, and occasions like these do give us an opportunity to see how the other publications are treating their news. There's been talk of shifting to either the Philippine Star (too religious), the Manila Bulletin (too wordy), or the Manila Times (too off base), but we've stayed with the Inquirer for the most part.

That said, today's issue of the Philippine Star amused me greatly. It happened to arrive in our mailbox in lieu of the Inquirer's Sunday edition, and we tore through it to see how it was treating its headlines nowadays.

The local buzz nowadays seems to center around the sex video controversy involving a certain young man, a young model with a history of revealing photoshoots, and a trail of unsuspecting lovers that includes a well-known cosmetic and dermatological surgeon. I'm certain that everyone out there has read about the issue from one source or another, so I won't go into the salacious details. It was an article about the controversy that caught my attention today, however, if only because it reduced me to hysterics.

It started innocently enough by noting that the aforementioned surgeon had been the target of extortion tries by an unknown party:

MANILA, Philippines - A lawyer representing cosmetic surgeon Vicki Belo yesterday revealed efforts to blackmail her and former lover Dr. Hayden Kho over another sex video.

According to Adel Tamano, a group is demanding P4 million from Belo and Kho for not releasing their sex video to the public.¹

It was a simple enough summary, and it does make sense. Assuming that a sex video between Kho and Belo does exist, it's likely that someone would try to get money from them under the threat of releasing the video the the general public.

Reading further, however, a few more details emerged:

In an interview with “Startalk” on GMA-7 television yesterday, Tamano suggested that the video was among those retrieved from Kho’s computer.¹

This filled a significant gap in my perception of the issue — I had been wondering how the original videos had been acquired and disseminated online. Given that the source apparently involves the young man's computer, it doesn't take a huge leap of logic to conclude that somebody must have gotten access to it, picked up the videos, and then put them up.

The article then proceeded to name a possible suspect, as identified by lawyers representing the unfortunate pair:

Kho’s lawyer, Lorna Kapunan, also accused [Eric Chua, a mutual friend of the two] of stealing the racy videos from Kho’s computer.

Kapunan alleged Chua had access to Kho’s laptop and made copies of the videos showing her client’s sexual escapades with Halili and several other women.¹

This laid out the entire sordid story for me: Young man takes videos. Young man stores videos in computer. Friend of young man accesses computer and finds videos. Friend of young man makes copies of videos. Hilarity and hijinks ensue.

The lawyers did their job perfectly up to that point, I think — they raised a complicating factor in the case, clarified something that was a likely origin for the videos, and identified a suspect. I assume, of course, that they mentioned all this in the relevant PR-legalese; You really couldn't ask for anything more.

But that's when it got surreal.

Kapunan said that Chua, known for his computer skills, was the person who allegedly uploaded the video on the Internet.¹

This statement puzzled me, because you obviously don't have to have above-average technical knowledge in order to upload videos to the Internet. Speaking as a writer, I felt that you could leave out all mention of the computer skills and simply state that the man was the one who uploaded the stuff. I'm not sure if this strange slip of the tongue could be attributed to Kapunan the lawyer or Clapano the reporter, but it struck me as out of place here.

Kapunan said when Kho and Belo broke up some two years ago, Belo asked Chua to get Kho’s computer and retrieve the videos from the hard drive.

Kapunan stressed Belo merely wanted to erase sexual encounters with Kho.¹

Wait, so he was asked to remove the videos from the guy's computer? That just... raises so many questions — such as, why didn't she just ask her (former) lover to remove the videos himself? (I mean, it was his computer, after all.) For that matter, does this imply that our erstwhile suspect knew where the videos were located? That's a bit... icky, no matter how you want to look at it.

But Belo, according to Kapunan, was told by Chua that he gave the task of retrieving the videos to another computer technician.

Kapunan also clarified that her client was not even aware that his computer was taken from his home.¹

And this made even far less sense. So a friend asks you to remove some very private and racy videos that are in your ex-lover and mutual acquaintance's computer. What do you do then? You remove it from the guy's home, take it to an anonymous technician outside, and get him to find the stuff. This is... brilliant, really. It's the only way I can possibly describe it.

It raised another question, though: Why on earth would you take the computer to an outside resource just to remove a bunch of videos that are inside? The last time I checked, you could just get in there yourself, find the files, punch the Delete button a few times, and then empty the Trash / Recycle Bin. I mean, we are assuming that the "expert" had access to the computer itself, or could at least find a way to get in.

I must also point out that Clapano cites Kapunan in virtually every line here — most likely this exchange was taken directly from the interview; the Star's reporter probably isn't injecting speculation at any point. That just makes things stranger, in my opinion.

Fortunately, Belo's lawyer had a ready explanation for that:

Kapunan said the files in Kho’s computer had a complicated encrypting system, making it difficult to access.

This prompted Belo to ask Chua, whom she trusted, to retrieve the files.¹

That bold text is most definitely mine. The computer had a complicated encrypting system? Really, now? Like what, a username-and-password requirement?

Visions of science fiction just swam through my head at that point, and I began to laugh. I imagined the young man organizing his videos into a single folder, then running some incredibly-complicated program that would do nothing but translate those videos into incomprehensible dots and bytes. The image didn't fit at all. The psychology didn't fit at all. And darn it, if I had software like that, I could probably make a financial killing on the international celebrity market.

I'm not sure as to who was the source of the unexpected comedy here: Either our noble dermatologist has no idea how a computer works, or our esteemed lawyer has no idea what she's talking about. Or maybe they were trying to simplify the explanation for greater public consumption — I don't know, but the result was an absurd summary in a serious news article, and I couldn't help but laugh at it.

I do also wonder if the mutual friend, the so-called "man with computer skills" who suddenly finds himself at the center of the issue, is still around. I wonder how he felt when he was asked to intervene in the middle of something that didn't demand his involvement. I wonder if he knows that he was asked to perform a relatively simple computer-related operation (Find videos. Delete videos. Have lunch.), and that he somehow screwed that up completely.

Above all, however, I wonder if the total explanation above makes sense as a whole. I mean, it starts out fine, but then it starts piling the blame on a Mr. Eric Chua and his l33t skillz to find an outside technician. It's no better than a wild story for me, fresh with little touches of speculation and exaggeration, and it entertained me greatly this morning.

After all, isn't that what the news is for?

Tamano, meanwhile, said Belo cannot be blamed for her effort to retrieve the racy videos.

“The biggest victim here is Dr. Belo. She and Hayden had a consensual agreement. The video was taken, but they agreed that after watching it they would delete it. I think she felt there is a breach of agreement,” Tamano said.¹

¹ Clapano, JR. (2009, May 24). Belo's lawyer bares P4-million extort try. The Philippine Star. Retrieved from http://www.philstar.com.

* I don't look to criticize the article in question, only to bring up some insights that came to mind after reading it. As you may surmise from the footnote above, I'd like to make the proper acknowledgements and attributions here. If you are connected with the Philippine Star, which is the proper owner of the original article for all intents and purposes, please contact me with regards to any issues you may find; This will allow me to improve my writing further. Cordial contact will, of course, get a better response. Don't sue me.

Argentum Metallica

2009-05-23T02:09:00.003+08:00

I keep dreaming about machines.

These are not your father's machines, mind you. These are machines, constructs of the imagination with no specific purpose. They look like a cross-bred nightmare of Rube Goldberg's inventions and Hollywood special effects. Put them on the floor and they'll waddle around like drunken probes, tearing small squares off the carpet every now and then.

Sometimes I don't dream of the smaller machines. Sometimes I get a glimpse of the bigger ones, as though I were some astute observer trapped within their inner workings. These are not the cog-and-gear affairs of the local clock towers, but more of stout cables covered by steel tubing, all flexing and extending by means of spherical joints that could hypothetically guide their moves in any direction. In these dreams, the purpose of the greater machine is unknown; sometimes I feel as though it were only around to intimidate me.

This is not an uncommon sensation. I think of metal and machines from a conceptualist background, tempered with the occasional flashes of an IT-based upbringing. As a result, my literary perception of machines tends to focus on what's possible with them... and sometimes the potential applications scare me. The fact that I dream of machines that seem to have no inherent purpose other than as objects of observation is a very strange thing. It's as though my subconscious is trying to blow my mind, so to speak.

There is most likely a story in here somewhere. Strange concepts like this are fertile ground for such outlines. I just don't see any form, sense or structure in it yet... or perhaps I haven't thought about it enough in order to put some together. Time is short for me nowadays, after all.

What strikes me the most is the lack of a human element, I think. Normally I feel as though people can relate to science fiction (or any other genre that features technology in a prominent manner) because they can directly compare such aspects to a convenient human counterpart. With these dreams, however, there's not much of a human element apart from my anonymous presence... ergo, a situation where I cannot identify the purpose of the hunk of spare parts in question... ergo, a perfectly mystifying dream.

If I subscribed to metaphors in interpretation, I would immediately point out a link between the complexity of my mind-constructs and my everyday life. It's a terribly obvious link, however, and it doesn't offer anything of assistance. It's not a satisfactory explanation to me, so I'm doomed to think about it further and dream of more machines while I'm at it.

I'm fortunate that the only fear inherent in the dreams lies in the fact that I don't know what they stand for. I haven't encountered such things as spinning blades, tooth-filled compactors, or any similar industrial nightmares yet. That probably implies that whatever their significance is, it's not a manifest threat yet. It could be that that little voice in the back of my head, the one whose sardonic laughter I've suppressed over the years, has probably broken free of at least a few restraints and is now taunting me again.

Sometimes they're so close that I can hear them. The sound of metal scraping against metal chills my ears, perhaps accompanied by the twisting of steel and the pounding of iron pistons. A Techno-genre soundtrack would find a good home in there, more than anything else.

There are times when I wonder why I don't dream of things like grass and flowers and light puffy clouds like normal people do. But then again, if I ever did dream of those things, I'd probably curl up into a ball in the middle of the imaginary fields, wondering when the monsters would show up.

Neither Rain, nor Snow, nor Sleet, nor Wind, nor Errant Bike...

2009-05-19T00:52:00.003+08:00

I think I've mentioned Dominique Cimafranca on this blog at least once before, and I suppose that one more time won't hurt.

Details seem to be sketchy at the moment, but it looks like Dominique was in a biking accident sometime on Monday this week. I'm not quite sure what happened, or how bad it was, but the pictures aren't pretty to look at.

Yes, I mentioned pictures. I don't know how he's doing it or who's holding the camera, but he's somehow giving us an in-depth look at his current condition right on his blog. And even if you have a slow connection or simply can't stomach the sight of broken skin, you can always follow his Plurk account — yes, he's maintaining that, too, despite how he looks right now.

His circumstances tear at me. Half of me wants to fly south and see how he is (despite the fact that my bosses would fire me if I took even a couple of days off, that I have no idea where he's confined right now, or that I can't even find Dumaguete on a map). On the other hand, my other half wants to sit here and marvel at just how hardcore a blogger he is to have continued his posts.

I'll be watching his progress online, and at the rate at which he's going, I'll probably start biting my nails the moment he fails to update for a few hours or so. That's the wonder of the modern world right there: You get to monitor a friend's convalescence even though you may be just a hundred miles away (although it doesn't do much for the concern after all).

Get yourself stitched back up, Dominique. We'll catch you as soon as we can, but hopefully you'll be on the mend well before we even get there.

Fiction: Engine

2009-05-18T00:14:00.004+08:00

Slowly, Menar removed his tunic. It was cool, almost perfect inside the serene chamber, but underneath, his skin sweltered as though the young man had been placed under the gaze of the sacred floodlights.

There were three acolytes before him. One of them was female, and Menar found himself unnerved by her presence. He continued to strip down to his baser clothes, and when he stood before them in nothing but loincloth and breeches, he felt the first strings of embarrassment cross his face.

One of the elder acolytes noticed his discomfort, and placed an earthly hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Rest easy, my son," he said, "for here, we are all sanctified in the light of Sun."

Menar nodded, his apprehension melting away under the reassurance. At a nod from the elder acolyte, the other male began wrapping a loose chemise about Menar's waist. When that was done, the female garbed him in a loose gray undershirt, and then both the man and the woman slipped a pale brown cloak about his entire form.

The ceremonial robes were far more comfortable than Menar expected. For some reason he expected them to be rough and constrictive, perhaps indicative of his worldly impressions. Perhaps the great Sun had chosen this moment to enlighten the young man, perhaps free him of those human concerns that he still held, all the more so that his ascendance would be complete.

"Let the faithful behold the vessel of Sun," the elder acolyte intoned.

Together, the male and the female assistants bowed.

"Let the great Sun welcome his chosen Menar," the elder acolyte declared, "he who was deemed worthy to ascend by the grand college of peers, he who has passed the trials of wind and fire and mind, and he who has been garbed of man and woman under the light of the serene chamber."

"May the great Sun grant us life forever," Menar said.

"And now the rite is complete," the elder acolyte smiled. "How do you feel?"

"I'm all right," Menar said.

"No thoughts of regret?"

Menar held his head even higher. "I am the chosen of Sun, Essar Illus," he said. "To hold regret now would be a sin against His will."

Illus gave the young man a wide smile. At first the elder acolyte looked as though he was going to say something else, but then something caused the priest's attention to wander. Illus glanced up in surprise, then held his head a little to one side, as though he was listening to a voice that only he could hear.

"Yes," Illus said, his tone grave. "Yes. Yes, I am aware. We shall come soon enough. All thanks to the benevolent Sun."

He turned back to Menar, his expression softening at the sight of the young man. "It is time," he said.

Together they walked, and the floor changed with the distance. First it was the smooth granite floors of the serene chamber, then the rough stone floors of the outer corridors. From there the stone only became darker and more polished, until they reached the beginnings of the metal halls, where their feet padded down steel panels and titanium bracings. Every now and then they would meet a fellow acolyte in these corridors, perhaps a seminarian or a servant, and they all bowed respectfully as the two men passed.

"Your predecessor weakens," Illus said, after a while.

"Yes," Menar said. He had been preparing for the news for quite some time.

Illus nodded. "It does not come as a surprise, for the faithful would not have appointed you otherwise. Solaris Viya has been displaying signs of inconsistency for a week now. We have had to endure occasional failures in sectors three, seven and eighteen as a result."

"I know the signs, noble Essar."

"Sun has seen to your training," Illus said. "Bless him for providing your presence in our time of need. I fear that if we had waited but a week longer, then we may have had worse matters in hand."

Above them, the lights flickered. Both the older and the younger man stopped, aware of the implications that now stared them sharply in the face.

"I do not think we have much time," Illus said.

"No," Menar said.

The elder acolyte turned away once again, listening hard at the voice that Menar could not hear. All Essars, Illus foremost among them, had been granted the means to communicate with both Sun and their fellows, that they would be able to monitor the signs and portents as they came. Menar knew that such a blessing manifested as a voice in the mind, something that only Illus was destined to hear, and thus a message that spared his involvement.

Illus glanced at the younger man, now standing calm upon the floor's translucent surface. "We are almost there," the elder acolyte said, his face shifting between emotions, his eyes remaining in a constant stream of sorrow.

With a pause, Illus finally turned back to Menar. The younger man nodded, as though knowing exactly what had just happened.

"May Sun grant us wings," Illus said.

Both men hurried down the metal corridor, their feet moving faster with each step.

They arrived in the inner sanctum just as the decision was being made. The great Vault stood before them, its metal expanse filling the whole of the chamber and extending as far as the eye could see. No one present would doubt that it was a testament to the might and omnipotence of the great Sun.

Two Essars stood in front of the lone opening to the great Vault. Before them were three more acolytes — Salhi, by the looks of their robes — two of whom were performing the Rite of the Unsealed Gate.

The Essars took notice as Menar and Illus entered the chamber. None of them moved, although the taller of the two merely intoned the ritual greeting: "Who is this that entreats entry into the house of Sun?"

Menar genuflected. "It is Menar," he said, "a humble servant."

"Enter, Menar," the taller Essar said, "and behold His works."

Menar could see the rest of the chamber now. At the back of the chamber, raised a good two stories above the floor, was a platform sixty feet wide and perhaps a hundred feet long. Even now it thronged with Essars, all of whom had likely heard the same news that Illus had accepted, and all of whom were now moving to watch the chamber of the Vault.

Below and to the left of the platform was an enormous window. Behind it labored men and women of the Salhus colors, amongst the tools and equipment that had been provided to them by the divine Sun. As with the Essars on the metal platform, these Salhi now watched the proceedings with their expressions of constant readiness. Now that the vessel of Sun stood before the opening of the great Vault, the transitory rites could proceed in earnest.

Menar watched as the door to the Vault gave an audible groaning sound, and at that point a collective sigh went up from the gathering of Essars. Menar glanced at Illus then, and realized that a single drop of sweat had emerged from the priest's forehead and was now running down his temples.

"For disturbing your vessel's slumber," the taller Essar intoned, "we beg your forgiveness, great Sun."

Illus's expression became distant again, and Menar could almost hear the voices speaking. The last vessel had to be removed from the Sun chamber beyond, he knew, and it was for this purpose that the Salhi had been trained and prepared... just as he was for his own role.

Above him, the lights flickered. A second sigh went up from the assembled Essars.

Illus placed one gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Come," Illus said, and began to walk.

There was no ritual when they reached the door to the Vault. The two Essars there merely nodded their greetings, and he responded in kind. They both looked impossibly old under the light of ancient metal and rivets — even Illus seemed incapable of supporting his own weight. The three Salhi had long entered through the open door and into the sacred room beyond; Menar could see the dark opening before him, and could hear the indiscriminate sounds that issued from it.

Then there was a flicker of movement, and the first of the Salhi emerged into the open air of the inner sanctum.

The man (or woman, as it turned out) bore the front end of a simple stretcher, lined in silk and silver carvings of the holy symbols of Sun. Behind it, bearing the other end of that same stretcher, came the second Salhus custodian.

Lying on the stretcher was the emaciated figure of a woman, gaunt and aged with the passing of years. Her skin was slate-gray and shot through with hundreds of veins and wires, and her breaths became more and more shallow with each passing second. Menar flinched unconsciously; she was wearing the same ceremonial robes as he was, only tattered and stained with the inexorable weight of time.

At the sight of her, a song went up from the assembled Essars, and Menar recognized it as the Ritual of Transition, the gathering of voices that sounded throughout the caverns whenever a new vessel of Sun would take the place of a predecessor. Behind their window, the Salhi continued to watch impassively, even as the forlorn old woman finally drew her last breath.

There was a moment of silence. Menar could not remember when or where the chambers had been so quiet.

"Solaris Menar," the taller Essar finally said, his words echoing throughout the Vault.

"I am here, revered one," Menar answered.

"Our divine Sun desires a new vessel, one who shall bring light and life to our world. Solaris Viya has given her life to continue the great Sun's residence among us, as have countless others before her. Will you now accept this task for which you have been chosen, by the grace of the Life-giver and the audience of His faith?"

"I do."

"Then enter the Sun chamber, Solaris Menar, and may He guide you for the rest of your days."

"May the great Sun grant us life forever," Menar said.

The Essars stood aside to let him past, and Menar slowly stepped into the Vault's darkened entrance. Illus remained beside him until the younger man had crossed the threshold; from there, the elder acolyte could only watch from beyond the doorway, even as the song of the gathered Essars swelled around them.

There, the third Salhus was waiting for him.

The inside of the Sun chamber smelled strange and musty, as though it had been sealed from the outside for many years. Before him lay banks upon banks of the metal equipment that resembled those of Salhi use, all switches and monitors and random colored lights. A chair sat among the jumble of metal components, and this one was also padded and fitted with all manner of items.

The Salhus bowed, and assisted Menar as he eased himself into the chair. At that moment, some of the nearby displays lighted up; Menar almost started at the strange reaction. The Salhus laid one hand on his shoulder, almost as Illus once did, in an effort to calm him down.

When Menar was comfortable, the Salhus strapped an odd-looking visor to Menar's head; numbers and codes began their readout displays almost immediately. One by one, Menar's hands and feet were fastened in place by stainless steel manacles; almost automatically, a number of wires snaked their way into predetermined openings and bloodlessly fastened themselves to his circulatory system.

Then the Salhus picked up a thick, coiled metal tube with a needle on its end, and shoved it through the back of the chair and directly into Menar's brain stem. The younger man's eyes opened, his pupils completely dilated, as the entirety of the life-support system was revealed to his consciousness.

Menar could see everything: the agriculture colonies, the filtration systems, the aquatic recycling vats that would supply clean water to his fellow inhabitants. He could see the turbine fusion generators, the sensory apparati, even slight twinges of the desolation aboveground. The only thing he could not see for his distraction was the lone Salhus custodian, who bowed once to the chosen vessel of Sun before exiting the chamber and sealing him inside.

Menar concentrated, lost in his newfound responsibilities. The great Sun had need of him now, and he was at the service of the divine.

Euler One

2009-05-09T14:01:00.005+08:00

I first heard of the Project Euler web site a couple of months ago, and it remains obscure among a public that isn't receptive to math problems outside of the classroom. The site has no practical reason to exist, mind you, apart from providing some curious fodder among intellectuals: Simply put, it posts math problems on a regular basis, then challenges people to solve them.

My biggest issue with the site is that most of its problems require the use of some programming know-how. While I do have the appropriate background needed for this, it doesn't feel right for me, somehow. There are any number of things that I can do with a monitor, a keyboard, a hard drive and six feet of LAN cable... it's just that solving math problems is something that I normally associate with paper and pen.

Setting that aside, one of the things I noted was that the first problem on the site could at least be solved without having to go into Java or C++:

If we list all the natural numbers below 10 that are multiples of 3 or 5, we get 3, 5, 6 and 9. The sum of these multiples is 23.

Find the sum of all the multiples of 3 or 5 below 1000.

The problem brings up a cute story that I heard many years ago. You see, one day in the late 18th century, there was a math class being held at a primary school somewhere in Germany. There, the teacher gave his students an exercise: He asked them to write down all the numbers from 1 to 100, then add them up and give him the result.

Within seconds, one of the children stood up and gave him the correct answer — 5,050 — without having written anything on his paper. When the astonished teacher asked him how he was able to come up with the result so fast, the boy explained his method:

The problem involved adding up the numbers such that: 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 97 + 98 + 99 + 100. However, the boy had realized that this series was basically the same as: (1+ 100) + (2 + 99) + (3 + 98) + (4 + 97) + ... and so forth — it was all just a matter of pairing them up. The result was, of course, (101) + (101) + (101) + (101) + ... and there were fifty such numbers. From there, the boy just needed to find the product of 50 and 101, which was 5,050.

The boy would grow up to become Carl Friedrich Gauss, one of the most prominent contributors to modern mathematics, and the subject of a rather nice story. But for the purpose of this blog post, I think that his method can be applied to this problem from Project Euler.

For starters, we're obviously looking for a value, X, where:

X = A + B - C

And:

A = Sum of the multiples of 3 below 1000;

B = Sum of the multiples of 5 below 1000; and

C = Sum of the multiples of 15 below 1000.

We need to subtract C from the sum of A and B because any multiples of 15 (which would be divisible by both 3 and 5) would otherwise be counted twice in our total. Equation-wise:

A = 3 + 6 + 9 + 12 + ... + 999

B = 5 + 10 + 15 + 20 + ... + 995

C = 15 + 30 + 45 + 60 + ... + 990

Due to the nature of divisibles, each of the above three equations can be rephrased as follows:

A = 3 * (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 333)

B = 5 * (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 199)

C = 15 * (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 66)

Then, using the young Gauss's method on each one:

A = 3 * (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 333)
A = 3 * [(1 + 333) + (2 + 332) + (3 + 331) + ... + (166 + 168) + (167)]
A = 3 * [(334) + (334) + (334) + ... + (334) + (167)]
A = 3 * [(166 * 334) + (167)]
A = 3 * [(55444) + (167)]
A = 3 * (55611)
A = 166833

B = 5 * (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 199)
B = 5 * [(1 + 199) + (2 + 198) + (3 + 197) + ... + (99 + 101) + (100)]
B = 5 * [(200) + (200) + (200) + ... + (200) + (100)]
B = 5 * [(99 * 200) + (100)]
B = 5 * [(19800) + (100)]
B = 5 * (19900)
B = 99500

C = 15 * (1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + ... + 66)
C = 15 * [(1 + 66) + (2 + 65) + (3 + 64) + ... + (33 + 34)]
C = 15 * [(67) + (67) + (67) + ... + (67)]
C = 15 * [(67 * 33)]
C = 15 * (2211)
C = 33165

Therefore, the sum of all multiples of 3 or 5 below 1000 is:

X = A + B - C

X = 166833 + 99500 - 33165

X = 233,168

I thank Carl Friedrich Gauss for his wonderful logic, of course.

Unfortunately, quite a few of the other problems posted on the Project Euler site involve prime numbers, or otherwise need a lot of trial-and-error attempts when done on paper. These are squarely within the bounds of programmers, although I'm still perusing the list for anything that catches my fancy. If I find anything that I feel is worth solving here, I'll solve it here.

But then again, most of the people reading this have probably gotten bored by the time. Maybe I should just get back to the sex, violence and politika.

:)

Signal Number Three

2009-05-08T00:41:00.005+08:00

The story of the Great Book Blockade was probably revealed sometime within March and April of this year by writer Robin Hemley, and eventually picked up by a few sources (which included the everpresent Philippine Genre Stories) as an obvious affront to Filipino readers. The issue received some measure of journalistic coverage mere days afterwards, when Manuel L. Quezon III's recent column appeared in the pages of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.

At the moment, things seem to be rapidly coming to a head. The fledgling Bahay Talinhaga web site has emerged as the primary source for non-biased information regarding the issue, and actually features the result of correspondences with some of the major government players. The Book Development Association of the Philippines has gone as far as to release a strongly-worded statement on its side of the matter, and Customs Undersecretary Espele Sales now finds herself slowly being drawn towards the center of what's starting to look like another nasty blogstorm. Given such previous examples as Malu Fernandez and DJ Montano, this is not one of the most eviable positions in the world.

As I've arrived rather late to the party, I won't cover the situation proper in this blog. If you want a summary of the entire issue, I strongly recommend that you drop by any or all of the links above. If you must read one, go for the Bahay Talinhaga link — it makes for an excellent few minutes. But suffice to say that it's all about the price of books, and how it's starting to seem as though Philippine Customs unwisely decided to grab a stick and starting poking at the hornet's nest. (Strangely enough, Stephanie Meyer is indirectly involved.)

Viral occurrences like this seem to sweep the local blogging community every few months or so, to the point where they should really be taken into account by the larger institutions. You may be the most respected organization on this side of the Pacific, or you may be the most unassuming individual among our seven-thousand-plus islands... but once online opinion becomes completely polarized against you, then you might as well get ready for the worst ride of your life.

Blogstorms are an interesting phenomenon. They combine the virality of Internet media with the force of public opinion, with a little bit of armchair activism in the mix. They're easy to underestimate, and can nonetheless hit you with the force of a Mack Semi. In some cases, they can herald incredible popularity. In other cases, they can ruin lives... at least until the next controversy comes along.

I suspect that blogstorms are indicative of a human mentality that we used to see only in the newspapers: The media brings up a public scandal of some sort, the public eats it up for as long as it remains on the front pages, and eventually we all get bored with the news and move on to the next one. If it's not a collapsing pre-need firm, it's a failed pyramid scheme. If it's not a case of political corruption, it's a case of government incompetency. If it's not a basketball rivalry, it's a boxing championship.

If there's any distinction that comes with the blogstorm, it's the fact that we don't need the media to whip us into a frenzy. All that we need is a substantial story, a ripe set of circumstances, and a well-written article to pull us in. From there, it becomes a question of how many people post comments, how many people write responses, and how many people Twitter about it to an audience of followers. Google placement usually goes through the roof after only the first hundred links or so... and all this can possibly happen within the first few days.

The strangest bit is that we probably don't know what sort of article can possibly trigger such a massive response. I'm fairly certain, for example, that Hemley didn't expect his post to start the domino effect. Any number of marketing agents have tried — and failed — to harness the power of online opinion, which only implies that this sort of thing needs further study. I mean, it's not like we can explain it as a mere meeting between warm and cold fronts.

Today, it's books. Yesterday, it was Gucci. Last week, it was OFWs. It's funny how our minds can flit from topic to topic, and open up the absurdities of human behavior in the meantime.

That said, this is the sort of thing that probably passes for entertainment in my side of the world. In a sense, this is why some people watch news programs with a reverence that borders on, say, the latest season of CSI. This is interesting stuff, no matter how uncomfortable Ms. Sales probably feels whenever she approaches a computer nowadays.

Now, don't get me wrong — the "Great Book Blockade", as McSweeneys.Net has so dramatically dubbed it, is a serious issue. After all, the reputation of our "respectable" government agencies is at stake, not to mention the future of our reading public (which turns out to be a very sizeable lobby).

But that doesn't mean that we can't watch how this controversy unfolds and apply its lessons to countless other blogstorms that we're likely to see. I mean... even writers have to be scholars sometimes.

Disclaimer: May 2009

2009-05-05T23:50:00.003+08:00

No, I have not been on hiatus for the last week. Instead, the reason for my sparse postings is far more mundane: I've been having problems with my home internet connection. As I spend a good portion of each day at work (or outside), I usually have to write in the evenings... and coincidentially enough, this is about the same time that the connection is not working.

This is actually a rare bit of downtime for the issue, and I'm not sure when the internet's going to cut out again. As a result, I'm going to have to make this a quick post — I come in, lay my cards out on the table, and then leave. I mean, the last thing that I want is to write about two thousand words, and then realize that I can't commit them to the Blogger database.

Fortunately, this is supposed to be a disclaimer post, and after any number of months doing this sort of thing, I like to think that I have my terms down pat.

First of all, everything written on this blog is the product of my efforts. I suppose that there's not much of a distinction between the coolly rational and absolutely insane bits, but I've literally written each and every word here. If you're looking for a nice ballpark figure, my best estimate would be somewhere in the area of three hundred thousand words as of this post.

That said, I occasionally pick up stuff that was written or developed by other creators. It's inevitable, I think — sometimes these other works can emphasize a point better than I can. Whenever I use another author's work or works, I try to enclose the proper acknowledgements within the same post; in this way, I recognize that all rights to such works revert to these creators. In the event that I fail to do this, these creators are welcome to contact me so that I can rectify the issue. I reserve the right to negotiate for these works, and I assure you that I try not to bite.

I ask a similar favor from anyone who would use any of my works outlined here: Please ask me for permission before using anything that you see, read, save or download from this blog. While I am not the kind of person who usually asks for compensation (unless the work is being appropriated for commercial purposes), I'd like to make sure that my words are not reflected in anything aside from their proper context. I would rather see that these articles are left free from harmful misinterpretation, if you don't mind.

I've made various threats and blusters over the years for people who may violate my requests, pervert my standards, or even so much as grossly offend my sensibilities. I won't repeat them here, but I do keep a lawyer in mind for any such issues, and these things do have a habit of getting around. Let's just say that preparations have been made, and leave it at that.

And now I must leave you again. Maybe this post will actually... well, post, and I won't have to worry about saving this in Notepad until the next time I catch a working connection. I'm going to see this setup fixed someday, even if it means switching ISPs or tangling the cords together with my bare hands. Silence, after all, is a terrible thing to behold.

You all take care now. See you soon.

Name That Toon!

2009-04-30T23:34:00.003+08:00

Last month Ailee put together an interesting quiz regarding a number of old sitcoms from the 80's and 90's: Given an excerpt of their opening theme lyrics, you had to name the sitcom... and for added points, you had to give the continuation of that set of lyrics.

I'm proud to say that I managed to peg ten out of her twenty selections, with an added bonus for remembering how the theme songs for Perfect Strangers and The Greatest American Hero went. That said, I also managed to remember almost the entire Baywatch theme, and I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

The whole exercise did get me thinking, though. While I admit that I do have a soft spot for some of the sitcoms of my youth, I don't look back on these shows on a regular basis. The last time I checked, I'm a testosterone-laden, flea-bitten guy... which means that I'm also an immature young kid at heart. What that means is that, whenever I look back on all the TV that I've ever watched, it's the cartoons that I inevitably remember.

Of course, cartoons were different back when I was ten years old. Most of the animated stuff on TV existed solely for the purpose of selling as much merchandise as possible, and as bad as that may sound, they were effective enough to spawn a fringe collectibles industry. However, some of them also had remarkably adult-oriented plots and fully-realized characters; There are very few contemporary cartoons on the picture tube nowadays that I would have liked to have had when I was a kid.

We've seen minor revivals of some of the most popular of these cartoons recently. He-Man and Ghostbusters both came out with "modernized" treatments some years ago, for example, and we get stuff like Transformers and G.I. Joe in theaters. There are quite a few shows that don't get as much attention but are still remembered fondly by their fans, and you can still find the occasional DVD collection or discussion group out there.

Given all that, I went ahead and tracked down the lyrics to some of the opening themes that I remember. Then, because I don't like making this easy on people, I pared these down to some of the less popular (but hopefully familiar) series, and laid out excerpts of these lyrics below. The first of these came out in the early 80's, the latest came out in the mid-90's, and I now present this challenge to you: Given these pieces of their opening themes, name these shows.

1. ...And you know there's a long long way ahead of you...

2. ...But bad guys are out of luck...

3. ...High in the mountains, or deep in the sea...

4. ...Let's watch the clouds go far below...

5. ...No one knows what lies behind the masquerade...

6. ...Powers of mind, strength, skill and speed...

7. ...Soaring through the highway of the heavens in their flight...

8. ...The music's contagious...

9. ...Two times the fun, wrapped up and rolled into one...

10. ...You're the only one who can scratch our wrists...

I'll have the answers up in a couple of days or so, along with some commentary from my end.

Still Busy

2009-04-28T00:36:00.002+08:00

Yes, it's been a while. I did mention that I would be occupied for at least a couple of weeks, after all.

The strange part is that, while I did expect work to take up a good amount of my daytime, it's also taken up a significant amount of my evenings and my weekends as well. This is a bad precedent; while I do think that the job is interesting, I don't want to get reduced to spending every waking moment fiddling around with job-related tasks.

I suppose that I should have noticed something wrong when I was told that I would get some regular vacation leaves after my six-month probation period... but that I wouldn't be able to use them for at least another year. I'm pretty sure that there's some law against that. It's not a question of indentured servitude as much as it is the prospect of working oneself to death.

That's a misconception, by the way. I don't think it's possible to work oneself to death. It is, however, quite possible to be a miserable human being who is practically working himself to death.

I haven't written any fiction for quite some time now (due to my hectic schedule), and it looks like I'll miss the Palanca Awards this year. I have too many things on my plate right now, I think, although I do have at least a couple of interesting plots in mind. Strangely enough, I'm thinking of horror stories on the verge of May, although that's probably my inner manager talking.

I'm not afraid of losing my touch. I did put down the pen for a couple of years before, I think, just before I picked it up again and started writing where I left off. That's another paradigm shift right there — you shed whatever insecurities you used to have, and fill the gap with all those things that you picked up over the last couple of years. Peel the first layer off the onion and you'll see that it's full of words.

Someone asked me what my motivation was the other day, and I did wonder about that for a few seconds. It's just strange, how things shift and turn at the drop of a hat nowadays. Maybe I'm in it just to see what lies around the next corner. Or maybe I'm just looking for material for my next pieces.

Either way, I'm still around.

The Next Two Weeks

2009-04-18T17:02:00.003+08:00

The previous week marked a huge paradigm shift for me, as I suddenly disengaged from my position in a high-profile multinational company and moved into a new role with the local office of an international marketing network. I'm still getting over the culture shock, mind you, because the two workplaces are very different from each other. (Not to mention the fact that I traded in a position that gives orders for a position that takes orders.)

In addition to that, there's also been a slight complication. Because I left my previous employer quite abruptly (due to the fact that I'm not allowed to hold two full-time jobs at once), I still have to spend some time with them on turnover requirements. This wouldn't necessarily be fair to my new employer, of course, as this brings about a few hiccups for my schedule over the next few days.

As a result, I've agreed to remain on contractual employment for my new company while officially resigned from my previous one. While this means that I will get paid within the two-week period for which this arrangement will be in effect, this also means that my employment status and benefits are somewhere in that magical realm where the vaguaries play. I must assume the worst, of course — while the company might be generous enough to pay any medical bills or accommodate any legal issues of mine that may arise during this time, I can't immediately guarantee any clean resolutions.

Ultimately, this means that my larger plans will have to be put on hold for a while. This will be bad news for my factories in that unexplored portion of the Swiss Alps, as they've already reached stage three of the long-suffering Project Epsilon. We've put no less than eighteen months into this grand effort, but until my current status can be resolved, I'm going to have to put the slaves on retainer for a couple of weeks.

This new delay, of course, will have long-standing ramifications. I suspect that this may force me to move my expectations by at least half a year; the latter stages of the Subliminal Dominator aren't doing very well by themselves. In addition, I had those same slave factories contracted to start building my Intergalactic Death Ray in late 2011, so those plans will need to be shelved, too. The speed has been a vital concern for me over the last few months, really — I've been thinking of ordering a mass execution of the offending peons, but it would be too expensive to kidnap, brainwash and train a new team of experts at this time.

Fortunately, the other projects have been coming along fine. The Morphological Replica should be in its last stages of testing right now, which means that we'll soon have a good number of sleeper agents on active duty. The engineers of Project Iota were able to figure out the intricacies of the high-pressure cryogenic engine last week, so apart from the fact that we're now preparing the clones for long-term germination, we can probably start issuing threats to the world's governments in September. Best of all is the news that Project Theta — the Weather Control Satellite — has finished ahead of schedule; I've already promised Dr. Sivaramakrishnan that his wife and children will be returned to him unharmed.

All in all, these two weeks shouldn't be too inconvenient for my plans in the long run, as long as I can make a few adjustments. I fully expect that my employment status (and turnover) will be finalized before the first of May this year; otherwise I'm going to have to figure out what to do with those fellows in Switzerland. The notion of random executions does come to mind as a motivating factor, but I'll see what comes up in the next two weeks before I actually do anything.

For anyone out there who's contacted me on my current situation: Thank you for your concerns on my well-being. Moreover, I promise you that when the time comes and I become Supreme Overlord of Planet Earth, you will be among the last to be mind-controlled and enslaved as hiveminded drones.

Have a nice day now. All hail Sean.

Pow

2009-04-17T00:51:00.004+08:00

It looks like my cross-posting problems from the last few days were not restricted to my blogs alone; more than a few people have encountered the same issue, and Multiply is now having a look. So far I've noted at least one possible solution, to be found here. The excerpt below comes from Jen of Multiply support:

Thanks for bringing this to our attention... it's being looked at now. In the meantime, you can reset your Blogger cross-posting by following these steps:

1) Initiate an import from Blogger (Post --> Blog --> Import Blogs (Blogger))
2) At the login dialog, check the Enable cross-posting between Multiply and Blogger box. Click OK
3) Once you've logged in, exit the dialog so you don't re-import all your blogs again.

This will reset your cross-posting. We'll let you know when we've fixed this issue properly.

I've followed the above steps already, and I'll be testing it shortly. Once I'm sure that it works, I'll get back to our regular scheduled programming.

Pop

2009-04-15T23:39:00.002+08:00

And now I have accounts on both Facebook and Twitter. I haven't hung around long enough to set up shop in both locations, but I'll get to that eventually. (The default Twitter page that I have, mind you, deserves all the redesign it can get.) Plurk and LinkedIn are probably next.

If you're wondering what suddenly brought this on, it's because I'm raising my exposure to the various Net services and trends. Within a month, I'll probably be making YouTube videos and LOLing along with the rest of them... which will most likely do wonders for my English. :)

That, and I'm testing my Multiply connection through a series of short posts. But you probably knew that.

Poof

2009-04-15T23:25:00.002+08:00

That's funny... for some reason, my Multiply account wasn't able to pick up the last couple of posts. More people seem to access this blog via Multiply nowadays, so this might be a bigger deal than expected.

I'll be doing some troubleshooting in the near future. Maybe I just hit some sort of post limit, or something like that...

A Short Guide to Bargain Bookstores

2009-04-11T23:29:00.005+08:00

I assume that any great reader out there has spent some time in bargain bookstores (or their close cousins, the garage sales). These are excellent places where one can pad out a collection, look for volumes that can no longer be found in the commercial libraries, or just hang around and see if anything cheap pops up. I estimate that about a good twenty percent of my current collection comes from the local bargain bookstores — and I'm not even much of a reader compared to other people.

That said, there are a few rules of thumb that I follow whenever I go through these places. One obvious expectation, of course, is that these bookstores almost never contain copies of the latest novels. Another is that the selections that you find here go through a certain shelf life (no pun intended) — a limited time of sorts, before they're packed up and "rotated" to other branches in search of buyers.

There are some less obvious aspects, though. For one, there's the fact that you can expect a bookstore's selection to cover only publications from the last ten to fifteen years, beyond which it becomes much harder to find a specific book. Bargain bookstores in major metropolitan areas are likely to see a faster turnover, perhaps covering only books from the last five to ten years. Provincial areas are more likely to see older volumes; you can even catch some original Mickey Spillane or Agatha Christie if you know where to look.

After that, it begins boiling down to the various genres and classifications of periodic literature, all of whom have certain discernible patterns if you spend enough time in these places. I'll put up a few of these observations from my corner of the shelves:

General Fiction - Every bargain bookstore's selection of novels is, by definition, a "general fiction" section, usually because the salespeople don't go through all the trouble of putting these things in the right bins. Be prepared for a generous helping of books that would otherwise belong in specific genres (in fact, if you read nothing but general fiction, this is a good opportunity to broaden your horizons). Expect a lot of Sidney Sheldon, Michael Crichton, and a bunch of authors that you've never heard of (and probably will never hear of again).

Mystery - The Mystery selection of any bargain bookstore is usually rather extensive, and for good reason: The essence of these novels lie in the mystery itself. Entire plot developments, secondary storylines and red herrings go into these books, which means that, although they may make for a good read the first time around, they're usually worthless for a second go. As a result, a lot of these books land on the bargain shelves. If you're looking for a specific Mystery novel, these bookstores are usually a better option than the high-profile branches. Anything that was published within the last ten years can probably be found somewhere here.

Horror - You're likely to find about as many of these books as Mysteries, because they share a similar weakness: A Horror novel simply isn't likely to be as scary the second time around. Another fact is that, realistically, there aren't that many popular Horror authors on the market, which means that you can probably call this the Stephen King section with some degree of accuracy. The fact that his works get reprinted on a regular basis doesn't help... although these are a great place to fill out your King collections with very little prompting.

Fantasy / Science Fiction - For some reason, bargain bookstores never seem to have any good selections of "imaginative" literature. My guess is that the people who buy these books are more likely to keep and reread these, which limits the number of volumes that make it to the secondary market. There's also the fact that some of the best examples of this genre were either written over twenty years ago (Weis/Hickman, Donaldson, Asimov) or only very recently (Gaiman, Martin), and the result is a fair-sized gap when it comes to bargain bookstore shelves.

Romance - Interestingly enough, there are quite a lot of Romance novels on the shelves, but this is not for a lack of rereadability. Instead, I blame a strange compulsion that comes over those who read Romance novels, one that convinces them to pick up books upon books from this genre, and results in bloated home collections that don't mature very well as one gets older. This gets a lot of people to give away or sell their "weaker" specimens, and gets a lot of bookstores picking them up for resale. As with Stephen King, only expanded to a range of authors that includes Steele, Lindsey, Brown and others, this is a good place for completists to look. Just remember that whatever you buy here may just as easily make its way back once you tire of it.

Self-Help / Inspirational - I find that the best self-help books never make it to the secondary market, which implies that the examples you see here are either excess copies of famous writings, or utterly useless volumes that couldn't find a hole in the ground even if they knew where to dig.

Educational - The vast majority of educational books in bargain bookstores are outdated, but less so than you may believe. Usually these books become outdated because 1) they rely on outmoded methods or tools, 2) more relevant historical events have occurred in the interim, or 3) renewed editions have emerged. As a whole, the basic learnings that they carry are usually still worthwhile, although you'll need to be careful enough to tell the difference. A book on graphic design will still teach you graphic design, even if we're now using Adobe Photoshop CS instead of 4.0. Programming languages are the primary exception that comes to mind, though, if only because the use of Turbo Pascal has diminished greatly in the last twenty years.

Health - I usually suggest that people try not to pick up Health books that are even so much as five years old, because you can never tell what surprises have been discovered in the meantime. Besides, why not just consult a doctor, nutritionist or personal trainer?

Religion - I find that most religious books land in bargain bookstores because they don't sell too well in ordinary places. Sadly, a lot of these books tend to be reactive — Remember all that literature that came out "debunking" The Da Vinci Code? — which really limits their shelf life. In fact, any religious book that relies heavily on its current status quo makes for very out-of-touch reading. (I once picked up a book that predicted that the Rapture would take place in 1981, just for a laugh.) If you must pick up a Religious book from the bargain bookstores, look for something inspirational; there's no shortage of them, and they usually never become outdated. Bible studies are very nice as well.

Children's Books - I see bargain bookstores as a great place to find good children's books, because kids will eventually outgrow their favorites at some point, and these can easily be passed to a new generation. Hardcover books are usually of far better quality than the paperbacks; Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein can be found among the shelves here. I would suggest avoiding the paperbacks entirely, if only because most of these seem to be little more than licensed knockoffs ("Shrek Counts to Ten") or series of dubious quality ("Animorphs", anyone?).

Magazines - There will never be a shortage of men's magazines and women's magazines inside bargain bookstores, because their circulation is so extensive that we end up with a ton of excess copies. What that means is that you can take this opportunity to fill out any issues of Cosmopolitan or FHM that you lack. Beyond that, the only other magazines that our favorite bargain places are likely to have in high supply are those titles that nobody reads. In Manila, it seems to be Hot Rod, or High Times, or Fangoria.

Comics - The only comics that show up on the bargain shelves are, strictly speaking, those comics that belong on the bargain shelves. Bookstores have it worse, since they usually get the throwaway dregs from the more qualified comic stores, which results in only the most obscure titles or the most banal single issues. If a bargain bookstore has comics available, that usually implies that there's a comics store nearby. I highly recommend that you find that other place instead.

The Days Are Just Packed

2009-04-10T02:47:00.002+08:00

I'm in the middle of a week's leave, and suddenly I'm beset by an unexpected development: the Internet's on the fritz. The last time my browsers were this slow, I had one or two viruses to worry about.

Now, however, it looks more logical than anything else: There's a lot of people in the Philippines who are taking this week off. Most of them are out on vacation with their laptops somewhere, but a lot of them are still at home... possibly because of our worldwide financial situation. (Who knows, really?) The immediate conclusion I can draw, however, is that there are a lot of people in my area who are accessing the Internet at this point in time — and what that means is that my Internet connection is likely to be slower than usual because of all the crowds.

It's either that, or I've got a couple of viruses nesting in my copy of Windows XP again. Frankly, I'm hoping that this possibility is out of the question, and that the reason I mentioned in the previous paragraph is the correct inference.

To be honest, I'm not sure how long my current connection is going to last; my siblings and I have been toggling our modem and router like mad throughout the last twenty-four hours. I'm rather certain that I won't have my existing access for more than a couple of hours, though, so I'll keep this post short and sweet. If anything, at least the people out there know of my current situation.

The irony, of course, is that I was and was not working on a completely different blog post over the past couple of days. It started out as your typical eight-hour conceptual affair, then got shelved over a short break. Afterwards it was a question of finding the right trigger to write it again, only for it to disappear in a rogue save operation. Ah well... that's life for you: Sometimes your thoughts just get lost in the shuffle.

I still owe this blog a couple of posts, so I'll try to re-establish my connection over the next couple of days. Somehow, though, I'm amazed at how our advancements in technology can so easily be eclipsed by the weight of our population. Welcome to the world, then. Welcome to our world.

Disclaimer: April 2009

2009-04-04T23:23:00.005+08:00

...I admit that I was tempted to tick all three options for that eighth question, though.

Ten (More) Prompts

2009-03-30T02:25:00.002+08:00

Come to think of it, it's been close to one year since I originally put up a list of ten crime and mystery prompts, which was probably inspired by some discussion on the lack of such local stories at the time. Having been bombarded with such TV series as Criminal Minds and the CSI variants recently, I figured that it would be a hoot to try to come up with ten more.

One thing that has struck me so far involves how easy it is to come up with a plot that involves a dead body. A corpse is the neatest, cleanest avenue to an investigation: it immediately screams that something is wrong or has gone wrong, and it leaves only just enough elements behind to explain the entire scenario (given a bit of legwork by the protagonist investigator/s). Simply put, a corpse appeals to our sense of order and justice: it points out that a crime has taken place, gives us some of the jigsaw pieces and challenges us to solve the puzzle.

In contrast, I theorize that it's harder to come up with a plot that doesn't involve dead bodies because you're not even sure if a crime has taken place. The result is something that usually bypasses our sense of whodunit... and leaves us with just the question of piecing together what happened. I suppose that certain elements can substitute for that: maybe there's a sense of urgency involved, or maybe a level of moral outrage. Heck, there's always plain curiosity.

For that matter, I'll try to avoid dead bodies in this series of prompts. I'll stay out of the supernatural as well, and I'll still welcome anyone who wishes to use any of these as they may.

1. A series of new gang signs are showing up in the middle of a neighborhood that is being contested between two existing criminal gangs. The new signs are being sprayed over the territories of the two warring groups despite the fact that no representatives of the new organization have revealed themselves, and tensions are starting to come to a head.

2. A horde of small business owners have reported finding counterfeit five-hundred-peso bills in their accounts at the end of certain working days. But the fake bills are all apparently drawn on thick paper with an amateurish hand... and none of the businessmen has any clue as to how they could have accepted such obvious fakes.

3. A Starex van turns turtle in the middle of a major intersection, seriously injuring the four occupants inside. No less than seven separate witnesses testify that no other vehicles or obstructions were even so much as near the van at the time of the accident.

4. Three local entertainment celebrities have all attempted suicide in the past week, and the only common thread is a single rehabilitation center that each of the three has attended within the past month.

5. Dead cockroaches are showing up in bottles of alcoholic drinks across the bars and nightclubs of a popular posh district, sometimes even before the decanters are even opened. The appearances seem completely random and spread out across different brands... and these are confined to a single area alone.

6. Someone has broken into the showroom of the biggest jewelry store in town. But although virtually all of the glass display cases have been smashed, the only thing missing is a diamond engagement ring of relatively low value.

7. Eighteen people in a single apartment building come down with symptoms of the same rare disease within the same week. Only two tenants remain strangely immune: the mother of a family of three on the third floor of the building, and the landlord... the latter of which has mysteriously disappeared.

8. A popular socialite has sworn high and low that the sexually explicit pictures that appear in an underground men's magazine are not her, and yet a newer and bolder set gets shown with each successive issue. Shortly before an investigation reveals the identity of the publishers, the socialite drops all charges, after which she doesn't seem to remember the investigators' names...

9. A college student reports that vagrants and homeless men are attacking him for no discernible reason, and insists on a regular police escort in order to ward off such occurrences. Before long, however, similar attempts on his life by unknown perpetrators begin to take place.

10. Someone is vandalizing parked jeepneys by painting anti-government messages on them. The only suspect common to all of the incidences is an eight-year-old boy; two days into his interrogation, investigators discover that he is illiterate.

Laminated: a Review

2009-03-29T12:25:00.005+08:00

Animax Asia has been hyping up its first original feature release, LaMB, for a while now. It started with the contest announcements, I think, which eventually led to a selection of finalists, the collaboration of a series of international studios, an interactive web site, a couple of music videos, the release of a "Making Of..." feature, countless commercials upon commercials, and finally the first thirty minutes of the show.

Somewhere in the middle of the ruckus, my brother and I both mentioned our skepticism — the animé had better be good, we figured, considering the amount of effort that Animax's great marketing machine was putting into it.

To be fair, I missed its original telecast last Tuesday. Fortunately, it's standard practice for Animax to give working stiffs like me a second chance to see their shows, so I managed to catch the first episode around Sunday lunch. Given all of the handling and preparation, I was expecting the animé to impress me.

Unfortunately, it did not.

For starters, it's an interesting premise. I like the idea of a setting where criminals are "rehabilitated" into blank slates in order to serve a useful function in society — and that, as a result, you have a class of people who act as pack mules for the rest of the population. It's a "crunchy" setting that can lend itself to any number of plots, and which has its own built-in moral conflict. Despite the strange nomenclature ("LaMBs" are each assigned to respective "Shepherds"), I would be interested in seeing what other stories can be told with such a universe.

The music definitely got my attention. While The Click 5 and Simple Plan aren't exactly on the global radar, I think they did a great job; their music seems to add a secondary element into the setting — I'll go as far as saying that it gives it an added push in the "techno" direction without going into hard sci-fi (which I don't think the show emphasizes). LaMB looks like it's setting itself up to be a love story in a futuristic environment; considering that the emotive aspect should take precedence in such a case, I think that the music really nails it.

The graphics were, admittedly, rather hit-and-miss for me. On the one hand, the background images were great — they're absolute works of art, and I'd really like to find out who the artists were, and if they have any other works available. On the other hand, the 3D renderings feel merely adequate for the most part... although that could be because I'm not sold on a future that's made entirely of streamlined surfaces. The character models were a bit of a disappointment on my side; While they would make for excellent posters and still images, they looked quite awkward on the screen.

If there was any aspect where Animax really dropped the ball, though, it was with the animation. I've seen project teams make good animation, and this definitely isn't it; I feel hard-pressed to put it in such a category. The majority of the scenes look rushed and strangely-executed; the opening montage alone was enough to make me wonder if I was watching an effort that had been put together by disorganized high school students. There is a ton of well-produced animation out there, and as far as I know, we moved beyond static character models and choppy transitions somewhere in the early 1990s. I feel that LaMB fails abysmally in this area.

While I can't pass judgment on the story after seeing a single episode of the animé, I'm fairly certain that the writing can be improved a bit. There are some good lines, of course (I'm looking forward to further explorations of Keiko's "sense of humor", for example), but the dialogue seems tattered in some areas. Jack Griswold seems to get a lot of the awkward stuff; I'm hoping that that's because his character is really supposed to be like that, and not because he happens to have most of the spoken lines. Animax usually acquits itself well when it comes to its English translations; I'm not sure how they managed to come up with something that I feel I could either match or improve.

In contrast to the writing, however, the voice acting isn't bad. I feel that it has good potential, actually — although I must point out that these are experienced actors and actresses that we're dealing with. I expect a short "grace period" before the voices reach their full range, which implies that this aspect will get better as the series goes along.

I'm aware that this is the first original Animax-produced work (and possibly the first regional animé effort), so I have the feeling that I should go easy on this. However, all the marketing hype makes this difficult to ignore: LaMB is, in my eyes, a finished product that comes with a lot of scratches despite the manufacturer's pristine guarantee.

Animax will probably get better at this with time, yes. But until then, I can only hope that somebody takes a close look at where the technical production fails here, and apply those lessons towards future efforts. This is, strictly speaking, a work that should have seen further development on the assembly line. As a viewer who's sat through all the anticipation, I just expect better.

The Last Transcript

2009-03-25T16:00:00.002+08:00

I graduated from the Ateneo de Manila University in March 2000, with a Bachelor of Sciences degree in Computer Science.

...At least, that's what my transcript of records implies. To be honest, it doesn't actually have a date of graduation printed on it; I requested for a copy about a month before I actually put on the toga and the plasterboard cap, and added a xeroxed version of my last grade report to fill in the blanks. I imagine that it was so that I could be prepared for the oncoming job search that plagues all new graduates.

Fast forward nine years later, and it turns out that I still have a copy of the transcript. I think I've had this photocopied and re-photocopied any number of times. It's even the original version, mind you, which means that it's discolored and stained with whatever the last decade has seen fit to throw at it.

To be honest, I'm not as proud of my grades as I am of the fact that I managed to survive college. Computer Science in my time was a complicated course, which meant that we left a lot of casualties by the roadside. If memory serves me correct, about forty of us future Computer Scientists met up with each other on orientation day... and of that number, only twenty-one of us actually walked out of the university with Computer Science diplomas clutched in our cold, dead fingers. That mortality rate's not something to be taken lightly, and I know more than my fair share of people who have either dropped the course or shifted out.

It wasn't just the Computer classes, of course. My university had a penchant for throwing each of its students into a variety of different classes, just so that we could emerge as well-rounded individuals. While we didn't get the benefit of, say, supreme concentration in a single chosen field, we got exposure to quite a few disciplines that either added something to our backgrounds or provided alternative directions to our education. Talk to an Ateneo graduate now, and you'll be surprised at how much stuff we know that wasn't part of our course.

With that said, I'm struck by the fact that you can draw a clear line drawn through my grades: I either did fairly well in a specific subject, or I crashed and burned to the point of mediocrity. I've never failed a single course and I only approached that threshold once — that tale, along with a few others, is noted below.

EN 11: Composition — A
EN 13: Introduction to Fiction — A
EN 26: Introduction to the Essay — A
EN 12: Rhetoric — B+

Yeah, you can tell that I was one of the really nasty writer-types in college. You're also probably wondering about how I managed to score that B+ for my last class.

You see, our final project for that last class involved writing a one-thousand-word composition on a given subject (mine was The Process of Fiction, predictably enough). I remember that it was rather easy for me — I took a certain viewpoint about fiction-writing and worked it into a short story, then took advantage of a pre-finals review and gave it to my professor for a few suggestions. We had a short discussion on his recommendations, and I left to make the changes that he had brought up.

After I submitted the final manuscript and he gave it back, I was surprised to find that it had gotten a lower grade. When I raised an eyebrow at that, my professor admitted (rather sheepishly) that "it looks like my suggestions made it worse." It gave me a good laugh, though — and it was enough for me to drop the matter and learn a good lesson from it.

FIL 11: The Art of Communication in Filipino I — C
FIL 12: The Art of Communication in Filipino II — C+
FIL 14: Survey of Philippine Literature — C+

In sharp contrast, I was terrible at my Filipino classes. I had the feeling that my professors here would probably cross to the other side of the corridor if they ever noticed me walking down the hall towards them.

It wasn't that I'm not very good at understanding poetry, prose and essay in what's supposed to be my native language, mind you... it was more because my skills in Tagalog are vastly underdeveloped compared to my skills in English. I remember going through Jose Rizal's Noli Me Tangere in Filipino and barely understanding half of the text, then going through the Soledad M. Reyes translation (for English speakers) and loving every bit of the novel. Yes, it was that bad.

MA 18A: Principles of Modern Mathematics I — Passed
MA 18B: Principles of Modern Mathematics II — Passed
MA 21: Mathematical Analysis I — B
MA 22: Mathematical Analysis II — C+
MA 101: Mathematical Analysis III — C
MA 122: Linear Algebra — C+
MA 151: Elementary Probability Theory — B

I can hear some of the audience collapsing in convulsions now. Don't worry — there's a few chairs in the next room, and you can stay there while I devote a few minutes to this topic.

There are seven courses on the list here, but I only actually went through the last five. I did sufficiently well enough on the college entrance exam that I was allowed to skip the first two courses.

The grades here may be a bit of a surprise when you consider how many math problems I doodle and solve on this blog. The reality, however, is that I find it difficult to remember formulae, much less entire collections of the stuff. This showed up quite easily in my final exams — particularly in my Probability class, where one misremembered variable led to me missing no less than four word problems there.

I still do math problems as a hobby, mind you, but you'll notice that I don't place as much focus on the formulae as I do on the interpretations. I try to put higher math in understandable real-world terms nowadays, if only because I don't think it's good to write stuff that other people can barely understand.

CS 195.O2: Special Topics: Computer-Aided Instruction — B

This was one of my favorite classes; It was an elective that discussed various learning theories and how software systems could approach this element of education. In short, it was a one-semester excuse to create various teaching aids and learning programs, and our sessions involved analyzing the effectiveness of existing material as well as exploring different theories on education. I used my final presentation to provide a nice dissertation on Edward de Bono's context-learning approach, which influences my take on literary criticism now.

CS 150: Computer Architecture — C

This one covered contemporary hardware structures, if I remember correctly, and it was a strange paradigm shift from all the classes on software theory. I'm still not very good at computer hardware, but I can at least talk turkey with the local computer stores. The strangest benefit that this class gave me, however, was the ability to fix certain hardware issues just by knowing where to hit the computer. Strange, but true.

CS 175: Introduction to Multimedia Systems — B
CS 195.O7: Advanced Multimedia — B

Over the course of two semesters, I learned how to handle Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Premiere, and 3D Studio MAX. (Macromedia Flash was still in its infancy back then, however, so I missed out on that.) The projects, however, were killer — especially when you realize that this was not the kind of software that we could install at home, so we spent long hours in the Computer Lab competing for space.

PS 141: Electronics I — D

I acquitted myself well in all my Physics classes — except for this one, which is the single lowest grade on my transcript. As much as I hate to say so, this was the worst class I've ever taken: the professor's lectures were difficult to follow, and her responses extremely obtuse. Our reference material changed on a regular basis: On one day she would ask us to look up a chapter in a certain book, and the next week she would ask us to check out a completely different one.

And if all that wasn't enough, the final exam had absolutely nothing to do with Electronics at all. It involved a tiny ten-item identification test, then a monstrous essay portion whose major entry asked us to "Write a poem of at least 800 words, which must have at least 600 words that are related to Physics." Even I can't do something with those specs, and I've made a lot of weird writings in my time.

A couple of years later, I would find out that my professor for that utter waste of time was a local award-winning physicist. That single revelation was a better lesson for me than any of the classes she taught.

HI 14: Medieval Civilization — B+

I'm fairly good at history, so my grades here aren't much of a surprise. My teacher for this class, however, turned out to be a budding opera student, and she promised that she would give us a performance if the majority of us came up with a high grade threshold for the final exams.

As you can probably surmise by the fact that I'm telling this story, we won that bet. So on the last day of class, we closed the windows and got treated to one hell of a rendition. I don't think that any of us stayed in touch with her after that, though, and sometimes I wonder if she ever got into actual performance.

HI 165: Rizal and the Emergence of the Philippine Nation — A

Jose Rizal's two novels were an integral part of this course, as you might expect. Should you have any lingering doubts about my ability to interpret Philippine literature, I must point out my grade here: I did rather well for my recitation, I submitted a treatise on Rizal and his perspective on religion based on his writings, and I pulled an A off the final exam despite being awarded an exemption from it.

TH 11: Man's Search for God — B
TH 21: The Church and Sacraments — B
TH 131: Marriage and Family Planning — B
TH 151: Seminar on Contemporary Theology — C+
TH 141: Contemporary Theological Problems I: Theology of Liberation — B

I don't have much of a fondness for Theology, and it doesn't have that much of a fondness for me. Two of my most interesting memories stem from Theology classes, though.

The first involves my practicum: five visits to the New Bilibid Prisons in Muntinlupa. The inmates were quite friendly, especially when you realize that I barely spoke an inch of Tagalog back then. Despite their demeanor, you could see what toll that prison life was taking on them: one of our visits had to be postponed because someone decided to have an attack of insanity and run around stabbing people with a kitchen knife. There was also an obvious contrast between the rich convicts (who got air-conditioned houses to themselves), and the poorer ones (who had to sleep about fifty in a cell designed for one.

The second involved a stray dog who was methodically beaten to death outside our classroom window by a couple of bare-shirted men. While my class looked on in horror, our professor (who until then was a saintly old woman who played the guitar and went on a retreat once every three months) got ticked off, and demanded that we pay attention to her instead of the dog. That was another lesson right there, I suppose.

JSP 101: Elementary Japanese Language I — B
JSP 102: Elementary Japanese Language II — C

Yes, I took up Japanese in college. And, oh yeah, am I rusty: Watashi wa nihon no gakusei des.

PE: Physical Education: Fencing — C+
PE: Physical Education: Advanced Fencing — B
PE: Physical Education: General Health — B
PE: Physical Education: Tai Chi — B

As this post has gone on for long enough, I'll close on my performance in Physical Education. I didn't get enough exercise then, and I still don't get enough exercise now. And to be fair, our Fencing instructor was indifferent at best — I don't think he even knew who the heck I was.

That said, though, looking back at this list of PE classes makes me wonder: Didn't the university offer Basketball, or Volleyball, or something? This list looks like something that I would make up completely. (And I wish I did.)

Hey, Where's My Fizzy Umbrella Drink?

2009-03-21T00:56:00.003+08:00

I think I'm due for a vacation.

One of the things that has always struck me as strange, though, is the fact that my idea of a "vacation" is different from everybody else's. To most people, a vacation is a basic getaway, a complete escape from the pressure of workaday life. It's a movement from a tense scenario into a more relaxing situation, one that probably involves long distances, new experiences, and alcoholic fruit drinks with little umbrellas in them.

To me, however, a vacation is a question of getting into a different sort of pressure. I'd like to do some of the stuff I've been neglecting, for example: Fiction has slid further and further down the priority list for me recently, and I'd like to take a crack at it again. When was the last time I doodled in my sketch pad, really? When was the last time I searched the bargain bookstores? And when was the last nerdcore gathering I that actually attended?

Oh, don't get me wrong — while I'd jump at the chance to explore a foreign landscape (especially if Hawaii is involved), I think that I've been on too many international junkets already. As a result, I immediately tend to associate these with such things as morbid expense rates, suitcase living, and language barriers. While they never turn out as bad as they seem (and I do enjoy my international junkets), they just look like dismal options in the face of my simpler choices.

Now that I think about it, I may have taken so many genuine vacations that I've developed an affinity for personal getaways. That's remarkably ironic.

For a start, though, my company has generously approved my request for two days' leave for the second week of April. That effectively gives me an entire free week for the whole Philippine holiday season, a span of time that I will spend focusing on one specific task.

Frankly speaking, I'm going to get some sleep. And this is not the eight-hour-long "healthy" sleep that those outspoken media personalities recommend; this is the sleep-like-a-rock sort of sleep, the kind where you nod off at midnight, wake up at eight for a large breakfast, fall asleep at nine, wake up at two for a late lunch, nap for the rest of the afternoon, scrounge up some dinner, and then doze off just before David Letterman introduces his Top Ten list.

Yes, it's the kind of sleep that would make Rip Van Winkle proud. They'll be rewriting the record books, if everything goes according to plan.

But of course everything won't go according to plan, mostly because I'd like to squeeze in some other stuff as well. I'd like to take at least one visit to a day spa, for instance. Or perhaps visit a nice restaurant with some friends. Or catch a random movie with the largest bucket of popcorn I can buy — there are quite a few things that I haven't done for a while.

As much as I'd like to plan out my down time, there's this little squeaky voice in my head that tells me that the act is tantamount to doing more work. It's like bringing your day planner to the Bahamas, I suppose, so I'm not inclined to do that right now.

It'll just be a question of vague plans, I think, and then a brief waiting period. The waiting period is always longer than we think.

I can hear that clock ticking right now. And it will only get louder as the next two weeks roll by.

Literary Device

2009-03-16T01:48:00.002+08:00

Reiji and Eon have both written similar posts about the LitCritters review group recently, specifically about how it seems that the critical discussions are going over their heads. I feel that this is actually a long-standing issue that emphasizes the gap between writers and critics; it's been around for quite a while, but I suppose that it doesn't get any attention until we encounter situations like the ones they've experienced.

To be fair, no one's at fault here. This, I think, is just a case of two parties not being able to engage in conducive discussion, and it's because there's a definite line between writing a story and critiquing one. I admit that I have yet to attend a LitCritters session myself (and therefore am unaware of the technical level of discussion taking place there), but I've served on at least one critical panel before, and I feel that I might be able to provide some enlightenment in this regard.

I'll start by putting my biggest argument on the table: I think that writers and critics look for different things in a story, really.

I feel that a writer just writes. You don't necessarily have to know every single technical or literary term out there, you don't have to have sixteen years of study or experience behind you, and you certainly don't need a formal degree of any sort to pick up a pen and start scribbling stuff on a piece of paper. When a writer does write a story, he does this in order to satisfy a plot or progression of events that flows through his or her mind; it's all a mental picture that we try to take down as best we can, so to speak. I don't think that most of us build our stories like we do houses, all blueprints and schematics and stuff like that. ("I guess I'll put the denouement... here.") I feel that writers just write, period.

On the other hand, an experienced critic can't just do this. She would have to tailor each of her opinions depending on the story that's under review; she can't simply come up with a set template of responses that can be stamped on each work as needed. A critic has to read each story, identify whether or not she likes it, figure out why that's the case, question why she thinks that such an opinion is reasonable, and continue trying to resolve the matter to the point where she has a final word about the piece.

This is why critics have a lot of terms that describe the various aspects of a story. This is why they discuss the effectiveness of a given plot twist, for example, or the presence of symbolism. This is why they can place strange emphasis on such things as foreshadowing and impact. As Eon notes, this is also where such things as ekphrasis, parataxis, pastiche, heteroglossia, stream of consciousness, montage, exposition, and dubivalutorianism get raised. (I made that last one up, by the way.)

And if there is any single point that I must raise in this article, it's that writers usually don't give a whit about any of the above items at all. I suppose that some of us will look back on our old stories every now and then and see those things where we didn't notice them before, but we sure as heck don't have them in our minds when we actually write the stuff.

But that brings up a second point, and this concerns the question of what sort of value a discussion panel provides for writers as a whole. And in this case, my answer just happens to be "not as much as you'd like to think."

I feel that critiques are just that: critiques. They're opinions for the most part — feedback from people who have read your work and who feel strongly enough about certain points to offer them up for your consumption. Whether these things come from your best friend or from a panel of faceless men in black suits, they're the same thing in the end: they're opinions.

But one important distinction involves weeding out those statements that are the actual opinions from those items that assist towards forming those opinions. An opinion can be as simple as the question of whether or not you like a story, of course. But regardless of how much we may agree on a final opinion, there's still the fact that we may easily use different ways of thinking to arrive at that conclusion.

In short, you can read a story and declare that you like it, just because you happen to like it. I can read a story, analyze its plot flow, dwell on its foreshadowing technique, figure out if the little plot twist had the desired impact, marvel at the poor choice of words on page three, chew my lip at the needless rhetoric near the ending, and eventually declare that I like it. The bottom line is that we both end up with the same relative opinion of the piece... but we just happened to take different paths to get to that destination.

There is a school of thought that says that critics who can surgically slice up a story and split it among its different aspects have far more "legitimate" opinions than those who can merely read a story and judge it without the same level of technical knowledge. I think that this is rubbish.

Ever encountered a situation in the real world where a movie gets lambasted by the critics for having no redeeming value whatsoever, then goes on to make hundreds of millions in the public box office? That's the best example I can give for this kind of conflict: You can break down a single story into its smallest separate components, but while that'll definitely make you sound more intelligent, it won't necessarily mean that your final opinion is completely aligned with everyone else's. Just because I know more obscure words than you do doesn't necessarily mean that my opinion should be taken more seriously than yours.

So what do you get from critical discussions, anyway? I would think that this involves a glimpse of how the critics will see a given work.

I don't think that panel discussions really exist to determine whether people like a given story or not (well, editorial boards do, but that's another thing entirely). I believe that panel discussions exists in order to point out certain aspects of a story that bear note — sort of like figuring out what seems to work and what doesn't. This is really what writers are looking for, I'll wager.

The trouble is that the discussions tend to get mired in technical terminology because it's not easy to describe exactly what makes a story tick. Saying that one likes an ironic statement, for example, is a lot easier than saying that one likes a certain line because "it feels like it's alluding to one thing but is really implying the complete opposite of that concept." To add to the confusion, there's the fact that some aspects aren't necessarily visible to each and every reviewer, and on top of that I'm willing to bet that half the critics in the world have no idea what they're talking about around half the time. (The next time somebody mentions ekphrasis to me, I'm going to ask them for a specific example. Or, failing that, I'm going to ask if it's animal, vegetable, or mineral.)

When this happens, it's not a question of intellectual capacity and the seeming threat of an opinion that's somehow "more legitimate" than yours. No, in this case it should be treated as an exercise where the aspect should be distilled to its essence. Just because one likes the "ekphrasis" of a certain passage doesn't make the analysis complete; you'll have to go into the question of why the "ekphrasis" is so effective, which will often lead to defining just what "ekphrasis" is in the first place. Frankly speaking, I wouldn't worry about knowing just what "ekphrasis" is, as much as I would wonder whether or not the others do.

A writer's task in the conflict of critique is to get the critics to bring down their arguments in such a way as to make them more rational and understandable. Otherwise, well... how else are we supposed to use these? As I said, it's not like we have such things as "ekphrasis" in mind whenever we write our stuff — only the desire to describe a physical work to such a degree that the reader can place it clearly in their minds, so to speak.

And if that doesn't work, if the critics persist in using their highminded terminologies... then the writer can just ignore them really. It's not like a knowledge of those exact same terms is a requirement for writing. Writers just write.

We're two kinds of people really, with a significant gap between us whenever we do our strange little things in our strange little ways. We don't even directly affect one another by doing the things we do. But we can try to catch a glimpse from time to time.

Superior

2009-03-15T22:13:00.002+08:00

I was in the middle of an eight-man Magic tournament at the local mall when someone mentioned it as an overhand, almost casual remark: "I hope I'm not playing against you next round, because I don't think I'll be able to take on your deck."

Normally I would have laughed that off, perhaps said something about how play skill was a significant factor in addition to the deck, but at that point my opponent (who was one game down in our three-game match) mentioned a similar comment: "Yeah, I didn't want to go up against you either." At that point, the proverbial eyebrow went up.

I get the feeling that my reputation precedes me now. I've been playing the game since 1996, stopping only for a two-year interlude before informally resuming in 2002. I specialize in Limited formats — tournaments where you have to build a deck from a small and random collection of cards — and I have one first-place finish under my belt so far. My ELO rating's a 1757 as of this writing, which indicates that I'm above average in terms of playing skill, and I clock in at #77 out of about 2000 registered Philippine players.

And these remarks surprised me, not because I had hit this certain level of recognition, but because they reminded me of a strange attitude that persists when it comes to competition.

I imagine that a lot of people hate going up against a superior contender, and it's for good reason. I don't think that many of us could last a couple rounds of golf against Tiger Woods, for example, as much as most of us couldn't go twenty moves against Garry Kasparov on the black-and-white board. A superior opponent simply belies the sensation that the odds are stacked against us — we're probably going to end up as just another notch on their belt.

I did hold such thoughts in my mind at one point, I admit; when you're young, it's easy to see your own inferiority when compared to the world's collected resumés. Since then, however, I've come to a bit of an epiphany: Why should we be afraid of going up against those with superior skills? I mean, we're quite likely to lose in the end... but wasn't that the expected outcome in the first place? What do we lose by taking the opportunity, really?

That should be the essence of the whole thing: Just why are we afraid of facing superior opponents in formal competition? I would think that it involves the humiliation of defeat — we don't like the prospect of losing a fight that we're highly likely to lose. It doesn't do any wonders for our ego, it doesn't inspire us to better things, and it doesn't make much of a significant gesture at all.

On the other hand, there's also the question of what we have to lose. And the answer to that, I think, is that we usually stand to lose nothing at all.

For the last few years, I've felt that all the pressure is really on the "superior opponents", as it stands. How do we think Manny Pacquiao feels before each fight, anyway? As much as he can bluster and bluff his way through the media, there's always that single thought crawling through his head every time he faces a fresh opponent: "Will I be able to get through this with my reputation intact?"

The problem with people getting closer and closer to the top, you see, is that it takes less and less effort to push them off.

I may have an ELO rating of 1757 right now, but one loss to a 1500-rated opponent (the standard average) will push me all the way down to the amateur-status 1600s. And if the usual expectations do take their course and I beat this hypothetical 1500-rated opponent, then that means, what, a one-point drop in his rank? That's not even worth any number of sleepless nights.

This is why I welcome matches against superior opponents, really. I may have less of an understanding of the game, perhaps a lower level of experience with the competition as a whole. But I also have less to lose than they do. If they win, then it's no skin off my nose and I walk away from the table with a few more learnings for the next tournament. If it's me who wins, however, then I feel like a million bucks for the week afterwards.

If my deck can only beat your deck about ten percent of the time, then I'll go for that ten percent. If your short story wins nineteen out of every twenty contests out there, then I'll strive for that one-out-of-twenty chance. If a work of the speculative fiction genre will only win a National Writing Award once every hundred years, then every piece I will have notarized and sealed in a dull brown envelope will be with the express intent that this shall be one of those years.

And that opponent I had today who was one game down in our match? He rallied for the next two games to beat me two games to one. Moreover, I was barely able to beat the first speaker in our little conversation — he took the first game before some desperate last-minute maneuvering on my part won the next two games of our match. To say that I'm a "superior opponent" may be a bit premature; it was all I could do today to salvage some of my pride.

But after all that I've said so far, that shouldn't be a surprise, really.

Sometimes we just have to realize that we've got nothing to lose.

Fiction: Day Six

2009-03-13T01:17:00.003+08:00

When he decided to create an alternate version of the first prototype, he didn't expect it to be quite this complicated. It was as though he had spontaneously unlearned every innovation that he had placed into the first model, as though the entire ocean had suddenly dribbled out of his ears.

Nevertheless, it was too late for him to stop. The Mark 1 lay on its back in the middle of the artificial turf, its systems temporarily in sleep mode and the front panel on its abdomen gaping open. The soon-to-be Mark 2 — and it was a softer, rounder, more advanced Mark 2 at that — lay on the grass a little ways off. There was a spare cardial infarctor in his left hand, a Class B2 spanner in his right, and some very serious doubts creeping into his head.

Just why had he decided to go this far, anyway? He only intended to build the closed environment up to the landscaping, but he had somehow gone as far as putting together a couple of techno-organic units as an aside. He knew perfectly well that he had a problem with going too far at times — he was intense like that — but this was just... too far.

He screwed the new infarctor in place, then switched on the stimulant generators and watched as it began its rhythmic operation. That was good, at least. He had wondered if it needed to be placed in a different area of the main chassis, perhaps two inches lower to compensate for the slimmer cage, but in the end he just put together some rough calculations and went for it.

Then he tried the pulmonary receptors and was relieved to find that they were working as well. At that point, he had to admit that he must have remembered everything by heart. He had only taken seven days to plan out the first prototype, after all — seven days of bad drawings and blueprints and environmental measures to make sure that it would work the way he wanted.

Wasn't that going to be nice? He had long pondered the feasibility of independent cognition against the question of external control for some time. Now he could see if he could put his theories into place. Even if it failed — and something inside him desperately hoped that it would not fail — he could try to stimulate success by adding a bunch of new variables into the metaphysical system.

That was it, really. He reclocked the sleep settings on the Version Two prototype, sealed the last of the open panels, and left it to its own devices. It would emerge from torpor in about ten minutes, which was just enough time to complete his developments on the first one.

For a moment he glanced at the open panel on Version One, and contemplated the possibility of trashing the less sophisticated model. Eventually, however, he decided that if he was going to have to stop somewhere, then this was the perfect place. It was time to take a step back, perhaps see if everything was as self-sufficient as he had programmed. His personal reputation was on the line here.

He shut the panel on the original prototype and sealed it in place, but not before resetting the sleep program. Behind him, the second model was beginning to wake from its own slumber.

When the Mark 1 was fully awake, it was to the sight of a fellow animate with a strange and familiar resemblance. It seemed confused at first, however, so some explanation was in order.

"A partner," he said, "For you. You can name her, if you wish."

The Mark 1 prototype seemed interested at this, for it spoke in response: "This, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. She shall be called Woman, for she was taken from Man."

He made a note of that — the Mark 1 was remarkably long-winded for a model of its design. He estimated that it would probably take a couple of generations to work this out of its system.

Somehow, he got the feeling that this entire experiment was going to cause him quite a few regrets in the long run. But the dawn was already breaking, and the fatigue of creation had finally caught up to him.

It was about time he got some rest.

The Seven Viral Myths

2009-03-08T19:00:00.004+08:00

It was 4:30 in the afternoon, and I was already late for my ride. I was rushing through the mall, weaving in and out of the crowds, apologizing to the occasional old lady, when I reached the bottom of a flight of escalators and felt as though it was open ground from there.

Then I ran into one of my uncles — my dad's cousin — who asked me if I could help him out with a problem involving computer viruses. While he was certainly one of those "modernized" executives (laptop, storage disk and all), the finer points of technical troubleshooting still eluded him. Because he happens to be one of my Favored Relatives™, I figured that offering a few minutes of time wouldn't hurt.

In retrospect, "a few minutes" was not a good assessment; Our little conversation took over an hour.

To be fair, I underestimated just how much exposure he had had to viruses or dubious software of any sort. What's worse is that the whole thing went one step further: I was appalled at the sheer number of assumptions he carried regarding computer viruses, as well as the depth to which they were wrong. I literally had to break down more than a few of these walls before I could even begin to explain what he could do about his computer... which explains why I was over an hour late for my ride that day.

Therefore, as a bit of a public service, I'd like to put up what I know about viruses. Don't expect this to be a handy know-it-all guide, though: I'm not a technical person, and I don't know how to resolve every single anomaly that shows up on your desktop. I just want to point out the stuff that should really be obvious to people, because I've at least been around the nasty little buggers more than a few times. That, and each of the seven items below is a remarkably terrible assumption; they bear some correction before somebody causes more damage by thinking otherwise.

Myth: An anti-virus scan will resolve any virus problem that you have.

Uh, no. The thing that you must keep in mind is that this is one of the reasons why an anti-virus industry exists: There is no single piece of software that can clean up every single virus that you encounter. (Similarly, there's also no single piece of software that can shield you from every single virus out there.)

For that matter, the business of anti-virus software is reactive by nature: Anti-virus solutions are created in response to existing infections, not in anticipation of them. This means that anti-virus software almost always lags behind the most cutting-edge viral threats. It takes a while for people to identify any new strains, longer to come up with a safeguard against them, and even longer to clean them up completely. And by the time all that is said and done, the new generation of malicious code may already be spreading.

Anti-virus software will do a fair job of cleaning any older threats that your computer may have caught. Just don't automatically assume that it'll also handle any newer viruses that manage to sink their tendrils into your technical setup.

Myth: Your USB drive / external storage unit can't be infected by a virus.

This is one of the most appalling assumptions I've come across. Of course your external storage unit can be affected by a virus; in fact, USB drives, flash drives, portable hard drives, and data storage devices (like that iPod of yours) have a reputation as virus carriers.

I think that this goes back to the fact that, in pre-Internet days, the humble floppy disk (and its 3 1/2-inch successor) was the choice medium of transmission for most viruses. Now that diskettes are on the brink of death, however, and more viruses are being transmitted via computer networks (Internet and otherwise), the idea of virus transmission via storage unit has fallen by the wayside. In fact, modern Windows systems inadvertently contribute to this issue by automatically accessing these devices the moment you plug them in.

Myth: Macs (and other non-Windows-based units) can't be infected by a virus.

The anti-Windows lobby has long used this as a self-congratulatory point, but it's inaccurate for the most part. While the vast majority of viruses indeed target Windows-based systems, that doesn't necessarily mean that absolutely no viruses are written for any other setup.

Macs have their own viral problems too, as well as any other operating system that makes it to the general public. They just happen to run into far less attacks and incidences of infection — certainly a good selling point, but a far cry from implying that you're perfectly safe.

That said, I find it an interesting method to "cleanse" data storage units that are infected with Windows viruses by plugging them into a Mac and cleaning them out there. Hopefully there aren't any "modal" viruses that can hit both types of computers at once.

Myth: The purpose of a virus involves "breaking" your computer for no reason at all.

While some viruses exist to define the skills of their creators (mostly by fooling around with security settings), it would be foolish to assume this for the entire roster. In fact, it's tantamount to saying that a virus is more an annoyance than a major security threat.

Quite a few viruses nowadays were built with specific purposes in mind. The most common one involves stealing secure data by either screening the files that you open, logging the keys that you press, and tracking the applications or sites that you use. Other viruses steal processing power in some way, often to try and bring down a specific online site or service by overloading it with feedback. I imagine that there are a lot more of these purposes built into the modern viral generation, almost certainly enough to question the assumption that these things don't do anything but try to "break" your computer.

The bottom line, I think, is that any incident where a virus makes it into your computer should be seen as a good-sized security threat. Either your system should have been able to ward this off through its built-in settings, or it should have been caught by any counterintrusion measures that you have installed. Anything that bypasses these should be taken as a sign that something's wrong with your setup.

Myth: Your average virus creator is a young, teenage kid who likes fooling around with malicious code.

The media seems to like this stereotype, but it's not a good one to propagate. There are almost certainly some young virus writers out there, but to say that they're all pimply-faced kids working from their parents' basements is just laughable.

Virus writing shouldn't be underestimated. The whole business of writing, modifying and upgrading code is a pursuit that demands time and attention, especially when you consider that you're looking for ways to bypass existing security setups. In a sense, it's like an artistic hobby: You won't be much good at it unless you put in some effort and craftsmanship.

In fact, the prospect is even more removed when you consider that techncially-savvy adults may have more extensive backgrounds, better expertise, and greater resources to fool around with malicious code. There are definitely some younger programmers here (a lot of them, mind you), but one shouldn't make the mistake of assuming that they're all young and immature.

Myth: Your average virus creator is an expert computer programmer who knows how to break into secure systems.

On the other hand, one also shouldn't automatically assume that they're all expert computer programmers. Most bleary-eyed corporations fall into this trap: They think that a person is a technical expert just because he or she is capable of creating a virus (or has created one in the past).

Some people simply don't create viruses for the infamy and the prestige; they do so because they just want to toy around with a bit of code. Heck, there are more than a few amateurs out there who simply take existing viruses (or parts of viruses) and end up making variants that pose a much lesser threat than their original counterparts.

One interesting thing to note is that a lot of viruses don't actually work as intended. Either some configurations are too foreign for them to handle, or some anti-virus shields are too difficult to crack, or some sections of code don't function correctly at all. It's not as though every single virus creator strictly follows a set of guidelines for good programming conventions, after all; this is still a rather independent and informal setting.

A good virus that actually works as maliciously as intended is rare. You'll probably know them when you hear about them; These are the ones that usually make the news.

Myth: The anti-virus software companies are actually the ones creating the viruses, because it gets people to continue buying their product. The more viruses are out there, the more they're guaranteed some form of return business.

And of course, this article wouldn't be complete without the inevitable conspiracy theory. While I won't discount the possibility that a computer virus may end up finding its origins in an anti-virus collective, it would be absurd to say that this happens on a regular basis.

One good way to look at it involves asking yourself how many computer viruses you've ever encountered in your lifetime as a computer user. This is most likely a relatively small number, perhaps ten or so. Twenty would probably be your upper bound here.

In contrast, Wikipedia's list of computer viruses is so long that it has to be split into four or five sections. And even considering that I wouldn't necessarily trust Wikipedia on this matter, you can look up your favorite anti-virus provider's list of security threats and see just how long the list is. The truth is that, historically, only a small percentage of these viruses have infected a large portion of the population... which is really what you'd like a virus to do if you're an anti-virus company looking to drum up some business for yourself.

Despite everything that I've written here, I recognize that I still have a lot to learn about viruses and other security threats in general. I'm not too knowledgeable on how to recognize them, and I'm even less knowledgeable on how to remove them. (Like I said, I'm not a technical resource at all.)

Regardless of that, however, I think that we would benefit from a less stereotypical and more practical view of these things. It would certainly help us the next time we find that we've been infected in some way... although it's already too late for me to get that one hour of my life back.

Weapon of Choice

2009-03-05T00:43:00.002+08:00

Okay, one more weird post before I go to bed.

I've had a fascination with weaponry since just before I started writing. I'm not sure where it came from (because you obviously don't see kids with this kind of interest, oh no), but I know that I've had one for a while. I'm not so obsessed that I've taken to collecting the stuff and stalking the streets at night with various implements strapped to my back... but I figure that I'm engaged enough to know some strange things.

I can, for example, judge the purpose of a knife with a few glances at its blade. I read heavily on the technology of war throughout human history, and sit up to watch television programs about the effectivity of these tools. I can explain the physics behind guns and cannons, and probably know a hundred synonyms that correspond to the names of various weapons scattered across the world.

Ironically, I don't use the knowledge very often, beyond the occasional literary reference. I haven't had any special training in any of the things I read about, and I haven't even held a lot of them in my hands. It's a lot like being a janitor who knows the basics of calculus: the information is utterly useless beyond mere curiosity. It's a weird quirk.

The stranger quirk, however, lies in the fact that I occasionally use this pseudo-martial knowledge as a form of association. Put simply, I will sometimes bring the image of a person to mind, and immediately associate a single weapon with that person. I can imagine weapons into peoples' hands, if you like to think of it that way. Don't ask me why, because I don't know why I do it. Maybe it's incomprehensibly Freudian.

Let's take a convenient example: Dean Alfar. Dean, for those who don't know him, is a multiple-Palanca-Award winner, and is the driving force behind the Philippine Speculative Fiction anthology (which has just released its fourth issue). He's a regular member of quite a few contemporary panels on Philippine Fiction, he runs a publishing studio and a pet store, and he plays patriarch to a wife and two kids.

I imagine Dean Alfar with a sawed-off shotgun in his right hand. Now, I already mentioned that I don't know if that has any psychological significance... I just imagine him holding a sawed-off shotgun in this right hand. It's one of those one-barrel specialties, too, the kind with an ungodly roar that will turn paper into confetti at point-blank range. The image of him firing it into empty air, pulling it back with one hand, reloading, and then firing again just seems... appropriate. Somehow.

Dean isn't even the only victi... er, example who I hold in this context. If you must know, I imagine quite a few people with quite a few instruments:

Kenneth Yu: The proprietor of Philippine Genre Stories holds a lance, the kind used by medieval knights for jousting. It's blunted at the tip, but that's probably because I keep wondering whose job it is to sharpen the lance.

Dominique Cimafranca: I can imagine him with a starter's pistol in hand, that weapon-that's-not-a-weapon which gets used to start races. I don't know if it fires blanks or not; I just have a starter's pistol in mind.

Sacha Chua: The image of Sacha firing a missile launcher amuses me. In fact, I have a tendency to gift tiny young women with massive implements of destruction, probably for the mere fact that the concept amuses me.

Bill Gates: And now we move on to some more well-known public figures. Bill Gates actually doesn't get a weapon – for some reason, I keep placing a stainless steel guitar pick in his hands, although it's sharp enough to cut a few throats.

Bobby Fischer: The late chess eccentric holds a fireplace poker in his right hand. The image is strangely clear in my mind – it's polished brass, somewhat new but showing signs of wear, with both a straight and a curved blade at the tip. It glows against the light of the fire.

Jac Ting Lim: The blogger / artist / model / cosplayer / gamer wields a pair of shuko – claw-like weapons used by ninja.

Charles Tan: The reader's reader holds a morning star – a fantastic medieval weapon that's basically a spiked or studded iron ball attached to a chain. No word on what he uses it for, though.

Joseph Estrada: A broken beer bottle.

Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo: A dagger. Not just any dagger, mind you... I'm thinking a dagger with a slim blade and a slight wave to the edge near the hilt. It would be perfect for stabbing people in the back... although that's more a clinical observation than a critical opinion of her personality.

Manuel L. Quezon III: This man is one of the few people who I can imagine holding a sword. Weirdly enough, that sword happens to be a heavy Scottish claymore in this case. I'm not even sure if I know what a claymore looks like, which doesn't speak much as to the authenticity of this image.

Britney Spears: Heh. I can imagine her firing a Beretta handgun... just your plain old Beretta. Nothing fancy, and she doesn't seem too skilled at the firing range.

Sean Uy: I wield an umbrella. It's not even a special, steel-tipped umbrella with secret compartments and a concealed blade; it's just a regular umbrella that one buys in the local convenience stores. The irony is that I do bring one with me every day... and in a pinch, it would actually be my weapon of choice.

:)

Disclaimer: March 2009

2009-03-02T00:41:00.005+08:00

* All items on this blog were conceptualized and written by Sean (i.e. me), with the exception of those items and references sourced from other creators. These items have acknowledgements and links whenever possible; if any of the attributions are incorrect, or if you own these works and have a complaint against my featuring them on this site, you are welcome to contact me for cordial discussion.

* Please ask for permission before using any of the works on this blog so that I may make sure that these are used in their proper context. No compensation is usually involved for non-commercial use, although I'll just ask for a link of some sort. Do not use any of these works with the intent to malign, slander, or use under any name that's not my own... otherwise I'll lock you up in a room to get eaten by cute wittle bunny wabbits. And lawyers.

* One thing that you probably don't know is that bunny rabbits abhor the taste of the Creative Commons License. So visit that link in the right-hand sidebar of my main blog site while you still have time.

* The above image was sourced and created via icanhascheezburger.com. Just when you thought they only liked carrots...

The Taxman Cometh

2009-02-27T02:18:00.003+08:00

One of the downsides to being an amateur mathematician with a background in Computer Science is that sometimes you get asked to do something uncomfortable every now and then.

Like taxes.

That's the withholding tax table for the family bakeshop, and the source of my accounting misery every now and then.

I have nothing against taxes, mind you. Yes, I do live in a country where the government sees fit to take portions of our hard-earned money and spend it on such things as congressional pork, foreign junkets, and endless political hearings... but hey, who doesn't?

What I do have, however, is a problem with the government's endless fiddling with the amounts and the percentages. I feel that the current withholding tax system is complex enough, for example: You start out having to identify yourself as "Married with Three Dependents", or "Head of Family with One Dependent", or the ominous-sounding "Single". From there, you grade your monthly income according to a hardcoded scale of brackets, then take its difference from the given lower bound, calculate the corresponding percentage, then add a fixed-tax amount to the result.

And once you manage to figure out all that, just think of how you'll feel once you realize that that's the amount that you have to pony up to the tax collectors. But I digress.

I mention this now because the government has a bad habit of shuffling around the numbers every couple of years or so. I suppose that it's logical to do this with such a complex system — I mean, there's inflation and all to consider — but that's a wall of numbers we're talking about. That's almost a hundred numbers that you need to replicate exactly, then double-check to make sure that your calculations don't get screwed up for the next eight months.

And then, what really twitches my eyebrows is the fact that we've had two large-scale withholding tax refunds for the bakeshop in the last two years. While I normally wouldn't complain about the prospect of getting our money back from the government, the fact that I'm calculating withholding tax payments and giving them back at the same time is not lost on me.

What's stranger is that, earlier this evening, I found out about Republic Act 9504. This was apparently passed in the middle of last year, and is an amendment to the old 1987 National Internal Revenue Code. Its primary point of interest is that it exempts minimum-wage earners from paying income taxes. (Yay for all minimum-wage earners!) For the purpose of this article, however, it also happens to exempt these same people from paying withhholding tax. (Yay for all... huh?)

About half the bakeshop's employees are on minimum wage, I must add. And I must point out that we're still paying off thousands of pesos from the last withholding tax refund.

And all that boils down to our current scenario: The government is actually paying money to about half our employees.

That just feels wrong on so many levels. And it screws up all of my calculations — which are now a patchwork of cobbled-together wage hikes, allowance increases, and rate changes from all the adjustments that the government has forced us to put together... just so that they can put on a good face to the public at large.

No wonder my college classmates tore their hair out whenever the prospect of accountancy classes came to mind.

Years ago, I remember opening a magazine and learning that there was a country somewhere whose income tax schema involved charging citizens exactly five percent of their monthly income. Yes, that's it... five percent. No muss, no fuss, no headaches that won't go away at two in the morning. Why can't we have a system like that?

On the other hand, I suppose that it gives our bureaucrats something to do every day. That's if they're not conducting their usual series of endless political hearings, that is.

All Work and No Play Makes Sean a Dull Boy

2009-02-24T01:52:00.005+08:00

At the rate at which I'm going, this month looks to be a sparse month with regards to posts.

There are a few reasons for this, of course. First, there's the work — I'm engaged in something that requires quite a lot of attention at the moment, and the spectre of such details follows me even when I'm home and sitting in front of the computer. In short, it's hard to think of other topics when the work is jockeying for space in your mind. There's probably a disconnect somewhere in this regard, but I have yet to find it.

Second, there's the medical condition. I just learned that the levels of fat in my liver decided to skyrocket again, and I suspect that it's because I pulled myself off the prescribed medicine and stuck with some over-the-counter remedies. (Yes, Virginia, my brain is indeed on drugs.) It looks like I'm going to have to switch back amidst a chorus of dietary constraints and other unfunny stuff.

Finally, there's the games. It's far easier for me a squeeze in a board game or two within a fifteen-minute timeframe than sit in front of the computer typing stuff, so I've been hitting those pretty hard. The fact that the office has opened a game room of sorts most definitely does not help, but at least I now have a Helix Pinnacle deck that irritates the heck out of everybody it plays against.

Adding to that are a couple more considerations: There are a few writing deadlines that are still in the works, for example, and my publisher has been openly wondering just where that supplementary textbook manuscript went. So even if I had the time to write, there would still be the question of exactly what I'd write first. (The manuscript looks good, as I imagine that skipping its deadline would speak volumes about my work ethic.)

Or maybe I'm just tired. I don't refer to the fatigue, mind you, as much as I refer to being in a rut somewhere. Perhaps I'm stuck at the moment. Maybe I'm stagnating, maybe I'm melting in place, maybe I'm turning the exact same issue of the exact same newspaper to the exact same page each day, and finding the wrong horoscope pages staring back at me.

That was an interesting line, by the way. I should try to write like that more often.

Alternatively, I could just be looking for interesting stuff. It's not easy to find interesting stuff when you don't get out much... come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I went out with friends. And Watchmen's coming out in a couple of weeks already — it's the kind of movie that you want to see with friends and a bag of popcorn, in that order.

Yeah, it's about time I set something up to get my thoughts out of the lurch. There's too much stuff floating around my mind right now. It might be time to go out and do something mindless.

The Dictionary of Text Anomalies

2009-02-18T02:56:00.007+08:00

Animatopoeia — A word or a phrase, often separated by asterisks, that signifies a physical gesture performed by the author at that given point in the text. *rolls eyes*

Bovine Ignorance — It behooves us to admit the practice of using complex words in simple statements... despite the fact that the writer has no idea what the words might mean.

Censtar — An asterisk placed in the middle of a d*mn word in order to disguise its profane intent. (Often to no obvious effect.)

Dirty Harry — A single statement that, for the purpose of emphasis, has been. Split. Into. Multiple. Sentences.

Extriclamation — The practice of placing more than one exclamation point at the end of a statement!!! This often has no visible effect other than reader annoyance!!!!!

Foot-in-Mouth — A sentence that contradicts itself, unless it happens to be true.

Gravel — ... Scattered... areas... of... ellipses... often... found... in... examples... of... excessive... usage...

Hyperdislocation — The unexplained presence of code in Internet text./p>

I-Syndrome — I mean, I believe that this describes a condition where I constantly use or I unconsciously write the word "I" five or more times in a sentence where I have no involvement otherwise.

Jinx Rule — The theory that there will always be at least one stupid spelling error in a work, regardless of how closely one editts it.

Knitted Text — A statement where the spacesbetweenwordshavebeenremoved, often to imply rapid speech patterns.

Llewelyn — An incidence where two consecutive words fittingly, unwittingly manage to rhyme.

Mouthed — "It's a dialogue attachment where the author has clearly gotten tired of using the word 'said'," Sean mouthed.

Neoscopy — The mankind-regulated practice of combining two completely unrelated ipso-factorial words (often via hyphenation) to form a new, fallacio-pretentious term.

Once Upon a Time — And Little Red Riding Hood said, "What strange discussions you hide in your stories!" To which the Wolf replied, "The better to get attention for otherwise monotonous topics, my dear."

Packaged Punctuation — The habit of combining two or more punctuation marks at the end of a sentence to create a... mixed emotive effect!? Huh?!

Quietus — The technique of erasing the fir— no, the second half of a word in order to imply an interruption or continuation of action.

Rhytoric — Boring speeches are a waste of time / But not when they're seasoned with a pinch of rhyme / It sounds like Shakespearean rap in part / And not recommended for the faint of heart.

Supercalifragalism — Praeternalinguistically, it's the general term for the ability to use a word that is over twenty letters in length in a sentence.

Throwdown — It's an open challenge to you the reader! And I'm gonna do this because there's no obvious method by which you can challenge my authority! So... wanna make something of it, ya pansy?

Underbreath — The use of two obviously different font sizes for two succeeding sentences, in an attempt to imply a lesser degree of attention for the one in smaller font. Yeah, and your mother wears army boots.

Vocamnesia — The sublime condition of acquiring a level of vocabularial magnitude so detrimentally excessive that even the most primal of dedicated dilettantes shall suffer discorporate lapses in certainty that will cause him or her to subconsciously forget those matters to which you have originally summoned their attention.

Wrestling Yodel — ...A declaration whose vowel sounds are drawn out to create the illusion of voluuuuuuuUUUUUUUMMMME.

Xenoconstruct — Der zentens in veyk vokal akshent dun vy changing latters. Das ist gud, yah?

Ye-ese — Prithee forgive thine subject, for thy observation finds that this is merely an unconscious use of faux Olde Englishe.

Zag — A sudden, abrupt halt in a statement, which implies that something suitably horrible has happened to the writer other tha

Whither the Topic?

2009-02-14T21:27:00.006+08:00

I'm aware that most bloggers write about whatever's on their mind at the moment. I figure that this is the diary- or journal-type mentality in effect: these are our personal sites, and when faced with the task of populating these with content, we naturally gravitate towards the stuff that's going on in our lives.

Just taking a quick look down the line of previous posts, I note that I've written about my new godson, my voice, my personal dislike of plagiarism, my opinion about reusing old works, and my take on a bunch of upcoming deadlines... all in the last two weeks.

I find that there's one catch to this style of blogging, however, and that's the fact that, if nothing interesting is happening in your life, then you end up being at a loss for topics. The same situation results if, say, work is the foremost thing on your mind, and you don't want to break your non-disclosure contract. Or if you're engaged in hobbies that need some significant explanation before you can talk about them (mathematics and Magic come to mind).

When faced with this situation, I think that most bloggers would turn their attention to outside events. We hold opinions on just about everything, after all, and it makes for a legitimate discussion point for our web sites. Maybe it's the Australia wildfires today. Maybe it was the Madoff scheme yesterday. Maybe it'll be the excessive Dumaguete rains tomorrow.

The beauty of writing based on outside events is that there's always some change in the mix. Whatever you're writing about today will almost certainly not be the same thing that you'll be writing about six months from now. Political bloggers know this by heart, I suppose, so much that they can make careers out of this kind of writing. Readers, for their part, are usually willing to delve into organized opinion... no matter how far-leaning or out-of-the-ordinary it might be. (And those out-of-the-ordinary things might even get a better audience.)

Even if there isn't much happening on the outside, I suppose, there's also another direction where one can aim his personal opinion. I find that reviews are common nowadays, for instance — if we're not talking about movies, then we're talking about books. If we're not talking about books, then we're talking about electronics. And if we're not talking about electronics, then we're snapping photos of our favorite dishes at our favorite restaurants. There's a constant question as to whether or not our own personal opinions contribute something to the welfare of the world — one man's treasure is another man's trash, I imagine — but they do help feed our passion for expression.

One thing that puzzles me, however, is the current spate of commercial blogging. I understand this to some degree, mind you: It doesn't take much to realize that some people tend towards moneymaking efforts, for instance, and it's not too far-fetched to imagine that some companies can just as easily use blog services as a cost-effective resource. Profit and personalism don't necessarily conflict, which means that commercial blogs can easily exist in the current community without much issue.

The odd thing, however, is that I see more than a few SEO blogs advocating themselves as "personal" efforts. I mean, is this a move to get more readers? Resolve a strange crisis in identity? Get attention? As much as I'd like to see it, I usually don't find that much in the way of personal contribution among the tide of syndicated content here. But, well... whatever gives them the content that they need, I suppose.

Corporate blogs are even more strange to me, if only because they walk a very fine line between the need for public promotion and the privacy of corporate secrets. The result is a site that gives a glimpse of the inner workings behind an organization without... actually... giving... away the inner workings behind an organization. At worst, there's the question of how they expect to provide updates on a regular basis: Apart from the writers' expected "standard" workload, there's also the question of what they're supposed to write about on a regular basis.

In that sense, personal bloggers have it easy. Assuming that they can draw upon topics completely at random, they can simply write about the first thing that comes to mind. Often, this comes in the form of personal experience or insight — the diary- or journal-type mentality, if you will.

There's a whole slew of people out there, all tapping away at their keyboards for certain portions of each day, and there's just a slew of variations in each and every one of the words they write. Exactly where we draw our content from is anybody's guess, despite everything that I've written above. Maybe we all just pull it from the hands of some master manipulator, some titanic dragon who clutches the primordial servers of the world in his talons and telepathically compels us to use LOLspeak.

But that's a story for another time, and perhaps a dandy piece of content for my next post.

Marlon Brando

2009-02-09T23:17:00.003+08:00

Folks, I'd like you to meet Fernando Miguel Tan Cantor.

He's my first godson, by the way. It's been a bit of an adrenaline rush for me for a while now.

I mention this here because his first birthday and baptism was last Sunday at the Shrine of Jesus church in Manila, after which we sat through what was most likely the most complex childrens' party on record.

It feels good having a godson... almost like having your own kid. I might regret saying this one day when all the yearly birthday and Christmas presents finally get to me, but I hope you won't mind if I revel in the moment for a while.

Pay no attention to that hideous-looking man on the right, by the way. He just decided to butt into this photo for some reason.

:)

Sotto Voce

2009-02-08T23:07:00.003+08:00

With a number of high-level managers visiting our office this week, some of our work discussions turned to how we were going to showcase our presentations. I don't know how the "talk show" theme came up then (because I wasn't in any of the meetings), but when someone brought up the question of a "voice" to do the guest introductions, there was a particular writer / systems analyst / mathematician / blogger who came to mind.

To be honest, I'm not a proper voice talent. I've had a deep baritone voice since sixth grade, which meshes rather well with my fluency in English... but I haven't really taken advantage of this to the fullest. Nevertheless, I end up doing a few favors for people every now and then: I've got about three or four multimedia presentations and one TV commercial to my credit so far, not to mention a few communications theses. I've even played God in a couple of skits for theology class. (It's amazing what a little reverb effect can do.)

I also get the occasional inquiry about once or twice a month. Someone once thought that I was an actor, for instance. A couple of call center managers have asked me for a resumé. And for some reason, Starbucks baristas have this tendency to ask if I'm a radio deejay of some sort.

I have no intention of using my voice as a means to get by. I think of it as a finite resource that ebbs and flows with my general health: If I use it too often, it'll run out. If I develop a sore throat, it'll be too rusted for use. If I even so much as go without a glass of water for too long, it'll reflect the same measure of dryness.

With my workload from last week, however, I wasn't able to have a proper sit-down session where I could do my recordings. I've tried to do them this weekend, of course, but I've encountered some obstacles. It's difficult to find a place that's completely silent, for one, and I've had to reword my spiel every five minutes just to avoid any awkward pieces of text ("the sixth service occurrence that still threatens seats"). In addition, I'm working without any proper sound-editing software available, which means that I can't take advantage of any denoising effects. The temptation for my speech to degenerate into a series of wrestling-style introductions ("Director X, LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUUUUMBLE!") has been pretty hard to resist.

And all that boils down to the fact that I have to do my spiel live in front of the entire company tomorrow afternoon. I don't like the implications here — because you have to admit that it's not a proper way to stand out at work — but it does get a bit of attention. And it makes things interesting. I just have to hope that I don't screw it up.

Strangely enough, the only people who don't seek to take advantage of my voice are the people in my immediate family. I mean, you'd probably expect that they'd all be falling over each other to use the "homegrown" (read: "free") resource. But no... it turns out that there are quite a few people in my family who have similar vocal structures, and it seems that we have enough of them who are willing to preside over familial discussions. We get baritone voices on a daily basis, yes.

And just think — this sort of thing is hereditary. If I end up having kids, they might have voices low enough to move mountains. They could just be the harbingers of the apocalypse, mind you... and Lord help them if they're female.

You have to play life with the hand that you're dealt, I suppose, even if it's the Cosmic Joker who's holding the cards. And the voice does have its advantages, if only because it turns heads whenever I join in the religious hymns on the occasional Sunday.

But please... no more requests to do karaoke. I'm a little tired of all the urgings to perform songs by the Bee Gees, thank you very much.

Disclaimer: February 2009

2009-02-03T23:58:00.003+08:00

Every†h1ñg øñ †h1ş bløg w@ş ¢øñ¢ep†ed @ñd exe¢u†ed by 5e@ñ (hereby ñø†ed @ş “@u†hør”). Th1ş øñl1ñe dø¢umeñ†, repe@†ed @ş †he ƒ1rş† pøş† øƒ every møñ†h, ¢er†1ƒ1eş †h@† şu¢h ¢øñ†eñ† l@wƒully @ñd w1llƒully beløñgş †ø †he @u†hør @ş ñø†ed 1ñ †h1ş ş1†e’ş prøƒ1le.

The øñly elemeñ†ş øƒ †h1ş ş1†e †h@† @re ñø† †he prøper†y øƒ †he @u†hør @re †høşe †h@† @re @¢kñøwledged †ø be †he prøper†y øƒ ø†herş. Theşe eñ†r1eş @re @††r1bu†ed, m@rked @ñd ñø†ed @† @ll †1meş. Iƒ by şøme ¢h@ñ¢e yøur wørk 1ş exh1b1†ed here w1†høu† †he prøper @††r1bu†1øñş, yøu @re eñ¢øur@ged †ø ¢ørd1@lly ñø†1ƒy †he @u†hør şø †h@† †h1ş m1ş†@ke ¢@ñ be re¢†1ƒ1ed.

8y †he ş@me †økeñ, yøu @re ñø† @lløwed †ø †@ke ¢øñ†eñ† ƒrøm †h1ş ş1†e @ñd exh1b1† ør uşe 1† w1†høu† †he perm1şş1øñ øƒ †he @u†hør. Dø ñø† @¢qu1re @ñy 1†em here w1†h †he 1ñ†eñ† øƒ @††r1bu†1ñg 1† †ø yøurşelƒ, dø ñø† uşe 1† ƒør m@l1¢1øuş ør uñl@wƒul purpøşe, @ñd dø ñø† quø†e 1† øu† øƒ 1†ş ¢ørreşpøñd1ñg ¢øñ†ex†. Shøuld yøu w1şh †ø uşe @ñy ¢øñ†eñ†, ple@şe ¢øñ†@¢† me şø †h@† we m@y beg1ñ ñegø†1@†1øñş. I w1ll uşu@lly ñø† @şk ƒør @ñy†h1ñg 1ñ ex¢h@ñge, beyøñd @ l1ñk †ø †h1ş web ş1†e.

Th1ş ş1†e ƒølløwş †he †ermş øƒ †he Cre@†1ve Cømmøñş L1¢eñşe @ş @ gu1del1ñe ƒør 1†ş 1ñ†elle¢†u@l prøper†y ¢øñ¢erñş. I† m@1ñ†@1ñş @ l1ñk øñ †he r1gh†-h@ñd ş1deb@r øƒ †he m@1ñ 8løgger ş1†e ƒør †h1ş purpøşe. Yøu @re h1ghly eñ¢øur@ged †ø re@d †hrøugh 1†ş †ermş @ñd ¢øñd1†1øñş; †h1ş 1ş ñø† @ ¢ømplex †@şk.

Δñd 1ƒ by şøme ¢h@ñ¢e yøu m@ñ@ge †ø re@d †h1ş whøle †h1ñg @ll †he w@y †ø †he eñd, g1ve yøurşelƒ @ ¢øøk1e.

Rewriter's Block

2009-01-31T23:34:00.002+08:00

Somewhere around the deadline for the last Fully Booked contest, I noted that I was leaving a trail of unfinished, unpolished, or otherwise unsubmitted stories behind me. While this was to be expected — I mean, what writer doesn't maintain an archive of unpublished works? — my practical side was telling me that these were all such a waste of words and filespace. Some of these things would probably be readable after a little waxing and buffing, after all.

Another issue, I think, were the technical limitations. I've had three or four computers conk out during my lifetime, for example, and I'm not in the habit of making regular backups of my stuff. That means that I've lost my full archives around two or three times so far, and there are some of those missing works that I'd like to have back, if only because I could have used them in one way or another.

The problem, however, lies in exactly how I expect to use them. The obvious answer involves rewriting, adjusting and submitting these... but would that compromise our drive for original works? I mean, any time I spend making changes to these old writings can just as easily be spent coming up with completely new ones.

So now I'm wrestling with quite a few questions: Is it logical, ethical, and practical to re-use old works somehow? Is there a limit to what you can do with these old works? Should it be done only within a certain frequency?

My submission to the last Fully Booked contest, for example, was a revised version of Mausoleum 618, which I had previously submitted to the yearly Philippine Spec Fic anthology over a year ago. For that purpose, I kept the original concept (as well as most of the first page that I posted), added a second voice narrative to flesh things out, put in a bit more research, pulled some of the more clichéd aspects, and basically doubled the length of the story. Despite the work, however, I'm not sure if it counts as a completely new story... nor am I convinced that I should have just left it in my archives to rot.

Some thoughts on the matter would be helpful, of course. This is a strong consideration for me right now, as there are some heavy deadlines coming up, and I know of at least two old short stories that I would like to put through the critical wringer. I'll still be coming up with original ideas from my end, of course... but I'd also like to know if it's honest for me to take a few things out of the attic and find some use for them.

...And More!

2009-01-29T02:35:00.016+08:00

And now, a rundown of literary deadlines that I will try to meet for the first half of this year:

Story Philippines / Philippine Genre Stories collaboration: No requirements outlined, no word limit given. While PGS has primarily been all about the Speculative Fiction, Story Philippines seems to take on literary works in general. The editors are Jade Bernas and Kenneth Yu. They'll be picking out about six to eight stories, although there's no word yet on what will happen when a paperback-sized digest meets a poster-sized magazine. (I assume that it's the same thing that will happen when an irresistible force meets an immovable object.) Deadline is February 28, 2008.

The Farthest Shore: Fantasy from the Philippines: Stories must be of the traditional ("high") fantasy or epic fantasy subgenre, maximum 7,500 words. An electronic publication venue is expected — works will be made available via PDF. Payment is PhP500.00 for each story accepted; The editors are Dean Alfar and Joseph Nacino. The lack of any page limits in the electronic world implies that they can pick out any number of entries that they want, if they don't mind a resulting filesize that makes servers cry. Deadline is April 15, 2009.

The 2009 Palanca Awards: They finally have a web site! No formal announcement yet, but we all know that these things come around in March or April each year. Stories must have been written in the last year, and must belong to one of their specified categories; if you've written something for Future Fiction, you're out of luck. Winners get their stories published... er... nowhere, actually — but they'll at least feel good about beating out almost every other writer in the country. No genre restrictions, no word limits, and no guarantee that they'll be generous enough to award first place to anyone. Deadline is unknown, but either March 31 or April 30, 2009 seems likely.

And now, a short glimpse of me panicking at the sight of three deadlines bunched closely together, especially with my current workload:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... *deep breath* ...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!@#$%!

.