Monday, April 24, 2006

Scratch Paper



Ah, yes... one more thing about the second iBlog conference.

The above artwork was generously given to me by a young volunteer named Jasmin, after I expressed an interest in her work. She was manning a table at the conference, you see, and while the attendees were off at various talks, she passed the time by making a bunch of nice drawings on some scratch paper.

The scan up there doesn't show it too well, but the artwork I claimed from her was done entirely using a run-of-the-mill black ballpen. It's not fully polished, but then again, it wasn't meant to be fully polished. If the detail around the character's face is any indication, though, then a full-blown pin-up would probably knock peoples' socks off.

So why would I feature her work here? Well, I spend quite a bit of spare time looking at artwork, especially at the office (where I need all the breaks I can get). I hold a lot of links to comic and graphic design blogs in my Favorites list, and I've got a few DeviantArt addresses memorized besides those.

All of that culminates in my predicament, really. I asked Jasmin for her DeviantArt address, which she was quite happy to provide. Unfortunately, I lost the resulting scrap of paper sometime during the conference, and that left me with this single piece of art and nothing more to show for it. (I actually left this piece behind as well, but Jonas Diego was nice enough to retrieve and scan it for me.)

So there it is, ladies and gentlemen. Does anyone know this artist, and can anyone give me a link to her DeviantArt gallery? It'll make a good addition to my list of links. (And hey, more exposure for her is always good.) :)

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Postcards from the iBlog

Sean's note: I gathered all this from the recently-concluded 2nd Philippine Blogging Summit, although I've placed everything in Zen-like proverbs because I just happen to feel infinitely tired tonight. Some people out there may recognize stuff that they've quoted or implied during that fateful Tuesday; you'll have to excuse me if I leave your names out of this one. :)

...

When given the choice between asking for directions and using a map, take the map. You can always ask for directions later.

Authority is relative. One man's king is another man's blind hobo.

Take down what information you need, but don't leave the paper behind.

When faced with a choice between two things, go for the unfamiliar and unheralded. Its success inevitably feels all the more sweeter.

Laughter is the great equalizer.

Don't laugh at the person. Laugh at the situation.

There are two ways to get an audience's immediate attention: laughter, and crude sexual references. One of them is more preferable than the other.

When given a choice between food and oratory, most people will take the food.

Men are all too good at destroying themselves. If you wish to destroy a man, you can usually afford to wait.

An intermittent connection is just as bad as having no connection at all.

You will find some measure of good in every man, although some souls will take a lot more digging than others. Some searchers, on the other hand, will grow impatient with a lot less digging.

How strange it is, that we put on so many faces that are not our own.

You cannot expect to teach birds to swim, or fish to fly. But you will always encounter birds who wonder what it is like to float beneath the waves, and fish who wonder what it is like to soar through the air.

No matter how much we hate to admit it, we all crave attention.

It is all too easy to let time slip through your fingers. Gripping it too tightly, however, will burn your hands.

A man is defined by how he deals with his circumstances, whether he escapes to more favorable realms, or stands fast in the face of the storm.

Questions are not merely asked to satisfy your own curiosity. Questions can just as easily raise the most salient of arguments.

An audience will see you either as an expert or as a peer. You must realize the difference every time you look into their eyes.

Being a good writer does not automatically make you a good speaker. Being a good speaker does not automatically make you a good writer. Being both does not automatically make you a good person.

Give any man a time limit and he will eventually find a way to break it.

What sense does it make to arrive too early for the party and then leave long before the celebration starts? What sense does it make to arrive late to the party and then leave long after everyone is gone?

One can never have too many pandas.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

I Blog, You Blog, We All Blog

Attend iBlog 2, the Philippines' 2nd Blogging Summit!

I've just arrived home from the 2nd Philippine Blogging Summit. Sadly, I wasn't able to stay long enough to catch all the talks -- I missed Charo's session, in particular -- because I had to bring the car home for my sister's use.

Still, most of the sessions went well. Anton performed admirably, Jonas pointed out quite a few things, and Dean was his usual charming self. With the example of last year's iBlog conference and a higher number of speakers this year (as well as a slightly larger blogging community), it was easier to find an interesting topic, a nice presentation, or a good laugh.

Granted, I think they've still got a few folds to iron out. I'm not the only person who wondered why the conference was taking place on a Tuesday, and a few more sponsors wouldn't have been amiss. There's also a problem inherent in holding multiple talks at once, and that's the fact that you can't listen to more than one speaker at the same time. But these should be resolved after we have a few more conferences, I think.

On a more personal note, it was a good experience, and the whole thing gave me quite a few more insights on human nature. If there's anything that's slowly bringing together a strung-out network of internet writers, then iBlog is probably it.

Now, to collect my thoughts. Hopefully I'll be able to write something up on whatever lessons I've gained from the conference, and hopefully I'll be able to do it soon.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Not Tonight, Honey

It's Easter Sunday, and I have a headache.

...

...

I really shouldn't be writing right now. I have a headache.

...

...

...

I said, I have a headache!

...

...

...

Ah, well. Guess I'll have to grin and bear it.

My headaches have been coming around every now and then, perhaps once every three or four weeks. I haven't yet been able to identify the event or events that trigger them, but I suspect that they involve occasions where I give matters a comprehensive deal of thought. Not just a passing or a detailed analysis, mind you, but a comprehensive one. The big picture. The entire kit and kaboodle. The whole shebang.

Heh. That would probably explain why I seem to get them during budget forecasts, at least.

Someone once mentioned the possibility that I was suffering from migraines. It's not far-fetched, really... migraines are a relatively common malady, and they're certainly not unknown in the medical community. But I've heard that migraines usually come with blurry vision and the occasional hallucination, and I know that I don't get that whenever my cerebral cortex starts acting up.

I'll probably regret saying this, but I have to admit that I'd like to find out how it feels to suffer from migraines. It's the only way by which I can describe the feeling, after all. Right now my headache feels as though someone's pounding on the inside of my temples with a twelve-inch hammer, but I can't help figuring that having a migraine would somehow feel... different. It's as though it would involve having a headache without actually having a headache (even if we all know otherwise).

That, and I'd like to experience the hallucinations. Hallucinations are always cool, and it's difficult enough to encounter them without delving into illegal substances.

I've read somewhere that Lewis Carroll suffered from migraines, and it sounds as though he had them pretty bad. His condition was so far advanced that he would literally start conjuring up hallucinations from nothing at all... although he would later gather some of the most notable ones in his writings and build a reputation entirely on these imaginings. Every mention of his Alice in Wonderland reminds me of headaches as a result.

You could think of it as turning a sow's ear into a silk purse, I suppose. Or you could think of it as simply writing what you know. L. Frank Baum turned his experience with carnival attractions and freakshows into the marvelously twisted Wizard of Oz universe. Mozart occasionally composed music while playing billiards. Edgar Allan Poe wrote a few of his works while drunk.

And in the meantime I've got a hammer pounding away at the insides of my head, eroding what's left of my skull in thin, plaster-like beatings.

The headaches usually only last for an evening or so. For that matter, I find myself playing host to them for exactly one night more often than not. I usually end up with something that feels like a bad hangover the next morning, as though all the thoughts decided to leak out of my ears sometime during my fitful sleep.

It's funny, really. I know that I get these headaches every now and then. I know that the throbbing usually subsides once I lie down for a few minutes. I know that thinking about a bunch of complicated stuff will get the monstrous migraine roaring again. I know that squeezing my skull between two pillows will force the voice in my head to calm down for a bit, and I know that any sensation of pleasure or inspiration will start it back up.

The trouble is, I don't know why. Is there a doctor in the house?

It's as though the brain is some huge machine that we don't completely understand. (Not that there are actually any machines in this world that we fully understand in the first place.) Someone should really make a bumper sticker with the same sentiment: The mind is a wonderful piece of equipment, but sometimes it will blow a fuse. When that happens, all that we poor, unknowing mortals can do is the equivalent of hitting the TV to improve the reception.

We think, analyze, cogitate, process, opine, estimate, guess, research, remember, reach, recall, comprehend, analogize, meditate, will, compel, assume, coordinate, counter and learn anything and everything these days, but we don't know how the brain does it.

And so we get headaches. Like the one that's bothering me at this very moment.

...

I mean, really bothering me at this very moment.

I get irritable during headaches. I only snap at select instances, though, like people or situations who force me to think at a time when thinking just tightens the mental vise. It really has to be understandable there -- after all, I can choose not to think too deeply about a particular issue, but I can't choose when I'm going to have a headache. It happens.

Of course, this begs the question: Does the fact that I'm writing this in the middle of a headache mean that I'm not actually putting much thought into these words? That would be worthy of further analysis, I think.

Not now, though. If I go into it any further, then my head's probably going to explode.

And that's why I'm only touching on more than a few aspects of a personal headache that few people out there should really care about, much less read about in this blog. If you somehow get a headache while reading this on a Monday morning, you'll know that it's a special present from me, and you'll probably treasure it for the rest of your life.

Okay, maybe not that last part. Headaches are a pack of horrible little gremlins inside your head, and sooner or later they're going to find a way around that bit of aspirin that you gulp down to alleviate the pain.

Having a headache at others is obviously not a very nice thing to do. But hey, I'm doing it anyway. Right now. Right here. Right at you.

If you suddenly get this pounding sound coming from within your head, then you at least know who to blame...


Maybe it's nothing and I'm under the weather
Maybe it's just one of those bugs going round
Maybe I'm under a spell and it's magic
Maybe there's a witch doctor with an office in town
- Meatloaf, "It Just Won't Quit"


Sunday, April 09, 2006

Help Wanted (Part 2)

Whoa. It's been exactly one month since the first part of this article.

A number of developments have occurred in the intervening weeks. My company's set another search for qualified applicants (particularly in the field of web programming), I've discovered a massive demand for people in the Information Technology sector, and one of my mailing lists started bewailing the "rampant discrimination" in certain want ads.

If you're concerned about the last of those points, I can give you a brief explanation of the issue. A company representative, you see, posted a job ad in one of my mailing lists. The job ad specified, among other things, that applicants had to be at least 25 years of age. An irate subscriber implied that the company was discriminating against younger people by posting such a requirement, and that touched off a succession of debates that lasted for three days.

In the end, I don't think anyone resolved the issue properly or successfully. So I leave you a good question in that regard: At what point do job qualification requirements become less person-specific and more discriminatory?

I'm not sure if anyone has tackled such a topic yet, but it would make for a good discussion as long as we could stay away from the name-calling. A lot of companies put up certain specifications, from the simple "Must be Female" to "Must Have Graduated From a Reputable University" to "Must Have Curly Black Hair, a Willingness to Experiment, and a Fetish for South American Spider Monkeys". These companies could probably make an argument for how important each and every one of these requirements are, but the radical job-hunters can easily argue that anybody can do any job if we all get right down to it.

You might as well put up a national writing contest, for example. You'll have winning writers who obviously fit what you want to see in a fine piece of original literature, but you'll also have millions of others who argue that their stuff is just as good under the right circumstances. This is probably one of those situations where none of us can ever win.

One of the specific issues has always been the question of age. Suppose that you have two applicants for an important position in your company: You could hire a 22-year-old young man with little experience but with much capacity for the long-term haul, or you could hire a 56-year-old veteran who's looking at retirement yet knows everything that there is to know about the business. Which would you prefer?

I suspect that such answers would be more personal in nature -- they'd depend on orientation, priorities, and/or immediate need. Or they'd be more businesslike in nature, for the exact same reasons. It's another debate all over again, in that case.

Fortunately, for the purposes of this article, we only have to point out those hints for the general jobseekers. What's interesting to note is that I can split up my last remaining guidelines among applicants of both categories.

If you're no stranger to the job market, for example, then you might want to consider the following:

1. Do NOT include outdated credentials in your resumé.
This should be obvious, I think, but a lot of people will put anything on a resumé if it means a greater chance of landing the job. I've met with the winner of a 1971 spelling contest and the most well-behaved student in a 1986 student assembly, for example, and I can already tell you that both situations will test your skill at keeping a straight face.

Outdated credentials are a terrible experience. They're extremely difficult to ignore, yet really beg the question as to why they made it to the resumé in the first place. Such achievements no longer have an inch of relevance, and should really be left out of consideration. Otherwise the interviewer will simply be tempted to make fun of you, and no one ever takes that lightly.

2. Watch those gaps in your resumé.
Sure, you were employed by a massive conglomerate that really appreciated what you were doing. Sure, your former boss wept openly on the day you submitted your resignation letter. Sure, you spent a loyal six years with your previous employer, regardless of how turbulent their work was.

But what I want to know is, what were you doing in the significant span of time since you left them?

Don't get me wrong here; Despite my earlier point about knowing what to leave out of a resumé, there are some things that really shouldn't be left out of one. If you have a gap in your employment history, then you have to expect that somebody will call you on it. And then you'll have to explain exactly what you did for the full year or two that you found so convenient not to mention. Watch those gaps.

...

Not all of us are experienced with the job market, though. This is especially true, considering that the products of the local universities should now be checking the want ads and packing the waiting rooms this time of year.

Having been a new graduate once, I offer former students a very valuable piece of advice: Don't bother. It's probably better for you to stay home and leech off your parents till you're forty. The world out there has some razor-sharp teeth, and only the most suicidal of oiks would possibly walk into such a deathtrap.

The problem, of course, is that most graduates are too constructive to listen to me. So, having disposed of my first piece of advice for them, I have to offer them the following fringe cases:

1. We don't really look at your grades.
Surprised? It's true, at least in my case. If you have the skills to do the job, then you can do the job regardless of whether or not you got that D in Socio-Anthropology class. It stands to reason, really -- you can be the worst Physics student in the history of mankind, but we'll still hire you if you happen to be an excellent graphic designer.

That's not to say that grades aren't important, of course. In fact, grades are a pretty good indicator of how much study and dedication you give to a certain field. That's how we're able to trust in the integrities of college valedictorians, for example. But if you constantly worry about how your grades are good on one end and bad on the other, don't sweat it too much.

2. What you do in your off time is important.
Do you have any outside activities? Were you a member of any school organizations or civic groups? What obligations are you likely to have outside the company?

The answers to these questions are just as good as grades: They imply attention and dedication, even if they are for endeavors outside the traditional academic requirements. If you tell us that you're a member of at least one organization, then we figure that you're at least a normal human being. If you tell us that you're an officer in at that one organization, then we can see that you're willing to put in time and effort in a certain general direction.

A word to the wise, though: Don't give us a long shopping list of organizations you've supposedly "joined", and then claim to be active in all of them. In that case, we're more likely to think that you either have a really short attention span, or that you're just plain making fun of our sensibilities.

3. Know what you're applying for.
We all have certain expectations of applicants. It's not a surprise, particularly when you consider that a lot of businesses aim for specific audiences or provide distinct services. Shipping companies, for example, tend to expect that you know how to swim. Statistical offices expect that you know how to count. Web development companies expect that you know how to type, how to use a computer, and how to send e-mail.

Occasionally, however, some random applicant doesn't get the point and ends up going for a job that he absolutely does not understand. This is worse than applying for something that you have no business applying for -- this involves trying to get into something that is way out of your league. If you don't know how to start a car, then that auto repair shop is more likely to fire you than teach you. Despite what some people may think, there are never any situations where a corporate entity will be so desperate.

...

And now this is the part where I post my disclaimers.

I'm not an HR person. I haven't been trained as an HR person. All that I happen to have is five-and-a-half years of experience dealing with the web development industry and its people, as well as the occasional command from my boss to Get Out There and Deal With Those Yahoos.

The job-hunters out there, of course, have license to ignore or criticize the items I've posted here. But I've gleaned these points from years of speaking with applicants, and this is probably as close as I can get at this point without being an applicant myself.

Besides, it wouldn't be much fun if we didn't kick up a bit of discussion on this. The above items are what I've got, ladies and gentlemen. You can take 'em, leave 'em, or wait a couple of years while I run into more unorthodox situations.

After all, there's no end to the weirdness you can encounter when it comes to dealing with people, I suppose. :)

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Disclaimer: April 2006

One: I lied. Nothing in this blog is original. I steal it from the most unsuspecting of sources, and they're all so obscure that you never have a chance of tracking them down.

Two: I lied. I don't make any mention of references at all. The names and titles you see at the bottom of each blockquoted item are nothing more than a fabrication, meant to hide the fact that I'm screwing over the actual sources.

Three: I lied. There is no such thing as international copyright law, and this 'plagiarism' thing is actually pretty good. I won't run after you and perform unspeakable acts on your corpse if you take anything from this blog and put it under your name. Hey, it's a free country, right?

Four: I lied. You don't have to ask permission from me in order to use any of my writings. Who cares about them, anyway? I can always come up with more of them at short notice.

Five: I lied. Talking politics is one of the healthiest activities I've ever come across. In fact, I'll probably make it a recurring feature starting next week.

Six: I lied. The moon landings were a hoax. There are albino crocodiles that roam the sewers. The government really is putting flouride in the water supply so that they can track our every move.

Seven: I lied. I'm not actually Sean; I'm an alien from the Proxima Centuari system, sent to inspect your world for possible colonization purposes. Now that I've seen that you Terrans are a bunch of lying, backstabbing, unsuspecting idiots, I can send for the preliminary invasion force.

Eight: I lied. I'm actually pretty darn good at this writing thing. I'm just holding back so that you can all believe that your worthless words can stand up to the power of my prose. In truth, ladies and gentlemen: My kung fu is better than yours.

Nine: I lied. I'm not busy at work in the first place. I just want to see you all squirm at the fact that you're not getting your regular fix from this blog. Involuntary rehab sucks, don't it?

Ten: I lied. It's not April Fools' Day at all. Everything in this article is abso-frickin-lutely not a lie. Nuh-uh. No how. No way.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Wet Words

Yesterday I took apart my office keyboard for some much-needed cleaning.

I own a very old keyboard. It was the same one assigned to me when I first started working in my company over five years ago. Although I've changed PCs twice in those last five years, the keyboard has always come with me (as has the mouse and the CD-ROM drive, but this story wouldn't be as interesting with them). For all I know, it could even have been a used keyboard, which would imply that it could have had a succession of owners even before my arrival.

Why clean the keyboard? I just noticed that it was starting to look old and ratty at first glance. That, and I've been under a great deal of stress at work lately. An easy, non-thought-oriented menial task was quite welcome under the current circumstances.

I started off by borrowing a philips screwdriver from the Technical Maintenance department, which was pretty much all the hardware I needed for the task. ("What do you need the screwdriver for, Sean?" "Oh, nothing... I just wanted to see if it could fit up my nose, that's all.") From there, it took me only a few minutes to shut down my PC, disconnect the keyboard, and remove the twelve screws holding its casing together.

If you haven't seen the insides of a keyboard, I can tell you that it's a pretty mundane sight. Your basic keys are attached to the top half of the casing, and are set so that every keypress will exert pressure on one specific area of a thin rubber mat. Beneath this rubber mat is a sensor plate that detects where you punched your key, and transmits that information to the PC for digital translation. (What this means is that, if you're using a Qwerty-type keyboard, you can rearrange the keys however you want and still type according to the Qwerty configuration. But you probably knew that already, didn't you?)

While the mat and the sensor plate both looked fine, I was overly concerned with the top part of the casing where the keys were located. Years of putting up with my work habits had trapped any number of foreign materials between the keys and the case; By the time I finished removing all the buttons with a blunt plastic instrument, I could see the accumulation of dust, dirt, grime, hair, dandruff and bread-bits staring right back at me. For that matter, I suspected that a few more years would have molded the combination into a new form of earthly life.

It took me the better part of an hour -- and half a roll of tissue paper -- to get the casing clean. Even then, it had a burnt and smudged look where the grime simply refused to come off with a single dry wipe, and in some places the hair and dirt had already matted into solitary protozoan cells. I had to run the entire thing under a bathroom faucet and give it another wipedown just to give it the mere illusion of cleanliness.

The keys were another matter altogether. After I pried all of them loose, I dropped the entire mass of disembodied words into a Tupperware container for temporary storage. Remembering what happened with the main casing, however, I ended up filling the container with water a few times for a quick rinse, then taking out and wiping the soggy letters one by one. It felt strange , spending the better part of an hour cleaning one key at a time.

Of course, I knew better than to stack a bunch of wet materials onto a bunch of electronic components, so I stationed all of the above items in front of an industrial-sized electric fan and waited for them to dry.

After that, it was all a matter of putting everything back together again. I mulled over the possibility of giving myself a Dvorak configuration instead of the previous Qwerty-type setup, but I eventually decided that the size of my current workload discouraged it.

So now I have a clean keyboard. How does it feel, you ask?

Well, strangely enough, it feels a little sticky. It works just fine, but the keys seem a little, er, "slower" than normal. I don't know if it's because I did something wrong when I screwed the case back together again, or if it's simply because I'm not used to a clean keyboard. If you're the type of person who enjoys seeing it that way, I could be writing this entry merely because I want to reassure myself with these relatively pristine keys.

It's probably all good in the end, though. Even if I don't get used to this, I suppose that I can always just ask for a new keyboard. :)


* Sean in no way condones the wanton dissection of keyboards, even if they've committed heinous crimes beyond human ken. If you're planning to pry apart your keyboard to clean its insides, fix a problem with the sensor plate, or look for buried treasure, then be my guest. Just don't forget that I won't take any responsibility for when it ups and dies on you like a good electronic component does.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Sedition

Why talk politics, then?

Astute observers will have noticed that I hardly post any talk of politics, activism or current events on this blog. It's not remarkable, mind you -- there are plenty of blogs that don't engage in analytical discussion like that. What should make us wonder, I think, are the reasons behind such direction.

We can't help talking about current events. Human opinion is almost a reflex action in this regard -- we involuntarily generate opinion on any distinct (historical) events once the initial shock rubs off. Give us news of an event, and we will inevitably consider the who, what, where, when and why it happened.

From there, it becomes a question of the outlets we use. Some of us sit back at the table, a bottle of beer in hand, and proceed to tell our partners exactly what we think of current events. Some of us take to the streets in the perception that we're screaming our displeasure for the sake of the majority. And some of us -- those with blogs, I mean -- write our stuff down for perusal by an online audience.

So why talk politics, then?

I would say that recent events in the Philippines have inspired plenty of reaction, if only for the fact that that would be an obvious understatement. We've had a stampede that somehow became representative of the poverty situation in the country, a martial-law-esque proclamation that further eroded confidence in the President, a failed coup attempt that would have resulted in a glorified military junta, and a persecution of libelous elements that looks supiciously like media-muzzling.

In short, there's been plenty to opine about in the last few months. Any blogger worth his or her salt would have had their statements up in a heartbeat, I think. For that matter, there have been more than a few authors who have made points salient enough to beat what the newspaper columnists are putting together. Blogging gives us a voice, and it's good to see that people are using it as an outlet for their beliefs.

The involvement of blog-based opinion may also be important when we consider the last of the above four issues. I'm not sure how the Philippine government words or numbers its proclamations, mind you, but any moves on their part to rein in the media certainly do not bode well for the public at large. In a worst-case scenario -- that of a complete state suppression -- blogging may very well end up as one of our few outlets for free speech.

That still doesn't answer the question, though. Why talk politics?

There are already plenty of people out there who post political, social and cultural opinions online. Some of them break off from any combination of recurring topics to write these statements; Others devote entire sites to them. Whatever the case, there are plenty of these writers out there.

The issue I have, therefore, is that there may altogether be too many of them. Everyone has an opinion; For that matter, anyone can come up with an opinion at the mere drop of a hat. We may very well be prepared to read the reactions of one man on yesterday's news headlines, but show us seventy-three other blogs that do exactly the same thing and we'll probably get bored trying to read them all.

In a sense, once you think about it, a monotony of public opinion may be every bit as dangerous as a suppression of the primary outlets of media.

And, of course, that would still beg the question: Why talk politics?

This blog is perfectly capable of expressing the political opinions of its author. It's perfectly capable of expressing anyone's political opinions, for that matter. It's one of the many outlets available to us, although it's unique in that it's one of the few outlets that gives us access to an online crowd of readers.

As an outlet that is less guarded and regulated than the more popular media bases out there, this blog has an interesting place in the current situation. It can easily continue the practices of free speech without the immediate reprisal or wanton bias that threatens or dominates the newspapers and television networks. Its author can say what he wants, and there will most certainly be no shortage of things to talk about.

As one blog among thousands and thousands of others, however, it must be acknowledged that the words here are but one voice in a massive multitude. And although the multitude accomplishes great things, it also tends to compromise the uniqueness of personality. We can express our opinion all we want, but such expression can all too easily be lost in the great depths of chatter out there. It would be just as bad as remaining silent.

So why talk politics?

Why do people find a voice in their online writing? Why do some of them perform their political analyses there? Why don't I publish anything significant about similar matters?

Your guess, I think, is as good as mine.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Killer Graphics


"I'll put you in [room] number one... ... ...because ONE stands for MURDER! Hwahahahah!"

- Zorak, The Brak Show

If there was anything I sensed about the Murder by Design conference last Saturday, it was the fact that the venue needed a bit of air-conditioning. The stamp that they placed on my right arm to certify my entrance easily started to melt from the moment I entered. I find it strange, for that matter, that they would hold the conference in an unbusinesslike establishment, but I'll chalk that up to a designer "thing".

Murder by Design was actually a workday for me -- the company was paying for my time there, and I whiled away the hours with a couple of staff members who had similar duties. All three of us expected to gain some insight into the nature of the graphic design business, and I don't think we were disappointed by the proceedings.

With all that said, however, I eventually came to a startling conclusion after watching three or four speakers come up on stage and do their little verbal dances. It was a conclusion borne from various other seminars and conferences, and it was a conclusion borne from even the iBlog summit held last year. That conclusion was a simple one: You can be as skilled as you please, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you'll be able to speak well in front of an audience.

It's true, ladies and gentlemen. Oratory is quite a different animal, as compared to literary writing, graphic design, and all those other endeavors we've come to know and love. I find it funny, in a way, that the schools and universities have probably known this for decades now, and yet most of us don't seem to have realized the fact.

But then again, I'm not complaining. After all, Oratory is hardly a pursuable art nowadays. It's difficult to practice, especially considering that the average person doesn't see many invitations to speak in front of a live audience. For that matter, it's usually only field-based professionals who are invited to speak in this fashion, and even then we probably shouldn't expect a good show. I imagine that being good at graphic design, software development or blogging doesn't leave one with much time to practice speeches in front of a mirror.

Despite all these assumptions, however, one has to wonder about Dean Alfar.

I've seen Dean Alfar speak twice so far. The first was at the iBlog summit, where he easily blew away an audience that was prepared to hear about creativity in blogging (and consequently got it in spades). The second was at last Saturday's conference, where he was able to grab the attention of a tough crowd and somehow managed to toss them a few tips on starting and running a design business. He seems to consistently do very well at this speakership thing, and I wonder how he does it.

I know that he's gotten up and spoken to audiences before, but I'm not sure if it's to a level where he's become adept at it. I know that he's a consistent writer, but there's always the question of whether or not writing has anything to do with oratory in the first place.

Maybe it has something to do with the way his mind works. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he seems confident enough to do what he does. Maybe he's just been lucky so far, and that he'll crash and burn somewhere in his next outing. (Or maybe not.)

Whatever the case, he bears watching. As with any person who seems to do something well, it's probably worth observing him to see just how he does it.

I spent most of the conference in a state of bewilderment, to be honest. A good chunk of the lectures seemed to involve a bunch of professional designers going up on stage and explaining their portfolios. They would hook up their laptops to the projector and open up a bunch of demo files, for example, essentially explaining how and why they came up with certain designs for certain clients. While these were enlightening, they brought to mind the question of what most of the designers in the audience were supposed to learn from them.

But then again, good design isn't something that you can learn from a single conference. Good design, like writing and oratory and many other things, is something that you learn from experience. That may have been the point of the entire conference, I think. Heck, if anything, that may be the point of any conference:

"We're giving you a bunch of speakers who probably aren't all that good at speaking. But they're professionals in their chosen fields, and they've been around. You have to realize that they've gone through a lot to get where they are right now, and they're going to share some of these lessons and experiences with you, so that you'll know what to expect."

It's priceless in every sense of the word, now that I think about it. Talks, round-table discussion groups, and even TV dialogues probably work under the same realization.

I unfortunately had to leave the conference early because I needed to return the family car, so I missed out on the latter proceedings as well as the ever-present raffle. It was fine, though... they were generous enough to give their attendees a fair share of giveaways in any case.

By this time, however, the stamp was nothing more than a half-congealed mess that needed a good amount of rubbing alcohol to remove. I figured, however, that if it left any vague marks on my right arm, I could always claim that it was the hallmark of a rare disease that was turning my skin blue.

Yes, no one would probably believe me. But then again, I do have a propensity for telling tall tales, and both the confidence and experience to back them up. At least I have that much to go on...

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Help Wanted (Part 1)

It's been almost a month since my reflections on HR interviews, and I've gone through a few more since then. My company's in the process of padding out a few more staff issues, and it looks like we'll be all set come April. That might be bad news to more than a few of the new graduates, seeing that a lot of them usually only start applying for jobs after the graduation ceremonies.

Going through my archives the other day, I found that I had previously drafted a blog article concerning tips for job-seekers. These, of course, weren't your ordinary, run-of-the-mill job application guidelines. Instead, these were lessons gleaned from years of watching applicants stumble, misspeak, misspell, turn off, break down or otherwise screw up their chances of corporate hiring. While that might sound overly negative of me, I can assure you what I don't make fun of these mistakes as often as I bewail the frustration that comes about when I first encounter them.

I'm not a Human Resources person, mind you, and I have little experience in HR matters that involve more than personally interviewing job applicants. While that might seem like a disadvantage at first glance, I've come to see it as more of a qualification in this case. To me, the mistakes seem more obvious, the subtleties seem greatly magnified, and the lessons seem all too easily forgotten once you sit down for your first interview. For some reason, most people seem to be able to either write a good resumé or conduct a good one-on-one chat, but not both.

There's still plenty about the Human Resources aspect that escapes me, but I like to think that I have enough hands-on experience in the matter to be able to identify particular trouble spots for people. At worst, then, I'd just be another source of possible advice.

Onward, then, to some of the less obvious aspects of job application:

1. Do NOT mention proficiency in a language unless you know how to use it.
You may think that this is obvious, but I still run into a problem case every now and then. Either an applicant professes an expert command of the language in an error-riddled resumé, or they submit a well-edited personal profile and proceed to fail miserably at the interview. The worst case I ever encountered involved a cover letter with the most atrocious grammar I had ever read, submitted by a young man who gave himself a "10 out of 10" in English skills.

The truly abominable part about experiences like these lies in the fact that I'm a writer. While my English is probably still leagues away from the practices of the true linguistic scholars, I still hold deep resentment for anyone who mangles the language and claims that they're using it right. Geez Louise.

2. Every HR person in the world probably knows that if an applicant mentions that he or she has "basic" knowledge in something, then he or she knows next to nothing about it.
This is true, yes. "Basic" knowledge in a skill, as far as we know, might as well be the same as having no experience with it at all. To be quite frank, most people only list down their "basic" skills in their resumés in order to pad things out.

Don't get me wrong, though. While there's nothing unethical about padding out one's resumé, there's a good chance that any skill level you list as "basic" will be quickly shunted off to the side and ignored. If you have relatively significant knowledge or experience with a certain item, then make sure that you don't simply write yourself as having a "basic level of skill" with it. In fact, it's probably best that you cite your previous experiences or learning programs there -- anything that would make it substantial enough for interviewers to take notice.

3. No religion, please, unless it's relevant to the position or the company.
Yes, you're a religious person. Yes, you have "God-fearing" clearly spelled out on your resumé. Yes, you're an active member of your church organization. But if none of that has anything to do with the job you're applying for, then why bother putting that down on paper? I mean, it's not as though people will hire you for your religious beliefs.

Some people will probably argue that a mention of their faith would act as a testament to their devoutness or dedication, when in reality it doesn't do much. Words on paper are sometimes just words on paper. Dedication is measured by practice and noted by observation, for the most part. You don't claim steadfastness, you demonstrate it.

What irks me the most in this regard is that some applicants tend to sing praises to the divine regarding their considerable skills and technical advantages. The business world, however, is an extremely realist setting. A company won't care if your talents are God-given or if you just happened to make a deal with the devil. If you can do the job, then you can do the job. End of story.

4. Do NOT apply for a position that you have absolutely no business applying for.
Every company has some darn good reasons for listing the qualifications for an open position. Sometimes they want an applicant to hit the ground running, so to speak -- they want the new employee to start immediately on some overdue project or service. Sometimes the job in question has certain requirements for the sake of safety or quality (you don't hire an auto mechanic to perform gastrointestinal surgery, for example, and vice-versa). Sometimes the job will have certain prerequisites that are only found in applicants of a specific background.

Whatever the case, the job requirements are there for a reason. Do not apply to be a programmer if you don't know how to program. Do not expect a small company to pay your relocation costs if you're applying to them from another country. Do not send your resumé to a "women-only" ad if you happen to be male with no plans of a sex-change operation. Doing so would simply be a waste of paper for you.

5. The phrase "willing to be trained" has little or no meaning whatsoever.
I see this phrase a lot, and I never understand why people put it in their personal profiles. Isn't this supposed to be a given, after all? I mean, as long as you're applying for a job, aren't you silently agreeing to the fact that you will learn new skills and gain new experiences during your period of employment?

You can say that you're "willing to be trained" all you want, I figure, but the fact of the matter is that every single applicant is willing to be trained. Ironically, mentioning the phrase doesn't let you stand out from the rest of the pack -- instead, it makes you blend in even more. And if by some chance you don't want to be trained at all... then why are you applying for the job in the first place?

6. Do NOT create a resumé that deviates from the accepted norm.
One of the funny things about most designers is that they're very creative. Really creative, I mean. In fact, sometimes they're so creative that you just have to wonder what they're thinking.

I've seen cover letters enclosed in pink folders and decorated with pastel-and-pencil artwork. I've seen job applications laminated and sealed inside confidential envelopes. I've seen resumés printed on construction paper, collated in hemp binding, and sprinkled in scads of clip art. I've seen all three, yes, and frankly, I'm all too tired of seeing them crop up.

The problems with such "expressions of creativity" are twofold: First, they're difficult to place on file. For that matter, if we can't file them properly, then we simply won't... if you know what I mean. Creative execution be damned.

Second, such artistic works may indicate an attitude that does more harm than good. If a company is looking for a graphic designer, they're most likely looking for someone who can fire off good design work within a reasonable project deadline. In that case, a souped-up resumé that implies a certain level of obsessive-compulsiveness may not be the best thing to hand in...

...

These items are by no means the only guidelines I have to discuss. In fact, these considerations barely even scratch the surface. There are plenty of things that one can do wrong when it comes to looking for a job. I've seen too many of them done, and in some cases, I've even done them myself.

If you're looking for a further breakdown of things to avoid when you're applying for a job, I'll be posting a second part to this article. Human Resources, as with many other endeavors, isn't an exact science... but we can always map things out as we come to them.

Come to think of it, I actually have at least two more applicants to test and interview over the next two days. Hopefully they won't come up with any new problems. My instincts, after all, have had enough trouble detailing the ones you read here now.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Kiss Me, I'm Catholic

For the Catholics, Lent started last Wednesday. That means that, apart from the strange ashen crosses that showed up on everyone's foreheads last week, I'm looking at a stunted diet for the next month-and-a-half.

If you're not familiar with the tradition, Lent represents the forty days that Jesus Christ spent wandering the desert after his baptism. During that time, he was subject to three temptations by the devil himself -- all of which he passed -- and consequently returned to the world of man in order to begin his ministry. Catholics commemorate this occasion (as they do with all significant events in the Bible) by abstaining from meat every Friday for forty days. Eventually everything comes to a grand end during the last week of Lent, during which Christ's death and resurrection are marked on the days of Good Friday and Easter Sunday, respectively.

If the above paragraph makes little or no sense to you, then feel free to blame me for the description. Darn it, Jim; I'm a writer, not a theologian.

What this means, as far as I'm concerned, is that I won't be seeing any chicken, pork, beef, or any sort of mystery meat every Friday till mid-April. Complicating matters is the fact that I don't happen to like seafood, and so therefore I'll be restricted to veganism once a week.

(Whatever happened to the word "vegetarian", anyway? Did it go out of use due to some imaginary negative connotation? That would be a funny thing, really, seeing that there's no obvious discernible difference between "veganism" and "vegetarianism". If you like vegetables, then you like vegetables. If you like vegetables enough to eat only vegetables, then you like vegetables enough to eat only vegetables.Nothing wrong there.)

Muddying the waters further is the fact that the Buddhists happen to be one of my favorite guilty pleasures in this regard. Devout monks of the Buddhist religion, you see, are similarly disallowed from eating meat. For that matter, they're not even allowed to consume fish. In a strange response to these restrictions, however, Buddhist kitchens are remarkably skilled at mashing bean and tofu paste into replicas of various meat dishes. These people, therefore, literally serve the equivalent of Spam without any meat at all. (There's still the question of whether or not there's any meat in Spam to begin with, but that's a topic for another time...)

So I'll be going meatless every Friday till Easter because of my Catholic followings, and I'll be going for the occasional serving of Buddhist meat-cum-vegetable creation instead. I can't help feeling that there's something wrong with that arrangement, somewhere.

What's probably even stranger is that I consider myself a non-practicing Catholic. I may be a Roman Catholic, yes, but you probably wouldn't guess it from my daily habits. I complain, I swear, and I philosophize. I wax poetic about both evolutionary theory and the notion of God as a human construct. I keep my prayer to a minimum because I invariably think of doing things myself. And in the most obvious aspect, I don't keep a regular Sunday habit that most Catholics do.

The way I see it, there are devout Catholics (mostly in the church gatherings, arguing about scandal and morals), activist Catholics (mostly in the street rallies and the mailing lists), and non-practicing Catholics; and the last category probably has my picture attached to it. So if there's anything strange about my current situation, it's the fact that I'm willingly skipping meat every Friday for the whole of Lent.

Why do I do this, anyway? I mean, it's not as though I'm going to redeem myself as a Catholic by refusing to eat meat for six weeks.

I suspect that it has something to do with my habit of self-mortification. I'm probably masochistic that way -- I constantly test myself with the strangest endeavors in order to determine if I'm... if I'm... ...well, I don't know, I guess. I obviously haven't made an ounce of sense here, so why start now?

Catholicism is strange by itself, really. We worship entities whose existence we have no way of physically proving, we engage in rituals whose meanings have all been lost in the time since they were first established, and we take our orders word-by-word from a book that has seen more printings and translations than we can count.

And we listen to those words, follow those practices, and search for those entities -- all in one vague attempt to claw our way back into meaning. We know that it all leads somewhere. The problem is that we don't know where it goes just yet.

As well-governed and established as tends to be, I won't be the first to think that general religion is just as screwed up as the rest of us, Catholicism notwithstanding. Which is why, in a sense, it fits us to a T.

So now I'm a meatless man. And I'm a Catholic, too. In fact, I'm not just any Catholic, but a non-practicing Catholic who just happens to practice one inconvenient religious tradition out of the many convenient ones. I'm a bundle of contradictions here.

But hey, no one ever said that religion was easy to understand. :)

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Disclaimer: March 2006

You didn't think I was going to forget to write this, now did you?

We're coming off an interesting number of recent experiences, and stepping into what looks to be an equally interesting period of time. The deadlines for both the Draconic Anthology and the Fully Booked contest are now behind us, and the local writers find that it's the Palanca Awards we now have to worry about.

From a more workaday point of view, it's now March. That means that the start-of-year rush is dying down, the upcoming graduates are starting to check the want ads, and the local fast-food joints are starting to put up their Lenten offerings. We step from one field of experiences into another.

In short, there are still a lot of possible opportunities for the plagiarists to operate. The prospect of handing in a copied work to the Palancas or a forged resumé to a potential employer isn't too far off, after all. (You'll have to take my word here; it's not as though I haven't seen a forged resumé in six years of managerial efforts.)

I've given some thought to the idea that I may just be paranoid about this whole thing. I suppose that I must concede the truth of that statement -- the last thing I want to happen, after all, is for some undeserving writer to receive recognition for some piece of mimeographed work. But I still think that it's a legitimate cause for concern -- especially on the Internet -- and I'm afraid of the possibility that it might happen right at the moment when my guard is relaxed.

So I still write these monthly disclaimers (mostly for the lawyer-types who don't have the energy to read everything on this blog). It's a personal choice, really.

Everything written on this blog is the property of Sean, and is certified as truly original by the author himself. Everything here, in a sense, comes off the top of my head somehow, and I'll duly admit to having written every single entry regardless of whether it's good or bad. The only exceptions here are those items or references that are taken from other sources. These entries are clearly marked, and I try to place a reference to the actual source whenever possible.

I suppose that under some strange and twisted circumstances, somebody out there might decide to quote or reference one of my articles here. I have no quarrel with such people as long as they have enough decency to ask permission first. Who knows, for that matter? I might even be able to point out some better resources for them in such a case.

Otherwise, however, a direct attribution and link to the source in this blog will also do. I'd rather have the permission, though, because I don't like the possibility of being quoted out of context.

Violators, as far as I've determined, will be dealt with harshly. There is such a thing as Philippine Copyright Law, and even in cases where it doesn't seem as though it's clear enough to deal with certain situations, I can always fall back on International Copyright. Steal from me, and I will pursue you with litigation. The cost won't matter, really; I'll even go as far to say that it'll give me a bit more purpose in life.

Oh, and there's also the matter of physical threats. If you plagiarize anything on this blog, then you agree to give me the right to come after you with the sincere efforts of blunt force trauma without the possibility of your retribution. Granted, it'll only be a temporary right, but it'll at least make me feel better.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming. Have a nice day, everyone.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Status Check

It's one-thirty in the morning. I have a short story on the back burner that doesn't look as though it'll be finished anytime soon, and I have a contingency story on tap. If I don't manage to finish my main offering by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be submitting my contingency measure.

I think I've hit upon why I've had too many unsuccessful tries for this one: Pressure, plain and simple.

I've had a lot of miscues coming into the final days of the Fully Booked contest, but for some reason, I've only been able to write freely once I had the backup story prepared. Was I resting secure in the knowledge that I would have something to submit regardless of anything? Perhaps that was the case.

That would make a good lesson for the next contest, I suppose: Ready the contingency plan first. Seeing that the Palanca awards are accepting entries already, and knowing that I already have my story seeds for the 4th L5R Ficathon, I'll have ample opportunity to try this out. It feels strange having to work on a backup for a non-technical case study, but I suppose that writing is a pretty sensitive endeavor to begin with.

My head is spinning again, for that matter, and this is the first time it's happened to me without the benefit of strenuous physical activity. It's obvious that I've been writing for too many straight hours, so I'm going to take a breather now and head straight off to bed. (Thankfully, I can now afford to do this.)

It's funny, really, how you can be writing for over half your life and still have to figure out a number of lessons from the business. Then again, I suppose, it would be a pretty boring way of life if we didn't learn something from every task we tried to take on.

Monday, February 20, 2006

...Incoming!

I'll be on hiatus for a week or so, most likely. I don't think I came up with a particularly good entry for the Draconian Anthology last time, so I'm going to try to clear my mind a bit before I write something for the Fully Booked contest.

Yes, I'm aware that the deadline's a week away. That's why I'm sitting down, calmly pecking at the keyboard, and trying desperately not to panic.

What I most fear at this point is that I'll end up with a lemon again. And if that happens, then will that imply that my writing skills have become a lot more random as of late? Will it mean that I continually churn out average stories with the odd hidden gem every now and then? Will it mean that I still have a lot farther to reach when it comes to that penultimate goal, that scourge of hacks, that finality of fiction as a whole?

The more I think of it, the more I start to believe that it's not the money I'm after. I probably join contests because I want to reassure myself. I want to see if I can still swing that bat when the bottom of the ninth comes up and the bases are loaded. In a sense, it becomes a very, very personal thing.

So I'll be at the keyboard if you need me. Maybe I'll be online and maybe I won't, but at the moment, I just want to take down this beast of a deadline before my time runs out.

That's not to say that I don't have plans afterwards. I do have plans, yes, and in fact, they were stunted by the weeks of preparation for the contest itself.

If I don't write anything on any of the following topics within the next few months or so, please feel free to write up a comment and bother me:

- A list of mean-spirited tips for enthusiastic job-seekers. (Something that's more of a "Dos and Don'ts" than anything else.)

- A weekly feature article. (I'm taking suggestions for this one. Any ideas?)

- Antaria fiction. (Yeah, this one really suffered from the sudden spate of writing contests.)

- The Weirdest Job Hunt Stories You've Ever Heard. (It's graduation season, people. Head for the hills!)

...

Wish me luck, everyone. I've got a score of writing tasks coming...

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

One on One

Now, one of the things I like about my job is the fact that I get to interview applicants.

I work in a fairly small company with fairly complex job requirements, you see. In addition to that, I hold one of the more senior management positions (as far as five years would be considered "senior") and generally have an excellent idea as to how the business works. To top it off, I spent some of those last five years collating data from HR transcripts, analyzing online job-hunting systems, and critiquing various forms of composition -- all of which allow me to make good educated guesses based on tiny little details.

What that last sentence effectively means is that I can take one look at a resumé and produce a number of relatively accurate remarks about the applicant at hand. I'm not right all the time, mind you, but I've surprised a few people on occasion.

It actually feels strange whenever I do this. I try to go about life without any premeditated expectations floating around my head, but right before I meet and talk to an applicant, I just have to make a few guesses about his or her character and experiences. That way, when I finally perform the interview, the whole experience transforms into a game: Was I able to read this person correctly? Will the applicant's actual personality change anything? What's my batting average so far?

I like to think that I've done rather well for myself. If anything, it's at least improved my skills in resumé-writing. :)

One of our previous HR personnel once told me that I had a habit of asking "casual" questions during interviews. When I asked her what a "casual" question was, she explained that it was something that didn't seem to have anything to do with work -- a bolt out of the blue, you might call it. Not that she minded, however: She assumed that it was my way of putting the applicants at ease.

Not necessarily, I told her. One can infer quite a few things from the answer to a casual question, as long as we know well enough to listen.

The trouble, I think, is that applicants always mean to make themselves look good. While this is to be expected, it sometimes keeps interviewers from finding out the stuff they really need to know. And rest assured, there are inevitably times when such knowledge would mean the difference between picking the right person for the job, or getting stuck with a dud.

Let's take skills, for example. I've noticed that applicants who have had only the slightest bit of experience with a certain field will invariably pad their resumés with it. We're likely to write down "Basic knowledge in Japanese", for example, even if we've only attended a single Japanese-language class in our entire lives.

So I end up asking "casual" questions. If an applicant's resumé tells me that he has basic knowledge in Japanese, I'll probably find a way to fit in a quick "Konnichiwa. Watashi wa Sean desu. Douzo yoroshiku?" in the interview somewhere. It tends to get a sheepish smile in response.

One of the most common "casual" questions I ask is "Do you surf the web?", and the answer is almost always an affirmative. In a company that works extensively with Internet technologies and web solutions, this happens to be a lot more important than people think.

"Do you surf the web?", for example, uses the term "web". If an applicant doesn't know what the "web" is, mind you, then I already know that he has no business applying for an Internet-based business.

The question usually gets followed up with "How often do you surf?". This helps get an idea of how much exposure the applicant gets when it comes to the Internet. I've had people tell me that they only log on for about an hour each week to check their e-mail; but on the other end of the spectrum, I've interviewed hardcore junkies who sit at a terminal for six hours at a time. The more regular exposure an applicant has, the more adept she most likely is at our line of work. (With that said, the more exposure an applicant has, the greater the chance that they'll slack off in front of an unlimited DSL connection.)

And then there's "What site do you feel embodies good web design?" (i.e. "Pick a web site that you think is good, and explain why."), which, to be quite frank, is a very vague question. I've found it very useful, however, for revealing exactly what the applicant visits regularly. Most people, after all, tend to name the first good-looking site that comes to mind. (One person pointed out the Playboy web site with his answer, which immediately got me skeptical about his work habits.)

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not an HR person, and at this rate, I'll never be one. I'm a business manager and a writer, however, and I find it easy to look into peoples' depths of character from my position. In fact, it's fun looking at things from a non-HR point of view; you get to personally identify the rationale behind a lot of rules that way.

So at this point, I'm slogging away in front of my computer, knowing full well that hiring season will most likely last from now until mid-May. I went through two applicants this morning, and I've got a couple more dropping by the office tomorrow. I continually promise myself not to intimidate them too much with my sullen demeanor, my scruffy countenance, and my "casual" questions.

In that sense, it's probably a good thing that you've read this post all the way to the end.

For all we know, the next applicant I interview could just be you. :)

Monday, February 13, 2006

Heads Up

Hmm... whatever happened to the Antaria stories, anyway? I'll have to write up the next installment sometime.

For now, however, I'll have to admit that they've fallen into the void that appears whenever I've got too much work on my hands. My entry for the Fully Booked contest might even be in there as well, although I'll be reaching for it again in the near future.

Ironically, the entire storyline for Antaria is already in my head at the moment. I just have to find the right time and place to write it down...

Friday, February 10, 2006

Lord of the Dance

Eight o'clock this evening found me at the Manila Polo Club, sleazing my way into a Capoiera lesson.

If you have no idea what Capoiera is, then don't worry -- I'm new to it myself. It's a Brazilian martial art, and I've long felt that it's very indicative of their culture. From a distance, you see, it looks a lot like dance. (It's the kind of dance where your partner can easily knock you senseless if he knows what he's doing, but it looks like very rhythmic dance nonetheless.)

I have a horrible track record when it comes to exercise. I needed twelve minutes to finish a one-mile run during my last full physical in college, I foundered my way through Tai Chi for six months (the instructor said that I moved like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz), and I hefted weights like Charles Atlas's 78-pound weakling for a little while last year. I'm all for exercise, mind you -- it's just that exercise doesn't seem to like me.

Capoeira seems to emphasize a constant state of motion and flexibility -- or at least, the regular practitioners certainly look well-toned enough to think so. As you probably expect, there are quite a few warm-ups, cool-downs, and water breaks for the newbies. The Dojo Gym of the Manila Polo Club also happens to be the proud owner of some very solid wooden floorboards, so you also have significant incentive to stay upright during the entire exercise.

Forty-five minutes, sixty jumping jacks, thirty push-ups, thirty sit-ups and countless awkward attempts at Capoiera movements later, I was beat. The whole dojo was starting to spin before my eyes, which made for a cool LSD-type effect but also told me that something was wrong. Five seconds later, the instructor moved past me -- walking on his hands, no less -- and I got the feeling that I was waaaay out of my league. :)

I did manage to muster enough strength for the cartwheeling exercises, though. You haven't lived till you've tried a cartwheel; it's one of those little physical feats that just gives an amazing feeling of satisfaction when you manage to do it right. Unfortunately for me, after about five passable attempts, the room really started spinning in front of me, and I was forced to retire to the back of the class. I therefore spent the latter half of the session seated in a Zen Burmese position, just watching the participants sweat it out and occasionally retire themselves.

Now, don't get me wrong here. First of all, I felt just fine; countless attempts at exercise have left me knowing exactly where my stamina threshold is, although it constantly comes up pretty short of the mark. Second, I was pretty proud of myself for lasting at least forty-five minutes; If I'd have wanted to give up completely, I would have done it in far less time. Finally, I'm looking into further participation in the future. Capoeira looks like pretty good physical training, and as long as the instructors don't tire of my face and my snide attempts at humor, I could see myself throwing and dodging kicks like the best of 'em.

For now, however, I'm content to rest the soles of my feet and flex my fingers on a plastic keyboard. Despite my general ineptitude, there are still some forms of exercise where I don't necessarily act like a total moron, and this happens to be one of them. It doesn't often involve such elements as rhythmic dancing or Christie Montero, but I'll take this one any day. :)


Sean's Note: Many thanks to Gem, who was nice enough to introduce and accompany me to this session. And while we're on the subject, Gem, I owe you a bottle of Gatorade. :)

Sena's Note 2: Greetings as well to Ramon and Neva, who I haven't seen in a long time. It's nice to know that I wasn't the only person there who wasn't getting enough exercise. :)

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Rule 13

I opened up my e-mail this morning to find that Fully Booked had entered a new post in their mailing list -- specifically, their mailing list for contest updates:

> To: gaiman_writingcontest @ yahoogroups.com
> Date: Fri, 03 Feb 2006 09:31:43 -0600
> Subject: [gaiman_writingcontest] VERY IMPORTANT REMINDER! *gasp!*
>

The MOST IMPORTANT RULE is the ominous # 13.

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Yup, that's it. That's all it said.

It makes me wonder just how much effort they're putting into this endeavor.

It's funny, really: You're one of the biggest sources of high-profile literature in metropolitan Manila. You're running one of the most extravagant writing contests in the history of the Philippines. You're being sponsored by an influential author with an international repertoire. You're giving details to more than a thousand people, all of whom are most likely scrambling to reach the deadline for your contest.

And in what's supposed to be a "very important reminder", this is all you tell us?

...

Frankly, I'm disappointed. Who writes these "updates", anyway?

Are they aware that the contest rules on the Fully Booked web site were inaccessible for the longest period of time early this year because something was wrong with their registration system? For that matter, were they aware that said registration system was very inconvenient (and easily bypassed) for anyone who just wanted to read the rules?

Are they aware that the contest rules are displayed as an image on their site? This makes the download extremely slow for anyone who isn't on a Broadband connection. Heck, the contest rules are all in text. Why don't they display it in text format, to begin with?

Are they aware that the contest rules still show the deadline date as "January 31, 2006"? Sure, there's now a label that indicates the deadline extension, but as of their last message, plenty of people still assumed that they were running under the original due date. Either they made the change too late, or the addendum just isn't very noticeable. And why don't they just edit the darn January listing in the first place?

Put all this together, and you can understand why just placing a reference to "Rule Number 13" just isn't going to cut it.

Does everybody have convenient access to the contest rules? No.

Can everybody efficiently acquire a copy of the contest rules? No.

Is everybody aware that the contest rules have been updated? No.

I still have a copy of these regulations from when I first heard about the competition, which was sometime in early December. And based on my little reference here, Rule 13 reads as follows:

"13. For comics, all artwork should be in black and white. No signatures must appear on any of the pages of the entries."

Yup, I'm sure that that must be plenty important.

Obviously, the contest rules have been updated since the time I first right-clicked on my browser window and saved these words for posterity. I know that they've been updated -- I visited the site just this morning.

In fact, when I visited the site this morning, I found it offline. I did manage to find what I presume is the most recent version of the contest rules, but it took quite a bit of trial-and-error on my part.

You're running a competition that rivals the Palanca Awards, people. You're organizing an effort that's supposed to help put alternative Philippine literature in the spotlight. You're speaking to over a thousand people whose entries hang on every detail in every one of your words.

There is a way to do this right, and believe me, you're far from doing it.

Throw us a bone, people. Give us something to work with. Toss us a line. We're your audience, for God's sake. We may be writers, but we're still your audience.

You may have one of the biggest contests to come around since contests were even invented, but we're the people who make your endeavor possible. We populate your little marketing-based world. You need us.

Don't sell us short like this.

Please.






Sean's Note: The current Rule Number 13, for those interested, goes as follows:
"13. All rules and guidelines of the contest must be followed STRICTLY. Non-compliance will subject the submission to immediate disqualification."
My reference for what I presume is the most recent version of the contest rules is at the following address:

http://www.fullybookedonline.com/home3.htm

You're welcome to have a look, everyone. Do keep in mind, however, that this may or may not be the final set of regulations that we're supposed to be follow. For your inquiries, please reference the Fully Booked web site (assuming that it's available, of course).


Sean's Note 2: I'm sending a copy of this article to the only referenced Fully Booked e-mail address I know of. They may not like me for it, but at least I know that I'll be saying exactly how I feel, and at least I know that those feelings are justified. And hey, if worst comes to worst and it takes me out of the running, then that means less competition for you, doesn't it?

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200.

Sean's Note: It's funny how you can create an article out of bits and pieces. This thing's pretty old, although I've been adding to it little by little over the last month. The prequel to this article is over here.


Three games of Monopoly later, my siblings and I are all tied at one win each. My brother won our first game by hoarding three railroads and cruising to victory on the rent; My sister won our second game when she managed to land on all the light-blue properties early in the game; and finally, I won our most recent outing when I started charging them $900 rent every time they landed on Pacific Avenue.

While Monopoly's still far from being a purely strategic game in my book (there's too much of a luck requirement for my taste), it makes for a passable evening diversion. Somehow, though, I keep hearing stories of people who play it often enough to develop expert skills. I wonder just how many hours you have to spend at the game just so that you can crush your opponents' hotels beneath your feet.

Three games looks like a good enough start, though. I figure that it's possible to assess my stratagem now, make a few changes, and see if they do anything for the next couple of matches. That's probably where the educational value of board and card games lie, I think: They constantly get you wondering whether or not you're playing things right. If you're not, the games encourage you to fix your play style; otherwise they get you considering how you can one-up those opponents who use the same strategies.

I outlined six propositional strategies in my previous article on the subject, and I'll revisit each in turn:

A1. Favor certain properties.
As Roy carefully noted earlier, it's simply not viable to expect to land on certain key spaces on the board. While players are more likely to land on certain properties over others, the variance between them is so low as to be untrustworthy.

That said, Baltic Avenue and Mediterranean Avenue are still probably the worst places to set up shop. With the low frequency by which people seem to land on them, $50 per house simply won't get any substantial return. Boardwalk and Park Place suffer from a similar problem with low frequency, and on top of that, the $200-per-house charge will probably bankrupt you by itself. But it's worth seeing an opponent's face, at least, when he comes up short of Go and has to shell out $35 or $50 because of his misfortune.

A2. Know when to hold 'em.
It turns out that there might not be much strategy in buying idle properties at auction. In addition, deciding which deeds to mortgage at which times is probably an easier decision than expected. Both have the same underlying logic behind them, and it involves, quite frankly, whether you have the money or not. No money, no moves.

A3. Know when to fold 'em.
This was extremely obvious at first glance, particularly because properties don't diminish in worth over time. It's too obvious, though, which really questions its worth as a strategic element.

I suspect that the real issue of timing comes about when you're given the opportunity to un-mortgage your properties. When's the right time to do that? Should you buy the place back and prevent your opponents from seizing it, or should you keep the cash in case you suddenly run into a vicious case of rent? A good deal of the risk-management aspect of the game is reflected in the mortgage mechanic, I think.

A4. Track your income.
Yes, you get $200 whenever you pass Go. The longer the game goes, the lower the value of this $200 gets, but it's still free income, and free income never hurt anyone. In fact, for some players, the regular $200 infusion could mean the difference between staying in the game or going bankrupt.

This is in all probability why the "Income Tax" space is so frustrating: You either lose that $200 you just got, or you cash in ten percent of your available funds. In addition, anyone who manages to pull in the Light-Blue properties places three more areas on the board that can take peoples' hard-earned money away from them.

A5. Sometimes you'll want to Go to Jail.
This was the only one I pegged exactly right the first time. When it's early in the game, you'll want to get out as soon as possible in order to buy up more properties. Otherwise, however, you'll want to stay inside just to avoid a treacherous path across the board. The only downside to staying in Jail is the fact that you're not getting the $200 from passing Go, and even then, this won't mean much if you're already in the late game.

A6. Hoard the houses.
Five words: "You are assessed for street repairs." The card only appears once in each of the Chance and Community Chest decks, but it's enough to give you second thoughts about insane levels of house-buying.

That said, three houses appears to be sufficient for most properties. At that point, the rent becomes substantial enough to trouble your opponents, you hoard a good-sized portion of the supply of tiny green tokens, and having to pay for street repairs won't hurt as much.

Now, considering our last three games, I have a bit more to add:

B1. Ride the railroads.
By themselves, the properties in Monopoly are fairly pathetic when it comes to rent. You may pay $280 for Marvin Gardens, for example, but how long will you probably need to recoup your investment if you don't own both Atlantic and Ventnor as well?

The railroads, interestingly enough, are almost certainly the best deals when it comes to receiving rent. One railroad gives you $25 rent, which is average for the game. Two railroads, however, give $50 rent, and double the chances by which you can ensnare opponents. If you somehow manage to own three or more railroads, then you're probably cruising to a win right then and there.

B2. Position is everything.
Board positioning is remarkably important in Monopoly. I think I've even covered this before, considering that we know that Baltic Avenue, Mediterranean Avenue, Park Place and Boardwalk probably aren't exactly the best places to buy.

For one, position determines the price of houses and hotels. Structures on the cheaper areas of the board, for example, have much lower prices than structures on the more expensive sections. While the Light-Blue properties don't offer as much as some of the later properties in terms of return, for example, it's easier to develop them because of the cheaper structures. You could theoretically be kicking opponents in the shins before they even get their first house on Indiana Avenue.

Another couple of items to note is that everyone inevitably wants to pass Go as often as possible, and that in the later stages of the game, everyone wants to stay in Jail for as long as possible. That makes properties around those areas somewhat attractive; Controlling the Orange properties, for instance, gives you a good chance of charging rent right after a player walks out of prison.

The Go to Jail space on the board may also be a distinct factor in this regard: Why invest heavily in the Green properties, for example, when players heading in their direction have a good chance of being sent back halway across the board? The presence of the Jail mechanic probably makes the more expensive properties more than a little risky.

Finally, there's always the prospect of building a "minefield" -- teaming up with a player in order to develop all the properties that lie on a single edge of the board. Opponents are going to have to pass through eventually, and it'll obviously be difficult for them to get through without having to pay you or your allies huge sums of money.

B3. Build in bursts.
It's difficult enough to expect to land on specific spaces of the board, I think. In fact, it's a lot more unreasonable to expect opponents to land on those specific spots.

Let's suppose that you own all the Green properties, where the houses and hotels are worth $200 each. Now let's suppose that an opponent is slowly moving towards those properties, and you only happen to have enough cash on hand to build one house. Where do you build it?

The simplest and most correct answer to this, I think, is that you shouldn't bother. If you manage to build only one house in that situation, the chances of your opponent landing on that exact same spot within the next turn are pretty slim. In addition to that, he'll have to do one more lap around the board before you get that chance again. Even worse, you're now down a couple hundred with almost nothing to show for it.

I've noticed that it's probably best to buy "rounds" of houses in this regard: If you're going to develop a set of properties because an opponent is coming up the walk, then you might as well buy for all of them at the same time. This increases the chances of forcing a large payout from that opponent. In fact, if your opponent's lucky enough to land on one of those developed properties, his rent will help finance your next round of construction in the same area.

B4. Talk turkey.
One of the interesting aspects of Monopoly is that you can negotiate with opponents when it comes to title deeds (although sadly, you can't lend or borrow money). This supposedly adds something to the risk-taking element of the game, but it can also be seen a good control mechanism for certain situations.

Every now and then, someone's going to get lucky and gain an advantage that puts him ahead of everyone else. That person may have gotten three or four railroads, or have acquired all properties of one color group, or have had multiple houses waiting in certain zones. In those cases, I feel it's clear that if the rest of the players in the game don't do something quick, the offending player is going to bleed them dry.

I think that pragmatic negotiation should really take over at this point. If somebody's charging you an arm and a leg for hotel rental on Atlantic Avenue, then you should start making offers that are more than a little skewed in nature. You say that you don't want my St. Charles Place for your Illinois Avenue even though it means that we'll both complete our color sets? Then we both might as well sit back and lose the game. If somebody's way out in front of the rest of the pack, then the rest of the players need to take drastic measures in order to catch up.


After three games, our interest in Monopoly has petered out a little, so I guess that I might have to hoard these strategies for a while. If anyone's interested in a game, though, do drop me a line. We can set something up, I suppose. :)

Now where did I put that Clue gameboard...?

Disclaimer: February 2006

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