Ice Carvings

due to creative differences, i have decided to part ways with my computer keyboard. every time i open my PC, i have to wait two hours for my keyboard to settle down. Until then, she (PC peripherals are feminine - they talk among themselves in a language i don't understand, they require expensive maintenance and upgrades, you have to know which buttons to push to turn them on, etc.) spews garbage characters every time i type. So e becomes e91, t becomes t-3 (then opens the search window), i becomes i6 then tabs to the next button. Oddly enough, the malady only affects the first alpha line (qwertyuiop). AAAAAR02R02R02R02R02GGH! T-3hi 6s i 6s t-3he91 pi 6t-3s! despite a number of proferred solutions, the problem still persists. I tried virus scans, spyware removal, pranic healing and american indian war chants. Each one to no avail. I tried to get her into counseling, but when i tried to email for an appointment, she muddled up the message and opened the Control Panel. I never foresa

i was scanning old email earlier and found some poems written to me by a blue fairy about a couple of years ago. while i tried to keep in touch (just to keep in touch, really) with her by various means, she gave no indication whatsoever of a willingness to chat or exchange emails. while scanning i found the reason: SCAR What is there in that? To feel miserable about? When you captured A magical night With a sylph. And you yourself, A wizard Should know first-hand. That to be with her-- Is to be with Ether, Frost-sigh, And incense-smoke... That which is,

funny what showers can do to you. i was busy lathering up and soaping myself when i realized that some(at least three) of my favorites songs curiously had the word "alone" to it: Leave Me Alone (New Order) I Alone (Live) Better Off Alone (Alice Deejay) Not to be defensive, but the songs above have another thing in common: they don't use the word "alone" in a negative, pitiful way. They're not crying loneliness, but rather prefer a solitary status. so it goes. -- Today also marks the confirmation of a long standing rule: never talk to someone either tired, sick or hungry. And especially never shoot the breeze with one who is all three. Tired, hungry, and sick people will never understand anything you say. Baser desires like food and rest press into their consciousness, throbbing like a migraine. It will always end up as a waste of bandwidth. --- despite my pronouncements on the freedom of being.. er... uh, free, clouds are fast approaching. events are taking

this is one of the questions that has recently haunted me (actually, more like bit me on the leg...). Let's examine my new weekday routine: 9:00 am (minimum)- Wake Up 9:30 am - actually rise up 10:00 am - decide on breakfast while checking solar sports and JackTV 10:15 am - realize that nel, as usual, left breakfast ready and waiting since 8:00 am. 10:20 am - combination breakfast/wrestling on TV 11:00 am - go online, check email, check NBA on ESPN.com, then read the sports columns 11:30 am to 2:30 pm - get some actual work done, but in between final fantasy 8 battles, unlimited bathroom breaks, and trips to the fridge and the TV set. 2:45 pm - lunch with whatever is available downstairs. if newly minted, call for pizza or chicken. 3:30 pm - resume working (or downloading) 5:00 pm - stop working for no apparent reason. then grab a book. 6:00 pm - wind down and prepare for nel's arrival. 7:00 pm to 9:00 pm - dinner or whatever 9:30 pm - back upstairs, working or whatever. 1:00 a

During one of my stints event managing, i was asked to be a producer/adviser to an Art contest anniversary AVP. The gig had me going to one of the only truly modern houses in the country. I was thinking of adding photos, but then again, we like keeping identities secret. Anyway, the owner of the house is a prominent writer and member of Manila's social circle. I was amazed: here i was gawking at the very nice house of a writer. Of course, my first internal question was: "How can you be so rich if you write for a living???" Wisely, i didn't say a word about this supposed conflict of interest. The owner warmed up after a few minutes, and began to talk earnestly. About every subject imaginable. During lulls in the video shoot (i was the producer/host no, i don't appear in the final version), we would fall into a lingering conversation about life and its infinite permutations. She was indefatigable. Then again, maybe all writers are, as a rule. They talk as much as th

Between the searching and the need to work it out I stop believing everything will be alright Broken We are broken I'm walking uphill being turned around and round Secret in motion when my feet are on the ground Broken We are broken In my mind's eye One little boy anger one little man Funny how time flies - Broken, Tears for Fears i had the pleasure of watching concert DVDs last weekend at a family gathering (yep, i was at my brother-in-law's den, having a beer and ignoring everybody else). I was able to watch Tears for Fears - concert at Sta. Barbara before their breakup, and Queen - Freddie Mercury era and post. i was especially touched when Brian May went onstage and mentioned he was going to sing a song that he usually sang with Mercury. Love of my life, You hurt me, You broken my heart, Now you leave me Love of my life can't you see, Bring it back bring it back, Don't take it away from me, Because you don't know what it means to me Love of my life don't

I have to hide Behind pixels of light For fear of fire down my eyes Innocent dots Form letters, then words As I try to hide my face But not my thoughts From you The soonest you turn off your interest The pixels begin to fade unsure of their outcome unaware of their purpose - Pixels, 1993/1994 One of the oldest poems i made, Pixels was born back when the things that matter to me are now downright laughable, my angst was fueled by pettiness, and my main worry was having enough money for lunch. Pathetic twerp that I am then, pathetic twerp with lunch money I am now. I wrote this around 1993/1994, way before email, chatting, and blogging were bywords we casually roll off our tongues as we sashay the sidewalks while sipping our lattes and listen to our MP3 players. Hell, i wrote this when the Internet was a term spoken in hushed tones in computer labs (i personally was introduced to the wide wild web in 1995 when i moved to DPSI, who owned the monopoly of selling Macs then). PIxels came fro

(note: this title is not an original. i hacked it from a campaign made by one of the local shoe companies. If i remember which, i'll be glad to quote them.) I blew my extra money on shoes today. Not one pair but two pairs. For all you females out there, i know that buying more than a pair is more a norm rather than an exception. But this is my blog, and this is my story. anyway, it's not what i bought that enlightened me today. it's how i did so. earlier, i spent the better part of the afternoon making sense of a sales book that i'm supposed to summarize (i got a very good commendation for my first assignment summarizing books - the professional equivalent of stamping a star into the back of your hand when you recite in kindergarten class). After trying to do so (they were full of numbers), i gladly headed back to the summary office and asked for a new one instead. I also got my first payment in cold cash. It's not much, but it's unexpected money, so i decided t

I hit my self-inflicted quota for March 5 days into the month. Which means any additional work or income would be a bonus. Or a cushion assuming that April begins a dry spell. Fortunately, I can't see that far into the future anyway, so i'll enjoy my victory, thank you very much. Whatever happens, Starbucks is fast becoming the winner in this epic struggle, as i have embarked on a daily fix of venti (20 oz) size latte. I realized i haven't been blogging as much as i should have, considering that i am my own bundy clock. But i guess i've been busy enough to hide my angst over people, situations, and the general malaise that envelops bored or stressed people. I'm not bored. I just pulled another all-nighter trying to make sense of a book called The Number. After reading it and turning in a 13-page essay, i felt deflated. It's not as easy as it seemed it would be (the book wasn't exactly a page-turner), but i got my motivation that the proceeds from this summar