Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Remembering the Light Brigade
Today, October 25, is the anniversary of that ill-fated charge conducted by the 13th and 14th Light Dragoons, the 17th Lancers, and the 8th and 11th Hussars under the Earl of Cardigan during the Battle of Balaclava in the Crimean War.
The event is immortalized in stirring verse by Lord Alfred Tennyson:
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
The event had all the classic symptoms of a gigantic clusterfuck. Over-eager officers, hierarchical rivalries, poor intelligence and simple general stupidity all contributed to that charge into "the Valley of Death". In short, it has the makings of all that is wrong in even the most just of wars. And yet, in all this wrongness shines still that valor in men all too often cloaked except in times of war. War may be hell, but there are few events in the life of man and the convulsions of nature that more effectively bring out that hidden nobility in the human spirit than war. War brings out not just the worst in man, but the best as well.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
The event is immortalized in stirring verse by Lord Alfred Tennyson:
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
The event had all the classic symptoms of a gigantic clusterfuck. Over-eager officers, hierarchical rivalries, poor intelligence and simple general stupidity all contributed to that charge into "the Valley of Death". In short, it has the makings of all that is wrong in even the most just of wars. And yet, in all this wrongness shines still that valor in men all too often cloaked except in times of war. War may be hell, but there are few events in the life of man and the convulsions of nature that more effectively bring out that hidden nobility in the human spirit than war. War brings out not just the worst in man, but the best as well.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
This Is Embarrassing...
I've been using Multiply for nigh over a year now, and it is only now that I've discovered how to preserve my favorite web journal posts in list form.
So now, like any over-the-hill band, I can release my "greatest hits" album whenever I want! :D
So now, like any over-the-hill band, I can release my "greatest hits" album whenever I want! :D
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Back to the Future
Due to the curse-like string of bad luck surrounding the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), two leading physicists have come up with a rather strange theory: that something in the future always comes back to sabotage the replication of the Higgs boson, a hidden particle that would supposedly explain the origins of matter. One of the physicists likens it to a man traveling back in time to kill his own grandfather. As the headline to the article suggests, God may not want us nosing around the Higgs boson.
Considering all the fun stuff people come up with regarding LHC disaster theories, this one's a hoot. Kinda like a terminator being sent to the past to kill off the terminators by killing the very first one. Looks like the LHC is a world killer after all. And, its trying to warn us. lol!!
Considering all the fun stuff people come up with regarding LHC disaster theories, this one's a hoot. Kinda like a terminator being sent to the past to kill off the terminators by killing the very first one. Looks like the LHC is a world killer after all. And, its trying to warn us. lol!!
Doc: Marty,you have to destroy that Higgs boson!
Marty: Higgs what?
Marty: Higgs what?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Benedict XVI Outflanks Rowan Williams
Years after Catholic - Anglican dialogue ground to a halt over the issue of female ordination, the Pope finally maneuvers around the Archbishop of Canterbury to be able to reach the Anglicans he can talk to.
How did he do such a feat?
Bulling past all obstacles, from a conflicted Archbishop of Canterbury (who has all the leadership effectiveness of a floppy fish) to his own professional ecumenists who recoil at the prospect of actually trying to gain converts, the Pope has authorized an Apostolic Constitution that would allow entire Anglican factions to come over to Rome, retaining their liturgy and, on a case-by-case basis, their married clergy.
By going through the CDF (the former Inquisition) instead of the ecumenical arm of the Church in order to make this happen, the Pope has shown that he is not afraid to sacrifice some shallow "good will" in order to slake the spiritual hunger of a suffering minority.
Plus, the Pope has shown that waffling pantywaist of an archbishop of Canterbury what spiritual leadership looks like. If you spend more time harping on global warming that speaking of Christ, the Christians under you will find someone willing to do otherwise.
Dude, where's my congregation?
In the interest of fairness, the Church can just send over those disaffected liberal Catholics who thought Christ died for your right to remain a perpetual adolescent. That should cover it.
How did he do such a feat?
Bulling past all obstacles, from a conflicted Archbishop of Canterbury (who has all the leadership effectiveness of a floppy fish) to his own professional ecumenists who recoil at the prospect of actually trying to gain converts, the Pope has authorized an Apostolic Constitution that would allow entire Anglican factions to come over to Rome, retaining their liturgy and, on a case-by-case basis, their married clergy.
By going through the CDF (the former Inquisition) instead of the ecumenical arm of the Church in order to make this happen, the Pope has shown that he is not afraid to sacrifice some shallow "good will" in order to slake the spiritual hunger of a suffering minority.
Plus, the Pope has shown that waffling pantywaist of an archbishop of Canterbury what spiritual leadership looks like. If you spend more time harping on global warming that speaking of Christ, the Christians under you will find someone willing to do otherwise.
Dude, where's my congregation?In the interest of fairness, the Church can just send over those disaffected liberal Catholics who thought Christ died for your right to remain a perpetual adolescent. That should cover it.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
NDR
A couple of nights ago, I got to watch North Diversion Road again, This time, in full.
A lot of things were different from the first time I watched. For one thing, the place was packed, which meant that the off-beat easy-going ambiance was gone. But, front-of-house was friendlier this time (and far more attractive and engaging), and there were souvenir programs that looked like road maps. I'm not sure if those were there the first time around.
The play itself was a well-executed emotional roller coaster. There were a few technical glitches. the passenger side microphone seemed to be fluctuating, as there were occasions wherein I, sitting at front row, could barely make out what the actress was saying. There was an occasion wherein, after the actor motioned to turn on the radio, nothing happened; though, that could have been deliberate. However, other than the few odd nit-picks, there was no real technical problem.
From a perspective in the seats, the play left few audience members emotionally untouched. The guy next to me could barely speak Tagalog (the play's lingua franca), and even he was deep in thought throughout most of the play.
(Spoiler warning)
The play contains ten scenes, all revolving around the singular premise of possible reactions to the discovery by a wife that her husband is cheating on her. The first eight scenes contained plays on emotion suitable for an open road analogy; straightforward and unyielding.
The first scene had the wife icily confronting the husband, rattling out what an ideal marriage ought to be, then grimly accepting the facts with a determination to carry on. The scene was almost positively Victorian, right down to the stiff upper lip of the emotionally restrained wife. One gets the feeling that underneath the shackles of denial lay a volcanic rage barely acknowledged.
The second scene was a stereotypical cry-fest, with a distraught wife and a whipped husband exchanging tear-filled accusations and overwrought remorse. If one did not get the sense that this was deliberate, it would have come across as over-acted, all the way down to the eclectic accents. The hand-wringing and tear-jerking end on a rather positive note, with the wife pausing mid-diatribe to ask her husband if the apologies were really meant. Fortunately, the play cuts off to the next scene before any answer is given.
The third and fourth scenes were variations on anger. The third scene was a prolonged shouting match, wherein the audience are treated to the rare occurrence of the male actually out-talking the female. The fourth scene is almost all silence, but to the credit of the actor and the actress, it came across as no less angry and far more subtle than the previous scene.
The fifth scene was an interesting scenario. Husband and wife, after the secret comes out that hubby was nailing tail on the side, decide on a suicide pact. That both are portrayed as pragmatic, clear-eyed intellectuals adds to the delicious irony; here are two would-be Einsteins who literally think themselves to death. The last few moments of the scene, wherein husband and wife kiss for the last time, comes off as rather comic. Yes, when nerds kiss, its like losing that damned virginity all over again.
The sixth scene involved a rather absurdly happy couple. The wife reveals that she knows of the husband's affair, and doesn't break stride when she informs him that she plans to return the infidelity in turn. The husband's facade of happy cracks just enough to tell the audience that the situation, for all intents and purposes, is a mindfuck in a handbag.
The seventh scene, the most emotionally poignant of the first eight, has a husband barreling down the expressway with his wife just fresh out of a mental institution. He talks to his wife sporadically, acknowledging the indiscretions that caused her mental break down. In between abject contrition and blank stares, he seeks sympathy by talking to people over a ham radio, due to his inability to have a decent conversation with his drugged up wife. It is far more emotionally-wrenching than the maudlin second scene, and is a showcase for the range and ability of the two actors onstage.
The eight was just the wife executing the husband with a Glock. While the gun shot sound effect drew some gasps from the crowd, it is the weakest scene of the first eight. It even comes off as rather cliched. Although, it is but one three-minute cliche in two hours' worth of play.
The first eight scenes serve as prelude to the last two scenes. The straightforward emotionality of the these scenes, and their subsequent arrangement, somehow brings to mind the Kubler-Ross model of dealing with grief. The first eight scenes roughly correlate into five stages of grief: the first two scenes with denial, the third and fourth with anger, the fifth and sixth with bargaining, the seventh with depression, and the eight as some form of bitter and darkly humorous acceptance.
The last two scenes are the heart and soul of the entire play. In the first of the last two, a newly-married songwriter drives down the expressway with the woman he commissions to sing his compositions. The scene is sprinkled with reminders of the first eight scenes, seamlessly integrated into the narrative. The two people in the car eventually end up confessing to each other, the man his romantic and metaphysical predilections and the woman her secret desire for him. When the woman says she might be in love with him, he replies cryptically, "baka maligaw ka sa lawak ng pag-ibig ko". (Roughly, "you might get lost in the vastness of my affections.")
In the final scene, the same man is driving down the same road, but this time with his wife and not his would-be mistress. They are headed to the mountain provinces, hoping to find a faith healer for the cancer-stricken wife. The man whose vast fields of affection now finds himself with an affection magnified into complete devotion and the wide fields reduced to the vastness of a singular flower. As his wife wonders at the sanity of their endeavor, the man slowly breaks down and admits his infidelity with the woman from the previous scene. The wife looks at him, almost serenely, and in a course of action not considered through eight scenes worth of conventional reactions to infidelity, forgives him completely and utterly. There is no trace of resentment, no hidden geyser of anger comparable to the couple of the first scene. She even suggests that, once she dies, the man marry his mistress. Forgiveness proves to be both a light and heavy burden, lighter than the paltry gains of bargaining and heavier than the thrashes of rage. Forgiveness unnerves and emotionally strips the husband bare, sharpening the vast field into a singular ray of devotion to but one subject; his wife. It is the strength and subtlety of this final scene that transform the entire play from one about infidelity into one ultimately about love itself. All the emotions of the earlier scenes are purged in a flood of cathartic release, and for one desperate moment, all seems right in the world.
I cannot overstate the strength of the performances of both actors here. Martin de la Paz and Frankie Pascua outdo themselves, surpassing the superlative, if incomplete, performance from the first time around. Credit must also go to Mr. Vallez for bringing all the elements together as director. However, the greatest credit of all is reserved for the playwright, Tony Perez, whose work simply demands that it be performed well, or not at all.
When I came out of the place, the night felt just right.
North Diversion Road returns on January. For details, head here.
***
PS
So, X, how was that? Are we good?
A lot of things were different from the first time I watched. For one thing, the place was packed, which meant that the off-beat easy-going ambiance was gone. But, front-of-house was friendlier this time (and far more attractive and engaging), and there were souvenir programs that looked like road maps. I'm not sure if those were there the first time around.
The play itself was a well-executed emotional roller coaster. There were a few technical glitches. the passenger side microphone seemed to be fluctuating, as there were occasions wherein I, sitting at front row, could barely make out what the actress was saying. There was an occasion wherein, after the actor motioned to turn on the radio, nothing happened; though, that could have been deliberate. However, other than the few odd nit-picks, there was no real technical problem.
From a perspective in the seats, the play left few audience members emotionally untouched. The guy next to me could barely speak Tagalog (the play's lingua franca), and even he was deep in thought throughout most of the play.
(Spoiler warning)
The play contains ten scenes, all revolving around the singular premise of possible reactions to the discovery by a wife that her husband is cheating on her. The first eight scenes contained plays on emotion suitable for an open road analogy; straightforward and unyielding.
The first scene had the wife icily confronting the husband, rattling out what an ideal marriage ought to be, then grimly accepting the facts with a determination to carry on. The scene was almost positively Victorian, right down to the stiff upper lip of the emotionally restrained wife. One gets the feeling that underneath the shackles of denial lay a volcanic rage barely acknowledged.
The second scene was a stereotypical cry-fest, with a distraught wife and a whipped husband exchanging tear-filled accusations and overwrought remorse. If one did not get the sense that this was deliberate, it would have come across as over-acted, all the way down to the eclectic accents. The hand-wringing and tear-jerking end on a rather positive note, with the wife pausing mid-diatribe to ask her husband if the apologies were really meant. Fortunately, the play cuts off to the next scene before any answer is given.
The third and fourth scenes were variations on anger. The third scene was a prolonged shouting match, wherein the audience are treated to the rare occurrence of the male actually out-talking the female. The fourth scene is almost all silence, but to the credit of the actor and the actress, it came across as no less angry and far more subtle than the previous scene.
The fifth scene was an interesting scenario. Husband and wife, after the secret comes out that hubby was nailing tail on the side, decide on a suicide pact. That both are portrayed as pragmatic, clear-eyed intellectuals adds to the delicious irony; here are two would-be Einsteins who literally think themselves to death. The last few moments of the scene, wherein husband and wife kiss for the last time, comes off as rather comic. Yes, when nerds kiss, its like losing that damned virginity all over again.
The sixth scene involved a rather absurdly happy couple. The wife reveals that she knows of the husband's affair, and doesn't break stride when she informs him that she plans to return the infidelity in turn. The husband's facade of happy cracks just enough to tell the audience that the situation, for all intents and purposes, is a mindfuck in a handbag.
The seventh scene, the most emotionally poignant of the first eight, has a husband barreling down the expressway with his wife just fresh out of a mental institution. He talks to his wife sporadically, acknowledging the indiscretions that caused her mental break down. In between abject contrition and blank stares, he seeks sympathy by talking to people over a ham radio, due to his inability to have a decent conversation with his drugged up wife. It is far more emotionally-wrenching than the maudlin second scene, and is a showcase for the range and ability of the two actors onstage.
The eight was just the wife executing the husband with a Glock. While the gun shot sound effect drew some gasps from the crowd, it is the weakest scene of the first eight. It even comes off as rather cliched. Although, it is but one three-minute cliche in two hours' worth of play.
The first eight scenes serve as prelude to the last two scenes. The straightforward emotionality of the these scenes, and their subsequent arrangement, somehow brings to mind the Kubler-Ross model of dealing with grief. The first eight scenes roughly correlate into five stages of grief: the first two scenes with denial, the third and fourth with anger, the fifth and sixth with bargaining, the seventh with depression, and the eight as some form of bitter and darkly humorous acceptance.
The last two scenes are the heart and soul of the entire play. In the first of the last two, a newly-married songwriter drives down the expressway with the woman he commissions to sing his compositions. The scene is sprinkled with reminders of the first eight scenes, seamlessly integrated into the narrative. The two people in the car eventually end up confessing to each other, the man his romantic and metaphysical predilections and the woman her secret desire for him. When the woman says she might be in love with him, he replies cryptically, "baka maligaw ka sa lawak ng pag-ibig ko". (Roughly, "you might get lost in the vastness of my affections.")
In the final scene, the same man is driving down the same road, but this time with his wife and not his would-be mistress. They are headed to the mountain provinces, hoping to find a faith healer for the cancer-stricken wife. The man whose vast fields of affection now finds himself with an affection magnified into complete devotion and the wide fields reduced to the vastness of a singular flower. As his wife wonders at the sanity of their endeavor, the man slowly breaks down and admits his infidelity with the woman from the previous scene. The wife looks at him, almost serenely, and in a course of action not considered through eight scenes worth of conventional reactions to infidelity, forgives him completely and utterly. There is no trace of resentment, no hidden geyser of anger comparable to the couple of the first scene. She even suggests that, once she dies, the man marry his mistress. Forgiveness proves to be both a light and heavy burden, lighter than the paltry gains of bargaining and heavier than the thrashes of rage. Forgiveness unnerves and emotionally strips the husband bare, sharpening the vast field into a singular ray of devotion to but one subject; his wife. It is the strength and subtlety of this final scene that transform the entire play from one about infidelity into one ultimately about love itself. All the emotions of the earlier scenes are purged in a flood of cathartic release, and for one desperate moment, all seems right in the world.
I cannot overstate the strength of the performances of both actors here. Martin de la Paz and Frankie Pascua outdo themselves, surpassing the superlative, if incomplete, performance from the first time around. Credit must also go to Mr. Vallez for bringing all the elements together as director. However, the greatest credit of all is reserved for the playwright, Tony Perez, whose work simply demands that it be performed well, or not at all.
When I came out of the place, the night felt just right.
North Diversion Road returns on January. For details, head here.
***
PS
So, X, how was that? Are we good?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
It Has a Theme Song!
A big bear's basketful of kudos to Joao for an excellent song!
Whatever else it may be, the Flood Play (cursed plays must not have their real names mentioned... i.e. "The Scottish Play"...) now has a catchy theme song.
Overall, I feel much better about the play now than when I was ranting about the play's near-death experience last night. Hope springs eternal.
Whatever else it may be, the Flood Play (cursed plays must not have their real names mentioned... i.e. "The Scottish Play"...) now has a catchy theme song.
Overall, I feel much better about the play now than when I was ranting about the play's near-death experience last night. Hope springs eternal.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Cursed?
Once more, "Newspaper Dance" the Flood Play hangs like string upon a knife's edge. Whereas before, the play could not go on for lack of a venue, it is now threatened by a potential lack of actresses.
Kaye, a victim of the recent typhoon, has to catch up on a lot of school work before she leaves for the States on the 24th. The overwhelming amount of requirement shuffling has threatened her participation in the play.
Rachelle is caught up in a similar (but less dramatic) dilemma. She is part of "Serapio", as a marketing-type person, and that takes some of her time. The fact that "Serapio" is now going to show practically alongside our production (an altogether different nightmare on its own) due to the postponement by Ondoy, will eat into her participation in"Newspaper Dance" the Flood Play. Plus, her dad wants her to concentrate on tennis and violin lessons over the sem break, which is a critical time for our rehearsals.
Both ladies told me today that they were quitting.
And it took whatever personal charisma I had left (and trust me, there's not much to begin with) to keep them both on board.
Its too late to find alternates. Either we hold together, orNewspaper Dance the Flood Play becomes Brokeback Bench starring Miko and Jonas.
I don't know who is cursed, me or the play. It's a hair's breadth from going tits up.
To all VIARE folk out there, pray that Kaye and Rachelle can remain on board for the duration. Otherwise, the production will be very short and you'll miss out on the rule of threes.
Fucking typhoon messed everything up.
PS
If I become hard to contact, blame my phone. I don't know what's wrong with it. First, the stick gets stuck. Then everything's hypersensitive. Earlier, while resting in my breast pocket, it started calling Rachelle on its own. Thrice.
My phone is in love with my actress.
Betcha never thought you'd ever read that sentence in English, ever, didn't you?
Or, I could be wrong, and it's just in love with Rachelle's iPhone. It's out of your league, fucker.
Kaye, a victim of the recent typhoon, has to catch up on a lot of school work before she leaves for the States on the 24th. The overwhelming amount of requirement shuffling has threatened her participation in the play.
Rachelle is caught up in a similar (but less dramatic) dilemma. She is part of "Serapio", as a marketing-type person, and that takes some of her time. The fact that "Serapio" is now going to show practically alongside our production (an altogether different nightmare on its own) due to the postponement by Ondoy, will eat into her participation in
Both ladies told me today that they were quitting.
And it took whatever personal charisma I had left (and trust me, there's not much to begin with) to keep them both on board.
Its too late to find alternates. Either we hold together, or
I don't know who is cursed, me or the play. It's a hair's breadth from going tits up.
To all VIARE folk out there, pray that Kaye and Rachelle can remain on board for the duration. Otherwise, the production will be very short and you'll miss out on the rule of threes.
Fucking typhoon messed everything up.
PS
If I become hard to contact, blame my phone. I don't know what's wrong with it. First, the stick gets stuck. Then everything's hypersensitive. Earlier, while resting in my breast pocket, it started calling Rachelle on its own. Thrice.
My phone is in love with my actress.
Betcha never thought you'd ever read that sentence in English, ever, didn't you?
Or, I could be wrong, and it's just in love with Rachelle's iPhone. It's out of your league, fucker.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Random Thoughts on the Week at Large 10.11.09
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. So, if you have to have cancer, make it breast cancer. If you have prostate cancer, you are outside our awareness.
***
I know Breast Cancer Awareness month is the product of a feminist Tupperware party, but I get the feeling that the only reason men have gone along with it for so long is that the word "breast" is in it.
I mean, of all the other cancers that are far deadlier and kill more people in the world, why breast cancer? The answer, I believe, is in advertising.
***
Jeremy Clarkson is right about the dumbing down of Britain. Jeremy Clarkson is the Man. If I ever get the local equivalent of professorial tenure, I'd like to be Jeremy Clarkson. It doesn't make sense, but the world would be more awesome with more Jeremy Clarkson in it.
***
Obama, Nobel Peace Prize winner? Hey, if even Hitler could get nominated, why not? Sure, it's preposterous, but you won't be laughing once Obama gets an Oscar for Best Screenplay for some scribbles he wrote on a napkin.
***
Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize does have a positive aspect. (And no, I'm not kidding.) After all, in 1973, the US Supreme Court decided in Roe v. Wade that "potential" did not have the right to life. Now, we're giving peace prizes to "potential". So, it's progress, I suppose. (OK, so I am kidding.)
***
I'm not George W. Bush too. I can potentially be a force for peace, too. Where's my Nobel, Mr. Jagland?
***
In the online version of National Review, Mark Steyn does a number on Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize. I note this, however, mainly because of this line on el Presidente's domestic and foreign problems:
Why squander your presidency on trying to turn an economically moribund feudal backwater into a functioning nation state when you can turn a functioning nation state into an economically moribund feudal backwater?
***
Steyn also calls attention to a woman (obviously an academic) who defends Obama's prize by saying:
“I’m afraid I’ve registered into a very conversative [sic], fear-based world here but I’d like to suggest the incredible notion we all create our worlds in our conversations. What are you building by maligning rather than creating discourses for workability? Bravo to Obama and others working for people, however it appears to cynics.”
What the fuck does "creating discourses for workability" even mean? Sadly, the academe is filled with people who seem to have only heard of planet Earth from a poorly-made vacation brochure. I've encountered enough of them (not that many in UA&P, thank goodness) to know to just say "Live long and prosper" and just get the hell out of the way.
***
In an Inquirer (print) article, some talking (writing?) head wrote an article about an exchange between four Philippine presidential candidates and representatives of local government units. The guy billed it as a "big government vs. small government" forum, a la the US Presidential Debates. However, judging from the questions the writer reported, it was less "big government vs. small government", and more "big pork vs. small pork". I'm a "small government" guy myself, and saw none of the issues in such a debate tackled, at least, as far as the reporter goes. This goes to show you how careless Inquirer reporters are when they play with big words.
***
The same writer said that Noynoy differentiated himself from Villar, Gibo and Escudero by standing up instead of sitting down when answering questions.
Quick! Somebody get Noynoy a Nobel!
***
Conrado de Quiros has jumped the shark. Humped it too.
***
Last night, we drank to life. I thought it was cute.
I was waiting for us to sing "Tradition!", but "Fiddler on the Roof" was too snotty for such a manly night.
***
But then again, how did "Hands Down" qualify? Oh yeah, Bok.
***
I know Breast Cancer Awareness month is the product of a feminist Tupperware party, but I get the feeling that the only reason men have gone along with it for so long is that the word "breast" is in it.
I mean, of all the other cancers that are far deadlier and kill more people in the world, why breast cancer? The answer, I believe, is in advertising.
***
Jeremy Clarkson is right about the dumbing down of Britain. Jeremy Clarkson is the Man. If I ever get the local equivalent of professorial tenure, I'd like to be Jeremy Clarkson. It doesn't make sense, but the world would be more awesome with more Jeremy Clarkson in it.
***
Obama, Nobel Peace Prize winner? Hey, if even Hitler could get nominated, why not? Sure, it's preposterous, but you won't be laughing once Obama gets an Oscar for Best Screenplay for some scribbles he wrote on a napkin.
***
Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize does have a positive aspect. (And no, I'm not kidding.) After all, in 1973, the US Supreme Court decided in Roe v. Wade that "potential" did not have the right to life. Now, we're giving peace prizes to "potential". So, it's progress, I suppose. (OK, so I am kidding.)
***
I'm not George W. Bush too. I can potentially be a force for peace, too. Where's my Nobel, Mr. Jagland?
***
In the online version of National Review, Mark Steyn does a number on Obama and the Nobel Peace Prize. I note this, however, mainly because of this line on el Presidente's domestic and foreign problems:
Why squander your presidency on trying to turn an economically moribund feudal backwater into a functioning nation state when you can turn a functioning nation state into an economically moribund feudal backwater?
***
Steyn also calls attention to a woman (obviously an academic) who defends Obama's prize by saying:
“I’m afraid I’ve registered into a very conversative [sic], fear-based world here but I’d like to suggest the incredible notion we all create our worlds in our conversations. What are you building by maligning rather than creating discourses for workability? Bravo to Obama and others working for people, however it appears to cynics.”
What the fuck does "creating discourses for workability" even mean? Sadly, the academe is filled with people who seem to have only heard of planet Earth from a poorly-made vacation brochure. I've encountered enough of them (not that many in UA&P, thank goodness) to know to just say "Live long and prosper" and just get the hell out of the way.
***
In an Inquirer (print) article, some talking (writing?) head wrote an article about an exchange between four Philippine presidential candidates and representatives of local government units. The guy billed it as a "big government vs. small government" forum, a la the US Presidential Debates. However, judging from the questions the writer reported, it was less "big government vs. small government", and more "big pork vs. small pork". I'm a "small government" guy myself, and saw none of the issues in such a debate tackled, at least, as far as the reporter goes. This goes to show you how careless Inquirer reporters are when they play with big words.
***
The same writer said that Noynoy differentiated himself from Villar, Gibo and Escudero by standing up instead of sitting down when answering questions.
Quick! Somebody get Noynoy a Nobel!
***
Conrado de Quiros has jumped the shark. Humped it too.
***
Last night, we drank to life. I thought it was cute.
I was waiting for us to sing "Tradition!", but "Fiddler on the Roof" was too snotty for such a manly night.
***
But then again, how did "Hands Down" qualify? Oh yeah, Bok.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Nobel Peace Prize: Making the Case for Irrelevance
Much like the year they awarded the prize to Yasser Arafat over John Paul II, or when they awarded the prize to an African fruitcake who proclaimed that the CIA invented AIDS to kill black people, or when they gave their by-now shitty prize to Al Gore over a Holocaust heroine, the Nobel committee once more made a big push for their continued obsolescence and irrelevance.
They decided to give it up for Mr. "Charisma", Barack Obama.
Yep, they gave a peace prize to the guy who may turn the Middle East into an Iranian nuke hole and give Afghanistan back to the Taliban.
The tin-pot messiah is about as relevant to peace in our time as Neville Chamberlain was to peace in his time. But then again, I wonder who's left in the world who still believes that sense comes out of Scandinavia.
Morons. Norway should stick to exporting brainless blondes.
Thorbjoen Jagland, Head of the Nobel peace prize Committee, says Obama is "dreamy".
They decided to give it up for Mr. "Charisma", Barack Obama.
Yep, they gave a peace prize to the guy who may turn the Middle East into an Iranian nuke hole and give Afghanistan back to the Taliban.
The tin-pot messiah is about as relevant to peace in our time as Neville Chamberlain was to peace in his time. But then again, I wonder who's left in the world who still believes that sense comes out of Scandinavia.
Morons. Norway should stick to exporting brainless blondes.
Thorbjoen Jagland, Head of the Nobel peace prize Committee, says Obama is "dreamy". Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Master's Theses Come In All Shapes
Apparently, pop culture is a respectable field of academic inquiry.
Here's a thesis on Joss Whedon, Firefly and Faith, written for an MA in a divinity school in the US.
With this in mind, I do not see how Neil Gaiman's Sandman falls outside academic respectability. Just because it's a comic book (if you say "graphic novel", I will kick your pretentious ass) does not make it an illegitimate field of academic inquiry. If divinity school can do Firefly, Literature can do Sandman.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio*, than what is contained in your philosophy.
* And by Horatio, I mean...yeah, Bok and X would know what I mean.
Here's a thesis on Joss Whedon, Firefly and Faith, written for an MA in a divinity school in the US.
With this in mind, I do not see how Neil Gaiman's Sandman falls outside academic respectability. Just because it's a comic book (if you say "graphic novel", I will kick your pretentious ass) does not make it an illegitimate field of academic inquiry. If divinity school can do Firefly, Literature can do Sandman.
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio*, than what is contained in your philosophy.
* And by Horatio, I mean...yeah, Bok and X would know what I mean.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Because the Dear Leader Needs Hymns
The cult of Obama has little children singing his praises.
Check out the hymn to the Dear Leader:
Who in the world do they think this guy is? George Washington in blackface?
A narcissist whose waning charms fail to bring the Olympics to his home town, gets bullied around by Russia and Iran, and silences generals who disagree with what passes for his war "strategy" does not deserve such patently cultish treatment. Heck, not even a GOOD president deserves as much, at least, until he gains the immortality of history. Obama is the farthest thing from a good American president. Oh, Heaven help us if we ever have our kids singing panegyrics to GMA, or whoever nutjob gets the post after the elections.
Hey, teacher! Leave those kids alone!!
(Wow, I'm actually agreeing with Pink Floyd lyrics. Yes we can!)
PS
Wasn't Clinton the first "black" US President?
Check out the hymn to the Dear Leader:
Obama,What the fuck...
President Obama,
President Obama,
President Obama,
President Obama--He says
Yes we can!
President Obama--We say
Yes we can!
President Obama--I say
Yes I can!
President Obama--He says
Yes we can!
Barack Obama--Oh yes he rates,
The first Black President in the United States!
He's smart and he's--so so good!
He'll lead this country as he should!
He wants us all to work together,
To make this country even better!
Prez' Obama says--"Yes We Can!"
Make the US better--hand in hand!
Obama,
President Obama,
President Obama,
President Obama
President!
Who in the world do they think this guy is? George Washington in blackface?
A narcissist whose waning charms fail to bring the Olympics to his home town, gets bullied around by Russia and Iran, and silences generals who disagree with what passes for his war "strategy" does not deserve such patently cultish treatment. Heck, not even a GOOD president deserves as much, at least, until he gains the immortality of history. Obama is the farthest thing from a good American president. Oh, Heaven help us if we ever have our kids singing panegyrics to GMA, or whoever nutjob gets the post after the elections.
Hey, teacher! Leave those kids alone!!
(Wow, I'm actually agreeing with Pink Floyd lyrics. Yes we can!)
PS
Wasn't Clinton the first "black" US President?
Friday, October 2, 2009
We Are Not Born of Apes!
A discovery in Ethiopia just turned several decades of indoctrinated conventional wisdom on its head. Man did not descend from chimps, or any sort of great ape for that matter.
Rather, man and ape branched off from a common ancestor, and whatever is unique in human beings evolved separately from the great apes, who have evolved in their own line.
The skeleton of an early human who lived 4.4 million years ago shows that humans did not evolve from chimpanzee-like ancestors, researchers reported on Thursday.
Instead, the missing link -- the common ancestor of both humans and modern apes -- was different from both, and apes have evolved just as much as humans have from that common ancestor, they said.
This discovery puts to rest the notion that, through dumb evolutionary luck (or "random natural selection", if you're a jargon-chewing neo-Darwinist), some chimp grew up to be Mozart.
retards parliamentarians (and I apologize to retards for the odious comparison) who foolishly gave "rights" to primates on a whim of philosophical and moral stupidity must all get egg baths in the morning.
So, stand proud, and know that God never intended any of your ancestors to develop the lovely habit of throwing shit at passersby for lulz.
And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. (Gen. 2: 7)
Human exceptionalism rides again! Oh, and another thing...
**** you! You're not my father!
Rather, man and ape branched off from a common ancestor, and whatever is unique in human beings evolved separately from the great apes, who have evolved in their own line.
The skeleton of an early human who lived 4.4 million years ago shows that humans did not evolve from chimpanzee-like ancestors, researchers reported on Thursday.
Instead, the missing link -- the common ancestor of both humans and modern apes -- was different from both, and apes have evolved just as much as humans have from that common ancestor, they said.
This discovery puts to rest the notion that, through dumb evolutionary luck (or "random natural selection", if you're a jargon-chewing neo-Darwinist), some chimp grew up to be Mozart.
"Ardi" is clearly a human ancestor and her descendants did not grow up to be chimpanzees or other apes, the researchers report in the journal Science.
She had an ape-like head and opposable toes that allowed her to climb trees easily, but her hands, wrists and pelvis show she strode like a modern human and did not knuckle-walk like a chimp or a gorilla.
"People have sort of assumed that modern chimpanzees haven't evolved very much, that the last common ancestor was more or less like a chimpanzee and that it's been ... the human lineage ... that's done all the evolving," White said.
But "Ardi" is "even more primitive than a chimpanzee," White said.
So, whatever man is, he is a creation unique in all the world, clearly distinct from the great apes or any other creature. The ape is not, and never will be, our equal. The implications of this discovery are tremendous, not least of which is that it puts to rest this absurd notion of apes being our "forefathers" and deserving of equal rights. Those SpanishSo, stand proud, and know that God never intended any of your ancestors to develop the lovely habit of throwing shit at passersby for lulz.
And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. (Gen. 2: 7)Human exceptionalism rides again! Oh, and another thing...
**** you! You're not my father! This is A Brain on Acid
Harvey Weinstein says Hollywood has "the best moral compass", after emerging backlash for his and most of Hollywood's support of child rapist Roman Polanski.
Ladies and Gentlemen... Pope Harvey of the Church of Hollywood
Kids, don't do drugs. Or you'll be talking out of your ass too.
Ladies and Gentlemen... Pope Harvey of the Church of HollywoodKids, don't do drugs. Or you'll be talking out of your ass too.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Another Black Saturday
These are days of Job for us. Looks like another typhoon, this one much stronger than the last, is heading our way. Estimated wind speeds are, as of now, expected to reach 210 kph with gusts up to 230 kph.
This typhoon will hit the extreme north of the island of Luzon, which means that we in Manila will feel the fringes of the storm. However, the vulnerable state the capital is in right now may make things worse, even if the eye of the storm misses us entirely.
I hope we're prepared this time. If I lived by a river, I'd be inquiring as to where the sandbag brigades are.
This typhoon will hit the extreme north of the island of Luzon, which means that we in Manila will feel the fringes of the storm. However, the vulnerable state the capital is in right now may make things worse, even if the eye of the storm misses us entirely.
I hope we're prepared this time. If I lived by a river, I'd be inquiring as to where the sandbag brigades are.
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