The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time

Whiney Exile

2007-08-23T08:53:00.000-12:00

"If you grow up in Manchester, you either go to work in a factory or you play soccer, or you sell drugs, or you become a musician. I think that's why we have two pretty good soccer teams, and we've got a lot of good factories, we've got a lot of good drug dealers and a lot of good bands." - Noel Gallagher

I’m down to my last two days living in the city exploited by the Industrial Revolution, bombed by the IRA and consistently demoralised by heavy rains. Technically, Manchester is not the city for me. It is good for athletic people, not only because of football, but also because they’re building Sportcity in East Manchester (part of sustainable regeneration programme). It’s also good for artsy people because of the lively music scene (especially jazz!) and quirky corner shops. Clearly, I’m neither athletic nor artsy, and in spite of my litany of complaints about the weather, sleazy cab drivers, decrepit dorm room, faulty fire alarms and pubs not serving coffee after 5pm, there is something about Manc that makes me want to stay.

I guess this is a common situation for someone who’s tired of being in-between cities. I am literally homeless. I’m currently staying in Lancaster, going to Manchester tomorrow and moving to Birmingham next month – that is after I stay in London and Geneva for a few days and Manila for a couple of weeks. I don’t know what my forwarding address is. My books and clothes are in boxes, ready to be shipped to the midlands, but my fancy shoes, office equipment and catalogued books are officially housed in Manila. In the interim, I literally live out of a (20 x 12”) suitcase. And my clothes are discoloured and wrinkly.

I used to think that as an academic, it is best for me to stay in a foreign city long enough to master bus routes and train times, but short enough not to develop meaningful relationships with the locals. After all, in Representations of the Intellectual, Edward Said explains that the ‘pattern that sets the course for the intellectual as outsider is best exemplified by the condition of exile, the state of never being fully adjusted, always feeling outside the chatty, familiar world inhabited by natives’ (1994:44). Although Said is talking about being ‘exilic’ in the metaphorical sense*, I’m not quite sure if I still like the literal meaning of being an exilic academic – someone who ‘flirts with mobility’ (Pels, 2000:186) and subscribes to ‘principled uncertainty’ (Deleuze in Hartley, 1996:451). In as much as I appreciate the opportunity to travel and find comfort in strangeness (Alexander, 1997:Track 5), at the end of the day, I am still the control freak who wants to know where everything is without having to look at the map.

Manc, Winter 2006

Before everyone disappeared, Spring 2007

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*It is the ‘metaphysical sense of restlessness, movement, constantly being unsettled and unsettling others’ (Said, 1994:53).
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Alexander, C. (1997) ‘Comfort in Your Strangeness’ in Insomnia and Other Lullabies

Hartley, J. (1996) “Expatriation: Useful Astonishment as Cultural Studies” in Cultural Studies, 6, 3:449-67.

Pels, D. (2000) The Intellectual as Stranger: Studies in Spokespersonship. London: Routledge

Said, E. (1994) Representations of the Intellectual: The 1993 Reith Lectures. London: Vintage Books

Payback Time

2007-05-16T17:56:00.000-12:00

Just thought I’d share an interesting “article” from the magazine Red Pepper. Clearly, I do not agree with the advice, I just find it entertaining.

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Dear Auntie,

As a lifelong feminist, I’ve always insisted on sharing the costs on dates. But I only work part-time and have money troubles, while the man I’m now seeing earns a lot more than me. So he always pays when we go out on dates. We’ve never talked about it but I feel awkward. Does that make me a bad feminist?

Yours,

Anne Elliot, Bath

Dear Ms Elliot,

Take off the hairshirt, sister. If he’s got the money and you’re skint then let him pay.

In fact, there are good political reasons why he should pay. The UK has a gender pay gap of 17 per cent for equivalent work, according to official figures. That almost certainly underestimates the true picture, since women still don’t get these equivalent jobs. So next time he pays the bill at a restaurant, don’t think of it as confirming the patriarchy – treat it as a little bit of wealth redistribution. No need to feel awkward or guilty about it.

In my misguided youth, I used to sing that ‘If women were paid for all they do, there’d be a lot of wages due’. I thought that wages for housework would be a way to start tackling this economic inequality. But with age, and a partner who does his fair share of the cooking and cleaning (well, mostly), I came to realise that we shouldn’t limit our ambitions to a wage packet for ‘women’s work’.

Forget wages, what we need are reparations for housework.

My mother cooked, cleaned, ironed, washed and scrubbed, as women in my family had done for generations. I expect it’s the same in your family.

So next time your man flashes his cash for a cinema seat, top it up with an extra-large popcorn. And next time he shouts you a drink, make it a double. Then, as you’re nursing the hangover the following day, don’t forget to demand breakfast in bed and make sure that he does the washing up.

Got an ethical dilemma? Want some leftie advice from someone who’s been around a bit? Write to auntie@redpepper.org.uk and she’ll sort you out.

Is no resolution a resolution?

2007-05-03T09:02:00.000-12:00

I agree that it is ironic, if not shameful that I spent three semesters in UP discussing land reform and the Iron Law of Oligarchy while wearing Nine West pumps with matching massive Kate Spade bags. Maybe I can take comfort in the fact that even respected academics such as Edward Said and Richard Rorty are criticised for the same reason. Said passionately talked about the Palestinian cause and imperialism yet kept a fancy flat in Manhattan and spoke in conferences wearing designer suits. Richard Rorty also pursued some form of activism, mostly related to issues of social justice but invested on the upkeep of his collection – wild orchids.

Said justified his lifestyle through what he called ‘disinterested aesthetic pleasure’. He believed that one’s political principles must not get in the way of appreciating great works of art. I am not too sure how Said defined art, but I tend to agree with the loose definition which is anything of high quality and high value. It is anything that excites the human senses. For that, Kate Spade bags qualify as art. So do Jimmy Choo peep toes. And HP PSC 2510 photosmart. And clearly, Crocs do not.

Similarly, Rorty tried to synthesise one’s personal and possibly selfish pleasure-seeking fetishes to the quest for a pluralistic, democratic society. In his autobiography Trotsky and Wild Orchids, he argued that it is not imperative to reconcile the personal and the public. He said that in the private realm, one is fee to engage in the art of self-creation, and if that entails art appreciation/collection, travelling or gardening, one should not be ashamed of it. Meanwhile, when one enters the public realm, one should be aware of his/her political obligations to the society. Essentially, the message is that the:

“ … dual goals of self-creation and social solidarity must be practiced simultaneously but separately … the ultimate synthesis of love and justice may turn out to be an intricately textured collage of private narcissism and public pragmatism”.

More interestingly phrased – “I (Rorty) wanted a way to be both an intellectual and spiritual snob and a friend of humanity – a nerdy recluse and a fighter for justice.”

I am not too sure if I buy this analysis. Is not resolving internal contradictions an acceptable resolution? Or does Umberto Eco make more sense when he said personal excess is an insult to poverty?

Just thinking aloud.

Click here for context.

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On a side note, I am disappointed with how Rorty and Said managed to make their autobiographies sobfests. Said endlessly harped on his feelings of being out of place as a kid, hence the title of his autobiography, Out of Place, while Rorty dramatically narrated how he was bullied as a kid. Oh please.

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Unfortunately, I returned Trotsky and Wild Orchids, and Out of Place to the library already while Eco’s How to Travel with a Salmon and Other Essays is in Manila. These circumstances disabled me from properly citing references.

Oh so apt

2007-04-26T15:46:00.000-12:00

*Ripped off from Camilla's Facebook Album.

My world according to David.

2007-03-31T21:41:00.000-12:00

When David passes judgment on my character, it’s hard not to listen. He knows me well enough because he stood by me through thick and thin, and more appropriately, whether he’s thick or thin. Last January, he said something that really bothered me:

“You know what you are, you’re a closet conservative! Think about it. You worked for a Republican think tank, you hang out with Tories and you’re elite. Whatever you do, you always land with conservatives.” (Ty 2007)

I wanted to punch him in the face, but I was nice enough to let it go since it was our last night out. Also, I was still in a conciliatory mood then because I ditched our dinner a few days back in lieu of another social function.

Two months later, I think I want to concede David’s analysis for the following reasons, and it got me contemplative ... and a bit scared:

I am more likely to support David Cameron instead of Gordon Brown. His social responsibility rhetoric sells to me, even though this has been overplayed by New Labour already.

I find the “youth’s” fashion statement outrageously raunchy. I know bohemian fashion is (well, supposed to be) a sign of resistance from snooty couture, but hot pink leggings with four inches short denim skirts matched with ‘ballerina shoes on methane high’ (Evangelista 2006) are simply unacceptable. Basic standards of decency imposed by the ruling elite (except Paris Hilton) are transgressed.

Lately, I find myself willingly performing traditional gender roles and not bitch about it. The only thing that bothers me is my substandard performance.

I firmly believe Sanjaya Malakar made it to the next round because of the South Asian bloc vote. And it's stupid. And please, Jade Goody was not racist.

Okay, David. We may not agree on post-movie analyses, value judgments on allegedly racist stand up comics and why A4 is better than Letter but you win on this one.

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Evangelista, Patricia (2007) Text message to Neeks. Seattle’s Best, Rockwell.

Ty, David (2007) “You’re a closet conservative!” in The Last Night Out, Starbucks, Rockwell

Like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife

2007-03-05T20:27:00.000-12:00

To my troubled friend – There is nothing worse than having an existentialist crisis. I’m sorry I can’t spend enough time with you, damn time zones. I know your Catholic sensibilities make you reject Nietzsche outright, but just hear me out. This might actually help. If not, blame it on PMS. Take it easy.

Eternal Recurrence is one of Nietzsche’s strangest ideas. Some philosophers do not really give credence to this because Nietzsche was allegedly insane already when he wrote The Gay Science and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The concept is similar to the Hindus’ Wheel of Life, which basically sees life as a cycle – “Everything goes, everything returns; eternally revolves the Wheel of Being.” (Nietzsche, 1981) There are numerous ways to appreciate this idea, but two of my favourite interpretations come from Maudemarie Clark and Bernd Magnus.

Both Clark and Magnus consider Eternal Recurrence as an “existential imperative” – a tool to evaluate one’s life. If one believes in eternal recurrence, the litmus test in making decisions is – “Which consequence am I willing to endure in eternity?” Decisions we make for our selves are often coupled with casualties and unintended consequences, but we get consolation knowing that our choices are worth it – our lives have not been wasted.

Following Schopenhauer, Nietzsche too equates life with suffering. But this ‘reality’ comes with an antidote. The core of eternal recurrence is “affirmation of life” or “joyous affirmation”. This is reflected with Nietzsche’s constant reference to Dionysius. For him, the lesson this Athenian god imparts is taking life lightly. We suffer because we take our existence too seriously. Gianni Vattimo, a neo-Nietzschean argues that instead of finding coherence in our lives, we should concede that it is messy and instead, enjoy its amazing disarray.

It’s a bit strange that while Nietzsche encourages us to be ubermensch, he also wants us to concede that we are ‘human, all too human’. The bottom line really is appreciating the irony of life. People grow old looking for meaning, direction and consistency and end up disappointed and jaded when these ‘essentials’ cannot be found. On the other hand, finally conceding the absence of truth and higher purpose allows us to start living and creating our own purpose and direction. Remembering what someone dear to me said – “this is your only shot to be happy.”

I guess how we perceive Eternal Recurrence is reflective of how we appreciate the way we lived our lives. Perhaps the question that can help us assess our position is raised in Gay Science:

“What if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: ‘This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession …’ would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus?”

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Nietzsche, F. (1882) “The Gay Science” in The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of Songs, translated by Walter Kauffman (Vintage Books, 1974)

_____. (1891) “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” in Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None; translated by Walter Kauffman (New York, Modern Library, 1995)

Solomon, R. and K. Higgins (2000) What Nietzsche Really Said. New York: Shocken Books

I’m happy, don’t ruin it.

2007-02-20T09:54:00.000-12:00

It is fashionable to be bitter. Looking at YM status messages and blogs, it looks like people nowadays have something against being happy. A couple of decades ago, Theodor Adorno (1984) declared “Happiness is obsolete. Uneconomic.” True enough, unhappiness drives consumption, legitimising our urge to buy a new pair of shoes or watch a movie or binge on chocolates or buy a new paper shredder (obviously, this is just me). Media also validates (Bourdieu, 1998) bitterness as a fashionable frame of mind. Wouldn’t it be “super cool” to identify to Gregory House, Cristina Yang, Liz Lemon, or even Mohinder Suresh?

While successfully ignoring my readings today, I read Kurt Vonnegut’s A Man without a Country (2006). In one of the final chapters, he talked about his Uncle Alex, whose main complaint against other human beings was “that they seldom noticed it when they were happy.” Ally McBeal (1997) supports this point – “Maybe I’m happy. I just don’t know it.” Vonnegut continues –

“So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’ … I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

Anyway, this post has nothing to do with me being the new posterchild of happiness. Far from it. It's just that this afternoon, still in the spirit of ignoring my readings, I spent so much time listening to String Quartet tributes while drinking Nicaraguan Coffee which made me say “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

String Quartet Tribute to Coldplay, Clocks

String Quartet Tribute to Fall Out Boy, Sugar We’re Going Down

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Adorno, T. (1984) Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life. (First published in German, 1951) London: Verso

Bourdieu, P. (1998) On Television. New York: The New Press

McBeal, A. (1997) “Compromising Positions” in Ally McBeal Season 1. (Created by David E. Kelley). First aired September 22, 1997.

Vonnegut, K. (2007) A Man without a Country. (First published in 2006) London: Bloomsbury Publishing

Recent realisations

2007-02-05T07:05:00.000-12:00

(1) You can be dead sure about what you want to do for dissertation … until you meet your supervisor.

(2) You can take the high road and be friends with people who treated you like crap in the past, until you realise … what the hell for, I hate you.

(3) If your reference group cares so much about fashion, they will never approve of your Uggs.

(4) After photocopying your own readings, you'll realise Blessings in SC is indeed a blessing.

(5) Old Trafford, slides and possibly trekking, can be entertaining.

Aren't Uggs like, the Crocs of winter clothing? (Jiao, 2007)

Sige na nga, normally I would really veto Uggs, pero you're Neeks, so you can pull it off. Ganito nalang, basta never push a pram when you wear Uggs, kasi meron talaga silang association with single moms. I don't know if you're still childless, pero still ... (Libarios, 2007)

Why is Neeks grinning on top of a slide? Why is Neeks adventurous? What is wrong? (Espenilla, 2007)

Tate Modern, The Unilever Series: Carsten Höller

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Espenilla, J. (2007) Conversation with Patricia. Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Est. 1963
Jiao, C. (2007) Conversation with Neeks. YM.
Libarios, L. (2007) Conversation with Neeks. YM.

I-Can-Die-Now Moment

2007-01-23T19:42:00.000-12:00

I saw Paul Bettany in person. I can die now.

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Photos from the premiere of Blood Diamond in London

"Wow, naman - - glam girl ka na at red carpet event na ang past time mo." (Rodriguez-Robles, 2007)

Looking good is not important. It's everything. (Some ad from the tube station)

"Mag-bebreak din kayo!" (Gacad, 2006)

I'm there. I'm just not tall enough. (Curato, 2007)

Because boys in pinstripes always deserve a second look. (Curato, 2006)

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Curato, N. (2006) "Pinstripes fetish" in Obsessing about *bleep*, Gram's Diner, Rockwell.
_____. (2007) "Freezing in Leicester Square" in Blood Diamond Premiere, London.
Gacad, S. (2006) YM Status Message, some time last year.
Rodriguez-Robles, J. (2007) Email to N. Curato, HSBC, Makati.
Some ad from the tube station (2007) Looking good is not important. It's everything. Leicester Square Tube Station, London.

Shore sums it up

2007-01-21T18:17:00.000-12:00

Denny Crane: Your closing was very convincing. Almost as if you believed it.

Alan Shore: I did.

Denny Crane: You do love America.

Alan Shore: Of course I do. I didn’t agree with the string our government attached to the money in this case, but we have every right to attach strings to the funds we give.

Denny Crane: That’s my boy.

Alan Shore: I’m your friend, Denny, but I’m not your boy. That’s what troubles me. This notion that we have to take sides in this country now, you’re either with us or against us, Republican or Democrat, red state or blue state.

Denny Crane: I can’t believe I live in a blue state. I mean…

Alan Shore: No one looks at an issue and struggles over the right position to take anymore. And yet, our ability to reason is what makes us human. Lately, we seem so willing to forfeit that gift of reason in exchange for the good feeling of belonging to a group. We all just take the position of our team. I’ve certainly done it and hated myself for it.

Denny Crane: I’ve never heard you make so much sense.

Alan Shore: I make sense all the time; you just listen intermittently.

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Shore, A. and D. Crane (2006) “Squid Pro Quo” in Boston Legal, Season 2, Episode No. 42. First aired May 9, 2006

Fixation

2007-01-06T15:07:00.000-12:00

Since September, most of the books I’ve read are related to work. I was a bit worried because I started relating reading to stress, hence the much needed revival of leisure reading. I started with Michal Viewegh’s Bringing up Girls in Bohemia, a short novel about Beata’s obscure love affair with her tutor. The novel was interesting enough for me to give up watching You, Me and Dupree in the plane, which is a pleasant surprise, because I only picked this book because it’s set in today’s Prague. If I have a thing for Latin America academically, I now have a thing for Czech writers.

Clearly, my previous statement is just a notch less poser than using the words ‘bloke’ and ‘slag’ in Manila. Before Viewegh, I only knew Milan Kundera. So more accurately, I have a thing for two Czech writers. In any case, my fondness for Czech-based novels is reflective of my lifelong desire of going to Prague. I’d be really frustrated if I don’t go this year. *hint*

In the interim, I am contented reading The Joke. This novel is special because it’s Kundera’s first novel and weird enough, the only Kundera novel I haven’t read. Following Neil’s logic in DVD marathons, I read this novel sparingly because it’s the last one for now.

In a nutshell, the novel is about Ludvic, who was expelled from the Party and sent to a labour camp because of a joke he made –

“Optimism is the opiate of the people! A healthy atmosphere stinks of stupidity! Long live Trotsky!”

In a very Nietzschean sense, Kundera alludes to the importance of humour in a revolution, but Ludvic cannot explain humour to humourless people. He spends the rest of his life condemning the totalitarian government, realising later on that he himself has been repressive in his relationship with women. In a geeky way, I’m fascinated with how Kundera plays up structure-agency interaction in all of his novels.

The theme I missed from this novel though is abandonment. Unlike Ludvic, the Kunderan heroes/heroines I like are those who win their battles through dissociation, inaction and exile. I particularly like Agnes from Immortality, who knew she “had nothing in common with those two-legged creatures with a head on their shoulders and a mouth in their face”. Initially, she considered this absurd and immoral and tried to fight it, until she reached Switzerland where her relaxing concept of non-belonging won over the social imperative to “play a small part in some great adventure”. I guess it is not accidental that she realised this in Switzerland, a non-combatant territory, where even internal struggles can be discarded.

One of my colleagues told me – “I get this heavy feeling whenever I read Kundera … Such a sadist Kundera is.” I get that heavy feeling as well, and I guess that’s the reason why Kundera is such an effective writer. He can sell “heaviness” over “unbearable lightness”. Lightness is unbearable because in as much as it causes man “to be lighter than air, soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being,” he only becomes “half real. His movements are free and insignificant.” The heaviest of burdens may pin us to the ground, but it is “simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfilment.”

I guess Prague’s charm can be seen from the same angle. It’s a city that struggles between lightness and weight, memory and forgetting. People marvel and “kneel at the foot of oppressive monuments”. Locals chug litres of Czech beer in quest for dissociation. Of course, I’m just second guessing Prague here. Wouldn’t it be nice if I can confirm this through participant-observation?

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Kundera, M. The Joke, translated by Aaron Asher. HarperCollins, 1992
_____. Immortality, translated by Peter Kussi. HarperCollins, 1999
Ricard, F. Agnes’s Final Afternoon, translated by Aaron Asher. HarperCollins, 2003
Viewegh, M. Bringing up Girls in Bohemia. Readers International, 1994

Holidays are negotiable.

2006-12-15T12:53:00.000-12:00

It just hit me that Simbang Gabi (Dawn Mass) starts today. Even if I don’t go to church and my spirituality is highly negotiable, I’m still a Christmas person. Even if it gets less exciting every single year, shutting work down for a week is priceless. From 24th December to 1st January, sloth and gluttony are legitimate. Hyper-materialism is considered ‘reward’ for a tiring year, and notoriously broken plans like “We should have dinner!” more or less materialise at this time.

Unfortunately, this Christmas, sloth is out of the picture. I have essays due next month, a dissertation to work on, and PhD proposals to put together. Gluttony is not too special, because it will not serve a celebratory function, but a lame diversion from stress. Also, it’s hard to be materialistic when you’re broke. Window shopping is torture. And obviously, (we should have) dinner plans will be shelved for sometime. It’s not really my thing to derive happiness from my close friends’ misery, but I take solace in the fact that other people are tied up with non-Christmassy obligations too.

I don’t want to concede that inability to take a break is part of adulthood. Because academic and professional schedules are not patterned after the Gregorian calendar, we just have to adjust the ‘holidays’ we can celebrate. For students, that would be summer, for accountants that would be … I don’t know, sometime after closing the books and for people in sales, that would be never. I hate to pull the ‘social construction’ card, but it makes sense, holidays are social constructions. We don’t have to be too disappointed just because we can’t celebrate with the rest of the non-worked up world.

So to my friends going to Dublin, Germany, Prague and Italy this Christmas: Enjoy, you unsympathetic slackers … and buy me something pretty ;p

From a commercial point of view, if Christmas did not exist it would be necessary to invent it.

Sunshine and chocolate

2006-12-14T10:34:00.000-12:00

Now that I consider coffee, alcohol and Twix as major food groups, some of my friends are a bit worried about my lifestyle. In my defence, my vices and addictions serve specific “productive” functions. I don’t smoke because smoking makes me inefficient, but I drink coffee and pop caffeine pills to kick sluggishness off my system. If not, I’ll hibernate. Gloomy weather is conducive for sleeping, to the point that my miserable bed looks so inviting for hibernation.

Consequently, this raises the need (and I’m not just making this up ;p) for alcohol to keep me warm. When all sorts of thermals fail, I’ve got to find a more dependable source of heat. Of course, alcohol has fringe benefits too – anyone can raise the juvenile excuse of “Oh, it wasn’t me. It was Peroni talking that night.” Appalling, but when you neither have the time nor the interest to dissect every failed social interaction, convenient excuses are lifesavers.

Twix is part of the list because it’s a source of sugar. Sugar releases endorphins, and to shamefully quote one of Hollywood’s most popular ditz, “Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands” or themselves, or pesters. In a way, chocolate can save the world.

So in the grand scheme of things, there is nothing to worry about. My liver can still take alcohol, caffeine can’t do much damage with my already undernourished bones, and there’s definitely room for Twix because I am under medication which hastens my metabolism.

Rationalising, next to whining, is fun.

In wine there is wisdom. In beer there is strength. In water there is bacteria. [sic]

Midge is boss.

2006-12-03T14:39:00.000-12:00

Congratulations to my close friend Midge, who is now in-charge of “hiring, quality control and all things associated with research” in MMG Manila. May endless corporate exploitation buy you Vera Wang shoes and bigger Chloé sunglasses.

Philanthropy is now a trend among the affluent. You have a starving friend in Manchester, who also doesn’t mind receiving Vera Wang shoes and bigger Chloé sunglasses.

The Latin American Obsession

2006-12-02T09:44:00.000-12:00

I’d probably spend the next few years reading, writing and researching on Latin America. I’m currently working on my dissertation about Venezuela, particularly about the prospects of the military as source of state ideology. Much Marxist and post-Marxist literature consider the military as a coercive apparatus that only implements state ideology and my dissertation looks at the reverse – how the military itself can be the source of state ideology. When I tell people about my topic, a lot of them say it’s interesting – either out of courtesy or sincerity, I’ll never know. I remember my Bolivian friend telling me “military is such a big word for a small girl.” But the common question I normally encounter is – why Latin America? What drives a frail Asian girl who speaks neither Spanish nor Portuguese to study Latin America?

I’m not going to fabricate some “when-I-was-a-little-girl-I-was-fascinated-with-Aztecs” type of story. I did not watch Marimar. I picked Dhalsim over Blanca in Street Fighter, and I was never Montezuma in Sid Meier’s Civilization. (I was Bismarck when I conquered the world.) Honestly, it was Gareth Richards who stirred my interest in Latin America in his undergraduate course Politics of Change. People can say whatever they want about Gareth, but I’m not ashamed to admit that he greatly influenced my research interests and even my choice of university for post-grad. Then of course, there’s Walden Bello. He was supportive enough to let me deliver his MA lecture on Democratic Transitions in Chile and it just amazed me how structurally similar yet qualitatively different Chile and the Philippines are.

But what really fascinates me about Latin America is the rise of populist leaders and their anti-neoliberal rhetoric. In Venezuela, constitutions are sold in the streets and people actually buy and read it. In Brazil, kids in the mountains blame unrestricted free trade for their poverty. If that’s not enough, Hugo Chavez calling Bush the devil in the UN and the donkey in his television programme is entertaining to say the least. That’s not something you see everyday.

Of course, there are perky factors that triggered my interest too, like Venezuela’s good track record in Miss Universe and other beauty pageants, or the observed overproduction of ‘el guapos’ in Dominican Republic (Didith and Ollie can attest to this!).

So while everyone else is obsessed about China or the Middle East, I think I’m set in focusing on Latin America. After all, with this topic, I don’t mind going on fieldwork.

Easy target for the ignorant

2006-11-27T11:23:00.000-12:00

*Just had an exhausting conversation with someone who does not have a single brain cell of perspective, hence, the need to vent*

If you blame Marx for the twenimilyen people who died beacuse of socialism, then might as well blame …

Muhammad for Islamic Fundamentalism
Jesus for Christian Fundamentalism
Nietzsche for the Holocaust
John Locke for our EDSA System
Adam Smith for the dying people in Ethiopia
Mother Earth for militant environmentalism
Natalie Portman for the world’s insecurity

Contrary to common notions, the break-up of the Eastern bloc did not discredit Marxist theory but made it possible to argue of Marx’s ideas without having to justify the actions of the government. A lot of Marxists were openly critical of the Soviet Union and believe that it does not represent what Marx stood for.

Clearly, there’s room for more substantive debates about the validity of Marxist theory such as the value of class analysis, the soundness of economic determinism, the schizophrenia of the young versus old Marx et al. Don’t discredit this rich theory altogether just because some “vanguards” instrumentalised Marx’s work to suit their own agenda.

Besides, we don’t discredit the value of democracy even if there’s no functioning democracy in the world today. Democracy is supposed to be an effective and peaceful means to achieve distributive justice and reconcile class interests. This is the rationale of one man, one vote, equality under the law, taxation and welfare. In as much as no socialist country was able to live up to its promise, no democracy has done so either. In Britain, 1% of the population controls 49% of personal wealth and welfare benefits are dwindling. US free media is as liberal as the conservatives that run it.

So please, lady. Think harder. And next time, don’t match your Uggs with charcoal grey trousers. I think that's what ticked me off.

Still worth defending, even with our love-hate relationship.

---
For more nerdness, see: The Last Vehicle

You know you’re stuck indoors when …

2006-11-11T06:36:00.000-12:00

… your fridge looks like this. Weather forecast today expects high of 5 degrees Celsius and low of -1. I have to pick up my winter coat from the dry cleaner but I can’t go out because I don’t have my winter coat. Talk about being stranded.

Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November

2006-11-07T00:17:00.000-12:00

More than four hundred years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot. (V, V for Vendetta)

Someone said that Guy Fawkes in the only man who entered the Parliament with honest intentions. Unfortunately, the way England celebrated the fifth of November had nothing to do with Guy Fawkes and saving the Parliament. Instead, there was a carnival smacked right in the middle of Victoria Park in London, with rides, booths and a parade – with a tiger. Is England going for Orientalism?

There was a strange performance which involved an emperor, a tiger, women dressed as ferns (we think) and apparently, taxes. Nobody got the plot, maybe it was too intelligent for students of LSEP and Manchester to decipher. Just the same, we watched the performance because the fireworks display came after that. The fireworks were pretty, but it only lasted for seven minutes. Perhaps that’s the reason why the emperor in the play kept on talking about taxes, so the city can better finance the fireworks display next year.

Better yet, bring the troops back home, use taxes for fireworks instead.

Remembering the fifth of November?

In defence of mundanity

2006-10-25T02:46:00.000-12:00

When we narrate our biographies, we normally talk of milestones - the first, the best, the most exciting, or in Lesther’s case, the most controversial events come to mind. As if making a resume of social life, we rule out what’s mundane and highlight what makes us special. We tend to forget what consists the bulk of our existence, or at least my existence, are things I routinely do which makes me, me.

This brings me to Zizek’s reflection – “Perhaps the best way of encapsulating the gist of an epoch is to focus not on the explicit features that define its social and ideological edifices but on the disavowed ghosts that haunt it.” (Zizek 2000) This post is not an inventory of loose ends from yesteryears, though recently, certain situations forced me to tighten those loose ends.

It’s about mundane ghosts – old habits that I thought were territorially bound, but apparently not. I guess one indicator that I’m fully settled here is that my old habits started to kick in already. I oversleep, binge, shop (but now, within reason), print on photopaper for fun, compulsively drink coffee, hangout and talk about the strangest things to people I haven’t known for more than a month without being concerned about time. In a way, Zizek is right. The gist of my existence is not really defined by explicit changes, but more of the consistency of the ghosts or habits I unexpectedly maintain wherever I go.

What this post is REALLY about

---
Slavoj Zizek. The Fragile Absolute, London: Verso Books 2000

Person to notify in case of emergency

2006-10-04T08:18:00.000-12:00

My floor tutor, Helal, was going through my registration details for the Hall database. He was taken aback when he saw me robotically type my contact information and medical history and said “Wow, you’re too quick for this machine.” But my freak show came to a halt when I reached the field person to notify in case of emergency. In Manila, it has always been Ef. When I was in DC, it was my aunt. But here, I don’t know who that person is. Who is the first person that should care in the event I get sick, arrested, mugged or more appropriately, when I get hit by a double-decker when crossing the street?

It has been a month since I started living alone. I have no relatives in England, social circles were reduced to tabula rasa, and home is fifteen hours and £400 away. The only existing support system I have is an HSBC credit card that gets declined all the time because they have a different way of swiping credit cards here. Though I have met a couple of Filipinos who can be coerced to rice-binge in Chinatown, it just hit me how precarious it is to be in a city where no one is obliged to care. This sounds dramatic, but it’s like living in home for the aged, where biological maintenance is paid for, but emotional security is at the mercy of family and friends’ schedule as to when they can visit (or in my case, email).

At this point, the makeshift mechanism I can think of is not to get sick, arrested or mugged, and look both ways before crossing the street. That should make the detail person to notify in case of emergency less relevant.

Sharing photos from farewell parties. In the event I get sick, arrested, mugged and run over by a bus, you guys are obliged to care.

What is love?

2006-10-01T23:10:00.000-12:00

Most Repressive State Apparatus

2006-09-21T22:51:00.000-12:00

This is the city that provided Marx and Engels with the raw material for their theoretical breakthroughs. Although Manchester has already shed off its old industrial skin, its new cosmopolitan vibe maintains the same discriminatory and oppressive apparatus against the world's proletariat. I try to remember Ef's advice - "don't convert GBP to PhP", but having 4 passport photos taken at £3 is just offensive.

I concede, making ends meet is new to me. Being literally chauffer-driven my entire life is something I am ashamed of, and having to walk for miles now is a very welcome change. I remember Didith complaining that she only eats one full meal in New York and I find myself doing the same thing - eating leftovers from my £5 lunch in place of real dinner. In fairness, one serving is large enough to feed two people, but considering how much I eat, this is still huge adjustment.

But the most painful and oppressive part is, after carefully allotting money to this and that, it takes one hot waiter to ruin my well-thought of budget. One can't say "A glass of water would be fine" when he irresistibly asks "Do you want anything from the bar?" And for that, the proletariat ends up saying "A glass of merlot would be great."

Nice one, Neeks. You just jeopardised your food allowance for the next two days. But I can live with that. After all, I still maintain my elite status in office supplies procurement.

Klyne and Neeks drinking sparkly water and merlot. Oh so bourgeoisie bohemian.

***

WANTED: BEN BALTAZAR

John Mayer will have this first concern in London next month. Tickets are sold out. Ben, don't you owe me John Mayer tickets since you snatched my Jason Mraz tickets a couple of years back? Payback time, teammate. I need two tickets, auction in E-Bay is ongoing.

Thinking outside the tank

2006-08-30T20:09:00.000-12:00

Social scientists are stereotyped as boring. That’s because we are. A Beautiful Mind and Numb3rs have been successful in making equally-boring economists and mathematicians hot, I have yet to see the media legitimise the possibility of an attractive social scientist. In fact, there are real-life social scientists who can match even the on-screen identity of John Nash (Russell Crowe) Amita Ramanujan (Navi Rawat). Think Philippe Legrain and Noreena Hertz. I remember one of my co-interns in AEI proposing to have a TV series set in a think tank. Obviously, this is far from happening because Americans do not even know what a think tank is (A Georgetowner asked me in the Metro – How can you think in a tank?).

But from the books I’ve read recently, it appears to me that social scientists, or at least their publishers, try to convert the authors’ intellectual capital to cultural capital. This is manifested by the labels given to social scientists. If you look at the back cover of more recent books, comments such as “A crucial contribution. A new proposal for change that is valid for the whole world” do not suffice anymore. What I’ve noticed are remarks that seemingly want make rock stars out of academics:

“An intellectual superstar.” - Salon.com on Jean Baudrillard’s Intelligence of Evil or the Lucidity Pact

“Thank heavens for Alain de Botton …” – The Seattle Post-Intelligencer on Alain de Botton’s The Consolations of Philosophy

“The Elvis of cultural theory” – The Chronicle of Higher Education on Slavoj Zizek

"A metrosexual superpower" - Parag Khanna's moniker for the European Union in Foreign Affairs July/August issue

“I want to be a sexy public intellectual.” – Mark Lim

This makes me wonder, do I want such remarks on the beautifully matte printed back cover of my book? The closest quip I had thus far is “She explains complicated concepts clearly and wears nice skirts” and I wasn’t too happy about it.

Rebutting Desperately Wanting

2006-08-26T19:57:00.000-12:00

Argument: If you don’t know what you want, you end up with a lot you don’t. (Palahniuk, 1996)
Rebuttal: You know what you want when you end up wanting. (Evangelista, 2006)

Argument: You can’t always get what you want. (Jagger, 1961)
Rebuttal: But if you try sometimes, you get what you need. (Jagger, 1961)

Argument: I don’t want to fall for an unapologetic ladies’ man and a committed Tory! (Harper, 2000)
Rebuttal: Every boy is a compromise. (Atienza, 2006)

-----
Jowee Atienza, “Misrepresenting Nicolo’s avatar” in Conversation over Ababu (Quezon City, 2006)
Patricia Evangelisa, YM Status Message (Quezon City, 2006)
Sally Harper, “Size Matters” in Coupling Season 1 (BBC, 2000)
Mick Jagger, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” in Let it Bleed (Decca Records, 1961)
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club (New York: Henry Hold and Company, 1996)

Clockwatching

2006-08-18T22:59:00.000-12:00

I finally got my visa last Friday. Ma’am Clemen and Mano made me open it right in front of them, which made me more nervous. Because I’m paranoid, I had some strange fear that my visa application might be denied especially now that “Heathrow is in heat.” (Guinto, 2006)

Getting my visa has immense implications. It’s the ultimate empirical proof that it’s happening. Note though that “it” represents a lot of things. “It” means I’m finally pursuing what I have always wanted to do, and for that, “it” means there’s no turning back. During my drama queen moments, I always remember what Mark asked me – “aalis ka ba dahil may pupuntahan ka, o aalis ka dahil may tinatakbuhan ka?” (Laban, 2005). I can definitely solidly answer that question – I am really leaving because I am going somewhere. But the choices are not really mutually exclusive which makes me concede up to a certain extent that I am also leaving because I’m running away from something.

“It” also means face it, you have three weeks left. I thought it was sweet (and sadistic) of Nico and Pat to scowl and take it out on their plates when I told them that my visa is arriving that day. Although at this point, I still don’t feel separation anxiety. I feel tired. I originally planned June to August to be my bum months, but I ended up accepting teaching load and a number of research projects. Apparently, I haven’t been rehabilitated from my aversion towards non-productivity, even when I am entitled to take a break. It was only when Dr Reid flew back to England that my schedule freed up, but Walden suddenly flew to Lebanon and I was left alone to write the lecture on comparative historical analysis of Philippines and Chile’s democratic transitions. Good thing his pasalubong, as form of reparation, was stunning – a Lebanese-Palestinian scarf, which, according to him, looks great with a Kalashnikov rifle (Bello, 2006). Which is perfect, because there's nothing in my wardrobe that goes well with my rifle.

So here I am, dealing with my nastiest enemy again – time. They say time is a great teacher, but unfortunately, it kills all its pupils (Berlioz, 1870).

-----
Walden Bello, Email to Neeks Curato (Damascus, 2006)
Hector Berlioz, Memoirs (Paris, 1870)
Celeni Guinto, YM Status Message (Quezon City, 2006)
Joseph Laban, “Conversation with Mark Lim” in Mark Lim’s conversation with
Neeks Curato (Quezon City, 2005) [damn Palanca awardees!]

Timing is my worst enemy.

2006-08-01T04:36:00.000-12:00

Good News: I got a scholarship from the University of Birmingham.
Bad News: I’m not going there.

Times like these make me want to be post-modernist. I hope I see life as nothing more than a tapestry of errors, where incidences are not connected to a completed whole. I wish I were as demented as Baudrillard who can just say that such an event did not actually happen or like Vattimo who encourages people to celebrate the unfairness of life.

When I launched my post-graduate applications, Manchester is my clear number 1. It has a renowned sociology department with interesting course offerings unavailable elsewhere in the planet. A lot of my respected colleagues went there, like Randy David, Dodong Nemenzo, and yes, Gareth Richards. The School of Social Sciences has an excellent research arm and I’ve never read a crappy publication from Manchester. The city has its own charm, even if it is the rainiest city in England. I may know nothing about football (actually do I know things now, thanks to Nicolo and Mike), but I am definitely up to speed with the Mancunians’ alcohol tolerance.

While my parents keep on reassuring me that money is not an issue, for me it still is a major consideration. I never had a debut or any of those huge parties and they never gave me fancy gifts (limited to office supplies and printers), but they’re willing to splurge on education. Or maybe they just want me out of the house. The bottom line is, I chose the more expensive path and I’m very embarrassed by that.

This makes me re-evaluate my decision. I already dropped Birmingham, good thing they offered to keep my slot for PhD. That at least responds to my medium-term goals. I also dropped ANU for this, considering they were giving grants too (But hell, it’s an exchange program in Singapore. I did not go to ANU to go to Singapore). Manchester better be worth it.

(Commodity) Fetishism

2006-07-26T01:34:00.000-12:00

I may retract a lot of things I say, but you can definitely quote me on this.

Norms of Non-Involvement

2006-07-23T01:19:00.000-12:00

Much has been said with the case of two missing UP Diliman students, Karen Empeño and Sherlyn Cadapan. One might wonder why I’m suddenly more than concerned with this issue, considering I have never been affiliated with any activist, peasant or labour organisation. In UP, we’ve heard so many stories of activists with pronounced leftists leanings gunned down or abducted and never found again. Then, as soon as the posters around the campus get plastered over by Jag and Lee sale flyers, life goes on – back to Leithold, Samuelson and Ritzer as if nothing happened.

I’m particularly disturbed with this issue because Karen is my batchmate in BA Sociology. One of our classes, Qualitative Sociology, required us to go on field most of the time. One of my biggest embarrassments as a sociologist is my fear of exploring research topics that are “too immersed” in the field. I don’t think Karen had such fears. She selected uncommodifiable research topics that gave voice to those who are marginalised. She has not completed her BA degree yet because she chose to volunteer for a farmers’ movement in Central Luzon.

Then here lies numerous versions of what happened to her. Some said she was abducted by armed [military] men in Bulacan and was never seen since then. Others say this happened to her because she’s part of the NPA. More disturbingly, some say she got killed in crossfire in Isabela. Clearly, I’m not in the position to verify any of these reports. I am in the position though to get pissed when people say she deserved it because she chose to be there. This comment is tantamount to saying that the government’s all-out offensive against non-state actors is legitimate. Even unarmed civilians can be considered as targets. I understand that this statement is very much subject to debate. However, what is not subject to debate is the importance of knowing what really happened to her. Although I’m a believer of “what is true is what works”, I’d hate to see this issue vulgarised and used for propaganda Karen would not have approved of.

A lot of us tend to be desensitised with these issues. Sadly, we are desensitised for the wrong reason. We stop caring because we think it's futile – might as well be preoccupied with our little issues because at least, dealing with them produces tangible results. But hey, how many times did we passionately engage in a petty argument and say “This is not just about this. It’s about what it represents.” Oftentimes, we don’t understand people who defy norms of non-involvement and fight for intangible causes like justice and legitimacy. Little does it register to us that we do this everyday, it’s just that some people choose to take this battle to the next level, get dismissed in the mainstream and unfortunately, violently fade away in the background.

See
http://www.tigilpaslang.blogspot.com/
http://tigilpaslang2.blogspot.com/
http://www.upd.edu.ph/%7Eupdinfo/

Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie

2006-07-01T21:15:00.000-12:00

Patrick: Sally, you need someone good enough for you. You don't want some mutton-headed city boy who spends all his time thinking about his cars and his golf clubs. You want somebody who can love you the way you deserve to be loved; the way I want you to be loved. Sally, you need someone who will love you forever, properly. You're my friend, Sally. I want to see you with the best. You need Mr. Amazing, Mr. Incredibly-Superbly-Fantastic-Ness. In your heart, I'm sure you know I'm right.

Sally: I don't want Mr. Superbly-Incredibly Fantasticness- you stupid, stupid Ass. I want you.

Patrick: For God sakes, Sally.

Sally: What... What?

Patrick: I was talking about me!

Coupling, Season Ender

On Fairness

2006-06-24T23:47:00.000-12:00

In a faculty meeting, we engaged in a kilometric debate on how a certain policy can maintain fairness in our department’s human ecology. The debate (more or less) ended when Randy David told our chair – “Well, you know Ester, life is never fair.” It’s funny how we debate about issues and craft policies trying to satisfy the highest ideals of fairness and justice, while we all know that life will never be fair. We can never even come close to fairness.

I arrived at this acidly contemplative mood because I recently discovered the emblem of human injustice – Natalie Portman. Sure, we see a lot of attractive personalities, but yin and yang always manage to surface. Angelina Jolie is beautiful, humanitarian and bisexual but she’s still the weird girl who PDA-ed with Billy Bob Thornton. Bill Gates is rich but he looks like Kermit the Frog. Keira Knightley is hot, but her tiny waist can break any time. Such logic does not work on Natalie Portman.

It’s common knowledge that she’s breathtakingly beautiful. Huntsmen of justice may say she might have some disgusting flaw in some important body part, but seeing her in Closer and Star Wars just won’t substantiate that claim. Of course there are other personalities who are equally or even more attractive than her, but what makes her the emblem of human injustice are her achievements. Well, achievements that matter to me. She had a 4.0 GPA in high school which qualified her to Harvard’s psychology program. She’s even OC! She missed Episode 1’s premiere to study for an exam. She published an article in a psychology journal. She’s taking postgrad in Hebrew University. Her idea of promoting a movie is giving lectures in Ivies such as Columbia, where she lectured on political violence for V for Vendetta. And to completely deconstruct my belief in fairness and justice, she dated Gael Garcia Bernal and Adam Levine (Maroon 5).

Ideationally, relativism is the response to values such as fairness and justice. Whose standard of fairness and justice are we basing our judgment on? I have a relatively relaxed standard of fairness. I believe it exists because no one can have it all. But after reading Ms Portman’s biography, my jaw dropped because my own standard is challenged. Someone does have it all. So to people whose idea of fun is castigating other people, now is the best time to put your talents to good use. Help me restore my belief system.

Re: Talk Embargo

2006-06-05T19:19:00.000-12:00

Dear Mind-wrestler,

This is to formally lift the talk embargo imposed last week. I hope you feel remorse for the shameful act you have recently committed. You are invited to spend some time in my office today. Unfortunately though, my office is no longer effing hot due to Jewellord’s illegally dumped items and Gabriel’s muddy shoe invasion. Perhaps I should impose an embargo on them too. Please advise.

I’d also like to take this opportunity to express my utmost appreciation for the Oasis compilation. However, my Oasis phase already lapsed. I currently fancy Joss Stone and surprisingly, Paul Anka.

Best,

Sabine

Ref: http://agentblue101.livejournal.com/108850.html?mode=reply

Sleeping is a Right.

2006-05-28T00:45:00.000-12:00

I slept through the entire trip to Batangas today. When we got there in the morning, I ended up sleeping under the sun while my sisters were in the beach. I was groggy during lunch so I had siesta in the cabana. Unfortunately, my deep sleep was interrupted because we had to leave already … so I just continued sleeping in the car. Come to think of it, the only time I was awake was during meals and I was pretty decent to talk to, considering I was with my family. This is me without caffeine, and I like it.

It is very unfortunate that in our fast-paced world, sleeping has been stigmatized. Sleeping for more than six hours is already unfairly labeled sloth, as if this action, or actually, inaction, is at the same level as pride and envy. We all know that sleep has a magical effect on all our worries. Even John Steinbeck agrees to this – “It is a common experience that a problem difficult at night is resolved in the morning after the committee of sleep has worked on it”. Even Albert Einstein slept for at least ten hours a day, compare that to our President who claims that she only sleeps for four hours. God knows she must be in a zombie state when she declared the state of emergency. In essence, sleepyheads, not the half-crazed sleep deniers do less damage to the world.

So I appeal to those planning to be heads of state or UN Secretary General, please include “At least eight hours of sleep for all by 2015” in the Millennium Development Goals and “Sleeping is a Right” in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Countries that do not accede to this must be labeled rogue states.

Bringing OCD to the Next Level

2006-05-04T01:35:00.000-12:00

Joseph Stiglitz debated for Amherst College at 18. Michel Foucault was suicidal at 22. Karl Marx wrote the Communist Manifesto at 26. Walden Bello got his PhD from Princeton at 30. Ally McBeal was serenaded by Sting and Robert Downy Jr. at her 31st birthday. Salma Hayek hooked up with Edward Norton at 33. Jurgen Habermas took over Max Horkheimer’s chairmanship in Sociology at 35. Aung San Suu Kyi won the Nobel Peace Prize at 46. Joseph Stiglitz defected from the World Bank at 57. Gabrielle Bonheur Chanel never married.

Benchmarking on my heroes’ milestones, I think I’m still on schedule.

I'll Get Back to You

2006-04-27T04:24:00.000-12:00

The past year has just been crazy. I traversed Diliman and Ortigas as if they were Columbia Tower and Galleria, and god knows how stressed Mang Edgar has been. In the car, I switch from my oppressive high heels (I wear uber high heels so I can make direct eye contact to Cesar Melo just in case) to trusty flip flops just so I can (attempt to) run from FC parking lot to AS320 to make it in time for class. Even my mind has been perplexed for the longest time – one moment, I’m thinking about ways to increase consumption of hair conditioner and after a while, write a lecture on Thorstein Veblen’s treatise on conspicuous consumption.

This spectacular schizophrenia ends today.

Today is my last day in ACNielsen. I’m done with my juggling act between two distinct and often contradictory planes, that of the corporate, and what Pat calls the humanitarian (aka the academe). I consider myself lucky because I found a corporate job that makes me do things I do best – analyzing and layouting. Yes, I have a color scheme for every presmat and my charts are evenly spaced. I consider myself even luckier because I worked with people I get along with. I’m not exactly a pleasant person. It takes twenimilyen years before I can initiate a decent conversation with someone I just met. That’s why I’m so amazed how it was relatively easy to get along with the residents of the 11th floor. Here are some shout outs to very exceptional people who kept me sane in the past year –

To my mentor, Ollie, needless to say, my stay wouldn’t have been half as pleasant and enriching if it weren’t for you. No one compares to your ability to inspire and motivate people. Thanks for all your advice, from reprimanding lower mortals to wearing pristine white pearls. They’re equally valuable.

To my teammate, Didith, I guess it’s good that we won’t see each other everyday anymore because if we do, we’ll end up obese and bankrupt. Whehe. Seriously, thanks helping me loosen up. I wish you well in New York.

To the Coke Team – You guys set the standard for obsessive compulsiveness (to my non-Nielsen friends, my work will look sloppy when compared to theirs) and turned multitasking into an art. Carsha, who would have thought I’d meet Señorina Palanca again after Italian 11. Because of that fateful Tortilla Fusion date, you’re forever beholden to witness my disasters in that department. Good luck with MBA! Jen, you never fail to surprise me. I’ll miss your spur of the moment, earth-shattering realizations. Ms Sally, It amazes me how someone so accomplished can be so unassuming. I hope we can work together someday.

Pamsio, well, we’ve been missing you for the longest time. I hope we still get to have our quarterly Bizu/Sakae moments. Maybe next time, in Paris? ;p

Chard, thanks for the supplies – videoke, vodka ice and other guilty pleasures. Too bad I’ll miss your wedding. Gelo, I hope Raya grows up kind and calm, just like you. Wag na makikipag-inuman before special occasions, okay? Mike, thanks for the football crash course. I hope your sprain lasts long enough to enjoy your señorito lifestyle and if not, you can always fake it.

Ms Julie, looking at you reminds me how unfair life really is because you literally and figuratively have everything. But then I remember you need to deal with impact analysis and quality initiative issues, and somehow, yin and yang makes sense again. Whehe. But seriously, you should know that we look highly of you, and consider you as one of the best people we can ever work with/for.

Mammers, the only person in the world who gets me every single time, I will miss you the most.

We usually say “I’ll get back to you” every time we are unsure, indecisive or cautious in answering clients’ questions. And because we’re obliged, either due to responsibility or genuine concern, we do get back to them. Now, I’m faced with the queries like “Are you leaving for good? Are you coming back to Nielsen? Are we going out before you leave?” All I can say is, I’ll get back to you.

Thanks for a great year, “people” ;p

Twenty Three

2006-04-23T04:05:00.000-12:00

There’s nothing really monumental with turning twenty three. No new legal rights are accorded to me, and I’m still subject to my mum’s micromanagement. There are some minor shifts in opinion though. For one thing, I’m now flattered every time I’m asked to show an id when I watch R18 films, or get the why-the-hell-is-she-sitting-on-the-teacher’s-table look during the first day of class. I used to hate those circumstances, but now, I savor them. After all, I recently got into the Louvre for free because I am “under 18”.

I’m not really big on parties and dinners, but this year, I believe I have a reason to celebrate, unlike the previous years. After talking to a bunch of friends from one social circle to another, I realized that my life is actually in order. I enjoy what I do for a living, I have something to look forward to in September and my dad just promised to buy me a new laminator. Most importantly, my close friends just did an incredible job in making me feel special and appreciated. Hearing heartening “testimonials” from people that matter best caps my 22nd year and gives a very promising start to my 23rd. Even going to Manchester can’t beat that. What’s more is exciting though, is knowing full well that the best is yet to come. Cheers to everyone who remembered, and even to those who didn’t ;p

Birthday eve, waiting for midnight at Paseo Uno with Jean, Midge and Len (not in picture).

Name is Destiny

2006-04-11T15:54:00.000-12:00

I keep on postponing reading Das Kapital for grad school, so I ended up reading Freakonomics instead. Unlike Malcolm Gladwell, I don’t find it “dazzling”, but definitely, there are fascinating parts, especially Chapter 6: Would a Roshanda by Any Other Name Smell as Sweet? Levitt posits an issue – “Does the name you give your child affect his life? Or is your life reflected in his name?” Levitt concluded the chapter by saying “An overwhelming number of parents use a name to signal their own expectations of how successful their children will be. The name isn’t likely to make a shard of difference. But the parents can at least feel better knowing that, from the very outset, they tried their best.” Last sem, I had a student named Swastika. She did well in class and she doesn't look like she has issues with her name. Actually, she has a second name, Julienne, but for some reason, she still opts to use Swastika. I don't know what her parents were thinking, naming a pretty and docile girl Swastika, but as long as it doesn't bother her, I don't think it should bother me. I can't really blame parents for their poor judgment on kids' names. Good thing having kids is not in my "things to do before I die list", since I was thinking of naming my child Slavoj Althusser or Amartya Skocpol.

But going back to the book, what’s more interesting in the chapter is the raw data presented. Below are some names falling under interesting categories:

Most Common Middle-Income White Girl Names
Sarah
Emily
Jessica
Lauren
Ashley
Amanda
Megan
Samantha
Hannah
Rachel
Nicole (Why am I not surprised? After all, nahiritan na ako ng “oh, so this is where the middle class lives”)
Taylor

Most Common Low-Income White Girl Names
Ashley
Jessica
Amanda
Samantha
Brittany

Most Common High-End White Girl Names
Alexandra
Lauren
Katherine
Madison
Rachel
I don’t think an Alexandra or a Lauren can ever live in the slums

Most Common High-End White Boy Names
Benjamin
Samuel
Jonathan (Talaga lang, ha? ;p)
Alexander
Andrew

Most Common Low-End Boy Names
Cody
Brandon
Anthony
Justin
Robert

White Girl Names That Best Signify High-Education Parents
(Years of mother’s education in parenthesis)
Lucienne (16.60)
Marie-Claire (16.50)
Glynnis (16.40)
Adair (16.36)
Meira (16.27)
Where the hell did these women study?!?

White Boy Names that Best Signify High-Education Parents
Dov (16.50)
Akiva (16.42)
Sander (16.29)
Yannick (16.20)
Sacha (16.18)
Again, where the hell did these women study?!?

But the twenimilyen peso question is: How about Jewellord?

Sell Out

2006-03-26T00:16:00.000-12:00

All right. I am finally selling out and got myself a blog, mainly because of someone’s hardnosed persistence. Come to think of it, it’s not the first time I sold out. In fact, I even have a track record. I interned in a Republican think-tank for prestige, had a short stint with a bourgeois NGO to build networks and succumbed to the commodification of research and became a market analyst for huge MNC’s. However, caving in has its limits. I will definitely not compromise my abhorrence to the I-pod culture, sentiments against corporate-driven globalization and principles in opposition to marriage. And if I do, well, I can always blame it on someone’s hardnosed persistence.