Wednesday, 30 August 2006
Let me explain....
I've decided to get myself a Macbook. I'm going to start writing my thesis and will finally try to get some results published soon before I get scooped.
I know, I know. Not everything is rosy. Apple, especially the iPod contractor, engage in some baaaad labour practices (forced OT, cheap wages, cramped dormitories) but I have been assured by insider sources that Apple will enhance the labour requirements for its suppliers asap.
The turning point was my Apple-user friend's revelation that she NEVER backs up her data. That's a very stable machine indeed. I remember High School back in the 90s when everything ran on MS-DOS, one had to constantly print out work (and cut trees!) on the fly lest you risk starting from scratch should a virus erase your data. MS-DOS got hit by viruses more often than a crack addicted cheap hooker. Data loss due to computer viruses are rare now of course yet Windows systems still crash too much.
As a transition, I'm getting the cheapest Macbook just to get the feel for it. I'm not entirely abandoning the PC though and I have put my name on the list for the new 9inch screen Ferrari-branded Acer with a black carbon fibre case.
The bad news is I'm way over budget and I haven't enough money for a proper laptop case. I can't take a part time job though because my schedule won't allow it.
Then as I walked in a dodgy part of Oxford, it hit me! I'm going to engage in the oldest profession in the world!
Hire me and get some Brown Asian lurv.....
In this age of equality, I don't see why a man can't sell his body to satisfy the needs of women. I'll be able to earn money without sacrificing a lot in terms of schedule or commitment. And I only need to raise a certain amount of money so this gig is only temporary.
I've already done my research on what laptop bags I want.
Just so every girl knows what pleasurable services The Nashman can offer, I've devised the following price structure. I actually prefer that I be paid in actual material need rather than cash but I'm putting the cash equivalent because I know not everyone can get into 233 Rue St Honore and I might have to get the bag myself.
The Nashman House of Pleasure Tariffs
Dunhill Sidecar Leather Messenger Bag (or $1030) - Basic Escort Service: I provide companionship for the day including holding hands, cuddling in public, kissing in public (excluding French) and other pa-tweetums effects. You can show me off to your parents or friends at a party and I can act like an adorable boyfriend -"Look at what I got from Asia. He's small but spicy".
Giorgio Armani Leather Handbag (or $1980) - The Daliri Service: Includes the Basic Escort Service plus my 10 itchy fingers anywhere you want them to be. Strictly no full nudity or exchange of bodily fluids. (Please I do NOT take Emporio Armani. That's only for the masses, my laptop deserves better.)
Bottega Veneta Messenger Bag ($2650) - Kasama na Pati Dila: Let my playful tongue give you a sponge bath. I require that you take a shower first and will personally supervise this to ensure that you are very clean. Not suitable for those allergic to Fit Vegetable Washing Solution
Goyard Chypre ($3860) - The Spitting 11th Finger - Full access to the One-eyed Mini-Nashman. Strictly kiskis lang sa labas, hindi ipapasok sa langit.
My services are VAT Free but the client agrees to pay for other expenses such as, but not limited to, the coast of meals, flights and travel, prophylactics, sex toys, and edible underwear. I also reserve the right to reject your offer if you are fugly, have halitosis or b.o., or speak with a pretentious colegiala accent. (Hindi ako nakikisalamuha sa coño)
Call my number now and let me entertain you! I can give you a free tour of my stately homes in Middle Earth including access to areas not normally open to the public!
Hold the Press! Extra! Extra! Online Promo!
DOT Balikbayan Program - For those of Filipino Lineage. Libre isang daliri for any service availed.
Gang Bang Special - Two paying friends can call a third person who can join for free!
Kabayan, daliri pa lang solb ka na!
Of course, don't take my word for it. Call my number now and let us discuss your needs. I've got two years of Quality Control experience and you can be assured of high standards. I won't bore you with sob stories typical of other people of pleasure, I will be very discreet, and I won't distribute the hidden camera recordings of our transaction, unless you are very famous and I stand to make a lot more money selling our DVDs on the web.
A glowing review of The Nashman's performance. Due to the data protection act, we cannot identify the surname of Lisa M. but you can contact her at Flat E17 Storgata 55 N-0182 Oslo, Norway to ask her personally about my pleasurable services. Lisa M. availed of the basic escort service and I even got to meet her wondeful mum, Miss Mikkelsdatter who served amazing lefse crepes.
Finally just so there is no confusion, and sadly for my legion of gay fans, I'm straight. As such, I only do girls and lesbians. If you do need pleasure services for gays and transgenders I can recommend you to my friend Ashley who is waaaaay waaaaaaaaaaay waaaaaay cheaper than me. (Last time I checked, he can do anyone for a mere Jansport beltbag.)
The Nashman Studies of Motion 09: This Summer...In Amazing Technicolour - The Nashman and A Cast of Thousands. (No CGI needed)
It doesn't matter if it's an action, drama, comedy, or horror film - before the credits roll, there's going to be a song and dance routine. (The dubbing will be awful of course and let's not forget that the actors are tone deaf.)
Yet, in terms of the sheer number extras appearing out of nowhere breaking into song and dance when you least expect anyone to be breaking into song and dance in a movie, no one beats Bollywood.
I came out of the library today contemplating serious global issues when suddenly music started playing and I was engulfed by a sea of turmeric and saffron.....
It all begins with the standard shoulder shake of course...
More shoulder action while doing the shuffle sidestep......
then, the full frontal shake and bake....
And the classic booty call....
Presenting the new L'Oreal anti-I can't believe I'm shooting this face make-up used by make-up artists to the stars. You too could have sweat-free skin while spontaneously breaking into song and dance. Approved by PAMET and the Fictitious Institute of Skin Science....
Monday, 28 August 2006
The Nashman and His Royal Orangeness Karl Willem do not intend to be actively listed in any web-based social network (myspace, facebook, names database, de.li.cious...etc.) now or in the future.
The Nashman and His Royal Orangeness Karl Willem have always adhered to the principle of universalism and believe that by joining a group, we unnecessarily exclude the rest.
The Nashman and His Royal Orangeness Karl Willem will retain this blog in the public domain. His Royal Orangeness has also decreed that no advertisements, link exchanges, stat counters, blogrolls, adsense, links, or the like will be added in the layout in the spirit of the 'web for all'.
The Nashman and His Royal Orangeness thank the 9 people (as ascertained from the comments section) who read this blog on a semi-regular basis. It is not our intention to blog for any other audience than for our OWN narcissistic amusement and we appreciate the fact that you come back every so often to read our diary.
We will continue to enjoy the web, read friends'/strangers' blogs, and participate in the online community without having to put ourselves inside a box.
Web social networking is eeeeeevil.
Obra: La muerte del maestro (The Death of the Teacher) by Jose Villegas Cordero taken at the Museo de Bellas Artes, Sevilla
I wonder why I don't do this more often.
Paris. The Eternal City. Joie de Vivre. Long French Kisses. Romance. Miles and miles of pretty streets to do HHHN*. (Holding Hands Habang Naglalakad)
Unless, one is single and unloved as I am.
Eight Things I truly hate and abhor about Paris because I'm a loser singleton:
1. Couples making out in the plazas
Pwidi ba, get a room!
2. Lovers on La Rive Gauche (Left Bank)
Sarap itulak sa tubig eh.
3. Lovers on La Rive Droite (Right Bank)
Hoy tama na yan!
4. Lovers on the Iles (Seine Islands)
Sana may tsunami...
5. Lovers on the quais
Must everything come in pairs! Ako wala kayakap.
6. Lovers on the steps of Napoleon's tomb
Hoy, pwidi ba, I'm trying to eat my croque monsieur! Nilalanggam na ako sa ka-sweetan nyo. Shet.
7. Lovers at the Musee D'Orsay
Ako rin giniginaw, pa-cuddle naman.
8. Lovers on the Jardins du Trocadero
Pagkatapos mo, ako naman magpapakodak sa syota mo ha. Tsaka toy, umuwi ka na hinahanap ka na ng nanay mo.
Sunday, 27 August 2006
Yesterday, I saw Almodovar's new film "Volver". Penelope Cruz speaking in her mother tongue is so sexy and Almodovar's camerawork makes passionate love with every curve of Penelope's beautiful body in this film. The sensations I felt were all the more heightened as I sat in the very front row mesmerised with Penelope's perfect decolletage projected on the 30 foot widescreen. (I didn't plan on sitting on the very front. We arrived just in time to a packed cinema because Natalie thought we should have a fish and chips dinner, and garlic breath, at Posh Fish before watching the film.)
I can't seem to find major fault in Almodovar's fluid storytelling, the subdued colouring that further draws attention to Cruz (especially when she is made to wear red frocks), the superb ensemble acting, the fact that this is a Spanish film and easy to digest for a Flipinoy like me...etc...etc. It's so close to Pinoy melodrama, but a very very good one and it supressed some of my homesickness.
I've had some interesting life experiences after watching a Penelope Cruz film. After viewing "Woman on Top" with someone I just started going out with, we had our first french kiss under a moonlit sky. That led to a rocky on-off-on again 'relationship' until she eventually dumped me. We've each moved on and the only baggage I carry is that wonderful memory of a first kiss, egged no doubt by that Penelope Cruz movie.
In fact, "Woman on Top" will forever stay in my memory, as a movie title and as a descriptive phrase, as long as my neurons are firing because that was the position assumed when I finally consented to be deflowered by this other girl who I thought was 'the one' (hindi pala siya). On hindsight, I now regret losing my innocence and purity at such a young age. My parents will not get a good dowry even if some girl will look past my indiscretions and love and deliver me to the altar because I'm already tainted.
Fast forward to the present. After the film, Natalie and I lingered in Jericho for coffee and I was thisclose to another near-Penelope Cruz experience experience. This beautiful girl walks in and eye flirted with me for 1/4 of a second. I can't possibly describe how pretty she is but here is a picture of my friend Natalie. The girl who swept me off my feet was 1.15 times prettier. I was about to leave Natalie on her own to talk to this new apple of my eye except for the minor fact that new girl's apparent boy friend arrived. I sulked. "What does he have that I don't? We're equally fugly!". "He's either got a big dick or very rich" Natalie assured me. (Natalie is still single by the way and the only way to her heart is through offerings of food and wine sent my way. And don't believe that bollocks Natalie posted on her blog that it's not her picture. She's being immodest. Cheeky bitch.)
Maybe I need to see Volver again. My luck must have run out.
And now for Music Reviews: I visited the library and got some CDs for this week's soundtrack.
Happenstance by Rachael Yamagata is an album, released last year, that I never heard of until today but was quickly drawn to because of the pretty cover. She won me over quickly with her alto voce and edgy jazz piano playing. The best part is her honest songwriting that speaks to me. I'm in love with her already. Pota pare, parang hango sa buhay ko yung mga awit nya. I can feels it talaga.
Incidentally, Natalie and I were in agreement that with the shift to music downloads, this generation is starting to miss out on a big part of the album listening experience - the album sleeve! I won't blabber about this too much but anyone my age (or older) knows the overpowering joy you got from discovering that the album you bought came with an 18-panel sleeve containing song lyrics, band art, photos, and useless trivia. I'm frigging sure everyone had this fantasy that they would somehow be mentioned in those lengthy acknowledgments on the last panel. Norah Jones thanks Nash for the inspiration. 'I couldn't have done this album without your love and inspiration babe'....O biba? Mailalagay mo ba yan sa iTunes? Shet.
There were hushed murmurs of the resurrection of classic rock just before the release of Wolfmother's eponymous debut album. Just when I was admiring my fugly countenance on a mirror trying out a slick Ozwald Boateng suit I couldn't afford but tried on anyway (window shopping ngarud!) wondering what's the point of growing my hair long when shampoo prices were going up, these guys started playing on an iPod commercial. I froze. Could it be true? Were they for real?
And now that I the library has lent me a copy I can say: Damn! These guys are the shit! They actually walked the talk and justified the hype. It's Led Zep, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Bowie, Pink Floyd, and 70s goodness rolled into one satisfying joint. Who would have thought that three colonials from Oz could come out of nowhere and release this year's best rock album? It's all killer no filler. And the best way to appreciate such a rare album is to play it on a boombox, ramp up the volume, and wake up the neighbours.
Don't you just hate it when you shell out hard earned money (made from selling those ginebra gin bottles you risked life and limb to collect fromt the foot of the kanto drunks) for an album to find out that there are only two good songs? The worst part is that the two good songs are separated by 10 crappy fillers and so the tape gets worn out from all the rewinding and fast forwarding. (I submit that downloading singles instead of whole albums has at least one advantage.)
I listened to the entire Wolfmother album in one go. When it was all over I lit one Cuban skinny cigar, took a puff, and poured myself a shot of tequila. They were that good.
I also borrowed Mkutano. Another Taj Mahal collaborative project, this time with Zanzibari musicians. There's a wicked reworking of the delta blues classic "Catfish Blues" with the oud and other traditional African instruments. Man, if I had the same finger dexterity as Taj Mahal, women wouldn't be needing sex toys.
*Though it was not what I wanted, first love makes one always come back again. From the Tango "Volver" by Alfredo Le Pera (trans: Coby Lubliner)
Saturday, 26 August 2006
1. I mislaid my phone for two hours and spent three hours looking for it. It's a jurassic Nokia 3310 (or something) and I'm not too worried about losing the phone per se. I'm one of the few who like to be disconnected sometimes. Often it takes me two days to reply to my own mother's text message. Yet, I need my contact list. (I should really make a safe copy.) It's got numbers of all my dope and arms dealers, my lawyers in 20 countries (to bail me out in case I get arrested, which is quite often), my fortune teller, the escort service agency, my ground spies in Malacañang who keep me updated, disgusted, and amused at the shenanigans they do in that palace of malevolence. (Is Gloria Arroyo still throwing cellphones at her staff when she loses her temper?)
When I finally found it, it was in the most public of all places. What a relief! I then took a moment of silence to say a little prayer to Bathala, thanking him/her that I am the only Filipino within a one-mile radius otherwise I'd have to go to Quaipo to buy back my own phone. Hay Salamat!
2. I won't rant about the continous rain Middle Earth has been having. I grew up in Baguio where it rains 400 days a year.
3. My visa expired yesterday.
4. Please spare me the loooooong details of your so-called sale 'shopping' trip to Gap! Buying mass-produced disposable clothes is about as exciting as buying skimmed milk from the grocery. There's nothing wrong with it but really it's nothing to crow about. Should I care that you bought a blue polo shirt that a hundred other unique individuals also chose from those racks and racks of clothes whose cotton was picked by underpaid, overworked, and maltreated children in Western China before being transported to Southeastern China to be sewn by underpaid, overworked, and maltreated children?
Knowing the ridiculous profit margins they make, you shouldn't even be buying Gap at full price anyway. At 'rock bottom' sale prices, they're still making money. I only go to Gap when everything's 95% discounted which reflects the real value of those items. (Which still provides more than enough to double the wages of those underpaid, overworked, and maltreated child labourers.) I go in and out discreetly. (Yes it's that shameful an experience.) 10 minutes tops.
Gap doesn't even serve you a complimentary glass of Chateau Margaux while you wait as the minimum-wager attendant packs your purchase in an oversized bag made of trees harvested from a third world rainforest. How can that be a 'shopping' experience.
Wednesday, 23 August 2006
ERN Carlos Guillermo at the Patio de Mexuar. During the Nasrid rule, the Sultan would meet with his ministers in this courtyard. It was ERN Carlos Guillermo's turn to welcome guests and tourists.
His Royal Orangeness Karl Willem, or more appropriately ERN Carlos Guillermo in Castillan, visited Garnat-al-Yahud (modern day Granada), former capital of the Caliphate of Cordoba, last Moorish citadel of the Iberian peninsula, and very happening Andalucian university town.
ERN Carlos Guillermo and loyal human consort El Nashman spent an entire day embracing the mudejar atmosphere of that very beautiful Nasrid dynasty legacy -The Alhambra. It will be not be an exaggeration to say that ERN Carlos Guillermo was mobbed by the muy muy bonita y muy caliente señoritas who made this year's Official Royal Orangeness Visit to Andalucia a very memorable event.
ERN Carlos Guillermo at the Patio de los Arrayanes (named for the Myrtles bordering the reflecting pool). It was a great feat of Moorish engineering diverting rivers to supply water to Sabika hill where the Alhambra sits majestically.
ERN Carlos Guillermo y El Nashman lounging about.
ERN Carlos Guillermo enjoying sunlight in one of the many gardens.
ERN Carlos Guillermo gets a sweeping vista of Granada from one of the towers of the Alcazaba.
ERN Carlos Guillermo on top of the Torre de la Vela.
ERN Carlos Guillermo took this candid photo of El Nashman playing with one of the many fountains of the Alhambra.
ERN Carlos Guillermo takes a royal walk around the Palacio de Carlos V, a circular renaissance palace designed by Pedro Machuca who was a student of Michelangelo. This houses the Museo de Bellas Artes and the Museo de la Alhambra. ERN Carlos Guillermo and El Nashman were given a very private tour of the collection. Muchas Gracias y muchos besos, Isabella. Te amo!
ERN Carlos Guillermo and the Patio de la Acequia
ERN Carlos Guillermo promises that when loyal human consort El Nashman has some time and if the public want to know more, a full account of the Royal Orangeness Visit to Andalucia will be posted on this blogdiary.
Tuesday, 22 August 2006
Monday dinner in bed
Global Warming is upon us..........Blue fin tuna caught off British Waters!!! Pass the Wasabi Mr. Bean!
Look at the size of that lion's mane jellyfish. You'll need half the population of Brighton to pee on you if you get stung by that big muthafucka.
Even truffles are in abundance........Not as aromatic as the continental fungi but this is nature's bittersweet revenge. Rev up your silly 4WDs because it's all downhill from here...
Don't you find it too paranoid android these new airplane baggage restrictions? Why should a smaller bag be less suspicious than a bigger bag? Hel-lo? As long as the no liquid-whatever ban only applies to US bound flights that's fine by me.
Sadly, those lapdogs in the Philippines have made gaya-gaya puto-maya tatanga tanga and banned liquids in, shock horror, the frigging LRT!!!! Do they know how hotter than hell it is inside an LRT carriage not to have bottled agua with you???? It's not just overacting and not really solving the rootcause, it's plain STUPID. Meanwhile, in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan, an old bearded man with a liver ailment is bathing in a tub of Evian asking "What, they haven't found me yet?"
Maybe the North Americans are so uptight because they don't even get 4 weeks paid holiday says this report......
Why slave at work so much? Sure you get paid more but why does one need that much money anyway? To pay gas money for an always thirsty 4WD you won't ever take off road? To pay off health insurance needed from supersizing all those burgers? I thought you could get everything you needed over there at Walmart for cheap?
Paid holiday leave: UK 6.6 weeks; Italy 7.9 weeks; France..er....heck do they ever work at all? I think they drink cafe all day and then collect a paycheck at the end of each month. Hmm......moi like the sound of that..
And why are Danes top of the happy list? Is it the egalitarianism? Surely it's not the Lurpak? Is it the required reading of Hans Christian Andersen's psycho fables? The higher alcohol content of their lager? The liberal drug laws? The utilitarian attitude to sex? (Ok, if that's so, then maybe the Lurpak DOES have its other uses.)
I have, hmmm, 7 Danish friends. For a population of 5 million, that's a statistical anomaly. Not that I'm complaining. They are truly a happy bunch. Of course Flipinoys top the happy list in the world. As the saying goes - 'birds of the same feather get hit by one stone....'
Finally, this is what happens when girls get tablet PCs. I came back to my lab office to find Lorraine has been trigger happy with her stylus again.....
Really, it's no fair having an online chat with someone equipped with a Tablet PC......I should get one myself.......
Sunday, 20 August 2006
I told the old git to watch it. "I have friends in high places you know. If you don't stop taking the micky out of me I might send them over to your place and rough you up."
He then described in sadistic detail how mum made thick champorado for merienda and that at the moment he was about to put bonuan bangus on the grill, how the fish belly was so fat and how he stuffed them with spring onions, and how my mum was in the kitchen making ar-arusip salad and tomato/onion/roast aubergine salad with bagoong, and how the smell of pandan rice permeated the air he was breathing. He lowered the cellphone next to the grill so that I could hear the crackling charcoal "Can you hear that boy? Can you hear that?" he added. In the background our bitches started barking with delight at the imminent feast they were all going to have for dinner without me.
I hung up on the old man.
I wished that phone calls weren't so affordable. That telecoms were still controlled by a monopoly so my parents can't call me at odd hours just to make me jealous at the good life in Las Islas Filipinas.
I then looked up the number for the Department of Social Welfare or Bantay Bata so I can report my own folks for maltreatment of their own child, hoping they'd lose parental rights over me and that I can be lined up for adoption by rich folks who take no pleasure in seeing their only child going hungry in a foreign land.
I found the number and dialled it but a pre-recorded lady voice told me something about 'insufficient funds....call cannot be completed". Shit, I'm so skint I can't even afford so-called cheap phone call.
Ok fair enough that I can't afford a proper bottle of Chateau Lafitte to go with the cheap gruel that I have been stretching to last me until my welfare money arrives but I'm not exactly complaining. I've been subsisting on my own fat that I can feel my ribcage again. And my beer gut has shrunk that I finally have an unobstructed view of my wiener when I pee. (I think mine's a wiener or kolbasz at least. My ex-girlfriend said it's more like an earthworm - thin, dark, and dirty.)
Anyways, I had this craving for game so I went out armed with my Bontoc head axe, the one you used to be able to bring as hand luggage before all this airport security paranoia, to the deer park.
Then I saw this interesting scene. The does were together in one herd while two bucks lay in a distance, looking uninterested at those doe fannies. I brought out my spy hearing aid, not from MI6 but the one you order from those comic book bakcpage catalogs, and eavesdropped.
Two horny bucks are on the right.
Bambi: You are too much for me Rudolf, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.
Rudolf: [crying] Well, why don't you? Why don't you just let me be? It's because of you that I'm like this! I ain't got nothing... I ain't nowhere... Get the fuck off me! I can't stand being like this no more, Bambi.
(A couple of deer mating noises and that tree on the right shook rythmically.)
Then, more deer talk.
Rudolf: This is a one-shot thing we got goin' on here.
Bambi: It's nobody's business but ours.
Rudolf: You know I ain't queer.
Bambi: Yes deer.
ps. It only occurred to me now. Bambi is such a gay name to give to a buck. I must report Walt Disney to Opus Dei.
This is actually from their first album but I like the latin-tinged bluesy guitar riffs from Coy and what can I say, Hannah hasn't aged one bit. She's still pretty.
ps. Please don't buy bootleg cds! Hannah still owes Josh, Jux, and me one round of drinks. We want to collect soon. It's been TWO years!
Friday, 18 August 2006
For the second straight month, the cover of GQ contains a former host of Disney Channel's Mickey Mouse club.
I woke up at 10am this morning. Outside, the Orcs were farting loudly and it began to rain dodos and hobbits. Ahh, the summer is finally over in Middle Earth.
Since it was too late for breakfast, too early for lunch, and I was definitely not going to go outside to get soaked, I stayed in bed and read September's GQ, yesterday's newspaper, and last week's Economist.
Killing time when you are a bum is very difficult. Fortunately, someone from my high school, ( itago nalang natin sya sa pangalang Dion Fernandez), wrote on his blog that Google Earth now had high resolution images of Baguio.
It's really spooky being able to look at satellite images of the places from your childhood and Baguio being a very very small town I could identify every landmark, every fishball/kikiam and banana-q stand, and the rooftops of my mates' houses. The images are not really high resolution since they're for civilian use and you can't pick out the car plate numbers but it was jolly good fun pretending I was some despotic ruler indulging in state sponsored acts of espionage, invasion of privacy, and voyeurism.
That Pink Circle was the famous Boys' High school where I had four memorable years. (Alternatively called Hi Boys School if you were from the third sex. And unlike that bigoted Justice Isagani Cruz, we enlightened straight folks coexisted well with those from the pink brigade.) It was the last exclusive Boys' school in Baguio. Incidentally, I rose up from the pits to become Features Editor of the school paper and Dion was on my team. I however, like all trailblazing visionary mavericks, was unceremoniously eased out. I wanted full colour centerfolds of pretty girls from the Montessoris, advice on how to grow weed and roll the perfect joint, the best places to shoplift, how to nick the mugs from Mr. Donut, how to get into concerts for free, how to reuse a condom etc..etc...Survival tips no teenager could do without. The ultraconservative celibate sisters of the moonlight said no and without full creative control, I had to leave rather than lose my integrity. (I'm referring of course to the other Editors, and not the Principal who I got along quite well despite my three suspensions.) As you can see, Boys' High occupied a very central post code in Baguio unlike those tarts from Girls' High whose campus straddled a dingy bowling alley and two funeral parlours. Besides, the girls from UB Sci and City High were way prettier and were more open to experimentation. (Girls' High students were always stoned with cheap cannabis and didn't do the reverse cowgirl position.)
The Green Circle points to the Otto Hahn building, where I did 5 years of engineering. I don't know if it has been refurbished but it was really dark and depressing. It was no way to treat the designers of the future. If the Dogs of Flanders don't want to refurbish it, I suggest President GMA's helicopter be crashed into it (with GMA in the chopper and no one else in the building of course.) Engineers, and Nobel Prize Winner Otto Hahn, deserve a better building.
That Blue dot is the intersection where I, normally running late, try to catch those Trancoville or Aurora Hill jeepneys, with pre-war engines, driven by maniacal drivers.
This is Loakan. The Red arrow points to Texas Instruments, where I did two years of time. Integrated circuit chips for Nokia cellphones,among many other applications, are still assembled and tested here. After two years, I came out a certified Powerpoint Engineer, with a great disdain for clueless middle managers, and with a vow never to work in a cube farm ever again. It was a moderately paying job (P30k/mo and some stock options and bonuses back when Erap was president, enough to spend on worthless stuff which one tends to do with their first paychecks after being so dirt poor in college) and I worked with lots of great people but the unnecessarily long hours meant the work-life balance was not to my liking. The Blue arrow is Moog which makes precision controls for aviation and aerospace (Boeing, Lockheed, Airbus). That long strip is Loakan airport. The green arrow points to my childhood friend's house. You need to cross the tarmac to get to his place and many rabid mongrels actually sleep on the warm tarmac. You don't see that too often in other airports.
Thankfully, just 50 miles or so from Baguio is the South China Sea. This is a picture of San Juan and those fantastic waves suitable for surfing. On the rare ocassions that I got my weekends off from work, I'd come here to try to learn how to surf or use it as a base for long hikes across the La Union-Benguet border with an Aussie friend. Eventually, I learned that one of my high school mates was really into surfing and he founded the Baguio Boardriders Club. The waves here can be freakishly excellent. I should know, I've nearly drowned twice because of the strong undercurrents. As I write this, I know my friends are enjoying riding the waves and getting stoked. The beaches are getting overcrowded though with 'poseurs' who are kitted head to toe with surfer brands but do no surfing at all. As for poor me in landlocked Middle Earth, I haven't surfed for three years!
In other news.......
OMG! Hailstones as large as pingpong balls have destroyed 80% of the Genovese basils! The pesto famine is upon us!
Lesbian Xena is now a planet, Ceres between Mars and Jupiter was also recognised as an important big ass rock, and Charon circling around Pluto won't go away like a fly hovering above an unwashed butt. Enumeration quizzes in primary school science are now worth 12 points! Unless the teacher goes berserk and asks the students to identify every crater on the dark side of the moon instead.
I wanna be a fashionable rock star but I ain't gonna expose my boobs in this manner......
Even hardened audiophiles will wet their pants with glee when they get their hands on this fantastic teeny-weeny amplifier. Look how many holes you can make sweet sounding surround stereo love to!