Musings on a Lazy Afternoon

Justice Secretary Raul Gonzalez recently underwent kidney transplant operations. He would then have to take immunosuppressants so that his immune system would not reject his new kidney. There is, however, no drug available to prevent his new kidney from rejecting him.

Mark Jimenez once again surfaced after the promulgation of the Estrada plunder trial verdict. For some reason, he refers to himself as “hulog ng langit” (heaven sent). It was most likely head first when he landed back to earth.

Have you noticed that in cartoons and animated films, someone is credited as director? How does one go about directing cartoon and animated characters?

For years we have been paying exorbitant electricity rates because, as power executives loved to point out, we also have to pay for the excess capacity that resulted from the liberalization of the power industry. Now these same people are telling us that we face an imminent power crisis again if we do not add more electricity generation capacity. What the hell happened to all that excess capacity that we have been paying through the nose for? My guess is, we have been duped into paying for non-existent excess capacity all these years.

In movies, why is it that when we are shown the view from a binocular, we see two overlapping circles when it should be just one circle. And when someone injects poison, he invariably taps the syringe to get rid of bubbles? Death by embolism probably isn’t as compelling a death by embolism—movie-wise.

Killing Time, for a change

Given enough time, what could have sounded really stupid at one time would eventually sound prescient later on.

Back in 1984, when somebody calls you over the telephone, you don’t have to specify that it was through a PLDT landline. That was all we had back then, at least in Metro Manila. Anyway, back then a friend called me up at home and somewhere along the conversation he asked, “Where are you?” “Where am I?” I repeated, “You were the one who called me at home so you should know. Are you drunk or stupid?” To be fair, he was hung over, and he was never exactly the sharpest pencil in the box, so to speak.

Given the same situation today, especially with those new wireless landline telephones, I would not think anything odd whenever someone calls me and asks me where I am.

While I was in the United States, I found it particularly funny that the easiest way to get an American to try any exotic dish would be to tell them that “It tastes just like chicken.” What’s the point in trying something new if it tastes just like chicken? It was not as if chicken was on the endangered or extinct species list and that the only way one could get the taste of chicken was by eating say, snake testicles. But now, with the avian flu going around decimating the chicken population, it might not be too far off in the future when we would only have snake testicles to eat. And as we do so, we reminisce about the taste of chicken.

And speaking of Americans, I have yet to meet an American who as a child, did not try to dig a hole in their backyard in the hopes of coming out in China. You would think that Chinese children would also be digging holes in the ground to get to the United States. If anything, Chinese children would have a more compelling reason to get to the United States than American children do to get to China. Surprisingly, I have yet to meet a Chinese person who dug holes in the ground to get to America as a child. Now that China is the largest toy manufacturer in the world, American children would have a reasonable incentive to go to China—to get their regular lead fix.

As for the title of this entry, I’ve just always wanted to have it as a title and could not wait for the right inspiration.

Sandbagging It

Once upon a time I worked as a programmer for a business systems development company and I was assigned to work on the Owen Cornings account.

Owens Corning, as most people would know, is basically into making products made of glass, specifically fiberglass. In fact, the company owns the trademark “fiberglas,” without the “s.”

The main element in fiberglass is silica. Silica, in turn is usually present in sand. Glass is made by subjecting sand to intense heat. Silica melts a specific temperature so when the silica melts, it is separated from the other compounds consisting the sand.

Owens Corning uses arc furnaces to heat the sand. Arc furnaces operate on the theory that electricity takes the path of resistance between two points. So when you pass sufficient electricity through one electrode, it would jump to a nearby electrode. When electricity jumps from one electrode to another, heat is created. That heat is what is used to melt the silica in sand.

From glass to fiberglass, molten glass must be spun into wool through a spinning process. This is the same process or principle in making cotton candy. However, glass is more brittle than sugar crystals so chemicals have to be added to make glass wool pliable.

Fiberglass has excellent insulation properties so it is used in a wide range of applications from insulating houses and appliances to making roofing shingles.

The making of roofing shingles can be an interesting process to watch. First, fiberglass wool is made into fabric-like material called mats. They’re like cloth spooled onto large spools. Fiberglass mats are then infused with asphalt (or tar). In the olden days, paper was infused with tar and then used as roofing material. Thus they were called tar paper.

After the fiberglass mats are coated with tar, small granules of pebbles are sprinkled on the surface. Zinc granules may also be sprinkled to give the shingles the ability to resist moss and fungal growth.

I just find it ironic that with the amount of technology Owens Cornings had in turning sand into fiberglass, during the great floods of 1993 (when the levees along the Mississippi river were breached) they had to put sandbags around the Kansas City plant to prevent the floodwaters from entering.

And how did they make the sandbags? By manually shoveling sand into bags, one shovel at a time. You’d think that if anyone would have invented a sandbag filling machine by then, it would have been Owens Corning.

Is it really so hard to invent a sandbag filling machine? Since no one has invented one yet, it would seem so.

I have been to several rice mills and if I were to take what I learned from Owens Corning, I was expecting that at the end of the milling process, I would find someone with a shovel shoveling rice into sacks. But no. In all the cement plants, you’d probably expect to find people shoveling cement into bags before someone sews the end. Apparently, it’s all automated.

Thirteen years since the Mississippi River floods, people are still filling sandbags one shovel at a time. The more things change, the more they remain the same.

Last Hurrah

If we are to believe Congressman Joe De Venecia’s son that COMELEC Chairman Benjamin Abalos “asked” for the ZTE National Broadband Network contract as his “last hurrah,” one can not help but ask about the previous hurrahs.

How many hurrahs are we really talking about? When and what was his first hurrah? How many hurrahs did it take for him to afford the current lifestyle he is enjoying? How many points did these hurrahs shave off our GDP/GDP figures? In this last hurrah, Abalos was said to have offered the ZTE rival $10 million to back off. If he could offer that much in bribes, then it’s but only reasonable that he would keep as much for himself. So, were the other hurrahs just as lucrative or much less lucrative than the last one?

I’m beginning to think that Abalos speaks in code. The “sabaw” incident comes to mind. In Tagalog, “sabaw” means broth, not soup. Had he meant soup, he would have said “sopas.” But he said “sabaw” so he must be referring to broth. Now broth is just a notch higher than boiled water in the scheme of food. It’s basically boiled water with meat and bones and vegetables and seasonings and spices, with all the meat and bones and vegetables removed before serving. I do not intend to demean broth. I enjoy broth. Broth has brought countless relief to cold and flu sufferers everywhere. What’s baffling is that Abalos went inside a posh hotel just to look for “sabaw” because he was feeling dizzy (“nahihilo”) at the time. When I have a hankering for broth, I just troop to any of the countless convenience stores. If I were feeling dizzy, why would I go to a hotel, walk across a sprawling lobby, look for a restaurant where the foreign chef is most likely to say “Huh?” as I say, “I’m looking for ‘sabaw.’ Do you have ‘sabaw.’ May I have some ‘sabaw’?”

The bizarre way Abalos explained the embarrassing situation just did not make sense. Unless, that is, if the terms “nahihilo” and “sabaw” have acquired different meanings in his vocabulary.

For those who do not know who Benjamin Abalos is, he’s the one being driven around a COMELEC vehicle with a bumper sticker which says “Sabaw ng ZTE.”

The Name Game

I had always been curious why Thais have such long surnames until a fellow foreign student (during my California days) enlightened me.

It appears that there was a time when Thais (or Siamese, as the people of Thailand were then called) did not have surnames and had no need of one. As the population of the country grew, the absence of surnames became a source of much confusion. That would be easy to imagine. In the Philippines, where a great number of men are named “Boy” and a great number of women are named “Baby” one could easily imagine how the lack of surname could lead to some confusion. A typical conversation between a son and his parents could go as follows”

Son: Mother and Father, I would like to have your blessing to ask for Baby’s hand in marriage.

Parent: Which Baby are we talking about? The one who was born out of wedlock by Nene the storeowner?
Son: No. The Baby I’m talking about is not from our town. She’s from the town of Dao where the town folks refer to her as “The Beautiful One.”

Parent: Which town are we talking about? The one in Pampanga?
Son: No, dear father. I’m talking about the one in Capiz.

Parent: I have been to that town and I know of at least two women there named “Baby” and also called “The Beautiful One” by their town mates—one in awe and admiration and the other one in jest. Which one are you talking about?
Son: Ah….

Apparently, something similar came to fore, or was foreseen to come to fore in Thailand, so in order to remedy or forestall such chaos, an order was then sent out that all clans must then choose a name by which their clan or family must be known by, and register the same with the proper authorities.

Incidentally, the term “chaos” is the Greek word for disorder. It’s the antonym of “cosmos” which on the other hand means order. We also use the term “cosmos” to refer to outer space. Apparently, from afar, outer space seemed orderly—that is, until you see different heavenly bodies slamming against one another. “Cosmos” is also the root word of “cosmetics.” Somehow, cosmetics were supposed to put order on a woman’s face. One look at Madam Auring (or the character Mimi in “The Drew Carey Show” for those not familiar with Philippine culture) would show that the ancients have been gravely mistaken on both counts.

Once again, I digress.

Now, if two unrelated families or clans registered the same name, it would still result in confusion so one of the rules under the registration of family names is that families and clans can only register under the same name if they are related to one another. We have adopted a similar system in the Philippines in the registration of business names with the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI). The first clan or family to register a name would have the right to such surname. Subsequent registrants would have to find another name for their clan or family.

Of course, in Thailand, as in the Philippines, some families were more equal than other. It was not a free for all. Royalty and prominent families were allowed to register their surnames first so they pretty much had the pick of choice names. The rest would have to settle for their second, third, fourth, or fifth choices.

As a matter of convenience, latter registrants merely appended syllables and letters to their first choice of surnames until they had one which was not yet taken by an unrelated family or clan.

For the Shinawatra family, the original registration of their family name may have happened in the following manner:

Patriarch: My name is Sufian and I would like to register the name Shi as the name of my clan.
Registrar: The name Shi has already been taken by a family in Bangkok engaged in the business of renting out elephants to building contractors. Are you related to that family?

P: No.
R: Well, pick another surname then.

P: How about Shina?
R: Taken by a family in Chiang Mai. If you’re not related, pick another name.

P: Shinawat?
R: Taken by a family from Pattaya.

P: How about Shinawatra?
R: Let me see…. Well, that name appears to be available, Mr. Shinawatra.

As a general rule in Thailand then, the longer one’s surname is, the lower one is in the totem pole of social order.

I also asked a Mexican-American friend once why a lot of Mexicans seem to have very long names. He basically echoed the rationale oft-mentioned in the western movies of yore. What they lack in life, Mexicans make up for in names. As a corollary, when you meet a Mexican named Carlos Slim, there’s almost 100 percent certainty that he is rich while one named Arturo Simeon Matteo Juan Jose Miguel Alejandro Tomas Emmanuel Fernando Percival (and basically any series of names that you can recite to the tune of “La Cucaracha) Santa Cruz y dela Torre is almost certainly dirt poor.

We mere Filipino mortals think along the same lines of our Mexican cousins. It is now common practice to give children at least two names. And if that were not enough, we use all manners of titles and initials to extend our names. The more common titles we use are “doctor,” “engineer,” “attorney,” and “father” which reflect the traditional trades and profession pursued by Filipinos.

We are also big on political appellations. There’s “gov” for governor, “senator,” “cong” which is short for congressman, “mayor,” and “kap” for baranggay captain. We are so enthralled by these titles that we insist on using them long past the time when “gov” or “senator” or “congressman” or “mayor” have already relinquished or have been ousted from their respective positions.

And then, we also make up titles as we go along. First, there was Nora Aunor as “Superstar,” only to be eclipsed by Sharon Cuneta as “Megastar.” It’s not too far-fetch for the next “Gigastar” and “Terastar” to come along. “Terastar” should not be confused with Tera Patrick, who I heard has already a title of her own—pornstar. Regine Velasquez is locally known as “Asia’s Songbird” although she would probably better known in Australia as Michelle van Eimeren’s husband’s mistress. Equally meaningless titles abound. We have a “Soul Siren,” a “Prince of Karting,” and an “Actress for all Seasons.” When you really think about it, those don’t mean diddly squat.

A more insidious practice we are guilty of is giving ourselves titles which we have not earned nor deserved. One is not a banker simply because one works for a bank in the same way that not all people who work for a stockbrokerage are stock brokers. Law school graduates who are taking the bar exams are NOT barristers. The term “barrister” is reserved for lawyers in England who are qualified to appear before the courts. What we call “barristers” should be called bar examinees. Furthermore, only the bar examinee who garners the highest average in the bar exams can be called “bar topnotcher.”

We also tend to play fast and loose with titles that have definite meanings. A ballerina has to meet specific qualifications before she can be called a “prima ballerina” in the same manner that only sparkling wine from specific grapes grown in the Champagne region of France and fermented under strict conformance with the rules of the Method Champanoise can be called Champagne.

The term “triathlete” refers specifically to those who participate in triathlons. Merely engaging in three different sports activities does not make one a triathlete.

To call one’s self a sportsman, one must be actively participating on a more or less regular basis, in a sports activity. Cockfighting is only a sport as far as the roosters are concerned. What we call “sabungero” is not a sportman but a gambler.

One does not get to be called a “doctor” without meeting certain requirement. As a general rule, one must have a doctorate degree, whether actually awarded after completion of the necessary curriculum, or bestowed in an honorary manner. Being an optometrist simply does not cut it. Optometry is a four-year college degree usually culmination in the award of a Bachelor of Science degree.

Having the intials “D.R.” such as Donita Rose, does not qualify one to be called a doctor on basis of one’s initials alone.

One’s Ph.D. degree must be one that stands for Doctor of Philosophy to entitle one to be addressed as a doctor. Getting a pubic hair do just would not do.

Of course one could be officially named and christened “Doctor” and called be called such even without the need for a doctorate degree.

And They Have the Gall to Call us Barbarians?

Comments On Yet Another Hazing Death


What do you call men who have a 100 IQ? An entire fraternity.

How can that be? How can the union of seemingly intelligent men result in organization being less intelligent than the individual members? It’s a phenomenon that could best be described as “gestalt in reverse.” This phenomenon can also be observed in large conglomerates where an entire conglomerate's value is less than the sum of its different businesses. In the case of these large conglomerates, the prudent thing to do would be to spin off the various businesses so that each of them will be valuated according to the dictates of the market forces. Sadly, when it comes to fraternities, individual members are not spun off to be judged according to their own merits as individuals. Instead, each member imposes their own inflated and perverse sense of brotherhood on the rest of us.

The recent death of another fraternity recruit during the initiation rites reminded me of the condescending attitude fraternity members have about those of us who are non-members. Fraternity men have always referred to themselves as Greeks and to the rest of us as barbarians. How did this come to be?

There was a time when Greek civilization was at its zenith and the Greeks excelled in practically all the fields of human endeavor—whether it be in literature, the arts, medicine, philosophy, science, or warfare. Thus, not being a Greek meant to be, for all intents and purposes, a barbarian.

So many things have changed in the past two thousand years since the Greek halcyon days. To “speak Greek” now means to speak in an incomprehensible manner. To “go Greek” in the sexual context now means to have anal sex. And Leonidas, the great king of Sparta whose exploits and sacrifice at Thermopylae allowed for the seeds of democracy to grow and flourish is now just the brand name of overpriced Belgian chocolates. (They’re good chocolates, but not that good.)

Frat men aren’t even true Greeks. Just because fraternities use Greek letters to name their organizations does not make them Greek in the same manner that optometrists do not become doctors of medicine simply because they insist on being called as doctors. For frat men to be considered Greeks, they must live up to the Greek ideals. And what are these Greek ideals, you ask. In terms of nobility, it means doing the right thing, even if it leads to certain death. Socrates had the choice of death or exile through bribery. He chose death. In terms of valor and bravery, King Leonidas had the choice of obedience to King Xerxes or certain death in Thermopylae. We all now know the choice he made.

What ideals do these so-called Greek organizations uphold? Brotherhood? Where in brotherhood is subjecting your fellowman to abject pain and humiliation? Honor? Where is the honor in cowering behind a conspiracy of silence when an inductee invariably dies during their initiation rites? One does not have to be Greek to take responsibility for the consequences of one’s actions. One only needs to be a man. Yet these “Greeks” can not even meet the standards to which we mere mortal adhere.

There may have been a time when fraternities fostered all that is good among men but that time has long passed. Fraternities have degenerated so much that what remains is a malignant mass that does nothing but bring out the worst, the vilest, and the most reprehensible in men.

They’re nothing but thugs. Worthless thugs. And still, they have the gall to call the rest of us barbarians.

Oh No, She Did Not!
The Malu Fernandez “Apology”

When I heard that Malu Fernandez had already resigned and issued a public apology for attributing the niggly things that annoy her to a group of decent hard-working Filipinos, my reaction was, “She’s definitely a bigot but she has recognized the error of her ways so leave it at that. Let’s move on.”

But it was not an apology. At the very least, it was a thinly-veiled insult to the very people she had already offended. Instead of saying “I’m sorry for saying that overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) are crude, loud, and obnoxious,” she said that basically she’s sorry that OFWs are crude, loud, and obnoxious people. Furthermore, if they weren’t so lazy to read publications “thicker than a magazine,” they would realize that what she said was actually humorous in a tongue-in-cheek way.

Well, I guess those who referred to her as a pig should apologize in this manner: “We’re so sorry that you are such a pig.”

Of course, they would also have to sincerely apologize to the pigs. Unlike Malu Fernandez, pigs’ existence serves a very useful purpose. I mean, if we could find a way to cook the pig’s “oink” we would probably have another item in our pika-pika menu. Malu Fernandez on the other could hardly justify the air that she breathes, much less the water she drinks and the apparently copious amounts of food that she consumes.

Incidentally, what do pigs and Malu Fernandez have in common? That’s not a fair question. No blog has sufficient room for the answers.

How are pigs different from Malu Fernandez? For one, only pigs would be rightfully offended by the comparison.

But I digress.

It boggles the imagination why someone would take a cheap shot at what we correctly call our “modern day heroes.” Does she have a death wish? Apparently not, given her reaction to the death threats she received. Is she starved for attention? Maybe. We can use sociological, psychological, or anthropological tools to analyze this whole affair but I doubt if we’ll ever learn the method to her madness.

As for me, I prefer to follow the theory of Occam’s Razor in looking for the reason why she would do such an inane thing. Simply put, the theory states that the simplest solution to a problem is usually the correct one.

This is my conclusion: Malu Fernandez incurred the ire of so many people for the most insignificant reason (the inconveniences of her travel) simply because she prefers the taste of the kitchen staff’s spit on her food when she eats out; she wants extra froth in her cappuccino; and she likes her fruit shakes fortified [with “protein”].