What?!? A month has passed and all I’ve got to show for are some song descriptions of songs no one would care to listen to in the first place? Yes. And the universe is still expanding, so what now? I know I’ve got some explaining to do, or maybe I don’t. But just to fill up the dead space in my month-long disappearance, I might as well do. Well, for starters, we have a “communal” laptop—stemming from the unfailing failure of our “communal” PC to sustain a hard drive that doesn’t crash every five minutes—which, for the past couple of weeks, had found sole, uncontested ownership to my sister. Of course, it only makes sense she uses it more given just how paper-pushing college would be for her compared to maybe my own that prefers to push plates and sketch models. With my hectic pen-paper-kurecolor arrangements as of the moment (I would be ignorant of computer-aided design until next semester) set and the availability of the laptop for recreation close to nil, it would be harder for me to poop anything for the blog without any real time to be around a working computer. Despite this being the case, I, with all the earnestness of a 2-month old puppy, will try my hardest to put something in here at least twice a month. Not just mindless ramblings like this one, or the ones before that, mind you (well, okay, not if I can help it, but I am pretty persistent with the things I want done). If there’s a will, there’s a way. If there’s a Hannah Montana backpack on a shopping window, there’s disemboweling wailing from a 7-year-old girl close by. So believe me when I say this: I have a rash of ideas I’m itching to scratch and would need a good amount of Caladryl for. If that didn’t get you thinking how serious I am about doing this, I don’t know what will.
Songs of the Last 4 Weeks(uh, a month?):
Pixies Live at the Paradise in Boston DVD
The Standouts: (“You think I’m dead/But I’m still awake/On the…”)Wave of Mutilation, U-Mass(“In the sleepy west/Of the woolly east/There’s a valley full/Full of pioneers…”), Mr. Grieves(“What’s that floating in the water?”), Sad Punk(“…named extinction!”), Dead(“Uriah hit the crapper/ The crapper/ Uriah hit the crapper…”), I've Been Tired(“I’ve been losing my life to a whore with disease”), (“Cookie, I think you’re..”) Tame, Debaser(“Got me a movie/I want you to know/Slicing up eyeballs/I want you to know…”), (“All I’m saying/Pretty baby…”) La La Love You, and Boom Chika Boom(“…Boom Chika Rocka Chika Rocka Chika Boom…”)…oh crap…all of them!
It was love at first listen. Back in high school, around the time of their surprising reunion in 2004, the Purple Tape was on heavy rotation in our household for two months; and these strange, almost sinister, sensations I felt only grew with every listen. It was the way they made these incredibly melodic pop songs like nothing I’ve ever heard of before. But nothing felt funnier and scarier than getting caught singing along to those songs that talked of incest and mutilations by your neighbors, who, I’d like to clearly point out, are Oblation nuns. Although the Pixies didn’t succeed in turning me into a serial killer, they sealed the deal for me in discovering adventurous artists who pushed the boundaries of music. In other words, the Pixies succeeded in making me a musical hypochondriac. The discovery was a blessing as much as it was a curse—it was a miracle. I could try to imagine my life without the Pixies. But then again, I wouldn’t have to. And for that, I’m grateful.
Dead Sound by the Raveonnettes
It think it’s safe to say that The Raveonnettes had paradox and the universe in mind in creating this song, which in many ways is a smart move because it’s(or should be) always those big, bold ideas that pays off dividends. It starts of with a static deluge looming closer, larger and louder only to give way to suffused drumbeats and Sharin Foo’s icy, uninflected vocals. The song would occasional flit from these soft gossamer shimmers to an explosion of fuzz and reverb, fueling the mysteries of the young, naive love it bemoans. The static, it turns out, gets the upper hand in the finish, as all that wonder and beauty gets sucked back into singularity. Nothing short of breathtaking.
Vexation by Crystal Antlers
This how loud, messy rock should be executed without going for the overkill. And damn if the stabbing baselines aren’t sexy either. Keyboards pounded with sledgehammers. Check. Guitars whirring like Freddie’s dental tools. Check. Throwing your bones into the bonfire after using them as drumsticks. Check. And all this a little over two minutes. Aspiring metal-punkers, please take down notes.
A-Punk by Vampire Weekend
Loving this band would be easy and obvious. The hype surrounding these fresh-faced kids from Columbia University is almost formulaic, if you can go back as far a time the Strokes and Arctic Monkeys first broke out. With songs so unassuming and catchy, and their musical influences sewn on their sleeves for everyone to nitpick (or, pick a poison or two: Afrikan Bourbon ala Paul Simon, David Byrne on the Rocks..), it's just as easy to hate them like their contemporaries. But to lambaste this band as just another passing "indie wunderkind" of the download generation is also premature and, quite frankly, hypocritical when you find yourself hitting that replay button the nth time over, asking nearly-pertinent questions like, "was that a piccolo I just heard?" And hey, as long it's beating the bland, manufactured and unoriginal, let's say, Click Five, from getting into your gym playlist, then there's hope for music after all--even if it ain't the Renaissance we were praying for.
Black Rice by Women
Channeling the lo-fi, fairy-dusted quality of 60’s psychedelia, Black Rice is one of those songs you imagine waking up to with bleary eye as the sun’s rays slowly permeate through the pores of your gummy skin, warming that weary soul within. Either that or it’s one of those songs you self-medicate yourself with, alongside some trustee dose of coffee and TV, for that pounding case of a hang-over.
Shade of the Moor by Apse
There’s something Sigur Rosy/Tortoisey about this band, with a really dark, ominous undertow. Maybe it’s the post-punk aesthetics with base drumming sprawled throughout these cold Sahara-Desert-nights atmospherics. But then comes this nasal, Druid-like incantation that replete the hypnosis that would be the closest you’d come to spiritual transcendence. Whoah is the right word for a song that bears to be played over for maximum experience.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
An Open Letter to the Multiverses!
dear imitator_101,
greetings! i don't really know how else to start this than by saying the usual.."i hate you!" or that "i'm running a police blotter on you!" for ruining the poor, sedentary life of a philistine. but, yeah.. i have been mauling your argument for days now in my head and i figured i might as well lay down everything (i think) i've understood from it and our conversation and the things that have been plaguing me about the whole dealeeyo, so that the next time we do talk about it you can really stick the things i left out or overlooked to me!and what better way to share my thoughts than by posting them on my own blog? in a very informal letter. i hope you don't think i'm exploiting you and your genius, but this is the only thing i've written in weeks after all. and im pretty sure whatever i write would fall short to whatever else you intend to write about anyway.so it's also kinda like three-year-old taking on a 300-pound bully--not that your a bully or that your 300 pounds, but it's an idea you could look into. did i mention your argument is quite trenchant? and that you should run for president of the world? that's the genius three-year-old in me talking. plus it's 2 o'clock in the morning and i'm on a coffee binge, so the posting of this blog is inevitable.
stroking egos and binges aside, i figured it's also fun for everyone(hmm..that would be for the 5 people, maybe even less because everyone else seems confident i'm not getting myself in any trouble) who reads my blog coz they could cross-reference to your blog(http://tuste-pagtataka.blogdrive.com), and vice versa(http://..yeah..not really) and will unwittingly partake in this "intellectual" feast. also, they have options to treat this as a.) a semi-plagiarised research paper--disguised as a letter--minus the tedium of footnotes, the attention to grammar rules, syntax, spelling and sentence construction,and everything else resembling structure and coherence found in a research paper, because really it's not--i'm just running low on battery; b.) a surf between two local TV channels(i'll take Net 25, you take GMA 7) if only in a parallel universe where they're the only two channels battling it out for the viewers' approval ratings; or c.) a 2-ton bullcrap. so it's win-win-win for everyone. but you know...we can always move on and leave this all behind us..but i realized i'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. and neither should you. so for whatever it's worth, here's...
What's Been Established in the Argument:
1.set up: heisenberg's uncertainty principle(i think the implication you were talking about is the concept of quantum mechanics)/entropy--"walking through walls"; establishing "the right states" considering space and time--lots and lots of it..
2.chance of creating life is like a tornado ripping through a junk yard creating a 747..
3.tornado exists/governed by laws of nature/is a law of nature(or is it force of nature)..
4. tornado rips through junk yard, creates a 747--for that to happen would require "crazy number" of tornadoes ripping through a corresponding "crazy number" of junk yards..yadiyada..
5. humans are much like tornadoes in a way that it "acts" upon creation but has the ability to reduce randomness of events; increases chance of certainty; increases probability*..
6. reasons for reduced randomness: consciousness(supposing it's a prerequisite to intellect, certain cognitive abilities), physical capacity/capabilitiies,"purpose" for doing so(putting meaning into it)..
7. if we are like the tornadoes but "better*", and tornadoes are laws of nature(forces of nature), we too are the laws of nature(forces of nature). possible implication: there is meaning to our existence(excluding the concept of a higher calling; concept of the "divine"--it just complicates things i think at this point, or no..i think it might do the opposite)..
8. we exist, accidental or not, because we serve or act out a specific purpose of increasing chance of certainty, reducing randomness; man is essential but only as a "reason-driven catalyst" of sorts(hmm..which kinda made me think of the LHC particle accelerator all of a sudden)..
9. the possibility of consciousness in human beings as a law of nature..
Concerns/Conundrums/Suggestions/Whatevers(or as many Ateneans I've come to know like to say, "The What-Nots"):
1. laws of nature vs. forces of nature
both humans and tornadoes are governed by the laws of nature, as well as forces of nature(considering force-carrying particles). suggestion: distinguish laws of nature and forces of nature. there are four forces of nature(this is based on what i remember anyway..so..hold your horses!):gravitational, electromagnetic, weak and strong nuclear forces; laws of nature could encompass much more...so maybe forces of nature could be classified under this. another suggestion: stick to just laws of nature.
2. tornado rips through junk yard, creates a 747
for that to happen would not just require "crazy number" of tornadoes ripping through a corresponding "crazy number" of junk yards..it would happen because of laws of nature governing tornadoes and laws governing the "act" of ripping through junk yard(the junk yard essential to creation as well) and creating a 747 down to its molecular/subatomic level(like 2nd law of thermodynamics entropy)..not physically impossible but has less likely the probability to happen(statistically impossible because it's "infinite"?)..has to have the "right states"--position, velocity, space, time, etc.--to happen...i think you pointed this out though with "other sets of probabilities"..so dammit..this isn't wholly original!
3. oh..and...is it possible that we've cast too much light on the chance of creating life and the "tornado" analogy? and the "tornadoes" to humans? i think there is something we're are not looking that should have been established in the beginning that makes the logic true and compelling(like the tornadoes being laws of nature, if man is like a tornado..then he too a is a law of nature..is tornado a law of nature? not quite. it existed because of them, is governed by them..so that follows suit with humans? can a distinct law of nature be governed by or dependent on other laws of nature?). yeah..and you mentioned that it's possible everything could create everything, and make certain outcomes more certain. in that case tornadoes with consciousness and humans aren't all that special. something could have something other than consciousness or intellect, something far more extraordinary, that could make things 99.999% certain, all the time. not God though. maybe a human could accidentally make something like that--an extraordinary "machine" or "entity", with no real purpose or meaning..or maybe the original intent was abandoned. i dunno..i must be losing my goddamn mind. is this where science, philosophy and science-fiction meet and have tea parties? must call George Lucas.
4. assuming man as a natural law because of consciousness(taking into account what man is relative to the expanse of the universe,unknown variables, etc.): possibility of bordering on baseless speculations/oversimplifications?...but which i think is good platform to lift off from given the right data..
5. are we human beings because of consciousness? or is possible to be human beings without it? because if it is, human beings could possibly be just vessels of consciousness..so yes, perhaps you were right on separating man from consciousness..and there could be many others like us. fast-tracking evolution to 700 million years from now on earth alone..other species could have consciousness or a semblance of it..after all, animals seem to be capable of emotions..are those to prerequisites to consciousness? this is the reason why i pointed out the octopus(with their enormous brains) and the bonobos(who we are just a crosshare from being our genetic equivalent)..it's possible they just lost out on the genetic lottery for consciousness..it's possible it's not even a law, but a genetic trait...but first we have to ask--what is consciousness?
6. is consciousness observable, measureable? an infallible generalization? encompassing time and space? could we really put consciousness up there with Newton's Gravitational Law? a truth in all given circumstances? in another universe? and another? and don't laws undergo rigorous "tests" before being considered as laws? theories are always a good way to start. i think i have more stocked up in my head but i'll leave those untouched for now. or perhaps you've already figured something new out and beat me to it--i won't be surprised. i'll be angry, probably create maelstroms here and there; but no surprises. this is the part where i should quote a seminal philosopher, like this friend of mine who quotes philosophers a whole lot in his own blog..hmm..wonder who that is?..
The greatest happiness of a thinking man is..
"...to have explored whatever is explorable and to revere silently what is inexplorable.."
--Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
...i never could understand that! haha. we need a new line of attack. or a new hobby.
strongheld to the loonie bin,
yanihahaha
greetings! i don't really know how else to start this than by saying the usual.."i hate you!" or that "i'm running a police blotter on you!" for ruining the poor, sedentary life of a philistine. but, yeah.. i have been mauling your argument for days now in my head and i figured i might as well lay down everything (i think) i've understood from it and our conversation and the things that have been plaguing me about the whole dealeeyo, so that the next time we do talk about it you can really stick the things i left out or overlooked to me!and what better way to share my thoughts than by posting them on my own blog? in a very informal letter. i hope you don't think i'm exploiting you and your genius, but this is the only thing i've written in weeks after all. and im pretty sure whatever i write would fall short to whatever else you intend to write about anyway.so it's also kinda like three-year-old taking on a 300-pound bully--not that your a bully or that your 300 pounds, but it's an idea you could look into. did i mention your argument is quite trenchant? and that you should run for president of the world? that's the genius three-year-old in me talking. plus it's 2 o'clock in the morning and i'm on a coffee binge, so the posting of this blog is inevitable.
stroking egos and binges aside, i figured it's also fun for everyone(hmm..that would be for the 5 people, maybe even less because everyone else seems confident i'm not getting myself in any trouble) who reads my blog coz they could cross-reference to your blog(http://tuste-pagtataka.blogdrive.com), and vice versa(http://..yeah..not really) and will unwittingly partake in this "intellectual" feast. also, they have options to treat this as a.) a semi-plagiarised research paper--disguised as a letter--minus the tedium of footnotes, the attention to grammar rules, syntax, spelling and sentence construction,and everything else resembling structure and coherence found in a research paper, because really it's not--i'm just running low on battery; b.) a surf between two local TV channels(i'll take Net 25, you take GMA 7) if only in a parallel universe where they're the only two channels battling it out for the viewers' approval ratings; or c.) a 2-ton bullcrap. so it's win-win-win for everyone. but you know...we can always move on and leave this all behind us..but i realized i'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. and neither should you. so for whatever it's worth, here's...
What's Been Established in the Argument:
1.set up: heisenberg's uncertainty principle(i think the implication you were talking about is the concept of quantum mechanics)/entropy--"walking through walls"; establishing "the right states" considering space and time--lots and lots of it..
2.chance of creating life is like a tornado ripping through a junk yard creating a 747..
3.tornado exists/governed by laws of nature/is a law of nature(or is it force of nature)..
4. tornado rips through junk yard, creates a 747--for that to happen would require "crazy number" of tornadoes ripping through a corresponding "crazy number" of junk yards..yadiyada..
5. humans are much like tornadoes in a way that it "acts" upon creation but has the ability to reduce randomness of events; increases chance of certainty; increases probability*..
6. reasons for reduced randomness: consciousness(supposing it's a prerequisite to intellect, certain cognitive abilities), physical capacity/capabilitiies,"purpose" for doing so(putting meaning into it)..
7. if we are like the tornadoes but "better*", and tornadoes are laws of nature(forces of nature), we too are the laws of nature(forces of nature). possible implication: there is meaning to our existence(excluding the concept of a higher calling; concept of the "divine"--it just complicates things i think at this point, or no..i think it might do the opposite)..
8. we exist, accidental or not, because we serve or act out a specific purpose of increasing chance of certainty, reducing randomness; man is essential but only as a "reason-driven catalyst" of sorts(hmm..which kinda made me think of the LHC particle accelerator all of a sudden)..
9. the possibility of consciousness in human beings as a law of nature..
Concerns/Conundrums/Suggestions/Whatevers(or as many Ateneans I've come to know like to say, "The What-Nots"):
1. laws of nature vs. forces of nature
both humans and tornadoes are governed by the laws of nature, as well as forces of nature(considering force-carrying particles). suggestion: distinguish laws of nature and forces of nature. there are four forces of nature(this is based on what i remember anyway..so..hold your horses!):gravitational, electromagnetic, weak and strong nuclear forces; laws of nature could encompass much more...so maybe forces of nature could be classified under this. another suggestion: stick to just laws of nature.
2. tornado rips through junk yard, creates a 747
for that to happen would not just require "crazy number" of tornadoes ripping through a corresponding "crazy number" of junk yards..it would happen because of laws of nature governing tornadoes and laws governing the "act" of ripping through junk yard(the junk yard essential to creation as well) and creating a 747 down to its molecular/subatomic level(like 2nd law of thermodynamics entropy)..not physically impossible but has less likely the probability to happen(statistically impossible because it's "infinite"?)..has to have the "right states"--position, velocity, space, time, etc.--to happen...i think you pointed this out though with "other sets of probabilities"..so dammit..this isn't wholly original!
3. oh..and...is it possible that we've cast too much light on the chance of creating life and the "tornado" analogy? and the "tornadoes" to humans? i think there is something we're are not looking that should have been established in the beginning that makes the logic true and compelling(like the tornadoes being laws of nature, if man is like a tornado..then he too a is a law of nature..is tornado a law of nature? not quite. it existed because of them, is governed by them..so that follows suit with humans? can a distinct law of nature be governed by or dependent on other laws of nature?). yeah..and you mentioned that it's possible everything could create everything, and make certain outcomes more certain. in that case tornadoes with consciousness and humans aren't all that special. something could have something other than consciousness or intellect, something far more extraordinary, that could make things 99.999% certain, all the time. not God though. maybe a human could accidentally make something like that--an extraordinary "machine" or "entity", with no real purpose or meaning..or maybe the original intent was abandoned. i dunno..i must be losing my goddamn mind. is this where science, philosophy and science-fiction meet and have tea parties? must call George Lucas.
4. assuming man as a natural law because of consciousness(taking into account what man is relative to the expanse of the universe,unknown variables, etc.): possibility of bordering on baseless speculations/oversimplifications?...but which i think is good platform to lift off from given the right data..
5. are we human beings because of consciousness? or is possible to be human beings without it? because if it is, human beings could possibly be just vessels of consciousness..so yes, perhaps you were right on separating man from consciousness..and there could be many others like us. fast-tracking evolution to 700 million years from now on earth alone..other species could have consciousness or a semblance of it..after all, animals seem to be capable of emotions..are those to prerequisites to consciousness? this is the reason why i pointed out the octopus(with their enormous brains) and the bonobos(who we are just a crosshare from being our genetic equivalent)..it's possible they just lost out on the genetic lottery for consciousness..it's possible it's not even a law, but a genetic trait...but first we have to ask--what is consciousness?
6. is consciousness observable, measureable? an infallible generalization? encompassing time and space? could we really put consciousness up there with Newton's Gravitational Law? a truth in all given circumstances? in another universe? and another? and don't laws undergo rigorous "tests" before being considered as laws? theories are always a good way to start. i think i have more stocked up in my head but i'll leave those untouched for now. or perhaps you've already figured something new out and beat me to it--i won't be surprised. i'll be angry, probably create maelstroms here and there; but no surprises. this is the part where i should quote a seminal philosopher, like this friend of mine who quotes philosophers a whole lot in his own blog..hmm..wonder who that is?..
The greatest happiness of a thinking man is..
"...to have explored whatever is explorable and to revere silently what is inexplorable.."
--Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
...i never could understand that! haha. we need a new line of attack. or a new hobby.
strongheld to the loonie bin,
yanihahaha
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Summer Musings: The Sounds (Songs of the Week)
While I am working on the material for my next big blog (don’t be misled by the lazy writing, I’m actually doing serious research and digging deep down into my patchwork soul, as well as maybe, our chips bowl!) and you, whoever you may be, are waiting to read an incisive take on Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent(well, pal, I’d love to but I’d have to read the book first—even by then I’m pretty sure far more elevated minds have already got me covered), I have here a refurbished version of the Song(s) of the Week sections you see at the bottom of every rot I’ve written for the past month. What’s new, you ask? Well, there are descriptions now to every song I’ve been heavily spinning this past week—a mix bag of new music and the older stuff I just have the propensity to listen to over and over again. I don’t know if you, reader, have been contaminated by this disease but I’ve actually been doing this “music-sharing” stuff since high school, if only to a select few in my class(well, actually, to anyone who ever comes to me for them). But nowadays, I seem to be giving music away more and more like party favors because they are, well, for lack of a better word, interesting. Interesting things are meant to be shared. If something as maudlin as love quotes could be shared, there is definitely a place for something of a new, interesting (and equally annoying) breed. And they were never MINE to begin with. It’s out there ripe for the plucking (hello, Internet!); I just happen to stumble upon it. I’m not obligated by the artists to share it, but I want to. Why? I’m not exactly sure. It could really be gamut of things.
In somewhat authoritarian stance, perhaps I like sharing music with people because, whether or not people liked it, I do somehow feel responsible for them tapping into an experience of a different kind— an excursion to the possibilities of sound, of wordplay, of imagery, of emotions, of thoughts that perhaps most of mainstream music hardly explores these days. Imagine: all that power you wield in changing people's perceptions and that awesome tingling you feel at your fingertips can only herald world domination! Mwahaha. But then again, in a somewhat democratic stance, it’s not so much an imposition as it is an option. They are free to CHOOSE to take on the challenge of suspending their understanding of what music could or should be in a couple minutes. And then after, if they still could muster to do so, are free to voice out what they thought or felt. The fun begins in hearing my friends’ tw0 to three-second soundbites (from "wow, that's amazing!" to "geez, Marian, what the f*ck was that?") and surprising, wide-eyed insights. Sharing them makes room for discussion and further discovery--whether it comes in a form of an obscure mp3 from another obscure but clearly mind-blowing artist or something far more intangible(like how your mind felt like it was being blown). And then in a somewhat socialist stance, it also dawned on me that interesting unconventional music does not always have to be esoteric or exclusive to just a group of high-browed hipsters; and that everyone can appreciate them at varying degrees. There would somehow be a way for the ears to be pricked by a certain chord or movement familiar or accessible; or for the common heart strings you and I both have to be tugged, perhaps even those heart strings laying dormant for some time, in words that people will latch on to in the music, and take on a whole new level of appreciation for. We are wired to adapt--take tips from our early ancestors who have done a great job for millions of years. It may not happen overnight; it might not even happen in over a year after you’ve first heard it, but “Road to Damascus” moments do happen when they are never forced(obviously). An open-mind is always a prerequisite in taking on anything alien to what you’re used to. That’s the first step. This is where I should say, “Well, take it from me…” but I’d prefer to go “So, yeah, listen and let’s see where it takes you from there”—that, I think, is more important.
Song(s) of the Week:
1. “Eraser” by No Age Hands down, the best parts are in the shimmery fuzz work layered one over the other and its smattering of unintelligible lyrics before the two minutes is up. Question: by ascertaining its subliminal effect, am I being ironic?
2. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” by Vampire Weekend
“This feels so unnatural, Peter Gabriel too!”= Word. Quick, throw me the beach towel; I’ll throw you the bongos!
3. “Fireworks” (“If the elephants be reaching for our purses, then meet me after the world with the shivers…”) and “Grass”(“I was walking on feet just like my father, and my knees were trying to reach you at your mothers’…”) and “Peacebone” (“…you progressed in letters, but you used to cook it broccoli(?)”...) by Animal Collective = a plethora of mind-efferies to choose from on a lonely Saturday night—this, of course, being when you get around to deciphering what frontman Avey Tare is shrieking about!
4. “Build High” by Pixies And what would Animal Collective(and every other alternative band you can think of, like, pff, Nirvana) be without this band? Black Francis(a.k.a. Frank Black a.k.a. Charles Thompson), lead singer of the legendary Pixies, once described this song as country, but its hyperkinetic stomp and banshee shrieks are more akin to a skinhead’s wet-dream than maybe, um, Kenny Login’s.
And...HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO EVERYONE'S MOM!
In somewhat authoritarian stance, perhaps I like sharing music with people because, whether or not people liked it, I do somehow feel responsible for them tapping into an experience of a different kind— an excursion to the possibilities of sound, of wordplay, of imagery, of emotions, of thoughts that perhaps most of mainstream music hardly explores these days. Imagine: all that power you wield in changing people's perceptions and that awesome tingling you feel at your fingertips can only herald world domination! Mwahaha. But then again, in a somewhat democratic stance, it’s not so much an imposition as it is an option. They are free to CHOOSE to take on the challenge of suspending their understanding of what music could or should be in a couple minutes. And then after, if they still could muster to do so, are free to voice out what they thought or felt. The fun begins in hearing my friends’ tw0 to three-second soundbites (from "wow, that's amazing!" to "geez, Marian, what the f*ck was that?") and surprising, wide-eyed insights. Sharing them makes room for discussion and further discovery--whether it comes in a form of an obscure mp3 from another obscure but clearly mind-blowing artist or something far more intangible(like how your mind felt like it was being blown). And then in a somewhat socialist stance, it also dawned on me that interesting unconventional music does not always have to be esoteric or exclusive to just a group of high-browed hipsters; and that everyone can appreciate them at varying degrees. There would somehow be a way for the ears to be pricked by a certain chord or movement familiar or accessible; or for the common heart strings you and I both have to be tugged, perhaps even those heart strings laying dormant for some time, in words that people will latch on to in the music, and take on a whole new level of appreciation for. We are wired to adapt--take tips from our early ancestors who have done a great job for millions of years. It may not happen overnight; it might not even happen in over a year after you’ve first heard it, but “Road to Damascus” moments do happen when they are never forced(obviously). An open-mind is always a prerequisite in taking on anything alien to what you’re used to. That’s the first step. This is where I should say, “Well, take it from me…” but I’d prefer to go “So, yeah, listen and let’s see where it takes you from there”—that, I think, is more important.
Song(s) of the Week:
1. “Eraser” by No Age Hands down, the best parts are in the shimmery fuzz work layered one over the other and its smattering of unintelligible lyrics before the two minutes is up. Question: by ascertaining its subliminal effect, am I being ironic?
2. “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” by Vampire Weekend
“This feels so unnatural, Peter Gabriel too!”= Word. Quick, throw me the beach towel; I’ll throw you the bongos!
3. “Fireworks” (“If the elephants be reaching for our purses, then meet me after the world with the shivers…”) and “Grass”(“I was walking on feet just like my father, and my knees were trying to reach you at your mothers’…”) and “Peacebone” (“…you progressed in letters, but you used to cook it broccoli(?)”...) by Animal Collective = a plethora of mind-efferies to choose from on a lonely Saturday night—this, of course, being when you get around to deciphering what frontman Avey Tare is shrieking about!
4. “Build High” by Pixies And what would Animal Collective(and every other alternative band you can think of, like, pff, Nirvana) be without this band? Black Francis(a.k.a. Frank Black a.k.a. Charles Thompson), lead singer of the legendary Pixies, once described this song as country, but its hyperkinetic stomp and banshee shrieks are more akin to a skinhead’s wet-dream than maybe, um, Kenny Login’s.
And...HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO EVERYONE'S MOM!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
It's A Monthsary!
In the light of my weekly dalliance with blog for the past month, it has come to my attention that I’ve raised a couple of eyebrows and furrowed a handful of foreheads. I don’t think I’ll go as far as say that there is now a “following” to my writing, since it’s more along the pastures of the geez-wonder-what-my-crazy-and-delusional-friend-Yani-is-up-to-these-days kind of check-ups. Nonetheless, I absolutely commend my friends in treating them as close substitutes to the customary hugs, kisses, thumbs-ups, pats on the rump, and flipped birdies of support while they’re all off slaving away in their summer classes. But there have been, ahem, concerns as well—all duly noted. My friend Ray has a problem with my blog site’s name, yanihahahalivestotellatale, being too long which is kind of a strange problem considering that he’s a ComSci major and he’s probably steno graphed lengthier, more abstract Morse codes from aliens in outer space. And my other friend, Kat C., complains that she doesn’t really like the installment trick I’ve been pulling for the past two weeks since it reminds her of the Starwars trilogy(I’d like to think it’s at least the three good ones she’s referring to that came out before 1999) and that they somehow rob the satisfaction the reader gets in concise, point-on-point, muck-free writing. Even my closest allies think it’s bordering on the superfluous that I talk about my trade-book-hawking skills like I won the Bookworm of the World award, and dropping A(uthor)-bombs like it was Hiroshima and Nagasaki all over again. And they are all probably right in the eyes of an all-knowing divinity in the far reaches of the firmament. I appreciate my friends and family’s honesty in opinion and I love them for serving up the good alongside the mediocre, alongside the bad. The fact that they would even bother to read, then, comment on my work when they could have a more productive use of their time, shows that they do feel strongly about what I’m doing and believe that I can do better. But at the same glaring light, I’m always keen on taking criticisms as tabs for the things I should be wary about and should learn from and for those I shouldn’t and should still learn from. The last thing I want to come out of this other creative outlet of mine is the need to constantly and perfunctorily compromise my natural responses, and ultimately compromise myself, to be favored in other people’s eyes. So yes, I’m keeping the blog site’s name because I like it and reflects the nature of my writing(Ray, you’re right—if parables were good enough for Jesus, it’s probably good enough for me) and I’m continuing the “unimpeachable truths” because it’s a great opportunity to somehow (re)introduce myself to everyone(albeit it’s hacked value). Oh and but of course, I gasta keep the braggadocios beast in check. Check!
Song of the Month: “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes (And still obsessing. This song is probably the best song I’ve heard in the longest time, and that’s saying a lot. It’s haunting, pure, and maddeningly gorgeous. Packs a lot of a punch for a song under 3 minutes. Long live Fleet Foxes and every other artist who swims in the sea of reverb and/or enjoys crushing snow underfoot!)
Song of the Month: “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes (And still obsessing. This song is probably the best song I’ve heard in the longest time, and that’s saying a lot. It’s haunting, pure, and maddeningly gorgeous. Packs a lot of a punch for a song under 3 minutes. Long live Fleet Foxes and every other artist who swims in the sea of reverb and/or enjoys crushing snow underfoot!)
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Summer Musings: The Reads (Pt. 2)
(Continuation...)
4. The More The Crease Marks, The Better
I had this friend back in UP Manila whom I decided to borrow a book from. Without getting too technical with the details, it’s this little-known book by this little-known astrophysicist named Stephen Hawking called A Brief History of Time; and this very brilliant and bookish friend of mine is also a little—a lot—neurotic. Anyway, before I could even lay a finger on the book, she relayed to me the “ground rules” in handling it. No smears on pages (meaning if you “think” you might smear pages with anything, make sure to wipe your hands clean…no, make that, wash your hands clean—replete with necessary hand sanitizers, please—before touching the pages). No dog-eared pages or using of clip bookmarks. Accidental rips I think would constitute something ominous; I don’t know what it was exactly or how the atoning for those sins work, but I found it all insanely funny and frightening at the same time. The craziness did not stop there. Stuck on the back flap of the cover was the COMPLETE list of rules reminiscent of the ones you’d find in library books, with its full-blown details and menacing tone. After two days of paranoia (to the point that I could practically feel my friend and her guidelines breathing down my neck on every damnable page), I decided to return it. I forgot all about the book until that faithful day months later I stumbled upon a second-hand copy. Where? Right on. Book Sale. It’s semi-ratty and smells like cheese, but I’m eternally grateful for the absence of certain fear-inducing qualities.
I always had this theory that books read should, in the very least, LOOK like it was read. Reading is an experience. Your experience. I like to think that the mere human imprint to the experience, accidental or intentional, could somehow only add to depth and character of the book. Crease marks, coffee and soy sauce stains, warped and forlorn book covers—they tell their own stories, indelible and unique. I love the idea that when I re-read my books thirty years from now and I come across some of those markings, everything I felt, thought, heard, saw against all other sensations—suffused and frozen in space and time—could conveniently and lovingly be culled from memory. Much like wrinkles are to man, they are badges of a life lived and a life made worthwhile. And as my books and I age (we might even be turning yellow and gray together), I find myself taking comfort in that thought more and more.
5. The Best Things In Life Are Shared
One of the best people I’ve known in my life to talk serious books with(or just about anything and everything for that matter) is my long-time friend Madi. I anticipate our linguistic furor in describing characters or events. For example, if she happened to have read “The Lost Girl” by D.H. Lawrence too, we never would settle on just describing Ciccio as “hot” or “sexy”. That’s a little too Paris Hilton for us. Instead, we would sling out words like “feral” or swill a couple of adverb-adjective tandems like “sensuously primeval” (and knowing Madi, she’s not one to ever run out of adjectives once you get her heart racing; or ever—that girl has a motor for a mouth and a brain). It gets even better now that Madi is in a course that requires her to read A LOT of literature because when I tell her about a book I’m about to read or I’ve just read, she somehow creates the backdrop or tone of the story for me (“…Flannery O’Connor is classified under grotesque…”) or humbles me by correcting my pronunciation (“It’s Flo-be”—when pronouncing French author Gustave Flaubert’s name or, yeah, something to that effect).
But one of the coolest things about being friends with her for so long is that we share common cornerstones for the things we love and value. In our formative grade school years (wow, I haven’t thought of TLC for a while, but this is nice and fitting), we found lasting inspirations in our mentors, especially in our Reading/Civics teacher, Ms. Arcilla, who at the time swore would die a spinster before anyone would ever ask to marry her (which, ironically but obviously, will never happen; she got married and moved to Japan by the time we were freshmen in Zobel). She opened our eyes to the magical world of hobbits (J.R.R.Tolkien) and talking cats (Lloyd Alexander); and to the wonders of time-travelling (Jostein Gaarder and Madeleine L’Engle). She made us love strong, willful and defiant heroines who wore breeches and rode like men (Tamora Pierce). She made us love beautiful passages and words that don’t quite roll off your tongue that easily; and made knowledge derived from books precious, and our first impressions worth a second or third polish.
The book corner set up in our classroom every year allowed her to share her books with us, and in turn, made us share our own. I remember my friend, Nica (a true-blue Atenista even back in the day), whom we turned to for our usual fix of historical novels about Cleopatra and Elizabeth I; and my other friend, Danni(she later became our batchmate in Zobel and was always the trend-setter) who introduced us to that little-wizard-who-could, Harry Potter. It’s funny how Madi and I would talk about the days long gone in a reverential way, because undoubtedly, those times we had sharing, reading then gushing for months and months truly were some of the fondest memories we had growing up. Most of us went our separate ways in high school, joined different cliques; all of us went our separate paths even further upon entering college. But I like to think that when we do push through with the reunion this week, we will inevitably touch upon Ms. Arcilla and our Tamora Pierce days and someone, probably Madi, would get all sentimental. And we’ll all just smile and roll our eyes and go…“Haay, Si Madi…”
(Can you stand anymore "To be continueds"? TO BE CONTINUED...)
Song(s) of the Week: “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes; “Lull” by Andrew Bird; “Tropical Iceland (Fiery Furnaces cover)” by Of Montreal; “Daughters of the SoHo Riots” by The National; “Elephant Gun” by Beirut; “River Card” by Atlas Sound
4. The More The Crease Marks, The Better
I had this friend back in UP Manila whom I decided to borrow a book from. Without getting too technical with the details, it’s this little-known book by this little-known astrophysicist named Stephen Hawking called A Brief History of Time; and this very brilliant and bookish friend of mine is also a little—a lot—neurotic. Anyway, before I could even lay a finger on the book, she relayed to me the “ground rules” in handling it. No smears on pages (meaning if you “think” you might smear pages with anything, make sure to wipe your hands clean…no, make that, wash your hands clean—replete with necessary hand sanitizers, please—before touching the pages). No dog-eared pages or using of clip bookmarks. Accidental rips I think would constitute something ominous; I don’t know what it was exactly or how the atoning for those sins work, but I found it all insanely funny and frightening at the same time. The craziness did not stop there. Stuck on the back flap of the cover was the COMPLETE list of rules reminiscent of the ones you’d find in library books, with its full-blown details and menacing tone. After two days of paranoia (to the point that I could practically feel my friend and her guidelines breathing down my neck on every damnable page), I decided to return it. I forgot all about the book until that faithful day months later I stumbled upon a second-hand copy. Where? Right on. Book Sale. It’s semi-ratty and smells like cheese, but I’m eternally grateful for the absence of certain fear-inducing qualities.
I always had this theory that books read should, in the very least, LOOK like it was read. Reading is an experience. Your experience. I like to think that the mere human imprint to the experience, accidental or intentional, could somehow only add to depth and character of the book. Crease marks, coffee and soy sauce stains, warped and forlorn book covers—they tell their own stories, indelible and unique. I love the idea that when I re-read my books thirty years from now and I come across some of those markings, everything I felt, thought, heard, saw against all other sensations—suffused and frozen in space and time—could conveniently and lovingly be culled from memory. Much like wrinkles are to man, they are badges of a life lived and a life made worthwhile. And as my books and I age (we might even be turning yellow and gray together), I find myself taking comfort in that thought more and more.
5. The Best Things In Life Are Shared
One of the best people I’ve known in my life to talk serious books with(or just about anything and everything for that matter) is my long-time friend Madi. I anticipate our linguistic furor in describing characters or events. For example, if she happened to have read “The Lost Girl” by D.H. Lawrence too, we never would settle on just describing Ciccio as “hot” or “sexy”. That’s a little too Paris Hilton for us. Instead, we would sling out words like “feral” or swill a couple of adverb-adjective tandems like “sensuously primeval” (and knowing Madi, she’s not one to ever run out of adjectives once you get her heart racing; or ever—that girl has a motor for a mouth and a brain). It gets even better now that Madi is in a course that requires her to read A LOT of literature because when I tell her about a book I’m about to read or I’ve just read, she somehow creates the backdrop or tone of the story for me (“…Flannery O’Connor is classified under grotesque…”) or humbles me by correcting my pronunciation (“It’s Flo-be”—when pronouncing French author Gustave Flaubert’s name or, yeah, something to that effect).
But one of the coolest things about being friends with her for so long is that we share common cornerstones for the things we love and value. In our formative grade school years (wow, I haven’t thought of TLC for a while, but this is nice and fitting), we found lasting inspirations in our mentors, especially in our Reading/Civics teacher, Ms. Arcilla, who at the time swore would die a spinster before anyone would ever ask to marry her (which, ironically but obviously, will never happen; she got married and moved to Japan by the time we were freshmen in Zobel). She opened our eyes to the magical world of hobbits (J.R.R.Tolkien) and talking cats (Lloyd Alexander); and to the wonders of time-travelling (Jostein Gaarder and Madeleine L’Engle). She made us love strong, willful and defiant heroines who wore breeches and rode like men (Tamora Pierce). She made us love beautiful passages and words that don’t quite roll off your tongue that easily; and made knowledge derived from books precious, and our first impressions worth a second or third polish.
The book corner set up in our classroom every year allowed her to share her books with us, and in turn, made us share our own. I remember my friend, Nica (a true-blue Atenista even back in the day), whom we turned to for our usual fix of historical novels about Cleopatra and Elizabeth I; and my other friend, Danni(she later became our batchmate in Zobel and was always the trend-setter) who introduced us to that little-wizard-who-could, Harry Potter. It’s funny how Madi and I would talk about the days long gone in a reverential way, because undoubtedly, those times we had sharing, reading then gushing for months and months truly were some of the fondest memories we had growing up. Most of us went our separate ways in high school, joined different cliques; all of us went our separate paths even further upon entering college. But I like to think that when we do push through with the reunion this week, we will inevitably touch upon Ms. Arcilla and our Tamora Pierce days and someone, probably Madi, would get all sentimental. And we’ll all just smile and roll our eyes and go…“Haay, Si Madi…”
(Can you stand anymore "To be continueds"? TO BE CONTINUED...)
Song(s) of the Week: “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes; “Lull” by Andrew Bird; “Tropical Iceland (Fiery Furnaces cover)” by Of Montreal; “Daughters of the SoHo Riots” by The National; “Elephant Gun” by Beirut; “River Card” by Atlas Sound
Friday, April 18, 2008
Summer Musings: The Reads (Pt. 1)
There are a couple tell-tale signs indicating that summer is in full swing (other than, of course our epic battle with the excruciating heat): 1. the malls look like weekend sales everyday, 2. beaches(I’m looking at you, Boracay) start to look like one big blob of human flesh and 3. you’re broke as hell (no school=no allowance). Personally, summer is in full-swing when I get to watch my favorite shows like the Office (Jankrasenske!) religiously for the next two months, eat more than my fair share of halo-halo in a week and read and re-read books uninterrupted by school work every day. Some of the many geeky things I love to do during summer involve coming up with tentative reading list for the month, doing inventories of books I read for the past year and book hunting around the metro. But instead of boring whoever will read this with my “inventory” (Oh boy, that WOULD be something), I will share instead a couple of home truths I’ve gained over the years when picking out/buying/reading books. I don’t know what compelled me to think I have some authority to impose my truths on anyone, but maybe it’s just a nasty blogger bug that’s been going around called megalomania. Without further ado, here are…
THE 7 UNIMPEACHABLE TRUTHS Courtesy of Yours Truly (Pt. 1)
1. ALWAYS Get Down and Dirty
My sister and I are always on a hot-hunt for book bargains. We’ve pretty much rummaged through them all—Book Sale, Books for Less, and every other book shop in Carriedo—for hours on end. One of the techniques we’ve picked up in our “bookscapades” over the years is the “get-down-and-slide”. As name suggests, you get down on your knees, scour the lowest shelf (which is often ignored since it escapes the initial visual connection of the buyer to the bookshelves), then slide with the help of your knobby knees to get to another spot across the shelf.
We noticed that this works particularly well in Book Sale. If you think the books they stack on the built-in shelves are cheap, wait till you get to the big horizontal shelf in the middle of the space which we adoringly call the “treasure trove”. On the lower part of those shelves boasts books so marked down, you feel almost guilty and sorry for having found them. Imagine buying a Booker Prize-winning book for P15. And here’s the kicker: there is no remarkable difference between the books they display on the shelves and the ones they “stow” away in the deep, dark recesses of those middle shelves.
On several occasions, you might need to add another maneuver to the technique called the “stick-your-ass-up” because looking for books here would require you to stick half your body into the shelf, while your other half is displayed for the entire world to see. The minute you get out for air, prize book in hand, you really did look like you went on trek—cheeks flushed, dirty and sticky as ever, but with a wide grin on your face. Finding great books in dark, forbidden places like these test our “navigating” skills surely, but we have this romantic notion that tantamount what explorers call “the thrill of the hunt”, only we’re geeks and we kind of hate the sun.
2. What Won’t Kill Me Will Only Make Me Doper
From my book shelf, I elect (not select) the three books that really gave my head (and several body organs) a whirl: 1. The Autumn of the Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, 2. Time’s Arrow by Martin Amis and 3. Crash by J.G. Ballard. And maybe a couple of William Faulkners. I don’t know maybe because one of them was so stingy with punctuation marks and turned each full chapter into one long paragraph. Or that the other ran the story backwards, so reading it was like watching a movie on rewind the whole way through, IN YOUR HEAD, only it’s not like watching a movie at all. And as if imagining the events that took place in Auschwitz ran forwards isn’t disturbing enough. Oh and did I tell you about this other guy who mentioned semen and blood at least a couple hundred times in the story? And that wasn’t even the worst part. But from these books I learned that sometimes the most challenging reads turn out to be the most rewarding—they can, in fact, even change your life. I, for one, can not look at the world the same way after reading them. They humbled and chastened me. Any book that could potentially do those things for you deserves at least a second, third, hell…a fifth chance, right?
3. Nothing Beats A Classic
For me, it all started with Dickens. But really it could all just have easily started with a string budget. And that’s what’s great about it—it’s priced cheap, the stories are topnotch and the words are impeccable. Classics are intimidating to many people because they assume you need an astute mind to follow the flow of the language or that the stories are a little too hard to relate to since it came out several hundred years ago. Like anything else, it’s all about taking the baby steps, finding your footing and getting comfortable with your own limbs (in this case a confidence in your ability to read them). Eventually, something switches on and you start to walk steadily, then run, and before you know it you’re doing a Tolstoy marathon. But in the end, everything else becomes secondary to the tale. And perhaps that’s the reason why they have withstood and will withstand the test of time, because they confront the mysteries of the human heart and mind that continue to baffle and astound us to this very day. These stories thrive because we live, we love, we lust, we suffer, and we die. They are our own stories made more magical by the fact that it’s written down by someone you’ve never met…someone long dead. Creepy, but pretty darn awesome. (To be continued...)
Song(s) of the Week: Haiti by Arcade Fire; Gila by Beach House; The Modern Leper by Frightened Rabbit; Lullabye by Grizzly Bear; Cruisers Creek by The Fall
THE 7 UNIMPEACHABLE TRUTHS Courtesy of Yours Truly (Pt. 1)
1. ALWAYS Get Down and Dirty
My sister and I are always on a hot-hunt for book bargains. We’ve pretty much rummaged through them all—Book Sale, Books for Less, and every other book shop in Carriedo—for hours on end. One of the techniques we’ve picked up in our “bookscapades” over the years is the “get-down-and-slide”. As name suggests, you get down on your knees, scour the lowest shelf (which is often ignored since it escapes the initial visual connection of the buyer to the bookshelves), then slide with the help of your knobby knees to get to another spot across the shelf.
We noticed that this works particularly well in Book Sale. If you think the books they stack on the built-in shelves are cheap, wait till you get to the big horizontal shelf in the middle of the space which we adoringly call the “treasure trove”. On the lower part of those shelves boasts books so marked down, you feel almost guilty and sorry for having found them. Imagine buying a Booker Prize-winning book for P15. And here’s the kicker: there is no remarkable difference between the books they display on the shelves and the ones they “stow” away in the deep, dark recesses of those middle shelves.
On several occasions, you might need to add another maneuver to the technique called the “stick-your-ass-up” because looking for books here would require you to stick half your body into the shelf, while your other half is displayed for the entire world to see. The minute you get out for air, prize book in hand, you really did look like you went on trek—cheeks flushed, dirty and sticky as ever, but with a wide grin on your face. Finding great books in dark, forbidden places like these test our “navigating” skills surely, but we have this romantic notion that tantamount what explorers call “the thrill of the hunt”, only we’re geeks and we kind of hate the sun.
2. What Won’t Kill Me Will Only Make Me Doper
From my book shelf, I elect (not select) the three books that really gave my head (and several body organs) a whirl: 1. The Autumn of the Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, 2. Time’s Arrow by Martin Amis and 3. Crash by J.G. Ballard. And maybe a couple of William Faulkners. I don’t know maybe because one of them was so stingy with punctuation marks and turned each full chapter into one long paragraph. Or that the other ran the story backwards, so reading it was like watching a movie on rewind the whole way through, IN YOUR HEAD, only it’s not like watching a movie at all. And as if imagining the events that took place in Auschwitz ran forwards isn’t disturbing enough. Oh and did I tell you about this other guy who mentioned semen and blood at least a couple hundred times in the story? And that wasn’t even the worst part. But from these books I learned that sometimes the most challenging reads turn out to be the most rewarding—they can, in fact, even change your life. I, for one, can not look at the world the same way after reading them. They humbled and chastened me. Any book that could potentially do those things for you deserves at least a second, third, hell…a fifth chance, right?
3. Nothing Beats A Classic
For me, it all started with Dickens. But really it could all just have easily started with a string budget. And that’s what’s great about it—it’s priced cheap, the stories are topnotch and the words are impeccable. Classics are intimidating to many people because they assume you need an astute mind to follow the flow of the language or that the stories are a little too hard to relate to since it came out several hundred years ago. Like anything else, it’s all about taking the baby steps, finding your footing and getting comfortable with your own limbs (in this case a confidence in your ability to read them). Eventually, something switches on and you start to walk steadily, then run, and before you know it you’re doing a Tolstoy marathon. But in the end, everything else becomes secondary to the tale. And perhaps that’s the reason why they have withstood and will withstand the test of time, because they confront the mysteries of the human heart and mind that continue to baffle and astound us to this very day. These stories thrive because we live, we love, we lust, we suffer, and we die. They are our own stories made more magical by the fact that it’s written down by someone you’ve never met…someone long dead. Creepy, but pretty darn awesome. (To be continued...)
Song(s) of the Week: Haiti by Arcade Fire; Gila by Beach House; The Modern Leper by Frightened Rabbit; Lullabye by Grizzly Bear; Cruisers Creek by The Fall
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Pilot
A few months back, I sent my best friend, Kenzo, a message in YM and it freaked him out. Nothing incriminating. It was just a simple “Hey”, followed up by a “Watsup?” And he was like, “Wow, hey, how’d you get your laptop to work?”, followed up by “I can’t believe I’m talking to you through YM! (insert huge smiley)” . The latter was definitely greater shock to him than the former, and the impression I got from him was that my first time ever “YMng” (I’m hip, get use to it) may be categorized as a breakthrough of sorts—next to the invention of the telephone, the mapping of the human genome and Pepsi with Lime. If this is any indication, I’m not all that big on online social playgrounds like YMs or multiplies (although I do have one for school purposes) or friendsters or blogs(hemm…until now). In fact, I’m not all that big on computers or gadgets either. The hip jargon, the indecipherable acronyms dumbfound me. I guess you can also categorize me as the polar opposite of a techno-savant, which I think is called a techno-retard. Or maybe I just like to keep things simple and personal.
I had my first cellphone for 7 years. Let’s just say, I had a tumultuous yet intensely gratifying relationship with my 3310. Only recently did the parental task force intervene, seeing it as an utter “embarrassment” to have around. I had them put off the “replacement” for well over a year—perhaps out of attachment or the fact that I didn’t really need a new one since the old one works just fine. Although it was not so much an embarrassment for me as it is, according to my parents, for the people around me looking at my phone (my equally weak counterargument went something like… “Sino? Yung mga tao sa jeep? Sa UP?), I did eventually get a new phone. So, my phone now is a respectable-looking Nokia 6020. It’s outdated (since, I guess, it came out three years ago) but not nearly as prehistoric as my 3310 (which came out a million years ago). Here’s one thing that’s hard to miss when choosing a cellphone though: there are WAY too many models to choose from, only be whittled down by the budget you have in hand. I, for one, had a budget so that left me with at least 6 phones to choose from. The saleslady kept offering the latest model in the bunch which of course happened to be the most expensive. She pointed out its many features—the built-in camera and radio, mp3 player, infrared, web services, GPS, its detonating capabilities, the works. If she only knew she could have had me at ‘pixels, displayed in 65,536 colors’. I held out another phone and asked what its features were (and damn if my myopic eyes can’t detect the subtle changes in form—they all just look like what a cellphone would normally look like). With a shrug, she goes “Maskonti nga lang features niyan kumpara mo dun sa isa.” which I’ve come to understand lacks just one or two of the main features she just mentioned. Again, if she only knew she could have had me at ‘the pixels with its myriad of colors’. I decided to purchase the second cheapest cellphone of the whole lot, with my integrity intact.
In a technologically-advanced landscape where you’ve got one hand in your pocket fiddling away with an iPod and the other sending a ridiculous “chaintxt” about a woman in white appearing at the edge of your bed at 2 in the morning if you “break the chain..!”, technology’s promise of an “Upgrade!”, “free P1000 load for every purchase of...” and of something “…sleeker, bolder, faster…” is just too good to pass up. You want an internet connection 100x faster than what you have now? Hey, I’ll dream if you’ll dream with me and together, we’ll make our dreams come true. How about an iPod that can store a million songs/ a million pictures and video downloads/is a camera and can be implanted in your head? Pitch your idea to Apple Computers CEO Steve Jobs and he’ll make your dreams come true. Coz your dream is apparently my dream, and our dream is his billion-dollar dream. He’ll even throw in every other model made in the past 10 seconds (hmm, wasn’t this in a Weekend Update episode in SNL?). If there’s anything these big shots know how to do is prey on the consumers’ wants and needs; how those two things in our day and age are readily adjusted to suit an idealized lifestyle. They know that dangling anything shiny and new appeals to the visceral core of consumerist culture: “Thou shall have what my neighbor’s having, lest I get left behind”. Our weakness is our insatiable want or need for more; for everything to be conveniently delivered at our doorsteps in the quickest possible time, with no delay. Technology is so much a part of every waking life—from our social interactions to our source of entertainment; from the production and distribution of our basic necessities to ensuring our security and employment. We are a slave to technology as technology is a slave to mankind. Man is a machine. Machine is man. We welcome it with outstretched arms only its consequences are more than what we’ve bargained for.
Everything is coming and going at such lightning speeds that our ability to embrace the changes is rife with alienation as it is with the trust for the bigger, brighter, more dynamic future we envisioned for ourselves. Thinking about this reminds me of this Futurist sculpture that came out at the turn of the 20th Century by Umberto Boccioni called the “Unique Forms of Continuity in Space”. Distorted planes jut out of the human figure as it “strides” its way to the future, appearing almost like a blur. It’s supposed to capture the tenacity, vitality and dynamism of the technological age—the continuous movement to hyper-reality. I get this unsettling feeling looking at it because although you know it’s a human figure it’s depicting, there is nothing remotely close to human about it. It’s alive. It appears to be moving. But it’s almost...soulless.
I fear the age where the simple pleasure of reading books and flipping one page after the other would be replaced by electronic books (given a glib title of eBooks) that you would need to scroll down to get through. Oh wait…is that already happening?
Song(s) of the Day: When I Say Go by 1900s; 2080 by Yeasayer; Tane Mahuta by The Ruby Suns; Bodysnatchers by Radiohead
I had my first cellphone for 7 years. Let’s just say, I had a tumultuous yet intensely gratifying relationship with my 3310. Only recently did the parental task force intervene, seeing it as an utter “embarrassment” to have around. I had them put off the “replacement” for well over a year—perhaps out of attachment or the fact that I didn’t really need a new one since the old one works just fine. Although it was not so much an embarrassment for me as it is, according to my parents, for the people around me looking at my phone (my equally weak counterargument went something like… “Sino? Yung mga tao sa jeep? Sa UP?), I did eventually get a new phone. So, my phone now is a respectable-looking Nokia 6020. It’s outdated (since, I guess, it came out three years ago) but not nearly as prehistoric as my 3310 (which came out a million years ago). Here’s one thing that’s hard to miss when choosing a cellphone though: there are WAY too many models to choose from, only be whittled down by the budget you have in hand. I, for one, had a budget so that left me with at least 6 phones to choose from. The saleslady kept offering the latest model in the bunch which of course happened to be the most expensive. She pointed out its many features—the built-in camera and radio, mp3 player, infrared, web services, GPS, its detonating capabilities, the works. If she only knew she could have had me at ‘pixels, displayed in 65,536 colors’. I held out another phone and asked what its features were (and damn if my myopic eyes can’t detect the subtle changes in form—they all just look like what a cellphone would normally look like). With a shrug, she goes “Maskonti nga lang features niyan kumpara mo dun sa isa.” which I’ve come to understand lacks just one or two of the main features she just mentioned. Again, if she only knew she could have had me at ‘the pixels with its myriad of colors’. I decided to purchase the second cheapest cellphone of the whole lot, with my integrity intact.
In a technologically-advanced landscape where you’ve got one hand in your pocket fiddling away with an iPod and the other sending a ridiculous “chaintxt” about a woman in white appearing at the edge of your bed at 2 in the morning if you “break the chain..
Everything is coming and going at such lightning speeds that our ability to embrace the changes is rife with alienation as it is with the trust for the bigger, brighter, more dynamic future we envisioned for ourselves. Thinking about this reminds me of this Futurist sculpture that came out at the turn of the 20th Century by Umberto Boccioni called the “Unique Forms of Continuity in Space”. Distorted planes jut out of the human figure as it “strides” its way to the future, appearing almost like a blur. It’s supposed to capture the tenacity, vitality and dynamism of the technological age—the continuous movement to hyper-reality. I get this unsettling feeling looking at it because although you know it’s a human figure it’s depicting, there is nothing remotely close to human about it. It’s alive. It appears to be moving. But it’s almost...soulless.
I fear the age where the simple pleasure of reading books and flipping one page after the other would be replaced by electronic books (given a glib title of eBooks) that you would need to scroll down to get through. Oh wait…is that already happening?
Song(s) of the Day: When I Say Go by 1900s; 2080 by Yeasayer; Tane Mahuta by The Ruby Suns; Bodysnatchers by Radiohead
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
