Global!

You have to hand it to their marketing people. After comparing themselves favorably with the likes of Ateneo and La Salle, Informatics is now going after UP.


They have testimonials! From UP alumni, to boot.

Para sa mga Mag-aaral ni Pekto, Ngayong Tag-Araw

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta."

- Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

Superego

Justice Cruz noted in his column last weekend how Philippine schools confer "scores of awards" on every graduate during commencement exercises. While I barely received any honorific after elementary school, it brought to mind the one and only award I received from my "beloved alma meyter" (their pronunciation, not mine) many years ago.

It was an award given to me by default, since I was the editor of the school paper that year (I actually shared the award with the valedictorian, who was that year's editor of the Filipino paper). I presume that all previous editors of the paper received the same award in all the years past since its inception. I guess it was mine to lose, and apparently, I did not piss enough people off to lose it (This, notwithstanding the fact that I was summoned to the principal's office, and was personally approached by two teachers, who gave unsolicited advice, because of what was published in the first issue. The adviser later publicly claimed all responsibility, as he should have).

(During my junior year, someone who was bold and presumptuous enough, through sheer confidence and audacity, conceitedly claimed to know who was going to be the next editor, and announced the same to everybody who cared to listen - nevermind that she was in no way, shape or form, connected with the paper. Had she been right, I wouldn't have received this token honorific at all. Why do I still remember these things?)

(That year's Corps Commander - a classmate and a friend - may have pissed off one person too many - the Commandant. He lost the Cadet of the Year award to the Corps Ex-O that year; not that I cared about the CAT - if I remember correctly, I was one of only three persons with the rank of Cadet Private in our class, and I am, to this day, very proud of it.)

Justice Cruz likewise mentioned that he congratulated his grandson "for being the only graduate in his big class who did not receive a single award, not even for being handsome." With that qualification I can no longer say that I can completely feel the Justice's grandson's pain (or bliss, depending on how you look at it) - not that I do not deserve an award for being mouth-watering - my name was, after all, printed twice in the program (the second being in the class list). What prompted this random rant, however, was Justice Cruz' observation that his grandson was able to later accomplish something, that in my really biased opinion, more than adequately made up for whatever it is he missed on his graduation. To that, I can totally, absolutely, completely empathize with.

And I Thought Cogon Grass Was Nasty

"Baby out, baby out . . ."

I guess it's safe to say that I will not be able to look at a canister of Black Suede body spray the same way ever again.

Nirvana

"No more classes, no more books, no more teachers, dirty looks!"

- Bugs Bunny

Since summer classes were required for the duration of my stay in college (the last summer term was optional, but I was dating someone then, and the allowance that I had to forego if I did not enrol, was rather quite difficult to resist, moreso for a "starving" college student like me), the last time I had a real summer break was the summer immediately after graduation. I remember haggling with my then future employer about starting in May. I remember sorely needing a respite. Either that, or I was just plain lazy.

While there are no summer classes at Malcolm, the flexibility of the final exam schedules usually result in a virtually non-existent summer break. At the end of 2006, we had to deal with a professor who supposedly sent his questions via email to his staff, which questions, we were told, mysteriously got lost somewhere in the maze that is the information superhighway. We found out later on, that we had the exact same questions with us from the very first day of classes.

Last year, a professor who I saw for a grand total of four (4) times in the classroom, asked us to submit our answers to his final take-home exam on the last weekend of May. Enrolment for the coming academic year, was about a week thereafter.

This year, after dropping one persecution syndrome sufferer, we were left with (1) a course in which a failure is as close to an impossible condition as one can get, (2) another in which we knew that nobody is going to flunk if this one particular person passed (he did, so we're all expecting 1s), and finally, (3) the mother lode of all pain, suffering and perseverance.

For the first time in a long while, I have two months to do, well, absolutely nothing. So, for the next 60 days, except for the few times that the government decides to ruin my day and air propaganda (or their version of fiction) instead of regular programming, I get to enjoy RPN/CS; I get to wonder why Lyka and her pack don't just get rabies shots (mostly I just stare at the lead actress, ogle is too strong a word); I get to see a high school classmate flip her hair in a detergent ad on TV; I get to watch all the basketball I want (but, I missed KU-Memphis - the best college game in recent memory was aired the morning of Civpro finals); I get to play all the NBA Live that I want; and maybe, just maybe, I get to have some productive work done at the office.

I also have 60 days to have seven teeth filled, and bring my wife to her PT sessions. I have a book to finish, an outing to attend, and a trip to plan. I have all these lovely things to do, which does not involve, among others, getting screamed at and remembering periods for filing petitions and appeals.

Can you believe it? Fantastic.

Shock and Awe

"No matter how great and destructive your problems may seem now, remember, you've probably only seen the tip of them."

For close to three hours last Tuesday, I felt like a deer staring at headlights. Since yesterday, I have been feeling like an ostrich looking for a hole in the ground to stick my head in.

Now, I know what "not knowing what hit you" means. Ugh.

Proud to be a Cervinian