Thursday, January 29, 2009

Anyone know...

that thing Stevie does near the end of one of Little Wing's choruses? It's escaped me for close to a decade now. I cannot figure it out. I have an idea of how it's done; I've played something that sounds like it--but I can't use it anywhere else. Somebody help!

Wait! I'm Lost.

Do you know I'm an overweight, lazy sod who can't be forced to exercise? Are you aware that I view perpetually chucking salty, oily food into my mouth as a religious exercise? Do you have high-tech monitoring equipment lodged into each burger I take in, each bag of chips that inevitably meets its maker the moment it touches my hands? Or has heaven seen fit to send me a lifeline? Yet again, the task involves the mention of weight loss pills.

Kung Hei Fat Choke

This year, I promise to try and practice writing a lot more. I need to learn how to do it, and how to do it well. I need to find out how the greats did it. Sure, I'll never have their talent but I think if I had an inkling of how they thought, how they always saw things so differently, and how they managed to muster the patience to see their ideas through, I'd be able to produce something that remotely resembles a piece of literature. That's my thing for the year. If squat happens, I'll start learning how to come up with catchy names for night clubs and the sort. Nothing beats seeing something you made in neon signs or, as this is the 21st century, digital signages.

Monday, January 05, 2009

Coming Up Roses

I think my younger brother's finally starting to find his rhythm. After what seemed like an eternity of goofing around and generally acting like everyone in the entire universe owed him a favor, he's wised up and started a small business. From what I hear, business is good and he's not unhappy about the hours and being his own boss, either. He's got what you may call minor issues with authority figures, as evidenced by the sheer number of jobs he's rifled through (sales jobs, desk jobs, manual labor, you name it) so it's great that he's seemed to have found a niche. I'm thrilled for him. For the first time in a long while, I can see pride in his eyes again and his step has a confident bounce to it. Looks like we're in for a good year.

Monday, December 08, 2008


How much of an asshole do you have to be before I can call you one?

Well? Judging from the way things are nowadays there has to be a limit, a quota of sorts. So what is it then? The mass murder of millions of Jews?

Look, if we all sat down and tried to really understand that everyone truly is unique, jails everywhere would be empty. If we all were truly special, how come we're in the mess we're in? This is a message I firmly believe must be sounded: there are idiots out there and it's OK to hate the crap out of them.

Tolerance is one thing, but it can't be the cure-all for everything. Like those juvenile delinquents you see crying almost every week on talk TV. Why didn't you think about missing your mother before you jacked that car? Here's the rub: what do the wise sages we call talk show hosts do? They blame the parents. They blame society. They blame the media. But they try to understand things from the point of view of that car-jacking, crack-smoking piece of shit that just blew a one-year old child to pieces. You can't sit down and try to understand that kind of shit. You let the fucker rot in jail.

You can't sit on a fence for extended periods of time, your ass tends to get tired. You can't make excuses for every jackass out there, you'll eventually run out and be left with "to each his own, I suppose." I have loads of respect for people who can say that line sincerely, but I also want to say them that it's OK to call it like it is sometimes. Everything in moderation, so they say, and the same goes for bullshit. There's so much of it flying around these days you'd think heaven was a dairy farm.

You know what I mean, but people say you just can't say it:
  • Everyone thinks their kids are smart. Everyone. If this were true, how come there are special classes for the slow learners? If this were the case, wouldn't the world be crawling with geniuses by now? If these parents are such keen observers, why is reality TV such a big thing?
  • You call yourself a poet, musician, writer, photographer; an artist. Yes, you are a/an ______. Yes, you and 25 gazillion other people who all claim the same thing. Ergo, YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL. You'd think with the number of talented individuals out there we'd all be puking enrichment. But we aren't. You're an artist? I say you are full of crap. You want to know why I can say that? It's because I am just an under-achieving bloke with internet access. Beat that, you pretentious prick.
  • Blogs. Much like this one, no one cares about yours.
  • That jerk from work. All that asshole does now that he's moneyed and people talk to him is lash out at the world because everyone he knew when he was a little jerk slapped him around. He acts all high, mighty, and popular. He talks about dates with hot women that never really happened. He buys the latest gadgets, always catches up on the latest styles, hypes up Web 2.0, and takes yoga classes. All in an effort to prove to people how he's now got it made. Guess what-- he is still a jerk. A rich, possibly very powerful jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.
  • Don't get me started on self fucking help. No amount of literature will ever make up for the beatings your parents never gave you. If you feel like no one loves you, you're probably right. It's a bit difficult to even like someone who spouts out cliches and quotes Phil McGraw every 5 minutes. Feel like grabbing the latest motivational bestseller? Try alcohol: it's loads cheaper and ten times the fun.
  • Maniacs on motorcycles. If these idiots are so keen on dying, I know several thousand law-abiding motorists who can help them.
(List shall be updated.)

Friday, December 05, 2008

A Mugging

There was a show on maglev trains the other night on the Discovery Channel and the technology and physics that drive the trains are mind-blowing. Imagine; the highest recorded speed of a maglev train is 581 km/h (that’s just over 360 mph, for our American friends)—that’s Baguio and back in under an hour… with only magnets propelling the train! There are numerous ways of applying the technology, but the underlying principle is always the same: powerful electromagnets and their opposing magnetic fields push a 50-ton train from point A to B. I don’t believe performance is an issue but the economics may well be, though. Maglev transport systems are notoriously expensive to build, but, proponents claim operation and maintenance costs are less than those of traditional trains and even buses. One thing’s for sure, however; don’t count on a maglev train ferrying you and your friends to Baclaran anytime soon.

Hand Support

I’ve not put much thought into it, but you know I think even keyboard-slamming, pencil-pushing us desk jockeys need some sort of disability insurance. Sure technical writing isn’t exactly the world’s most dangerous occupation but what if, fate forbid, I lose a hand or even just several fingers? I can’t very well type using my nose or my tongue now, can’t I? With my life insurance payments almost done, it’s probably a good thing to think about when the new year comes in.

Look, Ma! Just look!

Copyright Sherwin Ian S. Reyes