[ T - T R A i N ]

Sketches II

Because sometimes the most convenient thing to sketch is just what's in front of you...

Sketches

Bought myself a 12-piece set of watercolor pencils last weekend. Trying to tap into some of my creative energies again.

There were larger sets of watercolor pencils available--from the still rather modest 24 and going up to the substantial 36. I chose the smallest set because I wanted the fun (and challenge) of mixing my own colors, layering one over the other without sometimes not knowing what effect it would have. I sort of wanted to go back to the basics and re-familiarize with color theory, and working with a limited palette would force me to do that. (I wasn't one of those kids who went crazy over those big boxes of Crayola.) So, doing my first couple of sketches, I surprised even myself with how my technique has changed even if I haven't done any sketching in such a long time. My approach to color has also changed; I don't see objects or planes as big blobs of color anymore. Having studied and long admired Impressionist and post-Impressionist painters, one would think that their philosophy would have rubbed off on me, so to speak. I did try to copy them, but therein lay the problem. Copying was not the same as seeing.

I've recently come to depend on the computer to help me in many of my creative projects. It is rather nice to be able to hold hold something in my hands, other than a mouse, and have that familiar control over something more organic like a pencil.

I have almost forgotten about this... The last time I remember reading this was many years ago. But then it tends to pop up around Valentine's Day. But this is poem, written by Rico Abelardo, is a favorite of many on any occasion. Hindi siya kumukupas.

Mangyari Lamang

Mangyari lamang ay tumayo ang mga nagmamahal
Nang makita ng lahat ang mukha ng pag-ibig
Ipamalas ang tamis ng malalim na pagkakaunawaan
Sa mga malabo ang paningin.

Mangyari lamang na tumayo rin ang mga nagmahal at nasawi
Nang makita ng lahat ang mga sugat ng isang bayani
Ipadama ang pait ng kabiguan
Habang ipinagbubunyi ang walang katulad
Na kagitingan ng isang nagtaya.

Mangyari lamang ay tumayo ang mga nangangambang magmahal
Nang makita ng lahat ang kilos ng isang bata
Ipamalas ang katapatan ng damdamin na pilit ikinukubli
Ng pusong lumaki sa mga engkanto’t diwata.

Mangyari lamang na tumayo ang nagmahal, minahal at iniwan
Ngunit handa pa ring magmahal
Nang makita ng lahat ang yaman ng karanasan
Ipamalas ang katotohanang nasaksihan
Nang maging makahulugan ang mga paghahagulhol sa dilim.

At sa mga nanatiling nakaupo
Mangyari lamang ay dahan-dahang tumalilis
Palabas sa nakangangang pinto
Umuwi na kayo!
At sumbatan ang mga magulang
Na nagpalaki ng isang halimaw.

At sa lahat ng mga nakaiwang nakatayo
Mangyari lamang na hagkan ang isa’t isa
At yakapin ang mga sugatan
Mabuhay tayong lahat
Na nagsisikap makabalik sa ating pinagmulan
Manatiling masaya at higit sa lahat
Magpatuloy sa pagmamahal.

-Rico Abelardo

The circus comes to town...

We've been hearing so much from the candidates the last few months that I almost forgot that the official campaigning period just started. Right now everything is still a muddle of information--a combination of facts and rumors. I think people these days are really interested about the process. I'm sure that almost everyone will have an opinion. But we all better do our homework first. Do your research. Look for facts. Reading and hearing other people's opinions are important but know what they are based on. Apply a critical eye on everyhing you read and hear. Hopeully, you'll find a candidate (or candidates since we're voting for several posts, both national and local) that you can fully back and support. Should that fail, at least find someone who will create the least damage. That sounds vey cynical but the truth is the perfect candidate does not (yet) exist. In any case, we must all still exercise our right to choose our leaders.

So, let the fun begin!

Old Blog, New Venue

I decided I needed to back up my blog here at Typepad so I imported over the archives over to WordPress. Some of the embedded elements–mostly videos, I think–seem to not have have survived the import process so I’m missing some stuff. And there are a few formatting issues. But all the words are there, which is what this blog is mostly about anyway. So, here you go: [ T - T R A i N ] Blog is now on WordPress.

Story of a flood

A couple of weekends ago, a couple of friends and I tried to pull together whatever resources we could gather--cash, cleaning equipment, warm bodies--to help out a another friend who  became one of Typhoon Ondoy's (Ketsana) hapless victims. I shared the experience to a friend in the US a few days later and it ended up being the bulk of my email. I guess it was my way to debrief--or to process the experience. I would also like share part of the email here.

A lot of places are still under water and many families have not yet been able to resume normal lives. Last Sunday, me and my friends drove up north to Montalban (in the province of Rizal) to help another friend, R, clean up his house. Two Saturdays ago, the water in his area rose above the roof of his house. He and his family had to seek shelter at a neighbor's house that had a second floor. But even there, the water rose to waist level. They were not rescued until 2 am the next day.

When we picked our friend up and we were driving up to his house, R recounted his experience to us. He seems to be coping well, although there's definitely a bit of trauma. He said he and his wife still get nightmares at night. Their 4-year old son, though, seems to be doing okay and does not even realize the gravity of what happened (which is probably for the best). It was a bit disconcerting at first for R to punctuate his stories of the flood with laughter. How should one react when someone tells you "We almost drowned!" while laughing? We laughed with him. It was good to see him there, alive, and with his family intact. He lost almost everything in terms of property, but it could have been worse, and he realizes that. That's why he is able to laugh about the experience.

We didn't know what to expect at the site. We just knew that the area was still about knee deep in mud. We came prepared with every cleaning equipment you could think of. I scoured the internet for cleaning tips post flood. There were a lot out there, especially after Katrina. However, what we saw wasn't anything like what we were expecting. Cleaning up didn't mean washing out filth, picking out the flotsam that washed in from the river, or sorting and rearranging their stuff. Cleaning up, as a first phase, meant shoveling out mud. Liquid mud, hard mud, runny mud. Brown mud, green mud, gray mud, red mud. Dirt, soil, loam, clay, silt, rocks. Chocolate pudding, mousse, batter, cream, cake, brownie. But whatever the shape, the color, the form, the texture, it smelled like the earth. Walking into the house felt like burying your face into the ground.

R's house, now that I'm trying to remember its dimensions, is just a little bit bigger than the kitchen in my family's house. It was really a very modest size and very simple in both design and construction. But the whole floor area had about a foot and half of mud on it. Their personal stuff, furniture and appliances where strewn all over the place. (At one point, according to R, a neighbor's refrigerator settled on their roof.) It was dark, damp, and depressing. So, for about five hours that day, equipped with three shovels, a few pieces of plywood, and some plastic trays, we moved mud from inside the house and onto the street. The street, however, was already knee high with mud and the tractor still hadn't hauled mud off of it. Our group of four grew to a group of seven. We got mud on our boots, legs, shirts, arms, faces. It was pure physical back-breaking work. We were on our feet the whole time because there was no place to sit. All around his neighbors were doing the same thing. I tried to work for as long as I could, with as little break I could bear, because resting would mean leaving them with a home that could have been a little bit cleaner. We managed to clear a lot of floor space but the house still wasn't livable by the time we left. So far from it. And that was a little depressing.

They're not sure about moving back permanently, although I'm sure R would like to be able to do that. They haven't been in that house for more than two years. They really have nowhere else to go. But when or how do they even begin to go back to their normal lives? Unfortunately, it's going to take more than house cleaning to sort things out for them. The psychological shambles that the flood had wrought will be the trickier bit to fix.

Three days later, my body is not so sore anymore. But that's really nothing to complain about when put against the kind of pain others have suffered because of the typhoon and floods. While we were shoveling dirt at R's house, we joked that we would dream about it that night. Sure enough, I did. Lying in my bed that night, I could still smell the earth. It wasn't an unpleasant smell; it was, in fact, a very familiar smell. It reminded me of the community I served as a volunteer in Bukidnon. So, when I closed my eyes, I could smell the outdoors. But then, in my mind's eye I could see my shovel slicing through the sticky mud and scraping the concrete floor beneath it. That was the image I saw, over and over and over... Until I drifted off to sleep. But even in my dreams I was trying to finish the job we left half done.

Unfortunately, R's story is just one story among thousands. Many more suffered from the floods and are very much worse off. At this point, it's just hard to imagine how so many people are going to rebuild their lives.

Then, just a few weeks after Ondoy, Typhoon Pepeng (Parma) wreaked havoc up north, causing massive flooding and and landslides. I hope Good Samaritan fatigue has not set in yet.

What a "Harvard Study" actually means...

I worked on a semester-long group project for my advanced budgeting class, which looked at the cost and efficiency of snow-plowing operations in Boston. We made our final presentation to the city staff on Monday and to Mayor Menino on Tuesday, the latter culminating in an end-of-class celebration at an Irish pub across from city hall. (Unfortunately, the mayor was not able to join us. We wanted to buy him some shots.) There was an reporter (and photographer) from the Boston Herald--God bless the hearts of print media people--present at the Menino briefing, which resulted in the two articles that were published today.

Harvard: Thomas Menino, You Can Fix This Mess

Boston's gas lamps spark high costs

It's funny how they summarized many months worth of reseach and analysis into, let's see, about four hundred words. But such is the nature of the business. We were lucky to be given a few inches. (What? No photo?) Even funnier, though, are the readers' comments.

And now I'm still waiting to know if my group from another class is going to present to the mayor of Somerville our study on the city's emergency preparedness plan. Somehow, I do not see a pub party at the end of that one.

Bicoastal

I have never lived in the west coast of the United States. I have called New York, Washington, DC, and Boston (Cambridge) home in the last few years and the east coast lifestyle and sensibility, however one might choose to define them, seem to suit me very well. However, I find that songs about California seem to have found space in my list of favorite songs. Two of them are Joni Mitchell and Rufus Wainwright songs. Joni Mitchell's 'California'  is probably in my top five. A track from Mitchell's superb album Blue, she accompanies herself on an Appalachian dulcimer while plainly singing about wanting to go home to California, a haven from the life she has been living. I love the simplicity of it--the lyrics, the sparse arrangement, and the purity of Mitchell's voice.

Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues 

Then there is Rufus Wainwright's more lively song about California. Most of the lyrics do not make sense to me, and the song seems to be more cynical, even sarcastic--"Life is the longest death in California"--rather than sentimental. I like the playfulness of it anyway. (Besides, how many songs mentions Bea Arthur by name?)

And if anyone's missing the now defunct series 'The O.C.,' we also have the Phantom Planet's song, which served as the show's theme. Very pop but still enjoyable.

But what really inspired this post was Jill Sobule's new song, 'San Francisco,' from her album California Years.

"I like to go to San Francisco
I like to go
Put flowers in my hair
I like to go to San Francisco
I like to meet
Some people there"

And in Golden Gate Park
She'll throw a Frisbee
She'll bring a dog
And she'll meet a boy
And they'll fall in love
And she'll feel so free.

Listening to all these songs, especially Sobule's, makes me wistful for a place I have never lived in...

When parents join Facebook...

The name of the blog says it al: Oh Crap. My Parents Joined Facebook.

John Mayer, "Dreaming With a Broken Heart"

I remember first hearing 'No Such Thing' on WFUV, my radio station in New York. It was the first single out of Mayer's first CD Room for Squares. I was in grad school and WFUV was my arbiter of good music. Although the song came from the perspective of a high schooler, I was then approaching my own threshold and, in some ways, felt that I needed to prove something--if not to the world, then to myself, at least. I guess I was going through my quarter-life crisis. (That was also around the same time that Jonathan Safran Foer came out with his debut novel, Everything Is Illuminated, and I wanted to hate him for being so young and talented, but he he turned out to be a real mensch when I actually got to meet him at a signing. Here's a short story by Foer that others might find gimmicky but, personally, I found it delightful and heart wrenching at the same time.)

I got to see John Mayer one summer after having received from WFUV a free ticket for an afternoon concert at Central Park. I took my eternally snarky friend LT, who's also a big music snob, with me and he complained about the bubblegum-ness of the songs. It did not help that there were way too many teen-aged (or at least, teen-age looking) girls in the audience. And it was raining just before the concert started. I enjoyed it, though. That was just right before John Mayer broke through as an artist.

Mayer has mad skills as a guitar player, and he can do pop, rock, jazz, or blues. And not only does he know how to write good melody, his lyrics resonate with me. Must be an age thing.

Oh, Johnny Boy... You might have questionable taste in women--Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jessica Simpson, Jennifer Aniston, and God knows who else--but I still think you are a great musician and a thoughtful songwriter.

Dreaming With A Broken Heart

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
You roll outta bed and down on your knees
And for a moment you can hardly breathe
Wondering was she really here?
Is she standing in my room?
No she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The giving up is the hardest part
She takes you in with her crying eyes
Then all at once you have to say goodbye
Wondering could you stay my love?
Will you wake up by my side?
No she can't, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

Now do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands
Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?
Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?
Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my , roses in my hands?

Would you get them if i did?
No you won't, 'cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone....

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part