| Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed |
[May. 25th, 2006|11:05 am] |
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Hello Mikey,
Two years ago today we met each other for the first time. The meeting place was Washington Square Park, under the Arch that serves as the centerpiece of Greenwich Village. The weather was good that summer and regardless of all the steel and asphalt that New York is known for, the city was especially green from all the trees. I had just taken off my gloves from the lab, and was taking the elevator down to meet you. I didn’t really know what to expect. I had just about given up all my faith in boys, and the only expectation I had was for you to show up. I came there and I couldn't find you. I thought that you would be waiting directly underneath the arch. I called your cell phone and instead you came out of a shaded corner, looking timid but very handsome. We had dinner at a sushi place then and we went to see a quirky independent movie afterwards. Do you remember that one: Mi Madre Gusta Las Mujeres? We talked for a bit and I showed you a couple of historic sites of Edna St. Vincent Millay's Greenwich Village. After that, you wanted to see Central Park. It was late then, and it had become cold and quite dark. The advantage, though, was that it had driven most other people away and we had parts of the park all to ourselves. ...That was probably one of the happiest moments of my life.
It's been two years since then, and who knew we would last this long? Since then, I've graduated from college, you had just graduated from high school, and I began (somewhat prematurely) graduate school. I knew you from your first two years of college, I saw you get drunk for (what I think was) your first time, and, well, we've shared alot of firsts together, haven't we? So, yes, it's been two years and that is definitely something to smile about. To many people you act funny and impersonal, like a porcupine, but to me, you've always been a dear. You've never done anything to cross me in any way, and you're like the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Mikey, who brightens up any day. (Now I know where that saying comes from. It’s you. ^_^). It's been two years, but time doesn't work the same way for me as it does for anyone else. When I'm happy it goes by quickly, and when I'm sad it lingers on slowly. These two years have gone by pretty quick haven't they?
Love,
Noely |
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| A-tisket a-tasket/ A green and yellow basket/ I wrote a letter to my love/ & on the way I dropped it |
[May. 15th, 2006|10:43 am] |
So, tomorrow’s my birthday. When my sister asked me this weekend what I wanted for it, I realized that my wish list is rather small. As a hobbyist and an aspiring engineer, most of the things I want are beyond what people can give me. Yet, I’ve narrowed down the list to a few several things.
1. An iPod. An Apple iMac without an iPod is like Dorothy without the Ruby Red Slippers. It’s just not right. I don’t need much storage space because I don’t listen to much music (I have a one-track mind and it gets in the way of engineering work), but it’s nice to have for those long journeys back home. A cheaper iPod shuffle ($99), or a contribution to help me buy an iPod shuffle, is just fine. Of course, if I do get a larger 30GB iPod ($300), I could use it as a portable hard drive…
2. A copy of Microsoft Office created before 2003
3. Money to help me buy data decryption software ($100), but of course I can’t speak too much about this… all you have to know is that I can decrypt things for you as well once I get it…
4. Old computers: Parts can be salvaged. I know.
5. Old software disks: to run on said old computers, or just because the newer versions of some software that are coming out sometimes do less than the old ones because of pesky corporate lawyers.
6. Links to or copies of video game system emulating software. (I can probably find this online myself, but I’m too lazy to and I don’t always have the best copy or version).
7. If you’re at all inclined to gaming, I would seriously appreciate it if you would play World of Warcraft with me on the Proudmoore, Draenor, or Bleeding Hollow servers. I have two friends at Penn who play, my sister and her boyfriend play, and after I get him the disc, my brother will be playing as well; but this is the type of game that gets more fun as more people become involved. Seriously, if you want to play this game, I will BUY the disc ($50) for you. That’s how much I want you to play. I’ll even protect your character, as I’m gaining levels quickly and can help you while your character grows.
With that said, I’m turning 22! I’m going to celebrate by buying some strawberry cordial, to serve on the brand new cordial set my sister just gave me… |
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| Passing the Year |
[May. 4th, 2006|07:48 pm] |
My exams are finished. I have a wonderful job. It lets me interact with people and do my work without being too demanding of me. I have an apartment, and my loans are steadily being repaid. My sister and her boyfriend have now moved to Philadelphia, offering a familial presence in this city. My parents are moving to a new house. Although some of my friends are graduating, I still have many that will be left here. Small things matter too: this new computer that I’m typing on, and the new toys that occupy my time. My work has been handed in. It’s done. I feel like my back is broken, but my soul and my will are being renewed. I’m done. Done -- that word feels like honey to roll off my tongue… I have the summer to look forward to, and at the end of it all, the handsomest boy in the world is waiting for me back home. At the end of the night, I think of his face, with his blond hair and those baby blue eyes… god. damn. I could just die…
Paean
So one year passes and here I am,
No worse for the wear,
Tracking the streets
Like a contented fox
With his belly full.
It doesn’t matter necessarily
Who or what incarnation I am or
Where exactly this destination lies.
Nose down and feet pitching forth,
Leaves turn over like yesterday’s dream.
I could go on and lose myself forever.
A year, a city, passes by so easily,
Like a breath or an exalted sigh,
And I hesitate just momentarily to take stock
And feel for the presence of this wayward soul.
Beat, come, and let the steady pulse sing to me,
Press your hand upon this restless heart,
For I am real, and you are there,
And beneath this scrim
Of heart beating, arteries pulsating,
And breath riding in and out,
Lies a treasure, real and tangible.
Hold your breath still and watch!
(Who cares if nothing gold can stay?)
No sense in killing the moment out in measured time…
(I pray never to lose this sense of childlike wonder.)
--Noel Darlucio Pura
Philadelphia, 2006
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| Pleasant Diversions |
[Apr. 28th, 2006|02:55 pm] |
The idea of an alternate reality will always appeal to me. To be able to change bodies and consciousnesses at will seems like something that would be superior to mere experience. Yes, it would be like something out of a science fiction novel, but what’s the harm in diverting the rational mind, no?...
Well, to make a long story short, and to nonetheless return to the mundane, my entire existence outside of work has more or less been sucked completely into a certain virtual product by Blizzard Entertainment called World of Warcraft. I started playing it as soon as I established my internet connection. I blame Derek for this, but then again, I’ve always had a certain proclivity for fantasy. It was just waiting for the right time (that is, free time) to come out.
(If you’re reading this, and if you happen to play, be sure to give me your server, faction, and name. Maybe we can go on a quest together. I have four characters on four servers so far, and I’m reading the novels too. I finished one overnight. God help me.)
In terms of other news, my sister moved to Philadelphia yesterday to begin her new job. She has a beautiful apartment on Jeweler’s Row, in one of the nicer parts of Philadelphia.
I’m to go to Jersey City this weekend to help my parents move out of their house. I have a nice package for my dad. Hopefully he’ll appreciate it.
Next week I have exams, and then Sarah’s thesis defense on James Joyce to attend.
Mike had a music recital yesterday, that unfortunately, I couldn’t attend. I want to hear him play again soon.
I started tests on a new cancer patient. She recently had her entire nose removed, and invokes much sympathy to look at, but hopefully it will be reconstructed again soon.
I can’t get too close -- just skim the surface, be objective, and move on.
I need to start studying again, lest this laziness get ahold of me. I have been writing some poetry recently, but I need to make the leap back to engineering again before this exam. At this point, it’s like entering another world. I’ve been so removed. |
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| Booting oneself up by the bootstraps… |
[Apr. 14th, 2006|02:16 pm] |
Fine, I’ll admit it. From the look of the screenshots, the new version of Microsoft’s Windows, Vista, is beautiful. It’s enough to almost make me want to buy it. Almost. Even at academic pricing, Vista is going to cost a fortune. I don’t know if and how all of my friends will be able to afford it. It’s enough to make me want to stick to Linux and only Linux altogether.
I need to say something about Windows XP. When Mac OS X came out, it made me lose all love for XP altogether. The OS X Tiger was a huge incentive for me to switch to Macs. I don’t regret that decision. OS X is far more beautiful and far more secure than XP. Just look at all the malware, spyware, and adware out there and you’ll know what I’m talking about… Granted, I did silly things with XP that I probably shouldn’t have, but it was the first operating system I really got to know. For that, I at least have some fondness for it. (…For those of you reading this who don’t know, I had a very late introduction to computing because my parents are fairly computer illiterate [some would say downright fearful] and never saw fit to have a computer in the house. I only started learning right before I went to college…)
The Mac OS X just beats Windows XP, but when Vista comes out, I may change my mind again. Luckily (or perhaps, disagreeably), Apple will be releasing their new Mac OS X Leopard at about the same time Vista comes out (late 2006 / early 2007). Knowing me, I’ll probably end up lusting after and buying both. I just don’t know how I’m ever going to afford it. This will probably be one of the few times I’ll relish being a student. Academic pricing is a huge deal when you buy as many computer products as I do… Upgrading hardware is going to be an issue too. Vista will use up a whopping 256 MB of RAM, which is pretty much all that my 2002-purchased laptop has. It won’t be running on that computer. By the time Vista comes out, I should have a whopping monster gaming rig that will rival most business-class computers. Of course, there is a solution from having to having to spend so much on software:
And here he is:
Tux, the Linux mascot. |
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| Macmaker, Macmaker, make me a Mac... |
[Apr. 11th, 2006|08:50 pm] |
I'm so happy. A certain long awaited-for package just arrived in the mail today. I'm going to spend all night playing with it... (What am I still doing here after class?) Bye!
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| The Makers Speak |
[Apr. 7th, 2006|09:52 am] |
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Apple Bootcamp
Apple has just released a dual-boot for Intel Macs, or to put it in other words, Macs will now be able to boot Windows. My mind is blowing. Is it the marriage of PCs and Macs? Just about, in my humble opinion… I still can’t wait for the iMac to arrive… It won’t have an Intel processor, but I’ll get one eventually, you’ll see. …I’m also going to get my hands on a copy of the Linux OS this weekend. I met a great gamer (Derek) at Penn yesterday, and if I fall in love with this MMORPG as expected, I may just get / build a fourth computer to use as a gaming rig. It will be a massive Franken-Mac-Monster. I’m dreaming of having one computer capable of running Windows XP, Mac OS X, and Linux. The possibilities are endless. |
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| Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue |
[Apr. 2nd, 2006|04:09 pm] |
New things will always continue to surprise me. These past few weeks have been a time of many “firsts,” and things have been so spontaneous and lovely these days, I haven’t even bothered to record them all.
First, Sarah finally came to visit me after many months-- nearly a year actually-- of not seeing me at all. The last I saw of her was before my graduation, and then we were consumed by academic life. I contacted her out of the blue to tell her about the Margaret Atwood event, and to my surprise, she came! …It’s so lovely to see old friends. It melted my heart a little on the inside, and then she had to go back home.
Margaret Atwood was lovely. She started the talk with jokes about Canada and feminism, very casually to my surprise. She carries herself so well, so effortlessly, as if floating on clouds. It is interesting to know that one so sharp and witty can be so disarming in person. I would have never thought such a small, sprightly woman could write such incisive, dystopian, and at times, romantic prose. …One more thing… but this will have to come later (you’ll see).
What else? In the past three weeks, I’ve bought three computers. These are three more computers than I’ve ever bought in my life. The first was a gift to Mikey, an IBM laptop that I bought him for his birthday. The second was an iMac flat-panel G4 that I bought for myself. It was a compromise between the price and the newer G5, but I’ve always wanted a Mac, and this one is beautiful. Powerful too. I can’t wait for it to arrive in the mail. The third computer was a much older PowerMac G3, that I bought yesterday from a local merchant for a sweet deal. It’s definitely not powerful enough to do what I anticipate on doing, but I wanted a cheap Mac I could disassemble and play with. I cracked open the case yesterday and the internal architecture was beautiful …spectacular …breathtaking. I’ve never had the élan to open a computer before, and now that I’ve been studying computers so fervently, each step took on new meaning. I’m going to upgrade everything I possibly can, and when I’m done with it, I’ll have a powerful little Mac-monster. I’m planning on giving it to one of my poor cousins in the Philippines. It won’t be a Windows computer like most people are used too, but I know she’ll love it. After all the work I put into it, I’m probably going to have a fit parting with it myself.
I went to an Apple Store for the first time in Ruby Soho. I was in Mac Heaven. The walls were white and ephemeral and everything fit into place perfectly. The stairs where made of chrome and glass and white lights permeated the entirety of the room. I climbed the stairs and touched the wonderful machines on display. Everything was perfectly made. Perfectly.
Yesterday, I went to a lovely dance performance with Jaamil and some others he introduced me to. In one night I met another painter, a poet, several dancers, and a professor. I went to an after-party afterwards where they served wine and cheese over Mexican food and tequila.
My creative nerves have been piqued. I probably won’t be doing as much journaling lately. I have to return to writing poetry. The manuscript is only 70 pages long… after being reduced from 130… My nerves are charged, my heart is a-floating, and this weekend I’ll see my old blue eyes again. …He’s in DC, and the weather is so lovely just now. |
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| The Many Voices of Margaret Atwood |
[Mar. 27th, 2006|11:21 am] |
She's coming to Penn! She's coming to Penn!
http://www.sas.upenn.edu/wstudies/events/
THURSDAY, MARCH 30, 2006
5:00 P.M., 17 LOGAN HALL
Jane S. Pollack Memorial Lecture in Women's Studies
MARGARET ATWOOD, Acclaimed author of many books of fiction, including A Handmaid's Tale
"An Evening with Margaret Atwood on the Penelopiad"
Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing
by Margaret Atwood
The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.
I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretence
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.
Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.
From Morning in the Burned House by Margaret Atwood.
This Is a Photograph of Me
by Margaret Atwood
It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;
then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)
From The Circle Game by Margaret Atwood. |
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| The Long Road to Ithaca |
[Mar. 24th, 2006|01:16 am] |
Seductive sirens, monstrous whirlpools, a series of troublesome suitors, and men turning into swine -- mere fiction? I kid you not. I’m beat, weary and exhausted. I just want to find the time to sink lightly and effortlessly into the warm, comforting mattress of a king-sized bed. Sweet blissful tranquility I say. At last -- at least -- the worst part of it is over. It’s been a long week.
It all started when I emailed Elizabeth about going to Cornell for the weekend. She said it was fine. I’ve always wanted to see the campus and she’s always wanted visitors (at a beautiful Ivy League campus in the middle of nowhere, who could blame her?). I’m prepped and all ready to go. Ithaca is beautiful I’ve heard, and I just took the mother of all midterms from hell. (Escaping from the work of that class has been like avoiding the wrath of Poseidon on the high seas). Then, half-way there, after three hours of traveling from Philadelphia, she sends me a message that she’s overbooked with work. I can’t go. I’m stuck in Jersey City.
I try to make the most of it and spend the entire weekend at my parent’s house. To celebrate and show off the bounty of my new job, I get my dad a Reduced-Calorie Diabetic Cookbook. He hasn’t been able to eat decently in months, and so I make a marvelous (and I must say, completely experimental) salmon dish with a cauliflower calorie-alternative side dish; and an eggplant, tomato, and parmesan entrée to boot. He loves it. My mom buys tons of Filipino food for my brother and I, and as usual, I only eat half of it before I’m stuffed. The next day, I go to New York to haggle with merchants over computer prices and features. I don’t find a good deal and go back home empty-handed. Admitting defeat, I call my brother on the way back and ask him if he wants fast food at McDonalds. (Obviously, he says yes). I order chicken nuggets, fries, and enough meat to make a new me.
The next day, the Gods have their revenge. My throat is burning, my mind is spinning, and my innards are retching from all the bad mojo. The next day is a mystery to me, shrouded in a misty haze of anti-diarrheals and painkillers. I do remember one vision. The Great Vortex: head leaning over a swirling whirlpool, watching my food and innards spinning round and round in a partially-digested mass before I flush. Terrible. Just terrible. I’ve gone from a man to a retching, puking pig at the mercy of a witch.
I take Monday off from work. I take Tuesday off too. I start to feel better by the afternoon, but my mother won’t let me go. My dad cites keeping me for “observation” purposes. I miss my one Engineering class. I have a presentation in seven days and my group meets without me. It’s a mutiny. I’m pissed. I go to the corner store with my dad and smuggle in a mango by the cash register. My mother takes it away, telling me I’m not well enough to eat exotic fruit. I’m forced to sustain myself on a diet of stale crackers and soda, held captive for what seems like an eternity on the small island of Ogygia (or fine, Jersey City).
I finally break free on Wednesday, after seeing a doctor and invoking the supreme authority of her opinion. My father wishes me well and anoints my head with healing oil (which he believes can cure anything from headaches to hemorrhoids). I leave and the wind is high and I set full sail on my makeshift raft. I cross the Hudson River to get to the jeweled isle of Manhattan. There, my efforts are rewarded: I search several electronic boutique stores and find a merchant willing to sell me a laptop with all the features I need at an attractive price. I pay immediately and leave the store with a spanking new laptop (well, new in the theoretical sense, as technically it’s parts have been remanufactured from corporate computer stock). I visit the Great Oracle and have him install a new operating system and productivity software on my computer. Then I make a few modifications myself, and the Golden Bow is good to go. ;-)
I return to Philadelphia for a mere two days of work, and the week is already over, but the weekend has finally arrived! I give the laptop one final checkup and stick a big red bow on it before boarding my train. I turn it on and read parts of the letter I’ve written days before:
“To my dearest Mikey on his 20th Birthday,
It’s not very often that I get you something really nice on your birthday but I wanted to make this exception because you’ve been wonderful to me these past two years and you really deserve this. I hope you like your birthday present. It’s not perfect but it took me a considerable amount of time, saving, and effort to prepare and I hope you like it. … It was painstaking to have to see you use that ancient computer in your house and I knew that it was at least within my means to get you your own computer within acceptably modern standards and one that is your first laptop to boot. I gathered what money and knowledge I have to assemble this computer package for you. The parts aren’t entirely all new but they are excellent and dependable where it matters and I spent a good deal of time tracing sources, comparison shopping and negotiating to get you the best deal possible. I’ve chosen a laptop to fit your needs, and the one you hold in your hands has capabilities that far exceed what you have at home. This system is fully upgradable and I plan on upgrading it myself with due time and my growing tech skills. … When confronted with the option of getting you two expensive trinkets or buying you a whole new computer for your birthday, I opted for the computer instead. I hope you’ll be happy with my decision. It was a little bit beyond my means at this point, but I thought it important to get you a present on the actual date of your birthday and I used some of the money I was saving up for a new iMac to buy it for you. After I had the computer in my possession, I made a few mods to it myself, and I plan on doing so again to increase its performance. … With that aside, Happy Birthday Mikey.
Love, always and forever, Noely”
I unboard the train and Mike and his mom are there to pick me up like a beggar (but a king in disguise? -- well, who knows?). His mom stuffs me full with more fresh fish from the sea and disappears. Mike shows me his huge, huge 30-gallon fish tank and gets distracted and starts talking to people online. Because it’s his birthday, all these random men from god-knows-where start calling and leaving him IM messages (well, fine, there were some women too, but I like to pretend they were all hot, lusty men). All distractions aside, I get him away from the computer, the cell phone, and anything that has remotely to do with a weather station (intensely distracting to him, mind you). We sit on the sofa in the living room alone and Mike looks at me with his big, baby blue eyes. I tell him to sit still and close them. Then I bring over the gift and unzip the case, and tell him to look at the present I got for him. He opens it and looks at me and hugs me over and over again. I hug him back and we go out to have dinner and I’m finally able to sleep soundly and comfortably that night for the first time in the year. Hugging Mikey and watching him sleep like an angel, I think how nice it is to be back home.
It seems like I never did make it to Ithaca after all, but sometimes, the pleasant reality of things can serve just as well. |
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