It has been demonstrated, time and time again, that the human race is truly bad at estimating its own rate of consumption.  A friend recently emailed me an article about the rapid depletion of phosphates for fertilizers[1], something I truly did not care about before but which disturbs me deeply now. And it's the same story all around, with the crises on nonrenewable energy and potable water.  While this is all depressing, it is also quite predictable: rapid population growth leads to resource shortage.  What's truly surprising is that even abstract, conceptual resources, such as IP addresses, are being depleted[2].

( Read more... )

I was on my way to Makati this morning for a 9am interview.  I don't usually go to Makati on weekday mornings (because I don't need to, and with the legendary rush hour traffic, who would want to?) but such was the situation I found myself in. 

Let me just say that for a suburban girl such as myself, going to Makati in the morning is a daunting task requiring much in the way of map consulting, early rising, and formulating of a traffic avoidance strategy. I was thinking of the best ways to get there with the following criteria in mind, in decreasing order of importance:

1. Speed: getting to the destination in the shortest amount of time.
2. Stress level: bus > jeep > taxi
3. Cost: low expenditure is preferred, or course.

I eventually decided to take a cab, since low cost was my last priority.  While in the cab, I had the opportunity to listen to some quality radio ("Ay, ambot!")(1), and to ruminate on the similarities between computer networks and road networks(2).

( Read more... )

I find that reading the classic papers from a particular field gives me a quaint and vaguely disorienting feeling.  Take the 1974 Cerf and Kahn paper for example, describing what essentially became TCP/IP and the mammoth that is the Internet.  It could not be more different from the 1953 Watson and Crick paper proposing DNA as a double helix.  And yet, the two papers share the distinction of being thought experiments that were novel/crazy at the time, but are as good as established dogma today.

Because they were essentially proposals, the language in both papers is speculative and self-aware of limitations, as most scientific papers tend to be written.  So I guess the disorientation on my part stems from this. Sometimes it's easy to forget that all ideas, even the great ones, were once ideas among many other ideas, until circumstances pull them out of the dross and into importance (or until the technology exists to prove or disprove them).

The circumstances at the time of the Cerf and Kahn paper were apparently these:  the U.S. Department of Defense wanted to connect the existing ARPANET and the ARPA packet radio network(2)--and in the future, perhaps other networks as well--with minimal compatibility issues. The political climate was uncertain, courtesy of the growing tension between the First (US and NATO allied countries) and Second World (USSR and company)(3).  Perhaps the feeling at the time was that nukes could fly at any time, hence the atomic clock and the constant adjusting of the minutes to midnight.  (Yes, I owe Alan Moore for my extensive knowledge about the Cold War, harhar.)

Thus the priorities of developing an internetwork in these conditions were the following, arranged in decreasing order of importance(4):

1.  Connection of existing networks
2.  Survivability: communication must continue despite loss of networks or gateways, possibly due to war damage
3.  Compatibility: internet must accommodate a variety of networks
4.  Distributedness
5.  Cost-effectiveness
6.  Ease of host attachment
7.  Accountable resources

What emerged from these priorities as the model for internetwork connectivity was a packet-switched, best effort delivery system.  As opposed to circuit switching, which requires that a connection be dedicated to a particular conversation at a given time, packet switching seems to be the more survivable option (if a connection fails, the packets could be routed through other paths).  Also, since the goal was to connect existing networks, packet-switching probably seemed best at the time, since both ARPANET and the ARPA packet radio network were packet-switched. 

Another important feature of the internet that developed from these priorities was "fate-sharing", which sounds more romantic than it actually is.  From what I understood of the paper, a necessary consequence of making an internet that would allow for the integration of different networks would be to make the gateways/routers connecting them assume little, and do little.  This "dumb gateway" paradigm shifts the responsibility of verifying data integrity to the end hosts(5).  In effect,the communicating end hosts put their faith in each other, and assume that the network itself cannot be trusted to deliver the packets safely.  This is why measures to assure data integrity such as the transmission of acks for each packet received, the setting of a packet receive window, retransmission of a packet for which no ack was received, and the verification of the checksum are all endhost functions.

All of these features were conceptualized nearly 40 years ago, but surprisingly, the internet still functions in fundamentally the same way, which says a lot about the robustness of the model.  Other factors which were glossed over in the past, such as security and resource usage accounting, are of more importance today especially since the internet has become a medium of business and trade, but the basic premise is still alive and kicking, and obviously, still functional.  I don't know about you, but to me that longevity seems to be the mark of a pretty good idea.

So for your well-constructed thought experiment, we thank you, dear sirs.  We bloggers would literally not be here without you.



----------------------------------------

Notes
(1) VINTON G. CERF AND ROBERT E. KAHN. 1974. A Protocol for Packet Network Intercommunication.  IEEE Trans on Comms, Vol Com-22, No 5 

(2) ARPA stands for Advanced Research Projects Agency, as knowledgeable people and Metal Gear Solid players--not necessarily mutually exclusive categories--can attest

(3)  The designation "third world" stands not for poor economic conditions, as is the common usage, but for countries not allied with the US or Russia during the Cold War.  Please make the world a better place by using the correct term "developing" instead.  It's shorter. =)

(4) David D. Clark. 1988.  The Design Philosophy of the DARPA Internet Protocols.  Proc. SIGCOMM ‘88, Computer Communication Review Vol. 18, No. 4, pp. 106–114

(5) Please forgive me if I am still bad at the jargon.  I am in the process of learning.

I do have a thing for making things from scratch: call it the purist in me.  If I had my way I would be making my own cheese from milk I squeezed from the cow's udder myself.  I dream about that kind of closeness to the source, especially when it comes to food.

Unfortunately, I don't live in Laguna, and I'm not confident that I won't poison myself if I do attempt a long-term fermentation project such as cheese-making.  Purist I am, but foolish I am not.  At least I'd like to think so. =)  Some things, one should just buy from the store.  Like cheese perhaps, or wild mushrooms, certainly.  The selection of ingredients available in Metro Manila has certainly increased in the recent years, due to the rise of the specialty food shop.

That said, I have no good reason to be making pancetta, aside from curiosity and my compulsive nature. =D

I only loosely call it pancetta, because most recipes call for a whole lot more in terms of the spice rub, juniper berries included.  I do not know any purveyors of juniper berries in my area, but a friend did suggest dousing the meat in gin for the flavor.  It could work, but I was also afraid that the alcohol in the gin would denature the proteins in the meat, leading to the gray, pasty nilagang baboy look.  I like nilagang baboy as much as the next person, but pancetta it is not.

I decided to go for the minimalist version instead, rubbing the meat (I used a kilo of whole pork belly to start with) with copious amounts of salt, pepper and minced garlic.  Traditionally, the belly is then tightly rolled into a cigar shape, then hung out to dry.  Since I had a mortal fear of food poisoning, I decided to do this drying step in the refrigerator instead.  I placed the meat on a rack, so that it was kept off the juices that the salt inevitably leached out by osmosis.

          When I say Cherie Gil, I bet you think, "You're nothing but a second-rate, trying hard, copycat!"  Furthermore, you imagine the abrupt tipping of the wine glass, and Sharon Cuneta's sodden, miserable face in Butuing Walang Ningning.

          Maria Callas, on the other hand, is a reference that's a little more obscure to the younger set, unless you were weaned on opera, like some children are--part of that old belief that all things classical transmutes babies into geniuses ready to stride out of the womb.  I myself grew up in a heady cloud of musty old pop: The Cascades, Neil Sedaka, Nat King Cole, a little Abba.  Opera it was not.  The lucky fact that I even knew a little about Maria Callas stems from mundane dinner conversation, many years ago.  Like most interesting factoids, it was laced with a little scandal:  Maria Callas, the great soprano, had an affair with Aristotle Onassis.  And Onassis is another one of those sticky names that accrue labels: billionaire, shipping magnate, and of course, Jackie O's husband (As a side note though, Maria Callas came before, not after Jackie.  At a glance, it seems like the classic case of a rich old man trading up to a younger model, matrimony-wise.)

          It's all a bit sordid, I know, but the human mind seems to want to collect the worst details.  That and memorable movie lines.

          Of memorable lines, Maria Callas seems to have many attributed to her.  "When my enemies stop hissing, I shall know I'm slipping," refers to early hardships establishing her career as an artist in the--pardon the pun--cutthroat world of opera.  She was also quoted as saying that comparing her to Tebaldi--another soprano, and supposedly her rival at the time-- was a travesty, like comparing champagne to Coca Cola. 

          If I may say so...Ang taray!  =)

          I mean "Ang taray" in the best possible way, of course.  But she does look a bit fierce, don't you think? 

         Fabulous, no doubt, but almost untouchable, a diva even in pictures.  Of course, Cherie Gil also has that glorious diva aura about her, a certain steel-rod-down-the-spine quality that one cannot help but respect and even fear, just a little bit.

          In a masterful stroke, the universe has conspired to bring these two characters together in a play, the ultimate meet-cute.  Cherie Gil plays Maria Callas who, in delirious monologues, is at turns Aristotle Onassis and Giovanni Meneghini (Callas's first husband) as well.  It is all deliciously complicated, and scandalous, and brilliantly feathered, as only a true diva's life can be.



           A brief backgrounder: The play is set in Juilliard, where Callas taught a master class in opera from 1971 to '72.  Aristotle Onassis had just wed Jackie O, leaving Maria Callas just as she had finally severed her marriage to Meneghini.  It is tragic all around.  In the ultimate ironic twist, shortly after the wedding, Callas got cast as Medea, that archetype of the "woman scorned."  Jason of the Argonauts too had traded up.  More's the pity.

           But that's not what the story is about, not really.  It is the tapestry which colors the scene, but it is not the scene itself.  The story is about art.  And life.  Discipline.  Devotion.  High drama.  Fire.  Gumption.  And above all, how to sing: the sweet desperation, the total loss of self to the character, the whole out-of-body experience.


      Cherie Gil seems to have an out-of-body experience herself, fully inhabiting the role of the humorous but deadly sharp teacher, one of that rare breed whom you either love or hate as a student, but whom you never forget.  The suspension of disbelief is complete: at a glare from those serpentine eyes, you sit a little bit straighter, listen a bit more attentively.  She will not repeat herself twice.  And no applause please.  There is work to be done.

The Callas in Master Class is full of aphorisms: 

     "To be remembered, you've got to have a look." 

     "Art is domination." 

     "Vowels are the inarticulate sounds of the heart.  In consonants lie the meaning." 

     To a student wearing a short skirt, "The public that looks at you from down there sees a little more of you than you might want." 

     Chiding a student for not bringing a pencil to make notes with:  "At the conservatory Madame de Hidalgo never once had to ask me if I had a pencil. And this was during the war, when a pencil wasn't something you just picked up at the five and ten. Oh no, no, no, no. A pencil meant something. It was a choice over something else. You either had a pencil or an orange. I always had a pencil. I never had an orange. And I love oranges. I knew one day I would have all the oranges I could want, but that didn't make the wanting them any less."

      Everything is a pronouncement, delivered to the point, and weighty as holy writ.

* * *

         Of course, there is that matter of historical correctness: Was this really what Maria Callas was like?  General consensus seems to be that McNally did take some liberties with the characterization of Callas.  For one, according to accounts, she was not as acerbic as the character in Master Class was.  Also, of the quotes above, only the one about the skirt is true.

         Makes me feel a bit sad, really.  I liked the character a lot (Brava to Cherie Gil for a brilliant and intense performance).

         Still, artifice is meant to highlight some greater truth.  In this case, I think it is that art as a higher calling can also be a ravenous pit to which you surrender yourself completely.  Most of the time, it is worth it.  Or is it really?

        Of Callas herself, who knows what happened?  She died of a heart attack, five years after her Juillard stint.  Who knows what she was really thinking?  That there are no definite answers means we are all free to draw our own conclusions.  The Callas in Master Class is ultimately tragic, plagued by demons of the past. Multiple comparisons are made to Medea the Jilted One. 

        The real-life Callas seemed cool as a cucumber here in her interview with a younger Barbara Walters.

           Muy elegante, no?

           There were also rumors that she was still seeing Aristotle Onassis even during his marriage to Jackie.  Another version, that one.

           Still, my favorite theory is that she got herself a younger boyfriend, ala Demi Moore.  Fanfare and racy scandal are necessary in an ending fitting for La Divina herself.  No tears shed over rich old men, please!

* * *

          Master Class will run at the Carlos P. Romulo Theater, RCBC Plaza on October 17, 18, 23, 24 and 25, 2008 at 8:00 p.m.

          For inquiries please call Philippine Opera Company at 892-8786 or log on to www.philippineoperacompany.com or TicketWorld

[Many thanks to Ms. Lorna Lopez, and Ms. Karla Gutierrez  of the Philippine Opera Company, for graciously inviting us to watch Master Class take shape]

Is ignorance ever a positive thing? I know no Italian and I have never seen the Broadway musical Rent. Furthermore, I have never been to an opera in my life. Taking these three things into account, I felt rather ill-prepared to watch La Bohéme—that immortal Puccini opera even plebians like me are aware of. Would I like it, even if it’s in Italian? Will I cry, like those sensitive leading men in romantic comedies? Does it imply something horrible about my psyche if I don’t cry? These and other more serious questions tumbled in and out of my consciousness in the week leading up to Day Zero: the La Bohéme technical dress rehearsal that I managed to wangle an invite to (Many thanks, by the way, to Ms. Lorna Lopez and to Ms. Karla Gutierrez for making this possible, as well as to Director Floy Quintos for being nice enough not to mind the intrusion, and for gamely answering our questions in the open forum).

But one man’s ignorance is another’s tabula rasa, and you could not get any more tabula rasa than I was. So I looked forward to my operatic deflowering with naïve enthusiasm, holding onto my ignorance with a death grip. I figured that I was the acid test: if I managed to enjoy it, even with all those counts against me, then you probably will too. (Also, I have the nagging feeling that I’m one of the five people of my demographic—middle class Filipino, early twenties—who has not seen Rent. I mean, there’s even a movie version, so I have no excuses, really. =D)

So going back to my original point: Did I like it? Even if it was in Italian, and I had no knowledge of the plot, and there were no subtitles to be found anywhere? Even if I was, godammit, an opera virgin and an admittedly ignorant one to boot?

All I can say is, La Bohéme is a gentle way to start, if it’s your first time too.

Let’s start with the music, because taking language out of the equation, your senses are heightened to what you can relate to, which is the score.  Signor Puccini did know a thing or two about music, wouldn’t you say?
 

 

The orchestral accompaniment is at turns sweeping and grandiose, whimsical and light, and gentle as a breath. But these words mean nothing. I stare at them and they are just adjectives that do not describe. Music is something that must be experienced, as cliché as that may sound. On the merit of the orchestra alone, I would recommend that you see the local production. In this case, it is the Philippine Philharmonic, conducted with painstaking and passionate attention to detail by Helen Quach. I also recommend that you take deep breaths while you listen. The resonance produced by the expansion of the chest cavity seems to enhance the experience. (It’s either that or the increased oxygen making me inordinately happy. The cellists could probably see my silly grin from the orchestra pit.)

Of course, the heart and soul of opera are the singers and their inhuman vocal ranges! =) The opera singers in the local production are revelations, performing over the din of the orchestra without the benefit of a single microphone. I was told by my friend David that sometimes in operas, either the set itself is mic’ed or there’d be an overhead microphone. But no artificial amplification for these artists. You’ve got to admire the cojones of that, right? There were a few odd patches where the orchestra predominated, but on the whole, the cast did a stellar job. I expect they’ll be even better come opening night.

Of the cast we saw, the stand-out performances for me were by Gary del Rosario as Rodolfo and Jennifer Uy as Mimi, although the rest of the singers are extremely good as well. There is a lot to be said for being expressive while doing the intense vocal acrobatics required in opera. And Mimi singing in bed! Wow, don’t even get me started.

But what about the story?

Seeing as I have not “spoiled” myself by reading English translations before watching the opera, I could say that (1) yes, the score does carry you seamlessly through each Act (but the Acts, in relation to each other, have abrupt time jumps), and (2) there are many ways to tell a story aside from actually telling the story.

Firstly, the set is a character in itself, depicting the changes in moods and seasons, and aiding greatly in nonverbal storytelling. Though the production used the original libretto, the setting is greatly different from Puccini’s, transplanted to contemporary Metro Manila. Thus, there is a preponderance of barong-barong, rusty corrugated iron and cyclone wire. It mostly works though. Poverty is timeless. So is love. So is lust. So is death. And so on.

Also, the way the scenes are choreographed makes for easier comprehension of events. Act Two, which all happens in a busy market, is particularly brilliant. However, it gets a little hairier in Acts Three and Four, because the events are more introspective and harder to express through action alone.

That’s why it’s good to watch this with a knowledgeable friend. =) So I cheated a bit.

I also watched with my mouth open half the time. Such is the purpose of the dark.

(La Bohéme will have a limited run from October 3 to 5 at the CCP. Like the proverbial snowflake it is beautiful, unique and short-lived: only three performances. Suportahan po natin ang mga artistang Pilipino. For more information, and to order tickets, visit TicketWorld.)

Shall I caramelize sugar over aforementioned peach with my brand-new blowtorch?

The blowtorch was a present from one of my favorite people, crimson_parsley.  I'm currently thinking of other uses for it (aside from making the crispy sugar topping over creme brulee).  Off the bat, I can think of the following applications:

~ giving a smoker friend a light (not my favorite application, as smoking greatly increases lung cancer risk)
~crisping up chicken skin (not sure if this will work without burning)
~self defense and/or arson (very handy for the average woman's handbag! XD)
~general entertainment

I've been using the blowtorch mainly for the last purpose.  I'm not really in the mood to cook creme brulee for a household of health-conscious/diabetic family members.

(honestly, turning on the blowtorch just for kicks is really entertaining.)

* * *

Dare I hope that the Metro Manila Filmfest-nominated action movie Banal (as in holy, not "ordinary") is as good as I expect it to be? 

Banal
Directed by Cesar Apolinario
Preview: Two cops in a SWAT unit go up against each other over issues of integrity.

Banal is attempting to be a very gritty crime drama akin to last year's The Departed. It has a pretty complex plot that features betrayals, plenty of plot twists, and a plot to assassinate the Pope. It also has Christopher de Leon in it as a tough-as-nails Sergeant who leads the SWAT team. That may be worth the price of admission alone. Expect a scowling Christopher de Leon blowing stuff up.

Teaser: Cris (Paolo Contis) and Jason (Alfred Vargas) are two policemen with opposite personalities and philosophies - Cris is the epitome of the rare, near-extinct breed of honest cops; Jason is the the legman of his district's high officials, doing their dirty work for a price. BANAL explores the heretofore unseen side of police work, stabs at the unscrupulous behavior of the media and shows an uncompromising picture of Philippine society. In today's day and age, angels can become demons,and sinners can become saints

~
For the trailer, watch a movie or just go to youtube.  The trailer is pretty decent--not like the usual Pinoy trailer that gives you all of the plot or nothing at all.  Just try very hard to ignore the obviously CG explosion at the end, to sustain your suspension of disbelief.

I will definitely watch this movie.  If you've talked to me within the past couple of days, I've probably talked your ear off about it too.  Poor you.

(movie will be shown starting January 1.  Nood na!  Suportahan ang pelikulang Pilipino)

* * *

Happy holidays to every all!

(parang Goodah!  Pagkaing good for every all! Open 25 hours!)

I am deciding whether it's the Christmas lights or my monthly dose of feminine hormones that's got me stuck in melancholica.  Whatever it is, it could be fodder for things I (forced myself that I) need to write, which include, but are not limited to:

~three short stories with a kickass theme for NCCA
~two kickass poems for a contest by Meritage
~continuation of our collaborative effort (luckychan and crimson_parsley): "ze novel"

The first two need to be done by December 31.  And did I mention that they have to kick ass?

* * *

Suportahan ang mga bagong manunulat ~ehem ako ehem~!  Bumili na ng mga sumusunod na aklat (pwedeng ipangregalo, ohohoho):

First Love (Cozy Reads Publishing) - short story antho edited by Faye Ilogon, about first love, of course.  Maganda na ang laman, maganda pa ang papel, hehe.  The book contains ten short stories by various authors (including luckychan and myself).

Very Short Stories for Harried Readers (Milflores Publishing) - flash fiction antho edited by Vince Groyon.  It contains a mix of stories from both renowned and, ehem, "youthful" writers. :)  The book contains 41 short shorts that range from 500 to 1000 words, I think.  Do buy if you're a fan of any of the following people:
 
Anna Felicia C. Sanchez, Sandra Nicole Roldan, Rodrigo V. Dela Peña Jr., Prospero E. Pulma Jr., Francezca C. Kwe, Lawrence L. Ypil, Sharmaine Galve, Raymund P. Reyes, Flori Maximo, Catherine Candano, Pam Punzalan, Ayn Frances dela Cruz, Christian Tablazon, Ana Maria S. Villanueva, Libay Linsangan Cantor, Andrea Pasion, Cecille La Verne de la Cruz, Daryll Delgado, Anne Lagamayo, Jamina Jugo, Karen Manalastas, O. Bryan Alvarez, Danton Remoto, Jhoanna Lynn B. Cruz, Bj A. Patiño, Joshua L. Lim So, John Bengan, Carljoe Javier, Jose Claudio B. Guerrero, Mark Ponce, Timothy Montes, Faye Ilogon, Apol Lejano-Massebieau, Jerome Chua, Vicente Garcia Groyon, Jean Claire A. Dy, Celeste Flores-Coscolluela, Anna Chua, Irwin Allen B. Rivera, Paul S. de Guzman, and Eliza A. Victoria.

~end shameless plug

LQ 

Forgive me if my words do not go

      the distance—

            we walk along the shore

night: your face in shadow
 

in the imprints we leave, dying

fish nestle, mouths opening

and closing in the cold
 

they gleam like silver

coins, the shore’s small

change, hurled back by the sea

 
Your shoulder beads with ocean spray

* * *

    Being sick was much more fun when we were children.  So was the rain.

    Endings are inherently tragic.  Beginnings often have a whiff of desperation about them.

    Three is beauty.  Hence, this third line.

* * *

    I miss sleep.  Let me lay my head on your shoulder.    

 

Escapism by procrastination is my favorite vice.  I know I'd have to contend with my mountain of papers and my lack of powerpoint presentations soon, but it's really nice to pretend that I don't have anything to do.

Hay.

One of my students threw a ballpen at his classmate today.  It seemed good-natured enough, but I was really disturbed afterwards.  I felt taken advantage of.  My co-workers later told me that I was probably too nice.  That can be remedied, hehehehe. (puts on iron fist prosthetic)

Grrraahhh.  I want to stop worrying, but the feeling comes whether I will  it to or not.  One important thing I learned from this job, however, is that these feelings always go away after a while.  This too shall pass.  Good mantra.

* * *

Off to work on a Sunday! Babu!