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Puckering Time

It's now or never.
 

Defibrillated

You may have wondered, took a long arduous wait, asked a few colleagues, and may have actually inquired hospital morgues and funeral parlors. While 0.009% of the total number of readers of this blog strained themselves until they finally raised their hands, shut their computers down, and surrendered altogether because all efforts seem to be futile, I, on the other hand, enjoyed my writing vacation.

I know, I know. I didn’t warn you, but in the interest of fairness I wasn’t even warned either, that I didn’t see myself taking that month-long blog break very seriously. My schedule did not permit me to update this site for the simple reason that I’m fully booked. In a literal sense because I have to read a whole shelf of dog-eared copies of those reading materials that triggered my allergic rhinitis condition because they’re full of dust and whatnot. No, seriously I was just so preoccupied with schoolwork because some professors are kind of onerous (except for my selected well-favored professors). Well, at least there’s a feeling of benevolence with the phrase “kind of” – I would have considered describing them as a horde of sadistic driveling impertinent by-products of an invalid giddy bitch – they, being the very exact definition of irony. I would love to, but I won’t. In spite of this seemingly libelous wordplay, I felt so much productive – not that I impregnated somebody, but all wielded effort went into its proper niches. For instance, I survived Rizal.

Now some of you might find enjoyable and interesting studying the life and works of our national hero (did I just say he’s our national hero?). Suffice it to say that I’m not one of you. My problem is not with my professor, but with the subject matter itself. The truth is that in my 19 years of existence I have never encountered someone who is so obsessed with the Luneta guy. I’ve heard of hardcore Rizalists – people who regard Rizal as Supreme Being – but I haven’t actually seen one. I’m a Christian and I advocate freedom of religion, but I would like to clear things out that I’m not mocking them in any form or manner. You feel like talking to a statue, that’s perfectly fine. Just don’t drag me along with you because I wouldn’t know what to say. The only sure-fire thing I learned in PI 100 is that Rizal doesn’t deserve to be the national hero. Hmmm. Does it have something to do with his being an American state-sponsored personage?

My Broadcast Communication subject is another thing. My professor - the seemingly independent institution within the Mass Communication department – is probably the most terrorizing and, since Halloween is fast approaching, the spookiest ever. Scarier than those ghost storybooks that you guys read. At least that’s what my classmates think about him. For me, he’s like my dad, only heavier in mass and stockier in built. More likely, a friend much older than me. Academic-wise, he is the best professor I ever got. He made us feel inferior and at the same time superior than any mass communication student because he kept on bombarding valuable information even if we’re on the brink of information ultra-overload. Non-academically, think about these: Where else can you find a professor who would lean close to you and ask if you know how to play mahjong while your classmate is on the verge of fainting due to a mixture of heightened tension and fear of the unknown? Where else can you find a professor who would exchange jokes with you while the reporter in front is about to have a grand mal seizure and almost bursting into tears? Where else can you find a professor who would whisper to you that when all the fats are extracted from your big fat classmate it would be enough for a year’s supply of cooking oil for everyone’s consumption? Where else can you find a professor who would call your big fat classmate “Dagul?” Where else can you find a professor who seemed to have memorized all possible factual information on whatever because he goes to class without anything to back him up, and explains the subject matter in an action-packed, full 1080 high definition manner? Where else can you find a professor who gives a grade of “7” whereas the lowest possible grade that can be achieved is a “5?” Most students think he is very offensive. I think he makes perfect sense.

And as for my Radio subject, there have been great departures in terms of class meetings because of class suspensions due to heavy rains and jeopardized schedules between the professor and the class to be held, but in any case I learned a few things about radio speech. We had two recordings; one is for radio speech analysis and the other a radio drama. Now I don’t like hearing my voice when being broadcast; I don’t know, I just don’t feel like listening to my own voice. They said I was fit to become a sportscaster; I said, No way. They said I could be a VJ; I said, No freaking way. They said I sounded like Private Ryan of iFM; I said, How I wish. Another thing I discovered is the term “paned English.” Paned English – I hope I get this correctly – is noticeable when one is conscious in speaking the language, the spontaneity being sacrificed because it’s as if the speaker is thinking that the listener would mock the way he talks. To put it simply, he is very conscious on how he pronounces words, and he sounds as if he’s very unease, uncomfortable. It’s kind of hard to explain this phenomenon, but bring me along with you and I would be able to identify people who speak that way.

So there. I wanted to share the other stuff I’ve been engaged with, but I don’t want to strain you further into reading. By the way, about my violent and atrocious rant – can one rant gently? – on the recent mishap at Glorietta, pardon me for feeling so chaotic and impulsive. I love Glorietta better than, say, TriNoma, and who wouldn’t actually be furious about the incident in the midst of alleged terror attacks in this country? Well, according to news reports and statements of investigating authorities, it might not have been an act of terrorism, but some sort of industrial error. Or failure. Whatever. Then I saw the innards of Glorietta 2 with the camera careening through pipelines with men in hard hats. And there goes one goody-goody senator accusing the government as the culprit behind this nefariousness, and later on withdrew his statement saying that he was only “namumulitika” (politicizing) – is this some kind of a joke? Then some infamous terrorist group claimed the incident as their doing, but was rebuffed by investigators.

Go on, make us infinitely confused.

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