Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. ~Mark Twain

Never ask a woman her age as that is considered as impolite. I can’t remember the first time I have heard that phrase but it provides a very convenient way for women to evade answering the dreaded question.

My manager celebrates her thirty-ish birthday today, and she says that she is proud of her age. Yeah right, which makes me wonder why she sometimes rounds off her birthday to the nearest tenth position. 🙂 In her defense, she does admit to her age after some time. She says only people afraid of looking their age are those who evade answering their true age, and she is “blessed” with a baby-face that does not show her real age.

At this point I am stumped as I hear the same thing from my wife. She asks me from time to time if she looks her age. My wife and I are already approaching the big three-oh, although age is a somewhat touchy subject for us since my wife is older than me by one or two years depending on the month that the subject is brought up. I don’t really care about the age difference (when you love somebody, you love them for who they are and not for anything else) but the impish side of me cannot let it pass to use it as a platform for launching a tirade of personal jokes. It usually gets me some bruises on my forceps but the smiles and laughters we share afterwards is all worth it. 🙂

Back to the topic of looking their age, how does one really gauge the standard of how each age bracket should look like? I am pretty bad with remembering faces more so with describing them so I am not very credible with this topic. However I am curious on what certain ages should really look like. I think I can distinguish the “bata” (kid) and “dalaga/binata” (adolescent) look fairly well. It would be easy to assume that once a person looks like they have lost that adolescent look then they are in their twenties. Wrinkles are usually associated with the forties although our polluted environment can pretty much speed up the arrival of wrinkles. White hair are usually attributed to people in their fifties, and the amount of white hair, or receding hairlines, are used to gauge people in their sixties and onward.

But what about the people in their between the age of 25 and 35? What distinguishing facial attributes can be used to say that they are in their thirties? I have been thinking about it and I cannot pin down a single quality that would be definitive in classifying a stranger into this mysterious age group. Most of the people who know me have been pegging me in the thirties group. Even our close friends usually mistake me as older than my wife. Does that mean that I am mature looking than my wife? The closest thing I can surmise with the thirties assumption is that I have already lost whatever, if any, boyish feature my face once possessed. Any attempts to rekindle that boyish aura ends up with me looking like a retardate. 😀 Only a handful people are close enough to see that side of me so I am pretty fine with looking like a retard from time to time.

To make the age-classification game harder, there is that abomination called makeup. I know some women who looks very different when they have nothing on their face that you would do a double-take when the difference hits you. It is a seldom occurrence wherein makeup would turn an ugly duckling into a swan but when it does I feel sad. I am sad because it means that the elation brought by the alteration is something that is not real and will fade away very soon. Makeup is something that I can’t really appreciate (not because I don’t use it and I am a man). Or maybe I have this idealistic standard for the people I know. I usually associate makeup with “fake”-ness especially if it is very noticeable (aka thick application). I always admire women who wear very minute or no makeup at all. Those women are confident and comfortable with how they look. If you have to resort to using artificial things to “enhance” your looks and “boost” your confidence level then there is something intrinsically wrong with your outlook in life. I feel an extra pity for those who wage a losing, and very expensive, battle with Father Time just to keep on holding on to their presumed youth. Give me an unpainted face anytime and I will spend the time to discern how the imperfections enhance their beauty, rather than giving me a mardi gras visage that I will think ways on unraveling what horrors lies beneath.

Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without. ~Confucius

ciao!

Yesterday I had a literal rude awakening. Coming from a Friday cocktail party, I tried to get some catnap before dinnertime. I gave some parting instruction to Tina and Penpen to wake me up when dinner is ready since I am really sleepy.

Upon getting to my bed, I finished reading Deception Point and began reading Digital Fortress (The last in the Dan Brown books I am reading). Realizing that the bookworm in me will prevent me from getting the catnap that I went to my room for, I switched off the lamp in the night table and started to will myself to sleep. As was my custom, I laid flat on my back and covered my eyes with my right forearm. The idea is that the pressure and the additional “shade” provided by the forearm will help me lull into sleep.

After a few minutes I already reached a state wherein my mind is already entering the sleep state. And then something hit me in the forearm and chest area that bounced off to the right side of the bed. Pissed off and with a curse forming in my mind, I started to get a look at who thought it was a good idea to wake me up with a pillow. At the back of my mind I thought it was Jordan since he is the most probable suspect but then realization kicked in, my room was dark and I can still see that my door was still closed.

Puzzled I began looking at the floor beside my bed for the object that hit me. I usually sleep only on the right side of the bed so whatever hit me would definitely land on the floor if it bounced. I switched on the night lamp and saw that there is nothing on the floor. My extra pillow was unused and still on the head-area on the left side of the bed where it is usually placed.

Was I only dreaming, or did something really woke me? I didn’t know so I just got up and went to the living room where Penpen was watching TV. I would like to think that it was just my subconscious playing tricks with my imagination but I was pretty sure something hit me to wake me up.

I would like to think I am a logical thinker but I also believe that there are things around us that I still don’t and will never understand. I have my own stash of “paranormal” stories that is suited more in a camp fire telling, but with my more than four months stay in this apartment, I haven’t really felt anything different although there were times that I think I heard my name being called.

Chalk another one for mysterious things. Maybe I can add this in the shit happens category. 🙂

ciao!

Last Friday Michael, our Danish ex-expatriate in Manila, extended a generous offer of taking the Pinoy assignees to visit some exciting places in Denmark. He has heard that we were not able to go around and we have been here for more than 4 months! The trip was set on Sunday morning, October 28.

Michael invited us to go and visit the Kronborg castle, the setting of the famous play Hamlet. Michael’s family originally offered to take Girlie, Francis and me but we asked if we can bring some of our colleagues especially those that have been in the country for less than 6 months. As of Saturday night, Tina and Alvin was supposed to come with us but they became victims of a late-starting drinking session in our apartment. Their resolve to come got washed away by some unholy concoction that Girlie was able to whip up using gin, sprite and lemon soda. 😀

Anyway, we took Francis’ car to Michael’s place where we arrived within the designated time (this is what Filipino time is all about!). Michael was skeptical with our light jackets even when I said that my fleece jacket is good of until -3 degrees if there is no wind. Michael’s eyes tinkled with devilish mischief and said “but there will always be wind, let’s see…”. He even showed his the jumpsuits his kids are wearing for the trip. 🙁

Since our Dansk lingual skills are next to zero, I went with Michael’s car and Anette (Michael’s wife) went with Francis and Girlie. The trip to Elsinore was filled with chatting about news about the Philippines, and politics in the office.

When we arrived in the parking space near the Castle entrance I got buffeted by strong winds coming from the open channel. The temperature was somewhere between 8 and 10 degrees but the chill factor is making our body shake. Girlie and I were only wearing T-shirts. My pants were even low-waisted and my shirt is not tucked! Chilling winds? How about chilling winds that gets free access to your skin? 🙁

When we got to the castle grounds we got a little reprieve from the winds. I never got the chance to read the posters at the entrance since doing so means I have to stay a little longer on the mercy of the winds. I don’t think the information is worth that much. The comfort room was directly after the entrance so the it was my first stop so I can tuck my inner shirt. Imagine what comfort a simple thing like tucking shirt tails can bring.

Erin and Soy

Michael doubled up as our tour guide in the castle. We got tickets for the #2 package which includes the visit to the Royal Apartments and the Casement (or what I would like to call as the Dungeon). The weirdness in me manifested itself because between the artsy Royal Apartments and the gloomy dungeon, I would pick the dungeon anytime.

In the dungeon, we met Holger Dansk who is fabled to wake up from his mighty slumber in the bowels of Kronborg castle if Denmark suddenly finds itself threatened. I was a little bit disappointed in our dungeon pictures because they were not able to catch the almost pitch-black “ambiance” of the dungeons.

   

After the dungeons, we had some more picture taking at the ramparts. Michael must be shaking his head in shame with the three crazy Filipinos acting weirdly and snapping pictures. 🙂

Since it was too cold, Michael and Francis went ahead to pick up the cars and we waited in the castle ground entrance. A car parked in front of us and I thought I caught a glimpse of Michael in the driver’s seat. I noticed that there is a single child seat on the backseat (the other one was transferred to Francis’ car for Maya (Michael’s daughter) so I opened the second passenger door and invited Jonathan (Michael’s son) to hop in. Jonathan, who doesn’t understand English, just looked at me like a crazy nut then the driver got down started asking me questions in Danish. Imagine my shock when I realized that the car was not Michael’s!!! Anette and Girlie were heckling me about giving Jonathan away to strangers. I guess I earned my 5 minutes of foolishness at that moment. 😀

From the castle, Michael decided to take us to a side trip on the beach front where the affluent lives with their huge houses with water front/beach front vie,w and super expensive luxury cars. We were going to “the Forest” but stopped in a bakery to buy some bread as we haven’t eaten lunch and it was already 3PM. When we got to the forest we decided against strolling since it was too cold, there is a slight drizzle, and Francis can take us back there if we want to. We rode again and went to this Arne Jacobsen building to appreciate “Modern and Contemporary Danish Art” but the building was closed so we just ended up walking around it. 🙂

After that we went back to Michael’s house for some Kapeng Barako (which Francis promised to replenish if he will come back to Denmark on January) and some cake. We went home after the coffee and some exchange of pleasantries.

Good thing Penpen lent us his camera or else we won’t have anything to show for it. As this blog is hosted on a thrifty 100MB space, I decided to hunt around for some free image hosting service. Picasa won over Flickr for its large free space, and the fact that it is hosted by Google. 🙂 Anyway, here is my Kronborg picasa album for those who want to see more of our pictures. 🙂

ciao!

The recruiting department in the company is lauching an incentive-based campaign that blew my socks off. In return for an X number of ‘entries’ the department is willing to give

• 1-2 ‘entries’ = 3 donuts
• 2-3 ‘entries’ = 4 donuts
• 4-6 ‘entries’ = 6 donuts or half dozen
• 7-10 ‘entries’ = 12 donuts or 1 dozen

Notice what is wrong with the above allocation? The first one is that there is a overlap on the first two entries. The second one is that while the last two are grammatically correct, they are syntactically ambiguous.

Rep: Ah excuse me ma’am, would you like 6 donuts or half dozen?
Person1: Ah, I’ll get half dozen, it sounds it has more donuts than 6.
Rep: How about you sir?
Person2: I would like 12 donuts please.
Rep: May I suggest getting 1 dozen instead? It costs the same anyway.
Person2: Gee thanks, I appreciate the help.

Ok, some might comment that whoever wrote that memo was just being smart in providing an alternative term for a half and one dozen prizes. If that is the case then why not say quarter dozen or third of a dozen on the first two? Not being used enough? It doesn’t matter. Whoever wrote that tried to sound smart but ended up being ambiguously retarded.

Too bad it was sent through a generic mailer. Otherwise I could have replied back.

I’m bored.

ciao!

I have officially ditched Sage rss reader in favor of Google Reader. GR allows me to centralize all of my feeds and lets me read a lot of the blogs that the Websense in the office blocks. I couldn’t comment on most of them though.

Bad Erin. But I stopped caring when they refused to listen. They say apple, I say banana. In the end they still got a fruit. 😛

ciao!