UP Diliman pillbox blast

I was at Eduk yesterday afternoon when I was told about the pillbox that had exploded on the grounds of Benton Hall, which was just a minute's walk away. I rushed to the scene to report for my college paper, Tinig Ng Plaridel.

I'm proud to say we were the first to break the story correctly. News outlets were tweeting that a vintage World War II bomb had caused the explosion. The authorities that responded to the incident weren't yet sure what the explosive was when I got to the scene, but they had already speculated it was a pillbox and ruled out any chance it was a vintage bomb. The damage to the area was minor, and the two construction workers who were injured in the blast were still conscious with all limbs intact, so it probably wasn't an undetonated bomb from the 1940s. I tweeted photos of the area and quoted police officials to dispute the hearsay.

GMA News used my tweets and photos in their story. InterAksyon used my photo, too. Of course, I had few resources and little time with me and so I wasn't able to chase the story much after I broke it. DZUP and the Philippine Collegian, as well as the mainstream media outlets, followed up very well. Still, I'm glad to say I think we got all the important facts out on the first break.

Journalism is fun. Check me out in the video at the top of this post, at around the 2:10 mark!

If you're wondering where I've been

Apparently, I've gone to a library every week this month. I'm just as surprised as you.

Responsible prof is responsible

Sunken Garden in the summer

My first Diliman summer is annoyingly warm, but more importantly, very pretty.

Results of my 30-day challenge for March

Last month, I started a 30-day challenge to start and keep a clean routine. I'm happy to say that it's been very successful.

I don't have photos of my workspace, mainly because I was up to my ears in work during the last week of March. I pulled all-nighters frequently that week. I slept at 2am on the 31st and woke up two hours later to attend to org-related things, and, after our last activity for the semester, rushed back home and packed up to leave for my shortened (but nonetheless existent) vacation.

Take my word for it, though: my desk and my workflow has improved since I started the challenge. My desk still gets cluttered, but here's the thing: it's such a breeze to clear now. Clearing it up used to take a whole afternoon's worth of time. Now, it's as easy as picking up the action item on my desk (it's usually either a reading assignment or a paper that's just been graded and returned) and deciding whether it should go to my "In" bin or to the "For Sorting" pile for long-term storage.

I credit my newfound ease to two things. First is the existence of the "In" bin (I refuse to call it an inbox—sounds too official). The second is the mindset of "sort this right away," which is a tenet of David Allen's Getting Things Done system. It's all about making sure that things are assigned to where they should be for proper action as soon as possible, instead of just sitting on your desk in a sort of "limbo" state.

That said, though, there are improvements that need to be made to my workspace as well as my workflow:

• A bigger desk. Mine still gets cluttered because I have too little surface area to work with, especially with all the things I have on my desk.
• A wide file case. I have one of those plastic ones, but because my reading assignments tend to be very thick, it quickly reached its capacity. I've seen wider ones made of stronger plastic. I might invest in one of those, especially since I will theoretically be able to use it all throughout college, as I plan to transfer everything inside it to a cardboard box at the end of every semester.

My 30-day challenge for April has already started, but deserves a separate post. 

Three packets of "strong 'n rich" instant coffee

One for each of what I hope will be my last three all-nighters for this semester.

Colonial undertones in The Walking Dead

Funny things happen to your viewing habits when you have an absurdly well-read Marxist critical theorist for a professor. Recently, I noticed that AMC's "The Walking Dead," a TV series adopted from the graphic novel of the same name, runs on quite a colonial theme.

TWD happens in a post-apocalyptic world, after humanity is torn to pieces following a horrific zombie outbreak. Government relief camps have probably been overrun by infected people. The Center for Disease Control was supposed to give hope for a cure, but it blew up on itself after it ran put of power. All semblance of civilization is now either destroyed or rusting in obsolesence.

In other words, the human race has come back to Square One.

Here's where the colonialism starts. The main characters of the story compose a group of survivors looking for resources and other possible signs of life. Most of the members of the group are white. They have a token black guy and an Asian with them. Most of the dirty work is assigned to the two of them. This includes going into town centers usually brimming with zombies looking for a meal when supplies are running low, or otherwise fending off "walkers." The group also has a gun-toting hillbilly who is constantly presented as violent and irrational. The keepers of order, those who keep things running, are of course the Caucasians.

The de-facto leader of the group is Rick, an awarded police officer. At the start of the series, Rick was presumed dead by his wife, his son, and his partner on the job (who was sleeping with his wife, on account of his being probably dead). But Rick got out of the deserted hospital he had been confined in, dressed himself—in his police uniform, which says quite a lot—and was able to reunite his family and their newfound group (and eventually boss people around). This is quite a feat, but it is necessary to establish that even after the world has ended, a a cop—an agent of the State—is still in charge of things. This theme is further strengthened by the fact that despite all the Hell the group has taken on, Rick never forgets his policeman's hat.

At one point in the series, Rick is sitting at his son Carl's bedside. This is after Carl has recovered from being nearly killed by a deer-hunting bullet. Rick takes off his hat and has Carl try it on. When he is well again, Carl asks his parents if he can learn how to shoot a gun. He takes it as a coming of age. A gun will finally make him a man—and not just any man, his father's man, the one who will assume his father's leadership responsibilities in due time.

Oh, and Carl was shot by a hunter from another group of survivors who lived on a farm ranch. The hunter, taking full responsibility for his actions, takes Carl and his parents to the farm. Its owner, Herschel, is the family's patriarch. He is a veterinarian and is therefore the closest one can get to a doctor, on account of the world having ended and all, so he offers to operate on Carl. Eventually, Rick's entire gang becomes guests of the ranch. They're offered board and lodging, and in exchange they help out with the chores. (Glenn the Asian guy also goes out to town to fight off zombies for supplies.) Eventually, they get too involved in the ranch and start feeling as though they owned it and were not guests of it. Herschel makes it clear that he expects them to be on their way once Carl has fully recovered.

But Rick says no, although he understands where Herschel is coming from. The place is nice, safe, secure, has defenses, and food and water are accessible. So they continue to insist on staying indefinitely, negotiating with Herschel. But he's having none of it.

And the kicker: a member of Rick's group finds out that Herschel keeps zombies in a barn on the ranch. The zombies are fed chickens everyday. Herschel still thinks of the zombies as people, and he says modern medicine will eventually find a cure for them. And they're undead, so they can afford to wait. (Herschel has not been informed of the destruction of the CDC at this point.) Rick thinks it's too much of a risk, so, despite it being Herschel's ranch, they break the barn doors open and kill all of the zombies inside. Herschel is on his knees and weeping.

This story's been told many times before.

At the fair

It was the last night of the UP Fair on Saturday. Katz and I went, along with her sister Sanse and Sanse's boyfriend. We chose Saturday because that's when all the big bands were scheduled to perform (including Parokya ni Edgar with an "exclusive performance," whatever that means).

There were more rides and games this year than last. We spent a lot of time trying our luck in the shooting games. Katz won a ginger doll, which she named Barry. I won a Winnie the Pooh phone dangler. It wasn't even the bear's entire body, just his head. So I named him Paulo. (Pooh-ulo? Get it? K.)

Katz thought we should try the rusty Flying Fiesta ride (I'm not sure what it's really called but that's the name of the similar ride at Enchanted Kingdom). I was hesitant at first—the ride at EK made me woozy—but Katz was game, so I didn't object.

At the end of the ride, I looked at Katz. She was nauseated, and had her head buried in her arm.

We bought snow cones (apparently, cold food after a dizzying ride is supposed to make you feel better) and stood around as Up Dharma Down played their set. I'd hoped that once she'd rested we could squeeze ourselves into the crowd like we did last year, and hopefully catch Moonstar88 play Panalangin (the only OPM song I've LSS'd on in four years). After a while, though, Katz decided she was too dizzy. We left at a little past 11 and hung out on the Main Library steps.

All in all, though, it was still a fun night. The most exciting part happened before we even got in: Katz and I had four extra tickets, so we scalped 'em for P150 each, P250 for two, P400 for four (we bought them at P90 apiece). Apparently, I was yelling too loudly, and I caught the attention of a couple of the fratmen manning the grounds.

One of them asked how much I was selling my tickets for, and I smiled and said, "Oh, P90."

"P90? I heard P150."

"No, no, just P90," I said, nonchalant.

They asked to see the tickets and, after verifying their authenticity, let me go but stayed close behind us. I continued to hawk the tickets at the original P90 price, and a few guys asked for a discount. "P70 nalang, presyong kaibigan."

The fratmen, still behind us, said, "Hindi pwedeng ibenta ng P50, P90 lang talaga."

In the end, we sold all four of our tickets. It was a great night.

17/365

May nagshooting sa Maskom.

You better have listened in class

If you want to know where and when your Russian exam is.

One-way Academic Oval

A friend and I had an argument over this street sign:

I said it had no use anymore and should have been taken down by now, because the policy change it announced has been in effect for more than three years now.

My friend said the sign should be kept up because there are people who still don't know about the Academic Oval's one-way traffic scheme.

I argued that if this sign should stay where it is, then they should put up the following signs, too:

• Elliptical Road: One-Way.
• We are now an independent state and no longer a colony of America.
• World War II is now over.

A week or so later, Katz and I were walking to the College of Arts and Letters library when we saw a cop alight from a patrolling cop car. We looked the other way and saw a car moving counter to the flow of traffic. (One-way Acad Oval, see?) The errant driver slowed to a stop, rolled down his window and presented his license, very apologetically saying, "Sorry, boss, I'm an alumni and I'm used to the Acad Oval being two-way."

Well, then. I concede.

I know I haven't posted anything lately (Frivolous Academic Oval photo 03)

so here's a pretty picture of the Academic Oval.

Fancy Cakes on Magiting

My blockmates and I went to lunch today in McDonald's Philcoa, but the uptight security guard told us we couldn't play cards (because "baka sabihing casino ito") or take pictures of the tacky wall photos (because "baka gamitin sa kalolokohan"), so we were like "We're outta here."

We went to Fancy Cakes, this nice little place on Magiting next to Moonleaf.

It's really tiny (about as big as the Moonleaf branch beside it, for those of you who have been there). It can seat maybe fifteen at most.

I had the chocolate smores cake (P70).

My blockmates had the brazo de mercedes (P50).

What's up with this cork board fad? Every other little pastry or milk tea shop has it. I suppose it's a way to build character and to get return customers ("Real people have been here!") but after a while it gets kind of boring.

It's a good place to play cards.

Let's make baka!

"Sagot sa KAHIRAPAN, Digmang-bayan!"

"Tol, nasa Econ ka."

An EDSA photodrive

The stiffest faces in Philippine cosmetic surgery.

So clean, so good.

Uy, mga mars!

Behind this overspeeding bus is the EDSA Shrine. Ooh.

Realizing that your driver is confidently navigating EDSA at midday without a rearview mirror: fun.

It's nice to be back.

Fooled by cardboard

FML. Saw this in Eduk last week—

So I went ahead and took one. But...

Fooled by a cardboard box tacked to a bulletin board. FML.

Pedring damage

Kuya JC and I took a walk around the Academic Oval at around 1130pm Tuesday, just hours after the worst of Pedring. The campus is hella devastated, although thankfully not as much as Roxas Boulevard, the Mall of Asia and Sofitel.

Tons of fallen branches. I woke up Tuesday morning to see lashing winds outside my window; a text from the Chancellor had spread around saying that classes were suspended—until 1pm, which is really a WTF move, considering that, oh, I don't know, there's a nasty storm ripping apart roofs and uprooting trees outside.

Thankfully, an hour after that announcement was made, it was superseded by a whole-day suspension. The following day there wasn't any rain anymore, and classes were once again suspended until 1pm to give everyone time to recover before we went back to studying and fighting for greater state subsidy.

Trees in front of UP-Ayala Technohub, now growing sideways thanks to Pedring.

Special PEPE

I beg your pardon?

These are the times we live in.

Tonight I thought I'd stop by AS on my way to dinner to find out what was going on. They're having a cultural night, with performances from various artists that depict the history of the struggle of the university and its students.

What an auspicious way to spend the night before the university makes history once more. Tomorrow, UP students and administrators will walk all the way from Quezon City to Mendiola, along with other state and private universities, to signify their opposition to Noynoy Aquino's abhorrent policies. They will march in opposition to yet another hefty budget cut the national university is poised to sustain. They will march in opposition to cuts to the budgets of state tertiary schools. They will march in opposition to Aquino's gross underfunding of the Philippine General Hospital (PGH) and of public health in general.

Simply put, UP will march all the way from Diliman to Mendiola because our President has neglected his responsibility to his nation's youth and people too gravely.

Frankly, I do not think Aquino will be shaken in the least by tomorrow's demonstration. His policy—to gradually drop quality tertiary education from the list of his government's responsibilities—has been rock solid since last year. No matter how resonant our call is—and more fundamentally, how crucial quality college education is to the development of a nation—he will probably not listen to it.

But what will matter is that he will know that we know what he is doing. He will know that we won't forget, neither will future generations, and neither will history. He will know that even as he has not been in power for two years, we already know what he will be remembered as: the President who shirked his responsibility to the nation's future.

UP is on strike.

Starting yesterday, the University of the Philippines Diliman went on strike to oppose the Aquino government's continuing neglect of its responsibility to state universities and colleges.

San Juan Representative JV Ejercito paid a visit to the AS steps, where youth leaders, UP officials and some of his fellow congressmen spoke for greater state subsidy. He said more than 100 lawmakers have signed a manifesto supporting the call for state support for tertiary schools.

Student Regent Kristina Conti said such a manifesto, though nice, is really an empty gesture because there isn't any overt action accompanying it. Sure, you want more financial support for state universities, but where's the money?

Kabataan Partylist Representative Mong Palatino, meanwhile, said that however determined Congress might be to increase the budget of SUCs, Aquino will still have the final say. Even if both houses of Congress agree to add to the budget of state schools, when the budget bill reaches Aquino's desk he can still choose to veto such additions. This is why it's a good idea to pressure Malacañang and the Department of Budget and Management about state subsidy for SUCs, he says.

In 2010, Aquino said, "We are gradually reducing the subsidy to SUCs to push them toward becoming self-sufficient and financially independent" because they had the "ability to raise their income." By income-raising ability, he probably means leasing public lands meant for academic use in shady and nonbeneficial deals, or shifting the burden to supposedly state-funded scholars by charging them higher tuition and laboratory fees.

The sad truth is that Aquino's outlook on quality state-supported tertiary education in the Philippines is this: "I don't give a shit." He does not care about training and creating our future engineers, social scientists, artists, journalists, filmmakers and novelists. He does not care about securing the country's industrial, cultural and social future.

He does not care about the future of this country.

His communications team will, of course, say that he does, and will point to his myopic programs—the Conditional Cash Transfer and Public-Private Partnerships—as evidence. Perhaps some will believe their drivel.

But those of us who know what's really at stake, who really understand why there is such an uproar over Aquino's admitted policy on quality tertiary education in this country, know that he has no sense of history, that he has a complete lack of ability to see beyond the horizon. Any president who looks at quality college education as an unwanted burden on the state does not understand what quality college education really means, especially if that president went to a private university and is a rich haciendero.

It's only been two years since his ascent to power, but we all know that for all the history and prestige he used to climb to the top, he will be a forgettable president.

We will not forget.