There's always room for one more.
"I caught a big one!"
Tickle.
Who needs a floor polisher? Just let 'er rip.
Peek-a-boo!
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Bits and pieces of my kids and nieces
Children are such a joy to shoot. Wait, that didnt come out right. Anyway, here are some photos of them doing what they do best: being kids.
There's always room for one more.
"I caught a big one!"
Tickle.
Who needs a floor polisher? Just let 'er rip.
Peek-a-boo!
There's always room for one more.
"I caught a big one!"
Tickle.
Who needs a floor polisher? Just let 'er rip.
Peek-a-boo!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Germany 2006
I always hoped this could be the year England finally claims a World Cup title since the last one in 1966. After all, they still claim at least a sentimental ownership of the beautiful game--even Barcelona has an English flag on their offical team seal and so does AC Milan--so I thought it was about time. Early this year, you could make a very good case for England winning the big one this year. Their offense is as good as any team on the planet: Owen and Rooney up front and playing right behind them you have Lampard, Gerrard, and Beckham; that's enough to strike fear into any team that has to defend against them, and I told an English colleague so. He had his doubts. He was privy to some inner workings that are covered in the British press and not covered here. Like the discord in the ranks due to England manager Sven-Goran Eriksson's management style. But still...
It's May now and the the World Cup's next month and things are not looking all that well for England. They have a team plagued with injuries. Wayne Rooney is a doubtful starter, having injured his foot in a Premiere League match against Chelsea. Michael Owen also missed Newcastle's final match, also against Chelsea, due also to a broken foot. England would have to pin its hopes on a forward line composed of two unproven players: the long, tall, Liverpool forward Peter Crouch, and the 17-year old Theo Walcott, who has yet to play a major-league football game for Arsenal. (A showdown with American sensation, 16-year old Freddy Adu, wouldve been fun to watch if Adu got picked for the U.S. team.) That said, Peter Crouch might just be the X-Factor for this English team, especially in set pieces. Look for Beckham's passes to keep finding Crouch.
A betting man wouldnt put up money on the England team in its present, hobbled state--top defenders Sol Campbell and Ashley Cole are also coming from injuries--but it would be nice to see the country that gave us football finally win one. The smart money is definitely on defending champions Brazil, but how satisfying is it for a fan from a country that probably won't even be within range of the World Cup in the next century to watch while the superstar-laden Brazilian team take the cup home again this year? An underdog win is a lot more satisfying for Pinoys, since we're that: the perennial underdogs. In everything. Except billiards. In 1998, it was the underdog French that did it (who promptly bombed out in the first round in 2002). Who knows? Maybe this year, the English could do it.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Right. 'Tis the season
| You Are Boston |
 Both modern and old school, you never forget your roots. Well educated and a little snobby, you demand the best. And quite frankly, you think you are the best. Famous people from the Boston area: Conan O'Brien, Ben Affleck, New Kids on the Block |
| The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic |
 Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, Showgirls, The Big Lebowski |
| You Are 50% Evil |
 You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side. Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination. |
Moooo-huhahahahaaa.. Moooooo-huhahahahaaaa...
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
More clicks
More fun with the new, old XA2. I bought a cheap roll of ASA 200 film with the never-before-heard brand name of Solid Gold. It costs about half of what a similar film from Kodak would cost. And as expected, the film was crap. Visible graininess. Too much for an ASA 200 film. I had to tweak the pictures below a bit because of this.
Isabel drawing
Isabel's umbrella
Let's play squeeze the baby
Are you following me?
Fire hazard. Make every week Fire Prevention Week
I dont think Ive had a plant give me the finger before.
I light my torch and wave it for the full moon on Friday.
Isabel drawing
Isabel's umbrella
Let's play squeeze the baby
Are you following me?
Fire hazard. Make every week Fire Prevention Week
I dont think Ive had a plant give me the finger before.
I light my torch and wave it for the full moon on Friday.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Click
We got Ninong Grif's XA2 a week ago and we promptly put it through its paces. Isabel was pretty excited with the camera and took a few shots of her favorite model--Me. The durn thing's cute and I have to say I spend as much time with it as Isabel does. The zone focus takes some getting used to, but we're getting the hang of it. I'm resisting the urge to commandeer it for myself since it's a lot handier than the OM-2n, but Ive sort of made a deal with the kids. I'll let them use the OM-2n if they let me use the XA2. Thanks, Grif. It'll give us something to do during the Easter holidays since we're staying home.
Here are a few pics we took with it.
Some trees are just made to be climbed.
The venerable arboreal primate himself.
The neigbor's doggie. It's amazing how he manages not
to strangle himself with his chain. Smart dog. He's learned
to negotiate his way through the fence without entangling
himself.
Isabel took all the pics above. Like I said, I couldnt resist taking a few shots myself. Here goes:
The backyard with it's aqua-painted curb stones.
Isabel's posse
Dead parakeet. Nope, not of H5N1. At least I hope not. My guess
is he's gay and the homophobic parakeets beat him up. Avian hate crime.
Fun times with the little camera, indeed. Isabel took it to summer musical theatre class to take pictures of her classmates. She's really a good singer and we hope the summer class helps her develop her talents. I'll have to blog about that soon.
Here are a few pics we took with it.
Some trees are just made to be climbed.
The venerable arboreal primate himself.
The neigbor's doggie. It's amazing how he manages not
to strangle himself with his chain. Smart dog. He's learned
to negotiate his way through the fence without entangling
himself.
Isabel took all the pics above. Like I said, I couldnt resist taking a few shots myself. Here goes:
The backyard with it's aqua-painted curb stones.
Isabel's posse
Dead parakeet. Nope, not of H5N1. At least I hope not. My guess
is he's gay and the homophobic parakeets beat him up. Avian hate crime.
Fun times with the little camera, indeed. Isabel took it to summer musical theatre class to take pictures of her classmates. She's really a good singer and we hope the summer class helps her develop her talents. I'll have to blog about that soon.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Trust no one
Drat, it's quiz season.
 You scored as FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files). You are part of a super secret section of the FBI. You also have the very cool status of Special Agent. You believe in many conspiracies and know the government is covering up way too much. Now if only you could the Cigarette Smoking Man to stop providing you with the second-hand smoke.
Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? (pics) created with QuizFarm.com |
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
A load of bull
I remember reading The Dangerous Summer when I was a bored teenager and found myself fascinated with the sport of bullfighting. The way Hemingway described it, bullfighting was more art than sport, more driven by honor than by bloodlust. In that summer of 1959, the superstar bullfighter of the day, Luis Miguel Dominguin, and the young upstart, Antonio Ordonez pushed each other, trying to outdo each other, taking more and more risks, to claim the title of 'the best'. Hemingway's writing was brutal, breviloquent, and beautiful, and having never seen an actual bullfight in its ritualistic entirety, I came away with romantic notions about the art and craft of killing bulls. It was years later that I would be able to see an actual bullfight, thanks to the Spanish TV station TVE Internacional. And Im sorry, Spain; try as I might, I never could find the beauty and artistry that drove Hemingway to tears that summer of '59. All I saw was a stupid animal being taken advantage of for sport and spectacle.
I was flipping channels yesterday morning when I saw a bullfight on TV. My younger daughter was awake and sat beside me. We watched as the matador with his retinue paraded the arena and saluted the crowd. Then the bull came out, a huge powerful beast, muscles seemingly wanting to burst through its hide. The bull galloped around the arena displaying its awesome strength. This bull was blonde, which piqued my interest that much more since I was used to seeing black bulls on TV. I was about to switch channels since I knew what was about to happen, but decided against it, using the opportunity to expose my daughter to a foreign culture. All she knows about bullfights are what she sees on cartoons. She'll ask questions and I'll do my best to answer.
First, the bull is tested by the matador and his alalays by waving pink and gold capes at it. The bull attacks the capes and the matador waves the cape around with all the art and attitude he can muster with a half ton animal charging at him at full speed, it's horns inches from his groin. Very nice. The bull gets as much applause as the matador, especially if it shows courage and determination in its attacks. The point being, I would guess, to establish the bull and the matador as two equally matched and worthy adversaries: the matador with his wits and cunning, and the bull with its raw power. This is all well and good, except that the match is anything but even.
After the 'suerte de capote', two picadores on armored and blindfolded horses come in and things start to get really ugly for the bull. The horses are blindfolded to prevent them from freaking out at the sight of the bull. The bull then attacks the horses, trying to impale their bellies with its horns. At this point, the horse, which won't win a Nobel prize for physics anytime soon, has no idea what's going on. It's only aware that something is trying to lift it from the ground, and is calm throughout. Meanwhile, the picador uses his lance to stab the bull about the neck and shoulders. Blood pours down on the bull's side, and because this one's blonde, the blood is clearly visible on the bull's hide. The bull keeps attacking the horses, while the picadores stab at it, leaning on their lances. (The lances have stops on them to prevent the lance heads from going in too deep. Theyre not supposed to kill the bull; only wound it.) My daughter's attention is rapt at this point. She's fascinated by the brutality of it all. "What's he doing?," she asks. "That's supposed to weaken the bull," I say. "They stab it to weaken the neck muscles so it won't be too strong for the matador." "That's a lot of blood," she says. Indeed it was.
After this, the matador and a couple of alalays are given two spiked banderillas. They taunt the bull to attack and then jab the banderillas into the bull's shoulders, further weakening it with loss of blood. The matador, if he's good, will stand squarely facing the bull, taunt it to attack, then sticks the banderillas onto the bull's shoulders from the front, with the bull's horns inches away from his face and neck. This to me is the most thrilling part of the corrida. The bull is weaker, but you know it's still strong enough to kill the matador with a well-placed jab; the matador not protected by a distracting cape, standing right in front of the charging bull, sticking his harpoons in the bull's hide with all the art and grace he can muster... then gets the hell out of there. There are wooden barriers he can go to to escape a bull's charge. The other alalays are there with the pink capes just in case things go wrong. If it seems that the matador might be in danger, they move in with their capes to distract the bull into charging them instead.
By this time, the bull's blonde hide is black with blood, its tongue hanging out from exhaustion. It has a dazed look in its eye and you'd think that it would just quit or drop dead right there and then. The matador then comes in with a sword and a small red cape. He taunts the dazed bull, who then charges. The matador now has more confidence to show off since the bull's charges are not as powerful. He pirouettes, he glides. He tiptoes, turns his back to the bull, at one point even touching it's forehead, all the while waving his cape with a flourish. The bull charges, his neck lower to the ground now from exhaustion, so much so that it once ended up catching its horns on the ground almost causing it to somersault over. The crowd cheers. I'd like to think theyre cheering the bull, too. There's just no quit in this animal. At the final series of passes, the bull's horns get caught in the ground again, but this time, the bull powers through, and all that energy stored in the bull's neck while the ground stopped its momentum is suddenly released, and the bull's head comes up fast, causing the matador to mistime a step. He was still moving forward when the bull's horns were coming up and only his reflexes saved him from getting disemboweled. The bull's horn caught his jacket and he was off-balance for a second. The ever-alert alalays move in to distract the bull til the matador regains his poise, this time with enough information about the bull: the speed of its charges, the position of its now-exhausted head; all this the matador factors in as he prepares to deliver his deathblow. He stands in front of the bull, his sword held at eye level, feet together with front leg bent and on tiptoes. A silly pose really, all cartoon-y, but it's part of the ritual. He holds the cape low and taunts the bull to charge. He is aiming for that spot between the bull's shoulders. The bull charges...
The matador lunges forward, between the bull's horns, and buries the sword between the bull's shoulders almost to the hilt, straight to the bull's heart. He moves away and basks in the crowd's cheers, the alalays distracting the still-standing bull who still tries with whatever strength it still has, to attack. Then it crumples to the ground, its legs giving way. A puntillero then delivers the final blow: a dagger through the bull's spine just where it attaches to the skull. The animal stiffens and falls dead.
"What are they going to do with it?" my daughter asks.
"Theyll eat it," I said.
I was flipping channels yesterday morning when I saw a bullfight on TV. My younger daughter was awake and sat beside me. We watched as the matador with his retinue paraded the arena and saluted the crowd. Then the bull came out, a huge powerful beast, muscles seemingly wanting to burst through its hide. The bull galloped around the arena displaying its awesome strength. This bull was blonde, which piqued my interest that much more since I was used to seeing black bulls on TV. I was about to switch channels since I knew what was about to happen, but decided against it, using the opportunity to expose my daughter to a foreign culture. All she knows about bullfights are what she sees on cartoons. She'll ask questions and I'll do my best to answer.
First, the bull is tested by the matador and his alalays by waving pink and gold capes at it. The bull attacks the capes and the matador waves the cape around with all the art and attitude he can muster with a half ton animal charging at him at full speed, it's horns inches from his groin. Very nice. The bull gets as much applause as the matador, especially if it shows courage and determination in its attacks. The point being, I would guess, to establish the bull and the matador as two equally matched and worthy adversaries: the matador with his wits and cunning, and the bull with its raw power. This is all well and good, except that the match is anything but even.
After the 'suerte de capote', two picadores on armored and blindfolded horses come in and things start to get really ugly for the bull. The horses are blindfolded to prevent them from freaking out at the sight of the bull. The bull then attacks the horses, trying to impale their bellies with its horns. At this point, the horse, which won't win a Nobel prize for physics anytime soon, has no idea what's going on. It's only aware that something is trying to lift it from the ground, and is calm throughout. Meanwhile, the picador uses his lance to stab the bull about the neck and shoulders. Blood pours down on the bull's side, and because this one's blonde, the blood is clearly visible on the bull's hide. The bull keeps attacking the horses, while the picadores stab at it, leaning on their lances. (The lances have stops on them to prevent the lance heads from going in too deep. Theyre not supposed to kill the bull; only wound it.) My daughter's attention is rapt at this point. She's fascinated by the brutality of it all. "What's he doing?," she asks. "That's supposed to weaken the bull," I say. "They stab it to weaken the neck muscles so it won't be too strong for the matador." "That's a lot of blood," she says. Indeed it was.
After this, the matador and a couple of alalays are given two spiked banderillas. They taunt the bull to attack and then jab the banderillas into the bull's shoulders, further weakening it with loss of blood. The matador, if he's good, will stand squarely facing the bull, taunt it to attack, then sticks the banderillas onto the bull's shoulders from the front, with the bull's horns inches away from his face and neck. This to me is the most thrilling part of the corrida. The bull is weaker, but you know it's still strong enough to kill the matador with a well-placed jab; the matador not protected by a distracting cape, standing right in front of the charging bull, sticking his harpoons in the bull's hide with all the art and grace he can muster... then gets the hell out of there. There are wooden barriers he can go to to escape a bull's charge. The other alalays are there with the pink capes just in case things go wrong. If it seems that the matador might be in danger, they move in with their capes to distract the bull into charging them instead.
By this time, the bull's blonde hide is black with blood, its tongue hanging out from exhaustion. It has a dazed look in its eye and you'd think that it would just quit or drop dead right there and then. The matador then comes in with a sword and a small red cape. He taunts the dazed bull, who then charges. The matador now has more confidence to show off since the bull's charges are not as powerful. He pirouettes, he glides. He tiptoes, turns his back to the bull, at one point even touching it's forehead, all the while waving his cape with a flourish. The bull charges, his neck lower to the ground now from exhaustion, so much so that it once ended up catching its horns on the ground almost causing it to somersault over. The crowd cheers. I'd like to think theyre cheering the bull, too. There's just no quit in this animal. At the final series of passes, the bull's horns get caught in the ground again, but this time, the bull powers through, and all that energy stored in the bull's neck while the ground stopped its momentum is suddenly released, and the bull's head comes up fast, causing the matador to mistime a step. He was still moving forward when the bull's horns were coming up and only his reflexes saved him from getting disemboweled. The bull's horn caught his jacket and he was off-balance for a second. The ever-alert alalays move in to distract the bull til the matador regains his poise, this time with enough information about the bull: the speed of its charges, the position of its now-exhausted head; all this the matador factors in as he prepares to deliver his deathblow. He stands in front of the bull, his sword held at eye level, feet together with front leg bent and on tiptoes. A silly pose really, all cartoon-y, but it's part of the ritual. He holds the cape low and taunts the bull to charge. He is aiming for that spot between the bull's shoulders. The bull charges...
The matador lunges forward, between the bull's horns, and buries the sword between the bull's shoulders almost to the hilt, straight to the bull's heart. He moves away and basks in the crowd's cheers, the alalays distracting the still-standing bull who still tries with whatever strength it still has, to attack. Then it crumples to the ground, its legs giving way. A puntillero then delivers the final blow: a dagger through the bull's spine just where it attaches to the skull. The animal stiffens and falls dead.
"What are they going to do with it?" my daughter asks.
"Theyll eat it," I said.
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