#jem lim

[brucelim888]

US trip 2005

mid-morning, in our tiny rented Chevy Cavalier One of our first few trips together... all these were taken some 20 or so pounds ago...

[brucelim888]

Microphones and the Letter Z

(Friendster Blog September 2005) On the plane for our flight back to Manila yesterday morning, as my mom and I were already seated comfortably waiting for take off, the speakers turned up and I heard the usual pre-flight safety lecture. An obviously-Pinoy bloke glumly delivered his standard lines: (I suggest you try to read the following out loud) “Ladiezzz and Zhen-tel-men, zees eez your flight purzer (name), ... we would like to zengk you for flying Philippine Airlineszzzz...” And then suddenly without warning, his voice trailed off into a minute-long buzzing, unintelligible drone. A few dragging minutes later as we were airborne, he came back on: "Zee fazen your zeetbelt zign eez now off. You may now yooz your Pi-di-eyz, portable gameszz and laptopz wizout internet conneczhun..." I do not think he meant his speech to be comprehensible at all. I think he was amusing himself by frightening us passengers into thinking that there was an angry, hungry ogre with us in the flight. He was grumbling into the apparently cheap microphone (I think it’s an intercom apparatus that doubles as a mic) and just went about his routine without actually caring if anyone gave a hoot if they knew how to save their arses should the plane dive 27,000 feet from the sky and plunge into the cold pacific ocean (or south china sea --- which way were we going anyway?). What is it with Filipinos and microphones? Presented with an opportunity to make an electronically-amplified speech to a crowd, we mutate into microphone magnets. Typical of our lack of respect for personal space, Filipinos also tend to automatically jam these phallic devices barely 5mm onto their lips, and MUMBLE ON them. Then all you hear is this: "Bzzzzzrrrrr Bzzzzrrrrr Bzzzrrrrr..." "Wazzzzhhhhrrrr Wazzzzhhhhrrrr Wazzzzhhhhrrrr..." "Phrrrzzzhrrrr Phrrrzzzhrrrr Phrrrzzzhrrrr..." Stop by any of the SM malls in the city. Go to the Kitchenware section, and look for any demo booth of any useless kitchen device. There, you will see a poor guy (usually in white short-sleeved polo shirt and blue tie) with a black headset on and a... ta-daaaah! ... microphone. He will most likely be speaking with the mic halfway into his mouth. On the night before my return flight to Manila, I was at the front desk of the hotel waiting to settle my account. The front desk officer and I could barely understand each other. It was bad enough that he was a soft-spoken Korean working in Kuala Lumpur, and I was a Filipino-Chinese tourist speaking in American Junk-influenced English. Worse, we were competing with a banshee-sounding lady 25 feet above us; a lounge singer was performing at their in-house bar. She was singing that annoyingly over-exposed Titanic theme by Celine Dion. Shortly afterwards, her pianist joined the racket and staged his unusual version of Barry Manilow’s Copacobana: “Myooo-zik and fasszhon were alwayszzz the pazzion at za Copaaaaa...”. They HAD to be Filipinos. I was soooo sure of it, I was willing to bet my guess against my plane ticket and family discount at the hotel. They HAD to be Filipinos. They HAD to be. The signs were there: the Z’s, the grumbling at every ad-lib inbetween songs, the occasional confusion between “I” and “E”, “O” and “U”, “P” and “F”... “Zenk yoo very much... Yoo are all zo wonderfool... my nexzt zong will be..." And there was that buzzing sound again. At several live corporate events some years back, I observed that most technical staff (the sound guys, specifically) would go about their final sound and microphone checks in this manner: A guy in baseball cap and sneakers steps on the stage, does a nice, macho-looking whipping of the cables, drops his head and slowly speaks into the device, holding it too near his lips he looks as if he is eating an ice cream cone. “One.........tzwoo.........zreee.........” “One.........tzwoo.........zreee.........” “Tssss...... Tsssss......Tssss......” He does this a few times, and launches into a series of funny-sounding cluck-clucking exercises: “Cluck.....................Cluck.................Cluck.............” “Cluck...................Cluck.................Cluck............” “Cluck................Cluck..................Cluck............” “Cluck.............Cluck...................Cluck............” “Cluck...Cluck...Cluck...” Then it picks up speed: “Cluckuckuckuckuckuckuckuckuck”. As a final demonstration of his high-fidelity voice-amplifying device, he does this: “Mike............ Tezzzzzzzzzzzzt.” “Mike............ Tezzzzzzzzzzzzt.” “Mike............ Tezzzzzzzzzzzzt.” “Zoooooouuuunnnnnnnnnnndddd-DDDDD” “Zoooooouuuunnnnnnnnnnndddd-DDDDD” “TezZZZZZZZZZt.” “One... Tzwoooo... TezZZZZZZZZZt.” “TezZZZZZZZZZt.” “TezZZZZZZZZZt.” Sounds quite eerie, eh? “Zzzoooooooouuuuuunnnnd”. It’s spooky, stupid and hilarious. I think the “sound check” routine during technical rehearsals caused me to finally shy away from live events and shows. Listening to these dimwits simply is not my thing. No more, mommah! What is it with us and microphones? Why the need for a live reverb effect? Why alter speech patterns? Do we have a fascination for our amplified voices that we are hypnotized into speaking in low-toned, slow, grumbling buzzes each time we hold that metal contraption? Or does the letter “Z” have a certain allure to us Filipinos because we do not have the Z sound in our native tongue, and we substitute it for every possible similar-sounding alphabet? How did this mysterious habit evolve? Can somebody pleeeezzzz enlighten me before I go nutzzzz?

[brucelim888]

Life begins…

…10 weeks from now. When I was in my twenties I dreaded getting older. I couldn’t imagine reaching the “ripe old age of 40.” I held on to youth well into my mid-30s, behaving like I was forever 27. For as long as I can remember, that was my mindset. 27’s my favorite age. I think 27 is the age when you’re young enough to still party but old enough to earn a decent salary. It’s when you have the license to make mistakes and yet be old enough to have the credibility to make adult decisions. It’s when you are in middle management and you have just the right dose of responsibility but not serious accountability. 27 is when you have a boss who would cover your ass when you f*@k up, and the same boss who would make way for you when it was your time to shine. 27 is when you can stay away from home without fear of being reported by your folks as “missing”, but young enough that your parents won’t kick you out of the house for overstaying. Oh, I held on to that age so much that sometimes I really forgot how old I truly was. I ate and smoked and spent late nights as if my entire being was still capable of regenerating my damaged cells. I spent every peso I earned and my bank account was anemic. I behaved like I was 27. I dressed like I was 27. My temper was a 27-year old’s --- I was impatient, easily distracted, demanding, and fiery. My idea of a business was breeding retrievers and spending every peso of my profits. When I turned 35 I panicked. I had no significant investments or savings, and my insurance was so measly it could well be just for the upkeep of my pets upon my death. I had no pension fund and my only business with a financial institution was having a checking account. My car was nearing seven years old and I spent more money on repairs than if I did paying for a new car’s amortization. I was comfortably holed up in my mother’s 3rd floor attic and “owned” every inch of its 55 square meter space. I realized I was seriously NOT serious about getting older. I told myself that I would never be caught dead penniless with an old Suzuki parked in my mother’s garage. So I went on an investment spree. I was already earning much more than when I was in my favorite age, so I had enough “disposable” income. I am now paying for the amortization of some small investments (that my banker-siblings probably think are miniscule and belated hahaha) and put up a business with some trusted colleagues. I’m no longer an irresponsible 27-year old, although I still behave silly. Now that I’m nearing 40, I know that any decision I make may spell the success or collapse of a company I co-own or help or harm my reputation. Oh but there is so much I can enjoy out of being 40. You have more credibility, you are still young enough to party (especially if you behave like a 27 year old), and best of all, you can still hook up with 27-year olds. Yes? I am still that impatient, demanding person though. But I’ve learned to ease up on reckless eating binges and late nights (unless my work calls for it). I’m trying to cut down on smoking (now down to 10 sticks from 30 a day), and I spend lesser nights out. My socials involve quiet dinners with friends and coffee with the same intimate group. Now I realize turning forty isn’t supposed to be the death of me. It has more rewards than I ever imagined when I was younger. I have more money (hahahahahaha!), I can travel farther and longer, I have a broader understanding of things and the ways of the world, I can see through people and determine who are real and who are the scum of the earth. Best of all, I have a 27 year old clinging to my arms who thinks we are of the same age. Life is just beginning.

[brucelim888]

Sleeping Babies

One lazy sunday afternoon, I found my two overgrown babies taking their nap on the cold parquet floor; one baby's arm locked around the other baby's neck. Two minutes later, the browner baby stirred. The bigger baby put her arm AND leg around the brown baby. Surprisingly, no one was hurt.

[brucelim888]

random thoughts at 4:44pm

cold dark suite good i have my jacket. used hood drizzling this morning walked to meeting. weather contingency alternative location. death jr volume 2 find volume 3 watchmen weird ending apocalypse. cranium spell apocalypse backwards. bambi certified horticulturist? post pics balai multiply. speaking like rorschach stinky guy 80s comics. hungry. oreo peanut butter. merienda outside. client must arrive early. hit at 6pm. hit at 8 pm. hit till past midnight. again. carla gym pay credit card. meet jenny and mom. check calendar. interlock telecon pasig makati. weird special effects. charge batteries. rice release mats. wide angle lens canon. carla passport. visa applications. ad congress deadlines. release materials. sleepy cold dark room. poor leslie lucky jem. stupid cousin chat logged off. carla off by 6? no FA? japanese song. take-san rachel. atama wo tsukae. aaargh. 4:55pm i am so fercked up.

[brucelim888]

35 summers

I started writing this on my 40th birthday but had to pause for -- what else? A meeting. So after posting my To See the World blog, I have decided that this is a good follow up material. My last entry before I take that trip and come home with stories and photos from those faraway lands. September 17, 2007 I am officially 40 years old today. And assuming that I will hit the ripe old age of 75 years, simple arithmetic will tell me that I have 35 summers left in my lifetime. I'm not being mushy and all that; I do not feel bad about this prospect at all. I don't think I am going through mid-life crisis either -- I have no kids to worry about and have no hang-ups about leaving this world. I just suddently realized that I have a long to-do and to-see list -- so many places i still want to see, so many things i still want to enjoy and experience. 35 summers just won't be enough for me to complete that list... unless of course I stop living like an android and start putting my whole BEING into "Live and Let Live" mode... and rob a bank of millions of dollars to afford me non-stop trips around the world. But simple math like this just quickly opens one's eyes and makes one realize the value of living life, and not wasting it. I have 35 summers and 35 christmas holidays to make a turnaround and live life like one should. So I have that much time left to make practical choices about where to go and what to see next. So for the balance of my life, which again at best is 35 summers, I promise to myself that I will see a new place and meet old friends AT LEAST twice a year. That's 70 places and 70 people more to see in my lifetime, and that's not a bad goal at all! THIS YEAR's STOPS: Istanbul, Turkey and Santorini, Greece. NEXT YEAR: If carla can have her way, it's going to be Zanzibar. If I can swing her to my side, it would be Paris and Italy. If finances prove to be wobbly, then a domestic destination would be just as wonderful.

[brucelim888]

To See the World

There always comes a point in one’s life when one has to know when to take a break. To me, this “break” happens once or twice a year, when I hop on a plane and head off to some place with carla. But no matter how much I try to organize my life vis-à-vis my projects, somehow delays happen. This is where one has to learn to make compromises. And to compromise, I find myself pushing my vacation calendar as far as I can if only to accommodate the ugly, inconvenient developments. The pressure is always just so overwhelming, I wish I had 36 hours to a day instead of 24. BUT. Sometimes, there also comes a point in one’s life when one has to know when to STOP, no matter what. And to me, the time is NOW. I will hop on that plane tomorrow evening with Carla, take the 8-hour trip to Dubai with three of my Lola friends, and we will be halfway through our voyage to Istanbul, Turkey. Those TV ads I passed on to my able associate will see the light of day, with or without me. The world of Soda and Snack Food advertising surely will not stop nor crumble without me. I do not resent that; I am actually happy to know that as a fact. It affords me a sense of freedom. Darn it, I am forty years old. I probably have only 20 good years left in my knees to afford me long walks through strange cities in far-flung countries. There are a thousand and one places on this earth I have not yet seen. Nothing should stop me from seeing the world.

[brucelim888]

Istanbul: Ciragan Palace and Topkapi

Thanks to my good friend Lori Blin, Carla and I (and my lola friends) had a grand time vacationing in Istanbul, Turkey, what with the excellent accommodations at Ciragan Palace Kempinski... the suite was lovely, although every night we would imagine the phantom of the Sultan roaming the corridors of the Palace. Ciragan Palace (which I later discovered is pronounced "chee-ran") lies along the Bosphorus Strait. The sunset is just awesome! Thanks to Lori (Lulu to us) for being our gracious, patient host! Muah! Other photos are of the Topkapi Palace and the tiny bazaar just outside the site. More photos to come!