coffee, nonfiction and that place in LA

I’m a coffee junkie. To prove my point: before coming back from the US, I even removed a bundle of clothes from my luggage so I can fit a three-pound can of Colombian coffee to bring home.  

I consider coffee shops one of the cleverest gastronomic inventions along with French Fries and the automated ice cream churning machine. Because strangely, the aromatic air and tame background music seem to always spark my very rare lengthy conversations with people. True, their merchandise appears ridiculously pricey, especially if you can get the same tasty beverage with ol’ Kape Puro; but these shops have been my venue of choice for catching up with family and friends or random serious talks.

So why then, don’t I have a story to tell for a contest that has a grand prize worth fuzzing about? If you’ve been to any The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf store recently, you’ve probably read that they’re giving away a trip to Hollywood in a story-telling competition. I saw the ad on a TCBTL table while hanging out with a friend several weeks ago, but I remembered to view their microsite just recently. I’ve read a couple of the contest entries and thought, “I can definitely write something like this.” I write fiction. I can concoct the strangest yet most interesting love story or barkada drama for this contest. However, in the spirit of fairness, I thought maybe I should write a true story for once. Here’s the problem… as much as I try to dig my memory bank, I don’t have a TCBTL story. I could say that I have a Starbucks story; but it happened in… well, the greatest business rival of The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf… uh, Starbucks. So, should I change the mocha frappucino part of the story into chai latte?

Oh, I could definitely use the grand prize. I have a valid visa (and everyone knows how hard it is to obtain one these days). Besides, I’m having this sort of wanderlust that I can’t seem to shake off. A few days away from people-bugging-you-about-what-to-do-with-your-life doesn’t hurt either.

There’s just this thing about the prize. If ever I do win it, I might be going alone. Though I can always call my Chicago-based cousin to fly there and join me, it just feels absurd. It’s friggin’ Hollywood. It’s this big, fun place with beautiful faces and handsome cars; and there I appear as this nerdy tourist in a lousy t-shirt. I’m never a fan of big cities anyway, and I hate crowds. I don’t want to come back being asked how my Hollywood vacation went and all I have to show are bad photos and crumpled brochures.

Why am I even thinking of this in the first place?

a shake for the rainy season

No one can predict an earthquake. That I know. Aside from detecting subtle changes in tectonic activity, I reckon there’s no existing technology that can allow us to predict the exact magnitude, date and time of a future quake.  

Unless you’re a self-proclaimed psychic, apparently.

The internet has been buzzing with news of a certain Brazilian professor Juseleeno Nobulega Daroose predicting a huge earthquake to hit the country on July 18th. The psychic had claims of being able to predict Princess Diana’s demise, the 9/11 tragedy and the location of the late Iraqi leader Hussein before his capture. The latest of his so-called predictions included the massive quake that hit China several weeks ago, and now, he’s claiming that we will be the next ones to get shaken. Following the China quake and the series of low-intensity earthquakes that Luzon has experienced recently, it will come as no surprise if another shake-up happens soon since there’s already an obvious display of tectonics at work. At the said magnitude of 8.1, if true, the event will mark the end of this place as we know it. Convenient, huh?

Whether it be an educated guess or precognition, shouldn’t we always be wary of these emergencies in the first place? The forces of nature have long been ganging up on us anyway. Even as a mere dot in the Pacific Ring of Fire, we are no strangers to destructive volcanic events and quakes that can kill thousands. It actually troubles me that I can’t remember learning anything in school about earthquake preparedness. I’m probably one of those who’ll spend 10 seconds figuring out where to go and would get smashed by a broken ceiling in the process.

Come to think of it, it would be utterly convenient yet a waste of planetary energy to have my life end that way. With my closest friends only knowing me as the female personification of Detective Conan and my family branding me a kid with a thousand frustrated careers… there’s nothing to write on my tombstone.

Until that marble slab will have a description worth meticulous etching, I should learn to save my life.

algebra suddenly made sense

I loved math. Then I hated it. Then I liked it again.

I don’t know if this love-hate relationship with mathematics in general stems from several failures in school and then the strangely excellent marks I get in certain couses. There were times when I could sit for hours, solve ten pages of calculus problems and even feel refreshed afterwards. There were also times when I would sit for hours and not understand how to solve that single equation at the top of the page.

Sometimes it just didn’t make sense. I had thought the same towards the science (or pseudoscience?) of numerology. 

But guess what, I tried this numerology site upon the suggestion of a colleague who was amazed with the results. And here is my “reading”: (more…)