Reticulating splines

I think I've heard of the name before. Pepe Diokno. You see, I like storing names in my memory-- except that they get lost somewhere and they only turn up when I need them. I do remember eventually. It took me about ten minutes to recall:

Right. MyoldersisterhasabatchmatewhohasabrotherwhowritesforthePhilippineStar! And this batchmate's last name? Diokno.

Paolo Lorenzana, Gino dela Paz-- I think I used to read Philippine Star Supreme back then, when I thought that the awesomest thing to become was to be someone like them: yuppies oozing with that thing I used to know as coolness. But then they got tiring after a while, what with all the repetitive shallowness that subtly defines their articles. They can still be fun to read though, depending on your mileage.

And now we come to the part wherein I actually say something about that article.

Okay, two things:

1) I found it really really amusing, and

2) I now feel rather sorry for Sharmila.

And so before anybody out there actually shoots me for this, I simply want to point out that this article doesn't really need a rebuttal, so to speak. It's enough knowing that debating doesn't necessarily involve being a motor mouth, and that, yes, we do have people who can speak coherently without fainting for lack of breath.

But if you're still reeling from a bruised ego... you can probably plot vengeance on Pepe Diokno, if it will make you feel better. Afterall, I see his sister on some days.

She walks around UP. :))

Biboness (or the lack thereof)

I wonder what is it about converging shadows and inky pools of darkness that makes the atmosphere so unconducive for debating. Maybe it's the dimness of the light in the corridor. Or the chill wind adding to the discomfort of strained eyes and soupy brains. Or maybe it's the deepening gloom playing tricks on us by impeding our hearing-- how that happens I don't really know. But what I've observed so far, is that debates happening in that rather gloomy vagueness sag towards the bottom, in the wide spectrum of things. (Then again you know, this might only be a coincidence that makes sense in my world. :)) ) After watching two debates occuring at that particular time, and being in one myself at another, it reminds me of The Annals of Waz Speeches shelved neatly at the back of my mind-- and yes, my speech at that time definitely got filed there. Thank God I was adjing for the other two times (today included).

Training with the old members. It's like being an app all over again. Just when you think you know something about debating, ignorance jabs you in places you never you even existed.

Adjing for high school tourneys is pretty much synonymous to growing devil horns and developing a sinister maniacal laugh. It's fun, in its wonderfully sadistic way, and it does wonders for your ego. But we don't know anything. Not really.

Which is why, in spite of deep unspeakable feelings of wazness towards the people make us cry (well... si JC, naiyak), little candles of devotion still burn at the altars of them who bestow their wisdom. :))