1. Grenville Kleiser's Fifteen Thousand Useful Phrases [Gutenberg etext].
"The abuse of phrases and the misuse of words rife among us can be checked by diligent exercises in good English, such as this book provides. These exercises... will serve to correct careless diction and slovenly speech... for, after all, accuracy in the use of words is more a matter of habit than of theory..."
2. Howjsay.com, an English pronouncing dictionary. Quite the useful companion to #1.
3. DotA Allstars 6.51 AI+ 1.52. This game saw me through the previous month of having been disconnected from the Internet. I don't think I'll ever spend enough time playing DotA again to become a decent player against other people, but the AI bots provide just enough resistance for the game to still be fun.
4. ...and that's it for specific obsessions. Senior year, as one could imagine, almost forces one to revisit the old issues (never satisfactorily resolved, but which had been shunted aside by more immediate concerns): self-worth, identity, value system creation (discovery?), social awareness, career choice, work, money, independence, the future, and so on.
And the dreaded thesis, of course. *deep breath*
Monday, June 23, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A Day in the Life (June 14, 2008) (subtitle: Back, with a Vainjance)
A Day in the Life (June 14, 2008)
This day was spent trying to find our way around Makati to visit new places.
The day's first stop was to be the Goethe (i.e., German culture and
language) Institute, located in Adamson Centre, L.P. Leviste (or
similar, not too sure about this) St., Salcedo Village Makati, where
Jeanne wanted to look for resources for her upcoming thesis. Thanks to
my one week of training at the Siemens building in the same village, I
managed to get us to H.V. de la Costa St. (incidentally where RCBC
Plaza is also located), which Jeanne knew intersected Leviste St.
somewhere.
It did, but it turned out to be quite a long walk (de la Costa was a
long street, and Leviste was nearer the other end). Nothing remarkable
about the walk, just a fairly long one following the road. We got to
the Adamson Centre just as we were beginning to lose hope of ever
finding it.
A small building, it was perhaps a couple of decades old; the
elevators were tiny affairs with decidedly vintage buttons and
displays. We went straight to the fourth floor (the Institute occupied
the fourth and fifth) and were greeted immediately by the library.
Frankly, it was smaller than we expected, but Jeanne did find enough
worthwhile books to decide to avail of a membership. Since there were
no tables for casual, walk-in browsers, we were finished with the
place earlier than we expected, at just 9 am, an hour after we had met
up that morning.
Then there was more walking as we tried to find our way back to Ayala
Avenue, or just EDSA in general. Followed de la Costa to its other end
to arrive at Makati Ave., and then shortly after we were at the
intersection of Makati Ave. and Gil Puyat. Spotting a Gloria Jean's
nearby, we stopped for an iced cappuccino break (their iced
cappuccinos in particular are really good, we almost never have iced
cappuccinos elsewhere), during which a tourism brochure I'd grabbed
somewhat randomly from LTO when I applied for a student permit
suddenly proved its worth, as on its back it had a street map of most
of Metro Manila. Took the appropriate jeep to the Guadalupe MRT
station (consulting the map convinced us of this fact, but to be
honest we could've found out the same thing just by paying attention
to the jeepney signs).
The next stop was actually still in Makati, this reportedly authentic
Japanese restaurant called Seryna, somewhere near Makati Cinema
Square. We took the MRT to Magallanes, since we had seen jeeps going
to Makati Square from there, and soon we were on just such a jeepney.
Somehow we ended up taking the jeepney to the end of its route,
marvelling at the metamorphosis from Makati-CBD (clean, gleaming,
Ayala turf) to Makati-outskirts (cramped, dirty, Manila-like), but
completely missing our destination; I heard Jeanne distinctly ask the
driver if the jeep passed by Makati Cinema Square, but apparently the
driver didn't take the initiative of actually telling us when we had
passed by. (Incidentally, in a development that made us feel like we
were just going in circles, we passed Gil Puyat Avenue somewhere along
the way, as we traversed Pasong Tamo/Chino Roces Ave., which seem to
be the same street just like Buendia/Gil Puyat, but I'm not entirely
sure.)
Got on another jeep, making sure this time to tell the driver clearly
to drop us off at Makati Square. Now, we had been on the lookout on
the way here from Magallanes, but we did not notice any signs saying
Makati Cinema Square, and the closest thing (it seemed) to our
destination that we spotted was an area called Little Tokyo (which did
have an authentic Japanese atmosphere). And, yes, it turned out that
our destination was nearer to Magallanes than the other end of the
jeepney route, and, yes, Makati Cinema Square was right next to Little
Tokyo. We hadn't spotted it because it was a Plaza Fair now, with no
traces of what it used to be called.
Plaza Fair was something like Ever Gotesco, tired-looking and with
sections seemingly stuck a decade in the past. We were not following
any real directions, just a vague statement about the restaurant being
hidden somewhere in the back of Makati Cinema Square (we found out
about this place, or, Jeanne found out about the place from this
blogger called Daphne with whom I'm personally not acquainted, who
posted these gorgeous pictures of their food, a gorgeworthy spread,
literally, with dishes and side dishes aplenty, and for a reasonable
price, she says). So we had to do a bit of wandering around before
hitting upon the place, and not a moment too soon, as we were famished
by then. A quick ATM trip, then we were in, as fast as the chorus of
idle waitresses could greet us irrashaimase.
From the moment we stepped in we realized that we were way out of our
depth, and I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was wondering,
just as we were, what exactly we were doing at Seryna. From outside
Seryna didn't look like much, in fact if anything it looked like an
aging restaurant past its heyday, but inside it was very much still
alive: professional, authoritative, and
expertly-(lovingly-)maintained. The service was attentive, the
interior architecture was interesting, the lighting well-coordinated,
and basically I guess I would say that no detail, however small, was
overlooked (the only concession to Filipino culture I could find was a
small Sto. Nino by the cashier, and that was right under two
unquestionably Japanese theater masks).
We were led to a table right beside an open bar-like area where the
Japanese head chef and his assistants were peeling and slicing
vegetables, selecting and filleting fish, and preparing various dishes
and bento boxes, just before the lunch crowd arrived. If I recall
correctly, it was just about 11 am when we went in. The tables were
mostly empty, and the other customers that were there were mostly
Japanese, so despite the relaxing instrumental music which issued,
low-key, from hidden speakers, our feeling of unease remained.
We were handed a wet towel (we wiped our hands dutifully) and a one
page menu (which we mostly did not understand) each. There were just
two categories on the menu, gozen and bento, with the first one
consisting of such things as sashimi gozen, sukiyaki gozen, and
katsudon (or was it tonkatsu?) gozen, and the second one just having
one item under it. Too timid to ask too many questions, we went with a
sashimi gozen and the sole bento option, makenouchi (not too sure
about this one) bento, which we were told served one person each. And
could we just have water please, thank you (arigato?).
While waiting for the food, we just looked around and tried not to
feel so tense. Admittedly, there was something creepy about the
synchronized welcoming greetings every time a customer would enter;
Jeanne said it was as if they were hiding a monster in the bathroom,
while I tried to put it down to cultural differences. Conversation was
halting, with pauses for looking at each other sheepishly, as if to
confirm that we were both feeling more than a little out of place. We
sipped our water, watched the staff in action behind the bar, and
waited for our lunch.
Our food arrived: two bowls of miso soup; two huge bento boxes both
containing the same three kinds of sashimi on a bed of some stringy,
vaguely rubber-tasting vegetable that might have been shredded radish,
a sort of salad with shredded cabbage, a tomato wedge and cucumber
slices drizzled with lovely Japanese mayo, an odd side dish that could
have been black mushrooms sliced into thin strips with dried fish
flakes, and a few slices of yellow, strongly-flavored pickled
we're-not-sure-what-fruit-or-vegetable-it-is; and two plates with two
orange slices on each. In addition, the bento set (Jeanne's,
incidentally, and also the more expensive one) came with a separate
bowl of steamed rice, had a piece each of shrimp tempura, squid
tempura, bell pepper tempura, and fish tempura along with of course
tempura sauce and some spicy radish, as well as a grilled or barbecued
piece of tuna or salmon which I'm guessing was teppanyaki which came
with a few slices of sweetened fried egg. The sashimi gozen set
(mine), on the other hand, had a compartment for the rice instead of a
separate bowl, as well as a piece of fried chicken (which tasted a bit
like Shakey's chicken, to me). Breaking our chopsticks, we set
ourselves to the task of finishing our lunch.
As we were eating, more customers began to trickle in, until the place
almost filled up. Some customers would sit at the bar and greet the
head chef in a familiar way, and the chef would bark at the nearest
waitress to hurry with the customers' usual orders (in Japanese, which
we did not understand, but the meaning was pretty clear from context).
A sneaking suspicion that there were things that could be ordered that
weren't listed on the menu grew within both of us.
The sashimi was fresh, clean-tasting, and had a very pleasing texture.
The tuna and salmon sashimi were somewhat old hat, as we'd both tried
them before at some point in other establishments. The third sashimi
was stranger. Cut into strips smaller than the usual sashimi portion
size and lightly scored crosswise, it was white and much firmer than
one would expect fish to be. Biting into it and chewing it can best be
described as biting into and chewing very firm squid meat that had
somehow been rendered fatty, an altogether odd but pleasant
experience. Our guesses as to its identity: blowfish? sea urchin?
octopus?
The tempura was great; my only complaint is that they did not include
a piece of eggplant tempura. The grilled fish and the fried chicken
were good, if unadventurous. The most unfamiliar foods of the bunch
were the black-strips side dish (as I try to remember it now, the
closest comparison for taste and texture I can think of is shredded
puso ng saging but a little softer), the yellow pickle slices (which I
had to finish off because they were too strong for Jeanne) and the
strange white sashimi I'd already described.
The meal we had could very well have been worth it (with its
relatively hefty price tag), but I'd say only for Japanese people and
Japanese cuisine enthusiasts, who would better be able to appreciate
its authenticity. As for the two of us, the entire experience was
strange and interesting enough that we didn't feel too much like we
got a bad bargain.
Then it was back on a jeep to the MRT, and the MRT to Shaw, since we
were planning to catch the free French Film Festival at Shangri-La.
The film we wanted to see, entitled Clean and starring Maggie Cheung
(oddly enough), wasn't due to start until 3 pm, so we had time to look
around.
Sniffed the stuff at LUSH (which I've always wanted to try but have
also always found scandalously expensive), looked at a Powerdance
photography exhibit, strolled around the Rustan's supermarket (which
is a valid recreational activity for the two of us), had fruit tarts
at Le Coeur de France (which, unfortunately, weren't as good as they
used to be, which is perhaps why they were among the buy one take one
items), and finally picked up a biggie iced tea from Wendy's before
proceeding to the cinema to line up.
We got our free tickets from the ticket counter, and promptly found
out there that we weren't allowed to bring food and drinks not bought
from the cinema concessionaire into the theaters. We finished our iced
tea much faster than I expected we could and went into the cinema.
The movie was interesting in that way European films usually are, with
their (arguably) more refined (or at least different) sensibilities,
refusal to indulge in melodrama, and in general their more polished,
accomplished feel. It didn't hurt that Maggie Cheung had such an
arresting presence, either. (Just how old is she, anyway?) Clean is a
good movie, though I should warn you, both of us found it a bit of a
downer.
The MRT back north was cramped enough that we had to wait for a few
trains to pass by before we could work up the necessary determination
to squeeze ourselves in. From this point forward, we were back on
familiar ground; succeeding happenings have already blended themselves
with countless similar ones of the past, and it would hardly be
interesting or worthwhile to try and dig these particular ones up.
Suffice it to say that we must've hung around the food court for a
while, probably having some sort of dinner there as well before going
home.
(Whew, that took longer than I expected. I would've gotten this
uploaded sooner, but the Internet connection at home only got fixed - finally! - today.)
This day was spent trying to find our way around Makati to visit new places.
The day's first stop was to be the Goethe (i.e., German culture and
language) Institute, located in Adamson Centre, L.P. Leviste (or
similar, not too sure about this) St., Salcedo Village Makati, where
Jeanne wanted to look for resources for her upcoming thesis. Thanks to
my one week of training at the Siemens building in the same village, I
managed to get us to H.V. de la Costa St. (incidentally where RCBC
Plaza is also located), which Jeanne knew intersected Leviste St.
somewhere.
It did, but it turned out to be quite a long walk (de la Costa was a
long street, and Leviste was nearer the other end). Nothing remarkable
about the walk, just a fairly long one following the road. We got to
the Adamson Centre just as we were beginning to lose hope of ever
finding it.
A small building, it was perhaps a couple of decades old; the
elevators were tiny affairs with decidedly vintage buttons and
displays. We went straight to the fourth floor (the Institute occupied
the fourth and fifth) and were greeted immediately by the library.
Frankly, it was smaller than we expected, but Jeanne did find enough
worthwhile books to decide to avail of a membership. Since there were
no tables for casual, walk-in browsers, we were finished with the
place earlier than we expected, at just 9 am, an hour after we had met
up that morning.
Then there was more walking as we tried to find our way back to Ayala
Avenue, or just EDSA in general. Followed de la Costa to its other end
to arrive at Makati Ave., and then shortly after we were at the
intersection of Makati Ave. and Gil Puyat. Spotting a Gloria Jean's
nearby, we stopped for an iced cappuccino break (their iced
cappuccinos in particular are really good, we almost never have iced
cappuccinos elsewhere), during which a tourism brochure I'd grabbed
somewhat randomly from LTO when I applied for a student permit
suddenly proved its worth, as on its back it had a street map of most
of Metro Manila. Took the appropriate jeep to the Guadalupe MRT
station (consulting the map convinced us of this fact, but to be
honest we could've found out the same thing just by paying attention
to the jeepney signs).
The next stop was actually still in Makati, this reportedly authentic
Japanese restaurant called Seryna, somewhere near Makati Cinema
Square. We took the MRT to Magallanes, since we had seen jeeps going
to Makati Square from there, and soon we were on just such a jeepney.
Somehow we ended up taking the jeepney to the end of its route,
marvelling at the metamorphosis from Makati-CBD (clean, gleaming,
Ayala turf) to Makati-outskirts (cramped, dirty, Manila-like), but
completely missing our destination; I heard Jeanne distinctly ask the
driver if the jeep passed by Makati Cinema Square, but apparently the
driver didn't take the initiative of actually telling us when we had
passed by. (Incidentally, in a development that made us feel like we
were just going in circles, we passed Gil Puyat Avenue somewhere along
the way, as we traversed Pasong Tamo/Chino Roces Ave., which seem to
be the same street just like Buendia/Gil Puyat, but I'm not entirely
sure.)
Got on another jeep, making sure this time to tell the driver clearly
to drop us off at Makati Square. Now, we had been on the lookout on
the way here from Magallanes, but we did not notice any signs saying
Makati Cinema Square, and the closest thing (it seemed) to our
destination that we spotted was an area called Little Tokyo (which did
have an authentic Japanese atmosphere). And, yes, it turned out that
our destination was nearer to Magallanes than the other end of the
jeepney route, and, yes, Makati Cinema Square was right next to Little
Tokyo. We hadn't spotted it because it was a Plaza Fair now, with no
traces of what it used to be called.
Plaza Fair was something like Ever Gotesco, tired-looking and with
sections seemingly stuck a decade in the past. We were not following
any real directions, just a vague statement about the restaurant being
hidden somewhere in the back of Makati Cinema Square (we found out
about this place, or, Jeanne found out about the place from this
blogger called Daphne with whom I'm personally not acquainted, who
posted these gorgeous pictures of their food, a gorgeworthy spread,
literally, with dishes and side dishes aplenty, and for a reasonable
price, she says). So we had to do a bit of wandering around before
hitting upon the place, and not a moment too soon, as we were famished
by then. A quick ATM trip, then we were in, as fast as the chorus of
idle waitresses could greet us irrashaimase.
From the moment we stepped in we realized that we were way out of our
depth, and I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was wondering,
just as we were, what exactly we were doing at Seryna. From outside
Seryna didn't look like much, in fact if anything it looked like an
aging restaurant past its heyday, but inside it was very much still
alive: professional, authoritative, and
expertly-(lovingly-)maintained
interior architecture was interesting, the lighting well-coordinated,
and basically I guess I would say that no detail, however small, was
overlooked (the only concession to Filipino culture I could find was a
small Sto. Nino by the cashier, and that was right under two
unquestionably Japanese theater masks).
We were led to a table right beside an open bar-like area where the
Japanese head chef and his assistants were peeling and slicing
vegetables, selecting and filleting fish, and preparing various dishes
and bento boxes, just before the lunch crowd arrived. If I recall
correctly, it was just about 11 am when we went in. The tables were
mostly empty, and the other customers that were there were mostly
Japanese, so despite the relaxing instrumental music which issued,
low-key, from hidden speakers, our feeling of unease remained.
We were handed a wet towel (we wiped our hands dutifully) and a one
page menu (which we mostly did not understand) each. There were just
two categories on the menu, gozen and bento, with the first one
consisting of such things as sashimi gozen, sukiyaki gozen, and
katsudon (or was it tonkatsu?) gozen, and the second one just having
one item under it. Too timid to ask too many questions, we went with a
sashimi gozen and the sole bento option, makenouchi (not too sure
about this one) bento, which we were told served one person each. And
could we just have water please, thank you (arigato?).
While waiting for the food, we just looked around and tried not to
feel so tense. Admittedly, there was something creepy about the
synchronized welcoming greetings every time a customer would enter;
Jeanne said it was as if they were hiding a monster in the bathroom,
while I tried to put it down to cultural differences. Conversation was
halting, with pauses for looking at each other sheepishly, as if to
confirm that we were both feeling more than a little out of place. We
sipped our water, watched the staff in action behind the bar, and
waited for our lunch.
Our food arrived: two bowls of miso soup; two huge bento boxes both
containing the same three kinds of sashimi on a bed of some stringy,
vaguely rubber-tasting vegetable that might have been shredded radish,
a sort of salad with shredded cabbage, a tomato wedge and cucumber
slices drizzled with lovely Japanese mayo, an odd side dish that could
have been black mushrooms sliced into thin strips with dried fish
flakes, and a few slices of yellow, strongly-flavored pickled
we're-not-sure-what-fruit-or
orange slices on each. In addition, the bento set (Jeanne's,
incidentally, and also the more expensive one) came with a separate
bowl of steamed rice, had a piece each of shrimp tempura, squid
tempura, bell pepper tempura, and fish tempura along with of course
tempura sauce and some spicy radish, as well as a grilled or barbecued
piece of tuna or salmon which I'm guessing was teppanyaki which came
with a few slices of sweetened fried egg. The sashimi gozen set
(mine), on the other hand, had a compartment for the rice instead of a
separate bowl, as well as a piece of fried chicken (which tasted a bit
like Shakey's chicken, to me). Breaking our chopsticks, we set
ourselves to the task of finishing our lunch.
As we were eating, more customers began to trickle in, until the place
almost filled up. Some customers would sit at the bar and greet the
head chef in a familiar way, and the chef would bark at the nearest
waitress to hurry with the customers' usual orders (in Japanese, which
we did not understand, but the meaning was pretty clear from context).
A sneaking suspicion that there were things that could be ordered that
weren't listed on the menu grew within both of us.
The sashimi was fresh, clean-tasting, and had a very pleasing texture.
The tuna and salmon sashimi were somewhat old hat, as we'd both tried
them before at some point in other establishments. The third sashimi
was stranger. Cut into strips smaller than the usual sashimi portion
size and lightly scored crosswise, it was white and much firmer than
one would expect fish to be. Biting into it and chewing it can best be
described as biting into and chewing very firm squid meat that had
somehow been rendered fatty, an altogether odd but pleasant
experience. Our guesses as to its identity: blowfish? sea urchin?
octopus?
The tempura was great; my only complaint is that they did not include
a piece of eggplant tempura. The grilled fish and the fried chicken
were good, if unadventurous. The most unfamiliar foods of the bunch
were the black-strips side dish (as I try to remember it now, the
closest comparison for taste and texture I can think of is shredded
puso ng saging but a little softer), the yellow pickle slices (which I
had to finish off because they were too strong for Jeanne) and the
strange white sashimi I'd already described.
The meal we had could very well have been worth it (with its
relatively hefty price tag), but I'd say only for Japanese people and
Japanese cuisine enthusiasts, who would better be able to appreciate
its authenticity. As for the two of us, the entire experience was
strange and interesting enough that we didn't feel too much like we
got a bad bargain.
Then it was back on a jeep to the MRT, and the MRT to Shaw, since we
were planning to catch the free French Film Festival at Shangri-La.
The film we wanted to see, entitled Clean and starring Maggie Cheung
(oddly enough), wasn't due to start until 3 pm, so we had time to look
around.
Sniffed the stuff at LUSH (which I've always wanted to try but have
also always found scandalously expensive), looked at a Powerdance
photography exhibit, strolled around the Rustan's supermarket (which
is a valid recreational activity for the two of us), had fruit tarts
at Le Coeur de France (which, unfortunately, weren't as good as they
used to be, which is perhaps why they were among the buy one take one
items), and finally picked up a biggie iced tea from Wendy's before
proceeding to the cinema to line up.
We got our free tickets from the ticket counter, and promptly found
out there that we weren't allowed to bring food and drinks not bought
from the cinema concessionaire into the theaters. We finished our iced
tea much faster than I expected we could and went into the cinema.
The movie was interesting in that way European films usually are, with
their (arguably) more refined (or at least different) sensibilities,
refusal to indulge in melodrama, and in general their more polished,
accomplished feel. It didn't hurt that Maggie Cheung had such an
arresting presence, either. (Just how old is she, anyway?) Clean is a
good movie, though I should warn you, both of us found it a bit of a
downer.
The MRT back north was cramped enough that we had to wait for a few
trains to pass by before we could work up the necessary determination
to squeeze ourselves in. From this point forward, we were back on
familiar ground; succeeding happenings have already blended themselves
with countless similar ones of the past, and it would hardly be
interesting or worthwhile to try and dig these particular ones up.
Suffice it to say that we must've hung around the food court for a
while, probably having some sort of dinner there as well before going
home.
(Whew, that took longer than I expected. I would've gotten this
uploaded sooner, but the Internet connection at home only got fixed - finally! - today.)
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