This 20th of November, Akei and PinoyG4M will visit the Home for the Golden Days.
For more information, you may visit the event page on Facebook or join the conversation in the PG4M forums.
Ah! The cool, cool winds of the North have come. That means Yule season is here.
I've always said that I love the cold better than the heat because when you're cold you could easily warm yourself up by wrapping layers and layers of cloth around you; but when it's hot... it's still hot even if you take all your clothes off. On warm days you can't spend all day bathing just to cool off.
Still, that's just one of the reasons why I love a cold weather.
I remember someone once told me that the cold weather allows me to dress up without being inappropriate and that is just so true! I can put on layers of clothes, play around with my style, mixing and matching shirts, sweaters, jackets, and overcoats and nobody would think that I'm a fashion faux pas. Well, at least not many people would...
Being in a tropical country means, most of the time, dressing up means putting on a button-up shirt and slacks. One shirt, a pair of pants, and a pair of leather shoes are about all you need to wear to make people start thinking you're either going to a party or a date.
That is just unfair!
Anyway... moving on...
The cool winds are here and now so that means I can play dress up. Although I dress up everyday, the cold winds give me more flexibility. It gives me reason to wear a jacket and an overcoat, or a sweater over a jacket, or something like that.
Anyway, last week, since it was really cold, I really had to put on multiple layers of clothing: I had on my T-shirt under a brown knit cardigan and a black denim jacket. Of course, I couldn't possibly survive walking down Session Road without my black cut-off gloves and red muffler. One day, I had to wear a sweater, a really warm jacket (our old team jacket) that had a snood, and, of course, a muffler and my gloves.
Last Sunday morning, I wore a gray suit over a blue-white-and-yellow striped shirt with a navy blue tie, and a blue-white argyle knit vest. That's my church outfit.
Oh! And, yeah, my gold shoes (yes, my shoes were gold... well, a gold and black meld, actually... it may seem totally off from the gray suit but, believe me, the ensemble went perfectly well).
I realized, though, that no matter how many layers of clothing I put on, the layers could not deny the fact that it was really cold all around me. My ears still hurt from all the cool air. I still could not feel my nose whenever I go out to walk along Session Road and my finger tips still feel frozen stiff and feel like they'd fall off any moment.
No matter how many protective clothing I wrap around myself, the coldness is never gone...
In lieu of the recent victory of Manny "Pacman" Pacquiao... I just couldn't resist posting this hilarious poster:
I was never really a fan or a big supporter of Pacquiao. In fact I try as much as possible to avoid anything that has got to do with him, but this one really made me laugh!
Here are a couple more parodies...
This just came up because of a friend's status post in facebook. I'm not going to comment on this but will leave it up to whoever dares to read her sworn statement.
I was browsing through my backup cd's, looking for digital resources I had stashed away when I came upon one of my old scribbles. It was written a little over 7 years ago and I can't really remember what had driven me to write the prose, but sure as hell it was one of my more melodramatic pieces.
At any rate, if you'd like to find out what im fussing about then read on.
Friday, November 30, 2001
10:14:48 PM
Dear Friend,
You may still be able to remember up to now the first time we met down the old walk-path at the hill. I told you then, that first time I ever saw you, that the view was good at that place didn't I? Indeed, I loved the panorama and I loved the feelings that just sitting there brought to my senses. I loved the way the scent of tall grasses assailed my nostrils as they swayed in the dimming light, as the mountains slowly swallowed the sun. I loved the feel of the solid earth as I sat on the mass, its dirt clinging to my old faded denims. I loved the whisper of the winds as they told me the stories of the many lives they've witnessed, and I was glad that the winds had witnessed mine.
Haven't I told you that life was beautiful? I have, haven't I? You even looked at me with so many questions in your eyes. I knew you were thinking I was crazy even if you hadn't told me so. The questions that were written all over your face did the speaking for you. I still remember it was as if your mind touched my heart and whispered what you thought of me for I remember a strange feeling of your thoughts. Then you told me you went to the hill to be alone and to think about your disordered life and wasn't expecting me to be lounging around and on the grass as if I lived right there. I had wanted to say I wasn't expecting you either but thought better of it.
Yet I'm glad that you came that day before the sun had totally hidden in the darkness of the coming night. I was glad you were there, like the winds were there, to witness my life as you let me witness yours. Wouldn't you even consider that day to be the start of our unexpected friendship? Maybe yes for the following day you were there again, and had arrived before I did. You waited for me, didn't you? Yes, you told me so, too. You waited for me because you wanted to tell me something. Indeed, you told me much that day and all about your life. How you hated it so much that you wished you were never born. How you wanted to be just a stone, to not be able to feel or think about anything at all. You had wished for a lot rather than live. You told me how you wished for all your wishes -- desperately.
I remember your somber eyes as your mouth threw away words that accounted for your whole being, your whole life. They reached out for something you knew you would never get hold of -- nonexistence. So I told you then that you would have not been able to do anything about that matter for you were already there. You already existed and nonexistence was no more a choice of yours than it was for those not existing at all. You didn't speak afterwards and we just watched the sunset in amazingly lurid silence until we went off to continue with what we were supposed to be doing.
A week passed after that day and I didn't see you in my everyday life at the hill. Oh, I wondered what happened to you. I thought that perhaps you had tried to reach your dream of nonexistence, so I began to worry a lot.
When we again met on the old walk-path another week later, you looked even more somber than the first time I saw you. Your eyes were puffy and red, signifying the tears you've dried from them. I asked what had happened to you; you told me nothing had. So I waited until you spoke again, and that was not until I was about to leave you and you were still staring into nothingness. Perhaps you didn't see but only felt me leaving for your eyes seemed to have been mesmerized, held captive by a space with no time. Honestly, I was reluctant to leave you all alone as I understood you were in a state that was mostly dangerous. Then you asked me to stay with you for no reason at all. You told me you just wanted to have company, to feel a proof of existence beside you. Soon afterward, you started to shed tears so I offered you my shoulder to cry upon. My soothing, I guess, was not very effective as your tears went on flowing from your eyes and your cries slowly grew stronger in every passing moment that you grieved. I was at a loss of what to do, truthfully. I have never seen a man cry like you did. How was I supposed to act when that crying was on my shoulder? Honestly, it was an experience I got to live only once. I was astonished; I would have not been able to believe it if not for the realness I felt at that time. Yes, the pain I felt for you was real, the loneliness and despair were all too real that they almost swallowed me whole. I was afraid I would have wept with you but that would make us both defenseless, wouldn't it? So I thought that I would just have to keep my composure until you were ready to guard your own.
Yes, I did that. Yet it took you hours, up to know I don't know nor am I willing to count how many, until you stopped crying. That night, as I went to bed, I felt hot tears running, slowly trickling down my cheeks. I didn't know why but I felt like I was feeling that pain you felt, brought to you by the life you hated so much. I even felt like I was sharing the despair you were going and had to go through. Believe me; it was beyond my own belief. I wasn't able to sleep; I tossed and turned on my bed, tangling my sheets, trying to calm myself down.
That was the reason why I wasn't there with you at the hill the next day. Yet I didn't tell you anything when we next met. I didn't know how you would react if I told you something as astonishing as that. However, I noticed on that day that your cheeks had a little more color than the usual, a sign I thought that perhaps the crying had lifted even a bit of the burden you felt. Still I couldn't help but notice your eyes. They were still as desolate as the first time I'd seen them. They were still reaching out for that something they knew was unreachable so I had to ask you if you were fine. You told me you were with a forced smile. It may me glad that you were able to do that, smile I mean. It was the first time ever that I saw your lips curve to a beam although it didn't quite reach your eyes. I can still remember that to today. Yes, I do, for I even smiled back then we waited, as usual, for the sunset. That time though, we were no longer controlled by silence. You spoke of your everyday accomplishments as I did of mine. You told me how you've grown to love the hill, and that with it was I. You said you thought that perhaps the hill would just be that, a hill -- ordinary -- if I hadn't been there to share it with you. Of course, I was dearly flattered and very glad to have heard that from you. Such appreciation equaled my valuation of myself so I smiled again for you.
The following day, you were there again before I was, and I had greeted you warmly. You returned it in the same manner, if I recall correctly. That day, as I remember, was when we started to walk around the hill. It became a routine for the following days that came, you there before me, me greeting you, you returning the greeting, we'd walk around, and then we'd sit on our usual positions and wait for the sunset when we were tired.
Somehow, I felt more at peace when you were there than when I was alone waiting for the light to disappear from the sky. Perhaps it was by some twist of fate or perhaps truly destiny that had found us together. Who knows? Do you? Most probably not. If you did, I guess you would have told me. Or would you?
It doesn't really matter now. I believe the only thing that matters is that, through that span of time, although just a few months, I had considered you to be a friend, a dear one. I have never felt so in rhythm with anybody else before. We were much the same, living in dreams. Yet you were that which embodied the dreams of those who suffer, reaching for the unreachable, dreaming the dream of the hopeless. I, on the other hand, was made of the dreams of appreciation for I believed that the soul was meant to enjoy the pleasures of life. It seems as if this difference is a whole world apart. Yet when you see it more clearly, they are both still dreams and one would be meaningless without the other, like light would not be defined without darkness and darkness would mean nothing without light.
Perhaps this is the reason why we were brought together, to share to each other what it would be like to be the opposite of the other. Yes, you shared with me your life. You shared with me the agony though you spoke none to me and I wanted so much to share with you my joys. I don't know nor can I be sure that I had done so. For in our following meetings, you were back to being forlorn and growing more and more doleful in each passing day that I saw you. I didn't bother to ask anything; I knew you would tell me nothing. There were a lot of times when I'd notice the color being drained from your cheeks and I'd feel like the colors of your life were slowly being drained away, too. Somehow it felt ironic that I still waited for you to open everything to me.
Again perhaps, my waiting was due. I know you remember that day when you again cried on my shoulder. Sobbing, you spilled them out, all your aches, anguishes, sorrows, and pains. From your mouth, the sufferings were flowing verbally; I felt as if they were endless. You told me how all the things you did went awfully wrong and then you couldn't face the consequences of your errors. You told me how people put you down whenever one of these wrongs occurred, which was very often and almost always and that you could no longer carry on. I grieved with you when you told me you almost tried to kill yourself by what seemed to me like a hunger strike. It may sound funny now but believe me it wasn't funny before. I felt all those malevolent anguishes and I didn't have a clue how to make you feel that I did and I wanted to help you. So I simply hugged you tight and cried with you. If you remember that, I hope I had made you feel that I cared. I remember clearly as we wept together under the dimming sky, I told you words that I still could not believe I was able to say. I did tell you things, did I not?
Yes, I remember saying that everybody would go through a lot of hardships and that it was indeed very normal. I said that whatever happened was a test to the soul, and that you would simply have to trust yourself to be able to go on with life. I told you then that there were a lot more to life than pain and suffering and hatred, you just had to find them, and in time you will be able to find the joy. Then I had hoped that you had found it in me, in our friendship, and that if not, you would just need some time to be able to do so. I had sincerely hoped that you would be appreciative of what life had to give and that you find joy in that, facing the challenge instead of hopelessly giving in without fighting. Truthfully, I had hoped that I would be able to teach you how to do those things. I still hope so up to now but I hope even more that I already have.
The day following that dramatic scene, you were still looking pale and dismal. It hurt me to see you unable to pull away from the shadowy experiences inscribed in your mind that hurt you badly. I wanted to take away the pain, but I didn't know how to do that. Watch you as you try hard to show me you were enjoying things was the only thing I could and the only thing in my mind to do. Oh, I truly wished I were able to help you as we, for the uncountable-th time, watched the sun being slowly gulped by the shadows of the mountains far away from us.
Our following meetings had been like this, you trying hard to show me you were happy while I just watched, looking at your effort yet still knowing that you were suffering. If I'm correct, it had been more than a week that our situation was like this until the day when I could no longer bear seeing you try to hide your sadness away from me any longer. I had hugged you and cried, hadn't I? Pretty funny if you thought of it, that I was the one trying to help you out and then I would just cry.
Perhaps you hadn't even a clue then of what made me cry. Let me tell you then that I wished so much to make you happy and I tried what I could so that you were already suffering to hide the sad look in your eyes just for me. You were trying hard to smile for me, just to show me what I wanted to see from you and I never considered that. Yet I am thankful you did for it made me realize that you do value our friendship. It made me cry harder. Then you were trying to comfort me without any idea how to because you didn't even know the reason behind my tears. Now, isn't that quite ironic? Maybe it didn't seem to be at that time. I hadn't told you the reason until now, I believe.
As we parted then, I had realized that you were beginning to appreciate something in your life -- our friendship. That is if my assumption was correct. Still, I was glad enough that you were finally seeing things differently for something that had happened in your life, a view that was no longer bitter.
The next day, I'm not sure if you were looking more blooming or it was just I. We walked around like we usually did but this time something was different from our walks. You were more ardent, speaking about things that you saw as you went to the hill. You had even showed me a thin branch that you had brought that, as you told me, tripped you while you were walking then used it to ward off the other things that were on your way. Haven't you told me that you missed it because you were all too eager to get to the hill and it made me smile? You smiled back, didn't you? And I remember, too, that as we sat waiting for the darkness to come, you had told me with a smile, in your exact words, these: "Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for everything."
Frankly, you had touched my heart deeply with those words. I never believed I would have heard those words coming from you though I had really wished for them. If I am right that was the start of a rather more colorful life for you. You had begun to appreciate a lot of things like our friendship, and the existence of the twig that tripped you. You no longer hated such existence because it caused you harm. Instead, you had learned to make use of such existence for your own purpose. Then at last, I thought, you had found joy. You were now at peace with things around you. No longer did you wish to be nothing and had begun to wish you would someday be something. Truthfully, I am happy for you that you've finally got the things that you needed.
Yes, you had looked blither in the days that followed. Your cheeks had more color in them, and your lips began to always curve in a smile. Your eyes no longer held the arms that reached for the unreachable for you already had in your arms those that could be reached. I guilelessly watched you grow into a new you.
Now that you're finally, perhaps, content with your life, I must say sorry for I never returned to the walk-path down the hill again to see you and to watch the sunset with you. I must apologize for not keeping you company as the nights started to greet you.
Perhaps my purpose in life had been completed that day when I saw you smiling, your eyes showing happiness more than ever before. Perhaps now is the time for I think it is due to let you know this.
For sixty-five years, all my life, I had waited for death to conquer me. All those years were spent in anxiousness. Why you may ask...
Since I was born, I had a malady that would surely kill me. Doctors had told my parents that I only had a few years to live beginning from my birth. Miraculously, I had survived for many years, although death was still there just looming over the horizon of my life. That is why I was always there at the old walk-path down the hill, waiting for the sun to set in my life, waiting for the day, my day, to end. I honestly never expected to have lasted this long so I did everything I dreamt of doing in my expected lifetime. Perhaps I had wanted to accomplish everything I wanted done before the malady strikes to take away my existence. I did things in a hurry and had accomplished them fruitfully. The hurrying left me forty years of waiting...left me to sit by the old walk-path down the hill to wait for my time to come. I'm not sure, however, but I believe I was actually waiting for you to come to me so I could give you a hand at things before my life would be spent. Now that I've done that, I have helped you; the time has finally really come for me to rest. My waiting is done.
My doctor gave me just one more day so I decided, even in my weak bed-ridden condition, to write this letter for you. Perhaps, as you read this, I have finally fallen into a wake-less slumber. I only want to leave you this message:
Thank you so much, dear friend. Thank you for sharing the waiting with me. Thank you for giving an old man company while I waited for my time to come. And now that it is very near, I grow more thankful in every passing moment that I was able to experience, even if just shared, the life of someone who has got more to live. I love you so much, my friend. Remember though that even if I am not there at the hill with you physically, my heart will always wait for you to be there to once again accompany me while I wait for you in the afterlife where we can be happy for eternity. I must tell you now that I wish that old walk-path down the hill would hold a very special place in your heart for it has in mine. Take care of yourself for me, dearest. Goodbye.
Sincerely and lovingly,
Your friend from the old
walk-path down the hill
Since I'm still pretty crabbed about yesterday's dilemma, I decided to annoy the visitors of my blog with four different renditions of the not-quite-popular-but-known tune of The Flower Duet from Léo Delibes' opera Lakmé (playback may be delayed depending on connection speed).
Yes, dears... it's a piece of classical vocal music from the 19th century and it has several versions interpretted by many modern artists. You've probably heard it from some TV commercials as well.
First in my playlist is Charlotte Church's version, followed by a more robust performance by Katherine Jenkins. The third track is a more melodic recording from one Sarah Millington, arranged for a rather slow tempo. Finally, to jazz up the list, we have a more contemporary arrangement from Dream Aria - this is my favorite.
Just in case you wanted to sing along, or just find out what in the world they're singing, read on...
Text to the Flower Duet from Wikipedia.
Is it just me or does Facebook really feels like giving license to stalk one another?
Think about it. The site just goes on and publish every single action everyone within your network has ever done even prior to your being a member. You get to see who's friends with who and when; you'll see someone's in a relationship with someone; you see who wrote on who's wall and who commented on who's comments, etc. etc. etc... And when you log in, the first thing it asks is: "What are you Doing right now?" Now, what's that all about?
Just last night me and two office mates were discussing this hype about social networking and I totally agree with one of them who said that these sites are being used as data miners.
Sign up and the sites ask you tons of personal questions; it wants to know your preferences, hobbies, interests and whatchamacallits. These information are powerful and indispensable tools for marketing.
Not that there's anything illegal about that; none that I know of, at least. In fact it's an ingenious way of doing things. Instead of them paying big bucks for services that do real data mining and research on market preferences, they do it themselves and get possibly more accurate data from willing participants. Instead of paying people to fill out surveys (and these people are really just doing it for the money which gives a high probability that the data that provide are inaccurate), they get people to willingly give out information they need and instead of them trying hard to find people who would give them the data, they let the members do that for them. It's a win-win situation. Simply genius, no?
I might be wrong and I may have just given them an idea on how to better use their sites, but it just isnt such a far-off idea. But, hey! Who am I to complain? I signed myself up for the service, didn't I?
I was reading this post from Rainbow Bloggers entitled "The Ex-Gays" and wanted to share my two cents' worth. That I did but felt the urge to say just a little bit more and so here's my own post regarding the topic.
Gays are gays because they choose to be so, not because homosexuality is a side effect of some inadvertent experiences. It's my belief that while homosexuality may be classified as a psychological condition, it's a condition that the person has chosen to go into, a path one has chosen to take. We're not gays because we're lacking some essential fluid in our brains or because part of our hypothalamus is misshapen or whatsoever. I don't think it's anything like that. Although whether sexual orientation is genetically or sociologically acquired has yet any final answers and the debate over nature versus nurture is still ongoing, my personal though is that it is the person's own decision whether to be gay or not.
It's not surprising for homosexuality to be regarded negatively in some sections of society. It doesn't surprise me that some people still think of gays as immoral, unnatural, unacceptable or whatever negative adjective one can think of. What surprises me is that there are so-called "cures" to homosexuality.
I'm not sure if many people have heard of "Conversion Therapy", but this process has been officially defined by the American Psychiatric Association as "psychiatric treatment...which is based upon the assumption that homosexuality per se is a mental disorder or based upon the a priori assumption that a patient should change his/her sexual homosexual orientation."
During the early 1950's, the American Psychiatric Association classified homosexuality as a mental disorder. Many researches believed it to be a psychopathology, a behaviour that indicates mental illness, and thus regarded homosexuals to be abnormal or "almost invariably neurotic or psychotic." Attempts were made to "cure" this so-called disease with techniques like behavior modification wherein behaviors and reactions to stimuli are altered through positive and negative reinforcement of adaptive behavior, aversion therapy in which the patient is exposed to stimulus while being subjected to some form of discomfort, primal therapy, EMDR or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, and several other techniques. Some of these techniques have been reported successful only to be proven otherwise later on. By 1973, the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental disorder due to intense lobbying by gay groups and new scientific information, but conversion therapy remained to be used.
The term "reparative therapy" was introduced in 1980's and is sometimes used loosely as a synonym for conversion therapy in general. Reparative Therapy, however, poses as offering a possibility of change for homosexuals who are dissatisfied with their sexual orientation. This technique does not propose to eliminating homosexual desires but rather minimize them. Although most professionals of the field had discredited this therapeutic model, there are some who still make an effort in the endeavor.
Yet, whether attempting to minimize homosexual tendencies or eliminating it entirely, there are still no established data to prove that homosexuality is a psychopathology, a mental disorder, or anything caused by biological or genetic conditions. Sigmund Freud, so-called "father of psychoanalysis," wrote in a letter written to a mother who had asked to treat his son: "Homosexuality is assuredly no advantage, but it is nothing to be ashamed of, no vice, no degradation; it cannot be classified as an illness; we consider it to be a variation of the sexual function, produced by a certain arrest of sexual development." Being so, there is no reason to believe that a cure for homosexuality is necessary.
Although I agree with conversions therapists when they argue that people should be able to determine their own therapeutic goals, I should emphasize that it should be the person's own will to undergo a change in sexual orientation and not because their parents, friends or their social environment told them so. I mean, they should be happy in not being gay anymore.
Symphony of the Night, the third installment of the Castlevania series, is old - more than a decade old - but still one of my all-time favorite games.
For some reason, I felt a sudden longing for the game and wanted to play it again so much that I downloaded a PS1 emulator so I can play it on my computer (my old ps1's already busted so I had to resort to an emulator). Once I had everything set up, I played the day away.
I don't really know what's so addictive about these games. I'm no hard-core gamer, but there are certain ones that when I play, I really play; and playing the day away is something I haven't done in years. Last weekend, while I was playing SotN, I felt nostalgic. I felt the old adrenalin-rush of gaming again like I haven't felt in so many years - just another proof that there's a child in everyone.
I got addicted. I'd play for hours without realizing how much time I've spent on the game.
Oh, yes! Time definitely flies when you're enjoying yourself, and I was really enjoying myself then and time was really flying. So it was then, and so it is now.
Last Saturday I started playing around 8 in the morning and didn't quit until 6PM. It wasn't even because I got tired of the game that I stopped, but because I was already sleepy (I've slept for only 3 hours and badly needed to catch some Z's). Sunday was no different. I spent the whole day playing.
Call it throwing away precious time, but I won't say I've wasted any. Last weekend was one of the few moments when I really enjoyed myself. It was a no-worries, care-free, guilt-free pleasure, like the unattached happiness of a child and so difficult to come by.
I found this wonderfully interesting article written by Isaac Asimov in 1989 for the Skeptical Inquirer aptly titled The Relativity of Wrong. It talks a great much about the theories concerning the shape of the earth: from the ancient concept of flat earth to the Greek philosophers' theory of a spherical planet to the early 20th century proposition that the earth is not mathematically spherical but an oblate spheroid until the mid-20th century discovery that our dear Mother Earth is pear-shaped.
Yet, the whole point of the essay was pointing out that not just because some old theory has been replaced by a better-accepted one meant that it was absolutely wrong, that, in fact, they are true to a certain level, and that the concept of "right" and "wrong" are not absolute.
There is no such thing as an absolute and complete "wrong" but, in the words of Asimov himself: "....in a much truer and subtler sense, they need only be considered incomplete."
Now I like that so much better than being told I'm wrong.
***
Speaking of wrong... I was - in all honesty - surprised to learn that Sarsi, after all these years thinking otherwise, is not a cola.
I realize that I might be the last person on earth to know that, but if I hadn't read my friend's blog, Sugar and Spice, I would have kept on believing that Sarsi was just another cola like Coke or Pepsi.
When my friend referred to Sarsi as a root beer, I quickly googled it - just to be sure. I had to know. After all, years of belief, of childhood memories, and certainty of what I know might crumble because of that one fact...
And it did! Alas! I was proven wrong. Sarsi - I could never look at this drink the same way again after this - is a root beer: a type of soda also known as sarsaparilla (from the Spanish zarzaparilla, literally little grapevine bush).
Upon reading the term "sarsaparilla", I knew I was wrong. Now my certainty in all things I believe in has crumbled... thanks to Sarsi.
***
Oh well, I guess that's okay. After all, nothing is ever wrong. They're just incomplete.
I must say it's quite exciting to hear that Sarah Brightman has released her very first Christmas Album. Although it takes it's name from her highest chart debuting album "Symphony" which was released early this year, this Holiday CD dubbed "A Winter Symphony" is not really an extension of the blockbuster former album. As with most of Sarah's previous albums, this one banks on almost-excessive productions featuring symphony orchestras, session players, and a multitude of choirs. It may seem overproduced but therein lies the charm of Brightman's albums as these productions show her originality and her virtuosity in song styling.
The album includes several season favorites like Silent Night, In the Bleak Midwinter, and Child in a Manger. Of course, there's the usual selection of Classical pieces including her third rendition of Ave Maria - this time sung with Fernando Lima (there's also a Charles Gounod Version of Ave Maria in the album); a new classical piece, Carpe Diem, is a duet with Mario Frangoulis; and there's "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring", a transcription by Pianist Myra Hess of the chorale that ends each part of Bach's cantata Herz und Mund Tat und Leben.
There are also a number of contemporary Pop tunes. A cover version of Abba's originally-instrumental song, Arrival, opens the album. Another cover song is "Colder than Winter", a 1984 song by Vince Gill - this might be the first cover of this song, ever (but then i might be wrong about that). There's also a slightly over-indulged reading of Neil Diamond's 1975 hit "I've Been this Way Before". I particularly like Brightman's rendition of the traditional song "Amazing Grace" - not sure if it's a Christmas song, though i think it'll pass as one.
In all it's grandeur, though, this set does not project any particular feeling, contemplative, nor inspiring. It's definitely not a jolly Christmas album, but it's not very expressive either. Still, it's a good audio experience just hearing the crystalline voice of Sarah Brightman accompanied by great production.
This is not an in-depth review of the browser, nor will it be a head-to-head comparison with any browsers in the market, but comparing it to other browsers can't be helped, of course.
Interface
The first thing I noticed in Google Chrome's interface is that it didn't have a title bar. In it's place is the primary element of the browser: the tabs. It's remarkably minimal design includes no full-scale menu bar; the simple controls can all be found in two icons to the right of the address bar - which, by the way, also functions as the search bar. It's a clutter-free interface, no unnecessary and distracting elements that take up your screen space.
Google Chrome was designed to improve on the way other browsers handle JavaScript, one of the technologies used to make Web pages more interactive and more like desktop software applications. This focus makes sense because JavaScript can eat up computer processor power, and if poorly used by a Web site, can bring down the browser. However, this focus on JavaScript misses the point on better browser performance.
When browsers slow down, this is usually attributed to JavaScript hogging up system resources. Yet JavaScript is not the real culprit but another technology used to make Web pages more interactive: Adobe's Flash plug-in. It's the program-within-a-program that plays YouTube videos and those annoying "splash" pages that some sites employ to dazzle you with animations before letting you do anything useful on the site.
The Flash plug-in uses tremendous amounts of computing power. It eats up processor time to the point where nothing is left for other programs and does this even without you doing anything. Simply having a page with embedded objects played by Flash open will hog power from your system's CPU.
This is a problem, not just with Chrome, but with all browsers. Luckily, there are plug-ins for the other browsers that allow you to prevent Flash files from automatically running on page load. This is what Chrome lacks. It's controls are quite basic and they don't allow much customization either.
On the other hand, Chrome allows you to diagnose problems with rogue plug-ins easily. It features its own task manager that tells you what pages are using up which resources and allow you to get rid of that particular resource-hogger without closing the whole browser.
I noticed that Chrome may sometimes be a bit unstable - understandable as it's still a beta. Browsing through the history, for some reason, may sometimes cause the program to crash; and when Chrome crashes it doesn't allow you to restore your previous session unlike other browsers.
FeaturesChrome includes a number of features that appear in other browsers, like a private browsing mode called Incognito, tools for Web developers to view and troubleshoot source code, and the ability to restore all tabs from a previous session. I've already mentioned that Chrome allows tab isolation where you can shut down a trouble-making tab without taking down the whole browser. Internet Explorer 8 also offers this feature but Chrome takes a notch further by adding its own task manager. Unfortunately, this needs manual configuration.
Another bright feature from Chrome is the download box at the bottom of the screen. It lets you access your downloaded files and put them where you want them to be. The download progress can be seen from this box so no more separate window for downloads which makes tracking easier. You may also view all the downloads on a separate tabs; again, conveniently no separate window for downloads.
However, there are a couple of features that Chrome lacks. Bookmark management is not as easy and the browser does not offer any way to email links. This is probably because it's still a beta, but it would have been nice to see these features early in the browser's development.
I just had to post this and let everyone know how great this browser is.
It's an all-in-one solution: tabbed browser, email client, bit-torrent manager, feed reader, and so many other things in one package. It's even got its own fraud and malware protection built in.
Here are some of the features particularly like:
Mouse Gestures: This is my most-beloved feature in Opera. You won't find this in any other browser.Common actions like moving forward, backward, or openning a new tab is accomplished by simply moving your mouse. Wonderful!
These are just some of the great features of this browser. One blog entry won't cover all the good stuff.
Really! The best way to discover Opera is to try it.
I came across this site: I Hate Crocs Dot Com. while I was surfing the web and found it really amusing. You'll find here several interesting articles from the utterly absurd to the mundane, mostly, if not all, having something to do with the ridiculous fad that is Crocs.
I can't say I hate Crocs, but you won't hear me say I love 'em either and I won't be caught wearing one of those funny-looking, hole-ridden, insanely colored, plastic clogs. I have nothing againts the people who like wearing these things, nor the masterminds behind this bandwagon(except maybe envy for the genius of selling out something horrible-looking as a fashion trend and making millions from it), but its popularity is becoming quite unnerving. It is an eye-sore afterall.
Sure, they're comfortable (according to patrons of the product). Afterall, they were originally developed as spa shoes. It just makes me wonder how comfortable the people wearing these are feeling while they're looking goofy with those plastic monstrosities adorn their pretty little feet?
Perhaps I'm just being biased. Maybe the people wearing the shoes really just don't care about how they look, and couldn't care less if they're part of the latest fashion trends or the latest fad. They go for comfort...
Maybe... but I just have this feeling that this world has got one too many superficialities and that we could be better off without adding another one.
Round,
