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the happy feet tales: baby steps

by JennyO on June 4, 2010

Once upon a time, in a big city on one of the big islands of a tropical archipelago close to the equatorial belt where the best coffee in the world grows, there lived a pair of feet.

They were happy feet.

The happy feet loved to walk. Oh, how they could walk! The right happy foot and the left happy foot would take turns being in front, one after the other, walking around the city, getting from one place to another, doing what they were made to do.

But the happy feet were attached to the ankles of a lazy writer who stayed indoors for weeks on end, her bottom growing roots into her armchair as she typed boring articles and surfed the Intarwebz for hours and hours.

The happy feet didn’t get to go out much. That made them sad.

One day the lazy writer’s doctor-classmate-from-school said: You must exercise. I recommend walking. Everyday.

But how, the lazy writer asked.

Baby steps, he said. Take baby steps.

One day, the lazy writer put on a pair of wooden sandals. They were also called “Happy Feet“. The lazy writer’s happy feet loved them because they were light, which meant they could move faster.

They were cool, so the happy feet would not feel hot even on a blazing summer day.

They were open, and the happy feet loved that best of all! Because that meant the happy feet’s toes could wiggle and jiggle and wriggle like toes love to do.

The lazy writer took a cab to work because she was late for a meeting, as she usually was. On her way back home, she remembered her doctor-classmate-from-school’s advice. Baby steps, she told herself. I will walk home.

The happy feet were so excited!

The right happy foot and the left happy foot took turns taking baby steps, one in front of the other, walking towards home, as their toes wiggled and jiggled and wriggled with joy.

They walked dusty gray pavements, but they didn’t mind; there were many things to see along the way.

The happy feet met a plant that grew close to the ground. Its stalk and leaves were very green and they reached out to passing feet. Clip-clop, clip-clop, went the happy feet in the wooden sandals past the plant-in-the-pavement.

Along the way there was a sign for the lazy writer’s favorite energy drink on the facade of a sari-sari store in an old house. Beside the store was an old church. It had red-painted walls. Clip-clop, clip-clop went the happy feet past the store-in-a-house.

When the happy feet first set out, the sun was hidden behind gray clouds. After a while, the sun came out. It shone on the lazy writer’s head. A tall tree’s leaves glowed bright green against the sun, making the lazy writer squint and blink. Clip-clop, went the happy feet past the tree-in-sunlight.

They passed the site of an old racetrack. Once there were loud fans cheering race horses on. Now there were no more fans, no more horses, and no more track. Big noisy construction machines had leveled the place into the ground. Clip-clop, went the happy feet past the once-a-racetrack.

The happy feet met another plant. It was growing in a large metal can that once held infant formula, but now had holes punched with nails all over its bottom while inside it was soil from the old racetrack. The plant was healthy. Its leaves were pretty. Clip-clop, went the happy feet past the plant-in-a-can.

They rounded a corner and saw a big concrete horse’s head. It once sat on the gate in front of the old racetrack. Folks had taken the head down, cleaned it, and put it on a pedestal covered with tiles. This was so that people would always remember the old racetrack. The happy feet knew they were near home. Clip-clop, they went, taking baby steps a little bit faster, past the horse’s-head-marker.

Before them was a long stretch of road. Green tricycles lined up under big old mango trees wrapped in a rainbow, waiting to take passengers where they wanted to go. The drivers asked the lazy writer if she wanted to take a ride. No, thank you, she said. I’ll keep on walking. Clip-clop, went the happy feet past the tricycles-in-rainbow.

At last they came to their street. Close to the corner were two fighting-cock farms. Inside the red gate and the blue gate were many scratch pens of wood, like triangles set into the ground. There were also tall fly pens of wood and plastic mesh. There were many fighting cocks, crowing tik-ti-laok. The happy feet knew they were very near home. Clip-clop they went past the cockpits-in-city.

At last the happy feet were home! The lazy writer was happy too. She had taken baby steps to exercise and it wasn’t bad. It felt very good. And she saw a lot of interesting things along the way. She decided to take a walk more often. The happy feet were glad they got to do what they were made to do. And the toes wiggled and jiggled and wriggled for joy.

~ The End ~

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advice fail

by JennyO on June 3, 2009

A can of Pepsi Max sits in front of me and gives advice.

“I know what you want,” it whispers. Beads of cold sweat roll off  its rouge et noir exterior. “I know how you can get it. Just do what you’re thinking right now. Go for it.”

I take a sip. ” It’s not a very good plan, and I don’t have a backup.”

“You don’t need one.” Chuckles coldly.

I turn Plan A over in my mind. It is possible it could work, like any scheme using brute force.  ”Perhaps,” I say.

The Moleskine chimes in. “Wait,” it says in a rustle of paper. ” Have you thought about the consequences and possible scenarios?”

The Sheaffer Balance makes marks. Numbers, words. “Holes in the plan,” it agrees,  ”here and there, where the mission could fail.”

Another sip of Pepsi Max. “You’re right – Plan A lacks finesse. And Plan B does not exist.”

The drink rallies. “Unnecessary, I swear.”

Anxious looks from the Moleskine and the Sheaffer. “This is too important to trust to chance. Preparedness is key to achieving the desired outcome. Remember how it hurt when you smacked concrete after jumping from a plane without a parachute? You need an improved Plan A. And a Plan B. And C, and D.”

I think of what I want and how badly I want it. The prize is worth waiting for.

I drain the drink. “But…!” it squeaks. “Think instant gratifica…!” I crumple the can and toss it, open the Moley, take up the Sheaffer, and think.

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stone serenade

by JennyO on May 5, 2009

In the same park discussed in the two blog posts below (previous posts) is this tableau of a Thai merman serenading a twisted plant life form with a conch shell.

Try as hard as I might, I don’t get the meaning of this scene. Finally I decided to stop thinking before my brain exploded, and took the two objects at face value – as decorative elements.

As the Miranda Priestley character played by Meryl Streep says in the film The Devil Wears Prada: “That’s all.”

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the mystery of the stupa-like structure

by JennyO on May 5, 2009

In Thai it is called a chedi.

A type of stupa, it is a reliquary for Buddhist objects, perhaps the remains or belongings of a saint.

It is installed in a neighborhood park in the Sta. Ana district of Manila. The park is called the “Philippines-Thailand Friendship Park”. That is why this chedi is here.

Sitting on the cherub park bench (photo in the post below), I pondered whether the significance of the chedi as a Buddhist icon or an architectural artifact would be noticed and comprehended by passersby. Would they even care what it is, much less what it connotes?

And if the chedi channels Bangkok, Chiang Mai, and all points Thai, does the cherub park bench symbolize the Philippines and its majority adherence to the Catholic faith with its putti and other artists’ renditions of angels?

How deep are the semiotic levels in this park? Were the elements decorating it chosen merely for their iconic status or to convey other, subtle, meanings?

Communication, as my professors preach incessantly, consists of shared meaning. Where is the shared meaning here if people do not know what a chedi is, where it comes from, what it stands for?

Sitting on the cherub park bench, I decided that whether or not people understand the signification of the park’s architectural elements, the park provides places to sit and rest and interesting things to look at. And that functionality, for the people of this neighborhood, is what counts.

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benchwarmer

by JennyO on April 24, 2009

This cherub in the park invited me to sit down beside him and watch the day go by.

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this little piggy went to market

by JennyO on April 21, 2009

Just off Plaza Calderon in Sta. Ana, Manila, is a little street lined with shops that sell many different things.

We took a walk there one day to see what we would find.

There were pirated DVDs at three for a hundred pesos (US$2).

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Clothes, perhaps from China, Vietnam, or Thailand, most of them only available in small sizes.

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A rainbow of handbags.

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Plastic beads attract with color…

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…as do children’s toys.

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Ripe golden mangoes, summer’s sweetest fruit.

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Vegetables beckon with color.

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Eggs come in many sizes and prices.

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Name these fruits in ten seconds – go!

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Cookies and bread in a bakery window.

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The pig bread has raisin eyes. No pigs were harmed in the making of this bread.

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Rice cakes of different kinds.

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Hot roasted peanuts – garlic, spicy, and “skinless” – are scooped into a small glass a little bigger than a shot glass, then poured into a little brown paper bag.

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Parrots for sale at a pet shop.

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Tricycles lined up to take shoppers home.

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Apart from things, we also found life – teeming, noisy, vibrant, full of itself, basking in the summer sun.

Photos taken with a Nokia XpressMusic cellphone camera.

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bloom enflamed

by JennyO on April 17, 2009

The sun descended and touched a flower. It burst into flame.

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jazz one moment in time

by JennyO on April 14, 2009

As we walked into the first floor of Powerplant Mall we were serenaded by cool jazz music. It didn’t sound tinny or canned. We followed the source of the sound; peering over the glass dividers to the basement floor, we saw a four-piece band.

They played impeccably, effortlessly, reminding me why Filipino musicians are in demand all over the world, in lounges and bars, on cruise ships and stages, entertaining people with their talent .

After their set, I clapped. The saxophonist heard me, looked up, and smiled.

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alex attends her first penmeet

by JennyO on April 6, 2009

The Fountain Pen Network-Philippines had a penmeet last April 4. I wasn’t able to attend as it was a work weekend for me. The penmeet was held at Cravings restaurant in Shangri-La Mall, EDSA. I missed seeing my FPN-P friends, among them Butch Palma, who is Bali-based now and we seldom get to see him.

Leigh Reyes had a pen for me, as did Prof. Butch Dalisay and Raffy Abrina, so I sent  my daughter Alex to the penmeet in my stead to pick up the pens for me.

Here’s Alex’s impression of the meeting, in her own words and photos:

It was my first time to attend a penmeet on my own. Everyone was very nice. When I got inside Cravings, Prof. Butch saw me then I went in. And then someone said like “Hey, Alex is here!”

L: Caloy, Kurt, Butch Palma, Leigh. R: Prof. Butch Dalisay.

I just sat there and watched a bit, then roamed around, peeked over Tita Leigh’s shoulder when she opened her pencase, and watched people.

There were people around a table laden with pens, ink, and desserts, and water glasses with the water inside colored various shades. Like people rinsed pens in them. I was like, “I’m not drinking that.”

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L-R:  Chito, Iñigo, Leigh, Butch P., Caloy, Kurt, JP.

Tito Chito treated me to a chocolate banana split, and they included me in the raffle, and I won a bottle of Private Reserve Fast Dry Ultra Black. Tito TOB gave me a dip pen set with scented ink for Ik.

Then there was a small blueberry cheesecake on the table, and Tito Iñigo offered it to Tita Leigh, and she said “Yay, cheesecake!”, which I thought was so cute. You wouldn’t expect a grown lady who’s sophisticated to say that. She’s cool like that. Oh, and her calligraphy was pretty and elegant and I wish I could draw abstract flowers like she did.

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On the table in front of Iñigo is the cheesecake.

I don’t remember a lot because I have the attention span of a butterfly.

When I got home that evening, I was vastly entertained by Alex’s stories, besides being happy with the Pilot 74 from Leigh, the Caswell from Prof. Butch, the Lamy 26p from Raffy, and – a wonderful and unexpected surprise – a Sheaffer frankenpen from American penfriend Tom Overfield. (More on the pens in another post.)

So although I didn’t get to attend the penmeet myself, I saw it through my daughter’s eyes, and enjoyed it just the same.

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on communication: musings on identity

by JennyO on March 30, 2009

These are random musings on the identity of the practitioners of the discipline I study and practice – communication – and, by extension, my own identity.

Warning: The following material may be incoherent, difficult to follow, and irrelevant, but mostly it will be boring. Feel free to read something else on this blog, or switch off your brain.

Those who read this entry to the end without falling into a coma induced by the inchoate ramblings of an overactive imagination obsessed with trivialities may or may not be rewarded with concepts for further discourse. Please feel free to post your comments, ideas, or violent objections. Thank you. The End.

Problem Statement: What is the most appropriate word or term that may be used to label students, scholars, and researchers in the academic discipline of communication?

Specific Objectives:

1. To describe the terms currently being used;

2. To discover other words or terms that may be used.

Review of Related Literature:

From semiotic theory, a word or symbol (signifier) is arbitrary and not necessarily related to the concept or thing  it is attached to (signified). As Gertrude Stein said, “A rose is a rose is a rose.” In his Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare penned, “That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet”.

Communication scholars and academics may then call themselves whatever they like. The usual terms are “communication” + “researcher”, “scholar”, “professor”, and “theorist”, leading to unwieldy, two- or three-word terms to describe the person. Whereas scholars from the other sciences just add the suffix “ist” – anthropologist, sociologist, psychologist.

Twenty years ago, the identity of the communication field itself was in flux – was it part of the humanities, or the social sciences? It had the uncomfortable position of straddling both worlds. In recent years, though, there has been a paradigm shift in the field, in that it is being touted as a social science, and thus on par with the others.

In fact, some communication scholars go so far as to say that communication is the pre-eminent discipline in human studies, for, they say, communication is the glue that holds society together, and that no human interaction may take place without communication.

Young gentlemen engaged in mediated communication. The photo serves a model for the popular SMCRE communication model: source-message-channel-receiver-effect. (Img: Net)

So why can’t communication scholars/researchers be “-ists”?

“Communicationist” is ungrammatical and awkward, though some people do call themselves that. Other sectors of the discipline are promoting the use of the word “communicologist”. The International Communicology Institute defines communicology as “the science of human communication”. This refers to communication as “one of the human science disciplines”, using the “research methods of semiotics and phenomenology to explicate human consciousness and behavioral embodiment within global culture.”

But does it matter what communication scholars call themselves? “A rose by any other name…”

Taking into account the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, yes, it does matter. The hypothesis postulates that “a particular language’s nature influences the habitual thought of its speakers”; by extension, what a person calls himself may influence his self-perception, which could then impact his behaviors and actions.

Findings and Recommendations

Apart from “communicologist”, there do not seem to be other terms being proposed. However, use of the term has not caught on globally. In the Philippines, the term is being used by some Organizational Communication scholars at the University of the Philippines-Manila. As far as it is known, it is not used by those at the College of Mass Communication in UP-Diliman nor at the College of Development Communication at UP-Los Baños.

The terms “communicology” to refer to the discipline and “communicologist” to refer to its scholars and researchers has the advantages of being simple, easy to remember, easy to spell, and convenient. It has the added value of, by use of the suffix “-ist”, of putting at par by implication the discipline of communication with the other social sciences where it belongs, according to communication scholars themselves. Therefore, it seems only logical and reasonable to adopt these terms.

In the Philippine context, adoption of these terms may be facilitated through the consensus of the communication departments in universities and colleges across the country. But because there is no association of communication scholars in the country (such as the United States’ National Communication Association or the global International Communication Association) it is difficult to see how issues such as this may be addressed.

Philippine communicologists should therefore seriously consider establishing such an association, not only to accommodate and promote discourse among themselves but also among scholars from other countries.

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