Menthol-Guy

Since Thursday I’ve been drinking every night. I get by with a beer each night (though with exceptions–Saturday and Sunday I drank hardcore drinks). It helps you clear things, gives you the heat you need in a summer night or the heat a simple jack-off can give you.

I’m quite sleepy.

I acknowledge these kinds of things when I’m quite tipsy:

1. I’m an introvert no matter how I deal with people. Even the personality test we took in my Psychology class told me I am an introvert.
2. I think of stories to write, but what sucks is that the morning after, I completely forget about that something (which I would always believe is something magnificent).
3. I think of how unintellectual my mind goes when it comes to handling I-don’t-really-know-what, specifically. Critical papers? Rewriting stories? Tolerating the mush of people? Korean fucked-ups throwing garbage across you as if you’re a streetlamp?
4. With Koreans I have empirical bases. Some Korean guys here in the university play soccer and these boys are just fucking braggarts. They threw garbage as if Filipinos were vassals or something. It’s disgusting, these chinks of a nation (and I’m sorry for Super Junior fans–really, I’m not generalizing). There’s another instance at Jolibee when two Korean guys were hissing at the waiter like it was fine fucking dining. It was absolutely unnerving the way these Korean guys (what Asians!) get around Filipinos like we’re filth.
5. I guess I’m quite incoherent when I wrote “chinks of a nation” but I guess you guys understand that?
6. When I reread number four I thought I misspelled Jolibee.
7. It’s funny how people make an effort to say goodbye to people who says they’re about to go because they want people to say goodbye to them. Do they really have to say they’re going to get something decent before they go? It’s better if you–nah, it’s too mushy.
8. I have this hunch I’ll be late tomorrow for my interview at the U.S. Embassy for my VISA renewal. This hunch is getting more solid with my tardy records for the past, uhh, ten years. (I started getting late when I was in fourth grade; I even bribed my teacher that my sister would make a cake for her; I lied to her and told her we have this bakeshop named Blue Ribbon.)
9. Sarcastic smiles and fake hellos. Oh my god, Hale.
10. I haven’t written my critical paper due Wednesday, entitled “A Critical Analysis of Haruki Murakami’s Tony Takitani (in both text and film media): Post-Colonialism Hybridity”. How cool does that sound.

I’m trying my very best to find the Publish button.

I am not that political, but the University has taught me not to be apathetic, especially in campus issues. I don’t post anything political in this blog, nor do I write anything political, so in this post I humbly ask your patience if ever my political views are incoherent or incorrect.

A few weeks ago rumors have started to swarm the campus that by next semester, the large class policy will be implemented on all RGEP courses (History, Psychology, Philosophy, College Writing, College English, Speech Communication, among other subjects related to the Humanities and the Social Sciences). If my facts serve me right, the policy states that every class must have at least 160 students all flocked in a single class. Imagine a school of sardines all packed in a single can.

Taking Math11

I took Math11 (College Algebra) when I was a freshman, and though I very much welcome my weakness in Mathematics, I have to admit that its being a large class also was a factor with my performance. The usual joke back then is when my classmates would ask my class standing, I tell them nakaupo na nga ang class standing ko eh, which is way below the passing grade.

Math11 is a three-unit course: a one-hour lecture twice a week and a one-hour recitation class once a week. One of my biggest problems is my lecture class (and, let my problems in that semester be in a pie chart, three-fourths of it I shall label Math11), especially my professor, since he skims his Powerpoint slides and assume that every goddamn student in the lecture hall knows what he’s talking about. He used to say, “oh, you guys know this way back in High School” as if everyone of us came straight from a Science High School. We used to discuss two to three topics in forty-five minutes; when we’re lucky he would solve two hardcore problems on the whiteboard–students at the farthest corners of the classroom couldn’t see his solutions.

So every time I go to that lecture hall, when I was a freshman, I know I’m failing. I’m still listening, still writing notes as prolific as with my other subjects, but I think no matter how thick your notes are in Math, it’s useless if you don’t understand the basics. I drag my feet to that subject (sometimes I skip the class, especially after knowing my class standing). Every time I receive my quizzes, it’s a zero. I don’t even understand factoring, dammit.

I asked help from my blockmate who’s performing very well in the subject, but she’s not that much of an effective tutor, though I appreciated her effort. She says “factor this then solve this” like it’s the most natural thing to do. I texted another tutor, a Civil Engineering freshman, but it turns out that he’s quite of a nutcrack (no offense to him, but we argued about the simplest things in life–heck, we didn’t even meet once).

In the recitation class my professor has this penchant for filling the blackboard with solutions. We spend two yellow pads for forty-five minutes, all of those are solutions, solutions, solutions. In the last few months my blockmate and I just stare at the blank yellow pad paper; you’re supposed to know what you did in the lecture class, because in the recitation class we only do exercises.

It’s hopeless, I used to say with a sigh. It’s a painful thing to know that my parents would know about my 5.0 at my first semester in UP (though again, my parents understand–especially my Dad; he got a 3.0 in his Math11 in Diliman).

In a large lecture class, I couldn’t ask questions. When my lecture professor would ask us if we have any questions, I’m sometimes tempted to raise my hand, but the mere imagination of all those 160 students looking at me and asking for a handicapped explanation is very embarrassing.

Half of the class failed the class (as what I’ve heard), including me. My professor’s name became known out of that incident; his name is just so notorious when someone asks me about my professor in Math11 they’d say, kaya naman pala.

I took Math11 again after three semesters out of fear of going back to the perimeters of Math building (until now I hate going there). I passed it because the finals exam (of course I wasn’t exempted) was almost exactly the same with the Pre-Finals. I got a grade of 3.0.

What I think

Large classes can be a very practical way of cost-cutting, but the fact that ever since our batch came it had a 300% increase, why cost-cut? Is the Tuition and Other Fee Increase not enough to cater both quality education and buying new facilities, renovating buildings?

I am after the implementation of large classes in Humanities and Social Science subjects, considering the nature of these subjects, which needs a student-professor interaction, and not just mere spoonfeeding of lessons and handouts. Science and Math subjects are a different case, I think (though there should be a small class for mathematically-challenged, like a special class or something; just kidding). Imagine Speech Communication in a large-class setting; how could a student, god bless him, deliver a speech in front of 160 students when he couldn’t even deliver it with 30 students? (Though rumors say that there will be recitation classes, the same process with Math and Science subjects.) Same goes with all the other subjects.

Also, the junior faculty of both Department of Humanities and Department of Social Sciences will be wiped-out since, to put it simply, only the senior faculty will remain to teach the large classes. It’s probably out of sympathy that I detest this part since my Psychology professor has been having qualms about it for the past few weeks. Sadly, I have to say she’s one of my most effective and competent professors ever (the entire class would have to agree with that, I’m betting my laptop about this).

When I was a freshman I watched Isko’t Iska, a play-slash-musical which demonstrates what it’s like in the university, like a play to give way and welcome the new batch. One of their songs has the lyrics “conducive to learning, U P L B.” For the next set of freshmen, if ever the large class policy will be implemented, I don’t think the lyrics would still fit in their condition.

I’m very much disappointed that some of my classmates, especially my Communication Arts batchmates, are not that sympathetic with these affairs (though I know they do have their personal reasons). They refuse to go to the rallies and fight for the remaining threads of quality education in the University. Think of the next batches; the tuition fee increase happened four years ago, yes, but we should not let this happen.

LARGE CLASS POLICY, IBASURA!

I’m trying to write my name. Turns out it’s a mirror image but who cares.

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Well, I’m enjoying my three-week break. (Yes, I’m still at it!) Though most of the times I’m stuck at home reading books (I’ve read three, but only finished one: “Catch” by Will Leitch, “Vintage Amis” by Martin Amis and “2003 Best Short Stories Collection” with Walter Mosley as the editor or something) and watching movies (”Jay” with Baron Geisler and Coco Martin–I didn’t like the film; and “Coraline”, a spooky animated film I’ll shelf next to Monster’s Inc. as one of the best in their genre ever, and–yeah–it’s based from a Neil Gaiman novel), I’m trying to get a lot of sleep from the past few months of… studying.

Vampire Weekend’s Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa captures the feeling of having a break. I don’t really care about the lyrics. (As a young girl / Louis Vuitton / And your mother / On a sandy lawn). It doesn’t have any relevance whatsoever; I just listen to it and I’m on my fucking sembreak.

It’s sad I’m not the kind of guy who goes to Boracay for sembreak. (Or to Anilao. Or to Anawangin Cove. Or to Sagada.) I just go out with my friends I haven’t seen for an entire semester: just eat, drink, play poker without the–how do you call it?–real bets like money. I catch up with their lives, and even catch wind of the lives of other High School people (most of them I didn’t care more than my toe or Math). Once a friend even had to show the yearbook, that yearbook, (expletive here!), which I designed.

Of course Dad and I are buddies again, if such thing exists between father-son relationships. I felt his desire to bridge the gap, to the point that he even brought me to the mall to buy new slippers (because they don’t last a year to me) and a polo I’ve been salivating to buy for months. We ate grass and silage at Pho Hoa (okay, that’s rude but I’m strictly not a fan of Chinese-Vietnamese food), and bought brie cheese and sausages and everything we both love to eat at the grocery.

Now I’m back, and I hope I could lay my fingers to blogging again, but this blog is becoming unsafe for me to harbor thoughts. That’s how I feel about this Menthol-Guy website.

Next week I’ll be exercising my being a prolific note-taker at school! I’m way too excited for next semester. A psychology class and a fucking critical writing class! How’s that! (Boo theater, though, it eats up nights just for production planning. Good thing our theater class isn’t about acting.)

PS: Why do I use parentheses all the time? Is this a mark of poor writing habits? A sign of tired and unstimulated compulsion to write?

Nirvana is bliss. I’ve downloaded three albums (In Utero, Bleach and Incesticide) and so far, they’re really good. All Apologies is a top favorite, though a depressing choice during my late-night soundtrips. It has this unstoppable ring on my head. Not even a day has passed yet I consider their music as something passionate, pacifying yet disturbing.

What initiated my interest with Nirvana–with the emphasis on the late Kurt Cobain–has to be attributed to a book I’ve been reading by Jessica Zafra. Twisted 7. She had written a column about Nirvana and how the greatness of the band resonated during the 90’s, how they came up discovering the alternative genre, among other worthy praises. Reading between the lines, you’d see her fondness towards the band. My eyes itched from the scarce information. Why are they revered by hundreds of thousands of people anyway? How do their music sounds like?

So I researched about Nirvana. About Kurt Cobain. How he looks like. How the band looks like. What they wear. Their albums. They’re American, for chrissake! (I thought they’re British like U2–and I don’t like U2.) Lead singer blew off his brain with a gun, committed suicide. Nothing’s noble with suicide (but I admit: I tend to think that people who committed suicide are brave; I know it’s paradoxical–some could presume they wanted to leave the world because of some insurmountable problem, maybe depression, among other things, but their damn-the-torpedo bravado must have reigned and must have decided to pull the plug and do such an irreversible thing, so I think it’s brave) but why are suicides dominant among great artistic people? Say, Ernest Hemingway! Sylvia Plath!

I guess they have their own reasons, fine, but why, of all people?

Well, Kurt Cobain did it. What saddens me the most is the fact that I’ve come to appreciate his band’s music (which was only yesterday) long after his death. He shot himself in 1994. I was three years old, sitting on a bean bag reading My Big Big Book Of The World or something. All I remember was my brotha’s music of Bone Thugz N’ Harmony like break-it-down-ya’ll. No Nirvana, no nothing about rock.

It was such a hypocrite of me to even hail other alternative bands without listening to Nirvana. I think it’s hypocrite the way you might think of people liking… spaghetti without liking Italy (though pointless arguments say that spaghetti was first made in China–the name Marco Polo popped in my head, so maybe he’s related).

My roommate–who’s interest is of band profiles, specifically the personalities behind a band (say, Escape the Fate’s former vocals was jailed due to drug use–he knows those things by heart; we tune on the same wavelength, by the way)–has been telling me things about Nirvana ever since we’ve met. He was telling me that they coined the term “alternative”, that they have this concert hosted by MTV and they got rude and all–these are among other trivial facts he could share–but I simply shrugged it off.

Back then I thought: Who cares!?

Oh, sometimes you’d rather exchange your knowledge of Westlife during your boyhood with your current knowledge with Nirvana. Maybe you’d be tougher (though the more I think of their songs, it hits you in your weak spots), or maybe cooler. But whatever. The thing is, I’m loving Nirvana.

Quoting Chuck Palahniuk, “Our goal in life is not to live forever, but to create something that will.” Without any doubt Kurt Cobain has achieved that–big time.