The New York Magazine has a pretty interesting article on intelligence tests for very young children and the pressure that is being piled on them at their age. Basically: Pass the tests and get into the best schools or fail and be doomed to live a life of mediocrity or failure, you have no choice in the matter, you fail and you have no chance of ever making it in life, so study hard, child, study hard!

I was actually quite surprised a few years ago when I saw banners around the city promoting review classes for college entrance exams–and pre-school entrance exams. Which is pretty odd. Your child’s a child. He or she is supposed to be going to school to learn and acquire knowledge, and at a young age, he or she isn’t equipped with a whole lot of it yet. If the child doesn’t do well in the entrance exams, then schools are basically blocking him or her from exploring his or her full potential.

I know this kind of post has already been done to death by people who weren’t as lazy as I was in recording their observations of people’s behavior on Facebook. But I’ve recently been getting so sick of Facebook and exceedingly critical of a lot of what people do that I just had to break them down in these categories, mainly because I can’t really go and slap them in person.

The Multitaskers. They boggle the mind. You can find them washing dishes, playing basketball, playing badminton with their families, fighting off rampaging bears, and performing brain surgery WHILE updating their status messages.

The Eternal Cheerleaders. People who constantly post inspiring quotations on their own walls and those of others. They mean well, but because they usually get their inspiring quotes from the latest self-help book they’ve read, they can get pretty annoying.

The Namedroppers. Call this the online equivalent of people who like flaunting the brand of clothes they have or new gadgets they’ve acquired. In Facebook’s case, these people tend to mention that they just got this or that item or drinking this brand of expensive wine and eating a platter of expensive cheeses.

The Regretfuls. The what-iffers online, a.k.a. people who always post, “I should never have eaten that last piece of pizza,” “I never should have said that,” “I really should watch the words that come out of my mouth.”

The Party Animals. At a party or a night out, you’ll always find a few people with a camera permanently glued to their hands and snapping away at the slightest provocation. They’re always pretty quick to put up pictures as well, and these pictures usually feature them dressed to the nines with their friends and holding an alcoholic beverage, a bottle of beer or a martini, for preference.

The Proud Parents. Yes, there’s nothing wrong with being a parent and being proud of your kids. But these people take it to another level, and you can’t find a picture of them without their kids and nine out of ten status updates are about their kids. Their photo albums might consist of them giving birth, at their kids’ birthday party or some other kid’s birthday party, having a “lazy day” with the kids at home, or posing in a studio for a family portrait.

The Eats-and-Shoots. When did going out for a meal automatically make for a photo opportunity? These people have their cameras at the ready every time they go out to eat, turning every meal into a major event and making it look like they have such incredible social lives.

The Jetsetters. Flip through their albums and you’ll find countless pictures of them on their many vacations. These people also tend to update their friends on where they are or where they’re heading next. “Just got back here in Budapest after a business meeting in Vietnam.” Yeah, we get it, you’ve got a busy, exciting life that takes you around the world.

The Beach Bunnies. There are many people who thoroughly enjoy putting up photos of themselves at the beach, most likely just bragging about how good they look in their bikinis; either these people have been stuck in the office for a while and missing the beach or were fat once and now want to show their old high school classmates or friends that they’ve changed a whole lot over the years.

The Town Criers. What’s the latest on Conan O’Brien’s career? Where can you send donations to victims of floods and earthquakes? When’s this or that movie coming out? Any updates on this or that political issue in the country and abroad? The town crier knows.

The Sentimentals. – These can make a lot of people cringe, because they simply love posting old yearbook or childhood photos–and tagging as many people as they can remember.

The Aspiring Models. For some reason, they get studio headshots or full-body photos and proudly put them up online.

The Workaholics. A look at their status messages and you’ll get the impression that they’re swamped with work, because they usually complaining about going to work on a weekend, working at 3 in the morning, or doing overtime again–and then you notice that they’ve got the time to let everyone know about it.

The Hostiles. Either they’re cussing someone out in their status updates, telling them to shut the hell up, or sending forth messages of the passive-aggressive kind.

I’ve been eyeing a spiffy red bicycle lately and have plans to buy it; I just need to get the cash. I’ve been back to see it twice already this week. Today, I stopped for some ice cream in the plaza where the bike shop is, then spent a good three minutes standing in front of the bike shop, just looking at the bike. If that thing were alive, it would have filed a restraining order against me by now.

I haven’t had computer problems for several years now. In the past, my monitors and CPU would break down on a regular basis; as a result, I was a frequent guest at the nearby Villman. Luckily, since 2003 or so, I’ve had the good fortune of not having to deal with computer problems, since the ones I had were usually in fine condition.

Which is why I’m presently distressed about my desktop. I was happily using it yesterday afternoon then decided to shut it down so I can take a nap. I turned it on again and to my surprise, nothing would appear on the monitor but a “No signal” message. I hooked up my laptop to the monitor to check if the latter had a problem; it was working fine, so it’s clearly a desktop issue.

Tonight, my mother expressed interest in her laptop once again, so we turned it on and tried launching Firefox–to no avail. Internet Explorer didn’t work either, and the antivirus software wouldn’t update. This after my camera was accidentally drowned in water, Internet connection that seems perpetually on the blink, and finding out that my Skype phone seems to be unusable here, when it worked perfectly in the U.S.

The electronics gods seem to be having a giggle at my expense. But I hope for their sakes that this laptop doesn’t give out, or we will have words.

So this commercial has been running for almost a year now, and I wish it would just die a gory death because it’s such a ridiculous ad.

In this ad, Kim Chiu, who’s so dangerously skinny that her arms are probably as fat as my thumb, is saying that the female hair is big and frizzy in the morning. To whoever came up with this ad, I say this: The hair of the girls in the ad isn’t frizzy, not by a long shot. It’s just messy. And if girls have messy hair in the morning, all they need to do is run a damn comb through their hair, not employ Rejoice Anti-Frizz right away. Besides, you don’t know from frizzy, not like the big hair that curly-haired people like myself have to deal with on a regular basis. No amount of shampoo can calm it down; it takes time, effort, and a cleverly maneuvered hair dryer or iron, and even then, our hair is defenseless in the face of humidity. Frizzy is either a hair’s default state or a reaction to excessive humidity, not something that takes place upon waking up in the morning.

Here in Quezon City, a sign recently started coming up on roads.

Looks straightforward enough, doesn’t it? It should be a strong enough reminder for people to, uh, not put posters and banners bearing their names and mugs. But oh no, politicians are slimy, creative sorts, which is why they’ve been able to get around this ordinance. Case in point:

First of all, I don’t see why we ever really need to thank public officials for doing their job. It’s their damn job. But knowing the kind of officials we have anyway, I guess we should be grateful that something beneficial is happening at all. But the main thing is, this damn streamer which is slapped on practically every footbridge on Commonwealth Avenue clearly counts as political propaganda. Does anyone really believe that private citizens got together and thought it would be a great idea to have banners printed to thank the president for bestowing these holy footbridges upon us? I think not, especially since I just saw MMDA elements hanging up the streamers a couple of days ago.

Another person who’s found a way to imprint his name, or at least his initials, in people’s minds is a councilor by the name of Winnie Castelo. Seriously. Posters saying “Working Citizen ako, Working Congressman ang kailangan ko” with the W and C highlighted? Clever ploy. Same goes for Aiko Melendez, whose massive poster bearing birthday greetings is found several yards away from a sign informing people of the ordinance. The complete sign reads “Happy Birthday, Aiko Melendez, Servant ng Masa,” with the V and M standing for “vice mayor,” which she’s gunning for this coming elections. Do private citizens really take the time and money to have a huge birthday banner printed for a politician? Someone enlighten me.

Whoever was responsible for that sign should probably slap it in the faces of public officials who like having their names in the public eye, as well as people who are planning to run for office, rather than citizens who don’t have anything to do with those banners in the first place. And speaking of the person doing the reminding, that Tady Palma, could that person be running for public office as well since the name is in bold and wants us to remember the name?

In 2001, I had my sights set on pursuing a masters degree abroad, torn between International Relations anywhere and Heritage and Museum Studies at the University of Portsmouth. I sent for a prospectus from around three or four schools, and was already making a list of what things I would be bringing with me that could help me save money during a whole year of school, things like toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, sanitary napkins–anything that I can lug with me so I wouldn’t have to buy the stuff wherever I’ll be going.

One of the first steps I made was taking the IELTS. For quite some time, I was constantly popping in and out of the local British Council office, and I even signed up for the IELTS review, which was run by a man named Sean Power; my fellow reviewers for some reason kept referring to him as “Mr. Powers.” I didn’t pay much attention during the review, just spent most of it doodling in my notebook. I wasn’t especially worried about the exam. Yeah, that’s how cocky I was.

Come exam day, I hauled myself to Linden Suites in Ortigas, where the exam was being held. I was thrown for a few seconds, because everyone in the exam room was wearing suits and office wear, while I was in a black shirt with a strawberry on it, jeans, trainers, and lugging around a red backpack. Odd like anything.

I don’t remember much about the exam itself, just that I had a blast doing it and distinctly felt that I did poorly in the listening part. The speaking portion took place a couple of hours after the written exam, and I was supposed to answer questions on the topic of corporate sponsorship in sports. Personally, I didn’t give a fuck, but I squeaked through it anyway and came out of it okay. Overall, I wasn’t too stressed about the test and was confident that I did well. A few weeks later, the results came out, and I was happy to get an overall band score of 8; predictably, my lowest score was in the listening part.

I’m presently planning to take the IELTS again perhaps later this year and because I haven’t sat an examination in years, I’m sort of nervous about the prospect. But I killed the test once, I can do it again.

I’ve been in love with broccoli cheese soup since I first came across it in Friday’s. It combines two of my favorite food items, so how could I not fall in love with it? Surprisingly, I haven’t attempted to make it until tonight, and I followed random recipes I looked up online. My broccoli cheese soup consisted of the following ingredients:

• vegetable broth
• low-fat milk
• cornstarch
• grated cheddar cheese
• onions
• broccoli
• sprinkling of nutmeg powder

The end result: spoonfuls of creamy, cheesy heaven.

I still have a full bowl left of my experiment, and that I shall call lunch for tomorrow.

I think everything that can be said about cheaters has already been said, and that enough people have already vilified Tiger Woods from head to toe, so I’m not going to join that mob anymore. Instead, let me say that–speaking as someone who has punched a cheating ex and caused a scar to form in his eyebrow, which subsequently bled–I fully applaud Elin’s decision to take a golf club to his vehicle. It is, however, disgusting how all Tiger’s mistresses are popping up, no doubt to claim their share of the limelight, each of them elbowing one another in the face to grab the spot of The Mistress Tiger Woods Was REALLY Into.

For fun, I hung about on Craigslist yesterday and checked out the housing section for apartments or houses for rent, looking particularly in Boston, Denver, San Francisco, and Seattle; Seattle, I’ve never been to, but the first three I love. I doubt that I’ll really have a need to househunt in those areas soon, but it’s still fun looking at what’s available out there and for how much. I imagine that if I ever had to find living space elsewhere, I would want something that’s pretty small with nothing but the basics: a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. I’d even consider a dining room a bonus. The teeniness of the space I require is due to the fact that I’m incredibly paranoid and don’t want to have too many places to check whenever I get worried that a ghost is lurking somewhere.