ET phones home

Originally posted Aug 10, 2005

Ya know what they say, "'Home' is where the heart is."

... and, meaning no disrespect to the Lone Star State, my heart is not in Texas; it's where my dear, dear family is, and they are currently in the Philippines.

So, I've made it a little ritual of mine to call 'home' around 10 pm here (10 am there), and yesterday when I phoned, I received a pleasant shock: "Um, hello?" asked a little girl's voice. It was Elena Marie who answered the phone! (Diane later told me that, as Elena Marie runs at top speed to be the one to answer it anyway, she has been granted permission to do so as long as she says hello.) She informed me they were going to a party, as it is Tata Omar's birthday.

Happy birthday, Omar!

... so after we had a nice little conversation (our conversations are getting longer, as I believe she is becoming accustomed to talking with her papa on the telephone (our first one ended rather quickly)), I asked her to allow me to talk with her mama.

Surprise #2: she handed the phone off to Isabel (Isabel has this very keen sense of when I'm on the phone and is then very insistent on "quantity time"). My conversations with Isabel are usually a one-sided affair: I say, "Hello" and ask about what she's been doing that day. Her side of the conversation is an occasionally reverentially whispered "Paaaahhhhpaaahhh!" or a muted giggle. She is content with this. I may have some misplaced empathetic pangs at her inability to say more of what is on her mind, but she would be happy just to walk about all day, phone glued to her ear, listening to her papa's voice.

In fact, when Diane tries to "distract" the phone away, Isabel will have none of it, so when the phone is finally wrestled away, there is a rather large amount of emotional fall-out to deal with.

Poor kiddo.

Poor me! My heart goes *squish-squish* when these incidents occur, and it seems to be getting harder, not easier, for me to face stoicly.

Ah, well, perhaps it's the price of fatherhood; if so, it's a price I pay gladly ... I just love'm to pieces!

-----

As it's the monsoon over there, the ladies went hat-shopping so as to help them in their daily promenades. They sent me a picture (which I have not attached out of respect of your inboxen sizes) of them on the patio, beaming in their hats. Elena Marie is wearing a chalk-purple baseball cap along with a wide, happy, smile; Diane, a straw sombrero with an even bigger smile, and li'l Iz, a proper white tea hat with a tyrian purple band with a hint of a knowing grin.

Gosh! Looking at this picture, Elena Marie looks ready to break out into the world on her own -- skipping the girl and pre-teen years and moving right into adolescence. She has been working hard this last year to be helpful and to do things independently: reading, cooking, cleaning up. She seeks to participate with her parents in their activities, at first for the attention, but now it's something more ...

... and Isabel, seeing her older sister do things that please her parents, is right there, engaging in the participation as well.

I'm a bit torn, perhaps a bit admiringly and perhaps a bit heart-broken: they are so happy doing these new activities! These very activities that push them into a greater maturity, too. Sometimes I cry out (internally): "revel in your very precious, diaphanous childhood" as I also, in counterpoint, delight in their striving and growing.

This is also part of the deal: children grow. Also, our family is not known for its complacency.

-----

Up all last night (still on Philippine time...) but working on acclimatization here: still at work, fighting the sleep, hoping that my sleeping tonight, through the night, will accelerate my return to normalcy (does anyone else read the sardonic grin in that previous statement? "Yeah, that Doug Auclair: I'd describe him as a normal guy ... yeah ..."); thank goodness the folks at work are, first and foremost, a bit quirky themselves, but also very tolerant of my rather long list of "interesting" behaviors. I did use some of the wakeful time to continue work on a paper ("A logical perspective of imperative programming") that I'm rather delighted working on. Writing papers is alway fun and always much more work than I set out to do ... so I usually have three unfinished fragments for every paper I do complete. I'm determined to see this one to completion, and have not started work on the "next big thing" (an artificial neural system that will "recognize" symbols from "optical" inputs), intentionally delaying work on that system until I finish this paper.

*SIGH*

So, there it is: I'm catching up on household work, catching up on my research, getting back into the swing of things at work, and have had a lovely conversation with my hatted ladies.

A blessed day, with still more blessings waiting for me to find.

Huh? re: Hey, Math Genius

This arose from an email my little sis, Beki, sent me:

Originally posted Aug 12, 2005

Dear Beki,

LOVE your subject line! I hope you do not mind me sharing this with ma
famille: what originally started as a response to your email has turned into
a full-blown Doug Auclair Entry (caps intentional), so ...

From: Rebecca Auclair
Date: Fri, 12 Aug 2005 07:27:11 -0400
Great emails, lately! I love the stories. Both the stories of what is happening in the Philippines with Diane and the girlies, and the stories about what is happening with you as you grow in your love for all of them.

"Leths." Diane has promised to send me a new photo with each of her emails, and I now have the three hat ladies smiling out a me from my desktop. Whenever I clear the screen, I smile right back, compelled, yet unbidden.

Did you see the movie /π/? [trans: pi; and snip]

Several times, actually: it is intense ... but I have fond recollection of the soundtrack, because someone found the scarab gun and demonstrated it set to the sound of the Pi soundtrack. The scarab gun can blow up a tank with one shot (so it's not what some would call a "balanced weapon" -- one only can hold it for a short time, at any rate).

I /DO/ act kinda like the main character: intense and (psychotically) focused -- I do notice in myself that I become fascinated with some detail and will not let it go until it's analyzed to death, like the character in the movie. Perhaps this behavior is a byproduct of mathematics or philosophy? Of course, unlike that dude, I don't go into the New York subway and poke at brains the size of cows under staircases.

So there it is.

So, it made me think about a cute little email I just sent my friend Holly. She does animal rescue, and so in closing I said "I hope that you and your forty seven dogs, eighty three cats and fifteen gerbils are all doing well..." I just pulled the numbers out of the air, trying to be cute. Then I looked back and thought, hey, are all those prime numbers? And then when I thought that they might be, I thought, I wonder if they have another relationship, besides that.

Any ideas?

I think, but I'm not sure, that kind of question is "hard" to answer: as the number line is infinite, there may or may not exist a relation between the numbers you mentioned, but it may take an infinite amount of effort to find out.

...

then again, number theorists do have inductive logic reasoning tools that allow them to prove that a supposition holds for all cases, so...

Anyway, 47 and 83 are prime; 15 is not.

But they are all odd numbers ... do they fit into a progression? ..., 15, 47, 83, ...

... so far, I haven't been able to find any. The most interesting progression so far is 1, 2, 15, 47, [but not 83] ... (named 'A041719') which is the progression of denominators of the fraction approaching the square root of 379.

But there were also sequences such as: "The sequence of the k-th natural number interlaced with the k-th prime number". I was not able to find a sequence for 15, 47, 83 at sequence research at AT&T. Which means when such a relation to dogs, cats and gerbils is found, you can then go about proclaiming your deep insights into the fundament of number theory.

-----

Actually, I don't think I have much of a taste for pure number theory: it's depths seem impenetrable -- each mystery revealed shows only more mysteries; and there are absolutely no guide posts along the way. I equate it to the contemplative life -- tried it on a pre-wedding retreat for a week and went bonkers. The contemplative life is very hard, and very meager, work -- if one feels to have broken through to a better understanding of whatever (self, the universe, God), that feeling only shows how inadequately, stubbornly, wrong one is. When I worked at it, I felt angry, frustrated, and stupid -- tired and then glad to be returning to the business of the
world.

Conversely, goal-directed pursuits are captivating (firing the imagination and providing motivation to essay the solution): breaking through elliptic curve encryption, finding a new golomb ruler, finding a new prime number (possibly a mersenne prime), and then, also, research that pays immediate dividends, such as the work I'm currently doing analyzing imperative programming through a logical lense or my research into combinators.

So, a rather round-about way to say that this progression may be your chance to break out into the big leagues! Wesleyan'd be calling you up to confer an honorary docatorate, 'n stuff.

-----

Once again awake through the night, so now sleep is stealing into my blood vessels (or so it feels to me). I did exercise this morning (DDR, kenjutsu), and was pleased to see that I haven't lost the touch. Mike Wuerthele described watching my DDR technique as an experience akin to 'Riverdance' -- upper body erect and still while the legs whip about wildly.

Hmm.

Right about now I'm not feeling very spry, however, so off to bed for me.

It Hurts

Originally posted circa Aug 29, 2005

It's been a little while since my last family newsletter ... was it too math-heavy? ... so here's the latest installment.

I hope it won't be too angsty for you, but I'm missing my sweeties so much so that it hurts. I'm looking forward to returning to the Philippines (/even/ through the 12 time-zones of *ouch* adjustment) to shower them hugs and kisses (as much as they will allow ... the girls can be affection-shy at times).

So there it is ... missing my dear wife and little girls.

In other (but similar) news, Mike and the rest of his family have been very solicitious. Mike called the other day, on orders from his family, to see if I was still breathing, and, if I was, was I okay (being okay requires one to eat food in the Filipino context). I politely asked him, "Well, didn't I look fine at lunch yesterday?"

But, beside the missing pangs, I'm doing better with this separation that I did the first time Diane and Elena Marie stayed on in the Philippines. Perhaps it's because that I'm so busy with the business of work and the business of maintaining the household that I don't have to get into any morbid self-examination. It is unfortunate, in a way, this busyness, because Beki invited me to visit her this weekend, but I really can't tear myself away this weekend (and every other weekend is booked with something until I return to my sweeties).

Churning away at Dance-dance revolution, there are only about 7 or so songs left in DDR1 that I have not yet successfully completed, and I just conquered one more song there that unlocked a cutsie pop version (but, still, by no means a lightweight) of it's much tougher precedent. DDR2 I'm only half-way through the songs, so I've got about 40 or so more songs to go. Come November of this year the company is releasing DDR3 ... just in time for me to take it on ... I figure there is enough techno-pop-dance music out there to keep me fit into my 50s. In my 50s I'll need to sign up with a zero-g rugby club or triad team, as Titan (Saturn's "earth-like" moon, http://science.nasa.gov/headlines/y2005/25feb_titan2.htm) has a lower gravity pull than Earth. Maybe they'll be needing seasoned veterans to man colonial vipers to fight off the Cylon threat. I'm sure that regimen will keep me in shape.

All this from a guy who gained 5 pounds over a day ... bad Doug, bad!

-----

It appears that Elena Marie and Isabel are quite the artistes! Diane has sent several more pictures of the kiddies, and each one has them engaged in some form of expression: Elena Marie painting or in a pink-pink ballerina outfit; Isabel, gazing seriously up from her silly putty. Where in the world do they get that from, I wonder! *Sigh* It'll be great to see dem kiddos again!

Well, at least they all are having fun: Diane's been going out to power lunches with her senator friends and doctor friends and business-owner friends ... as the children run circles around their watchful Andah. Good thing they love the play-room at the mall so much (I don't think I've seen Isabel happier than when I peeked into the playroom to see how they were doing (my assumption: wails and tears and "Where's papa!" demands): she was screaming with laughter going down that slide and then running off to the next activity)!

... and who knows? My return visit in September may lead to something more than a visit: I just received an email that they have a programming contract available in Singapore (in a programming language that only I and a few other people in this country know) ... as with all "contract available" notices, nothing is certain until it is signed ... which, in my case, usually takes 100 rejected offers and 6-12 months of negotiations to get to that point ...

So, it's not been a quiet week in Lake WoebeSpringfield, but it's certainly been "quite a week" here.

Off to the races.

Chess and DD-*ouch*-R

Originally posted Aug 30, 2005

A brief entry to share my good weekend with you.

But first, a news flash from the Philippines.

Dateline: Metro Manila ------ dee-de-dee-dit-dee-de-dit.

My sweetie wrote an email, asking if I missed her.

*sniff*

Then I received a letter in the mail from Elena Marie S. Auclair, the Philippines, written inside was the one word, in carefully drawn letters: "Papa" and a composition in crayon and pencil of some modern abstract artwork.

(pause here to wipe tears away with tissue paper)

Diane informs me that Isabel is now becoming quite the chatterbox, and, oh, joy! she sent some pictures, both of the girls, both being very cute: Elena Marie is hiding under a multicolored umbrella in her pastel dress; frollicking about in front of the flooded street, demanding that she not get wet. You all know how that turns out, don't you? (My little Elena Marie: the only girl I've observed who goes out of her way to splash through puddles.)

In the other picture Isabel is supposed to be lying down to take a nap with her elder sister. But, as she knows that her mother is about to snap off a photo, she is peeking out, gleefully checking to see if Diane has taken the shot yet. She did. I wonder if li'l Iz checked to see how cute-cute she looked in the photo.

----- Back to da USSR -- uh, I meant, U.S. America.

It was a dark and stormy weekend; cold and dreary ... and, being from New England, that meant it was totally perfect weather for me. Unfortunately, it apparently suited only myself and 35 or so others: I went to an Amway meeting/picnic in West Virginia, about 100 miles from home. Usually these gatherings have over 200 people, so Mike (Malovic), the sponsor, told me: "Well, only the hard-core faithful show up when the weather turns bad."

Bad? Bad? It was perfect weather: it honestly felt like the temperature dipped to the high 40s!

Perfect, that is, for playing chess!

HA!

insert here the Austin Powers, international man of mystery, montage of him and the Russian supermodel, Ivana Humphalat, doing the square off:

IH: "Do you know what we do in Russia to keep warm?"
AP: "I can make a pretty good guess..."
IH: "We play chess!"
AP: "I would've guessed wrong, then."

It's now a well-established tradition that I bring my chess board, set it up, and crush all comers. And they love it.

The first three games I played "little" Joey, who is now 17 years of age and towers above most of us at 6'4". Apparently he's been studying chess under a tutor.

• Game 1: Doug white; Joey black. He really should have won this game. In a bad exchange, I lost the bishop and knight for a knight and a pawn -- and didn't realize this until, in the midst of backpeddling, I looked up from the board to see the damage. But, he committed a blunder in the mid-to-endgame transition that had him a rook down in the exchange. Perhaps he was a bit too impetuous in his eagerness to close out his win.


• Game 2: Doug black; Joey white. Black is my colour -- it allows me to play the Sicilian (especially, the Dragon variation) defence, know as very fast, very aggressive defence to take with black. So, he also plays aggressive chess. Really the best counter to that attack is a really, really strong defence. So, when I saw him setting up a really strong attack I switched from the Dragon to a variation of the 'hedgehog': yes -- very tight, low, defensive position. The advantage of the hedgehog (pawns basically advance only once, not the faster two-space advance) is that it requires the opponent to play very carefully -- an all-out attack by the opponent creates a huge vacuum around his own defences and leaves his attacking pieces very vunerable.
  
  Sadly for Joey, he marched right into my line at flank speed: all his pawns were pushed forward as far as possible, and, his queen was leading the charge. Well, I "opened" up my king to a check, and his queen did not avoid that temptation. When my bishop covered the king, threatening his queen in the process, his queen had nowhere to go: his pawns were blocking his retreat, and the only other option was to "exchange" his queen for a pawn or the bishop. It dissolved quickly into the endgame; which I was hopeless at before, but I managed to pull off a win anyway.


• Game 3: Doug black; Joey white -- we played one more, but I think he was tired, and unaccustomed to my style of play, for he folded under my attack without much fuss. He remarked a couple of times that I played a defensive game: I guess he was used to playing against other players who played aggressively. Papa, would you have ever thought it possible that someone would call my play "defensive"?

Joey also remarked that he would've liked to play against me with the clock, saying that the really stong players can play fast games well. I agree with him: I played slower because I'm not a very good player. I need that extra time to think through and to see the moves and countermoves that other players, better players, would see right away.

The next three games were played against my usual opponent, Stacy (sp?). I give him my knights in handicap, and it is a continual source of amazement to him that I beat him (and that I review the game move-by-move from memory). Nothing much to report from these games:

• He did win the first game because, playing at such a handicap, one must play very aggressively to overcome the disadvantage: in my haste I left my queen unprotected, which he took with his queen, checking me. I resigned right there.
  
  Stacy: "No, man, make a move!"
  Me: "That [the resignation (I tipped my king)] is the only move possible."



• The second game, he set up the "mate in four" trap which I ignored, but playing reasonably, one can work one's way out of that trap. Easy win.



• The third game, the party was winding down, and Pinky watched the final moves.
  
  Stacy: "Only two moves to [my] mate"
  Pinky: "Know what they are?"
  Stacy: "Yes"
  Pinky: "Then play them."
  
  We all laughed at that. But Stacy did rally, checking me a few times and then wiggling his king out of immediate mate to prolong the game for another 10 moves or so. Good play there for Stacy. He made the win sweet; so, when I put my head into my hands, Pinky thought it was a reversal and started to console me.

During our games, Michael (Edmonson) (yes, there are three people in this email whose given name is 'Michael' ... popular name, that) approached and warned my opponent about me. He thought for a moment and then said: "I should have you play my brother; he thinks he's all that in chess." When I informed Michael that I wasn't very good at chess, he spewed out his beverage in his laughter.

But it's true: chess is such a dynamic, demanding game! One can build up a strong, solid win and blunder it away in an instant. Influence of a move echos all over the board in the strangest of ways. Computers can now assist in analyzing games, but even Deep Blue shouldn't have won most of its games against Kasparov -- chess is still mysterious enough to defy plodding analysis. Mike (Wuerthele) watching that very thing happen in one of my games against Papa, exclaimed: "Well, Doug, you just managed to snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory!" My game is Go (http://www.usgo.org/index.asp), but this not being Korea, it's not easy to find opponents here.

By that time, only Stacy's family and I were there with Mike and Pinky to clean up, so we all had a little time, some special time, to be together. I'm sorry so many others missed this opportunity; and I'm glad I got some time to be with people I admire.

-----

Sunday, after the round trip to and from West Virginia, I was going to work at the office, but my engine wasn't turning over, so there was nothing for it than to kick start it with Dance-Dance Revolution.

Three solid hours of Dance-Dance Revolution.

Three solid hours of Dance-Dance Revolution on the hard setting.

um ... ouch. My legs are still feeling it, even now, but it was very good, 'cause I finally completed those two songs that I haven't been able to touch (ya know that one, Mike, that sounds like a heart-monitor that you "love" so much. One time, Mike was over, working on the computers as I was dancing that song, "Healing Vision: Angelic Remix" (see http://www.cotilliongroup.com/code/ddr-song-sep.html): he stormed out of the office and demanded, "What the h*ll is that cr*p?" Yeah, he "loves" that song.)

I only have one song, DXY! by TaQ (the song I scornfully dismissed as a "jumping jack" song in my review), that I've only so far managed to work two-thirds of the way through, but, now that I've completed all the other songs, some of which I was very sure I'd never become skillful enough to complete, I now know that it's just a matter of time: I'll become better, and this song shall fall, too.

Then, Mass at St. Anthony's, and then supper at "Cafe Saigon" (surprisingly, a very good /Cantonese/ place). And then I received Diane's email with photos that I mentioned above. Excuse me; I've got to go now and look for my hanky.

But not before one more family Chautauqua (http://www.virtualschool.edu/mon/Quality/PirsigZen/part1.html): when I'm available, meaning, when I'm not at work, or when I'm not in a dead sleep having returned from work, Diane and I talk on the phone 9:30ish in the (Philippine) morning (9:30 pm here).

What I love about Diane (yes, of course I love everything about Diane, that's tautological, now, isn't it) is her absolute joy in the moment: she's having a great time in the Philippines, visiting her friends, taking Elena Marie to Ballet and art class, playing badminton with Papa, and, when I'm talking with her, she's having a great time relating stories to me of the goings-on there, she's enjoying playing with the kids, and she's loving missing me, scolding me for not eating enough (I /AM/ eating enough, thank you very much, it's just that most people eat too much, so I suffer in the comparison), and putting the kids on the phone to talk with "Pahhhhpaaahhh!"

Isabel is supposedly talking more, but on the phone with me, when she hears my voice, she only has one word, whispered reverentially: "Paaahhhhpaaaaaa".

Diane: "Say 'Papu' [an affectionate term for 'grandfather']"
Li'l Iz: "Paaaaaahhhhhpaaaaahhh"
Diane: "Say 'hello' to Papa"
Li'l Iz: "Paaaaaaaappaaaaahhhh"
Diane: "Say 'goodbye' to Papa na, and give me the phone"
Li'l Iz, having nothing of that at all, whining: "Papa?"

When Diane finally pries the phone away from the tyke, the fallout is rather voluminous, and, I don't need to add, rather heartbreaking for someone in the New World.

It appears that Elena Marie is also missing her Papa. The night before I was leaving the Philippines, I was in the communal bedroom, and was going to excuse myself to get some water.

Elena Marie: "Papa, don't leave."
Me: "Sweetie, I'm just going to get some water; I'll be right back."

Diane then explained to me that Elena Marie meant that she didn't want me to leave tomorrow for the States.

*ouch*

So, when I was talking with the kiddo on the phone, the following transpired.

Elena Marie: "Papa, when are you coming back?"

*ouch*

Me: "It's now the end of August, Elena Marie, and I'll be back September 15th. Ask Mama to show you September 15th on the calendar, okay?

EM: "Okay. ... Papa, you come back now, okay?"

Um, yes, well, there is that.

*sigh* How many days, again, until September 15th ... that is, besides an eternity?

Congratulations to Claudia and "Aldrin"

Originally posted Sep 4, 2005

Okay, so, I went to a wedding this morning, and it was beautiful -- the groom's family, "Aldrin" (hoy, JinJin, who is this "Aldrin" guy?) the San Pedro's, are family through Diane, numerous, and every last one of them could be on the cover of Vogue. Claudia and her family are from Brazil -- I know of Brazilians, before I met Claudia, only from my exposure to them when I was visiting a friend in Miami Beach. While walking the boardwalks I observed these golden-skinned kings walking, no, not walking, striding, almost DANCING, they walked so beautifully. I couldn't see the women walking beside the men, because they were so beautiful I was blinded.

My friend informed me that these demigods were visiting from Brazil.

Claudia and her family are Brazilian, did I mention that?

The priest was Fr. Jaffe: young man, good, clear, strong voice. JinJin and Claudia were married in St. Peter's Cathedral in downtown DC -- my mansion in Springfield would buy a bathroom in one of the townhomes that towered over the cozy streets. So the town and the church were not hard on the eyes. As the Fr. Jaffe boomed out the consecration, I thought, "Hmmmm, he seems familiar..." which was immediately confirmed when he stumbled over the name of the bishop: "We pray for our bishop, Paul, *cough*, um, Theodore." Aha! Cardinal Theodore McCarrick is the Archbishop of Washington, D.C.; Bishop Paul Loverde (he came from Connecticut) is our (Arlington Diocese) pastor. I felt right at home, then.

Off to the reception. The wedding was in SouthEast DC, the reception was in NorthWest DC, at Maggiano's in Friendship Heights. Do you know what that means? It means that I could have taken the beltway and travelled to Philadelphia faster than cutting through town ... so I took the "short-cut" through town. Fortunately, it was through embassy row, which also happens to be church/synagogue/mosque row. Very nice drive, but a little confusing for me, because sometimes the churchs looked like embassies, and, since there were so many of both, with their identification in base relief, one could get into an accident trying to read "St. Athuxuah R C Church", crossing oneself and saying "hi!" to Jesus as the car ahead of one stops to make an unsignalled left or right turn. Good thing I was not involved in playing out that scenario to its fender-bendering conclusion.

On the way to the reception, I stopped to get gas and get some yuppie food stamps, and looking around I observed I parked right next to the "Joy of Motion" studio, where Diane, before she had our li'l tykes, would go 2 times a week to dance flamenco with the best of them (Her teacher asked her, in all seriousness, "Are you part gypsy?" ... her teacher speaks some Romani, I'm given to understand). I soaked in the memories of this place: Diane, putting on her castanets and shoes and practicing and then teaching me the first steps.

Then, I passed by the movie theatre where I watched such jems as /32 Short Films about Glenn Gould/: an odd, quirky, film befittingly commemorating the man. It was a place to go to watch a film other than something like, say, /Transporter 2/ or /Star Wars, Episode XXVIILCMWQX/, but, not any more -- now the windows are boarded up and the posters behind the glass displays are faded and in tatters. It seems the world is not very accomodating to the offbeat or the fringe. Which got me to thinking: is there a place for me? A niche? Or, when the world stops to notice me, will it crush me under its heel like this movie theatre I am lamenting? Thinking further, it seems, like a blade of grass, it is the low-lying ones that are ignored, but the blade that stands up is cut back. The world notices stand outs, like Glenn Gould or, in a different category, Jesus, to destroy them, and it seems that the present generation (whichever generation that is) turns away from paths illuminated by their very own bright ones. Dark thoughts for one coming from a sweet, beautiful, wedding and going to a happy reception, on a perfect day ... maybe it's my Noregian Bachelor Farmer coming to the fore.

But then this sadness passes like grey New England clouds (okay, ... bad analogy), little children gleefully cavorting around their parents show the obvious answer to my unanswered question: the hope of this generation is the next one. The sourness of the old fogeys is bulldozed over by the unstoppable happiness of the toddler prancing about ... bulldozed, and then, transformed into joy. Look at a tired grandparent when a child rushed into their arms for a hug: they may have more years than anyone else in the room, but the glow coming from their eyes gives them a youthful energy, shedding off the years of world concern to enter into the delight of this moment.

These families are very child-friendly, too, so, when little Katchia, all of 13 months, nibbled her cheerios or danced about while we pushed about our main courses [I shouldn't have eaten so much of the calamari appetizer, but I couldn't resist -- shame on me because each of the 4 main courses were not to be missed] she had at least 4 aunties at a time, from both sides of the family, cooing over her. I asked Natalie if I could have little Katchia, ya know, to keep, but Natalie seemed unwilling to give up her precious jewel.

The best man was JinJin's brother, "Carlos" who gave a near-tearful toast (Lito, who is the "Carlos" person?) -- Every last San Pedro were so happy to be accepting Claudia into their family, and Lito, I mean, "Carlos", stood up and thanked God for her marrying, um, "Aldrin". Just like all the Auclairs breathed a very big sigh of thanks when Diane said "I do" (they were all holding their breath, because the out-rush of air caused the air-conditioner to kick in unexpectedly -- as a side note, when a "significant other" is brought to an Auclair family gathering, they are usually given the grilling by all 78 present, in the general vein of "Who are you to be invading our clan?" -- in Diane's case, she was taken aside so that she could be warned ... about me ... uh, thanks, everybody).

Then, we found out how the newly married couple met: the Maid of Honour, Carla, Claudia's cousin, shared how she's worked with JinJin for some time before Claudia came to this country, showed him a not-so-good picture of her (now, come off it, HOW is that POSSIBLE?), and that JinJin was NOT impressed (maybe he needs some serious eye surgery, or a fastball to the noggin?), but Carla persisted. She knew, as written in "Sleepless in Seattle", that they were MFEO ("Made For Each Other"). She arranged a double-blind dinner date, and the rest, as they say, is now in Maui.

-----

Just some nice finishes: I sat at a table with Alfa and three of her cousins. I absolutely had to tell everyone the story. Alfa arranged our marriage. She met Diane and me when set was all of 12 years (Alfa, gets mo ba?) visiting from the Philippines at a San Pedro soirée. When she returned home she immediately told her family (you know that everyone is related in the Philippines, right?) about that 'Kano dating Diane.

Now, we weren't engaged yet, and, the kicker, Diane's mother hadn't heard that Diane was seeing anyone. So, needless to say, Diane's aunt (that is, Mama's sister), was waiting for us on the front porch after the party.

Did I mention that everyone's related in the Philippines?

Did I mention that news travels around the world faster than one can drive a car home?

... So that was one group sitting at our table. The other half of the table was Papa, JinJin's best friend, from "Ghana" (JinJin thought Papa was from Ghana; Papa is actually from Gambia), and Amanatu from "Nigera" (Belle, JinJin's cousin, thought she was from Nigera) ... it turns out, on these mistakes, that Papa and Amanatu met and sat at the Gambia table (I offered that this table name was JinJin's apology and correct for that mistake of many years). Papa started talking about the food of Gambia, saying that the stews are unparalleled. So I called him on it: "So, when are you cooking for us, then?" which turned into an invitation after we return from the
Philippines along with the other couple at the table: Geoff (from the Philippines) and Danielle (and /Italian/ Italian). Geoff told me that since my grandmother is Italian, I could obtain dual Italian citizenship. Danielle later corrected this: Italian ancestry must come through the Mother.

... *sigh* So close!

I told Geoff that I use his name (actually a variant, "Geophf") as my on-line call-sign and we hit it right off: it turns out that Danielle is quite the card-player, and Geoff is a rated chess player, so we talked about card games and favorite openings and defences in chess.

... so, it'll be an interesting stew get-together!

-----

While we talked, this being a Nobre-San Pedro wedding, the dance floor was a happening place. Jeff, Ditas' hubby, just threw himself around the dance floor. There was not one woman who didn't get asked to dance along with him. A few were actually strong enough to keep up. One woman, Ate Karin, smirked throught the raw display. It was his statement: "Style? *Pshaw*!"

But, her next partner, Tito Mena, was the graceful display of elegance: every move subtle, controlled, yet absolutely in perfect flow. At the first few steps under his authoritative hand, her eyes lit up with shock that quickly relaxed into pleasure. I could read the flash of her thoughts: "Ah, a man who knows how to dance and who takes the lead. *sigh* How delightful!"

-----

As I left the party to come here to work, I observed I was parked next to rather nice company: a jet-black Rolls Royce convertable graced the spot next to my little mazda. Then, heading out of the parking lot, I passed by the restaurant "Bam Bulé" where Diane and I attended the wedding reception of her boss, Robin from the Council of Governments. Another elegant affair where we were all shared in the happiness of the wedded couple.

-----

So, God bless you Aldrin and Claudia: from what I saw at the wedding ceremony and the following reception, it looks like He is already blessing you with the happiness of your families. May He continue to do so.

I'm In (the Philippines)

Originally posted Sep 17, 2005

I've arrived safely: here I am in the Philippines, back together with my dear wife and (not so) little girls. The flights were non-events, and getting through customs with my one carry-on (Starbucks one-armed) backpack was a breeze. Good thing they didn't ask if I was carrying deadly weapons, 'cause I'd be forced to claim myself.

Flying from the USA to Korean, Inchon Airport (it was a Korean Air flight) is always fun for me, because I get to eat the Korean food and also watch the Korean movies. It almost goes without saying that the Korean food selection is much better than their Merkan alternative. The same goes double for the movies: I don't know what the Korean equivalent of Hollywood is, but they seem to be doing better at putting something interesting into their movies.

For examples: Their first movie was the merkan "Something Like Love" or something like that for the title. A nice little ho-hum movie to pass the time. A question: is it absolutely essential in merkan romcoms for the female lead to sleep with all the male characters, and while so doing show that, yes, she does diet and do full-body toning exercises?

The next two movies, I didn't get their titles, because my Hangul reading isn't all that good. The first one costarred the girl who starred in the Korean movie "My Little Bride" (one of my top ten favs). It was a "Shall We Dansu" (not the Jennifer Lopez vehicle, please)/ "Strickly Ballroom" kind of movie that I love -- unspoken love between the leads, blocked by 50,000 obstacles, and lots of gorgeous dancing to fill the remaining hour of the movie. *sigh* Predicable and wonderful. Hey, can I learn to samba like that?

The next one was a Korean "anti-soap opera": a little gem of the movie with a silent, dutiful husband that gets the can with everyone else (off stage) when the company sinks, and the not-so-soft-spoken wife. What does he do? Of course he doesn't tell his wife not to by the new Kimchee fridge, he goes and gets himself a job as a housekeeper ... where the lady of the house is a hawt-young-vamp in a white silk teddy. What kept me glued to my seat on this one was (well, besides the illuminated "fasten your seatbelts" sign) that here fidelity and duty took center stage, and the movie portrayed these qualities in these characters so empathetically, that it had me cheering for the happy, albeit unresolved, ending (did he stay a housekeeper after the wife found out, weeping at his "shame" -- his reply: "So you don't like what I give you because it's money smelling of fish and rice and isn't a nice crispy check?")

Then, arriving at the airport (no, it was a lot of "fun" crossing paths with Diane's parents for more than an hour), I went right to bed, and woke up with Isabel. Who, when she saw me, couldn't stop the giggles for an hour. We fell right into the groove, though: she was handing me water between DDR songs like a pro before noon.

Elena Marie, of course, was very pleased to meet me ... from behind her mother's leg.

And Diane finally got hugs from her man.

So, that's it. Now, off to the "ou-hoo" ("Swimming Pool" as Isabel pronounces it).

Our Pool Game

Originally posted Sep 18, 2005

We all, all of us (Mama, Papa, Diane, Omar, Dennis, the kids, and myself), headed off to the "8 Waves" resort that has at least 5 kinds of swimming pools (as far as I have seen). This "morning" at 2:30 am I woke up and did not go back to sleep. So I headed out with my bokken to terrify the night shift and practice some kenjutsu. I did both with flying colours (the lady at the front desk appeared thoroughly confused: "Should I run away screaming at the top of my lungs, or should I answer this terrorist's question of 'what time is it?'" -- must remember to stow the sword first before approaching someone from now on).

Was told twice, once just now, that internet wasn't working. This last time I didn't buy it: "But I was on this morning..." Oh, no problem then, sir, right this way. Harrumph!

Isabel and Diane found me at the keyboard this morning, so the li'l tyke and I shared breakfast at the "Pancake House" while Diane watched over Elena Marie, who is in the habit of sleeping past 9:30 in the morning. That's my girl!

I caused quite a stir at breakfast, as I kept up an uninterrupted flow of Tagalog with Isabel and the wait staff, who tried, and failed, to be surruptitious in their amazement: "He's speaking Tagalog!" They whispered in Tagalog. That earned a look from me. The other early morning guests at breakfast were equally nonplussed. I guess it's hard to imaging Joe White-Guy sprachen da vernacular (that's French).

Breakfast was soon over because of Isabel's impatience: "Ou-hoo!" ["Swimming Pool!"] So I guess it was time for a swim. Diane and I did the switcheroo, and she took li'l Iz out with the rest of the family while I lay in bed, next to Elena Marie, trying half-heartedly to return to sleep, but really I just basked in the joy of watching my little Elena breathe evenly in her sleep. After an hour or so, she turned, sat up, looked at me and pronounced: "Papa, it's morning." That's correct, it was indeed morning, being just past 9:30 am. So we all dressed in our swimming suits and headed toward the ou-hoo, um, I mean, pool. Isabel, Elena Marie, Diane and I all played in the kiddie pool for a while, but then, around noon, Isabel froze and began to wail, signalling it was time for her nap. Which she stumbled, rather than dove, right into.

So, that left me to look after Elena Marie. She stomped off to our shack to obtain the beach ball, and we played beach volleyball until lunch time -- we reached the high-water mark of 4 consecutive hits each before the ball landed in the water. Way to go, kiddo! Another little girl, a bit older than Elena Marie, crouched in the pool near us, watching us play. She zipped off to capture a wayward ball, handing it back to the imperious, shocked, and enraged Elena Marie ("Elena Marou, I love you!" I sang to her this morning. "I'm NOT Elena MarOU!" was the response. Good thing I knew this game. "Then who are you?" I asked expectantly. "I'm Elena MarIE!" Ah, so).

Her shock and anger eventually subsided. She experienced quite a turn-around, in fact. As she eventually handed the ball to the girl to hit to me, and then would direct me to throw the ball for the girl to hit instead of herself. Elena Marie actually took turns being hurt ("It's MY ball!" grabbing it away) and helpful, but the girl was compliant throughout. I never did get her name. But her parents being nowhere in sight, I felt it too forward to query for details.

So, today was some special, special time with Elena Marie: a "good morning" and some fun pool games.

Lunch delivered to our shack from the Pancake House.

That being over, Dennis and I repaired to the pool hall/karaoke bar (ummm, should I start on a rant about there not being one single good singer at the karaoke bar, and that singing louder off key doesn't mean it sounds better?) And we spent the next two hours there in a seven game shoot out.

• Game one: I won. A double combo (Dennis: "Hustler!") to leave the eight ball, then a banked shot across the green to sink it, winning the game (The attendant: "good shot!"). This was the last game I won.


• Game two: Dennis won. Easily.


• Game three: Ditto game two.


• Game four: Dennis handed me the game on the break when he scratched. "Salamat po!" I crowed. Dennis looked confused until I explained the rule to him. Then he looked sheepish.


• Game five: I won. Dennis sunk 5 balls, I sunk one. My "strategy" worked perfectly: he scratched on an eight ball try because of all my landmines blocking his shot.


• Game six: I returned the favour -- but I had a clear advantage going into the endgame, as he had three balls still left on the table -- I lost my patience and the game.


• Game seven: It was early in the game with the eight ball covering a corner pocket. I was going to sneak a striped ball around it for a sinker. My cue ball missed my ball, hit the eight ball perfectly for a quick wrap-up for Dennis.

Now, we're off to Church and Dennis is buying rounds at the bar from his huge stash of earnings that we didn't bet on the games. Before the games Dennis whispered to me: "I stink!" I responded right away: "So these will be easy wins for you: you've played enough to know that -- I haven't even played that much"

Played in the pool with the little kids, and Dennis played pool with the big kid. So, off we go. More news as life unfolds.