I was reading my dad's back issues of Bicycling magazine and I found a funny list of the author's cycling milestones. Items included shaving his legs, choosing which car to buy by the ease of installing a bike rack on it, and his first tumble.

I found it funny because I sort of kept a mental list of milestones myself, but didn't think other people did it too. My first tumble is certainly on it. But in this past week, I've marked three milestones:

#1. I did my first solo long-ish distance ride a few days ago. My car was in the shop in Quezon City, and instead of cabbing to the shop, I decided to bike it. That's from Rockwell to Tomas Morato, through the congested streets of Mandaluyong and the hilly parts of San Juan and New Manila.

All of that came under the distance of just 15 kilometers. I thought it would be around 9 to 10 km, and ignorance was bliss. But that's not really the point. I did it alone, going around potholes the size of manholes, and mixing it up with jeeps, trikes, and delivery trucks. I don't want to be that guy who has to drive to where he bikes, and it felt good knowing I could take on the streets of Manila. But let's hear me say that again when I've biked to Rizal or Tagaytay.

#2. On that trip, I was able to pull my water bottle out from the downtube cage, take a few gulps, and return it, without falling off or having to dismount. And at the risk of embellishing, I think I was going slightly up hill too.

# 3. Last night, I changed my own tires. Granted it wasn't on some deserted trail with the light quickly fading, I changed my own tires, in my living room, with only YouTube to help me out. I had gotten new, road-friendly tires, and wanted to put them on them myself. It took me almost two hours of for two tires. That's about 1 hour and 50 minutes more than how long it took the guy on YouTube. It was like wrestling with rubber and I kept getting trapped in a half nelson.

Anyway, milestones mark progress.

and more cycling...

all images above © John Watson

I found John Watson's blog, Prolly is Not Probably, a couple of weeks ago. I found it just in time to catch his almost-daily posts from his epic trip from Portland to San Franciso. That's just under 1300 kilometers by his estimate, which he covered in around two weeks.

When I got into biking (just a few weeks ahead of finding Watson's blog - noob), this was the sort of trip I imagined. And even if I'm long ways off from having the strength, the know-how, and even the courage to pull off a trip like that, I've been really enjoying the process of getting there.

Last weekend I biked around U.P. and ran into my dad and his bike buddies hanging out at a sari-sari store in front of the AS building. I swung off the pavement to say hi and hit a bump. My bike fell from under me and I shot my arms out to catch myself from falling flat on the dirt. I gingerly picked myself and my bike up and sheepishly walked to the stands, and then said hi to my dad.

Me: Hey! Did you see me fall over there?
My dad: Nope, but I'm sure all these people did.

This was the day right after I rode along Daang Hari with Dino, and did 20 kilometers biking from Alabang to Cavite and back. That's the farthest and longest I've ever biked, and I was feeling a bit confident.

Last night, my friend Jun invited to ride around the ULTRA/St. Paul's area. It's a bit of a steep inclined loop and it's supposed to be good training for climbs. I managed three rounds before giving up. There were parts where I just walked the bike up. I still haven't gotten this granny gear thing down pat, apparently.

Anyway, Watson's blog is really encouraging and great. Check out his "A Day In 10 Photos" section where you can see photos from his trip. He's also on twitter: johnprolly.

+++

So that nobody thinks I've totally given up my day job and sold my work cameras - it has crossed my mind - here's an outtake from the shoot of Jun's band. I wanted to shoot at night and in ambient lighting.

I eventually brought another car around with headlights on around for fill. I still know how to do this. Haha.

The new outdoorsy, active me.

Week 3.

This is how my bike-building project is looking on Week Three. I'm going to be a gearhead for a couple of paragraphs and talk about what's in that photo before getting existential. Feel free to zone out.

The frame is a Voodoo Bokor 29, size 19. Picking that frame was a bitch. I'm 5'9 1/2" (177cm) and it's a size that's apparently quite tricky to size up for bikes. Depending on the manufacturer, I could be a Medium or Large, or to be more precise - or not - can fit sizes 16 to 18, or 17 to 20. I've never so diligently used what little math skills I possess to convert units and compute for ratios and differentials. Inseam length finally came into play, and after getting cozy with Edmund, the bike store manager who measured my inseam, we figured my frame and 34" inseam could comfortably ride this particular Bokor 29.

Other frames I considered were On-One's 456, a Surly Karate Monkey (the name alone!), and a Santa Cruz Chameleon. I picked the Voodoo Bokor 29 because it's relatively affordable and easy on my eyes. I like round tubes over common, modern, sleek frames that are products of aerospace engineering. Also it's versatile. Though designed as a mountain bike, you can stick a rigid fork into it, hitch it on narrower tires, and ride it as a touring bike. I can also configure it as a single speed but hipster skinny jeans won't fit me. The over-sized 29 wheels will roll over almost any terrain while still looking proportional under my, er, hefty body.

Also, in that picture is a Fulcrum Red Metal SL wheelset. Though it matches the Bokor's colors, the decals are a bit gaudy. Maybe after it's been scratched up a bit, I'll refurbish and repaint the rims white. The tires are Kenda Nevegals, which I might return in exchange for Karmas. In the box is a Deore drivetrain and a Race Face headset. I traded in the brake set that came with it and got Hygia Usagi hydraulic brakes. My brakes are beyond my biking skills but it was on sale and can be carried on to future, more advanced bike builds. So far I've got a Salsa Shaft seatpost, and free Chunky ESI grips from my distributor. I've yet to decide on a fork and cockpit configuration, but hopefully, by next week, this bike-building project will be a bike-riding reality.

The awakening of my inner gearhead is just a means to an end. I just want to be outdoors more. I realized that I spend an unhealthy amount of time staying indoors, literally sitting on my formidable ass. Being a photographer is an active job relative to desk jockeys. But for the most part, I'm in airconditioned studios, conference rooms, kitchens, homes, or sitting behind my tripod during the inevitable downtime between layouts. The real workout is lugging the gear around. And I've got a guy for that. My assistant is lighter by at least 20 pounds now than when he started working for me three years ago. I kid you not.

At the end of the day, I get home, sit at my desk editing photos, or kick back to watch a ballgame or my favorite shows. My activities are split between hanging out with friends, eating out, and catching movies. That's all good but I could do more.

dreamscape

Cut my viewing of that Fringe episode with toads and butterflies because I thought it was the right thing to do before I slept. But soon after I turned off my lights, I heard a scrapping sound in my room. I sat in the dark, trying figuring out if it was just my imagination or some piece or paper flapping in the dark. It wasn't. So I said, fuck it, turned on my bedside lamp, and found the greenest grasshopper flying around my ceiling. Shit. Now wide awake.

+++

I hate it when I recommend music or movies and the person I recommended it to asks if it's happy music or a light movie. I never really know what to say to that. I don't think my mind works that way. I usually just want to know if it's good or bad, and even then I'll want to hear/see it myself and have make my own opinion. And if it's good stuff, that's always uplifting and encouraging.

But as I get older, I feel more vulnerable, and easily affected. A bit of self-preservation begins to kick in. It comes in the form of thoughts that say, "I don't want to fill my mind with stuff that can affect me. Life's too short to be affected." Sometimes it really is tempting to bliss out, to find music, movies, and books that are just easier to digest, minus the complexities of layered themes and meaning. But that's how you become a contented cow, wagyu ready for the slaughter.

+++

Contented Cow was the name of my brother's best bud's high school to college band. It's got an interesting origin story.

My photography is about found stuff. I like walking around, in different places, taking pictures of things that evoke a feeling. I also like movies that give meaning to our every day existence. Nothing like finding beauty in a floating plastic bag, but everyday things people obsess about - love, work or family. I enjoy sports and war movies or books because they're about real people who lived interesting lives. A lot of things I enjoy revel in the glory of the here and now.

But there's also a part of me that enjoys the mind fuck. It's usually visual, and has the ability to blow my mind away. Like that giant robot by Rob Sato in the past entry. Click on the image. See a bigger image of that rusting monolith. Look at that world and say the title in your head. In the future's past there was a world-ending war waged with giant robots. But all that's left are these remnants, slowly being swallowed by a greening earth.

It reminded me of childhood favorites, Macross and Nausica, and how those cartoons exposed me to fantastic worlds. Worlds that were ending, and creatures, spaceships and giant robots abound.

I like to remember the feeling of how all these things were freakin' wonderful, and I hope I never forget.

+++

I also like funny TV shows, or talky shows about politics or crime. But now that shows are on break, I've returned to sci-fi/weird shows. I've restarted Fringe, and marathoning Lost. Let's bring fantastic back.

"Peace At Last In A Future Past"

by Rob Sato

via Ramon

Ode to PNP 132

I inherited the car I drove in college from my mother. By then it was probably eight or nine years old. It then got handed down to my brother, five years my junior. If Gino and I were to write our biographies, the years of driving that '89 Corolla would make up the character building chapters.

I remember that the car used to overheat often. Until one of my uncle's mechanics discovered that the previous mechanic installed the fan the wrong way. It was blowing air away from the radiator. The car also had a knack of locking people out. Somehow the lock had gotten loose, and even if you just closed the door lightly, the lock would come down. It taught me to never leave my keys inside.

One time, while driving in the rain, Gino had to stop the car, get out, and wipe the windshield. In his rush to get out, the door half closed. The lock dropped. And Gino was locked out. Since the door was only half closed, Gino figured he could push it to close completely and the lock would pop back up. Illogical, yes, but standing in the pouring rain, on a busy street, his cellphone inside the car, he was out of options. He muttered a quick prayer and gave the door a hard shove to close. The lock popped up and Gino was never so happy.

Why did Gino have to step out to wipe the windshield? Because the wipers' rubber were torn and I couldn't afford to replace them.  Even when I eventually replaced them, I still waited until visibility was nearing nil before flicking that wiper switch. I was conserving the rubber. That's habit that carries to today, even I've finally gotten a relatively newer car. I have to be driving to an absolute downpour before I even begin to think about wearing out the wipers.

I'm only writing about this now because I had new wipers installed today. Ahead of the coming rains, and before the rubber's completely worn out. I got reminded that problems usually sort themselves out, that we get to better days, and that the bad days are still worth a laugh.

moved in

It's been a while since I've been able to write here. Lately, time's been split between work (with some out-of-town shoots mixed in) and house stuff. By house stuff I mean all the work that's involved in moving into a completely bare apartment. I don't think I've ever spent so much in my life. Sincerely, my bank account is fucked. But it's cool. It feels very grown up, picking out my own chairs, bed mattress, lights, etc. Past weekends, I've been supervising the handyman, the plumber, and the electrician. I have tons of bulbs from when I experimented with the lighting, haha. So far, I've got most things; most lately, a microwave oven.

Speaking of appliances, I've learned, in this past month, that the idea of plugging appliances into automatic voltage regulators is obsolete. So is grounding them by attaching a thin wire to the ground or the wall. My knowledge of electrical issues is apparently stuck in the 80s and 90s, in the era of varying voltages and intermittent power outages. I now know that I no longer have to have footwear on before touching the refrigerator.

Now, if you're Asian, you know that moving out of the family home as a single guy is a bit of a thing. There's a bit of guilt that plays into the decision and no one is a above emotional blackmail. So it's good to know that my parents have been quite cool about my decision. In fact, they've been absolute darlings.

Before moving out, I was quietly thinking about oral hygiene. Leaving the family house also meant leaving behind our electric toothbrush contraption (base charger, water pick, the works). But the week of my move out, I found a gift-wrapped box on my desk. Turns out my mom got me my very own electric toothbrush system.

My dad called to ask me about my home theater system. I said I was happy to have my brother's tube TV handed down to me. He was after all upgrading to one of those LCD types. I believe  they're called flatscreens. My dad quickly volunteered to spring for a flatscreen as his house warming gift. Not only that, he said he'd send me one of his unused microwaves. People apparently gift him with these things. This morning, as I picked up the microwave from his office, I found out from his secretary that he sent her out to get me a new one but to pretend that it was something he already had on him.

My parents. What can I say.

Anyway there's still stuff to be done around the house. I still have about a dozen boxes in the "work" area as I wait for my work table and shelves to get made, or get bought. The toilet's water closet needs a bit of tweaking. Some kitchen tiles need to be replaced. Hooks need to be installed and I have to get the wifi router set up so I don't have to be doing this hunched over the low TV console where the broadband modem is on. But so far, I'm in my home away from home.

I've been busy moving out of the family house. I've been planning to do so for the past two years, but I've always been slow to pull the trigger. Anyway it's happening slowly but surely.

Checks are with the landlord. During the weekend I got the water running, got the place cleaned, screwed in some bulbs (most of which I'm changing to a white daylight cast). More than half my books are at the apartment. I am now the owner of my own refrigerator and a toaster. Tomorrow I'm taking delivery of a dining table set and a bed frame. The mattress is arriving next week. I put in an order for chairs, and bought the blinds that are getting installed tomorrow too. I still need a work table, a couch, a couple of shelves, a cabinet, lamps and light fixtures, a phone and Internet connection, and more chairs.

I just listed a litany of tasks and needs to hide the emotional upheaval that I'm, er, feeling, at the risk of channeling LJ. I've said before that I've moved homes seven times, and it never really gets easier. While packing the second batch of books, I unearthed scrawlings and "art" by 3-year old me. My pre-school teacher gave me "satisfactory" marks. I also found a binder of my very first rolls of transparency film. They were photos of rural settings, children posing, sunsets and, "patterns and texture" on plants. Horrible.

Anyway, I wanted this, I planned for this. And I am getting exactly what I wanted. It's time to grow up, but I'm still making time for patintero in empty parking lots, ice cream on the steps, gigging until way past my bedtime. You only live once.

David Byrne, Fatboy Slim and Santigold. On Imelda Marcos. I can't wait.

feed the animals

Holy shiitake, I didn't know that Barclay from Star Trek and Murdoch from the A-Team were played by the same actor. And that actor is Dwight Schultz, who I almost confused with Dwight Schrute.  TV character crossover overload!

Excuse this bit of geek spasm. In fact, this realization is a decade or two late. It's just that I was such a big fan of Murdock that I named my first pet dog after him, albeit spelling it as Murdoch. Murdoch was a black and white spitz-mutt and was given to me by the parents of this chick of a classmate in pre-school. That's what I remember, but I was five then.

I used to be such an, dare I say it, animal lover, even if, nowadays, I couldn't care less for PETA unless I was shooting the naked women in their ads. I think part of it was because my dad loved animals too and had them all over the house. We had dogs, birds, and I'm not sure, but maybe fish too. Even now, I think my dad can't wait to retire so he can have more time to hang out with his avian friends.

Part of it was also because I was fascinated by the About Animals volume from that Childcraft set of books that any self-respecting child of the 80's must have had. I loved that book. I had a hard time getting through the Reptiles and Amphibians section though, and that full bleed page of a snake's head still makes me shudder at the memory.  But the book fed my love for animals, so much so that I wanted to be, at one point, a veterinarian.

But then things didn't quite work out for me. I had a pair of white mice that I got from the pet shop. I got them a nice cage, a water feeder, and that little running wheel they could exercise on. They died the same day I got them. I put them in a little matchbox, dug a hole in my grandma's garden and buried them. The next day, the hole was there but my mice were gone. My grandma said the cat might have dug them out. Over twenty years later, I have a feeling that my grandma, God rest her soul, might have poisoned them, dug them out, and disposed of them properly. The hell she was going to have mice in her house.

Then I got one of those nice colored birds that they used to sell outside churches. It had a nice bamboo cage that we hung on the veranda. That afternoon, the cage was torn open, and my little colored maya was gone. Grandma blamed the cats again.

I finally got a pair of small turtles. I made sure I fed them right and cleaned their round goldfish bowl religiously. One day the maid said that one of them had escaped by piling the rocks up against the side of the goldfish bowl and climbing out. What The Hell, right? After a few days, the second turtle stuck it's head under the rocks instead of inside his shell, and broke his neck. I think it committed suicide, out of the sheer loneliness of being left behind.

Also, by this time, my parents had broken up, and I had to grow up really fast as a self-preservation thing. I also found books, comics, and eventually girls. I wanted to be a businessman, a lawyer, a detective, a spy. Animals fell by the wayside. I am still freaked out by reptiles and amphibians though. They're the worst things in the world.

Not for anything other than I finding it interesting how I sounded four years ago:

+++

November 23, 2005

Lighting up Christmas

Aside from the chilly climate we’ve been getting sporadically lately, I know it’s Christmas when I start liking tobacco ads a little bit more.

I’ve always been a huge fan of tobacco ads, ever since the first time I saw the taciturn Marlboro Man ride his faithful horse across rivers and plains of the American Midwest. And they’ve been running that ad, in various forms, for practically forever.

There’s a huge part of me still wants to be That Man, weathered, strong and silent, but minus the lung cancer. There’s a part of me that still longs to be damned to riding my horse, all by my lonesome, with the snow-capped mountains of, er, Montana, in the background. (It’s gotta be Montana. I saw a publicity photo of Kevin Costner and his latest bride. They were married in his ranch in Montana, and it was That Mountain they had in the backdrop. A ranch in Montana with that sort of view is almost enough to convince me to eschew the idea of having the sea in my backyard. As long as they have wifi, a decent movie theater, and a nice, clean photo lab. And an honest-to-goodness Chinese restaurant.)

Back to tobacco ads. I like them even more during Christmas, when they show these nice log cabins with orange-tinted windows, to imply that there’s a fire going on in the fireplace, keeping the cowboys comfortably warm. I even like the ones by Hope, where they show a barkada skiing off a mountain (in Montana), and then coming together by the familiar fireplace to light a cig, as they drink hot choco in their nice, and neat sweaters.

I get warm and fuzzy all over just seeing these ads. And that's Christmas for me, forget the giving. It's the chance to dream about being the cowboy in Montana, or about having preppy friends over by the fireplace for a hot drink. It's the chance to get all silly and sentimental, without feeling stupid for it. Because, really, there’s a light of hope, when you light a Hope.

+++

I now know that Kevin Costner's ranch is in Colorado.

cable car

I forgot to tell you that, last weekend, I was in Hong Kong again. Last time I was there, I told myself I'd make time to take the cable cars on Lantau Island to the Po Lin Monastery. There's a giant Buddha on the mountain with a swastika on it's chest (apparently the symbol's very Buddhist and not at all racist).

Whenever I travel, I try to do a bit of the pseudo-cultural, touristy thing. Partly because I like taking pictures of people taking pictures (tourists!). So this trip to the monastery was it. Also, I've never been on a cable car, suspended hundreds of feet in the air. I have a heights thing, a real fear of it, to be specific. So this was supposed to be cathartic.

And cathartic it was. We got stuck in mid air for what felt like an hour, but was most likely for fifteen minutes. It was a bit terrifying for me but we've been in tight spots before (elevators, during fire drills), and I was really laughing at the incredulity of it all. We even have a video of the event for posterity, and for leaving behind messages, just in case the cable snapped.

But we made it, we're alive, and that cable car fiasco made it to the top five moments of 2009.

When you think about it, all our problems are a bit bourgeois. When we fail, we do not die in the cold and of hunger. If we die young, it will most probably be because of the drink, all the fat, and whatever else is there in excess. Our failure will not be our extinction. We will just live our lives with the stench of a promise left unfulfilled and expectations never met.

So we labor not to feed ourselves, or keep our bodies clothed and sheltered. We hack our way through this life to define ourselves. We take risks, because the alternative, a defeated, embittered way of life, just sucks.

These can be scary times but I know you can do it. I believe in you. That's it. Sorry to have gone Oprah (or Paulo Coelho) on you.

At Outerhope's gig and album launch yesterday:

K: Listening to their music makes me want to run through a field.

M: Or swing from a branch of a tree.

K: Or blow soap bubbles.

M: Pinwheels! Fly a kite, or lie on the grass looking at cloud form bunnies!

K: Yes! Then they hump, multiply and suffocate us all.

M: Yes, Armageddon.

Or something like that. Still, how did we get from a dream pop band to an end-of-the-world scenario?

a day for the absent

I woke up this morning, before 5am, and I found pictures of you. I sometimes forget we have lives of our own, until I see pictures of you.

I remembered that, yesterday, while buying a gift for my dad, and books for myself, that I had also gotten Outerhope's second album, a day for the absent. Quite apt for the morning I'm having, and their music is helping me ease into the day.

And so I'll take this chance to say that Outerhope's launching this new album this weekend. Details here.

+++

Like I was saying, I was getting a gift for my dad yesterday. It was his birthday. My dad says that by May next year, he'll retire from the job he's had for over two decades. I seriously doubt that, but my wish for the man is that he'll find some time for rest and what whatever else this life has for him. So I decided to get him a book. Picking one out was a bit of a task.

I first considered stuff by Dumas or Chabon but thought he might find them frivolous or irrelevant. Then I thought about brainless fun like Tom Clancy or Dan Brown but decided that he might find them too pedestrian even for a former Reader's Digest fan. I considered non-fiction by Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens, but that's really more about me than it is about him. Finally I found Manila, a photography monograph by Ricky Davila. Which is perfect since it's about shared things: photography - my dad used to shoot, gave me my first camera, lent me his old lenses; and Manila, the city we both love.

+++

I woke up this morning, before 5am, and I found pictures of you. I sometimes forget we have lives of our own, until I see pictures of you. But to be honest, I'll be fine.

I've had this since last month, so I've been remiss in saying that I enjoyed Zach Lucero's album, Fall Crash Infect.

My friends at Sputnik have been tag teaming me into getting Apol Sta Maria's "Alamat Ng Panget..." Making it to Cubao X last Friday with some actual cash in my wallet, I finally got my copy. (Only 200 bucks and less than 10 copies left!) This crudely drawn collection of crass visual and verbal gags belie the intelligent commentary this comic makes on life and art itself. Ramon De Veyra writes a better review here.

+++

I miss writing entries here compared to the inane little things I post more often at Twitter. It's a bit of mind job how the Internet can actually be used to minimize information by spreading a whole lot of it. The possibilities of the Net is uselessly endless.

I also miss baring my heart online and in public. Haha. I remember when posts in my old blog were just rawer, intense and personal. I miss it, but I don't think I'll ever do that again. A major part is that I really am old...er now. Thirty really isn't the new twenty, no matter how much we package and market it to be. You know why I know that? Because I gave up my old camera backpack and bought the same version but with wheels. (Also, the old camera bag is for sale. Check it out here. End plug.)

Back to the baring of one's heart. I don't think I really miss public and online emotional seppuku. I just miss the fact that I, once upon a time, could.

community

Things seem to be settling down.

Last month was shitty, as I've said. I guess emotions started going haywire in August, when Cory died and the country went into collective mourning. Then in early September, Alexis, one of the good guys, and his girlfriend Nika were killed, and I saw my close friends grieve. After that, the nice family of three who ran the cafe across the bar I sometimes hang out at were also murdered in their own apartment. And in the past week, I've had friends scampering to higher ground, losing everything to the the floods of Ondoy. Right now, Metro Manila just might be able to duck this new storm, the tragically named Pepeng. (Next time, let's stick to the international list of typhoon names.)

My almost-meltdown due to work-related stress seems trivial in comparison to it all and I'm just glad that the people closest to me are dry and safe. And happy. Right after the madness that was Ondoy, it was good to see my high school buddy, Hester, marry Tonee.

At this point, while there's a lot of things to be done, back to regular programming will be a relief.

+++

Take a minute to enjoy photography of David Leventi, who takes pretty good portraits of a place.

+++

I love Community. And I mean the TV show, not how we are all connected and shit.

The idea of receiving a fairly nice paycheck for shooting a hell of a lot of pots, pans and other shiny, round objects sends me into a descending spiral of panic and depression. It's not panic and depression in the form of hair pulling, drunken binges or car crashes. It's just when I find time to take a short break, to sit in a coffee shop with a cookie while waiting for conflicting, unconfirmed schedules to sort themselves out, I tend to question a lot of things: my choice of work, my commitment to personal expression, my talent or the lack of it.

Times like these, it's comforting to have friends. Haha. Also, it's just panic. After things (or when I) settle down, I remember that this was the plan to begin with: work as photographer so that I can afford to take my own pictures. I remember the places where the job has brought me, and the people I've met. I remember that, because of the job, I've met a lot of my good friends and have been given the opportunity to meet (and shoot) people who've influenced my life. Also the job pays enough so that I can get Chinese dinners and buy a lot of books. Maybe I just need a vacation. Or maybe I just need to stop griping about not doing personal work, and do personal work.

Just got back from Palawan. Puerto Princesa this time and just for a vacation. No work whatsoever involved. On this trip, I got to visit the Iwahig Prison and Penal Farm, which turned out to be slightly unnerving but very cool. I think it's the only place where the prisoners are in charge of the prison gates. I took a photo of the guy whose job it is to sound the bugle call for head count. I want to go back, and shoot a bit more in this interesting place.

I also got to go through an underground river which you enter via a cave on sea-level. That was really great too, but at some time during the 45-minute boat ride in the dark, I started wondering if animatronics and light and sound effects could enhance the experience a bit.

Just this morning, I went dolphin-watching. I saw the dolphins first and called everyone's attention to it. Until the boatman said I was pointing at a bobbing buoy. We then dropped anchor in this place called Turtle Cove. It was like a giant pool with fine sand at the bottom. Around noon, we got back on the boat and had a really good meal of grilled fresh fish, grilled eggplant, boiled shrimp, and adobo.

I almost skipped on today's itinerary. I was seriously considering staying at the hotel, watching cable TV and finishing my Civil War book.

If it weren't for work, or more adventurous friends, I'd never be able to see these places. And even when I'm already at these sort of places, there's still that natural inclination to just sit and do nothing. I can be boring that way, and I think I take after you, Pa.

I remember when Gino and I were kids, and you'ld take us to the beach during the summer or on weekends. We'd play war games with the BB guns, or play cards, and grill hotdogs (which you'ld forget to take out of it's vacuum wrap). But we never strayed far from our cottage, except for that time you got us bikes and wanted us to try them out.

I also remember you stories of whenever you'ld go on out-of-the-country trips. They'd always be for work, and you liked staying in your hotel. I remember the time you went to Tokyo and had the chance to explore the red light district. You almost skipped that part but you didn't want to embarrass your hosts. You ended up making small talk with the Filipino bar girls, which you enjoyed because you got to speak Tagalog.

I do a bit more of traveling-for-fun than you, and ironically, it's because you encouraged it. You liked sending us away and talked about not minding having to spend for your kids' travels. It was worth it you'ld say, and it is. A big part of who I am is because of the places I've been to, thanks to you. But there are times when I just want to revel in doing nothing. To have the luxury of free time, to just sit around and read, or talk with the people I have in my life. I really can be boring that way and I really take after you. I really don't mind at all.