Is There a Doctor in the "House"?

When my cousin Tweet (Marika) came to visit my ailing grandmother with her longtime boyfriend Tom, she did more than just lift up Mamang's spirits; she inadvertently provided a much-needed source of joy for the entire family. Tom, much to my sisters' delight, was a neuroradiologist: he is a practitioner of a "medical subspecialty that deals with the diagnosis and treatment of brain, spinal cord, head and neck, and vascular lesions using x-rays, magnetic fields, radio waves, and ultrasound" (Neuroradiology at the Mallinckrodt Institute of Radiology, Washington University ). Of course, as none of the Borra family (at least in my recollection) have chosen to enter the medical profession, the only way we could get a grasp of what Tom did in his specialization was to compare him with the only medical doctor that our family universally respects: Dr. Gregory House. This comparison, of course, drew previously unencountered displays of resigned, huffy sarcasm on the part of Tom, which ran from "Other than the fact that I am a real Caucasian doctor who doesn't walk with a limp, I have lots in common with House" to "Half of what House says are lies, all lies!"

Tweet, if you're reading this blog, have Tom click right here. At any rate, even the most die-hard House fan will enjoy, so just click away people.

Photo Credits:

Pictures of "House" courtesy of Amazon.

Acquired Tastes: Mélissa Theuriau

I normally try to maintain a more or less ascetically intellectual atmosphere in my blog out of my sincere desire to foster rational discourse among my, if StatCounter could be believed, grand total of twenty three readers. However, I must confess, the aesthetic principles involved in this link which comes courtesy of our good friends at Fark makes me wish that I had more readers to share it with. There is nothing wrong in celebrating what this Wikipedia contributor hails as the "most beautiful news anchor in the world".

And no, I do not speak French. I fail to see how a language barrier can significantly affect the manner in which a person can appreciate a news anchor. Enjoy!

Photo Credits:
Pictures of Ms. Mélissa Theuriau come courtesy of Digger's Realm.

Acquired Tastes: Peter Mayle's Provence

Sometimes I exasperate even myself. Who else could start the week intending to finish, ostensibly, the penultimate chapter to what is arguably the most influential science fiction series of all time (Hunters of Dune) and wind up drifting blissfully into the capable sun-kissed and wine-stained hands of Peter Mayle?

Before I wallow in my frustration at being sidetracked by the truffle-obsessing prose of Mr. Mayle, allow me to enlighten my patient and long-suffering readership of five that I normally keep an eclectic selection of books by my bedside, which I then proceed to devour, without much art or science, according to my late-night reading fancy. Am I in the mood for something distinctly academic, and intellectually demanding? I have some Alasdair MacIntyre, an author who, if we took out all the graduate students who are required to read him, is blessed with a readership roughly equal to mine. How about something historical, but not quite so intimidating? Let me fish out my copy of the painstakingly well-researched but criminally unread sleepy time pleasure A History of Private Life: Pagan Rome to Byzantium. And, just to disprove the notion that my bedside table is a repository for all things unbearably nerdy, I also have good old-fashioned epic fantasy by George RR Martin and Robert Jordan. (Of course, if you happen to be familiar with the two aforementioned fantasy authors, you would be correct to assume that my bedside table is probably designed to support either a ton of bricks, or these authors' last couple of books. In their fully fleshed fantasy worlds, it seems, brevity is not the soul of wit. But I digress.)

I keep Peter Mayle in some sort of weird, elliptical, late-night-reading-fancy sort of rotation on my bedside table because he's just so good at conveying a healthy, warmhearted, self-deprecatingly joyful reverence for good food. Mr. Mayle, despite his almost idolatrous fascination with the truffle, is a true gourmand, unlike the many pretentious epicureans who claim to worship the truffle. He simply relishes the good, whether it be an unassuming dish perfected over time by rustic Provencal housewives, or a sophisticated eight course meal prepared by the finest chefs in restaurants where most of his readers can barely afford to be within sniffing distance of. At any rate, if you're ever in any mood to enjoy the inoffensibly charming wit of a man born to write about fine culinary experiences, check him out. I'd recommend starting with A Year in Provence.

Now, if only I can get my hands on some truffles...

Photo Credits:

Picture of Peter Mayle's Provence is from Peter Mayle.com.

Picture of Hunters of Dune is from The Russian Dune Website.

Te Lucis Ante

What a day! I never thought I would be so tired doing practically nothing of value, but I am. I wasn't able to go to either UA&P or St. John due to some personal commitments, and when I thought I could steal some time to do work, my sons needed to be brought to the doctor. As of this writing, both Juan and Manuel are fine, though Juan is a little put out by his inability to indulge in his usual rambunctious play. Damn you, rotavirus!

Still, I can't quite call the day a total loss. I finally got some much needed time to upload new pictures. Unfortunately, none of the pictures come with accompanying labels, thanks to the so-called new and improve format that Multiply is using. I'm too exasperated to even complete the saying "If it ain't broke...", so I think I'll just cut my losses and term the new format, charitably, a "work in progress".

Hopefully, I'll finally be able to steal some time to work, but I do worry about my boys. It seems that I have to put off work again, but I have the feeling that I won't be so put out this time around. Papa's boys are absolutely angelic...when asleep.

Photo Credits:
Roni Balbieran, October 27, 2006. Thanks pare!

The Rewards of Patience

Sigh. When did every single trip outside the house take on the dimensions of a military expedition? Even to rattle off a partial list of the necessary implements that Juan and Manuel absolutely cannot do without would be taxing in the extreme. Still, there are moments when it's all worth it. Here's an absolutely beautiful shot of my eldest son, Juan, with my favorite youngest sister named Marie Therese. I would like to apologize to my favorite eldest sister Teresita Patricia and my favorite middle sister Joanna Teresita for not having as good a shot of my boys with you guys, but till then, bask in my undying love and affection.

In related news, my loving wife just bought me a fantastic book, Hunters of Dune, which I am devouring with more than just a bit of schoolboy giddiness and nervous affection. After all, I do have the fondest memories of the original series penned by Frank Herbert. The verdict thus far? It certainly seems promising, though I do miss the elder Herbert's distinctive prose style. I'll let you guys know when I do finish it.

Youth is NOT wasted on the young, it seems...

I gave a talk on "Youth Participation in Citizenship" yesterday for the 16th Congress of the Union of Catholic Student Councils (UCSC) at the beautiful MMLDC conference center in Antipolo. I must confess that when Dr. Antonio Torralba asked me, a few days ago, to address the student leaders of the UCSC, I was rather hesitant, not because I had doubts regarding the very noble objectives of these tireless student leaders but because, in the infancy of my adult married life, I lacked the one quality which separated these student leaders from myself: tirelessness. With all that's been happening the past couple of weeks (UA&P, St. John, and the odd seemingly insoluble problem that crops up from time to time to poke gentle fun at the conventions of married life), I was pretty much running on fumes.

The first miracle of the congress, entitled "Making a Stand in the Threshold of Change", occurred when Harold Verayo's dad, the quietly jolly and ever-attentive Boy Verayo, picked me up from UA&P to take me to MMLDC. Tito Boy, who has been with Meralco since 1968, had many fond memories of my dad, Johnny Borra, who used to be the Head of Personnel in Meralco back in the 80s. His easy going reminisces about the "good old days" were a welcome trip down memory lane, when the Meralco Compound was all about the Lighthouse, Jollye Recreation Center, and happy, smiling people going in and out my dad's office.

The second miracle was the welcome reception that Atty. Chito Gascon and I received from the indefatigable Reyner Villasenor and the lovely, albeit nameless delegates from San Beda College, University of Sto. Tomas, College of St. Benilde, Assumption College, Don Bosco Technical College, De La Salle University and my alma mater, Ateneo de Manila University. Truly, you disprove the adage that "Youth is wasted on the young." I apologize for any school or institution that I may have, inadvertently, left off the preceding list. Ladies and gentlemen, it was my privilege to address you.

NOTE: I do realize that there seems to be no correlation between the picture of Juan that I had lovingly provided to accompany this otherwise nondescript entry, but I remain unrepentant of my blatant display of fatherly pride. Besides, he is cute, so there!

Acquired Tastes: Shatner vs. Baldwin

Frequent visitors to this blog would already be aware of my sincere admiration for the great William Shatner . If memory serves me right, however, this would be the first time that I will be putting to pen (so to speak), my almost equally fervent admiration for Alec Baldwin. Our good friends at Fametracker try to settle the matter with the article Battle of the Brilliant, Bloated Meta-Masters:

"This isn't a case of the learner becoming the master, but rather a prince asserting himself as the next in line for the king's throne. No one, by definition, can out-Shatner Shatner. You might as well say you're going to outrun running, or outshine shininess itself. Shatner isn't just the president of this club -- he's also a client, and the star player, and the referee, and the ball. But Baldwin's learned something from Shatner about reinvention -- he's more likable and more entertaining than ever."

Now, leave me alone while I search for Baldwin's SNL skits online. You guys, on the other hand, can search my blog for links to clips of the immortal William Shatner. Enjoy!

Photo Credits:

Photo of Alec Baldwin courtesy of VH1.

Photo of William Shatner courtesy of Biography.

Faith, Love, Time and Dr. Lazaro: The Comedy

A gateway to Middle Earth?

A rip in the space-time continuum?

An awkward, and amateurish attempt at serious photography?

At any rate, in case any of, according to StatCounter, the five regular visitors to this blog have been wondering where I have been the past couple of weeks, allow me to assure you that I had neither been kidnapped by aliens nor fighting crime in my capacity as costumed superhero, although any one of those remote possibilities would have made for more interesting blog entries such as "Behind the Extraterrestrial Psyche: Alien Autopsies Revealed" or "All I Learned About Superhero Crimefighting I Learned From The Incredibles".

At any rate, I went to the San Miguel Management Training Center in Tagaytay in dire need of some quiet time for reflection, and left it with a renewed sense of joy and peace. Oh, and I snapped a couple of pictures, none of which do justice to my newfound joy and serenity.

Mad props to Father Gary Soria, Father Bobby Latorre, and, well, the Roman Catholic Church in general.