Ain't No Mountain High ... Enough
Book in Hand: Strange Stories, Amazing Facts published by Reader's Digest in 1977
Song in Mind: Sadly, it's that Sam Milby Song that goes, "Shine my only star... shine my only star..." (Kasalanan ni Terteen ito for putting it there last Friday pa)
Our phone had been down since last Saturday thus effectively barring me from updating my blog from the most convenient place, which is, at home. I had been itching to write down a lot of things, a lot of them hysterical stuff which wouldn't feel quite that interesting when not told at the heat of the moment (uhrm, you get what I mean). Anyway, I'll just try to scribble down a few stuff, those that I can still remember but don't expect them to be funny anymore.
TERTEEN SONG AND DANCE
Terteen is a colleague of mine and we all call her Tertz for short. She does not read this blog (I'm fairly sure of this) because I don't think she likes reading at all (hehehe, just kidding). :) I don't know why I'm writing about her right now (maybe because I can still remember her singing that stupid song with accompanying chicken dance). It's also her birthday this Monday (Feb. 13, thus her name) and I'm racking my brains for an appropriate gift. Unfortunately, I do not have enough funds to buy her something more expensive than a hundred bucks because the FREAKING SALARY ADJUSTMENT WAS DELAYED YET AGAIN and I was pinning a lot of plans on that extra cash. Anyway, before this post becomes yet another rage message against the Finance Unit, I will just think of happy thoughts and maybe convince Tertz to do the same. I'll just conjure up some iodized salt and convince her it's pixie dust and that'll be my gift for her. Pag lumipad nga siya, ewan ko nga lang how I will react. Faint, maybe.
TOASTMASTERS, TOASTMASTERS
(Hay Eman. Ikamamatay ko na ata na hindi makakalimutan ang munti mong awitin para sa ating mga bisitang Toastmasters. )
The local division of the Toastmasters Club in Manila did a demonstration in our office last Friday. I have heard of the TC, and it sounded like a good organization. I even have friends who are members (and called Toastmasters already). But when the people who did present to PBSP showed their stuff --- ay, turn off.
I guess I was expecting too much from them. I was cringing everytime the facilitator pronounced speech as "spitz" (as in parang aso, Japanese spitz), I counted seven (but that was before I fell into self-induced comatose). Another one looked like a tall Joe D'Mango (his "spitz" lacked wit, but I give him credit for his good voice quality) while the other one looked like a resurrected Inday Badiday (who speaks so softly she probably is in the habit of talking to herself). But what really took the cake is the Icebreaker speech where a woman was asked to deliver her "Introduction-of-Self Speech" to us. I really should have been forewarned by the title of her piece which, in all originality (this is called sarcasm, people), she called, "Ain't No Mountain High..."
I guess she hasn't read the guidebook for gestures yet, because she started her speech with a fist clenched in the air. The gesture was so disconcerting and too distracting that I have no idea what her opening line even was. She then proceeded to enact a declamation piece about her life. I do not mind her mispronounced words because I can see she grew up with a dialect. There were no real incongruous wrong grammars and the one unforgiveable thing she did was right at the very end.
Her conclusion was that she is ready to face all challenges in store for her, and she ended with the line, "Ain't No Mountain High!" Then she bowed. With a beaming face, she waited for our applause.
It took everyone a couple of seconds to realize that she has actually finished speaking because no one heard the right ending to her coined aphorism. Applause came via delayed telecast, and even as we clapped, I can almost hear the people thinking "Good Lord, say the word --- say Enough!" That omitted word hung heavy on my mind the whole afternoon, nao-OC ako. Hindi ako makatulog. Parang lahat naging mali sa mundo ko. Bitin.
Arghh!! Pwede ba - - Enough, enough, ENOUGH!!!
I'm sorry if I sound like an elitist. Please believe me when I insist that I accept spoken English in all its forms as influenced by cultural dialects. I do not look down on people who cannot speak English well, say like the Americans do. I don't speak that amazingly myself.
But, okay. I guess for them, they feel improved already. And who am I to argue with that? If there'll be a Toastmasters Club in PBSP, I might as well join because I'm pretty certain the people would be all right (walang TH). And the good thing about their little demonstration was that it helped me appreciate my dad's talent all the more.
Hay. Sorry ha, pero mas magaling lang talaga ang tatay ko. Hindi kasi siya tunog fake.
It was my dad who trained me to speak in front of an audience. Oo, promise. Ilang oras din niya ako pinatayo sa harap ng salamin na may hawak na hairbrush habang nagsasalita. He said, I can tell for myself when I'm starting to sound fake. I just look myself in the eyes through the mirror, and if I don't get distracted or I don't start cringing, then I'm probably doing it right. He was the one who taught me how to feel the crowd and how to think on your feet to get their attention. He taught me never to look like you're an actress delivering a script. Own the words you are saying, memorized or not, and make it sound natural. Make it sound like you are really speaking to them. He used my student council and debate team days as training ground. Unfortunately, in college, I was only able to deliver two big speeches (ok lang, hit naman pareho). In PBSP, mejo nanghina kasi confidence level ko kaya hindi ko na siya na-practice. So I guess, joining the TC can only do me good.
Yeah, I guess that's right. So I should stop my immature fault-finding and prepare to be criticized as harshly as i have judged others. Tsk, tsk. Ako kasi eh...
Yan, scared na. ENOUGH na nga.
Song in Mind: Sadly, it's that Sam Milby Song that goes, "Shine my only star... shine my only star..." (Kasalanan ni Terteen ito for putting it there last Friday pa)
Our phone had been down since last Saturday thus effectively barring me from updating my blog from the most convenient place, which is, at home. I had been itching to write down a lot of things, a lot of them hysterical stuff which wouldn't feel quite that interesting when not told at the heat of the moment (uhrm, you get what I mean). Anyway, I'll just try to scribble down a few stuff, those that I can still remember but don't expect them to be funny anymore.
TERTEEN SONG AND DANCE
Terteen is a colleague of mine and we all call her Tertz for short. She does not read this blog (I'm fairly sure of this) because I don't think she likes reading at all (hehehe, just kidding). :) I don't know why I'm writing about her right now (maybe because I can still remember her singing that stupid song with accompanying chicken dance). It's also her birthday this Monday (Feb. 13, thus her name) and I'm racking my brains for an appropriate gift. Unfortunately, I do not have enough funds to buy her something more expensive than a hundred bucks because the FREAKING SALARY ADJUSTMENT WAS DELAYED YET AGAIN and I was pinning a lot of plans on that extra cash. Anyway, before this post becomes yet another rage message against the Finance Unit, I will just think of happy thoughts and maybe convince Tertz to do the same. I'll just conjure up some iodized salt and convince her it's pixie dust and that'll be my gift for her. Pag lumipad nga siya, ewan ko nga lang how I will react. Faint, maybe.
TOASTMASTERS, TOASTMASTERS
(Hay Eman. Ikamamatay ko na ata na hindi makakalimutan ang munti mong awitin para sa ating mga bisitang Toastmasters. )
The local division of the Toastmasters Club in Manila did a demonstration in our office last Friday. I have heard of the TC, and it sounded like a good organization. I even have friends who are members (and called Toastmasters already). But when the people who did present to PBSP showed their stuff --- ay, turn off.
I guess I was expecting too much from them. I was cringing everytime the facilitator pronounced speech as "spitz" (as in parang aso, Japanese spitz), I counted seven (but that was before I fell into self-induced comatose). Another one looked like a tall Joe D'Mango (his "spitz" lacked wit, but I give him credit for his good voice quality) while the other one looked like a resurrected Inday Badiday (who speaks so softly she probably is in the habit of talking to herself). But what really took the cake is the Icebreaker speech where a woman was asked to deliver her "Introduction-of-Self Speech" to us. I really should have been forewarned by the title of her piece which, in all originality (this is called sarcasm, people), she called, "Ain't No Mountain High..."
I guess she hasn't read the guidebook for gestures yet, because she started her speech with a fist clenched in the air. The gesture was so disconcerting and too distracting that I have no idea what her opening line even was. She then proceeded to enact a declamation piece about her life. I do not mind her mispronounced words because I can see she grew up with a dialect. There were no real incongruous wrong grammars and the one unforgiveable thing she did was right at the very end.
Her conclusion was that she is ready to face all challenges in store for her, and she ended with the line, "Ain't No Mountain High!" Then she bowed. With a beaming face, she waited for our applause.
It took everyone a couple of seconds to realize that she has actually finished speaking because no one heard the right ending to her coined aphorism. Applause came via delayed telecast, and even as we clapped, I can almost hear the people thinking "Good Lord, say the word --- say Enough!" That omitted word hung heavy on my mind the whole afternoon, nao-OC ako. Hindi ako makatulog. Parang lahat naging mali sa mundo ko. Bitin.
Arghh!! Pwede ba - - Enough, enough, ENOUGH!!!
I'm sorry if I sound like an elitist. Please believe me when I insist that I accept spoken English in all its forms as influenced by cultural dialects. I do not look down on people who cannot speak English well, say like the Americans do. I don't speak that amazingly myself.
But, okay. I guess for them, they feel improved already. And who am I to argue with that? If there'll be a Toastmasters Club in PBSP, I might as well join because I'm pretty certain the people would be all right (walang TH). And the good thing about their little demonstration was that it helped me appreciate my dad's talent all the more.
Hay. Sorry ha, pero mas magaling lang talaga ang tatay ko. Hindi kasi siya tunog fake.
It was my dad who trained me to speak in front of an audience. Oo, promise. Ilang oras din niya ako pinatayo sa harap ng salamin na may hawak na hairbrush habang nagsasalita. He said, I can tell for myself when I'm starting to sound fake. I just look myself in the eyes through the mirror, and if I don't get distracted or I don't start cringing, then I'm probably doing it right. He was the one who taught me how to feel the crowd and how to think on your feet to get their attention. He taught me never to look like you're an actress delivering a script. Own the words you are saying, memorized or not, and make it sound natural. Make it sound like you are really speaking to them. He used my student council and debate team days as training ground. Unfortunately, in college, I was only able to deliver two big speeches (ok lang, hit naman pareho). In PBSP, mejo nanghina kasi confidence level ko kaya hindi ko na siya na-practice. So I guess, joining the TC can only do me good.
Yeah, I guess that's right. So I should stop my immature fault-finding and prepare to be criticized as harshly as i have judged others. Tsk, tsk. Ako kasi eh...
Yan, scared na. ENOUGH na nga.
Comments
Post a Comment