News these days is nothing more than tabloid presentations. Lost people, dead people, missing people, same sex marriage, Hollywood personalities becoming foreign policy experts, the riots in France, shootings, the culture of death...
Gone from the spotlight and close scrutiny are the real issues that ought to be foremost on people's minds: Illegal immigration, the higher price of gas and fuel, terrorism and the ACLU.
What now?
If I were in charge, this would be my priority scheme:
1. Address illegal immigration by immediately sealing and fixing the border using the military, the national guard, border police, or citizen volunteers. Deputize all law enforcement organizations giving them the responsibility to apprehend and turn in all illegal aliens. Deport all illegal aliens immediately upon being caught. Severely punish all illegal aliens who commit crimes while they are on US soil illegally. Stop all bogus court appearances and hearings for these people. Grant NO citizenship for children born of illegal aliens even if they were born on US soil. Severely punish with stiff fines and jail time all employers that employ illegal immigrants up to an including closing down their businesses. Immediately reform immigration policies and its administration to give good, law-abiding people a legal way to come to America to pursue their dream.
2. Get the fuel situation under control. Drill for oil, build vehicles that use other kinds of fuels and more sparingly, put up refineries and control the price gouging.
3. Demolish the ACLU and other such radical elements from practicing and spreading their venom, bile and poisonous secularism. Root out all elements and venues for terrorists. Tighten up jail recruitment rules and procedures. Look out for imams that use the mosque for spreading hatred for Americans.
4. Create a bootcamp for young people not bound for college or working. These training camps will address healthy living and train the youth on trades and other skills that will prepare them for the work force. Create work in the Park and Environment Bureaus, Transportation, Oil exploration, wildlife preservation, etc. Employ these trained young people in "Peace Corps" style jobs. Deploy them in the inner cities and other economically depressed areas.
We should all be disciples of the "Broken Window" policy that Malcolm Gladwell wrote about in his book, "Tipping Point". It worked well for New York in lowering its crime rate and in solving its subway train service. It should work for America.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
Shoe Shine Boy
1950. It's been four years since the last armored troop carrier rolled up the road signalling the liberation of the islands. I was eight years old. We were staying at my Grandfather Nicolas' house in the town of Santa, Ilocos Sur. Money was tight in those days. I only saw a five centavo piece or a quarter centavo piece maybe once a year and usually during Christmas. It is the one time of the year when all the relatives would come to pay their respects to Grandpa Nicolas... sort of like an annual pilgrimmage to renew their family ties with the patriarch of the family.
Christmas was the time when we kids would go on a begging spree, asking, cajoling and playing cutesy with the aunts and uncles for whatever they can donate to the children's bank - our bank. I was in second grade then and had only a lunch pail and a plastic book bag to call my own.
After much thought and analysis, I came to the conclusion there were two ways I could earn some cash. One was tending to my sweet potato patch and selling the shoots and tender leaves for ten centavos a bunch. The customers came and picked the shoots themselves. Then I had this idea that I could perhaps put up my own shoe shine stand or shoe leather rejuvenation company. Since the gardening only took a few minutes each day for watering and weeding, I had plenty of time left on my hands.
I used my savings to buy a shoe shine box, a horsehair shoe brush, some black, brown and neutral shoe polish and black dye. For buffer rags I scrounged around my aunt's old sea chest of goodies for some old velvet material. My grandfather had an old white tattered t-shirt that he gladly donated for my spit-shine buffer. A couple of old and wornout toothbrushes and I was off and running.
I took off on Saturdays and hit the little hamlets along the seaside road. These were fishermen mostly and had at least a good pair of leather shoes for Sunday services. These were the shoes that I targeted. My tag line ran something like this, "Sir let me shine your shoes. If you like the shine you can pay me. If not, you don't have to pay me."
It was amazing. It worked like magic. Why not... they couldn't lose no matter what. If I did a job they weren't satisfied with they didn't have to pay. But you know what? I spit-shined all those shoes, yes even a pair of old, torn combat boots... from the tip of the shoes, its heels and up the leggings. Soon my customers included the farmers who lived in the foothills.
I think the venture was successful because of these factors: 1) There was a need for the services I offered, 2) It was affordable 3) Customer satisfaction was of utmost importance 4) The product delivered was of the highest quality.
Christmas was the time when we kids would go on a begging spree, asking, cajoling and playing cutesy with the aunts and uncles for whatever they can donate to the children's bank - our bank. I was in second grade then and had only a lunch pail and a plastic book bag to call my own.
After much thought and analysis, I came to the conclusion there were two ways I could earn some cash. One was tending to my sweet potato patch and selling the shoots and tender leaves for ten centavos a bunch. The customers came and picked the shoots themselves. Then I had this idea that I could perhaps put up my own shoe shine stand or shoe leather rejuvenation company. Since the gardening only took a few minutes each day for watering and weeding, I had plenty of time left on my hands.
I used my savings to buy a shoe shine box, a horsehair shoe brush, some black, brown and neutral shoe polish and black dye. For buffer rags I scrounged around my aunt's old sea chest of goodies for some old velvet material. My grandfather had an old white tattered t-shirt that he gladly donated for my spit-shine buffer. A couple of old and wornout toothbrushes and I was off and running.
I took off on Saturdays and hit the little hamlets along the seaside road. These were fishermen mostly and had at least a good pair of leather shoes for Sunday services. These were the shoes that I targeted. My tag line ran something like this, "Sir let me shine your shoes. If you like the shine you can pay me. If not, you don't have to pay me."
It was amazing. It worked like magic. Why not... they couldn't lose no matter what. If I did a job they weren't satisfied with they didn't have to pay. But you know what? I spit-shined all those shoes, yes even a pair of old, torn combat boots... from the tip of the shoes, its heels and up the leggings. Soon my customers included the farmers who lived in the foothills.
I think the venture was successful because of these factors: 1) There was a need for the services I offered, 2) It was affordable 3) Customer satisfaction was of utmost importance 4) The product delivered was of the highest quality.
The Balloon
It was not just one of those tiny balloons that come in a package of thirty used for general decoration. It was a helium-filled balloon; It was gigantic. It was so huge it felt like a spaceship on a tether tugging at my hand. My grandfather probably spent a pretty penny for it but that thought never occurred to me at the time. I was just so excited to get a flying balloon all I wanted to do was grab the string and run out in the open to show it off.
My grandfather was a very frugal man. He hesitantly handed me the string. "Here let's tie it around you wrist," he said. I was too excited to listen. I was jumping up and down trying to snatch the string from his hand.
"I can handle it grandpa... I want the balloon..."
"Alright," he said handing me the string. And off I went, balloon in hand, jumping and skipping toward the gate. The gate had a knee-high angle-iron in the bottom to secure the door on one side of the gate. As I tried to clear the angle-iron, one of my feet caught the edge. Down to the ground I went hurtling, face first. Quickly realizing that gravity was overpowering me and winning the contest I prepared to soften the landing to save my face (no pun intended). Almost in an instant I automatically stretched out my arms in front of me. My fingers spread out as my palms opened for the impact. Off went the string... off went the balloon... higher and higher up the sky. I followed it with my eyes now filling with tears.
I felt a smack on the back of my head. "Punyeta! Hudido. Sin Verguenza!" It was my grandfather who, witnessing the whole tragedy unfold, became so incensed he lost his cool at having invested his last few centavos on a helium-filled balloon and for what? I cried rivers. I was inconsolable.
That day I learned a couple of lessons. 1) You tend not to value as much the things that you did not pay or work for, 2) If you give a gift to someone, what they do with the gift after you have given it to them is none of your business.
My grandfather was a very frugal man. He hesitantly handed me the string. "Here let's tie it around you wrist," he said. I was too excited to listen. I was jumping up and down trying to snatch the string from his hand.
"I can handle it grandpa... I want the balloon..."
"Alright," he said handing me the string. And off I went, balloon in hand, jumping and skipping toward the gate. The gate had a knee-high angle-iron in the bottom to secure the door on one side of the gate. As I tried to clear the angle-iron, one of my feet caught the edge. Down to the ground I went hurtling, face first. Quickly realizing that gravity was overpowering me and winning the contest I prepared to soften the landing to save my face (no pun intended). Almost in an instant I automatically stretched out my arms in front of me. My fingers spread out as my palms opened for the impact. Off went the string... off went the balloon... higher and higher up the sky. I followed it with my eyes now filling with tears.
I felt a smack on the back of my head. "Punyeta! Hudido. Sin Verguenza!" It was my grandfather who, witnessing the whole tragedy unfold, became so incensed he lost his cool at having invested his last few centavos on a helium-filled balloon and for what? I cried rivers. I was inconsolable.
That day I learned a couple of lessons. 1) You tend not to value as much the things that you did not pay or work for, 2) If you give a gift to someone, what they do with the gift after you have given it to them is none of your business.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Pantalon a Nakiting
"Nanang, konkona daguidiay babbai nga nakiting launayen kano daytoy pantalonko," inyarungaing ni Selmo ken ni Nanang na nga agdadait. Ali latta ta dait. Di na nga ipang-pangag diay imbaga ni Selmo. "Nanang," uliten koma manen ni Selmo nga ibaga ngem saan na nga naituloy diay sarita na ta simmungbaten ni Nanang na.
"Innan. Kitaen ta man dayta konkonada nga nakiting?" Innawid na diay abaga ni Selmo nga inyasideg idiay makina a pagdaitan. Agpangato agpababa diay mata ni Nanang ni Selmo. "Daytoy nga short pant ti konkona daguidiay babbai nga nakiting?"
"Wen Nang." Kasla timek ti karnero diay timek ni Selmo. Managbabain nga ubing daytoy.
"Tumalikod ka man," punosipos ni Nanang na ni Selmo. Nagistayan pay naligos ta kimpet diay pagtarayan ti kulintipay a rikep ti tawa. "Amom nakkong, kitkitaek dayta short pant mo ket dita pay met laeng ngato ti tumeng mo ti gayadanna. Nagayad pay laeng dayta."
"Diak ngarud makikalugan kaniadan a diay caretela ni Tata Otiong," indayamudom ni Selmo kabayatan pinagininnayad na nga rimuar. Tumrem pay diay matana ti lua. "Siak to man laeng ti adda pagsapulanna," pinanunot na daytoy. "Agpantalonak to ti kapkapnekak."
"Innan. Kitaen ta man dayta konkonada nga nakiting?" Innawid na diay abaga ni Selmo nga inyasideg idiay makina a pagdaitan. Agpangato agpababa diay mata ni Nanang ni Selmo. "Daytoy nga short pant ti konkona daguidiay babbai nga nakiting?"
"Wen Nang." Kasla timek ti karnero diay timek ni Selmo. Managbabain nga ubing daytoy.
"Tumalikod ka man," punosipos ni Nanang na ni Selmo. Nagistayan pay naligos ta kimpet diay pagtarayan ti kulintipay a rikep ti tawa. "Amom nakkong, kitkitaek dayta short pant mo ket dita pay met laeng ngato ti tumeng mo ti gayadanna. Nagayad pay laeng dayta."
"Diak ngarud makikalugan kaniadan a diay caretela ni Tata Otiong," indayamudom ni Selmo kabayatan pinagininnayad na nga rimuar. Tumrem pay diay matana ti lua. "Siak to man laeng ti adda pagsapulanna," pinanunot na daytoy. "Agpantalonak to ti kapkapnekak."
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