The Thin Line

Old Photos I've Never Seen

I've been going through photos. I'm not even half-way through the 24,000+ files. The goal is to delete a third of those files (although it would be much better if I could slice my collection in half and burn some sets on CDs and DVDs).

It's surprisingly not as painful and tiring as I thought it would be. There was a long weekend when I stayed at home, plugged in my favorite full-size headphones into a small amp, and browsed through my songs in Itunes.

And THAT was draining. Some songs go as far back to long drives with my family when I was a child. Too many memories are particularly draining to me. Some songs were downright painful to hear and I literally had to walk out of my apartment for air. Some songs reminded me of really huge mistakes in my life.

In my photos though, so far, I've seen a lot of people of the past five years or so. Some lost or gained weight. Some got uglier or prettier. But in general, browsing through years of photos is proving to be a good sort of journey. I'm seeing photos that I only remember importing into my hard drive and yet had never really seen.

The Persistence of Memory II

At the 5th Ave. 7 train station, I found myself hurrying down the steps and missing the Queens-bound train by seconds.

The train heading the opposite direction rolled in, and I had this confused idea that it would be the same train that would be heading back my direction. So I boarded the train, and in a few minutes I was at the Times Square stop, missing the express train back to Woodside. Then, as if by a nudge of fate, I found myself walking out of the subway car, exiting the station, and strolling along 42nd St.

Then this odd realization came to me: I never felt so peaceful in months. 

It seems lately, I've been going back and retracing my steps a lot. It's been a while since I last walked around Times Square after work. But in my first few years in New York, I walked through Times Square regularly. I worked in Secaucus and I used to go to the New York Sports Club branch at 41st, next to the Nederlander Theater -- where Rent was performed before the show closed curtain for good last weekend. 

Then I grabbed a quick and cheap dinner, like a chicken sandwich or something from Yoshinoya (not really that healthy, but I'm a sucker for that fatty, shredded Grade C/D beef dish they served), and went home. 

I think I had never been content lately as I was back then. Life was simpler. After a long day of work, I sometimes fell asleep on the bus from Secaucus (going through the Lincoln tunnel during rush hour by bus does that to me). I did yoga on Mondays, lifted weights a couple of days during the week. I was still gung-ho with tennis then also. And then I bought my first digital SLR, the Nikon D70.

I've been trying not to remember, but there are early mornings when I wake up with crystal-clear memories and very old, familiar thoughts and feelings. I remember those first two or three years in New York. 

And then sometimes I'd wake up with California in my head. I dreamed of commutes across highway 101 to work at the Valley. And then a dinner at Palo Alto. And then North Beach at San Francisco. And then fireworks, okonomiyaki at Japan Town, the first Spiderman movie and a really good burger. And then sometimes that mild euphoria while I drove to San Francisco at night for the first time. 

So at Times Square hours ago, it was an odd feeling. I was standing by the sidewalk along 42nd St facing the AMC theater from across the street. The weather being perfect and the sidewalk not as congested as I remembered, I just stood there for minutes almost completely oblivious of everyone and everything else. Then I found myself crossing the road and right at the middle of the cross walk, I looked to my right at the stretch of empty road towards 8th Avenue and stopped. 

For a second I wish I had my D70 with me. Not the D200, but the older camera. And I wished it was four years ago again and I had my D70 only for a few months. And I stuffed the camera in my old tennis backpack that morning. Or I had just gone out of the gym and was walking around with my first iPod.

Reading, Reading and More Reading

There are two reasons: First, I began and nurtured a love for reading; second, there was nothing else worthwhile to do.

I didn't develop my love for reading in high school. It wasn't in my school's culture (this somewhat explains why English was a troublesome subject for most people then).

I did not go to novels immediately. I began with comic books much earlier, and I didn't consider that real reading. I read my first book before I started 4th grade. It was a Bobsey Twins book. I thought that was a breakthrough. It took me a long time for me to finish it.

Then, there was the matter of not having anything much to do inside the house during summer in the mid to late 80's. Eventually, I finished all Bobsey twins books. And then all Hardy Boys. And Nancy Drew. And Dana Girls. They were all from one author (well sort of: the author was the Stratemeyer syndicate under four pseudonyms) so the plot formula and writing styles of all the series were the same. My aunt was also the school librarian and I even borrowed the much older books in those series from the school library.

Eventually though, my reading interests branched out and I finished almost every reading material in the house -- save for the reference books. I remember Frederick Forsyth's Day of the Jackal for instance. But I didn't immediately jump into more "mature" novels. They didn't seem all that interesting and reader-friendly to the average 10-year old.

I went through everything. I even picked up every old periodical I could find: Reader's Digest, Newsweek, Time, etc. that my dad either subscribed to or simply brought home from the bank. Some of them were really old. One afternoon, I walked into the kitchen while my sister was cooking a snack. Then I asked her: Who's the real Soviet premier -- Khrushchev or Brezhnev. My ate looked at me with a curious grin and said, "Gorbachev." Yeah, some of those Newsweeks were really old.

There were summers also when my sister and I would go out and rent pocketbooks at the local boutique stores called Puno Arcade. That was were my dad bought me all the Peanuts books back in fourth grade (I read all the Snoopy ones first). I consumed several novels each week for a couple of summers in high school. Sure there were other activities, numerous school clubs and sodalities, Taekwondo, Citizen Army Officer's training, but I kept on getting my hands on books whenever I could.

It's not that my social life was that bad. I had some good friends and I hung around with peers like most kids. But there were summer days when one of my friends, Paolo Arugay, would be in my house and he'd ask me:  Didn't [insert name of cute girl] live in this village? I'd say, sure, I could point you to her house. He'd tell me to get up so we could swing by. I'd tell him to go ahead alone. I was reading.

I read most of my English and Reading books before school even started. Sometimes more than once. On some boring weekends, I opened volumes of the encyclopedia at random. I constantly revisited the articles about dogs, cats and snakes (those had the coolest pictures). I read up on the Theory of Relativity (not that I actually understood most of it) while I was still in sixth-grade science.

Around freshman year in high school, I started reading volumes of a medical encyclopedia we had at home. I don't even know why we had those; we had no doctors in the house. Around the topic "aneurysm" in Vol. 1, I remember skipping to anything related to sex and the reproductive system (I had never seen a porn film in high school and the stuff some friends were feeding me sounded unbelievable).

I loved fairy tales. I finished volumes of them -- the original gritty ones, not the wimpy-ass Disneyfied ones -- several times and some I still know by heart. I went through the four Gospels several times also -- though I only started reading the Bible so I could get drowsy enough to fall asleep.

One of my favorite books was called Natural Wonders of the World -- a Reader's Digest compilation (as with the fairy tale books; my father was into Reader's Digest compilations). Because of that book, I can identify various sites around the world like Angel Falls, Crater Lake and Wizard Island, various rock formations in Arizona, etc. I taught myself a little geology -- sinkholes, how desert and beach sand particles differ, cave formations -- all of which was exhilarating for a 12-year old thirsty for knowledge.

I read short stories by Hemingway, Chekov, etc. Really good stuff. I read Dekada 70 by Lualhati Bautista. I never saw the movie version but I really recommend the book.

I read typical adolescent books, of course: Choose Your Own Adventures, Time Machine, etc.

There was a time around high school sophomore year when I really wanted to play TV console games instead of reading. I wanted a Nintendo Family Computer -- if anyone can remember those. My mom was about to buy me one, till another parent discouraged her from doing so because of school work. I was bargaining and arguing with my mom that the Nintendo would not prevent me from studying on school nights because I did not study at all on school nights -- except for major exams. Impeccable logic, I thought, but my mother didn't buy into it.

Years later, I was thankful that my mom didn't buy me the Nintendo. I learned during college that I was actually a compulsive computer gamer -- and a pretty good one, I might add. I stopped gaming years ago, but back in the day, I could beat everyone in Mortal Kombat (1, 2 and 3). I went through Doom 2 without God Mode or any form of cheating (well, ok, I pressed IDKFA to load up on weapons sometimes). In the last years before I stopped turning on my Xbox, I pummeled everyone in Halo 2.

If I started gaming in high school, it's possible that I wouldn't have nurtured my love for books. I really believe that.

And you must love books. The tactile experience of opening a book and hearing the rustle of pages as you turn each leaf cannot be replaced by any digital medium we now have and live with. It's not that I am against digital media. The web is one of my passions as well as my bread and butter. But I would urge everyone to appreciate the older forms. Trees died even for those books that we take for granted.

With most things in life, it's worth noting that I got into the things because (a) I had a natural love for it and (b) the environment was conducive to nurture those interests.

As I alluded to earlier, I did not get into girls and dating until much, much later. This explains how I got stuff done.

"Who Do You Love?" (And Other Questions)

I was, I think, 25 at the time. I remember because a friend and former co-worker of mine, this thoroughly American guy who looked like a remnant of the 80's punk era, dropped me a note which said something like "Congratulations old man!" My friend himself was 27 at the time. 25, he said, was the last age I'll be excited about when having a birthday.

Anyway, I remember eating at a Mongolian barbecue place somewhere in Castro Street in Mountain View, CA. My friend, about 28 at the time, was relating his laundry list of worries: dating different women and not knowing whom he liked (loved?) more, his job and thinking about getting a new one, and finally, the meaning of life (though not in those exact terms).

I was listening with this probably naive smile on my face. And then, I started coming up with a few thoughts of my own.

Well first, it was about this book I started reading, "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera. I thought my friend was sort of like the lead character, a womanizer who finally fell in love. It's not that my friend was a womanizer in that sense of course, but I thought he treated his romantic life with the caution of a 9-year old wielding a water gun.

Then I told him this story about my high school senior year retreat. Fr. Dennis Paez had this game that I think we simply called "Who do you love?" It went like this:

1. Everyone except one person in the center (the "it") sat somewhere in a circle of chairs (perfect for our retreat format of course)
   
2. The "it" asks one of the people seated "Do you love me?"
   
3. If the person says "No", the "it" asks "So who do you love?" The person can answer something specific like "The people in white shirts" and everyone in white shirts scamper to switch chairs. THe "it" then has an opportunity to steal a chair.
   
4. If a person answers "Yes", everyone scampers to a new chair.
   
5. If a person answers "No", but then states he loved everyone, everyone scampers to a new chair.

We finished our meal by then, and we shared jokes about the game. For one thing, it was funny to ask "Do you love me?" because all of us in the room were boys. Now if only life were like that, I said. You're asked difficult questions and your reply has no real consequences.

I told my friend half-jokingly that one of these days, he would be asked the question "Who do you love?" (perhaps he'll have to ask the question himself). But it wouldn't be a game.

So then I asked him, if his brother, his parents, or any of his girl friends (girlfriends?) asked him the question "Who do you love?", what would be his answer?

He turned sober and quiet for about a second. Then he replied, "I'll get back to you on that on our next lunch."

. . .

I'm in my early 30's now. If I could go back in time, I'd tell my friend this story about a man who loved and was in-love with more than one woman. His solution? He became a priest. He declared that this was the only way he could love everyone equally. I wouldn't recommend that solution to everyone, of course.

But as a 30-something guy, I have another take on the matter. If you find yourself asking yourself that question, you're in deeper trouble than you think.

It would be a lot easier if we could only answer "with a third option -- maybe" or "it depends" but there are some questions that are either/or propositions.

Still, there are those other questions:

"What do you really want to do with your life?"

"Where do you really want to be?"

"What do you really value?"

I feel that soon, I'll have those answers, or maybe I already have them but haven't taken sufficient action. Hmmm.

But I'll get back to you on that during our next lunch.

The Official ASA Ballot

[Note: The email below was not written by me.]

The Birth of the Annual Sweeties Awards (cont.)

<!-- begin email -->

Okay, these are the categories for the Annual Sweeties Awards Night. Please, mail, phone in, or hand in your awards to the Comelec Chairman, Kim Chong.

1. The Most Kupal Sweetie Award: criteria follows
   1. The nominee should be named ______
   2. The nominee should have a legacy of taking alcohol showers
   3. The nominee should have, in the past, broken up with a girl, then got on with her again, only to break up with her for the last time
   4. The nominee should like flirting with his girl students.
2. Text King
3. Text Prince
4. Text Boy
5. The Michelin Award
6. The Short Time Award
7. The Pathetic Sweetie who Went to Boston and Still Didn't get the Girl Award
8. The I Don't Have the Heart Award
9. The I Want it That Way Award
10. The Pauly Shore Award: this award should go to the Sweetie who would be the best son-in-law. Award inspired by that insipid Pauly Shore movie that everyone claims not to have seen but actually saw.
11. The Best Basketball Player Award: criteria follows
    1. if the nominee has or had a professional basketball career, count him out of it.
    2. if the nominee played in the UAAP, count him out of it.
    3. if the nominee went to Boston to win back his girl, didn't stand a chance and managed to see Michael Jordan play there, count him out of it (of course, this is a hypothetical situation).
12. The Sweetie Most Likely to Have a TV Movie with Tori Spelling Award: this award should go to the Sweetie with the most creative, outlandish, and daring stalking style. Should we go with the stalking style of itsnotme_jutes@skyinet.net, where he waits outside of the girl's house in Paranaque for hours, only to scamper away when the girl actually gets home? Or should we honor notblackdick_at_all@yahoo.com, who just happens to bump into his ex at Malate ("O, fancy meeting you here...")?
13. The Best Sweetie in a Pseudorelationship Award: I'm not sure if you've all heard of the phenomenon of the pseudorelationship. It's like kayo na, pero hindi. Again, due to the sterling example of the King of Pseudorelationships himself, Kim Chong, we have to impose certain rules:
    1. Sweeties who used to ponytail their hair in college, but now look like Elliot from Just Shoot Me, Rex Chapman, or Andre Agassi cannot be nominated for this award. It's sort of like a Pseudorelationship Hall of Fame for them.
14. The King Cobra Award: this award should go to the Sweetie na pinakamadalas at pinakamagaling mangahas.
15. The Free-Willy-from-his-bed-with-its-own-ecosystem Award: this award should go to the Sweetie who displays the following characteristics
    1. is prone to adopt a position much like a beached whale all weekend long
    2. has not changed his bedsheets in four years
    3. the bacteria occupying his bedspace should not only have evolved to the point of actual communication, but should have developed their own political systems
16. The Sweetest Sweetie Award: this award should go to the Sweetie who was, literally, the sweetest guy to be around, especially when the going gets tough. The winner should be the very epitome of angelic demeanor and should possess that all around "nice guy" quality that mothers love. HINT: Most likely candidate also in the running for the Pauly Shore Award.

Remember Sweeties, the party is on the evening of Saturday 12 February Y2K, at _______________.

<!-- end email -->

Conceptualizing the "Annual Sweeties Awards"

[Note: This email was not wrritten by mee. Original text was formatted for readability and edited to protect people's identities. Well sort of.

We were in our mid-20s back then.]

<!-- begin email -->

In an effort to professionalize the Annual Sweeties Awards (ASA, as in asa ka pa Lumo kung manalo ka ng most kupal award), Kim Chong and I are suggesting that we do the following:

1. The list of categories will be e-mailed to all the Sweeties in the mailing list. The others will be called, if we have your number.
2. Voting can be done through mail or through phone. Kim has volunteered to be Comelec Chairman. You can vote until Friday.
3. Awards will be printed on the most disgusting sheet of second hand tissue paper we can find...well, we'll just print them in time for Saturday.
4. Venue for the awards will be at our place, _________, San Antonio Village Pasig.

Here are some of the categories we've dreamed up:

1. The Michelin Man Award: ask Jutes about this. It has something to do with his bad luck with tires...
2. The Short Time Award: for the Sweetie with the highest turnover with women. Shouldn't we just call this the Gerwin Cuenca Award?
3. The Pathetic Sweetie who Went to Boston and Still Didn't get the Girl Award: Only if such a pathetic creature exists. Otherwise, we just call it the Kim Chong Award in recognition of the pathetic, whining, lovestruck creature that he is.
4. The I Don't Have the Heart Award
5. The I Want it That Way Award (guess who suggested these last two beauties)
6. The Pauly Shore Award: this award should go to the Sweetie who would be the best son-in-law. Award inspired by that insipid Pauly Shore movie that everyone claims not to have seen but actually saw.
7. Most Kupal Sweetie: a lot of Sweeties have been working overtime to merit this award. Ralph, Kim, and even Ice have been doing their darndest best to get this prestigious award. Thus, Kim (Comelec Chairman) and I (Most Gwapo Sweetie) have decided to impose the following criteria:
   1. The nominee should be named ______
   2. The nominee should have a legacy of taking alcohol showers
   3. The nominee should have, in the past, broken up with a girl, then got on with her again, only to break up with her for the last time
   4. The nominee should like flirting with his girl students.
8. This really isn't an award, but more of a news report. Ralph prohibited other sweeties, notably Marvin Carlos, from sending him inessential mail.

   Upon opening his mailbox (sma_6@yahoo.com), Ralph received mail from the following addresses:

      notmarvincarlos@yahoo.com
      definitelynotkimchong@hotmail.com
      itsnotme_jutes@skyinet.net

   Will the people responsible stop sending Lumo junk mail. It's enough to make our leading candidate for Sweetest and Cuddliest Sweetie puke.

Oops, gotta go to class. Be back with part two later! :-)

<!-- end email -->

Dance, Dance

I was thinking that if it were any other time in my life, I would have been embarrassed to post this. So here goes...

I danced. With a partner. Ballroom (sort of).

It's not that I'm trying to cross those who love ballroom dancing, especially those who are skilled (For instance, if you looked at the genes of a certain Errazo family, their DNA strands don't simply twist. They also do the salsa, cha-cha, swing, hustle...). It's just seemed simply out of character for me to dance. I like dancing as much as the average guy, but not in a competition or exhibition. Not performance. In college, I leave things like that that to my friends who were actually good.

But then I remembered that other incident from about a decade ago when I actually had to choreograph something for the company party. It was bizarre to the likes of Gerwin Cuenca who exclaimed "The world does not make sense anymore!" when I demo-ed my bastardized version of the Company of Ateneo Dancers' performance of "Tubthumping" by Chumbawumba.

I remember showing a step to Gino Mah (who himself was in CADS back in the day) and the some of the guys. Gino generously said, "Close, close...." and then he showed us the real thing. Actually the step I lifted was a bit far from the original. Further, I had to simplify it because every guy in my team at the office -- and God bless them because they're really good people -- had two left feet.

And this explains why I had to quickly choreo a dance routine then and why I had to dance ballroom for an SFC New York benefit: No one else was around to do it.

The Bad...

I almost quit. What got to me was getting back from California with my new job in mind, not having prepared the talk I was scheduled to give in a Christian Life Program, and the fact that we only had half the steps for the dance ready (and not even polished). But then, I guess I'm not as awful and flaky a person as one would think.

The jitters. Until the last week, we barely practiced (hence #1). And when was the last time I performed in anything? High school?

The physical challenge. My partner actually did a lot more of the physically-challenging stuff. Still...

It was emotionally awkward and stressful. I often thought I was a chore to my partner and to Erica Jones (another friend who tried to teach me to dance more macho. GRRRRR! (It's really "RRRRR" not "GRRRR" but my tongue has a lousy "R").

The Good...

It was a fund-raiser. You have to call it a service to the ministry and to our base church.

It was a favor to my friends who organized the event who early on doubted that they would reach their quota of dancing pairs.

It's not exactly the worst thing in the world to have Mel Espiritu, who dances as beautifully as she looks, as your partner.

I learned something from it and it was a humbling experience.

It was really a lot of fun.

Lastly, the event was a success. They didn't give out numbers but I believe they made it past their target of funds to be raised. The event logistically ran like clockwork. And everyone raves about wonderful it was.

The Weirdness and the Challenges...

Everyone seemed surprised to see me dance and everyone thought I did so capably. Bro. Salvatore, OFM CAP, shook my hand and said:

"Marvin, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Thanks Bro. Sal."

He looked at me for a second.

"You didn't think know, either, huh?"

I contributed nothing to the choreography because it felt like I would presume. My partner was a real dancer. You know how you can sit in class and listen earnestly as a future cum laude addressed a philosophical question. Or even when your friends start to brag about who the best point guard or team captain or soccer player is, bla bla bla. I keep quiet because I'm not as brilliant in class, and I sucked in both basketball and soccer, while my friends were actually pretty good.

Even with my passiveness, I have to tell you that it was still hard work. I have bruises on my arm because I think my partner was holding on so tightly to my arm for dear life as she flipped 360 degrees (she would never admit it though). We had to cram during the last week before the event, but we did practice enough. Or that's what my partner told me, and I had to take her word for it a few minutes before the performance. Still, it's not too late to throw a compliment her way: Mel really did know what she was doing when she assembled the routine and she really can dance. And me -- I felt like a lemming -- just blindly following and hoping I would not be lead off a cliff...

In the end, the experienced felt like high school again. In a good way.

[My friend Rebecca from California (Visual Designer Diva) asked me how the flip worked when she saw it on Flickr. I answered her comment: "With a lot of patience and bruises on my right arm..."]

A Toast...

Here's to the all the unlikely things we've done that we will look back to and laugh at how silly we once were. But hey, as with that Baz Luhrmann dance film Strictly Ballroom, "A life lived in fear is a life half-lived." Here's to the people we meet and tangle with along the way. And lastly, here's to more of all the awkwardness and silliness that will be done -- hopefully again for some good little causes.

When the dance ministry folks were practicing a group dance, I was watching on with Bro. Sal and the event organizer, Karlo Rosete (whose house became our rehearsal headquarters). Bro. Sal remarked that "It takes a lot of courage" for the guys to do this (not the girls he said, since they seem to enjoy what they were doing).

I answered, "It takes gall."

I would know, right?

Dodging and Burning

It happened every so often. Once it was in email form and it went like:

"You have told us a lot of things. Now, it's time to tell us who you are."

And once it was in a conversation:

"You seem to say a lot about yourself but you're really not revealing much. It's like you're hiding behind what you're saying."

That's the kind of remark that I would probably answer with a mild but sardonic "Wow, you really get me. Were you a psychology major?"

In fact, I actually did say that. And the person actually was a psych major.

Still, I'm not sure.

I was told it was an art form -- to say a lot without saying much at all. I answered that it actually wasn't. It's either poor communication or an unconscious defense mechanism.

"Now, who's the psych major?" She challenged me.

"It was Psy 11. A required subject. What sandwich are you ordering for lunch?"

"You also change subjects easily."

"You're very sharp. Did they teach you that in Harvard?"

[turns to person in front of her cube]

"Is he always this sarcastic?"

I actually miss that one.

Boracay in the Morning

I woke up, walked out with my camera bag, and walked around the beach. It's early morning and my family is still asleep. After about half an hour off shooting, I walked back to the hotel, left my equipment, and then started running along the shore.

I ran with my iPod Nano and the Nike+ system. In a way, that felt like bringing technology and the rest of my life in New York with me.

The next morning, though, I ran shirtless and barefoot. Ok, actually, I ran shirtless because I didn't bring enough clothes with me (I expected to buy summer clothes around the area but I hadn't gotten around to it yet). I ran barefoot because I went into the water and had fun with my nephews. When my mom and sis decided to take the kids out of the water and prepare for breakfast, I decided to run.

Those two mornings are the most peaceful moments I've had in years.

Mergers and Romances

1. I was watching this so-so romantic film, "Rumor Has it..."
   
   
2. In a few weeks, I am going back on board the old company I used to work for, America Online (actually, back then I was in Netscape, which AOL then bought. And that was the end of Netscape.).
   
   
3. Ah, romance. Much like one of those mergers...
   

There is some sense in the random series of statements above. Just wait.

Kevin Costner's character in the movie was giving this speech about the Internet and I realized what time frame it was: the late 90s when the Internet industry started booming. In the party that followed his speech, there was an Asian guy ranting to his companions something about AOL and Time Warner merging. He said it was going to change the world.

I was watching the movie on HBO alone on my couch and that line had me chuckling. It was obviously the script writer's idea of a joke.

[Later, another character in the movie tried to get Kevin Costner's attention about investing in "a search engine that will end all search engines". Goldman and Morgan Stanley wanted in, he said. We all know what search engine he's talking about...]

Ok. AOL did buy Time Warner. It was mainly a stock deal. When it was about to happen, people around started celebrating. It would become the most powerful media company in the world: new media merging with traditional media. Then CEO Steve Case was already a minor god by then. A lot of AOL employees had already become rich because of AOL's stock, which split several times for years since it absorbed its major competitors.

The merger did happen, and it is now often referred to as one of the worst mergers of all time.

I quit Netscape a few months after the merger happened, of course, and became a dotcommer. Some of my old friends were laid off later (not to worry -- they all did fine, I believe).

The point is that it could have been one of the greatest love stories in media history. The two companies seemed like a perfect match at the time. But it simply wasn't meant to be.

Does this scenario sound familiar in your life?

I really think that that so-called "synergy" (such a bad cliche) between companies is a lot like compatibility between two romantically-engaged people. You never know until you try, right?

In the meantime, I'm going back to working for the company that destroyed the culture of Netscape. Maybe the second time's a charm?

. . .

It's a different world nowadays. Like one article said, it's Google's world. We just live in it.