…As the US Open rolls around again this year, Maria will be hoping to improve her performance on the blue courts. She had her best showing last year, racing through to the semifinals before losing in three sets to eventual champion Kim Clijsters. When asked to assess her performance, Maria said she had to improve her physical conditioning and adjust to her two-inch growth spurt. One year later, she seems to have put in the extra training time, looking more fit and moving better. Aside from her fourth-round exit at this year’s French Open, she has gotten to the semifinal or better in each of the tournaments she’s entered, and she’s likely to repeat that feat at the US Open.

That is, if the draw is kind and she doesn’t have to face a Williams sister in the early rounds….

Read the rest of my guest post at On The Baseline Tennis News.

Tags: Maria Sharapova, Tennis, US Open

Maybe that’s being a little overdramatic, but considering how much Google has been integrated into my daily life (courtesy of Firefox‘s search bar), how I can I escape using its capabilities to overcome the little frustrations of life?

For instance, way back when I used to update this journal manually, I lost half of the entries for June 2002. I was sick in anguish over the loss — until I realized Google had cached my entries for me. I was in raptures when I was able to restore my archives. Not that my writing back then was any good, but it had sentimental value. Ü

Recently I’ve been using Google to help me find ways to solve problems of the computer sort. My family treats me as if I’m a high-tech savant, but I’m actually clueless about what goes on behind the Windows GUI. The thing is I remember whatever I’ve done before, like installing a specific software program or configuring a Bluetooth dongle, and this is usually enough to help me pull us out of a jam. But when I’m in doubt, I run to Google for help. There are probably thousands of tech experts and geeks out there posting on bulletin boards about problems and fixes. All I have to do is figure out my problem, find the right fix by using the right search keywords, and it’s basically monkey-see, monkey-do from there.

Just last week, I found out that my dad’s USB flash drive had been infected with a virus. The flash drive was carrying a hidden payload that automatically ran the file “NETSVCS.EXE” whenever it was plugged into a computer. This file would then deposit copies of itself and three other files into the Windows/system32/ directory and make changes to the Windows registry so that whenever a flash drive (not just the original infected one) was plugged in, the computer would infect it with the same virus. And then presumably this flash drive would be used on other computers, which would then be infected, and so on.

By the time I discovered the problem, not only was my dad’s flash drive and this computer infected, but my mom’s and my own flash drive also had the viral payload. The blasted thing even infected my Ipod Shuffle (which is more or less a glorified flash drive with an internal battery). I went on Google using the suspicious “NETSVCS.EXE” filename as a search keyword. I ended up with pages of results about the AGOBOT trojan, but only one archived bulletin board webpage actually showed any promise of a fix. Unfortunately, the problem was relatively new and since the so-called “experts” from that bulletin board hadn’t verified the fix yet, they had deleted the relevant info posted.

I was just about ready to format my computer and give up the flash drives for lost (goodbye, precious files! *sob*) when I decided to check the cached version of that webpage. It still had the deleted info on it, which had a link that led me to a different bulletin board run by tech-savvy Filipinos. It had the fix for the NETSVCS.EXE flash drive virus.

So yeah, Google Cache may not have saved my life literally both times, but it saved my online life. I think that should count for something.

Tags: Google Cache, Online Life

Every time I meet someone new and the obligatory introductions are made, I have to explain my name. It’s spelled N-O-E-L-L-E. No, it’s not pronounced “Noel-lee.” Silent “E” at the end. Yes, it’s a real name, French in origin. “Noelle” is the feminine version of “Noel.” Yes, it’s a real name, damnit.

(I’m just thankful that in person there’s no doubt I’m not a man. Getting form letters that address me as “Mr.” or “Sir” because they’ve guessed my sex by my name is very, very annoying.)

I used to wish I was called something else. I had no idea what other name I wanted, but the only qualification was that it wouldn’t be as strange as my real name. Because my first name was so short nobody could manufacture a nickname from it, I remained “Noelle.” I began to think I could use my second first name, which is “Frances,” when I started college. Then I realized I have a younger cousin named Frances and I didn’t want to be confused with her. So, “Noelle” stuck.

Now I realize that my name has helped me define who I am. I’m different from a Sarah or a Jenny or a Michelle (not that there’s anything wrong with having those names). I love that I’m the only one called that among my acquaintances; when my friends mention “Noelle” I’m the one they’re talking about. Search for “Noelle” on Google and I’m in the first few pages of results; in fact, everything I’ve done on the Internet is associated with this name.

Over time I have become my name; I think I’m as unique and idiosyncratic as it is. When someone recently suggested I could use my second first name, I scoffed at the idea almost immediately and realized how important my name has become to me.

I still have to go the long way about introducing myself these days. I’ve even taken to wearing a gold necklace with my name on it, just to make spelling it out less tedious. But now, I realize taking the trouble with my name is worth it. It’s my name, and don’t you forget it. Ü

Tags: Identity, Names, Noelle

Because I am a “fresh graduate” (a nicer term for “never been employed”) and looking for a job, I have practically nothing to do except for two things: going to the gym, and blogging. They’re not really bad ways of spending part of each day, and if you’re like me you can find ways of amusing yourself and escaping ennui. The only thing is, it’s just busy work. Or is it?

It’s starting to pay off, at least in one way. Apparently, if you spend enough time at the gym, you will definitely lose weight. Duh. Well, it only works if the time you spend there you spend working out instead of hanging out looking for “eye candy” and drinking the free sugary sodas so thoughtfully provided.

Seriously speaking, by being a gym rat I have worked 15 pounds off in about six weeks, and the feeling of accomplishment is awesome. What’s kind of embarrassing is that the guards, receptionists, and personal trainers at the gym already recognize me because I’m there so often. It’s all right, though; I mean, it’s nice having someone greet you genuinely (not just because it’s their job) like a friend when you come and go.

The best part is I didn’t even think I was working hard at it, since I’m having a lot of fun going to dance and combat classes, and the resistance training I’ve been doing doesn’t cause me (much) pain. Seeing all these uber-fit people around me, or seeing other people who want to get fit working their butts off has been a huge motivational boost for me.

It’s also great positive reinforcement when my instructors’ faces light up when we give extra effort and energy in their classes. These people work hard to give us a good workout and I think the least I can do is put my best foot forward (or the correct foot, for those dance classes Ü). I try even harder for those instructors who give their classes a personal touch.

I attended Gelli‘s BodyJam class this morning and she recognized me from my comments on her blog and from the time she was substitute instructor for another BodyJam class I attended. After she gave us one of the best BodyJam sessions I’ve ever had, I thanked her. I was really surprised and flattered when she gave me this piece of advice (this is not a direct quote): “Everyone was watching you kasi ang ganda mo gumalaw. I noticed though that you look down at the floor. You only looked up whenever I called your name. You know the last time, when I said you were dancing in your own little world… You have to look up! The audience can’t see you project.”

I dance for the workout it gives me, but to be told that the others in the class were watching me (and not in a bad way)? Not bad for a mouse potato like me, no?

Tags: Dance, Fitness First, Gym, Workout

Most days, I don’t remember exactly what I’ve dreamed during a night’s sleep. I woke up this morning with one dream sequence firmly etched in the darkness behind my closed eyelids.

Night has fallen, and it’s raining enough to make the roads glisten. I’m driving in a car to get somewhere, but as I turn onto a street, there’s a construction project and a huge hole is in the road. I have to make a U-turn and take some other route.

The traffic is backed up, and I have to drive onto the sidewalk to make the turn. As I do this, the car starts shrinking until it’s smaller than a bump car. The roof disappears, and I get spattered by the rain. The car loses its engine and I’m forced to stick my left leg out to make it move, scooter-like. I take a look at my feet: I’m wearing a shoe on my left foot, but my right foot is shoeless. There’s a hole in my left shoe where it’s been worn through. I search for my right shoe; when I find it, it’s shrunk to the size of a toddler’s shoe.

The expectation fulfillment theory of dreams states:

1. Dreams are metaphorical translations of waking expectations.
2. Expectations which cause emotional arousal that is not acted upon during the day become dreams during sleep.
3. Dreaming deactivates that emotional arousal by completing the expectation pattern metaphorically, freeing the brain to respond afresh to each new day.

I don’t put stock in dream interpretation, but I’ve put links in so you can make your own assumptions about my current mental state, situation, what-have-you. Ü

Tags: Dreams

…I’m just afraid of opening up to them.

I’m one of those unfortunate creatures who come off as snobbish upon the first meeting, particularly because I don’t talk much. Basically I wait for people to start doing the talking, and if they don’t, we just stare at each other until I get so uncomfortable I excuse myself and take my leave. If I’m lucky, there’s a second meeting and I open up more. It’s usually at that point when the acquaintance tells me about my ice-queen first impression, and how wrong it was.

When strangers meet, their primary concern is to reduce uncertainty about the other person and their relationship. As verbal output, nonverbal warmth, self-disclosure, similarity, and shared communication networks increase, uncertainty goes down, and vice versa. — source

Of course, all this time I’ve been talking about meetings in real life/meatspace. In cyberspace, however, I seem to be more open about myself. Faceless strangers used to hit me up on my AIM account when I ran my tennis blog, and I would chat with them for a long time about shared interests, tennis or otherwise. I can stay for hours on end on bulletin boards, trading wit and wisdom with people living on the other side of the world. Even this online journal you’re reading now in which I reveal precious little about me is more of an open book than the me you might meet offline.

Maintaining a closed boundary can lead to greater autonomy and safety, whereas opening the boundary can promote greater intimacy and sharing, at the cost of personal vulnerability. — Littlejohn, S. (2002). Theories of Human Communication, p. 251.

Maybe it’s because I feel less vulnerable online. The computer screen effectively does screen how much I reveal about myself; I am in control. I can think first about what I’m about to say before hitting the “Post” button, in stark contrast to the verbal diarrhea I tend toward when speaking with people. Visual cues I give off in face-to-face conversations are almost completely absent in my text-based interactions online, so I can bluff my way through tough situations and can always be on my guard.

I know that my days of timidity and passivity are slowly fading away from my being. Such attitudes don’t really enrich life. In fact, they detract from it and cause you to wonder why you’re such a coward. And they make you wonder if you’re ever going to get to the point where you actually live… I’m talking about interacting with people for the mere sake of it and not being worried about the results. — Lee Warren

So, you know, protecting myself is fine. It just doesn’t bode well for the development of good relationships, or even just for the broadening of my perspective on life.

A few months ago I realized what a small circle of friends I had: a smattering of friends from high school, college, and Bible study, but no one beyond that. I had only just decided to be a teensy bit more open about talking to new people when God plopped three such ones into my life. Since then, God has been placing me in situations where I meet people from various backgrounds — and then he allows me to muddle it out and figure how much to open up to them. I think it’s a big desensitization project (my stage fright is a related neurosis), and it’s helped me realize how much more interesting and rewarding life can be when you share it with people.

Tags: Interpersonal Communication, Relationships, Self-Disclosure

I’ve decided to make my pages more search engine-friendly by turning Post Pages on. This means that each post of mine has its own page, and now people can link to each post individually instead of having to link to the entire month’s archive page.

I’m also going to start using Blogger Comments so that people like Kneeko can comment on my posts (since his ISP blocks Enetation servers).

Many thanks to my host J for giving me permission to take up some more space here. Hahaha. Ü My domain name plans are on hold for the moment since I have a mental block on what to get for my first domain.

“I never get lost! Well, maybe I do sometimes, but I figure a way out eventually.”

I posted this statement on my Friendster and MySpace profiles last week. You see, I take pride in having a good sense of direction; even if I’m in unfamiliar territory, I always manage to get to where I need to go once I have a general heading. Little did I know that this claim I made about myself was about to be challenged.

Last Friday night I set out for Makati (Power Plant Mall, to be exact) to meet with three of my college friends. Although I’ve been driving for three years, I’ve never actually driven myself to that place. However, I had been to that particular area at least four times and I was as confident as could be about my powers of navigation. After all, I reasoned to myself, there are road signs from EDSA leading to Rockwell Center, where the mall was located.

I arrived in Rockwell thirty minutes after setting out from my house. As I turned onto a road I thought led to the mall, I worried that I’d arrive too early. However, the road kept on going and I never seemed to be getting any closer to where I thought the mall should be, so my worries turned to whether I was about to get lost. I started looking for a U-turn slot, but after more than a kilometer of nothing like that the road suddenly spat me out onto a junction. I realized I was no longer in Rockwell Center.

The pressing matter was how to get back to Rockwell. I figured since I was still in Makati City, I could just drive along the major thoroughfares until I found a way back. I kept going, looking for landmarks — and then the road turned into a bridge that crossed the Pasig River. Suddenly, I found myself in Mandaluyong City.

With a tiny surge of panic creeping across my heart, I took a U-turn right there when the road cleared. The street lights were turned off, so I missed the way back across the bridge. I kept on going along the riverbank until I was forced to turn left. The road got narrower, I passed a market or two, and the neighborhood got seedier. Blindly, I kept pushing on, looking for road signs to Makati but unwittingly going deeper into Mandaluyong.

When I realized I really did have to turn back, I had been traveling the wrong way for fifteen minutes. Not a familiar thing was in sight; the landscape had turned from one of multi-storey buildings and neon-lit establishments to one of flat hollow-block houses with pedicabs parked on the sidewalk. I could barely breathe as I realized I had truly gotten L-O-S-T.

Once I made a U-turn, though, all of a sudden there were road signs everywhere pointing to Makati. I followed them closely and after ten minutes I was on the very same road that had taken me out of Rockwell. I sighed in relief as I spotted a sign pointing to Power Plant Mall underground parking.

Well, at least I did figure out how to get to where I needed to be. Eventually.

Tags: Driving, Getting Lost, Makati

I’m just going to come out and say this: I have terrible stage fright. There’s just something about the way all those eyeballs are focused on me when I’m up on stage that turns me into a deer in headlights — frozen still as a statue as the 10-wheeler of shame bears down on me.

I think I’ve always been like this. When I was three years old, my church had a Christmas pageant and each Sunday School class had to present a special number. My class was supposed to do a dance routine to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Unfortunately, I didn’t know we were going to present something; while I mastered the steps, I treated our rehearsals as just another Sunday School game. On that fateful Sunday, I got dolled up in a frilly white shirt, red skirt, black Mary Janes. When we got to church, they put antlers on me and colored my nose red, just like the other kids. I still didn’t quite have a clue even as my class filed out onto the stage and we took our positions. Then the music started.

The rest of it is a complete blank in my memory, which is pretty much close to what I did anyway: I just stood there on stage, my eyes as big as saucers, frozen in front of that sea of eyeballs. (It didn’t help that I was smack in the center of the formation.) The shame of it came later, when I saw the photos my parents had taken of that performance. The other kids were captured giving their all on the stage, while I just looked lost and forlorn. It was embarrassing.

Stage fright has dogged me for the rest of my life. During elocution contests and class reports, despite knowing my material back to front I still get butterflies in my stomach, my voice shakes, and my muscles go rigid. Sure, stage fright is warranted in such situations because you’re being evaluated. However, I’m prone to getting stage fright while ordering at a McDonald’s.

To psychoanalyze myself: I’m trying to make up for that first on-stage failure. The perfectionist in me wants a flawless performance in everything, but it’s self-defeating because I tense up even more. Maybe if I pretend it’s all just a game (and you’re allowed to make mistakes in games), I can get over it.

Tags: Stage Fright

Ever since I was seven years old, I’ve had to wear prescription lenses to correct my nearsightedness. My first pair of eyeglasses was a big, chunky, clear plastic monstrosity. I blame that fashion mistake on watching reruns of Wonder Woman. Lynda Carter wore huge red frames that hid half her face when she was playing Wonder Woman’s alter-ego Diana Prince. I suppose that’s fine — if you’re a superheroine intent on hiding your true identity. If you’re a bookwormish kid with thick lenses, hiding your true identity isn’t your biggest problem. Your biggest problem is looking like a goldfish and getting called “Four-Eyes” by the playground bullies. Pair those goggles with dental braces and you’re asking for the complete and utter death of your social life. Welcome to Nerdyland, Fish.

Okay, so I was exaggerating about the death of my social life since in my school nobody had social lives anyway, and the smart kids could be popular, too. However, in my last year of high school, I was finally released from the tyranny of having my nose pinched by a pair of eyeglasses when my mom bought me my first pair of contact lenses. No longer would I feel like I was living behind a glass pane. Facing the world bare-faced, I felt pretty, oh so pretty, I felt pretty and witty and… you know the rest of the lyrics. Heh.

I’ve worn contact lenses since then, but still have a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses at hand. Based on what people tell me, I look better without eyeglasses but I look better with eyeglasses. No, you haven’t gotten cross-eyed and I didn’t make a typing error: people have truly presented such contradictory evidence, which I think depends on whether or not my current pair of eyeglasses flatters my eye shape.

Wearing eyeglasses or contact lenses had become so routine that I hadn’t paused to think how these have changed my appearance, for worse or for better. That was before my mom bought me a pair of green contact lenses last Saturday for my birthday. My eyes are naturally a dark brown, but the colored lenses were on promo and I was itching to do something new with my appearance. Green is a subtle color change from brown, but I did notice that the new color makes my beady little eyes look bigger and softer. This changes the character of my face; I think it makes me look friendlier and more approachable.

It’s definitely a far cry from thick plastic frames.

Tags: Contact Lenses, Eyeglasses, New Look