Random christmas thoughts

I don't want to be the Grinch, but my heart is crying for the good ol' days when caroling was fun both for the carolers and their listeners. It shouldn't be, but the festive Christmas feel earlier today as I and my family prepared for noche buena and rushed wrapping gifts were dampened big by annoying carolers. Back in the day (god I feel so old), we took caroling a tad more seriously rehearsing almost every night before Christmas Eve, learning the proper tunes of classic carols we know will bite the hearts of the old. We mastered the entire Jackson Five album, learned the beautiful but relatively unpopular "O Little Town of Bethlehem", "Count Your Blessings", and "Little Christmas Tree", sway-synchronized to "Feliz Navidad", and fought off tears singing "Frosty the Snow Man" which I find really depressing. We had musical accompaniments, but on days we don't, we made sure we sounded good acapella.

It appears that today carolers only know "Sa May Bahay ang Aming Bati" and "We Wish you a Merry Christmas" (in this exact order) and then just yell out "Mamamasko po!" as soon as their two-song repertoire ends and you are still to decide how much you want to give them. Imagine listening to carolers singing these two songs more than 10 times (I lost count after) and repeatedly bombard you with begs for alms masked as caroling. They could have simply asked for money and saved their voices (and our auditory nerves) a great deal, wouldn't make a diference anyway.
***
But of course, they're children, and the season is about them after all. They couldn't have known better, especially if all they listen to is the Papaya song and the other ones about things you do with a pepper shaker (iyugyog or itaktak).

This truth hit me hard this year upon realizing a general decrease in my excitement levels on the days leading to Christmas eve. When I was younger, I'd be sleepless beginning Dec 21 onwards, anxiously hoping that when I do fall asleep I'd wake up already on Christmas day so I'd be allowed to open my gifts.

Now, all I want to do is rest and sleep all day on the 25th. I didn't see it coming but it appears my transition to adulthood has passed its first stage. I was no longer the kid who does nothing but open gifts come Christmas; I am now playing Santa to dozens of pamangkins, inaanaks, and the neigborhood children. It's not that I don't like giving; I'm just really the type who find shopping (especially for gifts) extremely stressful. I don't do well in crowds and I am impatient when choosing things to buy. I just hope having my own family is not the next game in this "as you grow old and more mature" party. Mainly because I feel so unwelcome. I'd welcome a baby boy though. I'd name him Desmond.
***
To turn things around, I decided to go with my parents to church, something I had not done in years. I was hoping to re-live a Christmas habit we did when I was younger, but I wasn't expecting I'd miss the ritual; I can still remember having imaginary heated debates with the priest and my parents every single Sunday we went to mass. But I guess, greater than the meaning we ascribe to it, the act has its own value as well. So there I was in the middle of the packed church, not listening to the sermon but happily basking in the warmth of believers, the parents who can't control their toddlers from running around, the babies who would cry like tiny banshees, and the elderly who couldn't keep themselves awake despite the havoc that the young monsters wreak around them. I can't believe I missed them all. If I could no longer be the kid who cared about nothing but his gifts, at least I can be the kid who attended Christmas eve mass with his family.
***
I hope everyone lets out the child in them even just for this one time of the year. Who knows, we all might be a little bit happier albeit nostalgic for the merrier Christmas we used to know, and stay up in the early hours of Christmas day listening to Ray Conniff and Andy Williams do the real caroling.

Choices

What does it take for the President to heed the calls of the poor for justice and a chance at a better life? Unfortunately, a cross-country walktahon.

It is welcome news that Arroyo at least made an effort to listen to the woes of the 55 Sumilao farmers who walk to Malacañang all the way from Mindanao. Whether she'll make the right decision about it is another thing, but her reception of the tired and weary farmers should boost their spirits not like the treatment they got from Agrarian Reform Secretary Nasser Pangandaman. I wish the government can finally lay the farmers' arms (or feet) down and let them rest at last.
***
Why do students wear IDs even outside their campuses? I'm sure they are very proud of their respective schools and I can get why they would want to wear shirts that declare their alma mater in big, bold font (they're still shirts after all, and school merchandise usually are made of good materials). But IDs? It's not like the MMDA will send you to the disciplinary office if you got caught not wearing it around your neck, would they? The worse are those who loop their IDs around their wrists like bracelets. Talk about tackiness.
***
Yesterday, gay Boom (gB) finally met his life partner (LP). LP sat in the front passenger seat of the UP-Katipunan jeep and it was pure cosmic drama that gB was the last passenger to board and the only seat left is the space directly behind LP. Quiet and unassuming, LP has a boyish look that makes his vulnerability and meekness palpable even to the coldest of hearts. He moved with an uncaring awkwardness, oblivious to the gazes of gB that could melt all the coins in the jeepney driver's kahera. But gB wasn't contemplating on stealing the coins and selling molten tin although there was great temptation considering the season; he was wondering how warmer and merrier Christmas would be if his gaze met LP's. The holidays after all is better spent in the company of loved ones, if not lovers.

LP wore simple clothes; a combination of faded shirt and tattered pants, and flip-flops that have seen better days. He knows it is not about what we wears but what he does, and what he makes gB feels. Not like his flashy classmates, he took the blue ID from is bag just when he was about to get off the jeep and slipped it in his pocket as he crossed the blue footbridge to the blue school in the hills.
***
Yesterday, straight Boom (sB) met the love of his life (LL), the girl he will spend the rest of his life with. She sat across him, looking dazed at first, but quickly composed herself as soon as she noticed the loving stare from in front of her. LL exudes an aura of intimadating beauty; she was in fact, so beautiful it is hard not to ask how she manages to despite the heat and the dirt and dust of public transportation. You wouldn't dare ask not out of politeness or decorum but because of the way she looks at you, how her eyes tell you that there is no answer for she is the answer herself. Assured but graceful, she appeared both unmindful and yet keenly aware of the stares she draws with her soft, transluscent skin that show the narrow veins and capillaries beneath, her hazelnut brown eyes and narrow nose. Her hair glowed with the sun behind her, a bright halo of purity and feminine charm.

She was in a familiar form with a white blouse and deep green skirt which greatly diminished her charm. She is Medusa cloaked as a student, and all the mortal men and women froze like stone as she crossed the road to her sisters.
***
The year is drawing to a close but the remaining days don't look enough time for me to thank the people who deserve mine. Let me begin though by thanking the few friends I have who stuck with me this year. I know I can be very difficult to be with, so thanks for staying with me. And while I don't say and talk much, thank you for pushing me to talk a little because it feels so damned good to have someone to talk to. I just don't know why I keep myself from people who will listen. Thanks, thanks you all.
***
A pet I would like to have for Christmas: a glow in the dark cat.












***
My brother is finally hitting the bookstores. He's included in the short fiction anthology A Different Voice of the UST Press, edited by Vicente Garcia Groyon. Pao's piece is entitled "Hang-ups", things that I better get rid of if I want to live a little happier next year, or for the rest of my life for that matter.

All Wet

Haha. I think its just proper that the first thing you believed to be completely right be the last thing to be proven wrong.

Mess Communication

I just saw ABS-CBN's clip showing mediamen being questioned and hauled to a bus with their plastic-handcuffed hands raised above their heads last night and I swear I could have bitten the spoon I was using during dinner in half out of sheer inis. Really, someone should tell these people that you don't wear media ID like it's Kevlar and that they too are subject to the laws, rules, and procedures of this god-forsaken land, whatever they are.

I agree with Butch Dalisay's barber. Pagtatawanan lang sila ng war correspondents sa Iraq.

If we're gonna talk about revolutions, then let's have one directed towards the Kamuning-Sgt. Esguerra area. For giving us crap like the derivative TV shows they produce, for squeezing the poor, hapless masa dry of our money with their talentless, well, "talents", for giving us newscasts like "TV Patrol" and "Saksi" and newscasters like the unbearable Korina Sanchez and the sensually offensive Mike Enriquez, for kissing their own asses when they can't even wipe it clean.

Pangs

I guess my reading ability of late was a sign of things to come (and they came, and hit me hard on the groin).

With shame and reluctant admittance of inadequacy, I realize that I am becoming a poor reader. I know someone who can't finish a wonderful book like Wonder Boys in days must be. I have Chabon's book with me for a month now and I'm just halfway though it. Somehow I can't reconcile the jouissance I feel when I open its pages and the amazingly disappointing speed it takes me to finally put it down.

I look at the small closet I have in the rented room I share with a high school teacher and my frustration deepens. Its two layers, too small even for skeletons and for me to hide inside it, has turned into a trash bin of unfinished business: the upper part of clean and dirty clothes laid out carelessly on top of each another, and the lower part of books waiting to be read and compilations of advanced readings for my MA classes that I've skimmed through but never found the time and energy to completely understand. They'ew spilling out and the books are everywhere: all over the floor, under my bed, at the foot of my bed, beneath my pillows, beside it.

In the past there were only two permanent things in my system, as permanent as the sunrise and the sunset of day: reading in the library and watching TV at home. I found that nothing else mattered; not going to malls, sleeping over at a friend's house, eating at fancy restaurants, hopping like rabbits from one bar to the next, joining a motocross, or playing paintball shootouts (but these last two I really did enjoy). Now I find myself with all sorts of excuses not to read, from an unfounded need to go to the gym and spend the last waking hours of my day with men who moan and groan but sound nothing like inspired by something lovely, to the reckless desire to stroll around malls and look for the gayest shirt or pair of pants and eat the night out until the waiters turn off the lights on me (occassionally with friends). Its a shame that I don't gain anything from all the food that I eat and which makes my other excuse, like I said, unfounded.

These things, not unlike weeds*, provide me with a certain sense of satisfaction, a brief glimpse at a life of blissful contentment, but only for so long as I keep myself from doing number two. After wiping myself clean, the shapeless brown (sometimes green) marks on the tissue remind me of the things I did that made my life resemble something a little like its mother ship. And flushing the toilet will not change the fact that I just suddenly stopped attending my classes a few months earlier, completely disrespected my professors by not telling them I will be dropping out their classes, and giving them plenty reasons to give me a failing grade instead of the less troublesome DRP. And that I could no longer enroll in the Comparative Literature program.

I hope it's not too late. Next year I'll try my luck on a university abroad (as if!) or another Master's program which I will truly enjoy. I'll wear glasses if I have too, and I'll eat lots of carrots if it will help keep my eyes from hurting after reading for more than 10 minutes. I'll abandon my fantasies of looking like the Adonis that I'm not, and I will resign myself to the fact that I have nothing remotely attractive to anyone; not my body, and not most certainly my cold and abrasive personality. I'll put myself back on track and remind myself that I don't live for girls, or boys, or for anyone in between. I'll have none of my excuses, and I'll try to enjoy reading again.

*Pathways kids: you know this is bad, don't you?

School Hard

Woohoo. I never imagined the person who wrote that complicated article Framing Fanon - one of the many readings that gave me headaches no end back in my Post-colonial lit class, including those written by Franz Fanon himself - also appears in the fashion section. And why, as one of Boston's best dressed! Better believe it. Oh Homi Bhaba, the things you get yourself involved in are as confounding as your "stylistically lamentable" writings. You're a genius. Geeks around the world better rethink their position on tweed jackets and corduroy jeans.

Showtime

The holidays are just around the corner, and we know what it means for US theatres. Finally, some good cinema and really entertaining blockbusters. Studios will be lining up for the public's holiday spending spree and fielding their finest this year to catch Oscar's attention.

I haven't gone crazy over any of this year's movies so far, so I'm looking forward to this and next month's line up. There's Rendition, topbilled by actors I respect (the Meryl Streep, Reese Witherspoon, and Jake Gyllenhaal) and Lions for Lambs (again with the Meryl Streep and Robert Redford, and I think I'm forgetting someone else). I'm also looking forward to seeing American Gangster starring Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington, and We Own the Night with Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg.

Is it me or are Hollywood movies during Oscar season becoming less and less about good stories but more displays of on-screen star-power fireworks? Surely, one can always check out selections from Sundance, Venice, or Cannes if wants to see carefully crafted storylines and well written screenplays. It's also possible that the trend these past few years are character-driven stories such that the actor and his/her portrayal becomes the automatic gauge of a film's value. I remember the time when "uglifying" female leads became guarantees for Oscar wins (Paltrow in Shakespeare In Love, Swank in Boys Don't Cry, Berry in Monster's Ball, Theron in Monster, Swank again in Million Dollar Baby, Kidman in The Hours). No, they didn't all win Best Picture, but I felt that the actresses turns helped kept the public awake and in their seats until the credits rolled. Genocide due to boredom would have been the case otherwise.

Oh well, this trail of thought is becoming pointless so I better write about something else. Oh, I wanna see Lust, Caution and Across the Universe, the former because it's Ang Lee and Tony Leung's in it, and the latter, for its soundtrack and the A Clockwork Orange feel.
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I love watching and reading Steve Carell's interviews. PDI has an interview with "The 40-year-old Virgin" and "The Office" star where, when asked how he and his wife met, he shares a nerdy dialogue to make a point about how shy he was. I swear I could've figured in this dialogue in the past, or I'm sure this is how I'm going to ask someone out in the future. Here it is:

She would say things like, "If I ever went out with a guy like you, that would be neat." Then, I'd say "If I asked someone like you on a date, that would be weird - and I'd be scared about you saying no!" She replied: "I don't think I'd say no if someone like you asked me."

Lol. Pity the third person.
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Iron Man and Green Lantern are coming to the big screen soon.

I miss Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, Guy Gardner, Captain Marvel, Ice, and Fire. I wonder if they're in any Justice League comics currently in circulation. We shouldn't forget the brave heroes who fought alongside Superman in his tragic encounter with Doomsday.

I also miss Gambit and Jubilee.
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Writers are staging a strike in Hollywood to demand royalty from profits earned in "other" media such as podcasts and video streaming be included in their contracts. I would like to strike back at them for not writing Heroes as well as they should. I was really, really disappointed by the first season finale. And for stretching Lost to such unreasonable lengths. And for generally ending shows less spectacularly than their entire runs; think Dawson's Creek, The X-Files, BtVS, ER (what happened to this show?), The West Wing, Felicity (remember Megan's time-travel spell?), Alias (parricide galore), Just Shoot Me, Will and Grace, Ally McBeal, Gilmore Girls. But still, TV networks should give these brains their due. I will happily endure one (usually the last) crappy season than not have three or five seasons of great TV.

I miss Jack and Bobby.

Insomnia

Ha. Pao just got a copy of 30 Rock's complete first season. It's from you-know-where of course. And I'm looking forward to finishing the whole season this weekend. I have three more hours till the break of dawn, so the first eight episodes are pretty much a done deal - for this quarter of the day, at least.

I'm in love with Tina Fey. TV execs should give this lady whatever she wants. I know I would. If she'll ever want anything from me which is like, not gonna happen. Even in the gazillions of parallel universes that I believe exists. Even in the one where I was late night TV's Conan O'Brien.

















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Has anyone seen the HP ads on CNN (correct me if other stations show it as well)? The series with "the PC becomes personal again" tagline? I think they're fascinating. And blindingly star-studded. I've seen Paulo Coelho's, Serena Williams', Vera Wang's, and Michel Gondry's bits. Pao has Gondry's on his livejournal, and I'll try to upload whatever I can find in My Videos for everyone. Eternal Sunshine rules.

Entropy

I miss the stress. I miss the pressure and the chaos. Order can be boring, and boredom kills.

I need to do something new.

Maybe I should get a new haircut, or have a new wallpaper. I’ll also change my mp3 playlist. I’ll buy a new shirt, and if my allowance permits (as if it will ever for anything), a new pair of pants and shoes. I’ll do something new, like, go to the gym, sleep really early, hit on a guy, drink Red Horse, learn to play the piano, shift to a new web browser or revert back to IE 6 with Yahoo! Toolbar, be cheerful, happy, and accommodating, read Danielle Steel or Paulo Coelho and their types, appreciate basketball, or send an SMS back at someone who just forwarded an inspiring but humorless quote. I'll have a new email signature, or call someone I consider a really good friend. And maybe this time I will listen.

Now that’s something new.

Delusion Angel

by David Jewell
as delivered by the Viennese(?) street poet in Before Sunrise

Daydream, delusion, limousine, eyelash.
Oh baby with your pretty face.
Drop a tear in my wineglass.
Look at those big eyes.
See what you mean to me.
Sweet-cakes and milkshakes.
I'm delusion angel, I'm fantasy parade,
I want you to know what I think.
Don't want you to guess anymore.
You have no idea where I came from.
We have no idea where we're going.
Latched in life, Like branches in a river,
Flowing downstream, Caught in the current,
I'll carry you, You'll carry me.
That's how it could be, Don't you know me?
Don't you know me by now?

Help

I need a good laugh. Somebody please give me a good laugh.

Spike

No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.

No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.

Conversations with Dead People

I hate doing sponsorship work/marketing/whatever you call it. It's bad enough that the activity is brain-addlingly "passive" (for lack of a better term) and so blah, but you also have to put up with really annoying secretaries and assistants who will keep telling you to follow up gas.

Hey big time boss, does it take so much of your time to approve a proposal from someone who just asks money from you? I mean, it's not a proposal to fire the finance EOs or merge with a much bigger firm. We just want your money in exchange for your logos in our posters and if you don't want to give us a cent of your profit, then JUST TELL US you don't want to. Hey, we know our place in the world, that's why we're asking for some dough. But we hope you have even the most basic courtesy to tell us upfront when you decide against giving. Hindi yung ipapa-follow up mo ng ipapa-follow up tapos wala ka namang ginagawa. Anak ng.

And don't give me that "that's how it works" or "we're too busy" crap. As far as I know, courtesy is still being taught in our schools (unlike good communications and science). And what does it say of your competence (or lack of it) if you can't respond to matters brought up with you? You're too busy to deal? Maybe we should've actually sent a proposal to fire you. We don't need your corporate angas. Angasin nyo'ng mukha nyo.

I can take rejections, even angry ones, but please don't keep me hanging.

And when you give telephone numbers or names of people to follow up, please make sure that the phone will be picked up, or that the person is reachable. You can't imagine the amount of time I've wasted calling numbers that just keep ringing everyday for a week. Your bosses should know that you are not attending to phone calls which could've been from the Sultan of Brunei.

Or at the very least, please make sure they exist?

Older and Far Away

Things are noticeably different to me lately. It seems that the more I get stressed, the clearer things appear to me. The question isn't whether I can think straight or not but rather, if I can think about everything on such short time. And such small skull-bound brain.

Too little time to pretend and pass myself off as somebody I'm not. It's true after all; time makes you forget. Just imagine how much you'll lose having too much of it. Time.

I welcome change. Welcome back.

Oble will soon start appearing in 100-peso bills.

The future looks bright...

...despite the title of the latest issue in Joss Whedon's comic book continuation of BtVS' eight season. "No Future For You, Part 1" is a classic Buffy episode, unlike previous issues which tended to explore what it can do and what looks good in its new genre. This also marks the return of one of Slayerverse's most favorite characters and yes, the Faith here is the Faith we all know since she first appeared in "Faith, Hope & Trick". I could almost hear Eliza Dushku say the lines in this issue.

We are also treated with more "speaking" roles for Giles, and Xander's buddy-pal humor and awkwardness. NFFYP1 reads like an adaptation of one of BtVS' past episodes, a trip down memory lane, and a testament to the genius of Whedon (I don't mind being redundant in this observation). He knows when to surprise us with innovation and originality, but he never forgets to give us some of the things that made us love him in the first place. I love NFFYP1 - for bringing back Faith, and largely for sentimental reasons.

Congrats to the UP Pep Squad!

Finally! Here are some greats pictures of yesterday's Cheerdance Competition, which I took from a certain Teresa Barroz. 







They were perfect. I most especially loved it when they did the Oblation pose (2nd pic above). Gave me goosebumps.

It was also avenue for "legitimate" - or so it is to me - asarans between schools and heaven knows how the audience sent them flying to left and right at the Big Dome. Biases aside however, I think UP's banners were the most provocative. Cheering pa lang yan ha.

My favorites:
"So? UP kami, san ka pa?"
context: fronting this banner is a really large UST banner with "Royal and Pontifical University" inscribed in really large font.

And the classic:
"UP ako. Ikaw?"
Shuts up the competitor most of the time. ;-)

Again, congrats Pep Squad!

Doublemeat Palace

I can still feel my legs throb as I write this.

In what could be the most unfortunate, stupidest night of my life, I find myself wasting precious sleep hours stuck in some dank computer shop along A. Bonifacio (I could almost imagine nocturnal gamers refusing to tear themselves away from Warcraft and relieving themselves in their seats), writing these words. It's 3:50 at dawn right now, and I just have to wait another hour or so before I go back to my boarding house.

I must take a mental note that I shouldn't stay out very late at night especially when I don't have my house keys with me and when I don't have my cellphone fully charged. My colleague and I lost track of time while in a deep, life-changingly satisfying conversation about illusions and dreams of world peace, personal fulfilment and imaginary love lives over late night snack. It was already half an hour past 1 in the morning when we finally but half-heartedly decided to go back to our respective houses and, until then, I almost totally forgot that I lost my house keys last Sunday when I dined out with a college friend. I only wish KFC's customer service is as good as their fried potatoes.

So without my keys I decided to try the conventional thing to do, which is swallow all my pride, finally accept that I am human and that I too am capable of committing stupid mistakes, knock on our boarding house's doors and windows until someone finally wakes up, and then simply apologize for the hassle. Profusely.

So I did. But people who know me know that I am the type who'd rather inconvenience myself than inconvenience others, especially when I know that it is an honest mistake on my part. The neighborhood where I rent is especially most conducive to such discomfort. Anything louder than a whisper will sound like a boom box to the entire block. Imagine it this way: while inside our own rooms, we can hear the clanking of the spoons and forks as the family living right across us enjoy their dinner. So I tried knocking and calling on Ate Lani in the most determined yet modulated voice and amount of force I can muster, to no avail. It was 2 in the morning after all.

And so I accept that I am officially locked out of my boarding house. Len and I think up of other ways how (and where) I can spend the night: she tries to offer the house she rents, but realizes there is not enough space for me; I suggest going back to our office where there are comfortable couches but she tells me the campus apparently locks their gates as 12 midnight strikes; I surrender to the possibility of living the pauper's life and sleep in the cold, hard concrete benches scattered all over Marikina, but she warns me the effective urban police of the city might mistake me for a vagabond (which I almost am, right now). Going home to Novaliches is not an option, as I could get into more trouble - not to mention danger- along the deserted streets leading to our side of Metro Manila's mountains.

Remembering the measly savings I have in my bank account, I went looking for a possible B&B or hotel which charges reasonably for transients. We find the Riverbend Hotel, which zoomed past my budget. I decided to just go stay at an all-night establishment and let my colleague get some rest. She has, after all, heard and walked enough troubles with me last night. So I walked her to her house, which I'll pass by on my way to downtown Marikina where all the most "happening" places are to be found.

Happening they may be, with a live band and some good drinks, but Marikina's hotspots are not for "pa-morningans". After downing just two bottles of San Mig Light, the band thanked the small crowd and quietly stepped off the stage. I have no idea if the place was already about to close for the night, but I decided to leave as soon as I realized that it was just me and the waiters left. It was 3:30 in the morning, more than hour ago.

In a sad show of lower class naivete, I tried my luck on a Starbucks shop a few blocks away to see if I can spend the rest of dawn there. The coffee shop had apparently closed up 3 hours earlier, along with the other establishments surrounding it (Jollibee, KFC, Yellowcab, Shakey's, Pancake House). So I decided to go back to where I started, and walk back I did, just so I could waste more time as I scout for a place to spend the night/morning. I walk through a long alley of who could be girls and boys for rent, where one boy winked and another whistled when I passed them by. It was both frustrating and flattering.

So I walk from downtown Marikina to Riverbanks Mall (the distance could be half a kilometer) not knowing where to go but desperately hoping that by walking a step every three seconds, dawn will break as soon I reach our neighborhood.

Then I pass by Bossing computer shop, where kids half my age stay up late to reach hero level 12. I ask if I can rent a PC, the shop manager (also among the kids playing DoTA) agrees, and I open my blog account.

Now an hour has passed. It's 5 in the morning and my house mates are already probably awake. I better get going now so I could finally lay my legs down, and remember to leave my land lady a paper note asking her to duplicate the house keys.

I apologize for the insipidness. In case you haven't noticed, I am really like this, and it shows even more in today's entry.

Some Assembly Required

A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes, the more picturesque they look.  The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets make a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.

  - Oscar Wilde

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I remember reading this in my Humanities I syllabus under Mr. Raymond "Mike" Falgui. His act then was to pretend like he was one of the students (he doesn't look that young, but he's awesomely nerdy you'd think yeah, he's just a nerdy student) on the first day class. He sat in the back of the room, curiously watching students trickle in while sipping his McDo-provided hot choco. He introduced himself just when we were about to leave thinking the instructor wasn't around for the first day (which is a common case in UP). I think one of my classmates (one of his students) even asked him if he was in the right classroom. He couldn't be more correct.

The Storyteller's Creed

I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge,

That myth is more potent than history,

That dreams are more powerful than facts,

That hope always triumphs over experience,

That laughter is the only cure for grief,

And I believe that love is stronger than death.

Heroic brothers

A Moment of Geekery

In this haiku, Rothman talks about one of the most frightening events one could ever experience in the modern world. I sincerely hope this doesn't happen to anyone.

BSOD
by Peter Rothman

Windows XP crashed,
I am the Blue Screen of Death,
No one hears your screams.

One way to diffuse fear of something is to make fun out of it. Here's the Ridiculus charm for it.

Cheers and jeers to UP

There were two major news related to UP today; they also happen to come from extreme poles of the emotional spectrum. Whatever that is.
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Bad news first. Another promising UP student died due to a fraternity-related incident. I still don't get what it is with frats and pain. True, experiencing shared pain helps create stronger bonds among people, but I don't think it refers to shared physical pain, especially those inflicted by the very people who promised to be your "brothers" in the first place. Collective hardship, unfortunate experiences, common tragedies; it is these stuff that make people bond together. Frats foolishly hope that by bludgeoning people they teach the neophytes how to be strong, to be loyal, to feel the bloody tradition they're hurting themselves to be a part of. I don't know for sure if the neophytes do learn the "lessons" afterwards, but I'm sure one could almost expect the certainty of death. In the words of one concerned UP student, the fraternity may not have intended to kill the applicant. And we all say of course, why would they? The truth however is that they intended to hurt him. Badly. Obviously, hurt him severe enough to cause death.

I hope the fratmen involved in this incident show the notorious machismo their culture is known for and be men enough to face the grieving loved ones and friends of the dead. And the wrath of the greater community who suffered a most senseless loss.
--
Now the cheery news. The Philippine Madrigal Singers come home after successfully clinching the top prize in the Grand Prix for Choral Singing held in Italy. They're also the first two win the championship twice (in 1997 then this year). With this accomplishment, the multi-national judging panel have noted that the Madz have cemented their stature as one of the best choral groups in the world.

I remember an orgmate who once told me her experience while she was about to watch the Madz in concert. As the audience wait for the performance to start, she recalled how bejewelled matronas in their splendid plumpness seemed unable to contain their awe of the Madrigals (yes, Jamby's family) for the noble deed of funding such an excellent choral group.

We can't help but feel the depression as we realize how ignorant some members of the supposed alta sociedad are and the tragedy of living in a country where the cultured, moneyed ones say things like that. In a situation where the ruling class is capable of such imbecility, where does the privilege come?

The Philippine Madrigal Singers is not in anyway connected to the Madrigals; the group is a actually a UP-based choral group, known to Diliman inhabitants as the UP Madrigal Singers. They assume the "Philippine" title when they go abroad, or when they serenade a larger audience outside the UP community.

And the Madrigal in their name is not a family name but is instead a reference to their musical setting, their choral arrangement. Look it up in Wikipedia or, if you're in a university, go listen to an art history or appreciation class.

If only the matronas can stop admiring each other's rocks and start, you know, reading.

Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

It's sad that I'm seriously considering taking this online quiz just so I can finally decide whether I should pursue my grad studies in Comparative Lit or not. Short of a crisis, I am at point where I have not a single clue what I want to do for the rest of my life. Sure, literature interests me, but I doubt if it's anywhere near the top of my hierarchy of values. I am taking a leave of absence from my classes, and I have no idea if it's just for this semester or longer.
---
What separates sociologists from writers is that the latter have a lot more fun doing the exact same things as the former.
---
Bago magtapos, ang Buwan ng Wika:

Wala na akong load. Hindi dahil sa kaka-text kundi dahil nag-expire na siya. Bakit nga ba nag-e-expire ang load? Pera ko naman yung pinambayad ko, aba't di ba dapat lang na magamit ko yun kelan ko man naisin? Otherwise, ninanakawan na ko ng Talk N' Text, dahil kinukuha nila ang pera ko sa serbisyong hindi ko naman nakuha sa kanila.

Thirty pesos na nga lang yun e, mag-e-expire pa. Hindi naman kasi ako mahilig mag-text. Pasalamat nga sila at hindi ako dumadagdag sa traffic nila sa pagfo-forward ng mga messages na punong-puno ng ka-plastikan (wrng spling p), na maaaring kumonsumo sa resources ng facilities nila. Hindi rin ako kumukuha ng pira-pirasong minuto sa mga buhay ng mga kakilala ko para mag-check ng inbox tapos forwarded message lang pala. Malaki ang economic at social value naming hindi mahihilig mag-text tapos kami pa yung mawawalan. Ano ba yan? Minus 5! Tapos kung tingalain si MVP e akala mong kung sinong may napakalaking nagawa sa Pilipinas...tsk, tsk.

Got...?

...milk? This Hayden Panettiere picture made me want to sack the Alpine and Bear Brand stalls at Save More, Riverbanks so I could join her in milky ecstacy and bliss. I may not always think the world needs saving, but I'll save the cheerleader anytime.



I must give credit where it's due. Paolo, who has the unquenchable drive to find websites like this one, thanks for the Multiply link.

Lie to Me

Found this blogthing from Paolo's interesting but rarely updated LiveJournal, and decided to try it out myself. I'm a sucker for online quizzes that claim to tell a bit myself, especially those that only have 10 or fewer items to answer. Everyone wants to hear something said about ourselves, don't we? Even if it comes from a computer. This day and age, I don't think there's many who have an inkling who they really are, or what others really think of them.

I'll gladly rely on a website to tell me who I am. Just so I can be more honest and realistic about myself.

Your Love Life Secrets Are

Looking back on your life, you will have a few true loves. You're a little scarred from your past relationships, but who isn't? You expect a lot from your lover - you want the full package. You tend to be very picky. In fights, you love to debate and defend yourself. You logic prevails - or at least you'd like to think so. You have a hard time ending relationships, even if the other person says it's over.

Your Love Life Secrets, Revealed

I know you can't save me.

After Life

Oh dears, you have to read the latest issue of BtVS' eight season . I know a have very limited exposure to comic books, but I must say that the experimental, almost innovative storytelling style (narrator boxes mingle with dialogue bubbles, in one scene involving Giles; Andrew's TV advertisement about the slayers' support group), and the inspired lines ("I tried to feel it. I tried to face the darkness like a woman and I don’t need anymore than that. You don’t have to remember me. You don’t even know who I am but I do."), will just blow you away and change the way you look and appreciate comic books. Whedon's masterpieces are slowly becoming classics of the genre.

The weight of the world

Lately I noticed how everyone's been using the term "bayani" in the same breath as "ano" or "tsaka". I originally thought it is only used to refer to someone who has offered the greatest possible sacrifice for a cause greater than him- or herself. I even thought it is reserved only to those who have given up their lives for others, otherwise there sure are other things greater worth sacrificing. Living heroes sound oxymoronic, more so partying, decadent heroes.

It began when my colleagues and I passed by the Bantayog ng mga Bayani memorial along EDSA near Quezon Avenue, depicting a woman raising one of her arms while the other is holding on to a slumped (unconscious?) man. The first thing that came to mind are our dometic workers abroad, majority of whom are female. Despite the glaring sexism and whether my interpretation was correct or not, what bothered me most is the labelling of Filipinos seeking greener pastures abroad as "bayani". While I certainly agree that they help a great deal in keeping our ailing economy from complete collapse, I doubt whether we should apply to them the greatest title a country can give its citizen. For one, they're probably in a much, much better place and condition than where we currently are, save for the many DHs who work under abusive and oppressive employers. And even if they don't exactly enjoy where they are right now, I doubt if it was the greater good that brought them there. I have never heard of a hero even from another country who's ticket to the history books is the burning desire to buy his or her family their own townhouse or a brand new car.

I mean let's thank them with all our hearts for sending us dollars, and let's sympathize with them that they have to leave their families behind just to earn a living. But I think "bayani" is more fitting a title to those who choose to work their butts off in this God-forsaken country, not because there is no way out, but because they simply want to.

---

Just imagine my irritation upon seeing ordinary Ateneo students wearing t-shirts with a really humble and unmistakably modest print saying "Bawat Atenista, Bayani." I swear I could have laughed my shallow brains off, but annoyance engulfed me faster than I could muster enough courage to point to that Atenista and laugh at him while at, where else, what they call quad.

Since when did students who give a token what, semester or two, in the company of maralitas and then proceeding with their capricious and decadent lives after receiving their class cards ever qualified for the term? I sure didn't mean to generalize, as I have very good friends and relatives who are Atenistas, but the idea does. Notice the "bawat"? So pardon me if I do, too. I doubt whether these students really are up to offer anything for something greater, seeing how reluctant they are to give up even a few minutes of their sorry lives to vote in their student government elections.

It still amazes me where this institution - where I'm currently working - gets its school spirit aside from playing really good basketball. Sure, if I'm a university I would certainly get it from really good research outputs, which they don't really put out. I hardly saw any citation from this school by ISI-indexed journals when I was still doing coursework in my MA and undergrad research, and haven't read any studies from this school making it to the dailies' headlines. Spirituality- and formation-wise (I'll give this to them, even if I don't think any decent university here or abroad would really care that much about their students' beliefs), I don't see it as well, judging by its "exclusivity" and stratospherically high fees. I don't think Jesus would ask me eighty grand per sem just to hear his teachings. And then of course, there is the general snotty feel of the place.

I wish UP had great basketball players, too.

I must admit though, they produce really good talkers. And I must stop my envious blabbering before it turns into serious school bashing. Advanced happy sesquicentennial, ADMU!;-)

Desktop Monster

This video, forwarded to me by a friend, is weirdly hilarious. While I love trying out new applications and pimping out my desktop, I wouldn't want this guest on my PC. In the end though, it might actually prove to be useful.

Shangri-La

Photos taken from me and my parents' Mindanao trip. I originally wanted to visit Camiguin and Siargao (places everyone I know has been to and hyped up), but the trip became some sort of a homecoming for the Quina clan - many of whom flew in from abroad that week. So I decided to scrap my itinerary and tag along with my relatives.

These photos were taken from and on our way to visit Tinago Falls along the border of Marawi and Iligan City. It was literally "tinago" as one could imagine - we had to go off-road and use dirt tracks to reach the descent point, and we had to go down 300+ steep and jagged steps to reach the base of the falls. The older folks were complaining, but realized it was worth every joint pain upon seeing the falls in its pristine glory. In contrast to the Maria Cristina falls which we also visited, Tinago was not as crowded and not as developed; there was only another group when we visited, of about 5 people.

Visit my Multipy site for more pictures.

Original sin

My issue with Joss Whedon is that he's beginning to be too much of a fanboy himself.

For those who aren't in the mix, Joss (yes, we're on a first name basis) continues the eight season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in comicbook form. The storyline quite literally follows where the show we religiously, obsessively followed for 7 years left off, except now budget constraints are no longer an issue. Now he can make Buffy flykick and do midair roundhouse even while falling from a glass roof, without having to concern himself with its choreographic or logistic (im)possibility (or deal with Gellar's tantrums). In fact, the darkly cute Willow and Amy - her former pet (literally) and witch-bitch - can be seen engaging in a spectacular magical fight that can rival Dumbledore's and Voldemort's in issue 4. Hmm, I would like to test that theory. ;-)

But Joss heavily invests on how the slayerverse played out in the last two seasons of the show, which is understandable, but can be quite disappointing for the fans. Yes, I do love dikey Willow, and I have no problems with one-eyed Xander. I must admit though that activating slayers the world over spoiled the whole drama. It was a resolution that fans knew was coming, but fervently hoped Whedon wouldn't allow because admit it or not, the drama ergo the story is all about the one girl in all the world who will stand against vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. In walks Faith in season 3, and I wanted post-Buffy slayerville to be about her, standing against vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness, alone. It also helped that Joss' writing of Faith is just too interesting and the casting, hot.

SPOILER

Joss however refused to fail popular expectations, and decided to end Buffy's TV run with an army of slayers that the now uber-powerful Willow activated. So we see that Buffy is given a chance to lay her arms down. And then we are told that he spent his post-Buffy break writing The Astonishing X-Men.

Being a big fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, as well as being impressed with Firefly and his turn in Stan Lee's iconic mutant characters, it is no question to me that Joss is a genius of the sci-fi/fantasy genre. But working on multiple storylines must have taken its toll, and it appears that he is now jumbling everything up. With thousands of slayers running around, the latest season shows the government and some demonic order conspiring to destroy the slayer population out of fear that they might eventually take over the world given their inhuman abilities. In fact, as of issue 5, it appears to be about slayer-discrimination/fear, the same way X-Men was about mutants and mutant hate/fear.

I hope season 8 doesn't turn out to be that derivative. It's too early to judge anyway. And I will love slayerverse, bad or good season notwithstanding.

Hardwork

Last night my colleague forwarded to me what she claimed was a leaked copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I asked her to send me a copy after she casually mentions that she had already read it, a revelation which caused me shock and awe beyond Bush's firepower. While I know how badly every literate people the world over want to get their hands on the series' finale first, it is this same realization that tells me there's no way in the world that the publishers would be too careless to leak a copy of its manuscript prior to the release date. That and of course, capitalist motivations.

So I opened the file and began reading the first sentence. The thing with the leaked version is that anyone who took at least introductory college lit will know the first sentence alone is not publishing-worthy. I am amazed at those who actually took the time to read it for having the tenacity to go through almost 700 pages of bad writing. But I feel more sorry for the admirably dedicated HP fan - possibly an avid fanfiction writer - who wrote it and who will never be acknowledged for his/her work, which will forever be known as piffle and which will be subjected to endless ridicule by his/her fellow HP fans.

So JKR would begin what could be the most anticipated piece of literature in modern history with "Harry slowly raised his head and stared morosely at the familiar visage of number four, Privet Drive"?

Yeah. Right.

Hot air

I must admit, never have I been so terrified of going into a class as I am now with my Ph.D. course. Yesterday my professor asked each one of us our problematique for our dissertation and it felt like all the joy was sucked out of me because truth is, I don't have any problem, so to speak, to work on. While I do genuinely enjoy discussing the many critics and writers we read, I forgot that the professor operates on the assumption that everyone of us there is working on a dissertation. I do remember telling her that even as a graduate student I can handle the pressure of a Ph.D. class, and that I can work on that level without any special treatment. But that was when I foolishly blinded myself with the thought that Ph.D. classes will simply be about further (not necessarily deeper) discussions of different writers and critics and their works, which as it happens it also is. But the prospect excited me too much that I forgot postgraduate students are also supposed to be working on their dissertation.

Now I am in the same boat as the doctoral students are in. The difference is, they have a master's degree under their belt while I don't. But when I come to think of it, what really brought me to enroll in Comparative Lit are all the literary theories and the critics. I don't actually read much "literature" but rather more of the reactions to it. Talk about ambition. And taking the easy way in.

Now I find out that what I have to do really, if I plan to be literary scholar, is to find a writer or a bunch of similar ones, and devote my life to him or them. I'm thinking of becoming the preeminent Filipino Barthes or Habermas scholar, just to dodge accusations that I am merely mimicking Steve Carell's character in Little Miss Sunshine (who was a Proustian scholar) for lack of any real interest on any one writer. Barthes and Habermas because, well, they're quite celebrity intellectuals, and more people - I think - will know who I am working on compared to, say, Baudrillard and Sontag.

And if my analytical abilities can't cope up with my ambition, maybe I can just have T.F. Sering.

The problem with words

I wish I have it easy the way some people do when they sit in front of their PCs, or hold their pens over some paper. To them it comes naturally; thoughts flow easily into words effortlessly the way ice melts to water when heated (bad metaphor). And it's not simple communication, because these people can make crap smell like your mother's own version of adobo when they write about it. God they can even make it taste like one.

I wish I was like them.

Jim on Conan

We all know Conan O'Brien is the best late late night talk show host ever. What I just learned though, is that John Krasinski (Jim Halpert of that hilariously fantastic show The Office) is Conan's funniest interview ever. I laughed like its Conan's If they mated segment. This guy will go a long way.

Read on. For those of us who've been there, but haven't done that.

Lessons

Taken beside KFC Katipunan. Beware chicken lovers.


***
My first day of class was full. Against usual UP tradition where professors usually find themselves stuck in the airport, or bus station, from where they took their last chance at a summer vacation (huling hirit!), my profs for CL 122 and my PhD class were already in (though they were late) and before we knew it, were already spurting out words like "new criticism" and "atomization" after which, without any effort at all to clarify if the "new" is new at all or if literary critics have finally decided to become physicists, proceeded to talk about a really formal Russian guy named Viktor Schklovsky, now dead.

I am excited though. I hope everything goes smoothly this semester.
***
What's the difference between literary criticism and scholarship? While I do know that both needs theory, in what ways do they exactly differ?
***
Some food for thought: Cultural studies pala is a Marxist discipline. How was it then that a conservative, Jesuit-run institution with no Marxist history whatsoever is offering the only cultural studies program in this proletarian country? Add to that the fact that they kicked out Nick Tiongson and Bien Lumbera, who are in my opinion the two leading Marx-inspired-but-not-quite writers we have.

I wonder what their curriculum looks like and who teaches the thing. And I think I know now why their top writer is pursuing his grad studies at the State U.

Goodbye Iowa

So our office had our annual R&R last week. It was relaxing at most. I rarely find things funny, and when I do, it usually is not supposed to be so I guess I'm excused if won't say I had fun. People expect me not to anyway.

We were on the road to Eagle's Point as early as 7am, and on our midway stopover in Laguna, we realized we do not have a laptop with us. I asked my officemate to bring his but due to stupid miscommunication, no one had brought it. And its because of me. I felt guilty, but we decided to drop the whole case. So no movie marathon for us. Fine.

The accommodations were nice, the food aplenty. We were fed to death. We were brought to an isolated part of the island, where the "more beautiful" sea shore - according to the guides - was supposed to inspire awe to us. There was no awe, but I must admit, there was some inspiration. Everywhere I go nowadays I command myself to remember there is. But it was rocky and there was hardly sand; only bits and pieces of corals. I maybe be exaggerating, as I am known to do most of the time especially if I feel strongly about something, but upon returning to our rooms I had at least a dozen small cuts on my feet.

I took a nap and shower, we had overflowing dinner. The clouds were overflowing, too. We were supposed to have a karaoke session, then the power went out. It came back and went out again. I was first on the mic. I was supposed to have a karaoke session. I went to my room and finished Roth's The Breast and started half way through Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. Before I knew it the sun was already up.

Took some pictures of the place during sunrise. Watched some caged birds stare back at me. With hatred, I suppose. Had breakfast then showered then packed my bags.

We dropped by the People's Park in the Sky on our way back to Manila. Cool place, the view was breathtaking. Bought a shirt to serve as evidence I've been there but I forgot to leave my mark. Neither did Eagle's Point.
***
This is a very long blog.

While I enlisted myself via internet to the two conditional classes I am required to take to be fully admitted to the MA program in Comparative Literature, I was only accepted in one. I accepted my fate, and was already choosing between taking another class in French or String Instruments (or Film Production or Art Studies) when my very supportive adviser (Dr. Schriever, an expert in American Lit) gave it a shot and tried her best to get me into the class I was required to take. But the professor was steadfast, and refused my adviser's request. Claimed the class is full.

The following day I met with Dr. Priscelina Patajo-Legasto, again to ask for advise; Dr. Schriever wasn't around, and I felt that I really need to take Lit subjects now. I am already on my second year and all I have on my record is a single, undergraduate Lit subject with a 1.5 mark. Talk about being a Lit major. At least, I have 12 units in European Language.

And now I might be making history. She, too appeared supportive and sympathetic to my plight and agreed with my assessment that I am way behind of the recommended program. Thanks to her, I am all of 22 years and very excited to attend what's left of my options, a LittD. class in Literary Theory and Criticism.
***
I had my hair styled today by the groomsmen of Going Straight at SM North EDSA. And by the looks of it, I don't think I shouldn't have given them a tip.

Life Serial

I created a link to Paolo Manalo's livejournal account, without his permission, and even if we really don't know each other. He's a mentor to my brother Paolo, who's livejournal also appears on the links list to the right. The former has quite established himself as a writer - he wrote Jolography which won quite a number of awards in 2004 (I guess) - while Pao is getting there.

Manalo has an amusing account on writers and literary gatherings. The title is Assignment: W.H. Auden, and you may find it by clicking on his link at the right. I think what Manalo said there goes as well with academics and scholars in general. Funny.

Eagle's Point, Batangas

Just got home from our office outing in Eagle's Point, Batangas. Too tired to write about it, but am too proud to share the pictures I took of the place. Our office only has one "photographer" (Nikko), and he is known for taking pictures really splendidly. Since I have the office camera with me while in Batangas, I thought I should try my hand at photog, so someone could take group shots that will include him. Here's some of what I got, but you can click here for more.













Will write more about Batangas next time.

Flooded

The path walk in front of our office is. I bet Katipunan Avenue also is. The rest of the Ateneo campus will be, too, in a few hours.

That's how torrential the rain is tonight, and it came with lightning/thunder. And would anyone have guessed it, we are having our annual office outing tomorrow! Google! Our swimming trunks and really skimpy bathing suits would sure look hot in the rain. Two of my officemates are also sick and won't be coming with us tomorrow, effectively cutting down the fun factor by 20%. This must be the best summer outing ever.

I might be wrong, of course. I hope Nikko brings his laptop (the only one in our office who has, and it's a Mac G4 mind you), and I could bring my (my brother's, I mean) books. I've been raring to re-read Philip Roth's The Breast, and to celebrate Kurt Vonnegut (who died almost a month ago), I'll also revisit Slaughterhouse-Five.

Maybe I'll throw in John Irving, just for some assurance.

Why does it always have to be beaches for outings?

Wild at heart

I just have to write about it. Changes do happen overnight; the nerfy loser gets to go on 29 dates in one night. So what, the hunky jock next door had 25 dates in his 22 years? Now he can kiss my skinny ass he's been wanting to kiss for so many years now but can't for fear I might think he's gay. He undoubtedly is, by the way.

I must thank Milan of No Bounds Events, an event-organizing and marketing demigod and a good friend, for the makeover. For so long I thought me going on a date would be a live, personal Hurricane Katrina, but peer pressure certainly have its pros. Friends know I have a different taste when it comes to people I hang out with - much more on my imaginary dates, and that was all that got me going on that speed dating thing.

I still can't stop laughing at the memory of it. The girls were generally nice, save for some really boring ones, but the really good ones more than make up for it. More than the actual prospect of landing a date, finding ways to entertain myself amidst all the forced interaction and fighting redundancy were the main challenges for me.

I should go out more. They say life is good. Now I think I should get one.
***
Can't wait to watch the Blake's and Jordin's final performances tonight. Hope Blake wins tomorrow!
***
I still don't have my normal voice back. It's still hoarse and husky. While three girls on the speed dating game thought it was sexy, I am unfortunately not a masochist so I'd rather not have sexy voice than bear this really irritating pain in my throat whenever I speak. They shouldn't worry: there are other parts of me that are sexy (written in a split second surge of macho virility). I think I'm nagbibinata (still am at 22), Ate Mae thinks I need antibiotics. Based on the preceding line, I think I'm just experinecing extended puberty, or I need a straight jacket.

Just finished my College Preparatory Class. Covered Renaissance philosophy, to Social Contract theorists (Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau), and the early Enlightenment and positivism. Whew! After 4 sessions in four weeks, I felt more comfortable today. I feel that my strength really is in the Enlightenment until postmodern philosophy. I could almost say I took the course twice in college, though not due to any delinquency. There's the standard history of western philosophy course (Soc Sci 2 in UP Diliman), and the introduction to sociological theory class which is hopelessly intertwined with the developments in western philosophy since the Enlightenment (sociology was born out of that period, was called social physics then).

Next week I'll have Marx. Oh God, help me. The easiest to understand can be the most difficult to explain, not because of its complexity but rather its volume. I don't have the slightest idea how I can cram Marx (context, reactions and all) in 3 hours. Gudlak.

In the meantime, I'm going on 40 dates tonight, despite losing my voice to cough exacerbated by me lecturing to an audience of 50 or more earlier. I hope my dates take pity on me and give me 40 Tuseran capsules.

The body

I'm having one of my severest bouts of cold and cough today. Can't even sleep, it's too hot in my room. I think my really large room mate is absorbing all the cool and converting it to warm, pungent air. Good thing he's on night shift (he's a call center representative). At least for the most part, when he's already out at work and I can then sleep, our room can just seem to be warmer than your usual. Not hot.

Hot air exacerbates my condition. It's as if the humid temp also melts my snot, making my nose runny. And I'm sweating like hell. There's that feeling that everything bad's happening to me all at once, making me more irritable, which then gives me the urge to throw my stuffed teddy pig at my room mate. But before I do, I realize I can simply run up to our rooftop and let the evening breeze cool me down. It's not really that cooler apparently, but at least up here, the air was blowing.
***
Melinda bye bye. You are indeed one heck of a singer, but you don't offer something new to us audience. Week after week we expect the same Melinda singing, and we do get it. That's nice. But Blake is simply more original and more daring while Jordin, though not as good as you, just keeps getting better and better each week. At least they give us something to look forward to. Simon got it right: my commiseration to you, and congratulations to the two.
***
The history of western philosophy went in this order:
Greek antiquity - Medieval/Dark Ages - Renaissance - Age of Reason - Enlightenment - Modern - Postmodern.

No Right to suffer

I honestly think an abstain campaign can do us some good during these times. The family went to the voting precinct at noon today to practice the hallmark of this thing we call democracy, and I cast my ballot with only one sure name in mind. That name I wrote in a single line in the senators list, and then I put huge Xs on the rest.

Many people I know know that I am going to vote for only one candidate in the recent election. I could have appreciated any reaction suggesting I was being "too picky" or "too choosy" but frustratingly, what people usually tell me is that my vote would be sayang. It's an opportunity missed, they would reprimand me, with a patriotic tone as if encouraging people to write names in the ballot is nationalism defined. Exercise your right was their mantra in the meantime, and I think they were not wrong in pulling people out of their apathy to take a few minutes (or hours) of their sorry lives to make the future of this equally sorry country even sorrier.

I thought it was funny. Of course, I did exercise my right to suffrage. And my almost empty ballot contained a vote well-spent. I think more than writing names, it's about bestowing the power to make or break this nation on a certain person. I refused to vote for the lesser evil. I did not vote just because a candidate is "winnable", or out of fear that I'd be left out of the bandwagon. I voted for only one, the one I would allow to make decisions on my behalf, to govern me. Not because he was less rotten from the decomposing lot.

I think that's democratic enough.

Faith, Hope & Trick.

Thanks to my brother who's been downloading copies of Buffy's Season 8 (in comic books my friends!), I have the coolest BtVS artwork ever. Doesn't show B, but features the more kick-ass slayer in Slayerville.

Isn't she nice?;-)

How is it possible to really, REALLY like someone who absolutely annoys and irritates you?

UP is just plain majestic. No place else in Metro Manila can beat a Sunday morning in its Diliman campus, when the admin closes the Academic Oval from vehicles officially transforming the place into the most relaxing public park in town. Me and Zsa was there to jog two Sundays ago, after doing three rounds in the Ateneo campus. Of course, it too was beautiful, but it seemed more lonely, more "artificial" so to speak. The trees were bigger in UP and the air was way cooler. There were families having picnics, fathers teaching their sons how to ride a bike, a group doing tai-chi or kung-fu, small girls playing tag under the shade of the magnificent acacia trees, hunks jogging in threes, college friends who I recognize but pretend not to, a guy in his 40's playing golf in the small patch of green beside the phallic Carillion (I didn't know there were holes there), and a weird guy taking videos of me and Zsa and God knows who else.

Two days ago I caught up with a friend from college on my way to the office from an "official" business in UP. It's been two years since we last saw each other, and neither of us appeared surprised of the changes in ourselves. He still looked the way he was in college, though with longer hair, while I, still in my tattered pants and five-year-old shirts. Neither of us looked corporate-y, we looked as if we just bumped into each other on our way to our Sociological Theory class. In short, pretty much nothing changed. Appearance-wise, at least.

We decided to grab some snack to catch up, not so much with each other, but more to trade chismis on how our other blockmates are doing. Apparently, there's not much to hear; almost everyone's been complaining about work, about the corporate environment (where they mostly work), and how our major failed to prepare us for the outside world. I come to think of it and I realize, how the world is right now is precisely what we Sociology majors are trained to change, to analyze from a critical point of view, so I guess the sentiments are expected. We are not supposed to go with the flow and blend into the money-making crowd. We were raised to look like messiahs but we aren't, of course . Not yet.

My friend still bums around, and still relies on his parents' sustenance to make the day. He says he's quite happy with it, he gets all the time to do things he'll otherwise not be able to do. He gets to read books that interests him, blog his thoughts whenever he feels like it, go to some place he's never been whenever he wants to. He refuses to be slaved around by any "need-to-be" which, he argues, is the real reason for my blockmates' whining. I tell him I now live separately from my parents, and has to live entirely by my bi-monthly wage. I am starting to get bored at work, which does not really pay well to liven me up even during paydays. But I'm sticking with it, I tell him, because I believe will learn from it. At first I thought I sounded more mature than him but now, two days later, I'm having second thoughts.
***
Photo shows the common kitchen in our boarding house. Dainty.

I'm loving Elliot Smith. I asked my colleague to give me some really depressing songs, because the ones I have are already losing their sad value. I mean, Damien Rice and Rufus Wainwright are heroes, but after listening to them non-stop during the Holy Week break, you're going to look for someone else to kill you. Mel gave me her iPod while Say Yes was playing in it. Now I think I can choke myself to death.

I like Waltz #2 and Say Yes. I'm never gonna know you now, but I'm gonna love you anyhow.

Cheers for Anya

Wherever she is now, I bet Anya's having the time of her life. The occassion suggests she'll be surrounded by images and models of her favorite creatures, if not the real deal themselves.

***

I am amazed that a government-owned and controlled network about to go kaput would invest on a reality show that caters to... no one, really. At least in our context. I was watching Heroes in RPN 9 (Sundays, 8PM) when cheat-princess and gold-digger extraordinaire Ruffa Gutierrez flashed in the tube, apparently as the host of the Philippines' own Top Model search. I could understand the US having an annual search, seeing how the place is essentially the capital of the fashion world and where, if I need to state the obvious, models usually work. There's also an Australian search but, well, we all know how they would like to be America not-quite.

Oh yes, I remember. We still have that obsession, don't we? Still the little brown brothers although this time, we're gonna be whiter. With Silka- and Biolink-induced vengeance. Labor officials keep blaming the lack of sufficient infrastructure (read: industries) that will absorb the multitudes of employees-to-be schools churn out each year. I think aspiring "models" should really look where they're headed before going all out in public humiliation camp that is reality TV. If ever there's a need, I think it should be a search for the Philippines' Modeling and Fashion industry. I mean a real industry, not the Tim Yap club; and one that has real workers in it, not just a bunch of pretty but ultimatey untalented rich kids.

***

Happy Easter everyone!

Amends

The lent is upon us, and everyone seems to be in pensive mood. The other day, our office had a recollection of some sort led by a Jesuit scholastic who does not seem to know where his commas and pauses should be. We were made to say sorry to the three people we strongly feel we should say sorry to, and thank those we should. But we didn't exactly say them: suffice to say it involved band-aids and cake candles. Wisecracks and okrayan sessions are especially brutal in our office, but it seems everyone is making an effort not be horrible this week. I better enjoy it while it lasts.

I need this break. Need to sort myself and think out some things. While I've already gotten over its supposed mystical significance, I welcome the quiet solace of the days ahead.