My Two Knuts #2: The Last Week Before The BER Months

"My Two Knuts" is a blog series featuring snippets a.k.a watered down version of my thoughts. I made it short for those who have long-blog-deficit disorder. Hence, this may read like a Twitter feed. By the way, “knuts” are coins in our magical world.



An Inconvenient Weather

Weather has been really weird this year. Three times already that my place here in QC almost got flooded because the nearby creek overflowed (I am on the second floor but the parking is at ground level so Ash is in danger). Yesterday, I left the office at 1PM and it felt like Sahara Desert has relocated to Manila. Then suddenly at 5PM all hell broke loose, the rains pounded hard and it felt like I was in New Orleans and not Ortigas. Traffic was like the Linkin Park song. Crawling. It took me an hour longer to go home.



Penny for Your Pages

For book junkies, go visit Booksale at Waltermart Munoz. No, I don’t own stocks to that place. I’ve been there twice and I was amazed at their collection. They have the “keepers” like Harry Potter, Artemis Fowl and even unabridged versions of the classics (Dracula). I have to stop myself from purchasing an entire bookshelf. My limit is three and it was difficult decision to narrow it down. Last time I bought three hard-to-find Anita Shreve books at less than 100 pesos each (even National don't have these books). This time, I have to tear myself away from the hardbound Donald Trump book and bought comedy books for my Mom. Sniff, sniff.

Your Wrong (Sic)

John Mayer tweeted last week that most people are confused by “your” and “you’re.” I was looking at new CD releases and saw that Christian Bautista has released a greatest hits CD (no surprise coz he transferred record labels). The playlist includes Your Still You, which I assumed is his version of Josh Groban’s You’re Still You. Minus the apostrophe and the E.




More Deaths

What’s with this year? A lot of famous people are dying. Today Adam Goldstein or more popularly known as DJ AM was found dead. Reports pointed to drug overdose. The irony is that he survived a plane crash a few years back. This reminds me of the movie Final Destination.



His last tweet on Aug 25: "New york, new york. Big city of dreams, but everything in new york aint always what it seems."

Not to be insensitive but I have little sympathy for people who die from prescription drug overdose.

Organized Clutter

I can be as organized as a bee (huh?) if I wanted to. Problem is I don’t have the time. Which is a chicken-egg statement because time is something to have to organize as well. Hopefully this long weekend, I will have less clutter in my life. I’m excited to do some shopping...storage box shopping.



Thumbs Up

We used to play thumb wresting as kids. But somebody took it further:



Cold As A Ber

In a few hours it will be the –Ber months. The busiest but most fun time of the year. Woot hooh! Does this mean that we will be hearing Christmas songs sometime soon? My first Christmas wish: no political jingles to the tune of Christmas songs. And no Christmas remix of No-bah-dy no-bah-by but chu!

Please.

Quotables

Paulo Coehlo once said: Don’t try to be safe when you write. Just be honest, because truth protects you.

A famous actor said: Those people without Twitter accounts are losers.

Who am I to disagree. Wink, wink.

Pensieve #3: The I.Y.S.

Pensieve is a blog series which features short and often funny past-life captures. Dip your head into this Pensieve and revisit the murky waters of my memory.



I don’t know if the acronym means anything to you. It was a cool fad during the later part of my grade school years and lasted way into our high school years. IYS stands for International Youth Service.

Long before email and online friends, there was mail (now called snail mail) and pen pals or pen friends. I will use “pen friends” because “pen pals” is more colloquial, they are the ones you see at the back pages of comics and magazine, together with the want ads.

IYS is a paid pen friend service based in Finland. You sign a form requesting a pen friend, enumerate four possible countries (where you want your friend to come from) and pay 25 pesos (equivalent to maybe 150 pesos if you factor in inflation). A month after, you will get a name with a legit address and the rest, as they say, is juvenile international correspondence history.



I remember that to avoid the extra postal charge for sending money as payment, we will place the money between carbon papers so that the postal service will not decipher the pesos inside. And seal it with a prayer that the form and money will find its way to Finland.

There is even an IYS promo wherein if you get 10 people to sign-up (and pay), you will get a pen friend for free. Or sometimes, you will get a mail from out the blue. Meaning, IYS sent your name to someone who paid for a pen friend.

Other than books, writing to my pen friends was the hobby of my growing up years. It reached a point when I had ten pen friends at the same time, mostly from Europe. I even had two from Czechoslovakia; only because you get bragging rights for having a friend in a country most people cannot even spell. I can still remember some of their names. There is Renata Kabelkova (the correct spelling of her surname escapes me) from Czechoslovakia who sent me a photo of herself (in black and white glory) as a kid feeding a swan in a pond. There’s Liz Smith from England who will send me stick chewing gums (which I never ate, of course) in her letters and who gave me a UK calendar as a Christmas present.

Back then, we asked Santa for the possibility of our pen friend visiting the Philippines. I have ten chances for this dream to come true. A child can dream, right? I was under the impression then that anyone with blond hair and blue eyes are filthy rich.

I remember that some of my pen friend’s English are really bad. This served as my training ground for the editing jobs I will handle later in life. I also remember people saying IYS is a hoax and only a roomful of people are writing those letters. True or not, those letters became my elixir of life back then. I am getting letters almost every week and the distinctive roar of the mailman’s motorcycle infuses excitement onto the boring days of my pre-pubescent period.

Maybe one of these days, I will search for my old pen friends online and see if they still remember me. The boy from the Philippines (a country they often misspell; yes, like Czechoslovakia) who writes in almost perfect English, has nice cursive and loves to send post cards featuring beaches and mountains.

A boy who saves his allowance just to buy stationary, post cards and postage stamps. Just to be able to touch a life on the other side of the world.



Update: I tried looking photos of IYS for this blog. It was then that I discovered that IYS closed down June of 2008. Internet killed the pen-and-paper star.

The Curse Of Angels

It’s the middle of a 3-day weekend and I am lost in thought. I just finished reading The Angel’s Game, a book that took me almost two months to peruse because I want to relish and cherish every turn of the page.



A third into reading its 440 pages, I have admitted that this is one of the best books I have read. Even if parts of the epilogue were agonizing to read, I was almost sorry to reach the final page. By this time I already cared too much for the characters, like old friends, which makes parting with them (and the book) such a sweet sorrow.

For once, I cannot bring myself to write a synopsis. So many things have happened, both glorious and shameful that to squeeze it in a few words will be offensive. And the fact that the beauty of this book lies, first and foremost, in its string of words. The book is a masterpiece in a lot of ways – the plot embraces you from the first paragraph, the suspense is laid thick and smothers and the poignant parts are cruel in its emotive intensity.

Carlos Ruiz Zafon now belongs to the stratosphere of writers I look up to. His greatest talent is the way he transverses the spectrum of love and tragedy, of human spirit and weakness. He marries heaven and hell and he is adept at romanticizing despair and desensitizing pleasure so that the reader is left in a highly taunt limbo.

His prose and command of words is enviable. Like a painter who nitpicks his pantone of colors, he carefully weaves his words to create a literary pattern that is inimitable and stirring. Even the arrival of day or night becomes an occasion when subjected to his enchanting style.

My mind is numb from the thousand thoughts and emotions that this book has awakened. I’ve said before that this book hits too close to home. And I am drunk with the realization and inspiration.

Zafon said that each book has the soul of the writer and the souls of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. I submitted my soul blindingly to this book and came out enriched in the process.

I dream that one day I will be able to write a book this hauntingly unforgettable. I have come to realize that this is my only shot at immortality. I will pray to hell, if that’s what it takes.

My sincerest thanks to MB. You are the Senor Sempere to my David, and showing me this book is reminiscent of how David was shown the Lux Aeterna in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. His life was never the same again. And so is mine.

***

I smiled bitterly, a defeated man pitifully begging a God in whom he had never trusted. I looked around at the holy site filled with nothing but ruins and ashes, emptiness and loneliness, and knew that I would go back and fetch her every night, with no more miracle or blessing than my own determination to tear her away from that infatuated doctor. I would set fire to the sanatorium rather than allow anyone to touch her again. I would take her home and die by her side. Hatred and anger would light my way.

- An excerpt from The Angel’s Game

***

The Angels’ Game is actually the sequel to The Shadow Of The Wind. I already bought the first book but somehow I cannot bring myself to read it just yet. Because the last book is still holding me in a tight embrace.

The Heatseekers (August 19, 2009)

It’s been almost two months since I updated the Heatseekers. I was either too busy or too few new songs have registered on my pop-o-meter lately.

Anyway, here are 10 news songs that are on repeat mode on my playlist and are current or future chartbusters:



• Found (Phillip LaRue) - HOT PICK!
• Notion (Kings of Leon)
• Patron Tequila (Keri Hilson feat. T-Pain and Lil John)
• Good Girls Go Bad (Cobra Starship feat Leighton Meester)
• I Quit, I Quit, I Quit (The Click Five)
• Fallin’ For You (Colbie Caillat)
• Roll The Credits (Paula De Anda)
• I Need A Girl (Trey Songz)
• Love Drunk (Boys Like Girls)
• Already Gone (Kelly Clarkson)


***

Speaking of Already Gone, Kelly Clarkson and Beyonce are in a catfight and caught in the middle is songwriter Ryan Tedder (of OneRepublic). The two divas are complaining that their songs Halo (Beyonce’s) and Already Gone sound too much alike. Which is really no surprise because Ryan penned both songs.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have noticed the similarity if they didn’t make a big deal out of it (marketing ploy?). Also because I never really liked Halo. The chorus is very Beyonce: shallow and repetitive (she is always at a loss for words/lyrics).

Moral of the story: Be real and “creative” artists. Compose your own songs so you are not in the mercy of producers and songwriters. Hay naku!

***

Lady Gaga, a recent Philippine visitor, is being touted as the new first lady of pop. I won’t argue with that because she has amassed five hits from her debut album The Fame. That’s no easy feat. But where does that place Katy Perry?

Stripped of her glitz and glam, I would think that Lady Gaga has ample talent. But I’m almost sorry for her because being a pop phenomenon is self-destructing. They need to work double to sustain such interest and avoid being flashes in the pan. Think Britney.

She should also improve her interview skills; she responds robotically and comes off as a tad too phony. Like she was bored and tired. Well, being the new first lady of pop may be tiring.

***

It was disarming to see little girls sing and gyrate to Beyonce's Single Ladies. I saw it one time too many in children’s parties.

I have to again brace myself. Because the same little girls are now dancing to Nobody. Both English and Korean versions.

Where is Sandara Parks when we needed her?

***

What’s with the new Pussycat Doll song (Hush Hush) being promoted as “by the Pussycat Dolls feat. Nicole Scherzinger." Isn’t that already obvious? Like saying Fall Out Boy feat. Pete Wenz or Black Eyed Peas feat. Fergie. Or maybe this is one of the songs that were supposed to be in Nicole’s solo album that never saw the light of day.

The title is a dead giveaway.

By the way, SNN said that Nicole has backed out of Manny Pacquiao's new movie. Yeah, right. Like she was really "in." Law of probability says that a famous star like her should be making a B-rate Hollywood movie. Not a B-rate Filipino movie.

***

Sorry, I am in my TMZ mode.

Comedy Of Errors

I am a tad too late in posting this (I wasn't privy to the net for the past two days). The whole country already went gaga over this picture but I still want to immortalize this so-funny-you-want-it-to-come-true typographical booboo.

Something's wrong with this picture and caption (as seen in The Manila Bulletin, the country's self-confessed pro-government newspaper):



Hmmm...

Ok...I get it! There's no way they could have held Arroyo's funeral at the Manila Cathedral.

Haha.


***

Like what happened to Michael Jackson recently, the web was abuzz with shoutouts, searches, tweets and videos connected to Cory after her death.

How many Filipinos can claim that they became #1 on Yahoo's Top Searches. Or they became a Twitter trending topic. And for something honorable/uplifting at that.

Cory is alive in all of us Filipinos.

An Outburst Of Yellow

I never knew the day will come when watching the news and reading the newspaper will be painful. And I never knew that I was capable of grieving for someone whose only direct connection to me is that we share the same Motherland. We are both Filipinos.

Like yellow confetti falling happily from the skies, grandiose verses and superlatives have rained on this irreplaceable woman and icon; probably the finest Filipina to ever walk this earth. I have said my piece in a salutatory blog I posted barely three hours from the announcement of her death last August 1. While I want to write more accolades in a bid to immortalize her greatness, I have conceded that whatever I write will not even come close to the poignant eulogies and moving speeches of those who have personally known and felt Cory’s magic. That and the fact that no words can do justice and describe her impact to us; as individuals and as a nation.

I am just an ordinary Filipino grappling to survive the harsh realities in this land of a thousand contradictions. And for the past days, I have walked with sadness draped over my shoulders and a lump in my throat that returns with each constant reminder. The yellow ribbon that decorates the corner of the TV every time I watch the ABS-CBN channels. The endless pictures of people enduring everything just to express their respect and admiration. The tender stories from her children that can make a rock burst into tears. Her funeral cortege (juxtaposed with that of her celebrated husband’s) that is both eerie and serene. Of history repeating itself and coming full circle to remind us of the events 26 years ago.

Frozen images of a nation again united by pristine grief and sombre celebration.

Seeing the videos from the 1980’s made me take stock of my being Filipino. I’ll admit that my patriotism is highly questionable. Cynicism and scepticism are the only passions that flow in my blood. But in being reminded of Ninoy, EDSA and Cory’s glory days, a fervent glow in my heart is once again ignited. Sadly it took Cory’s death and her legacy for me to realize kay sarap palang maging Filipino (it feels good to be a Filipino).



In mourning for Cory, we are grieving for ourselves more than we care to admit. She represents a dream, a rarity. The most excruciating part is that she is someone we might never again see in this lifetime. For a country that has made a lot of “wrongs,” it is heart-rending to realize that we once made a “right” and now have lost it.

But we need not lose it. It’s up to us to make her memory and legacy live on.

I never cared for politics, or history for that matter. I quit my previous job (eight years ago) because I got tired of writing and researching history textbooks. Current events bore me and I skip the front pages of the newspaper and dive into the Lifestyle and Entertainment sections. As a graduate of the state university known for its ideology and nationalistic dogma, I was a sterling and disgraceful example of apathy and nonchalance.

But from here on, the sight of yellow will be my call to heed and take action. Even in my own little way. The events of the last few days gave new meaning to the word “citizen.”

I hope the outburst of yellow will again be seen in the coming elections. To remind us all of our responsibility and what we can collectively do as a nation. The outpouring of support for Cory is proof enough of what we can do should we put our hearts into it. THE FILIPINOS ARE GOOD AND WE CAN STILL DO GOOD. History is our kind witness and teacher; change is our potent weapon. As a nation, we can rise from the shadows of our mistakes and triumph over adversary and challenges. Our innate goodness can prevail over the permutations of evil. Even in death, Cory showed us the way and it is up to us to follow it.

Goodbye, Cory and thank you. May your yellow forever shine upon this nation and inspire an outbreak of greatness and pride in the years to come.



***

Originally posted at www.barnieboi.blogspot.com.

My Cory Tribute: The Political Saint Who Made Us See Yellow

August started on a sad note. Still half-asleep, I was fixing my bed when I got a text from my cousin: What happened to Cory? Is she dead? I hastily turned the TV on and I knew it before I saw the actual headline. Because Channel 2 is on a special news programming. And they only do that when something historic has happened.

And history it is. On the dawn of the first of August, the lights went out on the remaining beacon of Philippine democracy.



To us, she was the first female president and the mother of democracy. To the world she was the Woman Of The Year in the 80’s (a distinction that propelled her to the ranks of Queen Elizabeth) and an icon of democracy who inspired numerous non-violent demonstrations, even in repressed Europe, the bastion of autocracy.



She made us see yellow in a different way. For a country whose political climate is forever bleak and despondent, yellow means hope.

We know her life story because it became our country’s history. And it reads like a Cinderella fairy tale. A plain and quiet housewife who was thrust into the seat of the nation’s power. And tried her darn best to do a good job while at it.

I was just a kid during the Edsa revolution but even then, I have already felt the huge Aquino impact. I don’t know if I have seen her in person. I think I have, but I can’t remember exactly when and where.

In an unforgiving world where we are just as good as our last triumph, Cory was proof that goodness can prevail over the permutations of evil. We don’t remember the scandals that marred her 6-year reign; nor her misguided ambitions. She is best remembered for her honourable intentions (despite her limitations) to make this country better. How she married State and Church to make a potent synergy; which at the very least saved us and pulled us through those trying times.

Of course, the aura of humility, calmness and sanctity that never left her until the very end. She was saintly in her demeanour and I only saw this in one other person. Pope John Paul II.

The current administration has a lot to learn from her. For I cannot remember anything good or earnest from Cory’s contemporary (except her funny mole). Cory also leaves a legacy that the current president can only dream of.

If there is one thing I admired about Cory, it is her faith. And this is a huge compliment coming from me, an unwavering cynic of Catholic faith and its hypocrisy. Cory’s faith is rooted in sincerity and altruism. The way spiritual faith SHOULD be.



In the next hundred years, her smiling glass-rimmed face and the yellow ribbon will remain powerful symbols of hope and democracy. Not unlike her celebrated husband. They will be revered as modern-day heroes and deservingly so.

This country is always one breath away from political unrest. Cory, our political saint is gone. She will not be there to march or pray with us. As a nation, we have to learn from her legacy and the bitter lessons of our history.

This blog serves as my yellow ribbon.



***

Hours after the official announcement, the international news networks were already tolling their bells to the tone of Cory’s demise:







***

Original post on www.barnieboi.blogspot.com.