Dispatches From The Fringes Of Typhoon Ondoy

On the 23rd of September (Wednesday), PAGASA meteorologists noted the presence of a low pressure area on the east of Luzon. They initially said it will not develop into a full-blown typhoon. By Friday evening (September 25), PAGASA released the first typhoon signals. Signal numbers 1 and 2. Quite common and nothing alarming for a country that is frequented by typhoons almost year-round.

Tropical Storm (technically not typhoon) Ondoy made landfall between Quezon and Aurora on Friday night. In the next 12 hours, it will dump rains that will submerge huge parts of Luzon, including Manila. Submerge will be an understatement; for this will be one of the worst rain and floods in recent memory. More than 50 people will die and the damage will be unspeakable.

I went home Friday evening earlier than usual to watch the finale of my favorite soap. Moderate rain was falling when we got out of the office. Upon arriving home, I saw the newsbreak about the typhoon signals. I am sensitive to news like this because I live near a creek which has overflowed three times in the past months. I watched TV and packed my weekend bag during commercial breaks; just in case I have to go home to Bulacan in a hurry. I was able to do a few laundry, tidied my room and even installed new kitchen shelves. The rain has been falling in varying intensity and I panic when it pounds mightily for more than 20 minutes.

I finished my housework by midnight. I am ready to leave any time. I opted not to dress in sleepwear and chose instead jogging pants and an old shirt. A hooded jacket was handy in case I need to go out quickly. I braved the rains and placed most of my stuff in the car. I set my alarm to scream every hour so I can check the river. I plan to sleep and I was hoping I can wait until the first light of morning to vacate the place.

By 2AM my alarm went off. Rain was still heavy and I checked the river. The horror. It has reached the alarming level (when the tall grasses on the side of the river disappears). I decided to leave before the roads become impassable. I called my other neighbour who owns a car and told him I’ll go. He said he’ll follow later. The rains were quite heavy but the drive to Bulacan was bearable. Since it was 2AM, there are few cars on the road so I was able to easily avoid the flooded sides of the street. I was at home past 3AM and was asleep before 5AM.

I woke up at 9:30 and started to tweet and check Facebook via mobile, unwary of the falling rains. I was mulling over finishing the paperback I was reading or doing a DVD marathon. I even watched AC360 on CNN.

By midday, the local news turned ugly. The images and footages streamed on TV news were abysmal and horrific, to say the least. Raging rivers of flood waters where main roads once were. Entire houses swept away by the current. People standing on the rooftops of their 2-storey houses and waving to be rescued. Parts of EDSA, usually safe during heavy rains, are flooded. Boats on EDSA getting the passengers from stranded buses. Vehicles on a standstill on the main highway, mostly abandoned, just a breath away from the flowing river of flood. In Marikina, floods have stacked vehicles on top of each other. People using rubber tires to rescue stranded people.










I texted my sister the updates on TV and advised her not to go home. She’ll be safer in her office than defying the nightmarish traffic and foul weather.

The floods spared no one; even the elite and famous living in posh villages are rendered vulnerable. In a way, tragedy has a way of equalizing us. When the floods do subside, muck and mud covered everything. This is something I have seen before on CNN. During the onslaught of the Christmas 2004 tsunami across Asia and the wrath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans.

But when tragedy hits this close to home, nothing can prepare you. The images hurt. You think about your friends in the affected areas. You think how it could have been you.



The rainfall on Saturday is said to be the worst since 1967. Thirty day’s worth of rain falling in the span of six hours. Not unlike a tsunami swell, the floodwaters rose too quickly. I don’t think people have time to salvage what worldly possessions they have. When you’re in the middle of this biblical calamity, nothing matters but Life. To live and make it through.

Watching the newsfeeds, it’s disarming to see smiling faces and people waving at the cameras. Or children swimming in the floods. This, amidst the background of a cruel disaster scene. This says so much about a country that has survived a lot of natural and political catastrophes.

I am writing this blog on Sunday morning. A weak sun is fighting with the rain clouds but the rains take over once in a while. Last night, Typhoon Ondoy passed nearby Pampanga and the wind and rains here were frightening.

I don’t know what happened to my room in Quezon City (to call it a condo would make it too fancy). I am preparing for the worst; the floodwaters might have submerged the second floor and washed over my things. I lost contact with my neighbour and the last text he sent said that the flood was already above human height.

I am thankful that I am writing this blog from a third-person perspective. The horrorscapes I painted are what I saw on TV news. I know this will pale in comparison to stories from friends who experienced first-hand the blunt of the storm. While I am apprehensive about my QC unit, I am just thankful that my family is safe and our main house in Bulacan is firm and far from the waterways. My relatives and most of my dear friends are safe. While the storm was blowing over, I was dry in bed; with food, water and electricity. Even if the stuff I have in my QC room will be ruined by the floodwater, my car is intact. I am thankful that at least I was not there and I am not one of the people standing wet on the rooftops.

In the end, the power of a storm is measured not by the gust of its wind or the volume of its rainfall. It’s the lives lost...the lives forever changed. The memories of yesterday and the hopes of tomorrow obliterated by the weight of water.

The aftermath maybe more challenging that the actual storm itself. The rebuilding more dire and painful.

In times like this, our countrymen need all the help they can get. I have posted below pertinent information about charities we can support. I encourage everyone to do their part. Just think how blessed you are that you are not one of those people needing help.

ABS-CBN Foundation / Sagip Kapamilya:
BDO Account Number: 56300200111
Hotline: 413-2667
US Toll Free Number: 1-800-5272820
In-Kind Donations accepted at 13 Examiner St., West Triangle Homes, Quezon City

Red Cross:
Hotlines:143 / 527-0000
You can donate to Red Cross via text:
For Globe subscribers, please text RED <5,25,50,100 or 300> to 2899
For Smart, please text RED <10,25,50, or 100> to 4483.

***

Update: The outpouring of messages and concern on the web is touching. Philippines, Typhoon Ondoy and Red Cross became trending topics. Even international stars like Paulo Coehlo, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are asking for help on our behalf.

Let us do our part.

So Funny I Drooled

The day has come that a local movie tickled my funny bones so hard that I drooled.

It’s 1AM and I am still wide awake from the adrenaline rush brought about by laughing incessantly in the last two hours. Friends know that it takes the corniest or the smartest of things to make me laugh real hard. And when I do, the laugh attack is so involuntary (like heartbeat) and lasts for several minutes, even hours.

I am not a big fan of comedies, especially the slapsticks. As far as I can remember, I have never watched an Adam Sandler or Ben Stiller movie (I prefer Steve Carell). And I hate Tito, Vic and Joey and noontime variety shows. I prefer high-brow comedy...the likes of SNL and Friends.

So it's Friday and the start of an OFFICIAL long weekend. We decided to jumpstart the three days off with a bang. We trooped to Trinoma to watch a movie we’ve wanted to watch since last week. Peer pressure... those who already watched it gave us a you’re-so-2000-and-late look.

I’m talking about Kimmy Dora. Starring the super/mega comedienne for all seasons Eugene Domingo.



The plot is simple. Kimmy and Dora are twins on the opposite sides of the spectrum. Kimmy is accomplished and evil...straight out of The Devil Wears Prada. Dora is good-natured but Pentium 1 (read: slow). The twins are vying for the affection of their father (Ariel Ureta) and Johnson (Dingdong Dantes). Click HERE if you want to see the trailer.

The movie has a melodramatic twist towards the end but this is overruled by the avalanche of hilarious mishaps and antics. I swear, laughter literally rocked the cinema (it’s the movie's second week and the LFS screening is still full. Word of mouth maybe...and peer pressure). I think even my chair was howling with laughter. There were even times when the audience would clap and cheer with the side-splitting moments.

Yes, at one point I was laughing so hard that saliva escaped from my mouth (good thing the audience was also laughing so they didn’t hear the splash). TMI moment. And on the way home, I would remember the amusing scenes and I will end up laughing by myself. Even the thought of Peter Piper and the pickled pepper is enough to send me LOL and ROFLMAO. And that Dora-pretending-to-be-Kimmy sequence is immortally droll!

Eugene Domingo (who often plays sidekick to other comediennes but would always steal the limelight from them), is well-deserving of this starring role. She is a seamless actress with impeccable comedic timing and nuance. Her performance here is worthy of a best actress nod (if only comedies are not overlooked in acting derbies).

This movie first made headline when it was revealed that Piolo Pascual produced it. Which explains the splattering of cameos (the most unnerving of which was Jinggoy Estrada). But I’d say that it was Eugene’s performance which scored the home run to make this a runaway hit.

I give this movie an A+ for halving my stress level. Even the bloopers towards the closing credits gave the audience a final laughing frenzy. Everyone went out of the cinema still smiling.

But the riotous hilarity didn’t end there. Upon exit, we heard someone say: "Grabe ha, ang daming extra na artista. Sino ba dun si Eugene Domingo?"

Bravo!

Kanye At The VMAs: Heartless

Last Monday, the web sizzled with news that Kanye West hijacked Taylor Swift’s speech during the MTV Video Music Awards. When Taylor (currently the biggest selling artist of 2009) was onstage accepting her Best Female Video award for You Belong With Me, Kanye grabbed the mic and said that Beyonce should have won the award. Towards the end of the program, Beyonce (who was ultimately awarded the top Video Of The Year prize) would call Taylor again onstage to reclaim her moment.



Celebrities quickly rallied against Kanye. Pink, a fellow nominee in Taylor’s category called Kanye “the biggest piece of sh*t on earth.” Kelly Clarkson blogged: The best part of this evening is that you weren’t even up for THIS award and yet you still have a problem with the outcome. I was actually nominated in the same category that Taylor won and I was excited for her...so why can’t you be??

Later, Kanye would have a lucid interval and apologize profusely. But what for? As OneRepublic would sing: it’s too late to apologize.

I want to just laugh this off as an awards show antic (remember the Bruno-Eminem moment at the MTV Movie Awards?). It’s something I expected from Kanye. He has a long history of forcing his opinions in the most inappropriate of occasions.

I never cared for Kanye and I know I never will. I like some of his songs but I am not really a fan. True, he has the talent that makes him standout in the music world. But that talent is overshadowed by his shameless attitude. I think rappers need to market themselves via huge egos (again in reference to Eminem). They need it to assert their street cred. But Kanye is a really bringing “egotistic” to an insensitive and tasteless new level.

I don’t think Kanye did this to show his admiration for Beyonce (she was obviously embarrassed). He did this for himself. Kanye thinks his opinion rises above everybody else’s. FYI, Kanye, awards like the MTV Awards are fans-centric. You are free to make your own KW Awards where you can venerate all your biases.



Now I can’t help wondering if Beyonce’s song Ego was inspired by Kanye.

I am an advocate of respecting people’s opinions. But here’s my two cents: I am not impressed at all by Beyonce’s Single Ladies video. While the song is catchy, all she does in the video is gyrate in stilettos and leotards. Can someone please tell me what is groundbreaking in that (or “one of the best videos of all time,” to quote Kanye)?

This new development in Kanye’s EGO-logy suddenly renders his song Heartless as autobiographical.

Falling Rain, Dripping Thoughts

It’s Sunday and I just woke up from a rewarding sleep feeling superbly rested. I’m beginning to crave these weekend rests. I vowed to myself that I will work like a workaholic (huh?) from M-F; but weekends will be decidedly quiet and uneventful. And I’ve been successful for the past months (insert pat to the back). So quit asking me why I seem happy and glowing (it’s not about the four letter word).

The weather is halfway agreeable. The rains over the evening left everything damp and cold. But a weak sunshine is now arguing with the still-heavy clouds. I survived the entire night without the help of a fan and I remember waking up to look for a blanket. It was unusually chilly. But I like it that way.

The bed is still invitingly cold (and I don’t mean that as a metaphor) so I decided to linger some more and read. I’m a third into an Anita Shreve novel and her prose really has a hypnotic effect. The story revolves around a reunion of college friends and it made me crave to be around my long-time friends. The ones who promote no animosity even if I barely see them in years.

Last night I dreamt that I was watching a movie with my Marketing buddies and then an earthquake struck. Pandemonium ensued inside the dark theatre. Surprisingly I remained calm and nailed to my seat. Like it was part of the entire movie (was it a 4D cinema?). I don’t remember what happened next but I wonder what that meant. Ever since the July 16 and Mt. Pinatubo days of my teenage years, I’ve been a little paranoid about earthquakes. But more thrilled than fearful of it. I may be a geologist in my previous life (which explains why at such a young age I know the atlas like the back of my hand and I can identify the tectonic plates and volcanoes...geek alert!).

The problem with rains and cold weather is that the small meals I take will not last as long; I am perpetually hungry. Also, since I am on water therapy, I feel the need to pee more often. This is really inconvenient during long drives (by this time the restrooms at gas stations materialize like oasis in the desert). Plus, the rains make me deviate from water and glug down a decadent amount of coffee.

The good thing about the rains is that it showers me with inspiration. I just want to stay locked in my room and read and write. Maybe if it rains for 40 days, I can write an entire book. Well, assuming it does not lead of a flood of Noah’s proportions.



Something in the rains also makes me listen to sad music. I’ve listened to Jeff Buckley’s The Last Goodbye thrice in the last hour alone. I’ll try Sarah McLachlan’s Mary next; to see if it can amplify the gloom. (Shoutout to A: You are not allowed to say that I am again sad and tortured. Blame it on the rains and the weatherman). Methinks the rains awaken the sentimental fool in all of us. Maybe, in wearing our pains in our sleeves, we wish for the rains to wash it away. R said it is because the rain represents our tears. Hmm...makes sense (forget that rain is freshwater and tears are saline). Alphabetically speaking, pain and rain are within arm’s length.

Wait...excuse me, I need to get food again. And pee.

Pensieve #4: Memoirs of 9/11

Exactly eight years ago, we witnessed the most horrific and striking terror attack of our generation. I am a thousand miles away from New York then and now, but still the mere mention of the numbers 9/11 gives me the goosebumps from atrocious memories.



Eight years ago, I came home very late from work. Only my sister was awake and I was having a late dinner in front of the TV. Suddenly there was breaking news about the attacks on the World Trade Center. The first plane has hit the WTC. I was confused for a while; I thought it was a freak accident wherein an airplane crashed into our own World Trade Center (the one in Pasay). Then the second plane hit and I realized that it was the Twin Towers of the WTC in New York. Terror attacks.

I remember calling my sister to watch the shocking news. My dad then joined us, probably woken by our alarmed voices.

The images of the planes hitting WTC are ghastly and horrendous; like an ugly B-rate action movie gone awry. But the exact science and choreography behind the attack brings it closer to a Michael Bay film.

It felt like the advent of World War III. I can’t believe it was happening in the United States, supposedly one of the “safest” places in the world (well, I had the same sentiment during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina).

Days from September 11, 2001, mouths are still open in shock worldwide. I remember news that the devil’s face was seen amidst the smokes of the WTC. And news that this was one of Nostradamus’ predictions.



I remember this freaky circulated email asking you to type in MS Word the supposed flight number of one of the fallen airplanes (Q33 NY), then change the font size to 48 and font to wingdings. The numbers will turn to images of a plane hitting two towers and symbols of death and the star of David. This is, of course, a cross between a hoax and a coincidence (because the flight number is incorrect). But a pretty creative twist anyway.

I remember watching Michael Moore’s Oscar-winning documentary Fahrenheit 9/11. The most memorable scene was the one showing President Bush’s face, who was then reading to elementary students when told about the attacks. Yes, he resumed his reading. Mastercard moment! Priceless.

I remember people saying that the reason Mariah Carey’s Glitter CD flopped was because it was released days after September 11 and it showed the Twin Towers of the WTC in its back cover. An omen perhaps. I remember various pop artists re-recording Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On as a charity single for AIDS. But post-9/11, it became a pop battlecry against terrorism. Music does soothe.



September 11 became one of the darkest days in modern history and forever changed the global landscape in terms of the politics of terrorism. I lost count of how many people perished that day (I think it was over 3,000 people). And I refuse to understand the sick agenda being pushed by the suicide bombers. How can these people think that there is dignity in the killing of innocent lives?

I always believed in finding the beauty in the disaster. But it has been eight years and I still cannot see the sense in all this. No silver lining. No Hollywood ending. Except that somehow, America woke up from its Bush-induced slumber and embraced Obama’s offer of change.

September 11 is a grim reminder of how quickly life can change. I have never been to New York so I don’t have fond memories that are massacred by this absurd tragedy. But as human beings, tragedy is something that connects us all. Like a strand of reluctant DNA. Tragedy also has a lingering power; maybe as a way of reiterating the lessons we have to learn.

Sad to believe that in these modern times where barbarism and primitivism are ancient history, violence and terrorism are still possible options. Oh, sad human nature.

***

Because war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
Picket signs, picket lines
Don’t punish me with brutality
Talk to me, so you can see
What’s going on

The Opposite of Real-Life Fairy Tales

Truth is stranger than fiction. And in this case, LIFE has more drama than soap operas.



It’s 3AM and I woke up with a jolt. Someone is summoning damnation by shouting thunderous curses: “P.I. na buhay to...Argggh!!!” This will be followed by crashing sounds of something breaking. I thought it was a drama on AM radio. And then I realized the sounds were coming from our neighbour. By virtue of proximity of the sound, I concluded it is the neighbours at our back.

Mostly, it was the guy shouting followed by whimpery-in-anger sounds from the girl. The ruckus continued for about 20 minutes. And then total silence. Like it was only a bad dream.

By then, I was already pumped with adrenaline from the wake-up jolt and paranoia (what if they started burning their house) that I cannot go back to sleep. So I just decided to do some work. My Mom said that such fighting scenes from our backdoor neighbours were not uncommon. I’m just lucky that I’m not there often to hear their domestic squabbles.

Come nightfall, I rushed home in hopes of catching Tayong Dalawa (Yes, I’m not ashamed to say I watch this). I just parked and was about to close the gate when I saw my neighbour lingering outside. I said a quick hello but she started some chitchat. I don’t remember what we were talking about; but from out of nowhere, she burst forth with a personal crisis. Oh no.

Let’s hide her under the name Happy (Ligaya, in vernacular. For the sake of irony). Happy found out that her husband has been having a 3-year-old affair. They have been married for 30+ years and their youngest (of three) son just finished college. She discovered the illicit affair when he called her husband during a supposed “overtime” at work. Now, her children are angry with their dad and their house has become unbearable from all the underlying tension.

The plot does thicken. The other woman is the wife of a policeman. Happy has confronted the other woman and even threatened to have her privates ripped or have her killed by her very angry sons. Happy’s husband is already repentant but Happy said her trust has been permanently broken. After 30 years.

Happy even goes on to describe some details of their sex life. I wanted to scream “Stop, T.M.I.!” But I remained unruffled especially at the sight of her tears. Thankfully, she soon apologized for bothering me with her dilemma. After some kind words of wisdom that I could muster (from a singleton who has no idea about marital bliss, or lack therof), I said goodbye.

Upon entering my room, I quickly checked if I have balding head and a moustache. And if Oprah is on my speed dial. But no, I don’t look anywhere near Dr. Phil.



Who needs a soap opera when your next door neighbours are living the sudsy life? I wonder who plays Audrey. I want to meet her. And introduce myself as JR.



P.S. I don’t mean to trivialize these people’s predicament. Notice that I don’t even slam the institution called Marriage (one of my favorite debates). Truth to tell, I feel truly blessed for NOT having these problems. I think they call it single blessedness. Cheers!

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.

Kinatay Sa UP Film Center

No, this is not a gruesome article lifted from a grubby tabloid. This is about the gruesome antics of these moral pundits supposedly appointed by our government.



I read in JZ’s blog that MTRCB has issued a preventive suspension order against UP and the UP Film Center to prevent the screening of Kinatay on July 30. Kinatay is an indie flick that wowed the Cannes crowd and nabbed the Best Director (for Brillante Mendoza) from under Quentin Tarantino and Ang Lee’s noses.

A big what?!?!

It is the year 2009 and it feels like 1984, the year immortalized by George Orwell in his classic dystopian book (from which the TV franchise Big Brother was based).



This MTRCB anomaly is a long-standing debate. I remember back in college, MTRCB was being thrown rotten tomatoes for giving an X rating to multi-awarded films like Belle Epoque, The Piano and Schindler’s List. This became the topic of our term paper in Communication II. We uncovered a lot of articles on the laughable directives set by MTRCB and the consequent petition for its abolition (which is rightful, as we concluded). Our teacher liked our topic/paper so much that he asked for copies of all the articles we used. Which is fine with us because he gave us the ever-elusive 1.0 grade (naks). I have a weird feeling he used them for his books which I often see in the Filipiniana section of the bookstore.

MTRCB fed my urge to be an investigative journalist back then and I vowed that they will be the victim of my first expose.

I hate censorship, especially the misguided one. It insults the intelligence of the people. It makes us all Neanderthals, wherein we will go around and rape each other at the sight of two boobs, instead of only one. Yes, that was the rule. One boob and you’re R-18, two boobs and you’re X. If you do the math... two pairs of boobs will make an XXX.



The irony is that MTRCB only exists to contradict and ridicule itself. Because when they "X" a movie, it makes the movie so controversial that half the population wants to watch it (in turn, the film producers actually adore the MTRCB for giving them free publicity). And in this day and age, there are a lot of means to do that.

I understand the need to censor TV shows for the sake of our kids. But for movies, an R-18 rating for a movie with reasonable sex and gore could have been enough. Or are they saying that even Filipinos 18 and above do not practice prudence and personal judgement? Tsk, tsk...the trappings of being a predominantly Catholic country.

An eye opener to the MTRCB: if a kid wants to watch porn and gore, he can just go to the nearest street corner selling pirated CDs. Or go online. He doesn’t have to go to the UP Film Center and pay 150 pesos to satisfy his raging hormones.

That makes the MTRCB such a big joke.

Just The Two Of Us

This is a classic case of he said, she said.

Just to settle all the arguments and catfights, here are the Top 15 local shows for Total Luzon (not just GMA, pun intended). Luzon accounts for almost two-thirds of the population anyway (and for total Philippines, ABS-CBN maintains a hefty lead). This is AGB Nielsen data for the week of June 28 to July 4.



1. Tayong Dalawa (ABS-CBN) – 30.8%
2. May Bukas Pa (ABS-CBN) – 30.3%
3. Only You (ABS-CBN) – 29.1%
4. Zorro (GMA-7) – 28.6%
5. Totoy Bato (GMA-7) – 27.4%
6. 24 Oras (GMA-7) – 26.9%
7. Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho (GMA-7) – 26%
8. TV Patrol World (ABS-CBN) – 25.3%
9. Eat Bulaga! (GMA-7) – 23.5%
10-11. Adik Sa ‘Yo (GMA-7) – 22.5%
10-11. Mel & Joey (GMA-7) – 22.5%
12. Rated K (ABS-CBN) – 22.3%
13. Imbestigador (GMA-7) – 21.9%
14. Talentadong Pinoy (TV5) – 21.5%
15. Maalaala Mo Kaya (ABS-CBN) – 21.3%

Call me biased, but a clear indicator of a show’s popularity is the conversation and gossip it generates. I don’t hear people talk about Zorro or even Marian (except in FB where she was voted unanimously as the celebrity you want to kick moonward or something like that)

Tayong dalawa na ba? Hindi, only you pa lang. Pero... may bukas pa.

Sobrang cheesy!


***

Bonus: According to haters, this is how Twilight should have ended:



Somewhere, Harry Potter must be giggling.

Pop! Goes My Jaded Heart

Outside, the hard rains began to slither into the night like wet black silk. Inside, the euphoric smell of caffeine caresses my nostrils. The moisture in the air dances to the piped-in bossa music. I was stressing over my white shoes (or sandals, as they would like to advertise it) which has been licked by the raindrops that assaulted us on our way in.

Nicholas Sparks crept into our conversation. I braced myself for the sugar rush.

She said: Do you know that a shadow passes over your eyes when conversation turns a little too mushy?
I said: My eyes are like Shakira’s hips. They don’t lie.
She said: I wonder who has broken you and left you this cynical.
I said: If you see something in my eyes, let’s not overanalyze.
She said: So what kind of girls do you like?
I said: I like girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch.
She said: That’s so LFO.
I said: We’re so not M.F.E.O.
She said: I hope you will stop quoting pop songs.
I said: I will... if you will stop hitting me baby one more time.
She took her shopping bags and left.

Twenty seconds later I realized she didn’t comprehend my humor and sarcasm.

I ran after her and did a Nirvana and some Bryan Adams.

Q-Tips

These are helpful tips I read online or in magazines (Men’s Health is a gold mine of tips). I have tried them all. Guaranteed effective or your money back!

Wax Antiseptic

Hair Wax is better than hair gel in all parameters except one: it is hell to remove or shampoo off. What you do is soap your hair first (with regular bar soap; but I actually use Perla). The soap will dissolve the bond of the wax to your hair. Rinse and proceed with your usual shampoo.


Oral Lessons

When brushing your pearly whites, use a wet toothpaste first. Meaning no toothpaste yet. This will untangle most of the debris from your teeth. Toothpaste (especially here in the Philippines) are so sudsy that it makes toothbrushing “slippery.” Hence, it makes the toothbrush bristle glide smoothly over food particles stuck on your teeth instead of removing it.

See also related tip below.

Being Wise Can Shed Calories

Diet is one of the most misunderstood words in the English dictionary. Said the nutritionist. Diet is not about depriving yourself of food. It is about (Diet Tip #1) eating wisely. Not eating only ruins your metabolism; which defeats the purpose of your dieting.

Diet Tip #2: Listen to your body. Sometimes we think we are hungry when we are just thirsty.

Diet Tip #3: Quell the urge for that after-dinner sweets or midnight snack by brushing your teeth immediately after dinner.


Save Me

Finding it hard to save money from your just-sufficient salary? If you receive a 10-peso coin as loose change, do not spend it but instead place it in a container. You will be surprised at how much you can save without you knowing it or feeling it in your pockets. My 10-peso collection saved me one time when I forgot to withdraw cash.


Charge It To Experience

The USB port might be the techie’s best friend but they are your batteries’ enemies. As much as possible, do not charge phones and MP3 devices through your laptop. Charge it directly to an electrical outlet. Laptop charging is considered secondary (current passes from laptop to your device). This will ultimately ruin the battery life of your precious phones or MP3 players. I should know... autopsy revealed that this was the C.O.D. of my first iPod (RIP).


Goody Two-Shoes


Listen, ladies...You are better off with two pairs of high-quality shoes than four cheap ones. Look what it did to Imelda.

Seriously...buy two good pairs of shoes and alternate it. This will allow your shoes to dry before you use it again.


Corporate Netiquette

In today’s world of social networking and blog diaries, it is wise to keep your work-related sentiments on private profile or invisible mode. Unless you want to receive an angry emoticon from your boss or a shout-out (read as Shout: Out!!!) from HR.

Having said that...try the new Quaker Oatmeal Cookies. Not because I am the PM but because they are really really good (for your tastebuds and for your health)... And for your pockets too, coz it only costs 10 pesos a piece. That's like health for some loose change. Amazing! Unbelievable! Need I say more. Grab it.