Taglish

Long time, no blog.

Ganun talaga siguro. Sometimes you don't feel like blogging. Mahirap i-articulate ang mga bagay na sinungkit pa sa mga kung saang recesses ng puso mo. First, it's hard to do the digging itself. Hindi madaling maghalukay. Second, the idea of labeling it. Minsan, mas masaya na wala na lang label. As Edrik pointed out once, babaliktaran ko lang, it's like having a geek buddy explaining to you all the things that are happening.

But, yeah, blogging is hard to resist. Para kasing may social responsibility ka na sa mga fans mo (hahaha, beat that!). At least a soul or two will bug me for having no blog. Bug to blog. Kumusta naman ang alliteration ko r'un?

Well, what's up with me? I just had a nice phone conversation. Just right for one Sunday afternoon and enough for me to face another challenging week (but wait, Paris is calling, oui!). Kailangan ko rin kasing ubusin 'yung load ko. See, I have 150-euro worth of phone calls! Pero sulit naman sa usapan, sabi ko nga.

Last night, I had an involuntary bar hopping here in Utrecht. My first actually. Surprisingly, my first. I planned just to catch Susie Ibarra (www.susieibarra.com) and her electric kulintang. Or should I say her magic kulintang? She's NY-based and the idea is to combine an artsy/folksy instrument with electronica (synthesizer). It was held at Rasa, a venue for world music. I think I was the only Pinoy in the hall (other than Susie herself) though I saw a Chinese-looking Ryan Cayabyab-ish patron. It was fun. I ended up buying the CD's which I am playing right now. I particularly like the piece "Cotabato City". Malupit ang remix!

Then I was informed that with the ticket, I can also catch two more shows in two other venues. Sundan ko lang daw kung saan pupunta ang mga tao. Fine. Next stop (the third, actually, since I missed the first one before kulintang) is at Ekko bar. It has a reputation of being cool but I haven't been to that place before. I just saw some big, glaring posters of their line-up. The bar is just beside a canal. To go there, from Rasa, I had to bike for a few minutes before crossing a small bridge (which happens to be my favorite spot here in Utrecht and which I accidentally discovered when I was still staying in my first apartment in Spechstraat).

The next band is called "Grizzly Bear". NY-based din, particularly from Brooklyn. Pero mas African ang beat nila. Lion King's Hakuna Matata-ish. The type na masasabi mong "world music" talaga. Masaya rin. At least naka-groove ako nang konti kasi wala namang nakakakilala sa akin dito. Bwahahaha! Singles and soloists, unite (and let's dominate the world!).

Next stop is at SVU Jazz Podium with a female artist named "Sir Alice". For me she's a combination of Bjork, Spice Girls and Robbie Williams. French pop na French pop. Maganda naman ang music at ang daming theatrics! May mga costume changes, props and visual FX. Very brave and kick-ass. Mahal ko na s'ya.

While watching Susie Ibarra doing her stuff, I noticed that the kulintangs look like, err, breasts! Yeah, bastos. And in one of Sir Alice's costume changes, her (was it accidental?) breasts greeted the crowd "dag!". She's forgiven. She's French, remember?

O gabing kulimlim at makapangyarihan....

Ang Buhay ay Isang Washing Machine

Charo Santos said it perfectly. “What makes you happy will make you a better person”. I just had a serving of an old MMK episode with DUP artist named Eugene Domingo as the lead. The episode is entitled “Pansit” and it’s about the struggles of an old maid. Oh boy, it’s one sad, sad episode….

OK, I just turned 30 last September 13. Not yet a DOM material but doomsday is indeed knocking on my door. Pressure, pressure. When I first saw Jonathan Larson’s “Tick, Tick Boom”, I knew then that someday I will be facing the same agony. The central character is having a face-off with midlife crisis: you should have this and that by this age.

I think the world is saying that by being 30, it means having a car (not necessarily brand new) that brings you to and from the office and Pier One. It could also mean that you already have a steady (that was soooooo 80’s) with you, enjoying a movie date or two at least three times a week. Being 30 is having that young dad look. The “kakasalin” type. A loud reminder that somebody is going to say something like “uy, may ipapakilala ako sa ‘yo”.

I am in the middle of all these and what do I get? A malfunctioning washing machine! Look, my new apartment is almost perfect: a DSL, a carpeted living area, a loft style bedroom, a roof window (life is fucking good everytime I wake up and before calling it a night on a starry evening) and an owner that changes the bedsheet every Monday. I think it has something to do with the spinner (I just invented the term). I always end up with a soapy wet garbs. Machine wash is now epilogued with a hand wash.

But I can’t complain. Life has been good to me. I have been to this place and I have done this and that. I still adore movies. No need for a film addiction viagra yet. I still have it. And will have it until I reach doomsday.

Life is indeed about complaining and living to the fullest.

Pinay in "Survivor - Cook Islands"

Is she or isn't she? ;-) Check this out.

Survivor 13 premieres on September 14, Thursday (amidst protests against racism, etc.).

How Do I Hate Thee?

In case you haven’t noticed, assholes roam around the planet. They’re everywhere. They are not hiding in the bushes wearing camouflage or something. Sometimes they are too in-your-face.

SIDE NOTE: I am about to post a rant. I just wanna check if blogging serves as a good shrink. I’ll get back to you some other time to report on this matter. If this doesn’t make me a better person, I’ll quit blogging.

Let me count the ways. Just a few minutes ago, I had a close encounter of a first-kind asshole. I asked a simple yes-no question and I got a yes-no answer. Well, a yes-no answer PLUS a contemptous comment. Syempre, kailangang patulan. I replied back, asking if the asshole was happy. Then a not-so-pleasant hiritan came after. Out of the blue, the asshole did a vanishing act leaving me with cute words like “you’re weird” and “bye”.

Here’s the deal. I don’t normally rant. If I rant, I do it to a third party (a close friend who doesn’t know the object of my “la haine”). If I don’t find that third party, I look for another close friend who might know the asshole. That’s biased. But the idea is for me not to disrobe my masculinity of just playing mum and not so “daldal” but I just want to explain and do a self-analysis. I’m an old dog, I know, but still, I wanna be spanked from time to time (so hard that it would shake my head down to epiphany).

At this point, I wanna shout something like “I hate THAT asshole!”. But it’s not me. I don’t wanna kill an asshole (the world needs people like them for the sake of the so-called balance).

The other option for me is to get a good sleep. I just snore it out. After that, I’m back to my self again. A not so pleasant way, but I promise, it’s effective, is the one similar to what the saint did when she met the devil in the toilet (check out my previous entry “Meeting Fassbinder”).

It hasn’t happened yet that after doing those “panic buttons”, anger is still in my veins. I’m not the “mapagtanim” type. I let it go. Life is short, remember? Too purist to say but being mad is a sin. But wait, that doesn’t mean that I’m practicing it. Hahaha.

Life’s a bitch.

Meeting Fassbinder

I was having an LBM hours before I took the City Night Line (those trains in Europe that could serve as hotels, budget-wise). Friday and toilet is like East and West. My “flight” was at 8:41pm and at 7pm, my Aussie colleague was still bugging me with user exits. A few minutes later, I had to bid “babay” to officemate Bill, who was online that time. I jokingly call him Watusi Bill (but he said he prefers “Fountain Bill”). I typed in, “Sige, Bill, uuwi na ako. Dadaan pa ako sa apartment at _____ pa ako”. He replied with something like “Sige, maghugas ka ng kamay pagkatapos”.

And I did. Of course. Excuse this blog but I have to share a sermon that I heard when I was in college, when I was still renting a place in Camalig St. in Palanan, Makati. The priest shared a story about a saint who was always visited by the devil in the toilet. One time, the saint was making poo-poo and the devil suddenly showed up. The saint, a lady by the way, said, “anything that comes out from me right now is for you!”. I don’t know how they document stuffs like that. That deserves a space in the FHM section about careers that suck.

But LBM could mean “Lover Boy Manny”. Hehehe. Or “Lapu-lapu Belly Meal”. Or more appropriately, “Layo Ba Munich?”. I booked for this thing called “sleeperette” which is, don’t be confused, a reclining seat. And I had to endure close to 11 hours of not so comfortable sleep. Anyway, one of the things that I learned from taking trains here is just to rely everything to the arrival time on my ticket. Train stops are sometimes irrelevant to gauge how far am I from the destination.

One hour before my arrival at Munchen (“Munich” in German), I had another uncalled sidetrip to the toilet. That was my first time to be really pleased with Euro trains (especially their CR’s). No more details, I promise. What I can share instead is how I managed to freshen up and be ready for the threat of that day’s grueling itinerary.

Saturday, 7:30am. Tita Beth, her daughter Hiyas and I were already having a nice coffee and muffin at Coffee Fellows in the station. I felt sorry for Hiyas since she had to wake up early in the morning but she looked pretty though.Before I knew it, we’re already heading to the west for Neuschwanstein Castle. Tita Beth, who was driving for us, and I talked non-stop, in a true Quezonian manner and gusto. Hiyas visited dreamland for the whole road trip. That trip, let me remind you, was a joyride with LBM. Again, kudos to all the European public toilets. They all rock!

Before lunchtime, we were already waiting for the horse carriage that will bring us to the castle (which is located a few meters uphill). Parking fee is €4. Castle entrance is €8.50 plus the energy you need to invest for the long queue. Carriage ride, one-way, €5. It was raining. And the castle accepted us like a gentle giant with open arms at 11:40am. I am not good at describing architectural pieces but let me quote what the youngster behind me had outwitted in an attempt to impress his grandma. He said, “Ludwig II was his time’s Bill Gate”.

True enough. Though only 1/3 of the “Disney” castle was shown (logically since only 1/3 was finished), the guided tour was “sulit”. Short and unforgettable. The tour guide’s attempt for a perfect English, on which he just laughed it off in front of all the visitors, was laudable for a blog. After the tour, as prompted by Tita Beth, Hiyas and I went to the bridge outside the castle. Quite a walk but it’s worth it. Mary’s Bridge is cradled by two big mountains in the area. Good pics of the castle could be shot from there. For me, it’s just another struggle for acrophobia.

Then late lunch came after. I had a beef stew in horseraddish sauce with boiled potatoes and a bottle of shandy. Yummy! The thing with a German shandy (well, that’s the only German shandy I had) is that it’s more “beer” than “soda”. Our Cali is the other way around. Tired and wet, we decided to head back to Munich after a few more minutes. In the Dachau neighborhood (from which a concentration camp is just less than a kilometer away), right before we went home straight, Tita Beth brought us to a lake called Karlsfeldsee. “See”, in German, is “lake”. We stopped by for five minutes, Tita Beth and I had a stroll while Hiyas stayed in the car, reading “Hector’s Travels”. The rest of the late afternoon was spent in a quiet German home, experiencing a genuine Pinoy hospitality and warmth.

Sunday, 9am. Tita Beth, Hiyas and I were on the road again to Munchen. We were looking for a chapel called St. Georg where most of the famous Bavarian artists and brewers’ remains were laid. It’s not in the travel books, just my whim. It was in my itinerary because of my longing to see the tomb of the German filmmaker named Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Strange to note but I haven’t seen any of his films. What I know about the man is that Lino Brocka is always considered as “Fassbinder of the Philippines”. They both heralded anti-theater and put life’s cruel reality on screen, as if you’re just walking along the street, inhaling poverty and suppression inside the cinema.

The church/graveyard wasn’t easy to find. Stressful and time-consuming. That left me with only an hour and a half to explore Deutches Musuem (considered the biggest science and technology museum in Europe if not in the world). From what I have seen so far, I can say that it’s the best of its kind. The galleon ship right near the entrance is overwhelming. Behind it was loads and loads of airplanes, suspended from the wall. My favorite section though was the room filled with cabinet-sized, old computers. A runner up was a musical instrument used by Alfed Hitchcock to record the “animal sound” for “The Birds” which is called “tautonium”. I also liked the section which houses the recreation of Galileo’s lab. Most of the pieces there are interactive, giving me a feeling that I was in a science highschool classroom again and again.

Let me end my entry there. To blog about my trip back is like taking a spoonful of bitter cough syrup.

Greece Lightning!

“I was in the same shop six years ago!”, said the girl beside me. I was having a non-alcoholic German beer called Marke Clausthaler on my flight to Frankfurt (then back to Amsterdam) when this Jodie Foster look-alike interrupted me while reading the broadsheet-sized give-away from the celebrity poet sandalmaker’s shop in Monasteraki. I uttered back with “oh, really?”. She’s from Vienna, she confessed to me.

I was actually daydreaming that time, admiring the other designs for the sandals. All of them are named after a person, ancient and not so ancient. They’ve got Plato, Cleopatra, Heracletus, Socrates, John Lennon, Jeremy Irons, Jackie O, Prince, Sophia Loren, etc. The sandalmaker, as the Top 10 Athens has mentioned, has crafted a dozen of sandals to celebrities who visited the shop (Gary Cooper, Barbra Streisand and the Beatles included). Then a recurring realization came: my ugly feet are humble enough for the “pogi” sandals (though I can feel that I have a celebrity spirit in me, always waiting to be of service). Just the same, I bought a pair, a Caesar, while Leah chose the classic Cleopatra over Maria Callas. On personal note, the other side of that leathered vanity, a not so expensive one, by the way, is a personalized service, reminiscent of the infamous Pinoy hospitality, courtesy of the poet – sandalmaker’s son named Pantellis Mellisinos (check out their website: www.melissinos-art.com ). Never in my life that I was pampered like Brad Pitt.

And that made my Greek weekend not so Greek at all.

That was, of course, on top of ruins after ruins: Acropolis, Agora, Kerameikos, Temple of Olympian Zeus, Hadrian’s Arch, Kallimarmaro Stadium, Roman Forum, Tower of the Winds, etc. Plus the voluntary food trip: moussaka, grilled octopus, calamari, home-made sausage and my favorite, “covered bread” (which is literally just covered by a table cloth to keep it warm).

For your indulgence, Athens pics here!

Leah and I didn’t just leave Athens without a godly experience. One hour and 20 minutes before the departure, we were still in the Metro line that connects the city center and Eleftherios Venizelos International Airport. Thirty minutes before, we were rushing from the train station to the check-in counter area (comparable to the distance between Ayala and Reposo along Buendia). I can almost feel the wings in my pair of Nike. Leah was just behind me running-pulling her hand-carry bag (the standard one, take that!). I did not attempt to look back because I might turn into salt (is that Greek myth or what?). Anyway, 20 minutes before the departure, we were still looking for the Lufthansa counter which was not easy to find. We were panting when we finally reached counter 145 (in the left-most part of the terminal). Leah hurriedly asked the lady behind the bar if we can still rush to the gate for boarding. Then the lady said, “Of course. The flight is delayed for 45 minutes”. Now I understand the corniness behind the big Athens tourism billboard which greeted us when we arrived. In glaring font and with pride, it says “Welcome to Greece. Discover a new myth. Yours.”.

Mahalaga ang Care

I just had two servings of Grey’s Anatomy reruns. The first was a season finale and the other, Season Two opener. I coped without watching Season One’s episodes seven and eight but I’m still at it. I’m hooked.

When it was first primetimed in a Dutch channel (with “English” shows) every Tuesday (back-to-back with another ABC show, “Desperate Housewives”), Leah called that weekday “TV Day”. Before, I just watched DH and turned off the tele for GA. I sometimes find my self lost with the characters and the twists. Maybe because I missed to watch the pilot episode. It happened to me before while watching OC. All the while, I did not know that one of the main characters is adopted.

Now, the Dutch channel is airing two GA reruns every Sunday. I have the reason now to appreciate the show. I am not really a medical show fan. It must be my being hematophobic or just too much movies, perhaps. I skipped “ER” and “Chicago Hope” during the 90’s. I suppose that those shows cater more on documenting the patient’s melodramatic lives and the doctors are just playing cool. GA is not about that. It’s about friendship. And their brand of “friendship” is about care.

Lately I’m having a convincing theory that the core of friendship is care. Mahalaga ang care. Without it, you can’t call friendship a friendship. When was the last time you asked a friend with “o, kumusta na?”? When was the last time you asked it without having the guilt of just asking it and not meaning it?

GA’s central character is Meredith Grey, a practicing surgeon. The other leads are her four friends (and colleagues) namely Cristina (I love Sandra Oh!), George, the character played by Catherine Heigl and the assholic guy named Alex. The show is about their messy lives and how they try to untangle it with a little help of friendship. The fact that the show suggests that friendship exists in the workplace is a reason enough to get addicted with GA. Sometimes it’s elusive. Sometimes you’re reminded that this planet is as cutthroat and dog-eat-dog as Philippine politics. GA is a relief. Life is sweet. As Coldplay best puts it “we live in a beautiful world”. Yes, we do. Yes, we do.

What to Do in Barcelona When You’re Dead

If you’re not thinking about your life, meaning, you don’t care if you still have extra bucks to get your ass back from where you came from or eating is not an option, here are the things to consider when going to Barcelona:

1. Cable car ride to Monestir de Montserrat
2. Strolling along La Rambla
3. Reaching one of Sagrada Familia’s peaks
4. Completing the Casa Batllo and Palau Musica de Catalunya Tour
5. Queueing at Museo Picasso
6. Eating at least two servings of Paella
7. Taking pictures with no flash of Joan Miro’s tapestry at Fundacio Joan Miro
8. Watching Font Magica burst into an odyssey of colors
9. Letting the Mediterranean sea along Barceloneta touch your feet
10. Seizing the moment with Gaudi’s lizard in Parc Guell

To help you figure out what I’m trash-talking about, please check out some pictures here.

I’ve received nice reviews of the album. I was inspired, true. Confession time: Barcelona greeted me with a rerun of Rosalinda, undubbed, in the hotel room.

Matsing Joke 001

Isang araw, naglalakad si Dida sa Central Park sa New York. Isang jogger ang pumansin sa kanya. "Gee, your hair smells terrific". Sumagot si Dida, "Sorry, it's Rejoice".

The Hand-Carry Bag Will Soon Welcome M&M’s

When I was mailing another order of Hemp Lip Butter from Body Shop in the Post Office, I saw the ads again about the M&M's chocolate dispenser. I asked around and here are the how-to’s that I have to accomplish: buy four 250g M&M’s (or Malteesers), present the wrappers in the Post Office (yeah, they also sell concert tickets there) and pay the toy for only €2.50.

It’s worth it. And it’s free. Almost. Not bad for a World Cup 2006 souvenir.

For the coming days, I will put it beside the alarm clock. I want to see it first thing in the morning. I need to be reminded that work is also fun and that I have to finish a kilogram of milk chocolates that melt in my mouth and not in the dispenser.

Yeysus!

The four plasma TV screens all went black. In unison, the football fanatics in Utrecht Centraal protested. I allowed 10 seconds to materialize, waiting for the screens to resurrect. I was sure then that the Netherlands and Ivory Coast’s so-called Game of Death would resume shortly. But I did not wait for that. It was 15 minutes past seven in the evening. Beatrix must be killing time, anticipating for my arrival.

“Jesus Christ Superstar”, the Dutch run, is currently having a leg at the Beatrix Theater (which is connected through a walk way from the train station). I was informed that the musical is close to sold-out on a weekend. So I tested my luck last Friday.

After asking the takilyera the usual pa-cute questions (price range, seats, etc.) and securing seat availability, I saved the best for last. “How about discounted tickets?” I solicited. I was expecting for those returned tickets which, again, based on luck, were sold 50% less when you come 30 minutes before the curtain call (well, I have two or three similar instances in my entire theater addiction). With a smile, the takilyera said “Please wait, let me call my colleague.” In a jiffy, I was already considering renting some DVD’s at Big Choice. “OK, you can get the best slot for just €19.50”.

The next thing I knew, I was already browsing the theater’s souvenir shop. I bought a copy of the program but I skipped the pages with pictures from the musical (it’s a mantra, I want to enjoy every performance without expectations). Then it hit me. The actress who will play Mary Magdalene is Caselyn Francisco no less! A patchwork of her shows during my glory days suddenly flashed back: Pen-pen de Serapen and That’s Entertainment. This is gonna be one hell of a ride, I thought.

Well, JCS always fascinates me: the overture (just listen to the first 20 seconds and you’re already transported to 70’s rock a la Wolfgang), the message (it should be noted again and again that Judas is part of the whole plan) and the glaring reminder that Jesus became human (the Dutch version is sandwiched by Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene doing a choreographed sign language, a fitting metaphor of the Bible’s “…and the Word was made flesh”).

After the musical, I hurried to the theater’s Artist’s Entrance and waited for Casey (yes, she’s Casey Francisco now). There were four other lobbyists in the area. Three of them looked like a family (the mom has a camera). Another two joined us. When Casey, who, by the way, pulled it off with aplomb as Mary Magdalene with a more dominant singing voice and style, finally showed up, she was approached by the family and gave her a handful of pictures (taken from a formal event, I sneaked in). When it was my turn, I asked for her signature and I uttered “Nagta-Tagalog ka pa ba?”. Then she blurted out, the Caselyn Francisco kikay way, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaay, Filipino!” And she left together with two other cast members. My hint is that she was about to catch a train.

That completed my Friday. I couldn’t wait to turn on my celfone and share the good news to all my artsy fartsy friends (Pia Leano is on top of the list because every time we reminisce “our” days, she always makes it a point to mention Caselyn Francisco – it’s true, once a That’s kid, always a That’s kid). But what the heck? Iba-blog ko na lang!

Love Redux

Monday. Emotionally exhausted from a day’s work, I turned on the TV and voila! “Notting Hill”!

If asked what is my favorite Julia Roberts movie, if there is one, this must be it. She plays a superstar in the film which doesn’t require her to try acting much. Hugh Grant is as English as a tea. But maybe it’s not just the pair that fires up the giddiness in me. It could be the OST as well. I love Brit pop. It’s so melodious. No wonder they don’t have much rap artists in the UK. Rap is sometimes, hmm, not a music (get back to me once an American Idol finalist has done a rap song as a contest piece).

Anyway, the film is one of those romantic movies that preach about love having no formula. It talks about love as a non-thinking entity, something that cannot be calculated. As another film “Kinsey” best puts it, sex is quantifiable and love is not.

Well, for the second serving of the film, I still adore it. Now I start to notice how frivolously the script was written, from the common Briton characters down to the crispy lines like “surreal but nice”, “funky God!”, “no, thank you, I’m fruitarian” and “it’s not Jane Austen, it’s not Henry James but it’s gripping”.

It’s so good that some local filmmakers even copy the concept: the female character on a wheelchair (“Kahit Isang Saglit”, I forgot the name of the actress who played it), the tight shot of two lovers admiring a scenery (“Don’t Give Up on Us”, Juday and Piolo looking at the Banawe Rice Terraces) and even the plot (“Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw”).

I don’t usually watch a film twice but now I’m attuned. I simply love “Notting Hill”. Maybe I should get a DVD copy. Or maybe I should revisit the time when Hubes, Josh and I struggled looking for the bookshop (Travel and Books, Co.) in Notting Hill’s Portobello in London. What we found was an antique shop. We were informed that the stall was constructed only for the film. It was a busy street, very tiangge. It’s funny to note that every female fish-seller in the area claimed that she is Julia Roberts. For the prettiest one among the lot, I replied with “…and I’m Hugh Grant”. That didn’t work. Damn bloody hell!

Dutch Sunday

My Sunday always starts at 10am, the latest. It’s automatic. Like a zombie, I go to the living room (roughly 10 steps from my bed) and turn on the TV. It’s “Eigen Huis En Tuin” day! It’s a Dutch-produced (and Dutch-spoken) show about home make-over. The three hosts (two guys and a pregnant yuppy) are assigned with their own cup of tea: one guy is assigned to gardening, the other guy is all interior and the girl, anything in between plus shop owner interviews. It’s fun.

After the show, it’s time to head out to the shower room. I have one hour and a half to pamper my self (shaving, nailcutting, etc.) before going to mass. The English mass here in Utrecht is held only once every Sunday. But that’s not the only reason not to catch the mass. The choir boasts of a pretty Latina choirmaster. A petite lady who’s a delight to sing along with when she gracefully conducts us (yes, she’s not all the time facing the choir, she sometimes confronts the audience and, with a smile, encourages everybody to sing). The only thing I observe in a mass here is that it’s very democratic. Meaning, you’re free when to rise, to sit or to kneel. It’s free-flowing, depending on your agility. I just follow what Leah is doing.

There are two itinerary options after mass: 1. get the bike and go home or 2. get the bike and look for a nice restaurant. Based on stats, it’s more Option Number 1. Last time we did Option Number 2 was when Leah had stories to share from their Cyprus outing. My favorite Option Number 2 was with Leah and Faye where we ended up eating some poppertjes at Viktor. It’s a plate of small pancakes cooked as the way you cook pancakes but in a cuter and smaller molds. It’s heavenly. If I have to enumerate some Dutch food, it must be poppertjes and Heineken.

At home, normally 2pm-ish, I just transform into my favorite me: a couch potato. Either with some American show reruns or with CNN (yeah, I am starting to like news!). The rest of the day is spent with another attempt at adobo and later, pressing a week-load of office garbs.

Boring enough? Not really especially during World Cup season where everybody is in orange (I even tried singing Coldplay’s “Yellow”, replacing all the key words with “orange”). Boring is, hmm, when you think of Mondays.

Peter Jackson vs. Peter Jackson

Last Saturday, I finally caught Peter Jackson’s first commercial and Cannes-invited film called “Bad Taste”. It’s one violent film about a town invaded by aliens and “The Boyz” must save the day. A really thin plot, yes, but you can feel, even touch, Peter Jackson’s passion on movie-making. He did almost everything from making all the “FX” down to acting (as both the villanous alien and as one of the heroes, complete with a fight scene!).

Filmmaking, I guess, starts from the talent, the “it”. I am reminded on how Chito Roño enjoyed doing masks for some DUP plays before directing his first feature “Private Show”. Or Akira Kurosawa adding some black ink to the rain-making machine to get a better cinematography for a B&W film. Peter Jackson has that gift. It has something to do with his childhood which I envy (his parents gave him a video camera as a gift for his 14th birthday).

I think,our indie filmmakers (including the one who did the Pinoy film that I saw in the Rotterdam Filmfest where almost 75% of the crowd walked out) should learn something from Peter Jackson. Otherwise (meaning the gift is not there but the urge to express is floating), get a copy of Steven Soderbergh’s “Bubble”. It suggests what a Guerilla film should look like: structured and not masturbatory.

Summary: do you want to be a filmmaker? Check out Peter Jackson’s “Bad Taste” or Steven Soderbergh’s “Bubble”.

On Death and Birth

Minutes ago, a college friend of mine who’s currently working in Canada shared a not so pleasant story. Here’s how it went:

John_H (6/9/2006 4:35:20 PM): Hi manny. Kamusta?
Manny (6/9/2006 4:35:56 PM): ayos lang
Manny (6/9/2006 4:35:57 PM): ikaw?
John_H (6/9/2006 4:36:09 PM): May kwento ako sayo.
Manny (6/9/2006 4:36:23 PM): sige
Manny (6/9/2006 4:36:25 PM): game
John_H (6/9/2006 4:36:58 PM): Alam mo last tuesday i saw a man dito sa bldg namin na tumalon, akala ko human dummy na pinaglalaruan ng mga bata, mano pa naman sinubaybayan ko hanggang bumagsak sa floor
Manny (6/9/2006 4:37:15 PM): tapos?
Manny (6/9/2006 4:37:18 PM): suicide pala?
John_H (6/9/2006 4:38:39 PM): I just realize later na parang tingin ko may nag flip sa kanya pataas pero dko nakita na may ibang tao syang kasama, pero as in nakita ko sa ere na nag flip sya palayo at pumaitaas paa nya as in layo ng binagsakan nya
Manny (6/9/2006 4:38:53 PM): kakatakot naman
John_H (6/9/2006 4:39:30 PM): Nakakatokot pa, alam mo bumagsak sya sa parking lot na may paint na number na 66 and 65 sa gitna nila as in 666-5
John_H (6/9/2006 4:39:47 PM): tapos that day is june 6 2006
…
…
John_H (6/9/2006 4:40:47 PM): Akala ko nga e tapos na yun, till now d mawala sa isip ko mga nakita ko

I can’t remember how we ended our conversation. Perhaps, we talked about Pinoy Big Brother.

On the other hand, there’s this thing in the PDI – Entertainment section last Wednesday (yes, I am jologs therefore I am showbiz) that I can’t scrape out of my head. When Lea Salonga was asked about motherhood, she replied with,

“My expectations of motherhood? My approach to everything is very practical and pragmatic. This was no exception. I didn’t see motherhood as an experience that would complete me as a woman. I considered myself complete already. I wasn’t going to put pressure on Nicole to be the completion of me. That wouldn’t be fair to her. I want to set an example for her, that a woman should already be complete in herself before raising a family.”

I’m 29. Wife-less, child-less. ‘Nuff said.

Ode to Hemp

Saan ka naman makakakita ng alas-9 na ng gabi, maliwanag pa ang araw? Sa katunayan, natatanaw mo pa sa kalayuan ang buwan na akala mo ay inumaga pero ang totoo, sisikat pa lamang ito. Kahit hindi ito minsanang mangyari, alam mong ito’y hindi pangkaraniwan.

Pero hindi mo masisisi ang panahon sa iyong kalagayan. Ganoon talaga. Minsan, may mga bagay na likas na sumusulpot kahit hindi mo inaasahan. Kailan ka ba huling tinawagan ng iyong kaibigan at naglabas ng sama ng loob? O hindi kaya’y tumawag siya dahil kailangang kailangan ka niya sa oras na hindi ninyo parehong inaasahan? Pero wala kayong magawa. Hadlang ang pagkakalayo.

Ang naiwan sa iyo ay ang pagsulyap mula sa nakapinid na bintana at muling pansinin ang kakaibang pagsasama ng isang bubot na buwan at isang paligid na nasisikatan pa ng araw. Pero sinubukan mong gumawa pa ng paraan. Hindi mo lang basta sinulyapan ang buwan sa kalayuan. Inisip mong sa likod nito’y meron ding nagmamasid na isang kaibigan. Kung hindi man kayo parehong ganap na masaya o parehong ganap na malungkot dahil ang isa ay masaya at ang isa ay malungkot, nagkasundo kayo sa isang bagay: ang ibigin ang buwan sa kakisigan at misyeryo nito. Ito ba’y isang pagtitiwala na ang lahat ay matutugunan ng buwan?

Bahagya kang napabuntong-hininga at hinayaang pumalaot ang hanging nanggaling sa iyo. Ito ay banayad na dumampi sa apat na sulok na iyong kuwarto. Ipinikit mo ang iyong mga mata. Inisip mong ikaw ang hiningang lumabas sa iyong katawan. Nagliwaliw ka sa katotohanang ikaw ay madaling nadadala ng hangin. Tila wala kang iniisip. Tila wala kang pinapasan. Sa sandaling ito, naalala mo kung anong mundo meron ka. At sa mundong ito ikaw ay nagbigay-pugay at nagpasalamat.

Alam mong kahit sumapit ang dilim, mananatili kang walang bigat. Mananatili kang nakalutang….

Andrew E. Saves the Day!

Saturday, midnight.

Wow, designer’s block. This is unexpected. I’m reading some work-related stuff when it hit me. I can’t comprehend everything. All I wanna do is sleep. Then out of the blue, Andrew E.’s “Pink Palaka” just hops in…

Sa silong ni Kaka may taong nakadapa
Kaya pala nakadapa naninilip ng palaka
Palakang may buhok ngipin ay nakalubog
Ang kulay nito'y itim hindi naman sunog

After keeping my eyes closed while listening to the song and absorbing the music, I realized that Andrew E. is right. Dreams start at the bottom (“silong”). You have to make an effort (“nakadapa”) to achieve something (“naninilip ng palaka”). But achievements come in different shapes and sizes (“may buhok”, “ngipin ay nakalubog”, “itim” at “hindi sunog”). It could be a smile of a baby, a platinum award, zero QA point, an Oscar for Best Picture, a P5,000-worth Nike shoes, trip to Barcelona, a perfect chicken adobo, a Jollibee birthday party treat or even a beautiful housewife.

An acumen just sinks in: no work means no dreams and achievements. I can see clearly now.

Isang Weekend, Anim na Babae

You, fool! Of course, I am referring to six women (actresses to be exact) who garnered an Oscar for Best Actress in a Leading or Supporting Role. Excuses are welcome, amigo.

SUNRISE (1927 Best Actress, Janet Gaynor) From the DVD cover, it says it’s one and the only film who got a special award namely “Most Unique and Artistic Film”. Janet Gaynor, by the way, is also the first Oscar Best Actress. I will try to remember those things so that when Kris Aquino finally asks me that as a multi-million question in Game KNB’s jackpot round, I know what to answer without even going to the Tarantarium. Well, the silent movie is great. I always thought that early American films have a flat storyline. “Sunrise” breaks that by sharing a symbolic story of a married life in the province. It awkwardly starts with the husband trying to drown his wife for another woman who’s from the city. The murder is interrupted by the church bells (faith?) and what follows is a series of a love metamorphosis (the courting, the “kilig”, simulating a wedding by witnessing somebody else’s and surviving tragedy).

GRAPES OF WRATH (1940 Best Supporting Actress, Jane Darwell) This is one of those old films which tackles social injustices in the US (land-grabbers, police abuse, etc.), a vehicle to showcase yet another legendary talent like Henry Fonda. It’s about a family (mothered by Jane Darwell) who is forced to leave their land because it has been bought by a “company”. It’s some kind of a road film, showing how the family looks for a job and a place to stay. Initially, they plan to go to California to be a fruit picker but ended up with nothing but social abuses. Henry Fonda, in the end, decided to be an NPA.

COAL MINER’S DAUGHTER (1980 Best Actress, Sissy Spacek) A film bio of Loretta Lyn, the first lady of counrty music, as played by Sissy Spacek. From a simple girl, Loretta married Doo (played by Tommy Lee Jones) and eventually became a country music superstar right after Patsy Cline (Loretta’s friend and confidant) died from a plane crash. Lessons I learned from this film: yeah, we have to run our life but we should not be run over by it.

MOONSTRUCK (1987 Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress, Cher and Olympia Dukakis) Hmm, they always say that Julia Roberts is considered the “worst best actress” to win an Oscar. I think, there's a stiff competition between her and Cher. But wait, I adore the film. Very stagey. It’s about how some people can be affected by a full moon, where things become clearer and love comes in the way just in the right time.

BULLETS OVER BROADWAY (1994 Best Supporting Actress, Dianne Wiest) A perfect 10 for me. I don’t know that Woody Allen (the same writer-director who married Mia Farrow, adopted an Asian girl, divorced the wife and married the Asian girl) has made something orgasmic like this one. But yeah, the vulnerability of a relationship is still discussed but there’s more. It’s also about being an artist and the realization that some peole do not really have a gift. Dianne Wiest plays an aging stage diva. She’s good up to the last scene. I prefer her with this film over another Woody Allen film (“Hannah and her Sisters”) from which she won her first Oscar. Equally outstanding is Jennifer Tilly who plays an annoying dumb actress and a Mafia mistress. Now I can see where Renee Zellwegger is getting her acting style from.

Edrikinetix: How I Manage to Believe that Friendship Still Exists in the Workplace

E – Energy. As in the absence of it. Ang Frederick Pagaduan na kilala ko ay walang lakas sa mga bagay-bagay na walang engganyo para sa kanya (he sometimes attends mass because he’s fascinated with the songs sung by the choir). Well, except for “K”. He will just remain seated and do other things like working, smoking, chatting and grinning (“smiling” is too angelic). Let me have a U-turn. Energetic din si Edrik kapag alam n’yang agrabyado ang mga kaibigan n’ya. He won’t offer his life but I can assure you that he will try at least. He has his way of comforting you by saying evil things to the other party (na “nagmamaganda”), something to my delight, of course. Pwede ring “E” for “Energia”. As in Edrik’s first post-hybernation project for SPL (Edrik, Xen and I share the same SPL anniversary: April 1). But that’s corny.

D – Deadma. Again, this is related to “E”. But wait, he could be “deadma” but the next thing you know, he’s sharing all your bloopers to his bes’s (bestfriends). Hindi mo s’ya mayayabangan dahil baka mas mayabang pa s’ya sa ‘yo. Edrik is the best Humility 101 professor. At paki-rebyu rin pala ang ‘yong English. He’s biased to Mapuans. Hahaha. To rephrase everything: if you’ve made a grammatical error, he’s just “deadma” especially if you’re nice.

R – Raket. Sa dami ng raket ni Edrik, siguro 10% lang ang nasasagap ko (or worse, it could be less). But I prefer it that way. I don’t wanna know the rest. I might not have the belly to digest everything. This, of course, is segued by the grinning during work or the early “eskapo” after office hours. Don’t be surprised if you invite him out (especially those events which are not “the best things in life”) and he will reply with something like “titingnan ko”. One time, inindyan n’ya ang panonood ng “Kailangan Kita” with Arissa (that’s between the time when we already purchased the ticket and the start of the screening) and when Onin and I got him into watching Steven Soderbergh’s “Full Frontal”, we lost him in the middle of the film.

I – Intelligence. Sige na nga, he’s one of the most intelligent persons I know. He mentioned one time that his IQ is above average (he took one of those online tests) and I believe that. When we were contractors at SPL, Arissa and I call him “Henyo” and that makes him blush big time. I don’t know how he does it but it gives us a perception that his face is turning red.

K – ‘yun na! Here’s a tip: is he’s sad and you’re privileged to observe that, talk about “K” and everything will be all right. You know those black muscle shirts that Simon Cowell always wears on “American Idol”? Edrik has lots of it and he’s wearing one every Friday. I coined a fitting term for that fashion statement: motel shirts (though some people close to Edrik suspect that there’s no difference between a weekend and a weekday, baka nga raw mas discounted kapag hindi Biyernes). But wait, I have to defend him. The good thing about Edrik is that he’s not all “daldal”. He’s not a walking machismo. He’s not the type who starts shallow conversations like “dude, may nakita akong chick, kasabay ko sa bus…”. Edrik is someone I know to be a master of that field (as Vistan is to guns and Topeng is to jokes and a little of “K”) without him saying that he is. Sometimes I just know.

To sum it up, Edrik is not Edrik without “K”. It will just be Edri (probably with a mom named “Edna” and a dad named “Ricardo”).

Dream with a Z

It’s past midnight. I just had a banana (something from Dole – Costa Rica, I checked the label when I grabbed it from Albert Heijn) and a piece of Sky Flakes (courtesy of Toko Asian Store).

I just got back from watching a film entitled “American Dreamz”. It wasn’t really a nice bicycle ride though I caught my self singing “Inside Your Heaven” while pedalling along Oude Gracht (one helluva Greenbelt 3-like street situated just beside the city’s inner canal). It was only in the middle of my journey back to my apartment when I realized that I haven’t turned on the bike light. This is required here. One time, Leah, an officemate and the Manila delegations’ great declaimer, was stopped by a group of police officers to warn her that she hasn’t set on her light. “Set”, meaning there’s no switch somewhere in the bike. There’s this thing in the front area that you have to push on to let it touch the wheel. So as you cycle, the light is fueled, announcing to the officers that you respect Dutchability.

Now I’m confused. When I got out of the cinema, I was having an impression that I partly like the film. Now the euphoria has vanished a bit. But for sure, I did not appreaciate the film because it has Mandy Moore and the subplot between her and Hugh Grant’s character is, hmmm, too glossy and misleading.

“American Dreamz” is from the director of “American Pie” and “About a Boy” (Paul Weitz). You won’t be surprised that the cast (a great one at that) is comprised of, from “American Pie”, Chris Klein, the Asian guy in the party with Sherminator, Steve Stifler’s mom who ended up in bed with Finch, etc. plus of course, Hugh Grant from “About a Boy”. But that’s not all: it also boasts of other Oscar hopefuls like Shohreh Aghdashloo (a Best Supporting Actress nominee from “House of Sand and Fog” and was recently seen in “X-Men 3” as one of the “cure” scientists), Willem Dafoe, Marcia Gay Harden (a winner from “Pollock”, Best Supporting Actress) and Dennis Quiad (I am not sure if he has been at all nominated in an acting category). You won’t regret it if you forget Mandy Moore.

Here’s the thing. The film is a satire, a genre that really fascinates me. It is supposed to poke fun at the hit TV show “American Idol” and all other things American. Hugh Grant is Simon Cowell who opens the film with a divorce scene. Mandy Moore is Carrie Underwood-ish. To complete the lot, the US President, played by Dennis Quaid, with that George W. Bush aura, is going to be the guest judge. Just a backtrack. Prior to the TV appearance, the President seems to be needing a break after winning the election for the second term. He doesn’t want to meet the press and was forced to skip reading the newspapers. He is being “directed” by his political adviser played by Willem Dafoe who thought of having the President’s appearance at “American Dreamz” as a sweet comeback.

What makes the film a riot is that it has another character, a Mid-Eastern contestant named Omar. He was an Afghan-Iranian Border Training Camp kick-out (who was eventually evicted to the Orange County) and was puppeted to get into the “American Dreamz” final two, meet the President and explode. Omar has a gay cousin (I forgot the name but surely he provides the film’s most LOL moment for me along with that Bo Bice spoof named “Bobby” singing a too clisheish rock song) who helped him transform into a somewhat competitive contestant. Omar’s finale song was “My Way” which led me to consider that there’s at least one Pinoy in the storyboard think tank.

I won’t be sharing with you guys that the twist has Chris Klein (Mandy Moore’s character’s loser ex-boyfriend) blow off with Hugh Grant in front of national television. I promise, I won’t.

Lifen City, China

Do you know those film titles which are not totally relevant to the film itself? This blog is somewhat similar to that. Who the hell knows about Lifen City?

From the office, I laid all my cards and risked my self of being soaked in the rain while biking my ass off. Oh God, how I miss my bike named Scorsese. I just left it in the office basement parking during the long weekend. (By the way, it has a Ricardo sticker on it. The bike shop staff even put “Ricardo” in the receipt which eventually made its way to this cut-off date’s expense claim in the office. Maybe the previous owner is a football fan. But hey, is there even a football player named “Ricardo”? Or it could be the “football player” himself, maging sino ka man…).

OK. I admit that I decided to cycle today so that I can stop by at my favorite Surinamese “turo-turo” (there’s only one Surinamese resto that has that concept) only to find out that it’s “Gesloten”. (Actually, the sign says “Closed”, in English, not in Dutch. I am just trying to be cool and convince you that I know a European word other than “como esta”). That Surinamese “turo-turo” is not walkable so I had to bring Scorsese with me. A few minutes ago, I was craving for that grilled looking porkchop and now I have to crave for some spicy Indonesian food at Babby’s. It took me five minutes to adjust my craving. That, of course, is one my talents that is now out in the crack.

At Babby’s I was greeted by Babby herself. “How do you do?”. “I’m good.”. “Do you pay for your apartment?”. “No. The company pays for it.”. “Oh, that’s good. What’s your company?”. “SPL. It’s in the Philippines.”. “And you’re working here for?”. “Tax office”. “Wow, everybody’s afraid of tax.”. “Yeah, I know.”. “You know?”. “Yes.”. That of course was intercepted politely by her asking me what to order and me, making choices (I had a bami, an egg, some tokwa which she calls “ta-hu” and three pieces of fried banana).

It’s my tenth time, I guess, at Babby’s. If the conversation went that way on my first visit, I would not bother going to that resto again. I simply hate it when I meet Asians (mostly Pinoys for a very reasonable reason) and they would always ask me with “What do you do here?/Anong trabaho mo rito?” as Question Number One. If Asian Stranger first asks me with a question other than that, expect the pep talk to be a heartfelt one-on-one interview, digging deeper into the soul, one spirit to another (all right, I am a frustratred talk show host).

One time, in London, I was with my officemates Josh and Hubes and a manang joined us in going to Picadilly Circus. We were seated in the first row of the bus’ second “floor”. Josh and Hubes on the left side, manang and me, on the right. Manang is an “I.T.” (a term I coined with Moncho, another officemate, in Paris while trying to describe those “D.H”-looking fellows. But hold it, I have nothing against domestic helpers. I am even proud of them for the simple reason that we can invade Planet Earth with their help. Calling them “I.T.” is my way of paying them a tribute, as good as laying them with Everlasting.).

The window glass in front of us looked like a giant TV screen. That gave me “that” mushy mood in asking questions. Manang shared to us her struggles including her husband in Nueva Ecija who’s currently “gulay” because of a stroke. Manang declared “Buti nga sa kanya. Ang tamad-tamad kasi.”.

I didn’t recognize it but when we got off, Josh mentioned that I have this gift of gab. My questions were pretty amazing, he said. Well, I trust Josh when talking about things like that. He’s one of the sincerest officemate-friends that I know. Otherwise, he would remove his eyeglasses as a clue that he needs something to do other than talking to you. I didn’t know if I blushed that night. But it must be the bus being so bloody red.

I had dinner at 7pm sharp. Really, it’s 7:00pm in my celfone. Two celfones, to be exact (one is personal, the other, from and for the office). This is important. Don’t skip this part. While eating my “gado-gado” (combo Indonesian food), I was seriously attuned to CNN Today’s two beautiful stories. One is about this soldier in Iraq who keeps a therapuetic pen palship with some kids in a primary school somewhere in New York. The highlight of the feature is having the soldier visit the school during his two-week break in the US. His very first pen pal is a girl. She cried when she met him in person. I think I almost cried. Hahaha. It’s another moving story on how the “force” manages to intertwine people in the most poetic way. The girl said “I still want to know what is his favorite color…”.

By the way, the other story is about the world’s most polluted city.

Ten Ow Two Pee-Em

Out of the blue, inatake ako ng rhetoric. Ewan ko ba, kung kelan naman ako nag-attempt magtrabaho sa bahay, tsaka naman ako ina-anxiety attack. I find it fun to put the words “rhetoric” and “anxiety” in the same pigpen. (Well, the two words are not even in the same league, one is an adjective, the other, a noun, I suppose).

Some things to consider: I am on my nth Dutch night here in Utrecht. Yeah, alone and for years, loveless (fuckless, whatever). Nothing suspicious about the night. Same old, same old. It’s springtime and it has been raining for quite some time now. Para akong nasa Pinas. Mismo.

Hmmm, what else? I just had five or six slices of paprika chorizo (which I cooked all by my lonesome) for dinner. Nothing with the ingredients, I guess. The taste wasn’t funny at all.

Another factor: I just read a graduation speech written by my friend/officemate a year ago for his highschool and he asked me to read it and perhaps comment on it. The content is still impressive. He “talked” about time being a relative entity. Very “Rent”. At the same time (sorry, I have to use “time” again), I was playing Windows Media Player on my laptop with the great, the noble, the earthly (cliché, ‘no?) Chynthia Alexander in the helm. (But now, it’s Christian Bautista. “… there’s something in the way….). Yeah, right.

So this is it. My rhetoric anxiety, the nth version (unleashed or digitally remastered). I don’t bother analyzing the effects but as far as I know, I love the feeling. It makes me alive and very guwapo (especially on a Sunday). It’s my system’s equivalent of clicking on View – Refresh.

The Donselya Blog

Wow, nakaka-pressure naman ang napili kong pamagat. I should say something kick-ass here. But i can't. I shouldn't because i can't.

Anyway, a long, long time ago in a far away land called Glorietta, I had an epiphany at blogging. Here's how it went:

"Hay, matagal na akong nangangating gumawa ng blog. Kung bakit ang pakiramdam ko ngayon ay marami akong nasayang na sandali o oras o buwan, hindi ko alam. Isang malaking tanong at taning na hindi na nararapat pag-aksayahan pa ng panibagong sandali.

Action... Reaction... Action

Aug. 6, 8pm, Bo's Café - Glorietta. Dinala ako rito ng imaginary express train ng '2046'. Naubusan na ako ng sine at pangnood ng sine. I'm broke, gimik-wise. Naghihintay na lang akong mag-alas-nuwebe para habulin sa Hardrock Café ang Cueshé. Sa conundrum na 'to ako naipit para subukang sulatin ang aking virgin blog entry. For the heck of it, I need to write something virginal.

This is life....

Masarap daw sambitin 'to habang nakaupo ka sa isang upuan na 'pinipinid ng isang glass wall. Sa kabilang 'mundo' ay isang malaking 'video screen' ng mga taong naglalakad, may kanya-kanyang arangkada at estilo, depende sa bigat ng kanilang pinapasan. Ano kayang meron sa nga espasyo nila? Madrama kaya, punung puno ng stunts o wala lang? Habang nandito naman ako sa kabilang panig, nakaupong-mayaman at hinihigop ang huling higop ng aking special blend coffee.

Gusto kong magpapansin, kumaway o kumamay sa bawat nagdaraan dahil in one way or another, naitulak nila ako sa bangin ng blog-making.

Thank you, Ayala Mall shoppers. Ng dahil sa inyo, napunta ako sa aking nais marating…."

I just don't find it kick-ass now. As Junnie Lee would always say, "wala na akong sasabihin pa....".

Credits: Jengaloid did this blog account for me. I think she initially did it with "Kiko Matching". She got the pa-cute photo from my Photobucket. She said it's the cutest shot. Oh, well.... it took me (May 18 minus January 13 equals.... hmmm...) a few days to finally jumpstart this. So there.