105.9 Retro FM

Listening to FM radio has been one of the many constant pleasures that has not been totally eradicated by advancements in technology and availability of free data at the click of a button. Especially in a place where digital information is not readily accessible to the majority of the population. In that regard, free TV and radio are still the main form of entertainment and news-gathering sources for most Filipinos. 

 Growing up in a province from the mid-80s to the late 90s, free TV and radio were the only electronic means I could link up to the rest of the world. Cable TV was not even available to our place by the boondocks and the net was a decade away from being a household commodity. All the information about pop culture and the trends in music (that I was starting to really get into) were supplemented by back issues of magazines, paperbacks, and comic books from second-hand bookstores, rentals, and local flea market sales.

All this time the radio in the room was on, constantly tuned in to the local rock station churning out the latest 'alternative' single after the next. And going to classes in the city meant commuting and being subjected to the more traditional programming of other stations the drivers favored. One of the noticeable things about that experience is that while I was totally indifferent to what I was subjected to on a daily basis, I have observed that most of the songs these various mainstream stations aired during the late afternoon and early evenings when I was on the way home from school, were singles I heard as a toddler and still continue to hear at the same span of time even today.

The usual songs you'd hear from these stations' programming at dusk were what I jokingly called 'jeepney hits'. Usually tracks from the early 70s to mid-80s slow rock, disco, folk music, new wave, synth-pop, Italo, and Pinoy novelty songs  dominated the air during early evenings. So it's not uncommon to hear Air Supply, Queen, Starship, Boston, Yes, Duran Duran, America, Toto, and the rest at this time.

I ignored it back then, too caught up in being a music snob to appreciate them. It's only after a few years, and being away from the place that I grew up for so long made me appreciate them when I heard the very same type of programming in a different place. Thing about music is that it brings you back to specific events when you hear a familiar tune. I even wrote about it a few years ago.

The good thing about having a station like 105.9 Retro is that it provides listeners an option to be in that zone anytime they want to without interruption. For a few minutes or even hours in a day, the familiar tunes you heard during happier times in a place you called home brings you back like a welcome time traveling vessel.

Whiplash

For all the critical acclaim it got, Whiplash (2015) is not without its share of detractors. Most of of whom are jazz musicians and music writers who described the brutal strategies of the music instructor played by J.K. Simmons as unrealistic.

In a Huffingon Post article written by Brian Ross he stated:

"The suspense of disbelief is mission-critical in the movie biz. If you're doing Fast and Furious 93, you have a lot of latitude in what you can do because it's all largely fantasy. In career-oriented dramas, though, whether it's about fireman, doctors, lawyers, poets, scientists or social evangelists, the buck stops at the writer and director's door to ground the story well enough. To a point at least where people who do that job for a living would find some "reasonable" level of authenticity."

I do share the sentiment about certain types of movies being grounded on a sense of realism despite the obvious reason that they're works of fiction. There are certain genres that can get away with outlandish premises and situations like the Fast And The Furious series, or maybe Pirates Of The Carribean, or Star Wars. To go out and watch movies like these expecting "realistic" situations other than just simply sitting back and enjoying a bit of pure escapist fare is a bit like watching a porno flick and complaining about the gratuitous and graphic sex in it.

Films like this, on the other hand, really can't rely on the "but it's just a movie" riposte .

But that's as far as I agree when it comes to the objections toward the film.

Of course mentors like that are highly improbable in schools in more developed countries. But I don't think it's impossible. Especially in the Philippines. I heard my grandfather in my mother's side of the family suffered a similar traumatic experience in the hands of his own father---a big band leader/conductor himself. Though not exactly leading a jazz ensemble (more like a band for hire for specific social events) or looking out for the next "Bird", his spartan approach to teaching and maintaining the quality of the band was legendary.

I do admit the bleeding hands were a bit of a stretch but the movie succeeded in communicating its main purpose in making the audience ponder on whether Machiavellian approaches are effective in achieving excellence or not.

It's not exactly a feel-good movie despite the somewhat optimistic ending. Unlike movies of this sort that touches on the triumph of the human spirit over adverse conditions (i.e. Rocky, August Rush).

But the drum solos. That alone was a blast.

R.E.M.: 1980-2011

I considered calling this post It's the end of REM as we know it. An obvious tongue-in-cheek reference to the recent retirement of the band, and their 1987 single off their album Document. But that has an unpleasant ring of permanence to it as if the members died or actually wouldn't do any other productive things thereafter. And the fact that a million others titled their article like that.


All bands eventually succumb to this; it's just a matter of time. It's actually surprising the band held out for as long as 31 years.


I never considered myself a big fan of the group. But I do have three albums I enjoy spinning every now and then, mostly the later works they did for Warner Music after they departed from IRS Records.


"Losing My Religion" was the single that sparked my interest for the band, and I even had the mistaken notion that it was a debut single coming from a new act that obviously benefited from what Nirvana did in ushering the alternative era and making college music cool enough to merit endless airings in MTV and mainstream radio. It had a jangly, catchy pop hook to it that was missing in most of the hard rock crunch of the distortion-heavy groups I listened to in heavy rotation that time. The lead singer, a good friend would later comment, even looked like a geek and slightly gay version of 90210's Luke Perry.


R.E.M was my introduction to 'rock' music minus the cock-rock and macho BS-posturing and moping evident in some of the buzz bands that took up most of my collection. While the band may take it negatively being referred to as rock musicians, or being purveyors of music anywhere remotely near the term rock, is beside the point. I always believed 'rock' meant not doing the same asinine disposable top 40 single with the shelf life of two days. 

R.E.M., Murmur era, 1983

Out Of Time (1991) was the first album I had of the band, mainly because of "Losing My Religion" and my budding interest to a local newspaper (Teddy Locsin's TODAY) column by someone named Jessica Zafra. She practically worshiped them, not unlike a religious zealot---most especially lead singer Michael Stipe---that I had to find out for myself that the group was more than just the single I came to know them for. 


I did not like the album that much. It was good, but not great. At least in my opinion that time.


It was too adult contemporary rock for me, being only 14 and still maintaining my stand that Megadeth is the best band of the last 1000 years. It was hardly the kind of band who channeled the angst, confusion and rebellious sentiments of the turmoils of adolescence unlike Green Day or Pearl Jam. 


 I walked out of it more than a little disappointed and thinking only "Losing My Religion" and "Near Wild Heaven" were the only great tracks on it. It was relegated to the last section of the drawer where I kept most of my cassettes (CD cost too much back then, even more so now) to be played now and then when I have had too much of the ear-splitting approach of their much louder Seattle counterparts or the token thrash metal records I had in abundance. In other words, it served as an intermission record for the next how many years I had left in high school, and had to get another copy of it when I entered college due to an unfamiliar deck's messing up the cassette ribbon into a tangled mass of trash.


By this time, and probably because of the hormones starting to stabilize coupled with reading some of the major music publications as well as an unconscious need for variety in listening materials, I gave the album (the new copy) another spin and found myself warming up to it a lot more than the first time I listened. I found myself sitting through the entire tape, with a few rewinds to the track "Belong"---wondering how the hell I missed such a good song and skipping it all these years. 

Automatic For The People (1992) is the best R.E.M album according to most publications and even Peter Buck (guitars) himself, but the one I wore out due to repeated playing was the little known New Adventures In Hi-Fi (1996). Out of the three albums I had, the latter was probably the one that had the most resonance to me. I don't know, maybe the fact that most of the songs were recorded live in various locations, sound checks and dressing rooms while on the Monster tour and still sounded a lot better than other overproduced garbage of that time was the reason. And that the songs had a floaty, introspective feel to them not even readily apparent in all other earlier songs I heard from them. If I were a superstitious man I'd  attribute the overwhelming sense of melancholia that pervades the entire record as an omen for drummer Bill Berry's departure a year later.


Hardcore fans thought the abrupt departure of the drummer would deal a blow so big the band would quit shortly after that. They didn't. Even made at least five other albums, with the latest released just last March of this year. What makes REM unique is that unlike some of their peers who achieved legendary cult statuses due to stopping at the peak of their artistic apex, they decided to milk the possibilities dry. 


Bands like Nirvana, Pavement, Radiohead, and Live all proclaim reverence to the group. And rightly so, because while Michael Stipe and Co may sound weird and so out of touch to today's contemporary music scene, their brand of DIY cool set the template for all other bands to follow. What I liked most about the band was that they were never saddled with the hubris that came with the 'indie' or college music tag. They helped define the indie genre that produced them, and at the same time maintained a comfortable distance from it that you rarely hear snotty indie aficionados name drop them in discussions. An indication that they never allowed to let themselves get pegged on a certain spot. And even when the later albums and songs were not as sharp or as potent as the singles that defined them, you'd have to give them credit for not copping out on it all too quickly.


And that, as they say, is that.

Ball tongue

I made a bet with my wife saying that Korn's opening song in last night's Araneta concert in Cubao would be "Blind", the first track off their impressive self-titled debut. We walked in presumably several minutes after the opener's (local group Slapshock) performance. There was a DJ/programmer onstage who was probably a tour member of the band entertaining the crowd and no doubt, doing a little intermission before the main show.He was playing tracks like Ramms+ein's "Du Hast" and The Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up", doing his best to alleviate the crowd's growing impatience for the band.


True enough, a few minutes later someone growled a guttural "ARE...YOU...READYYYYY?!!" from the darkness of the stage and the band erupted into a frenzy of throbbing intensity that sent audiences jumping around like living pogo sticks. I collected my winnings and joined the communal jumping and repetitive head-bobbing. 


Jonathan Davis, wearing a kilt, black tank top and badass boots and the rest of the band---guitarist Munky, bassist Fieldy and drummer Ray Luzier--- looked pumped and ready to prove once again that they are the real deal when it came to dealing out hard-driving music that is equal part introspective musing and antagonistic missiles delivered via Davis's trademark scat and unique singing and snarling.

The venue may not have been that packed (some areas within the upper boxes had entire sections devoid of people), but the band went at it like the true professionals they are and gave their all as if playing to an audience of thousands. Just a little surprised at the noise-mongers situated near the general admissions area earlier before the show started to have quieted down the moment the band took stage. You'd think the rowdy bunch shouting catcalls and demands to already start the show would live out to their promise earlier.


Pansies.


You'd think a crowd showing such passionate cries for attention would have enough left to take them through the rest of the show. Never did trees look so alive compared to most of them when the show was already on full swing. 


I admit my familiarity with the band is limited, having heard only the first three albums they released from 1994-1998. There were songs last night I was not familiar with or heard only in passing in some rock radio, but seeing the band performing live is a sight to behold. Specially Davis, whose gyrations and overall appearance was sure to leave a lasting impression to both hardcore fans and casual listeners alike. Someone at the back even asked why the hell the guy wore a 'skirt'. 


But the highlight of the evening was when "Shoots and Ladders" was played. I always wanted to see them play that on a live setting. The bagpipes adds a touch of majestic grandeur to an otherwise heavy and sludgy music. And it doesn't hurt that it was also the first time I actually saw someone playing a bagpipe on a concert. 


Singles like "Ball Tongue", "Freak On A Leash", "Falling Away From Me', and other songs were interconnected by a little playful medley that featured parts of Metallica's "One" and Queen's "We Will Rock You". They played masterfully, as expected from a band well-versed in hip-hop throb and hard rock crunch. But more than that, it was the band's good-natured humor that sold everyone.


I was afraid Fieldy's drop-tuned bass would blow the speakers from the inside-out, or flatten everyone's chest all the way to their backs with its incessant pounding. It was that heavy and no doubt the driving rhythm responsible to everyone's communal headbanging and jumping. Along with him and Davis, Munky (guitars) is the other original member left from the old line-up. Out of all the members I expected the guy to be the most aloof and quiet member but turned out to be a very warm and accommodating person to his fans, acknowledging the audience every now and then.


They ended the set with a promise to return. 


This time don't miss it.

'Bout a boy his name was Sue

Loud. The damned thing was too loud.


Of all the series of concerts from foreign artists I have watched in Araneta Coliseum, the Stone Temple Pilots gig will probably come across as the most sonically punishing of the lot. Not even the fabled abrasive industrial noise of Nine Inch Nails produced such ear-splitting intensity when they performed back in August 2009.


It was so great of an auditory assault I felt that familiar New Year's eve sensation when you detonated a horrendously huge firecracker at very close proximity; it is characterized by that constant ringing drone and the feel of an ear stuffed with cotton. That was the case after each song. It was 'loud' in a volume knob turned all the way to the right kind of loud; Disney's Happy Monster Band could be playing and your ears would still hurt. Nothing to do at all with the genre of music or musical intensity of the artist, but an abnormally cranked up volume control. Even singer Scott Weiland's voice, that great melodic set of pipes got drowned amidst the guitar and drum attack of Dean DeLeo and Eric Kretz (both playing with supreme skill and mastery) more than half the time.


I don't know if the band intentionally did that but I'll be damned if my hearing has not deteriorated after that concert. 

They started late, presumably because they had to rouse Weiland from a drug-induced coma. I'm not so sure how sober the guy is nowadays but he looked relatively healthy last night compared to the gaunt and skinny publicity photos he had at the height of his drug addiction. The singer danced and preened through several radio-friendly hits, much to the delight of the audience, which was composed predominantly of people within the late 20s and early 30s mark. We were in high school when STP hit it big. Do the math.


'Crackerman' was the opener, and that set everyone on their feet. It was mostly a catalogue of old hits from their top 3 albums: Core (1993), Purple (1994), and Tiny Music...Songs From The Vatican Gift Shop (1996). ALL the singles were played except for 'Creep'. Now that mystified me not because I needed to hear them play it (I'm partial to 'Wicked Garden' and 'Tripping On A Hole In A Paper Heart'---and they thankfully played those), but compared to 'Plush', that song has a lot more going to it, in my opinion. A smattering of new and decent-sounding singles from their new record were played, causing most of the audience to sit down and keep quiet, which can be embarrassing to both performer and some viewers.


All through the entire proceedings bass player Robert DeLeo kept the groove, horsing around most of the time with the audience members nearest him. But his highlight came when 'Interstate Love Song' was played. If there's one thing that stands out about that single, it is the great bassline done by this Deleo brother. And Weiland's great singing. That you cannot dispute.





It was a performance punctuated by Weiland's occasional joking---even parodying professional ring announcer Michael Buffer as he introduced his guitar player as Joe Frazier and bass player as Muhammad Ali. No doubt, referring to the Ali-Frazier Thrilla In Manila fight in 1975, also held in Araneta Coliseum.


It was a great concert, no doubt. If only my ears would stop ringing.

D-7 Siganid St.

Moving day

The House, Summer 1986

It was an awesome sight. After a few years living in a dark (subterranean as my uncle put it) residence in town, this large and bright looking house surrounded by vast rice fields, right next to a a kindergarten school I just graduated from, and vegetation looks just about right for me. I remembered the crates and cartons being unloaded and the smell of the new residence. The white tiles on the floor, faucets in every corner, electric sockets in every corner, and best of all, two bathrooms with a toilet bowl equipped with a flushing mechanism, and a shower. The smell of Albatross long disintegrated still lingering in the dry and empty bathrooms. And a bathroom mirror as well. From where we used to live, igib, tabo't timba was a way of life.

The bedrooms were equally impressive. To a boy used to a single bedroom with walls made out of plywood so thin you can practically use it as a substitute for paper when you ran out of materials to draw with, a real bedroom was overwhelming. Even the maid's quarters look pristine comapred to the one we've had before. There was a Jesus Christ poster left hanging in one of the cabinets. And a faint smell of rugby, and a little dust. And those circular flourescent lights I only get to see at the medical unit---I always associate them with Dr Garay---and all the lights in the house were exactly like those. Fascinating.

I went outside to check out the terrain. Lots of grass and plants. Perfect for my grasshopper catch and torture hobby. Ant-lions under the bedroom windows as well. I went to check the nearby chico tree for the large variety of ants called 'pala' in the local dialect. Check. I caught one and fed an ant lion larva with the biggest crater. Then I noticed the dogs on the other side of the bamboo fence. A lot of them. In varying breeds as well. One mean-looking mongrel with about the same height as I did eyed me the way a lion probably eyes a gazelle. Good thing I hated dogs. I had to stay out of that one's radius if I want to survive the rest of my stay in this new neighborhood.

I went to the street in front of the house. It was not paved like the ones we have passed going here. I didn't care. I went to the direction of the huge water tank in the west, still mindful of the dogs. A small cute looking white-furred member of the pack managed to squeeze through one of the openings and accompanied me in my walk. for some reason I liked this one more than I ever loved dogs and welcomed the company. I passed by a house in my right, just behind the kindergarten building. It was empty, but there was a native monkey tied by its neck above a tamarind tree. It was screeching at me. Probably remembered me when I threw rocks at it with my classmates in Kinder 1&2. Had it been able to speak I'm sure it would make a Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant proud with the kind of pep talk it would probably give me. The house on the left was inhabited. I saw a mocha-colored VW Beetle parked in a more sophisticated looking garage. 

I reached the end of the road and stood there gaping at the wide open space I did not experience when I lived in the center of the small town. Me, Kit and Jute would have a blast with those Ninja and Tarzan moves we discussed before.

The dog wandered somewhere and I realized i still needed to unpack my comic book collection. Going back, I deduced my father had already unpacked some of his own things as well. 

I can already hear Ricky Nelson's "Poor Little Fool" this far from the house.

Palo

I've been browsing through some Eraserheads tracks in Youtube and I just realized something.

"Para Sa Masa" off Sticker Happy (1997) might not be that harmless after all. Not because it has an insidious, subliminal message telling you to recite "Natas" eighteen times or shoot up large quantities of narcotics hidden in the seeming tribute to the masses that paranoid fundamentalists wold have no difficulty in spotting (if some of them can declare Return Of The Jedi as anti-Christian, it would be a breeze doing that to a record with a naked woman in the cover). Nothing as controversial as those.

It is not harmless because in my opinion, that song is a pointed critique to the group of people it appears to glorify. In most parts the song is more hurt than actually reprimanding, as what these lines, as I understand them, say:

"naaalala nyo pa ba/binigyan namin kayo ng ligaya..."

And then veers toward this direction:

"ilang taon na rin ang lumipas/mga kulay ng mundo ay kumupas/marami na rin ang mga pagbabago/di maiiwasan pagkat tayo ay tao lamang..."

And this caps it all:

"mapapatawad mo ba ako/kung hindi ko sinunod ang gusto mo..."

That last line may have been brought on by the lukewarm reception the band got for songs that were way out of their usual fare. In other words, "fans" did not like it when their favorite band went over its head and decide to do experiments with their sound. As I recall the album's predecessor (Fruitcake) sold well, but did not sell great as their previous releases. It was totally different from the rest--all English songs, even had a book with it--and none of the daily college/juvenile shenanigans the band's most popular songs became well known for.

And finally:

"pinilit kong iahon ka/ngunit ayaw mo namang sumama..."

And:

"huwag mo hayaang ganito/bigyan ang sarili ng respeto..."

I am no Lit major but those lines might as well say they'd given up trying to elevate the average person's taste by giving them something different. Of course that smacks of arrogance and downright condescension on the band's part and I may also be mistaken since that's how I interpret it, but even if that was indeed their sentiments, then so be it. As long as that was how they felt during that time, then fine. Phoniness is worse. The band went on to record two more excellent albums (Natin99--is their best in my opinion) that were sadly overlooked by most of their fans until their eventual dissolution in the early part of the century.

But everyone got one hell of a spanking with that song.

Album Art

In a previous entry (Happy Anti-Valentine's Day) I waxed poetic on the pleasures of acquiring and listening to music the old-fashioned way. Of course in today's digital landscape, actually owning a physical piece of musical recording - be it via cds, cassette or vinyl - would warrant a dazed and quizzical look from today's brain-dead generation (and people of my age bracket or older trying hard to be in today's loop). At best you'd get an honest query as to why you'd go through such pains of scouring the metropolis and back while shelving out horrendous amounts of money for something you can get--sorry, download-- for free. You might as well ask collectors why they'd pay astronomical amounts that's enough to alleviate our international debt for a piece of painting when they can just buy a reproduction that costs less than the frame it will be mounted on. And this stance has nothing to do with piracy either. I support piracy. But when it comes to music, I prefer to have the real thing complete with the liner notes and personnel involved in the album's creation. More importantly, because it preserves the artwork that goes with the music: From the way the inlay sleeves were folded, to the entire layout (specially when lyrics are reprinted) as well as the band/musician information. Some torrent downloads come with a jpeg file of the album covers and inlay sleeves but nothing beats the real thing.

And there's just something about buying something and not knowing what to expect out of it, and the anticipation of going home, strapping your headphones and listening to it while marveling at the creativity (or not) of the music, package and the cover. When the music and album artwork jived, I could listen to the entire thing for weeks. Especially if it was a favorite artist who did something totally new, and surprisingly good output.

Rolling Stone magazine published its own list of 100 GREATEST ALBUM COVERS OF ALL TIME a few years ago. I'm going to do a list of my own that is strictly confined to my own collection mostly composed of cassette tapes I started buying when I was in high school and a smattering of cds (that are mostly upgraded versions of my albums on tape that warped).

In no particular order:
ERASERHEADS/CIRCUS - The 'Heads exemplified everything that has to do with living out your college life in perpetual cool. The wit, humor and intelligence of the compositions went well with the grit and simplicity of the cover and layout. Listening to the record and reading the booklet somehow made you feel you were in a dormitory drinking your guts out while singing to a medley done by your guitar-toting buddy.

LIVE/THROWING COPPER - To be honest, my primary reason for buying Live's sophomore hit was because of the cover art. I heard 'Selling the drama' before, and it was a decent tune. But the painting by Peter Howson called 'Sisters Of Mercy' had a mysterious and slightly frightening aura about it that went so well with the spiritualistic leanings of the band's music. I even had the cassette case left around the stereo as it looks ominous and cool along with my father's jazz collection.

MEGADETH/RUST IN PEACE - Ed Repka was a mainstay in the Megadeth fold (even outlasting some band members), doing cover arts for earlier albums but 1990's Rust In Peace was the most arresting. Not only is the album a lean, towering piece of thrash perfection, but the cover art depicting alien conspiracies and people that look suspiciously like Gorbachev and George Bush watching beloved mascot Vic Rattlehead do a demonstration on alien life form deserves a comic book series of its own. Stare at the cover during 'Hangar 18'.

SMASHING PUMPKINS/SIAMESE DREAM - The orange toned photograph of the twin sisters, coupled with Billy Corgan's lyrical images about nostalgia really hits home. This is the reason why I always look back at the 90s as perpetual summers lighted in the late golden afternoon sun.

GUNS N' ROSES/USE YOUR ILLUSION I&II - One of the most ambitious projects in hard rock history. Impeccable layouts and generous inclusion of lyrics and band photos and personnel as well.

NINE INCH NAILS/PRETTY HATE MACHINE - Simple and elegant inlay card. Also features the debut of the NIN symbol designed by Trent Reznor and Gary Talpas. An additional treat would be the inclusion of "ideas and sounds" Reznor utilized while recording his landmark debut.

THE POLICE/GHOST IN THE MACHINE - Up to this album the band mostly utilized their own photos in their album covers alternating who gets to be in the middle (they're a power trio after all) per album. For this release, we get a simple black background and three digital Chinese (or Japanese) characters with the band's faces signifying their approach to their new synth-heavy compositions.

GARBAGE - Not only is the cover striking, but I was actually hellbent on buying the album because I read Butch Vig--who produced Nirvana's Nevermind and Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dream--will be drumming for the band. I couldn't care less had the album art were done by people with the aesthetic sensibilities of pirated DVD peddlers here in the Philippines. That the cover was beautiful was a pleasant surprise and only added to my appreciation of the band and its music.

SOUL ASYLUM/GRAVE DANCERS UNION - While Soul Asylum had already been relegated to relative obscurity after their 90s heyday, their 1992 album was by far one of the best albums with an equally memorable cover as well.

BLIND MELON - The Bee Girl does it for me. One of the coolest album covers there is.

Anything

Just to write/share something...


Real Genius - I have been watching this movie repeatedly these days because of my son's fondness for the Comsat Angels's "I'm Falling" during one of the sequences of the movie that used the entire duration of the song. He practically uses it as a lullaby at bedtime. Fine by me. At least it's not "Nobody" by the Wonder Girls.

Green Tea - Probably the only reason why my weight has not approached pachyderm proportions despite my disregard for diet and exercise.


Movie Scores - Today's contemporary music scene makes one wish for a Groundhog Day scenario set during the early 90s. In the absence of good pop/rock music, movie scores are the way to go.


Chuck Taylors - RIP. The coolness element will be sorely missed.


Elow Poh! - Makes you wonder if the speaker is extremely courteous or just someone with an uncontrollable compulsion to commit atrocities with their lame attempts at cuteness. Imagine a grown "man" with lips the size of Mt. Kanlaon doing this to a person young enough to be his son. Exactly.


Young People Who Think Avatar Is James Cameron's Opus - There are a lot of pirated copies of ALIENS and The Terminator Series and The Abyss. In the words of Henri Ducard, "Always mind your surroundings." Or if that's too much, Google is here for a reason.


Pan De Manila - Because the Ortigas land area is already saturated with 7-11 and Mini-Stop shops per square inch. Thank you for opening a branch near the office.


Reading - A lot of good books left unread because of this inanity. Okay I'm off.