Next episode

In light of the recent brouhaha surrounding everyone's favorite media punching bag, I came to realize how big a chunk Willie Revillame takes up in Philippine culture. Landing the headline of a major newspaper means you’re, well, somewhat of a big deal anyway.

I can empathize with the blind adulation and near canonization of the guy by the hordes of disciples/acolytes ready to act as human shields should anyone threaten the safety of their so-called savior. If one knows anything about Pinoy society, especially those living within the spectrum of the urban poor section of the metropolis, is that most people are willing to sell their allegiance for peanuts and the smallest gestures of goodwill; or for even the tiniest acknowledgements of their existence. Especially when it comes from a media personality extolling the virtues of championing the cause of the 'lowly' poverty stricken denizens of the country. And a millionaire to boot. It's not like these folks have time for actually doubting the motives of the guy; maybe they did at first, but when you live in a desperate existence and somebody showed up with a Robin Hood promise of helping -- just the word 'tulong' (help) is enough: nevermind if it's tulungan kita mag-saing o tulungan kita sa pera.

I believe the whole 'cult of Willie' is composed of people who want to stick a big middle finger to others they view as belonging to a higher social class than they are. I have no empirical evidence to support this--merely observations of the guy's TV programs and his countless YouTube defenders whenever some unsavory comment is thrown toward one of his videos.

No one mentions class war but it has always been there. It was present in the EDSA 3 riot and it's present in the jeers of the crowd last night when Revillame enumerated the scores of celebrities who lambasted him in Twitter. That most of them, like Leah Salonga and Jim Paredes were not exactly 'Masa' material, only exacerbated the situation. It's the classic indirect diss: by dissing the object of everyone's affection, means they are also dissing his supporters. At worst, the message was: The guy's obviously an asshole. Only an idiot would like him. That they were on Twitter bashing him---no doubt in 'inglis'---sealed the deal. 

Tribalism, as my psychiatrist uncle once pointed out, figures a great deal in Pinoy society. And I agree. It’s not that his followers are cretins who do not know how big a creep the guy really is. It's just that they probably don’t care. He's one of them. And he's practically family. The kind who smacks his wife around only to be told by his folks that he's just exercising his authority as the king of the abode because his wife is probably a nagging b*** who needed to be reminded of the order of things. And that 'nagkakasayahan na nga kami dito, bat nyo kami pakekelaman?' Revillame's circle is no fraternity/sorority, but in many respects, the loyalty his people accord him can rival any Greek, Latin or any other secret society in terms of how protective of him they really are. Him to them, and them to him. It may all be phoniness on his part, but if hearing what they want to hear is the way, then Willie is the man.

The guy is not unlike ERAP, in that he always underscores the MASA card and debilitating poverty as fodder for the very people who experience this plight. His antics were never geared toward the academe, middle class nor his peers in showbusiness.You have got to admire the guy for playing the MASA card so brilliantly. Never has appeals to emotion over intellect been in full display on national TV. That he can conjure equal intensities of disgust and admiration from people is a feat in itself; and the networks cashing in on the abomination they have created.

Shutting him down will no doubt create a short term solution for getting rid of the kind of television Revillame promotes. But what it really means for the thousands---millions---of Revillame admirers is another blow coming from the pompous rich academic know-it-alls who has nothing better to do but bully the 'little people' so loved and protected by Revillame. Another persecution from the hoity-toity upper classes, this time in a bigger scale.

It's only a matter of time when another TV network hungry for ratings comes along and a guy willing to cash in on the desperation of the poor decides to don the sheep costume and dance and preen to Dr Dre's 'Next Episode'.

Interested in studying psychology? Check out forensic
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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.

Tira

A little hilarious piece from my sister. Funny, brutal and true. You would not want to be the reason for her irritation. Plus, I'm too lazy to write anything of my own just yet so I'll resort to this shameless attempt at adding anything this blog for the sake of having an entry. Apologies to non-Hiligaynon speakers.

link:

"http://vanhalenfan.wordpress.com/2009/03/13/pande-what-oh-monium/

Congratulations, you've been duped

Sade's 'Smooth Operator' is playing in the neigborhood karaoke joint. The familiar "smooooth operay-tah..." drone of somebody bastardizing the song has been going on for sometime now. The singer's probably a middle-aged woman who took part in the 1986 People Power revolution and who worshipped Sade during the 80s. Not exactly a horrendous rendition, but it's obviously not from someone with an innate talent in singing. Pwede na.

Before Sade I heard several people cover artists like Bread, Tom Jones, Duran Duran and Cliff Richard in varying degrees of shrieks and attempts at actual singing. I'm no expert but even a first-grader would agree with me had he heard the same ruckus across the street. Even my one year-old son is making the same cringing expression everytime he's taking a major dump while standing. The Sade-singer is the most pleasant-sounding among the bunch.

There goes the obligatory "TAN-TANANAN-TAN-TAN-TAN-TAN-TAN-TANTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

Followed no doubt by that "CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE A PROFESSIONAL SINGER!" in bold brilliant letters.

Even video machines are good at the same oily politicking TRAPOS have mastered to dupe people into putting more money into their pockets. Or more 5-Peso coins into their coin slots.

Amazing how flattery and overlooking obvious flaws can manipulate people into doing what you want.

Oktoberfest 2008

6-September-2008
02:34:11

The view from our office in the 16th floor is relatively good. Wynsum building is one of the tallest buildings in the Ortigas area and is practically located in the middle of the business center overlooking most of the place. From our wing, you can see an unobstructed view of SM Megamall, the SAN MIGUEL fortress and part of the small watering holes within El Pueblo.

Of the three, the San Miguel compound has got to be the most arresting. Not only does it have the biggest compound in the area, but the building that looms within that enclosure has the strangest, most original architecture and appearance I have ever clapped my eyes on. The first time I saw it from an elevated vantage point, images of Incan/Mayan pyramids immediately came to mind. It's shaped like a pyramid all right, only slightly modified for practical purposes with a flat plane at the top that serves as a helipad. In short, it was a structure unlike any building found within the vicinity, or in Metro Manila for that matter. I guess its arresting appearance (for me, at least.) turned it into a kind of reference point for me whenever I'm in Ortigas.

A few days ago I noticed the roads surrounding the San Miguel compound were being lined with galvanized iron sheets that would serve as a perimeter boundary for an apparently early celebration of their much-anticipated Oktoberfest. I heard they were planning to make it in the Guinness Book world records to do the LONGEST BAR in the world. A little online investigation revealed these facts: The bar is 600 meters long with 200 bars stretching from San Miguel Avenue to St. Francis in Mandaluyong. The current title-holder is Taiwan at 240 meters.

A normal person would've been probably delighted at this recent development but I found myself indifferent towards it. Even annoyed, to be blunt. The first time I saw those iron sheets I knew I'm going to encounter a lot of inconvenience. I immediately asked around the office what it was for, as that location is very important for me because the FX PUVs I take when I go home from work are usually parked in Julia Vargas, a major street. If not, I have to walk all the way to Shaw Boulevard to take a jeep. It's not the long walk I have to do that I’m complaining about, in fact I welcome the exercise as a good diversion for my sedentary lifestyle, but the hazards in the Shaw-Crossing area is not something to be joked about, especially at night---the time I get off work. And I was right. As I got off earlier tonight, not an FX was in sight. I walked towards Shaw while Third Eye Blind, the guest band, worked the crowd into a frenzy. They were playing something I'm not familiar with (Semi-charmed life and How's it gonna be are about it.) and I couldn't care less. I was busy observing the cartoon characters littering the streets.

Why is it that when an event like this---be it Oktoberfest or Fete de La Musique---is launched, some people, especially the punk-punkans and goth-gothans as I call them, feel the compelling urge to parade the streets in droves with their most ridiculous outfits looking very badass and totally moronic, cause trouble, preen and heckle, and SIT. Not just sit, but sit far away from the main event and observe people like coked-out visitors from outer space visiting an alien outpost. And it's not like there's a shortage of space near the event; that at least I can understand. But...why bother?

I remembered when Fete De La Musique was held in Ortigas a few years ago, I observed several groups of young people all dressed in black (rakista daw sila e.) chasing each other with the intent to use each other’s heads as makeshift snare drums. For what? Angasan. That term is so deadly. And stupid. Many a frat/gang war erupted to apocalyptic proportions because of that and the very fragile macho ego of the average pinoy macho man. Everyone wants to be acknowledged for their so-called bravery and alpha male standing within the group. Now put that into perspective with a group of stupid young people who extol the virtues of sex, drugs and rock and roll and you'd have a bomb waiting to explode. Events with a combination of alcohol and bands with guitars---never mind if they’re playing Beach Boys tunes---attract these dregs like flies on shit. But the hilarious part is when they do show up, music is a distant second to strutting and loitering the streets like peacocks and were-bitches in heat.

What a crazy way to close a day.

Indie indie-han

Main Entry: in·die Pronunciation: \ˈin-dē\ Function: noun Etymology: by shortening alteration from independent Date: 1928

1: one that is independent; especially : an unaffiliated record or motion-picture production company

2: something (as a record or film) produced by an indie— indie adjective

-Merriam Webster's Online Dictionary

Indie.

That word is supposed to send chills down the spine of an average person with an average college education as some sort of paragon for artistic excellence and boldness to do everything outside the box and pursuing your own vision. or "eccentric art", if some of the pseudo-art expert professors I had way back in college would say. Therefore it's more artistic and "deep" because the artist's vision was rejected by the ignorant businessmen who dictate popular tastes to the ignorant masses, be it via the assembly-line products of MTV or Hollywood. Yet the artist went on and adapted the DIY punk aesthetic championed most by indie-music lovers and musicians to reach a core audience and give the finger to the big establishments and their roster of popular acts, now equated to a McDonald's value meal in terms of nutritional value and shelf life. Admirable and brilliant. Or is it?

I was first introduced to the term way back in school. I probably came across it from a music publication I was reading and heard about it later from a few hip kids who listened to obscure bands i can't even remember. I believe it's a relatively new term considering Rolling Stone magazine even called the genre "college music" several years ago and "underground" and/or "independents" before the indie chic happened. But what is indie anyway?

The Pin-up Girls, a Pinoy band led by Ang TV alumnus Mondo Castro had been a good example of an independent band who followed the DIY principle from its inception up to the recording of their debut alum Hello Pain. With no record label to carry them, they held a series of garage shows and loaned the amount for the recording expenses. In an interview from PULP magazine bassist Jeng Tan griped about the snobbery of some die hard members (fans and musicians) of the Pinoy indie scene regarding the band and its accomplishments. Perhaps it's because of Castro's exposure via Ang TV or the band's influences of British musicians like Echo And The Bunnymen and The Stone Roses who are hardly worthy of being called indie due to their popularity in the 80s. Or maybe the indie scene just plain hates them. Perhaps they don't dress, act and like what's supposed to be acceptable in the circle.

Boston-based The Pixies

And here lies the biggest hypocrisy in this genre or movement or whatever: the people like you when you are still in the starving artist stage and condemn you as a sellout the moment you sold three albums and two new people show up for your gigs. Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins, himself a target of the uber-cool indie gang had this to say in an early interview: "The criticisms often come from people who hide behind the veneer of persona or coolness or an aesthetic of indieness."

The thing I've noticed about indie music is that it brings some of the most pathetic dweebs and snide assholes of the world together. Like a clan of hyenas you'd often see these (often) bespectacled and lanky dorks rave about some band playing half-assed imitations of Monkees songs in some ratty basement and giggle like little girls about how cool they are for discovering something not known by the braindead masses. Quark Henares---son of NU107 head Atom Henares and celebrity doctor Vicky Belo--- though hardly qualifying as lanky and bespectacled, proudly wears his indie-cred up his sleeve as if it gives instant kiss-ass points due to him for his crap movies and equally abominable indie bands. This David Lynch groupie also takes pride in his liking for new indie bands in the US whose names you can't even remember 5 seconds after he said it. If i can recall correctly, he had a radio show in NU that featured some of the indie musicians he loves. The more weird-sounding, the better. The more off-putting to the general audience, the better. That means he (and some of his sycophantic acolytes) got something the general audience didn't. Ladies and gents, music is now relegated as a tool for MENSA membership.

You'd also often hear these people mouthing off words of adoration for Boston-based The Pixies and Stephen Malkmus's Pavement and Sleater-Kinney every now and then. You stumble into a place with this crowd and say you like listening to, for example, Green Day and chances are you'd get a dismissive wave or a mocking laugh that clearly says you're stupid for liking what you like. And you'd probably get a diatribe on why Green Day doesn't deserve its success because these 3 no-talent "punks" just stole the style of some obscure, struggling new york garage band who are supposedly much better. But then you'd wonder why this obscure band didn't have the sense to bring their music out of the "garage" to get noticed in the first place? I don't know. maybe they're just afraid of being persecuted as sell-outs.

This group takes pride in appreciating anything not popular just to prove that they're not victims of the herd mentality. You'd hear someone raving about something called "Thee Michelle Gun Elephant" or listening to atonal singing and assorted pitches created by a chainsaw in a recording but hey, it's indie. So it has got to be good right? If you don't get it in all its indie glory, then you're a moron. It's as simple as that. You don't like it and it's indie? You are a pathetic philistine. How dare you pick Guns 'N Roses over this avant-garde piece of work?!

Hasn't it crossed these people's minds that the reason why the majority of the things they listen to are "indie" and are still stuck in obscurity is because these artists are actually, well, bad? Just because a major record label rejects you doesn't automatically mean they can't see the Mozart in you. On the contrary, it's more likely that they spotted your potential to be a Salieri more than anything else. This genre has now become the refuge for sub-par musicians to feel good about themselves because now they have the backing of neurotic, snobby music geeks who automatically gobble anything just because the term "indie"is attached to it. In a way, their behavior is not dissimilar to those mainstream "MTV" audience they enjoy mocking.

This gives a bad name to real, independent artists with real talent to boot.

"Indie" is similar to porno, only designed for a worse kind of jerk-off practice: pseudo-intellectual arrogance.

Pink ribbon scars, that never forget

Summer 1993, in dreams…

It's always around April, mid-afternoon, somewhere around 4 or 5. The time of the day when everything's in golden hues and the landscape is colored brown filled with occasional patches of green and the royal blue sky is clear and slowly giving in to dusk’s red light. The streets are filled with young mothers, nannies and little kids, engaged in their own animated games and conversations. Among them is your sister who just started her academic life as a kindergarten student, playing with her friends Mandie and Honey. 


You’re inside the house listening all day to the radio. Enjoying alternative tunes and feeling like a real sophisticated adult for appreciating something that’s supposed to be an ‘alternative’ to the ‘stupid’ posturing of pop, not knowing it’s the same movement perpetuated by the very same entities who gave you the pop music you abhor with passion. 


You wander outside and go west towards the direction of the huge water tank, and the breeze is cool and dusty and smells of dried grass, hay, an unknown but familiar sweet-smelling blossom, and the slightest hint of dried cow dung. 


Walking past the Ematas and the Eusebios, you find yourself at the end of the cement road in the middle of a large field that used to have been rice paddies up until the late 80s but are now just barren soil used to grow assorted crops like squash, watermelons and a wide variety of weeds. 


You take a deep breath as you stare at the setting sun just beyond the huge tank looming in the opposite side. 


A sense of tranquility flows over you and a feeling of relief that you survived the first year of high school with just a few bumps and bruises. You go over your game plan for the next school year to show everyone how serious you really are with studying. And you're filled with intense pride at the thought of what you can accomplish in the coming years while in school. 


Until your little sister suddenly yells from afar to break you out of an almost drunken stupor; ordered no doubt by your mother to have you summoned for a little housework. You sigh and use your walking stick to poke a paleolithic-looking creature resting in the crevice of a large cement drainage. It won't budge. 


You glance at the receding rays of the sun one last time and head home.

Slave Screams

My uncle put it simply: We Filipinos do not know how to handle power.

You give a little authority to someone and the person undergoes a bizarre metamorphosis that turns him into a rampaging megalomaniac with a twisted case of messianic complex to boot.

I do not have any empirical or statistical evidence to prove this but basing from my own observations I have to say that the statement is not entirely dubious. I don't think I need to use the all-time favorite corrupt politicians to get to the point; everyone knows that. I just would like to focus on the day to day activities that features this dismal reality whether one is aware of it or not.



Happiness In Slavery, NINE INCH NAILS


I work for a company. and being a business organization, it naturally has the hierarchy of command from the owner down to us lowly wage-slaves. In my own team, we have a team leader who monitors her members to achieve the level of work expected from us. She gives the due recognition to good performers, and the occasional spanking of those who failed in some ways (we're just human). But a team leader can only do so much. So she proposed a system that would deter any incidence of errors by utilizing money as a form of punishment. The gist of the punishment is: if you don't want to shelf out money, then be careful with what you're doing. Practical and effective, right? It reduces the occurrence of errors and spares the boss from any time-consuming lectures. Money can sure straight things out a lot.

Pretty reasonable. And effective, too. If i were the boss I'd resort to that kind of strategy myself. It effectively cuts down the activities thereby increasing her output in more pressing issues concerning the team.

The problem with this, however, is assigning the person(s) to do the monitoring.

Let us assume that the people assigned to do this are group mates with the same job level as yours. At first when they call your attention regarding an error and demanded for your payment, it was okay. But then you'd notice that the person(s) in charge of it seems to have very little dues or none at all; while you and another teammate are in a perpetual contest as to who among the two of you will have the biggest bill to pay for the week.

Of course one can argue that it is my own fault for not paying attention to the work I'm supposed to do, but don't you just hate that tinge of doubt that maybe, in some way, you were being cuckolded? Of course not. One just needs to have faith in the innate goodness and honesty of man. Maybe I'm just being paranoid because if i were the monitoring officer and found that i incurred an error, i will simply fix it and act as if nothing happened. But that's me.

But the thing that gets to me is not the fact that i may be fooled into paying every week, but the arrogance that the OIC assigned to the task displays every time I or someone else had incurred and error. If you're not familiar with our team, you'd probably assume that that person is the leader. Exactly like my uncle said. Give someone a little authority and it goes over their heads. There is also a condescending tone every time someone is caught. They have the file, so they have the power to manipulate it as they wish. Hearing them talk and nag people you'd think they can do a better job than the boss who, in fact, is the only person that has the god-given right to reprimand his subordinates.

That responsibility creates an illusion of control thereby giving the simulated feeling that you are somehow better than your group mates. Of course the person can deny this. But that's the beauty of nonverbal communication.

Your actions are the best proof against the bullshit that comes out of your mouth.

Diagnosis

When I was a kid my mother took me to the doctor back in the medical unit of SEAFDEC because of a pesky fever that's threatening the family's holiday plans (we were due to depart for Manila for our annual Christmas vacation). I remember that my impression of the guy was of someone who checks on patients and goes home at the end of the day and looks at his medical books to see if most his diagnoses were right; not unlike the kind of guy who'd also look at a dating manual or an FHM magazine after a first date to see if picking his front teeth with his finger during dinner was acceptable or not. 

The guy went at it like most GP does and gave the go signal for 'safe' travel even though I was chattering so bad I feared splintering all my front teeth. I was in the airplane and most of the passengers mistakenly assumed I was horrified of air travel because I was shivering so badly during the entire flight. When we arrived at the house in Quezon City they had to give me an ice bath because the fever was so high. According to my uncle I was so delirious I told them Batman was sitting in the far chair looking at me sympathetically. The next morning I was admitted to the UST hospital and was diagnosed with h-fever.

The Saturday before the last one, my wife and I took our son to the doctor for his vaccine. I was uncomfortable at the clinic due to the unusual low temperature of the airconditioning system. I didn't mind it that much considering i really have a low tolerance for cool temperatures, but the discomfort was there. going home inside the cab, I realized i was suffering from a fever---a little funny considering my son got the shots and showed no signs of imminent fever or malaise.

The fever. That's the worst part. Not only was it so high that the chills were excruciating, but the headache and lack of appetite that came with it were pure torture. You'd get hungry you'd think you can eat an entire cow, but lose appetite after one or two spoonfuls. I thought it was one of those new strains of flu that probably came from an elephant and mutated to pummel humans into oblivion with their new, superpowered mutant potency. My fever only fluctuated between 38-40 C, and that was when I took paracetamol every four hours. I'd probably burn a hole straight into my pillow if I didn't take any medication. 

Not only until the third day of the fever, when I was in the hospital insisting that they admit me that I realized I was again suffering from dengue--my platelets they, said, were decreasing in an alarming rate.

Not that i was entirely depressed by the news. It was the Medical City, and one of the high-end hospitals and I had my HMO to take care of it. I was looking forward to a week (or more) of no work and being treated like a king. That's one of the advantages of being a patient, you basically have people treating you like a fine China during the duration of the disease.

The joke was on me though; the damned card only covered the 'ward' section and not any of private rooms I was fantasizing of occupying. Talk about being suckered.

The town

Small towns have an undeniable charm that makes anyone feel at home no matter where they are. Especially when it's just a few hours after dawn's first light; the part where the heat isn't at oppressive levels yet, and the last traces of last night's dew and mist are dissipating. 

Good thing that even if I'm living in Metro Manila, the town I live in has a quiet, laid-back atmosphere that is characteristically un-city like that reminded me of towns in Naga City, Olongapo, and Iloilo. It's only a pity that the crime rate has all the characteristics of those big, industrial wasteland city zones. But other than that, it has its upsides as well.

Earlier, my wife and I made a small trip to the bakery after we consumed every last morsel of bread in the house, unmindful that there were at least three more people who has to take their breakfast. We took a tricycle ride, and saw the surroundings in a very familiar and comforting light.

It's one of those little things that you're glad you have noticed.

Reverse Psych 101

That was one hell of a company outing i attended.

This latest excursion was saddled with very high expectations as the previous year's outing was slightly disappointing. much of the complaints were centered on the unpleasant weather. And another big factor for the excitiment was the venue: Grande Island resort in the Subic Bay Metropolitan Authority. The thought of spending a day in a small piece of land surrounded by the sea on a summer day conjures visions of prepubescent fantasies of the Blue Lagoon-variety, to swimming to your heart's delight under the blazing sun.

I wish I could say something witty about how the monumental disappointment of the employees threatened to bring the whole island upside down but whatever sense of humor I have left is already spent from trying not to give in to anger and just laugh at our miserable condition. anger takes too much energy and I couldn't afford to be exhausted at that time. Ironically, the purpose of the trip was to get rid of work-induced stress, But that's exactly what most of us got. It was so bad that I actually looked forward for work the coming Monday. Working never seemed so alluring and relaxing compared to that ordeal. I wonder if it was a company ploy so employees would appreciate their work more.

I had to wake up at 3 am because the departure time from Ortigas was 5 am. We left at 630 anyway. But that happens all the time. So I didn't have a problem with that. When we arrived at the island it was already raining and the wind is already picking up speed. So the upper management segregated us in different pavilions because the rooms, they said, were not ready yet. they expected us to check in at 2pm so we had to wait until they said we can go in.

I knew i should have gotten handfuls of those in-bus snacks and saved them for emergency purposes in case some catastrophe involving the food service in the island happens. poor mr. naive that I am, expected to eat lunch upon arrival. Up until lunch was served, some guys and I were still looking around the pavilion for hidden cameras as we were very sure we're being shot by Wow Mali! or some other TV show specializing on practical jokes. We were convinced this was some sort of a sick joke. It was funny alright; we were that close to eating the entire resort staff from sheer starvation.

We couldn't even drink the booze we brought along because of some stupid house rule I didn't bother to know for fear i might pick a fight with an island staff. And a brawl involving a big plate of lechon was averted; a guy almost got smacked while i was oblivious of the commotion belting out a new wave tune in the videoke. And that was about the only saving grace form the entire outing-something we could've had just by crossing the steet right across the office.

Those Rolling R's

Going to bookstores offers a different and amusing respite from my day to day routine. Specially high-end ones like Powerbooks with its browser-friendly lounges and mini coffee shops and nearby record store (Tower Records in Megamall) where most so-called bibliophiles and audiophiles swarm. Most people find the place spectacular because of the amenities and reader-friendly comfort i just mentioned, however those are not the reasons why I find the place so amusing.


My work like any regular office jobs, starts at Ten AM and I leave the office at Six Thirty. Sometimes, when my girlfriend and I decide to meet after hours I loiter around powerbooks to wait for her until 8 pm as she's in the graveyard shift for a call center in Ortigas, where I also work. So I usually spend my waiting time reading something that had its protective plastic cover torn out of it by some overeager browser---which I am also guilty of from time to time especially when it comes to comic books. 

It's usually when i'm already within a quarter of the book/magazine that I am reading when I usually hear it. Anybody would have heard it too, every time one goes there or any other bookstores in some other business center. At first it would be just some random comment about this or that book; or how this author stinks and how the other one is brilliant. Commentaries like that are often voiced out in that unmistakable burgis-just-came-back-from-d-isteyts twang with a hint of boredom as if what the speaker is voicing out is already common knowledge. You'd hear cerebral comments like: "My god! How come there's a lot of books about Hitler?! Don't the publishers know the gravity of their actions?!" to "Hillary Clinton? She's a bitch. But I like her."


Susmaryosep.


Sometimes you'd be lucky (or unlucky depending on your point of view) to catch a group of artistes sitting around a large table in the center of the store discussing art and all sorts of pseudo-intellectual masturbatory aides at the top of their lungs. They're not yelling, but they see to it that everyone gets to hear what they say. You can actually feel the self-congratulatory pat in the back everytime someone blurts out a comment or critique about a certain film/book/music. I swear, hearing those exchanges make Roger Ebert seem like an amateur. The way they voice out criticisms in their discussion you'd feel like they'd do a better job than the hapless author they choose to eviscerate in their little soiree. Oh, and the discussion is, of course, in English. with a dash of taglish every now and then for that token coño effect. Because, as you can see, intellectuals in the philippines voice out their opinions in perfect, American english. So there.


Now that's entertainment you can't buy.

The Vermillion Skull Grinned

"...but what about the butterflies...?" --U.P.


"...but what about the snakes...?" --T.L.


*Debate between two professors over the issue of clearing the thick vegetation at the back of their dorm. (UP, Miag-ao)


I heard my former professor back in college is now a resident of the very famous institution in the western part of Mandaluyong. No less than my sister confirmed this as she also belongs to the same college as I did--as well as the professor. I guess fate really does catch up with all of us sooner or later.

I heard a lot of horror stories about Ms. Panama (not her real name) when I was still a freshman; about how she conducted lectures that would make the March Hare and The Mad Hatter proud and her natural predisposition for terrorizing unfortunate students who offended her sensibilities. The way she conducted her classes was based on her template that all students on the quest for knowledge should work hard for it. Ergo, you do all the research that you think is vital for this course: If you're taking English I (basic communication skills), then find any books that's related to the subject, then create a --in her own words--"well organized compilation" of what you learned and submit it at the end of the semester. Bibliographic entries/list of no less than 50 books from the library was required during the first week to see if the students knew what they were looking for. I submitted 50 titles of rock albums just to submit something (using the library at UPV was like killing people for the cause of preserving life). i.e: Corgan, William Jr.,Basic Communication. (1993), Smashing Pumpkins Press. See if she can see that.

The way I saw it, however, was that it was an elaborate excuse not to perform actual lectures every meeting so she could indulge in her sadistic hobby of persecuting students she didn't like. She did check the attendance and asked questions related to the subject every now and then, but not to gauge how much her students (subjects, actually) knew, but to humiliate anyone unfortunate enough to be called who doesn't possess any strand of wit or sophistication to answer in kind. Most of whom were gays, the token promdis (country bumpkins) and token kikays (sassy women). She had no tolerance for homosexuals (gays, lesbians, bis) but I found what really made her furious beyond belief were the kikays. One girl she found wearing makeup in class got a taste of the teacher from hell reputation when she was told to wipe all the colors off her face. Natural beauty, she said, needs no artificiality to conceal it. The promdis, she admonishes without mercy but does it in a seemingly helpful way. Mild sarcasm comes to mind, if there is such a term. 


I remember one time she called a timid-looking girl who was obviously not from any city--she looked panicky and nervous everytime, one suspects she's mumbling every prayer just to be ignored by everyone especially her professor. This time, however, the Gods turned a deaf ear. Everything, from her footwear to the way she tied her hair weren't spared. This, the prof did in a "nice way". Simon Cowell from American Idol seemed polite and considerate in comparison.

Ms. Panama belongs to the old-world conservative thinking I'd like to associate with the movie Pleasantville where everyone was expected to behave a certain way to give the viewers a semblance of a normal and happy life. Either that or the uptight and humorless aristocratic Victorian-era highbrow pompousness one can always see in caricatures (i.e. Tim Burton's Corpse Bride) from all sorts of pop culture references. The total lack of tolerance for others who do not fit into the mold of how anyone is supposed to behave and act jumped at me when I was her student.


Back then I already sensed something was slightly off-kilter. It was just a matter of time when the rigidity becomes too much for everything to break.