uc chicks

some pictures of chicks from UC that i took for itzamatch.com's search for the perfect campus couple

apologies are in order

to my 2 loyal readers: i... am... sorry...

i've either been too busy or too depressed to write. there's this particular piece i want to finish, but i sometimes find myself too horrified by my subject. for the meantime, if it's any consolation, here are some pictures of chicks from USJR that i took when itzamatch.com held its perfect campus couple shindig there. thanks to faith for letting me take pictures :)

i'll be posting pics from UC next :)

previously... on prison break

for more photos, please visit my photoblog :)

his wife's a bitch...

...literally

Man weds dog in bid to break curse

NEW DELHI (AP) -- A man in southern India married a female dog in a traditional Hindu ceremony in a bid to atone for stoning two dogs to death, a newspaper reported Tuesday.

The 33-year-old man married the sari-draped dog at a temple in the southern state of Tamil Nadu on Sunday after an astrologer said it was the only way to cure himself of a disability, the Hindustan Times newspaper reported.

P. Selvakumar told the paper that he had been suffering since he stoned two dogs to death and strung them up in a tree 15 years ago.

"After that my legs and hands got paralyzed and I lost hearing in one ear," the paper quoted him as saying.

Family members chose a stray female dog named Selvi who was then bathed and clothed for the ceremony.

The groom and his family then had a feast, while the dog got a bun, the paper said.

*****

i guess we can all go ahead and say that his wife's a bitch without risking a libel suit no?

i wonder how their honeymoon went...

but all's not well for selvi. it seems her husband's family hasn't accepted her yet. they only gave a her a bun at her wedding feast. they didn't even give her a slice of the wedding cake. how cruel is that! will their marriage last if selvi's in-laws can't even get along with her?

and what if selvi is unfaithful? you know how female dogs can be: once their in heat, they're IN HEAT. and they become a magnet for all the male dogs within a 1 kilometer radius. i can only imagine the quarrel that explodes between mr. selvakumar and selvi.

mr. selvakumar: selvi! where have you been? it's already 3 am!

selvi: woof!

mr. selvakumar: the neighborhood kids tell me that they've seen you and bruno together. what were you two doing? have you been smooching with him?

selvi: woof!

the next morning, mr. selvakumar hears a knock on his door. it's his neighbor kerpal, and he brings bad news. kerpal tells him that he saw selvi last night screwing around with his dog bruno. mr. selvakumar is heartbroken.

in that case, can he file for divorce?

not a cheerful giver

a family friend sent me a text message friday evening. his pregnant wife's blood pressure had shot up to 150/110. the doctors thought it more risky if the delivery was natural, so she had to give birth by caesarian section. the procedure was a success, but they were desperately short on cash, and asked for help. i just had a nice dinner, and was about to enter ayala center cinema 2 when i received the message.

i didn't reply immediately. i finished the movie and went home, mulling it over on the way. i got to bed still without reaching a decision. when i woke up, it was already morning. i thought, if i was going to help, i should do it now. and if i was going to give, it had to be substantial enough to be of real help to them.

so i decided to help anyway, but not without agonizing over it. in his present situation, i couldn't really expect him to repay me. and the amount i had decided on wasn't really that big, but it was big enough to hurt.

i am not writing this to praise myself, but to ask. while mulling it over in the morning, i thought of this passage from the Good Book that says we should not give reluctantly or out of compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. had i been reluctant? oh yes, very much. and i was going to give out of pity, and guilt, both of which i think fall under 'compulsion'. and i don't feel particularly cheerful about it either. so will God not love me for doing it?

am i so bad?

we met up a few hours later. the baby is a boy. and i'm going to be the godfather. which makes me sound like a gangster.

all soul's day haiku

two candles melting
in defiance of darkness--
remembrance

ghost story

my late stepfather was quite fond of cigarettes. sadly, this habit of his soon sent him to the grave. my cousin, knowing this, brought 3 sticks of marlboro with him when he visited my stepfather's (his uncle's) tomb at the cemetery last thursday, all saint's day.

my cousin still had work that day, so he came early. he put flowers on the tomb, lit some candles, then placed the 3 cigarettes on top. he held vigil and waited for the candles to burn out.

the candles burn out, and he turns to leave. a disembodied voice then calls out to him: "psst... posporo..."

when my mom and i arrive later at the cemetery, we find the cigarettes gone. tsk tsk tsk...

i guess you need not worry about high blood pressure or lung cancer or stroke in the afterlife, no?

*****

in memory of boboy, may he rest in peace

the fable of the lost shoe

9 pm and a shoe
lays on the street
bathing in that sickly light of the night
forgotten and friendless
it must have fallen
from a passing car
or from someone's bag
but one thing's for sure
none have come back
to find it
the search not deemed worth the time

9 pm and a shoe
rests on the street
and it dreams
that the days before it was lost
still are:
that a foot still filled it with purpose
and another shoe just like it beside
to walk the waking world with

9 pm and a shoe
stirs on the street
as a man with a sack on his back
comes to find the shoe
and says, 'finally!
a pair for my other shoe'
he puts the shoe
into his sack
and takes it home
where the shoe awakes
to find its dream
come true in ways
it did not even dream of

*****

photo taken on my way home, at the cebu business park, cebu city

is my cat bulimic?

help! my cat miming has a problem. she's been vomiting the past 3 days. i caught her almost do it in my room 3 days ago, so i promptly threw her out. she then went ahead and threw up right outside the door. my mother also saw her do it in the kitchen the next day. she did it again yesterday, after we fed her dinner. clean up has been such a pain.

but i look at miming, and her appetite seems quite normal. she actually keeps meowing at me every time she sees me, to probably try and wheedle some food from me. then my internal hypochondriac suddenly gave me his diagnosis: miming is bulimic.

she seems to have lost weight the past few weeks, and looks rather thin. is miming depressed? is she insecure w/ her looks? does she think she has weight problems? does she think her perceived weight problems are driving away perspective boyfriends, i mean, tomcats? are the lady cats in the neighborhood teasing her that she's fat? has she been watching too much TV when the humans of the house are away, which has somehow influenced her definition of what it is to be beautiful? does she need to see a shrink? do i need to see a shrink?

i've been meaning to ask her all that, but all she says is 'meow'.

a quarter of a century, or, my attempts at spaceflight

i am now a quarter of a century old. aside from wondering where all the days have gone, i haven't quite decided yet if i should be happy or sad, or if i should give a fart about it. i'm not even sure if it's something worth remembering.

to mark the event, i bought a tub of ice cream, to add something a little fancy for dinner at home. but just family, no guests. no party, no pizza for the officemates, no night out drinking w/ buddies. a quarter century of existence has turned me into a grinch.

the morning of my birthday, curiosity struck me with a question: had there ever been anything important that occurred on my birthday? so while i struggled against insignificance, i did some research; i logged on to wikipedia.

from what i read, it seems i share the splendid company of movie stars on my birthday: charlton heston in 1924, buster keaton in 1895, susan sarandon in 1946, alicia silverstone in 1976, and rachael leigh cook in 1979. some writers too: anne rice in 1941 and alvin toffler in 1928. even an american president (rutherford hayes, 1822), a cartoon dog (snoopy, 1950), and a comic strip detective (dick tracy, 1931). not bad.

and on the 4th of october, 50 years ago, a 184 pound aluminum sphere called sputnik (russian for traveller) blasted into the skies on a soviet R-7 ballistic missile, becoming the first man-made satellite to orbit the earth. and so the space age began. nice.

then on the 4th of october, 25 years ago, a 6.13 pound baby boy came crashing into earth, me. but unlike sputnik, i've never really gotten off the ground. for all my dreaming and scheming, i, the eternal underachiever, haven't taken off yet. i'm still on earth, stuck in the same old life, the same old job, same old me. it's kinda tough, to be in the shadow of a satellite.

i look at everyone else, and their rocket launches into space all seem to be going quite well. and i'm still grounded, plagued with a lot of technical problems.

october 4, 1918 seems to be a more appropriate metaphor than october 4, 1957. on that day, according to wikipedia, "An explosion occurred killing more than 100 and destroying the T.A. Gillespie Company Shell Loading Plant in Sayreville, New Jersey. Fires and explosions continued for three days forcing massive evacuations and spreading ordnance over a wide area, pieces of which are still being found in 2007." explosions. exactly.

plane crashes prove to be another fitting metaphor. my birthday seems to have an affinity for them. on october 4, 1960, "Eastern Air Lines Flight 375, a Lockheed L-188 Electra, crashes on takeoff from Boston's Logan International Airport, killing 62 of 72 on board after a bird strike." on october 4, 1975, "A Cessna 310Q airplane crashes over Wilmington, North Carolina, killing the pilot and severely injuring several pro wrestlers affiliated with the NWA's Mid-Atlantic promotion." on october 4, 1992, "An El Al Boeing 747-200F crashes into two apartment buildings in Amsterdam, killing 43 including 38 on the ground." on october 4, 2001, "A Sibir Airlines Tupolev TU-154 crashes into the Black Sea after being struck by an errant Ukrainian S-200 missile. 78 people are killed." this is too much.

but come to think of it, why on earth am i moping? when the americans learned that the soviets successfully sent sputnik into space, what did they do? well, yeah, they did get paranoid for a while, imagining that the soviets would soon be dropping bombs on them from space. but they eventually got back their composure and went to work. they kicked off their own space program. they created NASA. they guided the whole country in the moon's direction and said to themselves, that's where we're going. and off they went.

it wasn't without hitches of course. it started pretty badly. when the US tried to launch their first satellite on december 6, 1957, the vanguard rocket carrying it flew for a total of 2 seconds, traveled 4 feet into the air, and then boom. it became one of the most expensive fireworks displays in history. it also took rangers 1 to 6 before ranger 7 became the first unmanned american ship to land on the moon. the soviets must have had a great time laughing at the americans' expense.

and even more tragic, during a training exercise at the kennedy space center on january 27, 1967, a spark somewhere in the apollo 1 space capsule's 50 km of wiring caused a fire to break out inside. killed were the 3 astronauts on board: virgil grissom, ed white and roger chaffee. on the memorial plaque for the three men was written, 'ad astra per aspera'. a rough road leads to the stars.

yet like anyone who has ever fallen down, you have no other choice really, but to get up off your butt, dust your self off, and carry on. and on july 20, 1969, the eagle landed, and the apollo 11 astronauts neil armstrong and buzz aldrin set foot on the moon.

who knows, one day, i might go to the moon. or mars. or even the stars. but first, i have to find a way to get off the ground.

and i hope i don't crash.

another reason why i will never be a doctor or nurse

i eavesdrop on the neighboring tables while having my cappuccino. don't blame me, i can't help it. a sharpened sense of hearing is one of caffeine's side effects, and i can't just turn it off. so while having my caffeine fix last friday, i found myself listening to an interesting conversation.

seated on the table next to me were 3 nursing students. apparently, one of them was a senior, and he was dishing out advice to the other 2, on how to get scholarships, getting through nursing school, surviving their hospital training, and landing a job in the states. the topic of conversation then shifted to their patients.

they had one patient who discovered he had bladder cancer because he was peeing blood. there was another patient, a young girl, who got burned all over due to an unfortunate kitchen accident. they talked about body fluids coming out, IV fluids coming in, pain medication, all the gory details.

'so how's mr. X in room Y?', asked one about another patient. 'oh... he just died', answered the other. they pause for a few seconds, 'so how's the coffee?'

it's curious how numb those 3 nurses have become. i can imagine them looking at their patients like grease monkeys trying to fix a busted car engine. true, desensitizing your own feelings should be a requirement in any medical career, since not doing so would leave you too paralyzed with sadness over the rising body count, too crippled w/ despair over the pain and suffering you witness firsthand. it's tough, but someone's got to do it. which is another reason i can never be a doctor or a nurse: you have to kill off a certain part of your humanity to function properly.

a case in point (though rather extreme): the senior nurse in the conversation talked about a fellow nurse he worked with. they had this patient, an old man, who was too frail to even put on his medical gown. but the nurse, who never paid attention to the old man in his struggle with his gown, just went on with her measurements of the IV drip rate. this came to the attention of their supervising nurse, who chastised the robot nurse. the robot nurse then shrugged and answered, 'sige sir', then went on her way.

why is the cow smiling?

does it know it's about to become 'classic sirloin steak'? or is it happy that it's about to become 'classic sirloin steak'?

the grass withers and the flowers fall...

i was reminded of a passage from isaiah when i took this picture:
"All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall because the breath of the LORD blows on them. Surely the people are grass."

taken in fort san pedro, cebu city. for more photos, please visit my photoblog :)

yes, there is life outside your computer

and i thought i didn't have a life (pun sort of intended). in the news:

China web-user dies after three-day online binge

BEIJING -- A man in southern China collapsed and died after a three-day marathon online session at a cybercafe, state media reported on Monday.

The web-user, estimated to be 30 years old, suddenly collapsed in front of his computer terminal in Guangdong province, and emergency personnel were unable to revive him, the Beijing News reported.


i now have a new mantra to recite. ok, everyone, repeat after me:
yes, [your name here], there is life outside your computer.

aids in cebu

graffiti found in one of the restrooms of BTC, banilad, cebu city

a question of belief

sorry for the delay on my latest post, here's a new photo essay out on my photoblog. please check it out :) comments are still highly appreciated.

the balut virgin and the cigarette virgin: a reflection on the roots of addiction

two people lost their virginity last tuesday: me, the balut virgin, and ms. jp, the cigarette virgin... virgins no longer.

we both lost it during the despedida drinking session held in honor of mr. tugak, who resigned to take a better paying job in manila. not wanting to miss a free drink, i dragged myself from the office looking for the watering hole where it was now ongoing. the place was, literally, a hole in the wall. the owners of the place were airsoft devotees, so they called it 'fire in the hole'.

when i got there i found that mr. tugak, ms. jp, ms. k, and ms. s had already started 2 hours earlier. apparently i had some catching up to do.

*******

after a few bottles, the balut man came. believe it or not, in all my 24 years of existence, i have not yet partaken of these eggs, eggs so magical people believe they granted the partaker certain powers, ranging from stronger knees to increased sexual abilities.

the thing is, i am not very adventurous when it comes to food, and my sensibilities found the idea of eating 'duck abortions' a bit too exotic. as a child, i was also afraid eating balut would give me nightmares: imagine my horror when breaking the shell open, the unborn chick inside would suddenly wake up and beg for its life, telling me in a shrill voice: "please boy! don't eat me!"

"want some?", they ask me. with the unborn chick in mind, i kindly declined. but then, it occurred to me that if i did that, i would look like a sissy in front of everybody else. so the nightmares be damned. i took it back and said, what the heck, sure, i'll have one. tugak was paying for it anyway.

to give myself more courage, i recited mr. tugak's mantra: "sa sugod ra nang luod."

they ordered the 13 day old balut. after a brief discussion on the correct procedure for cracking the egg open (you crack the end marked with a pen), i proceed with my initiation into the mysterious world of balut eating.

first the 'sabaw'. i've heard a lot of stories of pregnant women pestering their husbands in the middle of the night to look for balut just so they could taste its 'sabaw'. but fortunately for the husbands of the world, balut sellers tend to work in the night shift.

so how to describe it... it was... ok, i guess. more or less, it was like an oily version of the tinolang manok's broth. so far so good.

and then came the hard part, the rest of the balut. i broke the shell apart slowly, apprehensive of the possibility of seeing the chick's face. but heaven be praised, the egg had not yet developed enough to a discernable form of a chick. no nightmares this time, thank goodness.

in a nutshell, the balut was like a hard boiled chicken egg that got exposed to gamma rays, with an uneven consistency. there was the tough chewy part, another part that tasted like the ordinary yolk of a hard boiled chicken egg, and another part that had the consistency of phlegm. the last one my mouth had difficulty swallowing. i had to wash it down with a glass of beer to prevent from any further embarassment.

now that i've successfully hurdled my first encounter with balut, i have come to the following conclusion: balut is overrated.

*******

the night wore on, and tugak and ms. k eventually ran out of cigarettes, so they buy themselves another pack. suddenly, ms. jp asks if she could try one. she also says that this would be her first time to smoke. ms. k gives her a stick, and guides her in the technicalities of smoking her first cigarette (i.e. how to breathe in the smoke, the correct way of holding the cigarette between your fingers, etc.). it was weird, after 20 something years, there we were laying witness as ms. jp's pink lung's got devirginized by her first (and hopefully, for her health's sake, her last) cigarette.

ms. k also offered me a stick. i considered it for a moment, then thought: balut and cigarettes are 2 very different things, and i no longer care if i look like a sissy. the farthest i could go was 3 puffs, and i didn't even breathe.

after some clumsy puffing, ms. jp soon finished her stick. it is curious, but not until i sat there staring at the dying embers of ms. jp's first stick in the ashtray did the significance of the event hit me: i just witnessed first hand one of the origins of addiction. people take up their first cigarette, their first bottle of beer, or their first joint of marijuana, for the same reason that i ate my first balut: we just don't want to look like sissies in front of everybody else.

which is not to say, of course, that ms. jp is now getting addicted to cigarettes. ms. jp, you're not getting addicted now, are you?

the carrot and stick approach

talk about the carrot and stick approach:

Boom Boom's village loses road project after boxer's loss

CEBU CITY -- The shocking defeat of Rey "Boom-boom" Bautista by Mexico's Daniel Ponce de Leon did not only sadden his fellow Boholanos. It also cost his village a cemented road.

A dismayed Bohol Gov. Erico Aumentado said that the plan to cement the provincial road going to Barangay Can-uling, Bautista's home village in the town of Candijay, would not push through -- for now.

Aumentado admitted that before the fight, he promised the young Boholano boxer that the road would be cemented but only if he won.

#################

if we could only find a truly effective way of motivating our athletes, then maybe our basketball team wouldn't have to apologize to us after failing in the fiba asia olympic qualifier. maybe we'd even get that elusive gold in the olympics! we can rule the world!

i remember something i read in time magazine years ago. as a way of 'encouraging' the iraq national football team, saddam's son uday hussein would beat the soles of their feet with a cane everytime they lost. unlike the good governor of bohol, uday did not believe in the power of the carrot, only the stick. it had to take the fall of saddam for iraq's soccer team to finally win big, a testament to the validity of uday's motivational approach.

i can imagine gma placing a call to manny pacquiao before his rematch with marco antonio barrera:

gma: hello manny?

manny: yis ma'am! gud ibning ma'am!

gma: my husband just bet 100 million on your coming fight with barrera. if you win this fight, i promise you, on the next election, you will have the hordes of garci and lintang bedol in your disposal! you will finally get that seat in congress! or like migz, even become senator, if you like!

manny: and... uh... if i lose?

gma: i'll just issue an executive order sparing the rest of the country from your singing career [mike arroyo sniggers in the background]

manny: oh, is that all madam president?

gma: yes manny, have a good fight then! bye!

gma hangs up. mike arroyo is later taken to the hospital for laughing too hard. and manny pacquiao regains his focus, forgets about ara mina, goes back to LA, spends his remaining time training hard, and clobbers marco antonio barrera on fight night.

measures of maturity

these are the questions my barkada asks each other...

4 years ago:
unsa na ka nga stage sa max payne?

now:
kumusta na mo sa imong girlfriend?

20 years from now:
kumusta na imong blood pressure?

horror movies

while lining up for a ticket to the simpsons movie last saturday, i caught up with my friend chick & his girlfriend charo. they were buying tickets for a pinoy horror flick called 'ouija', which gives them a very good excuse to get entangled in each other's arms, i think. they then ask me if i wanted to go with them. thought about it, then decided to go with my original plan, since i didn't want to bother them in their... entanglement. anyway, i didn't have anyone to wrap my arms around in case it was me who got scared.

then it occurred to me, is there any other logical reason that people watch horror movies? what's so fun about scaring yourself? have we become so numb and bored with our comfortable lives that we crave that jolt of fear every now and then? or is it just a way of making us happy with our lives by saying to ourselves 'thank God that's not me', while watching people get chased by a madman wielding a chainsaw?

anyhow, if you really want to scare yourself, it's better if you watch al gore's documentary, 'an inconvenient truth'. it's not a horror movie, but think about it. what's scarier than stories of ghosts, ghouls, monsters, and serial killers? the truth.

and by the way, the simpsons movie is a work of genius. if you haven't seen it, get out of your seat now while it's still showing. watch it. watch it. watch it.

the ambulance

attention torn from her wares
the ambulant vendor stares,
as an ambulance breaches
the bustle in the air,
and its sirens scream suffering

the beggar breaks the breakfast in his head,
the sirens' screams wrenching him
to a wakefulness without bread
his happy delusions ended

the policeman parts a path in this pedestrian sea
as rush hour drivers swerve to give way
and commuters look on curiously
interrupted in their reverie

the ambulance soon zooms away
the shrieking fades and dies
the world goes back to turning:
the vendor in her selling,
the beggar to his dreams,
the drivers in their driving,
the travelers in their schemes

and i in my seat wonder
at how quickly the world turns again,
then that grim revelation
from a poet of old:
therefore never send to know for whom the siren screams
it screams for thee

i've been tagged

stephen tagged me. i'm supposed to write 7 random facts about myself, then tag 7 other people to do the same. me thinks this tagging thing is an exercise in narcissism, started by a narcissist to bring out the hidden narcissist among his fellow netizens. but then, aren't we all? so here goes...

7 things about me

1.) i have 85 friendster 'friends' as of 1:53pm of july 17, 2007. yeah, it may be nothing compared to the hundreds you probably have already, but it's a big improvement over what i used to have. i only had 6 'friends' a few months ago, composed mainly of my college buddies. i'm a late bloomer.

i only started expanding my 'friends' list in the past 3 months or so, when i realized that i'd look pathetic with only 6 'friends'. so i began searching for the profiles of other friends, former classmates and officemates and sent them all 'friend' requests. looking at my rising number of 'friends', i patted myself in the back, thinking that i finally looked normal.

and then one day, this girl whom i didn't know, a 'friend' of a 'friend', sent me a 'friend' request, wanting me to be her 'friend' too. though i knew nothing about her, i thought, what the heck, it's only friendster, so i made her my 'friend' too.

my buddies seemed to do this a lot. when they see a profile with a pretty face, they'd also ask the chick to be their 'friend'. they actually had lots of 'friends' they didn't really know. one of them was even 'friends' with boybits victoria, the former pba player. so it occured to me: what's the point of having all these 'friends' when, beyond the trivial facts on your profile like one's favorite movies or favorite songs, you don't even know anything about them?

is it all about just wanting to not look like a loser?

2.) my bowels and i are scheduled to go first thing every morning the moment i get out of bed, unless something urgent disturbs me. and i prefer doing it in complete quiet and privacy. this is usually the time i do my meditation over the upcoming day. thus, i must have my peace. a number of good ideas have already hit me while sitting on the toilet bowl. there has to be something mentally stimulating about sitting on the toilet bowl, no?

it can also be pretty unnerving for me to know that someone is nearby when i'm taking a crap, that they can hear my crap drop into the toilet water. it bothers my conscience that i may have just ruined somebody else's appetite by grossing them out.

i've read somewhere that in some upscale offices they have separate toilets for the managers and another for the rank-and-file employees. i guess them managers don't want the perception of their superiority tarnished by the truth that, like us mere mortals, they too can be overtaken by the need to take a crap.

3.) i am more of a cat person than a dog person. i prefer the dignified charm of cats over the attention seeking neediness of dogs, who usually show their affections excessively, to the point of being self indulgent. and cats tend to be more confident in your affections toward them, unlike the insecurity of dogs who seem to keep on demanding that you prove it to them.

i like dogs mind you, and having both can be pretty handy around the house. it's like having the services of a pest control company (cats) and a home security system (dogs), and all you have to do is feed them everyday. but i like cats better. and besides, they're a lot less messy.

4.) i always take a nap on sunday afternoon. any deviation from this routine makes me cranky.

5.) "i am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar" - how soon is now by love spit love

i am extremely and chronically shy. when in parties, i am like a fish out of water, i have difficulty breathing. in the course of evolution, animals develop defensive adaptations when they enter such uncomfortable situations. moths, for instance, employ 'protective coloration', i.e. they try blending in with the surroundings by changing color. as for me, i try blending in with the furniture. but i can't really say that my technique is effective, as no one has yet mistaken me for a chair by sitting on me. maybe i look more like a cabinet than a chair? further research is required.

the tragedy of being shy is that some people can mistake one's shyness as aloofness or being 'hambugero'. this unfortunate judgement results in the shy people being avoided all the more, bringing them to even deeper isolation, a dillema that can be solved only by breaking out of one's shell.

6.) my facial hair grows a bit too fast for my diligence in shaving it. just give it a week's time and my beard can cover my face like weeds. and shaving can be a very tedious chore, seeing how my beard covers a big part of my face. so i'm wondering: do chicks in general dig guys with facial hair? or do they prefer the clean look?

7.) i hate wearing shoes. i only wear sandals/slippers, even to work (unless i'm at the gym or playing some sport). of all the things i am grateful for, one is the fact that our office dress code gives us the freedom to wear shorts and sandals.

you see, i want my feet to be able to breathe, to see the world, and not be "condemned to live in a shoe" as pablo neruda would put it. you'd be like an overly protective parent if you don't let your feet out once in a while, you know. and you wouldn't want to live in the dark all day would you?

***************

now that i'm done, you people on the list below: you've been tagged! :)

kalen - http://kalentoledo.blogspot.com/
erik - http://erikbriones.blogspot.com/
lenin - http://aloofinmyhead.wordpress.com/
berty - http://forsakendemon.blogspot.com/
manuel - http://yours_and_mine.blogs.friendster.com/my_blog/
dado - http://psychicimpulse.blogspot.com/
farrah - http://farrahdy.blogspot.com/

the eternal erection

makes me think of converting:

... as the Encyclopaedia of Islam says, even orthodox Muslim theologians such as al Ghazali (died 1111 CE) and Al-Ash'ari (died 935 CE) have "admitted sensual pleasures into paradise". The sensual pleasures are graphically elaborated by Al-Suyuti (died 1505 ), Koranic commentator and polymath. He wrote: "Each time we sleep with a houri we find her virgin. Besides, the penis of the Elected never softens. The erection is eternal; the sensation that you feel each time you make love is utterly delicious and out of this world and were you to experience it in this world you would faint. Each chosen one [ie Muslim] will marry seventy [sic] houris, besides the women he married on earth, and all will have appetizing vaginas."

miss melancholy

she wades through
a wet week's worth
of rain, of tears,
a pain i fear i cannot fathom

these words can only gasp
for a grasp of what it means
to be forgotten.
when memories begotten
by ghosts of sunny days gone
are just that: memories.

i am sorry.
i know not yet such pain.
i can only empathize so much.

but this though i can say:

the local weather report
may talk of another rainy week ahead.
but it's THAT season, no reason really
to wrinkle your forehead
when the songs of the birds are dead.

they are only hiding.
all falls to a matter of finding:
a hot cup of coffee on a cold afternoon,
a warm bed and the sound of raindrops lulling you to sleep,
the corny joke of a friend desperate to make you smile,
the occasional break in the clouds for light to shine through

the season won't last, of course.
soon the slumbering bear in his cave
will wake to marvel at a world
where winter is only a sentence
lodged in the past tense.

portrait of a family dinner at a japanese restaurant

i'm taking up a new hobby: observing people.

it's friday evening, and i still have an hour and a half before transformers the movie starts, so i'm off to dinner at rai rai ken ayala. i take up a table and notice that sitting across me was this family of four. so i decide to practice my new hobby and observe them for the duration of the dinner.

there was the father and the mother, both i think in their late 30s, and their 2 daughters, both of whom couldn't have been older than 7. the kids were playing w/ their chopsticks, w/c would be the natural thing kids do at a japanese restaurant. their table was also littered w/ the shredded chopstick wrappers. this upset and probably also embarrassed the mom, who was wearing an almost pained expression on her face while watching the kids at their antics. so to save her reputation, she proceeded scolding the kids, but very very quietly, so as to not attract everybody else's attention. the kids did settle down a bit, but continued playing w/ their chopsticks anyway, beating their plates like drums.

the more detached father, seeing what the kids were doing w/ their chopsticks, decided teaching the kids how to use them. i'm no expert at chopsticks, but i think he was holding it wrong. he crossed the sticks in his right hand like scissors, w/c would make controlling the chopsticks more difficult. a question to chopstick users: was the dad doing it wrong? or am i the one doing it wrong? anyhow, the kids couldn't seem to figure it out so the parents were forced to ask the waiter for a spoon and fork for both of the kids.

they ordered 3 bentos and a ramen. i think their plan was to have 1 bento each for the grown ups and have the kids split the 3rd bento, and they would all share the ramen. the grown ups' bentos arrived first, so the father, in his capacity as provider, distributed some of his own food to the kids. he already gave the kids some rice & teriyaki beef, then he took one whole tempura from his plate and gave it to the youngest. but the kid didn't look too interested in the tempura, maybe found it too big, so she gave it back to dad. the dad then passed the tempura to the older kid, who also gave it back to dad. already rejected twice, he then gave it to the mom, at w/c point the mom frowned at the extra serving of tempura on her plate. weird, nobody seemed to want the tempura. if not for the distance between their table and mine, i would have volunteered to assist them in the tempura's disposal. but the mom soon found a solution to the tempura dilemma. she split the thing in half, giving one piece to each kid, both of whom happily accepted. problem solved.

then the 3rd bento arrived, and the ramen. the dad tried distributing the ramen, but mom and the kids would only take the soup and only a little of the noodles. the kids couldn't finish the 3rd bento. the mom, who never lost the pained expression on her face since the start of the dinner, also didn't seem too keen on the leftovers. so it was all up to dad, who gamely started on what was left of the kids' bento, and then the ramen noodles. he soon cleaned everything out, leaving nothing to waste. that must be why most men tend to get fat when they become fathers (what we cebuanos call 'papa ug lawas'), they're the ones who have to clean up the kids' leftovers.

after seeing dad clean everything up, the mom, still wearing the pained expression on her face, calls the waiter and asks for the bill. the kids were now as well behaved as angels, their full tummies probably holding them down. hmmm... a thought, their must be a link between child obesity and hyperactivity. maybe the parents of obese kids overuse food as a solution to the kids' hyperactivity.

the bill soon arrived, and out came dad's wallet. he paid for the dinner in cash. the change promptly arrived, and i noticed that the dad took everything, not leaving any for a tip. i myself didn't leave a tip for my meal. are we filipinos really bad tippers in general? w/ the change now safely in the dad's pocket, they all stood up and left. the mom's face was now noticeably calmer, like she was relieved the dinner didn't turn out to be a disaster.

seeing no other interesting subject left in the restaurant, i finished what was left of my food, paid my bill, and left.

people watching

it is 3pm on a lazy saturday afternoon, and i am relaxing at bo's coffee club ayala, sipping a chocolate chip froccino. very disappointed with the chocolate chip froccino. the ice and the chocolate chips were too lumpy that sucking through the straw required the strength of a vacuum cleaner. the barrista probably wasn't in the mood to blend the darn thing well enough. i start thinking that maybe i should have gone to bigbucks for my caffeine fix. i can personally attest that bigbucks' coffee kicks bo's coffee's ass. and even better, i have an employee's discount at bigbucks. but the thing with bigbucks though, it's just that there aren't too many interesting people to watch there.

for example, to my right is a group of 4 office girl type chicks. they are talking very animatedly, like they haven't seen each other in a long time. maybe they were close college friends, this being one of those rare opporunities that they all weren't too busy to meet and catch up on each other. i find the one facing me cute, so i steal some looks at her every now & then. but then i notice a ring on her finger. damn. she's married.

to my left, is a young couple, about college age. they both look shy, this might be their first date. they talk in short and measured sentences, as if both are scared of saying something that might screw things up. both are looking quietly out the window. they only look at each other when they talk, then they promptly go back to looking out the window. the girl is pretty. the guy must feel very lucky to snag a date with her. i wish him luck.

after about 30 minutes, the young couple leaves. they are replaced by another couple, a filipina and a white guy. a most interesting specimen. the white guy is carrying a camera with him, taking pictures of his filipina date. he has a very tourist-y aura about him, like he just landed from the states. they order coffee, brownies, and ice cream. the filipina looks bored & uncomfortable. they don't talk very much. the white guy does most of the talking, while the filipina just smiles most of the time. i get a sense that they are still trying to form a connection. the white guy looks like your normal run-off-the-mill average looking white guy. but his filipina date is just... well... to put it more politely... exotic.

the question that's racing in my mind as i watch them is this: does he really find her attractive??? or is he just plain desperate? i so would've wanted ask him that, but i expected a punch to the gut to come after the question. we wouldn't want an international incident in our hands would we?

when we see such couples, we start forming conclusions based on our prejudices. we surmise that the filipina girl is poor, and the white guy middle aged and desperate. we guess that they found each other over the internet, maybe through social networking sites like friendster or dating sites like itzamatch.com, or maybe some random chat room over ym or msn. they continue chatting or exchanging emails in a span of a year or so, trying to form a virtual bond with each other. white guy eventually decides to come to the philippines so they can see each other in person. and now, here they are, right in front of me, having coffee.

a common judgement is that the relationship is one that is created out of convenience, with the hope that love will find its way into their hearts as the relationship runs its course. the filipina is usually condemned as a gold digger and the white guy as a poor pathetic sucker. such blanket judgements are wrong of course, but prejudice usually has some basis in truth. anyway, we're all trying to find love one way or another. that's just how it works for them. i can only hope that both are sincere.

while i was caught in my reverie, a weird man suddenly approaches. he asks me, quite rudely, if the other seat on my table was taken. i was too surprised to say anything, so i just stared at him. without waiting for my answer, he takes the other chair, swings it to the side, sits down, and takes a nap. i considered the act a violation of my personal air space, but what could i do? technically, table and chair weren't mine. and i couldn't just shoo him away. so i waited for him to open his eyes, then i gave him my best impression of the ghost rider's penance stare. luckily, he got the message, and moved to another spot. he wasn't so dumb after all.

suggestion to bigbucks management: you guys should be setting up a branch at ayala, or some other mall. at least the people won't be so boring.

the nba is a loony bin

and i thought kobe bryant was crazy... here's a bit of old news i came across:

(CBS) MINNEAPOLIS On March 30, Minnesota Timberwolves center Eddie Griffin was drunk and masturbating when he crashed his luxury SUV into a parked Suburban outside a store in Minneapolis, according to a lawsuit filed Thursday by the man whose Suburban was hit in the crash.

something fishy...

i knew there was something fishy about that hotel...

sunday at the park

a new photo essay on my photoblog. check it out :) comments are highly appreciated :)

a divine win

another thought.

after the san miguel beermen's miraculous win over coca-cola last sunday, eric reyes interviewed coach siot tanquincen about the win. he asked coach siot, "what were you thinking during the game?" to which coach siot replied to the effect, "you just don't give up on situations like this, and you leave everything else to God. fortunately God blessed us with this win."

it occured to me, does God meddle with sports? does He decide who should win, or does He just leave it up to the players to win it? do we REALLY have free will?

balls

just wondering, why is it, of all the organs we have in the human body, that the testicles are most associated with courage? like, when you say "you must have balls to do that." or when you say, "that's a very ballsy move."

are there any chemical reactions that happen in the testicles to produce courage? or maybe, is it just because warriors of cave man society had a tendency to display their balls, maybe to attract prospective mates by advertising their virility?

for sure, the feminists will have something to say about that. if you follow the logic, since only men have testicles, then it means only men are capable of courage. which, of course, is like saying our politicians are not capable of cheating.

if i remember right, filipinos lost a major battle in the philippine american war thanks to that particular association. while preparing his defenses, general antonio luna learned that a subordinate he had just reprimanded dissed him, saying if he had the balls then he should come discipline him. naturally, the general, notorious for his short fuse, was furious. he took a part of his troops with him to face the subordinate, abandoning the rest. unfortunately, while the general was out proving his anatomy, the americans came and broke through the filipino defenses.

thus did 'balls' lead the revolution to its doom.

the genie in the goblet

taken with my old camera phone, hence the image quality:

the genie in the goblet


mrs. genie


major headache


ahhh what wonders boredom can do to your creativity...

waiting for papa: studies of a girl on the beach

taken along the shores of san remigio, cebu

for more photos, please visit my photoblog :)

the art of farting

i farted. in public.

it happened in the gym. after a few minutes jogging at the treadmill, i went over to the water cooler for a drink. i was pondering the merits of hale's second album (it sucked. don't buy it.), and then BAM! it happened.

it may have been because of the kamote-q i had earlier for snacks. kamote has a very bad reputation of making one's tummy full of gas. consider yourself warned.

fortunately, none of the people there actually knew me, and none of them was directly near me when it happened. but nonetheless, it happened. i farted. in public. in public!!! and that fart brought with it my own embarassment.

those who have cared to think about farts have classified them into three categories. first, the loud and proud fart. this is more comparable to a dog whose bark is louder than it's bite. it announces its presence to the world ("hello! i am a fart. nice to meet you.") and then is gone. second, the silent but deadly fart. these ones are like assassins lurking in the shadows, or more appropriately, nerve gas. very hard to detect, you never really know that it's just floating there until it assaults your olfactory system and it's too late, you're a goner. and lastly, the wet and wild fart. don't even ask.

unluckily for me, it was the loud and proud kind of fart. well, not really loud in the booming kind of way. it was more like a sharp sound, made even sharper by my own shame. from the sound of it, it was as if my insides were full of air heaving mightily to get out, and my sphincter in a valiant yet futile attempt to stop it. but the fart sounded loud enough for me to hear even if i still had my earphones on, playing music at full volume.

for a moment, i considered fleeing from the scene of the crime. but that would only have confirmed my own guilt in front of everybody. just when my embarassment reached the intensity enough to tear myself apart, then my psychological defense mechanisms started kicking in.

phase one: denial. "no, they couldn't have heard it... but then i heard it! and i have my earphones on full volume! oh crap..."

phase two: delusion. "i'll just imagine it didn't happen. everything is all right with the world. tralalalala..." but my delusions were too flimsy to carry the weight of my embarassment: "shit... it's not working".

so on to phase three: defiance. "so what if they heard me fart? who cares if they make of fun of me? if they make fun of me, then i'll... i'll... aaaaarggghh!!!"

finally, phase four: acceptance.

so i farted. i would rather have the good air in and the bad air out. anyway, i think it's unhealthy to withhold your fart when your body deems it necessary to be withdrawn. better outside than in.

so i farted. to be human means to fart. i fart, therefore i am. i can think of it as a confirmation that i am normal. everybody farts, so why trouble myself? you and me, kings and queens, presidents and popes, and even angelic beings like angel locsin, angel aquino, and angelina jolie, we all fart. i remember michel de montaigne saying: "upon the highest throne in the world, we are seated, still, on our asses."

so i farted. to live in denial of your ability to fart is to live in denial of your own body. and farting is, by design, part of the package. unless of course you're a mutant, or an alien, or a cyborg. chances are, you're not. so why do we keep demanding from ourselves that we not fart, when it is part of our nature to? again, montaigne: "it is not clever of man to tailor his obligations to the standards of a different kind of being", be it mutant, alien, or cyborg.

so i farted. we seem to live under the notion that we are and should be in total control of our bodies. but we don't, and we can't. mind doesn't always come over matter. we fart in the company of strangers. we stink, burp, feel the urge to piss or shit, or even get horny at moments we need it most not to. and yet that is the most natural thing that can happen to us. the least we can do is live with it, and not tear ourselves apart on the occasional rebellion of some of our body parts.

so i farted. at least i am here able to fart, and able to hear myself fart. so i cherish these days when i can still fart, and hear myself fart, for the day is coming when i will be no longer able to do that. and that day is coming for us all.

that last one really hit me. oh boy, was i happy i farted.

disclaimer: i am not encouraging everyone to take up the license to fart freely and proudly in public. that would be plain rude. and it certainly won't endear you to anyone.

and that is how i lived with the embarrassment of having farted in public.

hoy lover boy!

if you're reading this, you know who you are. honestly, after everything you've said, i *STILL* don't get what your problem is. you're scared she'd be bored with you? you never know, she's also scared you'd be bored with her. that i believe is a very invalid consideration. [syntax error. please delete from thought process.]

as for her weird mood swings, we all know how girls can be, with their monthly transformations from sweet little thing to fire breathing dragon. they can't help it, it's in their body chemistry. but that means you'll have to live with it though. it's a burden all men must face, unless you've chosen to be celibate.

you're not sure that what you feel for her is "LOVE"? you want to make sure that it's actually "LOVE" before you formalize things with her? ahh, "LOVE", the word that has brought so many great men to their knees and so many brave warriors to lose courage. well, i think you're right. what you feel for her right now is *NOT* yet "LOVE", but mere infatuation. but it *ALWAYS* starts that way. right now, when you're with her, you still have that feeling that your stomach is in knots and your heart is doing somersaults. but one day, that feeling will dull, die, and be gone. our brains, according to this article from national geographic, can't maintain the intense neural activity of infatuation. that's when "LOVE" is supposed to take over. "LOVE" is not some sensation you wait for to happen, it's something you decide to do and work on along the way. "Does love not sprout from need/ but choice?", the poet angelo suarez wrote. i used to think otherwise, but now i'm starting to agree with him.

so what the hell are you waiting for? GET A MOVE ON BOY!

unless, of course, you're set on buying me that pizza... dapat yellow cab ha... dugay na sad raba ko wa katilaw ug yellow cab :P

P.S. nya pakapini sad diay ug coke, matuk-an nya ko...

yahoooooooo!!!

pardon me for bragging :)

the mayorship of mandaue is a family heirloom

they've started campaigning. in our little neighborhood's basketball court, they've setup this stage w/ loud speakers for maximum broadcast range. but they actually started way before the campaign period, when they proceeded polluting the streets with their names and their ugly faces.

the presentors seem to be alternating between entertainers and the campaign people. first a dance number, then a speaker comes on stage singing praises to this candidate and that, then a song number from someone who probably failed in his bid to enter star in a million or philippine idol, and then another speaker declaring his candidates as qualified for sainthood, and then another dance number, so on and so forth.

from what i'm hearing, these people are all running for positions in mandaue city hall. and they seem to be campaigning for jonkie ouano's team. yes, ouano, as in the incumbent teddy ouano's son. it's still early, so i haven't made my mind up yet as to who i'm voting for mayor. but one thing's for sure, i'm not voting for jonkie ouano.

i have this nagging suspicion that the ouanos consider the office of the mayor of the city of mandaue as some sort of family property to be passed on from one generation to another. jonkie's grandfather alfredo "pedong" ouano had already been mayor since the 80's (i think) through much of the 90's. and then jonkie's father thadeo "teddy" ouano took over in 1998. this being teddy's last term, he has now anointed his son as successor. so if he wins, jonkie will be the 3rd generation ouano to become mayor of mandaue.

and what makes my suspicions worse is that jonkie is practically a neophyte in mandaue city politics. he didn't even get himself elected as city councilor or vice mayor or even baranggay captain in mandaue. from out of nowhere, he just jumped straight to the position of mayor for no other foreseeable reason than that he is his father's son, just like his father before him. the other candidates are way more experienced than him, ading seno, for instance, having been teddy's vice mayor for his past 3 terms, and jonas cortes having experience in the city council.

the argument that teddy has been pushing to promote jonkie's candidacy is that jonkie can continue teddy's own programs. but that is, of course, premised on the fact that anyone else, or anyone not holding the surname ouano, can't do anything good for the city.

and when he says jonkie can continue *his* programs, then that also means that teddy won't be disappearing from the city hall picture anytime soon. those are *his* programs, so who better to manage it, right? at the very least, he'll stay on in his capacity as 'adviser'. at worst, he'll be a puppet master pulling the strings from behind. i think the framers of the 1987 constitution had a good reason when they institutionalized the idea of term limits.

my mother's 'suki' tricycle driver has also been campaigning for jonkie. he says: "why should we vote for someone new? anyone we'll be voting into office will still become corrupt anyway, so we might as well vote for what's tried and tested." right. brilliant. the logic is impeccable. after hearing him say that i so wanted to go and kick him in the head.

don't they all get it? that's what the vote is for you morons! it's supposed to make those we vote for feel accountable, that the position is not there for them to enrich themselves, but to make the city/town/baranggay/district/province/nation go forward. if we continue thinking that way, then we might as well tell the spaniards to enslave us all over again. ironically, the ones who say the same thing as our tricycle driver tend to be the ones who bellyache later on once the elections are over. and even scarier, i am finding even more and more people thinking the same way as him.

but of course, we live in the philippines, land of the free, free enough to limit our options between cheaters and thieves for our leaders. we live in the philippines, 'lupang hinirang, duyan ka ng magiting', 'magiting' enough to let the cheaters and thieves get away with it.

the opposition divided, i'm inclined to vote for the strongest and the most winnable of jonkie's opponents, but what makes the choice a lot more difficult is that those perceived to be winnable, jonas cortes and ading seno, themselves have had fathers or forefathers who also parked their butts on the mayor's chair.

mandaue may have gone far the past 100 years, but some things never change. still only those with noble blood have the right to the throne.

beer and the meaning of existence

published 04/21/07 in the blog plug section of sunstar cebu's weekend magazine

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my soul may just have died, i think, and it's all because of beer.

it happened like this. after months of unbroken sobriety, i finally had my first drink of beer last weekend. an officemate, marlon, was holding his despidida because he found another job in singapore, joining an already numerous group of former officemates working in the city state.

i actually had reservations on going. i knew alcohol would be involved (it always is on all of my officemates' despididas), and i just had a surgery 2 months ago. but my doctor did say that i could now go back to my old lifestyle, and my old lifestyle did include a measure of beer every now and then, especially on special occasions. so if he says it's ok, then nothing should go wrong with me (i hope). so off i went.

i didn't really drink that much in the party. the beer wasn't enough to make me puke on the street and turn my brain to mush, just enough to loosen us all up and make the party a jolly occasion. but i used to have a low regard for people who drink alcohol. the resulting euphoria was not real in the sense that it wasn't derived from thought and experience, but chemically induced. and following that, i saw no difference between beer drinkers and drug addicts. but discovering the joys of drinking later on, let's just say i've changed my position on that matter.

so the night wore on, and eventually the discussion reached the topic of the weird effects of alcohol.

alcohol has different, sometimes weird, sometimes funny effects on people. some become so jolly that when sufficiently soused they will laugh for no reason at all (that's me). some suddenly become all quiet. some start speaking gibberish like it was a foreign language. some get violent (w/c in bisaya is called 'mauy'). we have this office mate who is a quiet and mild mannered guy. but when he gets drunk, he's like bruce banner suddenly transforming to the incredible hulk, a green imposing mass of pure rage. some can even take a piss anywhere they feel the urge to do so (i remember another officemate...). it's like in that song by the eraserheads that goes: 'CR mo ang buong mundo'. thinking about all that, that's when it hit me.

it's a strange thing no, when your mood, and by extension, your outlook in life and your way of thinking, can so easily be altered by some substance or drug. it somehow runs against the proposition of man being a spiritual creature. how can there be a spirit, or a soul, or whatever you call it, that is supposed to be separate from the one's physical nature when it can be influenced by one chemical or other?

there are actually some religious groups, like the rastafarians, who commune with their deity by smoking marijuana. the oracles of ancient greece were known to be exposed to mind altering fumes, and the resulting gibberish from their mouths the priests interpreted to be messages from the gods, like in the movie 300.

we already have pills like uppers (to make us happy) and downers (to make us sad, or at least less happy), both easily prescribed by our friendly neighborhood psychiatrist. but imagine having a pill for, say, passion, or excitement, or romance, or contentment, or even peace of mind. do you feel depressed? take a pill! you've lost passion for your job? take a pill! you no longer love your wife of 40 years? take a pill! you feel that your life is a hassle and you want to end it all by jumping off a bridge? take a pill!

scientists are now beginning to understand the workings of the brain, albeit slowly. they've already mapped which parts of the brain function for emotion, and behavior, and sensation, and basic motion. and using an MRI to scan the brain, they can even read (sort of) what thoughts are going on in your head by measuring the blood flow in your brain. once science has fully understood the brain, the possibilities of what we can do scares me.

and when that time comes, the essence of humanity, of what it means to exist, is reduced to that of being a machine. we will be nothing more than living, breathing, thinking machines, no better than robots. it somehow robs us of a reason, of meaning, in our existence. we just happen to be here because we are here, period.

even sentience has a price, and it isn't cheap. my thoughts are beginning to scare me.

that must be why i get so envious of my cat miming every time i see her get her siesta. all she does is eat, sleep, and hunt for mice and roaches. and she doesn't have the facility to torture herself with thought. i'm starting to think we humans actually got the raw end of the deal.

but what do we do about it? do we despair over it and ruin our day?

i say, let's just swallow the possibility, believe whatever you want to believe, and get back to the business of living. we happen to be here, we might as well enjoy the ride.

some of you philosopher types may now be punching wholes in my line of thinking. but either way the debate ends up, soul or no soul, doesn't make our time here less precious. and the prospect of having no soul actually makes it even more so. if we have no soul, and it follows, no afterlife, then our time here is the only one we've got.

now, if they only had a pill for hangovers, then that would be really great...

stupid spartans: my review of the movie '300'

almost everyone has been giving their own 2 cents on the matter, so i'm jumping on the bandwagon and giving my own :)

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when you say 'spartan', the first thing that comes to my mind isn't the small brave band of greek warriors and their king valiantly defending a small mountain pass from an overwhelmingly huge persian army trying to invade greece. the first thing that i actually think about is 'tsinelas'. but of course, the movie 300 has nothing to do with footwear.

i went to cinema 1 of ayala center cebu expecting at least some amusement. but i didn't expect to get some before the movie started. while waiting for the movie to start, i had the funny misfortune of having budoy of pinoy big brother and junior kilat fame suddenly appearing and then sitting right *in front* of me. the towering structure on top of his head (which i presume to be his hair, if not a radio antenna or a bunch of snakes) partially blocked my view of the movie screen. i had to reposition myself a couple of times so i had an unobstructed view of the movie.

in a nutshell, the movie is basically a stylized storytelling of the battle of thermopylae (a.k.a. the "hot gates") based on the graphic novel by frank miller, where according to greek history, the spartan king leonidas led a small force of 300 men against an invading persian army numbering in the hundreds of thousands. like the previous movie based on miller's comic book sin city, the visuals of 300 adopted the look and feel of the comic book.

the movie actually reminded me of the lord of the rings. the persian emperor xerxes was leading an army of orcs, ogres, grenade throwing wizards, and even mumakil from the return of the king. the whole movie was essentially an extended lord of the rings battle scene. when the mumakil... i mean, elephants, came to attack the spartan positions, i half expected legolas to come out and slay the beasts. the movie was also accused of being racist (the bad guys were either black or arab looking, if not orcish). wait... wasn't lord of the rings accused of being racist also? hmmm...

i think most guys have the same favorite scene in the movie. c'mon people... don't be afraid to admit it... yes, *OUR* favorite scene was the dancing oracle---in semi nude. if only we had fortune tellers like *those* instead of strange old ladies like madam auring, then maybe we'd listen to them more.

xerxes the emperor (empress?) of persia was hilarious. i expected him (or her) to be more like sauron from lord of the rings, wearing thick iron armor, a big helmet showing eyes flaming red, and with a huge battle club in hand. but xerxes as a club fag? hahahaha... who would've thought of that?

and what's with the hunchback dude ephialtes? all it took for him to betray leonidas was neither gold nor glory, but a visit to the nearby strip club and a uniform (he tells xerxes, "i want a uniform!" ... huh?!). as my friend chick succinctly put it: "nadala ra sa pautog".

and poor queen gorgo. she had to sacrifice her ass (literally) to the evil politician dude theron ("this will not be over quickly. you will not enjoy this," he tells her) so she could get the chance to speak before the spartan council and convince them to send reinforcements and save her husband. yet it was all too late. but at least she had her revenge. he... uhh... "stabbed" her first, so she stabs him back, but this time with a *REAL* sword. now that's what i call justice.

unfortunately for leonidas, the movie portrays him and his 300 warriors as brave... and brainless. they were so brave (and brainless) they went into battle bare chested with no armor whatsoever (the unrestrained display of chiseled chests and six-pack abs served as an extremely effective form of advertising for fitness gyms the world over). they were so brave (and brainless) they went into battle with the odds of 300 to 100,000 X N where N > 1 (if you *really* want to know, you can research the value of N). and they were so brave (and brainless) they were actually *convinced* they could win (again the question... huh?!). apparently, spartan culture valued bravery over wisdom.

if stupidity is in the genes, it's a good thing leonidas and his 300 brainlessly brave warriors all died in thermopylae. we wouldn't any more of their DNA spreading in the human gene pool, or else the species homo sapiens would have been extinct by now...

..but judging by the way some of our own congressmen and cabinet members are doing, i guess they *DID* spread their DNA. we're doomed.

assholes

the assholes who call themselves congressmen are at it again:

Congress pork doubles in ’07 budget
Pork used to buy overpriced fertilizer

mathematical error

from the philippine daily inquirer:

According to Legarda, the fact that the survey was done by a US firm with 1,500 respondents nationwide -- 200 more than SWS’s usual 1,200 -- “added authority” to the results.

the frustrated fan

my heart breaks. and no, not because the girl of my dreams turned me down. my heart breaks because the san miguel beermen just lost the 2007 pba philippine cup championship to baranggay ginebra in 6 games.

and with that, coach chot reyes gains the ignominy of being the only coach in pba history to have gained a 2-0 advantage in a best of seven championship series and have his team lose the next 4 games and the championship. and worse, he will be the only coach in pba history to have that happen to him twice.

i know, coaches tend to be the easiest scapegoats when a team loses. not to take anything away from coach chot, he's done a fine job. this is his first conference with san miguel. and with all the new guys around (which, along with the new coach, essentially makes smb a new team), it's impressive how he was able to make them work together and reach as far as the finals. all that while handling duties as coach of the national team.

but they shouldn't have lost game 4 the way they did. wasn't the 131-101 beating they got in game 3 enough to convince them to make adjustments? well apparently not. their record setting 146-111 game 4 loss was even worse, probably the worst finals loss in pba history.

but really, in that series, baranggay ginebra was simply the better team. coach jong uichico did a great job at the helm. "the fast and the furious" tandem of jayjay helterbrand and mark caguioa ran circles around the san miguel defense. the return of eric menk from injury was an inspiration to the team. there's rudy hatfield running the break and snatching all those improbable rebounds... what planet did this guy come from? ronald tubid proved to be a major nuisance for danny seigle, successfully getting to danny's head every now and then. and we saw flashes of the old johnny a. they deserved the title.

and let's not forget baranggay ginebra's 6th man. the ginebra fans were simply being ginebra fans: loud, exuberant, and numerous. they cheered every shot, every rebound, every steal. they stayed on even when ginebra was down 2-0 in the series and all seemed lost. that is what gives ginebra a distinct advantage over other teams in the pba: wherever they play, they always seem to have what the nba calls "homecourt advantage". it's like whatever court ginebra plays in IS their homecourt.

*******************

it's a strange thing this, being a fan. you consider as yours the fate of a bunch of people who you don't even know personally and haven't even met. you rejoice at their victories. you despair over their defeats. every high and every low the team goes through is yours.

i became a san miguel fan around the mid 90s, which was quite unfortunate. i had read about the glory of the old san miguel team of the late 80s and early 90s, the one with hall of famers like ramon fernandez, samboy lim, hector calma, and then later, allan caidic and ato agustin. but san miguel at that time was an aging shell of its old self. the new teams were dominating, like the vergel meneses led sunkist, and then the grand slam winning alaska, and occasional intrusions by alvin patrimonio's purefoods and the ever popular baranggay ginebra.

but i hung on. somehow, through those times when they almost won (like the 1995 governor's cup or the 1998 all filipino cup, both against alaska and both going to a game 7) or when they simply sucked (like the horrible 1996 commissioner's cup, when they didn't even get through the eliminations), in the back of my head, i believed they were going to start winning again. i kept the faith, even if reality was mocking it.

it's like religion, being a fan. you place your hopes (and your bets) on something which isn't a sure thing. sometimes, your team loses one game after another, and your faith waivers. sometimes you want to switch to what looks like a better religion, i mean team, because their promise of salvation, i mean victory, seems surer.

but then the new guys came. olsen racela, then danny ildefonso, then danny seigle, then nic belasco. and they actually started winning. first, the 1999 commissioner's, then the 1999 governor's. then in 2000 they successfully defended both titles. then in 2001, the most prestigious of the pba crowns, the all filipino, which they won against ginebra also in 6 games (i guess we can call ginebra's recent victory as mark caguioa's revenge). sports commentators were calling it a dynasty. finally, after all those years waiting, there before my very eyes, my team was kicking ass!

it was weird. after all those years waiting, after having invested so much passion and emotion, to actually see it right there on my tv screen... it was just weird. it was like finishing a 13k marathon in first place, but i didn't even do the running. i simply believed, and thus i basked in the reflected glory of their victory. if i may take the religion analogy a bit further at risk of sounding sacrilegious, it was like dying and seeing heaven. my faith had been proven right.

*******************

a friend suggested that if the beermen lost in the finals, coach chot should exclude all ginebra players from the national team. seemed like a farfetched idea at first glance, but now i think about it, if my passion for smb trumped my concern for the country's pride in international basketball, then that would have made some sense.

pushing that further, if i were a really passionate smb fan, i'd have waited outside the gates of araneta coliseum and when, say, mark caguioa or jay-jay helterbrand came out, i (or, if you're not the hands on kind of guy, hired goons) would have them kidnapped for a while, only releasing them once the series was over. wait... didn't i see this in a movie?

this reminds me of a recent piece of world news: the football game riots in italy that led to the death of 1 policeman and the indefinite cancellation of all football matches in all of italy. we can't deny it: they were passionate fans. they lived and breathed their football clubs. they were so passionate, it even drove them to the point of violence against fans of the rival team.

let me be clear about this: i do not advocate the use of violence. my point is, if we can invest so much energy and passion in just watching our sports heroes play (which in itself is of little use to society), imagine what we can do if we divert that energy elsewhere.

with that kind of passion, we can defeat poverty and hunger. we can stop corruption. we can bring true progress to our country. we can slow down and maybe even halt the destruction of our planet. we can change the world!

now, if we could only see living as a sport, then we could make ourselves fans of the world. and like true fans, we'd consider as ours the fate of the world, and then maybe we can make things better for everybody. empathy is the essence of compassion. i can almost hear michael jackson in the background singing "heal the world"...

pardon me, i'm preachifying.

but the next time san miguel and ginebra face off, i will pray to all the basketball gods and basketball saints i can call on (is there a patron saint of basketball? like maybe a saint michael jordan?) so smb can have its revenge. watch out ginebra, your time will come.

translate this

here's something from an officemate that i've been puzzling over for hours. translate from tagalog to english:

ika-ilang presidente ng pilipinas si gloria macapagal arroyo?

and this is the closest thing i have for an answer:

if gloria macapagal arroyo is the Nth president of the philippines, what is the value of N?

The Bright Side of Surgery

published 4/12/2007 in the youngblood section of the philippine daily inquirer

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For the second time in my short life, I have to undergo surgery. Thinking about it depresses me greatly. So in the spirit of optimism, I'm trying to figure out if there is a bright side to surgery.

My doctor calls the procedure a "radical neck dissection". They'll be making a cut starting from below my left ear curving down to the base of my neck then back up to the other ear. Then they'll lift the skin off my neck and then remove bad lymph nodes they come across.

It occurs to me that the procedure makes me sound like a biology class experiment. I would be like that poor unsuspecting frog we plucked out from his happy corner of the marsh back in high school, for the education of future doctors and surgeons. That experiment had been an eye opening experience for me. It convinced me once and for all that I would never be a surgeon. Me wonders now how my surgeon did with his frog. I pray to God he did well.

To cheer me up, I try convincing myself that the procedure would be simple and straight forward. But when I first talked to my surgeon, he said the procedure would actually take twice as long (about 4 hours) and be more extensive than my first surgery. The word that caught my attention was "extensive". I never realized how an ordinary word can sound so scary. And 4 hours is long! The chances of things happening... I am totally screwed...

****************

After coming back to my surgeon for final scheduling, I received a nice shock about the risks involved. I had heard that as a side effect, the skin around my neck will lose sensation, maybe even for the rest of my life. When I asked if this was true, he said that was "part and parcel" of the procedure because some nerves were going to be severed when they lift the skin off my neck.

That was already bad enough by itself, really, but when I asked if there were other risks involved, he said that there was also the possibility during the operation (though uncommon) that the nerve allowing me to move my shoulders would also be severed. That hit me. What am i getting myself into? If the numbness was bad, this is a lot worse.

Am I scared? No, I'm not scared. Terrified? No, not terrified. Terrified can only describe half of how it feels (uhh... terrified x 2?). But f*ck it, I have no other choice. My only 2 options right now are a.) go through with the surgery and accept the risks or b.) not go through the surgery and face the possibility of me getting worse.

My mother has been telling me to take "herbal" supplements in the hope that it would act as cure. But let's face it, we really can't put our faith on those, especially when they start claiming that they can cure all deadly diseases known to man. That is clearly bullshit, money making schemes cleverly designed to hold our faith, give us hope, and take us for a ride, even if that ride is taking us straight to hell. Trusting solely on them is gambling with your health. I am not a gambler by nature. So it'll be the surgery then.

Then I asked if there were any more possible complications. My surgeon gave me a curious smile, and said no. I have this stinking feeling that he's hiding something. Maybe he just didn't think it wise to tell me lest I get too worried and call it off. Or maybe i'm just being paranoid.

As I sat there listening to my surgeon explain things, I wasn't even sure if I was hearing everything correctly. Part of me wanted to shout, to curse the world and to trash my surgeon's clinic. But another was slowly tugging me to a more passive yet highly curious state. I wondered what it would be like to shave with the numbness on my neck (No more sting when putting on aftershave! Yehey!). Or how to wear my backpack if I no longer have full control of my shoulders. Would that affect my game in basketball or pingpong? It's a defense mechanism, I think, a mental anaesthetic to numb our feelings lest the pain cause us to lose our sanity.

****************

Times like these make me evaluate the status of my faith, or can I really call it faith? I'm not even sure if I actually believe in what I say, so much more the Object of my faith. And now that my circumstances prevail upon me to call out and reignite my faith, I'm not even sure if it is right to do so.

You see, my motivations are suspect. Is it right to believe for the sake of my own sanity instead of believing purely for the sake of believing? Is it right to believe because it feels good to believe instead of believing because you are convinced of its truth? Is it right to believe simply because you fear the possible consequences of not believing, a.k.a. hell?

But that's what makes faith such a tricky thing. By its own Bible definition, faith, being "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen", has an element of irrationality to it. You can believe (or say you believe) in something and either be considered a saint (if they agree with you) or a lunatic (if they disagree with you). Hmmm... saints & lunatics... same thing really.

*****************

I've successfully kept the surgery a secret for some time now. And so far, only very few people know of it. After hearing of my 2 week leave of absence from work, officemates have been wondering where I would be going all that time. Speculations range from the benign ("You're going on vacation? Bring us pasalubong ha!") to the imprudent ("You're resigning? When's the despedida?") to the ridiculous yet highly imaginative ("You're getting married? Where will you be spending your honeymoon?"). Truly, man's imagination knows no bounds.

Upon hearing the truth, the default and inevitable follow up question is "Why?". But I hate answering all the questions, which usually leads to even more questions, so on and so forth, like I was some specimen under a microscope for analysis.

And there's always the chance that people will be looking at me differently, like I'm some side show freak; that the scar on my neck will become part of their definition of who I am.

But now that I think about it, what's the use keeping it secret? Assuming I do come out of it alive, people will eventually notice the scar anyway. I can't hide it forever. And I can't hide from it forever.

That's why, amidst the depression, fear, paranoia, doubt, and confusion, I need to find out if there really is a bright side to surgery, the proverbial silver lining in every cloud. Or if there is even a higher purpose to all this, real or imagined. I need to find a way to get through it with myself still intact. So far, I'm still figuring it out.

my first post for the year

not until 2 weeks after the fact did it really sink in: "holy crap, it's already 2007". and then the anxiety.

a sudden urge for iced green tea had sent me scampering to the neighborhood convenience store. after paying for a bottle, i took the first available seat in sight, opened the bottle and started sipping. one by one, cars stop by to refuel at the gasoline station outside as i ruminated over my drink. then the kids came.

there were 3 of them, 2 boys and a girl. they came into the store running and laughing, like everything was alright in the world. they played catch in between the shelves, got scolded for playing catch between the shelves, then picked some popsicles from the freezer and paid for them at the counter. then they went out of the store, still running and laughing like everything was alright in the world.

i watched their antics not without a bit of envy. i used to be like that, i thought. whatever happened to me? oh, right. i had to "grow up". oh, how far i have fallen. then it occurs to me: "holy crap, it's already 2007. yet i'm still wishing it were 1997".

friends seem to share the same anxiety. from our calculations, in a little over 5 years we'd be 30. and when you hit 30, a lot of things change. and even worse, when you're 30, you no longer have any excuse to even pretend to being a kid.

i finished my drink, got up, and went back home thinking: why would i wish to go back to being a kid again? is life really that bad? is at all really downhill from here?

i'm not going to advertise my troubles here again. we already have enough our own. and i don't think you'd need to know a litany of my own troubles just to confirm how shitty the world really is. you should already know that, unless you're a clam who's never gotten out of your shell.

and apart from our own troubles come society's demands. for every passing year, people tend to put more expectations on you; that you should be making this much money, that you should own the latest stuff, that you should be married already, or at least have a stable relationship, blablablablabla.

it sucks.

but as i remembered my friends' similar anxieties over the unassailable march of time, i felt a little better. just knowing they feel the same way at least confirms that i'm not alone in this.

just like that song from the musical avenue q that goes, "on avenue q, it sucks to be me, on avenue q, it sucks to be you, on avenue q, it sucks to be us, but not when we're together". i couldn't have put it better myself.

cheers to a better year.