Destination Unknown

Ladies and gentlemen, let me present one of this year’s entries for
MMFF. Directed by Paul Wilson Gardon, it stars Ruffa Gutierrez, Rufa
Mae Quinto, Iza Calzado and Marian Rivera, and it is about four women
who… ah what the heck writing synopsis is so boring, so please just
read it elsewhere.

I give you, Desperadas. Click that link, view the trailer, read the synopsis, and then come back to me.

My thoughts?

This is a fantastic showmanship of creative
prowess! It totally does not remind me of Desperate Housewives. In
fact, this movie’s name couldn’t resemble that sitcom less!

Seriously, what is the deal?! Movies like this are made, and then nominated for MMFF (which should stand for Many Mucus Festering Forward)?
Should I be saddened that the Philippine cinema is, once again after a
Billion times, imitating another popular Hollywood show? Should I be
amused that this particular movie is aping a show that has not been very kind to Filipinos?
Should I laugh at how movies like this are considered "worthy of
accolades"? Or should I be angry that it stars Ruffa Gutierrez, an
obnoxious celebrity hall-of-(in)famer? Gee I am so ambivalent SOMEBODY
PLEASE HELP ME DEVELOP MY EQ WALA AKONG
E-KYOOOOOO!!!!!!!111111111111111

It’s bewildering how a lot of Filipino directors
refuse to pitch in any original ideas, and instead they are content on
copying international films. Why? Don’t they feel any shame? It’s like
none of them ever want to take risks and make movies that change
people, and all they do is create formulaic "sure box office hits" that
do not have any relevant messages, but will sell anyway because people
will eat them up so they could see all these sexy actresses and corny
scenarios. "Nevermind that we’re giving our film industry a
negative image, as long as we can earn money and party on Embassy who
cares about creativity and all that jazz, right?!" Huzzah! And
speaking of sexy actresses, I wonder if Marian Rivera wasn’t selected
because of her timely popularity. If this movie made last year, would
the director even choose her and not Angel Locsin? DING! Didn’t think
so myself; I guess the only thing important these days is if the
actress appears on Men’s Magazines or not.

You know what, we need a Desperate Housewives
episode that has Teri Hatcher saying, "OK, before we go any further,
can I check these scripts? Just to make sure they aren’t, like, from
some film studio in the Philippines?" And then cue the picket lines of
outraged Filipinos crying "racism" and "bigotry", the blogs tossing
highfaluting vocabulary (or is it vogue-call-bull-gallery?) to spite
American producers for not understanding our real talent, and the
fandom-ish comments saying Americans are "gaytards". Then the American
producers will counterattack by presenting "Lupin, Asian Treasures,
Marimar, and Zaido" as evidence, but Filipinos will curse them anyway
for their insensitivity, until someone from the government will "level"
the debate by delivering a boring ass speech! Everyone will kiss and
make up, and it’s back to business for everyone. That will be something
worth watching, definitely better than wasting your bucks on Desperadas.

I wonder if we’ll get Bayani or Dr. Bahay or Tulak Sampaguita next year.

23,

Do you remember yesterday when I stayed up until
midnight just to watch you go? It reminded me of the poignant airport
scene where two friends wave goodbyes to each other before going their
separate ways, uncertain if they will ever see each other again. In our
case, we won’t, and this is a hard goodbye. That’s why I’m writing to
you to mark the occasion.

Oftentimes when two friends know that it’s their
last day together, they would try their best to make it a memorable
one. One way they do this is by going to places that meant something to
them. Another way is to go somewhere they’ve never been to before so
that they can for one last day savor the joy of discovery.
Unfortunately for yesterday, none of this was possible. We had to
attend someone’s wedding, and you know very well that that’s an
experience I don’t enjoy (except if it’s MY wedding, which you did not
bless me with, but that’s okay).

You also know that I don’t like it, not because I
am jealous of other’s successes, and not because I hate mushy
whatever-there-is’s (though I tolerate only certain extents of it). I
like seeing people at peace and in love with each other, and what has
happened is indeed a blessing for yesterday’s bride and groom. I don’t
like attending weddings because, specifically, I don’t like the
traditional wedding banquets. Yesterday’s was no exception.

Remember that? Looking back, a lot of
unintentionally funny things happened, although they’re the kind of
"funny" that infuriates more than amuses. Let’s start with the edible
stuff they’re trying to pass off as food. 23, if it won’t burden you
much, please pass a message to people who you are connected to. If
they’re non-vegetarians, ask them to be vegetarians. And if they’re
already vegetarians, tell them to avoid asking seafood restaurant chefs
to prepare foods for them. We vegetarians don’t eat meat because of
health issues and/or animal compassion. Just because we have an extent
of asceticism does not mean that we don’t enjoy great-tasting foods.

For some reasons, chefs of seafood restaurants
believe that vegetarians enjoy gastronomic torture. And so what they do
every time - believe me, it’s not just today - is they just sauté
vegetables that do not even go well with one another, and then cram
overwhelming number of mushrooms to hide just how bland-tasting their
preparations are. I must’ve eaten more mushrooms today than the Super
Mario Brothers do in all their games. Eating these foods is like
cramming your stomach with the residual "soup" from Del Monte’s canned
fruits. Needless to say, that does not feel so good.

Oh, and what’s a wedding banquet without the
generic schmaltzy "love ballads" from Jim Brickman, David Pomeranz, or
Barry Manilow? Good thing only a few of them were played today, and we
didn’t have to endure some lazy ass "jazz" of "Careless Whispers", "It
Might Be You" or "My Heart Will Go On" with soprano sax’s overdubbing
the original instrumentations. So what do we get instead? Some kitschy
"Bossa Nova" renditions of "I Didn’t Know I Was Looking For Love" (and
similar songs) sung by fastfood divas who "honor" Astrud Gilberto in
their liner notes but don’t know how to sing like her (and if you’ve
ever seen them live, watch out for those trumpeters or saxophonists who
tilt their hat, slick back their hair and wear smug expressions to look
like Frank Sinatra. Ugh). Bland music gives bland foods added depths of
blandness.

And was it noisy! Gee, we must’ve been in a room
with a lot of frustrated percussionists, what with all the
spoon-to-glass banging that happens every 5 seconds. And how could we
forget the SUCKAZ EMCEE, who cannot deliver a speech without being
trite, evidenced from his lame-o Romeo and Juliet to his
Ivanhoe-found-his-love (!) analogy. How come none of these zzz-rate
wedding emcees realizes that Romeo and Juliet died an untimely death?
Talk about trying to deliver a good omen. I’m also very curious about
what particular girl Ivanhoe "married". If only the emcee tried even
harder to sound literate, perhaps he may claim that Ivanhoe’s "damsel"
is, who, Dulcinea? Remember that time, 23? We were so embarrassed, that
we left the room for 20 full minutes.

Although the banquet was mediocre, we were happy
about the newlyweds. They are terrific, and they deserve each other.
Yesterday began a new phase of their lives, and though I won’t claim
this event to be as grand as theirs, 24’s arrival today also begins a
new phase for me.

23, we had a lot of good times. We went to
Boracay. We took up web design. We saved money. We read a lot of great
books. We created a new blog and earned a few new readers. We solved
cases with Phoenix Wright (Do I hear you saying "Just what the hell are
Harry Potter, Star Wars and Transformers"?).  We met new friends. We
learned of who cherishes us and who doesn’t. We watched Death Note. We
saw Riza Santos and drooled. We listened to Gil Scott-Heron and cried.
We contributed to the society the best we can. We gave gifts and
learned what a wonderful deed that is. And I’m sure we did a lot of
things I haven’t enumerated here.

So I will miss you. I only hope that you can also
grace other’s lives with your presence, and grant them an important
year. I will remember the important lessons you and all that came
before you have taught, as I embrace 24 in hopes of growing wiser and
living younger.

Hey, do you recall a time when Friendster’s bulletin boards were
filled to the brim with funny, sensible and insightful people? Feels
like an era past, doesn’t it? Nowadays all I ever see are people
selling bags, surveys from people with the IQ of Paris Hilton (not you,
Chester. Hahaha), ANNOYING RED-HERRING CHAIN MAILS ABOUT GETTING
MARRIED, dalagas complaining about how awful their yearbooks are, or whiners who post multiple messages whining about people spamming the bulletin board (see the irony there?).

But a particularly retch-worthy one, sadly, came from one of my
closer real-life friends. Her bulletin post’s title read "My
Personalized Licensed Plate Number Says ‘BITCH’".

Why are so many girls tagging themselves with that word lately? I
suspect that they don’t know what bitch means and that they’re just
using it because Tata Young (with her song "Sexy Naughty Bitchy Me")
and her contemporaries - i.e. pop icons with no brains or sensibilities
whatsoever - made it trendy. It just reminds me of Sean Krapston
trivializing the word "suicide" (don’t get me started on this!). Upon
reading my friend’s bulletin post, my reaction was, "Great, just
another in the long line of girls who think bitch is a word of
female-empowerment."

If she actually bothered to read the dictionary (and try etymology) before using that word indiscriminately, this is what she’ll find:

bitch

–noun 

1.	a female dog.

2.	a female of canines generally.

3.	Slang. a. a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, esp. a woman. b. a lewd woman.

4.	Slang. a. a complaint. b. anything difficult or unpleasant: The test was a bitch. c. anything memorable, esp. something exceptionally good: That last big party he threw was a real bitch.

  –verb (used without object) 

5.	Slang. to complain; gripe: They bitched about the service, then about the bill.

  –verb (used with object) 

6.	Slang. to spoil; bungle (sometimes fol. by up): He bitched the job completely. You really bitched up this math problem.

I know that bitch has recently become a slang denoting a woman who, according to Urban Dictionary,
don’t give a flying f*ck anymore and that can and will be cruel to man.
And hey, it’s cool if a woman wants verbally slam the male sex - even
if males are conceived and parented by females (see the irony again?) -
and instead of bad parenting she blames males’ shortcomings to hiphop
videos and Sly Stallone movies. What do I know, right? That still does
not justify using of the b-word. She can use "dominator" or
"dominatrix" or "menefreghista" or "misandrist" or "bad girl"
for all I care. Why does she have call herself bitch - a word so
thoroughly reviled, that people may interpret it as whores? Would she also want to be called puta? Or should we, like always, favor the anglicized (harrrrr)? 

Girls, if you advocate equal rights, you owe your gender more
dignity than to call yourselves bitches. Otherwise, please do not react
when you hear Isiah Thomas’s moronic remarks.

In case you didn’t know, he said "It’s acceptable for a black man to call a black woman a bitch." 

Life’s a bitch, innit?

(If time allows, I’ll post a couple of new entries this week. So stay tuned for that.

In the meantime, I’m doing a survey as a kind of intermission.)                               

If I looked in your purse/wallet, what would I find?
- Cash, receipts, cards and ID’s.

Do you go to the bathroom with the door open or closed?
~ Why would I want to have my door opened anyway? What kind of idiot does that?

Sleep on your back or stomach?
~ Back, so I can have a good view of the ceiling.

What would I find if I looked under your bed?
~ Haha sorry you won’t find any naughty magazines. In fact, don’t bother as you won’t find anything.

Something that happened today that has made you mad?
~ Well, it’s still early.

What were you doing before this survey?
~ Checking my emails and today’s work, I guess.

What will you do after this survey?
~ Go back to work.

First thing you do when you wake up?
~ I usually wake up pretty
grumpy, particularly if it’s on weekdays and most especially if I feel
like I haven’t slept enough. So no looking at the cellphone unlike that
chatty friend where I got this survey from (and boy is that guy chatty.
Hahaha!)

Why do you like the person you like?
~ Because she has no idea
how much she rocks my world. Err, yeah, I don’t know. I just do, okay?
Do I have to justify my preferences all the time?

When you shut off your alarm clock, do you tend to fall back asleep?
~ I put it on snooze a couple of time before I finally wake up (or, like, resign for the rest of the night)

If you were given the chance to take care of a monkey for a weekend, would
you?
~ No freakin’ way! My bedroom’s already "teenager-like" with me in it!

What is the current annoyance?
~ You’ll read about this in my next entry, but in a nutshell, it’s about a girl.

When will you turn 50?
~ When pigs fly.

Where do you wish you were right now?
~ Inside my secret base in volcano plotting world conquest.

What song are you currently listening to?
~ I ain’t listening to any song at the moment.

Have you ever passed out from drinking?
~ Nope

What time did you wake up this morning?
~ 7

What makes you laugh?
~ Your face. Hahaha. Kidding.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
~ I don’t remember. I don’t do phone sex.

What is the WORST subject they teach in school?
~
Electromagnetics Theory, bar none. I mean, it’s bad enough that this
subject is about things YOU CAN’T FRIGGIN SEE, but the teacher’s even
worse, often digressing for 30-plus minutes (out of 90) talking about
his LOVE LIFE WITH A LADY HE MET IN THE INTERNET AND HAS NEVER MET IN
REAL LIFE and SINGING "When I Fall In Love" WITH THIS FINGER-IN-HIS-ASS
EXPRESSION. Arrgh!

How many times have you seen your favorite movie?
~ 7

How was your past weekend?
~ Ehh, average.

Is someone on your mind right now?
~ Yep

Can you say the alphabet backwards?
~ It’s a corny stuff to do. Sorry.

What color is your toothbrush?
~ Green

Do you like the beach?
~ I like it but I’m not sure I like seeing
half-naked fat bum dudes with hairy legs and chest accompanied by his
mail-order wives.

Can you whistle?
~Nope.

I don’t give a damn about most of those bloody tag games. This one
is different enough, so I’m playing along for once. Actually, the only
reason why it interests me is because it’s a question I’ve constantly
asked myself: why do I blog?

Five reasons are required for this game, although that’s excessive
for me. BUT, I do have concrete answers as to what AREN’T my reasons,
so I’ll put that along.

So without further delay…

1. I DON’T BLOG TO EARN PAGE RANKS (PR’s).
I recently read a blogger who claims not to care about PR, then
proceeded to post page ranks there. Viva hypocrisy! Anything becoming a
popularity contest loses its real purpose (and loses its appeal to me).
Take Friendster: its real intention was to connect people, but because
to many the number of friends they have is bragging rights, they’d not
hesitate to add people they don’t actually know and wouldn’t bother
exchanging messages with. Take music and blame its decline to reality
TV’s. Take jazz and DO NOT think of CURLY LOCKS. DO NOT.

Now take blogging: I can’t stand bloggers whining about the clicks
they get. I do like it if my friends read it, but that’s another thing
entirely (and anyway, I mostly just send my blog posts directly to
their mail. It’s up to them if they come here or not!) PR’s don’t
dictate the quality of your site. And, you know, porno sites get high
page ranks too. Screw those (Err, yeah, that’s the point)! If you want
to be widely read, LEARN TO WRITE. And if you want to exchange links
with me, make your blog impressive and STOP WHORING IT!

2. I DON’T BLOG TO IMITATE. What I do is I put my
thoughts down on paper/form and let it flow as naturally as I could. My
writing style may have been influenced by some people that I read, but
I do not deliberately open another blog in a different window then
write in the exact same way. Perhaps some readers may not have a clue
what I’m talking about, so allow me to cite an example (but I won’t
explicitly name names): there’s this "emerging" person who’s getting
all the credit for dissing everything. Now if you’ve ever read that
blog with www.somethingawful.com opened on another window then you’d
find them strikingly plagiaristic. It’s sad that these days someone can
get all high brow by copying another’s work.

3. I DON’T BLOG TO DISS. Allow me to spell the
difference between criticizing and dissing. Criticizing is when you
find flaws. Dissing is simply an act of disrespecting. All dissers
criticize, but not all critics diss. And sometimes dissers do not even
need explicitly find flaws; they only need to speak or act rude to
another.

I don’t make it a secret that I like to criticize. I do it because I
want to voice my opinion and to encourage change. I don’t do it just
for kicks. Occasionally, I’d diss, but I don’t dedicate my blog to that
act alone. Now if you recall, I mentioned this blogger who imitates
somethingawful. That blogger also happens to be one of the most
notorious dissers of the "blogosphere". Like all dissers, that blogger
laughs at others to validate own ego, and has NOTHING to contribute to
the society. And people are totally sucking up to that person just for
that, engaging in comment-box ranting/genuflecting whenever they could.
I just don’t get it. Schadenfreude is fun but if that’s all you do, if
that’s all you can teach, then shut yer trap!

4. I DON’T BLOG TO BECOME PART OF THE BLOGOSPHERE.
I started blogging just before it became all the rage. While I’m at it,
allow me to tell you I fervidly HATE that buzzword. Th4nKs 2 w3b 2.0
3v3ry1 H4S 4 Fr34K1N 0P1N10n! And because of that, people with no
respect for sensibilities, languages and truths (particularly truths)
CAN WRITE FOR THE PUBLIC! Back in the days, writers have to research to
know and to have any platforms for their writings. Now all they need is
to rest their burden of proof on ANOTHER BLOG, so if their
credibilities are attacked, they can say "I SAY SO BECAUSE THE
BLOGOSPHERE SAYS SO SO BLAME THEM NOT ME"! I love freedom of speech but
for the love of all that is holy, I do not need people without
credibility WRITING and COMMENTING on topics THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT!
And if you factor Web 2.0 by popularity-driven mentality, the culprit
of why certain celebrities, websites, blogs, movies and governments
emerge/endure becomes lucid: a lot of people have bad taste, and they’d
use everything in their power to suppress those that disagree with
them. Mob mentality at its finest.

5. I BLOG. JUST BECAUSE. Not to belong. Not to
shout. Not to validate my ego. Not to pander. I blog, because I enjoy
this space, and I’m just savoring every minute of it. Call it boredom,
call it love, call it "too much spare time", whatever.

And now I’m out to tag someone. Watch your comment box.

Okay, so today’s topic is about driving in Metro Manila (MM).

I don’t pretend to be clever, but normally I try to start a post
with a snappy first paragraph. Today I am indecisive. I could say
driving in MM is more fearsome than exploring the underground city of
Edinburgh (then title it "The Long Halloween". Ooh, the horrors!). Or I
could say our traffic is our own Iraq War. Or I could say the state of
our road is the reflection of our society. Or I could say there’s a
deeply disturbing psychology about the boorishness of those bloody
drivers. Or I could say there are more accidents on our roads than
there are questionable Mattel toys (now that’s really stretching it).
Or I could say there are more Stephon Marbury’s here than any NBA
columnists could shake their thesauri at. Or I could simply say I hate
driving in Manila. Right, the last one’s the simplest. I’m sticking to
that then.

I hate driving in MM (not because I hate driving, but) because…

(Gee, I hate spelling these out because I risk sounding like I’m
insulting your intelligence - which isn’t my intention - but pardon me
because I’m just doing this in case any foreigners are reading)

…traveling in Metro Manila is more chaotic than reading a Chuck
Palahniuk’s book. Why? It’s because of bad vehicles, poor traffic
engineering and the patchy pavements – the lunar module was invented by
a Pinoy; bet he didn’t have a hard time experimenting.

And then there are the travelers, who are arguably the greatest malefactors.

Jeepney drivers: They’re anarchy, personified. They
accelerate as they please, swerve as they please and unload passengers
as they please. They ignore traffic regulations, and the cops just
ignore them. There’s even a belief that they pay monthly fees so they
could act above the law.

They don’t even care about other people. When you toot your horn
they won’t recognize you. On the other hand they can’t get their hands
off their horns. They also play loud and awful music on some subpar
superwoofers they got from Raon.

They also don’t use their headlights.

Bus drivers: They’re like jeepney drivers, except
they use their headlights. So they’re not as boorish, but that’s like
saying North Koreans are freer than Burmese.

They’re more insufferable because they act like the big guys on the
road. Buses are larger than most cars, and since the drivers know full
well that they won’t be quite as damaged if they collide with most
cars, cue the super indiscriminate swerving.

Bikers: They should be called "Crevice Hunters", although the sexual innuendo should be, um, stripped.

In their utter disregard of their own safety, bikers are the most
irritatingly opportunistic: where there’s passage, there are bikers.
Bikers are very troublesome because even when car drivers look at their
side mirrors they won’t be able to anticipate bikers who zig and zag
between other lanes and vehicles (as though impersonating the chess
horse). But by far the bikers’ most annoying habit is their tendency to pass behind a car that’s backing. Would it kill them to wait, huh?

Just how stupid is that?

Cyclists/Horse Carriage Drivers: In most cases, they exist only because their customers are too walk-phobic.

The unanimous criticisms are that they don’t only slow down those
vehicles behind them, they also travel in directions opposite of the
road. The horse of the carriage pees and poos anywhere.

Rich and spoiled drivers: They worship speed. Their
favorite trilogy is not the thought-provoking Godfather or the
fantastical Lord of the Rings; it’s the one with cars. What do the call
it, The Dumb and the Dubious? They think that just because
they got fast cars and hot babes (who are only in it for the
blingblings), they could do as they please and treat the road like
their private race circuit. So cue the Pimp My Ride rhetoric, the
obnoxious driftin’, the pulled-down shades, the "Mad Skillz" tautin’,
the dust-bitin’, the slurs-throwin’, the faux street-cred forkin’ and
the crunks-blastin’! And try not to get on their bad side lest you risk
being cussed at.

Bloody obnoxious, these posers! If they’re so interested in gangsta-frontin’ then why not just live in Tondo?

Cops: Your Philo 101 should teach this:

Who is more loathsome: the clueless driver who unintentionally
violates vague traffic laws, or the slacking cop who comes out of
hiding when the opportunity to fine
the said driver arises?

Pedestrians: who pop out of nowhere and can’t read signal lights. ‘Nuff said.

A friend of mine has just finished the first draft of his novel and
because he thinks I might be a good critic, he’s sent me the files. I
thought it’s going to be hard times for me because I abhor reading
books on a monitor (to date, I’ve only finished 1 e-book) but I’m also
too reluctant to waste papers and printer inks.

And so, I’m quite surprised that I was able to make it past a
hundred pages (out of 150, I guess that’s a novella then) without
batting an eye. I’m thoroughly impressed with his work! I would love to
give a brief summary of it here but I promised him not to tell anyone
yet, though I’ll be glad to advertise his book once it gets published.
For now, I commend him and his work (so far).

At the same time, that only leaves me frustrated. I know how hard it
is to write a novel, but it’s also something I’ve wanted to do. Many
people think I’m weird because I often space out and become quiet. What
they don’t know is that I woolgather. A lot. I have plenty of stories
and characters made and stored in my brain, and I would often assert
that my daydreams are productive because I will write about them
someday. I’ve started writing a few, but because of lack of
words/skills, abundance of bad lucks, or sheer dissatisfactions, my
works are either lost or trashed.

When I was a kid, I did write, but I have never considered it
anything more than a pastime. I’ve only started to fall in love with
writing when I’ve started blogging two years ago, which wouldn’t happen
if it wasn’t because of my female best friend’s VERY persistent urgings
(she’s blogged since the late 90’s I think). It’s only then when I
actually spent time developing my writing skills. To be honest, I never
even thought that this would last long - it’s two years now
and still alive, though no one ever comments there. That’s an
achievement, but I fail to find reasons why I should be smug, since I’m
not even close to finishing a book. And in case you’re wondering how I
could want to create stories but not want to write, let’s just say I
used to want to commit those stories to another medium.

The longest I have gone was write four chapters (plus prologue) of a
story involving spirits who combat catastrophes. Unfortunately, I lost
the draft. Apparently those spirits lost to a flashflood of computer
viruses. My other stories didn’t fare better. I would often write the
first chapter, revise it over and over, and finally decide it’s trash
and promptly erase everything. Oftentimes I would blame myself for not
taking writing lessons earlier in my life, but the fact is that I did
but I churned only soulless essays like how Kenny G’s churned soulless
jazz (he still does that). Unlike Kenny G though, I didn’t earn a
penny. I bemoan not falling in love with writing sooner. I could’ve
been more capable. Yet, I don’t stop imagining (there are reasons why I
called my other blog NIGHTDREAMER, and it’s not just because of Wayne
Shorter), and it feels like my heads about to burst with too much ideas
that don’t have any outlet of release. 

So here I am, whiny, yet busy, lazy, aging (24 after a month) and
distracted, unable to do what I want, and bitter that my friend has
finished what I’ve barely started. While he’s currently editing his
draft, I am wistful yet lost in inaction.

Le sigh.

Yesterday’s word-of-the-day from dictionary.reference.com made me pause and think, because not only was it a word that I’ve been searching for days, but also because it’s an eerily keen commentary of the present society.

recidivism \rih-SID-uh-viz-uhm\, noun:
A tendency to lapse into a previous condition or pattern of behavior; especially, a falling back or relapse into prior criminal habits.

I am aware that absolute safety is fictional and that in every second a new risk is born. I also know that not everyone can defend against criminals, and that’s why there are people trained, hired and paid to protect the public. Unfortunately, one of the many conditions that comes to mind when I think of the word "recidivism" is our country’s security guards.

Whether or not the Glorietta explosion was caused by an accident or a bomb does not matter for security guards. In the next few days they will definitely be more uptight. They should, as while I’m not castigating their negligence as the root of this tragedy, I can’t say they did their jobs well either.

What’s funny about them is how quickly they devolve back to leniency. October 19, 2007 wasn’t the first time Glorietta exploded; bombs detonated here few years ago. Whenever this happens, guards start getting very on edge, they’d thoroughly inspect everyone’s packages and they’d bring along bomb-sniffing dogs. Give it a couple of months and they’re back to lax - dipping drumsticks, chatting while "inspecting", touching the outside of pockets (or sometimes touching dubiously close to your privates), or flat-out ignoring you. Honestly, a preschooler could teach a bomber how to bypass these morons.

As an example, I’m not saying the condominium where I live is as important as Glorietta, but just last Sunday (and this was just two days after the Glorietta) I came home only to find that the building guards have all fallen asleep. With all the media disseminating reports of Glorietta, you would think that they’d be less lazy for a few days. But they aren’t, which is sad, because if this is any indication of the state

Makati

security guards will fall back to, then all the casualties (such as this) will be in vain.

Please don’t let this tragedy repeat.

(This is just cross-posted from my other blog, http://nightdreamer.i.ph. I realize that nobody comments on this blog, but I’m taking chances in case some readers here are feeling benevolent).

Hey all.

In
my web design course (I’m currently taking up their Dreamweaver
subject) I was asked to create an architectural web page with a
testimonial section.

I do not want to make the testimonials
overly reverent or ultra-serious like those stone-faced actors of
Jumong. Who needs that? I don’t, especially since I’m creating a
portfolio site of a German architect, Schufer Mann, who is merely a
product of my screwed-up imagination. I’m skewing towards testimonials
that are hilarious, ridiculous and puns-decorated. I also happen to be
busy with other jobs, so if anyone could submit the kind of
testimonials that I’m looking for, I promise to give you many
thank-yous and I might give you something awesome if we end up meeting
personally. ^_^

Here are some of the sample testimonials:

"Schufer Mann possesses visions envied by superheroes." - Tess T. Moni, Italian Designer

"Redefines postmodernism and turns avant-garde to savant-garde." - Eddy Oth, receipient of 2007’s Nobull Prize

"I said it too many times, but he’s a genius, genius, genius!" - Redd un Danci, CEO of Reap It Consultants

"His architects turn my life around, from ‘oh dear’ to ‘oh great!’" - Aina Kho, society pages editor of Daily Dally

"That’s hot!" - Aries Hilton, MENSA member

"He could create a wonderland where the rest of the world is Dorothy." - Booker Kristic, book critic

"He’s capable of creating a Petronas in a single stroke!" Sir Price N. G. Lee, editor of Oh! Very State! magazine

"My man’s the shiznit, dawg!" - Tuk Strit, Rapper of Straight Outta Tondo 

Anything else you’d like to add? The comment box is open.             

Today’s entry won’t be like everyday else’s. There won’t be a fancy
pretentious opening statement, no pseudo-poetry or some kinda Quixotic
phrasings ripped straight from the lyrics of a jazz standard (oh all
right, I’m taking a shot at Murakami. Heh. His Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
is riveting). I’m doing none of that, because I’m weary. Nay, that’s
inadequate. It’s more like I’m punch-drunk with tandems of bad lucks
that do not want to end.

Series of unfortunate events do have a beginning (heh). Mine began
last Tuesday as I tried to finish the final book of Harry Potter within
two nights. I succeeded in that, while also realizing that the book was
a dud. Just imagine the stupidity.

Actually, my anger with the series’ denouement was the least of my
troubles. Since I spent a week not getting enough sleep, I became
groggier, until I contracted cold and fever. Makes sense - the
Pottermania fever must pass after all.

I had planned to spend the weekend going out with someone. And by
some weird whirlwind of events, it was my ex-crush who agreed to go out
with me. The day came, and I met her, accompanied by two of our former
classmates. One is actually her girl cousin, the other is a guy who’s
been their kith for a very long time. (For the sake of anonymity, I’m
going to assign them pseudonyms. Trish is the ex-crush. Daisy is the
cousin. Chad is the guy).

I haven’t seen any of them in ages, so I was delighted that we could
all meet up. I’ve never been a close friend of Trish, and I was happy
that I was given this chance to reconnect with her. I no longer want to
be her lover, but we can always be just friends, right? To be honest,
everyone (including Daisy and Chad) from my school knew that I liked
Trish. I courted her for two years, but was stymied by how aloof she
was to me. We hardly talked to each other, and when we did, our
exchanges rarely lasted for more than two minutes. Realizing the
futility, I eventually quitted. This was back in the high-school days.
Eventually, another guy (pseudonym: Kurt) ended up becoming her
boyfriend.

It’s been more than 7 years since. 

The first hour of our meeting was okay. We were catching up. We
updated each other on how we and few of our other classmates are.
Although nowhere near as animated as an exchange between Jackie Chan
and Chris Tucker, this was better than my “conversations” with Trish
from way back.

Trish also frequently asked Chad about her ex-boyfriend, since they
were close friends - she hasn’t let go. This was also why she and Chad
started doing something very annoying. They would whisper amongst
themselves. And when that’s impossible, they would refer to the ex as
“ghost” (0f course this is about Kurt. What kind of dumbass do they
take me for anyway?). It was clear that they were deliberately keeping
me in the dark (I’m sure of it. Her cousin, Daisy, knew all about it
herself, though she didn’t participate in the discussion quite as
much). Not wanting to pry into matters they clearly don’t want me
involved in, I had no choice but to play dumb and be quiet.

What I find bewildering is why they keep doing these today. I don’t
mind not knowing a secret but if they don’t want to let me in on it,
was talking about it on this very day so important? They see each other
all the time, I haven’t seen them in five years, so why should they
keep doing that? Didn’t they realize just how rude they were?

Did they also think that I was dense, that I couldn’t figure out who
this “ghost” is? Paris Hilton could’ve deduced their “secrets”!

I had better time with Daisy, who also wasn’t my close friend.
Unlike Trish, Daisy made conscious efforts to strike conversations with
me, perhaps realizing that the rest of them were making me – and
perhaps herself - out of place. She was fun and was more endearing than
Trish. Ironically, we ended up splitting into two groups and traveling
separately. Chad and Trish still talked about Kurt while the rest of us
secretly schemed to get Trish her birthday gift - it was Daisy’s idea
and I didn’t resist it. What’s ridiculous is that I paid for a birthday
cake and a gift. Talk about foolish sacrifice that don’t amount to jack
squat. See that, Trish, I’m totally caring for you while you and Chad
douche around about Kurt! Ain’t life grand?

We parted ways and I came away with few realizations. No matter what
I do, Trish is one bridge that I can never never cross. I stopped
courting her for precisely that reason, and what has she learned all
these years, that it’s still ok to treat me like a steaming pile of
garbage? As for Chad, I’m disappointed at him. Chad and I actually saw
each other 3 years ago, and it was very cool hanging out with him,
which makes it baffling why became a royal jerk today. I didn’t meet
Kurt, but if this is the kind of Trish he ended the relationship with,
I give him my congratulations. Now for Daisy, I am thankful for her
attempts to prevent this outing from becoming a total disaster for me.
It actually was, but like anodyne, Daisy made the pains more
sufferable.

In retrospect, I really should have just gone out with Daisy alone,
so that the rest of them can spend quality alone time worshipping Kurt.

Oh, so you think my tirades have ended? You’re naïve.

After the outing, I felt iller. And so I spent the rest of the weekend lying on bed, recuperating.

And although I haven’t fully recovered, I went to the office a while
ago. Now this is like a normal Monday and everybody knows Monday is a
worker’s most dreaded day, so it may be pretty normal for everyone not
to be in high spirits. That wasn’t my problem.

My problem is our office’s pest control, which blows, quite frankly.
I am in no way exaggerating this, but throughout the day, over fifty
tiny little roaches crawled on my table. My coworkers also had the same
problem. And take note, we also used to have a watercooler that doubled
as a swimming pool for these cute little critters. So I took the
initiative to tell “the mistress” this problem. But instead of offering
me any assistance, she was so willing to blindly defend my company’s
cleanliness by enlightening me with an “acerbically witty” (i.e.
sarcastic) comment on how I’m not cleaning my table. Err, I hope she
notices that I rarely put any food on my desk, and why she chose to
scold me while ignoring the gluttonous bunch who eat during work is a
mystery Stephen Hawking and Sherlock Holmes combined couldn’t solve
(well, actually they could. An infant could. Try “theory of
favoritism”.) I’m not even asking her to become a house-maid and that
she should wear aprons and wipe tables. All I’m doing is reporting to
her, hoping that she would contact a Pest Control Service. So why did
she have to resort to cheap retorts? Did I need that? If sarcasm is the
lowest form of wit, hers is definitely the nadir of it. Would it kill
her to actually do something while shutting her trap?

And this ends the short accounts of the last five days. Have my
series of bad luck ended? I don’t know, but nothing has been done about
my table yet.