DON’T MAKE ME LEAVE

(i wrote this piece over a year ago for what would have been my own column in a new men's magazine. then something happened to the editorial set-up, and the next thing i knew, this piece was orphaned. But it eventually got published in a Manila Jaycees space somewhere, along with a corresponding post on the Manila Jaycess website. But since I want this thing in my own space, here it is along with the photo that it was originally meant to be published with.)

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DON’T MAKE ME LEAVE
By Golangco, Jasper Lao


‘So, any plans of leaving the country?’

This question seems to prop up more and more nowadays. And it usually ignites a rather lively discussion about the pros and cons of leaving, and of living here. I must admit, I have entertained the thought more than once. But hey, I’m still here and loving it…sort of.

You see, this place has got a whole lot going for it. Can’t miss them beautiful beaches, certainly can’t miss them gorgeous women, my bulging gut is evidence of the affordable, yet sumptuous food, and unless I really want to on weekends, I don’t even have to clean my own car. (admit it, it’s not that guilty a pleasure, dude…) Add those to the fact that my folks and family are here, so that means that should all hell break loose, there will always be a roof over my head and food on someone’s table for me to gorge on. Of course I can’t speak for everybody. Nonetheless…

So why leave? Well, there are a lot of things going for THAT, too…

See, it gets mighty depressing when you drive around town through traffic in a sea of Japanese compacts and vans, luxury SUV’s suddenly slice through the muck with police escorts, blaring sirens and all, and more often than not, a government official is in there. Where do you think they got the money for those vehicles? And who’s paying for those uniformed escorts? My taxes are apparently at work here, but obviously not for me. Sure, there are people who love the government, but only if they work in it.

And who needs reality TV shows, when you’ve got local Philippine news? It’s got more staged drama than American Idol, ickier stunts than Fear Factor, and more duplicity than Donald Trump’s the Apprentice. What makes this an absolute tragedy is that the stars are our very own politicians. I would’ve used the synonym “law-makers”, but then it doesn’t really seem that they work on any laws any ways. Come to think of it, they don’t even do politics too well.

The elections are over, all the promises have been made, and it merely remains to be seen as to which ones will be kept. I’m keeping my fingers crossed, while I drive through the city watching our tax money being used to clean up the Cheshire grins plastered on practically every available wall they can find. Sometimes I think that maybe we shouldn’t clean those posters up. So the winning candidates can see their own faces staring back at them and they’ll remember everything they said while begging for votes. It’s funny that after how much thought went into which colors they want to use and the poses they make for their glam photos, they all end up looking and sounding alike to me.

I love this country. My country. But sadly, the country’s love for me is represented by the people running its government. And so far, I don’t feel it. And while we love our people, and value our culture, the powers that be echo such claims without practicing any of it. We’ve heard the same promises over and over from practically the same people, and every other time, they’re either broken or forgotten. Pork barrel, anyone?

It’s tempting to think that if or when we go abroad, things will get better for us and our families. Maybe yes, maybe no. But while we’re here, our collective butts are parked and warm, and we haven’t been poked off to our nearest travel agency, a little optimism wouldn’t hurt. Of course, it’s almost funny how the government points towards the OFW’s as the so-called heroes of our economy, when the very fact that they’re someplace else is a sign of the hopelessness they feel towards home. But home is where family is, and where family is, there should always be hope.

Back when I was a kid, having parents and/or relatives working abroad usually meant that times were hard here and flying off was the only option left for the family’s survival back here. While that wasn’t the rule, it was certainly the most common conception. Nowadays, there are more of them. The need to find a good life and livelihood elsewhere has climbed up the social food chain. Either that, or the bottom rung just got way bigger. If I choose to disregard whatever financial foundations my family has set up over a couple of generations, I would definitely belong in this self-same bottom rung. Having said that, I might consider flying off and finding my fortunes elsewhere. Thank heavens for family.

But how many people have the luxury of having a family to lean on? Probably quite a few still, but getting fewer over time. Every election is a new beginning, and every time we hope it’s a good one. At least good enough to not send more people flying outta here.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep working my ass off, do my best to keep my promises, enjoy the live show known as late-night news, keep my passport ready at the dresser and keep my fingers crossed.

negativity....

i'm not sure whether or not to allow a rather negative comment on this blog made by "anonymous".
it called me "cyber geek," "wannabe," "frustrated writer," and finally "gay."

i'm tempted to think my brother found the time to do this and decided to try and throw me off whack a bit... possibly...

but funnily enough, i decided that anyone with strong enough opinions about me that i would publish are the ones who have the balls to put their names on the comment.

so, anonymous, i'm more than willing to publish your comment if, and only if, you put your name on your comment.

thanks a bunch, potato-brain...

Baclaran Notes...

I’m going to shoot from the hip here… in no particular order.
Just a bunch of random thoughts, little incidences and annoyed observations that course through my overblown head during my family’s weekly Tuesday night trek to Baclaran’s Redemptionist (or is Redemtorist?) Church.

1. If you don’t know this police mobile patrol number: MPD•352. You would do well to remember it. A brand new shiny Toyota Vios patrol car crossed a red light tonight at around 11pm along Roxas Boulevard at the intersection with United Nations Avenue. We were right behind him/them.

Only wish I took a photo of it so I could post it here for what its worth.
But hey, I’m not telling you anything new, right? Our laws do not apply to the lawmakers, right? Unless Mayor Fred is watching, that is.

2. Ella May is a sick little baby girl, who is four years old, looks like all of two years old, eats through a tube, and has a hare-lip. The wife and I greet Ella May at the church on Tuesdays. Tonight, Jackie Ejercito Lopez dropped by, too. She had a long talk with Ella May’s mother. Hope they can help her more than a couple of milk powder boxes from time to time…

3. The side street towards the church parking lot leaves me feeling both annoyed and sympathetic at the same time. But mostly annoyed. VERY annoyed.

The vendors there are NOTORIOUS. They think they own the damn street. They only leave just enough space across the street for one regular-sized vehicle to pass through, with an additional half a foot on each side for human traffic.

I’m not talking about the ones against the walls of the church property, who have fixed places. I’m talking about those idiots on the other side, who push their wares of cheap underwear, celeb posters, pirated music cd’s and other odds and ends practically a couple of inches away from your passing tires.

The wife sometimes just says that it’s better than watching them turn into thieves. Until one of them grazes her beloved Altis anyways. Then all hell breaks loose… heh heh…

More stuff… but these are just what float around in my pathetic little head for now…

Movie Review: VANTAGE POINT - Not Bad, But Not Much Point

So we had officially missed “Jumper,” which is being called by geekdom as Anakin’s revenge on Mace Windu (if only because it stars Hayden Christensen and Samuel L. Jackson). Now without too many options and having not seen any movie at all for at least two weeks past, the wifey and I bought tickets to “Vantage Point” last Friday.

The first thing that will arrest you with Vantage Point is the sheer star power in its cast. We’re talking about absolute pedigree here. From the currently popular Matthew Fox (of “Lost” fame), to Sigourney Weaver to William Hurt. We were star struck, too.

But funnily enough, just as you begin to think that maybe the story is moving along, it rewinds and turns into Groundhog Day for supposedly eight rounds.

Lo and behold, I didn’t get enough sleep the previous night, so I napped for the few minutes that Sigourney Weaver had significant screen time. And several “vantage points” and one forced car chase through Spain later, I learned the following:

1. The U.S. of A. sends dupes to highly visible events to protect the president. Cool.
2. No matter how multi-layered and well-orchestrated, they will attribute assassination attempts to a “lone gunman.” (Bwahahahahaha…)
3. MacGyver’s former sidekick Bruce McGill still gets work.
4. William Hurt looks stupid bald.
5. Dennis Quaid has been typecast as a has-been hero.
6. Spanish women are mostly hot (even the children. PEDOPHILIA ALERT!!!)

The fact that it took me almost a week to plop myself down and finish this pointless review for the fuck of it, indicates that no matter how well-intentioned the movie was, and how blinding the cast list was, it wasn’t that big a deal. Granted, I would surmise that the director Pete Travis had a hell of a time putting all the various “vantage points” (there’s that word again) together, and I must say that he did a hell of job, but I guess deep inside, I’m looking for Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay.

Worst of all, the wife stopped me from buying pop-corn. That’s probably why I was extra cranky.

The EARTH, WIND & FIRE EXPERIENCE (Half a Concert Review)

“Fuck, I was conned. this isnt earth wind & fire. its anothr band calld d AL MCKAY ALL STARS, d concert is just billd as EARTH, WIND & FIRE “EXPERIENCE”, not LIVE. Phil bailey is NOT in da house. It’s a goddamn tribute band.”

The above is the ignorant text message I sent to two officemates two unknown songs into last night’s concert. Complete with the idiotic shortcuts often used in text messaging.

Okay, Heaven forgive the unenlightened.

One of my said officemates replied, telling me that some of the members of the AL MCKAY ALL STARS were former band members of Earth Wind & Fire. “Maybe they’re good,” she said. I thought, “Fine. Besides, it would seem rude to leave so early.” So I kept my ass put and told the wifey that we can leave for our weekly Baclaran visit in around twenty minutes. She couldn’t care less about no aging r&b funk band, original or not, so she was glad. To add to my conviction regarding leaving early, the wifey reported Marge (our unborn daughter) was kicking around in her tummy, probably due to the concert noise.

Then three unknown songs in, they streamed in “After the Love is Gone.” And one of the three front men kicks the song off valiantly. But Maurice White he ain’t. The harmonies on the choruses were okay, but while I wasn’t expecting to catch Maurice White’s baritone since he has reportedly retired from touring due to Parkinson’s, I must admit that the trademark timber of his voice is missed in this song. But hey, the singer was very professional and in tune tonight. Ho-hum…

Then they segueway into “Reasons”… ha… now this should be interesting… they have a Philip Bailey clone with dreadlocks, who started off a bit pensively, then did his thing… not too shabby at all. They got into that now-famous sax-vs.-Bailey style duel/duet, and I must admit, though he ain’t as smooth as Mr. Bailey himself, this Bailey clone can still hit ‘em high. Interestingly enough, I caught a strain of his full voice hitting a high note, and he actually sounded even better. He may be doing himself a disservice by not utilizing other aspects of his vocal talent. I was NOT disappointed. And the sax-player was mean, too…

Then they got into “Fantasy,” another EWF trademark… damn good. The crowd was on its feet, hopping the night away.

Sadly, Marge was really complaining… and I had to comply… sniff sniff…

Bottom line: GOOD BAND, GOOD SHOW. And Al McKay’s pedigree gives his bunch the gravitas to back up the showmanship.
The choreography of the three front guys was a bit corny. But it’s showbiz, and people came to hear their sound, not to see them dance anyways. So they have an excuse to dance stupid.

Would I pay to see them again? To be honest, yeah… why not…? I walked out of there wondering who Mr. Al McKay and what his significance was. Sufficient googling rendered the fact that Mr. McKay was a guitarist during the classic line up of Earth Wind & Fire. Some sites say that one of the guys on his All-Star line up is a brother of the great Maurice White. And the Whites are to EWF what the Porcaros are to TOTO. So fine, far as most people are concerned, these guys are as close to EWF as most people can get. And yes, if they're cashing in on the EWF name, dammit, these guys play with the right to it.

Many thanks to the Manila Bulletin for the complimentary tickets!

Here’s a sample of their sound… http://youtube.com/watch?v=R8eyJzMiDTA

Weekend Northern Food Trip (Part 2)

We went around to the Nepo complex. The complex used to serve as Angeles City’s retail repository of PX cast-outs from Clark Air Base and its many GI’s. Considered one of the better polished food places of the area was “Perfect Loaf,” a bakery and café, which was a favorite of the wife back when she maintained a little boutique at Nepo Mart 1. We dropped in and were pleased to find that while Nepo Mall helped cause the nigh-absolute crumble of Nepo Mart 1 and 2 save for a few shops still valiantly open around the perimeter, Perfect Loaf remained lively, and the food was still good.

We wanted to cap off the evening with sisig at Victor’s along the northbound side of MacArthur Highway just a bit past the Dau terminal district. But before that, we had to get our tires checked since they seemed to be on the under-inflated side. Lo and behold, we went through a total of five (count ‘em FIVE) major gas stations only to find that their air hoses and gauges either didn’t work or wasn’t available, or the compressor was off until morning, or there was simply no facility.

We found out that unscrupulous creatures actually stole the hose heads off the air pumps to sell the metal as scrap. What have we become…?

This caused a lot of stress for my wife, who was horrified at the thought of hitting the expressway with under-inflated tires (of course!), and on top of it all, she was almost embarrassed at the state of things in a city she grew up in.

And to add insult to injury, Victor’s BBQ (as the sign has always said) didn’t look the same. The plump lady who chopped stuff up to put your sisig together, wasn’t there, and it looked liked there was only one staff person present, with only one table having a couple of customers. And they didn’t look too friendly either. So we turned back and waited until we reached North Park in Banawe Avenue (QC) to grab dinner.

Dammit... Larry J. Cruz is dead...

Dammit... Larry J. Cruz is dead...

For the unsophisticated pedestrian, Lorenzo "Larry" J. Cruz is the universal connoisseur best known as the cultural visionary who conceptualized, owned, operated several theme restuarants around Metro Manila, particularly in the Malate district, which is considered by many as the hub of Manila's literati and bourgois.

There was a time when I visited Cafe Adriatico up to four nights on a single week. Sneaking out late at night (as I was then only a teen-ager) with my notebook in hand (no PDA's back then, and laptops were a huge luxury), wearing shorts, top-siders (en vogue back then), to drive to Cafe Adriatico for a smoke and a cappuccino to scribble whatever verse streamed into my head. The waiters knew me by name, knew my drinks based on the company I had along, and even chatted me up from time to time. Heck, I even watched a few waiters climb from newbie, to manager... (a holler out to Domeng, Chris and Edwin, who is now a staple in also LJC-owned Cafe Havana)

Back then (around 1991), knowing the difference between an espresso, a cappuccino, and a latte meant you had an unofficial right to raise your nose a bit and wave off your commoner colleagues back into their Nescafe-stained cups and corners. The funny thing was, I was only 18. A subtly snot-nosed 18 year-old, who loved the taste of his coffee as much as the chattering sounds and slightly musty smell of Pledge on old wood permeating in the cafe...

But man, Cafe Ad' (as I refer to "Cafe Adriatico Premiere" abrieviatedly) made my neurons go totally wild and absa-tively alive... maybe it was something in the cappuccino... i don't know... But i wrote some of my best poems in there with that cappuccino in front of me steaming away...

I loved the place so much, that I always half-hoped that LJC (as Larry Cruz is usually referred to as) would drop by, and I would thank him for putting a place that has brought so much to my life. From time to time when the wife and I would drop in (more and more seldomly nowadays since I now live in QC), I would still hope a somehow of running into the cultural icon that was Larry J. Cruz.

Sadly, I never have. And now, I never will.

But for what it's worth... Thanks, Larry (can I call you "Larry", sir?)... Many hours and nights of my most important and formative years were spent in your cafe. I raise my cup to you, sir.

Mr. Lorenzo "Larry" J. Cruz passed away in Washington, last February 4, 2008.

Cafe Adriatico photo from smarttravelasia.com, by Vijay Verghese

Weekend Northern Food Trip (Part 1)

The whole idea was to have a nice provincial Saturday evening at the wifey’s hometown of Angeles, Pampanga. With the highlights being a cool nostalgic food trip of merienda (snack) at Corazon, a visit through Nepo, and capped off by yummy lip-smacking sisig at Victor’s along the highway. (The wife detests the wildly popular Lucing’s sisig, which she finds too fatty for her taste. I personally like it BECAUSE of the fat content, and the sizzling plate serving doesn’t hurt either. But alas… the bitch, oh I mean the “queen” has spoken… heh heh…)

And so we were off to the NLEX (North Luzon Expressway), a.k.a. “the most unreasonably expensive tollway on this side of the planet.”

We quickly proceeded to the Corazon district in Angeles for halo-halo. This is not to be confused with Razon’s of Guagua, which has successfully proliferated and overpriced itself back in Manila. I’m guessing the actual name of the business establishment is “JaJa,” with the “Halo-Halo sa Corazon” added as a descriptive suffix. Nonetheless, it has been referred to “Halo-Halo sa Corazon” for as long as I remember…

“we went all the way to Angeles, and all I took was this really bad photo of a rather pedestrian streamer…”

Forgive this idiot for not taking a photo of a visually unremarkable dessert served in a rather common-looking drinking glass. The ingredients aren’t even colorful, just various shades of yellow and brown, and the white of the ice. But while the presentation was unremarkable, the taste, texture and experience are beyond description.

Thing is, all ingredients save for the evaporated milk are homemade, which guarantees that their taste will survive various government regime changes, and over-commercialization of the condiment makers of this earth. They make their own sweetened red beans, sweetened bananas, macapuno strips, and their secret recipe pastillas (custard), the thought of which makes my mouth water just remembering it. All these are spooned generously into the aforementioned unremarkable glass, topped with shaved ice, and finished off with evaporated milk.

Your mouth watering yet? :D

Now oddly enough, the spotlighted halo-halo is usually supported by side orders of pancit palabok, nicely tart and tasty dinuguan (blood stew, believe it or not…), together with the obligatory chunks of puto (white sticky rice sponge cake).

And we’re off to other corners of the once-glorious city of Angeles…

(to be continued)

WOULD YOU LIKE A PIÑA COLADA WITH YOUR ANTIBIOTIC, SIR?

WOULD YOU LIKE A PIÑA COLADA WITH YOUR ANTIBIOTIC, SIR?


So I guess the travel brochures of our country will get just a wee bit thicker pretty soon. And right beside the breezy photos of Boracay, Palawan and the Banawe Rice Terraces, there will be photos of… syringes and scalpels?

Yep, that’s right. This gorgeous country of ours that has one of the most ironic shortages of manpower in the medical field is now going to promote “medical tourism.” The government has deemed us ready for it. We’re cheap, we’re talented, and we are not exactly very high up on the malpractice laws. Totally safe for doctors, I’m just not too sure about the patients.

Oh, and about talent, we sure have a lot of it. But by the time the aforementioned talent has been honed well enough to actually be useful, they hop on a plane and go nurse white people for up 10 to 12 dollars PER HOUR. But hey, we still got hard-working nurses here who slave and toil away at minimum wage, while counting the days when they can afford another round of Chickenjoy. We got great hard-working doctors and nurses in a lot of public medical institutions, whom our government officials hail as “modern heroes.” Especially since these self-same officials took the health budget and bought a few more techni-color lampposts to serve as their “legacy.”

Granted, the country could always use the added income of increased tourism, but there’s something to be said about the government’s penchant for capitalizing on the private sector, while not doing any real work.

In a CBS news report, an official from a major hospital here in Metro Manila reported that their number of interns took a total nosedive from 152 interns down to only five for 2007. The number of medical residents in some hospitals is also down by an average of 40% between 2006 and 2007. A poignant point of all this is that many of these talented doctors are leaving to become nurses, mostly in the United States. But the downgrade in career paths also means an upgrade in income. Fat chance they’ll get that here in a million years.

So, “medical tourism” is an ultimate irony, if you ask me. In a country where even the most basic forms of healthcare have become the avenue of the rich, a privilege to an affluent few, “medical tourism” is a big slap on the faces of our sick and ailing poor. Imagine the pathos when a foreigner bathes under the Philippine sun (swimsuits, straw hats and all), while waiting for the schedule of her next boob job, and her margarita is served by a waiter, who probably needs a cash advance just to pay for the doctor’s fees in his infant child’s next check up. Assuming his province even HAS a doctor available.

Yeah… imagine the brochures… “COME TO THE PHILIPPINES FOR YOUR NEXT TUMMY TUCK… FOR YOUR NEXT NOSE JOB… FOR YOUR NEXT TRANSPLANT SURGERY… THIS IS THE FUTURE HOME OF ASIAN MEDICAL TOURISM…!”

My ass…

Yes, yes, yes! We are ready for “Medical Tourism.” After laying down heavy taxes on professionals including the medical community, “Medical Tourism!” In an age where professional licenses and regulations are more and more suspect, and the over-hype in cosmetic procedures have lead to unscrupulous individuals practicing with unlicensed scalpels to cater to the poor but aspiring, “Medical Tourism!” While many rural areas have dying citizens for want of a mere antiseptic… all together now: “MEDICAL TOURISM!”

Yeah, we’re ready alright.

Multiple Lives

Meet Professor Rey.

Professor Rey was one of my professors in college a not too long time ago. He outlined to me to the concept of multiple lives, which I already had an inkling of from being obsessed with Batman.

Professor Rey enumerated being a keyboard player for an acid jazz band in some watering hole in Mile-Long (which has since closed down), a lawyer, and of course he was sitting before us as our professor for which subject for the life of me I could not remember. Three roles, he said. Three roles that afforded him release to different aspects of his personality.

I admired this concept of multiple lives and dragged my best friend to that run-down bar and rediscovered my annoyance for the genre of acid-jazz. Of course, through this all I also saw and acknowledged the talent of the musicians involved. I never knew how he was as a lawyer, but I supposed he couldn’t make any sort of claim without actually having that attorney’s license or whatever it is they call they document. And yes, he also reported for class. He relished in this, and probably passed it on to me.

A decade and a half hence, I find myself living multiple lives, along with a handful of other half-lives that live on only in my head. I make a living running a small advertising agency, which branches out internally into other multiple roles. I also perform a small function of serving the creative requirements of the family retail business in Baguio City. I am also a relatively active member of the Manila Jaycees. I am a frsutrated saxophone player who tortures my wife on not-so-quiet weekends. To top all that off, I am also a husband, and will soon be a father.

The Manila Jaycees are a curious thing. It asks one to accept and/or create obligations. These obligations are gladly met for various reasons. Some wish to make friends, some want to try and learn something new, some want to impress, some really feel the need to make a difference, some have them stuffed down their throats, and some just have way too much free time. Such is the fate of a Jaycee, whether of Manila or any other chapter for that matter. We accept the prospect of living these double lives and take on the baggage that comes with them.

Sometimes, when things happen at the same time, I find myself bemoaning how I seem to be pulled in different directions threatening to dismember me rather violently. But check this, for the most parts, our various so-called lives care little about how we separate them as long as we fulfill our commitments to each and every one of them well. If and when we make commitments, we are obligated to fulfill them. If not because we are Jaycess, but simply because we are reasonable and honorable human beings.

I have done my best to turn down certain projects and memberships in various committees. Not because I don’t like my potential teammates, but simply because I am afraid of not fulfilling my commitments and obligations to the degree I believe they deserve. I do not want to not fulfill them, but I have other so-called lives that demand for my time.

At some point, it must be said that turning down certain things should be forgiven, accepted and respected. But whenever these commitments are made and these obligations defined, they must be met and fulfilled to the best of one’s abilities in the spirit of not only a Jaycee, but also of honorable being gentlemen.

(oh, and a big wave to Professor Rey Olaguer in the one in a gazillion off-chance that he finds this.)

Flowers, Weddings, and the predicted Funeral...

I learned something new today...

I learned that if you want fresh cut roses to last longer, you have to cut off an inch from the bottom everyday (diagonally), so it will absorb water again.

Apparently, the ends of the stems seal up or "heal" or something in the span of a day. And thus, the bud can no longer suck in water...

Funky, huh? :D

I wasn't really planning to get the wifey flowers for Valentine's since we were in some agreement that the money would be better used to buy a new blouse for her. "New blouse in lieu of flowers," apparently... heh heh...

Then I got a text message from a friend who was helping sell some fresh Ecuadorian roses at a price I honestly felt was a bloody steal... (There's a nice couple who've made a rather healthy side business of flowers and floral arrangements. They apparently don't do retail, but were bringing in these Ecuadorian rarities for the occasion... Call them for weddings and similarly planned stuff. Call: 0917-8117071 and look for either Mike or Charo) So i reserved a dozen (the minimum order), and waited patiently for my wife to react on February 13, which was the delivery day... So react she did, and when I got home I saw rosebuds the size of fucking large eggs... damn beautiful...

A lousy photo of lovely beautiful flowers taken by a beautiful and happy woman on a very corny day...

When asked by my friend if the wife liked the flowers, I said: "She liked them so much, that if she wasn't pregnant right now, I'd have been sure to get her pregnant that night!"

I met the lovely flower-dealing couple today for coffee, and they told me about their rather blooming flower business (yes, stupid pun was intended). They mentioned about catering to a lot of weddings and other stuff except for funerals, since they couldn't be planned.

and all of a sudden, i felt just downright eerie... then I said, "If someone calls in for full floral arrangements for a wake, call the cops."

I mean, if you knew, or had an idea that you were going to die in a couple of weeks, would you order flowers? And wouldn't it be rather scary if one got a call, and the guy on the other line said: "I'd like a few bouquets for my funeral next week..."

(cue the Twilight Zone soundtrack...) Doo-doo... doo-doo... doo-doo... doo-doo...

So if you need flowers and floral arrangments for weddings, debuts, birthdays, anniversaries, and even funerals (just make sure you pay upfront and use a false name or they call the cops), call 7Lily Floral Atelier at the numbers above (you WERE reading, right? ask me again, and i bitch-slap you... but here's the number anyway... 0917-8117071 ).

Movie Review: The Bucket List

Last Friday, we decided to kick off the weekend by catching Rob Reiner's The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.

The story revolves around two people from either side of the social spectrum (rich, corporate mogul Nicholson, opposite working class mechanic Freeman), who find their lives on the clock due to cancer. They strike up an unlikely friendship, and agree to together venture forth and complete a list of things to do before they "kick the bucket." Hence, the so-called Bucket List, which the movie got its name from.

Reiner gets the film off to a great start by using an ace up his casting sleeve: using Freeman's distinctive and mellifluous baritone voice to narrate the first few lines of the movie.

After a rather forced set-up wherein filthy rich but friendless Nicholson shares a room with middle-class trivia-genius family man Freeman, and both become rather unwilling friends. They are informed of their pending doom due their respective cancer situations and they both go off in the great unknown the live the wild life before death finally catches up with them.

Okay, some parts of the movie were admittedly cringe-worthy, such as the mock taunts they exchanged on the race track. But Nicholson and Freeman have such charm between them, that the viewer is just glad to see them both looking like they're having fun, which they look like they are. Of course, Freeman has always played subtle, wise, old characters who never seem to lose their cool, while Nicholson has always played over the top larger, than life characters who steal every scene they're in. So essentially, these guys just got on board to celebrate their own typecasts, which were thrown into a new fictional situation.


The chemistry between the leads is palpable, and the contrasting characters play off one another nicely. Even Freeman's cool baritone sounds off great opposite Nicholson's devious sneering drawls.

An underrated player in all this is Sean Hayes, as Nicholson's witty and tolerant assistant, who sufficiently spices up his scenes without interfering with the leads.

The script isn't perfect, the plot has the mass integrity of Swiss cheese, but two names practically guarantee a watchable (albeit in this case, forgettable) and entertaining movie: Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.

Definitely not a great movie, but it isn't so bad. And considering the body of work between these two guys, they're excused from making an effortless piece of fluff from time to time.

Recommended for fans.

Sacrificing Lambs... (From Manila Times' Manila Jaycees Minutes, Published Jan. 29, 2008)

Sacrificing Lambs
By Golangco, Jasper Lao, JCI-Manila


If you’ve never heard of Dana Batnag before, then I’m pretty sure you already have by now. But for the unenlightened, Dana Batnag, is a reporter of Tokyo-based news company Jiji Press. She’s the journalist currently gracing front pages all over the country for being accused of supposedly helping military fugitives escape in the recent unplanned demolition of the Peninsula Manila’s lobby last November 29, 2007.

What’s interesting is that the only thing the police have going for them is a video of Batnag in dialogue with Marine Capt. Nicanor Faeldon. I mean, what else do reporters do, right? They don’t have a transcript of their conversation, no written evidence, absolutely nothing substantial. But accused she stands.

Batnag is but the most recent victim of a culture of media vaudeville that requires sacrificial lambs for the appeasement of one’s ego, and the supposed saving of an institution’s face.

Good thing for her, at least she’s still alive. Unlike many of her news and media brethren.

Never in our country’s history has the Filipino free press been more at odds with authority than they are now. The Filipino was never really good at shutting up, so it seems that a few people have taken it upon themselves to shut us up if we don’t want to. Apparently, it’s either journalists shut up, or they die. As per a report by the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ), a grand total 171 individuals working the fields of journalism and media were killed last year, 2007. Only six less than the 177 who bit the dust last 2006. Now either a news career automatically causes strokes, heart attacks, and stray bullets to randomly fly through a car window, or something’s really fishy.

We’re supposed to be a democracy, where freedom of expression and the press are at the forefront and serve as the most important manifestations of this so-called democracy. In a society where economic freedom is reserved for a fortunate few (who mostly hold government offices), intellectual freedom is what keeps the fires of this country’s soul burning.

Many have accused the press of being too unkind and focusing only on the negative. But this is not entirely true. The press has the thankless job of focusing on what’s prevalent. And if more bad than good things keep happening, then telling the press to talk mostly about good things would be like telling the press to simply close their eyes and ears. And even Helen Keller didn’t like shutting up.

I personally do not know for a fact whether or not the accusations against Batnag are true. Who knows? Evidence may surface showing her to be guilty. But the fact remains that the authorities have chosen to unprofessionally bring out unproven assumptions to the public in the hopes of showing work mileage that essentially goes in circles.

Offering up Dana Batnag as a sacrificial lamb this early without enough evidence will not do anything but remind this country’s citizens that the Philippines can only remain the land of the free, but only if we keep quiet and keep a ten foot pole between us and the people the government doesn’t like.

Not too free at all.

The Delayed Book Review: All-Star Superman, Volume 1

I need to do this.

I need to put this review together for a number of reasons:
First, I want to tell the world that I am sophisticated enough to finally grab a hardcover copy of the critically acclaimed ALL-STAR SUPERMAN by Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely and Jaime Grant. And that I finally listened to this recommendation by one of my favorite veterinarians, Dr. Sixto Carlos of the Makati Dog & Cat Hospital (the other favorite vets also work there, by the way.)
Next, I have to join the party in sharing my joy in having taken this literary ride with Morrison and company.

I think I’ve mentioned in my only other review so far in this blog, that I am not a Superman fan. In fact, I enjoyed Seagle’s “It’s a Bird” so much partly because Supes wasn’t the main protagonist of the story.

I am a Batman fan. (Just had to get that off my chest.)

So I open the book with expectations set “quite” high (pun intended), and while I’ve never been a fan of Frank Quitely’s art, his sense of story-telling, detail and nuance is among the best out there. And Morrison’s story was brought to life fully formed, and garnished almost perfectly.

What makes this series great?

Well, for one thing, they didn’t really toy around with Superman’s central character concept. In fact, they even added bits of detail that made the larger-than-life-ness of Superman a good thing, and not an annoying literary limitation.

Here are some great bits:
1. Superman playing “fetch” with Krypto. Where else but in space, right? and using a tree, no less.
2. Superman’s super-heavy white dwarf key to the Fortress of Solitude. Batman would probably hide the key to the bat-cave under the bat-rug. But when you’re Superman, you don’t have to hide the goddamn key, you just to use one of the heaviest substances in the universe so no one else can carry, much less use it to open the Super-gates of the Fortress. Sure beats the giant key that probably attracts way too much attention…
3. The pet sun-eater… with Supes feeding it baby suns… heh heh… cute touch.
4. Lois Lane initially disbelieving that Supes and Clark are one and the same, together with the human paranoia she experiences while hanging out at the Fortress of Solitude.

(above, Lois Lane in paranoia)

(above, Supes with his pet sun-eater)

With ALL-STAR SUPERMAN, Morrison successfully puts Supes back in the genre of great old-school science fiction almost worthy of Harlan Ellison.

It’s almost funny how writers have always managed to put Batman smack in the center of his core genres of crime and horror, which have helped make Bats what he is today. But with Superman seemingly losing creative relevance in the "modern" comic mythos for the past two or three decades, it only took Morrison and company a handful of issues to remind the entire comic book fandom that Superman is a science fiction book. Complete with a one-issue Jimmy Olsen-centered issue that recalls the good ole’ age of odd-ball one-off concepts in the vein of “What If?”

Oh, and if I may seem to have implied that ALL-STAR SUPERMAN is the ultimate geek-fest filled with geek-talk, then I must dutifully mention that Morrison kept the heart of the book together in the warm way he handled the appearances of Jonathan and Martha Kent. With meaning, purpose, and not just because the “superman-being-farm boy” thing had to be pounded into the readers’ brains.

If I seem like I’m gushing, I will flatly admit with pompous pride that I am. And if you want to know why, go grab yourself a copy.

Unfortunate Events (#2660)

We were at the tail-end of the first day’s shoot at our client’s steel processing plant. I was tired, and my voice was hoarse…

One of the last few shots to be taken were a row of welders, who had to light up in unison for that kick ass shot with the orchestral welding light effects. Then we started to relay instructions to those wiry Neanderthals with the sparkly power tools. It seemed simple enough: “everyone straighten out the girders before you, put your goddamned welding masks on, and on the count of three, everyone light up like the Fourth of fucking July!”

They couldn’t get the bloody choreography right, and I was beginning to seriously wonder if they understood the simple mix of English and Tagalog that I was screaming at the top of my lungs.

After over four tries, I walked all the way to the end of the row and waved my arms like a windshield wiper to try and get the welder’s attention. Then the welder looked up at me, flipped his mask open, and smilingly opened his mouth in that autistic inquisitory manner, then proceeded to point at his ears, which had… earplugs.

At that point, I was already hoarse, even more tired than when we started, and my shoulders were slouched in defeat. Then someone brought in a whistle. Riiiight…

We eventually got the shot right. Here it is…

Word of advice to people who say no one listens: check for ear plugs.

Shallow Secrets... Movie Review: National Treasure: Book of Secrets

Oookay, like "Sakal, Sakali, Saklolo," I went and saw this movie without having seen the prequel. But it's been reported to be on top of box office lists for the quite some time, and then there's good word of mouth. So I figured, "what the heck..."

The formula is soooo basic: macho hero (Nic Cage with just a wee bit more hair), hot chick (Diane Kruger, who is so on-paper perfectly beautiful that she almost comes across as bland), goof-ball who can do a lot of stuff (Joshua Bartha, who in this case is the resident computer expert at Mr. Cage's disposal. Can't do a team movie without one nowadays...), and then there's the old man for "elderly advice" or additional comic relief (Jon Voight, who is at his best when he plays a bad guy, so this movie ain't it, guys...).
The movie kicks off relatively decently, with the set-up for a "Da Vinci Code meets Indiana Jones meets... uhm... Nic Cage" kind of movie. But with all the too-convenient scenarios and the almost two-dimensional opposing characters, who eventually redeem themselves in typical popcorn fashion, National Treasure: Book of Secrets almost ends up being "The Goonies, 2008."

Ed Harris sets up Mr. Cage with the possibility that Cage's great-grandfather was involved in the assasination of Abe Lincoln, then Mr. Cage sets off on a crazy mission to find evidence to prove it otherwise. Cage's Ben Gates and Diane Kruger's Abigail Chase are estranged when the movie begins, Bartha's Riley Poole is peddling a book about the first movie's adventures, and somewhere along the way, we see Jon Voight wringing his hands over the thought of asking something of his ex-wife, played here by the classy Helen Mirren.

Ed Harris tails Cage's little crew until they cross paths at Mount Rushmore, where they find the literal City of Gold. a few kinks here and there... and they lived happily ever after. Honest.

Oh, and this is the first movie in a long while wherein the U.S. President was portrayed in such an intelligent, and almost positive light... Intelligent , that is, until he lets himself get kidnapped by one guy!! Bwahahahahaha...

Ed Harris' talent was totally wasted here. The guy deserves better material. Uhm, come to think of it, so do Nic Cage, Diane Kruger, Jon Voight, and most especially Miss Helen Mirren. Joshua Bartha, on the other hand, belongs in this pop-corn crap.

But to be fair, the movie was a pleasant way to kill a couple of hours. But it would've made very little difference if we chose to watch "The Chipmunks" instead.

BEE Lightly Entertained... Movie Review: BEE MOVIE

Let me begin by saying that one of the last people I expect to get environmental advice from is Jerry Seinfeld. But hey, people grow up, right? I’m talking about me, not Jerry, by the way.

As a grand sucker for the eye candy products of CGI animation, and supplemented by the added edge of a stand-up comic at the level of Mr. Seinfeld, “Bee Movie” seemed like a no-brainer for me.

As always, Dreamworks delivers on the visual quality of the thing, and the whole theme park approach complete with the Spanish translated ride instructions didn’t escape me either. The cinematography makes it quite obvious that we’re going to find a 4-D Bee Movie attraction at the Universal Studios park real soon.

What I like about this movie is that it didn’t rely too much on pop culture puns to “bee” entertaining. Of course it has its share, with notable vocal “appearances” by Sting (riiiight), and Ray Liotta (this one I honestly didn’t get…). Larry King appears (yet again). Everybody just loves this guy, huh?

Renee Zellweger’s raspy girl next door voice fit her character perfectly, Matthew Broderick’s dorky best friend routine went well, and the sparse appearance of Chris Rock as a mosquito added a few highlights as well. And yes, Sting just totally nailed for me, man. (I’m a fan, dude…) Oddly enough, only after checking the voice cast credits did I find out that they had Oprah, Cathy Bates, and a few other notables on the payroll as well. I mean… uhm… cool… right? Having Oprah around in something like this should be totally cool, right. BUT ONLY IF THEY USED THESE BIG NAME TALENTS A BIT MORE.

The whole ecological balance thing was a nice way to try and add some moral weight to the story. The operative word being “try.” But I guess that’s better than nothing.

Did I waste my time? Nah, I honestly enjoyed it. I wasn’t asking for much more anyways. If I want a nice, deep and memorable movie, I’d grab a copy of Schindler’s List or something.

Here's the "better" of the trailers they did for BEE MOVIE:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxBUwHTV_KA&feature=related

Movie Review: Sakal, Sakali, Saklolo

Movie Review: Sakal, Sakali, Saklolo
(a.k.a. “My share in contributing a meager P260 to the local movie industry”)

It started out as a typical weekend day at the mall. So typically Filipino, in fact. Complete with a Jollibee dinner, window shopping, and the highlight at some point being a drag queen in make-up and a mini-skirt popping out of a cubicle in the men’s room to a wide-eyed bunch of guys, who I assume were mostly straight.

* * * * *

With the remnants of the 2008 Metro Manila Film Festival holding on to what I assume is the last handful of days at the cineplexes, we had before us the annual line up of movies that didn’t represent the best of Philippine cinema, it represented what was LEFT of Philippine cinema.

The curious little boy in me had been trying to make my dominatrix wife agree to seeing Bong Revilla’s “Resiklo”, despite having to try and dodge Dingdong Dantes’ laser vision…

Obviously, I lost.

So we ended up seeing the sequel to last year’s critical hit, “Kasal, Kasali, Kasalo,” whose title was the rather creatively coined “Sakal, Sakali, Saklolo.” And I meekly followed my wife into the movie, whose prequel she supposedly caught on TV…

Given the praises last year’s prequel received, along with a nod from director Mark Meily himself, I actually expected a good movie. So, you think I got it?

No. The good news is that I didn’t get a bad one either.

After several months of intensely hawking Fitrum slimming caps, Judy Ann Santos and writer/director Jose Javier Reyes seem to have agreed that it was tantamount to give Juday as many opportunities as possible to show off her new, improved physique. Okay, not a bad figure at this point, but I could never get past the roundness of her face…

My beef with “slice-of-life” style Pinoy movies has always been the lack of solidly interesting conflict. And “Sakal…” is no exception. I imagine that the prequel ended with the couple happily marrying despite the social differences and all. And a wedding always provides a decent crescendo to a love story, which is where “Sakal…” picks up at the start.

So we get a glimpse of a career-vs.-family scenario for Juday, and a boy growing out of his expensive boyish hobbies for Agoncillo. All that, complete with the respective circles of friends that offer sometimes amusing commentary.

Juday points out to Agoncillo that they have to watch their expenses, then guess what? At the next scene, they're shopping at Santis’ Delicatessen. Real budget-friendly shopping right there… At least we now know where Direk Reyes gets his Hungarian sausages…

The couple tries to re-ignite their marriage by accepting an invitation to visit Dominic Ochoa is Spain, in what is most certainly the most expensive part of the movie. Now I understand that the distance from their son, Rafa was supposed to provide the source of the supposed conflict, what with the in-laws/grandparents suddenly taking turns imposing themselves on the poor child. The trip ends abruptly when they find out Rafa gets sick, and they quickly reschedule an earlier flight back home. Wow, real edge-of-your-seat material right there...NOT.

Guess what happened after that…? After a few kinks here and there, they all lived happily ever after. Honest.

I was mildly entertained, but while some situations were nice and realistically done, I was left wondering about what the movie stood for. It was almost academic for me to assume that the previous movie’s premise revolved around the social differences of the protagonists, which probably gave Direk Reyes a field day writing the first one, with a lot of stuff left over.

But here, Reyes just lets his characters go through the motions from one expected scenario to the next. I felt the movie was sprinkled with a lot of potential subplots that weren’t maximized, such as the placement of Hans Montenegro as Juday’s flirty co-worker, who is also a potential foil to Ryan Agoncillo’s rich kid husband. Agoncillo’s luggage getting lost… Agoncillo’s wallet getting stolen… Little details that could’ve been more useful. Oh, and they also wasted Freddie Webb’s time by handing him a character that had almost as much depth as a paper doll.

The chemistry between on and off-screen couple Judy Ann Santos and Ryan Agoncillo is unmistakable, but the truly bright spots are obviously the veteran actors in Gloria Romero, Ariel Ureta and Gina Pareño. They are just plain brilliant given their rather limited material, with Pareño’s over-the-top-ness reminding me of my own mother-in-law (without the redeeming factors.)

From what I gather from this episode, the first movie must’ve been good. My wife thinks so. Ergo, I think they should’ve left it as it was. But this movie supposedly made money, too. So I guess I smell another sequel? Oh well, I’m getting “Resiklo” on DVD.

Catch a movie review of “Resiklo” by Maverick Advertising’s former copywriter, Michelle Dompor. http://kablagblog.blogs.friendster.com/

Props for Richard Page of Mr. Mister

Don't ask, because I honestly don't have an explanation.
But if you ever have one of those days when you have a song that you played to death on a car tape deck until the sound was practically muffled from wear suddenly stream into your head... and you get that tilt-the-head-in-an-autistic-manner-then-smiling like-an-idiot moment... then you must know how I feel...

The melodic culprit happens to be a song called "The Best Thing" by Richard Page from his solo album "Shelter Me" that came out last 1996. Damn good album that sank without a fucking trace...

Richard who? Richard Page is/was best known as the lead singer and bass player of 80's fixture band Mr. Mister. Also known by music afficionados as the guy who was offered to replace Bobby Kimball when Bobby left Toto, and as the guy who again got offered the chance to replace Peter Cetera when Mr. Cetera woke up and decided that Jimmy Pankow, Lamm and the other guys were dead weight to him. (For the record, I don't think so. I think Chicago is a great band... Still is, even post-Cetera...)

Anyways, like the geek that I am, I did what geeks do when something invades their heads... I google it. So I google Richard Page...

I find a site offering songs at $0.20 each. I end up signing off (electronically anyway) the minimum credit purchase of $15 out of my credit card to download the goddamn song. Only to find myself having difficulty downloading. But I successfully got to play the whole song in streaming audio... Wrote them for customer support, got the song, and posted it in youtube. Here it is:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Udnvlm5Y8nQ

And for those who actually know the above track and find it anemic (which it somehow is, but I personally find it a catchy kind of anemic), I'm posting below a link to a live performance by Richard Page and his band, Mr. Mister.
It'll give you a good idea why this guy was invited to practically lead two of the biggest bands of the past century.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=dOq9v4fAEo0&feature=related

Enjoy the links and don't ignore those streaming-in-your-head moments. Somehow, the song and the memories it brought back, even if only in streaming audio, were worth all the trouble...

the gathering...

Sooo... it's officially 2008.

Maverick has regrouped after what seems to have a rather tumultous year since 2007 was the time we lost practically the last vestiges of Maverick Version 2.0.

Did we feel bad? Sad? Deserted? Rejected?

No. Yes. No. No.

At some point, we had to find that point wherein we were reminded that through all the laughter, the fun, and the... uh... fun. Maverick was and still is a business. A viable one at that.

But Maverick Version 3.0 was a dismal failure. We are now developing Version 2.5.

With the fresh blood we've gathered and possibly an old one coming in, Version 2.5 just might work...

I am still deciding whether or not to get my fat ass off leaning on the huge wall provided by my family.

I most likely will. Now it's time to build my own fucking wall. Brick by fucking brick.