Gloria's Breasts...

Some things just write themselves effortlessly.

So Gloria Macapagal Arroyo got herself some breast implants around two decades ago. Big fat deal. In this day and age, there is nothing newsworthy about breast implants. Even for public officials like Prez Glo.

What makes this whole thing so bloody laughable is how Prez Glo’s entourage keep on trying to insult the Pinoy population’s intelligence in classic Arroyo fashion.

“Medical reason,” my ass.

The only physical purpose female breasts actually serve is to provide food for offspring. And I don’t think silicone produces milk. Unless it does, and it would explain the mental development (or lack thereof) of Glo’s kids, and of course the retardation of FG's brain.

Why not just shut up about the whole thing? Tell people that a woman’s breasts (and implants) are none of their business. Gloria wants to have something cosmetic done to herself, then fine. No biggie. Nothing to be ashamed of. Why not just say it as it is?

Gloria wants a bit of delicadeza about the whole thing. Fine. I must reluctantly agree. But why bait everyone with such a lame answer?


"Medical reason..." Geez…

If that's the best that the Malacañang spin doctors can cough up, then it's no wonder Gloria's public image has the scent integrity of a septic tank.

‘catch you later…

Ten Reasons Why the COMELEC Will Finally Automate the 2010 Elections

Ten Reasons Why the COMELEC Will Finally Automate the 2010 Elections:

1. The COMELEC have found themselves a great computer programmer who can work out a “glitch” in the counting, which will no longer require the assistance of “Garci” to cheat.

2. They have probably concluded that with Item #1 (above) in place, they can turn election automation into a regular megazillion money-making scam, while giving Pinoys the illusion of a “better” system.

3. Automation in the election process will mean that President Arroyo, should she run again, will no longer have to make those incriminating “Hello, Garci” calls. Upon completion of the voting process, the machines will say the infamous GMA version of “I… AM… SORRY…”

4. They have already killed the ingenious programmer of the cheat system mentioned in Item #1 so he’ll shut the fuck up.

5. The system has been programmed to declare Gloria Macapagal Arroyo as the winner despite not being on the list of candidates.

6. The COMELEC has been taken over by Decepticons, and all those machines they are going to install will all turn into tiny robots who will hump Megan Fox’s leg, then proceed to take over the rest of Philippines.

7. Gloria Macapagal Arroyo is Megatron in disguise.

8. Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has been assimilated into the gigantific COMELEC computer mainframe, and will proceed to possess every Pinoy voter upon contact with the evil election machines.

9. Old politicos have finally begun to realize the power of computers after “forcing” themselves to review Hayden Kho’s sex scandal recordings.

10. All of the above will not happen, because “at the last minute,” they will “discover” a glitch that will require them to “overhaul” the system, and Pinoys will have to “wait for the next elections” until we can witness another show where they will pretend to finally automate the elections.

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'catch you later...

Movie Review: Transformers 2 (Revenge of the Fallen IQ...)

I saw Transformers 2. Wow. Whoopee.

And since it wasn’t a very articulate movie, I will instead enumerate my points as mechanically as the movie itself. Here goes…

1. Megan Fox is hot.
2. The plot is brainless. But hey, it’s a film by Michael Bay. A plot would be nice, but well-timed explosions are far more important than dialogue.
3. Having the supposedly “dead” protagonist come back to life in the arms of his hot, mouth-wateringly babelicious co-star has been done so often it felt like the movie’s “writers’” brains are/were on a protein shortage.
4. Megan Fox can have me anytime.
5. My head hurt from trying to distinguish all the robots from one another.

6. My head hurt from trying to understand what Megan Fox is doing among us mortals.
7. I thought I was going to see the Dinobots. Shit. No Dinobots.
8. Star Scream was reduced to a retard in this movie, just like everyone who saw it.
9. The panicky Latino sidekick/comic relief was pointless, useless, and was a total waste of time.
10. John Turturro’s underground lair was such a stupid story element.
11. Turturro’s ass cheeks were not even a story element. Absolutely no reason to be there.
12. Michael Bay is gay. For showing Turturro’s ass cheeks.
13. Megan Fox made me forget trying to look for a real story.
14. It’s only been three days and I already do not remember much more about the movie except that Megan Fox was hot.

15. Megan Fox is hot.

* * * * *

What by far more interesting than Transformers 2 was the absence of long lines at Robinson’s Galleria on a Sunday afternoon. And it’s even crazier to note that we saw this “phenomenon” merely half an hour after escaping the Transformers-seeking mob at Trinoma’s literally steaming-hot cinema level, where the airconditioning seems to have given trying…

I seriously can’t figure out what’s wrong with Robinson’s Galleria… (above, actual day photo...)

I assume that there should be a much more interesting plotline on that than Transformers 2.

‘catch you later…

yeah yeah... Jacko's a goner...

So it seems that Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, affectionately a.k.a. “Wacko Jacko,” after a million nose jobs and bleaches, is dead.

Won’t drag this on too long since the entire web is overflowing with MJ stuff…

Only thing I feel like saying is that with his death, Jacko has effectively pushed away the tabloids for the last time, puts the entire circus known as the last ten years of his life behind him, and his musical legacy will be left to speak on his behalf.

"...in his dying, Michael Jackson may have just unwittingly written the biggest comeback he can ever stage..."

Did he still have music in him? I’d guess no less than a resounding “yes.” But the magnitude of his history bears its weight upon anything he does or tries to accomplish. And coupled with the unrelenting ghost of his own vanity, then it’s safe to say that anything Jacko does is condemned to be a disappointment from the start.

At this point, however, people will finally stop trying to anticipate the next way he will fail. They will instead gather up his body of work, take it for the musical greatest that is bears, and put Jacko in the pantheon of singular cultural icons and great musicians whose music will continue to sell for probably the next half-century at the very least.

Call it poetic justice, but in his dying, Michael Jackson may have just unwittingly (or knowingly?) written the biggest comeback he can ever stage. That supposed 50-date concert tour is nothing compared to what will begin to happen in the next few weeks.

'catch you later...

Happy Father's Day!

So it’s Father’s Day… ho hummm…

Whatever.

I must admit though, receiving Father’s Day greetings on my phone sort of makes me feel like someone who’s finally been let in in some kind of exclusive men’s club…

I’m waiting for the day Marge will greet me herself without my wife miming the greeting behind her in her best impression of a chipmunk. Heh heh…

Happy Father’s Day to all the fellow dads out there!

'catch you later...

Thanks to fellow sxc.hu contributor Vivek Chugh for the image.

http://www.sxc.hu/photo/992546

Stuff from Today...

Today...

- Dealing with a bunch of resignations. Nothing particularly extraordinary, but still has pinches of melancholy… particularly for one of them… but she’ll be back sooner or later… one way or another… took her 7 seven years, but she came back anyway… Hope the kid really gets better in a “mom-dammit-you-gotta-buy-me-my-optimus-prime” kind of way…

- Took me a couple of hours to do an ad lay-out I used to take half an hour to do way back when. Getting rusty… lots of typos on the ad… will fix it tomorrow...

- Almost shed a tear in today’s episode of “A Liter of Tears.” Did research/googling and got even more depressed about the story… Nice show...

- Taking me forever to finish a communication plan for a high-end brand that’s been with me for a decade… still not finished as of this writing…

- Still wondering whether or not Maja will approve my friend request on Facebook.

- Thinking it won’t happen. Still waiting for pigs to fly.

- Brought my friend/business partner back home to have dinner with the wifey. She made my favorite: Tinolang Manok… had two-day old cake from Bizu courtesy of a big wedding last Sunday… dammit… make that THREE-day old cake…

- Had fun with Marge. Walked her back and forth in the bedroom. I got tired… Really getting old…

- Made milkshake using leftover avocado ice cream… stomach grumbling….

- Still awake and writing this piece of crap…

- Thinking of writing a review of “Galaxy Express 999: Signature Edition”…

- Have other things to write about… but not tonight…

- Will try and fit a pig with wings and a jet pack, while refreshing my facebook homepage waiting for a friend approval...

’catch you later…

Whattawebsite...

Anyone who knows me well enough knows i'm a nostalgia freak.

And while surfing one of my favorite [unmentionable] sites, (which are unmentionable due to the fact I have a few wholesome readers here), I was pointed towards this nostalgia goldmine:

http://video48.blogspot.com/

Won't talk much about it, but if like me, you guys grew up in a simpler time in the Philippines when Metro Manila was considered one of the cosmopolitan cities in the continent... the Malacañang's San Miguel district was the Forbes Park of the day... SM was just a regular department store in Quiapo... Queen's was the largest supermarket chain... Alemar's was a major bookstore almost comparable to National... and Luneta was a world-class park where rich, poor and everyone in between hung out on any given day, and no one was afraid of getting mugged...

I do encourage you all to just click on the link above and enjoy.

'catch you later...

Movie Review: Night at the Museum 2 (Graveyard Shift)

Imagine a memory of a fantastic dish. It was light fare, not totally filling, but fulfilling. It was absolutely tasty, and all the ingredients were just right.

That’s how I felt about Ben Stiller’s first outing as the hapless night guard in “Night at the Museum.” And $574,480,000 in box office receipts indicated that I was not alone.

So naturally, I was totally stoked about the inevitable sequel.

But what happens when a perfect recipe of visual gags, subtle jokes, and Ben Stiller get overdone with too much and the whole dish becomes little more than a giant heap of bits and pieces?

Welcome to “Night at the Museum 2.”

"...As expected, the whole Smithsonian becomes an animated, overloaded theme park of special effects..."

This sequel, like most other sequels, was obviously an afterthought with the probable directions to make it “bigger,” “better,” and yes, “bigger-er.” And was there a bigger and more colorful museum than the bloody Smithsonian? So they got all the old guys back, tossed in more of Ben Stiller’s friends, and created this lazy excuse for a movie.

Here, Stiller has become a big TV shopping mogul, and has not visited his erstwhile inanimate wards at the Museum of Natural History. When he does go see them, they are apparently being readied to be packed up and stored away “forever” in the Smithsonian. Of course, we are to assume that Ben Stiller is unable to find himself some real human friends, and that his social life is limited to a bunch of old, none-moving museum displays brought to life at night by an Egyptian artifact. Not every different from someone’s horny grandfather with a Viagra stash on a Saturday night.

"...Of course, we did not buy tickets to “Museum 2” looking for a fucking plot..."

Ben Stiller then proceeds to break into the Smithsonian for the sake of making a movie, while totally insulting the intelligence of the movie audience, who they think is obsessed at simply seeing the special effects used to make museum pieces come to life. So many of Stiller’s precious museum piece friends are being moved to the Smithsonian, including the Egyptian tablet thingie that makes everyone come to life at night. As expected, the whole Smithsonian becomes an animated, overloaded theme park of special effects.

And that’s where the problem lay. There was too much going on, and the filmmakers tried too hard to squeeze in as much as they could, but it was just nigh impossible in a hundred minutes. So all the gags ended up being half-baked. Of course, we did not buy tickets to “Museum 2” looking for a fucking plot. But man, at least we wanted to decently entertained, right?

The cast looked like they really tried, especially Hank Azaria, whose entrance was easily the highlight of the film. Amy Adams probably thought she was still in a Disney film, considering how she’s overacting. Ben Stiller and Robin Williams are always a joy to watch no matter how dreadful a movie.

But still-er (bad pun intended)… I wish we didn’t trade the “Terminator” tickets for this piece of overdone crap. I am doing my best to honor the first movie’s fresh, innovative entertainment by doing yoga while convincing myself this sequel never happened.

‘catch you later…

Baguio Bits: The 50-Year Old Hayden Fan...

50 year old lady caused a commotion at the store entrance three days ago before opening hours. In bits and pieces, she kept ranting about buying herself a brand new portable DVD player, “generously” volunteering her newly acquired copy of the “freshest” sex scandal around (the Hayden-Katrina-etc Video Scandal… ho-hummm…) to be used as the “test disc” for the aforementioned DVD player, then allowed our staff to duplicate the disc out of the supposed kindness of her horny old haggy heart.

"...I do not blame our store staff if they were trying to subvert her plans of multiplying..."

Then lo and behold… she apparently got home, excitedly popped the new disc into her equally new player, and… nothing. So it seems, that her sticky (*yuck*) plans for that evening were thwarted with the lack of her much-anticipated Hayden Kho-produced visual paraphernalia.

I am inclined to assume that the old hag did not get any that night.

And she is loudly accusing the establishment (through our “disrespectful” staff) of swapping her prized disc with a blank one. And she is unhappy. Very unhappy.

She also mentioned in passing that the player’s left speaker seemed to be defective. But she didn’t want to dwell on that, or the possibility that her new DVD player was still covered by a 24-hour quick-change warranty. She was pissed that she didn’t get some monkey time with her new lusty, blurry video, and (we all assume) her probably not-so-new, but probably no less blurry man.

She wanted to see the video.

I later found out that she announced earlier (to our whole appliance department in the Harrison branch, no less, when she still wasn’t a happily frustrated sexless old bag of crusty prunes and arthritis…) that she was sort of hoping against the hope that this video will do the trick and will help her and her blurry hubby finally reproduce.

Of course, having met her, I do not blame our store staff if they were trying to subvert her plans of multiplying and bringing more lunatics like her into the goddamn planet.

But I digress… we didn’t swap the discs. It is as yet unexplained. Nonetheless, being our chain’s self-proclaimed “customer service expert,” I volunteered to be party to her pornographic crime and offered her fresh copies of the concerned videos from my personal stash. She happily announced her pending return to our premises within an hour after opening time.

* * * * *

The hour was upon us, and the video has been entrusted to our appliance department’s “disrespectful” staff to be immediately handed to our 50-year old sex-starved customer so she may run on home and restart her fantasies of terrorizing mankind with her imaginary children.

I was told she didn’t take the copies.

Odd. Curiouser and curiouser…

* * * * *
One day, while overseeing the orientation of a new batch of hirees, our resident appliance officer-in-charge tapped on the glass partition and informed me that dumb can indeed get dumber…

The old lady returned after over a week WITH A COP.

That’s right. She was back with a police officer, because she intended to “press charges.” She was still pissed about the supposedly swapped disc. At almost every turn, I saw the police officer sending his eyeballs to the back of his skull, while he smirked like someone who just had some the prior night. Again, we are guessing that the lady still had not gotten any at that point.

She also said she never asked us nor did she ever intend to claim the “new” copies of what is then the Pinoy’s favorite sex scandal, and potential box office blockbuster.

* * * * *
We’re still waiting for the cop to come back. Or the old lady.

* * * * *
And to top off this entry… please indulge me as I share a snippet of our perilously foggy journey down Marcos Highway… and show people how cold it is up there…

‘catch you later…

Fluke, Lucky & a bunch of really evil people...

While talking a casual walk to the corner with the wifey, we were sort of greeted by a kind, kempt Pomeranian who looked at us as though we the Anti-Christ with our grinning mugs. She proceeded to bark at us, then ran out to the other direction. Only to be promptly faced by a big street mutt who either wanted to pick on her or pick her into pieces.

Spunky Pomeranian stops dead on her tracks, then turns and runs back to us. Probably assuming we were the lesser evil.

That’s how we found and met Lucky.

As toy dogs go, Lucky’s arrival was relatively uneventful. She wasn’t much for grabbing attention with tricks and/or excessive noise. She was just cute and cuddly enough that people wanted to grab her. She was obviously well-maintained, clean, smelled great for a dog one finds lost in the streets, and she was disciplined enough that she didn’t sleep in the bed with us.

But she always barked and made a ruckus whenever we had a masseuse over. She ate like no tomorrow, and as of yesterday was joyfully overweight to the point of difficulty in walking.

* * * * * *

"...the undeniable in-your-face reminder that there are truly bad people who are running around out in this is sad, tired world..."

He was a gift to my then thinly disguised “friend,” who eventually became what was the sum and byproduct of Hitler, Idi Amin and the Ayatollah… a.k.a. my wife.

Fluke relished running, and had often led us to tiring chases up to eight blocks at a time. Playful and powerful, Fluke was a proud creature. A handsome son of the great champion Labrador Retriever known as “Cooper.” Of course, all that was sort of for naught since almost everyone proceeded to neuter every male dog. So from our perspective the supposed greatness was ending right there.

But it was a greatness that gave us 10 years of a great dog who was smart, funny, friendly, and died -defending our home.

* * * * * *

Yep, you read that right. Died. And yes, those things about Lucky are all also in the past tense.
Early morning today, June 6, 2009, at around 4 a.m., our home in Dominican Hills in Baguio City was broken into, where a band of reportedly nine would-be robbers threw poisoned food to cruelly quiet two of our four-legged children.

Of course, anyone who knows us knows that we've lost many dogs before. But none under these rather violent circumstances. None in such an evil and relentless way.

Truly a sad day. Another of those days when shit one sees on the evening news comes to life in full grainy detail. And it is you who cannot look into the imaginary cameras inadvertently held up by helpful family members, as you grieve not only for the loss of your four-legged wards, and feeling violated, but inwardly cry in frustration at your helplessness, and the undeniable in-your-face reminder that there are truly bad people who are running around out in this is sad, tired world.

The wifey and I are left sitting and staring out our window in QC, jumping between thoughts of how we’re fortunate that we weren’t there when it happened, and feeling guilty with the possibility that it wouldn’t have happened if we were there in the first place.

And for someone who has boasted, as well as lived, without showing what most people classify as fear, to have something like this happen in your own personal space that one shares with one’s wife and child (along with non-human children), makes one rethink what fear really is.

See, we do not fear the insanity of other people caused by desperation, we pity that. We do not fear something we can stare into with one’s eyes while they stare back. We do not fear physical pain.

We will fear losing the ones we care for. We fear what our lives will become should they no longer be in it. When we love what our lives have become, we fear any possibility that it will change for the worse, and that such an incidence will be beyond our control.

So I guess I have not truly been without fear for quite some time.
And days like this one rudely reawaken me to that reality.

* * * * * *

To Fluke and Lucky… wish we had one more walk together. Sorry we weren’t there. No more excuses.

‘Catch you guys (much) later.

UFC Sarsarap... "...put your hands in the air..." ...and nutrition out the window!

The whole concept behind the economies of scale has always been a fact of life here in the Philippines. But some "product developers" (or mad scientists) at pseudo-ketchup mega-brand UFC have just insulted the Filipino middle class even further. (And the citizens don’t even know it yet.)

Introducing UFC Sarsarap Rice Buddy! The latest “product” from another semi-monopolistic conglomerate aimed at making a buck off hapless people, while helping push the rapid downward spiral of Filipino malnutrition even faster than ever.

"...But man… to peddle a product of such questionable value..."

As an ad guy for over a decade and a half, I can imagine the ultimate joke is that the cost of the tri-media ad campaign, the fees of a has-been celebrity endorser, the product development fees of the creative house, the “research and development” costs, and the production cost of the sachet packaging makes the cost of the actual product mere crumbs.

At P5.00 per sachet (suggested retail price), I’m guessing that a few milliliters of starch, sugar, MSG, breadings, flavoring powder, and of course water will chalk up less than a single Peso at the most. And I’m being generous there.

So the product exists mainly so we can see a poor cup of rice haplessly made to look like said has-been celebrity endorser singing a sad, sad tagline: “No more lonely rice.”

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"...so rich and delicious that people sometimes came by to buy only the sarsa..."

In the advertising universe not too long ago in an ethical galaxy now far, far away… there was a beloved product called “Mang Tomas Sarsa ng Litson.”

People may not know this, but legend has it (according to my yaya, when I was a child) that there really WAS a Mang Tomas lechon store in Metro Manila. And the legend further states that their “sarsa” (or liver gravy, for non-Filipinos who may be reading this) was so rich and delicious that people sometimes came by to buy only the sarsa.

Fast forward to the present. The lechon store is no more (was it ever?), but the bottled sauce lives on. People have made “Mang Tomas” a staple in the cupboard. Used with or without lechon. Now the concept of using anything one can find in the cupboard to top off some rice, whether it be with some soy sauce, or a pinch of salt, a bit of bagoong, a spot of banana “ketchup,” or (horrors) Mang Tomas, is a common practice in every Filipino home. In my “growing years” (which didn’t do me much height-wise), I have wolfed down up to five cups of rice matched up against a single tablespoon of bagoong (again, shrimp paste, for non-Pinoy readers).

At one point, Mang Tomas “Sarsa ng Litson” was relaunched into “All-Around Sarsa” with an amusing ad campaign that featured local band, Parokya ni Edgar. One of the most memorable moments of that ad was when Mang Tomas was used (horrors, in public view!) to top off rice as a viand substitute, and even as a bread spread (again, horrors!).

But see, while some people found it demeaning, it was being done. And at the very least, it was presented merely as an “alternative use.” It’s pretty common to find a bottle of Mang Tomas in very other Filipino home. What the residents do with their sauce is none of anybody’s else business.

But man… to peddle a product of such questionable value to capitalize on a people trying to scrimp and save in every possible aspect, and render them even more malnourished than ever… a whole new level, man… if they used the money to produce the Sarsarap monstrosity and diverted it into a rural feeding program, they can probably cover a few hundred barangays.

I have been told that Sarsarap isn’t doing too well in the stores. I hope it falls sooner than expected. Because while I believe that Pinoys really are hanging on to every Peso like crazy, they still have enough self-respect to not want to be caught dead with a “product” that is pretty much little more than an added insult to a nation’s already deep injury.

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‘catch you later…

Movie Review: Star Trek (Old dog, new "Trek")

An old dog with new “Treks”

I am embarrassed to say that I came in late in the game. Despite being a solid Trekkie for the better half of my thinking life, I only saw “Star Trek” last night. A full week and a half after it opened.

I bow my head in Trekkie shame…

Now on to this review!

The initial differences and inconsistencies I noticed:

1. Chris Pine is too pretty to be Kirk. Please don’t get me wrong. The boy did a fine, fine job in “Trek,” but I can’t latch on to the idea that he’ll grow up into the rugged-looking toughie that William Shatner depicts. And I keep seeing his mug on the poster of the teen rom-com “Blind Date.”

2. Ok, so John Cho is now officially cooler than his stoner Harold persona. But guys, Sulu is JAPANESE, NOT KOREAN. Love the collapsible katana and all. But man, white guys think they’ve seen one Asian they’ve seen it all. One look at John Cho’s kimchi-eating mug already tells you he only gets his hentai off pirated DVD shops. It is absa-tively racist for Hollywood to just lump up Asian guys and think they can interchange one with another. Racist, man…
Besides, the character’s name is HIKARU Sulu… not KIM or PARK or JONG… but all that aside, Cho finally makes it cool to be Korean.

"...Do I feel that many things were out of canon? Maybe. But I went there to see a movie, not to see the panting revival of an old religion..."

3. Karl Urban’s Dr. McCoy is probably the only movie doctor I’ve seen in recent memory that did not do anything remotely medical apart from drugging Pine’s Kirk and looking constipated for most of the movie. And as in Trek of yore, why the devil is the doctor on the bridge and not in sickbay? Ah yes, “Trek” canon… fine.
Having said all that, I love how he was introduced in the movie.

4. Pavel Chekov has been transformed from a kid who looks like a rejected member of the Monkees, into a pasty-white holocaust victim who looks like he was conceived in a vodka-fueled Russian sex orgy. And I’d like to think that in the 23rd century, a Russian accent doesn’t have to be THAT thick. I mean, he went through Starfleet Academy, right? And most people in there, with the exception of Jean-Luc Picard and a few Vulcans, talk like rednecks. The exaggerated Russian accent was RACIST, man… just plain RACIST.

5. The bridge is too… white. I know we now live in an age when computer-related things don’t all have to be colored gray or metallic, but the whole bridge looks like it hired Macintosh’s industrial designers to conceptualize a department store’s make-up section and called it a bridge.

"...I suspect that ...J.J.Abrams fears the powers of William Shatner..."

6. Zachary Quinto’s (a.k.a. Sylar's) voice is too high-pitched. I’m used to Leonard Nimoy’s baritone. But hey, better the high-pitched voice than a forced guttural growl that’s trying too hard to not sound like a yelp (calling Christian Bale…).

7. I like how Montgomery Scott was reimagined. Although I would have preferred somebody who looks just a wee bit like Jimmy Doohan.
Okay, the last two gripes were lame. I can’t complain about Zoe Saldaña’s Uhura because I honestly think she played it flawlessly. Although I wouldn’t have minded another babe or two thrown into the cast, canon or no canon.

I’ll save my biggest gripe for later…

But for the record: I LOVED THE MOVIE. It not only successfully revives and revitalizes the “Trek” franchise, but it recreates it just enough to still be “Trek,” while being a refreshing new movie altogether that will effectively bring in new fans. Please note that I said “fans,” not “Trekkies.” There will never be “Trekkies” the way there used to be. Firstly, if my hunch serves right, this new “Trek” will be a box office smash. Ergo, it will be such a universally accepted movie, that liking it will no longer require the fervent (and sometimes blind) loyalty attributed to Trekkies of old. Why seek out a fellow Trekkie to chat with, when “Trek” is destined to become water cooler fodder for the next few weeks?

Do I feel that many things were out of canon? Maybe.

But I went there to see a movie, not to see the panting revival of an old religion that follows an antiquated dog-eared bible for sci-fi culture that was written in the 60’s when a 3-speed hair-dryer was a state-of-the-art piece of technology, computers gave data on miles of worth of paper tape with undecipherable holes in them, and a mobile phone was the size of a couple of suitcases.

This is a movie written for 2009, guys. This is Star Trek for the new millenium. And from the looks of it, these voyages of the starship enterprise will find a lot of people watching. All Trekkies, old and new, or simply just people who want to sit down and catch a damn good movie.

LAST GRIPE:

I almost believed it when they said that throwing Bill Shatner in the flick would be like shoe-horning a twisted old foot into a brand new shoe. But they managed to put Spock in there and it wasn’t bad at all.

I suspect that the real reason is that J.J.Abrams fears the powers of William Shatner.

As a bona-fide Shatnerite (yes, there is such a word. At least, there is NOW), he deserved to be there in some measure. Even in a creative flashback at the very least.

But they fear Shat. That is an undeniable truth.

Fellow Trekkies, what do we want to see in the revitalized Trek franchise? Repeat after me: “LIVE LONG AND SHATNER!”

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'catch you later...

Non-Concert Review: Chicago's "Finest"

Chicago’s Finest (Impostors)

I was almost duped again. Obviously riding on the current of the musical nostalgia circuit, I caught myself trying to acquire tickets (whether bought, cajoled from or even begged for) for a “Chicago” concert.

You know… Chicago… rock band with a horn section and all.... Jimmy Pankow, Jason Scheff, Bobby Lamm, Bill Champlin and the guys… They made those radio staples “If You Leave Me Now,” “You’re the Inspiration,” and other things I’m sure you’ve heard but may not have known it was them…

"...Now I’m pretty sure that they’re excellent musicians... with Marty Grebb along with one of the former members of Tower of Power, Tim Scott... But no Pankow, no Champlin, no Lamm, no Scheff…"

And then one day, I heard the words “former members” in a radio ad… then I said, WAITAMINIT… not again…

A quick online check reveals that only three guys on the five-man lineup ever played with Chicago. With guitarist Chris Pinnick being the only officially listed member (for all of five years), while multi-instrumentalist Marty Grebb and Kenny Cetera (yes, Pete’s brother) only performed tour duties without ever being on any album.

Now I’m pretty sure that they’re excellent musicians, and with Marty Grebb along with former member of Tower of Power, Tim Scott, they may have a horn section with a technical level that can give Jimmy, Lee Loughnane and Walt Parazaider a run for their money.

And yeah, they have a Cetera on vocals. Fine.

But no Pankow, no Champlin, no Lamm, no Scheff… none of THOSE guys.

Al McKay and his Earth Wind & Fire “Experience” already got me once, and while they did put up a good show, there’s something profoundly missing from not catching the “real” band. Considering that they’re all being sold as a retro act.

I mean, in the case of “Chicago’s Finest,” how on earth can you position it as a retro act when they’re not even a solid band to begin with? At least Al McKay’s band is a “together” kind of band, not a hodge podge obviously put together to capitalize on a semi-correct marquee billing that was assured of putting a bunch of white guys on stage.

And if all I was after was a tribute band of any sort, I don’t think I’d need to wait for an assemblage of Americans who’ve played together only for all of their rehearsal schedules. I mean, we are in the Philippines, man… c’mon! We got tribute bands galore who can sometimes sound even better than the real thing. Does some guy named Arnel Pineda sound familiar?

The whole thing reeks of opportunism. But an ingenious opportunism, I must admit. And I’m betting there are a few hundred more Arnel Pinedas out there just waiting to be heard by the right people…

I almost considered catching Bobby Kimball who came in recently in a concert dubbed “TOTO Hits.” At least he wasn’t pretending to be a retro act. Just some former frontman who promises to sing the hits he helped make famous. But I’m more of a Lukather, Paich and Porcaro fan… Kimball’s cool, but without the other guys… I dunno…

Too bad I didn’t catch Cook and Archuleta… but I got my share of open-air concerts… not very pleased… lousy audio, even worse crowd control, and the crowd is sure to be predominantly young… most likely rowdy teens and twenty-somethings… I’m getting old…

‘catch you later…

The Passing of a Gentleman and the Time-Warping Properties of Watermelon Seeds

There is a story about my late father-in-law, Servillano S. Aguarin that I never tire of telling people. But first, an introduction and farewell…


* * * * *

A Eulogy:

Mr. Servillano S. Aguarin, or “Biling,” as he was commonly referred to in his hometown of Dau (which, like most rural Filipino towns seems to think that 90% of nicknames should end with an “ng”) was a dashing figure in his younger days. He was one of many Capampangans who had the good fortune of finding work in what was then Clark Air Base in Angeles City.

"...his tired eyes belie a man who has truly lived, loved, was loved..."

In stereotypical Capampangan fashion, the man was a god of his kitchen, which he translated into a respectable career as a mess hall cook in the base serving American soldiers. It was probably there he developed the persona that although not an officer, was most certainly a gentleman.

When Pinatubo decided that happy days were over in Angeles City, Biling had to get creative in making ends meet. He was not a man of means in the years of his twilight, but he certainly made no shame of it. He held his head high at all times, and the level of his personal dignity made him an equal to anyone he faced, rich or poor. Though humble in his acknowledgement of his life’s realities, his tired eyes belie a man who has truly lived, loved, was loved, and rolled with life’s punches. And with that, he stood tall.

Servillano S. Aguarin passed away last April 17, 2009 in San Francisco, California from a string of medical complications. His remains were brought back to his hometown of Dau, Pampanga, Philippines last April 25, where every one of his ten children came back from different towns and countries to be together in his presence one last time.

He was 70.

* * * * *

Ah, I promised a story…

One odd weekend, we went to see Biling. Seeing us, he didn’t even give me a chance to ask him to eat out. Instead, he happily scrounged his cupboard, sent someone out for veggies, and assembled a simple meal of fried fish, watery mongo soup obviously stretched to fit the unexpected crowd, and just enough rice to round it all up.

He made no apologies, lent his company, and just kept literally dishing it out on the table with the quiet dignity of someone serving t-bone steaks.

It was the best bowl of watery soup I’d ever had.

* * * * *

The Wake and the Aformentioned Watermelon Seeds…

It was a typical provincial wake that usually takes place in the departed’s residence. Relatives were streaming in to add variety to a scenery chock-full of unemployed family members and by-standers who finally found a good reason to hang out for the meantime.

It was there where I was reminded that a new issue of Maxim’s U.S. edition handed to me by my brother-in-law who flew in was a commodity worth stealing.

My wife was obviously soaking up the family reunion scene and all. Her dad’s death, though sad, had been week-old news. People had done their share of crying. At least until the burial, where everything always has a way of coming back to hit home.

And there was little me desperately glassy-eyed from boredom and still wondering who stole that copy of Maxim with Jennifer Love Hewitt on the cover.
I can’t remember who handed me a mound of watermelon seeds, but with very little better to do, I made like the third chipmunk and started chipping away… and guess what? Over an hour had mindlessly passed by…

I will never see watermelon seeds the same way again…

* * * * *

I’ve also figured out the logic behind the all-night vigil on the eve of the burial, and why there’s always a gambling table at wakes.

The all-night vigil ensures that everyone’s eyes will be all red and puffy come burial day, and they will be so tired to walk and march that they will eventually break down in tears whether they are grieving or not. Makes for great and believable pictures.

The manipulated gambling on the other hand, makes losers of unsuspecting extended family members who are spaced out, crying and wailing over the money they lost the previous night.

It’s all rurally ingenious, I tell you…

Catch you later…

"Chip" off my shoulder...

Is it still a good time to write my opinion about Chip Tsao?

No? Oh. Too late you say… uhm… better late than never…

So here it is…

Chip Tsao is not a victim of his supposedly sharp wit. Chip Tsao is a victim of his heritage. Mr. Tsao suffers from the superiority complex that Chinese in general cannot seem to shake off. Call it compensation, call it overall insecurity, call it what you will. Chip Tsao is just like any other Chinese guy. He just happened to be privileged enough to be writing for a magazine.

I’m not defending him. In fact, reading through the above paragraph, one can see how I perceive Mr. Tsao as a mere speck that has been carried along tides of awful tradition he has no power over. Which is not to say I am defending the faults of my racial heritage either. But the simple fact for me is that someone like Chip Tsao should rightfully be ignored.

Having given him the attention he just got somehow vindicates to his compatriots that he is the media entity that he is in his own mind. He is meant to be ignored and brushed off one’s shoulder like the “intsek” that he is.

I just KNOW I’m going to get flack for that last line up there…

Truth be told, as an individual of pure Chinese heritage, I have done quite a bit of homework and have learned that the term “Intsik” is a proper term in the Filipino language to refer to Chinese people. It was never meant to be derogatory in any way. I don’t understand why a lot of my fellow Chinoys find it offensive.

There. My itty-bitty piece of Chip Tsao. More on my “anti-Chinese” rants soon…

Movie Review: Knowing (“…and ‘knowing’ is half the battle…”)

You know a movie won’t be perfect if it’s named after one of Estee Lauder’s perfumes. But it’s a "event" movie, it had Nic Cage, and we wanted ANY movie…

In “Knowing,” Nic Cage stars as a widower astronomer dad to a kid who got an envelope from school containing an odd series of numbers. Lo and behold, a well-placed ring of coffee suddenly makes ole’ Nic a numerology genius. And in one night, he figures out that the crazy-ass numbers refer to a truckload of disasters and their respective casualty counts.

SPOILER WARNING!

Turns out, Nic’s kid (and another kid) are schizzos who hear voices from a bunch of guys whose silhouettes eerily resemble a younger version of U2. It is at this point that we conclude that in Hollywood, ALL angels wear black trenchcoats and look like rock stars on a cigarette break. It has apparently been decided by the guys in U2, Jr. that the world will *gasp!* go down in flames and end. Now I know why we no longer see hippies running around town with placards that say “THE END IS NIGH.” They’re now making movies in Hollywood. A lot of them.

After being bombarded with comic book movies and happy-ever-after rom-coms, it was refreshing to see a movie where one does not have any preconception of what the ending could/would be.

And while the “two kids (who happen to be both American and white) have been abducted by aliens and brought back to help repopulate the earth with more white Americans” ending seemed too Spielberg-ish, I suppose it was necessary considering how bloody depressing the rest of the movie was.

What’s funny is how the movie can’t seem to make up its mind as to whether it was a psychological thriller, a supernatural horror movie, or a sci-fi disaster flick. At least you know that when there’s Nic Cage, there’s almost always an earnest performance, if not a totally earnest story.

Must be those St. Bernard eyes of his.

I mean, a huge, muscled, balding Caucasian guy who can break scrawny Asian guy into steak slices, who has a look on his face that says “don’t hurt me” has GOT to be likable, right?

"...we no longer see hippies running around town with placards that say “THE END IS NIGH.” They’re now making movies in Hollywood..."

Bottom line: the movie wasn’t a waste of time. This blog is.

‘catch you later…

pointless saturday post...

Shit. My eyes fucking hurt.

While the wifey was channel-surfing, we stumbled upon “The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Rustom-Padilla” dancing on GMA’s pointless slot-filler “Cool Center” doing his best/worst Morticia Addams impersonation.

This isn’t even about him being gay anymore. Either that, or one day he’ll just bust out the corset and claim to have created a fifth gender. Or maybe even a whole new species.

At least he/she doesn’t talk in a forced falsetto…

* * * * *

It’s amazing how a nation with such supposedly publicized levels of poverty always has malls chock-full of cars and not enough parking. Thus, resulting in something almost as bad as road rage, “parking rage.” Parking rage is when one is queued up near a parking slot where someone else is in the process of exiting, then someone else comes swooping in to try and fill the slot in before you do. This results in extreme indignation that causes one’s temper to flare.

Subsequent actions include blowing one’s horn for extended spells as an automotive equivalent to cursing and/or flipping someone the finger through dark tinted windows, then rolling down one’s windows and cursing directly and very eloquently.

If the above still do not prove effective, parking rage dictates that one alights from his vehicle and proceeds to confront the other guy through the other guy’s car window.

Usually, the cooler head (usually the offender who is probably feeling foolish at this point) will just back off. In some cases, the offender feels so foolish he tries to save what’s left of his dignity by snapping back at the parking-rager. This leads to the war of who has the bigger testicles, and who is most likely to be carrying a spare container of strip-sol to pour on the other guy’s vehicle.

Or in some cases, a baseball bat.

So one thing led to another and Mega Mall parking area guard comes in and stops me from going Dragonball on the other guy, who it turns out looks like he’s on the high side of the 40’s, but has the verbal maturity of a twelve-year-old. But yes, he leaves the scene anyway, with me heckling him for taking too long to weasel his way out of how I locked his car in from behind.

Wifey wants to kill me, Marge was crying in the car for having her sleep interrupted, and moments later the wifey points out the offending idiot walking around the mall.

Turns out he was over six feet tall.

I really ought to keep a container of strip-sol in the car… and medical insurance… I need medical insurance…

Our Dogs Finally Succeeded in Making Me Sick…

The Baguio Country Club is using a new cheese grater. Slightly finer than usual. Making my favorite mamon, which I’m chomping on as I drive to the store this morning look like it’s been topped with creamy yellow maggots… Welcome to another Sunday in Baguio City, Mr. Golangco, where weekends are only felt when you look at the fucking calendar…

I still have a clogged nose from that flu I caught on my first morning in our new/old house. I underestimated how cold it could be in the mornings there. Amazing thing in Baguio is how temperatures can vary greatly in different parts of the city. At least I’m not blowing out blood-spotted semi-solid globs of snot like I did yesterday morning…

I blame the dogs.

Two nights ago, they took my pillow, along with most of my space on the bed, which resulted in me not getting my share of the fucking blanket. I thought, “what the hey, they need it more than I do…” NOT!

Worst of all, the virus that caused my outgoing fever apparently chose Marge as its next base of operations. Poor girl was running up to 38.9 degrees last night… and the dogs still took my pillow…

Marge needs a few drops of Tempra, and I need another pillow…
…and I can’t wait to get back to Manila for another spell, and another round of Maverick craziness…

Movie Review: Watchmen (Must-Watch-men)

In my quest to clear my mouth of the bad taste of over-expectation from “You Changed My Life,” I make myself a one-man date to catch the opening day of the ultimate geekfest “Watchmen” last Friday.

So I’m guessing this is going to be among the gazillions of reviews on this project that had herds of nerds, and piles over piles of geeks drooling over the trailers over the past several months. Hell, threw parties over just mere Hollywood buzz for the past twenty-something years… Yes, I admit it… I’m one of THEM…

So I’ll keep this one short. I promise.

I liked it. ‘Would’ve loved it considering its relative faithfulness to the ‘sacred” source material. Honestly preferred the more action-packed climax in the movie, where Nite-Owl didn’t look like the wimp he was made to be in the graphic novel. Characterizations were pretty dead-on, while costumes were redesigned to be more “realistic” but still capture the essence of the original four-color costumes.

I suppose the greatest tragedy about this movie is that it is based on a graphic novel that is considered almost biblical by geeky, acne-infested fanboys like me. Owned in several copies, read and reread until practically known by heart. Most likely the same bunch of losers lining up to see the movie. Thus, further coloring one’s already rosy opinion, and taking away any potential surprises. And where the best movies draw one’s breath away with shocks and keep the audience at the edges of their respective seats with anticipation of what will happen next, Watchmen was doomed to fail.

With all due respect to Director Zack Snyder, he did a damn good job. So did the cast. Overall, the film is one solid package. But somehow, the whole thing felt more like a fanboy’s religious homage and simple realization of a beloved story in another medium. Not the same experience I had with “Spiderman 2” or “the Dark Knight,” but still an indispensable addition to one’s original DVD library when the disc inevitably comes out.

For fanboys like me, see it because if you don’t, you lose all geek cred. For regular movie-lovers… I am honestly not sure. But I can assure you that it is a major visual experience.

Catch you later…

Movie Review: You Changed My Life

Before anything else, kindly refer back to my review of the first movie:
http://golangco.blogspot.com/2008/08/movie-review-very-special-love.html

* * * * *

Hello there. Welcome back…

Okay, I hereby assume that you took the time to take a look (or second look) at my glittering review of “A Special Love,” the surprisingly entertaining movie that precedes the latest Sarah and John Lloyd vehicle “You Changed My Life.” As such, I hope I have laid down enough of a foundation of goodwill to say what I have to say about the currently showing flick.

It was bad. I’m sorry. I know this will come as a surprise. Believe me, even my wife was as surprised as I was at how much we didn’t like the movie.

"...the very same ingredients, but this time cooked using the nigh-perfectly clichéd Pinoy teen love team recipe... to cringe-worthy effect..."

The story starts almost immediately on the heels of the first movie, which is a rather common, yet effective device for sequels nowadays. I was thinking that this is a good way to kick off the movie since it will mean that Sarah can still play the unjaded, doe-eyed, “I-can’t-believe-I-am-where-I-am,” Laida Magtalas to the hilt. And it can mean a potentially interesting study of how a middle class girl can possibly integrate herself into an upper class family to potentially hilarious results. So many wonderful story possibilities.

But sadly, none of that happened.

From a first movie of quite realistic situations and almost realistic characters, here we are served what is essentially the very same ingredients, but this time cooked using the nigh-perfectly clichéd Pinoy teen love team recipe. All to cringe-worthy results. The only thing missing was the giant Regal song-and-dance number halfway through the flick.

The plot is so convoluted and forced that I won’t even talk about it.

The chemistry between the two leads remains. Unfortunately, their talents are drowned by a script that sounded like it was meant for people ten years younger. They over-act, and desperately try to bring some old tricks back, like the “sun dance,” Sarah mistaking John Lloyd’s move as a sexual advance, but they all fall flat. Obviously, the only story inspiration for this movie is the almost-certainly massive box office return.

The only consistently bright points of amusement are the side comments from the wise-cracking tag team of Joross Gamboa and Gio Alvarez. I’m guessing a different set of writers tackled those side characters.

It is even sadder to note that the most entertaining parts of “You Changed My Life” were the parts where “A Very Special Love” was shown in flashbacks.

It’s truly a shame that the excellent premise and potentially positive creative legacy of “A Very Special Love” had to be marred by this seemingly haphazardly done project. They should have just left the previous movie alone. If you’re a fan of a good Pinoy rom-com, then just keep watching the first movie, enjoy it, and pretend this second movie was never made. Of course the bad news here is that Sarah Geronimo and John Lloyd Cruz have such enormous fan-bases that this train-wreck will still surely make money. Thereby vindicating how Star Cinema will brush off opinions like this review, and revert to churning out shit.

I should’ve just gone home to spend time with Marge…


* * * * *

Catch you later…