Letters to Marge (Chapter 34): Stale Slice of a Fresh Sunday (082612)

Dearest Marge,

Whenever I finish writing you one of these, i feel great. I feel like i've left a little piece of my soul for your future consumption. Feels really great, but man... sometimes it's tough to kick off. Even if i've already lined up so many things to write about.

Oh well, enough with the excuses. Here goes another one...

This is actually quite delayed. These should have been posted exactly three Sundays ago. The very Sunday outlined herein in a photographic day-journal of sorts. Here goes...


After your mother turned me into her zombie-fied errand boy practically at the crack of dawn the very Sunday morning right after she shooed me out of the house late on a Saturday night in her quest for burritos, i finally found the presence of mind to document this early morning torture. Right here, while waiting at the drive-thru window for the breakfast i no longer remember was what.

Let's talk about early morning. A morning so early that even the street lights are still on.

 
This is an amusing time of day. Especially on Sundays. Because sooooper early mornings usually bring the unlikely convergence of two opposite kinds of people: on one corner, you have the party people who realize they have to stop partying because the sun is up and wants to kick their sad asses back home. And they usually either have a hang-over, or have just woken up and are still trying to figure out where the heck they already are.  On the other corner, you have the very "together" people who wake up early to do their chores like gardening, or go jogging or something. you know... the "good stuff."
It is only on very early mornings such as these that these odd creatures can converge. Middle fo the road people like your mom and i do not belong here. not in this early a morning. So just HOW early was it?

THIS early, dangit...
But i must hastily add, that your mother is currently preggers, so everything may be annoying but forgivable.

This bag holds the unholy contents of oddly-assembled matter that is disguised as food. I at least remember it containing an order of pancakes for you. I was too sleepy to make them for you that day.

This is much later. At a time for normal people. At a time when pregnant women have had their synthetic breakfasts, you have had your synthetic pancakes and i have had more sleep.
This is you enjoying some sea breeze by Manila Bay where we went to take your grandfather out to lunch.

The smiling man is your grandfather. The kid doing a Marilyn Monroe impression is you.

This is the view that day inside the restaurant known as "The Aristocrat."
This oddity is always full, they have been serving the same Chicken Barbeque for what i know to be all my life so far, and everything still still pretty much tastes the same.
And this is what i consider the cool part of Sundays. We get to go visit down town Manila, and i get to reminisce about old days, old food, visit old places, and sometimes imagine what Manila could have been and what it once was.

This is the view driving your grandfather back to middle Manila. To the left of the photograph is the historic Manila Bay. Go google it or something, kid. Buildings to the right are old buildings that used to hold some of the biggest and most important companies in Philippine business. Now they're mostly out in Makati or Bonifacio Global City.
But make no mistake, the very shoreline to the left is part of what made Manila the jewel of a city that it once was.
 
***********

 

 Fast forward to the future. Or more accurately, the afternoon of that day.
We proceeded to drive all the way down South to see what was new down there. And boy, WAS there anything new!
It was actually quite amazing and it really did feel like nothing from the South that i knew from as recently as maybe eight or so years back.

First stop, ICE CREAM!!!
Hot pregnant lady behind you is your mother.

This is you hamming it up while aforementioned hot pregnant woman is off somewhere exercising consumer rights.

Bo's Coffee place. You went out to crap, i think...

This is Eli's Barbeque at Tagaytay where we ended the day. This place is owned by one of Daddy's best friends. Great food, great view of Taal Lake (too bad we came at night). We'll head back there soon!
(photo credit from www.askmewhats.com) I was already too tired to photograph the place and our food.
 

So there you have it, girl. One more journalized Sunday.
Cheers and catch you later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 33): A Slice of Saturday (or is it still Friday night?)

me looking at the Army Navy
serving counter in a very
"Night Hawk-ish" moment.

Dear Marge,

Nope, no lectures today. Just a little drop by.

Your mother is currently pregnant with your sibling. Please note the ambiguously gendered noun. Oh my, doesnt the word "sibling" sound a wee bit cold? But no, we still dont know if the bean of jelly in your momma's belly is a boy or girl.

Anyways, i have been dispatched at a little past midnight to the nearest spot that sells taco, because your mother caught Robert de Niro's "Machete" on HBO.

So there. Oh, order's done. Gotta run.

'catch you later.

Love,

Dad

random shots snapped while
avoiding a road accident.
(don't try this at home, kid)

P.S. your mother ordered a soft vegetarian taco, a tortilla soup (without the tortilla. Yeah...), and i got myself a bit of onion rings.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 32): Everything is (Almost) Worth Trying

Dear Marge,

I wrote the theme for this post before i wrote the Tears for Fears post. And it was initially titled "Life is Too Short." But given what i wrote in the previous post, it seemed a wee bit contradictory. But the point i'd like to make is still the same.

And it's as simple as this: when an opportunity comes your way to do something new, keep an open mind and always lean first towards trying for it before ultimately turning it down (if you have to).

Been there, there, there...
ooh, i have to go THERE...
and THERE... Done that, that,
that... no, not THAT, did that,
that, that... oh no, never THAT...
but THAT? hmm...

Check this old man out. Over the course of my colorful life, i have been or dipped into the following things (in the order that they just pop into my head): i've written articles and tech reviews for magazines (yes, real ones that got printed on real paper), joined painting contests in school, got forced into a swimming competition as a child, studied martial arts, went to the gym, played saxophone with a couple of bands, sang vocals in a band, sang in a church choir, was an altar boy, a published poet, an honor student (in kindergarten! So what? Still! Heh heh...), a high school drop-out, helped tend your grandmother's store, acted as cashier, went to the gym and got offered to join a body building competition waaay back (yeah! Believe it, girl!). i've emceed weddings and other events, i joined a TV game show once, auditioned for a job as a DJ (which i didnt get), was an amateur photographer (nowadays, everyone is!), served food and drinks (at your mother's little food place waaaaaaay back), attended to customers as a computer technician, worked as a landscape architect for two weeks (on site, too), worked as an interior designer for almost two years total, directed radio and print commercials, provided voice talent for radio and the occasional event, posed as a print ad talent, been my own company's messenger, your grandfather's weekend driver, tried to play basketball (had ONE good game in my entire life! yes, believe it!), i even once regularly toyed with the lights of a disco in a five-star hotel, i did minor carpentry and repairs at home (waaaaaay back), performed minor repairs and even part replacements on my first car (again, waaaaaaaaay back), acted as unofficial substitute guidance counsellor back in college, and so many more that will fill a very long list.

So through all that up there, i look back from time to time, find myself smiling, sometimes wincing, sometimes even angry. But ultimately, i will find myself smiling again at the color, music and noise in the memories of what has been my life so far.

And here's the clincher, in many of those above things, i totally sucked.

In a few, i didn't embarrass myself (which may actually mean that i may have embarrassed myself on some other things, but we can talk about those some other time), in a handful of those, i haven't given up trying to not suck. But there's a job that i didn't list up there where i may have sucked, i may done well sometimes, but most of all, i will never give up trying to always get better at. That "job" is being your dad, and being your mother's husband.

Again, I have never been perfect at any of those up there. But in every case, i either had fun or learned something new and/or useful. And guess what? I have no intention of ending that list. It will keep getting longer while i live, breathe, or manage to sneak away from your mother so i can try something she might find either embarrassing or suicidal.

But no, i'm not suicidal. Neither should you be.

But as you go on through life, try different things. Learn something new (sometimes not necessarily useful). Fill your life with color, music and noise.
  

Love,

Dad (is Crazy!*)

*your mom added the last two words herself.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 31): Meet Messrs. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith, and the Time Machine called Music

Charming gentlemen who make
great music.

Dearest Margaret,

Hello there, little girl. Hmm... you would probably argue that by now you are a "big" girl because you are, after all, due to become a big sister very soon. Fine... Fine... But know you this,  even if you get more little brothers or sisters after this next guy, even when one day you fall in love, get married, and have kids of your own (yes, in THAT order dammit!!!), you will always be my "little girl."

Now read on...




my Maverick glow stick
of new wave devotion

Last night, your mom and i went to the Araneta Coliseum out in Cubao to catch a concert of two wonderful musicians and the rest of their band. These guys were Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith, better known to 40-somethings and almost-40-somethings like me as "Tears for Fears." While there, i saw an acquaintance and client watching the show with her husband, and there was also my old boss and mentor, Kenneth Quintal. Remind me to tell you about him one of these days.



stupid phone camera...

And as i write this, i keep clearing my scratchy throat since i lost my voice screaming and cheering while they played and sang music that threw me back to that time when knowing a bunch of British pop songs that few people know about was cool, and having vinyl records imported from Hong Kong was even cooler. And the fewer people who knew those British songs, the better. No, i didn't own a lot of imported vinyl records, my dear cousin Jan did. I owned only that odd record or two he gave to me out of friendship. One of these days, ask me about him, too. His story is interesting as well.

It was a lonely time, because your grandmother had to leave for something back then, your grandfather never really came to terms with that until much, much later, and your uncles had no idea what the heck was going on.

But it was also a simpler time. It was a time when i began meeting the people and building the friendships that kept me strong when i needed them, the people who would be my islands and shores in my long swim in the sometimes turbulent seas of my young life. It was a time when my weekends and summers were spent alone with an old notebook wherein i doodled odd-looking cars, imagined new video games, my own superheroes, and wrote poetry. It was a time when i looked around my then quiet life and told myself that i knew there was going to be much more than that.

And every so often in the background, i would pop in a cassette tape where i recorded Curt Smith crooning out "Welcome to your life, there's no turning back..." randomly followed by Roland Orzabal declaring "...my features form with a change in the weatherrrrr..." along with so many other lines that at that time seemed to me like slightly sensible British metaphysical rubbish. But they weren't, not by a long, long mile. These were songs that meant something deeper, and wanted to say something bigger. These were great songs. This was great music. This was a great band.

So yes, last night your mother and i saw a great band, Tears for Fears. I was young again, and the future was an infinite ocean waiting for me to dive in and find my own treasure. And while i was skirting the shores, Tears for Fears was one of the bands playing in the air.

I hope that as you grow older, you will learn to love music like i do. Songs will be capsules to times in your life where you have to look back to from time to time. The times when friendships began simply because you both liked the same book or the same TV show (in your case, probably the same website), or perhaps the same music. Let music make you look back to remind you that at one time, you either had more than what you have now, or perhaps you had less. But for better or worse, times definitely can and will change. If they have changed for the better, then that's great. If they have changed for the worse, then take comfort in the surety that things can change again for the better.

As you get older, you will join people like me who complain about how life is too short. But it really isn't. It's long enough to look back and be happy for what you've had, and definitely long enough to look forward to all the good and better things that can still lie ahead. And it's long enough to enjoy good music from bands like Tears for Fears.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 30): So I'm Back...

Dear Margaret,

Yeah, so i'm back. Back here, from... i don't know. Been to too many places, actually. And no, we haven't really been apart in the "apart" sense of the word. But i'm back here at this little blog.

So here's the challenging part of coming back to blog for the nth time, after letting it gather cyber-dust for the nth time, waving off cyber cobwebs for the nth time. Hard to remember where you left off mentally. And no, it isnt as simple as reading back and taking it from there. Especially not since i dont have any delusions about what caliber of writer i am/am not.

But back i am, and there you are reading this (along with the 5 or something other people who actually bother with this pathetic blog).

So much to talk about... comics, movies, food, relatives, friends... and life in general, i guess.

Will i actually bother to write this time? I sure hope so. Thoughts cross my busy and twisted brain a lot. Some are too private for facebook and too long for twitter. And yes, probably too long for facebook as well. Anyways... so off we go once again, and give this little Broken Record another spin.

* * * * * *

It's another boring and lonely weekend up in the hills by myself again. Thank Heavens for Facetime on the iPad, and you for giving me your weekend rock star best.

I love you.

Dad

Maja and Cling Wrap (re-posted for fun)

(This was originally posted waaaaaay back in 2008 (or was it 2009?). i forgot to save the date. but that isn't important. pulled it down since it presented me as some lecherously dirty old man, but just republished this for the humor in it. )
*  *  *  *  *

Last I checked, the store still had a couple of those giant-sized rolls of cling wrap that we use to cover up furniture that's either been sold, or prepared for delivery…

I will need that cling wrap…

* * * * *

"...he must make sure that Her Petite-Perfectness was sitting in my chair when the whole thing happened..."

See, I was told by my brother that the oh-so-perfect-even-without-a-cleavage Maja Salvador is scheduled to do a motorcade in Northern Luzon this June, including Baguio City. This is part of her duties as endorser of “Sisters Feminine Pads.” My bro said that there was some possibility (or he can supposedly “ask” on my behalf), for [my] Maja to make a stop at our store.

Naturally, I couldn’t contain myself.

But there was always the possibility that I wasn’t going to be uptown when that happened. So I came up with a solution for me to somehow experience the “Maja-ness,” should I be in Manila/Maverick when the grand event happened.

Should the glorious arrival of the “somebody-please-pick-up-my-jaw-from-floor-and-reattach-it-just-because-i-imagined-seeing-her” Maja Salvador truly come to pass, I have asked my brother to invite Her Gorgeousness for a brief chat at our fifth floor office. But he must make sure that Her Petite-Perfectness was sitting in my chair when the whole thing happened (for at least five minutes).

Then the very second that Her Tiny-Goddess-ness stands up from my chair, we will have office staff quickly wrap up the chair with clingy wrap to lock in the “Maja-ness.”

Upon my return to the Baguio office, I shall ask for time alone, then proceed to slowly and ceremoniously unwrap my chair, and break down in tears of joy.

* * * * *
Please do not be afraid. As of the moment, this whole thing is merely imagined.

‘Catch you later.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 29): Who are you?

Dearest Marge,

Who are you?

I took you to ballet class one sleepy saturday. And after shooing you into the studio, i proceeded to try and watch you and the entire class from behind through the breaks in the window blinds.

Call me an idiot for a dad, but for a couple of seconds, i couldn't tell which one was you. See, each and every one of you were in your cute pink ballerina uniforms and doing your damnedest best to follow your teacher. Except one kid standing in the front row who couldn't keep still and incessantly chatted with the other girl beside her. Yup, that was you, kid. A long time ago, i remember being told about another kid couldn't sit still. That kid still can't. Not even while waiting for his little girl go through ballet class.

At three and a half years old, it's still too soon to tell if you will grow up into which of the following: a general, a trooper, or what i've come to refer to as S.W.A.T.

No, we have no plans of drafting you into the military! Let me explain what i mean...

I believe that people are born hardwired as certain kinds of people.

As of this writing, there are over six billion people on the planet. That's six billion unique people with unique thoughts, unique sets of talents, unique habits, unique this and that and so on. So yes, despite the cutesy pink ballet uniforms, you are absolutely unique. When you grow up, you can choose to play on the strengths of your uniqueness, or you can choose to keep putting on uniforms, whether to become a nameless trooper in an army following orders or eventually becoming a general and giving them.

Or you may be a S.W.A.T. (my own lame version of this acronym is: Special Wants And Talents)

SWATs in the army are usually only called when their unique abilities and personalities are really needed. They do not necessarily conform to the regular regimen of the "everyday troopers." They are still soldiers and are part of the whole concept of defense and law enforcement, but on their operations, they make their own rules.

Your dad is a S.W.A.T.

It does not make me better or worse than generals (like your Uncle Pom), or troopers (like your Uncle Wilson). But it does make me "me."

Sometimes, i admire one of them for their command of people. Sometimes, i envy the other one for their simple outlook in life. But i have tried and found myself utterly uncomfortable in their skins. So i have settled into my own and have not looked back much. I still find myself wishing i was this or that, but i have found my life to be much more peaceful inside upon settling on the person i have decided to define myself to be.

The sooner you define yourself and stick to it, the sooner you will be at peace with your space in the infinite spectra of personality. It allows you to still stretch yourself and reach out, but at least your heart and mind will be anchored somewhere. So while you learn new things, meet new people, and see new places as you go on through life, all these things will enrich your life, without changing who you are.
'catch you later.

Love,
Dad

Test blog via mobile blogger

This is a test blog. Earth to blog, earth to blog...

Letters to Marge...

Due to popular demand...


(which is really just me demanding of myself.
I am after all, popular to myself.
If you do not find yourself popular with yourself, then you have some serious problems.
Anyways, enough about me.
But no, you're here. In my blog. this is about me.
but...)
Anyways, my letters to marge will only be found here:
http://letterstomarge.blogspot.com/

Thank you all for reading. (All three of you... heh heh... Just kidding. There's four of you. No, there's more... No, wait... uhm... forget it...)

'catch you later.

Happy 2012, everyone...

So the proverbial clock strikes twelve. Two thousand and twelve, that is.
I have lived to see my thirty ninth new year in what has been a rather colorful lifetime so far. Perfect timing for an upcoming mid-life crisis.

This new year's eve seems a bit mixed up for me. Many things to be happy about this past year, but many things are left hanging, and some matters are being pressed into directions i don't want, and will never be ready for. Oh, and i missed my first Maverick Christmas Party.

2011 marks another year of resistance to forces attempting to put changes in my life. It also marks the first year Margaret goes to school, where i found myself staring forlornly at the back of her head as she walked away from me and into her classroom for the first time. The wheels of her growing up have officially begun turning, and they'll gain more momentum as she goes on through what i hope will be a good life that i could somehow provide her. For a moment, i am filled with much dread, but the undercurrent is still joy.

The wife and i have begun designing our new home with the help of a friend. The new place that will be our home for the remainder of our lives, perhaps. But more on that this coming year.

The Maverick manpower expanded by a whopping ten percent, which brings the additional manpower to an impressive total of... two people. Yeah, the percentage sounded nice for a while there, huh? But in a house of 20 heads at last count, hitting 22 is still a bit of a stretch. After all, the biggest headcount we ever hit was 23. Here's to hoping we don't implode again like we did the last time.

The searing rekindled flames between me and the wifey have settled into a nice, comfy and steady burn. Fates willing, we'll burn softly all through to the remaining decades together. With the added bonus of the occasional "group hug" that Marge now orders us to do. That started this past 2011, too.

So has it been a good year? Yeah... Group hug, please.


'catch you later.

Letters to Marge (Chapter 28): Happy halloween...

Dearest Margaret...

It's been a whole two months since my last post on this blog. Oh well, life seems to have taken over...

And i know that i said i had decided on ending this series of letters, i guess today i finally found myself bored enough without anything particularly intesting to write about, so i decided yet again to do another one.

You called me on the phone a while ago. A simple, short phone call that wasnt particularly earth shattering, nor memorable. We didnt talk about food, movies, books, politics, or even your mother. But it sure made the day of one bored dad who had to sit and wander around the store all day while you, mom, and a handful of others went to the beach. Paying my dues, i suppose...

But you called. And you made my day. Thanks, sweetie,

Around a couple of decades from now, when i've become for you the pest your mother swears i am when i'm not looking, nor listening, please give me a call once in a while. By then, you and i can talk about food, movies, books, politics, and yes, even your mother. Or, you can just ring me up to say hello-how's-life-dad-sorry-gotta-go. And i would answer and tell you that i'm doing just fine. Probably shorter than that shampoo commercial that just flashed on your screen right this very second. But believe you me, that phone call will always make my day.

So, here's a note to future Marge... Call me. Please.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Happy Halloween!
P.P.S. call mom, too, while you're at it.

Underachieving PNoy and the house of cockroaches...

So what has President Benigno Simeon Cojuangco Aquino III done so far in his presidency?

Hmm… an easy question for some, especially the ones looking for actual infrastructure, and possibly more than a few bills, laws and whatnots… they mostly say that this man has not done anything worthwhile in his so far fourteen months in office.

No new roads, no new parks, no new lamp posts, no new road islands with monogrammed tiles (Hi, there, Herbert!), and stolen shots of his presidential desk show that he is not drowning in paper work. Such an underachiever of a president is Mr. Aquino, a.k.a. P-Noy. Boo hoo..

News flash: I ain’t crazy about ‘im. He ain’t the best thing since chopped liver was served to hippie vegetarians and unwitting Jehovah’s Witnesses. But I think he’s on to something.

I’ll keep this short and sweet by way of an analogy…

disgusted? you ought to be.
i know i am.

Imagine inheriting a house, and while you’re looking around, you find many nooks and crannies of crazy slam-your-ass-in-the-grass epic level cockroach infestation. What do you do? Would you ignore it and go on shopping for new furniture? Would you readily schedule the delivery of your brand new big-as-the-fucking-wall TV? Or perhaps run over to the mall and look into some lovely new bathroom fixtures?

No. if you are a home-owner of worth, you will go batshit crazy squashing every bug in sight and smoking out all those hiding in the corners.

As batshit crazy as PNoy ought to be after swearing himself in as president.

Once the bugs are gone, THEN let’s start thinking about the color of the new carpet.

‘nuff said.

‘catch you later.

The Myth of the Human Body (A Bare Bones Exhibit)

see how too much msg in your food
really causes dehydration?

For those of you with a tinge of Necrophilia (not the sexual kind), and have always wondered what doctors, medical students and undertakers see on a semi-day-to-day basis, hop on over to the Neobabylon Building along Bayani Road in Taguig and catch "The Myth of the Human Body," the exhibit which has been extended until the end of this year 2011.

Okay, so that's my dutiful piece of plugging out of the way... Let's get to the real story...

The exhibit itself isn't bad. It's certainly a notch higher than me sneaking into the med labs in UST for kicks way back when i was a student. The fucked up part is "Myth" riding on Gunther von Hagens' groundbreaking "Bodyworlds" exhibit, when the exhibits were admittedly hand-me-down units bought out by some Korean investor. I also found the "myth" approach very corny, as it was merely done to shoehorn the visual concept of the exhibit hall itself into the show.

Brings a whole new meaning to the
term "wish i was dead."
But no, this isn't "Myth," this
is the real McCoy. There's the
oddball von Hagens to the right
of the corpses who are in heaven,
figuratively, as well as probably
literally.

I chanced upon some "Body Worlds" photos online aways back and found myself oddly fascinated with the idea of seeing human bodies peeled open and put in cool action poses. So when i chanced upon a poster for "Myth" which mentioned "Body Worlds" rather prominently, too promenently in fact, i totally flipped and bugged the wifey to go there with me. We eventually did, and i found myself just a wee bit disappointed. I pretty much got what i wanted, which was a bunch of corpses peeled up and shown. But they were far from the lovely, pink-muscled, bodies doing funky things like playing poker, riding horses, and even having sex. There were a few "standard" pieces like the skinned man, the high-fiving half man, and such... But these poorly preserved pieces made with Chinese cadavers were obviously not from von Hagens' collection... Most of the exhibit space was filled up with illustrative boards, and separated body parts. I suspect that these plastinated organs are merely salvaged from deteriorated full-body pieces. Hardly the witty, well-preserved exhibit known as Body Worlds. One other observation I made was that most Chinese farmers and/or dissidents/ victims of Communist human rights violations who were thrown into this exhibit mostly needed orthodontists. They also pretty much justified the stereotypical drawing of buck-toothed Chinese.

The supposed highlight of the exhibit was "The Red Man," which was the well-preserved plastic tracing of the entire human artery system using some red resin. It had the requisite glass enclosure with halogen spotlight, and must have been quite a sight when it was first completed. But... either due to poor shipping and handling, or the fact that such things were meant to happen anyways, so spare units/pieces were probably required... there were so many little pieces of intricate blood-vessel/nervous system lattices that were strewn on the floor of the glass casing. Quite depressing to see.

Cheers to the med student/usher who seemed like he did his best to make the show as interesting as he could, but the slight disarray and sometimes poor state of the exhibit pieces couldn't be covered up by enthusiastic talk.

'catch you later.

CD Review: "The Hands of Time" (Gino Padilla), A Gem Buried in the Quagmire Known as Contemporary Philippine Music

Prepare for a dragging build up here, people...

Ages ago, it was on one of the very few instances when i joined the wifey in her late-night channel-surfing habits, when we stumbled upon a mestizo-looking singer who looked sort of like Gino Padilla on one of Sharon Cuneta's shows (I forget which one...).

Lo and behold, it WAS Gino Padilla.

The song he sang was "Keeping the Memories Alive," a fresh new track from his then brand new record called "Hands of Time." I was intrigued as the song had a good hook on it, and Gino Padilla's singing had always been flawless.  But hey, it was late-night TV, and like most late-show fare, one forgets stuff when one wakes up the following day to the sound of either the cellphone set as a loud alarm clock, or the wifey yelling repeatedly that you are already embarrassingly late for work.  Too bad for her i don't embarrass easily...

Fast forward to January, 2010... I was recovering from a life-changing chapter in my then sad excuse for a life, wandered into a record bar (one day, our children will wonder what a record bar is) and found "Let Me Be The One," a new album by Gino Padilla. That late-show performance from way back echoed back into my brain, and I quickly scanned the back for the song. No luck. But I picked up the album and have enjoyed all that music non-stop ever since. Read the review here. "Hands of Time" seemed to no longer be in stock, much less in print.

Through the fan/stalker's ultimate tool known as the internet, I managed to strike up a line of communication with Gino, and he generously sent me what i suspect is one of his personal copies of "Hands of Time." Endless spins on the CD player, and a year and a half later, here's the CD review...

Still there, reader? Good. Now let's talk about music... Good music.

* * * * * * * *

There's a reason "Keeping the Memories Alive," flooded back into my head over two years after the only time I heard it. It was simply a damn good song. Of course, it sounded and felt a bit like it was 1987 again. But hey, those were good times for OPM (Original Pilipino Music).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8EJIvn5UG9M

It's too bad radio (and TV) didn't give too much airtime to the album, as balladeers like Gino don't seem to get much respect lately, and get their share of attention mostly as retro-nostalgia acts. But despite being an album produced in the new millenium, "Hands" comes across more as a delectable slice of 80's OPM seemingly dug out of someone's secret trunk of unheard-but-shouldve-been-hits.

Cuts like the album's title song "Hands of Time," "Find that Child Hiding in You," and a handful of others on the disc all sounded like they belonged in the airwaves when they were ruled by Gary Valenciano, Martin Nievera, Raymond Lauchengco, Louie Heredia, and the Neocolours. If released back then, these would have been hits, and may probably be found nowadays in "Best of" OPM collections being hawked in Quiapo, and subsequently confiscated by the Optical Media Board.

Gino is obviously ecstatic about getting to record again. So ecstatic, that in addition to his personal thank-you song to his benefactor, Miss Sharon Cuneta, "Angel is Disguise," which was well-meaning, inevitably well-sung, but a bit sappy, the entire record sounds too damn happy. So happy in fact, that even the album's supposedly saddest song, "Let This One Go," where he finds the woman screwing around and eventually dumping him, doesn't sound remotely pissed and pained. It still sounded somewhat... happy.

But this record WAS cause for celebration for Gino, who came out of recording limbo with this album, and got to play in the sandbox known as the revival/remakes record market soon enough after this with the wonderful "Let Me be the One." now, people... THAT is still available out there. Do your ears a favor and go grab a copy now.

'catch you later.

Delayed Movie Review: Captain America (Bye-Bye, Miss American Pie... Hellooooo, Avengers...!)

hurry up with the
movie, already...
everyone's waiting for
the trailer where they
can see Bob Downey!

Chris Evans, formerly known as Johnny Storm a.k.a. the “Human Torch” has been refitted with another superhero costume. This time, his all-American beach-blond apple pie-ness gets him dressed up as Captain America. Based on the comics, he pretty much looked the part. And his vanilla good guy-ness seems almost perfect to play vanilla superhero Captain America.

Like most of my reviews, you guys can forget about finding a plot synopsis here. Look here instead… or here even... or perhaps here…

Back yet? Good… let’s talk…

Hayley Atwell succeeds in making a military uniform sexy. Probably because of her well-endowed assets, but also probably because of that Brit accent.  Early on, I was half-expecting Hugo Weaving (who plays the Red Skull) to suddenly sneer: “Mr. Anderson…!” But no, he didn’t. Stanley Tucci is always a joy to watch, and him playing off Tommy Lee Jones' standard typecasting as a gruff old veteran works out pretty well.

The thing about "Captain America" that strikes me the most was how they justified the creation of the stoooopid flag-themed cheerleader uniform into something that was part of a sepia-tinged war propaganda without making the character seem queer in his choice of outfit.

Marvel seems to have found an effective standard template for their movies, wherein they choose an era/period, then splice in the superheroes and sci-fi to funky up the genre… then VOILA… interesting superhero flick with a period twist. It worked for X-Men First Class, it will work for Captain America.

News flash: it did.

‘catch you later.

P.S. the best part was the Easter egg trailer… AVENGERS ASSEMBLE…!

i know what i really need now...
it's war time, and i will invent
the push-up, wired bra for e-cuppers
and make a fortune!!!!

Pictures from the Other Side of the Valley

A long time ago, i have surrendered to the fact that i do not have the discipline to become a great photographer. My talent is marginal at best, and while i've taken a handful of decent ones in my time, i leave the real shooting to the pros.

But... i discovered a new route recently, after being assigned to cover in the other branch at the valley. And the scene seems so serene and the land seems so young... so i grab my underused camera, and take a few stops to snap the shots below (screened from a few more others)...

Pointless, hardly art, but what the hell...



Many scenes like this, where the clouds literally
touch the mountaintops.

green lushness like this doesn't last in the 21st century

this is a purpulous flowerus
idunnodaname-us.

same as the above.

i like purple. 'got a problem with that?

redus mountainside-us flowerus
(translation: it's a red flower growing on
the side of the goddamn mountain.)

the view before the descent into the valley...

the old volkswagen shop. used to be filled with... err... volkswagens.
converted to grayscale for "nostalgic" effect.

okay... so it isn't George Tapan... But hey... the shots weren't perfect, but the places were pretty, huh?

'catch you later.

Letters to Marge: Chapter 27 (See you in the future…)

Dearest Margaret,

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything in here. You’ve learned how to sort of “really” talk for over half a year or so now, so what I might have written here before, I have been saying to you personally.

You should know that as of now, your mother and I classify you as quite noisy, but adorably so.

So far, it has been quite a wonderful year or so since my last e-letter. Your young achievements so far include:

- Finally starting to go to school.

- Going to ballet school

- Talking in fully comprehensible sentences
- Having seen the following movies in a cinema (in no particular order): Rango, Tangled, Mars needs Moms, Kung Fu Panda, Shrek, complete with gorging on pop corn.
- You also like taking pictures

Little quirks you have developed so far include:

- Calling all forms of meat on the dining table as “Chicken”

- Learning to discriminate and prefer low-fat milk, because “mommy said…”

- Holding my head and face and turning me to the direction of whatever it is you’re talking about.

- Being an absolute camera-whore

Oh, and you have thus far been able to spell and write your name. Congratulations, baby.

But I am sad to say that this is for now my last letter to you in this series. Because instead of writing to you about things, I am currently able to say them to you face to face. A much better deal, frankly.

So while this letter seems to sound like a long-winded goodbye, it really is my “official” hello to a fully talking you (batteries not included, nor needed).

I love you.

‘catch you later.

Dad

Hmm... Sa Tingin Ko Po Hindi Po Nagsisinungaling si Po...

"dammit... i should have rigged those
choppers to explode when FG
bought them for the campaign..."

The wife and i recently made acquaintances with a nice lady and her daughter with whom we hope to close a deal in the very near future. We found them to be very nice people. Obviously affluent, but not aloof nor snobbish. They were from an old family of means, and we found out that we shared the same hairdresser, the same dentists, but unfortunately, not the same veterinarian.

They also happened to be the family a former employee of mine married into. Someone who only recently re-found me on Facebook and added me. I had the good fortune of having met with the husband almost a decade ago.

Just today, i found out they were family to Archibald Po. Yes, THAT Archibald Po. The Archibald Po who had in his testimony another piece of the big picture of theft, corruption, and Philippine decay painted by the tag-team from hell known as Mike Arroyo and Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.

I read up some more about Archibald Po and reaffirmed my already titanium-hard belief that he was a man who had no reason to lie at this point in his successful life. Heaven knows that if there's anything Gloria, Mike and their ilk know better than buying anyone off, is their penchant for revenge, both the political sort, as well as the not so savory toss-you-on-the-side-of-the-road sort. So if i was Archibald Po, i might opt to keep quiet and go about minding my own business and stay out of the thinning crosshairs of the vindictive Arroyos. But i'm not Archibald Po. I'm either a chicken, or dont think my daughter's old enough for me to take these risks.

But Po did. Po is.

"Look, Mike 'oh... akala talaga nila
mahuhuli nila tayo 'noh?"

I wish him the best of luck. If you've read enough through this pathetic blog, you'd see my contempt for she who was president. I've somewhat gotten tired of shooting at Gloria. It sometimes feels like shooting a water gun at a very big, invulnerable cockroach with a mole. But they're going down. Bit by ugly bit... 'can't wait.

'catch you later.