Think Different: Things Lead to Their Opposites

Reading the biography of Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson is evolving into a new religion, my own religion.

This was a man who lived not impeccably nice, but his legacy survives him. This was a man who was anti-corporate but emerged at the peak of the ladder, at the top of Fortune 100.

Indeed, things lead to their opposites. This debunks the new age philosophy that like attracts like, that the law of attraction is, in fact, the attraction of the opposites. "...that great harvests came from arid sources, pleasure from restraint." To find true love, one has to overcome hate. Or indifference. For to love to find love is madness. To love only what is lovely and lovable is hypocrisy.

Here's to Steve Jobs, and the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers...



Voice Over by Steve Jobs. "Think Different" Apple campaign, 1997.

Tebowing Tebow WHO?

A Yahoo sports article that came out last December 14 wondered why "Superstar Still Unknown In Philippines City Of His Birth." A country known for taking credits for anything with a shade of Philippines in it, Philippines is slow to ride on the Tebow bandwagon. They complained.

ThePostGame.com even took pains in calling the Makati City Hall to ask if anyone knew Tim Tebow. They almost had a heart attack when everyone of those they talked to denied any knowledge of him.

So who is Tim Tebow, "the most talked-about athlete in the United States" today? Well, since you're already online, why don't you Google it? (Yeah, I'm feeling lazy today.)

Alright. Here's my December 12 tweet: "So Tebow was born in the Philippines to American missionary parents, was homeschooled, helped in orphanage and missionary work. Nice." December 12, Tebow, Denver Broncos' quarterback was Twitter-trending worldwide after a streak of miracle wins. His life story is as colorful and inspiring as Pacquiao's.

In an interview recently, Tebow said: "I will always have a special place in my heart for the country where I was born."





This is one bandwagon I want to join.

However, it is sad how Tebow is mocked for his PDF (public display of faith) by dropping to his knee thanking God after each touchdown. In every interview after a game, he would start by thanking "my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ" and end it by bidding the interviewer "God bless."

To each his own, I guess.

Epic

Sometimes, you just have to keep quiet and listen to other sounds to shut the noise out. Where I am isn't the best place in the world. Thank you for something like this.



It Will Rain (Live Performance) Bruno Mars; The X Factor USA

Pacquiao Won the Fight

I might have noted my respect on the way Juan Manuel Marquez performed in the ring with Manny Pacquiao last Sunday, but I believe and I know it to be true that Pacquiao won the fight.

For someone who has followed Pacquiao's career since the time he would drink water from a Sprite pet bottle in between rounds (This with much influence from my father who loves boxing and basketball next to my mother.), I have not lost faith in the innate and almost supernatural strength and agility that he has. Depending on the outcome of his fights, one might think these gifts have been polished by techniques and strategies or corrupted by them. In his last fight, I believe it was the latter.

To those who think and believe Marquez won the fight, they may have not considered that to snatch the crown from the defending champion, you cannot appear to be slightly better than the champion. You have to dominate the champion, to force him down his knees, and snap the daylights out of him. As the contender, you have to prove so much more than the champion.

Marquez might have been brilliant in his counterpunches, but it was Pacquiao who landed the solid ones forcing Marquez to backpedal and wobble and sit on air benches.

Roach's technique might have been to tire Marquez down, thinking Marquez is one of those Dela Hoyas who lose the juice as age advances. Thus, it was only in the last three rounds that we see a shadow of the Pacquiao we used to see fight. But Marquez is no Dela Hoya, we know that now.

Tonight, Pacquiao admitted to having leg cramps starting at the second round which prevented him from doing the in-and-out footwork. But now isn't the time to make excuses and admissions. But my take on this is that he over-trained and went too technical while his groupies went overboard in confidence.

So, do I still want to see him fight Mayweather? Of course. Only Pacquiao can mount a bid to re-arrange that "pretty face" and dress that chicken down to drumsticks.

Amazing JuanMa

At 38, Juan Manuel Marquez boxing the way he did yesterday was amazing. Add to that: against the world's new poster boy of boxing Manny Pacquiao.

Setting aside Filipino pride, I give utmost respect to the man who deserves it: Marquez.

As for Manny, a strategy is just that: a strategy. It doesn't always work. Boxing isn't chess where strategy works 100% of the time (or I may be wrong here.). Boxing is about fiery passion and a hungry heart fighting to get what it wants. And Manny, JuanMa got both yesterday.

Manny played chess. JuanMa played boxing.

Reading: Not an Excuse

My former mentor warned me against making reading as an excuse not to have a life: love, sex, and night.

I'm guilty.

I could have easily pursued all three mentioned above had not the other option been too easy and enticing: reading.

Powerbooks is the number one culprit. Where in the world can you buy a Chinua Achebe for P75? Or an Isabel Allende for P150? And thrown in Ben Okri's "The Famished Road" and Vladimir Nobokov's "Lolita" side by side a shelf.

Over the weekend I bought three Chinua Achebe novels, a Milan Kundera, Isabel Allende's 2010 novel "Island Beneath the Sea" (hardbound copy), and Ben Okri's "The Famished Road" all for a little over P1,000. "Lolita" will have to wait.

Reading Isabel Allende, the female Gabriel Garcia Marquez I dare say, I ask myself why can't a contemporary Filipino author soar as high. And easily I have an answer, most Filipino authors write in English. Ironically, the best contemporary works of literature are written by non-native speakers of English who wrote in their own tongue and have/had their works translated in English and other languages: Paulo Coelho, GG Marquez, Jose Saramago, Allende, Nahguib Mahfouz, Boris Pasternak, Dostoyevsky, Thomas Mann, Haruki Murakami, and Yukio Mishima.

But I will leave that thought to the politics of languages and linguistics.

So I'm the reader sans life: love, sex, and night. And it makes it more difficult if you're a reader of these books, and you can't talk about them during dates. So instead you talk about Steve Jobs and his notable quotes in his Stanford speech.

And yes, reading should not be an excuse to have a life outside the pages of a book. Neither should the characters in these works be made the benchmarks of the people we will choose to love.

Reality should be separated from fiction. Writers may be considered as creators, but they are not gods.

Aleph and Forgiveness

 I read Paulo Coelho the way I read Sweet Valley High and Sweet Dreams back in the day. A month ago I read "Aleph," Coelho's latest novel. A novel that reveals much about him without the usual rants. Albeit, a lot of excuses and defensive remarks. We know, Paulo, you are a faithful husband. There was no need to put in every other line the obvious. (Evil smiley here) (Another cute smiley here)

For neo writers who want to be as famous as him as a writer, Paulo advised not to write about who and what you are not. Or something like that. Don't entertain people, rich or famous or both though they are, who come to you and ask you to write their great story. (Unless you are that writer who earns a living by writing biographies like that teacher I know. Now, getting it from Paulo, I realize how cheap that job really is.)

From Aleph I realize why Paulo writes about the philosophy woven into the fabric of magic, spirituality, journeys, and destination. He writes about the person he was and is meant to be.

Paulo Coelho is one writer Leo Tolstoy would have embraced and kissed. The degree of infectiousness that Coelho puts in his writings is so high it spreads like an epidemic. We can all ask the hundreds of million who read his books.

In a world where people no longer turn the other cheek, we find minty-fresh bound leaves that speak of forgiveness:

“I forgive the tears I was made to shed,
I forgive the pain and the disappointments,
I forgive the betrayals and the lies,
I forgive the slanders and intrigues,
I forgive the hatred and the persecution,
I forgive the blows that hurt me,
I forgive the wrecked dreams,
I forgive the stillborn hopes,
I forgive the hostility and jealousy,
I forgive the indifference and ill will,
I forgive the injustice carried out in the name of justice,
I forgive the anger and the cruelty,
I forgive the neglect and the contempt,
I forgive the world and all its evils.

“I also forgive myself. May the misfortunes of the past no longer weigh on my heart. Instead of pain and resentment, I choose understanding and compassion. Instead of rebellion, I choose the music from my violin. Instead of grief, I choose forgetting. Instead of vengeance, I choose victory.

“I will be capable of loving, regardless of whether I am loved in return,
Of giving, even when I have nothing,
Of working happily, even in the midst of difficulties,
Of holding out my hand, even when utterly alone and abandoned,
Of drying my tears, even while I weep,
Of believing, even when no one believes in me.”

- ALEPH

To THOSE who have hurt me and THOSE who are atill hurting me, I forgive you for all the things the world will not allow me to forgive in you, and for all the things you think you did not do to hurt me, and for everything that you did, but did not know that hurt me.

On Sending Kids to Jail

Because you can't catch the big fish, you settle for the fingerlings.

Because you can't catch the mastermind, you arrest the house guard.

Because you can't improve the economy, and can't abolish corruption, you blame it to population.

Why can't we give the right medicine to the disease?

A bill is being pushed to lower the age of children that may be jailed for delinquency. As it is, a person below 18 years old who commits a crime will be sent to DSWD and some government agency in charge of the delinquents, but not to jail.

Adults have gone so scared, they want child criminals: killers, thieves, drug users, drug pushers and rapists to be sent to jail. Then what? Earn a degree in crime while staying in jail with free board and lodging?

Are our prisons good enough for children? Have we not seen enough gore in city and national jails for adults, we want to throw in children too? Have we reached the renaissance of jail management that getting in prison is now corrective rather than punitive?

Yes, let us punish the children because our society has gone blind. We have children becoming parents at the first strike of puberty. Do we offer them condoms and contraceptives to avoid pregnancy? Or do we offer shelter, food, education, and care?

Let us punish the children committing crimes from petty to bizarre. That is the easiest way, so much easier than taking care of them, right?

Steve Jobs, 1955-2011

www.apple.com

Steve Jobs was only 56; William Shakespeare was 52; Michael Jackson was 51; Jose Rizal was 35; and JC was only in his 30s.

At this day and age when man wants to live forever, and look young every day of his life, there are individuals like Steve, Shakespeare, Michael, Jose, and JC who show us beyond their years on earth that it is not the number of years we live that matters, it is what we do with those years that counts.

We complain about the difficulties in life, but we never lift a finger to change them. We rely our happiness on other people's competence, our success on other people's sweat.

Perhaps it is too late to ask the great dead folks how they did it. But it is neither too late nor too hard to be inspired by what they have left us.

As Steve Jobs said, "Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works." We are all part of a great design. And it is not about looking good and feeling fine. It is about being a gift to the world like the sun in the sky, like the Apple in your hands.

Steve Jobs, thank you!

PAF Bus on SLEX

"Hukbong Panghimpapawid ng Pilipinas" emblazoned mightily on the side of the sleek, black bus that suddenly loomed big on my left side view mirror. Like "Jaws," the bus came fast I thought it was going to devour me. I could hear the main Jaws soundtrack play as the bus passed by me.

In a split second it was in front of me, way ahead of me. I was doing 80 based on my speedometer, running on the slow lane. I decided to take this morning slow. Anyway, it was only sevenish down SLEX between Southwoods and Susana Heights exits. The bus changed lane to the left, then to the next, then eventually to the leftmost lane. I couldn't believe a bus that big, of the Philippine Air Force, would weave through four lanes of SLEX like an eel. It definitely can, but should it? Is there a terrorist attack? Is there another coup d' etat?

Blank Certificate

I'm not done.

How does one feel to receive a blank certificate?

I was insulted.

A week ago I received an e-mail reminding me to pick up my certificate from a conference where I was one of the paper presenters. I worked on that paper for a month and braved a typhoon to present it.

And what do I get for the effort? A blank certificate.

The person who handed me the certificate apologized for not having my name written on it. He said they were afraid they might have my name wrong. Excuse me??? My name was everywhere in your program, in your souvenir pamphlets, in my EMAILS to you, in your EMAILS to me, in my bionote, and in my face you made that excuse?

I know it was not the man's fault if the organizers were inefficient. So I didn't lash out at him. But on our way out, my friend, who was with me, said I should have. She said it was both insulting and disrespectful. She's part of several events organizations and she knows what she's talking about. A big event like what I have been a part of should have competent people. Never mind respect, mind only that they do their jobs right so that certificate issuance is done correctly.

And it has been three months!

Of course, I have a good mind to give them my feedback. It is a gift.

University of the Philippines Diliman, when will you ever stop disappointing me this week?

Not Always Right

When activists from labor groups and student organizations go out on the streets to voice out their grievances, believe you me, they are not always right.

They cry being marginalized, disenfranchised, trampled upon, deceived, fooled, and unjustly treated.

Two editorial pieces from the Philippine Daily Inquirer today have unmasked these groups for who and what they are.

The Workers

The cartoon editorial shows a Japanese investor cultivating a "land" with fresh investments, but the soil is hard, rocky, almost dead with "corruption," "red tape," "high power rates," and yes, "militant labor."

Labor groups ignore that our labor laws are sickeningly pro-labor. How many times has it been for the past recent years when the minimum wage was increased? This is done across the board regardless of the employees' performance or the lack of it. You go to a mall and what do you see? Salesmen and salesladies gossiping. You go to a community grocery store and what do you see? Cashier and bagger boys taking forever to punch in your goods and bag them for good. And nary a smile on their faces. When you're lucky, you get reprimanded by them for taking the wrong counter, "Express lane, ito! Dun kayo sa kabila."

Jeepney and bus drivers go on strike to demand for lower gas prices. Ask them to drive professionally, be polite, give change, be presentable, not smoke while driving, and you are asked to either take a cab or buy your own car. As if taxi drivers are any better.

The Students

"Squeeze" debunks the claim of state universities and colleges (SUCs) students that the government has cut down the education budget. "How these groups came up with such widely different estimates of the budget cuts suggests either carelessness...or a deliberate attempt to create an issue where there may be none," says the article.

The editorial also states that subsidies for SUCs in 2012 would reach a total of P26.1 billion or 10% more than the appropriation for the current year. Also, SUCs are expected to EARN P12.39 billion from tuition and miscellaneous fees from students, grants and donations, and land lease. Moreover, the Department of Budget and Management estimates that SUCs may have some P22 billion deposited with banks. All in all, SUCs will have P60 billion to spend in 2012. Kabataan party-list Rep. Raymond Palatino said that to be able to deliver quality education and services, SUCs need P45.8 billion from the national government. Don't they teach Math in SUCs anymore?

Yesterday I was in UP Diliman to get something from the Faculty Center. It was the first time I have been there. As I entered the building, I saw students comfortably sitting on the floor of the corridors, never mind that visitors come and use that space for walking to get to their destination.

We turned to a dark hallway. Lining up were rooms with old doors, unscrewed hinges, with announcements as old as Jose Rizal (if he were alive today) stuck on them. The walls were crying out for some wash. The roof appeared to come down with the next wind blow. And a lot of "broken windows." A building doesn't need to be new to look good and fresh. People who spend their time in it need only care. Students, faculty, and management. You have time to go out on the streets to protest but back home your place is a mess. You go out and try to solve the problems of this nation, but you can't even fix your school. Don't you people smell the decay and the old stench?

The new UP President Alfredo Pascual said that his administration's efforts are geared towards research leadership, a demand for a national university. Why doesn't his administration walk around the campus, visit every nook and cranny, and fix everything that needs to be fixed? And don't make a sorry excuse that they can't be fixed because there isn't money. If you aim to be good in research, you have to be outstanding in resourcefulness first.

Mr. President, breathe life to the dying University of the Philippines then do your research leadership initiative later. Or do you need to do some research on what to do with the dying first?

Kulo Exhibit Revisited

A friend who came with me to UP Diliman this afternoon took a copy of the September 2011 issue of U.P. Newsletter.

An article caught my attention: "UP groups denounce closure of Kulo exhibit."

1. Resignation from the Cultural Center of the Philippines

Karen Flores, a UP alumna, and the CCP Visual Arts Director at the time of Kulo exhibit resigned from her post "to uphold artists' rights...stand as a symbol of artistic expression." She also said that religion should "promote a higher self. It should not promote hatred. Instead it should promote tolerance."

Wow! So resigning from one's job is now an artistic expression? I wonder in what artistic manner she did it. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines "tolerance" as "sympathy or indulgence for beliefs or practices differing from one's own." But like tolerance to pain and other types of it, there is always a threshold on how far one can tolerate a deviation. Christianity promotes forgiveness up to seventy-seven times. There is no law that says what we cannot tolerate we forgive. We can forgive a cheating husband but should never ever tolerate him. Tolerance is pushing someone to sin more. Do I tolerate smokers around me?

Me: I'm sorry, but I'm allergic to smoke. May you, please, stop smoking?
Smoker: Oh, I'm sorry. (Extinguishes cigarette and throws it to the metal bin)
Me: Thank you. (With a smile)

Me: Your art exhibit offends me and my faith. May you, please, change it?
Artist: NO! It is my artistic expression and it is none of your business! You don't know anything about the art and the artist! I have artistic rights!
Me: And I have human rights. The most fundamental of all rights.

2. Marcos and Aquino as allies

National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera said, "In the surrender of the CCP (to the pressure of Marcos and Aquino), the rights of individual artists were also surrendered." Incredible! Imelda and P-noy in one sentence! Lumbera even added, "Sino ba si Imelda?" Don't they get it? Even the godless was offended!

3. OA

UPD Department of Arts Studies Chair Cecilia de la Paz said that "the government reaction was knee-jerk and out of hysteria." Madam, with toll going skyward, not just Skyway, and a liter of gas getting more expensive than a burger meal, that is the least this government can do for me. To be hysterical in my behalf.

4. In your dreams!

Former MTRCB Chair and UP College of Mass Communication Professor Nicanor Tiongson said that "art is not just pretty Amorsolo artworks to decorate our walls," and "an artist always dreams of a better world." What does a mother tell a hungry child crying out for food, and there isn't a morsel to spare? She carries the child to her breasts, sings a lullaby, promises that the child's father is on his way, and with plenty of food for him. She doesn't yell at the child, and paint grim pictures of Somalia and Ethiopia where birds of prey wait on the wings until famished children die, and feed on the dead bodies of children.

The mother believes in "easing one life the aching and cooling one pain and helping one fainting robin unto his nest again." Art is beautiful, so beautiful it makes one cry, so beautiful it takes one's breath away, so beautiful one can risk cliches.

"Juan Time" and PST

I find it awkward that Philippine Daily Inquirer's editorial focuses on respecting time and the "Filipino Time."

Today is the day after #PrayforthePhilippines made it to Twitterlandia's trending topic worldwide, the day after Pedring "shut down Metro, lashed Luzon." Even Paulo Coelho tweeted "I join the group, and I just prayed. #PrayforthePhilippines."

What happened to PDI? Suddenly, it has become more important to remind people to be on time than to be prepared for calamities. Or are we done with the obvious?

Be that as it may, the editorial has led me to check my time if it is in accordance to the Philippine Standard Time which is found in the PAGASA website (www.pagasa.dost.gov.ph) I found the time in my computer a minute late, in my cellphone four minutes advanced. Now, I have all my time under PST. And so will all the clocks at the office and at home.

Going off on a tangent, it might seem, today's editorial has taught me something major enough to be bothered by it.

It has also come to my attention that the Department of Science and Technology is pushing for a new "Filipino Time" and it is called "Juan Time." "With Juan Time, Filipino time will come to mean 'on time,' and no longer late," as quoted from DOST Secretary Mario Montejo.

Being on time all the time is not something that may be taught in business training camps. Being punctual is part of an individual's make-up like respect, dignity, honesty and patience. And I'm betting 5 Sing Dollars that those who give a hoot about an editorial on respecting time after a day of Twitter-worthy calamity are the same people who have it in themselves since the day their folks showed and taught them punctuality and respect by example.

Why SD 5.00? It's all I've got in my wallet.

It Will Rain

If you ever leave me, baby,
Leave some morphine at my door
'Cause it would take a whole lot of medication
To realize what we used to have,
We don't have it anymore.

There's no religion that could save me;
No matter how long my knees are on the floor.
So keep in mind all the sacrifices I'm makin,'
Will keep you by my side,
Will keep you from walkin' out the door.

'Cause there'll be no sunlight,
if I lose you, baby.
There'll be no clear skies,
if I lose you, baby.
Just like the clouds
my eyes will do the same, if you walk away
Everyday it will rain.

I'll never be your mother's favorite;
Your daddy can't even look me in the eye.
Oooh, if I was in their shoes, I'd be doing the same thing,
Sayin' there goes my little girl
walkin' with that troublesome guy.

But they're just afraid of something they can't understand.
Oooh, well, little darlin' watch me change their minds.
Yeah for you I'll try I'll try I'll try I'll try.
I'll pick up these broken pieces 'til I'm bleeding,
If that'll make you mine.

'Cause there'll be no sunlight,
if I lose you, baby.
There'll be no clear skies,
if I lose you, baby.
Just like the clouds
My eyes will do the same if you walk away
Everyday it will rain.

Don't just say, "Goodbye."
Don't just say, "Goodbye."
I'll pick up these broken pieces 'til I'm bleeding;
That'll make it right.

'Cause there'll be no sunlight,
if I lose you, baby.
There'll be no clear skies,
if I lose you, baby.
Just like the clouds
My eyes will do the same if you walk away
Everyday it will rain.

Bruno Bench Billboards

How's that for alliteration?

I know Pinkhamper is turning shamelessly into a Bruno Mars fansite. It is what they used to call scarlet fever which everyone had to go through.

(Click on the pics for bigger views.)


After the Philippine Volcano billboard fiasco, Bench has decided to redeem itself with these. Now, we all know men can be billboard-worthy even with clothes on.


Bruno Mars: Made in the Philippines. Hmm. Really?

Spilt Milk and Nephews

Two nights ago I had to change bedsheets and pillow cases twice within a 5-minute interval. My nephews (one, 5; the other 3) raided my bedroom again to check on Facebook which is actually Youtube, going gaga over The Annoying Orange. I wouldn't be bothered to correct them.

(A day later after this post, I explained to my 3-year-old nephew that it isn't Facebook, but Youtube that brings him his favorite videos. Now, Youtube has become part of his growing vocabulary.)

Both brought with them their milk. And when you have the kids, glass of milk and bed combo, the inevitable happens: spilled milk on the bed. The younger kid placed his glass on the bed and with his flailing hands knocked the glass down. Wet sheets, wet shorts, freaked-out aunt. "Hindi ko sinasadya!" was the 3-year-old's quick defense. Fine, let's just change the sheets and you go downstairs to Nanay and change your clothes. Both of you!

Both kids went downstairs. I changed the sheet and pillow cases. A couple of minutes later, the little tyrants returned with their fresh glass of milk. !!!???##$%$%$!!!

"Ate, di pa kami tapos uminom ng gatas, e." OK, but just be careful this time. The younger one, glass of milk in hand, took his place by the bed table where my sister checked the real Facebook. The older nephew found his place next to the younger one, moved a little too briskly and hit the younger one's back and the kid went off-balance and spilled the milk on my bed the second time.

Now, please, tell me, what does a normal person say to that?

Sex Strike and Lysistrata

A barangay in Mindanao made the headlines recently for a reported "sex strike" imposed by wives to their husbands if the latter continue to engage in clan wars. The women complain they are tired of killings, and demand for a normal life.

Apparently, the men got scared of being "outside the kulambo" for fear of sexual starvation. The women got what they want and they live...

In an interview with an Imam (Someone who leads Islamic worship services.), Arnold Clavio of Unang Hirit asked if it is against Islamic traditions for a wife to deny her husband his "marital (sexual) rights." The Imam answered that a wife CANNOT and MUST NOT say no to a husband who asks for his bed rights. No ifs, no buts. What the husband wants, the husband gets. I was riding a bus when I saw that piece of interview, and I didn't care if I mouthed "WTF" a little too loud.

This piece has reminded me of that classic Greek comedy Lysistrata by Aristophanes. It is about a woman named Lysistrata who persuades the women of Greece to withhold sexual favors from their husbands and lovers. This fete is meant to end the Peloponnesian War. In the end, both parties come to a peaceful agreement and the drama ends in songs and dances.

Sounds easy. But this may work only if men and lovers were gentlemen, and women were ladies.

Spell DOG.

The Day You Went Away

I was looking back at you as you were walking away. You were walking back to E-- to take you home and out into the world. I could have run after you, but I didn't. It was a decision I made that matched your decision to walk away to find your place in the sun.

Dumbest in the World

A CNN article calls the question asked to Ms. Angola by Lea Salonga the dumbest in the world: "If you could change one of your physical characteristics, which one would it be and why?"

The article made two sterling points:

1) "After standing under the magnifying glass of millions, this 25-year-old, 5-foot-10 ½-inch knockout had to publicly contemplate if she was physically good enough."

2) "Maybe it's absurd to be dismayed that a question like this would be posed at a beauty pageant. In my worldview, the mere fact that pageants exist is absurd."

On the first point:

Beauty contests love "what if" questions. They love asking "almost perfect women" if they would want to be someone or something else or be anywhere else but where they are. You have in front of you the supposedly most beautiful women in the universe, not just on earth, and you would ask them dumb question like trading places with mere mortals? They are the envy of insecure, not-so-gifted, horizontally-challenged, pale as chalk, dark as night women the world over and you would ask them if there is anything else they would want to change/replace in themselves? If that isn't the height of insensitivity, if not stupidity, I don't know anything else which is worse.

On the second point:

Using women as objects should have been banned the day Virginia Woolf proclaimed that women to be empowered should have a room of their own. Beauty contests are taboos still happening in a world of petabyte technology. And since nothing is called taboo anymore because it will be politically incorrect to question other people's rights to stupidity, anything that falls under this label I call dumb. And I can list three other dumb things people do and enjoy doing and engaging in even at this day and age:

1. Play golf. You have a vast well-manicured lawn with nine or eighteen holes. The goal is to hit a tiny pock-marked ball by swinging a golf club from across a golf course with lagoons, sand dunes, and grass into these series of holes using the fewest number of strokes. If you are so darn excited to be putting your small balls into small holes, then play billiards. You don't waste precious land that may be put in better use.

2. Live in houses as big as ten football fields. Just how big a living space can one need? You have an Olympic-size swimming pool in your backyard and ten 100-SQM bathrooms around the "BIG" house. Just how dirty can one get to be needing such amenities? And you have a hundred luxury cars and fifty race cars in your garage... Fine. You have money, but is that an excuse?

3. Boxing. It is good if all boxers were like Mayweather who ducks opponents to avoid blood and counts on points to earn millions on pay-per-views. But boxing is a game we can accept if we are still living in caves and men still wear g-strings. (Guilty as charged I am for I love boxing.)

Oh, why am I so bitter tonight?

I've just checked the night sky out my window. There's nary a star nor a moon in sight.

Bench on Mars TVCs

Not few were the times I admitted to being a Bruno Mars fan. Can't help it. I'm owned. :P

Made in Mars.

Thanks, Bench and Youtube.

Pacquiao - Marquez Song and Dance Showdown. WHAT?!

Can you imagine Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier doing a song and dance showdown to promote Thrilla in Manila? I can't.

But Juan Manuel Marquez and Manny Pacquiao singing La Bamba together on stage? Pacquiao singing "Imagine" beside JMM and JMM singing a Spanish song next? Well, yes.



I'm loving JMM and the Mexican people for saying "Viva Filipinas!" Which reminds me, whatever happened to my old Mexican pal Carlos Zepeda from Tijuana?

9.10.11 My Taylor Swift Day

9.10.11. What a sad, sad day. Time for Taylor Swift, the girl who sings exactly what a girl wants to say.

"Chalk Holiday" on Teachers' Month

In the news today, teachers threaten the government's Education Department of a "chalk holiday" if the yearly chalk allowance of P700 will not be increased to P2,000. A not so good way to start the National Teachers' Month.

On September 16, about 100,000 teachers nationwide will teach, but will not use the blackboard to do so. Some time ago, teachers threatened to walk out and not teach if government refused to increase teachers' salaries. Now, this current threat is kind of sweet. They will teach but will not write to teach.

I wonder if our teachers are aware that the greatest teachers never used any instructional material but themselves. The greatest teachers had no classroom to hold their class, no blackboards to demonstrate their thoughts. Thinking about it now, the best teachers I had hardly used the board - black or white.

Not to be sarcastic about it (really!), I hope teachers make good of this threat. It can be a blessing in disguise for they may just learn to be creative and teach with just them as the teaching tool and still reach effectively their objectives.

Going back to the budget issue, if the government relents to the request of chalk allowance increase, the government will need to allocate a P2B fund for pieces and boxes and trailers of chalk. Now, that's a whole dang plenty of tuberculosis-inducing chalk dust to contend with. Will Quezon Institute be ready for it?

Below is a poem for all teachers this National Teachers' Month:

CHALK DUST ON MY FINGERS
By Bliss Cua Lim

At the end of the hour there is dust on my fingers,
White chalk dust that silkens yet terrifies,
Delineating tiny borders on my palm beneath my thumb,
Nets and creases on my twenty year-old skin.

I ask myself what I do it for, and I say
Not For Them, they come and go, and
I have given up on metamorphosing minds.
I say instead, I am the teacher that
The child I was would like to have learned from.

In our moist, clammy library, smelling of
Dog-dung and moldy paperbacks, I ransack
Worn carton boxes for old college papers but
That girl is not there; her image is a palimpsest
And memory has given her a cerebral glow;

Where her outline shimmers with intellectual passion I
Doubt this visage and in the end I fear
I have forgotten the child for whom
I have become what I am
And I begin to realize that if she-that-was-I
Sat in my classroom, she might not know me.

All this, as I run the eraser over my own writing
On the board, diffusing the chalk dust that
Can only be spread thinly or inhaled but never vanquished,
Running mental fingers over the faces I just addressed,
Wondering if there was someone/anyone there I missed.

Poetic License

An artist's freedom of expression has been loosely invoked the past several weeks in these shores. That artists can produce and write anything as an expression of artistic ideas has been a source of heated debates over media and social networking sites.

We had Mideo Cruz who desecrated an image of Jesus as a social commentary on how religious icons are used to worship the divine. Then came James Soriano, a student from Ateneo De Manila, a school known for its high scholastic standards, who with boldness proclaimed in a newspaper article that Filipino, our national language, is but a language of the street that one uses to communicate with the domestics.

To become an artist, it seems one has to be insensitive. To become an artist, one has to have the thick skin to brave criticisms. As an artist, one has to lose humanity to gain entrance to it. As an artist, one has to present reality in its basest form. But then what happens to art when all considerations are given to the artists' freedom? What happens to the audience of art when the artist cares only for his personal gratification and damn-you-all expressions?

If we have been up in virtual arms against the "works" of Mideo Cruz and James Soriano for their "slips," what do we say then to the critics from the other shores who find the works presented below as offensive?


The above photo shows rape and sexual abuse to be fashionable if you wear the right kind of brand: Calvin Klein Jeans. This ad was banned.



The above photos of 10-year-old girls with provocative glances which appeared in Vogue Magazine raised an uproar recently. Too young to be objectified. The critics ask, where is this world going?


This photo appears today at Yahoo. Domestic violence is cool, it seems to say. Are we justified to shout FOUL!?


Do I need to make a comment on the photo above?

MTV: Mars Tribute Valerie

Monday morning, August 29, I was looking forward to watching the live telecast of MTV VMA, it being a holiday. The day before, I checked the schedule over MTV Asia website where it announced that Singapore, Philippines, and Malaysia live telecast will be at 9 AM.

Five minutes after 9, I was infront of the TV surfing the channels. Honestly, I don't know our cable TV channel assignments. I never cared. I'm not a TV person. I rounded the whole 2 to 100 channels thrice but there was no MTV. There was MYX, but no MTV.

Then came my brother into the house. He is the music video guy in the family. So I asked the dude. And I got this for a reply: (Rolling his eyes) "Ano ka ba, Ate, nung isang taon pa walang MTV sa Pilipinas!"

Okay, that's sweet. How come I didn't get the memo?

As a teenager, I grew up infront of MTV when music videos meant something to the song for which it was made. Then music videos became experimental. An experiment on the best way to make you blind with awful visual effects. An experiment to find out what would make you puke first, sex or violence? So I quit watching.

These days, I heard that MTV is more thrash than music. That viewers are begging for the people behind the music channel to bring back the "M" in MTV. For in the past years, MTV has become "More Thrash (than) Videos."

Going back to MTV VMA. I'm a shameless Bruno Mars Twitter follower. At home, ours "is a sky full of lighters" where my nephews sing to "The Lazy Song" "Oh my God, this is great!" 24/7. It is therefore imperative that through Bruno Mars' tweet I found out about the MTV Video Music Awards night. And the cutie would be performing. It would be a treat for my nephews to see Bruno live.

But then again, MTV Pilipinas is dead. So I Googled for some live VMA streaming. Useless. I went to Twitter and there was a gold mine of links. Success!

What did I see? Bruno Mars came on to pay tribute to Amy Winehouse, the British music sensation who died of "yet to be determined cause" at age 27 last July. The same girl who took the song "Rehab" to the top of the charts worldwide. The same girl who admitted to having cocaine addiction and alcohol abuse. The same girl who signed up for the Forever 27 Club whose members include Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison who all died at the peak of their career at age 27.

And ladies and gentlemen, Bruno Mars, 25, the one giving the tribute is the same guy who has pleaded guilty of cocaine possession in Las Vegas. Good work, MTV!

Bruno Mars is my celebrity crush and I love him to destruction. I pray to God each night that the stigma of this cocaine incident will go away and what remain only are his musicality, creativity, sensitivity, and humanity.

There, written like a fan mail.

Bruno Mars singing "Valerie," one of Amy Winehouse's songs, at iHeartRadio in Las Vegas. Couldn't find a decent YT of the MTV VMA performance.



Amy Winehouse singing "Rehab" at the Late Show with David Letterman in 2007.

The Curse Of Being

A lot of us claim to hate this country, but when something bad is said about anything related to being a Filipino and the Philippines, we rise up in arms. We proclaimed Claire Danes persona non grata for saying that Manila "just f--king smelled of cockroaches."

A dictionary which was reported to have defined a Filipina as a "domestic worker from the Philippines or a person who performs non-essential auxiliary tasks" caused uproar and made huge headlines and patriotically angry editorials.

Teri Hatcher talking against Philippine medical schools in a TV series became the most hated among the Desperate Housewives by Filipinos all over the world. The racist remark was eventually removed from the episode.

James Soriano, that Atenean kid who said Filipino is the language of the street, is now the recepient of online flaks.

And the list of similar situations goes on and on.

On the country, when something good is said, is done to, by, for the Filipinos and the Philippines, we go all agog in taking the credit, basking in the limelight, always saying proud to be Pinoy.

When out of the ring, Manny Pacquiao is bashed: his fashion style, his lifestyle, his gambling, his provincial grammatical-error-laden English, his wife, even his mother, particularly his mother. But when inside the ring, Manny is our king. When he wins, we have the world in our hands; we wear huge smiles on our faces as if we have just been named the world's superpower.

When a Filipino reaches international stardom, we claim the credit as a people. Think of Charice, Arnel Pineda, Maria Aragon, and Jasmin Trias. When an international superstar or celebrity happens to have at least 1/8 Filipino blood, we attribute his/her greatness to his/her Filipino lineage. We are always happy to note that these people are half-Filipinos: Vanessa Hudgens, Bruno Mars, Nicole Schswhateverherlongsurnameis of the defunct Pussycat Dolls, Apl.de.ap of BEP, and Kirk Hammet of Metallica. We are ecstatic that the Head Chef in the White House is a Filipina. We were proud that the governess of Prince William invited to the Royal Wedding is a Filipina. Etcetera. Etcetera.

I don't know if other nations are like us. Is Thailand always tapping its back for having Tiger Woods as half-Thai? Is Indonesia still smug that it has educated the young Barack Obama? What about Kenya?

Honestly, I don't have the answers. What I know only is that as a people, we are quick to defend our nation, but slow to move it forward. We are quick to smell half-bloods, but slow to embrace brown-skinned.

It is a curse and we have yet to find the witch who cast it.

Rap Songs I Love

I can't believe the day will come when I'm going to like rap.









Thanks to Bruno Mars for bringing back the love I lost.

Dear Mr. James Soriano,

Unlike your mother, my mother didn't provide for me a home conducive to learning English. My mother used to buy me "komiks" that carried local legendary stories like "Ang Alamat ng Mayon," "Ang Alamat ng Kasoy," among others. My first book is the ABAKADA. You know, the one that has a boy with his body parts labeled in Filipino? Oh, well, I'm sure you're not familiar with that. You grew up in an English Only home zone.

My mother used to be a huge fan of radio dramas aired daily over DZRH. I grew up listening to these dramas with her.

At age 4, I, with my family, moved to Laguna from Manila where I was born. In Laguna, I became friends with kids with weird Tagalog accents and unique local color expressions. These things didn't bother me because I had a perfect life as a child. My friends and I climbed huge mango trees that actually bore mangoes that ripened to perfection. And climb up the tree we would as far as no old folks could see and we would eat mangoes while we sat on branches. We also had a field day climbing camachile trees and ate the fruits, tree to mouth. It was great playing "Jane."

During palay planting season, we would join the farmers in the muddy fields. The kinder ones even allowed us to do some planting. We would even catch "palakang bukid" for lunch.

During harvest season, we would sit and watch the farmers separate the palay from the stalks and smell the heavenly sent of nature. The first gold we've seen, and the largest in the world was the mountain of palay during the season.

And the haystacks! These were left to us to make anything out of. We jumped and rolled and kicked and laughed until our lungs burst.

We rode rickety carts pulled by carabaos, not buffalos which you might have read about in your English books. There were cows for the milking and goats for the same. We watched men hunt and kill snakes coiled around bamboo trees. Twice we saw a crocodile butchered and cooked and eaten. I remember being given a bite of caldereta crocodile. I don't remember having accepted and eaten it, though.

Joy was our lingua franca. It was not written in books that some could only read about. We had experiences in vivid colors, tangible and real.

What about yours?

Oh, what to do with people like you, Malu Fernandez and Mideo Cruz?

Undo. Unfriend. Unfollow.

Technology makes it look so easy to uncommit mistakes and unmake decisions.

Instead of divorcing a spouse, can we just un-marry? Instead of dropping out of school, can one just un-list or un-enroll? Instead of growing fat and losing weight, can we just un-fat, un-eat and un-sleep?

Instead of quitting, can we just un-smoke, un-drink, un-gamble?

Instead of cursing ourselves for that thoughtless one-night-stand, can we just un-sex?

Unbelievable!

Parisukat Na Yelo

5-year-old Nephew: Chan-chan, hindi na malamig ang ice tea.
3-year-old Nephew: (Touches glass) Tingin. Tingin.
5-year-old Nephew: Kumuha ka ng parisukat na yelo.
Me:(Overhears the exchanges): Ano'ng parisukat na yelo? (After a heartbeat) Ahh! Ice cube.
3-year-old Nephew: Sobrang dami, Tita. Kailangan konti lang. (This after I put all the cubes in the pitcher.)

Where do these kids get their vocabulary?

I don't remember using the word "parisukat" in daily conversation. And at age 5? Is that what they teach in school now? "Parisukat na yelo" instead of ice cubes?

Although, my 3-year-old nephew is not attending school yet, his vocabulary in Filipino will put to shame a lot of old folks. He says "paalam" instead of "goodbye;" "kailangan ko iyan," instead of "gusto ko 'yan."

Most Filipino parents and aunts and uncles are proud if the kids in the house speak English. They have them flaunt it in the mall, in the park, in PUVs, in terminals, wherever.

In our case, we're awed that the kids have a penchant for using the native tongue.

But they can have a really, really sharp tongue. One day from work, I asked my mother for a glass of water, please. And the older nephew butt in, "Tita, Jollibee ba 'to? Bakit humihingi ka ng tubig kay Nanay, pwede naman ikaw ang kumuha?"

OUCH! I swear I could have killed the insolent little devil.

Sore Eyes

Sore eyes, sore eyes make the world looks like all sand dunes,
my hair, my hair can't fall o'er the infected eye lids.
It's so itchy-ful
I can't even see my way.

Yeah, I know, I know when I call in sick they'll say it's all excuses
And it's so, it's so bad to think I have this and they don't
But every time I scratch my left eye, I say,

When I see my face there are all the things I wish would change
'Cause this disease is infuriating, just the way it is!!!

I have sore eyes, ladies and gentlemen. Sore eyes on rainy days!

What bloody thing I've done to deserve this?

:(

Waaa!!!

Hollywood Stars Get More Gigs Here Than Locals

This year we've seen a long line of Hollywood stars and international celebrities visiting the Pearl of the Orient. Today, Paris is in Manila. BEP's Apl.de.ap is in Pampanga.

A good sign for us because, one, we are no longer viewed as a place where one can die any minute, and two, it seems that our economy is turning rosy. There's got to be something to be had here for international stars to come. Now, that last one is pretty sad.

We pay dollars to Hollywood concert artists while the local ones go overseas to earn theirs. There's a news bit that revealed one local artist producing his own concerts because local producers prefer to stage international singers. Put Taylor Swift, Bruno Mars, Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber, 30 seconds to Mars, Maroon 5 and Korn all into the equation. Is colonial mentality still at work here? Nah, I don't think so. That piece is old school, old news.

My take on this is this. Because of cutting edge technology, the world has become a global village where everyone knows who's who, what's new and who's big in every field. Over Twitter we're exposed to first hand concert reviews of people who actually came to the concert and not from writers who were either paid to promote the artist or rain the parade. We can Youtube a concert in London that ended three hours before posting. With cable TV, we can watch Today Show in the afternoon of the same day it was aired in New York. With technology, we get to try the merchandise before purchase. We know if we are getting our money's worth. We can compare and contrast and make a choice.

Our local artists need to shape up or be content to entertaining OFWs who in their homesickness crave for some local color, where the only thing that matters is that you can sing those old familiar tunes from the land of Juan.

(Apl.de.ap is here to do some public service, though. But BEP has been here several times to strut their wares.)

"Politeismo" and Counterfeit Art

Mideo Cruz's sudden ascent to popularity (or notoriety) platform is...I can't even finish this sentence. Although, this ruckus has been going on for days too many I'm ashamed to say it is only now that I dared Google the "art" for myself. I've read news about it with ample description of the bold and the daring. I could only trust my mind to paint the picture for me. "I closed my eyes and all the world dropped dead," as Plath once wrote, but I didn't make the vision up inside my head. I feel sad for Mideo.

It is like he's been trying to speak to the world too long, but the world just wouldn't listen. His presence had to be acknowledged so he sat on an A-Bomb in the middle of the square. People stopped and paid attention, way too much attention.

In an interview with Reuters, he said his work “is about the worship of relics and how idolatry evolves through history and modern culture.” The medium that he produced for that message may be right but his message is wrong. No one worships relics but pagans. Thus, using Catholic symbols is inappropriate. Mr. Cruz needs to reach enlightenment before he can call a spiritual experience names. He needs to attain Nirvana before he can assign symbols to another's personal grace. Spirituality is an individual experience. It is not a concept drawn from several characteristics of specific samples.

This leads me to Leo Tolstoy's concept of "What is art."*

In 1898, Leo Tostoy wrote his major work on criticism, What Is Art?, as an attempt to define art in terms of his own Christian faith.

Tolstoy states that good art is a means of communication, of progress, and of the movement of humanity forward toward perfection (Smith and Parks, 677).

What Is Art? envisions a kind of art that is accessible and comprehensible to everyone, and that which unifies men into universal brotherhood. For this to materialize a work of art should evoke "infectiousness" to the reader. "The stronger the infection, the better is the art" (675).

According to Tolstoy, there are three conditions to the degree of the infectiousness of art. These are the individuality of the feeling transmitted, the clarity of expression and the sincerity of the artist. By individuality, he means, the more personal the feeling art transmits, the more strongly the reader relates to it. By the clarity of expression, he means that in the work, the reader finds for the first time the exact meaning and expression for the feeling he has long known and felt. Of the three conditions of infectiousness, the degree of sincerity in the artist is the most important. For when the receiver of the art feels that the artist himself is infected by his own work, and the artist creates art for himself and not only for others, the mental condition of the artist infects the receiver (677).

Tolstoy further states that the absence of any of these conditions excludes a work from the category of art and falls under what he calls a "counterfeit art."

But what is good art and what is bad art in terms of subject matter?

The essence of Christian perception is the recognition by every man of his sonship to God and the feeling that will unite him with God and one another. If religious perception exists in the society, then art should aim at this and be appraised on the basis of this religious perception.

However, a great amount of counterfeit art had been developed to entertain the upper class of the Renaissance period due to the unbelief of religion by this group. The great misfortune of the time was that people did not embrace the supreme religious art but rather that which was against Christian principles.

Be that as it may, the Christian ideal has changed and reversed everything. As Tolstoy puts it, the ideal is no longer about the greatness of an individual, but his humility, purity, compassion and love. The hero is no longer Mary Magdalene in the days of her beauty, but in the day of her repentance.

The negativity in Mideo Cruz's "Politeismo" does not evoke infectiousness but rather hatred and divisiveness. His message is not even personal, but rather a commentary of what he finds repulsive in the world. His symbolic concept brings sadness, not joy; mourning, and not the celebration of life which art always ought to do.

This is not to say that art only shows what is beautiful. What art, what real art does is show irony. Like a lily on a hill in the midst of war. An innocent child dancing while you cry. A single firefly in the night. There is always beauty in irony. However, this kind of irony may only be achieved through a medium by an artist who has seen the longest tunnel of darkness and pushed and groped to reach the light.

Show me an artist with a pure heart and you have also shown me a great art.


*Taken from my graduate school essay.

"Inglourious Basterds," an El Fili Rip-off?

(Yes, I still have Rizal hangover.)

I chanced upon Quentin Tarantino's 2009 film "Inglourious Basterds" midday of Sunday. I realized then it really pays to surf channels on a lazy day.

This is a war film about Hitler and Germany and the Jews. I'd like to ask myself if no one would, why would you watch a film like that on a Sunday that is supposed to be a chick flic day for working slaves --> redundant! -- like you? Christoph Waltz, with his acting in the opening scene, forced me to sit down, pay attention and watch. The guy had such fierce, bloodcurdling abilities, the likes that save The Oscars some face. The Academy awarded him Best Supporting Actor for it. He reminds me of John Malcovich whom I've just discovered has yet to win an Academy. What?? In Inglourious, Waltz showed "suave brutality" (to borrow a quote from Gone With The Wind, describing Rhett Butler) in most of his scenes. One is torn between loving and hating him; and pitying the protagonist and cheering the antagonist on. Which reminds me too that Brad Pitt in the film looked like a trying hard Clark Gable. Can't stop myself; I have to say that.

The film has the indelible stamp of Tarantino on it. Like listening to a song unmistakably Jackson's, this film shouts Quentin. Titled chapters, tags, snapshots and "freeze" moments.

Wikipedia says Tarantino considers this his best written film to date and spent about a decade developing/writing it. But he lost to a Filipino film maker Brilliante Mendoza for Best Director in Cannes. After watching the film, I discovered why he lost. And this without me seeing Mendoza's "Kinatay" yet. But make no mistake about it, I enjoyed it despite the length. Overall it's grade "A." Still, I have to make a "better than thou" critique of it with your indulgence, of course.

There were cliche moments. Two scenes stood out quite stupid I couldn't believe Tarantino did it. I'm not sure if it were a device that the director used to "make the audience laugh at things that aren't supposed to be funny," which Tarantino describes most of his films to be.

One. The cinema owner after shooting the German soldier whom she despised for being German and for pestering her (He was in love with her. How nice.), approached the fallen soldier who made some coughing noise. She touched him tentatively. In turn, the bloodied Nazi produced a gun from somewhere his person and shot her repeatedly till Kingdom Come. And die they both did. Perhaps in that critical moment of confusion and pity, the cinema owner lost some common sense. Let's blame it on love again.

Two. The German actress who was also a spy working with the Inglourious Basterds left a shoe in a bar after an encounter with the German soldiers. She absorbed a gun shot on her right leg. But the shoe that was left behind was that of the right foot. Col Landa (Waltz), who came to investigate the scene of the encounter found the shoe and an autographed napkin with her name on it. Those two items pointed at her as traitor and spy. It was deus ex machina in favor of the villain. And I'm never a fan of this device. Anyway, the actress-spy was trapped and caught and killed by Landa when she attended the movie premier that was part of the Nazi leadership assassination plot. But hey, I love that gothic Cinderella moment when Landa fit the shoe on the spy's uninjured, cast-free foot.

And this storyline is not quite original. Gather all the high ranking officials and all the Who's Who in an oppressive regime in one place and set it on fire while everyone enjoys art and hypocrisy. Rizal has already written about that in El Filibusterismo in 1891. The only difference is that Rizal changed his mind and sent a young lovesick man running into the house to throw the lamp with the bomb into the river. Tarantino preferred the macabre and burned the house down.

But who am I to judge? I've never directed a film, either for Mother Lily or Hollywood. I'm a nobody in this industry. I'm just a simple movie patron with an opinion.

#PrayForLondon

That was the trending topic on Twitter a few days ago.

What was highlighted in the riot was the looting spree. It reminds me of Jose Saramago's novel "Blindness." The only difference is, this is real and those who did the act had eyes to see.

Perhaps, we can all close our eyes and #PrayForLondon.


A not-so-convenient store.

Flat Screen TV?

Clothes.

More clothes?

Snacks??

Wines and cigarettes??

Signatures.

More signatures?

Pioneer.

(Thank you to the various sources on the Net for the larger than life pics.)

City of London Is Falling Down

The past several days we've heard and seen how the heart of England has been smashed, burned and looted. And the world asks why? We have been given several reasons, but none so equivocally. The Atlantic Wire summarized it down to six:

1. Opportunistic Criminality
2. Ruling Conservative Party's austerity measures--a mixture of spending cuts and tax hikes
3. Simmering Problems Among Black Youth
4. Simmering Problems Among All Youth
5. Hard Economic Times
6. Wealth Disparities

Granted that all of the above are true, are they enough to burn down a city and lose humanity? To be devoid of reason like irrational animals? With apologies to these animals.

Grudgingly, I want to embrace Gabriela, Anak Bayan, Bayan Muna, Partido ng Manggagawa and other leftist groups for their tamer approach to going on strike. To bring up EDSA 1 will be a stretch.

Some blame multi-culturism in Europe, leaving racist remarks like leave Europe to the whites; the colored ones go back to their third-world origin. Well, why not? But who's gonna clean the oven, who's gonna clean the toilet? Still, if the Western World is so bad, why does half the world long for it and be in it? Why can't the world just sit still where they are and be happy while at it?

Because the grass is always greener in Europe and there's a-plenty at the land of milk and honey and the great dream always comes true in the land of the free. Never mind if Malaysia is truly Asia or the Philippines has more than the usual.

Thus, we have these:






(Above pictures aren't mine, of course. Thank you to the various sources on the Net.)

Bound to Brokenheart

Someone asked me where I was going. I said I'm...

I was warned not to reach for the sky, just watch the beauty and enjoy. But like a moth to a lamp, I allowed myself to be burned.

Yes, I have asked the Universe for the sky, not the world. In asking for the sky I also asked to be allowed to fly, to have wings for a dream.

Today, I still see my feet firmly rooted to the ground as gravity pulls me down each time I try to lift me up.

Gravity and the universe put things in order by limiting one to a box, to a world made for stereotypes and destinies drawn since birth.

Seriously, can one fly and not ask for too much?

Migz, Merci, Angie

I was in a cab from Eastwood going to Megamall when this man on the radio, a politician by the sound of him, started rattling off his achievements and how much they cost and who benefitted. After a minute or so, I recognized him as Migz Zubiri. That he helped build this school, those classrooms, that hospital, those roads; sent hundreds of college students to school, helped countless of sick people get well, and that no one who came to his office left unaided. Wow! Why hadn't I come to his office? He was never absent in congress. He authored hundreds of bills which quite a number were passed into laws.

I started looking for earplugs. What a privilege "I'm the greatest" speech! Then...

He was sincere. He was dedicated. But he was husband first before he was a senator; a father first before a legislator. And because people, majority of them Filipinos, are so fond of "romanticizing the past," he could not do his job as wholeheartedly as before. Anymore.

The past few weeks, people have come out one by one, group by group, giving their own confessions about the fraud in the 2007 elections; revelations that point to him as one of the beneficiaries of the wholesale electoral cheating in Mindanao when the incumbent registered 12 against the opposition's 0, reminiscent of the 2004 scandal when Gloria helloed Garci.

His family: his wife and children suffer every day the news drags his name each time they talk about cheating in the 2007 elections. They have them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. So he resigns. He simply cannot go on with the indignity of it all and pretend it is not happening, half hoping GMA would come to the rescue and release a gag memo. The only problem is we now have a new president and his name isn't Gloria.

So he resigns.

Before him, Merceditas Gutierrez resigned. Before her, a former general put a bullet through his heart.

And CHED would still not budge and sign up for that glorious Twitter account.

I dropped by the mega mall to check if National Bookstore's 70% cut price was real. Bogus. I went home with a book cut down by measly 20%.

I Still Don't Get RH

Before I type my opinions away again, I've read Senate Bill 2865 or AN ACT PROVIDING FOR A NATIONAL POLICY ON REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH AND POPULATION AND DEVELOPMENT.

After reading, I'm exasperated by the fact that a lot of the sections in this bill are redundant with existing laws. May I speak only about those I sincerely and categorically know about.

SEC. 15. Employers' Responsibilities. - The Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE) shall ensure that employers respect the reproductive rights of workers and their right to gender equality.

Employers shall also uphold the right of all workers to know work conditions which may affect their health, particularly those related to their reproductive health. Employers shall furnish in writing the following information to all employees and applicants:

(a) The medical and health benefits which workers are entitled to, including maternity and paternity leave benefits; and

(b) The reproductive health hazards associated with work, including hazards that may affect their reproductive functions especially for pregnant women.

If Section 15 does not exist yet, I will sue my company for an amount equivalent to my salary times the number of months I have been with them. But I can't because these things are already in effect. Mama Mia!

SEC. 17. Duties and Responsibilities…

(e) Corporate citizens shall exercise prudence in advertising its products or services through all forms of media, especially on matters relating to sexuality, further taking into consideration its influence on children and the youth.

Do we need a new law for this? Seriously? Well, if we're dealing with Mr. Willie Revillame, maybe. But heck, do we need the RH Law to finally put Revillame out of business?

SEC. 21. Appropriations. - The amounts appropriated in the current annual General Appropriations Act (GAA) for reproductive health and natural and artificial family planning under the DOH and POPCOM and other concerned agencies shall be allocated and utilized for the implementation of this Act. Such additional sums necessary to provide for the upgrading of facilities necessary to meet BEMONC and CEMONC standards; the training and deployment of skilled health providers; natural and artificial family planning commodity requirements as outlined in Sec. 10, and for other 20 reproductive health services, shall be included in the subsequent years' general appropriations. The Gender and Development (GAD) funds of LGUs and national agencies shall be a source of funding for the implementation of this Act.

Bingo! So there is an existing "annual General Appropriations Act (GAA) for reproductive health and natural and artificial family planning under the DOH and POPCOM." Then what are we still debating on here?

GAD fund is mandated to be 5% of LGU's total appropriation. And GAD budget supports "personal services, for example, the salaries of workers directly engaged in GAD programs, project and activities; maintenance and other Operating Expenses for the cost of managing a women’s shelter, a women’s health project, training of women in non-traditional occupations, and training of field workers in GAD, among others; and capital outlay such as building of and providing equipment for women’s shelters and training centers for women."

This is all under Executive Order 273, which approved and adopted the Philippine Plan for Gender-Responsive Development (PPGD) – 1995-2025.

Can we not just make do with an existing law, we need to create new ones? Can't we simply add flesh to it? Or give more meaning to it? Do we have too much time in our hands to debate? Too much budget surplus for coffee and bottled water and pancit canton and empanada in the Senate during sponsorship speeches?

And if pro-RH Bill folks are so hell-bent in protecting women and children, then instead of RH, let's focus on the Divorce Bill which makes more, so much more sense. But of course, that's going to be another war waged against the Catholic Church.

Movies: HP7PII and Facebook

I watched Harry Potter Deathly Hallows Part 2 last Tuesday afternoon when the office sent employees home due to Juaning. Come on.

There were no long lines, no whiny fans, no all-knowing fanatics, no running children, no mess, no hazards. Just a theater and a ticket seller and a ticket checker.

And the movie. Was it within my expectations of the HP final installment? Some short points.

1. Harry is better looking in this movie than in the previous ones, after Azkaban. What can I say, I'm still a girl. But an older Harry, 19 years later, could have been better looking. Come on, better men age better, look better.

2. I disagree with some reviews that this installment had too many fight scenes. What do you expect, a stream of consciousness technique?

3. A kissing scene in the midst of war? What is this? The Vancouver riot after the Canucks lost to Boston in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals?

4. Alan Rickman's Severus Snape was good but didn't give me goosebumps, just "Hmmm."

5. Harry's heir apparent was too timid. He was supposed to be a Weasley, too, wasn't he? And was supposed to have been raised without fear and violence by loving parents. So why? A changeling?

The winner of the 83rd Academy Awards for Best Adapted Screenplay, The Social Network, does have some witty lines. I particularly like the scene between the Harvard president Larry Summers and the Winklevoss twins.

SUMMERS: That’s just their own stupidity, I should have been there. Darkness is the absence of light and stupidity in that instance was the absence of me.

SUMMERS: Everyone at Harvard is inventing something. Harvard undergraduates believe that inventing a job is better than finding a job so I’ll suggest again that the two of you come up with a new "new project."

And more outstanding exchanges, between and among characters. Why did I not watch this in the theater? Was this movie even premiered here? Oh well.

Despite all good points, I wouldn't be surprised if traditional feminists raise hell what with the way women are depicted in this movie. I wouldn't even go there.

Azkals Not Making the Headlines

Had the Azkals won over Kuwait's Al-Azraq, they would have made it to the headlines, SONA or no SONA.

But they failed, 3-scruciating-O against the football Gulf champ who has just beaten Saudi Arabia and Iraq. But stop right there. That isn't so very bad. No, not at all. Kuwait could have beaten us black and blue and would have scored more than we scored over Sri Lanka two weeks ago, 4-0.

It may be true that 80% of the time, my estimate, it was Kuwait foot kicking or head butting the ball, but that's all. I think the Azkals did a pretty good job in the first half of the game. It was in the first half that they could have scored twice, almost thanks to Phil Y.

The second half was a terrible half, though. The second goal for Kuwait came in after a tangle of a lot of white jerseys and only a speck of blue scrambling for the ball too close to the Kuwaiti goal post. Azkals goalkeeper Etheridge could only gawk at what seemed to be a game of "agawan ng buko." Then a swift kick from a blue man sent the ball to the goal and Etheridge bowed and let the ball in, like it was "His Highness." That second goal sent me to my room to sleep, leaving my brother and father behind.

The Azkals DID show potentials and quite a promise. With more support and less of a little-too-much adulation, they may just make it. Next time.

Then they can have all the headlines worshiping them across the Pacific and the Arabian Peninsula.

The First Poem I've Fallen In Love With

This is the first poem I have ever fallen in love with. I was in second year High School.

To the Man I Married
by Angela Manalang Gloria

I

You are my earth and all that earth implies:
The gravity that ballasts me in space,
The air I breathe, the land that stills my cries
For food and shelter against devouring days.

You are the earth whose orbit marks my way
And sets my north and south, my east and west,
Your are the final, elemental clay
The driven heart must turn to for its rest.

If in your arms that hold me now so near
I lift my keening thoughts to another one,
As trees long rooted to the earth uprear
Their quickening leaves and flowers to the sun,
You who are earth, O never doubt that I
Need you no less because I need the sky!

II

I can not love you with a love
That outcompares the boundless sea,
For that were false, as no such love
And no such ocean can ever be.

But I can love you with a love
As finite as the wave that dies
And dying holds from crest to crest
The blue of everlasting skies.