Something's gone awfully wrong.

I've moved.

2007-04-18T23:29:00.000+08:00

http://nerveending.wordpress.com

I hate Bakekang

2006-11-14T22:28:00.000+08:00

Hell is paved with good intentions, so goes the ancient English proverb, and this "teleserye" on GMA7 is no different.

Caparas's original Bakekang was a figure straight out of Greek tragedy. From what I understand of the character, Bakekang is a character filled with the hubris of vengeance. In that story, Bakekang defines herself by her ugliness to such an extent that she becomes unable to escape her condition. Even though she was once beautiful and kind on the inside, she becomes consumed by her desire for revenge. In the end, she loses all that is dear to her - her daughter. In her grief and despair, she commits suicide, hoping that in that final coup de grace, she may find her redemption. The moral of the story was if that you stop thinking of yourself as a victim, you won't be.

Pa-victim! Pa-victim!

For all of Carlo J. Caparas's many crimes against popular culture, this may have been his one mitigating circumstance - behind the lengthy, winding dialogue (a failing of many Philippine komiks and screen writers) - lies this gem of a story.

In this re-imagining of Bakekang, the tragedy that is Bakekang just got thrown under the bus by viewer demand. First of all, there is absolutely no viewer demand to see those two children playing the child versions of Kristal, Charming, and Lorraine. According to the Wikipedia site on Bakekang, the series was extended to accommodate these "child stars". Any "demand" so claimed by GMA7 must be due to production delays or *gasp* a flaw in the focus group. I have no idea why people would watch two young girls sing for thirty minutes when they can't sing. By can't sing I mean those poor kids couldn't find the right note if it hit them in the face. Why didn't GMA7 just overdub their parts with songs by children who actually can sing? I thought this was television! If it weren't for the inherent sucker in my wife, we'd have switched channels long ago. This is terrible.

Second, I have no idea whether she is tired from the production schedule, but Sunshine Dizon is worse than a block of bricks at times. Perhaps it's because she has no experience being ugly. Ugly people are people and not statues that happen to have speaking lines. On the other hand, Manilyn Reynes and Sheryl Cruz are absolutely wonderful! All those years of experience working under different directors are now finally bearing fruit. Remember how Cherie Pie Picache underwent an acting renaissance several years back (because she was able to refine her craft)? It's the same feeling I get when watching these two at work.

You know how you look thin when you sit beside a fat person? The same thing applies here. Please don't tell me that the director made Sunshine Dizon act so dead, because Bakekang is one of the most hysterical characters in Philippine fiction. Sunshine looks like she's about to burst laughing at her lines at any time. Couldn't they have gotten Harlene Bautista for the job? Where are your seasoned veterans when you need them?

I have the answer, they're playing bit roles so as to let the stars the network wants to promote look real stupid. Who said that showbiz was something logical?

Finally, the whole symmetry and beauty of the Bakekang story is ruined by its conversion into a teleserye. I understand the commercial demand to showcase as many stars as possible, but I honestly believe that promoting these stars at the expense of story quality is in the long run detrimental to the industry. One need look only at the wild popularity of Korean miniseries (on which these new shows are patterned) and their clean lines. I'm sure that a production that is cleaner (better structure in plot and character) and better defined will make more money, post-dubbing, than one that simply caters to market demand at the moment because of the ratings war.

I've got news to the networks: THE BIGGER MONEY IS ELSEWHERE!

So, since I'm stuck with watching Bakekang (my wife is inexplicably hooked, waiting for something good to come up), I've decided to boycott all products placing ads on the show. No to Bakekang-sponsoring companies, and I'm bringing my friends with me!! That way, no matter what the ratings are, hopefully these companies get the point.

I hope my boycott doesn't last any much longer though, because there are some good companies I have to boycott, like Rejoice Fruity Smooth with Apple and Papaya extracts, Ponds Detox Spotless White Cream (black is not necessarily ugly - look at Wilma Doesnt), Milo (ouch!), Jollibee (there goes my lunch budget), Rexona (you finally let me down), Earth and Sky Lemon Iced Tea, and Cloud 9, Touch Mobile (stop wasting Ayala money on that show), Tide (use SM Bonus Detergent! it's the same anyway), Lactum (my baby uses Enfapro - if Lactum use makes my child appreciate this Bakekang, it's not giving my child 100% nourishment - maybe it's only around 10% nourishment), and Cream Silk (all these Unilever products - someone shoot their brand managers).

In the meantime, I think I'll take dinner when Bakekang's on and wait for that Korean novella that comes right after. I can't take being a victim anymore.

My self-esteem is fine, f*ck you very much.

2006-06-18T04:07:00.000+08:00

(originally on bleedingtodeath, sometime 2002)

Never apologize.

That’s a rule I learned from some marketing seminar I took while I was a bug-eyed college student. I guess for someone who’s been apologizing his entire life it was a big deal: you mean you can be freed from responsibility by just denying it when the shit hits the fan? What a concept.

I can’t really say it’s served me well. I still find myself groveling at the feet of those whom I feel I’ve offended in some way. Take my girlfriend, for example. Guilt has a strong way of making you lose self respect.

I guess that’s why some people don’t bother with guilt or make sure they’re not in a position to feel any.

I’ve now come to the realization (yes, just now, as I write this) that all of our relationships in life, when reduced to its basic parts, are nothing but negotiation and renegotiation. You try to find the upper hand and exploit it for all its worth. When that’s done, you find yet more leverage to make the someone else do your bidding. It’s a selfish way of looking at things, sure, but at least it manipulates people without them really knowing it.

For example, you can be kind to a “friend”. Gratitude is a great way to induce guilt, especially if the person really needs something you have. It doesn’t need to have monetary value. The person might just need to waste your time. As long as it’s something you have that he doesn’t, it’s enough to get you ahead.

My girlfriend once told me that women were better at this than men. Women, she reasoned out, weren’t dense enough to know that they’re being screwed real bad behind their backs. Mothers do it all the time to their daughters, she explained. Girlfriends do it to their boyfriends, they just don’t know it’s being done.

“Take a look at you, for example,” she said while guzzling my beer. “You’re nothng but a bum.”
“So?”
“So it means that you’re an ungrateful sonofabitch. Your mother pays for everything and you do nothing. You don’t pull your own weight.”
“So?”
“So it gives her more reason to say that you’re nothing but a mama’s boy, dependent on mama for everything.”
“And?”
“You’ll never amount to anything. I’m leaving you.”

Ouch. At this point I start groveling, which never works, so I cry and promise to get her the complete set of Ringu videos she’s been dying to watch since forever.

“We’ll see,” she says, and the cycle continues.

I want a PS3.

2006-06-14T21:56:00.000+08:00

Master Swordsman

2006-06-08T02:47:00.000+08:00

My friend Cliff has one of those newfangled lightsabers that are darned near indestructible compared to those slide out ones. They also look cooler in photos than they actually should. Of course, this light saber costs around ten times more than those old el cheapo ones that fit over those red Eveready flashlights.

Check out how straight that light stick is! If it wasn't so long, you'd think that it was just some overgrown glow stick.

In grade and high school, I used to go to my friends' houses to borrow their comic book collections. I think my habit's crossed over to their more expensive toys.

Not that I'm complaining.

Signs of the Times No. 5: Pinilit

2006-05-28T02:03:00.000+08:00

Obviously, the ad copywriters at Dole Philippines have run out of ideas.

Who the hell names their kids Pinellopy. People are bound to pronounce this name pin-YEL-yo-py. Not that there's a Y before that first E, but that it's going to be there by force of habit.

Maybe they didn't want people to pronounce her name pen-ELOWP. That wouldn't jive with pineapple.

What do I know? I'm just a law student.

The Testicle Shrinker

2006-05-24T15:05:00.000+08:00

Back when the open space beside the PowerPlant Mall was still a parking lot, many people from the law school who were too arsed into getting basement parking stickers found it more convenient to park there.

Unfortunately, people who do park there run into the risk of parking next to cars that require two parking slots, such as this Ferrari.Of course, if you were such a law student (one who is eternally broke) and driving a piece of junk such as that beat up Sentra to the left of the Ferrari, I'm sure your balls would shrink, too.

Your balls would shrink if your raggedy-ass Nissan had aftermarket door locks haphazardly installed in Banawe because new dealer-installed door locks were way beyond your budget. They'd shrink too if your Nissan's ignition switch could be turned by anything flat, like say, a screwdriver, which happened to be in your pocket.

To save your pride, you could take a picture of yourself beside the shining red Ferrari, as if to claim ownership, but you know everyone who does that doesn't actually own the Ferrari. You're above that. So you stay away and take this picture to commemorate the day your balls shrank so much they retreated into your abdominal cavity. In fact, they retreated so much, you became, for all of two seconds, Nancy Navalta.

And then the moment passes. All becomes well and you worship God's good grace that he gave you an opportunity to ogle a prancing black stallion wearing a red dress without looking like some kind of idiot. After all, he did park beside you.

A Long Story

2006-05-09T18:25:00.000+08:00

I had the pleasure of being reintroduced to Kat, the sister of an old, old friend over the weekend. It's always nice to meet people like that. They remind you of earlier, simpler times.

I wish I was back in high school.

***

I was supposed to be conducting a small lecture on how to write newsfeatures for the school paper, while the paper's managing editor managed to convince her to give a similarly small talk on how to shoot good photographs.

We were several hours late enroute to my place in Batangas, and people had yet to eat dinner. Instead of stopping for bulalo as planned, I encouraged the entourage to get food to go from the superhighway McDonald's and from there ride to the beach.

It was then when the introductions were made.

For someone as terrible with names as I am, an introduction made while standing in line for fast food has the same effect as being introduced in the middle of a dance floor to a gaggle of people. It just doesn't happen for me. Adding to the disconnect between name and face was the fact that we were riding in separate vehicles. I rode with my in-laws, while Kat rode with the rest of the workshop participants brave enough to come.

So it came to pass that as we finally sat down to drink cheap tequila and other alcoholic potions later in the evening that I knew nothing of Kat, save that she was a guest in my place and that she had never before gotten piss drunk in her entire life. This had to change.

***

Back when I was working for a non-existent magazine, one of the financiers for the venture told me a truism I've found most useful: you can always tell a lot about someone from the high school that person attended.

Noticing that Kat had a decent accent, I asked her details about high school. Where did she go to? When did she go to high school?

"St. Scho, 1996," she replied. That was my wife's batch.

"No shit! My wife left St. Scho in 1996," my voice turning giddy at the thought of meeting someone who might know my wife but just not recognize her. Ten years does change the way people look.

"I mean I entered high school in 1996," she replied.

Egg on my face notwithstanding, it was all good: most of the people in my law school block entered high school at around the same time, so the level of discomfort at talking to people way younger than I am wasn't that great. The fact that Kat went to St. Scholastica's made it all the easier.

***

No one goes through high school unscathed, and I believe that it's in when people find that their scars are similar to others that they find kinship. It's the same mindset that keeps old fraternities and sororities alive. Philosopher-architect Alain de Botton also notes that bonds forged on shared experiences are stronger, such that those who have survived a traumatic experience (like say, the Boxing Day tsunami) will have a bond stronger than those friends who meet every now and then for coffee.

In Kat's case, it wasn't that I went to St. Scho (which obviously isn't the case), but it I believe that I earned most of my high school scars from that point in my life when I spent more time there than studying in UP or elsewhere. Anyway, I have the yearbook to prove it, and a hundred million stories to boot.

***

When I was in high school, suits were sent through letters. It would be not uncommon for one enterprising student to sell a wide array of perfumed stationery, as if to match the vanity of the girls his classmates admired. The letters would be sent through one of the boys, who would act as a courier.

The courier’s role was to gather ardent letters from suitors in school, for him to later go to a girl’s house at the dead of night to exchange correspondence from with equally ardent admirers from the girl’s school. The courier was usually someone living near the girl. If he was interested in her, then sending the letters was an added bonus. If he wasn’t, then at least he would be the first to open his letter.

Oftentimes, the letters served no other purpose than to relate to the recepient the fears and experiences that person was feeling at the moment, as the story would inevitably be told again later that night in hushed tones as to not wake the parental units.

As for me, I usually spent the better part of the day, Math class included, writing the perfect letter. After all, I was a senior and expected I could get away with anything. I was right.

This scenario of letter-writing and exchanging would be repeated with as many schools as links (made through interactions, official and “underground”, soirées, and older brothers’ birthday parties) would permit – after all, we were all playing the Lotharios mothers warn daughters about.

I related as much to Kat, who, admittedly, had grown up in an era of text messaging and unlimited mobile phone calls.

“Really? That’s so romantic! All we did was text each other.”

And that's the end of that story.

***

The problem with writing letters (especially angry ones) is that they last longer than your intentions at the time of the writing. To remedy this problem, one must either infuriate the recepient to the point that they either return the letters to you or burn them in disgust. Fail to do so and some pretty awkward situations are a sure bet in the future.

This is my personal embarassing letter moment.

So it came to pass that one day I received a call from a dear friend, for whom I had felt some form of unrequited attraction several years back.

“Hey! Kiko! Guess what I found?” It was good to hear her this chipper. “I was going through my old journals when I found your letter. It’s hilarious!”

Oh no.

I had once written her an angry letter when we were younger. I never really meant the things I wrote in the letter, as it was the histrionic outburst of a person who could not understand how everything had gone to shit.

“Please burn it,” I begged. “That piece of shit belongs to the garbage can.”

“I’ll do that later,” she said between giggles. “But not before I show it to the girls.”

Terrific. I can only pray that she knows how mortified I am at the very thought.

“It’s okay, Kiko. I was never mad at you.”

If you’re reading this, I was never mad at you too.

Tawag Ka Uli ni Aling Suming

2006-04-01T18:47:00.000+08:00

From the CMC Alumni Foundation, a press release.

Calling all graduates and friends of the University of the Philippines College of Mass Communication (UP CMC). You are now being called upon to “show some skin.” Proceed to Party Central (in front of ABS-CBN) at 141 Mother Ignacia Street, Quezon City on April 8 (Saturday), 6 p.m.
Remember Aling Suming, the recently retired, longest-staying administrative staff who has been with the college since its early years? This time she is calling you to a fellowship where you will have a good time and have another opportunity to help the college.
The summer fun night is called “Fun Raising: Tawag ka uli ni Aling Suming.” It will be a night of raffles, dancing and singing. Among those expected to perform are Giselle Sanchez, Jaja Bolivar, Rannie Raymundo, Masculados and M-gage. There will also be a Mr. and Ms. CMC Contest and oath-taking of the UP CMC Alumni Association (UP CMCAA) officers led by Maryo J. De Los Reyes, Jessica Soho, “Neny” Pernia, Lois Villanueva, Jane Vinculado, Arminda V. Santiago, Danilo Arao and Erika Dandal; and members of the Board of Directors Dr. Grace “Gigi” Javier Alfonso, Jaja Bolivar, Yasmin Crisostomo, Karen Davila, Ambet Nabus, Egay Navalta and Lourdes “Odette” Portus. The oath-taking will be officiated by the mother of all CMC students and graduates, Mrs. Consuelo “Aling Suming” Agapito.
The entrance fee for the April 8 summer fun night at Party Central is P500 which entitles the holder to food, drinks and a raffle ticket. For inquiries, please call Gina at (632) 928-3188, Luming at (632) 920-6867 or Katkat at (632) 920-6864.

Since I can't make it (because I have an exam in Conflict of Laws) I'm doing the next best thing: getting everyone else from UP CMC to come.

And to those of you who still think I'm from film or from broadcasting, I'm a journalism major, for what it's worth.

Evolution Hates Morons

2006-04-01T15:29:00.000+08:00

"Stupidity is relative," wrote Scott Adams in The Dilbert Principle, and I happen to agree.

Now, before you start tagging your bosses and their immediate relatives with the idea that stupidity may somehow be a genetic trait, what Scott meant is that people who are relatively intelligent in one field will somehow act incredibly stupid in another.

The thing is, this lunacy happens every day, to almost every one. Fortunately for the continued existence of civilized society, this stupidity is kept in check by others pointing out your own idiocy just in time.

These stupid acts are done, not because people intend to be stupid, but because they seem rational at the time. I know this from personal experience.

In college, someone I met in online chat told me that she would sleep with me if I drove all the way to her doorstep. The catch was she lived in Lucena and I took my residence somewhere in the middle of Pasig City. Intrigued at the opportunity to prove that no woman sleeps with a man just like that, I took a car early one Sunday morning and, sans cash, drove three and a half hours to a small Jollibee near the city cathedral. I told no one where I was or where I was going.

(Un)fortunately for me, she proved me wrong. Apparently some women do sleep with men just like that.

The past can’t haunt you if it wasn’t there, right? Wrong. I found my girlfriend at my door when I got home. Her eyes were bleary from crying. Not only did she know, but every single female in the house knew of my shenanigans. I get shit from them to this very day.

Sometimes, one’s relative stupidity ends up as a legend oft retold as a warning to otherwise brash youngsters who have yet to learn their place. Such is the case in this story of a friend dating from the mid-1980’s.

According to my friend, a provincial warlord’s son was ruling the roost at a fancy discotheque, when he crossed paths with another who felt similarly entitled. The warlord’s son immediately launched into a tirade, and demanded that the other ought to know him. After all, he was the son of an untouchable man who had put away his political foes in his own backyard.

“I don’t know who you are,” the other man replied. “I’m Jackie Enrile.”

The fate of that warlord’s son is not known. I imagine he did not sleep well that night. Now whether or not that other man was really Jackie Enrile is immaterial as the point of the story was to drive home another point – pick your fights.

Sadly, this aberrant stupidity can end in tragic results (i.e., these people get nominated for the Darwin Awards). Take, for instance, the fate of the late Delmar Redota.

Just last March 15, Redota, a nine year old student from Upper Bicutan died from food poisoning exactly a week after her teacher, identified in the Philippine Daily Inquirer as Brenda Elmabuena, allegedly ordered her and a fellow classmate to eat pencil shavings that her classmates had thrown in the air, as a disciplinary measure.

While the classmate who instigated the fracas faked eating the pencil shavings, Redota chowed down on the tasty treats with gusto – in other words, just as she was told. Of course, I need not pontificate on the nutritional value of pencil shavings once found on the floor of a public school.

It is an indictment of society when the innocent, in this case, Redota, die for the seemingly small transgressions of miscreants in their midst.

Redota was later found to have died from a throat infection, but I wonder if the microbes on the floor of the public school did anything to exacerbate the situation. Also, if this was so, then I wonder why Redota was made to eat the shavings as someone that sick - being a week away from death - must seem to be the least likely person to throw pencil shavings in the air in a fit of mischief.

Finally, we are told that Proclamation 1017 and Executive Order 464 are valid by the Executive, and that we should waste no time politicking and immersing ourselves in legal gobbledygook. After all, these issues are moot, what with Proclamation 1017 lifted, and with rumors afloat that the High Court is all set to dismiss the petitions to hold them unconstitutional as they have become for all intents and purposes moot and academic.

They even add insult to injury by venting their fury on the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism. Their reports were instrumental in bringing down Hitlerita’s predecessor, calling them anarchists and whatnot. Now that the PCIJ's guns are trained on them, they're trying to do something that Erap couldn't: shutting down the truly critical press.

Of late, the object of their ire seems to be Father Bernas. Apparently, when you've run out of FPJ's and Eraps to roast, you go after the intelligentsia that tells it how it is - that this administration is running on fumes.

To paraphrase Mystery, a noted pickup artist, if you’re as stupid as that, evolution should unapologetically weed you out of existence.

Take me to your dealer

2006-03-23T04:02:00.000+08:00

This is what happens when you ask Father Bernas too many questions.

God Bless the Child

2006-03-23T02:51:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, The Simpsons were the biggest thing to hit local TV. Everything they touched turned to gold. They came out with books, mugs, shirts, stuffed toys, a larger-than-life arcade game for six people, and wonder of wonders, an album.

Being the sucker for slick marketing and clean packaging that I was (and still am), I wasted no time in grabbing up this case study in spinoff sales. It featured a catchy carrier single, "Do the Bartman". Of course, this was in 1991, and back then I was an impressionable young lad with absolutely no musical taste.

Since that was in the golden age of the cassette tape, you really had no choice but to listen to the whole tape. As lawyers say, back then there was no such animal as repeat. Halfway through the tape, I heard Lisa Simpson sing "God Bless The Child" and I got blown away, and it was the first of many times that a song did that to me.

As the old saying goes, you never forget your first time.

***

I first saw Judy on the first day of class.

It's hard to miss Judy. You don't miss someone with a face that looks like it came straight out of a magazine and hair that you swear you've seen in some long-forgotten shampoo commercial.

On the first day of the seminar I found her standing outside our classroom in her long, tall Manolo Blahniks, straight-line Mango pants, and a black top from the deepest recesses of Dolce and Gabbana. In her hand is a lit cigarette, and as she takes a long drag I begin to swear that she is the most effective cigarette commercial I've ever seen in my entire life.

Sometime later, I get a nudge in the ribs from my wife, who by now saw my jaw on the floor and brought it back to its proper place.

"Quit staring, it's rude," her words a bit more harsh than expected.

***

One year later, and Judy is sitting in a small alcove in my room that is otherwise used for study and the task of writing. Presently, she is in the company of classmates: yours truly, the missus, Jayme (her gimmick buddy this summer), and Manolo (class stud,now co-opted into becoming her driver, at least for the time being).

Earlier, there had been drinking and carousing by more than twenty of us classmates celebrating the end of what had been a grueling first year of classes. Now that only five remained, we gathered in a circle as if by instinct, and paid vigil to the sunrise.

So we talk. We talk about everything that almost always means nothing. Along the way, talk turned to heartache and loneliness, and Judy’s eyes lit up like anything.
“Can I just make kwento,” she cooes, not anymore bothering to hide her thick, convent-bred accent.

***

Once upon a time Judy had a boyfriend. His name was Punch, but to her friends, his name was Perfect. To them, Punch had everything going for him. He was, according to Judy, tall, beautiful, reserved, refined: the kind of boy who you could show to your parents and, once their backs are turned, give you passionate nookie in the most romantic of places.

“In all the time we were together, which was like, two years, all my parents ever thought we did was hold hands,” intimates Judy, with a small giggle. “Who just holds hands these days?”

To hear Judy tell it, their story was just like any other boy-next-door meets girl-next-door story. They met one day in that college along Katipunan, and they were a steaming for each other from day one. “I knew we were meant for each other from the moment we saw each other,” lamented Judy. Unfortunately for her, hers was one of those stories where how it all ends is a lot more interesting than how everything began.

“It’s my fault, really. I cheated on my man.”

Judy’s friends had been trying to get Judy to cheat on Punch for months. They taunted her mercilessly for days on end, on occasion dropping the names of the hottest male models in the country who had a thing for her. Unfortunately for the erstwhile happy couple, it did happen, and at a very bad time, too.

As Punch was Judy’s first boyfriend, they had come to a stage in their relationship where she had started to doubt whether Punch was really for her. Instead of putting him to the test, she put herself to the test and went on a single date with another guy. Although she claims nothing happened, the rumors and the allegations that followed were enough to put an end to all things Punch and Judy.

“What really hurts is that the people who pushed me into dating this other guy were the ones who told Punch about everything. They said they’d keep quiet, and then they stab me in the back like that.”

Finally, out of breath, and racked with tears, Judy, lust object for many men, and source of envy of many women, finally broke down.

***

It is morning before Judy regains her composure. Her china-doll face is close to its former elegance, but not quite, the late nights, alcohol, and cigarettes consumed since classes began having begun to take their toll.

Later, as the elevator doors close, my wife pokes me in the ribs for the first time since she picked my jaw off the floor nearly one year ago. "The guy she cheated with was this guy, you know," says my wife while pointing to a bemuscled, barely clothed man staring back from the pages of a women’s magazine.

“She went out and cheated on her boyfriend with him?”
“Yeah. Small world they live in, actually.”
“If I were him, I wouldn’t feel jealous! That’s like you dating Santa Claus!”
“Honey, you never get jealous.”

Once again, my wife is right, and that’s the end of that. As I close the doors and prepare for bed, I say a small little prayer for Judy.

***

God bless the child that's got her own.

Ten years and 100 pounds ago.

2006-02-27T16:25:00.000+08:00

February 5, 1995. That was a Sunday. Incidentally, February 5, 2006 also fell on a Sunday. Of the things in this photo, only the people in the picture survive today.

Signs of the Times No. 4. Criusing

2006-02-27T16:01:00.000+08:00

Somehow I doubt that that's the way one's supposed to spell the word cruiser.

Telly Tubby: Rory Cochrane does a David Caruso

2005-08-04T02:47:00.000+08:00

How silly is this?

So it took over a year for Speed to finally die in this side of the world, so I guess it's enough time to assess whether or not leaving the show was indeed a good thing for him.

Some sources do indicate that Rory Cochrane (Tim Speedle) wanted to be written off the show to focus on his movie career. At the moment, Cochrane is slated to appear in Forearm Shiver and in Richard Linklater's film adaptation of Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly. Not bad, as both films have enough promise as to not be another Jade.

Doesn't anyone see the hilarity in this? Did David Caruso talk to Cochrane before he decided to quit? How would that go?

"Rory, let me talk to you for a sec."
"It's about me leaving, innit?"
"Don't do it, Rory. Years from now, your career will be a running joke in South Park."
"I'm not you, David."
"Exactly."
"Thanks for the advice, but no thanks."

Here's betting that Cochrane'll show up in some TV cop drama before his career calls it a day.

Escort Service

2005-08-02T01:58:00.000+08:00

Kiko tries to show the Chief Justice the way to the VIP restroom at the 6th Lecture of the Chief Justice Davide Lecture Series sponsored by the Claudio Teehankee Foundation.

Carnivores

2005-08-01T00:15:00.000+08:00

From The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition

pred·a·tor n.

An organism that lives by preying on other organisms.
One that victimizes, plunders, or destroys, especially for one's own gain.

***

You can always tell when someone's efforts at getting laid are bound for failure.

I saw this happen six months ago - in a party somewhere in Makati. Two boys were flirting (or at least trying to flirt with) a woman with impossibly long hair and an impish smile. The woman wore a little black dress that spoke volumes about its wearer, and of the possibility of it lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of some strange bedroom.

Unfortunately for the two men, the woman’s smile was mostly absent that night, appearing only every now and then to return a compliment or to relieve the boredom that comes with pointless conversation.

Having had enough (to eat/drink/listen? who knows?) the woman stood up said her goodbyes to whatever was left of the party that night, and left with the two boys in tow.

Whether or not they got laid that night with the woman in question is unknown, but I think it’s safe to assume that it was an empty proposition.

***

Biologists note that lions, despite hunting in packs, have a hunt success rate of one in four. This means that for every four kill attempts that a lion makes, it only gets its prey once.

It must be noted that in a pride of lions, the females usually do the killing, but when it comes to eating, the males come first.

***

I had been watching the earnest, if amateurish efforts of the two men, and the experienced manner by which the woman evaluated their advances with some interest when the woman came over to our table to say that she would be moving on to other things. Other people said their goodbyes, but all I could manage was a small nod. Of course it didn’t help that I had a mug of ale while greeting the woman.

“Kiko, those EYES!” said my friend Cathy when the woman was out of earshot. “You have a wife sitting right beside you.” Cathy’s eyes were rolling in what I sensed as some mild form of disgust.

“What did you say?” said the wife, in that tone usually reserved for misbehaving children. The wife then moved next to Cathy and stared at me in a manner befitting Tomás de Torquemada.

“Nothing,” I said, but I think my sheepish grin gave me away.

***

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws -
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale -
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

The Female of the Species
Rudyard Kipling

***

On Thursday evening, I found myself in what passes for the default watering hole in these parts when the rain decides to make its presence felt. Normally, time in this place is spent downing unnaturally large quantities of diet beer as fast as humanly possible. However, as I had no money on this particular Thursday (having spent it earlier on the bottomless rice offer of one particular Japanese fastfood joint), I had to get intoxicated on other things, like the libidinous talk of pretty young things.

In order to do that, effort must be expended to help reduce the level of inhibition in the women at the table where one is sitting.

This particular Thursday, I (as well as the perverts listening in around me) had the good fortune of conversing with women who had no reservations shouting about the virtues of semi-caucasian penises, and the proper way to pleasure oneself. Before the night was over, many on the table, including me, were educated on the many ways to achieve female ejaculation using a diagram hastily drawn on paper napkins.

In hindsight, (the best kind of sight according to a good friend), perhaps it was my level of inhibition being lowered. Perhaps I was the person being helped along.

***

It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undone

Undone
The Guess Who

***

When I was in college, most of my friends were girls who were known to be easy lays. As such, most boys spend time with them, buying them precious little nothings, in the hope that their attentions would lead to a relatively easy romp in the hay. Most of the time, these boys walk away empty-handed, as my friends were not as easy as other people proclaimed.

However, when they came across a boy they’ve been wanting to bed, or if a particular boy passes a certain unspecified standard (which may be lowered by the proper application of alcohol and wit), it doesn’t take much to bring them to bed. However, if you weren’t the kind of guy they wanted to sleep with, then tough luck for you.

***

Tough luck for me, then.

Yet Another Open Forum

2005-07-13T01:13:00.000+08:00

The text reads:

What Now? An Open Forum on Resolving the Crisis in the Presidency
July 15, 2005, 6pm, Ateneo Professional Schools Auditorium, Rockwell

Rep. Francis Escudero
Rep. Prospero Nograles
Rep. Rolando Andaya

This event is organized by the International Moot Court and Legal Profession classes of Attorney Jose Roy III.

Boredom

2005-02-14T16:27:00.000+08:00

I thought I knew the meaning of boredom. Boy was I wrong.

I'm stuck in a class that's going nowhere. I wish I knew where the class was going, but the time I told myself I'd spend preparing for the class was spent preparing for and actually debating last Saturday that nobody watched and one that nobody cared to even attend.

According to those who organized the damned thing I finished third, which should earn me a trophy or suchlike, but when there are only three teams debating, I doubt finishing third means anything at all. It's not my fault most of the adjudicators were from college and couldn't understand how boring life is when all arguments must be devoid of any rhetoric to merit consideration.

See the language I used? My point exactly. That's how I debated last Saturday, and that dryness gave me in. It's not that I'm a normally boring and dry person, but at the time, all I wanted was for it to be over and done with.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not sourgraping. It's not like I wasn't expecting to suck. In fact, I fully expected to finish last. I was expecting my opponents to have at least one week of training and several years of debating experience. On the other hand, I had to be coerced into debating last Wednesday, and learned the rules on Friday.

At the debate, I caught up with Rosie Pie, who I hadn't seen since we were batchmates applying in UP Debate Society. I didn't get in, and she did. Most people there wanted to be lawyers from the beginning. I just stumbled into law school.

At the moment, I'm stuck in class and the lawyer up front is talking nonsense to me. I'll probably read the book (not much help, either) and draft my own reviewer much later, but for now I'm trying to be as invisible as possible.

Great. We've moved on. The book's over. I don't have to read the rest of the godforsaken book with a microscope anymore.

Scanner Surprises

2005-02-14T02:16:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, I came upon this silly thing on the web that said in not so polite words that kids drawings usually suck. Well, here's a drawing that was done by my wife and colored by my little sister.

It really isn't bad, I must say. I admit the belly area does bear some likeness to myself. Also, my little sister didn't go past the lines. Much.

Early Experiments with Photoshop

2005-01-17T11:30:00.000+08:00

This is an early experiment I did for my wife using Photoshop. The picture was taken in low light with a point and shoot digicam. At the time, I thought that you could correct everything even if you had bad capture. How mistaken I was! Anyway, I think things turned out well in the end, and I still think my wife looks pretty in this picture.

Window Dressing

2005-01-17T11:24:00.000+08:00

Funny how we've developed Filipino legalese and yet refuse to acknowledge its existence. For example, the term nagbibista seems like a throwback to the Spanish Audencia, but I'm not entirely sure. This notice, for instance, was last seen in the halls of Pasig's Regional Trial Courts.

Hotel Stays

2005-01-16T19:35:00.000+08:00

I think I owe an explanation for people who regularly visit and wonder what the hell I've been doing. Well, here's a clue: I've been studying. :D

We holed up last week in Linden Suites to prepare a pleading for Public International Law. The footnoting of the pleading was really shabby, with shabby being an understatement. The important thing is that people had fun and were on the same page.

Oral arguments will be heard on Tuesday, with adjudication expected that same day. I hope to good god we win.

Signs of the Times No. 3

2005-01-16T19:22:00.000+08:00

This is an actual drink stand in Shopwise Libis. Is it just me or is there something really, really wrong with this picture? Note the bloodshot eyes on the wily lizard.

Moving House

2004-11-09T23:12:00.000+08:00

I spent the better part of the past two weeks moving out of my lair on the third floor of an Ortigas medium-rise and back into my grandmother’s house that sits smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

Not that I miss being able to quite literally crawl home from Metrowalk and from 90 Proof, but I’m not bitter at all about moving. First of all, I don’t have a choice in the matter. The water and power rates were melting our bank accounts at an alarming rate, and something had to be done. Second, years of errant cigarette butts and spilt earthen pots from higher balconies had taken their toll on my skylight-cum-roof (I used to live in an enclosed balcony), creating a waterfall in my bathroom that was most unwelcome. The damage to our roof was so great we had to move out before any serious work can be done.

***

Philippine suburbia being as it is, this move means at least another hour must be added to the total amount of time lost while doing the daily commute.

Well, I suppose I can always use the extra hour just to bond with my wife. Frequent readers will note that I have the most meaningful conversations of the day with my wife. I suppose the extra half hour will do my relationship good. What else is there to do when you’re stuck with just one person in traffic that never seems to move?

***

Now that I live in a village, I can really start losing my gut. I used to complain that it was unsafe to walk for exercise in a place where there are more buildings than there are trees. Now that I’m in a proper village again, I’ve lost that excuse.

The best feature about my grandmother’s house isn’t within the house. It’s the fact that the village basketball court is now just a block away. I cannot tell you enough how happy this makes me. I have only lived this close to a basketball court only once before, and all I can tell you is that it was six months too short.

So it was that I gave basketball, one of my first loves, a shot last Sunday and found, to my dismay, that having acquired a gut the size of Tarlac since my last time out, my game had diminished so much that it was shameful to think of lacing up a pair of sneakers. That’s alright, though. I’m sure that with time, my game will find me, and together we will go to basketball paradise, now that I live in a village.

***

Oprah once said that one of the greatest little joys in life is to lord it over a table with great food and even greater friends. Now that I’m in a proper house with a proper yard I figure that it’s high time for me to indulge in that one happy thing. Let the beer flow and the barbecue roast! When you live in a building, it’s almost impossible to hold a cookout for your friends. There’s no parking, no place to put the barbecue without irritating the hell out of the neighbors, and no space to just be drunk in good company.

That is going to change.

While some may argue (my wife included) that the idea of holding regular cookouts with your bestest friends in your backyard is anathema to the idea of losing weight, I posit that it’s one of the little concessions granted to suffering married suburbanites, so I might as well indulge. At its worst, it’s just another reason to go out and exercise some more.

***

As it is, I’m still not finished moving. I’ve left some stuff behind, as the old unit has become an office-cum-warehouse. It’s a 30-minute drive just to get there during the day, and three 30-minute drives can really take it out on you.

I’d really like to know when I’m going to stop doing these 30-minute runs, but I’ve noticed that the amount of stuff that needs to be taken out of the old unit seems to grow longer and longer with every time I go back to get stuff. It’s become that every trip is always the last trip back, until either of us decides that we’ve left something really important, and then that trip becomes the last trip back.

I’m making my last trip back tomorrow. If I should tell a lie, then cross my heart and hope to die.

Kiko got Published!!!

2004-10-10T14:12:00.000+08:00

I got one of my older stories published today in TwoFourth, which I am led to believe is run by a poetry collective.

Thanks, guys.

Fake Smiles, Fake City

2004-10-01T22:09:00.000+08:00

We might look happy here, but we're really, really stressed out by this point. This is actually the high point of our Shenzen trip. It's a city of fakes that takes pride in it being one big fake. I couldn't stop laughing at the irony.

I also figured out that if the tour bus left me behind, there was nothing to say that I wasn't from the area, except that I couldn't understand a single word in Mandarin. I guess I look too much like the natives.

I'm not going back to Shenzen, unless they pay me a LOT of money.

Sub/Versive Link No. 3

2004-09-25T02:18:00.000+08:00

Back when the idea of a blog was something so radical they hadn't developed engines for it, a British man who answers to the name of Mil Millington put down into words the little inane things he and his girlfriend have argued about and put them on a website. Soon, word of the website spread among netizens.

In those days, you could copy something off the Internet, claim it as your own work, and none would be the wiser. Unfortunately, the page was written at a time when Internet authors began to realize just how much their intellectual property rights were being violated.

Then, in a brazen act of plagiarism, the British publication Mail on Sunday (MoS), ran his work as a running column, passing it off as original work by a fictional staffer.

This came to the attention of a friend of Mr Millington's, who promptly wrote the MoS. The MoS replied with the threat of a suit for Mr Millington's apparently true insinuations (only in Britain!). Eventually MoS settled with Mr Millington for a tidy sum (not to mention throwing in a two-book deal for good measure).

Anyway, it may take a long time to read, so I suggest you stock up on beer and chips. Find a comfy chair while you're at it. It's going to be a hell of a ride.

Shot in the Middle of Nowhere

2004-09-23T21:23:00.000+08:00

I shot this somewhere between New Mexico and El Paso. This, I believe, is quite right in the middle of nowhere.

Signs of the Times No. 2

2004-09-23T19:27:00.000+08:00

Vic Icasas caught this motherly-looking lady doing the unmotherly thing for Ateneo during their embarassing, lopsided loss to the Archers. I heard Vic was road-testing the new Canon professional digital SLR. Talk about cameras capturing priceless moments.

New professional level SLR - $2,000.
Digital photo kit - $1,000.
Press ID for Ateneo-La Salle playoff match. - $500.
Capturing old lady in Ateneo shirt giving the finger - PRICELESS.

Max Brenner

2004-09-23T02:24:00.000+08:00

Went to Max Brenner. Got a really thick chocolate that felt like ganache. Cliff calls me a loser for not getting a suckao. Well, I'm not a sucker for advertising. I'll take whatever everyone else isn't taking. If that's still good, then good for the place.

Anyway, all that I needed was a chocolate fix, and I got it. It's funny how much chocolate is in that little thing.

It's overpriced, though, so I don't think I'll be back there any time soon.

Sub/Versive Link No. 2

2004-09-20T06:24:00.000+08:00

Self-Regulation

I wonder if this stuff will fly here. Again, more proof that pornography isn't the evil that moralists purport it to be.

Small Things

2004-09-17T05:12:00.000+08:00

Joey Alarilla, in his Palanca-winning essay about living the wired life in the Zeroes, notes that our lives have now become subject to the whims of the gods of small things. You don't have to look very far to find examples:

Does my PDA have enough juice to last me the whole day?
Is the office mail server down again?
Must I load my phone card with phone credits right now?
Is the car charger for my phone busted?
Will Blogger go down again and refuse to publish my posts?

I think the theory is that these things have no direct connection with living. Therefore, they are small and insignificant compared to other things, such as whether or not you make it through the day without losing your sanity.

One of the most significant themes that you find in literature is the theory that says it's the small things in life that count, that make life worth living.

I read a short story once about how women notice the small things that men often overlook, and that sometimes that can spell the difference between murder and suicide. This story was written, of course, in a time where forensic science was more the work of fiction and fantasy than the serious academic subject that it is today. However, the point was made, and quite eloquently, too.

After all, it's the thousand straws that break the camel's back, to restate an old saying.

I'll be the first to admit that it's hard to look at the big picture. People who study human nature say that people notice the faults of a person they see wearing white hats. They use this theory to explain why when famous people make mistakes, it's funny. You don't expect them to make mistakes. That's why you also remember their booboos more than anything substantial that they may have said. Bill Clinton will probably be remembered more for Monica Lewinsky than for being the American President who led his country out of an insurmountable budget deficit, revived the American economy, and played a mean saxophone.

Last Tuesday, my wife had her own personal experience with the Gods of Small Things. dropped her new phone from the bedside table. Although that phone's been dropped from higher places and on harder surfaces, this particular drop blanked out the phone's LCD. She was despondent the whole day, until we got to Globe and had the thing fixed. Even though she got her phone back sans directory and unsaved images, it was as if she had been touched by an angel.

I think she was. Having her phone fixed made her happier than scoring at least 90 on all her midterms, the pain in her tooth (now pulled out, thank God), and the unending war she wages with acne.

So today, I had a small toss-up with my wife about where to have her tooth pulled. We weren't seeing eye to eye on the whole thing, so I took a dive. As my friend Louie says, "you can't win an argument with a woman, especially your wife." My wife insists it's my fault because I didn't wake up early enough to get everything done so that the only thing left to do would be to take her to my friend, the dentist and have her tooth pulled out instead of the drama we had to endure earlier. After her tooth got extracted, it was as if she never got mad in the first place.

Amazing how the small things matter. I hope she notices.

Tremors

2004-09-16T07:03:00.000+08:00

An earthquake hit Manila around 3:10AM (+800 GMT). Sure brought me back to my senses. All it took was one small shove in the Manila Trench, and you've got all these massive forces unleashed on the Philippines. Among those unleashed was a small voice that said just how insignificant our little troubles are in the grand scheme of things.

Earthquakes tend to be worse than they actually are in buildings. Engineering-wise, it's because of a concept called sway. Ground movements are amplified by a certain factor, and I've been told that the higher you are on a particular building, the higher this factor is.

As a result, even the smallest of earthquakes has disastrous potential. However, that I feel earthquakes more strongly than the ordinary man on the street is not to say that sway is a bad thing. Engineers can usually set the sway frequency of a building during construction. Set your building to sway just right and you've got yourself a pretty earthquake-proof building. Remove sway totally, and the push-and-pull action the ground makes during an earthquake can level everything.

When we bought this unit in 1988, they told us that this was one of the most earthquake-proof buildings in the Philippines. Well, the support beams are among the thickest I've ever seen (the columns are more than a meter wide), but I have been told by some engineers have that this width is merely an illusion: most of the building's piping runs through these columns, considerably weakening the building's structural integrity. Chalk one up to falling for what legal people call "trader's talk". In other words, BS.

Just last year, people found cracks on the facade that ran from base to roof. No one can point, with authority, as to the cause of these cracks. Some have argued that these cracks are from a waterproofing problem encountered during the building's construction. My personal suspicion is that there is some flaw in the building that's developed over time. When your association dues are among the lowest in the Ortigas Central Business District, building maintenance probably isn't one of your strong suits.

The tremor itself wasn't so strong. However, it did last quite a bit. My wife suggested that perhaps it was time to head for the nearest door frame, and I'd wondered why the shaking hadn't stopped at least twice, all during the main quake.

I can't wait to move into my own home. Then I wouldn't have to worry about sway anymore. I also woudn't have to worry about a host of other things, but the earthquake's pretty much made those little things seem like a bonus.

On the plus side, David slept through the whole thing, and all by himself too. This is, I think, a first for David. In school, I'll bet those who woke up during the earthquake will talk all about it, and David will just look at them as if they were from Mars, eyes filled with blissful ignorance.

Signs of the Times No. 1

2004-09-12T20:32:00.000+08:00

My family and I went to Hong Kong last summer. When we came back, this was the first thing we saw. This was also the first thing other foreigners saw.

I think you can tell how a country is by their signs. This, I believe, is so indicative of ours. Nothing says more about ineptitude than this sign.

Hint: I encircled the error. Couldn't help it. Must be the editor in me.

Cibo

2004-09-12T16:22:00.000+08:00

Went to Cibo the other day for a vegetable panini. This is a diet by my standards, mind. Now I get full on one cup of rice, and I don't overeat as much. It's amazing, actually.

Anyway, my wife's taking her mint iced tea while playing Fried Rice Paradise on her cellular phone. It's a bit like Lemonade Tycoon, except that it's about fried rice. Just be careful not to press the quit button, or your saved game goes to the dustbin.

Today, she wrote to our friends. It's so heartwarming. I'd almost forgotten how well she writes. She wrote about how sad she was that our friends have all gone their own separate lives, and that we don't extend the effort to reach out and be part of each others lives again.

I hope our old friends do listen.

Blog Critique No. 1

2004-09-10T07:16:00.000+08:00

no one will see us...

Lawyers come in all shapes and sizes, in all forms and persuasions. Here's a new associate, who's younger than me, but is now working for some law firm in Makati.

She hasn't updated her blog for September, but the posts that are already there should be enough for the intrepid reader.

Someone should warn her though, on the danger of writing about her work on her blog. That can be quite disastrous. Just ask Joyce Park.

Sub/Versive Link No. 1

2004-09-10T07:05:00.000+08:00

My good friend supa_proxy sent this cartoon to me through Yahoo! Messenger last night.

I'm glad for cartoonware. It's not as hard to create biting satire using words and images as it used to be. Now, all you need to have is a little time and something funny to say.

w00t!

Subpoena Ad Testificandum

2004-09-10T05:36:00.000+08:00

I went to court yesterday. That's my name on the calendar right there. Damn trial got postponed because the private prosecutor, who was supposed to continue my cross got "sick".

I got to choose when I'll continue with my cross, however. I set it on the 20th. Criminal cases take so long to prosecute because of these Urgent Motions to Postpone. There should be a stiffer fine for infractions like these. Something like 20,000 pesos per postponement or similar.

Anatomy of an Argument

2004-09-08T05:13:00.000+08:00

In anthropology class, we were taught that we, as a people, abhor direct confrontation.

In his column in the Inquirer, anthropologist Michael Tan notes that this tendency is reflected in the way we address difficult issues. Humorist Tomas Andres calls it "the sandwich method." We confront others in between slices of small talk.

We don’t just do it when we converse. In the old days before changing rooms became fashionable, writes Ambeth Ocampo, we created privacy for ourselves by which we could change clothes turning our backs on the rest of the room. Asking everyone else to leave would just be, well, rude.

Instead, we resort to passive-aggressive techniques to show our displeasure with others. We rely on subtle hints that may or may not hit the mark. The thing is, we fully expect those against whom we show our scorn to fully appreciate the extent of our scorn, hidden though it may be through layers and layers of Tupperware.

I personally experienced this while in the grocery with my wife today. I suppose it's her form of retail therapy, having had trouble in class earlier.

In my ten years of being attached, I've found out that when women want to do something for themselves, they want their significant others to do it with them. I'm no psychologist, but I think my experience as my wife's whipping boy qualifies me.

Anyway, I think that the logic behind the behavior goes this way:

Girl wants to do something. Remember that this something can be any activity. Let's call this activity "shopping", for lack of a better term.
"Shopping" is relaxing for the girl. People have been "shopping" for years as a way to relax. In fact, everyone should go "shopping".
It would be wrong to go "shopping " alone. Not only is "shopping" fun, I enjoy "shopping" more if I'm with people I love.
I love my boyfriend.
Therefore, my boyfriend should go "shopping" with me.

(I showed this diagram to my friend Cliff, who retorted, "That's stupid. Women have no logic.")

When girls go to the bathroom, you can apply the same logic to explain why you need a whole army of girls to go peepee. In a female world, not only does it work, it's an agent for world peace. Imagine that.

Unfortunately, there is one big flaw with this argument. Men, strange creatures that we are, do not usually find all things that women find relaxing as actually relaxing.

Take shopping for clothes, for instance. I would think that most of the time, shopping is less pleasant an experience than going to the dentist. I may speak only for myself, but when I go to the dentist, I not only get a nice, comfy chair where I can sit and listen to your dentist tell me stories about her and her boyfriend’s (mis)adventures in cyberspace. When my wife drags me to go shopping, I ought to expect nothing, except being asked a million times, “Do I look fat?”

On the other hand, if we were to replace “shopping” with “getting drunk at Hooters”, you’d find most men in agreement with female logic, and agree that this, indeed is one of the most pleasant things to do in the world.

Which brings me to my story. Did I digress?

So it was that I found myself dragged against my will into the depths of Rockwell, trying to appear excited over shopping for salad ingredients. As with all supermarkets, girls end up buying things they never intended to buy in the first place, and today was no different. Among the non-salad items that we bought were:

Two tins of tuna in water (how appetizing!);
100g of fresh cherries (which I don’t eat);
One issue of YES! Magazine (featuring Marjorie Barretto).

We ended up spending more than eight times the cost of the salad greens that we got. Apparently, Rustans Fresh! is not the place where one can expect the freshest vegetables at the lowest price. That would be the wet market, I think.

That we had to pay so much for salad greens irritated me to no end. I wanted to show my disgust at the state of things, but couldn’t because decorum wouldn’t allow me and experience told me that it would only make matters worse. So, in typical Filipino fashion, I kept quiet until we made it home.

By the time the salad was done, all was right with the world.

Coloring Books

2004-09-07T03:58:00.000+08:00

This is what my Criminal Procedure textbook looks like. This picture was taken before midterms, so you can see just how many times I've gone over the text (marginal notes notwithstanding).

Besides, I share this textbook with my wife.

At any rate, I think that as we get older, our coloring books get bigger and bigger. Now my coloring book is the size of a real large textbook, with a faux leather cover to boot.

As you can see, it becomes more and more important to color within the lines as one grows older.

Pork and Beans

2004-09-04T19:24:00.000+08:00

Warning: This may kill you.

Pork knuckles, slow cooked in bagoong and beans. I call it pork and beans in jest, and I call it heavenly in private. My mom says it comes from an old Ilocano recipe with a Tagalog twist.

There's nothing like it. The meat just falls off the bones. Considering that this is pork knuckle meat we're talking about, you can only guess how soft this dish is.

Family Outings - Hong Kong 1

2004-09-04T15:58:00.000+08:00

We got some weird terminal when we landed in Hong Kong. Apparently, they have light trains from the planes to the main terminal, effectively increasing the size of Chep Lap Kok. This is all well and good, but the old attraction of Hong Kong was that the airport was so close to everything. Now the airport is close to nothing.

That's me, my wife, and my mom. This was the last time we were caught smiling on camera. The entire holiday was that bad. I heard they shoot criminals in China. I found out after this trip that it isn't true. They turn criminals into tour guides up there.

So long, Friendster. It's been fun.

2004-09-04T15:35:00.000+08:00

There. I've done it. I changed my mind and deleted my account early. Like most Friendster users, I wasn't using my account lately, so I figured I could do without. I lost my connection to 292 friends.

I figure I'll find them all sooner or later. :)

I'm deleting my Friendster account for ethical reasons. So should you.

2004-09-01T17:00:00.000+08:00

Friendster Fires Programmer for Blogging

Today, Friendster did the unthinkable. They fired one of their programmers for publishing good comments about her company.

Friendster's firing of Troutgirl (aka Joyce Park) may be legal in California, where you can fire any employee for any reason, save discrimination, but I'm sure it isn't ethical any way you look at it.

In law, she can rightfully be considered as one whose property rights were violated by an ex post facto law. An ex post facto law is defined as, inter alia, a rule that makes punishable an act which, at the time it was committed, carried no sanction.

Lawmakers are prevented from enacting ex post facto laws because it strikes against the very heart of fairness.

I understand that the people at Friendster want to tighten their screws on corporate secrets, but how corporate secrets were revealed through her blogs is puzzling to me. The change from Java to PHP-based programming was pretty obvious to begin with.

It's too late now. The new CEO of Friendster may want her back to assuage the feelings of the programming community, or those who give a damn, but people should learn from their mistakes.

In response, I am terminating my Friendster account by the end of the month. Due notice and all. It's only fair. I do not want to be associated with a company that has such horrible employee relations.

To those who wrote touching testimonials for me, I cannot thank you enough. Thank you for being part of my life. I'll see you when I see you.

Them Belly Full

2004-08-30T21:55:00.000+08:00

Am in Saisaki, blogging thanks to AvantBlog, whose existence I learned about through my friend Cliff. He swears by AvantBlog. For Cliff, it's helped him keep on posting, even though he's far from a computer. Talk about making the most out of downtime.

On a different note, I've finally gotten people to sign on to the class blog, but so far I'm the only one posting. I hope everyone gets to post, though. That way, it really becomes our voice.

At any rate, Saisaki's only worth it when there's sea urchin on the menu. Otherwise, you're just eating for tomorrow.

Are You Experienced?

2004-08-26T03:15:00.000+08:00

OkCupid - The Virgin Game

If so, let me know what score you got. I got 52% at first, thought I could do it better after smoking some, and got 38%. That's like me getting really good at spotting experience, but saying virgin.

That's what smoking will do to your brain.

Mobile Computing Nirvana

2004-08-24T20:52:00.000+08:00

It's been a long day. It's been a long semester for that matter.

Thanks to a scheduling snafu, I don't have classes for the next two Wednesdays. The wife and I decided to celebrate this occasion by going to Greenhills, where we scoured the aisles for accessories for my new PDA. Finding nothing within our budget, we had to settle for hopia at Baker's Fair.

I found this little store while walking around on the second floor. They carry a wide array of PDA covers, and have a few pretty xda II holders, including one that doubles as a fine leather wallet. It costs P2,200.00, which is more or less one-fourth of a minimum wage-earner's keep for a month.

I refuse to see things for their dollar value, it becomes confusing that way. I decree that no one will see currency conversion factors in this blog, at least when it comes to how much things cost in this part of the blue marble.

Point is, we went in with some money, and we left with no money. Greenhills is a black hole for your wallet. Damn.

I'm sick and tired of being broke. I can't wait for this mad season to be over.

Not All News is Bad

2004-08-24T20:30:00.000+08:00

I read this today from Rolling Stone:

R.E.M., the Dixie Chicks and Maroon 5 are singing for a considerably younger audience on a new compilation album, "Mary Had a Little Amp", set for an October 5th release.

Personally, I wish I was a father so I could buy my kid a Mary Had a Little Amp album. When my kid starts asking me about chord progressions, I'll be the happiest dad in the world. I want my kid to be so musically grounded he starts laying down roots.

Although I think this album won't be as miraculous as Schoolhouse Rock (that great 70's opus!), I expect this to be a lot better than 1998's Saturday Morning Cartoons. It's great to see these rockers involved in projects like these. On a side note, I have trouble imagining what an album that features REM and the Dixie Chicks on the same track list would sound like.

Sho' would be some kind of funky.

Thank You, Ninoy.

2004-08-22T18:01:00.000+08:00

My Hero

Thanks to Ninoy and GMA's proclamation declaring his death anniversary a non-working holiday, we got a long weekend, which unfortunately ends today.

In class, I made a small litany for the events that led to this small mercy.

Salamat, Ninoy, sa inyong pagkabayani.
Salamat Tita Cory, dahil pinayagan ninyong umuwi si Ninoy.
Salamat Apo Ferdie, dahil gahaman ka.
Salamat AVSECOM, dahil sa pagiging inutil ninyo, nagkaroon tayo ng bagong salapi.
Salamat Ate Glow, at medyo uto-uto ka.
Salamat Ateneo, at mayabang ka.
Salamat, salamat, dahil tumama sa Sabado ang ika-21 ng Agosto.

The holiday will be over in a few minutes. Blech.

I make you lait, Kris Aquino.

My good friend and fellow oldie, noringai, wrote a column about Kris Aquino the other day, and how, like Kris Aquino, she also likes to be the center of attention when it comes to chitchatting with her amigas and palanggas, even if it means divulging nasty details about oneself that no one really cares to hear.

At the same time, I have noticed, to some dismay, that Kris has become a Filipino answer to Jerry Springer.

I happened to have the misfortune of catching the househelp watching The Buzz while on my way to the neighborhood sari-sari store for a soda. She was grilling one guest - I forget who, it's not important - over something equally unimportant, and the guest looked like she was on the verge of tears.

It is clear her interviewing style borrows heavily from Boy Abunda's: badger your guest needlessly while spouting obviously fake sympathy (don't bother hiding it from the discerning viewer, the camera does not lie!). It's become so bad that Boy doesn't interrupt that much anymore.

Sometimes, it's just too painful to watch. But people DO watch, and watch with fascination as the cherished daughter of a national hero disgraces herself on national television every single day.

How does she disgrace herself? Her lack of tact, among her other flaws, is legendary. Television could be the worst industry she could have picked, because it magnifies your flaws like no other. Finally, she puts her flaws out on display, day after day. People watch it because there's nothing more entertaining than watching a person self-destruct. Don't believe me? Watch The Buzz every Sunday on Channel 2. You'll get hooked, and I'll bet it'll be for the wrong reasons.

She's William Hung, except that William Hung isn't the favorite daughter of the country's national hero.

I am led to believe it's called schadenfreude, that guilty feeling of pleasure you get out of watching someone else's pain. I don't get any pleasure out of watching her, because I feel more for the pain she (un)consciously inflicts on those who may really care about her.

That doesn't mean I like her. I admit I watched Pido Dida 8 times, but that was when I was a mean little child with a lot less empathy than I do have now.

Once upon a time, I heard that that's the way women feel better about themselves: when they hear about someone who's having it worse than them. The theory goes on to say that this is the principle that explains the concept of lait. Sure, it's fun, but girls do it mostly to cover up their own insecurities.

I have girl friends who pick on other girls in the law school, and have become quite notorious for their antics. No one is safe from their broadsides, so I guess it all evens out. Equal opportunity offenders and all that.

Now, I'm not sure what their tirades mean, but I'm not in a hurry to find out.

Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll

I've always been an advocate of the holy trinity = sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I don't think I'll look like Pepe Smith in a few years, partly because I'm too fat to look like him. That's neither here nor there.

What I was thinking of though, was about the effects of MDMA, taken in a sufficient dose, to a group of orgy participants. Would it make them more conjoined? I went to ecstasy.org to find out and the testimonials there are somewhat promising. Since the drug tests on MDMA have been confirmed as one big hoax, I've felt a lot more safe in considering using it in a "clinical" trial.
Now, to find a test group.

Swing, batta batta, swing!

Tractor Beam: On

2004-08-19T00:14:00.000+08:00

This is what a typical lecture class looks like in the Ateneo. I was only able to take this shot because the professor was talking about land patents, and I think I give a good impression with regard to taking notes.

What Work Looks Like

2004-08-19T00:04:00.000+08:00

I usually spend nights studying for the next school day. I make my notes and place it on my PDA. Some days, I come to school bringing only the PDA because practically everything's already there.

The work that I put in often seems pointless to my wife, but I swear this work comes in really handy for class. There are times where you will not be called for days for any subject. Those days are bad because there's a good chance of slacking off.

This way, I get to keep on my toes. Or so I keep telling myself.

How to Write Love Letters

2003-08-14T18:46:00.000+08:00

Over the last few years, I've noticed that the art of writing love letters is slowly becoming a lost art. More often than not, we've come to depend on letter-writing manuals and résumé helpers to get us through tough times, like when we apply for jobs, for example.

However, when it comes to matters of the heart, résumés in general, don't win the heart of the person whose affections you desire. There are no handy little guides that tell you exactly what to say so almost everything that you can say should be okay by virtue of poetic license. Sadly, there exists a fine line between garbage and gold in these letters. So many writers cross this line without ever knowing it. Bad letters make not only for bad reading, but say a million things not generally favorable about the letter sender.

Here are some notes I've compiled from going over the letters I've sent and received all the way from high school, as well as Michelle Lovric's guide on the matter (I fear that that book is now out of print). I hope they help.

By the way, if you think having good grades in grammar absolves you of love letter writing problems, think again. Your love letter may be grammatically correct but great grammar doesn't guarantee a great love letter.

First off, make sure that you select good paper when you write your love letter, because every aspect of that paper reflects on you. Fine linen paper is available at your local office supply store. Marshall McLuhan, the media guru did say that the medium is the message. There's some truth to that.

Write your love letters, don't type them. My wife, for instance, never accepted a typed love letter, except if it was an e-mail. Neither should you.

Use a fountain pen (or a gel pen if you can't get one), and make sure it's compatible with the paper so your letters come out clear and not smudged at the fine points. However, if you're blessed with handwriting that looks like it came from the 18th Century, replete with touches of flourish, then by all means use that. Otherwise, and if your handwriting is worse than a first grader's, print letters will do.

If you have to use e-mail, don't use fonts so curvy like Curvy Script MT or similar. In a similar vein, don't use fonts like Arial or Times New Roman -- they belong to business letters. Use nice, easy fonts like Book Antiqua, or even rarer fonts just as long as they aren't too curvy they can hardly be read. Rare fonts give the idea that you took the time to track down a special font just for them.

Begin by telling the other how lonely you were without their company. Tell them how happy you were to see them and how it brightened up the rest of your week, even though you only saw that person once that week, and while passing each other in the hallway. Be creative, just make sure it refers to the object of your affection and how that person affects the way you do or see things.

It goes without saying that the poetic license involved in the writing of letters of affection does not excuse the letter sender from bad grammar or improper spelling. These things, though overlooked, give credibility to your thoughts.

Take this sentence for example.

EnIwEiZ, hOw wuZ ur dAy?

This sentence, though informal, fun, and quirky, does not convey the same intensity, passion, and depth of conviction as this line:

Anyway, how was your day?

Where the first sentence makes you look and sound like a teenybopping idi*t, the second sentence makes you sound like you thought out your feelings in a mature, sensible manner. Correct grammar also makes you look more intelligent than what you already are. Love letters are a serious business: treating them with formality and respect signifies that you'll treat the heart you're wooing with formality and respect, too.

Whatever you do, never insert details of your day that is in no way related to the other, like paying the bills, feeding the cat, or going to the john. These details do not help you, your cause, or your writing, so keep them out of the way. The letter is for the object of your affection. Keep everything related to him or her.

As you end, repeat the idea that it's sheer torture to wait until you see or hear or read from your beloved again. Tell them that the only supplication and relief they want or need is just for the recepient to answer the letter. Ask if they feel the same way. How well you write this section may very well determine whether or not you get the cold shoulder the next time that you meet.

When you end, you may or may not include personal details of affection, such as a heart at the end of one's signature, or kisses as marked by X's and O's.

Choose the envelope by which you send the letter with the same meticulousness as you did your paper. It's the first thing people notice when they get a letter. If you have a friend well-versed in the art of Speedball, have him write the addressee's name for you. By no means should you print anything on the envelope.

Keep everything as far away from technology as possible. Romance is an idea from the time of Lord Byron. As a general rule, it s good to approximate that age in terms of overall impact. Of late, wax seals have been making their presence felt in Manila's stationery stores. Make full use of them.

Now, all you have to do is send it. For Pete's sake never send it by the local postal service, unless you have a second envelope over the envelope holding your letter. You do not want your hard work in preparing your letter soiled by some stamp or postal seal. Let a mutual friend deliver it or better yet, deliver it by hand. When letting a mutual friend deliver it, disclose nothing. This is where these seals come in.

Now what I've told you may or may not get you the man or woman of your dreams (or girl or boy as the case may be) but at least you'll leave a definite impression.

The Techwriter's Prayer

2003-07-09T03:56:00.000+08:00

The Techwriter's Prayer

Dear Lord,

Please keep the malware writers at bay
So we can all sleep a little easier today
You know how much we need our rest
As our frayed nerves can very much attest

Spare us, O Lord, from red or yellow alerts
From nasty malware that give us the squirts
From added paperwork large and larger
It only makes the day that much harder

Keep us strong, O Lord, that we may
Come back to our shift on the next day
Please lend mercy to those who must
Extend thirteen hours on my mistrust

Before I forget, thank you for the pay
It bought me a brand new PDA.

Something Useful from Law School

2003-07-09T03:35:00.000+08:00

If you want to legalize marijuana, you have to do it yourself. Apparently, if Congress is too scared of the Church or the tobacco lobby to legalize pot, you can do it yourself!

If you want to legalize marijuana, and there are enough people who believe that marijuana should enter the 21st century, you need 3,790,018 (people, signified by their) signatures petitioning the Comelec for a referendum, with at every legislative district represented by at least 3% of its voters, or at least 7,500 people per legislative district.

Of course you'll need something like 19 million signatures to ratify such a proposal, but stranger things have happened.

Three hours to go.

2003-06-29T07:58:00.000+08:00

I hate clock-watching.

Time slows down when you look at the clock. It's because you stop thinking when you do. Thinking takes up time, and time is what you need to waste until you punch out.

In the meantime, I'm really sleepy. I don't thinkI'll ever get used to writing when I'm this incoherent. I read somewhere that mental faculties diminish when you go past the point where your body needs to rest. When I first read that I imagined everyone walking with a large mental capacity bar above their heads, like they were sprites in a video game. After a certain point, this bar starts shrinking.

I'm going to sleep. Fuck it.