Caustic Thoughts

Lessons from Arnel Pineda

2012-05-29T18:25:00.000+08:00

The courage to rock!

Growing up, I wanted to be a rock star. That was until I found out I was afflicted with such a chronic form of shyness that I could only really sing to inanimate objects like rocks, trees and a husband watching NBA.

Fine, I thought. I’d be happy to just be a bar singer instead, but I realized that compared to the existing talent pool, my voice sounds like the croaking of a frog with a sore throat and a blocked windpipe.

So I gave up on my dream, determined to make life bearable by looking forward to the breakfasts, lunches and dinners that are the main diversions to my endless workdays. I now only trawl YouTube on weekends for songs to sing when there’s no one within hearing range to cripple with my croaking.

It’s on one of these closet singing sessions that I first come across Arnel Pineda’s cover of Heart’s Alone, a song that elicits pity when brave but less gifted singers start to look like they’re about to spit out their tonsils or lose their sanity. As soon as Pineda flawlessly belts out the heart attack inducing wail, AAAAHHLLOOOWNNN… I’m a goner and what follows is two days of watching all his videos.

Of course I heard the news when he became Journey’s lead vocalist but other than rejoicing in his good fortune, I paid little attention. I WAS not a Journey fan. I once likened the experience of listening to their overplayed ballads to overdosing on hard cheese.

It’s only now that I learn of his story then: homeless and living on scraps at 13; singing in bars at 15; descending into vice and losing his voice at 27; rallying to patch up his life and attempting to start a career but giving up the dream at 40. Enter Neal Schon who finds his cover videos online and invites him for an audition. He gets the job.

Happily ever after? Not quite for this Cinderella in tight pants and leather boots on the other end of the gender spectrum. Listen to his interviews and you’ll realize this is no small feat.

A poor man from Manila gets plucked from obscurity and is thrust before rock demigods. Not long after that, he is made to sing before 18,000 live viewers for the first time, a figure that dramatically dwarfs his usual bar audience.

After this initial trial by fire, he repeatedly performs before thousands more, including unforgiving and vocal critics who cannot accept his presence in an all American band and that he is wearing the shoes of the legendary Steve Perry.

All of a sudden you realize that his life isn’t an invitation for everyone with a dream to upload videos of themselves singing (or hyperventilating) to Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. It isn’t a suggestion that you “don’t stop believin’” you’ll eventually hit those notes if you squint your eyes just a little more.

The message is a lot simpler than that. Courage. Nothing will happen to your life if you do not have the foresight to recognize opportunity and the courage to go after it.

I’ll probably never be a rock star now but I have other talents besides inducing ear infections among my listeners. I resolve to have the courage to chase my happiness. I deserve to give myself a chance.

A Series of Unfortunate Events – Santiago, Barretto, Tulfo Airport Brawl

2012-05-14T20:43:00.000+08:00

Talk about unflattering angles.

Last week’s alarming news that Chinese ships were patrolling Scarborough (Panatag) Shoal was promptly eclipsed by the tussle that transpired over the airport floor. Instead of updates about the conflict with China, we were assaulted by replays of a rumble that had been shown in every conceivable angle, left, right, over and under.

The video of the scuffle had so often been repeated, I can now almost memorize the size of Claudine’s hips as they appeared on the clip. It was more than a mere fist fight, mind you. There were legs, feet and other body parts flying in violence everywhere, which probably explains its greater mass appeal over serious discussions about our diplomatic relations with China.

Like a record in perpetual loop, the story repeats itself in our heads. Cebu Pacific offloads the luggage of showbiz couple Claudine Barretto and Raymart Santiago. Barretto confronts ground staff and is photographed in the act by broadcaster Mon Tulfo. The couple face off with Tulfo and a fight ensues. The scene is so violent, it should have found its way into the final cut of the Hunger Games.

Santiago wraps his arm around Tulfo and we are treated to the sight of Barretto’s generous backside as she and her friend descend upon their prey to pound an all natural patch over his eye.

The series of unfortunate events don’t end there. Because of what happened, Santiago’s children are in a state of shock, the berated clerk is in a sad emotional state, security guards may lose their jobs and Tulfo’s broadcaster brothers were suspended over public threats against the couple.

At the end of it all, they’re all more traumatized than nuns in a Lady Gaga concert, so much so that they all now require counseling, probably including the executives of TV5 who have temporarily lost a show and 3 anchors.

Enter netizens who, since the birth of social media, now feel the urge to constantly display their knack for bad grammar, lack of breeding and abundant ignorance in the guise of exercising their right to their opinions --- “Tulfo s sach a jerk. Santiago must bows to his olders and Barretto should keep away from extra rice.”

My take in all this? Suspend judgment. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it. You weren’t involved and even if you were, there’s no telling if you’d act in a less disgraceful manner or if you’d look more videogenic than Barretto. We should all just donate some cash for the purchase of a CCTV camera for the airport.

While we were all glued to this drama by the way, did anyone notice that new Chinese flag flying over Panatag Shoal?

What K+12 Education in the Philippines Means to Me

2012-05-01T16:23:00.000+08:00

Teddy has to go to school with little Johnny

I was in my daughter's school last Friday when I came across a story more frightening than The Omen, The Exorcist or Anne Curtis' singing. I was told the Aquino administration is dead set on adding 2 more years to high school.

From all appearances, there's probably a greater chance of Aquino growing more hair than his changing his mind about this. Sadly, only beautiful women can say no to Aquino. His cabinet members and the entire nation must follow his bidding, or else thou shalt be impeached, fired or humiliated during public speeches. Our only comfort is in making fun of his sparsely adorned scalp. Hooray for Philippine democracy.

My brothers, sister and I each only completed 16 years of school but I remember my mom had to pay blood and sweat for every single year. She sold everything from sandwiches to magic beans to send us to school. If she could ride a unicycle she would have if someone paid her to do it.

I only have one kid in school now but every time I get the monthly school statement of accounts, my vision starts to dim, I go partially deaf, and I start speaking gibberish. My fellow parents and I call this the tuition fee syndrome.

It's not just the cost of sending kids to school that's the issue though. They've adjusted the recommended ages for the grade levels too. If kids should ideally be 5 years old when they graduate from Kinder 2, that means Kinder 1 kids should be 4 years old. Kids optionally sent to Nursery class for socialization and skills preparation have to be 3 years old. Toddler classes then will have to accept 1 to 2 year olds.

My youngest will be three years old in a couple of months and he can't talk, thinks everything is edible, still drops little odor-filled pellet surprises when he forgets what the potty is for and thinks he's the Batman. If my kid had to take an entrance exam now for admission in his current state, I know I'd be the first to cry.

Even if admission tests and requirements are scaled down so young kids can pass, parents will still have to pack milk bottles, diapers, baby wipes and teddy bears along with the usual cookies and juice for their kids. That's just another way of saying small kids aren't ready.

Aquino says the Philippines is one of the few countries with just 4 years of high school. We need to add 2 more years to improve the quality of education. Don't we have highly respected Filipino nurses, doctors, educators, chefs and engineers thriving in foreign environments abroad? Aren't these people the products of four year high school programs? It's not in the number of years. It's in the quality of education and in the way we teach kids how to deal with the realities of life.

Are you ready for school little boy? Only if they teach me my ABCs in the Batcave. To the Batcave!

Rockets, Ships and Transgender Miss Universe

2012-04-18T17:42:00.000+08:00

Mike will soon be able to declare his desire for world peace on the Miss U stage

Last week’s top three news items:

#1 – NoKor’s rocket launch

Yes it failed but before it did, it sent neighboring Asian countries into red alert status. While South Korea and Japan prepared their defense systems, National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council (NDRRMC) director Benito Ramos could do nothing more than demonstrate to media how to detach ballpen caps.

"Imagine this ballpen is a rocket. This here is the part that comes off. Now you better pray you aren’t unlucky enough to be the one in 92 million Filipinos who gets a surprise rocket part."

In fairness to the NDRRMC, rumor has it that they did send a team of specialists over to areas at risk. These specialists are pros in patintero a local game crucial in training residents proper evasive maneuvers. Trainees were asked to look up while darting right and left just like in patintero. If the rocket part is falling your way, simply dart to the left or right.

Taken from Bogart the Explorer's FB page

#2 – Philippines vs. China standoff at Scarborough Shoal

Chinese fishing vessels and the Philippine’s ancient flagship the BRP Gregorio del Pilar were caught in a standoff on the disputed waters of Scarborough Shoal. Vintage is good and classy but not when it’s in reference to a warship that is the only thing standing between us and China’s wrath.

In an effort to diffuse the situation, President Aquino vowed to resolve the issue through diplomatic channels. That’s obvious enough even to a sixth grader. Armed with nothing but the naval equivalent of a slingshot, we really have no choice.

#3 – Transgender contestants in Miss Universe

Because we know there is nothing our government can do in the face of rocket debris and Chinese fishermen, our citizens saw it best to devote most of their intellectual energies to the scholarly debates over the issue of transgender contestants in Miss Universe.

Surprisingly, I have no opinion about the matter, just the observation that when standing beside my transgender hairstylist I, a natural born female, look like an ugly little boy. That is either a testament to how ugly I am or how beautiful he is. Believe me, it’s the latter. My point is that transgender women are so stunningly beautiful, I wonder if a natural born female will ever win the crown again.

What is the essence of a woman? Answer: Maybe the absence of balls.

Magnum Ice Cream - Grab a Status Symbol Now

2012-04-02T18:47:00.001+08:00

A strange viral infection swept over the web last week. Its aim was to eradicate reason and individuality and manifested itself in multiple blog and social network photos of people in compromising poses, nibbling on Magnum, the newest carrier of forbidden calories.

Gone were the pictures of cute babies; adorable cat videos; photos of breakfast, lunch, dinner; Foursquare invitations to stalkers and the constant rants against life's unfairness. When there's just a constant stream of gold labelled ice cream wrappers, you suddenly miss the creepy insights into your friends' personal lives, whereabouts, mental issues and digestive habits.

I've been told that in other cities, the infection is much worse. Elated by the idea that perceived elevated social status can now be bought, urban peacocks take pictures in very public places of before, during and after they consume the ice cream bar.

Magnum is reportedly a status symbol, but what kind of a status symbol is something that's accessible to everyone? Aren't status symbols, by their very nature supposed to be too expensive or too rare for the average Joe to have? I therefore suggest that Magnum should be declared a status symbol for the average social status.

In the interest of giving a fair(ly) biased assessment of Magnum, I had to try it. Surprisingly, it was harder to find than a haystack with a needle. It was out of stock in three stores and running out in another, as if people bought them in crates, afraid that if they ran out of it they'd look ordinary, cheap or poor.

For my first bite, I closed my eyes like the TV ad model demonstrated, but there was no consequent awakening to an adoring crowd celebrating my newly discovered royalty. There was only the realization that the name Magnum is a glaring mismatch for a sweet product. It's a more appropriate name for a mastiff, an action movie or a UFC fighter. Somehow, "Hype" has a softer, more fitting sound.

What was the taste like? Nido full cream milk seemed a tad creamier than the vanilla filling. As for the Belgian chocolate coating, I'm not refined enough to tell the differences among Belgian chocolates, Hersheys, M & Ms and ChocNut, so the distinction was lost on me.

In less than five minutes, all that supposed Belgian superiority was in my digestive system anyway, mixed with the salted dried fish I had for lunch. All I had left was a branded stick. Oh good, I could either have it framed or carry it around to flash in the faces of random strangers.

Grace Ibuna vs. Aleli Arroyo - Fight!

2012-03-17T16:44:00.000+08:00

Rich women don't have claws. They have lawyers.

In this week’s top news, Toby Tiangco takes off his shoes in court, while Grace Ibuna and Aleli Arroyo finally answer the trivia, “Who gets to bury Iggy Arroyo?”

I would have loved to write about Toby’s feet but ABS-CBN news already has a full page report on that (what an ahhhmazing display of reporting skills) and I have nothing else to add to it except maybe to note that Toby’s blue and purple striped sock heel goes well with his shock of/shocking/shocked grey hair.

I had little choice but to dissect the private lives of Grace, the third wheel who wasn’t, and Aleli, the wife who narrowly escaped an annulment, instead. It’s not my fault they were everywhere this week, in newspapers, television news programs and even in my neighbor’s dog’s Facebook page.

I'm loving that sock heel Toby.

It’s a sad, sad day when news organizations deem a man’s marital laundry to be newsworthy, but that’s less sad than Toby’s feet, and we are after all talking about a late congressman’s laundry here. In today’s society, elevated social status is all the justification you’ll need to pry into someone else’s affairs.

There’s nothing unique about the story really. The husband leaves, starts seeing someone else and dies. The interesting bit starts when the ladies battle it out for the body.

It’s not funny but it’s mildly amusing. There are no episodes requiring the services of bouncers of epic proportions, no scratching of nine inch nails, no tearing of hair and no words deadlier than shrapnel. Instead we see the delicate raising of trimmed eyebrows and the clinking of fine china over legal papers in London, proof that the law has more bite than promises of fidelity at an altar.

Even when they meet in public, hair follicles and makeup remain intact as Grace and Aleli retire to opposite sections of the church with their respective entourages, one group in white and the other in black. The “fight” is so uncharacteristic, it‘s like watching some weird paranormal activity.

Online, the violent reactions are more surprising considering the fact that none of the comment posters are the principal characters in the issue. Among some online circles, the consensus is to condemn the other woman for conduct unbecoming of a third wheel. We are a Catholic nation after all. Grace should emulate President Erap’s women who respectfully give way to the woman who holds the marriage contract (for people who cannot detect sarcasm an inch away, I'm obviously not being serious here) .

In male offline circles, the type created by bonds forged by 5% alcohol content, the talk is more subdued but in agreement. Perhaps the wife has razor sharp teeth, hence the husband's exit.

Wait a minute, why does it always have to be the women’s fault? Wasn’t there a dead man somewhere in the story too?

And that’s as far as I go. No one has access to the whole story. It’s time to say, “Mind your own business.”

The Devolution of the Filipino

2012-03-01T14:56:00.000+08:00

Be careful who you let stand beside you. Incompetence is contagious.

The prosecutors of Chief Justice Corona have no evidence and no witnesses. Even a two year old can therefore conclude that they have no case. After making themselves permanent fixtures in humor blogs nationwide they might have belatedly realized this and have now dropped five of the eight articles of impeachment. Nonetheless, they continue to harbor the delusion that they performed spectacularly.

Either they are afflicted with a pathological condition that prevents them from admitting their incompetence or they are trying to save face. After having been called “an insult to the intelligence of Filipinos” by the Lady Senator from Mt. Doom, the desire to preserve whatever shred of dignity they have left seems understandable.

The prosecutors and their congressmen supporters however, possessed by the spirit of justice (Or is it vengeance? Johnny Blaze is that you?), remain unfazed and are determined to cause continued shame to their kith and kin ten times removed and to everyone else named Tupas, Barzaga, Umali, Farinas et.al. They’ve been lectured by the senator-judges so frequently that they’re sure they now have equivalents of PhD degrees in impeachment proceedings.

They also have the support of an anonymous backer in a yellow Porsche who supplies them with enough hallucinogens to help them imagine the evidence and disregard the law better. They’re confident they can do better next year.

Gasp! There’ll be more “most embarrassing moments” next year?

I hope they realize that by that time, Corona will have been able to cover his tracks so that any remaining shard of evidence will have shrunk to plankton.

* * *

In a seemingly unrelated event, people dressed in yellow flocked to the streets over the weekend to commemorate the 26th anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution. While they prayed, sang and cheered, bystanders wondered what all the fuss was about. I have it in good authority that when members of the media asked a handful of these bystanders what EDSA meant to them, some replied that it was synonymous to heavy traffic.

Others who were obviously more engrossed over Pinoy Henyo (name the word on my forehead game) than the country’s history proceeded to ask leading questions in an attempt to guess the meaning of Edsa.

Nakakain ba yan? (Is that edible?)
Naibebenta ba yan? (Is that something that can be sold?)
Naisasanla ba yan? (Is that something that can be pawned?)
Agimat ba yan? (Is that a charm?)

I can’t blame Filipinos who don’t have an answer. It’s not their fault that they ran out of school days before they could get to the second half of their history books where the revolution is detailed.

My advice to common folk approached by the media during commemorations of the EDSA Revolution is to run away as fast as they can. Make the mistake of staying for even a minute and they will force a stupid answer out of you that will be immortalized on TV, forever making you the laughing stock of those who know better.

Up in heaven, I can imagine Ninoy crying and Cory comforting him, “There, there... they’ll remember you eventually. You’re printed on 500 peso bills.”

Corona Impeachment Trial Crawls On

2012-02-16T15:25:00.000+08:00

Fishing for evidence. You've got to dive deeper than that.

Politics is best experienced with a sense of humor.

I need a radical shift from my sedentary 12-hour workdays. Of course, what I really mean by a radical shift is putting a YouTube playlist on and moving over to the bed behind my workspace with a bag of baby carrots. That’s 5 steps to exercise my muscles and low fat snacks to cut the calories, an astounding improvement from my protracted days of immobility and frequent excursions into large bags of tasty trans fats.

Having been detached from the real world for days I was naturally eager for some good entertainment. Luckily, highlights of Chief Justice Corona’s impeachment trial were multiplying like rabbits online.

My blog lurkers noticeably veer away from posts where I’m waxing poetic about politics. After all, nothing else is better than politics (except maybe for a ride on a Philippine bus) when it comes to inducing distress, nausea and high blood pressure. What many don’t realize though is that, to preserve good health, political topics are best experienced with a sense of humor.

The current impeachment trial has proven funnier than PNoy’s unending search for the girl who can stand having Kris for an in-law. The source of hilarity stems in part from the members of the prosecution being sorely out of their league (like Luke crossing sabers with Emperor Palpatine or Westlife challenging Whitney Houston to a sing along) and so rusty they’ll give you tetanus.

Somebody please tell Rath I found his sister.

Lady Senator from Mount Doom: How many witnesses do you plan to present?
Serafin “Emperor Palpatine” Cuevas: 15
Neil “Baby Luke” Tupas: Uh… can I ask my pals first? I don’t think I have enough fingers to count. (Team Westlife combines fingers and counts by twos…)
Baby Luke: 100 witnesses your honor.
Lady Senator from Mount Doom: My foot! Are you kidding me?

By the time the trial ends they will have killed at least three senators, Enrile by old age, Santiago by cardiac arrest and Lapid by profuse nose bleeding caused by prolonged exposure to English.

Joseph “Justine Bieber” Perez: Did Corona receive special favors from Megaworld? (Prosecutors cross fingers and hope the answer is yes.)
Noli “I Lost My Hair” Perez: No
Justine Bieber: (Turns to his pal) Hey Luke, is he or isn’t he our witness?

That was a stunning display of how a prosecution panel can demolish itself with its own witness.

Then there’s --- Fishing for evidence. ~~More fun~~ Funnier in the Philippines.

Prosecution says they received incriminating bank documents from an anonymous small lady who is a no show on the senate CCTV videos. The documents have been called fakes but prosecutors stand by their story, saying that the lady was really so small, smaller than the little girl in Veterans Memorial, that the CCTV cameras couldn’t have picked her up.

Not to be outdone defense claims they also have an anonymous Palace tipster who says PNoy offered 100 million pesos per senator to win them over. At the various expressions of disbelief over the availability of such huge funds, defense says Aquino has a secret plantation of money trees from where the money will come from.

Being an anonymous tipster has become so fashionable I plan to give anonymous information on where the prosecution team can get law books in bulk and where the defense team can get textbooks on drama scriptwriting.

Notwithstanding their “100 million pesos” blunder, the defense lawyers still look like they have the upper hand in skills and common sense. Here then is a collection of pieces of advice for the prosecution…

"Practice makes perfect." –Senator Geriatric

"If you’re not sure… Just don’t." –Senator Johnny Come Lately a.k.a. The Late Senator Pimentel

"Hit the law books (or I’ll hit you with them)!" –Lady Senator from Mount Doom

"Confer with your witness before he takes the stand and make sure he's willing to fry himself in his own oil." –Senator Geriatric

"Don’t ask a question if you don’t know the answer." –Some dead law expert quoted by the Lady Senator from Mount Doom.

Corona wipes tears, crocodile or some other animal...

Personally, I think Corona has enough dirty laundry to get himself into trouble. Fortunately for him, there is a shortage of brilliant congressmen and prosecutors. Then again, we’ve only really just begun. Maybe Luke and his team will have evolved into a more intelligent species by the time we reach article 8.

Babe in the City

2012-01-30T20:00:00.000+08:00

Reality survival shows are shot in remote islands because participants have higher chances of surviving snake bites than the aggravations of urban jungles.

I’d been repeatedly warned, so much so that by the time I got to the airport, I just wanted to curl up and suck my thumb. They should’ve known I had enough supply of paranoia to drive myself crazy, but they didn’t, hence the overflow of travel advice enough to scare even Indiana Jones from visiting Metro Manila.

I tried to condition myself to believe that Manila would be no different from any other place. The only way I’d get into harm’s way, I figured, was if I forgot to pack some common sense.

I arrived in the evening carrying in my inbox my mom’s explicit stories of the sad fates of provincial looking girls in the backstreets of the area. I strode out determined to pretend to be a native of the Metro but an airport employee’s first words to me was to declare my place of origin.

Gasp! My cover was blown and so soon. What gave me away? Was it the accent, the lost dog look or the clothes of Christmas past? My mom swore she could imagine me with a huge backpack that would be the highlighter that said, “This here is a country bumpkin.”

Fortunately, despite my obvious origins, the one night I was required to spend in Manila en route to Tagaytay was uneventful, thanks in large part to friends who rescued me from the bowels of MOA before staff could announce, “Paging the parents of a lost child,” over the PA system.

The only distressing scene we witnessed was not caused by my provincial sensibilities or my lack of urban jungle survival skills. We saw the charred remains of a car on the road to NAIA 1 (an occurrence conveniently left out of the news) where we were to pick up a few other pals from Australia.

It was the trip back to NAIA two days later from Tagaytay that was more disconcerting. My friends could not drive me back to Manila due to coding restrictions so a sitter was appointed among their ranks to make sure I made it back home in one piece. Halfway through the bus ride we already had two bags of puke to add to our luggage (hers, not mine), the result of our bus driver’s passionate affair with reckless driving.

The bus might as well have been a ferry to the afterlife, faster than a speeding bullet in lanes so narrow the passengers in buses speeding alongside ours were already my seatmates. Hollywood movie producers should know about this. They want heart-stopping hi-way chases? They should ride a bus from Tagaytay to the Metro.

In Pasay, the passengers lined up in front of the bus exits like fearless paratroopers and jumped straight into moving traffic. I remember watching them weave expertly through chunks of metal thinking I was either watching Swan Lake’s final act where the prince loses his mind or a modern demonstration of survival of the fittest.

I must have blacked out. I can’t remember if I made the jump myself. The next thing I knew, I was on the sidewalk wondering how the chicken crossed the street with my friend beside me receiving instructions from a vendor to dispose of our bags of puke wherever we pleased.

My friend, having discharged her duties and her breakfast chucked me into a cab for the ride to the airport. My driver was a nice, chatty chap who was from Mindanao too and was so solicitous of my safety that he drove me smoothly to NAIA 3 where I wasn’t supposed to be. My plane was in NAIA 2.

I wish I’d just applied as an extra in the Bourne Legacy. I would have been paid for the aggravation.

Panday 2 Review – Sort Of

2012-01-14T11:49:00.000+08:00

Belive in your own hype. No one else will.

I was in the dark, screaming for salvation, but when Flavio squinted into the morning sun and raised his sword in an attempt to convey the noble struggle of the reluctant hero, I knew I was doomed for another hour in purgatory. Purgatory. But I think I was closer to the brink of the pits of movie hell.

I should have paid closer attention to the promotional frame; respectable, bespectacled, looking-like-experts people heaping rave reviews at Panday 2 and the implied postscript that said it was for kids. To paraphrase: Get ready for a senseless swashbuckling spectacle devoid of depth and a rational plot.

The idea should have been simple enough. Find the resurrected bad guy and kill him, simplicity I can accept and potentially appreciate, but they take the thought, pepper it with nettles, ram it down our throats and force us to believe it’s still digestible.

The problem with the story begins when Lizardo rises from the dead. Baruha’s intervention barely affords us an explanation as to the means of his resurrection other than, “She’s just got the power, man! Got a problem with that? “

If I clipped my nails, clicked my heels or did any other random act, I’d have been able to resurrect him too. That’s just saying the writer had to find any lame excuse to bring him back to life. Otherwise the movie would have been Panday 2: The Story of Flavio’s Boring Domestic Life.

It gets worse. Flavio learns of the return of his arch nemesis and promptly begins to wander aimlessly in search of him. Good for him, Lizardo loves to always be in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason, hence affording the opportunity for some sword tickling with Flavio. When Moses wandered the wilderness, he had a destination. Flavio’s was just wherever, whenever.

What’s worse than the story are the characters and the people who play them. There’s Bong Revilla, Jr., the king of massive jaws, whose utter lack of empathy for Flavio’s inner conflict is made obvious by his perpetually pained look; not the “I’ve got a deep dark conflict boiling inside of me” look, but the “wow, these lines are so difficult to deliver convincingly” look. An elephant on tranquilizers would have done a better job.

It didn’t help that Flavio was pitted against equally uncreative and thoroughly uninspired villains. Both Baruha and Lizardo have had extra shots of laughing gas, hence explaining their unstoppable urge to incessantly laugh their lines out, an unconscious message to kids that bad guys have so much more fun than the good guys.

Twins separated at birth.

Baruha bears the burden of the stereotype more. She is a cut out from an old Halloween catalogue. Whoever dressed her is clearly unaware that Hogwarts opened 14 years ago, where hip, modern witches are no longer required to wear pointed hats and sport crooked noses. Tsk, you are so 1950s Baruha.

The special effects should have been the movie's saving grace, perhaps the best in the Philippines, until you spot the missing twin. It’s either the Clash of the Titan’s Kraken had a twin brother separated from him at birth or cut and paste is now a standard practice in the special effects department.

Okay enough already. If I go any further I’ll lose my ability to string two thoughts together.

Cagayan de Oro Disaster Trivia – Whose Fault Was It?

2011-12-30T10:38:00.000+08:00

Count yourself lucky if people think you’re lame. At least you’re not yet a loser.

Like every humor blogger, I wanted to close the year with a yearend special that would leave you rolling with laughter at the indignities of people in the socio-political spotlight, but I live in Cagayan de Oro. Even if you’ve been severely detached from reality by the Cartoon Network, you’d have heard that the year ender of year enders, Typhoon Sendong, swept over Cagayan de Oro City and Iligan, causing flash floods and killing hundreds. It would be inappropriate to write about unrelated humor.

Did I just say, “unrelated humor?” That implies that related humor is permissible. How insensitive of me, but really, all I want to do now is to hand some belated Christmas presents to certain city officials. There’s a good supply of “Lame Mirrors” at the local surplus shop that’d satisfy my sudden impulse for generosity.

The gifts even come with special instructions. Look into the mirror and slowly move it to the right. Stop when the letter “L” is right at the center of your forehead. There, perfect!

While it is true that no one can prevent a natural calamity from happening, common sense, caution and the absence of greed and political motives can at least save lives.

For example, common sense says you should not relocate communities by a river that sits by denuded forests and eroded regions perpetuated partly by your own greed. Your sense of caution should tell you not to ignore warnings from eye glass-wearing experts, with special degrees you can only pronounce with the help of a dictionary, of an impending disaster. Also, you should never, ever assume that nothing bad will ever happen just because it hasn’t happened yet in your lifetime or in your term of office.

I heard over the radio the other day that someone wants to set the record straight because we deserve the truth. Whose record? Why, his of course, written, edited and published by him. So while hundreds of displaced families sit in warm tents waiting for salvation, someone’s making rushed media rounds with ten fingers pointed outward. It’s everybody’s fault but mine.

Well, if he can spell E-L-E-C-T-I-O-N-S without cheating, I might believe him.

Red Socks, Santa and the Smell of...

2011-12-13T18:04:00.000+08:00

Christmas is for everyone, most especially for department store owners.

Warning: Severe rambling ahead.

As a little kid, Christmas to me meant breathing cool air, eating ham in pineapple juice, listening to the sound of feel good carols and showing goodwill to all. As a parent, recollections of Christmas are now peppered with memories of sardine cans the size of malls, filled with irate shoppers smelling of arm (pit) sweat in mile long lines to cashiers dressed like Santa’s haggard little elves.

This year I was officially inducted into the arm (pit)-scented society as I squeezed into congested mall aisles. My mission was to look for a Santa cap, red shirt, shorts, sneakers and knee high red and white striped socks.

The socks were the hardest to find. Every school had the “original” idea of making all their kids wear the same socks for their school programs so by the time I hit the shelves, there were only green striped socks for green elves. But my daughter is a red elf!

Good thing the man in the red suit himself seemed to be trailing my route as I ransacked every major and minor store for the seemingly mythical red socks. He was trying to cheer me on, I say!

There he was on a stand in one mall playing the saxophone. I drew close to listen to some uplifting music to inspire me in my futile search for red socks. To my surprise he didn’t seem to be playing a popular Christmas song. In fact, it sounded faintly like Careless Whisper.

In another store, I came across the man in the flesh, all 4ft. 11 inches of him, dressed in a suit so thin he looked like he was going to shiver from the cold in a tropical country. He was carrying a placard, making him look more like the bearer of bad news, “Repent! The end is nigh!”

“Will you put my photo on Facebook?” Santa asked. “Why sure Santa, so that the world may know how you've been reduced to a shadow of your former self and into a department store employee.”

Several more stores and Santas later and I started wondering where the guy whose birthday it is we’re supposed to be commemorating on the 25th was. I suppose Santa is the preferred bearer of commercial good cheer because store employees in newborn swaddling cloths will probably sell fewer red socks, green socks, toys and whatnot.

I finally found a pair of red socks in a quiet Chinese-owned store that didn’t seem to be celebrating Christmas. Great. Now I can tell my arm (pit)-scented community members where they can buy their socks so they don’t have to go through the hoops I’d been through and run the risk of losing their Christmas spirit.

Female Issues

2011-11-29T19:15:00.001+08:00

Don't wear a bad dress or a good one backwards if you're not Angelina Jolie.

If it weren't for this dress' brand tag and the two lines in front that I took to mean "This side up" I wouldn't have known front from back. I don't like dresses but I had to get one for a family affair. My fashion consultant, a.k.a. my husband, who is also my makeup and footwear adviser (I hope he's not gay), picked this one. I suspect it's because this is the one that can hide my convex curves best.

The dress was only the first hurdle. There were a hundred other things to think about--- hair, makeup, shoes, accessories, dead skin cells, constantly forgetting to sit with my legs crossed, etc. For most of these I figured I just needed some Gatsby, extreme facial exfoliation, ancient baubles from Jack Sparrow's chest and an appointment with a Halloween makeup artist. My only real great problem was the footwear. Would my dress look best with Nike or Addidas?

I kept an old pair of heels (clearly for emergency purposes) in a box along with other things I'd rather forget. Because I was certain rubber shoes would be treated like an atrocity, I had to take out the heels for a test walk. Shortly after, a trail of fine white powder started following me. Oh yeah, that's right. Like a lot of other things you bury for three years, earth friendly sandals decompose. The fine powder was parts of it joining Mother Earth.

Of course I had to get a new pair. My first order of business was to ask the sales clerk if I could swap my pick for a pair of sneakers if I came to my senses in a day or two.

Problems solved.

Not really. Despite the ingeniously designed dress, the facial diamond peeling and the new sandals, there was a great deal of pain, discomfort and feeling like fish out of water. The dress clung on sweaty skin, the makeup artist made me look like a cheap walking undead movie extra and the heels felt like weapons of mass destruction, massively destroying the muscles in my legs.

I can't believe any female can be feminine and be entirely comfortable.

Losing the Battle with the Bulge

2011-11-15T14:21:00.001+08:00

You can't hold a gym LIABLE for any losses including the loss of self-esteem due to the lack of results.

I wish I could hold someone or something liable for my infinitesimal progress at the gym and my waning interest in hammer curls and reverse crunches. I wish I could blame it on my instructor's total lack of concern over my Herculean struggle to repetitively lift 4 lb. dumbbells or on the gym's ancient electricity-free equipment (I strongly suspect they inherited these from Fred Flintstone), but I can't.

My failure to fit the clothes of yore is entirely my fault. You see, I can endure displacing my bowels with 15 straight sets of ab exercises but I can't stand having to park my brain for a few minutes to run on a treadmill.

I can't survive with my brain on screen saver mode. It constantly needs to have something to process. I try to process the images of the aero dancers in front of me into useful pieces of information, but all I can think of is me on that dance floor looking like a limp cow in a herd of gazelles.

I need to learn to mentally shut down or I will lose the battle with the bulge.

As If Taal Volcano Wasn't Good Enough

2011-10-31T15:27:00.000+08:00

IMITATION is the sincerest form of flattery, only if it’s done in good taste.

More than a week ago, news spread of Governor Vilma Santos' idea of putting a Batangas Hollywood-like sign over Taal Volcano. That was really just in time for Halloween. It scared the peanuts out of me. That’s scarier than The Exorcist on a perpetual play loop.

Seriously, more netizens found it hilarious, hence, the avalanche of ridicule. A few days after the announcement, the more graphically skilled stone throwers created their own mock ups to… well, mock the proposal. My favorite is this one by Darwin Dela Cruz.

Darwin’s idea is a lot more appropriate to allocate tax money to than Gov. V’s.

In her own defense, Gov. V says people are overreacting. The proposal is still up for discussion, but really, the fact that they even thought about it…

V’s defenders were quick to say the sign will help boost tourism. I don’t know about travelling to places just to see signs (unless it’s the Hollywood sign) but if I were to visit Taal Volcano, I would go there with the intention of seeing the volcano, not some sign!

The Link Between Men and Beef

2011-10-12T18:34:00.000+08:00

BAD ADVERTISING seeks to appeal to the inner moron.

What do men and beef have in common? Nothing, except maybe they're both bad for your health when taken in excess, which makes me wonder at the association made in a fairly new ad between the two disparate elements.

In the ad, young men, who (not so accidentally) are either half Filipino or were born in western countries, play football on a green field against a backdrop of grazing black cattle. At first you'd wonder, are they advertising the cattle's impending death by football or are they suggesting these chiseled men are bred like cattle? Then you realize, what they're really saying is that Angus beef is superior to the local variety just as these nearly foreign looking men are superior to the pure native stock.

Oh but wait, who got the Golden Boot for his excellent performance in the Long Teng Cup? Wasn't that the short, brown, homegrown Chieffy Caligdong? I'd like to see small brown cattle and Chieffy in that ad!

Pirates Know Their Synonyms

2011-09-28T15:09:00.000+08:00

Study your synonyms so you'll know how to say things in a way that won't get you into trouble.

Jan and I were in the mall when he asked me for another word for "transformers". I thought, was that even a legitimate word? I was stumped. He showed me the answer sitting on a toy shelf. Wow, these pirates get brighter by the day. Now they know enough synonyms to ride on a trademarked hit without getting themselves into trouble.

Then again, they won't ever get into trouble here even if they used the actual trademarked word and maybe just changed "T" to "Z". I've never witnessed the law against piracy enforced in this city. I don't know if there is a Philippine law against toy piracy but there is one against media piracy and merchants still sell in broad daylight, beside or across police stations. If DVD pirates have nothing to worry about, then more so their synonym-wielding pals in the toy niche.

Speak English Softly

2011-09-13T18:04:00.000+08:00

We give birth to Filipinos so we can raise them to speak a foreign language and work for other countries.

In my kid’s old school, the English speaking area is also the silence zone. They should have been more explicit and just labeled it the English mime hall. But really, I would have preferred to speak Filipino in my own country, thank you.

In other schools, English speaking campaigns are stricter. Students are not only required to ditch their native tongue for a foreign one, they’re also punished for failing to do so. The general intention of these campaigns is well meant. Educators think that forcing Filipino kids to learn English will open more employment opportunities and produce more Ms. Universe winners.

Sadly, these aggressive campaigns have proven detrimental to our mastery of our own national language and regional dialects. I’ve known straight A students who’d rather do algebra upside down than recite in Filipino. The grandson of Filipino hero, Ninoy Aquino, no less, sits across his mother in a milk commercial and babbles in wonderful English, asking his mom to translate two simple Filipino words he does not understand.

It’s true. Knowing English can put you at an advantage. I should know. I work for an Australian company that pays well, but I still think our children should be bilingual in equal degrees. Otherwise, we’d be nothing more than a factory of workers for foreign companies.

For the record, I had higher grades in Filipino than in English. To this day, I still confuse gerunds with gerbils and adverbs with a torture device.

Now On To Some Unpleasant Business

2011-08-27T08:47:00.000+08:00

EXERCISE is a lot like paying taxes. It’s an unpleasant experience.

Yes, I am trying to lose weight and attempting the near impossible task of getting my muscles toned. Although this isn’t really for aesthetic reasons, I must say that’s not entirely a bad idea. I’ve grown so big I now look like an over eagerly packed spring roll in my old pants. I now sadly share my husband’s waistline, and occasionally, his pants.

But the real reason why I have to struggle to stay fit is because my blood sugar levels are high, my cholesterol levels are high and I am highly susceptible to diseases with names that sound like they were invented for a Harry Potter prequel. I wish they’d said I was high in methane, but no, it had to be those things.

I probably won’t be buying the Ab Rocket anytime soon though. Imagine putting out a great deal of effort to exercise and it’s the waiter who slims down.

Can You Say Cease and Desist?

2011-08-13T10:59:00.003+08:00

STALKING

is an act perpetrated by fairly educated individuals who don't know the meaning of "cease and desist".

Aw shucks, lucky fan! I've only gone crazy over cartoon characters. I've sent tons of fan mails to my super favorites but Lion-O, He-Man and Batman haven't once replied to me yet.

Again, Why Blog?

2011-08-13T10:00:00.004+08:00

A PERSONAL BLOG is like an exhibit no one wants to visit.

That may or may not be true. Your mom, brothers, sisters and maybe 20 other relatives can pack your gallery. It does, however, take a great deal of work to maintain readership even among those loyal to you because they had no choice in having you for a blood relation. So why blog at all?

This was originally a personal blog. Surprisingly, I once found a small audience for it outside of my family, a handful of individuals in varying shades of jadedness, with the same level of acidic insanity. I lost a lot of my readers when life got in the way. The realization dawned that money, not words, feed babies. For many online wordsmiths, money is hard to come by.

I don’t think I’ll ever really quit though. I like it here because I don’t have to struggle and give up who I am to survive. I don’t have to pretend to be anything and there is certainly no requirement to save the world.

Call me selfish. When every other blogger wants to make a difference, I want to keep this small space for my personal mental therapy. Anyone looking for a case subject for a psychology study is welcome to dive into this spontaneous morass from a self-confessed nut case.

Incidentally, during my bouts of lucidity, I do try to save the world too in other virtual spaces not in danger of getting tainted by my cerebral drippings.

From Aseroh With Love

2011-07-27T19:16:00.001+08:00

I’m a blog addict. The invisible player in my head starts playing “Singin’ in the Rain” when I start customizing themes, widgetizing sidebars and activating plugins, but navigating blogging platforms is the farthest I can go. When techies start going on about PHP, JavaScript, Pearl, MySQL and such, my eyes glaze over. Computer was, after all, one of my subjects of doom in high school.

That’s why when my host started emailing me about backing up my own databases, I dismissed him as a relic from the Tower of Babel. Unfortunately, my inability to decipher tech speak led to me nearly getting killed by a virtual tsunami.

Over the weekend, my sites were stripped clean, hundreds of pages, thousands of visitors, thousands in income, gone with a click of a mouse. The perpetrator who took away three years worth of hard work left his calling card on one of my homepages with the obvious advice, “You must be better next time.”

A thousand thoughts raced through my numb neurons, most of them gibberish, but I had the energy to at least wonder why hackers do what they do. My friend says there are white hats who stick warning notes on poorly secured servers. The black hats are the ones with motivations that are harder to figure out.

Caesar had a reason for crossing the Rubicon. Superman had a reason for going against good judgement and wearing briefs like a highlighter over tights. Heck, even Robert Pattinson probably had a reason for agreeing to portray a one dimensional character in perpetual need of a bath. So why, why, why are there black hats who just break things?

I was a kid who lost a lollipop over the weekend. I wonder if the one who took it is happy now.

No Money In This Book's Leaves

2011-07-13T14:04:00.002+08:00

I was in the local bookstore the other day looking for Tim Ferriss’ “The 4-Hour Workweek” for some business related research I needed to do. The sales clerk proceeded to ask me if that was “4,” “Four,” or “For” and if that was “Ferriss” as in “Ferris wheel.” Finally, after much swapping of letters that would have lost both of us the national pre school spelling bee, the clerk declared, “It’s out of stock.”

I had my doubts, but I did not request for a spelling rematch. I had decided right away that I had a spare Php 300 because over at the fiction shelf was Miguel Syjuco’s Ilustrado.

Long before I set off to attempt to crack the secret code to earning a fortune online, my interest lay in literature, the kind that pureed your brains, gave you a nosebleed and left you depressed. Not that Syjuco’s masterpiece is anything of that sort, but I’ve only really just started reading it.

It’s been four years since I’ve picked up anything of this sort. Since I had kids, money books made better sense because, for lack of a kinder term, they simplified life in no uncertain terms. Learn what sells and learn to sell or your kids starve.

So why am I cheating on my kids, reading a book that doesn’t teach you how to make money? I’m convinced my uninterrupted running after money has left me dumb and dumber. Soon I might also lose my character.

I’m on a vacation from trying to make more money, at least for a couple of hours, prepared to drown either in my cup of overpriced tea or in Ilustrado’s pages, whichever comes first.

When Time Stops

2011-07-01T11:53:00.002+08:00

It's unavoidable. Working moms can try to balance work, family and self to maintain some semblance of sanity but there is no defying the natural limits of time so ultimately priorities have to be made. In the mad daily rush that defines a family woman's life, family comes first followed by work and then self.

That explains why I often get to comb my hair only once a day and not even properly such that only half of all my strands are in their proper place. The rapidly expanding natural life saver around my torso has also been left so seriously unattended that I'm certain I'll soon develop enough fat to naturally protect me from the cold. The previously allotted schedules for 100 brush strokes and stomach crunches are now dedicated to my hyper active screaming banshees and to extra gigs to make more money that's just never enough.

That's just how it is and I don't resent it. Besides, there are those moments when circumstances force you to stop. The other night, we had to rush my daughter to the hospital and after all the panic had subsided and she'd been given medication, we were told she still had to be admitted.

In a room with no instant internet connection and no way to chat with clients, time stopped. I didn't complain. Nobody likes to be in a hospital but staying put with my favorite girl in the world watching Bizaare Foods on cable was the best treat I'd had in weeks.

Philippine Classrooms Promote Better Education

2011-06-13T18:16:00.005+08:00

When I was a college OJT, I got the chance to accompany my boss to a public school where he taught values. As he was shedding sheets of sweat, and nearing dehydration, with the effort of exhorting his students to emulate some saintly virtue, several pairs of eyes kept peering from the hallway windows.

I learned later on that the owners of those eyes were part of the class. They were constrained to give my boss’ constipated performance a mandatory standing ovation outside because there weren’t enough seats inside to accommodate them.

Those kids had it good actually. The kids at the back of the class had to risk their limbs performing a delicate balancing act on chairs that looked like they were held together by safety pins. Some chairs had no back rests, arm rests or had gaping holes on the seats like toilet bowls.

More than a decade after witnessing that state of calamity, I wonder how modern Philippine classrooms are doing. Based on news reports, there have been changes. Here are just some of the improvements that support better learning:

Due to the lack of classrooms, existing classrooms can now be occupied by two different grade levels being taught two different subjects. This permits young pupils to learn as early as grade 1 the concept of division. As a bonus for good performance, a teacher can reward her pupils by performing magic. She can disappear from one half of the room and reappear in the other half so she can teach both classes. This is a basic trick since most teachers have yet to master the illusion of being in two places at one time.
Pre-school students who have no classrooms squat in the hallways during classes, thereby allowing them to develop their leg muscles, a good preparation for higher physical education lessons.
Older kids also have their share of classroom shortages that’s conveniently solved by night classes. That’s good training for when they join the BPO/call center workforce.
Many students still have classrooms. Some of these promote practical and hands on education. Students can make detailed observations of the underwater greenery in their flooded rooms or learn proper garden shovelling when the water subsides.
Classroom sharing can be done across one grade or year level so students can concentrate on learning just one lesson at a time. This serves the dual purpose of values formation. Students learn quicker the value of endurance when they have to share a tight square space with 60 to 90 other human beings.

President Aquino is eager to add two more years to the high school level. It’ll be interesting to see how/where else students can hold classes. Well the trees are still unoccupied.