Spring Roll

High Energy

2009-11-09T09:12:00.002+08:00

I was supposed to be on mandatory rest for tooth healing.
But two films in a night were too energetic for me.
It doesn't mean I was equally on an adrenaline rush as a viewer.

Gerald Butler becomes an action/thriller Hannibal Lecter, without
the Spartan heroics in "Law Abiding Citizen."

While the King of Pop is given his posthumous, oh-so-kind presentation in the
musical documentary, "This Is It."

I wonder which of the two was scarier to watch, a serial killer searching
for justice, or a dead man moonwalking?

The downer was, where's "Rock With You?" Not much from the album
"Off the Wall," I guess.

While Jaimie Foxx seems like he'll sing any moment, stuck with my
images of his "Ray" and "Dreamgirls" roles, the prosecutor was always
on defense, so his counter attack is too late, and by this time,
I was too tired.

But he will witness a mind-blowing judge, literally, instead of Jennifer Hudson's
explosive performance and plea.

I slept through some scenes from the Jackson docu. Maybe it was wrong for me
to watch it after the Butler-Foxx showdown, and it was too late at night.
The music-mentary was too repetitive for me in its flow.

Or am I sour-graping because he didn't sing "Ben", too?
That song was a Pied Piper tune inspired by the rodent and rat-filled movie,
"Willard". Jackson also did another film-inspired song, "Someone In The Dark" for "E.T."

There's more daring in Madonna's music documentary, "Truth Or Dare."

And there's more scare, and brains, too, in "Silence of the Lambs."

I should've heeded my dentist's advice, bed rest for 48 hours.

Where does wasted energy go then, now that I was a participant
to both movies?

I forgot my Physics to compute the loss in joules.
In fact, I never attended my college Physics class.
But that's another wasted energy story altogether.

Point of Return

2009-11-08T17:44:00.003+08:00

I almost made it, realizing the dream of semi-retirement!
7 months of bliss, time was at my command.

I wish at least I made it a full year, but you know how Decembers go.
Aside from that month which makes me a year older,
the year-end big bills like LUMP SUM payments happen.
Ah, but it's forced savings to invest on a pre-sold property.

So, as if things fell into place, as finances dwindled,
by stroke of timing and opportunity, a job offer came about.

When I was in a panic mode, three offers came into life.
I almost set up an agency, but by fate, it didn't want to progress.
I just had to back out from it, unfortunately, at the last minute.

There was a 3x a week work schedule offer too, my terms.
It was an attempt from my side to have regular, predictable income,
yet still having two days a week of free time.

But that didn't happen, too.

There was also the promise of moving to a different field,
still advertising, but this time, brand planning.
Well, the wait was too long, I needed a regular salary again.

Until stars aligned, the skies brought about a new day,
unaware, a job by reason of need, from both ends,
the hiree and the one who was hiring materialized.

Seven months of idleness, and being busy, at my own time,
I will surely miss that.

I completed watching Cinemalaya entries, all competing flicks,
for the first time, and ended up being part of next year too,
as a screener. (Which means, I cannot join it, sigh.)

I made new friends too, from the Cinemalaya season.
That is priceless to me.

I did that sardines ad, direct to client deal.
It proved effective and their sales started showing
significant uptick in figures, yeah!

I was able to work for seven agencies, big and small, during the seven-month itch.
I was exposed to the different ways of working,
and met brilliant, and nice people.

I lasted, albeit sacrificing the desire to shop for new clothes or shoes.

Friends and acquaintances helped me, they just came,
and offered, and sustained me.

Afternoon coffee chats became a norm, a luxury of the earning part-time bum,
while everyone is in their office. The malls are much less congested
at this hour.

It gave me time to be healthier, too.
I upped the frequency of going to the gym.
I completed all the necessary dental procedures I have ignored,
which included three visits for a root canal, two fillings, total
teeth cleaning and scaling, and yes, an extraction!

I was able to attend an advanced scriptwriting workshop.
So, I was exposed to a genius named Lao.

I even got to write a script, not original, but
like a script doctor, revising what's wrong with an indie film,
although as indie goes, that one hasn't paid me yet!

Financial need at least didn't make me resort to
my pet peeve, writing an audio-visual presentation
or that text-heavy brochure!

Someone told me, when freelancing, don't accept anything below
5,000 pesos. Luckily, I never got a task which pays less than 25,000!

God is good, His timing is perfect.
Now that bigger needs come at the end of the year,
I will be employed, again.

It was a learning process, the missed offers, the rejected offers,
the offers that never came, and finally the deciding one.
It was hard to turn down some too, painful experience I
had to go through. One even deleted me from Facebook.
Sigh. But I have no regrets, nor do I resent it.
It's business, I guess. Nothing personal.

I will be a Creative Director once again, dropping the "E" before CD,
which doesn't matter to me. I like the account I'll be working on.
And my new boss seems to be fun and hardworking at the same time.

Now, the big adjustment I have, it's not doing what I've always been doing,
but how to get to Sesame Street. It's not within my usual perimeter
and geography of work. And December traffic is bad.
It's hard to get a cab.

Next step is to find an office mate who can bring me back to Makati,
in the bustle of Christmas month, in time for one necessity,
my gym training in the evening! Now I resent the fact
that I never learned to drive!

Health is wealth. That I can never give up.

So help me God in this newfound task.

Returning to the world that sustained me, I count my blessings.
Thanks to those who were ready to be of help
in my seven limbo months. I love you all.

.

Crazy Zombies and Conquistador's Bones

2009-11-03T15:08:00.002+08:00

Those watermelons in the air kept me sleepless to attack the zombies. While treasure hunting and rarely getting Cortes' bones draggingly bring me to the next level.

Plants and Zombies is a delight, only at certain levels. I hate my metacarpals being pressured to move quickly. The slowness of Treasure Mania, a Facebook application preview, is friendlier for my keyboard fingers. Although it's such a long wait to have a health kit refilled.

Downloading P&Z (Plants) cost me 99 pesos. I didn't know some had it for free. But it's cheap enough, although I had to delete a lot of files to accommodate its running. But its clear sharp visuals are fabulous.

My favorite weapon is the star. Its five- pointed edge release bullets quicker than the other ones.

Mindless games keep me sane. The lull I enjoy before the working storm coming, soon, a regular day worker, is to be dumb and unthinking. Only reflexes support my survival for these internet games.

I have shunned Farm Town, although I still maintain it, but with lesser fervor. I only plant for contacts and neighbors who are in the progress of expanding their haciendas.

The past month has been non-earning for me, although at least, the last of the receivables are coming in, save for two sources.

In between lull and the loss of freelancing freedoms, I empty my brain.

Goodbye, long lazy days and internet nothingness.

And to the zombies I have slain, thanks for the week-long battle.

What's done is done, let's move on to the next stress and mind fatigue buster, like, hmmm... sex? I have free time till November 15. Promo good while time lasts.

Chinky Chinky Ya-Ya Da-Da

2009-10-31T10:36:00.003+08:00

It's the salt. Before I thought the "China Syndrome" comes from MSG in the food. This is a different buzz aside from alcohol.

But nothing satiates me more than good old Lutong Macau restaurant along Jupiter St. "Steamed Suahe", unflavored smaller prawns perfect for dipping in soya and chili oil makes me feel higher than the Shanghai Tower. Once they meet, it's perfect combination.

Saltiness of soya though makes me imagine being in a bloated state brought about by too much water retention.

But during the conversation as we ate, someone said soya is high in estrogen, which may be counter to what men like me need, a constant supply of testosterone. Scary, to have estrogen, does this cause man-boobs to grow? Harhar.

Avoiding rice or noodles, we gorged on chopstick culinary chows. Feeling healthy but not, Hainanese Chicken in oh, that lovely ginger dip, lessens the guilt of having deep fried chicken instead.

We avoided the namesake of the place, that Lutong Makaw, pretending to be conscious about gaining flabs and cholesterol. It's the post-workout psyche of trying to sustain the good deed of going to the gym.

Then, the two-vegetable mix in dried scallop sauce came along. Again, there's salt in that sauce. I should wash it more with a lot of water, but then again, I don't like to make multiple stops to the restroom.

But wait, I can't go on like this without a guilty pleasure. Bring in the spare ribs in tausi sauce, my favorite dimsum. I realized the best part of working out, is the eating after. This will never go wrong. Spareribs in tausi is good anywhere, be it from Ongpin, or from mainstream Ling Nam, or classic Hap Chan.

Riceless, noodle-less, but happiness indeed. It's weird to eat after a hard workout. You try to eat less carbs, but the sum total of what we had seem to be more.

Again, blame the salt. ( I am in denial that we ate a lot. )

Now, my eyes, always a bit chinky, have never felt so chinkier.

But the post-glow after exercise, makes me proud. I seem to have smooth Chinese skin. And it's not my SK2's or Olays who deserve the credit. It's in my chinky genes, however small the percentile may be.

Or maybe, it's actually the effect of MSG, considering a billion Mandarin speakers take it with their food? Far out, but if this stupid logic is for real, I am gonna buy every Ajinomoto in town!

Come Back, Bic

2009-10-28T11:35:00.003+08:00

QWERTY killed the art of hand writing. A font was created, the unique penmanship dies.

The personality that oozes from the ink that lands on paper, every curve and stroke of the movement of fingers, aided by the palm and the wrist, have been mechanically deleted by the keyboard.

Pen pals have been replaced by instant messaging contacts.

And worse, words have been abbreviated by text messaging.

The speedball dip into a bottle of India Ink may sound absurd or unheard of in this generation. But there's a momentum in the dip, before a word meets the paper, aided by the speedball. It seems like writing then was a sacred ritual.

The quill becomes a cute prop seen in costume period films and HBO specials. It signifies the need to say the timeline of a story is dated, by using the outdated handwriting tool.

When was the last time you licked the edge of an envelope to seal that letter?

Love letters have become passe. Now, it's a collection of music shared in iPods and mp3 players, hoping the song's message done not by you, but a lyricist, expresses the love you feel for another.

The only need for handwriting nowadays is for signature of documents and checks. But even email messages have customized signature endings as well.

Then we begin to talk about the humble Mongol, too. Every word was manually erased by that bottom orange-colored thing. Now it is simply commanding backspace, or highlight a whole sentence, and press delete.

I remember a Mongol ballpoint pen that still had an eraser at its bottom. But my, how hard it was to erase ballpoint ink, it almost ruins the paper.

Or there was a nail polish act, called Snopake, or Liquid Eraser, to supersede what has been written.

In the name of efficiency and speed, the computer keyboard was born, a descendant of the Olympia typewriter. But what was sacrificed was that personal touch.

This Christmas, make an effort to use that Bic Ballpen again, and put some handwritten notes in the gift card, and not just as a signature. And extend beyond the generic "Merry Christmas" and individualize the message suited to each receiver.

In austere times, and post calamity season, the person behind the text matters. We're losing human contact because of technology. Leave a mark, at the very least, that you're not a computer bot. Use that hand. Grab a Bic, or a Kilometrico, or a Reynolds. Or if you're romantic and stylish enough, use a quill, a speedball, or a fountain pen.

And drop a note or two in your daily lives, be it at the office, or at home, personally hand worded by you. It makes a big difference in this automated, wired world.

Signed as first draft using
Eberhard Faber No.2,

Lilit.

A Not So Hot Summer Affair (SPOILER ALERT!)

2009-10-27T22:22:00.002+08:00

So it's a guy chasing a girl, and the girl has the right to drop a guy in love. There's this yearning from deep inside of me to see love sans cuteness. As the film announces this is not a love story, my hopes were getting high. And most of my friends were going ga-ga over this film.

But it's melancholia without dropping cute moments. It didn't cut deeply even if it was a tandem that actually wasn't meant to be.

I missed Gerald Butler's declaration of the Ugly Truth, that men are after boobies. Sadly, he fell into the trap of chick flicks and thawed in the end to a grand hot-air balloon kiss.

The last love story I saw which dared defy all love stories was "Closer." It was like a splash of cold water on one's face looking for a fab foursome that never was.

After seeing the quirkiness of love in the non-Twilight vampire film "Let the Right One In" which I savored for its true melancholia, "500 Days of Summer" was actually "Let the Right One Out" in a non-linear countdown of those days of being hooked to That Summer Girl.

After summer comes autumn, awww c'mon. Okay, it's witty to end with a pun, and another girl, and start with Day One. Someone has to save the lonely guy from ending miserable and be a loser for life.

Now I don't get the musical number which was done wickedly campier in "Enchanted." I told you this film was trying to be anti-love story but can't forego cute.

The guy even declared, "we're adults in a relationship, there's no need for labels, it's too juvenile." But why do I feel this flick was juvenile in its sentiments?

Call me wet blanket. I do love chick flicks. But this neither wanted to be one fully, nor be anti-love struck Hollywood.

It's hard to be caught in the middle of love and lovelessness in one film. Better choose, boy.

And the other guy who just appeared in Summer's life needed more explanation. Yes the guy wanted an explanation, too. No to boyfriends, but yes to marriage, just because the moment came?

I'd rather be Sleepless in Seattle and savor the chick flickiness with my popcorn all the way. Or I'd rather get Closer and be darkly in love. Or, I'd rather go tragic and dwell on unrequited love in all its pain and self-destructing glory.

I didn't know how to feel as the movie progressed.

If you ask me, I should've opened up the DVD box set of Grey's Anatomy Season 5, and indulge in its decadent, medically love-swapping ways, or yes, maybe I should finally catch "Glee." But I hope all these Facebook statuses declaring an enjoyable find won't end up as a summer experience I might easily forget, too. But I am still excited about "Glee." It's television. There's guiltless pleasure I derive nowadays with TV series.

Sorry, I know some of you are fans of 500 days, but, maybe it wasn't made for me.

This is just an opinion, okay, a wet blanket kind of rant.

To each his own viewing pleasure, I guess.

A Serving of Angus Beef Steak Garnished with Paper Roses

2009-10-26T12:47:00.003+08:00

Post-Sassa Jimenez show, we were all famished. From the catwalk, to the boardwalk connecting SMEX to SM MOA, the destination was the mall version of Tagaytay Highlands' steakhouse. We all trooped to the call of indulgent beef.

Medium rare, to savor the beefy juiciness were the magic words in my head I was raring to say to the waiter as we ordered.

With all this plywood panels surrounding us, for interior design's log cabin effect, little did we know we will also be transported to Folk House Bodega and retro My Father's Moustache days with the decadence of Shakey's Malate, and what used to be a food court in Farmer's Market. It's where beer and amateur music performances complete the journey to outback heartland, of the spaghetti western Weng Weng cowboy kind.

This folk singer kept on singing, until he sang "Paper Roses," I felt, I was losing my craving for bovine grill. The lyrics, "so take away the flowers that you gave me, and send the times that you remind me of, paper roses..." OK, why will a guy sing about roses being sent to him? Then "Wonderful Tonight" was his next ditty. This song is the quintessential beer in a bucket song for any roadside grill and drink stop. And yes, he sounded like a cross between Eddie Peregrina and Darius Razon.

It didn't help at all, that there's cinematographically-friendly smoke around. Yes, the smoke from the grill can only mean our required fashionably chic attire for Sassa's show will smell like Sunday barbecue. Someone forgot installing exhaust systems in an air-conditioned restaurant, I guess.

The waiters around us were clapping eagerly to the folk singer's beat, in all-out support for the performer trying to earn money while everyone is engrossed with their meals. Now I felt like I was in Friday's and its hyper order takers and birthday greeters.

Culinary taste and tasteful ambience rarely make good bedfellows in a mall. However certified American Angus steak, at no less than 1,200 pesos per serving it may be, we deserve a discount. The folk singing and smokescreen that filled the grilled beef air, made our steak indulgence seem to be far from well done an experience.

Good thing I was in good company. No amount of decadence can ruin a happy gathering among friends ( who I know will not delete me from Facebook).

By the way, I loved the comeback of geometric silhouettes and the 80's. Congrats, Sassa Jimenez! Thanks for inviting us to your show! For the third season in a row, your creations put me under a fabulous hypnotic spell once again! Looking forward to the next season!

Save The TV Scriptwriter

2009-10-25T10:21:00.003+08:00

Invited to a series of mind jamming sessions, a piece of the freelance writer's brain is sucked dry to provide a TV network new life, and a chance for higher ratings.

No, the freelance scriptwriter is not a regular, exclusive employee, unless he has become managerial in a big TV network.

There's a lot of room for exploitation here. On TV, unless the series or work starts production, poor writer will never be paid.

The delaying backdrop is the big TV network bureaucracy, which goes from one head, to the next, revisions happen, even on conceptual stage. The executive producer will have his inputs, too. The writer readily reboots his mind, and try to fulfill the creative managers inputs, or the creative directors, or the big bosses.

He commutes everyday, for meetings, and approvals. He co-writes with the TV writing pool, spends on beer to empty the mind again, for writing can be draining, MORE SO if the inputs of the higher-ups are bad, but still, it has to be done.

No shooting or taping, no pay, remember?

Worse, it can take months, even a year, before a soap opera is given the green light to finally be made. Worst, the project is actually shelved. In this long span, competitive network has had a hit, and so programming and executives decide to change projects to keep up with the ratings game.

The freelance writer will never be paid. His endless work saga was never produced.

At least the independent film writer has his soul fed, and gets the high of seeing his work reap awards, even get to travel, if the indie movie is invited to join in international film festivals.

But poor TV writer, who has revised for the nth time, and has had too many cooks spoil the broth, didn't have his artistic soul fed, nor his overdue rent paid.

Someone has to standardize the compensation of writers, and whether a project comes to fruition or not, writing IS LABOR RENDERED, therefore, there is a MONETARY value to this labor, whether the TV task is produced or not.

Bureaucracy can kill the writer. And yes, it can even ruin his work. It can drain his brain. But for the writer to remain unpaid, even if he cooperates with the system, it's an unpardonable crime.

Lucky are the copywriters in ad agencies, whether a client approves an ad for production or not, the copywriter will get his pay every 15th and 30th of each month. He has his thinking time and meeting time paid regularly. He even has health card benefits and 13th month pay.

The ad agency knows that MANHOURS are payable, even if it means a monthly salary.

MANHOURS are measurable, with corresponding cash equivalent for charging/ billing purposes. It protects the ad agency, too, from clients who intrinsically takes time to produce an ad, research and testing time, included, which usually delays an ad's launch.

LABOR RENDERED should be LABOR PAYABLE. Meeting hours, other than writing hours are MANHOURS, too. It's basic in a capitalist economic society. And he has spent time too, eating, commuting, drinking to get the job done, even if it's never done because of the stupid and long process of approvals and revisions.

Nothing comes for free anymore these days. And definitely, writing is not for free. It comes with a fee. And a cooperative brain coupled with resilience for revision, is rare and priceless. That should never be abused. Morally, this is mental rape, and economically, criminal.

When Sex Takes A Backseat

2009-10-22T09:43:00.002+08:00

The midlife years are not as testosterone explosive as adolescence, definitely.

The 40-somethings have other pleasures in mind. Sex becomes a bonus, if it happens, good. If not, still good.

Originally, a gorgeous body is enough to make us salivate. But now, what's good on the outside, should be better on the inside. Brains become the sexiest organ a person can have.

Gone is the pressure of the youth that someone's got to get laid.

The search becomes a better restaurant, as you search for a better date than the last one.

Suddenly, the meal is as important as the date. Perhaps the consolation of the palate experiencing flavorful and fine tastes compensate to the lack of brains to a body right across you at the dinner table.

If it works, good. If not, oh, what a fine meal that was, at least.

Sometimes too, the yummy body disappears when the date turns out to be a witty and intelligent one. Too much talk can lessen the desire to cavort. There's a potential friend material that takes over an originally potential bed playmate.

Unless too much alcohol takes over. Alcohol indeed adds heat to the insides of the body. And it adds courage to finally say, "my place?" Before the physical momentum dwindles, and the mental momentum increases, spice up the conversation with more wine. The buzz temporarily paralyzes your mental faculties, then the gut desire of a sexual conquest comes back.

The sexiness of a body definitely vanishes with a shallow, superficial date. The shrimp theory, meaning, delicious if only the head was removed, doesn't only apply to facial attraction. It also means there's nothing in the head. It's hard to have a battle with the brainless.

Also, unlike the youthful years when ambience is not important, as long as the physical desires are consummated, now it is a consideration. It removes the cheapness of a quickie, and makes the act more dignified, to validate the life that has been lived, because, taste improves through the years. And yes, income increases too, so you can afford ambience.

Gone is the thrill of making it out in a car, or in a university lagoon, wherever and whenever libido strikes. This time, a soft bed, crisp and fresh linen, good music, ample air conditioning, and sometimes indirect lighting begin to matter.

The rawness and freshness of youth can be missed, too. There's not much cosmetic nor anti-aging care concoctions on the skin of the potential prey, so when a kiss lands and examines every body part, the taste is organic, and natural. It's unadulterated, unmanufactured, the way nature intended it to be. Now that's an older consenting adult encounter's pitfall. Too much has happened and has been applied on the face. Worse, some nip and tuck must have occurred at this stage in life.

Travel is a booster and an aphrodisiac indeed. If you have been steady, constant sexual partners, a change of scenery would rekindle the lost foreplay. Again, at this age, ambience matters. The thrill of a new place to see, seems like you're dating for the first time again.

All this boils down to is, sex is more expensive in the adult life. And it doesn't matter if it happens or not. What matters is, the individual pursuit of comfort, good food, and good talk can be more than enough rather than the pursuit of a good lay. One cannot exist anymore without the other considerations before ending up removing your fine, hard-earned expensive wardrobe.

Cocomotion

2009-10-21T09:33:00.002+08:00

Coco Chanel spent her last breath working on a Sunday, and she was 71 years old, and she remained single all throughout her life. So did the film "Coco Avant Chanel" end with this bit of information.

Should this be the price of being a passionate visionary?

At least the film dwelt on that part of her earlier years when she was torn between two men and she had sex, that's for sure.

Two other local icons quietly entered the theater, still retaining the grace, and the aura of achievement in their lives. Spotted was Margie Moran and Celeste Legaspi. I was comparing the greyness of Celeste's hair to make-up master Jay Lozada's. It seems faux ami to me, in the future tense, how dignified grey hair can look in the future for Jay Lo.

Well, the desire to work nonstop isn't that shocking. We've got advertising icons who retired, but continue to do work. Not that they need the money. Their minds simply refuse to rest.

I am sure maybe, Audrey Tautou will continue acting, too, the way we see a resurrection of Anita Linda, in her twilight years, still getting two lead roles via "Adela" and "Lola."

It was a breather to be finally back in Power Plant, watching a foreign film, after spending much cineaste hours in mainstream Market!Market!

But this generation of mine might not be working that long. We defied the Baby Boomer's post-war industriousness, and we introduced the Work-Life Balance credo as a means to survive and be sane.

The "work to live" rather than "live to work" struggle has been going on since the 1990's. And with internet as common as candy, we've got all the more reasons to spend more time at home, without neglecting on our work responsibilities.

The only thing that will keep us working is the fragile economic world confused as to which model should be followed to recover from Recession. We will work out of necessity, rather than it being the rule of the world. It doesn't make us less ambitious. But it makes us more life-chasers, have it at its most meaningful existence, rather than be part of a factory of humans for others' profits.

I am sure Coco had her fill of sex even if she was unmarried. Fame can be an aphrodisiac to weak or social climbing men. The way Coco had to be a kept woman to rise and finally claim Paris, the city of her dreams.

But she worked on a Sunday. Even God rested on the seventh day. But then again, when you're old and wrinkled, you need to keep busy rather than sulk in nostalgia and memories, and solitude. So, yeah, Coco did right. She just had to keep on going.

What all this commotion about Coco Chanel, now an admired French film, plus Hollywood who won't be left behind by releasing last year's TV version of the fashion icon's life featuring Shirley Maclaine may be saying is this:

We need to look back at a world when it had visionaries, and inventors.

It was a product of passion and a mind not wired and lazily picking up information through Wikipedia. Originality was the key, and cut-and-paste was never an option.

What's fantastic about Coco, was, she never was exposed to haute couture and Parisian culture. She had it in her. She had a vision of women wearing less adorned and less voluminous clothes. It pays to have innate gift and talent. Armed with that, she worked real hard and she ruled the world.

And visionaries will never stop working. The only thing our generation can teach her is, hopefully, they have a life, and keep Sundays free, and reserve it for friends and loved ones, and yes, have time for wine, dine, and great weekend sex.

Thinking Aloud

2009-10-20T18:04:00.003+08:00

The exposition of thought bubbles on film as intriguingly, and engagingly woven in Armando Lao's "Biyaheng Lupa," (Soliloquy) would wreak havoc if it happens in real life other than this bus trip to Bicolandia captured on digital film.

Imagine a corporate meeting where one's true thoughts are seen, like a visible thought balloon. The charming side of the presenter speaks otherwise than what he's really saying inside of him. He simply needs to have a decision maker approve a proposal. And the decision maker's thoughts may expose his lower level of intelligence, except he is privileged to be the button pusher that may spell earnings for you or not.

If the thought blurbs happen aloud in bars, then the seduction game is exposed. Your rejects, and your spotted, chosen, desirable ones, are seen by all, and by your object of conquest. Your sweet nothings will be revealed as simply words to get horizontal nocturnal action happening from the bar to the bed.

The politicians and powers-that-be will be unmasked as simply grandstanding speakers, whose real desire for change, for the good of all, are obviously not what they were meant to be or for whom they claim they were meant for, other than actually, themselves.

The positive side, if you romanticize this predicament in a song, says, "if you could read my mind love, what a tale my thoughts could tell."

Even Superman can't hear Lois Lane singing, "can you read my mind, do you know what it is you do to me?"

Or the musician and lyricist in "They're Playing Our Song," yearns to have their other sides seen. "If she really new me, if she really, truly knew me, maybe she would see the other side of me. If there were no music, if my melody stopped playing, would I be the kind of man she wants to see tonight?"

The talking mind may sometimes be caught as well too, without the person being conscious about it. They're the unfortunate sleep talkers. But the thoughts we hear are dreams, so they are not necessarily true, but it provides a peek into the psyche of the dreamer.

I would not want to see nor hear what goes in a creative artist's mind. The process will demystify the output. And that could prove to be exhausting. Spare me, for I go through a tiresome path, too, before arriving at any finished work. You wouldn't want to hear how it really goes.

But then again, "Biyaheng Lupa", is a film, and it only runs for almost two hours. The thoughts are chosen for dramaturgy and poetic impact, so the thinking aloud process is magical. And yes, it proves to be entertaining, too! It creates a cacophony of life, and the journey, whether meaningful, or shallow. And this life trip thought plays with the now, and its end point. Death becomes the equalizer for every individual's journey. It has to end somewhere, sometime, somehow.

Real life or not, there's always a yearning. There's always the need to be felt, be listened to, be acknowledged, and be understood, and the willingness to understand.

The world is too noisy as it is. To hear or see everyone's thoughts, aside from their spoken words, will be maddening. Unless it is done on film. It whets the appetite of the voyeur in us. But once the truth is out, it may sometimes be too true, you'll question life more, and your existence, rather than be freed by truth, via the mental language suddenly being heard.

Hear what lives and life are all about, in one road trip. Then listen to what this film, on the whole is really trying to say. Then you'll end up hearing yourself as well, and will leave you, thinking. Except, no writer is there to weave and put sense into your thoughts, and no sound engineer is there to make it audible to others, and there's no camera in front of you.

It's life and our transitory existence. What we refuse to speak about nor hear, nor give the time to think about, is spoken, seen, and heard in this small, but sensible film.

***("Biyaheng Lupa" will have another screening this Friday, October 23, 430 pm, Cinema 6, Market!Market, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig. It competes under the Digital Lokal section of the 11th Cinemanila International Film Festival,. Written and directed by Armando Lao. Cast includes Angel Aquino, Shamaine Buencamino, Eugene Domingo, Jacklyn Jose, Julio Diaz, Coco Martin, Alan Paule, Archie Adamos, Mely Aquino, Jess Evardone, Susan Africa, Kristofer King.)

So Suasoria For A Sunday

2009-10-19T08:50:00.003+08:00

It's showing guilt, as a device, in rhetorical scriptwriting fashion.
But this very technical term amused me to the highest heavens
just by the way it's said.

It's the Lao Code word I learned for the day.

Feeling sorry is rhetorically, "suasoria."

Guilt should strike whoever thought of this source of business.
What the hell are stalactites and stalagmites doing
in Metrowalk, and are available for sale?

Why should a structure carved through hundreds of years by nature,
in the deepest recesses of untouched caves, be sold?

They're too big to be placed in an SUV, you need a truck
to bring them home.

They're too tacky to be found in your nouveau riche grotto rock garden.
And you need a big lawn to have them in the first place.

Same day, earlier, as if buying an expensive Rolex
in a nation under a state of calamity,
won't make you go into the mode of suasoria,
the same expensive watch store was robbed,
in a most unexpected place where it can happen,
at Greenbelt 5.

I won't mind if I was there and eating crispy fried ears
and heavenly noodles and fried banana dessert at Solihiya,
and I am not allowed to go out because robbery is in progress.

If I was caught inside Adora, I will try to fit those
pricey shirts, and see if I am worthy of such wasteful
spending, and if my 2-year gym-trained buddy without
losing the belly will flatter Christian Dior with his
12,000-peso creation on me.

Lucky are those who were not allowed to go out
but were in Fully Booked. Perhaps this temporary
imprisonment is enough to complete two books
without buying them.

But shouldn't I be suasorially disturbed now
posting a blog about a scary, criminal phenomenon?

I should be more guilty not fulfilling my Sunday
obligation to go to Mass because of attending
a workshop as if it can instantly fulfill a full-length
celluloid dream.

There's something less involving if a Rolex shop is robbed.
The heartland in me feels, yeah, such blatant display
of unnecessary luxury will whet the thieves' desire
for acquisition.

But I wouldn't want to be in the security guard's shoes,
whose undisturbed, air-conditioned boring job, faces
its ultimate test, when confronted with armalites
on the laziest, most family day of the week.

And to have cops from Taguig, in a pricey store,
having the chance to display their bravery by engaging
the thieves in a gunfight makes me wonder. Wow,
being a cop may be lucrative enough these days,
to walk through Patek Philippe and IWC row as a Sunday habit.

But thanks to their attempted heroism,
bravery is still a virtue. We miss action flicks.
And we still need a hero, we're holding out for a hero till the morning light.

Reeling from more mind-boggling terms
from the Code of Lao, we decided to be decadently
savoring the drinks of Decades.

I didn't know that old bar down Makati Cinema Square
exists in casino and DVD bootleg land called Metrowalk.

The old waiter who approached me seem to know me.
Oh my, he's still the same waiter from Decades Makati!

Again, I went into suasoria mode.
As I am excited about my new job,
here he was, choosing waiting tables
as a lifelong vocation, in the same bar
of my early 90's working life.

This crazy sorry Sunday made me drink once more.
I had to give a bigger tip for nostalgia's sake.
While I dripped myself in San Miguel Beer fashion,
I can see those stalactites from my peripheral vision.

There's too much guilt in this society waiting to be unleashed.
And it didn't help to know that Metrowalk is actually under
one traditional politician's ownership, Chavit Singson. Eww.

I need to get back to my bed. This is so suasorially surreal.
I stood by my window, for one long sigh, to say, what a day.
And what I see is a big cemetery, the South Cemetery
enveloped in dead darkness.

It made me ask, before dying, what the mission of this man
will be in his most productive years. Way before gout strikes,
or who knows, any other age-related debilitating disease,
as long as it didn't come from rats.

There must be a good reason to wake up, and do something,
before ending up buried under those tombs I see from my room,
or be fossilized and be found besides stalactites and
stalagmites, when Makati will be Pompeii in the next
civilization.

What they might recover are my Gossip Girl DVD Box Sets.
That won't make me a good fossil find and a relic of decadence
past should a future archaeologist discover this corner.
I hope I won't be sold as a mummy down Metrowalk.
By then, they might have renamed Decades as Centuries.

Forgive me for this unusual post-Sunday post.
It doesn't make sense. It attempts to be rhetorical.
But the tokens reportable in a day are too strange
to ignore.

Suasorially yours,
Lilit

Target: Market!Market!

2009-10-18T09:55:00.002+08:00

It's the only Ayala Mall I have been to that doesn't behave like an Ayala.
Why do I feel like I am in the middle of Starmall
with a dash of Robinson's Sta. Lucia remoteness?

The ground floor feels like I am lining for an MRT ride, jampacked,
with multitudes of people walking without a pattern, and there's
a distinct aroma of isopropyl alcohol hovering in the air.

The escalators to the cinema floor seem endless. This isn't good news for me.
With only 10 minutes remaining for every gap between successive movies,
it's the most hectic film festival screening for a smoker, who has to go all
the way down the MRT station-like ground floor for the much needed cigarette break.

The dimsum counter on the cinema lobby is too small, there are no tables.
I had a hard time eating my siomai while standing up. This was the quickest
way to grab a bite with the little time left to be able to smoke, go to the
restroom, and have a stomach filler.

I would rather not comment on the mall crowd. I have no right
to do so. This is not a politically correct thing to blabber about.

Inside the cinema, it feels wintry. Why is it too cold?
Maybe, no one has ever heard of thermostat control here.
If you watch 3 consecutive films, this is torture.
I thought I would lose my ear for the first frostbite ever
experienced in a tropical country.

Last year's Cinemanila was more bearable, because it was
in Gateway Cubao. Although its first two floors are indeed
pathways for an MRT ride, as you go higher, there's a sense
of a true mall made for peace, and quiet, and a decent in-between meal.

But try that hotdog at the theater lobby near cinema 5, heavenly.
Although it's the most inconvenient hotdog to eat, it isn't handheld-friendly.
But it's not your usual Smokey's or palengke dog.

Next week, they will show the French film, Coco Chanel,
with Audrey Tautou. There's nothing haute couture - friendly
about this mall. Passers by might think there's a channel
devoted to virgin coconut oil? Now that's too mean for me to say.

All I am saying is, the rare times we've got access to foreign films,
it's the wrong place, at the wrong screening times.

It's not funny to have a very short 10-minute break, raring for
a cigarette, a fast pee break, and a quick bite in a mall like this.

There's no time left to escape from this mad mall, knowing Serendra and
Mary Grace cheese roll is just a few steps away. Arrgh!
That is, if you've got enough time left and long fast strides
to reach the ground floor.

Oh, and unlike the Cultural Center of the Philippines and Cinemalaya,
the screenings don't start on time, specially when they are waiting
for the film maker or a camera supplier, who might speak a word
or two before the movie starts, to say, "thanks for watching, enjoy the film."
I have to yet to hear one saying, "right movie, wrong place,
and hope you've got jackets to protect you from the artificial cold."

Worse, the vampire movie I saw was all snow and there was never a
spring, summer, nor fall, but exclusively winter! It made the film a 4-D experience,
literally, with the feel component in theatrical temperature surround.

Whatever it takes, for the love of film, fine.
I'll force myself to bear this un-Ayala Ayala Mall.

I'd Rather Do The Rico Mambo

2009-10-18T00:46:00.002+08:00

Yes, rather than paint a dead kid, or finish watching a film about filmmaking ("A Year Ago In Winter," "69 1/2"), bring me to a place I am more familiar with. Let me spend the hours before my regular work begins in utmost glee.

Perhaps Market!Market! as a venue made me less receptive to the first two Cinemanila films. It's the ambience, dearie. There's a different world out there, after being used to comfort zones like Greenbelt or Power Plant.

It was not the right time to watch a talky film, so I just browsed through "A Year Ago In Winter," saw its first 20 minutes, then checked out what else was showing. There was this local digital film, which claims to be a movie about the making of the most artistic Pinoy pornographic film made me curious.

Well curiosity won't always lead to priceless discoveries. Enough said. Comedy as a wrapping will only work if at least I laughed. Maybe I am too "Market!Market!" to absorb the filmmaking jokes, and anti-sexual sex songs. There was something too messianic about a film that talks about the ideal film. Sigh.

Good thing about Market!Market!, it's right next door to where Retroville is, The Fort Strip. By retro, I mean, where else in Manila will you find three days in a week devoted to music I grew up with?

Tuesdays, Swing Night at Fuel. Thursdays, Retro Music Night at Mint. And Fridays, there's Boyet Almazan's Decadance, still going strong.

After a series of Thursday martinis, in chocolate, ginger, coconut, and pineapple, my hangover didn't stop me from having red wine. There was only one choice, one brand, whether it was a Cabernet or a Merlot. So I wrapped up this unusually alcoholic week with good ole San Miguel Light.

"Da-rat-dat-di-dah... a-rico-mambo, a-rico mambo yeah, I get the feeling , I get the feeling."

I showed them the Vicor Dancer in me. Unmindful if anybody's watching. I deserve this week. I decided to work once more. And my, the way to arriving at this decision wasn't that smooth-sailing nor easy. I could've danced all night. I was celebrating the finality of my options.

But, as always, once the 80's music dies down, and the spinner segues to the 90's, way beyond my youthful peak, I shut off. When the Rico Mambo was over, I suddenly felt tired. I am no "Faces", "Mars," nor a "Euphoria" kid. I just can't get enough, no I just can't get enough of the 80's.

Retroville is my default homepage. Unless someone invites me to sing once more, now that's another comfort zone. I might give in, in spite of this week-long hangover.

And yes, I finally got my favorite Jill's tapa, flavorful with the beef fat intact. I hope those grams of cholesterol dissolved with my sweat as I did my hyper Rico Mambo moves. I did it at level 10. Intensity and magnitude boundless, as if I was dancing to the last days of freedom.

My, what a week that was.

I will savor my final weeks as a free soul.Soon, I will be like anyone else.Waiting for the 15th and 30th of the month, and spending hard-earned cash singing and dancing to the music of my time.

Phallic Backgrounds

2009-10-15T07:15:00.001+08:00

When you've got Meryl Streep and Amy Adams in one film,
expect their male partners to be necessary tokens without substance.

The male cheerleader phenomenon, men who are all-supportive for the quirks
of their objects of affection, make Tonton Gutierrez, the do-gooder
Sharon Cuneta heroine role's rah-rah boy, a Hollywood necessity as well.

Move over Bond girls, and other action film trophy girls.
The Mama's Boys are back. They will tolerate anything
as long as they don't get in the way of the female protagonists'
cinematic lives' objectives.

Or in Tagalog action flick world, think of the latest Binibining Pilipinas
winners who were forced to act. They become the girlfriend or damsel to be
rescued by Lito Lapid, FPJ, or Rudy Fernandez. Sometimes they become
the slapstick comedian's display chick, too.

The learning from "Julie and Julia", according to
our chick movie mate is, at the very least,
make the shallow husbands look like beefcakes,
so they will be noticed and be remembered to have
existed in the film, even if they have no backbones.
They should've spent more of the film's running time
in shirtless fashion, or the very short shorts
of the 80's, donned by Albert and William Martinez
in "Teenage Marriage."

The problem is, Julie and Julia's husbands were not hunks.
And you won't ever dare want to see them shirtless.

And the film is quite long, past two hours,
which felt like it ran forever.

There are better foodie flicks than this one.
If I were you, spend the two precious hours
eating at a French restaurant indeed.
And choose one where the waiters
are as yummy as the cuisine.

Otherwise, you bear Meryl and Amy's one-dimensional husbands.
You feel hungrier as the film's food creations
are displayed, but the men won't make you
crave for sex after.

No amount of candlelights, flowers, and violin players
and the sweetest of words will make this
Nora Ephron dining experience a seductive foreplay.

You're better off staying at home and enjoying
a great bottle of French wine. This French cookbook
on film only resulted to me whining as they were dining.

.

Hello Blogger, How Have You Been?

2009-10-13T09:20:00.002+08:00

Blogging is actually like talking to myself and
posting it for keeps. It's a word capture of
a moment in time, in life.

So when I rarely do post a blog item,
it can only mean I am busy,
or I am too unfeeling to talk to myself,
my life in general, as a blog.

Or sometimes, there are just so many things
happening, all at the same time, or in a week's span,
that it becomes too difficult to capture
a segment worthy enough to have a singular blog theme.
It's not "bloggable," or in our workshop's term,
"reportable."

Oh you bet, in two weeks, my life
has become like simultaneous one-act plays
rising to Greek mystery and drama proportions.
It's as though I became a one-man Virgin Labfest,
or rather, a festival of plays with one character
interacting with the rest of the world.

On the side, there's always this pest,
whom I have sprayed away with
my insect repellant, who keeps
assuming I am there or here, or everywhere,
even if I have no direct contact
with the superficial parasite.

Oh well, it adds to Greek theater.
This bit player with a big thorax
and bloodsucking appendage
makes noise to feel "in the loop."
It's your typical limelight seeker.

But that's the least of my concern.
I just have to blurt that one out,
to extinguish the bug.

And quietly, I simply focused on
finishing my three-week stint,
a fab assignment I must say.
It kept me going, in spite of all the drama around.
Thanks, Cabrera and company!
Some good things never last, sigh.

They kept me stable.
And they allowed me to bear an unplanned toothache,
and a series of needle shots for a root canal therapy.
As if the saga wasn't enough, the tooth tried
to steal the scene as well. Luckily, a friend
of mine referred me to a very good lady dentist.
Now, I can say, I have a dentist. Been a while,
after I ignored my tooth, which can really paralyze one's
daily life. I blame it on someone I kissed.
It was too uneventful, it worsened my cavity. Haha!

I realized, I have a good tolerance for pain.
And amidst this colorful, rollercoasting past weeks,
I realized, honesty helped me make it through.

So please don't ask me how I have been?
Or is this true or not?
Unless you're a real friend of mine.
And there's no need to know who they are.
I've always kept my true friends in my heart.
The rest, well the word "rest", actually rhymes with the word, "pest."

Soon this will be over, and I will be back
to my peaceful freelancing, noise-proof cocoon.
Which actually, began today again, officially.

So that's it my blog, I have been doing fine, so far.
I think. Does that answer your question?

Rain or Shine, We Are Our Brothers' Keepers

2009-10-04T11:29:00.002+08:00

The promise of sunshine should never dim our fraternity.
When storms envelop our nation, we shine, with our truest human hearts
illuminating during the darkest of days and nights.

But this need not be an interim outburst of affection and concern.
As one, we can weather any storm.
As one, we can prevent political turbulence.
As one, we can continue to share, and be less greedy,
so that more mouths are fed three times a day.

In times of peace, and calm, and sunshine,
it is when the true test of compassion to sustain our Earth,
and our fellow Earthlings will be proven.

Damage caused by men, manifested by nature's wrath,
should be reversed with a change of heart.
Care for nature is directly proportional to nature caring for us.

We prayed dearly, in times of direst need.
We hanged on to each other, held hands together,
in the darkest nights and seemingly hopeless and helpless days.

We should remember to thank God, with the same prayerful intensity,
for keeping us alive. We should thank the human heroes,
the angels on earth, who were always ready to help,
and valued the lives of our fellowmen.

The sun's rays can blind us into complacency,
and back to our individual agendas.
The sun can fool us to normalcy, as if everyone is safe,
and subsistent for survival.

There are still homes to rebuild,
hopes to revive, and souls to heal.

And more importantly, there's a whole country
too, slowly but surely rising from calamities and
economic damage.

In good times, we should prepare for bad times.
In good times, we should continue being One
to make things better, rather than always
complaining that this nation is getting worse.

We've got more than 90 million brothers and sisters to keep.
Every day, be it typhoon signal no.3, or 32 degrees warm and sunny.

In times of tempest, we showed the stuff we're truly made of.
There's more to do. This country has all the potential to be great,
not because of the next President, but because of the innately
caring and compassionate citizen Juan in all of us.

Now that's the spirit that's more than enough
to give hope and look forward to a better future.

It's what makes us Filipino.
It's this same Filipino-ness that will bring
the Philippines to safer, warmer, and prosperous shores.

If Possible, Consider Journalism's Basic Rule Before Posting or Reposting on Facebokk

2009-10-02T20:48:00.002+08:00

Determine the source, verify, further confirm, before making it public. That's what a journalist follows that a Facebook status updater may consider as well. There are some instances when Facebook postings from anyone, anytime, anywhere are treated as truths, and spread out like wildfire, out of urgency or panic.

At least like in the case of categorizing a storm to level 5, when it is actually level 4, I check the official weather websites to know more factual, scientific information, before others interpret it wrongly.

Even sharing wrong mobile phone, text-messaged information like a storm hitting Manila directly is further shared, too, as Facebook postings.

There's a big difference between, "some have reported that there were corpses found in Payatas which are still unidentified and unattended to," rather than a Facebook post announcing, "corpses found everywhere in Payatas! No news coverage on this! Notify media! Someone should go there!"

The hidden truth behind the post is, "this is an unconfirmed report." It may be that bad, or not that bad, but how are we to know as Facebook readers?

It is more believable if it was a first-hand account posted by a Facebook user. "Here in San Mateo Rizal, flood water level is knee-deep. Water has entered our living room."

This is where Facebook matters, when first-hand accounts, with matching photos or videos taken from cellphones are posted. These are eyewitness accounts that news coverage cannot reach, and posted quickly.

A post saying, "Electricity will be shut down at 9pm! Charge your cellphones now!"

Did anyone even bother to ask the electric company if this was true before this piece of "news" was unilaterally posted, then reposted by others?

There is of course a reason to caution everyone, out of concern, and out of the suddenness of the previous storms' damage. It is understandable why people post what they post on Facebook. It is a collective expression of caring for each other, after the lessons learned from the past calamity, and proving how indeed, vital Facebook is to disseminate information.

But there is also a responsibility to confirm, and verify.

We are no journalists. But even as receivers of numerous Facebook posts, we can check to know if the latest Facebook "news" is factual news.

At least some useful google researching by resourceful Facebook users quickly spread tips on how to handle car damage after a typhoon. Some even researched on what are the essentials of an emergency kit. Internet helps for quick research. The Facebook user helps for sharing what one feels is useful for others to know, like these added tips, very helpful indeed in a given situation.

Now, in the face of a calamity, there's also the need to be proper in Facebook postings. It's a matter of personal judgment if it's appropriate to post a trivial update in the midst of national urgency.

But no one has the right to put the trivial updater down. It might be his way of coping. That there must be a bright side to a downside. But Facebook and freedom of speech is a different case altogether. What about the abuse of the freedom to post unverified reports? It's pardonable because it falls within the "disaster" category rather than the "trivial?"

A trivial post, you can hide anyway. But an unverified report? Misinformation's effect can never be placed under the hide mode. It has been posted, and it can cause more harm than good.

Personally, I like people posting a prayer or two, to lessen the sadness of a situation. It has a healing and calming effect. There's no need to verify that. It comes from true faith. It's a genuine concern, specially for Filipinos like us, which are still Catholic by faith, and by heart.

And yes, I believe in the power of prayer to stop a storm, the way it can remove a dictator.

Faith can move mountains. Faith can help us overcome. And only faith can help us make it through, and continue to feel hopeful knowing there's Someone Who'll Watch Over Us."

Now if you think this is helpful, this is not news, it's an opinion, yes, PLEASE REPOST.

Facebook Shows Its True Face In The Eye Of A Storm

2009-09-27T11:47:00.003+08:00

Status updates suddenly read like breaking news, faster than TV networks
and newspapers' websites. Only radio proved to be as fast.

Pleas for help, where to donate, and sometimes dramatic blow-by-blow
accounts of relatives' statuses and calls for their whereabouts unfold
every minute you refresh your Facebook home page.

Even news of death, from a contact's contact, sadly
was announced as a status update.

The Red Cross / Smart / Sun / Globe donation hotline
through SMS messaging and pledging to share
cash assistance became an instant, handy
tool to immediately allow us to do something.

Photographs posted every hour gave us a view
of how bad the flooding was, as personal an account
as one's garage view, or second-floor view if the waters
have gobbled up the ground floor.

The worst flooding in Luzon, after 20 years,
revealed a vital use for social networking sites
with Facebook presenting the most number
of applications and posting tools to make
everyone aware, and at times, notify the need
for help.

Unfortunately, those really affected can't
access a computer, or have lost their battery's
charge while waiting on their rooftops to call for SOS.

Most of those affected can't even afford a computer,
or internet access.

The ones lucky enough to have their internet at home
running, spared of waist to chest-deep floods
became the stranded ones' medium to shout out,
and present to the world their condition and dilemma.

Luckily for most areas, electricity was still running.
This was a rain-based storm more than a wind-based storm.

The sequence of events, from being caught by surprise
midmorning, how fast the floods rose, to its aftermath
and gradual receding of waters were all caught in real time,
from real people through Facebook.

Interspersing with the urgency of the status updates,
were breathers too, like posting a funny video,
to cope with the suddenness of this calamity.

Ironic were updates on people outside the country,
unaware there was a storm happening here,
the innocence and undisturbed world of their travels, and snapshots
of scenic locations elesewhere in the world.

Families abroad wanting to know the latest conditions
of their relatives here have Facebook as the most reliable source
of updates.

There's a newfound power inherent in social networking.
For now, it's coping with disaster.
It can even make or break a political candidate's ambition.
And maybe, God forbid, become an outlet for other
movements should a national distress arise.

This time, we are lucky the World Wide Web
coupled with cellphone technology
make it more real time, and quicker
to spread the news.

Now, it might be a good pre-emptive step
to gobble up the wireless broadband offers,
should electric supply fail us, and a computer with a longer battery life.

Hopefully, power supply is continuous in May 2010.
Facebook will be of help as it changes from Weather Watch to Election Watch.
That's another storm we have to face with the help of Facebook.
This time, we know how to cope with another disaster,
and more importantly, keep watch of anything that matters
in our country, and allow us to ACT immediately.

Bravo Facebook. It's about time you encourage everyone to open their own account,
in case some of your relatives and friend don't have one yet.
The more people use it, the more useful it becomes.

The Freelancer's Jetlag

2009-09-25T08:52:00.001+08:00

Yes, there is such a thing as a freelancer's jetlag, so did I discover.

The absence of fixed daily timed schedules makes the freelancer's zone
inversely proportional to the regular employee's 8-hour job cycle.

A 5-month freedom from the working grind, not necessarily to mean
I never worked during this period, causes a floating state
the moment I went back to the time-in, time-out world
of corporate days.

To fill the hours sitting down, or staying still in a designated working area,
aside from the transformed body clock requires
adjustment to a previous working state I've been
in for more than two decades.

But what's two weeks, my current temporary assignment
to two decades? I thought it will be easy.

I miss typing work from my bed, with the television on.
Any moment, when thinking comes to a halt, I can simply
close my eyes and take a nap.

Goodbye to slow mornings and lazy beginnings.
There's a fixed time to start, around 930 am.
So there's no time to gradually wake up
and separate my head from my pillow.

The upside is, I am surrounded by familiar
and new faces. I get to talk with someone more,
rather than working alone and talking to myself
as if I was Gollum.

It's like being tipsy the whole day, when I started
this fixed working weeks.

But I feel too hyper, compared to anyone else,
raring to go to a boardroom meeting,
and project briefings, which used to be my pet peeve
when I was as regular an employee as anybody else.
It's as if I am always on a caffeine high.

Also, I get to wear shirts again, which has almost
been gathering dust for lack of meetings to go to.

In two weeks, I seem to wear something new,
but they're old stuff kept in jobless, meeting-free hiding.

I feel like being released from solitary confinement
in a prison.

The absence of work makes me appreciate the presence of it.
For now, it doesn't feel like a burden, but a new toy to play with.

Like jetlag, I wonder how long this will last before
work becomes like a normal state again.

Work, at least for now, feels like a break,
after taking a long break from work.
While a break, feels like drudgery.

To others, what I am doing now may be
too much of the same old thing, ah, here
we go again, another day of working.

For me, it's like rediscovering a long lost friend.
Men are so attached to their jobs, right?
But like riding a bike, once you've learned it once,
there's no way to forget how to pedal for motion.

At least, I haven't done overtime yet, hopefully not.
Now that, for a freelancer, is a big adjustment.
Knock on wood, it doesn't happen during
this fortnight assignment.

The balance of life and work brought about the freelancing option.
You choose when to work and when to stop working.

Yes, I'm working now, excitedly declaring it.
Two weeks may be enough or make me feel wanting.
But it's a welcome change of pace, and milieu.

I am enjoying my vacation, ironic as it may sound, by working.

Now I can't wait to go to the shower,
choose work shirts to wear,
and yes, get to the office on time.

Darn, it's Friday already? I am just gaining my momentum!
Hmmm, I missed that too, unwinding after a long week's work.
Cheers!

Are You Copy-Based (Text) Or Art-Based (Visual)? Are You A Writer Or A Director?

2009-09-24T22:30:00.004+08:00

I always say, "I am life-based."

It's a trying-to-be-witty a remark for a question that has blurred the lines of creativity,
but still persists to know which area is your roots or forte.

It's the same thing in films where they think writers are responsible for simply dialogues.

Scriptwriters define which scene goes into a film, what message should be imparted,
then the directors translate the vision into a cinematically-friendly language. They even
define the framework, and flow of the movie.

Writers aren't word-based. Although its their field of discipline, writers are creative.
The way artists are not just visual thinkers, but they are creative thinkers.

They are even surprised that a writer like me don't read books.
It's not an aversion to the lengthy written word, but more of my short span of attention.
That is why movies appeal to me. That is why a 30-second ad appeals to me.

Writing words, is a field of specialty but not necessarily the core of the writing profession.
It's thinking, as in any area of art. A painter thinks before he paints, a composer
thinks before translating it into notes. A sculptor thinks before carving. An actor thinks,
before he acts.

Creativity is boundless. You don't know where the vision or creation came from.
It doesn't necessarily mean it started with the word, as the bible begins with,
"in the beginning, was the Word." Of course, God's vision was to create.
He must have not started by saying it, but by thinking about it.

Words are simply expressions or tangible manifestations of an idea.

Ideas aren't word-based, nor are they visual-based. But the inspiration
can come from a word, or a visual, or even an object, or a person,
a place, or a feeling or anything that is even invisible to the naked eye.

In fact, sometimes words get in the way. The way, sometimes, too much
music can get in the way of how we should feel towards a scene.

But the writer doesn't begin with writing, but imagining.
Imagine there's no heaven, for sure didn't begin with words,
but with an ideal as an idea.

Funny, when they say, the dialogue is good, they think of the writer.
But when the theme or vision or statement is good, they might think of the director, I think.
At least they credit the writer for the story, which indeed, was
a figment of the penman's mind. But not all stories, actually,
originate from the wordsmith. It must have started from a producer,
or a director.

Remember, when someone says, "I have an idea?"
If you don't know the field of discipline from the one who started it,
it can be a very visual person, or a word-oriented person.

"I have a story in mind." Yes, it's often peddled by writers.
But a director can initiate that too, even Mother Lily always does that,
as a producer.

A creator can be anybody.

It's in the details when an idea is executed where the writer will emerge,
or the artist, or the production designer, where the mastery of an aspect
of a creation comes out to come up with the whole.

But whether you're copy-based, or art-based, or yes, even, Math-based,
it all starts with thinking. Words nor pictures can never capture
what goes in one's mind during the creative process.

Everyone is life-based at the very least. Unless you were born dead,
but managed to write even if you're lifeless, or you have been dead
to write about death.

Mainstream Entertainment Is Here to Stay

2009-09-21T10:23:00.002+08:00

I know, I know, we strive for better stuff.
We get so curious and excited when our local films
are toasted to the highest heavens as the cinema of the times.
But when it comes back home, where have
all those interested moviegoers gone?

But honestly, we still need shallowness in our quest for
the meaning and depth of life.

The occasional stab in our minds, and punch in our guts
of true issues besetting our nation, made even more
painful by the proliferation of independent cinema,
are fillers for the soul. It prompts us to rethink
how our society and our lives have been doing.
It may have been stunted, gone backwards, or progressively presenting
a forthcoming change and upheaval.

But we also need a John Lloyd Cruz
making Sarah Geronimo blush with just a smile.
It's why we also crave for sinful candies that may
cause tooth cavities.

We need to be cathartic when a melodramatic
heroine encounters all impossible odds,
and miraculously end it with a resolution,
or becoming wiser, not necessarily richer,
or more in love, but always triumphant
in one way or the other.

We need the decadence of Pinoy Big Brothers'
multicolored characters, dimming the lines
between what is real, or what is gimmicky for ratings.
We love the circus. And it does entertain, whether
you loathe it, it still provokes extreme reactions.

We make fun of the dirty rumors from SNN,
The Buzz, and Startalk. We need something
shallow to talk about. But deep within, we are
always curious about other peoples' lives,
how they make a mess out of it, as long
as it doesn't involve our personal lives.

We got glued to the Katrina Halili-Hayden Kho video
and the aftermath and nationwide noise it created.

We need to see what stars are wearing,
praise the wardrobe, or shred it with criticism,
even if we can't even have a haute couture
creation in our own closets. Maybe, we're
envious, of glitter and glam, against
the rags and used clothes we have to
contend with in our daily grind.

We still need good old nilaga, and broth.
The recipe never changes, but will still crave for it,
in spite of exciting chef-created cuisines,
which we cannot afford anyway.

Pop culture in a way, defines
the highs and lows of a period,
and to some extent, how a certain
group at a certain time wants to be entertained.

It's the way art defines excellence,
and higher souls gifted during a certain
period of time, rising above the expected,
and always way ahead of its time.

If we are forever in a thought-provoking mode,
go deep and deeper, even if no one can
really decipher what life is really all about,
we just have to get through, and most of the time,
forget about the reason and rhyme, and simply
sing out loud, laugh a lot, have a good cry,
and escape.

I for one will not go for a DVD marathon
of art films, I can handle two,
but after a while, I need to go back
to see who's singing now in a noontime variety show,
or what is a soap opera villainess' latest bitchy act.

It's a cycle of thinking and not thinking.
It's a rhythm of basic biological hunger, and quest for soul.

In between philharmonic orchestral greatness, are
pop singer concerts. There's a high within a theaters'
bravo and cultured applause, and a gut celebration
of cheering and shouting wildly during an outdoor concert.

It always is tough to look into the mirror, and see life as it is.
Sometimes, we just need a way out too, and imagine
ourselves to be damsels in love, princes with debonair
and dashing looks and ways, and yes, be romantic
and believe in happy endings.

To cope, we need good and bad.
Bad is sinful, addictive, and good cleanses,
and removes guilt.

It's ok to be decadent, as long as
it is also balanced with a higher pursuit,
once in a while.

It is still a fact, the decadent, the tacky
still brings in the money.

There are more people who would like to escape,
be entertained and be mindless, and there's
a small percentile who always yearns
for the undefined, and looks for ways to define it.

There's a need for both,
mediocrity and art.

Oddly, mediocrity makes more money
than art. Therefore, mediocrity and formula
always find a way to be produced. And art,
if it's truly art, is subjective anyway.

In fact, it is according to one's taste anyway
of what is trash and gold.

And they always change. What is gold now
maybe considered as trash in the future.

And what was cheap and tacky before,
turned out to be cult and campy,
like Joey Gosiengfio's Temptation Island.

There's no yin if there's no yang.
There's no depth if we don't know what shallow is.
And sometimes out of fear of drowning.
we'd rather stay where the waters are waist-deep,
and not too deep our minds have sunk and we
lose our breath and drown.

We need to go to the surface always,
or else we will never make it through, alive,
to cope well with this hard-knocked life.

A Very Independent Urian Quickie

2009-09-20T11:51:00.004+08:00

While our lessons were becoming tougher in our Bing Lao Advanced Scriptwriting Workshop,
I was nervously wondering if I can make it on time to go to the Urian Awards.

It was an hour difference from the end of our session to the start of the Awards Night.
I cannot afford to display my coat, while being in a workshop. So, whether
it will be creased or not, I tugged it in a plastic bag, discreetly hidden.
And all I wore during the lessons was the usual "university look," in T-shirt
and jeans.

I didn't anticipate the heavy traffic volume from Shaw EDSA to CCP!
Who would think that the Gary V. Martin concert will cause
a traffic spilling over, all the way to Mandaluyong?

6pm, our session ended promptly with more jargon to remember.
The I, A & P effect were introduced. It simply shows the strategic way
to write for a desired effect, each also appropriately assigned to
the time modes of drama, real and poetic.

Bing Lao discussed the "ideal object," since we're in our Predication session,
pardon the technicalities. It's like a mistress' ideal object will be a legally married woman.
He mentioned an aspiring writer's ideal will be an event too, like the Urian awards.

Was that the reason why I needed to attend? Perhaps. But first and foremost,
was doing a cameo role in "Yanggaw." which made me an invited attendee
to this critics' awards night. But I do remember, declaring when I was
in my 20's, that someday, I will go up that stage and deliver a victory speech.

I did once, although usually, for short films, it's only the director who goes
up the stage and deliver the acceptance speech. I joined Sockie Fernandez
when she got up to receive the Urian Best Short Film Award.
I got to speak, too, being its writer, in deep Urian Tagalog.

Someday, I will, I hope, as a full-length scriptwriter, go on stage,
yes, with a dog in tow, for I have no kid to share it with.
"I would like to thank Ben Sherman for my clothes, etc., etc."

I remember the days when the Urian awards were also broadcast on TV.
But now that they feel only independent films deserve to be credited
as best, no major network can see the merit of airing it.

An Aleera Montalla will be an unknown to the TV audience, but yes, she
won Best Supporting Actress for being the possessed kid in "Yanggaw."

I wonder though if there are really no craftsman or actor worthy to be
honored at all from any mainstream movie of 2008. I personally
feel Sharon Cuneta and John Estrada were very good in "Caregiver."

Urian might well become the Independent Spirit Awards' counterpart.

But I know Mylene Dizon will still win and should win
She did give the best performance on film in 2008, for "100."

Brillante Mendoza may well be on his way to have a three-in-a-row
top plum win at the Urian. Last year, he got it for "Tirador," this year,
it's "Serbis," and next, it will be for "Kinatay." I doubt if the
Manunuris (critics) will not give him that prize if Cannes has already
hailed him as Best Director.

Haunting and mesmerizing was Cookie Chua's song number
without music. It was simply her voice, and her soulful rendition
which filled the Little Theater at the CCP. And that song,
I think from Lav Diaz's "Melancholia" was great.

Peque Gallaga receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award
was a mixed moment. At first, it sounded like a teacher,
delivering an address to the valedictory class, and a "state-of-the-cinema"
report from then and now, but I do like to have that platinum auteur
hairstyle when I grow old. But good thing, the audience did a long
standing ovation for a man truly deserving of cinematic icon honors.

I have always followed the Urian Awards. Even if I attend the affair or not,
I make sure I know who won.

Somehow, I know at least they debate thoroughly on their choices, and even
analyze films in their context, message, and crafting.

But to totally shun mainstream cinema, understandably, not
for Best Picture or Director, but for other categories, I may disagree.

So far, if you want an Urian, be a part of an indie film.

But at least I know for next year, I can trust the Urian
not to include "In My Life" in its magic five list.
Not that it was that bad, it was just so "mainstreamly"
melodramatic, so Star Cinematic.

Congratulations to all the winners of the 32nd Gawad Urian.

I wish "Yanggaw" got more though, and yes, I am biased
because I was a "bit part" of it, I found the
film a breakthrough for the horror genre.

And I wished they nominated Chris Martinez
for his "100" screenplay. That was one fine script!
In the jargon of Bing Lao, in the dramatic time mode category,
I know it's the best!

I capped my Urian quickie with a beer or two, listening
to the tail end of Side A singing "Forevermore" and "Tell Me"
at the very decadent, very mainstream Hard Rock Cafe.

After the independent film honors, yes, I craved for mainstream.
It was a tough day, and a surreal night, indeed.

"Serbis" Wins Top Honors At the 32nd Urian Awards

2009-09-19T22:04:00.005+08:00

The best films of 2008 were honored on Sept.19, 2009, at the 32nd Gawad Urian Awards,
held at the CCP Little Theater.

BEST PICTURE
"Serbis" (Centerstage Productions)

BEST DIRECTOR
Brillante Mendoza, "Serbis"

BEST SHORT FILM
"Andong", directed by Milo Tolentino

BEST SCREENPLAY
Francis Xavier Pasion, "Jay"

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY
Odyssey Flores, "Serbis"

BEST ACTOR
Ronnie Lazaro, "Yanggaw"

BEST ACTRESS
Mylene Dizon, "100"

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Coco Martin, "Jay"

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Aleera Montalla, "Yanggaw"

BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN
Benjamin Padero, Carlo Taribe "Serbis"

BEST EDITING
Francis Pasion, Kats Serraon, Chuck Gutierrez, "Jay"

BEST MUSIC
Popong Landero, "Hunghong Sa Yuta"

BEST SOUND
Joey Santos, Von De Guzman, "Yanggaw"

LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARDS, NATATANGING GAWAD
Peque Gallaga, Director

They're Moving Our Cheese!

2009-09-15T13:49:00.003+08:00

Why are my icons dying at an earlier age?
Gone are the silver grey-haired legends who keep on living.
When Hall-of-Fame awardees still accept their awards while
they are living or almost near-death, in wheelchair,
with the dignity of an elderly sage?

Jackson, Swayze, Fawcett-Majors.
They never made it into their 70's.

Signs of the times?
Has health become more complicated, and so has pathogens
and carcinogenics?

Is this the way of ushering in a new order?
That this country who still keeps playing old love songs
on the radio, and continue to dance to 80's music
has been forced to move on?

When a newbie defeats a tennis icon,
does this mean there's a next generation
waiting to conquer the world and debunk
the myths and icons of our past?

When traditional politicians see that
name and machinery aren't enough,
and sees a lamb climbing to the surveys,
because of the death of his legendary Mom,
is this a loud message that the old ways
of campaigning and tricks don't work anymore?

When an independent film like "Kimmydora"
defies all big networks' marketing the gigantic way
makes it at the box office, doesn't this
say a lot about moving cheese?

The young ones are paving the way
to challenge the tried and tested means.

MTV used to be revolutionary.
Now it is confused. It is trying to evolve
to catch up. It lost its purely music video format.
It has shows, reality programs, apart from music.
It should've have reinvented the music video, instead.
It should've been true to its core, but changing its execution.

Even YouTube changed the game
when individuals started to dictate content
rather than giants telling us what content to view.

Even YouTube might be replaced by something
else we never imagined existed to revolutionize
the Web and entertainment.

Digital TiVo and watching-by-demand has eaten up
TV advertising, and in a way, free TV.

iTunes and music sharing killed the music and record store.
It forced the Virgin Megastore down Times Square to close shop.

Torrents have sped up the theater release and shelf lives
of movies.

Online shopping, and customer-designed and consumer-supplied
specifications, clothes shoes, and bags might prematurely kill the outlet retail store,
or fashion boutique, and yes, make window shopping at the mall a thing of the past.

These days, the slower we embrace the new.
the faster we become obsolete.

It's not a death caused by natural causes,
like Swayze's, or Jackson's, or Fawcett's.

It is the refusal to accept that doing the same
old thing will yield to the same old result.

This generation is more evolutionary,
in a very dynamic way.

They hugged new technology, and dictated
what technology should do for them.

They even used technology that may have never
been the intent of its developer. The developer
may have not seen the creative ways his
software, or program, or dot.com can be used.

Even Lea Salonga has to do a different concert
concept by letting her audience tell her what to sing,
what to do, in video a la YouTube, or social networking
a la comments on Facebook.

It doesn't take a cancer to make you a thing of the past.
It doesn't even need a cardiac arrest to turn you into a corpse.

It simply takes a refusal to change to make you frozen.

Embrace, evolve, apply, re-invent, evolutionize
with what's available or what's been practiced,
or if you're more gifted, revolutionize, and be a creator.

Morph with the times.
Then there's a big chance
you'll live longer, and continue
to be a part of this fast-changing world.

Spin to the speed of today's world rotation,
or better yet, set the pace,
before others tell you to catch up with theirs.

They've HAD the time of their lives, Swayze, et al.

The operative word is had, a thing of the past,
done, ancient, glory days gone.

The survival word is HAVE.
Be a part of the now.
If you can't comprehend and adjust to what IS and what's NOW,
then you've been HAD.

And you'll decline so fast, so sudden into a one of the HAVE-NOTS
or HAS-BEENS.