“The day I was born I was born free and that is my Privilege.”

Now, when it rains, it would rain cats and dogs, elephant and ants, and tamaraws and tarsiers and pilandoks and the extinct fish species of Laguna Lake.
August 23, 2008, 7:49 am
Filed under: All That Jazz!, Licorice, Tabloid | Tags: , ,

I watched mi amore Brandon Boyd accept together with his bandmate/best buddy Mike Einzeger their Environmental Media Associations “Missions in Music Award” for promoting environmental causes through their Incubus music. Then I shifted to Al Gore‘s Congress speech about Global Warming, then to GMA7’s Signos:Banta ng Nagbabagong Klima documentary, which I haven’t watched yet because of its late-night airing.

In 2 of 7, 8:00 of 10:23, it reflects a big part of the Filipino culture, to wit, religious ideology, mainly that of Catholicism, Juan dela Cruz’s Excalibur against global warming.

I ♥ [Armando Mendoza more than] Betty La Fea

On the last day of my “three-day suspension,” which I may blame to Big Brother’s cost-cutting idealism, I thought of wasting my time on the virtual world; namely, searching for “I miss you” guitar chords, which in my dreams I could play, after sneaking on my brother’s room to get his magnificent guitar; apparently writing a new post here; chatting with my friends at gmail; watching Ice Age Meltdown that I downloaded through torrent; visiting jigenski’s site to download new PSP games — it’s been close to three weeks since I held that precious console of mine in my hands — among others.

I read a tabloid, Pilipino Star Ngayon, to begin my day. Broadsheets aren’t the scroll of local news here in our household. There are two parts of it that I usually browse: the editorial section for the Pagkain sa Araw-araw daily article, a close kin of Tempo’s Lakbay-Diwa, and the local entertainment section. They’re a better read than “Lola Sinilaban ang Sarili, in red fonts, all caps, “dahil sa kahirapan,” in a much smaller black font, underlined, I guess. Other eye-catching articles for me would include those about health and leisure, which rarely are featured. I remember extracting an article about what plants could one plant during dry season, which points a finger to the legume family, for a high school biology report that revolved around the question of water preservation and land utilization for species to continually propagate.

On the entertainment section, I found one small poster accompanied by a short article for a channel’s new evening show, I love Betty La Fea, a Filipino adaptation of a popular Mexican, as far as I recall, drama series — or as we Filipinos call it, telenovela — Yo soy Betty La Fea, which translates as “I am Betty La Fea.” Its story revolves around Betty Pinzon, an ugly but intelligent woman working for a fashion firm called Eco Moda as assistant to the president, who is Armando Mendoza. I never cared for the news about it until I learned through that newspaper article who the actor is to portray Armando Mendoza, Betty’s boss-love interest. It’s JOHN LLOYD CRUZ. He’s bonnie as a dew drop, well, at least in my opinion. I’m sure to watch that program because of him.

You cutey! 😀

The Wit of Hugh Laurie
August 17, 2008, 3:51 pm
Filed under: All That Jazz!, Liriko, Tabloid | Tags: , , ,

Bad day, my mother was bitten by a dog who was boasted by my father’s friend, the great man, blessed he be, as having a pit bull terrier on the top of its genealogy tree. She got two puncture wounds on her right hand, and we are set to visit the animal bite center tomorrow morning.

So, enough of the ferocity of our “domesticated” dog. He soon will be out of the moat, I guess, after what happened. Soon enough “domesticated” hyenas and vultures will feast with a bowl of Azucena, much to their pleasure, accompanied by a dirty bottle of gin. It’s a cruel fact, though, it is still a possibility. And I better be busy composing a song in a far prairie if that happens.

I cannot get off of my head the lyrics of I Miss You, so I planned of viewing Incubus’s video of that in YouTube or any video featuring that song as, quoting Kylie, and I say it again, I can’t get that out of my head. I was enthralled by the sincerity of that song, still not ignoring the fact the voice who sang that. And I could tell now if a man would sing that to me, he sure is a good archer, better than cupid.

“Cupid isn’t stupid, oh, no, that rascal is clever because we happen to be his greatest match up ever.” Just recalled that line from a hallmark that I got. <Ismayl>

So on the net, I went on I Miss You, then I got Blink I82’s song with the same title. And without much thinking, I typed in House M.D. for the reason that, I may say, triggered by the word “miss” in the song titles I came up with the sentence “I miss the acerbic Dr. Gregory House.” Hugh Laurie was the next on my query followed by Inside the Actors Studio on which he guested, and then lastly clips of A Bit of Fry and Laurie.

Here is Mystery, performed and composed by Hugh Laurie:

I could never imagine him performing a rap song, but here he is with Stephen Fry. “Laughter” is written in caps now for me, almost spelled out.

Noam Chomsky, it’s history you said the sentence “Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.” but Stephen Fry got his fair share of the “Tricky Linguistics.”

“Hold the news reader’s nose squarely, waiter, or friendly milk will come to mend my trousers.”

I guess I could construct my own and make it a Haiku.

Now, I just remember, earlier I crave for Ramen.

You witty Laurie, I like thee. 😀

My Idea of Love Songs
August 13, 2008, 2:13 pm
Filed under: All That Jazz!, Liriko | Tags:




We all have something that digs at us,
at least we dig each other.
So when weakness turns my ego up,

I know you’ll count on the me from yesterday.

If I turn into another,
dig me up from under what is covering
the better part of me.
Sing this song.
Remind me that we’ll always have each other
when everything else is gone.



A thousand words have tried to say,
but yours are the ones that’ll never fade away. And I
cannot hide from their sound;
I am mesmerized spinning round and round. And
some other hearts have tried to steal mine,
but yours is the one that I now hold dear.
I’ll do what it takes to keep you here.
I’m a selfish fool and I have no fear.

Suddenly in my life
There’s something that’s got me mystified. And I
cannot fight it but I can try
to keep the wonder of it alive.


But if all of these dreams might find their way
into my day-to-day scene,
I’ll be under the impression
I was somewhere in between
with only two,
just me and you,
not so many things we got to do
Or places we got to be.
We’ll sit beneath the mango tree now.

Yeah, it’s always better when we’re together.
Mmmm, we’re somewhere in between together.
Well, it’s always better when we’re together.
Yeah, it’s always better when we’re together.



Nothing you can know that isn’t known.
Nothing you can see that isn’t shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.
It’s easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

Oh yeah!
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.



I’m stuck on you.
I’ve been a fool too long, I guess it’s time for me to come home.
Boy, I’m on my way.
It’s so hard to see
that a man like you could wait around for a woman like me.
Boy, I’m on my way, mighty glad you stayed.

Girl, I’m leaving on that midnight train tomorrow
and I know just where I’m going.
I’ve packed up my troubles and I’ve thrown them all away.
‘Cause this time I’m leavin’,
I’m coming home to stay.



I‘m quiet, you know.
You make a first impression.
I’ve found I’m scared to know I’m always on your mind.

Even the best fall down sometimes.
Even the stars refuse to shine.
Out of the back you fall in time.
I somehow find
you and I collide



To see you when I wake up
is a gift I didn’t think could be real.
To know that you feel the same as I do
is a threefold, utopian dream.

You do something to me that I can’t explain.
So would I be out of line if I said,
I miss you.
I see your picture, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine.
You have only been gone ten days, but already I’m wasting away.
I know I’ll see you again
whether far or soon.
But I need you to know that I care
and I miss you.



You’re a part-time lover and a full-time friend.
The monkey on your back is the latest trend.
I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else


If I was a flower growing wild and free,
all I’d want is you to be my sweet honey bee.
And if I was a tree growing tall and green,
all I’d want is you to shade me and be my leaves.

If you were a wink, I’d be a nod.
If you were a seed, well I’d be a pod.
If you were the floor, I’d wanna be the rug.
And if you were a kiss, I know I’d be a hug.



No one else comes close to you.
No one makes me feel the way you do.
You’re so special boy to me,
and you’ll always be eternally.
Every time I hold you near,
you always say the words I love to hear.
Boy, with just a touch you can do so much.
No one else comes close.



A Beri Ispeysiyal Lab: Sir, Ga’no Ka-Close?
August 13, 2008, 12:57 pm
Filed under: All That Jazz!, Backdrop, Tabloid


Si Adelaida Magtalas o Laida sa kaniyang pamilya, ang Philippinized name na naisip ng iskripwrayter para sa female protaganist niya, ay isang “modern-day belle,” quoting Wikipedia, isang “simpleton,” ayon na naman sa Wikipedia, na may pagtingin sa mayamang si Miggy Montenegro — cliche — nag-iisang anak ni
Mr. Montenegro sa kaniyang pangalawang asawa at presidente ng isang soon-to-be-defunct na men’s magazine, ang The Bachelor.

Sa bungad, Tanging Ina revisited, si Laida habang naka-pantulog pa, sa medyo magulo pero naka-ispraynet niyang buhok na may highlights, na busy sa pag-aasikaso sa kaniyang mga kapatid na papasok sa iskuwela.

Sunod na larawan, sa loob ng sasakyan nila kasama ang kaniyang pamilya, na-overhaul si Sarah, may makukulay siyang bangles sa kanang kamay niya, naka-high heels, may lavender na palamuting bulaklak ang coat niya, may fancy leather bag na kulay green, at siyempre andiyan ang naka-ispraynet niyang buhok na may highlights pa din. Hawak niya ang folder niyang kulay pink na may disenyong calculator at ang ballpen na may yellow na bulaklak sa dulo. ‘Yan siguro yung “modern-day belle” sa description ng Wikipedia. Naalala ng friend ko si Jolina sa kaniya.

Parang Araby ni James Joyce yung enlightenment ni Laida matapos siyang mapahiya sa isang meeting at sabihan ni Miggy na, “Maybe you can’t even say the word ‘sex.’ I don’t need your opinion. I just need you to do your job.” Napaluha ang modern-day belle sa kaniyang mga tinuran.

Lumabas ang isyu ng conditional at unconditional love. Wala daw konsepto ng “unconditional love” ang complicated na si Miggy, lalaki, samantalang si Laida, babae, through her neutral family, can use it in a sentence. Nagtalo sila sa ilalim ng ulan. Whiny sa ulan si Miggy habang nakikinig at may hawak na golf umbrella si Laida. What a scene!


Miggy Montenegro, Laida Magtalas’s love interest — kaakibat ng pangalan ang posisyon nila sa social hierarchy — is “the youngest of the Montenegro clan, a well-established family in the business world.”

In a supposed-to-be dramatic scene, Miggy said his memorable line for me:

Laida: Naramdaman kong ang tiring na mahalin ka sa ganiyang ugali mo, sa ganiyang pananaw mo sa buhay, sa pamilya mo. Minsan conceited ka, pero nagpaka-martir akong mahalin ka. At na-feel ko lang recently pagod na ako, you know, exhausted.
Miggy: Ako rin, tri-ny kong mahalin ang sarili ko at nahirapan din ako. (I was waiting for a “NYIII” pero wala eh. LOLs)

Sa maingay na kalsada ng kung iisipin ko ay sa Maynila, nasa loob ng fx si Laida kausap si Violy, isa niyang officemate, sa kaniyang cellphone. Ipinapakiusap ni Violy kung puwede na sabihin sa kaniya kung bababa na siya ng fx.

Bumaba na si Laida. Bumungad sa kaniya ang isang truck sa kabilang lane ng kalsada. May humunguous banner na may sulat na “I’m sorry.” Tumigil ang truck at nag-play sa ere ang revival na kanta ng MYMP.

“Kailan? Kailan mo ba mapapansin ang aking lihim. Kahit anong gawing lambing di mo pinapansin.”

Bumukas ang truck, laman sa loob ang isang banda. Umalis ang truck upang ipakita si Miggy, ang may-ari ng “malamyang” tinig. Iisipin ng ilan na pumarada lang somewhere near ang truck kung nasaan ang sound system, pero busy ang kalsada, sagabal sa mga motorista ang truck. Using a chordless mic and subwoofers hidden in the bushes, Miggy continuously sang for her beloved Laida. Sur-round!

May impact yung portrayal ni John Lloyd, eksena, isang umaga sa kaniyang condo, may sakit siya, nakahiga sa sofa, nanginginig, may hawak na laruang tren. Dumating si Laida dala ang draft ng mga articles para sa anniversary issue ng magazine. The camera focused on Miggy’s near-hallucination at ang pang-mayamang laruan na train set. Upon learning that he is sick, though, for me I thought he became mentally-ill, she takes care of Miggy. At that time, we were expecting a box of paracetamol biogesic in the cabinet, but it is nowhere to be found. 😀

Denouement under the rain, the characters’ last chance to perform the sun dance, I guess.


For a chick flick, it’s quite a fun watch, especially when you’re seeing it with Friends even if they almost throw a ball at me for racking my vocal chords for JL. I was reminded that we just played basketball before we watched the film, so hindi talaga abstract ang bola.

And there is something about Sarah that I like, siguro yung bangles niya and JL is pulchritudinous. Yes! Hahaha.. 😀


** Si Rosanna Roces at ang Maingay na Babae
** Si Richard Gomez at ang Mito ng Pagkalalaki

Deposition Cat
August 13, 2008, 12:36 pm
Filed under: All That Jazz!, Tabloid

I read a case about domestic violence, of a Caucasian accused of hitting his Asian wife, who was reported to be “mentally-ill.” Their two-year-old son was taken from their custody by a community social worker. The couple appealed saying that this was all a misunderstanding.

The father said he never laid a hand on his wife, that the yelling heard by their neighbor was just his wife depressed on her daughter’s immigrant application being denied. He claimed to be a good father. As a matter of fact, baby gates were installed on the second floor stairs to prevent the child from falling off through the first floor.

The mother, though, there is a language barrier, defended herself well. She took medications for her allegedly mental illness, she attested, but she stopped after the community social worker told her that she was already cured. The lawyer asked her if she would attend any counseling given by the local government. She said that she would if it was reasonable.

“When you say “reasonable,” what do you mean?” the lawyer asked.

She struggled to explain what she meant, which can be summarized by saying that she cannot afford to attend those activities because she needed to provide for her children, she needed to help her husband secure their children’s future.

Their house was inspected by Conan Doyle. Every corner was sought for evidence of their negligence. They found cat urine on the carpet, cat feces on the second floor. Alas, a cat could be a witness, they said. The father was questioned about the cat with the five W’s and one H, but he failed to give them its name. Cat Doe like John Doe, it was called. But they ponder for they think such a name did not suit the witness-cat.


By T.S. Eliot

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter.

It isn’t just one of your holiday games;

You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter

When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,

Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,

Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey–

All of them sensible everyday names.

There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,

Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:

Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter–

But all of them sensible everyday names.

But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,

A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,

Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,

Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?

Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,

Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,

Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-

Names that never belong to more than one cat.

But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,

And that is the name that you never will guess;

The name that no human research can discover–

But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation,

The reason, I tell you, is always the same:

His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation

Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:

His ineffable effable


Deep and inscrutable singular Name.


It’s a magical realism.


“You’re facing the wall. Are you Pissing (Piscine)?”
August 8, 2008, 2:16 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

An excerpt from Yann Martel’s Life of Pi


My name isn’t the end of the story about my name. When your name is BOb, no one asks you, “How do you spell that?” Not so with Piscine Molitor Patel.

Some thought it was P. Singh and that I was a Sikh, and they wondered why I wasn’t wearing a turban.

In my university days, I visited Montreal once with some friends. It fell to me to order pizzas one night. I couldn’;t bear to have yet another French speaker guffawing at my name, so when the man on the phone asked, “Can I’ave your name?” I said, “I am who I am.” Half an hour later, two pizzas arrived for “Ian Hoolihan.”

It is true that those we meet can change us, sometimes so profoundly that we are not the same afterwards, even unto our names. Witness Simon who is called Peter, Matthew also known as Levi, Nathaniel who is Bartholomew, Judas, not Iscariot, who took the name Thaddeus, Simeon who went by Niger, Saul who become Paul.

My Roman soldier stood in the schoolyard one morning when I was twelve. I had just arrived. He saw me and a flash of evil genius lit up his dull mind. He raised his arm, pointed at me and shouted, “It’s Pissing Patel!”

In a second everyone was laughing. It fell away as we filed into the class. I walked in last, wearing my crown of thorns.

The cruelty of children comes as news to no one. The words would waft across the yard to my ears, unprovoked, uncalled for: “Where’s Pissing? I’ve got to go.” Or: “You’re facing the wall. Are you Pissing?” Or something of the sort. I would freeze or, the contrary, pursue my activity, pretending not to have heard. The sound would disappear, but the hurt would linger, like the smell of piss long after it was evaporated.


It was near the end of the school year, a week after the finals, where we were just waiting for the teachers to give us their list of requirements for the clearance. Usually, a lessons-filled notebook, a result of endless copying from the manila papers taped on the blackboard end to end or what have you, will make the teacher stump his signature on your salvation paper. We had anticipated this tedium, so playing cards, when teachers were chatting about their personal lives, were played in the classroom. Others would entertain themselves on word games. Boys would be out eyeing for Venuses from other sections. I, on the other hand, inspired by an article that I’ve read in my brother’s old school publication that I found splayed on the bottom of my mother’s old lakasa, I began writing on the blackboard a few of my classmates names. One would be “Flordeliza Medalla – Honorable Name.” A friend, who was bored looking for three- or four-letter words, saw what I wrote and just laugh at my gag. He then picked up the chalk and started to throw his insanity on the board with his graphics.


I was Zhel to my strict-sassy research professor in college. College research was my first course with her, who also taught our other major subjects, so I was a new face in her class, At the first day of class, I silently sat at the back. She came a few minutes after and then looked at her students.  Most of them she was familiar of.  She noticed me and asked what my name is. I uttered in a polite, soft-voiced manner, Jel, which she heard as Zhel.

“No, ma’am, it’s Jel.”

“Zhel?” Now, the class chorused, Jel.

“Oh, Jel, sorry.”

And for a week, I was Zhel to my blockmates/classmates, to my orgmates in our tambayan.


I was Jen to a Chowking crew. She would ask, “May I know your name, ma’am?” which I kindly replied, Jel. She gave me my number and then asked me to wait for my take-out order on the side. Five minutes after, a crew went out calling for Jen to give her, her packed order. Nobody answered. Seven minutes, he came out again calling for Jen. Again, he was ignored. Ten minutes and my eyebrow could now be likened to Frida Kahlo’s. I approached a crew to follow up for my order.

“Ma’am, can I have your receipt.” I handed it over. “Oh, you must be Jen. Here it is.”

Oh, right, Jen. Yes, I’m Jen and I’m hungry. Give me that.


“Why would you write your name in two words? You should be using what was written on your birth certificate.” Ma’am Grama, my English teacher, once said to me in a way like I caused the guava to fall on the ground. It’s gravity, ma’am, or blame the fruit, not me. I am Laurice Jel, Laurice jel after I got tired of capitalizing the J in Jel. Then all of a sudden I became Lauricejel. I was baptized thrice then.