Some people are inexplicably too powerful

In the Philippines, there's apparently a law for ordinary citizens and another law for the inexplicably powerful.

(via Ivan)

Save the Rizal Shrine!

Jun 29, '07 12:46 AM for everyone

While the spa issue in Taal has been raging, PTA GM Dean Barbers has silently but blatantly continued construction in Intramuros! If the sports complex is completed, it will damage the area around the Rizal Shrine, blocking the view from the walls. Calling all lovers of Rizal and concerned citizens of the Philippines, let's continue our fight to protect the Rizal Shrine and the walls of Intramuros!

Here is an older post about it:
http://ivanhenares.blogspot.com/2007/03/save-walls-of-intramuros.html

Related articles:
1. Ugly side of Tourism Authority revealed
http://www.manilatimes.net/national/2007/mar/18/yehey/top_stories/20070318top1.html
2. Former PTA heads want Gen. Mgr. Barbers charged
http://www.manilatimes.net/national/2007/mar/18/yehey/top_stories/20070318top2.html
3. What is behind Barbers’ insistence on this project?
http://www.manilatimes.net/national/2007/mar/18/yehey/top_stories/20070318top4.html
4. Ex-PTA chiefs want Barbers sued for Intramuros project
http://www.malaya.com.ph/mar15/metro2.htm
5. Former PTA heads demand Barbers’ resignation
http://www.abs-cbnnews.com/storypage.aspx?StoryID=70162
6. Intramuros a warehouse?
http://www.mb.com.ph/archive_pages.php?url=http://www.mb.com.ph/issues/2007/03/15/OPED2007031589536.html
7. PTA’s illegal designs on Intramuros
http://www.manilatimes.net/national/2007/mar/15/yehey/business/20070315bus13.html

Prev: HCS News and Updates (30 March 2007)

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Writing as punishment

Have you ever been punished as a kid in school with the order to write something like "I'll never do this again?" a hundred times on the blackboard or your notebook? Chances are you could be highly at risk of making this permanent association: “writing = punishment.” If you're luckier, though, it could be “writing = sadomasochism” for you. This means you could end up embracing the art and the craft even if it's painful. In either case, it’s easy to imagine that, in writing, a great deal of punishment or punishing is involved, great enough for it to be romanticized.

Why I write

A friend once told me off, "You won't get rich writing. You're no Ricky Lee." He misses the point: I’m not trying to be one. That’s my first sorrowful mystery of trying or wanting to write. I get accused of so many awful things even if I have yet to make my mark.

While I'd be elated if I get rich quick from writing, I’d like to think I don't write because of the money. I write because I'm happy doing it. I write because readers might get happy reading me. I write because I want to have a life. I write because I want to be complete. I have a thousand other reasons, not one of which is believable to the people closest to me. The idea that I wanted to write at all sounds preposterous to most of them, because they envision writing to be a loser's or a fool's preoccupation.

They are quite right on that point, admittedly. A writer who truly loves to write can't possibly bring himself to write purely for the money or the fame, despite the unquestionable allure of mammon. What do you get out of vanity in the first place when you're in the business of extracting meanings? And what is fame if you don’t have the money? In my case, I’d prefer money first so I could afford to be famous.

Thankfully, serious writers do not come from such a shallow, empty direction because writing is a vocation to them, one that they willfully decide upon. Or it's a case of a person being born to it, and he hears its call, and the call is deafening.

If there's anything selfish about writing, for me, it is that I write as a therapy, to keep myself sane, to figure things out, to create some semblance of order out of the so-called madness and chaos, to use an entire set of serviceable clichés. If no one likes what I've written as self-therapy, at least it still has served its purpose: I got healed; I was able to express what could have been a psychic malaise (precursor of disease?) had I chosen to suppress it.

But some writers would be the first to acknowledge that there’s indeed an amount of selfishness needed to be able to write at all. I can understand that too. Since you need to absorb a lot of things from your environment, you need to be self-absorbed for it. Like Clinton Palanca said in one of his wonderfully long-winded essays, "a writer should scale the heights and scrape the troughs." That means not just tangible reality, I believe, but more importantly the intangible, scaling both extremes with the same painstaking diligence, the same missionary zeal.

Writing is a good thing

In my case, I try to make every writing effort of mine unselfish, even though it might not look like that on the surface. I’d like to write for others, to write with others in mind, even when I’m talking about myself. Besides, it’s always a challenge -- the thought that I could write from some other person’s perspective, with some other person in mind. Someone says he "writes what others think he writes." Another claims "writing is an expression of loving." I think they are both talking about roughly the same thing. Whichever view it may be, there’s this strong drive to do good, to be good. One writer’s beautiful turn of phrase can only be a gift that's neatly concealed. Another’s wonderful insight is always a box of surprise.

Good writers never fail to astonish us for being successful not just in suspending our disbelief but, more importantly, for taking us to flights of fancy by way of what appears to be a mere weaving of words. That deftly crafted prose, that magical story, that enchanting setting, that beguiling character - they all appear to be efforts at magnifying man's humanity. Good writing lifts us all. Great writing elevates man and society.

Apparently, writers are not here as a decor to existence. They are an undeniable must for a species that needs to constantly explain itself, to steal a point I gathered somewhere. But, yes, the writer must be adequately ‘punished’ for it first and foremost if he or she is able to come up with anything worth reading at all. The discipline, together with all the brickbats, has a purpose.

No stamp collecting

Writing and suffering. Writing and punishment. They seem to always go together. It’s always been observed that there's nothing like great suffering to inspire great literature. We hear that one time and again. What they didn’t tell us is that a writer is bound to suffer even if he’s just doing a term paper or a quickie (five minutes at the most) in-class essay. It’s a thankless task no matter where you look at it. Just ask writing students.

In my own humble case, I always call my writing output “a hobby,” but people don’t know how much torture I had to go through. I have seen days when I had to agonize over the ungrammaticality of one single line that seemed to sound right or vice-versa. Writing is no stamp-collecting. Even if you gave me Php100K/mo as salary, that wouldn’t even begin to compensate for the rigors of self-learning I went through, and still going through. And that’s decades that I’m counting, the hours and hours I've put in, the years and years that I read up books and books, boned up on idioms and tenses and prepositions, and so on.

This is an entire lifestyle we’re talking about, a life of devotion to the craft that’s beyond the pale of the published byline and whatever glory and glamor it may impart. Ah, the painstaking endlessness of writing and reading and rewriting and rereading.

But if only I knew I would end up writing as a big part of the tasks I have managed to handle in my writing-related non-careers! I swear I would have bargained with God to make me a medical sales rep instead. I have suffered so much writing that I’d love to see me instead in a custom-made Italian suit, with the glibbest of tongue and a magnetic power to draw from safety deposit boxes wads of cold cash, instead of a pen that sheds copious tears, a crazy process that occupies your whole being, your whole time.

Cursive curses

If that’s not enough, there’s also the more profound dimension involved in all this anguish and pain, if writing authorities are to be believed. Writing is fun, 'tis true, but it is apparently a curse as well, they say. One writer reportedly pays his dues by paying the high price: the role of the accursed. There simply is no escaping it. Ricardo de Ungria (a poet), in a newspaper interview, observed that writers attract a certain negativity in their lives, making them miserable. Except perhaps those who live off pure hack work, maybe one reason is that writers feel a certain compulsion, this itch that they have to scratch. There are a number of mysterious sides to writing so that writing can never be taught, and that is a major one: compulsion. It’s like possession, demonic or otherwise, where the person is impelled by some mysterious force inside or outside of him. "Writers write because they have to," like another poet Gemino Abad once said on another occasion. They write because that's what they love doing and end up doing well, or so another writer concurs elsewhere.

And in a country whose writers are seldom given their due (note how the role of screenplay writers in the creative process, for example, is downplayed if not mangled to the point of making the work indistinguishable), writers have to make do with a pay that is a practical joke, to paraphrase novelist Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo in one of her writing workshop classes. Receiving the check for a published work, Ms. Hidalgo had her husband poetically asking her, "Should we encash or laminate?" Alas, that's how it is. Writers often end up in industries that pay peanuts even monkeys would refuse.

At the end of the day, though, writers have not much choice but to look back on their ordeal as yet another stuff for inspiration. They feed on suffering, so they must have more and more of it. Without them, there's nothing to write about except perhaps gloss and fluff. It's like the fate of this reed-thin actor, who had to live on a diet of thin air to remain cadaverous and so retain his odd job.

Maybe that's worth repeating at this point: Suffering is the writer's bread and butter, but it can also be their treasure. To borrow a Conrado de Quiros metaphor, a creative work is like a “flower rising from the rubble,” or more specifically, a lotus rising from the depth of murk. Try to scan the best anthologies and observe who were chosen among the lineup of entries: those who've been through the deepest pits of hell, those who have been hurt and ‘punished’ the most. With such a realization, like I’ve told myself earlier, I'd rather not see my byline at all if I should go through even just one of Job's trials and tribulations. I would rather be happy and content lying on a bed of cash, watering that proverbial tree that grows money, sipping iced tea, living a shallow existence of eat-and-sleep routine, rather than lay down on a bed of nails. I'd rather be reading all of the best writers' worst nightmares than die holding a pen and being impelled to tell my own.

Again (or still), the trouble with wanting to be a writer

Alas, if one is truly accursed, one has no choice but to deal with it, even to the point of embracing it like a cross. There’s simply no escaping it because, as you can see, the root of the problem of a writer are these unavoidable bursts of inspiration - whose origin no one has fathomed yet - that visit the writer at all unexpected moments, practically enslaving him, keeping him in bondage. To shift metaphors, these phantom visitations can be likened to a rare, beautiful bird that needs to be caught or trapped in a cage lest it flies away, never to return again, never to be seen again.

When I'm caught in the middle of such bouts with the phantom others call 'muse' (is it a she?), all hell breaks loose. I am seized by rapt attention, body and soul. In moments like this, you try to disturb me at your own peril. Risk yourself being tagged as the marked man, the one who shooed the rare bird away, possibly forever.

And woe to me if I ever attempt to squelch the spirit. If I stifle the spirit, I get only insomnia if I’m lucky, nightmares if I’m not.

Oh, the feeling of one's idea slipping off one's hand! You can probably ask the poets what brand of agony they have to go through. How shall I describe the insufferable sense of loss? Have you ever tried wrenching a bird you caught with your hands, only for it to slip away effortlessly through your fingertips? That’s how it is.

However which way, the end result is the same: the writer most often builds a reputation of being a grouch, a snob, an ill-tempered lout, or at best (or to the kindest of observers), a moody person, one with extreme mood swings. Someone who has the gift gets easily upset once deprived of the chance to scratch the itch. And it is far worse off if one hits a major snag in the midst of scratching that itch. I have once likened to the feeling to the nastiest coitus interruptus.

And I haven't even mentioned the opposite torment often called writer's block, which is essentially akin to paralysis or...impotence, which may often end up with the same purgatorial or hellish punishments as above.

But don't get me wrong. Writing is apparently painful, physically draining (especially the research part), and necessarily involves stripping, which attracts all sorts of flamers and peeping toms. But it is definitely, infinitely highly pleasurable and fulfilling. That's where the feeling of completion comes in. Pantoja-Hidalgo writes in one of her compiled-essays books that she strangely hears arias being played every time she's in the thick of being a creator. The nature of the art of the written word, it seems, is nothing short of heavenly, as all forms of art are or should be. Writing, creating, is being like God.

Hopefully, non-writers would never begrudge writers that joy that's eventually theirs, always keeping in mind the hell that they had to go through. Instead, they should be grateful: It could have been them.

Mgmt 101

(Filed under: I learned something new today.)

Management, according to Canadian management researcher Henry Mintzberg, is reducible to ten interpersonal roles. These interlinking roles, he says, fit three neat categories: interpersonal, informational, and decisional.

Interpersonal: duties involving people

- the figurehead - legal and social head
- the leader - supervision of hiring, training, motivation, disciplinary action
- the liaison - communication with outside parties

Informational: duties involving receipt and dissemination of information

-the monitor - updating of oneself on current trends in the field
-the disseminator - information of the organization
-the spokesperson - representation of organization to outsiders

Decisional:

-the entrepreneur - initiation and overseeing of new projects
-the disturbance handler - taking of action due to unforeseen events
-the resource allocator - allocation of human, physical, and financial resources
-the negotiator - bargaining on behalf of organization

Now, we can all evaluate ourselves or our current and former managers how we/they fare in each of these managerial roles.

______________

References:

Mintzberg, H. (1973), The Nature of Managerial Work, Harper & Row, New York.

Mintzberg, H. (1998), The Role of the CEO, Design Intelligence, August 15 1998 http://www.di.net/article.php?article_id=23


**
Katz, however, reduces these categorizations to just three essential skills (Peterson and Van Fleet, 2004, pg. 1299):

-technical
-human
-conceptual

Compare and contrast these theories to Fayol’s classic functions of management (condensed to four (Robbins et al., 2006))

-planning
-organizing
-controlling
-leading

Oddity: South Africa

Gee, I just found out that we're not the illest, oddest country around. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to South Africa!

Official language: According to their 1996 constitution, not 1 but 11 --> Afrikaans, English, Ndebele, Pedi, Sotho, Swati, Tsonga, Tswana, Venda, Xhosa and Zulu. And learning an additional 11 is being encouraged: Arabic, German, Greek, Gujarati, Hebrew, Hindi, Portuguese, Sanskrit, Tamil, Telegu, and Urdu.

Capital: 3! --> Pretoria (executive), Cape Town (legislative), and Bloemfontein (judicial)

Their flag: Updated post-apartheid to be more democratically representative: Red-white-blue for English people and Afrikaners, green for Muslims, black-green-yellow for ANC supporters, red-white-black-green-yellow for Zulus.

Review:10x10x10

(Hey, Alvin, here's my amateur book review. Wag lait-laitin ha! :) I'm not very happy with it myself, because the ending is an awful cliche.)

“Literature in a hurry” is becoming the norm in this age of disposable panties. No, I am not referring to Nick Joaquin's description of journalism back in the day, but to that type of suspicious writing produced by the seemingly lazy hobbyist or even by journalists and other writers in between deadlines. Just recently, “literature in a real hurry” has been used by someone else somewhere to describe online journal writing. Talk about the emergence of sub-genres in the span of seconds. "Flash fiction" officially broke into the local scene in 2003 with the Noelle Q. de Jesus-edited Fastfood Fiction (Anvil Publishing Inc.), and the experience of reading it has been aptly likened by one reviewer to wolfing down Bic Mac burgers, i.e., filling enough to make you burp. Now, can "fastfood plays" be far behind?

Local playwrights group Writers Bloc answers the demand for instant noodles in the theater circuit by coming out with a book of ten such plays. 10x10x10, edited by Rody Vera and co-edited by Alfonso I. Dacanay (UST Publishing House, 2005), is comparatively slim, a platter of hors d’oeuvres, you could say, of ten-minute Tagalog and Taglish plays. Or is it?

Rene O. Villanueva, one of the few seasoned playwrights to contribute to this anthology, frowns at the term “fastfood play” or even “sudden drama,” though. Here, he strives at making a distinction by calling the art form "dulang kagyat," which he says is distinguished by the added criterion of intensity ("sidhi"). But doesn’t "dulang kagyat" literally translate to “play-in-a-flash” just the same? Oh, well.

This anthology, staged at the Rajah Sulayman Theater in Fort Santiago, Manila, as part of either the Dulaang Laboratoryo (March 2000) or Komedi Klab Festival (February 2001) gathers the work of ten mostly young and struggling theater scribes, all in honor of the memory of Carlos “Charley” dela Paz, Jr., founder of Writers Bloc.

Breezing through this book, though, one instantly gets Villanueva’s point, as one is blasted by bomb after bomb of increasingly sophisticated, mostly hilarious, and indeed intense stories rendered in different styles, covering various themes that capture the quirks of this crazy age.

The book opens with Dacanay’s "Eyeball," a scene everyone who ever got seriously addicted to Internet chatting can identify with. It's a portrait of a fun, guilt-ridden moment, which invariably means something one eventually denies to his grave. That exquisite moment in the middle of a day-to-day Starbucks scene captures postmodern loneliness and man’s universal desire for acceptance and the horror of rejection for the lamest reasons, such as one’s failure to stick to the South Beach diet. "Eyeball" exposes the Internet chat for what it oftentimes is: cyberspace charade. I find a part of the monologue too direct, though: that part where the two protagonists finally reveal their fears.

Liza C. Magtoto’s "Saint Anthony, Pray for Us" is a farcical characterization of the single mom as a "burara" (a woman with poor archiving skills at home). The play pokes fun at her domestic dilemmas by employing an invisible, somewhat-effeminate angel. A neat trick, I'd say.

"Over a Cup of Coffee" is Vincent A. de Jesus’ instant classic on gay outing. At once serious and comic, it is made even memorable by the very casual way one’s elaborately concealed skeleton is shoved out of the closet, and the pleasant surprise that ensues from all that drama.

"Isang Libong Tula para sa Dibdib ni Dulce" is one of my favorites. Layeta Bucoy just blew me away for her ability to squeeze a lifetime of love, longing, and lecherousness in such an unconventional way. Magtoto’s marvelous mind-play is violent, tragic, horrid, symbolic, profane, disgusting, side-splitting, poetic. A playful deconstruction, if you may, of the woman’s breast – something only a woman who’s ever been a mother and a hot momma can probably do.

"Trabaho Soliloquies" is reportedly a first play by Ned Trespeces, who is so disarmingly humble as to acknowledge others’ input in the final work – a refreshing trait for any artist, struggling or not. The title seems to speak for itself, but it’s actually an understatement for this Third World urban black comedy. I was instantly reminded of Mike de Leon’s ancient short film Aliwan Paradise (1993), which depicts the thousand and one ways the job hunter humors himself just so he could snag the lousiest job available. Trespeces’ portrayal of the grim, heartless, dehumanizing realities of job application in a bullshitty, "palakasan"-mediated banana republican system can only be a gruesome reminder (or a congratulatory note) for anyone who’s been able to wrangle a job in the concrete jungle without the aid of a slimy bureaucratic backer.

"Balang Araw" by the prolific and talented Chris Martinez is a caricature of futuristic visions. Say what? Yes, it is the author’s experimentation on a 'screaming fag's' vision of utopia, one where everything has been politically corrected and everyone has been de-marginalized. And yet Martinez makes things feel strangely stuffy here, owing to the choice of scene – the embarrassing church wedding waiting game scene. This is a richly entertaining Shakespearean comedy of Martian/alien manners.

"Walang Iwanan" by Rene O. Villanueva pulls readers back to their senses with a minimalistic motel drama that’s almost like a staged reality show. It effectively limns the delicate nuances of something so vulgar as a "gamitan" ("transactionalized" relationship) between lovers, exposing the quasi-loving thing as a-little-more-glorified version of dough-for-sex, pay-per-view dalliances. Its totally unexpected and ambiguous finale, coupled with its vaguely political title (think Erap’s infamous speech), makes this play my second personal favorite.

Nicolas Pichay joshes, shocks, outrages and more, in his meant-to-be-confusing yet monumentally profound contemplation on suicide and people contemplating their own deaths in "Tingnan Natin ang Mukha Niya." It is futuristic as well, but in a bizarre manner – a vision of a future where relationships deemed "perverted" by society have been de-stigmatized or mainstreamed and yet basic existential questions remain questions just the same.

As though Pichay’s radioactive shockwave isn’t enough, Jose Victor Z. Torres sustains the feeling with "SBF (Single Brown Female)," reportedly an adaptation of Katkat Peñaojas’ Kafkaesque short story about a “babymaker,” a fictional character who spread-eagles for a living, but one with a twist – to literally become a baby factory for anyone willing to cough up a handsome fee. Atrocious, disgusting, yet nonetheless riveting, "SBF" is an illustration of, from the author’s own notes, Picasso’s conception of art as “a lie that tells the truth.”

Rody Vera bookends this remarkable collection with a back-to-reality piece, yet one that’s no less intriguing. "Nang Dahil Lang sa Init" is a road rage story whose beauty lies in its obliqueness and rich layering. (You might say: Huh? Is that possible at all? In ten minutes? Answer: You bet!) The crime scene never surfaces, but it is where this harsh commentary on the social pecking order, corporate conflict, and class struggle is anchored, the hot and humid tropical weather providing the perfect backdrop and metaphor.

10x10x10 is one tasty sampling it makes you beam with delight, definitely wanting for more.

1.31.2005

(Thanks to Ness D., who 'commissioned' this piece, actually.)

Critical analysis of Philippine showbiz

I was hesitant to share this article being emailed around because it's so cruel, but what the heck, when I thought about who's really being cruel to whom, I changed my mind. Most of the people lambasted here deserve to be lambasted anyway in the bombastic language of showbiz chika. (I draw the line, though, when it comes to attacking people for how they look, especially when they're not beauty pageant contestants.)

Read and laugh out loud: Winners and Losers: From Kris to Ruffa Ropa to Gretchen (Desperate Housewives, Philippine Edition)

Today's crazy thing: Korean health spa on an active volcano

Irregularities like this must have involved some hanky-panky, or is my mind too dirty?

(Via Ivan)

The bad news is that a Korean “health spa” and a Korean builder, Jung Ang Interventure Corporation are constructing a resort along the crater of the Taal Volcano. What is worse, according to news reports, is that the Secretary of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) pointed out that although Taal is a protected area, it is not entirely closed to “ecotourism” projects that do not harm the environment. However, a Department of Tourism (DOT) spokesperson was quick to affirm that the Korean project was never endorsed by them simply because the Taal Volcano area is considered a permanent danger zone and the DOT is not in the habit of risking the lives of tourists and investors. Worst of all is the revelation that thirteen mayors of the towns surrounding Taal Lake have no pride of place.

Ms. Gemma Cruz writes on the subject.

Local media, accused of parochialism

Read "Inside the beltway" by Raul Rodis, a Filipino writer/lawyer, writing all the way from San Francisco, CA, USA.

Reflex reaction: What I don't like about local media (the trimedia in general) is their laziness/carelessness with the facts. That's a major turnoff for me. One time, there's this famous GMA7 TV host who tried to define communism and I remember how collective jaws online fell to the floor that day. Another time, another famous Ch.2 TV show host casually mentioned in her spiel that Hong Kong is a country and that M. Butterfly is a Chinese story. My jaw fell to the floor and dug a hole two feet-deep. Another time, I caught a broadsheet reviewer committing glaring faux pas such as "this and that personality is a member of this and that band." Don't you hire fact-checkers, people? There's also this columnist whose article was such a blatant ripoff of something I just read from GQ, but this is altogether another issue already. (Duh, yes, we read all those US glossies in the john every time we can.) One radio-TV host I respect is Karen Davila because I have yet to catch her commit mistakes in this area. We're not talking here of typos, but facts that are otherwise well-known to the general public. I also admire the likes of Howie Severino who tackle their subject intelligently. As for sharp analyses, why, there's PCIJ, Newsbreak, and the whole battalion of garrulous columnists. As for the actual issue of parochialism, I sort of agree. Just take a look at the amount of space devoted to the world news and its analysis.

"Beyond Ibalon"

PCIJ features Bicolano poet Kristian Cordero, "the most awarded Bicolano writer today."

A lomi tale

(Filed under: Lunch break; Also, this is an example of a blog review.)

I lined up one rainy noon at ChowKing, lured by the picture of a delicious-looking new dish: a lomi meal.

“One lomi, please,” I ordered. I haven’t had a decent lomi in a long time.

“Sir, you want mantao with that? Bagay yun sa lomi,” the waiter said. I looked at the picture again and indeed, it said you can have lomi with mantao at a reduced combo-meal price.

“Okay.” I said. But before the cashier is able to punch in my order, I paused. “Teka, what’s mantao?”

“Siopao po, pero walang laman.”

“Huh? Wag na lang yun. Lomi lang.”
**

Mantao. What a funny food. A siopao with no filling. Sounds like a bad joke to me. It’s like a lumpia filled with nothing but lumpia wrapper, or a burger bun with nothing in it but hot air.

After I finished my order, I wasn’t very happy. ChowKing’s version of lomi is like saying, “Huh?” Something essential was missing, but I couldn’t determine what it was.

**

The next day, I discovered this little restaurant I read about somewhere: R & J Bulalohan at Tapsilugan Atbp. Co. Everything here is darn right – well, except the dirty-kitchen-con-turo-turo ambience. I had the best crispy ribs with fresh salsa dip and the best chop-suey I’ve ever tasted in this town. That’s no hyperbole. They could’ve thrown in some sweet Japanese corn in their bulalo soup, though, for the additional flavor and to sweeten a bit the saltiness of the broth. But apart from that, I couldn’t complain much, and you know how much I can be fond of complaining sometimes.

The place has walls that are crammed with show biz artists’ plastic-covered autographs as well as scrawlings attesting to the tastiness of the offerings. It could be that the owner is an artista or someone connected to showbiz, but that’s already irrelevant.

**

The next day, I tried their lomi too. I ordered one for takeout.

Guess what. They got the darned noodle dish right, down to the hibe and the bits of egg white.

But my new officemate T. wasn’t amused by what she saw me slurping at snack time. “Ayoko yan. Di ba ang lomi mapanghi?” (“Doesn’t that dish remind you too much of a urinal?”)

Ugh. Did she have to say that out loud, to my face? To hide my embarrassment and get back at her, I said, “Yun nga ang masarap eh!”

I finally got my answer to the puzzle. That’s the essential ingredient that’s missing in ChowKing’s version of lomi.

**

R & J Bulalohan at Tapsilugan Atbp. Co. is at Boni Ave., near the Mandaluyong Municipal Hall Circle. Call 5334811 or 7465432. They do delivery and takeout.

(PS.: You can't possibly print this kind of comments in the paper, can you? Especially not when ChowKing is a sponsor?)

Wired: "Bloggers, no journalists"

Read: Internet Smackdown: The Amateur vs. the Professional

But then, who says bloggers are trying to be journalists? Bloggers are bloggers. Journalists are journalists. As for blogger-journalists and journalist-bloggers, well, they are... ambidextrous bats. So is this a choose-your-best-liars-and-objectivity-obsessed-hypocrites debate now? Who cares? Me, I just write what I know and what I feel good or bad about.

(via romejorge)

Our lawmakers' landmark achievement

Finally, someone knowledgeable writing on the subject: "Old Manila streets lose names to politicians."

I remember parodying this whole moronic thing here: "Renaming Manila"

That post should be retitled, "Why do morons rule us? Why do idiots get ahead in life? And why do idiots constantly foist their taste (artistic, cultural, etc., or lack thereof) on the rest of us? Why can't we have someone like Vaclav Havel?" (I know what the answer is: "Because we don't give really intelligent people the chance. Our society has a strong bias against intelligence, because intelligent men betrayed us -- but that's another story.")

I have an idea: Let's DEFY by GETTING BACK at these politicians, by NOT USING ANY of those new street names AT ALL, whether in official communication or in private.

Wait, that's what we've been doing all along. Like does anybody care what Buendia is supposed to be called now? Or Vito Cruz?

Is there a way we can sue all these politicians if they don't consult the NCAA and NHI first? There must be. We must learn to fight them head-on and play their stupid game, whether legal or not.

You're 436 y.o.!

You're old. Happy Foundation Day, Manila!!!

Which parts of Manila do I love the most? Well, since I'm kinda mainstream in my taste, here they are:

1. The Central Bank's vault of ancient/pre-Hispanic gold jewelry collection. Absolutely astounding collection of ancient glitters (paleo-bling-bling?)! If you wish to study what's Filipino without any outside influences (though this is doubtful per se), this is it. (How come I never wrote about this one?)

2. San Agustin church and museum. Misleading exterior, exquisitely beautiful interior. Here, you stand on Miguel Lopez de Legaspi's lapida, literally. The only survivor of that ugly WWII American-Japanese bombardment of Intramuros. Unbelievable collection of disembodied heads of ivory saints. (I'll try to find what I have written about the museum.)

3. San Sebastian church. How do you marry steel and gothic? This is the answer. This structure emerges from Old Manila's decaying streetscape like a pleasant surprise.

4. That Rizal Ave. corner where gorgeous buildings from different periods in history desperately try to survive. It's like looking at a dying patient in the ICU. Sad/beautiful.

5. The Post Office. Parthenon-like. Dramatic location. Eye-catcher.

6. The Met. Absolutely whimsical, but with class/restraint. Unforgettable structure, exquisite details, the kind your eyes won't tire of.

7. Luneta Hotel. For its excessively regal/aristocratic look. Plus the thought that it might be bulldozed soon.

8. Folk Arts Theater. Differently breathtaking. Perhaps the architectural equivalent of a Mondrian painting.

9. Manila Zoo/Luneta/Fort Santiago/Harrison Plaza/Paco/Pandacan/SM/Ali Mall/Rustans (Araneta Center), Cubao. Because these are the places where I bonded with Manila/Metro Manila the most as a toddler/kid/preteen.

10. Paco cemetery. A unique structure in the whole country. With such a dark history. (There's another one in Laguna that comes close, but that's quite different.) Where ironically, concerts and beautiful weddings/receptions are held.

+11. Jeepney ride in Nayong Pilipino. A microcosmic tour of the Philippine islands. Sadly gone.

12. Binondo. Unbelievable melding of three ancient cultures. A country within a country.

13. National Museum. All the rare cultural and natural treasures of this wonderful, remarkable archipelago in one retrofitted/refurbished/modernized structure.

14. Intramuros. Too many reasons to mention.

15. Catching a glimpse of the giant orange ball descending on the horizon while I'm inside the LRT.

16. La Salle Taft/University Belt, UP/UST/Ateneo, etc. Where people-watching is actually a joy. The country's future, at their most beautiful stage in life.

17. Ninoy Aquino Parks and Wildlife lagoon. Groups of artists park in the area. They'd sketch your likeness in charcoal for free if you're lucky.

18. Glorietta/Greenbelt. All the modern creature comforts, minus all the suspicious characters hanging around. More importantly: Non-snobbish to non-car owners.

19. The back of the Mall of Asia. Splendid location to watch the changing moods of the sea and the constant shifting of the clouds (love those "ice-cream castles in the sky").

20. Lunch-break at the Enterprise Center, Ayala Ave. To get a good feel of the Ayala working crowd.

21. American Cemetery. Ideal for safe birdwatching. A refreshing, otherworldly place, by Manila standards. Runner-up: Breathing in the middle of UP Diliman's American-size greenery.

22. Malacanang Palace. Having a limited glimpse while on an air-con boat ride down the Pasig.

23. The beautiful modern structures rising in The Fort. Exciting. Smells of the future.

24. The lights and lanterns along Ayala Ave. on Christmas.

Don Moen is coming to town

If there's something that could potentially unite all Christians, it's this Norwegian-American singer's songs. Simple yet immensely popular are Moen's compositions that they are being sung by born-agains/fundamentalists, evangelicals, Catholics, and Protestants alike, who normally don't see each other eye to eye. Personally, I am not that fond of his voice, but there's just that unmistakable authenticity in Moen's music that any believer will easily detect it. Alas, Moen has converted to Catholicism, or so I've heard someone say, citing an EWTN program where Moen allegedly appeared. Who knows how things would be from hereon?

I won't pretend I am not glad; as a Catholic, I of course am, and warmly welcome Moen to the so-called fold. But certainly I am aware how it must have been terribly hard on Moen's part and even more difficult for those whom he has left behind, so to speak. And, of course, there's the matter of the hoped-for unity: There goes the desire of every well-meaning, good-hearted Christian to see all Christians of all stripes "to finally be one" and repair this centuries-old scandal of division within Jesus Christ's church. Pfft. There it goes. Just like that.

I've predicted such a thing (his conversion) would eventually happen to Moen, though, as I had detected a certain openness in his part when he included in one of his taped concert-sermons a line that says, "Like Mary says..." Of course, we all know that the Virgin Mary issue is a gargantuan stumbling block between Protestants and Catholics. Protestants are known to gloss over any passage about Mary; they are simply that hostile to her, in contrast to Muslims, who at least respect her as the mother of the 'prophet' Jesus. The mere fact that Moen didn't hesitate to reconsider his view of Mary has been a strong signal to me then. I was sure Moen's church would disown him someday, and I am 100% sure he'd be disowned today, including his popular songs.

I plan to watch Moen in concert at the Big Dome on July 28 (Sat.) just to see if something changed in his music after his conversion. You might want to watch, too. (The concert will be at 4pm and 8pm. Ticket prices @ Php210, 315, 525, 785.)

..

It's fascinating how hard-core evangelicals would even consider to shift faiths. Coincidentally, I've been reading this book by one such convert named David B. Currie, Born Fundamentalist, Born Again Catholic (Ignatius Press, 1996). (There's another such book, written by the Hahn family.) I was so intrigued that I read his book almost in one sitting, intervening like a miracle between the two other books (fiction, of course) I've been juggling. Personally, I regard evangelicals as friends, even though they don't ever consider Catholics as Christians in the first place. A laughable notion, for me, yes, but bearable, for the sake of world peace and harmony. I know their songs, I read their books and magazines, I use their Bible reflections (Our Daily Bread, etc., which preceded Kerygma and Didache). I've read wonderful writers like Peter Kreeft with the knowledge that he's an evangelical (turns out he's not; he's a Catholic convert). I am fond of C.S. Lewis's writings, G.K. Chesterton quotes, and so on. I have read a lot of the booklets that came out from the University of Michigan (Ann Arbor) with the awareness that the writers are not Catholic. And, boy, do I know all of Don Moen's songs, and I'm a big fan of Christian rock, which is a big thing in the US these days. It, of course, hurts so deeply to not be considered a Christian by people you consider as such. (And, yes, it is extremely offensive for born-agains to monopolize the word.) Did you know that the Catholic Church don't require other Christians to be re-baptized into Catholic if they choose to convert? (There are a few exceptions, but I won't get into that because the issue is too doctrinal.)

What am I saying? All I'm saying is it is stunning for any hard-core evangelical to do a turnaround because they have pored over their Bible so thoroughly, in a scholarly manner at that, that they must be so 'sure' about all their assumptions. In other words, change is virtually impossible for them. How did Currie do it? Well, this book will show you how long and excruciating his journey has been, at least emotionally and intellectually speaking.

Here are some of the juicy tidbits, i.e., some of the most telling instances how 'cracks' in his cherished beliefs began to appear.

- The ritual of Satanists, he observes, always target the Catholic Mass (including the host) as subject of mockery or desecration. If Catholics are evil, he theorizes, why do Satanists singlehandedly target the Mass?

- Studying Christian history on his own, he found out that certain Traditional facts, beliefs and practices by the early church fathers, and certain Biblical passages are puzzlingly ignored by the leaders in his former church.

- Further down the historical road, he realizes, to his own consternation, that "C.S. Lewis, the darling of American Evangelicals," for instance, "is such a strong defender of the Eucharist, purgatory, and other Catholic dogmas that Evangelicals detest" (p. 35).

- How did he and his family overcome all the Catholic stumbling blocks (which were many)? Well, they tried to deal with them one by one, slow by slow. One of his realizations, after careful self-study (remember, he's an Evangelical who intimately knows his Bible, perhaps even better than an average priest), is that all objections of Protestants and evangelicals against the Catholic faith and traditionals can be answered using the Bible, if only Protestants and evangelicals took time to study Catholic history, the Church's dogmas/tenets, the Catholic version of the Bible, etc.

- One problem area where Currie resolved on his own is the historically thorny issue of the use of statues for veneration. Guess what: he ended up quoting such passages as Exodus 20:4-5, 25:18-22, 36:8-35, Numbers 21:8-9, 1Kings 6:23-29 and 7:23-26 (p.123), which all talk about commandments to use statues and such things in aid of worship!

- One thing that Currie admits to having difficulty with his former church is the diversity of beliefs within it: "...I need to point out that there are divergences of opinion within premillennialism," just to give one example, "especially with regard to the timing of the rapture. I am sorry that I must gloss over some of the finer points of controversy within premillennialism, such are pretribulationalism, posttribulationalism, and midtribulationalism.... ...This diversity of belief within even so small a segment of Christianity as premillennialism illustrates one of the frustrating aspects of Protestants in general. No one agrees with anyone else, because there is no final authority. This has led to the formation of literally hundreds of denominations, with more being added continually, as Protestantism "multiplies by division" (p 151).

Finishing the whole thing, I can't help but smile at the thought that Currie had gone to great lengths just to arrive at certain thoughts and beliefs on his own that I have known and believed since birth. I wonder if I would have the same journey as he had if I happen to have been born in an evangelical household, with an authoritarian minister for a father. Then again, I too had a time in my life when I stopped going to Mass and questioned everything. And how could I miss pointing out that I had a thoroughly secular education (public school in elementary; 'laboratory' school in high school; UP in college, where it's typical to have a class where everyone has his or her own religion, or none) and my parents are hardly practicing Catholics and that my grandmother on my mother's side is an active Baptist (and we get along just fine, or at least try hard to).

___

*all 'boldings' of text mine

Ginsberg, on "the real news"

Why am I enamored of fiction? It's akin to asking why I am inordinately interested in art and literature (despite my background)? Why do I buy stacks of back copies of the New Yorker, Harpers, Atlantic Monthly, and even Newsweek, Time, or GQ just to peruse the fiction and the art review pages? Why do I love fiction, and poetry that I can understand, and anything that has something to do with art and literature? Here's my answer:

"Artists have always been real purveyors of news, for it is not the outward happening in itself which is news, but the kindling by it of emotion, perception and appreciation." (Beat poet Allen Ginsberg, testifying in court on the literary value of Burroughs' potentially pornographic Naked Lunch)

Amen.

"The 7 kinds of smart"

I learned something new today: Armstrong's "the seven kinds of smart," a takeoff from Howard Gardner's concept of "multiple intelligences." The seven kinds of smart are:

- word smart
- picture smart
- music smart
- body smart
- logic smart
- people/group smart
- self smart

What kind/s of smart are you? If you are smart in everything, you can choose between either an obnoxious smartypants (or smart-aleck) or an abrasive know-it-all.

The collector

(Draft; old personal essay on stuff)

I used to be an avid collector of inconsequential things in my young life. If that’s any indication of one’s zest for life, then you could say I loved life with a passion; I was in lust with life, enough to collect life in neat, little packages. I was wat you might call a complete collector.

I’ve been what they call a philatelist. From the various stamps I loved to collect and keep, I learned that "Magyar" refers to Hungarians, "Helvetia" means Switzerland, there’s a country in the world called "Mauritius," and the people of Poland paid in "zlotys."

Naturally, this led me into becoming a numismatist, a collector of coins and paper money. My first foreign acquisition was a Malaysian ringgit, brought by my father who was an OCW. I was fond of Japanese coins which had holes in the middle like metal doughnuts, not to mention quirky characters I couldn’t possibly decipher, which only added to their charm.

Before long, I would also be a phillumenist. That’s what they call fools who collect postcards. I can still recall how I ended up acquiring postcards from Brazil, Japan, and other places. Each find has a unique story, and person, behind it.

I never got to join any collectors’ clubs, though. There never was a need. Most friends and acquaintances had relatives from from-off places in the planet so collecting was pretty easy. My only investment was the sweet, gentle words of persuasion and a singular covetousness for my neighbor’s goods.

Before long, I was also into collecting souvenirs and assorted “ephemera” - product labels, bus tickets (only the nice ones made of sturdy material, though), pencils and pens, rocks and stones, plant leaves (for their interesting designs) that I pressed between book pages, seashells, and writing paper. I haven’t even included the toys I had on this list. When I went as far as collecting live spiders, well, my mother called it foul and I had an immediate cease and desist order before I turned the house into a giant cobweb or spider zoo.

I think she thought me odd, and why I was crazy enough to collect trash was something quite beyond her grasp. I couldn’t understand myself either. Whatever impelled me to collect stuff was something I never questioned. I just collected and collected, stashed away and stashed away some nice stuff each chance I could. All I knew was that I was only following a natural impulse.

But eventually I became suspicious of myself. Where did it all come from? Why do I have this deep desire to acquire? Did it come from something more than was apparent? Is man naturally acquisitive? How come most of my peers never exhibited such fetish? I wasn't a special kid or anything, nor was I particularly deprived to ever want some things desperately the minute I got to lay my hands on them.

It took me years before I had to cross out materialism from my list of suspicions. While there’s some degree of unhealthy emotional attachment to the things I collected, it was certainly not the main motivation. I believe the reason I collected was simply to have fun, to celebrate life in its diversity, its splendor, to place myself in a position where I open myself to a lot of surprises. Maybe I also wanted to put some order in all that beautiful madness by classifying things under clearly defined categories, an act which is a joy in itself. I remember how God reportedly had the pleasure of assigning Adam, the first man, the task of naming objects and things he found in the world. Could it be a subconscious desire on my part to be assigned that honor and privilege?

I noticed that one of the fruits of my having sort of matured in life is this sudden waning of my passions for the things I used to collect with such enthusiasm. I guess it's age that's the culprit, finally unleashing me from what I now regard to be a juvenile habit, so that I would wake up one day wondering whether to burn or give everything away. The last items I was most hesitant of losing were my rock collection, which my father seems to have included, either by mistake or by having been fed up, as part of our newly cemented yard. But when I found out what happened to my beloved rocks, surprise! -- I was able to let go. The collector could now live without being a museum curator.

I, in fact, one fine day sold my invaluable stamp collection in a garage sale, one whole album of it, for a song, just to see if I’d cry over it. I didn’t. But I think that's only because, around that time, I'd found myself face to face with a whole lot of new trivialities that virtually presented a new chance for me to stash things away, in a new album of sorts, things that had to do with my life as an employee in the everyday world of work, which was a whole new world to me. I had to snub them all now, all those things I used to collect in my youth. But if the old passion seemed gone, it's because it's now been replaced by a new kind.

Besides, the fun part of collecting the old things was lost – that of combing the remotest corners for that treasure trove of the rarest finds, be they stamps, coins, shells, rocks, or postcards. Nice to have as they were, those things eventually presented themselves to me with much ease, because now, I had the money to spare. The things I used to collect can now be easily purchased in some second-hand goods store at the nearest mall. The things that used to get me excited simply lost their appeal, ceasing to be the treasures or finds they used to be.

Does this mean I had lost a part of my zeal for life? I guess not. I think it just brought my weird habit to a whole new level, until it reached what I thought to be the apex of collecting: the collection of thoughts and ideas, which I find even more interesting, way interesting.

Press release: A different literary exhibit

*Portrait of the City: The Literary Imagination and the City We Live In*

A literary exhibit of places in the city that have inspired great works of literature

**
"To begin with, it is impossible to write of Pasay without feeling — one thinks of it with love and repulsion and sorrow."-**Kerima Polatan from The Rise and Fall of Pasay, Author's Choice, Selected Writing of Kerima Polotan

**

See how words can take you to places and make you feel the city throb with emotion; realize the beauty in the bustling chaos. Experience the works of Philippine authors come alive in this unique exhibit.

As part of the celebration of the 11th Philippine Book Development Month, the National Book Development Board (NBDB), in partnership with the Filipinas Heritage Library (FHL), is mounting a literary exhibit entitled, *"Portrait of a City: The Literary Imagination and the City We Live In". *The exhibit will feature the places around the metropolis that have inspired great works in Philippine literature, from Rizal all the way to young contemporary writers. The exhibit is free at the Glorietta III Park, from June 27 to July 1, 2007, and at the Trinoma Mall from July 4-8, 2007.

To further enhance the literary experience, on June 30, there will be a *Portrait of the City tour*, wherein an actual tour will be held visiting the places in Makati, Pasay, and the City of Manila. Starting and ending at the exhibit at the Glorietta Park, participants will experience the written word come alive in this one-time, one-of-a-kind tour. The tour will be guided by reading enthusiast Ms. Joanna Abrera Del Prado.

Powerbooks is the official bookseller of the exhibit. The books will be on display for sale during the literary exhibit at the Trinoma Mall.

To join the Portrait of the City tour, please call the Filipinas Heritage Library at 892-1801, look for Ms. Sheila Cayton. The Portrait of the City tour costs five hundred pesos (P500) per head to cover transportation and meals. Limited seats available. Guided tours of at the exhibit itself will be available on June 28 to 29 at the Glorietta III Park and July 5 and 6 at the Trinoma Mall at these times: 10:00 a.m., 11:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m.

For schools and teachers interested in guided tours of the exhibit itself for their students, or for the schedule of events during the Portrait of the City exhibit please call the NBDB at 928-0048 and look for Mr. Jun Briola.

Outsource the President

(I know I'm posting this one late in the day, but still... For archiving purposes. -B.H.)

Congress Votes to Outsource Presidency, Washington, DC (AP)

Congress today announced that the office of President of the United States of America will be outsourced to India as of July 1, 2007. The move is being made in order to save the President's $500,000 yearly salary, and also a record $521 Billion in deficit expenditures and related overhead the office has incurred during the last 5 years.

"We believe this is a wise financial move. The cost savings are huge," stated Congressman Thomas Reynolds (R-WA).

"We cannot remain competitive on the world stage with the current level of cash outlay," Reynolds noted.

Mr. Bush was informed by e-mail this morning of his termination. Preparations for the job move have been underway for some time.

Gurvinder Singh of Indus Teleservices (Mumbai ,India) will assume the office of President as of July 1, 2007. Mr. Singh was born in the United States while his Indian parents were vacationing at Niagara Falls, thus making him eligible for the position. He will receive a salary of $320 (USD) a month but with no health coverage or other benefits.

It is believed that Mr. Singh will be able to handle his job responsibilities without a support staff. Due to the time difference between the US and India, he will be working primarily at night, when few offices of the US Government will be open. "Working nights will allow me to keep my day job at the Dell Computer call center," stated Mr. Singh in an exclusive interview. "I am excited about this position. I always hoped I would be President."

A Congressional spokesperson noted that while Mr. Singh may not be fully aware of all the issues involved in the office of President, this should not be a problem, as President Bush was not familiar with the issues either.

It is not yet clear if plans are being considered for outsourcing the Senate and the House of Representatives. This could seriously affect staffing efficiency at the Dell call center. Special interests and lobbyists here are expected to seriously push back on any such efforts. It is thought that saving the hundreds of millions of dollars now spent annually on campaign financing could positively affect the U.S. economy.

Mr. Singh will rely upon a script tree that will enable him to respond effectively to most topics of concern. Using these canned responses, he can address common concerns without having to understand the underlying issue at all. "We know these scripting tools work," stated the spokesperson. "President Bush has used them successfully for years."

Bush will receive health coverage, expenses, and salary until his final day of employment. Following a two-week waiting period, he will be eligible for $140 a week unemployment for 13 weeks.

He will not also be eligible for Medicaid, as his unemployment benefits will exceed the allowed limit. Mr. Bush has been provided the outplacement services of Manpower, Inc., to help him write a resume and prepare for his upcoming job transition.

According to Manpower, Mr. Bush may have difficulties in securing a new position due to limited practical or successful work experience. A greeter position at Wal-Mart was suggested due to Bush's extensive experience shaking hands, as well as his special smile.

If approved, most of the affected Congressional positions would probably revert to entry level Internet bloggers or on-call street activists. If nothing else, they may be offered jobs as reporters or TV commentators.

Silverfish game

I kinda like this game. I'm calling it the silverfish (bookworm) game.

Instructions:

- Bold the books you have read
- Italicize the books you had read to you as a child OR read as a child and cannot remember
- Underline the books you intend to read
- Strike the books you hated so much you couldn't finish them
- Add three
-You don't have to tag anyone, but you may, if you want to

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials Trilogy, Philip Pullman
4. Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams - watched the movie
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne - will reading the comic strip count?
8. 1984, George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis - saw the play
10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
12. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte - saw the Tagalog movie version
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier - is this the Hitchcock movie?
15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott - saw the ultraboring movie
19. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres - saw the movie
20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter And The Sorcerers Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck - saw the movie
30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
40. Emma, Jane Austen - a reading assigned in class
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas - saw movie
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd,Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett - saw the play
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Goldend
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
71. Perfume, Patrick Susskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo - saw the movies
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel - saw the movie
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot - saw the movie (?)
100. Midnights Children, Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome
102. Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach, Alex Garland
104. Dracula, Bram Stoker - saw the movie
105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz
106. The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens
107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks
109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy
112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 1/2, Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo - saw the play; memorized all the songs
115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy - not sure but sounds familiar
116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
119. Shogun, James Clavell
120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson
122. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray
123. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy
124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison
128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle
129. Possession, A. S. Byatt
130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov
131. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood
132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl
133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck - saw the movie
134. George's Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker
137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan
139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
144. It, Stephen King
145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl
146. The Green Mile, Stephen King - saw movie
147. Papillon, Henri Charriere
148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett
149. Master And Commander, Patrick Obrian
150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett
152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement, Ian McEwan
155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier
157. One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest, Ken Kesey
158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling - ?
160. Cross Stitch (aka Outlander in the U.S.), Diana Gabaldon
161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville
162. River God, Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx - saw movie
165. The World According To Garp, John Irving
166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches, Roald Dahl
170. Charlotte's Web, E. B. White - saw movie
171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley - saw movie
172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon
173. The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway
174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco
175. Sophie's World, Jostein Gaarder
176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl
178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens - saw the movie
183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner, George Eliot
185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis -
186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Gross-Smith
187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh - saw movie
188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine
189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri
190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. Lawrence
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons
193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett
194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells - saw movie, the old one
195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans
196. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews
201. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
202. The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan
203. The Great Hunt, Robert Jordan
204. The Dragon Reborn, Robert Jordan
205. Fires of Heaven, Robert Jordan
206. Lord of Chaos, Robert Jordan
207. A Crown of Swords, Robert Jordan
208. Winters Heart, Robert Jordan
209. Crossroads of Twilight, Robert Jordan
210. A Path of Daggers, Robert Jordan
211. As Nature Made Him, John Colapinto
212. Microserfs, Douglas Coupland
213. The Married Man, Edmund White
214. Winter's Tale, Mark Helprin
215. The History of Sexuality, Michel Foucault
216. Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
217. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe, John Boswell
218. Equus, Peter Shaffer
219. The Man Who Ate Everything, Jeffrey Steingarten
220. Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
221. Ella Minnow Pea, Mark Dunn
222. The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice -
223. Anthem, Ayn Rand
224. The Bridge To Terabithia, Katherine Paterson
225. Tartuffe, Moliere
226. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
227. The Crucible, Arthur Miller - saw movie
228. The Trial, Franz Kafka
229. Oedipus Rex, Sophocles
230. Oedipus at Colonus, Sophocles
231. Death Be Not Proud, John Gunther
232. A Doll's House, Henrik Ibsen
233. Hedda Gabler, Henrik Ibsen
234. Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
235. A Raisin In The Sun, Lorraine Hansberry
236. ALIVE!, Piers Paul Read
237. Grapefruit, Yoko Ono
238. Trickster Makes This World, Lewis Hyde
239. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
240. Chronicles of Thomas Convenant, Unbeliever, Stephen Donaldson
241. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
242. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
243. Summerland, Michael Chabon
244. A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
245. Candide, Voltaire
246. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, Roald Dahl
247. Ringworld, Larry Niven
248. The King Must Die, Mary Renault
249. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
250. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeline L'Engle
251. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
252. The House Of The Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne
253. The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
254. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan
255. The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson
256. Chocolate Fever, Robert Kimmel Smith
265. Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder
267. Where The Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls
268. Griffin & Sabine, Nick Bantock
269. Witch of Blackbird Pond, Joyce Friedland
270. Mrs. Frisby And The Rats Of NIMH, Robert C. O'Brien
271. Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt
272. The Cay, Theodore Taylor
273. From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg
274. The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster
275. The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin
276. The Kitchen God's Wife, Amy Tan
277. The Bone Setter's Daughter, Amy Tan
278. Relic, Duglas Preston & Lincolon Child
279. Wicked, Gregory Maguire
280. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
281. Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry
282. The Girl Next Door, Jack Ketchum
283. Haunted, Judith St. George
284. Singularity, William Sleator
285. A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
286. Different Seasons, Stephen King
287. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk - saw movie
288. About a Boy, Nick Hornby - saw movie
289. The Bookmans Wake, John Dunning
290. The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns
291. Illusions, Richard Bach
292. Magic's Pawn, Mercedes Lackey
293. Magic's Promise, Mercedes Lackey
294. Magic's Price, Mercedes Lackey
295. The Dancing Wu Li Masters, Gary Zukav
296. Spirits of Flux and Anchor, Jack L. Chalker
297. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice - saw movie
298. The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices, Brenda Love
299. Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
300. The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
301. The Cider House Rules, John Irving
302. Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
303. Girlfriend in a Coma, Douglas Coupland
304. The Lion's Game, Nelson Demille
305. The Sun, The Moon, and the Stars, Stephen Brust
306. Cyteen, C. J. Cherryh
307. Foucaults Pendulum, Umberto Eco
308. Cryptonomicon, Neal Stephenson
309. Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
310. Camber of Culdi, Kathryn Kurtz
311. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
312. War and Rememberance, Herman Wouk
313. The Art of War, Sun Tzu
314. The Giver, Lois Lowry
315. The Telling, Ursula Le Guin
316. Xenogenesis (or Liliths Brood), Octavia Butler
317. A Civil Campaign, Lois McMaster Bujold
318. The Curse of Chalion, Lois McMaster Bujold
319. The Aeneid, Publius Vergilius Maro (Vergil)
320. Hanta Yo, Ruth Beebe Hill
321. The Princess Bride, S. Morganstern (or William Goldman)
322. Beowulf, Anonymous
323. The Sparrow, Maria Doria Russell
324. Deerskin, Robin McKinley
325. Dragonsong, Anne McCaffrey
326. Passage, Connie Willis
327. Otherland, Tad Williams
328. Tigana, Guy Gavriel Kay
329. Number the Stars, Lois Lowry
330. Beloved, Toni Morrison
331. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore
332. The Mysterious Disappearance of Leon, I mean Noel, Ellen Raskin
333. Summer Sisters, Judy Blume
334. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo - saw movie
335. The Island on Bird Street, URI Orlev
336. Midnight in the Dollhouse, Marjorie Filley Stover
337. The Miracle Worker, William Gibson
338. The Genesis Code, John Case
339. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevenson
340. Paradise Lost, John Milton
341. Phantom, Susan Kay
342. The Mummy or Ramses the Damned, Anne Rice
343. Anno Dracula, Kim Newman
344: The Dresden Files: Grave Peril, Jim Butcher
345: Tokyo Suckerpunch, Issac Adamson
346: The Winter of Magics Return, Pamela Service
347: The Oddkins, Dean R. Koontz
348. My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
349. The Last Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
350. At Swim, Two Boys, Jaime ONeill
351. Othello, by William Shakespeare
352. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas - well, some
353. The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats - well, a few
354. Sati, Christopher Pike
355. The Inferno, Dante
356. The Apology, Plato
357. The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle
358. The Man Who Tasted Shapes, Richard E Cytowick
359. 5 Novels, Daniel Pinkwater
360. The Sevenwaters Trilogy, Juliet Marillier
361. Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
362. To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
363. Our Town, Thorton Wilder
364. Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King
335. The Interpreter, Suzanne Glass
336. The Moor's Last Sigh, Salman Rushdie
337. The Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson
338. A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
339. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
340. The Phantom of the Opera
341. Pages for You, Sylvia Brownrigg
342. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
343. Howl's Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones
344. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
345. Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo
346. Shosha, Isaac Bashevis Singer
347. Travels With Charley, John Steinbeck
348. The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
349. The Lunatic at Large by J. Storer Clouston
350. Time for Bed by David Baddiel
351. Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold
352. Quite Ugly One Morning by Christopher Brookmyre
353. The Bloody Sun by Marion Zimmer Bradley
354. Sewer, Gas, and Eletric by Matt Ruff
355. Jhereg by Steven Brust
356. So You Want To Be A Wizard by Diane Duane
357. Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
358. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte
359. Road-side Dog, Czeslaw Milosz - read a few poems I didn't get
360. The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje - saw movie
361. Neuromancer, William Gibson
362. The Epistemology of the Closet, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick
363. A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr
364. The Mask of Apollo, Mary Renault
365. The Gunslinger, Stephen King
366. Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
367. Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
368. Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman
369. Ivanhoe, Walter Scott
370. The God Boy, Ian Cross
371. The Beekeeper's Apprentice, Laurie R. King
372. Finn Family Moomintroll, Tove Jansson
373. Misery, Stephen King - saw movie
374. Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters
375. Hood, Emma Donoghue
376. The Land of Spices, Kate O'Brien
377. The Diary of Anne Frank
378. Regeneration, Pat Barker
379. Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald
380. Dreaming in Cuban, Cristina Garcia
381. A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
382. The View from Saturday, E.L. Konigsburg
383. Dealing with Dragons, Patricia Wrede
384. Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Lynne Truss - read New Yorker thrashing it :)
385. A Severed Wasp - Madeleine L'Eengle
386. Here Be Dragons - Sharon Kay Penman
387. The Mabinogion (Ancient Welsh Tales) - translated by Lady Charlotte E. Guest
388. The DaVinci Code - Dan Brown - don't plan to read or see it because I'm biased
389. Desire of the Everlasting Hills - Thomas Cahill
390. The Cloister Walk - Kathleen Norris
391. The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien
392. I Know This Much Is True, Wally Lamb
393. Choke, Chuck Palahniuk
394. Ender's Shadow, Orson Scott Card
395. The Memory of Earth, Orson Scott Card
396. The Iron Tower, Dennis L. McKiernen
397. Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand
398. A Ring of Endless Light, Madeline L'Engle
399. Lords of Discipline, Pat Conroy
400. Hyperion, Dan Simmons
401. If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, Jon McGregor
402. The Bridge, Iain Banks
403. How to Be Good, Nick Hornby
404. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields
405. A Map of the World, Jane Hamilton
406. Eragon, Christopher Paolini
407. A Series of Unfortunate Events, Lemony Snicket - saw movie
408. Lullaby, Chuck Palahniuk
409. Veronika Decides to Die, Paulo Coelho
410. White Oleander, Janet Fitch
411. The Land of Laughs, Jonathan Carroll
412. Forrest Gump - well, saw the movie
413. Roots, Alex Haley
414. Kleopatra, Karen Essex
415. Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, Gregory Maguire
416. The Psycho-Ex Game, Merrill Markoe, Andy Prieboy
417. Digital Fortress, Dan Brown
418. Deception Point, Dan Brown
419. Bookends, Jane Green
420. Little Men, Louisa May Alcott
421. Vectors, Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell
422. Redwall, Brian Jacques
423. Millennium, Felipe Fernàndez-Armesto
424. Disgrace, J.M.Coetzee
425. Shardik, Richard Adams
426. Tehanu, Ursula Le Guin
427. Z - A Love Story, Vigdis Grimsdottir
428. Diary, Chuck Palahniuk
429. Don Quixote I, Cervantes
430. Season in hell, Arthur Rimbaud
431. Collected poems, Anna Akhmatova
432. Breath, eyes, memory, Edwidge Danticat
433. The Satanic Verses, Salman Rushdie
434. The Gospel According to Jesus Christ, José Saramago
435. Not Before Sundown (or Troll - A Love Story), Johanna Sinisalo
436. Hannibal, Thomas Harris
437. The Iron Dragon's Daughter, Michael Swanwick
438. A Game of Thrones, George R.R. Martin
439. The Ballad of Reading Gaol, Oscar Wilde
440. The Universe in a Nutshell, Stephen Hawking
441. Complicity, Iain Banks
442. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
443. The Bane Of The Black Sword, Micheal Moorcock
444. Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt
445. Delta Of Venus, Anais Nin
446. Lost souls, Poppy Z Brite
447. Belle de jour diary of a london call girl
448. Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
449. City, Alessandro Baricco
450. Hippopotamus, Stephen Fry
451. Thank you, Jeeves, PG Wodehouse
452. Tout à l'Ego (Everything for Ego), Tonino Benacquista
453. Betty Blue, Philippe Djian
454. Naive.Super, Erlend Loe
455. Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer
456. Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
457. Krabat, Otfried Preußler
458. Lieutenant Hornblower, C. S. Forester
459. The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde
460. Drawing Blood, Poppy Z. Brite
461. Lady Chatterley's Lover, D. H. Lawrence
462. The Bounty, Caroline Alexander
463. The Matarese Circle, by Robert Ludlum
464. Coraline, by Neil Gaiman
465. Searching for Dragons, Patricia C Wrede
466. The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul, Douglas Adams
467. The Flanders Panel Arturo Pérez-Reverte
468. This Alien Shore, C. S. Friedman
469. Beauty , Robin McKinley
470. The Eight, Katherine Neville
471. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J.K. Rowling - I forgot what this is
472. In this House of Brede, Rumer Godden
473. The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis
474. Reginald, H.H. Munro (Saki)
475. Queen Lucia, E.F. Benson
476. A Shadow On The Glass, Ian Irvine
477. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro
478. Obernewtyn, Isobelle Carmody
479. The Ancient Future, Traci Harding
480. The Surgeon, Tess Gerritse
481. Blindness, Jose Saramago
482. The Quiet American, Graham Greene
483. Portrait in Sepia, Isabelle Allende
484. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides
485. I, Claudius, Robert Graves
486. A Clash of Kings, George R. R. Martin
487. Sammy's Hill, Kristin Gore
488. The Ordinary Princess, M.M. Kaye
489. To Say Nothing of the Dog, Connie Willis
490. Miss Manners Rescues Civilization, Judith Martin
491. Mythology, Edith Hamilton
492. Danse Macabre, Stephen King
493. The Scarlet Pimpernel, Baroness Orczy
494. The Whale Rider, Witi Ihimaera
495. Ella Enchanted, Gail Carson Levine
496. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Jules Verne
497. The Metemorphosis, Ovid
496. Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Edge of Victory I: Conquest, Greg Keyes
497. American Pastoral, Philip Roth
498. This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald
499. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
500. Going After Cacciato, Tim O'Brien
501. Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot (and Other Observations), Al Franken
502. The Kalevala, assembled by Elias Lönnrot
503. New Treasure Seekers, E. Nesbit
504. Caramelo, Sandra Cisneros
505. Morality for Beautiful Girls, Alexander McCall Smith
506. Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami
507. Schwarz's Principles of Surgery
508. Written on the Body, Jeanette Winterson
509. The Rules of Attraction - Bret Easton Ellis
510. Shanghai Baby - Wei Hui
511. The Virgin Suicides - Jeffrey Eugenides - saw movie
512. The Birth of Venus -
513. Scarlett – Alexandria Ripley
514. Life of Pi – Yann Martel
515. The Bible
516. Naked Lunch - William Burroughs
517. Agent Clockwork Orange - saw movie

Crazy ad du jour

You won't believe this, but Gloria Diaz attributes her winning the Ms. Universe crown (circa 1970s) to her use of... Tide (detergent soap)!!! Yes, you have to see/hear it for yourself to believe it. We know ads are supposed to be silly and preposterous, but this one is a real winner. I wonder who wrote this one. I'll give him an award for the subtlety. Acting award is likewise due to Ms. Diaz for managing to keep a straight face.

Press release: Free Japanese movies

All films will be shown with English subtitles. Screening venues are at the Cinema 3, Shangri-La Plaza Mall (June 20-26), UP Film Institute (July 2-5), and CCP Dream Theater (July 4-8). Admission is free. For detailed screening schedules and inquiries, please check the Japan Foundation, Manila website: www.jfmo.org.ph or call the JFM telephone numbers 811-6155 to 58.

The world according to Foodie Friedrich Allen

Lovers of food, pilosopos, and sickish humor should not miss Thus Ate Zarathustra.

Don't miss also: Father as a sperm cell. (Warning: Content and language may not be kid-appropriate.)

Update: Slavery in China

"The slavery recently uncovered in Henan and Shanxi Pronvinces is possibly the darkest atrocities that ever happened in the modern China. Strongest support has been trickling in from everywhere to punish those kiln owners and human traffickers with capital punishment!!! Check out for photographic evidence of abuse: More than 460 rescued from brick kiln slavery | Home human traffickers may walk away in 'slave' case"

Update: China rescued 548 'slaves' and detains 168 people in slave labor crackdown | Fugitive Kiln Boss Heng Ting-han(衡庭汉) Arrested for Slave Brickworks

(via Malaysian Express)

Motivation theories

(Organizational behavior; workplace motivation. Note to self.)

I'm a bit familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and Herzberg's Two-Factor Theory (or Motivation-Hygiene Theory) but I've never heard of McClelland and McGregor.

McClelland's Theory of Need (to achieve)

McGregor's Theory X-Theory Y

Child slavery and forced labor in China

Is this the reason why MADE IN CHINA = DIRT-CHEAP? The world should declare war on China by boycotting everything from the Mainland until their ultra-secretive government straighten up and be transparent and accountable, bring justice to the oppressed/enslaved, and implement sensible measures to ensure not just fair labor practices but also food safety and press freedom/freedom of expression.

Slavery in China

Resignation calls over China worker abuse.

China Captures Man Accused of Labor Abuse

'Slaves' freed in crackdown on Chinese factories

Parents forced to hunt in slave pits for children

Video:One mother's mission to find her son sold into ''slavery''

**

Obits

Kurt Waldheim - UN chief
Richard Rorty - philosopher
Gianfranco Ferre - fashion designer

Five languages of forgiveness (the offender's side)

(I hope K. notices this post)

I almost missed this sermon by 'Fr. Benjamin' at the LNP Formation Center last Sunday. (It's my first time to see the BCDA area in Taguig - a military territory!, where parking just about anywhere is a dangerous idea.)

1. "I'm sorry." - the offender feels bad, but doesn't necessarily acknowledge the wrong done
2. "I was wrong." - acknowledgment that one has done wrong
3. "I won't do it again." - promise not to do the same mistake
4. "What can I do (to make it up to you)?" - making amends
5. "Will you/please forgive me?" - actual begging for mercy

(I didn't catch where Fr. Benjamin got these beautiful distillations.)

I realize I have a lot of posts on this subject. Here are they, from the side of the one offended:

Forgiveness: Basic things
Forgiveness vs. reconciliation
Some unsettling things about it
(The Christian concept of) forgiveness and the judicial system
Link to: "Forgiveness math"
On mercy

Updates:

"The art of forgiveness"
On forgiving oneself

States of matter

I question a lot of things. Things like...

1. Why is an essay written and saved as a computer file and submitted in school is still called paper? Similarly, why do we insist on calling a newspaper “paper” even when it is exclusively online?

2. If a glass is made of plastic, why is it still called a glass?

3. Why is a shipment called a shipment even if it is Fed-Exed (transported via plane)?

4. Why is film still called film even if it's digital?

I'm sure there are still a lot of similar questions out there. It's funny how man tends to cling to terms and things that are no longer valid a long time ago.

Tootsie Roll thought

(Globalization/Localization)

G. just came back from "Cali" and, yay, gave me Tootsie Roll, among other chocolatey stuff. I was pleasantly surprised to know Tootsie Roll is still around. I couldn't help smiling, though, at the thought that the rest of what most balikbayans (from the US) give for pasalubong are actually available at the corner grocer or 7-11. The only difference, apart from the price, is that the candies often come in giant versions. The Tootsie Roll, for example, came in a foot-long log I almost got killed chewing it. The other stuff came in jumbo packs. Still, I can't help but remember the smartest pasalubong-giver from the States that I've ever encountered: R.

It was around Christmas season, I think, when we were deluged with sweet things we've never tasted before. There were the wonderfully awful licorice sticks, which tasted like candied grass. There were the chocolate coins with the unpleasant surprises inside, like a squirt of wine or a minty something that tasted like Colgate. There's this one brand that made you feel like you're brushing your teeth while you were having dessert. There were also the chewing gums that had unusual flavors. The most unforgettable for me was this grape-flavored gum whose strong yummy flavor didn't wane a bit after lots of chewing, so I found myself masticating it like a goat the whole day.

Everything was weird in a good way, and I loved it. I also loved those that came in blueberry and raspberry flavors, things we don't often have at home. R. was such a wonderful pasalubong-giver.

Other Flips could take their cue from R.: No Ivory soaps, please, no Spams, no vienna sausages, or anything that can be had in the corner sari-sari store. We'd sure love to try the others. The more bizarre, the better. Oh, but that's probably just old, weird me. But, yeah, a giant Tootsie Roll would do, if there's nothing else. We really wouldn't mind - as long as there's a perfect-fitting Lacoste shirts on the side, too. :)

**

I finally was able to have a taste of this bottled tawilis that's drenched in virgin olive oil and came with some pickles. I tried the thing with hot pan de sal, and it was the most delicious filling I've ever had in a long time. Maybe it was made even more delicious by the fact that I'm enjoying something endemic and possibly endangered that's found only "in a lake within an island within a lake within an island." How did the tawilis fish manage to survive Taal Volcano's violent eruptions through the centuries? How does this fish manage to live in such a sulfurous environment? Mystery. This fish must have developed some survival mechanisms. Are people currently farming this fish? Honestly, it tastes too close to the usual mackerel sardine, but because it is flat in shape in comparison, it fits its role better as bread filling.

Toole and Chapman's "five languages of love"

(Psychology)

Jim Toole, in cooperation with Gary Chapman, has devised a profiling system designed to assist a person in discovering his or her "primary love language" or the means by which that person feels he or she is loved. For those who are certain they already know their primary love language, the profile will serve as confirmation. For those not quite sure which love language is their primary one, the profile will bring clarification.

You will be presented with 30 pairs of statements. Read each pair with this question in mind: Which of these would I prefer to receive from the significant people in my life (my siblings, parents or friends)? You may enjoy both expressions of love, but if you could only have one, which would you choose?

To simplify the questionnaire, the term "friends" is used to refer to the significant people in your life. After you have made your choice, circle the letter at the end of the statement. Be sure to circle only one letter for each set of statements.

Discovering Your Primary Love Language (For Children and Singles)

(Update: Turns out the measurement profile is available on the Net.)

Personal results:

Believe it or not, but I turn out to be materialistic when it comes to being loved. I like to be gifted a lot, with lots of affirmative words (or words of affirmation) and acts of service given to me on the side. Am I narcissistic or what? I don't care much about quality time, though, as long as I receive lots of pocket money, I mean, lots of assuring gifts. :) I discovered I don't want to be touched. Well, not when I initiate the touching. Touch me or fondle me or you're dead meat. :)

(I ran the mistake of telling a friend what I thought to be the initial result: that I prefer to be touched. Guess what. Pretty soon, she began tapping me every time she sees me and talks to me. It annoyed me, though it was my fault and my friend was just being such a good person. She only wanted to express her love. Too bad I misread the initial results. So be careful.)

Herzog's "father hunger" theory

(Something for Father's Day)

I wish the papers and glossy mags wrote something about the effects of father absence. I strongly suspect they'd rather not. I understand their bias. This is a sensitive issue that could hurt a lot of people, including precious friends and colleagues. But if anyone has a smidgen of respect for empirical studies, one will think twice. For studies upon studies show that the absence of a father figure, or the absence of a loving father figure, may be the culprit behind a lot of things: juvenile delinquency, propensity to commit crimes, aggression, rebelliousness, inflation of masculinity, suppression of the same, emotional problems, social relationship problems, depression, drug addiction, low self-esteem, sex fetishes/paraphilias, sex mania, pedophilia, etc. If the available evidence is not overwhelming, I am not sure how else to call it.

“Father hunger” theory describes "the constant search a male adolescent strives for when trying to bond with his father, and if unsuccessful, will strive to fulfill with any means necessary" (a paraphrasing of Herzog, 2001). "The emptiness the child feels leads to emotional and physical distress, which if left unaddressed, can be behaviorally destructive" (a paraphrasing of Holman, 1998).

James M. Herzog, M.D., is an assistant professor of psychiatry (Harvard Medical School), adjunct professor of psychiatry (University of Hamburg, Germany), adult training and supervising analyst and child and adolescent supervisory analyst (Boston Psychoanalytic Society and Institute), and supervisory analyst (Sigmund Freud Institute in Zürich, Switzerland).

Herzog is best known for his studies on the effects of "father-absence." (I interpret this term as the absence of a father figure, both to show love and tough love.) Spanning 20 years' worth of research, "father hunger," as a concept, is described by Herzog himself as about something "heartfelt" and, when frustrated, turns into "potentially excruciating longings" of not just sons, but also daughters for their own father.

It's worth noting that another investigator independently arrived at roughly the same ideas: David Popenoe, Ph.D., is a sociology professor at Rutgers University, co-director of the National Marriage Project, and former social and behavioral sciences dean. Like Herzog, Popenoe "also specializes in the study of family and community life in modern societies and is the author and editor of ten books publishing his research findings." He's an author you'll want to look up.

One wonders: How do children who have been abandoned turn out? How about children who've been attempted to be aborted by their parent/s yet survived, or babies who'd been given up for adoption, children of overseas contract workers, kids with emotionally distant fathers, kids who came into this world artificially inseminated and were told about it, kids of divorced parents, kids who were brought up by single moms, by cruel, abusive fathers, by sex molesters? Studying case reports, you'd be appalled to the depths of your being at the profound adverse effects of an irresponsible father!!! Those poor souls (fetus, baby, toddler, child) who are especially sensitive are the most prone and are hit the hardest - without them knowing it.

Here's just one sample observation, among a multitude: "Absentee fatherhood could be the most destructive social force of our era. About 70% of all institutionalized male offenders come from fatherless homes (Horn, 2004)."

If you have a father who's a good role model and who loves you and your mother, thank God. You're one lucky blessed bastard. :)

References:

-Herzog, James (2001). Father Hunger: Explorations With Adults and Children. New York: Analytic Press.
-Holman, Warren. (1998). The Father Book: A Document for Therapeutic Work with Father Absent Early Adolescent Boys. Child and Adolescent Social Work Journal. V15, 2. Apr.
-Popenoe, D. (1996). Life without father: Compelling New Evidence that Fatherhood and Marriage are Indispensable for the Good of Children and Society. New York: The free Press.

Of course, there's also the Google scholar version of possible references for you, lazy nerds.

P.S. The term "father hunger" is not yet a Wikipedia entry.

What's this?

“Mere (phone) salesman” sings "Nessun Dorma" in a American Idol British TV reality show. He’s British, like The entertainingly dour Simon Cowell is uncharacteristically bowled over. This news certainly started my day right.

Now, let the pendulum swing to other end of extreme emotions: The saddest thing I've ever heard in my entire life: "A nun is raped by the Abu Sayyaf and commits suicide."

Devlin's four levels of abstraction

(Note to self)

Source: The Math Gene: How Mathematical Thinking Evolved and Why Numbers Are Like Gossip by K. Devlin

Level 1: "thinking about objects that are perceptually accessible in the immediate environment"
Level 2: "thinking about familiar objects which aren’t perceptually accessible"
Level 3: "thinking about real objects which haven’t been encountered or imaginary variations of real objects"
Level 4: "thinking about objects which are entirely abstract; where mathematical thought takes place"

Devlin's arguments:

- "The feature of our brains that enables us to use language is the same feature that makes it possible for us to do mathematics."
- Only humans are capable of levels 3 and 4.
- Higher-order thought processes are one of increased abstraction, not increased complexity

Trillanes, scoffed at as "just an immature boy"

What's worse than show biz and Annabel Rama? Answer: Political intrigue. Hope you didn't miss this non-blind item, where Trillanes is being accused of land-grabbing and running for the Senate to gain immunity (and escape prosecution, just like what Honasan, et al. had been accused of).

**

Meanwhile, a Maguindanao teacher, Musa Dimasidsing, dies a hero. He was murdered for blowing the whistle on electoral fraud. (I feel too unworthy to even compose anything close to a paean.)

Filipino addresses Harvard Law class of 2007

Subject: Filipino addresses Harvard Law class of 2007

A FILIPINO lawyer taking up his LLM or master's degree in law at Harvard Law School in Cambridge , Massachusetts , will deliver the school's commencement address on June 7.

Oscar Franklin Barcelona Tan, a graduate of UP Law Class 2005 will address about 700 graduates. He is an associate, on study leave, at the AC CRA law office.

His father, lawyer Edmundo L. Tan of the Tan Acut & Lopez Law firm, had no comment on Franklin's selection by a select committee, but said, "I will be there in Harvard on June 7 to congratulate personally my son and to share the moment with him."

His mother, Dr. Jesusa Barcelona Tan, is a dermatology consultant at the Hospital of the Infant Jesus in Sampaloc, head of the photo-dermatology unit, and former chair of the Department of Dermatology at the Jose R.Reyes Medical Center of the Department of Health.

In his draft speech, Oscar urges his 700 fellow graduates to transcend narrow nationalism. "My friends – and this includes our American classmates who will soon lead the world's lone superpower – let us transcend our individual nationalities and affirm that we are citizens of the world," he says.

From: Oscar Franklin Barcelona Tan
>Date: Apr 28, 2007 2:03 PM
>Subject: Commencement Address
>To: otan@law.harvard.edu

A humble piece I wanted to share with you.

-Oscar

Marketing P.I. as a land of giants and dwarves, 2

(Independence Day special)

This is somewhat funny, but it's true, something we already knew long ago. (via Kottke)

"Largest lake on an island in a lake on an island" is "Crater Lake on Vulcano Island in Lake Taal on Luzon (PHI)."

"Largest island in a lake on an island in a lake on an island" is "Vulcan point in Crater Lake on Vulcano Island in Lake Taal on Luzon (PHI)."

See also Gigantism and dwarfism. I am not sure if someone from the National Museum (and the DOT) has used this idea of promoting or marketing the country's natural resources, as I haven't visited the museum in years.

Them scarecrows (of Seattle and elsewhere) must grow up

Until now, I still can't figure out why punk and its ten thousand variants aren't dead yet. Can anyone refer me to a sharp pop-culture commentator that explains away why this is so? Why the popularity of punk bands in various degrees of scary both here and the US and most probably everywhere in the youth world: punk rock, goth punk, pop punk, post-punk, industrial punk, "dunk" (disco punk), "emo", etc.? The music is noisy, the bands all sound the same (annoyingly rowdy, senseless lyrics, no discernible melody), and the deliberate ugliness is turn-offy. What's the point of all that deliberate fugliness?

While it's easy to associate "punk" today with Seattle's (the home of grunge, punk's teenage mutant) rainy, foggy weather, what explains its popularity in sunny and surreal Manila? Why is someone like Raimund Marasigan using kohl eyeliners? Does he really think it uglifies his face in a glamorously punk way? Why is everybody wearing things extra-dark and extra-tight in this sweltering weather? Why is hideousness being made kewl; why glam it up? Punk is supposed to be an entire lifestyle about not just rebellion from authority but anarchy. I understand all that. In fact, I can readily appreciate the old punk that I know, and grunge too. I know where they are coming from -- I just have to look inside my own darkness, like Spidey in Spiderman 3.

But what's the point of just about everyone becoming punk, or being mere punkster? If everyone makes like a rebel, what are they rebelling against? With absolutely zero causes, what is there left to rebel about? The mere thought of punk becoming a social trend is totally laughable in the face of the concept's anti-establishment credo and all that. Will all those punk bands please cut all that drab, dark sniveling and stitch back all the noses and genitals they have pierced in the name of their dark gods? It's no longer fun. Try to create an entirely new genre instead.

Another thing that's annoying about being punk these days: Acting lugubrious, hopeless, and despondent is too easy, and acting lugubrious, hopeless, and despondent while fiddling with one's iPod, digicam, Treo or laptop is stupendously ludicrous and preposterous. I remember a magazine column by Lourd de Veyra that I've read that's entitled "Desperately Seeking Satan." That title struck me as hilarious and ironic at the same time. Why ironic (or even inaccurate)? Because one never seeks Satan desperately. Unlike the oft-inscrutable God, Satan is ever-watchful even to those who hate him, or especially to those who do. Why don't you try contacting him to see for yourself how he doesn't hesitate volunteering his services. One never have to be desperate for Satan to be there, for he is so close to us as our own little demons, weaknesses, struggles. What's the connection of all this with punk?, you ask. Well, these days' version of it can't even pass muster as being something authentic, to put it very bluntly. These kids had it so easy. They're rich kids, spoiled brats, and they've ridiculously never have tasted all the pain and poverty of real life, the anomie, the rejection, the sheer stupidity and horror of all that man has created for himself. Their experience of the depths of the devil's downfall and his continuing work appears too shallow, manufactured, or worst, copied. They haven't had that kind of communion with Satan, so to speak. They don't know him or know hell close enough.

Punk essentially is a reaction to the alienation of modern man from hyper-capitalist realities. It revels in dark thoughts, hopelessness, despair, curses, eternal damnation, pain, dystopia. Punk tries to focus on artistically plumbing the depths of human desperation, and that's their artistic right, if they think that's aesthetically enjoyable. But where, in our current versions of punk bands, is that same theme of describing the satanic brain or thought pattern in great detail? What new truths, insights, realities have they come up with, so far? Why and how did punk evolve this way, that it's become limited to mere love-aches and shallow, self-indulgent concerns?

I am not even saying the current crop is a sanitized version. All I'm saying is, come on, switch to something new and original already, for your utterly commercialized version of it is too limited it doesn't even come close to a hundredth of what the real punks must have gone through just to arrive at a work product they can truly call their own.

A diadem of curses

(Filed under: Seasons. It's that time of the year again.)

I hate mosquitoes.

One of the environmental news I eagerly await is that of mosquitoes becoming endangered species. I happen to be one of the chosen few whom these most abominable creatures love to cluster around wherever I may be. Sometimes, at dusk, I find myself wearing a swirling crown of abomination if I happen to be outdoors. What in the world have I done to merit such a reward, I thought. Why isn't the guy or the girl next to me getting any? Why did God create mosquitoes?

I remember my college roommate asking me a similar question once. "Why did God create parasites?" he wondered aloud. "I don't know," I said, "ask Him." They say never, never ask God why, for He is omniscient, etc., but I'll ask anyway. It's not a question demanding Him an answer. It's more of an expression of helplessness, of making sense out of life's absurdities and ugly realities, like mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes give me all these nasty bites despite all the screens installed in my abode. I've tried assorted methods to annihilate these animals, to no avail. They must be very intelligent, and they find my blood especially tasty.

Mosquitoes almost claimed the life of one of my nephews several years ago.

My officemate A. has a different story. She said it's frogs that she loves to hate. She resents it that God created frogs. She hates frogs more than anything in the world. But unlike me, she readily admits that the warty amphibian has a divine purpose: to have mosquitoes for dinner.

She considers mosquitoes an arch-enemy as well, thankfully, but not as much as she hates frogs. But unlike me, she's fatalistic about things. "It's a good thing it's mosquitoes that bite," she argues. "Can you imagine if it's the frogs that did?"

I should love frogs.

Weirdoes on parade

Weird people have been hogging the headlines these past few days.

- There's this COMELEC commissioner who says he'll retire and the next day decides he won't.

- There's this Bible-thumping, God-spouting character from Manila, who, it turns out, has an original name, original wife, and original children that he never mentions. In a surreal turn of recent events, he accuses his live-in partner of substance abuse (she said it's medication), his wife's coddler/friends of kidnapping (they said it's protection from his beatings), and certain journalists/columnists as calumnists (they must ask him, look, who changed identities), who in turn accuse him of wife-battering, among other things. He ruined my Sunday once when, fresh from a penitentiary in the States, he graced the cover of Sunday Inquirer Magazine. What's the matter with this editor, I thought, that she thinks someone like this guy is worth featuring like he's the new megastar? I didn't want to read that magazine ever again.

- Then there's this guy with multiple identities, who claims he's a nephew of Chavit Singson and Jose de Venecia combined (hence an alias like Richard Singson de Venecia). His latest name, according to him, is Andrew Sia Yu. (He reminds me of a magazine interview of Parokya ni Edgar's Chito Miranda. "If you could have a name change, what would it be?" he was asked. "Bamboo Buendia Blanco," he replied.) He is good-looking, dresses up nicely, went to nice schools (was even educated in the US), and speaks with an accent that you'd never associate with the scum of the earth. And yet he is being accused of robbery and rape, among other things that are way too low for the character he's trying to invent.

- I still can't shake off my mind the brazenness with which four or five armed men robbed a bus on EDSA and engaged the police in a wild goose chase until they reached Bulacan. It turned out they did the caper high on something. Could they be ex-soldiers or ex-policemen who've been relieved from duty? How desperate in life must they be?

- And then there's Annabelle Rama. This woman is unbelievably shameless. She doesn't know when and how to shut up. For how can anyone keep private what her daughter made public? How can she tell journalists and the public not to talk about public things like whether someone is married or not? Why get back at her critics in such a low, personal way? Why did GMA7 alow such utterly low behavior? These same questions ought to be asked of Ruffa Gutierrez and her husband.

Why can't these people be like Marjorie Barreto, who had enough delicadeza to take precautions that the public won't dig their nose into her private affairs? I'm still thinking over her "wala-po-kayong-pakialam-lahat" remark, though. It sounded certainly bastos to me. Public figures have a right to privacy, a right to private life, but a showbiz person and a public official (it turned out) like her could've been more tactful with her so-called public, right? Aren't artistas (and politicians) supposed to panic if the public is no longer the least bit interested in them, not even in their dirty laundry?

All in all, these people's stories are the stuff of great cinema and landmark cases in psychology.

Poet, awarded

(Phil. lit. news., via K. Cordero Express)

PEÑONES GETS SEN. PHELAN LITERARY AWARDS

Philippine poet Frank Penones Jr. recently received a James D. Phelan Literary Awards from the San JoseState University in California where he is an International Ford Foundation Fellow taking up Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing.

Penones won for his two poems in English: Manhattan Stories, which recalls his visit to New York City in December last year to see old time friend and fellow poet, Luis Cabalquinto; and Cracking Coconuts, an interior monologue of a cool and highly-placed mercenary.

The Phelan Literary Awards is named after former U.S Democratic Senator James D. Phelan who represented California from 1915 to 1921. He also served as San Francisco city mayor from 1897 until 1902, the youngest to have been elected to the post in the city's history. He willed his estate for the support of artists and writers in California.

Watch Virgin Labfest

I highly recommend you watch this. If you love flash fiction, you'll love "dulaang kagyat." I still can't forget those stories I've read in that slim book 10x10x10, a book of ten remarkable plays.

The Cultural Center of the Philippines, Tanghalang Pilipino, Inc., TheWritersbloc, Inc., and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts,supported by The Japan Foundation Manila present VIRGIN LABFEST 3Now on its 3rd year, the Virgin Labfest opens this June 28 and will run until July 8, 2007 at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. The Virgin Labfest(VLF), a festival of new plays (untried, untested, unpublished and unstaged) by both emerging and well-known playwrights, directors and actors, is now enthusiastically looked forward to by artists and audiences alike. This year's festival boasts a repertoire of 15 short plays in five trilogies as the main exhibition list. One of the trilogies features contributions of playwrights from Thailand, Singapore and Japan. Another independently produced trilogy of playshas been added to the festival-totalling the entire festival to a treat of 18short plays. Full-length plays will also be featured in a series of dramaticreadings at the Tanghalang Aurelio Tolentino.Tickets to the Virgin Labfest are at P200 (for plays to be shown at theTanghalang Huseng Batute & Bulwagang Amado Hernandez) and "Pay What You Can"(for play readings at the Tanghalang Aurelio Tolentino). For more details,please contact Tanghalang Pilipino at 832-3661, or the CCP Box Office at832-3704. Visit our website for schedules http://www.virginlabfest.com/ (worksbest with IE, for the time being).

**

Off-topic

I just watched this movie titled Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. If you missed this one, watch it. Director Guy Ritchie skewers the depths of doltness of low-lifes with the masterful pacing of good noir and the bright sense of humor of pulp fiction. I haven't seen anyone quite like it. For the first time, criminals are depicted for what they are: packing idiots who should be ashamed of themselves but aren't. Warning: Get copies with English subtitles because the British accent can be such a pain in the so-called arse. Finally I was able to watch the winning French docu March of the Penguins, a great, highly resonant National Geographic-style of work that became a surprise hit. I hated the possibility that I'd blink and miss anything. I also saw Night at the Museum, whose very idea of making the usual museum characters come alive and interact with one another is nothing short of brilliant. It could've been a great film, but the story isn't impressive or exciting or funny enough. Wasted opportunity. I also threw in the mix an adaptation of E.B. White's Charlotte's Web just because the novel version is a children's story classic. The part-reality, part-fable story about friendship is quite insightful, but I found one element straining my ability to suspend my disbelief too much: the thought of a spider spinning words would simply be untenable to me even as a kid.

The other desaparecidos

Well, they're no longer technically desaparecidos because they had been found - and were confirmed to be murdered, but whatever happened to the case of PR man Bubby Dacer, et al.? If I remember right, there were two other men brutally murdered and burned like lamb chops by monstrous, heartless beasts, alongside Dacer, right? Were Erap and his then police chief really NOT behind it all? How about the Bentain murder case? Remember the PAGCOR man who ratted on Erap and Atong Ang? The one buried alive, I think, in cement inside a tin (?) drum and was found in the Pampanga megadike? What about those horrible things Ramon Tulfo has been leveling against Lacson? What if those things are true? What if double-agent Rosebud Ong's accusations are true? We haven't even mentioned the Kuratong Baleleng rubout case.

The mere thought is too revolting, but what if we have such high-profile murderers in the "august halls" of the Senate? Erap has been disgracefully ousted and jailed, but why is Lacson a senator again despite all these accusations and suspicions? It could be that, even though most people may actually believe all those rumors, they've voted Lacson just the same because of his track record in crime-busting?

Why is media silent on these things? Have they all been bought at a price too?

If only for these questions, one is tempted to be a lot kinder to Gloria. If you think about it, the left and some part of media's bottomless hate for Gloria has been unfair in the face of society's silence and glossing-over of what could possibly be the Erap administration's unspeakable yet unsolved crimes. Such heartless and God-less men! Why are there no suspects even? If there are, why are they not being produced and prosecuted? Where are the human rights activists, local and international, in all these? Where are the leftists' usual slogans? Aren't PR men, lowly PAGCOR employees people too?

No wonder most Filipinos would rather support Gloria. They were correct all along, and I and many others were wrong, like I half-suspected.

Star-quality vocals

(Art criticism)

Is something the matter with mine ears? Why is it that when other people say this and that singer is great and I try to listen to him myself, I sometimes recoil in pain and anger? Art is subjective, bub, they might say, to which I might answer back, that’s the point, and I completely disagree with your perception.

To me, a voice is not a just a voice. For it to stand out, it shouldn’t just be good at technicalities. It should have a… star quality. A star’s vocals should have… duende. And the voice must ultimately lead to a genuinely interesting persona. It’s hard to explain, but it’s that quality that charms, that makes the artist behind the voice likable. It’s something one can’t develop; it's an innate quality, a gift, you could say. Call it charisma; call it X-factor; call it oomph; call it sass, class, and pizazz; call it whatever. I know, I know, all these things are subjective.

I won't give examples because that would mean naming names and hurting feelings. Famous people are people too – they also get hurt.

Are we toy soldiers in the game of the generals?

(Philippine political life, or what's left of it)

I have a theory. Things happened as they did (and things still do) because they had been staged by some military generals. Remember that general who was court-martialed and convicted for corruption? We thought it was a good precedent, right? But certainly not to the military top brass who might be in the same hot position. That development must have made them hit the panic button. They could be the ones who were really behind that Hello Garci tape. It could be that they wanted to turn the tables on the executive branch to prove that it's just as guilty of cheating and corruption. They wanted to preempt things, to avert possible prosecution. So they highjacked the republic for it.

The militarism that ensued was slow but sure. It was essentially a slow coup d'etat. They held GMA in hostage. She had then no choice but place military men in choice civilian positions. She tamed them and their constant threat of junta, coup- d'etat. In gratitude, they repaid her specious subservience. This is not to say all generals thus promoted are guilty of corruption. But then again, if what Sen. Trillanes has been insisting were true, then everybody is indeed suspect, and Trillanes is indeed a whistleblower and a hero. All I'm saying is the military was successful in grabbing civilian power, in essence.

Apparently elated by the turn of events (if they were not being knowingly used on purpose), the Erap-backed portion of opposition jumped at the oppotunity to impeach GMA. But not lily-white themselves, they couldn't give a good argument to rouse the people. The people rightly sensed something fishy, but they didn't buy the opposition's rhetoric. These politicians were, after all, mostly people who wanted the Marcos friend Erap and the pre-EDSA status quo restored to power. This must be the reason why the people tolerated Gloria of the Hello Garci scandal and refused to have another people power, especially not when they just had one. They had the horse sense it was all a ruse. They just couldn't place it, put an exact finger on iit.

Now GMA's hands were tied. She found it hard to impossible to run after the corrupt not just in the military but also in her own cabinet, in her own government. The lowest point was when she found herself tolerating the asinine statements of her Secretary of Injustice. She found herself unable to control the extrajudicial killings of journalists and activists. She's known for her short temper, but why can't that temper bring the erring generals to task? Because they'd hostaged her.

I wonder how will this sad story end. I can't wait for the next presidential elections. I can't wait for all these filthy-rich generals and politicians to grab and save all they can and leave for a comfortable life abroad. They all represent the ghost of Marcos who has successfully corupted them all, who just wouldn't leave us in peace. I can't wait for the next generation to rebuild what our elders have systematically plundered. May that new day soon dawn.

The Polish immigrant

Polish man moved to the USA and married an American girl. Although his English was far from perfect, they got along very well until one day he rushed into a lawyer's office and asked him if he could arrange a divorce for him.

The lawyer said that getting a divorce would depend on the circumstances, and asked him the following questions:

Have you any grounds? Yes, an acre and half and nice little home.

No, I mean what is the foundation of this case? It made of concrete.

I don't think you understand. Does either of you have a real grudge? No, we have carport, and not need one.

I mean. What are your relations like? All my relations still in Poland.

Is there any infidelity in your marriage? We have hi-fidelity stereo and good DVD player.
Does your wife beat you up? No, I always up before her.

Is your wife a nagger? No, she white.

Why do you want this divorce? She going to kill me.

What makes you think that? I got proof.

What kind of proof? She going to poison me. She buy a bottle at drugstore and put on shelf in bathroom. I can read, and it say: "Polish Remover."

Chiz sandwich

Tsk, tsk. Appalling is the only word to describe what must have been the winning smiles of new Sen. Chiz Escudero and company, as they celebrated their victory at former President Erap Estrada's rest house cum jail. I had to do a double-take myself for that and say, "Huh?! That's what all our support for this brainy senator all about? A return to the Erap-Marcos-old corrupt politicians rule?" John Nery was right, in a comment he made about Chiz being "a representative of the [Erap-]Marcos restoration." I have this feeling we've been had, but I'll make sure a lot of people will remind these opposition senators that their winning the elections wasn't about Erap at all. Ano kayo, hilo? Read this opinion piece by Doronila: "Acting as if nothing happened." Meanwhile, let us trust that, Chiz Escudero, despite having a Marcos loyalist for a father, will prove he's all grown up and has a mind (and principles) of his own.

Writing is loving

(Thanks: Malaysian News Bureau)

Improve your dog's English aptitude

(A parody of my world, which is postmodern yet poor and primitive.)

Improve your dog's English aptitude by administering this test. Spot all the doggie idioms you could find, to see where your favorite pet's career lies best. You have 20 minutes.

**

Hounded

“Did it ever occur to you that ‘God,’ when spelled backwards, is dog?,” Diane Keaton asks, in a hairy situation with Woody Allen in Sleeper, a 1973 film. This line single-handedly strikes me as profound. For if the other side of dog is indeed divine, then it coincides with this lofty dream of mine. I have this dogged determination to build a zoo, the first of its kind in the world, I hope: a gigantic kennel to house all the known dog breeds of the world. It shall be called Doggone, and it shall house each dog according to breed. It shall be a kind of Noah’s Ark, housing all the canine gene pools in a bid to promote them and save them from extinction. In it shall be held dog shows to end all dog shows.

Doggone, what a brilliant idea. I know I've always been a dog all my life. I am not sure what breed, but I sure transform into one, especially at night whenever I come home dog-tired from the graveyard shift and it rains cats and dogs. I am a dog whenever I am hounded by the doggish idea that I am living a dog's life in a dog-eat-dog world, never the top dog, languishing in the doghouse day in and day out, an underdog always waiting for that doggie bag. I’ve developed a high affinity for dogs, until one day I felt that I myself was a canine. Indeed, all of my days now are spent working like a dog, and for what? I render work even during the dog watch and what do I get in return? Dog food and a dog's chance of survival. I guess I am a dog whose life can only be described as, of course, something that has gone to the dogs. By the way, the author Peter Mayle, an old favorite of mine, wrote a book (that I have yet to read) with this neat title: My Life as a Dog – but I dogress. Living the life of a dog means going through those days when my only consolation is my dog-eared books, which I juggle to suit my dog-moods, in between listening to Snoop Doggy Dawg and Li’l Bow-wow. It is those days when I have to content myself with the thought that, maybe, this dog will soon have his day.

I am practically a dog, but so what? I still want to be my own dog. And I wish to have a dog of my own, someone I can take for a walk whenever I'm yearning for some dog-love. Trouble is, if I insisted on even owning a mongrel for a trial pet, I most probably would end up in trouble with the Humane Treatment of Animals folks. I simply don't have time; I'd rather take a dog nap. My kid brother once brought home a pedigreed pup and the poor yelping thing simply walked out on us two days later. It must have left for greener kennels.

I may have been a bad pet owner, but this didn’t prevent me from knowing a good deal of dog stuff just the same. It's the least thing I could do as a canine lover. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks? Not me. Here are some of the things I’ve learned about Canis familiaris domesticus var. askalii: Dogs are as intelligent as they are lovable, no matter the age, temperament (EQ), intelligence quotient, and breed. Their growl may strike fear in the heart of strangers, thus the ‘Cave canem,’ ‘Beware of the dog’ signs. But, as they say, barking dogs seldom bite and it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Treat dogs as you would kids and you’ll be alright with them.

There are good and bad dogs – I have had experiences with both. There are mean stray ones that cross my path at night. There are those that act like a dog in the manger or a dog who's been given a bad name. I love them all anyway. The dog zoo I am dreaming about would be the ultimate expression of my affection.

This early, I get dogbumps when I visualize the separate houses for my rottweilers, Pomeranians, golden retrievers, and chihuahuas; special temperature- and humidity-controlled enclosures for my St. Bernards, Siberian huskies, and Norwegian elkhounds; special caretakers for my Chesapeake Bay retrievers, American staffordshires, Spanish labradors, Afghans, Lhasa apsos, Maltese, wiemarners, vizslas, Akitas and salukis. I can see my specially trained vets having a good deal of time acting as watchdogs against rabies and diseases, occasionally treating my wards to a foot paw spa.

Now don't paw at my face and bark up the wrong tree if my dream doesn’t come true just yet. I know, this is a nation of guiltless dog-eaters. For now, you can dismiss this blabbering for what it is: a screening test to discover the top dogs in this dog-eat-dog world. Woof!!!

**

What your dog's test score means:

100%-80% = Tell him to do the call center thing.
80%-70% = Stick to med-trans.
70% and below = Attend an ESOL class.

Tongue-tied

For the first time in my blogging life, I can't share a biased opinion or an unfair observation. All my blogging life, I thought I've been spouting all these truly unfettered opinions because a) I have no albatross around my neck to worry about (i.e., nervous and 'concerned' sponsors), b) I have no so-called credibility to protect or uphold, not being a recipient of anything, and c) I have no plan to have one. But it's different this time. My freedom has been so exhilarating that I've altogether stopped trying to contribute to any MSM outfit (save for one), but I've found myself wanting as a blogger just the same. For I am now torn on the twin issues of medium of instruction and bilingualism. I'm embarrassed to say I have no solid opinion on this one, and I can't join the debate and neither do I have the inclination to listen in closely enough. I can only help sort it all out. These are the points I find clear enough at this point.

1. I can't just dismiss outright the value of the empirical evidence that learning basic knowledge in one's own native tongue is more effective - unless these scientists and educators have rigged their data out of ideological motives, and their peer reviewers conspired to hide or gloss over the scheme. I'm a former DOST scholar and a B.S. Bio grad, but I won't hesitate to say it's healthy to be suspicious even of scientists and academics. I lose my respect for anyone, no matter how brilliant and educated, that would rig scientific data and obfuscate the methodology used to suit political ends. But barring that, we dismiss exact science at the expense of common sense.

2. I am of the opinion that, like endangered species, languages must be saved. Entire concepts and cultures die off with the death of a language.

3. I love and respect our native cultures, but I am just as fond of the English language. To me, English does not mean "America" or "Western domination." It just happens to be the global lingua franca, and I must be good at it. And it happens that, culturally speaking, I am part-American, and I make no apologies for it, just as I make no apologies to anyone for my Malay-Polynesian, Chinese, Spanish, Mexican, and even that little bit of Hindu-Arabic and Japanese heritage. I've embraced it, I've embraced everything that makes up my being Filipino. I love my own, and that includes everything my forefathers have come to willfully embrace as theirs. Let everyone respect our choice. And let no one constitutionally tamper with that wish. We've already lost Spanish, an irrecoverable mistake (because of the hate thought that we must get rid of everything colonial). Must we lose English next?

In fairness to David, Licuanan, et al. (2007), they're arguing on the side of science, on the side of practicality and common sense, ironic as it may sound (because to other notable debaters (like Dean Bocobo), it's strengthening our English that's the practical path). I can't smell blind ideology this time. They're not arguing with nationalism as reason, although frankly, it's hard to dismiss anyone who wants our people to love their country and their own people more than anything.

4. On the practical side, it looks like we simply must indeed strengthen our English, as is allowable under the Constitution. It's what brings us jobs, like others point out. The trouble with this position is, admittedly, its capacity to cause sudden death to our many languages (how many are there as of last count?). There's the so-called rub. I wish I knew the answer.

Now, why do I get this feeling that this might end up as another creationism-vs.-evolution debate?

Will the real rich and poor please stand up?

Everybody thinks they are poor.* Nobody ever claims they are rich. It's so confusing. Everyone must be lying.

In a country that's being seen as poor (partly right, essentially wrong), it's understandable that everybody tries to be modest. There's also the criminal elements to consider, true, but the problem is everybody outdoes one another in proving they are poor. What a terrible confusion. What a terrible lie.

The facts can speak for themselves. The plain truth is plain evident. A lot of people are in fact rich. And this country is not poor at all, when you consider its natural resources. It's just that its resources and potentials are monopolized by the very rich, like monkeys who love to store lumps of chewed banana in both cheeks while having their fill of even more bananas.

I always claim to be poor, but I can never do so in front of a sweaty and underpaid construction worker or a desperate food scavenger. Does that make an inaccurate liar, too? Or an arrogant prick maybe, for the idea to even cross my mind? Maybe. But how can anyone who owns a late-model cell phone and whose room is air-conditioned ever claim he or she is poor? Alright, cell phones are a necessity these days, but what about all these people who have late-model cars? And not just cars, but a cushy 9-to-5 job, a swanky house and lot in the best location, jewelry, top-notch education, the ability to eat out at fancy restaurants, the latest in fashion, the latest in electronic gadgets, and the ability to hie off to anywhere anytime for a vacation? If you ask me, all these things scream a mighty loud "I AM NOT REALLY POOR!"

Apparently, the message here is it's a crime to admit you're rich but not when you act the part. Oookay. But isn't everybody lying that way? And yet that's how most people laughably behave: as though they are poor. They insist they are poor and yet they eat three square meals a day.

Correct me if I'm mistaken, but to my mind, someone is poor only when he can ill afford to eat, sleeps without a roof of his own over his head, can't move around as he so wishes, and doesn't have a future to look forward to. When those four conditions are met, that person is unquestionably poor, and he must be given an SSS loan or be rescued by the DSWD. Beyond that set of inability, one must somewhat be well-to-do or be classified under "haves" or "can afford," as opposed to "have-nots" and "can't afford." Beyond well-to-do, someone's got to be well-off, or sort of rich.

Can economists set the definitive standard? Will that one-BigMac(TM)-a-day measure do?

It's simply crazy how no one is ever rich in this country. This must be the reason why a lot of people remain just that: truly poor. With absolutely no one who dare openly claim to be rich, or rich enough, it's so easy to pretend no one is left to help the really poor.

_______
*all ungrammaticalities intended

Yay, new template

Thank God for techies. (Thanks, Titobi.) Problem is I'm too lazy or afraid to work with all those widgets. All those links I had carefully chosen won't be back anytime soon. I'll just favorite everything for the meantime.

(Speaking of yay, why am I on Yehey without my knowledge?)

"Ang mga nawawala"

Dear bloggers, writers, friends in media, church groups, academia, business, other interest groups, and all the self-respecting Filipinos and people of goodwill everywhere:

We beg you make some noise. Please send the message to this government, to this government's soldiers/military, that we don't approve of what's happening. No, not in this country, not in this day and age. Let's all stand together and, with one voice, condemn and help bring to justice whoever has done, is doing, all these unspeakable crimes against humanity.

If nothing else can touch you, may this piece below do.

*Ang mga nawawala

by Jose F. Lacaba

Isang araw sila’y nawala na lang at sukat. May hindi pumasok sa opisina, hindi sumipot sa apoyntment, nang-indiyan ng kadeyt. May hindi umuwi ng bahay at hindi nakasalo ng pamilya sa hapunan, hindi nakasiping ng kabiyak. Ang inihaing ulam ay ligalig, at ang inilatag na banig ay ayaw dalawin ng antok. Nang hanapin sila’y walang masabi ang kamag-anak at kaibigan, walang ulat ang pulisya, walang malay ang militar. Kung mayroon mang nakakita nang sila’y sunggaban ng malalaking lalaki at isakay sa dyip o kotse, pabulong-bulong ang saksi, palinga-linga, at kung pakikiusapang tumestigo sa korte, baka ito’y tumanggi. Pagkaraan ng ilang araw, o linggo, o buwan, o taon, pagkaraan ng maraming maghapon at magdamag, pagkaraang ang agam-agam ay magparoo’t parito sa mga manhid na pasilyo at ang pag-aasam-asam ay mapanis sa mga tanggapan, pagkaraan ng luha’t tiyaga, ang ilan sa kanila’y muling lumitaw. Lumitaw sila sa bilangguan, sa bartolina, sa kubling bahay na imbakan ng ungol, tili at panaghoy, himpilan ng mga berdugong eksperto sa sanlibo’t isang istilo ng pagpapahirap. Lumitaw silang bali ang buto o sira ang bait. O kaya’y lumitaw silang lumulutang sa mabahong ilog, o nakahandusay sa pampang, o umaalingasaw sa mga libingang mababaw na hinukay ng mga asong gala. Lumitaw silang may gapos ang kamay at paa na wala nang pintig, o watak-watak ang kamay, paa, ulo, o tadtad ng butas ang bangkay, likha ng bala o balaraw. Ang iba’y hindi na lumitaw, hindi na kailanman lumitaw, nawala na lang at sukat, walang labí, walang bangkay, hindi malaman kung buhay o patay, hindi mapaghandugan ng lamayan, pasiyam, luksa, hindi maipagbabang-luksa, hindi maipagtirik ng kandila kung Todos los Santos. Nakaposas pa ba sila sa paa ng kinakalawang na kama sa loob ng kuwartong may tanod, busog sa bugbog, binabagabag ng bangungot, sumisipol kung nag-iisa ng “Saan Ka Man Naroroon,” iniisip kung ano ang iniisip ng magulang at anak, kasintahan o kabiyak? O sila ba’y umayaw na sa pakikibaka at nagbalik sa dating buhay, o nagtaksil sa simulain at nagtatago sa takot, o nag-asawang muli at nangibang-bayan, o tinamaan ng amnisya at lalaboy-laboy sa lansangan, o lihim na namundok at nag-iba ng pangalan? O sila ba’y pinagpapasasaan na ng uod? Nag-ugat na ba ang talahib sa mga mata ng kanilang bungo? Bahagi na ba sila ng kanilang lupang tinubuan, ang lupang kanilang ipinaglaban? Sinusulat ko ito para sa mga kakilalang hanggang ngayon ay nawawala, para kina Charlie del Rosario at Caloy Tayag at Manny Yap at Henry Romero at Jun Flores, at Rudy Romano sila na kahit hindi ko nakilala nang husto ay alam kong naglingkod sa api at hikahos. Buhay man sila o patay, sa aking alaala’y mananatili silang buhay.

____________
Si Jose F. “Pete” Lacaba ay premyadong manunulat at mamamahayag. Kabilang sa kanyang mga sinulat ang Days of Disquiet, Nights of Rage, koleksiyon ng mga sanaysay hinggil sa First Quarter Storm of 1970.

(*originally written in poetry form)

Guava soup, etc.

I just had a lunch made wonderful by a clear, nondescript-looking soup. I call it the guava soup. It's actually a fish stock that's supposed to be soured with guavas, but because the guava they used must have been ripe, the soup tasted sweet. That soup was heavenly, topping even the most exquisite ones I've tried in any restaurant. Guava soup. It sounds odd, like sugarcane juice, except that it actually exists. (Oh, you mean sugarcane juice is also being served in restaurants already?)

Anyway, I'm just inserting this post to remind me that I've watched the following films lately: Vittorio de Sica's Sciuscia (Shoeshine). This tragedy about friendship, family, poverty, and betrayal is easily one of my personal all-time favorites. I finally saw Sergei Eisenstein's 1920-ish Battleship Potemkin, the seminal scenes of which are inspiration to a lot of action/thriller films, such as The Untouchables. The next copy is so bad, but I sat through the whole nonsensical Fellini's Roma just the same, just so I could say I was able to watch it. This film is pretty and "carnivalesque," but it doesn't make any sense. I can understand impressionistic painting, but not an impressionistic movie. I hate the very idea. Why don't you just make an MTV video? Wish list: Will someone please do a decent movie about Manila, cramming all the distinguishing marks I've compiled below? (You can include me in your credits, si?) I finally saw F.F. Coppola's Apocalypse Now. Reaction: Bravo!!! This movie must have made film history by depicting war and violence as ugly (not pretty), horrid (not decorative mayhem), and certainly as despicable as the depths of darkness and dorkiness the human heart, mind and soul are capable of. (The film was inspired by Conrad's Heart of Darkness, what do ye expect). I also attempted viewing Kryzsyztof Kieslowski's White but the copy went pfft just when things were coming to a head. It's like this bad contraceptive method, corpus interruptus. I thoroughly enjoyed Richard Schickel's (Time magazine reviewer) The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin. This movie made me realize that a) The Kid, with its unbelievable mix of (O. Henry-esque) themes, should also be in my list of personal all-time favorites and b) I should see Modern Times too because it turns out I deeply share Chaplin's sentiments about work and modern society. I hope to watch Fritz Lang's M., Hitchcock's Notorious and Kieslowski's Red later in the week, so I'm wishing myself so-called luck (because the copies can sometimes be annoyingly bad and the material may be too intellectually demanding, like the ending scenes of Apocalypse Now).

"You like old movies," my supplier says, wondering why I don't place an order for the newer, "more daring" ones. I laughed. Of course, I like the new ones. I didn't try to explain myself that I just wanted to be good in my job. I just want to have read and watched most of what my 'tutees' have read and watched. (Which really means I give my all to something I really like doing.) Besides, these are not merely old movies but classic and historic movies (in terms of film theory), the equivalent of canonized literary pieces. Besides, I want to be good in writing and blogging. But I wasn't inclined to explain further, especially since he might ask what blogging is all about.

The Right-leaning

We're familiar with the Left-leaning. But if there are so-called leftists and the Left-leaning, there must also be a Right-leaning wing. And they are a force to reckon with, especially because they make the illogical happen, like make recalcitrant coup plotters, human rights violators, and non-respecters of due process to become senators and authentic heroes. Here is the Right-leaning wing's manifesto:

"We Filipinos hate the left passionately, distrust the left deeply, and we make no effort to hide it. Why? Because leftists are anti-establishment, anti-business, anti-government, anti-Church, anti-morals, anti-religion, anti-order, anti-progress, anti-heterosexuality, anti-family values, anti-orthodoxy in everything for the sake of going against the grain, for the sake of being glamorously branded (in the Che Guevarra sense) a rebel. Cool, eh? Idiots! We don't buy your sh*t one bit. You want change? Then be a part of the system. Work your butt off, you b*tches. Yeah, just like the rest of us. Join the establishment and see for yourself how the real-world works: absolutely no free lunch. You leftists live in a world of your own. Wake up, grow up, you communists, you pinkos and bleeding hearts. It doesn't make a difference whether you want change through violence or not. You are all Reds, leftists and communists. What about basic human rights?, you ask. Now, aren't we human, too? Aren't government, the police, the military, big business, the religious, humans too? Yeah, right, human rights, my *ss. Tell that to the NPA killing machines and Islamic terrorists."

Now, do we understand the Right-leaning person better? It's the same ridiculous reductionism they're blathering about, right? Though they are not entirely irrational, their kind of reasoning can only mean one thing: impasse, deadlock until the end of time and unending persecution for their perceived enemies. How do we get rid of the Rightist roadblock to dialog, peace and progress?

Bayanihan, tugpa, pintakasi, pasinaya, atag, kanyaw

I got this one from Manila Bulletin, which you can rely on as a pro-government media outfit, but this little inserted article in the op-ed page caught my attention because it made me reopen my eyes to the fact that, regionally speaking in the ancient of days, Filipinos are very good at community-building. Too bad we rarely do such things on the national level. In the national sphere, what we're good at is squabbling, squandering precious resources, and squirreling away every opportunity for others to prosper and enrich their (and our) lives and the world.

National Day to Commemorate and Propagate the Bayanihan Spirit as the Unique Filipino Way of Life of Working Together as a People

Presidential Proclamation No. 138 declared May 27 of every year as National Day to Commemorate and Propagate the Bayanihan Spirit as the Unique Filipino Way of Life of Working Together as a People. The purpose of this proclamation is to revivify and promote the bayanihan spirit in every Filipino and harness the vast potential of the people for national development.

Deep in the Filipino people's collective past are many traditionas and practices that embdoy the bayanihan spirit. Among the Tagalogs, there was the tugpa, where one freely took over somebody's responsibitlities in case of illness. The pintacasi meant to help succor someone who was helpless or needy, the pasinaya meant to feely help to cultivate somebody's else's croplands, and atag meant each one had a task to perform for the community's well-being. The caniao(kanyaw) of the Cordillerans originally meant "to share one's wealth in times of crop failures or hunger by feeding the entire community for days or weeks."

There is a hero, a bayani, in every Filipino. The bayanihan spirit exists in him. A unified and self-less people creates a strong and powerful nation. Our ancestors did it before. We can do it again for the survival and progress of our nation in today's globalized economy.

(All bolded words mine.)

**

Incidentally: The Philippines through the eyes of an expat.

Press statement

Abduction, desaparecidos, assassinations, and now torture... We're living in a fascist state. And the worse news? Many Filipinos find it okay. For how else can you explain the fact that most people are not even troubled? How else do you explain that non-democratic-loving people like Lacson, Gringo, Trillanes, Fred Lim, et al. get democratically elected? That's it. I'm changing my citizenship. Is there any democratic country wiling to adopt me?

PRESS STATEMENT of Pastor Berlin V. Guerrero

What does it take a government to have the nerve to abduct, torture, and terrorize my family on the basis of an old inciting to sedition case and a baseless murder charge?

Far more absurd is the accusation that I am the Secretary of the CPP Provincial committee in Cavite. This lie that they tried to extract from me by means of physical, mental and psychological torture and projecting me in public as a "hand-gun and grenade carrying rebel."

I am a Pastor of the United Church of Christ in the Philippines (UCCP) and never participated in any killings, illegal or unlawful activities, or any common crime.

My family and I have just taken a tricycle from the local church which I have served for two consecutive years (June 2006-2007) where we just celebrated UCCP's and the local church's 59th and 72nd anniversaries respectively (On May 27, at around 5:30 pm, a white van cut the tricycle's path and military-looking men quickly alighted to grab me; despite my plea that they show me the warrant they said they had. I was man-handled and forcefully shoved inside the van, put a handcuff on my hands behind me, covered my head with a cloth and packing tape, was beaten, punched and kicked repeatedly.

They brought me to a place I didn't know. Here, still handcuffed, men would take turn interrogating and beating my head with their fists and blunt objects. (Like a 1,000 ml mineral bottle and other objects). All throughout, layers of plastic bags covered my head. My torturers would tighten the bag until I could no longer breathe. I passed out two times and urinated in my pants.

They made me shake my head for about an hour and beat me whenever I stopped they said they would do these things to my family if I did not cooperate. I was forced to give names and addresses of my whole family, officers of church and conferences, name of my administrator at Union Theological Seminary where I am studying theology, leaders of progressive labour and peasant organizations in Southern Tagalog.

They opened my computer by forcing me to give the password, got my e-mail password. They erased all of my church, school and personal files and replace it with documents that belong to the so-called underground left.

After about twelve hours, they put me back on the van still handcuffed and blindfolded. They threatened to kill me, burn me or bury me. They continued to beat me and make new names for me. They got my SIM card.

They called me Pastor-Impostor. And lectured me on the "evils" of communism and how the church, legal people's organizations are "used" to create trouble by criticizing the government.

When the van stopped, it took an hour before they led me down, made me sit down and lie down. After an hour, they removed my blindfold. Here I learned I was in Imus, Cavite specifically at Camp Pantaleon Garcia, Cavite Provincial Police Office (PPO).

Later on in the afternoon, that was the only time I saw the warrants of arrest and to what unit of the PNP I was turned over to by my abductors.

Now that I have the time to collect my thoughts and view my situation inside what police offices "call a subhuman" cell, let me make a preliminary analysis of my unfinished ordeal.

(1) The unit which abducted me is an organized AFP unit which operates covertly or below the law. It is composed of elements coming from different units of AFP's Intelligence Community. As a counter-insurgency unit, it uses ex-NPAs. They are lawless enforcers.

(2) Making use of court cases which involves suspected personalities of the left, no matter how weak, these cases may be served and used to make the arrest legitimate. In my case, I am implicated in a Murder Case in 1990. Case files show that I do not have a direct or indirect link to the crime.

(3) To bring me to the court by means of the arrest warrants is
secondary. Their primary objective is to extract information from me
by means of torture.

(4) It is also meant to terrorize my family, my relatives, friends, church members and practically everyone I know and who know me. It creates a thinking that this repeated attack on a person's right, which may end in incarceration or death, can happen to anybody.

I am outraged by their branding me as a "Pastor-Impostor" because it is an affront to the sacred office I have sworn to serve God Almighty who knows every heart and mind.

Finally, I hold the Gloria Macapagal Arroyo government responsible for the abduction and torture I have suffered and the subhuman captivity I am forced to accept. The GMA Administration should listen to the repeated cries of the people to stop violation of human rights and the political killings.

They may have put in jail, but my spirit is free and firm because God is with us always.

(SGD.) PASTOR BERLIN V. GUERRERO
United Church of Christ in the Philippines

Inside the Camp Pantaleon Garcia
Cavite Provincial Police Office
Imus, Cavite
May 30, 2007

Evolution according to The Onion

Hilarious!!!: "I Believe in Evolution Except for the Whole Triassic Period."

"Dear God, I am American. What are you?"

(I strongly suspect these lines were invented, but so what? Kids indeed say the most truthful, funny, and embarrassing, and unexpected things. "Wisdom comes from the mouth of babes," so they say. Make that "unintended wisdom." A fwd'd email.)

Dear God,

"Instead of letting people die and having to make new ones, why don't you just keep the one you got now?"

Jane

Here are the other wishes from different kids:

"I went to this wedding and they kissed right in church. Is that ok?"

"I think the stapler is one of your greatest invention."

"In bible times, did they really talk that fancy?"

"I think about you sometimes even when I'm not praying."

"I am American. What are you?"

"Thank you for the baby brother but what I prayed for was a puppy."

"I bet it is hard for you to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it."


"Please put a holiday between Christmas and Easter. There is nothing good in there now."

"If you watch in church on Sunday, I will show you my new shoes."

"If we come back as something please don't make me Jennifer Horton cause I hate her."

"I would like to live 900 years like the guy in the bible."

"If you give me genie lamp like Alladin I will give you anything you want except my money and my chess set."

"We read Thos. Edison made light. But in Sun school they said you did it. So I bet he stoled your idea."

"If you let the dinasaur not extinct, we wouldn't have a country. You did the right thing."

"Please send Dennis Clark to a different camp this year."

"Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother."

"Ano ang tawag natin sa kanila?"

(from P.P.)

by Carolina Claudio

Ang isang anak na nawalan ng magulang ay tinatawag na ulila.

Balo o byudo naman ang tawag sa isang lalaking nawalan ng asawa.

Pero ang isang ina na nawalan ng isang na anak ano ang tawag natin sa kanila? Walang tawag sa kanila.

Wala kasing salita na makapaglalarawan sa sakit na nararamdaman ng isang ina na nagdadalamhati sa pagkawala ng kanyang anak. Lalong walang salita at katagang maaring maglarawan sa isang ina na patuloy na umaasa na sana’y makabalik ng ligtas ang anak nyang dinukot at naglaho na lamang na parang bula.Paano mo nga ba papayapain ang loob nya? Anong angkop na salita ang makapagpapalubag sa naninikip nyang dibdib? Paano nya ipapanatag ang isip nya kung di man nya batid kung magpapadasal na ba sya o magtitirik na ng kandila o patuloy pa rin syang aasa na isang gabi’y kakatok na lamang ang anak nya na parang walang anumang nangyari.

Sasapit na naman ang gabi,wala pa ring kumakatok...

Maghihintay siya sa gitna ng pagluha.

Magbabakasakaling buhay pa ang anak nya.


- Free Jonas Burgos Movement -

"Personal ads from the London Review of Books"

My finger on the pulse of culture, my ear to the ground of philosophy, my hip in the medical waste bin of Glasgow Royal Infirmary. 14% plastic and counting -- geriatric brainiac and compulsive NHS malingering fool (M, 81), looking for richer, older sex-starved woman on the brink of death to exploit and ruin every replacement operation I've had since 1974. Box 7648 (quickly, the clock's ticking, and so is this pacemaker).

Shy, ugly man, fond of extended periods of self-pity, middle-aged, flatulent and overweight, seeks the impossible. Box no. 8623.

When you do that voodoo that you do so well, I invoke 16th-century witchcraft laws and have you burned at the stake. No shenanigans with Quaker M, 39, at box no. 2741.

Reply to this advert, then together we can face the harsh realities of my second mortgage. M, 38, would like to meet woman to 70 with active credit cards. Box no. 8624.

They call me Naughty Lola. Run-of-the-mill beardy physicist (M, 46). Box. 4023.

This is a terrifying world. I am the only worthy edifice in it. You are probably a tree. You know what I'm saying. Man, 35. Box no. 7213.

Lisping Rodgers and Hammerstein fan, female lecturer in politics (37), would like to meet man, to age 40, for thome enthanted eveningth. Box no. 2498

I've divorced better men than you. And worn more expensive shoes than these. So don't think placing this ad is the biggest comedown I've ever had to make. Sensitive F, 34. Box no 6322.

Beneath this hostile museum curator's exterior lies a hostile museum curator's interior. F, 38 Box no, 3542.

Employed in publishing? Me too. Stay the hell away. Man on the inside, seeks woman on the outside, who like milling around hospitals guessing the illnesses of outpatients. 30-35. Leeds. Box no. 3287.

Unashamed, triumphalist male for the past 46 years. Will I bore you? Probably. Do I care? Probably not. Box no. 4231.

List your ten favourite albums. I don't want to compare notes, I just want to know if there's anything worth keeping when we finally break up. Practical, forward-thinking man, 35. Box no 3221.

Mid-fifties man. Recently discovered guilt. Can't wait to try it out. Box no. 7297.

So many men to chose from. So few vitamin supplements. Arthritic F, 73. Box no 7297.

Blah, blah, whatever. Indifferent woman. Go ahead and write. Box no. 3253. Like I care.

Grave disappointment all round would like to meet serious mistake in a nightie. Box no. 6453.

From They Call Me Naughty Lola: Personal Ads from the London Review of Books. Edited by David Rose. Published by Scribner.

(I know you'll forward this one.)