Push it through the cliff

There's Harry Potter and there's Twilight.
There's The Hulk and there's the Punisher.
There's Batman and there's Catwoman.
There's X-men and there's Push.

You get the comparisons. Our dilemma during a Sunday afternoon was to choose between the lesser of two evils - Push or Confessions of a Shopaholic. I could go with either eventually we found ourselves on the second row facing this poor man's attempt at X-men.

Actually, it is also a lame attempt at a Heroes episode, only that a) heroes is no that great anymore and b) a lame Heroes episode is more watchable than this crap. The characters are poorly or not at all developed. They just say this and that have been together, or these people have these powers. And their motive for doing things are never elaborated or even logically backed. Someone helping someone was left into the imagination or assumed to be an act of altruism.

It was far off from reality and logic. At one point, Chris Evans who has telekinetic powers was held prison in the trunk of the car. While the other heroes were battling, one unlucky villain (obviously, a prop doll) fell and miraculously opened the trunk. After that, with Evan's powers he was able to free the cuffs from his hands. Why can't he use that power to free himself from the whole trunk of the car I do not know.

The supposed saving grace in Dakota Fanning is just horribly misused. She's too young to be sexy, and too old to charm us with her usual childish aura. Her legs were hogging the camera at every opportunity (in lieu of a well endowed chest) but still I wouldn't jack off of it, even if my manhood depended on it.

Camilla Belle who is the apple of my eye in mediocre to crappy films like When a Stranger Calls and 10,000 BC, cannot save the film with her looks when her eyes are all drugged and her nose is constantly bleeding black stuff. Chris Evans is still a two-bit hack who can't even show if he is terrified, or having an orgasm. He'd better stick to torching stuff in the future.

All in all push is the movie you would rather push off a cliff or push into the depths of the ocean. You would not want to be caught dead with this movie in your pirated dvd collection, even if it is only 3 for 100 pesos.

Rate: 5.5 out of 10

The Avenue Plaza Hotel Experience

As a Nagueño, I see to it, if my budget allows, that I have eaten in most major food chains, hotels and major establishments in the city. At present there are a few exemptions:
Red Ribbon - newly opened, avoiding the "nali" label
Hollywood Star - tad expensive, passing on the gay stand-up comediennes.
Avenue Plaza - too expensive, 3K for an overnight stay.

It is a sad thing when new establishments rise in the city and the average Nagueño cannot even afford to step foot in the area and order coffee (It's 80 pesos for cryin out loud!). It is sadder that average Nagueños can only set foot when they are hired as bus boys or receptionists or floor managers. It is saddest when a German (FU Dirk!) can hog the pools of Avenue Plaza (see picture above) and flash their weiners for all the world to see.

Enough with the intro, I finally got the chance to wine and dine in this so-called first rate hotel. We had a business meeting with some people from Aboitiz. Well the details do not matter. The thing is we were subjected to a four course meal at their expense (soup-salad-main-course-desert). The waitresses looked like models for soap and lotion. The chairs and chandeliers could cost you an arm and a leg. But, the food was bland. Aside from serving meat on an Ash Wednesday, not that I am too high on holy days and the stupid religious observations, the chicken was just absoultely bland. I was thinking to myself even KFC tastes better, or my usual pa-cham chicken recipe would earn a better ranking.

Ambiance my ass. While these imposing expensive hotels can intimidate you with luxurious facade, wall to wall imported carpets, a piano that plays even without Stevie Wonder, Spanish telenovela actresses turned receptionists, still I would prefer Bigg's, Geewan's or even Enting's Kinalas.

Just consider this my way of flashing back my own tiny weiner to these establishments that alienate its own locality and would rather embrace a twice-a-week bathing tourist who piss on their expensive pools. They can have their brochure back!

Poker Insights

I engaged in a poker semi-tournament when I was egged on by friends to go up against quasi-celebrities last Saturday. The prefix quasi is stirred by the presence of Magoo Marjon, Mica Abesamis and Rado Dimalibot, whose names ring a bell only to hoops followers. During the course of the night, I got hold of new insights about poker, myself and my competitors.

1. Poker is not a sport, it is still gambling. While a few would argue that it is more due to psychological and probability tactics, I think that it is more of a chance game as you can never control the outcome of the cards. The best hand I got all night was a pair of ladies (Queens). Bleh for beginner's luck, my ass.

2. When it comes to playing with strangers, I go into a corner, curl up like a baby, and fold. I usually am the bigstack bully, even if I don't have a stack, that is when playing with familiar faces. But that night, I folded (Ninoy counted) eight times before I made my first call. I was folding A-6, J-9, K-5. Oh well you get the picture. The time I reverted back to being me. I called an all in of Q-8 against my 2-5, both not suited.

3. Alcohol and poker do not mix. While a margarita or two would be good to soothe the nerves, three pitchers of it with not much dinner intake eventually leads to a big fat L. (L for love, lambasted loco its Loser!) Tell that to someone I know who had to open up the taxi door on the way home to puke, all this while the taxi was on 50 kph, more or less. This was his theory all along.

4. Pretty busty ladies on a heads up can be distracting. It's a lose-lose situation. Enough said.

5. If you're new to the game and you are not familiar on who is to act first, the lull time while you don't know who is gonna act, until you realize that you are the dumb asshole who is holding things up can be disguised as a clever way of weighing your options.

6. You can never trust your cards, you can only hope that your opponents have worse cards.

All this I learned when I lost 800 pesos in two poker buy ins, three pitchers of margarita (though shared with 2 others), and a couple of river drownings.

Ang Enot na Bubo nin Tabo

Tano baya ta abang sakit magbubo pag amay na aga ano? Lano na kung Lunes abot sa Biyernes?
Ini ang urualdaw kong sakit. Yaon ka na sa laog kan banyo. Nagbubulos na ang tubig sa salog ta pano na ang Orocan. Nakaunat unat ka na. Naka-udo ka na asin nakabuhos nin limang balde ta dae nagiirarom. Ang sunod mo nang dapat gibuhon. Kuanon ang tabong pula asin bendisyonan ang sadiri para sa panibagong aldaw.
Tanu na ta garo sobrang lapigot bago ini maibubo ano?
Hay hugak.
Pag naibubo mo na kaya obligado ka nang magsabon, maghiso (para sa iba), magbulos nin pangopisina asin puunan na naman ang urualdaw na kalbaryo. Abang siram sana maghigda entirong aldaw sa kama ano? Aram ko nagibo na ni kan kadaklan. Sa kahugakan mo, duwang aldaw na dae ka nagkarigos, tigparapindot mo lang remote control buong aldaw sabay mabuhat lang kung malamon na naman. Ini ang buhay.
Pero kaipuhan talagang mabubo nin tabo eh. Maski sobrang lipot kan tubig, maski sobrang siram pa maglitong litong sa kama, maski sobrang langit ang makipagulmungan sa saindong namomootan, mabubo ta mabubo ka man giraray ta arog kayan ang buhay. Pano ka na sana makakan, ang sabi ngani?
Pano ka na sana makakabakal kan mga piratang dvd na gusto mong dalanon habang naghihigda?
Pano ka na sana makakan masiram kung maung sagrak?
Kaya uyan ako sa opisina maski Huwebes, na eu ang tamang aldaw na hugak ta nasa tahaw kan semana, asin nakakabagot na. Ta kaipuhan magbubo nin tabo para may dikit na kuwartang maitago.

Got Milk?

Blame it on a terrible hangover that I finally got myself into putting in Milk. Yes, Milk, the movie about the first openly gay man who held public office in San Francisco. I had such faith in Sean Penn, having delivered the goods in Dead Man Walking and I am Sam, that I thought that the gay storyline would not be a distraction.

Five minutes in, Milk is voice recording his last will and the events that led up to his assassination. This is followed by a true-to-life (that's how they call it in Pinas) scene of a lady announcing that the Mayor and Harvey Milk have been shot dead. This shaping to be a honest to goodness biopic.

Ten minutes in, Harvey is going down on a subway and meets a stranger tells him that it's his birthday and if he wants to join him. Their eyes meet, someone places the hand on the neck, and I press the forward button faster than they could touch lips.

Harvey and Scotty move to San Francisco with hopes of more acceptance of their relationship. They start a photography business called Castro Cameras and lure their fellow birds into turning the street into their new nest. Soon after, the length of Castro Street is predominantly occupied by homosexuals. Yes, I forwarded, count, three times due to uncomfortable guy-guy suggestive sexual scenes.

In view of widespread abuse and discrimination against gay persons (police brutality on gays, firing teachers who have gay tendencies), Harvey Milk decides to run for a seat in the district supervisor. He loses for three straight times. Scotty quits as he gets tired of Milk's political ambition. He finally wins it in 1979. I forwarded it two more times due to brokebakan, and I have had enough and stopped from there.

Just yesterday, I was curious as whatever happened to harvey, I wikied the movie and found out he was shot dead by his fellow supervisor (Josh Brolin) for their disagreements on the passages of certain ordinances. On a personal note, I think watching Milk is an accomplishment as I have gone almost two-thirds of the movie and did not stop. With Brokeback Mountain, it was the tent scene and I was kaput.

I am sure it was a well made film and Sean Penn deserves the Oscar nomination. Yes, I did not see him in the movie, I saw Harvey Milk, that's how good he is. Go ahead and watch it, be forwarned, the girls will never come.

Rate: Not Applicable

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist

I have read somewhere that nothing good can come out of anything if it is past 2 AM.

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist is a peek into one night of barhopping between Nick, a member of a quarter-gay rock band and Norah, a college bound teenager who hasn't quite grasped her taste in men. These two cross paths when Norah in a instantaneous moment asks Nick to be his boyfriend for five minutes to show him off to her drunk friend. From there on they realize that they have entangled life. As Nick and Norah are kissing they are interrupted by Nick's ex who happens to be Norah's acquaintance. Norah in that moment deduces that Nick is the maker of the discarded cds for his ex that Norah is absolutely thrilled of.

Quite complicated yet?

No, it is not, actually. It is a simple story of how two persons can easily form a connection in one night in spite of awkward situations, disappointing decisions, unexpected realizations and of course that friendster third degree connections.

I cannot actually appreciate to a certain level the mood of the movie and how much it can realistically depict the city that never sleeps but nevertheless, I genuinely felt the bond made by two persons overnight. In that essence, this film reminds me of Before Sunrise, which shows how much we would not want to let time pass away to capture a moment.

While it may be branded as a typical romantic comedy, I think Nick and Norah is more than just that, it shows that young people no matter how shallow they are stereotyped (always after the sex) can still spot the genuine thing when it comes to relationships. Or that gay people are not obnoxiously loud or screamingly dress like it's always Halloween, they too can be prim and proper and be friends with women with large boobs (sorry, couldn't help it).

Coming into this movie, I was expecting a good to great soundtrack and a typical story. Yes in a sense I get both and though I wouldn't watch this infinitely, it made its mark.

7.5 out of 10.

Soft Spot for Service

I lose my boxer's stance when it comes to drivers.

There was this one time, I got so drunk that I puked inside a tricycle. Instead of just paying 20 pesos, which was already thrice the fare from Centro to our house, I paid 100.

There was this one time, during the Peñafrancia fiesta, Ninoy and I paid the driver separately with 100 pesos plus a merry greeting of "Happy Fiesta Padi!"

There was this one time, in fact it's almost every time, I would pay fifty pesos for a ride home during the ungodly hours when "double ride" equivalent to 14 pesos would suffice.

There was this one time, there were four of us, one is going to Diversion, the other to San Felipe, another to Francia, and me Santa Cruz-bound, we gave the guy 100 pesos.

There are countless times when the minimum fare of seven pesos would have put glee to these drivers faces but I insist on giving extra. Some would be infuriated by an instance when you ride a trike and direct to be sent to an exact location and the driver sends you to a walking distance portion that is obviously convenient to him (a fellow passenger is on the nearer route, more passengers in a nearby location). Some would be mad at the thought of drivers not consenting to a fare that is even 50 cents less than the prescribed minimum when at most times, when they don't have enough change these servicemen have the nerves to tell you they don't have any change left to give you. Me? I would not mind one bit and just let it pass.

There is an explanation to this soft spot and most of my close friends know it. My biological father is/was a driver. He drove taxicabs and a jeepney. I had this close encounter with riding upfront on his monumento-recto jeepney route all the while salivating at all those fare coins. Driving was a tiresome job that left him like a beat up Andre the Giant on a three count. It was a thankless job that sees on a daily basis swearing women on the inappropriate speed, juvenile delinquents catching free rides on a sabit basis, policemen also catching free ride by playing the badge card, and of course those pesky holduppers.

When he was still servicing a taxi in Manila, one of the rare news I got when I was in elementary was that he was held up at gunpoint/knifepoint and was stabbed three times to the stomach. He was supposedly 50-50 yet as the cliche goes, masamang damo, eh di hithitin pa.

Lastly, one of the vague memories of my old man still involved his driving saga. He was a hotel taxi. Hotel taxis queued up for hours infront of those Roxas Boulevard five-star hotels in hope of landing a big time guest. These guests go to red light districts in Makati, and the taxis wait for them until they go out, at of course a special price. On a side note, my old man knew a bit of Nihonggo specifically for these guests.

At one time, my father picked up a Japanese national who during the course of the trip forgot his briefcase in the taxi. My father, as stupid as he is, (just kidding) did not bother to look at the insides of the case, and traced it back to the hotel. Due to his honesty, the Jap gave him 500 pesos as reward.

I rarely talk about my old man, and there is a reason for that. I do not know much about him except for the alcohol abuse, the endless gambling, and the women on the side. As he has proudly mused he was an ABS guy, Alak-Babae-Sugal. Surely there is no point in telling that darker side, but this soft spot for drivers when traced to a driver close to blood can explain a lot.

That Big 3-0

Yeah, yeah, countless sentences have went on like this, "I am turning thirty and yet I have not amounted to anything. When I was a kid..." Blah, blah and bleh.

Those who know me, even mildly, would characterize me as an immature, irresponsible, restless, directionless, unmotivated twenty nine year old. I don't aspire much. I haven't found my passion. I still play a lot of playstation. I drift along faster than a driftwood does on a still lake. And it has never been a problem for me. Not until lately when my biological clock is fast ticking into the big 3-0.

I am turning thirty. on a brighter side of things, I still qualify into the Roman calendar. On a better note, jueteng runs until 36 and lotto goes far into 45. On a gloomy side, I can no longer claim to be mid-20s. I should probably shift my taste in women to the motherly and/or the separated. And my music taste should no longer include Callalily and the emo-shit these kids are raving about. Should I be drinking brandy? I don't think so.

Come to think of it, what's the difference between 30 and 20 or 30 and 40? They are all just numbers. Some witty guy even made famous that "Life begins at 40" quote. This I suspect is because that guy is Steve Carrell. Anyway, back to the 30 figure. Thomas Edison invented the phonograph when he was 30. Jesus turned water into wine when he was 28. Jose Rizal started writing Noli Me Tangere at age 25. Kobe Bryant won his first championship when he was 22.

We have to amount to something in thirty years of existence! I know it is great that I am a father to a wonderful daughter at this stage in my life but at this point that is more of a blessing than an accomplishment. The myth of mid life is a pressure that keeps me in my toes, as should any thirtyish white and blue collar worker who is at the foot of the corporate ladder.

If these are all inconsequential to you, good for you, but right now, it is all me. Growing up with nowhere to grow to.

Powerland

Conformity is the hardest word to agree upon. We breathe the air where normalcy dictates happiness. We look inside the box where happiness equates contentment. We touch success where money, position and social status bequeaths respect.

Boxes are purposely shaped that way to keep something in it. I am in that box and it sure is air tight in here. I can't breathe. It is dark. It is suffocating. When you have a boring desk job good enough to sustain a young family, I have to be in this box.

I have this kingdom for a box:
a) A baroness is so inept at her job the she is clueless on how a her transcripts on a kingdom visit is supposed to look like. How is this for a report "We went to Leytedom early in the morning. We saw the beautiful sunrise as we are near the port of Leytedom." How's that for a start!@! I will spare you the rest of that crap where she describes her whole trip that proves that she is no smarter than a 5th grader.

b) That same baroness has a tax collector for a husband who is also the one computing their own taxes. Guess what? Even if they are living lavishly, complete with big stables, a large throne, they pay equal tax to peasants livinh under the bridges and have breadcrumbs and leftovers to live off to. To top that off, she is the head of the whole fiasco, the taxation department. How is that for convenience?

c) A baron is the model of promptness. He comes in at 8 am sharp, after 2 to 3 hours, wanders off to neverneverwhere - be it courtland, or educland, or paradise, wherever, returns just five minutes before 5 pm and convenes an all important daily afternoon meeting (it is termed a seminar nowadays due to the agonizing length). They call this practice moonlighting, by the way.

d) That same baron speaks in volumes of doing the right things, of meeting the minds, and of valued principles and unshattered integrity only to be exposed as pure hypocrisy by his on the side arrangements with shrewd bandits who thin the people's money with shady deals and substandard food supplies. The great irony in all that is that he is a man of God.

e) A prince who is lately being purposedly left off of afterhours drinking sessions raves leaps and bounds of his efforts and intentions to fight off all wrongdoing, improve the kingdom all for the greater glory of the constituents (seems like a campaign platform, right???) is a well known schemer with former corrupt tax colelctors and erstwhile abusive militia men.

f) This prince was allegedly involved in the underreading of his tax in the kingdom which he oversees. He was also allegedly pushing for new bow and arrows which his cohorts sponsor. At the lowest blow, he was also allegedly involved in the pushing of dried leaves as the new uniforms for the guards. See, these are all allegations. Nothing more.

g) On top of all of these royalty is a rather methodical queen. She seems to be the fairest of all with a the high heavens above as her magic mirror. The queen is a giving generous ruler who blooms with appreciative gratitude and unrelentful compliment, has double edged parsel tongue that says pleasantries on the onset and the exact opposite on the backhand. Her rule is marked by kingdom expansion, better food subsidies masks the shady contracts with nearby kingdoms, the placement of questionable taskmasters, and several other self serving decrees.

This is the kingdom I live in. A vile and corrupt rule that has consumed the real and pure essence of a community. When you are a young visionary with nothing but aspirations of a better life, that dream may instantly be turned into an illusion by pretentious concern, compromised principles, brilliant stupidity and shimmering greed for money and power. And you can only hope that someone just shakes that box and you miraculously fall off without a scratch and a label.

Dreams of Fire (Slumdog Soundtrack)

The Enyaish rendition to this mesmerizing love song caught my attention from the crop of equally great music from the movie soundtrack of Slumdog Millionaire. This has the feel of the sun setting on the calm blue sea. Whenever I hear this song, I have that same soothing, mesmerizing feeling when I first heard Angel by Sarah Mclachlan. Female music rarely appeal to me except when they are translated to music videos with all the bottom bumping and skin showing. This song has rather a calming effect that actually makes you forget about tension or stress or any other negative vibe, that for the whole four minutes of its duration. Enjoy the music:

Dreams On Fire
by: Suzzane
RadioReloaded.com | Download thousands of MP3s

Lyrics:

You are my waking dream
You're all that's real to me
You are the magic in the world i see

You are in the prayer i saying
You are in my two my names

You are the faith that make me belive
Dreams on fire
Higher n higher

Passion burning
Ride on the path
Once for forever yours
In me
All your heart
Dreams on fire
Higher n higher

You are my ocean rage
You are my thought each day
you are the laughter from childhood games
You are things further down
You are where i belong

You are make me feel in every song

Dreams on fire
Higher n higher
Passion burning
Ride on the path
Once for forever yours
In me
All your heart
Dreams on fire
Higher n higher