Ever since Lau got an essay of hers published in the Inquirer's Young Blood column, I've been having a good think about what I should write about, and how I should write it.
Obviously I haven't made any progress. It's been six years since that happened. (Six years! Matanda na tayo, 'nay!) The only things I have decided on is a Rachel Berry quote in the beginning - I thought of this back when I assumed that Glee would be a cult favorite rather than a viral phenomenon - and a very basic, very general theme: fame.
As to what's in it, well, I've never really thought about it. I've had a few thoughts here and there, but they never really develop into something, because life gets in the way, or at least my blog entries about it do. I've written a lot of good blog entries since, I think, but not the blog entry that will appear on print.
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1/29/2014
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1/28/2014
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I bumped into Javi at the mall last Sunday. I came from the clinic to, well, have that freak bald spot checked, and I was looking for a new iPhone cable, because the ones Apple provided were apparently extremely brittle. He, on the other hand, was... well... I don't know, really.
"'Musta na?" he asked.
"How are you?" I asked back.
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"'Musta na?" he asked.
"How are you?" I asked back.
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1/26/2014
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I spent a good three hours this afternoon - an hour on the road, two waiting for a doctor to have my freak bald spot checked - listening to Triple J, partly because it's their annual countdown, and partly because I just like it.
I don't really need to bore you with the details, mostly because I already have bored you with them, in the many times I've blogged about it here and, especially, on earthings! Let's just say that with a phone that can connect to relatively fast mobile Internet, having to listen to local radio in most places is now mostly avoided. Why sit through DJs prattling on about things, before playing another song for the nth time in a day? I can plug my earphones in (or, if I'm driving, plug it into the car) and listen to more stuff. More imaginative stuff, more thought out stuff, just more stuff.
But there's one thing that's stopping me from listening completely to foreign radio stations on the road: the route I take doesn't have a good connection all throughout. Once you enter my subdivision, my connection loses its 3G-ness and heads to EDGE territory, and you can say goodbye to whatever it is you're listening. (Any discussion on whether your network is better than mine is not welcome in this blog entry.) I'd be able to listen to a Minnesotan's take on alternative for an hour or so, from the moment I leave my office, but once you get past the river dividing Muntinlupa and Bacoor, well, you're at the mercy of a cellsite.
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I don't really need to bore you with the details, mostly because I already have bored you with them, in the many times I've blogged about it here and, especially, on earthings! Let's just say that with a phone that can connect to relatively fast mobile Internet, having to listen to local radio in most places is now mostly avoided. Why sit through DJs prattling on about things, before playing another song for the nth time in a day? I can plug my earphones in (or, if I'm driving, plug it into the car) and listen to more stuff. More imaginative stuff, more thought out stuff, just more stuff.
But there's one thing that's stopping me from listening completely to foreign radio stations on the road: the route I take doesn't have a good connection all throughout. Once you enter my subdivision, my connection loses its 3G-ness and heads to EDGE territory, and you can say goodbye to whatever it is you're listening. (Any discussion on whether your network is better than mine is not welcome in this blog entry.) I'd be able to listen to a Minnesotan's take on alternative for an hour or so, from the moment I leave my office, but once you get past the river dividing Muntinlupa and Bacoor, well, you're at the mercy of a cellsite.
Read more »
1/22/2014
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There's something I realized in the past few weeks of blogging and tweeting and getting blocked: it must be really nice working for a production company.
I mean, any production company, whether you're a hot shot concert organizer who can bring these semi-obscure bands to local venues, or a one-man operation personally selecting outrageous suits for some D-lister with aspirations to fame. Yeah, from where I am one seems cooler than the other, but then again, someone else will think the complete opposite. Still, I stand by my observation: it must be really nice working for a production company.
For one, nothing beats the rush of setting something big up. I've been there, but then again, I was in charge of the logistics for a pretty big event my office organized, one that involved several meetings with at least three hotel staffers, a guest list that ballooned to 180 people (and one that would, sadly, shrink to around 120) and a lot of running around, making sure the laptops work and the 150-minute pre-event mix I stitched together plays out perfectly. Yes, it gets tiring, and there are many times when you wish it was all over so you could lie down in bed and snore without a care, but the rush right near the end, when you realize you've pulled it off - that's something.
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I mean, any production company, whether you're a hot shot concert organizer who can bring these semi-obscure bands to local venues, or a one-man operation personally selecting outrageous suits for some D-lister with aspirations to fame. Yeah, from where I am one seems cooler than the other, but then again, someone else will think the complete opposite. Still, I stand by my observation: it must be really nice working for a production company.
For one, nothing beats the rush of setting something big up. I've been there, but then again, I was in charge of the logistics for a pretty big event my office organized, one that involved several meetings with at least three hotel staffers, a guest list that ballooned to 180 people (and one that would, sadly, shrink to around 120) and a lot of running around, making sure the laptops work and the 150-minute pre-event mix I stitched together plays out perfectly. Yes, it gets tiring, and there are many times when you wish it was all over so you could lie down in bed and snore without a care, but the rush right near the end, when you realize you've pulled it off - that's something.
Read more »
1/20/2014
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I was clutching two big plastic bags filled with stuffed toys. Dogs, three kinds - one black, one brown, one cream, vaguely - each clutching in their mouths a Christmas ornament of sort. One had a wreath, another had a candy cane, and yet another had mistletoe, I think.
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1/13/2014
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At the end of my three weeks on break - to be specific, 23 days, weekends included in that count, of course - I was afraid I would have a hard time getting back to my routine.
The fact that I did not, as it turns out, file a single leave for the whole of 2013 - that partly explains why I was able to file a three-week leave and still have one day of vacation left over - helped a bit in making that routine, well, a routine. That, and my need for structure in my life, a lesson I absentmindedly absorbed while dealing with the fact that I have ADHD. So, on most days, I wake up at five in the morning, have breakfast, take a bath, wear my clothes, and either wait for the rest to finish preparing, or leave by yourself, preferably by six in the morning.
In theory I should have everything prepared by the night before: which bag I'm bringing, what's inside the bag, that sort of thing. Also, your nails. And your shoes. Especially on a Sunday. Shine your shoes so you don't have to do that in the morning. Cut your nails, too. You can shave whenever, and it will stay that way, perhaps until I decide that I prefer the feeling of mentholated shaving cream in the evening before you sleep, or in the morning after you've brushed your teeth.
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The fact that I did not, as it turns out, file a single leave for the whole of 2013 - that partly explains why I was able to file a three-week leave and still have one day of vacation left over - helped a bit in making that routine, well, a routine. That, and my need for structure in my life, a lesson I absentmindedly absorbed while dealing with the fact that I have ADHD. So, on most days, I wake up at five in the morning, have breakfast, take a bath, wear my clothes, and either wait for the rest to finish preparing, or leave by yourself, preferably by six in the morning.
In theory I should have everything prepared by the night before: which bag I'm bringing, what's inside the bag, that sort of thing. Also, your nails. And your shoes. Especially on a Sunday. Shine your shoes so you don't have to do that in the morning. Cut your nails, too. You can shave whenever, and it will stay that way, perhaps until I decide that I prefer the feeling of mentholated shaving cream in the evening before you sleep, or in the morning after you've brushed your teeth.
Read more »
1/08/2014
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He was 18 when he had his first child. His girlfriend is a year younger than him.
He now has four children. He has a job, but it does not pay well, considering how many mouths he has to feed.
His house isn't what you'd call a house. Sure, he considers it his home, still, and a roof over one's head is still a roof over one's head no matter what it's made of. But it is, essentially, a slum. Metal sheets and scrap plywood for walls, some scrap lumber holding them together. In one corner is a cardboard sheet that flaps open when you choose to; the hole is big enough for his kids to go through.
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He now has four children. He has a job, but it does not pay well, considering how many mouths he has to feed.
His house isn't what you'd call a house. Sure, he considers it his home, still, and a roof over one's head is still a roof over one's head no matter what it's made of. But it is, essentially, a slum. Metal sheets and scrap plywood for walls, some scrap lumber holding them together. In one corner is a cardboard sheet that flaps open when you choose to; the hole is big enough for his kids to go through.
Read more »
1/05/2014
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We're on the last days of the Metro Manila Film Festival, that time of the year when all cinemas are obligated to screen locally-made films. If you've been waiting for, say, the chance to see Inside Llewin Davis actually projected on a silver-painted wall, well, you will have to wait, because now's the time for us to watch what our local filmmakers can do.
This year, that happens to be, well, a quirky comedy that's past its welcome, a horror film which a friend describes as "80% romantic comedy", a couple of biopics (emphasis on "pic"), and, once again, Vic Sotto.
Ah, My Little Bossings: the movie every film lover hates this year. Or at least that's what I get when I check my Facebook feed. The reviews I've seen of the film aren't exactly complimentary. Of course they wouldn't be. At first glance it isn't really a film built for substance. It's built to earn money, on the back of child wonder Ryzza Mae Dizon, and perhaps the endless promotion on Eat Bulaga! Critics have pointed out every fault possible, from the story (or lack thereof) to more existential ones. And many on my Facebook feed have shared those reviews with a sneer on their faces. "I can't believe the masses are wasting their money on this film," a relative of mine wrote.
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This year, that happens to be, well, a quirky comedy that's past its welcome, a horror film which a friend describes as "80% romantic comedy", a couple of biopics (emphasis on "pic"), and, once again, Vic Sotto.
Ah, My Little Bossings: the movie every film lover hates this year. Or at least that's what I get when I check my Facebook feed. The reviews I've seen of the film aren't exactly complimentary. Of course they wouldn't be. At first glance it isn't really a film built for substance. It's built to earn money, on the back of child wonder Ryzza Mae Dizon, and perhaps the endless promotion on Eat Bulaga! Critics have pointed out every fault possible, from the story (or lack thereof) to more existential ones. And many on my Facebook feed have shared those reviews with a sneer on their faces. "I can't believe the masses are wasting their money on this film," a relative of mine wrote.
Read more »
1/04/2014
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Never did I know that what I am doing is not, apparently, enough.
Never did I know that assuming all of this is enough is definitely not cutting it. What you thought was you being the most biased you can be is actually not enough. Someone out there is outdoing you. Someone out there will do something so amazing that others will wish, well, you should be doing something like this, or maybe this thing exactly.
Never did I know, or at least realize, that being in a relationship means ever-increasing expectations about what you should do, and what you should be getting. What you thought was the finish line is just the beginning of the race - and yes, this should have been obvious a long time ago, what with successive stages and all, but you have to constantly revise your goals, go higher with every passing day, so as not to hit a rut.
Read more »
Never did I know that assuming all of this is enough is definitely not cutting it. What you thought was you being the most biased you can be is actually not enough. Someone out there is outdoing you. Someone out there will do something so amazing that others will wish, well, you should be doing something like this, or maybe this thing exactly.
Never did I know, or at least realize, that being in a relationship means ever-increasing expectations about what you should do, and what you should be getting. What you thought was the finish line is just the beginning of the race - and yes, this should have been obvious a long time ago, what with successive stages and all, but you have to constantly revise your goals, go higher with every passing day, so as not to hit a rut.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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