Monstrosities in Christmas
The stores close down earlier than usual. The MMFF (mutha-mutha-fucka-fucka!) starts taking over the movie line-up in cinemas. People go home to provinces and have parties of their own so there's no use calling up anyone for a night-cap cause everyone's got one. The Scrooge in me awakens but wants to do nothing more than sleep some more, thanks to five or so of my neighbors who happen to have bought themselves a nifty Magic Sing and every unit seems to be connected to four units of 3-by-6-by-3 foot prehistoric speakers that do nothing but reverberate waves of subliminal commands that would shatter your bones to fine powdery consistency in just under 4 hours of exposure. They sing Paglisan, Bed of Roses, Hey, Jude, and Green Green Grass of Home in a pattern that's sung one or two seconds after the lyrics had be queued. Being a true believer to the spirit of Christmas, I just ended up shouting my nicotine-choked vocal chords out hoping that the blasted singer could hear me and that it could eventually get him in rhythm.
I slept at 4:30 am after Christmas eve struggling to have one pillow choke up the noise over one ear and woke up at 10:30 am to the sound of what seems like the same singer doing Livin' La Vida Loca with the same gusto as the night before that would escalate William Hung's status to Grammy-calibre. As the mid-morning light hurt my eyes, I strained to get my bearings and groaned, "don't these guys ever need some fucking sleep?!" I gave up decided it's no use fighting the tone-deaf so I got out of bed and helped myself at breakfast with what's left over from last night. I was looking forward to a movie-marathon on Christmas day, something some of my friends came up with since watching Exodus could get one person a day-pass to Enchanted Kingdom.
Off to the theater I went.
The Glorietta movie house is cramped. Never in recent years have I experienced watching with a crowd that predominantly consist of children whose parents are busy shush-ing them to silence while getting foodstuff in plastic bags that by itself made really irritating noise. It seems that everyone is talking, eating, and moving in their seats all at the same time! As for the Exodus movie, it's a bunch of crap: melting make-ups, incredible tikbalang costume, short fight-scene, slapstick comedy, and cheap thrill all rolled into one 17M costing waste of time. Good thing I had 8 Mile and Serenity the night before. If not for the Enchanted Kingdom pass, the gorgeous Aubrey Miles (who happens to be the most fashionable Aswang I have laid my eyes on), and my friends, I would have left and wrote something for Man-Blog instead.
Speaking of Man-Blog, we're PinoyBlog's blog of the week! That's less than a month from live date and the site is already making waves. Ok, make that tsunamis.
What a way to end the year and it ain't over yet 'til I give out my Christmas presents. That is, if I get the time to make a list and get the presents. The queue over the cashier in malls is just surreal so I decided to make everyone else rush while I wait for this craziness to subside.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Best Party Ever!!!
Friday night was a blast.
If there was anything the company I'm working with is good at, it's throwing the best kick-ass parties in town. There's nothing of the group dancing contests where participants had to prepare and practice late nights only to not eat during the event itself because they might puke or just lamely not fit in their costumes. Nothing of the old-school raffle draw routine where the winners are called out by some bimbo-loser-gameshow-host-wannabe while the crowd sits idly, waiting for a chance at luck and killing time by talking about the same old bullshit to anyone willing enough to listen while they down their 4th bottle of warm beer. None of the games where everyone is forced to make fun of themselves or pretend to be having fun even if it's the last thing in their minds to win a 2006 Planner that's given out by other companies to their employees in exchange for nothing that's as humiliating as breaking your nose as your floor-dive or having your mouth stitched because some over-competitive asshole unknowingly flexed an arm towards your baby face as he did what he normally does best---be an over-competitive asshole. And best of all, no DJs and no mixed CD compilation of dance music over a craggy low-budget sound-system-on-wheels.
In the pre-party, that's about two hours before the gates to the main hall opens, people could choose to enjoy three booths, all themed, and win a Sony Discman just by singing and getting a minimum score of 95 over a rigged magic-sing which does not generate a score lower than 95, for example. I mean, come on, 5 minutes of shame in exchange for a Discman that P&G gave everyone of its employees like three Christmases ago? No dice! I'd list myself even if there was only "My Way" in the songbook! In another booth, you exchange a stub off your wrist for a cool zombie drink and a CD with relaxing chilled tracks compiled by Sony BMG exclusively for our "icy" brand.
I did not anymore get to even partake in the singing, much as I would want to but to everybody else's delight, because the sound of engine revving suddenly covered the Phil-Trade Center from the inside out, giving a green light for safe passage to the big, predominantly-red lit, and cozy lounge set-up of the womb that's home to about 8 hours of one purely awesome night of entertainment. Imagine a well arranged place that could sit 900 people strong. Nothing's impossible with a group of very abled people comprising our Marketing department, fat cash to burn, and an arsenal of the best event organizers.
Right after dinner that followed some videos showcasing the year-that-was, the party was set off by Ruffa Mae Quinto who did several song and dance numbers. The ladies envied the way her silken armpits flawlessly matched the color of every inch of her exposed skin while the men fished out their cameras with the hope of clearly capturing the cleavage that's surely the subject of the spunkiest moments done in solitude. No one gave a damn that she did not rehearse her dance number properly and that she can't do ad libs even while reading the next parts of the programme via the cue cards she's holding. She just took everyone's breath away, jologs or not, with or without gender.
Dinner was served buffet style and the drinks flowed for beer, wine, soda, and water drinkers, alike. Booze was estimated to cover eight bottles of whichever for each. And that's a whole lotta piss under the bridge.
Then the band played on, first setting the pace to the beat of the 80s which I hoped could be over and done with at the very soonest because of the way it made my stomach do triple somersaults. You know those kinds with a very distinct intro-sequence that would cue a signature-move that everybody would either lamely do or try to do. I never did get a liking to that kind of crap, probably for dancing too much of Buttercup in college, against my very will, of course.
(cue lightning and thunder here)
(then, cue smell of burning hair and skin here)Ok!
Ok! I did enjoy it BUT JUST for the praises I got from doing my own thang! You know... the moves? Oh, crap, lets just drop this entire 80s shit altogether and let me move on with my narrative. And stop that involuntary twitch off your lips, you scrawny hag!
There were a total of four bands who took turns in giving the night its different moods: hip hop, dance, alternative rock, pop. There were two setups on the stage that eased a smooth transition between acts. Believe you me, everyone got it on to dancing. Some even did stage dives maybe upon seeing a mirage that's turned the sparsely peopled dance floor into one crazy mosh pit. Everyone's got something to dance onto, except maybe for those whose idea of danceable music is a near-to-real rendition of the
Bohemian Rhapsody who's kind could only be dead right now as I have killed the last of them in a genocidic frenzy I had in my dreams two full moons ago. As for me, I also moved about. In fact, I did the moves and the groove and the
get-get-aw, rendering my body to ache in 37 different locations the next day. Everyone just got crazy, on the dance floor or at the posh dining area, while having fun with colleagues who have become, in time's due course, more friends than strangers.
For the last three bands, I only have but one common and reaffirmed realization: these new breed of performers do not only sing good---they look good enough to eat as well. Short skirts-stroke-shorts, woman-abs as hard as the
pan-de-sal sold at our local neighborhood bakery at 10pm when it had been made at 4am that same day, and beautiful faces coupled with the most seductive of body-erotica movements that made every woman in the hall want to scream: it's un-
FAIR!
Why?!
Hu-waaaaaaayyyyyy?!?!?!
For logistics, coasters were stationed outside the venue from 11pm and are scheduled to leave on hourly intervals for key points in the Metro and beyond (by beyond, I meant Batangas City).
The party cost so much but was worth every cent as a way of thanking those who have made the year's revenue soar to high heavens. That's us. And, to quote the empress of
Marketing herself,
Ms. Mary Ann P, albeit said jokingly with a handfull of audience in an entirely different venue and event, we could all truly say the following words with conviction,
"In all humility, I DESERVE THIS!"
When an old familiar song plays, it could either bring back memories or make you want to turn the blasted radio off. With the music of the Eraserheads, I could only remember the old fun times I had in college when people got drunk or did nothing at all but smoke and stare at freshmen as they walked about the campus looking timid and confused and stupid. Those were great times.
It was in 1995 when I first got hooked with the music of the E-heads. The Cutterpillow Era. I even knew all the tracks in that album in chronological order. I went so far as buy its minus-one cassette tape (ha!) version after I've memorized all the lyrics. I'd play it and wail my lungs away to the tune of Poorman's Grave while I did my laundry on late nights, much to the horror of the neighbors. It's the best Eraserheads album in my opinion, having Superproxy, Waiting For The Bus, Ang Huling El Bimbo, Overdrive, Torpedo, Huwag Mo Nang Itanong, Poorman’s Grave, Walang Nagbago, Yoko, Fine Time, and Fill Her among several other not-so-popular-but-similarly-great tracks. Play the Cutterpillow album and I'd sing along automatically. Did so just recently with Koryn's copy in Ainna's car on the way home from watching the bouldering exhibition match at the 2005 SEA Games. It has been a decade since but I still remember. Weird, man.
It's a pity that in the period when I learned to appreciate the band's songs, you would never anymore chance upon Ely Buendia doing even a single live rendition of his song that did not sound like crap as compared its album counterpart. I've not heard of any great Eraserheads concert either but their songs kept coming and more people continued to love them.
Just recently, I was on my way out of the house when I heard a familiar intro from the radio. I was about to close the door behind me when the vocals came. It definitely wasn't Ely's so I went back and stayed until the track finished. Turns out it was Rico J. Puno for the Eraserheads tribute album entitled Ultraelectromagneticjam. The song's arrangement was superbly done and it suits Rico J. (to the point that I could almost vividly picture him dancing to the El Bimbo in the old days when photos were done in sepia). Best line: "nanini-GAS and aking... katawan..."
I made a mental note of the album's title and bought it on my next trip to the cd store.
With respect to "suitability," rendition, and arrangement combined, the tracks that sounded great were (with 1 as my personal best choice):
- Ang Huling El Bimbo - Rico J. Puno
- Para Sa Masa - Various Artists
- Ligaya - Kitchie Nadal (Best line: "ilang ahit pa ba ang aahitin...")
The tracks that did not quite make it to my top three but whose remake is notably great are (in no particular order):
- Alkohol - Radioactive Sago Project
- With A Smile - South Border
- Superproxy2K6 – FrancisM
Alkohol turned out great with the style that's uniquely Lourd de Veyra's, more said than sang, rendered in funky ska genre.
With A Smile also came out well, after I've listened to it several times, mainly because South Border made the song as though it was their own. The R&B way. South Border's vocalist Jay Durias did the arrangement himself.
The new Superproxy2K6 is edgy. It amused me how Ely Buendia did backup vocals for this particular track. Remember how it was Francis M who did the rap part in the original Superproxy?
The ladies did a good job: Barbie Almabis for Overdrive; Aia de Leon of Imago for Spoliarium; Chin Alcantara of MYMP for Huwag Mo Ng Itanong; and Isha for Torpedo.
Torpedo and Huwag Mo Ng Itanong would have been great if they weren't sang by women for obvious reasons. Just listen to the track and hum along and not pay the lyrics mind because the renditions are actually nicely done. As for Barbie, I don't get her vocal style enough to actually give her cover version justice. I find any smallish-horny-like-voice-style annoying but she managed to pull it off with her remake.
I am not familiar with Tikman Ang Langit so I'll skip the track. It's never been a personal favorite. I'll do the same for Alapaap by 6 Cycle Mind and Maling Akala by Brownman Revival which I feel indifferent towards .
Now for the tracks done so bad that it makes me want to burn myself a copy of the CD without them:
- Magasin - Paolo Santos
- Huwag Kang Matakot - Orange & Lemons
- Pare Ko - Sponge Cola
- Hard To Believe – Cueshe
Paolo Santos does a hard-accent in pronouncing the words making it sound mediocre (i.e. naki-TA kiTA sa i-SANG maga-SIN). Cueshe and Sponge Cola did not have a hard time desecrating the two tracks via cheap-and-amateurishly-videokelike singing and slang-tagalog accent, respectively. Orange & Lemons did not give the song any distinction from any of their other popular songs from the way it was sang to the instrumentals. Listen to Pinoy Ako and you could already pretend to have heard it. Also, lets face it, anyone who tries hard to sound like the Eraserheads when doing a cover track for the band will fail. Nothing beats the real thing.
I haven't listened to any other CD aside from Ultraelectromagneticjam from the time I bought my copy last week until the time I'm doing this post. Last I heard, stocks were running out fast. Go get yourself one and let the good times roll. Again.
The last of the thank you's in the inside portion of the front cover summarizes what everybody else who have grown up with the company of the E-heads music would also want to say, which goes:
Para kina Buddy, Ely, Marcus at Raimund:
MARAMING SALAMAT SA WALANG HUMPAY NA LIGAYA!!!
Disgusted Manual Reader
Manual is a monthly, locally published men's fashion and lifestyle magazine under Mega Magazine & Publications, Inc. (MMPI). I own every single one of its issue from when it first came out in April 2003, then under the able guidance of its editor in chief, Vanni de Sequera. It has balanced articles on sports, current events, the latest gadgets, cars, travel, fashion, and style. It's Dear Mentor, Wanderlust, and Bitchin Bartender sections are something to look forward to month after month.
I bought the November 2005 issue and excitedly tore the plastic covering apart. As ordinarily satisfied as I was for the other new issues as I browse the content, there's just something amiss with this one. Like a bad aftertaste or something similarly disgusting as cheap sex. I tried to lay my finger on my source of discontent and, to quote Archimedes minus the act of going out of the public bath and running in the streets naked, I almost exclaimed, "Eureka! I have found it," out loud.
I have expected some change coming after RJ Ledesma became editor in chief starting October 2005. Right as I was, things generally shifted and, um, regressed.
Noticeable is the change in overall layout when they began using an all-upper-case type set in black colored Arial Black font (most in solid black color) from the table of contents to the title of the articles and the short key-sentences that is supposed to summarize what the whole writeup is about. Not only that it's hard to read in this format, per wikipedia.com, all-caps usage generally connote "shouting" or "attention seeking."
First the font, then there's the blasted comment inserts of the editor-in-chief in eight of the issue's articles. In Tim Tayag's column found in the last few pages of the magazine entitled "Luxury on a Budget," for instance, Mr. Nosy Editor-in-Shit made this insert in the first paragraph of the writeup: (Hey Tim, are you e-mailing this to me from your wireless roaming laptop while cruising around in your dubiously government plate numbered BMW? - ed). In the same article, (Don't project, Tim - ed) and (Ha! - ed) was also thrown in all in the name of poor taste. That's three inserts in one section and it totals to six-fucking-teen for the entire issue! Lame man. Take a crash-course in journalism and come back when you're cultured enough. Bitch! - ed.
Manual has been tantamount in marketing vanity products targeted on men. It was in this magazine that I first cringed on the sight of a man being exfoliated before being subject to a facial beauty mask. It's style section would also normally feature stuff that look really great like shoes, suits, bags, and hair products complete with ways on how to wear and use them thus saving us the embarrassment of asking a sales person for a demo in the mall. This month's style section, however, featured a man and woman in pre-war era clothes. There's also this two full pager of the female model whose cleavage and collar bones were obviously re-touched via airbrush (for enhancement) which could have been alright had Manual been a hair-and-makeup-cum-cosmo magazine! They may have also been expecting their audience to drool over the ornate old cars and mansion and just wear hats with a suite again after the reading experience.
On a final note under their fashion section entitled "Geek to Sleek," eight pages of images and text were devoted to following the developments on the make-over done on some Angelo Mañosa, or Gelo, like anyone actually cared. They dressed him up in 2-pleated business slacks which seemed to be made in the 90s. One photo even has Gelo in very light grey colored casual pants and brown strapped sandals which did not at all make him look gay. And I'm Brad Pitt. Right. They could have actually saved this section for a reality TV that specializes on making helpless souls look less fashionably helpless.
In operating for over two years, Manual must already established its niche in the local market with both male and female readership (evidenced by the mail-in comments, suggestions, and reactions page) that no other local men's style and lifestyle magazine could beat at present, in my opinion. They have continuously served a variety of interesting articles with fresh helpful insights to maintain it. A single issue could spell some irreversibly bad consequence for the stature they have all worked hard in reaching.
I'll still buy the December 2005 issue, for old times' sake. I hope it doesn't call for my performing an exorcism ritual at their office when it comes out (with me saying: demon, be gone!).
The Man Blog
If you could, and I insist that you really should, do drop by
The Man Blog which has just recently gone live. Do note that some contents of the site may not be suitable to the faint hearted, very young children under legal age, loser-cum-unopinionated, sore pessimist, cold fish, and club-weilding-antagonists for socially relevant behavior in the form of well written blog posts.
This is the going to be huge. Huge as in the next big thing to hit the Philippine blogsphere! Don't tell me I didn't warn you.
Yayo, please do not click on the link! Or else, um, no Christmas gift for you from 2005 until you reach the age of 30! I'll tell Santa, too, so that's two gifts short of the three that you normally get every year!
If I could for the rest of my life elbow my way out of all formal, black-tie, white-tie, or suit-donning events, I definitely would. More so if the invite came in short notice. I broke in a fit the instant I got one four days before a major corporate event. Everyone, save for some, will be in suits and you would not want to be caught in a barong in their presence, would you? Neither did I. Based it on a bad past experience.
The event posed several interconnected problems. More like a chain reaction in this order: suits are so damn costly; no tailor would accept to make one for you in 3 days; off-the-rack and generic ready-to-wear suits are almost always ill-fitting and revolting; and, most importantly, I should be on the top 5% list of the best looking people in the event so how the flying f*ck could I pull this off?!
Being the suit jerk that I am, I need to consult with the experts. My hoards of monthly Manual magazines did not help one bit, save for a tip on how to button a three-button suit (top-sometimes, middle-always, bottom-never). I could not blame the local mag, it's too damn hot in this country most of the time, anyway, for readers to pay the thing needed attention. So I consulted the top brass, GQ magazine, for the way to wear one and what styles are socially acceptable at present. It said I should only get to choose between the more modern 2-button suit and the classic three-button ones. Drop the double breasted ones unless I wanted to look like a blast from the freakin' past. The shoulder length should not jut out of your frame: snug, trimmed, and sharp. For a first pair, the choices are dark grey, black, dark blue or dark brown. Pin-striped pattern optional. Tie should be slim or at least narrower that the regular tie cuts around. A tapered shirt would look sharp with one says the pros. Dress-shirt collar should be stiff as a board to lend a distinguished look. Dress shoes a must. Pants should be the same color and cut slim.
The more I read, it felt as though I was slowly yet continuously slipping into a state of calm and nirvana. Not! What the hell was I supposed to do?! The now referred to here happened a week ago and the question remains: was I able to pull it off? Damn right I did! In your face!
Here's how. I went to the department stores and tried fitting all the hideous suits trying to look for one which has just the right shoulder size. Beggars can't be choosers since time is of the penultimate essence, so department stores are a gift from God in times like this. After several hours, I found a charcoal black one at the Landmark. Cost: P2,500. It has as its pair pants of the same color and material and I got that for P850. The suit fit awfully at the cuffs, which was 3/4 of an inch short, and the body, too square and ordinary. The pants loose and shabby. I then brought the items to Exclusively His for alteration. The cuffs were adjusted and so was the fit. The pants were also fixed on my specifications. Alteration cost totals P950 for both. Total suit cost P4,200 when a tailor made one would have been P12,000 from King's Men.
On to the dress shirt which was as much of a challenge as I have slim-lean build, I went to trusty old Tyler and bagged a striped, tapered one. Cost: P2,200.
Now for the tie. In all of Makati, I have only found slim-cut ties in Zara but their colors were way off plus that it's expensive. I finally got one from, of all places, Bench for P350.
The key take-away from reading this post is if you have no time at all to have a suit custom-made, buy one off the rack and have it altered to fit you. It would make no noticeable difference when compared to custom made ones even when placed side by side.
Confidence is everything when wearing a suit. Bring extra.
image above from www.hugoboss.com
DCU's Infinite Crisis
For over six months now an officemate would always give me a countdown towards DC Comic's next big thing: Infinite Crisis. He would say, "Fritz, three months to go until Infinite Crisis," and just recently, "man, Infinite Crisis is here! Seven issues lang yun dude with two cover variations for each!" If you have heard of people getting dozens of comics a month as a hobby, that doesn't beat seeing and personally knowing one. And, boy, do I know one.
I started reading and collecting comicbooks when I was 17. I only ever owned comics from DC's Vertigo (suggested for mature readers) line. Vertigo has Hellblazer (the series on John Constantine) and Sandman, among a host of hundreds of offerings since its creation (as a separate line) in 1993. I really do not have that much knowledge on the Justice League of America, Earth-H, or Batman other than those facets of the DCU featured in Cartoon Network. Being the skeptic that I am, I gave Infinite Crisis a try. I will not act like some know-it-all guru on this subject. I did not recognize some of the characters when I started reading it and I easily got lost in the plot but having bought the prelude DC Countdown to Infinite Crisis #1 somewhat helped. Helped in making me at least understand the current plot but did not necessarily, in any way, earn my earnest approval and appreciation. Yet.
Issue #2 of Infinite Crisis went out in November. I saw Animal Man, a Vertigo character who's series I chanced to have several issues of, and my heart sank when I saw Maxine, his daughter who by heredity inherited some of Animal Man's similar heightened consciousness and rapport in the animal kingdom, featured in the issue. I liked the scene when Maxine hands over a sandwich wrapped in a brown paperbag to Animal Man (click at the image on the right for a larger view). Reminds me of her role in the Children's Crusade Vertigo crossover way back in 1993. The issue also contains a narration of the plot for the entire Infinite Crisis series so first time readers need not fear as Superman himself set out to summarize the entire shift-in-the-center-of-the-universe-which-might-just-jead-to-Armageddon-subplot for us newbies to have something to anchor on.
For issue #1, check out this review done by a DC comicbook fan because I could surely not ever give the book justice with anything I'm about to say since, as I've already said, I'm no big fan and I really don't know the writers and artists on that mainstream side of the DCU. For a review of the prequels, (as there are four miniseries that would ultimately lead to the final cataclysmic Infinite Crisis, namely: Day of Vengeance, Villains United, The OMAC Project, and Rann-Thanagar War) check this link out. All I can say is it was as hard for me to understand the issue having very limited background on characters, plots, and sub-plots as it was for some aficionados to appreciate Infinite Crisis. Go figure.
Despite the criticism, and together with much of the comicbook loving community, I'll still see the miniseries through the end and see where it leads.
Infinite Crisis, Vertigo, Hellblazer, Sandman, Children's Crusade, Day of Vengeance, Villains United, The OMAC Project, Rann-Thanagar War, titles, characters, character names, slogans, logos, and related indicia are trademarks of and copyright of DC Comics.
Cover pictures of issues #1 and 2 above from http://www.dccomics.com
Preview of a page in issue #2 of Infinite crisis from http://www.newsarama.com/
