Monday, November 25, 2002

Inspired by Ernan’s recent digging, I decided to look at my stats as well and discover who gets to my blog and how. There are the expected links from people like Neva, Steph, Alia, Meg, Hannah, Chris, Ernan himself, etc. There’s a link from the Indiefil forums. Then there are those I don’t expect: Gabby’s younger brother Paolo, who recounts an encounter with Quark and me from the Rock Awards, and who I think is Mari Carandang. By far the most interesting, however, are the ones who get sent to this blog while looking something up on google or yahoo. Because what they’re looking for most of the time has no connection to this blog whatsoever. Three guys (I assume) were looking for “Gamitan,” “Gamitan pics,” and “Gamitan trailer,” which makes Gamitan accidents number one in my stats. But the thing is, I don’t think I’ve written about Gamitan since it first came out. These are also confusing: people looking for “Anna Shier,” “Joyce Jimenez,” and “Kris Sevilla blog.” I wish I knew what connection Anna Shier and Joyce Jimenez have with me. I don’t recall writing about them, though maybe I’ve forgotten, but I know it hasn’t been recent. Kris Sevilla I wrote about once when I met her at a Wednesday Group session. Someone looking for “Batang West Side DVD” also found his/her way here, as well as the more ominously suspicious “script writer of Kailangan Kita.” Should I be frightened that this blog was the result of that search? Finally, my favorite: someone trying really hard to find “lesbian girls powerpoint presentation.” Whoever you are: if you DID find anything, send me a link, alright?
So I dropped off the face of the Earth for four days because of mangoes.

Neva's mom and her stepdad Les have a mango farm (Kokomojo) in Guimaras, which, if you are a mango aficionado, you will know as the place where the best mangoes come from. Not just in the Philippines, but THE WORLD. Cool, no? I had to read up on this stuff because I wrote a brochure, that Le Sexy Mark Lavin beautifully designed. Anyway, there's this Asian Ethnic Food Fair that just took place at the World Trade Center, site of the most recent NU Rock Awards. Their farm had a booth, and we manned it from Friday to Sunday. Thursday was spent getting materials, getting ready, setting up the booth, picking up brochures and tarps and whatnot (unfortunately, we missed Hibla because of this, though from reports of Mich and Quark maybe unfortunately is not the right word). The Food Expo wasn't bad. It's the first time I've been involved with actually being an exhibitor at one of these things; usually I'm just a visitor with my family. But seeing everything that goes into it is an experience. You always go home dead tired from being cheerful, you always lack sleep, your muscles start freezing up from sitting down all day. It was also amazing seeing how much food there is from our country that I am simply unaware of. All sorts of jams and drinks and small snacks. Thankfully most every booth had some kind of free samples to give out. I swear, the whole time I was there I didn't pay for a single meal. Whenever I was hungry I'd just take a walk around getting free food samples and drinks, then I'd be fine. The only problem is your stomach has to be able to mix all sorts of foods from chocolate to mango rum to dilis to sardines to pili nuts to crackers and salad dressing to passion fruit jam. Yum. We shared a booth with Don Roberto's Mango Wine, which claims to be the first Mango Wine in the world, and whenever the owner wasn't there me and the guy manning the booth would take shots. We'd also attack the Crispy Spicy Dilis when we had the chance.

Mostly, though, I am becoming sick of mangoes. 3 days of chewing dried mangoes, smelling mangoes, seeing mangoes and drinking mangoes will do that to you. Not only that, but the unused leftover mangoes we didn't use was generously given by Neva to my family, and I can't even look at them without immediately turning away (my mom and cousin are thankful, though).

There was also a Garden and Pets Show as well as a Christmas Bazaar (I guess the WTC really is that big). And because Neva is Neva she got some new pets. 5 Gray Java birds, who we now call The Hives because they all look like they're wearing suits. She's taking very good care of them, and they're in her flat which she shares now with her brother Kline. Just last night, upon finding some ants near the birdcage: "Stupid, stupid ants!"


The Down video won at the Rock Awards, so congratulate Quark (who directed), Chris (who shot), Lia (who edited), Mich (who styled), and Joey (who provided) when you see 'em. Boldstar won Best New Artist, too. Cool beans. I don't think I need to write about the Rock Awards anymore, everybody else pretty much covered all the bases. It was a riot. No, really.

The Rock Awards reminded me: I really want Daydream Cycle's album.


Went to Quark's class today, which I suppose is really his first because he gave an actual lecture that was 2 hrs and 15 mins long. I took some pics but don't know when they can be up.


Of course when you haven't been online in a while it's hard not to react to some of your friends' blogs, like Goldie's disturbing story of the priest who walks out on a confession just because this girl finally got up the courage to confess to her abortion. I've heard other stories where priests openly remark DURING the confession, or would go "tsk tsk" or some such thing, and it's horrible. Make things easier why don't you? It's terribly inappropriate, considering the setting. Here's someone confessing their sins to you, and you're supposed to shut the fuck up and give penance. No judgment, no pontificating. Ernan, on the other hand, has a new post that really takes me back to freshman year at Ateneo, which honestly feels like a long time ago now. Feel old. PJ (where are your comments at, girl?!) reminded me of when I was in Boston almost three years ago, going around the Boston Met by myself and falling in love with Edward Weston's photographs. I got a postcard for Neva but didn't write anything in it until I got to New York, which became Central Park.


Finally, go to Karen's blog. And Chris's new Moral set diary is up.

Monday, November 18, 2002

I really hate going to the dentist. One of my most fervent wishes is that I have perfect teeth and gums that will never rot and decay and stay perfectly white, strong, and healthy forever, even after I’m dead so when they exhume my body they can go “Wow those teeth are bright.” But there’s no avoiding it; we are human and so we must disintegrate slowly.

Sitting in that chair with your mouth open, not knowing what evil-shaped instrument he’ll reach for next, is a special, unique kind of torture. A very specific feeling of vulnerability and helplessness and near-panic that normal people can relate with. I hate it because there’s no fighting it (Bleeding Gums Murphy tried and look what happened to him). There’s nothing you can do! NOTHING!

However I am thankful that I have a cool dentist. He plays music on the radio to distract you, there’s a stuffed koala gripping the blinding light in case you need something to focus on with your eyes, he hums, and he explains every single thing he’s doing to you, which, for me, puts me at ease. Sometimes he even shows me what he’s going to do by using the mirror (other times I hold the mirror myself while watching him drill holes). I told Neva to go to him and she liked him a lot; he’s now her dentist as well. So if you need a good dentist tell me, I’ll hook you up.


I like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets more than the first film. It’s the first time I’ve actually wanted to READ the books, which may be the best thing I can say about the film. It didn’t feel dragging at all for a 2 hour 41 minute film. I loved Kenneth Branagh; he was such a gas. Alan Rickman’s Snape, though sporting a diminished role, was still a memorable presence due to that perfect delivery of dialogue and the flourish that Rickman brings to the character. I liked the Whomping Willow, too. I’m now excited to see the third movie, and it frustrates me that they’re not going to release it next year. They’re only going to start shooting in Spring of next year, so Prisoner of Azkaban will come out in Summer 2004. Damn. Since they’re changing directors anyway (Alfonso Cuaron steps in as Chris Columbus steps out) I don’t see why they have to take a break. Why spoil the momentum? I hope they don’t do any more breaks, because I don’t want Daniel Radcliffe playing a 17 year old wizard when he’s already obviously 25. Part of the cool aspect of having it come out on a yearly basis is actually watching the actors grow up. That and you make it into an annual event that you anticipate.

On a sadder note, it’s strange to watch Richard Harris as Dumbledore when you know this actor’s already dead. And that, before the movie even came out, people were already considering who will best replace him (forerunners include Christopher Lee). Now I’m worried about Maggie Smith. See? There’s another reason to keep up the pace!


So on Friday Neva and I went out with Dos and Duckee. Actually what happened is I was in PowerBooks waiting for Neva, who was going to be late, and bumped into Carlo, quite alive. He was wearing a sweater and shades inside the mall. I asked him if he had any plans and since he didn’t, invited him to join us and he did. Dos and Duckee later introduced us (Neva included) to Richie and Ella, also models. Dos, to remind you, is a classmate of mine from high school. Duckee used to be Neva’s officemate. All of them were in the recent Best Model Search (Ella was one of the people wearing Mich’s clothes). Here’s Dos in action, and here’s Duckee. We had a bite to eat at Tequila Joe’s, where I basically caught up with Dos and gave him a good teasing, and he showed Neva his wealth of corny jokes cultivated since high school. There were some cool stories from the modeling world, who hates who’s guts, who’s always high, who’s tactless, etc. Afterward we went to Xamayca in Timog, a reggae bar. It would only occur to me the morning after that Xamayca is supposed to be a clever turn on Jamaica. Alright, I’m dense. So anyway, I’m not really a reggae man, but I was completely taken by surprise. Brown Man Revival were playing and the place was packed. People standing dancing sweating moving to the beat. I didn’t know there was even a reggae scene. I asked Carlo if this was a Brown Man thing or a Reggae thing and he said Reggae. It was just ridiculous. Everyone was dancing, singing along (they played almost nothing but covers), some with eyes closed. Some of the girls were really into it, too. There was this couple to our right, the girl was dancing while standing on a chair (quite a common thing, actually), swinging her hip and gyrating while her guy had his hands on her waist. Seemed kinda brazen but they didn’t care. This girl to our left was also doing her best try-out for pole dancing, and kept clinking her beer bottle with us as if we knew who she was.

Dos and Ella were the first runner-ups at the model search, by the way. Here are four pics: 1 2 3 4


Saturday was a tropa session at Mich's. Neva had a sleepover with her high school buddies so after I dropped her off I went over and said hi. They were burning holes in cloth so I thought they were done working and was just reading a book. Mostly shot the shit, telling tales, updating chismis, the usual. Lia and Chris joined us later. Ended up talking about different things: bonding over dental histories, the difficulty of getting Quark a gift (since he has everything), puppets over CG effects, etc.


Yesterday was Alan Moore’s birthday. He’s 49. He’s also my favorite writer. Amazing: he’s recognized as one of the best writers of an entire medium (comics) and he’s still alive, still putting out great work. It’s been an honor to get friends of mine reading him and buying his books. I’m glad I’ve gotten several people to buy his From Hell, which is a $35 book but worth it ten times over. Any more money I can send his way is always a good thing. This man showed me that there’s so much more you can do with comics than what most people are doing, which is always a good thing. It made me realize the potential of comics as an art, as a medium, as a storytelling device. With all its magic and splendor and monstrousness, literally your only limit is your imagination. If there’s any book of his you’d like to try, maybe I have it, you’re more than welcome to borrow it from me.

And today one of my favorite bands, Ciudad, turns 8. :)

Wednesday, November 13, 2002

My sinuses have been acting up because of this horrible, evil weather. Hot to moist to rain to cold to hot and moist and back again, back and forth, really quickly. It’s hell. My voice is lower most of the time, no one I talk to on the phone has the faintest idea what I’m saying, and most of the time I’m breathing through my mouth or suffering agonizing headaches and just try to go to sleep. It’s a wonder I’m not dead yet from some car crash.

As such, I have been ingesting a variety of drugs, from typical paracetamol to prevent fever to flanax for the pain to my lovely motrin-s for my headaches and sudafed for the clogged tubing that used to be my nostrils, and that medicine whose name I can’t remember that suppresses the feeling of wanting to vomit immediately after eating. Wonderful.

And so, this post will have no cohesion or unity.

“There's this big government project in Nevada, for artists to create a sculpture that will be frightening enough to keep people away from the nuclear-waste dump for the next 10,000 years. Supposedly, there's never been a form of semantics, a language, that has existed that long. They're trying to find something that will function as language beyond our civilization, that will keep people away from there forever and ever. I just think that's a glorious idea.” -- Chuck Palahniuk

There’s a Chuck Palahniuk interview online at The Onion AV Club. A lot of quotable quotes, two of which are below. I love Palahniuk; his new novel Lullaby is out now in HC and I’d buy it if I were rich but I’m not, so I’ll wait for the paperback. If you’ve read his novels you know it takes all of 2 minutes to finish them so that’s another reason I don’t exactly want to spend more than 1000 pesos on his new book. I am willing to spend something like that for Michael Chabon’s new book Summerland, however, since it’s 500 pages (thankfully, it’s something like 600 bucks, I think). Even if I’m willing, though, I still don’t have the money. Anyway, back to Palahniuk. His novels make me think, and that’s probably more than I can say about most other novels. Of course, different books have different purposes. Sometimes you buy something because you know what’s in it and you want to be entertained. But Palahniuk’s novels seem to be great mind-opening timebombs that percolate in your head for a while and then explode with possibilities not at the moment that you’re reading, but maybe later on after you’ve put down the book and are doing something else. You may be in line for a movie, for example, and something will occur to you that relates to what you read, and then boom, your mind’s racing. Mostly you tend to wonder what a ridiculously stupid species we are. In that way, Palahniuk’s novels are what you expect, and more. It’s also quite interesting to find out that he’s involved with the Cacophony Society, a rambunctious group of malcontents (is there any other kind?) I first read about in the pages of Bikini magazine.

And no, you’re thinking the wrong thing. Bikini was a sister publication of Raygun when it was still under Marvin Scott Jarrett: a cool, square-sized magazine that almost always had interesting features and articles and graphic design and photography and attitude. Not snobbish but not stupid, either. I miss it. I miss Raygun too. I miss when there were interesting magazines that were affordable. There’s no magazine that jumps to mind that’s worth buying regularly. Well, RES and Filmmaker and Sight and Sound, but they’re not available here, and they’d be expensive, too. I wish this country had at least one mag that was a beautiful object: well-written articles on interesting subjects, relevant subjects, that didn’t pander to a culture of idiots but didn’t suck its own dick all the time either. Maybe the closest thing is actually Flip, but for some reason I can’t pinpoint it feels like a magazine for old people. The generation right above me. I don’t know why. Whereas the majority of magazines produced here are just not worth the trees they kill to print it. Horrible trash and garbage and filth that keeps bad writers fed and makes them feel like they’re doing something right.

It’s all so sad. Is my personal taste really so weird? Or am I just being especially anti-social today?

Anyway, on to the quotables:

O: What's the strangest confession you've heard?
CP: [Laughs.] This is one of my favorites. I was in London last summer, and a guy came up at one of the readings, beforehand, and he said, "I loved what you wrote [in Fight Club] about doing stuff to celebrities' food, because I work at a five-star restaurant, and we do stuff to celebrities' food all the time." That's no surprise to me, because all my friends have stories. And I go, "Who? Tell me somebody," and he says, "I can't, it's a five-star restaurant." I refused to sign his book until he would tell me one person. And he gets really quiet, and then he says, "Margaret Thatcher has eaten my sperm." I was just stunned. It must have been the look on my face, but he got this little smile, and he goes, "At least five times." That is a story that—my God, you can make a whole room full of people put down their forks when you tell that story.

The Santa Rampage that Palahniuk discusses here is probably the best-known and biggest event of the Cacophony Society:

O: And what's the Santa Rampage?
CP: There's usually one host city that different chapters from around the world go to for one weekend, usually about two weeks before Christmas. Everybody arrives dressed as Santa Claus, using the name "Santa Claus," and the host city usually has two to three days of continuous events. People drink and party and sing, and disrupt big benefit parties, and are basically public nuisances. But the fact that there's 400 of them all in red makes them this stunning sort of moving artwork. They call it "The Red Tide." It's really beautiful. When I did it in '96, at one point it was all these Santas against this SWAT team of cops, because the Santas wanted to get into a shopping center that was private property. It was so beautiful to see all these blue policemen juxtaposed with all these red Santas, and all these crying kids that were like, "Why are you beating up on Santa?"

Something here for Joey.

Goddamn, now the Republicans are in control of both houses.

Here are some pics from the Friday night dinner with Ate Cyn and Arnold:(pics c/o Cyn)

My chin disappears. And Neva's the only one with a straight face.

Hey, I almost look normal in this one.


Those Cheshire grins spell trouble for the unsuspecting children of Manila, I tell you.

The happy couples.

Last night we were at the Fashionista Best Model Search 2002, which, to be honest, was quite boring after the first few times you see the finalists. There was no talent portion, or Q & A; the highlight of the evening was the cool videos Furball made for them. Props to Edsel for not going insane editing three different tapes for three monitors stacked on top of one another. Dos was one of the finalists, and he won Best Body and 1st Runner-Up. Alia stole his picture and I’ll have it scanned and send it to my high school class mailing list promptly. Oh, and me and Neva’ll see Dos and Duckee this Friday. Duckee was Neva’s officemate when they were still being squeezed dry by ABS-CBN. Mich’s clothes were cool, and Sarah Meier wore Mich’s dress all night as she judged. I didn’t know how it’d look on her but it did suit her, especially with the hair thing. They took photos, and Chris, I’m sure, is a very happy man.

Fact: 5% of all men are monogamous, yet more women cheat on their partners than men.

Saturday, November 09, 2002

I was thinking of going to Admit One and checking out the comics that would be on sale, or maybe watching Kailangan Kita with Mich and the others (since she was begging to see her favorite actress), but I was stunned by a monster fucking headache around 630 PM. I just collapsed, and tried to sleep as quick as I could. In these cases, medicine almost never really helps; you either wear (and wait) it out, in excruciating pain, or you go to sleep, since if you’re unconscious, you won’t feel pain. But I couldn’t sleep straight, I’d wake up in fits and starts, and it was sometimes hot, and I wanted to pull my hair out and I wanted to cut off my head at certain points…

I really hate headaches. I inherited sinusitis from my mother so when temperatures change suddenly my head goes apeshit and I crumble to the floor in agony. My cousin Ray, when he gets a headache he just heads home from work and goes to sleep, because he knows he won’t accomplish anything if he tries to wait for it to subside.

I hate Quark because he hasn’t had a headache since he was a kid. Bastard. I don’t know how that is possible but that’s what he says (not even while shooting certain rodents? :) haha).

It’s funny that in this day of science and technology we still know practically nothing about headaches: what causes them, how to stop them. All headache medicines are are basically painkillers. They numb your pain receptors so you don’t feel the pain (that’s the idea, anyway; whether it works or not is another matter entirely), but it’s still there. Of course, it’s understandable: you can’t really study it because how can you? You’d have to have someone’s brain open and exposed (while keeping said person alive) and wait for a headache to come and go. It’s too complicated.

By the way, it was gone by 130 AM. For those sinusitis sufferers, in my experience Motrin-S works best, though it’s unfortunately unavailable here, my aunt buys them for me in the US.


Am really looking forward to this collection of New Yorker covers by Art Spiegelman.


Had a nice dinner with Ate Cyn and Arnold and Quark the other night at CafĂ© Metro in Megamall (you have to try their General’s Chicken sometime). Just beside us in Piadina were Alia, Vida, Mark, and Lesley, with Lia and Chris going back and forth. It was great seeing Arn and Ate Cyn again; the last time I saw them was before August. We tried to catch up but just couldn’t. Mostly just talked about what was going on recently, and a certain subject that rears its ugly head every time. We didn’t even get to discuss Japan and what they’ve been up to with work recently! I’m trying to get them to see us again next week, if their schedule permits it. They also gave me a nice (belated) birthday gift: an issue of Quip, “independent music and culture magazine.” Though I don’t read Japanese, I’ve been enjoying the photos, graphic design, and free CD compilation that came with it. I also learned that there’s a band called TAE. Thanks, Ate Cyn and Arnold! :)

Thursday, November 07, 2002

Wow, my life’s been utterly boring the past few days, man, mostly comprised of trying to chase down my license amongst the sheer ineptitude and incompetence of various government offices, reading lots of articles on film and comics, trying to finish some books and watching some dvds, being sick and sleeping too little. Good thing there’s a job lined up. Quark gave us Gamitan posters yesterday at Wednesday Group, but didn’t want to unroll the posters since we were in a public place, haha. Be proud of your porn, man! He’s recording commentary for the DVD as I type this, and if memory serves, Gamitan will be the first Pinoy DVD to have director’s commentary. History made yet again by It Boy! Alia’s moved her blog, and Carlo’s is down for some reason. Pat’s seems to have virally reproduced itself onto any number of host sites. Quark’s first class is on Monday for those who are planning to sit in (he’s showing Dancer in the Dark). I’ll be there to visit Sir Mark and Julia Goolia, and hopefully some Heightsers like Jeline and PJ, as well. Haven’t been back to Ateneo in a while, so I’m curious as to what it looks like now (I don’t count the bonfire because it was dark and raining so I didn’t see shit; the new cafeteria spooked the hell out of me, though). And Ate Cyn is back, yay!, and we’ll be seeing them tomorrow night. Gosh, I haven’t seen them since I was 21!

Why was I not born rich?! I want this and this and this and this.

Our yaya just handed me a bunch of my grade school notebooks, and they’re filled with bad drawings, all over the cover, inside front and back covers, and in the pages, too. No wonder I didn’t learn or remember anything. I’m sure Neva will have a field day with this. Better hide it.

I remember I loved to draw as a kid. Because I didn’t care it was bad. I was just bored, and wanted to draw, so I drew. You don’t have to analyze or intellectualize it, it was just an activity to pass the time. A lot of my old notebooks, I keep not for the lessons but for the doodles and writings I put in margins or in the back. That’s the most interesting stuff for me, what I was thinking and what fascinated me and what I did when I was bored as a boy.

I don’t draw anymore, because I realize I have no talent or patience for it. Once I started thinking about “good” art, my stuff just wouldn’t hold up and I resorted to writing and coming up with stories and am still at it, I guess. I really wish I knew how, though. I respect artists a great deal; it’s like magic to me, making this beautiful work from a blank canvas; something from nothing.

I used to look at the back of people’s notebooks and see what was there: if there were drawings, or writings unrelated to school or whatnot, I would consider that person cool, or at least interesting. If it was blank, then I would get the impression that the person was bland and uninteresting, concentrated on the lessons as he/she was. This has since been disproven by different people, but I remember that test.

Now I’m wondering what would I say to myself if I got to travel back in time and meet my grade school self? Probably give him all the winning lotto numbers through the years, Back to the Future-style.

Monday, November 04, 2002

Finally! A shot of me and Neva as combat chefs, thanks to Chris.

I'd like to see this group rob a bank.

Ernan after his molestation refused to have his picture taken for shame (and lots of lipstick).

Saturday, November 02, 2002



Alexis Tioseco as The Paperboy (or Michael Sullivan from Road to Perdition)

Chris Costello as Mr. Orange (Freddy Newendyke from Reservoir Dogs)

Mich Dulce as Rainbow Brite

Hannah Cruz as The Security Guard With The Red Sneakers

Goldie Poblador as The Bunny (aka Floppsie-Whoppsie)

Knox Balbastro as The Priest

Ernan Munoz as The Boy Scout

Quark Henares and Lia Martinez as Bill Clinton and His New Intern (or Bill Clinton and Mich Dulce)

Alia Vargas as Dana Scully

Joey Fernandez and Margie Escueta as The Jester and The Queen

With a special appearance by

Dos Quong as Creepy Gay-Looking Angel

… damn, since I had the camera this time around I completely forgot to get one taken of me and Neva as combat chefs.

Well, I think it should be OBVIOUS that we had a FANTASTIC Halloween, the best I've had in years, and the first time in a long while that I actually went and dressed up (though it's nothing compared to some of my friends' outfits, as you can see above). Actually I only came up with something to wear on the day itself, having no preparation or even absolute certainty that we were going to this costume party at Greenbelt 3 (Tim Yap's annual Halloween bash). We met up at McDonald's, shrieked and freaked and laughed at one another's costumes, scared the bejeezus out of the other customers, and had a quick bite before proceeding to the party per se.

As expected, Chris and Joey ham it up for the camera, even if they're on the far end of the table.

Alexis: "Fries... make Canadians... sleepy..."

It was so nice to see everyone dressed up and in the spirit of things, and as expected, Mich and her popettes outdid everyone with their costumes. I mean, just take a look at Mich's Rainbow Brite and you can see how much time and effort and money she spent on it. Hannah's was down to the last detail, including a nametag. Goldie had a carrot. But that doesn't mean the others were slacking! Quark brought a cigar (don't remember if the shirt had a stain). Knox had a rosary. Me and Neva each had a culinary utensil and a firearm. Chris and Alia both had guns, and Alia even had an FBI ID that said Dana Scully! And Lia actually wore a SKIRT! *gasp!*

At the party we saw the usual assortment of really industrious, creative people, and on the opposite end, the ingenious types who all thought they'd be the only ones to show up in a bathrobe. Oh how original. Highlights and props go to: the Imelda Marcos, complete with shoe hanging out of her purse; the alien from the Alien movies (who had to take his helmet off every few minutes to keep from suffocating); Snow White; Dorothy (complete with red shoes!); Rachel Alejandro's Amidala outfit; complete with ripped mid-riff and abs; the trekkie; and Tim Yap's chinese emperor. There were too many cheerleaders, angels, devils, and bathrobes. One of my favorites was the raped Assumptionista, with really short skirt and torn blouse with bra exposed.

Canada and Ireland: Worlds Apart

Joey, Margie, and Neva the Killer Chef

While Ernan looks for a Catholic priest to molest him, someone hits on the priest.

I bumped into my high school classmate Dos, who was one of the angels, now a model doing this as a gig. He did get us free drinks, though.

It's a shame Mich wasn't able to register for the costume contest, because she was a shoo-in for the nokia 7650 that was the grand prize. In fact, the day after Tim texted her saying the judges were looking for her but we were still walking back from mcdo.

This is why women can't become priests.

As the night wore on Knox disrobed (literally), performing a priest-striptease for FBI Agent Alia Vargas, who later became Pink.


Alexis tried to upgrade his paperboy status by putting on Chris's jacket, but alas, still no one would buy a paper from him.

The gals taking a breather.

Here's an amusing true story:

Joey: "Let's do that J. Lo - Ja Rule dance!
Margie: "What?!"

Joey: "C'mon, it'll be fun! I'll start!"
Margie: "You're kidding!"

Joey: "Getting into the groove now..."
Margie: "BWAHAHAHA!!!"

Joey: "Here we go..."
Margie: "haha... I'm outta here."

Friday, November 01, 2002


Every year on Nov. 1 we go to Cavite to visit the grave of my maternal grandfather. My paternal grandfather we usually visit in the late evening of Oct. 31, or the really early morning of the next day, to be more specific. I still have both my grandmothers, thank Goodness. My Lolo Inocencio (maternal) died when I was 7. It was my first “major” death, so to speak, where an actual relative I knew and saw often passed away. He was a great guy, always pushing us to read and ever willing to slake and stir our thirst for knowledge. He was a marine biologist among other professions, and was in the Who’s Who annual book several times (it lists the most important people in the world, according to politics, popular entertainment, science, etc.). He was the discoverer of the pandaka pygmea, which was the world’s smallest fish (and can only be found in the Philippines) until they found a smaller one recently. Still, for a while, he held the record. Cool. He was fun and jolly and strict but fair and I miss him a lot. He would put some dry ice in a pan and amaze us with his “magic smoke.” Even before I knew it, he noticed that I liked movies because I’d play The Never-Ending Story every time I was at their house. He had a great big garden in the back because he loved plants, too, and grew orchids. In the same year, my first dog died, Carla. She was my first bitch, a fine German Shepherd. We think someone poisoned her because out of the blue, she got sick and died, within hours. Poor girl. We buried her in the yard, which is now covered by our garage. My current dog is also a bitch, also a German Shepherd, and her name’s Marla, after the character in Fight Club (played by Helena Bonham Carter). The fact it’s close to Carla is a bonus advantage.

On the other hand, my paternal grandfather, Lolo Ramon (after whom I was named), died when he was kind of young. My dad was only 16 or 17 when Lolo Ramon died. It was lung cancer. So even my mom didn’t get to meet him. I sometimes wonder if this is why my dad is the way he is. He’s got his strengths, and he has his faults. He’s been an excellent provider, but is not emotionally expressive, doesn’t really share himself with us, his kids. I don’t want to say he’s a bad father; it’s more like I don’t think he knows how, because he didn’t have a proper example, or there was some residual trauma from losing his dad so young. You’d think it would be the opposite, though: he’d be doting on us, spend more time with us, etc. Sad. He’s an “absentee father” type: doesn’t really become involved in your life until you fuck up, do something wrong. This could be getting bad grades, getting caught with drugs, crashing the car, etc. In a lot of families, what happens is the children subconsciously realize this is the only way to get attention and become problem kids. The need for attention = cry for help kind of thing. But I’d already read about it even then. My paternal grandmother, Amparo, is still alive. She’s about 98 or 99 now. Imagine that.


Whenever I’m at boring family things, I tend to get a lot of reading done. Today I finished half of the entire After The Quake by Haruki Murakami (it’s terrific, by the way). Last Christmas, stranded in Baguio with my family, I finished The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon (big book, Pulitzer Prize winner, and one of the most amazing books I have ever enjoyed from cover to cover; truly inspiring and awe-inducing [he’s also writing Spider-Man 2]). Last year’s Holy Week, again stranded with my family in Samar, I finished Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell’s From Hell (also a big book, and one of the best, most important graphic novels EVER. Read this book!). It seems I accomplish things when I’m bored. In senior year, I was so bored during my Theology classes I’d write the most scripts during those time periods. So I guess I have to wait for the next family vacation to get a crack at Mark Z. Danielewski’s The House of Leaves (not only a big book, but metafiction as well).