MOGUE.

THE GOOD THINGS

2012-02-12T03:40:00.000-08:00

Sabi ni Annapy, ang taba ko na daw. Sabi naman ni Mark, magbakasyon na, baka magunaw na ang mundo, get a tan. The past few Saturdays, pag nasa kama lang, lagi kong naiisip: what if I just stay at home til Monday, or Tuesday, or the next Monday? I'm bored. Or depressed. Sometimes I think of ringing my friends, pero naisip ko mabuti na ring hindi ko nakikita ang mga kaibigan dahil ano naman maikukuwento ko sa kanila? Thank God for family, and the comforts of home.

Today I finally saw The Descendants. I want to live in a house that looks like Matthew King's (George Clooney), it's like a beach house with a pool. The only thing about a pool is magastos sa tubig, but it would be nice to be able to invite friends and just lie down or sit on the daybeds.

It's a good movie, you don't need me to tell you that. George deserves that Golden Globe. I want to redecorate.

THE BEAUTIFUL ONE

2012-02-11T19:34:00.000-08:00

I've always wondered whose crotch was it that greeted you first once you open the pages of Esquire, say, or T. The one on the Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue ad. The owner of the crotch is David Gandy, and I found that out about a year ago and googled him to death. He's smart, he can talk, and he blogs.

Of course, he doesn't really need to do anything when he already looks like that.

THE 'HOLIDAY'

2012-02-10T18:52:00.000-08:00

The family was in Kalibo for the Ati-atihan but I'm not in this picture. This is the Sunday morning scene round the church. We never really go to church when we're there, except maybe when my cousins suggest dropping by for a bit. I've been going to the festival for many years pero this time, walking among the crowd that Friday we arrived from Boracay, I felt it was this strange ritual I have nothing to do with.

But I really go back, more than anything, for family.

And to be with more family.

We used to walk/dance with the procession with drinks in hand, but I'm too old and too full from the day's lechon-related incidents.

It wasn't the best of vacations because of work-related concerns, but during the last night, we had an impromptu party. We all gathered at the last house by the ricefields, everyone brought food, there was a sack of oysters they were grilling, I brought a bottle of Bacardi Gold from one of two decent supermarkets in the area, and I cooked my buffalo wings, and we drank and ate, and posed and jumped for photographs. Fun!

THE OPENING

2012-02-10T03:39:00.000-08:00

Sabi ni Vita, bakit daw hindi ako nagpakita? Dumalo naman ako, sandali nga lang. Inikot ko ang dalawang palapag ng Finale Art Gallery, pinasok ko pa ang viewing room, pero sa kauna-unahan sigurong pagkakataon, wala akong kinausap--ngumiti lang kay Ringgo, bumeso kay CD-- at walang pumatak na butil ng alkohol sa dila ko. Isandaang self-portraits na koleksyon ni Paulino Que. Auto retrato ng isandaang artists simula pa kina Juan Luna at Damian Domingo. Sa main hall ay napakalaki ng mga trabaho, pinakamalaki ang kay Winner Jumalon na kilala naman talaga bilang portraitist; kanya ang tanging portrait na natatakpan ng parang slightly frosted glass. (Naiisip ko ngayon, ano yung motivation kaya ng pagiging may-ari ng pagkarami-raming paintings ng mga taong hindi naman ikaw, o pamilya? Ano ang naiisip mo pag tinitingnan mo ang mga mukhang hindi naman sayo? Para bang bumili ka rin ng original print ng larawan ni Elvis Presley?) Ang pinakamaliit at tila pinakadelikado ay ang kay Damian Domingo na nasa loob ng kabibe. Nakakalulang tingnan lahat nang madalian. Kay Winner ang paborito ko. At kay Bembol, larawan ng likod niyang balot ng tattoo. Punong-puno ang gallery, sa loob at labas. Sabi ni Carlo sa isang text message bago ako dumating, Puro old rich ang nandito. May mga guests na bumili ng commemorative book at nagpapapirma't nagpapa-picture sa mga artists--habang hawak ang libro. Wala akong ganang uminom, o umola. Naisip ko na lang umuwi. Kaya sumakay ako ng jeep papuntang EDSA, at bago umakyat ng train station, bumili ng mainit na mani sa bangketa.Ayoko mang mag-rhyme, well, ganyan talaga.

THE WISH

2012-02-04T23:39:00.000-08:00

For a change, can I ask for a date this Valentine's? I don't mean a friend or family, please. Thanks. Appreciate it.

THE DINDIN

2012-01-24T22:05:00.000-08:00

Noong October, nagyaya si Cherish sa bahay nila para maghapunan. Singaporean dishes ang inihanda niya. Well, hindi naman siya exactly ang naghanda kundi isang babaeng tagaluto na dating nanilbihan sa Singapore. Anyway, may mantou (na next day ko lang nalaman kung ano after googling it), may sate na may peanut sauce, at siyempre ang star of the noche buena feast...

...and Singaporean chili crab. Ilang beses na rin akong nagpunta ng Singapore pero hindi ko pa ito natitikman. Palibhasa'y puro chicken rice ang kinakain ko kapag nandoon, at kung kakain man kami ng alimango, black pepper crab ang inoorder. Sobrang sarap ng Singaporean chili crab na ito, rich at medyo maanghang. Sauce pa lang ulam na, kaya mapapakuha ka talaga ng mantou para maisawsaw dito.

Ang host namin na si Cherish, at si Gabby. Nagkatrabaho kami ni Cherish noon sa Metro Home. Teacher si Cherish ng ballet at nagsusulat rin. Si Gabby ay nagdidisenyo naman ng mga lamesa at upuan.

Kasamang imibitado si Carlo, si Michael, at si Chik-chik na laging may suot na headband. Nasa panghimagas na kami nito.

Kakarating pa lamang ni Michael noon mula sa kanyang bakasyon sa Inglatera.

Si Geri at si Joonee habang nakikinig sa kuwento ni Chik-chik.

Ang view mula sa veranda: ang Salcedo Park.

Uwian na.Mga kuha ni Dan Gil.

THE KENNETH

2012-01-24T05:11:00.000-08:00

Pumunta ako ng Cebu noong November, kasama ng ibang media. Kami ni Kissa pumunta sa bahay ni Kenneth Cobonpue. Siya para sa Preview, ako para sa Esquire. Siya para sa bahay, ako para sa mga natutunan ni Kenneth sa buhay. Nasa mataas na bahagi ng Cebu ang bahay ni Kenneth. Ang linis ng bahay. Walang kahit ano liban sa muwebles na gawa niya at ilang painting. Ang ganda ng tsinelas na suot ni Kenneth pagdating namin. Black leather na patulis sa dulo. Galing daw sa Morocco. Anyway, habang nagbibihis si Kenneth, ako ang double niya. Ang painting sa likod ay isang lumang Linds Lee. Ang retrato ay kuha ni Paolo Konst. Cute siya.

THE BEGINNING

2012-01-24T04:58:00.000-08:00

Sabi ni Michiko gumawa na lang daw kami ng lamps. Gusto ko gumawa ulit. Ng kahit ano. Ng iba naman. Naisip ko bags dahil may mga nagawa na ako dati. May isang inspired ng mga damit ni Inno Sotto noong very late '90s, meron ding inspired ng isang collection ni Pepito Albert.Yung lamp sa taas gawa ng nanay ni Jojo Agatep. Si Jojo naman gumagawa nang mga terrariums. Sabi ni Mich gawa daw kami sabay-sabay, manglilibre siya ng kape. Sabi ko kailangan ko ng sewing machine. Aba at may Brother daw siya sa bahay.

THE THIRD BEST PICTURE

2012-01-04T04:16:00.000-08:00

It was a gloomy Monday, and Tuesday was threatening to be similarly dull and shitty I knew I just needed to go out and see people. Thank heavens Raymond was in Greenbelt! We met at Damaso muna. He picked the place. Maybe because it matched his Steve de Leon look--white linen muumuu, leggings and some kind of lariat hanging from his neck, his thick black hair gathered to a pusod.

He was with this guy wearing glasses (not shards of glasses naman, just your regular black-rimmed eyeglasses), someone he met in Canada the year Maximo won some jury prize in Montreal. I tell him Hindi ako interesado kumain, and ordered beer. They never get when I say I'm not interested in food. I'm out, it's evening, what's wrong with just a drink? Besides, I never know what to order at Damaso (although I've had one really good dinner there one time with the chef Bambbi hosting). I always think of it as expensive merienda place, and I'm really not into concept-concept.

So Raymond had cake, and I had a Super Dry and a smoke, and I was told that Glasses wants to make a movie about love and stuff. I thought he had a pretty interesting premise, and when I heard the cast he envisioned for it, I thought, perfect! While they manage the cake, of course we end up talking about the Metro Manila Film Festival. Glasses, who works in a special effects firm in Canada, has seen Panday and Enteng but mostly slept through the latter. I saw only one: Manila Kingpin, The Untold Story of Asiong Salonga, and only made it up to the first thirty minutes. Raymond has seen all of the entries except two, and last night, he finally saw his sixth, Enteng ng Ina Mo.

It takes a lot for me to go to the movies. It's not that its expensive but I always think that if it's something I didn't enjoy, that's two hours of my life gone to waste, and I could have done something else with it, like knit a scarf. I didn't even know I will end up watching a movie last night, but sometimes I just give in to Raymond's ideas and I end up more often than not, at the very least, pleasantly surprised. That's why movies I will never think of watching, I saw them with Raymond: The Cory Quirino Kidnap, Supahpapalicious (which we saw with Jessica Z) and now this, Enteng ng Ina Mo.

And the verdict is: It's better than Asiong Salonga. I don't really get all that hoopla about Tikoy wanting to get his name out of Manila Kingpin. I don't think an alternate edit could have saved a film where you don't know why the characters do what they do or why they exist at all. I've seen better action films. And those have color.At least Enteng ng Ina Mo has color. It is a bad film. The script is entirely flavorless. Ika nga it's too easy paa na lang ang pinangsulat. But in a way it makes sense: a guy married to a fairy wants a more normal family life and finds it in the Ai-Ai character and her kids. My two companions had already dozed off by the first half hour, but I was just beginning to get into it. I laughed at one small bit that featured Eugene Domingo, and then there's another scene with Eugene this time involving a rolling backdrop that was hilarious. There are lots of parts where you are embarassed for the director, or the actor, especially because Aiza Seguerra wears bleached bangs with a Ed Hardy shirt and not because the costume department told her to do so.

Anyway, my companions didn't get much from it, but at least I had a few laughs. Which is really the most important thing when the year is just starting and you have two straight days of not wanting to get out of bed. We had a nightcap at this restaurant called Ma Maison. It's Japanese with a Western twist. I wanted to just have a drink, but Raymond kept looking at the food. So we had the tonkatsu, and yes, it, too, was quite enjoyable.

PARTY OF THE YEAR

2011-12-09T23:50:00.001-08:00

Cause I wouldn't mind another party topping this one: the Preview ball at 7th High last July. The best party and most fun I've attended in such a loooooong time. And I was with old friends (who are all younger than me) partying like, well, 2006? I was super underdressed but at 2am, who cares, really? The party the evening before wasn't so bad either.

And this was us, with a slightly different cast, at the same party the year before.

Sorry, I just wanted to change that strange photo of my zombie self as the first one you see, especially since I've made the switch to the new look of blogger. I could have a better-designed header but I really love the whole flipping gimmick. I'm inspired to blog again. Hopefully, I do blog again after this. Bye for now. Need to prepare dinner for a couple of friends. I'm thinking black paella.

UNDEAD MAN WALKING

2011-08-30T06:40:00.000-07:00

Last November, my friend Raymond invited me to go to Lucban to be a zombading.

It won't be much of an effort, I thought. I was then in a state where I did feel like I'm sort of undead, dragging my feet to and from work day in and day out. So now at least I would be a zombie out of town, away from work. And I would be part of the film my friends are making. It was the final day of shooting. The last time I was in Lucban, they were still shooting that kissing scene between Jigs and Remington in the stairs, but me and a couple of friends were busier getting drunk in some cafe or drinking and soaking in some batis surrounded by small videoke joints.

I was with Mart and Kerbie--Remington and Jigs--in the van that drove us to Quezon that very early Sunday. I did not make chika with either of them because I didn't have enough sleep and because nga I was just dead inside.

So I sat there in one of the rooms of Plaza Rizal hotel, and had my zombie face done while surrounded by kabadingan (makeup artists and zombading extras). First the prosthetic artist put strips of toilet paper on my face which they soaked first in some mapanghi solution. Like someone peed in my face and not in a good way.

Actually, no, because it smelled like a public men's toilet na hindi pinasukan ng janitor for five days.

Anyway, it took an hour I think to complete the makeup. The only thing I was really happy about were the eyelashes, because I never had eyelashes. I mean I do but I have to get a magnifying lens for me to see them.

I couldn't smile nor talk much because the makeup was so thick. I couldn't eat well, too. Our scenes were shot around 5pm and I was already done with makeup before lunch. So yeah, I was just walking around Lucban looking like that, wearing Freddie Aguilar hair, and 70s style ukay clothing, unable to talk or eat or register emotion. I think this is what actors mean when they talk about how costume and makeup help you get into character. Yuck, kala mo naman may speaking line!

After a while I got so bored, I was trying to style myself. I put a santan in my jacket in place of a pocket square. Ang lakas lang maka-probinsya chic.

We shot the zombrero factory scene here. I think its the study area of the Mababang Paaralan ng Lucban. It is quite beautiful, and the school has this huge football field. The zombrero factory scene is just a very short part of the montage towards the ending, following the zombie attacks and after we find out who has been killing gays in the story, when life in the zombie realm has returned to business-as-usual.

Yes, I was in the zombrero factory scene, I was the one texting, but if you blink you will miss it. Actually, if you're not watching it on DVD and you don't have a slo-mo button, you won't see it. There was another scene I was part of, where a drunk man was walking towards the camera, followed by four zombies. I was one of the four. Leftmost. I think I was pushed to the farthest because my extra finger will distract people from focusing on the unknown drunk man. Sherad Sanchez was guest DOP for these two scenes.

Anyway,I was happy I did it. It was a refreshing break from my real zombie life. I was escaping a zombie life by becoming a zombie. The hard part lang was when you look like that and you bump into cute boys, like Jade and his DOP Noel having a midnight merienda in 7-11, you want to make pa-cute and pa-girl but who the fuck are you kidding, isa kang naaagnas na bakla!

I don't remember anymore how I removed the entire thing on my face but it was messy, not easy. When it was over, I felt like I was able to finally breathe. I had a beer, watched a little TV and had a good sleep. And returned to Manila the next day, skipping work.

The first time I saw Zombadings was in a post-production house in Makati, in a small room with a huge TV. They served popcorn. There were just five, six people in the room, Eugene Domingo was there, a couple of executives from TV5. There was no music yet, or special effects. I got scared--and not in the way I was supposed to be. It wasn't as funny as I imagined it.

And then July came, and the Cinemalaya screening. By that time, Raymond had told me it has gotten so much better. And it was. It wasn't just better. It was the most fun I had inside the theater since I brought my six-, seven-year old cousins to watch Kisapmata in 1981. It was funny and crazy and adorable, an absolute joyride. It was a much-needed jolt, no, reward, actually, from having to sit through the festival entries for a week and telling myself, 'At least maganda yung direction.' 'At least maganda yung acting.' 'At least super-panalo nung eksena sa malaking bahay.' 'Puwede na rin crude yung filmmaking, first time lang naman ng direktor.'

Zombadings is provocative and delicious fun. And there was hardly any time to focus on the little glitches, really, because you and everyone else are just too busy having a damn good time. And that's what you take with you after leaving the cinema: you had a damn good time.

If you still haven't seen it, its still showing. Its now on its fourth week. Please watch it. First because its a terrific film, and second because you watching it makes sure it makes more money. And if it makes enough, my friends will be able to make hopefully a couple movies out of it. And their success can only mean more good movies for us to look forward to and enjoy.

SO ANYARE?

2011-08-29T18:37:00.000-07:00

So what has happened since April 6 and that last post which I wrote to allow myself to dream instead of go insane?

I left my job in YES! and moved to the soon-to-be-launched Esquire. I visited my friend in Singapore. I have been consumed with so much work, but there are days when I get to squeeze in drinks with friends, movies and sleep. It's not easy starting a new magazine, especially this one where the expectations are high, and they're coming from the bosses at Pioneer, competing magazines, and the editors at Hearst in New York. But we're just about done with the first issue and I hope all the hard work pays off.

The picture above was taken at the party hosted by Lisa at Cav for the New York editors in early August. From left, that's Sarge Lacuesta, editor-at-large; Jonty Cruz, editorial assistant; Raymond Gutierrez, style editor; Ces Olondriz, art director; and Audrey Carpio, features editor.

MY DREAM

2011-04-06T03:01:00.000-07:00

Something like this but with more bushes and wild stuff.

Holiday Two months paid leave.
Mode of transport Whatever you call those black, tall, imposing, stately things with wheels.
Wardrobe Lots of white shirts and shorts and faded jeans.
Home is a glass-encased bungalow that looks like a Richard Neutra design, surrounded by a garden that looks like an untamed forest; or the Malate home of Vilma and Boyet in Relasyon.
Is to live to see this country become less of a wasteland it’s become.
Medical cures A pill for paranoia, and a potion that will make all the nearly denuded spots of my head grow hair again.
Collection OPM on vinyl.
Gadget My old Mac G4.
Concert Madge in Manila.
Job A creative job surrounded by the most creative, sensible, level-headed people who enjoys the occasional drink.
Conversation is with a gorgeous, worldly man more interested in me than himself.
Color palette Isaac Mizrahi’s from Fall/Winter 1994
Dinner party All my friends in my aforementioned dream house. Followed by dancing and caepirinhas.
Meal The perfect eggs, the perfect garlic rice, the perfect Zambales or Vigan or Lucban longganisa on a table by the beach. And chicken rice in Singapore.
Possession See guy in my dream conversation.

C'MON GET HAPPY

2011-03-30T03:09:00.000-07:00

I’m not too convincing unhappy. At least to my mind I’m not. I still sing while walking, whistle while facing the urinal, make jokes. And I’m still funny, too. There is a bit of edge in the way the jokes are told, though (I think), maybe an intense last word or syllable in the punchline. But I don’t slouch when I’m walking. My torso is straight, my shoulders pushed to the back, my steps conscious. I don’t whine. Nor sulk. Just that my face betrays me. My eyes. At least according to people who bring it up.

Last night, my 13-year-old nephew, the son of a cousin, brought it up, while we were in my room scanning pages of old Vogues. He hasn’t seen me in a long time. “Bakit ka malungkot?” he asked. And I couldn’t quite place what gave it away, when just a few minutes before we were both horsing around with my sister’s nearly two-year old baby in the living room.

Anyway, wala lang. Just in case you’re wondering. I’m not in the happiest of spirits. I’m not complaining. For awhile, I used to keep these things to myself, at least not putting it out there on facebook statuses or twitter updates because I didn’t want people thinking I’m a loser (Well, I’m really not—that, I’m quite sure of. I take that back: delete the ‘quite.’) and I usually don’t like burdening people with my woes. I don’t think that way anymore. Who cares what people think. Because always there is this: Family. And their love. Friends. And their amazing confidence in what I can do. Prayers. Clothes. Payday. Sanity. I hate that they sound like consolation prizes because they’re not. It’s just that at the moment, they’re not enough to get me from here to happy. And I really like to be happy.

I wish you are.

THE WEEKEND

2011-03-26T19:52:00.001-07:00

Woke up to this view Saturday and Sunday last week. It's the view of the bay from the Magsaysay home in Subic. Victor slipped into the country a couple weeks earlier and he invited me to come and join a few friends going to Zambales, his hometown, for a shoot which he is hosting.

I've only met Victor once before this, one evening in Matina, the short-lived restaurant in Nakpil in the early 2000s. I thought he was sexy. That voice. Or maybe its the nth Blue Ice. Or the nth glass of Gato Negro (yikes!). He was red-faced and inebriated and was wearing this shirt with a cross patch which he himself had designed. I had such a big crush on him that--and I never do this--I even got his number that evening and called him on the phone the next day, or that same night, I don't remember anymore. I can't remember now if we spoke, or if I just put the phone down after hearing his voice. There were other voices on his end, and I thought he was busy packing then because he told me he was flying to New York and moving there. Anyway, never saw him or heard of him after that until last year when I saw him on Facebook and found out he had become a chef in Paris. So I messaged him and he ended up sharing a few thoughts and a recipe on theswankstyle.com.

Anyway, so I went to Zambales. Hopped onto a van with a couple of old friends last Friday evening and was so delighted to be away from work and from the city. That bay above, in the evening? It's gorgeous. Cote d' azur at night, Nantucket in the morning--at least according to the two stylish old ladies we were with (one of which is Gina Garcia, sister of Hotdog's Dennis Garcia, inspiration for the song, "Annie Batungbakal.")

The weather was very cool. Victor made and served dirty martinis, and I stayed up until about 1am even though I was dead tired. I was just so happy to be holding and drinking a proper drink after weeks of beer (although I'm not quite sure how proper a dirty martini could be when it is, to begin with, dirty. Chos!).

I slept soundly that evening. As in my roommate described my snoring as a performance of an entire symphony (only my closest friends can stand my snoring, so I guess Devi now is one of my closest [so puwede ko na siyang utangan?]).

And then I woke up to a breakfast of scrambled eggs with onions and tomatoes and Zambales longganisa which was so good--not sweet, not sour, not too garlicky. Just right. Hell, I'm gon' say it: If Mike Nichols is an actor's director, the Zambales longganisa is a longganisa's longganisa.

That Saturday, we went to the ancestral home-turned-museum of the late president Magsaysay, Victor's grandfather, who I thought looked like a very elegant, handsome, well-built man from the portrait that hangs in one of the rooms.

Downstairs, I found the pair of sapatillas I've always wanted to own.

Well, not exactly the same pair (because that would be weird), but similar to it, and in black. I thought they're so chica and relaxed and so Filipino. I used to have a pair in black which I got from SM, hence they were in fake leather and easily looked worn out. Anyway, mine was no match to President Magsaysay's which was by Ang Tibay, no less. Maybe I'll just have a pair pasadya, no?

Anyway, while we were in the museum looking at old newsprint photographs and sitting in old furniture, a marching band was rehearsing across the street. It was all very Commonwealth era!

Which was how Victor dressed that afternoon, in a loose shirt in the style of his lolo's polos, and roomy khaki pants (I was suprised it achieved the same '50s effect even without the front pleats). He walked into the family house in Castillejos wearing that and slippers and a fedora hat. And then we were joined by his father, the Governor, who was all Erap-FPJ-Paquito Diaz action character. In a printed shirt, shorts and tinted glasses, he told us Erap's film Sa Kuko Ng Agila (1989) was shot there in the very property we were having merienda in, because the movie crew was banned from filming on the streets of Zambales (the Bases will be shut down in 1991). Anyway, in one very action film gesture, that afternoon in Castillejos, the Governor asked for one of his aides to go fetch his attache case (who has attache cases anymore?!). And although the case turned out to be the bulky kind in tough plastic, rather than the sleek, slim kind in leather I imagined, it contained crisp, cold cash just as I predicted. Just like in the movies. The old man opened it and scooped a few thousand peso bills and handed the money to a grandson.

Anyway, that afternoon, I had the best pinapaitan I tasted (whose sauce was thick and only very slightly mapait), and the second best dinuguan (because my father's is still number one). We ended the afternoon by watching the sun set in the beach in Pundaquit, albeit without a drink. We made bawi na lang the next day, Bombay tonic at lunch and at dusk. We took the boat to Anawangin whose reported gorgeousness have obviously been marred by the huts built on the shore, you almost can't see the beauty of the pine trees that have magically sprung from the earth (a strange aftermath of the Pinatubo ashes). But one only has to walk towards the back of the beach to find a beautiful, quiet stream that will either keep you still or take your breath away.

Museum shots mine; everything else, Devi's.

BASIL AND JOYCE

2011-03-10T22:02:00.000-08:00

I'm not particularly troubled these days but today began with Basil Valdez and the crazy beautiful songs of George Canseco. I mean, try singing along with Sana Ay Ikaw Na Nga and match Basil's intensity, I'm sure you'd be brought to tears, day will turn to night, rain will start falling from the sky, your favorite mug will crash on the floor, and dinner will be burnt--and cold.

Then when I got to the office, I picked up one of the back issues of Vogue I bought from the library: October 2007, the one with Charlize Theron on the cover. And then I read Joyce Maynard's essay on the photograph taken of her by Richard Avedon in 1973, a year after JD Salinger broke her 19-year old heart. Broke my heart, this essay. And the past few days I've been seeing old photographs of mine, and how old I feel I've become from the me of, like five years ago. Maybe because I was happier then. I mean, the pictures I saw of me last night was in Kalibo, my father's hometown, and I'm always happy when I'm there. I don't like feeling old because I have a suspicion I'm starting to look it, and the cigarettes and alcohol of the past 16 years are beginning to catch up.

Anyway, Eujin of Preview came over and made us laugh for awhile, and I just got word that my P1800 will be credited back to my account after I lost it at the ATM two Mondays ago. Still, I'm not in the best of spirits. But I hope you are.

PIECE OF WORK

2011-02-17T03:35:00.000-08:00

I just saw the entire documentary today. It's all on youtube pala, in five parts. And I've been bugging Chona of Metrowalk to go find a copy for me for months! Joan is one of my favorite comics. In freshman high school, I remember picking up her book Enter Talking while I was browsing through the selections in our library. I would pick up The Betsy, also, by Harold Robbins, and a Barbara Cartland title. In Betsy's case, I think I was intrigued by the cover, and in Barbara's, I think I was drawn to the back cover photograph of this glamorous old woman holding a white cat. Then as now, I judge by appearances, so sue me. Joan's book I picked because the cover blurb says 'Hilarious!' So yes, I judge by what I hear people say, too. And that's not always a good thing because I don't remember the book being hilarious at all, more like dreary and full of complains about how life was like for her growing up.

Anyway, back to the film. I wasn't swept off my feet but it is quite a heartbreaking, occasionally funny profile of the 75-year old woman who has been through so much rejection, plastic surgery, her husband's suicide, losing her manager who she thinks is her only link to her memories of the past, and days and days of no work she had to put shades on when looking at her calendar because its whiteness is just so blinding. I couldn't say that it failed to show us the ugly side of Joan, the unlikeable side, because it did (and well, she's a comic so she wouldn't mind displaying her own issues; she'd be the first to mine it as material). I don't know why I didn't feel so taken by it, except for the last 15 minutes which was quite touching and exhilarating. Maybe because I just saw it on youtube.

It was through youtube that I got reacquainted with Joan after high school. I found some of her sketches there, some are even from her days as host of her own talk show. When she's in front of an audience yakking, she is absolutely funny. And daring and unapologetic. She's brash but not obnoxious and crass like Kathie Griffin who I also like. I like that girl Sarah Silverman, too, and how she softens the blow of her jokes--sexist, racist, name it--by putting on that semi-retarded act. It helps, too, that she's pretty and milky-complexioned and have boobs.

I really think those jokes at the Globes would have been easier to swallow had they not come from Ricky Gervais' mouth but were instead delivered by Joan or Kathie or Sarah. They wouldn't be accused of being unkind, because--sorry, if this offends you--they were just being, well, women. Men don't bitch around, they rant, they make observations--that's their role, at least in comedy. When men bitch around as Ricky did at the Globes, it feels a little uncomfortable, no? It just isn't right.

WE'RE STILL HERE

2011-02-11T19:01:00.000-08:00

Day 7 of writing the cover story at the boss's house. For Candice, anyway, me its just my fourth.

I don't feel like Anne Frank pa naman.

Have I told you about my old boss's Anne Frank story? They were having dinner, chatting chatting, and in the middle of it, someone brings up The Diary of Anne Frank. And then this hotel PR, who was one of the dinner guests, asks out loud, 'Sino na nga nagsulat no'n?'

My boss did not want to leave the question unanswered and embarass the PR . So with her poker face, and jaded voice, she muttered: 'Di ba si Anne Frank?'

Anyway, today seems lighter, as I have done what I needed to do, cover story wise. Jo-ann is really doing much of the writing, and we're here mostly to assist. I swear not even Vanity Fair takes show biz as seriously as our magazine does.

We eat too much here. Too much rice, too much starch, and there's always ice cream or chocolate (truffles from Lucy! at one time). Look, I'm not complaining but my tummy is getting bigger, and it will soon show in my face (does it show already?).

Before yesterday I have been without a drop of alcohol for six days, and was looking forward to a bottle of Super Dry yesterday afternoon. But I guess my body is too tired to appreciate the beer, and it was in a can so its not the same, even if I drink it from a glass. I'm maarte like that.

So I cooked adobo, without the dahon ng laurel, but this time with chicken liver. I cook mine with pork and chicken and olive oil and always more than a single head of garlic. It was absolutely good, and the brother in law thinks so too. I was thinking, Are you the type who says you cook the best adobo in the world? Or your friend cooks the best adobo in the world? Well, I don't think I cook the best adobo in the world but am proud enough of it I cooked some for my boss for her birthday last September and dropped it off at her house a few streets away from ours. I have no idea, though, if she did eat it. She orders adobo just about anywhere. I rarely have adobo outside my house.

Also, I've been meaning to ask the past few days, Are you the type who when out with friends, says something like, 'We should record our conversation, they can make a movie out of it.'? I've heard it once, but I don't remember the conversation being that interesting enough.

I want to go to the gym. I want to see Bulong. I want to watch Never Let Me Go. I want to read The Diary of Anne Fucking Frank given the time. But when?

FOOD AND THINGS

2011-02-09T15:27:00.000-08:00

Does it look like we didn't get enough sleep? Irene, me and Candice at Jo-ann's.

Woke up at 4am yesterday for work. What I expected to be a frightful day, ended up to be quite pleasant. Working with YES! is indeed like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get--and its always fattening. (Eating takes a lot of their/our time.) Anyway, we're working on something quite exciting. And quite difficult to put together its taking days to finish.

Had a surprise window to make a quick trip to Greenbelt, even if I was not dressed for seeing people, so grabbed the chance to have a quick lunch at Red Dot which I think has the best chicken rice in Manila (thanks to Corinne for suggesting).

The chicken rice at Red Dot. I asked for extra ginger sauce. The banana leaf plate was quite unnecessary. It makes a rather unpleasant sound when a silver kubyertos hits that textured surface.

If I haven't made myself clear all these years, I'm quite obsessed with the dish I was tearing up watching Tony Bourdain's report on Singaporean food places where people were obsessing about how best to eat chicken rice. I like people obsessing about little things. Reminds me of the old fogeys getting all philosophical about fonts in the documentary Helvetica. Anyway, I wasn't in the best condition to enjoy a meal but it was still quite satisfying. What they do at Red Dot is they sprinkle the chicken on top of the already-flavored rice with diluted Hoisin and sesame oil from these red plastic bottles carinderias usually put their catsup on. It looks more pleasant than Chef Stevie's, the one you order and have to pick up in Bel-Air. I had this last one at Tammy David's opening show at Manila Collective, Jake Versoza's gallery at Cubao X. Bea Ledesma had sent it in place of her presence to her good friend's opening. That was good, too, but the chicken was a little payat and was soaking in a brownish, watery puddle.

At Greenbelt, had a very short exchange with the artist Conrad Velasco while our escalators took us to different directions (they're always going up, I'm always going down. Sus!). And inside Greenbelt 5, I wanted to put a bed in the middle of the walkway and drown myself on a mattress covered in soft white sheets. I miss sleeping in airconditioned comfort. Or maybe I was just lacking in sleep yesterday. Wait, why am I telling you all these? E sabi niyo mag-blog ako ulit, ano buzz!

Dinner was fried lapu-lapu, catfish salad and pad thai at Muang Thai in Matalino. Pretty good. Dessert was at home: moist chocolate cake, a pasalubong from sister, with Selecta's Vanilla Almond ice cream on the side. It ain't lava cake but satisfying enough.

COSTUME DRAMA

2011-02-07T08:09:00.000-08:00

A couple of Sundays ago, I saw Blue Valentine on James’s laptop—after an unnecessary merienda of leche flan and vanilla ice cream on crushed ice at Iceberg’s. At first, I thought I wouldn’t be able to muster enough patience to watch what seems like another quiet film with Ryan Gosling in it—because I never even got past ten minutes of Lars and the Real Girl which wasn’t only quiet, it was set in winter and people wore drab sweaters and lived in brown wallpapered suburban houses.

Blue Valentine turned out to be a really good quiet film, thoroughly engaging, even if Michelle Williams spent most of it in hospital clothes.

It was about a marriage falling apart, interspersed with flashbacks of their early days as a couple meeting, falling in love, before Michelle finally makes peace with the fact that she can only live with a loser long enough—no matter how initially adorable he is, and how pure his heart. Great performances by Michelle and Ryan. For a while there, especially during the parts when they were in the motel room cheesily called “The Future,” I wanted to make hila Michelle’s pubic hair because she was being so maarte and won’t give in to Ryan’s efforts at seduction. During the falling-in-love scenes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off my face everytime Ryan does or says something supremely kilig and adorable. And, like in real life, it took quite awhile before I finally made peace with the fact that this absolutely adorable man is indeed what his receding hairline and job description imply he is: a loser.

A loser with a great wardrobe, at least. Loved the blue ukay suit he wore for the wedding, and the brown sweater he wore for dinner with her parents. And the digital gold watch which I thought was the touchstone to his being mahirap. Well, at least mahirap na hip.

Which made me think of other movies whose men had far more interesting wardrobes than the women. Of recent, I thought Mark Ruffalo was really well-styled in The Kids Are All Right.

Well, he only had to compete with lesbians. (I love you lezzies!).

Loved the accessories! Love the hair!

Then, there's Tom Cruise in his first Mission: Impossible. I can't find photos but I remember the all-black ensembles were quite stunning and sexy. It's the only Mission I saw.

Needless to say, A Single Man.

A few years back, the uber chic The Darjeeling Limited.

And who could forget...

THE STYLE GUY

2011-01-31T05:52:00.000-08:00

J Cu-unjieng died last January 27. He was 48.

I thought of J. Lee Cu-unjieng a few days ago when I first saw the trailer for the documentary on Bill Cunningham, the revered photographer who for years have untiringly snapped the best dresses on people walking the streets of New York. A quote from one of the interviewees struck me--"The point is that fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life"--and reminded me of J who, after reading my rather too-honest list of the '25 random things about me,' said it was too, too real for him.

Working on Gabby Concepcion with Rex Atienza for Metro hiM's April-May 2008 cover.

Of course, even before this I was being steadily reminded of J since early January, from the first time I received a text from our former editor Carlo Tadiar saying that J has been in the ICU. From then, Michael Salientes, J's friend since grade school in Xavier, would keep us updated on how J is doing. Updates that always come with a plea to PLEASE, PLEASE pray for him. Throughout the entire three weeks, J’s condition would get worse, then get better, then worse again—until finally last Thursday Michael texted to say that J might be leaving us soon. An hour later, Michael would text that J has gone.

J styled Aga Muhlach for the July-September 2007 cover story.

I met J when I began working for Metro hiM Magazine where he was our fashion editor. If memory serves, I might have been a little intimidated by this very well-put-together man, and his overall aura of fabulosity. It was not the loud or disco kind—which even J would, I assume, find kind of dated and unfashionable—but a fabness that is no less celebratory. It's a refreshing kind of glamour that he so casually wears, a glamour that's all about good, happy luxuries, of sunshine and a creamy cashmere shirt, a gleaming gold Bvlgari ring, or a pair of buttery Tod's loafers—all of which J often wears, sunshine included.

The cover shoot crew (Rex, J, Xeng, Raena, Vernon, Steve, Carlo and me) with Aga.

There is very little I know about his life outside of our magazine. Just that he has kids and was once married. That he runs as often as he can. That he wakes up very early and heads to the gym. That he is one of Manila's society's "Evil Badings" triumvirate--although I've never seen him do or say anything nearly evil. And we both love Yentl.

I wasn’t really close to J, although I admired him and he was a bit of an inspiration. What I loved most about him was his sense of humor, his laughter. His frequent use of the phrase ‘Scared o’ you!’ He reminded me so much of Jack McFarland in Will & Grace, although J was only funny and not funny-dumb. I sent him my copy of Simon Doonan’s book Eccentric Glamour because it reminded me of him, too, the humor and the unrepentant fabulousness, and I thought he would enjoy it—although I wasn’t quite sure if J was into reading books. I loved the way he would gush during meetings about the street fashion he's just seen from a recent trip abroad--as if it was absolutely the chicest thing he's seen ever.

J's jet-set style editorial for the Metro hiM Style Guide, photographed by Steve Tirona.

I think one of the best editorials Metro hiM produced was an accessories story styled by J, photographed by Milo Sogueco

Then there is his devotion to fashion, to the best-looking clothes, and the most darling men’s accessories. Very few men’s stylists working these days have J’s knack for picking the most covetable things for a fashion feature (they’re all too busy layering) or things that what my former boss Thelma would call nakakalaway. I guess it helps that he himself lives in those kinds of clothes and watches and rings---the best things money can buy. If we were doing a suit story, we only trusted J to do it, and if he wasn’t available, Carlo would just do it himself. J could only work for us in the late afternoons and upwards as he had a dayjob--the dayjob which allowed for all his designer possessions.

A business suit story styled by J, photographed by Jason Penaloza

They were all very sad, of course, when Metro hiM had to fold in early 2009. Me, I didn’t feel too much for it until many months after when I began to miss putting together a magazine that we actually created based largely on our own inclinations. So I did my online webzine called theswankstyle.com, which gave me the venue to continue what I was doing for Metro hiM. In Swank, I would occasionally ask J to answer sartorial questions, or give tips, or comment on some new trend. And he would so generously oblige (J liking Swank was one of the best compliments I got for the webzine). His cousins that I met during his wake didn’t have an idea that J was a fashion editor. What they know of him was that he wrote very well. And then I realized that J’s answers to my email questions for the webzine, or even for Metro hiM, were always well-composed, witty and snappy.

At the last anniversary party for Metro hiM at Rockwell Tent in 2008: me, J (who was wearing a kilt that evening), Rex and Carlo.

After Metro hiM, I would see J even less (I only see him in shoots and he only came to ABS-CBN Publishing for meetings), more often in the apartment building where a couple of other friends live. For impromptu drinks or when someone is celebrating a birthday. He would bring his own bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. In one of those evenings, as we were dancing in Nolo’s apartment (was it to Barbra’s “No More Tears”? Or Leah Navarro’s “Ligaw Tingin”?), most of us beyond just a little tipsy, he told me, quite seriously--because one of us had brought a date--“It’s you who I want to see with a partner.” And I was only able to say, 'Okay.' (So, J, can you go look for one for me now?)

The last time I saw J was at the birthday party for Devi Madrid several days before Christmas. Michael and Carlo were also present. What struck me most about him that night was how much weight he's lost. And he might have sensed that I was worried about how he looked, maybe unnecessarily, that’s why maybe we never really spoke all that much to each other that evening. If he were sick, he wouldn’t have said anything in an occasion like that. J hated drama. Or talking about drama.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have known how to talk about all the drama that went on in that hospital for the three weeks he was there. Had he survived the medications and procedures, he wouldn’t have been in a condition in which he would want to live. That would have been too soap opera for him. Or too real.

Michael and J reunited after a long time last 2009. I think they were reminiscing about Xavier days here, or about going to the Pen as tweens to order Shirley Temples. Photo by Devi Madrid.

I think he would be happy to know that his last look was styled by Michael, the eminent stylist, who was with him in the hospital the minute he passed away. All that cruel reality in the hospital that afternoon have clearly been softened a little when it was time to pick the fashion, J's last look. That guy in the Bill Cunningham docu was right.

Michael chose J's own black Dior suit, and a Lanvin shirt. The tie, from Liberty of London, was especially picked because Michael remembered J wanted to wear it to some Venice ball he was invited to last year. Michael had to look for it for half an hour in J’s very well-organized closet.

J by Steve Tirona

It turned out it wasn’t located where all the other ties were; it was hiding in a shoe. The tie's design had metal insects stuck to it--a cute, quirky touch (and a bit eerie when you think about it as they seemed to be in a queue going in the direction of J's neck). J looked good, actually. His salt-and-pepper streaks were showing at his temples. He looked rested. He didn't look older or ashen. He looked like himself. And, needless to say, he looked terribly chic.

MY STUFF

2010-08-26T21:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was nerve-wracking. Affairs and betrayals and deadlines in the morning, a wake in the evening. Other people's drama. Last night I thought, maybe this is why I have such a stable, largely unruffled existence---so that I can be sane and sober to watch, and write about, other people's real life teleseryes. And so I had to do something a little easy and fun to de-stress while in the office: I answered the My Stuff column from the Vanity Fair I borrowed from our executive editor, Mr Lacaba. By the way, God, this is not me asking for drama, okay? Maybe a little romantic drama. Yes, that.

HOME
Where do you live? Manila. Favorite art It’s a Frankie Callaghan photograph of a ruined urban building--which I can’t afford. Sheets White cotton my mother made. Stationery Bike. Pets None.

INSPIRATIONS
Favorite discovery Taho before workout and Ministop Chillz for afternoon perk-me-upper. Who inspires you Right now, people with money and great style. Necessary extravagance Mornings Favorite hotel Because I have great memories of that place, Manila Hotel
Favorite charity. Charity ward. Although I give to the Red Cross almost every time I buy my MRT card Favorite place in the world Home. My father’s hometown. The rest have disappeared. Favorite colors Green and blue.

CLOTHES
Jeans Bench Daily Jeans (women’s). Boxers or briefs Briefs. Sneakers Adidas.
Watch I'm into bangles. T-shirt White Hanes. Favorite designer Miuccia Prada Cufflinks I’m a rolled-up sleeves kind of guy. Loafers or laceups Both.

GROOMING PRODUCTS
Shampoo Johnson’s. Moisturizer My natural oils and sweat seem to work just fine.
Toothpaste Crest. Soap Safeguard white. Razor The disposable kind. Where do you get your haircut Rudolf at Britanico Salon in Glorietta. Ever since the salon’s days in Gamboa. Cologne None. If you smell anything artificial, it’s the fabric conditioner the maid overdosed on. (Someone told me yesterday, other cultures say we Pinoys smell like fish. I want to smell like piniritong dalagang bukid).

Photographed by James Ong at Be Beautiful For Him near Rockwell, July 2010. Shirt, Carmen Gomez; shorts, altered Collezione c2; slippers, Havaianas.

MARLENE ON MY 'PAST'

2010-08-16T03:24:00.000-07:00

Marlene at home with sister Tess Aguilar.

Please stop comparing the mother of Ivan Padilla to Marlene Aguilar. The latter is totally on a league of her own. Especially because Marlene is a clairvoyant--or so she told me when I interviewed her early this year. She even proceeded to give me a reading.

"You suffered. When you were young. You were oppressed when you were young. You’re very sensitive. When you lose your temper you go black. You have a lot of anger within you but you’re also very bright. Very sensitive. But you do not show the world your pain. What we see is not what we get. You’re very tough on the outside but inside you're not. You're very soft. Ah, you do not know how to trust because you have been betrayed when you were young by the same people who were supposed to love you. When your emotions go down, you can get depressed. And you are able to detach, you can walk away from relationships when it no longer suits you, when it threatens you. You distance yourself from those around you…you have not forgiven those who have harmed you."

Not that she's any good.

GET READY TO FALL IN LOVE AT 00:44

2010-01-28T04:27:00.001-08:00

I saw this on the big screen the other night as a prelude to the Kimerald film Paano Na Kaya. More than an hour into the film, I feel nothing. This 2min 34second trailer had me at "August." It's so great to see them back together on the big screen. I've never really seen Bea as pretty but she looks gorgeous with her disheveled pusod here.

And about John. There are no words really. I've said them all. I will just repeat myself. My right hand was clasping the armrest as if I was in a Sea Air flight; my chest heavy with, ugh, love. For two minutes and 34 seconds it was as if someone told me to hold my breath. And I did. Thank heavens trailers are short.

I can't wait for February 23—so I'll be there February 22, at the premiere, whether you expect me or not. Don't worry, I'll bring a nebulizer.

SHE GOT ME ALL FAHKLEMPT

2010-01-18T07:28:00.000-08:00

The day began with me not wanting to get out of bed. From all that red wine from the wedding of the night before. Still, I needed to get myself to some taping at 9am, therefore I would miss the Golden Globes. I remember always watching the Globes in Kalibo, be it in the house of my aunt, or in Boracay, because it falls on the Monday after the Ati-atihan festivities. I really didn't think much of today's ceremonies until I started looking at the red carpte photographs over at nymag. I thought John was adorable, and Chloe supremely chic.

And then I came home in the evening and started watching, and maybe its the remnants of the hangover (Not the one that won Best Comedy), and I started getting emotional, especially after Meryl's speech (hindi ko inabutan si Mo' nique). Her struggle to make sense of all that worship and moments like that, and remembering what her mom used to say when she was still alive: to just put the dress on and be grateful. And then there was Drew--who I adore--saying something about growing up in that room, and the people there being her family.

Before I went to my sister's house to watch TV, I was in my room and thought of saying a little prayer. I thought I just wanted to be grateful for all the blessings especially of the past few days since the year started. And then I saw the Globes and all these speeches about knowing and caring about what's happening in the world outside our immediate one. I may not have won an award tonight but, man, I had dinner with my family, my parents brought lechon kawali, there was fried chicken and sauteed broccoli on the table, rice and watermelon. And Ben sat on his high chair, and I wanted to burst because, really, many are not as blessed, and are going through terrible times, and here I am, with my family, and we are, by the grace of God, safe and okay.

Oh, and today my father became a proud holder of a Senior Citizen's card.

I LOVE YOU, GOODBYE

2010-01-04T04:08:00.000-08:00

For some reason I don't do nostalgia anymore. I go back to Karl Lagerfeld saying, in the documentary Lagerfeld Konfidentiel, that if you keep pining for what happened in the past, then one might as well give up. I'm sure there are other reasons, changes in my mental/emotional buildup, why I don't see myself saying 'Why don't they make things like they used to' any time soon.

So I went to Oarhouse for its last two nights angst-free, empty of nostalgia, and just wanting to hang out there, have a few drinks one last time. Not to relive anything but simply pay my respects. To a place I first visited in the late '90s—-when it still had that billiard table in the middle, drinking while we wait for Binky Lampano's set to start next door at Hobbit House. And then we got reacquainted in the 2000s, when it became a quieter alternative to Penguin, and because Wilson, our beloved bartender in our Blue Cafe days was there. If there wasn't anyone familiar to talk to in the crowd, at least there was Wilson---who doesn't do caepirinha anymore but granted my request to include it in his repertoire that wildly drunken Sunday afternoon party summer last year (where I got to flirt with a certain Ronnie Lazaro)--he even had to buy dayap the night before.

Coming to Oar the night they learned that it was on its last two days of business, I saw my friend Gina Abuyuan, and Reg Hernandez, one of the owners. 2009 wasn't a very pleasant year for Reg, primarily because it began with the sudden passing of his partner Annabelle Bosch. He treated us to tequila, a shot each to toast to the coming year when we decided we wouldn't make plans anymore. 2009 left us all so tired to actually work up an energy to at least put the past year in perspective, and greet the coming year with something close to anticipation.

Two days before I learned of Oarhouse's demise, I also found out that Penguin in Remedios has also closed its doors. Both joints are supposedly being replaced with Korean restaurants. Although its been kind of depressing seeing it the past few times, I have very good memories of Penguin (with the exception of one really bad night). Penguin and Oar are easily the last two bastions of what was once a cool Malate, but I wouldn't go as far as saying 'It's the end of an era.' My friend was right in saying 'Its the end...of a habit.' Two less bars out of what for me is a really short list. Still, a few Syquia people are already talking of putting up something along the lines of these two legends, maybe somewhere in Ermita which, they say, will soon be experiencing a renaissance.

In the meantime, I'll have my scotch at home--when the mood strikes. I just made friends with the Black Label guy a couple of days ago. He's a pretty smooth partner, that one.

WHITE HEAT

2009-12-11T02:42:00.000-08:00

I'm sick and I kinda like it. Ate calamares midnight and my stomach has been bad since I woke up this morning, and throughout my 'sleep' I feel that the fried rice and calamares were climbing out of my throat. I knew I shouldn't have eaten but les parents brought it home because they thought I hadn't had dinner. My stomach was so puno when I woke up I had to force my finger into my tonsils so I could throw up (just like I always do in the morning of every art opening) and so I have a smaller tummy. Despite the (very early) call of work, my body just refused to get off the bed, so I read this short story by Gilda Cordero Fernando, from a collection I bought at the Anvil sale yesterday near the office (nothing much there you don't already own). One of my favorite short stories ever is hers, although I'm not very much drawn to her essays that come out in the papers. In this collection, people may be dirt poor, living in buses, but they tell their stories in beautiful English, its weird. Also their names are Yoying and Socorro. Anyway, I hope Anvil has a library of their out-of-print books that the public/media can access and just photocopy, if they're not reprinting anyway, di ba?

Anyway, felt weak the entire day. So I'm kind of enjoying being home early on a weekday. As I write this I am waiting for the white adobo to cook--the recipe (from Yummy; yes I've switched entirely to Summit magazines, haha!) I peek into from the open laptop. Saw this new hit sitcom called Modern Family. It's alright. Finally saw Two Lovers. Gwynnie is gorge. Its sad. A friend said sobrang makaka-relate ako. Some people exaggerate (Or do they?).

Siguro makaka-relate talaga 'ko pag natuloy na 'yung Filipino remake nina Piolo at KC: "Two Lovers in Paris."

Or, as same friend said, when they make the porn version, lalagyan lang ng Hilton sa huli: "Two Lovers in Paris Hilton."

Param-pam!

THE CONTRIB

2009-12-10T02:22:00.000-08:00

I wrote a short recap on the film and design scenes of 2009 for this month's Preview.

And about Manila Design Week for the October issue.

Wala lang.

THE BLOC PARTY

2009-12-08T01:52:00.000-08:00

Before leaving for the Syquia bloc party last Saturday, I thought of bringing a camera. It was, after all, my first time to attend this, one of the most chica parties in town, and I wanted to take pictures of the works at the group show at Manila Contemporary. But there’s something about the weather and my mood that made me tamad, and so just went to Syquia straight (but swung by Oarhouse for a glass of Jack first). Besides, I’m not good with keeping my gadgets safe while partying. On my way to Malate I was thinking why I rarely see photos of my old hangouts like Blue Café and Matina. Oh because in those days, people just attended parties and did not need to blog about them. There were people called photographers.

Anyway, from how it looked, it was a fabulous party, hopping from Carlos’ house to Chiqui’s to Dodo Crisol’s to Markus and Richard’s to Apa’s. And Manila’s coolest were there. I think I was able to feel a little of its fabulosity. But there’s something about me the past couple of weeks, like I’m removed from the world, looking at it, observing it while not actually being part of it. Walking towards MH del Pilar, I thought the scene quite filmic---the back of the Malate Church, quiet street, me in my old brogues, black shorts and black scarf, clutching a bottle of red. Like some moody Woody Allen or that terribly old show where the fifth character was referred to as Manhattan. It’s like I’m just watching myself from some camera. My friend, another bloc party virgin said, maybe it’s the hopping from one apartment to another, going up and down the stairs that’s why we didn’t really get into the vibe. We were too busy running around that I forgot to ogle at the cute boys--and there were lots. Like this guy...

We were probably like two kids in a candy store or something. I say 'probably' because I was half-drunk, half dazed, and yet completely conscious of everything around. From the pictures, however, thanks to Devi, I looked like I was having a gorgeous time. Well, I hope I get invited again. Maybe next year I will be completely present, and the drinks will hit the right spots. But thank you very much Carlos for inviting me, and please put me on the list again next year ha.

THE HILLS

2009-12-06T20:19:00.000-08:00

Trips to Kalibo are never complete without a visit to the ricefields, which is really just a few steps away from where my cousins and aunts live. This year is especially, well, special because of Ben, that little boy I'm holding. His dad, who might have had worries about me taking his baby to the eanas (bukid), joined us and took this photograph.

Zygie, Thea and Keana joined us for some frolicking in the pilapil, looking at tadpoles. and avoiding ant-infested areas. My cousin said the kids missed me because I'm the only one who makes the trip with them to the field. When we were kids we'd pass by here to go to another lola's house located near the irigacion. I remember Yoyoy Villame playing in the background. We grew up listening to Yoyoy in the vinyl player and dancing to "Mag Exercise Tayo." I love Yoyoy.

It's Ben's first trip to his lolo's hometown, and he was, of course, the superstar for this particular visit.

Very Henri Cartier Bresson lang, di bala?

On our way home, we passed by the still-sleeping perya and the multi-purpose court where my cousin was preparing for an arnis match. Later in the evening...

Videoke, naturally. Bongbong is running for vice-mayor in the neighboring town so we slid bills to his shirt to help with his campaign funds. He gave them back because it was too small.

Dinner was crabs and inihaw na liempo and Gran Matador and Benmore (they have it in Gaisano!), and red wine for the gals. I wish we could be back for the Ati-atihan next month.

LUNES, MARTES, MIYERKULES

2009-11-23T22:48:00.000-08:00

Monday Woke up and sat on edge of bed for awhile looking blankly at window. Considering it’s a Monday, my physical self feels fine. You see, I’ve developed this sleeping pattern where I rarely get any sleep Sunday evenings to the next morning. I used to think its anxiety over unfinished work that needs to be passed/submitted/done by Monday. But now I rarely have stressful Mondays, it’s just hassle not to get decent sleep at the beginning of week. Especially if you’ve been made depressed by the laptop situation just the day before. In the afternoon, as I was trying to write about my loss, Carlo was texting to ask how I am. In middle of our exchanges and writing, began to feel like I would burst and went straight to CR and cried as quietly as can. That night, I went to the barangay near my street and reported incident. A stocky older man attended to me and wrote the report on his logbook. He seemed saddened by news and gave the obligatory tsk-tsk-tsk.

Tuesday Was looking for old article from years back which led me to old folder of correspondences. Don’t you miss the days when you write your friends letters, even if they were online and not in romantic longhand and paper? Anyway, here’s an excerpt from a letter to a friend:

“Saw Big Chill last night and while dated na ang angst niya siyempre napaisip pa rin ang lola mo about what it is like to pretend you're enjoying what you do, I mean, do I even have to ask that? When at the back of your mind you know you could be doing something better. And then there's this threat of a war and you kind of think whether it might just be better to do something more creative or fulfilling or substantial than doing pr and fan mag work. Ay, nakanamputa, ayoko na niyan! Sabi ni mr kundera sa "unbearable..." we only live once so you never really know if your decisions in this life are wrong or right kasi isa beses ka lang naman nabubuhay so you don't have another lifetime to compare it with. But then, naisip ko naman, we still continue to do what we think is good otherwise its a betrayal of our wisdom if we don't.”

Kaya mo?

Wednesday Realized Brooks Brothers shirt I bought from ukay was ladies’ shirt because of placement of buttons. Wore it anyway. Attended Rachel and Isa’s twinbill at Silverlens/20Square. Chic crowd: mix of artists and oyes, but none chicer than Tessa Celdran who was wearing very short purple dress in jersey and fuschsia stockings. Very impressive works, actually, and very different from each other. While Isa’s seemed to have involved painstaking work that involved layerings and photograms and micro-explosives, Rachel’s were very minimalist and austere. The Gary Ross painting, which Isa showed me in the bodega, was not what I had expected. True, the diagonal lines were there but this was on paper and framed in glass; the one I had in mind was on canvas and bigger. When I got home, opened my windows and had one last drink. As the November breeze very faintly whispered to my back, I realized I really like my house. Despite the incident, despite the un-chic neighbors. I decide I will commit to more improvements for it. Still, I wasn’t ready to sleep there just yet.

THE WHOA! FACTOR

2009-11-19T01:07:00.000-08:00

One rarely gets surprised with magazine covers these days. This is just stunning. Way to go, Michael!

BUT THEN THERE ARE THESE

2009-11-18T00:57:00.000-08:00

Seven good things from the past two not-so-good days.

1) Ben. Six months old. Giggles and stomps feet when you hold him up to the sky. Amuses self by playing with his mouth and pretending like cat with furball on throat. Prefers black electric cords to toys. Can be fooled to sleep by playing with right ear.

2) Seeing this picture.

3) And this.

4) Bored to Death. An oxford and corduroy-wearing Jew addicted to weed and white wine in New York. Hopelessly in love writer who can’t seem to begin the next novel. Stylish, funny, charming, real. And Ted Danson plays the white-haired boss who sports an eccentric brain to contrast with his elegant suits.

5)Fierce Pajamas. Can I say that we have some really chic things in the library? In Vogue. 10 Most Influential Magazine Designers. 43rd Publication Design Annual. Sense&Style Magazine. Kidding. The boss’ contribution to the library from recent trip to NY: Fierce Pajamas. An anthology of humor writings from the New Yorker. Woody Allen and Steve Martin write several pieces.

6) Shaun T. Yes, I’m back hip-hop-absing. There’s something very Che-vital about exercise videos but a black man showing you how he works those sweaty abs every few steps or so is worth the price of embarrassment. Watch out for when he walks back towards that guy in the background and gives those pandesal buns just a little pinch. Exhilarating. Oh, and I do the exercise, too.

7)Family and friends, like Maricris who just went on ahead and gave me a scolding over the phone (and she rarely calls kasi kuripot siya). And this: “My wish for you: mapalitan ng job in New York or a boyfriend who can buy you a new one plus the Gary Ross painting.”Well, we just found the kapatid of that painting and I’m going to see it tonight. Will I meet the guy who will buy it for me, too? Come to MoMa!

MY KIND OF HOUSEMATE

2009-11-17T23:31:00.003-08:00

Rocky Salumbides just went inside the Big Brother house last night. I wrote this story on him for Metro hiM in 2007. Nakakatunaw ang pagkalalake ng mga quotes.

While waiting for our early lunch of sisig and lechon kawali to be served at an open-air grill in Quezon City, model Rocky Salumbides is discussing the relevance of doing a magazine profile on him—“Hindi ko na kailangan ‘yan,” he says with a macho chuckle—and casually illustrates the philosophy that has served him well most of his life. “Pag pinapili ako kunyari: Rocky Salumbides o isandaan (piso)?” He points out two imaginary spots on the table. “Mapapakain ba ‘ko nung Rocky Salumbides? Kukunin ko na yung isangdaan!”

Not that the name holds very little value these days. The 25-year old hunk is less seen now in the local runways and magazine editorials because he’s been frequenting more of the Hongkong and Singapore scene where he is represented by Elite Models. He has walked the runways for the Asian shows of Versace, John Galliano and Jean Paul Gaultier, and this summer he will be one of the familiar faces in the men’s shows at the Singapore Fashion Week. His earthy, chiseled, ruggedly masculine features are better appreciated abroad than in artistahin-obsessed Manila (“Dito lang naman sa Pilipinas mahilig sa mga cute-cute. Do’n pag lalake, gusto nila lalake talaga.”) And this appreciation, of course, is expressed in dollars. Abroad, he says, he is paid by the hour. “Dito pahirapan pa eh. Sisingilin mo, hahanapan ka pa ng TIN. Akala mo isang libo ibabayad sa’yo. Tsaka bihira lang talaga maganda picture. Minsan pipiliin ko pa test shot ng photographer (for my book), kesa layout ng magazine.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s complaining. He never does. While he may have admittedly started late in the fashion biz—he was already 24 when talent manager Jingky Illusorio spotted him—he’s been an insider enough to know that these things are facts of life in the local modeling trade. Rocky is a guy who knows what he’s worth.

Hopefully, the pickpockets in the Baclaran-Taft throughfares don’t. Today, he made the long, early commute from Cavite where he lives, wearing slippers up to the Pasay MRT station before changing to the more model-worthy pair of sharp black leather shoes for the train ride to this shoot. “Mahirap na mapagkamalang may pera,” he says smiling.

Rocky was part of the varsity basketball team of Trinity College when he was asked to try modeling. That time, he was laughing off the sample photos of half-naked models that Illusorio presented him. “Siyempre player ako, malay ko du’n sa mga nakahubad. Hindi ko alam du’n pala ko babagsak.” He said no at first. Three months later, when he suffered a lower back and shoulder injury because of a game, he gave Jingky a call. Photographer Raymond Lontok, who was then just visiting Manila, helped him do his initial portfolio using an ordinary camera and a few fluorescent lights.

The first time he went to a go-see he came straight from basketball practice. He was sweaty and wearing his basketball uniform—big shirt, big jersey shorts, and was carrying a huge gym bag. “Lahat naka tight, long sleeves, malalaking collars.” It was a go-see for a Bergamo show and he didn’t know what Bergamo is. He didn’t bring his set card so he was asked to leave. He felt so out-of-place that he never went to go-sees since.

Shortly after, fashion show director Robbie Carmona would see a photo of his from Illusorio and would cast him in a men’s fashion show. Carmona was the one who asked him to join the Best Male Model division of MTV Fashionista. He won the title and was sent to Turkey where he competed against 49 other models from different countries. He won third runner-up. “Pagdating dito walang nangyari,” he says. “Hindi nalaman ng tao. Kahit wala nang picture, masabi man lang na ‘Huy ‘yung basagulero nating balut vendor nanalo.’ Pero okay lang. After that pinush ko na yung sarili ko.”

Yes, he was a balut vendor. “Gusto mo itanong kung ilang weeks yung itlog bago dapat sipsipin?” he asks laughing. “Alam nyo ba yung mga balut na puti? Kung ano yung masarap?” He proceeds to give us an excited kid’s lecture on the making of a balut. Initially, he used to sell salted eggs but it took too much time and effort to make. So he shifted to balut. “’Yung balut, pagkakuha mo ng itlog ng itik, tabi mo lang sila lahat, balutan ng kumot lumalaki na ‘yung sisiw. Bibilangin mo na lang yung linggo bago mo lutuin,” He was in his senior year in high school when he started selling balut during school breaks. He would peddle it in the streets himself. “Pag di naubos, iyak sa bahay, pinapakain sa barkada.”

That was his gig for four months. “Madiskarte ako eh. Hindi ako kayang pakainin ng balut ngayon? Hanap naman ako ng iba (mapagkakakitaan). Eh sa Cavite marami kang magagawa ‘dun eh. Pag summer tag-mangga. Puwede kong kausapin ‘yung may mga farm na ako maglalako, hati kami sa presyo. O kaya magbabantay ng pinyahan, tutulong magtanggal ng damo sa pinya. Kahit ano basta mapagkakakitaan.”

While he spent most of his life in Pasay and Cavite, Rocky was born in Mindanao where he was raised by his mom who used to play in the RP football team. She is his number one fan, as displayed by the fashion photographs she framed and hung in their Cavite home. “Hindi ko puwede isama sa mga show yun, pag may narinig na panlalait baka manggulpi lang yun.” His dad—who he recently found out passed away two years ago—left them for another family when Rocky was in kindergarten. “Sumakabilang-bahay,” he says without a trace of regret. He moved to Pasay when he was around 10 when his mom started playing for the Air Force.

Rocky says his street-smart survival instincts were honed by his experiences in the province. Lacking money for a college education, he worked as a construction worker in Mindanao after graduating from high school. And because he didn’t want to be a burden to his grandparents with whom he lived, he decided to take on a job. His lolo, who is a geodetic engineer, asked him to join a project in their town. He was 16. “Yung mga kasama ko mga trenta (anyos), kuwarenta, sisenta. Ikaw ba hindi ka matututo nun? Limang buwan ka sa bundok, walang kuryente, ang ilaw lang kandila, gasera. Ang meron lang baraha, sigarilyo. Andami kong natutunan. Hindi ko pinagsisisihan.”

He would return to Manila at the prodding of an uncle who, pointing out Rocky’s height and talent in basketball, said he should try applying for a varsity scholarship. He got accepted in De La Salle, Cavite where he majored in Veterinary Medicine. But what he really wanted then was to join the PBA. “Eh sa height ko maliit, at ang priority ngayon mga Fil-Am. Kung hindi ka katangkaran wala rin. So siguro (fashion) talaga mundo ko.”

It’s a superficial world the “basagulerong balut vendor” has found himself in but it seems his survival instinct has taught him well to always go the other way: stubbornly keeping things real. “Hindi ko na kailangan ng mga writeup-writeup pa eh. Hindi ko na kailangan ng pangalan. Gusto ko lang talaga trabaho, kita, may makain kami ayos na ‘yun.” He was never the guy you see at parties, who hangs out with fellow male models who, in his own words, “Ingglis nang Ingglis wala naman pinag-usapan kundi pa’no magpalaki ng katawan.” He has model-friends, though, like Gary Dulatas and Zanjoe Marudo. “’Yung mga makamasa.”

These days, he divides his time between his modeling stints abroad and living the simple life in Cavite where he breeds dogs and takes care of his mom who resigned from her job at the Air Force last year. “Na-stress nang na-stress, nagka-high blood, diabetes, nagresign. Ayun, saksak pa rin ako nang saksak ng insulin (sa kanya). Kaya kailangan kayod talaga eh, hindi puwede petiks-petiks eh. Eh ako pagdating sa gulangan, pagdating sa pera, putik, pera talaga ko eh. Mabuti sana kung artista tayo, pirma-pirma ka lang tseke.”

From his earnings, he’s already bought an 80-square meter lot for his mom in Cavite. “Kahit kubo lang patayo ko du’n , sa ‘min yun,” he says proudly. “Tsaka ang lupa puwede mo pakinabanagan kahit wala pang bahay. Plano ko nga bibili ‘ko ng mga biik tapos papa-alagaan ko.”

Still, he is far from done with his modeling dreams. Next stop: Europe. But he doesn’t know when just yet. “Baka panahon lang makakapagsabi. Pag hinog na si Rocky. Pag puwede na tayong tumapak sa mundo ng mga totoong pashon.”

THE LOSS

2009-11-16T01:13:00.001-08:00

I feel disjointed, disconnected. Sad. Shocked. Trying to make sense of it but can’t seem to arrive at anything yet. Someone snuck into my house last Saturday night while I was out and stole my laptop. I never get attached to material things—except perhaps with bangles and rings that I fall in love with at first sight. This was just an appliance. It’s not a Mac, not that expensive, I can’t even remember the brand now as I write this. But it’s my mother who paid for it, it’s her money, that’s why it weighs quite heavily on my chest. She has loaned me 30 grand at the beginning of the year because I thought I needed a laptop. My mom, you see, she’s the most hardworking woman I know, and every cent matters to her. She won’t take a cab because she can take a bus, she won’t change the frame of her glasses because P4000 is just not practical even for something that is so essential to her work and daily life. But she just lent me that money no questions asked, and now its gone, and when she learns about it she won’t get mad but it would break her heart a little. And I’ve broken her heart enough times. Now I am walking around with a heavy chest and a blank gaze, feeling just a little guilty that I didn’t even secure my windows that night, that I don’t live my life with just a little more care. It’s just a laptop I know, but it’s her. And I can feel some tightening in my throat as I type this, a slight burning in my eyes.

The first time I lost a laptop was around two years ago. It was a Mac, bought with my own earnings, and it crashed. I brought it to the Ynzal shop near the office and after learning that to have it fixed would cost me P30,000—the price of a new machine just not a Mac—I thought I’d just wait it out. I abandoned the poor thing in Ynzal and didn’t really care much about retrieving it anymore; it’s already earned me enough to pay for itself, it’s won me my first writing award. It’s done its job. This new one has only been with me for not even a year. I put together my humble little webzine with it, so I guess it’s already achieved something, but it hasn’t earned any significant amount of money enough to pay back my mother. Now I have to earn the 30 grand for something that has ceased to exist.

The other thing about losing this one is that it brings up a few other issues. You see, I have just moved into this new home, and I was just beginning to enjoy it, planning for it, buying things that it needs no matter how simple and humble, writing about it, sharing it with friends. The day it was stolen, Carlo has just dropped off a new addition to the furniture: an old chair that he felt was taking too much space in his room. The thing is, this house, no matter how small it is and humble, it is the first space I could call my own and it has given me so much joy. And suddenly it feels like someone had insulted it. It’s not even that I don’t feel safe inside it anymore, but it feels like someone cruel ridiculed it and pooped on the living room floor before leaving through the balcony door.

Yesterday morning, it took awhile before I could get myself out of bed, and just sat quiet, had my morning coffee music-less because there’s nothing to play my CD from. Without bathing, I went straight to my sister’s place a couple of blocks away and stayed there for most of the day, hesitant to go back to my place. It still felt weird this morning as I blankly looked at the sky looking for words to say for a prayer—especially after finding out, as I was looking for my office bag, that he had taken with him my deep brown leather tote. My friends say I should report it to the police or the barangay. Maybe I will. Later. Except in my mind I keep thinking, ‘What would that do?’

Man, it's embarassing having red eyes in the office.

THE ART SALE

2009-11-13T03:23:00.000-08:00

Kaya mo 'yung purple faux alligator shoes ni Raymond?

Raymond invited me to attend the Art Flood at Silverlens last night. Tons of art from some really big artists are on sale for really good prices, some are on auction at quite surprising starting bids. Proceeds go to the Red Cross and are intended for the victims of the recent floods. When he texted me, I kind of got scared because I might like something and forget about the more necessary expenses at hand.

Besides, I already have a work I really want in mind, something I saw from the first and only art market Green Papaya put together several years back: a painting by Gary Ross Pastrana of six diagonal stripes facing each other (its much more interesting when you see it, believe me) . I still haven’t gotten over it (not that I lose sleep thinking about diagonal stripes, although I might lose sleep thinking about Gary.) Good thing I wasn’t especially taken by any from last night’s bounty. But a couple of friends brought home a beautiful nude painting of a black woman by Mia Herbosa—and got registered to bid for a Kiko Escora.

Me, I just had a glass of rose wine, and two bottles of beer—the money also goes to Red Cross. So I did my share with a smile on my face. The sale goes on until tomorrow leading up to the auction to be hosted by Carlos Celdran in the evening. Go if you have time. We don’t really share the same taste naman—or same color of walls—you might find something that catches your fancy.

Patty E took this photo of the jamon for the dinner at Cantinetta next door.

Some of the art on sale here.

THE REPLACEMENT

2009-11-12T22:29:00.000-08:00

Bought early 2007 at the Traffic store inside Rustan's Makati. For close to three years, he's never failed to attract attention. About two weeks ago, I decided he should retire. And up to its very last breath, he has served me with that toothy smile.

Bought last Sunday, a birthday gift from my mother. Faux snakeskin loafers with a shiny layer. The first time I saw it, it was a very quick introduction, and for awhile I was actually imagining I saw a pair of driving shoes filled with micro retangular black paillettes. Wouldn't than have been lovely? But I like this one, too.

36

2009-11-12T00:05:00.000-08:00

Tom Cruise on the couch--the sedated version. My favorite Bazaar cover, by Demarchelier.

I turned 36 last Tuesday and spent the day taking care of Ben while deciding if I should have a party at home or not. At 3pm, I decided to hell with it, I’d just invite friends for drinks, and that’s that. Despite the late notice, six showed up. Had I spent it only with family and Dahl and Maricris, it would already have been darling, but Lito came and Mark and Paul (who came with girlfriend whose name I can never get right) and Leah. The house, which, in Mark’s estimate, is around 30sqm, looked smaller with people in it. Had the six others on the list made it, they would be staying on the bedroom and spilling over to the small balcony. Which was how I imagined it, really. The thing is I wouldn’t know how I would have pulled that off without worrying if I’m not boring anyone, if I’m engaging enough in my drunkenness, if people are already finding it hot since I don’t have an airconditioner and am totally dependent on two electric fans and opening all windows.

I like playing host. It’s me only better. And more glamorous—in my mind. I seem to take on a more confident personality. But I’ve only done it a few times, and only for people I’m really at home with: once for a Temptation Island screening at the house in Maginoo (served Savory fried chicken and ice cream inspired by the movie’s dream sequence), my birthday in 2007 for college friends also in the same house (we used to have a garden, boohoo), and then a few weeks ago, a small gathering that was originally planned as a reunion with old StarStudio folks, had Leah not been in Macau and Francis been kind enough to reply to my text invitation: “Join me as we celebrate the emancipation of JR and the survival of Arnel (who ‘lived to tell the story. Our story.’).” Turns out each of us that evening had something to raise a glass to: D’s increase, the news of Gay’s movie competing in France, and the tremendous happiness that moving to my new job has afforded me.

I cooked chicken with garlic and olive oil (which anyway turned out to be adobo, except with white wine instead of vinegar) and pasta tossed in butter and salmon, then sprinkled with olives. It was the first time I was able to use my plates from SM and the chunky kubiyertos from the Ikea store near my house. Also, it was a sort of baptism for my new table, a foldable square piece bought from a karpintero I chanced upon in the neighborhood. He is from Cavite and goes around bringing with him all these tables, squats wherever the location permits, and works on new ones while waiting for a buyer. At P550, he even left his merchandise untended to walk me to the house carrying the piece (and also because kulang ako ng singkuwenta pesos).

The taka, a gift from Mark Salvatus, is now on top of the foldable table (along with MM's polaroid) I had painted in white.

But back to that evening. The atmosphere was too cool and relaxed (I was in slippers and white shorts, we listened to Sergio Mendes and Fifth Dimension from a CD Noel burned for me) that I thought it was a soothing exercise after a week of work. By the end of the evening, we had met a new friend. This guy, who happened to look from the front window, was asking why our hallway had no light unlike the other floors. I asked him to join us (he was kinda cute) and he did, and before we knew it he was adding to our survivor stories---he was one of those trapped in the second floor of their homes in Provident Village, Marikina, and moved next door to me earlier that day.

Putting the party together the other night within only a few hours proved tiring, and the more you spend and work for it, ‘just drinks’ quickly turns into a production. I asked my father to cook beef kaldereta and his pinakbet with Andok’s liempo cuts. My mother went to the grocery to buy the ingredients, and then supervised the preparation for the tinapang lumpia (that morning I gave them a card thanking them for 36 years of taking care of me). By 6pm all I really want to do was drink but there was the wine to be bought, the beer, the ice, the electric fan to borrow, the fact that I left my key inside the house and locked myself out and had to fetch a locksmith. By the time the first guest arrived, all that moving around had pumped me up and I was ready to be the better version of me. Throughout the party all I had was Benmore, a scotch-whiskey blend that’s so good (and so cheap) that you barely notice you’ve already half-finished the bottle and you’re still not making a fool of yourself. I first encountered Benmore through Krip Yuson who occassionally brings his own bottles to parties.

My old speakers still get the job done.

Played ‘90s Madonna but after awhile nobody really cared about the music. Carlo once told me, while at Cos Zicarelli’s musicless birthday show, “Ikaw lang naman may gusto laging may music eh.” Well, why not? It sets the tone for the evening, immediately lifts up your mood and elevates the scenery, and it’s an easy subject of talk. It’s like during those awards shows and they’re about to announce the nominees for Best Musical Score: they show you the scene first without music and its dull; and then they show the same scene with, say, something from Philip Glass (The Hours) and the dialogue almost floats. In the movie in my mind, and this is how I always see moments, parties need to have a soundtrack because it pulls everything together. Heaven knows all those boring art openings can be less of a dud if they had something playing in the background. But please, anything but house.

By the time Lito was the only guest left, I switched to Metropop, and he happily guessed which year each song competed. Lito spoke to Mark for most of the party then engaged us all after Paul and his girlfriend left (Paul is so damn in love he wouldn’t leave her side). “Ang tali-talino naman nito,” Maricris told me. I’m always in awe everytime Lito tries to reach out and blend in with simplefolk like us in a social setting. You could put him anywhere and he would have something to say. Ya gotta love the guy.

Slept like a baby that night but woke up very early with a headache, and surprised that I had left all my windows open. Just like the last time, I didn’t realize I could make use of my ref to save my leftovers from spoiling. That morning, as I was walking down the street I said hi to a cute young man and as I turned to see his reaction, he gave me the finger. It was the first sincere dirty finger of my life. I thought it was sweet.

Later that day, while I was on the train to work, Arnel texted to ask what my birthday wish was, and I realized I hadn’t thought about it. “A bigger heart,” I answered. “To allow me to give of myself to more people.” Naks. “Pero ‘bigger heart ha. Not ‘enlargement of the heart.’”

SO SEW ME!

2009-11-10T20:58:00.000-08:00

I was getting bored with our logo and thought it needed a little, well, chutzpah. So I asked JR Agra to spruce it up a bit. I wanted something festive but not Araneta Center Christmas tree festive. When I asked him about it last week, he said, tinatahi niya pa. And lo and behold, literal pala. Well, not exactly.

He first did it in black but I asked if maybe we could do a gold, but somber gold. Like the color of cigar. Sabi niya mahal daw special color. Etchos.

Does this mean we're, uhm, threading a different path at Swank? (Kinakaya mo 'yung pun?) Anyway, it's already up. And I think its lovely. Its flighty and crafty and fun in a quiet, Christmas morning way.

Thanks J.

LAST WEEK IN HIGHLIGHTS

2009-11-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

MONDAY began with thoughts of going to Bangkal. The point: look for accent chair and a low coffeetable. But since Bangkal proved too far for carless fag, had brilliant idea of just going to Swapmeet in Kamuning which is five minutes away from apartment. First, I was distracted by this lonesome Batibot chair. “P800,” the guy in the stall said. “Narra pa ‘yan.” It’s like instinct to them, I think, saying this or that wood is narra as soon as they spot a tinge of reluctance in your face. It’s like those people who in a snap would tell you, “I’m happy!” As if you asked.

“Mahal naman,” I said. “P500 na lang.”

“P750.”

“P600,” even as I was distracted by a handsome cleaning guy in the stall across (although Batibot vendor looks cute, too).

“P800 talaga.”

“P400.”

I thought I could confuse him with our little Pugo-and-Tugo routine but he wouldn’t give in. I told him I’ll look around for awhile first and get back to him. Anyway, having not found accent chair within my budget—and the pickings were really not that love-at-first-sight-inducing—I went home with a small white steel sidetable with a missing screw, its top a mosaic of mirror pieces (P500), and a wooden stool with ladder-like legs. “P1950s pa ‘yan, the old man told me, “ginagamit namin tuntungan pero kung kursunada mo, sige, P550 na lang.” His son, a lean handsome young man, turned away from us as if I’m taking a family heirloom and it would break his heart. “Magagalit ka ba?” I asked the boy. Turns out I was just imagining things and he walked me out of Swapmeet carrying the stool. “Kasama ka?” I asked as we were walking.

“Hindi, hatid lang kita sa labas.”

I found low table, too, but didn’t have car so had it reserved first. It’s an old speaker. Sort of like Joe de Venecia. Param-pam!

Anyway, from then ‘til last Saturday the dispatsadora kept texting me to ask when will I pick the thing up. At first, I was convinced to just forget about it but then the next night she texted, “Sir, kala ko pa naman po may binta po me ngayon.” So naawa naman me.

The next day when I still couldn’t find time to go back there, she texted that her boss was there and wants to meet me, what time can I show up. I told her I have office and won’t be off ‘til around 8pm. At 7, she texted me that her boss was asking where I am. Nainis na me, and texted, ‘Ate, bibili lang ako ng lamesa, bakit ko pa kailangan ma-meet ‘yung boss mo?” Then out of nowhere, the next day, she texted me this: “Sir, ‘lam u po kahawig u po pinsan me.”

That’s it, I told myself, suko na aq.

TUESDAY I was so in love with the sky that I was raving about it. The next couple of days would be dark and gloomy. Nausog?

Black or white? It's the battle of the coiffures.

WEDNESDAY was surprised to find out I will be joining the boss to attend Tita Midz's 79th birthday bash. I was wearing the shirt from a few posts ago, and didn't at all worry about being underdressed. My boss was. She told me to buy a blazer. Or have one always on hand. Anyway, it wasn't a formal event although it was uber shushal. It was at Whitespace which was owned by the Siguion-Reynas, Margarita catered (seabass, lechon, lamb, etc), Romy Vitug was doing the video coverage, hon! And I sat in the same table as the nag-iisang Celeste Legaspi. We made beso. And when she heard I was introducing myself to her husband Nonoy...'Oh you don't know Jerome? He's a friend of sila Ige,' referring to his son and the Gallardo siblings. We see each other in Ronnies gigs but we're not friends. Not YET. I do have a crush on Ige. And now I've already met the parents, all he needs to do is, well, win my heart.

But not 'til his mom apologizes to me. I wanted to have a photo taken with her that night, and I already advised a photographer. But when I saw Celeste walking out, I asked, 'Are you leaving na?' She said no, not yet. And I never saw her again. Ige, your mom is a liar. A liar whose rendition of Rolando Tinio's Tagalized La Vie En Rose sends me running to the garden with arms wide open.

Tita Midz was wearing baro't saya that night, walked around with a cane wrapped in red and white stripes, and was followed by a female aide also wearing a baro't saya but less colorful, and with no cane. Jinggoy smells like an old man but his car looks like new money. Lucy looks pretty. Gretchen was, well, I wrote about Gretch here. And Richard, Richard! I don't care what his politics are or if some people think he can be an asshole, but there is no one in Philippine showbiz, not even Piolo Pascual, who looks nearly as handsome as Goma. Dude, I die.

Anyway, after three glasses of double scotch on the rocks, everything seemed to have halted when midnight struck and just as I was getting settled for the ride home in my boss's car, just beginning to enjoy the effects of the alcohol, she told me we will have to pass by Arlington for the wake of Roderick Paulate's mom. Arrived home at 3.3oam.

Manuel's previous show (at Pablo) looked only slightly different from the ongoing show at Finale which has condoms on knobs, glory holes, plywood with etchings that look like cum splashes.

THURSDAY Home and running the images of the show Carlo and I just attended at Finale, Manuel Ocampo’s Macho Art, I couldn’t help but wonder, Is Conceptual Art just philosophical ideas/concepts that fell short of achieving beauty? It’s a question that’s been prancing about in my mind for quite awhile, but was only able to put it out there, at least to select friends, just last night. “You don’t have to answer,” followed my question. But answer they did. “’Di lang falling short,” said Kiki, a bestselling author. “Oogly.”

"Sa totoo lang nakakasawa na si Manuel," said another writer.

"Dapat siguro kinuwento na lang niya no?" an artist-friend offered. Well, kinuwento nga ni Manuel, kay Carlo, the highly specific inspirations for the works.

Pero kinabog sila lahat nung newspaper editor.

"Conceptualism an oxymoron. How could concept be an end in itself. It’s a means to an end. Concept is idea. How could an idea, however beautiful, be art eh art is first and foremost materiality. Matter and form (concept, idea) make up art. More the former kasi the artist must make something out of nothing. 'Yang conceptualism the ultimate romantic conceit ‘artist as creator artist as formalist artist as god.' In short, arrogant idiocy."

"I am tempted to say Amen," say ko.

"The problem is that ultra-acdemicism, like art studies, taking over. Read the prs of magnet, finale et al. Curators taking over. Kaya puro ideas inuunahan da art work. Pag hifalutin the idea ok ang show. Nakalimutan na cardinal rule of any art--show, don’t tell."

So shut up na me.

IS IT HERE YET?

2009-11-05T22:35:00.000-08:00

Two of my favorite things come together for December. Bob and Esquire. Exciting.

I'M IN LOVE!

2009-11-05T00:04:00.001-08:00

Absolutely adorable.

My essay on the Pacman style at http://www.theswankstyle.blogspot.com.

TODAY

2009-11-03T20:36:00.001-08:00

Pale blue pinstriped shirt with tailored indigo shorts and maroon laceups on a gloomy day outside after dreaming of my father (who would turn out to be Patrick Swayze) struggling to save Tom Cruise from a bout with an LPG on fire. Shirt, Brooks Brothers, P50.

THE NOVEMBER ISSUE

2009-11-03T20:02:00.001-08:00

Cover stars: a mother-and-child from San Pedro, Laguna, and Charice who, incidentally, was born in San Pedro, Laguna.

This is my first issue at YES! I came on board mid-August and worked on the October issue but my name debuts on the staffbox this month. I wrote the Charice story, and contributed reports to the 28-page Ondoy special.

The profile on Charice almost wrote itself. Her Oprah moments, especially that Hollywood-style airport scene—which YES! is so privileged to hear, and tell the public, for the very first time—is so exciting and magical that it would be best told using the kid’s own words.

I was not a Charice fan. I always thought there are thousands of other kids in this singing-contest country that could easily outbelt her, or surpass the power and refinement of her voice (and I really hate success stories like hers being slanted by lazy media editors as another flag-waving occasion for Pinoys who are always so boo-hoo kawawa). But you can’t argue with success, or with the universe conspiring to make you a big star, or with Oprah realigning your planets by pressing the right phone numbers.

And the girl can be endearing. Eager to please in a way that is not at all cringe-inducing. At her Tagaytay home, she breaks out into song at every chance not because she wanted to entertain you but because she lives her everyday like a movie musical—and I’m not trying to be cheesy here. She just really belts out into song, sometimes with dance, in the middle of conversations, shoot-setups, changing clothes, you’re tempted to ask what upper is she on (and may we have some?). Sometimes she even accompanies herself with a guitar. She won the entire YES! team over with her simplicity and joie de vivre (Joie de vivre daw o!). She told us about her singing contest days, animatedly showing us how she would juggle a microphone while singing “Ako Ang Nagwagi,” while she partakes of her late lunch of rice, nilagang baka and Purefoods hotdog--under a crystal chandelier and surrounded by heavy Italian-style furniture.

And then there’s Ondoy, whose story we had to work extra fast for to make it to the ever-so-close deadline. It was Andrew Paredes who put the feature together after everyone in the staff had logged in their interviews. I was tasked to talk to the ABS-CBN boys, with a special mandate to "Get ECHO’S story.” It took a week of making kulit through text messages, to him and his road manager Mariness, before I finally convinced manager and Jericho to sit down with me. It took almost the same amount of time and effort to get Gerald Anderson to talk about his Ondoy experience—he didn’t feel comfortable about everyone calling him a hero, and he was then on leave from work. When I was at ASAP that Sunday to meet Jericho, I hesitantly asked one of the makeup artists to talk to Mr Anderson. I was hesitant because I knew he really didn’t want to talk about the subject, and he has never spoken to anyone about it whether in print or on TV. And I hear he’s a bit of a snob/suplado. I was introduced to the guy—he was wearing a jaundice-alert yellow Bench Ninoy tee and black skinny jeans—and he offered his hand and politely smiled. I very endearingly (at least from my point of view I was endearing) spoke of my agenda. And he very endearingly declined. Initially. And then he said maybe I could just go to the story conference of his new movie the following day because there will also be other press people there and they would sure ask him to talk about that fateful stormy Saturday.

Ya gotta love those legs. Jericho braving the current at Loyola Grand Villas.

I sat down with Jericho, that day sporting a high-volume updo, in a corner inside the dressing room he shared with Piolo and Vhong whose rowdiness never took away from my interviewee’s intense concentration. I asked him to take me back to that day and he did and I never had to ask a follow-up question. He spoke of the experience from start to finish complete with realization, his hands gesticulating to stress a point, his puppy dog eyes distracting me from getting that point. It was his first time to talk about the experience in print, and at the time I’m writing this, it looks like it was the only print interview he said yes to. Ahem, ahem.

Mr Anderson with equally cute friend Ali in the QC village where he lives

And then there was Mr. Anderson who, for whatever reason, agreed to finally sit with me for a one-on-one at the Star Magic office the day after we were introduced, before gracing his story conference with Kim Chiu. He arrived quietly, alone, shook my hand and sat down beside me at the Star Magic lobby. The guy is meltingly guwapo, especially that early evening, wearing a grey wool jacket, sporting a five-o-clock shadow. His handshake is solid and his demeanor that of a gentleman much older than his 20 years--the way he perhaps imagines how Eddie Garcia would carry himself.

And he is articulate! And straightforward and subdued, and the little hint of Visayan accent doesn’t hurt. He was charming. And I was charmed even more when I found out he only spoke of his ‘heroic act’ on television in the most general terms, as opposed to the detailed information he so generously granted YES! And as of the time I’m writing this, I don’t think the details ever really came out in print except in our magazine.

The report will take a bit of effort to read, but it is so competently put together. The celebrity stories are interspersed with stories from non-celebrities and each enhances the other. Reading of Echo’s experience alone, or that of Gerald’s, or Raymart’s (who I interviewed on the phone after I spoke to his friend and neighbor Rico Gutierrez, another Ondoy survivor) doesn’t quite, I think, reward one with the same emotional experience as when it is read in its entirety. You will fall in love with Mr Santiago when you get to the part where Andi Eigenmann, his neighbor, gives her eyewitness account. And you will be amazed with Gerald and Echo, of course. And feel for the other men and women who braved the current, lost livelihoods and the lives of their kin and friends. It is not just the story of a storm or of a great flood. It is the story of—hindi niyo kakayanin ito—the human condition.

MORNING BECOMES ELECTRIC

2009-11-03T01:12:00.001-08:00

I find myself looking forward to mornings these days. Excited to dress up, excited about the weather, excited for the two smokes and coffee—which is really just Nescafe. “Lift it,” Anna Wintour says. So I boil the water using the coffeemaker.

Excited about opening the windows and letting the Christmas air in. I’ve started playing music again: yesterday it was The Stylistics, and in past mornings The Essential Barbra Streisand and Jose Mari Chan The Golden Collection. Nothing like “Love at Thirty Thousand Feet” to set off your day. Did Joe realize kaya he wrote a song for the Mile High Club with this one? But I love it for its music--typical of ‘70s OPM and it’s sweeping, ascending octaves--and Joe’s cool, coffee commercial voice. When did this all start? When did this turnaround happen? That morning I squeezed myself out of the train with Babs singing “Don’t Rain On My Parade” on my earphone, that’s when. Suddenly, Boni Avenue Station is the old Jersey Central, and every time I turn a corner, cameras!

One of these days I’ll have a good camera to take a photograph of the morning sky from my glass windows. They’re narrow panels framed by black steel and span an entire wall. The sky was particularly impressive this morning, a beautiful ocean blue with clear clouds and moving streaks of white (at one point, an airplane!). I get an unobstructed view of this vista from the rectangular opening of my little orange balcony on the third floor. At a certain angle, a little green enters the frame from the tree across. I was so taken by its gorgeousness today that I had to share it with friends, ask them if they’ve seen the sky. “D eh,” said Noel, who plans to one day paint a picture of a sky as seen from a thin strip of his office building’s 13th floor toilet. “Me bulutong ako.”

“I know. And you can’t see?”

“Oo nga,” he said a couple minutes later--hopefully looking at the sky from his home in Malabon and not just shitting me. “Parang pininta ni Beethoven.”

“It’s a fucking symphony,” I said.

“Here it’s almost opaque with grey and white clouds,” said Raymond who I suppose was at home in Paranaque where he regularly hears the hum of aircrafts zooming in and out of the airport. “But you can still see the radiance behind.”

“Imagine the white clouds,” he continues, “suddenly forming into massive forms of the most ghastly, frightening beasts charging at us, coming for us. Judgement day.”

“And giant horses!” I said. “Don’t spoil it.”

“Sorry. Sige, giant Hideos in nothing but the faintest of smiles.”

“What if the sky were a reflection of our mood of the moment?” he asked. “Tugma ba ‘yung sa’yo? Sa’kin, oo.” And then he said the sky had cleared up suddenly.

“Yes,” I texted back. "Mine matches."

Lourd, who I assume has a perspective of the sky closer to that of mine since he lives a mere few streets away, is not feeling eloquent this morning. He’s just moved back to his “riot” of a house very recently ravaged by the flood. “Have you seen the sky?” I asked. “It’s quite lovely.”

Lourd: “Mainit, bakla.”

In vintage Babspeak, the guy knows exactly how to make this faygeleh so terribly faklempt.

BACK FROM THE DEAD

2009-11-01T06:10:00.000-08:00

People asky why editrixiagomez. Because I'm an editrix and a bold star from the '70s. That's Trixia Gomez up there.

I was suprised to see sotanghon and lumpiang shanghai on the dinner table tonight. "What are we celebrating?" I asked my sister. All Souls Day, she said. Not that I forgot its araw ng mga patay, or araw ng mga kaluluwa. I forgot that my dad really cooks something special every first of November, apart from lighting candles in front of the house. Sometimes its dinuguan, sometimes pinapaitan, but always there's pancit, or noodles to signify long life I guess. And he makes excellent pancit. No scrimping on the sahog: shrimp, celery, pork, squidballs, balun-balunan and liver, this last one giving the noodles a subtle grainy, deliciously greasy texture that, fortunately, is not nakakasawa. Also thats why I guess its a lot browner than the usual you get from the nearest pancit-serving place. I remember bringing some to the office one Sunday, the day after the Palanca awardings in 2007, as a small treat. I remember Virgil was there, who I know didn't always like me. But he was sweet towards the end. I miss Virgil. I hope he's having a fine life being a host in his very own bed and breakfast in Cambodia. In vintage Virgil fashion, its name is Cockatoo.

Hey, I don't really know where this post is going but I just wanted to try this personal blogging thing again. Twitter, I find, is actually more tedious, and quite disappointing. Too little tweets and most of them links to some video or other. I mean its only 140 characters, people, think of something! Also because I want to write again, and I feel that I am in the right mood to do this again. I actually would like to apologize to the guys who follow this blog for being AWOL for quite awhile (Allow me na to feel important, All Souls Day naman). I can't promise anything, but I guess since I'm starting over, a new job in a new company, a home space of my own finally, it would be a great moment to capture. And I guess it would be more appropriate to do it here than in an itsy-bitsy tweet.

And I have so much to tell you, so many things I am only beginning to see again. Today, I woke up to a blue sky so graphically framed by my glass windows. Because usually I wake up to half-naked construction workers finishing the Internet cafe across. And Ben, my nephew who is now 5-months old, has begun to show teeth. This evening, I tried making him walk while holding on to a stroller, and he did, while I lightly clasp the back of his shirt. James has just recommended a new sitcom called Bored to Death, and from the initial minutes it is so up my alley (Jason Schwartzman being a sad Jew in New York, bring it on!). Tomorrow, there are things to buy for the house and, oh, new shoes! You'd have to see what happened to my orange one. So yeah, I'm back I guess.

Today as we remember those who have left us, let us also celebrate those who return, and remain. Naks.

WHAT I WORE IN CHANG MAI

2009-10-01T21:52:00.001-07:00

More photos from my working trip to Chang Mai two years ago. These kids were from a vast, mountainous village whose main produce used to be opium. We also visited the Opium Museum where there were dioramas of opium dens. Oh, how people would recline or lie down on those flat wooden beds! How great for one's posture, I thought. They look so lifeless and so glamorous. Very '90s heroin chic!

We watched the schoolchildren sing their school anthem. Apparently I was pregnant then. With my third child. My first and second were still in there as well.

I felt very Jackie Kennedy here. A First Lady on an official trip to a poor country. With my very simple roundneck shirt, ethnic accessory, pants native to the region. They are pants traditionally worn by fisherfolk but I love that they look like palazzos in linen. How light and airy and chic I thought. What brilliance!

I dare say the fisherman's pants are the capri of Thailand.

But ASD doesn't seem to agree. 'Day, payong.'

THE AVEDON ATTEMPT

2009-09-30T18:24:00.000-07:00

Dovima with the elephants.

Inspiration.

Desperation.

THE 15 FILMS

2009-08-21T19:23:00.000-07:00

Fifteen off the top of my head. Tagged by Monster.

1) Moulin Rouge
More than anything its the opening rollercoaster ride, and Ewan McGregor looking back at Nicole to sing "...and this one's for you." I fell in love with him the afternoon I first saw it.

2) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Because it is our wish and our nightmare.

3) Misis Mo Misis Ko
Because of Ali Sotto as Kelly, and the way she enunciates. Because of Jackie Lou's monologue in the finale. The only smart Carlitos movie.

4) Bagets
Because.

5) Working Girls
"As a matter of fact: Ang katotohanan. In fact: Sa katunayan. The fact is: Sa totoo lang." Because I wanted to be a Makati girl after seeing it. And I was in Grade 4. "I'm a Makati girl now. I can speak English already. Ansafaflu, ansafafla." I knew then I was Hilda Koronel, too darn busy to attend my hunk of a poet's poetry reading.

6) As Good as It Gets
Because it breaks my heart.

7) The Holiday
Because Jude is absolutely heavenly. And we are all Kate Winslets.

8) Little Otik
Little known film from some European country about a couple unable to have a baby so one day they thought of taking care of a tree-trunk shaped like an infant. The trouble is, trunk comes to life. Its one of the most hair-raising films I've seen, if not the most. Perfect to watch with a group, and to give wifey if you think having another baby is a bad idea.

9) Unzipped
Its Isaac. Its Eartha. Its Sandra Bernard singing the opening song "Mighty Real."

10) The Devil Wears Prada
Its being transported to a glamorous world I once upon a time dreamed about. Its Meryl Streep.

11) The Hours
Its the complementary film to the book. It enriches your experience of the book. And if a book can change your life, this did it for me.

12) Big Time
Love at first sight.

13) Relasyon
The house in Malate. Vilma fixing her hair and putting on cologne before Boyet comes home. The argument about the center table. Boyet's legs after the basketball game.

14) Dear Heart
Sharon and Gabby. Baguio and falling in love. Which should lead us to...

15) Kung Mangarap Ka't Magising
Walking under the rain in John Hay. Young love. Boyet in the piano. "Di bale na lang/kung ano man ang mangyari/wala namang mawawala sa akin. Di bale na lang kung di mapansin...Lahat ng hassle wag munang isipin."

THE SHOWER

2009-07-14T07:57:00.001-07:00

I knew it was going to be a battle of the chicest, biggest ring, what with Daph, Trisha, Jenny and Mel there, but I had to stop myself from wearing my Wynn Wynn at Daphne's baby shower for daughter Stella hosted by the Mandarin Oriental. I was going to change into diapers, anyway, courtesy of Cecile and Jenny (we won!).

More tomorrow. Baka mawala na ang wifi. Somewhere in this photo is my soon-to-be officemate.

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS

2009-06-11T09:50:00.000-07:00

He wonders why he can't be just like all the others. Go through the routine of evenings. Take the work clothes off and change into shorts and an old Hanes shirt. Have dinner. Watch TV. Spell out a Facebook status and wait for friends to like it. Or go through the day's long list of status updates and comment on whatever he fancies. And wait for his friends to respond. Watch everything on youtube until sleep finally bites. Life can be simpler. And he wants it to be. And he tries.

THE GRATEFUL LIST

2009-05-27T11:06:00.000-07:00

1 I look masungit here and have more hair than is true but that's the artist's perspective. I have yet to see the portrait itself, however, and she says she'd be done by tomorrow. Anyway, I take this as a sign that I should really get my own place. Apart from all other obvious signs, of course.

2 For Lena and D who are helping me look around for that space.

3 Ben who, despite all the kaguluhan inside and outside my head, is always calming and charming when I pass by him.

4 My family who so do not deserve my snobbery even in times like this when I can get really really irritated with whats around me. Their love is always so amazingly humbling and great. Its my mother's birthday today!

5 My sanity. For prevailing always, even if my paranoid self is so devilishly insistent.

6 Nights of being sober, and the clear-headed mornings that follow.

7 Friends.

8 Raymond's magazines from NY. The May 09 Paper is inspiring and relevant to what I want to do right now.

9 Seeing Ryan earlier and his small space in Maginhawa. Ryan just graduated from FA and is preparing to recreate his thesis of troll-haired resin monsters throwing up for TinAw Gallery next week I think. Anyway, the house seems to have evolved a design organically just by accumulating the things he has and works with. Fuck interior design and interior design magazines. Joke.

10 A three-week old achievement of not eating rice at dinner. Sometimes not even on weekends. Hence, the gorgeous body I now have.

11 Carlo.

12 Lito for the inebriated, enlightening talk at Oarhouse the other night. And for the quiet alone time before that.

13 For the roof over my head, the money in the ATM, the job that will make sure I'm good at least for the next six months.

Thank you God. We'll get through this one. We already have.

THE WARNING

2009-05-16T05:13:00.001-07:00

Mag-ingat sa titing halimaw.

I hope its not a one-joke wonder. Because its already a one-eyed wonder. Bwahaha. This is love.

THE SECRET

2009-05-10T10:37:00.000-07:00

I cried at the gym Saturday. I was on my last set, on my final machine, the iPod was playing "Ang Awitin Kong Ito." Fucking burst. It was several things. It was what Kingsley Amis in one of his essays about the types of hangover called the "emotional" type: the alcohol residue wreaking havoc on my muscles, my head and, I guess, heart. There would be nothing particularly tragic in your life at that moment but the hangover is kind of convincing you that there is, and you're afraid you might believe it. I have been drinking for the past two nights: rhum coke with Red Horse (never again!) with L Thursday, and then an officemate's despedida Friday. I also have not eaten anything since 11am that day and it was nearly 6pm. And then there was the weather. And then there was the song, and the song before it. And then there's this guy.

So I cried there. In the studio. Buti na lang tapos na yung class. Stayed for awhile until the cleaning lady came in. I remember wanting to rush home and post an old poem I made for this guy I loved in college. And then I couldn't find it. Finally when I did, it didn't read as good as I remembered. I always thought writers are a fortunate lot. Kahit na walang masyadong nangyayari sa buhay nila, they can fill in the gaps, speak the unspoken dialogues, insert the meanings, put in the nuances in what would really be a non-event to other people. I remember writing an eight-paragraph prose about that moment I saw my high school love riding a jeepney in Rizal Avenue. It also reads awfully now.

Pero sana madalas hindi lang words or ideas or nuances ang pupuno sa mga living, breathing heartbreaking spaces, voids, emptiness. Sana hands, chest, hair, lips, mouth, feet, breath, Adam's apple.

THE VACAY

2009-05-02T20:53:00.000-07:00

Our Holy Week sojourn. Of course, I thought we will be in some hotel by the beach. But for some reason we just kept crashing on other people's digs. First at Kusina Salud in San Pablo, care of Nina Tesoro-Poblador. We just had merienda there, went around town and by the time we were done it was too late for us to make use of Nina's prepared beds. Let's just say we slept in the van, with Raymond covering my mouth with masking tape so my snore wouldn't sound that loud. At first I was hesitant but he said he will do the same. In fairness, it wasn't that uncomfortable, and my snore probably didn't come out that outageously loud but how would I know. People tend to be nice when I ask sometimes. We were with two girls: Chits, who is a film producer, and May, who is a TV producer over at GMA. Chits only wears black even on the beach, is forever in Vidal Sassoon bob, and wears bubuyog shades anywhere because her eyes, she says, are sensitive. May produces Reporters Notebook and used to work on Pinoy Meets World. She's morena and has an athletic bod, and has a camera. She took the better pictures. They're not here.

The port of San Andres, Quezon.

Our host, the Kapitana, sings "No Other Love" for us before we leave.

The chauffeur. We met him the day before and since he's cute decided that he should drive us to Quezon. He turned out not to be a psycho, or a hustler. He is a nice young man.

The drinking table.
Raymond as Ate Guy.
Kapitana.
The chauffeur.
My bracelet.
Raymond's patchwork bag looks like a map from afar.
Where we stayed.
One of the boys.
Three of the boys.
Chits and our entertainer Raki.

Holy week lunch: eggs and Ox Palm corned beef.
The hotel touch.
Another view of the lunch.
Where they cook lunch.
Batuktoy. With containers of vegetable shortening on the background.
The kitchen.
The pretension.
The shadow.
The toilet.
The facade.
The dram.
Our luggage. Those running shoes never touched the ground.

Sleeping quarters. May's cigarette and iPhone.
One of the boys. The evening we got there, when everything's settled, we told Raymond that should be our last night there. I felt so uncomfortable, I didn't know where to lie down or sit, or maybe take a shit. I think he had this idea that we should forget all about our usual comforts for awhile and open our minds to this. He forgot siguro that I am poor, and have been here, done this when I was younger and used to visit the province. Still, this one turned out to be one of the best vacations ever. Its definitely not rest. But fun in a most surprising way. I loved the boat ride around the Alibahaban island, and there is a part of the beach that is white and quite pretty. The people were so nice, the boys cute, and the company cool. You think about how Boracay has become such a major cliche. Where people talk like ETC hosts, use phrases like 'in the metrow' and take 'vacays,' and train under Rachel Lobangco, Queen of Fire. I watch these little event features on TV and I puke in the mouth a little.

THIS IS SO ZOE

2009-05-02T20:51:00.001-07:00

I'm like obsessed with The Rachel Zoe Project right now. Like major. As in I die. Major. D. I. E. I was calling my DVD girl at Metrowalk Chona yesterday and I told her 'Chona, I must get my hands.' Or else I told her she's going to get the wrath of my gladiator shoes, and tiger-ringed fingers---and I have 12 fingers. Anyway, this impression just shuts it down for me.

THE SURPRISE

2009-05-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

I'm an uncle now. But while my sister was trying to induce delivery, I was at the Surrounded by Water opening, and then waiting for Rock at Magnet. But when I look at him these days, I feel like I can watch him the entire day, watch lang ha. I find myself so amused by every change of facial expression, and he seems to have a hundred of them. My favorites: yawning, lopsided smile, irritated. And yesterday he got to lie facedown near my chest while we wait for him to burp. I think he's going to be tall and might be a snob.

ANG HULING EL BIMBO

2009-04-27T09:46:00.000-07:00

Wala na si Paraluman.

I wanted it to mean something. Parang nung sinabi ni Julio Madiaga na "Wala na si Ligaya." Pero wala naman talagang ibig sabihin---her death I mean, to me. I just saw it on the crawler of TV Patrol in the gym and didn't even bother to plug my earphone to the treadmill attachment. Wala sa SNN. Meron na just this minute sa ABS-CBN online, pero hindi man lang sinabi kung pa'no siya namatay. Basta she was 85. And that she used to be the Philippines' answer to Greta Garbo, information na kinuha lang sa Wikipedia (inacknowledge naman, in fairness).

I know nothing about her, except she's the mother of Baby O'Brien and the grandmother of Rina Reyes. The only film I saw her in was Tatlong Ina, Isang Anak, pelikula ni Matet with Nora, Gina and Celeste directed by Maryo O Hara. Underrated. I liked that film. She played one of the masungit lolas. And then, of course, there's that song. That first line. Wasn't it about a youth that will never come back, young love turning into tragedy?

"Paraluman was born from a German father and a Filipina. At her prime, she was considered as the Philippine's answer to Swedish-American actress Greta Garbo because of her perfect bone structure, svelte figure, long brown hair, hypnotic eyes, an impenetrable gaze, and a face capable of registering everything," sabi ng Wikipedia.

"The young Paraluman was a movie fan. She loved reading magazines about her favorite celebrities. Her interest in showbiz increased when she learned that their next-door neighbor was the big movie star, Corazón Noble. Oftentimes, she would climb over the fence to catch glimpse of the actress. Her curiosity yielded positive result because Noble’s younger sister, Lily, noticed her. Soon, Paraluman became friends with Lily."

Nasa'n na kaya si Lily? Alam niya na kaya?

THE ANTICIPATION

2009-04-27T09:09:00.001-07:00

I'm not a fan, of X-Men I mean, but as soon as Hugh rises from the water and flexes his sprawling shoulders, this movie's sold. I seriously can't wait.

THE HOMAGE

2009-04-26T18:48:00.000-07:00

AGA in pekpek shorts and more Bagets stuff in Issue#2 of TheSwankStyle.com. We celebrate the silver year of '84, Butch Garcia on creating the bagets world, and a two-part Ultimate Bagets Refresher Quiz. Here's to the old times and 25 years of growing up in today's TheSwankStyle.com.

By the way, if you haven't noticed, we just dropped our last name. And as dropping-last-names are eventually followed by a new look, we also made a few changes. And will be making more.

EASTER EGGS

2009-04-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

Sunny sideup, sprinkled with Pakistani salt, its edges fried to a crisp while the yellow is kept soft, liquidy. You take it apart on top of the garlic rice, and the yellow becomes a delicious sauce, or sabaw. Half a clove of garlic for three cups of rice cooked with the same oil as what you used for frying the longganiza from Lucban where you were yesterday. Hence, the hint of red on the garlic rice. This is my Easter breakfast. To quote the great Bette Davis (to Joan Crawford in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane): “I didn't forget your breakfast. I didn't bring your breakfast. Because you didn't eat your din-din!”

Happy Easter.

SKINHEAD WEDNESDAY

2009-04-11T22:06:00.000-07:00

Morning began with him. He passed by just as I was getting out of the house. I didn't even had the chance to make para, and he was already two houses away. But he made atras. He was cute. I texted Raymond, 'Good sign.' We had a car but didn't have a driver. Skinhead#1 volunteered to drive us to Quezon. Naturally we said yes.

And then we had this for lunch. Haha! Oscar 'da god' joined us for lunch at Cafe Med in Greenbelt 1 before he flew off to another insufferable film festival.

Flanked by Chits and Raymond outside Greenbelt. It's always so inspiring to see boys like him in the day. Or night.

Or midnight. From the spa in Sariaya (its not THAT kind of spa!). Skinhead#3. He was dark and young, had a killer smile and fierce brows, an apparition in that plywood and bamboo patchwork of a massage place. Beautiful body with that yummy baby fat cushioning. I love the silver stud on his left ear. He was there with his dad.

My friend insisted I take a picture of him, ask if he wanted to be photographed for one of our mags, etc. I hate that. Why do we always want them to be some model or artista, as if that's what all beautiful boys are destined to become? Why can't fags like us just let them be? I like the idea that you meet these guys in the strangest places, and its like being struck by something beautiful and brilliant in a totally poetic setting like real life, than to see them in the harsh, totally garish light of show biz kabakyaan. Hence, I will only share the blurred photograph.

ME AS DEFINED BY A FACEBOOK QUIZ

2009-04-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

Jerome took the Which punctuation mark are you? quiz and the result is Dash. You are a dash. Casual and freewheeling, you would rather be wearing flip flops and jeans. You are playful and full of surprises, but no one should make the mistake of underestimating you--you just might be the smartest person in the room.

Jerome completed the quiz Which crazy bitch are you? with the result Sinead O'Connor. You are one fierce bitch. You are very independent and will take no bullshit from anyone but your personality is actually sort of quiet and shy. You are a natural beauty and you are very comfortable with your feminity. You don't feel the need to overdo it or go out of your way to fuss over your looks. You don't want to distract people from what you stand for and the talents you possess. You are very idealistic and will go to any extremes to stand up for what you believe in even if it creates controversy and people don't understand. Relationships can be hard for you sometimes because men feel threatened by you but time again they come running to you and realize that you are actually very sweet and motherly....until they cross you.

Jerome took the Which Temptation Island Diva Are You? quiz and the result is Ikaw si Joshua, the Agent of Discord. "Rub-a-dub-dub, two bitches in a tub. Hahahaha!" /// You are the personification of all bad stereotypes of old money. You take what you want, you turn your nose up on people of lower social status, and feel a sense of entitlement for everything. Para sa iyo, ang lahat ay pwede mong angkinin at gawing laruan para sa iyong amusement. /// Moreover, you like to stir things up. Instead of defusing tense situations, you like to deliberately stoke the fires of friction by fomenting discord. Mahilig kang mambuyo ng mga magkaaway, sitting back and enjoying the show habang nagrereklamo ka tungkol sa pagkasarap-sarap na fried chicken and cold rose wine you had the previous day. /// You are the conglomeration of the bad side of all the divas on the island: the tease, the slut, the bitch, the spoiled brat, and the martyr (or at least, nagpipilit kang ikaw ang martir at biktima ng lahat) all rolled into one. You have a need to be adored and loved, na pag hindi mo nakuha ay susubukan mong bilin o di kaya'y pagdadabugan. And to prove your point, ipamimigay mo ang Cartier mo out of spite. /// In short: Masama ang ugali mo. Kaya ka nakakain, e. Do meditation and yoga so you can feel the positive effects of peace and harmony.

Jerome completed the quiz Sinong Filipino Action Star ka? with the result Cynthia Luster. Imported action star from Japan. You dazzle enemies with your high kicks cause they can see your panty when you kick.

THE FINAL SET

2009-04-05T19:49:00.000-07:00

The first time we were there, we felt part of the priveleged class. A gold band on the right wrist, saying we were on Ely's list via Jessica Zafra. A green band on the other, which means we were also on Buddy's list care of his wife Earnest. For The Final Set, however, there were no lists and we felt like college fans again, armed only with allowance money. Weeks before the show, I was already convinced we didn't have to see it anymore. It seemed like a joke, them regrouping again just six months after the August show. We've seen the first set, that was fun, it was enough. Unless.

Unless a ticket drops on our lap. Until the day of the show, I had nothing in my lap--not even after knocking on a couple of well-entrenched friends' Facebook doors. You know how it is, when half-assed waiting turns into anxiety and excitement and by the time I saw Mich Dulce holding a couple of access passes (we were just exchanging messages two days before on why our friends have clearly deserted us. "Isn't this about loyalty and friendship?" I asked), I had clearly convinced myself that I wanted to be there no matter what. So when Raymond called that afternoon, we agreed that we'll just brave SMX no matter what. We'll buy a cheap ticket if we have to, or perhaps just hang around MOA if everything's been sold out. Unless.

We agreed to meet at 5pm in SM. I would bring my mother's ATM just in case. I was ready to buy at least the P3000 ticket. By 4pm, as I was about to leave, a Facebook message had popped out: Marvin Sabido has an extra ticket, it said. Text him if interested. I only met Marvin once, through Kit, in Penguin about a year ago. I have no recollection of what he looks like, but I messaged him anyway and bugged Kathy and Kit (who was in Australia) for his number. It took a while before I got his number. And so when I texted him, someone has already gotten the ticket. Still, I was already on my way to SMX, jittery and hungover from the previous night's drinks, with a bad stomach. The fact that my phone was about to die, and Raymond hasn't shown up just added to the anxiety.

There were thousands of people at the mall that day, and when I got to the booth, I felt relieved that there were still selling, from VIP (P5000) down to the Silver (1,300). By that time, Raymond had already been promised a ticket by a friend, VIP. So we could just buy another VIP and split the cost. And then I almost jumped when Marvin messaged me: the guy who wanted his ticket just backed out. I was hesitant to ask if it was VIP, but I did anyway and he said yes it was and he's already in Baclaran and will text if he's in the area. Long story short, I got my ticket, and we got in and, even better, they were selling beer inside and I can smoke.

The thing is, while I thought that would relieve me of the entire ticket-acquiring exercise's tension, my stomach just got a little worse and made me feel tired even more. So when the show started it was just like any other concert of some band I mildly like. I tried psyching myself up to be uppity about, I danced and sang and screamed. I had moments. But the guys were playing too far from the audience and I was mostly watching from the huge screen. I loved Superproxy though, whose lyrics I only really listened to for the first time. And Marcus's surfer dude version of Wag Mo Nang Itong was fun and funny. Ganda ng makeup ni Ely, said Raymond. Two hours of listening to them play isn't that much fun pala. On the whole it felt like we were really just there to listen to the final set and get it over with. Para sa mga nabitin. Nothing could beat the energy and anticipation of the August show. But I know of course I would never be anywhere else than at SMX that March night. It was the last time they'll be doing this. At least not in another ten years. So it has to mean something more to me.

And so when they finally sang Huling El Bimbo towards the end, I had forced myself to feel something, to think about my youth and everyone's youth, when we didn't even have allowance money to buy the Circus cassette, and when things were simpler, and glorious and carefree, and how we can never bring it back no matter how much we want to. And I cried. Forced tears from a tired, aging body and an exhausted heart.

Finally, we can listen to Pupil now.

PILLOW TALK, MUSINGS ON SLEEP AND WAKING LIFE

2009-04-04T05:39:00.000-07:00

Chic sheets. DOP's new stuff for Linens Direct

What I care about really is the horrible effect of white wine on me. Was at the launch of Daphne's new offerings for her beddings line for Linens Direct. For an SM event, I didn't expect it to be chica at all but there was Chef Laudico preparing the food and the white wine was good and in steady supply.

Let's get Laud-ico! He looks kinda hot here.

Workin' it! She's expecting (five months na siya!), and expecting people to snap up the new DOP offerings.

Mother's kids: Carlo, Mel, a pregnant Fiona, Joan and friend.

With said friend. Plus Joey S and wine.

I love drinking white, and I do get carried away when its good, but I felt terrible the next day, especially because I followed it up with three bottles of San Miguel Pale at Outback because we had to go somewhere we can smoke. Drinking wine works when there's a lull between glasses, like when you have to do a tour of an entire Spanish villa of artworks, and you just drink in between rooms. The next day I don't feel so bad (and regret drinking only because I didn't have that much fun). But how many Paulino Que tours am I ever going to be on in this lifetime naman? The regular drinking is just sitting down and pouring like there's no tomorrow. So I guess its going to be beers for me. Unless the wine is really worth being a wreck for the next day.

But the super trouper that I am, woke up early the next day to shoot a home of a couple of friends in Pasay. They're a couple and I remember being there when they met during those Blue Cafe days in the late '90s. A few years back we tried capoiera in Jay's dance studio. Jay is one half of the couple. It was in a Malate apartment that's painted all white, very sparely decorated. I remember seeing a couple of clippings from New York newspapers beside his working table. I can't remember exactly what the articles were but they were about dance and art. And right then and there I thought to myself this is the kind of life I want, to be surrounded by art and everyday creative stuff.

I SNIFF A REVIVAL

2009-04-04T04:18:00.000-07:00

I can't believe they're reviving this and turning it into a teleserye. I trace my fear of rats from this movie. Rio Locsin plays twin rats: the rural rat and one who becomes a city rat who gets to live the glamorous life with the very flamboyant Sandy Garcia, a mestizo actor. Later on, I would see an episode of a Nora Aunor anthology, a period piece where she gets locked up in jail and eaten by rats. Would people really watch a show with rats unless they're in some form of animation? As if I care.

Poster from Video48.blogspot.com

I THOUGHT THE COMPANY OWNED THIS SONG

2009-04-04T02:08:00.001-07:00

What, no Juday Ate Vi Dolphy Sharon Maria Clauie? When the camera pans up to the tip of the flagpole, I really just wanna put three circles around it: green, red and purple!

THE T.O.M. AWARDS

2009-03-28T06:11:00.000-07:00

Top Of Mind Three
(Another insufferably exciting list!)

BOOKS
The Hours, Michael Cunningham
Bridget Jones Diary, Helen Fielding
Side Effects, Woody Allen

DOCUMENTARIES
Unzipped
Born Rich
Helvetica

PINOY MOVIES
Salawahan
Working Girls
Big Time

AMERICAN MOVIES
As Good as It Gets
The Devil Wears Prada
Home for the Holidays

TELEVISION (SHOWS, I SUPPOSE, NOT TV BRANDS)
The Office
Chelsea Lately
Weeds

SITES
Chuvaness.com
Mandayamoore-orlis.blogspot.com
Gayzofourlives.blogspot.com

LIQUIDS
Beer
Iced coffee in Cibo ABS-CBN (they're closing na this Monday!)
Watermelon juice

I WANT TO LEARN
The guitar
InDesign
To be disciplined

I WANT TO SEE
New York City
Italy
His balls

ALTERNATIVE CAREERS
PR
Designer
Trophy wife

THE THANK YOU NOTE

2009-03-26T09:01:00.000-07:00

Two blasts from the past while doing Swank this week:

1 When I was in high school, I used to put together several sheets of blank greyish paper, staple them to create a sort of gazette for our little garments business at home. The news items--written with ballpoint pen--are stories about the latest intrigues within the ten or so mananahis that we employ. If there were no stories, I would take the smallest hint of tension (somebody changed the radio station, someone broke the needle on her machine, somebody stole someone's sinulid) and make it into the paper's headline. I loved doing it, and the girls would read it, although there were a few who got offended.

2 In college, or maybe shortly after college, a group of us would go to a friend's house in Novaliches to chat and eat and seriously plan a magazine, taking down notes and all, planning stories and an editorial staff. We wanted to make a magazine like Colors, the Benetton publication. We didn't know where we would get the money but we took notes anyway.

The response to the blogzine (feels weird calling it that, its like coining stuff like globalserye, cinemaserye, etc) while mostly from friends, have been really encouraging. And we really hope to be able to keep at it as much as we can. It's just been a few days after it opened and I've learned a lot, especially about the technical stuff. It takes a while to get the hang of the uploading and the resizing and all that. I still have a lot to study. But if there's one thing I know for sure: it would be great to have a benefactor who would just take care of the money stuff so we can just focus on doing this. Haha!

But seriously, I have a feeling it's already been taken care of. For the inspiration and the friends and the technology and for always reminding me that I already know the things that will make me happy, thank you God!

HAVE A JOIN US!

2009-03-24T06:43:00.000-07:00

I just opened a blogzine, with the help of a few friends. We'd love for you to see it. Visit us at theswankstyle.blogspot.com. Or click on Swank from the links on your right. Or click here.

(Naks, marunong na 'ko mag-html chuva.)

THE OVERDOSE

2009-03-22T18:01:00.000-07:00

I almost vomitted from too much art last Saturday. The day began at Silverlens where I joined Noel and his son Jared to attend Bogie Ruiz's lecture on facing the blank canvas. Then, since it's just on the other side of Edsa, I took them to see the Paulino Que Collection exhibit at the Finale. That's the father and son looking at the paintings on the second floor, and behind them a painting of a guy looking at a painting.

Since I wanted to join Raymond and Geraldine who are going to tour Paulino Que's house I stayed on, Noel and Jared had left, and looked at the collection again. Before going to Paulino's house, we had to pass by Rina Ortiz's home in McKinley. It's a humongous house with contemporary Filipino art on every wall, and with cultural knickknacks on every corner.

When we reached the Que home, it was an entire Spanish villa full of art and antiques that would be the envy of any museum. Each room is dedicated to a legend: the holding room to Fernando Amorsolo, the staircase to Botong, the masters bedroom to HR Ocampo, a daughter's bedroom to Fernando Zobel, and then to Bencab, a powder room to Edades, and on and on. Mon Villegas annotated. I imagine my vomit to be the color of the HR Ocampo curtain of the CCP, with bits and pieces of lengua and roast beef and what the chef called a deconstructed lumpia (little cubes of duck on a tiny pastry cup).

Anyway, I keep remembering the silly gay dictionary of artists I was trying to put together in my mind about a couple of years back. Here are some with a few new additions:

(Note: The definitions here in no way speak of their talents or whoever they are. The definitions are based on their names and how it sounds like a Tagalog/English word.)

HR Ocampo---Human Resources Department
Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo---A comeback, a second chance at a career, life
Juvenal Sanso---a young boy
Jullie Lluch Dalena---caught in the act
Jose Tence Ruiz--tense
Reggie Yuson---regular size
Anita Magsaysay Ho--Ano? Which is which?
Kawayan de Guia---say goodbye na from a distance
Malang--I don't know. Malay ko.
MM Yu--matamis, sweet
Rock Drilon--matigas, coldhearted
John Pettyjohn--mababaw, petty
Mariano Ching--joke lang, Ching!
Yasmin Sison--Yes!
Arturo Luz--three definitions: teacher, point, loser.

How to use 3, 4, 5 and 6 in one sentence: Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo na ang watashi after ma-Jullie Lluch Dalena with a Juvenal Sanso. Jose Tence Ruiz!

Anything to add?

THE VOYAGER

2009-03-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

It's past midnight and I'm lying on this bed trying to sleep. It's Voyage by Kenneth Cobonpue. "Buri or abaca handwoven in a steel frame and tied with abaca rope creating a cozy coccoon where dreams are revealed."

Pero hindi ako makatulog.

Nakalimutan kasi nilang tanggalin 'yung lecheng batang nakasabit.

THE, UM, DOORS

2009-03-15T12:30:00.001-07:00

I finally finished it after months of putting the last hour and a half of it on hold (haba nya eh). It's absolutely glorious!

Thanks Kathy!

THE WEEKEND UPDATE

2009-03-15T05:20:00.000-07:00

Monday. I've always wondered where one could get lechon Cebu in Manila. Spotted this on way to a raket at The Fort. Marichelle told me it was so-so but since when did I take advice from Marichelle (not that she ever gave me any)? Turns out she was right. Still, okay na ring pang-alis ng panghihinayang since I missed having one in Cebu.

Tuesday. I've always wondered what the hell the rich kids do at the Polo Club. When I was still with Society, and interviewing heiresses and such, in response to the question 'What's your day like when you're in Manila?' they always answer, "hanging out at Polo." I've been to the Polo Club twice I think but I hardly remember anything. I had to ask Joseph Uy of Asian Dragon if the Manila Polo Club is the same as the Makati Polo Club. Turns out there is no Makati Polo Club, only a Manila Polo Club in Makati. In Forbes. So that's what it looks like. They have a very inviting library, and a nice open air coffee shop beside the pool. And people know each other and they're all mostly pretty. What ordinary mortals like us see only in events is an everyday thing here.

Oh and I met a true inspiration. I had spaghetti bolognese and she kiddie spaghetti. And she made her tsuper drive me all the way to the Forbes Park Buendia gate---where kasosyalan ends and third world begins.

Wednesday. I've always wondered how I could be in an event without drinking. Mark Nicdao. Alive. Spent most of the first hour with photogs who were all wondering where the hell is the alcohol. I had to ask the man in the bar if they are serving anything outside of Viva Mineral Water which is the event sponsor. Nothing but water. Okay. How to handle the fashion crowd now that I haven't been in the midst of one for so long---and sober? I tried but mostly I felt like an outsider. The entire evening I was just craving for serious drinks and my friends seem to like moving from one place to another. Finally, I gave up and sat down with Jenni Ep at M Cafe who introduced me to Tom Ep and---major namedropping in 3, 2, 1--Neal Oshima. My most vivid memory of N.O. from my younger days is the album cover of Kuh Ledesma's I Think I'm In Love which I was really kind of enchanted with (black and white photo smudged with crayon, which was so new in the '80s). I've always been afraid of him although one time I asked him to participate in a book forum for Inquirer (What was his favorite coming-of-age book? Fiskadoro. I have no idea what that is.). Last Wednesday, we exchanged maybe two lines. (The kind you say, not the kind you snort, gaga!) I had a couple of glasses of white wine and Mark and Michael Salientes joined us after awhile.

It was too early to go home so followed the boys to the Coffeebreak Island album launch at Handlebar in Polaris. Had a couple of drinks, watched them play billiards, then decided to get out of there.

Oh, Rajo told me he reads this blog (He blogs too at http://blogs.stylebible.ph/rajosblog/). Salamat, Rajo!

Thursday. I've always wondered why I recount these things to you but hey let's keep going. Carlo said the Paulino Que Collection opening at Finale was over the top so I hurried over to Pasong Tamo. Of course Carlo exaggerates once in a while but this was indeed impressive, mostly never-before-seen figurative works from some of the most respected of contemporary artists. And this is just a teensy fraction of what he actually owns. The painting above, by Jose Legaspi, is my favorite. Was introduced to the collector but I really wanted to be introduced to Charlie Cojuangco who I've always had a crush on. Teddy bear!

Friday.I've always wondered if I am ever going to be as affected as my friend who cried when he watched the guitarist Noli Aurillo perform. Early in the day, tried to work a little in the office but was mostly feeling like a zombie from the white wine of the night before. I like white wine but it's hell the day after. Still, was able to make it to the gym and finish a pretty decent session. Went home to change for Rock's birthday at Magnet and the launch of his new menu. Noli Aurillo played. Mmmmm...Maybe I'm just not the audience for him, as Ms Charo would say. He looks like John Lennon on the entrance door sketch, and wore a patchwork blazer. After a few beers and chitchat, ended up at Kurt Gloria's show at Green Papaya. There's always a happy vibe in this artspace, the kind you don't really see anywhere else. And Kurt put together quite a show, too.

If you have to visit a gallery this week, go to Finale, and you may also still catch Jayson Oliveria's at Magnet Katipunan and Kurt's at Green Papaya in Kamuning cor. Fermin Street, just beside the corner beer house. Otto, Steve Tirona's Mini-me, has a photo show at I Love You in Cubao X but I have yet to see that one.

Too much wine will kill you but art can only make you stronger. Oh, shut up.

Photo of Mark's exhibit by Michelle Co via Chuvaness.com. Lechon Cebu photo from _gem'_s photostream at flickr.

AT THE WATERFRONT

2009-03-15T02:07:00.000-07:00

Was in Cebu last week for the Cebu X show. Was excited to see Vito Selma's new works and meet him for the first time. The guy IS a kid. A bit shy and has no 'big designer' hangup. Among the works from so many designers, his console table made of wood and with a gloss finish, plus an accent that he says was inspired by a Japanese craft, stood out. But I love the Kenneth lettuce chair, and the chandelier with a hundred or so human stick figures rushing towards the light. I can't show pics because it's coming out in the magazine next issue.

I always like going to Cebu. I love that laidback charm of the province yet the bars and city life is always just around. And the food is almost always good. It was a very short trip mostly spent inside the hotel where the show also took place.

Was bloated the whole time, from alcohol and the bountiful dinners. First night was at the Filipino restaurant Chikaan in Lahug (amazing crispy pata and pinakbet!). We ate so much---absolutely unnecessary namedropping in 3, 2, 1---Mia Borromeo and I walked from the restaurant to the hotel talking about, whatelse, walking! (Me in Sikatuna, she in Forbes, naturellement!) After awhile, drinks at Tref in the hotel where we were welcomed by the sight of an exotic-looking Filipina getting all hysterical about the future of her daughter in front of five Caucasian men. Was groggy the next day and recovered only after the dinner at Kruang Thai. I couldn't stop eating. Then Nikki Sering invited us to have drinks at Outpost, an old house turned into a bar, like our 77 in Manila or Saguijo. It was the most fun with media people I've ever had. And I only met them during the trip. Jovel wanted so much to dance, and the girl from Real Living wanted to sing. But we all ended up just chatting and drinking. And me having too much Kurant Sprite.

The next day was a blur.

JEROME IS HERE

2009-03-15T01:38:00.000-07:00

I’m in Bohol and just like the first two times I was here, there is rain and the sky is gloomy. As we were about to land, the window on the right showed a bit of sun, on the left raindrops and a greyish white view. It was a quick ride from airport to the resort, and Ric Segreto was singing as I sat on the van. Later, We Are The World which I haven’t heard in years. Amazing how the different voices in the first stanza almost blend into each other, up to the first chorus shared by MJ and Diana. The shoreline doesn’t look promising yet, but the design of the resort is a quiet, beautiful chic. Kenneth is all over. Brad would easily feel at home. And I was shocked that I'll be staying in the owner’s room---which is huge and sexy and amazing.

FROM CHIAROSCURO

2009-03-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

Brook

The old dirt road will lead you to it eventually;
a depression visible through the gaps among the tall grass,
the air terribly lonely where a bridge should have been.

The descent will be difficult. The banks are steep
and riddled with roots and insects and mud.
But the brook will be there--the daily chorus of rocks

gurgling the sweet water, the dragonflies balanced
curiously above the laughter of lilies and fish,
the visiting kingfisher, blue, chest puffed, proud.

Late this afternoon a letter arrived from some country,
some memory, some small movement in the soul.
It had nothing to do with the brook, but still

I walked out of the house to stare at the gathering night
and to weep for the little deaths--the day's demise,
the loss of color, the brook I will not visit in the darkness

nor come back to ever again. Return is the tragedy of time,
rotting the spoiled places, inconsolable by presence.
We handle grief by moving. Distance makes it intense.

--Joel Toledo

D' MARK

2009-03-10T19:57:00.001-07:00

The first and only time Mark Nicdao shot for StarStudio was during its shushal days---we only worked with the best stylists then: Carole Cuasay, Pam Quinones, Rey Ilagan. Mark shot this cover story on Jericho's then newly renovated home in Antipolo. Wala pa yata siyang kotse nu'n at walang assistant and he brought this ton of equipment to ABS-CBN and rode with us to the shoot. This is still one of my favorite set of images from that magazine. The tone was light and subdued and intimate and young. Jericho liked the photos, too; he had asked Mark for a copy of them recently. In love si Jericho nun eh. He and Cindy were finally out in the open. So it was an important moment to capture. He was 25 and seemed to have it all and yet there's a quietness to how he managed the fulfillment.

And Mark's camera was there to capture it.

I wrote a style profile on Mark in the September 2007 issue of the late Metro hiM (wala akong kopya ng layout eh). Nainlove kasi ako sa ostrich skin boots niya one time.

"Like his photographs, Mark’s personal style works on many levels. “It is dark yet dreamy, a mix of street beat and couture chic,” says good friend Jenni Epperson. The guy, too, is a montage of contradictions: a boy with man hands and a playboy swagger, a Mr. Nice Guy with wicked brows and a grin that can be vicious and sexy and cute all at the same time."

I'm not singing Mark praises kasi mamamatay na siya ha. Because he is, in fact...

Cheap ng segue.

THE PLUG

2009-03-09T22:48:00.000-07:00

"The new issue of the Philippines Free Press. On the cover is TV star Rhian Ramos dressed a a cop to celebrate Women's Month. Photographed by JA Tadena, the cover story is my first for the magazine and includes excerpts from Jose Quirino's 1956 feature on Manila's Lone Female Cop, Mrs. Rafaela Soriano Padilla as well as some passing references to the RH Bill and why women presidents will always face coup attempts.

"But that's not the best you can read in this issue...

"There's reviews by Joel Toledo, Pablo Tariman, Bert Sulat Jr. and Conchitina Cruz as well as commentaries by Manuel Quezon III, Guiller de Guzman, Gou de Jesus...

"Also there's new literary work by Lourd de Veyra entitled 'The Pancreas is Deceitful Above All Things'.

"Only 50 pesos. Available sa UP."---Erwin Romulo.

Erwin, bukas na talaga, promise.

MORE SINGLE LADIES

2009-03-08T23:47:00.001-07:00

"There's Something About Stage Right." Photograph by Ed Lejano. Post-Eraserheads drinks at Penguin.

AND NOW A MESSAGE TO A CERTAIN SINGLE LADY

2009-03-08T22:24:00.001-07:00

AND A SINGLE LADY

2009-03-08T20:11:00.001-07:00

This reminds me of when I was a kid doing pirouettes from one hump to the next of A.Fernando St., Marulas, Valenzuela. Unaware of the neighbors watching, lost in a world of my own. My father caught me one night, I was called to the room, and was asked "Lalake ka ba o babae?"

THE SINGLE LADIES

2009-03-08T07:28:00.001-07:00

This just goes to prove that school children in the provinces are not in desperate need of a pair of tsinelas, as Korina Sanchez would have us all believe every week. These single ladies sport sneaker boots, and tsinelas is the last thing they need--especially if its in the hands of their dads and about to strike their kikay ass.

THE CHOICES

2009-03-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

Tonight there is this...

which should be an awesome gig...but then there is also this...

and this...

But then while I have convinced myself that I don't need to see them again this early, parang I really want to go to this.

THIS WAY IN

2009-03-06T19:14:00.000-08:00

"...these are actually damn good times. Not just because every morning paper's jammed full of amazing stories but because life has gotten easier. Gas is under two bucks..." And David Granger goes on to enumerate why this must be "The Best of Times" in his editor's letter for the March 2009 Esquire. It's the most feel-good thing I've read on the global crisis, and the most inspiring. I'm still on the mag's front-of-the-book and its quite amazing really. Esquire is the Oprah of men's magazines!

Slight lang.

THE HAAAY NOTE

2009-03-03T09:23:00.001-08:00

Thanks Jove!

PATTY GOES TO CHINA

2009-03-02T20:03:00.000-08:00

Well, more like, bone china.

"Patricia Eustaquio presents three new works in BONE WHITE at 20SQUARE gallery...the artist's preliminary exploration of blue and white ceramics, the object and the culture and posturing that surround it. It continues from her concerns on how we form ideas, taking fragments and traces of different things and finding the tenuous lines that connect them."

The last show I saw of hers was at SLab which is in the same building. I know its really gay to say this but it was just the most fabulous show I've seen. It was full of beautiful things. Open hearts of animals in canvases the shape of fowls in graceful flight, and two pianos, my favorite of which is the one below: a crochet sculpture made stiff by epoxy. You enter the space and you almost hear a symphony playing, and you kind of expect an opera singer to enter from the backroom. And that space, SLab, which chose Patty's show to be its maiden exhibition, used to be an auditorium! It was lovely.

The new works seem promising from the top photo. And it's just evocative of the things one associates with her: a penchant for old things, nostalgia, a languorous femininity, a beautiful kind of sadness. Patty's show opens tonight at 20SQUARE.

Topmost photo, After, Mme Moitessier As Broken China (detail), 2009. Above, from her show Death To The Major, Viva Minor, rogueartasia.com.

NO RESERVATIONS

2009-03-01T19:00:00.001-08:00

Watching this at midnight made me crave for lechon. I've only had lechon Cebu thrice and I don't remember having as much of that skin as I wanted.

This is part of an entire episode of Anthony Bourdain's trip to the Philippines, the rest are available on youtube.com. He visits Chinatown, makes a stopover in Dampa at Farmer's (we did this two Sundays ago to have what he had, ginataang alimango and adoboong sugpo, but they ran out of crabs and sugpo so we ended up over-ordering), is entertained in Pampanga by Claude Tayag, and then gets to enjoy "the best pig ever" in Cebu where he is met by a guy named Augusto, born and raised in New York, who sent Bourdain a home video pitching the Philippines to be the culinary traveler's next stop.

Bourdain gets puzzled by Augusto's family who turns silent at the dinner table. I don't think he realized it wasn't the cameras that kept the family quiet the entire meal but the presence of an American who only speaks English. They should have had him watch that beach excursion scene in Boobita Rose first, where the noses and ears of Rufa Mae's family bleed everytime they try to talk to her English-speaking boyfriend.

Bourdain kept drinking San Miguel Pale Pilsen the entire episode which had me thinking of the BEST BEER EVER, the below-zero San Miguel I had at Magnet last Saturday over dinner with Rock. We were having a couple of dishes from his new menu but I couldn't stop thinking of when my next bottle will come. After three of that, the beers I had at Puey's party later that night just paled in comparison. The store across my house sells ice cold beer comparable to the ones they serve at 77 but the below zero beer is a class entirely on its own. Rock says the refs are made here in the country and the bottles have to be stored 24 hours to get to its below-zero state. There is also a special way of opening a bottle; there is a guy stationed by the fridge to do just that. He holds the bottle up first by the tip and then gives it a couple of spins. If done less carefully, the beer will just be ice. A bottle costs three pesos more than the usual but its just the best thing that ever happened to beer since, well, beer.

Hoy, Jerome Gomez, lunch pa lang, no!

THE WEEK IN HIGHLIGHTS 2

2009-02-28T02:53:00.000-08:00

Wednesday. Chatted with James via facebook entire morning. Last few captions for magazine. Went to gym early. And because my sister and folks were at Duty Free, I went home early, bought beer and threw meself a party, listening and dancing to Leah Navarro, disco Rico J and early Gary V.

Thursday. Finished Metro Home cover (which was nice!). Bit hungover but went to gym anyway. Tired of Madge and Beyonce and J.Lo so decided to listen to Rolando Tinio! Tinio at the gym, whouwouldathought? It was Celeste singing his translation of "The Lady is a Tramp" called "Ako'y Bakyang Bakya." The whole idea of listening to Celeste sing while on treadmill at Fitness First easily translates to: "Ako'y Baklang Bakla."

Evening brought more OPM. Guys from the office's creative dept. thought of a pritchon party. So we all went to this bar in Marikina, ate the pig in all its incarnations (in cubes, wrapped in pita bread, in ribs, just squares of fried skin. Wazak!) had beer and karaoke afterwards. I've been in love with this Sampaguita version of True Faith's "Baliw" so I asked Neil to look for it. But they have the wrong "Baliw." I ended up singing "Muntik Nang Maabot Ang Langit" which I already had some practice for during the holidays. Then Noel asked me to sing Rodel Naval's "Muli."

Great night. And boys throwing a "something" party is rare so that was also a surprise. Of course, I really wanted to sing "You Changed My Life" but was dyahe.

Friday. Hangover, naturally. Stayed in sofa as long as I can. Proofs have come in and I wanted to go to the gym so decided to get out of the house by 3pm. Ended up leaving at 4pm and by then the breeze was kind of cool, and the afternoon quite lovely. It would've been great to just jog in UP but was already dressed. Stayed on street for awhile enjoying moment. When I got to office (huge crowd outside for PBB auditions), worked for a bit then off to gym, this time to listen to Mamma Mia! on treadmill. Walking on treadmill isn't always most exciting thing to do so fun music really helps. Went home early as body was ready to rest. Contemplated on drinking but just distracted self with having dinner and watching TV and eating chocolates.

A friend sent this video where Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote Eat, Pray, Love, is discussing Creative Genius. I do not exactly have her predicament: how to outdo her bestseller, and what if its all downhill from there? A thought, she says, that could lead a writer to just kill herself. And then she started revising her perspective on the creative process. Maybe the creative genius doesn't always come from us but sometimes comes to us on loan from an otherworldly place. (Makes me think we should have sat down last Tuesday with Ms Gilbert instead.) It takes a certain humility for writers and artists with huge egos to adhere to this, but it makes life easier, don't you think? I mean if Tom Waits, as one of her amusing anecdotes says, recognizes this "supernatural being," then us lesser creatives shouldn't have a problem dealing with that. The important thing, as she says, is that we show up and do our part of the deal.

I'm thinking this is what the next few weeks will be for me: showing up for my part of the deal. Genius, you're welcome to hang out anytime. The sofa's big and there's still half a bottle of vodka in the kitchen.

THE WEEK IN HIGHLIGHTS

2009-02-27T19:30:00.000-08:00

Monday. Stayed up late night before to watch The Wrestler with thought of being able to watch most of nominated films. Woke up early. Been sleeping on sofa past few days because of house guest. Sister and guest have turned TV on at 7am in sala for Oscars. Loved Hugh. Those are looong legs! Thought five-presenter gimmick seemed a little "The Weakest Link" to me (maybe they're keeping with whole game-show-Who-Wants-to-Be-A-Millionaire-in-Slumdog-motif). Thought Hugh-Beyonce number was a bit too Famas production. And Baz Luhrman was its Al Quinn. Not really too happy with winners (nor sad). Wanted Langella to win Actor and Frost/Nixon for Picture. But was happy Penelope won. As she said in Vicky Cristina..."Genios. I'm talking about genios!" Went to office and fixed page guide for the hundredth time. Apologized to a friend.

Tuesday. Sat down with people from office to listen to Ricky Lee talk about psyche of this generation's audience. It's all about creating multiple surfaces these days, he says. As in a website with lots of little story boxes, or The Buzz with lots of graphics. Just to make sure your eyes stay on their channel. Like we don't already know that. I thought he was going to talk about creative processes, how to juice out ideas from your brain when nothing is coming. Instead he talked about how to please an audience, which really says a lot about what he's become: an entertainer. And maybe there's nothing wrong with that.

I was a fan of the guy. In college I would skip class to go to National Library to read the screenplay of Salome. I have a copy of the screenplay book Moral which was the movie for me and my college buddies. One of the reasons I became a writer, and chose to write creatively in Filipino, was because of the book Si Tatang at Mga Himala ng Ating Panahon. His journalistic pieces were such a big influence. I interviewed him for the school paper of which I was Filipino Editor, invited him to speak to a Mass Comm class, and he even offered me the job of being his assistant. For a fan, that was big deal. But would mean leaving school at a time I wasn't quite ready to (of course I would eventually get kicked out of school anyway, but that's another story). For awhile, when I was already working, because a close friend was his friend, we would hang out in his house to watch a new laser disc or hang out with him in Malate. And then he started making those movies in the late '90s. I lost my respect and would shy away from him (not that we became close). Last year, I was really excited when he announced that he just finished a novel. He's gone back to prose! My friend had a copy of the manuscript and I asked him to read the first sentence. Already I thought it didn't work for me. Still, I was kind of hopeful. I interviewed him for Metro hiM and even planned to write another piece for the Inquirer. And then I read the book. After the interview.

The book was about this writer who writes five love stories as an offering to his beloved. I read four of the stories, and skimmed through the last two chapters. I felt duped. And betrayed. Seriously. It was five short stories that didn't have anything to do with each other, and then he wrote a last chapter to tie them all together so that he can call it a novel. That was what I thought it was. Also, it read like script directions. Like he was always rushing to get to the dialogue part. Friends ask why I hate it so much. Or why I have come to hate him. Because Ricky Lee was so important to me! Kathy was right that day: you can't be a fan of the writer; just be a fan of the work. Ok then.

Later that day, Dahl and I went to the You Changed My Life premiere. We stood in the orchestra the entire movie. I love John Lloyd but I am not a fan of this work.

To be continued

THE POGI ONE

2009-02-25T20:01:00.001-08:00

I dreamt of him the other night after seeing him in the elevator earlier in the day. He thanked me--in the elevator, not in the dream--for the profile and said he liked the last quote, about surfing and if you're not careful the wave will eat your shorts. There are three guys I like bumping into in the office: him, John Lloyd and Piolo. Parang tumatalon bigla puso mo at the sight of them, and they're always so generous with their greetings. He's so lean now but I don't like his hair with the teased little bangs. I like the hair in this music video. He is adorable still. Like a puppy. I used to hear this a lot on the cab radio and I didn't know it was his version. It's pretty good no?

The other song I'm singing a lot lately, of course, is Sarah's version of "You Changed My Life." Its a delight to listen to, she sounds like she's really in love. And of course Ariel's "Softly Saying Sorry." He doesn't look as gorgeous in the video but the song is the most decent OPM ballad in years. I love AR.

THE BIG CHANGE

2009-02-24T19:33:00.000-08:00

I know some girls who made sure they watched "A Very Special Love" the past week in anticipation for its sequel, "You Changed My Life" which premiered last night. Well, girls, hold on to the memory of that one (and there's a little memento above). I usually have no problems being part of the standing crowd when watching his films but last night, the John Lloyd moments were too few that I began to feel a little ache in my legs. The first five minutes were promising, I even screamed "Hindi kita kaya!" at the first sight of him, but its all downhill from there. After awhile it just felt like a long wait for Sarah to sing the theme song.

Maybe because while we were not that distracted by Sarah's wig, we can't get over the fact that they were playing adult characters with the minds of lovesick, almost dumb 13-year olds. Maybe because he is already the lovestruck guy and not anymore the unreachable suplado with father issues that he was in "A Very Special Love." Maybe the fatigue is showing. Maybe he couldn't anymore hide the boredom of doing another one of these insufferable romantic comedies. Maybe because he was really in love when he did the first one, and this time he and real life girlfriend Liz went through a rough patch. Maybe what really changed in "You Changed My Life" was the way he was lit. Which showed the fatigue. Didn't he just tell Boy and Kris in The Buzz last Sunday he is working for the sake of work. Hay, naku, John Lloyd is really one sad little boy. And I have an inkling he likes it that way, too.

In "You Changed..." he still has his moments: when he was playing jealous in the car, the first scene where he picks Sarah up at her home, dancing opposite Rayver Cruz in the party scene. But if we're talking John Lloyd moments, here, the quintessential ones.

1) As the funny guy in love with his childhood best friend in "Close to You." Dancing, throwing punchlines.

Watch out for: Jumping into pool half-naked.

2) As the architect dumped by his fiancee in "One More Chance." His best movie ever. He thinks like a girl, cries like a baby. Actually, John Lloyd always cries like a baby. And it never fails to bring out the incestful mothers in all of us.

Watch out for: hospital scene where he comforts a suicidal Janus del Prado.

3) And, of course, as the suplado publisher in "A Very Special Love"who never seems to measure up to his brother, whose mother died on him, who meets this quirky girl who tames him. He does the rain dance, always snazzily dressed, plays the unapproachable guy to the hilt, and looks damn gorgeous everytime.

Watch out for: sick Miggy lying on his beige sofa, watching his toy train go around the tracks, and then Laida pays him a visit to play the role of our dreams: nursing John Lloyd Cruz to wellness.

And so the wait begins for the Big Vilma Project. He begins shooting this March. He plays a gay character with a sick boyfriend. Let's hope Ate Vi doesn't steal all the soft lighting.

Editrixiagomez 3rd anniv trivia: The 2nd JLC image is taken behind the scenes of the poster-shoot for Close to You. It's the image that began this blog in February 22, 2006. Naks.

THE RANT

2009-02-23T20:05:00.000-08:00

Coming home drunk a few days ago, I decided to open my email account before going to sleep, and there it was: an email alert from Facebook saying Jenny Trinidad Fernandez has replied to a thread in Facebook. I have been irritated by these email alerts for the entire day, people I don’t know replying to an invitation from Edwin, a colleague, to “be a fan of Palito.” I have nothing against Edwin, but the email alerts about people I don’t know replying to this thread was really getting to me. So because I was drunk I finally replied: “Except for Edwin, who the fuck are all of you?”

Of course I should have just changed my Facebook settings so that I only get alerts containing messages to me, as my friend Andrea advised a few days before. I was tagged, you see, by this hotel PR (I have nothing against her, too, and she’s always been nice) announcing she’s moving to a job in Makati. And then all these responses from her contacts started flooding into my email account wishing her well and when are they gonna hang out and stuff. Maybe it was just my mood and because I was in the middle of a deadline, I couldn’t be bothered to open all of those replies, and I was so irritated that I would have to make that effort of deleting each one of them. Whatever happened to old fashioned texting? I mean, the girl’s moving to a job in Makati, she ain’t moving to the moon.

I’ve come across a lot of stuff concerning Facebook lately. There’s an article on the March Esquire about how its lost its street cred, and this week’s Time lists the reasons why Facebook is for old people. That girl who does video blogs, Happy Slip, has this entire episode about Facebook. She holds one of those police microphones to her mouth and begins to announce her status to the world, i.e. Happy Slip is now looking forward to the long weekend, Happy Slip is yada yada yada.

I like Facebook. Well, not really. It’s there, some of my friends are there, I use it. But like it? Its largely a useless habit. It can be fun sometimes. I like the Speed Date thing but someone sends you a wink, you wink back and that’s it. Mostly Facebook is just one of those diversions that consumes a lot of my time when I’m supposed to be productive.

In my list of the 25 Random Things About Me I wrote that it weirds me out when someone wants to chat with me on Facebook. We’re not supposed to chat, it’s Facebook. Yes, its a way to be in touch with your friends but that’s why we’re doing it here, we have agreed to keep in touch but within a distance, okay? We don’t want to talk in real time, we don’t want to be pressured to answer immediately. I really only want to know what others are doing but when the tables are turned I almost always don't want to be asked what I’m doing. Because obviously, I’m only Facebooking.

I know, if I don’t like it, just get out of it right? Maybe I will soon. When I think about how I behave when people actually get in touch with me on Facebook, I realized recently why I have maintained a really small number of friends. Maybe because of the age. I'm not even really comfortable with real friends imposing their tastes, lifestyles on me, how much more if its being imposed by a Facebook friend? I was talking about chatting on Facebook with Pierre (who just invited me to be his Facebook friend today) two weekends ago. I told him I really get freaked out when the chat box appears because I’m not sure I want to talk, and most of the time I don’t. He says Facebook has made me socially inept. But I was already socially inept pre-Facebook! And then it hit me: I may be socially inept, but with Facebook, hey I’m connected.

Oh and to my Facebook friends, don't worry, I won't be tagging you.

THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY!

2009-02-22T07:23:00.000-08:00

At the Plaza Hotel, three supermodels and a fashion diva raise their legs to jumpstart the week-long celebration of Editrixiagomez's third anniversary!

Manolos will fly and vajayjays will show! Stay tuned.

THE ANTICIPATION

2009-02-20T18:44:00.001-08:00

He has indeed changed her: look at how adorable she's become and how major! But, two questions: How do we relate to Leda when she's already snagged The Guy? Will we still fall off our seats with the John Lloyd close-ups while Sarah wears that ridiculous wig?

Tatlong tulog na lang, premiere na!

THE RESPONSE

2009-02-20T07:47:00.001-08:00

For Jocelle who tagged me. Para mas maiksi, I deleted na the silly questions. I retained the sillier ones.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
The saint, I guess.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I can't remember when exactly but last year. I was too afraid I was going back to loserdom. I ain't ever going back there.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
It's alright.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Pork.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
A thousand times yes.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM?
All the time.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
That's just silly.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I don’t do cereal.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
The ube they put in Little Quiapo halo-halo, and the vanilla on top of La Pinay at Breton.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Face siyempre.

16. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
I push myself too hard. Chos! I spend too much time doing unnecessary rituals.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Wala naman.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
I'm wearing green shorts and brown slippers. Parang puno.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Electric fan hum, tricycle outside

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Green.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
The scent of a man. Medyo maasim na medyo amoy sabon.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My editor.

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
I love her laughter.

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Mixed martial arts. Not that I watch a lot of it. Only when there are cute guys involved. Sometimes it becomes too violent, like when blood is already dripping from a guy's forehead but they still continue, I look away. In photo is Vinny Magalhaes who was just knocked out last weekend. Gorge, no?

30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Lechon. My father's cooking. KFC.

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
He's Just Not That Into You. Which I Was Not That Into.

35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Depende from who.

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Alipato. New and select old poems by Benilda Santos.

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
Nothing. I was at a guy friend's house drinking, tripping on Basil Valdez and Ric Segreto.

42. FAVORITE SOUND(S).
Ely's voice.

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I'm pretty decent at writing. And I think I read people very well.

46 WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
MCU General Hospital.

47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Meryl Streep's.

48. HOW DID YOU MEET YOUR SPOUSE/SIGNIFICANT OTHER?
I have yet to meet him. Or I might have met him already but I didn't think he was significant.

Painting, David Hockney

THE NEW SOBRIETY

2009-02-18T10:20:00.001-08:00

Look ma, no numbers!

And its the big Spring/Summer issue of the year! You have to give it to Anna for knowing how to negotiate the complexities of capturing the mood of the times in a venue like the Vogue cover---and still make sure her magazine sells and will be talked about the world over. Ever so slightly hinting a call for sobriety, she has Michelle Obama as cover girl in a very spare setting, surrounded only by three cover lines. (Still, maybe because its Michelle on the cover, you don't really need a huge number hanging beside her head and three more insufferably mundane cover lines about matching your bag with your dress or losing weight by eating peanuts.) Sobriety is the new chic, the cover says, and even the First Lady's smile suggests that she's a little tentative about doing this glamour thing--no matter how reduced the glamour is compared to the usual celebratory Vogue cover. Even the announcement of the "Spring Fashion Special" seemed a little embarassed for itself.

I remember during the height of the war in Afghanistan, the March issue of 2003 had that extremely somber image of an especially pale Julianne Moore wearing a white dress on the cover. Even the masthead was white.

On the inside pages of the March 09 issue, the First Lady looks more relaxed. Annie took the photos. Andre did the profile. "Curled up in the corner of a huge taupe velvet sofa," ALT writes, "wearing knee-high boots as she nestles into the cushions, she almost seems like any other mom recently relocated to a city because of her husband's new job."

The fashionista is dead. It's the era of the housewife. For Spring 2009, at least.

THE REUNION

2009-02-16T20:55:00.001-08:00

The stylist to the stylish, and our favorite southern gal, Pam Quinones, threw a post-birth baby shower for our dear palangga, the workasonic Vicky Montenegro who just gave birth three weeks ago to a bouncing baby girl very chicly named Natalia. The party took place in Pam's super fabulous townhouse which she just recently renovated into an exquisite French-style, black-and-white themed pad, with floor-to-ceiling toile patterns, dahlings! Its tres tres chic, to say the least.

The guests included the who's who of the fashion and beauty industry led by another uber stylist Bea Constantino and Metro beauty editor Erica Paredes who both brought Japanese pica-pica dahlings! Towering statuesque, image consultant and new mother of two Romina Urra Gonzales was also there to grace the super mind-boggling event and brought a fish dish in olive oil, her own personal recipe, no less. While moi brought the famous bagnet salad from Cafe Juanita which I tell you is just moi's favorite dish in the entire Cosmo Manille. The coosome twosomes of the evening were Chalk editor Nana Caragay and Town and Country's Pierre Calasanz who brought the calorific cake, and the soon-to-be-married Metro Weddings editor and southern gal Jaws Evangelista and her fiancee Raymond. Advertising honcho Boots Villavecer was seen rubbing elbows with workasonic makeup artist Robbie Pinera. Completing the illustrious bunch dahlings are hairstylist to the stars Raymond Santiago and the super popular maquillage guy Jigs Mayuga.

Our dear woman of substance and taste Vicky was so happy especially apres receiving her gifts. It was really a wonderful evening with old friends, no small thanks to the overflowing wine, Pam's Girl Friday Terr, and the great conversation that lasted to the wee hours, dahlings.

But seriously, it was great to see everyone again. And while most of us have left the mothership, its always fun to talk about the MOTHER-ship and look back at those storied days with fondness and a sense of humor. As Maurice would say, Natch!

THIS IS POOP

2009-02-10T21:17:00.000-08:00

My correspondence with Gwyneth continues

"This family dinner menu is great for a Sunday. Get your partner (mother, friend, dog) to occupy the kids while you make the meatballs. They are not too time-consuming but do require some concentration. The meatballs can simmer away for the afternoon and you only need to make your spaghetti, garlic bread and peas later. The garlic bread takes 15 minutes and is so good, you may want to double the recipe. I have one of those colander things INSIDE my pasta pot, and if you have the same, you can drain the pasta once its cooked, put the colander back in the boiling water and throw the frozen peas in for three minutes while you are plating up the pasta. My kids like peas plain so I do a bowl for them and one for the “grownies” as my daughter calls us. It requires nothing more than a squeeze of lemon juice, torn basil, a drizzle of good olive oil and a little Maldon sea salt for good measure."

Gwyneth

Gwynnie's garlic bread

Dear Gwynnie

Sunday is a cleaning day for us. And by us, I mean me and my adopted son. Yes, I finally gave in. I now have my own little Apple, except he’s already three feet tall, 38 years old and I named him Lakatan. Yes, after the banana. All my fears of having a kid flew out the window. My little one works at Hobbit House so he’s out at nights and therefore no waking up for mommy---that's me---in ungodly hours to change diapers. I could so feel for those parents who keep wishing their kids will remain kids---and not turn into monsters when they grow up. Lakatan will never grow up (yey!) although he has monster-like features.

And because he will never grow up, I don’t have to keep buying new clothes and shoes for his changing body. What a blessing he is! Your Apple will never be able to call him “grownie!” What’s more, I have a constant drinking partner. He likes sitting on the high chair I bought for him and he pretends its a bar stool. So cute.

Drinking, my friend, is what we do on Sundays after the chores. We begin with a refreshing gin pomelo for happy hour and then eventually move on to whatever’s on the fridge. Replace the pomelo with tomato juice and whathavewegot! Bloody Mary! By this time, our Sunday favourite would have been ready: its a local dish called sizzling sisig (the first syllable sounds like “sea”) and its great to have with drinks.

Our sisig with my Bloody Mary and my son's GSM neat but with cherry. He loves cherries!

It’s made of finely chopped intestines, pig’s ears and various other innards sautéed in onions and cooking oil. I hope all these do not offend your sensibilities the way Bounce offended mine. It is customary to boil the meat first but sometimes Lakatan and I are already so drunk we just toss everything directly to the hot plate. On summers, we squeeze a refreshing dash of calamansi over it.

Sometimes we invite other people, like my friend Chona from the apartment across. Chona is a very stylish lady, always impeccably put-together, very chic. Can carry a hat and wear five-inch heels like the best of them. Although the puff sleeves never did work for her. She has no left arm. Very little shoulder to speak of. And she sucks at Charades.

At the end of the day when we’re totally smashed, I don’t have to remind my son to brush his teeth before going to bed. When he snuggles up beside me, he is as fresh as a baby and I plant a hot wet kiss on his mouth. Adorable!

THE VALENTINE ISSUE

2009-02-10T07:27:00.000-08:00

This must be a real treat: they're reprinting a Kerima Polotan story from the '70s! From Erwin who is an editor at the new and improved FP: "The content is great, with reprints from the 1970 Valentine's Issue of Kerima Polotan and Teodoro Locsin Sr. as well as a feature on poet Mookie Katigbak by my fave new writer Philbert Dy. Cover photographed by Paul Mondok."